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all-mirth-no-matter · 1 year ago

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Time After Time | Chapter Ten

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader, Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Summary: Madam Despoina gives you a little more insight, as well as a significant gift.

Warning: language, alcohol, smoking, ethnic slur

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Chapter 10: Curses

This tired old machine is a-rumbling (oh my, oh my). Singing songs to the secrets behind my eyes (oh my, oh my). All my aching bones are trembling, and I may yet fall apart. Won’t you stay with me, my darling, when the war starts in my heart? Oh ashes, ashes, dust to dust. The devil’s after both of us. Oh, lay my curses out to rest, make a mercy out of me. — Curses, The Crane Wives

“His name was Dimitris.”

You frowned at Madam Despoina’s first words to you after she entered the caravan.

“May I sit?”

Instead of replying, Tommy moved to grab the chair against the wall and sat it next to the fireplace, offering his hand to assist her down.

The old woman thanked him as she sat, lifting her head back to you. Her worn voice was solemn, tired even, as she went on.

“Dimitris joined my camp some odd years ago, having traveled from the old country. For most of his time with us, he was a good man — hard worker, good soldier, did what he was told. Recently, he became more aggressive. First it was with the women, then fighting amongst the men. When I discovered that he’d been selling information and stealing… well, I displayed a lapse in judgment with my punishment. He was banished, with a threat of death if he returned. Apparently, he still has friends in the camp. They informed him of your arrival, of your importance. I believe he snuck in during the bustle of preparation—”

“He escorted us into the camp,” Tommy pointed out, interrupting. “He escorted us to your wagon.”

The Madam’s face remained unchanged, her eyes not leaving yours while addressing Tommy.

“A breech that I am investigating with serious severity, Mr. Shelby, I assure you.”

“He dead?” His question made your gaze move from her to him, causing you to inhale sharply.

What the hell had your life become where conversations about gypsy fortune telling and gangster murders had become just another Sunday night?

Tommy’s eyes flicked to yours before returning to the Madam’s. For an insecure moment, you wondered if he considered you weak for your reaction.

“When we find him, he will be.”

The woman’s reply felt like cold water as you realized the creep was still out there. Her eyes softened as she held on to your gaze.

“I apologize, mikrí mou màntissa. This was not what I envisioned for our meeting.”

You swallowed the irony, moving to sit on the edge of the bed.

She cleared her throat before speaking again. “May I ask — what did he want from you?”

You took a deep breath before shrugging. You had no idea how long ago the event had occurred, could have been an hour or ten, either way you just wanted to push it as far from your brain as possible. It didn’t help that you were on the tail end of your buzz — that and the adrenaline (and your newfound ability to disassociate and compartmentalize) made the memory feel fuzzy.

“Um, well,” you began, speaking for the first time since the Madam entered the caravan. “Originally he thought I was Anastasia Romanov,” you couldn’t help but roll your eyes as you said it.

Tommy’s brow creased, “Who?”

You missed the way Madam Despoina watched you answer his question.

“The Romanovs? The Russian royal family that was just killed like—” you paused as your brain tried to do the quick math. “Holy shit that was just this year,” you muttered to yourself, though the other two in the room could certainly hear you.

“We heard somethin’ about that in France. A revolution, ya?” Tommy pondered, reaching into his jacket pocket on the hanger to grab a cigarette while shrugging — as if hearing one of the biggest historical events ever was just no big deal. “Who was she, exactly?”

Realization of just how disconnected you were from the rest of the world began to set in. You’d been here for more than three months, and the only real news you’d been privy to had been the war end. And that was only because Ada had shoved the newspaper in your face.

You made a mental note to start saving enough to purchase newspapers when you got back into the city. If you were going to be here, you wanted to know what was going on.

“She was a daughter of the tsar,” the Madam answered for you. “A princess. When the family was taken to be executed, it was rumored that the princess escaped.”

You nodded, “Creep-o said he thought that’s who was coming to the camp when Madam Despoina said they had special company.”

The Madam hummed her understanding. “We’ve often had queens and princesses come to bargain for good fortune. Dimitris thought you were the princess.”

“He said he knew I wasn’t Russian though due to my accent. I may have implied with my tone that he was an idiot for believing the rumor… he didn’t like that.” You grew angry at the memory of him grabbing you, instinctively wrapping your own arms around yourself. “Still, he said that you thought I was someone important. That he could use me somehow to make him money.”

Somehow was beginning to feel a lot like selling as you said the words out loud. The words sat bitterly at the tip of your tongue as your anger began to bubble.

“What did he think he was going to get away with, huh? Kidnapping me and holding me hostage? Handcuffing me to a table and forcing me to give seances? The nerve—“ you fumed as you grew lost in your own imagination. “What psychopath thinks he can do that? I can’t even tell fucking fortunes! I’m not important! I can’t—“

The tears surprised you as your anger began to catch in your throat. This was the second time today you’d began to cry out of frustration, exhaustion, everything. And you hated yourself even more for it.

You felt weak again.

Your eyes squeezed shut as you tried to control your breathing, and suddenly you felt two hands cradling your face. Expecting to see Madam Despoina, who’d been sitting closer to you, you were surprised when you opened your eyes to see it was Tommy who was kneeling in front of you, his own face inches from yours.

You felt ashamed again for your weakness, dropping your eyes and trying to push him away. But he held on to you and forced you to look at him again. You prepared to see disappointment or pity in his eyes, but instead you saw the same reassurance that you’d almost come to rely on in the depth of his crystal blues.

“That won’t ever happen,” he said confidently. “You’re not a doll, remember? And you are strong. If the Delphi don’t find this fucker, the Peaky Blinders will. Either way, you’ll never see him again, you understand me, Y/N?”

“Yes,” you answered breathlessly, the tears no longer falling as he wiped what remained off your cheeks.

“I have a second reason for coming by,” Madam Despoina’s words broke the spell between you and Tommy, who stood up and resumed his original position between you two women and the doorway. She reached inside her baggy skirt pocket and pulled out a small wooden box, extending it to you. “I wanted to offer you this gift.”

Your brow furrowed as you took it.

In the Madam’s hands, it appeared to be an ordinary box. But when you ran your fingers across the edges and held it toward the light of the fireplace, you could just make out the intricate carvings. It reminded you of the inside of this caravan. On the lid of the box was the Delphi symbol — you couldn’t help the way your pointer finger moved from the trunk of the tree upward, through the branches and down one side of the circle, across the roots, and up the other side until you completed the path.

“It’s beautiful,” you couldn’t help but breathe out as you finally lifted the lid. Your brow furrowed again as you examined a pouch of leaves and small vile of water inside.

Madam nodded. “Boil some water and let the leaves soak, then pour in the water from the vile before drinking the entire cup.”

“Tea? You want me to make tea?” You looked between her and the box. “Um, why?”

She smiled. “My gift. It’s one final conversation with your mother.”

Your jaw dropped slightly, the words falling out absentmindedly, “What? You’ve got to be joking.” You looked down at the box suspiciously. “What is this then, drugs?”

“These are passed from our ancestry, they’re very valuable and once designated cannot be transferred to another. The water is from the original springs of Delphi, the leaves are from the gardens of the temple.”

“The leaves that gave the priestesses epilepsies?” you questioned, raising your brow as your suspicions were confirmed. “You want to drug me and pretend like whatever hallucination I might get is some divine vision from my dead mother?”

The woman gave you a smile, “You still disbelieve, don’t you, young girl?”

You set the box down on the bed next to you and shook your head. “I mean no disrespect, Madam Despoina—“

The old woman lifted swiftly from her seat and reached for your hand. Out of surprise and instinct, thinking she must have fallen, you jumped off the bed and squeezed her hand, matching her firm grip with your own.

The room flashed white. The Madam before you was all you could see, but as your eyes adjusted, your vision began to shift.

Her face — it began to change. You recognized the woman’s face, something ancient and beautiful, with eyes that glowed that brilliant gold you’d seen in your dreams. Another flash, and the face began to morph into so many faces, one after the other. Hundreds of women, all unrecognizable and yet something familiar pulled at your gut.

Suddenly the shifting stopped as you saw your mother’s face. You gasped, taking a step forward before your mothers face morphed again. This time, your foot moved backwards as you looked upon your own reflection.

Snapping your hand out of the old woman’s hold, your vision cleared. You were catching your breath as you found the familiar brown eyes of Madam Despoina, the caravan surrounding you again, a knowing smile pulling at her cheek.

Your eyes found Tommy’s, who had taken a few cautious steps toward you both and was looking at you concerned. “You okay?”

“I saw— I, I thought I saw—“ you breathed out, your eyes moving back to the Madam as you held your hand to your chest.

“Drink the tea. Talk with your mother. She will be able to tell you now what she could never before.”

She turned to leave before stopping. When she turned back to you, she reached out for your hand again. You flinched at her touch, expecting the same thing to happen again, but nothing did.

“During these winter times, our camp retreats back to our home ground to prepare for the cold. We drink and dine as is tradition during these darker and colder months until it is time to travel again. But this year I knew we had to wait — that we were waiting for you.”

She squeezed your hand as she held yours between both of hers.

“Today I have felt closer to our god than I have in many years. I had nearly forgotten what his light felt like, but with you, I can feel his warmth again. Won’t you stay?”

“We can’t,” Tommy answered for you, his voice stern. “We promised we’d be back ‘fore Christmas Eve.”

In the back of your mind, you knew that was a lie. Tommy had already told you he’d prepared for you both to be gone for as long as a week’s time. But you didn’t dare question him now.

Besides, you felt as though her question wasn’t just a courtesy to stay tonight, or even for a few days. The question felt like an invitation — to stay with the Delphi family.

For a split moment, you considered her offer. You were already a time traveling fish out of water, and you’d bet money that she knew more than what she’d even revealed tonight. Maybe you were here to find them — maybe this is where you were meant to be.

But your eyes instinctively looked to Tommy at the thought, and your chest tightened.

Maybe it was a mistake, but that stupid part of your brain or hormones or whatever it was controlling you couldn’t leave Birmingham.

The Shelbys.

Tommy.

Madam Despoina hummed an understanding, her eyes watching your internal struggle. “Then you should leave now. There are some here who are under investigation of helping Dimitris, and it may not be as safe as I’d have wished for you here.” Her eyes dropped in shame.

“If you thought we may be in danger, why would you ask for me to stay?”

“I’m an old woman, mikrí mou màntissa.” She repeated the foreign words again, and her soft smile made you sense they were a term of endearment. “Sometimes I’m more selfish than I’m proud of. I will see you again someday, Cassandra. Until then, remember what I told you —“

“Stay true to myself.”

“Aye. You will feel like you can’t use your second sight for fear of alteration, or alienation. But it will be your asset in the times to come. And it can save those around you, if you let it.”

She looked to Tommy then, whose brow creased at the conversation.

The Madam smirked. “Our god is closer to you than you think.” Her attention moved back to you. “Listen to your mother. Break the cursed chain.”

She turned again to leave.

“Wait,” you stepped forward as she paused. “Why are you giving me this now? You told me before that it wasn’t the time. What’s changed?”

Madam Despoina let out a humored hum. “You’re not the only one who gets visions, love.” At the doorway, she stopped and turned to Tommy. “Remember what I told you as well, Apollon.”

With that, she left the caravan.

Tommy ran his hand through his hair as he let out a breath. “We’re leaving. We’re gettin’ in our wagon and gettin’ the fuck out of this nut house.”

He began to get dressed, throwing on his gun holster over his shoulders before putting on his jacket.

Your brain was processing the name Madam had called Tommy. “She called you—“

“Get dressed,” he instructed, ignoring you and handing you the bag and your shoes before grabbing the rest of his clothes.

You pulled out one of the clean skirts and pulled it over your nightgown. You grabbed your jacket and threw it around you before shoving your feet into your shoes. Stuffing the rest of your items in your bag, you gingerly picked up the box Madam Despoina had given you and set it on top before latching it closed.

Tommy returned, offering you his hand to lead you out of the caravan and through the dark, clutching the bag close to your chest. The wagon came into view, Johnny Dogs hustling to secure Midnight.

“Tommy, she called you—“

He shushed you, his eyes flashing down at you before making a quick scan around you both. “Not now.”

You huffed. “Never now.”

“Soon,” he reassured, giving your hand a squeeze before jumping in the back of the wagon while Johnny appeared at your side. “All clear?”

“Aye, Tom,” Dogs replied. His usual jovial vibe was gone tonight, serious as he addressed his friend.

“Good. Up ya come,” Tommy offered you his hand as he stood in the wagon.

Your brow furrowed, expecting to sit with him in the drivers seat like you had earlier.

“There’s a bed in here, and some blankets. It’s the middle of the night and you’ve had a long day. You already fell asleep once today, I don’t need you fallin’ over on the drive back.”

Your instinct was to fight back, prove him wrong. Before you could reply, he squatted closer to you.

“I won’t have you sitting like a fuckin’ target in case we run into trouble on the road. I don’t expect it, but I’m a cautious man, ‘member? Get in the wagon, and let me keep you safe.”

“She called you Apollo,” you whispered, looking between his eyes.

It felt like you were standing in a room with thousands of puzzle pieces, and every time you thought you’d found a connection, thought you’d gotten a handle on the full picture, a new piece would pop up and throw you off your track again. You felt like you were slowly losing your mind.

He softened his look, grabbing your hand and lifting you into the wagon. You let him walk you toward the front before gently pushing you down onto the small mattress pad. “Rest. Once we’re safe, you can explain to me why.”

You swallowed as he stood back up and climbed through the front flap of the wagon and sat on the bench. Johnny Dogs wished you a small farewell and you gave him a sympathetic smile before he secured the back of the wagon.

Despite everything that’d happened to you tonight, you’d enjoyed the man’s company and hopped to see him again. If Tommy allowed.

You could see Tommy settling in his seat from your spot, grateful for the secured tarp on the side your head rested against to cut the cool night air as the wagon began to move forward.

The wheel hit a bump, causing your bag to jump against your leg. You picked it up and secured it against you, not wanting anything to happen to the box inside.

The box filled with the magic drugs, that is.

What were the chances that the leaves and water in that box were actually from the Temple of Apollo in Greece? Was it old? New? There’s no way something like that could have survived all this time, and there was definitely no way that if it had, someone would just hand it over to a complete stranger for nothing.

And the flashes that you saw — was it the drinks you had tonight? You had a hard time believing that the woman you just left would have you drugged without your knowledge — but the cynical side of you, the cautious side as Tommy might say, couldn’t exclude the possibility entirely.

No, you shook your head, trying to reason your way out of that thought. Why would a woman who already had you drugged offer you more drugs and tell you what they were? If she’d done it once, what was stopping her from doing it again without your knowledge? She could have made the tea herself and fed it to you easily at any point during the night. But instead she gave it to you in pieces, as a gift, and told you exactly what it was (more or less - you still weren’t entirely convinced).

So if you weren’t drugged, then you had to have just been ole fashioned drunk.

You shook your head at yourself again, getting more comfortable on the mattress until you were laying down, the wagon wheels continuing to move along underneath you.

Nothing like that had ever happened to you after a night of drinking before. And there were definitely nights you’d been way drunker than you had been tonight.

The only time you’d seen visions like that before, with the white flash and everything, was the night you traveled back and saw Tommy in the mud.

But why Tommy? was the last question you asked yourself before your eyes began to drift closed and you wrapped the blanket around yourself.

And why did Madam Despoina call him Apollo?

——

“Cassandra.”

Your god reached out to you, his once ice blue eyes had now returned to their brilliant gold, his look was full of concern.

“You just said—“ your breath was short at the previous feeling of dread as you grasped at the front of your dress to steady your heart.

He cupped your face with his hand, “I said that I didn’t expect to fall for you, Cassandra.”

No, you thought. There was rage, there was anger. He said he cursed you… didn’t he?

But as you looked up at him now, the face you saw was the same face you’d been gazing upon night after night. You hadn’t intended to fall for the palace gardener. The first night you’d come out here was the day you pledged your allegiance to priesthood. You’d sought solace, a place to sit with your thoughts to ensure that you were making the right decision.

The gardener had surprised you, his voice soft and kind as he asked if you were okay. After that, you’d come to rely on the man as a confidant. Eventually, you were spending most of your day awaiting the hours until you could see his sweet face again.

But now, everything was different. He wasn’t a man at all — he was a god. He was your god, confessing his affection for you.

And yet still, you touched your lips at the memory of his cold blue eyes, his angry words, his curse.

His brow creased as you pulled your face away, turning back to the garden ledge as you looked out to the sea. Your eyes focused on the horizon line, where you saw ships sailing toward your kingdom. Thousands of ships - an armada. They were racing forward, growing closer and closer to the shoreline, launching hundreds of arrows into the air.

“We’re under attack!”

You turned back toward your lord and pointed, but he only shook his head. “There’s nothing out there.”

Whipping your head back toward the sea, your eyes searched for the sight of the ships, but they were gone. The seas were calm once again.

“But—“

An explosion caught your attention, pulling your gaze back down toward the square of the city. It was on fire — people were screaming, children crying. Men in foreign armor raced through the streets on horses, swinging swords and axes, killing your citizens.

You blinked — they were gone.

‘You’re cursed, Cassandra! You’re cursed!—‘

“Y/N!”

You jumped at the shout, turning to find Harry standing at the end of the bar with his arms crossed.

“I don’t pay ya to daydream. We’ve got a packed ‘ouse now snap out of it.”

“Sorry, Harry.” You flushed at your absent mindedness, picking up the rag and moving to give the counter a good swipe before heading toward the first man with his arm reached forward.

But through the monotony of the job, your mind couldn’t help but wonder back toward your dream in the wagon.

