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weareallstoriesintheend · 4 years ago

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Promises (Reader x Zemo)

Zemo and his guard make their escape

Word Count: 3,395

Warnings: Violence. Part 2 of the Escape Series, Here is Part 1 Zemo Tag List: @lucky-luck-lucky @neoarchipelago @mrs-mischief-209 @londoninamerica

“This is a terrible fucking idea” You kept Zemo close behind you as you rounded the tight corner, the deafening sound of the alert alarm had started blasting the second someone realised a prisoner was no longer in their cell. You’d tried your best to get as far through the plan as possible but part of this involved trusting him to get you both out of here and something irritating in the back of your mind was making you doubt that decision. The corridor was in darkness except for cuts of light from the small windows high up towards the ceiling - sunrise was almost over. “Well I hate to inform you my dear but I’m just following your plan” Zemo whispered back, following closely at your heels as you both half walked, half ran down the corridor. “Also, may I add, you look beautiful in this light”

“Shut up” you hissed.

The alarms blaring in the corridors were making your heart pound almost as loudly. You were running out of time, you know you’d planned this down to the last second but this was reckless in the best of circumstances. The Raft was no normal prison; it was a prison for enhanced persons which meant security was tighter and much less likely to fail. Early morning was your choice due to the lack of guards around on each floor; you’d made it so that you were on inspection duty again. Due to the limited prisoners things had gotten lazy around here and you figured you could only make this work to your advantage. It was going well, it was perfect even. You’d given up trying to avoid cameras as you ran down the service corridor towards a blind spot you knew existed that would give you a moments respite ready for the final step. You would bet money on the fact they knew it was you doing this so as much you were aiming to get himout it was also imperative to get yourself out too. Who else would it be? It was Zemo and there was only one person in this whole place who would want to break his cocky ass out and that was you.

“Your friend better show up” you whispered through gritted teeth trying to steady your breathing.

“He will” Zemos breathing was just as fast but his face remained stoic. He watched you when he thought you were looking, curious eyes scanning your face. You presumed he was calculating how best to get rid of you when he was out of this place but you were doing this to give him the benefit of the doubt. Much like everyone else The Raft housed he was here because he thought he was doing the right thing. Everything he did was for his family and you couldn’t help but feel for that side of him. The man who kept his promises.

You rifled through the backpack you were carrying and handed him a pair of dark jeans and a black hoodie to change into “Wear this; I’m not walking you around wearing that uniform”. He smiled taking them from you instantly pulling the top of his prison uniform over his head; you hastily diverted your eyes. Both of you were huddled in an enclosed part of the corridor to stay out of sight of anyone who may come searching, a great choice for safety. However this also meant that, despite the fact you diverted your eyes, you could feel his bare skin brushing against your arms as he moved to change.

“I’ve had guards watching me use the bathroom for months dear one, do you really think I’m concerned by you seeing me change?” he chuckled quietly before handing you his discarded clothes, “Also how did you know my sizes?” he asked adjusting the hoodie that sat perfectly across his shoulders.

“I read your file” you shrugged. Your phone beeped in your pocket, the message simply read ‘On the roof’

You grabbed Zemo by the scruff of the hoodie and pulled him closer “Do exactly as I tell you, got it?”

He nodded “Of course, a woman in charge is simply irresistible”

You scoffed and started dragging him along the service corridor. There was an access point to the roof along here that stupidly sat in a complete blind spot from the cameras. Your heart dropped into your stomach as you heard a clear, ringing gunshot behind you “Stop right there” You sighed, knowing the gruff tones of your superior officer anywhere; you raised your hands mockingly and spun in place on your heels staring him down. Zemo followed your motions throwing you a quick, indiscernible look before his back was turned to you. “Of course it would be you. You and your boyfriend better keep your hands up where I can see them” “David listen – “ he cut you off by firing another warning shot. “Shut up” he shouted, voice reverberating off the metal walls. He reached up and spoke into the radio that was clipped to his shoulder. “Did you bring what I told you too?” Zemo whispered over his shoulder. You stuttered, your brain was going at 30 miles an hour and it was hard to keep yourself on point. You knew exactly what he was talking about; you could feel the metal of it pressing into your back. “Yes but no, you can’t” you mumbled, your eyebrows raised in panic as Zemo turned to you. You internally rolled your eyes at how surprised you felt by his calmness, it was like you’d forgotten who he was.

“I said don’t move” you heard David shout, another warning shot hitting the roof. You flinched and urged Zemo turn around with wide eyes.

“It’s now or never. Do you trust me?” Zemo asked simply.

You paused, searching his face for any sign of deception. Sighing you lowered your arms, you blocked out the frantic shouting from David as best you could by keeping your eyes trained on Zemos. You could see David in your periphery with his gun raised; you slipped your hands behind your back and under your shirt. You pulled out the weapon you’d been given by Zemos friend and slotted it into his hands.

Before you could blink Zemo spun with the gun raised. You had expected him simply to shoot but he began walking slowly forward towards David, you panicked and your feet stumbled after him. He shot one hand back firmly to stop you before returning it to its steady position holding the gun.

“Stop right there Zemo” David shouted, his gun also raised and trained on Zemo who was steadily still walking towards him. You could see Davids confused panic matching your own.

You shuffled on your feet wanting to shout out to him to stop, did he have a death wish?! Then you remembered the story he’d told you about Siberia and your heart pounded harder. He’d held a gun in his hand then too but you certainly don’t have the bulletproof Blank Panther armour to stop him this time. ‘Please tell me he’s not going to commit suicide by cop and just leave me here’ you thought to yourself, begging to the voice inside your own head. David was practically screaming instructions, ranting demands in his confusion at Zemos steely defiance. Then before you could ascertain what happened Zemo fired a shot. David dropped – it was that quick. Mere seconds. Blood oozed slowly out onto the cold concrete floor and you stared half in shock.

“You know for a man who was always so hot on officers wearing protective uniforms you’d think he’d a least wear a scrap of armour himself” you whispered, thinking out loud. As Zemo reached you once more you tsk’d and smacked his chest hard “Don’t show off like that again!” He chuckled and tucked the gun into the back of his jeans. Pushing his hair back he then gestured to the laddered stairs that lead to the roof, “After you” You made your way to clamber up the ladder, “Don’t stare at my ass!”

-------------------

As you reached the roof the helicopter blades were already going, winds blasted you both causing your hair to swirl in front of your face. You watched Zemo greet the pilot with a small wave and he began walking forward towards the open helicopter door. For some reason it was at this moment your body froze. Your hair whipped your face and you struggled to stay in place with the force of the winds but you couldn’t move your feet. You’d given up everything, just like that – he’d somehow convinced you to give up everything for him. There was no way to come back from this, not one single way.

You wanted to scream at yourself for being stupid or naive but you couldn’t help yourself - you trusted him. You didn’t understand how or why but you did; something about him made you want to follow him to the ends of the earth and never look back. If someone asked for an explanation you wouldn’t have the words and that was a strangely beautiful notion to you.

Something told you he was a good man; despite his past and all he had done he was a good man. He had murdered, tortured and maimed but to you he was a lost soul who needed company. A man who had lost everything and fought like hell to keep one simple promise.

He shouted your name over the whirring blades, you looked up to see he had stopped also and he was running back to you, crouched low to avoid getting hit.

“Second thoughts?” he asked as he got close enough to you to lower his voice, a small smile played on his lips. You shook your head but didn’t speak. He stepped closer to you again, almost toe to toe “I apologise about your friend”

“H-he wasn’t a friend”

“Then why did you stop?”

You opened and closed your mouth stupidly, like a fish gasping for air, but no words came out. You felt him cautiously put his hands on your upper arms, running his thumbs over your skin.

“I promised I would protect you, you deserve a life outside of this prison as I do” You noticed that despite the strength of his Sokovian accent it was also calm and delightful in its gravelly tone. You found it almost comforting listening to the way he formed his words so delicately.

That was the moment you realised it wasn’t that you didn’t believe him, as he spoke you trusted what he was saying, you trusted he wasn’t lying. It wasn’t Zemo that had made you stop.

“It’s just… this is the first time I’ve been in fresh air in 9 months”

His eyebrows rose in surprise at your admission before his face softened, he reached up and ran the backs of his fingers down your cheek. He didn’t speak but took your hand and pulled just a little. You staggered on your feet but followed, he placed his hand softly on the back of your head as you both moved together to keep you low and out of harm.

He stepped in first, speaking in Sokovian to the pilot whom he called Oeznik. Scrambling in behind him you gathered your backpack between your feet. You sat huddled against him as a deep shiver wracked through your body. He looked down with sympathy set behind his eyes and leaned his arm across your shoulder. You leaned forward out of his touch suddenly and bent down for your bag.

“I apologise, I didn’t mean too-“ he began hesitantly, afraid that he’d offended you with his physical affection, but you stopped him by sitting up and placing a small plastic wrapped package into his lap.

“What is this?” he asked curiously, turning it over in his hands before unravelling the wrapping slightly. Small hard multi-coloured candies tumbled out into his waiting palm.

“Turkish Delight. You said your son liked them.” you blushed at your own words, embarrassed at the familiarity you showed him and you were unable to hold his eye contact as you continued “I thought it would a comforting introduction back into the world”

He unwrapped a sweet and popped it into his mouth, he closed his eyes and a soft smile spread across his face. You watched him for a second before he opened his eyes; you gave him a shy unsure look before he leant in and placed a gentle kiss to your cheek.

“Thank you milaya”

-------------------

“Holy shit” you whispered under your breath.

The room he led you into was expansive, he’d told you this was one of his homes in the area but the place looked like a palace inside. Everything was adorned in deep ornate gold tones with rich ruby and burnt orange colours intertwined. The ceilings were impossibly high and housed a huge crystal chandelier that twinkled in the beaming sunlight that came through large elaborate windows at the back of the room. The floors under your feet were intricate mosaic tile and you suddenly felt the need to tread a little lighter in your heavy boots.

“Impressive isn’t it?” he smirked; he gesticulated to a rack of clothes that was against one wall. “You need to change, pick anything you like” and with that statement he disappeared behind a curtain. He was still sort of visible to you, ruffling around in what you presumed were his own clothes.

“So what, I break you out of prison and you give me a dress? Seems like a fair deal” you said sarcastically, voice raised so he could hear you.

“No, you break me out of prison and I give you the life I promised you. If you want it” he shouted back.

“You’ll be on the run for the rest of your born days Zemo. What life?!” that panic had set back in again now you were out in the real world. Your fingers tapped against your thighs and you stared around you wide eyed. This was all so overwhelming.

“Exactly. We can go wherever, whenever. We’ll stay in the shadows and live how we want too”

He appeared from behind the curtain, he was now dressed cleanly in fresh black jeans and an aubergine purple turtleneck. He draped a fur collared coat around his shoulders and extended his arms “You like it?” he grinned at your staring.

You swallowed hard and nodded. He looked expensive and far out of your league. As you absentmindedly smoothed rich silk materials between your fingers you suddenly remembered you’d run away with a Baron. The teasing smirk still played on his lips as he approached you, he traced down your arm watching the way his touch raised goosebumps on your skin.

“You think people are just going to let you go? The Raft will be looking for you. The Wakandans! You think they are just going to let this slide?”

He shushed you and pushed hair out of your eyes “What I said was no lie, you deserve a life and I’m going to give it to you. A woman as skilled and beautiful as you deserves to show off no?”

You swallowed again, nodding gingerly at his words trying to convince yourself more than him to calm down and trust him.

“Why am I picking out dresses?” you asked quietly, noticing you were still slipping silk material through your fingers that belonged to the beautiful dresses far beyond your pay grade.

“We’re going out” he said matter of factly, walking across the room and pouring himself something from the decanter on the side.

“We can’t go out!” you protested frantically, abandoning your dress choices and scurrying after him. You grabbed him by the forearm of his free arm and gripped him tightly.

“I’ll only take you to places where I know you will be safe. Let me show you freedom” he whispered, leaning close to your face. Whispers of whatever golden brown liquid he was drinking filled your nostrils and you exhaled the breath you had been holding. He put the glass down and spun you so your back was against his chest, his breath ghosted over your exposed neck and you resisted the urge to shiver. He directed your body towards the wrack of clothes and brought his lips to your ear, “Plus any chance to see you out of that guards uniform would be a blessing”

You tutted and wriggled out of his grasp, rolling your eyes at him over your shoulder before turning away hiding a blushing smile.

You hummed to yourself, pushing clothes back and forth on the rack before you pulled out a wine red dress, admiring its beauty. The red was deep against your pale skin, the feeling of the silk was like butter and the thought of it brushing your upper thighs made you tremble.

Like he could read your mind Zemo had walked quietly behind you and placed a hand lightly against your thigh, brushing his fingers with just a little pressure. His voice at your ear snapped you out of the trance “It will suit you”

You took the dress, grabbing a pair of shoes, and sauntered behind the curtain. Gingerly starting to remove your clothes that were sticking to you with sweat you thought about how you could probably do with a shower but something told you there was no time. Your body was thrumming with anxiety, your first night of freedom from that place – for the both of you – and mostly you wanted to relax and enjoy Zemos company. Talking to him without bullet proof glass and steel bars between you seemed like bliss in your head. The thought of getting to brush his hair back as he spoke, like you had thought of doing so many times, made your fingertips tingle. But you were still fighting back a nervous tremble that shook your entire body, was this going too far? Was it too soon? He could sense your anxiety from behind the curtain as you moved quietly but hastily so he spoke up, voice soft “I mean it, you are mine. I keep safe what is mine” You poked your head out from behind the curtain holding the gold shoes you were about to slip on; you raised a stern eyebrow at his presumption that you were ‘his’. He smiled, playfully trying to peek behind the curtain but you pulled it up to cover yourself “You know what I mean” he said.

You giggled and pulled the curtain back fully, watching his eyes drift down your figure as you smoothed the silk of the dress over your curves self-consciously and bent to fasten the shoes, “I know” you said with a soft smile.

He guided you closer to him with light hands, just the cautious tips of his fingers creating a tantalising pressure on your hips, “You look simply ravishing” he gushed; accent accentuating the low gravel of his voice. You simpered and shook your head, he tsk’d at your defiance “You do, a princess!”

You openly laughed this time, pushing against his chest teasingly “Shut up”

He smiled with you, refusing to let go of your hips and pulling you back, the heels of your shoes clicked quietly on the tile floor as you stumbled closer to him raising your hands to press against his chest to steady yourself. He drifted his hands up your body, caressing you through the thin fabric of your dress, eyes studying every inch of you. His fingers linked gently into your hair, massaging ever so lightly against your scalp and you sighed closing your eyes for just a split second. Suddenly you felt lips press against yours; you gasped and he took that chance to deepen the kiss just a little. You whimpered softly and your fingers tightened their grasp on his clothes before sliding down to wrap around his waist as you melted against him. This wasn’t a moment for hot and heavy; it was affectionate and shy – a delicate exploration of something new, terrifying and captivating. As you felt him lean slightly back from you your eyes fluttered open, body protesting his momentary retreat.

“I keep my promises” he whispered against your lips.

“I know you do”

#mcu #mcu fic #marvel #marvel fic #helmut zemo #baron zemo #zemo x reader #zemo x ofc #baron zemo x reader #zemo x you #zemo fluff #zemo fanfic #oeznik #zemo angst #baron zemo fic #zemo #falcon and winter solider series #falcon and winter soldier #tfatws

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iwritefandomimagines · 4 years ago

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ELEVENTH DOCTOR x READER: “Things change.”

prompt #17 -- requested

masterlist

pairing: eleventh doctor x reader

description: when the doctor gets his timings wrong again, he finds a heartbroken you in your living room, years after he last left you at home.

warnings: mega angsty. oops !

words: 1,600

Initially, you believed that whenever you next heard the sound of the TARDIS landing, you’d be ecstatic.

You’d expected to go running into the Doctor’s arms, swept away on some adventure or another that you’d remember forever. You pictured yourself content and excited and happy.

But that was then, and time had passed.

The last time the Doctor had dropped you off had been three years ago now. The man you loved had dropped you off to take Amy and Rory away somewhere ‘just for them’ for a day... But three years had gone by with no sign of them returning.

You’d spent at least the first six months locked away in your room, wallowing and crying in fear that he didn’t want to see you again.

But now that so much time had passed, you’d become too furious with the Doctor to want to see him again either. How could he just leave you here, forgetting about you entirely?

He’d told you he loved you -- had that truly meant nothing?

You were currently curled up on your sofa, a pot of ice cream in your hands and surrounded by a bundle of blankets. Your hair was unkempt, your loungewear the same you’d been wearing for a good few days now. Truth be told, you were in a mess.

Despite your infuriation, you’d never quite managed to fall out of love with the Doctor. That madman in the police box who’d whisked you away to places you’d never even imagined. He’d been your world, your safe place, and yet he’d been your breaking point too that moment he left you.

Right now you were reeling from yet another unsuccessful attempt at moving on. Another unsuccessful blind date, another failure to feel anything but apathy for any man who wasn’t the Doctor. Your Doctor. Why couldn’t you just move on?

And so when the TARDIS engine sounded, materialising right in front of you in your very living room, the fury coursing through your every vein was almost unbearable. Tugging your blankets tighter around your frame, you pretended to be unaware of the giant blue box blocking your view of another romantic comedy that only fuelled your sadness.

“Y/N!”

The sound of his voice sent chills rippling through your body, but you didn’t dare look up. It would be real then, you’d have to face the fact that he’d left you but all of a sudden was back.

“Oh Y/N! What’s the matter sweetheart?” he ambled towards you, pushing the blanket fortress you’d assembled out of his way. His head cocked to the side confusedly -- you’d changed. A lot. Had he gotten his timing wrong again?

The word sweetheart made butterflies flit in your stomach, but it was bittersweet to hear it again from his lips, and so all you could bring yourself to do was scoff.

His fingers reached up for a strand of your hair -- you’d dyed it in a feeble attempt to stop recognising yourself the way you did when you were with him -- twirling it around his finger as he tried desperately to make you meet his gaze.

“How long has it been?” his voice was barely above a whisper as he knew your answer couldn’t be good.

“Three years.”

Your words dripped with venom, your eyes harsh and your face set in a scowl as you finally made eye contact with him.

The Doctor felt his world shatter around him at that, the very fact that he’d let you down -- the most important person in his life and he’d let you down.

“Oh darling I’m so sorry,” he cooed, cupping your face in his palms and lowering his head to be closer to yours, “I promise that wasn’t ever my intention. It’s been a day... well, a week... but it was only because things got a bit hectic. I came straight back as soon as I could. You didn’t think I’d abandon you?”

You drew in a sharp breath, struggling to fathom the words to tell him just how you felt. Honestly, a small part of you was still ridiculously happy to see him again, especially knowing he’d never intended to leave you for so long. But he had, he had been gone so long, and you weren’t sure you could forgive that.

“Three years,” you repeated, as though trying to come to terms with it all over again yourself, “Three years without you, Doctor.”

He pulled you to his chest, almost knocking your ice cream from your hands as he did so with such urgency. He kissed the top of your head, your stomach doing flips as you felt so close to him again. But you were still fuming, and you couldn’t let it go.

“I’d never have left you alone for so long, Y/N. You know I’d never do that, surely.” he frowned.

“I thought I did,” you mumbled, before clearing your throat to speak more confidently. “I thought I knew. But it’s been three years, Doctor. Things change. I’ve changed. I’m not the naive girl you left in this room, struggling while you fawned over Rory and Amy.”

“What do you mean?”

“Even after you told me you loved me, Rory and Amy always seemed to come first. I feared being second -- well third -- best and then you unintentionally made that clear anyway.”

“Y/N, I love you, you know that,” he soothed, hands caressing your hair as he held you close, “I’ve thought about you every minute I’ve been gone.”

You shook your head, “That’s the problem, Doctor. So have I.”

There was silence for a moment, both of you too consumed with sadness to say anything. He couldn’t stand the notion of quite how badly he’d hurt you, and you couldn’t stand that though you were still angry and upset, you were relieved to be in his arms again, held by the man you adored.

“I-- three years,” he uttered, more to himself, still shocked, “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I know I’ll never be able to make up that time, but I want to try. I’ll never leave you behind again, darling. I can’t live without you.”

“I’ve had to learn to live without you, Doctor. I spent so long believing that it had been an accident but even now that I know that’s true it hurts. I love you, I’ll never be able to stop loving you, but I’m just-- this is so difficult.” you fought back tears.

The Doctor pressed a soft kiss to your temple, “I’ll never let anything like this happen again, Y/N. I promise. I’ll never let you out of my sight I’l--”

You shook your head, pulling back a little to stare deeply into his eyes, mesmerised as always by their emerald twinkle, “I’ve tried so hard to forget you Doctor. And I never could. But I-- It’s made me realise that people spend their entire lives at your side and it’ll always mean more to us than it does to you.”

“That’s not true, Y/N. Not one person who I have travelled with has ever been unimportant to me, I’ve cared about every single one of them, always.” his voice was stern now, and you could tell you had hit a nerve, “And it’s different with you, Y/N. Everything is different with you. In hundreds of years I’ve never cared about anyone like I care about you. I’ve never loved anyone like I love you.”

You gulped, “But that’s the point -- you’ve had hundreds of years to try, to explore and to find someone. I only get one short silly little human lifetime, Doctor. It terrifies me that I know I’ll never love anyone like I love you, you’re the love of my life. But I’ll be like a... like a blip in your timeline when I’m gone.”

“Never,” He clutched your balled fists, pulling them to his lips and kissing the backs of them gently, “Everyone has a lasting impression on me, everyone matters. But you... Y/N, you’re absolutely everything to me. You say I’m the love of your life like that doesn’t matter to me. You’re the love of my life, darling. Surely you understand that.”

His words weighed heavy on your shoulders as you tried to digest them, even heavier as you tried to understand them.

“The love of your life?”

“Of course. The love of my life.”

“Oh.”

He laughed, capturing your face in his palms and pulling you towards him to kiss you. His lips were soft and warm, just as you remembered them, and you couldn’t help but melt immediately into the kiss as you felt all of your anger dissipate.

That was the thing, no matter how much he’d unintentionally hurt you, everything felt okay with the Doctor. No matter what, the Doctor’s very presence had always been enough for you. You were just grateful to have him back.

“I love you, Doctor. Please don’t leave me behind again.” your voice cracked.

