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side-shawty · 4 years ago

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Burn XVI (Stark!Reader)

XVI: Standing on the Sun

Fandom: Marvel (MCU)

Type: series

Prompt/Summary: True love comes in many forms.

Pairing(s): Peter Parker x Stark!reader, Tony Stark x daughter!reader

Three weeks later and things were better. You had gone back to New York with the team just in time for Peter’s graduation. Even though the whole team wanted to be there Peter decided that he didn’t need a spectacle and in the end, his girlfriend and mentor would be the only ones attending while the rest set up for a surprise party later.

Girlfriend. You couldn’t get over how nice that sounded. As you stood in front of the mirror in Peter’s favorite multicolored sundress you smiled.

It was off the shoulder hugged your body perfectly and ended just above your knee in a ruffled hem. You left your makeup light on account of the heat and pulled your hair back in a curly bun with a few curls framing your face and your edges expertly laid.

You absentmindedly brushed the scar on the back of your neck. It brought back all kinds of horrors that you had to push aside. That was something for therapy.

As you were spritzing perfume on yourself there was a knock at your door.

“Y/N you ready? Car’s running,” your dad called from the other side of the door.

“Yeah,” you replied and opened the door to face your father dressed neatly in a blue button-down, pants, sneakers, and his signature glasses, “Handsome,” you told him simply hooking your arm around his and beginning to walk down the hall towards the elevators.

“Beautiful,” he replied and you reached the entrance in no time, the doors open and waiting.

You got to Peter’s school in no time having left early enough to evade the worst of the traffic. The ceremony itself was swift, the graduating class was small but to your surprise, as you and your father were waiting with the other families outside for the graduates you felt a light tap on your shoulder.

Confused, you turned around only to be met with the beaming smile of your favorite Princess.

“Shuri?!” You asked incredulously.

“Y/N! I’ve missed you how are you?” She asked pulling you into a hug which you gratefully accepted.

“I’m good! What are you doing here?” You asked pulling back, still a little shocked.

“Well, it just so happens that someone I am seeing is graduating today as well,” she smiled and wiggled her eyebrows at you.

You tilted your head in question but before she could answer you heard her name being called. You both turned around at the sound to see MJ practically running towards her.

Shuri opened her arms and instead of a hug, MJ planted a sweet kiss on her lips.

You were shocked, you put your hands on your hips and glared playfully as they pulled away.

“So neither of you were planning to tell me about this?” You questioned and they just smiled at you, threading their hands together.

“Oh you would’ve figured it out at the party later,” Shuri giggled, leaning into MJ’s side. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your excited smile.

“I think it’s sweet, you guys are a great match,” Tony spoke up, smiling at the two young ladies

“Thanks, Stark,” Shuri said and MJ nodded in agreement, she’d never admit it but the man still made her nervous.

“Shuri, my mom wants us to take pictures before we leave,” MJ said and her girlfriend nodded.

“No problem, see you guys at the party later,” Shuri spoke.

“Bye guys,” MJ waved and they both walked away, giddy as ever.

You and your father both waved back.

“Wow they’re so cute together,” you told him and he hummed in agreement. “Speaking of cute, where is my boyfriend?”

“Gross Y/N,” he replied but began looking around regardless.

“Found him, Hap and May got to him first,” he said pointing to the trio.

The excitement you felt just from seeing the back of his head was almost too much, you practically sprinted and threw your arms around him. He jumped slightly at the contact as you pressed yourself against his back.

“Congratulations Peter!” He turned around in your arms and smiled down at you.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he beamed and cupped your face in his hands, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“Hey, don’t hog the graduate,” Your father complained and you rolled your eyes before releasing him.

Your father was quick to give Peter a hug as he walked up to him, “Congrats kid. Allow me to be the first—”

May cleared her throat.

“Second,” Tony tried again.

Happy silently shook his head in response.

“Fine third you a graduation present,” he finally finished.

With that, he fished a set of keys out from his pocket and handed them to Peter.

“Is this...” Peter began but was slightly stunned into silence.

“Yup, the Spyder with a few Stark modifications, enjoy it,” he smiled.

“Wow, thank you so much, Mr. Stark,” Peter gave your father another big hug which also knocked the man over.

“Wanna take it for a test drive?” You offered.

Peter nodded excitedly and you handed your own keys over to Tony before taking your boyfriend's hand.

“We’ll meet you guys at the tower!” You called over your shoulder as you waved goodbye to the group.

When you were both out of earshot May spoke absentmindedly to the two men.

“I can’t wait to plan their wedding,” she smiled.

Tony rubbed at his eyes.

——

When you got to the car Peter was quick to open the door for you and then toss his cap and gown in the trunk before slipping into the driver's seat.

“I think this might be too nice for me, Y/N” he spoke, taking in all the upgrades and sheer beauty of it.

“Please, you deserve this and so much more,” smiled taking his hand, prompting him to look in your eyes and smile back.

He took the hand that was on the steering wheel and expertly avoided your low bun to place his hand on the back of your neck to bring you in for a slow, loving kiss.

Once again you thought about how much you loved him, how perfect everything felt when you were together. It was like every single star is the sky aligned just to shine on the two of you.

Just before things get too heated you place your hand on his chest and push him back slightly, resting your forehead on his.

“As much as I’d love to christen your new car, we should get back to the tower. No reason to keep them waiting,” you smirked.

Peter gave a dramatic sigh and sat back in his seat, “Fine~ I guess this is what I get for having the girl everybody wants,” he said starting the car.

“But don’t forget she only has eyes for you,” you have the back of his hand a kiss as he pulled out of the lot.

“And I for her,” he smiled.

——

Once the two of you got back to the tower you had to try you best to force Peter to avoid looking for the others. Nat had texted you on the way that they weren’t quite done with everything and you were tasked with distracting him.

And distract him you did.

Under the guise of your feet hurting from hours spent in the low heels, you were wearing. Peter looked skeptical but followed you to your room to grab a pair of slides nonetheless. Only, he questioned you further when you had him walk in first and then you locked the door behind yourself.

“Everything alright, Y/N?” He asked, but still kicked off his own shoes before relaxing on the giant bean bag chair beside the bed.

You turned around slowly, keeping your hands behind your back as you leaned against the door kicking off your heels and staring at him. Gosh, everything about him is perfect, you thought. He tilted his head to the side and you walked to him slowly. When you reached arm's length he sat up slightly and held your hips and smiled up at you.

“What is it, babe?”

You carded one hand through his hair and leaned down to capture his lips in a short kiss. Your words were a whisper against his lips.

“You’re so pretty.” Without a second's hesitation, Peter was laughing at your omission. It took no effort for him to pull you down onto him, across his lap. You let out your own giggle at his antics.

“All these theatrics because you think I’m pretty?” The skepticism was back in his voice and it made you roll your eyes.

“Is it such a crime to think my boyfriend is pretty?” You pouted.

“No, as long as you don’t forget how gorgeous you are.” Peter looked you up and down .”Especially in this dress. Do you know how hard it was to hold back when I saw you wearing this in the bleachers?”

“I was hoping you’d like it,” you grinned.

“Like it? I absolutely love it.” As if to prove this point he left a trail of kisses from shoulder to shoulder before going up your neck and leaving several more in his wake. It wasn’t long before his lips found your own and you were sharing a passionate kiss.

Your arms locked around his neck, fingers slipping through his hair again and tugging slightly even so often. Meanwhile, Peter had one hand locked around your waist, keeping him firmly against him while the other trailed slowly up your back. You could feel him beginning to tug at your zipper when a knock interrupted. The two of you halted. Breathing heavily as whoever it was stood outside silently for a few seconds.

“Yeah?” You called, almost breathless.

“We’re about to eat if you guys wanna, y’know join us,” Natasha spoke and from her tone, you could tell you were in trouble.

You glanced at Peter and the two of you shared a silent laugh.

“We’ll be right there!”

——

After straightening yourselves out and slipping on spare slides and sneakers, respectfully you grabbed Peter’s hand and led him towards the elevator.

“We’re not eating here?” He asked.

“Oh, we are.” You replied and hit the button for the roof as you got it.

“Y/N what are we—“

You pressed a finger to his lips. “Shh, all will be revealed, my love.” Peter only rolled his eyes before licking your finger and you recoiled.

“Gross!” You exclaimed

“Oh really? Well just wait until—“ But his words were cut off once again as the elevator reached its destination.

A shout of “Surprise!” Rang out from everyone on the rooftop which had been decorated with the utmost care as a ‘Congratulations Peter’ banner hovered over the crowd in red and blue. Everyone was there, all the Avengers, MJ and Ned, Strange and even Shuri. The genuine look of surprise and joy on Peter’s face was enough to have you praying that DUM-E was actually recording like you told it to. If not, it was going to be the new jungle gym for an elementary school.

As Peter gave his greets and thanks to his guests you drifted over towards your mom who was holding a sleeping Morgan in her arms.

“You two look happy,” She smiled.

You couldn’t help the grin that took over your features. “We are, we really really are.”

Pepper took a sip of her drink. “I hope you’re using protection, Morgan and I are a little too young to be grandma and niece.” You sputtered at that, grateful that you didn't have a drink in your hand.

“Mom please.”

“I’m just saying. Maybe next time,” she gestured to her own neck, “cover-up.” She winked.

You gasped and coved your neck quick as lightning, “I’m gonna kill him.”

“Here’s your chance.” She winked before walking off under the guise of wanting to put your sister down.

You felt Peter before you saw him, an arm wrapped around your waist and his lips kissed your temple. You wanted to be annoyed but you leaned in on instinct instead.

“I’m gonna kill you, Parker,” you spoke but your threat was weak.

“Whoa, and here I was about to thank you for this wonderful surprise,” he pouted, moving in front of you and placing both hands on your waist. The two of you were near the edge of the roof while the others were towards the center giving you a feeling of pseudo privacy.

“Well you’re welcome but our entrance would have been much better if it wasn’t for this.” You pointed accusingly at your neck and he squinted. You swatted at his chest at his antics.

“Ah, what? It’s really not that bad,” He leaned in close to whisper in your ear, “I could have done a lot more damage.”

You shivered even though at sunset it was still almost eighty degrees, Peter wasn’t playing fair and he knew it.

You whispered back. “Well, maybe next time you do it so I can enjoy I.” To accentuate your point you left a kiss just below his ear, heating your body up just enough to get a reaction out of him.

Peter groaned and his grip on your waist tightened as he placed his forehead against yours and smiled.

“I will. But seriously, thank you for all of this. I couldn’t ask for a better girlfriend,” his voice was still quiet, like it was a secret just between the two of you.

You wrapped your arms around his neck. “Have I told you how much I love hearing you call me that?”

“Well how about I change that?”

You were confused as Peter removed one hand to fish around in his pocket. He took a hand step back from you and you let your arms fall back to your sides. He finally pulled out a blue velvet box and slowly opened the lid. You were met with a beautiful platinum ring with a gemstone — your birthstone — nestled beside Peter’s birthstone, peridot. You could feel the tears welling in your eyes.

“Peter is this…?”

“It’s not a formal engagement but it is most certainly a promise. We’ve been through a lot these last few years and I realized that the reason I got through any of it was you by my side. And when we’re ready I want to make this an engagement ring.” He explained and there was so much emotion in his eyes you wondered if he would cry too. “So what do you say?” “I love it, god, I love you,” You spoke and that was enough for him to push the box back in his pocket and place the ring on your finger. It was a perfect fit and you couldn’t help but stare at it for a few moments before you looked back at the love of your life.

“I love you too, Y/N. More than you know.” And with that, he pulled you into a loving kiss that probably would have gone on for too long if it wasn’t for the cheers and shouts behind you.

You turned around and hugged Peter around the middle, the two of you laughed at your friends and family together and you couldn't help be bask in this feeling of love and peace.

With Peter by your side, you knew anything was possible.

THE END.

-----

THANK YOU SO MUCH TO EVERYONE!!! Whether you stuck around or not I am genuinely grateful and I hope you all enjoyed it!!

Much Love - Duckie

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letterboxd · 4 years ago

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In Focus: The Mummy

Dominic Corry responds on behalf of Letterboxd to an impassioned plea to bump up the average rating of the 1999 version of The Mummy—and asks: where is the next great action adventure coming from?

We recently received the following email regarding the Stephen Sommers blockbuster The Mummy:

To whom it may concern,

I am writing to you on behalf of the nation, if not the entire globe, who frankly deserve better than this after months of suffering with the Covid pandemic.

I was recently made aware that the rating of The Mummy on your platform only stands at 3.3 stars out of five. … This, as I’m sure you’re aware, is simply unacceptable. The Mummy is, as a statement of fact, the greatest film ever made. It is simply fallacious that anyone should claim otherwise, or that the rating should fail to reflect this. This oversight cannot be allowed to stand.

I have my suspicions that this rating has been falsely allocated due to people with personal axes to grind against The Mummy, most likely other directors who are simply jealous that their own artistic oeuvres will never attain the zenith of perfection, nor indeed come close to approaching the quality or the cultural influence of The Mummy. There is, quite frankly, no other explanation. The Mummy is, objectively speaking, a five-star film (… I would argue that it in fact transcends the rating sytem used by us mere mortals). It would only be proper, as a matter of urgency, to remove all fake ratings (i.e. any ratings [below] five stars) and allow The Mummy’s rating to stand, as it should, at five stars, or perhaps to replace the rating altogether with a simple banner which reads “the greatest film of all time, objectively speaking”. I look forward to this grievous error being remedied.

Best, Anwen

Which of course: no, we would never do that. But the vigor Anwen expresses in her letter impressed us (we checked: she’s real, though is mostly a Letterboxd lurker due to a busy day-job in television production, “so finding time to watch anything that isn’t The Mummy is, frankly, impossible… not that there’s ever any need to watch anything else, of course.”).

So Letterboxd put me, Stephen Sommers fan, on the job of paying homage to the last great old-school action-adventure blockbuster, a film that straddles the end of one cinematic era and the beginning of the next one. And also to ask: where’s the next great action adventure coming from?

Brendan Fraser, Rachel Weisz and John Hannah in ‘The Mummy’ (1999).

When you delve into the Letterboxd reviews of The Mummy, it quickly becomes clear how widely beloved the film is, 3.3 average notwithstanding. Of more concern to the less youthful among us is how quaintly it is perceived, as if it harkens back to the dawn of cinema or something. “God, I miss good old-fashioned adventure movies,” bemoans Holly-Beth. “I have so many fond memories of watching this on TV with my family countless times growing up,” recalls Jess. “A childhood classic,” notes Simon.

As alarming as it is to see such wistful nostalgia for what was a cutting-edge, special-effects-laden contemporary popcorn hit, it has been twenty-one years since the film was released, so anyone currently in their early 30s would’ve encountered the film at just the right age for it to imprint deeply in their hearts. This has helped make it a Raiders of the Lost Ark for a specific Letterboxd demographic.

Sommers took plenty of inspiration from the Indiana Jones series for his take on The Mummy (the original 1932 film, also with a 3.3 average, is famously sedate), but for ten-year-olds in 1999, it may have been their only exposure to such pulpy derring-do. And when you consider that popcorn cinema would soon be taken over by interconnected on-screen universes populated by spandex-clad superheroes, the idea that The Mummy is an old-fashioned movie is easier to comprehend.

However, for all its throwbackiness, beholding The Mummy from the perspective of 2020 reveals it to have more to say about the future of cinema than the past. 1999 was a big year for movies, often considered one of the all-time best, but the legacy of The Mummy ties it most directly to two of that year’s other biggest hits: Star Wars: Episode One—The Phantom Menace and The Matrix. These three blockbusters represented a turning point for the biggest technological advancement to hit the cinematic art-form since the introduction of sound: computer-generated imagery, aka CGI. The technique had been widely used from 1989’s The Abyss onwards, and took significant leaps forward with movies such as Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991), Jurassic Park (1993) and Starship Troopers (1997), but the three 1999 films mentioned above signified a move into the era when blockbusters began to be defined by their CGI.

A year before The Mummy, Sommers had creatively utilised CGI in his criminally underrated sci-fi action thriller Deep Rising (another film that deserves a higher average Letterboxd rating, just sayin’), and he took this approach to the next level with The Mummy. While some of the CGI in The Mummy doesn’t hold up as well as the technopunk visuals presented in The Matrix, The Mummy showed how effective the technique could be in an historical setting—the expansiveness of ancient Egypt depicted in the movie is magnificent, and the iconic rendering of Imhotep’s face in the sand storm proved to be an enduringly creepy image. Not to mention those scuttling scarab beetles.

George Lucas wanted to test the boundaries of the technique with his insanely anticipated new Star Wars film after dipping his toe in the digital water with the special editions of the original trilogy. Beyond set expansions and environments, a bunch of big creatures and cool spaceships, his biggest gambit was Jar Jar Binks, a major character rendered entirely through CGI. And we all know how that turned out.

A CGI-enhanced Arnold Vosloo as Imhotep.

Sommers arguably presented a much more effective CGI character in the slowly regenerating resurrected Imhotep. Jar Jar’s design was “bigger” than the actor playing him on set, Ahmed Best. Which is to say, Jar Jar took up more space on screen than Best. But with the zombie-ish Imhotep, Sommers (ably assisted by Industrial Light & Magic, who also worked on the Star Wars films) used CGI to create negative space, an effect impossible to achieve with practical make-up—large parts of the character were missing. It was an indelible visual concept that has been recreated many times since, but Sommers pioneered its usage here, and it contributed greatly to the popcorn horror threat posed by the character.

Sommers, generally an unfairly overlooked master of fun popcorn spectacle (G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra is good, guys), deserves more credit for how he creatively utilized CGI to elevate the storytelling in The Mummy. But CGI isn’t the main reason the film works—it’s a spry, light-on-its-feet adventure that presents an iconic horror property in an entertaining and adventurous new light. And it happens to feature a ridiculously attractive cast all captured just as their pulchritudinous powers were peaking.

Meme-worthy: “My sexual orientation is the cast of ‘The Mummy’ (1999).”

A rising star at the time, Brendan Fraser was mostly known for comedic performances, and although he’d proven himself very capable with his shirt off in George of the Jungle (1997), he wasn’t necessarily at the top of anyone’s list for action-hero roles. But he is superlatively charming as dashing American adventurer Rick O’Connell. His fizzy chemistry with Weisz, playing the brilliant-but-clumsy Egyptologist Evie Carnahan, makes the film a legitimate romantic caper. The role proved to be a breakout for Weisz, then perhaps best known for playing opposite Keanu Reeves in the trouble-plagued action flop Chain Reaction, or for her supporting role in the Liv Tyler vehicle Stealing Beauty.

“90s Brendan Fraser is what Chris Pratt wishes he was,” argues Holly-Beth. “Please come back to us, Brendaddy. We need you.” begs Joshhh. “I’d like to thank Rachel Weisz for playing an integral role in my sexual awakening,” offers Sree.

Then there’s Oded Fehr as Ardeth Bey, a member of the Medjai, a sect dedicated to preventing Imhotep’s tomb from being discovered, and Patricia Velásquez as Anck-su-namun, Imhotep’s cursed lover. Both stupidly good-looking. Heck, Imhotep himself (South African Arnold Vosloo, coming across as Billy Zane’s more rugged brother), is one of the hottest horror villains in the history of cinema.

“Remember when studio movies were sexy?” laments Colin McLaughlin. We do Colin, we do.

Sommers directed a somewhat bloated sequel, The Mummy Returns, in 2001, which featured the cinematic debut of one Dwayne Johnson. His character got a spin-off movie the following year (The Scorpion King), which generated a bunch of DTV sequels of its own, and is now the subject of a Johnson-produced reboot. Brendan Fraser came back for a third film in 2008, the Rob Cohen-directed The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor. Weisz declined to participate, and was replaced by Maria Bello.

Despite all the follow-ups, and the enduring love for the first Sommers film, there has been a sadly significant dearth of movies along these lines in the two decades since it was released. The less said about 2017 reboot The Mummy (which was supposed to kick-off a new Universal Monster shared cinematic universe, and took a contemporary, action-heavy approach to the property), the better.

The Rock in ‘The Mummy Returns’ (2001).

For a long time, adventure films were Hollywood’s bread and butter, but they’re surprisingly thin on the ground these days. So it makes a certain amount of sense that nostalgia for the 1999 The Mummy continues to grow. You could argue that many of the superhero films that dominate multiplexes count as adventure movies, but nobody really sees them that way—they are their own genre.

There are, however, a couple of films on the horizon that could help bring back old-school cinematic adventure. One is the long-planned—and finally actually shot—adaptation of the Uncharted video-game franchise, starring Tom Holland. The games borrow a lot from the Indiana Jones films, and it’ll be interesting to see how much that manifests in the adaptation.

Then there’s Letterboxd favorite David Lowery’s forever-upcoming medieval adventure drama The Green Knight, starring Dev Patel and Alicia Vikander (who herself recently rebooted another video-game icon, Lara Croft). Plus they are still threatening to make another Indiana Jones movie, even if it no longer looks like Steven Spielberg will direct it.

While these are all exciting projects—and notwithstanding the current crisis in the multiplexes—it can’t help but feel like we may never again get a movie quite like The Mummy, with its unlikely combination of eye-popping CGI, old-fashioned adventure tropes and a once-in-a-lifetime ensemble of overflowing hotness. Long may love for it reign on Letterboxd—let’s see if we can’t get that average rating up, the old fashioned way. For Anwen.

Related content

How I Letterboxd with The Mummy fan Eve (“The first film I went out and bought memorabilia for… it was a Mummy action figure that included canopic jars”)

The Mummy (Universal) Collection

Every film featuring the Mummy (not mummies in general)

Follow Dom on Letterboxd

#the mummy #brendan fraser #stephen sommers #action adventure #fantasy adventure #action adventure film #the green knight #david lowery #dominic corry #letterboxd

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bewitching-elizabeth-olsen · 3 years ago

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Press/Gallery: How Elizabeth Olsen Brought Marvel From Mainstream to Prestige

“The thing I love about being an actor is to fully work with someone and try so hard to be at every level with them, chasing whatever it is you need or want from them.”

GALLERY LINKS

Studio Photoshoots > 2021 > Session 008 Magazine Scans > 2021 > Backstage (August 19)

Backstage: Elizabeth Olsen grins widely over video chat when recalling many such moments on set with her co-stars. Yet, she can’t bring herself to divorce such a lofty vision of film acting from the technical multitasking it requires. The camera sees all.

“But then you move your hair, and you’re in your brain, like: OK, remember that! Because I don’t want to edit myself out of a shot. I know some actors are like, ‘Continuity, shmontinuity!’ But the good thing about continuity is, if you remember it, you’re actually providing yourself with more options for the edit.”

That need to balance being both inside the scene and outside of it, fully living it and yet constantly visualizing it on a screen, feels particularly apt in light of Olsen’s most recent project, “WandaVision.”

