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goddess-pan · 3 years

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Tailor!Reader in Dream SMP

Dsmp x reader prompt; Tailor!Reader in Dream SMP. Credit would be appreciated so more people can find this and make their own things based on it.

Can fully be read as platonic. GN!reader with they/them pronounce as a placeholder so anyone can adapt it however they want. Both general and character specific parts included.

Characters who have a lot written for/about; Eret, Ranboo, Foolish, Tommy, Technoblade, Philza and Michael. Mentioned; Tubbo, Sam Nook, Purpled and Foolish Jr.

This ended up being super long so I’m putting it under the cut in order not to clutter people’s pages. My personal favourite part is Phil’s and Techno’s part. These could be read as headcanons but are still available as a prompt(s) to use for anyone.

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The reader joining after the doomsday as a time frame in my mind.

The reader helping people patch up their current clothes since most of it got pretty banged up during the doomsday, and it's not like they can just go get a new outfit since quite a few people had just lost all their belongings and only had the clothes on their back. So at first prioritizing helping patch up the current clothing people were wearing and then moving on to making some simple fast to make and easy on the resources clothes for people. Just like basic shirts and shorts/pants, nothing fancy. Then when everyone has at least a couple of different clothes to change to and from starting their own business to sell people more if they wanted. However waving payment if they brought them the materials and what they wanted wasn't overly complicated.

People at first thinking they are just some chump who knows basic sewing or something. A very kind chump, but still a chump. So imagine their surprise when one day they are just walking by the reader's now established tailors and they see these absolutely stunning designs displayed at the windows.

Just like their reactions seeing these beautiful designs they can't help but stare at. I'd imagine some of them just doing a double take when they walk by, someone pressing their face up to the glass trying to see it closer, the braver ones going inside and talking to the reader about their designs and the more anxious and/or shy ones only going inside when the reader isn't there to look at designs closer.

And the reasons they like/are amazed by the designs vary also ! Some just have monkey brain that goes "Pretty. WANT", some who just love the colour and art of the pieces, some who imagine how epic this design or others would look on them, some who love the fashion aspect of it and of course the very small portion who actually know anything about tailoring/sewing and the amount of work that goes into making something intricate.

Some specific character/group interactions I thought of;

Making warm well insulated clothes for people moving to Snowchester so they don't freeze. +A warm cape for Ranboo for the same reason.

Eret being one of the firsts (if not the first) to get himself a fully tailored and customized outfit. Them also being the first and very possibly only person to get a dress or a skirt since most of the other people on the server prefer to wear pants (excluding maid dresses which people might get as joke). The reader crying in joy for getting to design something different for once. And hey if the reader ends up making a few extra ones that she didn't order, but decided to give her anyway it was all just some extra ones they had lying around, never mind the fact that the dresses/skirts are perfectly tailored for Eret and are her style. Just a coincidence, nothing suspicious there. Eret also models for the reader and once he even convinced them to hold a fashion show to showcase some of their work to the whole server. Of course he was the main model presenting the outfits.

At start of the reader beginning to display their designs at their shop Ranboo sees a really cool looking suit on display and his brain just goes "Want." He probably wouldn't be able to buy anything pre-made and be comfortable in it due to his physique. And him having just moved into the arctic and only starting to get settled in, he doesn't have comfortable enough funds for him to get something as expensive as a custom tailored suit AND have enough for any possible rent that he might be required to pay.

Eventually when he gets richer he starts considering getting one but the anxious side of him always ends up winning and he doesn't. However once he finally gets the courage to go commission the suit for himself he doesn't regret it at all. The reader did their best to not overwhelm him and to make it the best possible experience. Just imagining the absolute joy he would feel for having a properly fitting suit that's made just for him, not too short sleeves nor too wide torso and shoulders, just perfect. If he ends up ordering a couple more suits that's between him and the reader. He actually ends up probably being their most frequent and reliable customer.

And we should all know why that is, but let me clarify just in case; Michael.

The reader basically becoming Michael's personal stylist (/hj) . Not only does Ranboo buy a god awful amount of clothes for Michael, the reader also makes some free ones for him. The free ones are things the reader felt like designing since they absolutely adore Michael and the ones Ranboo pays for are commissioned by him. Michael absolutely has the biggest wardrobe in the whole server. The reader learning how to make plushies so Michael could have some more toys, this learning experience including learning to crochet and knit to see what he like best.

Using their newly acquired plush making skills, the reader starts their quest to make some plushies for others after seeing people stare at the plushies wistfully either while they were working on them or seeing Michael with the plushies. People who got them include the minors, their close friends and basically anyone they thought might benefit from them. Some of the ones they made (that I could think of);

Of course a bee for Tubbo, but also throwing in a little ram one as well

Ranboo gets a grass block plush/pillow

Tommy gets a cobblestone block plush and a cow plush. He also later receives a Sam Nook plush while he's working on the hotel

Purpled getting two different sized ufos, one to hold and the other more of a big pillow

Eret definitely gets a flamingo plush

Foolish gets a totem and a gold block plushies

Phil gets crow plush as well these tiny fake coin and gem plushies (the latter causes problems for him which I'll expand upon later)

Techno gets a pig one as well as polar bear one

Back to the individual/group part

The reader just chilling w/ Foolish as a fellow artists. Them talking about both their arts and catching up every time the reader comes to deliver something to Snowchester when Foolish is building the mansion. Just two pretty peaceful artists talking about their passions. I’d imagine Foolish and the reader could relate to each other and their place in the server due to their similar hobbies/jobs as well as their similar time of joining the server. Foolish's first commission from them being an intricate blanket for Foolish Jr so he could have a more comfortable resting place. He may or may not end up receiving that and several other (though less intricate) blankets as well as a tiny shark plush to give to Foolish Jr. Later on when the reader gets better at either knitting or crocheting they end up making a tiny shark jumper with a hood for Foolish Jr as well. Foolish would definitely cry when he sees his tiny shark baby. Any commissions of clothes for himself tend to always take some time due to sheer amount of work needing to be done due to his size so he always makes sure the reader doesn’t already have a lot on their plate and that they know he’s fine with waiting if they need to take a break from it.

Then there's Tommy, who they sometimes teach more about sewing since he already knows some basics. Him probably being the first person aside from Michael they make a plush for, due to him demanding one once he saw the reader making them. Then proceeding to get three plushies in rapid succession. The first being the cobblestone, the second being the cow and the third one being the Sam Nook one. He ends up losing one of them during the prison fiasco and when the reader asks if he'd like a new one they only get the answer of "Don't want to think about what happened and the same one might make me do that". He then promptly receives new clothing (so he isn't wearing the same ones he was wearing in prison) and some extra blankets (for comfort) from the reader.

After Tommy meeting Michael does he use him to scam the reader to make them matching outfits for free? Yes, yes he does. Does it work? Yes, yes it does. Are they bothered by it? Not really, they look adorable in their matching outfits.

The reader being the source for Sam Nook's construction gear/clothes or at least the original patterns for them.

And then there's the arctic boys (minus Ranboo, who will still get mentioned) who are an interesting bunch clothing wise. The first one to commission the reader out of them would be Phil who got the original warm cape for Ranboo but also at the same time commissioned one for himself that would include slits for his wings. Eventually getting to design clothing for him which is always an exciting challenge with his wings. And when Phil finally manages to convince Techno to get something made for himself as well, Techno almost immediately gets addicted to having high quality clothing when they finish their first piece for him. The fun the reader has designing clothes for these boys is immeasurable with their different styles and needs in the clothing. Aside from clothing Techno also commissions them for a pet bed for Steve.

When the boys got their plushies it was adorable but also a very chaotic. Techno giving his pig one to Steve so he wouldn't miss him when he was away from home, but also bringing the polar bear one with him when he couldn't or wasn't allowed to bring Steve with him but still needed comfort. While on Phil's side of things; he was showing his crows the crow plushie joking about he'll replace them if they aren't careful however he made the mistake of showing them the tiny coin and gem plushies as well. I want you to imagine hundreds of crows descending upon this poor fool of a man in the background while the reader is walking away hoping they like their plushies.

The war that ensued the couple following days amongst the crows starts to cool down but the bickering doesn't, every waking moment Phil can feel eyes on him and one or more of the crows coming to complain about the others having had the shiny plushies for too long. He quickly caves under the pressure and commissions more of the tiny shiny treasure plushies. And by more I mean a lot more.

When he finally has enough of the things he goes around distributing them to the crows. Finally a moment of peace, but he still feels like something is staring at him occasionally. Deciding to ignore it since it's finally quiet he goes to makes himself a cup of tea and while waiting for the water to boil he fishes out the few shiny plushies he had saved for himself. The second he does he feels eyes burning into him and now that it's quiet he hears it, quiet muffled snuffles and snorts of discontent. Then he sees what ‘it’ is, it's Techno behind the window looking at the shinies in his hand with such intensity Phil fears for his life (/hj). Phil just sighs deeply before walking over to the window and opening it. For a second Techno looks like a deer in headlights before returning to intensely staring at the shinies in Phil's hand before Phil just dumps the shiny plushies into Techno's hand and closes the window. Happy piglin noises can be heard outside while Phil debates the pros (getting to have shinies himself) and cons (the embarrassment of having to commission even more of the shiny plushies than he already has) of getting new ones from the reader. And in all this the reader has no idea the amount of chaos they inadvertently caused.

And finally; Techno commissioning robes/cloaks for whole the Syndicate to wear in their meetings, because he’s dramatic like that. But since he’s a thoughtful guy, he wants them all to fit the members well and not be uncomfortable to wear so he gets everyone’s measurements. Once he has them all he goes to the reader with the order for the robes, he has all the measurements written down under just Person 1, Person 2 etc. to keep their anonymity and when asked what the robes are for he just tells the reader it’s a book club. When he gets them all and the reader asks no further questions he thinks he’s gotten away with getting some cool robes for the Syndicate with their secrets safe. Little does he know the reader actually now knows all the members in the Syndicate since they can just reference the gotten measurements with everyone’s measurements written down from previous work done by them. Whether the reader thinks it’s some weird cult they all are a part of or just an actual book club people are too embarrassed to admit they are in, is up to interpretation.

#dsmp x reader #dsmp fanfic #dream smp x reader #mcyt x reader #mcyt fanfiction #Pans Writing Prompts #C: Technoblade #C: Ranboo #C: Philza #C: FoolishG #C: Eret #C: TommyInnit #C: Michael_Beloved

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crackinglamb · 4 years

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001 for dragon age?

Did you really want an essay? Cuz you’re gonna get one. I’ll stick with DA:I, since that’s the only one I’ve actually played. I have passing familiarity with the other two games, but not enough for details. And as always, it got really long while I was writing it out, so under a cut it goes.

Favorite character: Probably obvious. But it’s Solas. Love him or hate him, no one can deny that he’s a complex, intricately written character with lots of facets we have yet to see all of. Plus, he has a delicious voice and I’ll own that kink, no one can shame me.

Least Favorite character: *sigh* Vivienne. I wanted to like her, I really did. She’s a powerful, ambitious woman in her own right, a successful mage, an adept at the Game. She has strong motivations of her own, even if they’re written with a bit of a cliche. But that’s also part of her problem. She’s willfully blind to the suffering of her peers. She’s bought into the propaganda of the Circle and the Chantry. She’s like a political centrist and I find that distasteful.

5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon): Solas/Lavellan; Dorian/Iron Bull; Varric/Hawke; Krem/Maryden; and finally a headcannon one: Solas/Ghilan’nain. There are a wealth of layers to a relationship between them, and a bucketful of explanatory suppositions for why he is the way he is now.

Character I find most attractive: Do we really need to revisit the voice kink? Are you gonna make me spell it out? *snort* Of course it’s that damned Egg. No, I don’t sound too happy about it, do I?

Character I would marry: None of them. They are, every single one of them, a hot mess disaster that I would never tie my life to, even if marriage wasn’t a convenient religious construct.

Character I would be best friends with: Varric Tethras. That dwarf is bloody loyal to a fault and he deserves nice things and people who care about him just as much as he cares about everyone else.

A random thought: How did I get here? I wasn’t supposed to be here. I just wanted to write the aforementioned happy ever after for Varric. How did this happen?

An unpopular opinion: *nervous laugh* My bestie is gonna kill me, but...Cullen isn’t as changed as people tend to think he is. The overall arc of his ‘redemption’ falls flat imo. I mean, all we really get from him is recognition that he has an addiction, has seen some shit and his attempts to deal with those. He falls under ‘forgiveness doesn’t equal another chance’. For a man who has been through as much as he has, his worldview is still pretty narrow. Having been on the receiving end of someone like that irl, it simply doesn’t appeal in my fiction.

My Canon OTP: Hah! Solas/Lavellan. And not just because I’m writing about it to the exclusion of everything else right now. I think it’s also the most in-depth view of Solas as a character. His romance gets the most information about him by sheer numbers.

My Non-canon OTP: Varric/Hawke. Hands down. You cannot tell me that a man like Varric, over protective and loyal, would not lay down his life for Hawke and tap that ass while he was at it.

Most Badass Character: Leliana. That woman is terrifying and yet all I want to do is give her a hug and a mug of hot cocoa. She has the strengths of her convictions, the agility of her mind, she will fuck you up before you know what hit you and yet...she’s vulnerable under the surface. But she doesn’t allow that vulnerability to break her. Aside from a single instance, she never even lets anyone see it. She’s remade herself over and over. She probably could use a nap and a snuggle from her nugs.

Most Epic Villain: IMHO, DA:I doesn’t have a strong villain. It has a series of boss fights. The story isn’t finished, and the game is basically a placeholder in a franchise. It’s too soon to know whether or not Solas counts (I don’t think he does, though, and if he does, I will be extremely disappointed in the writing team).

Pairing I am not a fan of: Cassandra/Varric. I’ve yet to see it portrayed with proper application of enemies to lovers. The start of their relationship is frankly abusive. She holds him prisoner and repeatedly threatens his life in close quarters and she never makes amends for it in canon. Bad tempers that lead to interpersonal violence are not cute or romantic. I love Cass, I sincerely do. But I do not ever see that ship as doing anything more than sinking to the bottom of the Waking Sea.

Character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another): Bianca Davri. There was so much hype. So much. And she was astoundingly underwhelming when we met her. Love is truly blind, because given the portrayal we got, I have no idea what the ever loving fuck Varric sees in her.

Favourite Friendship: Solas and Iron Bull. Now, this is assuming one saves the Chargers and Bull becomes Tal-Vashoth. They go from butting heads on every single blessed thing to playing mental chess to pass the time and prove several points to themselves and to us, the players. They learn so much from each other. I get the warm fuzzies. Runner up to this is Solas and Dorian. Two men who are frighteningly similar but can’t see it. Or won’t admit it, anyway. And again, they learn so much from each other.

Character I most identify with: Okay, it might be a cheap cop out, but the Inquisitor. I too am not getting paid enough to deal with the shit life throws at me while simultaneously being responsible for the well being of both myself and a person dependent on me. Granted, my little person isn’t all of Thedas, but I wouldn’t say that makes it any less important. And I too am canonically disabled by the end. It’s rough being a spoonie.

