#the editing kept giving me grief so this was all i ended up doing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fanbasetwo · 1 month ago

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TIL DEATH DO US PART , RICKY

PAIRING: husband ! ricky × wife ! afab reader

SYNOPSIS: In an arranged marriage where sparks never flew, you finally chose divorce as the only path to freedom. But when your husband died in a sudden accident, life took an unexpected turn, binding you to a reality marked by guilt, grief, and the shadows of unfulfilled words. Now, you must navigate a world that holds him forever gone.

GENRE: fluff + angst

WARNING(S): not proofread, kissing, dirty jokes, a little bit suggestive, mentions of suicide and death, insecurities, mentions of pregnancy. lmk if I missed anything.

WORD COUNT: 16.2K

FEAT: JAY from ENHYPEN + some ocs

MASTERLIST !!

NOTE FROM SENA , this kinda flopped on my enha blog but I still wanted to reach more people, so here it is. an ricky version of the same fic, if you find ‘jake’ instead of ‘ricky’ in some paras please mention so that I can edit it out. hope you have fun reading this <3💗

DEAR RICKY,

I'm sorry, but I can't continue living like this. I'm leaving. Our marriage has become a constant battle, and I believe we're both suffering more by holding on than we would by letting go. I know neither of us wanted it to come to this, and I wish things were different. But deep down, I think we're better apart. I hope one day you'll understand.

With regret, Y/N.

TEARS BLURRED YOUR VISION AS YOU STARED AT THE CRUMBLED NOTE IN YOUR HAND—the one you had written to Ricky months ago. The one that now felt like a curse. Your hands shook as you traced the familiar words, guilt twisting your insides. I'm leaving. I'm sorry. He had never known the true weight of those words. And now he never would.

The police had found it in his pocket. They said he'd carried it with him, even after everything. Even when he... when he was gone.

You collapsed onto the couch, clutching the note like a lifeline, but it only felt like a reminder of how far you had pushed him. How much you had wanted out, and now, how deeply you regretted it. A year together, two lives constantly at odds, and it had ended in this way. A divorce that never came, an accident that did. You didn't want this, didn't want him gone, but now, all you had was this-regret, and a body that was too still in your bed to hold. The anger, the frustration of him being gone-it consumed you, ate at your soul.

Why couldn't you have waited?

You had hoped time apart would fix things, give you both breathing room. But he hadn't lived long enough for you to see the good you could have made of it. The guilt ate you alive, deeper than the frustration ever had. You tried to convince yourself it wasn't your fault, that you couldn't have known, but deep down, the truth stung. Your note had been his last reminder of your marriage. His last memory. He had carried your rejection right until the end.

Would things have been different if you hadn't written that letter?

The thought raked at your mind like shards of glass, shredding everything in its path. What if you had kept fighting for him, for the marriage? Would he have been here? Would you have learned to love him? Or would he still have left, still have been gone, no matter what?

Your thoughts flickered back to moments with him-so small, so easy to overlook. The way Ricky had rolled his eyes every time you'd scolded his niece Semi for spilling juice, or how he had tried to hide his smirk as he pretended to act innocent. The little things that used to irritate you, that you had never really appreciated until now.

You remembered the way he defended you against his relatives, his words sharp and protective as they made cruel comments about your body. They didn't understand, but Ricky did. He had always been there, not perfect but trying.

“She suits me well enough.”

The memory felt like a slap now, a cruel joke. You had spent so much time pushing him away, not seeing that he cared. You hadn't seen that he had tried.

“Why couldn't I have seen it?” You whispered to the empty room, curling up on the bed, pressing your face into the pillow. The tears soaked into the fabric, and the sobs wracked through you like a storm. Why was it only now, when he was gone, that you realized how much he had mattered?

You had never kissed him, never held him the way a wife should. You thought you had the luxury of time, but now you had nothing left but his memory. The memory of a man you barely knew but had somehow been the one constant in your life. How selfish of you to push him away. How stupid to think it was all about the fights, the annoyances, and not about the love you could have had.

“Please... Ricky. I'm sorry...”

The words escaped you as your sobs grew louder, choking your breath. Your body trembled with grief, the weight of regret pressing down on you until you couldn't breathe. If only you could undo it, go back and rewrite the note. If only you hadn't given up on him, on the marriage, on the chance for something more.

The room felt suffocating now, as though the walls were closing in around you. What now? you thought. There was no future with him anymore. No next step. No reconciliation.

Why had you waited so long to realize how much he meant to you?

You sank deeper into your pillow, tears soaking your face and your hair, wishing for the impossible: for him to walk through the door, to come back, to make everything okay again. But he wouldn't. He couldn't.

And all that was left was you. And the note.

YOUR MOTHER IN LAW’S HANDS TREMBLE AS SHE EXTENDS THE ANCESTRAL RING TOWARDS YOU, her eyes glistening with raw grief. The ring's delicate gold band catches the light, an unwanted reminder of everything Ricky represented—strength, love, an unfinished story.

“He wanted you to have this… but I never thought I’d give it to you now. Not like this,” she whispers, her voice breaking before dissolving into quiet sobs. The sound is so raw it scrapes at your heart. For a moment, the room feels unbearably small, closing in with the suffocating weight of shared loss.

You stare at the ring, fingers hovering uncertainly. The thought of accepting it feels like admitting he’s really gone. Yet, you know you can’t refuse it; Ricky’s wish, even unspoken now, feels sacred. You slip the ring onto your finger, a silent acknowledgment of the man you had once promised yourself to, a man you’ll never get the chance to truly know.

With a hesitant step forward, you place your hand on her shoulder, the touch meant to soothe but feeling fragile, as though it could shatter under the weight of her grief. The older woman leans into you, body racked with tremors as she buries her face in her hands. Her sobs rise and fall in uneven waves, echoing in the otherwise silent room.

“Please… don’t cry,” you whisper, your voice hoarse and cracking at the edges. The night had drained you, leaving your eyes dry yet still burning, poised for more tears that you no longer had the strength to shed.

Her grief pierces deeper. “He wouldn’t want to see you in pain,” you add, voice low, carrying the weight of a plea that even you don’t believe.

“I-I know,” she manages between sobs, her shoulders trembling. “But… he was so young, so full of life. It should’ve been me, not him. He barely started his life, and now…”

The room seems to warp under the heaviness of her words. You know she’s right. The unfairness of it all gnaws at you. But what would Ricky want? The question echoes in your mind, clawing for answers you wish you didn’t have to seek.

You close your eyes for a brief second, conjuring his face in your memory—the way his smile would sneak out when he thought you weren’t looking, the stubborn tilt of his chin when he was determined. You imagine him here, telling you what to do, how to be strong for her when he couldn’t be.

Drawing in a shaking breath, you shift, wrapping your arms around your mother-in-law. She stiffens for a heartbeat before collapsing into the embrace, her body convulsing with grief. Her head rests on your shoulder, and you stroke her back, the gesture rhythmic, almost desperate, as if the act itself could soothe the unsoothable.

“My poor boy… he must’ve been so scared, so alone in those final moments,” she chokes out, and it’s as if a knife twists in your chest. The image of him in pain, of his last moments, blurs the edges of your control. A tear slips down your cheek, a singular escape among the multitude waiting behind your lashes.

“I’m so sorry, Ricky,” you whisper, barely audible. The guilt is relentless, intertwining with the ache of loneliness that had settled deep within you long before he passed. You were alone when he was alive, and now that emptiness has transformed, sharpened by grief, into something more unbearable.

Her sobs quiet, just enough for her to lift her head and take in your expression, your tears mingling with unsaid words. She studies you, eyes clouded by grief but touched with understanding.

“You must feel so alone too… You and Ricky… barely had time,” she murmurs, her voice a weak echo of empathy.

The silence stretches, heavy and uncertain. You meet her gaze and see the exhaustion, the pain mirrored back at you. It anchors you for a moment, before she speaks again.

“You’re still young. You should think of moving forward one day. Remarry, maybe… You’ll always be like a daughter to me, but you have to live, too.”

Your heart clenches, rejecting the thought. You don’t want to. The ache of wanting Ricky, even in a marriage that had felt distant, is a raw wound you can’t imagine healing. The loneliness was familiar; life without him is uncharted, unbearable.

“I won’t… I can’t,” you admit, voice shaking as the tears finally spill, unchecked. “I just want him back. Even if it means being lonely again.”

The words break you open, and this time, neither of you tries to stop the crying. You hold each other in the ruins of shared loss, hoping, against hope, that the pieces of your shattered hearts will one day feel less sharp.

YOUR HANDS CHILLED FROM THE BRISK AIR, DIG DEEPER INTO YOUR COAT POCKETS AS YOU GAZE OUT INTO THE SWIRLING SNOW, a faint numbness settling in your bones. Each snowflake that brushes against your cheek feels colder than the last, a physical reminder of the frost that’s taken root in your heart, a void Ricky's absence left behind. Life has lost its rhythm, its purpose, and the bustling world seems foreign, moving on a beat you no longer recognize.

Nursing, once a passion that filled your heart, now feels suffocating. The once-simple act of caring for patients, seeing them through their darkest times, now stirs something darker inside you—an envy for their hope, their chances. These creeping, bitter thoughts had scared you enough to step back from the only profession you knew. The faces of crying relatives haunted your dreams, their grief striking chords too familiar, too close. You’d sworn to heal, never harm, yet here you are, carrying shadows of guilt too heavy to bear.

The café’s warmth hits you as you push through the door, a momentary comfort against the gnawing cold. You shuffle forward, fingers fumbling in your pocket for money as your eyes wander the room. Ricky had always spoken fondly of this place, a little corner shop with its cozy mismatched chairs and the sweet aroma of cocoa and baked pastries. A small pang clenches your chest, regret whispering its usual 'what ifs.' If only you’d agreed to visit here with him, if only time hadn’t been a cruel master.

The barista, a young woman with weary eyes, glances up as she speaks. “Ma’am, are you ordering?” Her voice, though polite, carries a slight impatience with the growing line behind you.

“Ah, yes… a cold coffee,” you manage, the words falling flat as if they don’t quite belong to you. Her brows lift, a flicker of confusion.

“In this weather?” she asks, a hint of genuine concern lacing her tone.

Realizing the absurdity, you swallow, forcing a small, resigned nod. “Hot chocolate then,” you say, the warmth of Ricky’s recommendation tugging at the edges of your memory.

The exchange is brief, the hot drink pressed into your hands a minute later. As you turn to leave, the weight of the ancestral ring around your finger pulls at you, its cool surface grounding and yet suffocating. The bittersweet metal reflects a dull glow, a silent reminder of promises made and broken, of the love lost and the void left behind.

The wind picks up outside, tugging at your coat as you sip the hot chocolate. Its warmth spreads through you, but it’s fleeting, never enough to touch the ache within. You shake your head, Ricky’s face vivid in your mind, his teasing smile as he’d planned your future dates. You’d push the thought aside, but every step feels like dragging a part of him behind you.

“Why can’t I let go?” you murmur, voice snatched away by the icy air. Your brother-in-law’s words echo in your mind, urging you to stop living in Ricky’s shadow. But how do you tear yourself away from the ghost of a love that never got to finish its story?

Snow clings to your coat as you continue to trudge through the city, each step heavy with an ache that refuses to fade. The glow of the streetlights bathes the snow in a warm, golden hue, contrasting the bitter chill that settles in your chest. Sipping the hot chocolate, you try to focus on the warmth sliding down your throat, but the sweetness only sharpens the emptiness inside. The steam curls from the cup, a fleeting comfort as your breath mingles with it in the frigid air.

You pause near a park bench, eyes darting to couples bundled up, their laughter piercing through the quiet snowfall. One couple stands close, the man adjusting the scarf around his partner’s neck with a smile that makes your heart clench. You bite the inside of your cheek, the taste of copper sharp on your tongue as you fight back the sting in your eyes. The jealousy gnaws at you, sour and uninvited.

The memory of Ricky’s voice flits through your mind, warm and teasing: “Good things happen to good people.” You scoff, the bitterness in that statement now a cruel joke. Were you not good enough? The universe seemed to think so, because it had ripped him away, leaving a hollow shell in his place.

Lost in thought, you find yourself on the bridge, fingers trailing over the iron railing that has frosted over, leaving cool streaks on your gloves. This place, once so filled with light and memories, feels haunted now. You trace a path where your and Ricky’s hands once met, where laughter and shared secrets once echoed.

A voice, small and familiar, intrudes on your thoughts. Semi’s question echoes, fragile and innocent: “Aunty, when will Uncle come home?” You close your eyes, the lump in your throat thickening as the memory sharpens. You remember her wide, unknowing eyes searching yours for an answer you couldn't give, the guilt of that half-truth searing into you as you whispered, “I’m not sure, sweetie.”

You grip the railing tighter, feeling the cold seep through your gloves as the ache of regret claws at your heart. The river below moves steadily, unaffected by the chaos in your chest. You look down, watching the water catch the light in rippling patterns, your reflection distorted and wavering. The noise of the city fades as you breathe in the freezing air, each exhale a shuddering attempt to steady yourself.

A gust of wind stings your face, and you force yourself to look up, straightening with a resolve that feels fragile. Ricky’s brother and his wife were inside your apartment, their watchful eyes filled with concern disguised as casual chatter. You know why they stay—it’s not out of pity, but out of fear, a silent agreement to keep you tethered when your world felt like it was splitting at the seams.

The laughter from the park drifts over again, mingling with the hum of distant traffic. For a moment, you let yourself remember the warmth of Ricky’s embrace, the way he’d nudge your shoulder and murmur, “Life doesn’t stop, even when we want it to.”

“Maybe it shouldn’t,” you whisper into the night, the words barely a breath as they dissolve in the chill.

The warmth of the hot chocolate fades as the biting wind grazes your skin, a cruel reminder of the numbing void left behind. You stare at the bridge, eyes tracing the railings where Ricky’s laughter once echoed. A memory surfaces, unbidden yet vivid.

“I know this isn't what either of us planned, but... I wish we could work it out,” Ricky had said, a touch of hesitation softening his confident voice. His hands, hesitant but steady, hovered near you, respecting the space you held between.

“I wish that too,” you had murmured, the lie sliding off your tongue too easily. You’d convinced yourself you didn't care enough for Ricky then, but the pang of that memory now gnawed at your insides. Regret had a way of reshaping the past, twisting even the most indifferent moments into sharp blades.

“Tell me something about yourself,” Ricky had prodded gently, eyes bright even as he leaned down to meet your gaze.

Caught off guard, you’d raised an eyebrow. “Like what?” The question felt foreign, untouched by anyone's curiosity until now.

“Your ideal type,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting as though challenging you. His height had always made you tilt your head back to catch his expression—a detail that now felt like a cruel nostalgia.

“Why would you ask that?” You'd played along, teasing but curious.

Ricky chuckled, the sound resonant and warm. “Because we're getting married, and maybe knowing each other better will make it feel less... strange. Maybe, just maybe, we'll fall in love.” His hand, finally settling on your shoulder, had felt reassuring, a silent promise in its touch.

The memory cleaves through you like a knife, leaving behind a raw wound that no time or distance can heal. A single tear slips down your cheek as you blink, the reality of the moment washing over you like a wave. The park across the street bustles with couples walking hand-in-hand, laughter and warmth breaking through the cold that wraps around you. A fresh ache takes root, sharp and relentless.

You drop the empty cup into the trash can, the metallic clang breaking your reverie. The grief, heavy and suffocating, presses you to the edge as you turn and begin the long walk home. Your footsteps are heavy, every step an effort against the pull of the past.

“Aunty, you're so late. Did you bring Uncle with you?” Semi’s small voice meets you at the door, eyes bright with innocent hope. The guilt hits you like a punch, stealing the air from your lungs. Your throat tightens as you shake your head, eyes avoiding her searching gaze.

Jieun, seeing your reaction, sighs softly as she pulls Semi closer. “Semi, we talked about this, remember?” Her voice holds the practiced patience of a mother trying to shield her child from the pain.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Semi mumbles, eyes dropping to her tiny hands that fidget nervously. The sight twists your heart, guilt layering over the grief that refuses to ease.

You force a hollow smile. “It’s okay, Jieun. She's just a kid,” you say, your voice low and void of emotion as you shrug off your winter coat and hang it up. The familiar routine feels like a play you no longer wish to act in.

“Still, I just—” Jieun’s words falter as you cut her off, your voice breaking the tension.

“Please,” you murmur, the word sharp and desperate, silencing the room. The stillness that follows is suffocating, your breaths shallow as you fight to keep your composure.

Jieun's eyes search yours, understanding but hesitant. “We just don’t want you to be alone,” she whispers, her voice thick with worry.

“I know,” you reply, sitting on the couch with your head hung low, hands clenched tightly in your lap. After a long pause, you add, “But you need to leave. This is your home too, but you have your own life to get back to. I need time... time to figure out how to grieve.” Your eyes don’t lift to meet theirs; you can’t bear to see the disappointment or concern there.

Semi’s voice pipes up again, the innocence piercing through your defenses. “Are you sending us away, Aunty?”

The weight of guilt deepens, pressing into your chest. You close your eyes, feeling the sting behind your lids before you answer. “No, sweetie, I’m not sending you away. You can come whenever you want. Aunty will always be here.” The words come out flat, and you feel them land like lies in the air between you.

Jieun picks Semi up, nodding at you as if she understands, though her eyes glisten with worry. “We’ll give you some space. But we’ll check in. Don’t forget that, please.”

When the door clicks shut, silence wraps around you, heavy and thick. Your gaze shifts to the note you’d prepared earlier, sitting on the edge of the coffee table. The words, written in your own hand, feel foreign now: apologies to the people who stayed, memories they never knew you held, and the final confession of a heart too weary to go on.

You were battling with the urge to just end it all.

The rational part of your brain told you that you were young and had your whole life ahead and that you'd meet a lot of guys in your life but the stubborn heart won't give up and held onto the memory of the guy you once called your husband.

So, you gave up.

A smile, then another.

The city glows beneath you, lights sprawled like constellations cast on earth. The wind at this height is sharp, tearing through your clothes and chilling your skin, as if trying to pull you back from the edge. Your shoes scrape against the concrete ledge, the slight tremble in your legs betraying the battle waging within. The night air smells faintly of rain, metallic and crisp, mingling with the faint hum of traffic below.

You steady your phone in your trembling hand, its cold surface grounding you momentarily. A notification pings, an ironic reminder that life continues to tick on, indifferent to the turmoil within you. The camera lens reflects the shimmer of unshed tears as you hit record, the small red dot staring back like a silent witness.

A smile forms—hesitant, broken. Then another, and another, each one a mask that crumbles too soon. “To everyone who still cares,” you begin, your voice low and cracking, “Semi, sweet, innocent Semi. Jieun, always so patient. Jay... my husband’s shadow in every way. My sister, my friends, all of you who tried.”

The wind picks up, whipping strands of hair across your face as you pause, the weight of the unsaid pressing on your chest. You blink rapidly, tears slipping free, their warmth stinging against your cold cheeks. “Ricky wouldn't want this. I know he'd call me stubborn, weak even.” You let out a hollow laugh, the sound swallowed by the wind. “But he wouldn’t understand how loud it is in the silence he left behind.”

Your heart hammers as you shift your weight, the city seeming to inhale with you, holding its breath in anticipation. The edge of the building digs into the soles of your feet, the space between you and the world below both terrifying and liberating.

“I miss the little moments, Ricky,” you whisper, voice breaking as you squeeze your eyes shut. “I miss you making me feel lonely, and now... now I’m lonelier without you.” The ache in your chest is unbearable, a cavernous void that steals your breath.

One last deep breath, air burning through your lungs, and you step forward. The world blurs into a rush of sound and sensation—wind roaring in your ears, your body weightless, suspended in a moment between despair and peace.

And then the fall hits.

Pain surges through you, sharp and overwhelming, before darkness takes over. Around you, the chaos erupts into a cacophony—screams, the frantic pounding of feet, and the sharp cry of ambulance sirens slicing through the night. But these sounds are drifting away, becoming faint murmurs from a world slipping out of reach.

Silence wraps around you, one that made you feel like everything would be okay after this. Maybe, just maybe, peace waits on the other side. In death.

YOU WALK THROUGH THE DENSE, MILKY FOG, EACH REVERBERATING IN AN ECHO THAT NEVER QUITE SETTLES. The air is cool, feather-light, whispering like distant memories. Is this heaven? The question circles in your mind, unspoken. If it is, where is Ricky? A quiet laugh escapes your lips, hollow. He couldn’t have done enough wrong to land in hell, you think, the hint of humor biting through your longing. Yet, the anticipation twists your heart—an ache that makes you want to see him so desperately.

You try to call out, “Ricky?” but the sound stays trapped in your chest, choked by the thick fog. Another step forward and there’s nothing but endless white, stretching out, swallowing you whole. Your breath catches; suddenly, the air thins, compressing your lungs, squeezing out every ounce of oxygen. You gasp, your hands clawing at the invisible force stealing your breath. It feels like drowning in emptiness.

Then—without warning—everything shifts. White light erupts around you, blinding and all-consuming. You brace for oblivion, muscles tensing for an end you’re sure is near. But instead, there’s a softness beneath you—a mattress that cradles you like an embrace you forgot.

Your eyes snap open, pupils adjusting to the familiar pale ceiling. It’s your ceiling. Your shared room. The bed, the faint scent of Ricky’s cologne still lingering in the sheets, as if he just left. You sit up, heart thundering, hands brushing over your body frantically. No pain, no bruises, no broken bones—nothing. You’re whole, intact.

Then the realization hits you like cold water, and your fingers tremble as you pull them away.

“What the…?” you murmur, eyes darting around, seeking answers that the silent room won’t give. Your gaze falls to the phone on the bedside table, its screen blank and mocking in its stillness. You grab it, breath hitching as the time blinks to life.

January 29th, 2024. 6:30 a.m.

A shiver races down your spine. The date stares back at you, sharp and impossible. You set the phone down, legs feeling weak as you stand and approach the mirror. Your reflection isn’t that of a woman who has been weeping endlessly. Your eyes, dry and wide, reflect confusion rather than the storm of emotions that you carry.

“Is this one of those flashes they say you see before death?” Your voice trembles as the words escape, and you reach up to touch the cold glass. The girl looking back at you does the same, fingers meeting yours in a silent plea.

Then, your eyes catch it. The blue gel pen resting on the dresser—a pen that has no place outside your drawer. It’s a small thing, but the sight of it makes your breath hitch. Memories slice through you, sharp and unforgiving. That pen was the one you’d used for the note to Ricky, the one that demanded space, an end.

“No,” you breathe out, shaking your head, bile rising in your throat. The pen feels like a cruel token, mocking you for what came after. In a swift motion, you snatch it up, the cold plastic biting into your skin as you grip it tight. The weight of your guilt, your regret, turns your stomach, and with a sudden burst of anger, you hurl the pen into the trash, its clatter punctuating the silence like a final plea.

Chest heaving, you close your eyes. If this is some kind of twisted second chance, you don’t know if you should feel terror or relief. But the room, the sheets, the absence on the other side of the bed—everything points to one impossible truth.

You’re back.

But this isn't a romance novel, is it?

Your eyes trail back to the empty bed, where Ricky should be. “Ricky?” The name falls from your lips, hopeful, trembling, but the silence stretches on, suffocating.

Your heart thuds like a wild drumbeat, erratic and desperate, the rhythm matched only by the single hope that propels you forward: seeing Ricky. Alive. Healthy. Breathing.

You practically jog out of the shared bedroom, your bare feet sliding slightly on the hardwood floor as you turn the corner. The guest room door is ajar, a sliver of dim light illuminating the narrow hallway. The pulse in your chest quickens, breaths shallower with each step until you reach the threshold. You pause, drawing in a trembling breath before stepping inside.

There he is. Ricky. Lying on his side, dark hair fanned messily over the pillow, the soft rise and fall of his chest hypnotic in its simplicity. Relief washes over you so powerfully that your knees almost buckle. You inch closer, careful not to make a sound. The blanket is snug around his torso, exposing his bare, muscular chest—the way he prefers when he’s alone. Your throat tightens at the sight, familiar yet so foreign now.

Your hand, almost on its own accord, hovers over his face, fingers trembling as you place them under his nose. The soft, warm breath that meets your touch is enough to sting your eyes with unshed tears. Your hand drifts down, resting against his chest, where you can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat—a rhythm you thought you’d never sense again.

Ricky stirs, the sudden shift pulling you out of your trance. His eyelids flutter open, dark eyes glazed with sleep but sharpening as they land on you. He blinks once, then again, brows drawing together.