The mysteries at the heart of the show grow with every episode, each fast-forwarding to a different decade: Could this 1950s, black-and-white, “filmed in front of a studio audience” newlyweds bit be a grief-stricken dream? Might this ’70s spoof be a powerful spell gone awry? Could this meta take on mockumentary comedies be proof that the multiverse is finally coming to the Marvel Cinematic Universe?

The series’ structure, which branches out to include government agents intent on finding out why Westview has seemingly disappeared, calls for the entire cast to play with a mix of genres, balancing a shape-shifting tone that culminates in an epic, MCU-style conclusion. What’s key—and why the show struck a chord with audiences during its nine-episode run—is the miniseries’ commitment to grounding its initial kooky setups and its later special effects-driven spectacle in heartbreaking emotional truths. It’s no small feat, though it’s one that can often be taken for granted.

“I was thinking how hard it would have been to have shot the first ‘Lord of the Rings,’ ” Olsen muses. “Like, you’re putting all these actors [into the frame] later and at all these different levels. All the eyelines are completely unnatural. And yet the performances are fantastic! And technically, they are so hard. People forget sometimes that these things are really technically hard to shoot. And if you are moved by their performance, that took a lot of multitasking.”

As someone who has learned plenty about harnesses, wirework, fight choreography, and green screens (she’s starred in four Marvel movies, including the box office megahit “Avengers: Endgame,” after all), Olsen knows how hard it can be to wrap one’s brain around the work needed to pull off those big, splashy scenes.

“If you think about it, it’s, like, the biggest stakes in the entire world—every time. And that feels silly to act over and over again, especially when people are in silly costumes and the love of your life is purple and sparkly, and every time you kiss them, you have to worry about getting it on your hands. Those things are ridiculous. You feel ridiculous. So there is a part of your brain that has to shovel that away and just look into someone’s eyeballs—and sometimes, they don’t even have eyeballs!”

The ability to spend so much time with Wanda, albeit in the guise of sitcom parodies, was a welcome opportunity for Olsen. Not only did it allow the actor to really wrestle with the traumatic backstory that has long defined the character in the MCU, but having the chance to calibrate a performance that functions on so many different levels was a thrilling challenge.

“It was such an amazing work experience,” she says. “Kathryn [Hahn] uses the word ‘profound’—which is so sweet, because it is Marvel, and people, you know, don’t think of those experiences as profound when they watch them. But it really was such a special crew that [director] Matt Shakman and [creator] Jac Schaeffer created. It was a really healthy working environment.”

Related‘WandaVision’ Star Kathryn Hahn’s Secret to Building a Scene-Stealing Performance ‘WandaVision’ Star Kathryn Hahn’s Secret to Building a Scene-Stealing Performance Considering that the miniseries spans several sitcom iterations, various layers of televisual reality, and a number of character reveals that needed to feel truthful and impactful in equal measure, Shakman’s decision to work closely with his actors ahead of shooting was key.

“We truly had a gorgeous amount of time together before we started filming,” Olsen remembers. “Our goal was—which is controversial in TV land—that if you wanted to change [anything], like dialogue in a scene, you had to give those notes a week before we even got there. Because sometimes you get to set, and someone had a brilliant idea while they were sleeping, and you’re like, ‘We don’t have an hour to talk about this. We have seven pages to shoot.’ And so, we were all on the same page with one another, knowing what we were shooting ahead of time.

“Matt just treated us like a troupe of actors who were about to do some regional theater shit,” she adds with a smile.

That spirit of camaraderie was, not coincidentally, at the heart of Olsen’s breakout project, Sean Durkin’s 2011 indie sensation “Martha Marcy May Marlene.” As an introduction to the process of filmmaking to a young stage-trained actor, Durkin’s quietly devastating drama was a dream—and an invaluable learning opportunity.

“It was truly just a bunch of people who loved the script, who just were doing the work. I didn’t understand lenses, so I just did the same thing all the time. I never knew if the camera would be on me or not. There was just so much purity in that experience, and you only have that once.”

The film announced Olsen as a talent to watch: a keen-eyed performer capable of deploying a stilted physicality and clipped delivery, which she used to conjure up a wounded girl learning how to shake off her time spent in a cult in upstate New York. But Olsen admits that it took her a while to figure out how to navigate her career choices afterward. In the years following “Martha,” she felt compelled to try on everything: a horror flick here, a high-profile remake there, a period piece here, an action movie there. It wasn’t until she starred in neo-Western thriller “Wind River” (alongside fellow Marvel regular Jeremy Renner) and the dark comedy “Ingrid Goes West” (opposite a deliciously deranged Aubrey Plaza) that Olsen found her groove.

“It was at that point, when I was five years into working, where I was like, Ah, I know how I want it. I know what I need from these people—from who’s involved, from producers, from directors, from the character, from the script—in order to trust that it’s going to be a fruitful experience.”

As Olsen looks back on her first decade as a working actor, she points out how far removed she is from that young girl who broke out in “Martha Marcy May Marlene.”

“I feel like a totally different person. I don’t know if everyone who’s in their early 30s feels like their early 20s self is a totally different human. But when I think about that version of myself, it feels like a long time ago; there’s a lot learned in a decade.”

Those early years were marked by a self-effacing humility that often led Olsen to defer to others when it came to key decisions about the characters she was playing. But she now feels emboldened to not only stand up for herself and her choices but for others on her sets as well.

“[Facebook Watch series] ‘Sorry for Your Loss’ I got to produce, and I really found my voice in a collaborative leadership way. And with ‘WandaVision,’ Paul [Bettany] and I really took on that feeling, as well—especially since we were introducing new characters to Marvel and wanted [those actors] to feel protected and helped,” she says. “They could ask questions and make sure they felt like they had all the things they needed because sometimes you don’t even know what you need to ask.”

It’s a lesson she learned working with filmmaker Marc Abraham on the Hank Williams biopic “I Saw the Light,” and she’s carried it with her ever since. “I really want it to feel like we’re all in this together, as a team,” Olsen says. “That was part of ‘Sorry for Your Loss’ and it was part of ‘WandaVision,’ and I hope to continue that kind of energy because those have been some of the healthiest work experiences I’ve had.”

If Olsen sounds particularly zealous about the importance of a comfortable, working set, it is because she’s well aware that therein lies an integral part of the work and the process. As an actor, she wants to feel protected and nurtured by those around her, whether she’s reacting to a telling, quiet line of dialogue about grief or donning her iconic Scarlet Witch outfit during a magic-filled mid-air action sequence.

“Sometimes you’re going to be foolish, you know? And [you need to] feel brave to be foolish. Sometimes people feel embarrassed on set and snap. But if you’re in a place where people feel like they’re allowed to be an idiot,” she says, “you’re going to feel better about being an idiot.”

This story originally appeared in the Aug. 19 issue of Backstage Magazine. Subscribe here.

Press/Gallery: How Elizabeth Olsen Brought Marvel From Mainstream to Prestige was originally published on Elizabeth Olsen Source • Your source for everything Elizabeth Olsen

#Elizabeth Olsen #WandaVision #Avengers #Scarlet Witch #Wanda Maximoff #Sorry For Your Loss #Avengers Infinity War #Avengers Age of Ultron #Captain America Civil War #Ingrid Goes West #Godzilla #Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness #Marvel #MCU #Candy Montgomery #Love and Death #Avengers Endgame

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xoruffitup · 3 years ago

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Annette: The AD Devotee Review

So I saw Annette on its premiere night in Cannes and I’m still trying to process and make sense of those 2.5 hours of utter insanity. I have no idea where to begin and this is likely going to become an unholy length by the time I’m finished, so I apologize in advance. But BOY I’ve got a lot to parse through!!

Let’s start here: Adam’s made plenty of weird movies. The Dead Don’t Die? The Man Who Killed Don Quixote? There are definitely Terry Gilliam-esque elements of the unapologetically absurd and fantastical in Annette, but NOTHING comes close to this film. To put it bluntly, nothing I write in this post can prepare you for the eccentric phantasmagoria you’re about to sit through.

While the melodies conveying the story – at times lovely and haunting, at times whimsical, occasionally blunt and simple – add a unique sense of the surreal, the fact that it’s all presented in song somehow supplies the medium for this bizarre concoction of disparate elements and outlandish storytelling to all coalesce into a single genre-defying, disbelief-suspending whole. That’s certainly not to say there weren’t a few times when I quietly chortled to myself and mouthed “what the fuck” from behind my mask when things took an exceeding turn to the outrageous. This movie needs to be permitted a bit of leeway in terms of quality judgments, and traditional indicators certainly won’t apply. I would say part of its appeal (and ultimately its success) stems from its lack of interest in appealing to traditional arbiters of film structure and viewing experience. The movie lingers in studies of discomfiture (I’ll return to this theme); it presents all its absurdities with brazen pride rather than temperance; and its end is abrupt and utterly jarring. Yet somehow, at the end of it, I realized I’d been white-knuckling that rollercoaster ride the whole way through and loved every last twist and turn.

A note on the structure of this post before I dive in: I’ve written out a synopsis of the whole film (for those spoiler-hungry people) and stashed it down at the bottom of this post, so no one trying to avoid spoilers has to scroll through. If you want to read, go ahead and skip down to that before reading the discussion/analysis. If I have to reference a specific plot point, I’ll label it “Spoiler #___” and those who don’t mind being spoiled can check the correlating numbers in my synopsis to see which part I’m referencing. Otherwise, my discussion will be spoiler-free! I do detail certain individual scenes, but hid anything that would give away key developments and/or the ending.

To start, I’ll cut to what I’m sure many of you are here for: THE MUSICAL SEX SCENES. You want detailed descriptions? Well let’s fucking go because these scenes have been living in my head rent-free!!

The first (yes, there are two. Idk whether to thank Mr. Carax or suggest he get his sanity checked??) happens towards the end of “We Love Each Other So Much.” Henry carries Ann to the bed with her feet dangling several inches off the floor while she has her arms wrapped around his shoulders. (I maybe whimpered a tiny bit.) As they continue to sing, you first see Ann spread on her back on the bed, panting a little BUT STILL SINGING while Henry’s head is down between her thighs. The camera angle is from above Ann’s head, so you can clearly see down her body and exactly what’s going on. He lifts his head to croon a line, then puts his mouth right back to work.

And THEN they fuck – still fucking singing! They’re on their sides with Henry behind her, and yes there is visible thrusting. Yes, the thrusting definitely picks up speed and force as the song reaches its crescendo. Yes, it was indeed EXTREMELY sensual once you got over the initial shock of what you’re watching. Ann kept her breasts covered with her own hands while Henry went down on her, but now his hands are covering them and kneading while they’re fucking and just….. It’s a hard, blazing hot R rating. I also remember his giant hand coming up to turn her head so he can kiss her and ladkjfaskfjlskfj. Bring your smelling salts. I don’t recommend sitting between two older ladies while you’re watching – KINDA RUINED THE BLATANT, SMOKING HOT ADAM PORN FOR ME. Good god, choose your viewing buddy wisely!

The second scene comes sort of out of nowhere – I can’t actually recall which song it was during, but it pops up while Ann is pregnant. Henry is again eating her out and there’s not as much overt singing this time, but he has his giant hands splayed over her pregnant belly while he’s going to town and whew, WHEW TURN ON THE AIR CONDITIONING PLEASE. DID THE THEATER INCREASE IN TEMPERATURE BY 10 DEGREES, YOU’RE DAMN RIGHT IT DID.

Whew. I think you’ll be better primed to ~enjoy~ those scenes when you know they’re coming, otherwise it’s just so shocking that by the time you’ve processed “Look at Adam eating pussy with reckless abandon” it’s halfway over already. God speed, my fellow rats, it’s truly something to witness!!

Okay. Right. Ahem. Moving right on along….

I’ll kick off this discussion with the formal structure of the film. It’s honestly impossible to classify. I have the questionable fortune of having been taken to many a strange avant-garde operas and art exhibitions by my parents when I was younger, and the strongest parallel I found to this movie was melodramatic opera stagings full of flamboyant flourishes, austere set pieces, and prolonged numbers where the characters wallow at length in their respective miseries. This movie has all the elevated drama, spectacle, and self-aggrandizement belonging to any self-professed rock opera. Think psychedelic rock opera films a la The Who’s Tommy, Hair, Phantom of the Paradise, and hell, even Rocky Horror. Yes, this film really is THAT weird.

But Annette is also in large part a vibrant, absurdist performance piece. The film is intriguingly book-ended by two scenes where the lines blur between actor and character; and your own role blurs between passive viewer and interactive audience. The first scene has the cast walking through the streets of LA (I think?), singing “So May We Start?” directly to the camera in a self-aware prologue, smashing the fourth wall from the beginning and setting up the audience to play a direct role in the viewing experience. Though the cast then disburse and take up their respective roles, the sense of being directly performed to is reinforced throughout the film. This continues most concretely through Henry’s multiple stand-up comedy performances.

Though he performs to an audience in the film rather than directly to live viewers, these scenes are so lengthy, vulgar, and excessive that his solo performance act becomes an integral part of defining his character and conveying his arc as the film progresses. These scenes start to make the film itself feel like a one-man show. The whole shtick of Henry McHenry’s “Ape of God” show is its perverse irreverence and swaggering machismo. Over the span of what must be a five minute plus scene, Henry hacks up phlegm, pretends to choke himself with his microphone cord, prances across the stage with his bathrobe flapping about, simulates being shot, sprinkles many a misanthropic, charmless monologues in between, and ends by throwing off his robe and mooning the audience before he leaves the stage. (Yes, you see Adam’s ass within the film’s first twenty minutes, and we’re just warming up from there.) His one-man performances demonstrate his egocentrism, penchant for lowbrow and often offensive humor, and the fact that this character has thus far profited from indulging in and acting out his base vulgarities.

While never demonstrating any abundance of good taste, his shows teeter firmly towards the grotesque and unsanctionable as his marriage and mental health deteriorate. This is what I’m referring to when I described the film as a study in discomfiture. As he deteriorates, the later iterations of his stand-up show become utterly unsettling and at times revolting. The film could show mercy and stop at one to two minutes of his more deranged antics, but instead subjects you to a protracted display of just how insane this man might possibly be. In Adam’s hands, these excessive, indulgent performance scenes take on disturbing but intriguing ambiguity, as you again wonder where the performance ends and the real man begins. When Henry confesses to a crime during his show and launces into an elaborate, passionate reenactment on stage, you shift uncomfortably in your seat wondering how much of it might just be true. Wondering just how much of an animal this man truly is.

Watching this film as an Adam fan, these scenes are unparalleled displays of his range and prowess. He’s in turns amusing and revolting; intolerable and pathetic; but always, always riveting. I couldn’t help thinking to myself that for the casual, non Adam-obsessed viewer, the effect of these scenes might stop at crass and unappealing. But in terms of the sheer range and power of acting on display? These scenes are a damn marvel. Through these scenes alone, his performance largely imbues the film with its wild, primal, and vaguely menacing atmosphere.

His stand-up scenes were, to me, some of the most intense of the film – sometimes downright difficult to endure. But they’re only a microcosm of the R A N G E he exhibits throughout the film’s entirety. Let’s talk about how he’s animalistic, menacing, and genuinely unsettling to watch (Leos Carax described him as “feline” at some point, and I 100% see it); and then with a mere subtle twitch of his expression, sheen of his eyes, or slump of his shoulders, he’s suddenly a lost, broken thing.

Henry McHenry is truly to be reviled. Twitter might as well spare their breath and announce he’s already cancelled. He towers above the rest of the cast with intimidating, predatory physicality; he is prone to indulgence in his vices; and he constantly seems at risk of releasing some wild, uncontrollable madness lingering just beneath his surface. But as we all well know, Adam has an unerring talent for lending pathos to even the most objectively condemnable characters.

In a repeated refrain during his first comedy show, the audience keeps asking him, “Why did you become a comedian?” He dodges the question or gives sarcastic answers, until finally circling back to the true answer later in the film. It was something to the effect of: “To disarm people. It’s the only way I can tell the truth without it killing me.” Even for all their sick spectacle, there are also moments in his stand-up shows of disarming vulnerability and (seeming) honesty. In a similar moment of personal exposition, he confesses his temptation and “sympathy for the abyss.” (This phrase is hands down my favorite of the film.) He repeatedly refers to his struggle against “the abyss” and, at the same time, his perceived helplessness against it. “There’s so little I can do, there’s so little I can do,” he sings repeatedly throughout the film - usually just after doing something horrific.

Had he been played by anyone else, the first full look of him warming up before his show - hopping in place and punching the air like some wannabe boxer, interspersing puffs of his cigarette with chowing down on a banana – would have been enough for me to swear him off. His archetype is something of a cliché at this point – a brusque, boorish man who can’t stomach or preserve the love of others due to his own self-loathing. There were multiple points when it was only Adam’s face beneath the character that kept my heart cracked open to him. But sure enough, he wedged his fingers into that tiny crack and pried it wide open. The film’s final few scenes show him at his chin-wobbling best as he crumbles apart in small, mournful subtleties.

(General, semi-spoiler ahead as to the tone of the film’s ending – skip this paragraph if you’d rather avoid.) For a film that professes not to take itself very seriously (how else am I supposed to interpret the freaky puppet baby?), it delivers a harsh, unforgiving ending to its main character. And sure enough, despite how much I might have wanted to distance myself and believe it was only what he deserved, I found myself right there with him, sharing his pain. It is solely testament to Adam’s tireless dedication to breathing both gritty realism and stubborn beauty into his characters that Henry sank a hook into some piece of my sympathy.

Not only does Adam have to be the only actor capable of imbuing Henry with humanity despite his manifold wrongs, he also has to be the only actor capable of the wide-ranging transformations demanded of the role. He starts the movie with long hair and his full refrigerator brick house physique. His physicality and size are actively leveraged to engender a sense of disquiet and unpredictability through his presence. He appears in turns tormented and tormentor. There were moments when I found myself thinking of Conan the Barbarian, simply because his physical presence radiates such wild, primal energy (especially next to tiny, dainty Marion and especially with that long hair). Cannot emphasize enough: The raw sex appeal is off the goddamn charts and had me – a veteran fangirl of 3+ years - shook to my damn core.

The film’s progression then ages him – his hair cut shorter and his face and physique gradually becoming more gaunt. By the film’s end, he has facial prosthetics to make him seem even more stark and borderline sickly – a mirror of his growing internal torment. From a muscular, swaggering powerhouse, he pales and shrinks to a shell of a man, unraveling as his face becomes nearly deformed by time and guilt. He is in turns beautiful and grotesque; sensual and repulsive. I know of no other actor whose face (and its accompanying capacity for expressiveness) could lend itself to such stunning versatility.

Quick note here that he was given a reddish-brown birthmark on the right side of his face for this film?? It becomes more prominent once his hair is shorter in the film’s second half. I’m guessing it was Leos’ idea to make his face even more distinctive and riveting? If so, joke’s on you, Mr. Carax, because we’re always riveted. ☺

I mentioned way up at the beginning that the film is bookended by two scenes where the lines blur between actor and character, and between reality and performance. This comes full circle at the film’s end, with Henry’s final spoken words (this doesn’t give any plot away but skip to the next paragraph if you would rather avoid!) being “Stop watching me.” That’s it. The show is over. He has told his last joke, played out his final act, and now he’s done living his life as a source of cheap, unprincipled laughs and thrills for spectators. The curtain closes with a resounding silence.

Now, I definitely won’t have a section where I talk (of course) about the Ben Solo parallels. He’s haunted by an “abyss” aka darkness inside of him? Bad things happened when he finally gave in and stared into that darkness he knew lived within him? As a result of those tragedies, (SPOILER – Skip to next paragraph to avoid) he then finds himself alone and with no one to love or be loved by? NO I’M DEFINITELY NOT GOING TO TALK ABOUT IT AT ALL, I’M JUST FINE HERE UNDER MY MOUNTAINS OF TISSUES.

Let’s talk about the music! The film definitely clocks in closer to a rock opera than musical, because almost the entire thing is conveyed through ongoing song, rather than self-contained musical numbers appearing here and there. This actually helps the film’s continuity and pacing, by keeping the characters perpetually in this suspended state of absurdity, always propelled along by some beat or melody. Whenever the film seems on the precipice of tipping all the way into the bleak and dark, the next whimsical tune kicks in to reel us all blessedly back. For example, after (SPOILER #1) happens, there’s a hard cut to the bright police station where several officers gather around Henry, bopping about and chattering on the beat “Questions! We have a few questions!”

Adam integrates his singing into his performance in such a way that it seems organic. I realized after the film that I never consciously considered the quality of his singing along the way. For all that I talked about the film maintaining the atmosphere of a fourth wall-defying performance piece, Adam’s singing is so fully immersed in the embodiment of his character that you almost forget he’s singing. Rather, this is simply how Henry McHenry exists. His stand-up scenes are the only ones in the film that do frequently transition back and forth between speaking and singing, but it’s seamlessly par for the course in Henry’s bizarre, dour show. He breaks into his standard “Now laugh!” number with uninterrupted sarcasm and contempt. There were certainly a few soft, poignant moments when his voice warbled in a tender vibrato you couldn’t help noticing – but otherwise, the singing was simply an extension of that full-body persona he manages to convey with such apparent ease and naturalism.

On the music itself: I’ll admit that the brief clip of “We Love Each Other So Much” we got a few weeks ago made me a tad nervous. It seemed so cheesy and ridiculous? But okay, you really can’t take anything from this movie out of context. Otherwise it is, indeed, utterly ridiculous. Not that none of it is ever ridiculous in context either, but I’m giving you assurances right now that it WORKS. Once you’re in the flow of constant singing and weirdness abound, the songs sweep you right along. Some of the songs lack a distinctive hook or melody and are moreso rhythmic vehicles for storytelling, but it’s now a day later and I still have three of the songs circulating pleasantly in my head. “We Love Each Other So Much” was actually the stand out for me and is now my favorite of the soundtrack. It’s reprised a few times later in the film, growing increasingly melancholy each time it is echoed, and it hits your heart a bit harder each time. The final song sung during (SPOILER #2), though without a distinctive melody to lodge in my head, undoubtedly left me far more moved than a spoken version of this scene would have. Adam’s singing is so painfully desperate and earnest here, and he takes the medium fully under his command.

Finally, it does have to be said that parts of this film veer fully towards the ridiculous and laughable. The initial baby version of the Annette puppet-doll was nothing short of horrifying to me. Annette gets more center-stage screen time in the film’s second half, which gives itself over to a few special effects sequences which look to be flying out at you straight from 2000 Windows Movie Maker. The scariest part is that it all seems intentional. The quality special effects appear when necessary (along with some unusual and captivating time lapse shots), which means the film’s most outrageous moments are fully in line with its guiding spirit. Its extravagant self-indulgence nearly borders on camp.

