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mostlycompetentwriter · 4 years ago

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You Can STAY - Part 12

Pairing: Y/N x Felix (Side Pairing: Y/N x Stray Kids)

Genre: Fantasy AU; OT8; Scarlet Heart AU

Warnings: Lots of Angst; Major Character Death

A/N: This is the final part of You Can STAY. I have determined that I am very bad at writing series, and I apologize for the ending...I imagine that many of you will express mixed emotions.

However, there is a epilogue coming soon in the future! And I will, of course, add all of the parts together into one easily accessible story for future readers!

Nine Months Later

If I were to tell the end of my story, I would want it to go something like this: “At the edge of the Kingdom, secluded in the northernmost woods, a former Castle Mage lived with her husband and unborn son, dreaming about the King who stole her heart.”

I don’t like sad endings, but sometimes there are sacrifices whose consequences are too grave to ignore. While Felix ruled the Kingdom exactly as I had once urged him, I did my part by spending long hours tucked away inside a little cabin as my stomach grew rounder and the days grew shorter.

Jisung was good company, when he was around. In between his visits, he worked on the margins, watching over Felix and working with Chan to secure our borders and alliances. He was still very much ostracized from political life, and Felix, to my knowledge, had never forgave his brothers for their part in the rebellion that changed the Kingdom.

“I can deal with his wrath,” Jisung told me one morning. “I’m perfectly content.”

I managed a smile in return, but it was half-hearted. I knew that Jisung was referring to our marriage, one that only existed on paper, so that he could support me in isolation. He was more than content to live with me and provide anything that my heart desired.

But my heart’s most fervent wish lived in the Castle beyond the horizon, and I could easily glimpse the tops of the tallest towers, wondering if Felix ever looked out from the balcony and thought of the woman he once loved.

Of course he does, a voice at the back of my head reminded me.

“Hyunjin tells me that Felix speaks of you often,” Jisung added, even though it didn’t do much to assuage my guilt.

Thankfully, Felix had accepted Hyunjin back into the Castle as a personal advisor, likely because Hyunjin had nothing to do with Jisung, Jeongin, and Chan’s plan to overtake the Kingdom and dispose Changbin.

It seemed like a distant memory, and I sighed at the nostalgia of those memories: occasions where I walked through the hallways of the Castle, exploring the gardens and distant grounds, thinking of the day when Felix and I would finally both be free to love without constraint.

It belongs in that past, those sort of thoughts, and I had long ago given up on the prospect of a complete family where I could simply exist as someone who wanted to love and be loved.

Of course, there was also the issue of my health.

Despite early good reports on my pregnancy, our doctor had recently decided that my prognosis wasn’t as easy as he had initially perceived: “You might have difficulties,” he told me. “During the birth.”

“Oh,” was all I could manage, and I barely felt Jisung squeezing my hand as everything changed in a single moment.

One day, along the bright edges of the morning, Hyunjin came to visit.

“You look well,” he told me, accepting a drink from Jisung who then came to sit next to me.

“I feel good,” I said, even though there was still a prickling of doubt at the furthest reaches of my subconscious - a reminder that my future was suddenly difficult to presume.

“I’m glad,” Hyunjin replied sincerely, and he turned his attention to Jisung. “I just got back from a meeting with a Southern convoy. Things are turning around.”

“Good,” Jisung said, reaching out to take my hand. “We were worried for a while.”

I forced a smile, barely listening as they continued talking, discussing the same politics that I could barely stand since they had cost me everything.

“Where are you going this weekend?” Jisung asked, and I was faintly aware of Hyunjin’s response, but more than anything, my attention was suddenly preoccupied with a sharp pain in my abdomen.

I winced immediately, and Jisung noticed my discomfort, falling down onto his knees in front of me. “Y/N?” he asked, tone hesitant.

“Hurts,” I managed, and I could see Hyunjin getting up from the corner of my eye.

“Do you need the doctor?” Jisung asked, and I managed a nod, keeling over when it felt like a thousand knives were piercing me all at once.

“I’ll go,” Hyunjin volunteered, but his voice sounded distant, like I had abruptly been submerged beneath the water, struggling to hear.

“Y/N!” Jisung repeated, and his eyes were frantic as they found mine. “You’ll stay with me, right?”

I tried to say something, but there was a peculiar pull to the dark that was far more compelling, and I fell under its spell while Jisung became nothing more than a distant shadow.

When I woke back up again, the shapes and figures surrounding me were difficult to discern.

My stomach rolled and my skin felt like it burning! I groaned at the discomfort, attracting the attention of the two men standing at the door. “Y/N,” Jisung’s familiar voice spoke through the reverie, and he was at my side within moments, taking my hand in his own.

“Hello again, dear,” another voice said, and I recognized the doctor as he released a tired sigh. “Seems like we’re at a difficult point.”

I nodded, opening my mouth to speak, but ultimately deciding to remain silent. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Jisung whispered to me, and my heart ached at the pain in his eyes. “Do you feel like seeing a visitor?”

Not really, but I agreed nonetheless, expecting Hyunjin to enter the room. But nothing could’ve prepared me for the sight of a familiar mess of red hair and bright green eyes. “Y/N.”

“Felix,” I said, voice hoarse and gravelly, but there were tears falling even without my awareness, and I quickly noticed that Jisung and the doctor had vacated the room.

It was a little awkward though, after all this time, looking back at Felix as he looked back at me, gaze heavy with something striking. “Y/N,” he whispered, and I was shocked to see him breakdown, making it to my bedside before falling onto the edge of the mattress.

“Are you okay?” I asked, instinctively, reaching out without hesitation to card my fingers through his hair.

He sniffled in response, looking up at me with tear-streaked eyes and a beautiful smile. “I am now.”

My heart stuttered at his sentiment, and I wanted nothing more than to curl myself into Felix and lose myself there in his embrace. “I missed you,” I whimpered.

“I know, love,” Felix said, and he pressed a kiss to the back of my hand.

“I’m sorry I left,” I whispered - as if it were an afterthought.

“I understand,” he replied, looking at me to expose the truth - he was aware, despite what I had burdened myself with believing. He knew why I had to leave, and there was nothing but peace left between us.

Peace and Love.

“At first, I was angry and confused,” Felix said. “But I read your letter, and I had Hyunjin to help guide me. He helped me realize that you left so that I could fulfill the destiny I had been denied as a child. It was painful without you, but our circumstances were far from trivial.”

“Yes,” I exhaled, tightening my grip on him. “I never wanted to leave.”

“It’s okay,” Felix reassured me, and his eyes were soft as they paused on my lips. “We’ve always been tethered at the soul. Together, even if it couldn’t be in the way we truly desired.”

He kissed me then, igniting a furious passion that had laid dormant inside of me for months. “It’s yours, you know,” I said, pulling back to graze the pretty line of his lashes. “The child is ours.”

Felix inhaled abruptly, looking down at my swollen stomach. “Truly? Hyunjin said that you were pregnant, but I didn’t want to assume-”

“It could’ve never belonged to anyone else,” I interrupted him. “It’s always been you.”

Felix nodded, allowing one hand to smooth down over the sheets, following the outline of my stomach. “This is more than I could ever ask for.”

I smiled at his pretty words, but then I felt a cold sweat break out against the back of my neck. “Felix,” I said. “The doctor told me that the pregnancy might bring some complications.”

He shivered, and I was surprised by the unfiltered grief written across his expression. “I know that too.”

“If I don’t survive-”

“If,” Felix growled, emphasizing that nothing could ever be certain.

“If,” I agreed. “I want you to raise our child. He deserves to be with his father.”

Felix visibly swallowed, looking away as if having trouble completing such a promise, but I forced him to look at me again. “Alright,” he eventually conceded. “If such things manifest.”

“And you need to forgive your brothers,” I said, holding him at attention in case he tried to move away again. “After all this time...”

“Y/N,” Felix sighed. “Why does this sound like a goodbye?”

I held my tongue, glancing down at our intertwined hands. “Think of it as a start to the next chapter.”

Felix chuckled, affectionate gaze meeting mine. “I’ll be here until it’s over. When you can rest for as long as you want.”

“Thank you,” I said. “And you will always have me. In one way or another.”

“I can rest easy,” Felix said, and he started murmuring something soft and sweet to the unborn child inside of me, and I found myself able to breathe a lit bit easier for the first time in months.

I even managed a smile, knowing that I could still give Felix a piece of me after I was gone. Unlike our complicated time together at the Castle, our unborn son would be free of those heavy restrictions, and perhaps it was the better outcome. Because, when I really thought about it, our son wouldn’t just be a piece of me. It would be a little part of Felix as well, and I felt nothing short of triumphant when I imagined a world with the right combination of Y/N and Felix. Together at long last.

Victorious until the bittersweet end.

#stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #lee felix fanfic #felix fanfic #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz imagines #skz scenarios #felix imagines #felix scenarios #scarlet heart au #mostlycompetent

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batterycityghoul · 4 years ago

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There’s a Bad Moon on the Rise (Ben Hanscom/Reader) (2/3)

Summary: You're Richie's twin sister and a member of the Losers' Club. When the other members all pack up and leave town, you elect to stay behind with Mike to wait for It to come back. After 27 years pass and Pennywise returns, will you and the other Losers be able to finally defeat him?

Pairing: Ben Hanscom/Reader; Richie Tozier & Reader; Background Richie Tozier/Eddie Kaspbrak

Word Count: 5.9k

Author’s Note: This is finished at 16k. I decided to split it up into three parts to make it easier. If you enjoy this, then letting me know would make my day! If you’ve seen It: Chapter Two, then you know what you’re in store for regarding warnings...but with the added fun of some canon divergence!

Masterlist / Read on AO3 / Part One

When you got to the Townhouse, you were unsurprised to see that Eddie was practically ready to run out the door and Richie wasn't far behind him. But both seemed to have been brought up short by whatever was going on with Beverly and Ben in the Townhouse's lounge.

You stopped just in the doorway, trading an uncertain look with Richie, before you focused on what they were talking about.

When you realized that Beverly had somehow known the details of Stan's death, you started to wonder what else you were missing.

It wasn't until Bill and Mike arrived and it was revealed that Beverly had seen all of your deaths thanks to her time caught in the deadlights in ‘89 that everyone started to realize there was no fleeing Derry this time. Either you all stayed and killed Pennywise once and for all or none of you would even make it another twenty-seven years to try again.

You were all cursed and doomed to die horrible deaths if Pennywise lived. It seemed your only options were to stay and fight or flee and die.

"Well," you started as you glanced at Mike. "I've waited twenty-seven years in this shitty little town for this moment. I'm in," you told the group with a resolve you mostly felt out of a need for revenge. Revenge for Stan and revenge for the lost years of your life you would never get back. Revenge for the nightmares and incessant fear that had haunted you since you were a child and revenge for all of the children who had lost their lives to Pennywise. Revenge for Georgie and revenge for the grief countless families had endured in Derry because of It.

You met Bill's eyes for a brief moment and noticed he looked just as determined as you felt to finally finish It once and for all.

Once everyone else had agreed to stick around and try to finish the fight, Mike mentioned a ritual he discovered that would be able to kill It. You couldn't help the frown you aimed at him as he explained the Ritual of Chüd. In all the years you had stuck by Mike's side, he had never once mentioned the ritual to you. From the way he was carefully not meeting your eyes, you knew that it was something he had purposefully done. When Bill seemed to support Mike's words, you were helpless to stop the brief moment of jealousy you felt that Mike would trust Bill with that information but not you.

As you trailed at the end of the group on the trek across town, you couldn't help wonder if the ritual would work. There was something that didn't quite add up about the bigger picture, but you weren't sure what it was yet. You needed more details and the only person who could fill those in was Mike.

Going back to the clubhouse was a trip down memory lane you hadn't been aware you needed. You usually avoided the woods, for good reason, but being with the group provided you with the courage you sometimes lacked when you were on your own.

You enjoyed watching the other members uncover old memories until Richie scared you all with his own impression of Pennywise.

"Are you going to be like this the whole time we're home?" Eddie wondered as he glared up at Richie.

Richie rolled his eyes before glancing away. "I was just trying to bring some levity to this shit," he grumbled before he sighed. "Alright, guess I'll go fuck myself, then," he muttered before he ducked under a beam and started rifling through a crate that held a few old comic books and other odds and ends.

"What are we doing here, Mike?" Bill asked as he glanced up from a shelf full of old trinkets that used to belong to the group.

"Yeah, not that I'm not loving the nostalgia of all this, but what's the point?" Richie added with a frown.

"I brought you here because I need you all to remember. If we're going to complete the ritual, then you all need an item. An artifact. Something that's connected to the past and to that summer." Mike explained as he considered everyone in the group.

"Why?" You couldn't help but wonder as you looked around the clubhouse. "What kind of artifact should we be looking for?"

"It's different for all of us, but it has to be something personal. The Ritual of Chüd requires a sacrifice and that sacrifice will be your artifact. I brought us all here, because I thought this might be where we find Stan’s artifact.”

When Eddie pointed out that Bill had already found Stan’s artifact, a shower cap that had been left behind in 1989, you all shared a brief moment of silence as you remembered the thoughtful boy who had insisted wearing the caps would be the only way to prevent spiders from getting in your hair.

Once you all left the clubhouse, Eddie turned to look at Mike. “So, where should we find our artifacts or tokens or whatever?”

“It’s different for all of us, which is why we're going to need to split up."

"Hey, no, fuck that," Richie denied with a quick shake of his head. "Every horror movie ever explains why that's a bad idea."

"Yeah, I'm not going anywhere by myself if I can help it," Eddie was quick to jump in.

"No, it has to be alone," Mike insisted as he glanced from Richie to Eddie. "There are memories that you have to uncover on your own."

"What's left?" Richie asked as he squinted at Mike. "We remember everything from that summer already. We joined forces and fought It and suffered through some shit that years of therapy probably won't help. What else is there?"

"We weren't always together," Mike pointed out as he met your eyes. "There was a point during that summer when we were separated."

"After Eddie broke his arm," you remembered with a frown.

"After the fight," Beverly added with a nod.

"Well, fuck," Richie seethed with a scowl.

From the way Eddie scoffed, you had a feeling he agreed with the sentiment.

“You all need to unlock those memories, because that’s how you’re going find your artifacts. Tokens,” Mike amended with a quick look at Eddie. “And once you have them, we’ll all meet up at the library. We can figure out how to proceed from there.”

Before the group split up, you managed to grab Richie's jacket sleeve to grab his attention. He slowed down until you were walking side-by-side at the edge of the group.

"You alright?" You couldn't help but wonder as you considered your brother. You hated to admit it, but he seemed like the biggest flight risk at the moment. You knew your brother was brave and reckless, but he also didn't seem completely on board with the plan to defeat Pennywise.

"Peachy," he assured you with a grin that was a bit too wide and forced to be anything but fake.

"Richie," you admonished with a tone you hadn't used for years, but clearly told him you weren't going to take any of his bullshit.

"I just..." he trailed off with a frown. "I didn't ask for this. I was fine. I was touring and famous and making so much fucking money." He huffed out a helpless laugh before he raked his fingers through his hair. "But it was lonely and now I know why. But we're already down one man and any one of us might fucking be next. Why the fuck would I want to stick around for that? Why should any of us?"

You considered your brother for a few moments before you spoke. "You could leave," you conceded with a nod. "But you'd never forgive yourself if you weren't here and something went horribly wrong. Besides, if we don't defeat Pennywise this time, then we're all dead."

"Gee, you really know how to console a guy. I can't even imagine why you're still single," Richie muttered before wincing when you reached out to shove him.

"Fuck off," you grumbled. Your eyes met his and it wasn't long before you were both laughing, falling back into the familiar comradery you had enjoyed all those years ago.

"Fuck," Richie sighed before he threw an arm around your shoulders. "You know what your token is yet?"

"Don't laugh," you warned as you bumped into him. You knew exactly what your token would be and while it would hurt to depart with it, you knew that if it meant getting rid of Pennywise, then you would sacrifice just about anything to ensure the safety of the others. You wouldn't lose anyone else. Not after you had already lost Stan.

You reached into the pocket of your jacket and pulled free the red bit of sponge you usually kept there before placing it on your nose.

"Holy shit," Richie got out on an incredulous laugh. "You still have that? Why the fuck are you just carrying it around like that?"

You felt a grin tug at your lips before you pulled off the clown nose Richie had gifted to you during the summer of '89. "It might have been the worst gift idea ever, but it meant a lot to me."

You weren't even sure why you were stumbling around the woods near the barrens all by yourself. If anything had become clear since Pennywise appeared in your life, it was that you really shouldn't go anywhere alone.

You were just so tired of being afraid all the time. Now, with the group split up, you had begun to worry that the search for Georgie had fallen by the wayside. You knew, deep down, that Bill's little brother was probably dead, but you didn't want to give up until Bill gave up.

So, when you couldn't stand to be inside your house any longer and Richie had ignored your request for his company, you decided to take matters into your own hands. You didn't even really think you would be able to find Georgie, but you couldn't help but hold out a tiny bit of hope that you would still find the kid lost out in the woods.

You weren't really looking where you were going when you stumbled over a root that had twisted up out of the ground. You flung an arm out, barely catching yourself on the trunk of the tree next to you, before you kicked uselessly at the root.

When you glanced up, you noticed you were no longer alone.

"Oh, poor little Y/N, all alone in the woods," Pennywise crooned with a malevolent grin that sent a chill down your spine. "No one wanted to play with you, Y/N?"

"Fuck off," you struggled to say as you willed yourself to move. Your feet stayed planted, though. You wanted to turn and run away, but your body wouldn't let you. You were frozen with fear.

"I'll play with you, Y/N," Pennywise promised as he took one step closer to you. "You'll never be alone as long as your old pal Pennywise is around."

All you could think about was Georgie and Betty Ripsom and Eddie Corcoran. Was this the last face they saw before meeting a cruel fate? Did they all fall into their gruesome demise just after seeing that wide, menacing grin and those glowing, yellow eyes?

"Time to float," Pennywise said in a deep, guttural voice that seemed to be the catalyst for your feet to finally unstick themselves from the forest floor.

You turned and made a run for it. You could hear Pennywise's laugh following you as you attempted to flee. Something sharp caught on the back of your shirt and you tripped over another root, sprawling on the ground. You hissed when your palm scraped over tree bark on the way down, but you didn't care. You scrambled to find purchase again with your feet, nearly slipping in your quest to keep running as far and as fast as you could manage.

"You'll float too," you heard Pennywise promise from just behind you. You could just imagine that he was right on your heels now, his hands always outreached and ready to grab you. "You'll all float," he continued in that same dangerous and lilting tone that never failed to freak you out.

You were so sure that Pennywise would catch up to you. You thought that you would be a goner. You were sure your body would be found chewed up and bloody or that you would never be found again. But then you saw a glimpse of the road through the trees blocking your path and you hurried towards it, feeling like your chest was going to cave in with every harsh breath you forced past your lips.

You felt relief when you finally made it out to the road. You weren't sure how you had managed to get so turned around out in the woods, but when you realized that you were even farther out than you normally cared to venture, you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed with fear at what almost happened to you.

You didn't allow yourself to stop running until you were home. Your palms were bleeding and while you were trying to cut across a back yard to make your trip shorter, you had managed to skin your knee when you tripped over a kid's tricycle.

You were exhausted and bleeding and terrified as you finally crashed through the front door of your house. Your parents weren't home, which wasn't much of a surprise, but Richie was sitting on the couch in the living room.

