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accidentally-in-fictional-love · 13 days

Note

Making it official: ⚡🩹🔞(<- always i just can't help myself) Feel free to use this if you want to, or write anything else really. I'm sure I'll love it regardless, Lightning has already taken root in my heart.

You Light The Sky, I'll Bring The Rain - Lightning/Reader

Warnings: No use of Y/N, gender-neutral reader, semi-spoilers for the movie but nothing actually main plot related, friends with benefits, one-sided pining (or is it?), lots of heavy talk, blowjobs, smut.

Wordcount: 8060

Summary: You've never liked Lightning. He was a bit of a snob, acted like he was too good for you, and always ever called when he needed something. No, you've never ever liked Lighting. But it was the man he used to be that always made you come when he called.

Notes: Switching up my queue just once because if I don't write for this man asap I'll explode. I fell in love with him at once, DD did such an amazing job as usual, I was smitten in the theatre once again and I can't stop thinking about him so here's a filled request for those who already love him~ I do plan on writing him a longer fic, but I need to settle on that plot first since I apparently love him enough to ship with /)w(\ so I gave that original idea to Addy, but I hope you enjoy this in the meantime 💗💗💗

You didn't know why you kept coming back to him. He was different now, much different than the man you knew back in college when you were stuck next to each other in your programming class, from his contacts to his clothes to even his haircut. He still painted his nails, that never changed, and he kept the ring you gave him the night you were walking around town and randomly found it on the ground. You still remember picking it up and trying it on, it was unwanted trash you could turn into something loved again; he seemed to latch on to what you said about it, and he'd gone quiet when you’d slipped it onto his finger and it'd fit him better than you.

That was years ago, he had a high paying job now and little time for you as a result, always busy with the meetings and parties and people surrounding him, so when he called you up one Friday night you expected it to be just another simple ‘hello,’ ‘I miss the old days,’ and maybe, ‘I miss you.’

‘Everyone's busy tonight, you wanna hang out or something? I know this new age tea place just around the corner from where I work, great vibes, you'll love their blends,’ came his soft voice from the other side, much softer than it used to be when you knew him before; he was too old to be talking like this, but you guessed this was another fake thing about him now, something calm and cool and easily approachable so his true self underneath wouldn't scare anyone else away.

‘Hey, Leo,’ you said instead of answering him, your phone placed on your desk while you typed away at your current project, which was honestly taking much longer than it needed to because your boss refused to listen to some nerdy coder trying to fix his company's website.

‘That's not my name.’

‘I'm not calling you Lightning,’ you replied flatly, you'd already had this conversation a million times before ever since he started his job and changed everything about himself. ‘If you’d just go ahead and give me literally any reason why I should other than, “AIA says all the kids nowadays are doing it,” then maybe I would, but I’m not calling a grown man Lightning because his artificial intelligence wants to brand him as cool, not because it’s something you actually chose for yourself.’

‘Can you at least call me that around my friends? I don't want anyone to be confused, or start calling me that too,’ he muttered, just a hint of his old self slipping through the cracks for a moment.

‘Fine, so did you actually wanna hang out or do you just want someone to get new age tea with you tonight?’ He'd done this before, on slow nights when there was no one else to turn to, there you always were, like a lighthouse in his storm of a life; maybe he was a Lightning, after all.

He went silent at your question, but this was all part of the conversation now, the casual exchange between you two that always happened whenever he needed you, and he took no offense to your tone anymore, just as you stopped hurting when you became the last resort instead of the first. ‘I… want someone with me,’ he admitted, he was getting faster with it since you started calling him out, but there was sadness in his words, it was another bad night, something his so-called new friends wouldn't know about. ‘I visited the hospital again today.’

You saved your project and picked up your phone, already heading to the bedroom to get changed. ‘Was it bad?’ you asked as you raided your closet, needing something to match his new style so he could at least feel comfortable, you wouldn't embarrass him by dressing the same way he used to this time, not tonight.

‘The job helps, you know the paycheck pays for all of it now,’ he started, not wanting to get to the hard part, and you didn't rush him as you found your nicest, hippest shirt you'd bought for work. ‘It's still progressing, AIA said the new treatment would help but she warned me-’

‘You're following the advice of an AI, remember that,’ you murmured so softly you weren't sure if he'd even hear it, but he did anyway, and you heard him clear his throat almost uncomfortably.

‘She did the calculations, she’s smart, so much smarter than you know, it’s so much more advanced than everything we learned in class,’ he told you yet again, but you’d believe it when you stopped seeing posts online about AIs saying human things just because that’s what they were taught to do. ‘The meds help, but… it’s gotten to the point where I can’t leave the house without it.’

‘Please, just come with me to the oncologist who helped my uncle.’

‘AIA said Dr. Krill was the best in the field.’

‘AIA isn’t real, she can look online and give you all the answers you want, but this is a human being I know who helped someone close to me, he can give you more answers than she ever could-’

‘Can you please just get some fucking tea with me?’ he snapped, stopping you in the middle of pulling on a pair of too tight jeans because that’s what the kids today loved to wear; his voice was loud, brash, emotional, this was the real him again, the one only you saw nowadays, and you sighed and walked over to where your phone sat on your bed. ‘Please, I’m sorry I just… I don’t wanna be alone tonight…’

‘You know I’ll be there soon,’ you said softly, just as quiet as him, and you heard his sigh of relief. ‘Do you want me to meet you at your place, or at the shop?’

‘Work, I’m still there finishing something up, we can walk over when you get here.’ He hung up immediately, no more time to talk, but you couldn’t get annoyed when you couldn’t imagine what he was going through. This was something that’d started right at the end of college, you’d been there since the beginning, and whenever he got an update you were the only one he could tell. After he got his job he’d paid off his family’s home, he was stuck living with his parents because of all this, and now took care of them from afar, the both of you moving to Silicon Valley at his urging because of the job opportunities.

It’d only worked out for him, you thought bitterly as you finished getting ready, your phone in your pocket and your keys in your hand as you headed for your car. He’d been picked randomly out of a group of 50 to participate in a foundling company’s new alternative to Siri and Alexa, but you hadn’t, whatever you’d presented to them they hadn’t liked once they saw him. You hated him for a while after that, but you didn’t now, not when you knew this job was the only thing keeping him alive. You’d talked about it once, what you would’ve done if your positions were reversed and you’d been the one picked, but he’d gone silent when it came to him imagining you in his place.

You thought it’d been jealousy even though he was the winner, the idea of you having everything he had so unfair after a lifetime of being overlooked, so terrifying even in its fantasy, that he never even entertained the idea for fun. ‘Never change, just be happy where you are,’ he’d told you that night as you lay on the roof of his building, the thing a giant, sprawling cage where you were only allowed to enter the stairwell, that was it. You turned your head to face him, and when he did the same back, you realized that you didn’t recognize him anymore.

You pulled up to that same building, needing to pay the meter since you had no access to the lot as a visitor after closing, and you saw him waiting by the door for you; he was talking to someone else on the phone, his back slouched against the wall and his free hand waving around as he spoke, but his voice was still soft even in his apparent distress, enough so that you couldn’t make out a word he said. You waved to get his attention when he started to pace, and he quickly said goodbye to his caller before readjusting his earpiece and walking calmly over to you.

‘Partner troubles?’ you joked only because you knew he was single, he always made sure to let you know whenever he was sleeping with someone again.

‘Doctor,’ he answered stiffly, and your laugh died in your throat with a rough cough. ‘C’mon, they’re open late but they stop serving food around 10, I haven’t eaten today.’

‘Old habits die hard, even with all the money in the world,’ you sighed as he fixed his collar and made sure he looked presentable again, but he had nothing to say to that one. ‘I see you’re wearing glasses again?’

He looked down at his detachable glasses where they hung against his chest, and he lifted them up and reattached them so they sat on the bridge of his nose. ‘Got the surgery a while back, these are fake,’ he admitted, but he at least looked a bit more like his old self with them on, as dumb as they looked.

‘Now all you need to do is fix your bangs, then you’ll be recognizable again,’ you teased, reaching up to mess with his hair, but he leaned away seriously, he wouldn't let you make him look disheveled when he was out and about. It killed the mood a bit, and his glasses were placed against his chest again as you walked, the tea shop just a few blocks away like he promised but not nearly close enough all the same. You weren’t fond of places like this, everything was always way too expensive and bragged too much about their superior blends compared to other chain businesses, but they were always the same in the end.

He gave the barista a small wave as he approached the counter, and she did the same to him, but there was no comfortable familiarity in their actions, just them going through the motions. You didn’t hear what he ordered, there were too many words and he wanted it way too specific for someone who used to down cup after cup of black coffee like it was water, so by the time it was your turn you weren’t sure if you should ask for the same and just accept whatever it was, or attempt to come up with something yourself. He gave you a nudge when you took too long, and you just smiled and glanced at the menu again.

‘I’ll just have a water for now, I’ll decide in a bit,’ you told her, and she rolled her eyes and got started on his order all the same. He wasn't happy with that, but you weren’t going to pretend you could understand the gibberish hanging above you. You examined it more closely, you were never much of a tea drinker to begin with, but he wanted the company, so by the time your small cup of overpriced and outsourced mineral water was placed in front of you, you downed it and asked for the only kind of tea you recognized. She rolled her eyes again at your simplicity, but you were there for him, by the time you came back she’d probably be working somewhere else, none of this mattered.

You took your order and grabbed a corner booth while his sandwich was being made, he never liked to sit near windows, and he surprised you again when he walked right past you and grabbed the empty table by the door. You let out a small breath and joined him without a word, and even though he picked his seat he still looked uncomfortable as he popped open the tab and took a sip. Your tea was still too hot so you just let it sit, preferring to watch him and take in all the other things he’d changed now that he was in front of you.

You already knew it’d be weird to get used to him just never wearing glasses anymore, he usually wore them when he was around you to save a pair of contacts, the only piece of that part of him the fake ones hanging around his neck. You reached across the table and took them while he ate, knowing he’d be unable to stop you lest he risk wrecking his sandwich, and you put them on and stared through slightly smudged plastic lenses at him. ‘Give them back,’ he said softly once he’d swallowed, but he didn't look too in a rush when he saw the way they looked on you.

‘These are the same frames from before,’ you noted, taking them off to pull them apart and put them back together a few times to test the magnets within, ‘the ones you wore when we graduated.’

‘They looked vintage, it makes for a good accessory,’ he simply said before he took another bite, a small sip of tea just barely washing it down; maybe he didn’t even like the taste, like it was something else AIA had recommended to him as part of his cleanse to keep him as healthy as possible.

‘Well, you did graduate what, two decades ago? Pretty vintage now if you ask me,’ you stated, his age making him wince even though it was a testament to how he was still here, still breathing. ‘So, how much did the surgery set you back this time?’