“Never, Y/N,” he kissed the corner of your lips again gently, “I love you too, more than you’ll ever know.”

You suddenly felt conscious of your current outfit, your loungewear and messy hair glaringly embarrassing to you despite the fact that the Doctor wasn’t remotely phased by it.

“I-- uh,” you began nervously, “I would say where shall we go but, well I look like this...” the Doctor furrowed his brows as you blushed, before rolling his eyes as you continued, “But I just want to spend time with you anyway. Movie night? Like old times?”

“Absolutely, sweetheart. Absolutely.”

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eeee i hope you enjoyed this! sorry if it wasn’t amazing, i lost track partway through and tried my hardest to finish it... let me know what you thought. now that i’m back, requests are back open and my (updated) prompt list is here if you’d like ideas. also, my masterlist is here if you’d like to take a look!

thanks for reading <3

#doctor who #doctor who imagines #doctorwho #doctor who imagine #the doctor #the doctor x reader #the doctor imagine #the doctor imagines #eleventh doctor #eleventh doctor x reader #eleventh doctor imagine #eleventh x reader

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bisexualbumblebee-writes · 3 years ago

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Lunch- Jasper Badun x OC

Jasper Badun x Angela Young

Description: Jasper takes Angela to lunch, where they learn something interesting about each other.

Word Count: 2.3k

“The full moon's bright. And starlight filled the evening,” came Elton John’s smooth chorus from the radio hanging on the wall of 2nd Time Around. It would have brought a smile to Angela’s face if that hadn’t been the sixth time she heard it in the past two hours. Artie had recently purchased Elton John’s latest album “Captain Fantastic and the Dirt Brown Cowboy” and he brought it into the shop so Angela could listen to it as well. Only problem is their radio seemed to be having problems with it, that song after every other one. At first Angela thought it was just a hiccup, but this was starting to get ridiculous.

“Artie, it’s playing that song again,” she complained, leaning against the counter.

“Hitting it seems to help,” came her boss’s voice from the back room, where he was putting price tags on some new stock. “There’s no one here, just hit it until it skips.” Angela looked around, noting that he was right about both things. She was glad that the store was empty, ever since Cruella revealed that Artie and Angela worked for her at the party she threw, people were more eager to visit their shop. Today was Sunday, no one usually shops on Sundays so today was the first day that Artie and Angela could relax and sort of restock.

Still, that didn’t make her want to do this any less. The girl groaned internally and grabbed the stepladder, setting it up under where the radio hung on the wall. She carefully climbed the steps until she was face to face with that stupid machine and began hitting it in an attempt to make it work properly, trying to ignore the blaring music going straight into her ears.

“We wrote it and I played it, Something happened it's so strange this feeling, Naive notions that were childish,” Elton continued to sing, successfully covering up the sound of bells jingling, signaling that someone had walked in.

“Just skip already you stupid radio,” she grumbled, annoyed. The radio didn’t care about the insult, continuing to play that infernal song.

“Simple tunes that tried to hide it, But when it comes, We all fall in love sometimes.” She groaned loudly, getting ready to hit the machine again when a voice came from behind her.

“I don’t know, I actually found that song quite good,” Jasper spoke, hands going into the pockets of his jacket casually. Angela nearly fell off the ladder, having not heard him enter the store, then faced him.

“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in,” she greeted, climbing down the ladder and straightening out her dress. “Welcome to 2nd Time Around. I’m Angela, or Angel as in: sent from above.” She gestures to her body with a bright smile.

“That was cute,” Jasper commented with a small smile. “Did Artie come up with that one for you?” Angela nodded.

“I felt a bit left out since he had that ‘Art, as in: work of’ line so he helped me out,” she explained, moving the ladder. “What can I help you with? We just got new stock from Dior, Chanel, and even Saint Laurent. From casual looks for lunch or suits for going out on the town, we have it all,” she explained, gesturing to several racks around them. Jasper let her do her whole spiel, knowing how much she loved coming up with stuff like that, before shaking his head.

“Well I didn’t originally come here for clothes but it seems that your customer service has changed my mind,” he said, making her giggle. “That can come later though. It’s nearly time for your lunch break so I figured I’d take you out to lunch.” Angela smiled internally, touched that he remembered such mundane things in her schedule.

“Well, let me just go click out and I’ll be ready,” she responded happily. He nodded and waited patiently as she walked to the back room, informing Artie that she was going on her lunch break, before clocking out and grabbing her coat. She slipped it on as she walked out.

“Wow, nice coat,” Jasper complimented, making her blush.

“Well thank you, I designed it myself.” She spread her arms out and turned to show him the entire thing.

“Beautiful,” he spoke softly before holding out his hand. “Ready to go?” She took his hand with a nod then called a bye to Artie as they walked out.

“So, how has it been living at ‘Hell Hall’?” She asked as they began walking down the sidewalk. Of course Artie and Angela stopped by Cruella’s new estate for work, but that’s just what it was. Jasper and Horace didn’t like to interrupt the dressmakers while they were working. There was a fashion show coming up so they had to get everything done as soon as possible. With all the chaos at the shop and at Hell Hall, the new couple had no time to see each other. It was surprising to Angela that her boyfriend had come by in fact. This was the first time in a week and a half that they truly got to see each other, and Angela wanted to make that time count. Jasper wrapped the arm closest to her around her shoulders and his other hand went into his coat pocket while hers went into her jacket’s pockets.

“Strange,” he answered honestly. “I lived in that cramped house for 23 years, I had the chance to get used to it. Now, I could get an entire floor of this huge mansion to myself if I just say the word. And yes, Cruella has tried.”

“You’re not used to having so much space,” Angela clarified. The man nodded.

“Exactly. Horace and Estella were always within arm’s reach in case something happened,” he continued. “Now it takes a commute to find either of them. I just- I don’t know…I kind of wish things were how they were. Before I got Estella the job at Liberty, before Estella became Cruella.” He looked at his girlfriend once he finished his rant. She hummed then gave him a patient smile.

“Things like this take some getting used to Jas. You’re a creature of habit, of course you’re not going to get comfortable right away. And that’s okay, I know that Cruella and Horace understand. And about Cruella, she’s always been there from what I understand. She was going to come out no matter what, it was only a matter of time when. She was like a ticking time bomb, but we all still love her either way. That’s what matters, right?” Jasper sighed, he had a love/hate relationship with her logical thought process.

“Besides,” she added. “If you hadn’t gotten her the job at Liberty, she wouldn’t have met Artie and I. Then you would never have met me.” That was enough for Jasper to look at her once more with his usual adorkable smile.

“You’re right. I’d rather die than to never have met you,” he muttered sincerely. Angela smiled and stretched just enough to kiss his jawline.

After walking a few more minutes Jasper finally opened the door of a small restaurant in a shopping strip for her and led her inside. Lunch went by rather quickly, and before they realized, the check had been placed in front of them. Angela went to grab it but Jasper handed the money to their waiter without hesitation. Their waiter thanked them and walked away to put it up, leaving Angela to jokingly glare at her boyfriend.

“Jasper I could have paid, you know,” Angela scolded softly.

“I wanted to wait for us to go on a date so that I could be the one to pay for it, Angela. Like a gentleman, you know. I have the chance to do that now, so please let me.” The girl quieted immediately. She hadn’t thought about that. Rather than responding, she only thanked him and switched the conversation, much to his relief.

“Well, I still have twenty minutes left of my lunch break. What do you say to a small stroll?” She questioned as they stood in unison.

“Sounds great love,” he responded, taking her hand and walking out. They walked a few minutes until they ended up in front of what both of them recognized as Liberty, where a worker was setting up the new display case.

“Oh man, this reminds me of a few months back before I met you guys,” Angela reminisced with a smile. “I was passing by here on my way to work and there was a girl who got drunk and messed up the display case with trash. Man, did the manager look mad.” She laughed, harkening back to that day.

It had seemed like a normal day, since Angela lived so close to 2nd Time Around she usually just walked there everyday. She remembered how hot it was, so she wore short overalls on top of a yellow shirt. On her way there, she passed by the Liberty store, but paused when she noticed a few people crowding the display. That, of course, piqued her interest and she pushed her way to the front, apologizing every few seconds.

There was a woman with red hair who seemed to be asleep on the floor of the display case, empty trash bag in one hand and an almost empty bottle of what looked like whiskey in the other. The man beside her stepped forward and knocked on the window, jolting her awake.

“Why’d you go and sleep in a window?” Someone on the other side of the knocking man questioned dumbly. Oh, Angela had to show this to Artie. Carefully, she took her camera out of her bag and snapped a few pictures shortly before the manager walked out and grabbed her. Angela took the time to check her watch, and her eyes widened. She was going to be late! Before anyone could do anything else a car came screeching to a halt just outside the store, making everyone turn around. And, that was Angela’s cue to leave. She began pushing past people, knocking someone over almost immediately.

“Ah! Bloody hell!” The man groaned out upon hitting the ground.

“Sorry!” She called apologetically, though she didn’t turn back as she ran the rest of the way to work.

While she reminisced, Jasper stopped in his steps, thinking back to when Estella had done that.

“Wait, were you wearing denim overalls that day?” He questioned. Angela was confused by this, but quickly understood where he was getting at and looked at him with wide eyes.

“Oh my god, you’re the guy that I ran into after the Baroness arrived!” She exclaimed.

“You’re the one who snapped a picture of Estella then fell into me!” He responded in the same tone with a toothy grin.

“Did we seriously meet before we actually met?” She asked with amused disbelief. Jasper shook his head, feeling the same way as her by the looks of it.

“I cannot believe this,” he chuckled as they continued their walk.

“I still have the picture of that,” Angela mentioned. “It’s in my camera roll, I haven’t gotten the film developed though.”

“You know what, I can and will personally go with you to get it developed. That would be wonderful blackmail.” The girl shook her head at that.

“You’re bad,” she answered, though she couldn’t help but smile.

“I guess so.” They walked back to the shop, making pleasant conversation. That stopped when they stepped inside and saw Artie talking to someone very familiar.

“Hello Cruella,” Angela greeted chirpily, unlinking her arm from Jasper’s. “I didn’t know you were coming by. Lots of surprises today.” She took her coat off and began walking to the back room.

“Thought I’d come see how 2nd Time Around was doing now that you guys have publicity. Artie tells me you two have been working overtime,” Cruella responded, resting on her cane. “You could have told me, I wouldn’t have worked you to the bone after work every night.”

“Yes, almost two hundred customers a day,” Artie added. Jasper’s eyes widened as Angela walked back out.

“Two hundred? How are you two still alive?”

“Lots of determination,” Artie responded simply.

“And our new coffee machine,” Angela added, leaning against the counter. Jasper rubbed her back soothingly.

“Well, you guys are closed on Mondays, right? Why don’t you two come over, we’ll have a small sleepover and you guys can sleep in luxury. No offense.” Angela pursed her lips.

“None taken. I think.” Cruella’s usual smirk settled on her face once more.

“Great. I’m sure Jasper doesn’t mind driving down here once you close. Until then I have a few more stops to make. Come on Jasper.” She began walking out, pausing in the doorway to wait for him.

“Come back soon,” Angela spoke softly.

“Of course,” he responded with a sincere smile. “I still have some shopping to do and I heard there was a very cute worker here.”

“I would say that you’re referring to me, but I think that would ruin the moment, huh?” Artie joked, making the others laugh. Jasper shook his head amusedly and leaned down a bit to give Angela a quick kiss goodbye then began following his friend. The two waved as they watched them walk out, then they heard Elton John’s voice ring out once again.

“Wise men say, It looks like rain today,” the same song started for the seventh time.

“Want me to have a go at it?” Artie questioned knowingly.

“No,” Angela shook her head, surprising Artie though she couldn’t see it as her eyes were still trained on the door her boyfriend just left though. “It’s starting to come around for me.”

#Cruella 2021 #cruella #jasper badun #jasper badun x oc #jasper badun fanfiction #jasper badun fanfic #jasper badun imagine

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yandere-wishes · 5 years ago

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Yandere Reaction 💖Darling Signing A Contract With Azul💖

How would Yandere Leona, Carter, Jamil and Riddle react to their darling escaping and trying to sign a contract with Azul to reclaim their freedom.

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Leona is annoyed, he woke up from his nap to see that you had disappeared. Your side of the bed was cold, your sent barely clinging to the sheets. He sighs when he realizes that you must have left quite some time ago. What a hassle now he's going to have to actually look around for you it's too much work! But the lingering promise of punishment does make a rabid excitement build up inside him causing his muscles twitch and ears to perk up.

The first thing he does is call Ruggie and have him start asking around the, trying to pry information from the other member of his dorm. He'll also enlist Jack, giving him a piece of your clothes or some piece of jewelry he may have bought you, anything that has preserved your sweet, intoxicating aroma. Being the all so good, always eager to please guard dog that he is, Jack will follow your scent all over Night Raven College. With Leona lethargically following behind.

eventually, the invisible trail leads them straight to the Octavinelle dormitory. Of course, Leona is displeased with this, not only is the place under freaking water! But the worst most calculating, conniving person lives there. The school's very own loanshark, Azul Ashengrotto! To say that Leona is displeased is an understatement, he's downright furious! What the hell are you try to do? Sign a freaking contract with the devil! Are you so desperate to trade away your goddam soul! Really it's not so much that Leona cares exactly what Azul asks from you, rather it's the notion that you'll belong to someone other than himself that makes hin charge inside the Mostro Lounge. Claws out, teeth bare, ready for a fight.

The sight awaiting him is just infuriating. There you are seating all meek pen in hand, eyes wide, fear and panic dancing over your face, like a little doomed rabbit. While Azul looms over you, that calculating avaricious smirk plastered on his pale face.

"Ah, senior Leona how nice of you to join us. Would you like some refreshments? Tea, coffee maybe some milk?"

Leona doesn't respond he's too agitated, too vexed. He runs up to your shacking form, grabbing your wrist, pulling you forcefully to his side. In the midst of the moment, he's calm having you back in his arms makes the carnivorous fury die down. He gently kisses your head, lingering a second too long before he's throwing you over to Jack.

He's in Azul's face, threatening to skin him alive and throw him to the hyenas to eat if he ever even think about scamming Leona's beloved into another contract. He rips the parchment in front of the sea witch then processes to march back to where you and your wolf bodyguard are standing.

Leona's a lot rougher now, squishing you to his side as the three of you depart back to your "home". Leona just can't comprehend why you would sign that contract.

He's never done anything to hurt you

He's never

so why? Why are you so desperate to get away from him?! It downs on him when he's dragged you back into savanclaw territory. In the middle of his rage, he realizes just why you're all so eager to reclaim your precious freedom. You're lying on the cracked rough ground, holding your bleeding cheek where he just struck you. You're crying and trembling, it almost makes him want to stop, almost makes him want to hug you close to his chest promising everything will be all right. But he doesn't instead he kicks you with enough force to turn you over onto your back. He lifts his foot crushing down on your arm. Relishing in the cracking of bones and your screams of pain.

Leona's reaction differs from moment to moment, one second he's simply annoyed and the next he's choking on his rage. He knows that he has to change a bit, to be sweeter, nicer to show a bit more empathy if he truly wants to keep you as his queen.

Carter's in a sheer frenzy, he's stunned speechless when he sees you walk over to the Mostro Lounge manager. But instead of ordering drinks like you were supposed to do, you're chatting up Azul about something that he can't hear.

It's nervewracking watching the two of you. Carter can't quite tell what expression you're wearing but he knows that the Azul is giddy about something, smiling and laughing. Oh god, what are you talking about! It's only when he sees Azul retrieve parchment and his signature golden fish pen that he realizes just what is happening.

Carter is quick to react, he's sprung to his feet and by your side before your fingers can even graze the murky colored contract. His arms are wrapped protectively around you, squeezing with just an ounce more force then they need to be. His shimmering emerald eyes are glaring daggers at Azul, but his tone is as cheerful and preppy as always.

"Azul-chan you know it's rude to take advantage of naive first years right?~ innocent little (y/n) doesn't understand how your contracts operate yet~"

"Actually they do Carter, tell me what in the great sea witch's name have you done to poor unfortunate (Y/N), for them to be so desperate to get away from you? So much so, that they are willing to trade they're special ability for?"

That hurt...

It felt worst than a kick to the stomach...

Worst then when his pictures only got 100 likes...

worst then Riddle's loud screams...

You...You were trying to run away from him? Carter's heartbroken, he can't stand the thought of you not loving him. Heck, you hate him so much that you're willing to trade away your ability to be apart from him!

Once you get back to Heartslabyul, he's hectic. Shacking you with tears in his eyes, demanding to know why you don't love him! "What have I done wrong? Do you love someone else is that it!" He makes accusation after accusation trying to find out just why you're desperate to be rid of him.

Never once does he consider that it could be because his presence suffocates you. That simply standing next to him, strips your lungs of air, drives your brain into a historical fit! And you don't tell in fear of further angering him.

Carter's reaction is heartbroken mania, he's sad, angry, determined to fix things, everything at the same time. He'll try all so hard to mend things between the two of you. Shower you in gifts, take you outside more often, even give you some more freedom. ANYTHING as long as you will love him again!

Jamil actually finds it rather funny when you try to beg Azul for a contract. Oh, sure he knew what you would do the moment he saw you slip away from his side while he was preoccupied with Kalim. He knew you would run straight to the sea witch, ready to get on your knees and plead for a contract. You were willing to humiliate yourself in any way imaginable so long as you could escape Jamil's clutch.

Jamil's eyes follow you as you walk over the counter and whisper something in Jade's ear. He knows everything that's about to unfold. Knows how Azul will bring out some parchment and his golden pen and "nicely" state the terms of service. He knows all this yet chooses to sit idly by. He wants you to get as close to your freedom as possible, practically graze it before he snatches it away for good this time. Cause after the stunt you're pulling there is no way in hell that Jamil is ever letting you leave the Scarabia dormitory ever again.

And sure enough, it goes exactly as planned. Azul walks out ready to grant you "your one true wish" all posed and gentleman like...except he's leaning way to close. His lips are brushing against your ear. His thin pale fingers are reaching out to grab your own pulling them towards himself.

It's that moment that Jamil reacts, that he realizes that you've played your little game long enough. He slams his hands on the table, causing Kalim to jump spilling his drink and the other customers to turn around all holding their breaths for a magic fight to break out.

Just like everyone else Azul slowly pulls away from you, eyes trained on Jamil a smirk dangling on his charming face. Your vacant eyes stare back into the dark ones of the sand mage. You know your fate, know the penalty for the crim you commented. Despite what Jamil may think he knows, you were always one fragmented step ahead. You knew you would never be free, knew that you would always be confined in Jamil's cave of wonders.

Reluctantly you heave yourself to your feet, breaking the thick silence with the screeching of the chair legs along the marble floor. You gradually trudge back to the table where the man who owns you is awaiting impatiently.

"Don't test me (y/n)"

His lips brush over the shell of your ear sending a cold shiver up your spin. His breath cresses the soft flesh of your neck as he places a teasing kiss over one of the visible love bites he left not so long ago. Jamil's fingers dig into your sides, sizing you up as tightly as he could. You where sure there would be bruises by the time he let go, there always was. Slowly his fingers snaked around your waist pushing you flat against his chest, smoldering your face in the fabric of his shirt.

"That goes for you too Azul"

His voice was oddly modulated, kept barely above a hush, you wonder how he expects Azul to be able to hear from across the room. It's a haughty laugh that answers your question. The voice is much closer then you anticipated. Silk covered fingers tangle themselves in your lock as you hear the manger of the Mostro Lounge speak up. "You may consider keeping sweet little (y/n) on a shorter lease, that way she won't accidentally find her self trapped in my grasp."

Suffice it to say he does, Jamil grants the exact opposite of your wish. He steals the minuscule fragments of freedom you had left, keeping you constantly by his side, arms always wrapped around your waist tight enough to make walking an uncomfortable feat.

Jamil's reaction is one just amusement, sure he feels betrayed but that feeling has long become nostalgic for the young man. There really isn't much you could say or do to get under his skin. But there is all so much he can do to get under your skin and he'll be dame sure to leave some marks!

Riddle is furious when he sees you talking to Azul before history class. His blood is boiling coursing through his body like molten lava, heartbeat had quickened sounding like the march of card soldiers faster! His fingers are wrapped in fists by his side, knuckles turning as white as the white rabbit's fur. His posture is stiff, spin too straight shoulders pulled back until they're about to pop from their sockets.

The redhead could barely stand the thought of you talking to his closets friends let alone the most conniving man in all of Night Raven! He's prepared to shut the whole thing down in a moment, ready to stomp over to Azul and rescue you from his web of lies. But then he hears it, those soul-shattering words. They stop him in his tracks, steal the life from his loins. He couldn't even believe his ear at first. Surely he was going mad!

" I want to be free, as far away from Riddle and his stupid rules as possible! Please Mr. Ashengrotto won't you help me! I'll sign any contract, give you anything you deem a suitable price just please save me from Riddle!"

Riddle's heart is broken tears prick at the side of his dark blue eyes. Ready to tumble and fall. His mouth has gone dry stripped of all he was going to say. He wasn't your knight in shining armor no he was the beast that had abducted you, stolen you from those you loved.

"Not to worry you poor unfortunate soul lose of freedom as a situation can be corrected, I simply need you to sign--"

Maybe it was the was what Azul said, made it was the adrenaline that was surging through his veins. Either way, Riddle screamed his voice cracking, lungs burning, yet he still screamed after you to stop!

"Don't you dare sign that contract (y/n) Or it'll be off with your head!"

Your freeze finger floating in midair just millimeters away from the golden pen. A heavy sigh leaves your lips, you knew you would never reach your freedom again but still, you tried and ended up with a broken heart.

Riddle is quick to jog over to the two of you, his fingers grab your shoulder and push you back against his chest. He's trying so hard to look strong, to be the knight that you deserve. He doesn't want to show any weakness in front of Azul but he just can't wipe the heartache away.

Riddle really wants you to love him, he's delusional thinking that making you follow all these rules will benefit you in the long run. He wants you to be safe and perfect to be a fit ruler by his side! But he also wants you to be happy and fall for him on your own accord.

Riddle's reaction is pure heartache and heartbreak. He doesn't punish you, just some empty threats and words of advice (in the tone off ear-splitting shouts) The whole affair may actually make him nicer he'll try to give you a bit more freedom. He lets you outside more, sometimes even takes you somewhere off-campus. Sure he's always around in some way but from time to time he may "wander off" in the opposite direction and give you the relaxing semblance of being alone.

