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iconic-ponytail · 4 years ago

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there's always money in the banana stand

riverdale promptathon week 3: yellow + business

Even as the sun sets, even as the breeze blows, the hell furnace of July in Riverdale burns on. It’s triply as sweltering inside the tiny booth running three freezers, offloading heat to sustain the frozen merchandise inside. “How can it be so hot in there when we are supposed to be selling frozen bananas?” JB complains, at least twice a week.

She’s twelve. Complaint is her new first language. She complains about being left in Riverdale while Gladys went back to Toledo. She complains about living in a trailer park that usually does not have warm water. She complains about their father being imprisoned for covering up a gruesome murder. But most of all, she complains about working in the banana stand.

Child labor laws aside, Jughead can’t blame her for that one. He hates the damn banana stand, but it’s their best shot.

Gladys’ monthly check covers rent and utilities for the trailer. Everything else is on him, now. The idiot eighteen year old who decided to petition the court to be his sister’s legal guardian. Well, and his idiot mom who signed off on it. So he needs money, and the Jones family has never been particularly flush with cash, just trampled over by FP’s failed “business opportunities.”

Enter: the banana stand.

It’s not the fastest revenue stream, Jughead finds. But it’s got potential.

Initially, Dilton doesn’t let him sell during the Twilight Drive-In’s concession stand hours. Before or after the movie, sure, but no overlap. “I’m not worried about competition, Jones. It’s just too humiliating for me to watch you sweat through that horrible yellow polo you call ‘branding.’”

But when customers asked him more than twice a night when the banana stand would be open, Dilton caved.

It’s not like being open during the screening hours is a whole lot more preferable. He only just transferred from Southside to Riverdale High last spring; now he’s the rising senior who hands out phallic symbols from inside a giant phallic symbol. Not exactly a boon to his popularity.

Still, recently the money is enough to pay the internet bill and keep JB fed for dinner when she can’t go to the summer breakfast and lunch program at the local park district. It’s still not enough for him to eat particularly well, and the smell of hot dogs and slurp of his classmates’ slushies makes the heat feel like a minor inconvenience.

He eyes the tip jar, willing himself to wait on rampaging the concession stand until the beginning of the film roar dies down. It’s a double feature tonight, which means maybe he can score enough cash to cover those damn college application fees his counselor will start hounding him about week one of school.

Then he sees her—Betty Cooper. She’s laughing, watching Archie Andrews try to catch popcorn in his mouth, tossed by his paramour, Veronica Lodge. She pauses to sip from her slushie straw, her lips—which he’s watched argue against homophobic and racist comments in their advanced lit class, or pressed to the cheek of her other best friend, Kevin Keller. Which he’s imagined, doing slightly less savory things, though the mere thought of said imagining has his heart pounding wildly.

(Jughead’s been eating way too many fucking bananas. Someone needs to check his potassium levels.)

His absolutely pathetic gaze, once available three times a day in their shared classes where Jughead has still not managed to exert any confidence whatsoever regarding speech, eye contact, or general acknowledgement of Betty Cooper’s existence other than whatever drooling may or may not be happening, all of which he finds he has no control over… is all interrupted by the absolute polar opposite of Betty Cooper. Hiram Lodge zooms up to the banana stand on his segway, angling to a stop just before taking out the stand’s foundation.

“Still getting a hang of that, Mayor Lodge?”

Hiram grimaces. “Just checking that you’ve renewed your business permit, Jones.”

They do this once a week. It’s still the same permit.

“You know,” Hiram starts as Jughead rustles for the paperwork to make him go the fuck away, “I could find you an arrangement with a better banana supplier. For a discount. If you’re interested.”

Jughead rolls his eyes. “I’m not interested in your GMO, black market bananas, Hiram.”

Hiram gives him a pointed look. Jughead rolls his eyes even harder. “Mayor Lodge.” He proffers the papers, Hiram waves them away. “I’ll take one chocolate peanut butter dip. With peanuts.”

Jughead kisses his teeth. “That will be $3.50.”

Hiram’s whole face goes serpentine. “Not between business partners, Jones. Put it on my tab.”

Jughead grits his teeth, handing the finished banana so aggressively he hopes that the chocolate splatters and stains Hiram’s $500 tie. It is only slightly worth it to watch Hiram struggle with navigating the segway one-handed, frozen banana in the other.

He muffles a chuckle before realizing he’s used the dead end of the chopped peanut topping, and exits the stand to update the order board hanging on the outside. It’s mostly an excuse to feel a ten degree drop in temperature, a sweet relief he might be able to extend by grabbing a hot dog before the intermission rush.

He’s crossing off peanuts from the topping list and spinning around when he hears a shriek and a sudden, cold slosh across his chest. The yellow polo drips with artificial blue slushie, but Jughead swallows his fucking hell when he sees that the shriek, gaping stare of horror, and stumble in question all belong to his very own blonde kryptonite.

“Oh my god. Oh my GOD, jesus, shit, I’m so sorry!”

Jughead is frozen while Betty grabs about half his napkin dispenser and starts pawing at his shirt in a vain attempt to right the giant sticky blue mess all over his chest.

Finally, Jughead swallows the golf ball in his throat and chokes out. “Honestly, it’s fine. That stand is a sauna. I needed that.”

Betty stops, both her blotting and her stream of apologizing (which includes a fair bit of cursing, and he is a little revolted with himself by how much this turns him on).

“It’s going to get very sticky, soon. Maybe I should buy a bottle of cold water?”

Jughead can’t help himself. “Oh, impromptu yellow t-shirt contest?”

Betty grins.

I did that.

“Do you have any employees who could bring you another shirt?”

Jughead shakes his head. “Just my sister. She’s playing video games at home. There’s no earthly way she’ll bring me a spare.”

Betty cocks her head. “I had a feeling you were more than the silent back row kind of guy.”

The fact that Betty Cooper has, at any point, considered what kind of guy he is triggers full-on nervous blathering. “I’m usually very tired at school. I have this little sister—but I’m kind of um, her guardian. So I’m doing this stupid banana stand thing because it’s like one of the three assets to our entire family name I guess? Anyway, it’s hard to engage with Haggly’s basic discussion questions at eight in the morning when you spent the whole night dreaming about wholesale banana margins.”

He’s essentially vomiting words, but Betty is still smiling.

“Anyway, I should crawl back into my fruit-shaped purgatory and let you go back to your friends.”

She’s biting her lip, hedging. “Honestly, they’re probably using the alone time to make out in the car, and I’d rather let them get all their sexual tension out so that I don’t have to feel it radiating off of them for the whole second half of the double feature.”

Jughead laughs and tamps down the impulse to offer her a frozen banana, because he cannot possibly say something like that without making it sound sexual.

“What are frozen banana profit margins like, anyway?” Betty asks, either genuinely interested or legitimately flirting with him. Jughead finds both potentials baffling.

Jughead hesitates, then ducks inside the stand, pulling out his spiral bound notebook. “I’m still kind of figuring it out. All my records are in here.”

Betty sidles up to the stand, taking up the whole window. They’re both leaning over the scribbled line items on college ruled paper; he can smell her shampoo. She takes the notebook, scanning thoroughly.

“Do you have a pencil?”

He hands her one and observes her going to work, writing out some algebraic formula and calculating quickly in her head. There is a calculator within his reach, but he thinks handing it to her might come off as an insult. (Jughead wouldn’t know; he assumes Betty is in an advanced math class. Jughead is not.)

After a few minutes of watching her devoted focus, thinking about her hands touching his pencil, thinking about her hands wrapped around his hand, or his—

“I don’t know how to tell this to you, Jug.”

The shortening of his name stops his heart for a jolt, and his response is embarrassingly delayed. “What is it?”

Betty winces but smiles through it, a combination she’s surely learned to use when delivering bad news. It’s well earned, it really does soften the blow.

“There’s no money in the banana stand. At least, not with these margins.”

Jughead finds himself less than devastated by this news, mostly because it makes a hell of a lot of sense. The messenger doesn’t hurt, either.

“But,” she interrupts. “I don’t know if you’ve nailed down your course load for senior year. But I’m taking AP Econ? This could be, um, a good project. Like, if you want to take the class. Or even if you don’t. Not that you’re like a project or… whatever. I’m just saying we could figure it out. Make lemonade out of… bananas.”

Betty Cooper is extremely cute when she stammers.

Jughead doesn’t know what to do, so he gives her an easy out. “I can’t like, hire you, if that wasn’t obvious by the whole… deficit spending or whatever the whole negative circled number at the bottom of the page really means.”

She flushes. “No, that would be highway robbery. I just thought there might be an… opportunity. For um, us. I mean, for you and I. I mean—” she clears her throat, as if it’s closing up. “An academic opportunity. Or, in your case, professional. Well, a betterment of your livelihood. Okay, um, shit, just… I should go!”

She turns away, her face the deepest scarlet he’s ever seen.

“Betty, wait.”

She pivots back, eyes down at the ground.

“How about I buy you a new slushie and you come back into the booth. Tell me everything I’m doing wrong for the rest of the night.”

Betty looks up, biting the corner of her smile. “Sounds like a deal.”

They shake on it.

#this is unhinged but i had to ok #I HAD TO #riverdalepromptathon #riverdale fanfiction #bughead fanfiction #riverdalepromptathonweek3

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cblgblog · 4 years ago

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Imagine Mildolyn, "Illicit Affair", Modern AU. Where Gwen's campaigning for Congress and all the meet and greets, showing up for charities for publicity, her 'cause'. At one for special needs children and their foundation she meets a very young CNA named Mildred and sort of falls head over heels in the dumbest of ways, both just love struck. Except she's campaigning to be in Congress, she's a politician, she cannot be queer and chasing after 19 year old ex-foster kids whos brothers are set to be the youngest executed on Death Row in California in decades for appalling crimes. But there she is, in hotel rooms her supporters pay for, with someone she shouldn't be with, trying to find ways to overturn cases that turned stomachs with their brutality, because a pretty girl smiled at her and called her 'ma'am' while showing her around the foundation/care home she worked at with children no one else had the time/patience to care for. Of course it goes terribly with 'dirty little secret' vibes, the breast cancer diagnosis announced on twitter before she tells Mildred in person, even if it's such a minor case ('so they say') and caught so early that it'll barely leave a scar, radiation won't be much of a deal at all. She doesn't get to tell Mildred that, she just gets to hear on Fox news about how the democrat's gonna die a horrible death and panic.

Mildred who has no patience for politicians and their fake concern, using patients as photo ops. It’s manipulative, it’s distracting to the staff, it’s awful, okay, she hates it. She is, in fact, a tad bit rude to Gwen when they meet. Gets her a death glare from Betsy Bucket, gets Gwen intrigued.

“Republican?” only half-joking.

“No.”

“Is it the suit? Should I have worn a different suit? I wanted to, but I’ve been told this one tested better.”

“The suit is fine.” It’s more than that, actually, but Mildred will not be saying that aloud, nope, uh-uh. “I don’t much care for politicians.”

“Ah, we have that in common then.”

“I doubt we have much of anything in common. Ma’am.”

And look, Gwen doesn’t usually go in for the chasing, the hard to get. She’s got enough trouble chasing votes. But this woman is so good with the kids on her ward, so patient. She’s got Disney scrubs on and as much as she’s got no time at all for Gwen, she seems to have infinite amounts for those kids. She stays with them individually, longer than any of the other staff Gwen sees, but she still manages to get a dozen things done in half as many minutes. And she’s also gorgeous, there’s that.

And Gwen has no good reason to ask her out for lunch. Honestly, none. Nothing good can come from this. Mildred asks if the citizens of California will be paying for this meal and Gwen swears that isn’t the case, no, absolutely not. Even still, Gwen doesn’t expect Mildred to say yes. She doesn’t think Mildred expected Mildred to say yes.

But she does. Tells herself it’s for Edmund, maybe this’ll be the one politician who listens, who’s willing to look past the surface facts, willing to help. Except she gets there and they don’t talk about Edmund. It’s not because Mildred doesn’t know how to bring it up, she’s made her case dozens of times. She just…they don’t talk about him, and that feels like a betrayal, but Gwen’s kind and funny and fascinating (much to Mildred’s annoyance), and she just…doesn’t feel like getting into it.

Meanwhile Trevor, Gwen’s campaign manager/law school buddy/best friend/lavender marriage soulmate, if they were in a different time, is like bitch, what’re you doing? Yes, everyone knows you’re gay as hell, but you can’t be chasing girls right now, you can’t afford to be distracted. You especially can’t afford to look distracted. And you can’t be robbing the cradle while looking distracted.

“She’s not that young.”

“Uh-huh. She wears Winnie the Pooh clothes.”

“Scrubs, those are scrubs. Scrubs aren’t clothes.”

“Uh-huh.”

“She works in a children’s ward, Trevor.”

“Uh-huh. I really wish you wouldn’t do this, but since you care nothing about me and my mental state and all the hours and hours of hard work I’ve put in for you—”

“After badgering me into hiring you over someone more qualified.”

“Hey! More qualified. I resent that. Anyway, if you insist on ruining my day, at least wear that face cream I gave you. Should make you look less like you’re robbing the cradle.”

“Go to hell.”

“And don’t do the oyster thing. Not on a first date, in the middle of the campaign.”

“It’s not a date, it’s just lunch.”

“Uh-huh.”

Gwen doesn’t do the oyster thing. Not on the first date, which neither of them acknowledge as a date, for entirely different reasons. But then there’s a second and a third, and sex, lots of sex, and it’s harder to pass off as just friendly.

And yeah, the sneaking around that Gwen hates. That Mildred says she doesn’t mind, and she actually doesn’t seem to all that much, which Gwen finds slightly concerning. Mildred’s good with secrets though, she’s good with being kept a secret. Mostly. Which again, Gwen finds concerning.

There’s pillow talk and Mildred admitting more about herself than she has to anyone, ever. Which still isn’t nearly as much as what Gwen admits, but it’s a relative thing. And still, Mildred doesn’t talk about Edmund. Gwen finds that one out on her own, stumbles across some old photos, a scrapbook of Edmund’s crimes. Gwen’s briefly concerned that Mildred is one of those people who’re deeply attracted to serial killers, but the truth is…something else.

Mildred tells her things. Some of the deeper, darker stuff, but not much, not yet. Tells her how she’s written to everyone she can think of because he’s a boy, okay? He was in an impossible situation, they both were, no one ever helped them, so Edmund decided he had to die. No one helped them before, no one helps them now. There’s anger and tears and Gwen holding her and she can’t help asking why Mildred didn’t talk to her sooner, if she’s had no problem asking for help from strangers.

“Because you aren’t,” Mildred says in a way that makes it clear she’s figuring this stuff out as she says it. “A stranger, you aren’t. You never were and I couldn’t…I didn’t want to become one to you. I didn’t want you to look at me like that.”

“Oh Mildred…”

Mildred doesn’t actually ask her to help. She doesn’t want Gwen to think that’s what it’s all been about. It was supposed to be, but it isn’t. She doesn’t ask. Gwen digs into things herself, digs into this kid who was barely double-digits when he did these things. Made all the headlines at the time, but that was over a decade ago, he’s been locked up ever since. Most of Mildred’s money goes to him, one way or another.

Gwen hides it from Trevor—the murderer, not the sex, he knew about the sex before she ever said anything—for as log as she can. But he’s always been nosy, and now he has a paid excuse to be nosy, and he nearly has an aneurysm when he hears why it is that Gwen’s suddenly digging into this case instead of kissing the babies of gay couples, like she should be.

Gwen cannot do this. Nope, absolute no. She cannot be sneaking around with the younger sister of the kid they’ve made all the documentaries about. Doesn’t matter that she’s running on a platform of prison reform, especially as it pertains to juveniles, this is not the case to start with, especially when she hasn’t won yet.

And Gwen knows. She knows. She argues with Trevor about it until he decides they both need to stop because Gwen has a speaking engagement tomorrow and she can’t sound hoarse. There are many further arguments, arguments about principles over politics, but Gwen knows he’s right. She cannot, should not, be doing any of this, at least not yet. It’s dangerous, it’s selfish, Mildred deserves better than being someone’s secret again. Gwen should break it off, at least until the election. She’s not being fair to either of them like this. They should stop, at least for a few months.

Except it’s Mildred and she’s totally hijacked Gwen’s everything, and the thought of stopping makes her ill, and everything about this is terrifying, the most terrifying thing ever.

And then there’s the checkup and the routine mammogram. Gwen started those earlier than most because somebody’s aunt on somebody’s side of the family got sick, somebody’s cousin on the other side did too.

Scratch that, there’s a new winner for most terrifying thing ever.

It’s good, they say. She started early, they caught it early, this is good, they have treatments for this. Good, they say, while Gwen damn near passes out. She’s got a campaign to finish, she can see the Too Sick to Serve headlines already. A bald look would not test well, she’s sure it wouldn’t. She talks to Trevor about that, about the campaign, until he tells her to shut the fuck up, yanks her into a crushing hug. He cries, damn him, and that makes her cry.

She’s glad he’s there.

She wishes Mildred was.

She is also relieved as hell that Mildred isn’t, that they’re on opposite sides of the state right now. No point having Mildred see her like this, having her worry. She’s got enough to worry about, enough to hurt about.

Not that Gwen isn’t planning to tell her. She is. It’s only been a few whirlwind months, but Gwen knows enough to realize that a lie of omission would be a bad, bad, bad idea where Mildred’s concerned, regardless of intention. Gwen doesn’t think of hiding it anyway, not really. Mildred deserves better then that. When and how to tell the public…that’s a completely different clusterfuck of a situation, but Mildred, Gwen just wants to tell her in person. That way Mildred can see her face when she promises it’s no big deal (hopefully without seeing how terrified she actually is), and Gwen will have all the paperwork and things she knows Mildred will want to see, and they can hold each other, and it’s just, it’s not phone call news.

Except then it’s headline news, because somehow it’s leaked. Fox News is having a field day, certain corners of the Internet are already gleefully writing her obituary, and she’s missed literally hundreds of calls by the time she gets a look at her phone. At least half of those are from Mildred. Mildred who actually sounds hysterical for the first time since Gwen’s known her, that bastard on the news with the hair, he says you’re dying, why aren’t you answering, how long have you known, please, please pick up the phone, just pick up the phone god dammit.

She’s managed to keep Mildred a secret for months. This? This doesn’t last three days before it’s everywhere. Gwen does get an I love you for the first time ever, but seeing as Mildred’s sobbing over her voicemail when it happens, the joy is somewhat muted.

#Ratched #ratched au #mildred ratched #gwendolyn briggs #mildolyn #Mildred ratched/gwendolyn briggs

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mysticpetals · 4 years ago

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Farewell, sunshine

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: Jake × f!mc (Syianne)

𝙂𝙚𝙣𝙧𝙚: angst, a sprinkle of fluff

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 4.9k (oof)

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: All Jake ever wanted was to find his sister and protect the person who had helped him more than anyone. Only, he slowly began to realise that bringing Syianne into this had caused more harm than good.

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: mentions of blood, physical attack, violence, hospitals, medical coma, panic attack.

𝙋𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙩𝙨: Anonymous asked: 5. “Wake up! Please wake up.” MC and Jake finally get to meet for the first time, but everything is heavily dipped in angst. 😂 Also I adore your writing and keep up the good work!

Anonymous asked: Can you give us the most angsty jealous filled over protective short with Jake x MC i want all the ANGST to be seeping out of my screen

@mnrangera asked: Here's a nice angsty scenario for you: MC is in Duskwood continuing their investigation but is caught out in town after dark. They are on the phone with Jake when they are attacked by the Man Without a Face like Jessie was.

𝙉𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨: I know this has been LOOOOONG overdue and I apologise for the wait. Thank you to all my followers for being patient, especially those who sent the requests in. I hope the long wait is worth it and you enjoy it. Also, please read the warnings before proceeding, I don't want any of you to be triggered by something I wrote. There may be inaccuracies in how I progressed medical conditions and general working of the hospitals so I apologise for that. Please do not repost or translate this fic anywhere else!! I'm literally begging you, please don't ruin my hard work like this. I would love if I could get some sort of feedback, whether it be reblogs or comments or just anon asks. I've tried to improve my writing and I hope it shows a little in this. This is my Christmas and New Year present all wrapped in one! I hope you all have a great 2021 <3

It was a cold, winter evening with the sky painted in a plethora of warm colors and Jake felt like finally things were going his way.

He, along with Syianne, had been working tirelessly for the past few weeks to find out what happened to Hannah. They had faced a lot of challenges along the way, with cryptic diary entries and threats directed towards them and their loved ones, but still, they'd prevailed and spent every ounce of free time, getting more information about Hannah's perpetrator.

They finally had the facts about what happened the day she was kidnapped and only the identity of the criminal was hidden. Syianne had suggested that she should go to Duskwood to try and find the last puzzle piece, to which Jake had been a little apprehensive. She argued that the rest of the group had already been through enough, with getting stalked and receiving threats and insisted that she should be the one to carry out her search in secret.

She never once asked for him to come along because she knew how dangerous it would be for him and she didn't want him to get caught. Jake was instantly warmed by the thought that someone cared so much about him, to think of his well being first.

So that night, as she called him to update him on her findings and plan after she went to Duskwood, he found himself speaking his thoughts impulsively.

"What if I came too?"

There was silence on the other end and Jake thought he might have overstepped or made it weird but she answered before he could stammer an apology.

"I'd like that. But only if you're comfortable and safe."

She told him to ruminate on it for a while and bid him goodnight. Jake thought about whether it was a logical thing to do. If Syianne planned to go undercover, he couldn't very well let her go into the lion's den alone. So he made up his mind and texted Syianne to let her know.

Jake [10:46 pm]

I'll come to Duskwood too.

Is it okay if we don't meet straight away?

I...I don't think I'm ready yet.

Syianne [10:47 pm]

I was lowkey hoping you'd say that ahaha

And of course! Take as much time as you need :)

That night, he slept with a smile on his face, excitement churning in his stomach.

⊱⋅ ──────────── ⋅⊰

Syianne was looking forward to her trip to Duskwood.

She knew it was a potentially dangerous situation and she was only going there to investigate but knowing that Jake might be there too, sent a spark of thrill through her body. They had been speaking non-stop for the past few weeks and she really liked talking to him. His answers to questions about him or his life were adorably confusing and Syianne realized that she really wanted to get to know him, be his friend or possibly something more, if their flirty banter was anything to go by.

Her bag contained all the essentials she could need, along with a sketchbook and pencils to use in case of boredom. She couldn't leave Matrix with any of her friends as they were either busy or allergic to cats so her only option was to take her along.

She had never booked a flight so fast. Knowing she would have to take a car from the airport to the rest of the way to Duskwood did nothing to damper her excitement. She couldn't wait to meet everyone once they found Hannah, some more so than the others.

The trip was nothing eventful, just a lot of travelling and it made Syianne a little tired but the idea of meeting her friends and finally putting a stop to all this madness, made her keep going. She wouldn't admit it if you asked her but she was looking forward to possibly seeing Jake as well. She knew he might not be comfortable enough to meet her yet and she completely respected that, but the thought still lingered.

She checked in to the only hotel Duskwood had, not meeting the receptionist's - Lilly's - eyes and was eternally grateful that she had only leaked her number and not her photo in that video. It would have been much more difficult to move about Duskwood, if that were the case.

The room they had was pretty basic, but not too bad for a few nights. Matrix prowled around the room, getting herself comfortable in the new environment while Syianne slowly unpacked the few clothes and necessities she brought.

In the corner of her mind, there was the thought that Jake might be staying at this hotel too and that sent a shiver of excitement down her spine. But she was a woman of her word and would wait until Jake was ready and would not try to look for him.

She had a mission here and she wanted to be damn sure that that's what she would be focusing on and save Hannah.

⊱⋅ ──────────── ⋅⊰

Jake was supposed to be in Duskwood about two nights ago.

He had encountered some issues with removing his tracks from the internet, as well as trying to find a safe way to drive to Duskwood without exposing himself. Working as a hacker did have some benefits and finally he managed to find a guy who made him three fake number plates that he would interchange every once in a while, so his whereabouts couldn't be traced.

He had let Syianne know of the unexpected delay but to his surprise, she was enjoying herself in Duskwood. She had told him that Jessy gave her a virtual tour of the town once and she was excited to explore all those places in person. She talked to him at night, describing the beauty of the small town and Jake felt himself growing wistful, wondering what they could do together if he had been there. But then again, hadn't he said that he wouldn't show himself right now? He was cautious - just as he had been all his life - but something about Syianne just made him want to let his guard down, to just be selfish for once.

He had no time to think further on it because finally, all the preparations and precautionary measures were done and he could drive to Duskwood. He couldn't leave Glitch at home because he had attachment issues and couldn't go without Jake for a long period of time. So he ushered him into his carrier and told him he could claw all the wood he wanted when they reached their destination and Glitch meowed in agreement. He had always been a smart cat, after all.