‘The company paid for it, actually, I just had to fill out a few forms and explain why it was beneficial for me to be able to see without assistance, and I was booked the next day,’ he said as he finished eating, a slightly larger sip this time making the wince return, he truly didn’t like it.

‘Sounds nice, you know how long it took me to even see a doctor to fix my carpal tunnel.’ You weren’t bitter about it anymore, but he glanced at you all the same.

‘You know I would’ve been able to help had you come to me,’ he reminded you, he always did when you brought it up, and again you declined it even though it was long over and done with.

‘And you know I never would’ve been able to pay you back if you’d taken me to one of those fancy doctors who charge by the minute.’ You tried your own tea but it was still a bit too hot, it burning your tongue a little, and even then you could taste that it was more water than tea, flavourless drivel.

‘I’ve never once asked you to pay me back,’ he said seriously as he sat up, his relaxed posture changing into something more stiff until the wince returned and he sat back again, his hand going to his stomach. ‘Sorry- I apologize for raising my voice, that was rude,’ he corrected himself quickly, and it was almost frustrating to see him like this, maybe this would be the last time, for real. ‘But you know I wouldn’t have asked it from you, just like you never did from me.’

‘So that’s what this is, one big payback for all the times I flipped the bill, drove you into town for every appointment when you could barely stand, sat by you until they kicked me out for the night, is that it?’ His eyes met yours, and you saw him again in them as he reached for your hand; you didn’t move away, just waited for him to touch you when he stopped, glanced towards the counter like he was afraid of anyone seeing him be an actual person again.

He made the motion to push his hair behind his left ear even though it was so short now, his earpiece blinking to signal a call that he then silenced, and he distracted himself with more bad tea until he was ready to answer you. ‘It was never about that,’ he began, but he was looking at the table instead of at you, ‘you know I never kept tabs on any of it, so neither should you.’

‘Then why do we keep doing this, Le- fuck, Lighting? You’ve got a great life now, new job, new friends, new you, why am I still the one thing you hang on to? Because you can tell me the truth? Because I know the real you, and you know that I keep coming back whenever you need someone to talk to about the bad days? I thought AIA could do all that for you now, be your new therapist you can let all that bullshit onto, so unless you tell me why, I’m outta here.’ He was silent while you talked, just listening, and when he didn’t speak you just sighed and stood until he was babbling and reaching for you.

‘Stop, alright, just wait, can we- can I go back to your place tonight? We can talk there, just… not here, not where she can hear us,’ he muttered lowly, his hand covering his face and blocking him from view of the only other person, and you let out another sigh before picking up your tea and motioning for him to get up. He did, his tea brought with him even though he didn’t like it, and you switched with him and headed for the door before he could protest. It was awful, whatever blend he was praising was certainly not this one, but you drank it all the same for him as he caught up to you.

You didn’t speak on the way back to your car, and for a moment you wondered if maybe he’d follow you home when he sat down next to you, his earpiece off and tossed among the change on your dash when your teas filled up the cupholders. This was serious, he always had that stupid thing with him in case of any emergencies, and you didn’t comment on it as you drove back to your apartment. It was nothing fancy like where he probably lived, you still hadn’t gotten to visit him, that was yet another part of his new life you weren’t allowed into, but it was still decent and had a nice view of the water if you did say so yourself.

You parked and he didn’t bring his earpiece with him, even his phone left behind on his seat when you got up to leave. ‘Hey, don’t you need that?’ you asked him before his door could close, and he checked the time before shaking his head and setting it back down. You weren’t going to argue, if someone decided to break into your car you wouldn’t lose much aside from the vehicle compared to his phone full of precious information, but maybe AIA really was that good, maybe she - it - would be able to save it all before anything got leaked.

You pursed your lips and grabbed it after all, just in case, at least the headset would be ignored amongst the change.

He already knew the code to get inside and wasted no time in getting to the elevator, he was in an actual hurry this time, and you felt his phone vibrate in your pocket as soon as you approached him. ‘Oh, here, don’t want you losing your job over something stupid like a data breach if this gets stolen,’ you said as you tossed it to him, no photo under the caller ID as someone called Melody tried to get a hold of him, and he stared at it before hanging up on her.

‘I don’t want to talk to anyone else tonight,’ he whispered as he shut off his phone entirely and shoved it into his pockets, and by the time you reached your floor he’d asked you to do the same. Something felt wrong as you approached your door, he was never this disconnected anymore, and you only had a second to open your mouth to ask what was wrong when he pressed you against your door and kissed you urgently as soon as you shut it.

You were used to this, every time it got bad he came to you for something no one else could give him no matter how much time passed, but you couldn’t ignore that pit in your stomach as you groaned uncomfortably against him and pushed him gently away.

‘Not tonight,’ you told him firmly, and he whimpered before trying again anyway, mouthing along your jaw in order to convince you. ‘Leo, please, I’m tired of this…’

‘Just once more, and if you hate me that much I’ll never come back again,’ he whispered desperately against you, the old him showing again and making your chest hurt; this was a part of him you didn’t miss, this part that said this to everyone who didn’t return his feelings, guilted them into a pity trap outside of his sickness, and you ran your hand along the back of his neck before taking him by the hand and leading him to your bedroom as you always did. He made sure to leave his phone and yours by the door though, he didn’t want to be disturbed, and honestly neither did you.

You didn’t let him start up again once your door was shut, but you did start to strip away everything that wasn't him, from his glasses to the fashionable scarf he didn’t need to the necklaces he’d bought at some local craft market because the gems promoted healing, all of these things not the Leo you knew and chipped off one by one until he was just in his shirt and pants. You went for the former next but he stopped you, instead helped you do the same, and when you both had trouble getting out of your too tight pants the mood was lightened when you collapsed onto the bed with them tangled around your legs.

He kissed you again while you laughed, and this time you didn’t argue against it, needing him just as much as he needed this, you always did, which is why you had yet to say no to him before tonight. His kisses felt easier again, this wasn't love but it was still something strong between you, something that he had yet to find a way to replace. His weight was comfortable over you as it always was, your legs wrapped around each other until you were pressed together again, and your fingers ran through his short hair as you let out a dissatisfied moan.

‘I miss your long hair,’ you whispered when you took a breath, and he sighed as he always did when you brought it up.

‘AIA likes it short, says it suits me better based on my face shape,’ he finally explained after many years and many more excuses as to why he supposedly liked it better.

‘AIA doesn't see you like I do.’ He stilled in the middle of kissing from your jaw to your earlobe, and you saw the way his eyes shifted the way they always did when he was doing calculations in his head; you were getting too honest, you hadn’t been able to keep him back then and you knew you could never keep him now, but something about tonight was making you want to try. You played with the hair at the nape of his neck when he looked at you, just waited for him to say something to make this nothing but a mutually beneficial transaction again, just like it'd been that first time years and years ago, and he looked ready to speak when he instead sat up and turned away from you. ‘I'm sorry, alright? I know this isn't anything, I didn't mean to-’

‘They've got me on a stent now,’ he said to the comforter as he played with it, and you sat up next to him and just waited. ‘That's what I saw her about this morning, they just put it in today.’ He lifted up his shirt to show you, and you followed the tube until it disappeared back under the dark fabric. ‘There's a lot I can hide from other partners, but I can't hide this, now that it's this bad I need to do injections every day…’ He gripped his shirt until he pulled it back down, his expression contorting into one of anger instead of misery. ‘I don't get it, I'm better off now, I was able to take care of everyone but myself, why can't I fix myself?’

‘Because you're not broken,’ you insisted firmly, your hands finding his even when he pulled away.

‘Termical fucking cancer sounds pretty broken to me,’ he sneered, disgusted with himself for still being sick after so much money tossed at too many doctors to name over too many years.

‘No, stop it, alright? Just stop, you know I-’

‘What? You what?’

You shoved him onto his back, your hands trembling over his shoulders as you stared down at the slight lift of his shirt where the tube traveled over his skin. ‘You know I've never seen you that way,’ you confessed to him, your honesty finally building up against the dam until it began to overflow, and for once you had his undivided attention without his phone or other people around to interrupt you. ‘Not even at the beginning, before you knew, back when it was just us barely passing that class; we always said it was gunna be us against the world, that if one of us got a job we'd help the other out since it was all so new, and then you…

‘You just had to come out here, and start working for them, and I was so happy for you even when you couldn't get me in cause I knew you were being taken care of. But then, the haircut, and the outfits, and those fucking glasses- who are you? "Lightning”? Who even is that? Because it's not you, I'm the only one who still knows you, Galileo, and I never wanted you to change out here, you never should've had to just to get these people to look at you, because I always have, I always have…’

There it was, everything was laid bare and out in the open for him now, and you shifted so you wouldn't put too much pressure on him knowing that he was hooked up. He didn't speak for the longest time, still doing those calculations before finally he sighed, looked away. You felt cold, and you sat back fully to give him room to sit up again, Leo finding your floor quite interesting as he tried to figure out how to word his thoughts. ‘Changing into this is what's kept me alive for so long,’ he said after what felt like an eternity, and your fists clenched over your knees. ‘You might not like it, and think that I'm different, but ever since AIA helped me fix everything about myself I didn't like I've been happier, healthier, more social.

‘I don't sit around alone anymore, waiting for you to pick up your phone because you've always been miles ahead of me, and I tried, I tried really fucking hard to get them to let you come with me, but you don't want to be where I am, not now that I know what this place is.’ He went silent a moment, gave you a small glance before returning his eyes back to the floor. ‘I know you don't like me anymore, I know it because I'm not stupid, but I never needed you to like me, not as long as you kept- we kept doing…’

His voice went quiet but in a new way, one that wasn't Lightning, but Galileo again, your Leo, and underneath it all you saw that he was still there, still waiting for you just like you'd always been waiting for him. ‘Why did you never say anything?’ you asked carefully, you couldn't mess this up now, and his hand rested over his stomach as he met your eye.

‘Why didn't you?’

You could only stare, he knew why you couldn't, and you knew why he didn't.

‘What do we do now? Can AIA solve this one?’ you tried to joke, but at the mention of her name he steeled; his hands found your wrists as he pulled you back overtop of him, this was new, and your cheeks flushed as you both adjusted until you were sat on his lap for once.

‘She can't solve everything,’ he whispered like he knew something, this was no joke to him, and you linked your fingers with his just so he'd stop frowning like that.

‘Then what do we do? Because if you're content with this, if we do this again, and then tomorrow I'm back to just being the last one you call when the party's over, then… I don't think I can do this anymore, not after what you said.’ You held him hard so he'd know you were serious this time, you'd almost ended it so many times before but it'd never stuck, but you both knew that this time it would if he just said the word.