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scullysexual · 4 years ago

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Can you write Mulder being stuck in the UH while Scully is at work and is sick of her telling him how other drs ask her out on dates, even after she tells them she’s not interested? Something sends him over the edge and he shows up at her office one day? I feel like that could’ve been an issue at some point

@today-in-fic @mypanicface (in case you’re interested)

Here you go, Anon :)

- - -

He doesn’t know what more he could say to her so eventually he stopped saying anything. He just listened, Inputting his thoughts here and there when it was necessary.

“They look at my fingers then wonder why I said no,” she tells him over dinner.

It’s Day 50, 100, 1000, Mulder doesn’t know, he stopped keeping track. Days merged into one- don’t go here, don’t go there. Are you sure you’re going to be okay while I’m gone? It’s a long shift. Mulder had muttered that he would be fine, internet was a wonderful thing, what a time to be stuck inside.

“You should tell them you don’t have to be married to be in a relationship,” he inputs and she looks at him with a small smile and he knows what it means; it’s a Catholic hospital, that notion is completely beyond the other doctors who work there.

Funnily enough it’s not the boredom that drives him insane, not the cabin fever, for being alone for two days, it’s that one sentence.

Another doctor asked me on a date today, Mulder.

Another one I had to turn down, he thinks.

She tells him this over breakfast, over dinner, when they’re lying in the afterglow: Another doctor asked me on a date today, Mulder.

He lies awake thinking about it, wonders what would happen if one day she said yes. Nobody knows he’s here, these doctors think he’s just an excuse. She might not return home one day, she might run away with one of these doctors, live in a city and not be two hours away from work, she could probably walk there if she wanted to or maybe get dropped off by him.

He thinks of this imaginary doctor touching her like he does, finding all spots he found three years ago and spent those three years perfecting. Would this doctor, too, naively think he was the first one to discover those spots?

He thinks about marking her in places she couldn’t hide, sending a message to her colleagues that he isn’t just an excuse, that there is someone waiting for her at home.

But maybe that wouldn’t be enough.

He lies awake thinking about it, doesn’t fall asleep. He doesn’t need to, he can sleep through the day now.

.:.:.:.:.:.

He hasn’t shaved for months, doesn’t see the point. She likes his scratchy beard and he likes it too.

He stalks the corridors like the Jersey Devil incarnate, pushing open doors a little too roughly, rounding corners a little too quickly. They eye him cautiously. It’s not his fault, he’s been deprived of another building nearing a year now. He went from being everywhere to be nowhere.

It doesn’t take him long to find her office. Her name, and her name only, on the door. It’s not in the basement but it’s close enough and it brings a smile on his face. She’ll have her own desk too, just like you wanted Scully, remember?

He doesn’t bother with knocking. She’s on the phone and her expression changes from one of annoyed, to surprised, to concern. She hangs up the phone.

“Mulder, you can’t be here,” she immediately tells him as she stands up.

She has blinds on her windows. Windows, Scully! That you can look out of! You’re already doing better than I ever did. And she goes over to close them but he stops her.

“Keep them open,” he says.

She stops in her tracks and sighs. “Mulder, what is this about?”

He doesn’t answer her, instead he’s looking out through those blinds. A man in smart clothes and a white coat is walking down the hall. Is he one of the doctors who’s asked her out? He wonders. He doesn’t even know if this man is a doctor, the line between reality and TV have blurred slightly after all this time.

But he isn’t about to miss out on his chance. He grabs Scully by the wrists and pulls her into him. There’s a question she’s about to ask out of surprise but he cuts her off, his lips descending upon hers. Already his tongue is trying to slip through her lips, his hand in her hair and keeping her to him. He’s never kissed her in public before, he realises. Their relationship was a secret from the FBI- they were strictly co-workers in those halls. He was gone for two years and missed out on all the kisses then and when he returned only a life of solitude welcomed him at the doors. Only kisses behind motel doors and secluded carparks when no vacancies left them with the car as their room for the night.

He’s never kissed her in public.

And he still hasn’t.

When he pulls away that doctor is gone, there’s nobody gawking at them through the window, everyone is carrying on as normal.

It feels stupid to think anyone cared enough about them to be looking.

And Scully seems to have realised what his plan was. She looks to the window and he sees the relief in her eyes when she too realises that nobody has seen them.

She smiles slightly, reaching for his hand. “Come on,” she says. “I’m going to take you home.”

She leads him out by his hand, like some lost child, and she doesn’t let go until they’ve reached the car.

#prompts #i guess pre iwtb #i actually got an idea for another fic while writing this #but idk if ill actually write it #nonny #i write

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ssa25 · 5 years ago

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Scorched - Dancing with the Devil - Sasuhina Month 2020 - Day 3

Rating: Rating T

Warning: Morally grey Sasuke; Not a romantic story

“If you dance with the devil, then you haven’t got a clue, for you think you’ll change the devil, but the devil changes you.” ― J.M. Smith, If You Dance with the Devil...

Her tired grey eyes disinterestedly drifted over the faint cracks in the wall, over and over again. She had turned her body away from her deskmate, who until a few minutes back, was trying to make small talk with her. Small talk that she didn't have the patience to indulge in today.

She looked at the occupied benches ahead of her, and found mostly everyone chatting, wiling away their time until Prof. Hatake deemed fit to grace them with his presence. He was notorious for being late to classes while not tolerating tardiness in his pupils. The clock on the wall showed that it was already 15 minutes past 11.

"Hey… um... Are you hurt??", she heard Ren, her deskmate speak to her.

She glanced down her hand to find the long sleeves of her black top had rolled up a little to show her pale wrists. In all its undecorated splendour, except for the harsh red chafing marks on them. She chose not to answer the guy and pulled the sleeves down to her palms to hide the proof of the night before.

She had seen this guy only a few times before. He was supposedly new (because he naively sat beside her), and probably smart (judging by his attendance in an advanced lit class).

“I’m sorry.. I didn’t mean to be nosy…”, he said apologetically. He paused for a few seconds before he began again, “I’ve noticed that you always sit by yourself, so I thought of accompa-“

The doors slid open with a loud band against the frame, interrupting the new guy. The whole classroom got quieter too. Those were enough clues for her to know that it was not the Professor. In spite of her racing heart, her eyes looked up to find Uchiha Sasuke staring at her with a less than pleased expression. Her hands grew clammy as she turned her head away from him quickly.

Everyone stared at Sasuke as he climbed up the steps towards her. He was the only person in the whole university that could make the highest authorities quake in their boots. Sole heir to a massive multinational empire, no one could tell him what to do. His story was tragic, his family buried six feet under. Some sympathized with him, others were wary of him. He attended classes whenever he liked, he also walked out of them on a whim. No one could stop or reprimand him. Especially when the Uchiha made the biggest donation to the University every year. His circle of friends included the most dangerous, most loyal and fearless youngsters that roamed the streets of Tokyo.

He stopped right in front of her deskmate. “You’re new here.”, he stated instead of questioning.

The new guy gave a nervous laugh and nodded. His eyes trailed over his inked arm. “I am. I just transferred here a few weeks back! Name’s Ren.”

Sasuke tilted his head and said calmly, “Get the f*ck out of my seat Ren.”

“Y-your seat? But I have never seen you in this class before today?!”, Ren replied with as much guts as he could muster.

Sasuke did not bother replying but fixed him with a glare that made the guy break into a sweat.

Ren turned to Hinata, but she pretended to be unaffected by the exchange that the whole room witnessed.

Afraid to meddle any further with him, Ren quickly picked his books and moved away. Sasuke slid into the seat and sat close to Hinata. He glowered at the onlookers, making them turn away from the couple.

“I thought I asked you to stay put in my room…”, he commented gravely. “Why don’t you ever listen to me?”

Hinata gritted her teeth but refused to look his way. When she spoke, her voice was low but firm, “And I told you yesterday that I did not want to do this anymore.. That I don’t wish to be your girlfriend anymore… But you didn’t listen to me either.”

Sasuke did not even respond to her complaint, but simply pulled her forearm and bared her wrists to see the damage. He tutted disapprovingly, “You struggled too much.”

Hinata was not even surprised to see him blatantly ignore the fact that he was the one who tied her up to his bedpost after their argument.

He never abused her physically, but the emotional turmoil she went through in the last three months of being his girlfriend was getting to her. He was excessively controlling and possessive, and gave her very little leeway to make her own life decisions. He was dark, dangerous and brooding with the most complex temperament.

Few days back, when she overheard Suigetsu talking to Karin about Sasuke picking out a ring to propose, she grew pale with worry. It was too soon and she was not ready for any commitments, not when she had been having serious doubts about their relationship.

She gathered courage to break up with him, before the situation grew out of control. But he had dismissed her idea, and instead informed her that he planned to marry her, soon after their graduation which was in a few months. She tried to plead him to see reason. But he was firm in his decision and he restrained her when she tried to get away from him.

“Ah, I must inform you… I have fired your dear old Mrs. Sato.”, his voice broke her from her reverie.

Hinata was shocked by his admission. The kind widow was Sasuke’s housekeeper and her saviour that morning. She had taken a huge risk and helped Hinata out of her bindings while Sasuke was taking a shower. Hinata felt guilty because she pleaded with the woman to help her when she came into the room unannounced.

“Why? She did nothing wrong!!”, Hinata said with tears in her eyes. The poor woman probably had nowhere to go.

“Because I detest it when my own people betray my trust…”, he said with zero emotion. “Besides, don’t act like you didn’t know the consequences of your action… You knew it would make me angry, but you still did it… You still wanted her to free you, despite knowing that she would be collateral damage… Hinata, you are more similar to me than you think…”

Hinata was quiet and unable to deny his accusation. She did know that Sasuke would be enraged at Mrs. Sato, but she had never expected him to dismiss her completely.

“I’m the one who should face the consequences, not her.”, she said regretfully.

“People have to be held accountable for their actions… That is what I believe in.”

“Then push me away too… Why do you insist on keeping me?”, she asked him bitterly.

“You are the only exception to the rule, my dear. I plan to keep you by my side, until one of us is on our last breath.”

His words, that sounded like a promise, sent a chill down her spine. She feared not for her life, but for her sanity.

Calling their relationship toxic would be an understatement. And she was fast losing hope of ever getting even a shred of normalcy back in her life.

Prof. Hatake entered leisurely into the classroom right then, and commanded attention from the students.

“Ah, who do we have here?”, the professor looked in their direction and smiled from behind his mask.

Sasuke appeared unperturbed by the mocking glint in the professor’s eyes. That man was his legal guardian until he turned 18, but he was quick to sever relations with him once he became an adult.

“I never knew Uchiha Sasuke had changed his major from Economics to English Lit!!”, Kakashi commented on a lighter note, but his words had an edge that no one missed.

“Mind your own business Kakashi.”, Sasuke sneered at him.

The students gasped at his incivility, but Kakashi only laughed, as if he was used to insolency from the resident bad boy. Hinata bowed her head to be inconspicuous.

As Professor Hatake started his lesson, Hinata despaired for her bleak future. But she could not blame anyone but herself.

What had she been thinking, she wondered. Why had she ever agreed to go out with him? Why did she let his constant persuasion in the past, bend her will to stay away from him? Had she been so weak to his charms that she had outrightly ignored the alarming rumours about him?

Was it some form of misguided sympathy for him? Or was it some foolish notion in her mind that she could change him? She had been naive and clueless. Because in the end, it was she who had changed.

Hinata swallowed uneasily. She had to get away from Tokyo, because the whole city was his playground. She absolutely had to run away from the devil in disguise. For now, she was only scorched, but she had to save herself from being completely incinerated.

a/n: Was that too much? I really wanted to write something like this, but I feel like I didn’t do it justice.

#SasuHina #sasuhinamonth2020 #shmonth2020

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bluepenguinstories · 4 years ago

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Remoras Full Chapter XXVII: Reflection

For the past couple weeks, I spent my days in bed. Alternating between short meals, bitter pills, and glass after glass of water. When I did manage to get up, the fever and dizziness took hold. Slow movements piled onto the notion that at any moment, I would collapse.

An unfamiliar experience; the chills were nothing new, but with all of the added conditions, there was more than cold. When I spoke, the sound and taste conjured images of clouds of chalk dust. Breathing alone was difficult enough, as every other inhale and exhale risked a dry, painful cough.

On the day it went away, I found myself awake. That old, familiar cold reclaimed its place as the defining condition. If the rest of me had reclaimed its strength, it didn’t show.

When I sat up, the others outside of the room came to mind. What they might have been up to. How vulnerable I had been. Vulnerable and weakened. None of the occupants brought harm to me, nor did I have reason to suspect that they would. While the others could have bade their time as they deceived me, lulling me into a false sense of security, that possibility was slim, now nonexistent, as I had survived my illness. Yet ‘trust’ wasn’t the right word.

But I would like to trust them, if it were possible.

Ray and Sunny left me alone during that time. I respected that. Demetria didn’t, which I didn’t respect. But then she helped me, even when I attempted to push her away. So I guess that was something similar to trust.

My behavior wasn’t ideal. It was a shameful display, to say the least. Yet she didn’t give up on me. I even allowed her to bring a doctor – an entity that I didn’t trust. That doctor in particular wasn’t as bad as the ones I’ve dealt with in the past, but she was still unnerving.

Dr. Cold-Slob or something like that. Back when Sunny and I brought an unconscious Ray to her hospital, It should have been a done deal to just drop him off and go. But then she stared me right in the face with a death glare that rivaled my own.

“Don’t just dump someone on the floor. That’s not how it works,” she scolded me.

“Yeah, Remora, couldn’t you be careful with my husband?” Sunny then joined in. I shifted my focus, unsure whether to focus on Sunny or this horror doctor.

“Uh, I dropped him off. Isn’t that good enough?” I managed to ask. Should have been an innocent enough question. But she then saw who I had brought, then looked back up at me and had the most sinister smile.

“If you want to make it out of here unscathed, I’m going to have you mop up these floors. Then, after you’ve done all that, as long as he’s not busy, you may visit him,” she instructed, with a voice and look that said I had no choice but to visit him. In the end, it was fine enough, since I needed to discuss my plan with him anyway, but I would have been fine waiting at least a day or so.

Doctors had always been frightening, but in a different way. Those men with their empty, laughing faces.

“Look at you, so frigid!”

“We’ll find a cure for you sooner or later, Rhea.”

Back then, I was much more naive. I never meant to give up on seeking a cure for my condition, and I was much more willing to seek out a solution from any avenue I could find. They got a kick out of it and told someone else with my same name and face the same tired routine. Many times they would say that they were on the verge of a breakthrough, that if I continued to hand them much of my money, they would find a solution.

It never came. Of course not.

For a while, I drank snowberry tea: a poisonous berry that was said to induce sweats and a lightheaded, dizzy feeling. It was only a temporary solution, though, and when the cold returned, it was even stronger than before.

Despite such false hopes, I was rid of one illness. It was all thanks to Demetria, that person I once regarded as an overbearing pest. I never was much for regrets: sure, I ended up hurting Sunny’s sister, but my actions had a purpose and her tears were just an unintended consequence. I could have said that I regretted being born, but I didn’t have control over that, so it would have been ridiculous to me. Still, I regretted the way I was toward Demetria during the time I was sick.

Now that I was better, I wanted to be the friendliest version of myself I could be. I wanted to be among everyone else. It was tiring, and I knew it was a futile effort, but I wanted so bad for some kind of connection. It was enough to make me think that maybe I didn’t have to be so cold all the time after all.

“You should know better. You’re not the type who can be around others. The only time you feel alive is in the heat of battle. That’s what you know. Trying to be any different is just living out a fantasy,” a voice in my thoughts told me. Someone with the same voice as me.

“Fine, then. Let me live out a fantasy,” I told the voice. Then I near-pleaded with it, “just let me have it for now.”

But I knew how right that voice was, because she was me. Those were my thoughts. If nothing else…

At last, to the one who had helped me, I wanted her to know. She deserved that much.

It was the orphanage who gave me my name: Rhea Flection. For the first few years of my life, I immersed myself in the books of fairy tales they had available. Princesses, fairy godmothers, magic, and wishes coming true. My wish, of course, would have been not to be so cold all the time. I’m pretty sure that’s what I’d wish for as a kid. It’s not like it wasn’t a problem back then.

Because of the constant chill, I ended up attached to the works of Hans Christian Andersen, his story ‘The Little Match Girl’ in particular. That story was the one I could relate the most to: it was about a little girl who was forced to sell matches out in the freezing snow. It had a happy ending, too, one where the little girl froze to death, and in heaven, was reunited with her grandmother. It made me wonder if there was something like that waiting for me as well.

During one of my readings, I was interrupted by a little boy who wanted to play toys with me. He wouldn’t stop, so I turned and bit the same hand he used to poke me with so hard that it bled. Then I went back to my book, peace at last.

That peace didn’t last, and soon the headmistress came up to me.

“Is it true you bit [insert generic boy name here. Maybe it was a pun name]?” She asked.

“Yeah. He was bothering me,” I answered.

“We don’t bite people just because they bother us, Rhea,” she informed me.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not how we solve our problems. We either get an adult or talk it out. Now go apologize,” she tried to explain to me. Not that it made any sense, seeing as it solved my problem. Still, I did so. He sat down and cried a great deal while holding a cloth wrapped around his hand.

“Sorry. You must not have noticed I was busy. Now you know better.”

In those early years, I was known as a “wild child.” Not just in the orphanage, but in foster home to foster home. Despite the fact that I was quiet and kept to myself, did all that was asked of me, I still had that reputation. People thought me weird when I asked for more blankets, and always had my arms crossed while hunched over. My lack of expression was seen as creepy by child and adult alike. Other kids would make fun of me, and soon they acquired injuries.

One day, two men came up to the door of the current house I occupied, and the foster parents already told me that I was on thin ice (ha, ha. Very funny). They had fancy suits, dark sunglasses. Offered the parents more money than they could turn down. So I left with the men. Of course I did.

“We understand you better than others. We know your potential,” they would often tell me. Then, each day, I ran up and down a mountain. No food or water until I reached the top, and again at the bottom. I obliged, however hungry I was, as the hunger and the cold was my only focus.

Soon after, they would show me guns of different calibers. Despite how restless my movements were, I was still when I aimed at the targets. Precise in my aim, being able to pinpoint on what I needed to. When I fired, I didn’t flinch, no matter how intense the sound tore through my ears.

“Good job!” They told me as they smiled and clapped. They often said the same thing back when they had me run. I wasn’t sure what effect they expected it to have.

We were always on the move, never staying in one place for very long. I rested in the back of their cold, metal truck. They laughed when I asked them for blankets, or to turn the heater up.

“It wouldn’t do you any good,” they told me and snickered. I should have listened, but I hoped for a chance. Just one moment where I could experience warmth.

Each place we visited, we ate large meals at restaurants and cafes. They talked about how I should eat as much as I could to prepare myself for what was to come. I didn’t have to be told. All I could fit into my mouth, I ate: large steaks, baked potatoes, steamed cabbages. Anything else I could get my hands (and mouth) on.

Soon we arrived at an empty facility. There there was the obstacle course in an open field, what they claimed to prepare me for. I had to run through it, with a rifle in hand, while avoiding turrets and landmines which emitted sounds when I got near. They told me I could hide behind the barriers which were erected to avoid getting hit by the turrets. That carried its own risks, though, as if a landmine was near a barrier, I’d have to be careful not to get too close. I could also shoot the turrets before they fired if my reflexes were quick enough.

That first time through, my stomach growled.

“You may eat once you’ve completed the course. Understood?” They explained to me.

Not that I understood, but they didn’t give me a choice, so I nodded. Once I ran through, my heart pounded as I listened for the beeps of the landmines. Soon the pounding dissipated and was replaced by a stillness. Even when the turrets rose from the ground, I shot them down before they had a chance to fire. I would jump, keep my distance, and as careful as I was, I didn’t stop.

Near the end, my leg was grazed by a lone turret. Just before that, a landmine set off, and although I had avoided it, part of the blast still burned across the bottom half of my leg. Then the turret came, and I felt the sting as it broke my skin. I turned and fired back, but the damage was already done. When I limped to the exit, I received a lukewarm congratulations.

“Good job,” the two men clapped. “But you got injured. If you were any less careful, you would have died. We don’t want that for you. You mean more to us than that. So we will have you do this again in a few days, and you better not take any damage. Understood?”

“What about my current injuries?” My voice quivered as I looked up and asked. Then I glanced at the bloody leg, which was an inconvenience at best.

“You must learn to tend to your own wounds. There are medical supplies and textbooks you may refer to at the facility.”

I didn’t object. They answered my question and gave me a solution. That was all I needed.

After the second course, I sustained no injuries. More courses followed. Each course was cleared in a faster time than the last until the whole thing was broken down into a series of rhythms and patterns.

When I first cleared the course without injuries, a certain rush came along with it and the cold became less noticeable. However, after I had the pattern down, that rush dissipated. They took notice, and proposed something new.

“How would you feel about taking a life?” They asked me one day with a slight smile and a rough emphasis on the word ‘feel’, as if they already knew the answer. I, however, didn’t understand the question.

“What would I need a life for?” I asked in response. If one were to take a paintbrush, they would expect to paint with it. What application was there for taking a life?

“He means to kill someone,” the other one answered with a heavy sigh. As if I needed the attitude.

“Oh. What purpose would that serve?” I had one question answered, but still didn’t understand the action.

“It’s a chore. Like doing the dishes, or sweeping a floor. Some people just need to die. It’s a big responsibility, but we trust you to do it.”

“I see.”

Whether or not I understood, I agreed, doubtful if I had a choice.

“You never forget your first time,” was a phrase I would hear later on. Yet forget I did. It all amounted to a series of featureless faces blurred together. Once alive, then not.

One assignment I recalled in pieces: me atop a snow mountain. Three or so men. All who were to be ‘taken out’. Two shots fired, each of them in succession. Each in the middle of their foreheads. Down they dropped, blood sprayed onto the two survivors. Alarmed and in shock, they turned and saw me. So I ran, down from the summit and saw a diner, not unlike Ray’s.

My pursuers/targets shot at me, but missed due to anger or possible fear. I was far enough ahead of them that I went into the diner and spotted the manager right away.

