#i wanted to call it phone call from beyond the grave but that phrase is associated with a good half dozen+ other stories

[emdotcom]

I'd like to clarify I mean the story that the "Who was phone" phrase is paraphrasing, but fully recognize that the urban legend was never as widely circulated as the meme.

Remember! If you share, more answers will be there!

[morganaspendragonss]

I hope that you are doing well! I love the your writing! If you are open to a Tarlos fic request: TK to Carlos after the doctor has told him Carlos might not make it through the next 48hrs "I cannot imagine life without you, please don't let me live my greatest fear. I won't survive."

Carlos has been working a case and it happens that he becomes a target. He starts getting messages at work, at home and becomes paranoid but doesn't tell TK, but TK can see that Carlos is on edge. Carlos picks a fight with TK so that he goes to stay with Owen for a while. Carlos does this to protect him, let him at least stay away so that if anything happens, TK is safe. Then one night, Carlos is alone at home and someone breaks in, torture ensues and he is barely clinging to life. He calls 911, Grace answers and he can barely get the words out "it's Carlos, send help". 📍

holly's august extravaganza day 10: i can't imagine my life without you

thank you!

ao3 | 1.9k | descriptions of torture, major character injury, angst, hopeful ending, open ending

TK knows he’s annoying people. The atmosphere in the ambulance is thick with tension whenever they’re out on a call, and it’s not much better back at the firehouse. He tries to keep his distance, occupying himself in the gym or aggressively doing chores, but he can’t avoid everyone forever and his bad mood is starting to spill over.

Like when he and Nancy fell back into their old pattern of snipping at each other, or when he nearly bit Paul’s head off when he asked what was wrong. It was less the question itself—though TK certainly doesn’t want to get into why he’s so out of it—and more the way Paul phrased it. Nobody likes to be asked ‘trouble in paradise?’, particularly when the answer is yes.

He just doesn’t understand. It had come completely out of left field—one minute everything was fine, the next Carlos had turned to him with guarded eyes and a clenched jaw, and said six words that sent TK’s whole world crashing down.

“I think we need a break.”

Carlos hadn’t explained why; when TK had tried to push, he’d turned it into a fight, until TK had no choice but to leave. He’s been staying with his dad for a week now and he desperately misses his boyfriend, torn between wanting to go over and check on him and wanting to give him space.

He’d settled on a text, a simple you okay?, which still felt woefully inadequate. Carlos had been on edge for weeks before the blow up and TK hadn’t been able to get a word out of him about why.

The text is still unanswered, though it’s been marked as Read.

TK huffs and hauls himself up into the ambulance to check stock. He knows Nancy has already done it and she’s going to be pissed if she catches him, but he needs to keep his mind occupied somehow, lest he start to spin out. But the peace he finds is short-lived, as not ten minutes after he starts, TK looks up from his clipboard to see Judd approaching, hands held out in a pacifying gesture.

It has the opposite effect, TK’s nerves becoming that bit more frayed at the spooked animal treatment he’s getting, but his pointed glare does nothing to deter Judd. Nor does turning his back and returning to work, as he finds out when Judd’s heavy footsteps stop behind the rig and don’t move away.

“TK,” Judd says, his voice suspiciously rough.

TK doesn’t bother turning around, hoping it will get the message across. “Fuck off, Judd,” he says, which would normally be a guarantee of riling him up enough to get him to either leave TK alone or engage in a more physical manner.

At this point, TK doesn’t really care which reaction he gets.

Unfortunately, he’s not in luck today. Which, honestly, tracks.

“I got a phone call,” Judd continues, undeterred, “from Grace. Now, I figure you’ll be getting a similar one soon enough, but we thought it might be better if you heard it from us first.”

TK sighs and hangs his head, reluctantly turning around. “What?” he snaps out. When Judd doesn’t react, not even with a raised eyebrow, a quiet dread begins to pool in his gut, a little voice in the back of his head telling him he already knows ‘what’.

He tries to push it down, but there are very few reasons why Grace would call Judd and ask to talk to him. TK takes the proffered phone in a shaking hand, his heart starting to pound as he lifts it to his ear.

“Grace?”

“Hey, TK.” Grace’s voice is gentle, as it always is, but there’s a soothing note to it now, and more of the pieces start to slot together in TK’s head. “Listen, honey, I’m at work and I just got a call come through. I’m… I’m so sorry, TK. It was Carlos.”

TK’s breath catches, tears pricking the back of his eyes. “What do you mean?” he demands, voice shaky. “What do you mean ‘you’re sorry’?”

“He was… I don’t know. He was barely able to talk, but it sounded real bad. EMS 122 were in the area at the time so I sent them out; they should have arrived at the hospital by now.”

And TK… TK doesn’t know what to say to that. He slumps back on the bench in the rig, breathing turning shallow as he imagines what could have happened to Carlos. The last time they’d seen each other—the last time they’d spoken—it had ended with them throwing insults across the kitchen island and with TK packing a bag and slamming the door behind him.

The thought that it might be the last memory they have together kills him inside.

He needs answers. Before he can face this new reality, he needs to know what happened, which means there’s only one thing he can do right now.

“Grace?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“I want to hear it.”

*

Judd has followed him up to the mercifully empty bunkroom, refusing to leave after both his and Grace’s attempts to dissuade him had failed. TK ignores him for the most part, but he does give in to his request to put the phone on speaker. Much as he wants to deal with this on his own, it is a kind of comfort to have Judd’s steady presence next to him.

“Are you sure about this, TK?” Grace asks for the millionth time. TK appreciates her concern, but he needs this. He needs to hear it for himself.

“I’m sure.”

“Alright then.”

He hears a few clicks and then the recording starts, Grace’s voice coming over the speaker.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

No response.

“Hello?”

The silence continues, broken only by static, and then what TK recognises as heavy, gasping breaths.

“Hello, is anyone there?”

A few more seconds pass, and then, “Grace.”

TK has to suppress a sob at the sound of his boyfriend’s voice—though, if he didn’t know for sure it was Carlos, he wouldn’t have recognised it. His words come out ragged and hoarse, riding on breaths that seem to be getting slower and more laboured by the second. TK clutches the phone tighter in his hand, biting down hard on his lip.

“It’s… It’s Carlos. I… Send help. Please.”

“Carlos, can you tell me what’s wrong?”

But Grace goes unanswered, and TK suddenly notices that he can no longer hear the sound of Carlos breathing. His own breaths hitch, his lungs refusing to expand properly, and his vision blurs with tears as he curls in on himself, hands braced on the edge of the bed and gripping tightly onto the covers.

He doesn’t notice Judd taking the phone back, nor is he aware of him moving to sit next to him until he’s being pulled into a strong embrace, TK’s head cradled against Judd’s chest. Judd whispers things TK doesn’t hear as his hands gently rub his back, the touch grounding him as he loses himself to tears and the overwhelming pain in his heart.

Five minutes later, TK’s phone rings.

Fifteen minutes after that, they arrive at the hospital.

*

“Please,” TK whispers, clutching onto the hand in both of his. “Please don’t make me do this. I don’t… I don’t want to live a life without you in it. I can’t, you understand me? I can’t. If you leave, I won’t survive it, so you just hang on for me, alright? Forget what the doctor thinks, you keep fighting, and come back to me. Please, Carlos. Please.”

TK looks up, hoping to see Carlos’s beautiful brown eyes staring right back at him, but of course they’re not. He might never see them again, which is something TK is still trying to wrap his head around. That’s not the only thing either; Carlos has so many injuries that he’s struggling to remember them all—the only thing he does remember with horrific clarity is the doctor’s words when he’d asked to speak to TK privately.

“We’ve done what we can, but I’m afraid Officer Reyes’s wounds are grave and there is a significant possibility that he may not make it beyond the next 48 hours. If he does, then we will re-evaluate, but currently his chances of recovery are slim. I’m truly sorry.”

TK wipes away a stray tear and presses a kiss to Carlos’s bruised knuckles. His other hand is completely shattered, and TK can barely stand to look at his face; it’s been beaten to a pulp, there’s a patch over one eye, and whoever attacked him even went so far as to rip out some of his teeth.

It’s grim, and that’s to say nothing of the rest of his body. Torture is the only word to describe what happened to Carlos—brutal, savage, and without mercy, somebody tortured him in their home.

And he was alone.

*

“Son, you didn't know.”

“That’s no excuse. I left him.”

“Carlos pushed you away. He was trying to protect you.”

“And where was I when he needed protection?”

“TK—”

“Don’t, Dad.”

*

“TK, I really shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Please, Mitchell. I need to know. Carlos knew something was going to happen but he chose to drive me away instead of letting me in. I just… I just want answers.”

“...I’ll see what I can do.”

*

Carlos makes it through the 48 hours, but not without incident. Somewhere around hour 32, the machines had started going haywire, summoning an army of doctors who shoved TK out of the room, leaving him to stare in through the blinds as they worked to save Carlos’s life.

They’d done it, but it had taken TK hours to come down from the resulting panic attack.

*

“Oh my god.”

Mitchell is standing at his shoulder, watching him warily as he flips through the file she brought him from the station. She keeps looking around anxiously, as if her sergeant is going to appear and arrest her for misconduct at any moment, but TK only has eyes for the images and words in front of him.

“Did you know about this?” he asks, gesturing to the myriad of threatening messages they’d apparently found in Carlos’s desk.

She shakes her head. “We noticed he’d been acting weird, but we figured something was going on between you two. He never said a word to anyone that I know of.” She pauses and sighs shakily, placing a comforting hand on TK’s shoulder. “We, um. We found some at your house, too. In Carlos’s nightstand.”

TK stares, first at Mitchell, then at the file, then at Carlos, still just as silent and motionless as he’s been since the day all this happened. “Why?” he breathes, and he doesn’t know which one of them he’s addressing the question to.

*

The doctors are amazed when they get to a week and Carlos’s heart is still beating. He still has a ventilator breathing for him and there’s still been no sign of him waking up, but he’s not giving up.

TK wants to say that he never doubted him, but he can’t ignore his paramedic training. He’d heard how badly Carlos was injured; he’d seen the crime scene photos and all the blood coating their bedroom.

(He’d needed several minutes in the bathroom to recover from that sight)

Much as he didn’t want to admit it, all the signs pointed to Carlos not making it.

But he’s still here. Still fighting. And TK can’t help but let that little bit of hope into his heart.

[munsnz]

TRICKS OF LIFE— STEVE HARRINGTON

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐯. — 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐔𝐬

overview: School is finally done, yet feeling off in the situation itself. The familiar boys including, Mike, Dustin, and Lucas get in contact with her to persuasion to investigate further information on the disappearance while Y/N works as an intern at the police department.

Taglist! — @itsnottilly

Navigation — Mixtape

Who knew that the day had gone like a blur, drifting off to classes and sessions, now Y/N was outside in the busy Hawkins High parking lot. From people driving away to their destinations to the freshmen walking off into the distance. Everything had been subtly normal, except for Y/N who had been aware of the odd disappearance of Will Byers. As she stood beyond the perimeter of the entrance, a few farewells were exchanged from Nancy, walking back to the Wheeler’s residence, three familiar boys biking nearby her. It had appeared that the specific, Mike Wheeler, Lucas Sinclair, and Dustin Henderson were approaching her in the buzzing lot. Quick waves and greetings, they all said hello along with the purpose of the trip.

”Little Hop!” The shouts from upfront were called for, the boys circling their way around her, Mike pushing the brakes next to the dumbfounded girl, standing awkwardly, “There’s something that went on-“

“I know, Will’s missing,” Y/N lifted her arms from her side, sighing loudly, the boys still catching their breath from the troubling trip to the high school, “There’s nothing we can do about it!”

Mike stood up abruptly, steadying his bike along with Lucas and Dustin, clearing his throat, “Yes we can! You’re an intern at the police department.”

The three middle schoolers stood quietly, in hopes of her agreeing with their statement of finding their lost friend. Y/N had always been on their side, ever since she met them, they were the troublemaking group of kids, buzzing around the town creating rumbles. Surprisingly, she frowned, looking off into the open, “Sorry, but from what my dad said, I’m afraid I can’t help this time. I was told not to investigate at a certain point.”

“Why not? You’ve always helped us,” Dustin began, walking next to her, strolling his bike as well, “You want the best for us right?”

“I do, but...... I need to listen to them.”

Lucas turned to Y/N who silently watched them, “There’s gotta be a reason though! Will is our friend, he’s missing. What if something happened to him?”

“That’s the police’s deal, not mine!” Y/N snapped at them who flinched at the odd action taken by her. Irritated, she looked to the distance, watching a group of boys around her age make these obnoxiously loud noises from afar.

Hearing the cryptic response, all of their jaws dropped, Y/N’s never acted so.......stern, bland, stubborn, like ever. Their expressions dim, surprised at hearing the prolonged answer they’ve never thought would turn up out of Y/N’s mouth. Frantically grabbing the bikes from the side, getting ready to pedal back home, Mike subtly shifted his glance towards the blank Y/N, waiting for them to leave, saying, “Seriously, what’s wrong with you? You’re supposed to be on our side.”

”I’m just listening to what they’re saying,” Y/N crosses her arms due to the frigid weather outside, prepared to be able to walk home. Watching their saddened faces gloom in the outside, Y/N felt this other urge of guilt; why was she acting up so much already? Will was her main priority, so why wasn’t she helping them? What if Will was in grave danger? Why was she being so ignorant?

As thoughts flood her head, bringing this awful feeling, not being able of what to do, she quickly places a comforting yet rapid hand onto Mike’s shoulder, catching him off guard, “Okay, it may seem as if I’m the bad guy, but at least I’ll try my best. I’ll let you know what goes on in the office, but under one condition, you guys cannot go investigate at all. Do you understand?”

Smiles brightening up, they rapidly nodded, a sense of relief that they’re going to be able to find Will sooner or later thanks to the girl’s help of her working as an intern to the most reliable place in search of safety of their friend. Happily, the boys rushed close up to Y/N, express their’s gratitude for her for the decision she made after the fulfilling thoughts convincing her instinct. After exchanging the thanks you’s and farewells, they biked away, in hopes of a successful retrieve of Will Byers. Y/N waved confidently as the rest biked away into the occupied sidewalks of students, a feeling of courage and determination swelling to her, walking away from the school premises to the Hawkins Police Department.

Maybe it was one of the longest walks Y/N had ever taken, and believe it or not, it was the shortcut to the center of the town where most residents would be, to walking and driving around the oddly empty area. After nearing herself to the familiar building, broadly directing the suitable location she was currently in, the police department. It was eerie since as predicted, almost all officers were in search of the Byers boy, maybe a few people coming out of the building, the sound of the car engines from behind, bringing her back to the present beyond thinking of different ways to gather resourceful information about the disappearance to satisfy her curious middle school friends.

It had been almost a year since Y/N got the job as an intern thanks to her extraordinary talent of persuasion for her dad, knowing that the department could use an extra hand for the little tasks. To top it off, she had also been passionate about following Jim’s footsteps in law enforcement, wanting to be an aspiring detective shortly.

Gallantly walking inside to find the ringing of phone calls and faint clicks coming from the rickety typewriter in the unoccupied office, the girl awkwardly walked inside the warm room, the smell of brunt cigarettes filling the essence, to find Florence, or as known, Flo organizing a few papers in the oddly organized desk.

“Hey Flo,” Y/N shuffled her feet, meeting her eyes with the woman, signaling her to come closer by the wooden table. In the quiet aura, more sound of the papers, making her eyes shift from side to side, trying to recognize files, names, dates containing in them.

Following the quiet mumbles of distress, the girl gets up, in prospers of ruling a kind act towards Flo who had seemed wildly stressed in whatever deal she was in, to trot by the counter, finding the area of the usual coffee stand. Y/N gently pours in the hot pot of water in the porcelain cup, later adding a spoonful of the instant coffee mix, stirring it to when it blended evenly, as her mind filled with phrases or questions for any information about Will had been released.

At last, Y/N cleared her throat watching behind her to see the frazzled woman as she allowed the light gush of vanilla creamer into the dull substance inside the mug. She places her hand on her chin, leaning against the counter to watch the heavy fluid smoothly blend with the dark-shaded one, a satisfying view to one.

“Have you seen Victor anywhere?!” A familiar perky voice chirped tensely behind Y/N, disassociating her from the soothing visual upon her.

As the girl shook her head in response, she gripped onto the filled mug, placing it on the top of the surface, bringing a piece of sweet bread along with a napkin for herself. Given a seat on the thick cushion, she pushed the mug towards Flo, “I saw him in Chemistry, but I don’t think he came into the office. But here’s coffee to relieve the stress.”

Continuing, placing the papers around the desk, Flo solemnly smiled, accepting the hot drink, “Thank you, dear, that silly boy is probably wandering around with others. Kids these days and their irresponsibilities.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Y/N takes a bite from the bread, hearing the lady with glasses mumble nonsense about the theory of how pop culture influenced the younger generation of teenagers, turning them into rebels.

Seemingly, Y/N tried in the most awkward moment to speak up about Will, after the tense conversation Flo was having with herself, multitasking in filing papers, clearing her throat, “What happened to Will?”

“Will?” In a millisecond, the big-eyed woman shifted her glance upwards to get a glimpse of the girl who had a worrisome look on her face, raising her eyebrows a little, “Will Byers right? The missing boy?”

Y/N confidentially nodded, biting her bottom lip for an answer, her hands coming together, “Yeah, my dad came in a few hours ago at school to ask me where he was last seen.”

”Oh, yeah,” Flo’s eyebrows furrow, trying to recall any updates on the search for the boy, she clicks her tongue, adjusting her seat, “Well, from what Jim told me, they recently found the boy’s bike in the woods near the dead-end near Mirkwood.”

”The woods?” The girl’s E/C colored eyes widened, feeling that same sick sensation in her stomach, something bad could’ve happened to Will. But shaking the thoughts away, she mentally took notes from the location, for her fellow friends, “Anything else? I’m just really worried about him.”

Scrunching her face, Flo leaned closer to the girl’s face who pawned over any conclusions made, with a hushed tone, “Just between us, I think it was Lonnie, the boy’s dad who probably took him.”

“I don’t think so I mean something else could’ve happened,” Y/N shrugs, speechless of the comment made, but also being in complete denial of that accusation made so quickly.

Suddenly she was cut off with a voice from the ham radio, making it impossible to hear the communication clearly on the side counter. As Y/N rolled her eyes in annoyance, she stood up from the chair, tuning the frequency higher enough to hear better to listen to the chief’s deep voice, “Flo are you there? Hello?”

”Oh yes it’s me, Florence!” The female teenager mimicked sarcastically through the radio, overhearing her father groan deeply, the sound of the background being able to be caught on the machine.

Hopper chuckles a little, earning a small grin on his daughter’s face while she slides back down on the comfortable chair, “Yeah very funny kid, you should be on Carson one day.”

”I know right? So what’s up Big Hop!”

Toning down his voice to be grouchier like before, he ordered sternly, “Well, tell Flo to organize a search party right by Mirkwood around 7 o’clock.”

”Wait a search party?” Y/N’s happy tone faded away, unsettling her, as she anxiously twirling her finger onto the radio chord connecting to the main machine, “Is this seriously? Can I come? What if-“

Another interruption. Sheesh, whoever let this girl talk in peace? Oh right the brunette with oval glasses who rushed inside to throw his jacket to a rack, quietly mumbling words to himself until he spoke up, “Sorry I’m late, I was caught up with Mr. Benson.”

”About time boy!” Flo glares at the slender, lanky teenager, clapping her hands up in the air to make a racket, “You airhead, we called you an hour ago, it’s irresponsibility! You’re going to get nowhere with that commitment of yours Victor.”

Victor’s mouth hung open at the tactless observation from the audacious lady, raising his eyebrows, he barked back, “Yeah but you didn’t hear the part where I was clearly at school!”

”No you were probably being some hobo on the streets-“

”Can you two just shut up!” Y/N shouted, waving her arms in the air to signal them to keep it down, later focusing her attention back to the stereo, “Jesus I cannot keep up with them.”

Scoffs being heard on the other line, Hopper responds with a jokingly tone, “My exact thoughts when you ramble about everything. Now, let the Hawkins paper know about the search party being held later a during the evening.”

”Wow, that’s just mean dad,” She rolls over to grab a blue ink ballpoint pen, along with a sheet of lined paper to mark down any important data for the event, chicken scratch letters splayed across the page, “So what else do you need pop?”

”That's about it, but I want the information out as soon as possible for the townsfolk to know, you got that?” Hopper ordered, saluting a goodbye after catching the background noise of Victor and Flo arguing about responsibility in the law world for future reference.

Y/N quickly scribbled on the last of the dictation from her father, leaving the radio back to its default position near the main machine, sliding the paper in front of Flo who was near threatening to hit Spencer with a telephone, “You guys seriously need to act mature enough.”

”Excuse me? I’m a fifty-year-old woman teaching a scrawny boy how to behave and not to talk back to adults!” She huffs, throwing herself back onto the chair belonging to the desk, squinting her eyes to look at the writing for directions, “Your handwriting needs work dear. But Victor needs to call the Hawkins Post or announce it somewhere and do something for good.”

Rolling his dark eyes, Victor snatches the flattened paper off the lady’s hands, walking towards the office phone calling in regards to the additional details to the post. Meanwhile, Y/N slouches on the chair, her jacket crinkle, reading a few files based on last week’s headlines, “Can I help to search for Will?”

”Can I come too?” Victor calls out from the corner, waving a hand in the air, suddenly getting caught off guard by the other person on the phone line and getting back into the conversation after dozing off, mumbling, “I’m sorry it was just a colleague of mine talking to me about the investigation.”

Time was dozing off until Flo agreed to let the two teenagers come along for the search party, organizing and setting out a clean stack of papers in front of Y/N, “Now stop your unproductive babbling and sort these out to keep them in storage.”

”Yes ma'am,” Y/N uttered calmly, still feeling proud and occupied due to her letting Dustin and the rest know this semi-confidential for the search of their friend. Now were they all going to be lucky and find success in finding Will in safety on this night, or are there many more occurrences to come?

[wishfullyeternal]

Reid x Reader- Hurt Pt 6

Reid x Reader- Hurt Pt 6

Warnings- Mentions of violence, gunshots, swearing, PTSD, depression etc. Please exercise caution.

Words- 1544

A/N- finally got around to continuing this part! hopefully y'all like it! as always requests are open and love you lovelies!

In your mind it was all so clear, each memory playing in your head effortlessly, but when it came to words, it was useless. Useless to even try and explain what had happened, it was so simple yet so complicated, and to even speak it aloud would give Noah some kind of power beyond the grave.

"I don't know," You said, rocking back and forth slightly, feeling sweat begin to bead at your forehead, even the fleeting thought of his appearance was enough to make you visibly shake, your fists clenched and breathing erratic.

"You seem nervous, is everything okay?" You nodded and clenched your teeth, struggling to answer the therapists' question.

"It was cold, and I had just gotten off work," You trailed off, struggling to remember the events even though they were seared into your mind.

"Noah was home, in my apartment, looking for something to accuse me of cheating on him, and he found a picture of Spencer, and screamed in my face-"

"Are you in a romantic relationship with Dr.Spencer Reid?" You shook your head violently,

"Oh no, it's not like that, we're just on cases a lot together, so we've become pretty close friends," You laughed nervously, and the therapist pondered on your response, but nodded and wrote down something on her notebook. You made a mental note to try and see what it was.

"Once he was done yelling at me, he grabbed something to try and tie me, to keep me still so he could-" You took in a breath, trying to find a way to move away from the subject, but there really wasn't.

"Rape me." The therapist nodded and scribbled something down,

"I didn't have my gun, so I kicked him and we ended up fighting, and that's how I got the bruise on my face," You gently touched it and winced, but luckily it had begun to heal. The therapist then wrote something else down and spoke.

"After that though, you went to Dr.Reid's house and let the BAU form an investigation trying to find him, correct?" You nodded,

"I stayed with Penelope to help, they wouldn't let me in the field at the time," You nodded to yourself, trying to give yourself some type of confidence to get through the last of the events.

"Noah was already in the building though, and when I was getting coffee from the break room, he found me, and we both pulled our guns in a stalemate," She nodded, wanting you to go on,

"But he got into my head and made me think that it was wrong for me to defend myself, so I ended up putting my gun down and letting him take me from the break room," You shook your head, knowing it was a mistake you made that resulted in his death and maybe, just maybe, if you hadn't surrendered that quickly he would still be here today.

"Why did you let him take you out of the break room," You closed

your eyes and spoke quietly,

"Because maybe if I would have let him do anything he wanted to me, it would all fucking be over," The politeness was gone from your voice, and you desperately wanted to get this fucking interview over with so you could get back onto the field and forget about this.

"What did he say to you?"

"He told me everything he knew about me, my favorite color, favorite music, why I liked it, everything..." You faltered, trying to find the words that would make her understand exactly what you were going through, but there weren't any words that could. Of course your significant other should know these things, but the way he said them with so much venom in his voice completely broke you.

"Reid was walking in at the same time, and pulled his gun, talked to Noah, realized he was going to kill me no matter what, made a judgment call and when he moved, Reid shot him." You quickly finished and began to get up,

"Sit down please, I'm not done yet, I still have to give you my diagnosis." You furrowed your brows, there was nothing wrong with you, why would you need a diagnosis?

"Severe PTSD, and moderate depression, both are caused by the traumatic event, and can be lessened with therapy and meds, I want you to start seeing a therapist once a week and start you on Sertraline, first ten milligrams and then gradually increase from there, if everything goes well, you'll be allowed into the field in about 2 months-"

"2 months?!" You said in disbelief,

"I have to go to therapy and take whatever the fuck that is for two months?" She nodded,

"At your first session the therapist you choose will give you the prescription, so please take it easy and get some rest. I'll check in on you in two months. Know that I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt, usually, I would keep someone out of the field for at least three months."

"Can I at least help in Quantico?" She thought for a second but then nodded. You thanked the lord above that you wouldn't be so cooped up at home, and went back to your desk, not before sneaking a look at the clipboard she was writing on.

Obvious PTSD, amnesia? Depression, co-dependent, prone to relationships that give not receive. Stable enough to keep gun, etc, keep an eye out for new relationships/drastic changes in mood or behavior.

You took offense to the co-dependent phrase but quickly booked it to your desk, eager to get the hell out of there. Hotch stood at your desk, awaiting your arrival.

"What did she say?" You nodded to yourself and let out a breath, composing yourself.

"Out of the field for two months, gotta go see a therapist and take some meds for PTSD, I can still help Penelope though," Hotch sighed,

"I'll see if I can lessen it for you, but from now on help Penelope and go to therapy. I know you don't want to but it's for your own good." You nodded and sat at your desk, shuffling through the immense amount of paperwork you had to do from both the FBI itself and the case before.

"What did they say, I can give a second opinion if you want," Reid looked over your shoulder and to the paperwork you were completing.

"You know you can leave that for later," He continued, you nodded.

"Better now than later. I'm out of the field for two months though, and I gotta go get therapy and meds, I can still help Penelope." Reid smiled,

"You know that's not what I meant, what were you diagnosed with," You sighed,

"PTSD and mild depression, she called me co-dependent..." Reid laughed,

"First two maybe, but only mild, and for the co-dependent part, I'm sure you know the answer." You laughed quietly, it was something you were going to have to work on, but not yet.