‘You were never the last one I called, not even tonight,’ he told you, and you felt your heart clench in time with your hands over his.

‘You didn't make that clear enough, y'know,’ you laughed with a small sob, and he reached up to bring your mouth back down to his. This kiss felt different from the rest, it was honest, not just desperate for whatever you had before, and you cherished it deeply as you started to rut against him, ready to continue what you'd started a little less miserably now. He groaned against your mouth until you moved a little too hard, the groan turning from something pleasurable to pained as he broke away to gasp. ‘Sorry, guess we might have to be careful for a while,’ you cringed as he rubbed his stomach with a wince.

‘Just until I'm used to it, they told me that it shouldn't be too obstructive in my daily life,’ he hissed, and you watched him before shifting down until you were parting his legs and finding a comfortable place between them. He watched you back as you toyed with the drawstring of his pants, your eyes fond of what you found as he lifted his shirt with one hand and threaded his fingers through your hair with the other.

‘I've always liked your tummy, but I thought it was too personal to say,’ you confessed as you kissed him just under his belly button, the soft hair there tickling your chin as he let out a nervous chuckle.

‘I know I'm not getting abs anytime soon with this,’ he muttered, he was always so self-conscious about the way he looked back then too, and you gave him another kiss before placing your hand over the one in your hair.

‘Good, lemme keep just this, at least,’ you pleaded so gently that he had no choice but to agree, and when he nodded you took the drawstring between your teeth and pulled it until the small bow was no more. He sighed as you started to strip him in return, his clothes much more loose and relaxed than the outfit you'd chosen, and it was nothing but easy as you freed him of everything until he was bare before you. You got to see the full extent of his chemo like this, and it did hurt to see him still sick after everything he'd been doing to prevent this, but this had to be the final step, didn't it? You'd trust that AI if she was right about this, if her smart algorithmic brain really did do the calculations and found the exact path to the end of all this, because, as you pressed kiss after kiss to his thighs until he was a whimpering mess against your pillows, you didn’t want to imagine life without him.

He wasn't used to being loved, even when this started it'd been hot and heavy and fast until you were sweating in the backseat of his old car; there had been no passion there, just the two of you laying there in fear that you'd just ruined everything if the other didn't feel the same. To avoid that outcome entirely you'd just played it off, made it seem like this was just some drunken fun between two friends, and instead of an afterglow you'd slowly gotten used to him just smoking beside you while you held yourself under the covers and pretended it was his arms around you. You wouldn't let that happen again, not tonight, not tomorrow, not any other night you decided, he was always yours and you were going to make sure that Silicon Valley kept Lightning, because you were going to keep Leo.

You took him into your mouth and started to bob, careful to keep him pressed into the sheets so he wouldn't move around too much, and you enjoyed the view as you glanced up and saw the way his back slightly arched, his eyes shut tight in bliss. It was rare you got to do any kind of foreplay, he was always so busy you tended to get the call, go find him at work, or wait for him to show up so you could quickly fuck and get back to your lives. Only sometimes, when the night was late and his slight touches were getting addicting, did he let you take your time, but never like this.

You'd jerk him off while you watched a movie, and he'd grind against you until you were panting and ready for more, but stuff like this? Where you could worship him slowly and really convey how much you wanted him through your touch, it was almost forbidden. You'd done it only once before, right after he'd gotten the job and you spent the night together to celebrate; he still drank back then, and you'd had too much as you got down on your knees and let him fuck your mouth until it almost came out, the only instance of, ‘I love you,’ that either of you had ever come that close to saying as he painted your tongue and smiling lips white. When he woke up the next morning not remembering the way he'd looked down at you with nothing but love in his eyes, you'd just rolled with it and pretended that you didn't remember either, just another fun night between friends, nothing more had hppened.

You moaned around him until he gripped your hair a little harder, his thighs tensing as he tried not to trap you between his writhing legs, and you lightly dragged your nails over goosebumped skin until his sighs grew louder. If this was really happening, if he was really going to stay instead of going back to his apartment to talk to AIA like she really knew him, then you'd make up for every second you pretended like this wasn't everything to you. You waited until he was just about to come, he was always easy to read in the way his hips would speed up and he'd hold you until you bruised, the only time he left his mark on you because everything else was too intimate, and you dragged your tongue up the underside of his twitching dick before pulling off with a pop.

‘Wh-why’d you stop?’ he moaned as his hips jutted the air to find you again, and you smiled at him before pulling your underwear down your legs and going for the bottle of lube you kept in your bedside dresser. You didn't answer him with words, his hands kept at bay as you placed them on your hips and made him watch as you stretched yourself open, giving him a proper show so he'd really know how badly you wanted him. His eyes started to lid as he thrusted against your inner thigh, just enough to keep him hard, and you got ready to line him up when he stopped you. ‘The condom’s in my wallet, should still be in my pants,’ he let you know, and you just shook your head before sinking down on him until he was almost crying out.

‘Tonight, you're mine, I wanna feel you,’ you whispered as you adjusted to his size, and he desperately clung to you as he felt your tight heat for the first time without the familiar barrier to keep you apart. The stent was still new, you couldn't take him apart the way you always imagined in your wildest fantasies where you'd been able to confess, and he couldn't fuck you as hard as he preferred thanks to the stress of work and pretending to be someone so soft and quiet in order to keep selling himself, but this would be perfect all the same you decided as you chose a spot on his shoulders and started to move. Your nails dug into his skin as you braced yourself on him, matching lines of red spreading out under his own hands on you, your breathing wild until you found a steady pace.

Each time he tried to thrust up you'd slow until he stopped again, a silent warning that was just as torturous on you as it was on him, but no matter what he wouldn't stop to the point where it was making your knees burn from the effort not to move. You begged him to be careful, your voice giving out as he held you a little tighter and got you to slam down a little harder against him, but he just shook his head just like you'd done. ‘You really think… I'm gunna stop now… that I know you're mine?’ he asked directly into your ear when your head dropped down beside his, and any other time you would've shivered from his words but the feeling of the tube brushing against your own stomach was making you nervous.

‘I don't wanna hurt you,’ you whined, but one sweet kiss to your neck shut you up so fast it made your head spin.

‘You've never treated me like I'm fragile before, don't start tonight,’ he implored of you before kissing you again, and only when he sucked a mark that everyone would be able to see did you answer him. You felt him smile against your neck before one arm came up to wrap around your back, his hand sprayed over your neck and trapping you in place as he took a deep breath and started fucking you in earnest, his other hand guiding your hips when you couldn't move at all. You had to fight to keep yourself from laying flat against him, just the bare amount of space between you so you wouldn't shift anything or worse, force the tape to lift right now of all times, and you let him show you just how much he wanted you right back until his hips were speeding up and he was gripping you so hard it was making you keen.

‘Don't pull out, I want everything from you,’ you panted when you felt him slow just a little, he was thinking about it, and he let out the most delectable noise you'd ever heard him make in your life. He sounded like he wanted to argue against it, maybe AIA had filled his head with so much sex ed. that the thought of sleeping with you like this had given him pause, and you sucked in your own deep breath before grabbing on tight and using all your weight to drag him onto his side. This was more like it, you knew he couldn't resist being on top of you especially after your dual confession, and you wrapped your legs around him and forced him to face the fact that he was also starving for this just as you were. You grinned cheekily up at him before he hunched down to kiss your neck again, his stent safe and his core working hard while he finished fucking you.

His hips stuttered to a hard stop as he came inside of you, your entire body shifted up with each final jut of his hips until he was finished, the feeling of his warmth spreading through you while he held you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded enough to push you over the edge. Your fingers curled over his short hair as he shakily lowered himself onto you, your legs unhooking but not letting him go as you wrapped them around his own instead, a silent plea to not get up and start his usual ritual of pulling out his vape now that he also stopped smoking. He obliged not because of you but because he wanted to, his voice soft again as he pushed your bangs out of your eyes and whispered sweet nothings that didn't feel like Leo or Lightning as he said them, maybe there was more of him that he’d never let you see before.

‘Y'know, AIA told me never to tell you, she thought that I'd ruin things,’ he said so quietly you almost couldn’t hear even though you were so close.

‘This is why I know you better than an AI, like how that tea you got tonight sucked ass,’ you finally told him, said tea now long cold on your counter, ‘so maybe you guys should work on making her a mouth so she knows what taste buds are.’

‘It's supposed to be great for my immune system now that I've switched meds,’ he explained, but you waved it off with a grimace.

‘Start injecting it too then, cause I saw your face every time you took a drink,’ you grumbled on his behalf, and he actually laughed a little before he attempted to sit up. ‘No, please, not yet.’

‘It's almost 10, I'm gunna miss my dose,’ was all he had to say to get you to let go, and the feeling of his come running down your thighs was a little less appreciated than you wanted as he walked back to the kitchen. You wiped yourself off on the closet piece of clothing you could find before joining him, the two of you naked and waiting as he took out his meds from his coat pocket. You hesitated before walking over to him, and he looked self-conscious again before allowing you to see what he had to do from now on; you weren't put off in the least, you'd seen him inject himself with worse to numb the pain as his illness got worse and his self-isolation took hold, and when he was done you brushed your fingertips over the spot where skin turned to tape.

‘Don't be ashamed of this, I wanna see you get better,’ you said without looking up, and he let out a shaky sigh that sounded like he might be holding in more than shame.

‘I'll have to get used to doing this at work, people will talk,’ he already dreaded, and you let your hands slide over his waist to his back as you pulled him even closer.

‘Then lie, say it's something new age that they'll easily believe, what's that dumbass thing people are saying now? Where they take like supplements and stuff and call it something stupid.’

‘Biohacking?’

‘Fuck that's so pretentious, just say that shit to anyone who asks and they'll buy it with that haircut, trust me,’ you promised dismissively, but instead of berating you for not only making fun of the people he knew but his hair again, or laughing because he knew it'd be true, he just remained silent. ‘Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to-’

‘You're the only one who's ever honest with me,’ he thought aloud then, and you looked up at him in surprise; for a second you swore you were staring up at the man you knew in college, one blink and he was gone again, but he wasn't gone, he was just older, and looked a little different, but he was still there.

‘It's LA, someone's gotta be a real person down here,’ you joked when you felt yourself get choked up, and you swallowed when his hand cupped your cheek and stopped you from looking away. He kissed you again, and there was no more desperation, no more lies, no more secrets apart from one, one you couldn't find the answer to on his tongue even though you could taste it, and when you heard a small ahem you jumped and covered yourself in a panic from the intruder. ‘The hell-?’