“There’s these bad people trying to kidnap me!” I wailed with the most distress I could muster. The manager took pity and told me to hide behind the counter. She then got out a shotgun and as soon as the men came in, shot them herself.

There was a panic throughout the diner, but I paid it no mind and went on about my way. The manager didn’t have time to react to my exit. After I completed the task, my guardians came up and had a new proposition.

“You’ve been bought out by a company,” they informed me. “Think of this as an opportunity: these people pay good money for their assignments. You could end up making more than the richest of men could even conceive of.”

“What need do I have for money?” I asked, disinterested. “As long as I can eat, I’m fine.”

“We understand that, but you’ll find that in many of places you’ll visit, food costs money. Besides, you don’t really have a choice.”

They didn’t have to rub that last part in. It was an unnecessary detail.

Nevertheless, I was taken to the company. Once there, I was escorted by more men in fancy suits. There I was, still a child, and all around me were various shapes and sizes of people much older than me. Much more weary, with empty faces. As I passed them by, I heard them murmur and point my way.

“She looks like she just got a bucket of water dumped on her head.”

“She’s acting like this place is a walk-in freezer.”

“Never mind that, she’s a whole-ass fridge.”

They could say all they wanted. While I could have fought them all, solved that problem, it just wasn’t worth my time. So I ignored it while walking toward the office, where the ones in charge greeted me.

Like the guardians before, the ones who oversaw the assignments wore fancy clothes. Suits and the like. Nondescript features. None of them looked well-equipped, unlike the people they recruited. Aside from protection in the form of their technology, they were vulnerable. Especially if they were caught off-guard.

“Greetings, Rhea!” One of them smiled wide and flailed their arms in what seemed to be their attempt at a friendly gesture. It didn’t fit them at all. “I’ve heard so much about you! I look forward to working with you!”

“You won’t,” I corrected. “You’ll just be giving me jobs to do. That is your role.”

“Yes, well…” Their gaze shifted to the floor.

Next, another one of the overseers stepped forward and gave me a rundown: I would be assigned missions. Most, but not all of them, would involve killing. I would be given the necessary equipment and sent via teleportation device to the time and place required to do the job. I could enjoy some time to myself before the next assignment. When I was allowed to return to the facility, there was a spare room which I could sleep in.

“Do you understand?” They then asked.

“Yes,” I confirmed. One of them then escorted me to my room. Some small, cramped space which resembled a jail cell more than anything else. Wider than a metallic locker only by a margin. Not that I cared what it resembled, so long as I remained undisturbed.

“Oh, I forgot to mention, but we set up an account for you so that once you complete an assignment, your money will go there. You may withdraw from that account at any time. Oh, and before I forget, you’re allowed minimal contact with others. Unless told otherwise, you’re to stay in your room. Okay, I think that about covers it, sound good?”

It didn’t. Neither cover everything, nor sound good. But there was no point in objecting. It was what it was.

So again it went: missions went by, a total blur. Quiet, efficient, that was how I liked to work. But without that rush, of course a restlessness crept back up. Over time, I made small attempts at freedom: dyed my hair blue. Wore jackets. Came up with various names, in case I started to develop a reputation with one, I had another to fall back on.

Years went by as well. Changes in my body. Large muscle mass, a taller and bulkier frame. All for the life I knew. I should have been content.

Restlessness was what laid the foundation: I voiced to them how I desired more of a challenge. Something that wouldn’t be so simple. In other words, a hunt.

“You’re in luck,” they told me, a gleeful smile without the voice to match. “There’s a contract that just got put out for a man who lives in the woods.”

“What’s the challenge?” I asked. Their smiles stretched, with their only reply being:

“You’ll find out.”

Without a second thought, I accepted and warped there. It was some remote place in Alaska. Finding his cabin didn’t take long, and I crept against the side, ensuring I didn’t leave a sound.

Soon, I heard him speak. He sounded relaxed, and seemed to be telling someone something. “Looks like I’ve got some business to take care of. I’ll be back in a little bit,” were the words I made out. He may not have known I was there, but his words suggested otherwise, so I slipped off into the thickets of the trees. I watched from afar as he exited the door and took a few steps forward. The soft, snowy ground would have given his footsteps away. As well as my own. He then called out, “I know you’re there. Come to kill me, have you?”

That confirmed one suspicion, but I didn’t answer his question.

“I get it: a job’s a job, right? No hard feelings? You don’t care what you have to do as long as you get your money?” He called out again, and that time I made the mistake of answering him.

“Wrong. I don’t care about the money, either. I’m just doing this because I want to,” I told him. The next thing he said made me more wary.

“I see. I know where you are now.”

As I aimed my rifle, he disappeared from view. Questions filled my mind about how it was that he was prepared for such a battle all while I maneuvered around and took behind trees.

His footsteps gave him away as he charged from one end and fired off a barrage of shells from a machine gun. I held up a miniature barrier device and blocked the shots, but he charged, clad in heavy armor. So I dashed to the side, split my rifle into two, and blasted away with the miniature guns that spawned from the rifle.

My shots had no effect against his armor as they all bounced off or disintegrated upon impact. At that, I charged as well, then went in for an uppercut, but he blocked my fist with his own hand. If I hadn’t tossed a few explosives and ran, he could have thrown me back into the snowy ground.

The chase was on and I was at a disadvantage. He sprinted behind me. Soon his sprints turned into a slow walk. He approached where I was. Despite being taught to continually run, I laid still under a pile of leaves and snow.

“Would you go so far to follow a company that doesn’t respect you?” He asked. He waited for my answer, and when he didn’t receive one, he continued, “I take it you’re new to this. You look young. You probably think you’re above it all, but the truth is that they’ve got you were they want you.”

As he lifted one foot from the ground, ready to move on, I jumped up from my spot and with a blade attached to my arm, I tried to slice up his face in half. His reflexes were too fast, and he turned his head just in time. All I managed to do was cut off his ear. He didn’t so much as yell, just wince, then he grabbed my arm and held me up. In his other hand was a blade of his own, some thick sword that seemed to resemble a meat cleaver. He was about to strike when I kicked against of his armor with enough force to knock him to the ground.

Before he could get back up, I grabbed my rifle and shot him in the face. No hesitation. It was over.

There was that rush, but it ended too soon. It still wasn’t enough.

When I walked back to his cabin, there was the shape of a little girl through the window. Nobody told me he had a daughter, I thought. Worse yet, she ran outside. I was ill-equipped for such a situation.

She looked up and asked if I was the person his father had business with. I nodded. She then asked where he was. I simply told her, “gone.”

She didn’t understand and still expected him to come back home later in the day. Unknown to her, I was her father’s killer, and she stared at me with an unwarranted expectation. I reached into my pocket for my phone, looked back down at her with my indifferent expression, then I dialed emergency.

“Hello. This little girl’s father just died. Can you come pick her up?” I requested as if I was ordering a pizza.

“Who is this?” The operator asked. “Can I get a name?” Such an unnecessary request. I should have just been able to inform them and that would be that.

“Misty Eyes,” I came up with a name on the spot and relented. “I’m just a stranger who happened to be in the area.”

Rather than wait for someone to show up, I fled the area until I was a considerable distance away. When I received word from my employer, I warped back to the organization’s facility. They all congratulated me, but I only looked at them with disgust.

“Good job, Rhea,” they told me. “We knew you could do it.” Those words ware far too casual for what they had me do.

“You didn’t tell me that man had a daughter,” I informed them.

“You didn’t need to know,” one of them told me.

“On the contrary, I did. I also wasn’t informed anything about the target, why it was they were a target in the first place. From now on, I need whatever information is available for each assignment,” I laid out my demands.

“Does it make a difference who he was or if he had a daughter? A job is a job, and it needs to be done regardless.”

Jeez. And here I thought I was the cold one. Where I stand, they’re much worse.

“It does. If I knew, I could have had been more prepared. I could have adjusted my strategy. I don’t care whether the person was good or bad, but there are factors which should dictate how I go about the assignments. His daughter wasn’t the target, just him.”

“You want to know who he was? Smith Weston was his name. He worked for this company, dedicated his life to it. He knew that if he deserted the company, others would be after him to execute him. It was his own decision to raise a child. But you’re right,’ one spoke with a shrug. ‘His daughter wasn’t the target. You could have done whatever you wanted. Killed her, spared her, whatever. So long as the target’s taken care of, that’s all that matters.”

“So the same thing would happen to me if I chose to leave one day?”

“Look, Rhea. We like you. You get the job done and you don’t ask many questions. But don’t get the wrong idea: you’re not exceptional. You’re dependable, but you’re neither the best nor the worst we have. You’re easily replaceable, and if we need to, we would find someone to kill you as well.”

I soon came to find out just how replaceable I was. One day as I walked to my room, a man stopped me. To my misfortune, it was just about the worst man it could have been: Douglas Fir. I’ve heard rumors about him: Infamous sleazeball. Well known in brothels across time and space. Tried to get any woman within range to sleep with him. With his unkempt beard, greasy fingers, and his trench coat, he already gave off a terrible first impression. Not to mention the alcohol on his breath.

“Whoa, there! Look who it is! Didn’t think I’d see you ‘round these parts. I heard you were off on a mission!” He bellowed. I turned. He had a stupid grin on his face. My face held one of confusion.

“I don’t believe we met,” I told him.

“Aw, c’mon, girl! Don’t be like that! You’re my favorite plaything, after all!”

“Plaything? You really are a slimeball.”

“Wha –?” He shook his head with a clumsy smile. “I’m a nice guy, really. You just gotta ease up around me!”

I didn’t know how to respond next. He leaned over, his intruding gaze made it seem like I was some article of clothing he wanted the measurements for. Disgusting.

“So that’s how it is, huh? You’re her substitute? Ha! That’s great! Two Rheas I can tease!” He slapped his knee, like it was a riotous joke. In turn, my brows creased as I gave him an icy glare.

“What are you talking about?” I hissed.

“Oh, so you don’t know? That’s even better!” He hollered.

“Tell me what you’re referring to before I smash your face in,” I growled.

“Whoa there! Chill, girl! Ha! Get it? Chill? Oh, man! I crack me up!”

I ground my teeth, then pointed to my fist.

“Oh, all right! The big boys probably don’t want you finding out, but me? I don’t give a rat’s ass! Hell, it’s more fun this way! If I were you, I’d be downright elated to find that there’s another you here! Not only that, but the other you? She’s the first one. You’re just her backup!”

He continued, his fist slammed against the adjacent wall as he worked up a storm of laughter.

“Haven’t you ever wondered why they keep you isolated? Or why sometimes you’re allowed here, but other times you’re not? They probably got a system so they can make sure the two of you aren’t in the same place!”

“I’ve never wondered such things. They were never important,” I disagreed with him.

“Of course you’d say that!” He cackled, mixed with a series of belches and coughs, then walked off.

After that exchange, I went up to the ones in charge.

“Is it true there’s another me?” I demanded to know.

“So you found out, huh?” They asked, disinterested in my revelation. “Indeed, you aren’t the first. That title belongs to one a few years older than you, one who is wiser and more experienced. You also may not end up being the last. But for now, there’s you, then there’s her. You shouldn’t worry too much about it.”

“I’m not,” I disagreed. “But why not bother telling me?”

They shrugged a collective shrug.

“You might have been interested in seeing her, if you were to know. One of the laws of multiple universes state that if a person were to be in the same timeline as another version of them, one of the two would have to die.”

“Then, are there others in this company who have alternate versions of themselves?”

“You are the only one. You should consider yourself special – the whole reason we decided to recruit you when we already had one of you prior is because while the other Rhea is greater than you, she’s also not immortal, and we don’t want good talent to go to waste. You have potential to be just as good as her, if not greater. Not to mention, lately we’ve noticed that she’s grown complacent. We trust that you won’t have that problem. We know you to be responsible.”

Those words were crafted in such a way that despite my apathetic nature, it still gave off the desired effect: I grew to resent this other version of me, this version I could never know, never meet. With it, came a sense of pride, that whether or not I cared for the job, it was still what I knew, and I vowed to surpass her.

In spite of it all, I told myself that I already knew they didn’t really value me. That I was no fool; it just didn’t matter, because I didn’t value them either.

That was the history I wished to convey to her. That useless recollection.

I sat up on the bed and rubbed my eyes. Just as I did so, a series of taps were made against the bedroom door. Although I opened my mouth, I made no sound. No “come in,” nor “leave me alone.”

All the same, the door slid open. Any other time, I would have been annoyed, but the one who entered was the one I awaited, her wavy green hair being the first thing I made note of. Then it was the way she walked in, less a saunter and more of a silent tip-toe.

“How are you feeling?” She asked. Every day now, she asked the same question. Aside from the dull nothingness I always was, my state had improved with each passing day. Still, would it have killed her to change up the questions?

“Better. Thank you,” I spoke. It felt like air, but I knew there was a sound attached. With how clear my words were, it came as a shock.

“Good. I’m glad,” she replied, and began to turn away. If that was the only reason she came in for, I would be cross. She could have just texted me in that case. But I didn’t want a reason to be annoyed. Nor disappointed.

“Wait,” I told her. With the way it came out, it sounded more like a plea. That was no good. My voice really must have still been a little weak. “Sit. Please.”

Now it’s like I’m talking to a dog. How nostalgic. If I recall, when she first entered the diner, I referred to her as a dog. Odd now, how I didn’t seem to see her that way.

“Where am I supposed to sit?” She looked around, then at me.

Damn. That was a good question. I didn’t think that far. Unlike her own room, there wasn’t a chair or a desk. Seeing no other option, I answered:

“On the edge of the bed. If you need to, you can lean against the wall.”

My words came out as an unintended command.

Still, she sat. There I was, someone whose words were never a mistake. Yet there I was, lost.

“So, what’s up?” She asked, sounding perplexed.

I held my palm against my forehead and shook my head.

“First, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for the trouble that I’ve caused,” I began. I couldn’t recall the last time I gave an apology.

“Oh. Don’t worry about it. People’s mental states aren’t really at their best when they’re sick,” she smiled, but it didn’t look deceitful. “Even if you meant those things, I still wanted to help you.”

“Why?” An automatic response on my part.

“Why? Because you’re worth it,” her breath became more of a gentle breeze. Aside from the upward crease of her lips, I couldn’t focus on her face, even with her close to me.

“I’m not worth it, though. I never have been,” I thought to tell her. But I didn’t. For just a little while, I wanted to live in a world where I deserved the help.

“Thank you,” I replied instead, then glanced at the door. “Um, can you close the door?”

There was still the matter of Tigershark barging in, but maybe if Tigershark saw the both of us sitting on the bed, she’d understand, and leave us alone.

“Sure,” she shrugged her shoulders, then got up. Once she sat back down, I looked around the room. I could only manage to view her in fragments, as my heart thumped, as if to warn me of something.

“I think it’s time I allowed you to know about me,” I let the words slip out at last.

“You don’t have to do that,” she shook her head. “It’s enough just to know you as you are.”

“I know. But I want to. So please, will you hear me out?” That time it really did sound like I was at her mercy. Some kind of whimper to my voice. Like I could have gotten down on one knee and begged. Was there some residual sickness left over?

“Of course!” She waved her hands and backed away a little. “I just wasn’t expecting it, but I would be happy to hear it!”

There was only one way to begin: by clearing away any ambiguity.

“First of all, my original name is Rhea Flection,” as I spoke that name, it came out foreign.

“Oh, come on! You already played that trick a couple of times!” She dismissed. Of course, she was right to. Simply stating a name wasn’t going to get me very far.

“It wasn’t a trick when I told the doctor. However, I am not the same Rhea that you’ve heard of from others. She existed, she died. That is true.”

I waited for her response. Then she nodded.

“I see. I started to suspect that once I heard some things from Wendy, but I didn’t want to see you that way if Remora is who you are now.”

“Thank you for that,” I tried to work up a smile, but it wouldn’t have served a purpose. “However, in order to understand who I am now, it’s important that you know my origins.”

“I understand. I have time. So, go on.”

All that I recalled, I relayed to her, including how I learned of the original ‘me’. Once I finished, I studied Demetria’s face. She didn’t look like any of those things horrified her, nor did they bring her joy. I left out the last bit. About how my beliefs about my other self. Those stubborn delusions. Hopefully she could already infer that on her own. Then, she asked a question of her own.

“So the other you died because you came to this world?” She hypothesized. I could see how she got there. But it was wrong.

“No, not quite. She died on her own volition. She was assigned to remove your cousin’s wife from this world. Whether that meant killing, or containing her, as long as the job was done, that’s all that mattered. Your cousin’s wife, no, Ves, proved victorious.”

“So then you arrived not long after?”

I nodded. Now it had gotten to the part that neither Ray nor anyone else knew. Yet she was about to.

“Yes, but not right away. I was at the facility at the time. I hadn’t received an assignment in a while, yet was kept there. So I went to go up to the ones in charge. But when I did so, I noticed they were gathered together, viewing a screen. Curiosity got the better of me. I managed to make it into the room without any of them taking notice. As I hid behind a wall, I listened in to their conversation:

‘Such a shame Rhea died,’ they lamented. ‘I really liked having her around.

‘Yeah, but suppose it was bound to happen eventually.’

‘Oh well. Good thing we have another.’

‘We’ll just get her to finish the job the first one couldn’t. Second time’s the charm, right?’

They all laughed among themselves. Something stirred in me, however. I already knew how little I was valued. How I was just a prop, a tool. I didn’t even mind that, but hearing those words just filled me with disgust. I killed because I didn’t know anything else. And they knew that.”

I stepped forward, rifle in hand, and shot one of them. The others turned, horrified. They all fell so fast, before anything could escape their lips.

After that, I couldn’t just leave as things were. I couldn’t stay. I knew that others would be after me. So I set up explosives in the conference room of the facility and sent out a memo to everyone under the guise of management that they were to meet in the conference room for a special announcement. I hid a safe distance away so that when everyone else went over, I could hear the explosion. Afterward, I left. To the Earth where the other me had died. It struck me as the safest of choices, because I was already assumed dead there.”

There. No more secrets. All that was left was to watch as she grew horrified.

But that didn’t happen. I waited for some kind of disgust, repulsion. Instead, she simply said:

“Thank you for telling me all this.”

That response made no sense.

“You aren’t upset? Shocked?”

She put her index finger on her chin and looked up.

“No. It’s terrible, yes. But what I find more terrible is that you’ve had to live through such things. You lost your parents before you even met them. You had trouble adjusting, you were manipulated into being that kind of person. I wish you didn’t have to go through all that,” her words went softer at the last statement. More sorrowful. It wasn’t right. I didn’t want sympathy, I wanted to be understood.

“Yes, I was manipulated, but I must have known, and just didn’t care,” I clarified. “Even before I was made that way, I never displayed an emotional response toward anything. Even though I must have known it was bad, I still went through with it. To me, it was just something I did.” With that, she should have understood that I was not a good person. I couldn’t be, and that there was nothing to like about me.

She nodded.

“You have every right to think that way. But the person I know, the one next to me, at least thinks about their actions. Tries to do better. Saved my life. There has to be some merit to that.”

“No,” the word came out like a squeak. It was weird and out of place. “There isn’t. You say I saved your life, but the truth was anything but. Ray had sent me to investigate a cult in the area. Asked me not to kill, only investigate. I really tried to leave that life behind. But the desire for that thrill was always there. When I heard they had been targeting young women and participated in human trafficking, that was all the excuse I needed. I didn’t even notice you until after the fight.”

“Regardless, I’m still glad you were there,” she replied. “Whether or not I should, I am glad I met you and I do like you.”

I leaned my head back. That tense feeling in my chest tightened. I should have been happy to hear those words, but it was all wrong.

“I came to the world wanting nothing more than to live out the rest of my days in solitude, undisturbed. Nothing more. When you first met me, however, I was both on edge and lost. Without my job, I didn’t know what to do with my life. I had dyed my hair red, I made myself nameless. Through crowds of people, I encountered an aquarium, and I wandered through and stared at the various creatures. To you, meeting me must have been an exciting encounter, but I only regarded you as a strange person who was hungry, then forgot what you looked like.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised by that. It’s not like you were expecting to see me again.”

I let out a soundless laugh.

“Yet that uneventful encounter is why I am Remora,” the realization was amusing. “If I hadn’t looked at that fish, if you hadn’t asked my name, I would have gone on, content not to have one. But I blurted out the last thing to cross my mind, some stupid looking fish.”

She let out a chuckle as well.

“Heh. So that’s why. Well, it’s nice to know I had some kind of impact.”

I smiled. An actual smile. No intent behind it, just a smile.

“You’ve had more of one than you know. Not at first. At first I thought of you as a pest, and pushy, and trying too hard. But you eased up. When I told you I didn’t want you to know about me, you accepted it, as harsh as it may have been. You still wanted to help, and I just didn’t know what to make of you. I’ve really come to appreciate the person that you are.”

She blushed. Visible. Red.

“Um, thanks…” she looked down.

“I’ve grown to appreciate everyone,” now my own words didn’t feel right. When I looked back to how things began with everyone, that familiar stir returned: some disgusting feeling. “But no matter how much I’ve tried, I just can’t bring myself to care about anyone.”

Her face, still red, went blank.

“What? That doesn’t sound right,” she shook her head. “What about my birthday? Or when we protected each other out in the cold? Or when you talked with me after finding out how I felt about you? There’s plenty of examples, I’m sure.”

“I wanted to do something nice for you, yes. For the sole sake of being nice. No feelings attached. If I died, it didn’t matter, but since you didn’t want me to die so bad, I decided not to stop you. I talked with you because it was important to do so, not because I wanted to.”

“If anything that just proves it more. And if not me, what about Tigershark? You protect her, you watch over her, hell, you rescued her.”

“That’s only because I want to make sure she doesn’t end up like me.”

“I dunno, that sounds like caring to me.”

“It’s not, it’s not,” my brain was about to overload. Too many thoughts that smashed into each other. “It’s precisely that I’m not able to care that I want to make sure she doesn’t end up like me. Nobody should have to go through what I did.”

“See, you recognize it!” Her voice raised. Not anger, not quite. Excitement? Joy? I couldn’t tell. Not anymore. If I ever could.

“You don’t understand. You don’t,” I shook my head. At first slow, then faster.

“I’m trying to.”

“Look,” I tried to remain calm. Calm was all I ever was. “You’re important to me. I’ve tried so hard to feel something toward you, and even though I thought if I just kept at it, I would feel something, but it never came. I’m just unable to. But you’ve been patient, you’re someone I wish I could care about.”