Changing the number plates every hour was exhausting, especially when he didn't do much manual work but he endured it, if it meant he was one step closer to finding his sister.

When he finally reached Duskwood, he was in awe of how normal it looked, how silent; how someone who didn't know that a girl had been kidnapped would think of this place as the perfect getaway. But he knew better, didn't he? This town held dark secrets, secrets that people weren't willing to acknowledge and he was going to expose them for what they were, no matter what it took.

Signing into the Duskwood hotel was as awkward as he imagined it to be, his half sister having no idea who he was and looking at his dark, baggy clothes suspiciously. He wasn't blaming her, he would have probably done the same if a strange man came out of nowhere to stay in Duskwood of all places. Lilly gave him a tight smile as he picked up his bag and key and made way to his room.

Syianne had texted him earlier that day that she would be checking out the lake in the evening, where Jessy was attacked. Jake was against it from the start but he should have known how stubborn she could be and eventually, he had to agree but only on the condition that she stays on video call with him the whole time. Syianne was evidently bewildered by his request, judging by the way she kept writing and erasing her reply but after a while, she managed to ask if he would be comfortable with that. Jake's heart warmed at her considerate words, never really having anyone who would care about his emotions, he was always surprised when Syianne said something like that. He replied that he would just turn off his camera or point it at the lamp or something but he had to be sure about her safety.

And that's why, he was sitting with his phone in front of him in the evening, camera turned off as he watched her fondly, pointing out the strange birds she saw.

"Ah, I wish you were here! The lake is so pretty this time and the light from sunset is reflecting off the water and it makes an amazing view," she said, voice breathy with the exertion of walking for a while and a tone of awe towards the scene in front of her.

"That's sufficient sightseeing, don't you think?" Her voice suddenly took a serious note and Jake straightened up in his chair. He was afraid but couldn't say anything. He had already agreed to let her go with a condition and he feared if he asked her to not investigate, she would probably end the call and keep looking for clues by herself. At least on the phone, he could look at her surroundings and made sure no one sneaked up on her.

"If you say so," he said half-heartedly, glancing at the surroundings behind her as she narrowed her eyes at his dismissive tone.

The next twenty minutes were spent with Syianne looking around the lake and Jake looking over her shoulder virtually. She had scouted the edge and went a little deeper into the forest, looking for a car, a boat, a mask - anything, really - but the search had proved to be futile so far. Everything was as peaceful as ever, no signs of any disturbance and it made Jake a little antsy. Nothing was ever this perfect.

"Well, since we can't find anything here, I think you should come back. It's getting late," Jake said, looking at the already darkened sky. It was an ominous red color and Jake was getting more and more worried as people left the lakeside.

Syianne frowned but didn't argue and that made him sigh in relief.

"Yeah, you're right. No use trying to find something that isn't there," she said and started walking again.

"Wait, you walked here? Didn't you bring your car?" Jake asked and she shook her head.

"Nope, I wanted to enjoy Duskwood and being in a car wouldn't have helped," she smiled at the camera and Jake let out an almost inaudible sigh. Why couldn't she care about her safety a little more? She was going to give him grey hair before he reached his thirties, that was for sure.

As he began to reply to her, he caught movement from the left side of the screen and instantly grabbed his phone, expanding the background.

There was a silhouette of a hand.

"Syianne, run!" He shouted, as the figure's arm came into view and she looked back in surprise before starting to sprint, the camera shaking from her movements.

Jake scrambled to get his car keys, not bothering with what he was wearing and ran towards the hotel parking, getting into his car and connecting the GPS to his phone, all the while listening to Syianne's panting breaths as she ran away from the man without a face.

Getting her location was no problem for him and he just hoped he would arrive there on time.

"Jake, I'm scared. I'm hiding behind a big building and I think he went on ahead," she whispered, voice shaky and trembling and Jake's hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as he glanced over at his phone to watch her looking around herself in a panic.

Five more minutes and he would reach her location. Jake had never been more thankful that Duskwood was a small town and the hotel wasn't so far away from the lake.

"I'm coming, Syianne. Just a little while more and we'll go back together."

"Okay, I think I'm safe for now," she said. There was a sound of slow careful footsteps as Syianne came out from behind the building.

The abrupt sound of a gasp almost made him lose control of the steering wheel and he increased his speed as he heard what sounded like a scuffle. Syianne had probably dropped her phone because it only showed the dark sky and sounds of her struggling against her attacker.

"No! Let–"

Jake let out a harsh breath, jaw tightening as he heard Syianne's scream. He drove straight for a bit and turned the next corner and saw the man trying once again to restrain her. His eyes saw red and he honked and honked like it was nobody's business, speeding towards them.

The man without a face seemed to have realised that someone was coming to help as he pushed Syianne roughly into the wall and ran away towards the forest. As much as Jake wanted to go after him, Syianne was his first priority and he quickly got out of the car, dashing towards her crumpled form, lying on the ground.

He fumbled with his phone, calling the local police and asking for an ambulance, his body shaking all the while, as he knelt down next to Syianne.

He felt tears welling in her eyes as he looked at her battered form and realised that she was bleeding.

"Syianne?" He spoke in a scared voice.

"Syianne!" He said more forcefully, repeatedly patting her face in hope she'll look at him but her eyes were still glassy and unfocused as if she couldn't comprehend anything.

"I'm...so sorry. I…" her voice trailed off as she struggled to breathe and Jake cried, seeing her in so much pain, when he couldn't do anything except wait for the ambulance to arrive.

After a moment, Syianne's eyes fluttered closed and Jake's panic rose to new heights.

"No, no, no! Wake up! Please wake up!" He shouted and begged but she didn't respond to his calls.

His hand was soaked in her blood from where he was applying pressure on the wound at her side. The blood hadn't stopped flowing and Jake was worried that she was losing too much, too soon.

"What do I do? What do I do?" He muttered to himself, adrenaline coursing through his veins, with only one thought in his head – to save her.

He heard sirens in the distance and was relieved to know that help was coming. He pushed up the fallen hood of his jacket up on his head and looked at Syianne for any signs of consciousness. Her breaths were shallow and eyes still closed.

Soon enough, paramedics rushed to the scene and immediately started tending to Syianne's wounds. Jake felt as if he was just a spectator, not being able to do anything but watch. Someone came up to him and started asking him questions, about how he found her, who he was to her and if he knew anything about the attack. He answered all the questions as carefully as he could, giving a fake name, because he still wasn't sure if the police department was in league with the kidnapper or not.

As soon as he was done with the questioning, a paramedic approached him, letting him know that they were taking Syianne to the hospital and he would have to come there for a bit of paperwork. Jake hesitated and said he'd drive there in his own car and the paramedic nodded in response and left.

He got in his car and put his head in his hands, shaking at the unfortunate turn of events. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Syianne was just going to check out the lake and then surprise her friends the next day by telling them she'd be here for a few days and enjoy Duskwood together.

Jake was even thinking of meeting her in person and telling her that she had changed his life for the better. But his cowardice, his meticulous nature to not let anyone know who he was or where he was might have cost Syianne her life tonight. Even thinking about it had tears pooling in his eyes and he took a deep breath to bite back the sobs that were threatening to break once again.

He felt guilty, so so guilty and couldn't bring himself to start the car. He was pretty sure that if – no when – Syianne woke up, she would want nothing to do with the man who put her life in danger. With that thought rooted in his mind, he opened his phone and with trembling hands, sent Jessy a text about Syianne's accident. He received a reply almost immediately.

Jessy [8:46 pm]

What?

How did she come here?

You know what? If she's not okay, I'm going to hunt you down and make you pay.

Jake had no trouble believing she was telling the truth. All he wanted to do was help and now everything was falling apart. Taking a deep but shaky breath, he started the car but instead of going to the hospital, he turned towards the hotel.

⊱⋅ ──────────── ⋅⊰

Jessy had no trouble believing that the hacker was telling the truth. His texts were frantic and he practically begged her to go to the hospital to see Syianne. She had no idea how she got here, but hearing that she got attacked, just like she was, was enough to make her worry and drive to the hospital, after letting Cleo know. She figured that the rest of them deserved to know too.

She rushed to the front desk, breathless and worried, and one of the nurses told Jessy that the doctors were with Syianne and she'd have to wait until they were done to know how she was.

After some time of relentless pacing, Cleo arrived and Jessy filled her in on everything that the hacker told her, which wasn't much, but it gave them a good idea of what had happened. Cleo said that she hadn't told anyone else yet and that they should do so as soon as the doctors had an update on Syianne's condition.

About an hour later, a nurse came upto Jessy and Cleo, asking if they knew Syianne and upon their confirmation, led them to the room she was kept in. They weren't allowed to enter yet as the doctors were still in the room, but Jessy gasped when she saw Syianne's scratched up face, with bandages covering her head.

"Oh my gosh." Cleo breathed and Jessy felt a rush of sorrow as she averted her eyes.

The doctors after completing their examination, told them that Syianne was stabbed in the side but luckily it didn't puncture anything important and they closed up the wound to allow it to heal. What was more concerning, was the fact that she was hit on the back of her head.

"She most likely suffered from a concussion, in which case, it is of the utmost importance that the patient doesn't fall asleep," the doctor said and Jessy and Cleo looked at each other uneasily.

"But Syianne fell asleep…" Jessy began and the doctor gave her an apologetic smile.

"That's right. She was unconscious when she was brought here. The superficial wounds are taken care of, we just don't know when she'll wake up."

Both of them were too stunned to say anything and a call for the doctor from one of the nurses broke them out of their stupor.

"So, she's in a coma?" Cleo asked.

The doctor hesitated before answering.

"Essentially, yes. But we can't know for sure without further observation. If the injury isn't severe she'll wake up soon, we just have to monitor her constantly and look for any changes." He then walked off when his pager went off, most likely to see another patient.

"Don't worry, Jessy. She'll wake up soon," Cleo said, placing a hand on her shoulder, as they looked into Syianne's room, seeing her sleeping peacefully, as if nothing was wrong and she was just taking a nap.

⊱⋅ ──────────── ⋅⊰

As soon as she got home from the hospital, Jessy sent out a row of furious texts to the hacker, clouded by her anger and hopelessness. In her head, it was all his fault that Syianne was twittering between life and death. He was the one who asked her to come to Duskwood without letting any of them know, which caused her to be in such a terrible condition.

Everything was crumbling.

They were a tight knit group, always there for each other but when did it turn into a nightmare, Jessy didn't know. Emotion overtook her and she suddenly collapsed against the wall, keeping a hand on her mouth to muffle her sobs, and cried.

She cried for Hannah, who she had no idea whether she was alive or not. She cried for Syianne, who had become such a great friend to her. Most importantly, she cried for her relationship with everyone, that was slowly but surely, withering away.

⊱⋅ ──────────── ⋅⊰

Jake had been pacing in his hotel room ever since getting back, waiting on a word from Jessy. Glitch watched him with big eyes, as he stubbed his on the bedside and cursed. Sighing in defeat, Jake realised that it won't do any good to worry himself to death, but that didn't mean that his mind didn't drift off to the earlier scene.

Syianne lying on the ground. Blood pooled around her.

He shook his head in frustration, trying to get that image out of his head but to no success. Glitch, sensing that something was wrong, strolled towards him, rubbing and purring against his legs. Jake softened at seeing his efforts to calm him and he picked Glitch up, moving to lay down on the bed. He petted him, smiling at the way the cat burrowed himself further against Jake, curling his tail around his wrist.

After a few peaceful moments of cuddling, Jake's phone lit up with a text, which had him scrambling to grab it from the bedside. Glitch meowed in protest but Jake was too wound up to notice.

Jessy [10:25 pm]

She's in a coma

They don't know when she'll wake up

Jake felt all breath leave him as he read Jessy's text. He didn't know what to think, what to do, what he could do. Jessy didn't give him a chance to respond.

Jessy [10:26 pm]

Don't contact any of us ever again

I don't want to find Hannah this way…which leads to everyone else getting hurt

Please leave Syianne out of this

Saying her mind, Jessy went offline again. Jake took a shaky breath, trying to ground himself. Syianne might never make up.

No, he told himself.

He couldn't think like that. He knew she'd wake up, it might take a little time but she will. Because if she didn't, Jake wouldn't be able to live with himself.

He got another text from Lilly, saying she was sorry that it happened but he couldn't bring himself to write back. His mind was empty, body numb to everything around him and he was cursing himself for being so careless.

If he hadn't been so selfish, if only he didn't put all of this on her, if he had just reached on time, if, if, if.

That's all he thought of, as tears continuously trailed down his cheeks, an arm covering his eyes, the only thing on his mind being Syianne, just as it had been ever since he started talking to her.

⊱⋅ ──────────── ⋅⊰

The next day, Jake found himself holding a large flower bouquet and walking to Duskwood hospital's reception. He was trembling, scared out of his mind but he just had to see Syianne. So, he had braved his anxiety and was now standing in front of the receptionist, who looked at the abnormally large bouquet in his hands and raised an eyebrow. He cleared his throat.

"I'm here to see Syianne King, she was admitted here yesterday."

The receptionist's gaze sharpened as she looked him over and he partially hid behind the flowers.

"Only family members are allowed to visit," she spoke slowly and Jake bit his lip in frustration.

"I'm her fiance," he said and before the surprised receptionist could say anything, he continued, "I drove here as soon as I got the call but they wouldn't tell me what happened. Only that Syianne had been in an accident and I needed to get here as soon as I could and I—" he cut himself off, shuffling nervously and wiping away the tears that had managed to escape from his eyes.

The receptionist softened, seeing his genuine sorrow and care for his fiance and warmed her voice.

"Of course, I'm sorry for what happened. She's in room 309, third floor. The elevator is down the hall," she pointed and Jake thanked her profusely before walking ahead.

Him being Syianne's fiance might have been fake but everything he had felt was the truth and he felt overwhelmed now that he was here. Should he see her? Did he even deserve to see her after he put her in danger? Thoughts like this plagued his mind all the way to Syianne's room and they only stopped when he saw '309' written in bold letters on a grey coloured door.

His breath stuttered in his chest. He was second guessing his presence in the hospital, thinking whether he shouldn't have come. He stood in front of the door for about ten minutes, contemplating but when the nurses started giving him suspicious looks, he swallowed thickly and with shaky hands, opened the door.

Nothing could have prepared him for the utter despair and helplessness he felt, as he saw Syianne's motionless form on the bed, breathing as if she was just sleeping and would wake up any minute. But he knew that wasn't the truth.

She was here and it was his fault.

For the longest time, he just sat on a chair beside her bed and just looked at her. His eyes traced every injury, every bruise that was visible and he felt sick, blaming himself for letting it happen. She was still sleeping and suddenly, it just got too much.

There was too much light, too much beeping, the walls were too white, the flowers in his hands digging into his skin and he got up hastily, dropping the bouquet and backed into the furthest corner of the room.

His breath was coming in short bursts, it hurt to breath, to think, to stay upright—!

His legs gave from under him and he slid down, back against the wall, shaking hands coming up to wipe the wetness on his face.

He didn't even realise he had been crying.

His vision was a blur of dark shapes and in a distinct corner of his head that was still sane, he thought of what Syianne would have done had she been awake. He was sure she would kneel down in front of him and take his hands, running her thumbs against the back of his hands to calm him.

'Breathe slowly, Jake. Deep breaths with me, come on,' he heard her in his head and tried to slow down, breathing harshly at first but after a few minutes, his vision cleared and his breathing stabled to an acceptable rate.

His whole body shook with the sheer suddenness of the panic attack and he slowly tried to get up, holding onto the wall as a support as his gaze, once again, landed on the bed and it's occupant.

All at once, his head cleared and he knew what to do.

Snatching a sheet of paper from the notepad lying near her chart, Jake penned his thoughts, all his anguish, and his apologies on it. Not once did his hand shake as he wrote the note and not once did his mind waver from the decision he had made. At last, when he had said everything he wanted to, he put the pen down and glanced at Syianne's peaceful face.

His throat closed up but he swallowed once to make sure he didn't cry. No, Jake had no time for tears. It was his fault that this happened in the first place, so it was his responsibility that he would make it right.

He didn't know when she would wake but whenever it might be, Jake had everything he wanted to say, already written for her.

He bent down towards her and placed the softest of kisses against her forehead, knowing that it would be the only time he would ever get to do it.

She did not open her eyes and Jake stepped back with a miniscule tilt of his lips.

Yes, he would make everything right.

#duskwood #duskwood jake #everbyte duskwood #duskwood game #everbyte #jake × mc #duskwood jake × mc #jake × player #duskwood fanfic #duskwood fanfiction #duskwood jake × mc fanfic #viotence tw #physical attack tw #coma tw #blood tw #panic attack tw #please read the warnings carefully!!#and i hope you enjoy it ❤️

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curiosity-killed · 4 years ago

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hua cheng, the accidental person

okay this is for @bodhimcbodeface because i can’t shut up and make this concise enough for discord. spoilers ahead yeehaw

this is...not comprehensive. i’ve written 11 tgcf fics and am generally a bit fixated on Hua Cheng as a character so. there’s definitely things missing but i tried to hit the main points that i thought of while writing? also obviously this is just my interpretation! i do not expect anyone else to be like “ah yes curio the sage is so correct i have changed my thinking on this” like go live your life with your own versions of hua cheng! this is just the hill upon which i have firmly planted myself and from which i refuse to be budged. as u do.

anyway, LONG explanation of my very niche and very uh self-indulgent, not-necessarily-support-by-canon hua cheng apologism LMAO

tl;dr: (this is really Too Long i’m sorry) I think Hua Cheng reluctantly becomes a person during his 800 years of searching, starting from a point where he views Xie Lian not as a person but as an immutable god and focus of devotion and developing into a person who doesn’t really acknowledge that he’s a person because realizing that you want to live and do things for yourself is scary and overwhelming at times, and he ultimately falls in love with Xie Lian during the novel itself as he recognizes and is in wonder of the humanity of Xie Lian instead of his divinity or absolute judgment.

POINT 1: Hua Cheng doesn’t actually fall in love with Xie Lian till the ox cart

but curio! you say, “my beloved!” he calls him his beloved! and the land of tender!!

shhh. IMO Hua Cheng is more Wuming than Hua Cheng for those 800 years. By which I mean, for most of that time he’s, at his heart, a nameless soldier trying to find and serve his crown prince/general/god. He still views Xie Lian as this perfect and immaculate figure—a sculpture, a painting, a work of art that is untouchable and immutable. And he’s utterly and wholly devoted to that figure but devotion is not the same as love

So Hua Cheng is searching and trying to serve Dianxia all these years and then His Royal Highness finally ascends and is a god again and Hua Cheng shows up in all his glory to give this power and strength and wealth to serve him and—

and he’s met not by a powerful and reckless martial god or an unstoppable calamity but by a young man dressed in bridal robes who lets Hua Cheng lead him up a darkened mountain, who doesn’t lash out with spiritual energy or a sword but instead, only eventually, with the cursed bandage he was carrying back in the darkest part of his life.

and i think that throws hua cheng. like he’s had this image of his god all these years, this divine painting made over and over and over again—and he carries that belief and devotion with him, but there’s a crack in the sculpture and the stone is starting to flake off to reveal a human underneath it

so he puts on an approachable, malleable, unassuming skin and finds xie lian collecting scraps and being a lil awkward, a lil bumbling, generous and kind — and i think hua cheng, after 800 years of knowing everything, having everything — I think he looks at this discovery with wonder

Bc tbc this does not mean Hua Cheng views them as equals. For him it’s like, dianxia has even more to him, is even more than I knew. He’s seen Xie Lian as the flower crowned martial god in all his glory and as the white-clothed calamity in all his horror — and now here he is, wonderful, multitudinous, and human

Meanwhile I don’t think Hua Cheng even views himself as a person really, much less a human.

also i mean. the internet & allo ppl prove time and time again that you don’t need love for horniness so. land of tender’s right out as proof on that

POINT 2: The Live For Me thing

so obviously and undeniably, using one person as a reason for living is....not healthy. Not going to argue that. but my take on it personally is that, when Hua Cheng’s a kid who really, actively wants to die and sees no reason for living, Xie Lian gives him a reason to keep going. he doesn’t have to live for himself—that’s too much, that’s too big of an ask—but he’s been given a command and purpose by the one person who’s been kind to him/whom he respects. it’s a little like... “My life has no meaning but my cat needs me to feed him and clean his litterbox and so I need to keep getting up and taking care of him even if I don’t see a larger intrinsic purpose to my life.”

and i think like...it’s easy to forget that for all of books 2 & 4, Hua Cheng is young. He doesn’t live past 18—he’s still like...a kid. And that’s not to say that teenagers/young adults can’t make moral and rational decisions but I’m going to be honest, when I was that age I contemplated joining the Air Force because of tuition assistance and the snazzy uniform despite the fact that I was a vocal pacifist and repeatedly got into arguments with teachers about school rules and conservative politics. It’s not like. The Most Rational and Mature Age, lbr.

so Wuming is absolutely capable of looking at what Xie Lian is doing and being like “hey maybe war crimes aren’t a great idea” but he is young and traumatized and the one person he believes in, the one person who gave him a reason to keep going, is deadset on this task which tbh I don’t think either of them (or...necessarily...the society in which they live) views as war crimes in the modern sense (which isn’t to say that we as readers should view it any more lightly bc i think the narrative directly and firmly contradicts that idea) but as revenge, as an eye-for-an-eye. so, bad, but character-wise, I think it’s more nuanced than we sometimes consider

anyway back to the fixation on xie lian. i stand by the assertion that in those 800 years, hua cheng wasn’t exclusively focused on xie lian. like was finding and serving him his top priority? oh god yes. undeniably. there is no other version of this story. BUT eight hundred years is like....a lot of time. and i think in that time he started doing things for himself, even if under the guise of serving xie lian. hua cheng is curious and adventurous—he clearly likes to learn even if he plays it off as nbd—and i think he starts to realize that about himself in those centuries even if he doesn’t allow himself to acknowledge or consider it.

POINT 3: Mt. Tong’lu in General

“okay, sure but what about the thousands of sculptures and murals of xie lian, curio. what the fuck about them.”

Yeah. FINE. okay we will DEAL with this. dealing with this is the entire reason i wrote “(like i do) in the tall grass.”

disclaimer: this is probably not supported by canon! i also. Do Not care. My Ghost King Now.

so I have two general avenues I take with this:

going back to the devotion > love — when Hua Cheng reaches MTL, he’s seen xie lian beaten and cast down. what do gods need to survive? worship! we see throughout how important divine statues/portraits/etc. are throughout canon. in this interpretation, the cave is a concentration of all that worship in an effort to support and serve xie lian and hua cheng doesn’t view himself like...as part of it. the sculptures could have been carved by any hand so long as they are xie lian and the worship and devotion that goes into their making can support and bolster him.

my personal favorite version: amNESIA IN THE CAVES —okay i don’t have the text pulled up rn but y’know how Guoshi says Hua Cheng was almost dispersed, in terrible condition, etc., when he reached Mt. Tong’lu. so if baby boy is in terrible condition, barely hanging on, etc., then my immediate favorite option is that he doesn’t, at that time, have even the...uh threadbare sense of self he did in life/as Wuming and is running on only a vague and urgent sense of Something driving him—something he has to do, someone he has to serve—and in that case, the paintings and sculptures are part of his trying to piece together and process his memories as he can grasp them and figuring out who he is/what his purpose is. Is this canonical? PROBABLY NOT. and yet here i am. firmly planted on this hill

Also w/ MTL I think a thing that’s often skated over is the mortals, creation of E’ming, and his ascension. Which is important from a meta lens of Hua Cheng and Xie Lian vs Jun Wu but that’s not the point of this rambling monstrosity and i’m trying not to get too distracted. ANYWAY I think this is one of those times when Hua Cheng does something that he would probably excuse as like “well His Highness would’ve wanted me to” or “His Highness wouldn’t have been willing to sacrifice the mortals” because Xie Lian is still largely his moral compass—but it also is a peek at the complexity Hua Cheng doesn’t acknowledge within himself.

uh i got distracted anyway and no longer know what point i was making here. Hua Cheng Ascension Important....maybe i will remember this at some other point...

POINT 4: Live For Me (Revisited)

I sort of got distracted writing that point but anyway coming back to it now: I maintain that although Hua Cheng’s primary pursuit is protecting and serving Xie Lian he also does develop/realize his Accidental Personhood throughout his 800 years. this includes a lot of things, as previously stated, that are under the guise of serving Xie Lian (I’d put learning the Banyue tongue, finding out about the Gilded Banquet, collecting swords, beating the 33 officials etc., in this category) and things that maybe could be but...are not really (e.g., his friendship alliance with He Xuan, Paradise Manor* in general, the Gambling Den, learning the Wuyong tongue, bullying Qi Rong*, bullying FengQing*, playing with gold foil palaces, etc.)