"You don't seem super nervous talking about it, why?" He tried to pry and get more information, but in reality, the only thing you could think of was how detached you were from the event, seeing it from the outside rather than the inside.

"I guess I'm just detached, that's all." Reid shook his head,

"That won't do you any good, therapy will help though. Do you want me to drive you home, it'll be better to be in a place you recognize." You nodded, trying to remember how you had left the place, probably messy.

"C'mon then, better get there now so we can clean." You smiled, we. Such a simple gesture, but made you feel loved.

The car ride was less than interesting, and you found yourself aimlessly scrolling through your phone, only looking up when Reid had parked.

"Nervous?" He asked, you nodded and sucked in a breath, letting it out and preparing yourself for what was to come.

You got a flash of memories from that night, and the way you ran to your car, hands still barely tied. The hallway you almost tripped down, and the doors you had to open. Reid put his hand around you, noticing your breathing change.

"It'll be okay, it's just a room, and Noah is gone. He won't hurt you again." You nodded and tried to comfort yourself to no avail. Your heart began to beat faster and faster, like thunder in your head, deafening, you could almost feel the blood coursing through your veins. You put in the key to your apartment and gently opened the door, Reid just behind you.

It was a mess. Just like how it was left. You couldn't help but place a hand on your gun, looking for any type of movement.

"There's no one here, promise," Reid said, trying to calm you down. You let your hand wander to your side, and sat down on the loveseat, where everything went down.

"Do you need anything?" Instead of declining like you usually would, you asked for a glass of water, not wanting to get up and get it yourself. Reid went into the kitchen and ran the water, but before he got to you you heard a deafening.

Crack!

Like the thunder you had heard when Reid pulled the trigger on Noah, in fact, it was identical.

Oh fuck...

Not today, not today, not now...

[fireflyhwufanficwriter]

My thoughts on Dr. Stone’s S02E03 (“Call from the Dead”)

My thoughts after watching Season Two, Episode Three:

01. Taiju and Yuzuriha have different types of shoes – that’s a nice detail 😊

02. Leave it to Yuzuriha the arts and crafts club member to notice a detail like the dirt around the grave being different!

03. Day after day… I wasn’t expecting them to visit the grave THAT often. I like that they used the same phrase (“mainichi mainichi”) as last time – in Season One, Senku used it to describe Kohaku’s dedication to her sister, and now in Season Two, Nikki used it to describe Taiju and Yuzuriha’s dedication to their friend 😊

04. I liked Kohaku and Ginro’s excitement at hearing Taiju’s voice. This is the first time they’ve heard an outsider who they knew right away wasn’t an enemy! (Well, second time for Kohaku, since Senku saved her the day they met.)

05. The next time I’m on the phone with somebody, I’m going to imagine the same huge arc of electricity that Kaseki did 😁

06. Senku was so emotional – eyes shining with tears, smiling as he listened to Taiju – and then it all went away because he had to remind his friend that HE was Senku 😆

07. Just like how Gen is the stand in for the audience (modern timers, but generally clueless compared to Senku), Kokuyou and Ruri are the stand-ins for how incredible the phone must seem to Ishigami Village 😁 Come to think of it, Kokuyou’s had that role since last season – he’s far away enough from the main cast that he doesn’t know all of their adventures (and that distance makes him like the “normal” villagers), but close enough that he gets to share his thoughts and theories. It was through his eyes that we saw the big impacts that bottling and furnaces had on Ishigami Village 😊

08. I know it was short, but I like how Senku greeted Yuzuriha separately. They haven’t had that much screentime together since the anime began, but I like how Senku and Yuzuriha have their own friendship, instead of Taiju being their go-between or something like that.

09. “He’s been screaming all day.” All day? Have they been there longer than just the few minutes we’ve seen?

10. Kohaku noticed the defensive reason for why they had to speed things up! 😊 And I liked her observation about Senku and Taiju 😊

11. It’s could be easy to just write Taiju off as a loud blockhead, but it’s scenes like his allowing Tsukasa to hit him in Season One and his question about bloodshed in Season Two that really show you the kind of admirable, pacifistic guy he is 😊

12. “Gen will be back tomorrow or so.” Okay, so we have an estimate of how far the two kingdoms/empires are from each other. I’m glad they mentioned this!

13. Magma and Chrome’s loud conversation really shows how much anime can improve upon manga. When you’re just reading, you do know characters are talking and being loud, but when you’re watching anime, it drives home the fact that they’re being SO LOUD and that they need to SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP! Poor Gen… 😆

14. Thank you for finally saying Ukyo’s name, Gen 😆 Anime only folks get important information, and manga readers can sigh in relief that another character’s name has been revealed 😁

15. I’m with Magma. Chrome’s so selfish, worrying about his own life like that! 😡 Not like Magma, who’s strong and noble and self-sacrificing and only thinks of others and their safety 😁

16. You have to feel sorry for Gen… he’s trying to get the two of them to just SHUT UP 😆

17. I doubt Magma was seriously thinking that Chrome would go along with that plan, so he must have been joking… and the fact that we have Magma JOKING around with main characters after being the main antagonist in the middle part of Season One… they’re really pals now, aren’t they? 😲😊

18. Chrome’s battery has 15V… how much is that compared to an AAA battery for a remote control? I'll look it up later 😁

19. I’m a modern era person and it would have never occurred to me to use a wire to connect two ends of a battery and throw it into the grass to start a fire. Either Senku told him that battery stuff fairly recently and it was stuck Chrome’s mind because he was in charge of the heating team, or he’s just that much of a genius that nobody explained that to him but he intuited it anyway… or I’m just that stupid 😆

20. It’s expected that Chrome would sacrifice himself, but Magma… very impressive character development 😁 (I mean, I’m a manga reader, so I knew this was going to happen, but still 😁)

21. Gen’s eyes are blue? I never noticed until this episode.

22. Poor Gen… first, in Season One, he had to run like the wind from the shed of science to the Cave of Miracles while he was SEVERELY injured, and he had to do it as fast as possible to help Senku stay safe, and he was the only one who could do it… and now, he has to run like the wind while dealing with the knowledge and guilt that two of his comrades sacrificed himself for him, and he has to do it as fast as possible to be able to start his extremely important deception mission, and he’s the only one who can do it.

23. Gen really needs to get Kaseki to build him some kind of cable car system or a limousine so that he can travel in style between the two kingdoms/empires instead of exhausting himself all the time running back and forth 😲 Or at least a bicycle!

24. Since it’ll take Gen at least one day, possibly longer, to reach the shed of science, that means that Taiju and Yuzuriha must have talked to Nikki one or more days after they spoke with Senku. Anime helps with some things (like sound), but it can sure confuse people about the passage of time…

25. Copper swirly! 😊 I like Kaseki’s name for it better than Senku’s name for it 😆

26. Kohaku’s eyes! She’s SO fascinated by how the copper swirly is being used 😁

27. Nikki’s SO hostile 😲 I get that she’s a guard and everything, but she doesn’t really have a reason to be this hostile to Taiju and Yuzuriha, does she? It’s weird O.o Unless maybe she wanted to do something else (hunting/training/etc.) but she was forced to be their guard specifically because she’s a woman and can stick to Taiju AND Yuzuriha like glue? (Like Brienne from Game of Thrones.)

28. Why are her eyebrows a darker shade than her hair? This is sort of like Kokuyou’s weird hair colors, but to a lesser extent.

29. The punches are… she’s really hostile. Maybe it’s just to emphasize how much she changes later on and the episode, but it’s still so weird.

30. Didn’t Senku “die” on a cliff, out in the open? Kohaku was able to see him from (presumably) far away, and all that stuff with the gunpowder and the huge rock… am I remembering it wrong? Was it NOT a cliff after all? Because the rocks around this grave make it look like some kind of natural, concealed fortress!

31. Senku’s Sebastian voice sounds so silly 😆

32. I wish they had done Lilian’s voice differently. Gen’s fake Lilian doesn’t sound like a native English speaker while speaking English. Maybe they’re counting on the people they’re talking to not knowing the difference between foreign language accents… but still, this could have been done better. Maybe the studio just didn’t want to hire a new person to speak just a few lines. Or maybe they did this on purpose so that Nikki could notice something was off with her voice?

33. Yuzuriha being quick on the uptake again! 😁

34. This has to be the most stressful, rushed, and mathematical estimating of CD sales and body measurements ever 😆

35. The video game music was used in such a fun, light way last season (choosing the third mining team member) that hearing it in this scene for this situation sounds so weird 😲

36. That crouching backwards, pointing straight ahead Lilian pose seemed really out of place when the music is this really soft, gentle song 😲

37. I wonder if the stadium they showed us is based on a real stadium in Japan?

38. “Lilian doesn’t exist in this world anymore. Am I right?” Oh, Nikki… 😭

39. Senku’s eyes were shining when he replied to Nikki… I wonder if talking about Lilian reminded him of Byakuya… somebody who was in space with Lilian and also doesn’t exist in this world anymore… 😭

40. I love how Senku doesn’t lose anything or inconvenience himself at ALL by making that promise, since he’s going to protect the glass recording anyway because of Byakuya 😆

41. Okay, after Nikki committed to the plan (welcome, Nikki!), they zoomed out and the grave is seriously surrounded by all those vertical rocks. There is NO WAY this grave is in the same place Senku and Tsukasa last talked. No WAY.

42. I was SO surprised when the episode ended there 😲 That was NOT what I was expecting. This episode felt so short!

43. I still love this ending theme! 😁

44. About the ending theme (“Koe” / “Voice” by Hatena), songs mean a lot more to me when I understand what the lyrics mean, so I went to YouTube hoping to find an English cover or English subtitles or something. I found this video (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=scv09Dtby-8) by a YouTube channel called AniComet Music, and from 0:12 to 0:34, the lyrics are, “I keep struggling and suffering, but still / I’ll gain strength from the feelings I’ve had for you / It’s a story that will never change / Even though I knew I’d never be a match for him.”

45. Maybe it’s just me, but I feel the song is from Senku’s point-of-view, and both the second and fourth lines could be about Byakuya (especially the fourth line) – in a father/son context, of course – of how he gets strength and inspiration from Byakuya and how he feels his father will always be beyond him and more than him 😭

46. With that said, even though my interpretation is really meaningful to me, it doesn’t really make sense, since “you” and “him” are obviously different people, and when you read more of the lyrics, “you” can’t really be referring to Byakuya. Maybe my interpretation will change when I listen to the song more and read more translations, but this is the first English translation of the ending song that I’ve read, and it really speaks to me 😊

https://firefly-hwufanficwriterrrrr.tumblr.com/MyDrStoneEpisodeMangaThoughts

[unsaidmar]

WC: 2.5k (long winded girl, I know)

Plot: They share stuff and it changes how they see things. Connection ensues. 

CW: Mentions of death, illness, hospitals I guess, violence.

a/n: Hello y’all. This is part two of whatever the fuck is going on inside my pea brain. Hope you enjoy.

Part one, the meeting. 

Two; It’s better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.

She laughed at the awkwardness of the text and the perfect grammar Dr. Spencer Reid maintained while texting. Ollie made a mental note to care a little more about the phrasing of her own texts, especially considering the circumstances. To say she wanted to impress him was an understatement.

“Good, germs are yucky.” Sent at 7:45 am.

“Also, hi. Good morning” Sent at 7:45 am.

Good morning? Too much too soon? She fell victim to her overthinking for at least twenty minutes after sending her last text, realizing she had to slowly build up the courage to ask about the next time they would be seeing each other, which apparently would have to wait, since Spencer had an inconvenient schedule and could be out of the state in a matter of 20 minutes.  Ollie exhaled and stood up from her awful office chair to go and make herself some coffee, hoping to stop her mind from reeling and sending her into her usual never-ending pit of despair and anxiety that came with stepping out of her comfort zone.

A ping echoed in the room and her screen lit up, displaying a text from the one person she had been thinking about. Ollies mother would be crying laughing if she saw the state she was in, positively losing hair over the fact that a cute, smart, witty man was texting her back. A man she had spoken to for the first time not even 24 hours prior.

“I’m a nice person, I’m funny sometimes, I offered him coffee.” She whispered to herself, rationalizing every aspect of their interaction. “That’s how friendships start” She laughed bitterly. “I’m here… freaking… wishful thinking, and maybe he has a significant other… maybe he doesn’t even like women… maybe he just thought I was nice and he thought ‘yay, a new friend’… fuck” she plopped herself back on the chair and threw her head back.

Lia would have known what the right thing to do is, she would come up with a cool thing to text back on the spot, and she resented her absence like she had a million times before. Ollie had gotten used to writing her letters like her best friend was living somewhere else in the world and she would eventually read her friend’s attempt at keeping her updated, which she knew was not healthy and definitely not helping her move on.

The thing is, Lia’s death was not a surprise at all. It was a possibility to the point of actually being expected. She had been diagnosed as a terminal patient for a little over a year before she passed and almost everyone around her had made peace with the fact that she could go any day and that life would have to go on without her, but no amount of grief counseling and encouraging talks with Lia’s family could have prepared her for the unimaginable pain Ollie felt when it happened. She had heard about experiences that made the world turn upside down and how some life events made you go numb and make your legs give weight, but had never come face to face with a happenstance that painful.

She figured she was going to have to carry the burden of her loss till the day she died, and even then, the words “I missed you, till the very end.” would be carved in her grave.

Coming back from her spiral, she remembered how she fell down the rabbit hole in the first place. She took her phone with the intention of texting Spencer back and smiled at how stupid she had been to worry about seeing him again.

“Hey, arrest made successfully. Are you busy right now?” Sent at 7:57 am.

Sighing with relief, Ollie smiled and tried to sound casual with her reply as to not sound like seeing him again was the only thing she had been thinking about.

“I’m the boss, I can un-busy myself. Why? Were you charmed by my Keurig?” Sent at 8:00 am.

Spencer was not the kind to send sassy texts, or any text for that matter. This was completely new to him and he was determined to get it right, so he channeled the Derek Morgan that lived within him and prayed to whatever deity was looking out for him to make him sound cooler than he was feeling.

“I’m a sucker for coffee so, yes.” Sent at 8:05

 “I’m a sucker for you, apparently” Ollie nearly screamed at how quickly that came out of her mouth. “Fucking loser, dear God” She shook her head, scolding herself and whatever hamster was in charge of her brain and thought process.

“Mi oficina es tu oficina, then. I’ll be waiting.” Sent at 8:07

Twenty minutes later, he was there, coffee cup in his hands. After what felt like no time at all, they were four coffee cups deep into their conversation and had learned a lot more about each other. Turns out Spencer had a day off after they landed from an away case, he had a thing with germs, his favorite color was purple and his co-workers were more his family than just the people he happened to work with. He liked a bunch of sugar with his coffee and had an eidetic memory that was as much of a blessing as it was a curse.

He was impressed at how this girl was not what you would expect her to be, every aspect of her seemed to make no sense and at the same time, it made perfect sense. This purple haired girl had ADHD and a PhD in history, she was the oldest daughter of two of the most stubborn Mexican immigrants and had a sister that made even the most patient of humans go mad. She loved music, and was not ashamed to admit that her taste in music was far from sophisticated. “I am Taylor Swift’s bitch; I know the words to every single one of her songs! Same goes for One Direction too” She argued when Spencer said that it couldn’t be that bad.

A blaring ring halted their conversation to an unexpected stop. Ollie picked up the office phone with an annoyed grimace and exchanged a few words with whoever was calling.

“Hold that thought, I have to go sign a thingy at the front desk” She dashed out of her office and left Spencer there.

For the first time, he felt compelled to look around and fixate on the details. There were a few old looking pictures and some newer ones with people who looked a lot like her. There was one picture that caught his attention, isolated from the rest like it deserved a spot of its own. In it, there was a red-haired girl that looked around Ollie’s age, one of her arms around her waist and the other one cradling her head that was laying on her shoulder. Ollie’s eyes were closed and the red head looked like she was caught mid-sentence. Stuck to the frame was a little post it note that read “I love you, head ass. -Lia” It looked intimate, they were clearly comfortable with that kind of physical affection, and if Lia hadn’t called Ollie a head ass in the post it, he would have assumed they were together romantically.

Ollie came back in a hurry, apologizing for having to run out like that and sitting back down to resume their conversation.

“It’s okay, don’t worry” Spencer assured her. “I was looking at your pictures, I hope you don’t mind” He said, suddenly very aware of how invasive that could be.

“Not at all, those are there to be looked at” She shrugged, bracing herself for the question she knew was coming. Somehow, talking about Lia with him did not feel as dreadful as it had all those times she was asked about it before, perhaps it’s just him and his calming presence.

Sure enough, he pointed at the picture Lia had framed for valentine’s day and asked, “Who’s that?”.

“That’s Lia, she was my best friend. She is my best friend.” She smiled fondly, something that had never happened before when talking about this specific topic. Maybe sharing Lia’s memory with someone who didn’t know her was different. “She passed away almost a year and a half ago. 468 days ago, to be exact. She was really sick, it was inevitable” Ollie let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, reaching for the post it and tracing the words over with her finger.

“I’m so sorry, I can’t imagine how hard that must have been”

“It was… heartbreaking. Even with all that time we had to process the news, it still took me off guard.” She shook her head trying to ground herself. “Anyways, that’s a sad topic. I don’t want to bum you out with it.”

He knew the feeling all too well, he had apologized to several people when he rambled about Maeve, feeling like he had said too much and gotten too personal. He was not about to let this beautiful, vibrant soul feel the way he had for so long. Like he still did, truly.

“Don’t apologize, I get it. You’re not making me sad” He felt like he needed to elaborate to actually convey the message. “I went through the same thing with someone I loved too” he said, looking down at his hands, the very familiar feeling of oversharing creeping in. As he looked up, he noticed the sad look Ollie was giving him, but if the profiler in him was right, she was inviting him to share, not to stop.

“Her name was Maeve. She… she was a geneticist. She helped me through a rough time and she became my friend. It’s a long story…” he looked away.

“I want to hear it, long or not. But only if you want me to.” She gave him the warmest smile she could muster, which convinced him to keep going.

“Um, I started getting some headaches a while ago. I went to a few doctors but none of them gave me an answer. I reached out to Maeve for help and… We bonded, I guess.” He took a shaky breath.

“You don’t have to continue if you feel uncomfortable” she whispered in the most delicate tone.

“No, it’s not that. It’s just… I’ve never told this story before. Everyone in my life that I care about was there to see it.” He said, meeting her eyes so she could see how honest he was being. The man got a hold of himself for a minute, and continued.

“Maeve had to go into hiding. She was being stalked by some woman she met at work. Beyond talking on the phone, we hadn’t even met. I had no idea what she looked like and vice versa. This girl, the stalker… She wrote a paper, and Maeve dismissed it because it didn’t have a good enough foundation. When she started stalking her, she scared her into hiding and eventually started dating her ex-fiancé to try and get closer to Maeve, assuming he knew where she was. They ended up finding her and confronting her. She shot herself and the first person I ever loved. Right in front of me and my friends. The first five minutes I got with Maeve face to face, were the last.”

Baring his soul to a person he had known for a whooping 18 hours was the weirdest thing Spencer had ever done, so unlike himself it was almost funny. But at the same time, he felt like it had to happen. By no means did he believe in fate or destiny, but this one moment made him feel like maybe whoever does believe in that stuff, is not completely wrong.

She was not a therapist. She listened because she was going through a similar thing herself and her interest in Spencer’s loss was not rooted in psychoanalyzing him and helping him cope. She was just a mundane human that did not look at him with condescension and pity, she looked at him like she, too, had found a person who wouldn’t ask her “And, how does that make you feel?” in a monotonous voice. They both knew better than to assume they had all the answers.

“Spencer, that’s horrible. I am so sorry you had to see that. Jesus, fuck. I- “She thought about her next words very carefully. “That’s enough to crush anyone’s spirit” She looked at him like he was turning green. The reason being, he did not look like he was crushed. He had a beautiful smile that shook Ollie to her core, he was easygoing and conversation with him was carefree and it flowed easily. If he had not told her about Maeve, she would not have guessed the man sitting right in front of her was as affected as her.

“How did you manage to get through that?” Ollie questioned, fully intending to take notes.

“I don’t really think I have yet…” Well, time to come clean. Spencer thought. “The whole reason I was here yesterday, and a lot more times before that one, is because she and I talked about this museum. She told me about some conferences she had attended here and we made plans to visit together. Doesn’t quite sound like someone who’s over the whole thing.” He fiddled with his fingers, suddenly too aware of how cold it was. “How did you get through Lia’s death?”

“Yeah, well. I don’t really think I’m quite there either. Not like I’m trying, anyways. I can’t seem to get away from the Grey Roots either” Mental images of two little kids running around with dusty books in their hands came to her and she couldn’t help the small smile she broke into.

“I’m a hopeless romantic at heart, I have always thought that the way Lia and I found each other was pure magic. We met when we were in the second grade, right in this museum, we were on a field trip and we clicked. It was crazy to me that I actually met my best friend at such a young age, and the kind that lasts forever too. It sounds like when people meet the love of their lives on their first try. It sounds dorky, I know”

“It doesn’t. If anything, it sounds like you consider yourself lucky to have loved her like you did. We need more people like that, people that believe in magic.” Spencer reassured her with a shrug. He wished he could believe in cute stuff like that, but he was happy Ollie led a life that made her believe.

“Yeah, but us crazy people, we get our hopes up too easily. Sometimes it hurts.”

“Tell me about it.”

And just like that, in the not so well-lit office of the head Conservator of the Grey Roots Museum and Archive, something in the world had shifted.

[bandaged-writer]

gasoline 03 || dazai

➤ Pairing: Mafia! Dazai x Ability User! Reader

➤ Genre: action, fluff, angst, smut, gore, violence

➤ Warnings: mentions of blood

➤ Summary: It wasn’t every day that someone dared to attack the mafia’s men, it wasn’t every day that a stranger joined the organization and it certainly wasn’t usual for Mori to get an innocent citizen killed.

➤ Word count: 4k

➤ Note: Enjoy reading + feedback is very much appreciated!

➤ previous || next

Pitch black heels clacked against the concrete at a steady pace while the breeze was gently playing with the hem of the equally dark dress you wore. It felt like the wind was greeting you after you had holed yourself up in the new apartment Mori had provided. How had he phrased it? Ah, right. Since someone was out for your life and you were a member of the mafia, it was their duty to be able to keep an eye on you. You had seen no lie in the boss’s eyes, no matter how deep your eyes bored into his - he was honest about this. 

Three days had passed since Yukino’s death, three days had passed since Mori had tended to your wound, three days had passed since your life had taken a brutal turn. 

The people passing you seemed to have no face, although you knew that all of them carried a name, a birthday and a very individual voice. They had become faceless and the words they spoke were silent, never reached your ears. Instead, the dull sound of your shoes hitting the street filled every fibre of your being along with the fear of attending your friend’s funeral and meeting her parents for possibly the last time. 

Your hands were cupped right above your stomach as your feet carried you down the street you were so familiar with, the street in which you used to live in. From the corner of your eyes, you could see your neighbors gazing out of the window, cooking or trying to feed their children. Oh, how lucky they were to have a healthy, functioning haven which would protect them from every storm. Oh, how nice it had to be not to be transparent to the world. Oh, how that luxury slipped through your fingers like water.

Suddenly, your feet stopped in front of your former apartment. Raising your gaze, you felt pain itself tug on your heartstrings and wanting to pull them apart. Breathing physically hurt as the plain white facade of the house stared right back at you, still filled with furniture and plants as if no one had died in there, as if it didn’t soak up Yukino’s blood. Your heartrate sped up against your will, but you remained calm on the outside like a doll.  

“We’re finally living together!,” a grin adorned Yukino’s small face, her dark eyes filled with nothing but the purity of happiness and a hint of exhaustion. Various colors of paint stained her cheek and clothes, hands a bit calloused from putting up wardrobes and shelves. You chuckled in response and breathed in the fresh paint. It was an unpleasant smell, but it’d soon become the scent of home. “You’re always too excited about the smalles of things,” you flicked Yukino’s forehead gently like she was a child. Pouting, she rubbed her forehead, brushed your comment off and fished her phone out of the back pocket of her now more than colorful jeans.

“Let’s take a picture! It’s our first memory in here and will remain forever.” 

You stood next to Yukino who wrapped an arm around her shoulder, her grin never fading. The corners of your mouth tugged themselves upwards into a gentle, warm smile as Yukino snapped the picture with her phone.

 “Say cheese, [Name]"!

 You tugged some of your hair behind your ear, exhaled slowly and turned your back to the place you once called home. It was too painful to visit the past, to visit the place of a happy memory when you were drowning in an ocean of thoughts, regrets and guilt. “The place which holds our first memory has become the place which now carries our last memory,” you spoke to no one in particular, the wind washed your words of sadness away as you turned your back toward the building you had once loved so much.

Out of the blue, dark dots decorated the concrete and as you stretched out your palm, you felt that it was starting to rain.  

It’d pour soon, you thought. 

Relatives had gathered around the tombstone which had become Yukino’s permanent bed, flowers of all colors glowed among the dark garments on everyones’ bodies, among the tears being spilled, among the dreary clouds which seemed to mourn as well. She had always liked bright colors, you remembered. 

“[Name]..dear..,” it was Yukino’s mother who first spotted you isolated from the crowd. She didn’t seem to mind the mud dirtying the fancy black of her shoes as she came running to you, her slender arms wrapping you into a hug and her chin finding home on your shoulder. “I’m so sorry you had to witness this,” the woman’s voice was shaking, became more fragile than fine china the more words fell from her red-painted lips. It took you a moment to find the strength in your arms to return the hug and once your arms were wrapped around Yukino’s mom, she broke into tears. 

“Why would anyone take Yukino’s life? She couldn’t even harm a fly,” she sobbed and ruined her makeup she spent quite a while on - possibly to shorten the time she would have to be at the funeral. It was understandable and you couldn’t blame Yukino’s mother. Who wanted to attend their child’s funeral? “I know,” was all you could say as the mother used you as a rock to steady herself.

“How are you holding up?,” you recognized the voice and sent Yukino’s father a faux smile which never filled the emptiness of your eyes. His strong arms gently pulled his wife away from you and she immediately wiped her eyes, leaning her weight against her husband’s body. “I’m alright,” you lied through white teeth but the more you’d say it, the more you could convince yourself that you indeed were okay. Father didn’t seem to believe you, but he never dug deeper than that. Maybe he understood your way of dealing with this tragedy, maybe he didn’t even want to know.  

“I hope the police will catch the murderer. Yukino deserves justice,” mother had regained some of her composure, but her nose was red from all the sniffing, eyes a bit bloodshot from all the crying she had to go through. You couldn’t sense any hatred in her - she was either too broken to hate or she was really that kind. Oh, how badly you wanted to tell her that the police would be no match for the masked murderer, that they’d end up drowning in their own blood much like her daughter. However, there was one thing you could guarantee the shattered parents:

“She will get justice. I’ll make sure of it.” 