“What are you doing?” His voice, rough with sleep, carries a note of confusion that makes your hand fall away as though burned.

“I-I…” The words snag in your throat, scrambling to make sense of the madness. How could you possibly explain? Your eyes dart nervously to the floor, heat searing your cheeks as you mutter, “I missed your kisses.”

The room freezes. You can feel the weight of his gaze, heavy with disbelief. He shifts, sitting up, and the blanket slips down to his waist, revealing the sharp lines of his torso. Your eyes betray you, flickering over the familiar planes before darting away in embarrassment.

“But… we never kiss,” he says, voice low and edged with confusion. The statement slices through you, painfully reminding you of the distance you both had grown used to.

“I know... I...” you whisper, fingers clenching into fists at your sides. The silence stretches, heavy, until the sharp trill of his phone alarm shatters it. Ricky’s attention shifts, eyes narrowing as he leans to silence it. When he looks up again, the space where you stood is empty.

You rush back to your room, shutting the door behind you with a soft thud, heart hammering in your chest. Sliding down until you sit with your back pressed against the cool wood, you cover your flushed face with shaking hands. Your pulse thunders in your ears, mixing with the replay of his sleepy voice, the fleeting touch of his warmth.

Is this really the past? The question festers, tugging at the edges of logic, but the ache in your chest and the rawness of your emotions tell you it is. And if so, this year holds one horrifying certainty: Ricky’s death.

The mere thought twists something deep inside you, bringing back the soul-crushing grief, the endless nights of regret. You glance down at your wrist, breath catching as your eyes lock on the ink-black date that marks it: November 4th. The day Ricky dies.

Frantically, you rub at the skin, as if the stubborn mark will simply smudge away under your touch. But it doesn’t. The date remains, stark and immovable, taunting you.

A shiver crawls up your spine, but then a thought—a glimmer of defiance—roots itself.

What if you change it? What if this was given to you, not as a cruel joke, but a chance to rewrite what went so terribly wrong? To love him in a way you never did and save him from the fate that once tore your entire world apart.

“I can do this,” you whisper, determination threading into your voice. The regret may have once paralyzed you, but now it fuels you. If you only have until that date, then every second will be spent fighting fate, no matter how impossible it seems.

THE SOFT MURMUR OF THE COUPLE’S CONVERSATION DRIFTS DOWN THE STERILE HOSPITAL CORRIDOR, brushing against your ears like a whispered secret. The woman lies propped against crisp white pillows, her leg encased in a cast, eyes fixed on her partner with a blend of exhaustion and comfort. He leans forward, fingers interlaced with hers, voice low and tender.

“Can you please see what's wrong?” he asks, eyes glistening with concern. He gently squeezes her hand, words spilling out as quiet reassurances. “You're doing so well, love. It's going to be okay.”

A tight warmth coils in your chest as you approach, a familiar pang of bittersweetness shadowing the sight. The love, the unwavering devotion-it's moments like these that remind you why you cherish your job. The fragility of life, held together by threads of connection, has always moved you, even when those threads unraveled in your own life.

When you started nursing, blood was your greatest fear, the sight once enough to turn your stomach. Time had softened those edges, transforming anxiety into steady resolve. It was also during those early years when you married Ricky, the man whose smile was warm enough to banish shadows but whose presence now only haunted your memories. The marriage had lasted five years before everything shattered with the crash.

No. Stop. The thought rushes at you like a wave, cold and suffocating. You grit your teeth, eyes burning as you push it down, push him down, refusing to let the grief claw at you. He's alive here, in this fragile present you've been thrust into. Don't let the past bleed into now.

“Sure,” you say softly, the practiced smile you wear settling on your face. You reach out, fingers moving gently over the girl's cast, checking the edges, ensuring everything is as it should be. She nods in silent gratitude, eyes fluttering shut with relief as her partner exhales.

The end of your shift arrives with the deep hues of twilight stretching across the sky. The drive home is long, punctuated by the soft rumble of the engine and the anxious thrum of your thoughts. Your fingers drum against the steering wheel, tapping out a nervous rhythm. Avoid home, your mind suggests, listing off a million errands you suddenly think of, any excuse to delay the inevitable.

But the excuses run dry when you're standing in front of your door, keys cold against your palm. The air outside is crisp, biting at your cheeks as you draw a deep breath and hold it. The weight of the morning—Ricky’s sleepy, questioning eyes and the ghost of your impulsive words-hangs between you and the door.

“Is it too late to back down?” The whisper escapes your lips, trembling in the chilly silence. You picture his expression, the puzzled furrow of his brow as he replayed your words. The way his fingers brushed over his phone, gaze lifted just in time to see you flee. He isn't stupid. Ricky never was.

With a sigh, you slip the key into the lock, the click loud and final. The door opens, and warmth spills out to meet you, along with the faint scent of his cologne. Your pulse quickens as you step inside, the hum of your heartbeat louder than the quiet creak of the floor under your weight.

Don't run, you tell yourself, even as the urge coils tight in your muscles. You close the door behind you.

As you push open the front door, the faint glow of the television casts flickering shadows across the living room. There he is-your husband, Ricky, reclined on the couch, eyes fixed intently on the news. His brows knit slightly as a montage of suited politicians gestures on screen, their voices droning promises as hollow as a whisper in the wind.

He is basically watching those politicians give some weird and untrue promises for the sake of votes.

How romantic. How normal. The bitter thought twists in your chest. But it isn't. Nothing about this is normal. Why would he be watching the news, of all things? Then, a pang of irony hits you like a wave. How hypocritical, you think. You promised Ricky your forever in a ceremony that now feels like an echo. The vows shared between you had been spoken out loud but never truly lived.

You shake the memory away, an old wound you refuse to pick at as you step inside, the floor cool under your feet. Ricky doesn't notice you at first, his attention locked on the screen, oblivious to the fact that the person who left him a note asking for space now stands in the doorway, wrestling with the tension roiling inside her.

“Hey,” you finally say, the word falling between you like an anchor. It comes out awkward, unsure, a fragile hope that he won't read too much into it. But Ricky's eyes flick to yours, a spark of recognition cooling to something unreadable.

“You're back home?” His voice is measured, neither warm nor cold, but there's a tightness to it that you can't ignore. He shifts, the blue glow of the screen catching the sharp line of his jaw as he waits for your response.

The note. You had slipped it into his hand, asking for a break from a marriage four years deep but hollow. Your heart thuds in your chest, fingers clenched at your side as you speak before fear can pull the words back.

“The note-I take it back. I don't want a break from you or this relationship, Ricky.”

The silence that follows is heavy, broken only by the low hum of the news anchor's voice. His eyes search yours, a hint of disbelief darkening the warm brown you once memorized. “Why?” The question slices through the quiet, clipped and cautious. You almost flinch at the hardness there, a wall built brick by brick in your absence.

“Because I don't want to stay away from you.” Your voice trembles, raw honesty exposed between you like an open wound. Ricky's eyes widen slightly, the stoic mask cracking as a flush creeps across his cheeks.

“Y-You're blushing?” The soft, astonished laugh tumbles out of you, a momentary break in the storm that makes you feel like you're standing on the edge of something new. The corners of his mouth twitch, the faintest sign of a smile, but he shakes his head.

“Sure, sir. You're just cold.” You chuckle, sinking onto the floor beside the couch, knees drawn up as you hug them close. The laughter is sharp, almost giddy, the sound foreign in the room that has held so many silences.

Ricky watches you, confusion settling into his features, the red on his cheeks fading as he leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You're acting weird,” he murmurs, the words half swallowed, uncertain.

“How am I acting weird if I'm seeing my husband show some attraction to me, which isn't platonic, for the first time?” The jest slips out, tinged with sincerity, but it brings a hush over both of you. The truth stands stark between you, glaring and painful. For a moment, neither of you speak, each of you weighed down by memories, by the heavy knowledge of what's been lost and what still aches to be found.

But determination flares in your chest, a stubborn warmth. So what if love had been absent before? So what if promises were half-kept and hearts guarded? You could start again. You could relearn how to be two flawed people willing to try. Your gaze meets Ricky's, the hope in your eyes unyielding.

Don't let go, you silently plead. Let this be the start of something real.

Ricky clears his throat, a subtle attempt to dissolve the tension settling over the living room like a blanket too heavy to lift. His fingers fidget, running nervously over the seam of the couch as he shifts his gaze downward. There you are, still seated on the floor, legs tucked to one side, eyes catching the soft glow from the TV. Cute, he thinks, the word rolling silently through his mind, too heavy with unsaid truths to speak aloud.

“So...” The word escapes him, thin and unfinished, hovering in the air. His eyes flit over your face, searching for a reaction. The awkwardness clings to the silence, but you don't falter.

“So?” you echo, your tone a notch steadier, holding the slight tremor that betrays your effort. You lean forward just slightly, a gesture that feels braver than it is. If courage could rewrite fate, you'd wield it now, not just for yourself, but for him. For Ricky, who might not know the sharp edge of reality that's cut you.

He rubs the back of his neck, glancing to the side where the blue light paints his profile in soft, wavering lines. “You know... Semi's birthday is next week.” His words stumble, trailing off as if second-guessing their own existence. But you aren't in the dark. You know exactly what this moment leads to.

“Yes, I'd love to go shopping for gifts for her,” you respond, your voice quick and practiced. His eyes widen, caught off guard, the surprise stark against his usual composed expression. The tension in his jaw slackens, and he blinks, unsure if he heard you right.

“Excuse me?” He stares at you, the faint crease between his brows deepening.

“Isn't that what you were about to ask?” You tilt your head slightly, a small smile playing at your lips, testing him. He hesitates, realizing that denial means trouble, but his face softens into a relieved kind of acceptance.

“No, no... of course. You could... accompany me to shop for Semi's birthday presents.” His voice picks up, the uncertainty lifting as he finds the path back to normalcy. He notices your smile widening, the tension slipping just enough to let him breathe.

“Okay then, see you tomorrow, husband.” The word slips from you, unbidden, laced with a warmth that surprises even you as you turn on your heel. You make your way toward the guest room, feet padding softly against the floor. Ricky's brows knit again, eyes following your form until you pause, hand on the frame of the doorway.

“Why are you heading to the guest room?” His question is quick, a thread of confusion laced with something else-something vulnerable.

“Because we sleep apart, and I wouldn't want my husband's back to break on that stiff, rough bed. The sheets aren't even comfortable,” you say, voice light but with an edge that dares him to react. You step into the room, but glance over your shoulder with eyes that glimmer, a playful smirk pulling at your lips. “Besides, I'd rather you break your back or get tired doing me than struggling on a bed.”

His jaw drops, eyes wide with stunned silence as the door closes between you. Ricky sits back, eyes fixed on the now-empty hallway, replaying the moment in disbelief. The wife who barely spoke above a whisper at their wedding, who tiptoed through years of silence, had just turned the tables with a single teasing line. His pulse hammers beneath the stillness.

What on earth just happened?

“ARE YOU TELLING ME Y/N JUST TURNED INTO A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT PERSON?” Jay's voice, casual yet curious, echoes through the phone. He's speaking to Ricky, who shifts from foot to foot, eyes glancing around the boutique as he waits for you to finish picking out a dress for his niece. The sound of soft music drifts around him, mixing with murmurs of other shoppers.

“Exactly that!” Ricky’s voice comes out louder than intended, drawing looks from the store's staff. A woman in a sleek uniform, brows raised in disapproval, approaches with a pointed glare.

“Sir, please keep your voice down or refrain from talking altogether,” she says, sternly but professional.

Ricky's ears burn as embarrassment blooms across his face. “Yeah, I'm sorry” he mutters, running a hand through his hair.

Through the phone, Jay's laughter rings clear and unapologetic. “You seriously got told off by staff? Man, you're killing me!” Jay's chuckles fade into a smirk that Ricky can practically hear. Jay's the same as he's always been-playful, relentless, the older brother who teases but listens when it counts.

“Fine, fine, I'll stop. Tell me what you mean by Y/N changing, just... keep it PG, will you?” Jay's tone is teasing, but curiosity laces through.

Ricky’s jaw tightens, eyes scanning the store for you as if your sudden return would put him on the spot. “There's nothing intimate going on between us,” he blurts, the words a knee-jerk reaction. His chest tightens with the memory of you resting your hand on him in your sleep last week, the way warmth had crept through him then. He clears his throat. “I mean, she's talking to me more, being... sweet. She listens. It's almost... submissive.”

“I told you, no bedroom details!” Jay chimes in, sarcasm sharp enough to make Ricky's teeth clench.

“THIS IS NOT A BEDROOM DETAIL!!!” Ricky retorts, frustration coloring his tone. It earns him another hard look from the store associate across the room, who pointedly glances over her glasses. Ricky sighs and mouths an apology again, shoulders drooping as he lowers his voice.

“What I mean is, she's more... attentive. She's not arguing as much. It's like she's listening to me for the first time.”

Jay's voice softens, just a hint of seriousness slipping through. “Isn't that how she always is with others?”

“Yeah, with everyone else. Just not with me,” Ricky admits, the admission heavy with a history neither of them mention.

“Interesting.” Jay's reply is contemplative, but before he can say more, Ricky's voice interrupts, distorted through the line. “Oh shoot, she's coming back. I'll call you later.”

As the call ends, Ricky pockets his phone, glancing up just in time to see you walking back with a smile. Jay, on the other side of the city, sets his phone down, a smirk playing at his lips as he thinks of sharing this tidbit with his wife later. Whatever was happening between his brother and sister-in-law, it was about to get even more intriguing.

On the other side, Ricky stands, a mixture of amusement and curiosity on his face as you hold up a tiny pink dress. It's perfectly frilly, fit for a little girl. But all he can think is how charming it would look in a size for you—a thought that makes him shake his head, realizing how ridiculous it sounds.

“So, what do you think? Should I get this for Semi?” you ask, eyes sparkling with anticipation. There's already a growing collection of clothes for his niece in your arms, a reminder of how you've embraced being part of his family.

“Are you getting all of them?” he asks, more out of shock than judgment. He never imagined children's clothes could come with such hefty price tags.

“Yes, why? Is this too much? I can cover it if—”

Before you can finish, he interrupts, affronted. “I'll pay. It's for my lady, after all.”

The statement hangs in the air, not romantic as he'd intended but awkward, making your brows twitch slightly. You resist the urge to grimace, forcing a polite smile instead.

A staff member, the same one who had shushed Ricky earlier, walks over with an unimpressed expression, exchanging a silent, almost comic glare with him. She gave Ricky a look that said 'you're weird and I don't want to talk to you'

'what have I ever done to you' was the look that Ricky presented back to the staff before she looked away. You glance between them, slightly confused. Then Ricky clears his throat, moving the conversation forward.

“Do you have a similar dress in a bigger size?” His voice drops to almost a whisper. He feels self-conscious asking, but the idea has stuck.

The staff member blinks, taken aback. “Excuse me?” She tilts her head, uncertain if she heard right.

“Yeah, do you have something like this,” Ricky gestures at the dress in your hands, “but, you know, for an adult?” A flush of red creeps across his cheeks as he points to you. The staff member nods after a moment, walking off to search, while you stand there stunned, watching her go.

“Why are you buying something for me? Semi’s dress is already pricey. A woman's size will be—”

“It's just a dress,” he interrupts with a small sigh, eyes softening. “Think of it as a gift.”

“But today isn't anything special.”

“Maybe not. But I'd like to make it special,” he replies, voice lowering. “I haven't given you anything since our wedding. That was four years ago.” His words carry a quiet vulnerability as he looks at you, taller and more serious than you expect. You hold his gaze before shifting and mumbling a reluctant, “Fine,” looking away to hide the way your cheeks warm.

The staff returns holding a similar dress, but in an adult size. It's pink, short, and undeniably cute-something that looks a little too daring for your style.

“Will this do?” she asks.

“Absolutely not,” “hell yeah,” you and Ricky say in unison. The staff's eyebrows raise as she turns to you, sensing you as the more level-headed one.

“We're not buying it,” you insist, giving Ricky a look.

He doubles down. “We are.”

“Ricky, no.”

“Why not?”

“It's too short!” you argue, exasperated. He shrugs, eyes softening as he counters, “It's knee-length. That's normal.”

With a dramatic sigh, you roll your eyes and give in. But you don't try it on in the store; the idea of wearing it in front of him makes your heart thud with a mix of nerves and embarrassment. After all, you've barely even shared a bed in weeks—how could you possibly show him a dress like that now?

RICKY’S HEART STOPS FOR A MOMENT AS HE TAKES IN THE SIGHT BEFORE HIM. You, standing in the baby pink dress that hugs your figure just right, with its soft fabric brushing just above your knees. The playful, shy smile you wear as you twirl slightly sends a wave of warmth through him. He never expected to see you like this; the reality strikes him so suddenly that it leaves him breathless.

The laughter of Semi fills the room as she runs around in her matching pink dress, giggling and pulling you along by the hand. The soft glow of the post-birthday celebration lights casts a golden hue, warming up the atmosphere in the living room. Ricky sits on the edge of the couch, one hand resting on his knee as he watches you and Semi, his gaze softening with an emotion he hasn't felt in what seems like ages.

A gentle nudge breaks his trance, and he turns to see his mother looking at him with raised brows and a hopeful gleam. “When are you two going to have kids?” she asks, her voice light but laced with longing.

The air in the room shifts. You pause mid-spin, eyes darting to Ricky with a look of surprise. This isn't part of the script of your past life; this question throws you off balance, the sudden attention making your heart race.

Ricky’s father, seated across with a glass of wine in his hand, lets out a dramatic sigh. “I think I'll be long gone before I see any grandchildren from this one,” he jokes, though the weight behind it is unmistakable. The statement slices through the room's cheerful mood, leaving an awkward silence in its wake. Ricky's jaw tightens, a subtle tension creeping up his spine. He wants kids too, he really does—but not in a house that feels as unstable as theirs has become.

Before he can respond, you surprise everyone, including yourself. “We're trying,” you say, the words slipping out with practiced ease, even as your pulse pounds. The room freezes, all eyes turning toward you in shock.

Ricky’s eyebrows lift in silent question, but he plays along, shifting to put on an unreadable expression. He nods, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he covers the uncertainty boiling beneath. The room shifts back into a mixture of excitement and surprise.

“Is that true? You're both trying?” Ricky’s mother's eyes glisten, her hope rekindled as she looks between you and her son.

“Really?” Ricky's father echoes, leaning forward, his earlier sarcasm replaced by genuine interest.

Jay, standing near the fireplace, furrows his brow, lips parting in disbelief. Only last week, Ricky had confided in him about how distant and weird things had become between you two.

Ricky forces a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah... we've been trying for a while.” The lie feels heavy in his mouth, and he shoots you a look that says, Why'd you lie about that?

Your sister-in-law, Jieun, raises her hand, pointing at you with wide eyes. “Since when?” she blurts out, unable to contain her shock.

Ricky stutters, “It's been a-a month,” the answer sounding rehearsed yet shaky. He glances at you again, his eyes pleading for an explanation that won't come.

The conversation quickly shifts into an excited buzz, with well-meaning wishes from your in-laws filling the air. You catch Ricky's gaze, and despite the tight-lipped smile you give the family, there's a flicker of humor in your eyes. The absurdity of it all makes you want to laugh.

You both know the truth: the notion of trying for a child is impossibly far from reality.

Heck, it was funny for you to watch.

You were still a virgin. You two didn't even kiss more than once in those four years and they expect a baby to suddenly pop out of you?

And once the party winds down, you find yourself sitting on the couch with Semi by your side. Her wide, curious eyes shine with excitement as she swings her legs back and forth. At just four years old, she's a bundle of endless questions and innocent wonder.

You smile, reaching over to gently ruffle her soft, dark hair. “Does the birthday girl like her dress?” you ask, voice playful.

Semi beams, glancing down at the pink ruffled dress with pride. “It's so pretty,” she chirps, then looks up at you with a thoughtful expression. “But yours is prettier. You always look pretty, Aunty.”

Your heart melts, and you chuckle softly. “Aww, you learned how to give compliments, huh?” you tease, watching as her cheeks turn rosy and she averts her gaze to fiddle with her fingers.

“Aunty!” she whines, wanting you to stop teasing. Her eyes sparkle with mischief as she leans in closer and motions for you to do the same. With a curious tilt of your head, you move closer, letting her whisper into your ear. “Will you eat a baby to have a baby?” she asks, voice so serious it makes you freeze for a moment.

You stifle a laugh, your eyes crinkling at the edges. Gently cupping her cheek, you whisper back, “No, sweetie. That's not how it works. But that's grown-up stuff, and we don't talk about it now, do we?”

Semi giggles, her little fingers playing with a toy she received from her grandmother. The sight makes your chest tighten in a bittersweet way. You can almost picture your mother-in-law doting on a future child, fussing over toys and tiny clothes. The thought sends a shiver down your spine, making you shake your head lightly as if to dispel the image.

But a small part of you can't help but smile at the idea, a blush rising to your cheeks. The dream is distant, almost unreachable, and not yet yours to claim.

When you and Ricky step out into the cold night, the air nips at your exposed legs below your knees. The dress he had picked out for you, delicate and pastel pink, offers little warmth, and the heels are beginning to pinch with every step. You trail behind him, taking careful, aching strides to avoid twisting your ankle.

Ricky notices, stopping suddenly to turn toward you, eyes scanning your shivering frame. “What’s wrong?” His gaze softens as he realizes how exposed you are, legs trembling from the chill. Without hesitating, he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. The sudden warmth is welcome, but your teeth still chatter as you mutter, “Wish I had something covering my legs instead.”

He exhales, half exasperated, half amused, before a wry smile forms. “Should I carry you like a princess? You’d be warm then.”

Surprised, you bite back a retort, matching his teasing tone with confidence. “Maybe you should.”

Ricky’s eyebrows shoot up, stunned. “Wait, what?”

“Chill, I was just joking,” you mumble, looking down at the ground. But before you know it, he’s stopped again, this time dropping to one knee. Your eyes widen in shock. “WHAT THE HELL?” you blurt out, stepping back in reflex, heat rising to your cheeks at the unexpected gesture. (more so because you believed he was trying to look up your dress)

Ricky looks up, mildly annoyed but patient. “I’m helping you,” he says simply. Before you can argue, he pulls out a pair of slippers from a little carry bag he had brought from home. The realization hits, softening your expression as he glances up. “Lift your leg.”

You comply, feeling foolish for your earlier outburst. He slips the heels off your feet and replaces them with the soft slippers, careful and precise as if proving he has no ulterior motive. The chill in the air suddenly seems less biting.

“You had these the whole time?” you ask, voice softer now, eyes wide with realization. He places the heels into the carry bag, stands up, and meets your gaze with a smirk.

“Yeah. Thought you might need them,” he says, a hint of smugness in his tone. You’re about to thank him when he reminds you with a mock-accusing look, “And you were ready to accuse me of being a pervert.”

The memory makes you feel small, but you muster a sheepish, “Sorry.”

He shakes his head, a touch of amusement in his eyes as the two of you start walking again, your steps now confident and comfortable. His jacket around your shoulders holds a warmth that seems to seep straight to your heart.

“So...” Ricky’s voice cuts through the silence, the question you've been dreading finally arriving. “Why did you lie about... us trying for a baby?” His tone is cautious, probing.

You sigh, the answer already clear in your mind. “It was the only way to get them to stop bothering us,” you admit. A pause follows, your gaze flitting up to meet his. You don’t dare to say more, not with your secret burden looming—coming from a future where he is no longer alive and your mission is to keep him safe.

Ricky hums in agreement, the tension easing a bit. “I can’t argue with that.” A comfortable silence settles between you, only broken by the sound of your footsteps. He glances at you again and asks, “Are you hungry?”

As if on cue, your stomach grumbles. Relief flashes across his face before he reaches out, taking your hand and leading you forward. The two of you approach a small, tucked-away restaurant, its sign faded but familiar. Ricky’s eyes light up. “You have to try the cold coffee from that café across the street,” he points out, the fondness in his voice unmistakable.

You nod, memories flickering back. His odd, endearing preferences were things you never forgot. “Fish curry with plain rice and some shrimp on the side?” you guess, eyes twinkling with recognition.

Ricky’s head snaps to you, surprise clear as day. He stares, a laugh escaping him as he shakes his head. “Since when did you start memorizing my favorites?”

You had heard about his fav things to eat from your brother in law, Jay. But Ricky never said it to you himself so the boy was pretty much stunned when you literally memorised them, as if you were waiting to flex this whole time.