"What the fuck happened to you?" He asked as he jumped up from the couch and moved towards you.

You flinched away from him before waving him off and heading for the hallway. "Stupid fuckin' clown," you muttered as you stormed into your room. You grabbed a clean t-shirt and shorts, ignoring Richie calling your name as you locked yourself in the bathroom.

You were barely aware of the fact that your hands were shaking as you moved to stand in front of the bathroom mirror. All you could see when you closed your eyes was Pennywise and his stupid grin and those fingers that could just as easily turn into claws. You met your eyes in your reflection and forced yourself to take deep breaths.

You couldn't be scared, you told yourself, because then Pennywise would have won.

When you finally got yourself to calm down, you stepped into the shower, intent on getting clean and trying to erase every trace of dirt and blood off of you. It felt like if you could just wash it all away, then you could make yourself forget about what happened in the woods. Even though you knew, deep down, that it wasn’t as simple as that.

By the time you made it back to your room, you had cleaned and bandaged the worst of the cuts you suffered. Now, all you wanted to do was lie down and sleep away the exhaustion you felt.

Your plans were derailed when you got to your bedroom to see Richie sitting on the edge of your bed and waiting for you.

"I'm not in the mood," you growled as you brushed past him.

"Hey, come on," Richie coaxed as he reached out to grab your arm. "What the fuck is going on?"

You bit your lip, feeling tears begin to well in your eyes, before you managed to finally look at Richie. "I saw Pennywise," you admitted with a grimace. "He chased me out near the barrens."

"Fuck," Richie hissed before he tugged you down to sit next to him. "But you're okay?"

"For the most part," you told him before you showed him the scrapes on your palm. "He just scared me more than anything."

Richie frowned down at your hand before he glanced back up at you. "We've got to kill that stupid clown," he muttered with a sigh. "Before it gets one of us for good."

You knew without him having to say anything that he was thinking of the way that Eddie had broken his arm at Neibolt. He was thinking of his own one-on-one encounter with Pennywise and the Paul Bunyan statue that had suddenly come to life and terrorized him not long ago. You remembered the way Richie's hands wouldn't stop shaking and the way he kept looking over his shoulder, as if he thought Pennywise or the statue would come back to finish the job.

"He'll be okay," you found yourself telling Richie. "We all will," you quickly amended when you noticed Richie's face grow pale as he looked up at you with wide eyes.

Richie scoffed before he reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled something out. "I got you a present," he told you before he turned away and placed something on his nose. When he turned back around, you saw an imitation red clown nose fixed onto his. "What do you say, Y/N? Do I look the part?" He asked as he batted his eyelashes at you.

You couldn't help but snort at your ridiculous brother. "Really? Why the hell would you buy that with everything going on? I thought you hated clowns."

Richie shrugged his shoulders before he pulled the fake clown nose off. "I thought it was funny at the time. Wanted to see if you'd get a kick out of it. I thought it might make you laugh." He reached out and placed the red spongey ball on your nose, a pleased smirk on his face. "And I do really fucking hate clowns, but you're my sister, and there's nothing I wouldn't do for you. I'll even kick Bill's ass if he breaks your heart."

"So, what? Am I supposed to kick Eddie's?"

You noticed Richie wince before he ducked his head. He looked so uncertain in that moment that you couldn't help but feel guilty for making him think that he had to be that way around you. That he thought he had to hide who he really was around you.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he mumbled before he started picking at a loose thread on your comforter.

"Richie," you whispered before reaching out to wrap your fingers around his wrist. "I know." It didn't take much for you to figure it out. After one night when you were both bored and had decided to play truth or dare, Richie had admitted to having a crush on a friend. It wasn't long before you connected the dots and saw the bigger picture. "I know," you repeated with what you hoped was a reassuring tone.

Richie was silent for a few worrying moments before he finally met your eyes. "Do you hate me?"

"Never," you immediately told him. "You're my brother. My twin. We're in this together, right?"

Richie watched you for a moment, as if he thought you were trying to pull one over on him, before a smile slowly stretched across his face. "Right," he agreed with a nod. He reached out and squeezed the clown nose still resting atop yours. "Guess we're both just a couple of clowns, huh?"

"God, I still can't believe you have that piece of shit," Richie mused as he reached out to take it from you. "It held up really well. I guess the fifteen cents was worth it."

You rolled your eyes before taking it back from him. "Do you know what you're looking for?" You asked him as you started trailing after the others.

Richie frowned before you noticed a distant look in his eyes. "Yeah," he muttered with a displeased look on his face. "I've got a good idea about where I need to go."

It wasn't long before everyone went off in search of their tokens. You managed to stall Mike, needing to have a few words with him before he left to go to the library.

"What the fuck, Mike?" You hissed when you had him alone. "All these years and you never once mentioned the ritual or tokens or anything."

"Look, Y/N, I'm sorry," Mike started, reaching out to put a hand on your shoulder. "I was worried. There are things that have to come together in order for this to work and I didn't want you to leave me if you knew what it required."

You studied Mike carefully for a moment, knowing that there was something he was hiding. "What else aren't you telling me? What have you left out?"

Mike sighed before he glanced away from you. "We just have to do this ritual and then Pennywise will be gone forever. Then we'll be free, Y/N," he said as he met your gaze again. "No more waiting and no more Derry. We can leave and no one else has to die because of It. Not in twenty-seven years or ever again."

You had so many questions you wanted to ask him. Why did he trust Bill over you? Why was this ritual your only hope? Was it dangerous? Would it kill any of you? If you had to sacrifice a piece of your past, then would you have to sacrifice anything else?

None of those questions ended up making it out of your mouth, though. "I guess that's something worth fighting for," you admitted with a sigh.

"It is," he readily agreed before he offered you a tentative smile, as if silently asking if you forgave him for keeping the ritual from you. "Are you coming with me to the library?"

"No," you answered. "Knowing my brother, he might try to bolt again. I'll wait for him at the Townhouse."

"Good idea," Mike conceded with a helpless laugh before he nodded at you. "See you later, Y/N."

You decided to take the more scenic route through town on the walk back to the Townhouse. You weren't really all that eager to get back and deal with everything you didn't really want to face, so you figured you were owed at least a few minutes to yourself.

You didn't really count on literally running right into Ben just outside the high school.

"Fuck," you blurted as you bumped into someone and then struggled to regain your footing.

"Shit. I'm so sorry," you heard someone say as hands wrapped around your waist to steady you.

You glanced up to see Ben standing close to you, a sheepish smile on his face. "I guess I wasn't looking where I was going," you admitted with a grimace. "Sorry about that."

"It's fine," Ben quickly assured you. “I wasn’t really looking either.”

It took you a moment to realize that you were still standing on the sidewalk, remarkably close to Ben, with his hands on your waist. You could feel the heat of his palms through the fabric of your shirt and couldn't help the blush that stained your cheeks. When you glanced up at Ben, you noticed he was blushing too once he finally realized he was still holding onto you.

"Oh, uh, sorry," Ben got out as he took a few faltering steps away from you.

"It's okay," you told him with what you hoped was an easy smile. You didn't want to admit that you had forgotten for one moment why you were so scared and ill with worry. You didn't want to admit that maybe your childhood crush on Bill had been traded for something that felt a bit more real with Ben. "Are you okay?" You made yourself ask in an attempt to change the course of the conversation. "You seemed to be in a rush," you pointed out with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah," Ben said with a nod. "I was just doing what Mike wanted us to do," he added with a wince. "It didn't exactly bring up the greatest memory."

"Want to talk about it?" You couldn't help but offer, remembering the days when you and Ben would both bond over your hopeless crushes on other members of the Losers' Club. You remembered the way he pined for Beverly, hoping that she would one day return the affection he felt for her. Unfortunately, your crush and Ben's crush seemed to have a crush on each other. You had spent many moments during your childhood assuring Ben that he deserved the love and attention he so desperately sought from Beverly.

"Not right now. What about you? Did you find what you needed?"

"Oh, yeah. I already had it on me," you confessed with a relieved laugh. "Something had to be easy for once, right?"

"Right," Ben agreed with a grin. "You heading back to the Townhouse?" He asked with a nod down the sidewalk, silently prompting you to start walking in the direction of the inn.

"Yeah. I don't trust that Richie won't still make a run for it, so I'm willing to go so far as slashing his tires if that's the case."

Ben let out a surprised laugh before he bumped his arm companionably into yours as you walked. "I bet you missed him, huh? God, I can't even imagine. You and Mike sacrificed so many years of your lives just to make sure we didn't forget to come back."

"I did miss him, yeah, but I missed all of you. You all became my family that summer. But it wasn't so bad, because I had Mike. He kept me here every time I thought I might want to run as far and as fast as I could to get away from this place."

"It couldn't have been easy," Ben said as you drew to a stop just outside the Townhouse. "I know the others might not say it, but thanks."

"For what?" You couldn't help but wonder.

"For staying. If we do this, kill It, then we won't all die horrible deaths later on. We have you and Mike to thank for that."

"We still got Stanley killed," you couldn't help but point out. "If Mike had never called him, then maybe he would still be alive."

"Mike said it only works if we're all together," Ben argued with a shake of his head. "I'd give anything to have Stan here with us, but what happened to him is not your fault and it's not Mike's. You couldn’t have known."

You weren't really sure how to respond. The guilt that still sat heavily on your shoulders had you convinced that it very much was your fault. You gestured towards the Townhouse with a wry grin. "Want to go see who else has made it back?"

"Sure," Ben agreed, allowing you to dodge the subject.

When you got inside, it was to see that Beverly was the only one to have returned. You caught the brief look of longing on Ben's face when he saw her and decided to give him a break. You pretended like you had to check on something upstairs and retreated to an empty room as you tried to ignore the brief flare of jealousy you felt at seeing Ben look at Beverly like that. You told yourself that you had to stop having crushes on other Losers as you set about remaking the bed in an attempt to keep busy.

You weren't really sure how long you were supposed to stay upstairs, but when you heard a door slam down the hall, you left the room to make sure everything was okay. You found Ben rushing up towards the second floor, a determined look on his face.

"What's going on?"

"Richie," Ben explained as he nodded towards the closed door of Richie's room.

"Shit," you hissed before you moved over towards Richie's room. You knocked on the door before opening it and barging into the room.

"For fuck's sake, Y/N," Richie groaned as he continued to hastily pack his bag. "I could have been naked."

"You can't leave, Richie," you insisted as you took a step closer to him. "I know it's what you want to do, but you have to stay."

"I don't have to fucking do anything," he argued as he kept packing. "I'm getting the fuck out of here and if you were smart, you'd come with me."

"You can't just leave us, Richie," Ben cut in, his brows furrowed. "We need you. Y/N needs you," Ben tried with a grimace, as if he knew he was playing dirty and couldn't really help it.

Richie shot Ben a glare over his shoulder before his eyes landed on you. He considered you for a moment before he rolled his eyes. "Fuck. Fine." He took a deep breath before he scowled down at his half-packed bag. "Could you two leave? I just need a moment."

You narrowed your eyes at Richie, sure that he was still intent on leaving, but you felt Ben tug on your arm. "We'll be right downstairs if you need us," he promised with a nod of his head.

You let Ben lead you out of the room and towards the staircase. "I'm still not convinced he's staying," you muttered to him.

"We've done what we can for now," Ben reasoned as he took the first few steps down towards the first floor.

You almost bumped into him when he suddenly froze on the stairs, his breath hitching in surprise. When you chanced a glance over his shoulder, you were shocked to see Bill and Beverly kissing.

You expected to feel a little jealous that your childhood crush was obviously still not into you, but you realized you didn't feel much of anything except for concern for Ben. You reached down and grabbed his hand, pulling him back up the stairs and into the empty room you had escaped to earlier.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," you told Ben with a grimace.

"It's okay," Ben sighed as he dropped down onto the edge of the bed. "I should have seen it coming."

"I'm sure it didn't mean anything," you tried to console him as you sat down next to him.

Ben let out a tiny, rueful laugh and shook his head. "You know, I always knew it was a lost cause, but I never wanted to let myself see it. I guess I look pretty foolish, huh?"

"No," you told him with a firm shake of your head. "You never have."

Ben's lips quirked up in a self-deprecating grin before his shoulders slumped in what looked a lot like defeat. "The more time I spend here, the more I'm starting to realize that I need to let things go. Not just my childhood fears, but maybe my childhood crush as well. Maybe it’s been holding me back all this time."

You winced at the thought of Bill kissing Beverly and how that would have absolutely devastated you when you were younger. "Yeah, I'm starting to come to that realization for myself as well."

Ben glanced to you, confusion clear in his expression, before he seemed to recall your crush on Bill. "Shit, Y/N, I'm sorry. I guess we're both in the same boat."

"A little," you agreed with a laugh. "But the more I think about it, the more I realize that I've left those feelings in the past. Maybe there was a tiny glimmer of hope when Bill mentioned he was fresh from a divorce, but it was never going to be me. And I'm okay with that. Really," you assured Ben when he shot you a dubious look. “I’m more worried about you right now than myself,” you admitted as you reached out to pat him on the shoulder.

"You were always there for me, you know," he said with a small, sincere smile on his face. “I remember that now. Remember when I was so upset when Beverly left town? You came to my house and we danced to New Kids until we wanted to puke.” His smile turned fond as he seemed to be thinking about all of the time you spent together as kids.

You felt a little thrill when you realized he was feeling fond because of you. It was followed swiftly with the sinking feeling in your gut at the acknowledgement that Ben still had feelings for Beverly. It seemed like you were destined to always chase the members of the Losers' Club who had crushes on Beverly.

"Even when I wasn't always there for you," he continued with a frown. "I don't think I would have made it through that summer without you to help get me through it."

"You would have been fine," you reassured him with a careful grin as you bumped your shoulder into his. "You're Ben Handsome. You can do anything."

He gifted you with another smile, but you weren't quite sure what this one meant. It was one you weren't used to seeing directed at you and before you could try to figure it out, you were startled by the sound of Eddie yelling and Beverly screaming.

You jumped up from the bed and rushed from the room to see Eddie fall to his knees just outside his room. He was bleeding from a gash in his cheek, a look of shock on his face when he looked at you and Ben. "Bowers is in my room," he said before he managed to practically collapse down onto the floor.

Beverly was already kneeling in front of him, taking stock of his wound, while Ben quickly brushed past you and into Eddie's room.

"Is it bad?" You heard Eddie ask as you followed after Ben, not wanting him to face Henry Bowers alone, especially if Henry was armed.

You couldn't believe that with everything else going on, you had managed to forget about the childhood bully who had been locked up for the past twenty-seven years. You remembered the whispers around town after it was discovered that Henry had killed his father. He had babbled on and on about a clown and red balloons and you knew that Pennywise was partly to blame. You couldn't help but wonder if Pennywise had freed Henry Bowers from the institution as another way of messing with the Losers' Club. After all, Pennywise and Henry did seem to have a common enemy.

"He's gone," Ben told you when he realized you had followed him. "Must've jumped out the window."

"Fuck," you groaned, knowing that Henry was likely going to go after someone else now. None of you were really safe as long as he was wandering around town and armed. "We've got to help Eddie and then we should get to the library. I don’t think that’s the last we’ve seen of Henry."

When you got back out into the hallway, it was to see Beverly trying to help Eddie stand.

"Sorry about the blood, Y/N," Eddie said as he let Beverly lead him back into his room. "That's going to be a bitch to get out."

"It's fine, Eds," you assured him before you moved to leave the room. "I'll be right back," you called before you quickly hurried downstairs in search of a first aid kit.

It wasn't until after Ben had done his best to patch Eddie up that you realized there was something wrong. Someone was missing from the group.

"Where's Bill?" You asked with a frown as you glanced to Beverly. "I thought he was here."

"He left," she admitted with a wince. "He thinks that kid from the restaurant is in trouble. The one who knew your brother? He left before I could stop him."

When Beverly mentioned your brother, you realized what else was wrong.

"Oh shit," you groaned. "Where the fuck is Richie?"

#it: chapter two #it 2019 #ben hanscom #richie tozier #ben hanscom x reader #reader & richie tozier #richie tozier x eddie kaspbrak #reader insert #it #it imagine #the losers club #the losers x reader #canon divergence #reader

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sadsapphicslut · 4 years ago

Text

chapter one - original story (i havent come up with a title yet lol)

okay so here it is!! if anyone actually reads this i love u :) please leave feedback if u have any!!

TWs:

death, drugs, medication, mental illness, references to sex, swearing, alcohol

wordcount: 8.2k

(also i dont think anyone will but im paranoid of people stealing my writing so obligatory dont copy/post to another site or steal my work in any other ways etc)

There were five of us; 4 boys and me. In hindsight I realize from the outside our group probably seemed a little predatory, but it was never really like that. For the most part they were like brothers to me. Of course, being the only girl in a small and isolated club of mainly older boys, things were bound to happen. We were in high school and it was summer, can you blame me? Regardless, however much I loved them, it was not quite in the way my father always assumed or my mother always warned (during our uncomfortable monthly visitations before I managed to get rid of her for good).

The months everything went down, which I often referred to only as ‘The Worst Summer of My Life’, (quite melodramatically but not without reason) were somehow still full of the best moments of my life. Moments I often find myself wishing I could repeat, as nothing has or will ever come close to the way I felt, sitting amongst my boys day after day, somehow light as the warm July breeze that blew past us. My entire body weightless, as non-existent as the time that passed us by. Despite the depression I’d found myself plunged into during the days after my only brother’s death, I truly believe I will never again be as happy as I was then. Laughter seemed to flow freely from our mouths, smiles plastered onto our faces no matter the circumstances, content to just exist. I don’t think I can ever forget the day it was raining so hard the entire city was flooded, but we walked around uptown well past the point of being absolutely drenched, our clothes dripping so heavily the security guard denied us entry into the public library. Something about that day made me feel so free, like we were invisible. Completely apathetic to the whims of the real world, somehow existing only in our twisted minds and intertwined fantasies.

Maybe if I’d had my head screwed on a little tighter, or if we’d met under different circumstances, it wouldn’t have ended the way it did. I used to go down that line of thought every night before succumbing to a fitful but heavy sleep (under the direct affect of 25mg of Quetiapine, working to counteract my Concerta and Lexapro). Those types of irrational thoughts were ones my therapist deemed as my habit for rumination. In regard to the death of my brother she called it ‘bargaining’, one of the stages of grief. I never liked it when she spoke about those stages as I’ve always felt them to be wrong. Maybe because I never quite moved on to the final one, no matter how many years pass. ‘Acceptance’, coined as the “Re-entrance to reality”. Maybe it’s different since I was never really grounded to reality in the first place. I still wake up some mornings, thinking I’ve heard his voice in the other room, ready to beguile me with tales from his day of retail work. Other times I swear I’ve walked past him on the street. Some people may relate to my experiences, with reasonings of ghosts, angels, apparitions, or insanity, among many other causes for the apparent viewing of a loved one long gone to the other side. I never shared these beliefs, but I am not one to deny. Rather, I always take these instances as an omen. A warning. I have come to this conclusion not without evidence, at least circumstantial, given the many occasions over the years – and especially that summer – where I found my hypothesis to be true. All I can say is that I am glad I’ve never been met with the same chimerical visions of my mother; one can only hope that is because she ended up where she belonged. Maybe I’ll see her there, though I hope at the very least they could keep us in separate rooms of Hell if the situation does arise.