Tommy had woken you up the same as he had on the drive to the camp. Clinging to his arms, you found yourself gasping for air and your cheeks damp from tears. Embarrassed once again for waking up in a panic, you began to wonder if you’d ever have a normal night’s sleep ever again.

Despite the nightmare, you’d somehow managed to sleep through most of the drive back into town. You rode up front for the remaining drive back while Tommy hit you with the realities of going back into society.

“There’s something we need to discuss before we get back to Small Heath,” Tommy had started in his serious voice. “Only Polly knows where we truly went yesterday. Arthur, John, and Ada know a version of the truth — they know we were lookin’ for a gypsy clan that might have had some of your last surviving family members, but we’re gonna tell ‘em we were unsuccessful in our journey. That they were supposed to be outside the fairground, but they were nowhere to be found, so we came back and you decided to give up the search. Got it?”

You had nodded. “And Polly? What are we going to tell her?”

“That’s up to you,” he surprised you with that response. “But one thing I want to make clear. That we saw Johnny Dogs and what was discussed with him will be told to no one, ya?”

“Can I ask why?” You threw the question out as a tester — it wasn’t a no to his confirmation, but you were curious if he’d shut you down or trust you.

Tommy didn’t respond right away, staring straight ahead at Midnight pulling the wagon forward. You swallowed, ready to admit defeat, when Tommy cleared his throat.

“Most of what we do is illegal. To make any real money, to gain any real power, we need to expand into some legitimacy. It’s the only way to break out of Birmingham.”

“And Billy Kimber has something to do with that?”

Slowly, Tommy nodded. “Think so. Still working out the details, but it starts with Johnny Dogs. That’s all I’m willin’ to say now.”

You thought about the words exchanged between the two men, about what Tommy said on Saturday about domination. You wondered if his ambition extended further than just working with the racetrack owner, or if he wanted to control it.

Tommy didn’t seem like a man who limited his ambitions.

“Got it. Not a word, then.”

You paused, contemplating what you were going to say next and deciding to just go with it. What the hell, right?

“I still think you should look into running alcohol into America. The probability of a prohibition is higher than you’re estimating.”

“Thought you said you weren’t a fortune teller,” Tommy rose his brow up as he looked at you. Beneath you, the dirt roads had transitioned into cobblestone, indicating an end to your ride.

You’d shrugged, “I’m not. I’m just a woman on your payroll, who sometimes knows things, offering you business advice.”

Tommy watched you for a moment more, but chose not to push you on it further. Neither of you said anything as he made his way to your doorstep. You’d mentioned wanting to change and then head over to the Garrison, hopping to mend the nagging feeling you had of Harry being angry with you and offering to work a shift that evening.

“I’ll see you later then,” Tommy had said as you turned to leave, watching as you clung to your bag and ascended the stairs.

To his promise, Tommy walked through the doors of the Garrison some odd hours later, an entourage of men behind him. Harry hustled to shoo people out of the snug before escorting the men into the private room.

This had been a part of the deal Tommy had made with Harry, apparently. The Garrison was not only protected by the Peaky Blinders, but now it was officially the pub of choice for the gang. That meant that any time a Peaky boy was in the premises, the snug had to be available. It also meant that anything a Shelby man ordered was on the house, no questions asked.

Tommy still dropped a coin at the snug window when he asked for a bottle of whiskey and six tumblers.

“Irish or Scotch?” You asked, a smirk playing at your lips as you watched him attempt to stop his own smile.

Without his response, you grabbed the Irish Whiskey and glasses, circling the bar and turning into the private room. Tommy was taking his seat as the men around him grabbed for the cups, Arthur electing to grab the bottle and open it. He poured himself a shot first, then Tommy, then John, before passing it to the other three in the room.

You vaguely recognized the three non-brothers from the betting shop, and part of you wondered if any of them were the book men you audited as you began to wipe down the table.

Arthur was patting John on the shoulder, sounding already drunk as he went on about the boy finally getting out of that house. You took a quick look at John, who looked tired as he mumbled something about the kids driving him mad.

You smiled at that, silently wondering if John being out meant that Martha was starting to feel better. You made a note to ask Tommy about her later as you asked aloud if anyone needed anything else.

“That’ll be all, Y/N,” Tommy answered for everyone.

You gave a friendly smile, eyes scanning the room before landing on one of the non-brothers, who was watching you quite intently. As a barmaid, you were either invisible or the subject of lustful attention, so a part of you was used to the creepy looks and just bid your time until the man either hit on you or lost interest. Not expecting this kind of attention here, with Tommy around, you felt caught off guard. Awkwardly, you nodded and left the room, leaving the doors open behind you.

Some time passed as you worked the room, the crowd slowly beginning to lessen as the night went on. You were working on the pub books, taking advantage of the lull, when the man who’d been watching you from the snug approached the bar.

“You’re Ada’s friend, ya?”

You couldn’t stop the quick look through the snug window, noticing that the other Peaky boys were still in there, working on their second bottle. “Um, yeah,” you answered, offering him a polite smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Need something?”

“Ya, a mild.”

Trying to control your annoyed face at having to pause your book work — seriously, there was no way you could ever leave Harry in charge of the books ever again — you rose from your seat to prepare his drink. You could feel him watch you as you worked.

“I’ve seen ya round the Shelby house with Ada and Ms. Polly. I work there, with the boys. Names Benji.”

Benji — you recognized the name as one of the bookkeepers at the betting shop. He was one you’d been suspicious of for a while now.

The first couple big offenders of stealing from the shop had disappeared some time after you brought them to Polly’s attention. At the time, your innocent mind believed they’d just been fired and moved on — but now you knew better. The chances that those men were still breathing were slim.

With Benji’s records, his error rate decreased after the first few men were outed, and you always suspected that he was biding his time before he began to steal again. You just had to wait until you had more evidence.

For a paranoid moment, as Benji’s eyes scanned you over, you wondered if he knew about your secret employment. He was a Peaky boy, after all. He lifted his hand over the bar counter as an offering when you set his drink down.

“Y/N,” you offered out of ceremony, your smile still not quite genuine as you shook his hand.

“Y/N,” he repeated, donning his own smile as he looked at you again appreciatively. He wasn’t unhandsome, so you imagine that smile worked on most girls. But after what happened to you last night and your suspicions about his bookkeeping, you felt yourself taking a step back out of caution. “Next time you’re in the shop, say hi.”

You watched as he took his drink and swaggered back into the snug. Part of you was slightly surprised at his boldness. You were a friend of Ada’s — his employer’s sister. Plus, you and Tommy—

You scoffed at yourself. You and Tommy what? You weren’t a couple — you didn’t think so, anyway. He hadn’t gone to kiss you, or even offer to walk you to your apartment door when he’d dropped you off. What’d happened last night before Madam Despoina interrupted had been… hormones. A mixture of adrenaline, alcohol, and an attempt to grasp onto some kind of sanity after a series of crazed events.

He hadn’t spoken of the moment since — hell, he hadn’t spoken of any of it since, something that was also making you anxious.

Out of instinct, your eyes moved to the window of the snug where you could see Tommy sitting comfortably in his chair. As if feeling your gaze, his own eyes moved to meet yours. You jumped slightly, feeling as if you’d been caught, and proceeded to go back to checking on the other patrons in the room.

You’d settled back to working on the inventory, almost finished when the Peaky boys loudly made their exit of the pub. Surprised, Arthur shouted a drunken goodbye to you, even using your name as he waved and stumbled out the doorway with his arm around John. Benji turned and gave you a wink before following the group out the door. Tommy stood back, watching the whole thing before walking over to the counter.

“What was that about?” He asked, gesturing over his shoulder to the doorway.

“What? Arthur saying goodbye? Not sure, but it’s a big improvement over him calling me a whore or just grunting at me—“

“Not Arthur, Hancock.”

Your brow creased. “Who?”

“Benji,” he added, and you realized Hancock must be his last name. Tommy poured the last of the bottle into his drink.

You stood up from your seat again and walked over toward Tommy, taking a scan of the room. There were only two young men in the corner finishing up their last round, but you still kept your voice low. “Who knows about me?”

It was Tommy’s turn to furrow his brow. “‘Dya mean?”

“My job, at the house.”

Tommy nodded, understanding. “Just immediate family — me, Pol, Arthur, John, and Ada.”

“And before you guys returned?”

He shrugged, “Just Pol and Ada, I believe. What’s this about?”

“I was just paranoid, I guess. I thought for a moment Benji may have suspected me, but now I think he was just coming on to me.”

Tommy’s back straightened at your comment, lifting his glass for another drink. “And is that somethin’ that you want?”

“No,” you answered immediately, watching his shoulders immediately relax.

“Good,” he said softly, his eyes moving down to your lips. “Let me walk you home?”

You smiled at both his response and his request, wondering if maybe you were wrong about what exactly you and Tommy were.

“I can’t go until those two leave,” you said quietly as you gestured to the corner.

As if realizing for the first time that the two of you weren’t alone, he turned to the other guests. “Oi! Time to go!”

The young men jumped from their seats and scattered out the door. You couldn’t hold in your surprise at the immediate obedience.

It’s good to be the king, you found yourself quoting Mel Brooks in your head at the action, not yet confident enough to say your quip out loud. The thought still made you smile though, and you were again surprised when Tommy offered you a smile in return. You knew how rare a Tommy smile was.

“Fine, but I still have to put the book away and sweep the floors. Harry mentioned something about putting in an ad for another barmaid — I’m not about to further piss him off and have him replace me.”

Tommy scoffed. “I’ve seen the receipts, you practically saved this business. He’d be a fool to replace you.”

Your pride swelled at the compliment as you lowered your head to hide your blush.

Luckily, it’d been a rather tame night, so your cleanup was minimum, allowing you and Tommy to leave soon after everything was put in order.

Tommy lit a cigarette as you locked the door, wrapping his coat around you tightly and cursing to yourself how right he’d been about it getting colder.

“Come to dinner tomorrow,” he said, breaking the silence on your walk. It didn’t sound like a question, but his gaze down toward you implied that he was waiting for a response.

“To your house?” You asked, curious if this was just a regular dinner or a date dinner.

He nodded. “Aye, Christmas Eve dinner with the family. Ada made me promise to ask.”

You deflated slightly at his follow-up. Was Ada’s insistence because Tommy didn’t actually want you there? God, listen to you — sounding like a pathetic teenager again overanalyzing everything your crush said.

“Okay,” you said instead.

“Good.”

He stopped and faced you when you got to your apartment. Gently, he lifted his hand and cupped your cheek, pulling your face upward until your lips met his. It was a soft kiss, but it still left you breathless as he pulled away.

“After dinner, when everyone’s distracted, we’ll talk, ya? About the dreams, about what Madam Despoina said, and about why when I was waking you up this afternoon you kept saying that you were cursed.”

>> next chapter << chapter masterlist

tag list: @cillixn @sidefanficaccounttohidemyshame @swordofawriter @sweetmilkshakeluminary @ttae-yong @topstory21 @cole-silas @moral-terpitude @optimisticsandwichgladiator @reallysparklychaos @enrapturedbythemoon @bat-shark-repellant @kpopslur @ilovestrngrthgs @musicsweetie21 @invisiblexcth @lovelydivs @whoisf4yryl0v3r @itscheybaby @laylasbunbunny @lordofthunderthr @luvstylesz @roseanimelover @lostgirl219 @berarenado @akemiixx01 @mulletmcghee @jasminxts @fanfics-that-hit-my-feels @piceous21 @xoprincessmel @arcanebabe @booktvmoviefangirl @cillmequick @nataliewalker93 @the-blueatlas @regatoni1 @goblinjnr @litteltourtius @xxbeckybeexx-blog @tanyaherondale @sometimes-i-sing @littlewhiterose @ja-4-leyvam @rubyxx16

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby reader insert #Peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #Thomas shelby #Thomas shelby x reader #Cillian Murphy #time after time #mine #fanficton

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tenjiiku · 1 month ago

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Love story: 1/2, au

“Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.” — Richard Siken, War of the Foxes

— February, 1999

It started small: Sae began to forget which side of the bed was his.

You enter your shared bedroom with a start. There, on the right side, trapped between the left pillow and the wall, he lays — unsounding and stifled. You approach him tentatively, naively assuming that perhaps he is having a bad day. That, maybe, the admission he made so many moons ago slipped his mind. Granted, it was small in meaning — but at the time, it had meant everything to you. So you do not make a fret, knowing his affections are always true. Instead, you calmly sit down on the left side, leaning over to place a cold hand on his upper bicep.

“Darling,” you murmur. He tilts his head and looks to you as though you took him out of thought. Sae has always had the troubling habit of never voicing his desolation.

“Hm?”

Your lips lift up in amusement, “You would like to switch it up today?”

For a few seconds, no emotions graze his face. Then, he looks at you like the words you uttered are something foreign. He remains unsaying for a few seconds, then the furrow between his brows dissolves. He shakes his head.

“Oh, right,” he murmurs, crawling over you. You giggle and roll over to the other side he leaves open for you.

When you turn to him, placing a half-asleep kiss on his cheek — you do not notice the blank confusion painted in his eyes. You chalk it up to the long and laborious day he has had with coaching his students. You do not see the warning signs — too content and infatuated with your life, with him, and with the sign of your affection for one another lying soundly in her room across from you both.

And how could you have?

— April, 1999

That incident occurred nearly two months ago, and much like the change in season, was forgotten about with the snow. Months later — it is eighteen degrees celsius in Osaka, the hottest it has been since spring began two weeks prior. Your daughter has started her last year of junior high school and has developed her father’s temperament. She is sound asleep after cramming for her chemistry test tomorrow. But it is nearing two a.m, and Sae has yet to call you informing that he would be late in returning home. He always did. It was an unspoken ritual you shared since embarking on this journey as his partner. And him, yours.

You are utterly frantic.

For the first half an hour, you called a few close friends, detailing the situation. They have no idea. You were on the cusp of calling the authorities, until Sae had called you, himself.

You find him in Red Herring Park, on a bench. He sits, hunched, as though he is protecting himself from something. Or someone.

“Sae,” your voice is weak and unused. You only realise now that this is the first time you have called him by name for days. You run to him, your knees feeling like they can buckle under you at any second. And they do. You kneel down to get close to him, and you grab his face with your hands — needing to feel him to know it is truly him. If it is truly your Sae. “Sae. What—What— Where, where were you?”

He looks to you, solemnly so. You furrow your eyebrows and scan him for any visible marks of injury. You don’t know why you do this. You just wanted to make sure he was okay. But Sae says nothing. He looks at you blankly, then, his pupils dilate. As though he has just heard you.

Your voice is wet. You can’t help but whisper, noticing his dejection. “Darling, what happened?”

Cicadas chirp in the dead of night. Sae is still wearing his work clothes, though his briefcase rests beside him. He runs a shaky hand through his greying hair and though he looks away from you, he does not move away from your touch.

“I… fell. A few days ago?” He sounds even uncertain about that. “Eiji told me to go home. To go get it checked out.”

You blink slowly, confused beyond belief but relieved at the same time. Still, you ask, “Wha—… huh? Why—Why are you just telling me this?”

When he finally looks at you, your tears escape the corners of your eyes. He frowns when he sees it fall down your skin and he wipes it away with his index finger. You remove your hands from his face so he can hold you now.

“I forgot. I’m sorry.”

And you can’t help but laugh. You don’t know what else to say or what to do. He is in front of you now, safe and sound. Everything is alright in the world now that he is here. Maybe it really was an honest mistake. He’s older now — a father to a growing teenager, now. Maybe these things were common with old age and in a long term partnership.

You should have nothing to worry about. He tells you this softly, gently kissing your tears away, as you cry — and you believe him.

— January, 2000

Your father never liked Sae. Granted, the old man favoured very few people in his life, and was closer to even less. Your mother, ever the subservient, held no opinion of her own. She only ever echoed your father’s sentiments in the small chance she’d win the man’s favour. Yet when that did not work, she gifted you rice porridge after your elopement. You think that, deep, deep down — within the caverns of her convoluted mind — she was happy for you. Relieved, that you managed to branch out and find happiness outside of the oppressive congregation you were raised in. Your family was not nearly important enough to be considered famous — or to be acting as mighty as they were. You wished you knew this when you were sixteen. You are glad you realised it at thirty. Yet, at forty, it seemed the universe had much left to teach you regarding parental relationships — as you find yourself fainting during work on a cold January afternoon, pulling double shifts to scrounge up enough money for Sae’s medical fees.

Your emergency contact was still your mother. You’d put it down when you first started working at your hospital as an intern. It was an honest mistake that you forgot to change it. Though nothing occurred the day of, your employer had informed your parents of the incident. And, the next Sunday, you were appointed to meet them at noon, sharp. Not a minute late. Not a second too early, either.

The berating from your father thankfully only starts after tea is served.

“When will you keep exerting yourself like this? Keep pulling overtime like this? Hm?” His voice is angry. Worried, maybe? But what he utters next confirms that leaving was the only choice you have made that was right in your life. “Because of your choice of partner we bear the burden, hah?”

You slam your cup of tea down and get up from the kotatsu, where your father sits across from — gaping at your audacious behaviour.

“Petulant child! You will only learn when we end up in our graves! Only then will you realise your mistake!”

You hate how he blames you for the burdens you never told him to bear. You wish you were dead to him just as much as he was to you.

“Yes. It is my mistake still having you as my emergency contact. I will change it as soon as possible.”

And with that, you leave the living room. In the genkan, you hastily wear your coat and wrap your scarf. When you trip putting your boot on, you frustratedly sit down. Your mother places a hand on your shoulder.

“Child,” she starts, but you yank your arm from underneath her. When you turn to look at the dejected expression on her face — a wave of guilt and frustration boils over you, making you feel nauseous.

