#further reasons for the movie thing are i dress very strangely with absolutely no sense for style and i watch anime

[turtle-loving-enby]

Ngl in a stereotypical high school movie i'd be perfect as the nerd/nerdy loser friend of the protagonist. I wear glasses, I am really into history and lowkey math, I often start stuttering when I'm nervous, I'm autistic, I'm even queercoded

[ziracona]

[The Kid (Fgo AU fic) pt. 1, ... 7, 8, 9, ?]

He was completely alone.

That was the first thing I thought when I saw his face for an instant through an open doorway: that I had never ever seen anyone who looked so completely alone.

I’ve been alone; I’ve been lonely. Not too bad, not most of my life anyway. My brother and I are close, and we’ve spent a lot of time together. For most of my life, it’s been like having a built-in best friend. But. We’re different from each other too.

Sometimes he’s interested in something I’m not, or doing stuff for school or a sport, or I am, and we don’t see each other so much. There have been times when we fought, or he didn’t want to hang around so much with his sister, or I didn’t, and we were further apart. Then there have been times where we were in different places—different schools, different programs. That’s most recently, and it’s been really hard. We still see each other a lot, because we try to, but having a twin was like having a part of me almost—a best friend I saw every single day. High school, I was lonely a lot. I had a hard time making friends, and got teased a lot—I mean, I wasn’t like, really unfortunate—I-I had friends. Sort of, anyway—I wasn’t an outcast. But I was lonely.

I’ve been lonely a lot, and for a whole lot of reasons, no matter how hard I try to find people, or be able to see the ones I have.

But never anything like that.

Being lonely, it’s one of the worst feelings in the world, I think. One of the worst ones I’ve ever felt. But I knew, looking at him, that he was experiencing it in a way I couldn’t even imagine feeling alone.

I wasn’t sure how old he was. Maybe 19, or 20, 21, 22. Older than me, but not old. Short, small. On his knees, hanging limply from his arms, head bowed, and eyes only half open. He was sweating, and there was blood running down his shirt and vest. He looked like he was dying, and everyone was just walking past and looking at him like he was an art piece.

I’d never seen people look at another person like that before.

He knew it, though. I saw him move his eyes to follow them when they moved through the room, even turn his head up once or twice to see them a little, then give up again. He looked so weak, and beaten, and hurt. Nobody cared, though. I knew they were talking about him, but it was like watching people look at a new car they might buy at a street event. I couldn’t understand it.

The boy wasn’t Japanese. I thought he was maybe American, o-or maybe European—I wasn’t sure. He was dressed a little bit like a cowboy, though, and he was blonde with blue eyes that looked cloudy, like a haze had lowered over what used to be a big open sky. It made me think American. I hadn’t ever seen an American in person before—only in movies. It made him look even more alone. Surrounded by a room full of people who were speaking my language and looked like me, and not him. It made me feel worse somehow, even than I would have felt anyway, seeing anyone like that.

I don’t think I’d ever seen somebody look hopeless before. But. He looked like he knew he was going to suffer, and suffer, and slowly die. And nobody was coming to save him, and he wasn’t going to be able to save himself this time. He looked like he hated it, but he knew it. He looked afraid. And sad.

And alone.

Alone in ways I couldn’t describe then and still couldn’t now, even after being able to think of almost nothing else for a whole week and a half.

He looked up at me, for just a moment, while I was watching him through that doorway. I had seen the way he looked at the other people in the room—like he despised them, and I knew I would have felt the same if I was hanging there on my knees, bleeding and being talked about like a car. I had no idea who he was, or what he was, or why he was there, not at all, but I was scared, when he looked at me, that he had seen me. I was scared he would look at me like he’d looked at everyone else, because somehow that would have made me responsible, like they were, for what was being done to him.

He didn’t, though.

He looked at me, and he was a little bit surprised, like I was a strange thing to see, and then he’d almost looked happy for a moment. Maybe not happy. … Appreciative. Instead of hating me, for some reason he had looked at me like he was a little bit glad he’d seen me. I had no idea why. But I couldn’t forget it. I watched him lower his head again, slowly, and pass out. I watched him to see if he would wake up. And I asked about him, as soon as I got a chance.

I think I knew as soon as I saw him that I was going to do something. But I knew when he looked at me how much I wanted to.

And I did.

I…I still can’t really get over that part. It’s been so much, just the last few hours. Honestly I was terrified planning all this, and now that it’s happened, I’m just kind of in shock. I’m excited too, but I have no idea what I’m doing.

It’ll be okay, I promise myself, coming back out of my head a little and trying hard to feel more confident, I mean, it’s gone really well so far!

That’s true, and I do feel a little better.

Man, I’ve been super lucky. That’s really good, because now that I think about it all the way, I was kind of counting on luck a lot.

I mean, my plan was good—I think anyway. I worked really hard on it. But still. Billy contracted with me, and I did okay getting him here and patching him up, and I was actually able to summon a heroic spirit with his help, and he’s been a really nice one too! I was a little bit afraid I might get hurt. I mean, Billy’s been stuck in that building for months, with so many people hurting him, it really wouldn’t be surprising if he’d woken up and just assumed I was one of them, and shot me before realizing I wasn’t. I tried to dress in definitely civilian clothes in case that would help, but I was still nervous about it. I’m really glad things went so okay…

Mind still on Billy, I glance over at him. I’m sitting on the bed, getting ready to try some magic work to open up circuits with Emiya’s help, but he’s vanished to go make sure no one seems to have followed us from Ur-shanabi first. Billy’s sitting back in one of the big comfortable soft chairs, resting. He’s not asleep, though. Just kind of staring off at nothing, thinking about something.

His wound must be hurting a little less, for him to sit up like that, and I smile at the sight. I’m so glad he looks better. I felt really awful I couldn’t heal him right, but at least I was able to do something. And he really does look a lot better now. He’s got more color in his skin, and his hair is starting to dry and look fluffy now. His eyes look clear too, but they’ve looked like that for a while now. Bright and sharp, but kind too. Open like a clear sky. He’s really pretty. I guess he picked a good nickname for himself.

He senses me looking at him and glances over and offers me a smile, and I return it.

“You feelin’ ready?” he asks.

I nod. “I think so. I’m really glad Emiya seems to know his stuff so well.”

“Me too!” agrees Billy, “He seems awful capable, and that’s gonna help us a lot.” He pauses then and looks thoughtful. “Got absolutely no clue who he is though. You know any historical Emiyas? Famous figures?”

Oh yeah. I guess that is weird. I mean, there’s a lot of heroic spirits on the throne, and of course I wouldn’t know all of them, but it is a little weird neither of us has ever heard of him. I shake my head. “Maybe he’s a really old heroic spirit,” I suggest, because that makes sense, “One from so long ago, we lost a lot of records.”

Billy gives a nod of agreement, “Probably that, or one you haven’t got to in time yet.”

“Wait, you guys can come from the future??” I ask, totally thrown out of my headspace by that.

“Sure,” says Billy with a grin, “Throne is outside of time, so we get summoned to all kinds of times and places. Mages tend to shoot for spirits they know of, when they summon us, and of course you can’t have a catalyst for someone from the future—won’t exist yet—and I think Alaya doesn’t like sendin’ ones from the future as much because of timestream things I don’t really understand, so, summoning one you haven’t got to in time is a lot rarer, but I know it can happen.”

“Huh.” I think about that. “W-would it be rude, like—among heroic spirits, is it considered rude if I ask him something about that—if he’s from the future?”

Billy shrugs. “Not really. Lots of us won’t answer if we don’t want to and don’t have to, but I don’t think he’d take any offense. Don’t see why he would.”

Huh.

“…’Alaya’?” I ask, remembering what he said before.

“That’s just another name for the whole Counter-Force, World, God—whatever you want to call it,” says Billy, gesturing vaguely with his right hand and then wincing and sucking in a pained breath on the last word.

“Sorry,” I say, reaching out impulsively like I might be able to help, “Does it hurt?”

“Not a lot,” he promises, “It’s a lot better than it was, and it keeps gettin’ better. I just need to learn to be careful until it’s done healin’, like I should.”

I relax a little. “Okay. Good—I mean, that it’s healing.”

He gives me another smile.

I sense energy in the room then, and realize it’s my connection to Emiya, and then he materializes back from his spirit form and into his physical one by the bed.

“Anything?” asks Billy, sitting up a little.

Emiya gives his head a single shake. “She did well covering her tracks,” he says, glancing at me approvingly, “And more importantly, I think bombing their second story took them completely by surprise. There’s a whole lot going on at the building I was able to see even at a distance, but they haven’t sent people out very far to investigate. They’re still mostly trying to make sure they’re not under attack.”

That’s such a huge relief—I’ve been so worried about my mom and dad. I feel like a car has been lifted off my shoulders.

I did it. I…I actually did a good job.

“So,” says Emiya then, turning to look at me, “That being the case, and this spot being safe for at least a little while longer and time being of the essence, I suggest you and I go ahead and get started.”

  “Alright, just take a deep breath. Keep your eyes shut, and try to relax. Then I want you to concentrate hard on what you’re feeling.”

“Okay.”

I try my best to. Take a big breath and loosen my shoulders, working very hard to keep calm and open. Try to focus on the sound of my own heart beating like he told me. Emiya said to do this I have to ‘feel how my body connects to my soul’, and I don’t know at all how that works, but I try hard to imagine it.

Soul. That’s me, that’s the me inside my body. If I think of myself like a heroic spirit, then bodies are a vessel, and the soul is the thing inside them that has a personality. My soul could be put into a doll, or another body, or a really sick mecha using magecraft, and it would still be me. Because I’m the soul. It exists here, just like they do, but it also exists somewhere else at the same time—like they do on the throne—somewhere I’m always connected to. By energy, the way they’re connected to me right now.

That all makes a lot of sense when I think of it that way, and it helps. I picture that. picture threads connecting the me inside my body to the rest of me somewhere else.

“Good,” says Emiya. His voice is reassuring and strong, and I feel my adrenaline pick up with excitement. I hope that means I’m doing it right! If I’m honest I’m super scared that I’m gonna mess up and I have been since the second I realized I was going to have to do any magic. I-I just. I’ve never been good at being a mage. Maybe it’s just because I never got real training, like they seem to think, but… I’ve known a lot of mages, or, I’ve run into them, and they have all pretty much told me I’m a loser, and a bad mage, and un-gifted, and just don’t have any talent. I don’t want to believe that—I don’t, but,…it’s not like I haven’t spent a lot of time trying to teach myself on my own! I have, over and over and over—reading books, doing research, watching other mages when I got the chance, and I just…it’s like—like I’m trying to ride a bike. And supposedly I could learn, if I just try long and hard enough, but every time I try, I keep falling off the bike the moment I get on, and then climbing back up with bruised knees, only to fall off before I can even turn the pedal again. And again and again and again. I’ve tried so hard for so long, the best I know how, and I’ve barely been able to learn anything.

And now? Now that I’ve got so much these two spirits who trusted me need me for? And they’re watching me? TWO Heroic Spirits, famous heroes with all kinds of power and skill who were so important they got inscribed on the throne of heroes, are watching me?

I am…beyond terrified I’m gonna fail absolutely and make an idiot of myself under the pressure. And worse that I just…won’t be able to help them. That I’ll be too weak, and too bad at things, and I’ll disappoint them. Fail them…

It isn’t fair—I’m trying so hard! And I want to do something really good, and it barely takes any skill to do this! If I was anybody else, I would be able to do it! But I’m not; I’m me, and I’m bad at magic, and—and. No, I can’t give up—I have to do this, I have to. I’ve only just met these two and both of them trusted me enough to form a contract, and there’s so much at stake--I can’t afford to mess up this time. I can’t! So I have to do better, I have to be better, because if I can’t figure this out, if I fail them then-

“I said relax,” chides Emiya.

Crap.

“S-sorry,” I say nervously, cracking an eye open for a second to see him, and then shutting it again. I clear my throat and try to re-center. Just breathe. It’s okay. You can do this. Stop freaking out. You know that doesn’t help. You’re not bad at everything. I mean, you made a really good bomb! You did. And you stitched up a wound pretty good, and you did a summon! So maybe you can do this. Emiya’s going to help you, so it’ll be okay. It’ll work.

I hope.

“Better,” comes Emiya’s voice approvingly, “Now, I’m going to run some of my energy along the magic circuits that you have physically—try to focus on that—the layout, how they feel in your body. They aren’t your true circuits, just a manifestation of them, but they’ll help you find the ones in your soul’s energy. Try and visualize it if you can, and follow the connection back to your soul.”

That’s so much I don’t know how to do, or even really understand. I’m being asked to something that’s really overwhelming, but I buckle down and focus hard as I feel his palm set down on my shoulder and try my hardest, and I feel a little ripple of energy. It’s like a gentle wave lapping over your foot at a lakeside, the way it feels to me, only it runs along my body from my shoulder out to my fingertips. And—and I feel it. A little geometric pattern in my arms and legs and back and stomach, my shoulders, my chest, my head. Like I can feel my nervous system, but a little different. I think it’s working! I’m so excited I totally forget to even think about following it back until I realize he’s about to stop, and I hurry, find the circuits in my chest, because to me it seems like that should be my core, by my heart, right? And I follow them in my head, visualizing what I’m trying to do. I think about the invisible connection I have to myself, just like the ones I have to Billy and Emiya now.

It’s…hard to imagine, but. There’s something. I don’t even really know how to describe it, but I hang onto it, and I feel suddenly like I’m somewhere else: a sky. But I’m not. I am, and I’m not. I’m looking down at myself and everything around and below me, and it’s so big and blue, and calm—wonderous. I feel like I’m looking down at earth from above, but space isn’t big and empty and black—it’s cool and alive and welcoming. And then suddenly that mental image is gone and it’s over and I’m back in my body, and I suck in a breath and open my eyes.

Emiya is watching me from where he’s seated opposite me on the bed, and he looks pleased. “Not bad at all. You felt it?”

“I…I think so,” I say, not totally sure what I saw. I think about it again though, and feel more sure. I think it was. Whatever it was, it was beautiful, and it was something. “Is that…my…is that place my soul?”

He gives me ‘kind of’ sort of gesture and says, “Yes and no. But it is where your magic circuits are, and for practical purposes, yes is a close enough answer. Seeing it should have helped you have a little bit better idea of how your magic is laid out.”

I consider that the best I can, working to remember everything I saw. Yeah. I think so. Okay. Sitting up, I place my hand on my shoulder and try to do what he did, just run a little magic through my body. I try really hard—even move my hand to the exact same spot, but. I can’t.

My heart sinks. I feel my face heat up with shame and disappointment. Why am I so bad at this! It shouldn’t be so hard!

Emiya still has his eyes fixed on me, studying, head a little tilted. I glance over at the chair beside us, at Billy, because I’m very aware he’s seeing me fail this again too. He’s watching, like I expected, but when I look over he gives me a ‘you can do it!’ kind of smile, and I feel a little better because it’s so genuine. I have no idea why he’s got so much faith in my ability to do magic when all I’ve done with him around is fail to heal him 18 times, but I really, really don’t want to disappoint him—either of them. I’ll just have to try again, I decide firmly, Nothing else for it. As many times as it takes, and I’ll get it eventually. I have to, right?

“What am I doing wrong?” I ask, turning back to Emiya. “I saw—or—I felt, what you did, but I can’t do it. Do we just try again?”

“Magic is a very mental and internal process,” says Emiya, surprisingly nonplussed by me making absolutely no progress, which also makes me feel quite a bit better. If he’s not worried, it’s probably okay, right? “Have you used a spell before?”

“Not really,” I say, thinking back. I’ve tried, and I’ve done some little stuff, but like—a real spell? Any magic I’d have to do much to…work for it? I’ve never been able to. “No,” I finish, “I don’t think so.”

Billy coughs.

Huh? OH CRAP.

My entire face feels like it’s on fire as I remember what I did last night and am engulfed in another big wave of regret. I’m sorry I’m sorry I never meant to.

“Oh—I-I used a command spell, last night,” I choke out, “—does that count?”

Our new Archer ally tilts his head and glances down at the faded mark on my hand beside the two unused ones, then meets my gaze. “It might very well.” He glances over at Billy. “Was it a powerful one?”

“Oh—yeah, it uh, it packed a pretty solid punch,” says Billy.

I hunch over a little and try not to look at him, still overwhelmed I did that. I didn’t mean to! I never would have done anything like that to you on purpose.

I can feel him looking at me, so I give up and glance over after a few seconds, and see he’s still smiling like it doesn’t bother him at all anymore, and I feel better and smile hesitantly back. I relax my shoulders and turn back to Emiya.

“Well,” he says, crossing his arms, “Talk me through it, then Ritsuka. –Mages use mental triggers to activate magic circuits once they’ve already used them, and to open even more, once they have an established trigger,” he adds before I can ask what he means, “So if you used some of your own already for a spell, you might have created a mental trigger without realizing it. When you used the command spell, did you visualize anything happening within or to yourself, along with whatever you were trying to do?”

Uhm. I think hard. It was so dark, and I was so scared last night.

Honestly, I’m still pretty overwhelmed. Excited too, I think, but, I also feel like I might throw up. Better than I felt last night though—that’s for sure.

“I’m not sure. I’m trying to remember,” I say once it’s been a few seconds, and I’m starting to feel awkward.

“Take your time,” says Emiya patiently, “Try to walk through what lead up to it in your head, and focus hard on what you were thinking about at the time.”

Okay. Walk through it.

We’d made it out of Ur-shanabi, and Billy the Kid had agreed to form a contract, so he wasn’t vanishing anymore, but I was really scared. There had been alarms blaring the whole time we were inside the building, and I could still hear them and people shouting when I’d made it back outside to the car. Lights were flashing. I was afraid someone would see us any second and shoot us both, but they didn’t. I used the delivery entrance because I knew it was full of boxes from a shipment that morning, and I made it out.

It had been hard to get him to the hotel without being seen—I’d had to drive, and this was only the third time I’d ever driven a car, and technically I do not have a license even a little bit, or a good fake one, so I’d gone pretty slow, and I was afraid the whole time I’d take too long getting there and people from Ur-shanabi would figure out what I did and catch up, or a policeman would notice I was driving really slow and stop me, and we’d go to jail, or be turned over to Ur-shanabi and die again, or I’d just arrive so late at the hotel he’d bleed to death in the car.

I was connected, so I could feel him, even when I wasn’t looking over—I could feel him fading, and fading, and I kept trying and trying to give him more magical energy, and failing. He looked dead already when I looked over at him, so much blood gone his skin had gone from ghostly white to grey and his lips had turned blue. He was breathing so shallow sometimes I thought he’d stopped completely, and he was hurt so bad and so helpless and in so much pain and I just couldn’t help him like I wanted, like I was trying. I couldn’t. I should have been able, but I couldn’t. And I cried, and it made it hard to see out the windshield, and I got scared I would wreck, so I made myself stop. I bit my tongue the whole next twenty minutes, to not cry and to focus. And I made it, and I got the car parked, and got him in the hotel without being noticed—which was really, really hard, even using the back entrance and late at night, and knowing where I was going.

I remember he was unconscious, and shorter than me and not that heavy, which was good, but he was so pale and sick looking and his breathing was raggedly fast and sounded painful by then; it was awful. His skin had seemed almost translucent to me, like he had no blood left. So much of it was soaking into my shirt by then I could have believed it, and I remember his hair was matted to his head with sweat, and his face was all scrunched up in pain, and sometimes when I would move him he’d moan or cry out a little, and his voice was so weak—I wanted to help him so bad and I was so scared he was going to die before I could even get him into the room and try to save him. He’d already bled completely through the bandages I put on him before getting him into the car—like—soaked through. They were sopping wet, and it was horrible to feel under my fingertips. I could smell it. I hadn’t really thought much about how blood smelled before that, but I don’t think I’ll ever forget. It smells like rust, but worse. Like rust and death.

I had tried so hard, and risked so much, and I was afraid people would find me any minute, even though I had worked so hard to be careful. I had practiced and planned and worked and worked and worked, and I just, I wanted so badly to do it—to keep him alive, and help him—I had since that first moment I’d seen him. But I was terrified he would just vanish and they’d summon him back, and I wouldn’t be able to try again. He felt so faint—the connection I had to him…it felt like it was coming apart and vanishing into the air like smoke. I remember so intensely how I stumbled walking down the last hall, and I was just sure he was going to vanish in my arms and it would all be for nothing, and I wouldn’t know what to do ever again after it happened. But it didn’t.

I made it. I made it to the room, and got him on the bed, and I started to dig the bullet out, because I’m a rotten mage with no skill and no practice, and I couldn’t do what I was meant to, so I had to try and do it like a doctor instead. But it was okay, because I’d prepped for that, and I’d gotten so far, father than I thought I would in the car, and I had been thinking, hoping, because he’d held on so long, maybe I wouldn’t be too late, maybe I’d got it in time. He looked so sick and weak and hurt, but he’d looked just a little bit better once I’d gotten him on the bed and gotten the bloody shirt off. It had felt so good, seeing his lips a little less blue. Seeing him a little more alive, and I’d been full of energy and hopeful and fear all at once, focus more razor-sharp than I think it had ever been my whole life.

And then he’d woken up and started to move. While I was trying to dig a bullet out from just above his heard.

I was scared he’d hurt himself, or move and I would miss my aim and stab him on accident, and kill him, so the second I’d realized he was moving, I’d told him to stop. And the spell had gone off.

What was I thinking, when I said that? Was I thinking anything other than that he needed not to move?

I try to remember, dragging in everything else still fresh in my head from that night, and it works. I remember.

I remember seeing his face, all pale and ashy, and him groaning and moving a little. I had been looking at his face every so often, to check on how he was, while I got the bullet out. And this time he had opened his eyes. They had been unfocused, like he wasn’t really awake and was looking at the ceiling without seeing it, but then he’d looked at me, and I had known he was seeing me. I could tell he was about to move, then, and I had medical pliers in his chest, so I’d thought “Oh no this is bad—I need to keep him down so I can help him and he won’t get hurt”. I’d thought…I’d thought…. in my head, I had thought about…reaching out. Because I’d wanted to do that too—that’s right! That’s right! I remember! Because he’d looked scared too. I’d thought, “I’ll tell him to hold still, and I’ll pat his shoulder so he knows it’s okay,” because my mom always used to do that when I was sick and feverish, and it always made me calm down again. I’d forgotten, because I didn’t do it, but I had been planning to. If I hadn’t hurt him like that on accident, I would have.

“I thought about reaching out,” I say out loud, finally looking back up at Emiya.

“Reaching out?” asks Billy curiously from over in the chair.

“I-I guess that doesn’t make sense,” I say, glancing at him and flushing. I know it doesn’t—it-it sounds dumb, now that I’m thinking about it. Who pats someone who’s getting surgery on the shoulder? If you’re a good doctor, you used anesthetic to knock them out, and they don’t have to wake up at all. I did like, a whole whole lot of things pretty wrong. And it was probably a stupid idea anyway, because he didn’t really know me, and my hand was sopping with blood, and that would have felt pretty gross I think. I look nervously from one to the other of the spirits, hoping they don’t think about it as much as I just did. “Because I told you to hold still, so why would I also be thinking about that? But, I was thinking that it’d pat your shoulder, so you knew it was me, and you were okay, since you’d been through a really bad night.” Mmmmmnggg why did I say that stupid too. Oh well I guess at least it’s true…

Billy blinks at me and kind of stares at nothing for a second, and then slowly smiles to himself and meets my eyes again and gives a little nod. “Well thank you. That was thoughtful.”

Really? “I-It wasn’t though,” I protest, “—I accidentally used a command spell on you.” I glance down miserably at the faded spell seal on my hand.

“Yeah, but it was okay,” promises Billy like he means it. I glance over at him and he looks almost worried about me, which kind of makes me feel worse for worrying him, but also better at the same time. “You didn’t mean to. And all you were tryin’ to do was help.”

“If it’s any consolation to you, it’s a lot easier to accidentally use one of those than it should be, if you haven’t been properly trained,” says Emiya very matter-of-factly, and when I look over, he truly doesn’t look like he judges me at all for this. Really??

“Really?” I ask out loud.

He gives a nod. “So. Reaching out?”

I think again, making sure I’m right, and I am, so I nod.

“Then if you activated your own circuits doing this, that might be your mental trigger now. Think hard on that mental image—do it even, if you want, while visualizing it, and think about opening your circuits and letting mana into them with the gesture,” says Emiya, “Try to picture reaching out, and passing magic through your body, and on to Billy. Like you’re going to tap his shoulder.”

That sounds so simple. I hope it is.

Only one way to find out, I guess.

I glance at Billy, then give Emiya a nod and shut my eyes.

Come on, you can do this. I know you can.

I scrunch up my face and think really, really hard, imagining that. I hold out my left hand and imagine the circuits I’ve seen now filling with magic and letting it out through my fingertips, so I can reach out and touch something with it—so I can heal him, like I’ve been trying so hard to do. I focus on that, and then I simplify—I focus just on the image of holding out my hand, of reaching out, of trying to connect. To myself, to other people, to everything. To that big blue sky I saw for an instant, to Billy. To—

There’s a feeling somewhere between electricity and the tug of a strained muscle, and it starts in my chest where I imagined following my circuits back to the pool of mana I’m connected to, and up to my shoulder, then down along my left arm and to my fingers. It almost hurts; it kind of scares me, but I’m way too thrilled to really care about that. It feels like it leaves me, which is so thrilling I feel my stomach drop, and I open my eyes immediately and look at Billy.

—Okay, I’m a goof—I don’t know what I expected to see, since he’s got a bandage on, but. He’s looking down at his chest, and he holds a hand up in front of the wound, and gently places his palm on it, then slowly looks over at me and grins.

“Nice work, partner,” he says, almost as excited as I am.

“I did it?” I ask ecstatically. I look from him, to Emiya. “I did it?”

Billy gives a nod.

“You did it,” confirms Emiya.

“Yes! Yes! HAH!” I shout to the ceiling, snagging a pillow and throwing it in the air in excitement before even thinking about what I’m doing, HELL YEAH! I’m the BEST! He’s the best! We’re gonna save everybody! We DID it! YEAH! “Thank you!” I say, turning my attention to Emiya. I throw myself forward and hug him, and he jolts back a little, then I hear him sigh and he moves an arm to pat my back stiffly twice.