Small hands found home on your nearly bare shoulders, a sad smile finding its way on the lips of Yukino’s mother. “You’re a strong one, aren’t you?,” she brushed drenched strands of your hair away from your face and cupped your cold cheek - her touch was warm and welcoming as always. A woman who was the embodiment of love and forgiveness. “You’re always more than welcome,” Yukino’s mother offered you to stay at their place, to become a temporary home, but did you deserve it after letting their daughter die in your arms?  

You had already lost your home and it was buried two meters under.

“Thank you. But it won’t be necessary,” you removed the hand from your cheek and bid your farewell to the parents. You had no right to console them after what had happened three days ago.  

And so, you had sat down on a bench not too far away from Yukino’s colorful grave with the rain pouring down on you. Hour after hour passed, guests left one by one after giving the parents a comforting hug and words of encouragement they probably couldn’t commit to themselves, yet. Why did people try to cheer up others when they themselves were in so much pain that they couldn’t believe their own words? Maybe it was the same as you telling Yukino’s parents that you were okay when in reality, you were broken beyond repair. 

Eventually, the graveyard was empty and your only company had become the rain. Dull eyes stared at the grave like they were waiting to wake up from a nightmare, but one couldn’t wake up from reality. Not when you knew that the rain soaking you was very much real, when the wind blowing by froze you to your bones, when that hole in your heart physically hurt you to the point your lungs hurt with each inhale. 

At once, the rain seemed to avoid you. Looking up, you saw Dazai standing next to you with an umbrella in his hand which shielded the both of you from the sky’s endless tears. For a moment, the brunette said nothing while his dull eyes were fixed on the grave which you were visiting with distance - like it could burn you if you got too close. 

“She was your friend, wasn’t she?,” Dazai suddenly spoke up, but the low timbre of his voice prevented you from feeling startled. In a dark corner of his heart, he felt sorry for you losing your best friend. He remembered the determined glimmer in your eyes when you had stood in front of Mori and burned whatever piece of information about your past the boss had in his hands. But now, you seemed like a shell of who you used to be, the light in your eyes burned out and what was left was someone who became transparent to the world.

“The cause of death was a cut to her jugular,” your gaze fell back to the grave in front of you as you recalled the memory bit by bit without being asked to. It felt like you were running on gasoline like a machine. “That night, I tried to cauterize it to win some time, but the cut was too deep. Yukino died in my arms before her murderer came for my life, as well,” everything was monotonous. Dazai understood why you had been drenched in blood when he found you at the pier, but now the question was how he was supposed to respond.

Blood stained his own bandaged hands, the lives of countless of people went on his account. He himself had committed more crimes than he could count. 

Maybe, Dazai shouldn’t say anything at all. 

“What do you plan on doing now?,” it nearly sounded like Dazai was offering you a way out of the mafia, to go live your life and get yourself back together or maybe he just wanted to know what you’d do now that you could use the mafia’s influence and resources. You’d probably never find out what his intention was. Briefly, your eyes looked up at the grey sky, a few rain drops found their way on your cheeks as the wind blew from a different direction.  

“I promised to avenge her. Until then, I can’t afford to die,” suddenly, it stopped raining and the sun slowly peeked through the thick clouds, dipping your form in a false halo as you put on the mask of a smiling fool. It tightly stuck to your skin as it melted into your face, the smile was a bit too angelic, too pure to be real and Dazai saw that the mask you wore threatened to become one with you.

“I see,” he turned his back to you and looked at you over his shoulder, catching your gaze. “We’ve got some things to talk about. Come.”

Sitting in the corner of a small restaurant which mainly sold crabs, sake and ramen, you rubbed your hair dry with a towel the owner’s wife had kindly gotten you after being outraged about your soaked form. You looked at your reflection in the window, trying to make your damp hair look as acceptable as possible when Dazai chirped up:“You know you’re already a sight for sore eyes, right?” This guy would never give up his attempts to woo you, would he? A huff left your lips and your fingers reached for the small menu card which listed more dishes than expected - a pleasant surprise. “Thanks for your unnecessary input.” 

“Ah, your tongue is as sharp as always, belladonna!,” the brunette threw his head back and covered his eyes with his right hand, the other one placed on his heart as the man let another rejection of yours sink in. Silently, you wondered how a dumbass of Dazai’s caliber could make it into the mafia and managed to survive that lifestyle. The more you wondered, the more you could feel a headache approaching and stopped. Gazing over the edge of the menu, you hid your pout behind the sheet of paper. “Quit acting like you’re hurt and tell me if anything on this menu is good.”  

“Everything here is good,” Dazai looked at you with doe-like eyes, a sense of innocence filled them and he nearly looked boyish. Skillyfully taking the menu card from your fingers, he pointed at the bowl of ramen, saying that you’d probably like it best. “How do you know I like ramen?,” it was a bit creepy, considering you had never shared a meal with the brunette and didn’t even know of his existence until three days prior. Dazai leaned back in his seat, a small shrug of his shoulders quickly followed. “When I followed you home, I could smell your roommate cooking ramen and people usually cook dishes their roommate could like. Especially after having come home after spending a year abroad.”  

How badly you wanted to pin this on beginner’s luck or a lucky guess of his, but Dazai’s reasoning was too accurate to be deemed as mere luck. What he had let you see was probably only a tiny bit of his wits and you weren’t sure if you were ready to see more of it. 

Your train of thought was interrupted by the waitress coming up to your table and you couldn’t find it in you to be surprised when Dazai was flirting with her. “Your hands are as tender as ever,” Dazai mused as he traced his finger along the waitress’s pale knuckles. A blush quickly rose to her cheeks and you could tell that these two were at least acquainted up to some sort of level. “Oh, quit it. Not here,” the woman giggled and bashfully pulled her hand away from the brunette’s grasp as she took his order: crab soup. She was about to leave when you caught her attention by clearing your throat and smiling at her - she was beyond unpleased. 

“Excuse me, but you forgot my order, miss,” you spoke a bit too sweetly and blinked a few times too many. The nerve this woman had. “Right, of course..”

 In the end, you could see why Dazai flirted with the woman. He got a discount and a bigger bowl than you. 

“I can’t understand how someone can be so smitten with you,” you spoke after gulping down a fair amount of your noodles and slightly burning your tongue in the process. The dish was surprisingly delicious, neither too spicy nor too bland and tickled your tongue just right. If only it wasn’t piping hot and burned your esophagus. Well, that went on you for being too greedy. “Are my ears deceiving me or are you jealous?,” Dazai took a bite of his crab, a pleased look on his face as he tasted the tender meat of the creature. Not having had his favorite food in a while made Dazai appreciate the dish more than usual. “Not in this lifetime,” you warningly point your chopsticks at the brunette with narrowed eyes and your lips forming a straight line. You’d rather die than develop a thing for Dazai who was a scaringly smart dumbass. 

From that point on, the conversation died down which you were thankful for. You could finally enjoy your meal in peace without worrying about what kind of words would assault your poor ears. The noodlesoup warmed you up from within your very core and made you feel less dead than before. In the meantime, Dazai occasionally stole glances at you, committed every reaction of yours to his memory and analyzed you from head to toe. 

You were kind to others and could love deeply - the sudden change you went through after Yukino’s death was solid evidence of that. However, beside those positive traits, he could sense the thick cloud of sadness and loneliness surrounding you like a hug and Dazai saw himself in you for a second.  

You just finished your bowl of ramen relaxed into your seat when Dazai was the one to start a conversation, one which you would rather avoid, but you know it had to happen sooner or later. “Have you seen the ice user? Any detail is important.” Your cheek rested on your right palm while your left index finger traced the rim of the glass of water you had ordered. The glass squeaked quietly once in a while. “It was a woman. The body was delicate and about my height, but that’s all I could see. She wore a mask and a long robe of some sorts.” Dazai cupped his chin in thought and nodded to himself, his hair went with the soft motion. “Any anomalies?” You told him about how Yukino’s body nearly froze yours, how the temperatures dropped and how the woman could manipulate ice to create weapons and even freeze rivers. “The description is identical to our information. It’s a good thing you fought her in combat. Then we have at least an idea of her ability.”

The ringtone of a phone interrupted the small exchange of information and made your heart skip a beat. Dazai brought his phone to his ear and you could see the brunette’s face fall as he realized that Mori was on the other end of the line. “How’s your date with [Name] going?,” the mafia boss seemed to be in a good mood if his cheery tone was anything to go by, but Dazai wouldn’t bet money on it. Seeing the chance to tease you and get another reaction out of you, he went along with Mori’s words. “Why, my date with [Name] is going well!,” the rest of the phone call was spent by Dazai only saying okay or yes - much like when a mother phoned her child, bombarded them with questions and the kid just wanted the conversation to end as soon as possible.

“This is not a date. And you won’t ever take me on one, either,” you crossed your arms over your chest while Dazai hung up on his boss. You were familiar with guys like Dazai, guys who were popular with the ladies, got what they wanted and then vanished the morning after. The story with the waitress wasn’t much different, either. He flirted with her, got his discount and never took it any further despite getting the poor woman’s hopes up. “Will you, belladonna, at least let me try to win your lovely heart?”  

You had to admit that Dazai was handsome, even quite charming. But you knew where this would get you if you gave in. “Dazai, please, save the both of us the heartbreak.” At that, he raised his eyebrows in curiosity, eyes sparked up with something you would call being challenged, maybe even pleasantly surprised. “Are you implying that I could fall for you and vice versa?” You shrugged lightly and let your eyes fall on Dazai’s face and tilted your head to the side, smirking. “Over my dead body.” 

The carpet drowned out the clacking of your heels and you noted that the hole you had burned into the fabric was gone. With the sun setting, the light painted the mafia boss’s office in an orange hue and let the river outside seem warm and welcoming for a quick dip. It was a picture perfect.

“I will only remain here until the person who killed Yukino is dead,” you sat down in front of Mori’s desk, Dazai sat next to you with legs crossed and his ears following the conversation attentively. He acted as a witness to whatever compromise you and the boss would agree on. “Until then, you’re going to keep my original job secure and once this is over, you’ll pretend like I’ve never been part of the mafia and destroy every bit of documented information you have about me.” 

Mori was impressed by your negotiation skills, figuring that business school taught you that much. Looked like your grades were neither a disappointment nor a lie. “I’ll agree with this if you agree to my conditions,” Mori smiled and rested his chin on the back of his hand. He definitely had no problem with the things you demanded from him, they sounded fair and he doubted you would ever leak the way the mafia operated - they could take care of you faster than you could blink. “All I expect from you is to be loyal and obedient. If any of my subordinates suspect you of betraying the mafia, they have the right to kill you.” Unconsciously, your spine straightened and a drop of sweat ran down your temple. You squirmed in your seat at the mere thought of everyone in this building being allowed to kill you of they thought of it as necessary. “Fine,” it didn’t sit quite well with you, but this was the cost for regaining a normal life. 

“Excellent!,” Mori clapped his gloved hands together once, reached for a file in his drawer and handed it to you. To your surprise, it seemed to be one of confidential content since it was sealed. The seal was already broken by Mori, though. “Dazai already enlightened you about our situation and information, so I want the two of you to partner up and find out who’s behind this. You’ll find more information in there.” 

You bowed more out of fear than respect before leaving his damned office. 

As soon as the heavy doors to Mori’s office fell into the lock behind you, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Something about this man absolutely terrified you and you feared that if you let the boss know you were scared of him, he could smell it and attack you like a dog. 

Walking down the corridor, you could feel Dazai’s shoulder brushing yours every once in a while, his steps were prominent in your ears and his cologne overwhelmed your sense of smell for a moment. You hated that he actually smelled good on top of already being gifted with good looks. “I can’t believe I’ll be stuck with you,” you groaned and opened the file, the number of the mission greeting you in thick writing. Dazai pouted, let his shoulders fall and shoved his hands into his pockets. “You can be so mean and all I did was breathe.” 

As you read through the content, you stopped dead in your tracks and broke out in a cold sweat. Eyes widened, a lump found home in your throat while your fingers were shaking. This couldn’t be true, right? Everything had to be the universe pulling a joke on you, an illusion which you were stuck in. You had suspected that your past would catch up to you, but everything came at once. Never in your entire life did you desire to see this hellish place, again. Dazai stopped several steps ahead of you as he noticed you were no longer following him. “Hm? What’s wrong?”  

“Several mafiosi have been murdered at the abandoned hospital..” 

A wicked smirk was stretched across Dazai’s lips, his gaze bore into your shaky form and a chuckle spilled from deep within his chest. This mission would definitely be more interesting than the previous ones which caused excitement to fill Dazai’s lungs bit by bit. It wasn’t every day that someone dared to attack the mafia’s men, it wasn’t every day that a stranger joined the organization and it certainly wasn’t usual for Mori to get an innocent citizen killed.

“The only place in Yokohama which is half burned and half frozen. Looks like you have a past with our target, [Name].”

[p-artsypants]

Longest Night (31)

Ao3 | FF.net

--

She awoke. The room was dim, and just the right amount of warm. Her throat felt dry and her limbs weak. She didn’t know if she had the energy to speak.

“Emilie?” A woman’s soft voice asked.

“Hmm?” She hummed back.

A hand fell on hers. “Good to see you awake. You’ve been asleep for a long time.”

��How…long?”

“Four years.”

She blinked more, trying to clear the haze on her mind.

“Shh, keep resting. You’re still very weak.”

“Where…?”

“We’re in Tibet, in the temple of the Guardians.”

“Temple…?”

The woman, now recognized as Gabriel’s secretary Nathalie, chuckled softly. “Go back to sleep. I’ll catch you up later.”

“Where’s…my husband? And Adrien?”

“Gabriel’s in Paris and…we’re not sure where Adrien is…that’s why Gabriel’s not here.”

Emilie pushed up on the mattress. “Adrien’s missing?! Why!?”

“Shh…” Nathalie pushed her back down by the shoulder. “Please Emilie, don’t strain yourself.”

“Well, I’m wide awake now, so you better get explaining!”

Nathalie rolled her eyes. “Will you relax if I do?”

“…Yes ma’am.”

“Alright…well. It started about a year after you fell asleep…”  

—

Everything happened in a whirlwind of action. Everyone wanted to know what was happening, and wanted to be a part of helping. The Gorilla got a police escort to the hospital, driving Alya and Gabriel, while Nino volunteered to stay behind and lock up. News vans followed the ambulance and car. Traffic stopped and pulled over as the cars zoomed through the city.

At the hospital, Marinette and Adrien were unloaded and rushed into surgery. Sabine, still transformed, and Tom were escorted to a private waiting room.

And then, silence.

All the rushing and shouting, it stopped.

Sabine stood in the room, trembling.

“I believe the phrase was ‘spots off’, darling.” Tom said softly.

“Hm? Oh, Spots Off.” The whirlwind pink disappeared just as it came, and Tikki appeared in front of her, barely staying afloat.  

“Madam Cheng?” She asked weakly.

“What is it, dear?”

“Um…I’m really hungry from the cure…do you have any cookies?”

Sabine gave her a sympathetic smile. “So you’re the little mouse that steals my cookies at night.”

Tikki smiled sheepishly.

“I don’t have any on me right now, but lets see what’s in this vending machine.”

Tikki settled for a bag of mini chocolate chip cookies and took her meal to eat on a chair.

Not much later, Gabriel, the Gorilla, and Alya were escorted into the room by a nurse.

“They got in alright?” Gabriel asked.

“Yes, they got right in. They didn’t even ask Tom and I for any medical information.”

“Ah, yes, that would be my doing.”

Tom and Sabine shared a look. “What do you mean?”

Gabriel thought for a second, then admitted, “I could have sworn I already told you, but perhaps in the rush of things, I forgot to mention it. I apologize. Do you remember a few weeks ago when I asked if you had packed up your medical files with your belongings?”

“Oh! Yes, you asked for Marinette’s!”

“Yes, this hospital has assembled a specific team of specialists to prepare for them. They studied the stream and have everything they need to get started right away.”

“Wow, that’s smart!” Commented Alya. “Was that your idea, Mr. Agreste?”

“I wish, but no. It was Dr. Ernest Boucher, an akuma victim who wanted to pay off his debt. We’ve taken care of everything. The bill is squared. You only have to worry about Marinette.”

Sabine let out a sob. “Thank you!”

Gabriel tried to smile, but it fell flat. “Don’t thank me yet. I’m not worthy of gratitude.”

At that, Tikki looked over to him, aware that she was exposed to the parents, but not really noticing it until now.

Alya knelt on the floor next to her chair. “Hi there, I’m Alya.” She introduced.

“Oh, I know.” Tikki said with a smile. “I’m well acquainted with you. So is Trixx.”

At the name, Trixx popped out of Alya’s shirt. “Heya Tik!”

“Hi Trixx!”

The fox floated down and joined Tikki on the chair. “Wayzz is with Nino and Pollen is with Chloe.”

“Nino should be here soon,” Alya provided. “He stayed behind to make sure everything was locked up at the bakery. Don’t want reporters getting in there after all.”

The door to the waiting room opened, a police officer entering. “Captain David Phillips,” he introduced with a bob of the head. “I’m in charge of security for your children during their stay here.”

Sabine breathed, another worry dissuaded. “Oh thank you!”

“Of course, Mrs. Cheng. There will be officers posted at each of their rooms. All staff working with them have already gone through background checks, and have been picked by Dr. Ernst Boucher to work on his team. If I may, I would like to write up a list of people with clearance to visit. My recommendation is that you keep the list short. It is likely the team won’t allow any guests besides immediate family in the beginning.”

“Right.”

He took out a notebook. “Of course, I have Sabine Cheng, Tom Dupain, and Gabriel Agreste on the list. Anyone else I should add?”

“Alya Cesaire and Nino Lahiffe,” Sabine stated. “And Roland and Gina Dupain.”

“Arthur Chevalier and Chloe Bourgeois.” Added Gabriel. “But not the mayor. I’d rather he stay away.”

The chief nodded, noting this all down. “Anyone else?”

“Oh! And Wang Fu.” Said Sabine.

“Alright. Anyone else?”

“Not at this time.”

“Alright. Just let me know if you need to edit the list. My men have strict instructions not to allow anyone in who does not have clearance. We are also keeping an eye out on both of your homes.”

“Thank you, Captain Phillips.”  

“My pleasure. I’ll leave you alone now.” And he left.

The Gorilla took a chair and gestured a thumb to the door, indicating he would wait outside.

“Thank you, Arthur.” Gabriel breathed.

Sabine collapsed into a chair next to Tikki, her hand resting on her face.

“Are you alright?” Tikki asked softly.

“I’m fine, dear. Just a little migraine.”

Tikki floated up and pressed her forehead to Sabine’s humming slightly. “Did that help?”

“Y-yes. It’s gone!”

Tikki smiled. “It’s not much, but I aid healing. You should give the earrings back to Marinette as soon as you can.”

“I was planning on it.”

Gabriel smirked at the conversation, and took a seat as well. There wasn’t much else to do but sit and wait. He took out his phone and checked his email. It wasn’t likely that he’d hear back from Nathalie on a constant basis. The Temple was out of cellular rage, and was still in the past as far as technology went. In order to send an email, she would have to hike down to the village. And that required her to be healed.

So it was to his great surprise that an email from Nathalie awaited him in his inbox.

Gabriel,

The Miraculous Guardians have been successful. I am writing this email on my first full hike down to the village with the monks. I’m feeling much better. Maybe the best I’ve felt in my life.

Emilie woke up yesterday evening. I told her a little bit of what’s happened while she’s been asleep. So far, she knows that you used the butterfly Miraculous to try to get a hold of the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculous in order to wake her up. She fell back asleep after that. She doesn’t know Adrien was the Black Cat. She knows that Adrien is missing, but I didn’t get that far into the explanation. I also did not tell her that you are considered a villain in Paris.

She is very weak, but the guardians assure me that she’ll make a full recovery. It may be a few weeks still. I will stay with her until she is ready to go home.

On a more professional note, I would like to take some time off after this. Nothing against you or Emilie, but my heart is in a dangerous place in regards to you. I need some time to put aside my feelings. I will return to work with you eventually.

Please feel free to email me back. I will return to the village tomorrow, as I have been assured that it is good for my health.

I am eager to hear how things are going with the investigation of Marinette and Adrien.

Cordially,

Nathalie Sancoeur

A smile graced his face as relief flooded through him. Tears came to his eyes, but he blinked them away before anyone would notice.

Emilie was awake!

And Nathalie was better!

And now, just to wait for Adrien. And Marinette too, of course. But mostly Adrien.

Rereading the email, a sinking feeling settled on his stomach. How was he suppose to explain his actions to Emilie? He certainly couldn’t lie to make it seem less horrible than it was.

He was definitely regretting some of his desperation.

“Oh yes darling, I am a terrorist and our son was fighting day and night to defeat me. Because of my actions, Adrien was picked to be a hero, and subsequently got kidnapped and tortured. But he’s fine now.”

Yeah, that sounded like a sane man.

Dear Nathalie,

Thank you for emailing me so promptly. I’m overjoyed to hear that you are doing better and that Emilie is finally awake. Thank you for being brief with her about the situation. I would like to explain more of it to her in person. I believe she deserves to hear it from me at least.

I will approve your time off when the time comes. Take as long as you need, you’ve certainly earned it.

I must apologize, Nathalie. I know I took advantage of you. No other employee would have gone above and beyond the call of duty. You became ill because of my actions, and that’s something I can’t apologize enough for. Furthermore, I think it would be wise for us to part ways for a while. I know you have a special place in my heart as well, and that’s not fair to you with Emilie waking up. I desperately love my wife. And I love you too, but in a different way. As my colleague, my confident, my friend. Thank you for all you have done. For raising our son for us, for managing the company, for Mayura. All of it.

You are forever welcome in our home, whatever you choose to do.

What more, I know Adrien has high regards of you. And he will be missing you turning his recovery. That’s right, they’ve been found! Both Marinette and Adrien are in grave shape though. I’m writing this from the hospital. I’ll tell you everything later.

Enjoy Tibet.

Sincerely,

Gabriel

And he sent it.

What came next, who could tell? His emotions straddled somewhere in limbo between anxious and optimistic. Looking around to the various states of worry in the room, he decided he didn’t belong with them. So he stood, and walked out, not offering a word to anyone as to where he was going.

He wasn’t quite sure where that was either.

He passed Nino in the hall, who gave him a questioning look.

“Coffee,” he responded automatically, giving himself an excuse.

“I’ll come along.” Said the teenager, squashing his hopes to be alone.

But he didn’t blame Nino. He wouldn’t trust himself alone either. For a while, they walked in silence, riding the elevator down to the first floor without a word.

It was evening now, dinner time for most folks. But neither Gabriel or Nino found themselves to be hungry in any capacity. There was a small cafe within the food court open, with a short line. The men stood next to each other, lost in their own thoughts.

“Your arm healed with the cure, right?” Nino suddenly asked, quiet so others wouldn’t overhear.

“Yes. The stitches are gone and everything.”

They stepped up and made their order. Gabriel ordered a black coffee for himself, while Nino ordered specific drinks for everyone else.

“That’ll be 24.86.” Said the cashier.

Gabriel handed over his card. “I’ll take care of it.”

Nino smirked as they went to sit at a nearby table to wait for their order.

“Sorry…” Nino began. “I didn’t mean to tag along if you needed a minute, I just…”

“It’s fine,” Gabriel stated, fiddling with a salt shaker on the table. “I’m the enemy after all, I should be watched at all times.”

“That’s not what I meant…your son is…he’s in the hospital and the future is uncertain. I’m just worried about you.”

“Thank you, but I don’t need your concern.” He said, a little harshly.

Nino sighed. “Adrien told me…after you lost your wife, you became a lot colder. No offense, but I’m worried for you for Adrien’s sake.”

Gabriel took a moment to relax his hunched shoulders and exhale slowly. He was way too tense, and that wasn’t good for anyone. “I’m sorry. I know it’s been a few years now, but I treated you unfairly the first time we met. I called you something unsavory, when all you were trying to do was make Adrien happy. That’s all you’ve ever tried to do. Thank you for ignoring my wishes and continuing to be his friend.”

Nino actually smiled at him. “Don’t worry about it dude—er, sir. Besides, you let me DJ that one fashion show. That was super cool!”

“You did a fine job. I’ll let you know if any more opportunities arise.”

“Thanks dude!”

Gabriel smirked. “You’re welcome…dude.”  

Nino erupted in violent laughter, nearly falling out of his chair.

“Forget I said anything.” Gabriel said flatly.

“Agreste!” Called the Barista.

The boys gathered their drinks and returned to the waiting room, still in silence, but a lighter feeling than before.

In the waiting room, Nino set the drinks on the little table and confessed he just picked out six drinks that looked interesting. One for each person, and one for the kwami’s to share.

Gabriel sat against a wall, watching the exchange while sipping on his black coffee. It felt awkward, as the elephant in the room sat between him and all these kind people. He rubbed his thumb over his ring finger, a force of habit from when he wore a wedding ring. His had been taken by Felix, so he wore Emilie’s for a while. But when she was taken to Tibet, he gave it back. Now he longed to have something to fidget with.

He reached into his pocket, immediately feeling the cool metal of Adrien’s Miraculous.

He had forgotten he picked it up. He just assumed his pocket was a safer place for it than Marinette’s bedroom. He took it out, resting the ring on his palm. It looked and felt like any other ring. He turned it over with his fingers, studying the design before it flashed green.

Plagg rocketed out, awake. “Adrien!” He shouted.

Well, if anyone was unaware of Chat Noir’s identity, he just blew it. But luckily, that wasn’t a problem in this room.

Plagg spun around, his eyes frantic. This was not the last place he was awake. The last thing he saw was that woman and she took off the ring—

He turned around, facing Gabriel, and saw the ring in his hand.

“Why do you have that?” He asked darkly.

“I—…” Gabriel gaped.

“That doesn’t belong to you! Give it back! That’s my kitten’s!” He shouted.

“Plagg…” Tikki tried to calm him down.

“Where is he?! What did you do to him!?”

Gabriel raise his hands in a pacifying nature. “Adrien’s in surgery.”

“Surgery!?! What did you do to him?!”

“He didn’t do anything, Plagg!” Tikki shook him. “It was that woman! That woman that stole the Miraculous! She hurt Marinette too!”

And then Nooroo peeked ever so slightly out of Gabriel’s pocket.

All hell broke loose.

“You!” Plagg grabbed Gabriel’s shirt, and yanked him to stand. “You disgusting piece of filth! Give me one good reason not to kill you this second!”

“Plagg!” Tikki grabbed him and tried to force the fabric from his paws. “Let him go!”

“You monster! Do you know how many nights I had to comfort him because of your abuse!? How many times he cried because you neglected him!? You might be his father, but you aren’t his dad! You’re a walking shit stain! Scum of the earth! A selfish, evil, pathetic excuse for a man! I hate you! I hate what you did to him! I hate what you did to both of them! And now this!? How could you betray him!?”

Gabriel wasn’t able to fight back. He was too stunned to say anything. This tiny creature could destroy him with a single breath.

“Plagg, stop it. You’re not thinking clearly!”

“I’m not thinking clearly!? Tikki! He’s Hawkmoth!”

“What?!”

“Nooroo! Nooroo get your ass out here!”

Tikki gasped as the lilac butterfly came into view, looking completely ashamed.