Character I wish I could be: Ack, I don’t think I’d want to be any of them. They all need therapy. Possible exception is Cole. I like to help, just as much as I like to be left to my own devices if no one needs me. Speaking in riddles? Unleashing a torrent of compassionate wrath and disappearing before anyone makes me bleed? Having a deeper connection to the world around me? Sure, I can get behind those. I’m a Gemini.

Thanks for the ask. You know I love it when you make me think.

#ask #fandom ask #dragon age

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anousiemay · 4 years

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The Angel & The Devil Ch. 1 A Lie Burns Many Bridges

Guardian and The Red Hood are hot on the trail of Black Mask. Trying to find just what he has invested in this time. In an attempt to find answers, The Red Hood does something he instantly regrets, putting his relationship with Guardian on the rocks. Can he salvage their relationship or will he lose another person in his life? Another gorgeous commission by @symeona and another fic by yours truly! While the moment I pictured this image doesn’t appear till chapter 4 I thought it’d be a good placeholder hehe. Another Jason x Anita fic cos I’m in love with them being in love. This fic is also on ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anousie/ ----- "Are we going to be meeting this 'Angel' you keep mumbling about?" In the little time Jason had spent with his new teammates, he'd learnt that Artemis is not one to beat around the bush. In fact, she'd most likely beat the metaphorical bush to bits if need be.

The long flight back to Qurac had eased Jason's mind but left his body weary. It was the first time in years that Jay had ever felt so tired. Especially after facing his past and stopping a crazed Amazonian from killing hundreds with the Bow of Ra. It could be said this was all in a day's work for someone of his profession. But as the plane’s wheels touched Gotham Airport tarmac, his heart began to ache. For now, he was back in Gotham with his relationship with Anita most definitely on the rocks. "Yes, Princess. You both will, but I'd prefer if I was alone with her first." "Red Him am embarrassed by Red Her and Bizarro?" Oh Bizarro, precious, brutally strong Bizarro. Jason was much more embarrassed in himself. "No of course not, big guy. But Guardian and I probably aren't on the best terms right now." "You are lucky we are in a public place or I would have thrown you fifty yards. Do not call me princess." Artemis spat as she rose from her seat on the plane. Ah yes, he forgot about that. That's what he'd say if he was lying. "Sorry," He really wasn't. "Well, I guess I'll take you guys to one of my safehouses. C'mon, I need a shower." "Oh good, I swear your jacket was becoming a part of your flesh." "Red Him am made of jacket?" "No, Bizarro. I am not."

- - - - The safehouse was surprisingly spacious enough for all three of the Outlaws to occupy. Artemis had placed her axe in the kitchen when they arrived. To which Jason had promptly asked her to leave it in her room. Bizarro on the other hand, was fascinated by the PS4 currently humming and the controller Jason had placed in his hand. "Give it a shot, B. Skyrim's a pretty good game." Then, once sure the two were settled and not putting their weapons in kitchens; Jason grabbed some spare clothes and jumped into the shower. How good it felt to be under hot water. Jason took this moment of solitude to reflect on the past few weeks. Two weeks ago, Anita, known as Guardian to the public, and himself had been hot on the trail of Black Mask's latest investment. The Angel and Devil (aptly named by goons due to her wings and his red helmet) were scaring thugs and opening crates of 'funky techno shit' as Anita had called it nightly. But neither were getting anywhere. Dead end after unconscious thug with no real lead on just what Black Mask was planning. That's when Jason had turned to Bruce, asking him to trust his wayward son with taking down Black Mask himself. "You want me to pretend I know nothing? She won't buy it for a second, Jason." Bruce had been rather shocked by Jason’s latest proposition. "I know, I don't need her to buy it. But if she knows what I’m doing she'll hold back. It's the only way." "Wasn't it a while back you and the others were adamant, we'd be honest with one another?" Bruce uttered as he opened a few files on the Bat Computer. Jason laughed then, Bruce did too. Neither were that good at being honest. "She won't be happy, Jason. She's not like us. It was hard for her to get her around being a meta and now you're doing this?" Jason sighed, how could he forget? Anita had been a mess, he had let her down and couldn't save her in time from the bastard who implanted the meta-gene. But now she was Guardian, a symbol of hope for Gothamites and himself. She was a good person; mask on or off. But Jason well, Jason wasn't always a good person, even if she disagreed. He left soon after, his response dangling in the air. "I have to, Bruce. It's the only way."

- - - It was April 12th and the moon was hung high in the air. No clouds in Gotham meant there'd be a lot of evil out tonight. Guardian peered through her night vision binoculars for the third time in 3 minutes, she was insanely bored. Red Hood had briefed her that The Bowery had seen a lot more foot traffic than usual in the construction site across from the apartment building roof she sat on. They were to watch the place for any unusual activity. At least she had some food to keep her occupied. "So, what do you think of Gina's Kebabs?" She asked through her microphone, trying not to stain her white outfit as she took another bite.

A small crackle from her earpiece, then Red Hood’s deep voice cut through the midnight wind: "I think it's more grease than lamb, Angel. I'd give it a 3 sober. What about you?"

Guardian giggled, "Well my chicken one is actually pretty warm still, so I give it a 5 for its longevity."

"You're definitely the nicer mark out of us two." Red Hood responded, an airy chuckle leaving his throat. "Oh, Red. I'm the nicer everything out of us." "Excuse you? I have a hotter bod than yours." Guardian faked a gasp, but he had played himself into a trap: "That’s not what’cha said last night." "I wasn't sober!" "Exactly, you were drunk on this fine glass of wine." Guardian stood up and shook her hips, knowing the vigilante on the building across from her was watching. "Just shut up and watch the roads."

"Aww, you're precious, babe." Guardian teased but resumed watching the roads below. 30 minutes passed before finally, something happened: a large truck reversed into the opened shutter of a warehouse next to the construction site. 5 minutes later, two men came out on motorbikes and sped off towards Founders Island. Bingo. "Shall we give chase?" Guardian was already extending her wings before Red Hood surprised her. "No, let's see what they've left. Bats can handle them." She spotted his silhouetted figure grapple down from his building. "Are you sure the grease in that kebab didn't poison you? This is our chance to get some info!" Guardian questioned as she flew down to the warehouse, meeting her partner who was already trying to lift the metal door. "Or break some bones for absolutely nothing." He huffed out, Guardian sighed and grabbed the metal door, throwing it up with one hand. "Since when were you against breaking bones?" "Anita." His voice was stern, Red wasn't kidding around. "Jason?" She shot back; this wasn't like him. The tall man sighed and took off his helmet, he only ever did that when he wanted to get a point across. Or make out, but she doubted that was the reason this time. "I just think it'd be better for us to keep our eyes on whatever they've bought here. We can catch up with them another time, but what if what's on this truck is the answer to what Black Mask is up to?" "But why would he leave it here unguarded if it was, Jay? It makes no sense, it'd have to be some dud shipment, right?"

Damnit, she was too smart for her own good. But Jason had one more card up his sleeve.

"Just humour me?"

The two stared at each other for a few beats before Anita finally sighed and walked into the warehouse. "Fine, but you owe me a Banana Split from Freddie's when you see that I'm right." "Yes ma'am." Jason affirmed before clicking his helmet back on. The two waltzed over to the back of the truck and Anita ripped the metal back off, placing it next to them. "Your super strength is getting easier to handle?" Jason questioned, pressing their bodies close as they peered into the trucks back. "Yeah and the wings aren't playing up as much either." Anita admitted, in fact her powers had been functioning well these past few nights. Jason smiled from under his helmet, running a gloved hand along her feathers. "You do look beautiful with them, you know?" Anita blushed at the compliment, still feeling rather insecure about them. "You trying to butter me up, so you don't have to get me a Banana Split?" "No! Maybe… Is it working?" "Tell me I have a better bod than you and I'll reconsider." Anita teased as the two began grabbing crates and opening them on the warehouse floor. "I'd have to perform a full examination to know." He poked back swiftly. "Ugh, men."

After going through all the crates, Anita let out an exasperated sigh. "See? I told you it was a dud shipment. But why would he have one? What do you think Red?" Anita waited a few moments; hearing Jason unlatch one of his guns from its thigh holster. "Red?"

A small click then a loud bang. Guardian fell to the ground in pain, looking at her leg she saw a bullet lodged into her kneecap and blood staining her suit. But Guardian doesn't bleed, she hasn't since she got these wings. Just what the hell was in these bullets? Her head started feeling light but willed herself to look up at the shooter: Red Hood held his pistol at her now sweating forehead. Pulling the chamber back and wrapping his finger tight on the trigger. The only thought that passed through Anita's head was: ‘What the fuck?!’

#Jason Todd #jason todd x oc #red hood #red hood and the outlaws #oc #fic #fanfic #ao3 #dc

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lunawings · 5 years

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King of Prism SSS Episode 3 commentary (Taiga)

I am SO RELIEVED that this episode is FINALLY out.

I finally get to show you guys what the inside of my head has been like for two months.

THE FESTIVAL THAT HAS BEEN INSIDE ME

GET BUCKLED IN

Taiga’s room is divided into half Kazuki worship, half Aomori. Seems about right.

Let me start off by saying it brings me SO MUCH JOY how much Taiga loves Aomori. Aomori is way far removed from Tokyo, on the northernmost tip of the main island, and pretty much in the countryside. I went there 4-5 years ago before King of Prism existed AND I. LOVED. IT. There was a cool breeze even in the brutal Japanese summer, the atmosphere was refreshing and wonderful... and the festival. Two of the biggest things Aomori is known for are apples and, of course, the Nebuta festival which I’m convinced has to be the best festival in all of Japan. Those giant festival floats are just fucking amazing and I will be inter-splicing this post with my travel photos from that time.

But even so, I’d think a boy at Taiga’s age would still think Tokyo is a lot cooler and want to be in the big city. BUT NO. NOT TAIGA. And since I also CANNOT FUCKING STAND TOKYO either, every time Taiga in this episode says Aomori is better than Tokyo I just want to stand up and be like

FUCK YEAH IT IS

Okay moving on, sorry this post is gonna be long enough as it is.

When I first heard this line I swore it sounded like he was saying something about “Las Vegas” ahah... ha...

I am very happy with this screenshot.

*ahem* Anyway. I looked up “rassera” ages ago because I had no idea what that was about and apparently it’s a phrase that lost it’s original meaning over time as it got muddled together, and is now only used as a festival chant. It used to mean “bring out the candles” or something?

The “us” in the sub kind of annoys me because Over the Rainbow isn’t a part of Edel Rose anymore but maybe that’s.... just.... meeeeeeeeee..............

I took the night bus from Tokyo to Aomori before. It was 10 or 11 hours. It was... unpleasant.

Old dude club in the back row.

I really wonder what people who have never seen Pride the Hero are gonna think of this exchange. If you have not seen Pride the Hero, sorry to disappoint you(?) but taxi is actually not a metaphor.

I wonder if Kakeru would have really kept hounding Taiga if he didn’t pay him back. It’s not like Kakeru needs the money. I think it’s more that Taiga just has his pride and wants to do right by Kakeru and not take advantage of him. Or at least I like thinking that way.

My second favorite line by Taiga in SSS.

People at the cheering shows are like “Gimme the apron!!”

No, I have no idea why they decided to design Taiga’s cousin(s) to look like Ann and Wakana.

My third favorite Taiga line in SSS. I just love how perfect the timing is. Taiga just watches everyone walk past him trying to debate if this is really happening or not and then just HOLD ON WAIT--

Behold Yukinojo examining what I think is supposed to be the armor that made Taiga pee his pants in Young of Prism. This is the Easter egg I was talking about.

I LOVE OZORA.

Another great thing about SSS is learning how all of the boys have these amazing female characters in their lives.

The first/only anime reference to Taiga’s distaste for apples. In side material it’s been explained that Taiga can’t stand apples because they are everywhere in Aomori. Even the sound of someone biting into the skin of an apple drives him nuts. Minato has used it as punishment before in Prism Rush.

People in the theater like to say “Don’t forget the apple!”

At the midnight showing I think the girl next to me had a brain aneurysm when she saw Wakana here. And I might of as well.

At this part I always yell “WAKANA DON’T GO!!!!”

Just.... ahhhhhh Taiga being seamlessly inserted in the Rainbow Live continuity like this is just... kjlfjfkljfls.......

Even though I know in the logical part of my brain that Taiga did not exist when Rainbow Live was made, I still kinda want to go back and look for him in the background of that episode anyway. But I hesitate because I know I won’t want to be disappointed with not finding him.

Still, the idea that Wanana, Ann, and Kazuki all supposedly knew him from way back when is crazy and makes my heart warm.

(Oh but WAKANAAAAAAA so sad)

So. “Gaudy” huh. We’re goin’ with that huh. HUH. “Gaudy” I know for a fact is the literal translation you get when you look up “charachara” in a Japanese-English dictionary. I have used it too... AS A PLACEHOLDER....................

Seeing this and trying so hard not to FUCKING SCREAM at the midnight showing was a moment for all of us. Taiga.... Taiga.................. Taigaaaaa................. I can’t see this without feeling it travel through every nerve in my body.

WakanAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Accurate description of summertime in the countryside of Japan. Everyone hangs out and eats copious amounts of fruit probably from a neighbor’s farm. Just go out and walk down the street and you’ll come home with fruit.

So this is Aomori city, the area not far from the station. When I saw this in the theater I was like, that looks.... kinda familiar. Then the next day I went searching for photos from my sideblog @mdawnjpn and....

I found this and I just immediately started tearing up, like hand over my mouth trying not to cry on the bullet train from Tokyo back to Nagoya during that first weekend. I was there I WAS THERE.

So I mentioned previously I got to Aomori after a 10 or 11 hour night bus. And I didn’t sleep for almost any of it because I just can’t sleep on buses. And I felt LIKE. DEATH. But I couldn’t find an internet cafe or anywhere to sleep for a while because Aomori city just doesn’t have a lot of things. So I ended up literally just sleeping on a park bench by the ocean for a couple hours. Like around here.

And I remember seeing them starting to set up the festival when I woke up and being like woooah where am I this is amazing. But.. Just like, since Over the Rainbow performs here every year I guess I must have slept through their show. Oh NOOO ahaha

Anyway

And here it is. My number one favorite Taiga line in SSS. Just like the way he says it

OVER THE RAINBOW

THE FUCK IS THAT

Ohhhh Taiga you’ll know very soon......

Also notice the different colored tie. I wonder if this was his legit school uniform at the time.

People hold up two concert lights and break them apart when Hiro’s pride is broken in the first movie, and they do the same here.

Oh Taiga...... why is your pain so hilarious.........................

Sometimes I ask myself the same thing.