“Sure thing. It’s what you summoned me for, isn’t it?”

“Well yeah, but,” I say, moving back so I can look up at him, “Still! Thank you! Thank you so much! This is amazing!”

It is! AH! He’s so nice and so good at teaching magic! Oh! And—now? There’s so much stuff for me to try now! I want to do more—I want to learn so many spells, and—

“Careful,” says Emiya, smiling a little and holding up a cautioning hand, “Don’t go overboard here—I taught you how to activate your circuits, but you’re still untrained, and your precision and stamina will be weak. For now, try not to tire yourself out—you’re going to need whatever magic you can manage to do once we go into Ur-shanabi, so don’t waste it or overtax yourself now.”

“Oh, right,” I say, giving him a serious nod. Makes sense. We’ve got to go back, and I’m probably going to have to heal more heroic spirits. Honestly, healing Billy just now—I didn’t feel it through the adrenaline at all, but now that I’m calming down a little to be serious again, I’m realizing it really took something out of me—I’m tired. Not super tired, and to be fair, I’ve lifted a lot of weight and kinda run myself pretty ragged today, so maybe I’m just…normal tired. But my arm sort of aches now too, so I think some of it has got to be the magic. Curious, I hold my arm up and make a fist, then open and close it, seeing how that feels.

“Does it hurt?” asks Emiya.

“Not really,” I answer, glancing back up at him, “Just a little, but not like real pain—like the kind you get being sore after running.”

He gives a nod. “Good, then you didn’t over-exert yourself or open them wrong.” He gets up from the bed then, and I turn on it to follow him with my gaze. “You should be proud.”

“Do I need to do anything else?” I ask, “To practice? Or get ready?”

“Eat something, and then rest,” he answers, picking up one of the teacups I set out, and pouring himself some, then one for me, which he holds out. I take it. “You can focus on the mission details of what we’re doing in the meantime. Magically speaking, try to do as little as possible now—that is assuming you’ve now healed your Gunner all the way.”

We both look over at Billy, and I realize he’s stood up and taken the bandage off. He’s looking down and studying his chest where he was shot. It’s a little hard for me to tell if he’s hurt anymore myself, because there’s a lot of blood from when he was bleeding still all over there, but he touches the wound and pushes down a little, which makes me a little sick to see, but he seems okay.

I did it. I smile. He looks happy, and he looks so much better. I’m realizing suddenly this is the best I’ve ever seen him. Even before I moved him, he has only ever been half-dead in Ur-shanabi. He looks different like this. Alive, vibrant almost, and really happy. Good. I’m so glad. It’s so different from how he looked the first time I saw him, it makes me really happy too.

Billy takes two steps and stretches his arms out then and rolls his left shoulder and winces, and I feel my smile fade.

Crap—I still did it wrong, then? I…

“That’s amazing,” says Billy, whipping around to beam at me. Oh wow he’s really pretty and he’s covered in blood and doesn’t have his shirt on and his hair is dry now and fluffy and I’m overwhelmed by how happy and friendly he is and feel my face heat up again and have to turn my head away for a second because I feel overwhelmed.

“A-are you sure?” I ask, making myself glance back up at him, “It looked like moving your shoulder hurt.”

­“Yeah, of course!” he says, turning to show me where the wound was, “I’m a little sore still, and kind of beat to hell energy-wise, but I’m pretty much good as new.” He lowers his arm then and flashes me another smile, blue eyes bright and welcoming and open like the sky. He’s so nice, and he’s got so much energy. I wonder if this is kind of an American thing in general, or if it’s just him who’s really cool and bubbly. I’m way too nervous to ask him anything like that though—p-probably it would be a really stupid thing to say too. And…

I stop thinking about that because he comes over then, and takes a knee by the bed. “Thank you,” he says sincerely, giving a little bow of his head for a moment before looking up at me again, “For this, and for everything. I’m real lucky you found me.”

I don’t know what to say, because I’m not remotely used to being complimented, and I totally freeze up, but it’s turns out okay because he keeps going.

“Not bad at all for your first proper spell, huh?” Billy gives a little wink, then gets to his feet again.

“Y-yeah.” I answer, and I realize I mean it and smile back. I am proud. “Thank you. I guess it was pretty good.”

“It was exactly what we needed,” says Billy.

“Alright then. Now that we’ve got that sorted, shall we move on to the planning stage?” says Emiya. He’s taken a seat in one of the hotel chairs and has a leg propped over the other and his cup in in one hand, my building schematic in the other.

“Absolutely!” I agree readily, hopping off the bed and snagging another chair, pulling it close to finish a sort of chair-circle for us three, “What do we need first?”

“First,” says Emiya as Billy takes a seat in the third chair, glancing up from the schematics for a moment to meet my gaze, “We need to know if they’ve summoned any other servants, who if possible, and most importantly, where to find them.”

[hotaruyy]

Mulan (2020): A Scathing Review

Or, an extremely long rant by two extremely mad Chinese girls.

Before we (@hotaruyy and @meow3sensei) watched Mulan (2020), we didn’t expect too much, since the director and screenwriters aren’t Chinese (even though they claimed to want to be more culturally accurate). But holy shit, this film didn’t even fulfill our exceedingly low expectations (and we’re speaking as people who didn’t mind the loss of the musical aspect because look at the Beauty and the Beast live action). Our review will focus on our critiques of the presentation of different aspects of Chinese culture in Mulan (2020).

The Chinese Aspect of the film was especially infuriating to us as a Chinese audience. Disney emphasises that many of the changes made to the film in comparison to the animated film were to accommodate backlash regarding cultural and historical inaccuracies from Chinese audiences, but what we saw on the screen showed otherwise.

On Set Design (By a slightly irritated Architecture student)

Mix and match of architecture from multiple dynasties, which removes a lot of the sense of realism and authenticity from the film

Tang-style architecture is used (and if we’re being specific, Tang with hints of Song Dynasty) in the Imperial City’s set, which one would assume depicts the time period in which the movie is set in. Identified by the wooden balustrades, relatively simple and small dougong, vertical lattice windows, wooden piles for waterfront, organic shapes in landscape architecture etc. (fig. 1)

fig. 1 - Scene in film

Understandably, information on architecture before Tang (618-907AD) is scarce, so I do think there was an attempt at referencing the original poem that was written during the Southern and Northern Northern Wei Dynasty 南北朝北魏 (386-581AD). Taking creative liberty here makes sense.

That being said, the film didn’t care for retaining a consistent style of architecture, resulting in a wormhole of a set that somehow spans five different dynasties. Only two examples will be listed to avoid an entire essay :)

Exhibit A. Mulan’s home in Hakka Tulou 客家圍土樓 (fig. 2) (roughly translates to Hakka Mud Towers), which originated in the Song and Yuan dynasties (960-1368AD), and started maturing in the late Ming dynasty. (Why use something that didn’t even exist when the Ballad was written and by doing so, physically place Mulan in Fujian?? Just put her in an ambiguous village like how the animation did??). Somehow Tulou started existing before the Hakka clan migrated down south :) To put it simply the presence of Tulou is a locational and historical bug. The jump from the Hakka Tulou to the Tang-styled Imperial palace (fig. 3, which is strictly speaking a hybrid of different styles but I’d argue still mostly Tang) in the opening scenes is only a taste of the amount of inconsistencies later seen in the film.

fig. 2 Scene in film - Hakka Tulou

fig. 3 Scene in film - the Imperial Palace

Exhibit B. This scene (1:20:14) showing Qing Dynasty architecture in what is supposed to be a Tang Dynasty setting, identified by more elaborately decorated dougong 斗栱 (fig. 4 a key feature in the structural system in Chinese architecture, referring to the interlocking structure that sits on top of each column; at least three different kinds of dougong from three different dynasties have been spotted in the film).

fig. 4 Examples of different Dougong in Ancient Chinese architecture (top left being a good example of Tang-styled Dougong)

An insignificant building is not supposed to have more glamorous and larger dougong than the Imperial Palace, not to mention the lack of decorative dougong at all during the Tang Dynasty.

fig. 5 Scene in film that features a building with dougong

fig. 6 Shenyang Imperial Palace built in the Qing Dynasty

An actual Qing Dynasty Palace (fig. 6), for reference, and a random scene from the film (fig. 5). Note the larger dougong both fig. 5 and 6 (the ratio of dougong to column is significantly larger) with more layers of interlocking segments, as compared to the Tang-styled dougong that we pointed out earlier.

On Costume Design

Blue fabric on people who are NOT ROYALTY/NOBILITY. Soldiers guarding the imperial gate would not be wearing blue shirts under their armour. There wouldn’t be such a big supply of blue fabric in the first place; blue fabric would absolutely not be mass-produced for soldiers.

Ancient Chinese people made blue dye from crushed butterflies, did no one care enough to consider the sheer amount of wealth it takes to dye blue fabric organically? Soldiers would very simply not be wearing blue fabric because of how expensive these colours were at the time. Artistic liberty is fine but at least make it make sense in a clearly hierarchical society??

The painful inaccuracies in Mulan’s costume in the matchmaking scene (fig. 7). Ah, the scene that managed to translate breathtaking Hanfu (and there are plenty of resources to take inspiration from) into a Western caricature of a Chinese Halloween costume.

fig. 7 Scene in film featuring Mulan’s Hanfu from the matchmaking sequence

There’s nothing wrong with taking artistic liberties for costumes with a historical context. For instance, exaggerating certain characteristics of the era the story is in, or modernizing certain features so that they align with the character’s more modern way of thinking to contrast with the traditional setting. Good examples that come to mind are the costume designs in Marie Antoinette (2006), or Nirvana in Fire (2015), which also happens to be a Chinese period piece set in a fictional, historically ambiguous era. Inspiration for its costume design is taken from the Han Dynasty and the Southern and Northern Dynasties, so its costumes combine clothing silhouettes from the two periods, and use different characteristics such as colour to reflect class and status, and to represent characters’ personalities. It does a really good job of creating a new style while still giving subtle visual cues to the audience.

But Mulan’s dress can hardly be called an interpretation of traditional Chinese clothing. This is something the animated film did poorly on as well, and this probably contributed to the costume design in this film as an adaptation of the cartoon. The fabric had a shiny sheen that cheapened the costume. Coupled with the strange silhouette of the Hanfu (especially the bottom part of the skirt), this further detaches the audience from any hint of authenticity. The pictures below can speak for themselves. If they’re aiming for ambiguity in terms of the dynasties as seen in the set, then at least make something that is visually pleasing??

fig. 8 Evolution of Hanfu

fig. 9 Tang Hanfu recreated with references from Tang artifacts (top: early Tang; bottom: golden era of the Tang period)

For whatever reason it seems like the extras in the background have more accurate costumes than the main character

And as a girl from a farming village why is she being trained like a noble lady??? A question I’ve had since the animated film…

The film wasn’t consistent when taking artistic liberties. Audiences subconsciously make visual connections to historical periods when watching a historical fiction film. It would be visually more cohesive if artistic liberties were taken on elements from one dynasty or by combining elements from dynasties with similar aesthetics, instead of jumping across centuries of very different stylistic approaches.

Basing the set design on the Tang Dynasty, but then including random shots of Qing Dynasty architecture of no particular importance (two very contrasting architectural styles); extras having Tang-style Hanfu, but Mulan not having one that's remotely close to any style of the multiple dynasties the film has taken inspiration from; alluding to the time period in which the ballad was written by painting Mulan’s forehead yellow 黃額妝 (which was poorly done but I digress), a style of makeup used by women of the Six dynasties and the Southern and Northern Dynasties (六朝女子), but everything else alludes to Tang or later. And finally, basing many things off the Tang Dynasty, but the Tang wasn’t in risk of invasion from the Huns or the Rouran??? We’re fucking confused :)

Small details like the ones we’ve listed above are visually off-putting; as an audience member I’m immediately thrown out of whatever universe the film is building due to the contradicting visual cues. If this was Disney’s and the director’s attempt at cultural accuracy, then it’s plainly insulting to the intelligence of their Chinese audience. (Respecting cultural concerns should not be Disney’s scapegoat for producing a bad movie.)

Ultimately, the film is based on a ballad and we wouldn’t say the points we’ve mentioned are considered common knowledge. So let’s treat it as a fictional era and put less significance on historical consistencies and authenticity. Let’s narrow it down to the crude representations (and misrepresentations) of general Chinese culture and society.

On Stereotypes

“Chi”: Why are soldiers receiving chi-related martial arts training, which takes years and years of elite, specialised training and experience? Ordinary soldiers don’t train their chi, they are not Wuxia 武俠 (roughly translates to martial arts chivalry). These people aren’t training for Jianghu martial art contests (江湖俠道的比武), they are training to kill for war, which does not require finesse at all. Even disregarding the lack of logic in training ordinary soldiers in martial arts (especially them teaching Taichi in the film), logistically it is simply not worth the economic and time cost of training entire regiments in martial arts only for them to be mostly killed off in battle. (Sorry, it’s difficult to explain wuxia and jianghu in a few words, but they’re super cool so please search them up if you’re interested!)

Many others on tumblr have commented on how chi itself is not the weird masculine "power" the film made it out to be, which is also very true (it's also actually very interesting so search it up if you want to!)

On Language as a Limitation

Clumsy translations of Chinese idioms and phrases that are just tragic comedy, e.g. 四兩撥千斤 being translated into “four ounces can move a thousand pounds”, which neglects the subtlety and gentle vibe of the original word choice while twisting the concept into something related to brute force or physics (but we guess this specific example is not entirely the screenwriters’ fault, since some English Taichi classes also translate it as that).

Replacing Chinese concepts and mythology directly with Western concepts such as witches, phoenixes rising from the ashes etc.

The single clumsy reference to the original “Ballad of Mulan” 雄兔腳撲朔，雌兔眼迷離；雙兔傍地走，安能辨我是雄雌？(translates to: when being held by the ears off the ground, male rabbits would have fidgeting front legs, while female rabbits close their eyes; who’s to tell male and female apart when the two rabbits are running side by side?) This line is an acknowledgement and compliment to Mulan’s intelligence and capabilities. It also challenges patriarchal beliefs of gender and women.

On Traditional Virtues (or the oversimplification of them, and a continuation of Language as a Limitation)

The film’s traditional values of 忠勇真 (translated as loyal, brave, and true in the film by using the most direct translations possible) and 孝 (translated as "devotion to family" in the film) seem to be a reference to the core values of Confucianism. We assume that the film is referencing these Confucian core values: 仁 (to be humane)、恕 (to forgive)、誠 (to be honest and sincere)、孝 (filial piety) and 尊王道 (to be loyal to the emperor). If the screenwriters were going to use traditional values, it is curious for them to choose only those three specifically, and to grossly simplify the actual values in their choice of Chinese characters (instead of using the conventional characters), then to grossly simplify them again in their English translations, and then to put them together in that order. The film also just briefly goes over the values by plainly listing them out in the form of an oath, thereby erasing the complexities of the values...

In a hilarious weibo post by 十四皮一下特别开心, they point out that the three values of 忠勇真 used in the film actually directly translate and correspond to the FBI motto of “Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity” :)

Let’s talk about 孝, the fourth traditional virtue engraved in the sword gifted to Mulan by the emperor at the end of the film. Over everything else, this is the original ballad’s central moral, and what we believe the film is also trying to evoke, so the weak translation diminishes the story’s message. The animation was smart in not directly translating it and instead demonstrates what it entails through the progression of the plot. The film does the opposite and translates it as “devotion to family”, when they could have just referred to it as filial piety. Care, respect, thankfulness and giving back to one’s parents and elderly family members. While obedience and devotion are part of what the virtue teaches, it's not supposed to sound like an obligation, it’s not something ritualistic, it’s just something everyone does as a “good” human being.

(And if the director and screenwriters were trying to diminish the role and significance of filial piety in the film on purpose because they wanted Mulan to appear “stronger” and “individualistic”, then… I really have no words for how painfully insensitive that is in terms of how white feminism does not and should not apply to or be imposed on other cultures.)

And here’s our list of Things That Also Pissed Us Off that other people on tumblr have talked about already, which is why we’re mentioning them without much elaboration:

On Feminism

We get that Disney was trying to make a female empowerment movie but they really missed the mark? Even with a female director, somehow. Stepping back and ignoring the Chinese aspects of the film, as a female audience this film was equally, if not more, hurtful

Mulan is only seen as “strong” because of her extraordinarily powerful “gift” of chi that led to her being physically more powerful than the men, especially in that scene where she lugs the two buckets of water to the peak of the mountain (which is in sharp contrast to how Mulan in the animated film is strong because she’s intelligent and is able to utilise teamwork and her strengths properly, and doesn’t let her understandable disadvantage in terms of physical strength trip her up)

All female characters are one-dimensional as fuck and are mere caricatures (though to be fair, the male characters aren’t treated much better) BUT PEOPLE, MULAN IS THE MAIN CHARACTER!! Her name is literally the name of the film!!! Maybe give her some character??? And what happened to wanting to produce good Asian representation in Hollywood???

The character of the witch was slightly more complex than everyone else, which, good for her, but then the screenwriters had her killed when she could easily have not been written with that conclusion to her arc?? Seems to us like some bullshit where the witch had to be punished in a narrative sense because she “succumbed” to using her powers (which are again dubiously chi-related) for “evil”, when instead she was merely trying to achieve as much as she could for herself in a patriarchal system designed to punish her

Plus the implication of writing the sequence of the witch sacrificing herself for Mulan is that Mulan is inherently more worthy of protection because she’s more “noble”, which, again, we call bullshit. Mulan achieved (impossible) success and validation in a patriarchal system because she played by their rules of what it means to be a masculine “warrior” and excelled, while the witch is scorned and punished within the story and also in a narrative sense because she doesn’t. Is that really what it means to be noble and good???? Does that really make Mulan superior to the witch?? (Honestly this plot point might have worked if there was more complexity written into the script, but unfortunately there wasn't)

Can’t believe they just threw away what could have been a perfectly complex and compelling relationship between Mulan and the witch because of shitty writing

The way Mulan lets her hair down and dumps her armour as an indication of her female identity (which is irritating to us on so many levels, as explained by various tumblr users)

On Production

Plot and character arcs have no emotional tension; they’re super rushed and super shallow; emotional beats are not hit properly (e.g. Mulan’s loyalty and friendship towards the soldiers, built up with one line from Honghui “you can turn your back on me...but please don’t turn your back on them” kind of bullshit)

The screenwriters would not know character depth or development even if it were shoved in their face

Blatant symbolism and metaphors (e.g. the fucking phoenix, and thank fuck it doesn’t look like a western phoenix) that make the film feel very… low.

Cinematography and editing: some very beautiful and compositionally interesting shots, but the battle scenes lack tension. The jump cuts disrupt the rhythm and intensity of the fighting; in combination with the overuse of slow motion, they drag the pace of the choreography and further slow down the rhythm of the scene. Exaggerated colour toning make certain scenes more fantastical than others, resulting in a mix of realistic landscapes in some scenes and highly saturated unnatural colours in others, which draws the audience in and out of the film’s universe. This is a shame because they actually took the effort to film in real landscapes.

fig. 10 Scene in film

Special effects: lack of blood in battle scenes (which, fine, they want it to be family-friendly) and Mulan’s suddenly clean face after she returns to her female identity visually puts off the audience (and links back to the issues surrounding the visual representation of her femininity)

And here’s the extremely short list of Things That We Liked:

That first fight scene between the witch and mulan when the witch brushes mulan’s hair away from her face with her claw while restraining her because that was gay as fuck and I am but a weak bisexual!!!

Donnie Yen’s action sequences lmao (they’re not even among the better ones he’s done so everyone go watch Ip Man for actually good action sequences and choreography)

Just listening to the soundtrack itself was great, loved the Reflection variations but I was simply too distracted by the other shitty things in the film

All-asian cast (thank fuck) with impressive actors and actresses (who should not be blamed for a shitty script)

TL;DR: This film is not worth your time or money. Inferior to the animated film (which already has a few questionable aspects). If you’re somehow really interested in seeing how badly Disney butchered Chinese culture (and to a certain extent the animated film), then just pirate this film. If you want to know what happened but can’t be bothered to waste your time watching the film, read this amazing and hilarious twitter thread by @XiranJayZhao, which we found right before we posted this review, and pretty much sums up our viewing experience as well.

Disclaimer: At the end of the day we're two girls from a predominantly Chinese society who are used to Chinese period films and dramas, watching Mulan (2020), a film primarily meant for Chinese diaspora and audiences in the West, with the Chinese market in Asia being just a secondary economic opportunity for Disney. We do realise that we aren't this film's target audience, and that we're not at all experts in everything we've discussed in this review. A lot of this is just us nitpicking, and all of it is just our personal (and very emotive) opinions from watching this film. Mostly we're just disappointed that the film was advertised to be relatively realistic and culturally accurate, but… wasn't.

Sigh.

Btw please feel free to ask us for recs of actually good, actually Chinese films and shows lmao.

Finally, all the love to our beta @keekry​, for her many suggestions and hilarious comments!!!

[screensirenfic]

Menthol Cigarettes - Chapter 35

I barely slept a wink that night; too busy tossing and turning as I tried to come up with a reason why this had happened. Why he had done this to me.

I mean; it wasn’t like she actually saw him doing anything, and El insisted that he was fully dressed, but still; it was pretty obvious what was going on.

She liked to believe that that girl was in trouble; that somehow, for some reason Billy was hurting her, even after I tried to explain the ‘other’ possibilities that seemed much more likely.

I don’t know if I’d have preferred it; honestly?!

I mean; sometimes Billy acted a total psycho, and I knew that it wasn’t always aimed at me, but was I really gonna talk myself into this instead of just accepting he was cheating?!

So, that was why we were here, marching up to Max’s house, because El honestly believed that girl was in trouble, and I was too much of a paranoid bitch to leave everything to chance.

“It’s going to start pouring soon. We should be at the mall, or watching a movie, or something...” Said Max, for once being the naysayer in the situation.

“You don’t believe me?” Eleven asked; still set on confirming her vision with her own two eyes.

“I believe you saw some super weird stuff; totally!” Max reassured her; unwilling to come across as the skeptic, no matter what the reality was.

“But you said Mike’s senses you in there before, right?” Max asked, trying her best to sound reasonable.

“So maybe it was just like that. Maybe Billy sensed you somehow.”

Maybe she’d like to think that was true, but needless to say, it had Eleven’s hackles up; mine too, although that was for an entirely different reason.

I mean; could he really be that much of a scumbag?!

I thought we’d gotten over this months ago; Billy finally realising that just because he had a reputation as a ladies man, didn’t mean he had to keep it up when he was in a relationship.

Of course; this wasn’t just a simple case of harmless flirting.

This was a full on, hardcore fu-

“His car’s not here.”

Max stated; her and El having managed to trail ahead of all my fretting as we now stood in front of the house.

“Are you sure you both wanna do this?” She asked, to which both nodded resolutely.

Whatever laid in wait inside Billy’s room; I could handle it.

I’d already had to deal with much worse.

——————————————————-

Sometimes I was grateful my upbringing hadn’t been exactly conventional, and this was one of those times…

Some girl’s dads taught them to change a tire, or put up a shelf, but mine had taught me to shoot rifles, throw punches, and in this case; pick locks.

Not to say it was an easy task, especially with two teenagers breathing down your neck like this was an episode of Jeopardy!

“Almost got it…” I said; thankful that my bobby pin hadn’t decided to break on me yet.

A click sounded, and the pin turned.

“There…” I smiled, turning the handle and pushing the door open wide.

“Why do I get the feeling we’re gonna find all kinds of wrong in here?” Max asked, lingering by the doorway whilst I walked straight in, already intimately familiar with the room in question.

I don’t exactly know what we were planning to find in here.

I mean; I’m pretty sure we all had very different explanations of Billy’s weird behaviour; some wilder than others.

El was expecting to find a body, or something; too many late nights spent watching cop shows with dad to have any real grasp on what to expect in an investigation.

Max was…

Well; I’m not entirely sure what Max was looking for. Probably something to prove her brothers innocence; as weird as that sounded when referring to a boy like Billy Hargrove.

And I wanted to find… Well; nothing.

I wanted to find the place exactly how I’d left it in the vain hope that it would put my anxiety to bed, and I could go on living like I had before; with one dedicated, if a little over-possessive boyfriend, who’d never dream of hurting me.

El launched straight into investigator mode, heading over to his closet to sort through hanger after hanger of double denim and cotton shirts, whilst I stuck to the edges of the room; eyes and fingertips skimming over the culmination of my boyfriend’s existence.

It didn’t look like the room of a cheater.

Not with copious amounts of photographs of us together plastered on whatever surface they’d stick to.

Whether it be cute little polaroids of us in the Camaro when the sun hit just right and made us look like movie stars; or dumb photo booth print outs where we’d pull faces that he’d never let see the light of day outside his safe space; he kept them all.

My hand lingered over a particularly memorable one; a polaroid just bordering on decent of the pair of us in bed together, my bare chest barely covered by the sheet as Billy held the camera high in the air, grinning up at it whilst I buried my face in his neck.

I remembered the day he took that photo;

I’d just bought him that camera as a late birthday present, and he was complaining that I could’ve got him something more fun; “fun” being the key word here that usually translated as “obscene” to Billy.

I’d insisted that we could have plenty of “fun” with his polaroid camera, which proceeded in him coercing me into letting him take a couple of “artistic” shots; cuing the start of his little photograph collection that he was so keen on expanding.

After he’d finished, and taken liberties to indulging in a near dizzying amount of birthday sex, he’d reached across to take “one last photo”; this being one he could keep on his wall, despite my insistence otherwise.

I’d been nervous and embarrassed of it back then; not wanting him to get in trouble if his dad happened to find it taped to his mirror of something, but now; I could finally see the beauty in it.

Billy looked so relaxed and carefree; like it was honestly one of the happiest moments in his life, and even with my face half hidden against his skin, I was smiling too; a clear sign that despite my protests, I was loving every minute of-

“Ugh! Gag me with a spoon!”