Plagg continued his rant, oblivious to the slack jaws in the room. “Is there a single person in your life that you haven’t hurt?! Haven’t manipulated into doing your biding!?”

“I didn’t mean to—“

“I’ve seen centuries, you vile worm! I’ve lived among humans as long as they’ve existed! So you listen to me when I say you are nothing but evil, Gabriel Agreste! Your heart is full of hatred and you aren’t capable of love! Not towards your son! Not towards your wife! That’s why she left you!”

Gabriel ripped his shirt out of the kwami’s paws. “She didn’t leave me!”

Plagg let him go, curious, but still fuming, as to why that was the only thing he argued.

“You’re right. I’m vile, and cruel, and evil. But Emilie didn’t leave. She…” He swallowed.

Everyone was watching him carefully, partly in fear of his violence. Partly because they wanted to give him a chance to redeem himself.

“The Peacock Miraculous is broken.” He began. “It was broken when we got it, though I didn’t know at the time. Emilie and I…we bought them from a vender in Tibet. Along with a book. We used them as inspiration in our designs. And for a while, thats all we used them for. But…Emilie, she always wore the peacock because she loved her Kwami so dearly. But Dusuu…she stole Emilie’s energy. And eventually, she fell asleep and wouldn’t wake up.” Gabriel fell into his chair, his head in his hands. “I didn’t know what to do. The doctors had no answers. She wasn’t dead, but…” He shook his head. “Nooroo told me there was a chance to save her, if I could get the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculous. I could unify their powers and make an ultimate wish.”

“So, you had to lure us out.” Said Tikki. “By akumatizing people.”

“Yes,” Gabriel breathed. “So many times, things went too far, and I told myself I’d quit. But then I’d get so close and…it just got worse and worse. I neglected everything. I was obsessed! And then—And then Salo captured them.” He hugged his arms around his waist, feeling sick. “I had a hunch once, that Adrien was Chat Noir. He always wore the same ring, and got defensive when I asked him about it. But he was too clever and diverted my attention from him. It came as a shock when I saw his costume come off. All this time, I was trying to protect him…trying to bring his mother back and make us a family again…but all I did was drive him away. This is all my fault. Not Master Fu’s, not even Salo’s…I’m responsible for this.”

Plagg said nothing, just glared and listened.

Gabriel raised his head to look into the kwami’s ancient green eyes. “So you’d be doing Adrien a favor by killing me.”

Plagg groaned at the sacrificial tone. Humans were just so stupid. “No, I wouldn’t. That kid loves you. I don’t know why, but he does. So, if you are really repentant, and whatever…then you better start acting like a father. Getting rid of you would just hurt him more…he doesn’t need any more loss.”

Gabriel smiled the tiniest bit. “There is something good that came out of this.”

Plagg looked at him skeptically.

“Master Fu revealed himself to us. In order to apologize. I took him aside and explained all of this. He arranged Emilie and Nathalie to go to Tibet and see the Guardian’s at the temple. Nathalie just emailed. Emilie…she’s awake. She’s alright. Adrien will have his mother back.”

Gabriel continued to smile as Plagg stared right back, something akin to pity on his face. “So what? You think this is happily ever after now?”

Gabriel’s smile fell.

“Adrien doesn’t need his mom anymore. He thought she was dead. He grieved. Alone. And then he healed and moved on. He found family in his friends. You’re the one that stayed behind in denial. Instead of dealing with the consequences of your actions, you brought everyone else down into madness with you. Do you know what seeing her alive again will do to him? Do you know how badly that will mess him up? Knowing that she was alive the whole time and she didn’t return? Or that you didn’t tell him!?”

Gabriel’s face paled. “I tried to tell him…but I didn’t think he’d understand.”

“He wouldn’t’ve. I barely understand it myself, and only because it’s over now.”

Tikki floated a few inches away from Plagg, as he continued to crackle with energy.

“This is stupid. I’ve wasted enough time here listening to your pathetic excuses. I have to see him! I promised I’d never leave him alone again!” He darted through the nearest door in frantic energy.

“Plagg!” Tikki shouted, flying after. Trixx and Wayzz hurried to catch up as well.

In the hall, Plagg rushed around, peeking in every room he came into, and stopping every time he saw a blond head.

When it became clear that Adrien wasn’t on the floor, he darted through the floor and went on his search.

“Adrien! Adrien!” He cried, startling nurses and patients alike.

Plagg pulled up short in front of a man in full scrubs, mask and gloves. “Where’s Adrien!?” He asked.

The man blinked. “I—What?”

“Adrien! Adrien Agreste! Where is he!? I need to see him!”

“I believe he’s in surgery…what are you?”

“Where!?” Plagg just screamed louder. Then he caught sight of the white board on the wall. A quick glance showed the name Agreste in room OR4.

He was off again, without a look back.

Frantic, he flitted from room to room, tracking the numbers.

Then finally, he found it. OR4.

He burst in the doors, startling those inside. “Adrien!”

A nurse looked at him, tilted her head, and said, “I’m sorry, you can’t be in here…”

“He needs me! Please!” But as he came closer, dread wrapped around him. It had to be Adrien. There was a young man on the operating table, laying on his stomach. The height was the same, the hair was still that golden wheat color. But he was so skinny and pale...

But the worst part was that from the base of his neck to his lower calves, deep gashes cut into his skin and muscle. The worst was around his shoulder blades, which were visible through the gore.

“What are you doing to him?” Plagg’s voice came out hollow, and afraid.

The head surgeon looked up at him, his eyes narrowing. “I’m Dr. Ernst Boucher, in charge of Adrien and Marinette’s surgeries and recoveries. Who…and what, are you?”

“I’m Plagg.”

“Ah, I see,” said he and then gestured him forward with a bloody finger.

The team watched him as he floated closer, and hovered over Adrien’s heart.

“We’ve studied the footage very carefully. He called for you, asking where you were.”

“Footage? What are you talking about?”

The doctor pointed to the table, right beside Adrien’s neck. “You can sit here.”

Plagg floated down and nuzzled against his chosen.

“Ladybug and Chat Noir were kidnapped and their identities were revealed on camera.”

“So everyone knows?”

“The whole world knows. They’ve been broadcasting them for about a month and a half now. Live torture at any hour of the day.”

“A month…?” Plagg’s voice was gravelly and weak. “They were tortured?”

“Yes.” Said the doctor, as he continued the surgery. “Adrien has a some pretty severe tissue damage all through here.”

“How did this happen?”

The doctor was quiet for a moment, giving instructions to his team members, before answering, “Several hours of flogging with a cat-o-nine tails.”

Plagg didn’t say anything after that, just let out a quiet sob and snuggled closer to Adrien’s neck.  

—

Hours later, the group in the waiting room were high with anxiety. Gabriel continued to sit in the corner with his head in his hands. Light conversation had flittered around the room, but no one dared bring up Hawkmoth’s sad origin.

Tikki, Trixx, and Wayzz had returned after about a half hour, when they concluded Plagg was nowhere to be found, and he likely wanted to be left alone.

Alya rested her head on Nino’s shoulder while she napped. Tom and Sabine played cards at the table.

Then the door opened. There stood a doctor in still bloody scrubs, with a black blob in his hand.

“Are you Dr. Boucher?” Gabriel asked, at attention.

“That’s right. Mr. Agreste?” He held out his free hand for a hand shake. “Nice to meet you in person. Glad we were able to get on this as soon as possible.” He turned to Tom and Sabine. “Mr. Dupain? Mrs. Cheng? Marinette’s all stitched up. She has received a blood transfusion and a whooping 19 stitches on her back. Right now, we’re monitoring a pretty severe case of pneumonia, as well as an infection in her hand and her feet. We have her on an IV with antibiotics to help with this. She’s also on a ventilator to help with her breathing. She has some scarring on her neck from strangulation, but as that happened a while ago, I think any damage has healed. Examining the footage, we’ve deduced that the food they were giving them is what’s known as ‘food loaf’ a old prison practice. Leftover meals are blended and then cooked into a flavorless loaf. But most of the nutrients are there. While they aren’t completely starved, we still will have to ease them into a regular diet to avoid refeeding syndrome. They will both be drinking a lot of water and juice high in electrolytes.” He noticed the other kwamis sitting on a chair, watching them, and brought Plagg over to join them. He was asleep and curled up into a ball. “Marinette will be extremely tired because of the infections. She’s not likely to wake up for several days. And when she does, I’m not certain about her mental state. She will be confused, but that’s understandable.”

“What about Adrien?” Gabriel asked, once the man seemed finished.

Dr. Boucher sighed. “Adrien is still in surgery, or…more precisely, he’s back in surgery. His flogging wounds were much more severe since he was whipped for a longer period of time. He is being stitched where he can, but we had to do a split-depth skin graft over his shoulder blades. The whip went deep into his muscles and tore out his flesh right down to the bone. We were able to suture the muscles back together, but the skin was too far apart to stitch back together. We took a sample from his inner thigh that was wide enough to cover his wound.”

“So what’s happening to him now?”

“Now the team is preparing to examine his sternum. In the early part of their stay, he sustained a wound from a crowbar to the chest. During the wedding, the bruising was visible and I can already tell he has a few broken ribs. He may even have flail chest, where the ribs float in the plural cavity and can damage other organs.” He frowned, his lip pulling further on one side. “This is a very difficult case. In order to do either surgery, Adrien had to risk the other wound. Obviously, the back was the most pressing, even with the pressure his akuma suit put on the wound, it was still bleeding fiercely. In order to get it properly cared for, he would have to lay on his front, risking the broken rib. It’s a tricky situation.”

Gabriel didn’t say anything, just closed his eyes in defeat.

“Besides those wounds, I’m assuming Adrien also has pneumonia, as he was exposed to the same conditions as Marinette. Because of the blood loss, he entered Hypovolemic shock, and achieved stage 4, which resulted in kidney and heart failure. With a blood transfusion, he should be on the mend, as his heart rate has steadily decreased and his hyperpnea has slowed. His breathing still doesn’t sound good, but it’s a lot slower and stable. That leads me to believe that he’s come out of shock. We will have to monitor his kidney output.”

Gabriel collapsed in a chair, his head in his hands.

“He also has infection in his hand where he was branded. And unfortunately, the upper part of his left ear will have to be removed. The infection has turned gangrenous and could infect the bloodstream.”

“Please tell me that’s all…” Gabriel whispered.

“Once he has stabilized, we will operate on his arm. The dislocation of his shoulder has likely stretched his tendons, and his arm will not be usable until that is fixed. And, I have no proof of this, but I think he may have vocal nodules, little growths on his vocal chords that prevent him from speaking. This is usually caused by excessive screaming.”

“Can I see him?”

Dr. Boucher sighed again, and rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Agreste, I can’t let you see your son right now. And it’s with a heavy heart I tell you…he may not survive the night. He lost a lot of blood.”

A sob broke out of the man. “But you gave him a transfusion! He has enough blood now!”

“Yes, but he’s not getting enough oxygen to his body! We’ve introduced a ventilator, but there’s not much else we can do with the pneumonia and nodules.” He swallowed. “It’s up to Adrien now.”

The room was silent as Nino embraced Alya, Tom held his wife, and misery choked Gabriel.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t give you more good news, but I wanted to provide an update as soon as I could. I have to go back now. We’re beginning Adrien’s rib fixation.”

No one tried to stop him.

He nodded once, and left the room.

Gabriel didn’t move, couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. He was suffocating. And he was all alone. This was when he really needed his wife. She deserved to know what was happening. But there was no way, in good conscience he could tell her. Not after all he did to her.

“Mr. Agreste?” A tiny voice spoke up.

Gabriel raised his eyes to a little red kwami, looking at him with so much pity he could drown in it.

“I’m Tikki, Marinette’s kwami.” She introduced, pleasantly.

He looked away from her.

“You know, Adrien’s really strong. And he really loves Marinette, so I don’t think he’d give up on her.”

“Why are you talking to me?” It was just a curious question, but came out so harshly in his voice. “Don’t you know who I am?”

She blinked. “You’re Hawkmoth.”

His lip twitched in disgust.

“But you’re also Adrien’s father, and Marinette’s favorite fashion designer.”

“I’m also responsible for this.” He spat. “If not for me, then they wouldn’t—“

“Perhaps not.” Said Tikki, wisely. “But it could have been someone else. Someone who would have been tortured and killed. They wouldn’t have been rescued, and the woman wouldn’t have been caught. She would keep on hurting people. No matter what you’ve told yourself, or what others may have said…this isn’t your fault. It’s Salo’s.”

He shook his head. “Regardless, I’ve still hurt so many people. I’ve hurt my son! Everything would have been better without me.”

“Really? Because…without you, I would have never met Marinette. And Plagg would have never met Adrien. And he’ll never admit it, but Adrien’s his favorite wielder.”

Gabriel just stared at her and listened.

“Without you, people would have never gotten to experience the thrill of superheroes. Adrien and Marinette wouldn’t have gotten to be superheroes. We keep focusing on the trials they had to endure, but not the joys they felt. Marinette’s boost in confidence, Adrien’s freedom to let loose. Paris wouldn’t have a reason to fight for positivity…And Ladybug and Chat Noir would have never become friends.”

“Marinette and Adrien know each other from school.” He argued.

“But the unwavering trust, the absolute devotion, that came from their bond as heroes. Not from being classmates.”

Gabriel hugged his stomach with one arm, as a hand ran through his already wild hair. He chanced a glance to the other side of the room, to see everyone staring at him.

He swallowed. “I have to turn myself in. I have to go to prison.”

“No, don’t.” Said Sabine, standing to walk over to him. “Hawkmoth is retired. He saved them, and that’s enough for me.”

His eyebrows raised. “Are you sure?”

“I know you want to do the right thing, Gabriel. But think of Adrien. He’ll need all the love and support he can get. I know Tom loves him like a son, but there’s no replacement for a father.”

Gabriel hunched his shoulders.

“And besides, do you really want him dealing with the press of that discovery? Do you think that’s fair in the wake of what’s happened?”

He scowled. “No. That’s not fair to him at all.”

“Then, here’s the deal.” She sat in the chair next to him, and made herself look professional. “You are going to get your act together. You’re going to be better. You’re going to be a dad for that boy. You’re going to get therapy and leave the past in the dust. Do we have an agreement?” She held out her hand.

Gabriel inhaled deeply, sitting up. He combed his hair back. “It won’t be easy. But I’ll do my best. In return, I ask that you call me out if you see me slipping into previous behaviors.”

“Oh, I promise I will.”

“Then we have a deal.”

And they shook on it.      

[grim-faux]

8 - Twisted Warren

Too much had happened in this place, between the time Murkoff had lost control, and the MHS failed to regain control.  The patients had gotten free and had ample time on their hands to undertake all manner of hobbies.

I wasn’t certain what to make of the large hole chiseled through three feet of solid cement, and rebar.  Given there’s not a lot to do around this place but come up with creative ways to get around, I gave this one a seven out of ten.  I doubted that big ugly fucker would have been amused by a commission for big fuckin holes, he seemed dedicated to his current task of decapitating the former law.  I couldn’t envision the inmates having the tools for this sort of work, and then using them correctly to remove the cement, but they were just insane, not stupid.  There was a difference.

The problem was they were not stupid.

  To satisfy my lethal curiosity, I did return to the other side of where I had dropped down, to see if the egress guy was still lurking.  I didn’t want someone following me, I’d rather know at this point and try to lose them than get a nasty surprise in a dark cramped hole.

There was only a small room, and a door.  I tried the handle confirming it was locked, but perhaps earlier it was open and the patient decided to lock it.  Didn’t matter, my path was charted out.  It must’ve led into a lavatory, or female wash room, there were hand dryers on the wall, a mattress flung on its side, and the more important detail.  Sinks.

I tried the dial on one and received a fresh flow of water, its color I couldn’t tell due to the night vision but it looked clean and free of sediment.  After giving my perimeter a quick look I leaned under the tap and tasted it, first rinsing my mouth out of the reek and copper.  The water had a strong metallic quality, I wasn’t sure if I should drink it, much as I was advised not to drink the water when visiting another country, but I was dehydrated.  I reasoned with myself the lines couldn’t all be compromised, and drank just enough to quench my thirst.

There was also the issue of my bloody camera, and my backside, but I felt my jacket was a lost cause and it was cold.  In the dark I flushed water on my sleeve and used it to carefully dab the side of the camera until it felt like much of the stickiness was removed.  I didn’t expect to do a perfect job in the solid black.  I also took the time to rinse the blood from my scalp and the back of my leg, then flushed my tender brow.

I felt renewed, not meeting ready but stable enough on my feet to carry me onward.  I returned to the other side, squelching over the sticky puddle of blood back to the warrens entrance.

Below looked like an access space, for repairs or maintenance on broken pipes that might be reached through the basement.  It might’ve been installed in the past century if this place was as old as I suspected.

The hole wasn’t deep, but there was a passage dug out in the softer earth beneath the crawl space.  A small draft crept over my ankles, warmer air spilling into the cool shower.  The thick reek of natural gas coupled with moist earth reached my nose as I crouched down and used the night vision to navigate, I really didn’t need to get lost under this place. 

Though the path seemed straightforward, I was fully aware of how easy it was to get turned around in a short section of black crawlspace.  A few of the Outdoor Adventurer columns warned of how inexperienced cavers could get lost in less than twenty feet of cave.  One story mentioned a specific case in which a cavern had only a few extending tunnels, but the individuals involved thought only to bring one light source plus their cell phones.  As with any adventure destined to fail, the torch had a mishap and the cavers with their cell phones couldn’t distinguish between the details of the cave through the poor light source, nor could they call for help.  Many would scratch their heads or joke towards their expense, how can you get lost in such a small cave?  Few have ever experienced the total silence, the oppressive dark, and the disorientation that comes with confusion, then panic.  How easy doubt sets in and turns your instincts against you.

This is why they, like many, didn’t live to learn from their error.

Even a few feet into this passage, I could no longer see the light.  Not at all.  Thick pipes ran in orderly groups into the dark depths, railways of electrical input.  My path was carved around a cement pillar, going deeper.  My heart thudded harder against my ribs filling my head with a dull pulse of pain.  How deep did this go?  Would I be able to turn back if I lost my way?  I paused to listen in the crushing black, the total silence but for the thunder of my heart and my heavy breath.  I had my reservations for traveling deeper, I was terribly fucking lost running everywhere through the Asylums endless maze of halls, but this was fifteen times worse.  This was my grave.

I pressed on with no where else to look back on, I fortified my resolve to keep calm and find a way out.  There was nothing that could hurt me here, I could hear nothing, no shrieking, no pleas for mercy.  Dead silence.

The warmer air would’ve been a nice change of pace compared to the chilly asylum, but the reek of sludge and compost did not set me to ease.  Blood was, as always, my guide through this twisting nightmare.  Across the upper portion of the tunnel was a set of pipes, I had to stretch out and slip under them to get through.  It opened up a bit and I could stand, more pipes, for gas or water.

As I moved forward it looked like my path came to an end, but the earth shifted under my feet.  Looking down, I found a deep hole which I had nearly stumbled into.  I dropped down, making sure to evade the bricks on the one side.  The stench and heat was in full force at this point and I turned, locating where the bricks had been torn out of a wall.

The sewers beneath the asylum were huge, possibly to redirect the flow of water and alleviate erosion.  It wasn’t called Mount Massive for the jollies of it.  I glanced beyond the ruptured wall, crinkling my nose at the odor.  To my right was a light source, but my left was difficult to make out even with the NV.  Moisture in the air interfered with the feed.

Satisfied that the path was free of wavering figures, I sloshed into the filthy water of the drainage flow trying not to think about what might be floating in it.  The dark tunnel twisted around and after a few feet I could make out the collection of fallen boulders and earth.  A cave in, a weakness of some sort in the foundation.  This made me uneasy, the tunnels could be subjected to collapse while I was down here, especially with the heavy rainstorm currently hammering the mountain.  I didn’t bother to get closer should there be an opening I could squeeze through, it wasn’t worth it.

The lit tunnel offered two paths, I proceeded through the light, and presumably the path the patients had taken when they came down here.  At least I knew there must be a way out, unless they came down here and backtracked out.  I doubted that.  This was where the blood led me.

No matter how many times I repeated that phrase in my head, it always sounded wrong and insane.

A barricade for flotsam shed some perception on the water levels of these tunnels, if there was a good flood it could reach my hip.  I imagined the water was lower but even now the flow rolled over my ankles, I could only be thankful the water temper was tolerable or I’d succumb to hypothermia.  The barrier offered little trouble, but a sharp pain in my side.  Nice thing, I was growing accustomed to the jolts of pain.  Just had to avoid getting thrown out of windows, or kicked in the chest.

An intersecting tunnel came into view, but it was easy to decide which way from here with no detours.  My right was completely packed by another cave in, giving me some mild grief if that was my way out.  The ruble didn’t look fresh but I was no expert on collapses.

The right looked like another dead end from a distance, but as I moved closer I could see the small drainage tunnel in the shallow ditch was open.  A strong source of light soaked through a large grate overhead, offered by the upper floors perhaps, I couldn’t tell.  I stood off to the side of the gaping drain to look up, but the light from above was too bright to view past and make out its origins.  I thought I heard someone screaming, it could’ve been my imagination.  The echoing chatter of water spilled along the cobblestone bricks into the ditch below at a high frequency.

As I looked down, I thought I saw a body slumped by a grated drain.  It was a body, I crept in close to examine him through the NV feed.  He didn’t look like one of the patients that had come down earlier, a small relief.  He had been dead for some time, his pants and the lower area of his body had absorbed so much water he almost looked fluffy, but it was only skin dissolved and flaking away.  I didn’t need that thought on my mind, though I had already presumed I would find more bodies in the sewer, I didn’t need to see them immediately.  What a naïve hope that was.

Returning to my task at hand, I grimaced as I couched low and scooted along the water into the small tunnel.  The humid stench was overpowering and the cramped space of the drain had me nearly knelt in the foul water, but I managed to only submerge one knee as I felt along.  I tried to bury my face in my collar and hold the camera up so I could see where I was going and not put my knee into something unpleasant.  Blood was one thing, it was tolerable.

I tried to keep my hand along the ‘dryer’ side of the wall, where the tunnel sloped down but wasn’t in the water.  The cuts along the back of my leg stung like hell and I tried not to envision what sort of bacterial infections I’d come away with.  A piece of paper from something got caught on my foot, but I wouldn’t mess with that until I could stand.  The tunnel ended and I assured myself there was nothing here with me poised just beside the opening to lop my head off, before I shuffled out and stood.

Much of the same met me, no light and pipes suspended along the roof of the tunnel.  As I stared through the quivering visor I realized for the first time, I was shaken all over.  Not just mild tremors, I could literally not hold myself still as I inspected the open channel over.  I wasn’t cold, in fact a thin layer of sweat had spread under my coat causing it to stick against my shirt.

I was terrified.

Despite my small reprieve of isolation I was frightened, my nerves frayed.  Where was I going?  How did I get out of here?  What if there was no way out?  What if this was where I was meant to die?

Get ahold of yourself.  I stepped back and leaned beside the wall and touched the cool brick, feeling the vibrations of the Asylum against my palm.  Not gonna die here.  I would get out.  I would get out with the evidence and reveal this heinous mess to everyone.

I took a small breath through my mouth and stared at the long corridor ahead.  I wanted to believe that.  I wanted to make that the truth so bad.

The water sloshed over my shoes, and I flipped off the remains of that sheet of paper–

Something flittered into sight ahead.  I barely turned my camera up, night vision and everything I could see perfectly, and something glided by in the intersecting tunnel.  Looked black, like a shadow, but it was in direct light.  Was something there?

I took a few steps back to the tunnel and perched down, checking on my camera.  Features, playback, last five minutes.  I realized in reviewing the footage that I was breathing hard, I still was.  Didn’t care.

I paused the feed and stared at what was caught, it wasn’t very clear.  Just a black shape, it had passed in barely a second and looked almost transparent.  It wasn’t in the light as I had imagined, the NV had caught it in the dark of the intersecting tunnel.  Maybe it was a residual image, the camera had color mishaps since I flew out that window.  But…it looked suspended, a good six feet above the ground.

I took a deep breath through my mouth and exhaled.  Later I would review the evidence with better equipment, image quality enhancements.  And I’d make copies of everything.

First, I had to get out of here.  And the only route open to me was ahead, where that shadow was.

I exercised extreme caution as I proceeded forward, listening every few steps for sounds or stopping when I thought I heard something.  Carefully I picked my way along the tunnel with my eyes fixed ahead, the camera never picked up another image.

To my right where it must have gone, was a barricade or gap for high water levels.  I decided to avoid that path and check elsewhere, give whatever was there now a chance to clear out.

The left side extended a distance, all manner of trash was down here from dissolving files to cardboard boxes.  The path took a right path followed brick and on the left a drainage tunnel, grated up.  The path took a right and around the corner a light source, and possibly a way out.

I was disappointed to discover it wasn’t to be.  This was an exit, perhaps some time before, but the ladder set here was completely destroyed.  On the floor beneath lay the remains of a human, entrails, rotted limbs, and the ladder.  I attempted to lift it up but it was too short.  Even pushing some cardboard boxes over helped in no way, they were too soggy from sitting in the wet air.  The upper one cracked and folders scattered, patient letters.  I’m guessing Murkoff never sent these to the families, and probably forged return notes.  A few were stuffed into a file, which I took interest in

“"(Found scrawled in pencil on the back of an admittance form. Handwritting matches samples from patient “Father” MARTIN ARCHIMBAUD.)

This God is real. What we’ve mistaken so long for ghosts, spirits, madness. We were only willfully ignorant. The scales on Saul’s eyes were fear, and when you see beyond it, you truly see. This is the gift of the Walrider. The Gospel of Sand. The greatest sin in the world is willful ignorance of God. To receive a revelation and not spread it to the waiting flock. This place… To stand in the way of salvation is a sin for which there is no punishment too great’.”

For some reason this note caused goosebumps to crawl up my skin.  My mind brought back images of the MHS team, throttled and dragged away.  What had I seen?  What did Father Martin ask?  “Will you see?  Can you?”  I still didn’t understand, but I felt closer to understanding these mysteries through these sloppy scribbles.  Something about these words felt more than deranged delusions.  There was a truth.

I left the file and moved around the opposite side of the tunnel, lowering the camera where the lamps overhead still functioned casting deep yellow globs of light to spread over the moist stone.  Save batteries, live longer.

A soft tinkling…turned into an aggressive rattle as I passed under a large pipe.  I tried to find the source, but it sounded as though it were coming from within the pipe itself.  I raised my camera though there was nothing to record, but that sound was eerie, I could see nothing to generate that sort of sound.  Like pouring pellets into a bebe rifle.

I left that place and quickly returned to what must have been my route, where the shape had gone?  I don’t know at this point.  Peering through the tight gap I could make note of nothing threatening or otherwise, despite the distance I could tell there were areas where danger could lurk.  My progress so far had been quiet.

The barricade was tight, difficult even for me to get through.  I grunted as it rubbed on my bad side but I made it.  I’m sure there were hundreds of those down here.

The sewer opened up into another tunnel, a huge drainage gutter sat a few feet ahead with a grate over it.  To the right was a ladder swallowed up in a flood of murky water with a plaque reading Lower Junction

Fuck that.  I’m trying to get out of this place. 

