#ys so i want to make sure i’m not just seeing stuff | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lemonz-and-limez · 4 years ago

Text

The Amends Consideration

A/N: @ailurophilia72 if you ask, you shall receive.

This one is a heavy one, I'm not going to lie. Saw this prompt on tumblr and it got my brain going I just couldn't get it out of my head. Death has reared its ugly head in my life again and that kind of fueled a lot of this story. I am in a lot of pain right now and I needed it out. This story was the product.

I know in Young Sheldon, George is portrayed a lot differently than what is let on in Big Bang. I tried to go for the way he was described in BBT, a darker version definitely compared to what we see in YS. Just for full disclosure.

Prompt: Sheldon gets sad when he realizes his dad will never get to meet his child

Sheldon didn't know what to think as he pulled his mother's unexpected package out of the mailbox. Mary hadn't mentioned anything about sending him something, so the contents of the small box in his hand was a mystery.

He sorted through the rest of the mail on the elevator ride back up to his and Amy's shared apartment. Bills, adds, a couple of congratulations cards for the upcoming birth of their son. But nothing interested him more than the nondescript box he cradled under his arm.

As the elevator doors dinged open, Sheldon paid no mind to the obvious chatter coming from 4A. Penny and Bernadette had teamed up to throw Amy a baby shower, which his wife wanted but never had time to plan. With her two friends already being mothers themselves, they decided it would be easier to take the responsibility into their own hands. Of course, that meant Amy would probably be gone most of the day, knowing how those ladies like to chat. Sheldon didn't mind though, he never cared if he was on his own.

He had planned on getting some work done that he had neglected during the week. No day like Saturday to get things done, after all. However, the second he stepped back into his apartment, he threw everything from the mailbox except his mother's package onto the kitchen counter.

Sitting down on the teal couch, Sheldon inspected the parcel on the coffee table in front of him. "Alright, let's find out what you are," Sheldon whispered to no one, taking out his tiny pocket knife and carefully cutting the tape. The box opened from the side, so he spilled the contents out before him. There was a loud clunk as something heavy, and plastic hit the table. A couple other things fell out with it, one of which was a note from his mother.

Shelly,

Found this while cleaning out the garage. Figured it was something you should have. Forgive me for watching it without you, but I needed to know what was on the tape.

Please watch it, baby. He would have wanted you to see it.

Love, Mom

Sheldon set the note back down on the table and picked up the item that had caused the most ruckus on its way out of the box. A VHS tape. Probably the last thing Sheldon expected his mother to send. Upon further inspection, Sheldon found his father's handwriting scrawled across the label.

Make Amends – For Sheldon

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sheldon sighed heavily. A part of him didn't even want to give this tape the time of day. His father had been dead a long time; there was no need to dig up dirt from twenty-six years ago. But his curiosity couldn't help but wonder what his father could possibly have said to him on this tape.

According to her note, Mary had watched it already. Should he just call her and just have her tell him what was on it?

No. Sheldon was mature enough to watch this recording without calling his Mommy for assistance.

He moved quickly around the small living space and in front of the television. After the "football game tape over" incident last year, Sheldon invested in a used VHS player. Amy had teased him about it for weeks, but he couldn't possibly tell her the real reason he got it. Not to watch old movies from his childhood, which he did so Amy couldn't call his bluff, but to listen to his father's voice again when he started to forget what it sounded like.

With a few expert moves, Sheldon had the video playing in no time. Cradling the remote in his hands, back on the couch now, he leaned forward with rapt attention.

George Cooper was already in view, adjusting the camera on whatever he had it perched on. Which, according to the date, also on the label, was in 1994.

It was only a couple of seconds before his father had settled into the chair of his old office at Sheldon's old high school. From the looks of things, it seemed dark, like it was late in the evening. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to think about it too much because the dead man started talking. Literally.

"Hello, Sheldon," George sighed. "I don't know when this video is going to find you or how you're going to take it, but this needs to be said, Son. I have to say this to you. Especially to you."

His father paused for a moment as if to compose himself. The moisture in his eyes told Sheldon enough.

"I'm in a twelve-step program, Sheldon. For my drinkin'. And before you think of it, no, your mother is not forcing me into it. I am going on my own free will, but I am doing it for her. I love your mom, Sheldon, I know you probably don't believe that, but I do."

Another pause.

"Step nine of this program is to make amends with people I have harmed. And a part of me knows you will never fully forgive me, but of all the people I need to apologize to, you're at the top of the list, Sheldon. Not just because of what you have seen, or the things I have said to you drunk, but because of my shortcomings as a father."

"I always had this idea of what a man should be. The typical, all things masculine, into sports, rootin' for the Dallas Cowboy's kinda stuff. But you never did fit that role, did ya, son?"

Sheldon watched his father smile at his question. There wasn't malice in his eyes like he was angry, but instead, he seemed almost proud of him.

"Georgie was always the one who liked to go outside and play catch with me, and go fishin', and do all of the things 'typical boys like to do'. You never had an interest in any of that, and because of it, I never treated you as I should. As a father should. Unconditional love no matter what your child does or likes. I tried to change you at any chance I could get, and that wasn't fair to you. I should have embraced your intelligence. I should have bought you that science kit you wanted instead of that dirt bike. I should have been the father you deserved, Sheldon, because you did. You are amazing, son, and I am so insanely proud to be your father."

Sheldon wasn't expecting this. He didn't think his father was capable of saying such heartfelt words about him. His father could sing praises about Georgie's accomplishments all day long, few as they may have been. But even though Sheldon never heard George say he was proud while he was alive, hearing the words said over tape struck a chord within him.

Before the man on the screen could start talking again, Sheldon pressed pause. At the beginning of the video, he had expected George to discuss the unfortunate affair that Sheldon had unfortunately born witness to. After all, that was his most blatant faux pas. But his dad had dug deeper, past the surface, past the infidelity. He looked for the root problem of his relationship with his son. Sheldon's father was a man much like himself, never liked to outwardly display emotions often, but when he did, they were sincere. So, for the great George Cooper to open up like this, to a camera albeit, meant a great deal to him.

It had been a long time since Sheldon had thought of his dad the way he was at the moment. Like the man who raised him, who helped shape who he was today, and not the man who simply cheated on his mother. That was the title he had held in Sheldon's eyes for a long time. There had been a few cracks here and there. Like he and Amy's wedding or the night they watched the pep talk George gave the football team in the locker room. But those moments were fleeting. Gone as quickly as they came.

Perhaps it was because Sheldon had yet to hear the contents of this tape. The fact that he never made amends with his father before he died had forever tainted his perspective of him. Sheldon couldn't be sure.

All he knew was that he suddenly felt much more at peace in regards to his dad. But in place of Sheldon's bitterness and anger towards him was a tug of grief in his gut that he hadn't felt for years. The twisting knot of pain that permeated throughout his entire body.

His dad in the video, had said he was proud of him. Insanely proud of him. And yet, he didn't even live long enough to see half of his greatest accomplishments. He never got to see him with a Ph.D., win a Nobel, and countless other awards. He didn't get to meet Sheldon's friends, never got to meet Amy. His father's absence was felt heavily at their wedding.

And now, as Sheldon was on the cusp of becoming a father himself, he wouldn't get to meet his grandson.

Even from his seated position on the couch, Sheldon doubled over from the crippling feeling that came with that thought. Missy had expressed similar views when she gave birth to her first child, but Sheldon hadn't expected that feeling to be so intense. So utterly heartbreaking.

Sheldon wouldn't get to see both of his parents cradling his newborn. His son wouldn't be able to enjoy two grandfathers. Or learn football from his Texan Pop-Pop and be forced to root for the Cowboys no matter how bad their record was.

His son would never meet the formidable George Cooper.

The dry sob that escaped his mouth surprised him. But then came another one, and again, and again, until his face was no longer dry. Sheldon could hardly remember the last time he had cried like this over his father. He had done it once in the twenty-six almost twenty-seven years his father had been dead. The day he found out his father passed away when he was alone in his dorm room miles away from home. But he was fourteen then, barely able to understand the true concept of death. Sure, he knew the science behind it, but not the emotions. Not the grief.

Still, the tears he shed in his living room were not unlike those he had shed in his dorm room. Alone, vulnerable, miles away from Texas. But one key element was different; he now could fully understand the scope of what his father being gone meant. How it impacted the lives of his family. How it changed what his son's childhood would look like.

Sheldon was now beginning to dread the day he would have to explain to his son why he only had one grandfather while everyone else at school had two. Hopefully, Amy's dad lived long enough so he wouldn't have to explain to his kid why he had none.

With his elbows rested on his knees and his fingers interlaced behind his head, he let his body feel the emotion running through it. He didn't try to surpass it as he had for years. But that just made it all the more intense.

"Sheldon?"

His head snapped up at the sound of Amy's voice. His heavily pregnant wife stood in the open doorway to their apartment, staring at him with concern.

Amy glanced at the TV for a moment. "What's wrong?" She asked, slowly walking the short distance to the couch.

Sheldon frantically wiped at his face, trying to make himself look more presentable. As if that mattered to Amy. "This came in the mail today." He held up the empty box his mother sent. "Mom was cleaning out the garage when she found this tape of my dad. She wanted me to have it," his voice cracked with the last few words as he threw the cardboard back onto the table.

Amy, now sitting next to him, rubbed his back soothingly. "Well, what was on it?"

"It's nothing, just my Dad explaining he was in a twelve-step program, and he wanted to make amends with me."

"So, why the tears?"

His face scrunched up again. "I don't… it just… it just hit me that our son will never be able to meet him," he sobbed. Sheldon gestured with his hands and tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. "I-I-I don't know that j-just hurt more than I-I expected it t-to," he eventually stuttered.

Amy sniffled beside him, which made Sheldon finally look back up at her. She gave him a sad smile as she continued to rub his hunched back. "What was on the video that made you realize that?"

"I thought he was going to apologize for the affair, the one I walked in on. Instead, it was for his mistakes as a father. How he never seemed as proud of me as he did with Georgie. I didn't think my dad was capable of digging below the surface, but he did. He found the true problem with our relationship, and he wanted to make up for it." Sheldon picked up the remote and rewound the tape a little. "I mean, I have never seen my father talk about me this way. Look."

He pressed play.

"I should have been the father you deserved, Sheldon, because you did. You are amazing, son, and I am so insanely proud to be your father."

The video stopped again.

"If he was proud of me then, how would he feel about me now? Just the fact that I found you… he would have been over the moon. I'm sure of it. But now we're about to have a son, and he won't be here for it? I just…" Sheldon trailed off, not knowing quite how to word what he was feeling.

But Amy nodded in understanding. "Above all else, you wish he were here for our son," she stated, not asked.

"Yes. Despite all of my father's faults, he did care about his family. He would've gone down protecting us, probably, if a heart attack hadn't claimed him first. In light of all of my professional accomplishments, this is what would have meant the most to him."

Sheldon glanced down at his wife's stomach, where their son was visibly wiggling around. He smiled fondly at the sight but swallowed thickly at the emotion that rose with it. In a few short weeks, he would be holding that baby, their families would be surrounding them. Rejoicing with them.

But George Cooper wouldn't be there.

Suddenly, Amy's hand was no longer on his back but on his knee. "Sheldon," she beckoned him to look at her. "There's nothing I could say that would make this any easier for you, but might I suggest something?"

He nodded.

She laid her free hand on her stomach. "What do you think about making the baby's middle name George?"

"What?" He gawked. "I thought you wanted it to be William. You know, for Darcy."

She stared at him long and hard for a moment and then patted his leg. "I did, but I already got Elliot; let me give you this one."

Sheldon shook his head. "No," he said firmly. "You're doing all the hard work; you should get to decide two of the names. Seeing as how you don't want to hyphenate his last name."

Amy grimaced suddenly and held a hand to her side, her face scrunched up in pain. And suddenly, Sheldon was on high alert. "What's wrong? Are you having contractions?"

"No." She waved her hand at him. "Just got kicked pretty hard, that's all." He opened his mouth to point out her hard work again but she stopped him. "Look, Sheldon, I am really not upset about our kids only being Coopers. Seriously. I want to do this for you. I want his middle name to be George."

"Are you one hundred percent sure? You don't just feel sorry for me because my dad is dead and you think this will cheer me up?"

It sounded stupid coming out of his own mouth. Sheldon could only imagine what it sounded like to Amy.

"Sweetheart," she endeared. "Our son's middle name should be special, not the name of a fictional character. We only decided on William because we couldn't think of anything else. Neither one of us suggested George for some reason. I have no emotional attachments to the name William, but I do to the name George. We both do."

Sheldon took her hand in his own. "You're sure about this?"

"Absolutely. Besides, don't you think Elliot George Cooper sounds better than Elliot William Cooper?"

"William did lack a certain panache, didn't it?" Sheldon smirked, finally coming around after more convincing than it should have.

Amy laughed at that, but her face went serious again rather quickly. "I'm sorry you miss your dad, Sheldon. I would have loved to meet him."

"And he would have loved to meet you."

Sheldon looked back at the TV, his father's paused face, still staring back at him. He really did look like his father. His mother had always said so, but he never believed her. Now an adult, it was like looking into a mirror. He really was his mini-me.

If Elliot got Sheldon's eyes, then he would really have George's eyes. Sheldon only had them because of his father. Suddenly, he selfishly understood Amy's hope for their children to have his eyes.

"What are you thinking about?" Amy asked, pulling him from his reverie.

"It's just uncanny how similar my father and I look. I guess now I'm just being selfish in hoping our son looks like me." Sheldon looked over and was met with Amy's blank expression. "Not that I don't want him to look like you," he quickly tried to cover himself.

Amy giggled and motioned for him to stop. "I wasn't thinking that. I know what you meant. Your dad may no longer be alive, but he lives on through his children and their children. Not to sound overly sappy."

"Too late," he joked. "I know I am being overly sentimental right now because I'm thinking about my dad. But seeing his face again, hearing his voice, I guess I'm just trying to hold onto whatever I can of him."

"That's grief, honey," Amy said softly.

Sheldon nodded, acknowledging the truth and the harsh reality behind those words. "I know, and I haven't allowed myself to feel that for a long time."

They sat in relative silence for a moment, the gentle whirring of the VHS player the only sound filling the air. There was still more on the tape; George certainly had more to say. Sheldon was sure of it. He thought for a moment, then turned to his wife and asked, "do you want to watch the rest of the tape with me?"

"Really?"

He nodded slightly.

"I do."

George Cooper's voice sounded once more in a matter of seconds.

"Sheldon, I know you are going to do great things one day. I have known that since… well… forever. I know you're going to find amazing people to surround yourself with who will love you and treat you the way you deserve to be treated."

Check.

"I know you will make countless accomplishments academically, more than you have already."

Check.

"I know you will fall in love with someone someday who will make your heart soar."

Sheldon and Amy smiled at each other, squeezing each other's hand slightly. Check.

"I know you will have exceptional, amazing children one day because you and I both know you are too exceptional to not do so."

Almost check.

"I know you're going to live a full life, Sheldon. Because you have such a drive for greatness, and I know you have my stubbornness, so, you will settle for nothing less."

George leaned forward, on his desk Sheldon was assuming.

"I know I have a lot of making up to do, and I hope someday you will accept this apology. I know you have a kind heart, Sheldon; I have seen it with my own eyes. I will understand if you can't, I have failed you as a father thus far, but I hope that someday you will extend that kindness towards me. I cannot wait to see you grow up, do all the things I know you want to do. Hopefully, I'll be around to see you accomplish most of them."

Sheldon should have finished the video before he started crying earlier. The fact that this was taped less than a year before his father passed away did not escape him. Nor did that make his pain any easier.

He figured, at least now he had Amy by his side.

"I hope that when this video finds you, you will listen and not throw it away. Even if that's what I probably deserve. I'm going to try sending these tapes out soon, so call me if you see this. Just let me know you've watched it. If that's all you can do for now, I'll understand; I've got a lot of things to work on."

His father smiled fondly at the camera. Not the forced one that Sheldon could always remember from his childhood but a genuine, real smile. It was also his smile.

"I love you, Sheldon. Talk to you soon."

The video stopped and began to rewind to the beginning. Amy was rubbing at his back again, soothing him as tears once again fell from his eyes. But Sheldon was still too transfixed on the screen. He whispered it so quietly, he doubted Amy would be able to hear it. Which would be fine. It was one of the few things not meant for her ears anyway.

"I love you too, dad."

A/N: Well that ended darker than I usually end this. This story ended up being surprisingly personal to me for a lot of reasons, and since I am dab smack in the middle of grief it just didn't feel right to have some uber sappy happy ending, because that's not genuine. That's not real. It's bittersweet at the least I hope.

Thank you so much for reading, especially right now, it means the world to me.

#shamy #shamy fanfic

28 notes · View notes

yikesharringrove · 5 years ago

Note

the fic you wrote for my last prompt was amazing, ty 😭 can you do 50 + 56 this time please? and if you want to work in dyslexic!steve too that would be awesome! 🥰

You are speaking my fuckin’ language, dyslexic Steve is my ABSOLUTE jam. Honestly, whenever I write Steve, he’s dyslexic, although sometimes it’s not mentioned because it’s not important to Harry’s journey @ jk rowling

Thank you for your request! I’m really glad you liked the other one I wrote! You’re anonymous so I don’t know which one that is but I really enjoyed writing them all! Sorry for my manic energy rn.

Something a little different, it’s modern au! This is probably nothing like what you were thinking so I’m sorry, but I kinda love it ngl.

50: Secret Admirer

56: “I don’t know if I should be flattered or offended.”

Prompt list!

Billy spent three and a half hours reading through every single tweet on the account.

There were so fucking many of them. The earliest one was timestamped from four days ago, so obviously, this person had no life outside of tweeting.

Tweeting about Billy.

He had a few personal favorites. He had retweeted them to his account, figuring may as well play it up, make a joke outta everything.

@ImHardForHargrove: sorry WHOMST gave you the RIGHT to have eyes that fuckin blue im YELLING

@ImHardForHargrove: watchin u play basketball is a religious experience y are ur arms so BIG hhnnnng

And Billy’s absolute favorite, which he pinned right at the top of his account

@ImHardForHargrove: ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass

Billy knew he looked good. Knew he turned heads wherever he went. He did that on purpose. But realizing someone at Hawkins High had set up a thirst account for him, well.

“I don’t know if I should be flattered or offended.” Billy had explained the situation to Robin, letting her go through the account on his phone. “Like, It’s kinda nice, whoever this guy is, he’s got a crush. But also like, It’s kinda creepy. Plus he’s objectifying me,” Billy was talking through his sandwich.

Robin made a face of disgust. “Why do you keep saying ‘he’? All of the girls in this fucking school are practically drooling for you.”

“Hard for Hargrove, Robin. I know you’re like, revolted by the peen and whatever but that does not excuse a lack of basic sexual education and anatomy.” She gagged at him. Honest to God, gagged. He thought she was gonna spew all over the table.

“If I ever hear you call it a peen ever again, it’s on sight Hargrove.” Heather plopped herself down next to Robin, kissing her cheek before zeroing in on Billy’s phone, still in Robin’s hand.

“Have you guys worked out who it could be yet?” Her eyes were wide at Billy.

“Billy says he thinks its a guy even though people with penises aren’t necessarily men.” Robin gave him a pointed look.

“Yeah Robin, I know that, but, I don’t know I just think it’s a guy penis-having person.”

Heather narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you actually think that, or are you just hoping in that goblin little brain of yours that this account is Steve Harrington’s.” Billy could feel the heat spread down his neck.

“Billy, I know Steve is like, the only out guy in this whole fucking town, but you can do way better than him. PLUS, I feel like it makes more sense if the person running this account wasn’t out and had to channel their gay yearning through social media.”