“I’m sorry, mama. I will continue sending money. But I am afraid I will no longer be visiting.” Your voice threatens to wobble but you bite the inside of your cheek.

“Here,” the woman hands you a bag of presumably her home-cooked food, and suddenly she turns into a petulant little girl and you — her oppressor. Instantly, a wave of utter desolation engulfs you, and you place your hand on the wrinkled one she holds out to you. “You have been looking thin, dear. Please take care of yourself.”

You look up from where you sit, your boot still not on. Huffing, you stand up and suddenly you are eye to eye. When your mother reaches out to caress your cheek — you do not stop her or put up a fight. When she was your age, she was taking care of you and your erratic temperament. The idea wants to make you cry, but you hug the woman instead. You cannot be angry at her, no matter how much time passes by, no matter how many mistakes she has made. Was she not a child when she had you? Had she not been the sitting duck to your father’s cruelties for so many years, before you? How ever will you understand her — or even begin to?

You offer her your affection — it is the only thing you can do.

Placing a kiss on her cheek when you pull away, you whisper quietly with a strained voice when you see her cry, “Thank you, mama. I will.”

Opening the door after wrapping your scarf, you walk home alone — making footprints in the blank, white snow.

Your hands feel cold in Sae’s old brown gloves.

— August, 1982

Sae was never one for excessive portrayals of romance. His fondness for you snuck up onto your unassuming frame with the same type of familiarity one would receive from seeking refuge in a warm home during a never-ending storm. It came quickly — your affection and love — not nearly as slow as the movies or romance novels you used to base your entire infatuation around, suggested. You were born to fall in love with him, you think. For the longest of times, you lived off of that very conviction.

In your first year of medical school, you were scared, insecure and bursting with a want. For what, you were not entirely certain at the time. You think if you had to put a name to the feeling — you would use deprived. Despite putting yourself through four gruelling years of pre-med, the terrible emotion of self-doubt awakened in your mind. It had laid dormant in your brain all throughout your early adulthood — you surmised it to be a coping mechanism. You likely would have fallen apart, skin and bone, if such a creature preyed on you at such a vulnerable time of your existence.

You were 25. Himself, 30. Under the roof of a provocative karaoke club, shortly after he retired from football against his will, you met — utterly disastrous.

You remember your friend group asking you a week prior if you wanted to come along. And despite your utter distaste for singing and blind dating, you foolishly and adamantly agreed. You were a stupid girl, wanting to impress people you cannot even remember the names of anymore. You remember sobbing in the mirror of how your body looked in the terrible top your friend recommended you wear. You recall going to your mother for comfort only to be told off for wanting to go out in the first place. You did your makeup three times that night and seriously debated faking your own death to your friends by writing a script you would get your erratic mother to read.

Despite everything, you decided to wear a comfortable sweater and a skirt as a safe compromise — for your friends and for your state of mind.

You think you will never know what it is like to be a proper adult. You sit in the car with your friends and feel alone. You talk about school with them and feel alone. You get ushered into a karaoke room and get squeezed into sitting next to one of the men — your friends were far too shy, you would be the joke and put on your pants and save them all — and you feel alone.

Why do you feel so alone? You should be happy that you are now an adult and can do so many things. See so many people. You carry more burdens now — such is life. Why can you never adapt? Perpetually frozen at nineteen.

It is in your naive reverie a hand snakes itself around your shoulders. You stiffen like a tree under the grasp and your dull eyes widen at the unwanted touch. You turn to the culprit — a brown-haired man with cold, brown eyes. You feel the alarm bells ring yet you cannot act. Your friends are having fun — paying you no mind. You do not want them to pay you mind. They will resent you for it either tomorrow, a week after, a few months from now — up until your death bed.

“What have you got there?” The man slurs. He reeks of cigarettes and you wince, shyly looking away.

“A— uhm, a virgin piña colada. I think.”

The man does not answer, only staring at you like you are below him. You feel yourself sweat profusely and suddenly the makeup you are wearing on your face feels like a thousand kilograms. Your hand sweats around the glass as its condensation wets your exposed legs, causing an unpleasant chill to shoot through you. Your hair sticks to your neck. The man is still staring at you. The music is too loud. The man is still staring at you.

“I—I do not drink. Uh— my friend, she bought me this. Or, recommend it to me. I can…” you drift off, your tone growing quieter when you realise how close he has come, “…pay for my own drinks.”

“How cute.” The man says, but his words do not match his eyes and suddenly you feel a wave of nausea overcome you as your friends joke about your drinking habits — or lack thereof.

With an unwanted arm around you, joyous laughter filling the room at your expense, your cheeks on fire and your eyes prickling with tears — is when he comes to you, as soft as a breath of air, as gentle as the early-August sun.

“Osamu,” a voice drawls, “leave the girl alone.”

At this, the laughter dulls down. Your friends return their attention to another member of the group making a fool of themselves for their entertainment. The drunkard, Osamu, distances him almost instantly from your hunched frame. You straighten it when the man who managed to save you from your precarious circumstances leans forward, to make it easier for you to hear him.

“Don’t mind him.”

His voice is velvet smooth. He smells of cologne and though the smell of cigarettes linger on him, they do not stay long enough to consider him burnt. It was quite pleasant. When he furrowed his eyebrows, taking in your nervous demeanour and flushed appearance — you shy away.

“T—Thank you,” you murmur, not making eye contact with the man. He was so beautiful, the most beautiful man you have seen. You feel disgusting and need to leave, so you get up and head for the exit.

A friend hollers, “Y/n, where’re you headed?!”

You murmur, “Restroom,” unsure if they heard you or not. You don’t quite care. You feel the man’s eyes on you but feel flushed. A terrible feeling.

You step outside into the setting sun rays. You feel tears prick the corners of your eyes, still imagining the man’s hands still on you. You hate yourself for being so sensitive. He just touched you for a few seconds. You should not be crying over it. Your friends would mock your desolation if they found out. Your mother would tell you she told you so if she knew. You hate what you are wearing — this style does not suit you: you feel like an ugly woman costuming as a prettier person. Awkwardly you stand by the entrance, feeling your entire face grow sweltering hot as passerby’s catch the sight of tears wetting your cheeks.

The door opens up from behind you and you step out of their way, sniffling a quiet apology for your dramatics. But when your eyes meet the beautiful man who helped you escape moments earlier, you hear the beating of your heart in your ears. His eyebrows furrow when he looks at your face, and you instinctively look away.

“Are you alright?” He asks, slightly leaning down to accommodate the height difference. You don’t know why the question elicits only more tears to stream down your face. No, no you are not alright. And now that he has confirmed that for himself, it makes your emotions skyrocket. The man senses this and, in his concerned state, looks at the small patio for the bar next to karaoke with two empty chairs.

“Come, sit here.”

You don’t know why you let him guide you — holding you by the hand. Even more, you don’t know why he is helping you in this way. Still, he smells nice, is handsome and kind — so you decide to overly indulge in his company. You wipe the remaining wetness off your cheeks and slump down in your chair, petulant and angry. The man offers you a forced grin. Under any other circumstance you would burst out laughing. It was as though he was trying to cosplay as a human. But you rather feel mad at how handsome he looks even with such an unnatural expression painted on his features.

“Osamu is an ass when he drinks. Don’t know why they invited him to begin with.” He starts, ruffling through his pockets. You presume to pull out a cigarette and lighter like the asshole he is, but when he only chews on a candy. Konpeito, you notice.

You stare silently for four seconds. You take one to save him the embarrassment of rejection but before you unwrap it, you ask, “Apologies, who are you?”

The man chokes on his konpeito and you are unfortunately an awkward girl and laugh at him. He doesn’t seem to take it to heart, though. He only stares at you — nothing like that of the strange Osamu. When he smiles, it reaches his eyes. Slightly and subtly enough to make shivers run up and down your spine. Unlike the man inside — you want him to touch you. But he does nothing of the sort, which you suppose is the reason why you want him to act that way.

“My mistake.” He holds a hand out, “Itoshi Sae.”

You return it, shy and slightly smiling, despite the obvious mascara on your under eyes. You never knew he was at the time. He’d later tell you that made him fall for you.

“L/n Y/n.”

It’s almost strange how quickly the two of you click. You can’t even remember how you agreed to meet with one another every week, at the bar next to the karaoke place you met. Conveniently, it was in the middle of both your places.

Every Tuesday night, after your evening classes, you would meet with Sae. He would always be the first one there. You would overly indulge in alcoholic beverages. He was a safe man to test the waters around — and he took you home every night, without fail.

And who were you to deny him when he’d ask to meet you himself? He was nice to stare at. So you complied. Alright.

“Honestly speaking, I feel as though I am a…”

You slump across half of the bar table. Sae ushers the bartender away.

“A…” you trail off, scrunching your nose as you try to focus both your eyes on it and end up dizzy.

He even helps you continue your sentence. “A?”

You feel sleepy in this dimly lit environment. The drunkenness feels more like a sedative than it does as an energy booster. You wonder if this is normal or if you are just a strange girl. You scrunch your nose, lifting your face and pressing your cheek into your left bicep, arm laying flat out across. You turn your face to Sae who sits on the right. You huff. “It is—It is getting to me, hold on.”

The nice thing about Sae is that when he chooses to listen, he truly listens. He never pushes you, or ridicules you: in fact, he takes your utterly unserious demeanour more seriously than you would, at times.

You think you are starting to like him — and for that you scream into your pillow every single night leading up to your Tuesday evening rendezvous. It has only been five weeks.

“A placeholder.” You say, finally managing to remember the word, “A placeholder,” you repeat, this time making sure not to slur your words.

Sae lifts his glass of water to his lips, amusement behind his eyes. You wish he’d spare you a smile. “You feel as though you are a placeholder?”

“Yes. A fine substitution for someone — something — else. I truly think my friends do not enjoy my company.” You pause, testing his expression. It’s blank, urging you to continue and you feel emotional today so you do. “I mean, it’s not like I enjoy there's. At least not anymore. Not how I used to. I have given so much of myself to them. And—and it seems like it is never enough for them. I play a constant, never-ending charade to keep them happy. I am always in competition with my past self. I don't even know who I am anymore. Just the other day, I overheard my friends making plans without me. I was the one who introduced them to each other but now they’re closer than I ever was to either of them. Hah! And maybe I should have seen it coming. They enjoy making jokes at my expense. They never offered to wait with me for my train — but I—I was always expected to wait for theirs. I never took offence to it because I assumed I was their very good friend. And—And I like being kind, despite what it might sound like. Offering genuine kindness without any strings attached. I was raised like that my whole life.”

“But…but now I realise I was more of entertainment or a way to pass time,” you hate how your voice wobbles in between, and you feel tears fill your eyes. Whatever. You can blame the alcohol. “I—I don’t care about being a placeholder. Or even being considered stupid. I can be like that. I—I just… I don’t want to be no one’s priority. I—I will more than happily fill the silence if you do as well, every once in a while, you know? Isn’t friendship supposed to be like this? You give and you take and, sure, it might not be balanced but — at least, at the very least — you’d be acknowledged.”

You start tearing up again. You do not even care anymore. Sae has seen you cry more over the three weeks you have known one another than your own mother has for eighteen years. Ironically, you feel much like her these days. Always treated like a second thought: Always looking out for others, never being looked after. And maybe she liked it that way — giving herself until there was none of her left to hold for herself. Love comes in all forms — and you try to be gentle. She was your mother, after all. However, when it comes to why everyone in your life was so persistent in making you replicate her life and be content with that, you will never know. Were you not made to receive love? Were you not made to be held — to be told sweet nothings to, to be utterly spoiled to the point where it is so overzealous and nonsensical. But even that overzealousness was never looked at as a bad thing, because you deserved it? You deserve the things which desired you — was that not something you were meant to expect? To desire? To want? To need?

The idea makes you cry even more.

“Sometimes—sometimes even I wish someone would wait with me until my train has arrived,” you sob, your voice octaves higher than it usually is.

Sae pulls a handkerchief out of thin air. You think he has been carrying extras ever since meeting you. The concept makes warmth settle in your loins. You are reading far too much into this, you remind yourself.

“Sorry—Sorry,” you murmur over and over. Sae runs a hand on the small of your back, awkwardly. But the gesture was appreciated irregardless.

Then, he offers a very sound solution after three minutes of silence. You like that very much about him. He only offers opinions after offering comfort. “Then stop being friends with people who make you feel like this.”

“Then I will have no one. I will be alone.”

Sae pauses, setting his glass down.

“But you will know yourself, won’t you?”

Sniffling, you rub your tear-faced cheek on your upper arm, still awkwardly laid across the table. You know you will regret not straightening your posture when you reach your 40s, but you cannot get yourself to care.

“Men are such simple-minded creatures. You all don’t care about the principle of such things.”

“Principle?”

Raising your head, your eyelids feel sensitive to touch. You squint your eyes and feel your lip wobble. “Women have this code we have to obey by. If not, you will be ostracised. Forever casted aside. A total loner!” Your voice raises near the end and you only let more tears fall as the other remaining patrons around the bar turn their gaze towards you.

Sae’s voice is quiet, and, if you listen closely enough, he almost sounds nervous.

“You won’t be alone.” He sounds annoyed, “You will have me.”

The implication of his statement is something you read into, very quickly. But you do not ponder on it for too long out of fear of embarrassing yourself if what you're reading was wrong. So you cover up your shyness with a stupid joke, raise yourself off of your arm and tilt your head towards the man who sits next to you. A friend.

“You sound quite confident labelling yourself as a sufficient replacement for my friends.”

Sae only tilts his head back, and stares right into your eyes for a few seconds. You immediately shrink backwards and feel an explosion in your stomach.

“Friend?” He murmurs underneath his breath.

You think your pupils have dilated. You laugh, trying to play it cool. It does not work, especially in front of someone as charismatic as your drinking partner.

“Y—Yes...?”

Sae chuckles, and it goes straight to your heart.

“Hm. How cute.”

You feel a shiver run up and down your spine, travelling around all your bones.

“You know, I’m not usually this kind to people. The day I met you, I was in the mood to atone for my past mistakes.”

“And it was by a stroke of luck that you chose me as the subject of your kindness?” You challenge, feeling excited when his eyes land on your frame and entertainment clouds the turquoise colour.

“Mmm,” he hums, his eyes trailing your face. Up and down. The actions of a man who has very little care in the world, except when it comes to his interests, “Hah.. sure. Think about it like that.”

You shrink into your frame, and you cannot help but be locked in a daze — staring at Sae. It’s funny that he says the same thing another man told you which made you sob hysterically the other day. But, strangely, you don’t feel upset at all.

Well, you do. Only in an entirely new way.

— July, 2002

It was a sweltering, hot Summer the day Sae gets into an accident at work. It all happened so fast, you only remember bits and pieces. You took a day off from work, reeling in from the flu, when the phone rang mid-afternoon. Sae was in the hospital, being treated for a serious concussion.

You have never gotten to leave your home so quickly. After informing your friend to pick up your daughter from school, you grabbed the car keys and left your home in Sae’s sweater, an old pair of shorts you bought in college and winter boots because you couldn’t find your sandals.

When you get to the hospital, the doctor informs you of where he is currently resting, and you almost collapse beneath yourself when you find him resting on the bed — a shell of his former self — staring soundlessly outside the window.

“Sae!” You exclaim. He doesn’t turn your way.

Approaching him tentatively, you call for him again, this time more reserved than before. “Sae…”

Sae still doesn't turn your way.

“Ma’am," the doctor looks at you with contempt. You don't turn to look at them until Sae finally gazes at you, a blankness painted in his eyes that you have never seen before. "If you could take a seat—"

A white noise rings in your ears. You think that is when your world came crashing down.

#writing #sae itoshi x fem reader #sae itoshi x reader #sae itoshi

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agaypanic · 2 years ago

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HEVAKC SN HIHIHI

can i request benny with a girlfriend that can see ghosts? like she’s a medium and talks to them and stuff 🫶🫶

Spooky Talks (Benny Weir X Medium!Reader)

Masterlist

Request Something!

Summary: Whitechapel is full of different supernaturals. Benny finally learns about his girlfriend’s ability, which is talking to ghosts.

***

Benny never said anything when he saw you stare intently at a wall or at someone you didn't really know. Well, you never seemed to stare at the person, almost through them. Your boyfriend just assumed that you had a habit of staring off.

Sometimes he'd walk into a room and see you talking to the air, quickly turning towards him when you sensed his presence. He just shrugged it off; maybe you just talked to yourself sometimes and would get really into your own conversations.

But after a while, Benny wanted to know if he was right or if there was something else going on. But he didn't want to make a big deal out of it, so he decided to ask you about your behavior when you two were alone.

"Can I ask you something?" Benny broke the silence that drifted over you as you two were walking to your house.

"You just did." You replied, laughing when he jokingly pushed you away, only to pull you back in by wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

"So, I've been noticing that sometimes you're, like, talking to yourself. But it's like you're actually talking to someone, even though you're the only person in the room. Or sometimes you'll be staring off somewhere, and there's nothing there, but the way you're looking makes it seem like someone's there." You nodded, unsure of what he was getting at.

"Yeah. What about it?"

"Well, is that just like, a thing that you do? Or am I crazy and unknowingly interrupting conversations and stuff?"

You thought he was playing around at first, but then you caught the look of genuine concern on his face. It was then and there that it occurred to you that you had never told your boyfriend, or any of your friends, about your own supernatural powers.

"Oh! Yeah, I can talk to ghosts." You decided to just leave it at that. You and your friends saw crazy things every day; your being able to talk to the dead was less shocking to you than some of your friends being vampires, another being able to see the future, and your boyfriend being a wizard.