You offer a small, knowing smile. “I have my ways.”

The waiter arrives promptly with your orders, and the rich aroma fills the space between you and Ricky. He takes a bite, but pauses, eyes drifting to you with a soft, contemplative expression. “We’ve never done this before…” he murmurs, his tone a mix of realization and gentle amusement.

You tilt your head, savoring a piece of shrimp. “You mean this date?” you ask, half-smiling.

“Yeah. I guess that’s what I mean,” he replies, taking a moment before continuing, as if gathering the courage. “I like it. I like how we are now.” He takes a sip of water, and the way he watches you is tender, raw. His hand slides across the table to rest over yours, fingers warm against your skin.

“I don’t know what changed, but I…” He hesitates, eyes locking with yours, a profound intensity that silences you. “I like how we’re not avoiding each other anymore, how we talk instead of fighting over every little thing.”

The sincerity in his words pierces through you, tugging at memories of a future where his absence left a hollow ache in your chest. The pain you’d carried, the distance, the loss—all of it feels heavy in this moment, but now, something else unfurls within you. An unexpected warmth that swells as his thumb brushes over your knuckles.

He draws in a shaky breath. “I know I’m not perfect. I’ve made mistakes, maybe too many, and that’s why we kept drifting apart in those four years we were married. But I want us to stay like this. Is that too much to ask for?” His voice cracks, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

The depth of emotion he shows takes your breath away, and your vision blurs as your own tears spill over. The raw honesty in his confession reaches a part of you that had long been buried under grief and guilt. But this isn’t grief—it’s something different, a warmth that wraps around you and fills the spaces that loss once consumed.

“Ricky…” you whisper, voice trembling. He blinks rapidly, tears tracing paths down his cheeks as he tries to manage a laugh, a hand lifting to wipe at his face. “Did I go too overboard?” he chuckles, awkwardly, brushing his fingers over yours, an attempt to ease the intensity.

But you can’t answer with words, your heart too full. Instead, you wipe your own tears away, watching him as he takes a deep breath and resumes eating, eyes still red-rimmed, his emotions raw and vivid between you. The silence that follows is... a little satisfying this time around. Your chest tightens, and you realize this feeling—this unexpected, overwhelming tenderness—is the spark you hadn’t felt in what feels like forever.

The confession... It did something to you. It made you feel things or you believed so.

You reach for his hand, this time without hesitation, and hold on as if anchoring both of you to this moment. A shared glance tells him everything you can’t yet put into words: you’re here, with him, and for now, that’s enough.

AS THE DAYS PASSED FOLLOWING THAT UNEXPECTED DINNER, a subtle shift had occurred between you and Ricky. It had been a month since then, and despite your hectic lives—you, a dedicated nurse, and him, an ambitious lawyer—something had changed. You continued to sleep separately, a necessity due to your conflicting schedules. Late nights saw you returning home to find Ricky already asleep, and early mornings had him leaving before you awoke. This unspoken arrangement was born out of mutual respect for each other’s rest.

However, the reminder of the future haunted you. The date on your wrist, November 4th, hadn’t faded or smudged. It remained stark and vivid, a grim reminder of the fate you knew awaited Ricky, filling you with silent dread.

Despite your busy lives, the dinner at that small restaurant had stirred something unspoken between you. A shared tenderness had taken root, and in the brief pauses between work, you found yourself drawn to those moments that whispered of possibilities—moments that spoke of a bond that hadn’t existed before.

The room feels charged with an unspoken tension as you stand there, watching Ricky. The question slips from your lips, “Are we sleeping separately again?” masking the tremble in your voice with an attempt at confidence. Ricky’s eyes meet yours, an amused smile playing on his lips as he tilts his head. “Do you want to sleep with me?” he asks, casual yet knowing.

You stammer, trying to find an answer that won’t reveal how vulnerable you feel. “No—yes—but—” The uncertainty in your voice makes him chuckle softly, the sound sending warmth through your chest. The realization of your feelings for him washes over you again, clear and inescapable.

“It’s normal to want to sleep with your husband. Don’t worry,” he says reassuringly. His tone is light, yet there’s an edge of tenderness as he turns and walks to the bedroom. He pauses at the doorway, looking back with an expectant eyebrow raise, and you follow.

Inside, the dim light casts soft shadows. The atmosphere feels different tonight, heightened by the realization that, while you’ve shared this space before, this moment feels profoundly intimate. He hesitates for a moment, the usual playful confidence in his manner replaced by a quiet consideration.

Should he lie down first?

Wait for you?

Or speak?

“You don’t need to worry. I won’t touch you unless you want me to. We could even put a pillow between us if you prefer,” he says in a rush, trying to ease the tension. But his words leave you both flushed. You respond, flustered yet honest, “No—you can touch me—I mean...”

Ricky’s eyes widen, and a surprised silence falls over you both, broken only by your slightly quickened breaths.

Finally, you break it, murmuring, “So... do we sleep?” You wish the dim light hides your expression, but Ricky’s shifting on the bed signals that he’s as unsettled as you are. He lies down first, and you follow, settling into the bed with a space that feels simultaneously too close and too distant.

Minutes pass as the darkness deepens around you. You’re aware of every sound, every breath he takes, and the slight rustle of sheets as you both try to find comfort. The knowledge that he’s staying dressed out of respect doesn’t escape you, and neither does the chill that seeps through the room, despite the blanket. It’s enough to make sleep elusive, even as your heart drums with quiet, unspoken hope.

The air feels thick with tension as neither of you can fall asleep, despite the dim light and the shared silence. Ricky gently sits up, his voice breaking the stillness. “I’ll get changed into my night clothes—this is uncomfortable. You should get changed too,” he suggests. His words are practical, but they stir a shyness inside you. The thought of wearing shorts around him makes you feel self-conscious, though the blanket and darkness give you some comfort.

With a deep breath, you agree. You grab your oversized top and shorts, retreating to the bathroom to change. When you return, Ricky is already asleep, dressed in a soft T-shirt and shorts. His peaceful expression makes a pang of guilt settle in your chest. You feel both relief and unease at the same time, knowing he’s so close yet so far away.

You lie there, tense in the stillness of the night. Ricky’s hand lands instinctively on your stomach, the warmth of his touch sending a jolt through you. You hold your breath, carefully shifting his hand away. Just when you think you're safe, his leg shifts under the blanket, pressing gently between your legs. A rush of heat floods your chest as you gently push his leg away, silently exhaling in relief.

In the quiet, you watch him sleep. His messy hair, a small trail of drool escaping his lips—something inside you stirs. Without thinking, you bring your thumb to wipe away the drool, brushing it lightly against your shirt. You stare at him for a moment, your heart racing in ways you can’t fully understand.

For Ricky though,

He wakes to find you so close, your noses nearly touching. A small breath escapes him as he pulls back, but then he notices your body, curled into him—one of your legs and arms wrapped around him, as if clinging to his warmth to escape the cold. You’re nestled so comfortably against his chest, and though a small part of him wants to get up, he finds himself content in the moment.

He stares at you, watching as he slips his fingers through your hair, the quiet intimacy settling around him like a comforting blanket. When you stir, half-awake, he expects you to pull away. But you don’t. Instead, you bury yourself further into his chest, and he smiles, a little amused by your unconscious need for closeness.

“Morning... Baby,” he says softly, though he’s hoping you’ll move just enough for him to slip out of bed.

“Morningg,” you murmur, nuzzling his chest. He notices how you don’t seem to mind the nickname, a small sign that you’re still in that dreamy, sleepy state. He wants to pull away, but he doesn't want to disturb you, so he asks, “Can you move a bit, baby?”

You barely stir, your arms and legs still tangled with his. “Too cold,” you mumble, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“I know, baby. I’ll turn the heater on for you, is that good?” he whispers, his voice tender. He’s careful not to wake you fully, knowing you won’t even remember this when you wake up.

An hour later, you wake up alone in the bed, the soft comforter still wrapped around your legs. You stretch and yawn, rubbing your eyes, only to hear the door creak open. Ricky stands there, a plate in hand—an omelette and a fruit salad. You blink, unsure if you’re still dreaming, and pinch your cheek, just to make sure this isn’t some figment of your imagination.

“What's that?” you ask, your voice still thick with sleep.

“Breakfast in bed,” Ricky says with a playful grin, setting the plate down in front of you.

“For me?” you ask, surprised and touched.

“Who else?” he replies with a shrug, like it's the most natural thing in the world.

“Why...?” You blink at him, unsure of why he's being so considerate, so affectionate.

“Why not?” he answers, teasing, but there’s a sincerity in his eyes that makes your heart flutter.

You stare at the food in front of you, but the nerves kick in. “Well, uhm... I haven’t brushed.”

“It’s okay,” he reassures, waving off your concerns.

“No, it’s not. It’s gross. I do care about germs,” you argue, a bit embarrassed. Before he can say anything else, you rush off to brush your teeth, feeling a little self-conscious. You quickly freshen up, brushing your teeth with the toothpaste, hoping that’ll help with the lingering awkwardness.

When you return, you take a bite, and the emotion hits you harder than you expect. You don’t quite know why, but the tenderness of his gesture fills you with gratitude, and a soft lump forms in your throat.

“Why?” you ask again, your voice shaky, as you sip some water. The question has been swirling in your mind ever since you saw him standing there, holding that plate.

“Hm?” he hums, genuinely confused, not fully understanding why you're so emotional.

“Why are you being so nice... and romantic?” You wince after speaking, regretting your words, but you can't take them back now.

Ricky tilts his head, his smile fading slightly. “Like I said a month ago... I meant those words. I want us to stay like this... And not go back to how it was in those four years.. Are we really that immature to let it happen again?” The vulnerability in his tone catches you off guard, and for a moment, you can see the hurt in his eyes.

It's raw, honest, and you feel a knot twist in your chest, not having a reply to his genuine question.

THE DAYS AND MONTHS THAT FOLLOW ARE UNEXPECTEDLY TENDER, filled with moments that remind you of what being husband and wife is meant to feel like. The shared smiles, lingering touches, and quiet mornings are sweeter than they have ever been, and for the first time in a long while, peace seems attainable. Yet, there is an undercurrent that stirs beneath it all—the date that looms, casting a shadow over your contentment.

November 4th.

With the month drawing nearer, your heart starts to tighten with an anxious grip. Paranoia seeps into the quiet moments, the fear of what November 4th could mean—what it has meant in the past—makes the days feel more fragile. Your mind races, replaying scenarios and doubts that you can’t shake off. Each sweet gesture, each kind word from him, is tinged with the knowledge that the date approaches, threatening to unravel everything you’ve rebuilt.

Ricky’s expression is heavy with exhaustion, dark circles under his eyes hinting at the long day he’s had. You offer, “I’ll heat up the dinner,” and turn toward the kitchen, but he stops you with a gentle grasp around your wrist. Before you can react, he pulls you back, pressing you against the wall. The soft strains of a romantic song drift from the living room, creating an intimate, almost fragile atmosphere.

He’s close—closer than usual—and you feel the warmth radiating from his body as well as the subtle scent of his cologne. The proximity sends your pulse racing.

“Ricky?” you say softly, confusion lacing your voice as you look up at him. His face is unreadable, the dim lighting casting a shadow over the tired lines of his features. His eyes meet yours, carrying an unspoken emotion.

“Mm?” he murmurs, his voice hushed, as if not to disturb the moment. His hands find their way around you, holding you securely against him, and he leans his chin on your head. The gesture feels protective, desperate even.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your words barely above a whisper, unsure if you’re seeking clarification or reassurance. His embrace tightens for a moment, and you feel his chest rise and fall against yours as he takes a deep breath.

“Can you stop calling me Ricky?” he says quietly, the request landing softly, yet weighted.

Surprise flashes through you. “What do you want me to call you?” you ask, voice muffled against his shirt. The question feels vulnerable, as if shifting something fundamental between you both.

“I don’t know... something like... baby, darling, honey... or anything,” he admits, a subtle flush spreading across his cheeks despite the solemn tone. You catch the shy dip of his eyes, and a faint smile tugs at your lips.

“You’re being quite demanding,” you tease, looking up into his face. His lips part slightly as he considers your words.

“This isn’t being demanding,” he counters, pausing just long enough for the silence to underline his meaning. His eyes search yours, raw and full of an unnamed plea. “I just want to spend my last months with you, thinking we’re just... normal. Like any other couple.”

His words sink in, bringing with them an ache that spreads through your chest. The silence that follows is heavy, laced with all the things unsaid and the truth that’s pressing in on both of you. You lift a hand, letting your fingers brush the hair at the back of his neck. His eyes soften, dark lashes casting shadows against his skin as he watches you.

There’s something fragile in this moment, a bittersweet understanding passing between you that makes your throat tighten. The future looms, uncertain and unkind, but for now, you’re here, held close, suspended in the tender present.

Ricky’s voice lowers, a tremor in its depths that betrays the weight of his words. “You might not believe me, but... I come from a reality where I’m dead. So, I hope we can at least be nice to each other in my last moments. Can you do that?”

A stunned silence follows, your breath catching in your throat as his confession hangs in the air. You believe him; how could you not when you come from the same reality? Eyes widening, you step back, raising your wrist to show the dark, unerasable mark: November 4th. The ink-like number seems to pulse, a constant reminder of a fate that binds you both.

Ricky’s eyes mirror your shock. He releases you, just enough to reveal his own wrist. There it is, the same haunting date. The mark seems alive, almost mocking, as if counting down with every heartbeat.

Neither of you speaks for a moment, the silence heavy with shared grief and realization. The next second, you’re in his arms again, your face buried in his chest as he pulls you close, his own face pressed into your hair. The world around you blurs, reduced to the rapid thumping of your heart and the warmth of his embrace.

“I... please don’t... leave me this time,” you plead, your voice breaking under the weight of your fear. The memory of finding him lifeless in the world you came from, the coldness of that reality, rushes back with a cruel force.

“I will try,” he whispers, his voice barely steady as he runs a hand down your back in a soothing gesture. “We changed the relationship, right? So maybe... just maybe, we can avoid death too.”

You both stand there, unmoving as the moment stretches out. It feels absurd, two souls transported from a fractured future, now clinging to each other in the present in a fragile hope. Yet the thought of letting go is unbearable, so you don’t. For now, the reality of the present is enough.

RICKY’S FINGERS TREMBLE SLIGHTLY AS HE HOLDS OUT THE SMALL BOX, A HINT OF NERVOUSNESS CREASING HIS BROW. “This is for you.” His voice is softer than usual, his eyes searching yours for a response. The box is familiar, a relic from the present you left behind, steeped in memories. Inside is the ancestral ring, one that Ricky’s mother entrusted to you after his death—a token that held more value than any wedding ring could.

“I wasn’t... couldn’t give it to you before, but now... I’d like you to have it.” His voice is almost a whisper as he takes your hand, slipping the cool metal onto your finger. His touch lingers, warm and careful, as if anchoring the moment between you.

You look down at the ring, its delicate design catching the dim light and glistening softly. The weight of it brings back a rush of memories that mix grief with an unexpected warmth. Meeting his gaze, you let a small, genuine smile curve your lips. “Thank you. After you… I mean, after your death, your mother gave it to me,” you say, voice thick with the past, “but I’m glad it’s you giving it to me now.”

The way his eyes widen before softening speaks volumes—acceptance, regret, and hope, all blending seamlessly as he draws you closer.

Ricky’s expression shifts, a soft smile forming as he leans in, his body pressing yours gently against the bedroom wall. His breath mingles with yours, warm and scented faintly with his cologne. His eyes trace your features, holding a glimmer of something tender and fragile. You raise a brow in playful defiance, a silent challenge, and a sheepish smile tugs at his lips. Without another word, he cups your face, his thumb grazing your cheek, and leans in until the space between you disappears.

The first touch of his lips is tentative, testing. A shiver races down your spine as his mouth moves with a gentleness that makes your heart stutter. Your eyes flutter open for a second, catching the serene expression on his face before closing again as you respond, deepening the kiss. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring yourself to reality.

When he finally breaks away, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing in short, uneven gasps. The room is silent except for the soft crackle of a song playing somewhere in the background. Ricky’s eyes open, and in them, you see a question—a hesitation laced with anticipation. “Do you want to go further?” His voice, barely above a whisper, holds a vulnerability that makes your pulse quicken.

You exhale softly, a hint of a smile teasing your lips as you match his boldness. “How far can you go?” The playful edge in your voice makes him chuckle, low and breathy.

“As far as you want to go.” The words are a promise, and before you can respond, his lips capture yours again, more confident this time, as his hand moves to the strap of your dress, gently sliding it off of your shoulders.

THE NEXT FEW WEEKS PASS IN A COMFORTING CALM, the bond between you and Ricky strengthening with each passing day. You're no longer weighed down by the regret of the past, but instead, you focus on cherishing the present. Yet, there's still a lingering unease.

Ricky driving the car is something that continues to gnaw at you. It's not just a simple fear; it's the haunting memory of the future you came from, where that very action led to his tragic end. As November nears, the pressure builds. You look at the date on your wrist—November 4th—and the thought of losing him again, of it becoming reality, is too much to bear. Your chest tightens, and you feel a mix of helplessness and dread, hoping with every fiber of your being that this time, things will be different.

Ricky offers a reassuring smile, the kind that tries to mask his own unease as he softly says, “Chill, I’ll be back in an hour, alright?” His hand moves up to gently smooth your hair, eyes soft with understanding as he takes in the worry etched across your face. You cling tighter to his arm, voice trembling as you ask, “Is it important?”

He nods, and the hopeful part of you crumbles. The instinct to keep him close, to refuse, is almost overwhelming. But before you can protest, he leans forward, placing a tender kiss on your forehead. His hands slip down to rest on your shoulders as he looks at you earnestly.

“I promise I’ll be back. Now, will my pretty wife give me a smile so I can come back even sooner?” The playful plea tugs at your lips, and despite the fear swirling inside, you manage a small, forced smile. He chuckles softly, ruffling your hair before turning to leave.

You trail behind him to the door, eyes glued to the taillights of his car as they fade down the street. The ache in your chest sharpens, and you glance down at the ancestral ring on your finger, tracing its smooth surface as if the touch alone could make your wish come true: Please, come back safely.

The minutes stretch painfully long, and every ten minutes, you can’t resist sending a text, the same anxious message: “If you’re okay, just send a heart emoji.” True to his word, Ricky replies with a heart every time—until the fifty-minute mark.

The silence is deafening. Your heart thunders as you stare at your phone, willing the screen to light up. Nothing. The dread coils tighter, stealing the air from your lungs. You take a shaky breath, but it barely settles you. Panic sets in, and you hit the call button. The phone doesn’t connect; the ring tone never plays. Your chest tightens.

In desperation, you call Jay, your brother-in-law. His voice is laced with confusion as he picks up. “Jay, is Ricky with you?” The silence that follows your frantic question only amplifies your fear. “No, why? What’s going on?” he asks, suddenly serious. Before you can answer, he cuts the call, sensing the urgency and attempting to help in any way he can.

The next hour drags like an eternity, your anxiety swallowing every rational thought. You pace the room, eyes darting to the clock, phone clenched in your shaking hand. Then, after what feels like a lifetime, you hear the distant purr of an engine. Your pulse stutters as Ricky’s car comes into view, whole and unharmed.

But you don’t relax. Not until you see him. The door swings open, and there he is, frustration etched into his features as he steps inside. Your breath catches, relief and anger colliding within you.

Ricky's expression softens as he speaks, keeping his voice low despite the frustration. “Why’d you call Jay over something like this? My phone died while I was working. I charged it and got caught up in the case. It’s embarrassing.”

Your eyes well up, the weight of worry turning to a sting of hurt. “So? It’s not important?” Your voice wavers, raw with emotion. “I was terrified, Ricky! I didn’t want to lose you again. Sorry for being the clingy wife you’re ashamed of.”

Turning to leave, you barely make a step before he’s there, blocking your path. His eyes search yours, but instead of a defensive remark, he pulls you close, enveloping you in an embrace that tells you more than words could. His arms tighten, anchoring you to him as he murmurs in your ear, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s strange, but I promise I won’t say that again, okay?”

His breath is warm against your hair as he leans his cheek on your head, his heartbeat steady against your own erratic one. Despite the tension, you sense his understanding, a silent acknowledgment of your fear. He’s learning to hold your worry without judgment.

“I was so scared, Ricky. I thought I’d lose you all over again.” Your voice cracks, and he feels the tremor in your body. He wants to say the right thing, anything to soothe the tremble in your words, but all he can do is hold you tighter.

Both of you are haunted by that date imprinted on your wrists, “November 4th.” A reminder that looms like an uninvited shadow, a constant whisper of what could happen.

THE DAY ARRIVES, a heavy silence filling the air between you and Ricky. His promise lingers like a protective shield around you both: he won’t drive, he won’t leave. His presence is a balm for the fear that pulses in your chest. As the two of you snuggle on the couch, the soft glow of the TV playing a rom-com, you turn to him with a worried look, your voice low and unsure.

“What if something bad happens while we’re in the house?” you whisper, nuzzling into his warmth. The thought of losing him, of the world continuing without him, feels unbearable.

Ricky shifts, his arm wrapping tighter around you as he looks down at you, his breath warm against your neck. “Nothing will happen. And if it does, I’ll protect you,” he assures, his tone strong and sure, though his own heart is heavy. He knows how much your fear weighs on you, and he wants to shoulder it for you.

But the thought of you living without him—he can’t imagine it. He brushes your hair from your face gently, his voice a soft promise. “I love you too much for that.” His words come out naturally, like it’s something he’s been holding back but feels right now to say. It’s the first time you hear him say it, and the weight of those words floods your heart with warmth, knowing this is real.

“I get it. I won’t put my life at risk,” he murmurs, though there’s a quiet uncertainty in his words, an unspoken truth that he would never let anything harm you—even at the cost of his own safety.

You glance up at him, your lips pressing together in a worried frown. “You better not,” you mumble, not able to let go of the fear completely. You’ve spent the whole day together, in the safety of your home, trying to ignore the impending dread that the date will pass and nothing will change. Watching TV, cooking together, each small moment a reminder of how much he means to you—and how fragile life can be.

You curl up closer to him, as if physically wrapping yourself around him can keep him safe. Your eyes glance at the clock, the seconds ticking by too slowly. Every moment spent together now feels like a treasure, and you want to hold on to it forever.

The two of you lie in bed, the soft glow of the nightlight casting a gentle warmth over your forms. His hand rests tenderly over yours, fingers interlocking. He watches you as you sleep, your face relaxed, peaceful. A quiet whisper escapes his lips: “I love you.” His eyes linger on your peaceful expression, your other arm still clinging to him as if you’re unwilling to let go even in sleep.

He leans over to turn off the lamp, and then his gaze falls to his wrist—where the date once was. It’s gone. A wave of disbelief washes over him. The tension that has gripped him for so long begins to melt away. Perhaps it wasn’t an omen after all, but a reminder that after November 4th, a new chapter awaited them both.

He takes a deep breath, reaching for your wrist to find the same thing: no date. Relief floods him, and he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, pulling you even closer into his arms, savoring the moment.

But he knows, as much as this moment feels like a new beginning, there will still be challenges ahead. The fear you carry about him driving is not something that will fade overnight. Your worry, rooted in a past he knows you can’t shake, will take time to heal. But for now, he holds you close, understanding, and promises silently that he’ll be patient, allowing you to find peace in your own time.

TWO MONTHS HAVE PASSED SINCE THE FATEFUL DATE, and though life has taken you and Ricky through different stages, there’s an undeniable warmth between the two of you. Sitting at the family dinner table, surrounded by loved ones, the air is filled with laughter, conversation, and the quiet hum of joy.

Semi, now a cheerful five-year-old, eats her meal quietly, occasionally looking up with shy glances.

You glance over at Ricky, noticing him take a deep breath as he prepares to speak, his hand resting on the table near yours. It’s clear he’s nervous, even though it’s just family. He clears his throat, the words finally tumbling out: “So… We’re having a baby.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Ricky’s father scoffs, not giving him an ounce of reaction, while his mother rolls her eyes. “Oh, c’mon, you can fool us one time, not twice,” she says, clearly referencing the last family dinner, where you had tried to casually mention trying for a baby, only for him to play along. He felt the blame was entirely on him, but you knew the truth—it was a team effort.

You chuckle softly to yourself, leaning into Ricky’s side, your heart fluttering at the thought of a new life, a new chapter. He meets your gaze, his lips curving into a small smile, even amidst the teasing.