...And with that, I’ve covered the majority of the frantic notes I took for further reflection immediately after viewing. It’s now been a few days, and I’m looking forward to rewatching this movie when I can hopefully take it in a bit more fully. This time, I won’t just be struggling to keep up with the madness on screen. My concluding thoughts at this point: Is it my favorite Adam movie? Certainly not. Is it the most unforgettable? Aside from my holy text, The Last Jedi, likely yes. It really is the sort of thing you have to see twice to even believe it. And all in all, I say again that Adam truly carried this movie, and he fully inhabits even its highest, most ludicrous aspirations. He’s downright abhorrent in this film, and that’s exactly what makes him such a fucking legend.

I plan to make a separate post in the coming days about my experience at Cannes and the Annette red carpet, since a few people have asked! I can’t even express how damn good it feels to be globetrotting for Adam-related experiences again. <3

Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to ask me any further questions at all here or on Twitter! :)

*SYNOPSIS INCLUDED BELOW. DO NOT READ FURTHER IF AVOIDING SPOILERS!*

Synopsis: Comedian Henry McHenry and opera singer Ann Defrasnoux are both at the pinnacle of their respective success when they fall in love and marry. The marriage is happy and passionate for a time, leading to the birth of their (puppet) daughter, Annette. But tabloids and much of the world believe the crude, brutish Henry is a poor match for refined, idolized Ann. Ann and Henry themselves both begin to feel that something is amiss – Henry gradually losing his touch for his comedy craft, claiming that being in love is making him ill. He repeatedly and sardonically references how Ann’s opera career involves her “singing and dying” every night, to the point that he sees visions of her “dead” body on the stage. Meanwhile, Ann has a nightmare of multiple women accusing Henry of abusive and violent behavior towards them, and she begins growing wary in his presence. (He never acts abusively towards her, unless you count that scene when he tickles her feet and licks her toes while she’s telling him to stop??? Yeah I know, WILD.)

The growing sense of unease, that they’re both teetering on the brink of disaster, culminates in the most deranged of Henry’s stand-up comedy performances, when he gives a vivid reenactment of killing his wife by “tickling her to death.” The performance is so maudlin and unsettling that you wonder whether he’s not making it up at all, and the audience strongly rebukes him. (This is the “What is your problem?!” scene with tiddies out. The full version includes Adam storming across the stage, furiously singing/yelling, “What the FUCK is your problem?!”) But when Henry arrives home that night, drunk and raucous, Ann and Annette are both unharmed.

The couple take a trip on their boat, bringing Annette with them. The boat gets caught in a storm, and Henry drunkenly insists that he and Ann waltz in the storm. She protests that it’s too dangerous and begs him to see sense. (SPOILER #1) The boat lurches when Henry spins her, and Ann falls overboard to her death. Henry rescues Annette from the sinking boat and rows them both to shore. He promptly falls unconscious, and a ghost of Ann appears, proclaiming her intention to haunt Henry through Annette. Annette (still a toddler at this point and yes, still a wooden puppet) then develops a miraculous gift for singing, and Henry decides to take her on tour with performances around the world. He enlists the help of his “conductor friend,” who had been Ann’s accompanist and secretly had an affair with her before she met Henry.

Henry slides further into drunken debauchery as the tour progresses, while the Conductor looks after Annette and the two grow close. Once the tour concludes, the Conductor suggests to Henry that Annette might be his own daughter – revealing his prior affair with Ann. Terrified by the idea of anyone finding out and the possibility of losing his daughter, Henry drowns the Conductor in the pool behind his and Ann’s house. Annette sees the whole thing happen from her bedroom window.

Henry plans one last show for Annette, to be held in a massive stadium at the equivalent of the Super Bowl. But when Annette takes the stage, she refuses to sing. Instead, she speaks and accuses Henry of murder. (“Daddy kills people,” are the actual words – not that that was creepy to hear as this puppet’s first spoken words or anything.)

Henry stands trial, during which he sees an apparition of Ann from when they first met. They sing their regret that they can’t return to the happiness they once shared, until the apparition is replaced by Ann’s vengeful spirit, who promises to haunt Henry in prison. After his sentencing (it’s not clear what the sentence was, but Henry definitely isn’t going free), Annette is brought to see him once in prison. Speaking fully for the first time, she declares she can’t forgive her parents for using her: Henry for exploiting her voice for profit and Ann for presumably using her to take vengeance on Henry. (Yes, this is why she was an inanimate doll moving on strings up to this point – there was some meaning in that strange, strange artistic choice. She was the puppet of her parents’ respective egotisms.) The puppet of Annette is abruptly replaced by a real girl in this scene, finally enabling two-sided interaction and a long-missed genuine connection between her and Henry, which made this quite the emotional catharsis. (SPOILER #2) It concludes with Annette still unwilling to forgive or forget what her parents have done, and swearing never to sing again. She says Henry now has “no one to love.” He appeals, “Can’t I love you, Annette?” She replies, “No, not really.” Henry embraces her one last time before a guard takes her away and Henry is left alone.

…..Yes, that is the end. It left me with major emotional whiplash, after the whole film up to this point kept pulling itself back from the total bleak and dark by starting up a new toe-tapping, mildly silly tune every few minutes. But this last scene instead ends on a brutal note of harsh, unforgiving silence.

BUT! Make sure you stick around through the credits, when you see the cast walking through a forest together. (This is counterpart to the film’s opening, when you see the cast walking through LA singing “So May We Start?” directly to the audience) Definitely pay attention to catch Adam chasing/playing with the little girl actress who plays Annette! That imparts a much nicer feeling to leave the theater with. :’)

#Adam Driver #Annette #Cannes 2021 #driverdaily #Annette spoilers

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haikyuu-sickfics · 3 years ago

Note

I have a request if you don't mind!! Atsumu and Osamu's first time on a plane and Osamu gets horribly plane sick and atsumu has to be doting older brother and take care of him!

Vomit Warning!

"This is awesome!" Atsumu cheered, pulling his shoes back on after passing security.

"What's so awesome about standing in line for an hour?" Osamu countered, leaning forward to stretch their back.

It was four o'clock in the morning. Atsumu had forced his twin out of bed at one to arrive here at two for their plane which departed at six. Osamu was far less than pleased, lazy tendrils of sleep still clinging to their every move.

"C'mon, get in the vacation spirit!" Atsumu pulled his twin into a side hug.

"No, thanks," Osamu pulled away, double checking the ticket in their hand for the correct gate, "but Mr. Vacation, what d'ya plan for the two hours."

"People watch, duh."

Closing their eyes in frustration, Osamu grabbed their luggage and made their way down the vast, well-lit, corrider.

"Why did I let you talk me into this again?" they mumbled under their breath, mostly to themselves.

As expected, time passed horrendously slow. Each second ticking by at a snails pace, the blaring white lights boring through Osamu's pupils even with their eyes closed. In addition, a dull headache was beginning to ebb at the edges of their temples. Despite this, a faint sense of unconciousness fell over them. Some odd world between awake and asleep which one may only find themselves suspended in while at an airport.

They were rudely pulled out of this not-quite-relaxed state by a hand on their shoulder and a flight attendants echoing announcement.

"Get up, it's boarding time," Atsumu informed, "You can sleep on the plane."

Osamu shrugged Atsumu's hand off, stretching out their legs while wiping sleep from their eyes. A faint headache gnawed behind their eyes, but that was normal for the amount of sleep recieved.

"Don't even try talking to me on the plane," Osamu threatened half-heartedly.

Osamu regretted saying that.

They had managed to catch a wink of sleep before the plane had started and while it was taxiing, but an irksome nausea settled in his gut as soon as the hunk of metal lifted off the ground. At first they had attributed it to the hunger, but that idea was quickly shot down when the sight of food on the menu sent their stomach roiling.

They wanted nothing more but for Atsumu to ask them what was wrong. Of course, they wouldn't start the conversation- that would be admitting defeat- but if their twin happen to ask, they couldn't just lie.

But for one in his life, Atsumu was listening to Osamu and keeping his mouth sealed. And the latter never wanted to punch him more for it.

What did finally arouse suspicion in the dense twin was Osamu asking for Sprite.

"Samu? You ok?" Atsumu questioned, pulling out his right earbud as Osamu took a tentative sip of the bubbly drink.

Lacking the will to open their mouth- much less use their voice- Osamu shook their head no.

"Are you that tired? Try reclining a little and gettin' some shut-eye."

Osamu pointed to his stomach before covering his mouth. Atsumu quickly sat up.

"Woah woah, hey what'cha doin there, huh?"

Glaring softly at his twin, Osamu's shoulders lurched with a gag, his muscles tensing with strain.

"Right. Right. Bag okay, um where is it," Atsumu patted his pockets in panic until Osamu took things into his own hands and reached into the pocket of the seat in front of him.

His hands shook ruthlessly, keeping him from opening the bag. Silently, he begged Atsumu to help him. But his twin being... well, his twin. Atsumu took no notice of Osamu's plight.

Not until his 'plight' displayed itself in a sickly chunky liquid dripping from his mouth to his hands before pooling on his lap like a water fountain from a horror movie.

Those nearby scrunched their noses in disgust, making a show of leaning away from the spectacle.

Feeling embarrassment tingling at his gut, Osamu helplessly sat by as another mouthful of sick rolled out.

A flight attendant hurried over, carrying a plastic garbage bag in their hands.

"Sorry," Osamu croaked out, feeling quite awful for the staff who was left to deal with the mess he made.

"Oh, it's okay. First time flying? Don't worry, this happens all the time. If you would like a change of clothes we could provide you with some. We can't gurrantee they will fit, but I'm sure anything will be better."

Osamu nodded his head at the offer of new clothing, he refused to make eye contact with the source of the lovely voice.

"Now who would've thought. What kinda piss-poor luck do you have? It's like you were born anti-fun,"

"Can it you low budget Paristan."

"Wow, and right when I was gonna ask if you were alright. Now I see how you really feel about me," Astumu paused, waiting for Osamu to continue their petty dispute.

When he didn't Atsumu felt one thing.

Guilt.

Technically, it was his fault Osamu was in this position. The least he could do was apologize or help him out or something.

"Do you, uh. I can take this from you," Atsumu grabbed the soiled paper bag by a dry corner and dropped it into the plastic bag.

"Thanks."

The flight attendant came back with a change of clothes and a bundle of napkins. Atsumu accepted the package gratefully, setting the clothes on his lap as he began wiping down his twin as best as possible.

"I could do that," Osamu stated plainly, making no attempt to take over the job.

"It's the least I could do."

After throwing the last napkin into the bag, Atsumu handed Osamu the bundle of clothes and the bag,

"Go change in the bathroom, put your dirty clothes in here, we'll just throw them away."

"Alone?" Osamu cringed at the thought of walking down the alley with so many eyes on him.

He was bound to get dirty looks, given the scent he infected the small area with.

"I'll come with."

Atsumu followed Osamu down the hall, thanking every higher power imaginable when the small green 'OPEN!' sign was on the bathroom handle.

"I'll wait here for you," Atsumu stood next to the door as Osamu disappeared inside.

It took a couple minutes for Osamu to reappear- reasonable considering the size of the bathroom.

Once he did come out, the two walked quickly back to their seats.

"Do you want some water or something?" Atsumu asked, sealing the bag without tying it.

"I just wanna sleep," Osamu leaned his head back, failing to find comfort on the cheap seat.

Atsumu pulled of his sweatshirt, folding it into a square before placing it on his lap. Lifting up the arm rest between them, he patted the makeshift pillow.

Wordlessly agreeing, Osamu lay down.

Maybe his brother wasn't that bad after all.

#sick osamu miya #haikyuu sickfic #vomit tw

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coffeebleeds · 3 years ago

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Cardverse - Chapter 2

Introductions carried on for some time afterward. Members of the court who were in the city for other business (so they said - but Alfred very much suspected it was to meet the new consort), heads of staff around the palace, and other notable individuals who had come in upon seeing the arrival of the red carriage. The leaders of the local guilds also introduced themselves to the young lady, bowing low in respect to her.

One of the prominent members of the Automaton’s Guild asked Lady Catalina how she liked what she’d seen of the kingdom so far. The question was rather bold, Alfred thought, but he expected it was on everyone’s mind. All the same, he didn’t like that she was put on the spot like that to make a declaration. She’d hardly seen anything of it at all! But she handled it surprisingly well.

“It’s rather different from my homeland,” she began, her eyes scanning over the crowd of anticipating faces,”-but I think I will grow to like it very much. I have never seen quite so many automatons in one place. In the Hearts, they are only found in the wealthiest homes, and are novelties to show off rather than practical tools.” Her answer seemed to satisfy the young man, who grinned broadly.

“Perhaps we can create something that will be of use to you, my Lady.” He said this with a wink, which was caught by the Jack, who promptly whacked the young man with a rolled up stack of papers. Such behavior might have been shocking to some, but everyone knew better than to get between the Jack and one of his grandchildren.

This display, far from alarming the lady, appeared to amuse her, as she quickly hid her laughter behind a fan. “Perhaps you may. Wong Ka Lung, was it?”

The boy rubbed the back of his head where his grandfather had smacked him. “Yeah, but you can call me Leon. Most people do.” He very pointedly directed a snarky glare at his attacker, who most decidedly did not call him Leon and never would. Before he handed off the lady’s attention to someone else, he handed her a small brass gear. These were as common as calling cards among the Spades, inscribed with the giver’s name and place of business. Alfred had a few himself, kept on a chain in his pocket. He hardly ever handed out his own, since they were more of a currency when they came from him - the Spades had a habit of trading the King’s Favors, as they were known. He hadn’t had an occasion to hand any out, nor had anyone come to collect upon one of those that his father had distributed, but he suspected that someone would eventually.

Lady Catalina turned the gear over in her fingers, evidently having never seen one before, judging by the way her brows raised and her lips parted. “Thank you, Leon.” Satisfied that she had examined every surface of the gear, she tucked it into an inner pocket of her gown.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in a short tour of the palace. This was a far less public spectacle. The other members of the court joined for the majority of it, but slowly dropped off as the details became less interesting to them. The Queen and Jack remained for the tour of the inner chambers, where the royals lived, safely out of the way of the more public spaces. They pointed out the finer details that Alfred tended to gloss over: how much gold was in the ceiling’s gilding, who commissioned the art along the walls, the small animals carved into the wood of the frieze overhead. Alfred didn’t care too much about any of that, more interested in getting back to his work. And they were so close to his office. Maybe he could slip away unnoticed and they would continue on without him…

“And here is where we must leave you, I’m afraid.” Yao announced. Alfred whirled around to stare, in wide-eyed horror, at the elderly man. The Jack pretended not to notice. “As I said before, my office is just down that hallway there, on the left. You are welcome to speak to me at any time, provided that you knock politely. I have enough people barging in there without notice.” By which he meant one or other of his noisy progeny. “But I suspect that you won’t be a bother, sweet as you are.” He offered her a slight inclination of his head, what might pass for a respectful bow at his age and station.

Maria, who had been the most curious about the Jack’s history of the palace, looked devastated to see him go. “You must promise to tell us soon about the swords hanging above your chamber door!”

The Jack’s eyes twinkled; Alfred even caught the hint of a rare smile. “Worry not. I will tell you over an invitation to tea.” He bid both ladies a fond farewell, then retreated toward his counting room.

“I regret deeply that I must leave you as well. I told the guildmasters that I would hear their complaints at 4 o’clock, and it is very nearly that time.” The Queen stated. Alfred couldn’t deny that. The Queen was always punctual - annoyingly so. The bells of the city chimed the third-quarter of an hour some time ago. The Queen didn’t need to check the timepiece in his pocket to know the exact number of seconds between now and his next appointment. But Alfred was extremely reluctant to let the man leave.

“It’s best not to let them wait, then.” Lady Catalina agreed as Arthur kissed her hand in farewell.

“Definitely not.” He offered the same farewell to Lady Maria, then turned to leave. “I hope to see you both at dinner tonight. 7:30.” There was an authority in his voice that told anyone listening that Arthur never hoped for anything so much as he expected it.

And then there were three…

Well, three and the maids, who followed behind their ladies in silent wonder. Or perhaps boredom. It didn’t really matter. They wouldn’t speak a word to him either way.

He suddenly became very aware of their proximity to his office - and chambers. And, by extension, hers. He took a moment to collect his thoughts, feeling rather rattled at having his plans be shattered by the departure of his friends. And the expectant faces of the ladies, who no doubt wanted some continuation of the tour. He swallowed hard, then gestured for them to follow once more. “Down this way is the end of the royal corridor.” Obviously they could see that, given the massive window ahead of them rather than another turn. “My office is here, on the right.” He waved his hand toward the room he had burst out of now three hours earlier after an impromptu nap. “You’re always welcome there. No need to knock.” God, that sounded very forward, didn’t it? His stomach flipped over itself, imagining her actually exploring his office, talking with him about business and political affairs, leafing through his documents and books. He tried to remind himself that she probably would express very little interest in such things and he wouldn’t really have to see her that often.

To his utter mortification, Maria asked a dreaded question. “Have you got a bed in there?”

If she had punched him directly in the sternum, he might feel less winded. As it was, he was quite certain that all the blood in his body rushed to his face and the tips of his ears, burning against his skin. “W- what?” After having just invited her sister - who he barely knew! - into his office, she asks if he has a bed in there? What on earth did she expect him to say?! Already rapid images flooded his brain of what she could possibly mean by such an inquiry, none of which gave him any comfort and all of which made him wish all the more that he might slink away into his office alone and lock the door.

“You looked like you fell asleep on your desk.” Maria observed, perhaps choosing to ignore his nervous energy, or perhaps simply being some kind of she-devil sent to vex him. She stated it so matter-of-factly that it made him feel intensely foolish to have imagined anything else by her question. But given the prolonged exhale from Lady Catalina, perhaps he was not quite as foolish for having taken the question in that way - but if he was foolish, she was just as much so. “I ask because that might be a better idea than sleeping on fresh ink, if you tend to work yourself into exhaustion.”

So she immediately read him like a book, did she? Well, that was embarrassing, but at least in a more acceptable direction. “I do not at present. But that’s not a bad idea. I should put something small in there.” He looked away, toward the large window at the end of the hall. There was a similar window on that side of his office. He could get a mattress set into the alcove, something for quick naps. That wasn’t a bad idea at all.

He took longer than he intended considering this option, as he was soon prompted by Lady Catalina’s soft inquiry of “Your Majesty?” to snap him back into the present. “Hm? Oh, right, sorry.” He shook his head to clear the previous thoughts of improvements to his space. “You can call me Alfred, if you’d like. Or Lord Jones, I suppose, if that feels too informal.”

This statement was met with an approving nod from Maria, who nudged her sister into speech.

“Ah. Very well, Alfred.” His name sounded strange in her voice, lilted along the first syllable, her tongue rolling over the R as if she wasn’t quite sure she liked the taste of it, but he supposed he must get used to hearing it. “You may call me Cat, or Kitty.” She looked away, evidently embarrassed to have said anything at all, as her voice grew a little quieter. “My family calls me Kitty.”

That admission soon drew new imagery to his mind. A timid kitten huddled in the corner of a room, bundled in blankets and mewing pitifully. He very much hoped that this wasn’t to be her permanent character, and that she was merely overwhelmed from the excitement of the day. She seemed quite a bit more confident downstairs, speaking to the multitudes that had come to greet her. “Alright, Cat.” He was sure they’d both feel more comfortable if he refrained from using her more intimate nickname. The slackening of her tense shoulders told him that he guessed correctly. “And you, Lady Maria?”

“Maria is all you need to know.” She replied, unfazed by the tension in the corridor. “So! Where will we be staying?”

He blinked, a bit surprised by her assertiveness. But he had to respect it. The woman knew what she was about and had no difficulty in saying it. “Right. Your chambers are here.” He led them a little ways further down. It wasn’t the room on the very end of the corridor - that was his own chambers - but it was another just beside it. The doors were near perfect mirrors of each other. Dark chestnut, expertly carved into the shapes of dragons and lions, their claws digging into the edges of a latticed spade. The door to the ladies’ room was partially ajar, and a small brass key could be seen in the keyhole. “I hope it’s to your liking. If there’s anything about it that you dislike, or anything that you need, do not hesitate to tell me.”

Maria pushed open the door, peering curiously inside. It was a rather large space. Large, blue-prominent rugs covered most of the oak floor. A four-poster bed rested against the wall closest to the King’s chamber, facing a fireplace that crackled with a few embers which produced little light. Most of the light came from the windows on the far end of the room, filtered through soft white curtains, with thicker, embroidered curtains framing them. She appeared quite satisfied with it, as she signaled to her maids to bring their luggage inside. “I’m sure we’ll have adjustments to make.” She scanned the furniture: the chairs, the couch, the vanity, the wardrobe, no doubt making note of exactly what she’d like to see changed. “But it looks rather comfortable. What do you think, Kitty?”

Catalina, whose attention didn’t flow in quite the same manner as her sister’s, quietly agreed. “Yes. Quite comfortable. Thank you.” Tracing the angle of her eyes, he realized what she was staring at: the key in the door.

“That’s the only key to this door.” He assured her, perhaps too quickly to spare her the realization that he knew what she was thinking. “Well, except the one carried by the captain of the guard, but he has never had occasion to use his set in this wing. Please, take it.” She didn’t need further prompting, jiggling the key free from its place in the door and holding it tightly in her hand. So she wanted more security. Fair enough. He couldn’t blame her for that. But that did remind him of something else.

“There’s another door that you should be aware of.” He continued, reaching under his collar to take hold of a thin, gold chain. He pulled the chain over his head, revealing a small key. Not that it looked like a key. It looked like a timepiece. And, truthfully, it was. It was in the shape of a spade, the miniature of the version that he kept in his pocket. “There is a secret door that connects the two rooms. There’s a slot in the wall, just beside the bed on the other side. If you set this in that slot, it should click and unlock the door.” He said ‘should’ because sometimes it got a little stuck and it had to be slightly jostled. He’d have an engineer look at it eventually. It hadn’t been important before. “It only opens from your side.�� That also felt important to say. “You don’t have to use it.” He hoped that message was clear enough. She locked eyes with him for a moment, as if trying to work out the truth of his statement, the intention behind it. He had nothing to hide, and so he repeated it, holding the necklace out to her. “Really. You don’t have to use it.”

Hesitating a little, she reached out and took the necklace from him, taking a moment to admire the craftsmanship of the delicate hands inside the clock. “It’s beautiful.”

“It was my mother’s.” He felt an old grief spring back up as he said it. She wasn’t much spoken of these days, except to remark how long it had been since her passing. Ten years. Three months. Fourteen days. And if he thought of it, he could probably pin it down to the hour. “That’s her name on the back of it. My father gave it to her when he had the door put in.”

Catalina turned the timepiece over, running her gloved fingers over the engraved name. “Amelia?”

He nodded, remembering her fondly. Her laugh was still sweet in his ears. “Amelia.” He confirmed. They were both silent for a while, neither really having anything more to say to one another, both focused upon the small, soft ticking of the memory she held in her hands.

“Kitty!” Maria called, completely shattering the moment. “Come help me pick out a gown for supper!”