(*these are ones that like...could be said to be for Xie Lian and I think he might say are for Xie Lian but also have a personal element that is just for him.

Like yes Paradise Manor is a lavish and well-stocked residence fit for a god or crown prince...but it’s also a luxurious and extravagant collection of all the things he couldn’t have in life. it’s like giving a kid a credit card with no limit and letting them run wild through uh. Fuck. A Fancy Department Store.

And sure Qi Rong was awful and turned on Xie Lian in pretty damning ways, but I also genuinely think part of Hua Cheng’s grudge with him is from the childhood abuse and from just...hatred that Qi Rong is around and looks like Xie Lian and gets to be there when Hua Cheng can’t find Xie Lian (which is about Xie Lian but for Hua Cheng).

Similarly with FengQing, sure a lot of his hate is for them abandoning Xie Lian—but he doesn’t even know till Book 3 when they abandoned him, and consider how much more he hates Mu Qing, the guy he blames for kicking him out of the army, etc. Some of it is totally “in service” to Xie Lian but some of it is because Hua Cheng carries a grudge like a goddamn pro and finds catharsis in beating the shit out of immortals who bounce back and can’t stop tripping over themselves and onto his blade.)

#hua cheng #tgcf #tgcf meta #long post #i'm sorry i cannot be concise or clear with my thoughts :<#this is why i write fic #bc i can just mash these interpretations through prose and then they turn out more clearly #....i think #i hope anyway bc this sure as fuck isn't that clear

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randomficsandshit · 4 years ago

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Bellarke Fic Rec

*NONE OF THESE FICS ARE MINE*

Please do not forget. I have not written any of these. I’m simply recommending favorites of mine over the years. If you love something, send the author your love, not me :) and if any links don’t work, send me a message and I’ll see what i can do, this is a pretty old list

There's A Nap For That

Word Count: 6k+

AU. Based on that post: "If you both agree to take a nap instead of going out, it’s a date." Or: The one where Bellamy and Clarke keep taking naps together. You know, platonically. See also: Let Them Rest.

If You Wear A Dress and Have an Animal Sidekick, You Are a Princess

Word Count: 3k+

AU. Bellamy can't not take care of every animal he sees, and Clarke can't not find it endearing.

*Mouth Like Heaven, Kisses Like Stars

Word Count: 4k+

His eyebrows are knitted together in a slight frown, the kind he usually gets when he’s trying to work out a difficult problem. Finally, he meets her eyes again and says, almost hesitantly underneath his mask of bravado, “Well, I’m always here to lend a helping hand if you need it, princess.” Clarke actually chokes this time, and it feels like all the breath has been knocked out of her. -or, the time when everything goes downhill and bellamy just goes down.

Wingwoman

Word Count: 1k+

AU. Clarke didn't think she'd need a wingwoman at the park playground when she's babysitting her one-year-old niece, but then Bellamy Blake strolls up, and Amelia rises to the occasion, luckily for her.

When Love Hits (Better Make It Worth The Fall)

Word Count: 4k+

AU. (She's All That) Four times Clarke gets hit on the head (+1 time she doesn't) during her last semester of high school, and every single time, Bellamy Blake is somehow involved.

All This Time

Word Count: 5k+

AU. Four times Bellamy innocently kisses Clarke, + one time he doesn't.

Take This Heart

Word Count: ~

clarke moves into bellamy's room. this is both soft and full of disdain for clarke's terrible... everything in season 3

You're Cool On The Internet, At Least

Word Count: 9k+

AU. Look, Clarke will not dwell on this. She will not get flustered just because a possibly cute guy on Facebook apparently shares her views on what constitutes a terrible person.

(Or: Clarke meets Bellamy on Facebook. They hit it off.)

(One of my personal favs)

We Came Out On Top

Word Count: 11k+

AU. “How can you guys be all like this and then be at each other’s throats during trivia night?” “Because it’s trivia night,” both Bellamy and Clarke said at the same time, sharing the same why don’t you get it tone. Bellamy, Clarke, and the trivia night rivalries only they care about.

She Does What The Night Does To The Day

Word Count: 5k+

AU. He assumes she would just giggle and continue petting him while saying how pretty he is, but instead, she pulls back with what might have been a leer had she not been three sheets to the wind, and says, “Your body is 65% water and I’m thirsty.” And then if that wasn’t bad enough, she stumbles out of his arms and fucking winks at him. Or at least he thinks it’s a wink. She used both eyes instead of one. or, the one where Bellamy is woefully and terribly oblivious.

The Giant Squid's Got Nothing On You

Word Count: 6k+

AU. Objectively, Clarke knows she’s probably right, but she still can’t help but lift her chin determinedly and say, “He is not going to find it.” She can barely hear her scoff in reply over the din of the cafe. “Yeah right,” says Raven, “The internet is forever, Clarke Griffin. He will find it eventually.” or, Clarke finds her new muse at the local cafe

Alone Together

Word Count: 11k+

AU. Clarke shows up at Bellamy’s apartment at exactly two minutes to midnight on a Thursday. He's not sure how she ends up staying the night — or why he doesn't turn her away, when it happens again. And again.

Cold As The Wind Blows (so hold me in your arms)

Word Count: 3k+

AU. Clarke gets trapped in the storage room overnight, but at least she's not by herself.

Tequila Regrets

Word Count: 6k+

AU. Clarke and Bellamy have been roommates for a while, and Clarke has been in love with him for almost as long, but when she finds out that his terror of a boss has marked him as her next conquest, Clarke offers to pose as his fake girlfriend for the staff Christmas party to scare her off. She did not think this all the way through.

Mutual

Word Count: 6k+

AU. As acts of rebellion go, Clarke knows that getting a tumblr is both minor and pathetic. But it's her secret, her own tiny, online space where no one knows she's Clarke Griffin, Hollywood A-lister. She's just some nobody with like five followers and opinions no one cares about. And then she makes a friend.

Wish On Everything

Word Count: 11k+

AU. It's not as if Bellamy wanted anything bad to happen to his mother. All he wanted was to get custody of his little sister, so he'd know she was taken care of. And after eight years, he's basically given up all hope of that. Then his mother does die, and social services tells him he gets Octavia.

Legs Crossed Towards Each Other

Word Count: 7k+

It starts with Raven wanting to set up Mr. Sinclair, out of what are probably genuinely good intentions. It's everyone else who turns it into a massive headache for Bellamy.

What The Hell Is The Catch?

Word Count: 6k+

Bellamy gets tickets to take his AP US History kids to Hamilton, and Clarke figures he's going to need a chaperone. She's happy to help out. And if he says she owes him for it? Totally worth it.

If You Wanna Reach Me

Word Count: 5k+

AU. Clarke: So yeah, in the dream it's like We're in New York, I think. I'm not really sure, but you know how it is when it's a dream and you just know something. So we're in New York.

Jasper: whos we??????

Clarke: Most of us, I think? It's always kind of hard to remember when it's a dream. Like I just thought "everyone's here!" but I mostly interacted with Bellamy.

Raven: did u mean: real life

Time Enough For Rocking When We're Old

Word Count: 14k+

boston > boston/camb/brook > housing > apts by owner $2-300 Roxbury small room in 3-br 1-bath house, spouse preferred (Roxbury) Pair of siblings looking for housemate. Due to extenuating circumstances I will share with interested parties, I would prefer a roommate who is willing to get married for legitimate personal reasons that do not include sex or anything sketchy. If not interested in marriage, room still available for $300/month plus utilities. Pets okay, no smokers, NO DRUG USE. Please don't just email me to tell me this is fucked up, I know it is, you really don't have to tell me. If you are interested in the marriage part, a female spouse is preferred, but male would be okay too. I promise I will explain this if you really want details, but I'm not putting it online. Serious inquiries only.

Must Love Intersectionality

Word Count: 2k+

AU. Bellamy hates his stupid history of colonialism class, until he makes a friend. Weirdly, the friend isn't actually in his class, they just share the same desk and like to write angry notes about the patriarchy. Bellamy's a fan.

Regardless Of Warnings, The Future Doesn't Scare Me At All

Word Count: 20k+

AU. 2 Chapters. After an argument with her mother about her unplanned pregnancy, Clarke Griffin ends up back in the small town where her father used to live, spilling her sob story to a sympathetic bartender. And then, somehow, she ends up moving in with the bartender and her brother.

(You Might Find) You Get What You Need

Word Count: 20k+

AU. Clarke needs a date to her ex's sister's wedding, and she's at the point of hiring someone off the internet when Octavia points out that her brother is always looking for money. So Clarke takes him instead.

Just As You Are

Word Count: 10k+

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single Clarke Griffin in need of a Latin tutorial partner will always end up paired with Bellamy Blake.

I've Been Dreaming Of You From The Other Side (I Know You So Well)

Word Count: 17k+

AU. Ten years ago, Clarke found out she had superpowers. Now she's all ready to start a new life: English teacher by day, vigilante by night. All she has to do is figure out how to be a superhero, avoid getting caught and shipped off by mandatory metahuman registration, and not strangle the stupid history teacher down the hall. It'll be fun.

She's Touching His Chest Now, He Takes Off Her Dress Now

Word Count: 26k+

If Clarke had thought arguments could actually lead to switching bodies with someone, she wouldn't have been surprised this one really did. But since that's actually impossible, waking up as Bellamy Blake is still a shock.

I Know That Fortune Is Waiting To Be Kind

Word Count: 20k+

When Bellamy is eleven, his mother dies, and he finds out his father was a prince, which makes him a prince too, albeit a bastard prince. And when he's twelve, his family decides he would be a good candidate for marriage to Princess Clarke of Arcadia. Princess Clarke thinks so too, but only because he agrees to come back in ten years and help her make sure the wedding never takes place. It seems like a really good deal, when he's twelve.

And Dream How Wonderful Your Life Will Be

Word Count: 19k+

Clarke has known Bellamy Blake for two months when she finds out two completely unexpected things about him: he's married, and he has an eight-year-old son. He's also getting a divorce and he needs a roommate, and she's got a spot. It's complicated.

One Deep Breath and One Big Step

Word Count: 17k+

Clarke Griffin has been groomed for Ark University and Sigma Kappa Upsilon sorority since she was a kid, and she's a little annoyed to discover, upon getting to college, that she really does like Sig-Kap. That she wants to pledge. There's just this weird thing where they don't seem to like her new friend Bellamy.

Write What You Know

Word Count: 13k+

Bellamy understands every individual choice that got him to this point. He started writing erotica to make some extra money, he didn't correct the assumption that he was a woman, made up some facts about his new persona, and now his publisher wants him to start making public appearances, so he needs someone to be that persona. And Clarke really is the logical choice. It all makes sense to him, when he thinks about it, but he will admit it is incredibly weird. Luckily, Clarke's still got his back.

When Can I See You Again?

Word Count: 13k+

Bellamy doesn't recognize a lot of people he meets at conventions, even if he's met them a lot. It's just hard to keep track. But the girl who comes once or twice a year is pretty easy to remember. And that's before her foster mom shows up in a panic because she took a bus to Vegas alone. After that happens, it's basically all over.

But They Ain't Doing It Right

Word Count: 14k+

“So,” he begins, running a hand through his hair. It’s a lost cause trying to work it back into some semblance of order. “What is this?” “What do you mean?” He doesn’t meet her eye when he says, “Once is a mistake, twice is a pattern,” too busy picking at a loose thread in his hem. “Wanna go three times and just make it a habit?” she jokes weakly, and his head snaps back up, eyes boring into hers. She flushes under the intensity of his gaze. “Actually,” he begins slowly, “That doesn’t sound that bad.” or, the friends with benefits au that got away from me

Phone A Friend

Word Count: 7k+

Clarke does not ask Bellamy for tips on having a threesome because she's hoping to have a threesome with him. He's just the only person she knows personally who has actually had a threesome, so he seems like her best resource. And when the opportunity to have a threesome with him presents itself, it's not like she's going to just say no.

I'm Swept Away and My Heart Ensnared

Word Count: 15k+

Raven hums low in her throat. “Well, at least Bellamy can make it up in time. So you won’t get too axe murdered.” Clarke wrinkles her nose, leaning on the banister of the upstairs porch. From here she can see the ocean, just a five minute walk away, and she breathes in brine soaked air. “He’s still coming?” “What do you mean if he’s still coming? He didn’t say anything otherwise.” She shifts from foot to foot, feeling herself colour slightly even though there’s no one there to see her. “I just assumed that because you and Miller couldn’t make it up anymore he wouldn’t come today.” “Why the hell did you think that?” “Because Bellamy and I aren’t exactly friends, Raven." or, Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin don't really like each other. Or at least that's what they tell themselves.

Afraid To Call This Place Our Own

Word Count: 22k+

(Single mom!Clarke and Teacher!Bellamy, with the usual angsty shenanigans.)

And Are We There Yet (Home)

Word Count: 2k+

A Bellamy POV and mini sequel to afraid to call this place our own. (this shit made me cry)

Bloodstains and Innocence: A Clarke Griffin Mystery

Word Count: 27k+

Police Chief Clarke Griffin knows three things: 1) Charles Pike is dead. 2) Octavia Blake is the prime suspect. 3) Bellamy Blake a giant pain in the ass with no business being involved in a murder investigation, and yet here he is, working the case alongside her. A hurricane is approaching the sleepy little island of Arkadia, NC as evidence begins to mount against Octavia and Clarke wrestles with her increasingly complicated relationship with Bellamy, all while trying to answer one simple question: Who killed Charles Pike?

Is There An IUD That Can Stop The Image of You and Me?

Word Count: 8k+

It's probably impossible to be friends with benefits with someone who might not even count as a friend, but "lab partners with benefits" isn't a thing yet. So that's probably the right term. Whatever it is, Clarke's enjoying it. As long as she ignores the whole feelings thing.

I’m Gonna Leave You Anyway

Word Count: 65k+

Modern AU inspired by the show You're the Worst, where Bellamy and Clarke hook up after a wedding.

And You Can Have This Heart To Break

Word Count: 37k+

Clarke knows she's being a little over-dramatic in her complaining about having to move to Maine, but it does seem pretty unreasonable of her mother to drag her to a small town in the middle of nowhere for the three months between high-school graduation and her starting college. As it turns out, the summer is great. It's just the summer ending that's the problem.

Museums and Mistletoe

Word Count: 1k+

Clarke buys Bellamy a museum ticket for Christmas and he acts like it’s the best gift he’s ever received. She buys one for herself too, because she knows none of their other friends have the time to go—finding a day they can all get together to exchange gifts is hard enough—and if it gets her an uninterrupted afternoon with her best friend and all around favorite asshole, she’s definitely not complaining.

When In Brome

Word Count: 57k+

Octavia is the one who tells Clarke about "Untitled Gladiator Project," because she thinks Bellamy wants to be on it, and also thinks Clarke is the one who will be able to convince him to do it. Plus, it turns out Clarke actually needs to be involved, because all of the gladiators are required to have girlfriends with them, and, honestly, the more she hears about it, the more of a mess it seems like. On the other hand, it sounds kind of hilarious, and definitely right up Bellamy's alley, so there's probably no harm in trying out. It might be fun.

It’s All Internet Interaction

Word Count: 11k+

Bellamy is less than pleased when soap opera star Clarke Griffin lands the lead role in the Callister reboot. So, naturally, he writes about it. It’s not supposed to blow up. She’s not supposed to respond to it either, but here they are.

Just Dive Right In (And Follow My Lead)

Word Count: 24k+

Clarke Griffin needs a partner. Bellamy Blake just happens to walk into her rink. (Or: Bellamy and Clarke as ice dancing partners, training together through the years to the Olympics.)

Sleight Of Hand

Word Count: 56k+

Notorious criminal prodigy Bellamy Blake has been tasked with a seemingly impossible heist. Luckily enough, he just might have the right crew for it. *Personal Favorite*

And Then We Were Chasing Comets

Word Count: 21k+

If you told Clarke Griffin that she would become best friends with the resident black sheep of Arkadia, she would have difficulty believing it, let alone the fact that he apparently wrote an entire book about her. (Or: Clarke and Bellamy through the years, as childhood best friends.)

See Me In Hindsight

Word Count: 16k+

“You’re kind of a mess,” He says mildly. “Thanks captain obvious.” The corners of his mouth twitch a little, like he’s holding back a smile. She is not remotely pleased by that. Not at all. Or, the one where they're project partners and maybe, perhaps, friends. (And maybe, perhaps, more.)

Challenge Accepted

Word Count: 30k+

He doesn't even like Clarke Griffin, he's pretty sure he hates how easy everything has come to her. So imagine his surprise when he finds himself at their office party looking through dick pics on her phone. “You can do better, Princess. In fact, I can do better.” As soon as she turns to him with raised eyebrows and an open mouthed grin he knows he’s said too much but she’s not going to let it drop. “Oh really, you think you can do better, Blake?” And he's never backed down from a challenge in his life.

Found Myself In A Second

Word Count: 5k+

The one where Clarke finds a lost wallet belonging to one Bellamy Blake.

Every Rose Can Sting You

Word Count: 15k+

Clarke expected to encounter annoying guys when she got forced into becoming the Bachelorette, but she didn't realise that the most annoying of them all would be the head cameraman. Because seriously, Bellamy Blake is a total prick. It's a good thing there's absolutely no chance of her ever actually liking him, because boy, would that be inconvenient…

Choking On Your Alibis

Word Count: 7k+

Bellamy gets a girlfriend and Clarke handles it spectacularly well

#bellarke #the 100 #fic rec #fic rec masterlist #bellarke masterlist #bellamy x clarke #beliza #the 100 fic #multi chap fic #one shot #clarke griffin #bellamy blake #raven reyes #octavia blake #eliza taylor #bob morley #the cw #fanfiction #bellarke fanfiction

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avocadogirl216 · 4 years ago

Text

Left Behind

Anon requested: Hey! Would you be willing to write something where the winchesters drop their sister who is in her younger teen years (13-14ish) off at bobby's when they go on a hunt and shes super upset about it so she wont talk to them when they call or even when they come to pick her up? And it ends up with her and Dean having some big argument and Sam having to calm the down?

AN: This story took a lot longer than I expected to write and I am so sorry that you had to wait, whoever you are, I changed it up a little towards the end, sorry. And sorry if this was crap.

Summary: When Sam and Dean leave you behind for a hunt, you don’t take it very well.

Warnings: Angst, Sibling Arguing, Language, Fluff at the end.

Pairings: Dean x sister!reader, Sam x sister!reader, Bobby x reader

Word Count: 2252

Y/N’s POV

You were currently in the backseat of the impala listening to your older bothers conversation. Sam was talking about some hunt in Minnesota. Dean was nodding his head along with the conversation, both paying attention to Sam and the road in front of him. You listened with curiosity as you tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together in your head. There were bite marks on all of the victims, they were all missing blood but they were also missing their hearts.

“Sounds like we’re dealing with a vamp and werewolf combo.” You said as you leaned over the front seat between your brothers to be a part of the conversation.

“Or...” Dean said.

“Or what?” Sam asked as he started to scroll through the news articles to get more information on the case, not even bothering to look up from his iPad.

“Come on. I know you want to say it.” Dean said with a smile while looking over to the both of you. “A were-pire.” He said with a proud voice.

You and Sam both groaned in sync.

“Dude, just drop it already. There is no such thing as a were-pire.” Sam stated in a matter of faculty tone.

“Says you.” Dean said, returning his attention to the road.

“Anyways... how far away are we from the case?” You asked as you looked over Sam’s broad shoulder.

“Well lets see. We’re in Cheyenne, Wyoming and the case is in Stillwater, Minnesota. So we’re about 13 hours out.” Dean said.

You groaned yet again to the thought of being in the car with your brothers for that long.

“What are you groaning about over there Rugrat?” Dean asked.

“Maybe the fact that I have to spend 13 hours with you two dumb nuts.”

Sam looked up from his iPad and have you a weird look along with Dean. “Umm, you’re not going to.” Sam said.

You were now confused. “What do you mean? I’m gonna work the case with you two and in order for me to do that I have to get over there which involves me staying in the car with my brothers for 13 hours.” You explained in a duh tone.

“Who said that you were coming along?” Dean asked, still looking at you like you just grew two heads.

“Umm... well... no one but I thought that I was going to work the case with you guys. Right?” You asked with a hint of insecurity.

Sam and Dean shared a look, having a silent conversation with each other.

“That wasn’t really the plan squirt.” Sam said now turning in the seat to face you.

“Then what is the plan?”

“We were going to drop you off at Bobby’s and then Dean and I are going to work the case.” Sam explained.

“What? I thought that I was going to help you with the case.”

“Not quite. You’re not ready for hunting yet.”

“What do you mean? I’ve worked my ass off with training every single day for the past 3 years and now I can’t go hunting with you two. How is that fair?” You said in a pissed off tone.

“Y/N I know that you want to come but your just not quite ready yet.” Sam said in a patient tone, sensing your anger.

“The hell I’m not! I-” You were quickly cut off by Dean.

“Okay first of all, watch your language and second of all, your going to Bobby’s while me and Sam work the case. End of discussion.” Dean said in a tone that he used with you when you were starting to take things too far.

“But-” You started.

“No ands, ifs, or buts about it. I’ve already made up my mind and that is that, whether you like it or not.”

You sigh as you decided to go with the smart choice and keep your mouth shut. You leaned back into your seat and start to fidget with the bracelet that you always wore on your wrist, hoping that it would help you cool off a bit.

After another couple of hours in the car, you pull up in front of Bobby’s house. You grab your duffel from beside you and sling it over your shoulder. As you start to open the backdoor to the impala, Sam starts to speak.

“Love you kiddo.” He said with a small, loving smile on his face.