Benny didn't have the same sentiment.

"What do you mean you can talk to ghosts?!" You jumped at his sudden loud voice. Thankfully, nobody was around as you two were walking home. People in Whitechapel thought you guys were weird enough; word getting out that you could talk to people no one could see wouldn't really help. "Why have you never told me this before?"

"I kinda forgot, I guess." You smiled at his surprised look. "It's normal to me. I've been able to do it since I was little."

"Wait, so is this, like, a ParaNorman situation?" You couldn't help but laugh.

"I guess? Although, there's not that many people just hanging around the streets of Whitechapel. I see most of them in the cemetery or around their relatives."

The two of you started walking again, Benny still asking questions about your abilities.

"So, do you have a favorite ghost to talk to?"

"Oh, definitely! Her name is Beatrice, and she's really nice. I've been teaching her all the modern ways to talk and stuff; she's from the early 1900s."

"Where do you usually see her?"

"My attic, but sometimes she'll come into my room or the living room."

Benny suddenly yanked you in the opposite direction of your house. He sped up his pace, not slowing down when you had started tripping over your feet from the sudden movement.

"Where are we going? I thought we were gonna go to my house."

"Absolutely not. I'm not going to a house that has a ghost in it."

#benny weir #benny weir x reader #my babysitters a vampire x reader #my babysitter's a vampire #agaypanic

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factual-fantasy · 11 months ago

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27 ASKS! :D FANK U! :}}} 💖

Ah! That I did. I mistook them for a bot.

Folks, you gotta put a unique profile picture of some kind and at least put in your bio "IM NOT A BOT!!-" If you have all the default stuff artists like me will assume you're a bot and just block you on sight :(

Sorry about that- I unblocked your friend. And thank you! I'm glad you like my stuff! :DD

Well,, Seam has some permeant injuries too. :( Such as his missing eye and the scars around his neck and wrists that will never fully heal..💔

Between sci-fi or fantasy? I thiiiink I prefer fantasy. XD And no its not just becuase of my name-

(Post in question)

Looking back I didn't illustrate it super well- it was intended to be something less earthy, yes. Not straight black though, It was supposed to be a really dark red. It seems black.? But anything it stains is stained red. And it was supposed to be rather thick compared to human blood.

If I ever draw it again, I'll be sure to get it to look right next time <XD

@khoiazo

@thesleepyteen1214

:DD Thank you! I'm glad you like it! :}}

Now as for Peso. I think its impossible for Peso and Barnacles to have met as kids- not only is there that age difference,, But I thought that polar bears are from the Arctic, and penguins are from the Antarctic. On the other side of the planet!

None the less- if they somehow met, I don't imagine much would happen other than them potentially becoming friends. :0 Kwazii sure ain't going anywhere, he's sticking with Barnacles family!

Oh man, if Bibi and the gang were real they'd all be screwed.😔 I don't have what it takes to take care of them properly in the real world-

I imagine that the Deltarune crew only really stay in worlds that seem safe. So if it looks safe? They'll stay. And probably not think too much about all the weird critters running around <XD

Not sure how the FNAF guys would react. A world where imaginary friends come to life seems impossible! They might think the imaginary friends are actually animatronics-

The princess quest game wasn't implemented into any of my AUs,, sorry! <:/

I've seen the game floating around, though I don't really know what its about. Also I heard whispers of a potential controversy..? Idk I'm a bit weary of the game <XD

If Freddy had a problem where he started hoarding lost kids after hours? That would be horrible for the kids.. but pretty slick for Vanessa.. 👀

Aww! That's so cute! I love all the different names! XD Having someone to man/assist in the cupcake factory would be really cool/useful as well! :DD

@beryl-shade

I was thinking that no one else in the group other than Frisk remembers. But Jevil? He.. had some kind of reaction to it.

Like when the reset occurred, Jevil had this horrible spike of anxiety and he broke out in a cold sweat and shakes. But before he could even process what was wrong, Frisk swooped in and saved Seams life. Right after he was saved, the shaking and sweating began to subside.. huh, strange..

(The second question was answered in the ask right above this one! :} )

In the comic that I was intending to draw- we would see little snip-bits of most everyone's reactions.

Jevil reacted how you'd expect.. he completely broke down. Screaming and wailing over Seams body..

Frisk froze at first, but then turned on her heel and sprinted into the woods in order to uh.. reset. No screaming, no panic. Just dead silent, sprinting into the woods..

Goner kid was freaking out so bad over Jevil screaming that when she saw Frisk run.. all she could think to do was run after her. So she did..

We don't see Grillby's face, but you can see his hand light up greenish/blue and his coat burst into flames as he realized Seam is dead..

River and Spamton weren't really meant to be seen on screen. But you can see Asgore physically become more misty/unstable when Jevil started screaming..

You know? Maybe for the sake of everyone it was better that I didn't end up drawing all that <XD 💔

No no, nothing about tombstones. The Easter egg lies in this panel.. 👀

@snickerdoodlezz

F.. FANK U,,, 💖🍽

Thank you so much!! :D

As for my brushes? I just use the standard pencil brush set to 3.0 for sketching and line art. And I use the standard pen tool for coloring! :}

@youlikwjazz004

I have seen a decent sized chunk of Adventure Time yes! Although I don't really know the story and I definitely don't know all the characters,,

But out of the characters I do know? It would have to be Simon Petrikov! ✨ With Jake as a close second. Aaaand maybe Prismo as a 3rd placer? I don't know him too much but his design slaps and he seems really chill 😎

(comic in question)

As Freddy explains, he (and the others) had a "bug" in his system. Which made his eyes purple. (Although he wasn't aware that they were purple-)

And after he crashed on stage they reset his system. Wiping the "bug" from his programming. Turning his eyes blue again :0

@storylover2

I imagine that what ever it tastes like depends on my mood. Lately its probably tasted like when you just brushed your teeth and you eat an orange 😖

Also please do not eat my noggin I need that to art-

@ocinstituterep

It's been a while since I've thought about them.. 🤔 If we're using the same formula as I did before.. (the stories of the real life cars are translated to the characters).. then that means some of them aren't doing so hot <XD

We've got a few break downs, some are still broken down. A few sold to better homes.. and a few new (very old) comers! Some are back on the road and some are still on the road when they probably shouldn't be <XD

All in all, I'd say they're doin ok :}

@beelze-juicee

:DDD THANK YOU!! And don't worry, I'm sure I'll come back to it every so often. Even though I'm a bit weary of this fandom.. I cant help but love the characters and want to draw them sometimes XD

(Kirby family in question)

<XD Sorry, no can do! I'm glad you like them! And thank you! But I'm afraid my blessings cannot be purchased.. <:/

@ninaandthegames

Yooo that is the coolest dog I have ever seen 😎

:D Thank you! And I'm not currently into any animes.. although there are some that I attempted to watch and liked for a while :0

Such as Kirby right back at ya and My hero academia! :0

@elegysonnet @willthemechanist (Post in question)

XD He's just embodying his spirit animal. A narwhal ✨🦄🐟✨

#my response #factual fam #octonauts #fnaf security breach #undertale #deltarune #transformer ocs

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bronx-bomber87 · 1 year ago

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Happy Monday all :) Just realized we are over halfway done with s4. Crazy ha Naturally after an intense Chenford ep we have the next one be little lighter. Sadly they are missing 90 percent of this episode so it'll be a shorter one. But there is good moments of growth and such. Let’s get going.

4x13 Fight or Flight

Lucy is attached to Nolan’s helicopter kid situation. Which robs us of any Chenford in this episode. Thanks a lot Nolan…I could tell that kid was suspect af in the elevator and I’m not even a cop. John asks for Lucy to ride with him so he can get into this kids mind. It is awesome she is sought after for her psychological experience. We all know Nolan isn’t going to be able to do that…

We get a little crumb at the beginning of the episode. Tim was clearly waiting for her. I love how he instantly supports her. Doesn’t question why she’s helping or upset she is doing that instead of them riding together. Only that if she needs anything he is there for her. Little moments make my heart happy. So I shall take them in lighter eps.

We do get some good Tim and Angela moments which I will always be happy to enjoy. Tim runs into her and she tells him she has an old ‘friend’ of his in for questioning. He was pulled over and had a diamond bracelet in his car. It’s tied him to a home invasion that left 3 people dead. I do love getting a look into Tim’s work past and former arrests. Which ones are hang ups for him and such. She asks him if he’d like in on the interrogation?

Tim of course jumps right on it. Once he’s in the box Dez is deny deny deny about the bracelet. Saying he got it for his mother and lost the receipt. Ok buddy... Noting he was working the night the home invasion occurred. That his boss would confirm that for him. Watching Tim take charge in the interrogation is *fans self* Not to mention the bicep and forearm shots in this. Killing me softly sir.

Besides him looking fine af just sitting there I always enjoy watching him take charge in any capacity. .i.e. this moment. Why I love Metro Tim so much. It's sexy the way he walks over and commands his attention. Tries to connect with this guy. Knowing they have a past trying to use it to their advantage. Also him using words like recidivism getting me all hot and bothered. Idk why it just is LOL Anyways lets get back on track....Tim tells Dez he knows he wouldn’t have killed anyone. But they need his help to catch the people who did harm that family. They just need a name. He gives them the name of his lawyer instead. Wah wah

Seeing Lucy with Nolan it’s hard to believe they were ever matched up. Boggles the mind really. Just in how they’re approaching this situation alone. Lucy gets an ID for this kid from dispatch. His name is Leo Thomas. He's just a teenager. Nolan mentioning well adjusted kid’s don’t steal police helicopters. Lucy going on to say could just be teenager attention-seeking behavior. Trying to standout and establish their identity.

How it’s gotten so much worse with social media. She isn't wrong. I can only imagine. Its way more than when I was a teenager. Not to date myself but I only had myspace and facebook for most part and I didn't even use FB till like 2008 honestly. Oh and instagram. I think lol My point is as a millennial we didn't have the amount of platforms that are around now. It's insane. I can't imagine trying to establish an identity on them.

So Lucy saying social media having an impact on behavior is accurate. I believe that. It’s funny how John asked for Lucy to tag along and to get in the kids head. Then when she does he fights her on it a little. *eye roll* Also why am I not surprised he was a boring teenager? LMAO This doesn’t shock Lucy either. Him questioning her being a rebel. With the parents she had growing up? I have no doubt she was. You don’t know her like that John and it shows…

Nolan tries to connect with Leo now that he knows his name. John doing a big swing and a miss with him right off the bat. Trying to connect over now his family is sick with worry. Goes over like a lead ballon. He gets back on track with him though. Asking about learning to fly through video games? How impressive that is. Nolan starts to get some traction with the video game bonding. Leo begins to open up saying usually in a game how the main character survives through allies.

He asks John if he’s an ally? Lucy nodding her head fervently. Unreal how he needed to turn to Lucy for that answer. Do love her directing this whole thing though. What a downgrade from Tim eh Lucy? heh. Leo tells them they need to go on some quests first. Then they can talk about him landing this helicopter. John is skeptical to say the least.

Its why Nolan keeps biffing it with this kid. Honestly it’s a wonder he got put on this kid at all. Good thing Lucy is there to steer the ship. I love love love her being the leader on this. Look at our bad ass. Questioning his decision making skills and backing it with rock solid logic. Also sound psychology. You know the whole reason he brought her in the first place......

Nolan may have a good connection with people but he doesn’t have the logic and emotional intelligence Lucy does. John is ready to throw in the towel but Lucy isn’t. She crushes it with some damn good logic. Explaining why he should give into this kid and what he wants. It’s like he completely forgotten why he was assigned this kid in the first place. To build rapport and get him down on the ground. Good thing Lucy is there or this would be going so much worse.

He sends them on their first quest. To what looks like drug den. Saying he lost a raven haired girl he used to like from there from an OD. He couldn't save her but they can at least take down the monsters who caused her death. We find shortly after that was a lie. Since he has been home schooled for the last year. Nolan tries to get him to come down after one quest. Of course he doesn’t. It’s like John hasn’t caught on to the game here lol They ask for their next quest and he asks if they like alligators? HA

We return to Tim back at the station. He’s called in Dez’s boss to verify his ‘alibi’. At first he’s corroborating it until Tim says he’s suspected of triple murder. Tim dismantling Dez's alibi within minutes of meeting this man. I love it so much. His boss immediately amends his statement and says he paid him off. To clock him in and let him go and he did the same thing for tonight as well. Tim reports this back to Angela ASAP. That they don’t have time to wait for his lawyer. They have something far more pressing. Another target to locate. If they don’t figure out where that is more bodies are going to drop.

Lucy and Nolan are on their second quest. This part cracks me up. Dude they’re arresting is defending his alligator. Saying Cupcake is a sweetheart. Lucy’s reply cracks me up ‘Cupcake ate my taser’ LMFAO. His attachment to this creature is intense to say the least. The good thing about this second quest is there is a pattern though. Both quests have involved big drug arrests. Nolan tries to press the kid for it and nada. He continues on to tell them they’re going to have their final quest soon enough.

Tim shows up at Dez’s house mid-search. He instantly goes into sexy Sergeant mode. Asking Webb what they’re found so far? It would appear nothing at the moment. So Tim takes over the scene. I love watching him in action. So confident and sure of himself. While teaching in the process. Yum Yum. Sexy teacher Tim is in the house.

Just takes control of this search and makes it more efficient. He's so good at his job. Also he is growing as a Sergeant. Took control without fully taking control and doing it himself. He delegated his team to re-work their search pattern. Look at him go. So proud of him. Growing as a leader makes my heart happy to see.

We circle back to helicopter kid. They are slowly putting the pieces of the puzzle together. The guy they just arrested works with his mom’s BF. He's a known associate of his. It would appear they have a drug distribution chain going on. That one of the dealers they sell to was arrested and had to do with quest number one.

Lucy jumps in with her POV. This is why Nolan brought her along. Love watching her flex her psych brain. That muscle innate in her as she analyzes this situation. We finally find out why Leo took the helicopter. That quest #3 is to save his mother from her drug dealer BF. The problem is they don’t have any evidence linking this guy to what they’ve found today and he only has 40 minutes of fuel left…

We jump back to the house with Tim and his team. They still haven’t found anything linking Dez to the 2-11. Tim has an epiphany and calls in a bomb sniffing dog. Explaining that they look for ingredients for a bomb or gunpowder from an illegal firearm. That's what they need to implicate Dez. I will also take Tim Bradford talking to a dog all day long. Ovary explosion for me. *fans self* The way he roasts this dog for getting distracted by a squirrel LOL I’m dying I love this man so very much.

Thor eventually finds exactly what they’re looking for. Pawing at a spot Tim is able to crack open and find the evidence they need. Look at him listening to all past advice Grey gave. Not showing up to a scene early. When he does he delegates and doesn’t take over completely. While still teaching in the process of that delegating. He would be proud. Lucy too if she could see this.

Grey is able to get Murray to flip on Brian. Using cupcake Lmao it’s hilarious. Wants to make sure she’s taken care since she ate Lucy's taser. So he rolls on his partners including Brian. All for his alligator's well being it's too damn funny. Grey is delighted that’s all it took. Nolan and Lucy are able to complete quest number 3. They have him fly over his house so he can see them arresting Bryan. Telling him it is finally time to land that helicopter. He agrees and says he’s been air sick for hours ha They arrest him once he’s landed. Lucy looks so sad about it but they really don’t have a choice in the matter.

Tim returns to Angela with the evidence they needs against Dez. He flips once Tim has hard evidence against him. Gives them every job, every crew member and what they’re going to hit tonight. They catch up to the getaway driver fairly easily. It is fun to watch this bad ass duo work together. Question him easily about the men inside and what they’re walking into. Tells them three men are inside the house not including himself.

They find out 2 of the 3 are upstairs looting. While the third is hovering over the family with a gun. Angela doesn’t want to go in hot with this third guy. Worried he’ll hurt the family in retaliation. Tim tells her then they go in a different way. A way I very much approve of. Why you ask? We get Tim Bradford in a TIGHT white t-shirt. Pretending to be a delivery guy. Mmmm just look how taut that shirt is across his muscled chest.

Sweet baby James this man is fit. Could wash clothes on those washboard abs of his. Don’t get me started on the gun show that is his biceps. Popping out of those sleeves. We also get some nice forearm action as well in these shots. Nothing for me to analyze except his beautiful form in these gifs. Imma need some ice water. This man does things to me. *ahem* Let's get back to the story at hand...

Tim knocks on the door. Angela has the getaway drivers phone. So she texts the gun happy third guy it’s just food delivery. This gets him close to the door where they want him. Once he’s close enough they push through a flash bang grenade. Taking him out pretty quickly. Then we get to watch some poetry in motion.

Tim and Angela moving like badasses to secure the house. Just a couple besties taking down criminals like it’s nothing. These are some great shots of these two. I would like more Angela/Tim shots in s6. Just add that to my s6 wishlist haha Metro and the detectives working together be fun to watch. If I can’t have Chenford I’ll take Tim/Angela moments.