The lady looked up and into the room, seemingly having forgotten that her sister remained nearby. “I’m coming, Mar!” She replied, then turned back to Alfred. “Thank you.” She slipped the necklace over her head, turning it so the clock ticked outward from her chest. It looked strange on a bed of maroon. “I’ll see you at supper?”

Alfred offered her a low bow, feeling rather relieved to be dismissed at last. “7:30. If you don’t remember where the dining room is, I’ll be in my office until then, so I can walk you down.”

With that, she thanked him for his hospitality again, and quickly disappeared into the consort’s chamber - Alfred had never felt quite so relieved in his life.

#cardverse au

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yurimultiship · 3 years ago

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Utena F/F Ships

Anthy/Utena and Juri/Shiori are two of my absolute favorite ships and, as expected from their relationships and all the shipping fodder the series gives us, they're also the two biggest f/f ships in the Utena fandom.

But the anime has a lot of female characters and there’s great f/f potential for so many of them, so how about we take a look at some of the other shipping possibilities? And maybe that will encourage a few fans to try out new things!

Obviously, I'm mostly sharing my own opinions and favored ships, feel free to add to it!

Utena/Wakaba

There's great affection between them and while I wouldn't necessarily picture a grand happily ever after romance for them, there's plenty that can be done in various directions. I think working in the comedic weirdness of Ohtori into fun(ny) takes at romantic tropes fits them well. But a bit of darkness, exploring the bad blood between them that is revealed through the Black Rose Arc would be fantastic too.

Juri/Utena

My ideas on how to make this one work are a bit hazy but it's certainly an attractive pairing. Aesthetically, it's simply great! I think there's definitely something to get inspired with, regarding how repressed they can be, or the way Juri talks about her "cruel innocence", or how their understanding of one another evolves through the series.

Nanami/Utena

Another pair for which I love the comedy potential, but also the evolving friendship. The enemies (on Nanami's side mostly) to friends to lovers potential is right here! The idea of Nanami having an unrequited crush on Utena works really well and is lovely for Nanami pining or getting comedically angry over it. But I'm very interested in the possibility of it going requited too! Post-series settings would also bring out many possibilities... and hopefully, the outside world isn't lacking in zany shenanigans for them to get into!

Anthy/Kanae

This one is diving into pure horror head straight and I love it for that. It brings out Anthy's "witchiness", plays on very twisted forms of jealousy and makes us dive into the darkness that lies at the bottom of Ohtori. It's terrifying, in the best ways that the series can be. I'm especially fascinated by the Black Rose setting and what it can get out of Kanae, especially with Anthy's secret involvement. In fact, I'd love fanworks around that arc for Anthy with any of the Black Rose girls (but then, I ship Anthy with all of the female characters in the first place!)

Anthy/Kozue

Speaking of which. Kozue is also a wonder to ship with any of the female characters. She puts herself willingly and in a very different way than Anthy in the position of the "villain", of the bad girl. She refuses to play the game of the Princess while Anthy has to pretend to be one. Kozue considers herself a wild animal and Anthy is kind to animals. There are fascinating elements to explore in making them clash, having them trying to manipulate and/or seduce each other!

Anthy/Juri

This one is ripe for alternate universe canon divergences of Juri winning the Rose Bride and where that takes them. All the pining for someone else, all the bad decisions and seducing/being seduced and regrets that would come for it! I wonder if Anthy may empathize with Juri’s love for someone twisted and the way they both can’t stop caring despite how much it hurts them. Would they have chances to break free of Ohtori, as a Rose Bride/Engaged pair? How would it work out? What would happen if they fail?

Kozue/Nanami

Two of the twisted little sisters. They only have one scene together but isn't the thought of them interesting? Both their similarities and differencescould make them clash and it'd certainly be a fascinating spectacle. But maybe they would also reach an understanding after a point. I’d love to see how those characters would grow up in relation to each other. Nanami is also shown to get flustered over Miki and Kozue looks much like him and is oh so devious.

Anthy/Nanami

The other possibility in the "a different female duelist gets the Rose Bride" canon divergence scenario. With a very different kind of messed-up potential! How would Nanami deal being paired with the girl she hates the most? In which ways would Anthy manipulate/torment her while playing the devoted bride? What a strange Rose Bride/Engaged pair they’d be, but maybe that would be key to another kind of revolution. Whether it's portrayed in an humorous or dark manner, it's deliciously messed-up.

Juri/Nanami

Juri's a bit particular in Nanami's relationships with other female characters. Nanami seems impressed/scared of her, and knows better than to try to mess with her (unlike with Anthy), which doesn't stop her from potentially trying to one-up her but she'll go at it differently. You could say there’s a bit of respect coming from her, which is rare. There's many ways Nanami trying to impress or outdo Juri could go and the potential evolutions of their relationship as shegrows up would be interesting too. And like all Nanami ships, there's good potential for fun Ohtori weirdness and comedy.

I could go on about many other ships involving minor characters! Like Nanami's minions or the Shadowplay Girls (come on, A-ko and B-ko are totally a thing!)

And even with characters that have barely or never met. Isn't Kozue/Shiori's potential wonderfully twisted? Nanami/Wakaba sounds delightful! Does Kanae's mother terribleness extend to sleeping with other members of the staff like that stuck-up teacher or would she aim to get both of the scheming siblings? What if C-ko was in love with Utena and trying to get her attention?

Are we getting into the territory of what’s considered crackships? Sure but that’s part of the fun, too!

#shoujo kakumei utena #series talk #ship talk #utena x wakaba #juri x utena #nanami x utena #anthy x kanae #anthy x kozue #anthy x juri #anthy x nanami #juri x nanami #kozue x nanami

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coldflame96 · 3 years ago

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Break My Fall

Summary: An unexpected fall and the terror of being a parent sometimes.

Rating: T (only for Kyo’s tendency to swear)

Also found on AO3 and FF.net

The anime is in the middle of angst and I made the mistake of reading Another and crying about my faves so here’s some family fluff.

Hajime loved going to the park. Normally, he would go by himself with some kids he met down the street, but today, he was with his dad and little brother. Mom had gotten called in to work and it was a nice day. They were in summer break so there was a lot more people than normal, lots of kids closer to his brother’s age.

“Daddy, watch me!” he heard Kazuya call from his perch on top of the tube slide. His dad was sitting on the bench, smiling. “Alright, I’m watching!”

Kazuya slid down the (short and boring in his opinion) slide and then immediately hopped over to their dad like an overeager puppy. “Did I do good?”

Dad chuckled and ruffled his hair. “You did good. I’m proud of you.”

Hajime snorted quietly to himself. Four year olds got so excited over the smallest things. Was he like that when he was four…?

“Daddy, look!” He heard his brother call out again. “Nii-san’s so high!” And then Hajime looked down to see his younger brother waving at him. “Hi, Nii-san!”

He didn’t respond but gave a small little salute.

His dad narrowed his eyes. “Hajime, what are you doing up there? You know you’re supposed to go down the slide, right?”

“Well, yeah, but going down is boring.” He shrugged. “I like it up here.” He’s always liked being in high places.

“You need to come down.”

He pouted. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want you to fall and hurt yourself.”

He rolled his eyes. He wasn't a baby. Not like his brother. “I won’t. I come up here all the time with my friends.”

“Stop arguing and come down,” his dad snapped. “You’re setting a bad example.” And then he gestured to Kazuya, who was looking up at him with wide, shining eyes.

He sighed. “Ugh, fine, geez.” And then he shifted where the first ledge was. “But I'm telling you,” he muttered, “I’m not a baby and I’ve never fallen from here.” Another step. “It’s not even dangerous and-” His foot slipped on the angle and...he was grasping at air.

And then he hit the ground with a crack, face planting in the grass.

And just as he was about to try and push himself up, he felt it. The white-hot searing pain through his arm.

And he started screaming.

Kyo couldn't even tell you what happened. One second, his eldest was talking back to him while climbing off from the tube slide, the next second, he’s hitting the ground with a sickening thud. And now Hajime is screaming bloody murder and Kyo’s heart is leaping through his chest.

He practically teleports over to his son, rolling him over gingerly, cupping his cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey, look at me” he tries to shush gently.

“My arm!” Hajime sobs out. “My arm hurts!”

HIs arm was currently covered by his other hand, so Kyo couldn’t get a good look at him. He gently tried to pry the fingers off, but Hajime just screamed louder. “NO IT HURTS!”

“I know but I need to look at it!” Hajime was starting to hyperventilate now, and they were definitely drawing a crowd, much to his annoyance. He grabbed the boy’s cheeks again. “Hey, I need you to calm down, okay? Look at me.”

It took a few seconds, but eventually his son managed to match his breathing with his own, but the tears were still streaming from his brown eyes.

“Do you trust me?” he asked softly. HIs son nodded. “Okay,” he began slowly. “I need you to move your hand.”

Hajime’s eyes widened in horror. “But it hurts!”

“I know but I can’t help you until I see what’s wrong.”

Hajime, like a cautious animal, moved his hand from his lower arm, and Kyo winced at the damage. It was already swelling, that wasn’t a good sign. If he had to take a guess from his many accidents as a teenager, it was probably broken. But just to be sure…

“Can you move it?”

“I-” Hajime sniffled, “ I can try.” Kyo watched as he attempted to move it, but then he stiffened in pain, eyes welling up, shaking his head frantically. Not something he could just walk off then..dammit.

He sighed, “Alright,” he stood up, “let’s get you to the hospital.” And then feeling the eyes boring into his skull, he turned around and glared at the onlookers. “What are you all staring at?!” he growled. “Mind your own business!”

He heard a few women mutter about him being ‘rude’ and rolled his eyes. They were the rude ones, Just watching him and his kid like they were some sort of circus spectacle.

Hajime was sitting in the grass, still holding his wrist, and Kyo grabbed him from under his armpits. “You can walk, right?” His son nodded. “Alright, then.” He held out his hand to his other son. “C’mon, Kazuya, we gotta take your brother to the hospital.” The younger one grabbed his hand obediently and clung to his shirt as they started walking towards the car.

“Daddy,” Kazuya asked, looking up at him with those huge puppy dog eyes that he definitely got from Tohru. “Is Nii-san okay?”

He threaded his fingers through the fine, fiery locks. “He’ll be fine. He just hurt his arm, so we have to go to a doctor and make it better.”

The little boy had a dazed look, like he wasn’t quite processing what Kyo was saying, but then like a lightbulb, his eyes lit up and he gave a determined nod. “Good luck, nii-san!”

“Thanks,” Hajime muttered through gritted teeth.

He helped Hajime in the front seat, careful not to jostle his arm.

He couldn’t believe he was saying this. But this was one of those times where he wished he still lived with the Sohmas and had Hatori on call.

They’d been waiting for almost an hour since they got here and he was getting impatient. And hungry. Hajime refused to meet his eyes and Kazuya had attempted to play with both of them, but had seemed to sense the sour mood and was now just sitting quietly next to him, occasionally swinging his feet and humming. For a kid that was basically his clone, he was really nothing like him at all and had a much more carefree attitude like his mother, which Kyo was not so secretly grateful for. With the little stormcloud over Hajime’s head, he was glad for the positivity as a buffer.

He heard the door open and a friendly, but tired sounding voice call out, “Sohma-san?”

He stood up abruptly, nodding at his two sons. “C’mon, boys.”

She led them down a narrow hallway until she sat them down. “Just have a seat, gentleman, and the doctor will be with you shortly.

“Great, more waiting,” he heard Hajime mutter irritably and even though he shot him a warning look, he couldn’t help but agree. It was starting to get late and he didn't have lunch.

He heard a stomach growl that wasn’t his and then a small voice said shyly, “Daddy, I’m hungry.”

Me too, kid. He checked his watch and grimaced. Tohru would be getting off work soon.

“I have to call your mother,” he mumbled to both boys.

Hajime got a panicked look. “Is there any way you could not tell her where we are?” He paused. She would probably freak, but he already fucked up enough by letting Hajime get hurt in the first place...

“No, there isn’t,” he said flatly, as the call started to go through.

“Kyo-kun!” she greeted happily like always and he felt that rush of affection.

“Hey, Tohru,” he tried to greet casually.

A pause. “Is something wrong?” He should’ve known he couldn’t get anything past her. Time to bite the bullet.

“Sweetheart, don’t freak out, but I had to take Hajime to the hospital today and-”

“What?! Hajime-kun’s at the hospital?!”

“He hurt his arm, but he’s fine. I just wanted to tell you so you wouldn’t worry when you got home.”

Another pause. “I’m coming right away.”

He straightened at that. “Wait, Tohru, you don’t have to-” And there was the dial tone. So much for that.

“Mom’s gonna kill me, isn’t she?” Hajime asked sadly, the first thing he’d really said to him directly since they left the park.

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, kill you with love and concern, maybe.”

Hajime huffed. “Why’d you have to tell her? She’s gonna show up now and she’s gonna have that disappointed look and she’s probably gonna cry. I can’t handle it when she gets like that.”

He resisted the urge to snort. That makes two of us.

But before he could tell his son to ‘suck it up and deal like everyone else’, the doctor walked in.

“Sohma-san?” they asked to confirm. He nodded and they clapped their hands together. “Ahh, good. So which one of you boys is Hajime-kun?”

Kyo jerked his chin towards the older one who stiffened in his seat as the doctor pulled a chair to sit in front of him at eye level.

“Hi, Hajime-kun, I’m Doctor Tanaka.”

Hajime mumbled shyly, “Hi, Tanaka-sensei.”

“You’re here because you hurt your arm, is that right? Can I have a look?” They reached for Hajime’s arm gently, but he jerked away.

“Hajime…” he started to scold, but the doctor put a hand up.

“It’s alright,” they said, voice soothing. “I promise I’ll be gentle. May I?”

The boy slowly and cautiously uncovered his arm and reached it out, wincing as he did. He watched as Tanaka tutted at the arm, which was completely swollen and bruised now. “You had a bit of a nasty fall, didn’t you? Can you move it at all?”

Hajime shook his head. Tanaka grimaced. “I’m going to apologize ahead of time. I’ll try to be gentle.”

Hajime frowned. “What do you-” and then he got cut off by a hiss of pain as Tanaka squeezed his lower forearm area. Kyo’s protective instincts kicked in at seeing his kid in pain, but he had to tamper them back. Tanaka was a doctor. They were trying to do their job. And what right did he have to question them when he let his kid get hurt in the first place? They paused in the wrist area, and frowned, turning to him. “I’ll need to do an X-ray to get a visual of what sort of injury we’re dealing with.”

“Do whatever you have to,” he responded.

“Alright then” They smiled gently. “Come along, Hajime-kun. I'm going to show you our laboratory.”

Kyo made to follow, Kazuya holding his hand and when they were halfway down the hall, someone who sounded suspiciously like his wife shouted out, “Hajime-kun!”

They all turned around and saw Tohru only 20 feet away, panting and sweating like she just ran a marathon, face stricken and hair blown wild. Did she run here?!

Hajime looked panicked though. “Mom, I can explain-”

Tohru was kneeling in front of him, stroking his cheeks. “What happened? Are you okay?” Hajime flinched away as she accidentally bumped his arm and she paused, eyes widening in horror. “Your arm…” she started tearing up. “What happened?”

“I fell.”

“Fell…?” Her eyes somehow managed to get even wider and Kyo knew he should step in before she worked herself up.

“Oi,” he bonked her on the head gently. “Did you really leave work to come all the way here?”

Her eyes flashed fiercely. “Of course I did! My baby boy got hurt!”

“Mom, please,” Hajime pleaded, cheeks heating up.

Kyo put his hands on her shoulders, which were stiff with tension. “He’s fine.” No thanks to me. “We were just on his way to get his X-ray taken.”

“X-ray?” she said in a small voice.

Kazuya let go of his hand and went to go tug on her uniform shirt. “Mommy, I’m hungry.”

That seemed to have done the trick. Like a switch, she went from Panic Mode to Mom Mode and Kyo would never not be impressed by how she did that. She knelt in front of their youngest.. “When’s the last time you ate, Kazu-kun?”

“I dunno. A while.” His tummy rumbled again and Kyo looked away in guilt.

“We got a bit caught up here.”

She nodded in understanding.

Tanaka cleared their throat. “If you’d like, there’s a cafeteria down the hall.” They smiled at Kazuya. “No point in keeping the little one waiting.”

He watched Tohru worry her lip between her teeth, looking back and forth between him and Hajime.

“We’ll be fine. Why don’t you take Kazuya to the cafeteria? And get something to eat for yourself too. You haven’t eaten since breakfast, have you?”

She blushed, which was exactly the reaction he wanted from her and he smirked.

“But you haven’t either..” she tried to argue feebly, but it had no effect when she resembled a tomato.

He grabbed her shoulders, forcefully turning her. “I’ll be fine. I’m not even hungry, anyway.”

His stomach chose that moment to grumble in protest and he got four skeptical looks in response. He rolled his eyes. “Just go already. We’re holding up the line!”

She still looked unsure but she finally relented. “Come on, Kazu-kun, let’s get some lunch!”

“Yay!” Kazuya cheered and Kyo slumped in relief. And Tanaka, looking more amused by the interruption than annoyed, plowed forward.

Hajime had a defeated look and he swallowed down the bile.

The x-ray didn't hurt at all and had even been kind of cool. Tanaka-sensei brought him and Dad back to the original room, leaving them alone to get the results. He saw how his dad was being so much quieter than normal, jaw clenched, and knew he probably was in trouble. He attempted to lighten the mood.

“So, uhh,” he started, “Thanks for getting Mom off my back.” He loved his mother of course, she was his favorite person if he had to pick, but it was a bit awkward when she got all sad. Made him feel like he kicked a puppy.

His dad finally looked at him, stern. “What were you thinking?”

He huffed. “Well, I didn’t fall on purpose.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He turned to look at him clearly now. “What were you thinking going on top of there in the first place?”

“Well, all the other kids were doing it and-”

“So because someone else’s dumb kids were doing it, you had to?”

He bristled in defense. “I’ve never fallen off before.”

“You fell off today. Why do you think we’re here?”

“Well, that’s-” he blustered, “You distracted me! It was the only time!”

“All it takes is one time, Hajime. What if I hadn’t been there? What would you have done?”

He blinked, unsure. “I-”

“And what if your brother had followed you up there and fallen? Then what?” Hajime felt the shame start to roil in his gut,” his dad continued, “And what if you had broken something else? Like your neck? Then what?!”

“I-” he breathed and then burst out, “Well, I wasn’t thinking about that!”

“You weren’t thinking at all,” his dad finished off. “You’re 10 years old, you have a little brother who looks up to you, and I can’t watch you 24/7 anymore. You have to think about these things.” And then his voice softened, “If something happened to you, I don’t think I would ever forgive myself.”

The shame was in full force now and for the first time, he noticed his dad’s hands were trembling.

“Were you…” he hesitated to finish the question, “scared?”

He expected the man to deny it because Hajime didn’t think he’d ever seen him scared of anything before, but he just mumbled softly, “Of course I was.”

Hajime felt his heart leap through his throat. His dad was the strongest guy he knew, and he managed to scare him…

“Dad,” he called out softly. “I-”

Just then the door opened and Tanaka-sensei came in holding some papers. “Alright, gentlemen, I have good news and bad news.” Dad sat up in attention. “The bad news is that Hajime-kun’s wrist is fractured.”

“What’s the good news?” Dad asked cautiously.

Tanaka-sensei grinned. “Well, it’s a nice clean break, so it should heal up with no trouble at all so long as Hajime-kun behaves himself.”

They set the pictures down on the desk and sat in front of him again, looking very serious. “I have to set your wrist before I can put your cast on. I’m sorry but it’s not going to feel very good.”

Dad reached out his hand. “Squeeze me as hard as you need to. It’ll be over soon.”

After a painful process which consisted of a lot of gritted teeth and squeezing his dad’s hand until it was white, his wrist was sitting comfortably in a sling.

“So how long do I have to wear this thing?” he asked curiously, already put out.

“So long as you don’t attempt to do anything strenuous, your wrist should be healed enough in about 6 to 8 weeks. Until then, you should keep it in the cast and sling as much as possible.”

He frowned. He was only gonna have one arm? “How am I supposed to like get dressed and stuff?”

They gave him a sympathetic look. “It will be a challenge, but I’m sure your parents would be willing to help you.” They looked at Dad who nodded.

He felt his cheeks heat up. They would have to dress him? “I can’t do that!” he argued, “That’s so embarrassing!”

“Too bad,” his dad said flatly. “You should’ve thought about that before being an idiot.”

He looked away in embarrassment.

His mother chose that moment to come back, Kazuya in tow, and she squeaked a bit when she saw his sling.

“Oh, your poor arm,” she put her hand on her chest.

Dad grabbed her wrist gently. “Did you eat?”

“A little,” she said, “I wasn’t that hungry.” And then she perked up. “Kazu-kun ate a bunch though!” Her eyes twinkled. “He really takes after you.”

Dad rolled his eyes, bringing her closer to him.

Kazuya, bored by their parents' antics, came running to him. “Nii-san, what is this thing?” And then he poked the cast.

“Oi, don’t touch,” he scolded. Kazuya cocked his head.

Tanaka-sensei clapped their hands. “Great, you’re both here! That makes this easier. I just need to go over a few things with you if you don’t mind.”

Hajime thudded his head lightly against the chair. He just wanted to get out of here. He was so hungry!

Tohru put the pot on a low simmer. She ended up starting dinner later than usual because of Hajime-kun’s accident so she settled for making a curry instead.

Today has been a bit of a rollercoaster. She was glad Hajime-kun was okay, of course, that was her pride and joy, but Kyo-kun had seemed...tense. She’d noticed it the minute she’d found them in the hospital. He’d made himself a bit scarce since they got home, maybe she should check on him.

Satisfied that her pot wouldn’t boil over, she popped the lid on and made her way to their shared room.

She half expected her husband to be taking a nap (old habits died hard), but he was just sitting on their shared bed staring off into space, which was never a good sign.

“Kyo-kun?” she called, making sure not to spook him. She watched as his sharp eyes flitted to her, and she deemed it safe to sit next to him, immediately getting a strong arm slung around her waist to pull her in against his side.

“Everything alright?” she tried to gently coax him, which sometimes was all it took.

“Hmm? Oh yeah, I’m just thinking..” he said absently. This time it wasn’t. She had a hunch she knew what he was thinking about though.

“Hajime-kun told me what happened,” she said innocently. “He said he’s really glad you were there.”

Something flashed on Kyo’s face and he slumped and she knew she said the right thing. “He only fell because I distracted him.”

She knew that tone. That was the tone he used when he was blaming himself. “It was an accident, Kyo-kun. No one could’ve predicted what would’ve happened. Maybe he still would’ve fallen even if he wasn’t talking to you or maybe he would’ve.”

“It’s just-” he sighed, “Maybe if I’d noticed sooner he was up there, it wouldn’t have happened.”

“And maybe it would’ve anyway.” She played with his fingers around her waist. “You shouldn’t blame yourself for something you don’t have control over.” And she rested her head on his arm. “You were there and that’s what matters, right?”