You get out of the car, slam the door and walk towards the front porch all without saying a word to either of your older brothers.

~~~~~~

Its been four days since your brothers left for the case without you. You hated that you couldn’t be there with them, saving people and hunting things. The family business that you were supposed to be a part of. Sure you were only 14 but you knew all there was to hunting and you take care of yourself.

Whenever your brothers are away on a hunt, they call everyday to check in. Usually you answer the phone happily, eager to talk to your brothers and see how the case was going, but this time it was different. You’ve been ignoring their calls and texts. They’ve even called Bobby to try to get a hold of you but you still declined. You were a Winchester which meant that you were hot headed and stubborn.

You were now scrolling through Youtube, trying to find an interesting video to pass the time. You’ve already looked at all possible cases on the police radar but there was nothing other than the case that Sam and Dean were working. You were about to lay down for a nap, hoping that it would kill a couple of hours but you were interrupted with a knock on the door.

“Come in!” You yelled as you turned off your phone and placed it onto the bed next to your thigh.

The door opened and Bobby walked in. “Hey Y/N. I was just letting you know that your brothers are back from the case.” He said.

“Oh, okay.” You said as you picked your phone back up, showing that you weren’t interested in going to see them.

Bobby sighed while he ran a hand on his face. “Look I get that your mad at them but at least acknowledge them.”

“I am acknowledging them. I am acknowledging the fact that I am mad at them and therefore I do not want to make conversation with them.” You said as you kept your attention on the small screen.

Bobby sighed yet again and walked out of the room while closing the door behind him. There was a minute of silence then the door opened again. You raised your head to see who walked in. You were disappointed and pissed as you watched Sam and Dean walk into the room. Sam came in first and leaned onto the wall opposite of you as Dean walked in and closed the door. Dean then turned to face you as he crossed his arms across this broad chest as he stared you down. You returned the gesture. After a minute of silence between the three of you Dean finally spoke.

“So Y/N, anything to say.”

“Nope.” You replied as you returned your gaze to your phone.

Dean made it across the room in four steps and took the phone out of your hand in order for you to be focused on him.

“Oh so this is the reason why you didn’t answer us, you were too busy being on the internet to give five minutes to your brothers.” Dean said as he held up your phone just out of reach.

You sighed as you leaned back into the headboard and crossed your arms, not even making a move to get the phone back. “If you want to assume that. Like you always do.” You said in an icy tone.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean asked, anger flashing his eyes.

“Oh I don’t know, maybe the fact that I can’t hunt because I’m not good enough.”

“Who ever said that?”

“No one did. I’m just saying what’s on everyone's mind.”

“Now look at whose assuming things.” Dean scoffed.

“I’m not assuming anything. I’m just stating facts.” You argued back.

“Well no one asked you to do that.”

“Yeah well, no one asked you to come talk to me.” You said as you stood up and walked up to Dean. “No one asked you to be here.”

“No one had to. It’s my job to be here for you.” Dean said as he looked down at you with a deadly glare.

“Yeah? How can you be here for me when your on the other side of the fucking country? How can you be here for me when you just dump me here and take off? Huh? Riddle me that!” You said as tears start to form in your eyes.

“Y/N, its for your own good. Its for your safety.” Dean sighed as he drug his hand down his face. “We’ve been over this.”

“Yeah I know Dean but its stupid.” You huffed in frustration. “I’ve trained over and over again for the past three years without complaint. I’ve taken both of you down before and I know how to use just about every weapon known to man. Not to mention that you two will be there with me for every step of the way, protecting me from getting hurt or worse.”

“That’s what I’m talking about Y/N! I know that you can handle yourself, hell you’ve kicked my ass more times than I like to admit but there is always that possibility that something will go wrong. There is always that possibility that you will get hurt or worse on a hunt. We don’t take you with us because we’re scared of what will happen.” Dean explained with some of his anger melting away.

“Don’t you think that I know that Dean? Believe me, I know the risks of hunting. Look at Dad, Ellen, Jo, Ash and Pamela, they were in this life and they suffered the consequences of it. But one thing that I can trust is you two.” You said as you looked between your brothers. “I trust the fact that when you two are with me, that everything will be okay. I trust the fact that you will keep me safe.”

“Then there is your first mistake. Everyone that was in this life and knew us are now dead. Dad, Ellen, Jo, Ash and Pamela are all dead because of us. All we do is get the people that we are close to and love killed. We can’t protect you anymore than we can protect them.” Dean said as his voice broke. “We can’t protect you.”

As you heard Dean say those words, anger started to boil in your veins. The need to cry was replaced with the need to punch something, preferably your brother for thinking so low about himself and Sam.

You suddenly take a swing at your brother, catching him off guard. “Don’t you say that!” You cried as you punched him yet again in the face, making him take a step back. “After everything that you have done for us, for them! You cannot just throw that out there like it is true because its not!” You yelled at him as tears spilled down your face. You took a step so that you could punch him in the face again but a pair of strong arms wrapped around your waist from behind to stop you from going further. You thrashed against Sam’s hold as much as you could. You were practically bawling now. “You don’t get to say that.” You said as you finally stopped fighting Sam and you turned around and hugged his toned body.

Dean now had tears streaming down his face as he looked at you with both sadness and shock. Sam was shushing you, trying to make you calm down a bit. You had a death grip on his flannel as your tears started to make the material damp. After a couple of seconds, you felt Dean start to take you into his arms. You quickly turned and hugged Dean’s torso as tight as you could. You felt tears start to fall onto your head as Dean silently cried. After a minute of standing there you decided to speak.

“Don’t ever say that again. It wasn’t your fault that they died.” You said as you turned to look at Sam who also had tears in his eyes. “Or yours. Don’t ever think that. You understand?”

Dean sniffled and looked into your eyes. “Yeah.”

“And don’t ever think that you can’t protect me. I trust you two more than anyone. I know for a fact that you two will be there when I need you the most. And I’m sorry that I gave you such a hard time this past week. You were just trying to keep me safe even though I was acting like a total super bitch.” You explained. “I trust that I will go on a hunt with you two when I’m ready. And that doesn’t mean when I’m 30 either.”

Both Sam and Dean chuckled at that.

“Com´er.” Dean said as he engulfed you in another bone crushing hug. Sam joined in shortly after.

You knew that you were going to be okay now that your brothers are there when you need them most.

#supernatural #spn #spn fanic #supernatural fanfic #reader insert #late #sister!reader #dean winchester x sister!reader #sam winchester x sister!reaser #bobby x reader #angst #language #request #anon #anonomous #sibling arguing #ignoring calls

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papergirllife · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 2

Synopsis:

You don’t know what it’s like to be free, to make your own choices, and live your own life. For your whole life, your parents have been treating you like a puppet on strings, controlling your life to every single detail, as well as ignoring the fact that you have feelings. Other times, when you disobey their wishes, or speak up about your own opinions, they bash you down with words, in other words, psychological abuse, has led you down the long winded road of depression and anxiety. What happens when you meet a man who’s willing to be your guide out of this terrible downpour? Would you give a shot at happily ever after?

Warnings:

big age gap (kinda?)

issues on anxiety

issues on depression (mild)

issues on parental abuse

smut (maybe)

Tag List: @etherealtyjaem , @caratzennie , @johnnysuhnflower , @euphoricchannie , @yeollieseo , @jjhmk , @sherzess

(lmk if you wanna be on the list) (and sorry for reposting, it just won’t show on the tags)

The new house you’ve just moved in was small, you were perfectly fine with the size, you always stayed in your room anyways, the sizes elsewhere doesn’t really matter. It wouldn’t have been an issue if they weren’t making a fuss outside. They were yet again arguing about the company’s debts and complaining about the recent stock market turn outs. Your parents sold the old house in order to pay off some of the company loans, moving into a decent condominium in the older township.

Why are they so obnoxiously loud? Why can’t they talk like normal civilised people? They had an awful habit of shouting from one room to another, even if it’s about 3 feet apart, the study to the kitchen like it was just steps away.

You placed your pillow on top of your ear as the other was covered with the other one you’re sleeping on, you woke up from nightmares just this morning and needed a nap, but from the looks of things, you weren’t getting one anytime soon.

You reluctantly got up from your bed and told them to lower down their voices, but they just ignored you, as they always did. After the third time of fruitless attempt, you’ve given up hope on resting, but your body wasn’t happy with what was happening, the voices in your head hammering in your head, blaming you for what happened as you felt your heartbeat quicken, your breathing staggered. You could feel your whole body tense up as tears started to cloud your vision.

You inhaled deep breaths as you tried to push the anxiety attack away, humming a song, fiddling with a pen, but nothing you read on the internet helped. You hugged your knees towards your chest as you sat on the corner of your room, trying to muffle your choked sobs. A sentence you kept repeating in your head like a mantra,

‘make it stop.’

It’s currently 10 a.m. and your parents are rushing you to hurry up with your morning routine as they have an important meeting with some potential investor, they’re taking you along because they need an errand girl to buy them coffee and in case of any other task that is deemed much too troublesome for them like filing away documents or printing out contracts.

You woke up at the crack of dawn to get ready, so to say that you were tired after yesterday’s ordeal was an understatement. As your father told you to double check the files needed in the bag, you found out you left one up stairs, your palms sweaty as you informed them of your mishap.

“How can you be so dumb?! This is why you’re such a failure of a person! I told you to prepare everything last night! Were you day dreaming again?!” your father bellowed from the driver’s seat, his angry eyes filled with rage whenever his gaze darted to your sight through the rearview mirror, putting your lives at risk on a busy road.

You bite back retorts, head hung low through out the quick detour back, exiting the car alone to go back up and retrieve the file you left behind.

Not a day goes by where they don’t criticise you for something you did, whether an accident or not. You can feel your anxiety levels going up again as your heartbeat picks up speed, a wave of sadness coming over you. You quickly recalled a familiar song to block out their hurtful words ringing in your head.

“Useless piece of shit,” your father mumbled as he drove, throwing a clothe he uses to clean his car on your face, the rough material stinging you.

As you dug through your pockets for loose change in your jacket, your fingers found a card instead, it was Mr Suh’s card.

I can take you away from all this chaos raging among your family, if you can call it a family that is. I’ll be seeing you soon, Y/N.

‘What does he mean?’ you wondered.

“Miss, you’re holding up the queue. Do you have 50 cents or not?” the cashier at your local starbucks snaps at you, yanking you away from your own thoughts.

“Sorry, I don’t,” you apologised.

You looked around you to see the long line behind you and the usual full house condition of the cafe, sighing at what you call a norm of your life now, being an errand girl for your parents, and not even a little bit of acknowledgement of your existence nor feelings.

‘Can Mr Suh really make all this stop?’ you asked yourself.

Now you think you’re ridiculous for thinking a man of such wealth and power would be interested in a girl with such a puny presence among a crowd and not even a valued family member in your family’s eyes. He’s going to get bored of a girl like you someday, how long would he stay interested? A week? A month? A year? You doubt you’ll even last a night.

You begrudgingly took the bagged coffee from the counter and quickly walked back to your parent’s office block, head hung low as you thought about your parents’ attitude if this investor ends up leaving them empty handed, shivering at the thought of being their ‘mental stress ball’.

“I’m sorry, but the debts your company is in isn’t something we’d want to have on our company’s reputation if we invested. Thank you for having us,” the man in the middle, presumably the boss said, a bored look on his face.

Just like that the investors stood up and walked out the glass door of the office. Once they were out, your parents let out a frustrated groan. You quickly hurried to close up the office as they always told you to after a meeting on weekends without workers in the office.

A month later

The company is now under leased after being certified bankruptcy. Your parents’ savings are running low, so they told you to get a part time job at a local western grocer that rich people of Seoul go to for groceries that could most probably buy you a meal at your nearby convenience store, at the winery section, where you are now giving out samples to the customers.

It wasn’t an easy job, the customers here have high standards, whatever you’re giving out as samples are always deemed lacked elegance compared to the ones that they usually have, yet they always come back for more samples the next time they come to pick up groceries, and if they’re in a good mood, they might actually buy something. People who act rich but actually aren’t as wealthy as what they boast always ticks you off, they remind you of your own family.

On Friday nights, when the alcohol section always closes earlier are the times when you’ll head to the bookstore in the same mall you were working at to read, you knew that’s a really rude thing to do, but you can’t afford buying books anymore. So you read a few chapters every night, and slightly more on Friday nights, you never told your parents about the different working hours on this particular day of the week, you don’t want to go back earlier just to see their scowling faces as they hunch over different sorts of bills and statements.

You finally found a way to cope with your anxiety levels and depression by working out early in the morning, you read from the newspapers at the worker’s lounge in the grocer that it helps, and so you gave it a try, little did you know that you would enjoy it and the feeling of staying fit boosted your confidence. But on days when you felt tired and didn’t achieve the results you were aiming at, your mind reminds you of the times when your parents called you ugly, it was started when they found out you were dating, on those days, a shut of your eyes and you’ll remember the scene of them hitting you unfolding once again, if you focused hard enough you could still feel the sting on your face.

You pushed those thoughts away as you quickly packed up for the night, as you were preparing to leave, a man came in your section, requesting to buy a bottle of wine. You were going to say that the winery section is closed, but as you turned around, the words got stuck in your throat.

It was Mr Suh, dressed in his usual working attire. Even after sitting in the office for a whole day, he still looks breathtaking, his clothes held no crease.

“Y/N,” Mr Suh said your name, the corners of his lips tugging up in a smile.

He remembers you? After so long?

“Mr Suh. H-how can I help you?” you asked, eyes darting around hoping that there aren’t any more customers, worried that they’ll realise that you were letting Mr Suh in despite the closing time.

You weren’t as anxious as talking to strangers before, but Mr Suh was no stranger to you, not really anyways, and he always had an aura that made you shy away from his presence.

“I’m looking for a bottle of Pinot Noir by Emos,” Mr Suh told you.

You took tiny but hurried steps towards a counter where the grocer kept its more expensive bottles, typed in the password and handed it to him. You silently went to the counter, typing in the bottle’s code to ring up the register.

Mr Suh handed you 200 dollars, for a bottle that only costed 85. When you opened your mouth to tell him about the error, he stopped you.

“That’s tip for bothering you after working hours, keep it,” he said.

You tried to disagree, but he refused, saying that it is what he should do. Mr Suh bid you goodbye, before he leaves your sight, he looks back at you with an odd glint in his eyes, one that you fail to read once again.

“I’ll see you soon, Y/N.”

The wine was supposed to be for his conquest tonight, yet when he walked through that hotel door, he knew he wasn’t going to enjoy tonight at all. Maybe the girl isn’t pretty enough? No, she was his usual take on girls he brings to bed, but something was very much off.

Johnny didn’t usually mind a bit of harmless flirting over wine before sex, he did have a tiring day at work, usually this process would calm him down a bit before getting down to business. However, he found the flirting part rather boring and very much tedious today, the girl’s flirty remarks seemed it was droning on to no end. So he sped things up, the wine long forgotten as their limbs tangle up with the sheets.

There was something nagging him behind his head, he couldn’t place a finger on it, until when he closed his eyes, instead of seeing the girl beneath him, he saw you, your tiny body beneath his as your beautiful glossy eyes look into his, the size difference between the two of you significant in his head. That was the image that kept him going, the usual him would open his eyes wide and take in the figure beneath him, but today he kept his eyes closed as he places his head on her shoulder, that action might seem affectionate, but this was just an excuse for Johnny to let his imagination run wild without being questioned.

Johnny left after washing up in the bathroom, leaving just after one round isn’t his style at all, usually Johnny could go up to four or five if he enjoyed the first round, Johnny lets out a big sigh as he gets back into the car, he should’ve asked you to dinner instead of wasting time fucking a girl just to have him imagine her being you in order to finish up.

Johnny puts his car on drive as he swiftly leaves the parking lot, hoping a night’s sleep would clear his thoughts of you. But as Johnny’s head hits his soft pillow, he could only ask himself.

‘What are you doing to me, Y/N?’

When you woke up the next day after a long night of reading through your business course books, trying to take in whatever you can before they realise that you don’t really know what you’re reading at all.

You walked out to the kitchen to grab a quick breakfast, but before you got there, you heard voices.

“We can’t send her college, we don’t have any money left,” you heard your father’s voice say.

“But it’s her future, you’re going to put that after the company?” your mother’s voice questions.

“It’s not like she’s smart enough for it anyways. I walk by her room while she studies, and it seems like she’s just staring at an empty void, we can’t place our future in her hands, we’ll starve!” your father argues back.

What your father said had stung your heart, but after a minute or so after taking it in, it wasn’t the first time they had said such hurtful words about you. You dragged your feet back to bed, no longer having the appetite for breakfast.

You went out for a run when you felt your heartbeat quicken up as your mind floods back all the bad memories that were brought forth because of the conversation you overheard between your parents, trying your best to avoid a full on anxiety attack.

Johnny loves weekends, it was the only time he could invest himself into working out instead of the short two hours he does before work, the gym is the place where he built up his high self esteem, and it’s the reason other than his good looks of course, that brings all the girls into his sight.

Yet he didn’t feel like he achieved as much in the gym after last night’s events. Yes, he did give in his full attention in all the exercises. He purposely slept early so he could feel energized today. Yet he didn’t have the desire to show off his body through a one night stand. The party that he said he would go seemed troublesome instead of his usual excitement of knowing he wasn’t going to bed alone. He took out his phone to text his friend that he was going to sit this one out, making up an excuse about not feeling well.

Johnny was laying around watching television as he scrolled through the latest news of the stock market, feeling a sense of pride as he sees his company’s stock rising after he had taken over from his father.

The familiar chime of his grandfather clock in the corner alerts Johnny of the time, 7 chimes means 7pm. Something suddenly clicks in his head, the sign that states the operating hours for the winery in the mall, you were going to go off work in thirty minutes.

Johnny quickly changes into jeans and a black knitted sweater that hugs his physique perfectly, styling his hair a bit before heading out his door, a smile unconsciously gracing his pretty lips.

When Johnny got to the winery section, he was disappointed to see that you had left, only left with a promoter of some beer, he tried his luck with the staff, hoping to know your whereabouts.

“It’s a Saturday today, so I think she’s off to buy a cup of instant noodles for dinner, she’ll either be at the cashier counters now, or eating at the food court.”

Johnny thanks the promoter as he rushes to the counters, he wouldn’t have spotted you if he didn’t recognise the baby blue checkered scrunchie popping up from the crowd that you wore the last time to match your uniform.

Johnny makes his way in between the masses of people, making some people frown in disbelief as his large figure makes them move away. Johnny plucked the cup of instant noodles out of your hand when he got there, making you jump in fright from the sudden intrusion of your wandering thoughts.

“Mr Suh?” you addressed him when you looked up to see who had took away your favourite brand of cup noodles.

“You’re not eating that tonight, come with me,” Johnny said, his voice more cheerful than the previous times you had seen him, but why?

Johnny takes your hands in his, a smirk making way on his face as he feels your small shaky hands in his large ones, he didn’t mind one bit, instead he likes how shy you are around him. Johnny places the cup of instant noodles on some nearby shelf before dragging you out of the grocer.

When he was out, he stopped in his tracks, turning around to look at you, trying to look into your eyes that were darting away from his. He finds it endearing, how you’re always so nervous whenever you’re with him, it was something very much new to him.

Johnny suggests a few high class restaurants for dinner, rattling off big names in hopes to impress you.

“I-i was only planning to have a cup of instant noodles, Mr Suh. Anything’s fine to me,” you said after many times of trying to tell him that he didn’t need to take you out for dinner.

“But I want you to choose. Go ahead, anywhere you want,” Johnny said and waits, curious of what you’ll pick.

You rocked on you heels and bit your lip in thought as you wrecked your head for ideas to get yourself out of this situation, but you couldn’t help but feel the desire to grab dinner with him instead of eating cup noodles at the food court alone again, and the fact that his hand was still held onto yours made you feel a sense of serenity and had a need to stay with him.

“Do you have somewhere which makes you feel like a child again when you eat their food?”

Johnny was taken back by such a request. Was it touching? He hasn’t felt that from anyone else other than his family and a handful of close friends, certainly not a lady other than his mom. Was it different? Yes. But was it bad? Certainly not, instead he feels a tug in his heart. The girls he met only made requests, instead of asking for his opinion, because they know he could afford anything they requested for, but then there’s you, breaking all of those other girls’ standards. You were also the first one who made him speechless, even if it was just a mere seconds.

“I know a place.”

You genuinely didn’t know why you had made such a sentimental suggestion, you just thought that food from a restaurant that reminds him of home would mean that it was affordable, but other than that reason, it was because if you were to have dinner with a man whom you only had met a handful of times, you might as well get to know him better by knowing little things about him.

You weren’t dumb, you remember what he had said about being interested in you, and that having dinner with him was a risk to your own safety as well. Yet you couldn’t stray away from his dashing smile and the way his eyes shine so brightly when he sees you.

You were slowly falling down the rabbit hole.

The interior of his car had several alterations made to suite his liking, it was interesting, compared to the people who just bought cars based on their ranking and wealth just for bragging rights in an afternoon tea. His car even smelt nice, like the Jo Malone cologne you’ve taken a whiff from the sample sticks given out, you wonder if that’s what he usually wears to work.

You couldn’t help but steal peeks at Mr Suh when he drives, the way he’s so concentrated and how he could casually drive with only one hand on the wheel made you swoon slightly in the passenger seat as his rnb music plays on the radio. You shouldn’t be thinking about Mr Suh this way regardless that he’s interested in you, especially given that the two of you have quite a large age gap, as well as the fact that you weren’t allowed to date until after college. If your parents found out about you going out with Mr Suh, they’re going to skin you alive. That thought made you shiver as you suddenly realise that you can’t be seen with a man out in public, if any of your relatives find out, they’ll definitely snitch on you.

You lowered yourself in the seat as you hope that you won’t run into any of your family members when you reach wherever Mr Suh’s taking you. The drive was quiet, only the radio playing softly in the background, making you feel relaxed. Suddenly, Johnny stopped at the traffic lights, taking a long look at you from his seat.

“Why did you suggest eating somewhere which reminds me of my childhood?” Johnny asked, his eyes full of seriousness.

“I-i just wanted to get to know you better, is that not the right way to make friends?” you answered, glad that you’ve pondered this question yourself.

“It’s not the usual way, but I like how you think, Y/N,” Johnny said before he averts his attention back on the road when the lights turned green.

Johnny could sense something was off with you from the way you looked around anxiously from your seat when the both of you reached your destination, the way your brows furrowed and the way your jittery fingers mindlessly move about. It wasn’t a shady part of town, although the two of you were at the slightly older establishments of Seoul.

“Are you alright? Why are you suddenly so nervous?” Johnny asked, worry written on his face.

You looked down on your fingers that were splayed across your lap, twitching the hem of your skirt to try and calm your nerves with no avail, but you had to say something, Mr Suh, as you’ve grown to realise is a man who’s persistent and straight forward.

“I’m worried that we’ll bump into anyone I know. I’m...I’m not supposed to be seeing anyone or going out with people without permission,” you told him, embarrassed at the fact that you were still very much on a leash despite being an adult.

Johnny feels a sense of guilt settling down his stomach as he sees your eyes avoiding him, if he could take a guess, you must feel embarrassed right now, to have a family like that, maybe that’s why you distant yourself from people around you, they must’ve judged you based on your parents’ decisions towards your life.

Johnny reached towards the spare sweater he kept in his gym bag and handed it to you.

“Here, this has a hoodie. I don’t think anyone would be able to recognise you with it on,” Johnny said in a gentle tone, not even a hint of judgement in his voice.

You obliged and slipped the sweater on, as well as the hoodie onto your head. The sight of your small figure drowning in Johnny’s hoodie made him smile, he never thought his clothes would look so cute on you.

“Come on, it’s peak hour and I’m starving,” Johnny said with a smile that seems to always lift your mood.

You nodded mindlessly, eyes gazed into his warm honey filled eyes and soft smile. When Johnny’s trance broke on you, you quickly reached for the car door, only to see Johnny opening it for you.

‘Must be nice to have long legs to walk that fast,’ you thought to yourself.

But when he held his hand out to help you out of the car, that’s when your head went haywire and could only feel your cheeks burning up from the gentlemanly gesture that you hadn’t expected.

You hope your hand wasn’t shaking as obviously as it felt, or that would’ve been very embarrassing, you thank the skies for the chilly weather, or your hands would’ve started getting clammy from what a nervous wreck you’ve become.

The cold was getting to you as the both of you were waiting in line for a table and Johnny could tell from the way you subtly rubbed your neck, hands lingering there to leave some warmth as the wind blows by. Without thinking, he grabs the drawstrings of his hoodie and secures it surrounding your face like a cute chipmunk.

“There, all better.”

He could tell how nervous his bold action made you feel from the way you stuttered out a thank you, the two words almost lost in the wind from how soft it sounded.

Johnny didn’t know why, but the way you’ll get all flustered from his actions warms his chest like a cup of hot coco in the winter snow.