This moment, while filled with playful mockery, marks something deeper. You’re finally here together, stronger and more united than ever before. And this new adventure? It’s the start of a new journey that no one can take from you.

“Really, Y/n’s pregnant. We're having a baby,” Ricky says, his voice laced with excitement. His mother, skeptical, eyes you closely. “Is that true?”

Without waiting for Ricky’s confirmation, you nod, feeling his fingers intertwine with yours beneath the table, his touch calming your nerves.

"I won’t hesitate to beat your ass if this is fake," his dad grumbles, irritation mixing with a hint of hope.

Jay, barely containing his amusement at the scene, watches the family react, while Ricky proudly pulls out the ultrasound pictures, revealing the truth. His parents take turns looking at the images, jaws dropping in surprise. Jay, knowing already, can’t help but chuckle.

"Father was starting to question your masculinity. Glad you proved him wrong," Jay teases, earning a gentle nudge from Jieun, urging him to keep it light.

"Wait... So there’s a grandkid on the way?" Ricky’s mother recovers first, grinning with hopeful excitement. Ricky nods, and your heart swells at the thought of everything that's to come. This moment, this family, it feels like the beginning of something truly special.

Ricky’s mother leans forward, still processing, but the excitement is slowly bubbling up. “A grandchild? Really? My little boy having a little one? I’m going to spoil that baby so much.”

Ricky chuckles, glancing at you. “Well, you already spoil Semi enough, so I guess it’s fair.”

“Hey, I’m a great grandma-in-training,” she quips, giving Semi an affectionate pat. “But if you two need any advice, I’m here.”

Your heart swells seeing the warmth in her eyes. But then, Ricky’s dad, clearly trying to keep his cool, mutters, “I’ll believe it when I see a baby in my arms.”

“You’ll see him,” Ricky says, giving you a reassuring squeeze. “Or her, right, Y/n?”

You smile, feeling the weight of the moment. “Definitely,” you whisper, feeling a rush of emotion.

Jay, still grinning, can’t help but poke at his younger brother. “So, what’s the plan, huh? You two gonna have one of those perfect Pinterest-worthy baby showers or just skip the whole thing?”

Jieun smacks his arm lightly. “Don’t make them nervous, Jay. Let them enjoy the moment.”

Ricky laughs, looking over at you with that same loving gaze. “Honestly, I think we just need to take it one step at a time. But yeah, we’ll get there.”

“You know, when you have a baby, you’ll see just how much you need each other,” his dad says more seriously now, a rare moment of wisdom breaking through his tough exterior. “It’s not just about being a parent, it’s about being there for each other even more.”

Ricky nods, his hand tightening around yours as if to say, “I’ve got you, always.”

The whole family seems to settle into a comfortable silence after that, everyone soaking in the news in their own way, but all of them sharing the same unspoken bond.

“Guess we’ll need one more chair for next time,” Jay jokes, breaking the silence, and everyone bursts out laughing.

You glance at Ricky, his eyes full of joy, and your heart feels fuller than it ever has. There’s something about being surrounded by family—being with him—that feels right. “Yeah, we’ll need one more chair,” Ricky agrees softly, his gaze drifting to the future, to the family that’s just beginning.

In the end, you and Ricky had proven the vows true—til death do us part. Through all the challenges, fears, and moments of doubt, you had always found your way back to each other. The promises made, the trust built, and the love that had endured everything now stood as a testament to what you had together. With every touch, every shared laugh, and every quiet moment, you knew that no matter what, your hearts were bound—for life—and beyond.

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yuikomorii · 9 months ago

Text

Happy Birthday, Ayato! ❤️

// Today is the golden boy’s birthday!! Sweet and spicy visual god, you are the reason of my unattainablly high standards… and also of my questionable financial decisions, lol.

This looks more like an Ayayui shrine than an individual Ayato one, but I couldn’t fit all the items in one pic, therefore I chose the ones that were the easiest to find in my room. :”)

Nevertheless… I did try to prepare a SCENARIO too! I used my nsfw edit as the cg, although I didn’t show everything. The romantic part is really cheesy and cringe, but if you’re into fluff, you will like that. ��💕

~Operation: Ayato-kun’s birthday~

Yui: ( Haa… it feels as if there’s no ending to these anymore… )

( I woke up earlier today, hoping to finish all these exercises, yet I really can’t bring myself to understand how to solve them at all…! )

( My mind is completely in a whole different place right now. Today is Ayato-kun’s birthday after all. )

( Unfortunately, all the assignments kept me so busy this week that I wasn’t even able to bake a cake for him… )

( However, it’s still not too late for that, right? )

( Once I’m done with this page, I will definitely try my best to prepare it as soon as po—)

Reiji: Komori Yui, are you slacking again?

Yui: …!

R-Reiji-san!

( Oh no, he picked up my notebook! )

Reiji: Good grief, there are mistakes everywhere! Do I need to remind you that you are not permitted to bring disgrace upon the Sakamaki family as long as you reside under this mansion's roof?

Yui: Uuh… I-I’m really sorry, Reiji-san. I promise I’ll—

Reiji: Silence. I recently received your report card as well, and I must admit that I’m not pleased with your performance in the slightest. I was expecting such indifference from my brothers, but it’s rather disheartening for a human girl not to care about her education.

Yui: Y-You got it wrong! It’s not like I don’t care about school, but… simply put, the teachers have been giving us much too many tasks lately, and I find them quite difficult to solve, which stresses me out a little, to be honest.

Reiji: Hmph, excuses. I find it incomprehensible how such simple exercises cause you mental difficulties.

Nevertheless, I shall teach you then. Even if it requires the whole day to achieve that.

Yui: You will? Woah, thank you so much, Re— W-Wait, no! We can’t do that today!

Reiji: Pardon? Are you rejecting my offer to tutor you?

Yui: No, no! Not at all! It’s just that today is Ayato-kun’s birthday, and well… I would obviously want to celebrate it with him.

Reiji: Denied.

Yui: Eh—?

Reiji: You truly are a fool. Vampires show no interest in the day of their birth. Now, take a sit.

Yui: …

( I know Reiji-san is not in the wrong, but… I really do want to celebrate Ayato-kun’s birthday. That day may not be special to him but it’s so special to me. )

( Am I being selfish, I wonder…? )

*Timeskip*

Reiji: It appears that you’re finally able to understand how to solve this exercise. The next ones are similar to it, therefore there shouldn’t be any obstacles.

Yui: Yes, I see…

( I appreciate Reiji-san’s help, yet too many hours have passed by and baking a cake from scratch is not possible anymore… )

Place: Living room

Yui: ( Hmm… apparently I still have enough pocket money to buy a cake. I know a self-made one would have been more meaningful, but I really couldn’t… )

Kanato: Yui-san, are you spacing out?

Yui: Eh—? Ah, Kanato-kun, I didn’t see you there. I’m fine, but I’m a bit in a hurry, so… see y— Kya!

( He grabbed my wrist! )

Kanato: You’re going to buy a cake for my brother, aren’t you?

Yui: Uhh… well yes, I mean, it’s his birthday after all.

Kanato: My birthday was yesterday and I didn’t see you get any cake for me, nor for Laito. Teddy thinks you forgot about us. Tell me, Yui-san, is that true?

Yui: T-that’s not it!

Kanato: So you’re going to buy a cake for me as well after all? I might forgive you if you do that.

Yui: ( What did I get myself into…! I’m sure Kanato-kun will throw a tantrum if I say “no”. )

But… I don’t think I got enough money for two cakes.

Kanato: Please don’t worry about that, Yui-san, I know my ways. Or what, are you doubting me now?

Yui: …!

— shakes head —

Kanato: Good, now let’s go.

Place: Demon World Cake shop

Yui: Woah, I’ve never seen such big cakes before!

Kanato: Please don’t shout. Your looks already make you resemble a servant, you don’t have to act like one as well.

Yui: ( Hey, that’s mean! )

Cake shop owner: Welcome, how can I help you?

Yui: We’re searching for a birthday cake, but uhm… one a bit smaller than the ones displayed here, if possible.

Cake shop owner: Any flavor you got in mind?

Yui: ( Speaking of flavor, I don’t think Ayato-kun has ever told me anything about his favorite. He would probably say Takoyaki but a Takoyaki cake… that doesn’t feel right. )

I think he likes straw—

Kanato: Raspberry!

Cake shop owner: Wonderful! We just finished a raspberry cake a few minutes ago!

— brings cake —

Yui: ( It truly looks delicious…! Besides, it’s red as well, which is Ayato-kun’s favorite color, so I believe he would truly like this one! )

Kanato: Alright, we’ll take it!

Place: Mansion

Yui: Phew, I’m glad the cake didn’t get crushed on the way.

Kanato: It’s time to eat!

Yui: Wha—! No, Kanato-kun, you can’t!

Kanato: Excuse me, but who do you think you are? This is my cake, therefore I’m allowed to eat it whenever I want!

Yui: W-Well, don’t you want to wait for Ayato-kun too? This way, you two will be able to eat it together like bro—!!

(He pushed me in the cake!?)

Kanato-kun, why did you do this!?

Kanato: You ruined the cake!

Yui: Me!? But Kanato-kun was the one who pushed me there!

Kanato: Teddy says you’re annoying, and I agree. Now how will you fix your mistakes?

Yui: ( I can barely see anything…! )

Kanato: Fufu, look at her Teddy! She’s full of cake from head to toe! Now, let’s give it a taste che—

Yui: You can’t!

— moves cake away from him —

Kanato: I can!

— moves cake back —

Yui: No!

— moves cake away —

Kanato: Hmph, just give up already, will you!?

— pushes her away —

Yui: Wait, no—!!!

???: Oi, what the—!

— cake falls on them —

Kanato: Noooo, the cake!!!! Ngh, this is no fun anymore!

Yui: Uuh… Why is the floor so soft…?

Ayato: ‘Cause it’s not the floor, you idiot.

Yui: Ah! A-Ayato-kun!

Uhh… Happy birthday…~?

Ayato: Geez, c’mere, you’re an even bigger mess.

— picks her up —

Place: Bathroom

Yui: ( This is so embarrassing…! )

Ayato: Haa… You’re finally not covered in cake anymore.

Yui: I… I’m sorry…

Ayato: Huh? What are you apologizing for? I’m not mad that you dropped that cake on me.

Yui: That’s not the only thing I’m sorry about…

If it weren’t for my carelessness, you would have gotten a nice birthday, but now… you don’t even have a cake anymore.

( Ah, I’m feeling as if I’m about to cry right now… )

Ayato: Hey, c’mon that’s not worth the tears. I’m a vampire, remember? I don’t care about my birthday, so there’s no need to worry about such stuff.

Yui: Maybe you don’t care about it but… I do. I know that I’m about to sound selfish, but your birthday is very special to me. It represents the day you were born and I… I simply can’t imagine not celebrating it.

Ayato-kun is important to me, therefore that automatically makes his birthday important to me too.

Ayato: You klutz…

— hugs her —

Yui: W-Wha—! Ayato-kun…!

Ayato: Seriously, are all humans really that sentimental? Or does this only apply to cute girls like you?

Yui: …!

(He… he called me cute! )

— blushes —

Ayato: The day’s still not over, y’know? There’s still time to celebrate it if you’re really that obsessed with it.

Yui: …! So, are you really okay with that?

Ayato: Yeah? If I weren’t, I would have told you, idiot. On top of that, it’s not like I got anything better to do anyway.

Now tell me, Chichinashi, what exactly do you have in store for today?

Yui: Hm… uhm… nothing comes to my mind at the moment, but for now… I can’t say I mind spending time like this with Ayato-kun.

Ayato: Heh~? You suddenly don’t mind being in my arms while naked?

Yui: P-Phrasing it like that…!

Ayato: Well, if that’s the case, then… you wouldn’t mind if I sucked your blood either, right?

Yui: Go ahead.

Ayato: Hah? No talking back? Are you really that easy to convince today? Or, could it be that you finally admit enjoying the pleasure these fangs give you?

Yui: It’s not only about your fangs, Ayato-kun. I really like you as a whole.

I wasn’t even able to find a gift for you, therefore giving you my blood is the least I can do.

Ayato: Heh, I see… I don’t need your blood as a gift though.

Yui: You don’t…?

Ayato: Nope, ‘cause I already got the best gift ever.

Yui: Is that so?

( Did someone already give him something for his birthday? If that’s the case, then who could it be? )

( Ah… I guess I’m just overthinking, but now I’m really curious. )

Ayato: You really wanna know, don’t you? It’s already written on your face.

Are you getting jealous~?

Yui: T-That’s…—!

Ayato: Pfft, you really did get jealous, huh?

Yui: ( Ugh… he’s making fun of me now! )

Ayato: Anyway, there’s no need to. After all, the best gift I’ve ever gotten…

It’s you, Yui.

— Smooch —

The end

#diabolik lovers #ayato sakamaki #sakamaki ayato #Yui komori #komori yui #dialovers #admin #my edit #(I hope I wrote Reiji and Kanato well)#(they were fun to write at least)#my merch

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trippinonpaperhearts · 19 days ago

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EDIT, because idiots apparently want to reply with their BS and make up their own ideas of this post defending Anne Rice, Sam Reid, and the FICTIONAL character Lestat because they are "white":

I'm pointing out facts. Claudia was based off her 5 year old daughter that died of Leukemia. Louis represented herself and her grief during that period. Lestat initially represented her husband, until later when Lestat became who Anne wanted to be (and I'm sure she didn't want to be a cheater and an abuser). Her tragedies are what created The Vampire Chronicles and these wonderful nuanced characters, and this tv show would not exist without her. SO YEAH, NONE of what the show changed represents Anne or her vision. I'm also pointing out that it is NOT OKAY to take your shit out on a real life person, an ACTOR (Sam, again), who has NOTHING to do with the creative choices, or otherwise, being made. But sure, read into it what you want 🙄 Again, if you don't like the FACTS, BLOCK ME.

---

EDIT 2: JESUS CHRIST. I just saw a post comparing Sam Reid's award nomination to that piece of shits presidential win (you know who, I'm not giving it a name). Are y'all fucking serious??? And I thought I couldn't hate this new fandom even more. Also, NEWS FLASH: Even if the show decided to keep everything and everyone canon, Lestat IS and HAS ALWAYS BEEN the LEAD of THE VAMPIRE CHRONICLES. It had NOTHING to do with racism or with Lestat being "white" in the books because pretty much ALL THE MAIN CHARACTERS WERE CANONICALLY WHITE--even LOUIS, CLAUDIA, AND ARMAND. That was my point in my orginal post that someone tried to twist. It was ALWAYS planned by Rollins, or whatever his name is, for Lestat to eventually lead the show/seasons as Lestat DOES IN THE BOOK SERIES. It was ALWAYS about Lestat because Anne Rice was Lestat. Yes, Louis took a back seat in the books, but it had NOTHING to do with RACISM. Louis represented a dark time in her life and that is WHY she originally planned to leave him behind, and I'm so glad that she decided against it and that book Loustat got their happy ending. STOP using your BS about LOUIS BEING PUT ON THE "BACK BURNER" FOR THE "WHITE MAN". Dang, it's so exhausting and draining explaining to the simple folk that love to tear down my beloved childhood books and characters that brought them their damn tv show.

---

Damn, I really hate this new fandom and the Interview with the Vampire tv show for ruining Anne Rice's vision. Because of all these changes to the characters, storylines, and the timelines, certain characters (Lestat) and certain actors (Sam Reid) are getting shitted on because of these changes. Freindly reminder to all the newbies and show-only fans: pretty much all the book CANON main characters are WHITE. Even this new fandoms precious Louis, Claudia, and Armand. The damn show kept Lestat white and made him a cheater and an abuser, and that's where the shit show all started. Sam Reid has been dealing with this bullshit when it is not his fault in how the damn disrespectful writers and show runners decided to take the show, and who the damn award shows decide to nominate. PLEASE BLOCK ME IF YOU CAN'T SEPERATE FICTION FROM REALITY. If you feel the need to bash an ACTOR (Sam) who has shown nothing but kindness to this fandom when it is not returned or deserved. You sick fucks must be real proud of yourselves knowing you fuck with his mental health based on a fictional show (as Sam stated he could not sleep after seeing god knows what online). PLEASE BLOCK ME, YOU'RE DOING ME A HUGE FAVOR AND SAVING ME A LOT OF TIME. Thanks 🖕😊

#iwtv #sam reid #lestat de lioncourt #amc iwtv #louis de pointe du lac #claudia iwtv #armand #the vampire armand #amc interview with the vampire #louis iwtv #armand iwtv #claudia de pointe du lac #lestat iwtv

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sealochs · 3 days ago

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a year in review

my therapist recommended that i sit down, go through my diary & calendar & blog, & compile a list of everything i have done this year so that i have incontrovertible evidence of the immense amount of things i have achieved, survived & overcome in the past twelve months. & it has been so affirming & empowering to do; at the end of a year which has felt so overwhelming, i can hardly believe that i actually achieved all of these things. & w. was there for very, very few of them. i deserved & deserve so much better, so much stronger, so much kinder.

anyway, i'm putting the list under the cut, & warmly recommending this to everyone as an activity in self-respect, self-love, self-reflection, etc., etc., & co.

i maintained, cleared and sold my late Mum's house this involved constant emails & phone calls all year, exhausting journeys of over 300 miles by train & then by car once i had my licence, endless tip runs & charity shop runs, selling furniture on eBay & arranging for collections, liaison with estate agents, speed learning a lot about property & finance, exhausting garden maintenance & cleaning, fights with the council who kept fucking up the tax liabilities; and none of this is to mention the emotional difficulty of sorting through my mum's things, deciding what to keep & what to give away & what to sell, & the grief of leaving her house for the final time in july; the house where i had cared for her, the home she had lived & died in. & i did almost all of it entirely on my own.

i bought my own flat in Edinburgh a joyful counterpoint to the above; a safe place finally to land, which i can make entirely my own; i think it's about the best thing i could have done for myself post-breakup, but it is also a very real way of closing the door on my relationship, & i've felt very bittersweet about that. i have also had to make removals plans over the festive period & balance a lot of very time-sensitive admin with similarly time-sensitive end of semester marking. the move in january will be exhausting, but so so wonderful when it is done & i am settled.

i wrote the 2nd chapter of my PhD all 20,000+ words of it! & i have done, of course, all the reading, thinking, editing & rewriting which this involved. but it is now a very solid, very good chapter, & only needs minor edits to be polished. that i managed to pull this off around everything to do with mum's house is truly incredible to me. i don't know how it happened but it did, & it's work that i am so proud of.

i taught on 3 summer schools one in st andrews, one online & one in cambridge. i wrote & gave two lectures, one on mrs dalloway & one on a sketch of the past, & delivered large- & small-group teaching on five different woolf texts. they were such rewarding experiences, & i cannot wait for next year's.

i taught my 1st undergraduate course an introduction to english literature course, 1800 to present day! like the summer schools, this was so wonderfully rewarding. i got to plan & deliver a semester's worth of seminars, & mark coursework essays & exams. i learnt so much about what works & doesn't work for this kind of course, & can't wait to apply those lessons to next semester's teaching. the fact that i even managed to deliver my classes on mrs dalloway the day after w. broke up with me, & find joy in doing so, is probably a highlight, actually. it shows me how good i am at what i do; i can do it with a broken heart.

i went on 2 archive trips one to king's college, cambridge, & one to the british library in london. i made really significant discoveries on both trips & i'm so looking forward to writing them all up into my 3rd chapter next year. both of these archive trips were also done around trips to mum's house to do clearance & maintenance & meet estate agents, & again the fact that i managed still to make them so productive is incredible to me.

i presented at my university's graduate conference & submitted an abstract for next year's international woolf conference! a light conferencing load for me this year, because i simply didn't have time for them, but i already have so many on my cv that i'm feeling very at peace with that.

i passed my theory & practical driving test got my licence finally in may, which made the final stages of dealing with mum's house easier; actually passed in the pissing rain while suffering from a horrendous cold, then did the long drive to the midlands only a few weeks later.

i went to therapy consistently even when it was hard; even when i didn't know what to talk about; even when i felt like i was constantly repeating myself; i trusted the process & i'm so glad i did.

i broke up with my phone this was a gamechanger in september. some of it has slipped since my actual breakup, but some of it has stuck, & i'm hopeful that i'll get back to a more phoneless existence in the new year. at the end of september i felt so much more present, so much more alive, so much more observant & focused & active. i'd like to feel that way again.

i travelled i was so lucky to travel to dublin, iceland, new york, india & france this year; i'm hoping for more european city breaks next year. vienna is already booked for january, & prague, stockholm & copenhagen are on my wish list. solo travel is a big goal.

i reinvested in my hobbies & interests i went pretty regularly to a weekly writing group! i did two blocks of pottery classes! i got a swim membership & took up regular swimming again! i walked & hiked & went wild swimming when i could! i also read 14 books, which maybe isn't a lot, but in the context of everything else i did this year it's something i'm proud of, & i enjoyed every single one. i also cooked a lot of new things, & fed myself well for the most part.

& in addition to all these things; all of this hard work, all of these decisions, all of the admin, & all of my grief, i still held so much time & space for my friends this year. i think this may be what i'm most proud of. going through my diary & calendar, there are so many entries for dinners & visits & trips & drinks with friends, new & old. i have for the most part managed to be present for the people i love & who love me, despite everything. if there's anything i definitely want to take into the new year, it's that.

#edinburgh era #a blank page; a rewrite #2 0 2 4

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feral-creep · 3 months ago

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y’all i just…. AAAAAH

vent about work and creativity and grief incoming

ever since my mom got sick i had to give up my more lucrative “career” day hustle (video editing) and pick up night shifts at a bar. and like. it’s a college dive bar, so the tips are not great.

this particular dive bar is known around the community as the hardest place to work, and the reputation is not for nothin’:

the average server at a normal place has a 4-5 hour shift and covers 3-5 tables. WE, on the other hand, work 10-12 hour shifts with zero mandated breaks and cover 8-10 tables, many of which can seat 8-10 people at a time.

it is exhausting work that has kept me in amazing shape and has kept my sanity during the grieving process… but it’s undeniably hard as fuck.

and i feel like i’m constantly just treading water, not making enough to fully get rid of my credit card debt and move out of this shithole town… i could make so much more money serving in chicago…

yet i’m never working so little as to be able to actually, y’know, write

BUT. but. the job is not why i don’t create as much. the job is not the reason.

the reason is my own dumb brain and my own dumb shame about not being a “responsible” member of society, not being “where i should be” or “where i thought i would be” at 36 years old.

because that concept? it is bullshit. even though my peers who i used to work with in video are all flourishing, it doesn’t matter—they did not have a terminally ill mother living in bumfuck college town of nowheresville, midwaste! so what if they are now getting deals with HBO! that sort of life was maybe never in the cards for dirtbag little ol me!

and also, since like WHEN did i ever care about being a dirtbag loser anyway? being a dirtbag loser is punk rock as fuck????

i am trying to force myself out of thinking that creative pursuits are a “luxury” that must only be pursued once Everything Responsible Has Been Completed—because frankly i don’t even do that shit anyway!!! lmao (what ends up happening is that i spend 5 hours on social media, 0 hours doing laundry, and also 0 hours writing)

so maybe like, fuck twitter, fuck instagram, fuck frittering away my life 5 minutes at a time trying to convince myself i’m totally going to get up and sort thru the mail, and just. do the things i like doing. because THAT is punk as fuck.

basically i’m coming to the conclusion that i have been flailing around trying to escape a situation i am trapped in by being “responsible”—diligent with my money, a good little worker bee, etc etc—and like, very obviously not succeeding, so i might as well live “selfishly” (i.e. creatively)

when i’m dead no one’s gonna be like “feral creep touched our lives by being so on top of her laundry and having a very organized pile of receipts”

no, no they will not!

i still get comments every week or two from readers about how much [save scum] means to them, and fuck if i don’t want to somehow adapt portions of this story and Lethe so she can resonate with even more people outside this fandom…

after, of course, i finish the fic. lmao.

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animasola86 · 1 year ago

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The Darkness Within (Smut Edition) - Dark

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!mc x Tom Riddle

Summary: When Genevieve dies at the end of the Battle of Hogwarts, Sebastian is driven mad with grief and sees only one way out of it: he has to bring her back, no matter what. He goes down the darkest path imaginable and in the end, it works, but not as he expected - as he is suddenly transported to 1953. As is the love of his life. Until they finally meet again, seven long years later, both of them go down the opposite ends of the moral meter: one becomes an Auror and the other is charmed and influenced by none other than Tom Riddle, who is on the verge of gathering more and more people for his cause. Will they be able to rekindle their love, now that they are mortal enemies?