A large pipe directed down into the lower area was clearly labeled ‘Female ward,’ and across from it an identical pipe with the faded words ‘Prison ward.’  More the reason not to go THAT way.  I continued to where some crates had been abandoned, probably filled with replacement parts or materials for the plumbing.  The asylum was nearly a city all in itself and required routine maintenance.

This made sense, they had a lot of people here on residence doing the experiments.  Probably the higher security clearance guys never went out on a sunny day, couldn’t risk them getting hurt or lost.

A loud thud echoed through the tunnel, I stopped near the crates and watched as a shape dropped down at the other end.  I stepped back and knelt behind them as he marched forward, struggling to breathe as he always did after the heavy exercise of killing.

The big ugly fucker just wouldn’t give it a rest!  What was his obsession?  Did he just follow me wherever he thought I was, or was it just chance?  Maybe he was following the patients, and somehow I was shepherd in with the flock.  Didn’t change matters, he was here now for whatever reason.  Damnit.

He moved towards the middle of the corridor and paused, glanced around as his breathing calmed.  Now that I saw him clearly in the light, I could make out details I hadn’t been able to pick out on when he threw me out a window.

No.  I will never let that go.

His face was indeed mutilated, by himself reports said.  I doubt he had sharp items while institutionalized.  Was it from the treatment he became so large?  Or just bad cardio, the guy ran like a horse.  The report also stated he had modified restraints to conform his massive size, and by modified they meant huge chains which he dragged around on his legs and arms.  The ones wrapped about his wrists appeared to have restricted his blood flow, I couldn’t tell from the distance if his hands still worked, they looked pale and skeletal.

Chris turned and began down a path on my right.  I listened to the sound of his chains as they grew soft and distant, with his heavy huffing.  At this point I wasn’t sure where to go, if I used my camera and zoomed, I could see to the end where he plopped down was grated.  One of the tunnels might lead somewhere, someplace where I could climb out of this sewer.  This option was more favorably than sitting here waiting for him to find me while I was indecisive about where to go.

I took hesitant steps forward, listening.  The sounds bounced around the walls, but I only heard the soft swish of water around my shoes.  He entered a tunnel further away on the left, as I moved it I could make out a dark entrance not far from my position on the right.

The tunnel was well lit, it set my nerves to ease but a coil of anxiousness knotted in my throat as I felt exposed.  I gave a small whimper unintentionally as I sprang over a flotsam guard when I twisted the wrong way, and I stopped to listen for a few seconds to assure the bug fucker hadn’t heard that.  As I resumed, the tunnel took a right into shadows and a cool draft, at the end I found a few planks of plywood and another grate drain.  And an open door brimming with light.

The room had little to offer.  Some shelves stacked with paints and boxes, a few batteries that I could use, lockers, and a large pipe with a valve labeled Prison drain

Apparently I was going into the Lower Junction. 

I shut the door behind me and griped the valve tightly and turned.  Or tried.  My arm ached and my ribs just couldn’t take it, a hot streak of pain pulsed in my side.  I stepped back and frowned at the valve.  Maybe I could trick Chris into turning it, or rig him up to it in some elaborate way.

Or I could stop being a pussy and turn that valve?

I took a few shallow breaths and steeled myself.  I was not halfway done with this place, and it wasn’t done with me.  If I was going to survive this, I would endure a lot more than some cheap shots and…

Crashing out a few windows.

I gripped the valve and braced myself, ignoring the throbbing or the red in my vision.  It would turn or so help me.

The valve gave in and wrenched.  I turned until it was all the way open, or what I presumed to be open.  I panted a bit as I turned and left the room.

Nothing.  That was nothing.  I could turn valves all day.  The pain would subside soon, and I could forget it in favor of more compelling matters.

In the dark tunnel I heard chains drag, and a voice mutter.  Two ways to spell dead.  Without a thought I pivoted and returned to the room, shutting the door behind me.  I stood waiting for a short while before I saw the knob twist.  My immediate instinct told me hide in the lockers, but the door was already opening and I was too far to get one open and stuff myself within.  I had already moved to the other side, where there was a large space behind the shelves where the light fell short.  I squatted in the furthest corner and watched as Chris entered.

He pushed the door open fully and stepped inside checking on the lockers.  Yes, they were very lovely.  He must not have known I was here, he didn’t bother opening a one.  Then, he turned looking at the shelves where I was hiding.  I held my breath and stared at him, directly at him.  I thought we made eye contact and my heart stopped, but the big fucker turned smoothly and left the room.

Even when I was certain he was well gone, I couldn’t move.  It felt like my body was frozen.  It took some effort but I managed to adjust my grip on the camera, then raise my arms and took a breath, then another.  I felt my mind begin to clear and the images replayed in my mind, Chris turning and his murky eyes dead on me.  In reflex I shut my own eyes and listened to the sounds of the sewer, soft hissing in pipes, water trickling down ancient mortar.  The tremors were back in full force, but I doubt they ever truly left me.  I only forgot they were there.

In some time I had coaxed myself enough to stand and move towards the open door, I wobbled on my feet and caught the frame before I could go charging out to make a thunderous descent on the slick plywood.

The dark was my only ally. 

I pushed myself off the doorframe and ventured into the tunnel, jumping at every little sound.  The drip of water was incessant, nerve wrecking.  I couldn’t see where he had gone from the opening of the tunnel, I stood waiting for some sign.  The idea that he might’ve left this area by some way was on my thoughts, but I knew better.  If he found a way out, I’d have a way out.  But he would exhaust his search first and that could take hours.

There were two large pipes leading into the lower junction, I already drained one.  The female drain was located on the left side of the tunnel, the pipe must’ve run that way.

While the coast was clear, I went ahead to the backside of the tunnel where the big fucker had initially entered from.  Maybe there was a way out I missed, a break in the grate.

Another dead end.  A dead guard, crumpled and broken, it looked like his legs had been twisted off and the only thing keeping them attached were his blood drenched pants.  I spun about when I picked up on the big fuckers approach, and ducked down behind the crates pressing myself into the edge where they met with the curved wall of the tunnel.  He was getting closer.

For a tense moment it sounded like he was right on the other side of the crate.  My only option was to hold still and pretend I wasn’t there.  The chains clinked as he moved and sniffed the air, I imagine this smell didn’t faze him a whole lot.  I was focused on the sleeve over my arm as I held perfectly still, studying the different colors and stains it had acquired.

“Scout the perimeter, then isolate the target.”

Eventually he continued on his way, his footfalls and muttering getting faint.  I waited a moment certain he took the left tunnel, towards the prison ward.  Of any tunnel, I just wanted to relocate and find a better vantage point.  Slowly I stood up, and there he was no more than fifteen feet away.

Chris bellowed something unintelligible and charged, sounded like “There you argh!”  I bolted, hitting the edge of the wall with my arm and skimmed off heading to the other side of the tunnel.  Had to find a place to hide, needed somewhere I can duck into.  He was screaming something after me, it was hard to tell between the splashing water and his dragging chains.

I vaulted over a drain guard and took a sharp left, into the dark.  No place to duck into, only a few alcoves that heightened my hopes only to crush them.  I slowed to toggle the NV and not drop the camera, he was nearly at my back when I picked up pace.  I nearly missed the sharp turn to the right, I stumbled when I stepped on a greasy cardboard box but managed to stay upright.  Ahead was light, revealing another cave in, but it looked like there was an opening I could squeeze through.  I wasn’t sure if this was a good idea, but standing around debating wouldn’t improve my health either.

The boulders and brick felt sturdy enough as I crammed myself between them, had to get deeper or the big fucker would drag me out.  Or rip my arm off in the process.

“Get out ‘ere!”  Chris was trying to dig me out as I crammed my body deeper.  He could topple the mound onto himself for all I cared.

As it was, I was nearly trapped in this alcove.  But with a firm shove I dislodged some rock at my feet and was able to slip down and crawl out.  It looked like the tunnel did continue down this way, but the cave in extended to that area and effectively blocked this path.

A bent door was lodged in the brick wall a few feet ahead, ripped off the lock by a force of science I didn’t wish to meet.  The plaque beside it read ‘Female drain.’  I pushed the door in and peered inside.  There wasn’t much to note, the room was small and there was no place to hide.  A shelf held a few of the paints, and a few boxes had been abandoned here.

I stepped across to the valve and braced myself before attempting to turn it.  I coughed a bit as my side tingled, but managed to get the handle to turn on my first try.  Small achievements were possible, now if I was able to get out of here.

I couldn’t hear him working to dig me out from the other side, or his heavy breathing.  He knew I was here and had no place else to go, it was likely he was camped on the other side waiting for me to emerge.  He was former military, he could afford to wait hours if necessary without losing focus.  If it came down to it, I could dodge him.  Or try, it worked but I had a sick feeling he’d remember that trick.

The rocks hadn’t shifted at all, I was able to get through with little effort.  I listened when nearly clear but picked up on nothing, only the constant drum of water running from the upper grates, and my own breathing.  The tunnel was large enough I could get around him if I timed it just right, but I didn’t care to test my reflexes against the big fuckers.  He was capable of nasty surprises, and the drain gutter was slick and unreliable.

I moved from the narrow space and took in a deep breath, then began to walk along the side of the drainage gutter where the water rolled down.  It was impossible to eliminate my movement completely, but I would hear him before he heard me.  I raised the camera for the night vision, but the power was getting low.  I paused on the corner checking for the clear before I pulled out the dead battery and put in a fresh one.

The sound of churning water caught up to me.  I didn’t pause as I quickly felt for the slot, and put in the battery before I turned to make a slow retreat.  There wouldn’t be time to crawl in the gap, especially once I hit the light.  I’d need to fake him out.  For a moment I thought I had gained some distance, the sound of his steps quieted.

Then I heard the rapid approach of chains.  “Little pig….”

I sprint the last stretch to my safety, but never made it.  A strangled yelp slipped from me as the back of my collar was snared, I clutched the camera to my stomach as he lifted me off my feet and flung me to the side of the channels drain. 

“Just lay there.”  He stepped over me as I was trying to recover.  Had to keep the camera out of the water, without it I was as good as dead!  I kicked at the slick bricks, I was dead anyway if he got his hands around my throat.  When I twisted my head to see where I was going, I spotted a missed tunnel that had a shattered grate.  A space Chris couldn’t fit.

I kicked at his ankles, throwing myself through the open passage.  Chris was still struggling to grip my shoes as I clambered inside thrashing in the shallow water until I was nearly soaked, but always making sure I was holding the camera away from the water.  I didn’t stop there, I flipped over and kept going when I saw that the other side was open as well.

With a roar of outrage, Chris stalked off, to head me off.  He had speed, I was severely limited as I struggled to move without knocking myself unconscious.

I cleared the other side and lunged to my feet, as I heard the water torn apart by his strides not far from my right.  I hurtled over the dam and ran, relying completely on the effectiveness of the pipes and the factor that they had finished draining.

“Outer perimeter breached!”  A crate flew by my head and shattered on the wall, I didn’t hesitate in my race.  Couldn’t dwell on the effectiveness of his aim either, I just needed to reach that ladder.  I shoved the camera into its hoister and practically dove down the ladder as the big fucker caught up to me.  “Don’t you hear it?”

I glanced up at his fuck grated face, in time to cringe against the ladder when he dropped a crate.  It crashed against the sides splinting in two, a piece hitting my shoulder but I barely felt it.  I continued down the ladder two and three steps, until I hit the bottom and stumbled away blindly in the dark.

Another crate fell smashing against the floor, the reverberation so close and sudden I felt my head spin.  I couldn’t see it until I had the NV active and took the time to give the soggy corridor a quick glance.  From the ladder I could still hear Chris, snarling at my escape.  I’m not sure why he didn’t pursue me, it didn’t seem impossible.  I gave up and accept these matters, and struggled to understand where I was now.

I took a few breathes, wincing at the stale sewage and raw metallic scent.  Not far from where I stood was another body of a patient, grotesquely bloated from being in the water for so long.  My stomach turned at the soured reek disturbed by the drainage.  This place just got better and better.

The heavy sounds of fresh drainage and falling water was tripled here.  In the pipes hung algae or liquefied rubbish, I couldn’t discern.  I only avoided it as I renewed my search, though it didn’t matter at this point, I was thoroughly soaked from my fall.  I suppose the red stains in my coat had either diluted or washed out completely, and yet I was more of a mess than before.  No surprise.

My path was literally straight forward, but I took it slow.  I could easily get turned around or something might’ve crawled down here.  I doubted it, as everything in here seemed to be in the advance stages of rot from the recent flood, but this place was full of unpleasant surprises that made you regret letting your guard down.

Much of them didn’t make any sense either.  I mulled over the thought of what this place might’ve been like if they didn’t use an asylum and crazy people for the experiments.

I took note of a thick pipe overhead which followed the same route open to me.  It didn’t have access through walls that had the small grated tunnels, but it gave me a direction.  I followed it around a sharp corner, and above was another bloated body, the skin around his bare arms slipping off his skeleton, without the water to cushion the buoyancy.  I made sure not to step directly under him, as I continued through the sewer.  A few crates bobbed in the water as I moved by, a few were marked with Murkoff’s faded logo.

More left over plywood, maybe used to board up areas down here where the scientist made their last stand.  Maybe a few of them came down here to shelter from the patients, but as of yet I had seen no evidence of this.  The wood gave me little trouble, stiff but soggy from its prolonged aquatic existence.  Above the pipe made a sharp turn and ended its path at a connecting pipe parallel with the wall.  I retreated as a sharp blast of hot steam shot out.  Damn pipes were now against me.

I skipped over another broken barrier of wood and boxes scattered in the drainage gutter, before finally coming to a ladder, and my escape.  Given, the big fucker hadn’t beaten me here somehow and was waiting above for me to poke my head out of the warren.  At least there was light above.

As I made my gradual progress up the tall ladder, I occasionally glanced up to my destination.  I tried to keep my steps soft, but someone had heard me.  They popped their head over the opening from above, curious to who was coming up.

I stopped debating what that might’ve been.  Too normal to be Chris Walker, but all patients were insane murders at this point.  A little slower I renewed my climb, unable to hear what the variant above might be planning.  It was likely he couldn’t see anyone down in the dark depths, but he did hear me.  He knew someone was coming.

I tightened my grip on the bars when I peered just over the edge, checking around as much as I could for the person.  I was relieved to find myself alone, but I thought I heard voices echoing in the distance.  Set to ease but still wary I climbed up onto the grate and kept low, I was certain they coming from somewhere….

“No.  I can hear it!”  There was a large grate in a tunnel to my left, that the voices echoed down.  Did they mean me? 

“Somebody—” 

“The Walrider!”  Guess not.  I pulled myself up a little more as shrieks splint the calm, I hung back as a sound came to me similar to crashing water, and a low rumbling.  Not rumbling, was it trickling?  Or a hissing, as something caught in the air and lashed out.  I winced as the howls began.

The voices intensified, as people somewhere shrieked with wild release.  I couldn’t place what I was hearing, a lifting swell of agony and terror as the multitude came to a crescendo, cracks and tears of bone and flesh and crushed windpipes catching voices midway through their final throes.  Somewhere, not far from where I was, people were slaughtered by something they had warned me about.

It couldn’t be.  The Walrider was a myth, it couldn’t exist.

Eventually the anguished cries fell silent, as did the sounds of what had enacted its punishment.

[selfcallednowhere]

March 1, 2018 Solana Beach, CA

When they came out, Flans was using both hands to high five a bunch of people in the front.

Then John said "How the devil is everybody?" I always think it's so cute when he uses old-fashioned expressions like that. Then Flans said that this is the ninth time they've played this club and they really love it. Then he said that they have both new songs and old songs, including songs that are "so old they were written before we were born, by us! Music from beyond the grave! Call the cops!" (John said the "written before we were born, by us" thing at one of the Texas shows--I'm not sure which of them actually made it up.) Then he said that just before the show they'd had some really good strong coffee on the bus.

They opened the show with "I Left My Body," which is I think a good opener since it's basically the single from the album. John sang "Dr. Bronner's soap" instead of "bat-repellant soap," which he didn't do the first couple of times I saw them do the song (before the album was out) but ended up being one of those "live lyrical variations that are so frequent they become pretty much expected" somewhere along the course of the tour.

Next they played "Damn Good Times" (so fun, as always). This was when Flans mentioned the massive shark suspended from the venue's ceiling--in the middle of the song he said, "I'm sorry, I'm distracted by the gigantic shark. I feel like wherever I go on the stage it's looking at me."

Next they played "Why Does the Sun Shine?" I like that they're doing it with Flans signing and John doing the spoken parts right now, just cos John will be so adorably silly during his parts. This time he said that a million Earths could fit inside the sun "and be burned to death," and that the heat and light of the sun was caused by the nuclear reaction between "Paul Manafort, Hope Hicks, Steve Bannon (also known as Hulk), and Jared Kushner."

After the song was over Flans started riffing on John listing all the Trump-related people. He said that they were just giving facts and not being controversial. Then he said he was trying to think of "the guy who seems too dumb to be a spy." Someone yelled that he meant Gates. "No, not Gates, Gates is smart. He's a millionaire. The guy who looks like a worm...Carter Page. He's the Kato Kaelin of our time." Then he said we should send our emails about what he was saying to the shark.

Then they started talking about I Like Fun. Flans said, "It's better than it has to be," and John said, "It's really good, but it's also overrated." Flans said that when you have to start working on your 20th album it's "oh fuck o'clock." Then they talked about how they're jut now selling copies of it on vinyl, and it "turns any home into a showplace" and you can show it off to impress your friends.

JL: Unless your friend is a record collector. Then they'd be like, "That's just a record." JF: "You have one record, I have three."

Next they played "Mrs. Bluebeard." John fucked up the lyrics all three times I saw it in Texas, but since he'd had a whole month since then to learn it I thought he'd have it down by now. But NOPE. He totally fucked it up again, including singing one line that was completely unintelligible. Come onnnnnnnnnnnn, John!

Next they played "Your Racist Friend." I'm not really too keen on this song, but Curt is back with them again now and so I enjoy it, because the one part I love is the trumpet party-break part--particularly exciting to witness at times when it's Curt's first appearance in the show and lots of people (presumably quite a few of whom had no idea they were even touring with a trumpet player) just squeal with joy.

After that they played "The Statue Got Me High," one of my absolute all-time favorite songs and this being only the fourth time I'd seen it, but I'm sorry to say I really couldn't get myself to properly enjoy it because I was too busy being extremely upset about it being played on keyboard rather than accordion siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh.

After that Flans was introducing the band. He said that Dan Miller had been Tabitha on Bewitched.

After that John got out the contra-alto clarinet. Flans said that he knew we were all using our phones to do a Google image search for "oversized paperclip," but that that wasn't what this was--it was actually a piece of drywall equipment. John said that you can get them at Home Depot, and Flans started listening the other stuff you have to go by to get to them, and John said that you'll find an aisle that says contra-alto clarinets.

So then they played "All Time What." This is probably my second-fav Flansong on the album and it's really fun live, so I'm glad it's one of the new ones they're doing consistently.

After that Flans said that was the contra-alto clarinet and it was "not affiliated with other contra groups."

Then John said that he'd just noticed there are people to the side on the right of the stage too, which he thinks he's noticed times they've played here before but then he always forgets. He said that "they have us surrounded" and it was intimidating, then that there were bleachers behind the wall on the back of the stage too. Flans said that it was like the movie Inception "only even more confusing," and that he stopped being able to understand that movie very quickly. John said, "I was one of the people asleep having a dream."

After that they played "Bangs," and then the song that was the biggest surprise of the night for me: "Hearing Aid." Normally I can recognize songs immediately, but for some reason it took me a minute with this one, and when I realized what it was I was like, "Wait, seriously??" I don't think I've ever seen that song outside of the couple of Flood shows I've been to.

After that Flans said they wanted everybody to take lots of pictures, and he said that there's a filter we should all use that will make him look thinner (awww Flansy).

Then he held up three fingers and said that they're playing two sets, and that the third finger he was holding up was to remind himself to tell us that they're playing two sets. "The second set is all blues jams. No, it's all hits, other people's. We're turning into a really strange version of a cover band." Someone yelled out "Frankenstein," which led to The Johns discussing whether that song was in fact a hit or not--Flans said he thought it was, that it was the last instrumental to chart at #1.

Then John said that they had a new lighting guy, it was only his third day, and he was "crushing it." They discussed the sort of people who use that expression, and John said it was different for him cos he was "using it in quotes." Meanwhile, I was thinking that the lighting guy was definitely not "crushing it"--I thought the lighting setup was completely awful, first of all because everything was backlit, which made it impossible to get even halfway decent pictures. And besides that, the lights were blinding us half the time, and they knew that because John said something about how he'd seen a guy holding one finger up over his eye and he couldn't figure out why at first, and then he realized he was trying to have the shadow from his finger protect his eye from the lights. And I was thinking, "If your audience has to do that, shouldn't that maybe be an indication to you that the lighting setup you're using isn't very good?"

After that, Flans said that earlier that day they'd recorded an appearance on the Marc Maron podcast, and both he and they drank too much coffee, so they were all talking too fast. John said when we listen we should slow down the speed to make it sound normal.

John introduced "The Mesopotamians" by saying it was "from the album with the song 'The Mesopotamians' on it."

After that they did a back-to-back thing that was TOO MUCH: "When the Lights Come On" into "Nothing's Gonna Change My Clothes." I LOVE LOVE LOVE both those songs and haven't seen either much, so to see them together like that, mannnnnnnnnn.

Afterwards, Flans said they were about to take the break between sets and if we want them to come back sooner we should remember that it's "National Overtip Your Bartenders Day," which is the same thing he said in Austin. He said if we do that then the bartenders will remember and suggest them if the club is looking to book a band for an entire year. He said it "works like the government."

After that they played "This Microphone," and then the song I'd most been looking forward to as far as Curt being back: "Hey, Mr. DJ, I Thought You Said We Had a Deal." I love him on all the songs he plays on, but this one particularly he adds so, so, so much to it. I did plenty of bopping around on this one!

They closed out the first set with "Particle Man," so that was the only accordion song in the whole first set, which is not ok. Before they started playing it John was doing his usual thing with telling everybody to clap on the backbeat, and "don't stop clapping, no matter how much I beg."

After the break and the "Last Wave" video, it was time for the Quiet Storm. This has been the part of the show I've been most looking forward to, both because John plays accordion for so much of it and because that's when they do "A Self Called Nowhere," my song.

They started it with "Older" like they always do. Katie, my friend I was at the show with, said later that she thought it sounded medieval with the contra-alto clarinet--I hadn't thought of it that way, but she was actually right.

After that, Flans thanked us for coming to the show, and then said that "we want to thank those other guys for opening for us." Then he informed us again that the instrument John was playing was the contra-alto clarinet, which had been "stolen from a high school marching band."

They played "I Like Fun," and then Flans started introducing "Tippecanoe and Tyler Too." He said that we might remember that phrase from "just before you passed out in 8th grade history class." He said that it's from the next song, which is an old campaign song. "This is the song that was being played when your 11th-great-grandfather was being punched in the nose. But we like to do it our way, with no punching in the nose."

Then John informed us that we would now be moving from that song (1840), into the future, all the way to 1844, and that in the future there are "tin-foil beards and flying buggy whips." Flans added that in the future there are also "driverless beards." John then said that the next song was supposed to be completely neutral, like an encyclopedia article, and it didn't let on their true feelings about the person the song was about, which was that "he was a dick."

So then some idiot who apparently doesn't know anything about their songs yelled "HARRISON WAS A DICK."

JL: No, not Harrison. I'm talking about Polk. I mean, Harrison could have been a dick. I don't know. JF: If he weren't a dick he wouldn't have died in two months. JL: Sure, Harrison was a dick. I'll give you that. JF: If he had been a patriot.

So then after the expected "James K. Polk" they played "The Famous Polka." When they started it I wasn't sure how well it was gonna work in this stripped-down setup cos it's such a high-energy song, but I actually really liked it.

After that Flans asked Marty to play something that would "put us in a Phil Collins k-hole." So Marty played something on his electronic drums and then Flans said there's something great about hearing the best part of a song over and over, and then said "while my DJ revolves it" over and over a bunch of times.

After that Flans said that the next song they played would be from 1848, and would be about Zachary Taylor. Then they did a little improv song about him--the part John sang was "Zachary Taylor/He's not Norman Mailer/That's a reference I don't get myself" and then Flans's part was "Zachary Taylor has a tail." Flans said they'll have finished the song by the end of the tour, and that he thinks they can license it to a car company. Then John said that he thought Zachary Taylor was not a dick and if you look at the Mexican War he's one of the "less aggressive assholes." Then he said, "Dig him up. Who's got a shovel?"

After that they started to play MY SONG, but they had to stop--after they'd been playing for just a minute John said it was too fast, and then Flans just stopped playing and said, "I fucked it up. I was distracted by the beauty."

Then they started playing it again, and I was once again in awe of hearing this song that means so much to me live. John has been changing a few of the lyrics, and I think he's doing it intentionally cos he's doing it this way every time. Instead of "thinking of a wooden chair" it's "sitting in a wooden chair" and instead of "on the map of the spot" it's "on the back of the spot." I keep forgetting that he's doing it this way and trying to sing it how it is on the album--it's really throwing me off.

That was the end of the Quiet Storm--next they did "Istanbul," with the full band rather than still Quiet Storm duo like I'd seen it a couple of times earlier on the tour.

After that Flans started to say that they knew we had our choice of bands that do Destiny's Child covers, but then he interrupted himself to say that there were pieces of the ceiling coming off and they were "looking forward to the renovations." John said it meant that they'll always carry part of the club with them.

So then they of course did "Bills, Bills, Bills," and as per usual I became a Flansgirl for the length of the song--I usually do on songs where he sings but doesn't play anything and is just struttin' around the stage being all cool, but he gets particularly diva-y on this one and I love it.

"New York City" was next, and then Flans introduced "Birdhouse in Your Soul" by saying "All right, time for the dance contest." And it's true--there's always a lot of dancing during that song. It's one of the reasons I love it so much live--there's just so much energy when they play it.

After that Flans was thanking us, and John said there are "two ways to be manly on stage" and demonstrated by saying "thank you" twice, first in a really gruff voice and then in a really high-pitched ones, and said that there's no other option. Flans said they were looking for "the metrosexual thank you" that's in the middle, but then he said if it's too in the middle it doesn't sound convincing. Then he said that instead of saying "thank you" when people applaud they could say "you're welcome." John: "Hi, we're The Douchebags. We'll be here every Tuesday."

Flans introduced "Wicked Little Critta" by saying it's "just like all our other songs, but it's super-fucked up."

After that Flans was going back to the thank you/you're welcome thing, and then talking about waitstaff at restaurants asking "Are you all done here or are you still working on it?" He said he doesn't like it when they say that because he doesn't want eating to be described as "work." Then he went back to the weird joke about Dan Miller being Tabitha on Bewitched, and said that when they switched between the two Darrens "the whole casting department was scrambling." He said you can only see Dan from the back, but if you look at the credits you'll see him listed. Then John played something on his keyboard that sounded like the sound effect when Samantha twitched her nose to do something magical on the show.