“First of all Robin, you have this vendetta against Steve that I don’t get. He’s a nice guy. He’s kinda dopey, kinda dumb, but he’s like, sweet and shit. Second, I’m not out, so it still could be him because he doesn’t think I would, like, accept his advances or whatever. Hence, gay internet yearning.” The chime of the bell sent them packing their lunches, Billy’s phone vibrated in Robin’s hand. She rolled her eyes when he realized he turned on notifications for the account

“Get a fucking life you loser.” She slapped the phone into his hand. He opened the new tweet with embarrassing zeal.

@ImHardForHargrove: i saw u talking with ur mouth full and it was yucky but i was still 🥺🥺

His head shot up, trying to see who would have been facing him during lunch, but the cafeteria was almost empty.

The rest of the week Billy took deliberate care of every interaction he had with anyone. Observing who was in his surroundings, and making note of everything he did and said. He took extra caution around Steve, wanting to spot any minute detail that could give away who ran the account.

The account started blowing up. People were retweeting like fucking crazy. Everywhere he went, he was being asked if he’s seen it, like he doesn’t regularly retweet the good ones. The search for the owner of the account had spread throughout the whole school. A few girls even tried to claim the account was theirs, but every time that happened the account would tweet out something to discredit whoever made the claim, proving them a liar.

Billy was starting to lose hope it was Harrington. The tweets were coming at all different times, posted whenever the person thought about it, so Billy was losing track of who was near when he said or did something. And the tweets were always about stupid stuff Billy didn’t register doing. On Wednesday night the account said

@ImHardForHargrove: hi when you chew on your pencil and it makes me 🥴 that is all thx for comin to my ted talk

Friday afternoon gave them all:

@ImHardForHargrove: walked past ur classroom and u were asleep ive never wanted to CUDDLE someone so bad in my LIFE

But Saturday, Saturday renewed all hope for Harrington Billy could possibly have. Lauren Kranz was throwing a party. It was the first real rager in a while, so everyone was there, and everyone was sloshed. Everyone but Billy, who’d agreed to be designated driver for Robin and Heather like some kinda idiot.

He was brooding on the back porch when his phone went off. The account was active, and the owner was drunk.

@ImHardForHargrove: I can seeeeee u oyt the windw I wan u 2 FUC ME. RAW DOG.

@ImHardForHargrove: srry ur so beauitiful nd THICCC

@ImHardForHargrove: I wana shoot my shot but idk if u lik bois

@ImHardForHargrove: (ys i am boi)

@ImHardForHargrove: nd i dont wana get my heart broken agin 😥

He was right about it being a guy. He was right about him being too nervous to approach him outright. His brain was screaming stevestevesteve at him. Hawkins was shook when Steve came out as bisexual in his sophomore year. He was the golden boy, a real jock. He was NOT the kind of guy people would assume queer in a small midwestern town.

He was kind of a douchebag, dumping one girl for another, sleeping with her and never calling again. But then he settled down with this guy from the University of Indianapolis for a few months until Steve caught him cheating. Apparently, he had slashed the guy’s tires. Billy was impressed.

The next year came Wheeler, who only stuck around long enough to make sure Steve was nice and whipped before she fucked off on him too. So Steve retreated. Spent more time with middle schoolers than anybody else. Didn’t want to put his heart on the line anymore until he knew it wouldn’t be stomped on. Billy could respect that.

Billy couldn’t risk being out in a town like Hawkins. Word always had a way of getting right back to his dad, and in a tiny hick town with nothing better to do than gossip, it was usually only a matter of hours before Neil heard something he didn’t like.

@ImHardForHargrove: srry 4 bad typing rn. drunk nd dysl exic ren’t a happy combo

Billy’s heart stopped. The drunken idiot was giving himself away. Maybe if he sat here staring at the account long enough, enough would be revealed he could figure it all out like a shitty drunk episode of Blue’s Clues.

He was so focused on Twitter, refreshing his feed, again and again, he didn’t notice a very drunk, and very unsteady Steve Harrington stumbling out the back door towards him. Until he crashed into his back.

“Sorry, Bill!” Billy had Steve by the shoulders trying to keep him upright. “Heyy I have a question for you.” Steve grabbed one of Billy’s hands and veered over to the table and chairs arranged neatly on the small patio. When they were sitting, Steve kept ahold of Billy’s hand.

“Hi.” Steve was smiling like a little kid. Billy was in fucking love.

“hey, Harrington. What was your question.”

“So-oo. I have this friend. A very good friend. Super close. And he has a big ol’ crush on you but he’s too scared to ask you himself because he keeps getting his heart fuckin’ broken so he wanted me to ask. Are you into guys?” It’s a miracle Billy understood any of that, every word blending into the next.

“That depends.” Billy leaned in, running his tongue along his bottom lip. He saw Steve take in a sharp breath, following the movement with his glazed eyes. He knew Steve was talking about himself, he just wanted to rile him up a little. Make him blush first. “This friend you’re talkin’ about. He’s our age? Like you’re not trying to set me up with one a’ your kids, right?” Steve physically recoiled.

“NO, you fuckin’ pedo. I’m NOT trying to set you up with a fuckin’, fuckin’ middle schooler. My friend is, uh eighteen. He’s a senior.” Unless Tommy fuckin’ H. suddenly had a penchant for dick Billy didn’t know about, Steve was 100% talking about himself.

“Well, if he’s as pretty as you are, I’d love to go out with him sometime.” Billy winked. Steve went red.

“Okay, but like, does that mean you’d go out with me? Like I’m as pretty as me, right? Because I was talking about me. Not ‘a friend’ I was talking about me. Steve.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured that out. You know, I was hoping it was you running that Twitter. Any time you’d tweet out something you wanted to do with me, I was always picturin’ doing it with you, Baby.” Billy was practically purring. “Especially all the shit you wanted me to do TO you.” Steve gave something between a whine and a groan and flopped himself onto Billy’s lap, straddling him with very little grace.

“Thank God. ‘Cause you’re so fucking hot I’d let you do anything to me. Anything, Bill.” Billy smiled softly at him.

“Then let me take you home. Let me put you in bed to sleep off all this. And let me take you to breakfast tomorrow. Something nice and greasy for your hangover tummy.” Steve was a puddle in Billy’s lap. “C’mon, Drunky, git your ass up.” Steve just giggled and muttered Drunky Skunky under his breath.

Billy sighed and stood up, hefting Steve up with him.

“Bil-ly,” Steve whined. “You’re so strong, this is so fucking hot. I gotta tweet about this.”

“Tweet it later, Sweet Thing.”

It took Billy for-fucking-ever to find Robin and Heather (they were making out in the basement with the stoners). But Steve chirped and cooed into his ear, so happy Billy could lift him and hold him like it was nothing.

The last tweet from the account was timestamped from Sunday evening.

@ImHardForHargrove: Hi this is Steve. Billy’s my boyfriend now 🥰#ThirstWorks

#I'm gonna reblog this in the morning too #Im v proud of it I want people to SEE IT #harringrove #steve harrington #steve harrington x billy hargrove #billy hargrove x steve harrington #billy hargorve #modern au #modern harringrove #yikes writes #harringrove prompts #Harringrove Prompts list #harringrove prompt fill #prompt fill #prompt fic

161 notes · View notes

zabreti · 4 years ago

Text

the time has finally come for me to start expressing what i have been overwhelmingly feeling for the past week, since i started to properly listen to this sunshine of a woman named joanna newsom. i want to- actually, i need to vent a little about the album ys, since it’s the one i first listened to. plus my initial contact with joanna’s work and thoughts that came with it

even though i only found out about her a few months ago, i guess everyone knows her(?); if you don’t, you should. there’s not one single moment in which i’m not mad at myself for not finding her sooner. so fyi, she’s a harpist, pianist, singer and songwriter from nevada. according to some sources, she may be the most famous harpist alive today; i really don’t know about you, but it really sounds quite badass for me.

i started searching for her stuff after watching her husband’s - andy samberg - multiple interviews, where he would be sometimes asked about their marriage. i’ve been binge watching random interviews with people i like for the last weeks, and i found myself actually watching some interviews of hers before i even got to listen to her music.

btw, look at this fucking adorable couple. just look at them for a second.

first of all, what a lovely woman! each answer, each laughter, each little thing she did on camera caused an admiration for the idea of andy and her together to grow strongly; i wasn’t even sure if it was ok for me to feel so strongly about someone else’s relationship. my curiosity grew when i started to read the comments on these videos on youtube, pretty much 100% of them being about her intelligence, her talent and how her music sounds angelical, mystical and perfectly constructed. (let it be said that it only grew more and more as i watched every single interviewer asking both andy and joanna about how different their works are, and how different they appear to be as individuals; not only was suggested that andy would probably not rise up to such an intelligent, serious taste as to fall in love with her (he doesn’t even need to say a word for anyone to realize how passionately in love he is with joanna and her entire work), but also said that no one could believe she was actually able to be a goofy, easy-going, good-humored person because of the lyrics she writes. ok, i could spend hours listing the unnecessary questions i identified in these interviews, and how i get easily annoyed by these famous hosts assuming stuff or trying to create an uncomfortable environment; and don’t even get me started on the fact that most of the interviews she was invited to would revolve around her relationship with andy. i’m choosing to let this feeling pass for now, since it’s not my focus today.)

i couldn’t help but start by saying all this since i truly adore andy’s works, and nothing feels warmer than realizing two amazing people are in love and have a family together by choice.

i mean..... ??????? c’mon. greatest couple alive. try and fight me on this.

another interesting thing i found out was that she dislikes streaming platforms similar to spotify, which probably (?) justifies the fact that i never came across her songs, since i use spotify on a daily basis and have been using it to find new artists for the last years. call me ignorant, it’s fine, truly; but i haven’t heard of similar opinions coming from artists, and it made me even more curious to know what this woman was expressing, creating, thinking. she actually told larry king:

“spotify is a business model. it’s not good. it’s based on the idea of circumventing the payment of artists. (...) i’m not opposed to streaming. i understand that the world is shifting and that the way music is valued and monetized is shifting, and i’m ok with that. and i’m even ok with people not paying for music (...), i just wish that there was a better way to do it that didn’t only pay a company. (...) i haven’t heard of one [alternative to spotify] that seems built the way that i would prefer it to be built.”

one of spotify owners (owners or directors, idek and idec) even replied to her many critics, but she never changed her mind or retreated from defending even her honest, harsh comments about how spotify is “like a villainous cabal of major labels”. for me, that’s a badass woman. not only for expressing herself without giving a damn about anyone who might be offended in this process, but also for choosing the path that felt ethical and worthy, and being recognized all over the world for her talent while following her own ways. i know, right? simply awesome.

there i was, reading the endless comments on her interviews’ videos and wondering what the fuss was all about. there was nothing left for me to do other than to actually start listening to her songs. i could have done it by looking up her discography and starting from her first project, but somehow i stomped into the ys album, which was released in 2006, in youtube itself.

first of all, would you look at this freaking cover?

i found it absolutely gorgeous in each detail; in fact, i really wish to know if there are meanings in the little specific parts of the painting. maybe there aren’t any and i’m just trying to create a more complex joanna in my mind? sure, sounds like me. or maybe there are lots of ‘em and she already said it on camera and i simply missed this video? sure, sounds possible. i won’t lie, i spent so much time thinking about this cover... maybe way too much time. alright, on we go.

there are 5 tracks on the album: emily, monkey & bear, sawdust and diamonds, only skin and cosmia.

at first, i didn’t quite understand what i was listening to. and i’m not talking about the lyrics, i’m talking about the whole idea of the album, the artist, the genre. the conjunction formed by her high pitches and soft, delicious vocal variations, surrounded lovingly by the harp and the violins was very mysterious to me. at first, i wouldn’t be encouraged to keep listening to her. but something kept me there, seated, staring at the screen and paying attention to each second of it. it was an experience. a real transportation. i searched for the lyrics on genius, and anyone that would pass by my bedroom’s open door would see me completely enamored by what i was listening to, like a concentrated kid being told an epic, adventurous, huge, beautiful and complex story. that is exactly how i felt: in the middle of a field, picturing each image she described in the song; each figure, each feeling. she described it all in a way that made me wonder how can someone describe a dream so vividly, how can someone describe anything so perfectly, so fully, and not sound redundant, not sound at all boring. the way the melody and the lyrics fit together, as a gift perfectly wrapped and tightly involved in the most beautiful way. i repeat: it was an experience. it is an experience. this is not something you can listen to at any given time, at any given place; i would not dare to not pay attention each time i would plan to listen to it. this is how seriously submerged i felt by joanna in that moment; in that entire day.

all of this, all of this immersion, all of this dream-like state in which i found myself in, kept growing its roots in me throughout the entire album, in a way i needed to show someone - anyone - joanna before i even got to finish the five songs; and the first one that came near me happened to be my mother. while listening, she actually found it quite pleasing, “like some old movie’s soundtrack” when listening to emily, “like an 1960′s melody” when listening to sawdust and sand, and on she went about the entire album. and this got me thinking about how i would describe her genre; of course, after following her on bandcamp i found out i was actually listening to some folk/pop/avant-garde/baroque pop/chamber folk/indie stuff. sounds about right, but at the same time not right at all, for some reason. i believe it’s fair to say that joanna has a magical, rare quality to her music that makes it different to each one listening to it. i’ve said it too much and i’ll say it again: it’s an experience, a complete, true one. it ressonates with deep, personal places. and, strangely, it makes many people describe the feeling that urges to grow inside their hearts as “home”; and i share this exact same sensation.

i really don’t know if it makes any sense, but see: i cherish my alone time probably more than anything in the world. i have learned to be my own best friend in many ways, and being by myself in some quiet days, at my house, reading, listening, watching and creating is when i can truly be myself. with that said, listening to this album, i felt at home. it made me feel even more alone, and i mean it in the most loving, warm, hypnotizing way.

the ys album is a relatively quick production to be heard, even though it feels like you’ve been gone for hours, days, weeks on end while listening to it. the amount of literary, historic and philosofical references in the lyrics is magically overwhelming; i simply wasn’t able to snap out of it for a long time, and i have, to this day, re-listened to the album about 5 times. still reading the lyrics again and again, still grasping at some expressions faintly but amazed, still finding out about hidden and not so hidden meanings behind each track. still defining it, every single day.

i hope for the great discoveries i feel like pursuing from her work, and the diverse new singers, song-writers, harpists, pianists, violinists, chellists and musicists in general i’ll try to find, understand and support from now on. i’m thankful for finding out how much i love the mix between an orchestra-like atmosphere and a sweet, honest voice ringing in my ears; and how the words assembled together feels like a psychography.

i thank the universe every single day for the opportunity to discover people like joanna newsom.

#r #joanna newsom #ys #joanna newsom ys #review #shes a mystical creature and i could not be happier to have found such a raw talent #i seem to seriously not get bored of her and talking about her in general #literally everyone around me during quarentine has heard me talking about this woman #album review #ys review #music review #newberg #andy samberg #m

24 notes · View notes

vitamx · 5 years ago

Text

recordings

[Read on AO3, too!]

---

They had just been trying to steal some extra rockets laying around in Grian's base to sell at Sahara- that's all they were doing, honest!

But... perhaps if Grian's storage wasn't so morally unforgivable and disorderly, then they wouldn't have accidentally found a shulker box with a mysterious camera and accidentally stole it.

It wasn't their fault! All an accident, they swear!

Surely the several, several recordings on the camera were just going to be harmless, funny little bits to watch and tease Grian with, right? Besides, Mumbo and Iskall had nothing better to do- the only thing they could be doing other than snooping around was to count the seconds until Demise began, but that'd be no fun, would it?

So, smiling deviously to each other (although Iskall was much more excited for this than Mumbo was), the two of them settled down in the infinity room underneath the Sahara warehouse. Thankfully, the camera was a large one, so they wouldn't have to strain their eyes too hard to tell what was going on.

So, settled comfortably next to each other, leaning forward at the camera planted in front of them, Iskall went to the first recording on the camera and pressed play.

---

"So, this--"

A quite crackling sounded in the audio, a younger version of Grian talking without noise for a few seconds, for some reason wearing a horrible spray-tan and swimming wear.

"--I figured I could, like, look back on it later, or something. Any--"

Crackle.

"-ys, I'm just about to get off the bus- I'm meeting up with Taurtis and Sam... I don't really know Sam too well, actually. He could be a murderer or someth--"

The clip cut to white noise for a split second, and young Grian was now in a small shop, looking confused and a little bit baffled.

"So- what, pufferfish are currency here?"

"Yeah, Gree-on, did you even study anything about Japan before you came to visit? You're not in England anymore," A young man with rabbit ears said snidely, grinning at Grian teasingly.

"We accept all forms of dead fish here," A tan-skinned man with red and blue heterochromatic eyes said, sticking his tongue out playfully.

Grian stared down at the camera for a quick second, one eyebrow raised in confusion.

"Uh, yeah... alright then, so I can just... give him his dead children as payment?" Young Grian said with a nervous grin, the camera catching the image of some sort of humanoid pufferfish man.

The camera hummed and buzzed, the visuals flickering on and off for a few seconds before the camera cut to black, only a few hard-to-understand words came through;

"Sandcastle- brzzzt- Sam- brzt- road--"

---

Honestly, it wasn't quite what Mumbo and Iskall had been expecting. Mumbo hummed a bit uncomfortably, turning to Iskall with a silent question- was this invading on Grian's privacy too much?

Iskall reassured him it was fine, it wasn't like these were gonna hold Grian's deepest and darkest secrets! It was just a little fun, something they could joke about with just each other.

He reassured both Mumbo and himself that they wouldn't tell a soul.

And not tell a soul they did.

The recordings continued and continued.

---

"Wh- it's not a potato or a tomato, it's a scarecrow! I spent weeks on this!" Young Grian scoffed, the camera casted downward somewhat, the faces of anyone barely shown.

"It's obviously a tomato, Gree-on, I know what I see! You should've gotten a cooler costume, like me! I'm Satan." One of the figures next to Grian said, probably grinning.

"Y'know, yeah, that fits--"

The camera buzzed and cut to a different setting, one in front of what appeared to be a high school, decorated for Halloween.

"--ust have to see who can last the longest in the school..." A quavery, elegant voice spoke, the speaker's face holding a bleeding socket where an eye should be. "And we will see who is the better man..." They spoke with a chuckle.

"I don't think we told Grian about what happened last time we went in the school at night, actually," The same tan-skinned man from before said, now wearing a cheap Ryu costume.

"Oh, yeaahh!"

"...Well, I wasn't scared before, but I'm scared now--"

The camera shut to black for a few seconds, and Mumbo and Iskall thought that maybe the battery of it ran out, or something along those lines- until it flashed back, full force, crackles and buzzing loud and visible.

"Who killed my wife?"

A ghost, blank eyed with red scars around its neck appeared, hovering slightly in the air, and held a noose in its hand. The camera was positioned on the ground, most likely dropped.

The ghost floated closer to the camera, turning its head, staring into the lens blankly.

"I know it was you, Y--"

The camera stuttered once more, chills now running down Mumbo and Iskall's spines.

Did Grian deal with this type of stuff all the time?

When the camera flickered back, the camera was picked up roughly, frantic voices surrounding the area it was recording. The lighting was still dark, the atmosphere creepy.

"Just--"

Brzzt.

" -et's get out!"

The camera crackled and flickered to a different setting, just outside the school they had been in.

"-think those are fighting words, Sam!" Young Grian said, feigning shock and holding back a grin.

The young man with rabbit ears grinned widely and laughed, pulling out a knife of all things.

"They are! I've been waitin' for this!" He cackled, the tan-skinned heterochromatic person in front of him yelping.

A blonde woman stepped in between them quickly, scolding them quietly.

The rabbit-eared teen was disappointed, the other in front of him relieved.

"Yeah... You're right, Mrs. Okami, I shouldn't-- SIKE!"