We started with a crumb and we get to end with a crumb. I love Tim being the one to initiate a drink after work. He’s grown so very much makes me wanna cry. We all know it’s because of his relationship with Lucy. Our hardened grumpy Tim while still grumpy has grown a lot. Look at him not only doing post work hang but making jokes. Saying it’s all on Nolan ha! Such a nice moment. Until Grey comes over and says Cupcake broke free from animal control LOL Angela's reply is the best 'Who's Cupcake?' So very confused haha

Not a lot of Chenford but good moments and growth none the less. Next episode will be a good one for them.

~~~

Side notes- non chenford

Well this entire episode was that haha I did enjoy Harper’s SL with Aaron and him trying to get that man justice. His reason why behind it and all as well. He develops very nicely as a character. I do love having him around a lot.

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chronicbeans · 4 months ago

Note

Hihi I really like your really detailed headcanons about Skin-Taker and how he views people with skin conditions and I also like the guests from a foreign country, I was wondering what would he feel about certain traditions / holidays around the world about death like All Souls day , day of the dead , etc . Think of this as a prompt type of thing.

Oh, I definitely have ideas for this! While my version of Candle Cove changes the names of holidays and, sometimes, changes some aspects about it, some people remember episodes that included episodes about The Day of the Dead and All Souls Day happening in the second half of the show due to it personalizing itself to them.

The Skintaker, especially, had interesting reactions to the guests that showed up with these traditions. This was most likely because of the fact that, while Candle Cove is filled with despair and references to death and mourning, there isn't necessarily a holiday celebrated there about it.

TW: Skintaker Misunderstanding Traditions, Mentions of Skinning (it's the Skintaker we're talking about)

☠️ The Skintaker, at first, was genuinely angry at the guest who was celebrating The Day of the Dead. Due to the "Candle Cove Halloween Stand In" being all about celebrating and appeasing the Skintaker by dressing and trick or treating as a skeleton, and The Day of the Dead falling near that holiday, he assumed the face paint he wore was to make fun of him. You don't just go around wearing it all the time! You don't cover the skull in designs! So, when Horace told him about this guest, The Skintaker had him kidnap this guest so they could talk. In an ironic twist, the guest was able to leave a path of flower petals as Horace took him to the Skintaker, leaving a path for Percy and Janice to follow, much like how some leave paths of petals for the spirits of their loved ones to follow while visiting earth.

☠️ Nobody knows exactly what happened between the time of him getting kidnapped and Percy and Janice showing up, but by the time they arrived The Skintaker was getting calavera makeup done by the guest. It seems like he was able to tell him what it was actually about, and teach some traditions to him while he was waiting for Percy and Janice to show up, so he was safe most of the time he was waiting.

☠️ The Skintaker seems to love the holiday, now, even if he's not the most enthusiastic while celebrating it. He claims to not have any dead family or friends to mourn, because he doesn't have either, but he does not mind the idea of those celebrating it. This comment caused Horace to cry out "What about ME?! I'm your friend, yeah?!" Only for The Skintaker to reply that he's a sidekick, not a friend, and that he shouldn't confuse the two.

☠️ As for All Souls Day, much like the episode with the Polish woman going to a festival, the episode completely cuts out two of the main cast. However, instead of cutting out the Skintaker and Horace, it cut out Percy and Janice by having it occur after Janice and Percy drop the guest off on land. People describe the guest as being a woman with a slight Hungarian accent, which seemed to imply it was basing it off or the creator's research into Hungarian traditions, specifically.

☠️ The Skintaker shows up after she leaves some food and flowers around one of the tombstones. He recognizes the flowers being there for mourning, but he doesn't understand why the food is there, causing him to pick it up to try to return it to the lady ("Like the gentleman I am", according to him), thinking she just forgot it there. However, this results in a classic "cartoon misunderstanding", where the lady confuses him with the spirit of her husband visiting earth on All Souls Day because he has the food she made for her husband. Despite the Skintaker trying to explain that he isn't her husband's spirit, and he simply thought she forgot the food there and now intends to return it to the grave due to knowing why it's there, she doesn't buy it. Instead, she believes he must be self-conscious due to appearing as a skeleton on earth, and doesn't want her to know he's her husband because of it. The Skintaker, at this point, decides to play along and return the food to the grave later.

☠️ He gets dragged around to all "their" favorite sightseeing spots in Candle Cove, before she brings them to "his brother's" house to show him all the pictures she still has of her husband. He quickly panics, realizing that the man is somebody he had skinned, and that his grave and his brother's home is probably located in Candle Cove instead of Hungary because he lived there instead of Hungary. Having a "I must get out of here" moment, he tells her that he has to go back to the spirit world, before scurrying off back to the grave in order to return the food.

☠️ It then goes to a scene of him in his lair, talking to Horace about the lady and all the things he went through that day. He expresses an uneasy feeling, now that he knows the life that man lived before he got to him. Then, in a shocking moment, he takes the patch of the man's skin off of his cloak, before going to his grave to "give it back" by leaving it there. He states that "If you can give food and flowers on this day by leaving things there, Horace, you should be able to give back their skin through the same means."

#candle cove #candle cove headcanons #Not associated with the wiki #candle cove skintaker #the skintaker #skintaker #Yippee my first Candle Cove ask!

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spookieypookie · 1 year ago

Text

NO. #1

"But now this room is spinning while I'm trying just to fill in all the gaps." | "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Summary: The Captain gets black out drunk at a party and remembers the last time that occurred.

CW: disassociation, unreality, delusion, multiple realities, mention of murders, deaths, the works

Words: 2,552

"Hey, hey, Captain? Captain, are you okay?"

"When did the room start spinning?" You asked.

"Captain?!" Mark looked concerned. His face looked funny all scrunched up like that.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Mark asked, holding up three fingers.

"Uum, eleven?" Your counting skills weren't the best right now. And neither were your eyes. Or anything else.

You lost consciousness before you could register what was happening. You wouldn't have known, but someone caught you before you fell.

…

You woke up. After catching up to the fact that you were now awake, you were in pain. Excruciating pain. The worst migraine ever. Aches all over. Oh and you were in a gurney. That was never good.

"Um hello?" Luckily someone was there with you. He never left your side after all.

"C-captain! I'm sorry I fell asleep…"

He seemed ashamed of himself. "Don't worry Mark. You didn't have to stay in that uncomfortable chair for however long…"

You cleared your throat. "How, how long was I out? I remember the party and the toast with the champagne… poker, and games, and oh my god didn't Damien do a keg stand?! Everything's blurry. I don't quite remember last night and I'm trying just to fill in all the gaps."

"Doctors! Celci! Get in here!" Mark called out the door.

"Um, Captain, your head might be in worse shape than just a hangover… there's no Damien as part of our crew and… there were no poker games last night?"

"You don't know who Damien is? But Maaaaark, he's your friend! How could you not kno-"

Then it hit you. Mark was dead. You remembered his dead body wrapped in that red robe on the floor.

"Nonononono…." You went into a panic, everything around you blurred.

"Celci get in here quick! We have a medical emergency!" Mark called out again.

…

"The Captain's unresponsive," Mark informed Celci.

"How long have they been like this?"

"They woke up just a few minutes ago and they seemed fine! Until they started talking crazy and now it seems they're disassociating or something I don't know!"

"Mark, calm down. Yelling doesn't help right now. What do you mean talking crazy?"

"They were trying to recall the events from last night, but it seems like they got black out drunk or something. They don't remember much… but then they said they remembered Damien doing a keg stand? And something about poker?"

CC couldn't put her finger on it but something about that name struck a chord with her.

"Did they say anything else about this Damien?" CC asked.

"They said I should know him because he's my friend?" Mark said, exasperated. "I don't know about you, but I've never met a Damien in my life. Let alone at last night's crew party."

"Okay. You stay with the Captain, let me see what I can find out."

…

Celci went to the server room. She had no last names and almost no clues, but she'd look anyway.

She typed in 'Damien' and millions of results came up. "Ugh this won't help."

'Damien and Mark' less results came up, but as Celci scrolled through it still seemed useless.

'Damien keg stand' nothing worth looking into popped up.

'Damien Mark party'

Now the results were getting interesting.

"Mayor Damien Whitacare has no comment on the death of former Hollywood star, Mark Iplier. Mark Iplier showed up dead at his mansion last Tuesday during a party with friends. Police have not released any information, but amateur news reporters, Jim and Jim, say they have evidence from the crime scene. The story continues to unfold…"

"Hmmm…" Whitacare where had Celci seen that name before?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was just Mark and the Captain. Mark and a very hungover and confused Captain. Did someone put something in their drink last night? Your behavior had Mark worried.

"You-you-you" your voice quivered as you pointed an accusing finger towards Mark. "You died, you're dead. Am I dead? What's happening?"

"Sshhh, Captain calm down…" Mark tried to soothe you by rubbing your hand.

"Don't touch me!" You screamed, still unsure if what you were seeing was real.

"Captain are you remembering the wormhole incident or something? I know we haven't really talked about it, but I know it must've been awful for you," Mark tried to calm you down.

"Wormhole? What are you talking about?"

"You-you don't remember?" Mark was close to tears.

"W-wormholes don't exist. Are you trying out method acting or something?" You asked, Mark was talking nonsense and he was a talking corpse.

"W-wormholes don't exist?" Now Mark was extremely puzzled. "Captain, that's how we got here… to the new planet."

Suddenly, Mark got an idea. "Captain, what year is it?"

"What year is it? What type of question is…." You thought for a moment. "Well, it's 19-"

"NINETEEN??!" Mark responded. "Captain, it's 2083."

"What?"

~~~

"Ahh, Dorene Whitacare," Celci greeted the colonist at their new residence on the planet.

"And what do I owe the pleasure?" Dorene asks before taking out a plate of cookies. "You can have one if you like dearie."

"Thank you, Ms. Whitacare, but I was wondering if you knew a Mark?"

"Why that's the name of that head engineer isn't it? I don't like him, he always gets my title wrong."

Celci felt a sort of kinship that she couldn't explain with Dorene. It seemed to go further than just shared hatred.

"Well, yes, but do you know any other Marks?"

"Hmm. Good question," says Dorene.

"Or-or a Damien?" Celci asks.

"Now that's a name I haven't heard in quite some time…"

~~~

"Captain, who are you?"

"I'm the DA. I'm not reading scripts with you or improvising or whatever this is Mark. Who are you and please just tell me the truth."

"A district attorney?"

"Yes ever since the mayor promoted me. I don't want to be a part of whatever game or story this is, Actor."

"Actor?" Mark asked.

"You. Because you know you're the actor. Do you have amnesia or something?"

"No but I think you do. I'm not an actor. I'm your head engineer. You're the Captain. Of our ship the Invincible II? Any of this ring a bell?"

"Invincible II? After the first 'Invincible' went down they decided to make another one? Has no one learned from the Titanic?"

"Captain-"

"Would you stop calling me that! I told you I didn't want to be part of your story today, Actor. Go bother someone else."

"Well okay, Cap- I mean District Attorney. I think it's best if you rest for a bit and I'll just be out in the hall."

"Okay Mark."

~~~

"So Mayor Damien Whitacare was your great uncle?" Celci asked.

"Why yes, something like that." Dorene answered.

"Do you know anything about that news story? About the dead actor-"

"Only that he had what was coming to him."

"What do you mean by that?"

"He was playing with powers he couldn't understand. Things from beyond the veil. It manipulated him and ruined everyone close to him."

"Well uh, nice talking with you Dorene, but I have to check on the Captain," Celci clumsily left the conversation, feeling very uncomfortable.

"I'm sure you do," she said.

~~~

Mark and Celci bumped into each other, running away from their subsequent conversations.

"Hey, watch i-" Celci interrupted herself when she realized he came from the Captain's room. "What did they say?"

Mark rubbed his head where they collided before continuing, "that they're a district attorney? And I'm an actor… and that I'm…"

"Dead?" Celci asked.

"How did you know?"

…

"So let me get this straight, over a 100 years ago, some famous actor named Mark died at a party with this Mayor Damien and mysterious District Attorney?" Mark asked.

"And the case was never solved. The police tried to cover it up, blaming this crazy colonel or some blaming a detective who was there that night, but it doesn't add up. Who hired the detective to be at the party and why? Also the District Attorney, the Mayor, and some other guests disappeared that night. The chef, butler, and groundskeeper all told the policemen their stories, but…"

"But?" Mark asked.

"They all said something supernatural happened. They were all speaking nonsense."

"But why does our Captain think they're connected to this DA?"

"I'm not sure. There's a colonist on board who's a descendant of the mayor or something but I don't know."

"Who's a descendant of the Mayor?"

"Dorene Whitacare." CC answered.

~~~

"Hey Captain, are you feeling any better?" Celine asked.

"I told Mark I'm the DA. You can drop the act. I don't know why you of all people would play along with him though."

"Ok DA. And who am I?" She asked.

"You're all acting so weird! You're Celine! The seer? Mark's ex wife? Any of this sound familiar?"

Saying no would be a lie. Some part of Celci felt like she was somehow connected to all of this. She didn't believe in reincarnation and past lives, but… after what she'd seen in the wormhole, she does believe in multiple universes. Perhaps the Captain was remembering a universe so vividly, they were stuck in it mentally.

Maybe if Celci could remind them of the end of this universe when they were inevitably sucked into a wormhole they could break them out of it.

"Right. Right. Well can you tell me what you remember from the party?"

~~~

"Hello, Mrs. Whitacare," Mark greeted.

"How many times do I have to tell you I'm not married anymore young man!"

"S-sorry Ms, Ms. Whitacare," Mark corrected.

It may have been the first time she reminded him in this universe, but they both remembered.

"About that… who were you married to before?" Mark asked hesitantly.

"That's none of your business boy!"

"Okay, uh sorry. Do you want to tell me about your great uncle Damien?"

"Here, I baked cookies."

She was avoiding the question, but Mark was still going to take one. "Sure. Thank you. Would you know anything about…" Mark paused for a moment. He was getting nowhere asking about Mark or Damien. He should go to the root of the cause.

"Sorry, I meant to say… what do you think of our Captain?" Mark asked.

"Well I think they've made a lot of mistakes. But they've been through a lot, and they're very strong to have gotten this far."

"Does the Captain remind you of anyone?"

"Why yes they do. Multiple people," Dorene answered.

"And who would that be, Ms. Whitacare?"

"Why, I need to get the cookies out of the oven. You can interrogate me some other time, Mark." Dorene got up and headed towards her kitchen.

"But you already had cookies…"

~~~

"Well, the gang was back together again! There was a toast by Mark himself of course, poker games, a keg stand, probably a fight or two… Honestly, I don't remember much. And I fell asleep around 1:30 am, but…" you said.

"Go on," Celine encouraged.

"Well I woke up the next morning and Mark was dead. His body on the floor. Out of nowhere. The detective turned it into an investigation. Said it wasn't an accident. Everyone started accusing each other. It was chaos. But you know the rest."

"I know the rest?" She asked.

"Because you suddenly showed up. I don't know why… maybe because your lover William hadn't come home? I don't know. But you are the master manipulator. You could turn everyone against me in a second. And then the ritual and the time…"

"What else were you doing in these days after the party?"

"Well I was helping the detective as best I could. But I didn't know who I could believe. My dear old friends or a man of the law or the staff… none of it added up. The colonel's eccentric but he wouldn't… he… William wouldn't…" it was all flooding back to you. The fights, the lightning storm, the gunshots. William shot the detective and then he shot… you."

"I-I I'm dead. He shot me and I fell off the balcony… how am I here?"

"Do you remember what happened next?"

What was happening. Was this another one of Celine's rituals?

"I… I was in the void. With the actor's corpse. And you and Damien… you said everything would be okay… you trapped me." You started to cry. "You walked away with my body and you just left me there!"

Mark walked in at the worst moment.

"And you! You! This is all your fault! It was all your stupid plan for revenge! We were your friends! How could you." You hit your fists against his chest until sobs crashed over you and you just leaned against him.

"Hey, it's going to be okay, Ca- District Attorney. You're no longer trapped. You're on a new planet far, far away from Earth and everyone who hurt you." Mark tried to comfort you.

"Is this another one of your lies?"

You ran out of the room. You ran out of the hospital. But they were right. This didn't look like earth. The plants were different. There were two moons in the sky. A memory of Mark, your head engineer, crossed your mind. He was in front of that glass window, holding a coffee mug and telling you about the new planet you've discovered. The ship… the- the warp core.