Max groaned; having stumbled across Billy’s so-called “underwear” drawer in his nightstand, which was actually filled with girlie magazines and “souvenir” pairs of my panties.

“Hey; Lo. This has got your name on it-“

I darted over to her, snatching the labelled envelope from her hand, absolutely adamant that the kid should never be exposed to its contents.

“Trust me. You do not want to see that.” I warned, watching as the kid’s face crinkled in disgust; probably already guessing exactly what Billy would keep in there.

I shoved the envelope back in the drawer, slamming it shut; because who knew what else Billy kept in there, and with that Max took the opportunity to further the parameters of her search to the bathroom, El following behind.

———————————

It was weird being here without Billy, looking at his things with a strange sort of detachment which I couldn’t quite grasp.

Everything in this room held so many memories for me; whether it be the spicy scent of his cologne triggering flashbacks of his arms around me, or the sight of his leather jacket slumped on a chair; my mind racing bak to all the times I’d seen him in it before and felt my heartbeat pick up.

I walked over to it, picking it up and just holding it for a minute, thumbs running over all the bumps and creases in the worn leather, reminding me of the first time he’d asked me to dance; a once bittersweet memory gotten sweeter with time and circumstance.

He’d been such an ass back then.

Still was, if I was being honest; but I’d learnt to love that about him, even when he drove me crazy half the time.

I wondered if he’d known back then?

That beneath all that macho horse crap, and maschoist sadism, that he’d seen the possibilities of what this really could be.

I lifted his jacket to my face, inhaling the scent of cigarette smoke and stale cologne that always seemed to put my mind at ease.

“Lola;  I think you’re gonna want to see this…”

———————————

I walked into Billy’s bathroom, fully expecting my world to come tumbling down at the inevitable evidence of his cheating.

Instead; my heart dropped for another reason;

“Where did you find that?”

My eyes fell upon the red and yellow form of a lifeguard whistle; blood bright against the yellow plastic as it hand from Max’s hand.

“From the trash.” Max replied; picking up the dread in my tone.

“Do you think it could be-“

I opened my mouth to express denial, when Eleven interrupted;

“No. It’s hers.”

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Lick Your Wounds (part one)

[Breakaway]

So I got inspired by this scene (warning: it’s a little grueling) from my favorite movie ever and HAD to do some angst with it. It then became a multi-chapter idea. And a really long test fic for the Breakaway!verse!

TW: Blood, vomit

———————

Beware The Blue Whale

“Shit!!”

“Language.” Jane chided as she was getting her makeup ready. She then swung her head around to look at the one who had cried out- the young music director, Joan. The girl was shaking her hand frantically in the air, trying to ward off obvious pain. The curling iron Katherine had asked for is now on the floor, which she quickly swipes up. “Are you alright, dear?”

“Ow, ow, ow...!” Joan squeaked out softly. She finally stopped waving her hand around and inspected the damage- almost the entirety of her palm and parts of her fingers were glowing red with an upcoming burn. She couldn’t help but whimper at the pain. “I’m- ow, fuck...”

“Language.” Jane said again.

“S-sorry,” Joan stammered. “But I’m- I’m fine. I think. God that hurts...!”

“You were burned, love. It’s gonna hurt.” Jane said as if Joan didn’t already know that.

“That’s why you pick up a curling iron by the handle!” Cleves chortled. Of all people, of course SHE had to see it. Joan was already preparing for all the teasing she was gonna her now. “Not by the hot part! What were you thinking?”

Joan’s cheeks flushed bright red and she looked down. She cradled her hand close to her chest.

“I-I was distracted...”

“Obviously.” Cleves snickered. “How can you run the show if you don’t even know how to grab a curling iron correctly?”

There it was. Everyone’s favorite thing to tease Joan over- how she wasn’t mature enough to be the music director. She knew it was all harmless fun, but it gets to the point where they’re trying to take over her job because nobody thinks she can direct herself. It was infuriating.

“I—”

Joan didn’t know how to defend herself, so she just hugged and stormed out, which definitely didn’t make her seem any less childish.

She trudged down the hallway, grumbling to herself as she turned into the bathroom. On her way in, Maggie must have spotted her, because she enters seconds after.

“What’s wrong with you?” Maggie asked in her regular, dry voice. She wasn’t very emotional in tone- Joan knew she reacted more with her eyes.

“Nothing.” Joan snapped. She noticed Maggie raise her eyebrows slightly- she was amused by her efforts to be prickly. “I just- I burned myself.”

She ran her injured hand under cold water, hoping that would soothe the stinging that infected her palm. Maggie walks up behind her and peers down at the damage.

“How’d you manage that?” She questioned.

“I—” Joan blushed. “I grabbed a curling iron.”

“You grabbed a curling iron.” Maggie echoed. “By, what, the curling part? While it was hot?”

“I was distracted!!” Joan cried, her voice raising up a few pitches from embarrassment.

“Ah,” Maggie said, as if the answer made the occurrence any less understandable. “I see.”

Joan grumbled something.

She pulled her hand out of the running water and the stinging sensation immediately returned. She winced, finding it difficult to simply curl her fingers.

“Are you alright?” Maggie asked, her slightly concerned voice betraying the mellow look in her eyes.

“I’ll be fine.” Joan grunted. “I have to be. I have a show to do.”

“You can take off, you know.” Maggie pointed out.

“For a little burn?” Joan shook her head. “No way. Cleves will never let me live that down.”

Maggie’s lips twitched slightly as Joan walked out to get ready for the show that day. She sighed, then followed, shaking her head.

—

When the show eventually began, Joan slightly regretted not taking Maggie’s advice to sit out and let her dep take over for the evening.

Every twitch of her fingers, each slam of her hands on the keys sent strings of fire burning up Joan’s left wrist. Usually the thrill of playing with so much energy made her feel exhilarated and at peace in a strange sort of way, but now it was just torturing her with the pain of her burn.

When she wasn’t conducting or playing, she cradled her hand against her chest and rubbed the scarred flesh tentatively, which probably didn’t look very mature on the camera she was on, but, at that point, she didn’t really care. She just wanted the sting to go away. And to maybe lay down with her hand in some ice water.

After the show ended, Joan was planning on doing that, but then she got word that she had to do some music director business, and, of course, she couldn’t turn that away. She wanted to seem more responsible with her job, after all.

So, Joan ended up staying several hours in the auditorium after the show ended, while everyone else was out having fun on the ship. But that’s the sacrifice she had to make as an MD.

The clock soon struck nine and Joan rubbed her eyes tiredly. She looked up from the sheet music she had been touching up on and decided that that was good enough. She could finish it up later. Right now, she just wanted to go sleep.

As she made her way out of her dressing room and through the wings, she noticed a light dangling from its beam. She inwardly cursed the tech team for not fixing or seeing this and went to find something to stand on to save the light before it fell.

What she managed to scrap up was a ladder in the back of a storage closet. It wasn’t one of those step up or folding ladders, but one of the big wooden ones that you have to prop against a surface.

Carrying it was a slight struggle and would have been very embarrassing if she hadn’t have been alone, but she managed to get it to the right location without dropping it on herself or whacking anything backstage.

The minute Joan grabbed one of the rungs with her bad hand, pain shot through her wrist and she hissed softly. The old wood pressed uncomfortably against the dry flesh on her palm, practically threatening to peel it open. She brought her hand to her chest, not wanting to harm it further, and climbed the ladder just using her right one...which was a lot harder than she expected.

Joan wobbled treacherously several times as she worked her way up to the dangling light. A sense of vertigo settles over her the more the ladder creaked and rocked with the movements of the ship. Still, she pushes on. She didn’t want to be the reason why a very expensive piece of tech broke. And, maybe, her fixing this could finally get her some recognition!

A small smirk of pride twitches on Joan’s lips as she began fiddling with the light. She made sure to be mindful of all the jagged chunks of uprooted metal along the beam the piece of equipment was situated on- she also rolled her eyes at the terrible upkeep of the thing. Seriously, there’s rust on this and everything! It could really hurt someone if it were to break.

The ladder groans loudly at the exertion of her body weight, like it was begging her to get off of its old, worn body. She dismisses it’s plea and continues- she’s not that heavy! Probably. Really, she didn’t actually know her weight. Checking it on the scale embarrasses her.

There’s another moan from the creaky wood. She’s only balancing on her feet, since her left hand still hurts too much to hang onto anything, so she was jostling the ladder a little when she reaches to untie the light to bring it down. Well, she was jostling it a lot.

Joan yelped when the ladder staggered slightly. She grasps tightly to the light, nearly ripping it off of the beam it was hanging from. She had no choice but to steady herself by grabbing onto the side of the ladder with her bad hand, wincing when her palm flexes and fingers curl. She gets herself balanced out again, but she doesn’t miss the tiny cracking sound of wood.

Joan swallowed hard. Now she knew why this thing was tucked away so far in storage.

The bottom of the ladder was starting to chip away and break. Cobwebs of cracks spread through the sides rapidly. Joan knew she had to get off now or she was going to bust her ass when the entire thing fell.

Ditching the light, Joan quickly began climbing down when the horrible sound of wood snapping filled her ears. There was a spectacular spray of chips as the ladder gave way and began crumbling in on itself. First, the bottom rungs broke in half, then the middle rungs fell away, and finally, the sides uprooted themselves in chunks. Despite her best efforts, Joan still ended up falling on her ass, anyway.

She lays there, sprawled out on her back amongst the pieces of a useless broken ladder. The light is still dangling above her like a silver sword. She achieved absolutely nothing from that.

“And this is why I’m the music director. Not a tech person.” She said to herself.

She hadn’t expected a reply, since no one was around, but she got one anyway in the form of soft pops and snaps. Confused, Joan looked up right in time to see the light finally break away from its wires and plummet to the ground.

It’s strange, Joan thinks, how some people don’t realize they’re injured at first. She once read a book where the main character got shot, but they didn’t even feel the pain of a bullet passing through their side until they saw the blood. Adrenaline just does that to you- but only with cuts and stabs and bullet wounds, because when the light crashed down onto her left hand, she felt it instantly.

Scream.

Joan instinctively writhed to get away, but she was pinned down by the heavy piece of equipment. When she continued to squirm anyway, she could feel jagged shards of glass scrape against her palm, and that makes her howl louder. She’s wailing so much that her vocal cords start to ache from the exertion of each cry, but who could blame her? She had a twenty pound light sitting on her!

All her limbs are flapping and waving, and she might have been embarrassed by how she was flailing like a drunk duck if it weren’t for the intense pressure digging down into her burn. It made her see spots, or perhaps she just passed out for a moment. She didn’t know- she just had to get this thing off of her.

After a few seconds of more fearful wiggling, she finally managed to roll herself onto her side. Red was spreading out from under the light, so she quickly pushed the it off and freed her hand.

If you could even call it a hand anymore. The thing was so swollen and bloody and mangled that it didn’t even look like what it used to be. A few of her fingers were definitely pressed back in ways that shouldn’t be possible. And that, doubled with the chunk of metal stuck directly through the palm, made Joan cry even harder.

There was metal. In her hand. Or not-hand. She didn’t know anymore. Everything was starting to haze together and she couldn’t contain herself long enough to think rationally about what she should do and the tears wouldn’t stop and she just wanted Maggie right about then.

Joan crumbles to her side, struggling to breathe through the pain. She looks at the sprinkle of glass stuck in her skin, then the piece of metal and whimpered pathetically. She had no other choice but to start plucking it out.

Man, she wished adrenaline would kick in.

She’s pulled out glass from her skin before- she was a VERY clumsy lady in waiting- but with her anxiety rush, it made the already-tedious process absolutely hellish. Her right hand shook so bad she would accidentally slit her flesh with the glass when she pulled it out, which then caused her to grab harder and puncture her fingertips, but it was just glass. Not a chunk of metal driven directly through her hand.

Joan screamed as she finally pulled the spike free. She screamed and bawled and whimpered and cried and sobbed and threw up. She may have even passed out for a few minutes. She didn’t really know. The only thing she was really aware of at that moment was her own shrieks ripping her throat raw and the blood bubbling from the slick maw now opened up in her hand.

She couldn’t see how big it was, but she could see through it, and that made her vomit again. She chokes on the bile for a moment because of her constant cries and that made her panic for an entirely other reason, but she manages to dislodge the liquid in her throat and cough it all up onto the backstage floor.

This was going to be a mess for the janitors.

Joan stopped screaming eventually, but her crying continued, as did her heavy, ragged breathing. The pain was unbearable, and the dizziness now swirling around her didn’t help at all. She was losing too much blood.

Could she bleed out from a hand wound?

Joan pushes herself against the wall with her legs, getting away from the pool of vomit she had been kneeling in. She managed to push herself up into a sitting position, although it made extremely woozy and nauseous. She had to wait for the world to stop spinning before she could continue with the hazy plan she had created in her head.

What she was going to do was tear off a strip of fabric from her shirt and bind her hand, then call for help, but ripping cloth was a lot harder than it looked in movies, so she just ended up taking her top off entirely (thank god for tank tops). She shakily wrapped the yellow shirt around her wound, biting her lip so hard she thought her teeth would go through. The fabric itches uncomfortably against the gash and makes her stomach churn, but it was stemming the bleeding...even if it was turning dark red at an alarming rate.

Step two of her plan failed, too, because Joan couldn’t get up. Her legs worked just fine, but the pain in her hand was crushing her, so she just remained on the floor. All she could do from there was curl up into a ball and cry until she could think straight.

———

Cathy was a little alarmed to say the least when she walked into the auditorium to retrieve the key card she forgot and heard crying. She was even more alarmed when she found Joan curled up on the floor backstage, weeping.

“Joan?” Cathy said.

It was too dark to see what was stressing the girl, but it didn’t take long when she stepped into something wet. She turned on her phone and the glow from the screen illuminated the puddle of blood mixed with vomit her sandal was sitting in. However, Cathy didn’t scream or freak out until she angled the light towards the girl on the ground and saw the completely bloodied shirt wrapped around her hand.

“Holy shit!” Cathy yelped. She doesn’t even have time to panic or be scared or even ask what’s wrong or what the hell happened because Joan whimpered in very obvious pain and Cathy is already darting down to her side, nearly slipping in the puddle of body fluids in the process.

“Sorry,” Joan whispers and her voice is nearly drowned out by Cathy’s own breathing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—I didn’t mean to break... It—hurts. I’m...” She doesn’t get to finish her sentence, as a ripple of pain sears through her arm and into the rest of her body and she curls up tighter, her right, and equally bloody hand clutching at the mass of stained fabric wrapped around the other own.

“Hey, don’t apologize.” Cathy said. She and the girl before her weren’t all that close, so she had no idea how to calm her. “You’re going to be okay, do you hear me? Can you stand?”

Joan very clearly didn’t want to move, but she hauled herself up anyway. Cathy helped steady her and guide her outside of the auditorium and- good lord, under the deck lights, the shirt was even bloodier than she had expected. And there was blood on the girl’s white undershirt and blood on her blue jean shorts and blood on her face and- there was just so much blood.

“Cathy,” Joan croaked weakly as Cathy practically drags her along. “S-slow down...please, slow down...” Despite the main injury being on her hand, she was having a hard time walking. Whether it be from the pain being that bad or the dizziness from blood loss or the possibility that her tail bone was cracked after she fell from the ladder, she didn’t know.

“We gotta get you to the medical wing.” Cathy said, not slowing down, despite Joan’s weak pleas.

“I-I know, I just-” Joan cut herself off with a whimper.

People were staring and gasping and even screaming when she’s pulled by. She doesn’t blame them- the shirt around her hand was quite an eyesore.

“C-can you call Maggie?”

“Maggie?” Cathy blinked. “Why?”

Joan wished she had the energy to snap at Cathy for being mean. Everyone always treated Maggie like she was emotionless and just a stone cold asshole; Joan absolutely hated it. However, she was much to weak to argue, so she just begs again.

“Please,” Joan whimpered out.

“Ah- yeah. Sure.” Cathy said and fumbles with her phone in her pocket.

Cathy was in the middle of the frantic phone call with Maggie when she finally steered Joan into the medical wing. Inside, the nurses were working on patching up a pretty nasty scrape on a little boy’s knee while his parents and younger sister watched, but their attention was quickly turned away from something so minor when Joan came into full view.

“Oh my god,” The mother of the boy muttered, pressing a hand to her mouth.

Joan was immediately sat on one of the two beds in the main room, right beside the boy, who is staring at the reddened makeshift bindings with wide eyes. A nurse began to unwrap the shirt while two others got necessary supplies, but they quickly realized this was much more than what they were expecting.

Under the bright, fluorescent lights of the medical room, the damage was revealed to be way worse than anyone was expecting. Joan’s hand was swollen and a terrible red-purple color, fingers bent in terrible positions. The hole at the center of her hand was weeping discharge and blood so dark it looked black. Mangles strips of flesh were frayed around the edges of the gaping maw like teeth, only adding to the grotesque appearance. Cathy’s resulting gag didn’t help, either.

The nurses did all they could, setting her dislocated fingers and stopping the bleeding and dressing the wound with proper bandages, but...

“What do you mean you can’t give her proper medical care?”

Maggie’s voice is as sharp as daggers. She had crashed into the medical wing five minutes ago and has been glued to Joan’s side since.

“We don’t have the right equipment here to treat her fully.” One of the nurses said as gently as possible. She still gets a livid glare from Maggie, anyway. “She needs a proper IV drip and antibiotics and stitches and treatment for nerve damage, and we don’t have that on the ship.”

Maggie grits her teeth tightly, but manages to bite back any insults or profanities. Instead, she just hissed out, “How long until she can get proper care?”

“When we dock at our next stop, then she can be taken to the hospital there.” A second nurse answered.

“And how long will that take?”

The nurses exchange anxious looks.

“A week.”

[otomescriptdoctor]

Masking - Chapter 2

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27939147/chapters/68451419 You take a deep breath. It’s always hard to ride out your heats alone. Past lovers haven’t been able to handle you during a heat, because you’d rather take care of your own needs than worry about unpracticed hands further frustrating you. It’s all over now, though. There’s an electronic hum from the dresser, you only have a few moments to fix yourself. The mirrored surface is swept away by the display interface of an EAC agent. It reminds you of Minority Report; one of the few non-Mission Impossible movies you adore because it has Tom Cruise. Yes, maybe it was Minority Report that made you want to work for EAC. The Boss’s voice comes in, polite but betraying a mild impatience, “How are you getting along, Nagisa?”

Hearing Boss's voice call your alias switches you into work mode, your posture stiffens.

“The same as usual, all going according to plan.” Your reply is automatic, like your muscle memory, it’s part of your routine.

“Well, I’m happy to hear that, last night was a lot of fun.”

Your mind wanders, thinking about the woman he was dancing with. Did he go home with her?

The Boss continues, “I almost can't believe how quickly you completed your mission. You never fail to impress me.” You detect a hint of sarcasm at the end.

This is not our Alpha. He is jealous.

These thoughts are not helping. Usually your hindbrain is leashed after heat, but it’s stubbornly keeping part of your attention. Reminding you that there is an Alpha who wants you to burn for him. You are thankful for being exhausted enough to leave a towel on your vanity seat. The Boss clears his throat. Oh shit, you’re expected to respond.

You manage to get out, “Thanks, I couldn't have done it without you, Boss.”

It was honestly sheer dumb luck you got it so fast. Remembering his touch gets your heart racing. Remembering you didn't have control boils your blood.

But we met Alpha. Alpha will take care of us.

No, you think, you should use your frustration at your unusual lack of control during the mission to reign in your rebelling hindbrain. That inner voice quiets again, for now.

The Boss continues, “I collected more information on Mr. Soejima, I'm sending it to you now.”

Kei Soejima’s curriculum vitae appears on your monitor. He went to Oxford. Still doesn’t explain how an Englishman ended up with a Japanese name. Oh, his family name is Romley. Huh.

“He is descended from a line of English nobility. His grandfather is an Earl. Earl Romley is a powerful figure who owns some of the most valuable land in England. Mr. Soejima is following in his footsteps. He's a special diplomat working for the British Embassy.”

You have your own ideas about long-time diplomats, and remember the feel of his strong arms. He must work out a lot despite being a diplomat.

Your mouth races ahead of your brain. “Does he have any enemies?”

The Boss frowns slightly. “That's the strange part, he doesn't seem to have any enemies to speak of.”

That explanation feels odd. He's an Alpha. Alphas make enemies everywhere. They literally can’t help it. He definitely didn’t smell like he was suppressed.

Your employer continues, “He's an influential man not only in Europe, but around the world. He helps out with his family's foundation in addition to being a diplomat.”

It’s your turn to frown. “It sounds like he's... perfect? Literally, too good to be true. There has to be some reason he's one of our targets, Boss.”

Any excuse to drop this case. You silently plead with the universe to give you a break.

He continues in a lower pitch, “This is off the record, but there's a snap election coming up - parliament is being dissolved ahead of time and obviously the prime minister position will be in play. Given that's just around the corner, why is he in Japan on unofficial business? Your next job is to monitor him and find out why he is here. Perhaps ascertain whether or not he has political ambitions.”

Inwardly you groan. Your heat only ended this morning. Being around that Alpha is likely to awaken it again. Okay, you don't have to steal any information or prove wrongdoing. That's a plus. You look down at your planner while replying.

“Understood, I already have his contact information, I sent it to you earlier this afternoon,” You look up to see him nodding, “I've already been invited to afternoon tea hosted by Mr. Soejima. I'll work on getting closer to him there.”

This is what you’re known for, and he gives you a smile. “Impressive, you've already made arrangements with Mr. Soejima… I knew I could count on you.”

You used to live for compliments like this from the Boss, but it doesn't give you the glow you used to get. He only asks you to do one thing after all: be an excellent agent. And now it’s simply what is expected because in many cases, you have arrived. A long time ago.

“Sounds like you're well on your way to success as usual. Mr. Soejima was quite taken with you.”

Your heart rate quickens involuntarily. Oh dear. His spicy, woodsy scent lingers in your mind, as well as the only warmth he had -- the warmth of his lips on yours.

“...What makes you say that?” Smooth… just barely saving face while your mind was racing.

“You looked like you were enjoying...the dance with him.” His pause to watch for your reaction offends you. You are a professional.

You scoff, "I better have. It was part of my job to make it seem like I am having fun. You were the one who taught me that.”

He doesn't sound convinced. “Just a part of your job? Hmm. I wonder if that's the whole story. There were times when you weren't even looking at me.”

He is jealous because we found our Alpha and he knows it.

Oh, was he jealous? You feel a little relieved he was keeping an eye on you, but now you wonder about his intentions. Maybe he saw you had a crush on him previously. Maybe this was why he insisted on having you, despite marking your calendar for private time to deal with your heat, to perform this mission. Disgust rises in your core.

“I wouldn't have let him touch me if it weren't for the mission,” you hiss.

“I'll believe you this time. Just be careful prince charming doesn't sweep you off your feet. I'll be looking forward to your success.”

His smile seems genuine, but you know this is a test of your loyalty. Same old song. Same old routine. There’s only ever one correct answer.

“I won't let you down.” He ends the call.

You sigh. Being tense at the start of the mission is normal. You're just edgy staying at home. Especially when the dress you wore the night before still smells like him. You even used his lingering scent to help you get off during your heat. Now that the smell has mostly worn off, and your heat is over, you are eager to scrub the rest of his scent from your memory.

While there may not be as much obvious danger, you remind yourself that you'll need to stay on your guard. Soejima is an Alpha, and your Omega reacted very strongly to his scent. Suddenly, his smile invades your mind. It’s upstanding and refined, but there's darkness underneath.

Was it just your imagination? You're unsure if you want to see it. You’re going to have to keep close to Mr. Soejima and his associates to gather as much information as you can at Raven Resort.

You take a deep sigh. Well, at least you still have most of that tub of your beloved Lady Borden French Vanilla to polish off. You walk out to your living room and decide that you need to spend some time centering and getting your id back under control. Preferring to disassociate by having a movie marathon, you know the perfect man to get your mind off of Prince Charming incarnate. Waving your arm across your DVD collection you stop on Minority Report. Time to put it in and get comfortable.---It’s the weekend, and you make sure to dress far more conservatively than you did for the masquerade, an off-white lace dress with a high collar and three-quarter sleeves. The pencil shaped skirt of the garment comes down to your knees, but it does hug your curves. You’re ever aware that part of you hopes he’ll like it.

You step into the hotel lobby at agreed-upon time, and you see Soejima is already there, waiting. Seems like he always has his own bubble, separating him from the crowd. There’s no hint of the devilishness he displayed at party. You start wondering if you imagined it. The Boss’s warning echoing in your brain - he may look like prince charming, but you’re sure you’re prepared this time.

You want his attention, on your terms. You turn towards him, taking a step and loudly clicking your heels on the floor. He immediately notices the noise and spots you. His eyes widen in recognition and he breaks out into a gentle, welcoming smile. It's only the second time you’ve met. Mirroring facial expressions will make him feel closer to you. You smile back. He maintains eye contact as he walks to you. It doesn’t feel quite the same as it did at the party. Back then, he was a predator stalking an easy kill. Now, he is a living embodiment of charm. But his eyes darken, drawing you into their warm depths. You curse at yourself for falling for those damn eyes again. Time for grounding your senses. You’re wearing work perfume with suppressants. Your comm device is in your ear. You’re insistent that today will go by your terms today. His steady pace toward you is producing an almost hypnotic rhythm. You struggle with trying to ignore the smoke and spice of his scent.

“I’m so glad you would make it, Nagisa.” His voice sends gentle rumbles straight to your core.You bow deeply and reply, “Thanks again for the other night.”

“Don’t mention it. And if I may say…” He takes the opportunity to look you up and down. “You look absolutely stunning.”

A blush crawls across your cheeks. No mask to hide it today.

He takes your hand and brings it to his lips, “No matter how bewitching the mask, it's just an unnecessary decoration on a woman like you.”

Your hand slips from his cold grip as you reply, “You’re too kind. By the way, thank you for inviting me today.”

He smiles. “You’re a welcome addition to our little get together. Now if you’ll come this way...”