And then... there was screaming- screaming, and laughter between two people as the rabbit-eared young man scurried away, his knife now tainted red.

There was blood, and there was Grian, holding onto his wounded friend close as his camera dropped to the ground, flickering to black.

It was quiet for a few seconds.

And then, without visuals, a voice spoke up, slurred and exhausted.

"...I don't... wanna die, Gri," The voice said weakly.

"You're not... You're not going to die, Taurtis. We're gonna be okay, Sam was just... I'm sure he didn't realize what he was doing." Grian's voice spoke quietly in response.

And then, a simple "I'm tired" was all that was heard before a loud bang erupted from the silence.

The camera's blackness parted for a split second, showing something disturbing, something the two of them could never unsee.

Grian's bloodied face appeared, gritting his teeth as he pulled another body from the wreckage, even more bloody than him. The body Grian was pulling was crippled and shaking violently, a piece of glass cutting into his forehead.

"Taurtis... Just... Stay with me, okay? I'll... There's a hospital nearby... Just..."

Grian's eyes locked onto the camera, his hand quickly reaching out for it before the footage cut off.

End of Recording Session 1.

---

They were both frozen in horror, now scooting closer to each other to bring some sort of comfort to themselves. Mumbo's hand was covering his mouth, and Iskall was hugging his knees, both physically shaking from the footage. That kind of thing- it could have been traumatizing.

Was Grian okay? Was this Taurtis guy okay?

They both wanted to make some move forward to cut the camera off. They really did.

Curiosity did kill the cat though, didn't it?

Naturally, the videos continued.

Grian being forced to dress up and act like someone else, Grian crying and being forced to eat plastic bags of chips, Grian shooting a man dead, Grian threatening to kill "Sam" to get information from some girl, Grian pretending to be the very man he killed, Grian helping to shoot down an entire fleet of yakuza-

And just as naturally, Mumbo and Iskall could not stop Grian from kicking them out of the Architechs in a fit of rage and tears.

---

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft grian #hermitcraft mumbo #hermitcraft iskall #grian #grianmc #mumbo jumbo #iskall85 #yhs #yandere high school #yandere highschool #yhs grian #yhs sam #yhs taurtis #hermitcraft fic #hermitcraft oneshot

322 notes · View notes

kareofbears · 4 years ago

Text

blinding lights, chapter 3/4

Their height gap is a wide one, but in no way is Sumire going to let Akechi keep looking down on her. “It became my business the minute we wanted the same thing: to fix this reality.“

—

Akechi and Sumire have to traverse through the events of the third semester without Akira (or rather, against him).

read on ao3 or under the cut!

——

On a technical standpoint, rain doesn’t bother Akechi.

Whenever it rains, no matter if it was just a drizzle or a downpour, people scramble to the nearest overhang, praying that they don’t get drenched. Such a trivial thing to get panicked by, he thought. City rain like this was hardly something to fear, yet it remains a constant in societal culture—water starts falling from the sky and people stop whatever they’re doing to duck for cover.

And since Akechi had long since accepted to reform himself into the mold of society rather than the other way around, here he was, in the middle of Kichijoji, shoulders pressed back against the building of Darts & Billboards, waiting for the rain to tire itself out.

Out of all the habits he’s practiced and perfected from his days of deceit, it’s strange that hiding out from rainfall is one of the few that he still can’t shake, inconsequential as it was. He had learned that mimicking what can be considered societal norms and exercised it in everyday life can at least trick most people that he, Akechi Goro, can be lumped in with the norms and be heightened to excellence later on. People hid from droplets and because the path of normalcy is what he wanted, he decided that he’ll hide with them.

It took him a long time to narrow down why it bothered him. Why, for some reason, it had pissed him off that idiots would commit to such an insignificant action. It’s because when people run for cover, when they prioritize the act of hiding over everything else, they’re essentially allowing the rain—this overall harmless entity—to prevent them from reaching their destination. Fools let their decisions be dictated by the weather, wasting their time waiting it out, letting themselves be dictated beyond their control.

It’s a product of the collective unconscious; rather than pushing past the drizzle to reach their destination, or continue living their life as it were before the storm clouds rolled in, the masses decided that the better decision was to cease all movements because it would be easier. When it rains, society comes at a standstill.

“D’you always just stand in the middle of the promenade lookin’ pissed, or am I just lucky?”

Akechi blinks and turns his head to see a patch of bright, blond hair with an even brighter grin. His purple hood was pulled up, but it’s too short that it does little to block out the downpour.

Sakamoto Ryuji stands in front of him, completely drenched and unbothered.

“I’d hardly call it luck, so much as a coincidence.” Flicking his eyes downward, Ryuji adjusts the heavy looking plastic bags hanging off of his wrists. “And you?”

“Doing some grocery shopping for my ma. She’s been real busy at work, so…” he shrugs.

It really was a strange coincidence that he shows up like this, unprompted. The universe, if it ever was sentient, had never thrown him a bone. However, for Ryuji to show up, it almost seems like a waste to let it go.

If he’s been wanting to see Sakamoto up close, this is as good as it’s gonna get.

“How do you feel about joining me in some people-watching?” Akechi asks.

Ryuji’s eyes light up. “Sure! These bags are getting heavy anyway, could use a break.” He dodges a stream of water flowing cleanly from the gutter and joins Akechi underneath the overhang. Whether he can sense Akechi’s discomfort or perhaps it’s a feeling residing from the real reality, Ryuji had kept a gap of about a meter between the two.

“I hope I didn’t take you away from any pressing matters, Sakamoto.”

“Nah,” he gently sets down his bags before turning to give Akechi his full attention. “Don’t got much waiting for me back home with my ma at work, but can’t stay for too long,” he nods his head down to his bags. “She’d kick my ass if I let the milk go bad.”

Ryuji laughs, shoulders shaking. “But y’know, I see you hangin’ with ‘Kira sometimes, and any friend of that bastard is a friend of mine. And, uh, speaking of…” With an expression of guilt and reluctance so tremulous that Akechi can only compare it to a child getting caught with their hand in a cookie jar. “That’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Yes, technically he’s an unforgivable hypocrite for advising Sumire against speaking to Ryuji, but that won’t stop him from getting the information he needs. (It never has.)

After all, there must be something special about Sakamoto in order to have Kurusu Akira wrapped around his finger.

“Oh?” he responds.

“Yeah, it, uh, might be a bit awkward so I’ll do my best to be straight about it,” Ryuji looks embarrassed, but determined. “I know the feeling of not wanting to say something, to have it weigh you down and shit. Basically, what I’m tryna say is: you don’t just gotta rely on Akira!”

Akechi’s eyes widen. It should’ve been impossible. How did he figure out about Akira and the other reality when he hasn’t even been snapped out of it—

“You looked super stressed back in New Year’s and I get that you’d rather talk to Akira, but he’s a busy guy. And I know we aren’t close, but if you want to vent, or just, I dunno, get some ramen together?” he shrugs and throws a smile in Akechi’s direction. “I’m here for you.”

Akechi’s face is carefully blank. He’s wrong, because of course Sakamoto didn’t figure it out. (Has he ever figured anything out?)

He had done extensive research on the Thieves the second he got a whiff of who they might be, and that was especially the case for the initial members of the group. Sakamoto Ryuji, a second-year in the now infamous Shujin Academy. Formerly the star of the track team, his leg was snapped beyond repair by Kamoshida, the Thieves’ initial target. While he had always possessed a temper, it had grown exponentially when the teacher had faced no charges and he was shunned by the rest of the school. It’s like the Boy Who Cried Wolf—except there had undoubtedly been a wolf, and the boy ended up with a lifetime’s worth of permanent damage.

At first, he had chalked up Ryuji’s temper as yet another weakness—Akechi had learned firsthand just how fast the hand of authority strikes if one were to place a toe out of line. It’s how he decided to perfect the weapon of deceit. Akechi learned from his mistakes, to the point that his heart had split itself into two people he could become: Loki as his true self, and Robin Hood as who he needs to be.

Even Akira had understood the hubris of exposing himself, had felt the same punishment that Akechi was subjected to (ironically by the same person). In a world where a mask can be the difference between life and death, Akechi and Akira had decided to be its executioner rather than the one subjected to the sharp end of the guillotine.

By the nature of these rules, Ryuji should have been beheaded. And he was.

But instead of learning his lesson the way Akechi and Akira had, he had been rejuvenated. Instead of bending to the will of authority, he let that pressure mold him into something tougher, let the anger inside him fester and grow.

It had made sense, in hindsight, why Ryuji had treated him the way he did (it’s not like Akechi had the best intentions). So seeing him like this, where he never found out Akechi’s true personality, allowed him to see Ryuji in his natural state.

A feeling surges within Akechi, so foreign that it takes him slightly too long just to name it. All around him, deep in his gut, spread all the way to the tips of his fingers and his toes is wave after wave of…

“I’m done here,” Akechi says.

Discomfort.

“Huh?” Ryuji cocks his head. “Uh, was that weird of me to say? My bad, Ann’s always said I had a big, fat mouth. Sorry, yeah we aren’t close and stuff. Just thought it’d be nice—”

Akechi holds back a click of his tongue and, with a little effort, morphs his expression into one of false platitudes and plasticity. A slight quirk in his lips (not too high or it’ll scare them), tilt his head at a certain angle, and raise his voice an octave to indicate an apology. “Sorry to leave so suddenly. Thank you for your time.”

The rain had stopped sometime during their conversation and he hates that the universe seemed like it had taken pity on him.

Ryuji says something to him, but Akechi refuses to listen to another word—he doesn’t need to. He got what he wanted. All it took was one conversation for Akechi to know exactly what Akira sees in him.

That incessant authenticity and kindness shouldn’t exist in a world like this. It shouldn’t have existed in an angry boy like him.

Akechi tries (and fails) to look like he isn’t running away.

It was only when he was in bed later that night that he realized he didn’t find out what Ryuji’s wish was. Given the way he said Akira’s name though, Akechi didn’t have to think too hard.

—

AG: The biggest gray area in this has to be with Niijima Makoto YS: wow. I didn’t think you’d be straight-forward with your relationship with her. thank you for your honesty. YS: you both must have a difficult history with one another :( AG: What are you talking about? AG: I’m saying I don’t know where to find her. YS: ah. i see. YS: haha how about we just pretend that never happened?

They checked Shujin Academy (closed for winter break), Aoyama Itchome (for good measure), and finally the bookstore in Central Street (the smell of books is so lovely) before Akechi began to lose his temper.

“It wouldn’t be a huge surprise if we just found her in the middle of Tokyo University impersonating a research assistant as some sad excuse to feel some adrenaline for the first time in her life,” he says as they walk down the escalator, prepared to hop on the train and try somewhere else.

Sumire frowns. “Being studious doesn’t make someone boring.”

“Of course it doesn’t. Kurusu is at the top of his class and a huge public nuisance. No, Niijima’s absolutely underneath the sole of academics and government propaganda from her father since day one.”

“You don’t like her?”

“I don’t like anyone,” he replies. “Especially not someone so tied with practicing law like she plans to.”

They round the corner. “You can talk to her about that yourself.”

Standing by the overpriced-looking smoothie bar is Niijima Makoto, accompanied by a beautiful older woman who looks like she can melt down a rusted car with a single glare.

“I would think that Sae-san would quite actually murder me if I were to bring that up.”

“You know the other woman?”

“It would be rude not to know my co-workers after all,” says Akechi. “That’s prosecutor Niijima Sae—Makoto’s sister as well as one of the Thieves’ targets from the past.”

Sumire ponders over the odds for a second. “Did she happen to have a casino as a Palace?”

He pauses. “Yes. As a matter of fact, she did.”

“Amazing! What luck!” she beams. “May I try and guess what their wish may be?”

“Is this nothing but a game to you?” he says immediately, before stopping himself. “…One guess.”

Brows scrunching together, she leans towards him, shoulders sagged as if she was carrying a secret so heavy that it physically weighed her down. Poker chips, alcohol bottles, and slot machines… “Did Makoto-senpai wish for Sae-san’s gambling addiction to go away?”

Akechi stares at her. “Who was it again that taught you how Palaces work?”

“Morgana-senpai.”

“If that’s the case, I’m simply over the moon that he didn’t join us on our mission.” They walk towards the Niijimas, who were still chatting amicably with one another. “Their father passed when they were young; it left their family jaded, it was traumatizing, et cetera, I’m sure you get the gist.”

“Wait, I really don’t—”

“Akechi? What a coincidence!”

The sisters greeted them with kind eyes and soft smiles, and Sumire has to accept that she’s out of her league for this one—the student council president may have been a common name around school, but it hardly ever came with more information other than how good her grades were, as well as the potential ‘narc’ comment. But despite what Akechi thinks, no Phantom Thief could possibly be on the side of the police; they’ve all had enough firsthand experience with that particular institution to see just how often the system has failed them.

Akechi nods. “It truly is,” he says, as if they hadn’t spent half the day walking around Tokyo scrounging for them. “This is Yoshizawa Sumire, Sae-san.”

“Pleasure to meet you!”

“Likewise,” Sae says.

“I have to admit, I’m quite surprised to see you here,” Akechi says. “Did we interrupt you both?”

“Not at all. We were just doing some grocery shopping for dinner tonight. Our father’s been having a craving for teriyaki,” she answers. “Why so surprised, Akechi?”

“Nothing in particular,” he says, and Sumire can feel his smugness radiating from where she’s standing. Well, he is a detective, so she’s not too shocked. “It’s simply refreshing to see you spending time with your family, despite being as busy as you are.” With a tilt of his head, he turns to Makoto. “I haven’t heard about your father for a long time.”

Makoto recoils a little, and winces. “My…father? No, wait, dad’s been gone for…It doesn’t make any sense…:

Sumire nearly startles when Makoto suddenly straightens up, gaze clouded. Akechi clicks his tongue.

“Sorry,” she says, a bit dizzily, already taking a step back. “Sae and I need to make it to the grocery store before it closes.”

Sumire waves half-heartedly and sighs when they’re gone. “Niijima-senpai perhaps had the most graceful escape so far,” she comments.

Pulling back his sleeve, Akechi peers at his watch. “It’s two pm. She could’ve done better,” he scoffs. “It’s a shame. I had high hopes for her to be the first one. She’s the only one in that circus who had more than one brain cell and isn’t named Kurusu.”

“…May I ask you something?”

“You’re already asking a question, just ask it.”

Sumire rocks back and forth on her heels. “Why do you call him that?”

“Because that’s his name?”

“Last name,” she corrects. “Why not call him by his first name?”

“What kind of question is that? Is this a test? A trial to prove that I’m willing to be honest?” Sumire stays silent. “Alright then, if it’ll help you sleep at night. I can’t possibly fathom how you still haven’t figured out that he and I aren’t as buddy-buddy as you think.”

“Well, yes, I know that but—”

“And you?”

Her heart rate skyrockets. “What about me?”

“You call him by his surname as well, even topped off with a ‘senpai’ at the end,” Akechi raises a brow. ��Why not on a first name basis?”

“W-we aren’t that close!” she exclaims. “That’s reserved for people who’s close to him, like a good friend, or a girlf—boyfr—partner. We just… aren’t that.”

“Strange, isn’t it?” Akechi says. “We aren’t even on a first name basis with him, yet here we are; fresh from New Year’s, running around Tokyo for his friends who should be doing this instead.”

(Sumire very nearly says it, what’s been on her mind since Maruki’s Palace. But as it stands, she doesn’t want to ruin the foundation—very unstable, can most definitely blow away with a strong gust of wind, but a foundation nonetheless—that she and Akechi reluctantly built.)

“Yes, it really is strange.”

—

AG: Are you particularly close with Okumura? YS: unfortunately not, no. i’ve heard about what happened to her father, though. Perhaps her wish is related to his passing. AG: …Yes, I believe it is. I would think that the two of them would look at ways of expanding the Big Bang business. So basically, Tokyo Hotspots. YS: kichijoji? that place is always bustling YS: not to mention, i’d love for them to open up there. their milkshakes are incredible ( ◜‿◝ )♡ AG: Good call. We’ll try there first then. AG: At any rate, it will be a very quick confrontation with her.

“So I’ve been thinking—”

“A dangerous pastime, but go on.”

Sumire huffs without heat as they traverse Kichijoji—busy even in this time of year, though in no small part because of the shrine nearby. “We’ve been doing this…” What are they doing? “Saving our known reality business for nearly a week now. It hasn’t been going the best.”

Neither of them need a reminder that their victory ratio is currently at a strong zero to six. “So maybe we need to change it up a bit! I thought up a strategy last night that I think we should implement today,” she beams up at him.

Akechi’s gaze can wither flowers. “Do you need me to explain how idiotic that sounds?”

“Oh, come on Akechi! We need all the help we can get, especially since we only have two left. Plus, you haven’t even heard the strategy. Would you like to hear it?”

She doesn’t wait for his response before eagerly pushing through. “I understand and accept that you’re a bit ruthless, which is great! Well, great if that’s who you are. And since you called me a goody two shoes that one time, I figured we can go with that.” Sumire steps in front of Akechi and raises her hands to the sky, chin tilted upwards. “We can do the ‘good guy, bad guy’ strategy! That’s what we’ve been doing anyway. It can be like Zootopia.”

A silence stretches out—Sumire’s grin unfaltering and Akechi’s perfectly blank.

Then, “What the fuck is a Zootopia?

“Did you not watch that movie? It was pretty big.”

“Do I look like someone who’d watch a documentary on the animal kingdom?” His eyes zero in on something. “Lucky us, we found them.”

Okumura Haru stands with whom Sumire can only assume is her father. The speak amicably with each other, adoration radiating off of them as they point and gesture at the various businesses around the promenade.

“Don’t forget the strategy,” she whispers.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he responds sarcastically.

A feeling of optimism blossoms in Sumire’s chest as they approach the Okumuras. Maybe it’s the nice weather, or it’s another opportunity to finally achieve their goal of gaining one of Akira’s allies. Mostly though, she chalks it up as relief that even though it’s far from perfect, Akechi’s finally starting to let down the drawbridge, bit by bit.

And that’s when Haru decides to look in their direction.

Instead of the initial small talk, the breadcrumbs that hint towards their other reality, instead of gently edging them to the truth, Haru had completely bypassed all of that. A feeling of deja vu tugs strangely at Sumire as she takes in her expression—the usual confusion and pained tightening of the brows, but this time, a raw, unquestionable fury morphs onto her features.

It’s a near-perfect replica of Futaba’s expression.

After a few seconds, Haru says something to her father, and they leave, leaving Akechi and Sumire mid-stride in the middle of the promenade.

Another silence reigns over them, heavy and suffocating despite the bustle of Kichijoji.

“We didn’t even need to talk to her,” Akechi says. “An efficient failure.” The silence stretches on. “You have something to say..”

Sumire shoots him a dark look. “Alley,” she says, voice uncharacteristically low. “It might upset the families if we speak rudely in front of them.”

She leads them to the backstreets, where most stores are closed until the nightlife crowd rolls in. It was empty, and only the metal shutters and stray plastic bags strewn about the pavement were present to hear them.

“Of course I have something to say,” Sumire says, fists clenched tightly at her sides. “You promised back at Leblanc. You said that you won’t withhold information from me anymore, for the sake of the mission.”

She points behind her in the direction of where the Okumura’s left. “Despite what you may like to believe, I’m not an idiot who won’t notice something as obvious as Okumura-senpai running away the second she sees you. She didn’t even speak to us before she ran, which is considerably worse than Sakura-chan.” Sumire’s eyes narrow. “What are you still hiding from me?”

Throughout her speech, Akechi didn’t even blink. “Has it occurred to you that I simply lied when I made that pesky promise to you, or are you still the same person who fell right into Maruki’s waiting hands last spring?”