After that John said that in addition to "thank you" and "you're welcome" the other option was "please." Flans said that would actually work, cos it would be like you're begging the audience to stop applauding cos they're flattering you too much, and he made us applaud so he could demonstrate.

After "Number Three" (lots of fun but mysteriously placed not third in the set, as always), Flans said that he thinks at the show in LA tomorrow they'd most appreciate "you're welcome." Then John said that now instead of "you're welcome" everyone says "no worries."

After "Twisting" (one of my absolute fav Flansongs to see live, so I'm really glad it's currently in the set), and then "Man, It's So Loud in Here," they closed out the main set with "The Guitar." Another one of my absolute fav live Flansongs, and this was a particularly good version--there was a mirrorball being deployed for some of it which was great, John was hopping which is THE CUTEST, Flans said "And you don't stop," which I always really love, and Curt was an exciting addition to the Future of Sound segment.

When they came back for the first encore, everyone was applauding and Flans was saying "please."

JL: You're welcome, John Flansburgh. You are welcome. JF: I'm still working on it. JL: They say that with manners creativity is not rewarded.

The first encore was KILLER. It was the second time in the show they played two songs I adore back-to-back. First they played "Dead," which had more cool mirrorball effects.

And then next was "Don't Let's Start," YES YES YES. I was rocking out so hard. I couldn't help also thinking it was rather funny to be in a room full of other people rocking out really hard, quite a few of whom were, like me, singing along enthusiastically and ecstatically to lyrics like "Everybody dies frustrated and sad and that is beautiful." Probably if one were to try to explain to a non-fan exactly how joyous such an experience could be they would be baffled, but within the context of a TMBG show it made perfect sense.

The second encore was "Doctor Worm"--always still fun in spite of the millions of times I've seen it, but also in this case I was just thrilled to see some more accordion, as there was way too little of it during the show.

Really great set for this show! Final obligatory comments regarding John's appearance: He was wearing a pink t-shirt with white pinstripes. He's seriously been doing practically nothing but stripey shirts this year. He's always really loved them, but he's seemingly gotten even more into them than he already was this year. He also got a really stupid haircut in between when when they ended the first leg of the tour and this leg. Needless to say I was quite upset about this as his hair is such a huge part of his attractiveness for me, but whatever, such things must be dealt with.

[fromthedeskofelizabeththird]

Bone China

So, @bat-yo-us​ submitted this ages ago, but I hit writer’s block with it, since (imo) there’s no way Jumin would touch Rika with a barge pole, let alone his ween, after learning what she did to V. So this is what came out of that. MC is the idiot, not him dfgfdfgd 

No I am not over That After End. Yes this is a vent fic :’)

Jumin x MC | Mystic Messenger | Warning: contains depictions of bodily harm and dead bodies | No smut, just pain

~*~

When he thought of MC, many things came to mind.

Jumin recalled her sense of humour; her ability to laugh out loud at even the most minor of things. A single phrase in a magazine had her in stitches, a cat video on the internet left her shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

He remembered her hair too; a shade that glimmered radiantly in the morning sun. Sometimes he laid beside her, watching as it went from one equally beautiful shade to the next. She used a shampoo that smelled sweeter than his and left perfume behind on her pillow. When she wasn’t there, his head would find it, enveloping himself in her scent where he could not her.

He remembered her favourite wine, her favourite shoes. He remembered the way she positioned her phone in the crook of her neck as she prepared breakfast or buttoned her shirt.

He knew her better than anyone and there was still so much he had left to discover. He did not know her inside out, did not know her completely. She indulged his curiosities with a smile, never questioning the more obscure examples. When he thought of her, it was her patience that often came to mind, explaining her opinion on things he did not understand.

He wanted her face to be the last thing he saw; her hair to be the last scent he ever knew.

It seemed a cruel irony that she should be gone so soon. That two words could erase her so completely.

“No survivors.”

In that moment, he fell cold, her voice a distant memory and her scent on the pillow rapidly fading. The more he cast his mind back to her, the more difficult it was to remember her as she was. He still had her clothes but could not imagine her in them.

In almost every sense, she was replaced by other things; fire and ashes and mysterious castles belonging to ghosts. Her name on his lips felt more foreign than “Mint Eye”, the sympathetic tones of medical practitioners all over the country at his pathetic attempts to describe her.

He did not know how to explain her, could not try and contain her in something as primitive as words. The doctors, increasingly apologetic, had never known her as he had. Within weeks he visited every Jane Doe in the county only to find that not one of them had her smile. Many of them did not recognise him at all.

His friends and family reminded him of the same thing: that he had a good deal to remember her by and she had loved him dearly when she loved him at all. He could not accept their kindness however; could not see beyond ashes and the graves left behind. Wherever she was, he could not go.

‘No survivors’ lingered at the back of his mind and imagination, far more so than any of her jokes.

Sometimes he hated her for going somewhere he could never follow. She had kissed him so sweetly the last time he ever saw her and it filled him a rage that he could not explain. If it was to be their last kiss, why had she never warned him? Why hadn’t she told him to hold her tighter, to bury himself in her body and take all of her in?

In the end, he hated himself most of all. So many things came to mind when he recalled her, yet he could not grasp a single one in detail. She was the one who left, but he was the one who forgot.

A sad irony, for that singular detail haunted him far more than any aspect of her.

~*~

One year ago

“Don’t you think this is a little...excessive?”

MC paused from icing the cupcakes in front of her, a hint of rose coloured frosting on her cheek. Despite his criticisms, Jumin couldn’t help but smile and reach to brush it off.

“This class is going to be hard for them,” she said, “I want everything to be just right.”

MC was almost too kind, an obvious fact even to people who didn’t see her as often as he did. She was the type to apologize when other people walked into her; to hand over the last slice of cake or offer up her jacket. She put her heart and soul into helping the RFA even before she knew them well. She had researched charity after charity for the party and convinced everyone to attend, likely because her sincerity practically bled through each of her emails. Jumin had no doubts that if he had not so openly expressed his disgust with Sarah and Glam Choi, MC would have shrugged off any hope of pursuing him.

She felt too much and couldn’t bring herself to hate anyone-a fact that had become only too apparent in recent weeks. Rika and her other acolytes had finally gone to trial, having spent the best part of three months in varying stages of recovery. The Mint Eye catastrophe had proven to be so widespread and deliberately vague even to its followers that individual charges ranged from fines to several years in jail. Rika herself was jailed for life, with other high profile members serving twenty year sentences. Many acolytes had suffered such extensive damage to body and mind that they were sent to recover in psychiatric wings instead of jail, which was the reason for MC’s sudden burst of inspiration. She was determined to help the victims make a full recovery and have all of the support they needed to make a successful return to society.

How exactly that correlated to cupcakes, Jumin wasn’t sure, only that she had insisted on attending one of their group meetings. He wondered if anyone present would guess or even believe she had baked and iced them all herself. Likely not, but recognition-as she frequently repeated-wasn’t her ultimate goal

“I was thinking the other day,” she said, examining her handiwork, “how long it must have been since any of them met. They spent so much time in the castle, at meetings and prayer...meeting again like this will be difficult, but it’s the right thing to do. No one understands their experiences more than they do…”

She reached for her cake tin with a weak smile.

“I can’t understand them or take away their suffering, but at least I can give them something sweet to look forward to.”

Jumin sighed, both in awe and exhausted by the kindness of his wife; the love in her heart that he hoped would never be stolen.

“Just...be careful.”

~*~

Nine months ago

“I want to see Rika.”

Jumin paused, wineglass millimetres from his lips.

He had taken MC to dinner at one of his favourite restaurants, having noticed a shift in her mood, which he almost automatically attributed it to her frequent visits to the support group. Hearing the extent of Mint Eye’s activities and intentions had not been easy on her and she had poked and prodded at her steak since its arrival in front of her.

He had had a number of guesses as to what she was thinking, but the words she actually blurted out were the last he might have guessed.

He didn’t know how to respond and lowered his glass to the table, ultimately making the most obvious observation.

“Rika is in jail.”

“I know.”

“A high security jail.”

“I know.”

She set aside her fork and reached for his hand across the table, stroking her thumb against his almost automatically.

He knew what she was going to ask and the answer he was obliged to give. His family were influential, but not above the law.

“No.”

“But, Jumin…”

“I’m sorry,” he said, reaching for his wine. “I can’t.”

“Can’t... or won’t?”

~*~

Seven Months Ago

Things were different between them after that.

MC still hummed as she baked; still curled her hair and put on smart dresses when she visited the recovery group. She still chatted to him and laughed, though in an increasingly halfhearted fashion. They had once been perfect, but now their relationship was a broken vase-immaculate from a distance, but irreparably cracked close up.

She spent more time than usual at the support group, leaving at the same time that he departed for work and returning much later. She rarely took cupcakes or food anymore, instead packing notebooks and drawing paper.

He wondered what on earth was going on at the group meetings that kept her away from the house for so long. Whatever it was, it left dark circles under her eyes.

He discovered the truth by accident-a phone call he almost talked himself out of making. MC was late home and he had organised a chef for dinner. He dialed MC’s cell phone and sent multiple texts, though received nothing in response. After much consideration, he dialed the number of the community hall, only to end up with far more questions than answers.

The leader of the support group was perplexed by the very idea that MC might be there, as she had not attended any of its meetings for well over a month. Jumin apologized several times before hanging up the phone, dismissing it as a miscommunication when he knew for a fact it was anything but.

Several months ago he might have been concerned at the prospect of infidelity, but this was arguably worse. For the first time in over a year he couldn’t decide on a logical plan of action. Surely it was all a misunderstanding and MC’s lies were perfectly innocent. Perhaps she had not meant to deceive him at all and would soon come forward with a reasonable explanation.

He watched every time she applied her lipstick; every time she packed up her purse ready for the support group and went so far as to invent activities she had taken part in. He watched and waited, ready for her to speak up and prove her innocence.

She never did, though, and he rubbed off the lipstick smears she left on his cheeks as if they were unwelcome layers of paint.

~*~

Five Months Ago

“MC, you’re being illogical!”

He should have seen it coming.

No.

He did see it coming and refused to believe it.

Barely a year into her prison sentence, Rika’s sentence came under appeal.

He had read the newspaper with shaking hands, dialing and redialing V’s home number with little luck. With any luck he would still be enough of a recluse that the news had escaped his attention. He never answered, though, and Jumin buried his face in his hands every time he got through to voicemail.

MC stayed quiet about the revelation, mumbling her goodbyes as she returned to group meetings. Jumin pretended he didn’t know that those group meetings didn’t exist.

Their final confrontation was an accident in the end. He had spent the day on the phone to his lawyer, who was more than a little skeptical of the prosecution’s chances in court. They had a new eyewitness and testimony that had never been there before.

He knew it was MC without asking and spent the rest of the evening helping himself to glass after glass of wine. He was almost certainly drunk when MC returned home and knew that he should retire to bed before saying anything he would regret. The alcohol overrode his reason, though, and he smiled weakly as she hung up her coat.

“How was the support group?”

“Busy,” she sighed, crossing the room and planting a kiss on his cheek. “We went to a recruitment drive and-“

She paused at the realisation that he shrank away from her lips, too repulsed by the knowledge that she was lying to him to accept any ounce of affection. Perhaps her kisses were lies too.

“MC,” he said, rubbing his temples, “I know...about the support group.”

“What do you mean?”

She couldn't hide the alarm in her voice and that only made it worse. Had she believed him to be so naive and out of touch with the world that he wouldn’t notice the court case?

The idea left a bitter taste in his mouth. He had believed her, after all, for longer than he cared to admit. She was a kind, gracious person who he had trusted to be honest and speak out for the unfortunate, but her naive heart was clearly a weakness too. No one with a rational mind would speak out for a cult leader. Only innocent fools would read the long list of Rika’s crimes and conclude she did not deserve to be punished.

For the first time he saw MC for the fool she truly was.

“I spoke to them. You haven’t gone to the support group for quite some time.”

MC chewed at her bottom lip; facade slowly slipping. In the end she gave a heavy sigh.

“She was wrongfully jailed,” she said, without bothering to say who. “You know it just as well as I do.”

“MC,” he said.

“No! She suffered a terrible sickness and trauma! She needs help and sympathy, not years behind b-“

He got out of his chair to set aside his wine, wishing that he couldn't hear...that he could just close his eyes and go to bed and erase the betrayal. MC followed him and reached for his arm.

“Jumin,” she said, “please…”

She wasn’t crying but he could hear it in her voice- the same way she got choked up over advertising campaigns that featured emaciated children.

“Please…”

He dragged his arm from hers and she stumbled, eyes wide at the gesture. They had never argued before, never disagreed. He had always accepted her kisses and touches, and he could see the growing horror in her eyes at the realization that their relationship was shattering around them.

“MC,” he said, “you’re being illogical!”

“But-“

“No! How can you claim to advocate and support people with traumas and illness while absolving a person like that of any blame? How could you sit in those support meetings and not see the impact of her actions? Aren’t her victims just as tortured as she claims to be?”

“Jumin…I heard about her past...she wasn’t always like this. There was a priest and-“

“Her victims were not always like this either. Do you mean to forgive this priest too? Are they beyond judgement?”

“Ju-“

“Don’t you agree that if the priest had faced judgement, things might have been different now?”

She bit her bottom lip, eyes welling with tears.

“Jumin, she wasn’t in a position to...no one believed her!”

“Answer the question.”

“Well, no.”

“Why not? What if he showed up here now and told you his father beat him? Would you forgive him then?”

“That’s different! She-she couldn’t help herself! Why can’t you understand?”

Jumin shook his head and walked towards the bedroom, meaning to end the conversation there and then.

“You loved her once,” MC whispered, “don’t pretend you didn’t. Why can’t you show her any compassion now?”

He sighed and turned to her, chest tight and hands clenched into fists.

“She lost the right to any kindness from me when she blinded my friend.”

“J-“

“When she lied to the entire RFA, who trusted her so deeply.”

“But-“

“When she preyed on the vulnerable and weak.”

MC shook her head, a bitter smile crossing her face.

“You really are cold, after all.”

“Perhaps,” he said, keeping a level tone to hide how much her observation stung, “but I am also the acting head of the RFA and it falls to me to protect its members. I cannot stop you from pursuing this or showing her mercy, but if you do so I’ll have no choice but to view you as a potential threat to our organisation.”

She blinked in surprise.

“A threat? Me? Jumin-“

“You have a choice now,” he said. “You can protect Rika or the RFA, but not both.”

He smiled sadly, recalling MC’s good heart and willing her to choose correctly.

“Choose soon.”

~*~

Present day

“This way, Mr Han.”

The coroner’s assistant led him into a dimly lit room and reached over the autopsy table.

No survivors.

He had heard it clearly, yet it didn’t feel real.

“When you’re ready.” 

He gave them a swift nod, sucking in a deep breath when they reached for the sheet.

Since her disappearance many months earlier, he had visited every hospital and left no corner of the city unturned. He missed her laugh and gentle touches and refused to allow that argument to be their last. She might still see sense if he phrased things properly; he had to believe she wasn’t so good and innocent that she would willingly put herself in danger.

He had to believe that she would choose him at the end of it all.

It took an explosion to uncover her and a second castle. It belonged to a previously disbanded cult, built alongside the first as a contingency plan. The acolytes there were more desperate than the others and lined the grounds of their home with explosives. Their leader did not hesitate to have them pull the trigger to hide her sins, regardless of who or what remained inside. She held onto her convictions even at the end of everything.

No survivors.

They returned to that fact far more than any others.

Everyone, from media outlets to police officers, called the explosion a tragedy but Jumin knew otherwise. He had seen it coming the moment Rika’s bright smile graced his television screen as she thanked her lawyer and the courts for allowing true justice to prevail. 

The lawyer’s body was one of the first they found, identifiable only by his fillings. They found Rika’s body in bed, unscathed by the explosion and dosed on poison.

None of the story so far had shocked him, from the mangled remains of acolytes to the rubble at the scene. Even now, as he stood before the final body, he knew exactly what he was going to find. They had found this one in the same room as the Saviour, untouched by fire. She had not died from smoke inhalation or burns, but hands at her throat. 

This body was far more intact than any of the others, which if anything was worse. She appeared to be smiling in her sleep, hair shorn by a clumsy set of scissors and only bruises at her throat to prove otherwise. There was a smudge of blue on her cheek in just the same position she once had frosting.

“Sir?”

The assistant had taken note of his contemplation.

Jumin took in the body’s collarbones; far more pronounced than when he had draped necklaces over them. MC certainly hadn’t been eating as well as before. There had surely been no one to take her to dinner.

She was not MC anymore but a broken doll, as lifeless and transformed as a china vase reassembled in the wrong order. If he listened closely, he could still hear the shatter; could see the cracks in her ghostly skin.

He looked up at the coroner, the silence of the room deafening on his senses.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know them.”

[sunyoonandstars]

⊱ 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓎𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ⊱⊣∷∷∷∷∷⊢⊰ 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ⊰

❤︎ You x cheating idol! boyfriend Namjoon ⁇

❤︎ You x idol! best friend Jimin ⁇

word count 4.301

angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝟤 || 𝓊𝓅 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒶𝓌𝒶𝓎

You refuse to believe your own eyes when you open them to be faced with a set of painfully familiar features.

With your expression frozen in a flash of sheer shock, you push further back into the mountain of pillows you have been resting on.

No. It can’t be him. He can’t be here.

"You slept for quite some time, y/n, considering that it’s virtually the middle of the day and you usually think of sleep as being overrated," Namjoon says, smiling fondly.

How dare he!? How dare he smile at you as if nothing happened?

"What – What are you doing here?“ you force the first question from your lips that comes to mind, not even making an effort to hide the hostility in your voice. Surprised by your apparent enmity, Namjoon leans back into his chair to get a better look at you, his eyes showing genuine confusion. But not a hint of guilt.

"Well, Jimin called me after you’d fallen asleep. He told me what happened, that you had a breakdown of sorts, so I obviously came here right away. What happened, y/nnie?" He pauses, waiting for your reaction. "Jimin sounded really worried on the phone, and he thought I should talk to you, that maybe I could find out what has gotten into you. And don’t worry, baby, whatever it is, you can tell me, and we will work it out. You know I'm always here for you. So, what happened, hmm? What’s up?"

Is that genuine concern creasing Namjoon's forehead, twisting his brows? No, it can’t be. He can't possibly be that clueless, that ignorant.

Now, however, Namjoon slowly reaches out to take hold of your hand, his bewildered gaze shooting up to meet yours when you shy away from his touch.

"Y/n? What is it, baby? What the hell happened to you? Did someone hurt you?"

At this point, you can feel the tears welling up again, hot, stinging your eyes like acid. But you mustn't let him see them. Mustn't show how hurt you truly are.  

"How could you, Kim Namjoon?" you eventually blurt out the words that had been burning on the tip of your tongue ever since you walked in on him kissing another woman. "How could you do this to me, to us? I thought we were the real deal, or that we were at least honest with each other."

Suddenly, his concern gives way to knowing guilt, overcasting his gentle features like the cool, dark shadow of an incoming storm cloud.

"Y/n – I – How —? When –? Were you —? Wait! That was you at the door!? I had a feeling there was someone there!" Inhaling sharply through gritted teeth, Namjoon runs a hand over his face, the other one clenched to a fist, repeatedly punching into your mattress. "Shit, shit, shit! Fuck, y/n! You weren’t — It wasn’t — “

"Yeah, sure, it wasn’t what it looked like, right!?" you scoff, a shockingly cold laugh escaping the deep of your throat while you disentangle yourself from the sheets, fighting your way out of bed and away from him as quickly as humanly possible.

"Y/n, I'm sorry. It wasn't supposed to be like that."

"So, I wasn't supposed to find out, huh? How long were you planning on hiding this from me? On cheating on me, banging another woman behind my back? In the fucking chair I gave you for our fucking anniversary, huh? How long has this been going on? Oh, wait. Don't tell me. I really don't wanna know."

"That's not what I meant, y/n!"

He leaps after you, trying to grab your hand, but you swiftly move out of reach.

"You know what, Kim Namjoon!?“ you try hard to keep your voice down, afraid to disturb the neighbors and almost certain that Jimin is still sitting in the living room next door, waiting for you to wake up, probably worried out of his mind. The last thing you want is for him to hear this.

"I bet you my entire savings and the roof above my head that it was exactly what it looked like, Namjoon! And don’t you dare tell me otherwise! Don’t take me for a fool. You know I’m not stupid. I’m sure of what I saw. There’s just no way I could’ve been mistaken. And it was pretty evident you were enjoying it, too, so don’t play the innocence card. That woman didn’t just throw herself at you, you seemed to be perfectly fine, even content with what was going on there! And I'm pretty sure it wasn't your first time, either.“

His jaw clenched, Namjoon only stares at you, a wide range of emotions flooding the dark brown eyes you once loved. Still love. A fact that makes it so much harder for you to take off the bracelet he had given to you more than two years ago on the day following the first night you’d spent sharing one bed, the first time you’d slept together, as a gift to show his absolute commitment. A silver chain with a pendant in the form of a heart-shaped padlock, meant to symbolize your being his and his only from that day onwards.

Not anymore, though. Now, this piece of jewelry is meaningless, nothing but junk, you remind yourself as you throw it onto your bed where it lands right in front of Namjoon.

"Y/n, I’m so, so sorry. I mean it! I really do!" he finally speaks up again, staying perfectly still, however, Namjoon’s voice surprisingly low and steady, overflowing with the same pain apparent in his countenance. "I know I can never undo what happened. But, just hear me out, please. Whatever happened today in my studio, it was meaningless. Absolutely insignificant. I don’t have real feelings for Seohyeon. None at all. Not like those I have for you. Please, believe me, y/n. I still love you. Deeply. And I mean it from the bottom of my soul when I say I’m so very, truly sorry, y/n. Please, believe me. I beg you. Give me another chance. Just one more. To make it right, to make everything right."

You grapple with the tears desperately yearning to make their way out into the open, not willing to let the man who recklessly threw away your shared future get a single glimpse of the actual depth of your hurt.

"I have witnessed this same scene often enough in movies, Namjoon. All those cheaters recite the same, empty phrases, and you’re no better than any one of those shallow characters. I don’t want your apologies. I don’t need them. They won’t fix anything. We’re done. Done, alright? No second chances. No more fighting. No more dragging this out. I guess I should have seen this coming, but I didn't want to. I was in denial for the longest time. Not anymore. This relationship was over long before I walked in on you two."

With his eyes closed, Namjoon slowly shakes his head, beginning to make his way around the bed towards you.

"No!“ you shout out immediately. "Don’t you come near me! Don’t you even think about touching me!“

Horrified by your strong reaction, Namjoon halts, remaining frozen in place, his mouth agape with words unspoken.

"Is Jimin still there?" you ask.

Namjoon merely nods, his eyes ruefully cast down.

"He's in the kitchen."

Without another word, you grab your purse and the next best clothes from a chair by the end of your bed and rush past Namjoon towards the kitchen.

Startled at your sudden appearance in the doorframe, Jimin drops the pen he was fiddling with and looks up at you questioningly.

"Y/n. You’re up.“

"You don't need to pretend you didn't hear us, Jimin," you retort, your tone more strident than you had intended. „Sorry, I didn’t mean to –“

“It’s all right, y/n,“ Jimin cuts you off, averting his eyes as you change from your pajamas into a comfortable shirt right in front of him, not even bothering to turn around.

Even though he pretends to be busy scribbling on the notepad before him, cheeks turning a light pink as he gets a glimpse of your almost bare chest out of the corner of his eye, the apprehensive looks you repeatedly throw back over your shoulder towards your bedroom, don’t go unnoticed by Jimin.

"Y/n, what is it? What happened in there? What did you fight about?"

“I – I can’t talk about it right now," you state while buttoning your jeans, too tired to make up excuses. To Jimin, though, you can never lie either way. Somehow, he has this kind of effect on you. And you're glad he does. It feels good, not having to hide anything.

As soon as you’re fully dressed, you take Jimin’s hand into yours, pulling him towards the exit without further explanation.

"Let’s go, Jimin. I have to get out of here. Now.“

Baffled but compliant, he follows you outside, having trouble keeping up with your quick pace as you hurry down the stairs.

"But, y/n, that’s your apartment. Why are you the one leaving?"

"Well, he clearly wasn’t, was he?"

"Namjoon!? Did you guys have another falling out? Is it serious this time? Did he hurt you in any way?"

You don’t bother looking back at a disconcerted Jimin but instead simply keep going, gritting your teeth to keep them from chattering with anger and unshed tears.

"Y/n, seriously, you're scaring me. Is Namjoon the reason you were in this state earlier? Did he do that to you? What did he do, anyway?“

Finally reaching the sidewalk, you let go of Jimin’s hand and turn around to face him.

"Like I said, I don’t wanna talk about it right now, okay!? You said you wouldn’t pry. So, please, at least you, keep your word. Can you do that for me?"

Jimin swallows hard, nodding his head reluctantly, his expression unusually grave, right at this moment the look of his soft features appearing more mature to you than ever.

"Thank you, Jiminie. I mean it," you speak up again, your tone much softer now, your smile apologetic. "I don’t know what I’d do, where I’d be, without you right now. Probably still losing my mind in that alley back there by the studio, or roaming around town, lost, like some mad woman. I don’t know how you do it, Park Jimin, but somehow you keep me sane. And I'm beyond grateful for that.“

He merely gives you an indulgent smile, shrugging his shapely shoulders.

"You wanna get away from here, right?" he then asks, his eyes sparkling with mischief and adventure. "I have a day off today. Since we practiced well into the early morning hours last night. So, I'm all yours. Where do you wanna go? There are no limitations."

A broad grin conquering your features, you tilt your head to the right, your teary eyes fixed on Jimin's.

"So, we really have the whole day to ourselves?"

"Affirmative," he beams.

"And we can go anywhere? Literally anywhere?"

"Yes, anywhere you want, y/n. As long as we get back here by eight o'clock tomorrow morning."

For a few seconds, you linger, your mind wandering, until it finds a distant memory that sparks a sudden outburst of joy and bittersweet nostalgia in your aching chest.  

"Do you remember our first trip together?" you wonder. And you can tell by the look on Jimin's face that he does indeed recall the half-forgotten adventure that marked the beginning of your friendship.

"All right, y/n. Let's go pay the sea a visit. I bet it missed you."

It's cold and stormy, the two of you are freezing, shivering. But neither of you mind.

Jubilating like careless children, you run across the sandy beach barefooted, jumping into the spray, allowing the icy ocean water to nip at your toes and drench your clothes, all the while holding hands, never once letting go of one another. Almost as though you were glued together, not two beings but one. One soul, one mind. You can see yourself in Jimin's eyes whenever he looks at you and can't help but wonder.

If you made the wrong choice all those years ago. If you went to the wrong man. If you missed out on what you could have had with Jimin in exchange for a fleeting fantasy, an idea of passion and romance that Namjoon planted in your subconscious but that was never quite enough, leaving you yearning for a deeper connection.

But then again, there must have been a reason, right? A reason you made the choice you did.

"What is it?" Jimin inquires when he takes note of your expression, gazing in abstraction.

"I love you, Park Jimin," the words slip from your lips before you realize it.