Not long after, the two of you had gotten a tiny table for two. It was cramped, but Johnny didn’t mind, as long as it’s this restaurant, and as a plus, he could see your face from a closer perspective. He was secretly admiring the shape of your cute little nose while he pretended to look through the menu that he knew like the back of his palm.

“What’s your favourite on the menu? I don’t know what to try first, all the pictures look so nice,” you said as your eyes was open wide with interest, taking in the photos of the food on the colourful menu.

Johnny was taken aback on how you had asked for his opinion instead of the demands of carvier and champagne that he used to hear all the time. He must’ve had a weird look on his face, because the silence made you furrow your brows.

“I’m sorry, that must’ve sounded weird and came off as boring, but I really don’t know what to get, so I thought you should suggest me something since you seem to come here often. Sorry, I ramble a lot when I’m nervous, I’m not a very sociable person, so the things I say might come off as odd...

“No, Y/N, listen, it’s fine. I like it when you talk, and it’s cute that you ramble. And no, I don’t find you odd or boring. I was just surprised you’d ask for my opinion, not many people do that unless it’s about business. I’m glad that you value my opinion, even if it’s just dinner,” Johnny explained, he wanted to listen to your voice longer, but the thought of anything making you uncomfortable surprisingly annoyed Johnny.

It was the first time someone had not found you awkward when you started rambling, you didn’t do it on purpose, it was just that the lack of human interaction made you socially anxious about talking to people and when you want to express something. Johnny is truly an eye opener for you.

Johnny might have ordered a little bit too much for the two of you, but he could always take away and leave it for Mark when he drops by tomorrow. Although Johnny had came here many times, mostly on his own or with Mark, he couldn’t deny the satisfaction and happiness that filled his heart as you tried all the dishes with the most wholesome expressions on your face.

You weren’t Johnny’s workers or business partners, you didn’t need to appease him and give him positive reactions, because with you, he wasn’t Neo Enterprise’s CEO, he was just Johnny and it doesn’t bother him one bit.

The two of you talked about the most random things, from Johnny’s business partners Taeyong and Doyoung fighting in his office, to the time you pranked your co worker by mixing some heavy alcohol into his coffee.

“He couldn’t tell?” Johnny asked, curious because he was a coffee addict himself.

“He thought it was just part of the flavour, it was one of those seasonal starbucks drinks that he bought,” you explained.

Johnny paid for dinner before you could protest and refused to take your money when you had offered to pay him back your share.

You trudged beside Johnny silently when he said that he was going to take you home, you haven’t had such a nice time since forever, and you didn’t want this beautiful moment to come to an end.

You had a sad smile on your face as you watched Johnny drive, it was a peaceful scenery to take in, his face calm as he steered comfortably, the radio once again playing softly in the background.

When you had reached your house, you didn’t really know how to react, other than looking at him silently as he does the same as well.

“Thank you for tonight Johnny, I haven’t had this much fun in a long time,” you said genuinely, grateful that someone as interesting as Johnny would even bother giving you the time of the day.

You figured that this was the polite thing to say, but you inwardly cursed at yourself for sounding like a robot. You shouldn’t be reacting this way, especially due to the fact that he’s so much more older than you are, maybe not too old, 5 to 6 years maybe? Is that considered a big age gap?

“I had a great time with you too, Y/N. Thank you for having dinner with me,” Johnny said, usually he spoke this sentence like a little white lie to whoever he had to meet for business sake, but to you? It was nothing but the truth.

Johnny continued holding his stare even after what he said, the sincerity in his eyes evident as a soft smile graces his lips.

“You should head up now, Y/N. It’s already 9 p.m., if you stay any longer they’ll be suspicious,” Johnny reminded you.

“Yeah, okay,” you replied, immediately feeling down once more.

Even after you agreed to go up, your legs weren’t willing to move, you were going to miss him, so you asked him one last question before you willed yourself to open the car door, you were going to sound desperate, but in that moment, you didn’t have a care in the world.

“Will I ever see you again?”

Happiness fills your heart as you heard the question that comes after.

“Are you working tomorrow?”

#nct smut #nct fluff #nct 127 #johnny suh #johnny smut #nct #nct 2020 #nct dream #wayv #johnny seo

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flowerfan2 · 4 years ago

Text

We’re getting close to the end, folks! Chapter 17 of 20 is up. This one features some cuddles/comfort, a trip to NYC, a sparkling holiday party, and a romantic dance. Enjoy!

David x Patrick, A03, 5k this chapter.

Chapter 17

David is sitting outside on the lanai, drinking his coffee and ignoring Alexis’ texts. He doesn’t know how to answer her question. He’s not sure why she thinks that texting him about the same thing over and over will make any difference, when he clearly told her, three days ago, to stop bothering him about it.

The problem is that he’s running out of time to make a decision, although in a way that’s a decision in itself. He knows that the adult thing to do is to talk to Patrick about it, but if a little more time goes by, he won’t have to.

It’s only a few days away from one of his family’s most honored traditions, their annual holiday party, which has now become the Rose Motel Group holiday party. This year, it’s at a trendy club in New York City, and it promises to be even more spectacular than ever. David is expected to attend, whether he’s working remotely in Florida or not.

Of course, his parents would understand if he didn’t come… but he’ll pay the price, he knows it. His father will have that sad look of disappointment, and his mother will be hurt, but hide it under fancy words and an extra ridiculous outfit. And he really can’t stand the thought of upsetting Alexis.

It’s not only guilt, either. David misses his family. For better or worse, they have continued to be close since their days in Schitt’s Creek, and it’s not all due to concern about David’s mental health. David genuinely enjoys their company, most of the time, and he’s come to rely on them. Especially Alexis.

David had managed to put the holiday party completely out of his mind until Alexis started texting him about it. Apparently his father finally caught on to the fact that he hadn’t committed, and put her on the case. It’s been easy not to think about it, or anything to do with his old, sad, non-Patrick life, here in sunny Florida where the Christmas decorations look wildly out of place on the palm trees. Even Patrick’s thoughtful gift of a menorah hadn’t overcome David’s willful not-thinking-about the holidays, annual festivities included.

He’s so happy here, with Patrick and no one else, in their bubble of suburban domesticity. They pretty much do whatever they want, no one stopping in to put demands on them, no one asking questions. Sure, they spend some time working during the day, but they’re never more than a few feet apart, unless one of them leaves the house to run a quick errand. It’s not very realistic, and it might well have backfired, but so far it hasn’t.

Frankly David finds it comforting that Patrick is here, safe from all the demons that have been troubling him. Although now he has to rewrite that story a bit, seeing as Marcy’s heath scare happened here in Florida. But at least Patrick is far away from the site of his employment melt-down and his ill-fated night on the town with his cousin, cocooned in this little bubble where David can keep a close eye on him.

He worries about Patrick. Over the past few weeks the Patrick he used to know is making his appearance more and more, but he’s still not the same. Almost worse than the quiet sadness he sees in his eyes when he thinks David isn’t looking is the tentative surprise he shows when something goes right.

It’s ironic, David thinks, that now, more than three years after their break-up, Patrick is the more damaged one. It’s not what he ever imagined, when he thought about their future. In the hazy mist of his imagination, Patrick was always and forever steady, guiding David through the stormy waters of his turbulent life. (David acknowledges that his imagination is prone to purple prose.) But life didn’t turn out that way, and he can only thank the universe that fate and shitty weather in Milwaukee brought them together again.

David finishes his coffee and goes into the house, toeing off his shoes just inside the door. He makes a cup of deliciously scented jasmine tea for Patrick, and heads back into the bedroom.

Patrick is still in bed, curled up in a ball with the duvet almost covering his face. He hadn’t wanted to get up when the alarm went off, muttering to David that he didn’t have to do any work until the afternoon, and burrowing back down into the blankets.

David puts the tea down on the nightstand and slides under the covers, spooning up against Patrick’s back. He moves slowly, trying to gauge whether his presence is welcome or not. He knows Patrick isn’t actually asleep – his eyes flickered open when David entered the room. The fact that he’s still in bed despite this isn’t a tremendously good sign, but David knows all too well how sometimes just getting out of bed can seem overwhelming.

To an outsider, he thinks that Patrick probably seems fine. He is taking care of himself, doing what needs to be done in the house, and even starting a new job. He gives the impression to others that he is completely in control, friendly and capable – and David thinks that more and more, it’s not a façade. But David sees these moments, too, when it’s all just too much.

He curls his hand around Patrick’s arm, gently. “Hey,” he whispers. “I brought you some tea, if you want it.”

No reaction.

“Or you can just nap for a while.”

Patrick stirs, inching back towards David.

“Okay if I nap too?” David asks.

Patrick takes David’s hand and pulls it to his own chest, tucking his arm around David’s. David can feel Patrick’s heartbeat against his palm.

“Mmm.” David presses a kiss to the back of Patrick’s neck. “Sweet dreams, baby.” David closes his eyes and breathes in the familiar smell of Patrick’s skin. There are a lot worse things to do than cuddle his boyfriend through a difficult morning. David can handle this. He’s starting to think there’s quite a lot he can handle, when it comes to Patrick.

He knows Patrick was up late last night, going down rabbit holes on the web. At some point David had woken up and peered at the screen of Patrick’s laptop, so he knows he was reading about depression. He hopes it helped. The internet can be a scary place; he’d probably be better off talking to someone. David would talk to him about it, if he let him, but ever since their first few conversations Patrick hasn’t wanted to discuss it.

David has almost fallen asleep when Patrick turns over and squints his eyes open.

“You don’t have to stay here with me,” he says, blinking at David.

The sentence seems to carry more weight than he intended, and David shakes his head and puts his arm around Patrick, pulling him close. “I’m not going anywhere.” David shifts on to his back, and Patrick tucks himself against David’s chest.

“You have work.” It’s a half-hearted protest at best, mumbled against David’s sweater.

“I already told Rory to move my meetings to the afternoon. I’m fine.” David presses a kiss to Patrick’s head. “I’m exactly where I want to be. It’s a perfect day for sleeping in.”

Patrick is quiet, while David rubs his back and shuffles closer until they are entwined just right, legs and knees and arms all pressed together.

After a few minutes David feels Patrick’s breath slow, and his hold on David relaxes. He’s about to drift off himself, when Patrick jerks himself awake again.

“You okay, honey?”

Patrick nods, his chin digging into David. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s all right.” David strokes Patrick’s shoulder and back, making lazy circles, hoping it will help.

“Thank you,” Patrick whispers, his hand flat against David’s stomach. It’s the last thing David hears before he falls asleep.

When David wakes up, Patrick is gone, but the shower is running so there’s not much of a question as to where he went. David drags himself upright and checks his phone. Rory has indeed moved his meetings, one to this afternoon, one to tomorrow, and one he had taken care of all by himself. Maybe there won’t be coal in his Christmas stocking after all.

David is in the kitchen sniffing various take-out containers to figure out if he can stand eating any of them for lunch, when Patrick shows up. He’s wide awake and smells delightfully like David’s favorite body wash, so naturally David has to kiss him before anything else. When they separate, Patrick is smiling sweetly at him, and David feels his whole body light up. If there’s something better than Patrick’s fond attention, he has yet to discover it.

Patrick insists on making lunch, and they pull together a salad with some bagged lettuce, leftover grilled chicken and an overlooked cucumber.

“We have got to get something better for dinner,” David says, as they lean against the kitchen island and eat their food.

“There’s an Italian place in a new shopping center that I haven’t tried yet, but it looks good.” Patrick sends David the link to the restaurant’s menu, and David is checking out their desserts (they have cannoli, which is a definite mark in their favor), when Patrick’s phone chirps several times in a row.

“David?”

“Hm?”

“Why does Alexis want my measurements?”

David freezes, his good mood draining out of him. “What?”

“Alexis wants to know my-”

David yanks the phone out of his hand. “Let me see.” He scans the messages. The party isn’t directly mentioned, but there’s no getting out of it now. He’s going to kill Alexis for pulling this shit and going around him. “I can explain.”

“Okay, go ahead.” Patrick takes a bite of his salad, then looks up at David. “What’s going on?”

Time to bite the bullet. “This Saturday night is the RMG holiday party.”

“Okay…”

“And my parents want me to come.”

Patrick looks… disappointed. “Oh.”

David realizes his mistake instantly. “Us – they want us to come. But – you don’t have to. I didn’t think you’d want to.”

“Do you want me to?”

David stands up from his chair and paces, to the patio and back, wishing it wasn’t raining so he could go outside and pace there too.

“David? Is that a hard question?” Patrick is standing now, too, and there’s a tinge of anger in his tone.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to come,” David says, coming towards him and gripping his arms. “I don’t want to rock the boat. We’re good here. There’s no reason to risk it.”

“To risk what?” Now Patrick just sounds confused.

“Anything.” David tilts his head back. “I know I sound crazy, that’s why I didn’t bring this up.”

Patrick pulls them towards the couch, and they sit down. David leans his head in his hands.

“David. Tell me what’s really going on.”

He sighs. “What if you don’t like it?”

“The party?”

David looks up and rolls his eyes at him. “No, not the party. What if you’re mad, about why I didn’t say anything?”

“I don’t mean to dismiss your concerns, David, but you might be overthinking things. Why don’t you just spit it out?”

“Fine.” David straightens his shoulders and looks at Patrick. “I like being here with you. I like the us we have. I don’t want anything to mess that up.”

“Agreed, one hundred percent,” Patrick says, winding his fingers through David’s. “Go on.”

“I don’t want to go to New York without you, and have people… talk at me about it. Put thoughts in my head, about how it might not work. And I don’t want you to come and have the same thing happen.”

“So, you’re afraid that if we leave here, and see anyone else, they’ll be able to convince us that what we have isn’t going to last?”

“All right, all right, I know that’s silly.” David squeezes his eyes shut. “Also I don’t want you to get upset.”

There’s a pause, and when Patrick speaks, his voice is quiet, his slightly teasing tone gone. “Upset about what?”

David shrugs, his eyes still closed. “Things that might… upset you. Strangers. The city. A crowded club.” He can feel Patrick go still next to him. “I don’t know if that’s why we keep to ourselves down here. But if that was any part of it, if this is your safe space, I don’t want you to feel you have to leave. Not for something as dumb as a holiday party.”

Patrick breathes in and out, audibly, and David opens his eyes. Patrick’s looking down at where their hands are entwined, studying them, his lips pressed tightly together. David reaches over and cups Patrick’s head with his hand, bringing them closer. “I hope that was okay to say,” David says softly.

Patrick nods. “Yeah,” he says, “yeah. That was okay to say.” He looks at David, and his eyes are wet. “You’re right. This is my safe space, here, with you.”

David feels his chest clench, and he nods back. “I’m glad.”

Patrick inhales deeply, and blinks away a tear. “But I don’t think your family’s holiday party is necessarily a dumb reason to leave.”

“No?”

“No. I think it might be good for us. Especially since Alexis is apparently finding me a really nice suit.”

*****

It sounds easy – Patrick says sure, they should go to the party. But there are a dozen decisions to make after that, and by the next night, David is really wishing he had found a way to just say no.

When to leave is easy enough – there’s no way he wants Patrick to have to take Friday off, not with a brand-new job, so they’ll fly into LaGuardia on Saturday morning. But will they come back on Sunday – Christmas Eve? Or spend that night with his family and come back on Christmas itself? Spend yet another night to avoid traveling on Christmas? And how is it fair to Patrick’s parents, to make this special trip to be with David’s family, and not see them?

Add to that figuring out where they’ll stay (one night on Alexis’ pull-out couch is barely tolerable, but more than that, forget it), what social events David will agree to while there, and who is going to pay for the whole charade, and it’s a giant mess.

“Ok, I’ve had enough,” David says, when their dinner of take-out sushi has been completely dominated by debating the pros and cons of the various options, each of them trying to anticipate what the other wants and as far as David can tell, defeating the point of the entire conversation. “Let’s play rock, paper, scissors.”

“What?”

“I can’t stand it anymore. Whoever wins, chooses.”

“That won’t solve it.”

Patrick’s right, it still doesn’t mean whoever wins will actually pick something reasonable, and not just what they think the other person wants.

“But you might be on to something,” Patrick continues, a thoughtful look on his face.

“Please, tell me, and put an end to this so we can get on with our lives.” And pack, David thinks.

“On the count of three, put out a finger for how many nights you want to stay in New York. No more debate, no more thinking about it.”

“Each of us puts out a finger for how long who wants to stay?”

Patrick glares at him. “Don’t make this harder than it is. The conversation is over. Ready?”

David nods. Whatever happens, at least then they can move on.

“One, two-”

“Wait, do we put out a finger on three, or are you going to say one, two, three, go?”

Patrick smacks David on the arm.

“Ow!”

“I’m going to say one, two, three, go.” There’s a twinkle in Patrick’s eyes when they meet David’s. “Ready? One, two, three, go!”

Both of them put out one finger.

“Oh, thank god,” David says, sagging forward, his forehead against Patrick’s.

“Why didn’t you just say that?”

“Can we please not talk about this anymore?” David didn’t want to stay in New York any longer than necessary; he didn’t want to have any other days to worry about what his parents might want him to do versus what Patrick might want to do, he didn’t want to have to manage any of it any longer than he had to. But he also didn’t want Patrick to feel like he was cutting David’s time with his family short, or that David was giving something up for him. Because right now, all David really wants is whatever is best for Patrick, and what’s best for him and Patrick together. And his gut is telling him that getting back to Florida on Sunday, and then spending Monday (even though it’s Christmas? Because it’s Christmas?) together, alone, with no work and no family for a whole day, is what’s best for them both.

Patrick laughs. “Sure. And you know what’s great about our decision?”

“That it’s done?”

“Yes, and now we can just stay at Alexis’ place, since it will only be one night.”

“Thank god for small mercies.”

*****

They wake up at a painfully early hour Saturday morning and drag themselves to the airport, which is packed with Christmas travelers. But everything goes smoothly, and by noon they’re in an Uber on their way to Alexis’ place. When she opens the door she ignores David completely and envelops Patrick in a hug that goes on for so long, Patrick signals to David for help. It’s unbearably sweet, and David is suddenly, overwhelmingly happy that they decided to come to New York.

Alexis gives Patrick a tour of her tiny apartment, and Patrick appropriately oohs and ahs over everything. Alexis is especially proud of the little corner of her room that serves as an office, with its mood boards and tastefully decorated shelves.

“So this is where the magic happens,” Patrick says, and Alexis beams.

“Yes, Patrick!” She sits down at her computer and pulls up a file to show him her latest spreadsheet achievement, when David sees a glossy looking envelope on her counter with Patrick’s name on it.

“What’s this?” He picks it up, admiring the heavy paper, when he recognizes the ice blue logo. “Alexis, why do you have-”

She plucks it out of his hand and does a little shimmy. “It’s not for you, David.” With a flourish, she hands it to Patrick.

Patrick exchanges a “what can you do” glance with David, and opens the envelope. David crowds close, too excited to wait.

“It’s from your mom,” Patrick says.

“It’s a lil’ couples massage,” Alexis says, practically bouncing on her toes. “She specifically said to tell you that there’s nothing wrong with treating yourself.” Alexis points with an impeccably polished nail to where it says that on the card, and David rolls his eyes, remembering the day Patrick reassured his mother that she wasn’t responsible for the dead guy in Room 4. He knew she was being purposefully obtuse about the scone.

“Do we even have time for this massage thing?” Patrick asks. “It’s for today.”

“Um, yes, we have time. We absolutely have time. This is one of the most exclusive spas in the city.” David grabs Patrick’s coat off the couch; his own leather jacket is barely warm enough for New York in December, but at least it’s appropriate, unlike Patrick’s down monstrosity. “Come on, let’s go.”

“I’m coming with you,” Alexis says, linking her arm through Patrick’s. “Maybe we can make it a trio.”

“Not unless you are ready to walk out this door in thirty seconds.”

“Ugh, David.”

Luckily Alexis takes only fifteen minutes to get ready to go, and they’re on their way. Despite the fact that David has never heard of a trio massage (and he shudders to think of how expensive that might be), he doesn’t dissuade her from coming along. He’s got barely twenty-four hours to hang out with her, and he’s going to soak up every one of them.

In the end Alexis drops them at the spa to do some shopping of her own, while David and Patrick are pampered to within an inch of their lives. During the initial consultation with the massage therapists, they are fed chocolate covered strawberries and cucumber water. They agree on the massage oils, and the music, and then are led to a dim room which smells delightfully like eucalyptus and jasmine. David tries to keep his eyes open so he can watch Patrick melting into jelly on the table next to him. It’s without a doubt the best massage David has ever experienced. He can practically feel the oxytocin swirling in the air between them.

Afterwards they are helped into fluffy white robes, and then collapse together onto a wide, padded lounger. “That was really nice,” Patrick says.

“Nice?” David asks. “Just nice?”

Patrick snuggles into David’s shoulder. “Mmm. I can’t think of words right now. Full review later.”

David noses at Patrick’s hair. “Okay.”

“Love you,” Patrick says muzzily.

“Love you too.”

They dose together, boneless and content, until a soft chime wakes them. Reluctantly they find their way to the changing rooms, and then out into reality.

Alexis is buzzing with excitement and wants to immediately go back to her place to get dressed, but David insists that they find something to eat first. It’s still hours away from when dinner will be served tonight, and as lovely as the chocolate covered strawberries were, he needs some real food or things will get ugly.

Luckily, they spot one of his favorite places to get a quick snack (it’s a chain with pretentious communal tables, but David has spent many hours here and he loves it anyway), so they load up on quiche and avocado tartine and mochas before returning to Alexis’ apartment.

When they arrive it’s fashion show time. Because Alexis loves dressing up, she had agreed ages ago to let David keep some clothes in her closet – just a few choice outfits for when they were in New York together and felt like going out. But David can feel Patrick hovering next to him, all the afternoon’s relaxing threatening to disappear, so he suggests they look at his options first.

Alexis beams and starts chattering about what she got for Patrick, and David leans in close, a hand on the small of his back. “You don’t have to wear any of that if you don’t want to,” he whispers, as Alexis pulls out a silver shirt with a shiny gleam. “You can wear what you brought. Or what you’ve got on right now.” David gives Patrick’s jeans-clad ass a little slap, and Patrick snorts out a laugh.

“What? You don’t like this one?” Alexis asks. “You’re right, it’s too flashy. How about this?” She reaches airily into the closet, and David can tell by the way she’s standing, like she’s posing for a photo, that she’s presenting her top choice. It’s a dark navy blue suit (Tom Ford? How did she get a Tom Ford suit for Patrick?) with a deep, rich purple shirt. She holds it up to Patrick, and he nods carefully, then looks over to David for approval.

David pets it, and looks inside for a label. The suit isn’t a Tom Ford, although it looks damn good. And now that he examines the jacket more closely, he can see it has its own distinctive style. “Where did you get this, Alexis? And who made it?”

Alexis preens. “One of my friends has a connection with an up and coming designer,” she says. “She’ll be at the party tonight. I’ll introduce you.”

“And we don’t have to pay for this, right?” David asks. The cut is classically elegant, and he thinks it’s going to fit Patrick like a glove.

“Nope,” she says, popping the ‘p’. “She’s just happy to have someone wearing her clothes.”

“I’ll try it on,” Patrick says, and Alexis shows him to the bathroom. When he comes back out, David can’t help but go to him, running his hands up and down his shoulders and arms.

“You like it?” Patrick asks.

“I like you,” David says, and presses a quick kiss to Patrick’s lips. “And you look amazing in this suit.” He unbuttons another button of the shirt, liking the way the open neck shows just a little bit of Patrick’s skin.

“It doesn’t need a tie?” Patrick asks.

“No, you’re perfect just like this.”

“Yay!” Alexis cheers, coming over and booping Patrick on the nose. “I knew this was going to work!”

David decides on his black and white Armani short jacket, with a sharp collared white shirt underneath and slim black ankle-length trousers. He likes the contrast with Patrick’s rich colored but still traditionally styled suit. Alexis twirls for them in her dress, a silky blush colored gown that makes her look like a 50’s movie star. They’re finally ready, and they pile into a waiting Uber and head uptown.

The back room of the club is already crowded, and David can’t help but feel a little swell of pride at how RMG has grown. Stevie waves to them from where she’s standing across the room with Ruth, but David doesn’t have a chance to get over to her before his parents descend. There are hugs all around, and when the wave of familial affection finally recedes, David can’t help but notice that Patrick looks a little overwhelmed.

He weaves his arm through Patrick’s and leads them away, finding an alcove where they can catch their breath.

“You okay?” he asks, a palm to Patrick’s chest. He can feel his heart beating a mile a minute. This is exactly what he was worried about, this is too much for Patrick, too many people. “We can leave anytime, we made our appearance, I’ll call a car-”

“No, David, I’m fine,” Patrick says, taking David’s hand. “Really.”

David searches his face. “Are you sure? Because you seem a little…”

“David,” Patrick says firmly. “I’m fine.” He slides his hands around David’s waist, under his jacket, and David can feel the warmth of his fingers pressing against him through the thin fabric of his shirt. David slings his arms around Patrick and leans his head against his shoulders. “Your parents are very enthusiastic, but it’s great to see them,” Patrick says. “Everything’s okay.”

“You’re fine,” David repeats, willing himself to believe it. Patrick really is. Nothing’s wrong.

“Could it be, maybe, you’re a little nervous too?” Patrick says, his voice gentle.

David wants to deny it, but realizes instantly that Patrick is right. He feels a little fizzy, a little unsteady. “Maybe.” Patrick isn’t the only one who has been enjoying their little Florida bubble.

Patrick hugs him closer, and then steps back, inclining his head out towards the party. “Come on. Alexis said there’d be crab puffs.”

“Crab cakes,” David corrects.

“Crab cakes, then. And baked brie.”

“I still don’t see any coherency in the hors d’oeuvre selection,” David gripes, back on solid ground.

“But you’re going to eat all of them anyway.”

“I am definitely going to eat all of them anyway.”

They’re grazing by the cheese platters when David sees a few familiar faces coming towards him. This is going to be fun, he thinks, a smile tugging at his cheek.

“David, hi!”

“Vanessa, you look radiant.” She does, her dark skin set off by a metallic pantsuit and glimmers of gold around her eyes.

“Most beautiful woman in the room,” rumbles her companion, a huge man with a barrel chest who towers over both David and Patrick.

“Patrick, meet Vanessa, my favorite gallery employee from back in the day, and her husband Rory, my current favorite employee.”

Rory laughs, his deep voice probably setting off small earthquakes somewhere. “I’m not your employee, Rose.” He holds out his hand to Patrick. “Nice to meet you.”

Patrick turns to David, and the reveal was definitely worth it. “This is your assistant Rory? The one you bother all day long about your schedule? The one you sent to pick out your clothes?”

“Mmm-hmm.” David knows Patrick thought “Rory” was some college kid, he just knows it. Instead he’s a thirty-five year old sculptor who wanted a day job for a steady paycheck.