I love the contrast here between the overly realistic uncomfortable crowd, overenthusiastic Ozora, and poor Taiga. I love it. I LOVE IT. I WAS NOT KIDDING WHEN I SAID EVERY FRAME IN THIS EPISODE IS A FUCKING MASTERPIECE

It took me two or three viewings to realize that Taiga is actually crying here. Or rather trying really hard not to cry.

I’m not sure if I’m counting favorite Kazuki lines or not since he doesn’t have a big roll in SSS, but if I am this little “Huuuaah” might be it.

Poor Kazuki. He does nothing on purpose to incite the storm that has brewed around him with both Taiga and Alexander.

Taiga’s Mom is the fucking best. Like I said, I love SSS for bringing out all these amazing, supportive, strong female characters. Everyone’s Mom is great but Taiga’s Mom might be best Mom.

Or at least I thought so until I met Alexander’s Mom but the jury is out right now.

It took me like five viewings to realize their watermelon switched to corn and I laughed way harder than I should have.

OTSUKARE TAIGA

I loved seeing him be a big brother here eheh.

Taiga why did you even ask. You know how Edel Rose works.

Shin just looks so happy. He’s a puppy.

My goal in life is to enjoy everything the way Shin enjoys things.

Yu’s AHHHHH MOOOOUUU in this scene might be my favorite Yu line ahaha.

I don’t know why, but I the more he whines the more I love him. That’s just how you know Yu is having a good time.

RIGHT

FUCK TOKYOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

AHHHHH I WANT TO GO BACK TO AOMORI RIGHT NOOOWWWW

I’m like 40% considering going back this summer.

I live in Aichi not Tokyo by the way so if I don’t fly that’s about UMMM 16 or 17 HOURS ON TWO BUSES BUT

Okay okay okay. So NOW it’s “street style” huh. Well what the fuck was with that whole “Solid Style” thing in episode 1 then? I guess the translator didn’t realize they were literally talking about street dance? Like WHAT? Or did they just forget?

And you know what actually this kinda pisses me off more, because the least they could do is keep it consistent.

Because now that whole important line where Shin actually explains it for the first time in the main canon MAKES NO FUCKING SENSE ANYMORE

ALSO

WHY IS ACADEMY CAPITALIZED AND STREET NOT

WHY

FOR FUCKS SAKE IM GONNA K--

Taigaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

(I’m OK now.)

Giving him a shojo reaction here was a choice. They didn’t have to. It was a deliberate choice. To portray Taiga’s feelings for Kazuki. Ahhhhhhhh

So remember when I stayed up translating this all of a sudden after I watched SSS Part 1 for..... reasons.....

No I do not know why he’s an apple. Well I assume it has to do with the job he’s doing. And I do have a hunch from a creative standpoint but I’ll talk about that later.

First timers in the theater always be like “R... RINGO..?????”

NO YOUR ASS IS BIG

....Is one of my favorite callouts of this episode.

AND WHY IS JOJI EVEN IN THE CAR ANYWAY

At this point during the midnight showing I was like.... is the real villain of SSS just gonna be Joji going around casually inconveniencing everyone? ....I’d watch that.

This is the storage area near the main festival stage where you can go and see the floats before the festival starts.

Here’s what it looks like in real life:

One of the few instances where I can assure you real life is just as good as the anime.

For people who read my shitty out of context spoiler about how a character beat Louis for the amount of skin showed in a prism show. Wasn’t kidding.

Tasuku kinda spoiled this outfit in the first day greeting show by saying something like how it was an outfit which fit Taiga’s tastes well (festival wear) and everyone else was like NO STOP--

But yeah. This show. This soonggggg

Taiga’s voice is just SO. BEAUTIFUL. He has my favorite singing voice in all of Edel Rose.

So after the first weekend I made a post to Tumblr about how I thought I had avoided getting any of the songs in my head, but then a certain one started CREEPIN IN...

IT WAS THIS

Taiga’s song is both the first one to get stuck in my head, and the one that keeps getting stuck in my head the most often to this day.

I just love how he makes Nebuta floats of all his friends ahhhhhh

Here are some more photos of the real thing..

It was raining the year I was there, and when it rains they put plastic over them so they look like snowglobes. That’s kinda cool in itself though.

I’ll never forget seeing this for the first time, realizing what was about to happen and being like NO... NO WAY.... IS THIS REAL LIFE NO WAY IS WHAT HDHFKHFDFH;LSFHDLSHFDS

I’ll never forget it because I basically still feel the same way every time.

They didn’t have to set this up like a confession scene. But they did. It was a choice.

But during this scene at cheering shows, I am much less concerned with what Taiga was trying to say and much more concerned with prepping blue and green lights for.....

Words cannot express how happy this made me. If you haven’t picked up on it already Wakana is my favorite girl from RL. MATTE NYAAAAAAAAAA

Oh look here. A GOOD translation for “charachara”. One that I might actually steal from now on. Usually the best I can come up with is “flirty”, “carefree”, or “showy” depending on the situation.

So it seems at this point the translator finally understood what “charachara” actually means in the context of King of Prism. So of course, the logical thing to do here would be to go back and correct the previous wonky line where they used “gaudy” to make it consistent... right.... RIGHT??

Does Crunchyroll actually translate line-by-line as soon as the episode comes out in the hour before they post it?

They don’t even get any time to edit it?

ARE

YOU

FUCKING

KIDDING ME

I dunno about you but I would wait a few more hours for fucking slightly more decent consistency in the translation BUT MAYBE THATS JUST ME

OH LORD Kakeru’s episode next week is gonna be A SHITSHOW.

The sitcom ending to this episode is so dorky but I love it.

THIS EPISODE IS PERFECT

FRAME IT

DIP IT IN COPPER

SEND IT TO SPACE

DONE

It was really cool to finally see the details in these festival floats in the ending since they go by so fast in the episode. Shin’s has a rainbow! I wasn’t expecting Masquerade, but I suppose it fits Taiga as well. And it’s not that the Taiga version isn’t good but...

It’s just that... I.... I want the CD but I..... I already have three different King of Prism covers of it on my phone........... nnnrhg

So.

I dunno about you guys.

But basically my interpretation of this episode is that no matter what Taiga says....

Everything he’s done...

It was never about the street style.

It was always

ALWAYS

about Kazuki

And that makes a lot of sense.

Kazuki spends this entire episode being an apple. Taiga hates apples. Kazuki is a personification of something Taiga hates. But it changes nothing. He loves him. HE LOVES HIM.

I always questioned whether Taiga’s feelings for Kazuki were pure admiration or true love. And now I know the answer. Probably both.

So this ends what I know to be King of Prism SSS Part 1, as per the theatrical release.

Next week is Kakeru and also the beginning of what I know as SSS Part 2.

I don’t want to de-hype you guys that much, but I actually feel the Part 2 episodes are a good deal more low key than Part 1. But then again that doesn’t say that much for the King of Prism standard.

I have been looking forward to Kakeru’s episode being released with subs for the sole reason of finally being able to clarify a lot of things I didn’t understand about it. But after seeing the subs this week. HMMM.

#king of prism sss #taiga kougami #king of prism #king of prism shiny seven stars #shiny seven stars #kinpri

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crushimaginesandsuch · 6 years

Text

Enough

been a while lmao i swear i’ve been trying to keep up, but we’re in the middle of a big move and whoopsies

I’d never considered myself “boy crazy.” I mean, I had, of course, had my fair share of ill-advised and slightly obsessive crushes, but I’d never thought I crossed the line separating crazed and captivated. Two months ago however, I’d began to wonder just how accurate that was.

C/N fell into the seat next to me, pressing his side against mine. It was a thing he did often, a way to calm himself, I knew. Though he liked to pretend it was because he had to compensate for not being able to kiss me.

Maybe it was both.

“Hey,” he smiled at me. A smile I fell for every time he used it.

I kissed his cheek, widening both our grins. “Hi.”

As the lunch table filled up with our friends and conversation lifted to matters not really concerning me, I let myself remember two months earlier.

I had had two major “crushes”--C/N and James--both frighteningly different. For one, C/N had the whole “asshole who cares” thing going for him, while James was just an ass. Plain as that. And then there was my “type”. I’d only ever found myself interested in unbearably attractive guys, and James was possibly the most maddeningly perfect boy I’d ever laid eyes on. Warm honey hair, bright blue eyes, a smile that could end wars. And don’t get me started on his athletic build...

C/N, though? Well, he wasn’t exactly ugly. He had a great smile, bright eyes. Tall and strong, he was just a head above me. But he wasn’t anything special, really. Completely average--in fact, some people might call him under average. At least, compared to James.

I had no idea why I was so attracted to him and why all I ever wanted to do was sit with him. Talk to him. Be with him. The only theory I could muster up was the way he could tease me endlessly, but still cared about the smallest things that might hurt me. .

So, when C/N asked me out one day as we were leaving school, with little hesitation I agreed. And our relationship had only grown from there.

C/N’s hand covered mine under the table, drawing my attention up to his vivid eyes. “You okay?” he whispered to me. He was smiling, leading off of some stupid joke the others were still chuckling at, but his eyes were concerned. I could tell.

I pushed my side closer to him, not bothering to contain my grin. “I’m great, thanks.” He squeezed my hand.

“It’s cause I’m holding your hand, isn’t it?” C/N smirked.

“Eh...” I shrugged and bit my lip. “No. Not at all.”

He raised his eyebrows, feigning shock. “Wow, you don’t hold back do you?”

“Nope.”

With a few chuckles, we both joined the group’s conversation.

The lunch hour passed quickly, carried by light conversation and inside jokes. As I threw out my trash and prepared to walk to my next class with C/N--we were lucky to have three classes together--I felt a light hand on my shoulder. I was surprised to see the person behind me.

“Hey, Y/N.” James tucked his hands into his pockets. He wore his signature smile.

James and I had mutual friends, but he had never really sat with our group regularly enough to be considered a part of it. Pair that with my deathly fear of attractive men and you can easily imagine how awkward the following conversation went.

“Oh, hey.”

My feelings for James had disappeared after just my first date with C/N, but it was still oddly exciting talking to him. He was, after all, the closest our small town had to a local legend.

But truthfully, I hadn’t had a thought about him in weeks.

“How have you been?”

“Good...” I paused. “You?”

“Great. The season’s going amazing.”

I offered him a small smile, nodding. “Great.”

“Yeah.”

Why did he come up to me? It wasn’t like we had some unresolved conflict or any past that might warrant this. So why?

“So I’ll see you soon, yeah?” He offered with a shrug.

“Um, yeah.” I suppressed a chuckle at how awkward the interaction had been as James walked away and as I joined my boyfriend back at our lunch table, I knew I was happy how those two crushes had turned out.

---

Two weeks had passed, and James had formed a pattern of coming up to me just as I was cleaning up my spot at the table. Our conversation, though still shallow as hell, had fallen into a comfortable rhythm and I had come to enjoy the small chat we made by the trash can in the school cafeteria.

C/N hadn’t mentioned anything about it to me, but he had begun waiting for me at a table closer to us. And I caught him glaring at James a few times, but every time I brought it up he’d smile, shake his head, and promise me it was nothing.

So one day, when James had been especially friendly, even bordering flirting--though I quickly shut him down--and went in for a hug after the conversation ended, C/N was right there to grab my arm and lead me away.

“Sorry, man, we gotta go.” C/N said, his forced smile nearing a sneer pointed in the other boy’s direction. He brought us into the hallway outside of the cafeteria, into a solitary corner.

“C/N!” I almost laughed at how ridiculous he was being. “It’s fine, calm down.”

He let go of my arm, not that he had been gripping it tightly, and ran a hand through his hair. “He was making a pass at you, Y/N.”

“I know.” He shot me an annoyed look. “But I wasn’t reciprocating it!”

“Do you think that matters to him?” C/N threw his hands up in the air, almost frantic. “All he cares is that you let him do it.”

“I let him do it?” I scoffed. “C/N, I never ‘let’ him do anything. He was flirting with me, I didn’t flirt back. However he takes that is out of my control, but I didn’t give him anything to say it was okay.”

He stared at me, silent for a moment. “So don’t get mad at me when I tell him it isn’t.”

---

C/N and I didn’t talk much for the rest of the day. We’d decided as we walked to class that it was just a fight and nothing to let come between us. And though we both agreed, we were still a little annoyed with each other.

But as we were walking out of the school in silence and James came running up to me I knew there was more to come of the topic.

“Hey, Y/N,” he smiled at me, “C/N.” The two exchanged curt nods.

“Hi, James.” I offered a small smile.

“So,” James stepped forward. Closer to me than I liked. “do you need a ride home?”

“No. She doesn’t.”

James rocked back on his heels. He shot a glare at C/N. “And why don’t you let her answer for herself?” He bit his lip as he turned back to me. “Y/N?”

I shook my head. “C/N’s going to take me home.”

He smirked. “You don’t have to go with him though, babe. I’m sure I’m much more fun.” More fun? Oh my God how sleazy was this boy?

C/N took a step forward, nearly coming in front of me. But I stopped him before he could. “Actually,” I glared up at James, much shorter than him but hoping my stare was at least somewhat intimidating. “I’m pretty sure you’re not. So if you could leave us both alone from now on, that’d be great.”

James frowned, his lips turning into a snarl. “You weren’t that hot anyways. Too fat.”

I rolled my eyes, grabbed C/N’s hand--his hand that was about to slug James in the face-- and walked us to his car. Once we were both seated and the heat running, C/N turned to me. “I’m sorry.”

I grabbed his hand. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have been as nice if I knew why he was talking to me.”

He shook his head. “No, no. It’s not your fault. I should have trusted you could take care of it. I mean that out there was...” He chuckled, shaking his head.

I smiled and squeezed his hand. “It’s okay. I’m sure if there was a girl trying to jump your bones I’d be pretty worried too.”

C/N shook his head. “No, you would have trusted me. I should have trusted you. I just got scared.”

Scared? “Of what?”

He sighed. “It’s not a big thing, okay? We don’t need to talk about it.”

I shifted forward in my seat. I was nearly sitting on the center console of C/N’s car, my face close to his. “I want to, though.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to”--

“C/N!” I laughed, grabbing both his hands in mine. “If you apologize one more time for opening up to me I will kill you. And then I’ll never know what you’re scared of.” I paused. “Plus I’ll probably end up in jail which would be unfortunate.”

He rolled his eyes teasingly. “I hate you.”

With a soft smile I brought his face to turn to mine. “What’s wrong?”

“Look...” he pulled his hands away from mine, running one through his hair. “I know I’m not the most attractive guy”--

I frowned. “C/N”--

“Y/N, if you don’t shut up I’ll have to kill you.” He smiled at me, endearing and oh-so-captivating.

“Fine. But know that I find you intoxicating so shut the hell up.”

C/N chuckled and grabbed one of my hands. His thumb traced patterns in my palm absentmindedly. “There are guys more attractive, funnier, kinder, and just better than me in every way. And James is one of those guys. In fact, there are plenty of those guys at this school which is just annoying.” He chuckled again, but quickly sobered up. His eyes were focused on our hands. He was afraid to meet my gaze. “I... I guess I was afraid that you would see James was interested in you and...” C/N’s eyes flicked up to mine. His face was beet red, and he looked so small in this moment. “realize you could have him instead. Have anyone instead.”