From what I know of the others now, which is admittedly not much – majorly due to my own neglect, as opposed to theirs – they share the same prescription for rose-coloured glasses as I. We always were too engrossed with our own romanticization of nostalgia and sentiment that it clouded our view. I often think this was one of the reasons we seemed to fit so well together. Not quite like puzzle pieces, too self-absorbed to hold a candle to that analogy, more like complimentary colours. I wish it could’ve stayed the way it was. We did try, and I never found myself able to fully disentangle myself from James, nor he could to I, but for most of us we could recognize an ending when one arises. I used to find myself using the word tragedy a lot while reminiscing, but I no longer think that word is appropriate. Fate is a more fitting term in my opinion, regardless of if one believes in it or not. “(A)n inevitable and often adverse outcome, condition, or end,” as reported by Merriam Webster. I don’t think there’s a word in the entire English language more accurate in describing how everything ended up; and if there is, I am yet to find it.

Chapter One

A Dead Brother

I have tried to erase the day my brother died from my memory so many times I lost count decades ago. I still find the image seeping into my unconsciousness quite dreadfully on the nights I neglect to take my pills and catch myself waking up with a steady flow of tears that dampen my pillow along with the drool that always seems to pour from my sleeping mouth. The dread that pools in my stomach sometimes being heavy enough for me to lose my lunch. I frequently wonder how people managed to reassure me that it wasn’t my fault; the most painful lie I’ve ever been told and one that seemed to stream from people’s mouths as easily as the mini sandwiches laid in the living room of my brother’s wake were stuffed in. The worst part about being told it wasn’t my fault was how obviously one could tell they didn’t believe what they were saying either. His death was my fault; a fact so uncontestable I wanted to kill myself every time I was reminded of it.

My therapist often tried to remind me that even if his death was “partially” (she always used the word partially, refusing to acknowledge the truth that his death was entirely my fault) my fault, there was nothing I could’ve done to prevent it. This was another lie I despised being told. There were a million ways I could have prevented his death or saved his life and yet, here we are, with him dead and me wishing everyday that I won’t wake up tomorrow. “Begonia,” she’d tell me – she was the only person who called me by my full name, I usually went by Nia, but a nickname felt too personal and I didn’t like her very much – “You mustn’t keep torturing yourself with these scenarios. He’s dead, and there is nothing you can do to change that. I am starting to wonder if you are going to let yourself move on. This isn’t healthy.” That was a line she liked to use a lot, “this isn’t healthy”. As if anything I do is.

Barb, my therapist that is, liked to go over the details of my brother’s death a lot. She often called it a ‘trigger’, which is why she always seemed to want me to talk about it. “Trauma is a horrible thing, Begonia, and you must learn to move past it, process it. I can see you still haven’t managed to do that on your own, and that’s what I’m here for, to help you move on.” Barb was big on the idea of “moving past trauma” and “learning to cope”, she often sounded like a broken record of a motivational speech. I found myself comparing her to school guidance councillors without realizing it, they were about equally as helpful (read: not helpful) in my opinion.

Sometimes I blame my inability to forget and “move past” my brother’s death on the way Barb constantly brought it up and made me go through it. I never quite understood how that part of my therapy was supposed to help me. I asked her once, what good was it doing rehashing the worst day of my life?

“Well, Begonia,” I hated the way she said my name, always so condescending and sour, like even the idea of me questioning her in any way was as impolite as shitting on her desk.

“You have to understand that I only want to help you. You seem to be unable to process your traumas on your own, which is why we need to go through these things. As you are aware, this PTSD,” she always left strange pauses after each letter, her slow tone grinding on my ears, “you have acquired has left you unable to function normally in daily life. I want you to get to a place where you can have a normal life (Ha!) and cope without these meetings. It’s what your brother would’ve wanted.” Barb liked to tell me what my brother would have wanted at least once every session. Putting aside the fact she knew next to nothing about him aside from the intimate details on how he died, I always thought it was an inappropriate thing to say as a psychologist specializing in grief counselling. It never particularly bothered me, I was reasonable enough to realize she was just trying to comfort me, but I never liked the phrase. “What your brother would’ve wanted.” What he would’ve wanted was to not die but we’re past that, aren’t we Barb, as you so often enjoyed telling me.

I have always been quite averse to my diagnoses, ADHD at 14, Persistent Depressive Disorder at 15, PTSD at 16, issues with alcohol and drugs that landed me in rehab more than once. I’ve been on a concoction of different medications since I was 13, even before I was diagnosed with anything officially. Sertraline, Lexapro, Prozac, Ritalin, Concerta, Adderall, Quetiapine, Ambien, Zopiclone, a healthy mix of off brand and branded medications. Sleeping pills, antidepressants, stimulants. I can’t remember a time before monthly trips to the drug store and side effect surveys that I’m not sure if I ever told the truth on. It’s a wonder that people didn’t see a slew of addiction issues coming from a mile away.

I think I’ve always had the most contention with my PTSD diagnosis though, I hate it because I know it’s undeniably true. I wish it wasn’t because maybe that’d mean my brother was still alive, but he isn’t. And I’m left traumatized and bereaved. Sometimes it feels like it hurt me more than it ever did my mother or father. Maybe it did. I should feel selfish for saying that, but I can’t, because they didn’t have to look at him while the life left his body, praying to God for the ability to turn back time. See the moment his eyes glazed over, knowing I’d never get to hear his obnoxious laugh, or make fun of his dumb face ever again.

❈

“Ray, hey listen I need you to come pick me up.”

It was a cool evening in May, the end of spring brought with it the promise of summer and the air had the familiar aroma of daffodils and petrichor. I had decided to go to a party with my friend Faun, my dad having been out at his girlfriend’s place for the weekend and me having nothing better to do. I wasn’t one for partying, but I did like to get high, so I usually just hung around with the rest of the potheads and pill junkies until someone dragged me home or I fell asleep. That night Don, a friend of a friend of a friend, had brought coke and E and we were all determined to get as fucked up as possible. Faun only ended up doing one line before running into a bedroom with some guy whose name started with an M – was it Martin or Marvin? Maybe it was Mickey – and left me sitting on the couch beside a girl who was about 1 more shot of vodka away from passing out.

I had fully intended on doing some coke, but the E seemed to be hitting harder than I was used to. I was sure my Ritalin had worn off by then but maybe I was wrong. As I stood up to get a glass of water I nearly fell over and decided to sit back down. Turning to face Don, I tapped him on the shoulder trying to get his attention.

“What was in that molly?” I was vaguely aware of the way my words were slurring, but I felt weirdly energized. I was aware my heart was beating a little too fast, but I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I knew what ecstasy felt like, this was not nearly my first time doing it, but I felt really wrong.

“Don!” He turned to look at me and I felt uneasy. His eyes looked a little crazed – not that out of the ordinary but given the circumstances I was worried – “What the fuck did you give me?” It felt like I’d done 5 lines of coke in the last 2 minutes and I knew that E had been spiked.

Don’s face had an unmistakable expression of guilt written on it as he leaned down and whispered in my ear, his voice shaking, “I think it was cut with meth.” Fuck. My stomach dropped. I have to get out of here. I quickly shot up from the musty couch I was sat on, carefully holding onto Don’s shoulder so I didn’t fall, my legs still feeling unsteady. I opened my phone; the screen was too bright, and I had a hard time maneuvering it as I attempted to exit the house. Clicking the green Messages icon, I sent a text to Faun – e ws cut w meth im lesving – with shaky hands and burst out the door into the fresh air. I clicked my brother’s contact and pressed call.

It rang four times before he picked up.

“Nia? Why are you calling me it’s like 1am?” I could tell from the smooth tone of his voice he’d been drinking. He didn’t very often but he had an appreciation for cocktails and enjoyed getting buzzed now and then. He still was a year from being legal to drink but his friends we’re all 19 and 20 and bought alcohol for him. I found him fun when he got drunk, becoming talkative and giggly, but right now I wished so badly for him to be sober.

“Ray, hey listen I need you to come pick me up.” I was slurring, my voice a bit too pitchy to pass as anything but high. I knew he didn’t like it when I did this, but he never ratted me out. Sometimes I wish he did, maybe I never would’ve been able to go to that party in the first place.

I could hear a door shutting on his end, I assumed he was going into a different room. “What’s wrong?” My skin was bubbling with anxiety at the prospect of having to tell him what I did.

“Fuck, uh… I did something stupid. I’m at Emily Goguen’s, y’know up in Champlain Heights. Please pick me up.” I rarely used the word please.

“Nia, what the fuck did you do?” I almost started crying but I found my eyes to be bone dry.

“Please don’t yell.”

“Okay, really, tell me what is going on or I won’t come get you.”

“I accidentally took meth.”

“You what? What the fuck, Nia! Fuck this I’m on my way and I’m fucking telling Dad.” I cringed but I knew he was going to before I even called. The pit in my stomach grew deeper as the buzzing of my skin grew stronger. I could feel myself getting higher, everything was so clear and standing around was making me grow restless. Ray huffed on the phone and I heard him entering his car.

His tone was softer the next time he spoke. “I’ll be there in 5, just stay put, please. Do you want me to stay on the call or can I hang up?”

I felt like a child, which I was really, only 16 at the time, a whole life ahead of me. Still, I was grateful for the way he spoke to me, reminiscent of being 6 and getting a scrapped knee after falling off my pink Razor scooter. The high made me edgy, and my voice was sharp to my ears, “No, you can hang up.” I heard the click to indicate he’d done just that, and started pushing my cuticles as I waited, the task somehow greatly interesting me, and I did not realize until later I had managed to pick off all of the skin around my pointer and middle fingernails during the five-minute wait.

Ray pulled up exactly five minutes later in his ugly, blue 2011 Ford Fiesta he’d gotten the year prior after passing his driving test. What I wouldn’t do now to smell the inside of that car once again, a distinct attar of pineapple car freshener and Old Spice deodorant mixed with stale black tea, faintly present due to his ever-growing collection of empty paper cups from various different fast foods and coffee shops.

I stumbled into the car, feeling the strong impulse to clean the space, but attempting to push it down. From the passenger side overhead mirror I could see my blown pupils and sweaty forehead, pieces of my copper red hair sticking to my face. My freckles were showing through my concealer that had mostly worn off and I wanted to cover them back up. My skin was pale from winter (and probably the drugs in my system) but my cheeks were flushed like I was drunk. My high cheekbones made my face look gaunt in the lighting, but my face was wide which balanced it out, so I didn’t look completely skeletal. Ray was looking at me, the worry apparent in his eyes, but his face was flushed as well, and I could tell he’d been drinking a bit too much to drive. I had my license as well, but it was clear I was in no condition to take over on that front, so I didn’t bother saying anything. I wish I had. There’s a lot of things I wish. I wish I hadn’t gone to that party; I wish I hadn’t taken that E; I wish I called someone else; I wish I waited it out at Emily’s; I wish I walked home; I wish I took a cab; I wish I waited for Faun; I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish.

“Are you okay?” He didn’t take his eyes off me as I shut the mirror in front of me.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll be fine. Please just take me home.”

“Is Dad there?”

“No.”

“Maybe I should take you to Mom’s.”

“No!” I’d moved out of my mom’s completely just over 6 months ago, barely seeing her once a month. It was one of the best decisions I’d ever made. She never liked me much anyways, the feeling was entirely mutual. Ray seemed to have a close bond with her for some reason despite how she treated him like shit. I never called him out though, he no longer lived with her, so I didn’t really care what their relationship was as long as she wasn’t hurting him. She did treat him significantly better than me, however, so I figured maybe he managed to forgive her the way I never could.

“Okay, but I’m staying with you until Dad gets home. I’m not gonna lie to him about this shit. Fucking meth, Nia? Seriously?”

“It was in the molly.” He sighed and started driving.

My brain felt like it was filled with butterflies, or ants, some kind of movement that was itching at my skull. The paper cups scattered around were making me anxious and I needed to clean his car. I began picking at my nails again, but I needed to pick up those cups, you see. I turned around and started gathering the ones Ray had discarded in the back, filling up an empty plastic bag from Best Buy. I was fully switched around in my seat, nearly crawling into the backseat to reach the trash my brother had left. I felt him tap my side, I looked over at him and he started to scold me.

“Nia, stop that will you, you’re distracting me.” But I needed to finish gathering the cups. The car was dirty, and my skin was itching, the traffic lights burning my skin. I was elated and I didn’t want to listen to him, he was just trying to get in my way. I continued to lean over, not registering the swerve of the car as he looked over at me.

“Nia – ”

He turned over to push me back into my seat, his eyes leaving the road for no more than a few seconds. This time I felt the swerve as we broke into the next lane.

This is where I have a hard time piecing together what happened. From what I was told, we ended up running directly into a 2015 Dodge Ram 2500. In case you understandably have a lack of knowledge when it comes to cars, that is a very large, sturdy, and expensive pickup truck which I would probably consider the last vehicle you’d want to charge headfirst into while going 70km per hour. I don’t recall the actual incident of hitting the truck, whether that be from the drugs, the position I was in, or hitting my head on the roof of the car, I don’t know. What I do know is that when I woke up, we were in a ditch on the side of the road, with the car flipped upside down, and my entire body was screaming at me to Get Out!

I felt blood oozing sluggishly from my head and noted some indistinct pain in my right wrist where it had scraped something pretty badly and gotten twisted, but I otherwise felt alright. I couldn’t tell if the cloudiness in my head was from a concussion or the earlier events of the night, but I figured it was probably good I was awake, regardless of how dazed I seemed.

I turned my head to the left and was greeted by a view I will never be able to forget, it having been branded to the insides of my eyelids, scorched in my mind. Ray, with his left arm twisted in spectacular fashion, reminding me of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, after Lockhart spells away Harry’s bones. My brother had always been squeamish with broken bones and I hoped he wasn’t aware of how his limb looked at the moment. His head was bleeding quite profusely, and I was alarmed despite how many times I’d heard in movies that headwounds bleed a lot. His eyelids were fluttering, irises appearing glassy and unfocussed. And then I saw it. A piece of glass was stuck in the left side of his neck. The windshield apparently had broken with the impact and my brother was lucky enough to get a piece lodged right in his trachea. It was thick, bright red blood – that I could’ve sworn was sparkling in my current inebriated perspective – was gushing out the side, so heavy I could smell it, taste it, in the air. I was frozen once I realized.

Do something, do something! Put pressure on it! Call 9-1-1! My mind was screaming at me, but it was all I could do to sit and watch the blood stain his clothes. He was wearing the corduroy jacket I’d gotten him for his birthday and a white button up, the red seeped into them until it was as if they’d always been that colour. My voice was caught in my throat, but I managed to push some sound past.

“Ray?” It was weaker than a whisper but in the silence that seemed to envelope us in that car, completely independent of the outside world and sirens that could surely be heard from blocks away, I knew he would be able to hear me.

He looked up, eyes focussing slightly on me, and a tear slipped down his face, only it went the wrong way since we were still upside down. He mouthed the words “I love you”. We never said that to each other. As close as we were, our relationship had always been more comparable to that of a best friend than sibling. We weren’t overly affectionate, never hugged or said I love you, hung out for enjoyment rather than as a punishment. Most people didn’t know we were brother and sister until we pointed it out, we never really looked alike and were absent of the traditional distaste and rivalry usually present between siblings. I knew, as he looked me in the eyes and said those words, this would be the last time I’d ever see him outside of a morgue.

I sat in my seat next to him with dry eyes, wishing desperately I could cry, needing to express the feeling of utter horror and despondency that completely overtook my body and mind, but I couldn’t. Barb told me time and time again that I was in shock, there was nothing I could’ve done, but I will never be able to believe that. I still remember the moment the final tear slipped down his face. He smiled at me, pain evident in his eyes. His entire body was covered in the metallic smelling red, and I wanted to vomit. I wish I could say the crash had sobered me, but it didn’t, not really. I was still entirely in a daze as I saw his muscles relax, smiling falling from his face, eyes not quite rolling back all the way but enough to give me nightmares for the next 20 years. The life had been absorbed from his body, leaving a heavy shell. I was told afterwards this all happened within the span of 10 minutes, but it felt like years. By the time the first responders had appeared I was an old woman. Grayed hair, and arthritic bones. Mourning for the brother I’d lost oh so many years ago, when I was just a girl. I think in a way I died in that car with him, I never was really the same. But who would be? Best friend and confidant, older brother, idol, dying in front of your eyes as you do nothing, knowing for the rest of your life that his death is – was – your fault. Knowing you could’ve done something, anything really, to prevent his untimely loss of life before the paramedics arrived. If I’d been the same after that night I would have to be much more disturbed than I ever thought.

I sat in that car beside Ray’s corpse for 3 more minutes before I heard the sirens closing in around us – me. I thought I might pass out, either from the toll of what I’d just witnessed or from my concussion, but I remained upright, probably from the adrenaline. I couldn’t move so I just waited, and hoped I’d die too before anyone reached the scene. It would be much preferrable to any other outcome I could think of at the time. I could vaguely register the pain in my wrist, but I felt so numb I’m sure you could’ve shot me in the foot and I wouldn’t have blinked.

A young fireman named Walter ended up getting me out of the car. The door was smashed and stuck which meant I’d been trapped in there either way. I was happy I hadn’t bothered trying to escape as I'm terribly claustrophobic and finding out I couldn’t would have thrown me into a proper panic attack. The fireman was incredibly nice, saying reassuring things the entire time they were opening the door with the “Jaws of Life”. I ended up seeing him again in the hospital actually, or at least that’s what my father told me. He wanted to check in on me and left me some hydrangeas in a vase. I always preferred chrysanthemums but I'm not that picky when it comes to a floral arrangement.

After the door was busted open I was carried out by Walter. I was shaking and apparently babbling nonsense but in my head I was trying to tell them to save Ray. I wasn’t really aware of all that much, completely blind to the crowd of spectators that had rudely gathered to witness the violence – wasn’t it supposed to be taboo to stop at a car crash? Wondering vaguely about what happened and wishing you could get a better look as you drive past the scene. My head wound had made me a bit incompetent and the meth in my system was really not helping the entire situation.

I was laid on a gurney and rolled onto an ambulance. I don’t remember much about the ride; the sirens, the bright lights, a paramedic named Alice who spoke softly, smoothing out my hair while the other put an oxygen mask on my face (which I wasn’t entirely cognizant enough to question though now I'm not really sure why they did it) and splinted my wrist. Alice asked me if I was on drugs and I nodded but was unable to speak when she asked me what ( I would find this a common occurrence after the accident, my voice seemingly stolen alongside Ray’s). She just nodded and said something to the other ME that I didn’t quite pick up. She asked if I could tell her my name and I shook my head. She must’ve noticed the iPhone in my pocket and grabbed it, turning to the medical ID page.

“Is your name Begonia?” I nodded, though the name sounded foreign on my ears. I liked the way Alice said it though, she had a light Spanish accent and a matronly tone that made me feel safe. I wondered if she had kids of her own; she looked young, but my own mother had me at 19 so who could say? She told me her name after complimenting mine. “Begonia is a beautiful name; I love the flowers. I’m Alice, okay? We’re gonna make sure you’re alright and take you to the hospital.” Her voice was sweet like syrup and I became sleepy as she spoke.

“No honey, you can’t fall asleep yet. Just stay awake a little bit longer and I promise you they’ll let you sleep at the hospital.”