“What, you don’t think I can be trusted with David’s clothes?” Rory asks. “I admit, I was surprised, too. But I guess he had a good reason to ask me to go through all of his drawers.”

“Drawers? My knits aren’t in drawers, where did you-” David sees the look on Vanessa’s face, and abruptly changes course. “You made Vanessa do it, didn’t you.”

Vanessa laughs, and tucks her arm through her husband’s. “I’m sorry, David, but come on – you send Rory an emergency text telling him to Fed Ex you extremely specific selections from your warm weather clothing, and you think I’m not going to get involved? I’ve known you for years and you never let me into your closet before. It was an experience I was not going to pass up.”

Patrick is giggling into his glass of seltzer, and David has had quite enough of this. “Fine. Tease me if you want. But I think we can all agree it was a successful mission.” He hooks his chin over Patrick’s shoulder, his arm snug around him.

“From the way you two look together, I’d say so,” Vanessa says.

“Here here.” Rory raises his glass, and they all follow suit. “To David and Patrick.”

“Oh my god, enough with that,” David says, and buries his burning face in Patrick’s neck.

Rory and Vanessa excuse themselves, but David has hardly had a chance to visit the buffet again when Patrick tugs at his arm.

“What?” he says, looking up from a particularly delicious egg roll.

“Come dance with me,” Patrick says, his eyes wide and warm, and David drops his plate on a table and follows him.

“What brought this on?” David asks, as he loops his arms over Patrick’s shoulders and starts to move in time to the music.

Patrick shrugs a little and pulls David closer. “My parents always dance to this song,” he says into David’s ear.

David feels his chest expand, and he presses a kiss to Patrick’s cheek. “It’s a nice song.”

Moon river, wider than a mile I'm crossing you in style some day

Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker Wherever you're goin', I'm goin' your way

David listens for a moment to the bittersweet melody. “Is it a love song?” he finally asks. It’s not as if he’s ever given Moon River much thought before.

Patrick slides his fingers up the back of David’s neck, into his hair. “I think it’s love for the journey, rather than a destination.”

Two drifters, off to see the world

There’s such a lot of world to see

David glances around, and now his parents are dancing too, along with a handful of other couples. He nuzzles against Patrick. “Not to quote my sister or anything, but… I like this journey for us.”

Patrick turns his head and finds David’s lips, kissing him sweetly. “Me too, David. Me too.”

#david x patrick #David Rose #Patrick Brewer #Schitt's Creek fic #Schitt's Creek #Alexis Rose

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soyouareandrewdobson · 4 years ago

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Dobbear! SYAC: The Master Review 6

I am so going to ruin someone’s childhood with that now, but...

guys, it had to be done!

Dashing and daring…

Courageous and caring!

Faithful and friendly…

With stories to share!

Doesn’t at all apply to this one artist…

Lesbian obsessed and each nerddom’s nightmare!

Dobby BEAR!

Whinning here and there and everywhere!

Making claims that are beyond compare…

This is our Dobby-Bear!

Yeah, if you can’t guess, around now is the time I am going to put down the kids gloves and will really dig into why SYAC is garbage. And a huge factor into this, is in part Dobson’s self insert past 2012.

The existence of the blue bear as Dobson officially calls it (or Dobbear as most people call it) is in my opinion rather baffling already in terms of design choices.

I get e.g. that Dobson wanted to distance himself of his past humanoid self inserts as much as possible. But why of all things a bear?

The fact I am focused on that may sound weird, but hear me out for a bit. For starters, I know that Dobson likes western animation. And seeing how western animation has for the longest time been dominated by anthropomorphic animals, I can understand why he would redesign himself as a funny cartoon animal.

But there are at least three things that feel weird about it. First, Dobson had made it clear in the past that he hates furries. So him actually redesigning himself as an anthropomorphic animal is kinda weird

In fact, Dobson himself acknowledges that realization in one of his strips shortly after his fursona took over.

Second, of all the animals to choose from, why a bear? This question is in so far valid, as that bears are not necessarily one of the first to go animals, furries or western animators tend to go for when designing an anthro. And before any furries or anthro enthusiasts are calling me a hater, let me make one thing clear: I like anthropomorphic cartoon and comic characters too, and am okay with most furries. As long as you don’t have a diaper fetish, are a pedophile or hurt actual animals, you can do and enjoy whatever you like.

But I am also aware enough of furry culture to know, that bear based anthros are most of the time hyper sexualized and muscular, connecting them to how the term “bear” is used in real life gay culture. Which is okay, I think it is just a funny coincidence that Dobson choose an animal, that most furries associate with a life style that Dobson is deeply afraid of, even if he claims to be an LGBT ally.

And as stated earlier, bears are not necessarily the go to animals for animators.

Don’t get me wrong, we all know some cartoon bears like Winnie the Pooh, Yogi Bear, Poh and the main cast of TaleSpin (btw, Kit Cloudkicker fan for life). But lets be honest here; ducks, mice, rabbits, canines, felines, equines and any other “easily to domesticate” animal in the real world tends to make better for easily recognizable cartoon characters than something that can reach a size of 3 meters tops and weigh over 500 pounds.

Truth be told, the pool of cartoon bears is so small, these are the first two things that came to my mind when thinking what may have inspired the Dobbear

And wouldn’t you know? According to Dobson, the Carebears were supposedly the main inspiration for his design.

Unfortunately, this is also more or less the most I could find of Dobson addressing what went into the creation of the character.

Which kinda brings me also to the third issue as why I think the bear redesign is weird; It is too sudden.

One day Dobson draws himself as a shaved 20 something, the next day he is a fedora wearing Carebear clone, likely created and then rejected by Care Bear villain No Heart, as part of a plot to create a mole when conquering Care-A-Lot.

… and now I need to reevaluate my choices in life, that I was able to make such an elaborate Carebear joke.

It is just a change of design that in my opinion should have been addressed either outside of the comic or in context of it. Which it kinda is, but isn’t.

See, this is the first strip with the blue bear

And then only 13 strips or so later in something called “Continuity” is Dobson more or less willing to address the change…

And he does so in a passive aggressive manner, with Persistent Pam as a stand in for those asking him what is going on, while Dobson just dismissively continues working.

On one hand, you can argue that this is just the joke. The change happened, don’t bother with it, just enjoy what is still to come. And you know, I don’t want to make a rope out of everything Dobson ever posted, including that comic.

But then you have also to account for the fact, that Dobson would eventually associate himself with the blue bear so much, he made him his avatar and icon for his comics and online accounts. In fact, that one comic I posted WAY BACK in the first Master post of Dobson reminiscing how he started SYAC?

For reasons that are a bit confusing to me, he redrew himself (badly I have to add) as the blue bear in one of his earliest strips ever. The one where he belittles the manga fangirl for drawing manga. So I have to ask, what is going on here? Has Dobson increasingly decided to reset his past? Does he want to destroy any traces of his “human” self in his work to create the illusion to any new readers, that he never was as controversial of a person as he was and that there never was a need for him to reimagine and reinvent himself? Is this 1984? And how many of you realize that this paragraph is just me going conspiracy nuts for the sake of entertainment?

But still, it is kinda weird that he went to the bother of redrawing his human self in that one background sketch as a bear. Plus, I honestly think Dobson never even attempting to “explain” the change in the pages of his comics is a wasted opportunity for some decent jokes. Like every time Dobson tries to explain why he is a bear now, something interrupts him or we only get fragments of a story that if we put them together would be as ridiculous as the entirety of “Trapped in the Closet”.

I mean, the dumbest joke idea I have in mind is that Dobson went to build a bear to get a present for a family member. Instead he was build into a bear and later on successfully sued the company, which explains why he can afford to live despite not really working on comics anymore but lecture people badly about the evils of nerd culture.

So yeah, three major things about the design choice that more or less confuse me.

But here is the thing: Confusion is nothing compared to feeling genuine disdain for the design at hand. And compared to Dobson’s earlier human designs, Dobbear is just utterly unlikable.

A lot of that boils down to the following three facts:

1. From a certain point in time on (which I will cover in more detail later on) Dobson uses his bearsona primarily as a soapboxing mouth piece to talk about “politics” in nerd culture. Or at least what Dobson perceives as politics, coming off like a condescending jackass who believes among other things that white people are inherently incapable to identify with black people…

… or that comic book shops have radicalized nerd culture, essentially calling them terror cells.

Which btw are so inherently offensive to me, I promise I will cover these two separately. One even sooner than the other.

2. If Dobbear is not talking about politics, he will tend to be a smug asshole to other people (most of the time strawmen) or their interests in one way or another. Being e.g. used by Dobson to express his disdain for criticism…

or to mock legit criticism he had gotten by exaggerating things.

All while also tending to make his critics look like inherent assholes.

These two facts, combined with Dobson’s average erratic behavior online on platforms such as dA, twitter and tumblr over the years, pretty much assured such a close association between the two, that a separation between artist and creation was not possible anymore, condemning them.

And for the record; Dobson was always a bit of a whinner who liked to act as if he was a better nerd than the average comic book fan. Otherwise, we would have not e.g. gotten Danny and Spot out of it.

But as the years went by in the last decade, Dobson turned from someone in his mid 20s, desperate to be seen as a “quirky” and likable internet persona (like certain internet reviewers), into a virtue signaling, lesbian obsessed asshole who likely regrets his life choices.

… Like certain internet reviewers.

But seriously, Dobson turned into someone who would flip the lid at something as ridiculous as Cheeto flavored chicken fries…

While also being just the worst type of condescending nerd….

All while losing his mind about politics. Especially after Donald Trump became president

And just as Dobson became a radicalized left winged jackass who saw politics in everything he consumed, so did by default Dobbear, because Dobbear was not a character with his own personality, but a mouth piece.

Something I am about to get into detail in the near future. But till then, I want to cover in the next post the following third and final fact about Dobbear that really makes him unlikable to me: The fact he can’t be happy.

#syac #Andrew Dobson #dobbear #tom preston #so...you are a cartoonist #review #master review #webcomic #comics

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langernameohnebedeutung · 4 years ago

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I’m probably parrotting to the wrong choir here, but at least part of the truth about liking villains vs. condemning villains is...I don’t consume villain content in order to find healthy coping strategies and genuine life advice. I don’t look for healthy coping strategies in sci-fi films and fantasy books or on ao3 in the first place, because 99% of all that input is not produced by people that a) intent or b) are qualified to give meaningful life advice.

Sometimes things we read or watch can be detrimental to our mental health or can make us happier or mean a lot to us. And that is also why it is important to tag, warn, and summarise content: So that people can avoid things that are bad for them and find things that comfort them. But what popular fiction never is, is a clear, intentional, professional, and universal guide.

We already talked about how even the most horrible people will read novels where they resemble the bad guys and identify with the good guys instead rather than reflecting their own behaviour. That is, because narratives need stakes. The hero needs to be David, not Goliath. And we too see ourselves as Goliath, in our lives. Because there are always things that are bigger than us. And because we know that David will win.

But sometimes...sometimes it is quite nice to feel like the giant. Especially when we’re used to feeling small.

Sure “I like this villain because villains get to do things we want to but can’t” might seem like a tiny brained answer, but if you expand a little, there is truth to it: Sometimes I want to see someone go bloody ape-shit in response to trauma, injustice, being underestimated or forgotten. Sometimes I want to see someone just care about themselves and burn the whole place down and look fabulous doing it, because I know, that in real-life, very often it is sympathy and empathy holding me back for even insisting on minor and very rational things, simply because I don’t want to be a burden on others and because I prioritise other people very highly. There is catharsis in that; in seeing someone getting it out of their system in the most violent way possible just like there is catharsis in going for a run or punching the hell out of a punching bag when you’re frustrated even though you would never chase down and beat up a person.

Because even when see characters standing up for themselves - think of the infamous internet rage over Captain Marvel stealing that bike from the dude that harassed her – their actions are usually centred around punishing the culprit, not the emotions of the party that was wronged. But people got angry. Not because she stole a car, or because she stole it from a men even – but because her acting in response to sexual harassment connected the scene with deep roots of social context and political opinions and expectations.

And, despite hundreds, maybe thousands of films in existence where a white male protagonist steals a car or bike or anything else to save the day, she is read as a villain here simply for doing the rational thing. Much less could she have killed him and burnt down his house, because she is a hero and it doesn’t serve the plot and that would not be the thing a hero does.

A villain burning the whole joint down because someone looked at them funny is acting selfishly, self-centred. But what are you going to do, call them a villain? Duh. Complain about how what they’re doing is wrong? Well, yes.

The lane of their actions is not narrowed by the actions of the culprit on the one side (heroes have to react appropriately and proportionally) and the expectations of the good-guy on the other (they have to act in accordance with forwarding the plot). Which means putting up with an asshole sidekick or apologising if they undergo character development that makes them a ‘better’ person and requires them to forgive someone). You might have your odd Logan who will throw a punch when he’s pissed – but here we already venture into the territory of an anti-hero.

And personally, our anger, our disappointment, all that will always be much more contained than any fictional space - by our financial situation, the people we depend on, our job, our studies, or family, our social circle. We live in a web of social expectations that we depend on every moment of our life.

Fiction itself also exists in a web of social context: What influence does it have on the audience? Will it sell? What implications does it have? How does it present its characters? Who is the author and what do they stand for? - but the fictional space, aka the world constructed in a novel, is wholly separate:

If I write a novel where I state that every Canadian person likes the colour blue and wears funny hats, then this is true in the universe of that novel, no matter what any Canadian reader might feel about it. This means two things:

1. As writers, producers, and even as producers of fan-content, we have to be critical about what we put into the world, because by creating a fictional space, we create characters who cannot stand up against the things we say about them or make them do. Just like the superheroine in the skimpy outfit who gets her powers through the sun shining down on her nipples cannot have an authentic discussion about her body. And when young girls read our comic and see that all the male heroes are clothed and the heroine isn’t, then we are the one that came up with the sunshine-nipples.

2. Our very own, personal interpretation of the novel – even our own - and the way we relate to it is our own. The feelings we project on the characters are individual, personal, and shaped by us.

And yes, villains usually see their comeuppance. And the thing is, many people argue here: “Well, it’s okay if the villain does x, as long as they’re punished for it.” But...that’s a difficult subject. A piece of fiction can condemn the actions of the villain without seeing them lose – the challenge to the writer is to still form a satisfying narrative, because the villain winning is the ‘likely’-seeming thing that every narrative subverts when the hero levels up and returns with her new friends to kick the villain’s ass. But even if you sympathise with the villain, seeing them win would still be an unsatisfying narrative, most of the time.

Because the whole point of an actual evil villain - and sympathising with an actual villain - is that what they’re doing is unjust. Malicious. Selfish. And projecting your desire to strike back or stand up on a villain and seeking catharsis through seeing them go wild and tear down the city needs the pushback. For them burning down the house to be satisfying, you need to see the house burn. For them to blow up the house of parliament to be satisfying – you must see the explosion.

And watching them lose provides the ultimate, necessary gravitas. Watching Team Rocket fly off with Pikachu and live happily ever after on Team Rocket money would not be satisfying. Watching our super-villain burn the world to a crisp with their death-laser would not be satisfying if they just end up getting their rocket and flying off while drinking space-mojitos.

Whether they end up being redeemed or not: The initial moment that someone fights back and defeats them at the height of their immorality and prevents the suffering of innocents is the moment that their willingness and readiness to commit violence is put to the test.

We know the hero goes through a journey of their own - one that requires sacrifice and steels their commitment until they are ready to take on the villain. And knowing that someone is willing to make sacrifices to be able to take the villain down is the ultimate acknowledgement of the transgressive act the villain committed. Without it, it would be empty. Like watching someone punch the air.

But the truth is also that when you recreate the fictional space in another, secondary space – fanfiction, fan content, fanart – you decide what to focus on. Like, we all enjoy hurt/comfort stories, but they have a different intention than something focussed on action or the growth of the hero – because that requires for us to see the villain go down. The focus is no longer the transgressive acts of the villain – but to lay bare the pain that caused them. It is no longer about beating them down for the sake of justice.

Like, when I make a post about Frankenstein’s monster living happily ever after and people tell me that hey, the monster killed a lot of people - then we have a different premise. Because me not adding a line about the evil things the monster did to my post was based on the premise that you knew that random tumblr user langernameohnebedeutung does not condone the crime of murder because she posts about a 200-year-old book. And the #fact that my point doesn’t construct an ending where the monster stands in front of a judge and is sentenced to a certain time in jail or punished by a more heroic person is because I have daddy issues and seeing a giant creature go on a rampage through Europe to get back at its asshole Dad in a way I never could makes me quite happy the novel focussing on its acts of violence already did this and my post clearly had a different intention.

#long post #fandom

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esepoimipullula · 4 years ago

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Alright, so... this is the utterly self-indulgent essay. XD

For any non-Italian readers: remember the introductory note on my translation of Goofy and The Perfect New Year’s Eve Handbook? About Italian Goofy (Pippo) having a huuuuuuuuuge family? Well, everyone in this family is, ofc, either just as quirky or nearly as quriky as Goofy himself... which makes for a lot of interesting personalities. Like Goofy's cousin, Indiana Pipps. Or Arizona Goof, in English. Presumably to make the joke at least a little bit subtler.

... yes, "the joke" is that he's literally an Indiana Jones parody. Who happens to be related to Goofy and look almost exactly (or exactly, depending on the story) like him. He's an "adventure archaeologist" who spends most of his time scouring South American jungles for lost pre-Colombian temples full of traps and treasure, travelling through scorching deserts to find legendary Egyptian ruins, and stumbling into fantarchaeology/Ancient Aliens/magical/mystical relics. He's brave, smart, passionate, confident to the point of being actually a bit arrogant, kind of reckless and hotheaded, a little rough, rather snarky, and has a strong sense of justice... and a bunch of strange habits and quirks. Like his penchant from entering buildings from the window rather than from the door (because that would be too easy), his preference for sleeping bags over beds and tents over houses (though he does have a house just out of Mouseton... in a dangerous swamp complete with crocodiles), his dislike and distrust for city life in general, and his love for a particular brand of strong-flavored liquorice candies called "Negritas" that almost everyone else finds adsolutely disgusting. Through the years, he's fallen in love with a bunch of female characters (starting with Clarabelle Cow, or so the internet tells me... Goof guys trying to steal her away from Horace must be a bizarre family tradition) and he's had a bunch of female characters fall in love with him, as you can expect considering he's the Dr. Jones of the Mouseverse and everything. But none of these crushes has ever really gone anywhere... whether because of a bout of obliviousness preventing him from realizing his temporary sidekick had been head over heels for him the whole time (sorry, Martina), a misguided attempt to present as a more traditional academic for a nerdy professor who unexpectedly turned out to be really into the adventurer type, or fairy law forbidding him to marry his French fairy sweetheart (yup, that happened).

Ironically, his most constant and long-lasting is with his nemesis, Dr. Kranz. (Nope, no name given.) (Yes, this is going to be an "enemies to lovers" kinda thing... except with, like, A Twist. So if you don't like that kind of dynamic or think people shouldn’t like messed-up ships or anything like that, you'd probably better stop reading.)

Kranz and Indiana appeared together in Indiana's first story, Mickey and Goofy in: Raiders of the Lost Temple by Bruno Sarda, and have been chasing each other for one reason or another ever since. Kranz is an adventure archaeologist, too, but despite being (almost) as skilled and succesful at his job as Indiana, he spends an awful lot of time following him around and trying to steal his discoveries... most often by putting on some disguise, stalking him from a distance, and popping out of nowhere with a gun and a mocking smirk as soon as Indiana finds the hidden lost idol/treasure/artifact/city.

Despite some weird occasional foray into the world of attempted world domination, Kranz is (mostly) into the whole villain business for the money and the fame. The money because he loves luxury (especially fast cars and five-star hotels) and sells a good chunk of what he finds or steals to unscrupulous clients or outright villainous organizations to afford to live the good life, and the fame because he has a big ego and (somehow, still) a reputation as a respectable archaeologist that feeds into it... and he's always trying to overshadow Indiana, because he hates being always second best to him. Which is just as well, because Indiana hates his attempts to steal his own discoveries, his criminal activities, his utter lack of ethics, and his greed. Whenever they see each other without either of them ending up on the wrong end of a gun or tied up for the local authorities to find, they usually still end up at each other's throat anyway. Or at least, insulting and teasing each other the whole time.

Except... it wasn't always like that. Back in the day, Indiana and Kranz were actually students in the same college. And roommates (YES, "and they were roommates!"). And "inseparable" best friends who got along very well despite their differences and genuinely cared for each other. And after graduating, even adventuring partners, at least occasionally. Kranz already loved money and luxury, and Indiana had already started to develop his simpler yet more bizarre tastes, but they were good together.

There's actually a recent mini-series about their college years written by Bruno Sarda himself, Young Indiana. It's pretty much a shipper's delight, as it contains high amounts of fluff, overdramatic (and suspiciously coupley imho) friendship drama with a happy ending, hugs, kisses, straight love drama taking a backseat as the focus stays firmly on the friendship drama, and a certain amount of foreshadowing of (angsty) things to come. But their old friendship was already an established fact before that...

Like in the story Indiana Pipps and the Return of Doctor Kranz, where Indiana ends up telling Mickey the story of how they parted ways and became enemies. Which was apparently inspired by something that happened in the Martin Mystère comics, but I've never read them so I wouldn't know. Long story short, Indiana and Kranz where on an expedition together when they unexpectedly found an absurdly powerful ray gun left behind by Ancient Aliens. As it turned out, by that point Kranz had already been in contact with a shady organization that would have paid good money for something like that, so he proposed they should sell the gun to them and share the profits of the sale. Indiana immediately opposed the idea, of course, being all like, "wtf dude idk about YOU apparently but I have morals and also a sense of professional ethics"... so Kranz knocked him out, took the gun, wrote him a note about how you shouldn't slap good luck away, and fled to the other side of the world, where a man from the organization would await him. But when Indiana woke up, he immediately started trying to track him, eventually ruining the sale right before it could go through and throwing the gun into the sea, where it would never be found again. At that point, Kranz swore he'd have his revenge on him by basically costantly tailing him and ruining his life and career, never leaving him a moment of peace.

Which he's sometimes been pretty succesful at, considering there's been a whole story about Indiana being so stressed due to Kranz appearing out of the blue to ruin his day, it turns into some sort of bizarre mania where he believes everyone and anyone is secretly Kranz in disguise. However, the same story also has Kranz being so stressed due to Indiana constantly foiling his schemes that he goes on a cruise to just forget about him and relax for a while... and ends up jumping off the ship when he mistakenly believes Indiana might be on it, too. So, that's a two-way street, I guess.

So, basically... friends to enemies, genuine affection being ruined by greed and ambition and turning into resentment and spite and straight-up hatred, a degree of mutual obsession and general unhealthiness. But that's not really all there is to their relationship.

There's also stories where they're forced to collaborate to reach the same goal and have to behave more or less civilly, or even where they choose to do so willingly and end up actually still being a good team. There's stories where getting good results while working together makes them behave almost amicably, as much as they're able or willing to. Stories where they acknowledge their past together, if not their old friendship, and even the similarities between them. Stories where they find themselves with someone they both look down down or hate even more than each other, and find some common ground insulting and snarking at them in-between doing the same to each other. Where they grudgingly help each other out.

And then, there's Indiana Pipps e il soccorso obbligato. The story I blame for getting me into this ship in the frist place, when I could be here reading and writing Scroldie or Dimeshipping or Donsy or Mickey/Minnie or literally any other of my Disney comics ships that people other than me actually ship.

In Il soccorso obbligato, Kranz gets kidnapped by some shady guys while he's working on a revolutionary archaeological discovery, except he's not been kidnapped and he's not actually close to finding anything that awesome, and it's all just a convoluted trap to get back at Indiana for laughing at him one time because he's terrible. But Indiana doesn't know that, and so he and Mickey rush to the rescue and fly to a whole other continent to find him...