 He directs you to an elevator that goes directly to the upper floors. Although he makes no further contact, it nonetheless feels like he is escorting you on his arm. The perfect gentleman. You think back to your intel -- he owns the floor where he’s hosting the afternoon tea. Considering the masquerade, you brace yourself for this being far beyond the average get-together. You have no idea what to expect, and Soejima doesn’t seem keen on letting go of all his mysteries. You wonder if you can peel off his Prince Charming veneer and expose him for who he really is. Overcome with a feeling of exhilaration, you step on to the elevator with him.

[agentsokka]

Nott’s Conflicting Narratives

[[Spoilers for Campaign 2 up to Episode 75]]

Man. D’you ever get the need to talk about how much you love your favorite character? Because I am feeling PASSIONATE for a specific little goblin girl right now.

I love Nott. She’s the peanut butter to my jam, the sugar to my spice, the awkward green butterball mushing around in my heart. She’s my absolute FAVORITE character of the cast and one of my all-time favorite characters in general. So, of course, I feel the need to bend over backwards, snap my spine into a pretzel, and projectile vomit my absolute love for this woman all over your dashes.

In this piece, I wanted to talk about her personal growth over the story and how she’s evolved from what viewers believed was merely a skittish, oddball of a green powder monkey klepto into an equally odd but emotionally resonant mother desperate to reclaim her life and family.

In my opinion, Nott’s overarching story revolves around a mother attempting to recapture her personal narrative from a world that has tried to tear it away from her.

Let’s first establish Nott’s position as the “mother” of the Mighty Nein.

Time for a recap.

As we discover in episode 49, Nott is a little goblin girl, who was once a young halfling woman, who was once a halfling child. In her desperate dash to protect her family from goblin kidnappers, the halfling woman known as Veth Brenatto is recaptured and put to death. Her corpse is then reanimated into the flesh puppet goblin suit we know and love today. In this process, her skin, body, and even mind are reconstructed to be more goblin-esque – a situation which Veth vehemently despises. To put distance between herself and her former life, she renames herself “Nott the Brave,” an anagram of Veth Brenatto.

“They made me everything… that I thought I was. Not pretty…not good. Just not.”

This event is significant for a multitude of reasons, primarily of which revolve around Nott’s relationship with motherhood.

In her essay The Symbolic Annihilation of Mothers in Popular Culture, Berit Astrӧm (2015) observes that mother characters are routinely devalued in popular culture via what she terms “symbolic annihilation.” Gaye Tuchman (1978) originally coined the phrase to describe the way in which media trivializes, condemns, or outright excludes mothers, but Astrӧm extends it to include the removal of mothers from narratives entirely.

We’ve seen this play out time and time again: for example, how many times have we questioned “what happened to the mother” in Disney movies? Often, we see that their exclusions leave little impact on the story and characters, with many media franchises unceremoniously minimizing the mother’s very existence as if it held no more meaning than an ironically titled paperweight.

Now, how does this apply to Nott?

Nott’s character is an inversion of this trope. Although she is killed by the goblins as per the trope’s wont, the narrative does not revolve around her son or husband trying to cope with her loss. Instead, the narrative remains centered on she the mother as this little goblin girl punches a fist through the earth and screams NOT TODAY SATAN. Her story revolves around her identity as a mother, and it takes shape in a plethora of different ways.

Nott exhibits many atypical characteristics that are not commonly associated with the idealized form of “motherhood.” She’s loud, she’s boisterous, she’s mischievous. She’s self-admittedly “strange” and eccentric. She saw it suit to dump a pitcher of cucumbers and proceed to eat them off the ground. Absolutely no one can convince me that this a goblin-specific trait and not just Nott being her weird little self.

And yet, Nott exhibits many typically feminine/motherly traits as well. In spite of her vulgarities, she’s gentle and kind towards Caleb, and it takes some time for their relationship to evolve beyond that. She likes dresses! She likes feeling pretty even though the situation rarely allows her to be. She likes to collect buttons and baubles and cutesy trinkets. And most of all, Nott expresses love. Beau’s the first person in the group to say it to someone else, but Nott is the first of anyone to emphatically express her love for this ragtag group of misfits they’ve wrangled together.

“I know we have things to do, and I want to do them, but the reason I want to find these people and rescue them is not to use them, or not because we’ve invested time in them. But it’s because… I love them.”

Nott is very much “the Heart” of the Mighty Nein, in spite of her idiosyncrasies and eccentricities. In this sense, she views herself as their mother – not just as Caleb’s parental figure, but the entirety of the group. It’s not just a meme, with adoption papers scrawled across a series of barbeque-stained napkins in chicken scratch. Over time, she’s genuinely adopted the M9 as her own, welcoming them under her stubby wings. Nott has said as much several times, but most significantly in episode 76, when she told Caleb that she wanted to protect everyone on their own individual quests.

“I protected you so that you could go on your journey and find yourself and fulfill your quest. I feel like I’ve got to do that for everyone now because, I don’t know, deep down inside it feels like my quest might not be done till everyone else has figured out who they are and what they want in this world. Everyone’s seeking something, you know?”

This protection – this overwhelming need to shield, to safeguard, to provide security and aegis – is crucial to recognizing what Nott is as a parent. A protector. A defender. Nott firmly believes that protection is representative of parenthood, its indistinguishable mirror image.

How do I know this? Nott confirmed it word-for-word in episode 13, when she explained her relationship with Caleb to the rest of the M9.

“Caleb and I have a very special…relationship. And it’s that of a parent and a child. But I am the parent, you do understand that, correct? I protect him. He’s my boy, and I keep him safe. … It’s my job to protect him, because I love him, and I am his protector.”

Nott clearly associates parenthood with protection. She reiterates it again and again. If you fall under her protection, you are her child. It doesn’t matter how old you are, how strong you are, how quick you are – she will protect you to the very last inch of her life. And over the course of the campaign, many, many times over, she’s nearly given said life to ensure the protection of others. An early example is when Nott threw her body over Caleb’s to shield him from attack. In 45, she drew the blue dragon’s attack to save Jester, shaving her hit points down to 1.

Nott again establishes this in 76.

“So I feel like, I need to be there to protect you all. To rescue you when there’s a dragon about to kill you and use my body as a shield; or to pull Beauregard out of the mouth of a worm; or to catch you when someone falls with a feather fall spell.”

This is a fundamental aspect of her character, and explains the majority of her actions. Even though she’s anxious and scared, Nott powers through her fears to protect her loved ones at any cost necessary – with a few nips to soothe her nerves, of course.

And as sweet as this gremlin of a goblin is, she doesn’t extend her protection to everyone she meets – she’s self-sacrificial, but only to her proverbial children, after they’ve spent more than enough time becoming comfortable with one another. In episode 75, for example, Nott suggested that Reani was expendable and thus should go first when facing the dragon. She likes Reani, sure, but if it came down to her and the M9? The outsider would be the first to go.

This further lends itself to the idea that Nott perceives protection as parenthood, self-sacrifice as motherly duty – she’s not just a nice gal throwing down her life in order to ensure the welfare of others, but only for the select few she deems in need of her protection.

However, Nott isn’t just a mother, which comes to the crux of this post. For the majority of the campaign, Nott has primarily identified as a mother figure – to Luc, to Caleb, to the M9 at large. But over time, she’s steadily developed into wanting to be more than just a mother. At the very least, she’s expressed her desires more openly over the course of the show as time has gone on. This development intersects with her identity issues as Nott struggles to reconcile two conflicting lives.

Throughout her short life – and I do mean short, she’s only about 25 (I’m turning 25 this month and the extent to which this little goblin has pushed herself through sends me into anxiety just by association) – Nott’s life has followed a very, shall we say, standard route. She’s always been someone’s daughter – someone’s wife – someone’s mother. Veth Brenatto grew up the small town of Felderwin with very few expectations of their people beyond the usual sort, assuming that said small town followed real-world small-town culture. As such, Veth traversed domestic paths in life, not straying far from those expectations. In spite of her intelligence and capabilities, Veth remained a housewife essentially, assisting Yeza when need be and taking care of Luc. This narrative held steady for some time.

And everything changed when the Fire Nation goblins attacked.

Veth’s narrative as a mother, as a wife, as a little halfling from the little hovel hole of Felderwin, was abruptly disrupted when she became Nott. Her narrative was stolen from her, manipulated and perverted into something she deemed grotesque. Forced to co-exist with the tribe, Nott becomes the torturer’s assistant – the absolute antithesis to motherhood in the representative forebearer of violence, depravity, and death. Her desire to nurture and protect is met with oppression and bloodshed.  

It’s no wonder Nott detests the narrative the goblins thrust upon her. Her goblin exterior fundamentally represents a life forced upon her, a narrative chosen without her consent.

“I just don't like how I feel when I see my hands or my feet. They just feel wrong. I want to be different.”

“I'll be honest. I've started forgetting what it feels like to be a halfling, to be me. I don't remember everything any more. I feel like every day I'm more and more goblin. I don't like it at all. I don't like myself at all.”

“There's still something that's not right about this. This is not my body. It's just not me. And people liking you is nice, and people accepting you is nice. But if you feel wrong inside your own skin, then, well, you can't be a good mother or a good wife, or a good anything, really.”

Upon escaping, her narrative again changes: she’s no longer anyone’s assistant, but existing for herself. And only herself. Before she meets Caleb, she’s alone, unwanted by the populace at large and unable to return to Felderwin. She’s no longer a mother – just detested vermin looking to steal and connive, so people would believe.

That is partially why, in my opinion, she adopts Caleb as her own so quickly. Of course, Nott sees him as a means to an end in the beginning, as does he. They both admit that they had ‘other intentions’ in staying together than purely out of goodness of their hearts. However, it is evident that well before the campaign started, these two forged a bond that went beyond that of convenience. Nott fills the hole in her heart, the hole in her very narrative, by becoming Caleb’s adoptive mother, assisting him in his ventures and protecting him whenever need be. By doing this, she is able to choose for herself, to differentiate herself from the goblin’s narrative of pain and misery. She is no longer just “not,” she is Nott, Nott the Brave.

As was aforementioned, Nott’s motherhood narrative grows to include the rest of the M9. However, with time, she reaches a conflict within herself: while she hates being a goblin, she enjoys her new lifestyle. Is she afraid? She’s fucking petrified. Yet like the rest of the group, she’s fallen in love with adventuring, the highs and lows that demonstrate the extent of her capabilities. Nott isn’t just an assistant anymore – she can do magic! She can fight, she can pick locks, she can adapt firearms and create explosive weaponry. Hell, she can wield a crossbow with the dexterity of an Olympic gymnast and liquidate giant spiders into bloody pastes on the wall. With the M9, she’s seeing the world, far beyond the borders of Felderwin and her small-town life.

And suddenly, Veth’s narrative as a stay-at-home mom isn’t so appealing anymore.

Is there a problem inherent to existing as a housewife and full-time mother? No, of course not. Nevertheless, Nott has found herself in a strange position – she longs for her old life and family, ripped away from her by the gnarled claws of fate, yet remains enthralled by the wonders this new narrative can offer her.

In 36, Nott reveals to Cadeuceus that she believes the M9 could be representative of a new life for her – a new narrative.

“I’m not a religious lady, but I will tell you that, for me, this journey with the group has been a bit of a sign. … A sign that there could be, for all of us, another chapter.”

It’s a new chapter, a new narrative, a new life for Nott. One she could never have imagined possible for her in the confines of her small town. And by god, does she want to live it. Nott expressed this desire to live this life to its fullest, to live this new narrative to its fullest, in 27 after Molly’s death.

“Mollymauk was a rainbow man who represented life at its fullest. And. That’s what I want, even more than… even more than what we’re going for before. Together, we’re sort of living life now, aren’t we? And before, we were… in the darkness, so. … I want to find them so we don’t go back to the way it was, when we were hiding in the shadows and, and ducking into alleys to get away from people. We were safe, but we weren’t really alive, right? With these people, we’re having fun and winning contests. And. And killing bad guys, and rescuing children…it’s amazing.”

I’m of the opinion that Nott’s speech is reflective of both her experiences with Caleb as well as her own in Felderwin. She was living before – and she enjoyed it, yes! She obviously loves Yeza and Luc. But now, she’s seeing what life can be like when lived to its fullest, seeing what life can be like when she spearheads her own narrative. She gleans inspiration from Mollymauk, who decided to head his own narrative and remain unrepentantly unconcerned with what his past might have been like. With his death, Nott becomes convinced that she needs to truly lead this life, lead this newfound narrative with this family she’s amassed.

But with that realization comes conflict once the dredges of Nott’s previous life begin seeping into her narrative. This is especially once Nott reunites with Yeza in Xhorhas.

“Caleb, I’m feeling uneasy. … I, because. What the fuck am I doing here? I just was reunited with my husband, and I’ve – I -- we were given a chance to go on an adventure and I jumped at it like that. Am I a bad person? I just left him, I ditched my husband in a den of monsters to go adventuring with you.”

Rather than hold down the fort with her newly reunited husband, Nott instinctively leaps at the chance for adventure, the chance to go out and see more of the world. She doesn’t even think about it, it’s just oh? A side quest? Well fuck me rosy, time to knock my crossbow. Because that’s what Nott would do, not Veth. And once she realizes what she’s done, Nott begins wondering if she’s a terrible person for living her life. She begins questioning her intentions, wondering whether her actions are the ploy of some subconscious desire to remain free, remain independent of her responsibilities. 

“You don’t think I’m just…delaying the inevitable? Scared of going back to my old life, or anything?”

Nott further recognizes the disparity between her two lives and how wide the gulf between them yawns. 

“It’s just, I just don’t know like. Is he gonna…even like me anymore, I’m so different. Not just physically, I do different things now. … Will I like it? I’ve gotten a taste of adventure and, and seeing the world, and now I’ve gotta go back and be a…a housewife again?”

Nott doesn’t even know if she wants to be called Veth anymore. Not by people who have come into her life since Veth’s apparent demise. When Caleb asks her in 59, she dismisses the question and asserts that they should just go with Nott for now.

She asks Caleb to tell her what she should do, in a desperate plea for someone else to give her direction in life. Because driving your own narrative is hard. It’s a painful, painful process, full of ups and downs and mistakes and setbacks. But Caleb fundamentally cannot decide her narrative for her -- it’s Nott’s narrative, not his. He can help her along and support her, but he will never be able to direct it. She has to do it for herself. 

(As a side note: I love, love, love how far Nott and Caleb’s relationship has come. Prior to the Xhorhas arc, Nott never bothered him with her problems, drudging on ahead as she didn’t want to “distract” him from his personal quest. She’s exactly like a mother, masking her insecurities and fears from her young child so that they won’t worry about what they can’t control. And now, as her child has grown up and become more aware of his mother’s struggles, she’s leaning on him more and more for support. It truly mirrors parent-child relationships and is representative of how far these characters have grown over time.)

With these conversations, it becomes evident that Nott is seeking more than family, more than the life of a housewife. And yet, simultaneously, she embodies the narrative of a mother, loves being a mother, and loves the people in both her immediate and found families. To merge these narratives will be an almost insurmountable task, from her perspective -- how can you raise a family when you’re constantly adventuring? You can’t endanger their lives. Conversely, is it responsible of a parent to endanger their own life, potentially risking everything for adventure’s sake? To widow your husband and orphan your child if something goes horribly wrong? If she becomes a housewife again, how long can she keep up the charade pretending she’s a halfling? If she stays, will she forever remain uncomfortable in her own skin? How long will she even live? Nott is juggling so many plates, and dropping even one could result in the partial devastation of these narratives she’s cultivated.

And she’s scared. She’s really, really scared. Nott is petrified of what comes next -- she knows it’s inevitable that she’s going to have to face these conflicting narratives in the future. She knows she can’t ignore it forever. And that prospect terrifies her. She says this explicitly in episode 69.

“I'm just scared, that's all. I'm scared of...I'm scared of what happens next. You know? I don't know what's going to happen after this. I found my husband. I found my son. And I want to go back with them so much. ... But I'm worried that if I go back, that'll be it.”

This overwhelming, paralyzing sense of fear has driven Nott to drink. Even more so than usual. Over the course of the show, Nott has made no secret of her drinking habits. She’s a drunkard -- she knows it, the M9 knows it. You, me, and the NSA agent watching you behind the screen know it. But it’s no accident the M9 has begun commenting more and more on her habitual intoxication. She simply is more intoxicated than usual. She’s depending more and more on her alcoholism to get through each day.  

Nott is of course afraid of enemies, of secret dangers lurking behind every corner. She’s a perpetually anxious person, constantly filled with frenetic energy. But these anxieties have worsened ten-fold with the inclusion of her intersecting narratives and responsibilities. And honestly? With all that going on in her brain, Nott just flat out doesn’t want to think about it. She wants to live in the moment -- not in the past, not in the future, but the present.

“I'm thinking about things. And I don't want to think about things. I don't want to think about anything. I just want to be on an adventure with you guys and that's all I want and I don't want to think about anything else past that.” 

And so, she turns to drinking. As she tells Caleb, drinking is her own form of self-care. While she may protect others, she herself needs protection too -- from her own thoughts, fears, and inner demons. From the physical dangers that manifest in front of her very person. 

“I know you all have my back, I know you all care for me, but no one has my front. So this flask that I drink from, it’s not for fun, I’m not taking nips because I’m looking for fun. If I wanted fun I’d be in Nicodranus with my family. This flask is my shield. It allows me to do these things, to go forward and to protect all of you.”

Nott needs to shield herself from fears that she may not come back to her family. She needs to shield herself from fears that she won’t find a remedy to her situation, that she won’t ever be Veth again. She needs to shield herself from fears that these conflicting narratives will never reconcile, thereby isolating her from either family she’s come to love as her own. 

All in all, Nott is currently torn between two lives -- one whose existence is linked to traditional motherhood, and another whose fate is yet undecided. And yet, by continuing with the M9, Nott has found herself on the path towards potential self-realization. This route she treads has the potential to shed the narrative the goblins thrust upon her and totally make one anew, one that is her own. In that sense, it’s representative of what this narrative means as a whole: Nott is more than just a mother. She’s a mother with autonomy. A mother with hopes, dreams, and aspirations. Unlike Berit Astrӧm’s (2015) analysis of symbolic annihilation, she is more than just a paper cutout of idealized motherhood left to be abandoned.

Indeed, Nott can be a mother without being the mother archetype.

Nott will certainly struggle to reconcile these narratives. She loves being a mother, but she clearly wants to love herself too. She wants to be more than just a mother, and thus she quests to recapture her personal narrative -- one where she can be both a mother and retain her personal autonomy. 

I love the nuance and complexity Sam has demonstrated with this character, and I’m sure we’re only going to see more in the future.

[gravecinema]

Why I Had to Rewatch One Cut of the Dead - 07/13/2020

One Cut of the Dead which came out in 2017 is one of the best new zombie movies that I have seen, and the best thing about it is that it’s not even really a zombie movie. Before I go any further, I have to issue a spoiler warning, because there is no way I can extensively talk about this movie without giving away the twists it contains, and the twists are really what make this movie great. Because of how new the movie is, and how little is currently known about it with the mainstream audience, I feel it is best to let you all know that you simply must watch it first before you go any further. It is currently streaming on the Shudder channel, and you can get a free trial subscription for the channel when you first sign up at any time.

The movie is in subtitles, so you will have to actively watch it and not just browse on your phone at the same time, like I can also be guilty of doing. If you have a problem with this, then please, get over it. This movie is so worth the watch, and you’ll be glad that you did watch it. Now that we’ve got the disclaimer out of the way, let’s delve deeper into what this movie is all about, and why I had to rewatch it.

**SPOILERS AHEAD**

The movie starts with a girl being attacked by a zombie, but we then quickly see that this is merely a take on the set of a horror film. The director emotionally goes off on the cast in a very Stanley Kubrick type of way, and we then follow the cast interactions between this and their next take. As the scene starts going on, I soon realize watch I’m watching. This movie is all being done in one very long take. I quickly connect the title of the film with what I’m seeing, and I conclude that this entire movie is going to be done in one very long take. An impressive feat to pull off for any movie, and the first time I would have seen such a thing.

I often see long takes used by directors before, and it’s always an impressive thing to watch and realize that that is what’s happening as you watch it. Joss Whedon has done it multiple times in Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and Quentin Tarantino has done it for artistic effect as well. But, these were done just for single scenes, and I have never before seen it done for an entire movie. This instantly had One Cut of the Dead grab my attention, as I needed to see just how they were going to pull this off.

As I was watching this one long take, I started to notice little things that seemed out of place, or just very obvious screenwriting tropes that would belong in a film by lazy filmmakers, even though doing a film in one take is the last thing a lazy filmmaker would ever do. The scene where the actor talks about not having any cell coverage is a well-known modern trope in horror films, and I thought it was very blatant to point it out. The one girl finding a very conveniently placed axe and oddly pointing it out also stuck out like a sore thumb to me. At times, the director would pop out of nowhere to shout for the camera to keep rolling as his cast was being attacked by real zombies. During one moment, the camera would linger on the young actress for an awkward amount of time. Perhaps the strangest thing was when a character who was killed with the axe would just randomly pop up in frame and scream with the axe still sticking out of her head, before falling back down again. Then finally, there is this strange start and stop sequence as the final zombie is going for the final girl before she finally kills him.

I was impressed by the very long take I was seeing, but I couldn’t help but notice all these strange inconsistencies that I was seeing. These odd moments just weren’t gelling with what this complete movie should be to me as I was watching it. And then the credits start to roll after about a half hour into the movie... Out of everything, this made me shout out “What!?” the most. This movie can’t be over now. What the hell is going on here!? And then the twist happened. All the inconsistencies I had been seeing had a purpose, and they were all about to make beautiful, hilarious, and perfect sense.

Once the credits were done rolling and the long take was over, the start of act 2 takes us back to one month ago. This is where we see the assembling of the cast and crew behind the movie within the movie. As it turns out, the very long take we just watched was the live broadcast of a special network presentation for a TV network. They wanted to use a gimmick of having the whole half hour broadcast being done in one very long take, hence the name One Cut of the Dead.

In the next half hour, we get to see the interactions between the cast and crew behind the scenes, their personalities and how they feel about one another. We find out that the young male lead actor was a diva. The director’s daughter has a history of working behind the scenes. One of the zombie actors has a drinking problem, and we see a young PA that always wanted to work the camera. The last big reveal is that two cast members for the broadcast had to be replaced the day of broadcast by the director himself and his spouse with little notice. This whole act sets us up for the biggest payoff in the movie. In the final act of the movie, we get to rewatch the first act of the movie again, but this time, it’s the view behind the scenes that we get to watch and follow as it’s happening.

Everything that was setup until now gets its payoff, and it’s an absolute joy to watch it all unfold. The director from the start of the movie is revealed as the actual director filling in, and he’s using this as an opportunity to completely go off on the actors for being divas during the whole rehearsal process. That’s why he seemed so extreme at the start of the movie. We see the actor with the drinking problem getting totally wasted before the camera starts rolling, and we see it cause all sort of chaos behind the scenes as the actors try adjust to the unexpected complications this creates as they keep going, just like in a live stage play.

This is the reason why the one actor mentions their lack of cell coverage, because he’s just improvising in the moment by pointing out a very obviously trope in horror, since that is the first thing that comes to his mind. The moments where we see the director pop back in and then shout for the cameras to keep rolling is because those are actual mistakes and the director is shouting for the real crew behind the scenes to have the camera keep rolling, and not to the cameraman within the film. The actress finding the axe and pointing it out was because they needed to get an axe to her to fix a mistake, and just like the actor earlier with the cell phone, she couldn’t think of any other way to cover for it then just by pointing out how convenient it was.

We even start to get some payoff from the second act as the young PA gets a chance to pick up and take control of operating the camera during a mistake in all the chaos, and we get to see her do the things she wanted to do and even be praised for it. We get to see the director’s daughter take over assistant directing duties behind the scenes during this time, and we get to see how the crew tries to control the director’s wife while we discover the reason she had to stop acting was because she got too into her roles and went way too far with method acting. She even uses her self-defense techniques that we see her learning and showing off earlier while improvising to fend the crew off as she starts to actually try and attack the other actors. This is the reason why the camera lingers on the one actress for so long, and she later just randomly pops up into frame with an axe in her head. She was regaining consciousness in that moment after the crew had to knock her out while the camera was lingering on the actress for that awkward amount of time.

Our final payoff that we get is when we see the camera crane getting knocked off the roof in all the chaos, and the crew have to solve how to get the final shot that they need. They improvise a plan to use a human pyramid, and then have to buy some time in order to set it up. This is the reason for the last zombie just randomly starting and stopping to go after the final girl from the first part of the movie. They manage to pull off the final shot, and we end the movie with a joyous crew having been able to pull this off, while the director is proud of his daughter for helping complete the final shot while being inspired from a moment from their past together.

I was amazed. I immediately had to restart the movie after it was over so that I could see the whole beginning long shot again after knowing all the extra information about it that I had just discovered. I finally got to understand why all those odd moments in the long take stood out to me, and also why they were supposed to. It made my second viewing of it just as satisfying as the first. This is also why this “zombie” movie isn’t even really a zombie movie. It’s actually one of the cleverest comedies that I have seen in a good long while. The entire premise of One Cut of the Dead reminds me of another great comedy about the behind the scenes making of a show with the cast and crew called Noises Off.

In Noises Off, we get to see the performance of a show in three acts. The first act shows us the contentious final dress rehearsal of the show from the seats of the audience with the director. The second act shows us a live performance of the show from the backstage area as escalating cast and crew drama starts to interfere with the performance of the show. The final act of the show presents us one last performance from the seats of the audience again, and the show is completely falling apart with the cast and crew going crazy behind the scenes. This is one of the funniest comedies that I’ve seen, and any other theatre person such as myself would love it just as much as I do. If you love Noises Off, then you would also love One Cut of the Dead, and vice versa.

I wonder if one day any full-length movie will actually try to all be done in one true single long take, without any clever camera edits. It would require a very solid script and a lot of preproduction work to successfully pull off. The long take lasting 37 minutes in One Cut of the Dead at the start of the movie took 2 days and 6 takes for the cast and crew to get just right. It’s a truly impressive feat on a small budget film of only $25,000, and the cast and crew should be very proud of what they’ve accomplished. What they were able to pull off definitely makes One Cut of the Dead one of my favorite films of the past decade, and well worth a watch and rewatch for anyone.