She felt a kiss to the top of her head and he grumbled, “Would’ve been cool if I could’ve caught him before he landed.”

She giggled. “You’d be like a superhero.” He stiffened and she looked up to see him lost in thought. “Kyo-kun?”

He blinked. “Oh, sorry.” He chuckled. “I was just reminded of something someone said to me a long time ago.” And then he got a flat look. “I’d be a pretty lame superhero.”

“Well, you’re already the perfect one to me,” she said sweetly.

To her delight, he got a light dusting of pink on his cheeks. He was still so shy sometimes and it was adorable.

She felt a light rap to her temple. “Don’t you get tired of saying sappy crap like that?”

She grinned. “Nope! Never! I mean every word.”

“Of course you do,” he mumbled.

She snuggled in to him. “You’re my hero and Hajime-kun’s and Kazu-kun’s and we’re all so lucky to have you.”

He looked genuinely touched at that and she knew it was the right thing to say. He leaned down to kiss her, just like they’d done millions of times before and it never got old.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he sighed out, his gaze making her melt and he kissed her forehead sweetly. She noticed something out of the corner of her eye and she smiled.

“I think someone wants to talk to you,” she pointed towards the door, where an embarrassed, blushing Hajime-kun stood.

“Um, Dad?”

Kyo-kun cocked his head in interest and Hajime-kun blushed deeper, avoiding their eyes.

“I’m sorry. I ruined everyone’s day and caused problems because of my own clumsiness. I was being an idiot and it won’t happen again.” Tohru frowned. She wanted to protest to that because of course her son wasn’t an idiot, but it was probably for the best if she didn’t. Hajime-kun clenched his uninjured fist and his face got pinched like he was trying not to cry. “When I fell, I-” he said in a tight tone, “I was really scared. I’m really glad you were there.” He finally looked up, eyes watery. “You have every right to be mad at me.”

Kyo-kun’s face, which had been neutral but open before, softened into unabashed fondness.

“C’mere,” he patted the spot on the bed next to his other side and Hajime-kun wasted no time sitting next to him and burying his head in his dad’s shoulder.

Kyo-kun squeezed him tighter and kissed the top of his hair. “You know I love you, right?” Hajime-kun nodded mutely, giving a small sniffle to imply that he was more emotional than he wanted her to know about. She smiled gently, wrapping her arms around both of her boys, careful not to jostle her son's sling.

“Mommy?” she heard a small curious voice chirp from the doorway. Not wanting her youngest to feel left out of the cuddlefest, she reached out a hand and he gasped, practically jumping on top of both her and Kyo-kun in his excitement.

��Oi,” Kyo-kun grunted, “You’re heavy.”

Kazu-kun looked sheepish. “I’m sorry, Daddy. Did I hurt you?

A flash of something playful crossed Kyo-kun’s features. And then he grabbed his chest dramatically, falling back on the bed with a thump. “Ahh, I’m hurt! Can’t believe this..my own flesh and blood!”

Kazu-kun’s eyes were so wide and innocent, which he did not get from her and she had the baby pictures of her husband to prove it, courtesy of Shishou.

“Hang in there, Daddy!” Kazu-kun said with complete sincerity. “I didn’t realize I was so strong. Can I help?”

Kyo-kun peeked from under his arm. “You wanna help?”

Kazu-kun nodded earnestly, and Tohru bit her cheek in amusement. She knew what was coming….

“Come closer,” her husband whispered.

Kazu-kun, the sweet, innocent boy that he was, listened and Kyo-kun pounced, tickling his sides and tackling him down, both of their laughter ringing like beautiful bells in her head.

Hajime-kun rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide how his lips twitched as he scooted closer to her.

“When was dinner supposed to be ready? I never got to eat lunch.”

She put an arm around her boy. “Oh, don’t worry! Dinner should be ready in-” and then she jolted as she remembered.

She jumped up, shouting in alarm, “Oh no, the pot!”

And then she ran out, almost tripping on her way to the kitchen as she turned off the stove, giving a huge sigh of relief that her curry didn’t boil over (it was really close though). Hajime-kun had followed her cautiously.

“Can I help with anything?”

She felt a rush of affection. Like herself and Kyo-kun, Hajime-kun seemed to enjoy cooking, and he already was so good at it at such a young age.

“That’s okay!” She rejected him gently. “You’re hurt and I don’t want you to strain yourself.”

He frowned in displeasure and she felt just a little guilty. She certainly didn’t want him to feel bad for getting injured, but there really wasn’t much he could do with only one arm.

“Why don’t you go check on your brother? Make sure your father didn’t wear him out too much?” He didn’t look completely satisfied with that, but he was a good boy, so he nodded and left.

No sooner than he was around the corner, Kazu-kun came running, a flash of orange and then went between her and the counter.

“Kazu-kun? What’s going on?”

“Don’t think hiding behind her will protect you,” Kyo-kun stomped in, eyes blazing, and Kazu-kun squeaked in fear.

Briefly she wondered if Kazu-kun got into trouble, but she saw the way Kyo-kun seemed to be holding back a laugh and relaxed.

“Kazu-kun~” she said sweetly to the boy hiding in her legs. “Dinner’s ready. Why don’t you go sit at the table?”

That did the trick as Kyo-kun turned his attention to her instead while their son scurried off. “Do you need help carrying anything?”

Curry was a really easy meal and didn’t really require much. She wanted to dismiss him gently like she did with Hajime-kun, but...he was just standing there, always so handsome and looking at her like she was the only person to exist. They’d been married for over a decade but she still sometimes marveled at how this was her life. She wrapped her arms around his waist and relished in how he immediately wrapped his strong arms around her in response.

She pressed her head to his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat and not for the first time, was so incredibly grateful that she was able to hold him like this. For her first two years of knowing him, it wasn’t possible.

Kyo-kun stroked her hair. “Something wrong?” Like always, he seemed to know when she was getting lost in her thoughts.

She shook her head. “I just love you.” He hummed in response, and she forced herself to let go. “Help me with the plates?”

A quick peck to her hair. “Sure.”

And she watched with increasing love as Hajime-kun tried to fight off Kazu-kun

“Nii-san’s hurt!” He tried to grab Hajime-kun’s spoon, “Let me help!”

Hajime-kun put a hand on the younger boy’s forehead to hold him in place. “I don’t need help. I can eat on my own.”

Kyo-kun smirked and grabbed a spoonful, holding it up. “Here, open wide.”

Hajime-kun bristled. “I’m not a baby!”

She giggled at their antics. They were a rowdy bunch, but she really loved them. With all her heart.

She put a hand on top of her stomach. She had been planning on telling them today...

“Mommy?” Kazu-kun asked. “Are you coming?”

She saw three pairs of eyes looking at her with concern.

“Of course!” And took her spot next to her husband, who gave her a soft smile.

She loved them all so much.

Maybe she could tell them tomorrow...

#kyoru #kyo sohma #tohru honda #hajime sohma #furuba fic

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mediaevalmusereads · 3 years ago

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The Alienist. By Caleb Carr. New York: Random House, 1994.

Rating: 4/5 stars

Genre: historical fiction, mystery, suspense

Part of a Series? Yes, The Kreizler Series #1

Summary: The year is 1896. The city is New York. Newspaper reporter John Schuyler Moore is summoned by his friend Dr. Laszlo Kreizler—a psychologist, or “alienist”—to view the horribly mutilated body of an adolescent boy abandoned on the unfinished Williamsburg Bridge. From there the two embark on a revolutionary effort in criminology: creating a psychological profile of the perpetrator based on the details of his crimes. Their dangerous quest takes them into the tortured past and twisted mind of a murderer who will kill again before their hunt is over.

***Full review under the cut.***

Content Warnings: ableism, homophobia/transphobia, racism (including slurs), sexism, rape, abuse, child abuse and sexual assault, child prostitution, animal cruelty, blood, gore, violence

Overview: This book has been on my TBR list for a while, so I figured I’d finally get around to reading it. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but I was actually surprised by how much I enjoyed the reading experience. Carr writes in a way that pretty closely imitates 19th century detective fiction, and while such a style might not be for everyone, I thought it went a long way in creating atmosphere. My criticisms have mostly to do with pace and the creative decisions that probably didn’t have to be made (such as depictions of child sexual assault, use of slurs, etc), but even with those faults, I have to give Carr’s craft and research a lot of credit, so this book gets 4 stars from me.

Writing: As I mentioned above, this book mimics detective fiction of the 19th century. If you’ve read any of Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes stories, you might get the idea: first person, characters displaying almost whimsical behavior, stuffed with contextual details that may or may not be relevant. At first, I thought the reading experience was going to be a slog, but once I realized what Carr was trying to do, I readjusted my expectations and found the prose to be quite engaging. If you like 19th century literature, you might appreciate what Carr does, but if you find older lit to be a challenge, this book might not be the thriller you’re hoping for.

That being said, I do think there were some areas where Carr could have picked up the pace or even cut some of the contextual details. It’s obvious that Carr did a lot of research before writing this book, and it’s understandable that he would want to show off some of that research, but there were times where I felt like it was a little much.

I also think there are a lot of things in this book that will offend modern sensibilities. I recall at least one use of the N-word (which is spoken by a racist minor character) as well as remarks that make it clear that characters think same-sex intimacy is “deviant” or abhorrent. I can understand why Carr put them in his book; if we’re trying to evoke an atmosphere and make the story feel like it’s set in the 19th century, it’s not realistic to expect everyone to be accepting of gay sex or treat POC with respect. But also, I think it’s on Carr to bear the responsibility of creating plot points and characters that have those attitudes in the first place. The character who uses the N-word could have easily not done so, and characters could have been more clear that their revulsion was at child prostitution rather than same-sex relationships.

Still, I was able to follow the plot with no problem and the sentences flowed in a way that made the reading experience feel quick (no 10-line sentences, thank god). So while there may be some things I would have liked to see adjusted to fit my own tastes, I think Carr did a wonderful job of making me feel like I was reading an older work.

Plot: The plot of this book follows a group of investigators as they try to use psychology to catch a serial killer. As far as being an “original” or unique thriller, this book doesn’t necessarily deliver a plot we haven’t seen before; but what made it so interesting (at least to me) was that it was less interested in the thrill of catching the killer and more interested in thinking through the “whys.” Why did the killer do X? Why did he do Y and Z when he could have done A or B? In this sense, the suspense doesn’t come from the action or the “chase,” but from the building of ideas and a foggy picture becoming more and more clear.

If I can fault Carr for anything, it’s that I think he crafted his mystery around some subjects that are... touchy (for lack of a better word). Most of the murder victims are children - specifically child prostitutes - and a lot of the killer’s motivations are rooted in some combination of racism and exposure to abuse. If you’re looking for a book which handles these issues with sensitivity, I think you’ll be disappointed. But I have to give Carr some credit for not overly sensationalizing these things; for example, while he did include characters who were racist towards Native Americans, he also included characters who were sympathetic and who insisted on not judging tribes for their defensive violence. Not everything is perfect, and there were some moments that made me uncomfortable, but I felt like Carr painted a complex picture of 19th century America, so I was able to keep going.

Characters: The plot of this book is told from the perspective of John Schuyler Moore - a newspaper reporter who teams up with his friend, eminent psychologist Dr. Laszlo Kreizler, to catch a serial killer. As a protagonist, Moore isn’t overly compelling - he’s more like a neutral, blank slate that the reader can project themselves onto. He serves much of the same function as Watson in the Sherlock Holmes stories: to be a witness to other characters’ brilliance while occasionally making some helpful insights. Still, I didn’t outright hate Moore - he was kind and loyal, and I admired how he went out of his way to try to help people.

Kreizler, the psychologist (or “alienist” as they were called in those days), is somewhat of a Sherlockian character in that he’s eccentric, confident, and had abilities that stun the people around him. For the most part, Kreizler was fun to follow. I think the only times I got truly frustrated with him were when he would allude to some knowledge and then leave Moore in the dark - like “aha! This thing is obvious!” “What thing?” “No time to explain! I’ll tell you at dinner!” Those moments were a little irritating.

Sarah, the most prominent female character, was more complex than I expected her to be. She has clear career aspirations and doesn’t let anyone hold her back, and I liked that she was presented as this kick-ass woman who still felt human. She struggles when faced with the horrors of the murder, but she doesn’t let the horror put her off of her task. She’s confident and never seems to have a moment of self-doubt (which is refreshing). She notices interpersonal things without being boxed in as “the woman who notices emotions.” Granted, Sarah does serve some token function - she’s brought on in order to provide a “female perspective,” which was a little frustrating, but she held her own so well that my annoyance melted away.

Marcus and Lucius, the two brothers who work for the police department, are also quite charming characters. I loved how they brought technical expertise to the group by being knowledgeable about anatomy, fingerprints, photography, and the like, and I especially enjoyed the way they bickered with one another. Their presence immediately made scenes feel lighter, and they brought something of a family aspect to the whole band.

Supporting characters were well-crafted in that no two felt quite the same. Teddy Roosevelt (yes, that one) was cheerful and warm while still demanding absolute cooperation and loyalty from his men. Cyrus and Stevie - two of Kreizler’s employees - were charming, though I wish Cyrus had gotten to do more than just kind of silently stand by awaiting orders. Mary - Kreizler’s maid - was a lovely character, and I appreciated the positive disability representation we got with her, though I do not like how her character arc ended and how it related to the main plot. The crime bosses were intimidating without feeling too much like stock characters, the thugs did their job. I don’t think there was a character that was poorly written, just characters who served purposes that may or may not have been needed.

As for the murderer... we don’t get to see him very much, but I felt like I got to know him because so much of the book was focused on mapping out his life and psychology. It worked much better than books where the antagonist is looming off to the side, acting as a vaguely threatening force but not really a character, and one that doesn’t even show up until the last quarter of the book. When the killer finally does appear on page, I felt like he had been involved in the story, even without being physically present, so I was able to accept him as an active force on the narrative, not just a surprise twist at the end.

TL;DR: The Alienist is a well-crafted mystery that uses atmosphere and psychology to create an engaging mystery. While some readers may struggle with the period-like prose or the more disturbing aspects of the story, Carr creates a compelling narrative by focusing on understanding and knowledge over spectacle and action, and by using well-developed characters.

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aliendes · 4 years ago

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Natural Borns - Chapter Eleven (TRIGGER WARNING)

Banner by @thebannershop

Series info/genre: Angst, fluff, smut (NSFW)

Pairings: ot7 x fem reader (eventual)

Warnings: TRIGGER WARNINGS!!! depictions of unwanted medical procedures, depictions of sexual assault - take this warning seriously, thoughts of death, suicidal thoughts?, wanting to die, restraints, needles, blood, crying, shitty medical descriptions (probably), depression, cursing, anxiety, a whole lot of sad and angst. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK, YOU’VE BEEN WARNED.

Description: In the year 2613, over half of the world’s population are what scientists consider ‘designer babies’. YN is a small town girl who is a true natural born, someone born naturally without he help of a lab or gene splicing. Her DNA is greatly sought after, but what is she willing to do to protect it?

Word count: 8.1k~ it’s a big one

A/N: hi there! I apologize in advance for this horribly written chapter. I did not edit it, like I said I would, because life happened. This chapter is fucking heavy, man. But I wrote it in a way that you can completely skip this chapter if you want, and move on to the next one when it comes out. This chapter focuses entirely on what YN goes through at the facility and her escape. It will eventually be explained in later chapters in less detail, so if you don’t want to read about sexual assault, etc, then skip this one. I can’t stress this enough, if you are sensitive to any of the topics listed above, DO NOT READ THIS. You’ve been warned.

The younger two fall asleep rather quickly, having been spent from hiking all the way into town, but what Hoseok wouldn’t tell them is that he laid in bed until the early hours of the morning, listening to the soft sobs of Jungkook next door.

Your body was so dehydrated from crying over the last day, that even as you try to cry, no tears come.

The testing started this morning, with a nurse you didn’t recognize bringing you to a new room, a sterile, metallic room with a lot of medical equipment you’ve never seen before. It looked like an operating room out of one of your mom’s kdramas. It scared you, more than you were expecting, to see such a cold, lifeless environment.

Once you were alone with the nurse, she had you strip out of your white clothing, letting you know they were going to run some tests. You were hesitant, not wanting to be even more vulnerable in front of these strangers, but Yeonjun’s words echoed in your head. You need to comply, need to submit, or else - well, you didn’t want to think about what would happen if you didn’t.

Once you were undressed, you handed over your folded clothes to the woman, who put them into what looked like a laundry hamper. She had you lay on the bed, where she placed a thin white sheet over top of your body. For a moment, you felt like a corpse, ready to be sliced open and given an autopsy. The room you were in kind of reminded you of a morgue, at least, the temperature definitely resembled one.

Your time with the nurse wasn’t entirely unpleasant, though it was nearly freezing in the room, your naked body shivering every few minutes from the frigid temperature. She ran some basic tests, like checking your temperature, blood pressure, and drawing a few vials of blood. You felt like you were getting a check-up at the doctor’s office, and idly thought that if this was what it would be like, you supposed you wouldn’t mind being here too much. You were never really a fan of needles, but you’ve had your blood drawn a handful of times, and it was never too scary. The worst part about this was the freezing temperature, which you made a mental note to ask Soomin about later, if you saw her.

When the quiet nurse finished checking your ‘vitals’, as she had called it, she left you alone in the room, telling you to rest and a doctor would be in later to run some more tests. You complied, laying back on the stiff bed, and closed your eyes.

When you awoke next, you were met with a pair of icy grey eyes, behind a pair of round spectacles, staring down at you. You jump in surprise, head bumping against the hard table you’re laying on, making you grunt out in pain.

The man above you didn’t seem phased what so ever, and continued to stare down at you, clipboard in hand. When you take a moment to look at your surroundings, you realize that he isn’t the only person in the room, in fact, there are four other men in here with you, all staring at you with inquisitive eyes.

When you look down, you gasp out loud, realizing the thin sheet you had been covered with earlier had been removed from your body, leaving you completely nude and visible to these men. “I- I,” you start, bringing one arm up to cover your chest, the other coming down over your crotch, trying your best to shield yourself from their prying eyes, “I - hey!”

The man with the unnatural eyes moves closer to you and without your permission, grabs a lock of your hair gently, looking at it as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. Your eyes widen as you stare at him, mouth slightly agape, feeling strangely violated, even though he didn’t actually touch your body.

“Seems natural,” the man stated, another, shorter, man behind him writing something down on his clipboard, “take note of the freckles.”

Your eyes get even wider as you watch the man take what looks like a pen… maybe a stick? You aren’t sure, and drags it down your cheek and under your chin, tilting your face up at him. Your breathing starts to quicken, as you feel almost like cattle at an auction, or a purebred dog at a show. It doesn’t feel natural, it feels wrong… dirty, like you’re about to be sold to the highest bidder.

“Perfect lip shape, even,” he tuts as he turns your head to the side, grey starting to dot your vision as your head swims with confusion and embarrassment, “ears are uneven though. We may need to fix that.”

Fix that!? What the hell did this guy mean?

The strange man let the pen drop and your head snapped to the side as you saw two female nurses, who you hadn’t noticed standing behind you until now, come up to flank either side of you. When you looked up to your right, you saw the quiet nurse from earlier, and she sent you an apologetic smile as she gripped your right arm. You looked on in horror as the nurse, whom you didn’t recognize, on your other side, grabbed your left arm, essentially pinning you to the table.

Now, with nothing to cover you, you try to squirm away from their grasp, wanting nothing more in the world than to be able to cover yourself. You felt so wrong, so violated, being on display for these people. It felt inhumane, and you wished with all of your might that it would end. There are salty tears streaming down your cheeks, mixing with mucous from your runny nose, as you plead with the two men who are nearing closer to you.

“P-please, please!” You squeal when one of them grabs your ankle, bringing up a restraint from under the table, locking it in place. “P-please!” You scream, your voice breaking as you plead with them to stop. Your cries are becoming erratic and you can feel yourself getting lightheaded at the lack of oxygen, but you don’t stop, you can’t stop thrashing and yelling as he grabs your other ankle and attaches it to the bed.

You’re so focused on trying to escape their clutches, that you don’t notice one of the other men step up to your side and inject your thigh with something, but you do feel the sting of the needle and the immediate cold shot that travels through your leg and up to your chest. Your eyes snap open at the feeling.

“W-what is happening, w-hat a-are you doing to me!” You scream, your voice cracking with the high pitch you’re involuntarily using.

The men around you don’t even seem to hear you, too engrossed in their disgusting survey of your body. It’s surreal, the way they continue their business like you don’t exist. You almost feel like you’re in a movie, and you’re watching this happen to someone else, someone you don’t know, but when you feel a cold, gloved hand on your calf, it snaps you back to reality.

Jerking your head up to get a better view of what’s happening, you see a different man from before, this one is tall and skinny, blonde hair, and has a scar on his right eyebrow, grasping your calf, squeezing at the muscle there. “Athletic muscles, I would say she either played a sport, or ran track.” The other men hum and nod as your mouth drops open as you continue to sob. What was happening to you?!

Before you can even start to process the absurdity of what was going on, you feel something cold poke at your crotch. Immediately you try to flinch away from it, looking down to see one of the men holding what looked like one of those metal things the gynecologist uses to do a checkup.

“N-NO!” You screech, trying with all your might to back away. It’s no use, as you are fully restrained, but you can’t watch this happen to you, you cannot bear to witness what was about to take place. “N-no! PLEASE, s-s-stop!” your voice waivers, but you do your best to keep your eyes trained on the man holding the tool.

Finally, for the first time, the man acknowledges your presence by looking at you. He’s middle-aged, salt and pepper hair with a black goatee. Your face twists further in pain as he looks as you, a cold stare almost as if he’s looking right through you. The expression he wears is one of boredom, like you’re nothing but a nuisance to him right now. You sob harder at the thought that you were no longer seen as a human, a person with feelings and thoughts, but merely as a test subject, a body, flesh and bones.

“I-I’m a virgin,” you whisper in the smallest voice you think is possible, eyes unable to focus on anything as your pupils twitch nervously. Your mouth is falling open and snapping closed like you want to say more, but you’re unable to form anymore words.

You look down in horror as the man’s expression doesn’t change, instead, he seems to… smirk. You throw your head back against the table and scream out as he inserts the tool into your body, the foreign stretch painful. Your body is wracked with painful sobs as he continues his inspections, gloved fingers entering you and feeling around. It hurts, it hurts so bad, and it feels so fucking wrong. You feel so disgusting.

All you can do is cry on the table and let them finish whatever the hell they were doing, when finally you feel him pull away from you. You let out a sigh, eyes slipping closed as you feel like it’s finally over, blood rushing to your head, making your ears pound.

“Definitely a virgin,” the man says to his colleagues, “we will run a few more tests to make sure she’s fertile, but so far it seems she will be the perfect specimen.”

Yeonjun’s words from before rush back into your head, swimming around your brain. They were going to breed you, to use your body and your eggs to create more human beings like you. Like the boys. And you couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

“We can start the hormones tomorrow, but we need to make sure her eggs are viable. We can do an extraction today.”