That story really has everything. From Kranz coming up with a ridiculous and ridiculously cruel plan because he might be used to Indiana insulting him and mocking him but sometimes his former friend laughing at him and acting all superior and better than him still hurts, to Indiana actually falling for it and trying to justify to himself why he does, telling himself that after so many years spent (fighting) together there's a bond between them and he owes it to Kranz... and admitting he’s worried about him. From Indiana still remembering little details about Kranz and their past together and looking almost fond as he talks about them, to Kranz being both petty and obsessed enough to leave a journal full of insults to Indiana for him to find as a clue and setting his password to a mocking phrase about him (and Indiana, who should expect some stuff like that or at least be used to it, still getting riled up and planning on giving Kranz an earful when he finds him). From Kranz assuming Indiana would only come save him if he threw an imaginary fantarchaeological discovery into the mix because then Indiana wouldn't be able to resist his "archaeological curiosity", to Indiana considering said discovery more of a secondary concern and actually regretting and feeling almost guilty for mocking Kranz the last time they saw each other before the supposed kidnapping... and recklessly, unthinkingly running over a thin ice bridge over a gaping chasm just to get to him, throwing all caution to the wind even as he tells himself he doesn't even know why he's doing it. And the way they still KNOW each other despite everything that happened, maybe even because of everything that happened! The angst! The complicated, unspoken, repressed things! Being a softie and a sap, I'm always a sucker for "the hero and the villain actually have a bond and care for each other on some level even if it's not the healthiest or most normal thing"... but considering the history between these two? Though the story in itself is very fun and entertaining, it never fails to break my heart a little.

And in all honesty, I might end up writing fanfictions about them. Fanfictions full of angst and pining and conflicted feelings and "we were never lovers but oh god we could have been --- if you hadn't screwed up everything in the end, at least" college stuff with a mess of obliviousness and repressed feelings, most likely.

#disney comics #mouseverse #mickey mouse comics #indiana pipps x kranz #arizona goof x kranz #indiana pipps #arizona goof #dr kranz #the angsty disaster archaeologist not boyfriends project #can you believe i'm gonna have to modify that tag on all my posts about these two because tumblr hates dashes lol #how goofy's indiana jones parody and his usually-not-that-well-handled nemesis ruined my life: a history #PLEASE talk to me about these two if anything in this post sparked your interest

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lawrenceop · 4 years ago

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HOMILY for 23rd Sunday after Pentecost

Phil 3:17-21, 4:1-3; Matt 9:18-26

The word science comes from scientia which means knowledge. Since the beginning of the pandemic, the Prime Minister of this country has been saying that he’s “following the science”. But the problem with human knowledge and thus human science is that we learn discursively, imperfectly, and fallibly. Hence there is much disagreement about the science behind the virus, and how to best supposedly control the virus, and we’re all acting on very limited knowledge. However even if we had all the knowledge, all the science available to us human beings, we might still lack wisdom, which leads to our fullest human flourishing. For the internet might be said to have lots of knowledge, but wisdom is less in evidence online, and lacking in the prudential decisions behind some of the Regulations that now restrict our lives and our movements. Hence Pope Francis rightly observed in Fratelli tutti, “The flood of information at our fingertips does not make for greater wisdom. Wisdom is not born of quick searches on the internet nor is it a mass of unverified data. That is not the way to mature in the encounter with truth.”

Rather, Truth is a person, the living God, who we, as frail mortal human beings must first have the humility to encounter and worship and adore. And it seems that all the science and all the technical knowledge and know-how of our time amounts to very little if we do not recognise this basic fact: That our science, our medical knowledge, our Government Guidelines, our NHS, our economic packages, our human accomplishments ultimately cannot save us. This is not to say that these human goods cannot help us, and indeed, they can prolong our time on this earth and extend us some time. But, ultimately, none of this scientia amounts to sapientia, wisdom. And yet, we’re meant to be homo sapiens, the wise man. How grandiose that name is, how full of promise, and yet how unrealised. For as Proverbs says: “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom” (Prov 9:10), and yet, rather than to fear the invisible God, the Lord of life and death and the source of all existence, so many have, instead, fear for the invisible virus. Perhaps the sad truth is that we have tamed God, domesticated God, and made him manageable, and even, accountable to us.

Hence Pope Francis observed in March when the first wave of the pandemic hit Italy: “The tempest lays bare all our prepackaged ideas and forgetfulness of what nourishes our people’s souls; all those attempts that anesthetize us with ways of thinking and acting that supposedly “save” us, but instead prove incapable of putting us in touch with our roots and keeping alive the memory of those who have gone before us. We deprive ourselves of the antibodies we need to confront adversity.”

And so, as we largely sit and wait in our homes now, as we are confronted by the foolishness of our age, and the folly of our leaders, and, often too, our own lack of wisdom, let us listen again to what the Holy Father said then. “‘Why are you afraid? Have you no faith?’ Lord, you are calling to us, calling us to faith. Which is not so much believing that you exist, but coming to you and trusting in you… ‘Why are you afraid? Have you no faith’? Faith begins when we realise we are in need of salvation. We are not self-sufficient; by ourselves we founder: we need the Lord, like ancient navigators needed the stars. Let us invite Jesus into the boats of our lives. Let us hand over our fears to him so that he can conquer them.”

All the knowledge we have will not help us nor save us unless they lead first of all to this realisation: Man needs God, and without him we are literally nothing. Hence we must fear the Lord, that is to say, reverence him, acknowledge his sovereignty, and worship him with filial love. Our holy sister St Catherine of Siena, whose ardour for God was passionate and child-like, and who lived through a great plague that wiped out a third of Siena’s population and ten members of her immediate family, thus said with great wisdom “Let your will, not mine, be done in all things, Lord [Jesus]. For I am darkness and you are light; I am not, whereas you are He who is; I most ignorant, and you the wisdom of God the Father.”

If we seek wisdom, sapientia therefore, and would rise above the fray of mere human scientia, then we have to seek Christ and humble ourselves before him. In today’s Gospel, therefore, we find a ruler, that is to say, the political leader of a local community, one who is in the elite core going to Jesus. Another, who is at the very margins of the community, ostracized by society because she suffered the flow of blood, haemorrhaging for the past 12 years, also goes to Jesus; one a man, another a woman; both go to Jesus for help. They thus represent all of humanity, both the powerful and the dispossessed, male and female, young and old. And they go to Jesus bearing the conditions that are common to us all: our human mortality. The woman goes to Jesus suffering from a debilitating illness; the man goes to Jesus on behalf of his child who has suffered the last and greatest illness that afflicts Mankind, death itself.

Almost invariably, it is sickness and death that challenges and tests our faith. Confronted with our mortal limitations, we are tempted by the Enemy to doubt God. These two characters in today’s Gospel thus represent all of humanity, who are prone to the suffering that they have, who sorrow and grieve even as the father does for his dead daughter. So, what are we to do when we endure these mortal pains? Go to Jesus.

But this takes courage. People who cling to the supposed certitude of scientific knowledge and who scorn religions and the faithful think that we are cowardly, needing the opiate or the crutch of religion. However, as we know from our own experience, faith, especially in a society that is toxic to faith and belief in God, requires courage. So, in the Gospel, Jesus says to the woman, "Take heart" or in other translations, simply "Courage!". The same Greek word, in fact, is used later on in St Matthew's Gospel when there is a storm at sea and the apostles cry out in fear. Jesus appears to them, walking on the sea in the midst of the storm, and he says: "Take heart, courage, it is I; have no fear" (Mt 14:27). The storms of the human life are its trials and sufferings: illness, grief, death. These stir us up. But God is Lord of the storms, he is able to reach out in the midst of them, and he comes to us, calling out to us to go to him in faith and hope and trust. He is calling out to you now, even in the isolation of your own homes, in the turmoil of 2020 and even through the fog of anxiety. Jesus is calling out to us, to go to him, to trust him, to have faith that he is with us to help us. And this faith takes courage.

The woman who is not allowed to come into the city had to overcome her fear of social conventions and customs, of public disapproval and even violence (if she were caught) to approach Jesus. But, even so, she reaches out to just touch the tassels of his garment from behind, not daring to be seen by others. But this is enough. She has done a very brave thing, risking further social exclusion and harm just to touch his garment. And the man who had rushed out to find Jesus when his daughter had died – he must have risked humiliation and the fear of failure. For if the crowd laughed at Jesus, they would also have ridiculed the father of the dead girl for going to Jesus to seek a cure for death. So, he too has done a brave thing, risking reputation and public esteem and even risking his hopes in order to go to Christ and seek help. They go – perhaps because they're desperate, but hope often springs from such difficult conditions – but nevertheless they go because, ultimately, they believe. They believe that Jesus can and will and does help them. Do we?

Pope Francis mentioned that merely amassing information online wasn’t the “mature way to encounter truth”. What is the mature way to encounter truth? It is to live with the basic truth of our mortality, of the finitude of this life, of the mysteriousness of God and his created order, both of which we can never control nor manipulate for our own comfort and convenience and pleasure. Rather, God is to be feared and adored, loved as a Father and yet approached with awe. Thus the man in the Gospel approaches Jesus on his knees. We approach truth with maturity when we do so with courage and hope; with expectation but without presumption; and thus we come to God and allow him to be God, to do as he wills with us, trusting in his fundamental love for us. And love doesn’t mean that God gives us what we want but rather what our Father knows is best for us at this time. St Catherine of Siena thus affirmed that Jesus said to her: “You must not be anxious or afraid for I shall always be with you.” Indeed, God loves us, and he never abandons us, and in him is eternal life and beatitude. To know this is to possess wisdom.

At this time of the pandemic, many might think that what our human community needs now is health. Indeed, the man and woman in the Gospel go to Jesus in search of health and well-being–knowing that Jesus heals, it makes sense to do this. But this is mere knowledge. For Jesus not only heals us of our bodily ailments, but he cures us of death itself by, finally, raising us from the dead to share in the divine life. Believing this is wisdom. The fullness of life, ultimately, is why we need to go to Christ; go to the Living God; cling to him, with faith and love. For what we want, fundamentally, is salus, a word which in Latin means ‘health’, but the fullness of heath for a human being consists not only in the good of the body but also the good of the soul. Hence salus also translates as ‘salvation’. For us human beings, homo sapiens, who are a unity of body and soul, it would be wise to pay attention to this so that if any person desires to truly ‘stay safe’ then let him truly stay close to Jesus Christ in whom alone is Man’s salus: our health, our well-being, and our salvation! Because, as Pope Francis put it, “with God life never dies”!

#salvation #health #knowledge #Wisdom #pandemic #faith #hope

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oumaheroes · 4 years ago

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Reset Ch10:The Truth Comes Out

Whole story found on AO3 and FFnet (It’s a long boi, I warn you)

'Please, take a seat.'

England and France looked at each other, before back at the gun in Jean's hand. His hand was still and focused, pointed directly at England.

Jean gave a small smile. In any other situation, it would have been kind.

'Please. Don't make me ask again.'

He motioned his head towards the chairs again and England cautiously lowered himself into one, seeing France out of the corner or his eye do the same.

Jean nodded. 'Thank you. This will be so much easier if you comply.' He looked over their shoulders and nodded. Suddenly, England felt his hands being grabbed and forced behind him, rough cable ties being forced over them and tying them together. Then, pushed down further; they were attached to a pole in the back of his chair. Deciding not to put up a fight he allowed it, as he did when the same was done to each of his legs, and as the footsteps of whomever was behind him backed away again, he gently tested their give. They were tight, each slight movement dug into his skin. He could break out of them, but not without damage to his wrists or doing it inconspicuously.

He maintained eye contact with Jean and sat straight with shoulders back watching him slowly settle more comfortably on the bed. Behind him, an electrical generator, hooked up to the lamps, whirred gently.

Jean nodded to whomever was behind them and they stepped out of the room, shutting the door as they left. He then clapped his hands together and beamed at the both of them.

‘Well. I expected something but certainly not this.’

Neither France nor England replied. Jean didn’t seem too put out by this however, he nodded his head and gestured to the restraints. ‘I’m sure you can understand why this has to happen.’ The gun in his hand was fixed between the both of them. It glinted with each slight movement. England resisted the urge to glance at it.

‘Please believe me, I am not a violent man. Far from it in fact.’

France must have made some sort of face because Jean gave a small laugh. ‘Ah yes, well. I am not intentionally a violent man. When pushed, I do what is needed and things sometimes go out of my control. This will hopefully not be one such time.’

He looked at England.

‘Arthur, how nice to see you again.’

England said nothing.

Jean continued to smile.

‘I’m aware that this isn’t a situation either of you would like to be in. And I’m also aware that you’re not willing to tell me anything. So, let’s get this over with as quickly as possible.’ He leant forward in an impression of ease and geniality.

‘I know what you are.’

Neither France nor England said anything, neither moved.

Jean’s eyes flicked from one to the other, reading for movement, acknowledgement. ‘Well, rather, I know you’re not human. I have proof you’re not human. I also know that this information is not something you’re going to want to be made public.

Still, neither spoke. Jean frowned. ‘You’re both making this incredibly difficult.’

Quickly, without warning, he stood and swung the butt of the gun, cracking it against France’s temple. He gave a muffled cry of surprise and pain as white light dances across his eyes and agony erupted in his head. He slumped downwards, weight pulling at his restraints.

Jean sat back, regarding England’s unmoving expression, eyes still fixed on him. England didn’t glance at France, but out of his periphery saw him straighten back up.

‘You’re not new to these sorts of things, I take it.’ Jean gave a short bark of laughter. ‘Makes sense’.

Still silence, broken only by France’s breathing as he fought to get in control of the pain. Already, it was subsiding.

‘How long would it take you to heal, I wonder? If I did worse, I mean.’ Jean regarded France. ‘Arthur here was shot only the other day, in the chest, I believe.’

He glanced back to England, at his chest. ‘But it seems you’re already fine. That’s been recorded, you know.’

England fought to not let the cold chill of dread show as it flooded his body. Modern technology was nothing but a curse.

‘Tell you what. Let’s do an exchange.’ Jean opened his arms, gun flashing in the light as it moved. ‘I tell you something I know, and you nod yes or no. In return, you can ask a question.’

Still silence.

Jean sighed. ‘I am being incredibly generous; you’re not really in a position to argue.’ He got up and crossed the room, out of the pool of light and into a corner. He retrieved something, before making his way back.

It was England’s case.

This time, England couldn’t help the flash of emotion at seeing it. He knew he’d slipped by the way Jean’s mouth curled into something nasty.

‘Yes, this. I have this. But you knew that, didn’t you? It’s what you came back for.’ He sat back on the bed, case in his lap, and stroked the lip. ‘I know that you both can’t die. Or, rather, can’t truly die. I know you can heal extraordinarily fast, and recover from injuries no regular human can. You can live for years, centuries, without change. And this,’ he bobbed the case on his knee, ‘has something to do with it.’

He raised the gun and stroked the barrel along it. ‘I wonder what will happen, if I were to destroy it. Would you die? Or would you turn mortal? I thi-‘

‘Burn it.’

England’s voice cut across him. Jean paused. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘Burn it. Destroy it. Shoot it. I neither take kindly to blackmail, nor am intimidated by it.’

France coughed, twice. Short and sharp. ‘Now Arthur, wait a minute. Let’s not be too- ah, hasty, here. Do forgive him, Jean, I’m sure you’re more than aware of how difficult he can be.’

England fought to keep the incredulity from his face before France almost imperceptivity tapped his foot against the floor, again twice.

Ah. Okay then. He recognised the signal for what it was. Go along with it.

‘What? How can you say that?’ He shot back to France without hesitation, pulling at his restraints. ‘He’s only going to get the information from us and then kill us, keeping the case anyway.’

‘Ah, you would like to think so,’ Jean cut in swiftly, ‘I’m aware that killing you will only lead to you being born again.’ He snorted, a half laugh. ‘I’m not foolish enough to let you ‘go’ like that.’

England gave an incredulous laugh, ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Don’t mock me Arthur. Don’t sit there and lie.’ The last part was said in a drawled sneer. ‘I know that this man here,’ he threw a hand in the direction of France, ‘I know this man was the same Francis from the home. I know that he died, and was reborn, somehow, as a younger man. I know that you, too, are able to do this.’

Bingo thought France. Jean knows too much, but not the whole story.

‘He’s recorded you, Arthur.’ France said, softly, hoping for more. ‘This isn’t like other times.’

‘That could easily have been doctored.’ England shot back, ignoring Jean who watching their exchange silently, ‘Children do that all the time these days. That isn’t proof.’

‘Maybe not on its own.’ Jean let the comment hang for a second, letting it settle. ‘But I have photos, a birth certificate; other things. More importantly, however,’ He paused, glancing at them both, ‘I have medical records.’

A silence, thick and strained, filled the room.

Jean grinned, sensing his advantage. ‘Caught on, have you? A small benefit to my old employment.’

England’s mind began racing, thinking over his own medical history, stored under lock and key in the British government buildings. Does Nation DNA change when they reset? He had no idea, never thought about it; when he’d last been human these sorts of things weren’t even dreamt of. Had anyone else considered this? If this was as bad it had the potential to be, then this could be a worldwide security breach. Either that, or he was more of a fool than he’d thought.

France’s thoughts were running down a similar vein and was desperately trying to recall instances where Francis could have left records, growing increasingly more horrified. Dentist records, blood tests, chests scans, x-rays; all would have a file somewhere, especially stored at the home.

This wasn’t something they could easily explain away and he cursed himself for his stupidity, for listening to England, for running into this so soon. He was without government support. Sure, England’s government could step in, refute it, cover it all up. Even if it hit the internet, the fact was that none of England’s records were lost or held by someone without clearance.

France, meanwhile, had no such support. No government. This could hit the internet and would prompt an investigation from the president’s people as well as the general population, who would think and believed what they will. The process of introducing himself and proving the accusations were worth covering up would take weeks. Other nations would need to be pulled in for verification and that was even if France was even able to get out of here. Which, being tied to a chair, was currently highly unlikely.

He couldn’t believe it. A human had him. Had them both.

‘I have the feeling that you’re both willing to be a bit more cooperative.’ Jean crossed one leg over the other drummed his gun free hand on the case lid. A familiar madness gleamed behind his eyes and France suddenly understood.

.............................................................................................

After the call from Wales, Scotland had excused himself and Northern Ireland from the UN sessions citing some business issues and had flown them to France on the first flight he could get. North had found, through England’s bank records, that a credit card was last used in Luçon earlier that morning. With today’s technology of contactless payments, there was no way to say whether England himself had made the purchase, but it was a lead.

This sense of accomplishment, however, was short lived, broken by what North had found online whilst waiting to board their plane. There, in wonderfully readable black and white in a prominent French newspaper, was a photo of his brother under the headline ‘Care Home Kidnap’.

What a cunt.

England was a fucking idiot. A fucking inconsiderate prick who had stormed back off into a shit storm of his own making, leaving the rest of them to pick up the bloodied pieces and clean up the damage. He was such a selfish fucking arsehole; Scotland immediately lost of any sense of previous concern he had briefly had for his brother’s wellbeing as it was swiftly buried underneath cold fury and hurried planning of how he, Scotland, was going to have to dig England out of the fucking shit pit and prevent this from becoming an international scandal.

Aside from that clusterfuck, he was also furious at Wales, which was an odd enough occurrence that he didn’t really know how to process it. Normally Wales was the one cross with someone else, if anyone was angry at all. Wales himself was sensible, logical, quiet, and caring- all traits Scotland silently admired. Reliable to a fault, Wales was not, usually, the fuck up of the family; England handled that title quite well without any help.

When North found that article, however, and had pushed the phone under his nose in panic, Scotland’s controlled hold on his concern and serenity had imploded. Causing such a public scene and scandal as a nation was bad enough, but then to go back to the scene of the incident, when the public had access to all the wonderfully accurate modern technology that they had? And Wales had known and let him.

After an apoplectically furious phone call to Wales in an airport terminal, who had recently found similar information and was already in contact with the Prime Minister, Scotland had remained stony faced and white knuckled as they flew back to Europe, North sat as far away as he could get to avoid becoming the outlet for Scotland’s anger.

Now in France, he was calm enough again to focus.

Wales had caught him up via email that during their flight that the PM was already in contact with the French government to let them know that a British ‘agent’ had become embroiled in French news. It wasn’t the UK’s business or right to reveal France for who he was, so instead they were going to play the politics card. Ban more printing of stories, reverse any warrants out for England’s arrest, prevent news channels from mentioning it and readying a story from Britain’s perspective, should anything break out back home.

That was the messy, admin part under control. Likely due to his mortifying part in this nonsense, Wales was working incredibly efficiently from the sound of things and Scotland trusted that his brother would be doing all he could to rectify the problem.

Panic and rage under control, Scotland could focus on the task at hand.

He’d hired a car upon arrival and bundled North, who had refused to fly back home and insisted on coming with him, inside to drive to Luçon. North was going to continue his online searching and fend off questions from other Nations whilst Scotland drove, which, grudgingly, he had to admit to himself was helpful. Being so accustomed to the internet did have its advantages, although he wasn’t ever going to tell North that.

If all went well, in around 4 to 5 hours they’d find England safe and sound and Scotland could happily beat the spit out of him.

.............................................................................................

Jean rebalanced England’s old case on his lap, eyes cold and hard despite his smile. There was a void behind his eyes, an emptiness. That note of something dangerous and sharp, something lacking a soul. The sense of a man who had nothing to lose in battle and was winning.

‘If you know as much as you do,’ Began France slowly, working through what he knew in his head, turning over each piece of information carefully, ‘then why on earth do you need us? What’s the point of all of this? Go to the authorities and be done with it, tell the public, sell what you know; what more can we tell you?’

‘I need to know why, know how. I am no fool, I know how crazy this is, how insane this will seem to people. I need proof, total, irrefutable proof. I need to know how this works, why it works, and all the ins and outs of things.’

‘And that’s because of Julien Durand, isn’t it? Your grandfather.’

Instantly, Jean’s lips pulled back, contorting his face. England looked shocked as the sight of it, so different from the co-worker he was used to, despite recent events. France pressed on, cultural knowledge tumbling through his mind, ‘His daughter was your mother. He killed me and they thought him mad. He lost all credibility and was deemed mentally unwell, not worth even thinking about.’

‘He was trying to do what was right!’ Jean stood, case falling to the ground with a muffled thump. England stared at it. ‘He believed-no, knew that he’d found something! He didn’t know enough, but he did what was right!’

France gave a dry laugh. ‘Yes, killing me was right?’ He looked Jean in the eye, ‘He was a fool. A fool who was getting involved in far more than he could ever have known and it backfired. Is that what this is for? To avenge him?’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Jean was furious now, with the same roiling fury that sparked remembrance in France in the first place, a memory of Julien Durand’s similar switch in mood; one storm to another.

‘My family was ruined. His wife left him and my mother and uncle were raised to think of him as just that, as crazy, as something to be ashamed of, someone who couldn’t even hold down a job for long enough to save any money. No credit, no credence, no future.’ Jean breathed heavily, gulping breaths, ‘He’d tell us stories of that case, of what he found, of what he tried to do but our whole family were disgusted by him, thought so little of him. Blamed him.’

As the volume of the conversation increased England worked on his restraints, all the while listening for the door. He was surprised that whoever was working with Jean hadn’t come in to check on them when the shouting begun, although perhaps this was usual behaviour. A concerning thought in itself. Had he attempted this before?

As Jean begun to speak again, England felt the one binding his wrists dig further into the skin. He needed to work on weakening the cable tie enough that one sharp snap of movement would do something.

‘Myself, Amélie and Charles all knew about that fucking thing growing up, all heard his goddamn stories about it, about you’. This last word was dripping in venom and directed solely at France. ‘Knew them as grandfather’s silly stories but also knew how much he desperately believed them, was desperate to be taken seriously. It bled through our childhoods, infected everything and everyone like a poison.’

Jean’s fists were clenched and shaking.

‘But I had a decent life, a decent job. I was happy with my lot. And then you moved into the home.’ A hateful look at France. ‘With that same name and an odd piece of fucking personal possession that I recognised immediately.’

Suddenly, he laughed, head tipped back. ‘I couldn’t believe it. Surely not, I thought, surely not. That would be too farfetched, too impossible. All that time growing up, hearing about this man called Francis Bonnefoy and a case? Someone my grandfather considered worth killing, worth throwing away his life and the lives of his family for? A potentially immortal man? But there you were.’

Jean shook his head, almost as if he were in disbelief still. ‘That’s fine, I thought, perfect. I would try to open it, find out what was in it. Try to make sense of what drove Grandfather to do something so desperate for it. But it was locked, of course. And you,‘ he looked France hard in the eyes, ‘didn’t know anything about it, or you weren’t going to tell me.’

He gave another short laugh, ‘Again, that was fine. All I had to do was wait for you to die, and then I could grab it up and take it away. But then,’ he swivelled round to England, who just in time stopped his efforts on his restraints, ‘You showed up. Out of nowhere, and with that name. That same name. Then I knew, I knew it wasn’t a coincidence, knew it wasn’t something made up; a story. Whatever it was, it was real. It was real, and there you both were.’ There was a hungry quality to him, the way he moved and spoke, that sickened France to look at.

Jean stepped closer to England, back fully to France now, who had begun to work on his own restraints, pulling his legs away from the chair and rubbing the cord of the cable tie up and down the pole of the chair back.

‘I realised then that it must not be the case that was important, it was you. Both of you. The case had something to do with it, oh yes, but that wasn’t the real deal here. Grandfather was so close but he was looking in the wrong direction, focusing on the wrong thing.’

Jean whirled round and grabbed the case again from the floor, brandishing it before England. ‘That’s what I still don’t know. What I need to know. Which is why I was serious about talking to the both of you.’