‘Sorry to interrupt, I just wanted to remind you that you have an early day ahead, so staying up too late doing strenuous activities will only delay your sleep and risk you injuring yourself in a most unfortunate manner,’ a stranger's voice from nowhere told you, and you looked wildly around before he walked over to his phone, covered the camera with his finger, and motioned for you to stay back.

‘Thank you, AIA, we were just saying goodnight,’ he told his phone, and your eyes snapped to the device in confusion, hadn't he turned it off? ‘I should be getting home, we're meeting with new potential clients tomorrow and we need to make sure she's fully charged for the trip.’

‘What, no time for a vape session with me out on the balcony?’ You tried not to let your voice waver but of course you failed, of course something would steal him away again now that he was yours.

‘Lightning has actually quit vaping, as the toxins inside do more harm than good based on-’

‘Yes, thank you, I was just gunna say that,’ he cut in before his phone could teach you all about the health hazards of something you didn't even do, and you could see the apology on his face as he kept hiding himself from the camera like she was… watching. ‘Yeah, I don't… I don't do that kinda thing anymore, just drink shitty tea if I feel like torturing myself.’

You laughed, which made him laugh, and for a moment you forgot about his phone until AIA reminded him of the time in case he had no clocks nearby. ‘Y'know, you can always just, spend the night like you used to do, and then we can get up early, maybe grab breakfast at that greasy diner that always manages to make the most perfect bacon while still burning the hell outta their toast,’ you suggested nervously, and he looked down at his phone before shutting it off again, no goodbye to AIA.

‘I haven't had actual bacon in months,’ he revealed as he walked back over to you, and you patted his stomach and started to lead him back to your bedroom.

‘Sounds like you're due, I'll set the alarm, okay? No wakeup calls from nosy AIs needed tomorrow.’ You left him just a moment to grab your own phone, and he frowned at it before nodding, letting you set the alarm so you'd have time to get that breakfast even though the drive was long and he was bound to regret it later when all that grease met the abundance of healthy foods he'd been choking down. You were already looking forward to it, and you didn't notice the way your phone switched to your contacts for just a moment when you set it down, a new name adding itself before it went back to your home screen, your focus only on him as he finally held you under the sheets just the way you'd always wanted.

#Ray's Readers #Ray's Requests #david dastmalchian #lightning afraid #lightning x reader #oh boy I hope that doesn't end up in too many wrong tags #this took me way longer than it should've because I made the mistake of watching a movie with Rhys and OH BOY was my heart torn between the

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smilesstardust · 1 year

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“I’m sorry, I seem to have missed where I asked for that” can I see this line? so excited for when this fic comes out!!

Hi! I’m so glad you sent me this one, the scene was one of the first things I wrote for this AU! It’s actually where this AU starts in my head, Ava’s first day with the Gaffney dance company!

She could do this.

Ava took a deep breath as she looked up at the Gaffney Theatre. The building was far too modern for her tastes, all harsh edges and sharp corners, though she did appreciate the glass. It reminded her of the Royal Opera House in London, a home she was unlikely to be going back to any time soon.

She pulled her bag tighter over her shoulder and walked on in.

The reception was all cool tones of white and pale blue, but still managed to feel comfortable and inviting. The main desk was staffed by an older woman, who was stood tall behind it as she rolled her eyes at the red haired man in front of her.

"Can I help you?" The woman asked Ava, noticing her hovering.

"I’m Ava Bekker. I’m supposed to start work here today as a choreographer?" She said, approaching the desk.

"Hi, I’m Will." The man introduced himself shaking her hand a little too enthusiastically for her taste. "I’m the company’s resident doctor. I think it’s so cool you’re here, I-"

"Artistic director is on his way down." The woman told Ava, cutting him off. "Don’t you have a patient or something?" She raised an eyebrow at Will, causing him to hurry off through a set of double doors behind the desk, leaving Ava stood alone.

"You can take a seat over there while you wait." She nodded towards a set of couches.

"Thank you." Ava tried to smile politely, swallowing her nerves. "I didn’t catch your name?"

The woman exhaled sharply, letting out a slight hum, which Ava couldn’t tell if it was good or bad. "Probably because I didn’t throw it. Trudy, but most folks around here just call me Platt."

"Well, thank you Trudy." Ava said, taking a seat.

Ava sat in silence for a few minutes, until Trudy spoke again. "So, how did they rope you in to filling the choreographer job? It’s been a few years since the last guy left."

"I had to retire from performing." Ava didn’t want to mention the accident, didn’t want to have to explain what happened. "I was contacted and offered the job, and I didn’t have a reason to say no."

"Ava Bekker, that’s why I know your name. I read about your injury. Tough break." She sighed sympathetically. Despite Ava doing her best not to bring up the injury, her unfairly gained reputation preceded her. Years of hard work and dedication disregarded all because she had been dropped on her face. Which was hardly her fault, since her ex had been her emergency replacement partner for one night and apparently hadn’t been able to stand being alone in the same room as her long enough to rehearse before they went on stage. Not even for one of the most important performances of her career. Her final performance, as it had turned out.

Ava didn’t respond, though it didn’t seem like Trudy expected her to. There wasn’t a lot that could be said. She’d got hurt and it had ended her career. It sucked, but nobody wanted to hear her admit that. She was simply supposed to move on with her life and forget about it as much as she could.

Ava wasn’t waiting for long before a sour looking man walked out of the same double doors Will had left through. His hair was a mess and his eyes had what looked like permanent large bags under them, suggesting sleeping was something he didn’t do much of. He had a sour look on his face as he greeted Trudy, before walking over to Ava.

Despite his tired appearance, he seemed young for an artistic director. Probably not much older than Ava herself. He introduced himself sharply as Connor Rhodes, and gestured for her to follow him.

He took her on a tour of the building, walking faster than the pace she could comfortably keep up with. He only spoke to point out certain rooms, not engaging with her at all unless she asked a question.

"And this is your office." He said, stopping at a sparsely furnished room, just containing a desk and chair. "Mine is next door. Class starts in ten minutes. I’ve been doing all of the choreographer’s work since the last one left, so you’re going to shadow me for the next few days before taking over."

She opened her mouth to ask about scheduling, when Connor cut her off. "Look, I’m not trying to be rude but I don’t expect you to be here long. Basically none of the creative staff we’ve had over the years have stayed more than a season, if they even lasted that long, and we’re a lot different than the ballet company you came from. Very few of our dancers are classically trained, or were even professionally trained before they joined us. We’re a lot less uptight than the english royal ballet company and way more experimental so I don’t know how well you’ll fit."

Ava didn’t really know how to react, and had to bite back her first urge to correct him on the name of the Royal Ballet. "Gee, if only I had done research into this company before making the life altering decision to move halfway around the world and take the job." She deadpanned after a moment, folding her arms pointedly at him.

"I don’t need a choreographer, I’ve been doing the job alongside mine fine for years now. And even if I did want someone to come in, you would not have been my first choice. I don’t think you being our choreographer is a good idea, or even something that’s going to stick anywhere close to long term." He paused. "However, the board hired you anyway and I’m not about to pick a fight with them. But I’m not going to let you change what makes us special and I’m definitely not going to go easy on you or hold your hand and explain what you should already know."

She was slightly taken aback. "I’m sorry, I seem to have missed where I asked for that?" She choked.

"First sentence that came up when I searched your name told me all I needed to know. I know you’ve never done this before. The whole point of you being here is so I don’t have the work of three people on my plate, which means I’m not going to be doing any of your work for you." He told her. Ava was slightly relieved that his only issue with her ability to do the job was her lack of experience and nothing to do with incorrect assumptions about her mental capacity following her injury.

"I don’t expect you to do my job for me. I haven’t been a choreographer before but I have choreographed routines, taught classes and staged performances. The environment and role might be different but I do know what I’m doing." She assured him. "Now can we get to work?"

Connor huffed in response. "Fine. Class is in studio three." He said, walking off down the hall in the direction they had come from.

From this list

#dance company au #one chicago #chicago med #chicago pd #chicago fire #ava bekker #connor rhodes #will halstead #trudy platt

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dreamy625 · 2 years

Text

This rockstar life - 3.12 Cloud

Words: 928

Content: More angst :/

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

There had been a black cloud of tension lurking over the house all day. Steve wasn’t angry at me, he was angry at himself. Last night he should have been at a party where he would have met movie people, making contacts as the first step towards his dream of writing music for films and theatre. But instead, paralysed by anxiety and self-doubt, he’d sat in the basement studio downing double vodkas until I’d practically had to carry him to bed. Hungover and miserable, he’d skulked upstairs until lunchtime, communicating only in grunts when I took him water and toast, then got up and spent the afternoon stomping around the house ostensibly getting ready to go back to Dublin, but mostly slamming cupboard doors, throwing things around, and swearing. Periodically the stomping and slamming would be replaced by discontented and discordant guitar noise (you couldn’t even call it music) that if he’d hoped would be soothing, apparently failed utterly in its purpose. Other than asking if he wanted lunch (‘No. I’ll get something later’), I left him to it. From past experience I knew that any attempt to ‘help’ when he was in this mood would most likely lead to an explosion of the pent-up frustration, whereas left alone he would eventually calm down to the point where he actively sought comfort. Unfortunately today this process was interrupted by a phone call from Peter. I didn’t hear what was said, but I heard the swearing that came afterwards, and then quite a loud thump, followed by silence.

Worried, I flew downstairs to see what had happened. From what I saw, I think he had kicked a guitar case down the basement stairs but maybe slipped as he did so; he was sitting at the top of the steps, scowling and rubbing his knee.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, you’ve gone completely white. How badly does it hurt?”

“It’s fine. Leave me alone.”

“Do you want some ice?”

“No.”

Ignoring him, I go and fetch some ice, wrapped in a teatowel. He takes it and presses it to his leg but says, “I don’t need a nursemaid.”

I know I shouldn’t bite, but I can’t stop myself from retorting, “Clearly you do right now.”

“For fucksake,” he snaps, “why are you always bossing me around?”

“I’m not…”

“Everyone’s always telling me what to do, trying to control me.”

Okay, I think this is more about whatever just happened with Mensch, not me and the icepack, but he’s not here and I am. I go and fetch a pack of cigarettes from the living room and light two. Really I don’t smoke all that much but I think this situation needs smokers' solidarity. Steve accepts the cigarette and takes a long drag.

“Nothing I do ever goes right.”

His anger seems to have deflated and he just sounds sad and bitter.

“It’s never good enough. Everyone’s always so… disappointed.” He rolls his eyes and does air quotes on the last word.

Now I know that the phonecall has triggered this. The worst thing in the world to me is people being disappointed and so I would never, ever, say it to him.

“People aren’t disappointed, they’re worried about you. It’s not the same thing.” I wait to see how he takes this before I say anything more. No reaction, he’s just staring vacantly at the wall. “We love you and we want you to be happy. But you don’t have to change, or live up to some perfect Steve that doesn’t exist. We, I, love you just the way you are. You are enough.”