It was at that moment I shook my head, unlocked my car door and walked out.

“Y/N? What are you”--

I marched over to C/N’s door and threw it open. I climbed inside, straddling his waist as I sat. Throwing my arms around his neck, I pulled him close to me.

“You, C/N, are not a placeholder for me. I’m not with you because I’m waiting for someone ‘better’ to come around or because I’m bored. I’m with you because you make me happy.”

“Y/N, seriously. You don’t have to do this.” C/N’s eyes looked red, as if he might cry. I personally was nearing tears.

“I want to.” I sighed. “The truth, C/N? James is attractive. There was a time before we got together I was interested in him. In fact, if he gave me half this much attention three months ago I’d probably be a ‘wooed’ mess lying on the floor.

“But that didn’t happen. He didn’t notice me. And I couldn’t give a crap if he does now. Because two months ago, you asked me out. And may I tell you I’d had a thing for you for a while too, so don’t go thinking this” I swung a finger between us “started because I was bored. We’re together now because you make me laugh and you can make fun of me when I’m being stupid and can tease me while still loving me. We’re together because I love you and if you were to leave me, I’d be a mess. I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to. And that’s the end of my ‘you’re great’ rant so shut the hell up and fricking kiss me.”

C/N didn’t hesitate to crush my lips with his. We’d kissed many times, but this was different. We’d never had so much passion, so much tension waiting to be cut.

When we’d decided air might be essential to our survival, we finally broke apart.

“I love you so fucking much,” C/N whispered against my lips.

“You better,” I chuckled against his.

Not my best work but I think the ending’s cute so

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sage-nebula · 7 years

Note

In Mystic Messenger, it feel like all MCs from Good Ends are meant to be what the route owners want and need, their ideal MCs in a way. Like I could figure out the characters' preferences from their routes, but that's not the case with Saeyoung. He even said outright that his route MC (naive and obnoxious???) fit 707 the mask better than the real him. Sure, what he likes might not be what is right for him, but then that wouldn't be ideal. What do you think is Saeyoung's ideal MC?

While I agree with you that the minimal characterization MC has in Mystic Messenger varies depending on whose route you choose (in that MC has to behave a certain way to get the Good End for whatever character the player decides to pursue), I don’t really like using the word “ideal,” because I think that it makes MC less of a person and more of a fantasy. Which, I mean, don’t get me wrong, MC as she is in the game isn’t a character. She’s a placeholder, a blank slate; her purpose is for the player to project onto her, which is why she doesn’t have a stated canonical history, or any real personality to speak of. It’s also, as much as the fandom likes to meme about it, why she doesn’t have any eyes. “Eyes are the windows to the soul,” as the cliché goes, and by not giving her eyes Cheritz is showing us that MC doesn’t have a “soul” of her own, so to speak. Her soul is supposed to be our soul. She is supposed to be us.

With that said, as you probably know I grew extremely frustrated with MC during Saeyoung’s Route. I don’t feel that MC, as Cheritz writes her, is a good fit for him. I don’t think she’s what he needs, and in honesty I don’t even think she’s what he wants; she’s what he’s made to want because Cheritz had to make the relationship romantic by the end of the eleven days, and having him reject MC when she was being intrusive, pushy, and clingy would have made players upset. Rather than write an MC who would actually be good for Saeyoung (and thus be someone that he would naturally want to be with), they instead warped Saeyoung to force him to give into her, even if not the Manic Pixie Dream Girl™ version of her. And that, as you could imagine, was pretty disagreeable to me.

So when I say that I ship Saeyoung/MC, what I actually mean is that I ship Saeyoung and the MC that I created. I ship them as I write them, and I ship them based on the version of their story as I rewrite it (which deviates from canon during the apartment days, albeit not by too much, because honestly, it’s not that hard to fix). I’m happy to describe her, but I feel to get the full picture, you’re going to need some backstory. Well, that, and a picture; for reference, my MC (and the one that I imagine being with Saeyoung) is MC 4. This girl:

So with that said, let’s begin.

First, the backstory. How I have it, MC’s name actually is MC … as far as she knows, anyway. You see, sad backstories are par for the course in Mystic Messenger, and MC is no exception. When she was little (say, around nine or so), she was in an accident. It was a pretty major one; details are hazy, but as the story goes she was on a train with her parents, traveling somewhere, and the train derailed and crashed. MC was thrown clear of the train car; she somehow (quite miraculously!) survived without serious injuries, but she woke up on the ground, completely alone, with no memory of how she got there or where she was. It was quite frightening; she called out for help, but no one came. As a result of that, and since she could still walk, she picked herself up off the ground and, well … walked. When she located the train tracks, she followed them until she managed to make it back to a station. There, some adults found her, and they asked her where her parents were. She said, truthfully, that she didn’t know. They asked her what her name was. And she said, again truthfully, that she didn’t know … but then she said, “MC.” It was all she could remember. She didn’t think it was really right (it was sort of right, she thought, it felt right, just not … complete), but it was all she could think of, it was all she could remember. And the adults, in lieu of anything else to call her, went with it.

(In reality, her parents had named her Mi-Cha. Her father did a lot of business overseas, and so he had taught her how to write her name in English as well as Korean. She had thought the English letters looked funny, so she had a lot of fun writing them out … and since the M and C were capitals, those were the ones she remembered. Mi-Cha, MC. Head injuries can be funny like that, I suppose.)

Of course the adults at the station knew about the accident, but of the few survivors of the wreck, none of them laid claim to MC. MC didn’t recognize any of them, either. And so without any other options, particularly since MC couldn’t remember if she had any other family, the adults at the station turned her over to the police, who put her into foster care.

The foster families that MC had weren’t … bad, per se. She moved homes a lot, especially in the beginning as the system tried to put her front and center to see if they could find a family to adopt her. The thing is, they couldn’t; MC was already older than most children who get adopted by the time she entered the system, her name struck potential parents as odd and she wasn’t willing to change it, and the fact that she was not exactly the cute and sweet type didn’t help matters, either. So she changed homes a lot, until finally she found one that stuck. The home was … again, it wasn’t necessarily bad, but it … this particular foster home had a lot of kids. And as a result of having so many kids, the foster parents were … very strict. It was almost run like military barracks; there were always chores to do (a lot of them), and the foster mother in particular was rarely satisfied with the job that was done. As MC grew, the fact that she was very independent and mouthy really didn’t earn her favors with the foster parents. It also didn’t earn her favors with potential adoptive parents. And though it could likely be guessed, it didn’t earn her favors with her foster siblings, either. MC spent about two years in that home before she decided she had enough, and decided to take matters into her own hands. In this case, “matters” meant robbing a little safe that was in the study one night while everyone was sleeping, and—with all the cash she could carry and a backpack of clothes on her back—running away.

MC was fourteen.

She was fourteen, but even at fourteen she knew that it wouldn’t be wise to stay in the same city, so she used some of the money she stole to get a train to skip town. (The second she boarded the train, she felt like she was going to suffocate. It was anxiety—she was having a panic attack. But she couldn’t remember the accident that had killed her parents and left her an orphan, so she told herself this reaction was stupid and forced herself to suck it up.) She rode the train a couple towns over, and then decided that it would be best to lay low for a while, to make sure no cops were going to come look for her. Unfortunately, she was a fourteen-year-old with only a wad of cash, no diploma (since she was now a … she might not have even finished middle school), and no way of getting a job. This meant that she was now homeless. But MC figured, well, in a way she had been homeless ever since her parents died, since the foster homes never really felt like home to her. She had always known that they were going to be temporary. So she could do this. She could. She would do this.

It wasn’t easy.

MC had, at least, the foresight to run away in the spring, so it wasn’t too cold out. But she had a lot of nights curled up on porches so she could avoid the rain. She was able to buy food, at least, with what money she had, but because she had a limited amount of money she sometimes resorted to stealing fruit from market stalls, and she really wasn’t very good at it at first. After a time she managed to find a church, and the people there helped her. They gave her food, at least, because they felt bad, but any time they started to ask questions about her family life, she always made sure to beat a hasty retreat. She was still afraid the cops would arrest her if they found out that she had stolen the money from the foster home and booked it, after all. In her mind, she was a fugitive. She didn’t want to push her luck.

But the church was warm (enough), and safe, so she stayed there a lot, even though she technically wasn’t supposed to. It wasn’t hard; she would hide in a bathroom stall until the church was locked up for a night, and then sleep on one of the pews. The church had a communal bathroom, with a shower and everything, so that helped her keep clean. And so long as she made sure to duck out of the way and retreat back to the bathroom whenever she heard the church doors open in the morning, she could avoid being caught. It was a foolproof plan. MC was pretty sure it wasn’t a problem that she had dropped out of school. Clearly, she was smart enough without it.

This continued on for about two, maybe three, years. And then, when she was about seventeen, she met Byungho.

Byungho was a businessman about five years her senior (so, around twenty-two) who came to the church every so often. MC didn’t talk to him at first; she made it a practice of not talking very much with others, because again, when she talked to people, they tended to ask questions, and that was something she wanted to avoid. But he took notice of her anyway, given that she was frequently in the church, and so one day, he struck up conversation with her. It was light, innocent; he asked her what her name was, commented that “MC” was a rather odd name to have. He tried to make small talk, and she made an excuse to get out of it. But the next time she saw him, he tried talking to her again. And the time after that, and the time after that. And on the fifth time, he invited her to go get lunch with him—his treat.

MC felt that it was probably a bad idea. But she was hungry, and he seemed nice enough all the times she talked with him, so … what the heck. She went.

As it turns out, Byungho seemed quite nice. He seemed that way. They went to a restaurant and had lunch, and he confessed that he thought she was quite pretty. MC, as a seventeen-year-old homeless girl, was caught pretty off-guard by this. Had he … was he blind? Her clothes were shabby and ill-fitting, since by now they were donations from people at the church. Her hair was unkempt, and cut unevenly since she had cut it herself. She had acne. She never got enough to eat, so she was underweight. Like, honestly … had he seen her? But he insisted that she was pretty, and that he liked her, and that he wanted to spend more time with her. And she, well … she couldn’t remember the last time she had heard such kindness. It was flattering, and it made her feel good, so she accepted the compliments. And when he said he would drive her home, she confessed that she was staying at the church, because she had nowhere else to go.

And that was when he invited her to come stay with him.

The good news is that it wasn’t hard for MC to move into his apartment, because all she had was her backpack of worldly possessions. The bad news is that Byungho was not nearly so nice as he seemed. Sure, he seemed nice at first; he treated her kindly at first. But you know … that’s how they get you. And that’s how he got her. It didn’t take very long for things to get bad. At first it was little things, like he was irritated that she hadn’t prepared dinner for him by the time he came home from work, as he felt a good girlfriend should (particularly one that was staying with him for free). But then it escalated. His annoyance turned to anger, turned to violence. And his expectations from her, as his girlfriend, kept mounting.

MC tried to stick it out at first. This was better than being homeless, she told herself. His apartment was nice. He wasn’t home all the time. He had to work during the day. And maybe this was what girlfriends did. She didn’t know, she had never been anyone’s girlfriend before. And who else would want her? He had wanted her when she was just a grungy, scrawny homeless girl. No one else would have wanted her. This was … this was as good as she was going to get, so she should suck it up, and maybe she could learn to like it.

Of course, she never did. It would be impossible for anyone to like that.

She stayed there for about a year and a half before she hit her breaking point. Really, in honesty, she had hit her breaking point before that; while Byungho was at work, she would spend her time on the internet, trying to learn whatever skills she could so that she could get a job. Most places required some kind of degree, but call centers (and particularly international call centers) didn’t seem to (and even if they did, MC felt maybe she could forge one). International call centers did require some kind of English competency, though, so she did her best to try to learn at least basic English on the internet. And when she finally hit the last straw, well … she did what she does best.

She waited until he was at work, and until he had been there for a couple hours and thus wouldn’t double back. Then she robbed the safe he had in the apartment, stuffed all that cash and her worldly possessions into her backpack, and got the hell out of dodge.

Once again, she hopped a train (panic attack or no panic attack, it wasn’t worse than the Hell she was escaping) and skipped town, this time because she was terrified he would find her if she didn’t. This is how she ended up in the city where Mystic Messenger takes place. By this time she was eighteen or nineteen, so although she was homeless once again, she decided that she wasn’t just going to be homeless this time. Instead, she purchased herself a pay-as-you-go cell phone, and used a local library’s public computer to put in applications at whatever places in the area were hiring, as well as applying at various businesses around. Fortune was on her side; she got hired at a tech support call center (international; she spoke just enough English to secure the position), and after a month of working there, she was able to use her first paycheck and the money she still had after robbing Byungho to buy a small, modest apartment.

MC managed to keep this up for about four years, and in honesty, it was the happiest she had ever been in her life. Oh sure, she had to forge a couple documents in order to make it work, given that she didn’t have a state issued ID and was terrified of being on any sort of radar that Byungho might find if he looked hard enough (plus she was technically still a minor at eighteen, so she lied about her age and said she was twenty so that her employers or landlord wouldn’t think to alert the foster care system), but that was nothing that a library computer and dedicated research couldn’t help her do. Plus, the call center she worked at wasn’t exactly prestigious, and neither was her apartment. Her employers were just happy to have someone else on the phones. Her landlord was happy to have a quiet tenant. It was fine—great, even. She was able to have a nice little flat, she was able to be regularly fed, there was no one there to abuse her, she had steady income. Everything was great.

… until about six months before Mystic Messenger took place.

As I said, MC maintained this lifestyle for four years. She did so off the grid (i.e. no social media; Saeyoung lies through his teeth when he says he found her Facebook, because she doesn’t have a Facebook, because she’s not giving Byungho any way to find her), but she still did it. But six months before Mystic Messenger takes place, her call center went under. There was no explanation for it that MC could see; one day she had a job, and the next it was out of business. She was unemployed. Completely jobless, and definitely in trouble.

For two months, she tried finding a new job, but the job market was … not good. It was a wonder she got hired so quickly the last time; this time, it was like nowhere was hiring. She had money saved up, so for two months she was fine … but she could see that her savings were going to dwindle fast. MC felt she had two options: she could stay there until she was evicted with nothing, or she could leave when her lease ended and wait until she got a new job to get a new apartment.

She took option two, figuring it was safest.

She sold off her furniture for extra money and, hating everything, hit the streets once again. Fortunately, she wasn’t on the streets for very long; there was an apartment building she knew of on the other side of town that, well … it wasn’t in the greatest condition, honestly. Practically no one lived there. But the plus side of this was that no one would notice if someone was squatting, at least if the squatter was careful. So MC took advantage of this. Specifically, she took advantage of an unused, unlockable storage closet up on one of the higher floors. It was a walk-in storage closet, with threadbare carpeting and a bare bulb, but it was enough. It was enough, especially since there was a rec center with public bathrooms (+showers) right behind the apartment building. It was temporary, anyway, MC told herself. She would use her pay-as-you-go phone and find herself a new job. Once she had a new job, she would get a new apartment. She wouldn’t be homeless for long. She did it once before, and she could do it again. She would do it again.