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

The Nuptial Necessity - Chapter 13

A 12xRose Human AU

Despite an unglamorous job description, Rose loves the work she does with The Thistle Foundation, a charity founded by her best friend’s great-uncle.  It doesn’t hurt that her boss, her friend’s father, is easy on the eyes.  With a great job, wonderful friends and a loving family, life couldn’t be better – except for having someone to share it with.

All of that is threatened, though, when the great-uncle dies – and sets a strange condition for his nephew to inherit, jeopardizing the Foundation and Rose’s future, sparking a chain of events that might just get her everything she dreamed of and more.

Chapters will be posted on Saturdays and Tuesdays.  Many thanks to my beta, @stupidsatsuma

Rated: Explicit, for eventual smut

@doctorroseprompts

AO3  |  Masterlist

—

Friday - the wedding, pt 1/2

“Rose.  Rose?  Rose!”

“Hmm?”  Rose looked up, blinking, at the sound of her name.  She’d been engrossed in examining her fresh manicure, and by the exasperation in her mother’s voice, it wasn’t the first time she’d been called.  “What?”

Scowl firmly in place, Jackie huffed.  “What’s wrong with you? You look like you’re in space, and not on Cloud 9.  It’s your wedding day- why aren’t you happier?”

“I am happy,” Rose forced a smile, conscious of the woman behind her doing her hair.  “Everything’s lovely, it’s a gorgeous day.  I’m fine.”

Her mother narrowed her eyes, and Rose calmly returned the gaze; she’d learned long ago how to deal with Jackie when she got like this, and refused to flinch.  Eventually the other woman nodded, though she still didn’t look satisfied. “Fine.  Now, I was thinking-”

-

Wrapping her dressing gown tighter around herself, Rose wandered down the stairs to the first floor.  With the reception only a few hours away the floor was a bustle of activity, as the catering company’s waitstaff finished setting out tables and placing settings in anticipation of the dinner to come.  Trying to keep out of the way she crept into the room, standing in the corner to observe the goings-on.  One long table was set for thirty in an L shape, the longer section by the windows. A DJ booth was set up in the corner near her, with a fabricated dance floor set up to avoid scratching the original wood flooring.

Keeping to the wall she made her way closer to the table, stopping behind the chair designated for her after the ceremony.  When I sit there, it will be as Mrs. Malcolm Tucker, she thought.  Viscountess Gallifrey.

She felt nothing.

Even standing here, the morning of their wedding, looking at their reception space, it didn’t feel real, tangible.

Her heart hurt.

“Ma’am?”

Startled, she turned to find a nervous waiter next to her, a tray of teacups in hand, clearly setting them at the places.  “Sorry,” she mumbled, and they did an awkward half-dance moving around each other.

Suddenly overwhelmed by the seemingly-loud sounds of the setup, she fled.

-

Trailing her fingers along the shelves Rose breathed deeply, letting the quiet air of the library soothe her nervous energy.  It smelled of smoke from a wood-burning burning fire, fine whisky, old books – and Malcolm.

From her very first visit to the room, way back in her first year at uni, it had been one of her favorite spots on Earth.  She’s spent countless hours in the library at her parents’ mansion, but it hadn’t been until she arrived here, in a room that had served that purpose for literally hundreds of years, that it brought her the joy and comfort she’d always instinctively known she would find amongst books.  Each one promised an adventure, travels through space and time, without having to leave a cosy chair.

Nothing changed; no telltale creak of the door, no footsteps on the carpet, nothing to inform her senses, but all the same, she knew suddenly that he was there, from the spark of electricity that raced across her skin.

“It’s bad luck for you to see me before the ceremony,” she murmured, not lifting her eyes from the copy of Sherlock Holmes in front of her.

“I don’t believe in luck,” Malcolm murmured, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his skin.  “Besides, I’m reasonably certain that only applies to the dress, not the bride.  After all, I saw Missy the morning of our wedding.”

Rose’s lips twitched, and she arched an eyebrow at the shelf.  “You’re divorced.”

“Exactly.  If the bad luck bit was true, we would’ve been married for much, much longer than only five years.”

She laughed at that, reluctantly turning around to find him grinning just behind her, looking inordinately pleased with himself.  “I suppose that’s fair.  If you’re not careful, though, you’ll get a reputation as a five-year husband.  What will the next Mrs. Tucker think?”  The idea of him remarrying was enough to make her breath catch, her heart physically aching.  But she kept her smile, not wanting to go there with him in front of her.

“Oh, there won’t be another Mrs. Tucker,” he said breezily, momentarily freezing before clearing his throat.  “I mean, I wouldn’t- not again. Twice is enough for me.  I doubt I would ever meet anyone who could change my mind.”

It was just wishful thinking, a projection of what she wanted that to mean, but for a single heartbeat she heard a soft, wistful tone in his voice, one that said I’m not letting you go, I love you, promise me forever.  “I suppose we’ll see,” she sighed.  “Why’re you here, anyway?”

His brow furrowed, and she waited as he searched his memory.  “Oh! Apparently you’re worrying everyone; Clara thought you might’ve done a runner.”

“I’m right here,” she shrugged, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, painfully conscious that under her dressing gown, she wore only a slip and lacy lingerie.  (A girl could hope – she wanted to be prepared just in case the wedding night turned into a wedding night.)  “Not even wearing my trainers.”  She held a foot out for inspection, earning herself a chuckle when he saw her fluffy slippers.

“I see that.  Can we…”

Rose let him guide her to the plush sofa in front of the fireplace, delicately curling her legs under her and adjusting the hem of her robe for decency, though it didn’t help when his eyes lingered on her bare thigh for a moment.  “What’s up?”

Malcolm sighed, leaning back and running his hands over his face.  “You don’t have to go through with this,” he said, bluntly but not unkindly.  “I’m asking far too much of you, and would absolutely understand if you want to back out.  You haven’t been yourself these last few weeks, and I can’t bear to be the cause of your unhappiness.  Truly.”

“You’re not!  You’re not.”  The idea was so absurd that Rose couldn’t help but blurt it out, hurt but not entirely surprised that he’d drawn that conclusion; hadn’t Clara warned her he thought just that last weekend?  “It’s just… this isn’t what I had pictured.  Not that I’ve ever spent that much time planning my wedding, or my future, but…”

“I know.”  He smiled wryly.  “I never considered marrying again- I thought, after the divorce, that I would spend the rest of my life alone.  And that… was okay.”  His eyes softened, and he reached out, fingertips barely grazing over her knee before his hand settled firmly on the couch next to her, not quite touching.  “I realize this isn’t ideal.  I don’t want you to regret doing this.  But… I promise you, I am a good husband.  We’ve always enjoyed each other’s company, and… we make each other laugh, and smile, and at the end of the day, that’s what makes a marriage work.  It’s not necessarily about the- the physical.  They say ‘marry your best friend’ for a reason.”

Rose bit her lip to keep from smirking.  “And how’d that work out for you?”

“I got Clara, so, brilliant.  Come on- it can’t be any worse than your current situation,” he pointed out.  “Besides, blokes seem to love married women, maybe this is just what you need.  So, what do you say?”

She gave into the laughter, settling her hand on his and running her thumb over his knuckles.

“I suppose I say… I do.”

-

Malcolm stared critically at the reflection in front of him, tugging on the hem of the waistcoat before smoothing it down.  The clock he could just see out of the corner of his eye told him he had twenty more minutes until it was time to go down for the ceremony, and the longer he was left alone with his thoughts, the more jittery he became.  It was almost as if by soothing Rose’s fears he’d absorbed then, making him doubt everything.

This is the right thing, he told himself once again, narrowing his eyes at the glass.  She agreed to it, and I believe her – Rose Tyler does nothing she doesn’t want to do.  This will make both of our lives better- easier- and won’t change all that much.  It’s a signature on the line and that’s it.

His romantic heart, usually kept buried deep inside him, locked away since before his divorce, continued to bleed all over his sleeve.  Why doesn’t she love me?  It was a ridiculous question, of course, his rational mind knew that- the greater question would be why she would- if she did- but at the end of the day a small boy with taped-up glasses who was a bit too much of an odd duck for the popular kids still lived in his chest, wishing people would like him while doing everything possible to keep them at arm’s length, or further.  That was part of why he and Missy had gotten so deeply entrenched in each other – they’d spent most of their childhood each other’s only friend, and they’d mistaken that for love.

Sometimes he wished he could go back to his teenage self, awkward and gangly at fifteen and overly devoted to Missy, and tell him that what he felt wasn’t love, not real love, not the kind the songs and poems and books and movies were about.  That he’d know it when he found it, mid-forties and utterly enchanted with his assistant.  But, of course, if he did that, if he saved himself the heartbreak of an ill-fated relationship and marriage with Missy, he wouldn’t have his daughter.  His beautiful, precious, wonderful, awe-inspiring little girl, who pushed him to be better just by believing that he was.

And without her, he wouldn’t have met Rose.

“Dad?”

Startling violently he spun on his heel, nearly falling over in his surprise at being yanked so thoroughly from his thoughts.  “Yes?”

“All right there?” Clara asked, unable to full mask her smirk as she watched him from the door.  “You should be more comfortable.”

“I’m fine.”  Brushing his hands down along his coat, he crossed his arms.  “What do you want?”

“Nice.”  She moved inside, rearranging her expression to appear more sympathetic, but unable to fool him – her eyes still sparkled.  “Now, I need to talk to you, it’s serious.”

Sitting himself down on the bench at the end of his bed, he watched her arrange herself on the loveseat across from him.  “I’m all ears.”

“So, I was talking to the reverend about the ceremony,” Clara started, smoothing the skirt of her dress over her knees.  “And he said there’s this rule- it’s really stupid, and it really sucks.”

Malcolm’s brow furrowed, confused.  Despite her attempts at appearing severe and serious, her tells of lying gave her away- what she was lying about he wasn’t quite sure, but the way she covered her elbow confirmed it.  (Once of his great accomplishments as a father, in his own humble opinion, was convincing her as a little girl that when she lied, her elbow would turn green.  Somehow, despite becoming a teacher, she’d never realized the truth; it was a foolproof way of fact-checking any story, which frustrated her to no end as a teenager, unable to tell how he always knew she was lying.)

“Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“Okay, so, he said that the best man isn’t supposed to really know the bride, or at least, not be close to her.  You know, for perspective, so he can properly advise the groom, that sort of thing.”

What?  “I don’t follow,” he said honestly.  Clearly she had a reason for this, but he couldn’t see the point – it made no sense.  Why not just say you would rather stand up for Rose?  That, he could understand- he was Clara’s father, but after more than a decade of friendship, she and Rose were the sisters the other had never had.  But why string him along like this, until ten minutes before the ceremony?

“I’m sorry, Daddy, I just… don’t know what to do.”  Her eyes sparkled, bottom lip clamped firmly between her teeth, and when her gaze trailed behind him, he frowned, though it was the voice that made him turn to look himself.

“I may be able to help with that.”

Without thinking Malcolm rose to his feet, staring at the doorway with his mouth open wide, unable to believe his eyes.

“Brigadier?”

[ventivante]

Part One summary | can be found here! genre | jennifer’s body!au, college!au, horror, supernatural, humor, angst, demon!wooyoung; wooyoung x reader, mingi x reader warnings | language, discussions of death, some blatant blasphemy, and very bad/cliche humor word count | 2.1k

DISCLAIMER: this fic contains lots of dark subject matter and i will put any specific trigger warnings before each part. i do not condone the unhealthy relationships portrayed in this fic, nor do i believe the characters’ real life counterparts to display these behaviors.

happy halloween y’all!

“God, just shoot me in the face,” Wooyoung whined aloud, leaning his head back to emphasize just how unhappy he was with studying.

“Stop, you’re gonna get us kicked out again,” you whispered across the table at him.

“Good! I hate this place anyway, it reeks of decaying dreams and B.O.,” Wooyoung announced dramatically, his voice still at full volume.

Against your better judgement, you’d invited Wooyoung to study with you at the library. It was against your better judgement for two reasons: first, because Wooyoung didn’t function well in environments where you needed to be quiet and you were both already on the librarian’s shit list, and second, because you felt like you owed it to him after ignoring him all weekend.

Another unspoken reason you weren’t ready to admit was that Wooyoung had been acting . . . weird over the past few days. Even weirder than he normally was. For starters, he had dyed his hair—gone were the black locks you had grown up alongside, now replaced by sandy blond, perfectly gelled movie-star hair. His response to being asked why he’d changed it?

I got bored, he had told you, as if it were the simplest question in the world.

Of course, you knew that abrupt hairstyle changes usually took place in the midst of an emotional crisis, but you hadn’t pressed the issue further. If Wooyoung wanted to talk about things that were bothering him, he eventually would on his own terms—you had learned that the hard way.

Not only had he changed his hair, but he had started dressing really different as well. Normally Wooyoung opted for comfortable sweaters and hoodies, with some standard t-shirt-and-jeans ensembles thrown in the mix. Now he dressed as if his daily commute was on a Harley Davidson motorcycle. You didn’t know where his sudden sense of style had come from, but you guessed it may have had something to do with the aftermath of the party yet again.

Despite all of the red flags, you wanted to find out just what had caused the sudden changes, and you felt partially guilty that you had been the source of it. You figured if you spent more time with him, he would open up to you and finally forgive you.

“Come on, let’s get out of here and grab some sushi, I’m staaarved,” Wooyoung pouted as he rested his head on a propped fist, eyes wide and lower lip protruding in a wholly pathetic display.

Even though he had been acting strange, Wooyoung had been in very high spirits. He was constantly joking with you and laughing over the smallest things, not common indicators that Wooyoung was undergoing mental duress. His current behavior also wasn’t a surprise, as he’d always had a distaste for studying.

“Let me just finish these last couple sections,” you sighed as you flipped the page of your anatomy book.

“I can give you the short version: Adam shoves his dick into Eve’s vagina, boink boink boink, and that’s the miracle of life,” Wooyoung explained crudely, even throwing in a few vulgar gestures for added emphasis. “There, I even included curriculum for the Bible thumpers.”

You grimaced at his tactless anatomy lesson and shut your book without another word. “That’s gross and blasphemous.”

Wooyoung only shrugged before folding his hands on the table’s surface and fixing a now serious look on you. “Don’t tell me you’re still squeamish about sex, Y/N.”

“I’ve never been squeamish, I just don’t need to shout about it from the rooftops.” You hoped that the blush you were undoubtedly now sporting didn’t undermine your words.

“Oh, boo, so boring,” Wooyoung rolled his eyes and slumped back onto the table, his chin resting on his forearms.

“Hey guys.”

You jumped as someone slid into the seat next to you, scaring the daylights out of you. Your pen was raised, ready to attack your would-be assailant before you realized it was only Yunho—one of your and Wooyoung’s few mutual friends—who had made a sudden appearance.

“Can you not just drop in like that?” you asked, lowering the pen now that you were no longer in danger.

“I announced myself! Maybe you just need to have more awareness for your surroundings!” Yunho whispered shrilly.

“Shh!” A fourth person joined in, this time from the librarian desk, where the older woman was giving the three of you the evil eye as she let out a particularly firm shush. You ducked your head bashfully and gave her an apologetic wave, hoping to convey that you would keep your friends in check.

“Have you guys heard?” Yunho started again, now lowering his voice to a more library-friendly volume. “They found a dead kid in the woods out by Hongjoong’s frat house, where that huge party was this weekend.”

You straightened at the news, feeling your heart skip a beat. “What?”

“Well, not a kid kid, it was a student here,” Yunho continued. “But they found him just yesterday. They think it was some kind of animal attack—dude was ripped to shreds from what I heard.”

“Jesus,” you breathed, your stomach beginning to churn at the thought. “What kind of animal?”

“I dunno, a wolf or even a bear maybe?”

“Dumbass, there’s no bears around here,” Wooyoung chimed in, looking positively bored with the shift in conversation.

Yunho cast an offended glare on the newly-dyed blond. “Hey, it’s possible! Climate change, bitch! Animals can come crawling here from all over now, the polar bears are migrating.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes. “So you think this kid got mauled by a polar bear?”

“I’m just saying it’s possible.”

“Shhhhh!”

This time a student at the next table over had expressed their own irritation at the rising volume yet again. You sent them an apologetic nod of the head before turning back to your friends and lowering your voice once more. “Do we know for sure it’s an animal? Is there going to be like, an investigation or something?”

The taller boy shrugged and leaned a little closer to you to match your tone. “Cops were all over the place earlier but it’s calmed down a bit now. I think it’s officially been listed as an animal. Or, what they think it is at least. But I wouldn’t rule out the possibility that it’s some psycho killer, stalking young, vulnerable co-eds.” He grinned widely at the end of his statement, waggling his eyebrows in an exaggerated motion before poking you in the side.

You swatted his hand away and released a noise of discontent. “Don’t scare me like that.”

“Yunho, why don’t you make like a tree and leave before I chop you down at the knees?” Wooyoung posed, leaning forward on the table with an acidic smile stretching over his features.

“Come on, I’m just kidding,” Yunho laughed. “I’m sure that they’ll find whatever animal it was and put it down.”

You wished you could be as lighthearted about the situation as the other two, but the news brought on a sense of dread that was seeping into your stomach like sour milk. Had it really been a random animal attack? And if so, what kind of animal could rip a person to shreds, as Yunho had not-so-delicately put it? Or worse, what if there was a murderer wandering around campus waiting for their next victim to come along? Were you actually safe?

“There’s probably nothing to worry about at this point,” Yunho added, as if he were reading your mind.

“Good to know. On that note, I think it’s time for us to leave.” Wooyoung rose from his seat and gave you a pointed look.

This time, you actually agreed with him and began to gather your things, shoving them haphazardly into your bag. Wooyoung was at your side in the next second helping you before focusing his attention back onto Yunho.

“Try not to get eaten by a polar bear on your way home, Yunho,” Wooyoung winked.

“Bite me,” the taller boy quipped, but you and Wooyoung were already on your way to the door.

Darkness was quickly approaching as you walked beside Wooyoung back to your apartment. It made you weary, especially after hearing Yunho’s news about the attack. Your best friend, however, seemed completely unfazed by the potential danger as he slung an arm over your shoulders and hummed quietly.

“You aren’t worried?” you asked him.

“Worried? About what Yunho said?” he scoffed then and only pulled you closer to him. “Definitely not. And you shouldn’t be either. You’ve got me to protect you!”

You let out an amused bark of laughter. “You? The same person who makes me kill the spiders in your room?”

“That was when we were ten!” Wooyoung whined, giving you yet another pout. “I’m a man now, in case you hadn’t noticed!”

“Please spare me the toxic masculinity spiel,” you retorted, albeit with another giggle.

A comfortable silence fell over the two of you as you continued down the sidewalk. You allowed yourself to enjoy the moment, because it felt like it had been years since you were both this close—not just physically, but also on an emotional level. You took a second to glance up at your longtime best friend and study him.

Wooyoung’s skin glowed in the waning rays of sunlight, blemish free and smooth as fine porcelain. His nose was a little large, something he had always been concerned with, but you saw absolutely nothing wrong with it. Even his dark eyes shone brightly as the day faded into dusk. And if you weren’t mistaken, you could have sworn he had been hitting the gym too—the arm wrapped around you was firm and not as wiry as you remembered it being during childhood.

You hadn’t admitted it to him, but he had grown up to be very handsome, and sometimes you found yourself wondering how things would be if the two of you had been more than just friends. It had always been a passing thought before, but now as he held you against his side and you looked up at him, the thought didn’t seem . . . particularly bad.

Just as you were rounding the last corner before your building came into view, you decided to ask Wooyoung what you had been meaning to for the past few days.

“Wooyoung, you’re not mad at me, are you? About the party, I mean.”

There was a short pause and you felt Wooyoung’s hand squeeze your arm gently, just as your phone chirped from your pocket. Automatically, you reached for it, digging it out and bringing the device up to check the notification.

It was a text message from an unfamiliar number, which made you squint in confusion. A split second later, realization dawned on you and you let out a small gasp.

It had to be Mingi, the boy you had met at the party.

You smiled at the thought then quickly remembered you had been waiting on Wooyoung to answer your question. You glanced back up at him and saw that he was eyeing your phone with a furrowed brow. His arm now felt tense and heavy around your shoulders but his voice was still light when he spoke again.

“Your friend from the party?”

“Oh, yeah, I think so. I’ll text him later—”

Wooyoung’s arm dropped from your shoulders and he took a step away from you, creating distance that might as well have been a brick wall between you two. He stared down at his feet for a few moments then lifted his head and smiled weakly. You noticed that the smile failed to reach his eyes.

“Listen, Y/N—forget about what happened at the party. I told you, it wasn’t a big deal and I’m over it. I’ll catch you later, okay?”

Wooyoung started to turn away, shoving his hands into his pockets as he went. You felt your small window of opportunity slipping away, so you reached out for him, latching onto his jacket.

“Wait! Don’t you wanna come up and watch a movie or something?” you asked, eyes wide with an unspoken plea.

Wooyoung peeked over his shoulder at you while his lips curled into a lopsided smirk. “Maybe some other time. I’ve got dinner plans.”

[shalebridge-cradle]

Sibella probably spends more time in front of a mirror than most people. Not that she’s ever thought that’s a negative thing; there’s nothing wrong with taking pride in how you look. Hell, it’s practically a public service – everyone gets to enjoy her perfect makeup and her timeless sense of fashion, and she gets to enjoy being enjoyed.

Well, there hasn’t been any of that going on lately.

Sibella stares at her reflection in the ancient bathroom cabinet’s mirror – awful. Ugly. One out of – no, she’s at least a five, even with the bags under her eyes and the neck brace and the expression of complete done-ness. But, nevertheless, the fall and what came after have driven her to her wit’s end.

Well, if she can’t look nice, at least she can be clean. With great effort, she opens the cabinet to fetch her toothbrush.

Unfortunately for her, there’s a disembodied head dressed like a 19th-century explorer in the way.

“AH-HA! YOU FOOL! YOU’VE FALLEN RIGHT INTO MY AMBUSH! PREPARE -” The bellowing stops for a second, and the anger drops from the severed head’s face. “Wait, I told the rest of me to wait behind the door… shocking lack of military discipline. I shall give it a right thrashing later... a biting, at least...”

Sibella closes the cupboard, turns on her heel, and all but runs out the bathroom door into the long, long hallway.

Highhurst Castle. When that woman from the legal chambers told Monty he’d inherited the place through his mother’s family, Sibella’s reasons for marrying him (which were already pretty good) were immediately validated. A castle! They’d won the real estate jackpot, and people have to call her ‘Lady Navarro’ now! Monty’s a peer of the realm! Are you a peer of the realm, Lionel, you cardboard box of a man?

Well, now she bitterly regrets admiring how much space the castle had, all the hallways – she is a target when she walks down to and from the bathroom, in the dining room, and the myriad unnecessary rooms – not even the master bedroom is safe. Once she acknowledges their existence (and even when she doesn’t), they take the opportunity to drive her up the wall. Doors do not stop her foes, nor the stone walls supposed to defend her – nothing does.

The woman with the shocking amount of feathers (and blood) on her gown is further down the hall, and does a funny little run to keep up with Sibella.

“Good morning! Now, from where we left off, Lord Southcliffe and Basil are alone for the first time. The stage is set, you can cut the tension in the air with a knife – and it just so happens there are two swords mounted above the fireplace. Who shall make it out alive to confess their love to the fair Selene? Have you written the other part down yet?”

No, Sibella hasn’t. It’s the worst play imaginable. She is ashamed to have hallucinated the person who came up with it.

A young man in a green jacket steps through a wall, accompanied as always by a maddening buzzing noise. “Hello again! Did you know that bees have little teeth on their wings? They lock together when the bee is flying. Isn’t that fascinating?”

Don’t talk to them, Sibella reminds herself. They’re not real. You must have read that bee thing somewhere and you’re subconsciously remembering it. Ignore them, and they’ll go away.

They do not go away. Well, at least the fox hunter isn’t here yet. Just the buck-toothed priest, doddering about like a child lost at a fair.

“Hello!” the priest says as she passes, then, in the exact same friendly tone of voice, “You don’t belong here! Get out!”

Only a few more steps to the dining room. Monty will still be having breakfast. But, as she reaches the door, she hears his voice – unless he can see the phantoms too (which he definitely can’t), he shouldn’t be making phone calls this early. Sibella presses her ear to the door.

“I know it’s unusual, but if I just give the money back… yes, I know that’s not how loans work, but there are medical reasons… no, she’s not dead – well, she came back from… She isn’t sleeping. She’s miserable. I don’t know what it is about this castle, but it’s damaging her recovery, and I want what’s best for her. I ask you, out of common decency -”

There is a long silence.

“I see. My mistake. Thank you for your time.”  

A numb sensation comes over Sibella. She’s touched, if unsurprised, that Monty would be willing to give up his birthright to keep her, but from the defeat in his voice it sounds like that isn’t an option. If only renovations were cheaper! If only the housing economy were more open to young buyers! If only she hadn’t fallen out of a bloody window and been cursed with highly realistic hallucinations!

A deep, disapproving female voice says in her ear, “It isn’t ladylike to eavesdrop.”

Sibella jumps back. A sopping wet Victorian woman gives her a disapproving look.

“It isn’t ladylike for you to exist,” Sibella replies, far too fast to sound confident, and makes her escape while the woman makes the most offended scoff she’s ever heard.

There is nowhere to run, she realises. Not from her mind, not from her economic troubles, not from the castle itself. It’s like something out of a horror movie, or a gothic novel. Yes, that’s what it is, she’s the innocent maiden who gets driven mad, stuck in a house that may or may not be haunted, and the author-slash-director leaves it up to the audience to figure out. She hates stories like that. They can’t just tell you, can they? It’s all symbolism, it’s all vague because they need to feel clever and artistic and pretend they’re so much smarter than you. Bloody hell, if she has to be stuck in a story, why does it have to be this one?

Sibella is so lost in how bad the novel of her life is that she almost misses the sound of someone limping down the hall.

Oh, shit. It’s the fox hunter.