I don’t remember anything of the rest of the ride to the hospital. I was dropped off at the Emergency Room at the Regional, head still too foggy to allow me to recall anything before I was sitting in a white bed, in a white room, with white sheets and a light blue hospital gown on. It was morning and my father was sitting at the end of my bed in an uncomfortable plastic chair, his eyes bloodshot and moist. He’d very obviously been crying for a long time and my chest panged with guilt. I reached up to feel my head and realized there was a cast on my wrist. With my other hand I touched the cotton that covered my forehead, wincing when I felt the sting of what had to be stitches in a nasty gash. I would spend the next 5 years of my life with a variety of diverse haircuts that attempted to hide the ugly scar that served as a reminder of the worst night of my life. Even now it is still extremely obvious, but I can’t be bothered to try and hide it, I so rarely look in the mirror that it wouldn’t matter if my skin turned blue.

My dad hadn’t looked up, so I attempted to gain his attention but once again found my voice failing me. I tapped on the bed a few times before he seemed to realize and face me.

“Nia… how are you feeling?” His voice was raspy and thin. He reeked of cigarettes and stale coffee, though this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. I remained silent as he looked at me, searching my face for something I'm not sure he found.

“Nia, I, I'm not sure how to say this to you.” Here it comes. Almost worse than watching my brother die, the confirmation. “Ray, he’s, well dead.” I saw my father’s eyes begin to tear up again as I stared straight ahead. I couldn’t feel the sobs that racked my body, nor the hot tears streaming from my eyes. I saw my dad start to move closer but sit back down when I flinched. Of course, I knew my brother was dead; I had front row seats to watching the event happen, but somehow I still didn’t believe it until the words left my father’s mouth. According to my dad, who many years later described to me how eery the whole event was, my sobs were completely silent, and I was entirely unaware of everything happening around me. This dissociation lasted the first few days after the accident, and the entirety of my hospital stay. Leaving the blissful gap in my memory I have now.

Barb told me this was my mind’s way of coping with the tragedy and stress of what happened. I was honestly just happy I had an excuse to skip some of the dreadful retelling she forced upon me.

❈

The funeral was of course a depressing and solemn event. I was still yet to speak and found myself thankful for the way people gave up on trying to get me to communicate. I dressed in a black skirt with a black short sleeved button up. A dark coat thrown around my shoulders as the cast on my right hand was too big to fit through the sleeve. I looked terrible, barely a week out of hospital before I watched Ray sink into the ground. The wound on my forehead was still quite nasty, though it looked better than it did before. I tried to cover it up with my hair but was unsuccessful. I got bangs soon after.

The matter was very traditional, taking place in a church even though none of our family was really religious. It was only the second time I'd ever been in a church, the first having been for my cousin Julie’s wedding when I was four years old. I don’t remember anything of it aside from the material of my dress itching at my neck and making me rather miserable. Of course, not nearly as miserable as I was the day of the funeral, sitting in a pew at the front of the church, listening to a priest claiming Ray would’ve wanted us to celebrate his life. I knew this not to be true; Ray was extremely dramatic and would’ve cherished the thought of everyone he’d ever spoken to moping around for weeks after his death, beside themselves with grief. He sometimes referred to himself as “Romeo” after having been broken up with by another girl he was supposedly in love with, stating he better just stab himself in the heart now if he couldn’t have her. On the rare occasion he broke up with a girlfriend, he’d lounge around, eating ice cream, pretending to not be upset and comparing his cold heart to that of Richard VIII. The concept of him being any different over his death was almost comical; Ray was nothing if not predictable.

I sat beside my father, who sat beside my mother (it was an extremely awkward arrangement that neither I nor my father cared for) and seemed to have the idea that I could evaporate if I thought hard enough about it. Unfortunately, I did not evaporate, or even come close to it, instead finding myself exactly where I'd been the whole time. I mostly tuned out the service, only really paying attention when my father and Ray’s best friend, Jake spoke. I managed to escape the duty of having to speak that day thanks to my fragile mental state and mutism. Though I'm sure I would’ve been forced all the same if I had been able to talk in any capacity, regardless of where my head was at.

Faun was sitting in the pew behind me, feeling quite guilty about the whole ordeal. Or friendship dissolved soon after, I think she blamed herself for taking me to the party. It didn’t bother me too much though; we were never the closest and I sometimes thought her to be extremely annoying. An endless stream of shitty boyfriends that she only acquired so she could further repress her sexuality. When we were 14 we kissed at a sleepover and she admitted she was in love with me. I felt bad for not returning the feeling and our relationship had been on rocky territory ever since. I don’t understand how she thought she was in love with me since she barely knew anything about me, but either way she never brought it up again and soon after the monsoon of boytoys had begun.

My brother’s friends and ex-girlfriends also attended the event. I didn’t approach any of them, far too scared they’d blame me for the death of their friend. One of them, Alex, went up to me to say how sorry he was about everything that happened. He was crying quite heavily (I later found out he was the friend Ray had been drinking with and the second last person to see him alive) and I could smell alcohol on his breath. I stood there while he spoke, telling me about how great my brother was as if I was wholly unaware. Body waving side to side as he stood with his hand on the wall beside me. He offered me some bronze liquid in a flask, and I obliged, savouring the burning sensation that followed in my throat. Alex’s voice was steady and deep, reminding me of my father’s. I’m not sure how long we stood there, him spinning a fantastic web of anecdotes and stories about my brother, some entirely new to my ears. We passed the beverage back and fourth until it was empty. My head felt lighter and heavier somehow simultaneously, and I found it much easier to listen to Alex talk. Later he tried to kiss me in my bedroom during the wake. His mouth was sour, and his tongue seemed too big for his mouth. I wondered how he was able to talk so much without it getting in the way.

We moved in procession to the cemetery after the service. The grass was a vibrant green colour, and I didn’t understand how the world kept turning after Ray’s death, for mine stopped the moment his heart failed to beat. The sky was a lovely shade of cyan-blue, with clouds so perfect they seemed animated. Pink carnations were planted near the outskirts of the yard and I could smell spring in the air; a heavy, floral aroma that never failed to comfort me. I thought it should be raining, it felt inappropriate that the weather refused to match my despair. My mind wandered as we approached the empty grave and I considered what it would be like if Ray was here beside me. He’d probably be making jokes, telling me to lighten up for a minute or my face would get stuck that way. He’d mock my silence, saying how I never managed to shut up for a minute before but suddenly I'm as proper as a nun. I'd smile, ruffling his hair to piss him off and try to refrain from laughing aloud. The absence of him only felt stronger as I imagined this scenario, so I shoved it out of my head.

The casket was lowered into the ground, my father was a pallbearer and I often think about how he must’ve felt carrying his son’s body before watching him being buried. My mother sobbed loudly which annoyed me, it felt a bit exaggerated. I had a few tears falling from my eyes but mostly, I just felt numb. Incredibly and absolutely empty inside. To onlookers it may have seemed as though we weren’t very close, my reaction being similar to that of his ex-girlfriends’. However, this didn’t account for the loss of my voice, or the broken state I was in mentally. Maybe it was better that my reaction was rather dulled. It meant people didn’t feel the need to approach me as they did my mother. Less concerned given she was the one playing up her emotions to the point of embarrassment. My father cried, more than I but far less than my mother. He didn’t cry very often – I'd actually only seen it once prior to the whole event – and I figured he probably needed it. At this point I felt as though I'd shed enough tears to last a lifetime so Ray wouldn’t mind if I was a bit subdued in comparison. He never was a crier anyways.

As I sprinkled soil onto his casket I imagined he was right beside me, watching, ready to criticize as usual. The dirt stained my hand, clutching the sweat and turning my skin a muddy brown colour. As I wiped the dirt on my jacket I could hear him nagging about how I better go wash my hands, what was I, a six-year-old? He was in denial about me growing up and took every chance to remind me I was still just a kid. Not that he had much on me, but I enjoyed it. I never was one to shy away from attention; at least not before. Little quirks and inside jokes between us were always some of my favourite things, the type of humour you could only get from living with someone your whole life. No matter how much his memory will fade there are some things I can’t let myself forget. His mocking tone when he’d make fun of me is one of those things. If I ever managed to let go of that sound then I must be dead as well.

The sun beat down on my back, my skin burning in my black clothes. I wasn’t sweating yet, but most of the men around were – suit jackets aren’t exactly known for their breathability. My nose was dry and aching red, sore from how much I'd been wiping it the last couple days. Still the sweet seeping tinge of flowers and spring managed to crawl into my nose, settling underneath my skin, the buzzing from before had returned, I could feel my heartbeat loudly in my throat and had the desperate urge to just run. Instead, I just followed the rest of the party, sitting down in the passenger seat of my dad’s car. The silence that settled over us was uncomfortable and stale. He turned on the radio, Led Zeppelin filled the air around us, thankfully relieving some of the tension. I felt in my left pocket for one of the carnations I’d picked from a nearby grave earlier. The flower had begun to wilt, heat taking effect on its delicate composition. When I got home I put it in between the pages of my oldest copy of Romeo and Juliet. Ray would have found it funny if he was around to see.

The drive to my mother’s house was short and minimally awkward. We sat in silence – aside from the music – only because there was no alternative. My hand remained clutched around the dying flower in my pocket as we left the car and entered the home. Other people had already arrived, clustered in the living room, picking at tiny ham sandwiches and various desserts my mother had undoubtedly stress-baked the day before. I wasn’t hungry so I sat as far away from the food and people as humanely possible while staying in the living room, not wishing to hear my mother’s scolding about how I need to socialize more. Eventually I managed to slip away into my old bedroom, where Alex was sitting on my bed drinking a mickey of Smirnoff I assumed he swiped from my mother’s freezer. He offered it to me, and I accepted, the weird repetitive déjà vu like act, mirroring earlier and making the whole day feel like somewhat of a dream.

When I went over this part with Barb she always felt the need to emphasize that it wasn’t a dream. I knew this, obviously, which I told her every time, but she was inclined to disbelief when it came to my denial over my brother’s death. “Begonia, you must realize he’s gone. Dwelling is helping nobody, especially not you. This isn’t a healthy mindset for you to have. Always comparing living to your dreams. I want you to tell me you understand this isn’t just some dream you can wake up from.” The first time she said that to me I was thrust into a bout of wordlessness, as it struck a bit too close to home. The next time she brought it up I just told her of course, though even now I still cannot say I fully understand. How can I when all of my assumptions have been constantly disproven time and time again. How can I ever say this isn’t a dream when I'm not even sure I'm real? James always tries to reassure me, “Bee, I'm telling you, if you can feel this beat, the pulse in your wrist, your neck, your chest, you are alive,” he’ll say while pressing my hand to my wrist, but we both know it isn’t that simple.

Me and Alex made out for a few minutes until I managed to excuse myself. He was a bad kisser and tasted disgusting. I left him sitting on my old bed while I went downstairs to find my dad. He was sitting at the counter with a can of root beer, blank expression sat upon his face. When his eyes met mine he sighed, grabbing his keys out of his pocket. It was obvious neither of us wanted to be here, for numerous reasons, so we left. And if the radio stayed off as we drove home we didn’t acknowledge the silence that time. In my hand was the crumpled carnation, and for some reason it made my chest hurt. A deep ache of dread. I could feel my heartbeat, hear it over the drum of the car engine, and I crushed the flower further. I was careful not to rip it though, as if that was crossing some kind of invisible line my mind had set for me. My fingers felt waxy when I finally let go.

Back home, I opened the copy of Romeo and Juliet. I retrieved the deteriorating plant from my pocket and placed it in the center. Closing the book, I stacked it under a few dictionaries, a magazine under it so it was trapped on either side. I sat down in front of it and cried. Not the huge gasping sobs my mother seemed to fancy, nor the quiet weeping of my father. No, I cried the tears of a child who just found out their grandparents died, the soft uncomprehending grief that overcame them as they first learned what death really meant. How long forever was. My legs pulled up to my chest, hands loosely hung around knees, unable to clasp together because of my cast. I closed my eyes and I swear I could hear the sound of Ray sighing behind me, but when I opened my eyes I was alone. I went to bed, earlier than I ever had in my life, still believing it was a dream and I'd wake up like Alice after her adventures in Wonderland. But when I awoke, I was met with the slow, oozing perdure of my reality. The one which I could not wake up from, and the one where my brother was dead.

#my writing #writing #original writing #original content #original fiction #creative writing #dark academia #tw death #tw drugs #tw mentions of sex #tw swearing #tw mental illness #tw medication #alo writes

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thedeviltohisangel · 5 years ago

Text

She Was Mine, I Was Hers

The four times she was wearing the silk nightgown and the one time she wasn’t.

masterlist is my url/writing

please let me know if you would like to see more of this pairing.

One: Who Does She Think She Is?

It caught her eye in the window of a boutique in London. The fabric looked like it would be soft between her fingers. Between Bucky’s. Lucia knew she shouldn’t fall for the allure of the store window. What if someone saw her walking into a lingerie store? How was she supposed to explain the purchase of a nice, silk teddy but the absence of a partner in her life? She retracted her hand from the handle of the boutique. It wasn’t worth the potential repercussions.

“Excuse me, miss, I noticed you looking in the window. For what it’s worth, that piece would look stunning on you.”

“Yeah?” Lucia poked her head back around the corner to catch a glimpse of it again. “I guess there is no harm in trying it on.” And she did and there was because she fell in love with it. The peach lace with navy blue lace placed over top made her feel beautiful. Lucia knew she was meant to have it.

“Buck? You home?” She was struggling to take her key from the door while holding her new silk purchase and the groceries she had picked up for dinner. After managing to drop everything onto the table she meandered the apartment to look for Bucky. She found him on the back balcony looking out at the traffic down below. “Hungry? I bought the stuff to make that flatbread you liked a couple weeks ago.” He cleared his throat but still didn’t turn to acknowledge her.

“I forgot again. After you left, I was pouring coffee one minute and the next…” Wordlessly, she sat down next to him but kept her distance.

“I know the episodes upset you but it’s part of the healing process. And they are happening further and farther between-”

“I’m scared one day it won’t be the coffee mug I break.”

“Well, I am near positive that won’t happen but if it does, then we can cross that bridge when it comes. No use in losing sleep over something like that.” She smiled because she was trying to make the conversation more jovial and light. Bucky was his own worst enemy. It wasn’t his fault that he had been turned into who he was had done the things he had. But it was so hard to know that a piece of him had always known he was doing something wrong and had been unable to stop it.

“You’re right,” he reached down and intertwined his fingers with hers, “You need help peeling the zucchini?” He had been experiencing a crash course in modern foods with Lucia. There were more than just Coca-Cola and cheeseburgers at the diner now. Now there were people who ate like cavemen or people who only ate nuts.

“First, let me show you what bought today.” Bucky smiled as she pecked his lips with a giggle and ran off. He turned back to the sun that was just beginning to set and thought about how he needed to tell her he was leaving London. A man at the sandwich shop that morning had whispered something in Russian while he was picking out his bag of chips. It was time. “Come in here!” He followed the sound of her voice to their bedroom to find her lying on their bed, her head propped in her hand.

“That’s…”

“New, yes. I saw it today and I felt like it was speaking to me. I consider it a gift for both of us.” The sentiment made what he had to tell her even harder to say.

“Lucia...you look beautiful. You are beautiful. Inside and out.” He got on his knees at the end of the bed so their faces were at the same level. “I don’t think I can stay in London with you much longer.” Ashamedly, he looked down at the floor when the words came out of his mouth. He couldn’t find the courage to look her in her eyes.

“What’re you talking about? We’re so happy here...you’re so happy here!” London wasn’t where she had met Bucky but it was where she had fallen in love with him. There was no way for him to explain why it was that he needed to leave. How could he explain his paranoia? How could he explain that it might not actually be paranoia?

“It’s not safe here for me anymore.” She got everything he was trying to say in just that one sentence.

“Then let’s pick somewhere over dinner. We can go anywhere.”

“Lucia, I have to go alone. It’s not safe for you.”

“Do I have to give you the speech again about not being a victim and not needing you to save me and-”

“No, I think I remember it clearly enough.” He laughed at the memory. “You mean it? You want to come with me?” It was hard for him to imagine her wanting to be with him without any ulterior motives.

“You’re my Bucky.” It was as simple as counting to ten in her mind. There was no other way than together.

Two: It’s Really Not That Complicated

“Everyone is staring at me.”

“Because you’re wearing a baseball hat at a bar.” Lucia giggled as Bucky shook his head. They had chosen Mexico for their next hideaway. She had promised him that tourists were incredibly popular and that they would be able to spot someone who didn’t belong easily. She also thought the sun would do him some good. The dreary rain of London was good for hiding and for feeling depressed but that wasn’t conducive to his recovery.

“I think I am much more a fan of the bars from the 40s.” They were a lot more intimate. There’d be a band playing songs meant to dance with your girl to. A soft haze of cigarette smoke that made everything seem dreamy. He thinks Lucia would’ve liked it back then. She could spin in her skirts all she wanted and dance with him to old records from sun up to sun down.

“I always wonder if my nostalgia for the red lips and tight curls of that time would’ve ever really worked for me. Like, would I have still been me if I were around back then?”

“Certainly.” She smiled at his answer. “But I wonder if you would’ve liked me back then.” Out of all the things Bucky hated about his time with the Russians, he thinks the only good thing was that it brought him to her. He would wonder sometimes if she would have liked him as much before he fell off the train. And then he reminded himself there was no use worrying. Because those things had happened. Lucia always told him it wasn’t about forgetting but reconciling.

“Well, there is only one way to find out.” She stood up and held her hand out to him.

“Lucia-”

“Stop. Whatever you are about to say, just stop. And dance with me, Bucky Barnes.” There was no way he could deny her that. So he stood up and took her hand, letting her drag him into the middle of the dancefloor. Some song about summertime was playing and it all felt too perfect to him. He was still learning how to let himself be happy.

They danced so long they stopped hearing what song was playing. It faded to the background of their laughs and whispers and beating hearts. She was the numbness he needed after everything he had been through. Cool when he was hot. Steady when he was turbulent. Soft when he was hard. Speaking of soft...Bucky froze where his hand was moving up her back to cup her head.

“Is this silk I feel?” Lucia smiled at him sheepishly.

“I thought it was your new favorite.”

“Everything on you is my favorite.”

Three: They’re Chasing Us

Thailand had always been on her list of places to visit. It was up and coming and trendy. But it was also secluded if you knew the right places to go. After an incident in Mexico where the police had raided the restaurant they were in one night, it was time to be on the move again.

Bucky had drawn in on himself again. Lucia had thought the seclusion would help him feel more free and able to not shy away from the sun. But it enabled him to rebuild a shell. It had confirmed what his mind had told him that he needed to retreat in order to be safe. Even retreat from her.

“It’s the things I can’t see that worry me,” he whispered into the dark one night while they were lying in bed.

“The unknown scares us all,” she whispered back. He shook his head.

“It is not the unknown. It is the things I cannot see.” She looked at him, afraid to respond. “The things I do not want to see.”

“Is this about the people who gave you this?” She stroked her fingers down his metal arm. It felt like a part of him. Not the foreign object it actually was. That was a topic she always tried to broach with him. That accepting all that had happened to him made him who he was, made him the man he is and the man she loved, would do more for his healing than rejecting it.

“More about the people who want to use it now that I’ve got it.” Bucky knew that not just his arm was valuable but so was his mind. If someone knew how to unlock it…

Lucia rolled onto her stomach and gently kissed the center of his forehead. “Your mind is a beautifully tangled web, Bucky Barnes. And I’d be honored to spend the rest of my life trying to untangle it.” He smiled. It made his cheeks sore since he hadn’t used those muscle in the past few days but it felt good. Felt like all the tension he had been holding in since they got to Thailand was let go.