But as the months—four of them, to be specific—wore on, it became more and more difficult to remain upbeat and optimistic.

She had been homeless before, so she could do it again. And she did. She told herself that her storage closet was a studio apartment. She told herself that she would get herself someplace nice. But the job market was just not good, and since her old place of employment was just gone it wasn’t even like she had a reference despite working solidly for four years. In honesty, MC felt like she was at an all-time low, even as she told herself (over, and over, and over again) that she had to stay optimistic, because if she let herself get depressed (or rather, if she acknowledged that she was depressed), then it would just make the whole situation worse. She she tried to combat her sense of hopelessness and depression with aggressive optimism. She tried very, very hard.

And that … that was when she met Unknown.

More specifically: In lieu of any callbacks about jobs, MC browsed the app store on her cheap phone, looking for something to amuse herself with. She came across a free app called “Mystic Messenger” with a blank icon. It caught her eye, and honestly … she couldn’t say why it did. But it did. So, figuring that maybe it was a dating app or something else she could waste time with, she figured “what the heck” and downloaded it. Sitting there in her little “studio apartment,” she downloaded it, because she was depressed and bored and had nothing else better to do since no one was calling her back about a job.

And that was how she met Unknown.

Make no mistake, she gave him hell. She interrogated him about his name. She interrogated him about why he was so obsessed with returning a phone to its owner. She called him on his vague non-answers. And oh, you better believe she trolled the hell out of him. It got to the point where he ended up getting rather irate and snappy with her during their exchange, his patience clearly lost as he tried to get her to agree to go to some stranger’s apartment, and honestly … she strongly considered just saying “no u” and deleting the app. She did. But it was only 6pm. She had nowhere to be, and nothing to do. And while she was now a far cry from the naive teenager who had taken a man at his word—while she was now a much smarter twenty-two or twenty-three-year-old—she figured … well. She had nothing else better to do. She had nothing worth stealing save the sparse clothes, money, and other basic toiletries in her backpack. And even if he was going to be lying in wait, waiting to rape and murder her, well, she could fight back. And even if she couldn’t, it’s not like she had anyone who would miss her, anyway.

So she figured, what the heck, and she went.

As it turns out, Unknown didn’t try to rape and murder her (although, as she pretended not to see the door lock, and he once again grew terse through the texts, she had the strangest feeling that he was … but that was stupid, he couldn’t be watching her. But all the same, she stopped trolling after a bit), but he did want her to go into the apartment. And MC, against her better judgment (because this was a stranger’s house, what if the cops were called on her?) … well, again. Nothing better to do, and a creepy feeling of eyes on the back of her neck. So she did. She entered the apartment.

And that was when she met the RFA.

Now, you have to understand: MC was more than a little bemused as she joined this group chat. She was more than a little aggravated how they kept referring to her as an “it.” And she thought that it was kind of hilarious how a party was treated like Super Serious Business™ (she laughed out loud when 707 bolded and increased the font size as he exclaimed Hosting parties???). But when they said that they wanted her to be the party coordinator, and that being the party coordinator meant staying at the apartment …

Listen.

It’s not that MC had a secret passion for hosting parties. It’s not that she felt sympathy for these people who were, apparently, sad over the death of some woman named Rika, and wanted to carry on the parties in her name or whatever. It’s not that she thought that any of the guys were hot (although, to be fair, everyone in the chat was strangely attractive, Jaehee included), and that she wanted a boyfriend. No, this had nothing to do with any of that.

Instead, it was … listen. Not thirty minutes ago, MC had been living in a storage closet that she tried to insist to herself was just a shitty studio apartment. Now she was seated in the living room of an apartment with very nice furniture, and nice walls, and a bathroom with a toilet and a really nice shower. There was a kitchen where she could make food, and a fridge and cabinets where she could store it. It was just down the street from a convenience mart. And while it was clear that being the RFA party coordinator was not a paying gig, in MC’s mind, the equation went as thus:

Do a good job as temporary party coordinator and impress RFA

RFA wants to keep her on for more parties because they are impressed

At that point, she mentions need a paying gig on top of this

One of the now impressed members of the RFA with a career (e.g. Jumin, V, Jaehee, etc) offers her a job with them

SUCCESS AND PROFIT

It was as good a plan as any in MC’s mind, and in any case, Rika’s apartment was a HUGE step-up from where she had been staying before. So she readily agreed, and didn’t even call 707 out on his bs when he said that he looked up her social media (social media which didn’t exist, and anyway, he only had “MC” to go on, like … she scoffed at the idea that he could dig up anything on her). Instead, she played along with him. He made her laugh. He genuinely made her laugh. And it had been … well, it felt like it had been years since she had laughed or smiled that much. She really liked talking to him. He was a funny guy.

She thought that, the perks of having a nice place to stay and the potential for a future job aside, she rather liked this situation she found herself in. She still wanted to know who tf Unknown was (and she forwarded the text messages and chat log to Seven), but all the same, she still had to say (to herself and not through text) …

Thanks, Unknown.

So, with all of that foundation laid, what do we know about MC? Well, succinctly:

MC is smart. She’s not a technical genius by any stretch (though she does, thanks to her call center job, have some background knowledge on computers to an extent—she can troubleshoot, at least), but she is street smart. She has spent a good chunk of her life living on the streets, and she knows how to get by, even if it’s scraping by due to how hard homeless life is. She’s not naive; her circumstances have forced her to grow up ahead of her time, and in honesty, being treated as naive is pretty grating for her. She knows how to take care of herself, because she’s had to learn the hard way, and she really doesn’t take well to that being dismissed.

On that note, she’s independent, and extremely so. Again, she’s spent pretty much her whole life looking after herself. She didn’t always do a great job of it, but she did her best, and she’s still doing her best, and this is something she takes pride in. She’s not helpless; even if she’s in a bad situation, MC doesn’t see herself as even remotely helpless. She’s not a damsel who ever needs to be rescued. She can protect and rescue herself. She always has, after all, every time. Any time she was in a bad situation, the only person who ever got her out of it was her. So again, MC chafes if she’s treated like a helpless damsel, just as she chafes at being treated as naive, and she doesn’t do well with having her independence compromised. She’s rather headstrong like that.

She’s gutsy. Daring, brave, bold—you name it, she’s it. It takes guts to rob your foster family and then run away like she did. It takes guts to do the same to your abusive boyfriend. And more than that, it takes resilience to be able to survive the way she has. MC, despite everything, doesn’t break. No matter how bad a situation gets, no matter how badly she’s hurt, she always manages to push herself up and keep going. Even if it takes every last ounce of willpower she’s got, she does it. And she doesn’t back down, either; no matter how intimidating someone may seem, if she has to fight, she’ll do it. Sure, she might be afraid, but she’ll still do it. She’s incredibly brave and incredibly determined. It’s how she has survived for this long. But she’s also …

… paranoid. MC is secretive to the point of paranoia about her personal information and identity. She doesn’t use social media because she’s afraid of being found. She forges official documents as best she can to obscure her identity (not thinking, of course, about the national registry; if her call center job hadn’t been shady, they wouldn’t have hired her). She relentlessly grills Unknown and is honestly even a little savage with him in the prologue chat because the fact that he won’t reveal his real name sets off warning bells for her, because what ulterior motives could he have for keeping his name secret? And she doesn’t tell the RFA much about herself, either. She shares her name (MC), but she doesn’t bother to tell them that the picture she had in the chat was a selfie. Better to let them believe she looks like something else. She doesn’t tell them her age, and she lets them believe that she had a place to stay before Rika’s apartment (well, a nice place to stay). Even when Seven asks about her, she dodges around her questions no differently than he dodges hers. It’s not that she doesn’t trust him; it’s that she doesn’t (easily) trust anyone.(Plus, wouldn’t they judge her if they knew she was a jobless hobo before this? Better safe than sorry in that respect, too.)

She has … ZERO tolerance for abuse. Given her own life—her time in the foster home, and especially her time with Byungho—she has no tolerance for abuse or abusers. None. Zero. She refuses to “let” herself ever be in that situation again, and if she ever sees anyone else in that situation, she gets real mad, real fast. Her attitude toward Rika is pretty much summed up as “bring the bitch to me so she can CATCH THESE HANDS” and nothing short of it. But that said, she also wouldn’t tolerate, say, Saeran abusing Saeyoung, if it ever came to that. She’ll feel for Saeran. She’s been abused herself. But being abused is no excuse to abuse others. She’s not about to have it. No tolerance for that. None whatsoever. None, nada, zip, zilch, zero.

And she’s not nearly so cheerful as she seems. MC has had a hard life. That hard life has left her with quite a lot of emotional scars. And while she tried to tell herself, over and over and over again, that things would be okay and she couldn’t let herself be depressed, that doesn’t change the fact that she was depressed enough to follow some stranger’s instructions to some strange apartment even though she was fully aware that she was at risk of being raped and/or murdered when she got there. (Or having her backpack of worldly possessions, which she can’t leave in the storage closet since it has no lock, stolen from her.) Again, she’s not actually naive or innocent. She plays along with jokes because she loves to laugh (and oh, she does—she loves laughing and joking and playing around!), but that’s all it is—playing. When play time is over, she can and does get serious. She still tries to not feel depressed, but … well. It’s harder than it seems, even if she still pushes through it and keeps going for the sake of it.

She is, should she find someone she can truly connect (safely and happily) with, quite devoted. MC’s never really had someone to truly love, who truly loved her in return. This isn’t to say that she has no idea how relationships work, because she does. She was friends (casually) with her coworkers at her call center job, for instance, and after Byungho you at least better believe she knows what not to do or settle for in relationships. But she’s never had a really loving relationship of her own. No family to speak of, no best friends, and Byungho was certainly not a loving boyfriend. MC has been pretty isolated in this way for pretty much her entire life. Casual work friends are nice, but … it’s not the same. So as a result, should she find someone that she truly cares for—even if they don’t love her in return, if she loves and cares about them, she’s devoted to them. She’ll stand by them through anything. She’s steadfast and loyal. She’s protective and caring. And she doesn’t really need anything in return, because for her, it’s enough to have this chance to help someone that she cares about, and to do something good—to do what’s right.

On that note, she’s got a strong sense of justice. Or at least … she has a good sense of right and wrong, and she also does have vested interest in helping the less fortunate (obviously, look how many years she has spent homeless). The charity party actually sounds like a great idea to her (even if internally she’s like “can I bet on the donation side and can you people donate a job to me because tbh …”) because she knows better than most how absolutely awful it is to have literally nothing. She wants to help those that are “less fortunate,” she wants to host the party not just because she wants to impress the RFA (but mainly that), but also because it’s a legitimately good cause in her mind. It’s something she cares about. Though, on that note …

Strong sense of justice or not, she’s resourceful, and is not afraid to lie or steal to get what she needs to live, i.e., she can be ruthless if she has to be. I mean, again … look at how much stealing she has done, look at how she might lie and deceive to protect herself. She has a good sense of right and wrong, but she’s not above doing what she has to in order to survive, even if it’s illegal. MC figures her continued survival is a good enough cause to justify that sort of thing.

So with all of that listed out, what does that say for the story? And more specifically, her relationship with Saeyoung?

I see the story playing out mostly as it does until the apartment days are reached. Once Saeyoung arrives at the apartment, and makes it clear he doesn’t want to pursue a relationship with her—that’s fine. It hurts, sure, to have him be so cold when before this he was honestly the closest to a best she ever had (and she knows that’s ridiculous given they’ve only known each other a handful of days, but still), but it’s fine. If he doesn’t want to date her, that’s fine. It’s not like romance is the most important thing in the world, and he has other problems. He has way more important problems. Hell, the entire RFA has way more important problems. Whoever knew a charity organization could be full of this much drama? Jfc.

But that said, there are still … other difficulties.

When they get into arguments, their arguments are because she wants him to eat something, and he refuses (and you know, she respects his boundaries, but he needs to eat, he doesn’t get to harp on her for not eating if he won’t). Their arguments are because she wants to go to the convenience mart, and he’s paranoid about her leaving the apartment. (They compromise by being on the phone the whole time, even if they’re not speaking.) Their arguments are because he, unintentionally or otherwise, treats her like she’s naive and/or helpless, and she gets pissed off, because he has no right to judge her like that when he knows nothing about her. When he tries to warn her that there are dangerous men out there, she laughs, bitterly and without humor, because yeah, trust her, she knows. When she makes an offhand comment about how, even with the bomb, Rika’s apartment is still way better than where she was before, and he shrewdly asks her where she was before, she dodges the question. And when, ultimately, they get in their last big fight and he demands to know why she likes him, she lists off all the reasons why she does, because unlike Canon MC, this MC knows. She likes him because he’s smart, brave, selfless. Yeah, he made her laugh, and that’s a plus, too, considering laughter is a rarity in her life, but the jokes aside, she loves him—likes him, she amends, way more for his cleverness, his bravery, his selflessness. He risked everything with the agency to come protect her. He does everything for the RFA despite being so busy with his own work. No matter how stressed or bogged down he is, he’s determined enough to push through. He cares enough to go the extra mile for others, not expecting anything in return. She likes him because underneath the jokey, pranky 707 exterior, he’s a genuinely good person who tries his best even if he doesn’t always manage to succeed. There’s sincerty in how much he cares even if he tries to deny it. And that … she can relate to some of that, and admire even more of it. She started out liking the 707 in the chat room, yeah, because he was fun to talk to. But now? Now she genuinely cares about the Seven that’s right in front of her.

He’s at a loss. She just went on some huge speech about everything she likes about him—and at some point, yes, she included how serious and dedicated he is, she likes him being serious, even if she adds she’d also like it if he would take breaks to sleep and eat—and he’s … at a loss. He admits he doesn’t know what to do. So she says:

“Just think about accepting help. That’s all I want. I just—it doesn’t have to be me. If you don’t want me helping you, fine. But let someone help you, Seven. Let Jumin help you, or Jaehee. Maybe even Zen. Just—I want to help you. I’m here to help you however you need. I want to help you find and rescue Saeran, I want to help you get through this. But if it’s not me, just let it be someone. You don’t have to be alone, Seven. You don’t have to do this all by yourself. I … I know how hard it—I know what it’s like doing everything by yourself even when it’s something far less risky than all this. I know how it is doing just basic level hard stuff all by yourself. But what you’re dealing with is extra. It’s a lot, even for several people, but especially for one. So just … please think about accepting some help. Think about accepting your friends. That can include me, or it can not … and if it does, then you can still tell me to get lost when all is said and done, that’ll be fine. I’ll respect that. But just take some time, and think about accepting some help from someone. That’s all I ask.”

And after a moment … that is what he’d quietly agree to.