“Did you get that off Oprah?” he sneers.

“Probably. But it’s still true.”

“Nobody could love me. I’m such a fucking mess.”

“That is not true.”

He gestures to the Marlboro packet and I pass it over. Watching him light the cigarette from the stub of the last one, I remember our first real conversation, while smoking in an overlooked corner of the clinic grounds like schoolkids hiding behind the bikesheds.

"I have loved you from the day I met you, when you were so, so broken but still strutting around like… Keith Richards… in those bloody cowboy boots."

“I wasn’t that bad,” he mutters defensively.

“You were. You were ‘how is he still breathing’ broken. But you couldn’t bear for anyone to see it, so everyday you got up and put on this rockstar persona,” I feel my eyes start to tear up at the memory, “and I could see how much effort it took to keep that up. You were… magnificent.”

Steve sighs, “Everyone else thought I was an arrogant arsehole.”

“Yeah, you did a very good impression of one. But you didn’t fool me.” A hint of a smile escapes, and an even tinier suggestion of one appears on Steve’s face in response.

“You should have run like hell in the opposite direction.”

“Probably.” I shrug.

“You’re too good for me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re… amazing.” With a pained expression he shakes his head. “You deserve… everything… the best of everything.” Another shake. “And besides, I’m as messed up as you are, just in different ways!” That was meant to be lighthearted, but it comes out rather forlorn.

Steve reaches out and takes my hand.

“My beautiful girl.”

We fall into an awkward hug, still sitting on the hall floor. This bond between us feels at once so strong and so fragile. My chest aches; I don’t think I ever realised with anyone else that heartache is a real thing.

#steve clark #steve clark fanfic #steve clark fanfiction #def leppard fanfic #def leppard fanfiction #this rockstar life fic

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soft-blankets108 · 8 months

Text

Here I introduce my first ever watch through of the hunger games. These notes contain all four movies (not including the prequel because I watched that first in theatres). They’re very much made directed at my friends so I’m mainly just bookmarking them.

Thoughts while watching the hunger games

Movie 1: The Hunger Games

1. I already know who dies so no surprises there

2. Are there only white people in this goddamn movie???

3. Gale is weird

4. What the fuck did Gale do to get his name in there that many times?? Is that just how it works??

5. Peeta(?) seems sweet

6. I know him and Katniss know each other but I don’t know how they know each other

7. The drunk(?) guy seems like a dick but in the way he’ll have a redeemable character arc later on

8. I agree with a random tweet I saw now where they were talking about the importance of Katniss’s role in district 12, how she was honoured because she hunted not because she volunteered

9. Katniss hasn’t even been in the hunger games yet and she’s already traumatized. Who did this to her?

10. Movie ends rather abruptly, I assume because that’s how the book ends

11. The actual games were interesting but I hope they go more into the political side of things (I know they do)

12. Rue’s death was sad but I already knew how she died so nothing new I guess

13. I didn’t know the other guy from district 11 saved Katniss, that’s pretty cool, lessens the divide between districts

14. Peeta was alright, I can see them trying to set up a love “triangle” between gale him and Katniss but I don’t actually like Gale so I don’t care

15. Weirdly enough I like the romance aspects in the movie outside of the relationship with Gale because it’s leaves the audience and the characters questioning what parts of their relationship is real and what is acting

16. Why doesn’t every tribute get their own mentor??? That’s how it worked in the prequel movie. Wonder what changed.

17. I like them calling the Capitals bluff, two victors or no victors

18. The first two or three hunger games movies are apparently leaving Netflix on January 20th (weird time) so glad I decided to watch it now I guess

19. It did feel like there was a bit of explaining throughout the movie like this is what these berries are and the weird wasps. I appreciate it and don’t at the same time.

Movie 2: Catching Fire

1. I’m surprised Katniss even wants to pick up a bow again. But it makes sense that she still hunts.

2. Uhg. Gale is back.

3. Did I mention I didn’t like Gale?

4. Was there a district 13 in the prequel?

5. Oh my god shut the fuck up snow 🙄🙄🙄

6. “This is sacred ground” in reference to the victor village. Ma’am that looks like a dumpster fire.

7. Break because they’re testing the fire alarms in my dorm and I can’t hear shit

8. Cinna, the wardrobe guy. I did not know his name before this moment

9. How often do the hunger games happen? Once a year? Every four years like olympics?

10. “Almost thought that kiss was real”. What the fuck Peeta

11. The…. Mayor(?) of district twelve and Haymitch seem to have the weirdest relationship. They hate each other. They’re coworkers. They seem to get along sometimes?

12. Effie! That’s her name.

13. Okay Peeta and Katniss are kinda cute

14. I’m a lesbian and I would date Peeta what the fuck is Katniss doing thinking about Gale

15. Rue :((((

16. Good for district 11, sad for that guy

17. God Katniss couldn’t sound more like she was reading off of cards

18. Sewing the seeds of rebellion I see

19. Still don’t like Gale even if he is pro-rebellion. He’s just kinda an asshole.

20. Dude this is just like star wars

21. Peeta is a sweetheart

22. NOTHING IN THIS MEDICAL SITUATION IS CLEAN! It’s a miracle Gale doesn’t have like 300 types of infection by now

23. Who’s letting white men over 80 be in charge?? (This is about snow) dudes old as fuck. Reminds me of someone

24. I agree with Haymitch “you could live a hundred lifetimes and never deserve that boy” like yes king go off (said to Katniss about Peeta)

25. Big fan of Peeta being the damsel. “Peeta has to survive, we have to do everything we can to save him” << Katniss

26. Haymitch does seem like a pretty cool guy, the first movie did him dirty

27. Quit kissing Gale girl!!!! You could do so much better

28. Wow what a surprise that Katniss is the female tribute! I’m glad they went through the process of pulling her name anyway, I only wish they had a big bowl with a bunch of pieces of paper with her name on it. Really would build suspense lol

29. I wish to be a non binary person in the hunger games universe. I think it would be funny.

30. Effie is weird. Delusional and also kind of nice?

31. Hey I know that guy

32. I think the horse in this scene is my new favourite character

33. I love Peeta he’s so cool

34. This is the most awkward elevator ride I’ve ever been a part of

35. How and why is there a picture of Rue there?

36. HOLY SHIT KATNISS

37. Effie looking Katniss dead in the eyes and saying “you would have been the most beautiful bride” is so fucking rude. Way to be confident in her skills

38. They removed the chairs from the interview stage like no more standing you did it once

39. Cinna is cool and awesome. There is no way he’s alive by the end of this

40. As someone trained in CPR that fucker is not pushing hard enough on Peeta’s chest, break some ribs man

41. NOT a fan of the blisters they have from the fog. I guess they aren’t fans either

42. Oh good they’re gone just like that

43. Katniss really chose the least good weapon, what happens when she runs out of arrows? I think the only thing worse might be throwing knives

44. No one deserves Peeta, what a sweetheart

45. I like that all the disasters or whatever chase then inwards towards the cornucopia

46. Interesting that they take the bodies out of the arena now

47. Big fan of the jabberjays I like the uses for them

48. Knowing that they both live is confusing (Peeta and Katniss)

49. I like the girl who sharpened her teeth for this, she’s cool

50. I like that we’re actually getting to know the game master for this run

51. Oh my god Gale 🙄🙄🙄

52. Are there no countries outside of panam??? Like at all?

53. Well that was fun, end of catching fire

Movie 3: Mockingjay Pt. 1

1. Interesting opening

2. Soundtrack has been pretty good throughout the movie

3. Where is my boy. I know he’s in the capital but where is he.

4. I Don’t Trust The Rebellion

5. I agree with Katniss about Peeta

6. I kind of hope we see Peeta’s POV from w/in the capital, not because he’s my favourite character but because that would been a great scene. If it’s not in the movie I know there’s some fanfic about it somewhere

7. I like that they’re showing Katniss’s struggles with mental health, adds a sense of realism that would otherwise be missing from the story

8. I wish they had shown more people with physical disabilities, like you’re telling me none of the victors that were chosen had lost an arm or an eye or something

9. Very cool scene in District 12, very tragic but I like how they did the scene

10. Where’s Haymitch at

11. President Snow shut the fuck up challenge

12. I’ve seen this scene before with Peeta on the monitor giving an interview. Better with context lol

13. Rebels were quick to call Peeta a traitor despite the fact that they all know the capitals media is manufactured to portray what they want the audience to see. Of course it’s propaganda.

14. Gale > “maybe he was forced” of fucking course he was?! The fuck? Do they think Peeta is just chatting and supporting the people who nearly got him and Katniss killed for fun??

15. “And my sister gets to keep her cat” ha saw that one coming lol

16. Effie! I kind of like her

17. Can’t believe I actually Haymitch. He at least wouldn’t lie to Katniss

18. I think Effie looks better like this than in her ridiculous outfits

19. God Gale looks so awkward while Katniss and Effie are talking. His face nooooooo

20. Cinna :((((((((((((( fuck

21. What the fuck is this propaganda it’s so stupid

22. She’s not the best actor maybe

23. Haymitch!!!

24. I like BeeTee

25. The absolute audacity the rebellion president has to say that Katniss is an untrained civilian

26. FOGGY NELSON!?!??!??! He can’t fucking speak?!? I must destroy the capital. Foggy my boy what have they done to you

27. They’re gonna bomb that hospital.

28. I’ve seen this speech before

29. I don’t like the rebellion. I want the capital overthrown but Karl Marx is occasionally right and they give me the wrong vibe

30. You always forget how big moose are until you see them. That might be a reindeer.

31. Poor Peeta. I miss him. God he looks terrible. :(

32. The guy from supergirl is also in the filming group. Did they say they wanted sidekicks only? Only in superhero tv shows

33. Oh I like the hanging tree song this is cool

34. The dam blowing up is awesome, I like how they used the song for the scene

35. Can president snow be dead yet

36. Peeta no!!!!!!!! I support his rights and wrongs

37. Awwwww Prim. She went back for the cat. I would’ve gone back for Monte I understand

38. Prim’s gonna be a doctor!!! You go girl! She definitely will live!! (She’s gotten too much character development in this movie)

39. Finnick :(((( (I keep calling him Fennec in my head)

40. How long has district 13 been underground? When were they bombed?

41. Oh the white roses! I kind of love that, it’s really cool. In a snow is sinister and good (bad?) villain

42. Peeta better not die I will kill people.

43. With half an hour remaining (plus credits) I see where you both were coming from, liking it and not liking it

44. I just kind of feel bad for Finnick

45. WHAT

46. THE PRESIDENT JUST ALLOWS PEOPLE TO RAPE THE VICTORS

47. WHAT THE FUCK

48. PRESIDENT SNOW SHOULD FUCKING DIE ALREADY CLUB

49. There’s no way the squad rescuing Peeta succeeds.

50. Finnick really is just talking shit about the president on tv love that for him. He’s not even reading from a script this is just years of anger lol

51. Katniss going “president snow can you hear me” just sounds like the beginning to the most awkward zoom call imaginable

52. President snow reminds me of Count Dooku

53. Katniss :(((((((

54. God I hate the president (rebel edition) she’s so manipulative with everything she says

55. I’m like 90% sure she’s evil

56. Something is not right with Peeta. He looks so hurt and sad and starved. And he’s trying to kill Katniss but go off king idk

57. Peeta no my boy what did they do to my boy my sweet boy

58. All presidents shut the fuck up challenge

59. I like the POV camera angles in this series, they’re very good

60. Is Peeta the guy from five nights at Freddy’s or is that someone else?

61. Overall I did enjoy the movie, it gave the story time to breathe that it desperately needed, a break from most of the action while still keeping it interesting.