Genre: Angst/Smut/Dark!Romance

Warnings: Explicit sexual content. Rough sex. Choking. Angst! NSFW!

Read more on AO3

Warning: There is very dark smut under the cut! Read at your own risk. The darkness is real! MDNI, I mean it! Save your innocence!

Excerpt from Chapter 8 (3k words):

Inside his head was turmoil as he kept arguing with himself. All his training came back to him, all the studies he had had to read about Dark wizards and witches and Dark Magic and how it was all wrong. It was wrong, he knew that, but then again... He groaned and shook his head. It wasn't fair. Life wasn't fair, he specifically knew that all too well. Why did he have to meet the good guy, when she had fallen into the arms of the bad guy? Why was fate such a cruel mistress? A tiny voice inside his mind came through then, and he froze at the notion.

Why don't you just give up your life? You wanted to be with her, didn't you? You have her now, she is right here. Is your job really that important? Are you choosing being the good guy over being with the girl you love? Why are you even arguing with yourself? What the hell is wrong with you?

He swallowed hard at that. The voice had a point. He did love her and he had done everything to this point to find her, to be with her. Why did it matter that she had chosen the dark side now?

Because she didn't love him back. It wasn't the same.

Then you'll make her love you, all over again! You've done it before, remember?

As he considered the last thought, he suddenly felt two tiny hands snake around his torso and then she had pressed her body against his back. He inhaled sharply and slightly turned his head.

“What's wrong?” she asked and without seeing her, with all his memories of her whirling about in his head, he was back at Hogwarts, probably slouched in the Undercroft, studying Slytherin's spellbook, screwing up his face in order to understand what the man had meant by his cryptic writings. And she would join him, sit beside him and her hand would find his arm and she would ask the same thing. And he would look at her and smile and forget about his worries.

“Nothing,” he said curtly, placing his big hand on her small ones.

“You're a liar,” she whispered and he could feel her warm mouth on his shoulder blade. “I know you are conflicted.”

“Why would I be conflicted?” he played along.

“You wonder what to do,” she said and kept kissing his back softly. “You know you shouldn't be with me, because your Auror senses tell you not to. You should arrest me, that would be the right thing to do, hm? But you don't want to, you can't. Because deep inside...” She pressed her hands firmer against his chest. “...you know that it doesn't matter. You want to be with me, don't you? You've waited so long...”

Her voice was soft, but he still heard the dark edge within. She was a very talented sweet talker and he suddenly understood her role in this organization he was watching. She was the recruiter. Of course she was. Playing with men and convincing them to follow her, join her, seemed to be the easiest thing for her. She was sultry and manipulative and even without the use of the Imperius curse he somehow knew that she was very successful also. Because she knew what men wanted to hear. What he wanted to hear.

“Yes, I do want to be with you,” he said quietly and worked his jaw in growing frustration. “But it's not as easy as you think.”

“But why is that? You can be with me, I certainly want you to be with me! All you have to do is let out your darkness, show me your darkness...” She slipped around him and her hands found his shoulders as she leaned up against him, her eyes fixed on him. “Why do you fight this so much? I'm right here!”

He looked at her hard and long and everything inside him was fighting. All the pros and cons, good and bad, light and dark, everything turned against him, and he was a tiny speck somewhere in the middle. He lowered his eyes, gritting his teeth.

“Just let go,” she whispered. “I know you want to. If you have to choose a side, shouldn't it be obvious which one? The one I'm on? Isn't that what you want?”

“I want you,” he said darkly and looked at her. “I do, but...” He sighed deeply and grabbed her hands and pushed away again, turning around to pace the room. “You don't understand. My darkness... I... I don't want to face that ever again. It broke me, it destroyed my life, it took everything I had, everything I held dear! It might have made you stronger, but I... I'm not made to survive it for too long. I won't. I can't...”

“But if you would embrace it,” she said gently and watched him closely. “If I taught you how to control it...”

“No!” he shouted and shook his head. “I can't go down there again! I'll lose you again...”

“You'll lose me if you don't go down there...” she said and her voice changed into a harsher tone.

He stopped pacing and stared at her. “So you only want me for my darkness? For the potential I have? Is that it?”

She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “No. I would also really want you for this body of yours and the things you do with it...” she added with a smirk.

He scoffed and started pacing again. “Unbelievable...”

“I was joking!” she sighed. “Sebastian, look at me!”

When he didn't, she walked over and grabbed his arms, tilting her head to make him look at her. He still refused. His vision became blurry as he got angrier and angrier and he didn't even know why any more.

“Stop fighting it! Just choose me,” she whispered and her hands found his face.

“And if I do, will you be with me and only me? Or will you keep prostituting yourself for the higher purpose of your Master's cause?” His eyes stared into hers and he could see how shocked and angry she was by his words.

“He is not my Master...” she replied through clenched teeth and dropped her hands quickly. “And I'm not...”

He suddenly followed an impulse and grabbed her, forcefully ripping the black blouse off of her body, revealing the Dark Mark burned into her left forearm. She gasped when he did so and tried to squirm out of his tight grip.

“But he marked you as his, didn't he?” he said darkly and closed his fingers tighter around her wrist. “And you swore to do anything he asks, didn't you? You are his and you'll always be his! And you expect me to just tag along? Play dumb when you're planning to overthrow the world with him?”

Without him actually noticing, it had gotten really dark inside his head. His heart was pounding against his ribs and his breaths came faster than he would have liked. He was working himself up into a very dark place and there was nothing he could do against it.

“You... you want to be with me, remember?” she said in a tiny voice, almost a little timid. “You love me! You said so! Shouldn't you be able to deal with all this, if you'd love me?”

He stared at the skull and snake on her arm, it looked as if it was taunting him, writhing beneath her skin, the skull grinning up at him in glee. He dug his nails into her wrist and clenched his jaw. He heard her wince as she tried to pull her arm away from him.

“But you don't love me...” he muttered darkly. “You've forgotten me. Our love. Our life... what I did for you, what you did for me. He made you forget. Don't you see that he's using you? He probably knows about your power, about your abilities. Why else would he keep you so close?”

She scoffed angrily. “Why else? Is that all that I am? My abilities?”

He looked at her with narrowed eyes. “Am I more to you than my darkness and body?”

Her jaw was working and she looked away with an angry exhale.

He let go of her wrist and grabbed her shoulders instead, shaking her slightly. “So what if I joined you, what if I gave you my darkness, would you stop your recruiting?” He stared at her. “No, you wouldn't...”

His breaths had become shallow and his entire body seemed on edge. He could barely think straight any more as he was consumed by anger and frustration and jealousy.

When he spoke, his voice was a deep growl. “Unless... I make you...”

And with that he pushed her backwards towards the bed, span her around by her shoulders forcefully and simply threw her onto the bed. She landed face down on the mattress with a shrill shriek and before she could clamber off it again, he was behind her, grabbing her waist to pull her rear back to him. She was either too shocked or too afraid to fight against him and so he pulled up her hips and pressed his front against her quivering core. A whimper escaped her and it only fuelled the rage within.

“I'll show you my darkness,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “And once I'm done with you, you'll never want to see it again!”

One hand tightly gripping her hip, kneading the soft flesh, he rubbed his cock against her warm centre, breathing heavily already, before he took a step back and gave himself a few quick strokes as he stared down at her exposed backside. His heart was pounding inside his chest and all he could see was her, how her tiny whimpers reached his ears, how she squirmed lightly against his touches. She wants this, a tiny voice rang through his clouded mind. Give her what she wants!

He clenched his jaw and slowly moved his tip through her wet folds, drinking in her noises, before he pressed hard against her. He felt her shuddering, a muffled moan coming from her as she buried her face in the sheets. He hesitated for a moment, his tip teasing her entrance, then his rage grew stronger again and he pushed in hard and deep, not stopping until he was completely engulfed by her tight warmth. Her legs twitched against him and she mewled quietly. He didn't wait for her to adjust to his intrusion and started pumping his length into her in a fast rhythm, every thrust as deep as possible, causing her to moan and whimper and the headboard to slam against the wall.

His hands gripped her hips tightly, his fingers bruising the soft skin, as he drove himself into her again and again, faster and faster, harder and harder. His breaths became shallow and the noises of their bodies slamming against each other filled his ears. He barely noticed how she surrendered to his movements, how her body shivered and quaked uncontrollably, as she tried to grip the sheets and arched her chest into the mattress, her own noises breathless and helpless. He kept one hand on her waist, holding her in place, while he brought his free hand down on her butt cheek with a loud smack. She squeaked loudly. And he slapped her again and she screamed once more, and he only stopped when his hand imprint was visible on her soft flesh.

“You're mine,” he growled through clenched teeth. “Only mine...”

Seeing his mark on her skin fuelled the desire within, the darkness trying to claim her. He increased his pace, his hips slamming against her fast and feverishly. He wasn't going as deep any more, this was about speed now. He felt her walls stretching from every single in and out motion, making it easier and easier for him to drive himself into her. Her constant whimpering was like background noise to him and only when her knees buckled and her legs slipped off the bed as she couldn't hold herself up any more, did he focus on the woman in front of him, the woman, not just the hole he was pounding into.

He grabbed her hips tighter and pulled her up against him, before he wrapped his arms around her stomach to lift her up slightly as he kept ramming into her like a rabid dog, arching his body to angle himself better against her. He could feel the muscles in her abdomen tensing up and the shivers running through her body as her moans filled the room. He kept his pace, closing his eyes as he started to feel his own muscles cramping up slightly. He worked his thighs against her, a deep growl coming out of his throat. Breathing loudly through his nose, he continued his rhythm, returning to driving himself as deep as possible, then retrieving almost all the way before he would push into her again with a force that made her shriek louder every time.

Hearing her shrieks and how she didn't resist him in the slightest brought back the dark thoughts of imagining her with other men. She seemed so... submissive, so willing to let him do whatever to her, and he just knew he wasn't the first man to use that to his advantage. As he thought about how many men she had pleased like this before, another growl escaped him and he leaned one hand down and wrapped it tightly around the front of her neck, pulling her upwards against him. His fingers closed around her throat and he heard her whimper in surprise, yet she wouldn't do anything against it, her arms hanging loosely by her sides as he held her up against his body, one arm around her stomach while he kept slamming his hips upwards into her.

“Do you like this?” he hissed into her ear as he brought his mouth to the side of her face. “Do you like being dominated?”

She whimpered in response, her lips parted, her eyes squeezed shut, a mixture of pain and pleasure on her beautiful face. His hand clamped around her throat tighter and he turned her head slightly more to him, seeing her eyelids flutter. He pressed his lips against her cheek and tasted salt. Only then did he notice the tears streaming down her face. One part of him would have eased his rapid movements against her, would have loosened his grip on her, would have stopped because she was obviously in pain, but that part was buried deep within under a pile of sizzling rage and unquenchable lust.

And he realized the more pain she was in, the better he felt. She deserves this, that tiny voice croaked inside of him. And he agreed. How dare she not remember him after all he has done for her? How dare she seek solace and pleasure in other men? How dare she give her body to men who don't love her like he does? He groaned against her face as he swiped his tongue over her cheeks, lapping at her tears, using them as fuel to his desire. She whimpered loudly, breathlessly, and he noticed her body convulsing against him. He tightened his grip on her throat even more, really squeezing her until there were no more sounds coming from her lips, only soundless gasps – and then she raised her hands and grabbed at his hand, her fingernails clawing at his skin.

Her fighting back only made him slam against her harder and he felt her tightening around his girth, her muscles contracting as she squeezed his cock almost as hard as he squeezed her throat. A deep moan escaped him and he felt his own legs shaking slightly as her orgasm rolled over her and crashed into him as well. He pressed her shivering body against his, holding her tightly, feeling the spasms of her stomach against his arm. He was breathing heavily into her ear as he kept his rhythm while her body slowly went limp in his firm embrace. The fingers that had tried to loosen his grip on her throat slipped down and ceased to move any more.

He let go eventually and as her body slumped onto the bed motionlessly, he didn't even register that she had lost consciousness. He pushed her down flat on the mattress, her face turned to the side, a more or less solemn look on her pretty face if one would ignore the tear soaked cheeks. The darkness within him blurred his vision as his own release announced itself. Frantically grabbing her hips, he pulled her back up against him and pumped into her breathlessly until he felt his stomach clenching, and with a loud moan and a stilling of his hips against her as he pushed deep into her with one last forceful thrust, he emptied himself into her, groaning deeply with every spasm as his warm seed filled her up more and more.

He leaned against her, his head full of static, holding her hips, savouring the feeling of being buried deep within her, claiming her more with every passing heartbeat and every convulsing squirt until he was completely spent. His breaths were heavy and when he loosened his grip on her hips, she slipped down onto the bed with a last twitch of her legs as he pulled out of her, watching his seed spilling past her wet folds and dripping slowly down her skin.

He took a stumbling step backwards and looked at her body, sprawled on the bed, motionless, her red hair tousled, her skin covered in sweat. His head cleared only slowly and when he realized she wasn't moving, his heart skipped a beat. He stared at his hand imprint on her ass and how he had defiled her, marked and soiled, and a cold shiver ran down his spine.

What have I done?

The rest of Chapter 8 (angst)

Excerpt of Chapter 6 (fluff) Excerpt of Chapter 7 (smut)

All the chapters on AO3

Pictures credit: @sebswebs (Sebastian) @the-slytherin-paramour (Sebastian) @joanasallinger (Sebastian) @zimmerfarn (redhead) @esolean (Tom) very bad paint edit by me >_>

Notes:

I apologize for the angst (and the explicitness) in this one, I have no idea where that came from - though, to be fair, the more I read through this as I edited it, the less heavy it feels to me. Am I becoming numb to my own smut? Nooo...

Story idea came from an interesting little chat I had with @seabass-swallows Auror Sebastian chat bot. Thank you for tickling my (disturbingly) creative juices!

With one eye closed you could also see this as the (possible) sequel to my very slow-burn, fluffy, tame af HL re-write story Diary of a Snake Lover (this fic does reference some parts of it).

He is watching - and one day he'll join in. I promise. Stay tuned.

(I was searching "rough" gifs and this mf shows up, I can't!!! XD)

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ananxiousgenz · 9 months ago

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TPP HADESTOWN AU PART 5 PROLOGUE EDITION

seeing as how this has me in a stranglehold, I will continue writing this in bits and pieces as it comes to me until I can get it organized into coherent chapters and on ao3. but for now, enjoy a nice prologue (the thoughts within are inspired by an absolutely feral conversation I had with @smidgen-of-hotboy regarding rita's position as hermes, the narrator)

@ceaseless-watchers-special-girl @urjover @one-joe-spoopy @waters-and-the-wilde dinner time guys :)

the story you are about to read is not a new one. it's not a kind one either.

I should know. I've told it thousands of times before.

why keep telling it? what's the point?

well, for me, it's to see the past again. to see if I can pinpoint where it all began to go wrong. when the sappy love story turned into a tragedy. when I began to lose my best friend to his need to fix everything.

and maybe it's to see if the ending will change this time. I know the chances are that it won't. but I've got to try. he never gave up on the world, not even when it all began to turn against him. i'm doing this for him.

I've spent my life surrounded by people who knew loss and knew it deeply. I was lucky that it never got me, that i was never affected by empty space and grief in my life where a person should have been.

he certainly knew loss, my best friend. I was as gentle with him as I could be, but he always said the feeling of missing his brother was like a hole in his stomach that would take big bites out of him to get his attention. that feeling only doubled when he lost his husband to hadestown too.

he tried to get him back. of course he did. but something went wrong. he was never quite the same after that. he'd be up singing at odd hours, staring at the potted dahlias we kept out in front of the bar, watching the stars in the sky like his life depended on it.

and then one morning i woke up, and he was just....

gone.

i guess he'd finally had enough of that empty feeling and went down to find his husband again. and he left me behind. now I know that feeling. that horrible sense of absence. I've felt hollow for months. telling this story again is the only thing that keeps my bleeding heart in place.

but what matters is that i'm here. i tell his story, and sing his song, and keep the memory of his life alive, all in hopes that the ending might be a little different this time.

so once again, this story is not new. it is not kind. it is ugly, painful, and heartbreaking. but most of all, it is a memorial.

to the best friend i lost. to his husband. to the world.

i raise my glass.

you all deserved far better than us gods had to give.

#yes this is a rita pov but the style is different from her canon-typical voice #this is bc me and jay were discussing (screaming) and i realized that she would be a totally different person if she ever lost juno #like i don't think she would be bubbly or happy or silly anymore #i think she'd just go silent and grey #so this is kind of a reflection of that #hope you enjoy and as alway i love you guys <3 #the penumbra podcast #tpp #tpp hadestown au #hadestown

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not-too-many-eyes · 2 years ago

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Digimon Survive, Mistakes and Moving On Part 1: Shuuji and Ryo

(Day 2 of Survive Week: Survive) [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Takuma Addition] So Digimon Survive is a huge game, with 4 routes and a lot of moving parts, Digimon Survive tells a story about eight kids transported to dangerous world and the emotionally conflicts and physical challenges that come with it. This was originally going to also talk about all four routes and there respective focus characters but then I realized it was too long so I split it up.

With that out of the way, let's talk about the first two deaths of Survive and how they connect with the games themes. CWs: Discussion of Child Abuse, Death, Self-Hatred Spoiler Warning for: Everything. Mostly the game pre-route split though. My Italics kept on breaking and when I checked this again for some last minute editing. no idea why if you notice any weird itallics that's why. I need to stop writing directly into the tumblr post maker.

Ryo Tominaga

When you first meet Ryo It's easy to dismiss Ryo as nothing more than a cowardly delinquent, and it's not like he gives you a lot to work with. Ryo tends to be rude and hostile but also terrified all the time and thoroughly unhelpful because of that. He also doesn't have a good relationship with his partner Kunemon, who can't talk and can only communicate through body language and tone, Kunemon tries his best to connect with his partner, but Ryo keeps pushing him away, terrified of him.

We are not encouraged to empathize with Ryo, in fact we are encouraged to do the opposite. To find him cowardly and his fear silly. To be annoyed with his actions, to be frustrated with his attitude. Ryo is designed to be hated. Ryo is the one dragging the group down, the one making this already stressful situation even worse, maybe if he just...wasn't there the situation would become easier, more bearable.

But as the game progresses you find that Ryo is struggling, his mental health deteriorates over the three chapters before his possible death. With Ryo at the end of it muttering about doom and ghosts and the afterlife and his mom.

But the group doesn't do much to help him. Because there's so much more important things to do, find everyone else, manage supplies, continue surviving. So Ryo's problems are ignored and Minoru even actively makes fun of Ryo during the first three chapters, exacerbating the situation.

This comes to a head in Chapter 3 where, if you don't have enough Affinity with Ryo (or are on your first save), he dies, the fog using his dead mother to lure him into it.

Haru: Why do you want to return to the real world? Ryo: I d-don't belong here. This isn't my world Ryo: Takuma and the others all hate me. I know because they all treat me like dead weight Ryo: They're trying to use those monsters of theirs to get rid of me Haru: Oh? Is that how it looks like to you Ryo: That's why I want to go back! Back to my world, back to my home! Ryo: But its okay. Any minute now, Mommy will call me, and then I'll be saved' Haru: *sigh* Haru: Just how long are you going to keep deluding yourself? Haru: You should know better than anyone that your mother is never going to call you Ryo: *gasp* Ryo: Yes...That's right... Ryo: Mommy was always sick. I wanted to spend more time with her, but the doctor said no... Ryo: I tired so hard...Whenever i was lonely she'd tell me to be strong, but.. Ryo: But those...Those were her last words.

Something the group didn't know before the start of this game was that Ryo's mom died, and Ryo was left to cope with his grief. Alone, in a strange, deadly world. With people who, at least to him, hated his guts.

No wonder he was such a wreck this entire time.

Ryo's death is a big turning point in the game, where the danger of the situation really sets in for everyone. And afterwards when everyone goes back to the school after being calmed down by Shuuji, Takuma reflects on how if they just, tried harder they could of possibly prevented this.

Takuma: (Surely there must of been something more I could of done) Takuma: (Maybe if we'd all work together or if I'd been more determined or...) -------------------------------- Takuma: There must of been something we could've done to save him. Maybe if we started earlier... Takuma: I knew. When he couldn't open up to Kunemon, when he got so scared of Dokugumon, how he acted in that classroom, on the trail, or even just talking with him. It was clear Takuma: I knew he was struggling. But I didn't help him. Takuma: I just....let him suffer.

I'll talk about that in more detail later when we get into post-split content. I'll just say it's important to note that Takuma, Aoi, and Shuuji are blaming themselves for Ryo's death and, as seen later on, this isn't really a good thing. As much as Ryo dies because he wasn't given support, it's not really right to say that Takuma and the rest should of bent over backwards for him. This is why dialogue choices that raise his affinity involve Takuma, not necessarily agreeing with him, but understanding him, which let's Ryo knows that he is part of the group, that they won't abandon him, even if Ryo really was just a cowardly jerk.

Because of this, Ryo survives, and gets better.

Ryo is a great member of the cast, he's loyal and attentive. Helping Aoi and Shuuji to manage to group when Takuma disappears, Ryo is also one of the more proactive members of the group, helping everyone stay on track and get things done. And While Ryo can be overly pessimistic and still has trouble communicating with everyone it's clear that he's a reliable guy in his own way.

Ryo: Yeah, um...I mean, how do I say this... Ryo: When he's (Takuma) not around, I can't just leave it all to you and Aoi... Ryo: I'll, uh...I'll follow your lead, a'ight? Shuuji: Ryo... Shuuji: Sure, I'm glad I can rely on you. -------------------------------- Kaito: Quiet, Miu! I'm saying this for your sake...! Miu: You're not doing this for me! Kaito, you- Ryo: Knock it off you two. Now's not the time to be butting heads Takuma: (Ryo stopped the fight...His mouth's as nasty as ever, but he's keeping a cool head.) Ryo: First, let's hear what Takuma has to say. What's this about Miyuki being the key?

Another thing of note is that while Ryo's actions Pre-Chapter 3 are neither dwelled on, or brushed aside like nothing happened.

Ryo: I really think you would (save everyone no matter what)...Wish I could be like you. Takuma: You should just keep doing you, man. No point in becoming like me. Ryo: You think the guy standing in front of you could save someone? Takuma: The guy right now? Absolutely. When I think of how you were when we got to this world... Takuma: You've changed a lot. That's how I know. Ryo: Yeah, maybe. The fact that I can understand this guy (Kunemon) now is proof enough. -------------------------------- Ryo: This wold has given us a ton of memories. Ryo: Honestly, there's a lot I want to forget... Ryo: For real. It feels like people have been messing around with me the whole time. Takuma: Now that's not true. Ryo: Not for you, sure! But Minoru, man... Ryo: I mean, I guess it's my fault for giving him so much ammunition in the first place. Takuma: ...One day everything that went down here will be distant memories. Ryo: I'm sure that's true. And when that happens... Ryo: I want them to be great memories. That's why we'll save Miyuki. We've got to. -------------------------------- Ryo: Huh? What are you thanking me for? Takuma: Oh, nothing in particular. Everything you've done for us so far. Ryo: Oh, that's good. Ryo: Well, thank you, too. And, I'm sorry. Takuma: Wait, why are you apologizing? Ryo: Oh, for all kinds of stuff. I was kind of a jerk. Violence, selfish...you know. Takuma: Yeah, kind of. Ryo: That's why I'm apologizing. Sorry

Ryo certainly hasn't forgotten that he was a bit of a jerk, he apologizes to Takuma and Kunemon, does his best to help and support the group, and most importantly resolve to do better without drowning himself in guilt.

Ryo doesn't dwell on his mistakes that much because he knows that he can do better. Ryo knows that making a mistake, making multiple bad mistakes, isn't the end, and what's really important is making up for it. Ryo changed, because he wanted to do better.

All these traits is why he's the perfect character to help out one Shuuji Kayama. Shuuji Kayama

Shuuji is an interesting character, he's the oldest of the group and before chapter 5 is in charge and leads the group through this world. Because he's the oldest and thus has to be the most responsible of the bunch.

This, doesn't go well to say the least. Shuuji feels less like someone your working with but someone your working around, and can often feel bossy, defensive, or unreasonable.