Your eyes pop open at this, your breathing still ragged as you listen to the men talk about you, the female nurses still holding your arms tightly, despite the fact that you’ve long since given up fighting. You don’t think you have any more fight left in you.

“Yes sir, we’ll get it done within the hour,” another man answers the other before walking out of the room. Your crying has turned into wheezing sobs as the rest of the men follow after him.

“Don’t feed her,” the salt and pepper man says to the nurses, “hook her up to an IV and get some fluid in her. She can’t be dehydrated for the procedure.” His tone was cold, uncaring as he spoke to the nurses who nodded in response.

When he turns to leave, he makes it all the way to the door before turning around, one hand on the doorknob, and looks directly at you. “I’ll be back for you later,” he starts, looking down and seemingly chuckling to himself, “you’re going to be fun.”

You pale at his words as he exits the room, leaving you and the nurses in utter silence. You don’t have much experience with people, other than your schoolmates, Mina, Woo, and the boys, but you understand the hidden meaning in his words, and it absolutely breaks whatever resolve you have left to stay strong. Your walls crumble down, silent sobs wracking your small frame as you weep on the exam table.

You’re so far gone in your dark thoughts you don’t realize the nurses have inserted an IV drip into your arm and secured both arms to the table with some kind of elastic restraints. Before they leave you to the depths of your mind, they drape the thin sheet back over you. They tried to speak to you, to let you know they’d be back, but you didn’t hear them. Their words fell on deaf ears as you lose yourself to the memory of Jungkook’s lips on yours.

Your first kiss. You mentally smile at the image of the two of you standing together near that stream, a storybook setting where he stole your first kiss. You hold on to that, because if you could have one first that is by choice, you’re glad it was with the sweet bunny boy, in a place so beautiful.

You’re so lost in the pitiful depths of your own mind, that you don’t notice a doctor and the two nurses from before entering the exam room. You’re still strapped to the table, but have long since given up struggling. It was no use, your arms were tightly at your sides, ankles locked onto the table. You’re resigned yourself to silently sobbing, thinking about what your life is doomed to end up like.

You long for the things you never got to experience before you were taken here, and a dark, self-deprecating part of you blames yourself for being so prude and stubborn. Your first kiss was just yesterday, and you’ve never done anything more than that, despite the plentiful offers from boys and men in your town.

You’ve never had a boyfriend, never properly held hands or cuddled with someone you shared feelings with, you’ll never have the chance to choose who you want to have sex with. You shudder at that thought, another sob making you heave.

“YN?”

You’re so weak, so entirely not yourself, you don’t have the will nor the energy to look at whoever is speaking to you. Instead, you continue staring up at the bright white ceiling, tears still silently rolling down your cheeks. You haven’t been able to wipe at them, and the wetness is starting to pool uncomfortably at your ears.

“YN, I’m Dr. Kim,” a kind voice continues, despite your lack of answer, “I’m going to be performing your procedure today.”

Your eyes slip shut, waiting for him to explain just what ‘procedure’ he means. He sounded kind, maybe, but you’ve learned not to trust anyone here, so you just wait.

The nurse next to you grunts in exertion as she drags a heavy cart to your bedside, beginning to set up what you assume are tools for whatever is about to happen to you. “YN we’re going to attempt an egg extraction. I’m going to numb you, so hopefully it’s not too uncomfortable for you, but I’m not going to lie and say it won't hurt.”

You almost roll your eyes at his caring tone of voice, you know it’s all fake. They don’t care about you, about your body, you’re just a sack of flesh, or you suppose eggs, in this case, to them. The nurse to your right starts removing the thin sheets from your body, making you wince away as much as you can at the touch. Every single touch against your skin makes you shiver, you wish they would just stop touching you.

Once the nurse has the sheet down low enough, exposing your arm and entire upper half, she gets to work inserting an IV into your arm, to which you don’t react. Maybe whatever they pump into you will make you sleep, or forget, or maybe die. You let out a humorless, dark chuckle, making the nurses look at you wearily. It’s anything but funny that you’ve been put in a position where you’d rather die than continue, but it’s a little ironic, isn’t it?

Your parents kept you shielded your entire life, never letting you have many friends, never letting you explore the town on your own, hell, you couldn’t even attend college. Your life was planned out for you from the beginning, since before you were even born. You were promised to a fate that was now a reality. Had you gone against their wishes, maybe you would’ve been able to experience some of the things that are now being violently ripped away from you, or maybe you would’ve been met with a nefarious end, but it couldn’t have been much worse than what’s happening now.

You’re so wrapped up in your thoughts that you don’t realize the nurse has already administered something into your IV that is making your head feel a little floaty. When you try to wiggle your fingers and toes, you can still feel them, but they feel tingly, almost. It’s a strange feeling you don’t think you’ve ever experienced before. You furrow your brow as you feel your legs being moved against your will. When you try to pick your head up to look at them, you can’t, which freaks you out even more, but before you can voice your thoughts, an oxygen mask is placed over your face, aiding in making you even more dizzy.

Your eyes must’ve slipped closed at some point, because all you see is black. Are you sleeping? If you’re sleeping, then why do you feel so much pressure in your lower stomach? You try with all your might to open your eyes, but you fail every time. Next, you try moving your arms, your hands, anything, but nothing will move.

Absently, you feel the pressure in your abdomen increase, but you aren’t sure what the feeling is, as you’ve never felt something quite like it. It almost feels as if someone is trying to push out of your stomach from the inside. It’s weird, and almost painful. You try to focus on the feeling, hoping that it might ground you and make you more lucid than you are currently, but all it does is make you hyper focus on the almost-pain and that makes it more intense.

You want to yell out, to say something, to scream at whoever is pushing (pulling?) on your guts to stop! But you can’t. All you can do is lay there, stiff as a board, while whatever is happening to you continues to happen. Just when you think the pressure is starting to let up a bit, you feel an intense sharp pain on your left side of your body, near where you think your bladder is located.

If you were more conscious, you would have definitely rolled over or keeled over in pain at the feeling. It was sharp, like a needle or a knife, jabbing into you and then immediately pulling back. It felt kind of like if you were to pinch your skin really tightly between fingernails and then let go. The pain was instant and is slowly starting to subside, but left behind is a deep burning sensation that is akin to rug burn that you get when you skin your knee on the carpet. What the fuck is happening to you?

After the sharp pain, you feel the pressure retract from your body, and you are just mentally aware enough to remember your pelvic exam earlier. Whatever pressure you were feeling must’ve been through your vagina, if you had to wager a guess. The thought, while foggy, made you want to vomit.

The man in the room earlier said something about an extraction, was that what they just did to you? Were they extracting your eggs? Or were they inserting something into you? Whatever it was, it absolutely terrified you. Your mind flashed through all the possibilities: a tracking device, some kind of contraption, contraceptives, an embryo?! The last one terrified you beyond measure. Yeonjun had mentioned how they wanted to breed you, like some animal from a farm, was that what they were doing to your body?

While you were so caught up in your racing thoughts, you realize that whatever they did to you left behind a pulsing, burning, feeling where the initial pinch was felt, and you idly wondered if they would be putting pain medication in your IV, or if they would let you suffer. Probably suffer, you thought. Before you could really think much about it, you felt the strange pressure again, only this time you were certain it was between your legs.

Whatever they had given you earlier to make you loopy felt like it was slowly starting to wear off, and you started to hear voices talking beside you and you felt the sharp, pinching pain again, only this time it was on your right.

“They seem viable,” a man’s voice trailed off. You’re unsure if he stopped talking or your just stopped hearing, but the next voice you heard was distinctly female.

“She’s bleeding, doctor.” The voice sounded so calm. Surely blood couldn’t be a good thing, right? As you thought this, you felt something being roughly pulled out of you, making your whole body jerk downwards on the table. This time, the burning sensation was stronger, intense, in a way you couldn’t quite comprehend.

It felt like a hot knife was being twisted inside your middle, hot, sharp, but also, wet? The pain was so intense, even if you could move, you don’t think you’d physically be able to. You were still too out of it to move your body or open your eyes, but you could feel the pain full fledged now, sending alarm bells off in your brain.

You were dying.

You had a gut feeling of impending doom, one of which you haven’t ever had before in your short twenty three years of existence. You were bleeding out on this damned table. You could feel it. Aside from the fact that you felt like your stomach had just exploded from the inside out, you could feel the blood running out of you. It was warm, almost hot, sticky, and wet. You could feel it begin to pool under your thighs and start to seep up your back. You were so certain that you were about to meet Death himself.

Would that be such a bad thing, though? You try to temporarily distract yourself from the pain, and now pressure of someone pushing on your abdomen, by wondering what it might feel like to die. You were shocked that you even had the wherewithal to think these things, when your lower half was literally on fire, but you always have had a high pain tolerance. If this was dying, you thought, it wasn’t so bad. Maybe you would finally be out of your misery.

Your last coherent thought after you heard the shouting of multiple people around you, was of the bunny boy, and his lips against yours.

Cold. Bare, and cold. Those were the only two words running through your mind as you hugged your arms tightly to yourself, eyes squeezed shut, as you sat shivering on the cold ground. Where were you? You looked down at your body, only to gasp aloud at what you saw. You pull your hands away from your legs, seeing you are completely naked, covered in blood from the waist down.

Immediately you try to stand up, panic settling in your bones as you spin around, taking in your surroundings.

What the fuck is happening…

You’re completely surrounded by darkness. Is this a dream? You look down to see you’re standing in what looks like really shallow water. You can’t feel any pain, even though you look like you’ve just been brutally stabbed, so you realize this must be a dream, or some sort of creepy purgatory.

You lean down to tap at the water substance, only to find the surface of it to be completely reflective, and you see yourself staring back up at your pale, thin face. You can’t remember what you look like in real life, but you blankly think that this isn’t what you looked like last time you looked in a mirror.

You look sick, dead, even. Your face is so thin and sunken in, it looks like you’ve been starved for weeks. Quickly, you tear your eyes away from the reflection, not wanting to dwell on why you’re dreaming up these things… You furrow your brow as you wrap your arms back around your frame.

It’s chillingly cold, wherever you are. Dreamland, purgatory, Hell, you aren’t sure anymore. All you know is you don’t want to be here anymore. You want to go home. Home. Where is your home, now? You silently let even more tears fall down your cheeks at the reminder that you’re stuck in that god forbidden laboratory, and you’ve suddenly wanted nothing more than to run into your mother’s arm. She took care of you, right? She must harbor at least some sort of love for you.

You sniffle, shaking your head back and forth, trying to rid yourself of your thoughts of them. They aren’t your family. You don’t even know if they are your biological parents, as you haven’t had the chance to ask any questions in this hellscape.

This hell… you start to recall what was happening right before you lost consciousness. Floating, you remember the feeling of floating and falling all at the same time. You remember not really being in the right frame of mind, but you also remember an intense pressure.

You gasp, hands flying down to grip at your lower abdomen. The pain, the pinching and burning, originated in your lower belly. When you look down to the spots your hands are covering, you don’t see anything, no outwards signs of abuse or pain. But it’s then that you see the steady drops of blood that have been falling from you, from your…

No. No, no, no. You slowly reach a hand down to run a finger through the crimson blood trailing down your inner thigh, only to bring it back up towards your face. With shaky eyes and gaping mouth, you realize that whatever they did, whatever caused the bleeding, had to do with your reproductive system.

How much blood had you lost? You blink away the tears as you fall to your knees on the wet ground, black water splashing around your pathetic frame. You let out a sob, only to realize you aren’t actually making any noise. Now that you think of it, you haven’t heard any noise since you ‘woke up’ here. You haven’t even heard your own cries or sniffles. You must be dead, that was the only thing your muddled brain could think of seeing how much blood was pooled underneath you.

A sinister smile spreads across your face as you close your eyes and throw your head back. If you were really dead, that meant you were far, far away from those monsters. You could finally rest, even if it was in this soundless, black abyss. Regardless of how bloody you were, you felt no pain, not like the excruciating pain you had been in before you lost consciousness. Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. You think you’re lightly laughing, relishing in the thought that you could be rid of Big Hit, rid of your family, and rid of pain, but you can’t hear anything coming from your throat.

You slowly lay yourself down in the cool water, rolling onto your side, as you let the blood continue to flow. If you were going to die, at least you wouldn’t feel it.

“She lost a lot of blood,” a woman’s voice speaks into the quiet room, “we did our best, but there was a lot of damage to the ovaries.”

“What do you mean, damage?” A gruff tone asks the female.

You furrow your brows, your brain getting whiplash from seeping in and out of consciousness so often. You could hear a conversation taking place above you, but you weren’t sure who was there with you, or even where you were. You didn’t feel cold and wet anymore, but you could feel a dull pulsing in your stomach.

“Well, Doctor Kim said that only one was a viable ovary before the procedure, the other never having produced eggs…” the voice trailed off.

“But?” The only sound that could be heard over their conversation, was the beeping of a machine in the distance.

“But the other ovary was lost,” the woman says, reluctantly.

Confusion takes over you as the pulsing in your abdomen increases, bordering on painful.

“Fucking hell,” the man mutters, anger taking over his tone, “I told you idiots to be careful with this one. We need her. We can’t further this research without her.” The man sighs, exasperated, before he adds hotly, “Get out. Now!”

A door can be heard opening and closing quickly, leaving the only sounds in the room the faint beeping and the man's heavy breathing.

A few beats pass before the man approaches your prone body, running a hand up and down your arm. “Pretty little thing,” he tsks, “such a shame.”

Your barely conscious body tenses at the man’s words and touch. As he leans over you, caging your body in, you recognize it’s the salt and pepper man from before. Your eyes snap open just as his lips are about to collide with yours. Eyes wide and panic stricken, you abruptly sit up, smacking your face into his and making him stumble backwards, hand clutching his nose.

“You bitch!” he stutters out, knocking into a small metal table holding medical tools.

Your heart rate picks up, sending you tumbling into a fight or flight response, of which your body chooses the later. Jumping up quickly from the bed you were sitting on, you try to make a run for the door, but scream loudly when you feel the man’s hand around your waist, pulling you down to the ground on top of him.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?!” he screams, gripping onto your hips tight enough to bruise. You’re screaming bloody murder, trying to get out of his grip. You can feel the burning sensation in your abdomen grow with the exertion, but you don’t give up, trashing and twisting in his grip. “Stop fucking moving you whore!”

The man’s large hand leaves your middle, allowing you to move slightly away from him, before he reaches out and grips your long hair, pulling you roughly to the ground, the back of your head cracking sickeningly against the linoleum. Your eyes squeeze shut at the piercing pain shooting through your skull, a silent scream on your face.

The man moves himself so he’s on his knees, hand still wrapped tightly in your hair. He picks your head up slightly, only to slam it back into the floor for good measure. You whimper out in pain, unable to open your eyes at the searing feeling in the back of your skull. “You really think you can go anywhere? You’re fucking trapped in here, and you just made a very, very terrible mistake, young lady.” His tone was sinister, deep, and taunting. He was enjoying this, chasing you. “You could’ve laid there and taken this, could’ve been a good girl. But no, you chose this, remember that you slut. This is your fault!”

He stands up abruptly, taking your body with him and letting your body flail in his grasp as he moves back towards the hospital bed. He drags you behind him like a caveman, throwing you roughly onto the hard bed and immediately crawling over top of you. As soon as he is over you, you bang both of your hands against his chest, but it doesn’t make him budge. There are tears streaming down your face, and you don’t realize you’re still screaming until he slams a hand over your mouth, making your eyes bulge nearly out of your head. You try your hardest to shake your head back and forth to get him to release his tight grip on you.

“You’re going to shut. The. Fuck. Up. And take what I give to you, you stupid fucking bitch.”

The panic starts to rise, ten-fold in you, as you thrash even harder under this man. His grip on your mouth doesn’t let up, not even a little, as he brings his other hand up to land a slap to your cheek, making more tears flow down your face. The weight of what is about to happen to you sits heavy on your chest as you squeeze your eyes closed again.

“Such a pretty whore,” he whispers, bringing his hand to your chest, groping at your breasts under your hospital gown, “I’ll fuck this fight right out of you, girl.”

You scream as loud as you can against the palm of his hand as he rips away the front of your hospital gown and throws it behind him blindly. You’re screaming and crying, sniffling as snot coats the inside of the man’s palm. You’re screaming ‘no’, over and over again, but it’s only coming out as muffled noises. You don’t think anyone would even be able to hear you if you were able to scream, the doors were made of a thick metal.

Your mind briefly flashes to Seokjin, the gentle man with large hands that would soothingly rub up and down your back. The man on top of you continues to rip at your clothing, the thin white sports bra you don’t even remember someone putting on you, comes off you at lightning speed, being thrown behind him like the gown. You try to focus on Seokjin and what his soft, gentle hands would feel like. You try to remember what it felt like when he gently wrapped your wounds and rubbed your back in the shower.

Slowly, your tears start to let up, your sniffles getting lighter, as you imagine Jin’s hands are the ones touching your breasts, groping your thighs. It’s hard, because the man above you is so rough, his hands are nothing like Seokjin’s. They are rough and cracked and calloused, and you want nothing more than for Jin to be here, to soothe your wounds, to take care of you. The opposite of what is currently taking place.

You’re ripped from your thoughts when the man dips his thick, gross fingers under the hem of your white panties, pulling them roughly from your body with a snap. You barely register the pain of the elastic snapping against your hips, distracted from the searing hot pain in your lower belly when the man pushes your hips down.

You try to scream out in pain again, but it comes out as a garbled yell that turns into a sob when you feel his hands trailing down your stomach and dipping between your legs. This can’t be happening, you open your eyes only to find the man staring back at you, lust in his gaze. It makes you sick, and you think you’re about to vomit when he speaks again.

“You’re so wet, you’re enjoying this, aren’t you, slut?” He bites his lip and your eyes widen as he runs a finger through your slit. The pain that shoots through your body is immediate, your vagina still incredibly sore from the earlier events. You let out a high pitch noise in pain, trying your hardest to move your hips away from his touch, but he doesn’t let up, only pushing you down into the mattress harder by his hand on your face. “Gonna fuck this virgin pussy until you’re screaming for more.”

Before he can say anymore, you move your head up slightly and bite down as hard as humanly possible on the top of his hand. He immediately releases you, stumbling back off the bed, cursing loudly, as blood flows from his hand.

You spit out the blood that got in your mouth, to your side. When you look down, your eyes widen in horror at the spot of blood already on the mattress, presumably from his earlier ministrations on your already battered vaginal area. You’re panting, heart racing as you meet the man’s eyes again, only this time they are filled with anger, not lust.

The man charges at you again, making you back into the wall the bed is pushed against. “You fucking whore! Didn’t I tell you to shut up and take it?!” He screams in your face as he kneels on the bed, you try to scramble away from him, but you’re just met with the wall again, making you scream out as he pulls his fist back, before colliding it with your jaw. As he pulls back to land another hit, the door slams open.

“Dr. Byun!”

The man in question whips his head around towards the source of the sound, only to find the yellow haired therapist, Yeonjun.

“Your hand! Sir, you’re bleeding!” Yeonjun rushes forward, quickly taking in your broken and tattered appearance, pursing his lips, and turns towards Dr. Byun.

“T-This isn’t what it looks like, boy,” the doctor starts, standing up and cradling his bleeding hand against his chest, “you didn’t see shit, you hear me?”

“Yes sir, I understand. But you should really get that looked at, it looks deep and you could need stitches.”

Yeonjun looks like he is purposely ignoring you, trying to coax the older man out of the room. You cower into the corner as far as you can, pulling the thin white sheet with you to cover your form. You can’t help the sobs that emit from your small frame, sending a shiver down the therapist’s spine.

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Dr. Byun mutters, walking towards the door, “call Jiwoo to take care of the specimen.”

You flinch at the name. Specimen, that’s all you are, right?

“Will do, doctor. Please, get yourself fixed up.” Yeonjun turns towards the man, bowing ninety degrees as he exits the room.

He waits a moment before turning back around, taking a deep breath and steeling himself for what he’s about to see.

When he turns around, you’re curled into a small ball, face against your knees, bawling likes he’s never seen anyone cry before. He’s worried you are going to suffocate yourself with how ragged your breathing seems to be, so he approaches carefully.

When he reaches the bed, he is unsure of how to proceed, so he gently reaches out to try and touch your elbow to let you know he’s there, but you jerk back, eyes snapping up to his as you let out a panicked scream. Yeonjun flinches and pulls back immediately, holding both hands up to let you know he means to harm, but you can’t focus on much else than what just took place. You were almost raped, you were raped. Your mind was starting to regress, trying to pull you away from the horror you just witnessed, and Yeojun, a trained therapist, could see it clearly.

He needed to get you out of here, fast, or who knows what would happen to you.

“YN, listen to me, honey,” he spoke quietly, making you look up at him helplessly, tears still actively flowing from your red rimmed eyes, “I want to help you, okay? I’m not here to hurt you, I’m here to protect you from that man. Protect you from this place, okay? Can you hear me, YN?”

You look up at him, fear in your eyes, but nod along to his words anyways, trying your hardest to not let your mind slip, but it’s getting more difficult as you start to hyperventilate. Yeojun inches closer to you, taking your nod as permission, and places a gentle hand on your arm. His hand is warm, and soft, nothing like Dr. Byun, and it just makes you cry harder.

“YN, hey, look at me, please?” Yeojun asks quietly, prompting you to stare at the yellow haired male, “breath, sweetie. Deep breath, hold it. Relax.” You nod your head as you let out a deep breath through your nose, your fear addled mind deciding it would be okay to trust him. “Good, very good. Now, YN, I need you to listen, okay? I’m going to get you out of here. This isn’t a safe place for you, right?” You shake your head, biting your lip so hard you draw blood. “Okay, good. This is risky, YN so I need you to listen carefully.”

Silent tears slip down your cheeks, but Yeojun is quick to wipe them away, making your eyes slip closed at the kind gesture. “I’m going to wrap you up in that sheet, okay? It’s 2 AM right now, and there aren’t many guards on duty. We’re gonna sneak out of here, but I need you to be as quiet as a mouse. Can you do that for me?” Yeojun spoke softly and slowly, making sure to tap into the childlike mindset you were starting to fall into.

“O-o-okay,” you mutter out, tears, snot, and blood running down your face as you sniffle again. Your breaths are coming out in hiccups, and Yeonjun runs a soft hand carefully up and down your arm to calm you down.

“Shh, YN. Relax for me, I’m gonna get you out of here. Away from the awful man. I need you to trust me, do you trust me?”

You nod your head quickly, wanting nothing more than to escape this nightmare.

“Good. I’m going to pick you up now, is that okay?” You nod your head again, but tighten your grip on the thin sheet, now stained red with blood from various places on your body. Yeonjun utters a curse under his breath as he notices just how much you’re bleeding.