Movie 4: Mockingjay Pt. 2

1. Prim!!! I like that they sent her in, Katniss’s family is his family in a lot of ways

2. My boy no :( “she’s a monster, she’s a mutt”

3. The president has bad vibes (rebellion edition) Katniss > “you’ve seen what I can do. Send me to district 2” and her just saying “yes I have” is weird and creepy

4. Shut up about the stupid love triangle bullshit!!! Gale there’s no way you can ever been the one Katniss chooses

5. Gale saying “I don’t think they used any rule book when they highjacked Peeta” in defence of bombing medics and wounded soldiers on the other side is just admitting you’re willing to resort to snow’s level of cruelty

6. I think this is my new favourite way to watch movies, taking notes

7. Also their military force is called the Nut?? Really snow couldn’t come up with anything better than the nut???

8. Gale seems more evil in this movie, just saying I could tell from the beginning. “No one who supports the capital is innocent” Gale what the fuck are you on, your girlfriend(?) childhood best friend literally spoke speeches in support like the fuck

9. I like Katniss’s speech here, when she has a gun to her head she makes her best speeches truly

10. She ain’t dead you fools, she just gets injured every five seconds. Like seriously can this girl stay out of medical for five minutes

11. Snow just really loves poison huh?

12. Johanna is kind of funny, I like her she’s wrong when she says nobody likes her

13. I was scrolling through tumblr and I have never been more into the theory that Peeta is the one more similar to Lucy Gray. They both have that same charisma and kindness.

14. I hate how they’re using Katniss, like they really don’t care what she wants

15. Wedding is cute! Do chairs not exist in district 13?

16. Effie’s dresses up again, I wonder where she got such fancy clothes from

17. I would simply notice someone sneaking around a hanger bay filled with bombs. I’m just better.

18. She’s very bad at being anything close to sneaky, literally getting a crowd to form around her

19. More people of colour in these more recent movies

20. Finnick!!!! In the march on the capital

21. All Katniss wants to do is murder why can’t she murder. It’s just frustrating that she keeps being forced into propaganda when she doesn’t want to be in it

22. One (or more) of these pod things will be triggered, they’ve spoken about them too much for them to not be

23. I like that Gale is trying to help her even though he has no clue what she’s doing

24. Why is Peeta here :( he shouldn’t be in an active war zone he still looks tiny

25. Katniss is not good at lying “I wouldn’t be shooting Peeta, I’d be shooting a capital mutt” like sure girl whatever you tell yourself

26. I like this commander guy, he seems awesome. No I don’t know his name

27. Poor Peeta my guy has been through so much. I feel like he still will try and kill Katniss though. That feels too much like an open thread in the story.

28. Convenient that those pods run out of fuel or whatever

29. Boggs :((( (I learned his name)

30. Foggy Nelson my love looks so awkward in the background of all of these scenes

31. I’m surprised no one slipped on the oily marble staircase, maybe it’s sticky? Or like tar?

32. Okay it’s fucking hilarious that they’re doing the stupid little cannon montage for people who “died” in war against the capital. It’s absolutely ridiculous and so on brand

33. Foggy Nelson my boy no, good for you for coming up with a plan but this feels like a death sentence

34. I saw snows collapsed body on that desk and felt really joy for a moment until he woke up like an asshole

35. Isn’t there something about getting strings of bows wet? Or getting bows wet in general? I feel like I learned that that’s bad for them at some point

36. Dude imagine if they had AI generated images to show Peeta. How fucked up would that be.

37. Imagine the one week you’re in the hunger games you get your period, not only are you most likely going to die but you have to be on your period too. Like that’s fucked

38. What the fuck are those things. They look like little aliens I was expecting something that looked vaguely like an animal

39. Oh no she’s gonna run out of arrows! Seriously she needs to learn how to use another kind of weapon.

40. Peeta is such a damsel

41. Finnicks like for sure dead :((( I miss him already

42. Katniss kissing boys left and right goddamn

43. “Stay with me.” “Always.”

44. Oh no Foggy’s brother died! :(((( (I don’t know his characters actual name).

45. Just under an hour left on the runtime and we’re breaking for lunch

46. Okay let’s do this last hour (I have cookies)

47. It’s funny how both Gale and Peeta think the other is the more significant one to Katniss.

48. She has collapsible arrows!!!! Why didn’t anyone tell me?!

49. They seriously didn’t even put like any makeup on them to sneak into the mansion? Also their outfits should have more colour to properly blend into the crowd

50. Very cool action shots that was great. In the run up to the mansion

51. All that work for nothing huh?

52. I wonder what medic symbol they use to avoid violating the Geneva conventions

53. I miss Finnick

54. SNOW SHUT THE FUCK UP CHALLENGE (this is about snow talking about Prim)

55. I only kind of wish Peeta was here to say one last fuck you to snow (see earlier point about Lucy Gray) but I’m also glad he isn’t because he isn’t in danger lol

56. I love that Haymitch is clearly picking up on the same bad vibes that Katniss is in the scene with the last victors and the interim president

57. Oh my god kill yourself coin, I get why Katniss murders her now she’s just another snow

58. Haymitch votes with her! Besties!

59. I don’t like how coin pronounces Panem. Pen-em

60. Yes kill her ass!

61. Oh Paylor!!!! She’s awesome big fan I hope she wins the election that’d be fun

62. Omg Haymitch and Effie! I knew I picked up something about their relationship

63. Poor cat and poor Katniss :((

64. Awww the letter from Annie is so cute. She’s a sweetheart

65. Yay for democracy!

66. I like how Katniss curls up against Peeta, just makes herself at home in his bed because it implies they’ve done this a hundred times before <3

67. Peeta only asks real or not real questions to Katniss which I think shows how much he trusts her even when he’s not fully himself

68. The ending is very cute! I like that the little boy has the same hair as Peeta

69. The end :) final thoughts: uh I did like them which I always knew I would. I think I didn’t watch it earlier because of 1) lack of interest, just wasn’t really relevant in my life I guess and 2) don’t like going into something knowing that half the characters die y’know? I combated that by looking up who dies before watching the movie. Happy I watched it, maybe I’ll read the books? I don’t not want to read them but I’ll have to find them first lol. I think I got a pretty unique perspective having seen the prequel first and none of the others, it’s interesting to see how even after Lucy Gray is gone, her music lives on. And just the little bits and pieces where you can see references to her and snow’s past.

#hunger games #my reviews #I also haven’t read the books if that isn’t obvious #peeta mellark

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apocalypticgargoyle · 3 years

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Oh my god i just found you're writing and I'm obssessed. First of all, I'm in love with your edgy!karl series. Seriously, it's amazing. Second of all, I had a little idea that you can take as a request if you'd like. I was thinking edgy!dream/clay but with a shy innocent girl. And a hint of some fear play kink? Like she's all cute and he's so edgy shes scared and intimidated by him when they meet and it turns him on knowing shes both scared of him AND attracted to him at the same time so he uses it against her(consensually of course)

can we call him alt!dream? ;) also,,, i rly like this request...

𝐉𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐘𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐒. ♘ 𝐚𝐥𝐭!𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 (𝟏𝟖+)

pairing: alt!Dreamwastaken x fm!reader

warnings: smut (18+), fighting, smoking, language, oral (fm. receiving), fear play, asphyxiation, sight size kink & praise, dominance

The movie theatre dimmed, the beginning credits of the film reeling as a montage of a city played in the background. You settled back in your seat, accepting the fact that you had been stood up, determined not to let it ruin the movie you had already paid for. That’s right; instead of treating yourself to a new pair of shoes or a set of notebooks, you agreed to meet up with a sleazy guy from class after weeks of him pleading.

You sighed slightly, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you realized you hadn’t even wanted to see the film and had only agreed because he suggested it. Someone moved into a seat near you, his legs stretching as he slumped down, purely due to his towering height. You stiffened, crossing your legs to inch away from him at the sight of his various tattoos peeking out from beneath his dark corduroy jacket.

He carded a hand through his dirty blond hair, revealing an eyebrow ring as he swept his bangs off his forehead momentarily. You tore your eyes from him as you noticed the cigarette balanced behind his ear. Even with the seat between the two, you could smell the smoke on his clothes mixing with the faintest hint of vanilla.

You folded your hands in your lap as you noticed him give you a once over. He reached towards you, making you flinch slightly before you realized he was holding out his bag of candy to you. “Want a jellybean? You look upset,” he motioned, voice low as he whispered.

You shook your head quickly, muttering a thank you and playing with your fingers. He shrugged, watching you for a second more before turning back to the movie. He tucked his arm behind his head, chewing on his lip as if debating whether he should keep talking to you or just let you be. You weren’t really sure which outcome you preferred.

On one hand, he fit every one of your guilty pleasure fantasies, while on the other, he terrified the hell out of you. It was more of an intimidating feeling, residing in the way each of his movements caught your attention and the way you could barely keep your eyes off his grungy appearance. Your mind drifted from the plot of the movie and towards the images of his tattooed hands wrapping around your throat and giving you a reason to be scared.

“You here alone?” He asked, popping another jellybean in his mouth. The action made you think of your grandpa waning himself off of tobacco when you were younger. Those jellybeans were blue and a flavor of comfort for you now, while the man before you seemed to only fish for the red ones.

You nodded hesitantly. “I got stood up,” you mumbled, making him shake his softly. “What about you? Are you here alone?” You wondered where you had gathered the courage to talk to him, his demeanor making you want to run, but his voice was a symphony to your ears in the darkness of the movie house, drawing you closer with each of his lulling words.