“How were the elephants today?” She had been so excited to go. Had nearly begged him to go with her.

“So cute! They are such gentle giants. And there was a little baby one who couldn’t stop eating the fruit they had given us…” she trailed off, “I think the more you can make new memories, good memories, the more the bad ones might go away. There will be no room for them.” He studied her carefully.

“I love you, Lucia, and I think that is what scares me most of all.” Tears welled in her eyes because she understood. Understood that Bucky had lost regard for his life so many years ago. That he had only just recently regained a sense of being and existence. That he had placed her in a protected space much longer ago. Bucky was worried the key that kept her locked away would be lost. That he would be forced to disregard it in order to ensure her safety and survival.

“Love finds a way. Even if it has to bump against some obstacles every once in awhile. Like a flower through the cracks in the pavement.” She traced the lines of his forehead as if they were the cracks. She hoped his mind would allow the love through. He didn’t answer her with words but with his eyes. They said all she needed to know.

Four: Can you walk?

It was in Amalfi that the restlessness hit her. Like a child that was in the mood to throw a tantrum for no apparent reason. She was tired. Tired of moving. Tired of looking over her shoulder the way Bucky always did. Tired of never feeling like she belonged where they were and that they’d never make a home.

“Bucky,” she began quietly when they had both finished their dinner’s one night. “I don’t think I can keep moving around like this anymore.” He fumbled with his napkin.

“With me or in general?”

“I want the chance to fall in love with a place and stay there. Have my local farmer’s market and a routine and a job and own something that I can take care of and grow in and raise a family in.”

“Lucia…”

“I know I’m your rock, Buck, I know. But I am starting to crumble which wouldn’t be good for either of us.” It had taken every ounce of courage within her to be honest with herself and him. Lucia had finally realized that feeling like she needed to be his everything was no way to take care of herself. “I think, if you need to leave again...I can’t go with you.” If Bucky thought processing the new world was hard, he was wrong. This made his brain hurt under the strain of her words.

“You know me. Knew this is what being with me meant.” He shook his head in anger. There. That felt more familiar. That was a feeling he knew well. One he could fall into with comfort and ease.

“And I thought love would keep me naive to it. But I can’t ignore my wellbeing anymore.”

“What, for the sake of mine? Is that what you want to say?”

“I deserve the opportunity to be my best self. And that means I need to go back home.” Home. To Bucky that was a place he would never be welcome. A place that housed too many of his demons to count. A place that knew who he had been, maybe who he still was, and would punish him for it.

“I should have never let you in. Never kept you around. I should have listened to all the voices in my head that you tried to speak over.” She opened her mouth to speak but froze when the vibranium pieces of his arm began to whir.

“Bucky…”

“This is why you should be scared of me!” His fist slammed onto the table, splintering it into pieces and causing the glasses and plates to fall with it. Her yelp of surprise stunned him for a moment. But only a moment. Instinct was beginning to take over. If was if she had said her own version of the words in the red book. She had her own way of unlocking the dark recesses of his mind. “I think I’ll leave. So you don’t have to.”

“I don’t want this to be our last night together.” Lucia reached for him but stopped short at the glance he spared over his shoulder.

“It has to be.”

He waited until he was sure she would be asleep before sneaking back into the house. He watched the moonlight graze her skin and used all of his willpower to refrain his hand from doing the same. It had to be a clean break. Cold turkey. Otherwise it would be too late and he would never be able to separate himself from her. For both their sake’s it had to be done.

The last thing he placed into his backpack was her silk nightgown she had bought with him in mind all those years ago. It was selfish. But Bucky knew the pain of forgetting. And maybe this would help ease it.

Five: She was mine. I was hers.

He thinks he should have known Steve was coming before he actually did. But his friend had always been a blind spot for him. Just as he had her. It had been a couple of months since Italy. He was in Budapest now. It felt safer without her. He only had himself to worry about.

Which was why he didn’t hesitate to fight the soldiers that were streaming into the box he was calling his apartment. He fought and he fought and he fought until the only release he could find was a guttural yell from his chest. They thought he had blown up that meeting in New York. Didn’t they know he didn’t do that anymore? Did Lucia think he was responsible for it? Oh how he wished he could let her know it wasn’t him.

“We gotta go, Buck,” Steve yelled as he got word they were about to start coming in from the windows. Bucky smashed his fist through the floorboard and pulled out a backpack. Steve’s eye caught a peek of a spring colored silk. “Who is she?”

“Was. And she was mine. And I was hers.”

#bucky #bucky barnes #winter soldier #captain america #avengers #marvel #bucky barnes fanfiction #winter soldier fanfiction

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kvndeathmusic · 5 years ago

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my favorite records of the 2010s pt 1 (the less great stuff/honorable mentions)

Neither this post or its followup are going to be in any particular order, however all the records I talk about here are, in my opinion, not as good as the records i will talk about in my part 2. they’re all fantastic but these ones slightly a little less fantastic than the ones in my “top 10″. none of this is based on stuff like 'influence' or whatever other critics base their lists on, this is solely how much I enjoyed these records. And keep in mind, I'm only human, I havent listened to a good lot of records I've heard others describe as top 10 worthy, these are just records I found and that I resonate with. long post ahead.

Vacation - Bomb the Music Industry (2011)

If you asked me what my favorite band is i will either say bomb the music industry or jeff rosenstock, but considering those are pretty much the same things it doesnt matter lol. While Vacation isnt a perfect record, it is one I love. It lacks some of the ska elements that I love about earlier BTMI records, but at the same time, it is the first record where Jeff’s “””solo””” career sound starts to form in tracks like Sick, Later, Hurricane Waves, Everybody That You Love, Everybody That Loves You, and Vocal Coach. And these tracks are all fantastic, especially the absolutely explosive opener Campaign For a Better Weekend. Where this album suffers in my mind is the fact that it exists as a weird hybrid middle ground between BTMI and modern Jeff Rosenstock, it isn’t really ska like old BTMI and it’s not quite to the same standard as the tracks on We Cool?. And some of the songs are just, not as good as the others, like Why, Oh Why, Oh Why (Oh Oh Oh Oh), which is washed out almost entirely in reverb, and tracks like Savers feeling barren and missing additional instrumentation. But fuck man I can not dislike this record or just call it “ok” because despite this I still listen to this record a lot, it’s so catchy and fun and Im a bit too chronically addicted to btmi.

Reflektor - Arcade Fire (2013)

i dont really get the hate/mixed feelings others have with this record. there’s so many good tracks dude!!!! sure theres a bit of a slump in the middle and it doesnt reach the same emotional heights as their previous records you gotta be ignorant to overlook this records strengths. while i do like The Suburbs more than Reflektor, man i just vibe HARD with some of these tracks; the title track, We Exist, Here Comes The Night Time, Normal Person, Awful Sound (Oh Eurydice), Porno, and ESPECIALLY Afterlife. Plus the cover art is cool and I like it. However Flashbulb Eyes is one of the worst tracks Arcade Fire has ever put out and I hate it immensely. And while far less offensive, tracks like You Already Know, It’s Never Over (Hey Orpheus), and Joan of Arc are just kinda boring and/or uninteresting. Now granted, I'm extremely biased when it comes to Arcade fire in general unless were talking about the trainwreck that is Everything Now. I started listening to Arcade Fire just before Reflektor came out, and I have a kinda sentimental attachment to the record. ill explain the feeling more when i talk about The Suburbs. anticipation oooooo.

good kid m.A.A.d city - Kendrick Lamar (2012)

i might get crucified by some for not putting this in my top 10, but whatever come at me i guess. gkmc is a fantastic record, but i do think the ending is weak, which is why it’s here instead of in the top 10. i mean, let’s be real, Real is a mediocre track, and while Dying of Thirst is an important track to the whole narrative of the record, it feels way too long. almost everything else about this record is fantastic, from the beats, to kendrick’s nasally flows, to the overall structure of the record spinning a tale of a young man battling demons both inside and out, and his eventual redemption. even if i find this record at times to drop pace, it really is flawless otherwise. it felt like a disservice to put this in the 20-10s, bc it’s a good record, but i had to make some compromises and this was one of them.

RTJ2 - Run The Jewels (2014)

el-p and killer mike are a perfect duo, and the tracks they make together are always total bangers. and for me, RTJ2 is the best overall, with RTJ3 in a close second. it’s hard to put this on the lower half of the list, some of the tracks just don’t work as well as the others, but despite that there’s not really any tracks i hate or dislike on this record, minus maybe crown. the pure aggression in the opening track Jeopardy sets the tone for an aggressive yet highly focused record. This is some of the best rap out there right now if you want some music to fuck shit up to.

Pure Comedy - Father John Misty (2017)

This record is both hilarious and extremely bleak. Josh Tillman is a master of satire and sarcasm, and Pure Comedy is the peak of his songwriting skills. The title track is one of the best tracks of the decade, period. And he keeps up the momentum on the following few tracks. The main problem with this record is its weaker second half, but even then it’s criminal to suggest that those songs aren’t good regardless. And despite the bleakness, the one line that sticks in my head after all this time is the line this album fades out to: There’s nothing to fear.

Knife Man - AJJ (2011)

Continuing on the trend of folky, satirical, and bleak records, Knife Man is AJJ’s defining record (next to their debut LP). AJJ blends loud, punky anthems with quieter, folk tracks that touch on sensitive issues in a way only AJJ manages to get away with. And there’s some genuine heart mixed in as well, with the final track Big Bird always striking a chord with me. However, I do feel the record is, let’s just say, padded at times in my opinion. Still, I can’t deny how much i enjoy tracks like Gift of the Magi 2, Hate Rain on Me, The Distance, and Skate Park. Speaking of which when I saw AJJ live recently they played none of those songs and that kinda sucked but hey it was like $20 I can’t complain. And speaking of not getting what I wanted...

You Won’t Get What You Want - Daughters (2018)

It was hard choosing between this record and their 2010 self titled record, but in terms of the overall narrative and variety this record shines through. If there was a number 11 spot in this unorganized list this would probably take that spot. It’s noisey, it’s abrasive, and it’s like nothing you’ve heard before unless you’ve listened to Daughter’s previous records. Tracks like The Reason They Hate Me are catchy in the weirdest and most unwelcoming of ways, Less Sex sounds like a long lost Trent Reznor NIN track, and Guest House is a masochistic and gut wrenching finisher. Fantastic record aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

We Cool? - Jeff Rosenstock (2015)

It’s obvious that I had to include this record somewhere on these list. It’s like a more refined version of the sounds that Jeff experimented with on Vacation. Definitely more punk than ska, but still some of those roots still shine through, especially in the track Nausea. Some of Jeff’s best songs are on this record, from the loud opening tracks Get Old Forever and You, In Weird Cities, to tracks dripping with bittersweet and moody lyrics like I’m Serious, I’m Sorry and Polar Bear or Africa. The main reason this record is on the back end of the top 20 is because the deeper cuts on the record do not match the energy and heights of the best tracks. Tracks like All Blissed Out, The Lows, Darkness Records and Beers Again Alone don’t feel like they belong and stick out a bit. They remind me more of the material Jeff put out on his 2012 EP I Look Like Shit. Mind you they aren’t bad tracks, but I’ll be honest I skip them often when listening to the record because i just wanna get back to the good good stuff.

Sports - Modern Baseball (2012)

Sports is one of the best pop punk records ever, if you can even consider it as such. It’s like a blend of emo and folk punk, and it works so well. A good majority of this record is on my main shuffle playlist. Is it pushing boundaries? Not really, but tracks like Re-Do, Tears Over Beers, and See Ya, Sucker are undeniably catchy and memorable. I NEED MODERN BASEBALL BACK TOGETHER RN. There’s not really anything that wrong with the record, besides maybe lacking in variety, but at 30 minutes, it’s a record that feels nostalgic even on a first listen, and continues to feel that way even after numerous re-listens. Speaking of nostalgia...

The Suburbs - Arcade Fire (2010)

Some background, when I was 13 (circa 2013), I only really listened to whatever my parents put on for me. From my mom, I “inherited” a taste for classic pop and 80s new wave. From my dad, I got metal and hard rock. The first time I made the conscious decision to listen to a record fully, based on my own curiousity, was when I sat and listened to Sgt. Pepper in the summer of 2013, which broadened the scope of what I thought music could even be. And later that year, the first band I got into after The Beatles? Arcade Fire. When I think of my early teens, the memories are set to this record. I remember listening to Ready to Start in my brother’s old hot ass car while driving to the local fair with some friends on a chill fall night, eating tons of junk and staying up past midnight back when doing that was edgy and cool and not a symptom of my depression.

If I was judging this record solely by its best tracks, it would easily be in the top 3. But I couldn’t place it in my top 10 because, frankly, some of the deeper cuts are lacking. I can’t say I like Deep Blue. I really don’t like Rococo. And Half Light I kills the pace of the record. But man, that title track, Ready to Start, Modern Man, Empty Room, Half Light II, Sprawl II... these songs defined my early teen years. I still tear up listening to the title track. Sure I have to skip a few songs when I re-listen, but I can’t place it any lower or my heart will break. It existing outside of the top 10 already hurts. And that’s all that’s left now. The top 10.

But first, some random honorable mentions that didn’t make this list:

Sound & Color - Alabama Shakes

Black Star - David Bowie

Saturation II - BROCKHAMPTON

Melophobia - Cage the Elephant

Teens of Style - Car Seat Headrest

How to Leave Town - Car Seat Headrest

Daughters - Daughters

Sunbather - Deafheaven

Bottomless Pit - Death Grips

Year of the Snitch - Death Grips (should be on this list tbh)

Doris - Earl Sweatshirt

I Love You, Honeybear - Father John Misty

Helplessness Blues - Fleet Foxes

Plastic Beach - Gorillaz

Boarding House Reach - Jack White

POST- - Jeff Rosenstock

S/T - Joyce Manor

Firepower - Judas Priest

ye - Kanye West

KIDS SEE GHOSTS - KSG

You Were There - Kill Lincoln

Flying Microtonal Banana - King Gizzard

Infest The Rats’ Nest - King Gizzard

No New World - Mass of the Fermenting Dregs

Bury Me At Makeout Creek - Mitski

Puberty 2 - Mitski

Unsilent Death - Nails

Itekoma Hits - Otoboke Beaver

Morbid Stuff - PUP

A Moon Shaped Pool - Radiohead

RTJ3 - Run the Jewels

Angles - The Strokes

To Be Kind - Swans

Undertale OST - Toby Fox

Scum Fuck Flower Boy - Tyler, The Creator

Igor - Tyler, The Creator

Weezer (White Album) - Weezer

nightlife - yuragi

#music #2010s

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sciencespies · 4 years ago

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Christmas Wasn't Always the Kid-Friendly Gift Extravaganza We Know Today

https://sciencespies.com/history/christmas-wasnt-always-the-kid-friendly-gift-extravaganza-we-know-today/

Christmas Wasn't Always the Kid-Friendly Gift Extravaganza We Know Today

There’s a special, even magical connection between children and the “most wonderful time of the year.” Their excitement, their belief, the joy they bring others have all become wrapped up in the Christmas spirit. Take the lyrics of classic songs like “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas,” “White Christmas,” or even the aptly titled “Christmas Is for Children” by country music legend Glen Campbell—these are just a few of the many pop culture offerings that cement the relationship between kids and Christmas. But it hasn’t always been this way, even though the holiday celebrates the Christ child’s birth. How kids got to the heart of Christmas has a lot to tell us about the hopes and needs of the modern grown-ups who put them there.

Until the late 18th century, Christmas was a boisterous affair, with roots in the pre-Christian Midwinter and Roman Saturnalia holidays. You’d find more along the lines of drunkenness, debauchery and raucous carousing at this time of year, especially from young men and the underclasses, than “silent night, holy night.” For example, in early forms of wassailing (the forerunner of neighborhood carol-singing) the poor could go into the homes of the rich, demanding the best to drink and eat in exchange for their goodwill. (Once you know this, you’ll never hear “Now bring us some figgy pudding” the same way again!)

But the boozy rowdiness of the season, together with its pagan roots, was so threatening to religious and political authorities that Christmas was discouraged and even banned in the 17th and 18th centuries. (These bans included the parliamentarians in mid-17th century England, and the Puritans in America’s New England in the 1620s—the “pilgrims” of Thanksgiving fame.) But then, as now, many ordinary people loved the holiday, making Christmas difficult to stamp out. So how did it transform from a period of misrule and mischief into the domestic, socially manageable and economically profitable season that we know today? This is where the children come in.

Until the late 18th century, the Western world saw children as bearers of natural sinfulness that needed to be disciplined toward goodness. But as Romantic ideals about childhood innocence took hold, children (specifically, white children) became seen as the precious, innocent keepers of enchantment that we recognize today, understood as deserving protection and living through a distinct phase of life.

This is also the time when Christmas began to transform in ways that churches and governments found more acceptable, into a family-centered holiday. We can see this in the peaceful, child-focused carols that emerged in the 19th century, like “Silent Night,” “What Child Is This?,” and “Away in a Manger.” But all the previous energy and excess of the season didn’t just disappear. Instead, where once it brought together rich and poor, dominant and dependent according to old feudal organizations of power, new traditions shifted the focus of yuletide generosity from the local underclasses to one’s own children.

Meanwhile, the newly accepted “magic” of childhood meant that a child-centered Christmas could echo the old holiday’s topsy-turvy logic while also serving the new industrializing economy. By making one’s own children the focus of the holiday, the seasonal reversal becomes less nakedly about social power (with the poor making demands on the rich) and more about allowing adults to take a childlike break from the rationalism, cynicism and workaday economy of the rest of the year.

Social anthropologist Adam Kuper describes how the modern Christmas “constructs an alternate reality,” beginning with rearranged social relations at work in the run-up to the holiday (think office parties, secret Santas, toy drives and more) and culminating in a complete shift to the celebrating home, made sacred with decked halls, indulgent treats and loved ones gathered together. During this season, adults can psychologically share in the enchanted spaces we now associate with childhood, and carry the fruits of that experience back to the grind of everyday life when it starts up again after the New Year.

This temporary opportunity for adults to immerse themselves in the un-modern pleasures of enchantment, nostalgia for the past and unproductive enjoyment is why it’s so important that kids fully participate in the magic of Christmas. The Western understanding of childhood today expects young people to hold open spaces of magical potential for adults through their literature, media, and beliefs. This shared assumption is evident in the explosion of children’s fantasy set in medieval-looking worlds over past century, which was the focus of my recent book, Re-Enchanted (where I discuss Narnia, Middle-earth, Harry Potter and more). Christmas or Yule appear in many of these modern fairy stories, and sometimes even play a central role—think Father Christmas gifting the Pevensie children weapons in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe—using the holiday as a bridge between the magical otherworlds of fiction and our real-world season of possibility.

Beyond storytelling, we also literally encourage kids to believe in magic at Christmas. One of the most iconic expressions this is an 1897 editorial in the New York Sun titled “Is There a Santa Claus?” In it, editor Francis Pharcellus Church replies to a letter from 8-year-old Virgina O’Hanlon with the now-famous phrase “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus,” and describes her friends’ disbelief as coming from the “skepticism of a skeptical age.” Church argues that Santa “exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist,” minimizing the methods of scientific inquiry to claim that “[t]he most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see.”

Many of the arguments for the importance of the arts and humanities that we still hear today can be found in Church’s language, which identifies sources of emotional experience like “faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance”—and belief in Santa Claus—as crucial to a humane and fully lived life. According to this mindset, Santa not only exists, but belongs to the only “real and abiding” thing in “all this world.” “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus,” as it has come to be known, has been reprinted and adapted across media forms since its publication, including as part of holiday TV specials and as the inspiration for Macy’s department store’s “Believe” charity and advertising campaign since 2008.