Sumire recoils as if she’d been hit. “Don’t bring that up, it has nothing to do with this—”

“Doesn’t it?” his voice is cold. “Isn’t the reason why you’re so desperate for me to be open with you is that you have some sort of trust issues?”

“That’s not it.”

“Finally we’re getting somewhere,” Akechi’s red eyes seem to be glowing despite the darkness in the shadowed alley. With a sickening feeling, she realizes he’s enjoying this. “Let me take a guess. You’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart, an overflowing kindness that you have to act on and spread across the globe. And, if you’re simply good and lucky enough, maybe, just maybe, your beloved ‘Kurusu-senpai’ will look away from his little group long enough to see how sweet and kind you are—”

“Shut up,” she cuts him off. Her voice is slow and deliberate. “You want to know what I’m doing this for? It’s because I’m sick and tired of these hellish lies.”

Akechi stays quiet as she continues, struggling to speak while her eyes blazed with fury. “I basically just found out that I’m not who I thought I was for the past ten months. Do you know what that feels like? It’s like if someone kidnapped me, shoved me in the back of a van, blindfolded. Maruki, bless his soul, forced me to believe whatever garbage he thought was best for me. It makes me sick to think that I fell for that reality, never once did I question it.”

She clenches her jaw. “You know what I want, Akechi? It’s not the philanthropy you’re so obsessed with, or senpai’s affection. What I want is my kidnapper to fail. I want him to regret what he did to me, to stop what he’s doing to everyone else. Even if his intentions were good, I am not going to let him get away with this,” Sumire looks directly into Akechi’s eyes. “And you are not going to be the one to slow me down.”

Chest heaving, she realizes she’s breathless. After a brief pause, Akechi speaks.

“Our motivations aren’t too far off from one another,” his voice is strangely cool, as if his fury and long since dissipated from the surface and had manifested into something sharp and dangerous. “You said you’re tired of the lies? Of being used like some kind of puppet, a test subject? Of having the rug pulled from you just because someone fucking felt like it? Good. But our similarities stop there.”

He leans back against the metal gate of a closed bar. “At the root of it, you want to stop Maruki so that he doesn’t push his beliefs to anyone else. Whether you like it or not, your motivation is accidental philanthropy. I could not give less of a shit about Maruki, or Tokyo, or even the rest of this damned world. I just want to be able to live in a reality where I get to choose what I want to do.”

“So let me help you!” she exclaims, frustrated. “Some detective, you are—keeping secrets isn’t going to help this situation.”

“You still don’t get it, do you? I tried to make this as easy to understand as possible, but I guess I just have to make it obvious.” Akechi straightens up and from the smirk resting on his mouth and the way his brow is lifted, condescension is simply dripping from him. Sumire refuses to recoil. “I don’t care if you want to help me. I am a selfish person who does what he wants. I’m willing to tear down anyone in my path, use anyone in my way, if it means that I get what I want.”

“Maybe you are!” Sumire says. “A selfish person, I mean.”

Akechi blinks, and throws his head back, loud laughter echoing through the alley. “‘Maybe I am?’” He laughs again, nearly doubling over. When he sobers up a bit, she has to force herself not to flinch. It’s as if something had unhinged in Akechi and she’s seeing the result of that—his eyes are twinkling as his smirk stretches even further over his face; an edged grin. “Do you need an example, Yoshizawa? Proof? Citation for what I’ve done just so you can understand? Look forward to it, since you’ll learn at long last why Sakura and Okumura took one look at me and fled.”

Bending over slightly so that he��s eye-level with Sumire, he announces: “I killed Sakura Futaba’s mother and Okumura Haru’s father. I am a murderer.”

“So am I.”

Akechi stops breathing, blinking as he processes what Sumire just said. She only looks back through narrowed eyes, daring him to say something.

When he doesn’t, she relaxes a bit. “Are you in the mood for darts? Since we finished with Okumura-senpai much earlier than expected, we have some time. And besides,” Sumire brushes her bangs out of her eyes. “There’s more to discuss, and I’m not really feeling this alley anymore.”

—

“It’s different. You must know that it’s different.”

Sumire waits until she gets their darts from behind the counter. “I know.”

Darts & Billiards was never particularly full, but it was never empty either. There were a few groups, pairs, and serious soloists that filled the entire room with indecipherable chatter and the loud clack of eight-balls colliding with one another. Anything that Akechi and Sumire might talk about thankfully gets shrouded by the white noise.

“Any preferences?” she says, waving around the dart in her hands.

“701,” he says immediately. “Anything lower is child’s play.”

Sumire nods as she inputs the settings. “Kurusu-senpai said something before he went with Dr. Maruki,” she began. “He said that he was doing this for his friends—the Thieves, myself,” she glances back. “And in his words, ‘especially you.’”

“And what of it?” Akechi asks.

“I believe that Kurusu-senpai knows of your past, knows your struggles and whatever you’ve gone through. I can only guess what you’ve had to endure, and how it led you to what you did to their parents.” Sumire offers him his set of darts. “May I go first?”

Akechi nods and she takes her stance—despite everything, she’s a little nervous playing darts with someone who actually plays to win.

Sumire throws it as best she can when Akechi speaks. “Does it justify it, then? If my life was difficult enough, would you give me a pass for killing innocent people?”

“No,” she casts another dart. “It doesn’t. Nothing really justifies that.” Pinching her last dart between her fingers, she fiddles as she thinks. “But I accidentally killed my sister over my incompetence in gymnastics.”

“But that’s the difference,” Akechi waves his hand. “It wasn’t an accident that they died by my hands. I had planned it, plotted it, and accomplished it. What you did wasn’t deliberate; it was a spur of the moment decision to run into traffic.”

Sumire hurls her final dart a little harder than usual. “I didn’t say that you should be forgiven, Akechi! I mean, I still don’t forgive myself. But even if it is different, I can at least understand your sentiments a fraction better than anyone else can. Do I think that it’s fine that two people who’re the same age as us lost their parents? Of course not. It makes me ill just thinking about it.”

She walks to the board and gingerly plucks off her darts. “But if I tried to pretend that I don’t understand what you’ve done—that isn’t right, either.”

He has a thoughtful expression on his face, his darts rolling between his fingers similar to how people fidget with loose change; Sumire hadn’t even known it was possible to do that. “Interesting.”

Stepping up to the mat, Akechi tilts his body sideways, obviously practiced in the game. His expression doesn’t change when it lands on a triple twenty.

“Do you regret it?”

His hand is steady as he throws—another triple twenty. “The murders? It depends.”

“On?”

“Do I regret being caught, used, and humiliated by losers who I thought were beneath me? Yes. Do I regret ending the lives of many?” casting his third dart, it lands so close to the others that they wobble in unison. “No. Not really.”

Sumire’s next round was a silent one, Akechi’s confession playing on repeat in her mind. He had simply said it with no hesitation; his tenor hadn’t changed, posture didn’t shift. The words that flowed out of him had no emotion whatsoever—they were clinical, like a doctor stating the facts to a terminal patient.

The ongoing background noise paid no mind to their silence, stuck in its blissful ignorance despite the pair’s topics. If there’s one guarantee in this world, it’s that it’s extremely likely that no one will listen just as the conversation is getting important.

Akechi’s on his second turn when he says, “You took well to the fact that I’ve killed in cold blood.”

“I knew that you were hiding something,” she says. “It’s because of how you act. You were a little cruel back in the Palace, and while it’s no excuse, people who have…” she scratches her head. “A hardened heart usually has a nasty past, and what Kurusu-senpai said only confirmed it.”

No matter how many times he does it, Sumire still gets impressed by his casual triple twenty.

Swapping places with him, she closes one eye as she ponders over her strategy. “But despite the fact that you’re a ruthless sort of person—” her dart sails forward and sticks to the board. “I’m willing to look past it if it means we can change reality.” Sumire cocks her head at him. “Can you?”

Akechi stays silent as Sumire launches another dart—one more and they can win it. “Selfish is what we call ourselves, right?” she says. “That we’re only in it for yourselves, regardless of what happens to everyone else. If we work together and it raises the odds of getting what we want, doesn’t that still play into the fact that we’re acting for our own benefit?”

She lines herself up for the last point, and takes a deep breath. “What did you call it? Accidental philanthropy?” she throws her dart and watches as it curves beautifully—only for it to miss her mark by quarter-inch. “Oh no!”

“Accidental philanthropy…” he muses, indifferent to their loss. “That doesn’t sound half-bad.”

Sumire raises her eyebrows, skeptical. “Really?”

“I know that my past actions may have dictated our failure to some extent. That was my fault,” Akechi crosses his arms. “I won’t let it happen again.”

Maybe she was too forgiving, or too trusting, or maybe it’s the closest she’ll get as an apology out of Akechi, but she finds herself nodding. “That’s all I wanted.”

He moves to put on his coat. “Was it to your satisfaction?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve wanted to talk even before we discovered Maruki’s schemes,” he shoves his arms through his coat sleeves. “Are you satisfied”

“Pretty much,” Sumire nods. “I understand you much better than before, at least.”

Collecting his darts, he heads to the register. “Why do you want to understand?”

“…Because I’m curious. You changed so abruptly, I didn’t even know who you were anymore—not that I did to begin with. Not to mention, the people Kurusu-senpai knows are always interesting, and you’re definitely not an exception.”

Akechi turns, and from the doubt on his features, he doesn’t take the bait.

“Fine. That wasn’t a lie, though. I just…” she hesitates, and decides to throw caution to the wind. “I want to get to know my teammate better.”

Anything could’ve happened in that beat of silence, much to the ignorance of the loitering patrons.

“See,” he replies. “Now that I can believe. And here I thought I was the only one who needed to practice honesty more.”

He walks back to register. “I’ll handle the bill. Call it a repaying of debts, in a way.”

“For what?”

“That’s what teammates do, don’t they?”

Sumire feels herself smile widely. It had only taken about six days, their entire reality shifting, and a busted game of darts, but it finally feels like she and Akechi are fighting the same battle.

—

AG: If it all goes to plan, we should’ve at least been able to convince one of them AG: As much as it truly pains me to say it, putting our faith in them is our best chance at success. AG: Worse comes to worst, there’s a reason why we’re making him the last one to convince. He’s our trump card. YS: you mean sakamoto-senpai? AG: Ugh, don’t make me say it.

According to Akechi’s knowledge of Ryuji’s whereabouts (as unhappy as he was to recite it), there are two places that he frequents—the arcade in Shibuya or loitering around Shujin.

The arcade was full of random teens and pre-teens, all deeply invested in games that Sumire had never taken up but Akechi was apparently knowledgeable in (“Good practice,” he had replied when she asked, and she opted not to pry any further).

The two had hopped back on the train to Aoyama-Itchome, forced to stand as life resumes back to normalcy post-holidays. Despite the tight fit of the car, Akechi had placed a good amount of space between them—whether it’s for his sake or hers, she can appreciate the gesture.

The morning was a strange one. Ever since their darts game and impromptu heart-to-heart, the atmosphere between them had shifted. It’s still a few miles off from being friendly, but it’s easier now; there’s an unspoken understanding between them, a common goal that drives them forward.

Still, it would’ve been nice if they had gotten their act together prior to meeting with their last Phantom Thief.

“By the way,” Akechi says, and Sumire’s eyes flicker up at him in interest. They had been silent since they stepped on the train. “In the acknowledgement of…team spirit,” his lips curled, unable to keep the mocking out of his words at such a ridiculous concept. “I should let you know that I’ve spoken to Sakamoto.”

“Oh.” She can’t seem to muster up any shock. “When? Did you plan it?”

“A few days ago, and no, it was by chance,” his eyes narrowed. “Did you speak to Sakamoto?”

“Not on purpose!” Sumire defends, shifting her sweaty grip on the plastic handle. “He just happened to be there.”

“He seems to have a knack for that,” Akechi says, and Sumire doesn’t comment on the strange quality of his voice—bitterness? “Well? Anything worth repeating?”

“Uh…” she racks her brain. Somehow, she doesn’t think that Ryuji’s blow by blow of the new shounen manga was what Akechi’s looking for. “Nothing in particular. Oh! He spoke quite a bit about Kurusu-senpai, but that’s not too surprising, considering his wish and all.” ‘Quite a bit’ might be a bit of an understatement.

He squints at her. “Whose wish?”

“Kurusu-senpai’s? Obviously Sakamoto-senpai would still be affected since he’s directly tied Kurusu-senpai’s wish.”

His stare doesn’t relent. “Why on earth would Kurusu’s wish still be affecting Sakamoto? He already broke free of the fake reality, meaning that Sakamoto isn’t affected by Kurusu’s wish,” says Akechi. “The idiot has his own wish. Did you not know?”

Sumire would describe herself as a person with a decent amount of pride, but an obvious fact like that has heat rushing to her cheeks. She ignores him and instead asks, “Did you figure out his real wish?”

“On a technicality, no. Though I have a rather strong hunch on what it is, based on my interaction with him,” he cringes a bit when the train rocks someone into him. “It’s likely that his wish may be the exact as Kurusu’s.”

“As in…” she blinks. “He wished to be with senpai?”

“It’s possible. Disgusting, how desperate they are to bring something to fruition that could easily be done without the Metaverse.” And he adds, “Your conclusion wasn’t too far off.”

“Wow,” as articulate as it was, it was really all she could say about his observation. It sounds like an impossibility; having two people wish for each other, like some cheesy rom-com but with way more monsters and magic. Yet it makes sense—the way Ryuji spoke of Akira like he put up the moon, with a feeling of undeniable admiration and respect sandwiched between friendly jabs at him. It sounds like an impossibility, she realizes, because it probably is one. It would take something as insane as the Metaverse to create something as equally improbable as their level of requited love.

The speaker overhead announces their station and they both exit with no small amount of polite shoving.

It’s a short walk from Aoyama to the school, a route familiar enough to Sumire that she can probably traverse it with her eyes closed.

“Do you know where in Shujin he might be?” Akechi asks, and belatedly she realizes she hasn’t given him any indication for where to go. Not that it was a problem—for someone who doesn’t go here, he seems to know the path just as well as she does. “Is the school even open?”

“It should be fine,” Sumire says. “The grounds, maybe? Actually, the track is probably our best shot, since he goes for a run pretty often.”

A beat passes.

“How often?” he asks slowly.

“Um—” she spots a familiar patch of bleached hair. “Look, there he is! It looks like he’s talking to…is that the track team?”

Akechi hums. “Is it, now?”

“Pipe down, dumbass!” Even half a block down, Ryuji’s voice rings loud and clear. “I’m only tryin’ my best so you guys don’t laugh me—oh, no effin’ way. Yoshizawa! Akechi! Sorry, gimme a sec,” he calls back to the others as he half-jogs towards them.

“I knew it,” Akechi mutters.

“Huh?” she asks.

“His leg. He isn’t limping.”

Sumire’s brow creases. She’s about to ask Akechi to clarify when it dawns on her:

Kamoshida had explained to her (in full, descriptive, unhesitating detail) about the delinquent students that roamed the walls of Shujin, there was one in particular he had a special hatred for—Sakamoto Ryuji. Rumors had done little to reveal the truth of his declaration, but a single conversation with Ryuji had cleared away any possibility that he was the type for unnecessary violence.

However, there is one truth that came from every lie that was spread about him; his leg has been damaged to the point where professional running is no longer a possibility.

Ryuji approaches them, smiling and limp-free.

Which means—

“What’s up?” he asks. Just like when Sumire saw him before, Ryuji is donned in the standard school P.E track pants (red and white and cuffed at the bottom). It didn’t mean much to her then. “Whatcha doin’ here, Akechi? You transferring schools, or something?”

In all of ten seconds, Ryuji had proved them wrong without even knowing it.

“I was here to pick up a few books from the library when I bumped into him,” she lies for the both of them. “And you, senpai?”

Ryuji takes a step back, shocked. “Damn! You’re makin’ the rest of us look bad. Nah, the track guys just forced me to hangout with them to celebrate.”

“Celebrate?”

“Yeah, uh,” sneakers scuffing the concrete, Ryuji turns a light shade of pink when he admits, “The school might’ve let slip that there’s some colleges that might be scouting after me after my last meet.”

Even Akechi looked a little impressed. “That’s no small feat.”

“That’s incredible, senpai!” Sumire cries, unable to hold herself back. “That’s—that’s huge! Bigger than huge, it’s being scouted! Do you know how cool that is? Of course you do, you’re the one who got scouted!”

She throws both her hands up to the sky and Ryuji slaps them, the pleasant echo resounds through the alley and leaves them both shaking out their palms.

“Thanks,” Ryuji grins. “But don’t get too excited. It ain’t confirmed or anything,” he tries to keep the elation out of his voice and fails miserably. “I’m just so dang happy cause that means things’ll be easier for my mom down the line, y’know?”

It’s like a slap to the face, a jolt that sends her crash landing back to reality. Because she isn’t here to congratulate Ryuji for his success—she’s here to take that away from him. Not for the first time, she wonders if they should be doing this.

Then she recalls the painful but relieving feeling of getting her own memories back. Yoshizawa Sumire back. She recalls the boy beside her who’d do quite literally anything to get rid of this reality. She recalls a busy street, blood pooling on the concrete.

Sumire focuses. If not for herself, or for Akechi, then she’d focus for Kasumi.

“I’m happy for you,” she says, meaning every word. “How did Kurusu-senpai react?”

“Oh, that guy? I haven’t told him yet, so let’s keep it between us, y’know what I’m sayin’?” Ryuji goes for a wink, though it’s definitely closer to a blink.

Akechi coughs. “Is there a reason you haven’t told him yet? You both are quite…close, after all.”

“He’s been tough to contact the past week,” Ryuji shrugs, and neither of them mention that working with a Palace ruler probably consumes a good chunk of one’s leisure time. “I really wanna surprise him, though! Considering that he supported me more than anyone when it comes to track.”

“That’s kind of him,” says Akechi.

“Well, yeah. Both of us had to deal with Kamoshida toge…ther…” he seemed to listen to what he was saying, and stops abruptly. Any excitement that was on his face is wiped clean. Finally.

“How did you deal with Kamoshida together?” Akechi asks slowly. They had to be careful—this is their last shot.

“It, uh,” he purses his lips. “It was an accident at first, I think. Didn’t mean to.” Eyes sliding shut, he mutters, mostly to himself. “It was raining, I remember that. So why can’t I…?”

The two of them lean forward unconsciously as they gauge Ryuji’s reaction.

“You’ve got this, Sakamoto-senpai,” Sumire prompts gently.

It isn’t too different from watching someone do a math problem and seeing them do one, tiny thing wrong; seeing that tiny mistake being overlooked, even though it’s so obvious to the observer. He is so close, one breath away from—

“Sakamoto!”

Ryuji jerks, eyes flinging open and her heart sinks, irritation blossoming towards this random athlete who unknowingly jeopardized their known reality.

“Uh, yeah!” he calls back, shaking his head as if ridding himself of a bad dream. “Be there in a sec!”

“If that pesky runner is in Mementos, I swear he’ll be dead by tomorrow,” Akechi mummers darkly, because he always takes things too far.

“Sorry, gotta bail,” Ryuji apologizes. He still looks slightly unsettled, a little unnerved. “It was good to see you. We should grab some food sometime!”

“Wait!” Sumire blurts out before he can leave. She scrambles for something to say, finding the thought of their failure unbearable. “If—if you change your mind (or start to remember), we’ll both be in Odaiba tomorrow! At the stadium, to be exact,” she tries for a reassuring smile. “You were there in the summer, remember?”

“If I change my mind…?” he repeats, blinking. “Nah, you guys are wild. I don’t know what you’re talking about, but thanks for the invite. Later!”

He throws double peace signs up before joining his track mates once more, laughing and shoving each other in a way only teenage boys can pull off.