He and MC would not become a couple at this point, but he would accept help from her. He’d start to tell her more about Saeran. He’d explain what he’s doing. She’d help him prepare for the trip to Magenta, and she’d go there with him. And she wouldn’t go there just so that she could get in the car when he tells her to when V shows up, or so that she could hide behind him. This MC, as you can tell from all of the above, is proactive. She’s brave, and she’s a fighter. This MC is not someone that Saeyoung stands before like a shield; she is someone who stands by his side, who gives him a hand to hold without any expectation of a relationship (despite their mutual crushes; it’s just not the time). Sure, he still tells her to stand behind him, but her attitude is “no u” before she moves to stand by his side. Will he protect her? Sure. But she’ll protect him right back, or go down swinging at the very least. Saeyoung, much like MC, has spent his entire life taking care of himself. He’s spent his entire life having the burden entirely on his shoulders. So it’s about damn time he had someone to share it with, just as it’s about damn time MC had some help, too, however much she (like him, tbh—they’re both so stubborn about it) thinks she has everything under control. Saeyoung has more technical knowledge that she does, given that he is a canonical, literal genius, but outside of that, they’re equals. She’s not a damsel for him to protect, rescue, and pamper. She’s a partner who stands by his side and gives him the support he needs to make it through, just as he does the same for her.

So as you can imagine, she’s a lot more proactive in my version of the Secret Endings as well. She floors the getaway car when it’s time. She learns from Vanderwood how to do first aid treatment for Saeyoung’s injury. When Rika says that she’s going to brainwash Saeyoung, MC says, “Over my dead body,” and moves to stand in front of him. At which point, of course, we get this from Rika:

“That would be a waste, because I believe everyone has a place here at Mint Eye. But if that’s truly what you want … that can be arranged.”

At that point, Believers enter the cell to drag MC off, and Vanderwood has to hold Saeyoung back as he starts flipping out, but Saeran intervenes since Rika promised him that he could have the toy that he personally sent to her old apartment …

As you can see, things really start to deviate.

(Note that once they’re away from the cells, Saeran tells MC that he has zero interest in her. He only said what he did to mess with Saeyoung. MC’s pretty unimpressed and lets him know it. He’s irritated by how unimpressed she is, and she’s petty and satisfied.)

Unlike canon, where they’re engaged promptly once Saeran is rescued, MC and Saeyoung don’t even officially start dating until after Saeran is rescued and has started the healing process. Note that, also unlike canon, MC can’t really stay at Rika’s apartment anymore, because RFA isn’t having that, what with there being a bomb and all. But she also never told them that she was a homeless squatter, so … #awkward. She ends up having Vanderwood take her back to the storage closet, and when he sees that it is, in fact, a storage closet—

“I like to think of it as—it’s not a storage closet. It’s a studio apartment,” MC says.

“It’s a storage closet,” Vanderwood says. “Oh, for fucksake—”

MC and Saeyoung aren’t officially dating yet, but Vanderwood still thinks Saeyoung would flip if he knew his not-girlfriend was staying in a storage closet. Aside from which, over the course of the Secret Endings, Saeyoung, MC, and Vanderwood became The Secret End Squad™, and that’s a bond not easily broken. So Vanderwood says, “Get your backpack and let’s go” and takes her back to his place. Yeah, that’s right: post-Secret Endings, MC is (at least for a time) roomies with Vanderwood.

#RoomieAdventures (and also #JobSearchAdventures because at this point they’re both unemployed lololol)

(Saeyoung’s reaction when he learns this is priceless, I’m sure.)

So yeah, all in all, the MC that I imagine for Saeyoung is someone who stands beside him, as his equal. Someone who respects his boundaries and does not push a relationship, but also someone who does push the notion that he should let someone help him, because she genuinely cares about and wants to help. She’s had a hard life, but that hard life has made it so that she can stand at his equal. Just as his hardships developed him, hers have developed her. She’s someone who can support him, as much as he supports her. She’s someone who wants to.

And ultimately, arrogant though it may sound, I think that an MC like this … is much better suited for him than the MC that Cheritz vaguely defined. But that’s just my opinion; everyone else’s mileage may vary.

#atnak16 #scrawlers chats with a mystic messenger #(not really but that's as good a tag as any)#mm MC #mcseven #(not so) fun fact: Saeyoung's agency is the reason why MC's call center went under #it was a paid hit #Saeyoung himself might have even been involved (but maybe not)#so whoops. sorry MC.#(it's ok. it all worked out in the end)

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gabbaray · 7 years

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bokubabe

A/N: because i need self-indulgent dark-skinned/black!reader fics. also title is a placeholder i’m not creative enough to change

“We’re dancing tonight, all night,” Koemi stated. Your study-abroad, homestay sister put her hands on her hips and blocked you from leaving your room.

“Where?” you chuckled. Koemi had been trying to convince you all semester to go dancing with her but you used classes as an excuse.

“The volleyball team is throwing a house party to celebrate getting to Nationals.”

Your throat dried up.

“No excuses,” she preemptively cut you off. “You missed half of the game tonight and you know you’re the good luck charm.”

You rolled your eyes. She had started the stupid superstition when you missed a game and the college team dropped the best of three. Maybe it was meant to force you, a darker skinned minority, to feel included. It was working. Koemi meant well and you knew you’d do the same for her (you had carbon copy souls).

But, this was a thinly veiled attempt to orchestrate a meet cute with the wingspiker you had a crush on, Bokuto.

“Okay, okay.” You gave in. “But, I’m trusting you.”

“You’re going to be fine~.”

You were having a blast. A volleyball alum had arranged for a quality DJ for the party. The last party Koemi had dragged you to had a very sorry DJ with a poor selection of American pop covers.

The t-shirt dress Koemi picked out stayed in place the entire night and you felt comfortable shimmying and mirroring your more outgoing homestay sister.

A Drake song you knew came on and you laughed mouthing the words to the song and freestyling your moves.

Koemi hyped you up and took your hand as the song began to fade. “See ____. I tol--”

“She looks so cute!”

The music swallowed up the silence and the titters at the outburst.

You turned, recognizing the voice. You scanned for him feeling Koemi let go of your hand to join in your search.You saw him and nudged her motioning in his direction.

Bokuto was talking to Akaashi, the first year setter. They seemed to be discussing something and not coming to agreement.

“But she wasn’t at the game.” You heard Bokuto whine.

Oh.

He must be talking about someone he likes.

Koemi made a face that suggested she heard and made the same conclusion you had.

You smiled and shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

She frowned.

“Let’s get a drink.” She led you off the dance floor.

Maybe that last shot in Fuiji-senpai’s room was a bad idea.

Maybe then Bokuto would understand why Akaashi wouldn’t let him talk to the pretty girl who came to all of their games.

“Bokuto-san, you’re drunk. It’s probably not a good idea to go talk to her.”

“But, Akaashi,” Bokuto whined. He couldn’t even see her now despite the advantage of his height.

“You should avoid doing something stupid especially before Nationals.”

Bokuto frowned, still looking for her. “I just want to tell her she looks pretty.”

“Let’s get you some water, Bokuto-san.”

Koemi needed you to watch the door while she made a phone call to a friend from high school. The music drifted up softly and you bopped along.

“There you are.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

You looked up and Bokuto was smiling at you. He was so much taller in person. You remembered scrolling through social media posts of Bokuto with your homestay sister. You preferred his current hairstyle to his “owl hair phase” as Koemi named it.

Your heart panged.

“Hi, weren’t you looking for someone else, Bokuto-san?” It would be way worse if he was a player.

He frowned coming closer. You stepped back. “No. I was looking for you.”

Your eyes widened. “But earlier--”

��You disappeared. Every time I thought I saw you, you were gone.”

You felt a little guilty knowing you were running from him. “You were looking for me?”

Bokuto nodded coming closer. You felt the wall behind you.

“Bokuto-san,” you struggled for a firm tone.

“Bokuto-kun or Bokuto is fine,” he corrected.

You looked at him properly and deflated a little. “Bokuto, you’re drunk.”

He huffed as if this was not the first time he’d been told. “Did you come here with anyone?”

You hesitated, “I came with my homestay sister.”

He sighed. You could imagine in relief but didn’t want to give yourself false hope. “You’re so pretty.”

You inhaled sharply.

Bokuto leaned forward resting a hand on the wall, trapping you. “Why weren’t you at the game?”

So, he was talking about you.

“I was. I came late.” You wanted to joke it wouldn’t be that hard to spot you in the crowd.

“We played really well. I’m glad you were there.”

You smiled and started to agree.

“Can I kiss you?”

Your heart banged against your rib cage. Abort mission. You tried to chuckle. “You’re drunk Bokuto. You won’t remember this. We shouldn’t.” You ducked your head and put your hands in front to push his chest. You gasped when you touched him, your brain going fuzzy.

Bokuto leaned further, undeterred. “Are you drunk?”

You shook your head, clearing your head.

“Then, you’ll remember...that’s okay with me. That’d be two wins for me.”

You started to panic. Did that mean Bokuto liked you too?

His lips brushed against your cheek and you froze feeling butterflies fill your stomach.

“Your cheek is really warm,” he observed.

You tried not to smile as you pushed harder this time and Bokuto actually moved. You blinked before realizing someone was pulling Bokuto back.

“Bokuto-san!” Akaashi scolded him, “I told you.” He struggled to keep him back before a middle blocker wrapped his arms around Bokuto and was able to restrain him.

“Akaashi! It’s ok.” Bokuto whined.

“No, it’s not!” Akaashi turned to you and you nearly jumped back expecting a lecture, too. He bowed to you as Bokuto was dragged off. “I am so sorry for what Bokuto-san did. We lost track of him. I hope he didn’t make you too uncomfortable.”

“Oh. He...no.”

Akaashi winced at this. “What--what did he do?”

The heat from your cheeks spread to the rest of your body. “He told me I was pretty and kissed my cheek.”

He looked as uncomfortable as you felt discussing this. “That’s all?” He rushed to explain, “Please don’t feel like you need to cut things out so Bokuto-san can keep playing. It’ll teach him a lesson if he sits out a game.”

“No, that’s it. I promise.” You played with your hair.

“Oh.”

You started, looking at Akaashi.

“I’ll be giving Bokuto-san a talk. I’m sorry again.”

You shrugged, smiling sheepishly.

“And at you have some leverage over him because he won’t remember any of this.” Akaashi smirked and you knew you liked the setter. Clearly, Bokuto did like you and it wasn’t the alcohol.

You laughed. “That obvious.”

He shrugged, “You need to be observant as the setter.”

“Thank you, Akaashi. I’m ____.”

“Nice to meet you, ____. I’m sorry we didn’t find him sooner.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll tease him to death.”

“Not anymore than usual.” He waved goodbye and left you alone in the hallway.

Koemi opened the door, “What happened? Was there a fight?”

No.” You froze processing. “Bokuto kissed me on the cheek.”

“What?” Koemi’s eyes sparkled. “Tell me everything.”

You’re surprised to see Akaashi at the cafe near campus.

“Akaashi,” you smiled.

“____-san.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I may have laid it on too thick. Bokuto-san really wants to apologize.”

You weren’t sure you could take another dose of Bokuto so soon but figure you should. You bought your drink, texting Koemi you’d be staying at the cafe longer than you expected.

Bokuto sat at a table with a liter water bottle and a large coffee in front of him. He had his head on the table and you guessed he was very hungover.

“Hi Bokuto.”

He sat up quickly and winced. You sat down and tried to temper your pulse.

“Hi…”

“_____.”

Bokuto repeated your name. He struggled for a moment and you smiled encouraging him. “I’m so sorry...about last night. Akaashi told me and I’m not normally like that.” He groaned, “Everyone says that.” He cursed, “This is horrible. I made such a bad impression. I’m so sorry.”

You didn’t think Akaashi was being serious: he had really laid it on thick. “No, not really. You came off strong but not an irredeemable first impression.”

“I’m serious.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You only kissed my cheek. I promise.”

Bokuto started blushing. He sat back relaxing. He let out a short laugh. He leaned back and put a hand on his forehead. “I wish I could remember,” he mumbled.

The buzz from last night returned to your stomach. “I accept your apology. Just watch your liquor, Bokuto,” you tried to say flippantly, playing with your drink.

Bokuto smiled, looking back at you. You focused on the sparkle in his eyes rather than your nerves. You grinned back.

a/n: also because i love Bokuto but his hair has gotta go. inspired by these

#singing to an empty opera house #my best vb friend #titles/captions/names i stick at that

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mellicose · 7 years

Text

The Sea Inside - Act Four, Part 3

Fandom: Broadchurch, Alec Hardy

Pairing: Hardy x Grace [Clara], Ellie x Melissa

Word Count: 4306

Warnings: Mild violence, mentions of past trauma, angst

Read previous chapter | Read on Ao3

Summary: With her visit to Hardy, Tess sets off an explosive cascade of events that will change the lives of everyone involved.

Clara stared at her phone uneasily. In the time they’d been together, Alec had never been away without explicitly telling her he wouldn’t be there when she got home.

She took off her scrubs and went into the shower.

Anxiety began to eat away at her, but she tried to drown it in the warm water.

He had never been inconsistent or secretive. They might’ve called him in to work. That’s all. He would call back soon enough with his apologies. She would forgive him and go to bed and feel silly for being insecure…

A faraway pain brought her back to the present. She had rubbed her belly raw with the loofah. She dropped it and turned off the water.

She sat down on the toilet, still dripping. He didn’t even text. Surprisingly, he had turned into an inveterate texter. He over texted his excuses when he couldn’t make something now.

But there was no text. No quick, awkward message where he never fails to mention how much he hates voicemail.

Nothing.

She walked to the kitchen, still nude. Some of the cabinets were open, and the sink was sticky and brown with spilled tea. Alec’s. There was only one mug, though. She closed the cabinets and walked to the bedroom, sniffing the air.

It was excruciating, but it was habit. She looked at her vanity. Her high end lipsticks, which she usually lined up neatly on the table, were moved. Her Dior red was thrown in the middle of the table, still open, ruined.

Her face twitched.

She turned on the lights and looked around. The bed was still made, but that didn’t mean shit. She caressed the sheets, but her eyes searched them for stains.

It’s impossible. We did something last night. And this morning. Alec is eager, but he couldn’t possibly -

Something mint green and gauzy caught her eye. She hated green, and refused to wear it outside of scrubs. She stood stock still and let the inevitable wave of pain wash over her heart.

She closed her eyes. She wanted to scream. To cry and throw all the pointless trinkets of her new, better self against the wall.

Instead, she calmly picked it up. It was a watercolor scarf, hand painted by the looks of it. Silk. Her nose flared.

And it smelled exactly like Tess.

She fell to sitting, bunching the scarf in her trembling fists.

After everything, Alec allowed that woman in their home. In their bedroom. The insecurity she felt while in Tess’s home flooded back. She had asked whether she missed him. She understood why a woman like that would lie, but not him.

Had the party had knocked something loose in him that he thought he’d buried years ago?

Did he prefer Tess’s casual coldness to her silences? Had she frightened him away with the allusion to a family of their own?