And Shuuji isn't really listened to by the group, most of the group have a lot of grievances about how he acts. Minoru and Kaito especially are very critical of Shuuji's actions, with Minoru making fun of him and Kaito harshly criticizing him.

Shuuji is also the one with the worst relationship with his partner at the start. Shuuji is verbally abusive to Lopmon and acts hostile towards him, pushing him harder than anyone else in the group, not even letting him rest for a few minutes.

Shuuji Kayama is designed to be hated even more than Ryo was. His actions are often times frustrating, his treatment of Lopmon is horrible, and he's clearly not ready to lead a group, especially one in such a dangerous situation.

And, just like Ryo. It's easy to think that if Shuuji just, wasn't there, or stayed out of the way, the situation would be less stressful, more bearable.

When Chapter 5 rolls around we are first shown a nightmare Shuuji is having, it's about his family, Shuuji's dad is berating him, that he must hate him for not living up to the Kayama name. His brother is on the sidelines, saying that he'll "do his best for the both of them" and the nightmare ends with Shuuji's dad abandoning him, leaving him behind.

Shuuji Kayama is an abused child, one trying his hardest to live up to his family's expectations, and yet still failing to no matter how hard he tries.

In Chapter 5 the group goes to confront Arukenimon and to possible reason or attack her to gain information, due to a series of events the group is separated from each other and shown various illusions the group eventually meets up and eliminates the illusions, except for Shuuji, who's shown a very different illusion from everyone else, one of his dad, and then later, Arukenimon.

Arukenimon: We need a sacrifice...A single one will do. Arukenimon: So give us just one person... Ho ho ho. Shuuji: Really? Just one?! -------------------------------- Shuuji: Just one...Just one...Who to choose... Shuuji: No, I... I can't.... There's no way I can make that choice...! Shuuji: I know! Me! It should be ME! That would work, right, Arukenimon?! Shuuji: Answer me, Arukenimon! I'll be the sacrifice! Take me! Arukenimon: What admirable spirit...Still, is that what you really want, my dear boy? Arukenimon: You lack courage...and your sense of justice is nothing special. Don't you think? Arukenimon: You're just frightened, and you want to leave this place behind? Arukenimon: You'd rather pass the buck onto someone else. Isn't that true?

Shuuji is a bit of a mess, and his actions here aren't just motivated by wanting to save everyone, he thinks that this is what will get his dad to be proud of him, that he'll finally live up to being a proper Kayama. He thinks about how this story could get him praised by his father, get into a good college, finally live up to their expectations.

But...he doesn't want to die, and not only that, Shuuji is tired.

Shuuji: From the start, I didn't want to do it. I couldn't do it... Shuuji: Why didn't anyone say anything? I can't do it, tell me I can't... Shuuji: If I'd known then...I wouldn't have to do this..

Shuuji is tired of having to constantly chase something he can never have. Tired of always having to be "better".

Shuuji: You (Lopmon) can't even evolve! Maybe you'd be of some use if you could! Shuuji: Yeah! You'd be able to defeat our enemies if you could do that! Shuuji: Enemies...Anyone who looks down on me! You should just erase them all Shuuji: Even my dad...even my brother! Everyone! Lopmon: I...I...! Shuuji: Why, why am I so hopeless...? Is this all I really am?!

He's angry, scared, and completely alone. With no one to turn to, no one to help him, and at his lowest point, he hits Lopmon. Multiple times, over and over again, to force him to evolve, until...

Shuuji: Go on! Hurry up and evolve! We'll show them we're not useless! Lopmon: Stop, Shuuji...It hurts, and I'm scared. I don't like this! Shuuji: I'm the one in pain! I'm the one who's scared! All because you can't evolve! Shuuji: Yeah, everything is your fault! You're the reason they called me useless! Lopmon: GRAAAAAAA! *Lopmon evolves into Wendimon* Shuuji: You did it...I knew you could if you tired! Now show them. Show them I'm not useless!

After this Lopmon defeats MegaSeadramon and then...eats Shuuji. But, it's less being eaten and more absorption.

Agumon: Listen, Takuma! He's crying! Takuma: Crying...? Lopmon/Shuuji: IT HURRRTS...I'M SCAAARED...I DON'T WANNA DO THIIS... Agumon: It's Lopmon! Lopmon's crying! Lopmon/Shuuji: WHAT'S...WRONG WITH ME? WHAT SHOULD I HAVE DONE...? Takuma: That's...No way. Is that Shuuji's voice?! Lopmon/Shuuji: I DON'T HAVE...ANY RIGHT TO LIVE. I SHOULD JUST DISAPPEAR...

It's both Shuuji and Lopmon's voices crying and screaming. Because these emotions are something both of them feel. Because Lopmon is Shuuji and Shuuji is Lopmon. Let's talk about Partners:

Lopmon is cute, unassuming, and harmless. He's adorable. He's shy, trying his best to help everyone out, and constantly trying to please everyone. Lopmon also tends to be a very emotional and gets easily worried, anxious and sacred.

And Shuuji Hates Him. Shuuji gets angry at Lopmon, is frustrated with him over the smallest things, pushes him harder than anyone else in the group and is unsympathetic to Lopmon's struggles. He is disgusted and wishes he had a different partner. Because Lopmon can't actually do anything useful.

Now, something we find out in the chapter right after this is that the A Kemonogami and their partner are connected because they are two halves of a soul. A Kemonogami is a reflection of the human.

Labramon tends to chew out people who Aoi is frustrated with, Kunemon can't talk because Ryo can't easily communicate with people, and Lopmon is trying his best to please everyone because Shuuji is trying his best to please everyone.

So when Shuuji pushes, verbally abusive, and gets angry at Lopmon. He's really, getting angry at himself.

Because, Shuuji Kayama hates himself. Something we find out in the short backstory released by Bandai is that Shuuji Kayama graduated top of his class. And yet his dad still isn't satisfied by that. Shuuji was taught to hate himself, and Lopmon represents all of it.

Evolution plays such a major part in Shuuji's arc, as evolution in general it symbolizes change and personal development. But in this scene it's not positive. Shuuji is forcibly trying to change who he is out of hatred and self-loathing.

Shuuji: Why don't you (Lopmon) change? Shuuji: I see...You're the same.

Shuuji: You're just like I was when my dad chewed me out...and had to abandon me.

Shuuji does not think he as a person has any worth, he wants Lopmon to "evolve" because if Lopmon stops being Lopmon then Shuuji can stop being Shuuji, to be someone other than him, to be someone that has "worth" and ultimately that's what destroys them.

And the group reflects on this, now that they know about Shuuji's feelings:

Aoi: Did Shuuji really think that...? If so, then we... Minoru: We put him into a leadership role due to his age, and made everything his responsibility. Takuma: He was suffering the whole time, and we were the ones who made him suffer!

Again, the cast blames themselves, for not doing enough to help them, for hurting them, for being the ones who made them "suffer". But, Takuma has this scene in the library Post-split:

Illusion Shuuji: Look, our deaths were out own faults. We were weak. We admit that. Illusion Shuuji: But that wasn't the only reason we died. It was also because you abandoned us.

Illusion Ryo: You probably forgot all about it in your struggles to survive. Forgot abandoning us. Illusion Ryo: And after all that talk of everyone going home together. made me sick just hearing it. Illusion Ryo: I guess Shuuji and me were never part of that group, huh? "Everyone" didn't include us. -------------------------------- Takuma: (If I want to apologize, that means i have to become like them? Really?) Takuma: (If that's true...then I-)

Agumon wakes him up before he says anything but it's clear Takuma still blames himself for there deaths.

I'll go into more detail in this when I talk about what happens post split, but Digimon Survive doesn't think that going the other way, giving everything you could to the people around you, is good either. Because yes, he could of done more, yes he could of pulled out all the stops and yes going out of your way to understand Ryo does lead to a better outcome.

But, Takuma dying here because he thought he deserved it Would Not Make The Situation Better. We know what happens if Takuma isn't here because of the Bad " The World Ends" Ending! Takuma is the group's leader, and that he has to move on, to do better.

In contrast to Takuma's guilt and how the illusions ask him to die for them for forgiveness, let's see what happens when Ryo is alive in Chapter 5.

Ryo: You bastard! Shuuujiiiiiii! Takuma: Ryo?! Hold on, we'll all go- Ryo: You freakin' MORON!!! *Ryo Punches Him* Shuuji: Ga-hack! Ryo: You scum! You think you have the right to hurt Lopmon like that?! Shuuji: Wha', what...? What are you...? Ryo: Just look at Lopmon! Ryo: He ran himself ragged just to try and save you, then you start roughing him up... Lopmon: Ungh...*pant* Shuu...ji...*cough* *cough* Shuuji: Oh...oh no... Ryo: He's been working his ass off, an all for you! And this is how you thank him?! Shuuji: All...for me? No, but, but I... Ryo: Yo, this ain't about you, man. Take a good look around you. *camera pans to the rest of the group* Shuuji: Ah... Ryo: We're here too. All of us, your friends...and especially Lopmon. Shuuji: Ah...no...What...What have I been...

Now, as I mentioned at the end of Ryo's part, Ryo is the perfect person to help Shuuji out. Ryo starts off with punching Shuuji which shocks Shuuji out of his breakdown. He then continues telling him how horrible he's been to Lopmon, how hard Lopmon has been working for him, which makes him realize what actually happening, but then Ryo reminds him that, he isn't alone. That everyone is here to support him, and Lopmon especially is here to support him.

Shuuji: ...I'm so, so sorry, Lopmon. I'm the one who's been useless here. Shuuji: I kept seeing myself in you-all the weakness I saw in myself. It was so painful. Shuuji: But you're so much stronger than I've ever been. You came to save me, after everything. Lopmon: Ah...I'm so happy...You praised me, Shuuji... Shuuji: Lopmon...I've wanted to, for so, so long. But that doesn't matter anymore. Shuuji: I want to protect everyone...to save them. I...I want to live up to your expectations!

Instead of before where Lopmon evolves because of Shuuji's rage and self-hatred, Lopmon here evolves because of Shuuji's sense of duty and Shuuji wanting to live up to His own expectations of himself.

After this, Shuuji starts working with the professor after he's revealed to be alive, noticing things the professor didn't notice and helping him interpret the various murals in the Shrine and Shuuji loves working with him and is proud of the work he's been doing with it

Takuma also comments on how Shuuji looks happier and more refreshed when comes back in Chapter 9 and Shuuji responds that now he's just trying his best. Shuuji always wanted what's best for everyone, but now he has room to breathe, because now he's not alone. He's noticeably easier to talk to now, more open and honest about the difficulties he's facing, now it really does feel like your working with him.

And the most important, Shuuji resolves to talk to his dad, to talk to his family, to tell them how he's been feeling, to stand up for himself. He's gained the confidence, the strength, and the self-worth, to do so. Like Ryo, he's given the chance to get better. To grow, To own up to his actions, and eventually, forgive himself.

Ending Notes: So as I mentioned on the top, originally I was going to go to the branching routes here but as you can also tell this thing is long. So this is being split up two THREE parts. One covering the game pre-split the one covering Harmony/Wrathful/Moral and one covering Truthful.

I would like to thank Digisurvive's meta about extreme collectivism as horror and how that connects to Survive and abelunwinning's Shuuji Kayama's meta for both being fantastic and also giving me the ability to finish this damn thing (specifically the end and Shuuji's good evolution/Ryo punching him scene gave me trouble) go read them there great. I gained more appreciation for both Takuma and Ryo because of this, I loved them beforehand but I love them EVEN MORE NOW! Survive week is created by: @surviveweek

#digimon #digimon survive #digimon survive spoilers #digimon survive week #survive week #shuuji kayama #ryo tominaga #meta

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bi-bard · 2 years ago

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my predictions for who i'll write about in stories inspired by the songs that might be on the deluxe edition of Noah Kahan's "Stick Season"

So.

Noah Kahan has been busy working on the deluxe version of Stick Season... and teasing it on his TikTok.

Just for a bit of fun, I wanna give some prediction on what I think each song we've heard (so far) will inspire me to write because we all know that I'm going to write stories for them.

Again, this is just for fun. This is not set in stone because I don't know the whole songs... or even which of these are going to make the album, so... yeah.

It's just using clips from his videos.

Also, this starts from the most recent audio shared and then goes down the list of videos.

SPECIAL NOTE: I have absolutely no idea how many of these are actually going to end up on the deluxe album. I simply don't. I just kept going until I got tired. Sorry.

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

"Medicate / meditate / swear your soul to Jesus / throw a punch / fall in love / give yourself a reason..."

I think this will end up being a Dean Winchester imagine. I think somewhere around season 10 to season 11 because I think that's where we see the most distinct moments of Dean truly seeing himself as something bad and undeserving of love and forgiveness.

"I ain't proud of all the punches that I've thrown / In the name of someone I no longer know / For the shame of being young, drunk, and alone..."

Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto from The Bear. That boy is damaged and messy and I think this song is going to be a great way to look at the pitfalls of the behavior that we see from Carmy in the show.

"So pack up your car / put a hand on your heart / say whatever you feel / be whoever you are..."

I don't have a specific fandom, but I'm looking at a found-family story where the reader says goodbye, either to what they knew before or to their found-family. Mostly because this song reminds me of the scene in Supergirl where everyone is saying goodbye to Winn. I'm juggling between something like Titans or something like Doctor Who.

"I saw the end / it looked just like the middle / got a paper and pen / and a page with no space...."

this story is going to be so personal to me. i can already tell. I'm leaning toward a superhero story or a Supernatural story. A life after being with these people. Maybe that life was scary and seemed pointless, but now that their free, they have to deal with missing what was familiar and the guilt of not feeling grateful enough to something better.

"There's a tiny tourist trap a few miles off the interstate / and I watch as it empties out..."

I don't have a character in mind, but I have an idea that it'll be a very tearful goodbye and kiss and shit. Maybe a reunion too? Maybe?

"Quietly you're coming home from work / Forty hour week minus commute / for a dream of planting flowers on the porch / For now, my love, store-bought will have to do..."

I want to write a childhood friends-to-lover kind of thing, but I'm not sure what it'll be yet. I just know that much.

"I'm the tall glass of water you lost in your kitchen / I'm casually cruel like a senior prediction..."

This could also play as a childhood friends-to-lovers story, but I am not nearly as sold on that one. This one is such a strange one to me. It's very nostalgic but also angry?? I don't know. I'm still thinking about it. I'm kinda thinking that Hannibal might work, but there may be another Hugh Dancy character that would fit better, so I make no promises...

"County line, I'm counting down / mailboxes until my house / This place had a heartbeat / in its day..."

I'm leaning toward Doctor Who on this one. I don't know which Doctor it'll be, but I think it would work out well.

"I hear you call / me somewhere only we know / I'll hold out hope / when my eyes open, you'll show..."

This will be a very sad story. I can promise that. It's about grief and it's very complicated process. I have every intention of writing for that.

#imagine #x reader #fanfiction #noah kahan #supernatural imagine #supernatural fanfiction #dc imagine #supernatural x reader #dc x reader #dc fanfiction #doctor who imagine #doctor who fanfiction #doctor who x reader

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princessbriarrose · 1 year ago

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The McCartney Collective breakdown and theory.

weird idea i know but it could have some interesting ideas in it. Made by Soupiza on YouTube ( https://www.youtube.com/@soupiza/videos link to channel here, give this guy some love his videos are amazing) It's based off of the Paul is dead theory, A old theory stating that Sir Paul McCartney of Beatles fame actually died, Now depending on what version of events you hear since there's multiple versions of events, The one that seems to make sense for this series is that Paul died in a car crash and to save people from the grief of a beloved music icon dying young and so suddenly, He was replaced by a lookalike. Theres multiple versions of events but the car crash was the one that caught on and is the most common explanation. Personally i heard that the original Paul died of a drug overdose, how you can do that with weed i have no idea. Before you read on watch the videos, Its really good (although some might think its goofy) Its really short at only three short videos at the time of writing, Soupiza said a new video will be coming out later this week and unless the zombie of the real Paul McCartney comes and gets me i will be posting that breakdown After the fact in its own post but i will edit this post with a link to the new episode breakdown.

Video One:

youtube

This is just a Teaser Trailer for the series but it has some interesting things, It opens up to a new broadcast about the theory and specifically how allegedly the group to revealing the truth though the songs and album covers. It cuts to a small picture of the lookalike that replaced Paul, Named Billy Shears. (Authors note: Its actually a believed to be passport picture around the time of the srgt peppers era.) Next a raspy text to speech audio saying "I am not dead." "They won't tell the truth."Stop trying to hide it John." "It will come out someday.". It cuts to part of a audio interview with John, The interviewer is asking John about the fate of Paul, John says (rather dismissively) "Uh no it's a joke in it i mean.....Paul isn't dead and if he was we have told you, Uh we'd be the first to know."

Lastly a distorted picture of Paul shows up, he looks as if hes in pain then turns into a pained smile while Revolution 9 plays.

Video Two:

youtube

This was is currently the shortest one in the series, At only 32 seconds long so this will be a real quick breakdown, Its still another teaser trailer for the series.

It opens up to the Apple corps logo with a bit of "She loves you" playing in the background, abruptly ends then fades into a picture of George Harrison, Its a low quality picture and you can hear a man say "It Paul McCartney alive or dead?" then in the background a distorted face of Paul shows up and Yesterday starts to play then cuts way. Another mans voice says "Viewing of these unauthorized tapes, We advise you to turn off your player at once and return these tapes right back to where you found them." Lastly the same distorted picture of Paul shows up while a screaming sound plays.

Video Three:

youtube

This is the main video in the series, Its the first one in supposedly nine in season one. It's also currently the longest in the three videos as of writing.

It opens up to the Apple corps logo with a bit of "She loves you" playing in the background, abruptly ends then fades into a warning screen saying "WARNING: For private use of apple corp members. ANY COPYING, EDITING, EXHIBITING, RENTING OR PUBLIC PERFORMANCE OF THIS PROGRAM OR ANY PART THEREOF IS PROHIBITED WITHOUT THE WRITTEN AUTHORIZATION OFT HE COPYRIGHT HOLDER." then shows the number of the tape and name "Tape 1/9" and "Staff information." then "these tapes are to only be viewed by staff of apple corp and to be kept confidential."

"The McCartney Collective." Next comes a screen showing all of the upcoming tapes or the tapes that are suppose to be in this series. "1/9 (Staff informational video)" "2/9 (George's Interview)" "3/9 (Ringo's Interview)" "4/9 (John's Interview)" It briefly changes to "H3SGUILT4". "5/9 (Police report.)" "6/9 (John talk)" it changes to "CONFESS" "7/9 (shoes on)" "8/9 (The walrus fears the rabbit)" "9/9 (laup deirub I)" then briefly flashes "10/9 (cranberry reven9e).

The next part of the video is showing the Mock interviews with fans, training the employees at apple corp how to act with fans or members of the press ask them about the whereabouts of Paul. the first one asks "Is Paul McCartney alive? Because we haven't heard much from him recently...i don't know we're just getting worried." Next the show the answer the employee's are suppose to give "No, he's alive and well." then quickly fades in and out is another distorted picture of Paul McCartney. Question two is "Is Paul ok? uhhh... I don't know a lot of people just have been kinda....i dunno...weary I guess it's just weird that he hasn't been seen for awhile. Is he sick?" the employee is suppose to answer "you have nothing to worry about he is well and safe!" The last question goes on and is interrupted by a clip of john saying in a angered and frantic manner. "He was upset it wasn't. IT WAS NOT MY FAULT!" then a repetitive sound plays while in the foreground another distorted picture of Paul is shown finally it cuts away to the tape being removed while a beep plays.

Theory time:

If its not obvious now then let me spell it out for you. Paul got injured in a car crash and was presumed dead at the scene, John was (i don't know if the rest of the Beatles were there or helped) was the one who buried him but Paul was alive, injured badly yes but wasn't dead then was buried alive. It does seem like Paul is particularly vengeful right now, its not like hes trying to kill john its more like he wants him to admit what he did, after all he did say "stop trying to hide it john.". While Apple corp is struggling to hide it people are getting sus about it. I'm curious to know (the in lore explanation) on who the uploader is, we haven't gotten any clue to who it is and I've searched the comments and the descriptions too. i'm really excited for the next video that coming out later this week.

#text #the beatles #the mccartney collective #analog horror #Youtube

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averrse · 2 years ago

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Part 2 of my SoC reread notes. Pages 46-165 of my edition.

(Note: I am sometimes lightly critical of Bardugo, and I have some Issues with Matthias, so fair warning! I keep it to a minimum, but sometimes these things come up.)

Inej could never be sure which stories about Kaz were true and which were rumors he’d planted to serve his own ends. For all she knew, he’d conned some poor honest trader out of his life savings to make the Crow Club thrive.

Breaks my heart a little bit that Inej thinks this, but I understand why, and I'm also sure Kaz would like that she can't be sure.

“Brick by brick,” he muttered to himself. They were the only words that kept his rage in check, that prevented him from striding through the Emerald’s garish gold-and-green doors, demanding a private audience with Rollins, and slitting his throat. Brick by brick. It was the promise that let him sleep at night, that drove him every day, that kept Jordie’s ghost at bay. Because a quick death was too good for Pekka Rollins.

God bless Kaz thinking of the colors of the Emerald Club being "garish" even in the middle of his revenge fantasy. He's such a snob in his weird way. But it's also interesting to me that he believes killing Pekka outright would not "keep Jordie's ghost at bay." I think in reality, it's more that having his revenge quest gives him purpose and keeps him from having to actually face his grief.

Kaz could see himself as he was then, walking the Stave with dazzled eyes, hand tucked into Jordie’s so he wouldn’t be swept away by the crowd. He hated the boys they’d been, two stupid pigeons waiting to be plucked.

One thing I've always liked about Kaz's characterization is that he's internalized this hatred of who he and Jordie were. While he feels the need for revenge against Pekka for taking advantage of them, he also feels that they deserved to be taken advantage of because they were naive. He has clearly taken the role of Pekka many times, taking advantage of 'pigeons'... yet he also hates Pekka for doing it.

“I’ve seen Suli tellers ply their trade in caravans and pleasure ships, Inej. They didn’t seem so very holy.” “They are pretenders. Making themselves clowns for you and your ilk.” “My ilk?” Kaz had laughed. She’d waved her hand in disgust. “Shevrati,” she’d said. “Know-nothings. They’re laughing at you behind those masks.” “Not at me, Inej. I’d never lay down good coin to be told my future by anyone—fraud or holy man.” “Fate has plans for us all, Kaz.” “Was it fate that took you from your family and stuck you in a pleasure house in Ketterdam? Or was it just very bad luck?” “I’m not sure yet,” she’d said coldly. In moments like that, he thought she might hate him.

God, this whole conversation. Holy microaggressions, Kaz. Like, yeah, bud, I'm sure you understand Inej's culture better than she does.

But there are some interesting character things here. Inej is lumping Kaz in with... basically what Kaz would call pigeons (which I think is why he got really fucking cruel about her family).

Also, Kaz doing shit that will obviously upset Inej, then thinking she probably hates him--which he doesn't seem to want but he does seem to want but not really. Therapy.

The peepholes were a feature of all the brothels. They were a way to keep employees safe and honest, and they offered a thrill to anyone who enjoyed watching others take their pleasure. Kaz had seen enough slum dwellers seeking satisfaction in dark corners and alleys that the allure was lost on him.

Hey, look, it's one of those passages that make me REALLY uncomfortable with Kaz being 17 in the book and this being marketed as young adult and I'm just going to stay in denial about it.

But, yeah. If I ignore that aspect, it is sorta telling about how he views physical contact outside of just the touch aversion.

“It’s just a question of leverage, Nina.” “You don’t know him.” “Don’t I? He’s a person like any other, driven by greed and pride and pain. You should understand that better than anyone.”

Greed and pride and pain. God bless Kaz for not knowing how any person could function differently than he does.

“And Kaz Brekker?” [Nina] “A liar, a thief, and utterly without conscience. But he’ll keep to any deal you strike with him.” [Inej]

I love how Inej talks about Kaz. It almost strikes me as her describing him as he'd want to be described.

“You were early, Jesper,” Kaz said as he nudged Matthias toward the boat. “I was on time.” “For you, that’s early. Next time you plan to impress me give me some warning.” “The animals are out, and I found you a boat. This is when a thank-you would be in order.” “Thank you, Jesper,” said Nina. “You’re very welcome, gorgeous. See, Kaz? That’s how the civilized folk do.”

Love Kaz being mad at Jesper for being on time. Love Kaz assuming him being on time is to impress him. Love Nina, like, in general.