“An outstanding zero to seven loss,” Akechi dictates with a dead voice. “What a team we make. I’m floored.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice!” Sumire exclaims, slapping her hand to her forehead. “I literally saw him running, and I didn’t put the pieces together.”

He shakes his head. “How are you focusing on his wish?” Akechi asks, leaning against the stone pillar near him. “It doesn’t matter what his wish is. The point is, we lost. We wasted this week, and we don’t have a choice other than to confront Kurusu alone.”

“You forgot about the whole point of our plan, Akechi. Just because his friends didn’t realize the truth right away, doesn’t mean they won’t.”

“They probably won’t.”

“We’ll just have to see, then. If Kurusu-senpai has one talent, it’s his natural…thing, with people. You get what I mean, right?”

“No.”

“Liar. And hey!” Sumire gives him a pointed look. “You aren’t doing this alone! We’re working together—like two peas in a pod.”

“Yes, I haven’t forgotten our oath of team spirit. But still, that doesn’t change the fact that with the combined powers of Maruki and Kurusu, we’re as good as dead,” he says, and pauses. “Unless Maruki isn’t there.”

Sumire frowns, “Even if we could, I don’t think we should kidnap a doctor.”

“I meant that he might willingly not be there. He’s quite democratic and trusting—I can see that he might leave this in Kurusu’s hands. Don’t be fooled, though. If Kurusu wanted us gone, we probably would be.”

“I can’t imagine that he would ever do something like that.” The idea of Akira using his powers in that way… she doesn’t even want to indulge in the thought.

“He won’t,” Akechi agrees. “He never shoots to kill when it comes to real people,” he sighs. “A weakness on his part.”

“But you’re still saying that we should fight senpai. Fight Kurusu Akira.”

“I’m saying we should beat some sense into him. Convince him like we tried to convince all of his little gremlins, except we succeed this time around,” his face pinches together, as if he had something sour. “It’s not as if we have a choice.”

She hesitates, despite knowing that Akechi’s right. He scoffs at her. “Worried about scratching up the pretty boy? Trust me—we couldn’t finish him off even if we tried.”

It’s a little worrying to see how sure he is that Akira is apparently very difficult to murder. “Fine,” Sumire relents. “But I’m still going to hope for the best with his friends.”

“Then I’ll prepare for the worst, as per usual.”

A water droplet hits Sumire’s cheek, startling her. She looks up to be greeted by dark clouds.

“It’s raining.”

“I suppose we should rest for today, considering what we’re up against.”

“Hold on,” Sumire says, feeling bold. “The Metaverse—I’m still a little unsure about all that but bear with me—is about the strength of the heart and cognition, right?”

“Yes?” he nods at her in a go on manner.

“So, hypothetically, if we got some…cognition strengthening breakfast food together—”

“No.”

“I think it would be beneficial to us!” she says. It really did seem like a good idea when she first thought it up, but she really should’ve expected the resistance that comes with it; Akechi seems to hate the notion of fun. “The way you looked at my plate from back then is still stuck in by brain on loop—”

“That look is called disgust—”

“It would be really fun! Or um, not fun, but advantageous to the strength of our—our Personas?”

She’s grasping at straws, but optimism is one of her better traits. Still, Akechi’s withering glare is proving to be a tough foe. Sumire’s not going to back down, though. Whether she wanted it to happen or not, she finds herself liking his company more and more despite his thorns (many, many thorns).

Sumire couldn’t help but break out into a grin when Akechi speaks, voice void of any emotion:

“I’m picking this time. IHOP is an abomination.”

—

She didn’t think that hole-in-the-wall breakfast cafes existed, and if she did, she most definitely never would’ve guessed that Akechi would be leading her to one.

Laughing out loud at the situation would grant her a death wish through Loki, but it’s impossible not to. The light pastel shades of the cafe are comically paradoxical to Akechi’s eternal conniving expression and tone, yet the employees seem to light up when he enters and even greet him by name.

He orders without even looking at the menu and she decides to get two of whatever he’s getting; partly because she has no idea what to get, mostly out of curiosity.

They seat themselves in one of the frilly booths and once the food arrives, she has to physically stop herself from drooling.The three tall stacks of pancakes were steaming, thick, fluffy, and perfectly golden brown. The neapolitan ice cream was placed precariously on top, slowly melting and all completely drizzled in chocolate and strawberry syrup. Akechi almost looks like he wants to tell her that it physically isn’t possible to fit both stacks inside of her, but she’s already halfway through her first stack by the time he eats a forkful.

Unable to hold back, Sumire brings up his comment from back when they all went to the Kichijoji cafe with Akira.

“Oh, that?” Akechi reaches over to grab the syrup bottle. “I said I didn’t like sweet bread. Sweets are, in and of itself,” he pours an alarming amount of strawberry syrup on his plate. “Not bad.”

The conversation is light—none of the darker topics that were present during their darts game. Sumire hesitatingly asks him what it’s like to work with the police as a detective. She wasn’t expecting a detailed point-by-point explanation about the cops being the most ‘incompetent people who have ever wielded any amount of power, and yes I’m counting Mona in his normal cat form.’

In turn, Akechi seems genuinely interested in Sumire’s athletic career, wondering if her skills help her fight in the Metaverse.

Eventually, they even start talking about more mundane topics; clubs that they might have been participating in (“Gymnastics, obviously” and “Detective work if that counts, but not so much anymore”), what Akechi’s high school is like (“Boring, but I get excused often enough that it makes it bearable”), if they’re on social media much (“Yes! But my smartphone can barely open up any apps” and “I have a phone number and an email—that should be enough”).

Despite Akechi’s ever-present clipped comments, Sumire has to admit that this was all a nice change of pace. She’s having fun, sitting here, eating pancakes and talking. And if his replies were getting less snippy and more talky, maybe he’s feeling the same way.

Even if it’s only for an afternoon, even if they have to fight their counselor who now apparently controls reality, even if they have to fight Kurusu Akira—

It’s nice to just act like two teenagers with a sweet tooth for a day.

—

It’s just as cold as it was a week ago.

They’ve already been transformed into their Metaverse customers, and it’s blessedly warmer near the elevator than it is on the outskirts. None of that matters though; not with them standing in front of Maruki’s Palace once again.

“It has a certain beauty,” Sumire comments. “The Palace.”

“It’s a safety hazard, is what it is. Realistically, these would all crumble like tissue paper without Maruki holding it all up.”

“Still,” the abnormal swirls and teetering light fixtures possess a charm that she finds lovely in it’s own way. “I can admire it for what it is.”

Akechi nods at the elevator, “Let’s get this over with.”

“Wait.”

He stops. “What?”

“Kurusu-senpai gave sort of a battle plan before we went in,” Sumire reminded him. “Do you have one?”

“Hit him harder than he hits you,” Akechi pulls out his serrated steel, reflecting the light of the entrance hall. “Other than that, don’t die, and don’t fall behind.”

All things considered, it isn’t the worst pep talk she’s ever heard.

They start off to the depths of the Palace. The journey to see Akira is different without him present, but it’s as if the shadows are purposefully less aggressive with them—whether it’s because Maruki wants them to get there safely or what, but it lets them traverse through the lab with a fair amount of ease.

An announcement rings through the grand halls. “VIP patients identified. We will now begin the grand tour—please head to the auditorium through the door on your left.”

Definitely Maruki, then.

“How kind of them to politely inform us of their location,” Akechi remarks, and they head further inward.

They pass by what looks like research centres—powerpoints plastered by pie charts and numbers, shadows giving lectures on cognition (which is a strange sight to see), brain scan posters and lab coats strewn about. Sumire imagines that this might be what a university would look like in amidst of organized chaos.

Turning the corner, a double-door awaits them.

“Alright,” Sumire steels herself, hand finding her rapier’s hilt. “I hope senpai’s ready for us.”

“Trust me,” he reaches out to grab the handle. “He will be.”

A hallway meets them when they pass through. A long, white staircase elegantly leads them down and into what looks like a small version of a football stadium—seats filled up with faceless shadows and unlit theatre lights are hung from the beams above. Maybe it’s because this area has an uncanny resemblance to her competition venues, but she feels a tingle run down her spine: the feeling of anticipation.

They walk to the centre of it with caution, footsteps slow yet it resounding out all the same. She glances forward, squinting slightly against the darkness; a set of stairs that lead atop a stage are laid out in front of them, carpeted and plush. Ready for a performance.

Suddenly, all the lights flash on, white fluorescence blaring down on them mercilessly. Sumire and Akechi cringe against the unrelenting assault on their corneas.

“Welcome back.”

On top of the steps stood Akira, cloaked in his black Phantom Thief garb and drenched in blinding lights.

“I’m glad you two seem to be doing good. Honestly, I was a little nervous at first,” he descends the staircase, unhurried, hands stuffed in his pockets. “Looks like I was worried for nothing.”

“Worried? About us?” Akechi levels him with an incredulous look. “We aren’t the ones who are actively advocating the side of brainwashing.”

“I’m advocating the side of my friends being happy again,” he corrects firmly, turning to make eye contact with Sumire. “I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me that they weren’t happy, that they weren’t over the moon with euphoria. If you can tell me that, then I’ll join you in the fight against Maruki.”

Gazing into Akira’s eyes, Sumire opens her mouth, before looking away.

“That’s what I expected,” he shrugs, “It’s nice seeing them happy, right? But I’m not stupid—that won’t stop you two. You’re nearly as stubborn as I am.”

“Senpai,” she pleads. “I don’t want to fight you.”

“Neither do I. But you need to get Maruki to revert reality back to what it was,” Akira adjusts his gloves, and they both tense. “And to get to him, you have to get through me.”

“He’s really not backing down, isn’t he?” she mutters, her heart rate picking up rapidly.

Akechi snarls. “The tide sooner stop washing up before he quits being a fucking idiot.”

“You guys ready?” Akira calls. His tone is light, but there’s an undeniable glint to his eyes, similar to how the edge of a knife reflects light, and spreads his arms out. “Give it all you’ve got.”

Sumire meets Akechi’s eyes, and they nod.

They had a strategy, as loose as it was; there’s strength in numbers, and for once they have the advantage—pin him down, corner him, whatever they can manage, and incapacitate him until he listens to what they have to say. While this plan would certainly be more effective with more people, two should be enough to get the job done.

The air whistles around them as they dart forward, masks burning blue.

“Give him hell, Loki!”

The monochrome trickster bursts from the cinders with its eyes dead set on Akira. He raises a heavy hand and brings down his blade, slamming into the flooring as if it was warm butter, but Akira was already gone—he had hopped away just in time, giving them a cocky little smile.

Akechi snarled and swung again, only for Akira to bend backwards as if he’s in the most crucial game of limbo in recorded history, Laevatein missing him by an inch.

Before he can straighten himself again, Sumire shouts, “Dance, Cendrillon!”

As if the bells of midnight were calling her, a woman of glass and elegance manifests, white cloak blowing back from an unknown wind. A burst of light shoots from her crystal form but Akira had expected it, turning his bend into a backwards roll, not even trying to hide his grin. She’s starting to think that he was lying to her when he said he had no history with gymnastics. Maybe once this is all done, she could introduce him to her coach.

This back and forth continues, black and white and red all clashing together without anyone finding a target at all—that is, if Akira even had a target to begin with.

It’s as maddening as it is impressive to see him dodge and parry every attack; a hop here, a tilt there. It’s almost as if he knows what they were going to do before they even did it. It’s glaringly obvious why, yet it was another simple fact they overlooked—he was their leader, the person who made sure they had two, three, four possible strategies in their back pocket going into every fight. If not to ensure victory, then he does it to make sure that each and every one of them were capable enough to keep themselves safe.

But that just makes it all the more impossible to gain the upper hand.

By the time Akira had traversed nearly half the stadium in his evasion, not a hair out of place and unperturbed, Akechi and Sumire were breathing hard.

“He has,” Sumire gasps between breaths. “No intention of hitting us.”

“Dammit,” he hisses. “He’s turning this into a stamina battle.”

“Did you guys think I’d attack?” Akira frowns. Squinting at Sumire, he rummages through his pockets and tosses something to her. She catches it on instinct and peers down at the bottle of Arginade in her hand.

“It isn’t much, but I don’t want you hurting yourselves over this. I’d, uh, give one to Akechi too, but I think he’d throw it at my head or something.”

“Thank you,” Sumire sets the bottle down gingerly. “But I don’t think I should.”

“Suit yourself.”

“He’s wasting our time,” says Akechi. He points his steel at the corridor behind Akira. “Let’s just move past and find Maruki ourselves.”

She nods and they take a step forward before—

“Come, Black Frost.”

A flash of blue and a split second is all it took for the hallway’s entrance to be completely concealed in thick ice. “If you do that though, we’re gonna have a problem.”

“That wall won’t be enough to stop Cendrillon, senpai.”

“Probably not,” Akira agrees, gloved hand touching an invisible mask. “But a week was a lot of time to mix up some Personas.”

The implication makes Sumire swallow—Akechi wasn’t exaggerating.

“We have to stop him here,” she says quietly. “Even if we got lucky and ran, there’s no way we can reach Dr. Maruki with senpai trying to catch us.

Akechi clicks his tongue. “Unfortunately. We can’t win against him in a battle of stamina, but if we move fast and hit hard enough, we can catch him off guard.” His eyes flicker at Akira watching them speak, posture relaxed. “I’ve never had to reserve energy in a fight much, so this is the best plan with what we have.”

“Got it.”

“Don’t hold back,” Akechi huffs the same time Sumire says, “Don’t kill him.”

And then they sprint forward, rapidly closing in the distance to Akira.

Akechi meets her look before they split off wordlessly, approaching their target from either side.

“Hit him hard, Loki!”

“Aid me, Cendrillon!”

Curse and bless, dark and light come at Akira like a hand of judgement, narrowly escaping by flipping backwards with one hand and throwing out the other. “Let’s go, Yoshitsune.”

And like a scene from a classic Japanese period tale, a swordsman emerges from the embers, dual-wielding Katanas in either hand. WIth an air of divinity, he slices sideways, forcing the two to jerk away.

Perhaps it’s the effect of the Metaverse, its link to cognition, but the use of words became futile beyond the calling of their Personas—she can judge what Akechi had in mind without language just as he can support her in her strikes, where to stand so they don’t get caught in each other’s crossfire.

Sumire pulls out her rapier and swipes at Akira’s torso but it’s too slow; he shifts out of the way and again to dodge Akechi’s bullets like a true Phantom Thief—as elusive and hard to catch as mist.

“You’re pulling your punches, Yoshizawa!” Akechi shouts.

“I’m not trying to kill him!” Cendrillon moves her own weapon impossibly quick, glowing lines appearing midair like a child drawing on paper, and it all bursts in unison—slicing through everything indiscriminately, yet Akira remains untouched.

“Give me some credit,” he calls, coattail swishing stylishly. “I don’t think I’m doing too bad.” Yoshitsune dashes forward, armor glinting and steel sparking as lightning shoots from his katanas, several inches to Sumire’s right. It leaves her hair filled to the brim with static.

Exhausting as their back and forth was, Akira hadn’t once attacked them directly. Even when they roll or sidestep, every movement is accounted for and he adjusts his blows in turn—close enough for them to stagger back from him, but never enough for them to be touched. The message was clear: I’d never hurt you, but there’s no chance in hell I’m letting you win, either.

Still, Sumire wipes her glistening temple as Loki brings down his blade where Akira was and into the ground, the collision forceful enough to make the stage lights above rattle. It’s beginning to be clear that it would be near impossible to maintain Akira’s pin-point accuracy, given his lack of compromise on it. His rolls are getting lethargic, backflips half-assed; whether he knew it or not, he’s beginning to slow down.

And Akechi is starting to get desperate.

Precise swings from before are losing control, wild ones taking place instead.

Akira reaches up once more. “Lend me a hand, Metatron.”

What looks like an archangel crafted during the industrial revolution bursts forth where Yoshitsune once stood, eyes filled with divinity and judgement as he launches a small army of rainbow, psychokinetic spheres around Akechi’s vicinity, but fatigue causes a slight miscalculation—one of the pink orbs barely grazes his brown hair, causing him to flinch back from shock.

It didn’t hurt, it couldn’t have hurt, but it’s the first hit the Akira had landed all day, accidental or otherwise.

A beat passes as they both freeze, and Sumire slows when she sees the expression on Akira’s face, unobstructed by his mask; all the bravado, the cockiness and boldness is gone like it was never there. In its place, a gaunt, horrified look.

“I…” he breathes, unnaturally pale. “Shit, I’m sorry. Here, just…” he starts rummaging through his pockets, hands shaking. “I know I have a bead in here somewhere, just let me—” Akira’s voice cracks. “Dammit, of course I can’t find it when I actually—why can’t I—”

Akechi takes an uneasy step backwards, overexertion threatening to take over. As if it weighs a hundred pounds, he raises an arm, red eyes disturbingly bright and dead-set on Akira.

Sumire feels her breath catch in her throat; she’s in a clear position to see it happen. Akira is still frantically looking through his stuff, an overwhelming guilt seeming to cloud his senses. Akechi, in his state of mind and body, is refusing to see the facts in favor of following his instincts—because even now, he still truly believes that Akira will remain untouched, no matter what.

Because, to Akechi, he is Kurusu Akira.

“Come, Loki!”

“Goro, wait!” Sumire cries.

Time slows down as Loki raises his blade, serrated steel exuding a curse potent enough to bring down any archangel to its knees several times over. And Akira looks up, eyes wide and dilated, but it’s too late to do anything other than take a deep breath and tense himself for the devastating blow—

Footsteps resound behind them, light and fast, and before Sumire can even turn around, a familiar voice yells out:

“I don’t fucking think so.”

Sakamoto Ryuji sprints past her and as Loki brings down his sword, stands directly in front of Akira, arms wide and acting like a barricade between him and the rest of the world.

#goro akechi #sumire yoshizawa #kasumi yoshizawa #ryuji sakamoto #akira kurusu #pegoryu #akiryu #fanfic #writing #mine #p5 #persona 5 #p5r #persona 5 royal #this chapter gave me the will to live during quarantine #11k..... jesus......#blinding lights #fic tag

16 notes · View notes

houseofvans · 6 years ago

Photo

SKETCHY BEHAVIORS | INTERVIEW WITH LAUREN YS

From large scale murals to multi-layered works on canvas, LA based artist Lauren YS’s art captures everything from the female experience, addressing topics like sexuality, death, aliens, monsters, and the occult. Her works are complex much like her own experiences, so we’re super stoked to find out more about what drives her, who and what inspires her, and what challenges and advice she has for our readers in this awesome Sketchy Behaviors interview..

Take the leap!

Photographs courtesy of the artist.

Introduce yourself. Hey! I’m Lauren YS - Hmm, something you might not know … I used to play ice hockey and my favorite candy are Peach O’s. I am a really good listener, but that also means I hate being interrupted. I dream, often, about being underwater.

Tell folks a little about your artwork and what do you love to make works about? I make work about the female experience, sexuality, identity, space, aliens, heritage, death, monsters, nature, emotions, natural phenomena, the occult and whatever else I might be obsessing about. I like slimy creatures, kitsch, psychedelia, sex and Halloween, and mixing repulsion with attraction. I want the viewer to feel unsettled as much as engaged. I make things in an effort to try to process the beautiful shit rocket that is the world around me.

When did art become something you were aware you could do for a living or as a career you wanted to pursue? I have always been making art, but I never thought it was possible to support oneself as an artist: It seemed really out of reach or surreal. It wasn’t until I had already been fully freelance for a year before I realized I was actually doing it. I think it’s just something that comes out of necessity, it’s like – if I want to keep making art as much as possible at the rate I am living, then damn, I’m going to learn how to make money off of it.