She screamed each question louder and louder in her head, until she was a rocking, crying mess on the floor.

Tess’s smug face blinked more and more clearly in her mind’s eye. Even after all this time and suffering, he still loved Tess best. She had been just a placeholder, someone to warm his bed during his despair.

I keep telling you, little bird…

Frank’s voice cut through her anger cleanly. She went into a cold sweat.

Trust no man. None except me.

“Nooooo,” she said out out, putting her hands over her ears fruitlessly.

I hurt you, but that’s because I love you. And love hurts, little bird. It hurts like the dickens.

She stood up and started to recite the same nursery rhythms that her case worker had taught her so many years ago to calm herself when she felt she was going to have an anxiety attack.

Mary mary quite contrary how does your-

They hurt you, little bird

-how does your garden grow/with silver bells and cockle shells -

But you can hurt them right back. Just like Daddy taught you…

She forced her breathing to slow. The pain was settling in, something she had been able to block out when Alec had her well in hand…but he was gone.

He was not here. He was with her.

Her tendons sang with tension. There was once a time when she would not have gone running when someone hurt her or tried to hurt someone she loved. Daddy hadn’t only taught her to fuck. He’d taught her to fight.

She dressed slowly, putting on the white sundress that Alec loved so much. She raked her fingers through her damp hair, then dabbed some of the ruined red lipstick on her trembling lips.

She grabbed the bat she hid behind her door in case of intruders. The metal was cool and heavy in her hands, comforting. She caught sight of her reflection in her vanity.

Her eyes were huge and dark, her face red with a fever she had not allowed herself to feel for years. Rage started to bubble up through the cracks in her that not even Alec had been able to heal.

“Alec,” she said softly. His name was a benediction to her. Her eyes settled on his clothes, well worn and monotone, in her closet. The new shoes she had gotten him that he refused to wear because they were ‘far too chi chi’. His ties, draped on the chair by the door by her bras. Her face twisted with agony.

It was all just a dream. None of it had ever been real. Only the pain was real. Her palm creaked against the bat’s rubber grip. She looked at a framed photograph of her and Alec that he had given her for Christmas. She was so happy. Already, she couldn’t remember the feeling.

She swung the bat in perfect form - she’d loved baseball as a kid - and the glass shattered. The frame bounced on the wall, leaving an ugly dent. She walked to where it landed and hit it again, and again, and again until the silver dented and the photo was completely destroyed. Tears streamed down her face, blinding her. She swung freely, hitting the lamp on the bedside table. It crashed and went dark. She walked to the framed art prints on her wall. De la Tour’s Magdalene shattered to nothing. The Vermeer girl that Alec complained followed him with her eyes. Botero’s version of Mona Lisa, which had made her giggle the first time she saw it. She broke them all, then the other lamp. She walked into her closet and took handfuls of clothes and threw them in the tub. All the pretty things Grace loved. Especially the gray skirt with the buttons. She picked up her bottles of perfume, stalked into the bathroom, and poured every single bottle - hundreds of pounds’ worth of perfume - onto thousands of pounds’ worth of clothes. Her heart rate increased. She went into a bathroom drawer and took out out a box of matches.

Grace would burn by her own hand. It was fitting.

She lit the match and threw it on the alcohol-doused clothing, and it went up like a bomb. Her eyes watered and her lungs stung but she watched it burn until the tub was a black crater of ash. By then, the smoke detectors were going crazy. She opened the windows, but the neighbors had to smell it by now, and they would call the fire brigade.

She picked the watercolor scarf off the floor, tore it in half, and wrapped it around her bleeding knuckle. Red bloomed through the layers of pale green. She slung the bat over her shoulder and grabbed her keys, leaving her purse and phone behind. It was lies anyway.

She put the bat on the passenger’s seat. She heard sirens from afar, and drove in the other direction to the nearest fast food joint for a cup of strong coffee.

She had a long drive ahead of her.

Hardy went back inside when the cold became unbearable. He tried to be silent, but his sodden pyjamas squished with each step. He walked to the bathroom and took them off, then tried to dry himself with a couple of Ellie’s hand towels. He crept like a pale wraith to where his street clothes were folded and put them on quickly, then wrapped the blanket around himself to stop his shivering.

As maudlin as it was, a good cry had really helped to clear his mind. It was not Clara’s fault that she had been born into such evil. And even though she had chosen not to tell him the uglier bits of her past, he loved her deeply, and understood.

Or better said, he would try. Every day.

“Clara,” he said out loud. “Clara Zamora.” He saw her face behind his closed eyelids. Heard her infectious laughter. How strong was she if could still laugh like that, after all she had known?

Tess had once told him that any woman worthy of the name has secrets. At the time, he didn’t think twice about it, since his love for her was still new. Only later did he realize exactly what she meant. Mystery, even pain, was alluring to a man like him. Why else would he have insisted with her after he caught her being unfaithful? Or insisted with Ellie, after her despair with Joe?

She was right, and she had seen it on Clara. That’s why she knew exactly how to pluck it, then researched her so thoroughly.

Tess was a clever monster.

He didn’t let anger overtake his sadness. Tess didn’t have to know that she had affected him, and Clara - Grace - didn’t have to know that he found out about her past. For her, he could keep the secret, and love her until she was ready to tell him, if it ever happened.

If not, he was completely okay with it.

He watched the rain on the window backlit by the floodlights in Ellie’s neighbor’s driveway. His eyelids drooped. He shifted position, and something dug painfully into his hip. He grabbed it and it vibrated - his cell. He squinted into the screen.

There were two missed calls and one text, all from Grace.

Where are you baby? I was looking forward to your prickly kisses xx

His eyes watered. He dialed her personal phone, eager to hear her voice, but it went straight through to voicemail.

“This is Doctor Grace Lastra. If this is an emergency, please dial 999. If not, kindly hang up because I most probably won’t bother with this message.” Then, a giggle.

“Ugh, I hate these. Darling, I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you - I’m at Ellie and Mel’s house. Had a bit of a minor emergency, but everything’s alright now. I’ll be back tomorrow morning. We can go to the shops together. For the trousers, remember? I love you,” he said breathlessly just as the phone beeped in his ear.

He texted her as well.

Actually listen to the messages this time, baby. I love you.

He put the phone on the coffee table and yawned. The crying had made him sleepy. He turned on his side and hugged the pillow.

Just a few hours, he thought, then slipped into unconsciousness.

The firemen were ready to bust through the door, but they found that was was already open. They stomped into the apartment in full gear and found nothing but smoke and ruins.

“Jesus Christ. It’s like someone had a crackin’ row in ‘ere,” one of them said, lifting up the oxygen mask. Another fireman walked up behind him after checking the bathroom. He held a charred glass perfume bottle.

“It looks like he might’ve caught her cheating,” he said, eying the horribly dented frame. The couple in the photo was nearly indistinguishable. He had seen damage like this before. It had all the classic signs of a crime of passion. “There’s no one about, though. Whatever happened, whoever they were, they’re gone.”

Glass crunched underneath their heavy boots. One of them knelt and took a closer look at the off-white carpeting. “Looks like blood, mate. I think we might have to notify the police, just in case.”

The other one got on his two-way. “Could you get me the lease-holder’s name and number, please? Give them a ring. And notify the local police. This place is a wreck, and we just found blood.” He turned to the other fireman crawling over the detritus. “Alright, boys, you best feck off. We might be ruining valuable evidence.”

They grumbled and walked single file out of the apartment. One of them put his hand up.

“You hear that?” A phone rang somewhere close.

“Sounds like it’s coming from the parlor,” another said.The noise was coming from a woman’s handbag. “Over ‘ere.” He took off heavy gloves, and looked at the screen. The number was familiar.

“Fiona?”

“Aw, bollocks.” It was the dispatcher, trying to call the owner.

“Yeah, looks like she left her bag and mobile here,” he yelled over his shoulder. “Can we get a bead on the man in the photo?”

“On it, boss,” a younger one yelled. He walked outside, where a very worried man stood with his arms crossed. “You the landlord?”

“Yes. What’s the damage?”

The fireman’s eyebrows rose. “There’s some moderate damage to the bathroom, but it’s mostly soot.”

“Was it their fault?” he said.

“You should wait until the police come by and have a look. They can answer your questions far better than I can, sir,” he said. He took off his helmet and threw it in the back of the truck.

“Bloody hell, he is the police. Where is he?” he said.

“Who is?”

“The bloke who moved in with Dr. Lastra - been there about… four months now. He’s a DI for the local police. Hardy, I think ‘is name is. A sour-faced fucker,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t know what she sees in him.”

“I’ll let the captain know. Thank you for you assistance,” he said, and walked back into the building.

He ran into the captain in stairway. He was headed down, talking into his two way.

“I just spoke with the landlord. He says a DI Hardy lives there with Dr. Grace Lastra.”

“I got that from the post. Fiona just called the station. They have someone coming, but they are also calling DI Hardy. Apparently, he took off from work on the weekend. He didn’t say why, though.”

“A doctor and and DI,” the younger fireman said, shaking his head. “It doesn’t seem…right.”

The captain hoisted off his oxygen tank and shrugged. “I’ve been in the fire brigade for 20 years, and one of the first things I learned is that fancy titles don’t mean shit to raw human nature,” he said. He took off his heavy fireproof jacket. “Either way, it’s a police problem now.”

His phone rang him awake.

He jumped up quickly - he set it so it was always loud and clear when work called.

“DI Hardy.”

“Where are you?” the dispatcher said with no preamble.

“I’m at a friend’s home, about an hour and a half away. What’s going on?” He grabbed his tie and put it on. It was all muscle memory now - he didn’t even think about it.

“And Doctor Lastra?”

“At home sleeping, presumably,” he said. He felt a chill.

The young woman sighed.

“What is it, for God’s sake? It’s-” he looked at the phone screen “-2:19 in the morning.”

“There’s been a fire. Nothing too-”

He nearly dropped the phone. “Oh fuck, is she okay?”

“-Sir! Sir!” she was yelling into the phone. He ran up the stairs and knocked on Ellie’s door insistently.

“Ellie!” he said in a tense whisper. He heard her groan. Bed springs creaked and she opened, her hair a poofy tangle.

“Jesus, Hardy, what now?” she said. Just as soon as she saw his face, the sleep flew from her eyes. “What is it?”

“There’s been a fire. At my apartment-” He put the phone to his ear again, and winced. She was still yelling, trying to get his attention.

“-I’ve been trying to say-”

“Is Grace alright? Jesus Christ, is she hurt?” he said, his voice going higher with despair.

“-that she’s not there, sir. We have DS Pravhati there now. Her bag and mobile are still at the scene, but she’s gone. ”

“What d’you mean she’s not there? I have confirmation she got home safe two hours ago.” Ellie went into her walk in to dress. Mel put on her robe, her face steely with annoyance.

“I’ll have him call you just as soon as he finishes questioning the other tenants-”

“-No. You will have him call me now. The very instant you hang up.” He put on his suit coat and combed his fingers through his hair. It was still damp from the rain.

Ellie came out, dressed in a gray suit. She ran the brush blind through her curls and tied it up.

“Where are you going, Ellie?” Mel whispered as she put on socks and shoes.

“I’m going with Hardy,” she said, going into the bathroom to brush her teeth. Tom’s door opened.

“What’s with all the damn noise, Mum?” he said.

“Watch you mouth, young man,” Ellie said through foam. She spat and rinsed and gave him a smile. “Normal police drama,” she said. He scratched at his bare chest.

“But you and Hardy don’t even work together anymore,” he said, perplexed.

“Didn’t stop me before,” she said and gave him a quick kiss. “We’re a good team. I’m off.” He rolled his eyes and went back into his bedroom.

“Miller!” he yelled from the bottom of the stairs. The front door creaked open.

Mel grabbed her elbow. “Ellie, I’ve got a bad feeling about all this. Just…let him go. Stay here with me. I sleep best with you.”

She took Mel’s hand, kissed her knuckles, then went after Alec.

He didn’t like to wait.

She drove through the sleep-silent streets, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. Soon, Tess’s white bungalow with the hydrangea bushes underneath the parlor window came into view. She let out a shuddering breath.

She had made a three hour trip in an hour and 45 minutes. The needle had gone past 120 miles an hour more than once, but miraculously, no police had been snoozing by a radar.

She didn’t cry a drop since getting in the car, but it also felt like she had not blinked. Her corneas ached, but her vision was catlike.

She brought the car to a silent stop at the mouth of the driveway.

She spent the whole drive fighting back the overlapping waves of anxiety, anger, and despair, but now that she’d arrived, she couldn’t feel him. She opened the door and sniffed the air. Her dark eyes flashed gold.

Nothing.

She looked down, and she gripped the bat firmly in the hand still wrapped in Tess’s scarf. She hissed and pulled it off. It drifted to the concrete. Her car - a shiny gray SUV with the brand new transmission she bought - sat in the driveway. The house was dark. The windows blinked blindly in the street lights.

Her grip loosened.

She was in my home. In my bedroom.

Her mouth filled with bile.

She came into our home.

Still, she hesitated. Grace - she had a nice life. And a lovely man.

But after everything, he was the one who let her in. To the bedroom where they made love just hours before. Where she dropped her tacky scarf doused in her stinking perfume.

Yet Grace could survive. She’d gone through far worse.

She took a step back. Her bare feet slapped on the concrete. She looked down, surprised. She forgot to put on shoes. There was something written into the concrete underneath her foot.

Tess + Hardywith a heart around it. Inside, as well, was the imprint of a tiny hand, and a date. Summer of ‘04.

Tears dripped from her chin to the pavement. They had once been a real family, something she’d never, ever had. Even with the bitterness, who’s to say there wasn’t still love left? Could she blame Alec if he wanted to be with the mother of his only child? Why else would he have let her in? All that talk of poison meant nothing if he kept drinking her in. Could she, of all people, blame him?

She knelt and leaned heavily against the bat. She was in agony.

Alec was the sunbeam eaking through the cracks in her dark room. He was the promise of love, and normalcy.

But now, he hurt more than years of abuses piled on abuses had ever hurt. She shivered. He’d become the torturer to give her sweet relief, just to turn the screw even tighter.

She stood, teetering. The bat’s metal sung as she dragged it beside her walking to the hydrangeas in front of the house. The flowers were deep blue.

Of course they were. Alec had lived and loved there. She caressed the blossoms, but her hand turned to a ripping claw. Blue flew over her shoulder until she had topped both bushes. She was ankle deep in dying flowers. Fury blossomed in her chest. It felt almost erotically good, since it obliterated the pain.

Tess was in her home. She came in her bedroom. Tainted her things. Took what she had marked as hers.

She raised the bat. Her lips peeled back from her teeth and she ran, silently, toward Tess’s car.

Hardy’s car was already humming when Ellie stepped in. He pulled out of the driveway with a screech.

“Easy. You’ll scare the neighbors,” Ellie said.

He changed gears, but the car didn’t respond quick enough to suit him. The gears ground hideously.

She put her hand on his. “Let me drive. I always drive.”