“Where are you going with this?” She sounded apprehensive.

Do I even know?

“It’s not a bad thing. I swear. It’s just, if you want me to, I can play along. I can pretend to be your friend. It just wouldn’t be real. Would you be okay with that?” I gulped. I sounded delirious.

She backed away, stood up slow. In a low voice, spoke:

“Why would I be okay with that?” Her face contorted. Maybe she was disgusted.

“Or lovers. I could play the part of your lover. I could never actually be, but it could be close,” It came out in a huff, a hurried mess of words. Still, it should have softened the blow. What blow? I didn’t know.

“You’re not making any sense. Why do you think I want to hear these things? I don’t want pretend anything. I was fine with the way things were, but I don’t want anything else if it’s not going to be real.”

I sat there, backed away as well, back to the wall, against the pillows. Despite my constant shivers, it became less clear whether or not I felt cold.

“I just thought...it’s the least I could do…” My words were reduced to emptiness.

“It just sounds like you’re trying to push me away,” came her reply, a darkened, low mutter.

“It’s not – you don’t understand,” I tried to get her not to go, I reached my arm out, but I was too far already. She was already at the door.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” was the last thing she said. I didn’t pick up on the tone that time.

I slunk back into bed, against the pillow. Open, then shut, was the door. Not a slam. Nothing so loud. Quiet, even.

“I don’t understand…” I whispered.

The room was silent, I was silent. It was just how I always liked to be: undisturbed. Alone.

Without opening my eyes, I found my head nestled on the lap of someone I knew. That person’s hand came down and stroked my hair. Slow, soft, sifting motions.

I didn’t have to open my eyes; I saw outside of myself and I saw Demetria. It was as if I saw her through a mirror. There was a serene stillness as I saw her face, downward, yet gentle. Half-closed eyelids which flit about. Her mouth opened, ever so slight, like its sole purpose was to blow into my ear.

“You’re pretending to be asleep, aren’t you?” She asked, and her voice was not her own. It was mine.

“Yeah,” I replied, tired.

“It’s bad to pretend. You wouldn’t like this if you were actually asleep.”

“I know.”

“Or is this what you want?”

“In a sense.”

Then the person changed. It was myself, but an imagined version: she had blue hair, a self-assured smile. Still, the motions continued and I accepted them.

“You would be fine with anyone, wouldn’t you?” She (or I?) asked.

“I don’t know.”

“You can’t just be babied. You know better,” the voice became harsher.

“Just let me...for a little while…” The words fell out of my grasp, along with consciousness.

No. I wasn’t pretending.

“So that was a dream…” I muttered, as I sat back up. How long did I fall back to sleep for? What time was it? I checked my phone. Late into the evening. Without purpose, I scrolled through my phone and the messages I never checked. Most of them were from Ves, the most recent being a few days back, while I was sick and floating in and out of consciousness. Not that it mattered, as I never responded to her texts.

Ves: Hey, I know it’s been a long time and we don’t really talk, but I just wanted you to know that you’re in my thoughts and I hope you’re well.

I sighed. No wonder I never responded. There was nothing to gain from pretending. I got up, ready to head out into the hall, be my real self. However empty that self was.

I’ll tell her that I must have still been a little sick. Because of course that was wrong to say. Even nothing is better than a dishonest something. I know that. So I’m sorry.

When I walked out into the hall, that too was empty. If I had to guess, Tigershark was taking a nap upstairs. Over the past couple of weeks or so, she had been sleeping in Ray and Sunny’s room to try to keep her from getting sick. As for Sunny, from what I heard she had gone off on another adventure.

There, at the desk, was Ray. My movements were stilted as I made my way over to the middle of the hallway, near where Ray was.

“It’s nice to see you up at last,” he greeted, without looking up from his desk. There weren’t any papers. Did he not want to look me in the eye?

“Where is Demetria?” I asked, weary.

“She’s gone. She went back home,” he explained, still not so much as a glimpse my way.

“I see.”

It made sense. There was only so much I could give, and only so much patience she had. It was always going to happen that way.

Across from Ray’s desk, against the wall, was the lone chair that always sat there. I went over and occupied it. From my peripheral, I noticed him look up at last, and right at me.

“It’s not your fault,” he told me. “She’s not mad at you.”

“Wouldn’t expect her to be,” this time it was my turn not to look his way as I gave my response.

Fault or not, I was the reason she first came to the diner, and I was the reason she left.

“She liked me. I wish I could have liked her, too,” I let out those words. Some kind of hollow confession.

“You aren’t obligated to like someone just because they like you,” Ray stated. For what purpose, I didn’t know. To state the obvious? Was that his only purpose now, after all the trouble and trickery he went through to get me to stay at his diner. His facade of a home.

Very well. There was no more danger. Nothing in it for any of us. All that was left was to put a couple more things to rest. So, I pulled out my phone, then began the text.

Me: Hello.

There was more I could have said. ‘Sorry I ghosted you’? Ah, but that sounded too corny. My recipient already saw me as a ghost, didn’t she? So what was there to apologize for?

Just a minute later, I got my reply.

Wow, someone’s thirsty.

Ves: Hey! I was wondering if I would ever hear from you again.

Me: Can I ask a favor of you?

Ves: Um, what’s the favor?

Me: Tell me about her.

Ves: Her…?

Me: Rhea. Your Rhea.

Ves: Oh. What do you want to know?

Me: Why did she have such an impact on you?

Ves: idk there were others who should’ve had more of an impact.

Me: That wasn’t what I asked.

There was a pause.

Why, when you first came across me, that was all you wanted to talk about, and now you want to avoid the issue?

Then:

Ves: Sorry. I needed to gather my thoughts. It was such a short period of time, but it was really tough on me. I was sick, as I mentioned before, and she was sent to put me down. I can’t blame her, as I was a danger to myself as well as my loved ones. During our first confrontation, she almost killed me. I begged, and she gave me another option, but that other option was to have me in the hands of those who have hurt me in the past. There was no good option.

Me: You mentioned being sick before. But that’s not really it, was it? They don’t send someone to kill you if you have a case of the common cold.

Ves: I was. In a way.

Ves: As a child, I was experimented on. Apparently other children were, many of them died. They were placed with the blood of an angel. One which was said to bring happiness. While I survived, I often had headaches, hallucinations, and a short temper. Later on, I ended up ingesting the blood of that same angel, this time as an adult.

Ves: There were all these things I could now do, but along with it, I craved more blood. Every so often, I would throw up blood. Not small amounts, either.

Me: That entity? The embodiment of happiness? Don’t you know nothing good ever comes of happiness?

Ves: I know now. I was just desperate.

Me: She should have killed you. So why?

Ves: I’m not really sure...she could have. Maybe she could no longer bring herself to do it. Before our last fight, she said how it would have been nice if we could be friends, but it could never happen.

Ves: I didn’t want to fight her. She fought me, though. Wouldn’t let it end until one of us died. I think she wanted to die, but felt she could only so in a fight. At one point she told me how I was a disappointment for not wanting to fight, but I think it was an attempt to strike a nerve so that I would get angry enough to kill her.

Me: That was irresponsible of her. It wasn’t just about her, it was about the risk you posed. She should have known that.

Ves: I’m sorry.

Me: What do you have to be sorry for? You’re cured, aren’t you? You got what you wanted.

Ves: She did too. As she was dying, I told her how I wished I knew her more. But she commented about feeling warm at last. She looked at peace.

Me: Is that it? Is that why she had an impact on you? Because of a few fights?

Ves: No. I fought others before. But I felt a connection with her. Like we were similar, each trying to find something. It made me wish I could have been the one to help her, instead of needing help. I regret how it went down, and I wonder sometimes if I could have prevented her death. If there was another way.

Me: There wasn’t anything you could have done for her.

Ves: Still, I feel like if I just tried, she would have still been around, and able to live the life she wanted.

Me: You don’t know that.

Ves: You’re right. I can never really know. I’m sorry.

Me: You know that I’m her, right? I’m not the one you know, but I share a history with her. I share a name with her. Her condition.

Ves: Yes. I figured as such.

Me: So I’m just confused what it was about her. Wasn’t she a merciless killer? Wasn’t she emotionally distant? Detached? None of that should have left an impression. Aside from her condition, those kind of people aren’t uncommon. She should have just been an enemy. That’s it.

...So why, then, did she show you mercy? What was it about you, of all people? I thought.

Ves: But she was more than that, to me. She was someone I would have liked to have as a friend. Even if she may have tried to kill me, she still took her time to got to know me and listen to me. Something I may not have even deserved.

I stared at her text before I continued. Her words made me wonder, if maybe the other me was more compassionate. Someone who had grown kinder over time. Maybe that was what it was that set the two of us apart. What was missing, then? Was she allowed more freedom? Interacted with more people? Grew sick of all the bloodshed?

Why couldn’t I experience any of those things?

I replied at last:

Me: I wish I could have met her.

Ves: I’m sure that would have been nice.

Me: If only.

Ves: You know, I actually wanted to be more like her, like you. While I hid my emotions, you don’t have that problem. There must have been countless times I’ve thought about how I didn’t want to feel anything, especially during the times when my emotions got to be too much.

Me: Why would you want any of this? Do you think I want to be this way? Don’t you think I would cry if I could? Smile, laugh, even anger. None of that is felt. You experience love and care about others, why would you want to hide that?

There it was: always one more thing added which turns the whole thing around. Now I found myself disgusted. With her, with myself. What did I hope to gain by talking with her, anyway? Of course, she just had to have the last word:

Ves: You’re right. I didn’t consider how it might be from your perspective.

Me: Now you know.

Me: That’s all I wanted to ask of you. I’m done.

Ves: Wait. Isn’t there anything else we can talk about? How are you? How are things with the others?

Me: I’m done with them.

Ves: Is something wrong? Did you guys have a falling out?

Me: None of them meant anything to me. I couldn’t feel anything for them. That’s all.

Ves: Please. If something’s wrong, I want to help in any way I can.

Me: Don’t care. Didn’t ask. Goodbye.

Ves: Please don’t push me away. I know that’s what you’re doing because I’ve done it too and it doesn’t help. It just brings more pain.

That again? Twice now I’ve heard such things. Both from naive people who wanted to know me. If I had a nerve at all, it might have been struck.

Me: Don’t act like you and I are alike.

Ves: Please. We’re friends, aren’t we?

Me: Wrong. We were never friends. We both pretended like we. Me, because I couldn’t care less, and you used me as an outlet for your grief. I was willing to play the part for a while, but I knew I was being manipulated.

Ves: It wasn’t my intention.

Me: Doesn’t matter.

Ves: I still wanted to try. I knew you might have been different, but if there was even a chance to know you, I wanted to take it.

Me: Do you ever shut up?

Ves: What?

Me: All I hear are excuses. It doesn’t impress me.

Ves: Fine, then. I tried to be nice. I tried. But if you want to be alone, go ahead. Go ahead and rot. Ungrateful bitch. I gave you a chance, I didn’t even have to do that.

Me: I see. So that’s the real you.

Ves: No. I’m not. No.

Me: Don’t try to hide it now if that’s who you are.

Ves: No. I’m sorry. I just snapped. I didn’t mean to.

Me: That’s too bad. Because I mean every word I say. Goodbye now.

I turned off the phone and looked up.

“Well, that about wraps things up,” I announced. Ray, who still seemed listless, looked up.

“Who were you texting?” He asked.

“The wife of Demetria’s gay cousin. Had to wrap up some loose ends,” I explained, then got up and set the phone on his desk. “I don’t need this anymore.”

He turned to the phone, then looked back at his desk. If he didn’t know the implications, he soon would.

“I’m leaving. There’s no longer any need to be here,” I announced. That seemed to get his attention. He looked up and there was no doubt about it – he was going to try to convince me, no, beg me to stay.

“Goodbye, then,” he instead said in a dispassionate voice. Even his face lacked of interest. It was wrong. Wasn’t he the one who wanted me there in the first place? Tried to convince me to work with him? Didn’t he care? Didn’t I mean anything to him at all?

“That’s it?” I uttered. It couldn’t have been all he wanted to say.

“What else do you want me to say? If you want to leave, who am I to stop you?” His words made sense, but not coming from him.

“You’re supposed to stop me, beg me to stay, anything.”

“Do you want me to?”

I took a step back.

“No, but that’s not the point.”

I started to shiver again, harder than before. Like someone had left the door, or some windows wide open and a great draft had invited itself in.

“Look, Remora: I’m exhausted. Demetria just left. Sunny went off on another adventure just a day before that. I don’t know when I’ll hear from her or see her next. Sure, I’m going to miss them, but they have every right to come and go as they please. So if you want to leave as well, then you have every right to.”

“After all this time? I could have just left? That’s it?”

He nodded.

“If you wanted to.”

No. It couldn’t have been that easy. He must have had some kind of trap, some trick to keep me there. That was the only explanation.

“What about the first time you tried to get me to work for you? When we met?”

“You turned down the offer and that was that. I didn’t pursue it,” he argued, hand on his chest.

“But then I accepted so that you would save Tigershark’s life!”

He tilted his head.

“I told you we didn’t need to make any deal. I helped her because I was concerned about her life. You chose to afterward.”

Damn it. That was true. But why, then, if I didn’t have to? It was obvious, wasn’t it? Because I felt obligated. That was all.

“But then when I left after you manipulated me to go to the place where the other me died, you were the one who showed up at my doorstep and tried to convince me to return. Said I could be leader of your little operation. But now look: you’re back to your position and now you’re saying I can come and go as I please. How does that work?”

He sighed.

“You’re right. I did say and do those things, didn’t I? For that, I apologize.”

See? You admit it!

“Not only that, but you gave me food, you gave me a place to sleep, you tried to protect me, you…” I huffed. “You told me I didn’t have to kill anyone. You listened to me. You tried to correct any mistakes you made. You tried to make me comfortable.”

“And?”

“You...all of you...I tried to tell you that I wasn’t someone to be known, to be liked, and no one listened. They didn’t get it and just kept trying. Made me think that maybe I wanted to be here. That I could be around others. But it wasn’t true. All of you just manipulated me and confused me!” My voice shook and shivered, almost raised. It wasn’t right.

“May I ask you something?” Ray waited a moment before he spoke once more.

“What?” I seethed.

“Why do you think you aren’t someone who should be liked?”

“You would really ask me that? I’m a killer – not was – am! It doesn’t matter whether I’ve stopped or not, that part of me doesn’t go away. I’ve tried to tell you all that I just can’t feel anything. I’ve never been able to.”

“Do you think you’re the only killer who has walked through these doors? I would treat any other killer to the same meals and share a nice conversation with them.”

“But I’m different,” I professed.

“How so?”

“Other people have trauma. They see the face of the one they killed and it sticks with them. Not me. I’ve never had that problem. To me they’ve always been empty faces. I’ve never felt anything when I’ve taken a life. I’m incapable of doing so.”

“And because of that, you’re not deserving of kindness?”

“Yes!”

“Maybe some would agree with that sentiment,” he shrugged. “But I don’t see why I should.”

“Don’t you get it? I can’t feel anything except this cold! I’m not worth it! Do you think I want to be this way? I want to care, about someone, anyone, more than anything, but it just doesn’t happen and it’s because of who I am!”

My fists tightened and shook. My eyes stung. I tried to close them, and still felt the sting. Then, when I opened them back up, I saw Ray. He looked at me, then leaned back, eyes wide.

“Remora? Are you okay?” His voice cracked, it turned to a near-whisper.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I took a step back.

“Let me tell you one thing before you go,” he urged at last. Though ‘urge’ wasn’t the right word. It didn’t sound like a plea. Just something he wanted to say. “Before I met Sunny, I used to think that I didn’t care for a single person outside of myself. There were all of these people and they meant nothing to me. They were fun, at best, and a bore at worst. I was fine enough just doing my own thing, everyone else be damned.

Even a little after I met Sunny, I still didn’t feel much at first. I’ve never had any interest in women, so I figured it wouldn’t amount to anything. But damn it, I’m so glad she’s in my life. She brightens my world to the point that I want to shine at all times. Even when she’s gone, I make sure there’s a home for her when she gets back. I want to make myself a home, and comfort her when she needs comfort and joy when she needs joy. Then, when I met Elodie, I felt it again: there was a life that I wanted to make sure was safe and happy. Had a good home, even if that home wasn’t with me.”

“What are you getting at with all this?” If he wanted to be self-indulgent, couldn’t he have done so some other time? It didn’t make any sense to bring such things up now.

“I believe that if you have the capacity to care about one person, then you can care about others.”

Few of those words stood out. There was his little monologue, then there was the last statement. But how the two connected, I couldn’t tell. My mind was blank. None of the words connected.

“I don’t know what you mean,” my words came out like a whimper.

“It was enough just to tell you,” he replied with a smile.

Whatever meaning there was to be found, every second I remained, I ran the risk of not leaving at all.

“I’ll be going now,” I squeezed out the words.

“Will you be okay out there?” He asked, as if he cared.

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“Please don’t make me worry about you.”

“Why would you?”

He shrugged, shook his head, and let out a heavy sigh.

“You know, I used to think that working with you, spending time with you, laughing together. We could have had fun.”

I turned from him. If I could just step away, maybe I could make sense of myself again.

“I never wanted to have fun,” I told him as I walked away. “I just wanted to rest in peace.”

“Take care, Remora,” he called after me.

Then I was gone. Through each door and out into the cold open air.

Each step I took through the snow brought a heavy gust along with it. There was little way to tell which way I was going, save for some vague notions of lights in the blanketed darkness of the sky. Each step alone was heavy, with or without a breeze. Disorientation was the only comfort I had.

All the better for it.

Alone was how I should have been from the beginning. Whether it be a house I built for myself, or buried deep under the snow. Either was fine.

It stung and bit me in various places. Very little feeling. My teeth would not cease. My vision was dim at best, as was my mind.

At any moment, I might collapse. Maybe I won’t get back up. Maybe I will close my eyes and let it blanket over me. Let the blizzard hit. If that happens, I hope no one finds me. I hope I won’t be saved. So that the process can’t repeat. So that I can meet the end that I should have.

For whatever reason, that never happened. Instead, as I lumbered along the thick snow which seeped into my boots, my body, on some kind of automatic process, followed the lights in the distance. Just small, smudged shades of white, beige, yellow, and red, in a sickening creme. Not distant to be stars, nor did they twinkle. Fade in and out, maybe, but not twinkle.

Why I went toward something so meaningless, I couldn’t say. What moved and the rest of me were two different entities. Then, when I happened to collapse, I happened to stumble through doors and onto a rug laid out on a tile floor.

I twitched.

Someone should have yelled that I was letting the cold air in. That was the reaction I was used to. It made sense. For my part, I was unsure if I could even move. When I tried to push myself up, my arms wouldn’t so much as budge.

“This is fine…” I groaned. Or would have if I had the strength to use my voice. After all that transpired, I could use a good meme to represent my situation. All I needed to top it all off was whatever building I was in to be set on fire.

How long I spent on that floor, I didn’t know. No one seemed to be around. If there were others, they didn’t react to my presence.

Did I find my way into some abandoned building? Or maybe I’m in someone’s home and they’re asleep and didn’t hear the door open. Unlikely, with all the noise the weather is making. Maybe they’re just not home. Or maybe this isn’t a home. Damn it, you numbskull. Just look around and check!

I would have rather just fell asleep right where I lay. But then curiosity took hold and wouldn’t allow me not to look. Even with as difficult as it was, I turned my head and at first, it was all blurred shades that merged in with each other. For what must have been a few minutes, it remained as such. Then, after a few more blinks and a good stare, it became clear.

Little shops. Gates and terminals. Large windows. Booths and stairways. Limitless ceilings. There was no denying where I was: I was at the airport.

I struggled my way up and shambled toward a chair against one of the walls. It still boggled me why no one else was around, but it might have had to do with how late into the night it was. How few people really came around to this part of the world. Gee, I must have been blessed to live in such a place. Blessed until others tried to force their way into my life, that is.

That was all past me now. Not long had I been awake, but with how weakened I still was, I couldn’t resist the urge to just rest once more.

“Now that that’s all taken care of, time to get some rest,” a voice rang through my head. Followed by footsteps. Those footsteps grew louder, and then they stopped. “Oh? I didn’t know someone would be here at this hour.”

Such a syrupy voice shook me from my sleep and I squinted before turning my head toward the owner of said voice. Then I opened my eyes to find some woman with a blonde ponytail and a blue brim hat on, followed by one of those sexy flight attendant outfits. Well, someone probably found such outfits sexy. I never said I did.

“So sorry, didn’t mean to wake you!” She took a step back and started to stammer. I just grunted in response.

“I think I recognize you. You’re Rae Morris, right?”

Rae...Rae...uh…

“Who?” I croaked.

“Ray’s accountant?” She asked, then I remembered that disguise I put on a few months back. My, how time flew.

“Right. Ugh. I’m not really an accountant,” I groaned.

“Really? I could’ve sworn –”

“Rae Morris was just a name. It didn’t mean anything,” I admitted through a dead mutter.

“Huh. Fooled me, then, huh?”

“Yeah…” I looked up. How high up the ceiling was, yet even seeing that felt claustrophobic.

“Didn’t I see you with that other girl who works at Ray’s diner a couple weeks ago?” She asked. I knew who she meant right away: Demetria.

“Yeah,” I then turned my head away from her and looked down at the floor.

“If I recall, you two looked happy,” she commented.

“I wonder if there was any truth to that.”

“So…” She shuffled her feet. “Are you waiting on a flight? I hear the next one’s not for another few hours.”

“I have nowhere to go,” it hurt to admit, but it was the truth. My hands hung off to the sides.

“What are you doing here, then?”

Dammit. Why do you have to ask that?

“I don’t really know. I’m lost,” was my first answer. However, I soon turned to face her. “Or rather, there’s nowhere I can go. Wherever I go, I won’t find home. I go from place to place and it’s never right.”

“You too, huh?” She less asked and more seemed to agree. “You know, I used to live from airport to airport. I now live here and it feels more right, but it took forever, and even then, it gets lonely from time to time.”

“Are you living the life you want?” I asked her.

“That’s a hard one. I mean, there’s still some things I’d like to have and some things I’d like to be better. Isn’t there always, though? It’s just nice to have some of the things I wanted. I always love being in the air, and it’s nice to be away from my mom. I’m also much more comfortable with the body I have than I used to be. It also helps that I’ve got boobs now, however small. Why? What about you?”