"I know," he merely smiles, his grip on your cold hand tightening. "We're soulmates, remember?"

"We are," you whisper, your voice being swallowed up and carried away by the salty breeze. "I guess we are."

Not allowing the mood to drop for even one second, Jimin seizes the opportunity to take advantage of your distracted state and throw a handful of ice-cold water at you, provoking a high-pitched squeal and equally merciless retaliation. Minutes later, you’re both soaked in seawater and trembling like a leaf.

"I'm hungry," Jimin remarks as he tenderly brushes sand from your brow, his hand lingering at your cheek before he quickly withdraws it, not meeting your searching glance. "Let's go have seafood barbecue."

You can't shake the feeling that the drive home takes longer than the ride to the shore as you are sat in the quiet car next to Jimin whose eyes are fixed on the road ahead of you, one hand on the steering wheel, the other one linked with yours, fingers naturally intertwined.

Breathing slowly, your eyes start wandering outside, across the fields, getting lost in the shadows cast by the dying sun that stretch farther with every minute passing as does the silence between you and Jimin. It's different now, the calm, the stillness. Another kind of silence, somehow. Deeper. More peaceful, wholesome. Although you cannot quite determine what has changed since you reached the seafront. Or if anything changed at all.

"Jimin," you start speaking, not entirely comprehending where your following words even come from and almost unaware of saying them out loud. "Let's always hold hands and never let go."

"All right," Jimin darts you a quick, fond glance, his eyes reflecting the smile that curves his full lips. "Let's never let go."  

"Good," you nod, for some reason unknown to you now blinking back tears.

And there it is. A certain kind of fear you feel for the first time in your life, clandestinely settling into your heart, stinging it like a shard of glass, touching on a sore point until it draws blood.

"Y/n, what is it? Should I pull over?"

You are jolted from your thoughts by the instant worry lacing Jimin's sweet voice.

"What? Why? No."

"Why? You're crying, y/n. Don't you know?"

"I'm –"

When you bring them up to brush your cheek, your fingertips are indeed met with a hot liquid.

"It's nothing, Jiminie. Don't worry."

"Is it because of Namjoon?" he hesitantly asks. You can tell by his tone that he doesn't really want to talk about him.

"No, that's not it, Jimin. I'm sorry for ruining the mood."

"Don't apologize," he gives you a solemn look. "Never apologize."

"All right, I'm sor–"

"What did I just say?" he arches a brow. And had you not been so scared at this moment, he would have gotten you to laugh like he always does.

"It's just – I'm afraid, Jimin. And I've never been this terrified in my entire life."

"Terrified of what exactly?"

"Of needing you. Of losing you. Of messing everything up." You pause. "Of loving Namjoon. And never having loved him at all. Not as I should have. If that makes any sense at all."

You can witness Jimin's expression harden at the mention of Namjoon's name, his jaw tense now.

"I guess it does. Make sense." He sighs. "But you will never lose me, y/n. So don't be afraid. Just go to sleep. I'm sure you're tired after today."

"Will you be all right, though? Driving all night?"

"Of course, don't worry about me," Jimin smiles wearily. "I'll just take a break when I get sleepy. I would never do anything to put you in danger, y/n. So, just rest your eyes. Should I put on some music? Piano tunes maybe?"

"That would be nice."

And so you drift into a tranquil slumber to the sound of popular piano pieces, even in your sleep still tightly holding onto Jimin's warm hand.

All throughout the drive, Jimin is lost in thought, absentmindedly following sparsely illuminated country roads and the directions given by the GPS, all the while painfully aware of your hand resting in his, torn.

For some reason, your last words stirred something inside of him. Something he believed to have buried years ago. A heavy, mournful yearning for a connection much more profound than that of mere friendship.

'I love you, Park Jimin.'

You had never said it like that before. Never voiced it so clearly and openly.

Somehow, it pained him to hear those words come across your lips so effortlessly. As though you were completely unaware, oblivious to the fact that he had been desperately longing to hear those very words from you ever since the night he first met you and had instantly known. Known that your souls shared a bond he had not found in anyone else before you. Except for Taehyung, maybe. But what Jimin felt for you was different. More primal, yet infinitely pristine and pure in a form he could not quite describe.

Of course, there was a longing for a physical connection as well. He was a man, after all, and you were a gorgeous woman, beautiful in a million subtle ways that may not initially meet the eye of the beholder but, once discovered, would remain incomparable. Jimin had learned that the hard way.

Perhaps Namjoon was right to fear that, someday, he might end up stealing his woman. Although Jimin wasn't quite sure you ever were Namjoon's, to begin with.

Regardless of the fact that Jimin had tried his best to let you go and give up on the idea of ever being more than a friend to you, a platonic companion, a confidant and the occasional shoulder to cry on, he always had his suspicions that you were hesitant to fully commit to your relationship with Namjoon. A notion that sparked new hope in him from time to time. Hope for you to come back to him in the end. To choose him after all. A bittersweet illusion that equaled self-inflicted torture yet a thought Jimin never managed to smother.

And now, with your heart in pieces, as it seems, that poisonous hope starts blossoming once more, even though Jimin despises his selfish subconscious for disregarding the state you are in. Hurt. Broken. Lost. And here he is, thinking only of himself and the chance he might have at a second shot with you. The shot he missed three years ago when he was too late, too scared, too weak.  

But then again, Namjoon is his friend, his leader. So what was he to do?

𝒯𝒽𝓇ℯℯ  𝓎ℯ𝒶𝓇𝓈  𝒶𝓆ℴ ...

"Namjoon-ah, where are you? We need to take a group picture! It's not the real thing when you're not in it!" Jungkook shouts back over his shoulder, raising his voice to drown out the music booming from the giant speakers by the side of the stage. "Come on, hurry! Y/n is freezing!"

"It's okay," you laugh, teeth clenched to keep them from chattering. "Don't worry about me. This is your big night, guys. I'm just an extra. I shouldn't even be in this picture."

"Of course you should!" Jimin objects, pulling you closer to his side, one arm resting on your shoulder. "You're part of the family."

A simple statement that sends a warm shiver down your spine and lets your eyes well up.

Part of the family.

Yes, you are indeed part of this family, you realize as you take a look around, drinking in the sight of these six smiling faces, beaming with pride and joy.

"I'm here! I'm here!" Namjoon shouts, running to catch up to you. "I'm here. I'm sorry. I just needed to get something."

"Get something?" Taehyung raises a brow. "Get what?"

"A surprise," Namjoon replies, his voice tense as he takes up position between Jimin and Jungkook, smiling into the camera.

"A surprise!?" Jungkook gasps. "For whom? For us?"

"Not that kind of surprise," Namjoon snaps back, his lips twisted into an awkwardly stiff grin while his eyes remain fixed on the camera.

"What kind is it then?"

"It's for someone special. And now quit asking," he hisses through gritted teeth. "It's none of your business."

After a few pictures have been taken and the staff member who was operating the camera seems to be satisfied with the results, the gathering slowly scatters, the members trotting off in twos, shoulders slumped, exhausted from their big performance but still ecstatic nonetheless, with the adrenaline not having entirely worn off yet.

Taehyung and Jungkook walk arm in arm, huddled together, unbothered by the fact that they keep tripping over each other's feet occasionally, lost in their own world, giggling, whispering. Jin seems to go on and on about something to Yoongi who does not appear to be all that interested in maintaining any sort of conversation, yet can't help but smile wearily at the older's jokes. And, for some reason, Hoseok strongly urges Jimin to follow him, practically dragging the younger one from your side while darting inscrutable glances over his shoulder at Namjoon who is now the only one left with you.

Awkwardly, he shifts from one foot to the other, hands behind his back, his eyes fixed on the dirty patch of floor between your feet.

"Great show," you say, unable to stand the uncomfortable silence any moment longer.

"Yeah," Namjoon nods, finally mustering to courage to meet your gaze. "Thank you for coming. It meant a lot to me. To the guys, I mean. To all of us."

"Of course," you force a smile. Somehow, you have a sense that there's a lot more going on here than innocent small talk.

Desperately, your eyes keep searching the backstage area for Jimin, but he is nowhere to be found. Wait. There he is! Peeking around the corner at the exit by the left-hand side of the stage, his eyes wide, fixed on you, telling you something you can't quite apprehend.

"Anyway," Namjoon speaks up again, stretching the syllables, his tone demanding your attention. "These are for you."

Without further explanation, he breaks out a bouquet of white and pink roses, held together by a giant bow that reads 'Will you be mine?'.

In shock, you stare at Namjoon as your heart takes a leap that your thoughts can't seem to follow.

All of a sudden, your mind goes blank.

"It's white day today, y/n," Namjoon begins, his words accompanied by the sweetest of dimpled smiles. "And I wanted to take this opportunity to ask you to be my girlfriend."

He pauses for a few seconds, expecting a reaction, but you are unable to utter even a single word, frantically wracking your brain for an adequate response, trying to figure out what you feel and what to feel.

"I know, this must come as quite the surprise to you," Namjoon goes on, nervously fiddling with the binding of the bouquet. "But, actually, I've been planning on doing this for a while now. Because I think I'm in love with you, y/n. And I have been for some time now. Since that night you first went out with us, to that award show. You looked so stunning in that dress, even with those ridiculous red Converse high tops, it was almost as if I saw you for the first time. A whole new person. But still you. I think that's when I first saw you as a woman and realized that I had fallen for you. And I couldn't get you out of my head ever since. That song I wrote, Converse High, it's actually about you, y/n."

"Oh, really?" you gasp, your cheeks burning.

"Yeah," Namjoon shyly grins. "I hope you don't think that's weird or something."

"No," you laugh. "Well, a little bit. Maybe."

Seeing you smile, Namjoon hesitantly joins in. With eyes alight with anticipation he finally hands you the flowers.

"So, will you?" he raises an eyebrow.

"Be yours?" you chuckle, pointing at the bow.

"Or, perhaps, go out with me for starters?"

"Sure," you reply before you know it, your stomach doing somersaults. "I don't see why we shouldn't give that a try."

"You don't sound too enthusiastic," Namjoon remarks, only half-serious, you hope. "But I'll take what I can get. How about tonight? For a first date? We're both hungry, right?"

"I guess."

"Great!" Namjoon excitedly exclaims, a wide smile curving his lips. "Stay right here while I get dressed. I will only take a minute."

"Okay," you giggle, watching Namjoon as he runs off, tripping over a cable and almost knocking over a piece of expensive-looking equipment.

"Jesus, Joon, take your time! And don't hurt yourself, please!" you call after him, wondering what you just agreed to. And what this night might be the beginning of.  

↞ 𝓅𝓇ℯ𝓋𝒾ℴ𝓊𝓈 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉ℯ𝓇 || ℰ𝓃𝒹 ℴ𝒻 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉ℯ𝓇 𝟚 || 𝓃ℯ𝓍𝓉 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉ℯ𝓇 ↠ 

A/N: This is the re-release of a previous series I published in early 2018. It is in the process of being revised and edited. There will be new chapters and scenes added to the chapters to come. The series was originally based on a one shot request made by @im-cxnfused.

Tagging @gnoeccsij @d-noona @yoongi-is-a-mood

Send me an ask if you wish to be tagged. Feedback is always welcome. Furthermore I encourage you to listen to the playlist (while reading) if you’re ready for the feels.

None of the GIFs used are mine. Credit goes to the original creators. I genuinely admire your work and dedication.

[life-observed]

To speak is to blunder

Choosing to renounce a mother tongue.

By Yiyun Li

Illustration by Jun Cen

In my dream, I asked for the phone. Two women came out of a front office. I recognized them: in real life, they are both gone. No, they said; the service is no longer offered, because everyone has a cell phone these days. There was nothing extraordinary about the dream—a melancholy visit to the past in this manner is beyond one’s control—but for the fact that the women spoke to me in English.

Years ago, when I started writing in English, my husband asked if I understood the implication of the decision. What he meant was not the practical concerns, though there were plenty: the nebulous hope of getting published; the lack of a career path as had been laid out in science, my first field of postgraduate study in America; the harsher immigration regulation I would face as a fiction writer. Many of my college classmates from China, as scientists, acquired their green cards under a National Interest Waiver. An artist is not of much importance to any nation’s interest.

My husband, who writes computer programs, was asking about language. Did I understand what it meant to renounce my mother tongue?

Nabokov once answered a question he must have been tired of being asked: “My private tragedy, which cannot, indeed should not, be anybody’s concern, is that I had to abandon my natural language, my natural idiom.” That something is called a tragedy, however, means it is no longer personal. One weeps out of private pain, but only when the audience swarms in and claims understanding and empathy do people call it a tragedy. One’s grief belongs to oneself; one’s tragedy, to others.

VIDEO FROM THE NEW YORKER

How to Write a New Yorker Cartoon Caption: Will Ferrell & John C. Reilly Edition

I often feel a tinge of guilt when I imagine Nabokov’s woe. Like all intimacies, the intimacy between one and one’s mother tongue can be comforting and irreplaceable, yet it can also demand more than what one is willing to give, or more than one is capable of giving. If I allow myself to be honest, my private salvation, which cannot and should not be anybody’s concern, is that I disowned my native language.

In the summer and autumn of 2012, I was hospitalized in California and in New York for suicide attempts, the first time for a few days, and the second time for three weeks. During those months, my dreams often took me back to Beijing. I would be standing on top of a building—one of those gray, Soviet-style apartment complexes—or I would be lost on a bus travelling through an unfamiliar neighborhood. Waking up, I would list in my journal images that did not appear in my dreams: a swallow’s nest underneath a balcony, the barbed wires at the rooftop, the garden where old people sat and exchanged gossip, the mailboxes at street corners—round, green, covered by dust, with handwritten collection times behind a square window of half-opaque plastic.

Yet I have never dreamed of Iowa City, where I first landed in America, in 1996, at the age of twenty-three. When asked about my initial impression of the place, I cannot excavate anything from memory to form a meaningful answer. During a recent trip there from my home in California, I visited a neighborhood that I used to walk through every day. The one-story houses, which were painted in pleasantly muted colors, with gardens in the front enclosed by white picket fences, had not changed. I realized that I had never described them to others or to myself in Chinese, and when English was established as my language they had become everyday mundanities. What happened during my transition from one language to another did not become memory.

People often ask about my decision to write in English. The switch from one language to another feels natural to me, I reply, though that does not say much, just as one can hardly give a convincing explanation as to why someone’s hair turns gray on one day but not on another. But this is an inane analogy, I realize, because I do not want to touch the heart of the matter. Yes, there is something unnatural, which I have refused to accept. Not the fact of writing in a second language—there are always Nabokov and Conrad as references, and many of my contemporaries as well—or that I impulsively gave up a reliable career for writing. It’s the absoluteness of my abandonment of Chinese, undertaken with such determination that it is a kind of suicide.

The tragedy of Nabokov’s loss is that his misfortune was easily explained by public history. His story—of being driven by a revolution into permanent exile—became the possession of other people. My decision to write in English has also been explained as a flight from my country’s history. But unlike Nabokov, who had been a published Russian writer, I never wrote in Chinese. Still, one cannot avoid the fact that a private decision, once seen through a public prism, becomes a metaphor. Once, a poet of Eastern European origin and I—we both have lived in America for years, and we both write in English—were asked to read our work in our native languages at a gala. But I don’t write in Chinese, I explained, and the organizer apologized for her misunderstanding. I offered to read Li Po or Du Fu or any of the ancient poets I had grown up memorizing, but instead it was arranged for me to read poetry by a political prisoner.

A metaphor’s desire to transcend diminishes any human story; its ambition to illuminate blinds those who create metaphors. In my distrust of metaphors I feel a kinship with George Eliot: “We all of us, grave or light, get our thoughts entangled in metaphors, and act fatally on the strength of them.” My abandonment of my first language is personal, so deeply personal that I resist any interpretation—political or historical or ethnographical. This, I know, is what my husband was questioning years ago: was I prepared to be turned into a symbol by well-intentioned or hostile minds?

Chinese immigrants of my generation in America criticize my English for not being native enough. A compatriot, after reading my work, pointed out, in an e-mail, how my language is neither lavish nor lyrical, as a real writer’s language should be: you write only simple things in simple English, you should be ashamed of yourself, he wrote in a fury. A professor—an American writer—in graduate school told me that I should stop writing, as English would remain a foreign language to me. Their concerns about ownership of a language, rather than making me as impatient as Nabokov, allow me secret laughter. English is to me as random a choice as any other language. What one goes toward is less definitive than that from which one turns away.

Before I left China, I destroyed the journal that I had kept for years and most of the letters written to me, those same letters I had once watched out for, lest my mother discover them. What I could not bring myself to destroy I sealed up and brought with me to America, though I will never open them again. My letters to others I would have destroyed, too, had I had them. These records, of the days I had lived time and time over, became intolerable now that my time in China was over. But this violent desire to erase a life in a native language is only wishful thinking. One’s relationship with the native language is similar to that with the past. Rarely does a story start where we wish it had, or end where we wish it would.

One crosses the border to become a new person. One finishes a manuscript and cuts off the characters. One adopts a language. These are false and forced frameworks, providing illusory freedom, as time provides illusory leniency when we, in anguish, let it pass monotonously. “To kill time,” an English phrase that still chills me: time can be killed but only by frivolous matters and purposeless activities. No one thinks of suicide as a courageous endeavor to kill time.

During my second hospital stay, in New York, a group of nursing students came to play bingo one Friday night. A young woman, another patient, asked if I would join her. Bingo, I said, I’ve never in my life played that. She pondered for a moment, and said that she had played bingo only in the hospital. It was her eighth hospitalization when I met her; she had taken middle-school courses for a while in the hospital, when she was younger, and, once, she pointed out a small patch of fenced-in green where she and other children had been let out for exercise. Her father often visited her in the afternoon, and I would watch them sitting together playing a game, not attempting a conversation. By then, all words must have been inadequate, language doing little to help a mind survive time.

Yet language is capable of sinking a mind. One’s thoughts are slavishly bound to language. I used to think that an abyss is a moment of despair becoming interminable; but any moment, even the direst, is bound to end. What’s abysmal is that one’s erratic language closes in on one like quicksand: “You are nothing. You must do anything you can to get rid of this nothingness.” We can kill time, but language kills us.

“Patient reports feeling . . . like she is a burden to her loved ones”—much later, I read the notes from the emergency room. I did not have any recollection of the conversation. A burden to her loved ones: this language must have been provided to me. I would never use the phrase in my thinking or my writing. But my resistance has little to do with avoiding a platitude. To say “a burden” is to grant oneself weight in other people’s lives; to call them “loved ones” is to fake one’s ability to love. One does not always want to be subject to self-interrogation imposed by a cliché.

When Katherine Mansfield was still a teen-ager, she wrote in her journal about a man next door playing “Swanee River” on a cornet, for what seemed like weeks. “I wake up with the ‘Swannee River,’ eat it with every meal I take, and go to bed eventually with ‘all de world am sad and weary’ as a lullaby.” I read Mansfield’s notebooks and Marianne Moore’s letters around the same time, when I returned home from New York. In a letter, Moore described a night of fund-raising at Bryn Mawr. Maidens in bathing suits and green bathing tails on a raft: “It was Really most realistic . . . way down upon the Swanee River.”

January 2, 2017

Illustration by Marco Goran Romano

Shouts & Murmurs

After Watching “Sully” and “Star Trek Beyond”

By Ian Frazier

Photograph by Laura El-Tantawy for The New Yorker

Fiction

“Most Die Young”

By Camille Bordas

Briefly Noted

Books

Briefly Noted Book Reviews

Illustration by Tom Bachtell

Recycling Re

“How do you feel about staying in power?”

I marked the entries because they reminded me of a moment I had forgotten. I was nine, and my sister thirteen. On a Saturday afternoon, I was in our apartment and she was on the balcony. My sister had joined the middle-school choir that year, and in the autumn sunshine she sang in a voice that was beginning to leave girlhood. “Way down upon the Swanee River. Far, far away. That’s where my heart is turning ever; That’s where the old folks stay.”

The lyrics were translated into Chinese. The memory, too, should be in Chinese. But I cannot see our tiny garden with the grapevine, which our father cultivated and which was later uprooted by our wrathful mother, or the bamboo fence dotted with morning glories, or the junk that occupied half the balcony—years of accumulations piled high by our hoarder father—if I do not name these things to myself in English. I cannot see my sister, but I can hear her sing the lyrics in English. I can seek to understand my mother’s vulnerability and cruelty, but language is the barrier I have chosen. “Do you know, the moment I die your father will marry someone else?” my mother used to whisper to me when I was little. “Do you know that I cannot die, because I don’t want you to live under a stepmother?” Or else, taken over by inexplicable rage, she would say that I, the only person she had loved, deserved the ugliest death because I did not display enough gratitude. But I have given these moments—what’s possible to be put into English—to my characters. Memories, left untranslated, can be disowned; memories untranslatable can become someone else’s story.

Over the years, my brain has banished Chinese. I dream in English. I talk to myself in English. And memories—not only those about America but also those about China; not only those carried with me but also those archived with the wish to forget—are sorted in English. To be orphaned from my native language felt, and still feels, like a crucial decision.

When we enter a world—a new country, a new school, a party, a family or a class reunion, an army camp, a hospital—we speak the language it requires. The wisdom to adapt is the wisdom to have two languages: the one spoken to others, and the one spoken to oneself. One learns to master the public language not much differently from the way that one acquires a second language: assess the situations, construct sentences with the right words and the correct syntax, catch a mistake if one can avoid it, or else apologize and learn the lesson after a blunder. Fluency in the public language, like fluency in a second language, can be achieved with enough practice.

Perhaps the line between the two is, and should be, fluid; it is never so for me. I often forget, when I write, that English is also used by others. English is my private language. Every word has to be pondered before it becomes a word. I have no doubt—can this be an illusion?—that the conversation I have with myself, however linguistically flawed, is the conversation that I have always wanted, in the exact way I want it to be.

[sieben9]

“the miller’s daughter” impressions

First order of business: remember how to breathe.

Nope.

Nope again.

Nope, still not working

...OK, where did I put that defibrillator.

Thoughts under the cut.

So. Cora did not have a glass heart as a replacement. Missed opportunity, but who am I to judge.

...god, this episode killed me. Multiple times. There's just so much going on.

First, Cora's backstory.

Oh, look, it's Paige! Hey, Paige!

So that was her problem with Eva? Some spilled flour and a crown? ...OK, that latter one I can at least get behind, but still. I hate to say this after everything that happened, but Snow's comment about "do you think the person she was survived [ripping out her own heart]?"... well, I have to say, that person probably wasn't that great to begin with. Oh, she was ambitious, brilliant, and daring, but...

 "I want to make them bow. I want their kneecaps…to crack and freeze on the stones. I want their necks to break from bending."

...yeah, there may have been the odd character flaw or eight in there. Also, that was a fantastic delivery.

So, I recently re-read the original fairy tale of Rumpelstilzchen, and yes, I cackled with glee when I realised what was happening in the flashback. Also, is it ever explained where she got that dress? Because currently, I'm imagining her doing the "she's about my size"-thing with some unlucky lady who's now lying in the gardens in her underwear.

So. That's how Cora met Rumplestiltskin, then.

God, but these two were just so bad for one another, but mesmerising in their awfulness, too. Because as terrible as they were for each other, they were also quite clearly in love.  Or at least something close enough.

Also hot. I'm not going to pretend that I didn't notice

And I was right on the "catastrophic breakup" front. I mean, I had absolutely no idea how catastrophic, but still. I got that one. And you just know it's been haunting him for all these years. "Did you ever love me?" could very well have been the last thing he asked on his deathbed. Also, Rumple, I could have told you that one for free. ...then again, he's got well-documented problems in that area, so I probably shouldn't snark. Too much.

And then...

::long sigh:: Rumple, under the circumstances, I can't really blame you, but also what the fuck.

So. That answers my question about Snow, I guess. Gotta say. I wasn't expecting Cora to die quite this early in the season. I mean, I expected her to, and was not-all-that-quietly looking forward to it (because while I loved to hate her, there was definitely a good amount of "hate" in there), but.... well, there are still six episodes left, so why did this feel like the first half (or maybe third) of the season finale?

And poor Regina. No, she should never have trusted Cora. She should never have worked with her. She knew that nothing good would come of it, and she still did it, but at the same time... "You would have been enough" and her smile just before she collapsed! Just... gaaah. A depressing number of potentially good things in Regina's life only ever seem to come to  "could have been", "almost", and "maybe." It's a damn tragedy.

And that is the face of someone who just took a running jump off the redemption-wagon. ...can't really blame her, either

Congratulations, Snow, you did to Regina what Cora did to you. Feeling heroic, yet? To be fair, though, the narrative absolutely frames it as a terrible thing, and she knows it almost the second she gives Regina that heart. Seeing her that cold and calculating as she was in the vault, though...? Damn, she'd have made a terrifying villain, is all I'm going to say.

OK. The phone call. Dear god, that phone call.

aka "this is why I have to write this post from beyond the grave"

This just wasn’t fair. I forgot how to breathe. I mean, where do I even start? I mean, the text itself was... wow. Yeah. As Rumple said himself, he's full of love. And Belle very clearly knew that. She doesn't even know herself at the moment, but I don't think she has any doubts that this man loves her. More, he told her exactly who the woman he loves is, and through that, she knows herself at least a little (I'd even say "a lot") better. Just... give me a second, I'm having emotions again.

And then there's the contrast to the love story in the flashback. I know it's never stated outright, but to me it was clear that Cora and Rumple brought out the very worst in one another. They fed each other's darkness, and they both revelled in it. Compare that to "you make me want to go back to the best version of myself", and just... this adds so many shades and layers to their relationship and their love, it's amazing.

And then, of course, we had Neal's reaction.

I have this creeping suspicion that Neal might have honestly thought that his father was entirely incapable of love since taking on the curse. After all, he left him. Something his "real" father would never have done. Maybe he didn't believe it fully, but it's just the kind of thing you'd tell yourself to get over the pain of being abandoned like that. And now his father is dying, and he has to confront the fact that... well, he probably really does still love him. And his tiny little "I'm still angry" just pulled the whole scene together. Because of course he is! Of course he's still furious, he's allowed to be! Doesn't mean he loves his father any less, though.

::sigh:: Please, just let them be happy...

While we're on the family drama... all my love for this little moment all the way back at the beginning of the episode:

"You're hoping I'll bleed to death now, aren't you?"​ "You're Henry's grandfather"

Just... just that little exchange says so much about Emma as a person. No, she doesn't like him. No, she doesn't really trust him. But, if I may paraphrase Firefly for a moment "You're family. Why are we still talking about this?"

There's also a little philosophical aside I've been pondering while (or rather mostly after) watching the episode and that is how this whole conversation on "love is weakness" vs "love is strength" played out in the end. After all, we saw where Cora got the phrase, and then we saw her die by her daughter's hand (though not intent), because Regina loved her and wanted to be loved in return.

I think that when all is said and done, love was Cora's weakness -- because she made it into one. Her desperate attempts to rid herself of the emotion turned it into a blind spot. Compare that to Emma, who's always shown to be at her best when acting out of love for her family (and friends, when she didn't know what they were), and who's only ever been strengthened by that love. Hell, it's what let her do some pretty impressive magic this very episode -- it took two fully trained sorceresses to get through that first barrier, and Cora almost failed completely at the second one.