You felt the scar on your hand. The warp crystal. You were the Captain not the DA. Was it another universe you remembered? Or a past life? Maybe a little of both…

~~~

Eventually, Mark caught up to you.

"District Attorney?"

"It's alright. I know I'm the Captain now." You sat on a hill admiring the stars. They looked different than on Earth. You wondered if you could name a constellation.

"Do you know what happened?"

"I'm not sure. I was so stuck in this other reality. All the multiverses we went through and lives we've lived… I guess it was bound to happen and scramble my mind eventually."

"Let's hope it doesn't happen again. It was kind of scary," Mark admitted.

"Yeah… do you remember past lives?"

"Yeah. Quite a few. Most I'd rather forget."

"We really screwed stuff up with that wormhole huh?"

"I screwed stuff up," Mark said.

"No. We did. I was the Captain. I was in charge and I…. I played with my crew, the colonists I was supposed to protect, I played with you like toys. Like your lives were nothing more than dust on the wind."

"I built the warp core. I'm the whole reason all this happened in the first place."

"You were trying to fix my mistakes."

"That you didn't make!" Mark argued.

"Because I lost your trust. I lost everyone's trust. I was a poor leader. Now enough dwelling on the past. Let's run this colony as best we can, okay?" You asked.

"Yeah," Mark agreed.

"And I promise to never get that drunk again."

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murder-drones-sidelines-official · 2 months ago

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Murder Drones: Sidelines

Meet the misfits #1

Living underground never really bothered me. It was safe, there was plenty of room, and I had my own room to myself. Everything was pretty alright…well, until something happened with the Doorman colony.

Oh! I should introduce myself, sorry, my name is Lui.

[Lui POV]

I am a worker drone, and while I don’t remember anything about the humans of copper-09, I do know somewhat about earth and its history. Humans can write so well for a species that likes to blow itself up, their books are fun to read through. Wait- I’m getting off track, here’s why I’m writing this. Recently, after something involving the purple haired girl from the other colony, Uzi I think, and her murder drone friends had that ended with the planet falling apart only to pull back together, we all began searching topside again. Some moved out to live up there, for some reason, while others simply wanted to explore. And I was one of the explorer types. If only I knew where it would have led me. I was exploring this frozen lake, the ice somehow not being shattered by the global incident that had occurred not too long ago, when I came across something that made me nearly blue screen out of pure fear. There, climbing out of a hole in the ground, was a new disassembly drone! The first thing I noticed was the green scribbles badly covering his yellow accents, but the X over his visor as he spotted me told me he wasn’t planning anything friendly. I turned and attempted to run, completely forgetting that I was on ice, and I ended up visor first on the ground. I groaned as the crack across my screen let out a small sparking sound as I rolled to my back and faced my impending doom. I closed my eyes to brace for the claws that he read revealed and…nothing happened. After a moment I heard him…speak?

“Psst…hey. Are you dead?” The murder drone spoke.

“...uh...n-no...? I uh ...” I barely replied, unsure how to feel about the situation I found myself in.

“Oh. Well good, I would’ve been so disappointed if the first drone I ran into just dropped dead on sight. I mean, even if I were planning to tear you apart, that would’ve just taken the fun out of it.” He replied, his words making me worry for my safety while simultaneously questioning his sanity.

“…o-oh…well…I’m happy to…not d-disappoint you..?” I hesitantly replied, slowly getting to my feet.

The murder drone just laughed at my words and put an arm around me, causing me to flinch and let out a yelp. “You’re different. I like that about you, you would be fun prey.” he said, as I was suddenly feeling very uncomfortable having his arm around me.

“H-heh…yeah…” I reply hesitantly, wriggling out of his grasp and taking step back, getting a weird look from the murder drone.

“…ohhh you’re scared, ain’t ya? ha! Don’t worry buddy, I’m not gonna kill ya. I would’ve done so already if I wanted to. Naaah I’m just happy to be out of that hole in the ground, and to be in a body again! Y’know, glass jars are super uncomfortable.” The murder drone rambled on, I simply nodded my head along to everything he said.

“I uh…I see. W-well I should probably get going…back home. It was nice meeting you, mr…murder drone..?” I said as I slowly stepped away from him. but alas, I was not so lucky, as he was suddenly next to me with his arm around me once again. I feel like he doesn’t know what personal space is.

“The Name’s Serial Designation B, but I prefer Brad. Say, how about I come back with you n’ hang around your people? I promise to only kill those you don’t care about losing. Honest!” The mur...I mean Brad, said as he put a clawed hand on his chest to show he was swearing on it.

“I...g-guess you could come with..? If you d-don’t mind getting stared at…and seeing other murder drones..” I replied reluctantly, trying my best to inch away from Brad.

Brad’s claws changed back to regular hands as he clapped them together, suddenly lifting me off my feet. “Great! Here, let’s take a shortcut!” He said as we were suddenly flying through the air back to the bunker. The whole time, I was screaming in absolute fear. I am not familiar nor am I comfortable with being so high up or moving so fast! I think I’m gonna throw up!

[Brad POV]

Alright, guess it’s my turn to continue the story! How fun, where do I start! Firstly I’m serial designation B(rad), my colors were always green and anyone who says otherwise is a liar, aaaand I’m the funniest out of all the disassembly drones. Buuut anyways, on with the story!

So now we’re flyin’ through the sky towards this dork’s home, and man he will NOT stop screaming! I don’t get it, if we’re gonna be an iconic Duo then he’s gotta get used to flying pretty quick. Eventually this guy calms down as I take us above the clouds, luckily it wasn’t day otherwise we woulda had an Icarus situation on our hands (whoever the hell Icarus is, sounds like a real loser). I guess the sight of the night sky above us, along with the rushing clouds below us, calmed him down enough to at least stop screaming. From the glances I took, he looked absolutely starstruck from the sight and honestly…It was one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen, this dork looks like a puppy getting his first chew toy! So of course, I try spicing up the moment with a couple barrel rolls! He…didn’t appreciate it much, but I did hear a chuckle escape his lips (despite how nervous it sounded, still a win!). Anyways, after that achievement I decide to dive straight down, y’know just for the thrill, to which the dork also didn’t appreciate. When we landed, he was shaking like a leaf and gripping on my back like a baby sloth. Seriously, this guy’s adorable. If all worker drones are like this, I may need to find a new diet. But yeah, we landed right outside what I was guessing was his bunker. So the Little guy climbs off my back and stumbles over to the door on those shaky noodle legs like a baby giraffe, I was kinda tempted to nudge him n’ see if he’d fall over…but I didn’t! But yeah while we’re walkin’ up to the bunker door, lil’ dude decides to turn to me and say something I wasn’t expecting.

“…h-hey. thanks for…n-not killing me and all..” lil’ dude says, and I’m just completely caught off guard ‘cause this guy has seemed like any sudden move on my part would make him explode.

“Oh? yeah no problem, dork. And quit with the shiverin’ like a wet dog, I already told ya I ain’t gonna hurt you or anybody you like.” I tell ‘em, which...doesn’t fully stop his fearful shaking but it did seem to help him chill out some more.

“Y-yeah, I know…I just c-can’t help but be a little scared, you know..?” He replies, and I’ll be honest…that kinda made me realize just how bad we messed up these guys. Like, I’m out here bein’ as nice as possible and he’s STILL terrified of me. Damn...we really are the worst, eh?

“…yeaah I can understand why. I mean, we didn’t exactly drop outta the sky with hugs n’ rainbows at the ready.” I tell the little man, which gets a genuine laugh out of him. They never told us disassembly drones this, but Damn it feels good to be…good.

“T-that’s true...listen, I s-still may be scared of you...but I think I actually...trust you somewhat? I m-mean, you haven’t killed me...yet..” he tells me, and I’ll admit that hit me in the feels. I felt a big smile come across my face and I placed a hand on his head, givin’ his dorky hard hat head a couple pats.

Man I’m so good at this friendship thing, and they said I would never make any friends. Suck It, JCJenson!

So yeah, we enter the bunker finally and the door opens. I see the little guy avoid eye contact and avoid the drones at the door, so I’m guessin’ he I doesn’t care much for these ones. I think about gettin’ a quick snack from these suckers, but nah. I only just got here, no need to start trouble already. I follow behind Lui and…I already lost track of him. Huh, he’s surprisingly good at disappearing. Welp, I guess I’ll just have to get comfy around all these new faces and that other disassembly drone…wait what???

[TO BE CONTINUED...]

Master post | Next [coming soon]

#murder drones #murder drones fandom #murder drones fanfic #murder drones ocs #Murder Drones: Sidelines #murder drones lui #murder drones Brad #worker drone #disassembly drone #murder drones au #I think?#this can count as an au #right?

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elderflowerchampagne · 1 year ago

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163 (11/19 late)

Oh God. I can't quite put all the words together yet to accurately describe how this feels, or what I'll do with myself. I don't know. Grieve, I guess, as we all are. Change. Let go. But oh, God.

I skipped writing one of these for my last visit back in August, which of course I now regret. I wish I had written everything down, every visit. But alas. Anyway, back in August dear wonderful Emily Oldak surprised me and showed up as matron. And if that's the last time I enter that hut, OK. OK.

Mostly I spent this visit walking around and shaking. I thought I'd feel compelled to do everything, see everything, start my goodbyes, but I wasn't. I couldn't cry, either, because I was just happy to be there, in those dearly beloved familiar halls that have formed so much of the landscape of my life over the past 12 years. It's been somewhere to hide, somewhere to celebrate, grieve, and be safe. Looking back over past recaps, the word I used most to describe this place was "sturdy." It was a place where, no matter what was happening on the outside, I could say, "Well, at least I've got...." And losing that is scary.

I had this overwhelming urge to hug the walls, as in quite literally wrap my arms around them and hold on for dear life. Thank you, beloved old friend, thank you.

One of my favorite residents is the coyote in the fifth floor laundry room. I have a vivid memory of being so startled by him on my first visit that I screamed. Over the years I've often stopped by to give him nose scratches or pets, but this time I sat next to him on the floor, wrapped my arms around his neck, and just sat there for as long as I could without looking like a lunatic. Was nice to have something to cling to. I've never noticed before that he has a friend who stands on top of the lockers.

I've become obsessed with what I've never noticed, and with the feeling that as time slips away from us there will always be things I never knew, pieces I never put together, things that were obvious to everyone else that I never figured out. That never used to stress me out before. I guess I figured we'd always have time.

Aaron Samuel Davis is a wonderful Boy Witch. It's been years since I saw the pool table solo, and even longer since I saw the shower scene. Do all Boy Witches throw their shoes in the sink?

My first love, believe it or not, was Bald Witch. She's not really someone I've paid all that much attention to since reopening, but I like Micaela so I stayed after the first ball to watch her dance with Macduff. It never occurred to me that the bird cry is likely Hecate calling her up to the fourth floor

I love you, green light that sweeps down during the rave.

Taylor is a great nurse - the first I've ever seen bust out the maskography.

As I usually do when shows are crowded, I spent most of my time on my favorite floor drifting around and reading patient files. There was a new one I'd never seen - Sara Matthews, who poisoned all her children and now keeps muttering something about her mother and a lighthouse. Her husband's name is Jonathan but she'll freak out if you mention him. She's receiving regular shock treatment.

I spent some time just sitting on Lady Macduff's bed in their apartment downstairs. How have I never noticed they have a front door? Anyway, I sat there squinting at her Latin Bible passages and the spray of dried flowers above her bed. I've never really questioned why the Macduffs sleep in separate beds, though of course I've always known they do. I only just recently learned the meaning of the pin candle, too. She's waddling proof that their sex life is somewhat intact, but I don't think it's a coincidence that she has the bedroom of a little girl, or that the flowers above her bed are all dead. Beautiful drunken pregnant lady, I will miss you most of all. Anyway, as I was sitting there, I turned and saw a doorway full of white masks staring at me.

No matter what I do I can't shake the feeling that this will end and I will somehow have never understood this place, never have done it "correctly," never actually seen what's in front of me. And as time slips away from us (as, of course, it's been doing all these years), I feel compelled to stuff as many visits between me and the end as possible. Which is to say I'll be there Saturday late.

At some point between now and 1/28 I'll probably end up on the floor somewhere just muttering, "I love you, don't leave me," but we're not there just yet.

#sleep no more

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kasu-m1 · 7 months ago

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Kasumi ♠️:

Basics :

-Name : Kasumi

-surname : Tenshiro

-age : 20

- birth date : 13 june

-Gender : woman

-sexuality : straight

Appearance :

-height : 160 cm

-weight : 54 kg

- hair : short, straight & black

- eyes : left : grey ish blue (scarred)/ right : black (minnow)

-skin : pale beige

-body type : rather muscular

(Here’s a some art I made !)

Personality :

- best at ♠️ games

- first impression : cold, distant, quiet, serious

- beliefs : doesn’t really believe in any god but believes in life after death

- fav color : purple n blue

- greatest strength : physical

- greatest weakness : social interactions (lmao)

- pessimistic realistic

- introvert

- skilled : armed and hand-to-hand combats

- unskilled : collaborating with others

Game skills :

Best at ♠️

Good at ♦️

Okay ish at ♣️

Least good at ♥️

More random details

- she’s ambidextrous (can use both hands equally well and doesn’t have a dominant hand)

- chews on fingernails (not really because of stress but she developed the habit of doing it)

- often cracks her knuckles and neck sometimes without even realizing

- high pain tolerance (this will make sense when you read the story)

- gives off cyber like vibes (kinda like the banner)

- she can analyze people quite accurately but when it comes to social interactions with new people, oof

- she’s awkward. And no not the “omg she’s so awkward cutie”, more like the “can look you dead in the eyes without talking for 38 mins” awkward.

- sarcasm is like a coping mechanism for her. Thing is sometimes it actually takes time for people to get it because of how serious she looks

- has a soft spot for cats but will NEVER show or admit it.

- she does talk more to people she considers as “friends”

- always wears a hairpin that her sister gave her (on the pic)

- the scars on her left and her right cheek are due to some street fights she had.

Lore

“You were an amazing person. Then you became my saddest memory.”

Before the Bordelands

Kasumi’s pov

I was too young to remember my parent’s divorce but from what she told me it was a hard moment.

Mother is mean. She doesn’t care about us and she doesn’t love us like mothers do, but she told me that mother is mean because she’s aching, because she misses dad. Even when he hits her. So she’s the one who takes care of me. My real mom.

My sister, she raised me and gave me the love I needed from a mother who didn’t care about me, about both of us. She played the role of a parent I never had and she sweet oh so sweet. I never thought so much sweetness could turn bitter so quickly.

One day coming home from school at thirteen, I expected the usual greeting when I entered my sister’s room. Her caring gaze and her comforting arms. But I got neither. What I got was her cold, lifeless body hanging from the ceiling light.

What happened next was fast and blurry.

I think I screamed, my mother entered the room and she was equally shocked. Police came next. They tried to talk to me but I wasn’t responsive. A part of me died with her that day.

After that, my mother tried to make things “right” with me. I hated it, only her death made her realize how awful she’s been ?

I lost what I cared about and I wanted to join her, but I couldn’t.

“…Kasu, live on for me. You’ll do amazing, or at least better than me at life. I love you…”

So I kept living by that line.

At 18 I got involved with the Yakuzas, I learnt how to defend myself and how real physical pain felt.

I was 20 then, when it occurred. The fireworks.

Borderlands :

3rd person pov

At first, she was extremely confused, and a bit panicked. But she quickly understood the way games worked.

Working her way through each games and soon finding the Beach, the Utopia in this cruel world.

Trouble was only starting.

She would spend most of her time roaming around alone in the beach. But soon came the time where she had to play a game to keep living.

She was sent to play with Chishiya since their skills were apparently a fit. She had physical strength and he had the intelligence. Their game was tag.

They won without much problem.

Relationships :

- Arisu : she finds him smart and fine to hangout with since he doesn’t speak that much. They both played games together and she finds him to be… useful.

- Usagi : almost the same as Arisu though she doesn’t speak with her as much for some reasons. She really admire her climbing skills.

- The hatter : he is… a bit too loud and weird. She doesn’t really like hanging out around him but she tolerates him.

- Aguni : she respects him but doesn’t like him. She tries to stay out of his way though to not have problems with the militants

- Niragi : she hates his loud self but respects him as a militant. She finds him to be overly annoying though. (Bonus : she sometimes wished to fight hand-to-hand against him if he wasn’t so crazy.)

- Kuina : she enjoys her presence. She surprisingly finds her talkativeness to be quite pleasant (probably because she doesn’t have to interact with anyone else when Kuina’s there). She considers her as a good acquaintance. (Also wishes to try and fight her someday in a friendly way).

- Chishiya : she feels… conflicted. She has trouble reading him and hates that stupid smirk of his for that. Even so, she ends us spending quite some time with him because she sticks around Kuina when she’s not alone, roaming. She doesn’t particularly hates him but doesn’t trust him that much. (Bonus : she finds his intelligence impressive but would never admit it)

- Ann : She is positive about her, she like the way she deals with the games and everything in general. But most of all, she loves her seriousness and professionalism in every situation.

-mun 🩻🫀

#out of character.#ooc post #ooc #oc lore #aib roleplay #minors dni #mdni

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duhragonball · 7 months ago

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Neon Genesis Evangelion 23

"Heads up, NERV, becuase the 16th Angel is going to bring you down! That's right, you may have defeated all those other Angels, but I'm even stronger than all of them put together! I'm like a laser rope or something, and I've got creepy powers that let me burrow under people's skin or whatever. Oh, and those big guns your Evas use? Big deal! Those don't work on me! Now, take your best shot, humans, because it's the only chance you're gonna... wait."

"Kid, are you okay? Uh... don't you want to shoot at me or something?"

"Ma'am, I think the red one's having some kind of problem, maybe you could send out... Ma'am? Hello?"

"Uh... maybe I should come back tomorrow? Is that okay? Yeah, we'll pick this up some other time. Uh... sorry about... whatever just happened. Yeesh."

So Asuka is doing... well, I wouldn't call it "okay", but she's playing video games all day and spending every night at her friends' house. I mean, there's probably worse ways to cope with everything she's been through.

The SEELE group is mad at Gendo Ikari for several reasons, but most recently he lost the Lance of Longius during the most recent Angel battle, and they seem to think it's extremely important to their future plans. Gendo argues that the top priority of NERV is to destroy the Angels, and the Lance was the only way to do that. But they don't see it that way. During this little conference, another Angel is sighted over Tokyo-3, so Gendo excuses himself to deal with that. Meanwhile, SEELE openly worries that Gendo will betray them soon.