I shook my head against the wall.

“Everyone’s always got their own ideas about me. They all see me in these different ways and expect me to act in those ways. To be who they see me. That’s not even to say that I’m different, I just don’t know, that’s the thing. But even if I want to object or do my own thing, I’ve never been able to see another option but to go with them.”

“I mean, I can relate to that as well…”

“You too, huh?” I let slip a chuckle. It wasn’t very funny.

What was funny was that the warmth (I’m assuming, not that I felt it) seeped through the airport and moisture started to form against my eyelids and trickle down. Was the other me aware of such a phenomena? There I went and sat there with all of that internal struggle, yet the other me still managed to come to mind.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been my own person,” I croaked, and the moisture formed once more, ran down to my cheeks, and off of my chin.

“Oh no. Here, I’ll be right back, I swear,” she sounded in a hurry. Good. I didn’t want to keep her. Maybe such a moisture would dissipate and I could go back to resting in an uncomfortable chair.

I coughed as some of the salty moisture got into my mouth. How sick I was. How sick I had been. Not just over the past couple of weeks, but all my life. Feeling nothing but a constant chill. Being taken advantage of. I was never tough, never strong. I was just made in a way that was useful for others. I was right to leave the gun back at Ray’s diner. There was just so much of me that was wrong.

True to her word, I heard her run down the stairs and return. She wiped off my face with a cloth. I should have backed away or slapped her hand away. Or refused to let her. But I was too numb. It was just like how I was when I was made to be a killer. Never once objected. One thought turned to when I used to read those fairy tales, how I would hate for my space to be invaded. But if this was a fairy tale, then maybe I would have wanted her to wipe my face.

“Thank you,” I said at last.

“Don’t mention it,” she replied. “You seem like you’ve had a rough time. Would you like to stay the night?”

I thought about it. Or didn’t. My thoughts weren’t cooperative.

“I would like that,” I told her, unsure if I really would. Just having some place to be, for one night, that much seemed doable.

We walked together up a flight of stairs and into an office. It had been redecorated or redesigned to be a bedroom for the flight attendant. Little plane ornaments and model planes hung around the room, with a bed toward the end which I presumed she slept in. To both sides of me were closets, both open, with many jackets, sweaters, dresses, and other clothes hung. Against the wall was a small kitchen-like area with a sink and a fridge. No stove or oven, but she probably had one of those elsewhere.

“There’s a bathroom down the hall with a shower, if you need one,” she explained. “The airport can be kinda creepy at night when it’s dark and no one around, but I’m pretty sure there’s no ghosts. Still, you can turn the lights on if it helps. I don’t mind.”

“Thank you,” I replied.

She then walked up to me and pulled on a flap against the wall behind me. I stepped back and a bed, a little small and with a hard metal frame popped out.

“It’s not the most comfortable, but we’ve got plenty of blankets, and I’ll give you a weighted blanket. Looks like you might have hypothermia, so might be a good idea to use it.”

“I probably don’t, but I’ll still take it.”

“Good. Also, there’s a snuggie if you –”

“Yes. Good lord, yes.”

“Oh, well, something you’re enthusiastic about,” she remarked.

I looked away. That was embarrassing.

“Go ahead and get whatever food you want in the fridge, help yourself to some water. Mi casa es tu aeropuerto, or something like that.”

I nodded.

“Why are you doing all of this?” I asked, still looking around the room. It wasn’t small by any means, decent sized bedroom. To think that something like that existed in an airport. She shrugged.

“Maybe I’m lucky enough to be able to.”

It was better than her saying she took pity on me, or that I seemed nice. Even if both were true, I didn’t need her to say such things. She then held out her hand.

“I’m Cybele, by the way,” she informed me. I looked down at her hand.

“I’m sorry...I don’t do hands. Er...touch. I don’t like...touch,” I couldn’t quite explain. She reeled her hand back and smiled.

“It’s okay, I get it. I probably wouldn’t wanna go up touching every stranger I met either. As for you, you are…?”

“I’m…” Rhea, was the first thing to pop into my head. Then Remora. But neither felt right. They sounded too close to each other. I wanted to find something that didn’t resemble myself in any way. But there wasn’t anything I could find. “I’m still trying to figure that out. Sorry.”

“I’m not offended. Names can take a while.”

For what it was worth, she seemed like a good sport about the whole thing. It was a shame, as there was nothing I could give for her kindness. All I could do was acknowledge it.

Sleep wouldn’t come at all. Throughout the night, I stared up into the darkness, tried to ignore the hum of the refrigerator, and tried to ignore myself. That was the worst part of all. Rather than disappear, cease to breathe, fade into obscurity and nothingness, I found myself in someone else’s room. It wasn’t right. I had to leave. Leave myself. Before she started to form an impression of me. If she hadn’t already. Whatever mistake I had made, I needed to rectify it, and fast. My heart wouldn’t stop beating, even if I squeezed it tight enough, it just wouldn’t stop.

In the morning, I put the bed back against the wall and closed it shut. But I kept the snuggie, of course. She could pry it from my cold, dead body.

I began to head out, where, I didn’t know. I’d walk if I had to. I just had to find some place that wasn’t where I already was. Before I left the room, however, I heard the yawn and stretch of Cybele and she looked over to me.

“Good morning,” she called in a half-yawn.

“I’m glad you think so,” I tried to sound positive, but with the tiredness in my voice, she may have thought I sounded sarcastic.

“Heading out?” She asked.

“Yeah. I’m thinking of going some place warm,” to distance myself from myself. “Like the Sahara, or Ecuador. Maybe I’ll go to Florida or Spain.”

“Those are places,” she acknowledged. “Sounds like you know where you want to go. Are you going to board a flight?”

“I was thinking of walking, actually,” I replied. Again, not sarcastic.

“No need to do that. Just gimme a bit and I’ll fly you.”

“I’d rather you wouldn’t. Not to be mean. I just don’t want to be near anyone I know.”

“Do you have money to get to one of those places?”

“No. No money.”

“Then at least let me do that much.”

I should have refused. It was selfish of me. But I accepted. After all that time, I still couldn’t help but take from others. Still, it felt exciting. I didn’t know where I wanted to go, but even if I decided on a random spot on a map, it would be my decision. Then, once I’d land, I could lay my head anywhere I wanted and whisper my proper goodbye to anyone who ever knew me.

#remoras full #writing #flashbacks #remora #rhea #its time #sad chapter #emotional #fiction #long chapter #14k words

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the-nysh · 5 years ago

Note

Why does Garou have no confidence?

This one’s pretty interesting, because up until that point, everything about his cocky behavior and the way he carried himself seemed to imply the opposite (when much of it was bravado, posturing, pride in his skills, or hamming up performing the villain). And yet…from their brief encounter, Saitama was able to perceive the truth behind the act and figure out what Garou really wanted to do, after realizing Garou held his own ideal of a hero in such high regard, with an even loftier goal he ultimately wanted to achieve…but he chose to approach it in such a roundabout, backwards way, by making waves and naively thinking he could unite everyone and indirectly enact change for the better through the monster’s role. Whew, that’s a lot to aim for, but to Saitama, choosing that route (by simply beating the strongest heroes) was compromising (aka choosing the easier way out) rather than actively work to become the ideal example of a true hero himself. A hero’s role is a tough, thankless job with no guarantee that even a single person can make a difference or earn a paycheck (for example, even all-powerful, Saitama’s yet to make much of a dent in the monster phenomenon no matter how much he contributes). So while Saitama may choose to keep his heroing as a hobby, and while he doesn’t know Garou’s past either, what he assesses from their fight is someone who lacks the conviction to follow through with what he really wants.

Saitama’s thing is about doing what you want regardless of what other people think of you, so why couldn’t Garou do the same and directly do what he wanted too? Be true to himself and become who he really wants to be? Why couldn’t he have the confidence to follow through with that? Hmm, I think it stems from here:

He could have chosen either role (in fact he originally had no qualms playing either), but thanks to his peers’ repeated typecasting of him, that made him believe the roles were determined by the approval of others. It’s messed up cause it’s obviously not true (he can still do what he wants regardless of what they think!), but when every time the majority would decide for him, and gang up on him as the group’s outcast and the easy ‘monster’ target…he probably honestly thought he no longer even had a choice anymore. If everyone always saw and treated him as the unpopular, unliked monster, then he’d never get the chance in the limelight to be the hero. His ‘role’ was already predetermined to be the monster’s, no matter how he felt about it. (And oh, did he get very upset.) So the only semblance of choice he believed he had left was to perform that role to the fullest. (Even when at his core, he was still a good-natured kid…)

Now add in how much closer he identified with the monster’s role on tv by sympathizing with their unfair treatment (flaw: these were not accurate representations of real monsters, which by the time he actually meets some in the MA, he finds them disgusting and not at all to his expectations), his repressed anger from suffering such injustice, his warped projections of who’re the bullies, AND his lingering ideals of what distinguishes a true hero deep inside, and we have this concocted, self-depreciating mindset where he thinks of himself as, ‘oh I couldn’t possibly be, no there’s no way I could be a hero.’ A contradictory, self-doubting (self-loathing? heck, he even lacks appropriate self-care) dilemma where he’s at odds with what he says and believes he has to do, vs how he actually (re)acts based on what he feels is right. Where he’ll then push back and deny the good of what he does at every step of the way.

Just look at how quick he automatically rejects the notion that he could be heroic, even when it’s someone else who interprets his actions that way and prompts the suggestion (keep trying Tareo, you’ll get through to him eventually!)

He’s already come this far, convincing himself of what he thinks he has to be (a monster), while refusing to acknowledge he’s always had the choice otherwise.(Really, he can do it if he tries!! Tareo already knows! It’s just so ingrained at this point that he can’t even see it as a viable or believable option.) The expression he makes where he keeps on telling himself this like a mantra (volume redraw on the right) is not a face that exudes confidence, but rather one that’s sullen, pained and resigned to accept this role all the way, when deep down, it may not even be what he really wants. (Thankfully it’ll take both Saitama and Tareo to help give him that needed boost to see his life choices in a whole new way.)

#Anonymous #replies #opm #garou #webcomic spoilers #meta #long post #oh whoa whoops this got longer than i planned :'D #(that's just what happens when it comes to him ahaha)#it's interesting to think about and i'm sure there are more succinct ways i can say stuff #but now my brain is fried and i need some sleep buaha

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whatareyousearchingfordean · 6 years ago

Text

Just A Little Longer

Summary: After losing his mother, again, the reader wants nothing more than to just be there for the man she loves.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1.9K+

Warnings: Language, angst, smut, unprotected sex(no glove no love), fingering

Author’s Note: Just look at that face and tell me that me Dean doesn’t deserve a distraction from all the shit thats happened recently. I mean come on? Special thanks to @hawaiianohana15 for encouraging me to write out my feelings!

My Masterlist

The deep base poured out from your headphones, seeping into your bones and drowning out the rest of the bunker. This is exactly what the doctor ordered. You need desperately to get lost right now and get out of your head. Sweat drips down your face as you continue to throw punch after punch into the boxing bag.

You and the Winchesters had burned their mother's body a few days ago and to say it had been difficult would be an understatement. Dean wasn’t sleeping, just drinking. Sam wouldn’t pry his eyes away from all their family photos. He was acting like he had accepted it all, that Cas’ story about her being happy in heaven made it all okay. Dean wasn’t even trying to hide how broken he was. After everything, you think he is too tired from it all to even try.

And you, well you were definitely not okay. You and Mary has grown close over the past few years. It was more than anything you had dreamed to meet the mystical matriarch of the Winchester household. There were some rough spots no doubt, but you were family. Not to mention, the man you loved, wouldn’t talk to you right now. This all seemed to be the straw that had broken the camel’s back and that scared you.

With a huff, you collapse into the bag, allowing it to hold your weight up as you calm your breathing. You slip off the gloves you were wearing and toss them onto the table as you exit the bunkers gym. As you head down the hall towards your room, you pop the headphones from your ears and return to the deafening silence in the bunkers.

You spot Sam, Cas and Bobby around the table as you pass the kitchen. Halting, you look around for any sign of Dean.

“Y/N?” Sam’s voice meets you, and you glance over, catching his eye.

“Where’s Dean?” You blurt out, not even thinking about saying hi.

“Um,” It’s obvious as Sam blinks his eyes that he’s taken aback by your abruptness. You couldn’t care less. “He said he was heading out for a drink.”

“Alone?”

“He’s not in a good place right now.” Sam gives you an almost pitiful smile. It only enrages you, like you don’t know how hard this is on him, on you.

With a bite of your lip, you give Sam a response. “You think I don’t know that Sam?” The rise in your voice is noticed by everyone in the room. “And you let him go alone? Last time you let him go somewhere alone, he had a grand plan to lock himself in a metal box and throw it into the ocean!”

“What was I supposed to do, lock him down in the dungeon?” Sam stood up from the table, peering down at you. You weren’t going to let him intimidate you.

“You come get me, then we figure something out together! You don’t have a monopoly on your brother!” Mostly you were mad at yourself, for running away into your own world and not keeping an eye on Dean. It felt selfish, she was his mother, who he has lost for a second time.

“I’m going to go get him.” You mutter this time.

“Y/N, he’s not answering his phone.” Sam frowns.

“Then I’ll go find him.” If Sam didn’t care about his brother’s whereabouts, you would.

“I think this time we just let him be. He’ll come back, I know it.”

“No, you don’t get to tell me how to treat my boyfriend. This is between him and me. If he’s pissed, you can tell me ‘I told you so’ later.” You turn on your heel to find your jacket. Sam is naive to think that Dean is just out having a drink. He doesn’t want to be anywhere that reminds him of her. You follow that notion, on foot, he didn’t go far, that you were sure of.

The night is fairly cold, the wind whipping hard against your cheek. It’s not until the rain starts coming down that you begin to question your decision to go on foot.

You walk for about 3 miles outside the bunker. The road is lined with forest on both sides as you head into town. A hidden drive appears on the opposite side of the road into the trees. The dirt looks as though someone has recently driven over it so you take your chance, following it into the darkness.

The trees begin to clear slowly and the impala comes into your line of view. Dean is seated on a log just behind her, but you hear him before you see him.

Dean looks up to you as you walk towards him, but neither of you say anything. He just continues to sob, and you have to fight to not break down and fall to your knees. You had never seen him this broken before and it makes your heart hurt in ways you never thought it could.

Walking up to him, you run your fingers through his soaking hair and Dean glances up at you. Without a word, you position yourself between his legs, pulling his head to you chest, allowing him to just feel. Dean wraps his arms around you, holding you close and you finally allow yourself to sob with him.

The two of you stay that way for who knows how long. When Dean finally slows his breathing, he pulls back to look up at you, his eyes shining and telling you more than his words could.

“Come on.” Your voice is barely audible over the wind whooshing around you. Dean nods as he takes your hand and you lead him back to baby. The back door squeaks as you pull it open and tug Dean into the backseat with you.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry.” Dean frowns at you as he cradles your face in his hands. “You’re cold.” He cuts you off as you open your mouth to protest. He knew you too well. There are still tears falling down his cheeks as he watches you. Dean is lazily brushing the wet strands of hair from your face with the pads of his thumbs.

“Babe,” you grip Dean’s wrist with your fingers and tug him into you, his lips meeting your lazily. You can taste the salt from his tears as you open your mouth to him.

“I don’t know what to do,” Dean is breathing heavily as he pulls his lips only inches away and presses his forehead to yours. “But we have to do something about Jack.”

“I know, but we’ll figure it out later.” You shake your head slightly before kissing him again, putting everything you have behind it. Dean turns rushed quickly, opening his mouth to you and tugging your hair slightly. You moan at the feeling and push Dean back to climb into his lap. His hands move from your hair to your hips, pulling you down hard. You ground into him, eliciting a growl from Dean. With a chuckle you pull back for some air and begin to peel off your jacket. Dean takes the same time to pull off his own jacket and flannel.

“What would I do without you?” He smiles and pecks your lips before working your bra straps down your shoulders.

“Crash and burn.” You tease him, but his expression turns serious and you worry for a second.

“I would, I really would.” Dean’s lips find your jaw and he traces his teeth across your earlobe. You shiver in his embrace and he continues trailing his mouth down your neck. He uses his mouth to suck deeply into your pulse point, driving you crazy with need.

“Baby I need you,” his voice cracked with his plea and all you could do was nod in agreement, your own tears spilling over and down your cheeks.

Dean’s hands come up to gently caress your breasts through the thin material of your bra, your nipples budding in reaction. Your own hands find his belt buckle and you tear it open.

The two of you work over each other. Dean’s fingers slip into your panties and run themselves through your folds. He slips two fingers inside you, pumping and scissoring as you pump your hand up and down his cock lazily. Your breaths are coming quicker as you near your orgasm and the windows of the impala are now completely fogged up.

“Dean, please.” You eyes flutter shut as you try to convey to him what you need. He kisses you hard and fast as he removes his fingers from you.

There is no wasted time as you rid yourselves of the rest of your clothes. Dean guides himself to your entrance and you sink down on him, pausing to let yourself adjust to him.

“Fuck,” Dean’s eyes flutter shut at the feeling. You can see his tongue pressed to the back of his teeth through his parted lips. His cheeks are still stained with his tears and you heart aches. So you kiss him again, testing the waters by rolling your hips against his. Dean growls into you and you pick up the pace, bracing your hands on his shoulders for leverage. You set up a rhythm, pumping and swirling your hips. Dean’s fingers are dangerously tight on your hips, but you don’t mind.

What are you supposed to say to a man who has known nothing but loss? What can you do but try to make it better, if only for a little while? The Winchester had finally thought that they had gotten a break, bringing their mother home and being able to get to know her as adults. But like everything else in their life, it was ripped away too soon. Now it was the three of you, against Jack and Cas and you have no idea what to do. So you do what you can. You distract each other for a little while. You make love to the man you’d give your life for, the man you love more than life itself.

It’s not long before you are begging for release, the long drag of Dean’s cock inside you setting the fire in your belly into overdrive.

“I’m so close,” You whimper into Dean’s neck. He is thrusting his hips up to meet yours now, the impala creaking on her suspension. Dean nods to you, capturing your lips with his again, molding you to him and leaving as little space as he can between you.

Your back arches as your climax hits. Dean buries his face in your cleavage as he continues to fuck into you, quickly catching his release and spilling himself deep inside you.

A shudder rips through you as you relax into Dean, your heavy breaths matching each other.

“My amazing, beautiful girlfriend,” Dean’s words are muffled as he barely lifts his head from your chest. A soft grunt is all you can reply as you slide your fingers through the wet hair on the back of his head. Your fingers rub into his scalp soothingly as you wait for him to continue. “God, I’m so sorry.”

“Damn it Dean, stop apologizing for things you have no control over.”

He pears up at you, new tears brimming in his jade colored eyes. “I love you, more than you’ll ever know.”

“Me too. Come on we can’t stay here forever.” You kiss him gently again before climbing off of his lap. Dean grips your wrist in his hand, halting you from grabbing your clothes.

“Maybe just a little longer?” He suggests. And who are you to refuse him?

****

Tags are open!

Tags: @polina-93 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @clarinette07

#dean x reader #deanxreader #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x reader #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #dean fic #dean smut #jack in the box #smut #angst #Just a little longer #mine #alex writes

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fatgirlsguidetodating · 5 years ago

Text

Note to my 18 year old self.

I’m sure you’ve seen the myriad of iso challenges going round on all forms of social media. On insta the push-up challenge. On Facey the pick one album a day that influenced you for 10 days, the life is good 10 days of photos challenge, the pick a photo of you you love challenge or the iso baking challenge. On Tiktok the weird dance challenge. On Snapchat the iso is getting to me, better message my ex and see if I can fuck with their mind a little more because I just didn’t fuck them up quite enough already and I can’t turn down the chance to fuck with them some more challenge. Oh, that’s not a challenge? Just something they do for fun? My bad.

My point is there are challenges aplenty. And I’ve resolutely ignored every single one I’m tagged in. Because, like the majority of those “get to know your friends” quizzes we often see on Facebook, I simply cannot be fucked. Except one. The write a letter to 18 year old you which landed in my inbox this morning. But I’m doing it here instead, in the anonymity of my blog that only one friend from real life knows the name of and a handful of peeps on twitter who know my name may have seen it linked to.

I apologise though in advance- this might be kinda long. But brevity when it comes to writing is not my forte.

****

Dear 18 year old A,

Firstly: you’re awesome. Just in case nobody told you today. Which I can pretty much guarantee they didn’t. And even if they had would you have believed them? No. Because your sense of self-worth was (is) tied up entirely in your weight.

Which isn’t surprising given you had an unhealthy relationship with food from around the time you entered puberty and suddenly you weren’t the skinny little thing you had been growing up (side note: you will have that unhealthy relationship forever so you should probably address that before you get to 40 and still refuse to eat in public on your own in case people think look at that bigger girl eating food, how dare she! Another side note: don’t actually book that Europe dream holiday for 2020. Write that year off completely because it’s going to be a shitshow).

When suddenly you put weight on you freaked and have pretty much been on a diet of some form ever since. Yes that’s right, for 28 years you will always have that unhealthy view of food and weight. Sometimes you’ll go days, even weeks with just eating the one meal- dinner because you couldn’t hide not eating that from your parents whereas you could pretend to eat breakfast or the lunch and snacks your mum packed for you. (You’ll do that even at 40.) Sometimes you’ll get depressed and sneak junk food into your room to eat at night and throw the empty wrappers over the back fence onto the pipeline. Sometimes you’ll make yourself throw up whatever you ate and sit on the floor of the toilet in tears. Sometimes you’ll find a middle road. But the food relationship was never, ever healthy and it will, in some form, define the rest of your life. If you get some perspective on that and change that view your life will be so different. But you won’t.

It wasn’t that you didn’t do any exercise either, you played a few sports and school holidays and weekends were spent outside riding your bikes, playing footy or basketball or splashing around in the pool with your friends. It was just your luck to be a bigger girl. (And even though there are time’s when you would get down to near a healthy weight something would happen and the weight would pile back on.)