So... yeah, no neat little phrase to summarise all of that, but I thought this worth writing down.

[quilser]

Perfect P2 ~ Choni:

(A/N) Did anyone ask for this? Nope. Does anyone want this? Nope. Do I want to post it just so I can post the two chapters of smut that come after this. Yes. That in fact is the case.

Read on ao3

Pairing: Toni Topaz x Cheryl Blossom

Word Count: 3389

Rating: M (Only for language. Sadly none of the fun stuff in this chapter)

Warnings: Besides some language, this is about as backstory driver as a chapter can get. If you want to read this as a series and understand what’s going on, read this. If you don’t care about plot and are just here for the goods...next chapter my pals. Next chapter ;)

Summary: After two years, two past lovers are reunited. The end result is one neither of them wanted.

Parts: |1| |2| |3| |4| |5| |6| |7| |8| |9|

|~~|

Cheryl sat in the principal’s office for what felt like hours. Of course, only a few minutes had passed due to the principal’s tardiness, but Cheryl could’ve been easily fooled if not for the repetitive ticking of the desk clock in front of her.

She hadn’t been told what the conference was about prior to coming, but she had a good idea what would be discussed. The grave look Kevin had given her when she’d entered the office area was particularly telling. This could only concern one thing, Toni. Cheryl could only think of one thing in her life that had recently concerned that individual.

When Mr. Weatherbee came in, Cheryl couldn’t even meet his eyes. Her head stayed bowed without much want to do anything else.

“Based on your current reaction, I assume you’ve heard what this conference is about.” A shiver travelled through Cheryl when she heard him speak. It was without a doubt certain that she’d been correct concerning the content of this impromptu student conference.

“I regret that you’re so upset with me, but I’m afraid this is what’s best for the school’s image.” That surprised Cheryl. What did she have to be upset with him about? It’s not as if he’d punished her yet or anything. The timing of the phrase caused too much confusion for Cheryl not to raise her head.

Mr. Weatherbee had his back turned to Cheryl seemingly staring absently at the books littering the shelves behind his desk. This allowed him to miss the look of confusion that sat on the face of the one he was addressing.

“You have to understand though. With graduation coming up at the end of this year and the first batch of Southside kids set to graduate, we can’t afford to not show a united front for alumni and potential investors in the school. It might seem strange at first, but I’m certain any differences you have from the Southside kids are material at best.” Weatherbee’s words continued to confuse Cheryl. It was as if he’d forgotten who was in his office and was instead talking to be someone else.

“I don’t know what you mean sir.” Cheryl finally spoke, but her words barely came out above a whisper. Thankfully, Weatherbee was still capable of hearing her as he turned with a look of confusion now settled onto his face.

“Excuse me then. Your actions when I entered made it seem as though you’d already been informed of my decision.” Cheryl leaned forward at the mentioning of a decision being made. Somehow, leaning forward seemed like the fastest way to understand the meaning behind that statement.

“Ah right, you still don’t know what I’m referring to.” Weatherbee chuckled to himself before sitting down into his chair and settling before looking back at Cheryl. “I’ve decided that you and Toni Topaz will be the ambassadors for your class this year. It will be a coming together of different lifestyles in a way and in that it is expected of you two to…” Weatherbee continued to speak, but Cheryl drowned him out. Her mind had been stuck on the mention of Toni.

“Cheryl. Cheryl?” Finally her name reached Cheryl’s ears and she looked up to see a look of concern painted onto the principals face. “Are you alright?” Cheryl nodded her head vigorously before ceasing the motion and paying attention to everything that Weatherbee was saying.

Apparently, Toni’s position as being a de facto leader of the Serpents, or at least the most recognizable female who was occasionally in charge, had gained the attention of Weatherbee. Supposedly, Riverdale High was attempting to end any stigma going into the new year in regards to the Southside kids that had existed since the group had joined the school. Although there would be no official show of good spirits, Weatherbee hoped that the pairing of the most Riverdale girl out of the students -- aka Cheryl -- and the most Southside girl -- aka Toni -- would show an acceptance and bring an end to the bitter classiest rivalry that remained between the two groups.

Cheryl was beyond shocked by the end of the meeting. How was it that she’d managed to create a potential problem for a project that she hadn’t even known to exist yet? To think that she’d now have to partner up with Toni after everything that had occurred.

Almost immediately after the meeting came to a close Cheryl found herself in her car staring mindlessly into the parking lot in front of her. It was as if no time had passed between now and two years ago and she was back to fearing that the true nature of herself would be revealed once more.

No matter how many times Cheryl attempted to rearrange it in her head, nothing about the situation seemed to make sense. It was as though she was simply in the middle of a nightmare that she couldn’t manage to wake up from.

As she thought about it more, she came to realize that being alone in her car was only scaring her more. She grabbed her phone and scrolled through her contacts until she noticed one in particular.

Without thinking, she immediately dialed Josie and ceased breathing as the phone rang and rang. She started to worry that no one would pick up, but when the ring tone hushed and a small click was heard, Cheryl released a sigh of relief.

“Josie?” Cheryl’s voice cracked as she spoke and although no tears fell, she could tell that they were welling up.

“Cheryl? Girl, what’s wrong? Are you alright?” Josie sounded groggy which made Cheryl feel bad calling her while knowing that the girl, like most high school students, prefered to sleep in on Saturday’s as opposed to being awake, but just hearing the voice of her friend managed to comfort her slightly.

“I fucked up. I fucked up so badly and it's only getting worse and I don’t know what to do Josie.” Cheryl was now allowing tears to fall from her eyes. The paths they made felt as if they cut into the skin they crossed. With every tear, Cheryl felt as though a piece of her fell too.

“Alright just breathe. Where are you? I can come get you.” Josie seemed wide awake now. Though her voice was still laced with a hint of sleepiness, the alertness it carried outweighed the other.

“No. No, I’ll come to you. Are you at home?” Cheryl managed to sniffle back a few tears in order to settle her voice and buckle her seatbelt as she put Josie on speaker phone. She had always been good at concealing things when she needed to and driving didn’t exactly feel like the best time to be blinded by tears.

“Yeah, I’m at home. Just come over and I’ll get some food and we’ll just have a girls day alright?” Cheryl agreed with a hum before hanging up the phone and taking a large breath. She attempted to center herself and when her best had been achieved she sped out of the school parking lot.

When Cheryl arrived at Josie’s house, she barely made it through the door before collapsing onto the floor. The tears she’d pushed back before came even faster than she'd expected and if not for Josie rushing to her side, she might have passed out.

That was one thing she was glad to have changed about herself in the past two years. While she still trusted few, those she did keep around her were people she was somewhat comfortable breaking down in front of. Had things been the same as they were two years prior, Cheryl wasn’t sure what she would’ve done in this moment.

After a while, Josie managed to help Cheryl to her bedroom and make her comfortable while she went to get some food. Whenever Cheryl got like this, she wouldn’t talk until she was ready, so it was just better to keep her distracted until she was ready to deal. Josie knew this from extreme amounts of practice.

Josie and Cheryl sat for hours watching random channels that popped onto the TV from the comfort of Josie’s room. Josie was extremely careful to avoid anything too dramatic in content knowing that Cheryl probably didn’t need any more drama in her life right now.

For the past two years, this had been somewhat of a routine. Whenever either girl felt like the world was closing in around them, they would venture to the other for a distraction at the very least. Cheryl had been there when Josie was having problems with the Pussycats, and Josie was here now. That’s how they worked and had worked for years.

Despite the rocky road both had taken to rebuild their friendship, they were able to be stronger than ever with years together as a starting place.

Cheryl was especially thankful in moments like these for Josie’s understanding and patience which could occasionally contrast with her stubborn and ambitious nature. She was rather adept at choosing the right and wrong times to press Cheryl for information and to Cheryl, no better quality could be achieved in a friend.

The show they’d been watching had been playing reruns for a few hours when Cheryl finally crawled off the couch she’d slowly been sinking into and moved to be facing Josie where she was sitting on the bed. With a tear stained face, she explained everything that had occurred in the past few weeks.

Josie sat silently only making sounds of understanding when necessary. Her face remained neutral and Cheryl was thankful for that. When the recalling of events came to an end, Josie sat in silence for a while longer pondering everything she’d been told.

After a few minutes of silence, Josie looked directly into Cheryl’s eyes and asked the one question that had arisen in her mind during the telling of the story by Cheryl.

“So do you still have feelings for her?”

Cheryl was taken aback by Josie’s words. Though the question had briefly crossed her mind, she’d quickly swept it away with all the other thoughts she hated having.

It wasn’t so long ago that such a question had been able to keep her up at night and distract her during every moment of her life. When Cheryl finally moved past the question’s hold on her, she’d vowed to never allow it to enter her mind again; at least in consideration for a certain individual.

Josie hadn’t uttered another word since asking. She sat silently once more, only staring into Cheryl’s eyes.

“I’m not trying to probe you for answers or anything. If you don’t want to answer you don’t have to. I guess that’s just the only question that could explain why you care so much about this. I get that you’re scared of that video and all because of your mom and the rest of the town, but it’s totally possible that it was just a security camera or better yet just a malfunctioning something or other that some drunken idiot left in the bathroom. Plus, who’d be dumb enough to come for a Blossom with that kind of nonsense”

Cheryl could tell that Josie had taken in all of this rationally. Perhaps her inability to understand the situation in such a way was more telling of her feelings than she’d like it to be, but she couldn’t contemplate that at the moment.

“I don’t know Josie. Honestly, I never expected to see her again, and then I did. Things that haven’t occurred in years happened and now I’m expected to act normally and be all buddy-buddy with her for some stupid school image. I don’t understand how I’m supposed to do that.” Cheryl confessed what was running through her mind. It was no use lying to Josie. She’d know anyway. They’d been through too much.

“I get that this is hard for you girl, but I really have to ask this.” Josie paused and took a breath knowing her question could easily rub Cheryl the wrong way. “Have you considered that this might be even harder on Toni?”

With that Cheryl felt as though a stop sign had been placed within the depths of her mind. It was as if she could no longer think without her thoughts being stripped away or stopped in place.

“If you think about, throughout everything that’s happened between you two, it’s been you getting the better end of the deal. I know it’s probably not my place to say this, as it’s not my life, but if you look at it, Toni was dropped by everyone at school, she had to fight to maintain some semblance of a relationship with friends that would’ve been fairly secured for her if not for them siding with you. She had to be the one left behind by all of us, and especially you. No matter how I think of it, a lot has been done by her to make sure you got it better off.”

Josie was no longer looking at Cheryl. Since she’d began her question and explanation she’d been playing with her fingers attempting to distance herself from Cheryl’s response. She couldn’t see the look of aggravation that had begun growing onto Cheryl’s features. If she had, she would have realized how warranted her fear was.

“You know what Josie, it’s not like I’ve enjoyed this. You think I wanted all that to happen to her? You think I wanted to stop talking to her? You think I wanted to see her have to fight daily like that?” Cheryl was raising her tone more and more and with every word Josie shrunk farther down it seemed.

“I think you wanted to do what was easier for you.” Josie spoke quietly but strength still presented itself in her response.

“Well I’m glad that you see me as such an amazing human being Josie. God, I’m just gonna go.” Cheryl left Josie’s in a hurry. She managed to hold her expression of anger until she got to her car, but once she got inside, the expression fell.

The more she thought about Josie’s words, the more she realized how right she was.

When word had started spreading about a lesbian couple within the school two years prior, and eyes quickly turned to the fast growing “friendship” forming between Cheryl and Toni, Cheryl had felt like only one possible outcome could result if something wasn’t done to handle the situation. Things would come out one way or another and Cheryl knew that it was always better to get ahead of information and spread it yourself.

At first, both Toni and Cheryl had agreed that they would just throw caution to the wind and make a public show of being a couple; consequences come as they may, but as the day neared for them to out themselves to the school, Cheryl began to worry more and more.

Being at the top was all she’d ever known her entire life. Was it really worth risking for a relationship that might not last? If her brother dying had taught her anything it was that even the best of things must come to an end.

In a rash, and rather regrettable decision as Cheryl came to remember it as, Cheryl outed Toni to the entire school without her knowledge, leaving the day when they were suppose to out themselves together to be the day Toni came back to rumors spreading that she’d attempted to come onto Cheryl and hadn’t been friendly when the answer was no. Try as she might, Cheryl couldn’t bring herself to deny such rumors in fear of putting herself at risk of exposure.

The ordeal had caused many of Toni’s friends to turn against her. While Toni wanted to argue against such things, she quickly realized that any attempt to do so would only lead to questions being thrown Cheryl’s way. Not wanting this, Toni denied nothing, not even to her closest friends, and as sophmore year came and went and junior year came into focus, Toni was left alone with no hope of regaining her previous stature.

As time passed, Cheryl had attempted to stay in contact with the girl who’d sacrificed everything for her, but the more she spoke to Toni, the guiltier she felt. The guilt ate at her and affected everything from her school work to her personal life.

Eventually, Cheryl just stopped messaging. Toni attempted almost daily at communication, but after a few months, that too faltered. Part of Cheryl excused away her actions by saying that she was only following the way of the world; the social order that confined her existence. Another part of her understood though that everything being done was of her own selfish ambitions.

Cheryl thought about all of this as she drove her car down the roads of Riverdale. At first she’d been unaware of the location she was heading in, but as her car ran over the noticeable bump of railroad tracks, the thought clicked in her mind.

The notion that Toni would have remained in the same place for the past two years seemed stupid to believe. Cheryl was certain she’d heard rumor of Toni’s grandfather dying in the previous year which made the chances that much smaller. Despite this though, Cheryl had to know.

As Cheryl ventured down the dirt road into the brownish grass that made up the yard of the trailer in front of her, her nerves began to explode. Although she had no intention of turning back until her curiosity was cured, something still pulled at her to turn around and go back to Josie’s, or better yet to her own home.

This didn’t stop her though. With what little courage she could muster, Cheryl allowed her feet to be carried up the stairs of the trailer as her heart pounded more and more in her chest. The sound was almost deafening before it halted abruptly the second Cheryl reached the door she’d been slowly approaching.

Nothing had changed from the first, and only, time she’d been here with Toni. That was a time when she’d thought that being with the girl forever wasn’t a far off possibility, now it seemed like a distant dream. Cheryl couldn’t help but laugh at the irony of it all.

Ignoring the rest of her thoughts, Cheryl ventured to the door in front of her. With a shaky hand, she reached for doorbell that shined dimly given the brightness the afternoon sun was providing.

Cheryl hadn’t realized that she’d pressed the button until the tone was heard from inside of the bell being rung. As Cheryl waited for an answer, she felt silly for being there at all.

What was the point of coming? She hadn’t thought of what to say, or why she’d say she’d come. Nothing had crossed the paths in her mind besides getting there and now that she’d arrived, her head felt blank.

Time seemed to pass in lengthy periods as Cheryl continued waiting for the door to open. It seemed as though she really had been mistaken in coming. After another minute, Cheryl finally gave up. With a small laugh which showed more pain than amusement, Cheryl found herself venturing off the stairs that led to the front door of the trailer and back to her car.

The walk back felt longer than the entire drive there. Cheryl couldn’t shake the feeling that if anyone had been watching her at this moment, they’d be laughing at how much of an idiot she looked like. In hindsight, she probably deserved the humiliation. What right did she have to be comfortable at this point?

As she reached her car, a chill settled over her. The dreariness that the empty land around her held seemed to match her too well in this moment. It scared her.

Thankfully, she was only a door opening away from escaping the large empty space and as her hand extended to open her car door, she almost felt relieved.

As she grasped the door handle, a sigh escaped Cheryl. This was what she deserved, and she knew it, but the pain she felt from being wrong and still acting on it felt worse than doing nothing at all.

“Cheryl.”

[isaiahsm]

eleven miles to your desire !     to say that isaiah was a little ticked would be an understatement. he and ashley were supposed to have a simple and very much needed date night— but the plans were foiled when he was informed that he had to pick something to talk about for the next beyond the grave episode. it was weird, for all the time that he had been doing this, not once had anyone ever left it up to him to pick where the team investigated. why would it start now? that was more on eli, julian and verena line of work. not his. he sends ash an apologetic text, asking her for a raincheck. she said yeah no problem because well, it’s ashley and she understands. after a few more texts, isaiah says goodbye and locks his phone, throwing it onto his bed and taking a seat by his desk. he powers on his laptop as he dreads the next few hours of ‘research’.

time flew by fast. the clock on his laptop read 8:03 PM when he started and now it’s 2:57 AM — and still, isaiah had nothing. hats off to all the researchers on the team because he literally had not found a single topic for this weeks episode. he’d gone on a google search frenzy, youtube, reddit, literally any cryptid site he could think of and nothing. it was... strange. you would think that there’d be thousands, if not millions of unsolved stories about ghosts or monsters on the internet but there wasn’t. something felt off. but isaiah doesn’t think much of it; instead he just opens another tab and continues his search.

it’s a miracle, really, when he types in creepy stories into the bar and the search engine pulls up one website with a story titled eleven miles posted by emerry from october 2013. without hesitation, isaiah goes to the website and begins his reading, unaware that he’s minutes away from falling asleep.

he wakes in a cold sweat, finding himself inside his car on a road that seems so unfamiliar but familiar at the same time. he looks around, finding it empty except for him and the vehicle he sits in. confused, isaiah gets out and walks around— calling out if anyone’s there only to get silence as a reply. he turns to return to his car when he finds a note on the windshield. it wasn’t there before.

what do you desire, isaiah maxwell? money? fame? think of what it is— and i mean really think of it. once said thing is clear in your mind. begin your journey.

now, if isaiah was in any normal circumstance— he would have just laughed it off as a prank being pulled by a member of the mysterybusters. but nothing of this seemed normal. as soon as he reads the note, the desire pops into his mind with no hesitation:

blair

he thinks of her and the things she left behind. her life that was cut so short by a man driven by vengeance. she deserved better. and even though the two didn’t have an extremely close relationship— he still cared for her. loved her. 

isaiah balls up the sheet of paper and tosses it aside, once more getting into his car and cranking it up, following the instructions of the note.

the first mile is beautiful, actually. billions of stars light up the night sky and it’s cold, sure, but it’s the cold that makes you feel comfortable. regardless, isaiah turns on the heat and continues the drive down the road— blair fresh on his mind as he’s ready to do whatever it takes to bring her back.

mile two is marked by a regular sign on the side of road. he’s surprised at how smoothly mile one went so he hopes two is the same. but it’s not. two minutes pass and the temperature drops dramatically. isaiah begins to shiver and turns up the heater in the car, hoping that it’ll help warn him up. on the bright side, he did grow up in seattle and the winters there are no joke. so he’s used to it. his thoughts distract him from seeing a sharp turn in the road ahead. he almost misses it— almost but he manages to turn the wheel at the perfect time to make it. that’s when he notices that the road is slightly bumpier, there’s potholes and pieces of it practically gone. hazard signs line the sides and he’s careful enough to drive through and around any that come his way.

it’s the third mile when he notices he isn’t alone. there’s someone... something on the side of the road following and watching him as he continues on the path. he can’t look, obviously, but he wants to— so bad. do it for blair, isaiah. he says to himself, eyes looking straight ahead and away from the silhouettes. the road suddenly turns into a dirt road and narrows so tightly; he’s not sure if the car is small enough to fit it. before he can worry any more, it widens again and his nerves are eased.

pass the third and now it’s the fourth mile. the figures soon disappear and isaiah is grateful. the curiosity was beginning to get to him. just when he thinks the silhouettes are a think of the past; he hears the whispers. at first he doesn’t understand— it’s just gibberish. he catches a few familiar phrases here and there but for the most part he ignores them.

the only thing on his mind right now is blair maxwell.

isaiah’s lucky number is five.  he’s never understood why exactly; but that number has always brought good things to him. so when mile five comes along and suddenly he’s in a clearing once more— he feels at calm. relaxed even. any other person would be losing their sanity or even worst: dead by now. but he isn’t. the lake looks beautiful glistening form underneath the bright moonlight ( which he catches a glimpse of with his peripheral vision ) . this scenery reminds him of the time he, his parents and blair went on a family camping trip when he was in middle school. back when times were easier and when he felt like he had a real family. isaiah would do anything to have more moments like that. the headlights of his car dim but he doesn’t mind, the moonlight was doing a great job of illuminating his way though mile number five. 

he’s reached the halfway ( more or so ) point of the trip— mile six. this is when things start getting intense. the road goes back to it’s normal setting and just like that isaiah feels the atmosphere change into something more uncomfortable and eerie. the radio cuts on and it feels like his ears are bleeding. at first, it’s a loud screech coming from the speakers in his car but then, then it goes to something worse.

a soothing voice.

who knew that hearing that would be worse than the constant loud of what sounded like nails on a chalkboard? isaiah struggles— and i mean really struggles with focusing on the drive ahead. the voice keeps repeating things that he’s never told anyone. nightmares and terrors that flood his mind whenever his eyes shut. after blair and daniel; he couldn’t sleep. it was bad. he took time off the team, didn’t go to his classes. isaiah was broken. but he was better now— thank god. he had friends and family who were around to give him that emotional support. 

but no, isaiah had come too far to be picked off like this. too close to having her back home. so he ignores the voice and speeds up a little, his mind immediately going to all the good memories he had of his half sister. small things, actually. like whenever she would tell him to turn his music down because it was garbage and distracting her from studying. or the meaningless talks they had after she returned from silverwood and how for the first time in so long he was finally able to have her open up to him.

isaiah misses blair.

the voice disappears and is replaced by another. expect it’s not really a voice but more like a distant scream. yeah, he’s made it to the seventh mile. he can handle it though— especially with the nightmare that was the sixth mile. except... except now the scream sounds like it’s right behind him. the thing. the figure from before is now inside his car. panic fills isaiah; what if it hurts him? don’t, isaiah. you’re so close. he hears another voice say and this one, oh this one he recognizes.

it’s blair.

that’s all he needs to block out the figure in the backseat. that’s all he needs to keep going.

i’m doing it for you, b.

he sees a sign coming up marking the eighth mile. a small laugh of victory emits from him. he’s almost there! the figure, uninterested, leaves him and now isaiah is alone once more on the journey to bring his sister back. there are turns, sharp ones, coming up and he slows down— patient enough to not wreck. if it wasn’t cold before, it is now. isaiah hasn’t really paid attention to it; already having enough distractions to keep his mind off of it but now, now it really hits him. there’s no use in turning up the heater because it’s busted and just when he thinks he has enough car problems, the headlights flicker before shutting off completely. living him in the dark. isaiah brakes and continues to trek very slowly, trying his best to avoid a car accident. but that’s when he feels them. the figures from before. they’re behind him, like really close. they begin to surround him but isaiah continues and speeds up a little, his headlights now flickering again; lighting his way to the ninth mile.

he’s made it to mile 9 and he’s so proud of himself. but that’s short lived when the vehicle stalls and the headlights are cut once more. no no no. isaiah says to himself, feeling the figures return. he shuts his eyes and goes to start the car again— now hearing the voices screaming, laughing, and talking within his mind. he hears more of them and from what he can tell; it’s dozens. dozens of those things trying to get him. isaiah hears a crack coming from the back and side of him— implying that they’re breaking into the car. his car. 

don’t let this distract you from your goal. he says out loud and with one last turn, he manages to start the car. with that, isaiah floors it. i mean, literally zooms off and leaves the figures behind. it’s funny how not even minutes ago, the road had sharp turns and breaks within it but now it’s smooth and going straight. he’s almost there.

things calm down just a little, because the road is still smooth and he’s no longer being chased by whatever those things were. he’s on mile ten. one more to go. one more before he gets to see her again. isaiah makes no mistake and looks straight ahead, avoiding the figures and the way they’re just standing there. as if watching him finish the game. i’m almost there, blair. almost there.

if things weren’t tense enough already, they were about to be. he’s on the final mile. before he can celebrate; the car stalls again like it did in mile nine. this time, eh can’t cut it back on and it’s still moving. which, makes no sense since it wasn’t even on. but he doesn’t say anything else, why would he? he didn’t want to mess up any of the progress he had done thus far.

cover your eyes, isaiah. don’t open them. just keep them closed. her voice rings in his ears and without hesitation— he does just that. using both hands; he places them over his closed eye lids and let’s the car guide itself.

the atmosphere changes and instead of being cold it’s hot. like so hot that isaiah begins to let out a loud screech as his body feels like it’s on fire. there’s sound coming from different directions which only adds to the suffering he’s going through now. hands ball up into fists on his face but he keeps his eyes shut harshly, not wanting to see the horror that he’d meet if he were to open them. he’s pretty sure it’s hell. the sounds coming from either direction of him sound like those souls being tormented for eternity. now, isaiah wasn’t religious but hearing this... going through all of this, well it just might lessen his skepticism.

he shouldn’t be doing this but he tries hard to listen for a voice that sounds like blair. what if he was doing all of this for nothing? and somehow his sister had been casted down to hell to suffer for ever? what if he gets her back but she’s not the same person she was before? isaiah get’s lost in these thoughts that he doesn’t notice that his 31 seconds through hell have ended and that power in the car is back on. the voices and heat have faded and he’s left a sobbing mess.he stops the vehicle, resting his forehead on the steering wheel as he tries... tries to recover from everything he’s been through.

isaiah maxwell has never felt pain like that before. ever.

after calming down, he sits up once more and continues the drive; thinking of how lucky he was to be alive.

he drives util he reaches a dead end. this prompts him to park and turn off the car, sitting there in silence as he awaits what’s next. after what he just went through— isaiah feels like he can take on the world. he knows what suffering is. 

he closes his eyes and begins to think of blair again. her strong personality, her laugh, all those moments he’s shared with her. how the team was going to be so happy to have her back. they needed this win and isaiah was more than happy to bring it to them. 

after thinking of her for a few more minutes, he opens his eyes and finds him on the road he started on. confused, he gets out of the car and looks around— disappointed and frankly, pissed off that she wasn’t here like he expected her to be. with tears in his eyes, isaiah shouts and screams loudly, kicking the side of his car in frustration. there’s no way... he’s been through too much to not have her here. too much.

what if he didn’t do something right? didn’t think of her enough before? wasn’t as ambitious to have her here like he thought.

fuck it.

he goes to get in the car again, to restart the entire thing. maybe the second time around she’d actually be here. he needed her to be. wiping the tears from his eyes, isaiah opens the car door to get in when he sees it.

not it. but her. she’s sitting in the passengers seat, typing away on her cellphone. as if everything was back to normal

“ well are you going to get in or what?”

abruptly, isaiah jumps up in his seat, looking around to find himself back in his room. what? eyes go to the clock on his laptop and he sees that it’s three in the morning. or as elijah would say, the devil’s hour.

he moves his fingers across the mouse on the laptop to see that he had fallen asleep while reading a story titled    ELEVEN MILES   . he reads the synopsis and lets out what sounds like a laugh and rubs his eyes. there’s this part of him, a large part actually, that’s heartbroken that whatever happened in his dream wasn’t real. blair wasn’t back; she’d never be and as much as he looked like he had moved on, isaiah hadn’t. he needed to.