What’s a typical studio day for you like? I tend to work nocturnally. I’ll paint through the night and sleep through the day and watch horror movies, listen to podcasts about art, serial killers and cults, and eat anywhere from 1-2 sacks of tangerines every day. I like to really plow through paintings as well, it’s hard for me to stop working on something once I start. After about three weeks in the studio like this, your mind starts to wander off into deep strange places, and that’s when the really good stuff comes out.

What’s your studio or creative space like? What do you keep around to constantly motivate or inspire you? I have always worked best in a bit of “artistic chaos”–I like to fill my space with odds and ends, knick-knacks, items from my travels, talismans. I believe in the power of objects. I love my lava lamp and need to buy seven more. I also have this drawing I made of an Asian grandma screaming “DRAW, MOTHERFUCKER” which I plan to make into a screen print and give to all my artist friends.

When working on a body of paintings and works for a show, what is your process like? How long does it typically take you to complete a painting from start to finish? Depending on the size of the gallery, it can take anywhere from 2-6-10 months to create a show, given that it is often punctuated by mural tours and big projects to pay the bills. I like to work on lots of pieces at the same time, so generally it’ll take a few days to a week or two to finish a piece. I am trying to get better at reworking pieces rather than just pushing through them one by one. Workflow is still sorting itself out. I also make a ton of pieces that end up being nixed from the final show. I am very prolific but also very psychotic.

Not only do you work on canvas, but you are also known for some of your amazing murals! When did you start going from painting on a regular scale to large scale works? What’s your process like for mapping out these large works? Well shucks, thank you! I started painting murals around 2013, which was a sort of natural transition because I wanted to work bigger and bigger, I wanted to travel and be in the sun and use giant machines to make my art. I actually started learning color from using spray paint. I freehand everything because I like to feel independent of projectors or machines, especially if I’m in a foreign country or don’t have time or resources.

It makes me feel empowered to be able to make big things on my own. Maybe that comes from growing up under the common experience girls have, especially asian girls, where you’re expected to be small and quiet and obedient. I have always worked in active aggression against that stereotype.

Is there a medium you’d love to get your hands on, but yet to have the chance too? And what are your go-to materials? I’d really love to learn how to use an airbrush, a la Sorayama. Outside of 2D I am dying to get back into stop motion animation. My favorite brand of spray paint is Montana Black (high pressure forever!), and I use a wide variety of acrylics and gouache in my paintings, specifically the Holbein gouaches from Japan.

What do you love about where you live, and what is the art community like in your area? I never thought I’d move to LA, but I’ve been really enjoying it here. I’m a communal living person (been in and out of communities for about 9 years) and I am lucky to have found somewhere that fits with my work ethic (intense) and social vibe (weird). I like to be able to work alone while still having people bustling around and making things all the time. It helps me to feel like I’m not dead or a total solipsist.

I’ve also found that the artists in LA–especially the female artists–have proven to be really kind, generous and welcoming. There’s a lot of room for weirdos here; it might take a while to find them, but they’re here. We also have a one-eyed cat, did I mention that?

Who are some artists you’re inspired by and have influenced you throughout the years? I’m a big fan of dark/psychedelic/erotic artists like Keiichi Tanaami, Suehiro Maruo, Sorayama and the whole Ero Guro movement. I also love Goya’s dark paintings and the sculpture work of Bernini. Some contemporary artists I’ve been into lately are Christian Rex Van Minnen, David Altmejd, Robin Francesca Williams and the fabric sculptures of Do Ho-Suh. Jamie Hewlett, Swoon, Andrew Hem, Aryz. I find that my taste changes constantly and I am always thirsty for different influences.

What’s been the most challenging part of your art career? What’s been the most rewarding? What do you do to keep the balance? Something really challenging has been learning how to trust myself while growing in the industry and balancing business, work and travel. It’s a really solid test: moving to a new city, providing for yourself, going on tour, shifting from place to place, managing gallery work and mural work, all while protecting and nurturing your own ambition and positivity, and not feed into the shitstorm of capitalism and social media past what is required of you.

The muralist life is not for the faint of heart. I would hardly say that I keep any type of “balance”–art is my life and there isn’t much room for anything else, and that’s how I like it. It is the most rewarding thing to look around and feel like you’ve created something new and good and powerful, all on your own terms. It is similarly rewarding to feel the need to level up - I enjoy feeling stressed arguably more than I enjoy feeling accomplished.

What would your dream collaboration be? What do you enjoy most about collaborations with other artists or clients? I would love to do something with Takashi Murakami and/or his gallery (Kaikai Kiki Gallery). There’s also this amazing Australian animator named Felix Colgrave whose work I’ve been obsessed with lately, I’d love to find a way to make an animated short with him! I love collaborating - especially on mural work - because it’s such a cool experience to be able to intermingle your visual world with someone else’s. Working with ONEQ in Hawaii this year was really great, she had so many suggestions and ideas from out of left field that made me rethink my own work as well. It also forces you to relinquish some control on the way you work, and reflect on the basic joys of making shit in the first place.

If you could paint a portrait of anyone living or dead, who would you choose and why? I really want to do a tripped out portrait of Yayoi Kusama or Bjork or maybe Steve Buscemi—all heroes of mine.

What’s your advice to folks who see what you do and want to pursue art as a career? I would say, go at it as hard as you possibly can! Make sure you really enjoy doing it! Not all parts of painting murals are glamorous (actually, few are) and it’s important to truly love every part of it if you’re going to commit your life to it.

This means: hustling walls, handling machinery, travel, people, logistics, finding somewhere to pee, dealing with unexpected bullshit, not complaining, being comfortable handling yourself in dangerous situations, being independent and resourceful, etc. I have reservations about artists who genuinely don’t seem to enjoy all the elements of mural painting going too deep into it. But if it’s something you love, there’s nothing better.

What are your FAVORITE Vans? I’ve been rocking the classic authentic Vans in black/burgundy as paint shoes for years now. But I also love the Sk8-Hi boys in burgundy… I never wear them because I’m too scared to get paint on them, haha!

What other artists would you love to see interviewed for Sketchy Behaviors? I’m currently really into Andrea Wan, Louise Zhang and Caratoes. It would also be really cool if you covered a GNC or trans artist, like Nomi Chi or Laughing Loone!

What’s next for you that you can share? My first book is coming out this year with Von Zos, and I’m also going to be designing a tarot deck with them. April is my first mural tour in several months; I’ll be hopping from Australia - Guam - Peru, and then moving around South America for a while, trying to practice my spanish. After that, I’ll be starting work on my next big show, scheduled for a city in Asia, which I’m really, really excited about - keep an eye out!

FOLLOW LAUREN YS | WEBSITE | INSTAGRAM | SHOP

#Art #Vans #Vans Girls #Vans Art #Sketchy Behaviors #Interview #Lauren YS

422 notes · View notes

doshmanziari · 5 years ago

Text

2019 Mega Drive Explorations [4]

A continuation of parts 1, 2, and 3. Click the link below to read the full post.

The NewZealand Story (1990)

This almost instantly became one of my favorite games for the Mega Drive. It was first an arcade release (1988), and got a ton of ports with, I assume, differences between each; Wikipedia notes that the version I played “had its levels based on the prototype version of the arcade game.” What that means, qualitatively, I’m not yet sure. This is some of the weirdest level design I’ve encountered in a platformer that’s not, like, a reactionary deconstructive work (in the way that the Japanese version of Super Mario Bros. 2 is). The only other somewhat contemporary title I can compare it to is Milon’s Secret Castle (1986). Each of The NewZealand Story’s stages is a sort of maze that’s completed when you reach a fellow kiwi and release them from a cage. What really lets the layouts grow as they do is that, once you get to the second zone (of four), you need to start making use of the various flotation devices which preexist here and there or are left behind by enemies you defeat. So the level design gets to, in a kind of freeform way, flip between “normally” accessible paths and platforms, and toothy stretches demanding aerial navigation. The flotation devices are distinct from one another, too, from how you adhere to it to the speed. What was especially fun about this to me is how, following a clear-out of enemies, you might have a selection of these devices to choose from, and there aren’t really comparative downsides between them (the closest you get to that are these things that look like, uh, torpedoes, which are slow, but they’re also the one device that can’t be popped by shooting at it or touching spikes).

Even if The NewZealand Story isn’t genre-/series-deconstructive, that doesn’t mean it can’t have whimsical moments. A standout for me is illustrated in the third screenshot, where a “room” you have to get to is surrounded by a barrier, and seemingly inaccessible, until you remember that if you are standing below platforms and walkways of a certain thinness and appearance you can jump through them. The solution is to get yourself up against that vertical band and jump through the bit where it briefly horizontally redirects. Cool!! The other thing I like a lot about the level design is that it’s not strictly economical, that some of the structural arrangements seem to exist to form visual patterns more than to control your route. So you have minor casual options for where and how to move through a space. Mercifully, amazingly, bosses are few -- only three -- and they have brevity: you can get rid of the final boss (see the screenshot above) within seconds by popping his balloon. I like looking at this game, too. A couple of stages reminded me of Falcom’s Xanadu and Faxanadu in their cute, flattish, compact representation of architecture or architectural elements within a screen’s worth of space and fortressed tiling. Once you’re past the first zone, loosely themed as a zoo, it’s impossible to tell if the zones’ apertures and voids admit further views or are all mosaics and/or props. It was an unexpected and engaging ambiguity: either interpretation has strange implications. Besides a couple of jumps over and under spikes which demand an inapt exactitude, this is pretty much a perfect game for me, and I wish it had gotten a handheld rerelease on the Nintendo GBA or DS.

Arcus Odyssey (1991)

As a Wolf Team-developed game, Arcus Odyssey sits snugly beside Earnest Evans and El Viento as a whirlwind of inexplicable plot points (rendered more inexplicable, and amusing, by an amateurish localization), lopsided pacing, and just a ton of baffling game design that doesn’t really care about you. Everything is exploding and the gravitas has no narrative grounding. It is at its best hilariously joyful and at its worst insensitively prohibitive. Environments, from a network of walkways suspended thousands of feet above the earth, to a colonnaded stepped complex that recalls John Martin’s infernal painting, Pandemonium, are set at an oblique angle and are swimming with sorcerers, skeletons, cockroaches, and other creatures who unendingly come at you from out of nowhere and half of the time spit projectiles. The palettes and narrow, minuscule tilesets give everything the veneer of a PC-98 title. Regardless of the character you choose (for me, it was the pink-haired Erin who wields a whip), the best strategy is to never stop mashing the attack button. This got iffy in one stage where a numerous type of flying creature left behind a crawling string of flames on the ground upon death. The best strategy for bosses? Use an invincibility-granting item you’ve hopefully snagged from a treasure chest, stand right next to the boss, and... yeah, mash that attack button. Which is fine! This is not a game where the mechanics could’ve yielded bosses who were interesting for reasons other than their appearance.

Arcus Odyssey has two serious, debilitating issues, though. The first is that you only have room in an inventory menu for six items (five, really; one of these items is permanent), and yet I have quite literally never seen another videogame with so many treasure chests relative to its stages’ sizes. You’ll mostly be passing stuff up then because you’re at capacity. Sure, you can consume the things you have to make room, but there are at least three items which have contextually valuable uses: the potion of invincibility, the lifebar-refilling lamp of life, and the resurrecting doll of life. Stocking up on one kind to the exclusion of everything else isn’t a sustainable plan. So the “economy,” as it were, is kinda fucked. The second debilitating, perhaps eventually paralyzing, issue is that Arcus Odyssey has the design of an early Japanese PC action-RPG like Ys or Rune Worth, where you are constantly harangued by waves of enemies who non-specifically occupy the level designs and bosses who may instantly unload multiple projectile-based attacks. That sort of design, somewhat haphazard as it was, could function (with degrees of success) in the context of the RPG part of the “action-RPG” equation, since you could reliably and incrementally level up (and save!). Arcus Odyssey doles out a few upgrades here and there, but it plays out like an action game that doesn’t understand the forms it’s borrowing. As such, it’s easy -- and become easier, the further along you are -- to get yourself into situations whose demands for superhuman, verging on omniscient, performance make no sense. Real shame.

Marvel Land (1991)

Like The NewZealand Story, Marvel Land is a Mega Drive port of an arcade game released a couple of years earlier. Also like the former, it quickly became a personal console-favorite. A few prickles keep me from fully loving it -- namely, the bizarre precision you need to have when jumping on enemies to not get hit yourself (and a hit here, as per usual with arcade games before the 90s, equals death), a few too many leaps of faith, and optional doorways which can send you back to previous levels, as far as the very first -- but the diversity of creatures, stages’ arrangements and themes, power-ups, and unconventional bosses have an individual and cumulative appeal that outweighs those problematics. I think I’m obligated here to say that I will almost automatically like any videogame that has a candy-themed environment, and Marvel Land has one of those, complete with waddling ice cream cones, gingerbread houses, and a maze built of cracker-cookies. The two main and most interesting power-ups are wings which temporarily give you a much higher jump and the ability to fly, and a string of self-duplicates which can be whipped around to hit enemies, collect items for score, and latch onto targets to swing from them. A later level surprised me when it both expected me to use the wings to progress and to be mindful about the height of my jumps so as to not skewer myself on spikes., denying the expectation that such a liberty would dissolve hard designs.

Bosses deserve a special mention because, god, by now I just hate bosses, they ruin so many of these games, and Marvel Land’s are designed as “minigames” -- a game of rock-paper-scissors, selecting an illustration in a grid that matches an example below, or Whac-a-mole (against a mole). It’s decent, clever, and properly playful. Despite this, the game is still compelled to have a “real” boss fight at the very end (were the developers anxious?), and I could’ve done without that; but, it was straightforward enough. The aforementioned bestiary, if you want to call it that, is wonderful and funny and can hold its own against any of the Kirby games’ rosters. You can see, for example, in the last screenshot that a feisty mallard duck who beckons at you with an index feather-finger is named COMEON. Other members include HEAVY, a chubby pink snake, and GIANTBURGER, a sentient burger. As a closing comment, I’ll say that it’s striking and odd how many videogames, from Japan, no less, were about restoring the rule of a Eurocentric fairytale monarchy. Hell, that’s what two of Nintendo’s most popular extant series are about (Super Mario Bros. and The Legend of Zelda). Why is this an international go-to for a premise? And how could anyone care about it? In some cases I think it’s fair to guess that the creator(s) did not care and simply went with a cultural trope that was within grabbing range; but the question remains of why those tropes are within grabbing range. We already know why these narratives are also fiercely heteronormative (even The NewZealand Story has to make the last kiwi you rescue be a girl -- wow, thank god!), but this prevalent medievalism that has an uncritical nostalgia for monarchy kinda mystifies me.

#sega genesis #mega drive #new zealand story #arcus odyssey #marvel land

8 notes · View notes

lukawodric · 6 years ago

Note

(vatreniworld) #44 with Lucelo (otp/brotp/whatever you like) :)

i’ve added some other madridistas to join this weird story and i hope you like it!Trick-or-…trick!(44. “If you die, I’m gonna kill you.)With: Luka Modric, Marcelo Vieira, Karim Benzema, Raphael Varane, Toni Kroos, Gareth Bale & Marco Asensio!

The week has brought RealMadrid two difficult matches. It wasn’t the time to overthink the goals allover again, due to the tiredness that was consuming everybody, little by little.

The atmosphere was heavy and dull. The boys were running during the trainingsession like their legs were going to melt at any time. Their faces were asgood as Lopetegui’s expression when he watched all the balls getting into Keylor’sgoal. And then the balls hitting Courtois’ net.

In the locker room, Casemiro entered and met Luka, sitting on the wooden benchand drinking the blue isotonic. “It sucks, huh?” Luka sighed. “Yeah, bro. It really does. Everyone’s mood is killing the whole vibe.”Casemiro vented. He opened his wardrobe, took his jersey and then roughly closedit, making a loud sound of it.“But what can we do? There’s no way to turn this around.” Luka left his emptybottle aside and got up. “The day is so damn sad that Marcelo is 5 minuteslate.” He pointed at the clock.“You’re right.” Casemiro laughed. “I mean, the guy is the craziest one aboutthis team and is always here in time…-”“Imma tell ya, Lopetegui will definitely punish him as soon as he gets here.” Thistime, Luka’s wardrobe got opened and he started looking for his headband.“Or… maybe we can punish him.” Casemiro suggested.Luka slowly moved his head to stare at a thoughtful Casemiro, walking aroundthe room with an idea inside his mind.“W-what… what do you mean?” Luka questioned. “Do… you wanna fight him? Knockhim down or what? Don’t count me in!”“No, Lukita. Obviously not!” He interrupted. “Think about it: everybody’sfeeling sad as f*ck and maybe we can cheer this training up… just a little bit…”“I’m listening and I’m not really liking the pictures on my imagination.” Lukaprotested.“LISTEN. JUST LISTEN! We can play some tricks on Marcelo and also entertainthose men with a good soap opera.” Casemiro placed his fingers on his chinmeanwhile planning it all.“Are we going to sit down on the field and watch a Netflix s-“ Luka was stilltrying to figure it out.“Thank your dad for keeping you this naive, Luka. That’s not it. What about wepretend that you got hurt during the exercises for Marcelo to think that there’ssomething wrong?” The number 14 implied. “I’M IN!” Toni announced, while breaking into the locker room.“What?! Do you actually think that’s a good idea?” Luka asked.“Uhm… yes?” Raphael followed Toni. “C’mon, we need to get distracted somehow.”“And you know who had the injury that worried Marcelo the most?” Benzema asked,bringing his pair of boots on his hands.“No… no way I’m buying this silly game. What if he believes this kind of crap?”Luka started getting outraged.“Hello? That’s the intention, genius.” Asensio came out of nowhere, throwingthe ball right into Luka’s direction.“Guys, take it easy on him. Luka isn’t the player/actor type of person.” Garethjoined the locker room group. “Thank you, Bale. Are you with me?” Luka sighed in relief, holding the ball. “Are you kidding me? This plan sounds great! I’m in too.” Bale smashed his handagainst Casemiro’s, smiling.“Can someone else play the main drama part?” Luka begged and everyone kepttheir words for themselves. “Nice.”“Don’t you wanna bring this team back from the dead?” Benzema asked, taking theball from his hands.“Yes, I do… however-“ Luka tried to prolong.“THEN GOOD! Let’s do it.” Toni hit his back twice, making him step forwards tokeep his body still up.All of the boys started clapping and leaving the room to the field. Luka kepthimself steady, thinking about how pissed he would be if it happened to him.But he also considered the fact that Marcelo used to be so cool about jokesbetween them… and so did Luka. Wasn’t friendship also about playing littletricks? Maybe it’d cheer Marcelo’s feelings up too.A hand tightly held his arm, bringing him back to reality.“Oh good, is it the devil trying to drag me down for this?” Luka thought.The hand pulled him. “C’mon you dipshit, Marcelo has arrived.” Marco dragged him to the field.

Marcelo was greeting the guys, holding his backpack with a discouraged attitude.When his eyes met Luka’s, he walked in his direction and offered his left hand.“Hey, Lukita!” He forced a smile. “Hey… bro.” Luka squeezed his hand. For almost 1 minute.“Ah… are you okay?” Marcelo asked.“Yes. I’m alright. Fine. Nothing wrong.” He replied. “Then why are you still shaking hands with me?” Marcelo got confused.

In the background, Luka could only see Toni facepalming. Casemiro had his armscrossed and nodding his head in denial.