Suddenly, he was calm again. He shook himself, a small movement on the head and shoulders and a deep breath. ‘Tell me what you are. Tell me how you work. I go to the government, and you help me clear my grandfather’s and my family’s name. That’s all.’

That was never all. England knew that, knew mortals and knew this type of one too. You gave an inch and eventually the mile started to look obtainable too. Expected, even. There was no bargaining, no reasoning. His stance on this was always the same, one did not negotiate with criminals. No matter what they offered, no matter how promising it looked; the main thing you were negotiating was your respect, your pride and as soon as you struck a deal, you’d lost. You were malleable.

And this mortal in front of him, knowing what he knew, was dangerous enough without giving him more. There could be no second day of this, there could be no deals struck or agreements promised. No, there would be nothing. All they needed was a chance.

England had the beginnings of an idea and hoped that France would catch on.

England appraised him, eyes flicking to the case and back to his eyes and his too calm expression. ‘Ask.’

Jean raised an eyebrow. ‘Ask? Is that all? I must admit I’m surprise at your quick turn around.’

England shrugged nonchalantly as best as he could whilst tied to a chair. ‘As you’ve said, there’s not much we can do, is there? If that’s the inevitable end I’d rather not make things more difficult for myself in getting there.’

Jean hesitated, suspicious.

‘Obviously you’re going to have to trust what answers I give,’ England offered, ‘But like you said. You have proof, and proof that modern science cannot deny. The main reason you want us is to fill in the blanks and go with you when you present it. I’m willing to do that if, as you say, that will be all.’

‘So, it seems we’re both in the same position,’ England continued drily, watching Jean process this information, ‘We have to trust your word, as you’ll have to trust ours.’

‘What’s in here?’ Jean asked quickly, mind seemingly made up for now.

‘Arthur-‘ France, a note of caution in his voice.

‘Items precious to the nation of England.’ Ignoring him, England bumped his bound hands against the pole they were tied to, three quick jolts. He hoped France would read it correctly. Get out.

‘Such as?’

‘My turn.’ England quickly considered the things he needed to know, prioritising them and filtering away ones that he could live without. ‘Who else knows what you do?’

‘Amélie and Charles. Although, I know you’re both aware of what happened to them now.’

‘Not the men outside?’

A small shrug, uncaring. ‘They’re hired. They didn’t ask questions and telling them wouldn’t have them respecting me enough to do what I wanted without question. They’re well paid.’

How on earth do you have the money to hire them? England thought, but that was a question he could ask France later.

‘Why are the cases important to what you are?’ Jean asked next.

England considered his words. ‘They help bring us back to ourselves, once we’re reborn. We have a lot to remember; looking through old objects we’ve owned or are important to our lives in some way help us to remember faster. Come back to ourselves quicker.’

Jean seemed pleased with this, making a noise of interest. ‘So, I was right; the case has nothing to do with your immortality.’

England shook his head. ‘No, nothing.’

‘When my grandfather killed Francis back then, he had caught you searching through French archives, had seen you exchange a case.’

‘I was looking for things to jog Francis’ memory, and he had done the same for me. Things lose their impact if they are used too often.’

Jean regarded the case again in his hands, its old cracked leather. ‘Then, the one Francis had in the home was for when he died. You were there to take him away, hide him from medical authorities and show it to him.’

‘Correct.’

‘Sadly, I made that more difficult?’ Jean chuckled. It was strange, what they were discussing. Something so private, so unhuman, and Jean was suddenly acting like how both England and France remembered him in the home. Warm and unassuming and made all the strange that they were sitting in Francis’ old bedroom. They could have been discussing anything.

‘It sped up the process.’ England acknowledged.

Cable tie dug into France’s skin.

‘Why work together with Amélie and Charles just to kill them? They’re your cousins, I assume.’

Jean nodded. ‘They were, yes. I needed them as scapegoats, I suppose you could say. I offered Charles a job in the gardens and once a job opened up for staff inside, I mentioned it to him. I knew Amélie was unemployed and knew Charles would tell his sister.’

‘So, you couldn’t even be blamed for bringing them there.’

Jean smiled, seemingly impressed. ‘Exactly. They’d grown up with the same stories as myself, I knew they’d put two and two together in the same way. Once you arrived,’ a hand casually flicked towards England, ‘and I understood more of what I had found myself involved in, I knew I needed to step back if I was ever going to be able to get a chance of getting close. I knew you’d be on guard for anything or anyone getting involved and so I knew I needed a cover, a distraction.’

‘I’d become interested in them, which would take my attention away from anything you were doing.’

‘Exactly,’ Jean nodded, happily, ‘And it worked. As soon as Amélie arrived and found the case in Francis’ room, she and Charles started thinking of ways to look inside it as much as I did. Became suspicious too. Even Francis knew something was going on, which lead to him becoming more paranoid and thus more medicated. All I needed to do was wait and watch.’

A quick glance towards France, who was looking slightly sick.

‘You were staying with Amélie?’

‘Yes. We weren’t close, growing up.’ Jean looked somewhat sad to admit this, ‘Our family truly never recovered from what our grandfather did. We knew each other, but not enough for her or her brother to involve me in whatever they were planning. Which is how I wanted it. I just needed to know that they were doing something. So, when things started getting more intense, I made up an excuse to stay with her. See if I could find out what they were up to and take advantage of it.’

England clamped his mouth shut, next question hot on his tongue. Don’t push him too far, not yet.

Jean’s next question came quick. ‘Can I do this?’ he gestured to both nations, ‘What you do? Come back again?’

France and England looked at each other, wary. England, wanting to continue to divert attention away from France, sighed, making himself look torn and paused.

‘Well?’ Jean sounded almost, desperate, England would say. Pleading, hungry. ‘Yes,’ he admitted, eventually, ‘It is difficult-painful. Extremely painful but yes, it is possible. You may die in the process, but it is possible.’

‘Well, that’d be convenient, wouldn’t it? Don’t worry, I’m not too interested in trying, especially not before talking to the authorities.’

The unspoken ‘yet’ fell heavy between them.

Greed would get to him before too long, either that or the fear of death; it always did. It was one of the main reasons why very few humans knew of the nations.

England next asked a question that had been bothering him for a while. ‘Did you have something to do with the staff becoming sick?’

‘I did,’ Jean still looked completely calm, no guilt for anyone else other than himself, it seemed. ‘I wanted to give Charles and Amélie an opportunity, make it easier for them to find out or do something. With so many people about, you especially, I knew that’d be hard. And it worked, when I stayed at Amélie’s I found out that they were planning on doing something on that night. I just had to be there, waiting.’

‘How…?’

‘The tea. Coffee. Whatever. A little bit of laxatives mixed with some strong over the counter medicines that would put someone down for a few days at least.’

England thought back through his memories to the many times Jean had offered to make drinks for staff members, himself included. The cups of coffee he kept trying to make him drink. England had thought him kind, friendly. A concerned co-worker. He mentally kicked himself, he had believed his ability to read people was better than this.

‘You,’ Jean continued, a pointed look at England, ‘were difficult. I didn’t know about your healing abilities then but had a suspicion that whatever you were was preventing you from getting affected. But then, you become unwell anyway.’

Kent. A rotten coincidence; terrible, perfect timing.

‘I checked Amélie’s phone; I knew what they were planning. I took advantage of it and went there that night myself. Unfortunately, you arrived back in time to prevent Charles from fully killing Francis.’

Jean sighed. ‘I was planning on cleaning up the pieces, offering my help to them and escaping with the body and the case. I’d hired a van and everything, should it be needed. Instead,’ he glared at Arthur, ‘You arrived back. Killed Charles instead. With the lack of staff and the panic, at least me and Amélie were able to smuggle his body out and to the family home in Luçon.’

‘As a message for us?’

‘Not entirely. It’s out of the way and far away from the home enough to prevent police from searching there until they discovered that the gardener was missing and deemed it worth their time to investigate. But,’ he inclined his head, ‘you’re right, also for you. If you went there following the same trail.’

‘Why kill her? Why not use her to help you, after all wasn’t it to help restore your family?’

‘First,’ Jean stopped him, holding up a hand. ‘Why were you ill? If you can heal so well and not die, shouldn’t you be immune to things like that?’

England thought quickly. ‘We are still…human. We still age, and die. We just return. We can heal well, yes, but we still get hurt. In the same vein, we can still become ill, but we recover faster.’

Jean accepted his explanation with a small incline of his head and a noise of consideration. ‘But it wasn’t the drugs?’

‘It may have been. They may have affected me, disrupted my body in some way.’

Jean seemed satisfied with this. ‘For your question, I needed someone to take the fall for what happened. Amélie had all the text messages on her phone, both of their fingerprints were on the case, hers on Charles’ body. Our last names are different, and on the surface I don’t appear involved at all. But she might speak, so I needed her to die. I hired men and continued alone. We managed to track your movements t-‘

Suddenly there was a loud snap and a burst of movement from France. Despite his legs still bound to the chair, his arms were free and he propelled himself towards Jean, hands outstretched.

Jean gave a yelp of surprise, dropping England’s case back to the floor. France managed to reach his shirt and he grabbed hold, momentum propelling him downwards and dragging Jean with him. There was a fierce struggle, during which England gave a huge tug and broke the tie around his own hands, ignoring the sharp burning sensation in his wrists. He had reached down to tug his legs free when there was an almighty crack of a gun as the doors behind them burst open. Hands seized his shoulders, pulling him back flush against the chair.

‘Stop!’ Jean roared, ‘Stop! Don’t shoot him!’

England looked down to see Jean under France’s prone body by the foot of the bed, a gunshot wound blooming red from between the nation’s shoulders.

The room was silent again, punctured only by Jean’s heavy breathing as he struggled underneath France’s now dead weight. His face was stricken, thunderous. The hands on England’s shoulders tightened, but he heard a gun being holstered behind him.

Jean pushed France off with a grunt and stood, checking himself for injuries. Then, in a sudden burst of fury, he kicked France’s side.

‘FUCK!’ he screamed, ‘FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!’ Each shout was accentuated with a kick, causing France’s body to jolt. With one last kick, Jean looked up back to England, furious.

‘You planned this! You planned this all along, you areshole. We had a deal; we were going to do this like men!’

England couldn’t help himself, he grinned. ‘I’m afraid, Jean, that we are not men.’ He looked down at France. ‘You may as well chuck him outside. He’ll decompose soon and will be born again where his case is. Which, I’m sure you’ve guessed, is hidden.’

Jean crossed the room in quick strides and punched England hard on the cheek. His head whipped back, stars popping in front of him. Leaning forward, he spat blood and a tooth at the ground. Jean punched him again, once more across the face and then hard in the stomach. England gasped as the air was knocked out of him, wheezing for oxygen.

‘You bastard.’

England looked up, made himself ignore his gasping need for oxygen to look this human, this pitiful man in the eye. He grinned, ‘Nice to finally make your acquaintance.’

.............................................................................................

AN:

Well.

If the You-Know-What that’s causing worldwide havoc and mayhem is good for anything, it’s good for getting me to write again. Only took three national lockdowns to prod me into activity…

If anyone is still about to read this, thank you. Thank you to new readers, who are still out there and have stumbled across this dinosaur and a bigger thank you to anyone who came back for this, who got a notification in their inbox and clicked it. I hope it made you happy to see.

There have been many points where I wanted to abandon this thing, leave it to rot in the dust. But I’ve always said I will finish this story and finish it I will. Every year that passes I grow more determined and I improve enough at writing that I want to keep going, to keep pushing myself to get it done.

No matter what, this story will get an end and BOY are we close now.

As always, please do let me know that you’re there by leaving a comment letting me know what you thought. I hope the build-up and suspense was worth it!

Much love and thanks, as always <3

Heroes

#fruk #aph #aph france #aph england #aph wales #aph scotland #aph northern ireland #reset #allheroeswearhats #ahwh #fic #hetalia #dear god what am i doing #why am i still doing this #Feels like shouting into a long dead void #I WILL FINISH THIS FIC EVEN IF IT KILLS ME #au #my writing

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toxicpineapple · 5 years ago

Text

tsumugi was right about one thing.

danganronpa was only ever a television show.

fifty years before "danganronpa v3" was created, the pilot of a tv show called "danganronpa: trigger happy havoc" aired, where teenagers were trapped in the prestigious hope's peak academy and forced into a killing game. the pilot ended with the execution of leon kuwata, the culprit everyone saw coming, but left a wide audience of people wanting more.

the first season ended with the defeat of junko enoshima, and that was going to be all, but there was such wide demand for a sequel that season two, "goodbye despair", was produced. it was acknowledged as much better than the first season, and fans were pouring in from all over the globe. it resulted in a spin-off series about the original protagonist's sister being made, called "another episode", as well as a large variety of side content, touching on other characters and other parts of the danganronpa universe.

the actor who played makoto naegi was enthusiastic about his role, but he was ready to move on to other things, so when the demand became strong for a third season, they made it the last one. it had three arcs, to be watched interchangeably, and told the story of hope's peak before, during, and after the tragedy. it wrapped up loose ends and gave the audience what they wanted: closure.

and then, the series was over. the actors who played main characters like naegi, kirigiri, and togami moved on to other roles. the danganronpa craze had ended. the world continued on, for everyone.

except for a select group of fans.

these fans were obsessed with the danganronpa series. they wrote fanfics, did art, created plushes and figurines and cosplayed (and made tiktoks) of all their favourite characters. they were standard fans, basically, except also? they weren't.

they wanted more. they wanted more killing games, more hope versus despair, more betrayals. they wanted to see more of the heart wrenching closing arguments, the panic time battles, the executions. what they wanted was more danganronpa.

(you can see where i'm going with this, right?)

what these fans wanted was for the show to air again. but what they wanted, perhaps even more than that, was for danganronpa to be real. they wanted to test if the formula would work. they wanted to see real executions, and real murders.

it just so happened that several of the people within this tiny, dark corner of the internet were extremely wealthy. they had scientists working for them who had the ability to create the technology to make such a thing possible. they had the land required to put the game. most importantly, they had teenagers, nameless and faceless, who would be perfect for a thing like this, because if they disappeared, well, nobody would notice, really.

in the beginning they were extremely hesitant to do it, but after a lot of debate, they decided they valued their killing game more than they valued human life. it had been this way from the beginning. none of them felt guilty for it, anymore, because they just viewed it as kinning. they, like junko enoshima, were just hungering for despair. it was all that mattered.

they had to go through several trial runs to perfect their technology. developing things like "flashback lights" and "exisals" and most of all, monokuma- well, it was impossible without a couple test runs. a lot of kids died in the process. but one of them, one of the first kids they took (the child of one of the sponsors, to tell the truth) kept surviving against the odds.

the name they chose for him was rantaro amami. after a couple failed attempts they decided to save him for their perfect game. there had never been an ultimate survivor before. amami would be the first.

their project gained traction in the dark web. humanity was, in their opinion, every bit as beautiful and ugly as they thought it was. they started to be contacted by people who wanted in-

(the one who came to be called tsumugi shirogane)

-by suicidal teenagers who wanted to be test subjects-

(the ones who came to be called korekiyo shinguji, himiko yumeno, and kokichi ouma)

-by teenagers who wanted to be a part of the game.

(the ones who came to be called kaede akamatsu, kaito momota, and shuichi saihara)

they suddenly had a wide variety of people to choose from.

and shirogane, well, she was the perfect mastermind. so plain she blended into the walls, but when she got passionate her eyes sparked and nobody could calm her down. she was as enthusiastic about danganronpa as any of them, perhaps even more so. when they offered her the opportunity, she jumped at it.

people like saihara, momota, akamatsu... they wanted to be in the final game. the polished one. they loved danganronpa so much, it didn't matter to them how, they just wanted to participate. they were even willing to die. excited about it, in a way that both disturbed and delighted the fans who had been a part of this project from the beginning.

those three were given main roles, promised they'd have part.

the ones who volunteered to be killed in testing? some of them were just so interesting, so attractive, so unique, it was hard to put them in a setting where they would most certainly die. they had no need for another survivor, amami would do just fine. but the ones who caught their eye (shinguji, who always wore a mask, ouma, who lied without thinking about it, yumeno, who was adorable in the exact way fujisaki and saionji had been while still reminding them of nanami) were put to the side too, because they were too valuable to sacrifice.

as for the other eight students, well, it turned out that japan had a high population of kids who didn't belong anywhere. who nobody loved.

kids from abusive homes, kids whose parents disowned them, kids who were rebellious and threatened to run away, kids who were so quiet they tended to disappear into the walls... it wasn't hard to find eight

eight teenagers who were perfect for the roles they wanted.

this danganronpa was to be mind blowing. it was to be better than anything the tv series had put out before. it was bigger than the tv series. it was real. everyone was real. nothing was scripted. they had a formula to follow and they knew how to make it happen, what props to use, but otherwise, everything was going to be raw and unedited. no one knew what would happen, and that excited them.

they put in a secret talent, a cult leader, a muscle character with a heart of gold. there was a maid who was secretly the prime minister. a tennis player who used his talent to kill. a misandrist aikido master. a selfish genius with a mind for dirty remarks.

for the sixteenth student, they wanted something extra special. a way of saying "thank you", to everyone who worked on the project. the solution? a robot, through whom the rest of their community could participate too. they created him specifically for the game, a vessel of sorts that had an endearing personality, something to use as a participation piece.

and after testing everything over and over again (over fifty kids died in the final tests) they were ready. their killing game began.

the first chapter was a bit rocky. shirogane (unfortunately) had to get a bit more involved than they wanted to, and then they had to sacrifice their golden boy, amami, which sucked because a lot of them had grown attached to him, as well as their protagonist, akamatsu, which was pretty terrible as well because they really did want her to live for a lot longer.

the rest of the game went without a hitch, though. toujo's reveal in chapter two and the subsequent indifference with which hoshi's death was regarded broke hearts everywhere. shinguji's face reveal did not disappoint, and yonaga's ritualistic body discovery (as well as the tragic sacrifice on the chabashira's part) played out perfectly. everything was perfect.

here's where we backpedal a bit, see. because even though these teenagers were invisible, there were a lot of them. and for them to suddenly disappear off the face of the planet? plenty of people were confused. plenty of people wanted answers. one journalist was brave enough to look.

smart enough, too. see, it all boils back down to the golden boy, "rantaro amami". he was fairly high profile for a time, having such a rich father. then for him to suddenly vanish, just as the other teens had? it was strange.

even weirder was that his father didn't seem to care. that was normal for billionaires, but the journalist thought he should at least pretend. he wasn't, and that was suspicious as hell! so she did some digging.

some digging turned into the discovery of all these genius scientists and other rich people he was affiliated with. some digging turned into the discovery of a plot of private land that nobody could get into, that was for some reason covered by a big blue dome, that was for some reason bought by the very billionaire whose son disappeared.

the journalist dug deeper. she found out about internet forums that required intense applications and surveys to get into. that required scans of her web history, her identity, even. they were so fishy, and no one had ever found them before. the billionaire was one of the people maintaining the servers.

he'd been mia, as of late, though, so it wasn't hard for her to hire someone and hack in. what she found was utterly depraved. she threw up four times discovering it.

thread after thread discussing the murder of children. real children. the ones who were missing, in fact. pictures of bodies. speculation about their deaths. jokes and theories and shipping dedicated to these children who were dead with a capital d.

all of this was happening, and it was being streamed at eight o'clock that night. so though she didn't want to, she watched the live stream, and she bore witness to the murder of the genius, iruma, after she had attempted to kill ouma.

(no way, a comment read, were they gonna kill ouma so soon. he's too popular!)

after a night of fitful sleep, she decided that she was going to infiltrate. and it was ironically quite easy.

a fake identity, bleached hair, a new haircut, contact lenses, and a southern accent disguised her plenty. she played the role of a murder obsessed college student brilliantly. she gushed about how much she wanted to help with chapter five, theorised about who was going to die and how, wrote extensive shipping posts and discourse blogs and-

of course they let her on. there'd be no account of this if they hadn't.

she spied and collected information through the entirety of chapter five, and when she had solid evidence of the murder of two teens, who were named ouma and momota within the series, she got out as quickly as she could, and went to report it to the police.

the police didn't buy it, though. they thought it sounded ridiculous. some kind of secret cult from the deep web that all these huge, rich names were a part of, that was reenacting an old television series? danganronpa hadn't aired in almost twenty years! she had to have been insane.

she was a journalist, though, and she wasn't going to let it end there. when the police rejected her report, she did what she did best: and wrote an article about it.

the "real" danganronpa television series was about halfway through their chapter six when somethijg was finally done.

see, after finishing danganronpa, the actor who played naegi moved on to a wide variety of roles. he enjoyed depicting the villain most of all. he thought it was loads of fun, and it never got old. he kept in close touch with his co-stars, even after all that time, because danganronpa shaped his acting career. he was successful and rich. extremely comfortable and happy with his life.

he had a good heart, too. so when he opened twitter one morning and saw that he'd been tagged in a post, he dropped his coffee.

a fan of his tweeted him saying:

"@[redacted]-- what the fuck, why are you letting this go on? this is fucked up"

and linked the article. after reading the whole thing several times over, scanning descriptions of the premises where the killing game was taking place and swallowing hard over pictures of the dead teens, the actor who played naegi retweeted it with a comment of his own,

("what the fuck. this is the first time i'm hearing of this. what the fucj.")

@/ed all of his co-star friends, and promptly called the police.

that night, the finale of the real danganronpa, which was called v3, aired.

the journalist, who was still very much involved with this case, logged on to her account, had the hired professional hack onto the news, and streamed the episode live.

people. went. crazy.

the cast of all the danganronpas were calling the police (and their agents, and their lawyers) to figure out what the fuck was going on.

they were also tweeting like mad.

hinata: "what the fuck is this??? holy shit this is so fucked up, why would you ever use danganronpa like this?"

enoshima: "WHY ARE THEY USING MY FACE THAT IS MY FUCKING FACE THIS IS MESSED UP"

fujisaki: "oh my god... oh my god."

komaeda: "says in the article she told the cops... bruh."

kirigiri: "those are real fucking kids. look them up theyre all in missing person reports. what the fuck."

naegi: "where the hell are they? im going there and busting them out myself. no cap."

he was a man of his word.

it didn't take long for the journalist to reach out to him, and when she told him the location, he hopped in his car, picked up the actress who played his sister (as well as all of their bodyguards) and broke traffic safety laws all the way there. they were followed, unquestionably, by police, but it didn't make a spot of difference to either of them.

on the tv, meanwhile, saihara was having the final battle. the very same kid who emailed them all those months ago, trying to see if he could take part in this game, was screaming at them about why they couldn't. he argued with such fervour, with such genuine pain, that something shifted in the hearts of the people in this community. they revoked their support, logged off the forum, sat back in their desk chairs and contemplated what they did.

shirogane didn't get the memo, though. remember earlier when i said she was more enthusiastic about danganronpa than any of them? she would never give up on it. on any of it.

and when kiibo destroyed the school...

around japan, people held their breaths. praying as hard as they could that saihara and harukawa and yumeno had survived.

outside, the actor who played makoto naegi swerved to a stop, and he and the actress who played his sister ran to the dome. he pounded on it with his fist while the police yelled for him to step back, but it was too thick to get through.

fortunately, in killing himself, kiibo (the robot who was designed as a puppet) blew a hole in the very top. he did it to save them. just as nanami exposed herself to save her friends in the second season.

the police brought in a helicopter, and minutes later, saihara, harukawa, and yumeno were free. when they saw the actor who played naegi, their initial thought was that it was all real- all of it, who they were, what they knew, but-

it wasn't. they weren't who they thought they were in that game. they were other people, different people.

and later, at the hospital, it was discovered that the neurological damage done to them with those flashback lights was permanent. which meant they would never be who they were, never again.

(startlingly, they were okay with that.)

a manhunt started, for everyone who was in some way involved with the atrocities that had been committed. they were thrown in jail, all of them, for the rest of their lives-

except, that is, for one of them.

the billionaire father of the one they called amami, with all of his money and his power, he managed to escape arrest. the public outcry was unbelievable, but that was hardly the worst of his problems.

no, the worst of his problems was the multi-billion dollar lawsuit he was stuck with from every. single. actor. who participated in the danganronpa project. leading the lawsuit was, naturally, the actress who played enoshima, who was disgusted at the use of her name and image in committing such disgusting acts. he was left billions in debt, bled completely dry, and after that, there was really nothing else he could do but lie down and die. (so he did.)

as for the three teenagers who survived the ordeal? well, harukawa's parents had never been good people, and nobody knew if saihara and yumeno even had parents, because nobody was stepping forward and obviously neither of them remembered, so in the end the three of them ended up being adopted by the very actor who played naegi.

it was hardly a happy ending. they were kidnapped by a massive cult that used its power and wealth to torture and kill hundreds of teenagers. it was a messed up operation from start to finish. and the three of them would never be the same people they once were.

but there was nowhere to go but forward, and saihara knew in his heart that his friends, each and every one of them, would want him to continue on. so he decided that that was what he was going to do.

despite everything that had happened, danganronpa was over. for good. it was the only reassurance going into the future, but for what it was worth... it was one hell of a reassurance.

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