Since this is probably the worst time for insensitive comments on... well, everything, Sibella ducks into the nearest room in hopes of evading him. She’s quick enough, but the dust old reading room (It has to be, with all the bookshelves) reveals yet another problem.

She’s young. In blue, probably another Victorian. Sibella’s walked past a portrait that looks just like this one so many times. She’s reading an open book on the side table, its pages covered in dust, before she jumps at the sound of Sibella slamming the door.

“Stop it!”

The blue-clad phantom’s eyes are wide. “Stop what?”

“Stop yelling at me to get out! I can’t! Not until me and Monty pay off his loan, and in this economy that’s probably gonna be the rest of my life!”

“But I’m not the one haunting you,” the woman stammers, shrinking in on herself. Her voice is high, soft, and ridiculously upper-class. “I never agreed to it. It’s a beastly thing to do, to drive you out of a place you rightfully own!”

“Listen. Even though you’re a much nicer broken part of my mind than the others, you’re still part of the problem. Connect – what’s those electrical parts of your brain called – connect to the other neutrons and tell all those other hallucinations to bugger off!”

The young woman’s jaw hangs open for a good ten seconds, before she says, “Oh. I understand. You think we’re figments of your imagination.”

“Well, what’s more likely, that the castle is haunted or that I have brain damage from falling out of a window?”

“Ah, well, yes. I am afraid this is the exception to the rule. But, the good news is that you’re not mad. There are ghosts bound forever to the grounds of Highhurst Castle, and through whatever twist of fate,a living person can see us for the first time.”

“Bullshit.” At the absolutely horrified look she receives from the ‘ghost’, Sibella feels a knot of unjustified guilt twist in her stomach. “If you’re ghosts, how did you die? Suicide? Murder most foul?”

“Well, my brother, Henry, the one in the olive suit. He was stung to death by bees.”

…Okay. The buzzing sound made sense now, at least. “I can hazard a guess with the guy in the pith helmet.”

“Major Bartholomew, yes, decapitated while weightlifting. Reverend Ezekiel fell from the eastern tower, Lady Hyacinth drowned in the lake, Lord Adalbert – red coat – died in a hunting accident, and Lady Salome’s prop dagger was mistakenly replaced with a real one during a performance.”

“What about the one with no trousers?”

The ghost’s face turns red. Surprising, given the lack of blood. “We’ve all been trying very hard not to think about that. It was quite embarrassing for everyone involved, as I understand it.”

“Oh, so, like, a sex thing.” Sibella ignores the sharp intake of breath. “And you? Or is it still too soon?”

“No, no, it’s quite all right. You know, I can’t recall how I died. This didn’t come across as strange to me, you would think you’d be a bit distracted with... well. You know. Henry passed before me, apparently he saw the whole thing – he says I was poisoned.”

Sibella feels like the ghost should be more than mildly concerned by this. Then again, she’s had time to get over it, hasn’t she? Wait, no, no she hasn’t, Sibella thinks, because she’s not real and you’re talking to thin air. It just so happens that thin air is very knowledgeable, and way more posh than you.

Then again. Adalbert is not a name she would have thought up in a million years, even for a lord’s ghost. She wonders how much that man’s mother hated him, if he had one.

“What’s the name of the sex ghost?”

“Asquith. Asquith D’Ysquith Junior, actually, and please never call him the… that name you said just now, again.”

“Asquith?!”

The detrousered phantom in his music hall outfit pokes his head through the wall. Sibella doesn’t flinch as badly, this time, and silently congratulates herself. “Yes?”

“Is that your name? Asquith?” Sibella asks.

“It is,” he hums. “You could have asked me yourself. I admit I didn’t take you for the bashful type, but, nevertheless, it is something I can work with.”

“She’s married,” the seated phantom snaps, “and this is a private conversation. Please take your leave.”

Asquith winks at Sibella, and vanishes once again. After suppressing a gag, Sibella turns back to the remaining ghost.

“I can’t believe Asquith is a real name, let alone one good enough to use twice. You know, I’m seriously starting to believe you’re real.”

“I should hope so,” the ghost remarks.

Sibella sits down opposite the apparition. “Right. I’m stuck here. You’re stuck here. How do we make this work?”

“If I knew a simple answer to that, you would not be in this situation.” The ghost thinks for a moment. “I do think some of my family members could use a reminder they are no longer the lords and ladies of the house. The others may do better with a softer touch, however. Henry is a gentle soul, after all.”

“Can you ask him to stop telling me bee facts when I’m trying to sleep?”

Then ghost smiles. “I can manage that.”

“Great. And the actress wants me to publish her play – I’ll post it online anonymously and hope she’s happy with that.” The ghost has the blank eyes and nervous smile of someone who has no idea what’s being said, but wants to remain polite. “The priest has no idea what’s going on, does he?”

“Not most of the time, no,” the phantom admits.

“So it’s really just the fox hunter left to worry about.” Sibella thinks telling him women have the vote now might make his head explode, and then the problem would be solved. She tries and fails to stifle a smirk at the thought.

Then, a sudden thought hits her.

“What about you?”

The ghost blinks. “Me?”

“Surely you need something. Do I have to find your murderer and get revenge? Get a reverend to bless your grave? What will help you?”

The ghost blinks again. And again. Then, tears start streaming from her eyes..

Oh. Oh no. Sibella is no good in these sorts of situations. When she makes someone cry, she usually means to. What is she supposed to do here? She raises her hand to pat the spectre’s shoulder, but it passes straight through her body. The ghost shudders at the failed contact, and does break out of her despair for a moment.

“Did I say something wrong?” Sibella asks, still semi-panicked. Now that she thinks about it, the ‘blessing her grave’ thing is probably what set this off. You wouldn’t hire a cleaning lady for someone else’s house, now would you?

“It’s been s-so long since someone’s done something for me,” the ghost sobs. “It’s been all squabbling and brooding for decades! Then, when someone alive can finally hear us, they keep doing the same thing, over and over again!”

Another dull realisation settles over Sibella, as she mumbles reassurances to the weeping phantom. That’s what ghosts, do, isn’t it? They cling to the lives they once had.

Is that what she does? Replay victories and ruminate on failures, time and time again?

“They will change,” Sibellla says, “I shall make them change. I shall do what you advised. A good shock to the system might get them out of their rut, and I am excellent at providing those. Just ask my sister – ten years and she still hasn’t forgiven me.”

The ghost gives a watery smile. “Thank you. Thank you so very much.”

With new-found purpose, Sibella strides towards the door, uncaring of whether the beings are truly ghosts or simply strange reflections of herself. Whatever is being confronted, she will be better for it.

When she opens the door, it’s not the dreaded fox hunter, the actress, nor the wet moral guardian.

It’s Monty. He looks over her shoulder, his gaze passing over the still-hiccupping phantom – he doesn’t see her.

“Now Sibella – I don’t want to upset you, but I have checked that we’re the only ones in the house. I mean, apart from the pigeon, but unless you’re talking about all his pigeon friends when you say you’re going to make them change, it might be a good idea to go talk to the doctor again.”

That’s a thought. It would prove it, one way or the other, if these quirky characters are bound to the house or just arguing personifications of her brain damage.

But, Monty is the one who convinced her the ghosts are just hallucinations. If they are ghosts, how is she going to convince Monty she hasn’t just gone insane?

A lightbulb goes off in her head.

She checks none of the other spirits are listening in, leans over, and whispers in Monty’s ear. His eyes widen, and his mouth hangs open.

“Asquith? Junior?!”

[velvetgons]

insecurity

junkyu x gender neutral reader

genres; angst, fluff 

word count; 6.2k 

song recs; home - seventeen and bloom later - jesse !!

warnings; mentions of cheating, insecurity, self-doubt, pls don’t read if you think this could make you feel insecure or bad abt yourself!!!, copious amounts of fluff, kissing (is that a warning?)

requested; yes!! thank you angel :) [requests are open] 

a/n; not much angst because uhh i am not so good at writing long angst oof

gif credit; hynsks on tumblr!! please tell me if you’d like it removed at any point :) 

His footsteps receded into dull thumps as you remained sprawled across the surface of the sofa in your living room. The TV continued to blare on in front of you, your eyes trained forward on it as you could already feel yourself begin to miss the presence of him beside you. You huffed softly, focusing on another mindless action sequence mid-way through a movie you didn’t care about, squinting as you watched the lead drop multiple stories of stairs to land perfectly on his feet. A scoff passed your lips as you mumbled out a realistically too-loud-for-when-you’re-alone, “Is that even actually possible?”

“Is what even actually possible?” You heard Junkyu’s voice call back in response, your head twisting to see that he must’ve been yelling from the kitchen, the living room still devoid of him.

You dropped your head back toward the screen in disappointment before yelling back a quick, “Do you think you could drop down six flights of a stairs and be, like, totally unaffected?”

You received a loud laugh in response, “I can’t even walk upstairs, so, I’d say no.”

Biting back the laugh bubbling up in your throat, you huffed dramatically before re-wording. “No, not you, I just mean, like, a person.”

“Am I not a person?” Junkyu called back, multiple clanging sounds as he attempted to put dinner into the oven for you both meeting your ears in harsh jolts.

You hummed just loud enough for him to hear, “Barely,” you called in a sing-song tone, hearing him gasp in response, “anyway, who cares about that, answer my question.”

He laughed again, a bright grin turning your lips up at the sound, almost wishing he wouldn’t actually stop to speak just yet. “I care about that,” he began, before another banging sound resounded through your apartment, “but, hm, yeah, I do think it’s possible.”

A far louder, more offended scoff passed your lips then, “Seriously? I don’t.”

“Obviously,” you heard him call in response, your grin spreading across your features as you heard the oven door finally open, “check, so I can finally be right about something.”

Your hands dropped onto the soft cotton of the sofa, fingers splaying out as you swiped your hands around in an attempt to find your phone. You lifted your hips off of the sofa in an ungracious check to see if it’d ended up underneath you, finding nothing again. Double-checking the coffee-table, you remembered rushing upstairs only twenty minutes ago to charge it after it’d died while you’d been showing Junkyu dumb cat videos you’d found late the night before.

“Can I use your phone?” You called back in inquiry, knowing already he’d say yes like you both always did.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be, like, two seconds, but go ahead.” Part of you felt suspicion bubble up at whatever he was still doing in the kitchen, the slight worry that he’d broken another almost impossible-to-break appliance hanging over you as you picked his phone up from the top of the table. You typed in his password without really thinking, his phone opening up to the picture of you and him from earlier that year, making you groan softly at the sight. It was one of his favourites – for evident reasons – he looked absolutely perfect, dressed well and smiling brightly at the camera; while you were wearing an oversized shirt of his, your hair messy from the day spent lounging around with him and Yedam, and you were caught off-guard, staring at him as if he was some kind of alien being.

Quickly moving onto opening the internet, you waited patiently for the home-page to load up, tapping your fingertips against the back of the phone. The sound of his text notification noise going off made you jump slightly, an embarrassed laugh passing your lips as you realised what it was. You’d usually ignore them, swiping them away as not to invade any sense of his privacy, but the sight of an unknown number peaked your interest. You pulled the text down to be able to read the whole thing, feeling your chest tighten at the words.

[19:28] unknown: I had so much fun today :) we definitely need to do it again soon, text me when she isn’t there and we can make more plans?

You breathed in sharply, feeling annoyance burst through you at yourself for jumping to conclusions. Breathing in deeply, you re-read the text, knowing it was probably nothing. It was probably a friend with a new phone, they probably weren’t doing anything bad, it was just bad timing to be catching one of their texts out of context.

Opening the message thread, you saw no more texts from the same number, sighing as you could already feel the likelihood of you obsessing over this growing. Just as you were about to close it and seek out Junkyu to get the asking him over with, another text came through.

[19:30] unknown: Just make sure she doesn’t find out!! We don’t want her knowing about this :) x

Junkyu dropped onto the sofa beside you, just as you closed the message thread to go back to the internet, your fingers stuttering over the keyboard. “So, who’s the smartest in this relationship, then?” You heard him ask, looking at you with raised brows.

You forced yourself to laugh in response, immediately feeling confusion at why you did that afterwards, “Wasn’t sure what to type, really.”

He laughed brightly, slipping the phone out of your hands before stopping and speaking again, “Oh, did I get a text? Thought I heard my phone go off.”

Humming softly you shrugged, “Uh huh, I clicked on it accidentally, but I went off it as soon I did. Sorry,” you mumbled softly, wondering if this would prompt him into anything.

He just shrugged, nodding, “It’s okay,” before his thumbs began tapping against his phone-screen again, “now, let’s see who truly is the intellectual here.”

           That had been a week ago now. You’d told him when he’d texted to tell you he’d gotten home safe that you weren’t feeling well, so you’d go to bed early and couldn’t respond to his texts. He hadn’t seemed to have noticed anything, telling you he hoped you felt better soon and to tell him if you needed anything.

Suffice to say, you weren’t feeling better soon. You’d been using this sudden and strange illness to avoid Junkyu and all of your other friends for the entire week, only daring to leave the safety of your apartment to go to school and work, grabbing small amounts of shopping on the journey back and forth. Rationally, you knew that isolating yourself and allowing your mind to spin different versions of a story you truly didn’t know any detail of would only aggravate the issue. But it was like you couldn’t stop yourself; the second he’d stepped out of that door, you’d began picking at the possibilities like a scab, trying to dig past the surface and figure out by yourself what was going on underneath.

Clearly, it had been slow work, the pressure of beginning to imagine and picture your boyfriend in a relationship with someone else behind your back had gotten to you enough to make solitude feel like the best option. Before, in the unusual instance of you and Junkyu arguing, you’d seek out a mutual friend, you’d rant and they’d know him enough to give you suggestions on how to fix it. It was the exact same thing he did in response to arguments with you. That was one of your favourite things about the two of you, the fact that you were able to put your stubbornness aside and figure things out together. This time just felt different. It didn’t feel like a matter you could take to a mutual friend and ask for an un-biased opinion on.

Slumping further back into your sofa with the blanket bound around you, you groaned in discomfort, feeling like your head had a heartbeat as you attempted to figure out what had to be the hundredth theory you’d come up with. This is, you noted, where things had evidently gone very wrong, turning in a direction you had first thought was unattached from the beginning picture of him cheating on you.

Every day when you woke up now, you’d feel an ever-growing and ever-painful need to stand in front of the full-length mirror and pick yourself apart, piece by piece. Over these seven sessions going in-depth on why Junkyu must no longer love you and be attracted to you and therefore feel a need to cheat on you, you’d come to conclude that perhaps that was a lot more wrong with you than you’d first imagined. Even when you’d been at your lowest with insecurities, you’d never thought that you weren’t worth anything. In fact, you were all about things being about more than looks, that was a thing you always spread around within your friendship group.

Now, though, things felt more difficult than they ever had. You stood in front of that mirror and stopped seeing a person worthy of love and respect and care, a person with worth and meaning. All you saw now was someone made entirely of flaws and imperfections, someone who didn’t have a single redeeming quality that someone could fall in love with.

You were sure that by now you could write someone a numbered list on all of the things that must have made Junkyu fall into someone else’s arms. You had decided that there was something wrong with your hairstyle, your eyes, your nose, your mouth, your cheekbones, your neck, your chest, your stomach, your arms, your hands, your thighs, your calves, even finding a way to choose multiple flaws in something as minuscule as your temples.

It was overwhelming, the constant crushing weight of feeling yourself rationalising the possibility of somebody cheating on you, on top of trying to give a timeline to events you couldn’t even be sure were genuinely happening. Your phone went off, alerting you both that someone was trying to get in contact with you again and that you were, indeed, crying again. Sniffling softly, you picked your phone up from the sofa, turning it over to see if it was Junkyu again.

[17:40] yedam: :(( are you still sick? If you are pls let me bring you some medicine…you’ve been sick for so long now

You felt your heart warm softly, the slight concern for making someone as sweet as Yedam anxious weighing down on your chest for a few small moments. Swiping at some of the tears still falling down your cheeks, you supposed that you should probably check the other constant loop of messages you’d gotten from friends – and namely, totalling up to over twenty from Junkyu – that you hadn’t responded to. Worry bit into you, although you couldn’t find the energy to give any of them a coherent response, you figured if you just told one of them they could circulate it around themselves and be content again.

[17:42] to yedam: yeah, i’m still not the best :(( sorry bub, but i promise i’m 100% fine!! i got myself some medicine today, i’ll be ready to go in a couple days

You sighed softly, preparing to drop your phone back face-down onto your sofa and go back to binge watching movies you’d already seen to make yourself feel better, however the sound of your phone dinging again you decided to check it again.

           [17:43] yedam: Oh my god!! A response!! I feel so special :)

          [17:43] yedam: Anyway…Junkyu’s been really stressed over this…maybe you should…you know, text him back

You felt the dramatic side of you flare up again, telling you that you should explain the situation to Yedam and have him help you in any way he thought he could. However, the rational side of you told you that he’d go right back to Junkyu to tell him everything you were thinking of. You felt like all of those people who said they were at, ‘the end of their rope,’ and you couldn’t even fully explain or figure out why you were so wound up.

More tears dripped down your face as you gave in, letting yourself lift your knees up onto the sofa and curl into yourself. Soft sobs left your lips as you reminded yourself that crying loudly was okay, because there was, as per usual nowadays, no one else here. Your phone dinged again, and again, going off a few times while you gave up on counting them, your sobs growing in volume. You let yourself continue on like this, feeling your breathing finally begin to even-out again as you reached over to curl your fingertips around your phone.

Lifting it closer to your face so you could check what the collection of texts had been. Your breathing that had just finished slipping back to a good, steady rhythm, it suddenly went off again, feeling as if your chest was being pressed down on again.

           [17:48] junkyu: you’re still sick?? is that why you haven’t been responding??

           [17:50] yedam: Okay I’m sorry but I told Junkyu you’re still sick

           [17:52] yedam: He’s just gonna come check up on you, ok? Don’t start worrying about how you look again bub I’m sure you look fine :) ily

         [17:57] junkyu: hi babe i’m kinda uh gonna be at ur place in 5 so pls open the door 4 ur favourite boy!!!

Coughing softly in an attempt to quicken the process of evening out your breathing, you checked the time, seeing it was already 6pm. You yanked yourself up to your feet, rushing down the hall to your bathroom and checking your splotched face. You fumbled, hands shaking as you gripped onto the cold steel of the cold tap and spun it, hearing the water splash against the sink as you closed your eyes and focused on pulling full breaths back into your lungs.

You took handfuls of the water and threw it onto your face, scrubbing it into your face and sighing when you saw the little it was doing to help clean up the evidence from crying on your face. Sparing a glance down to your outfit, you wished you could find the time to change, but you could already hear him knocking at your front door.

Heading back toward the front door, you could physically feel your heart moving up into your chest, your eyes clouding over with tears again of their own accord as you pulled the door handle down. Pulling the door open to reveal Junkyu, you almost let yourself cry again, feeling the mixed emotions clang together inside your chest and throat. Part of you wanted to cry at the relief of finally seeing him again, knowing you’d missed him more than you were ready to accept over the week, but the other part of you was reminding you that this was the boy who was going to break your heart.

“Baby!” He shouted, stepping into the apartment as he immediately swept you into his arms, locking them around your waist tightly as he tugged you impossibly close to him. “I wish you would’ve told me you were still sick sooner, I would’ve come.”

A pang of guilt ran through you at the sentiment behind his words, the feeling of knowing that he still cared for you rushing through you. Although, you pondered, could someone truly care about you if they were cheating on you, if they were doing something that would hurt you in the long run. You hummed in response, your arms curling themselves around him of their own consciousness.

He pulled back from you, his fingertips meeting yours and linking your hands together as he dragged you back in the direction of the living room. Seeing him navigate his way through the place you called home so confidently and naturally made an entirely different feeling wash over you, one of nostalgia and slight shame at the notion that you were lying to him purely because you doubted him so entirely. You weren’t entirely sure of what to do with yourself now that you had any lingering – or constant and overwhelming – negative feelings directed towards him. You’d never been caught in a position like this with him before, and now it left you wondering over how you were expected to act around the person you had definitively decided had cheated on you.

By the time you got far enough away from your thoughts to look at him confidently, you saw him smiling back softly, observing the way your face scrunched up in discomfort with worry ghosting on his features. “Do you think it’s a virus?” He began gently, keeping his voice low and whispered as if not to disturb a headache you didn’t really have.

His actions made you double-guess yourself, thinking back to what could now be construed as completely irrational threads of thought if he debunked them for you. The feeling of his hand coming to clasp yours warmly, gripping it within his own as he leant across to press a quick kiss to your cheek as if he was deeply concerned for you in your silence. Every piece of his actions made you desperate to flinch away, maybe in disbelief that this boy who was – in acceptance of the cheesiness of such a statement – literally made from honey with how sweet he was could possibly hurt you like this, or maybe more so for the belief that he’d see things you thought he’d fallen for, when in fact they could have been what ruined you. You could feel your hand begin to tremble as you felt the first salty trail of tears begin, wishing against all reality that they would just stop in their tracks before he noticed them.

Seven days’ worth of insecurity and shame smacked against you, washing over you like a wave and swallowing you up, spreading across your chest from the inside. You suddenly felt as if you were far too exposed, as if a hundred eyes were pointing at you like you had become some kind of exhibit. The examples of things to fixate on and hate about yourself suddenly sprung themselves to the forefront of your mind, your eyes shutting tightly as more tears fell against your mental protest. Insecurity had never, in all honesty, been something you had been good in any way at dealing with – perhaps, though, what you’d found comfort and honesty in before had been the things surrounding you, which, to your current dismay, must have always included Junkyu.

The weight of an arm wrapping around your shoulders and tugging you to be pressed safely against a sturdy chest made your heart speed up. Butterflies had been something you found yourself experiencing a lot with Junkyu, the knowledge that there was so much emotion and tenderness behind the small mundane actions always making you feel so swarmed with love. Now, though, the butterflies slammed against your rib-cage and made you feel like your head was pounding with some subdued panic you couldn’t fight.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he soothed softly, pressing a flutter of feather-light kisses to your temple in order to calm your sobbing, “does it hurt?” He pressed forward, all the while tracing calming circles and minuscule hearts onto the skin of the hand still linked with his.

Your immediate reaction was to nod, and you found yourself doing so as your hands tightened around the fabric of his shirt, burying your face into his chest to avoid the fear of him seeing you looking worse than you already pictured yourself. Your mouth opened and then closed again, and you found yourself scrambling to form a sentence of some kind that would summarise how you felt, what you were thinking, all the questions you had wanted to fire off at him since he’d left your apartment a week ago. But you just couldn’t find it within yourself, you couldn’t find the ability to question him when you were so sure you already knew why a boy like him would do this to a girl like you.

“Can I get you something, baby? Where does it hurt? Do I need to call someone?” Junkyu’s voice had risen slightly, making you wonder if you’d missed something he’d said in a haze while you fought to keep yourself hidden despite his protest. He seemed to be trying to figure out how bad you were feeling from looking at your face, but the panic that rose within you at the prospect of him doing so made your hold around him tighten.

His rush of panicked questioning only made the pit of confusion in your stomach open up further, and you couldn’t quite find a safe conclusion for all the things you were feeling at once. For a moment, his movements completely stilled, before he softly pushed you away from him, your body not having the strength to cling onto him any longer. As you slipped away from his body, his arms still firmly locked around your waist, you kept your eyes trained downwards, avoiding ever catching his eyes directly.

“Baby,” he began cautiously, “is…is something really wrong? Are you, like, badly sick? Do I need to definitely call someone?” The pure fear and apprehension tightened behind his words made the knot form itself back up in your throat, threatening to cover over the previous track of tears once again.

Shaking your head lightly, you knew that you didn’t have any room to manoeuvre a story in your favour anymore, that it was time to finally confess what was going on in your head to him. A searing jolt ran through you then, seeing the words tumbling past your chapped lips acting as a kind of finish line, as a brick wall on everything you’d built with Junkyu for the time ahead of you both.

“I’m not…Junkyu, I’m not sick.” You choked out, making sure to avoid looking into his eyes, knowing the moment you did would be the moment you lost all the strength to continue this conversation with him.

He tilted his head at you, eyebrows scrunching together in confusion, “What’s, what’s been wrong then?” For a moment, he stopped to wonder over something, before one of his hands found their way to cup your jaw, tilting your head upwards to look at him, “Why couldn’t you tell me there was something wrong?”

This question, although he didn’t know the meaning you were reading behind it, slapped you across the face. In all honesty, you knew you couldn’t be angry with him if he walked away from this, even if he had been entirely faithful, even if you were broken down by now, you couldn’t be angered by any reaction he had if he wasn’t at fault, because it was a painful thing to be accused of. You wondered what was worse – being accused of cheating on the person you loved most and were entirely faithful too, or feeling the need to accuse the person you loved most and trusted entirely of cheating.

“I’d have helped, whatever it was, you know that, right?” He questioned, his voice filling the silence and the hollow in your chest. At this, you searched across his face, trying to see if there was anything that could give you an answer before you dived head-first into the deep end of a conversation you didn’t ever want to have with him.

You exhaled softly, closing your eyes and willing the lump in your throat to just disappear, or maybe you were just wishing someone somewhere could give you some kind of extra emotional strength in that moment. “Junkyu, I, can I ask you a question? One that’s probably not…the nicest, I guess. I just…I need you to be completely honest when you answer me.”

Watching him intently, you observed the way he seemed to hesitate at the request. This immediately came across as a bad sign, a red flag that whatever his answer was it had to be picked at, it had to be torn apart until you could twist it into something you could believe. However, he nodded afterwards, swallowing thickly as his hands adjusted to slip more of your balled up fist into it, allowing you to feel the warmth of his palm as he tightened his hand back around yours.

You basked in this action, wondering if it would be the last time you’d get to feel his hand in yours. “Okay, I…” you sighed, moving your free hand to rub at your tired eyes before beginning again. “Are you cheating on me?” Once the words had actually left your mouth, the notion of not finding the confidence or the will to say them beforehand seemed almost comical. The easiness and fluency behind saying such a simply string of words and not thinking about the weight the order of them held was almost too funny to imagine being a difficult task.