Without a word, he stopped and got out of the car. They changed places and she drove out of the neighborhood without a sound.

She waited until they hit the carriageway to open her mouth.

“What happened?”

He grunted. “I don’t know. Pravhati hasn’t called yet.” He checked his mobile. No one had called. He dialed the dispatcher.

“Detective Hardy?”

He didn’t mince words. “Why hasn’t Pravhati called?”

“He did not answer when I called him - he must be in the middle of an interview - but I texted him to contact you immediately.”

“I’m on my way back. Regardless, I will be taking over as soon-” His phone vibrated in his hand.”-What the hell?”

It was Daisy.

She was sobbing. “Dad! Oh God where are-” she was cut off. There was rustling as someone took her phone.

“Hardy!” It was Tess.“Bloody fucking ‘ell,” she said, going into the Northern accent she reverted to only when she was truly upset. Daisy wept somewhere close and tried to take her phone back. There was a slap and a moan. “Your crazy bitch of a girlfriend just tried to kill us both,” she said, panting into the phone. “Ruined the car, ripped out the hydrangeas and nearly took my fucking ‘ead off before I zapped her with my Taser.”

“Where is she?”

“Who the fuck cares where she is,” Tess screamed. “She was trying to kill me with a goddamn baseball bat, screaming bloody murder about taking what’s hers or some shite-”

“Mum, why were you over there today? What did you dooo?” Daisy wailed. He heard another sharp slap.

“You keep your mouth shut, young lady. And just to let you know, I’m aware what you’re up to with yer father.”

“Tess.” His voice was soft. She was still panting. “Where is Grace?”

“Grace? What a fucking irony that name is,” she said. “Jesus, look at my car,” she said in despair. “Just got it fixed, too.”

“Where is Grace?!” he screamed. Ellie gasped and drove into the breakdown lane.

She sniffed. “Where d’ye think? I tased her before she killed us both, and she passed out in our driveway. I cuffed her and called Zed. She’s been arrested, and you bet your narrow ass I’m pressing charges, so don’t start.”

“Where is she?” he asked a third time.

“Our old station,” she said.

“Dad, please come! I want to go-” His phone vibrated in his ear again. It was Pravhati.

“Grace is in Sandbrook,” he answered flatly.

“Yes, sir. The station just phoned. The damage to the apartment is minimal. Items of clothing burnt in the bathtub, and she destroyed art prints and some photos in the bedroom. There was a bloody piece of cloth - looks like a scarf, torn in half and discarded. We’re taking that in, and some blood samples from the carpet. Other than that, nothing worthy of note.”

“Och aye?”

Tess tried to call him back, but he ignored the vibrating.

“Yes, sir. It looks like she was upset and decided to burn most of her clothes and break things.” He paused. “Do you have any idea what might’ve happened in the last 24 hours to make her behave in this fashion?”

He took a deep breath. He was getting tunnel vision. “Tell the captain I’ll be in later. I’m going to Sandbrook,” he said, and hung up.

He opened the window a crack and pushed his phone through it. Ellie drove quietly, her face pale with secondhand misery.

“Could you turn around, head north?”

“We’ve been headed that way for the last ten minutes,” she said. “We’ll be there soon enough.” The gas pedal touched the floor.

#The Sea Inside #broadchurch #alec hardy #david tennant #fan fiction #ellie miller #the stormclouds are crackling #The Sea Inside - Act Four Part 3

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very-grownup · 8 years

Text

I wrote what could charitably be called a short story this week that is also and actually spoiler-soaked fanfiction for Ace Attorney: Spirit of Justice.

They sat in the dark office, lit only by a few small, flicking candles and the moonlight coming through windows that had, until earlier in the week, been boarded up for over twenty years. In the morning, twenty years of grime and sadness would need to be washed from them, twenty years of detritus and cobwebs brushed away, and probably some crooked, hastily nailed and imperfectly removed nails would have to be removed or ground down before someone injured themselves. For now, though, that the windows were open to filter in the wavering lights of the night was enough.

They say; the two sons of the rebel leader and insurgent, Dhurke Sahdmadhi, and the daughter of the queen who had sought his arrest and execution. The children of the queen who had been thought long dead sat with the son of the sole victim of the blaze that had engulfed the royal residence, the man who was the first victim of what would be a subtler fire, nearly consuming their shared homeland, almost wholly consuming three childhoods, and leaving three orphans, of a sort, several times over, their fates and lives tightly bound together while simultaneously finding themselves strangers in the ashes.

In the morning, the Magistrate of the High Court of Khura'in would be meeting with senior court advisors, priests, and a selection of foreign lawyers who were experts in the intricacies of the constitutional laws of their own countries. They were surprised, all three, that they were not invited to this meeting and, beyond that, were not permitted to be present. Things were changing for the Kingdom of Khura'in.

In the morning, the old sign outside the office would be taken down before it could fall on a pedestrian and open the heirs of Dhurke Sahdmadhi to personal injury liability claims that one of them could ill-afford. A new sign, with a new name, would go up, and outdated law books and unnecessary notes of rebellion would be cleaned out. Everything was changing.

For the moment, though, things remained, if not as they had always been, then somewhere between how they had once been and how they might be in the future that they would be responsible to begin forging when the new day dawned. A bottle of wine sat between the three of them and three coffee mugs, chipped with cracks like spider webs in their finish and stains circling their bottoms that even diligent scrubbing had been unable to remove, sat before them. Two mugs were filled with dark wine; the third had wine with water after an argument that had been as unexpectedly passionate as it had been loud.

"What was he like?" she asked. She gripped her mug with both hands, the hold so tight her knuckles stood out, bone white in the dimness. Despite fighting for her right to take a portion of the wine, she had not yet lifted the mug to her lips, nor had she let it go since it had been put in front of her. She held it as though afraid if she loosened her grip she would lose it and, with it, her right to share in whatever this evening might be with the other two.

"A good man," he said. His tongue was quick from what might have already been too much wine and the fear that if he didn't speak, a silence would spread between them and never be filled. Across from him, the other man made a noise, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, but a placeholder hum in lieu of opinion as he thought with his eyes closed, mug touching his lips for the wine to be tasted slowly, gracefully.

"That is not an answer," she said, anger heating her words and cheeks as she turned a glare of practiced imperial fierceness on him. "Those are words that might as well be ritual; nothingness to fill ears when hearts are judged unfit to hold truer things. For example, I could say my --" her voice held the slightest crack, grief piercing the clouds of anger "-- my father was a good man." She swallowed; the grief a lump in her throat. "And that would not be true. None of it would be true. But you would not dare correct me, would you?"

"No," he admitted, "but you probably have to pick your fights pretty carefully with someone who could have you executed."

She drew her breath in sharply. The other put his mug down and held up his brand-burnt hand before she could rise to the thoughtless bait of the words. "No, but it is important to recognize the differences between untruths that protect a heart, or a society, and lies that facilitate deception, that hurt a people with their falsehood."

The anger was let out in a puff of air directed downward, making ripples in her drink. She settled for, "I would not have you executed for speaking the truth, Horn Head."

"I know. It was a joke."

"A poorly thought out joke."

"An American joke?" she asked.

"Though they are often one and the same, I believe with time you will find that, in this particular case, it is a joke from a sense of humour that has its roots in this land as much as you yourself do."

"A rebel joke, then," she said and regarded them both with a frown, as though either could now be suspect as a potential source for inappropriate or ill-timed remarks.

He snorted and drained his mug before reaching for the wine bottle, which the other moved just beyond his grasp with a warning look. He kept in check the impulse to stick out his tongue, barely, remembering just who he was with and the strange position of authority he found himself in, at odds with everything that had come before. Instead, he turned his gaze to the faintly lit memorial shrine below a picture of Dhurke Sahdmadhi. Small, fresh white flowers were placed at it every day. (There had been another picture near the location of the shrine, one bearing the wounds of disrespect and anger through the dust, as well as a perfect cut through the centre which he had quickly removed before the other two arrived.)

"I have no objection to jokes," she said, sounding more certain of this than the other two felt was deserved. "But it must be made clear: neither of you are allowed to lie to me. Ever. It simply will not be allowed under any circumstances. There must only be the truth between us. All three of us." If he had possessed another's gifts he might have been certain that he heard the smallest tremble in her voice, know that what was phrased as an order from arrogance hid the true, pleading fear of a little girl who may not have lost the most, but carried the uneasiness of not knowing how much of what she had lost had been true.

He could only make silent assumptions, his ears prone to deception in matters where his eyes would have been of little use. "He was a good man, though. That wasn't just some empty platitude. He was a man who was trying to do what he thought was right, throughout our lives and even before that, probably."

"He was a hypocritical man. He was torn between what he wanted for this kingdom and what he wanted for himself. He was never able to be truly honest with himself or us because of that. Though they belonged to him, there was a part of him that could never belong in turn to the Defiant Dragons."

"Or his sons, I guess. Uh, his kids, I mean."

"Was he a good father?" she asked. Then, in a rush: "My father was." She stuck her chin out, daring the other two to argue this point.

The words came slowly, with caution and care, being chosen by someone who rarely found himself asked a question he had not already considered, not to mention decided, the answer to well in advance: "He was a father."

"I thought he was a shit dad, at one point."

The other looked at him, surprised. "Language," he murmured and she snapped "I am fourteen, not four."

He ignored them. "Before that, I thought he was a great dad. A great person. A great lawyer and hero and just, everything that was good, you know? And I missed him, every day, and just wanted to be old enough to come back home, to get my brand and join him and you and everyone and then I didn't and I hated him and then I just didn't think of him, as a dad or anything else. And now I think I just miss him again, separate from anything else. And I wish he was here."

"As do I."

"Me too," she said, very quietly. Then, with more forced: "So that he could explain himself. To me and, and you, too! A father should not make his child cry through his actions."

He looked down, startled to find wet spots on the poorly cleaned table, and touched his face, his fingers coming away damp. Embarrassment heated cheeks already warm from tears.

"He has always cried easily; pay it no mind." The words were gentled by an affection that both had privately worried might no longer be found. "I think, upon reflection of both your unique circumstances and his approach to them, our father chose your safety over happiness; yours or his." A gentle look was directed at her. "He would have liked to know you. I think he would be proud of the woman you have already shown yourself to be."

"Don't sell yourself short. You were always on his mind, too."

"I made no mention of myself."

"Lies of omission are still considered lies." When he saw her begin to frown, he hastened to add "Not that I'm suggesting anyone's lying right now. Just thought someone could use a reminder of some basic legal principles. He was proud of you, too."

Abruptly, the mugs of both men were being refilled by a hand that was too steady as it poured. "There was nothing to be proud of. I left him. I abandon them all to try and force change from within, thinking I knew better than they did, and when I was confronted with the truth, my spirit buckled as his never did and I let myself be made a tool. He died thinking --"

"What nonsense! All children must leave the side of their parents at some point and you should have a corresponding faith that a parent knows the child they have raised, unless everyone involved is an absolute nincompoop! And I will not allow you to tell me I share blood with someone as short sighted as that!" She scowled and drank her watered wine in a gulp, too large and too fast. He scowl deepened: he was now to be held responsible for any discomfort she felt, now or in the morning.

"You should probably listen to her. She's almost sort of your boss, probably." He rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles, forcing the obvious wetness away. "He believed in you. He never thought you had lost your moral path, you idiot. All he was worried about was your safety in pursuing it and what you were willing to risk. For good reason, too; you were ready to lay your own life down --"

"So were you, you reckless fool of a defense attorney! Far more than I was! You could have stayed safe in America! You should have! I certainly did my best to make coming home as unappealing to you as possible when we met in court --"

"Because the cryptic judgmental monk routine wasn't going to make me think shit was all kinds of wrong?! If it wasn't for Dhurke coming to -- sending Ms. Fey to -- if you had just talked to me --"

"As the eldest I had a duty to make sure you were both safe! Father would have --"

"He was a hypocrite and damn well didn't want you adding your body to his like some kind of legal martyr! You weren't allowed to choose death when he already had!"

The voices of the two men had been steadily rising, the loudness of one necessitating the other to be louder still, escalating volumes and tempers, two pairs of hands braced on opposite sides of the table, one standing to give his voice greater volume still, the force of his final comment seeming to shake the furniture with its power. Then, she interrupted, slamming closed fists on the table. "Enough!"

Startled, embarrassed, perhaps even ashamed and made self-conscious, the men both took deep breaths. One sat back down, clenching and unclenching his fingers, while the other continued calculated breathing exercises, punctuating them with small sips of wine.

"No one is allowed to choose death. No lying, no death, and no fighting like two beasts outside the courtroom."

"Sorry," he said, even his carefully exercised voice made rough from shouting and emotion.

"Boys," she muttered with the universal disgust of an adolescent girl.

"I, at least, keep a civil tone and volume when acting in a professional capacity."

"Says the guy who left me bruised after making a show of exorcising me for the gallery," he began, but stopped when he caught the angry crease of her eyebrows, the rapid blinking away of unshed tears.

"The spirit of the Holy Mother and brotherly love moved me," the other said dryly and he found himself cracking a faint smile in response, despite everything.

The three were silent, then, for a moment. The men drinking their wine, cautiously aware of the kindling of an old spark between them, afraid that a wrong move or word would extinguish it again, before it had an opportunity to find longer lasting fuel and grow to include the girl, who was beginning to look tired and, like any young person desperate to prove their adulthood, was refusing to acknowledge it. She rocked her chair with agitation, the sound of chair legs lifting and falling, thonk, the only sound in the dusty office.

"He wasn't the perfect dad," he said suddenly, "but it never occurred to me to want a different one."

The other nodded, slowly. "He was not a perfect father, or a perfect man, but he was ours, always. Whether we might try to disguise it or ignore it."

"It was probably -- it is probably the same with your dad, right?" he said, and he surprised them both by touching her shoulder, squeezing it with a warm hand that, though often too hot, was the perfect warmth through the thin fabric of the jacket she had impulsively wrapped herself in. "When things are a bit calmer, I have a -- friend, I guess, who you should talk to. She'd get where you're coming from, I think."

She did not shake off the unfamiliar, brotherly weight of his grasp. "I suppose, if nothing else, there is always merit to be found in cross-cultural exchanges."

"Having been there, I just caution you not to expect typical representation of the American anything from one of our brother's friends. They are not what I would describe as normal citizens."

He snorted at the jab and found himself instinctively putting a hand to her head, to ruffle her hair in the place of another, but quickly turned the gesture into another clap on the shoulder before he turned back to his wine. Although a warmth separate from the alcohol was spreading in response to hungered for words buried behind gentle mockery, there was still such thing as propriety and it would take time for the three of them to find the shape it would take between the three of them. They were siblings of a sort through shared tragedy and awkward allies in the shared goal of rebuilding the foundations of a country in the wake of a sad, confused rebellion, the two men who were responsible for presenting two sides of a whole truth to the world, and the young woman who would bear the responsibility of upholding and endorsing the truth they presented.

"No one here knows what normal is, yet."

#word vomit #going to change my mind and delete this almost for sure

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