I know people scoff at the notion of being bigger boned or that some people are just meant to have a little weight thing (though science does talk about the fact that some people are genetically predisposed to gaining weight easier than others) but you are the spitting image of your grandmother when she was your age and have the stocky build that your paternal side of the family often have. But

in all honesty no matter what you will try it won’t work. At least not permanently. Which is precisely why the fact that your self-worth was so tied up in your weight was an issue. And remains an issue.

It’s hardly shocking that this was the case though. You’d see the ideal of a perfect girls body on “Dolly” or “Girlfriend”, or on tv- there wasn’t the added pressure of social media which is something I am eternally grateful to in so many ways even now- and hate yourself.

You’d see your skinny friends having boyfriend after boyfriend while you didn’t. And when, in year 8 one guy asked you out you assumed it was some kind of dare. It wasn’t and you probably should have said yes but that’s in the past and is not a decision that would make a huge impact to your life.

You’ll suddenly be of age to go out drinking with your friends. However a couple of them will use you to drive every Friday night and you will do it because you can’t say no to your friends but you really should because it wasn’t fair. Just because you were the only one with a licence and car you could have found other ways there or simply refused since it meant you couldn’t have a single drop of alcohol whilst they got shitfaced. But on nights out- whether you were drinking or not- guaranteed you’d be one of the only ones without any male attention. Though, in the fairness and slight objectivity that hindsight can bring, this could have been due, in part, to the fact you’d hunch into yourself and hide in a corner because the one time you did get drunk and have a dance a group of guys pissed themselves laughing at the fat girl dancing. (And it wasn’t because you couldn’t dance- you actually do have decent Rythm and did dance growing up.) You should allow yourself to have more fun, you shouldn’t hide the corner because who knows what could have happened.

But promise me you won’t let that lack of self-worth lead to you missing out on some of the best experiences you could have! Say yes to that Europe backpacking holiday. Say yes when a guy asked you on a date rather than assuming there was some kind of dare involved or that they thought you would be easy because you were a bigger girl. Say yes to so much more.

Secondly: though you didn’t have the confidence to stand up for yourself and what you wanted then- and to some degree never will- you need to follow your heart. Despite your absolute love of the law from the time you read “To kill a mockingbird” when you studied literature and your time doing legal studies as an elective during your VCE you should study what you want to at uni. Yes you will always love the law but you shouldn’t let people pressure you into what to study at uni. It was a given you’d go to uni. But you should put social work as your first preference and law as your second preference.

Don’t let people talk you out of studying what you wanted to do because it didn’t pay well. Yes at 18 the idea of making good money was a drawcard but years down the track you will decide to go back to uni and finally get that social work degree to go with the legal ones and postgrad ones. Career wise this will work well as the justice system desperately needs social workers and your time working in the legal arena fostered a life long love of the law. But follow your dreams here. Because money isn’t the be all and end all. And, with the benefit of hindsight here, I can say you wouldn’t be in the position you are in at 40 now.

Thirdly: though there are some mistakes you needed to make- after all isn’t that how we learn?- there are others you didn’t need to make. Others that will make life unnecessarily hard on yourself. I can see now, so many years later, that many of these stem from your lack of self worth and self confidence due to your weight. For instance you need to not give people more chances than they deserve (in both friendships and relationships but more on that to come). Instead of giving them infinite chances decide on a three strikes and you’re out policy and this will honestly save you a lot of heartache I promise. It won’t save all, and it probably shouldn’t because it’s from heartache that you will learn and grow, but it’ll save a lot.

I promise you life is worth living. On those many occasions when you will cry yourself to sleep for nights on end and on those occasions when you half-heartedly try to kill yourself it won’t feel like that but it is. And when you first realise that there’s something wrong please, please don’t think it’s just you, that you are a fuckup, don’t suffer in silence. Tell someone. Be it your parents, one of your best friends, even your doctor. Because it will effect parts of your life for a long time and there are times that it didn’t need to had you got help.

You need to be less trusting and naive. Because not everyone has the same morals in life as you. But at the same time please don’t let the hurt make your heart hard. Because your big heart is one of the things that those who know you love about you. That’s right: your friends love you. The person you see in the mirror does not represent all of you. That won’t matter to them.

You need to follow your passions in life. Like work on those novels more, remain working in animal rescue, do those courses that you wanted to do like learning sign language, and philosophy.

Fourth: Don’t put off that travel. It’s literally the best thing you could do. It will allow you to find yourself, to discover more about the world, to gain new perspectives. Don’t wait until you are older and wiser. Also that travel fling? Do it.

Fifth: Not all friendships should be watered. But you will allow your friends to walk all over you because you are so desperate to keep everyone happy. Only: what about keeping yourself happy? You matter too. So when friends use you, when friends make you feel shitty about your life walk away. You’ll find that, as you get older, the true friends will be the ones who remain. They’re the ones worth it.

Which leads me to six: same goes for relationships. There will be men in your life that shouldn’t be there and there will be men who aren’t but should be. There will be a couple of men who will totally define your life. And not necessarily in a good way. Take J for instance. He’s your first big mistake and he will fuck up your view of men forever. That will lead to you not trusting that a man can be decent. And it will lead you to making bad choices when it comes to men. So if you could avoid sleeping with him you’d be a lot better off. Because he doesn’t care. And he lied to you all about being separated.

Please don’t let that lack of self worth that drive you into situations you deserve more from. But you will. For many years. After all your lack of self-confidence, self love and self worth will all contribute to this. Because you’ll think what have I got to offer, this is the best I’ll get because who’d want a bigger girl. You won’t realise it at the time, and it will take you another 22 years to do so, but you deserve good things in life and in love. And eventually will learn that being single is better than settling for less than you are worth. Know this too: sex does not equate happiness. I mean yes there’s a happy feeling after sex but it doesn’t mean they have any feelings for you. It just means sex. Don’t let yourself believe it means more or that would lead to heartache.

Finally: there are actually good things about you. I know you can’t see them now, I know you wouldn’t believe me even if I told you, but there are. 40 year old you can see them. Though she would still have trouble admitting them because her self-confidence has not gotten to the levels where she can list good things about herself. But trust me: they’re there.

Don’t let the world get you down. There’s so much to see and experience. Just say yes!

40 year old A.

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mediocrity-at-best · 6 years ago

Text

Don’t Stop If I Fall

Title from Hang ‘Em High by My Chemical Romance. Listening to the song could improve the story, but it’s not necessary to understanding it.

There is now a part two: But Grow If I Can’t

Warnings: Character death, apocalypse, violence

Pairings: None

Words: 3,313

Summary: When Virgil makes a promise, he means it. Further more, he always fulfills it. Even when it’s not quite in the way Patton was hoping.

If anything else needs to be tagged, or if you have anything else to say, please let me know! I am always open! Thank you so much for reading, and without further ado, please enjoy!

They’d been running for hours.

Or maybe Patton’s perception of time was all messed up, because he didn’t think he’d be able to run for hours, no matter if his life depended on it or not. Regardless, it felt like hours, and Patton’s legs had been shaking for longer than he could remember, and he was pretty sure his feet were bleeding in his leather boots. The field-turned-desert blurred by, and just for a moment, Patton glimpsed Logan running next to him with Roman slightly behind him. The bag on Roman’s back had to be weighing him down. Patton didn’t know how he could possibly run like that. His bag and Logan’s bag were no where close to the size.

Patton began lagging, and he gasped, “I can’t - can’t run. I need - break. Please.” He felt Virgil’s hand on his back, and heard Virgil’s own panting voice urge him on.

“Just a few more minutes, Pat. A few more minutes, and we can rest. Promise. I promise.” Virgil’s hand fell away, and Patton pushed himself on. Virgil had yet to break a single promise he’d made to them. He promised they’d all make it off campus alive, and they had. He promised they’d find a working car to get them out, and they had. He’d promised they’d all live, and they had. He’d promised they’d find out how to survive, and how to defend themselves, and they had. Virgil had promised everything was going work out and, against all odds, it had.

So, despite Patton’s burning lungs and shaking legs, he ran. They all did. They ran and they ran and they ran. They ran until no one could breathe, and then they stopped.

“O-okay,” Roman muttered. “They should be. . .far enough behind us now. We can. . .sleep. Restock.”

“I. . .I am unsure of that, Roman. They travel at a slightly accelerated rate. We had the advantage of traps and warning before but now-”

“Lo, stop.” Virgil pulled his bag off and began digging through it. “Eat now. We’re going to find somewhere to go and a way to get out, but we’re going to have to be smart, and that means eating.” He raised his head and gave Patton his most reassuring smile. “I promise.” Virgil passed a bag of nutrigrain bars to Roman and went back to looking in the bag.

“He’s right, Logan. Focusing on the negatives won’t get us anywhere. We just have to keep our hopes up and our minds open. We’ll find a way.” Patton forced a smile at Logan. Roman muttered an agreement and shoved the bag at him. Virgil pulled water and a map out of his bag, and sat by Logan. They began scouring the map together and Patton collapsed next to Roman, bag finally off his aching shoulders.

“It’s going to be okay, Padre.” Roman rubbed Patton’s shoulders as he leaned back. “They were the two smartest kids in the whole school. Hell, they might be the smartest people left alive. They’ll find us a way out of this.” Patton turned and gave Roman a tremulous smile.

It was funny, in a sad way, when Patton thought about the past. Before the end of everything, and before people were going crazy and killing each other for nothing, they had all been happy and normal. Patton had been friends with all three of them, and Virgil had known of Logan, but they weren’t acquainted. Patton knew they’d get along, but neither was keen on meeting new people. And Roman was always too busy with theater to ever meet anyone. Back then, he’d been the person everyone else came to for emotional help. Now it never seemed to be quite like that.

Patton remembered the day the end swept down on them like a storm. He’d been at Virgil’s on-campus apartment when it came rushing by. They hadn’t known until an hour later, when Patton was getting texted by all his friends, begging to know where he was - was he safe? could they come over? what was going on? - and he told them Virgil’s address. Logan had been the first to arrive, decked out in a lab coat splattered with red. At the time, Patton had convinced himself it was paint. Now it was easier to say it was blood. It always had been blood, and lies didn’t do anybody favors in this world.

Roman had arrived half an hour after Logan, out of breath and frantic to know that his best friend was alright. Something had happened to the theater club, and they were going crazy or something. The scratches on his face stood out bright from the stage make-up, and Patton was terrified. They all were, and none of them knew what was going on.

They were the only two of Patton’s friends that showed up. Then, Patton had hoped that they simply found shelter elsewhere, somewhere safer with their family. Now, Patton wished they had died. It would be a mercy. Now, Patton knew they were much more likely to have become one of the many things chasing them through the world.

That day was years ago. Patton wondered when the details would start to fade.

“-tton? Patton, listen. We have a plan.” Virgil was waving a hand in front of his face, and Patton blinked a few times.

“Yeah, what’s up, kiddo?”

“There are mountains-”

“Foothills,” Logan cut in. Virgil waved a hand.

“Semantics, calculator watch,” Roman muttered.

“Shut up, both of you,” Virgil snapped. “There are mountains that way. If we get to them, we might have a chance. I don’t think they can climb. When we stayed in that five story building, none of them could get up the ladders and they barely managed the stairs.”

“Yes. We head for the mountains, and we find a path steep enough for us to climb but too steep for them to follow.” Logan swallowed audibly, and he almost sounded awed when he spoke again, “We might be safe there. If they cannot follow us, we could. . .have a home again.”

No one spoke for a long moment, looking down at the ground instead. The notion was just about the scariest thing Patton had heard. A home meant a place to be, and something that you couldn’t pick up and take with you when you inevitably had to run. It was tempting and revolting at the same time.

Patton wanted it desperately.

“What are we waiting for? Let’s go!” Roman posed dramatically, for morale, and helped Patton up. Virgil and Logan had all four of their bags, and they were trying to redistribute what they could. Virgil and Roman carried larger bags than Logan or Patton because they had already been stronger before the end had come. They maintained that ability, even once Logan and Patton began to lose any fat they had, left only with bare bones and thin muscles.

It wasn’t ideal, but they made it work.

In a couple minutes, the bags were packed and back on their backs. Roman had insisted he take the food for this leg of it because Virgil had been toting it for days. It was heavier and moved more than the bedding, making the whole thing harder to move with. Roman was nothing if not chivalrous, he insisted with a degree of arrogance Patton knew was feigned. Perhaps once he’d been that foolish - perhaps once they all had. Now their vices were far more serious and far less naive than arrogance.

They started off at a slow walk, and Patton watched the light die from the sky. When he was little, he was told the sun was going to bed just like he was. Patton always thought it was comforting, and it would be a happy thing to tell his own kids someday. A sort of legend, passed down from parents to children. But not anymore.

Now Patton knew the sun wasn’t going to bed, it was giving them cover. The sun was taking one of the few advantages people had, and it was leaving. The light was dying, and it was trying to take them all with it.

The foothills inched steadily taller in the distance, and Patton wondered how they were expecting to run up a mountain in the dark when he was barely able to stand now. Surely there was going to be debris and plants and all sorts of other things they needed to look out for on a mountain.

Unless, of course, they really couldn’t get up there. In which case, maybe Patton would finally stop feeling like he was going to fall apart at any given opportunity.

Logan urged them into a jog, and Patton tried to measure the foothills in his head. He’d learned a lot of skills since the world had ended, but spacial things - like distance and size - hadn’t stuck. Nowadays, Patton could patch up a wound, stitch himself with no anesthetic, kill on instinct, and make just about anything into a weapon when he was on a time crunch. But he had no idea how tall the mountains were. In fact-

“Run!” Suddenly Logan was pulling ahead, and there were growls echoing somewhere behind them. Patton pushed his legs harder into the ground, propelling himself forward. Roman was trying to regulate his breathing like he’d taught them all to do - he’d been in track during high school. He had a lot more experience with running, at first. Now any of them could give him a run for his money.

Virgil was running beside Patton, and their arms moved in synchronicity. Virgil’s left pulled back and Patton’s right pushed forward. Virgil took a step in time with Patton. They both went forward like they were reaching for the golden fruit.

Patton wished there was a golden fruit at the end of this race. They had one apple, and it was made mostly of bruises.

Roman pulled a little farther ahead, and Patton matched their breathing. Whatever Roman was doing to pull off this sprint after the marathon they’d just run, he was doing it right. Patton needed some of it.

The next time Patton looked left, there was nobody there.

“Virgil!” The scream bounced around them, and it didn’t even matter because the things were already closing in. Patton froze and almost over-balanced before spinning in place. He couldn’t see him anywhere. Virgil was gone, Virgil was gone and-

Logan careened by Patton, and then he saw the lump on the ground. They both collapsed near Virgil, and Roman stood watch over them.

“Get him up. Hurry. Get him up,” he muttered. Patton pushed Virgil into a sitting position, and Virgil hissed.

“What happened, kiddo?” Patton tried to push Virgil up more, to get him on his feet, but Virgil wasn’t moving.

“Tripped. There was a branch, I think.” He slowly looked down. Patton glanced at the mass that was gaining ground.

“Virgil, it is pertinent that you get up. Now. We need to move.” Logan, who rarely lost his composure since those first few weeks, was pulling roughly at Virgil’s shoulder, trying to stand him up.

“Yeah, Virge, c’mon. Move.” Roman didn’t take his eyes off the approaching horde, but he was pulling on Virgil’s hood. Virgil hesitated, and then he grabbed Roman’s hand and pulled himself up. Patton grabbed his other hand, tugging forward, and Virgil took a step and fell again.

“Virgil! Please, kiddo, you need to get up, come on, Virge.” None of them were looking at Virgil, or how pale he was. None of them saw him staring at his ankle in abject horror. None of them saw the angle that his foot was resting at.

“Run.” Virgil thrust the map into Roman’s hand. All three of them froze.

“Virgil, what. . .” Logan saw his ankle. It was a clear break.

“You need to run. Now. If you stay here any longer you won’t be getting away.” Virgil shifted his bag into his lap and dug through it. He shoved a few of the blankets at them. “Take these and go.”

“No no no, we can support you. Virge, we can carry you there. Just get up. Please, just get up.” Patton pulled at Virgil’s arm, and Virgil shook his head. He wouldn’t look at Patton.

“I’ll slow you down. You need to go.”

“We’ll leave the bags and I’ll carry you, Virgil. C’mon, you know I’m strong enough,” Roman pleaded.

“No!” he snapped. “If you carry me, we’re down two supply bags so we can starve and freeze, and that’s assuming you can outrun them while carrying me! Which, newsflash, you can’t!” He stuffed the map back into Roman’s shaking fist.

“Virgil, we can-”

“We can’t.” Virgil didn’t leave room for argument. The screams felt close enough to be touching them. “You have to run. You have to-” his voice broke, “leave me.” Virgil rubbed his face. Patton was frozen on his knees, staring at Virgil like he’d suggested the sky was made of rubber chickens. “My ankle is broken. There’s no running for me, guys. You have to go, now, while you still can. Please.”

“Virgil, we can’t-” Patton’s words shattered and a sob burst through his teeth.

“You’re going to be okay, Patton. You’re going to live,” Virgil said gently. He caressed Patton’s face.

“I-I-” Roman stuttered off, staring from Virgil to the things and back. His eyes got glassy, and Roman kissed the top of Virgil’s head, sweat and tears tasting the same on his tongue. “I love you, Virge. We’ll see you soon.”

“Not too soon, huh?” Virgil squeezed Roman’s hand. Logan, kneeling on Virgil’s side, pressed his head into Virgil’s.

“You are an entirely incorrigible disaster, Virgil Taylor.”

“What’s to improve, specs?” Virgil rubbed his head against Logan’s, a language Patton had watched them develop as soon as they met. They communicated in a way all their own.

Logan stood, and Patton saw droplets on the lenses of his glasses. He could also see how terrifyingly close the things were getting, and this wasn’t right. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. They were all supposed to make it. This was wrong. This wasn’t right.

“Patton, Patton, you need to go, okay? Go with them. You have to run, Patton. You have to run for me, okay? Because my ankle’s broken and I can’t run for myself right now. So I need you to do it for me.” Tears were in Virgil’s eyes, and Patton shook his head. He couldn’t just leave him here like this, pain and fear glimmering in eyes once so bright. “Patton, you have to.” Patton felt the other two grab his arms and pull him up, and he never thought he had it in himself to hate someone he loved quite so much.

“No! No, Virgil! Please!” Patton pulled against them, but he was small and they’d been running for so long he wasn’t sure he would ever walk again. “I can’t do this without you! Virgil, please!”

“Patton, it’s going to be okay. Do you hear me, Pat? It’s going to be alright. It’s going to be fine.” Virgil looked in Patton’s eyes, and Patton stopped struggling. “I promise, Patton. Everything’s going to be okay. But you have to run now. You have to run, and you have to get far, far away from here. Don’t look back, Patton. You run and you run and you do not look back. Okay? Just go.” Tears streamed down Virgil’s face. “Run, Pat. Don’t look at me, okay? It’s going to be alright, I promise. Just run. Run!”

Patton staggered around and he put one foot in front of the other. He was putting so much distance between him and Virgil, and he didn’t know how it was going to be okay, but Virgil had promised, and Virgil didn’t break his promises. Virgil only promised what was true. But that didn’t explain the sobbing, uneven breaths coming from Roman, and it didn’t explain the blanket clutched tightly in Logan’s arm. Nothing could explain Logan squeezing Patton’s hand to the point of breaking, despite all those times Logan had told them holding hands while running actually slowed you down.

Nothing could explain anything. All Patton felt was fear, and even that wasn’t making sense.

Roman grabbed Patton’s other hand, tugging him forward. They were all three sprinting toward something - Patton didn’t know what; he couldn’t remember and he couldn’t care. All Patton was aware of was the howling coming from behind them.

And then the screams.

They were blood-curdling, and Patton whimpered as they rose in volume. He didn’t want to think about what was making them, even though he knew that it wasn’t a what. It was a who.

The screams suddenly gurgled and cut off. They suddenly seemed much quieter too. Patton couldn’t help himself - he had to turn around. He had to see what was going on. He couldn’t just assume that he knew, because there was too much room left for doubt. Logan always said that if you couldn’t see it, you couldn’t know for sure.

So Patton twisted his head around, still being pulled by Roman and Logan. He heard a high-pitched whine coming from somewhere, but nothing was registering. Nothing except for the mass huddled in a pile, tearing at something. He thought he could see fresh red staining their faces though he was too far away to see that kind of detail. He thought he could see something struggle. If he really focused, he thought he could hear a whisper of a scream, some plea for help. Maybe it wasn’t too late, maybe-

“Patton, stop pulling - away.” Roman was gasping. His hand was sweaty in Patton’s. “I kn-know it hurts, but. . .but we can’t go ba-ack for him. Please, Padre, just keep running.” Logan tightened his grip on Patton’s hand, like a reassurance that they were all going to be okay, like everything was going to be fine.

But that’s what Virgil had said, what Virgil had promised, and he had lied. Nothing was ever going to be okay again. They would never have a home again. Without Virgil, without all four of them, together and living, nothing could ever possibly be okay or home again. They had lived and breathed every traumatic experience and every lucky break together for the last five years, and now he was expected to go on without a part of himself? He’d be better off without a leg to run on!

Tears poured down Patton’s face, and he didn’t know when they stopped running. Patton didn’t know when they reached the mountains or the foothills or whatever they were, and he didn’t know when they began the uphill struggle. Patton didn’t know when they finally made it, and Patton didn’t know when they stopped. He didn’t care. He felt pain and numbness at the same time.

He did hear Logan say, “We’re safe,” before bursting into tears and almost shattering his glasses into his own eyes. He did hear Roman sit down next to him, map clutched in one fist and expression blank. He did see the sky begin to lighten, the very first oranges and baby blues coloring the world. He did see a clear day and a part of the world seemingly untouched by horror.

Patton sat in bloodless grass and cried, making no noise, because he saw everything Virgil could have had. He saw exactly how everything could have been fine. He saw it all, and all he could do was cry. Virgil had made them one last promise: everything’s going to be okay. And it was now. The sky was blue and the grass was green and Patton was finally safe. After years of struggling and fear, they were finally safe. And Virgil was nowhere to be seen, and nothing had ever been less okay.

#ts #sanders sides #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #don't stop if i fall #lamp/calm #platonic lamp/calm #ts fanfiction #ts fanfic #my fanfiction #my writing #fanfic

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cygnuswheel · 6 years ago

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after running away, a young boy stops, stone still. argus is so dreadfully cold. let’s see what he can do to fix that...