At this, Junkyu recoiled, his mouth dropping open as his eyes narrowed at the space around, as if the words had become a physical thing he could see floating tauntingly in the air around him. “I, am I what? Why would…why do you even believe, for a second, that I even could do something like that to you?” The words left him in a jumbled, loud mess, but you knew what he was getting at.

How could you ever actually accuse him of cheating on you? What had made you believe that he had the ability to complete such a cruel act in the first place? If you were going to bring up the texts, you knew it had to be then. It was strange thinking about the concept now, your only proof and backing behind such a bold idea being two short texts that had popped up on his phone, that you could easily have asked him about seconds after you saw them. And now, you sat across from him, an entire week later, spewing a question that had so little to hold it up directly to his face.

“Junkyu, I, I saw some texts on your phone, from this…unknown number. And I get it, you probably think I’m overreacting, but they were weird texts, and I didn’t feel good about them.” You rambled, your empty hands now knotting together to tug at the fingers of each other in an attempt to escape the sheer anxiety building up inside you.

He looked confused for a moment, like he truly didn’t have any idea what you were talking about. “What, last week?” You nodded in response, dropping the eye contact as he huffed in response. “It’s been seven days! Why didn’t you just ask me about them if you felt weird about it? I would’ve answered!”

“You’re not answering now!” You scoffed, finally finding the courage to look up at him as he tilted his head at you in a lost manner again. Something about his actions made him seem almost childlike, as if there was no way possible he should be involved in a moment like this one.

He raised his hands to push his hair back out of his face, “Okay, okay, fine, I just, I don’t,” he paused to breathe in shakily, “you told me you didn’t see them.”

“Would it have been better if I didn’t? Are you…actually hiding something, Junkyu?” Your voice cracked at the end, the foreknowledge that he’d start crying soon under the pressure and strain of the argument starting to get to you.

You heard a small sniffle before he continued, “Well, I mean, yeah, but not for the reason you think it is, I…you, just, you lied to me, you know? I wish you would’ve just told me, baby. This isn’t…it’s not what you think it is.”

Having watched a lot of drama movies in your life, you knew that line was straight out of a cheater’s handbook. But, as he’d said earlier, looking at it in a full picture, did you really believe that Junkyu was genuinely able to do something like that? You weren’t so sure anymore, but the insecurity and fear inside of you was beginning to nip at your skin again, leaving you in an uncomfortable position of not even understanding your own logic.

“Then, what is it, Junkyu? I know I…I lied to you, I know, I just, I was scared. And I know you are, too, but if you did it…I get it, okay, I really do.” You breathed out, feeling a few stray tears escape to make their way down from your eyelashes only to be swiped at by the sleeve of your jumper.

At this, he seemed to jump as if you’d yelled at him, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to string together a sentence. “What are you talking about? You’d get it? Why…why would you understand someone doing something like that to you?”

“I didn’t say someone, I said you,” you began softly, a bitter laughing bubbling past your lips, “you’re, you know, you, and I’m, well I’m not exactly anywhere near your level, am I?”

Junkyu visibly startled, staring wide-eyed at you, looking more offended than when you’d posed your initial question. “I…baby, okay, um, let’s, take this one step at a time, alright?” You looked at him sceptically for a quiet second, nodding your head softly as he swiped harshly at the first tear to slip down his cheek.

“I didn’t cheat on you, okay? I wouldn’t. I’m, to be honest, I’m a little offended you think I’d ever do that, but, it’s, I can understand why it looks bad.” He fumbled about in the back pocket of his jeans for a second, pulling his phone forward so you could see it, skimming to tap in his password before re-opening the message thread again. Briefly, you wondered if this was something you actually wanted to see, but you knew you’d have to put your faith back in Junkyu as some point soon. He swiped up from a couple of messages, allowing you to briefly see the name had been changed to a saved contact, but you couldn’t read the screen from the angle you were at.

He turned the screen toward you, prompting you to read whatever was on it, as you took it from his hands. Your eyes skimmed across the messages as you felt your stomach rise from the pit it had been slumped into for the week behind you, although the guilt at your actions seeped into its place soon after.

The contact name simply read, ‘Mashi ♡.’ The texts underneath the one’s you’d seen all followed basic format, with normal day-to-day conversations and dumb jokes, Mashiho always finishing off the texts with little kisses or smiley faces. You were sure, from knowing him a while beforehand, that he did this with nearly everyone at some point or another during a conversation.

Your eyebrows scrunched up, “What…what was he talking about, then? It, just, I’m sorry, I just, I don’t understand, am I missing something?”

Junkyu chuckled softly, his eyes watery as he looked directly at you, “Yeah, uh, I wasn’t really supposed to tell you but, given the circumstances…we’re kind of, planning a surprise trip for you.” He shrugged, eyes leaving yours in an almost boyishly shy manner that you wouldn’t have expected to see from his earlier demeaner.

“A what?” You asked, a blush curling up to your cheeks as you looked down, unsure if the sudden bashfulness within you was from the embarrassment at your accusations or the sweetness behind their actions.

Junkyu hummed again, “You’ve just been stressed a lot lately, you know? So, we wanted to give you a break, take you somewhere nice, but…I know you hate planning trips, so we wanted to keep it a secret so it didn’t make things worse.”

You dropped your face into your hands, guilt flooding through you as you noticed just how kind both him and Mashiho were being about a situation you had no idea about. “Mashi just got a new phone, he, he asked me to give you his number but I forgot and then you got sick and I, I was gonna give it you when you were better.”

His ramble made you look up again, seeing his swipe at his cheeks again as he noticed the tears falling freely down your face for what seemed to be the millionth time that week. His hands moved to quickly cup your face, thumbs swiping tears away as he shook his head, “Don’t, don’t cry, it’s, I’m not angry, I’m a little upset, but, it’s okay, we’re okay, okay? Can you…can you tell me it’s okay? I just wanna fix this.”

Seeing his tears fall faster, you moved the fabric of your jumper to cover your hands and moved them to mirror his actions, swiping the sweater paws to catch the tears as they fell. He laughed lightly, smiling at you as grinned back at him, your head falling onto his shoulder at how ridiculous the situation seemed now. “There’s nothing to fix, I…I should’ve just asked, I’m so sorry, you know, I, I should never have let myself believe you could do that to me, or anyone.”

At this, he cleared his throat, rousing you from his shoulder and back into his line of sight. “We need to talk about what you said earlier, yeah?” You swallowed nervously before nodding, feeling his hands tug you up and into his lap. “I…can’t even begin to explain how wrong you are,” he mumbled, “how long have you been thinking like this?”

“Not long, I promise,” you began, watching as he seemed to breath out a sigh of relief, “I just, ever since I saw the texts, I guess. I just feel like I’m never gonna be able to be on the same…level as you, you know? I’m never gonna be good-looking enough for you, or have the perfect enough body type for you, I’m just never gonna be enough for you.” You said softly, your voice dropping into almost silence as you spoke.

Junkyu stayed quiet for a few minutes, as if trying to process and then understand the words being spoken to him. “No.” He said after you could feel the air begin to grow thick with apprehension of his answer.

You rose your eyebrows at him, “No?”

“You’re wrong.” He concluded, nodding once at you as if to lock the fact into your brain.

Unsure of how to argue with him on this, you simply sighed, “Junkyu, I, it’s okay. I’m okay just, being with you for as long as you need to find someone who’s…enough.”

Junkyu jolted underneath you, his hold on you seeming to tighten as his face curdled in disgust at your comment. “Baby…” he began against, his voice laced with weighed down sadness and panic, “that’s not, you shouldn’t ever lower yourself to think that way.” Just as you opened your mouth to confirm that in your mind, this was just a line in the sand, something you wouldn’t be able to cross with him for however long he stayed with you.

“No,” he interrupted your thoughts again, even gentler than before, “just, listen for a second, hm?” He waited a beat for you to nod in confirmation before beginning, “You’re enough. Not just for me, though, okay? You’re…hard-working, strong, smart, determined, kind, and…so, so much more, I don’t even have the words to begin describing you, you know? You just…you inspire me so much, and you don’t even know it. Everything you do is so beautiful and powerful and, don’t even get me started on your looks because I could talk all day. If you’re enough for yourself, then you’re far more than enough for me.”

You knew you were crying by the time he finished speaking, his hands had began flailing to hammer in just how specific he was being, his eyes shifting all around the room. When he finally looked back at you, a soft and shy smile turned the corners of his mouth up, his hands moving to swipe your tears away.

“Happy tears?” He checked, stooping his head down lower so he could finally look into your eyes again.

You nodded at him, a laugh falling past your lips, your head dropping further into his palm pressed to your cheek, “Happy tears,” you confirmed softly.

A bright smile lit up his features as he leant himself upwards slightly, his hand resting on your jaw bringing you close enough that your noses were touching, lips hanging centimetres apart from one another. “I know you say I don’t have to this anymore,” he began, making a laugh tumble past your lips again, “but, you know, can I kiss you?”

You nodded, your lips falling from their smile as he pressed his own against yours. The kiss was soft, his lips moving slowly and sweetly against yours as he dropped a single hand from your face to grab at one of the hands laid flat against his chest, curling his fingertips back around it. You felt his lips move upwards into a small as you squeezed his hand in response, you mirroring his action as he tightened his hand around yours in response.

[stardust-ghost]

Overthinking | pt.2

Ask and you shall recieve~

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Part: 2/4

Warnings: Angst at the beginning

Summary: Peter Parker has been trying to tell you, his best friend, that he loves you for a while now, but is terrified of rejection. When he finally musters up the courage, things seem to get in his way.

A/N: This got a lot more attention than I thought it would, but you guys did ask for a part two and I have provided. Remember, I’m always trying to improve and I’m always accepting criticism. 

Part 1 | Part 3

God Peter could never hate himself more than he did this night, curled around a pillow in bed. The silent tears had ceased a while ago, but the streaks they left coupled with the puffy eyes completed the heartbroken look he was sporting. He couldn’t even remember a Friday spent without you, let alone like this.

He regrets his decision. He should’ve told her. He should’ve told her then and there how he felt. That he would take her on a date. That he loved her. Peter shut his eyes tightly and sighed, trying to just stop thinking before his thoughts spiraled his mood further into the ground. Yet, he just couldn’t help it.

Why should he be surprised? Peter Parker was never the brave one. Spider-Man, maybe, but never Peter Parker. Peter Parker is always the kid who misses his chance. Peter Parker is the kid that doesn’t get the girl. Peter Parker is the kid who gets forgotten. So why should he be surprised?

Before he could delve deeper into the black hole his mind was creating for him, there was a knock at his bedroom door.

“What is it?” He called out shakily, worried that his voice would crack and he would expose himself before the person even opened the door.

“It’s just me Peter.” It was Aunt May. She got home earlier than usual. “Can I come in?” Peter couldn’t find the courage to respond, knowing that if he did he would give himself away. It didn’t really matter his answer though because as he predicted, May just let herself in, letting out a small gasp at his state. She quickly came to him to sit on the edge of his bed. “What’s wrong?”

Peter’s first thought was to deny everything and say he was fine. Blame the tears on a sad puppy video or something, but the way his Aunt looked at him just made him break down all over again.

“I messed up May. I really messed up.” He nearly choked on his words as new sobs wracked his body, a wave of heartache coursing through him. May immediately went into ‘parent mode’. She softly cooed a chorus of ‘it okay” and shushes as she gently ran her fingers through his hair, an action known in the past to calm him down.

“Peter I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think. Just calm down and tell me what happened.” Although his explanation was often interrupted by hiccups, sniffles, and small sobs, he told her the whole story. By the end of it, he calmed down enough to breathe normally and a shade of red crept up his neck when he realized how childish he must’ve seemed.

“I lost my chance, what am I gonna do?” May smiled softly at him.

“No, you didn’t Peter. Think about it, you’ve known her for years and every time you two are together there is this happy bright energy in the air, I’ve seen it myself. She probably doesn’t even know this boy that well. I think you should tell her. If she feels the same I don’t think one date with one random guy will make her forget about you. Who knows,” a soft smirk rose on her face, “maybe she was trying to make you jealous.” Peter let out a strained laugh at that. Wouldn’t that be ironic? As he mulled over the idea he found it to make a lot of sense and felt even more ridiculous. Nothing changed, he would be taking the same risk.

“Thank you.” He sat up to hug her tightly, relief washing through him. She shook her head and hugged him back.

“It’s my job.” She pulled him back at arm's length. “ Now how about you and me watch a movie or two since you’re missing a partner. You need a break from all that thinking.”

Later that same night he was lying in bed, actually on the brink of sleep instead of wide awake and stuck in his thoughts when he heard a soft tapping noise. His eyes shot open as he glanced around the room. At first, he thought he imagined it in his tired state, but there it was again.

He reluctantly got up and took another look around, noticing someone outside his window, nearly jumping out of his skin. Peter calmed down the next moment though when he recognized the figure on his fire escape. The one girl he was trying so desperately not to think about, yet he didn’t hesitate in letting you in.

“Y/N?” He asked groggily, wiping the tiredness out of his eyes. “What are you doing here so late?” You gave him a strange look.

“It’s 9:45.”

“Oh.” He hadn’t realized just how early he had crawled into bed. Peter opened his mouth, ready to make a joke to hide his embarrassment when he finally took in your appearance. A pretty, but casual navy blue dress and some flats, but the most notable part of the look was your tear-filled eyes. “Oh gosh, what happened Y/N?” He got this sinking feeling in his stomach and he pulled you to sit down on his bed. He thought it was sadness or guilt, but as he pushed away strands of hair sticking to your wet cheeks, he realized it was anger.

You almost never cried at anything except sad romance movies, so whatever, or more accurately, whoever, put you in this state was going to have to face Peter Parker very soon. But all those resentful thoughts were quickly tucked away when you started to stutter out your response.

“S-so I showed up ten minutes early because I would rather be there before him, I was sort of expecting to wait for a-a w-while. After thirty minutes, I thought y’know.” You sniffled through your words and used hand gestures to explain. “Maybe he’s just running late, right? So I kept waiting. H-he said h-he would be there by 6, so by 7:30 I just feel like an idiot, but nevertheless, I held out some hope. M-maybe something came up, th-that’s possible, but I got pretty hungry and since I didn’t know when he w-was going to sh-show up, I just ordered my food. I waited until nine o’clock Peter. Nine! A-and then I didn’t know what to do so I came here.” Peter found it particularly hard to follow along with your story through the fast-paced rambling and the sniffles, but he got the gist.

“He just... stood you up?” He felt a pang in his heart, but this time it wasn’t for himself, it was for you. How could someone ditch someone as pretty and as kind as you?

“Yeah. He did.” Your voice got significantly softer compared to your hurt rant. Peter did the thing he did best. He held you.

“I’m so sorry Y/N.”

“It’s not your fault, I just wish I hadn’t skipped out on our Friday.” You let out a bitter laugh. “Much rather be here with you than at a restaurant by myself.” Peter watched as your eyes cast down into your lap. “Is there something wrong with me?” His face turned into one of shock. Did you actually just ask him that?

“What?” His words came out so soft that if they hadn’t been sitting so close, you probably wouldn’t have heard it.

“I mean,” new tears welled up in your eyes to replace the old ones, “almost three years of high school and people are barely interested in being my friend, let alone date me. And the one guy who asks me out ditched me before I can actually give him a reason to. There has to be something wrong with me.” The vulnerability in your voice made him want to cry as well. “What is it, Peter? Is it how I look?” He quickly shook his head. He would never in a million years guess that you felt this way about yourself, especially when he thinks so highly of you. He didn’t know what to say, but he has to say something.

“There is absolutely nothing wrong with you Y/N. You’re the most beautiful girl I know. And the smartest. And the nicest. Any guy that has you is the luckiest guy I know. If someone like Damien can’t see that, then quite honestly, he doesn’t deserve someone as great as you. I know that this must sound cheesy and right out of a movie cliche, but that is actually what I think.” The small smile you gave paired with a slight scoff had his heart melting.

“Do you... Do you mean that?”

“Yeah.” At that you let your head fall to his chest and he lowered you both to lay down on his bed as he gently pets your hair.

He had an opportunity to tell you but held his tongue. Now wasn’t the time, he needed to be there for you right now and if you didn’t feel the same, you might not want his shoulder to cry on.

A/N: Again, this is an imagine from my other account, I am not stealing it. 

[gb-fics]

About Last Night

Fanfiction:

Kiryuuin Shou x Kyan Yutaka (Golden Bomber)

Note: Same plot as always - Kiryuuin Shou Worries About Stuff. Thrilling.

It was the lightening that unsettled Shou the most when he woke.

The apartment smelled different, the sounds outside were different. There was a high-school nearby and faint voices and laughter drifted in through the window. The sheets felt different, too, smoother and lighter than the ones he had at home.

What bothered him, was the sunlight falling in right onto his face. In his own bedroom, the sun only shone in directly at the afternoon.

Shou blinked and turned his face away.

The reason why he wasn’t bothered by the smell and the sounds in the apartment was that he had stayed over many times before. Usually, he slept on a futon in the living room, though. It was the first night he had spent in the bedroom and the bright morning sun was unfamiliar and strange.

Carefully he felt for the other side of the bed. No sound of breathing nor the warmth of a body signalled for the presence of another person. Shou wanted to make absolutely sure before admitting he was awake, though.

It was the first time he woke in this bed after all. He wasn’t quite sure what that meant.

Only when he was absolutely certain he was alone in the room did he sit up and rubbed his eyes. His body felt sore. He knew why immediately.

It wasn’t like in the books or the movies, where the memories slowly came back to him while he drifted out of sleep. Instead, the knowledge of having made a giant mistake was the very first thing that hit him.

Shou remembered everything about last night. He remembered exactly how he had gotten into this bed and what had happened in it. He remembered why his body felt so sore.

Probably it had been bound to happen. The tension had been in the air for years. Shou had thought that they would have more self-control, though. Now everything they had built up – the band, their friendship, the professional work environment – was a big mess.

He stared at the empty sheets next to himself where Yutaka was supposed to be sleeping.

Shou wondered if he had gotten up early on purpose to steal away. Maybe it was a hint. Maybe he wanted Shou to leave quietly and unseen. Maybe he also thought last night had been a mistake.

The thought made him feel sick.

Sure, grabbing his clothes and making a run for the exit now seemed easy. But it wouldn’t be easy next time they met. They probably wouldn’t mention it. But Yutaka would look at him, regretting what had happened, possibly even feeling disgusted with it. Maybe he hated himself for his moment of weakness and maybe he hated Shou for wanting him in the first place. Shou was quite certain that Yutaka hated him. He was convinced of it. There was no way it could be any different. Shou wasn’t the kind of person you wanted to wake up next to. That was why Yutaka had left, most likely.

The alternative was worse, of course. That Yutaka hadn’t left and that he was still around, in the bathroom maybe or in the kitchen. Then Shou would have to talk to him before leaving. He didn’t know what to say. Sorry? He usually felt the need to apologize after having sex with someone. It was almost ridiculous.

Or maybe Yutaka didn’t regret what happened. But then Shou wouldn’t know what to say either. Would he like to do it again, if he got the chance?

It would cause more complications. Shou hated complications. It would also mean more sex. Shou liked sex. And it would mean more Yutaka. Shou liked Yutaka, too.

He wondered how long he could put off the decision on what to do just by staying in bed. That it was Yutaka’s bed and Yutaka’s apartment was a bit of a problem admittedly.

The problem became more than prominent when the door swung open.

Instinctively Shou pulled up the bedsheets around his body. That was a stupid reaction since Yutaka had already seen everything there was to see – not just last night. But his own nudity made him feel vulnerable and all he wanted to do was hide away.

Yutaka didn’t seem to be bothered by exposing himself, though. He wore nothing but a green pair of shorts and Gachapin socks matching the same colour.

He sat down at the end of the bed, looking completely relaxed. The shorts were so tight, they exposed everything they were supposed to hide.

“You are up”, Yutaka observed.

“Yeah”, Shou said, cursing the fact that now it was too late to still pretend he was asleep.

“I’m making breakfast”, Yutaka continued. “Coffee is brewing. I got you some bread.”

Shou dropped the sheets in front of his chest just a little. He felt stupid holding on to them so tightly.

“You got me bread?”, he repeated dumb-founded.

“I went to the convenience store, since I didn’t have any. But I thought you’d prefer bread for breakfast.”

Very slowly Shou nodded. He hadn’t expected Yutaka to make him breakfast. Least of all to go through the trouble of buying it first. He didn’t know what that meant for their relationship at all. He clung to the simple things.

“You’re barely dressed. Did you go out like that?”

“No”, Yutaka said. “I put on a jacket.”

Shou snorted. The thought that Yutaka had put on clothes, bought bread, and undressed again before coming back to the bedroom unsettled him a little. The fact that Yutaka was joking made it easier to not worry about it, though.

“Are we going to talk about what happened last night?”, he asked after a moment of silence.

He didn’t know where to look, but he figured that Yutaka’s face was his best option. Other parts of Yutaka were too distracting. Without makeup he always looked younger.

“I think you have seen enough adult videos to know what happened. But if you need further explanation, I’ll get a biology book for you”, Yutaka teased.

He spoke lightly, as if he didn’t worry about any of the problems raging in Shou’s mind. He sounded completely carefree.

“I meant more in terms of our” Shou swallowed. It was hard to pick the right word. Relationship? Future? “Feelings?”

“Oh, our feelings. Well, personally, I felt very good.” Yutaka grinned provokingly. “I can’t speak for you, but I think you felt good, too. At least that’s what you said, when I used my tongue to …”

Shou kicked out his leg under the bedsheets to interrupt Yutaka.

“Shut up”, he said.

He had realized that Yutaka was playing dumb on purpose. On the one hand, he was glad about the light tone between them, but the whole topic still made him feel uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry”, Yutaka said and grabbed for Shou’s leg. The bedsheets were between them, but Shou could sense the touch against his calf. Somehow, it felt soothing.

“We can talk about it, if you want to”, Yutaka added. His voice was more serious now. He always knew when he had to stop his teasing. There was a certain line he didn’t cross, making sure Shou was as comfortable as possible around him. It was one of the things he cherished about Yutaka and therefore probably one of the things that had gotten him into this situation in the first place.

“But I don’t have anything to say, really”, Yutaka closed.

Shou sighed. He, on the other hand, had so much to say, that he didn’t know where to start.

“Last night, was that a one-time thing? Or is it something that could happen again?”, he asked.

“Well, I like you. I thought that became pretty obvious last night. We had sex, remember? So, yes, since I wanted to do it last night, it should be clear I’d want to do it again.”

Shou stared at him. He didn’t know what expression to put on. I like you. Yutaka had said it so casually, as if it wasn’t a big deal. As if the sex and the breakfast and the fact that seemingly he wanted Shou to stay would make that clear already. To Shou it wasn’t clear. To Shou it was confusing.

“When you say that you like me, do you mean that if a similar situation occurred again, it would lead to a similar outcome? That, if we were to spend the evening together and this certain mood came up, that sex was something that could possibly happen again, maybe I mean? Or do you mean that you actually like me?”

Shou noticed he was babbling, but his brain seemed unable to process the given information. He needed to make sure, because he had the feeling of having misunderstood something completely.

“I know language can be difficult”, Yutaka said. He was smiling. “But when I say I like you - I do in fact mean that I like you.”

“Okay”, Shou said.

Yutaka waited patiently while Shou took his time to think. Something still didn’t seem to add up.

“So, you want to have sex with me? And also hang out with me?”, he assured.

Yutaka sighed. He was doing it over the top to make sure Shou noticed. His chest heaved. Sitting like that, the beginning of a little belly started to show. Shou could picture exactly what he would look like in 20 years. Chubby and bald. Shou thought that it would be nice to wake up next to him like that, too.

“Again, you seem to have language problems. Dating, the term is dating. That is what you call it when you like someone and you hang out with them and you have sex and you commit to them. And yes, I would like to date you.”

“Oh”, Shou mumbled sheepishly. This time, there wasn’t much space for misunderstanding. “That’s surprising.”

Yutaka raised his eyebrows at him. His eyes seemed larger that way. He had nice eyes and nice lips, too.

“Really? Not that I kissed you last night or what we ended up doing then? You were okay with that, but the fact I would like to date you is shocking news to you?”

Shou groaned helplessly and dropped the bedsheets altogether, instead of keeping his chest covered. Yutaka was right. He was acting like an idiot. After last night, he didn’t have anything to hide. And he didn’t have anything to be surprised about.

“I actually like you, too”, he confessed. The words seemed a lot heavier than Yutaka had made them sound.

“Good, great.” Yutaka clapped his hands together loudly and got up from the bed. “Then that’s settled, boyfriend.”

Shou cleared his throat. The word sounded big. Like commitment and also like a lot of problems.

“It’s not that easy”, Shou said and Yutaka stopped. He had been about to leave for the kitchen again, probably to check for the coffee.

“Why not?”, he asked. “I like you, you like me. Those are the best possible conditions for a relationship.”

“But we’ve been friends for so long”, Shou winced. “Aren’t we risking that?”

Yutaka shrugged. He still seemed carefree, no worry showing on his face. Shou wondered if that was a relieve or a reason for himself to worry even harder.

“It means we know each other well already. No shocking revelations to be expected. A good start.”

“And if we break up? What will that mean for the band?”

It was that, which worried him the most. He had worked hard to get to this point of his career.

“We’ll work it out. We dealt with everything so far. Why wouldn’t the band handle a break-up? And no one said we’ll break up at all. You worry too much.”

Yutaka had taken a step towards the bed again. He was grinning. Shou loved that grin. Life seemed easier when he saw Yutaka grinning like that.

In fact, Shou did worry too much. That had always been his problem. Brooding and sulking and overthinking. Maybe they wouldn’t break up. If they did, they would find a solution. Yutaka’s grin seemed to hold a solution for everything.

“Okay”, Shou said. “But let’s not tell the others. I don’t want pressure from outside when we are not sure how it will work out.”

“Then we won’t tell them.”

Yutaka beamed and took another step towards the bed. He seemed to have forgotten about breakfast entirely. For the first time this morning, Shou allowed his eyes to trail over Yutaka’s body throughout. He remembered last night. He remembered the giddiness of their first kiss, the heat and excitement afterwards. He remembered Yutaka wrapping his arm around Shou before falling asleep.