Although on a more seriously note, I do wish Kaz would be nicer to Jesper. He's SO negative toward him all the time at this point in the book.

Matthias knew monsters, and one glance at Kaz Brekker had told him this was a creature who had spent too long in the dark—he’d brought something back with him when he’d crawled into the light. Matthias could sense it around him. [...] He’d heard Brekker’s name in prison, and the words associated with him—criminal prodigy, ruthless, amoral. They called him Dirtyhands because there was no sin he would not commit for the right price. And now this demon was talking about breaking into the Ice Court, about getting Matthias to commit treason.

This is interesting to me, because Matthias is pretty much only this negative about Nina and Kaz. To me, it really reflects how Matthias basically thinks anybody who has experienced marginalization or poverty is evil~ Also, his interpretation of the Dirtyhands nickname being tied to "sin" is... telling.

“I worry about everything, merchling. That’s why I’m still alive. And you can keep an eye on Jesper, too.”

Maybe two people who follow me will understand when I say this but... Why is this line almost word-for-word a line John Sheppard has said?

ANYWAY. Kaz worrying about everything. Kaz having plans on plans on plans. Kaz catastrophizing about everything as a matter of survival.

He saw a shadow pass over Inej’s face. She wouldn’t like being without her knives any more than he liked being without his cane.

!!! EQUATING HIS CANE WITH HER KNIVES !!! Especially since this is near the section where Inej thinks about how her knives make her feel like she's safer and has more agency in her life.

The sensation of skin on skin set off a riot of revulsion in Kaz’s head, but because he’d been anticipating the attack, he managed to control the sickness that overcame him.

We love accurate representation of what touch aversion is like~

“You can’t spend his money if you’re dead.” “I’ll acquire expensive habits in the afterlife.” “There’s a difference between confidence and arrogance.” He’d turned his back on her then, giving each of his gloves a sharp tug. “And when I want a sermon on that, I know who to come to. If you want out, just say so.” Her spine had straightened, her own pride rising to her defense. “Matthias isn’t the only irreplaceable member of this crew, Kaz. You need me.” “I need your skills, Inej. That’s not the same thing. You may be the best spider crawling around the Barrel, but you’re not the only one. You’d do well to remember it if you want to keep your share of the haul.” She hadn’t said a word, hadn’t wanted to show just how angry he’d made her, but she’d left his office and hadn’t said a thing to him since.

This has happened a couple of times already; Inej will say something that low-key hurts his pride or his feelings, and then he'll snap back at her in some way he doesn't really mean. I think he is particularly harsh to her at times because she is generally harder to warn off his sensitivities than the others. (Absolutely not an excuse, just an observation. He's fully in the wrong here and most of the time, lol.)

It’s just a place, she told herself. Just another house. How would Kaz see it? Where are the entrances and exits? How do the locks work? Which windows are unbarred? How many guards are posted, and which ones look alert? Just a house full of locks to pick, safes to crack, pigeons to dupe. And she was the predator now, not Heleen in her peacock feathers, not any man who walked these streets.

as;dlkfj i love that inej tries to see things through kaz's eyes to try to feel in control. I think this is why she understands him better than most people; that is EXACTLY the reason he thinks that way too.

#. headcanon #. aj reads soc

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sortasirius · 4 years ago

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What the Fuck Happened to the SPN Finale?

Okay so here it is, my Charlie Kelly style manifesto.

Before I get into it, I recognize that I will look like this to many of you, and that’s okay, I understand:

Secondly, your personal Takes about the writers don’t interest me, I don’t need to hear them. This, as I’ll explain, is going to remain a writer positive blog, and that’s the end of it.

Third, and most importantly: some of what I’m going to talk about is fact, and some is highly educated speculation. I will notate what is speculation, just so there’s no confusion or hot takes in my inbox that I’m a conspiracy theorist or stirring shit up for no reason.

A list of what I’ll be discussing

The episode in regards to the rest of the season

The episode issues: length, editing

Scene placement and speculation of scenes cut

The scrubbing of Jack, Cas, Eileen

Network involvement and general timeline of when things were cut

Misha: theories on where he was, official company line, why we can’t expect to hear anything directly

The silence of the cast post episode (in Misha’s case, mid episode) and what this might mean

Jensen speaking with Kripke about the ending: why it doesn’t mean what you might think (also why kripke remained positive on the ending)

Walker, and why this episode had a major shift

Why the network would do this or get involved

Why the writers of the show simply aren’t the bad guys here, and what I “want” out of this post, since I know it’ll get asked

This is very long and under a cut, but I hope you’ll give it a read.

The Episode In Regards to the Rest of the Season

So, I’ve discussed this already here, but it’s the most obvious thing to me, and that’s the way this episode simply doesn’t fit with the rest of the season.

These people in this room have, truly, been nothing but consistent when it comes to their arcs, especially this season, and the marked dropoff in quality for the finale episode is just too sus to discount to me. Dabb’s whole focus has been character-based. In his seasons, we’ve moved far away from MOTW and bro-codependency, the found family taking it’s place. Does it really sit right to anyone that that was all thrown away in literally the last episode of the entire show?

This is speculation on my part, but as a writer myself, there is no way I would be happy or willing to stamp my name on something that I didn’t think would, at the very least, wrap up the season+ character arcs that I and my team had been crafting.

And before anyone comes in here saying, “well GOT did that!” Bruh. The writing was on the wall for GOT long before the final episode. You could tell that the showrunners just wanted to be done (not only from the plot, but from the fact that they lobbied for a shorter season). Miss me with that, it doesn’t apply here. Andrew has, besides Singer and J2, been with the show longer than anyone. He cares, he is meticulous and detailed, and this ending feels worse than anything Bucklemming has ever written, let alone Dabb.

Additionally, I’ve seen a lot of people say that Dabb was never behind Destiel, that it was all Bobo and Meredith and no one else. That is reductive to the point of insult of the work Dabb has done to get this greenlit. This man did not write the s13 Dean grief arc to be slandered like this. That being said, YES, Bobo and Meredith were the leads on the DeanCas arc this season, but ANDREW IS THE SHOWRUNNER, TO GET EVEN THE CONFESSION APPROVED BY THE NETWORK HE WOULD HAVE TO HAVE THEIR BACKS. AND HE DID.

Finale Issues

So, now that we’ve gotten the fact that this episode doesn’t hit on any of the major themes the show was barrelling towards all season, let’s discuss the fact that the episode is just...weird.

Not only is it shorter than any other episode (I think with the intro and the credits/crew thing at the end, it was around 38 mins), but it was also...idk, 90% filler?

One of the lovely humans in the POLOL server did the legwork here, and broke it down:

This is weird, y’all. Most series finales are LONGER than normal (Lost, SOA, Longmire are the ones I can think of off the top of my head), and for the final episode to be this? I saw more than one person point out that we only really needed 19 episodes, what was the point of 20? AND THAT’S EXACTLY IT? WHAT WAS THE POINT OF THIS FINAL EPISODE IF THIS WAS ALL WE WERE SUPPOSED TO GET?

It simply doesn’t make any sense, the first half of the episode was rushed, a final monster hunt gone wrong, but in the second half? Nothing really happened? Sam lived his entire life and Dean just drove around. It doesn’t make sense to have all the emotional arcs left unaddressed in an episode that definitely needed some kind of spark.

Here’s the speculation I have: the episode seemingly went through a lot of changes between the initial inception of the final season and when we actually got it, but I think it would have been passable (as in, we wouldn’t be sitting here asking each other why each arc feels incomplete) until the editing room got ahold of it. The only think that makes this episode make sense is network fuckery. Truly, that is the only thing. It explains the weird, cuts, the rushed pacing of the first half followed by nothing in the second half, the double montages of “Wayward Son” back to back, and Dean just...driving around for the last half of the episode.

Scene Placement and Speculation of Scenes Cut

Before I get into this section, the info of the shots in the episode I have come from a source that @occamshipper got a week or so before the finale. She’s talked about this here.

So here’s what Min was given:

1-5: 1 INT MEN OF LETTERS – DEAN’S ROOM Dean is greeted by Miracle

6-10: 6 INT MEN OF LETTERS – HALLWAY/SAM’S ROOM Sam has his routine

D1 1 11-15: 15 EXT FARM HOUSE Establishing

N1 1/8 16-20: 19 Dad’s journal, marker, drawing of masked man in journal.

21-25: 23 INT IMPALA – PMP Driver picks the music

N2 1 3/8 1,2 26-30: 28pt2 INT BARN: A face from the past

28pt3 Sam and Dean say goodbye

28pt4 Shot early for technical reasons, presumably the overhead shot

N2 31-45: 41 INT MEN OF LETTERS – SAM’S ROOM Sam’s alarm goes off D4 1/8 1 46-60: 56 INT N7glasses for Sam, laptop.

So...it all fits right? It all tracks with the actual episode, where it lands, etc. The issue is between shots 29-40 which were apparently “too big to spoil.” Uh. Where are they? And where’s 28 pt4?

After Dean dies, the next scene is Sam burning him, then shot 31, the shot of his alarm going off.

So. Where are those 11ish shots?

PLUS we have the boards, which are scenes we KNOW were actually shot:

As well as scenes for 20 that were shot in 19.

It’s just...weird, it’s weird and again hits on the fact that the episode is so short and like 80% montage.

The Scrubbing of Jack, Cas, and Eileen

So now we have to reckon with the fact that Eileen was last mentioned by Sam after she got snapped by Chuck, Jack’s last mention is that he’s off being God somewhere, and Cas’ last mention is a ~knowing look~ between Dean and Bobby.

I’m sorry, make it make sense:

???????? That’s the end if it? They don’t need to be discussed after this??? It’s just simply not something a writer would do, they would not introduce these characters, these arcs, without thinking there’s going to be some kind of follow through here.

So not only were three major characters (including two leads and both of the original characters’ love interests) completely wiped from the finale episode, it was as though Sam and Dean never even needed them, which just...ain’t it.

So why Eileen and Jack too? Why not just take Cas out of it if they were afraid of the gay? Because, ultimately, the episode went back to Kripke’s original story: just the bros, they only need each other and no one else. They don’t want anyone else, they don’t need anyone else. Easier to go back to something they knew was successful than trust the writers and their audience and take a big leap.

Alex even said he shot for 20 with “some of the guys” here. What happened to that footage?

The complete 180 of it all still shocks me, I still cannot believe that we were essentially at the finish line, and the network just stopped short, and decided to go run another race, at the expense of the arc of this fifteen year legacy show.

Network Involvement and When Things Were Cut

Okay, now into the juicy stuff.

So I’ve pretty well established that network fuckery is clear, but how much did they get involved, what was the original intent?

Well again, we may never actually know what Andrew’s original script was, but I think, at the least, it would involve Dean speaking his truth to Cas and Sam living a life with Eileen.

Now, it seems today, that Misha said that Jimmy Novak was supposed to be in the finale in one iteration of the script, and while initially my brain was like “that truly makes no sense and he’s either straight up lying or telling a half truth,” I think what may be happening is Misha talking about as much as he can right now.

So Jimmy right. Weird as fuck. Why would he been in the Roadhouse and not Cas? My current thought (this is about as reachy as I’ll get) is that Jimmy had no lines, could he have been in the Roadhouse as a red herring, like it said “Jimmy” in the script but it was just Cas in human clothes, a way to get around the network saying Cas couldn’t be in the final scene. Also, you’ll notice that Misha didn’t say that Cas wasn’t supposed to be in the ep at all, just Jimmy in the last scene.

All this to say, there have clearly been multiple versions of the script, getting lighter and lighter with Cas and Eileen as the network pulled further and further back. Remember, Dabb has to get things approved before they get shot, and if the network kept asking and asking and asking to cut Cas and Eileen, he had to find a way to work around it. Granted, I still think that if we had been able to get a Dabb script that wasn’t torn to shreds in editing, it wouldn’t be so bad. It may not be what a lot of us wanted (Dean speaking his truth to Cas and a reciprocation), but doing everything he could to give it to us in subtext or visual clues.

Plus, in all honesty, my man can’t keep his story straight anyway. He said twice in his panel that the Empty and offscreen Heaven ending weren’t his original ending either.

In addition, remember that Jensen did ADR post episode 18, AND said in a meet and greet last weekend that Dean’s reaction to Cas’ confession was “cut down.” (Source here). Many of us clowns got excited when we first heard about ADR, because we thought it would be upping the ante on Dean’s reaction, but I remember being a little sus when it was just crying. My speculation on that is that they cut out Dean actually SAYING something, @winchestersingerautorepair spoke about that here.

The biggest sins were, in my opinion, committed during editing, where the network got too gun shy and sliced the episode until it was nothing but a heartless bro-fest of a finale, not mentioning anything about the other major characters that we all love, and letting the boys just suffer in separation until Sam died and finally joined Dean in Heaven. The editing came by cutting all the major emotional beats between anyone other than Dean and Sam, leaving the skeleton of the story intact, just shorter and less...poignant than it was ever supposed to be.

Misha

We know Misha was in Vancouver, we know he quarantined, but we also know he wasn’t in the final scene, when he spoke about being in the last moment of the show months ago. We were not crazy, he was there, he quarantined, and, in all likelihood (speculation but fitting with the timeline), he actually may have shot something (not much, but something).

I have sources here, here, here, and here showing where Misha was at that time.

Remember, the man was completely open about coming back until they finished shooting (look at this thread). The switch happened, just like everything else, halfway through them shooting.

Please also remember Jake Abel posting his “Where’s Misha” video here. Jake isn’t malicious, he isn’t being nasty here. Misha was there, and everyone that’s trying to convince people he’s wasn’t just...isn’t telling the truth about it.

This is one of the things that makes me really mad, because they’re literally attempting to gaslight people into thinking, “oh we were totally wrong he was never supposed to be there” WHEN HE WAS THERE, WE KNOW HE WAS THERE.

So we’ve already heard from several people (Meghan Fitzmartin, Jay, a PA on the set of 19 (WHO WAS NOT WORKING FOR 20), Misha himself) that this was all down to Covid restrictions. Ultimately, as this post says, we’ve heard FIVE versions of where Misha was. None of it makes sense, but the Covid protocol seems to be the company line that others are repeating.

You may ask: why? Why lie to all of us when we have questions? Why, in Jay’s case, say that we’re all spreading false lies to stir up trouble, when we just have questions and things that do not make sense. Simply? Warner Brothers is absolutely massive. These people have their careers to protect and are likely all under NDAs. They want to work for WB again and don’t want to burn bridges, including Misha. It sucks, but that’s why it’s unlikely that we’ll hear someone come out and say, “yeah we’re lying to you.”

Silence of the Cast Post Episode

So this is...probably the worst part of all this, at least in my opinion.

The guys had all been pretty excited about the end of the show (especially Jared, but Jensen’s panel last week was Jensen as happy and jokey and positive as I’ve ever seen him. He was so excited about episode 18, about what it meant for Dean and for Cas, and I just cannot buy that he would have been that excited unless he thought there was something more in the episode.

Misha live-tweeted the episode, and was watching it with his kids. It’s well known that Misha and the kids don’t watch the show because it’s too scary, and let’s ask ourselves, why would he have them watch an episode that he’s barely even mentioned in?

He also stopped live-tweeting at a very specific point in the episode (Dean’s death) and has not mentioned Supernatural since then.

None of them, not Jared, Jensen, Misha, or even Alex, said anything about the episode for nearly 36 hours, when Jensen posted a salty photo on instagram. It’s just...not what you’d expect for the end of a 15 year show, when the cast and crew are so close to the fans, so close to each other.

My theory? They didn’t know. They thought Misha was, at least, going to be in the episode in some way, and when he wasn’t, they decided not to say anything.

You really think that Jensen “Heller” Ackles would have been so excited about the end of the show last week if he thought Cas wasn’t going to be in it at all? Nah son, doesn’t make any sense.

Even today, in Jared and Misha’s panels, they seemed sad and...more than a little careful, both saying that there were things they couldn’t say, both talking around things that we all have questions on.

Jensen Speaking with Kripke

So this is where a lot of people are getting fodder to take shots at the writers, saying that Jensen hated it from the beginning, but I don’t think so. I actually think I know what Jensen went to him about, and it wasn’t the lack of Cas or the weird pacing or the montages (which I don’t think were there when Jensen got the script); I think it was the manner of Dean’s death.

I know a lot of people were upset about that, upset with how...normal it was, coming off an episode where they literally beat God. I actually didn’t mind it, I thought it was an interesting thematic take to be like: you can be a hero all your life, but sometimes shit happens, and you just die.

But imagine how hard that was for Jensen to read. He would run to Kripke for that, because for him, Dean dying by being impaled by a piece of rebar had to be tough to swallow.

So, why didn’t Kripke say that? Why didn’t he say, “oh well he had a problem with Dean’s death, none of that other stuff was in the script.”

Guys. Why would he get involved? He’s not going to burn bridges any more than anyone else is. He said the ending was good because it’s the easy thing to do, it’s simple, will cause him no problems in his career, and he can just ignore the people trying to engage with him on it.

Walker

Something else to talk about is the major shift this episode had from the rest of the season: the shift from Dean to Sam. I am NOT saying that Sam isn’t important, he definitely, absolutely is, but it was DEAN who really needed to wrap up his arc, Sam just needed to move on, get married to Eileen, become the leader he was always meant to. So what changed? What was with the shirtless scene, the Austin number and random case there, most of the episode being heavily Sam focused, going through his entire life in a montage?

Anyone else notice the 375 Walker promos, or Jared’s little spiel about Walker and how he hoped SPN fans would “come along for the ride.”

It’s...kinda obvious? CW wanted to appeal to who they think the key demographic of SPN and Walker is: rural areas in the South. It would explain a lot, why so much editing, why so Sam focused, the Austin number, the number of Walker promos, all of it.

I’m not saying this is fact, I don’t know that it is, but it is a little suspicious that even in Jared’s panel today, he talked A LOT about Walker and how he hopes SPN fans will watch it.

Why Would the Network Get Involved?

Simply put: $$$

If they think Walker can be the new SPN, and that those crazy SPN fans liked it originally, it’s a lot safer to go with the “original intent” of the show than do something risky (like making one of your two original leads queer).

And? They don’t care. They don’t care that the episode didn’t make sense, they don’t care that all the emotional arcs were left hanging, they don’t care by (potentially) smashing together two of Dean’s monologues (one to Sam, one to Cas) that it came of as...gross. ( @curioussubjects wrote a beautiful post showing how part of that death speech was likely meant for Dean here). They don’t care, they never have, they just want to make their money and move on from the too-loud fandom that fought for representation too hard for too long.

It can’t help but feel insidious, which, honestly, it might be, but it really all comes down to the next cash cow, which, they think, is Walker, even at the cost of the fifteen year legacy show.

The Writers and What I Want

So here it is, all this weird, sus shit laid out on the line. And you know what? To me, there is no way to blame the writers, because they didn’t want this.

I don’t think Dabb and Bobo would have gone ahead with the confession in 18 without thinking that there would be some closure to that arc, they wouldn’t have done that not only to the fans, but for the sake of their own story as well: no writer wants to start something that they can’t finish. (And this applies to both Cas and Eileen).

Here’s a basic rundown of what I think happened: they had a clear arc from 18-20, ending in reciprocation at some level from Dean, Sam marrying Eileen, Hunter Sam as the new Bobby, Dean in heaven with Cas and big roadhouse reunion at the end. Covid prevented a good amount of that. Network had to stare at big gay 18 for six months, got cold feet. Thought about Walker, target audience and alienation of the rural areas if it went full gay. Misha quarantined and likely shot something (not much), he was then cut by execs and went home. They likely added in lines referencing Eileen and Cas to make it clear but more subtextual. They wrap, editing gets it and hacks it to pieces, so we get a shorter episode that’s mostly montages and jarringly bro-centric with nothing else. Arcs are left hanging. Dabb gets episode but it’s too late, there’s nothing he can do. Actors aren’t told so they can continue to do positive PR for the ending, they all found out at the same time we did: hence almost complete silence about the finale.

And you know what? They warned us. I talked about it here, but they’ve been telling us all season that Chuck wasn’t the writer, he’s the network. I don’t think, still, that they thought it would be cut up like this, into something so unsalvageable that it’s been panned by almost everyone, even people who didn’t care much about Dean and Cas.

Finally, a masterpiece can be ruined by editing, and while I’m not sure even the script they ended up shooting on was a masterpiece (due to the network meddling already), but to me it’s blatantly obvious that it’s no one but the network that caused this, that took away closure for Dean, Cas, and even Sam.

So what do I want? Nothing really, there’s nothing we can do, but I wrote this mostly to show people that the writers are not your enemy. In fact, to the people trashing them? You’re doing exactly what the CW wants you to: blame the obvious targets, blame Misha, blame Jensen and Jared, blame Dabb. Scream and yell at them on Twitter and about how the show is ruined because of them. The network keeps their engagement levels high, they don’t get as targeted for their behavior, and just keep moving along.

Just, please, think about who did this, Mourn the show, be angry, but not at the people who fought tooth and nail for this for literal years, not the people who wanted it more than we did, not the people who cannot say anything because of their careers and the NDAs they’re bound by.

Someone is going to spill eventually, but until then, we just have to wait, and continue to be loud.

#my writing #my meta #supernatural #spn #spn finale trash fire #MY MANIFESTO IS DONE

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otnesse · 4 months ago

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I'll try to edit the article to note that bit then, but that does NOT mean the Jedi, as in the High Council, played any role in her release. All that means is that Qui-Gon kept his word (let's not forget, it's established that Qui-Gon's a bit of a maverick when it comes to being a Jedi, going against the Council more than a few times, so for all we know, Qui-Gon might have talked to a random Jedi [ie, NOT a council member] and did it without the council's knowledge). And BTW, Shmi herself was so depressed afterwards that part of the reason Watto disabled her explosive leash even BEFORE selling her to Cliegg Lars was precisely to avoid her essentially committing suicide by wandering off beyond the reservation due to her grief, and still hopes for Anakin to return as a Knight.

And I find that bit particularly hard to believe considering he had no such qualms when literally testing Anakin in TPM, making explicit he read Anakin's mind without the latter even giving consent. As far as your last point, isn't that literally the POINT behind the Jedi Mind Trick, their signature move? And please don't give me "it only works on the weak minded." The Imperial Handbook (which, while technically made post-Disney sale, was also made BEFORE the Legends/Canon split, meaning it's barely authorized by George Lucas like all EU works) had given some details on their mindset (namely, and I quote, "Stormtroopers are victorious because of our training, our uniformity, and our ability to bring overwhelming firepower to bear. We offer our lives to our Emperor."), and there was a footnote that said "Stormtrooper ideology is terrifying in its thoroughness, They can't be reasoned with, which means they can't be deprogrammed." And the person who wrote that footnote is none other than Leia. That footnote strongly implied that Stormtroopers if anything were STRONG-MINDED, not weak-minded under the traditional sense (meaning it literally required the Force to make ANY leeway on them, literally any leeway). Had they been truly weak-minded, it if anything would have been notoriously easy for them to deprogram (think The Rise and Fall of Julius Caesar, namely the funeral scene, for a good idea of what I'm getting at).

Except the entire POINT behind that bit is precisely BECAUSE they fear loss ultimately. You want a GOOD example of a Superman version who literally DIDN'T fear loss to such an extent that he's practically the epitome since birth of the trope Beware the Superman? Try Brandon Breyer from the movie BrightBurn. That guy CLEARLY lacked attachments of ANY sort, lacked the fear of ANY loss at all, and it's implied he was a brood parasite as well. And BTW, telling me to accept that "life ends and there's nothing I can do to stop it" is a VERY bad idea since I'm if anything the type who comes VERY close to fully accepting it to the extent of being borderline fatalistic about it, even regarding my OWN life, much less others. In fact, it's such a slippery slope for me that I'm if anything the type of guy who would actually use THAT exact rationale to not only NOT save anyone at all but if anything make me all the MORE willing to cause mass deaths as a result if nothing held me back, especially God watching me constantly. That was quite literally Kefka Palazzo's rationale for his omnicidal actions, in fact, it was quite literally Seymour Guado's rationale as well, even going so far as to claim that he's freeing his victims when he kills them (that's how messed up he truly was). If anything, fear of loss is PRECISELY why I have compassion at all, since I know just HOW valuable life is, whether my own or anyone else's and dread its loss under ANY reason. If I lacked any fear of loss, I'd if anything use as my rationale "The worse, the better" or "A million is a statistic" and go out of my WAY to cause death. I'd know because far too many real-world tyrants in the prior century went that precise route (like Vladimir Lenin, to use an example, who actually was notorious for being the guy who first legalized abortion, even allowed for unlimited access to it). Oh, and for the record, Galenth was not anything like Anakin. If anything, he was more like Palpatine, or even an evil version of Yoda. THIS is what Galenth is like, and you'll see EXACTLY what I mean by that:

youtube

If ANYONE was like Anakin, it was Seymour Guado from Final Fantasy X (though I'll be quick to point out that, if anything, Seymour's essentially Anakin if he actually DID take Yoda's "advice" to heart):

youtube

Oh, and BTW, this is one of the events that turned him into such a nihilistic nutcase:

youtube

And based on his speeches, he MORE than accepted it by the time he became an adulthood. In fact, became TOO accepting of it to such an extent that he even began to nihilistically believe death and suffering was the entire POINT behind life.