“ i like this one. “ oscar says, holding up the jacket to the mirror with a little smile. the colors are a bit new for him, especially with them being in such bold ratios, but that doesn’t mean that it’s a bad thing in his book. “ what do you think? “

there’s no answer.

the boy expects as much, considering the silent treatment that he’s gotten the past few days, but that doesn’t make the way his heart falls any softer. always too loud when no one expects it, always too quiet when everyone expects him. the walk around argus had been so quiet without the constant thrum in the back of his head, small pushes of approval, disapproval, or pure amusement being left to only the static ring of his ears and mind. blinking, he folds the outerwear gently before placing it into his basket for later.

ozpin hasn’t talked to him in days. a few months back, oscar would have found that to be a blessing, a chance for him to finally think for himself and settle on the idea that destiny never looked good on him. that there was no responsibility to be had, only himself, only the farm, only the routine that he had grown used to living with, as much as he wanted to complain about it at times. it would all be numb again, and he could go on living without thinking too hard on what things could have been. he was just a farmhand, a boy. he was normal.

but it’s too late for that by now, and he knows that. the passing sight of a dark haired man bedridden flies through his mind, the memory still as fresh as newly fallen snow. the child is reminded that his mental company was also just a boy once, one who strived to do what was right from the very beginning. one that was forced to learn that one day, in order to do what was right, he would have to do wrong. the very notion broke this fairytale boy’s heart into pieces until he had to bury it within himself and hide how much he cared about his own actions. living on had been an apology at some point: i’m so sorry that i wasn’t able to stop everything in time, before it was too late.

“ these belts are good. i wouldn’t have to worry about my outfit flying everywhere if it was held down. “ again, he muses aloud, the accessory sitting innocently on his hands. gods, he never had to think about fashion before, aside from how easy it was to move in them for his work. this was the same line of thought, but a bit more... refined. oscar almost laughs. his aunt would be so happy to know that he finally cared a bit about how he looked. he catches the warped reflection of one of his eyes in the belt buckle. with it comes a sigh.

it’s not just for him, no.

the greens, the reds, the blacks and golds-- it’s a strange amalgamation for him, but he has to realize that these choices aren’t just on his own behalf, as quiet as the world is right now. “ this place really has some fancy stuff. “ some of the price tags had already made him sweat. how could anyone afford this? the amount of lien wasn’t something that he could bring himself to fathom. but still, good gear could only aid combat. ( he would have been lying if he said that he wasn’t cold out of his mind, too. ) it would take some time for him to get used to it, but hey, oscar’s life seemed to be filled with new things lately. this is just another thing to get used to. “ and i’m going to keep talking to you whether you do or don’t reply, you know. “

there’s the smallest shift in his core. a ripple of some emotion... embarrassment? were he not paying attention, the boy wouldn’t have been able to pick up on it at all. talk about tuning into your inner self. the store keeps humming along despite the boy talking to himself, mostly because the overhead music would drown out whatever whispering he’s doing to anyone but himself. anyone but himself and whoever else is stuck in his head with him, that is. finally, something that stopped the static ring. but oz still doesn’t say a word. oscar rolls his eyes and slips some gloves into the basket.

this is going to cost his entire life savings at this rate. he hadn’t wanted to tap into them when travelling to mistral, but that was because he was still somewhat in denial at that point. the trip wouldn’t be that long, he told himself as he settled into the train seat and stared out the window. he would have been back before he knew it, and life would have gone back to normal. a glance at his surroundings. yeah, that really panned out exactly how he expected it to, huh. but even back then, he knew that this would be something different, something more magnificent than his naive imagination could have ever conceptualized back then.

( a clash, a scream, a silent apology. he remembers the girl’s first cries so clearly that he still hears it when he closes his eyes. ‘ i don’t have one. ‘ the defeated king says with his head held low, and all oscar can feel is how cold his hands are as the world around them falls apart. )

reality was always going to be confusing. it would always come to hurt him more than he expected and rip him away from any fantasies that he had previously. the fairy tales themselves are tainted, and so is his view of everything that he’s ever grown to believe. what a horrid fate for a boy of fourteen years. and what an awful reality that a man of many millennia had come to accept as his new normal after countless failed attempts at trying to forget why he had come back to the land of the living in the first place.

even without the other speaking, oscar knows that ozpin is not one that appreciates pity. the very gesture of it is lower and more pathetic than anything that he could accept, and, in a way, the boy can understand that. to have someone feel bad for you, you, when all they should have been doing was worrying about themselves... it’s not something unfamiliar. maybe that was to be expected, being the wallflower that he had grown up as. for someone to acknowledge all of the wrongs of your life means that you would need to regard yourself as a person worthy of being regarded as human. and ozpin had thrown away that right so long ago when he finally came to accept his mission. so why, oh why, the headmaster asks silently with a certain feeling of wryness that the boy feels in his blood, was oscar pine, his current cursed vessel, feeling bad for him?

“ i’d tell you to shut up, but you’re being smart with me. “ a scoff. he feels the impression of his headmate raising a brow. “ if you weren’t so busy moping, you’d already know. “ fitting room, fitting room... ah. there. “ i thought you were better at the whole mind reading thing compared to me. whenever i try for you i just get a montage of you drinking hot cocoa and looking at your scroll. “ that i can’t read for some reason, he almost adds, but opts against it in favor of sneaking into one of the last available rooms. he’s losing oz’s presence, it feels like a dying wick on its last legs. the man is tired, but so is oscar. and the kid will be damned if the other leaves before saying what he needs to say. “ ... you’ve made a lot of mistakes. “

“ actually, you’re pretty awful. “ oscar mumbles to himself as he takes off his shirt, slipping on the new one. it feels way too new, he’s only worn hand me downs for the last five years or so. but it’s comfortable, in its own way. he’ll get used to it. the stained and worn shirt that he had grown to love is folded neatly and left on the bench. “ i think if we were face to face, the first thing i’d do is kick you where it hurts. “

“ but i’m not mad, and it’s not because of your ‘ i can stay calm during anything and everything ‘ attitude. “ the finality of the tone startles even himself, and no doubt shocks his company. “ life sucks, the gods suck, and immortality sucks, no matter what form it comes in. that’s what jinn taught us, remember? “ no response. typical. oscar’s eyebrows narrow, and he readjusts one of his belts. a pause. he takes a breath.

“ jaune’s nephew is really cute. “

surprise. confusion. curiosity. this wasn’t what either of them expected to bring up, apparently. “ i was looking at him the whole time we were at the cotta-arc house. he has a good family. “ clothing himself is so exhausting. oscar lets his arms drop to his sides for a moment. ( he won’t acknowledge that trying to start up a conversation for the past two hours or so was starting to wear at his stamina. ) “ it reminded me of that one family you had. when you started to try again. “ their smiles are so bright and loving. the wife’s expression is filled with such warmth.

“ maybe the world is big. maybe it’s hard to protect. “ he continues on, pressing, pushing, trying. “ maybe trying can feel pointless after some time, and maybe people can be difficult and hard to help after all of your effort. “ oz’s eyes are wandering, trying to avoid the conversation. but oscar won’t let him. he holds the other’s shame in his hands and grips it firmly. “ but having a future is important. being able to appreciate the small things is important. “

“ i want to make sure that people still have a future, even if the world is against them. “ the boy is patting himself down now, brushing off any dust specks that he can catch in his sight. “ and i don’t want it to be based on lies this time. “ yang’s eyes still burn so brightly in his memory. he remembers the shock on weiss’ face, the absolute hopelessness on blake’s. ruby had never looked so hurt before. and qrow... the headmaster scowls. he never wanted them to hurt that badly. he didn’t want to destroy everything that they had been working for. he would have been content holding everything on his own shoulders until the end of time, because he had felt how many lifetimes the truth had ruined. a single one would never be enough time to despair.

“ they’re stronger than you think. “ he retorts, putting a hand to his own chest. he remembers how scared he used to be, how terrified he was at the thought of everything going wrong. “ they want the next generation to grow up happy, like you do. don’t forget how much you care. you just... “ oscar trails off. the entity is quiet, waiting. for once, he wants to listen. “ you just don’t have to care alone anymore. “

hm.

he’s done. turning around, oscar finally looks at himself in the mirror. gods, he looks like a completely different person. months ago, he would have never been able to imagine himself in this position, looking this fancy. he can feel in the back of his head that someone else is looking on too, admiring the thread-work, and while his approval is silent as can be, it speaks volumes. they’ve both changed so much over the months. “ well. ready to fake it till i make it. “

the other still doesn’t know how to respond to all of this. to oscar’s newlyfound sense of maturity, to the kindness and acceptance that he had offered to his own plague. it’s a warmth that he had never thought to offer himself in centuries, wretched imitation of humanity that he was. for once he felt... accepted. normal. even though nothing about this situation was normal. if the one person he had wronged the most in this scenario was willing to believe in his goals, then were his constant efforts to face in the inevitable not for naught? maybe.

maybe things would end up okay, if he was working with someone like oscar.

“ now. “

“ i took all this time trying to find something that we’d both like. “ ozpin doesn’t like the smirk that’s starting to grow on the boy’s lips. “ so give me your bank account info or i’ll walk out of this room naked. “

a snort, and then a laugh. but it’s not his own, no. ugh, finally. the boy lets the smile grow more freely across his face as his eyes narrow in pride and satisfaction. as he takes out his scroll, he can hear the slightest whisper in his mind that guides his fingertips...

#oscar pine #professor ozpin #ozpin #rwby #( two souls. )#[ this is just word vomit i haven't written a fic in years so im sorry if this looks weird! ]#[ i just had a lot of feelings and needed to get it out ]#[ i love ozpin and oscar so much yall. id do anything for them pl ]

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postedbygaslight · 7 years ago

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The Problem With (Forced) Happy Endings, or, Why I Hate The Phantom of the Opera

Yesterday, I was messing around on here and suggested that I hated the way The Phantom of the Opera ended. Then, I got the following ask:

I thought I’d respond briefly, but then things got out of hand. So, @lushkitten1989, as promised, here’s way more than you bargained for.

There are many, many reasons to dislike Andrew Lloyd Webber’s monolithic Broadway musical, The Phantom of the Opera. So, I’ll dispose of some of the lower hanging fruit:

The story is dependent upon Christine being so naive that she doesn’t realize she’s getting music lessons from a guy behind a two-way mirror.

The phantom is a one-trick pony, defined almost entirely by his obsession with Christine. It’s never actually clear what he seeks to achieve by gaining de facto control of the day-to-day operations of the theater (other than merely being able to exercise that control— which may be the point).

Raoul is as interesting as a pet rock. He is unbuttered toast. He is Mom Jeans.

The music is intermittently great, but just as often annoying as hell (to me, for example, the “Angel of Music” motif is grating and uninspired).

Those are fundamental, but relatively minor complaints. Phantom has a lot of strengths. The chemistry between the Phantom and Christine is very pronounced, and, at times, shockingly blatant in its sexual themes. Some of the songs are timeless classics (“Phantom of the Opera,” “Music of the Night,” “All I Ask of You”), and some of the sequences, like the chandelier crashing down on the stage, and the ensemble pieces, like “Masquerade,” are very accomplished.

But where Phantom really shines is building a very genuine feeling tension between what propriety and social mores tell Christine Daae what she should desire, and what she actually desires. Phantom dabbles with Bride of the Monstrous themes, but never goes all in on them, and the result is a muddled, confused mess of a story— one that could have been very, very good, but wasn’t courageous or forward-thinking enough to capitalize on its opportunities.

See, the problem starts with Raoul.

Yes, wonderful, handsome, unthreatening, rich, devoted, patient, loving, convenient Raoul. The honorable Vicomte de Chagny, no less. He is our erstwhile Socially Acceptable Love Interest™️. From the moment he’s introduced, it’s clear Raoul is meant to be Christine’s white knight, swooping in to rescue her from obscurity. The plot contrives to have him coincidentally happen upon Christine, his childhood sweetheart, now a chorus girl at the opera house he favors with his parents’ fortune.

Now, I know what the Phantom fans might say: Raoul is here to allow for a juxtaposition of dynamics, placing him as an anchor point to which Christine can return, reminding her that she is more than the Phantom’s pet (or pupil, or lover, or what have you). But I’d counter that he’s really here to act as a stand-in for society’s expectations for how a well-behaved woman should conduct herself. Raoul is young, conventionally attractive, affluent, and, most importantly, chaste.

Christine’s connections with Raoul are explicitly drawn as being rooted in childish notions of affection. To wit, Raoul First greets Christine with a modified nursery rhyme she was read during their brief time together as children. He visits her in the soft-focus glow of her dressing room, showers her with praise, and proceeds to not listen to her when she insists she can’t go celebrate with him. More than that, he dismisses her objections with little more than a hand wave. The point is, he sees her as a child, and treats her as a child.

Look at what happens the moment he leaves her alone. She looks into the mirror, and runs toward the dark reflection behind her own image (heavy symbolism of Jungian animus here). From their very first physical encounter, the Phantom engages Christine as a sexual creature, and the difference in her reaction is, well:

Once alone with the Phantom, Christine is no longer the child so idealized by Raoul. She’s a young woman seeking instruction of a different kind from a strange reflection of herself whose instructions have suddenly changed from anodyne singing lessons to exhortations to “feel the music of the night.”

The next time Christine is with Raoul is when they share their duet, the excellent, “All I Ask of You.” I say excellent because, like other tentpole numbers featured in Webber musicals, the song itself is brilliant, but, in the context of the play, it’s less inspiring. This is rather like “Memory” existing in a pop culture space entirely divorced from its origin in Cats, and I’m certain there are a fair number of people who simply identify the song as a soaring Barbra Streisand number, rather than the mournful plea of a neglected alley cat.

“All I Ask of You” is preceded by Christine trying to tell Raoul about her fear of the Phantom, and her growing unease at the magnetic pull he seems wield against her. Raoul’s immediate and repeated reaction? Something to the effect of: “There is no Phantom of the Opera. You’re imagining things. Don’t be silly.” The song then drives this home:

No more talk of darkness—Forget these wild-eyed fears—I’m here, nothing can harm you—My words will warm and calm you.

The call and response Christine and Raoul have here is staged as a sweet love song. And it is. But it’s also a proposal from a young man to a young woman, where the man suggests she abandon her desires to exist as a sexual being, and come be with him, where he’ll act as her protector against such base instincts.

And this tactic works. Christine is not so frightened of the Phantom himself— she pays lip service to being horrified at his murderous tendencies, but seems aware he would never harm her personally— as she is frightened of her seeming inability to resist her attraction to him.

Raoul positions himself as a shield Christine can hide behind so she never has to grow up. He prefers her as the girl who enchanted him when they were both children, and he’ll go to great lengths to keep her innocent and doe-eyed. Is it any wonder that Christine doesn’t want their engagement to be public? (Yes, I get that Christine doesn’t want to risk the Phantom’s wrath should he discover their impending marriage, but the whole thing looks more like Christine being very unsure as to what she really wants).

Raoul, who seems to be the only person in the play who continues to explicitly deny the existence of the Phantom into the second act, is, oddly, the first to run for a weapon when the Phantom shows himself. He’s the one who pushes Christine to acknowledge (falsely, I think) that her attraction to the Phantom is nothing more than a side-effect of Daddy issues. He insistently pushes forward with a plan to permanently rid both the Opera Populaire and Christine of the Phantom despite Christine’s warnings that Raoul doesn’t really understand what he’s fighting against. More than that, Raoul insists that Christine offer herself up as bait, and to do so publicly, an overt expression of control, of making her choose her loyalties in front of everyone.

Let’s pause a moment here before we get to the inflection point of the play. What I’m referencing is, of course, the aptly titled “Point of No Return,” wherein the true nature of Christine’s relationship with the Phantom is made public. I want to talk about the Phantom.

Throughout the entire play, the Phantom is presented as a sympathetic figure coded to represent misfit and outcast elements of society. He refers to himself as a “loathesome gargoyle” and confesses to Christine that he lashes out at the world and makes others fear him because he feels it’s his only choice for survival. But he also confesses to her that he secretly dreams of love and acceptance, and being able to live as he is, free from the condemnation of the wider world.

Yes, the Phantom expresses his displeasure with being defied in very unhealthy ways, but here we are again at the Death and the Maiden trope, wherein our heroine is the only person who is able to see beyond the darkness that both conceals and protects the man behind the mask. Here, Christine should be acting as the Phantom’s succor, a balm to his constant pain, and, in playing that part, she is meant to end his curse, or blunt its effects sufficiently enough for him to find peace. And, in return, the Phantom ought to provide Christine with growth beyond her childhood, and, in this version of events, usher in her sexual awakening and facilitate her passage into womanhood.

And it’s all set up to do that, for those themes to be realized, by the time the finale is cued up. Then, everything just goes to shit.

The Problem

If you’re unfamiliar with the way The Phantom of the Opera ends, you may want to stop reading.

After Christine stops Raoul from killing the Phantom in the graveyard, Raoul and the other peripheral characters contrive a plan to lure the Phantom into the open and kill or arrest him once and for all. The plan is simple enough. The Phantom has written an opera (aptly titled Don Juan Triumphant), and has ordered it be performed with Christine as the lead. Everyone assumes the Phantom will strike during the performance, most likely to claim Christine as his bride (or something like that).

Now, I posted a little joke earlier about what happens before the plan goes into effect. Raoul goes to Christine to comfort her and prepare her for her role in the trap, but Christine is very nervous about it. She tries to convey to Raoul why she’s apprehensive about the whole plan, but, again, Raoul doesn’t get it, and insists that Christine is getting worked up for nothing.

Of course, what ends up happening is “The Point of No Return,” the high point of the whole play, where the Phantom sheds all pretense and makes an overtly sexual appeal to Christine. And Christine, who’s supposed to be playing the role of Don Juan’s paramour, reciprocates the Phantom’s ardor, resulting in a very, very sexy sequence between the two of them. All while Raoul watches from the Phantom’s favored balcony (Box Five), and something like this happens:

The Phantom speaks directly to Christine, saying:

I have brought you— so our passions may fuse and merge— in your mind, you’ve already succumbed to me— dropped all defenses, completely succumbed to me— now I am here with you— no second thoughts— you’ve decided—

To which Christine responds:

I have come here— hardly knowing the reason why— in my mind I’ve already imagined— our bodies entwining, defenseless and silent— now I am here with you— no second thoughts— I’ve decided—

This whole time, while the call and response between Christine and the Phantom reaches its fever pitch, Raoul watches, and understands the depth of his miscalculation. More than that, he’s horrified and repulsed by this display of lust from his innocent Christine. The mere suggestion that she might be complicit in the Phantom’s passions is something that, it can be observed above, threatens to break his world apart.

Thematically, this mirrors Raoul and Christine’s mutual declaration of chaste love in “All I Ask of You.” Which is important, because once the Phantom and Christine have crossed the metaphorical and literal bridge that separates them, and are embraced for all the world to see, the Phantom expands his entreaty, shifting from the blood-racing heat of “Point of No Return” to a soft, pleading reprise of “All I Ask of You.” He wants Christine to know he doesn’t just want her body, that he doesn’t just view her as a possession. That he loves her, just as much or more than Raoul.

And here is where Phantom could have become something great. Christine breaks free of the intoxicant of lust for the Phantom and turns to face him. He is emboldened, and reaches a more confident crescendo, saying

Anywhere you go, let me go, too— Christine, that’s all I ask of—

But the Phantom never finishes his sentence. Christine makes her choice, for sure. She does this. In front of the whole world. When the Phantom is most sincere and vulnerable.

Now, I might have been prepared to forgive Christine this mistake if not for the scene earlier, when she and the Phantom were alone, and she tried to remove his mask. He lashed out at her then, and proceeded to explain his sensitivity to being exposed. He opened up to her and revealed his vulnerability. And, above, when the Phantom has finally allowed himself to hope that Christine’s affections are sincere and reciprocated, she betrays him.

It horrifies me.

For the rest of the play, all the sympathy the audience has been conditioned to direct toward the Phantom is inverted. Christine shows affection to him only to trap him. She even kisses him, leading him on again, for no reason but to quell his rage toward Raoul. Even after his beastly rage has subsided, Christine can only chide him for being monstrous in body and spirit.

This haunted face holds no horror for me now— it’s in your soul that the true distortion lies—

The arc presented for the audience— to sympathize with the Phantom, and to experience with Christine the fear and wonder that can attend the awakening of sexual consciousness, is utterly squandered.

But why?

Happily Ever After

The answer is as simple as it is disheartening: because Christine is supposed to end up with Raoul. Raoul is her destined love interest because the plot demands it, and no other reason. The two of them don’t grow as a couple during the course of the play. Their dynamic as they leave the Phantom’s lair is unchanged from the dynamic they presented when Raoul came to see her in her dressing room at the beginning of the play. Even after being forced to acknowledge Christine as a complicated and sexual being, Raoul elects to ignore that, and champions only freeing her from the Phantom’s corrupting influence.

To come to this point, Christine’s character actually regresses, choosing to retreat behind Raoul’s promise of perpetual innocence and naïveté. The narrative turns from one of growth and sexual agency to one that urges the rejection of what is unpleasant to acknowledge. Christine essentially chooses to marry the nice guy with the trust fund, stays at home to raise the kids and play the doting wife, and occasionally allows herself moments of indulgence to fantasize about the tall, dark, mysterious man she always wanted to fuck back in college.

To make matters even worse, the Phantom is abandoned to misery and solitude. His suffering is rewarded with more suffering. Christine leaves him without hope or promise, and the Phantom remains shrouded in the dark, pining for Christine for the rest of his life. Through trusting and hoping for acceptance and love, the Phantom is shown only the futility of seeking either. The way this plays out is deeply disconcerting, going so far as to set up a prologue and epilogue set fifty years later, after Christine’s death, with a grieving, crippled Raoul learning that the Phantom is still alive. This represents a casual erasure of Christine’s presence from the narrative, and, worse, diminishes her role to that of the object of the struggle between two men over a young woman’s emotional and sexual destiny.

This is an ugly, sad, wretched story. It’s not a story of yearning or forbidden love. It’s a story about rejection and denial of desire. It’s a story about choosing what society deems acceptable over the needs of the self. Moreover, it’s a story about being afraid and remaining afraid.

There is nothing affirming or beautiful about this story. And I fucking hate it.

#phantom of the opera #phantom x christine #raoul de chagny #christine daae #happily never after #what a waste

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