He wet his lips. “So far,” he answered. He stuck out his large hand for you to shake, his skin was coarse against yours as his finger reached to brush against your wrist. “I’m Clay,” he added, his name rolling into your mind and nestling itself into your memory just due to the tone of his voice. After you gave him your name his mouth curled into a soft smirk. “It’s nice to meet you,” he remarked. You blushed for an unknown reason, thankful for the darkness to mask your emotions.

Someone entered the theatre, marching up to Clay and leaning down to his ear. “Dream, we have to go now,” the guy whispered into his ear, just loud enough that you could hear him. Clay's face twisted into an annoyed expression while the guy turned to leave.

Clay straightened his jacket on his shoulders. “Not to seem to forward, but can I get your number?” He queried. You raised your eyebrows at him, basking in the fact that despite his friend’s agitation, Clay was taking his sweet time making his move on you.

As if you were acting on instinct, you grabbed a pen from your bag as he held his hand out to you again. You found a bare spot on his skin and wrote your number as clearly as you could manage with your shaking hands at the way his eyes watched you alluringly. Without thinking, you blew on the ink, trying to keep it from smearing. You froze, realizing what you were doing as he bit back a smirk.

He was completely eating up your awkwardness.

He reluctantly took his hand back, being pulled up by his friend. “I’ll call you,” he whispered on his way out, heat rushing to your ears.

The movie ended shortly after he left, sending you back out onto the city streets and away from your cocoon where you had forgotten about the sleazy classmate and let thoughts of Clay weasel their way into your nerves. As you stepped through the doors, your phone began to ring, kick-starting your heart at the thought of it being Clay. Instead, it was a friend of yours asking how your date had gone. You tucked the phone between your ear and shoulder as you pulled a piece of gum out of your purse.

Her ramblings went deaf on your ears as a car violently pulled up to an alleyway a block from you. You squinted as you moved closer, your apartment being in that direction anyway. A few men got from the car and that’s when Clay stepped into view from behind one of the buildings, flicking his cigarette to the ground and snubbing it out with the toe of his heavy boots as he watched them get out. You could see your number still written on his hand, mixing with his tattoos.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, looking tiredly at the group of men that had come from the car as his friends began to shout at them. Clay chewed on his lip, looking around and away from the conversation before his gaze met yours. His eyes widened slightly before he turned back, an attempt to keep the attention away from you.

One of the car members grabbed for Clay’s jacket, yanking him closer as if to get him to pay mind to the man talking. Clay sent him a cocky grin, towering over him. With his normal height and his boots, he had at least a foot on the guy. One of Clay’s friends separated the two, breaking the groups into a brawl while shouting was accompanied with fists and elbow jabs.

You turned, walking in another direction as briskly as you could without bringing attention to yourself and the group of boys in the alleyway. Little did you know, Clay was watching you leave and kicking himself for it.

The next day, your mind was racing with Clay’s whereabouts. He seemed like he had his opponents under control, but what if one of them had brought a knife or another weapon? It wasn’t unusual for boys in the city to butt heads like they were, but the fact that you’d let one nearly pick you up the night before was boggling.

You gripped the strap of your bag as you crossed the street, stepping onto the sidewalk and adjusting your skirt. You kept your head down as you passed various people coming and going from their apartments before your ears picked up on a familiar voice. You picked your eyes up, spotting Clay and a small group of guys walking together. He popped a jellybean in his mouth after chiming into their conversation.

You held your breath as they neared you and that’s when you noticed his bruised face and scraped knuckles. Your number was faded on his skin, but still apparent on the back of his hand. He smiled at you, breaking off from his group and walking backward to match your pace. You bit back a smile. “Glad to see you’re okay,” you mumbled, barely able to make eye contact with him. His friends called out for him and he waved them off, walking in line with you.

He chuckled lightly. “Yeah, sorry. I would have called last night but…” he made a gesture to his torso as he trailed off. “I broke a rib. I didn’t really… I don’t.” He laughed sheepishly as you raised your eyebrows. “I’m fine. It’s good,” he brushed.

You picked your gaze off the pavement finally, focusing on his discolored black eye and busted lip. He didn’t seem to be too hurt, but he wore his wounds well. “You’re not scared of me, are you?” He asked, voice changing slightly. You drew in a sharp breath, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before it could get further knotted in the wind. A few people narrowed their eyes at the two of you and you wondered how you looked together. What kind of juxtaposition it was; his tall, dark figure looking like death in Doc Martens while you barely passed his shoulder in height with your less intimidating color scheme.

You debated how to answer him. Your eyes flickered to his dangly earring; a silver ankh. He ate another jellybean. “I was at first. I’m still kind of weary of you, I guess,” you muttered, making a smile bite into his features.

Clay ran his fingers through his hair, which you were beginning to believe was a habit when he was coming up with what to say. “Do you want me to leave you alone?”

You shook your head. A blush crept to your cheeks. “No, I kind of like it,” you mumbled, barely audible enough for him to hear. His hand slipped into yours and you could feel your chest tighten.

“You like being scared of me?” His voice was dripping with allure, making you bite your tongue in a flushed embarrassment. “You just keep getting better and better,” he teased, making your ears burn.

You weren’t sure how you ended up there, but God, were you thankful for Clay’s hands as they kneaded your ass, his lips pressing against yours. He ground his hips against yours, moaning into your mouth as your nails sank into his tattooed skin. His tongue pressed past your lips, his large hand moving to fist in the sheets beside you before dragging up your shirt to grip your breast.

You breathlessly moaned as he broke your kiss, lips trailing down your body as he sat back on his knees, dragging your underwear off as your shirt was also discarded to the floor. He looped his arms around your thighs, bringing you closer to his mouth as his concentrated stare shifted to your eyes before he buried himself between your legs, your body tensing as a groan ripped through your body. Your fingers carded through his soft blond hair, tugging slightly in appraisal as he pulled away from you.

Clay looked up at you again, slowly pressing one of his long fingers into you, you moaned his name, reaching one of your hands up to grip at the headboard above you. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?” He asked, voice deep with lust as his breath fanned against your wet core. He pushed another finger into you as you nodded. He pressed his lips to your thigh. “I can’t believe you’re scared of me,” he mocked, making you whimper as his fingers pulsed against your sweet spot.

He pressed his lips to your core again, tongue teasing at your nerves as you caught your lips between your teeth. You moved your knee further up his arm for a better angle, driving him deeper. He pulled away, his fingers speeding up. “So needy,” he chuckled, the sound enough to send you over the edge if you really thought about it.

“Clay, please. I want you,” you whined softly, your thighs threatening to close around his head. His eyes sparkled devilishly, leaning away from you before tugging your legs towards him. He pushed his fingers into your mouth, jaw tensing as you moaned around him.

He grabbed your hips, flipping your body and pushing your shoulders into the mattress. You heard him unbuckling his belt and your fingers knitted into the sheets beneath you. He pulled you back by the shoulders, hand moving to hold onto your neck. “Maybe I should give you something to be scared of,” he chided, making a shiver run up your spine as he pushed your thighs apart driving himself up into you. You were sure you would tear in half at the sheer size of him, but you bit back your whimpers at the pleasuring pain.

One of your hands moved to grip onto his arm as he thrust into you, his teeth threatening to dig into your shoulder as you moaned. His other hand moved to tease at your nerves, his determination to summon your orgasm sending your head reeling. You tilted back your head, resting against his shoulder as his hand tightened around your throat.

He let go of you, dipping you against the mattress again as his fist knotted in your hair. He steadied himself, leaning on one of his arms beside your head. Your hand wrapped around his wrist as he thrusted into you at an ungodly pace, lips hovering beside your ear as he grunted your name and how good you felt.

You pushed your hips up against him turning your head enough that he pressed his lips against yours, the vibrations from his moans sending heat throughout your body. Clay’s tongue slipped into your mouth roughly, tasting your whimpers and lust. His teeth dragged against your lip as you felt him throb inside of you.

He pushed your shoulder back, moving you on your side as your leg curled around. At the new angle, he could drive himself deeper into you; dark green eyes focused on yours as his warmed breath cascaded over your chest. His hand moved to your jaw, running his thumb against your burning lips as his sights were almost hungrily looking upon you. Your breathing became shallow as he smirked at you, moving his hand to your throat again.

He leaned down, slowing his pace to drag in and out of you as his lips were close to your ear. He applied pressure, your breath hitching in your throat. “So pretty. Good girl, taking me so well,” he praised, making you moan as he kissed you again before speeding up his thrusts. You moaned out his name again, finishing as your eyes fluttered shut. He chuckled darkly, pounding into you harder. “Fuck,” he hissed, lips pressing to the skin behind your ears, digging his face into your hair as he chased his high.

He exhaled, breath blanketing your skin before he kissed your shoulder, cheek, and finally your lips in a quiet appraisal. You pulled him into the spot beside you. He ran his fingers through his hair as you curled against his side, his other hand brushing softly against your arm. You knotted your fingers with his, brushing your thumb against where your faded number rested. “Didn’t you just break a rib?” You asked, finally noticing the slide bruising on his side.

Clay chuckled softly. “Yeah, I think I was running on adrenaline until a second ago,” he groaned.

Dream Tag List: (to join, follow this link :))

@karlkitten @pluto-dizzz @more-like-reyna @honk-izzie-was-taken @marrymetheonott @froggyy06 @ghoulandghost @savingpluto @marshmallow-babe @drunkpumpkincake

#dream x reader #alt!dream #alt!dreamwastaken #dream smut #dream imagine #dream au #dreamwastaken x reader #mcyt x you #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt imagine #mcyt smut #dreamwastaken smut #dreamwastaken x you #🌸 anon

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jasontoddiefor · 3 years

Text

A gift for @thenegoteator :D

It took a Temple to raise a child, and Mace Windu was very much aware of this. However, it did not explain what Ahsoka Tano was doing at his door in the middle of the night. Ahsoka had deep bags under her eyes, which wasn’t too much of a surprise considering the current living arrangements of her lineage. While little Luke and Leia were relatively well-behaved newborns, they were still only a few weeks old. If their human caretakers didn’t wake up at every single little whimper, then the togruta with the superior hearing certainly would.

“Do you want to come inside?” Mace asked, not letting his confusion show. He was used to people coming to his door at the oddest hours.

“If—if I can?” Ahsoka replied as if only now becoming aware of her actions. In this, she reminded Mace of her Grandmaster and the many nights Mace had found Obi-Wan coming to his doorstep during the first months of Anakin’s stay at the Temple.

“My door is always open, Padawan,” Mace said – and watched her wince.

Ah.

So there was the problem.

“Caleb is currently sleeping in my bed as Depa is away,” Mace explained. “So please keep your voice down. I don’t want to wake him unnecessarily.”