The fact that the sentiments in this editorial have come to be associated with a major retailer may seem ironic. Yet, calls to reject consumerism at Christmas have been around ever since it became a commercial extravaganza in the early 19th century, which is also when buying presents for kids became a key part of the holiday. How to explain this? Today, just as in premodern Christmases, overturning norms during this special time helps to strengthen those same norms for the rest of the year. The Santa myth not only gives kids a reason to profess the reassuring belief that magic is still out there in our disenchanted-looking world, it also transforms holiday purchases from expensive obligations into timeless symbols of love and enchantment. As historian Stephen Nissenbaum puts it, from the beginning of Santa Claus’s popularization, he “represented an old-fashioned Christmas, a ritual so old that it was, in essence, beyond history, and thus outside the commercial marketplace.” Kids’ joyful wonder at finding presents from Santa on Christmas morning does more than give adults a taste of magic, it also makes our lavish holiday spending feel worthwhile, connecting us to a deep, timeless past—all while fueling the yearly injection of funds into the modern economy.

Does knowing all this ruin the magic of Christmas? Cultural analysis doesn’t have to be a Scrooge-like activity. To the contrary, it gives us the tools to create a holiday more in line with our beliefs. I’ve always found the way we abandon kids to deal with the discovery that “Santa isn’t real” on their own—or even expect them to hide it, for fear of disappointing adults that want to get one more hit of secondhand enchantment—unethical and counter to the spirit of the season. The song “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” is supposed to be funny, but it captures shades of the real anxiety many kids go through every year. Knowing what children and their belief do for society during the holidays can help us choose a better approach.

A couple of years ago I saw a suggestion floating around on the internet that I think offers an ideal solution for those who celebrate Christmas. When a child starts questioning the Santa myth and seems old enough to understand, take them aside and, with utmost seriousness, induct them into the big grown-up secret: Now THEY are Santa. Tell the child that they have the power to make wishes come true, to fill the world with magic for others, and as a result, for us all. Then help them pick a sibling or friend, or better yet, look outside the family circle to find a neighbor or person in need for whom they can secretly “be” Santa Claus, and let them discover the enchantment of bringing uncredited joy to someone else. As Francis Pharcellus Church wrote to Virginia O’Hanlon more than 100 years ago, the unseeable values of “love and generosity and devotion” are in some ways the “most real things in the world,” and that seems like something that all kids —whether they’re age 2 or 92—can believe in.

Maria Sachiko Cecire is an associate professor of literature and the director of the Center for Experimental Humanities at Bard College. This essay has been adapted from material published in her recent book, Re-Enchanted: The Rise of Children’s Fantasy Literature.

#History

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linkspooky · 7 years ago

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A Romance of Three Kings

Despite being rescued from certain death, Urie seems less than happy. Note the dialogue exchange between the two of them.

“An explanation, to you? You think I can forgive you like this?”

(....)

(No, I can’t. No, I can’t!!)

Urie ehoes the same sentiment of being unable to forgive him, and the elipses show a clear hesitance.

Why does he say those things though, and what are we meant to take from Urie’s apprehension.

If it’s Urie speaking then it also makes much more sense what he can’t forgive, them not showing up in time to save Iwaccho. As with Urie, his number one priority is not actually the war of succession which Marude, Matsuri and Furuta are all engaged in at the moment but rather the people directly around him.

It’s likely the grudge Urie holds is Marude and Matsuri’s own failure to act sooner. That if they had interfered earlier, Iwao would be alive and not bleeding his last out on the floor only comforted with the fleeting image of his old friend before death.

Emotionally Urie is robbed of any victory he might have felt in this scene because of the loss of Iwao. His number one goal was not his own priority but protecting that one man and Urie failed in the end, and not only that but Iwao is not even a sacrifice in taking down Furuta as Furuta managed to escape.

Why is Urie uneasy with his own rescuers, and why does the expulsion of Furuta which should be an unambiguously good thing feel so empty and ambiguous a victory at the moment?

The formation of this third faction has been set up for awhile in the background. Marude mentioned specifically that it was Hide who tipped him off.

Amon mentions he has comrades on the other side of the island for Takizawa to retreat to.

Scarecrow is seen leaving the island much earlier.

It’s possible Amon might have interfered in Marude’s fight to protect him from Yoshitoki, considering the Ukkaku shape shards driven into his chest and the fact that it was claimed a ghoul attack was what did him in.

As Washuu have been shown incapable of producing any kagune, and also Amon has a tendency to lose control of his and destroy everything that is in sight.

Marude also watched the Matsuri fight and suggested it might have been better off to let Matsuri succeed than Furuta, which is most likely the grounds for their current alignment. Scarecrow when saving Amon relies entirely on CCG Rc suppressant gas to deal with the ghouls guarding him, and beyond that calls him by name.

Then later on, Amon seems like he is about to tell Kaneki that Hide is still alive but when Kaneki says the news would only worry him more Amon stops.

Finally all of these distant plot pieces have come together, yet in their moment of true victory they were unable to defeat Furuta in any significant way only forcing him to retreat. It echoes a bit of the fight with Eto, as Furuta was backed into a corner and lost all of his allies yet still managed to escape and get exactly what he wanted by reuniting with the clowns and leading a slaughter of the clowns.

Perhaps because the true cathartic victory over Furuta is one that’s set up to happen with a uniting between human and ghoul forces. A true victory then cannot be achieved with only human forces raising their hands up against Furuta. Yet, somehow paradoxically we see the opposite happening. Even though this new insurgent group is headed by Hide, Kaneki’s own best friend, they seem to be operating in the shadow of Goat with no contact with them whatsoever.

The story has eluded to such a thing for a long time though. As Roma’s own simplistic view of the world as a stage show was disproven, then so too was her understanding of the conflict. This is no longer a fight merely between two kings on the opposite end of a chess board.

The meta narrative of Tokyo Ghoul has always been about conflicting viewpoints, a tendency of people to simplify conflicts down to black and white. The CCG and Kaneki, both which carry such black and white views of the world have a floor colored in the same black and white, Kaneki in his mindscape, and the floor of the main office itself.

When Kaneki tries only to think of ghouls and is told by Arima to fight for the side of ghouls, the black tiles fall off of his mindscape and a white sky is revealed. However, the blue sky he attempts to see is still not there. As Kaneki tries to force himself into the role of fighting only for ghouls, despite temptations and people left behind on the other side.

It was always possible that this stagnated conflict between two opposite sides, black and white, Furuta and Kaneki, the extermination of all ghouls and a world where ghouls belong, was going to be interrupted by a third party.

There was the unwillingness of several key members of what should have been Goat to accept a world full of ghouls, or that their previous thinking about ghouls may have been wrong. Most notably, Amon who said so point blank, and Akira who while empty of hatred did not know what to do to step forward.

Akira and Amon, rather than their own personal wrongdoings in the past and what they have done to ghouls, instead act as if they are now liberated from this conflict. At the same time they are unwilling to let go of the emotions they had in the past, they want the same purpose they had when they were investigators. To believe more than anything that they were not wrong.

It’s an emotion that Marude shares in his realization of the Washuu’s deception, that those who have died so far for the conflict died for a meaningless one. That, just like Amon and Akira everything he has done so far is empty, even of purpose as its’s foundation was built on a lie.

Their reaction to this however, has not been to turn around and sympathize with ghouls, who were all this time the greatest victims of the lie. Eto writes an epic about ghoul rights and a nameless half ghoul fighting to reform a world against them, one that was written in sympathy to the ghouls who were born into tragic existences and pulls out the only detail relevant to him. That the Washuu were his enemy and were ghouls themselves.

When Arima is asked to describe the motivation for his master’s horrible and crude breeding project, he gives one much more sympathetic than anybody would have thought. One that is overlayed directly over Marude’s decision to shoot Yoshitoki in the head.

Marude quotes Mado too, one of the most unsympathetically anti-ghoul characters in the series. The one whose legacy is part of the reason Amon and Akira are unable to grow properly, just before making the decision to shoot Yoshitoki in the head.

The ultimate irony of Tokyo Ghoul has spelled out clearly for a long time that Mado’s intuition was not all that it was cracked up to be because he let himself be blinded by hate. There was nothing actually that remarkable about his death, the world did not necessitate it, he instead chose tormenting and murdering a fourteen year old girl for his kagune and ignoring a seventeen year old girl who was just begging her to empathize with her and understand her as his hill to die on.

Touka even points this out, did you really respect your father so much as a ghoul investigator, or did you simply want him to come home?

Which obviously conflicts Amon’s statement, that the world gave them no choice but to do what they did.

Akira and Amon seem to regard themselves at this moment, more as observers and contemplaters than actual active participants in the fight. Marude might even share that to a degree as

Amon showed up at the beginning of Rueshima with much fanfare but made absolutely no difference until towards the end. He suggests to Akira that they need to contemplate their emptiness as their path forward, even though Goat saved both of them and their layer currently has a sign with blinking neon lights saying that their redemption for what they did in the past is now helping create a better future for ghoul kind.

Marude is similarly shown doing almost nothing to interfere in the clown raids that secured Furuta’s position of power, but instead commenting on only as an onlooker.

It’s not their actual position though, as Amon, Akira, Marude are all important people in the bureau who could change a lot of minds simply by speaking up. However, all three of them similiarly have lost their place to belong in the world. Not only that, but all of the previous motivations they fought for, the foundations were always built upon lies.

If you look upon Hide’s current gathered forces, assuming Akira and Amon are or were going to be among them this theme repeats itself. Even Matsuri has lost the rest of the Washuu family which he belonged to, the chairman position of the CCG which he worked towards his entire life, and even to himself the place of masculine and heterosexual dominance that seemed to be his birthright. As he realized through all of this that he naturally does not fit the mould of a Washuu heir simply because of his feelings for Urie.

They lost their place in the world, but also cannot find a place in the world of ghouls that Goat now inhabits, so they band together instead. Not only are his forces made up of people who have lost their place in the world, but also of members who have a blinding nostalgia for the old days of the CCG. It’s revealed so in Amon and Seidou’s fight.

Even with everything they have learned, there is an urge within them to go back to the way things were in seemingly simpler days. When their actions simply were to protect Tokyo and they believed that they were in the right.

One more thing to point out about this budding alliance is that almost every member is extremely anti-ghoul, and their anti-ghoul believes go conspicuously unchecked or unexamined by the story.

Akira and Amon are saved and basically hand held by Goat, but in the end do not agree to fight for their purpose. Moreso than that though, if you look at the emotional release in this scene, the person who was comforted was not the ghoul Hinami who was the main victim of the situation but Akira herself. Hinami barely got a word in about what she opened up to Ayato about.

Akira and Hinami’s scene, while somewhat touching on Akira’s end mainly happened for Akira’s benefit, with no attempt at all for reparations towards Hinami.

Amon already said his feelings have not changed, and moreso he does not even accept his body as a ghoul. Even in the omake, Amon cannot even answer a direct question about whether or not he’s a ghoul.

As for Marude, his motivation to act has always been human lives. With his regret for failing to stop the breach at the cochlea, and his own later hatred towards Matsuri for being so wasteful with human lives in his bloody strategies.

Furuta’s phrase “peace on death” even comes from Marude originally as a war cry to exterminate all of the ghouls on the opposite side of the conflict.

While Marude has of course grown since then and become more self reflective about the conflict and the loss of lives it deals in, and dropped a lot of his own cocky attitude or at least shown the doubt hidden underneath, his concern has been raised all of 0 for the lives of ghouls, he’s only motivated about human lives.

Urie has not changed his sympathy towards ghouls even the slightest, and the only thing that motivated him to act once more was human lives being put on the line rather than ghoul ones. He was fine backing up the Oggai when it meant the extermination of more than 90% of ghouls in a single ward, dragging them out into the streets and letting them die bloody deaths.

His own reading of Takatsuki’s book, basically calls the fact that ghoul’s have rights and emotions nonsense. For all of Urie’s progress in regards to himself, he has yet to even change his stance on ghouls one inch, and he has not even acknowledged that essentially for all intents and purposes he basically is a ghoul by this point.

So here we have our group of terrorists, not a single one of them motivated in any way to fight for the actual victims of the Washuu’s violence, ghouls themselves.

One of their key members even is a Washuu, and a mostly unrepetant one as well for the legacy of what the Washuu inflicted upon ghoul kind. Then what exactly is their motivation to fight if not for ghoul kind?

Marude as said before, has always been motivated mainly by minimizing the deaths that come with this conflict. Matsuri even commented to such, that Marude has stayed single his whole life because of his devotion to the CCG.

The conflict is something that has permeated through Tokyo Ghoul since the beginning, the supposed natural conflict between humans and ghouls. Marude’s approach seems to be to minimize the loss of humans to this conflict, and also to fight for the right reasons. Urie’s has been to grow stronger so he can dominate it, achieve rank and glory so he can get what he wants from the conflict. Meanwhile Matsuri is somebody who loses himself in it entirely.

He enjoys it like a game, and delights when both allies and enemies die as long as those deaths manage to align in his favor. While Matsuri definitely has a sympathetic element to him by being forced to fit the mold of the Washuu which is entirely restrictive and also makes him repress his identity as a gay man, it’s important not to forget that he has been set up as an antagonist to everyone, and especially Sasaki’s brand of empathy from day one.

He saw nothing to comfort Urie when Urie lost Shirazu, he enjoyed the deaths of his allies if it benefitted him, and most important Matsuri has always known that his life is highly restricted but considers the power and achievement he gains as a result completely worth it. He says so point blank, that the restraints on him are necessary for him to wield the power that he does.

If there’s something serious to be gleaned from Matsuri’s semi-ridiculous faux death at the end of the clown arc, it’s that Matsuri loses himself entirely in the conflict.

Yes, Matsuri cares about Urie but it’s been far established that the reasons Matsuri cares about Urie is because of Urie’s own attitude as an investigator who cares nothing more about throwing himself into the conflict for rank and achievement. Urie’s restrictive framework which he sees the world through is shockingly like Matsuri’s. Even to the point where Matsuri just assumed Urie would understand him, even when clinging to the recently dead body of his former friend.

The king’s conflict has always been this way though, reliant on figureheads and empty believes rather than the discussions which characters who want to change the world crave.

Hide, and by extension Marude’s forces might lead us to finally the crowning of a third king. Something that has been foreshadowed since Amon’s awakening.

There are three containers marked: Re, foreshadowing that there will be three kings crowned. Kings one and two include Furuta and Kaneki, we might soon be seeing the entry of a third king.

Takizawa even explicitly compares Amon to Kaneki, as both are people he wants to be, famous heroes held up as figureheads. As that black and white way of thinking is the way Seidou saw things in the beginning, holding up individual investigators within the CCG as heroes to strive like becoming, but something he’s since moved away from. At least in recognizing that he can no longer fit the black and white hero mould, especially after failing to do so with Aogiri.

With that king would introduce a third faction that fights for a status quo among the two extremes presented by both Furuta’s CCG and then Goat.

Which would make the current predicted factions: Goat: Kaneki Ken, Take Hirako and the Garden Children, The former Members of Aogiri, The Re: Cafe Ghouls Hide’s Group: Hide, Marude, Akira, Amon, Urie Furuta’s CCG: Furuta, The remaining clowns, Juuzou’s Squad, The remaining Q’s, Mutsuki + Aura and the Oggai

With Kaneki fighting for a future that is secure for ghouls, because he has to at this point if he wants to raise a half ghoul child that does not turn into Eto 2.0. Furuta fighting to bring an end to all conflicts via one grand final swing of the scythe with all the hyper accelerationism he has been burning up in the CCG as of late. (Super Peace perhaps meaning death for all of them, both the humans and the ghouls).

Then finally a third group which fights for a return to the status quo. Perhaps a CCG that exists with the same duty, but not using Quinque, and not dependent on the Washuu, V’s, or even having it necessary ghouls be alive if they are moving past the need for Quinque.

While there’s no doubt in my mind Hide himself sympathizes with Kaneki, the only reason for Marude’s forces not lending their hand to Goat in what could have been a two pronged attack that would easily have saved both sides from tragedy is that they do not sympathize with the rest of Goat’s cause, that is the protection of those innocent ghouls who are again the primary victim of this conflict.

We’re warned of such by Tatara early on in the setup for this current arc. People will continue to fight as long as they find reasons for doing so.

If Furuta’s goal is to bring an end to the meaningless fighting via one giant double suicide, then Marude’s goal may be the antithesis of that. To return to the fighting with a better leader in charge, perhaps Matsuri, or perhaps just himself, so that the fight against ghouls can be conducted more ethically from now on.

As the series has told us from the beginning though, the bird cage is something that needs to be smashed if a new world is ever to be born, not simply made more comfortable.

Perhaps then the reason this conflict continues to take from the characters present in Marude’s group, the loss of Iwao noticably affecting both Urie and Marude is a consequence for this. As long as they only fight for the side of humans, they will never fully be able to see why this conflict propagates itself and therefore the conflict will continue to take and take from them.

What’s required is not a military coup against Furuta, better technology, but rather perspective and understanding of both sides.

#tg meta #marude itsuki #furuta nimura #kaneki ken #amon koutarou #meta #speculation #king #one eyed king #hideyoshi nagachika

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imsvg · 8 years ago

Text

Finding You chapter 3: meeting

Fandom: Hibike! Euphonium/Sound! Euphonium Pairings: Kumiko/Reina; Natsuki/Yuuko; implied Asuka/Kaori/Haruka; Nozomi/Mizore; Hazuki/Shuuichi Summary: Two years have passed since Reina left after their second-year. Two years have passed and Kumiko is now a freshman in college. Two years have passed and she receives a letter from Reina. Two years have passed but something Kumiko thought she lost is making its way to her. Words: 6.3k+ Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 Links: FF is here! AO3 is here!

i recc reading it on AO3. oh, and sorry for not updating yesterday lmao

“You didn’t sleep?”

Kumiko’s gaze went from staring out the train window to Natsuki. She was resting her head atop a sleeping Yuuko’s, whose ribbon flaps fell over her eyes like rabbit ears.

“No,” Kumiko said as she hugged her duffel bag closer to her. “I’m not that tired.”

Natsuki let out a noise as she rubbed one of her eyes. “Well, that’s one of us. Yuuko and I packed last minute, so we ended up pulling an all-nighter packing.”

“Maybe you should have done it earlier,” Kumiko said with an amused smile. Natsuki’s glare didn’t faze her.

“Ah, shaddup. I’ve heard enough of that from Yuuko last night.” She covered her mouth to stifle a yawn.

Kumiko chuckled, and turned her head to look out the window again. The suburban scenery was blurring together like forgotten memories. Soon, the gray buildings grew sparser and sparser until they gave way to green pastures and an open blue sky, the sun rising just above the horizon of faraway hills.

Nostalgia hit her in the chest when she remembered the first time Reina took her to Mount Daikichi.

She wanted to hop on a train to an unknown destination, Kumiko recalled. We never did that, did we?

Maybe you will, one day, Something said.

“That paper yours?” Natsuki said, pulling Kumiko out of her thoughts.

Kumiko peered over her luggage and saw that one of Reina’s letters had slipped out of her bag. “Ah, thanks,” she said as she bent over to pick the letter off the floor.

“I’m assumin’ that’s from Reina.”