Also, considering George Lucas cheerleaded Barack Obama, who even during the election cycle was notoriously pro-abortion (even refused the Red Envelope campaign), to such an extent that Jack Nicholson refused to associate with him and Martin Sheen refused to even DINE with him precisely because of it, and he also made it very clear repeatedly that he modeled his heroes after the Vietcong, who definitely never respected life at all (and in fact, ironically enough, their methods were more invokative of the EMPIRE rather than their actual basis in Star Wars), and even implied recently that he at the time KNEW they were a bunch of mass murderers when he modeled the heroes after them, I wouldn't take his life lessons at all, and I don't think you should either. Heck, recently, my mom and dad suffered severe ailments (UTI-induced memory loss that caused temporary paralysis and she's still getting over right now, as well as Encephilitis-Meningitis), and my instinct when they suffered from it was going out of my way to help them and make sure they got better, even got concerned during work because of it. Had I adopted anything like what the Jedi promoted regarding non-attachments, I would have put a pillow on their face and quickened their demise with the rationale that death was going to happen anyway, not made any effort to help them at all. I also chipped in $20 for Rachel Lillis's cancer treatment when I learned of it, as soon as I got my paycheck in fact, even prayed every night before bed for her to recover or at least have her not suffer, and I would have done it even if I had known at the time that she was suffering from stage 4. In fact, want a good idea of how an ACTUAL greedy Anakin would have treated his wife and possibly his kids? Try having him act like the crook of the week in the NCIS Episode See No Evil, the guy who actually orchestrated his own family's kidnapping just to have an excuse to rob his bosses at the Navy.

Technically, the Death Star was ALSO built partly as part of preparations to fight off the Yuuzhan Vong. Even ignoring that bit, as I pointed out, George Lucas had no qualms singing praises for a group, the Vietcong, who literally USED terror to enforce Marxism in Vietnam (and if anything we were called in to STOP them). And as far as why he'd do that, same reason why the Patriots manipulated terrorists into participating in the S3 Plan, for the heck of it and relishing in power and control, especially when Palpatine at least by that point didn't even view them as a threat. As far as Palpatine is concerned, technically, he never actually TOLD Luke to kill Vader (contrast with Dooku, not to mention how he tried to get Galen Marek to become his apprentice in a similar manner. Oh, and BTW, Palpatine even tried to bait Galen into killing him after he actually bested him, and if anything was FURIOUS at Rahm Kota for interfering, implying he actually DID want Marek to kill him, if for no other reason than to ensure Marek turned to the Dark Side). And I'm pretty sure if Palpatine TRULY didn't want competition, he would have just punted Vader's body into Mustafar and finished the job just to ensure he alone was the only Force User rather than go out of his way to rebuild Vader (which, BTW, the book made VERY clear his concern for Vader's survival surprised EVEN him, and even Ian McDiarmid, his actor, made it clear that was a redeemable trait of Palpatine's, or at least a humane trait of his, and that's the guy who reluctantly stated Palpatine was likely evil from birth.). Besides, Gaston was downright homicidal regarding threats as well (let's not forget, the whole reason he picked a fight with Beast with the intention of murdering him was due to intense jealousy at Belle liking Beast more than him. When Beast overpowered him and left him dangling from the castle by the neck, he even proceeded to beg for his life like a coward, despite his profession logically NOT allowing for that). Heck, his gloating to Yoda even implied he not only fully expected Vader to act out the Rule of Two against him soon, but even looked FORWARD to it ("You cannot stop me! Soon Darth Vader will become far more powerful than EITHER of us!" And let's not forget, the Rule of Two specifically states that once the apprentice is stronger than the master, the latter's dead meat by the apprentice's hands).

@blenderbender1811 This post is meant to be a reblog of this bit, but since I'm most likely blocked by the OP, I can't do that, so I have to settle for this instead:

Okay, found the passage in question:

Orbital mirrors rotated, resolving the faint light of Coruscant's sun to erase the stars; fireships crosshatched the sky with contrails of chemical air scrubber, bleaching away the last reminders of the fires of days past; chill remnants of night slid down the High Council Tower of the Jedi Temple; and within the cloistered chamber itself, Obi-Wan was still trying to talk them out of it. "Yes, of course I trust him," he said patiently. "We can always trust Anakin to do what he thinks is right. But we can't trust him to do what he's told. He can't be made to simply obey. Believe me: I've been trying for many years." Conflicting currents of energy swirled and clashed in the Council Chamber. Traditionally, decisions of the Council were reached by quiet, mutual contemplation of the flow of the Force, until all the Council was of a single mind on the matter. But Obi-Wan knew of this tradition only by reputation, from tales in the archives and stories told by Masters whose tenure on the Council predated the return of the Sith. In the all-too-short years since Obi-Wan's own elevation, argument in this Chamber was more the rule than the exception. "An unintentional opportunity, the Chancellor has given us," Yoda said gravely. "A window he has opened into the operations of his office. Fools we would be, to close our eyes." "Then we should use someone else's eyes," Obi-Wan said "Forgive me, Master Yoda, but you just don't know him the way I do. None of you does. He is fiercely loyal, and there is not a gram of deception in him. You've all seen it; it's one of the arguments that some of you, here in this room, have used against elevating him to Master: he lacks true Jedi reserve, that's what you've said. And by that we all mean that he wears his emotions like a HoloNet banner. How can you ask him to lie to a friend—to spy upon him?" "That is why we must call upon a friend to ask him," said Agen Kolar in his gentle Zabrak baritone. "You don't understand. Don't make him choose between me and Palpatine—" "Why not?" asked the holopresence of Plo Koon from the bridge of Courageous, where he directed the Republic Navy strike force against the Separatist choke point in the Ywllandr system. "Do you fear you would lose such a contest?" "You don't know how much Palpatine's friendship has meant to him over the years. You're asking him to use that friendship as a weapon! To stab his friend in the back. Don't you understand what this will cost him, even if Palpatine is entirely innocent? Especially if he's innocent. Their relationship will never be the same—" "And that," Mace Windu said, "may be the best argument in favor of this plan. I have told you all what I have seen of the energy between Skywalker and the Supreme Chancellor. Anything that might distance young Skywalker from Palpatine's influence is worth the attempt." Obi-Wan didn't need to reach into the Force to know that he would lose this argument. He inclined his head. "I will, of course, abide by the ruling of this Council." "Doubt of that, none of us has." Yoda turned his green gaze on the other councilors. "But if to be done this is, decide we must how best to use him."

And, that's PRECISELY what I described happened. The bolded bit is my emphasis reinforcing my point.

#Youtube

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

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Yours, Mine, and Ours [7] Finale

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), trauma, violence, general sadness and shittiness.

This is dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You must face change.

Author Notes: I got another old series tied up and I’m editing the last chapter of another one as well. I’m trying to clear some stuff out as best I can.

A special thank you to everyone who reached out to me over the last few days. And extra thanks to @lokislastlove for always encouraging me.

Please let me know what you think, like and reblog <3 love ya

Masterlist

Bucky knelt beside you as your ass throbbed in pain and your head thrummed. He touched your arm gently with his metal hand, his other on your cheek as he cradled your face. You met his blue eyes but he quickly lifted his head and glared across the room.

“Don’t fucking move or I’ll hit you again. Harder.” His snarl was so harsh and deep, it made you shiver. He turned his attention back to you as he helped you roll over and sit up, “Are you okay? Careful…” he backed off the bed slowly as he guided you to the end of the mattress.

You clung to him and glanced over at Steve as he spat blood onto the floor. His eyes darkened and his nostrils flared as he looked back but he made no move towards you, his head lolling just slightly as he sat straight.

You let Bucky usher you to the door as he turned back and searched around the floor. He huffed and took off his jacket instead, draping it over your shoulders.

He pointed you through the door and followed, snatched the throw from the back of the couch and offered it as he urged you on. You found your purse where you dropped it and stopped to grab it, groaning at how your body ached. You continued to the door as he opened it and followed you out.

You were silent as you descended, cloaked in his jacket and the thin blanket. You came around the building and neared your car. He kept away from you but hovered as if you might keel over.

“I can’t drive,” you let your purse dangle weakly from your hand.

“I’ll take you back,” he said softly, “and then you don’t have to see me ever again.”

You nodded and rounded his car. You opened the door and slumped into the seat, your purse on your lap as you hung your head. It was over. You knew it was. You thought there would be a way to hold onto Steve, to find the man he had been, but he assured you that that Steve was gone. Everything you had was lost.

The engine turned and you barely noticed the blur of the city as it passed outside the windows. You fought against the wave of grief that swept over you and leaned your head back.

“You said I’ll never see you again,” you croaked, “but you saved me.”

“So? I did all those other things too,” he gripped the wheel and sniffed, “I’ll keep my distance. I started all this. I never should’ve-- I’m fucked. I try to act like I’m not but I am.”

“Bucky…” you said weakly.

“Don’t. I know it’s the truth and I know everything that happened to you is because of me. Steve’s an asshole. I don’t know what changed in him, but I’m worse,” he sighed, “I’m gonna resign. I’m gonna… look into rehab or therapy, whatever they got for me. I can’t stay near you or Steve. I can’t do any of it.”

You nodded and rubbed your hands together. Your body hurt but your soul hurt worse.

“No, I’m going,” you said, “I’m leaving. I’m not a hero like you or Steve. I don’t matter. And I can’t stay with him. I can’t even stay close because I know he won’t stay away. Right now, he’s getting up off that floor and you can’t tell me he’s not coming after us right now.”

Your voice cracked and you muffled it with a corner of the blanket. You hunched over as suddenly you felt nauseous and you held in a retch. Your body shook but you kept the sickness in and murmured.

“Please, just get me back,” you begged.

“I will,” he vowed, “I’ll make sure you get out and I’ll make sure he doesn’t stop you,” you heard him gulp between his words, “and after, if you ever need me to knock him on his ass again, I’ll be there. No strings, no expectations, we don’t even need to talk.”

You crossed your arms and leaned against the door, watching the pedestrians and other cars. You could only think of everything that needed to be done; grab what you can, email Tony, go back and get your car and drive without stopping.

“Shit,” you sat up as you neared the compound, “I forgot my phone.”

“Good,” Bucky said, “he’s tracking it. Get a new one.”

👥

Bucky closed the yellow taxi door and watched the cab pull out into the swell of New York traffic. She’d packed the remnants of her former life in a single backpack but he could see, she didn’t even need that. He backed away from the curb and tucked his hands into his pockets. His chest was tight and heavy. He was guilty but he didn’t feel sorry for himself. He felt sorry for her.

He was almost thrown off his feet as a hand gripped his arm and swung him around. Steve was white with anger as a vein popped out in his forehead. His lip was split and his nose bruised from Bucky’s fist. The men faced each other in mutual detest. He never expected to look at his oldest friend that way and feel it so succinctly.

“Where is she?” Steve growled.

Bucky shrugged and shouldered past him, “gone. Far from us.”

Steve followed him and stopped him before he could pass through the door. He shoved him back against the façade of the building but Bucky hardly felt it. He just stood, staring at the man he didn’t know any more, and lifted a brow.

“You gonna beat it out of me?” he asked, “then you’ll have to kill me.”

Steve’s eyes searched Bucky’s and he growled under his breath, “all you had to do was follow the fucking rules.”

“I never liked those rules. I only wanted to be close to her. It was selfish. It was abuse.”

“She liked it,” Steve snapped.

“No, you told her she liked it and she loved you so much, she believed you,” Bucky’s voice turned raw, “she loved you and you threw it all away.”

“You ruined it,” Steve accused.

“Fuck you,” Bucky snarled, “you deserve to be alone.”

“I’ll find her,” Steve curled his fingers into a fist and puffed his chest, “I know exactly where she’s going. She won’t get to her car before I do.”

“No, she will,” Bucky pushed away from the wall and grabbed the front of Steve’s shirt and pinned him, “you won’t make it past me.”

Steve narrowed his eyes and his lips thinned. He gripped Bucky’s shirt in kind and the pair rolled against the wall until they stopped in a bitter stalemate. They stared each other down as their soles scuffed on the pavement and grunted almost in unison at their opponent.

“You won’t keep me from her forever,” Steve said calmly.

“She’s not the only one leaving, Steve,” Bucky hissed, “and I won’t feel bad at all when you wake up one day and realise how lonely you are.”

👥

Your new apartment was mostly empty but it was yours, unlike that seventh floor box Steve had made your cage. It was far from him, far from Bucky, far from everyone you ever knew. You knew you couldn’t hide with your parents or your sister or even those distant university friends who you knew would have your back. You had to be alone. It was your fear of that which got you into all that mess.

You didn’t see Bucky again but he did get a message to you. He left a gift for you at a safe house on your way out of the state. New identification, an unopened cell, and a wad of cash. It wasn’t atonement but it was what he could give you. You kept driving and exchanged your car at the stateline. You kept on until you felt as if you were in an entirely different country.

You took a job at the grocery store as a cashier. You remembered when you were a child and your mother had the same position. She went back to school and made you promise you’d never end up in the same boat. If she could see you now…

If you could see her.

You dropped your bag on the side table as you entered and turned the lock on the handle and the latch above, the deadbolt over that, and hooked the chain last. You clutched the pepper spray you kept up your sleeve and searched the single bedroom, the living room, the kitchen, and the bathroom. Your paranoia was your only companion.

You kept the curtains drawn day and night, even those stolid nights when you couldn’t sleep for the thick sweat that coated your body. Those nights came more often and even during the day, you found yourself suffocated in fits of unbearable heat. And at night, you were trapped by the dreams of the past.

You sat and opened up the novel you kept on the coffee table. When you’d been with Steve, you never had much time to read between his need for attention and your work. Your relocation was freeing in more ways than one.

You laid back and wiggled, still in your stiff grocery store uniform and lost yourself in the fantasy adventure of a young warrior. It was a fight you could control; that you could win.

👥

Bucky held the position and breathed out slowly. His muscles vibrated as he strained and slowly lifted his leg, the toes of his other foot firmly planted on the mat. He turned and outstretched his arm and leg to the ceiling and inhaled. He let out another breath as he reached the next position then returned to downward-facing dog.

He pushed himself back to sit on his knees as the noise of the lapping lake reached his ears and sent a cool breeze over the dock. He pulled his legs out from under him and bent his legs as he leaned his sweaty arms over his knees. He looked out at the glistening water and listened to the noise of birds and critters.

Peace. He couldn’t call it that. Exile, more like. He didn’t trust himself to be near people. His therapist visited once a week and he attended daily video sessions with him. One of his tasks was to find hobbies and to face himself. Yoga was both of those. It cleared his hand and ate up his time.

But then he found himself wishing she was there. He knew she wasn’t in some serene lake house, she didn’t have all the support offered by SHIELD and Stark, she didn’t have anyone. He did what he could, what she would accept from him, but there was nothing he could give her in that life that would ever be enough.

Then he felt awful about those thoughts. She was never his to have.

He stood and walked up the dock and the dirt path to the house. He climbed up onto the large deck and through sliding doors. He poured himself a glass of water and added a slice of lemon. He took it with him as he went to the bedroom where he slept alone, where the shadows of trees loomed over him in the night and swayed like the wraiths of his remorse.

The white cat hopped up on the bed and twirled in expectation, in demand of his attention. He scratched Alpine’s head as he neared and got a nip when he pet him a little too long. The moody feline retreated to the corner of the bed and watched him with his pale blue eyes. The creature was his only friend now.

He took a deep gulp and sat on the edge of the bed and set the glass down. He slid open the drawer of the hand-crafted night table and dipped his fingers inside. He pulled out the pink fabric and held them in his metal hand and stroked the dainty elastic. He should get rid of them, like he had the rest, but he just couldn’t. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t. He would never forget about her.

👥

You pushed the boxes and cans over the scanner and onto the next belt so that they were carried down to the end of the counter. You smiled as you asked the usual questions and waited for the customer to punch in their pin. You waved on the next in line as the former bagged their goods and you kept the distant tune playing from the low speakers in your head.

The routine was your only comfort. It was easy. Even when you got those fussy customers, the ones with the expired coupons or the wrong flyers, it was simple work. You rang them through and saw them off without concern. Their tantrums were not the worst you’d faced in your time.

When it was your time to clock out, you stopped by the café in the same plaza as the grocery store and ordered a tall iced tea. You came out with your purse on the arm that hid the pepper spray and made your way to the end of the pavement and around the corner to the street.

At the first corner, you turned off onto a small side street then cut through to the park and passed the memorials and statues set along the winding path. It was a longer walk than your normal route but you took it once a week. You liked to watch the ducks but you had to avoid the geese.

You sipped from your straw and smiled at a dog as he passed with his owner and looked over at the kids laughing on the monkey bars. Your uniform tented in the heat of the summer sun but you pressed on, refreshed by the fruity tea.

When you emerged from the park, the grit of the small town returned. The chipped bricks of your building rose above you and you unlocked the front door after a struggle with the ancient keyhole. The door closed heavily behind you and you headed up the dingy stairs.

As you got to your apartment, you went through the usual to-do; lock, search, and settle in. Two months, maybe three, it felt so long ago and yet it felt like only yesterday. You couldn’t help but feel watched, followed, and you knew that sensation would follow you for the rest of your life. But if it was only ever a thought, you could be okay.

👥

Steve didn’t know what to do with himself at first. First, his girl left and then his best friend.

In the early days of his solace, he told himself it wasn’t true. They’d be back. They couldn’t live without him. They would apologize because they betrayed him. They would realise that he wasn’t the villain. He wasn’t wrong. He busied himself with his missions and waited.

But after two weeks, he saw no signs, heard no tell, nothing. He tried to follow her trail but there wasn’t anything past the state line. He asked where Bucky went but Stark wouldn’t tell and SHIELD kept that information classified from all, even him.

Then, he felt bad and he lingered on those questions that tugged at his mind. Was he wrong? Was he the bad one? Had he really hurt them? Did he deserve it all? He felt awful and fell through on a mission and no one asked any questions. No one knew the reasons for the sudden departures and the downcast captain.

Then he was mad. He was breaking things. He was growling and shouting in frustration. He ripped a door off its hinges and punched a hole through a wall. He paid for the repairs but was told in no short terms to leave the compound. He was all too happy too. He still had that apartment and it wasn’t too bad being in his own space.

But it made him think of her. And as he thought of her, he missed another mission, this time without telling anyone. Phone calls, emails, knocks on his door, they all muddled together in the haze of his thoughts.

He remembered those days, decades ago when Bucky had been his only friend. When he was a boy, when he still felt young, when he still felt like him. He remembered everything that came after and how he fought to save the only man he ever admired. Then everything he’d made him do. He didn’t make him do that, he gave him exactly what he wanted.

Then she made his chest squeeze. He thought of the first time they met. He didn’t think much of her but she somehow won him over with her kindness. He recalled the realisation of how much he liked her, he wasn’t even reluctant enough not to think it was love in that instant. When she saw the loose stitch in his glove and pulled it away like it was nothing. She remarked on the little fix as ‘perfect’ and he couldn’t help his doofy grin and the line he spouted after, ‘not as perfect as you.’

And as he thought of her, he conjured all those hopes he had for them. The life he made for them in his mind. He was going to give it all to her but he just wanted a little fun first. That wasn’t so bad. He could still give it to her and that was all she wanted after all. She wanted the Steve she knew. She wanted the nuclear family and white picket fence. He wanted that too.

When the papers came to announce his dismissal from SHIELD, it felt like freedom. He didn’t care about saving the world anymore. He got out of bed these days and worked out, went for a run, and came back as he went about his own work. As he searched through the servers they tried to block him from and overrode the new restrictions. They always thought he was some clueless idiot from the past.

He could still have that life. All he had to do was find her. He smiled at the screen as he went over everything he had so far. The whiff of her blew out at the stateline but now he could go wherever he wanted without a leash. He could find her if he only tried a little harder.

👥

Steve gave notice on the lease and traded in his car for something with better mileage and more space. He sold everything that was his life before and headed out on the road with a new lease on life. He wasn’t the Captain anymore, he wasn’t the saviour, he only wanted to be one thing; a husband, a father, hers.

When he reached the state line, he stopped for a while at a motel and asked around. He had her picture and everyone was all too eager to talk to Steve Rogers. He found her car at a used dealership and got the plates and make of the one he’d switched her for. That was a start.

Then he moved on, stopping along the way for a day here and there to relax. He had time. He had confidence again. He did this everyday, this was her first time, she couldn’t outrun him forever. He had the skills and the savings to get him a lot further than she ever could.

He drove through several more states before he hit another block. A second car traded but the dealer was not as talkative. That meant he had to break in after dark and that was time he didn’t feel like spending on some stubborn bitch. But he got it done and moved on.

Then there was a week of doubt and desperation. What if he was wrong? What if this was all a part of her plan? Maybe she was smart enough to lead him in the wrong direction. Maybe Bucky was helping her. Maybe they were together. That thought made him livid.

He took off in the opposite direction but ended up with nothing but desert heat and rural nothingness. He turned around and assured himself that neither of them were smarter than him. He returned to the same point and slowly pieced together the clues until he was sure enough to keep on.

He was getting close. He could sense it. He pulled out his phone and opened those videos he’d taken from Bucky and the pictures of that day they’d made a mess of her. His hand was nothing compared to her and even if he came, he found himself dissatisfied. He ended up cursing only to start again a minute later.

That night he started in the bed then ended up in the shower and before he could get out of the bathroom, he was gripping his dick as he leaned on the counter and muttered her name over and over. He was impatient. He needed her soon or he was going to go mad.

He hardly slept as he tossed and turned in the hotel room. He checked out early but pulled over on the country road to get off again. It made him angry. She should be the one fucking him, he shouldn’t be using his own hand. He shouldn’t be alone. She should be there with his dick down her throat as he drove them to their suburban paradise.

He passed another city sign and spent a day running circles without a catch. He pressed on through the night, not wanting another motel bed, and pulled in at a station just outside a small town. He gassed up and chewed on jerky as he set out once more.

On a whim, he stopped in the small town and stopped for a meal at the local fish and chip place. It was unusual for the area but the fries were crispy and not overly salted and the fish breaded perfectly. He kept his hat on and his face down. He didn’t need to be recognized although his poor disguise seemed to draw attention.

“Louise,” the voice chimed with the bell, “gosh, I’m so sorry, I almost forgot.”

Steve looked up as his heart fluttered. He saw the green uniform shirt and black pants and at first, he was ready to deflate. But the way she walked, and her face, the way she glowed and smiled at the woman behind the till, he knew it was her. He’d found her.

“I am so stupid! I keep forgetting everything,” she counted out the money from her wallet, “I’ve been craving this all week and I’m halfway home and I’m like oh my god,” she chattered on, that way she did when they’d first met.

“Not at all, darlin’,” Louise handed her the parcel of fish and chips, “you go on enjoy.”

“Thank you!” she sang sweetly and scurried back through the door.

Steve stood slowly and left his tab on the table with a thoughtlessly generous tip. He adjusted his cap and headed out the door slowly. She wasn’t moving as fast as she made her way down the street. She swung the tied parcel from her hand and he noticed how her hips swayed. There was something different about her, something he liked.

He kept the same pace, sure to hang back so that she didn’t notice him. She led him through a park and she stopped to smile at a party of ducks in the small pond. She carried on over the small bridge and he sat on a bench when she looked back. She didn’t seem to notice as an older couple passed him and he hid behind them.

He got back up just as she was at the exit. He trailed her back to the streets and to an old brick building with an iron sign above the front door. She let herself in and he stood outside with a smirk.

“Perfect,” he said to himself as he backed away and strode down the sidewalk, “always so perfect for me.”

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