Let me try to summarize what I know about these guys. They seem to have something called the "Dead Sea Scrolls", which apparently allows them to predict certain future events. It occurred to me today that the name "Dead Sea Scrolls" may be a reference to the site of Second Impact, since Admiral Clownshoes once compared the waters of post-Impact Antarcica as a literal "dead sea".

Anyway, the SEELE plan apparently is their agenda to guide humanity beyond the dangers predicted in the Dead Sea Scrolls. The NERV Agency is charged with executing that plan, and SEELE also seems to believe that the Lance of Longius is critical to their success. They also think there should be at least eight Eva Units active.

But Gendo Ikari can barely keep three Evas in the field at the same time, and he seems to think that the only one he absolutely needs is Unit 01. So SEELE is mad about the destruction of Units 03 and 04, and the Lance being chucked into outer space, but Gendo Ikari considers this acceptable losses.

SEELE's dilemma is that they don't like or trust Gendo, but they have no alternative but to let him run the show. He's the only one who can, and yet they seem adamant that they understand the situation better than he does. Recently, they tried to turn Admiral Clownshoes against Gendo, but nothing came of it, so now they need another pawn to use against him. This turns out to be Ritsuko Akagi, so seems to be a better choice, since she actually knows more about what's going on.

So with the 16th Angel headed their way, the only one ready to fight it is Rei in Unit 00. Shinji is set up in Unit 01, but Gendo doesn't want to use him because no one is sure what might happen after that latest incident where Unit 01 went berserk and ate an Angel. As for Unit 02, Asuka suits up one more time to pilot it, but her sync rating has declined to the point where she literally can't operate the Eva anymore. Gendo orders it launched for use as a decoy, but it can't even step off the elevator when it reaches the surface. This doesn't help Asuka's morale at all.

Anyway, I think that's a really cool screenshot of Rei up there. I don't know, she just looks really sharp.

The Angel goes right for Rei, who grab it, but her gun is ineffective, and the Angel sends some sort of creepy veins into her Eva, and then into her own body.

Like Shinji from before, she experiences some sort of vision of another being, which appears in her form. Once again, I can't tell if this is the Angel or her own Eva. It offers to merge with her, and she refuses.

She snaps out of it and realizes that she was the one crying over her loneliness, and not the other she encountered in her mind. I think the Angel's effect on her is supposed to be intensely painful, but Rei's so stoic and unexpressive that she just isn't letting on.

With no other options, Gendo deploys Shinji to assist, but Rei doesn't want to put him at risk, so she activates some sort of self-destruct on her Eva. She refuses to abandon the Eva, because she needs to stay with it to maintain its AT field. I'm not sure why the self-destruct would work, since Rei already shot the Angel at point-blank range with no effect, but it does destroy the target, so I guess she knows what she's doing.

Ritsuko leads a recovery mission and they find the entry plug from Unit 00, but there doesn't seem to be any evidence of survivors.

Afterward, Misato tries to comfort Shinji but he refuses any affection from her, as it his wont. Then Misato gets a phone call...

And Rei's alive! Suspiciously, she has all the same injuries she had when she debuted in Episode 1, but I don't know if that's supposed to mean anything. Shinji thanks Rei for sacrificing Unit 00 to save him from the Angel's powers, but she has no memory of doing that.

Shinji doesn't understand, and she replies that it's "probably because I'm the third one." Hoo-boy.

At her home, Rei... well, a Rei, I suppose... she finds that broken pair of glasses from the time Gendo rescued her from the entry plug. She had kept them as a momento of that day, but now Rei... this Rei... grips them tightly, as though trying to crush them. Then she stops, and starts crying, and she doesn't know why.

Rei's apparent survival does raise some awkward questions. Admiral Clownshoes warns that this might cause problems with SEELE, and Gendo says he's bypassed this by sending them "an alternative."

That is, apparently, Ritsuko, who has been brought before SEELE to answer their questions in Rei's place. This is sort of like when SEELE questioned Misato a while back, because they wanted to talk to Shinji, and Misato refused to allow it because of his poor mental state. Well, this time Ritsuko is standing in for Rei, probably because Gendo didn't want SEELE to learn more about Rei.

And for some reason, Ritsuko appears to be nude for this interview? I mean, she could be wearing some strapless dress or something. I don't know what the point of this is. Anyway, she acts cool about it until SEELE informs her that Gendo was the one who put her here on the hot seat in Rei's place.

Meanwhile, Misato finally opens that little capsule Kaji gave her the last time they had sex, and it contains a little microchip. His voice mail to her said that he had sent her the same information at least thirty-six ways, but he knew most of them wouldn't make it. Presumably, this was the one that got through. I had wondered why Misato hadn't bothered to follow up on Kaji's investigation of NERV's secrets, and it looks like she's been too busy grieving over him to get to this point. So it looks like she's finally ready. Maybe Rei's miraculous survival was what tipped the scales.

Later, Ritsuko calls Shinji and takes him down to the bowels of NERV headquarters, but Misato shows up to meet them and pulls a gun on Ritsuko. Misato wants to see the secret for herself, and Ritsuko agrees, if Shinji can come along. Misato's fine with that, so off they go.

She takes them to a room that looks a lot like Rei's apartment, and Ritsuko explains that Rei grew up in that room. Then she shows them a chamber full of failed Eva models, including the one Shinji's mom was working on when she died. Apparently Shinji doesn't remember that he saw her die, but Ritsuko tells him he was there when it happened.

Then she takes them to the room where Rei would soak in that tube full of Tang. As I thought, this is how they made the Dummy Plug, but it's more than just recording Rei's brain patterns.

All around the room is a big tank full of Reis. I kind of saw this coming, but still, this is pretty creepy.

What's extra creepy is how they all open their eyes and smile at Shinji when he says their name. Ritsuko explain what they are and what they're for, but I don't really get it. Let me just transcribe the subtitles:

"Right, this is the production factory. These are all dummies. They are also replacement parts for Rei. Man found God, and they tried to pick him up. For that Man was punished! That was fifteen years ago, and the God they found disappeared. Then Man tried to resurrect God with his own hands, and created Adam. From Adam, Man created what resembles God, Himself. That is Eva! We put supposedly mindless human souls in Eva. All the souls were salvaged souls. Rei is the only container that can hold the souls. The souls are born only in Rei. The Room of Guaf is empty. These are empty containers. They have no souls. So, I want to destroy them because I hate them."

Ritsuko triggers some sort of destruct mechanism that causes the Rei bodies to disintegrate. As they die (?), Ritsuko explains that she was willing to endure any humiliation for Gendo Ikari, but in the end, he would always prefer "these dolls" over her.

And she knew it would be this way, because she was there when her mother tried to win Gendo's heart, and ended up destroying herself because she couldn't win over Rei. I guess Ritsuko also had the hots for Gendo? She might be speaking in a more platonic sense, I don't know. The point is that all her years of loyal service to Gendo are meaningless, and he'll sell her out to protect Rei in a heartbeat.

That's what she realized in the SEELE conference, so I'm not clear on what exactly went on there. Did they punish her for the loss of Unit 00? Was that why Gendo sent her in Rei's place? Is that why Ritsuko was nude? In any event, Ritsuko's finally decided she's had enough, so she's turning on Gendo, at least as far as destroying all the spare Reis and showing Misato and Shinji all the super secret stuff.

The thing is, does that even matter? I mean, Gendo's no dummy. He probably betrayed Ritsuko this way knowing she would turn on him like this. For all we know, this is part of his plan. Maybe that's why Ritsuko starts crying, and why she pleads for Misato to kill her.

Misato declines to shoot Ritsuko, and considers that the tragedy of this whole project lies in its people, including herself.

So... yeah. NERV has been mass-producing Rei for years, and I think it's reasonable to assume Rei is at least partially based on Yui Ikari. I'm not sure that Gendo is like, in love with the clones or something. The Akagis may have been frustrated that he likes Rei more than them, but I think it's more of a situation where Gendo is too fixated on his work to love any woman, even a woman who helps him with his work. And the work is embodied by Rei so that's why he gets along so well with Rei. I guess.

The next episode looks forward to the final battle against the 17th Angel, which is supposed to be the last one, but apparently they still haven't finished Episode 24, since the preview is all rough sketches and animation layouts. I guess we'll see what we see...

#neon genesis evangelion #2024ngeliveblog #shinji ikari #gendo ikrai #rei ayanami #asuka langley soryu #misato katsuragi #ritsuko akagi

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olliethescribe · 2 years ago

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Rewatching season one of Rottmnt to write a canon compliant fic for Oz - have come away with the headcanon that Hypno has rejection sensitive dysphoria.

Here are all of the notes I’ve taken while watching - most canon and some headcanons supported by canon! I also wrote this at 2 in the morning so bear with me.

There’s a lot so all notes will be under the cut!

Notes: (bonus note: Hypno’s impressed by April figuring out one of his and Warren’s routines and even gives her a pat on the shoulder. He’d be a cool dad, I think)

Warren’s absurdly dramatic, way more than I remembered. He’s also the one that hurls more insults, cares far more about his looks, and has actually kissed himself in the mirror. Needs to be the center of attention - was disheartened and annoyed when the camera panned away from him in Newsworthy, several times. He also has a very interesting manner of speaking (typical New Yorker but definitely the gay theater kid who couldn’t find work as an actor so he became a news anchor - least those are the vibes - probably recites musicals to Hypno and gets super into them), putting a more dramatic flair and bravado to his voice when ‘fighting’ the turtles. Craves power and doesn’t care about who he hurts, doesn’t attempt to avoid pain since he knows he can’t, he’s even hurt Hypno in his debut episode by reflecting his hypnotic powers back at him (this comes back around in WHSIAT).

Just thought of this one now, the apartment we see him living in totally isn’t the one he originally lived in before his mutation. He lost everything, including the ability to access his bank account. He could afford a nicer place, but that money is tied up where he can’t reach.

This next one kinda pissed me off - they purposely block out his eye color from when he was human, leaving artists and writers alike to guess, a detriment to the 12 people actively making content for him /hj

Very pathetic, but realistically is probably very depressed. Keeps reminding himself of his old life and only really makes efforts at being relevant so he’d get back on TV no matter what. Needs attention to feel validated.

If I keep thinking about Warren Stone I will make myself sad. Moving on.

-Hypno is a bit more cockney than I remembered. Rhys really leans into the accent.

-Hypno holds people to their promises, expects that promises will be made good on, makes good on his own (no betrayals).

-He’s also kinda easy to trick which is ironic.

-Hates pain of all kinds and avoids it if he can (we see this after Hypno! Part Deux - in ‘Stuck On You’ he says “don’t come any closer!” “that’s close enough!” as he backed away from the turtles, and “not again” right before getting punched through another wall) tries to do the same for others by avoiding putting them through pain (he mostly runs away or puts people in magic traps / hypnotizes them if he can, the rings and physical fights being a last resort in every occurance other than his debut) (especially avoids inflicting pain if he cares about the person a lot - felt terrible about having to betray and hypnotize Warren so his roomie would be allowed to live - which ended in a second betrayal by Draxum).

-Damn, this man is kinda bad at being evil.

-Hypno likes pet names, and I mean the endearing affectionate partner kind. In WHSIAT, he calls Warren “my Warren '' which is heart meltingly sweet. He also calls him: roomie, best friend, golden voiced amigo, pal, magical assistant, and more!

-(Headcanon based on canon evidence) Hypno’s guarded when it comes to his emotions - specifically in terms of romance. The guy’s been tricked before as seen in Newsworthy, a trick that really hurts. Most likely took him a long time to warm up to the thought of Warren being a romantic partner since he feared rejection.

personal headcanon, both he and Warren have Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria - but Hypno has it worse

-Hypno cares about Doug - his previous hippo assistant - to the point that he’d raise him from the dead. (Oh look, a normal note)

-These are all just about Hypno now, with some headcanons supported by canon in there too-

dramatic in the flashy and showy performance way, seems less over the top than Warren

not above necromancy, then again, before Warren it seems like Doug was his only friend so that could be why

Would most likely come to blows with anyone that dyes animals different colors for events. He loves his pets/magical assistants and to see someone so flagrantly disregard the life of an animal for entertainment would piss him off.

hopeless romantic, and not just ‘cause of the hormones used in Newsworthy - (the whole ‘they pulled the fake Jenny on me’ line seals the deal - he’s most likely been set up on blind dates that have gone nowhere/ editing to add catfished and straight up made fun of. This is one lonely man and that’s terrible)

This next one’s strangely canon and weird - interesting doubled voice effect when he hypnotizes people but it only shows up twice (Newsworthy and Stuck On You), like the writing team wasn’t sure about it

Warren is his first major relationship and he fell super hard. It’s very obvious - this man is ultra protective of his worm roommate and would go through hell for him. He has gone through hell for him (not in the Orpheus way but he would do that too). Can’t stand being without him, super affectionate, the pet names and little comments, searching for Warren the second they get him back and giving him smooches, how he feels awful for being a bad roomie and knows that Warren notices his lack of effort around the house but doesn’t say anything, and the sweet gesture of baking Warren a birthday cake and jumping out of it to be extra dazzling proves that he’s investing a lot into this relationship. Even April points out how in love Hypno is with Warren by the end of the episode, saying that Warren’s life matters more to some people (looking directly at Hypno as he looks lovingly at his ‘roommate’ - hahaha it’s fruit city up in here) than some piece of armor.

#headcanon #taking notes #i need to write this man’s accent as ever so slightly thicker - wonderful #warren stone #hypno potamus #hypnowarren #rottmnt #There’s gonna be more notes taken at a time where I am not eepy #love these idiots - they’re so disgustingly co-dependent - it’s beautiful

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pexchys · 4 months ago

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(Conversations with Cliche After Death)

TW: Grief, su*cide, mourning, loss

Last year, I lost a good friend due to su*cide. She was missing for three days before she was found. I was lost and unsure of how to handle it, so I wrote about it. It took me months to figure out the right words and how to properly express myself. I found myself unable to cry until I had finally finished this piece. It was a tremendously cathartic experience and helped me process her absence and my own emotions when I had no one else to turn to. That's always been the point of why I write.

Sofie was a cliche. Not in the bad way-- she was just any ordinary teenager. She worked at McDonalds. She was kind and sweet, always saying hello to people in hallways. She wanted to go to concerts and festivals. She loved the color pink and to eat mangoes. It didn't occur to me that such an ordinary girl could struggle so much. That's the thing with depression-- it could really happen to anyone.

A few months after completing this, I came across the Scholastic Writing Awards Competition. I submitted it on a whim, sending it off so that at least someone beside myself should read this. Maybe they'll think of someone in their own life and offer a little more love. More support. You never know.

I am now a Silver Award National recipient, along with the winner of the New York Life Award.

There has been a lot of healing. There has been a lot of growth. I hoped to make Sofie proud. I've decided to share this with all of you so that maybe you're reminded that there are people who do care. Who will mourn you. Who love you to the cosmos and back. And it's also a reminder to give that love back to the people in your life. To anyone, really. The world sure could use a lot more of it right now.

I'm still not so sure on how to talk about this. It's still hard. But we can try. I love you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Conversations with Cliche After Death)

Cliche, tell me; when a girl drives depression as if it were a nail against a wall, did you ever stop to think? If you’ve ever read Plath, ever kept a comforting kind of cold that creeps in between silence, taming fires in bones and combing out your hair, untangling every memory, you’ll know Melancholy will sit there with me. He’s reactive, recitative; he likes to express; he concludes and dissects and stresses, tending a garden so wild it’s enough to swallow god. I didn’t notice him standing in my shadow and watching over me when I knelt in that garden to lay another flower down. You see, yesterday they told me they will find her. She’ll come home, warm and loved. I was sitting in Spanish when a friend called me.

It’s about her. Come outside.

I ran out to the hallway.

They found her!

They found her.

They found her dead.

What a sick, twisted joke.

I hear someone call out my name.

No, you’re kidding.

My glare, my incredulous laugh; I blanch, I express my grief in silence; a marble statue was I, set in moveless despair. If I could weep… but I couldn’t. I simply sat and let others cry into my arms that day. Oh I’ll tell you! The room was filled with half-taught anguish, people bent upward to the heavens in loud tears. And there was I, days after, coloring into stupid coloring books during grief sessions, talking about her favorite color (pink) and how kind she was. Stop looking at me with those eyes. I’m okay, just leave me alone and let me go home. I thought I was a horrible person; what friend am I who can’t cry for her? I’ll crumble to the dirt beneath.

Cliche, tell me, what was the purpose of any originality, when in the midnight hours I get to dream about my own future when she thought she didn’t have one. I get to sit on my bed and sleep and wake up, when she will never wake up again. I walk to class, I go home, but what fear sweeps this little life of mine? Do I terrify? Did she? What of the sad mothers and helpless fathers?

I finally weeped. I cry because I am still here and she is not. I cry because my mother is sleeping downstairs while her father could be staring into her empty bedroom.

I kowtow into her absence, my knees– eyes dressed in dust and dearth, debris flooding her mouth before she coughs up.

You know, there are others growing in the garden. My relatives; my kin, my flesh; them in their war torn clothes and dirty fingernails. They still have their shrapnel wounded legs and their ears still ringing from bombings, lungs smothered in gunpowder even after death. Tainted, black and bruised, whatever chorus that lifted up to my mouth’s blade—

Dying is an art.

But tell me, Cliche, who wants to die this young.

Do you cut away at your life to fit whatever gorgeous blueprint? Makes me retch.

There are eggshells and my feet are bleeding again. When Death says “you were born for this,”

He clearly means “you will die for this.”

Melancholy hangs his ghastly lilies in his garden. I ask him if it’s peaceful. Quiet.

He doesn’t respond, but I know. I know death chokes the aged and the meek. It chokes the young and the strong. It’s like some fat Ceberus, wheezing at the gates, licking at whatever sins or virtues there are left. There is no fairness. The pieces of peace I’ve collected in my pockets, well jee, I didn’t know there was a tear in the stitching. I’ll sit here and haunt and wait for a small kind of revival. I’ll defend myself with a broken pen for a sword, brackets for a shield and a small prayer that no one will find me tucked between pages of books and paranoia in every paragraph I write.

Tear it! Shred it, mutilate it, beg the person in the mirror just one more day, one more request:

Come, Death! Be sure to take off that invisible cloak you wear and be a little kinder this time. Be a friend and take my hand, walk me into the friendly dark. Walk me into a different room where I will still hear her laughter.

You lose people you overlove; I pick at petals, I love me not. The passagework of pain, the way it tenderly goes; the slick, the clever, the guileful. We sit for an hour while she tells me how unreasonable I’ve been; crying in the checkout line, refusing to eat, refusing to shower, the self-medications certainly don’t work, and I’m breaking my mother’s heart.

I tell her we learn so little from peace. There is no scar from happiness. So why did you do it?

She tells me to forgive myself. The heavy feelings in my heart will dissolve with the rain. It will feel like folding a blanket. I don’t have to hold it in; I can sing it, or draw it, or wear it; This hand of ordination that laid upon her brow like some birthmark…what is the power to kill without the power to die.

It seems that healing feels like clutching cold fruit in a cold kitchen. Melancholy has followed me everywhere, like a son. But what would I do without my tears? I see it now: her death does not grow smaller with the march of time. She is still there, in my mind’s eye. When I think of all our days, I wish that they would come clear– I’ll travel through the haze and conjure her up. I won’t go looking in the silence. I’ll search in the spaces between the trees, in the memories when I find us lingering in the sunshine through the leaves, so when the friendly dark visits me, I’ll tell it no. I’ve got people to see.

Cliche, I think there will be a silver lining in every rainstorm. Tell her:

I hope you’re okay. I hope the garden is peaceful and it smells like mangoes.

#mental health #mental health awareness #tw depression #writing #my writing #memoir #thoughts #loss #writer #peachy writes✧‧₊˚ 🍵⋅

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tryst-art-archive · 2 years ago

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???

I genuinely have no idea what this one even is, but I apparently made it in February 2008!

Oce stares at the horizon blankly; he has his thinking face on and though he looks to be staring intently, he isn’t seeing anything. He is perfectly zoned out. I don’t disturb him. Oce is more likely to listen to you after he’s finished zoning out. If you don’t let him snap out of it on his own, he’ll start zoning while you’re talking; he’ll respond like he’s listening, but his voice will sound dead and he probably won’t remember what was said afterward.

Besides, I don’t have anything to say.

There isn’t a lot for Oce and I to talk about. We’ve been friends since we were little – Oce is short for Oceanus, my nickname for him. A nickname for a nickname… kinda silly, huh? He got into mythology in an obsessive sort of way while we were in elementary school and dragged me partway into it. I started to call him Oceanus back then and he’d call me Gaia and we’d laugh. His nickname stuck, if in a shortened form, and most people call him Oce. Nobody besides us know where it really comes from, though. He sometimes still calls me Gaia, but more often he says Leto. Says it seems to fit better for high school. I guess I agree. Leto, titan goddess of the unseen is a pretty good name for someone no one can name.

But I don’t mind. They leave you alone that way.

Oce mumbles something and I inquire, “Hm?”

He’s not done zoning out yet, so his head only half-turns toward me and his eyes stay fixed on the horizon. He speaks slowly, but audibly this time. “I’m just wondering if Hera’s free tomorrow night.” He calls her Hera. Thinks I don’t realize he thinks of himself as Zeus. Thinks I don’t know he’d call her Aphrodite if that didn’t make his infatuation obvious. I call her other things in my mind. Nephtys, Medusa, Hekate, Hel, and bitch are just a few. My favorite is Theia, though. Titan goddess of seeing versus Leto… It’s funny, or I like to think it is.

I push it aside and shrug. “I dunno. Last I heard, she’d broken up with Dionysus.” We call him that ‘cause he’s drunk all the time and Dionysus and wine… It suddenly occurs to me that we’re terribly mean, the two of us.

“Oh.” I don’t miss the smile, but I let him think it doesn’t bother me. He knows I catch more gossip, and more accurate gossip besides, than he does because people don’t see me. I can hear the truth of a rumor first-hand and supply it when it is necessary because no one notices my presence. Oce thinks it’s handy and I agree.

But mostly I think it’s sad.

His mind wanders away from him again. I briefly wonder if he’d keep on thinking like this if I could read his thoughts and he knew it. For shame, I think. Don’t be cruel to your friend. I try not to think and, naturally, it doesn’t work. I try to examine a nearby grasshopper to keep myself from thinking. I’m suddenly very tired.

He snaps out of his zone; shakes his head, blinks fast, stretches, rubs his eyes, yawns. It’s as though he was sleeping. Oce grins at me and in my head I see him grinning that way but as the little boy who taught me the Egyptian gods before I knew anything about Jesus or “the Lord, our God.” The thought pushes my guilty hurts aside to let a return smile come through.

“Wanna get something to eat?” he says.

“Sure,” I reply.

Pete’s is a small pizza joint with a couple of guys cooking greasy pizza and selling soda that has way too much sugar in it. Pete and his boyfriend and coworker Joe live above the restaurant. Their business does moderately well – well enough for them to get by, anyway. Some people won’t come because they can’t stand the queer vibes. Others come because they like the pizza, and some of us come just to watch Pete and Joe and share some laughs with them. Oce and I are of the last.

We order a small plain pizza because I can’t stand to have anything on my pizza and neither of us can ingest more than a slice or two of Pete and Joe’s pizza without getting sick. We greet Pete who’s behind the counter today and ask for our usual before taking a seat at our favorite booth. There’s a couple of middle schoolers sitting there, but they clear out when they see us coming. The table might as well have a “Property of” sign on it with our names. Pete brings the pizza over and chats with us for a bit. We all go through the ritualistic “How’s work?” “How’s school?” with the appropriate answer of “Shitty” and inquisitive facial expressions to match, and like every other time, we all chuckle. A number of the customers leave and Joe comes over to sit, too. He asks if we’re going out yet and we laugh and say “Of course not!” But Joe’s good at reading people, and he shares a glance with me, like he always does. I think he’s got a sixth sense about some things.

More people show up and the pair grin and leave us to eat our food. We watch them in the kitchen while we eat. They take orders, they cook, and whenever they pass each other they share a look, a peck on the cheek, or they bow at each other and laugh. They are always grinning. I love them for it. I love them for being themselves so freely, so finely, so happily. I love them for laughing.

We finish eating and try to guess how wide the pool of grease on the plates are, then wave a farewell to our friends and head out into the crisp, cool air. I hunker down into my sweatshirt, but Oce seems unbothered by the slight chill. I can see my breath yet he can’t be bothered to zip his jacket up. I roll my eyes at him and we laugh.

There’s an arcade a few hundred yards from Pete’s and we head there automatically. We don’t need to discuss it because it’s what we always do. People from school walk by and greet Oce. Few even glance at me, and those that do seem weirded out by my presence. They act almost as though I were some alien creature. I avert my eyes. Look at the ground, look at the wall. Just pretend to be fascinated by the fading advertisements for a florist long since departed from the mortal coil. Oce doesn’t seem to notice. He’s one of those attention-whore types who are just awesome anyway. They deserve to be loved by every living thing because they’re just that great, but still, they’re attention whores and you can never really be sure if you really are their friend.

But we’ve been friends for ages, so I feel a little more secure than I might otherwise.

We arrive at the arcade and are warmed by the familiar neon sign and sounds of pinball, game overs, and high scores. Hyperactive music originated in Japan slips out of the arcade like a snake and warps the sounds a little. They recently installed a DDR machine. It feels like an enemy. But that is only the fear one has of a much-loved childhood place being changed by the times and the pop culture that one is wary of. Oce frowns at the crowds of people surrounding two people dancing it out on the machine. He doesn’t know why its interesting or fun to watch. It occurs to me that part of our distrust of the thing originates in that we can’t get near it due to the swarms of people. Even if we could, would we really want to use the thing with a horde of people watching us mess up? Messing up isn’t as enjoyable if there are people who show scorn for it watching.

I briefly fantasize of coming into the arcade with Oce after it has closed to use the machine, trip over ourselves, and laugh about it. We can make our mistakes with joy if it’s just us.

But then, can’t Oce turn his mistakes into jokes for everyone?

I angrily banish the bitter thoughts that come unbidden. Wrong, wrong, I chide myself. Unfair. But still they linger.

I ignore them.

Oce indicates one of those arcade racing game – this one a motorcycle one. I nod. It’s one of our favorites, though we’re both deathly awful at them. I win most of the time. Oce tends to crash into things by taking a turn too wide or too narrow.

There’s a few 7th graders finishing up a race but they skidaddle as we approach. We pop in our quarters and do our best to beat each other to the finish line. We don’t care about beating the other cycles on the virtual track – it’s just about besting each other. As expected, I beat him, and by luck I beat the other cycles, too. The machine spits some “silver” tokens out at me. The things are actually nickel-silver, but who cares? I grab the tokens and we head over to Ski Ball. Oce kicks butt at Ski Ball and nabs a nice sum of tokens while we’re there. I manage to snag a couple, too. The 7th graders from before are there and Oce challenges them to a Ski Ball competition. The 7th graders do not see me and so I do not join in. Oce doesn’t notice; he’s caught up in the moment.

As expected, he kicks their butts, but lets them leave with only wounded pride. We head over to the prize booth and scan the prizes that our combined tokens can get us. We don’t know the woman behind the counter, but she chews her gum with her mouth hanging open and clearly thinks we’re too old to be there. Oce and I drag out our time there just to irk her. They have glowsticks there so we bust all the tokens on glowies. We get a nice range of ‘em; 9” bracelets, 1.5” glowsticks to go in a cheap little clip on earring thing, other 1.5ers to go in rubber mouth-guard looking things that’re supposed to make your mouth glow but mostly look silly, and you’re average size glowsticks. The woman clearly thinks we’re messed in the head so we grin like morons and head out chuckling.

We stand outside for a while, neither of us thinking, just standing there. Habit kicks in and I suggest we head to Oce’s house for a bout of videogaming. I practically live at Oce’s house. I do my homework there, spend my time there, and I leave as late as is reasonably safe. I prefer not to go home and it is not a rude thing anymore for me to invite myself to Oce’s house. I don’t want Oce to come within a mile of my house, and I suppose this much he understands on some level.

He agrees and we walk to the two-story building of suburbia.

Oce’s house is yellow and skinny but wonderful. His mother is an artist and his father a very successful architect and, together, they created a fun house. Spiral stairs are placed strategically and there are panes of glass in the upstairs floor that touch me on a level I don’t understand. The bathroom is a crystalline haven with the tub in-ground and framed by windows. Oce’s parents’ room is a paradise of light and warmth and comfort and his room, in the finished basement, is comfortable, pretty, and precisely the sort of room I wish that I had. They all have their own TVs and computers and whatever else they desire, and their shared study with its hundreds of skylights and general comfort with the refined style of a classic study has its own of everything, also.

I never remember that Oce is upper middleclass until I walk into his house. Then I revel in it.

We greet his mother and she asks us how our walk was. We give her a brief but satisfactory run down of our usual afternoon and she smiles and gives us some food. She gently reminds us to do our homework. It is the usual ritual and we proceed in the usual manner. Oce balances the tray of food and I grab our bags off the dining room table where we left them after school, before we went out to wander the town. Oce’s mother looks us over as if we were her children going into space on a wonderfully courageous, heroic, and otherwise stunning mission. She kisses Oce on both cheeks and gives me a hug and we head down to Oce’s room. Oce’s bed is on the floor in his room, but on a portion of the floor that is at a higher level than the rest of it. He pulls a table over and puts the food on it and I put our bags in the designated places. Oce sits on the floor between his bag and the table and I lay on my stomach on his bed with the edge of my binder just barely touching his head. We do our homework in silence for a good fifteen minutes. I finish my English homework (my best subject) and break the quiet. “Wanna listen to something?”

I’m already standing when he replies. “Yeah. How ‘bout Modest Mouse?”

I nod my agreement and put Good News for People Who Love Bad News into his stereo before returning to my designated position to start on the rest of my homework. By a tacit agreement that we came to way back when, we work in a different order of subjects but both save our math homework for last. I go English, history, foreign language, science, math, and Oce goes science (his best subject), foreign language, history, English, math. This way, if one of us gets stuck on something, the other has already figured it out and can, thereby help. We’re both not the best math students ever so we do our homework together. We always make sure to have the same teachers and same academic classes so our system won’t get messed up. Our schedules are always the same except for our electives. I tend to focus on writing and the arts whereas Oce focuses on the sciences and computers. We always do the school plays together, though. Not that our parts are in any way major. We like it like that, though.

Oce is just finishing up his English so I wait to start on the math. Once he’s ready, he turns around to face me and says, “Alright, what’s ol’ Thoth got for us today?” He likes to call our math teachers Thoth. It’s another mini ritual in our days.

I recite the assignment from memory and he double-checks it in his homework notebook. We start in on the math and it’s not as bad as it could be. It’s more like a discussion with cheerful if cynical commentary. It takes us the longest to finish the math, but we do finish it and simultaneously snap our binders shut – another tradition – and put our things away. Oce carts the table of food over to our gaming area and I get the console going. We decide to duke it out in We Love Katmari’s two-player mode. When I’ve sufficiently kicked his ass, we play the game via co-op mode and laugh ourselves to tears in our inability to roll anything up.

Oce’s mum calls us to dinner and we calmly shut the game down and stretch… and then bolt for the door in a mad rush to see who can get upstairs first. We’ve broken many things in this manner, but we keep it up anyway. Oce beats me to the dining table and does a “Walk like an Egyptian” victory dance and I act the dejected loser. Oce’s mom chuckles and we join in before taking our designated seats. Oce’s mom is a thin, bird-like woman who is sweet as honey. She sits opposite Oce’s father who sits at the head of the table and is a cheerful chub of a man with a sweet face and a jolly chuckle. When we were little, I was convinced that he was actually Santa Claus. Oce’s little brother and sister come downstairs after his mom calls for them a second time and they sit across from Oce and I. His brother is a petulant preteen falling into a fad of death metal and depression-is-cool. We sometimes joke with things like “Suicide! Everyone’s doing it!” but in truth we’re actually worried about him. He was always sensitive and we are wary of this phase. We, affectionately, call him Osiris and he likes it well enough. Oce’s little sister is a cat-loving girly creature that is somewhat prone to hissy fits. She alternately hates and loves me, and Oce spends a lot of his time at home glaring at her. We call her Bast.

Dinner passes in a range of topics from new sneakers to politics back to hair scrunchies and then to religion. More than anything, I like to listen to them talk, though I do participate. Oce and I head downstairs once dinner is over and we adopt our traditional after-dinner poses. I break out my “Book of the Dead” as Oce calls it in which I keep my scraps of writing and a handful of doodles. I am the only one who knows its full contents and of anyone, Oce is perhaps the most respectful of the sacredness of the thing. I curl up into a corner of the bed and lean against a corner of the wall with my knees acting as a platform to rest my notebook against. I have a pen in hand and already have begun to doodle something while my mind tries to decide its direction. Oce lays on the bed with his legs falling off the side and resting on the floor, eyes closed. This is the last hour before my usual hour of departure and it always begins the same and follows one of several courses of action. On some occasions I am lost in art or writing and Oce merely lays there and listens to the sound of pencil on paper, furious erasing, or my occasional squeak or murmur of thought provoking vocal cords. On a handful of occasions he fell asleep like that, but on most of those he was ill. Other times, I will loose myself in my work and he will read, and other times still I will not entertain my muse at all but will wait a few moments and begin a conversation.

Tonight is destined to be a conversing night but I know myself well enough to see where I would lead the conversation and I do not want to take that path. But my muse wriggles away from me and the words fight their way out of my throat. “Are you going to ask Hera out?” I use his name for her out of respect, but I pause involuntarily before saying it. He either does not catch it or ignores it.

“I was thinking about it. Why?”

Words bubble up and I am incapable of saying them for there are too many. A thought stands out and makes itself known. “Is that… wise?”

He opens an eye and gives me a critical look. “How do you mean wise?”

I scold myself, Stupid, stupid, and gesture vaguely. “Well, I’m just thinking that she’s kinda the… well, to put it bluntly, she’s the type who screws every living thing.” He doesn’t say anything so I look for more words to try and fix the silence that I fear. “I mean, I don’t trust her, and I’m just concerned that she’ll hurt you or something.”

It’s a bit pathetic, but it seems to do the trick. It occurs to me that I am often just that kind of pathetic and so it is precisely the sort of thing I would say anyway. Oce sighs and closes his eyes, resettling himself. “I know what they say, Leto, but I can’t deny my heart, can I?”

Any number of retorts rise up and present themselves to me for use. With an effort of self-control, I force them down and away, refusing to even think on them, and tell him that he can’t. I thank whatever is holy that his eyes are closed and that he cannot see me fighting myself. Some awkward seconds slip by and Oce brings up a topic of conversation from dinner to fill the discomfort. I latch onto it and we stay on that topic until I have to leave.

I am both fearful and awed by the town at night. I like to walk beneath the light of the lampposts but also I am afraid of who will see me. It is a game of spies and risks and luck that I play when I walk home from Oce’s house every evening. I do not trust my town or its people. I do not trust many people. But the thrill of the night and the beauty a lamppost can have or that particular half-light of a town at night fills me with a joy that is not entirely repressed. I bounce in and out of lamplight and half-jog to my apartment building. I take the stairs two at a time, unlock my door as if Satan were after me, and enter breathless but happy. I think perhaps my mother would wonder if I was a slut if she wasn’t drunk all the time. Mother is asleep and snoring in her favorite recliner with a Bud Light in one hand, several empty cans scattered around her, and the light of TV static making her already waxy features look like the face of some wax museum doll. I spare her merely a glance. I cannot look at her without wanting to vomit or cry or both. I go to the kitchen table and flip through the mail. No bills, thank God, but no money from dad either.

It makes my throat feel like it’s trying to close itself. The money we need to live is late…late, late, late…

I leave my bag there and go to my room, put my pajamas on, and slip into bed. I do not fall asleep immediately and, in desperate panic, I down a sleeping pill, and almost cry for joy when it starts to take effect.

#old writing #writing archive #TrysKits work #prose #fiction #00s #2008 #Age 17

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