“Yeah. I got it yesterday.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Kumiko took a quick glance at the letter, skimming through the words for important details. A number was scribbled on the bottom of the page. The sight of it made Kumiko’s heart jolt, and for a moment, she felt like she was back in high school, anticipation shaking her nerves at the mere thought of hearing Reina’s voice through the phone.

A snort made Kumiko jump.

She looked over the letter to see Natsuki grinning at her. With the way her hair framed her face, she looked like the personification of mischief, and Kumiko didn’t like the sight of it.

“Wh-what?” She asked, failing to sound casual.

Natsuki’s grin grew bigger, and she shook her head. “Nothing.”

Kumiko’s lips curled into a frown. “Doesn’t seem like nothing.”

“Well, it’s just”—Natsuki paused to chuckle—”for a moment, I thought we were back in high school.”

“Why’s that?”

“You had that look in your eyes. The one where your eyes would kind of dim yet sparkle at the same time whenever you spoke about or saw Reina. I always thought it was a mix of admiration or somethin’, but now that I know about everythin’ that happened between you”—Natsuki’s expression melted into one of gentle understanding—”that was one of love, huh?”

Kumiko felt a stitch on her heart snap. Natsuki’s gaze suddenly felt heavy, and Kumiko had to look out the train window to alleviate the weight.

“…Did I say too much?”

Kumiko shook her head. “No. It’s just when you said that, I just…remembered how much I really missed her.” The sensation of tears began to burn the back of her eyes, and she had to blink rapidly to keep them at bay. “I’m kind of scared to see to her again,” she added quietly.

“Even though you’ve been talkin’ to her?”

“Yeah. Kinda stupid, huh?”

“Nah, I don’t think so.”

Kumiko looked at Natsuki, who was wearing the smallest of smiles. “Really?”

“Really. Talking to the person you love face-to-face is a completely different experience. Compared to writing out what you feel, it’s a whole lot harder. Or, in my opinion it is. It’s easier to choke up, you know?”

Kumiko nodded slowly, and a crooked smile made its way onto her face. “Yeah. I did that all the time whenever I was alone with Reina.”

Natsuki chuckled as she brushed a strand of Yuuko’s hair behind her ear. “I feel that.”

“That’s not surprising. You always choke up when you’re sentimental.” Kumiko smiled as the memory of Natsuki gross-sobbing in front of the entire band during their farewell banquet came to mind.

“Doesn’t everyone?”

Kumiko hummed, and quietly watched as Natsuki twined her fingers with Yuuko’s. She could feel Jealousy’s flames burning the underside of her gut.

Must be nice to have someone like that, Jealousy said. Kumiko felt a bitter taste fill her mouth. She turned her head towards the window, suddenly feeling like an outsider observing a world that only Natsuki and Yuuko inhabited.

“You should go and sleep,” Kumiko heard Natsuki say gently. “I’ll keep watch for our stop.”

Kumiko let out a small noise of confirmation and closed her eyes. She caught the noise of rustling, followed by quiet conversation, the voices belonging to Natsuki and a husky Yuuko. Their words sounded far away, and Kumiko felt the distinct feeling of Loneliness burying itself in her chest.

As she slipped into unconsciousness, Kumiko noticed that her hand felt unbearably cold.

-X-

you never said it aloud but

you loved holding her hand

because it gave you

security

comfort

understanding

even if nothing was

said between the both of you

she understood the

love that spilled from the

heart you held in your palm,

transferring its warmth to your fingertips

that intertwined around hers

in an intimate embrace that only

lovers knew

sometimes it was her who reached out first

sometimes it was you

but once your hands touched there was

warmth

patience

kindness

the formula for love

and everything nice

was something you held in your hand

it’s no wonder that

the moment she left

your fingers felt

cold

empty

alone

-X-

“We’re lucky we made it out on time, considering how you were out like a rock,” Yuuko said, shooting Kumiko a look. Kumiko gave a sheepish smile and scratched the back of her neck.

“Sorry, senpai,” she said with a chuckle.

“So much for not being tired, huh?” Natsuki said, prodding Kumiko’s side with her elbow.

“She probably pulled an all-nighter packing.” Yuuko flicked her glare in Natsuki’s direction. “Like a certain someone—”

Natsuki sighed and rolled her eyes. “You’re still on about that?”

Yuuko bristled and stomped up to Natsuki. “Of course I’m still on about that!”

Taking this as a sign to leave, Kumiko made brief eye contact with Natsuki and pointed over her shoulder with her thumb. Natsuki gave an ‘okay’ sign before turning her attention back to an angry Yuuko.

Kumiko briskly walked away, her strides as long as she could make them. She weaved through the crowd, muttering quiet apologizes under her breath when her bag slammed into someone on accident.

Finally, after many collisions and apologies, Kumiko found herself outside the train station. She inhaled, taking in the scent of street food and the river, taking in the scent of home. She held her breath for a split second before exhaling, an easy smile finding its way onto her lips. She took in the sight of the Uji River, taking in the familiar sight of home she took for granted when she was younger.

“I’m home,” she mumbled.

“Kumiko?”

“Gwah!” Kumiko jumped and looked around. “Who’s tha—oh.” She furrowed her face into a scowl. “It’s you.”

The slight smile on Shuuichi’s face, which now bolstered the faint beginnings of a beard, turned into a slight frown. “Nice to see you, too.”

“You shopping?” Kumiko asked, glancing at the plastic bag he held.

“Eh, somethin’ like that. Mom asked me to run some errands for her.” Shuuichi shrugged and continued walking to his original destination. Kumiko followed; her house was in the same direction, anyways.

“You still live with her?” Kumiko asked.

“That a problem?”

“No. It’s cute.”

Shuuichi clicked his tongue. Kumiko noticed the tips of his ears turning red. “Sh-shut up.”

“What’s new?”

“Nothing much. Got out of school.”

“Same. What’s your major?”

“Went in undeclared.”

“Looks like we’re in the same boat. For once.”

Shuuichi chuckled. “Looks like we can actually get along if we try.”

“Don’t push it, Shuushit.”

“Ouch. I forgot how much I missed that nickname.”

Kumiko let out a laugh. “Glad to bring back old memories.”

“What’re you doing back here? Here for the Agata Festival?”

Kumiko shrugged. “Somethin’ like that. Hazuki-chan told me to come back for summer vacation, since it’s the Agata Festival. Plus I haven’t been home in a while.”

Shuuichi snorted. “I’d say it’s been more than a while.”

Kumiko hummed. “Say, speaking of a while”—she looked at Shuuichi, and for the first time, noticed the faint outline of bags under his eyes—”Hazuki-chan told me that you two have been together for a while.”

“I-is that so?” Shuuichi asked, his face and ears turning beet red. “W-when?”

“Over the phone several weeks ago.”

“H-huh….”

“Are you…okay? You look like you’re ready to pass out.” Kumiko furrowed her eyebrows together.

“Ah, well,” Shuuichi began, scratching the back of his neck, “it’s—hm—I’m still trying to get used to it, you know?”

“Being in a relationship?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

A silence settled between the both of them, but a question weighed heavily on Kumiko’s mind. It tickled the tip of her tongue, trying to slip past her lips, but she didn’t dare open her mouth; she didn’t want to say something she would regret.

Her struggle seemed to show on her face, since Shuuichi said, “You know, if you have something you want to ask, you can go ahead and ask.”

Kumiko opened her mouth, then closed it like a fish.

“Go ahead,” Shuuichi urged.

“Mind if I’m honest?”

“If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be Kumiko.”

Her lips quirked into a small smile that disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. “Do you really like Hazuki-chan? Like, honestly?”

“What makes you say that?”

Answering a question with a question; a sign of a guilty man, Logic deduced.

“Well…I just remembered back in high school when you rejected her, is all. What made you come back ‘round?” Kumiko asked.

“…Mind if I’m honest with you?”

“‘Course.”

“I honestly don’t know.” Shuuichi let out a heavy exhale and scratched the back of his neck. “Like, she’s a great person, really. While, admittedly, she isn’t all that bright, she has a big heart, big ambitions, and well, she’s really cute, you know? Even back in high school, I always thought she was cute. But I never thought of her in that way because…you know….”

Kumiko allowed Shuuichi’s words to die in the air, letting the breeze whisk them away to places unknown. The wind left silence in its wake, along with a faint memory of the summer of their second-year.

Shuuichi confessed to her then. Standing beside the river, with the sun painting the sky with oranges and pinks, it was the picture-perfect moment for love to blossom between two people.

Kumiko and Shuuichi weren’t those people.

“…Sorry, Shuuichi,” Kumiko said, just above a whisper. A pang of sympathy struck her heart.

“No, it’s okay. It’s been almost two years now,” Shuuchi said. He added a chuckle at the end, but Kumiko could still hear the hurt in his voice. “I should be over it.”

“But you’re not.” It was more of a statement than a question.

Shuuichi said nothing.

“Is…that why you began dating Hazuki-chan in the first place? As a rebound?”

“Partially.” Shuuichi turned to Kumiko. “Does that make me a scumbag?”

A crooked smile pulled on Kumiko’s lips. “I would say yes, but I would have probably done the same if I had the heart to.”

His face turned into one of understanding. “You still not over Reina?”

“It’s hard to get over your first love.”

Shuuichi chuckled, and Kumiko swore she heard bitterness in his voice. “You’re right about that,” he muttered quietly.

An uncomfortable silence fell between them, but luckily for Kumiko, they approached the intersection where she knew they had to part ways.

“My house is this way,” Kumiko said, pointing to the right.

Shuuichi smiled crookedly. “Surprised you remember where it is.”

“Shut up, Shuushit.”

He laughed and raised his hand in farewell. “I’ll see you later, then.”

Kumiko did the same, and began her stride again.

“Wait.”

Kumiko stopped and turned around. Shuuichi was looking at her, a serious glint in his eyes.

“…Yes?” Kumiko asked.

“You…don’t have to worry about me hurting Hazuki.” He said nothing, as if waiting for confirmation to continue. Kumiko gave it in the form of a nod. “Because, honestly, every time I’m with her…I’m very, very happy.” He broke his stoic mask with a small, sincere smile, and for a moment, Kumiko was taken aback.

Who knew that the pathetic, aloof Shuuichi she grew up with could make such an expression?

“That’s good,” Kumiko finally said with a small smile. “That’s really good.”

Shuuichi’s smile turned awkward, and with a brief nod, turned to cross the street. Kumiko watched him disappear into the crowd, Gram’s words echoed in her head.

Love finds its way.

As she turned around to make her way to her house, Kumiko found herself wondering when love would find its way back to her.

-X-

“I’m home!” Kumiko called out, kicking off her shoes at the doorfront. The running water that was playing in the background was shut off, and Kumiko’s mother shuffled into view, wiping her hands on a rag.

“You’re back!” Akiko exclaimed, her eyes widening with surprise before it melted into a warm smile. Kumiko replied with one of her own, and welcomed her mother’s embrace with open arms. Kumiko took a breath, taking in the faint scent of caramelized sugar that clung to her mother wherever she went.

An ache prodded at Kumiko’s heart when she realized how much she missed her family.

“You should have told us that you were coming back! I would have cleaned up!” Kumiko laughed and blocked herself from Akiko’s playful swats.

“Sorry, sorry,” Kumiko said, “but I kind of decided to come back last minute. Plus I thought it would be a good surprise, you know?”

Her mother shook her head, chuckling. “God, look at you,” she breathed out, taking Kumiko’s face in her calloused, yet warm hands. She scrutinized Kumiko’s visage, and Kumiko did the same. She noticed the gray streaks now tainting her mother’s black hair, the deepening eye bags, and the faint lines of wrinkles setting in.

She’s gotten older, Kumiko thought.

A wave of despondency rose up in her throat, but Kumiko forced it down when she saw her mother’s smile grow even larger.

“You’re so beautiful….” Akiko brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, a gesture she did so many times before. “No words can describe how much I missed you,” she added quietly, her eyes glazing over with sadness.

Kumiko could only reply with a small smile; she didn’t trust herself to say her sentiments aloud, lest she break down crying. Clearing her throat, she changed the subject with a quick, “Where’s Dad?” and peered over her mother’s shoulder.

“He’s still at work. But how about you put your stuff in your room, and then help me with dinner, hm?” Kumiko nodded, and the both of them went their separate ways.

The door to her old room creaked its welcome when Kumiko opened it. Peering inside, she noticed that her room was as exactly as she had left it two years ago; unsettlingly clean, save for the thin film of dust in the nooks and crannies of her room.

As Kumiko put her duffel bag down on her bed, she had the distinct feeling that something felt off, yet so familiar at the same time, like she was reuniting with an old friend.

Maybe this is what Reina felt when she visited Kitauji, Something whispered in her mind.

She pushed the thought aside and exited her room.

Kumiko shut the door behind her, and noticed that the door to her sister’s room was slightly ajar. Peering through the crack, she saw that the sheets on Mamiko’s bed were mussed and crooked.

“Is Nee-chan back?” Kumiko asked once she entered the kitchen.

Akiko shook her head, never taking her eyes off the tomatoes she was mincing. “Someone used her room for lodging for several days. They just left so I need to clean her room up.”

A bitter taste hit the back of Kumiko’s throat. “Is…is that so?”

Akiko hummed, giving Kumiko an onion to peel. “She hasn’t been home for a while. You know that, Kumiko.”

“Yeah,” she mumbled, “I know.” Once she finished peeling, Kumiko grabbed a knife from the drawer in front of her. “Has she contacted you at all since I left?” She asked, chopping the onion in half.

“She sent a letter a week ago.”

A sense of déjà vu came over Kumiko. “Did she? What did she say?”

“Mm, she said she was doing well,” Akiko said after a while, “and that she doesn’t regret leaving college to pursue make-up. She’s been training under this beautician in…Osaka, I believe? It’s essentially a paid internship, and once she finishes that, she plans on opening her own beauty shop.”

Kumiko blinked back tears as she sliced the onion into paper-thin strips. “Really? Where?”

“Somewhere.”

“Have you guys replied?”

“No, not yet. We’ve been too busy. Plus, your father is a proud man; he still has a hard time accepting what happened.”

“It’s been more than three years.”

“Exactly my point.”

For a moment, the sound of knives hitting the cutting board was the only sound that filled the silence.

“She also asked how you were,” Akiko finally said.

Kumiko ignored how her heart lurched in her chest. “Really?”

“Mm.”

“Maybe I’ll call her later.”Kumiko said, her quiet words being drowned out by the loud sizzling filling the air as she poured the onions into the pan.

“You should. She says she misses and loves you.”

While she was sautéing, Kumiko had to pause to wipe away the tears rolling down her cheeks.

As she did so, she told herself she was crying because of the onions and nothing else.

-X-

Call Transcript

Kumiko Oumae → Mamiko Oumae

6:34 PM

MO: Hello?

KO: Nee-chan?

MO: Oh, Kumiko! You’re still alive?

KO: [laughs] Surprisingly. How’ve you been?

MO: Good, tired. [yawns] You?

KO: I’m alright. I’m on break now.

MO: Yeah? You doing anything interesting?

KO: Well, I went back home since Hazuki-chan told me to visit. Plus the Agata Festival is coming up.

MO: Ooh, that does sound like fun.

KO: Mm.

[Silence]

MO: Was there…a reason why you called me?

KO: A-ah, uh, mm—kind of?

MO: If you’re trying to ask me to come home, I’m not going to.

KO: I—I figured as much. [Pause] Nee-chan?

MO: Mm?

KO: Are you ever going to come back? To Uji?

MO: Did Mom tell you about the letter?

KO: Yeah. She told me that you were training in Osaka, and that you plan on opening your own shop one day.

MO: [laughs] Oh, good. So they did get the letter after all.

KO: Why?

MO: Don’t tell them this, but I’m planning on opening it in Uji.

KO: Is it to spite Dad?

MO: Kind of. [chuckles] And, you know, to show him that I actually did it. I want him to know that I’m not some…washed-up college dropout, you know? That I actually have ambitions and passions, and I’m going to follow them. Even if it means not being that perfect daughter that they imagined.

KO: [chuckles] It’s kind of weird hearing you say that.

MO: Why’s that?

KO: Because you were so adamant whenever you spoke to me about school. You always told me to study hard and get into a good college so that I can do well in the future.

MO: Times change. And, honestly, part of me did that so that I could hurt you.

KO: Yeah…?

MO: It might be because you’re the younger sibling, but I always thought that Mom and Dad treated you differently. They gave you everything, you know? Even if you wanted to pursue band in high school, they allowed you. Me? They basically told me to give it up so that I can be a rolemodel for you. I always thought that was unfair.

KO: Because that is unfair.

MO: [laughs] Glad to know you have my back.

KO: You don’t—you know—hate me, do you?

MO: What? Of course not! I love you to bits, Kumiko. Remember that.

KO: [quietly] I love you, too….

MO: Don’t cry on me, yet. We just started the call.

KO: [strained laughter] I’m trying. [sniffles]

MO: Good. So, changing topics, how’s college life?

KO: Mm, it’s okay, I guess? I’ve met new people and made new friends, so that’s a thing.

MO: Looks like my little sister’s finally spreading her wings.

KO: Leave me alone.

MO: You’re the one who called. [laughs] Are you still in band?

KO: Mmm, no. I didn’t know my college had one, so I didn’t audition. But next semester I will.

MO: That’s good. You’ve been practicing?

KO: When I have the time. [chuckles] I actually do the exercises that you taught me when I was in elementary.

MO: Do you?

KO: Yeah. The duck thing, H-factor, those things.

MO: [laughs] The hell’s the duck thing?

KO: You know, where you buzz your lips together to form the embouchure and you sound like a duck?

MO: Oh, that! [laughs louder] You’re very creative with your names.

KO: Shut up.

MO: Mm, you know, I’ve been thinking about picking up an instrument again.

KO: Yeah?

MO: Yeah.

KO: Are you going to do trombone again?

MO: No, I don’t think so. [chuckles] I live in a small apartment, so brass instruments would be too loud and bulky. And I don’t know if I want to play a concert instrument either. Maybe—maybe piano. Or guitar, you know? Something I can somewhat self-teach myself.

KO: I can see you playing piano, actually.

MO: Really?

KO: Yeah. You would look refined playing.

MO: If refined means messy buns, oversized T-shirts, and sweatpants, then yeah, I can totally see myself as refined.

KO: [laughs]

MO: Hey, Kumiko?

KO: Mm?

MO: You really inspire me, sometimes.

KO: [chuckles nervously] What’s with this, all of a sudden?

MO: It’s not really all of a sudden. I’ve always wanted to say it. It’s just—I don’t know—my pride got in the way. I was still bitter about everything. Watching you work so hard during your first year in high school to go to Nationals was one of the main reasons why I had the audacity to go through with chasing after my dream of becoming a beautician. So, thank you, Kumiko.

KO: [sniffles loudly] I—I r-really l-love you, y-y’know?

MO: Oh, don’t c-cry. [clears throat]

KO: A-am I g-going to make you c-cry? [laughs shakily]

MO: I-if you keep this up, maybe. [strained laughter]

KO: [voice cracking] G-God, I miss you s-so much.

MO: Same….

KO: A-and I—I love you.

MO: You already s-said that. [laughter followed by sniffles]

KO: D-don’t ever give up on y-your dream, okay? Promise?

MO: I should be t-telling you that. [chuckles]

KO: Promise?

MO: Only if you don’t either.

KO: I p-promise.

MO: Good. [sniffles, and then with disgust] Oh God, my mascara is running down my face.

KO: [strained laughter] Gross!