“It’s because… I missed you! Come here and hug me.” Luka pulled Marcelo andgave him the most awkward hug ever. “Th- g-ys are trying to pl-y a tr-ck on ya.”He tried to warn.“Lukita… WHAT?” He yelled. “Are you drunk before 2pm?”Gareth noticed that Luka wanted to ruin the plan and pushed him away fromMarcelo’s arms. “No, he’s not. He’s justrecovering from the trauma.” Asensio pressed Luka’s shoulder. “You know, those twomatches…” Harder. Luka squeaked. “Alright then… I’ll start warming up, otherwise Julen will kick somethingbesides the ball.” He left.“What were you trying to do?” Gareth asked while placing his hands on hiswaist.“Have you looked at him? He’s not fine.” Luka justified. “We should mindserious business-““For God’s sake, is just a game!” Raphael appeared, insisting on the tricks.“The plan is: we’ll start with that spot kicking exercise and when you make amove, you’ll fall and act like you’re in pain.” Casemiro started. “And then we’ll all check upon you, asking how are you doing and stuff. WhenMarcelo comes to you, act your ass off!” Karim added.“For how long am I supposed to prolong this theatre?” Luka rolled his eyes.“Until he starts crying.” Bale finished.“Let’s go?” Toni suggested.

Theystarted walking to their positions. One by one, they kicked the ball, keepingone eye at the goal’s direction and the other eye on Luka, just to make sure hewouldn’t dare messing up with the plan again.When Luka’s turn came in, he kicked the ball as strong as he could, so maybe he’dbe able to improve the whole acting with some real pain.

The ball flied all the way over the goal… and hit the crossbar. All of a sudden, everything went black and he felt his body hitting the ground.Like a boomerang, the ball made the way back right against Luka’s forehead,making the sound of the bone being pressed by the object echoes throughout thestadium.

From afar, the boys saw his blond hair moving in slowmotion when his body startedgoing down. Toni facepalmed again; Casemiro and Marco covered their mouths in surprise; Raphaelmoved his hands through his hair; Benzema and Gareth with their eyes wide opencould only whisper one word: “f*ck!”; Marcelo rushed his steps to see themassacre closer.

Luka swore for God that he saw more stars than the whole NASA team has everseen. The birds from the cartoons became reality on his imagination. His eyeswere crossed and his forehead had instantly got red.

“Lukita!” Marcelo called him. “Big bro… is everything alright?” “Dad?” Luka asked.“How many fingers am I holding up?” The number 12 tried to test his sanity.“One, two, three, four… thousand…” Luka started pointing and counting. “Oh,your hair is looking good today. Have you tried that expensive shampoo thatGareth uses?” He changed the subject.

The boys arrived.Toni poked Luka’s arm. “What have you done?”“Not so much lately, what about you?” Totally nonsense, he responded. “Come here. Hold my hand, let’s get up!” Casemiro gave his hand. “No! No… I like in here. Can I stay here?” Luka inquired, avoiding fromCasemiro’s touch.“Is everything alright?” Varane questioned, getting down on his knees.“It’s dizzy… and dark… I think I’m passing out…” Luka tried to organize histhoughts. “I could literally feel my brain shaking and probably something isout of its place…”

While Luka started murmuring sentences in croatian, Karim went out to look forhelp.

“Marcelito… big bro… let me ask you a favor…” Luka pulled Marcelo, grabbing hisshirt. He almost fell over his chest. “Tell Ivano that I love him and tell himto tell his sisters that I love them too…” “Luka?! Stop kidding, you’re not going to die… a-are you?” He started to feelmore concerned about the situation.“I don’t know… I-I can’t… move…” Luka informed and then closed his eyes.“Are you listening to this?” Marcelo turned his head to face the other boys. “He’stalking pure sh… Luka?” He glanced at his face again. “LUKA? Luka that’s not funny!” Shaking his body, Marcelo immediately shouted. “ANSWER ME, YOU TINYB*TCH! YOU CAN’T DIE! OPEN YOUR F*CKING EYES RIGHT NOW!”

Casemiro gave himself the benefit of the doubt. “Is this man the greatest actorever or the unluckiest guy in the world?” He thought quietly.

“TELL ME YOU’RE ALIVE!” Yelling and completely out of control, Marcelo startedslapping Luka’s face, trying to wake him up. “YOU CAN’T BE DEAD. YOU CAN’T!HAVE YOU HEARD ME? IF YOU DIE, I’M GONNA KILL YOU!”

Everybody stopped walking side to side and stared at Marcelo. He listened to athousand different types of “what?” coming out uninterruptedly from everyone’smouths.

“What?” Luka joined. “I SAID THAT wait, are you alive?” He directed his attention back at him.“Pretty much…” The Croatian one moved his body up, sitting down and quickly blinking.Marcelo helped him to get up.“I thought you were f*cking dead! You scared the hell outta me-““I just needed to close my eyes. The sun was burning them into flames… by theway, are they red?” He interrupted and pulled the skin under his eyes forMarcelo to check them up. “No, they aren’t!” Marcelo slapped him one more time, this time on his hands. “Butyour forehead is.”“It was all a plan. We were trying to play some tricks on you…” Casemiro nervouslylaughed and touched Marcelo’s shoulder.“We just wanted to get rid of this sad mood from the matches…” Toni added.“We just didn’t know that things were going to happen like this…” Varane ended. “So… your eyes aren’t red. Your forehead is.” Marcelo concluded. “Apparently…” Luka followed him.“But your face can get as red as your forehead, can’t it?” He asked, catchingthe ball.“Well, only if the ball hit me ag…-“ Luka couldn’t even finish the sentence andstarted running away as fast as possible.

“Hey guys! The doctor is here to see how is Luka doing…” Benzema announced,bringing the help he went out to search for. He saw Luka running. “Well, heseems alright to me!” He laughed and tapped the doctor’s back, as a silentwarning that he could get back to what he was doing before… and then he sawMarcelo holding the ball on his hands. “Wait! Actually, you can stay and hopefor the best, just like us.”

#my imagines #luka modric #marco asensio #gareth bale #marcelo vieira #raphael varane #casemiro #karim benzema #toni kroos #real madrid #mine #requested #luka modric imagine #luka modric headcanon #real madrid imagine #real madrid headcanon

30 notes · View notes

zophora · 6 years ago

Text

My Thoughts on The Brothers Trust Event and How Everything Played Out:

First, I want to start off with saying yes, I’ve been gone awhile and when I did come back, I wasn’t fully here, but I felt like this needed to be addressed.

We all know about the Brother Trust Event/Contest where one lucky winner would be flown to London to the set of Spider-Man: Far From Home, put in a fancy hotel, hang out with the cast, and have lunch with Tom. Now that sounds really freaking amazing. And I’m not going to lie, I entered in because I wanted to donate to a worthy cause, while also possibly getting the chance to experience something truly amazing. I mean I won the Marvel 10 Year Sweepstakes and that was freaking amazing, so what would it be like if I actually got the chance to talk to Tom and Zendaya and Jacob and Tony and possible Harrison. It seemed like a really sweet deal. Little did I know, it would fuck with mine and and everyone else’s emotions....

Now, we all knew the stakes. We knew how much this meant for everyone and some people would do literally anything to win (and I’m not exaggerating at all either). I, of course, donated some money, but also entered in the free way several times in hopes of that same miracle that caused me to win the Marvel 10 YS. It broke my heart when the day came for them to announce and they didn’t. I kept checking my email every 10-15 mins. I checked twitter and instagram to see if anyone knew anything and no one did. But, eventually did come across someone who found a comment from someone on Instagram that it would take 1-2 days for them to email the winner because they had to verify their information and make sure there wasn’t “foul play” I guess you could put it. So, I began to have hope again, as everyone else in this situation also did.

I believe it was the next day in the evening when they posted that they had emailed the winner several times and that the winner never replied so they decided to email FIVE more winners. That’s a little much, don’t ya think? I still don’t know how they determined who would actually be the true winner out of those five, but it didn’t matter to me at that time because it was another chance. Everyone re-checked their emails, their inbox, their spam, everything. And again....nothing. It’s heartbreaking to have your hopes up twice, only to be let down twice.

And then this morning, to see that they found a winner, hurt me even more. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for the person that won and hope they have a fun time because I know what it’s like to win something truly amazing...but it still hurts. You know? But forget about me, it’s even worse for others.

I was looking through comments and posts on Instagram related to the contest and came across some really sad and heartbreaking comments and I thought that this is something we should talk about.

1. Please do not let this contest break you. It was never meant to do that. It was supposed to give one lucky winner a chance to have a truly amazing experience

2. Just because you didn’t win, doesn’t mean you will never have the chance to meet Tom. You might be able to see him at a convention, or run into him on the street (it happens more often than you think), or he might visit your country for press for a movie or something

3. Stay strong. I know how cheesy this all sounds, but I’m serious. There are people out here suffering because they think it’s their fault they didn’t win, or the universe or whatever they believe in hates them, or that they don’t deserve anything good in their life. Guys, don’t believe that. I believe that things will get better for both you and me. Don’t think you blew your only chance

Side Notes:

If you ever need someone to talk to, talk to me. I’ve gone through hell and back with my depression and seen some of my lowest points and I went through it alone, but you don’t have to

I have an upcoming story entitled “The Letter” that I was supposed to do a couple of months ago, but I am working on it now and will post it in a few weeks now that I can add some new stuff. It will basically explain what happened during the Marvel 10 YS and the aftermath of when I came back and months later but in 2nd POV so you are put in my shoes. And warning: the ending is not very happy. And I’m opening up and sharing one of my lowest points, so please don’t make fun of what happened to me

*That’s all, feel free to talk to me!* *I just wanted to get this off my chest!*

#tom holland #the brothers trust #Spider-man #spider-man far from home #zendaya #jacob batalon #tony revolori #spider-man: homecoming #smhc #smffh #Peter parker #ned leeds #michelle #flash thompson

33 notes · View notes

weston-hcs · 7 years ago

Note

Do you think you could do pros and cons of each house? (Such as the people in each house). Ex (Violet Wolf): Pro: they’re very creative. Con: they have no motivation Sorry if it’s hard to understand.

Sen: I’m crying. This is a great ask. I love this. I will give my LIFE for this ask. I love you. You mean the world to me anon. I tried to go with stuff that isn’t mentioned in the manga so forgive me if I end up going off on a tangent.

Sapphire Owl

Positives:

People are generally friendly when it comes to helping someone studying. If you’re having difficulty in a certain subject, there’ll always be someone who’s a specialist that is willing to help you out.

They’re surprisingly superstitious and love their tradition. Not only do they have their “welcoming parties” but they have weird rules like “don’t mention Alexandria in the library or your fail exams” and “first to finish and clean up during meal times is exempt from fag time” - while it doesn’t seem so positive at first, it helps to build a lively atmosphere for the dorm.

Being in the Upper Years is a blessing. With the fags and all, they’ll do pretty much anything you say. Though, it’s slightly easier on the Lower Years as well since the sixth formers don’t ask for too much. Generally, the whole brotherly relationship is fine within Blue House.

Negatives:

There’s no sneaking out past curfew! Not only are Lawrence and Clayton looking around, but most likely one of these guys is going to rat you out if you disturb them from their sleeping/studying time.

The second you get a bad grade, everyone in your dorm will know. That means the prefects will know. Prepared to be absolutely grilled with questions as to why you did badly. While Clayton takes the bad cop role, Lawrence is slightly more lenient but harsh if this is your second meeting with him. The gossip goes away after a week but people’ll be watching you to see how you do on the next test.

None of them are ever down to hang out. They have next to no social life because they always insist that they need to be studying 24/7. None of them know how to take a break and when they do… it’s for about five minutes.

Emerald Lion

Positives:

They’re the most encouraging people you could ever meet. A little loud and embarrassing if you’re not used to them but they’ll always support their fellow teammates in a match. They’re definitely chivalrous towards their opponents as well, wanting a fair match from them - they’ll even cheer them on to make sure they face them with all they have.

They have an outstanding care for justice. As far as anyone’s aware, there’s hardly any incidents of bullying or fallouts within this house. Everyone cares too much about dignity and all to get into a scrum.

They genuinely care too much about others. Whenever someone’s in trouble, these boys will bend over backwards to help out, even if it’s not deserved at times. Skipping class to go help someone isn’t exactly the most virtuous thing but their morals and worry for other people says otherwise.

Negatives:

6.30am may be normal rising time but everyone here gets up at 5am to practice. It gets annoying when you just want to stay in and there’s a massive ruckus of someone in your room getting ready to go jogging or something… some people just don’t realise that SLEEP IS VALUABLE.

They’re pretty girl crazy. The second they hear that one of their mates did anything remotely romantic with a girl, the whole lot of them devolve into chaos. “What do you mean you held hands?” It gets absolutely crazy when they hear someone’s gotten their first kiss so you might want to keep that a secret.

Not in the mood for exercise? Yes you are. Pretty much everything is solved with a good sweat, according to the Green House kids - if you just want to lie in bed and sob, they’re not exactly helping that much if they’re pounding on your door to get out and face the world bravely.

Scarlet Fox

Positives:

Their care about appearance extends to others. You won’t get two feet outta your room like a hot mess without someone telling you what’s wrong with you and how to improve. CONSTRUCTIVELY. Some people even have small sewing kits on them for unfortunate wardrobe accidents - these are the gods among men.

This is a party dorm. There’s always something going on. There’s always someone’s house to crash at on the weekends. Sure, maybe the lot of them get caught past curfew, but everyone takes the brunt of the punishment together.

They’ll always talk you out of a bad mood. They’re great conversationalists so they can pick anyone out of the dumps with a little chat. For some reason, even if you don’t feel like it, their persistence is enough to get someone to give in and they’ll make things feel a little better after that.

Negatives:

Since everyone’s of noble birth, there tends to be some friction in terms of who’s daddy is more powerful, or who’s more handsome. Fights like this can last anywhere from two days to two school years.

Drama always happens. Beneath the bullshit black tea is some actual tea. There’s a lack of trust in the Red House dorm because everyone has the power to ruin absolutely everyone with just a few words of gossip.

They’re pretty stubborn. Spoiled rotten, they really do think that they can get whatever they want. When things don’t go their way, they end up all pouty and annoyed for quite a while and it takes a good stern talking to from someone else to get them to grow up.

Violet Wolf

Positives:

It’s quiet at night. As rambunctious as this lot can get, they know that everyone needs their sleep so they’re respectful of that. To be honest, it’s only because one time Violet gave everyone a right scolding with 4 Ys for waking him up once. Never again do they want to face his wrath.

A lot of the dorm works together when it comes to the efforts of the drama department; musicians, artists and pretty much anyone in the Violet Wolf dorm will be helping out with the school productions. It might as well be just their show.

Once you get to know them, they’re the type to ride or die. Their loyalty is unbreakable (unless you’re an absolute idiot that betrays them) and they’ll take the code of help your friends and harm your enemies to the max. Your enemies best be worried for what’s coming to them.

Negatives:

Trying to practice your musical skills during free time in the dorms is a bad idea. Everyone else is trying to do the same thing as well, even though there are tons of free music rooms on the main campus. If you’re trying to study during then however… good luck.

You’ll have pretty much no social life outside of the Violet Wolf dorm; you’re branded as an eccentric weirdo, even if you do happen to be a normal and charismatic person. Good luck with that social stigma.

They can be self-sufficient but it means they keep to themselves a lot. When others attempt to make contact with them, they shut themselves off and refuse to actually communicate properly. Maybe that’s why their perception to the rest of the school hasn’t changed yet.

#black butler #kuroshitsuji #ciel phantomhive #edgar redmond #lawrence bluewer #gregory violet #herman greenhill #edward midford #soma asman kadar #joanne harcourt #maurice cole #clayton #cheslock #about weston tag #admin sen

300 notes · View notes

pixiedst · 6 years ago

Text

No Takebacks // Kim Taehyung

Genre: Angst

Characters: Kim Taehyung x reader (ft. Park Jimin)

Warnings: Mentions of a car accident, swearing

Summary: With a mad scientist as a father, Kim Taehyung travels back in time to win the reader’s heart.

Word Count: 5,318

“Taehyung!” Jimin calls. “Hurry up, we’re gonna be late!”

Kim Taehyung comes running down the stairs, his dark hair a mess, backpack slung on one shoulder and the top buttons of his uniform undone. He rushes to put on his new shoes and trips on his way out of the house, slamming the door shut and into Park Jimin’s car.

Jimin chuckles as he watches his friend run his hands through his hair in a lame attempt to keep it down. With his left hand on the wheel, he steps down on the gas and drives down the road.

“What time is it?” Taehyung asks, fixing his buttons. “My phone’s dead.”

“That’s why you didn’t answer any of my calls. Hey your shoelaces are untied.” Jimin says. When his friend gives him a look, he laughs. “Don’t worry, we still have half an hour before first period.”

“What? Then why’d you say we were gonna be late?” Taehyung asks, raising his voice.

Jimin only laughs at his reaction. “I didn’t feel like waiting for you outside your house like I was picking you up for a date.”

“God, you’re unbelievable! You messed up the timeline!” he yells, slouching in his seat.

“What are you talking about?” Jimin asks.

This is when Taehyung only realizes his slip of the tongue and decides to stay quiet. He looks out the window as if he didn’t hear.

The trees and buildings go by like they’re running. He watches the blur through the glass, reminiscing on the way the world looked like that when he came back.

Disguised by the look of a regular watch, Taehyung’s Time Manipulator wraps itself tightly around his wrist, feeling heavier every second as he slowly reaches the school building.

Having a mad scientist as a father isn’t exactly something to be proud of but it has its perks. This is one of them. He’s never travelled back so far in time before, but after practicing every night while his dad was asleep, he’s almost sure he can do this right. He has a mission. That’s why he’s here. He’s willing to set things right and change the way things ended up being in the future.

He’s thought about this. He knows the Grandfather Paradox, where somebody goes back in time to kill their grandfather before the conception of their mother or father, which only prevents the time traveller’s overall existence.

But he’s not going to kill anybody. He’s not crazy. He only wants to change one little thing, which he’s sure isn’t going to affect anybody’s lives drastically but his own.

He’s going to get Y/N before Min Yoongi does. He failed before but with this second chance, he’s not going to let that happen again.

Jimin parks the car, and before he even turns off the ignition, Taehyung gives him a quick thanks for the ride, opens the door and almost leaps out of the car to get to his first class.

He didn’t do this last time. Ten years ago, well in his perspective, he was almost late for class and made it just in time to see the girl of his dreams sitting next to another boy. Of course, this wasn’t a big deal at the time, but if he changes this one little moment and gets that seat before the other boy does, he might have a better chance of getting Y/N’s love.

Getting this new idea makes him silently thank Jimin for lying to him about being late. Messing up the timeline by just a little bit might actually get him what he wants. He makes a mental note to promise Jimin ice cream later in the afternoon.

Just as he hoped, the classroom is still empty. He takes the seat next to the one he remembers Y/N sat in before. As he places his bag on the floor, he begins to realize just how weird this might look. If he remembers properly, he was never early for class. Granted, he was never late either. But it would still be a strange sight to see Kim Taehyung sitting inside the classroom at least fifteen minutes before the actual class begins.

With this thought in mind, he takes his bag again, slings it over his right shoulder and steps out of the room. He decides to buy a quick snack from the vending machine and a water bottle and roams around the hallway, waiting for students to come inside.

A couple minutes pass and he takes his phone to check the time before remembering its state. Huffing a breath, he shoves it back in his pocket and peeks through the window to look at the clock.

Would this be the right time to go inside? Y/N isn’t here yet. It wouldn’t be weird to be sitting next to her old seat, would it? It’s not like the teacher is strict about this kind of stuff anyway. But what if she sits somewhere else? He can’t just stand up and take the seat next to her. That’d be creepy, and that’s the last thing he wants to be. He wants her to like him, not get creeped out.

After being lost in his thoughts, he almost doesn’t notice Y/N passing by him and walking straight inside the classroom. The only reason he breaks out of his trance is because he recognizes those shoes. They were her favorite pair.

His heart begins to beat harder in his chest. He pats his hands all over his head in another attempt to fix his hair. Giving up, he waits a few seconds before going inside the room. He watches her find her seat, which is the same one as he remembers. And just as he hoped, the seat next to her is empty.

Score!