“But it will be tiring and exhausting to keep it secret. I don’t want to lie to them.”

Telling everyone sounded horrible. Not telling them sounded horrible, too.

Yutaka shrugged.

“Then we’ll tell them.”

Everything sounded simple when he said it. As if things were obvious to Yutaka while Shou couldn’t see them at all.

“Is it that easy?”, he asked.

“Sure. We won’t tell them and when we realize it’s too stressful to keep it secret, we’ll tell them. Everyone from the staff and the members respects and admires you. They will be supportive. But keeping it secret would also be hot and exciting. Both sounds great to me!”

“I meant more like the whole thing.” Shou gestured with his hand helplessly. Last night had felt right. Last night had felt easy. Now he wasn’t so sure anymore. He wasn’t anything like Yutaka.

“It’s always easy”, Yutaka said. “We want to date – then we’ll date. We want to tell everyone – we tell everyone. You want bread – I’ll buy it.”

Shou inhaled deeply.

Yutaka crossed the last distance to the bed and sat down right next to Shou. They weren’t touching, but they were close. Shou was aware of all their exposed skin.

“I’m not as sure of the things I want as you are”, he admitted.

He loved being around Yutaka. When he touched him, his heart picked up pace and his stomach started to tingle. He felt comfortable around him and he wanted to share his thoughts with him. To him, Yutaka was the most handsome, most interesting and most easy-going person he had ever met.

But did he really want to be in a relationship with him?

How would he know!

“Are you happy? With your life, I mean?”, Yutaka asked.

This time, it was Shou who had to shrug.

The fans made him happy and the music. But when he returned home to an empty apartment in the evening, he felt sad. Alone with his thoughts, there was too much to think about.

“It’s alright”, he said.

“And are you happy when you are with me?”, Yutaka asked.

Yutaka didn’t think too much. With him, things seemed easy. When he smiled, Shou’s thoughts calmed down and he felt happy in a way that wasn’t like music or the fans. It was quiet and gentle. Being around Yutaka was like finally breathing fresh air after a long time.

“Yes, very”, he said.

“Then it’s easy”, Yutaka confirmed and leaned in. “You should be with me more.”

Yutaka placed a short kiss on his lips and no matter how hard Shou tried – he couldn’t find a single flaw in his argumentation.

[ladyofmind]

October Wrap Up

Hey everyone! Sorry for the silence... been busier than even I can keep up with, and also found out that the last Music Monday I had a few weeks back- well it didn’t post so I was quieter than I intended to be...

But it is NaNoWriMo time now, so there should be time to settle in and post like mad to update you all, and write my 50k! After all, I have no plans to be anywhere this November. Fingers crossed nothing else goes crazy on me.

Without further chatter, game answers after the jump.

#CharactersHell

1- Rooms for rent above an active and lively bar, for as long as you like* (*Mgmt not responsible for any damage from the cat or other beings if you leave your door open/unlocked.)

2- Not in the expected way. Most of the monsters are the human Antags. The antags are motivated by jealousy and obsession. Other characters have their own personal demons, or else they aren’t really human...

3- Not real monsters, not really. The Antags are over the top in their issues, but they are rarer. Everybody has some kind of issue though.

4- Frost? That grumpy man is actually a bit of a softy inside… If not, Sly mixes up some ugly looking boozy milkshakes that are pretty tasty!

5- That would be the Antag. Tim is a sort of threat in waiting, one that slips around a bit like the snake he is. The incidents he is involved in are hard to figure out until after it happens...

6- My world is no different than our world. There is divinity in the form of God etc, but it really plays no part in my story.

7- Same world, same dire predictions. Only difference is, it’s a brothel, so one can assume they may already be in hell…

8- Most interesting job? That’s a toss up… It’s an interesting place to work in general, but I’m torn between Woods being in a band, or Tweety, the one in somewhat charge of all the other looney tunes….

9- Best Co-worker award goes to Malta. There is no one else likely to push, prod, and sometimes accidentally beat ya up to have a good time, while respecting limits. Unlike the constant party pusher Bebe, Malta can tell when you need the push, and when you just need a cuppa tea.

10- Most of the time, the networking person is Tweety, as everyone knows her and gets connected by her. But for this, I have to give it to the guys. Nira has a lot of connections from before bar life, music man Martin is always networking and improving his career, and Frost? Well the giant makes friends thru fights. Might not be a lot, but they are the best connections…

11- This is a little bit of everyone really. Malta, Frost, and others don’t do it intentionally, it’s more of a language barrier. Sly is the master of deflection to the point you still don’t know very much. That may be why Tweety sees him as an equal, as everyone assumes they know her, but they never know a thing. She doesn’t lie, just turns things around on ya.

12- Woods is about/has turned professional famous musician, depending on which book you read… Tweet is just really good at talking to people and getting everywhere from it.

13- Antags- Sofia has some fans yes. She’s a strange boss with a back story & has some loyal workers until she does things to mess that up (her MO). Tim on the other hand? Well, he’s liked for what his skills & the more unstable/broken sorts love him to obsession.

14- The Antags are good for backstabbing! Tim and Sophia work together for the mostly common goal, but in places there’s differences. For instance, a rigged auction is supposed to end in Tim’s favor. Doesn’t mean S can’t make more money off of him if he wants it that badly…

15- Tim gives me the creeps. There’s this thing he does that makes me feel violated too, so I know it will be good in the end… I just need recovery time after him.

16- Tweet isn’t monstrous… but it is a pain sometimes, writing for an always happy sort, even if you want to have her fight back against things.

17- Tim is as direct as a blunt log to the face can be. He’s more bull in the china shop. Sophia is the mastermind, making her puppets dance in that web way. You can 100% assume she’s behind something, but you’re hard pressed to prove it…

18- With Tim, smarts is the easy part. It’s Sophia you match wits with, if you have to at all…

19- Woods isn't really vicious… maybe some biting comments while holding a grudge. Tweet is always the “kill 'em with kindness” type

20- I think the side chars are very active in their own ways to push this story forward. Some are even pushy as hell!

21- Ok, so Frost isn't exactly wrathful towards the MC so much as ornery and wrathful at everyone… but he does blame Tweety for flaring his ulcer with her ideas.

22- Not all that hard for me, as I don’t force my characters into doing things they wouldn’t do anyway. I try to learn who they are first and go from there.

23- I don’t really use red herrings, not intentionally. There may be one or two accidentally...

24- So zen! I throw on some earphones blaring my playlist and forget that people exist. The absolute worst is when you’re writing so well, and then someone scares you by interrupting you!

25- I’m not really into the sweets. Once in a while, but mostly my writing runs off potato chips or pretzels. Crunchy and salty balances the romance writing well!

26- #FF #followfriday with interesting stories by: @nomdejillian @TGNeal @SkeptiCybrarian @marshawritesit

27- Halloween was fun when I was a kid. Now I enjoy making Halloween-y cookies and giving them out to people I like, since we never have trick or treaters where I live. One year per the Halloween cookie costume rules, I dressed in all grey with a bell on… Jingle bell rock ya’ll!

28- Not a prankster, so not very wrathful at all. Halloween isn’t a big deal near me.

29- Oh I think I did that already! False arrest of the sweet one anyone?

30- So this is a boost for our Co-Host @manual_arbanassi! His amazing, well rounded character work in #Tiogair is great. Plus he totally shares that character building with all of us with both this game and #CharactersTell!

31- After work where I have to avoid a kids book sale while having a bills closing day? Relax and maybe watch a Halloween-y movie. Really, I am more excited about #NaNoWriMo starting at midnight.

#SciFiNaNoPrep

1- Hi, Nicole here. I was fairly certain for #NaNo I would continue my #RedLetters #series, but this Mars idea won’t let go. It has an outline, so maybe this prep will help me change course?

2- For this Mars idea? 50K or whatever it takes to finish this idea. Definitely looking to start it.

3- It’s very similar in that it’s our Earth, and an exploration of the Mars planet we think we know.

4- The not so very distant future. My research says I need at least 4 years, so mid to late 2020’s

5- Planet Mars for about 90% of it. There’s a little Earth training time, and possibly other planet flash backs.

6- Both generally advanced Earth tech, and some stuff for Mars that feels like #spoilers (plus I need to sort that out –Note to self on more #prep!)

7- Haven’t quite named them… but I do know there’s some diversity and a female MC/narrator

8- That’s definitely a #spoiler! I can say that it’s a “greet the way you’re greeted” thing…

9- Oh, I’m showing my age here for sure… but like Sailor Mercury from Sailor Moon or the original Power Rangers Billy the blue ranger come to mind… for their smarts and calmness.

10- There are both Earth “children” and adults, plus some Martian life.

11- Earth customs, sure, all the standard ones. Martian customs fall into “show you, you decide what happens” things. Because the message/meanings are important sometimes.

12- #FF #followfriday with #scifi writers: @RagingCyclone @authorASMcGowan @mae_mckinnon and a bunch of people at #wipworldbuilders

13- I would say somewhere in between, as it largely depends on which side you see it from. Just because it’s Utopia to one may be dystopia to another. Similar to the grass being greener on the other side theory.

14- Earth politics are the same. Mars doesn’t have politics in the same way. They have more rule, order and understanding.

15- Mars is more science and study, so they are more guardians less lawyers in that sense. They have systems for everything, but mostly they do not have crime within their own ranks. Outsiders are a different story.

16- Oh lots! I am taking some of the known things about planets and life and tying it together to give credible conspiracy theory if you will. Might even include Nikola Telsa…

17- As Mars is a drier planet- with more wind storm, less water, the idea of hydro anything doesn’t work. Plus they have a better greenhouse process that makes planting in the ground useless.

18- There is really no focus on currency in this idea, as shooting for different themes, money being the root of trouble not one of them.

19- ATV type things above ground, underground tunnels with everything from walking to hovering transports.

20- I enjoy a reasonable time travel story. Not the type that appear there just to be there, or where the tech that travels person is hokey. More like Timeless, Krypton, or Doctor Who on good days.

21- On Mars there is advanced tech where medicine as we know it is obsolete. A little more nanites and lasers a lot less oral pills and rectal anythings.

22- Mars is a dry windy planet without water, in comparison to Earth’s visible habitats.

23- Mars grows things without name at the moment, but it is edible, like all things people make do with.

24- Standard Martian wear is something of a lab coat but resistant to its environmental elements.

25- Anything can be a weapon in untrained hands…

26- #FF upcoming writers

27- Earthlings go to school and are trained for space exploration. Martians learn by doing.

#RomanceNaNoPrep

1- Hi, Nicole here. Library worker by day/night/weekend, writer every other chance. Currently two and a half books into my #RedLetters series. So far all I’ve ever written falls into womens fiction category.

2- For Red Letters? 50K is just going to start it. They end up being easily 80-100K, even if its more like 200K words that have to be split into two different books...

3- Romance is my sub genre, as it reads more like womans fiction first. But the other books in the series cover more of the slice of life/journey stuff. This one would have a heavier romantic tone.

4- I love a good believable romance. Whether it starts off as a one night stand or getting to know each other first, the characters have to be real and well rounded. Funny is a plus but not cartoony or asks me to assume too much.

5- Depends on the mood. If I need a little escape, a sweet romance will do the trick. But if I need to be reminded of what it’s like to be human outside of working too much or need a serious escape, steamy tends to have a better grip on me.

6- #RedLetters started as an RP… don’t know where the 💜 of romance came from, but I’ve been writing about it as long as I can remember. Helps that hubs & I have been together 10+ yrs & we’re good friends first. Learned lots about relationships from that alone.

7- The main characters in #RedLetters has always been Naomi, better known as Tweety and the musician Woods. There is a whole host of other characters that are important, and Greg may become an MC… if he stays Greg of course.

8- Well, it’s not really a special meaning, so much as an inside joke. Tweety got her nickname from an outfit she wore, and a drunk-ish Cockney woman. The rest as they say is history…

9- Honestly? Kind of a fan of Emma Stone. Looks sweet and innocent, but can be sassy and a bit sexy too. All around package, inside and out I think.

10- I might have the Evil Other Woman cliche… At least on the surface. Hoping the history fleshes this out to be a full story not just a mad woman scorned thing...

11- Big fan of sassy heroines (aka no weak and fainty unrealistic women) and maybe a touch of the second chance at love thing…

12- #FF #followfriday  @MaeBaumWriter @klimov_author  have been #prepping with me since day one... plus I like the stuff @K_A_Grayson  does in her rockstar #romance...

13- When they first met, Tweety was about 21/22. Woods was 24/25. When they meet again about 5 years later, Woods is 30, Tweety will have a birthday in that book.

14- The characters are struggling 20's. Woods is higher in class while trying to do it himself. Tweety's poorer & finding herself. Inside the bar/club, social status doesn’t matter, & in some cases, makes you less important the more important you assume you are.

15- Woods sister approves, eventually. Tweety doesn’t talk to her parents, instead relying on Frost the manager to be her father figure. After a good bit of threatening during a chat with Woods, Frost approved too.

16- In this book? Friendly enemies. Tweety is not happy to see him, but she is never a rude sort, more the kill with kindness type. Woods is more eager to charm her into regretting her choices and occasionally bringing up the past, even if facts are distorted...

17- What brings Tweet and Woods together? A certain book… you know when you get that déjà vu feeling? Except you have proof from your side of the tale too. Trouble is that the truth has its own version…

18- What’s keeping them apart? Lots of hurt pride, broken hearts, completely different lifestyles… But even with all that past, the thing that made them unique is still there.

19- Remember yesterday, when I said different lifestyles? Yeah. West coast musician with a wildly successful touring band vs an East coast wildly famous bar/nightclub owner. One is always on the go, the other is happily rooted to one spot. Plus the same problems as last time- other people.

20- Woods can be a bit too thick headed or obtuse for Tweet’s liking. Woods isn’t exactly annoyed by her running off tendency, but it isn’t making his days any better either.

21- Well, this pair have been together before, and neither were all that innocent then. But since then… One has gone full on flavor of the month style, while the other is much more cautious about their reputation.

22- Woods & Tweet = the infamous Ghostbusters “don’t cross the streams” thing. It’s a peppy flirt who makes you question if she’s as naïve as she sounds vs a rogue with all the manners of that bad boy you need to leave with. Their game is holding out the longest & upping the stakes…

23- Their first kiss? Very steamy yet semi polite in front of the crowd… You see, it was Halloween, and there were sexy costumes… someone didn't speak, just acted, and the rest is... in the book!

24- In this series, I love that Tweet and Woods flirt at the level of chess moves sometimes. Tweety makes a man play on her level or the game is over. If you use tired lines or give the answer she expects when giving you enough rope to hang yourself… well she’s already over it.

29- Favorite quality about-

Tweety- She’s amazing at making people feel welcome and free to be themselves.

Woods- He’s got an awesome amount of patience and tolerance. The not being jealous adds to his charms.

30- Least favorite quality about-

Tweety- Always with the bright, happy side even if it hurts…

Woods- He picks up a ghost nickname for a reason you know.

31- This has been fun, and I’m totally ready for #NaNoWriMo! (Sits and waits for the clock to strike 12…)

#CharactersTell

1/10- “Oh, it’s my favorite month! Halloween weekend parties are our best buiness, and the most fun! Of course I have to come chat about #RedLetters with you all. You all know me as miss Tweety...”

2/10- Tweety- “Why i’m your hostess with the most-ess! I run the front of house at Soulful, in addition to being a co-owner.”

3/10- Tweety- “It’s only lonely in the sense of responsibility. Otherwise, I have a ton of staff and regulars around at any given time.”

4/10-Tweety- “I guess? I’m great with a lot of things, but Nira is best with the finances, so I leave that to him. Since I started being a waitress, I had him investing & asked for what I needed to buy clothes with. Best way to pay him back for the couch surfing.”

5/10- Tweety- “My time off is usually when I sleep. Now there is some help so I can leave before I start falling asleep, but other than writing, I wouldn’t know what to do with time off.”

6/10- Tweety- “Adventure happens all around the club. You never know what Bebe will do when bored, at least my job and the respect given to me, keeps the place from falling down around it all.”

7/10- Tweety- “Well, I would hope that my kindness keeps me in high esteem… Why else would we be so packed all the time? I know there are those against me, because I built a following from scratch.”

#CharactersTell

8/10- “I'm Greg, Gus’ grandson and recent college grad with a degree in business.”

9/10- Greg- “I had a few odds jobs, some for the experience more than the money, but yeah I work a lot.”

10/10- Greg- “I'm not nefarious. Just a regular guy with an inheritance that apparently affects others…”

11/10- Greg- “That's what I'm trying to decide! A piece of a prosperous club or a life on my own…”

12/10- Greg- “Trying not to do that with this choice. You know, this isn't really helping me decide, not when you're highlighting the downsides…”

13/10- Greg- “Progressive. Smart, firm when I have to be. Not overly nice, you will know I'm the boss.”

14/10- Greg- “If I decided to take the ownership, it's really like a slow raise. Or I sell it and make a windfall quick…”

#CharactersTell

15/10- Rolls in on those shoes with wheels inside “Duranta at your service, but everyone calls me Runta! Soul’s not so resident clothing designer and somewhat personal shopping friend to Tweet, if you must know.

16/10- Runta- laughs “Of course not! It takes money and patronage to become a designer who makes money. They wanted me to have a different sort of full time boring work.”

17/10- Runta- “I’ve made a few fashion week shows, and have some amazingly supportive fans who basically are fashion influencers in their own rights...” #spoilers

18/10- Runta- “Sure, I mean clothes and fashion is how you see a person, so of course people have stereotypes based on looks, but I don’t play that game.”

19/10- Runta- “Absolutely! Networking is a big part of what I do! Connections get me everywhere.”

20/10- Runta- “Total workaholic! A friend of mine says that if you love what you do, it’s not working, but living. And I am living for this life!”

21/10- Runta- “I learned a few things from the place I got my start. Hire people good at what they do, and that you can stand being around constantly. So yeah, the people who work for me become a family, since we’re together that much.”

[whatever-the-fucky-i-writes]

Shadows Dance - Part 1

Word Count: 1,564

Pairing: Bucky x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Death, Mentions of torture, Blood, Swearing, One mention of drug use

Part 2   Part 3   Part 4 (Final)

Series Masterlist

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters from the MCU.

Tags: @beccaanne814   @winterbvrnes

Author’s Note: AND HERE WE ARE! The original reason for making this darn blog! [Cue Thomas Sanders Voice] Story Time! So the amazing winterbvrnes was having a writing challenge and I had been toying with the idea of actually writing something rather than just creating stories in my head that will never have the honor of meeting the lovely Ms Paper. The basic premise was that you take a line from a song, book, poem, whatever you want and write a story about it. I decided to go for it, choosing the line “Sometimes goodbye's the only way. And the Sun will set for you." from the song Shadow of the Day by Linkin Park (a song that I may or may not have listened to on repeat while writing this whole thing). And even though they ended up taking down the challenge and later leaving Tumblr, I decided to still write this story. And so ten months later, my first (on purpose) fanfic is finally done. Infinity War wasn’t out when I started writing this so there’s no spoilers or anything from that movie in here. I’ve split it up into four parts and I’m going to try and exercise what little patience I have and try to not post them all in one go. Part two will probably be up within the next few days.

And I just want to give special thanks to beccaanne814. I am so thankful that she decided to read this, and her kind words and support gave me the extra boost I needed to actually put this out into the world. If you don’t already know of her, you should totally go check her out; her writing’s amazeballs!

So without further ado, here is my Bucky x Reader series, Shadows Dance.

        You had joined the Avengers a few years ago. After Steve’s half of the Avengers had fled, Tony had started to compile a list of special individuals whom he believed had the makings of potential recruits. However, that wasn’t the reason you were recruited. Were you on the list? Yes, your exemplary background as an ex-Marine and the fact that you were pretty dang smart ensured that, and having powers didn’t hurt either. No, the reason you were recruited was that you actually saved a few Avenger butts when they found themselves in a sticky situation at a Hydra base that you had infiltrated while working with Nick Fury in Europe. And after you’d finished saving their asses, you just had to come back to the compound for celebratory drinks. And, after Tony talked it over with you and Fury, you all decided it would be beneficial if you stayed.

        And after a brief adjustment period, you began to fit right in. You could keep up with Tony and Bruce’s scientific ramblings so you would often find yourself wandering down to the lab on restless nights to keep Tony company and provide second (or third) opinions on whatever gizmo or gadget he was working on. Your main sparring opponents were Nat and Steve, but you would also face Clint and Sam to shake things up sometimes. All in all, you got on well with everyone on the team, aside from Bucky. He wasn’t that good with new people yet so your interactions were often spent in silence, or very near to it. That’s not to say you avoided him, you could often be found watching TV in the main room together, but you didn’t push him to talk to you; you figured that when he felt comfortable enough, he would talk. And about half a year later, talk he did. After you got over what felt akin to shock at his first attempt at initiating conversation with you, you would talk about anything and everything. You two were like peas in a pod and he became your best friend (but you’d never tell Tony that — his fake offense would be unbearable.) Your room was just down the hall from Bucky’s so you’d often find yourself comforting him after nightmares, and he found himself doing the same for you. And on the weekends when you guys weren’t running missions, you’d often have movie or TV show marathons in each others room. And that’s how things were for the next year and half-ish. 

        However, after Bucky and the sweet art student (she had to be the nicest human being you had met outside of the Avengers) broke up, you became very conflicted. You felt bad because your best friend was hurting and you only wanted him to be happy, but you also felt… relief? And that’s how you realized that what had once been platonic, for you at least, had become romantic. But your friendship with him meant the world to you so you kept your feelings a secret so as to not jeopardize that. You didn’t want to fuck it all up by revealing your feelings and having him not reciprocate which would lead to inevitable awkwardness. So you resolved to only be there for Bucky in his time of need and to simply stay his friend. 

Two Years Later...

         You had a bad feeling about this. The rest of the Avengers were out on other missions, leaving you and Bucky to respond to a tip from somewhere in eastern Europe. Some stoner had been wandering through the woods after some… recreational activities when they had seen “strange military-looking trucks” heading further into the woods. Now, normally people wouldn’t give too much credence to what the high youngster had said, but the area they described was home to a known, although thought to be abandoned, Hydra base. You two had quickly loaded up the Quinjet with all the necessary supplies and your suits and taken off. Bucky locked in the auto-pilot sequence and turned around. You tossed him his suit with a nod of your head as you both turned around and got dressed.

        “You good?” he asked as you propped your foot up on a seat and hunched over to begin to lace the tac boot up.

        “You can turn around,” you responded. Finishing with that a few moments later, you straightened out, almost feeling a sense of comfort in your suit. Your ensemble consisted of black tac boots and pants, not unlike Bucky’s, and a long-sleeved black spandex shirt underneath a bulletproof vest. Nat had tried to convince you to wear a catsuit once, but you only got as far as putting one on and deciding it was definitely not for you. It clung in all the wrong places and you could just feel the major wedgie waiting to happen.

        Well, turns out you had pretty great intuition because, wouldn’t ya know, your bad feeling had meant something. It meant that you and Bucky had been dumbasses for going in alone. Your intel and surveillance had grossly underestimated the total population and size of the base. It was supposed to be mostly abandoned, intel telling you that there was nothing more than a ghost crew present, just enough to keep it running. And Bucky’s reconn indicated that those numbers should have been right. It was supposed to be relatively small, a few hallways, a few rooms, a lab or two with a central control/security room, nothing major. Instead, you got a sprawling, underground maze of hallways that all looked the same and countless rooms with iron doors with as many agents as you could possibly squeeze into the place. Screw base, this was a stronghold. And you and Bucky had gone in with a carefully laid plan that had fallen into pieces when confronted with their overwhelming numbers. Needless to say, the two of you were captured, and, recognizing who Bucky was and inferring who you must be, they decided to hold off on killing you until you answered a few of their questions while strapped to some pretty sturdy-ass, cold, metal chairs.

        Day and night bled together, the lines between dream and reality, waking and unconsciousness were blurred by ever-present pain. After, oh gosh you didn’t even know how long it had been… you decided to call it a long while, a rookie guard had made the mistake of standing too close to you while overseeing one of Bucky’s sessions. The guard had turned as Bucky passed out, his head slumped forward onto his chest. ‘Sick fucker,’ you thought, ‘wanting to get a better view of someone else’s torture. What would your momma say?’ 

        But lucky for you, his desire to get a better view left the side of his leg exposed to you, allowing you to see the knife he kept strapped there. You quickly formulated a plan, knowing you had to act before the guard turned his back towards you completely. So even though the angle wasn’t quite ideal, you reeled back and with all your might head-butted the guard right in his balls. As your chair began to fall forward, you twisted it so that your hand brushed his leg, allowing you just enough to time to snatch the knife out of its holster without him noticing. While he was caught up in his pain, you slid the knife underneath your arm, trapping it between your forearm and the arm of the chair. Just as you finished, the torturer, who had quickly strode over from where Bucky was strapped to his chair with a malicious glint in her eyes, was picking your chair back up, slamming it back onto all four legs. Your eyes met those of the guard, who was looking at you with enough vitriol that you almost felt insulted. It wasn’t your fault they had lousy spacial awareness. The contact was cut swiftly as you experienced a different kind of contact. Namely that between a fist and your face. You could taste blood as your head snapped violently to the side. Waiting until your vision stopped swimming, you wearily turned your head back, already able to feel a nasty bruise forming thanks to a probably fractured cheekbone. Man, that lady had one hell of a right hook. 

        And that was only the beginning. The pummeling that followed was nothing short of absolutely brutal. As she left the room, leaving you and Bucky alone in the room you were being contained in, the guard was forced to reassume his position outside the door. You lingered on the edge of passing out, whether it was from pain or exhaustion, you didn’t know. But you knew you had to stay awake. And, though you dreaded what would happen if this next step went wrong, you knew you had to get someone to come back in there. The only way out was through a door that opened from the outside, a buzzer letting the guard outside know when someone wanted to be let out. So in order to get out, you needed someone else to come in. You managed to maneuver the knife out from under your arm and made quick work of the ropes that were holding you in place. ‘Time to go to work,’ you thought as you swallowed heavily, preparing yourself mentally for what was to come.

To Be Continued...