MO: [sighs] Oh, well, it’s whatever. It’s the end of the day, anyways. [Pause] Keep in touch, okay, Kumiko?

KO: Only if you will.

MO: Promise I will.

KO: Then, I promise I will, too.

MO: Talk to you later then, yeah?

KO: Yeah.

MO: Love you.

KO: Love you, too.

Call End

7:12 PM

-X-

Despite what Hazuki said about reconnecting with other people, Kumiko found herself spending most of her time inside her house. She only went outside to get the mail, run errands for her parents, or to take a short walk around the block when the reruns of television became too boring for her to handle.

It was on her fourth day back in Uji when Kumiko decided to venture off and explore the rest of the town.

Uji, for the most part, stayed the same. While there were many unfamiliar faces to Kumiko, she didn’t mind them at all. She paid most of her attention at the scenery of Uji: the green trees, the breathtaking sight of the Uji River at sundown, the familiar shops and skyline, the knowing smiles some of the elderly gave her whenever she greeted them. All of it filled Kumiko with a sense of nostalgia, and she savored the “flavor of familiarity” as Reina had described it.

That taste got especially overwhelming when she found herself standing in front of Kitauji.

The distinct feeling Kumiko felt when she first entered her room hit her again. Taking tentative steps onto campus and into the empty building, Kumiko swore she could hear the clamor and conversation of students ringing in her ears. Memory after memory came back to her as she walked the barren hallways, passing by her old classrooms with small smiles as she remembered the countless times Hazuki tripped over herself to get to her seat as fast as she could so she wouldn’t be tardy. Her smile grew somber when she walked past the staircase that led up to the roof, a haven she shared with Reina when they felt like ditching class to sneak kisses or quiet secrets with one another.

She stopped when she heard motion coming from the teacher’s lounge.

Peering in through the half-opened door, she saw a man with a familiar head of shaggy hair sitting at a desk, his glasses reflecting his computer screen.

“Taki-sensei?” She called out.

The man looked up, adjusting his eyeglasses as he did so. A grin crept onto Kumiko’s face as she raised her hand in greeting, and stepped into the lounge.

“Ah, Oumae-san,” Taki greeted, rising from his chair. Kumiko noticed gray hairs peppering his black hair, and how the dull glow in his eyes made him look even more exhausted. “A pleasant surprise.”

“I’m surprised you remember me,” Kumiko said with a small smile.

“I remember effective leadership in my band.” Taki smiled. “You were a wonderful president.”

A flush of pride swelled in Kumiko’s chest, and she awkwardly bowed. “A-ah—mm—thank you.”

“May I ask what I did to deserve this visit?”

“I’m back in Uji for the Agata Festival, and I decided to take a walk around town. I found myself here out of coincidence, honestly.” She chuckled. “I guess I subconsciously followed my old route to school.”

Taki let out a breath of amusement. “I see.”

“I—mm—I heard you were leaving at the end of this school year.”

“From Kousaka-san, I assume?”

Kumiko ignored how her stomach rolled when she heard Reina’s name. “Yeah.”

“She’s taken on quite the challenge,” Taki began as he readjusted his glasses, “but I have faith that she will be successful.”

Kumiko’s smile grew crooked. “I’m sure she’ll be glad to hear that,” she muttered quietly, memories of Reina’s intense obsession with Taki coming back to her.

“Oh, before I forget”—Taki rummaged around his cluttered desk, and pulled out a disc sleeve with a purple Post-It on top—”Kousaka-san wanted me to give you this. She told me that you were planning on visiting the school, but she didn’t know when that was going to be. It’s the Sunrise Festival from this year.”

Kumiko took it, and saw FOR KUMIKO scribbled on the Post-It in Reina’s handwriting. “Thank you,” she said with a small bow.

“It’s been wonderful seeing you,” Taki began, “but I’m afraid I must ask you to leave. I have a lot of work ahead of me.”

Kumiko nodded. “I understand.”

An urge to leap out and hug Taki overcame her, but Kumiko suppressed it and shuffled out of the lounge, making sure to slide the door shut behind her. As she walked down the hall, she stopped in front of the staircase that led to the roof.

How about it? Something asked. For old time’s sake?

With tentative steps, Kumiko climbed the staircase, stepping over the yellow KEEP OUT tape that blocked the next case of stairs. The door to the roof creaked with protest, but Kumiko ignored it. A strong breeze welcomed her by running its fingers through her hair as she made her way to the railing.

The heat made waves dance in the distance, but that didn’t stop Kumiko from enjoying the view. People and cars came and went underneath, cicadas rang in the distance, a jet flew overhead, and the Uji River flowed as always. It was a familiar sight, one she saw countless times during her highschool years, but this time, Kumiko saw it through the lens of nostalgia. A part of her wished to go back in time, to relive those years in highschool, just so that she could appreciate the sights around her a little bit more.

-X-

Kumiko blew off the dust off her DVD player. The dust rose up in a gray cloud, and she accidentally inhaled some of the dust. She sputtered and coughed as she inserted the disc Taki gave her earlier that day, tears in her eyes.

“O-oh G-God,” Kumiko cried out as she fell into another coughing fit. “When was the last time anyone used you?”

The DVD player whirred to life, completely ignoring her question.

Not taking it to heart, Kumiko turned on the TV. She backed up, watching the screen flicker to life, and sat down on the couch. The simple view of a road and hundreds of people greeted her, but soon enough, the crowd erupted into cheers.

Two people holding a banner that said KITAUJI HIGH SCHOOL with Tuba-kun and Eupho-kun printed on the sides marched into view, and Kumiko heard the faint fanfare of the trumpets in the distance.

“Here they come,” said the person filming.

And sure enough, the Kitauji Band came into view.

If she was standing up, Kumiko would have doubled over. She was astounded by the sheer size of the band; Reina wasn’t kidding when she said that the band nearly doubled in size. Lined up in almost perfect rows, the band marched, the color guard flanking the band at four row intervals. Kumiko watched with awe as their legs moved in unison, their legs lining up and meeting the ground together. Their aura was refined and confident, a far cry from the band Kumiko joined when she was a first-year in high school.

Their professional-like appearance was certainly a sight to behold, but it was their sound that floored Kumiko.

The brass was loud and powerful, providing a solid foundation for the rest of the band. The percussion, despite their complex rhythms and strokes, stayed together, both musically and visually, keeping the band on beat and on step. The mid- and high-winds were delicate, with their trills and runs dancing around the percussive beats and resounding bass, yet held conviction, especially during their accented half notes.

Soon, the band moved on, the reverb of the brass the only thing they left behind. The cameraperson aimed the camera down the road, even when the band had disappeared beyond the horizon.

“They’ve grown so much,” the person said with all the pride in the world. “I’m sure she would have been proud.”

Kumiko broke into a smile when she finally recognized the voice.

“All thanks to you, Taki-sensei,” she mumbled.

-X-

Kumiko didn’t know what possessed her to text Reina that night, but before she knew what was happening, she had already sent the text.

9:02 PM

kumiko: hello?

is this reina’s number?

reina: Yes, this is her.

May I ask who this is?

kumiko: oh, right lol

it’s kumiko

reina: Oh, Kumiko.

So my letter did reach you.

kumiko: yeah lol

sorry for not replying sooner

honestly i didn’t know if i was supposed to send you a letter or smth

since you gave me your phone number

reina: Well, I gave you my number for a reason, didn’t I?

kumiko: yeah i guess you’re right lol

reina: I guess it’s safe to assume you’re back in Uji?

kumiko: came back several days ago, actually

reina: Really?

kumiko: yeah lol

took a couple of days to get settled into my house

feels weird coming back home after a couple of years

reina: I understand that sentiment.

Is there a reason why you texted me?

kumiko: well, uh, i visited kitauji

reina: Did you? When?

kumiko: earlier today

reina: Time?

kumiko: um…

sometime past noon? like one or two?

reina: That means you probably met Taki-sensei, then.

He’s usually in teacher’s lounge around that time working out lesson plans for the upcoming band camp.

kumiko: that explains why he was there lol

i thought it was kind of strange of him to be there alone

he looks a lot older, actually

reina: I’ve noticed that, too.

The stress of teaching is getting to him, I think.

kumiko: it was bound to hit him sooner or later

reina: Unfortunately…

kumiko: he gave me the cd that you wanted me to have

reina: Did he?

Did you watch it?

kumiko: yeah i did

he sounds like such a proud dad in the video

reina: Can you blame him?

The band has grown so much under his tutelage.

He might be harsh at times, but he really does care for his students.

kumiko: yeah, he does

reina: If I’m being honest, I don’t know if I can live up to that…

He set such a high expectation.

kumiko: whoa

is the assured reina i knew from my high school years actually showing insecurity??????

reina: Why are you like this.

kumiko: sorry, lol

i couldn’t help myself

but you know, he trusts you a lot

and he thinks that you’ll do a great job once he leaves

reina: Did he?

kumiko: he did

and you know, i think you’ll do a great job too

reina: whoa

is the secretive kumiko i knew from my high school years actually showing emotion??????

kumiko: okay, fine

touché

bonus points for doing my typing style

reina: I do what I must.

kumiko: but i really mean it, you know?

reina: I know you do.

Thank you, Kumiko.

kumiko: dw about it

reina: Have you visited Mt. Daikichi recently?

kumiko: no, why?

did it somehow change or something?

reina: No, I was just wondering.

kumiko: do you visit daikichi?

reina: Yes.

When I’m stressed, I walk up the mountain and go to our old place, and I just look out at the view.

kumiko: yeah?

reina: Yeah.

The view’s just as I remember it.

kumiko: nothing inherently different about it?

reina: Unlike most things, no.

There’s nothing inherently different about it.

kumiko: maybe i should go visit it sometime

for old time’s sake

reina: You should.

kumiko: maybe

i’ll probably go during the agata festival

make it even more magical

reina: Speaking of the Agata Festival…

Are you still planning on spending the night with Kawashima-san?

kumiko: oh, midori?

i’m actually not sure

reina: I see…

kumiko: why?

reina: Well, if you didn’t have any plans, then…

I was wondering if you would like to go with me.

kumiko: wow this conversation brings back some old memories

reina: It’s a yes or no question, just answer it.

kumiko: lol yes, i’ll go w/ you reina

reina: Okay, good.

Then shall we meet at the base of Mt. Daikichi? At the Agata Festival?

kumiko: sounds like a plan

reina: It’s gotten pretty late.

kumiko: it’s only 9 reina what are you talking about

reina: Technically, it’s 9:56, making it closer to 10.

kumiko: but it’s still 9 so therefore it’s 9

reina: I’m not arguing about this with you.

kumiko: b/c i won

reina: When did you turn into Asuka?

kumiko: :)

reina: …

I’ll take this as a sign to take my leave.

I have to wake up early to help Taki-sensei make the final touches for summer camp.

kumiko: okay

see you at the agata festival, then?

reina: Yes.

See you then.

Kumiko sighed, the goofy grin on her face never fading as she did so. She felt like she was back in high school, texting Reina until one of them decided that it was time to sleep. It was such a liberating feeling to have such an easygoing conversation with her again, Kumiko wondered why she was ever scared to speak with Reina again.

It’s because you don’t want to know why she left in the first place.

The thought was sudden and it hit Kumiko hard, like a sudden punch in the gut. Her mirth evaporated into the air, taking her grin with it. A chilly feeling settled in her chest, and began to spread throughout her body.

It’s because you’re scared to find out that your relationship was nothing but a fling to her.

An ache pierced her heart. Kumiko began to chew on her bottom lip, trying to hold the tears back.

It’s because—

The sudden vibration coming from her phone startled her. Kumiko took a moment to collect her rattled nerves before she looked at the notification.

It was an audio recording from Reina.

A bit confused but mostly afraid, Kumiko unlocked her phone and played it.

“Good night, Kumiko.”

Kumiko felt her anxieties melt away the moment she heard Reina’s voice. Her heart leapt at the sound, beating hard and fast against her ribcage.

She forgot how beautiful Reina’s voice sounded.

As she raised her phone to her mouth, Something whispered Gram’s words into her ear.

If she came back in the first place, it must mean something, hm?

That was enough to bring back Kumiko’s grin.

“Good night, Reina.”

#i write #hibike #fanfiction

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switchedatbirthspoilers · 8 years ago

Text

Switched at Birth Boss Breaks Down the Sentimental Final Episode

Switched at Birth began with a pretty insane premise -- two teenage girls discover they were sent home from the hospital with the wrong parents and attempt to get to know their biological families.

It sounds like a soap opera of epic proportions, but in reality Switched was a simple family drama that explored the difficulty of forming relationships in adolescence and trying to find where you belong. The show forged a unique relationship with the deaf community by making several of its core characters deaf and most of the cast fluent in American Sign Language by the end of the series.

The show told stories about coming of age, family, first loves, trauma and strength over the course of five seasons and over 100 episodes. In the end, after all of the drama and the tribulations, Switched at Birth came back to its core family to show the power of love whether you're related by blood or not.

TVGuide.com talked to Switched at Birth creator Lizzy Weiss about the final episode, the show's legacy and where she sees Switched ending up in the future. See her answers below.

TVGuide.com: You didn't have a lot of notice that this season would be your last. What was the most important thing for you to wrap up and address in the final episodes to give the series proper closure?

Lizzy Weiss: First off, it was important to send Daphne off on the doctor path. I flirted briefly with taking her off that path - simply because people do change their minds in college or soon afterwards - but it just felt like it'd be a huge letdown for Daphne Vasquez not to fulfill that lifelong dream. She really is an inspiring character and I do want a legacy of the show to be a deaf woman who becomes a physician. As for Bay, I also wanted to send her off on a career path that felt right - if not forever, then for now - and tattooing is the perfect mix of art and East Riverside and entrepreneurship. That's nature Bay - not nurture - taking over. That's where she was destined to end up no matter who raised her. And then of course we had to answer the Bay Emmett Travis triangle...

As for the adults, John and Kathryn were always the Eric and Tami Taylor (Friday Night Lights) of the show -- the couple who always held it together. They were the central Mom and Dad in a traditional home and Christmas hearth way, and it always felt like we could throw ripples or even tidal waves their way, but they'd never waiver in their long-term love or commitment, and I wanted to reiterate that.

It felt right to point Toby towards a brand new career path that is defined by his child and disability and a path that began in the pilot of the show with meeting his biological deaf sister. And I loved the twist we came up with for Regina - giving her long-term love and commitment but never sacrificing her morals or strength to get that love. We gave her a series of men but Eric is just so solid and sexy and kind, despite his complicated back story, that they always felt right together.

TVGuide,com: I loved the symmetry of Travis and Emmett going to Japan together after Bay and Daphne's life changing trip to China. What inspired that? Do you think that could have spin-off potential?

Lizzy Weiss: Ha! Spin-off, I love that! It was a way to honor the friendship and the brotherhood and the thematic concept of siblings brought together by unique circumstances. It was also a way to send Emmett off into the world on a new adventure. I think photojournalist is an awesome profession for him and I'm excited to imagine him off on that journey. The whole idea of them starting out their careers in a foreign country with each other to lean on just feels open and fresh and fun and difficult and funny and crazy and right.

TVGuide.com: It was really emotional to see Daphne ask Kathryn if she could call her mom for the first time. When do you think that turning point came for Daphne and do you think Bay feels the same way about Regina?

Lizzy Weiss: That was a moment that was in my back pocket for a long time and I always wanted to wait until the end for it. I think Daphne slowly began to think of Kathryn as her other mom enough to call her 'Mom' awhile ago but she held off because she didn't want to upset Regina. And then in that moment, with the nostalgia and the emotions running high, it just felt right and she knew Regina would understand and not be threatened. It just means a lot to Kathryn to hear that - she's that kind of person; being a mom defined her for a long time and the loss of raising Daphne was seriously profound for her. But Regina isn't as traditional and for some reason, I just picture Bay calling Regina 'Regina' forever. It's just a personality thing for them both, plus their initial relationship was always more fraught and more big sister/little sister or aunt/niece.

TVGuide: I am an unapologetic [Bay/Emmett] shipper. If you had more episodes do you think they could have found their way back to each other or does it feel more fitting they accept they were first loves and move on?

Lizzy Weiss: This was the right ending, whether or not we had more episodes. Maybe it's because Bay met (or started dating) Travis later in life, after a lot of the terrible stuff happened to her, and it was just timing - as is so much in life. But the penultimate episode (Travis telling his mom) showed that Bay and Travis are tight. They're strong. They've got the goods to go the distance. Big romantic moves are wonderful but can you go through incredibly hard stuff together and come out stronger? That's an adult relationship.

That being said, the Bay/Emmett montage was really emotional for me. I did it to honor the relationship and its importance to the show and the character and the fans, even though they don't end up together. There are a lot of intense Bemmett fans and I understand the passion because the Bay/Emmett relationship was so specific and unique - I don't think there's ever been a teenage love story between a hearing girl and a deaf boy on TV before so it was in itself romantic and fascinating and delightful. And then of course Vanessa and Sean had such great chemistry; it was undeniably special. But it was a first love and most first loves do not last and that is what makes them so potent and poignant. That first love and first broken heart defines your youth and brings you right back to that time. And when you think about it, it's delirious and erotic and excruciating and wistful all at once. So that final look between them was supposed to be all of that - 'I am remembering all of those moments that no one knows but us - and the power they had in shaping who I am today, and I will always carry you in my heart, even though we go our separate paths'.

TVGuide.com: Is there anyone you wish you could have invited back for the final episodes that you didn't have time to include?

Lizzy Weiss: Yes! We tried to get both Wilke and Ty back, but for scheduling reasons, that wasn't possible. In fact, the creation of Mingo originally came out of a desire to get a ridiculous Wilke energy back for Daphne, and then along the way, Mingo became his own adorable self and, of course, 'the one.'

TVGuide.com: If there's a Switched at Birth reunion in 10 years, where do you see your main characters being?

Lizzy Weiss: That's a great question but one that I will keep to myself for now. I think touching base with this family again would be lovely, but if they go off into the sunset of the fans' imagination, I can live with that too.

TVGuide.com: What has being captain of this show for five years meant for you?

Lizzy Weiss: I talked about Bay and Emmett and first love above, and how intense it is and how fresh and open and present you are, and this feels the same to me. This show was so personal to me. I was there from the first noodle of an idea scratched out on a piece of paper to the last shot of the finale. So sometimes I wonder if any other show will ever mean this much to me or be this magical or intense or bring me this much joy, but that's how you always feel at the end of a relationship, right? No one will ever love you like that again. But then you meet the right person, and they do, and you do, and it's just different.

Which is all to say, it's been transformative, and I'm incredibly grateful to my partners - the writers and actors and the network, and my actual partner on the show Paul Stupin - who was also there every step of the way, as my co-captain. We had a total blast doing it. And we just all feel really, really lucky.

TVGuide.com: Is there any final message you want to give to the Switched viewers and fans?

Lizzy Weiss: Thank you not just for watching and loving it and keeping it on the air for 103 episodes, but for telling me all of the ways in which the show impacted you, both tiny and profound. To all of you who chose a profession from the show, or who spoke to someone at Starbucks for the first time in sign language, or who continued your cable TV package just to watch a show with a deaf protagonist for your deaf daughter, or who said 'my brother has Down Syndrome,' 'I was assaulted in college,' 'I'm black and that is exactly what it feels like to walk across my campus' - I'm so glad you felt heard and seen and validated. The door is open. Keep making your own stories about your own unique perspective on the world. There is so much left to say.

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