He makes his move. He steps toward her area, and just as he makes his way closer, his eyes catch the same boy from ten years ago on his way to the same target. He can’t let this happen again.

Faster than he expected, Taehyung surprises himself as he dashes for the empty seat. Although he makes it, he also gets everybody’s attention, including Y/N’s. The room is suddenly silent as all eyes are on him.

He racks his mind for an excuse and blurts out the first thing he can think of. “My shoelaces are untied. Just slipped a bit. Don’t worry about me.” For evidence, he raises his left leg to show his untied laces.

Everybody goes back to their regular conversations, almost forgetting him. Taehyung releases a sigh of relief and sits more comfortably on the seat. He does as he did years ago, placing his bag on the floor, pulling out his textbook, notebook and pens. The only difference is that he’s sitting next to Y/N. He places his right hand over his watch, silently thanking it for its power.

The class goes on as usual, and just like before, Taehyung doesn’t understand a single word coming out of their teacher’s mouth. Numbers and Xs and Ys and other weird symbols next to them still confuse him.

In the corner of his eye, he can see Y/N nodding and answering along the class, writing down notes that somehow look neat. She’s always been smart. He liked that about her. Even ten years later when she gets married and announces the birth of her first daughter, he never let his feelings for her die down because he knew what his dad was working on all this time. He had this plan in mind for years.

Maybe he’s not so different from his mad scientist of a father.

Before he knows it, the bell rings and all the students to get up, get their things, and rush out, not caring what their teacher is announcing.

He presses his lips together as he slowly gathers his things. With Y/N doing the same next to him, he isn’t in much of a rush as the others are. When he’s almost done, his teacher calls him over.

“Taehyung. Can I have a word with you?” she calls.

This didn’t happen before. He pushes the thought aside and walks toward his teacher.

“Anything wrong, Miss?” he asks.

She lets out a sigh. That can’t be good. “Your grades are dropping. You’re a smart kid, Taehyung. I don’t know what’s going on. I’m starting to think you might need a tutor.”

His eyes light up like a million stars. Ten years ago, he wouldn’t have had that reaction. He probably would have even whined about it, but now it looks like a gigantic door of opportunity has opened up.

“That’s a great idea!” he says. “Maybe someone from this class? So I wouldn’t be uncomfortable?”

“I was thinking of a teacher-“

“No! I get… squeamish around teachers. I’m- wooh, I’m already kind of losing my breath here, Miss. I might need a trusty classmate to do the job. Someone with top grades, listens in class all the time, takes perfect notes…”

Can it be any more obvious?

Thankfully, the teacher gets it. “You know what, that’s a good idea. Y/N!”

She walks towards her, getting her attention. It feels like Taehyung’s heart is going to leap out of his chest.

Thank God!

This is finally his chance to get to know her. Of course, throughout the years after this, he’s already known so much about her—they were friends, after all. But he’s sure that getting this new opportunity is going to let him see more sides to her and, if things goes as he wishes, maybe she’ll be able to open up to him. That would be the biggest step to achieve his goal. All he has to do is be a good student.

He watches her nod at the offer, their teacher telling her how this is going to be extra credit for her. Knowing Y/N, she would never pass on an opportunity of extra points like this.

“How does every Wednesday sound to you?” she asks, her eyes meeting his for the first time this whole day.

The sudden eye contact makes him want to melt on the spot, but he holds onto the nearest seat and leans on it cooly, pretending to be calm.

“Um, maybe we can meet more than just once a week? I really need to pass this subject. My parents would kill me if I fail or even get below a B,” Taehyung says.

Technically, he’s not lying.

Y/N thinks for a moment, considering the suggestion before nodding. “Alright. Are you okay with meeting up every Saturday too?”

“Yes!” he says a little too loudly. He clears his throat and brushes his nose. “Yeah. That’s, uh, that’s cool with me.”

“Okay! I’ll see you on Wednesday after class,” she says, flashes a smile, and leaves the classroom.

He watches her leave. When she’s finally out of sight, he releases a heavy sigh and laughs out loud, forgetting the presence of his teacher, who simply gives him a strange look. He doesn’t even care. He’s gonna be meeting the girl of his dreams more often than he expected.

Stealing his dad’s Time Manipulator was the best idea he ever thought of. Everything is going just the way he hoped for!

It’s Wednesday afternoon. There was a car accident just over an hour ago so there’s crazy traffic outside the school. As much as Taehyung would pity whoever was involved in the crash, he can’t help but feel a surge of excitement in his veins. It kind of makes him feel guilty. Normally he’d sympathize. But right now, waiting for a bus that won’t arrive any time soon makes him strangely happy.

Y/N stands next to him, watching the trail of cars in front of them, a small breeze making her hair flow. It’s like Taehyung is watching a movie. How can someone be so beautiful?

When she feels his stare, she averts her gaze to him, making him look away. At the corner of his eye, he sees her turn her head back to the traffic.

She lets out a sigh. “What do we do now? If we don’t get to your house soon, we can’t start our lesson. Should we just postpone-“

“No!” he says before stopping himself. She looks at him. “Uh, I mean, we can still make it. Why don’t we just walk a bit and ride a train?”

“I don’t really like trains, but I guess we don’t have a choice,” she says. “Let’s go, then.”

She walks ahead, with Taehyung quickly following, making their way to the nearest train station. It’s a five or so minute walk.

Outside he’s completely calm, but he’s really just hiding the excitement that’s bubbling on the inside. He’s walking next to Y/N, going to his house. Normally in Korea, that would be a big deal, but she isn’t the type of person to care about going to other people’s homes. She’s just so comfortable with people, and that’s what he loves about her.

When they find seats in the train, Y/N rubs her eyes and yawns as she scrolls through her phone.

“Are you tired?” Taehyung asks.

She nods slowly. “I didn’t get much sleep last night. I had a chemistry test today and had to stay up to study. I’ll try to do my best today, though.”

“You can sleep for a bit. We won’t be there for a couple of minutes. I’ll wake you up when we’re there,” he says.

She nods again and puts her phone in her bag. Taehyung can tell she’s falling asleep quickly because of the sudden calmness of her breaths. He smiles a bit and takes out his phone, checking all his social media. It’s funny seeing all the old posts again and memes that are trending in this time. It’s quite amusing.

Suddenly he feels a weight on his right shoulder. His body freezes. Turning his head slowly, he sees her head leaning on him. His heart is beating so fast, he wonders if she can hear it.

He begins to slow his breathing to calm himself down. He can’t keep moving his shoulders if he doesn’t want to wake her. Glancing up, he looks at the small map showing the train’s direction and finds that they have two stops left. He sighs. If only they can stay like this a little longer.

When the train is almost at their stop, he uses his left arm and gently shakes her shoulder, trying to wake her up. It doesn’t take long. Within a few seconds, she begins to stir and her eyes open.

She doesn’t move her head yet, like she’s taking in the situation. When she realizes why the world is tilted to the side, she jerks up and keeps her eyes on the floor as she fixes her hair.

“I- sorry,” she stutters.

Taehyung holds back his laughter. “Don’t be sorry. It’s fine.”

If only she knows how fast his heart is beating right now, watching her as her cheeks flush. He unconsciously touches his watch again as they wait for the train to arrive.

“New watch?” she asks, trying to ease the tension. But Taehyung only feels more tense. “You didn’t have that on a few days ago. I noticed you keep touching it, so I figured it’s new.”

He takes his hand off the device. “This? Oh, it’s my dad’s. He gave it to me.”

He only lied about the second part. Technically, at this time, his dad hadn’t finished it yet so it wasn’t given to him. He didn’t steal anything either since everything in the future hasn’t happened. But what about the watch? Is he gonna wear it forever? Even when they’re together? What happens if he takes it off?

“Tae?” Y/N asks. “Tae. We’re here.”

Shaking his head, he mumbles a reply even he doesn’t understand and follows Y/N out. They head straight for the exit, going to his house.

The walk is silent. He can’t tell what she’s thinking about, but he does notice her occasionally looking at him. He pretends not to notice. When they reach his front door, he types in the pass code, with Y/N respectfully looking away and they step inside.

It’s just how he left it. Messy as usual. In the future Taehyung is much more organized and clean, but he remembers that in this time, he’s messier and dirty. He awkwardly takes his shoes off and scratches the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry about the mess. I thought my mother would- right. She had to go to work early today, and my dad’s always in his lab,” he says. “Totally my fault. My room is cleaner, I promise.”

When they get there, they get to work straight away. The textbook is out, along with their notebooks and pens, and Y/N starts explaining everything to him. It doesn’t feel like it, but three hours fly by quickly. When Y/N checks her phone, her eyes widen.

“Yeah, it’s getting late,” Taehyung says.

Y/N shakes her head. “No, that’s not it. I’m just surprised you survived three hours of math and didn’t spontaneously combust.”

They laugh at that. She’s right. Normally, when he was this age, he would’ve slammed the book shut in three minutes and grumble to himself about how much he doesn’t need this subject. But now he does. He needs her.

The front door slams shut.

“Must be my dad. He’s probably going out to get more stupid materials for another invention,” he says, rolling his eyes for effect.

She closes her textbook and puts her things away. “I need a reward,” she says.

Taehyung shrugs. “Sure. What kind? Ice cream? Tteokbokki?”

She smiles and shakes her head. “Can I get a tour of your dad’s lab? I’ve always wanted to see inventions in the making.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Let’s go then. He won’t be back until a couple of hours.”

Some families use basements as storage rooms, others use it as a lab for a mad scientist to make his crazy intentions. It’s like stepping into a whole other world. The walls are covered in bookshelves and whiteboards with drawings and arrows, making a confusing mind map. Blueprints blanket over the long tables with crazy things like tubes and cake sitting on top of them. When Y/N asks about the cake, Taehyung tells her to ignore it.

At the back of the room, where there’s no light, is another shelf but covered in a white sheet. Curious, Y/N steps toward it. Taehyung doesn’t stop her. She pulls the sheet down, revealing everything his father created. There are labels taped on them for identification whether they are failed devices or successful. To her dismay, most of them have the letter F on them, with only one labelled with an S. Carefully, she picks it up.

“What does this do?” she asks.

Taehyung turns around and examines it. He flips it over and sees a little name that says Time Resetter, and suddenly he his limbs feel like jelly. He almost drops it, but Y/N catches it in time.

“Sorry, it got too heavy,” he lies.

He’s been doing that a lot lately.

“What does it do?” she asks again.

He shakes his head. “Nothing important. Some kind of resetter or whatever. Whatever, it’s another useless thing my dad made.”

Y/N grazes her hand over the devices on the shelf, the dust of each one getting on her fingers. These are the things Taehyung’s genius father created, and he calls them useless? Sure, they don’t work perfectly or have completely failed, but just because some things don’t go right doesn’t mean it’s the end of everything. His father failed to make some of the things he dreamed of creating, but from the looks of the things around them, it doesn’t seem to have stopped him at all.

She turns around, walking past Taehyung and heading straight for the blueprints blanketing over the long table, curious to find out what his father is working on now.

“A ‘Time Manipulator’?” she asks, picking up one of the blueprints.

Taehyung feels his blood turning cold. He pushes away the urge to run over and take the blueprint out of her hands and crumple it to pieces. That would only make him look suspicious. He has to play it cool.

“What, like time travel? Is my dad really working on that?” he forces a laugh. “That’s not gonna happen.”

Y/N shrugs. “Hey, if he can make something called a Time Resetter then I wouldn’t be surprised if he can actually pull this off. Your dad is smart, Tae.”

The watch feels heavier on his wrist. He covers it with his other hand, feeling a tinge of guilt swell in his chest. He knows what he’s doing is wrong. So many things could happen and mess up his plan, but he took the risk anyway. He knows this. What he doesn’t know is Y/N’s gaze meeting his awkwardly placed hands.

“Are you okay?” she suddenly asks.

“What?” he says almost too quickly.

“Didn’t you cough?”

“Cough? I’m not si-“ the sound of a man’s coughs interrupts him. Taehyung and Y/N look at each other, frozen. He mouths, “My dad.”

The door begins to open, and faster than he could imagine, Taehyung rushes to Y/N and tugs on her arm, bringing her to the bottom of a table far from the one they were standing by, away from the light. He pulls her body close to make sure neither of them are seen.

Seconds after, Taehyung’s father steps inside the room, clearing his throat. He places a small bag of what seems to be medicine. He’s sick, Taehyung thinks to himself. He wasn’t sick before.

He ignores this thought and continues to stay still. How they’re going to get out without his dad noticing, he’s not sure. But it doesn’t matter to him right now. The girl he’s been in love with is leaning against his body. Who cares if his dad is feeling a little under the weather? He’ll get over it.

Y/N wriggles under his arms. She turns her head a bit to meet his eyes then tilts her head a bit to point to his father. He hasn’t noticed, but his dad is observing his unsuccessful machines. What Y/N is trying to tell Taehyung is that he is pre-occupied.

Quietly, they jog to the door, careful to not make a sound. Y/N is about to turn the knob when a voice stops them.

“Do you kids really think you could sneak away from an old man like me?”

Taehyung gulps as he feels his heart pound even faster than before. His dad is right. There’s no keeping secrets from this guy.

“Are you Taehyung’s girlfriend? Finally?” the scientist asks with an eyebrow raised.

Y/N immediately replies, “No, sir, no. I’m just a friend. I came over to tutor him in math since he’s struggling.”

“Alright, then is going into my lab a part of your lecture?” he asks.

She answers, “No sir. It was my idea. I was curious and convinced Taehyung to bring me here.”

Taehyung’s dad shifts his gaze to his son. “Well? Why aren’t you saying anything?”

The young boy’s lips suddenly become dry. The fact that he had messed up and got the both of them caught is clouding his thoughts and blocking his throat, keeping him from saying anything. No one can hide anything from his father. That’s why he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

“How many?” his dad asks.

Taehyung looks up. “What?”

“How many years did you go back?”

He can’t breathe. The world is spinning at the speed of his heart as he watching the scene unfold before his eyes. This wasn’t supposed to happen. They weren’t supposed to get caught. He was supposed to have Y/N’s heart and be with her like he planned, like he always wanted. There has to be a way to change this situation, like… a reset.

He jolts to the shelf at the back and pulls the Time Resetter, flipping the ON switch. He hasn’t a single clue on how to operate the device, but he doesn’t have much of a choice left. A small screen appears, showing too many options, but he doesn’t have enough time.

His dad rushes over and tries to take it out of his grasp, but he clings on to it desperately.

“Kim Taehyung, let go of the Time Resetter!” his father shouts, but the boy only hugs it tighter.

Everything is happening so fast, Y/N is frozen, trying to keep up. She watches her friend and his father grapple for the device. There has to be something she can do.

That’s when everything is starting to come together. Taehyung acting weird in class as he ran for the seat next to hers, his enthusiasm when she was assigned to be his tutor, him smiling when she realized she fell asleep on his shoulder and lastly, the watch. She knew it looked familiar when she saw the blueprint.

She walks over to the table where she found it and examines it more. Her theory is right. The watch on the blueprint is the same one around Taehyung’s wrist. She almost wants to laugh. The guy actually went back in time to go out with her. How stupid could he get?

She heads to the boys and stands next to her friend. God, he messed up so bad. “Taehyung,” she says, in a soft voice.

He stops and looks at her, his eyes shining with tears. Taking the opportunity, his dad takes the resetter from his grasp and walks across the room. But Taehyung doesn’t care about that anymore, not when he knows what’s about to happen.

“You don’t understand,” he tells her.

“I do,” she says.

That’s enough for him to break down crying. She pulls him into a hug before he can fall on the floor. He clings on to her body as if fearing she’ll disappear. The sad thing is that his fear is about to come true.

“Why would you do this? Why would you do something as stupid as this?” she asks him, trying to keep her voice from breaking.

“I love you!” he cries. “That’s why! Is that so wrong?” He turns to his dad. “Is it?”

Y/N turns his head to face her. “How many years did you go back?” He only shakes his head, but she needs answers. “How many?”

Taehyung drops his head and mutters, “Ten.”

She pulls away and steps back.

“Y/N-“

“Ten years. You went ten fucking years back in time for what? Me? You had a life! You had a future! And you were willing to throw all that away?” she screams, enraged.

Taehyung steps closer to her. “I did it for you.”

“Did you think if I’d even want that? Did you think I wouldn’t find out any sooner? Dammit, Tae, you’re so dense!” she says.

Taehyung’s head falls, droplets of his tears making small puddles on the floor. Y/N releases a sigh and places both hands on her hips. There is only one thing left to do. She turns to Mr. Kim and he looks back at her. Without a word, he flips a coupe switches and presses a few buttons before walking back and handing the device to her. When Taehyung sees this, he stumbles back, hitting a table and books and blueprints and other scraps topple to the floor.

“No!” he sobs. “No, no, no!”

Y/N makes her way toward him and tries to give him the machine but he only shakes his head.

“Please, don’t do this,” he says, looking at the Time Resetter as if it were poison.

She wipes a tear before he can see it. “You have to. What you did was wrong.”

“What am I supposed to do then? When I come back?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “That’s for you to decide. But I hope you make the most of your time there and live well. Love like the way you should. Not like this.”

There is silence after she says this. Taehyung continues to stare at the machine, and she may be imagining it, but Y/N swears she saw something flicker in his eyes, like he’s considering it.

She’s about to tell him to take it when he looks up and meets his eyes with hers. “I just have to ask you one thing before I go,” he says.

There’s a sudden whirl in her stomach but she tries to ignore it. “What is it?

“In the days of me being here, the days of us together. Did you, even just a little bit, have any feelings for me?” he asks.

She blinks and steps back before she can stop herself. Taehyung notices her sudden change in position and stands up straighter, refusing to take his eyes off of hers.

“No,” she says, failing to keep her voice steady. In attempt to hide her emotions, she places the device on the nearest table and turns around. “Take it already. I have to get home.”

Taehyung steps forward and takes her hand, spinning her around. “Then tell me why you’re crying.”

She pushes him back. “Just take the Time Resetter, Tae. Take it and erase this. Live your life like you should have, and I’ll live mine.”

Knowing he is out of chances, he finally does as he’s told and takes the machine with shaky hands. He releases a sigh and wipes the remaining tears that roll down his cheeks. He looks down at it, then to his father and then to her. He can feel everything inside of him break.

“No takebacks,” she tells him.

Before he can regret it, he smashes the red button and everything goes black.

Taehyung wakes up on a chair in his dad’s lab. The bright lights on every corner of the room blur his vision. Everything is the same as before except the blue walls are full of holograms of information. The blueprints that once cluttered the tables are now what shows on the thin touch screens, accessible by a single swipe.

He looks at his wrist, the Time Manipulator resting on it. He lets out a sob. Everything hurts. With tears welling his eyes he pulls it off, the device humming beneath his fingers. He places it back on the table where he took it from.

Every day, every hour, every minute and every second he spent ten years ago—it’s so hard for him to even fathom it—never existed. But in a way, it did. He knows this because he remembers every detail of it, even if he doesn’t want to. It feels like the Time Resetter’s punishment; forced to remember every drop of pain from his mistake.

He stands up and slowly walks to the shelf at the back of the room. Ten years into the future, even with all the new technological advancements, his father never changed the dusty sheet. He pulls it down and sees the Resetter. He takes it.

A couple tears fall on it and he doesn’t bother to wipe them off. He places it back on the shelf and looks at the watch on the table. It glows in the light as if mocking him.

His body moves for him. He strides toward it and puts his hand on it, and then he stops. He pulls himself back, resisting every urge to take it, and falls on the floor against a wall.

He screams and cries.

“No takebacks.”

#boy group writers net #kreativewritersnet #kpop wonderland network #prettyboysnetwork #bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfics #taehyung fanfic #kim taehyung fanfic #kim taehyung #taehyung

17 notes · View notes