Without another word, Yeonjun scoops his arms underneath you and picks you up, cradling you against his chest. True to his word, he wraps the sheet tightly around you, but you still shiver, nonetheless. Moving quickly towards the door, he maneuvers his body so his scan card attached to his belt loop, scans on the door, opening it up. Peeking out in both directions, he slowly makes his way towards the cargo elevators located at the back of the building, careful to stay away from the security cameras along the way.

He knows this could get him killed, but a lot of things he’s done in his two years working here could get him killed. This time he wasn’t planning on coming back, no. They would realize quickly that you were gone and would figure out it was him that took you. You both had to run, preferably far from here.

Hugging you closer to his chest, Yeonjun runs up to the elevator, scanning his badge against the wall again. As he enters the elevator, he hears your soft whimpers against his shirt, and realizes that you’re shaking violently.

“Shit. YN, YN hey, I need you to stay awake for me,” Yeojun whispers, adjusting you so he can look at your face. Your eyes are closed and you’re having trouble keeping your head upright, letting it loll against his forearm. “Ah fuck! Hey, sweetie, we’re almost to my car, but I really, really need you to focus on my voice, okay?” Yeojun whispers loudly as he steps off the elevator and into the parking garage, running quickly to his dark blue sedan. You let out a soft groan as he jostles you slightly to reach his keys in his back pocket.

“I’ve got you, YN,” he says, opening the back door and laying you down against the cool leather. “You’re gonna be okay, you hear me? Hold on just a little longer.”

Yeojun closes the door and jumps into the driver’s seat, starting up the engine and making his way out of the garage unseen.

From the backseat, your drowsy state was making it hard for you to pay attention, but you tried to listen to Yeojun’s words from earlier, you wanted to be good, wanted to make him happy. You needed to focus.

“YN, can you hear me?” You let out a small groan from the back, letting him know you were listening, “Good, I need you to focus on me, okay? I’m calling Namjoon, I’m gonna let him talk to you.”

Your ears perk up at the thought of hearing Namjoon’s voice, and it’s that excitement that keeps you awake while you listen to the ringing of a phone echo throughout the small car. You head lolls to the side, giving you a full view of the blue lights on the dash. It’s blurry, but you try to focus on all the little buttons, trying to make out what each picture was, a feeble attempt to stay awake.

“Hello?” Namjoon’s deep voice, plagued with sleep, rings through the car.

“Joon, are you still at Wonho’s place?”

You hear shuffling on the other side of the phone before his voice rumbles out, “Yeah, yeah. What’s up?”

You whimper at the sound of his voice, wanting nothing more than to yell out for him, to scream and cry and beg for him.

“YN? Is that YN? What the hell is going on?”

“Calm down, Joon,” Yeojun soothes in the soft voice of his, “I have her. I had to get her out, I couldn’t wait any longer. W-what I walked into…” he trails off and you flinch at the reminder. Yeojun notices through the rearview mirror and decides he won't go into further detail.

“Yeonjun, what the fuck do you mean?”

“Shh, Joon, please. She’s not in good shape, please just let me bring her to you. She badly needs a doctor, she’s lost a lot of blood.”

“B-blood, what - what the fuck do you mean,” Namjoon’s voice wavers, and you hear shuffling again, “YN? Can you hear me?”

“She can hear you, but she’s barely conscious.”

You make a small noise again, trying your hardest to let him know you’re there, you’re alive. “YN, baby, please stay with me,” more shuffling and grunts from another male sound through the car, “we’re all here, we’re all waiting for you, okay? Please, please make it back to us.”

You hear a faint echo of your name in the background, and then footsteps and doors slamming as Yeojun tries to calm him down again, “Namjoon, I need you guys to stay calm, okay? I’m almost there, and I need you to prepare yourselves for what you’re gonna see. Keep Kook and the twins away, yeah?”

“YN?!” Seokjin. You let out a pitiful wail at the sound of his voice, and you can hear audible sobs on the other end of the phone. “YN, love, I’m so sorry, so so sorry.” You hear Jin’s choked sobs, and it only makes you cry harder, longing for him to be there.

“She’s going to need medical help, Jin, are you going to be able to handle it? I need you to pull yourself together, do it for YN.” Yeojun soothes again. You can barely make out the sounds of a phone moving around through the car speakers, before you hear Namjoon’s voice again.

“We got it Yeonjun, please, just hurry.”

“Almost there, give me ten minutes.”

You cry softly as Yenojun hangs the phone up and turns slightly to smile at you from the front briefly before turning back towards the road. “We’re almost there, YN,” he whispers, “you’re gonna be okay, just stay awake a little longer.”

You try, you really do. But the soft hum on the passing cards outside, and the gentle tone of Yeonjun’s voice lull you to sleep, the last thing on your mind is Seokjin’s warm embrace.

To be continued...

2nd authors note: hi. sorry for the horribly written, yet sad and graphic chapter. it was a little cringe, so I apologize. this was meant to give perspective to how YN is going to be going forward in the story. she is definitely going to be changed. let me know what you think!

Taglist: @jooniebias10 jooniebias10 @sammiilynn10192 @minifruity @mrcleanheichou @arantxaglz @chim-possible @kooksremedy @irishhbamb @sugashaye @lovelyseomin @strawberrygatorade @kookiebbyxx @itneverends15713

#bts x reader #poly bts smut #poly bts angst #bts angst #bts smut

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miraculous786 · 5 years ago

Text

The Protector’s Plan

Masterlist

"Aaaah! Someone help me!" Lila screeched, piercing the eardrums of anyone in the vicinity. "I'm being held hostage!"

"Will you shut up?" Chat Noir hissed, whilst holding out his baton to block an oncoming attack. The knife aimed at him was pushed to the side, and he took it for his advantage.

Adrien kicked a leg out, forcing Protector to fly back into a beam. The Eiffel Tower shook on its very legs.

Turning back to the screaming girl behind, he decided, "We need to get you out of here."

Before she could argue, he grabbed her in a flash - not bothering if she was uncomfortable - and sprinted away. However, their escape was thwarted when a beam of purple shot the ground in front of them. An explosion from that very spot caused debris to fly everywhere.

Lila yelped loudly in surprise, prompting Chat to hiss as a reflex as his false ears flapped down. His emerald eyes were easily able to gaze through the settling dust, allowing him to see the figure stalking in their direction with a gun pointed.

Just as the liar began to vocalise her fear, a faint sound was heard from off to the side. The sound of a ping.

Three heads swivelled towards the sight of a spotted woman and blond boy, who were both situated in an elevator. Ladybug was spinning her yo-yo with a determined expression, yet it soon melted away when she took in the scene before her.

"Angel!" Protector broke the silence with. "You're here - I guess that means that I'll get on with the spectacle I promised now instead."

Marinette's eyes widened, but she didn't have time to question his knowledge of her identity.

Protector aimed his firearm upwards, pulling the trigger. A line of light zipped straight to Lila, and she held her arms up in a defensive stance. Though it did nothing.

Orange covered her form, until all that was left was a small orb on the floor, that glowed eerily in the quiet. Damian sauntered calmly towards it.

Seeing this, Ladybug sprinted forward, before leaping in the air to land beside Chat Noir. They both spun their weapons in front of Lila's soul.

"Damian, stop this!" she yelled. "I'm sure we can deal with this another way."

Protector let out a dry chuckle. "I'm afraid you don't see what I want, Angel," he replied, walking closer. "What I want is for you and my Moon to be safe."

His violet eyes flickered to Felix at the side.

"And to do that, I need to rid of that snake."

In a flash, the akuma pulled out an assortment of blades from his utility belt, and proceeded to throw them straight at the duo. They dodged in accordance - ducking and weaving between the knives - whilst keeping Damian in their vision.

However, the male wasn't focused on the heroes anymore. He was focused on the blond standing metres nearby.

He paused in his assault, and instead launched a circular device at Felix.

"No!"

All of a sudden, Ladybug was the one it landed on, and she glanced down in horror. The gadget beeped red, followed by it exploding into a bundle of rope that ended up wrapped around her body tightly.

Marinette attempted to get free, but the action was useless. She caught sight of Chat Noir in the corner of her eye, with his staff turning in his claws as a shield.

"There is no point in fighting, Angel," Protector spoke, as he slipped a katana blade back into the side of his utility belt. "You're just delaying the inevitable. I always get the job done."

Adrien extended his baton, forcing the villain to be sent in another direction. He ran to Ladybug, and held a hand up.

"Cataclysm!"

The ropes constricting her movement turned a rusty black, before disintegrating into a dust that blew away in the faint breeze.

Marinette flexed her muscles, and took out the yo-yo at her hip. She advised, "We'll need your Cataclysm to defeat him, trust me on this Kitty. It's best that we recharge and come back later."

The heroine faced Felix. The two gave each other nods, before she picked him up in a safe hold. They swung away from the Eiffel Tower together, Chat Noir in tow.

None noticed Protector following them with his gaze, nor the grin that stretched across his features.

He glanced down at the gun in his grip, and watched the two souls within pulsate. One a bright orange, and the other a muted version of the same colour.

~*~*~

"Felix. Here is the miraculous of the Fox, which grants the power of illusion, and you will use it for the greater good. Once the job is done, you will return the miraculous to me. Can I trust you?"

Taking the hexagonal box without hesitance, he responded, "Yes."

A flash appeared as he opened it, followed by a kwami fizzling into existence. They looked about, before they took in Felix in front of them.

"Hey Kit," Trixx greeted with a chuckle. "Nice to see you again!"

"You too," Felix agreed, with his lips twitching upward.

Marinette watched the boy put on the fox tail necklace with ease, and turn to her and Adrien. She said, "Alright. Now that we're all charged, I think we're ready to save our Star."

"Oh, by the way..." her partner commented. "'Star' is the akuma, right?"

Ladybug blushed. "U-Ummm, yes. He, he, uhhh...comes to the bakery quite a lot. Damian's a regular."

"I'm just wondering where he learned to fight like that," Adrien revealed, finger tapping at his chin. "Or where his suit comes in. I think I've seen something like it before."

"Didn't he say he was from Gotham? And that there were vigilantes there?" Marinette asked Felix.

"Yes, he did. His costume is most likely based off of theirs."

"No wonder he looks so depressing."

"Anyway..." Ladybug broke in with. "I think that we should-"

A voice from the TV nearby interrupted her. Nadja Chamack was heard to say, "Don't be bemused, it's just the news! I'm here with footage live from the Eiffel Tower of another akuma!"

The screen changed to a recording taken from a helicopter, that showed the familar figure of the Protector on top of Paris's most famous monument. He was at the balcony near the tip, along with two others.

They were backed up to the rails, and facing Damian with scared expressions.

"What? How did he get Alya too?"

"Oh, about that," Adrien answered for Marinette. "He came to get her and Lila at school and made a whole mess there."

"We better save them - who knows what he could do."

"Awww, can't we let him deal with them?"

"What? Adrien, of course we cannot!"

"For once I agree with your friend."

"Ugh, not you too, Felix!" Ladybug groaned. "Just transform, guys. We don't have much time."

"If you say so..." Adrien finally agreed with a pout. "Plagg, Claws Out!"

"Trixx, Let's Pounce."

~*~*~

"What the heck?"

"What is it?"

"You said that Damian went to Paris to take down some villian right?" Tim quizzed.

"Well, he did, but told me that he had some other business to take care of there too," Jason responded. "Explains why he's been gone for longer than usual."

Tim gestured with his head for Red Hood to come to the Bat Computer, and he did so.

When faced with the video on the screen, his eyes widened beneath his helmet.

"Demon Spawn?! What the hell is he doing threatening some teenagers up there?"

~*~*~

Sorry for not posting in a while. Something happened last week on Sunday and...long story short I’m not allowed on my phone at all nor the computer. I don’t know when or if my dad will let me back on them but until then, updates might come out later.

Also, I find it really distracting to type out stories on keyboard, and not on phone, which is why they may seem a bit different.

@thestressmademedoit

@moonystars14

@northernbluetongue

@luciferge

@ranger-gothamite

@toodaloo-kangaroo

@freshbark

@drama-queen-supreme

@gwennex

@captainmac6

@virgil-is-a-cutie

@aurordraws

@daminett4life

@megawhitleycalderonpaganus

@hauntedwintersweets

@emo-elaine13

@bleeding-heart-romantic

@write-for-your-life2

@reyna-avila-ramirez-alreanaldo

@schrodingers25

@mariae2900

@tall-shy-a55hole

@vivilakitty

@thyladyanput

@2sunchild2

@kceedraws

@kittyanonymity

@bee-wrecker

@soupfilledboots

#maribat #maridami #daminette #damian x marinette #marinette x damian #felinette #damifelinette #damikuma #mlb x dc #dc x mlb #ml x dc

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ootori-sibs · 4 years ago

Text

Kyoya's second shot

Episode sixteen: Boy's night!

Tw: hallucinations (mentioned), suicidal ideation.

10:29 - I haven't told the hosts that I've been grounded, they would likely ask why.

11:42 - Haruhi is taking the day off, almost didn't note this down, due to its obviousness. The hosts are attempting to fill me in on what I missed; they are attempting to claim she was cornered by many more then she was,

And scolding me for not paying attention.

"C'mon Kyoya-senpai, we're trying to fill you in here!" Hikaru whined, frowning at him, "what are you even writing?"

"I am paying attention, what I'm writing is notes on the situation." He rolled his eyes, what was it with the hosts and assuming he wasn't paying attention? Did they not know how he saw everything?

“What were you up to?” Honey had piped up curiously, “when Haru-chan was hurt? Tama-chan said you were busy.”

Well Kyoya couldn’t just tell him that Honey’s own brother was the reason for Kyoya’s absence. So he merely shrugged, “personally, I don’t see why that’s important information,” he also didn’t want to tell them he’d gotten hurt- they would be sure to ask too many questions.

Hikaru had been a bit rude this entire term, and this rule held firm now. He stared at Kyoya in suspicion, tone brash, “well it is important considering how you've been so damn rude to her this whole year!” It appeared he was angry. This was bad news, if one of the hosts doubted him, then it couldn't be too long until the others did as well. So Kyoya would have to quell their fears quickly- he may have to tell part of the truth.

He sighed, glancing down and putting on the expression of sadness. “Well if you’re going to accuse me, and truly believe i’d ever do that, then i am forced to tell you; I was in the hospital, I had sprained my ankle.” Silence fell over the hosts as he said that, eyes going to Kyoya’s ankle. Kyoya glanced back at Hikaru, seeing the instant guilt in the ginger’s face, “I didn’t want to tell you, because I felt it would be selfish when Haruhi required your entire attention.” That’s the kicker, the instan flash of guilt in his fellow hosts’ eyes as they realised how uncaring they’d been.

Tamaki gasped, clinging to Kyoya, "aw noo! Kyoooyyyaaa! That could never be selfish! You should have told us you were injured, we wouldn't have gotten angry or anything like that."

He had always been the sweetest person, Kyoya had to adore him even more in this moment. He just sighed and leant into Tamaki's touch, something he never did. The hosts reacted as he'd expected, surprise and the obvious reassessment of how they'd viewed any and all of Kyoya's recent actions- even Tamaki was surprised, pausing in his big dramatic comforting to wrap his arms around Kyoya gently, he was so warm… why was Tamaki always so warm?

Hikaru had apologized to Kyoya for being so accusatory, and Kyoya just sighed, "it's fine… I understand." He did, he understood, Hikaru was entirely correct.

"Hmm," Tamaki set his chin on Kyoya's head, he was always so clingy but Kyoya had to admit he loved it, "why don't we have a sleepover tonight? Just the boys?" Oh fuck, Kyoya knew that was going to come back to bite him. The other hosts seemed really keen on the idea, nodding and adding fun things they could do. Kyoya absolutely hated the idea of ruining his friends fun, especially if he was finally going to get the quality time with his friends that he'd wanted for so long.

He sighed, pushing Tamaki away. The poor king looked so confused and concerned, Kyoya couldn't look him in the eyes, hanging his head- the light hit his glasses in the wonderful way that hides his eyes. "I'm afraid I will not be able to join you."

"What? Why?" Tamaki sounded so hurt in that moment, but there was so much concern in his tone. Kyoya felt so much guilt as he heard the other boy's questioning.

"I've been grounded…" a heavy breath left his lips, he felt as if he had admitted to a crime, "I won't be able to attend the after-school session either, as father has forbidden extracurriculars for a week."

There was a silence that fell over the hosts, their expressions one of a deep shock- Kyoya never got in trouble, not to this degree at least. Not once before had any of his family been grounded either, the most being Akito getting forbidden from attending certain parties. Kyoya is an utter disappointment, and now the hosts could tell. "What did you do Kyo-chan? Why are you grounded?"

He swallowed in shame, not wanting to explain, he simply sighed, trying to come up with an excuse, "it's… it's nothing, you shouldn't worry about it. Enjoy your sleepover." Kyoya went to stand up, but Tamaki grabbed his arm, pulling him back.

"Kyoya wait, are you sure there's nothing we can do? If it's nothing then surely you can just talk to him about it? Maybe I can speak to him for you?"

"No!" Kyoya snapped, clasping his hands over his mouth, he never yelled, so the fact that it made him panic clearly showed the hosts that something was wrong, "I… I mean, it's not nothing but I just don't want to talk about such things, it's really not a big deal. Just have your stupid sleepover without me." With that, he yanked his arm away from Tamaki, grabbing his bag and heading to sit and wait in the classroom.

12:23 - The hosts will be having a sleepov Tamaki's being s The hosts know I am grounded and will be unable to join them for any activities for a week.

12:26 - I somehow feel even more alone

He didn't even help with the lunchtime session, ignoring the texts and missed calls. It didn't matter, it wasn't like he was of use anyway, he could do his one job from here. Which was how he spent all his freetime that day: doing the club finances. Tamaki sat next to him in every class, so it was nearly impossible to ignore him and Kyoya had to resort to speaking only when the question asked of him was of academic importance. It hurt him to ignore Tamaki like this, he loved him so much after all- but it had to be done, Kyoya had to keep the hosts from discovering the mess that he'd become.

It wouldn't be permanent anyway, his being a mess. Once he was with Tamaki, everything would get better, the world would be good again. Tamaki was so special, so wonderful, and Kyoya only needed a little bit of love to survive, and he'd fight for it; that love, he'd fight like he'd never fought before. He wanted to kill himself so much, but he promised himself that he wouldn't let that happen, in this moment he swore to himself that he could never kill himself until he had Tamaki.

I refuse to die until I am married.

He'd forgotten to write the date, he always wrote the date. He supposed it didn't really matter as it hadn't been too long since his last entry, only an hour or two. Besides; it wasn't like it was something that had happened in a specific time.

The first thing he did when he got home was breakdown in tears, leaning against the front door and sobbing. He knew this was dangerous; father could come along at any moment. So he got up, and he tried to wipe his tears, heading up the stairs to his room. Once he got up into his room, he broke down again, on the floor and sobbing. He felt horrible, he felt terrible, he couldn't breathe, he was shaking through sobs and gasping for breath. Kyoya managed to drag himself away from the door and to the window, laying down there and just sobbing his little heart out, staring out the window.

He'd never been grounded before, he'd never been such a disappointment in his life. He didn't know what to do or how to handle this, it was entirely new to him. Kyoya was a mess in the moment, tears spilling out in ways it shouldn't be; Kyoya wasn't supposed to be weak, Kyoya wasn't supposed to be a failure, Kyoya was supposed to be just like his brothers and perfect in every way.

He'd been laying there for a while, just crying and wishing he was never born. He had turned his phone off about three hours ago, he wanted to ignore the world for a bit. There was a knock… but it wasn't at his door, it was at his window. Hm, that wasn't where knocks were supposed to come from. Kyoya glanced over and- oh what the fuck? Why was Tamaki here?

"What the… Tamaki??" He sat up, rushing to open the window. He watched as Tamaki climbed in through the window, followed by the rest of the boys. It was certainly a spectacle and Kyoya found himself chuckling at the sight. "Why are you here??"

Tamaki sat up, smiling brightly, "well we couldn't just have a sleepover without you! Since you're grounded, I figured we'd have the sleepover here!"

God… that was the dumbest thing Kyoya had ever heard. He stared at Tamaki for a few minutes, unsure how to react, "are you trying to get me in trouble?"

"Noo! We wouldn't do that to you!" Tamaki clung to him, rubbing their faces together, Kyoya's face went red. "We'll be good, I promise."

Kyoya nodded, "alright then, but you have to be quiet." He stood up, wiping his tears and heading to his bed, were the hosts were gathering.

17:01 - For once, I feel loved.

So the hosts sat quietly around Kyoya's bed, whispering in hushed voices. It was almost fun to hide like this, the hosts almost made the fear fun. They spoke of spooky stories- the perfect topic for such a hushed tone. Keeping the lights off, they spoke of ghosts and ghouls, zombies and other assorted horrors.

When it was Kyoya's turn, he took the torch that was being passed around and took a level breath in. "Recently, only wednesday, Tamaki spent the night at my house," he began, noticing how confused the hosts were, that this story wasn't spooky in the slightest, he almost smiled, "it was after his argument with Haruhi. I had waited for him during it, though that part isn't important. What is important is the fact that I found myself waking up late at night, and whatever had woken me, didn't stir Tamaki in the slightest." He recalled the thing he saw, shivering, "it wasn't a human, it was too tall to be human. It was… almost a shadow with the way it looked, not fully corporeal…" he glanced back up at the hosts, noticing they looked a mix of hooked and concerned, he continued, "it flickered in the sliver of moonlight that came through the curtains, it's eyes gave off more light then that though. It was grabbing at the bedsheets, staring down at us with bright white eyes- I would have woken Tamaki if I had been able to move. It was a horrifying creature, not of this world. It caused no visible harm, but I still believe my story is superior.”

The hosts looked at him in shock, Tamaki's hands were shaking, “is that real? Did you really see it?”

Kyoya paused, god- did that make him sound crazy? He didn’t want the hosts to think him crazy. “N… no, no, it was… just a story. Nothing to worry about.” He smiled, passing the torch along. He was mentally kicking himself for having been so supid, why did he tell them that story? Why didn’t he make something up? Ugh, he was so stupid.

The night continued nicely, with the hosts sharing stories and talking about everything and nothing. For once in what felt like forever, Kyoya felt calm, he felt at peace. Eventually they went to sleep, all curled up on the bed in a big pile. Kyoya was incredibly warm, with his head resting on Mori and Tamaki clinging to his torso, the twins had their legs over his and were snoring quite softly. He was comfortable… he wished this could happen more often.

In the morning, the hosts snuck back out the window, not wanting to get caught. Kyoya woke up alone, colder than when he'd gone to bed. His first thought was that he wished they'd stayed, then he remembered that he was grounded and felt his heart sink. He noticed that the maid's had left him some coffee, but it was out of his reach, and he didn't want to get out of bed… so he just flops down and tries to go back to sleep.

#kyoya ootori #ouran high school host club #tamaki souh #tamakyo #kaoru hitachiin #hikaru hitachiin #takashi morinozuka #mitsukuni haninozuka #secondshot

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thewhumperinwhite · 4 years ago

Text

WKW: The Wolf’s Grace

Immediately after Endure (which i didn’t use the tag list on because it’s got more than the usual content warnings on it, so please read the warnings on that post!!)

Thorne puts his foot in his mouth.

TW for: referenced noncon; derogatory language/gendered slurs; victim blaming; gore/body horror/graphic violence; minor character death; murder; mouth/jaw/teeth trauma.

@much-ado-about-whumping @whumpitywhumpwhump @faewhump @iboopsstuff

----

Thorne doesn’t go to his master.

He goes to the barracks instead, where he’s told none of the soldiers who leap to attention when they see him have seen three guards stumble in together, one with a bleeding face. He isn’t sure he believes them—isn’t sure he doesn’t want to lump them all in with those three and start swinging—but he doesn’t see the guards he’s looking for, either, so he leaves before he starts to shout and after a moment’s thought starts toward the Healer’s room instead.

The armory is on the way, which is convenient.

----

Thorne doesn’t kick the Healer’s door open, because he is a grown man in control of his own actions. It still opens violently enough to crash against the opposite wall, and all four occupants jump and stare at him. The Healer just looks at him warily; the two uninjured guards leap immediately to their feet, while the third flounders slightly on the Healer’s cot like he’d like to do the same, but settles for a clumsy salute instead. His face is halfway through being bandaged.

Thorne might not know where to start, except that on the way he remembered something that plunged him down from drunken rage to icy calm like he’d jumped in the North Lake at home and the shock hadn’t quite set in yet.

“I assigned two of you to guard that door,” he says, with no preamble. “Which of you is the third?”

The thinnest of the three—the one who had been standing to the side with his hand in his trousers—snaps to attention so violently it seems like he’ll fall over. “‘Twas I, Lord Wolf, Sir,” he squeaks, “I was off duty, I didn’t—"

“What was the pitch, exactly?” Thorne says, feeling strangely disconnected from his body again. “Your friends said, ‘oh, we’ve been left in charge of someone, and Lady knows we’ll never get our cocks wet in anything able to refuse,’ and you thought—"

“We meant no offense, sir,” says the guard who kneeled on the floor with his hand tangled in Andry’s hair. “We knew he was yours, we only—we didn’t—"

“You knew he was mine,” Thorne says, and he’s almost surprised at how reasonable his voice sounds. He can barely hear it over the roaring in his ears. “I suppose you thought, if he was letting me fuck him, surely anyone--”

“We didn’t fuck ‘im!” the bleeding guard says loudly, stumbling to his feet. “Whatever the little doxy told you, we didn’t have to ask twice, he swallowed it right—"

Thorne pulls his sword from its sheath and puts it down the guard’s throat. It encounters resistance from his jaw, but Thorne pushes past it; his sword is very sharp, and his arm is very strong.

The Healer inhales audibly, her eyes wide behind her spectacles. The other guards have leapt back, both shouting things he doesn’t try to understand. He turns to the other guard who was on duty when he put Andry on his knees, who’s already turned tail and is running for the door. He’s just barely out of reach, so Thorne pulls his sword back—letting the dead guard slide to the ground in a puddle of blood—and shifts his grip, and throws the sword end over end like an axe; the running guard hits the ground with Thorne’s sword to the left of his spine, wailing.

The third guard, the one who was not on duty but knelt to hold Andry in place, is staring at Thorne with his heart almost visibly in his throat. The man sees his death in Thorne’s eyes, so clearly Thorne can see it reflected back. Thorne take two breaths, and then he looks down at the body at his feet. The guard’s lower jaw is hanging on him by only a few chords of muscle or possibly warped bone, it’s hard to tell.

Thorne puts his foot on the body’s shoulder, takes hold of the jaw, and pulls. The whole bloody mess of bone and split teeth comes loose in his hand with a loud wet pop.

Thorne drops the jawbone into the remaining guard’s hands, so that blood splatters halfway up both his uniform sleeves. The guard whimpers very faintly, but otherwise doesn’t react, eyes still locked on Thorne’s face.

“Take that back to the barracks,” Thorne says flatly. “If you all know the Summer Prince is ‘mine’, make sure you all know I don’t share.”

The guard squeaks, and runs toward the door like Gakne’s at his heels.

Thorne lets him go, feeling the rage drain out of him all at once, fast enough to make him stumble and sit down hard on one of the benches the guards just vacated. He raises a hand to push sweaty hair out of his face, forgetting his hands are covered in blood until he’s already smeared it across his forehead.

The dying man on the floor makes a smothered stuck-pig wail, and Thorne hears the wet slap of his hand against the tile floor as he begins to drag himself forward towards the door, and Thorne sighs, and starts to get to his feet.

The Healer passes Thorne, moving very fast, and Thorne freezes at the sight of her—she’s a little old woman, with spectacles and plain robes, and he’s never heard her speak.

She doesn’t speak now, either; she lunges forward and takes hold of the hilt of Thorne’s sword and twists it in the guard’s back.

The guard gives one despairing squeal, and dies.

The Healer leans on the sword, still buried in the dead man’s back. She’s breathing hard. Thorne sits back on the bench, staring at her; he can see her shoulders heaving, but she does not turn to face him.

When she’s caught her breath, she pulls Thorne’s sword from of the guard’s back—it catches on something inside him and she tugs it brutally free with no change of expression, and tosses it to slide in a puddle of blood at Thorne’s feet.

“Get out,” she says, in heavily accented Leisevan.

Thorne stares at her. Her small wrinkled hands are trembling. For a moment he thinks it must be with fear—and then he she does look up and meet his eyes and he sees that her lips are pressed thin and white with rage.

“Do you wait for thanks?” she says in a low, trembling voice, still speaking his language, imperfectly but slow and clear, as though to give him no choice but to understand. “Shall we kneel and thank Winter’s Wolf for his grace?”

Thorne looks at the little old woman—who must have healed the castle’s sick since the Prince was a child, who may have stitched his ruined back together when he was younger, who just heard him speak of “sharing” her master—and feels a deep flush heat his cheeks, followed by a shiver of sick shame that turns his stomach.

“Madam,” he croaks, holding his bloody hands up in surrender. “I didn’t—I’ve never—”

The Healer’s face has been calm throughout, and it is still calm now, when she turns stiffly back to her instruments table, where a small array of cutting implements glint dully in the candle light.

“If I could I would kill you for this, Winter’s Wolf,” she old woman says, in her own tongue now, as though more to herself than him. “If there were a better doctor here, I’d try my god-damndest at it anyway.” She half-turns back to him and raises her voice, speaking in Leisevan again. “Did you hurt him?”

Thorne knows she isn’t talking about the guards anymore. He swallows thickly, shame making his mouth too dry to speak at first. “No,” he lies; he’s bound up the cut they put on Andry’s face, well enough to let the Prince sleep a while instead of coming here. “No, they… I stopped them.”

He hears the tiny hope in his voice when he says that, and the Healer gives him a look of disgust he feels right down to his bones.

“Good,” is all she says, and all she needs to say. “Then get the hell out of my infirmary.”

Thorne is grateful for the chance to flee.

#winter king's ward #the winter king's ward #original whump #fantasy whump #royalty whump #referenced noncon #angry caretaker #guilt #revenge #gore tw #mouth trauma #minor character death #its been so long what was the taglist for thisssssss

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darkblueboxs · 4 years ago

Text

Blood Beneath Your Fingernails

Inspired by Butcher!Andrew discussions on Twitter

Read here or on AO3 (Check AO3 for content warnings)

Andrew decided long ago that if he was going to take on this kind of career, he would at least be classy about it. Stylish. Discreet. While his rivals enjoyed the screaming and the thrashing, delighted in seeing how much blood they could extract from a man before he succumbed to the blood loss, Andrew took no interest in such theatrics. He was practical, smooth, delicate. Artistic, even.

He therefore had little time for Nathan Wesninski. His most troublesome rival was everything that Andrew wasn’t in his work; boorish, bloodthirsty, dramatic… messy. The man was giving the profession a bad name.

His son was another problem entirely.

No, Andrew was no fan of bloodshed. He assigned the most violent tasks to himself simply because he would rather the blood was on his hands than anyone else’s, and the only way of ensuring a job would be well done was to do it himself.

Lola put up more of a fight than her brother, but she died just the same, scratching and scrabbling at Andrew’s forearm as he neatly retrieved his blade from her chest. Henchmen, Andrew decided with a curl of his lip, were not worth the trouble. Too uppity, too unpredictable, too likely to get certain ideas in their heads. No, it was always best to keep it within the family.

There was a pop from the next room as another bottle of champagne was uncorked, a scattering of laughter as the party continued in full swing, nobody having noticed the conspicuous absence of a few key guests. The hum of music and conversation was the perfect cover for Andrew’s footsteps as he padded up the thickly carpeted staircase.

Nathan’s house was a gaudy, unpleasant place, filled with bright reds and golds that hurt the eye. Framed paintings no doubt obtained under dubious circumstances cluttered the walls, not displayed out of any appreciation for the art but from a simple to boast. Why a man from such a long line of affluence should feel the need to flaunt his wealth was a mystery to Andrew, especially considering the target that it undoubtedly painted on Nathan’s back. For Andrew, who had clawed his way up from the gutter, his expensive lifestyle was not born of spectacle. He had spent the best part of two decades in squalor; his every expense was cushioning against the life that nearly killed him. Perhaps no healthier an explanation for his indulgences, but certainly less gauche. Andrew contemplated smearing a bloody handprint over an undoubtedly original Monet out of pure spite, but no, not his style, unnecessary and exhibitory.

He wiped Lola’s blood from his blade with a handkerchief as he slipped down the endless corridor before sliding it into place in one of the many sheathes built into his suit. It was a good blade, one of his favourites. Nathan was not worthy of it. He slipped another from his left lapel, slimmer, a little blunt from disuse. Perhaps he would sharpen it on Nathan’s ribcage. He flicked it over in his palm, enjoying the weight and balance.

There was only one closed door on the upper floor of the Wesninski mansion. Andrew caught sight of his reflection in the brass doorknob. His suit was unruffled, even after disposing of Nathan’s men, but his jawline was flecked with blood. He smeared a thumb across it, the sticky, familiar scent catching in his nose.

He straightened his tie and pushed the door open.

“I told you, I don’t want to be disturbed-!” Nathan said, and then stopped, likely because of the knife Andrew had plunged through his neck. He made a wet, gargling noise as he dropped to the floor, clawing uselessly at his throat.

Andrew crouched over him. “Ill be having that back, now.” He pulled his knife from Nathan’s throat, leaning back to avoid the spurt of blood. Nathan’s arms twitched, his chest heaving as he stared up at Andrew. His expression moved through all the stages Andrew had grown accustomed to seeing from the soon-to-be-deceased; outrage, horror, panic, and then fear, bone-deep, endless, fear. It took a great deal to elicit that sort of emotion from Andrew, and for a moment, he was almost envious. He watched, bored, as Nathan’s movements twitched to a standstill and his wordless gurgling gave way to silence. It was a quicker, more peaceful end than Nathan Wesninski deserved. As his killer, Andrew would take the dubious honour of his title - butcher - if he was foolish enough to come forward and claim it. Honorifics were of little interest to Andrew. He didn't care how people refereed to him as long as it was done with the appropriate amount of fear.

His blood seeped into the fluffy cream carpet, pooling around Andrew’s oxfords. They were expensive shoes, as was everything Andrew wore. The staining was of little concern – he had another seven pairs at home – but the red marks he left in his wake would be. He would blame them on spilled wine; the stains were nothing alike, but people were so wonderfully stupid when it came to such matters.

He found the ballroom much as he left it. He passed the string quartet (mediocre) to pick at the teetering profiterole tower (less so). Just because he had killed the host didn’t mean Andrew couldn’t benefit from his hospitality. Baltimore’s elite giggled and gossiped around him, and Andrew caught more than a few appreciative eyes roaming his tailored suit. Andrew couldn’t deny the idea of a hook-up appealed to him; leaving the party early would be suspicious, but slipping out to find a secluded spot with one of these trust-fund pricks on his arm… less so. Besides which, adrenaline was still hammering hot and heavy in Andrew’s veins, and there were worse ways of dealing with it.

He cast his gaze around the room. Some gusts he recognised from one shady dealing or another, members or associates of the Wesninski clan, while others were simply tag-alongs, swept up in the glitz of the revelry and oblivious to the sharks they swam amongst. The latter would be less troublesome, but the former more interesting. Andrew was a cautious man where work was concerned, but on his own time, he allowed himself to indulge in riskier ventures.

His gaze caught on a figure in the corner of the room, standing out for all that he was trying to blend in. About Andrew’s age, he showed no interest in the figures swirling around him, still like the eye of the storm. His eyes may as well have been glued to the floor.

Then, as though feeling Andrew’s gaze, the man’s gaze snapped up, and Andrew’s breath caught in his throat.

Despite his ill-fitting suit, the man was attractive –undeniably so – but that wasn’t all he was. Andrew knew those eyes. He had watched the life drain from a near-identical pair mere minutes ago.

Andrew didn’t believe in ghosts, but this was the closest he had ever come to doing so. No, despite his uneasy pallor, this man was not a ghost. He was younger than Nathan by far, his features slimmer, sharper. His lips, pressed together in an unreadable expression, were curled, chapped as though the man had been worrying at them.

Andrew met his gaze with a steady, blank stare. Nathan’s son was not what Andrew would have expected of him, shoulders curled in, devoid of his father’s self-assured bluster. He looked like he wanted to melt into the gilded wallpaper, or better still, dissolve into nothing. Nathan’s features, which had so offended Andrew on the man himself, did nothing to aide his son in his mission to disappear, attracting many interested glances that he made no effort to return. The striking eyes suited him better than they had Nathan, and for a moment Andrew’s world narrowed to the silver-blue gaze which pierced through the auburn mop of his hair.

Nathan’s death, along with the death of his most significant aids, was strategically planned to yank the legs out from beneath his empire. Andrew had not planned for an heir to the family business. As far as he had been aware, there wasn’t one; Nathaniel Wesninski had not been heard from in years, presumed to have met the kind of end that was common in Nathan’s line of work.

If Andrew had any sense, he would kill Nathaniel there and then. Instead, he took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and threw it back. The sweet fizzle as the drink hit the back of his throat did little to distract from the warm, bubbling sensation in Andrew’s gut.

Partygoers parted before him as he crossed the ballroom, stepping sharply from his path like gazelles backing away from a lion. He came to a stop before the new, if unknowing, head of the Wesninski family. He was barely taller than Andrew, leaving them almost eye-to-eye.

“I heard you were dead.” Andrew offered him his hand. “Minyard.”

“Andrew or Aaron?” Nathaniel took it. “Either way, your reputation precedes you.” Andrew’s hand was still cool from the champagne glass; Nathaniel’s skin felt like fire in comparison. His hands were marked, Andrew noted, with a mish-mash of cuts and burns, still pink and healing, stark against his tan skin. Lola’s work, if Andrew had to guess. He wondered what act of insubordination could have drawn her ire; perhaps it was related to Nathaniel’s decade-long disappearance.

“Andrew.” Andrew squeezed Nathaniel’s hand. His fingers slid and caught on the callouses of Nathaniel’s wrist as he dropped his grip. “You have quite the pulse for a dead man.”

“So I’m told.” Nathaniel smiled. Andrew realised, with a shiver, that it was his father’s smile. Oh, he did not like that at all. “You can call me Neil.”

“Neil.” Andrew rolled the syllable around his mouth, testing it out. “An improvement.”

“It wasn’t a difficult name to improve upon.” Neil’s gaze flicked across the crowd, a crease appearing between his eyebrows. Andrew wondered if he was looking for his missing father; it wouldn’t be much longer before Nathan’s disappearance was noticed. Andrew was running out of time. “I always hated Nathaniel.”

“Not a fan of your father’s name?”

Neil’s expression closed like window shutters in preparation for a storm. “Is there something I help you with, Minyard?”

Andrew took the opening. He cast a calculated look over his shoulder before returning his attention to Neil. “Not here,” he said quietly. “Is there somewhere we can…?”

Andrew left the sentence dangling between them like a hook, left it to Neil to decide where he wanted to go with it. Neil’s suspicion was heavy in his gaze, but beneath it, a spark of curiosity that sent heat straight to Andrew’s gut.

Neil led the way while Andrew followed, leaving the kind of distance between them that gave the barest appearance of propriety without fooling anyone. A maze of corridors took them up onto a quiet balcony that overlooked the lush green of the Wesninski’s estate below. The height would be enough to leave Andrew’s heart tipping around in his chest, were the man before him not already doing the job quite effectively. It was more exposed than Andrew would have preferred, but at this time of night it would be dark enough to provide the minimum cover he required. If not, Andrew was more than equipped to deal with the consequences.

His knives were a heavy weight in their hidden sheathes. Andrew wondered, if he pressed Neil up against the balcony wall, whether the man would feel his blades through the layers of his suit.

Kiss the boy or kill the boy; Andrew could not have both. He wasn’t needlessly cruel.

Against expectation, Neil turned away from Andrew to rest his elbows on the balcony partition. “So? What do you want?”

Andrew quirked an eyebrow. Neil genuinely believed that Andrew was here for business, not pleasure. Interesting. Oh, why did he have to be interesting? Interesting was troublesome. No, interesting was dangerous.

Nathaniel Wesninski was a problem. A loose end. Left to his own devices, he could unravel everything Andrew had fought and bled and killed to build for himself. Painted silver by the moonlight, Neil leaned over the balcony with no concern for the drop beneath him, eyes on the horizon, unaware of the terrible power Andrew had dropped on his shoulders. Power that, if Andrew had any sense, he would destroy before it had the chance to be turned on him.

Andrew couldn't look away. It would be easy, now. A hand on his shoulder, the slightest push, and Neil would tumble to his death. It wasn’t Andrew’s style, but it would be effective.

He stepped forward, and in an instant, Andrew was flipped and slammed to the floor, a blade glinting at his neck. He gasped, the air knocked from his lungs, as Neil smirked down at him.

“You really think I’m that stupid?” He leaned forward to whisper in Andrew’s ear, breath tickling his neck. “You have blood beneath your fingernails.”

Andrew flinched. Stupid, stupid, stupid. His mind whirred; the key was to keep Neil talking, because talking was better than dead. “It didn’t come from anyone that will be missed.”

“I don’t doubt it. I’ll ask one more time: what do you want?” Neil twisted the blade, and a hot dribble of blood slid down Andrew’s neck. Andrew was impressed; he barely felt the skin break. Of course the butcher’s son would know his way around a knife.

Andrew glanced at the scars winding their way up Neil’s wrists, remembered the tense set of his shoulders as he scanned the ballroom, the way Neil’s expression shuttered at the mention of his father, and made an educated guess. “The same thing as you.” His voice came out low, hoarse from the weight of Neil’s knee on his chest. “Your father in a coffin.”

Neil laughed. “It isn’t a particularly exclusive club.”

“I’m not joking.”

Neil went still. “If you think you can kill my father, you’re either stupid or suicidal.”

Andrew’s face split into a painful smile. The movement pressed his neck to the biting metal of Neil’s blade, but he couldn’t hold it back. “Is that so?”

“The life expectancy of people who anger my father is not a long one.”

“What are you? The exception?”

Neil’s gaze flattened into something painfully black. In the moment of distraction, Andrew lunged, flicking a blade from his sleeve to press into Neil’s abdomen. Neil’s eyes widened, but Andrew only held it there, teasing at the hem of Neil’s shirt with the tip.

“Don’t make me kill you,” Andrew hissed. “This suit costs more than your life is worth. It would be a shame to get your blood on it.”

For a moment, they stared at each other, hands veined with the strain of weilding their respective blades, chests rising and falling in time. Neil was the first to give ground.

“Now what?”

“Do you want to be head of the Wesninski household?” Andrew asked. The question seemed to surprise Neil. He flinched.

“God, no.”

“Correct answer.” Slowly, Andrew withdrew his blade. It clattered as it hit the floor, startlingly loud in the quiet night air. “A lot of people are about to be pointing a lot of fingers, and you’re going to be suspect number one.”

“For what?”

“The murder of your father.” Andrew wrapped his hand around Neil’s wrist and pulled it back. Neil moved bonelessly with him, his features slackened. “Come with me, forsake your family name, and I can offer you protection from all of them.”

“The murder of my-” Neil’s mouth moved wordlessly for a moment. “You didn’t.”

“Go look, if you like. I’m sure being found at the crime scene will do your case a world of good.”

Neil’s eyes flashed, bright with a vicious, violent hope. His gaze snapped back to Andrew. “Why should I trust you?”

Andrew shrugged. “Trust is irrelevant. I’m more interested in your compliance.”

“And if you don’t get it?”

Andrew pressed Neil’s wrist to the floor and squeezed it, hard. “Then I’m sure we can work out another way of settling the issue.”

The windows on the ground floor were thrown open to let the cool night air seep in. The sounds of the party were so faint that Andrew didn’t notice them until they stopped. There was a clash of glass, a faint scream.

“Tick tock, Neil. Join me, or become your father and risk paying the price for his death.” Andrew pushed himself up until their faces were a hair’s breadth apart. Neil’s eyes were wide, his pupils blown, his breath shallow. The sight sent aftershocks of adrenaline shooting through Andrew’s bloodstream, making him wonder if the offer wasn’t better rescinded with a knife to the chest. It was a terrible risk to take simply to neutralise a threat. But, if Andrew was being truthful with himself, it wasn’t entirely about finding a bloodless resolution; he thought he knew better than to mix business with pleasure, but Nathan’s son was teaching him all sorts of new things about himself.

What the hell; Andrew had earned a little indulgence.

This time, it was Andrew who leaned in to whisper in Neil’s ear. He noted the way the hairs on the back of Neil’s neck rose as he spoke. “Come with me. Join my family. Live under my protection.” Sirens screamed in the distance, the horizon flashing blue and red. They didn’t worry Andrew, who knew a car would be waiting for him at a strategic getaway point, nondescript, fast, expensive. Neil, on the other hand, did not look so comfortable with the approaching sirens. Perhaps he had some sense, after all.

The silver flecks in Neil’s eyes looked like shattered glass as he stared towards the source of the sound. “You can’t keep me safe. Nobody can.”

“Only one way to find out.” Andrew nudged Neil out of the way as he climbed to his feet. He noticed, with a stab of irritation, that his suit was rumpled. He paused to smooth out the creases.

Neil looked up at Andrew like it was his turn to see a ghost. Andrew had imagined the head of the Wesninskis kneeling before him more times than he cared to admit. The reality was more appealing than the fantasy ever had been, and for entirely different reasons.

“Neil.” Andrew offered him his hand. “Yes or no?”

Neil took it, and it was answer enough.

Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought.

#aftg #andreil #tfc #all for the game #the foxhole court #butcher!Andrew #mafia!neil #blood tw #violence tw #death tw #my fic

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