The boy had already had a hellish enough month behind him, he needed all the rest he could get. Even though the war was officially over, enough planets refused to surrender, drawing out the battles until they had nothing but children left to sacrifice. It weighed on Mace’s shoulders, making him wonder whether he wasn’t too old to carry such burdens still.

Ahsoka nodded and followed Mace inside. He couldn’t recall whether Ahsoka had been in his room before, but from the way she eagerly looked around his quarters, taking in the sight of old instruments, books, and holos, he guessed she hadn’t. Well, at one point in their life, every Jedi had set a foot inside Mace’s quarters, so this was bound to happen sooner or later.

“Do you want a cup of tea?”

Ahsoka tore herself away from the sight and looked at him with surprise. “I—yes? That would be nice.”

“Then I will make a cup. Do you have any preferences? I believe I even have Obi-Wan’s favorite blend here.”

Mace had no idea whether he had bought it or if Obi-Wan had just left it here from himself when he came over. Knowing the other man, it was likely that the latter was the case. For a man claiming to be so very polite, Obi-Wan could be a right brat.

Mace’s kitchen was small, with only a few cabinets and one shelf, two cooking tiles, and an oven. He wasn’t much of a cook himself and preferred to eat in the cafeteria with everyone, frequently taste-tasting what the Initiates had prepared. He selected two uneven cups Depa had made for him when she’d been young from the shelf. Why she had decided to pick up pottery of all hobbies was beside him, but he supposed that she found the motion soothing. Devan did enjoy parkouring through the lower levels and Echuu was quite content playing the guitar to calm himself.

Perhaps Mace should focus less on why all three of his Padawans had decided they wouldn’t follow him into theatre so they could continue to make fun of him. Setting the water to boil, Mace searched through his cabinets until he found Obi-Wan’s favorite blend. The fruity tea was far from the blend he preferred, but Mace prided himself on being a good host. While he waited for the tea to finish steeping, Mace enjoyed the quiet of the night. For all that there were few sounds as dear to him as that of people walking, or in the case of some younglings and few selected Knights, running, down their large hallways, Mace could appreciate the quiet when the world came to rest.

With two finished cups in hand, he returned to the living room, where he found Ahsoka curled up on the sofa, no longer studying his quarters for any hidden secrets.

“Thank you,” she said when she accepted the cup from him. She held it in her hands as if to warm them, letting the steam hit her face. She breathed in once, twice, finding her rhythm again. Mace waited until she’d calmed enough to speak up.

“What brings you to my door, Padawan Tano?”

Ahsoka flinched and appeared to make herself even smaller as if attempting to vanish. When it became apparent that it didn’t work, that silence hadn’t been what she had sought him out for, she let out a sigh. “You keep calling that.”

“Calling you what?” Mace asked, his brow raised, playing oblivious.

“… Padawan.”

“Are you not? I was under the impression that you had returned to the Temple.”

“I did, but I still left,” Ahsoka replied. “I left and I was convinced that I had to leave and that it was good that I did. I still think I had to leave the Temple behind.”

“Then why are you torn?”

Ahsoka’s hold on her cup tightened and so, perhaps in wise anticipation, she set it on the table and buried her hands in her robes instead, hiding their twitching from view. Mace could trace all her mannerisms to her teachers and couldn’t imagine what it must be like to purposefully rip all those pieces from yourself when they had become so ingrained in your very being. Even Dooku, who’d fallen so far from their beliefs, had been unable to fully rid himself of Yoda’s lessons. Maybe it was for the best. Hope had become a scarce commodity during the war, yet Mace considered the possibility that in a decade, they wouldn’t be imprisoning a Sith anymore.

“But am I still a Padawan? A member of this Order?” Ahsoka asked. Her voice was barely above a whisper, and she shook like the leaves on the trees in the courtyard.

“Has your Master told you anything different?”

Ahsoka paused. “…. No.”

Seeing that realization was settling within her, Mace nodded. “Then you should not doubt him. You are a Jedi, Ahsoka Tano, and you will remain one as long as you live by our tenets.”

That teased a startled laugh from her. “Compassion for all except people who cheat at push-n-pull?”

As if transported back ten years, hearing Anakin say the same, Mace snorted. “The similarities between you and your Master astonish me every time. Yes, Padawan Tano, compassion for all.”

This seemed to calm the youth as she reached for her cup again and emptied it slowly. “It’s good.”

Mace smiled into his own cup. “I’d be insulted if it wasn’t. Obi-Wan forced me to memorize all the steps for making it.”

The then young Knight had been frazzled, and Mace honestly couldn’t tell what it had been about and had forced Mace to learn how to make this tea until he’d more or less collapsed on Mace’s sofa, completely knocked out until morning when Anakin had picked him up.

“He does do that,” Ahsoka agreed. “I think this is the only thing anyone can make reliably now.”

“Sleep-deprived much?” Mace inquired.

Ahsoka rolled her eyes. “Like you wouldn’t believe. I love Luke and Leia dearly, but they are demanding and need a lot of attention.”

That was honestly kinder than Mace would have described newborns at her age.

“There is a reason why we usually don’t have children this young in the Temple,” Mace said. “They are very handful. Do you get enlisted to help very often?”

Ahsoka shook her head. “No, Obi-Wan, Skyguy, and Padmé got it covered, and I’m mostly just helping out somewhere else.”

She trailed off a little. This, perhaps, was another issue, but one that could be equally easily dealt with.

“Thank you then for going where you are needed,” Mace told her.

Ahsoka blinked. “Huh?”

“You will grow into a specific role someday, Ahsoka, and that needs time. Do not feel as if you need to earn back your place in the Temple. You don’t need to earn yourself a home you have always had. For now, trust me when I say that everyone you’ve helped is glad that you were there. It is an admirable quality to have a sense of where you are needed. Do not see it as being the odd one out.”

This was the hardest lesson to teach and learn, the fact that there was a path out there for you, but that it took time to see where it would lead. Too many of their Padawans now felt utterly lost without the structure the war had provided them with.

“Oh. I guess if you say so.”

“Yes, I do say so,” Mace agreed. Then, eyeing Ahsoka’s empty cup, he added on, “do you want another?”

“No.” Ahsoka yawned. “I think I might best head back.”

“You can also sleep here if you want, and don’t mind Caleb hogging the blanket. I won’t go to bed tonight anyway.”

Ahsoka squinted at him as if attempting to discern whether he was lying. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Really—”

“Ahsoka, go to bed.”

Clearly feeling better already, she saluted and, after Mace showed her his bedroom, made herself comfortable in it. She took off her shoes and tossed her robe over a chair before climbing into the bed. Ahsoka had barely laid down when Caleb already turned around to curl around her, clinging like a little monkey. After a moment’s apprehension, she relaxed and was fast asleep. Stealing one last glance at the two Padawan, Mace returned to his living room, looking through the incoming reports.

Hectic as the aftermath of the war was, as much effort as caring for their children was, Mace wouldn’t trade it for a single thing in the world.

#star wars #mace windu #ahsoka tano #jedi #light fix it verse #fanfic

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writingandimagining · 3 years

Text

High Up in the Astronomy Tower (Part 9)

Part 1 | Prev | Next | Masterlist

Summary: Awkward encounters.

Word Count: 2k

Rating: Teen (other parts M), 💗, 💔 (TW: mentions of death, Voldemort's general suckiness)

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The lights brightened in the theatre, and you glanced over at Draco.

“What did you think?” you asked.

Draco looked at you, but you couldn’t quite understand the expression on his face.

“It was hard to get used to the size of the screen.”

You snorted. “Come on let’s clean up.”

You and Draco picked up all your trash and tossed it in the bin as you were walking out of the theatre.

“First movie experience,” you said, nudging Draco.

He rolled his eyes.

“It was interesting to say the least. I’m not sure how I feel about the choice of movie though.”

“It was the one that was going to make the most sense.”

“Sure, it was,” Draco said in a teasing tone.

“It is!”

Draco gave you a skeptical look and you raised your eyebrows in a challenge.

“You’re telling me the movie where two kids get teleported inside a television and are forced to live in America in the 1950s would have been better?”

Draco frowned.

“Exactly. Now let’s go have you try McDonald’s.”

“McDonald’s?”

“Fast food. Burgers, fries, all that greasy stuff.”

Draco cringed, but you ignored him leading him to the restaurant.

When you entered Draco mimed gagging and you none to gently elbowed him in the stomach.

“A favorite candy in the wizarding world is basically a live frog,” you muttered.

You pulled him over to the counter and softly explained some of the items on the menu.

“(Y/N), just get me whatever you get,” Draco finally said.

You rolled your eyes but went up to order.

After you ordered you gently pushed Draco into a booth which he had been looking at with apprehension.

“It’s not going to kill you.”

“It looks like it could,” he replied, sitting on the edge of the seat with his hands hovering over the table.

You rolled your eyes at his dramatics.

“I’ll be back with the food.”

You picked up the two trays and brought them over to the table sliding one in front of Draco.

“Draco, it’s good. I promise.”

“And if it’s not?”

You shrugged and dug into your fries.

Draco looked pensive for another moment before steeling himself and eating a fry. The shock on his face when he tasted it almost had you choking.

“I told you!” you cried.

Draco grumbled but said nothing.

The rest of the meal passed quickly as you both devoured the food, having skipped breakfast and not eating well into the afternoon.

You cleaned up and then went to the back of the store with Draco in tow.

“You ready?” you asked.

Draco nodded and held out his hand. You took it and apparated back to Diagon Alley. Your landing in front of the fireplace was much more smooth than it had been this morning.

You caught a few odd stares and saw the recognition dawn on people’s faces when they saw Draco. The store was packed and if enough people noticed him you could imagine people might feel more emboldened to confront Draco now.

“We should probably get going,” you murmured, eyes darting around the store.

Draco nodded grabbing some floo powder and quickly disappeared.

You waited a moment to enter the fireplace and you heard someone call out, but you were already gone before they could reach you.

You all but fell out of the fireplace in McGonagall’s office in your rush to get out of the shop, crashing into Draco as he waited for you.

Draco grunted and looped an arm around your waist pulling you into his chest as you fell to prevent you from hurting either of you further.

You braced your hand on his chest to keep from knocking your head into his.

“I’m so sorry, Dra-“ you cut yourself off when you finally met his eyes.

His pupils were blown, and he seemed to be holding his breath. That was when you felt every single part of you that was touching. In Draco’s effort to keep you from hurting yourself his hand had slipped underneath your sweater and was grasping your waist. Your hand on his chest and the rest of your bodies pressed almost impossibly close.

Your breath hitched and Draco’s eyes dropped to your mouth. His lips parted and you were sure Draco could hear your racing heart.

Voices from outside the office had you wrenching away. You stood, straightening your sweater and Draco sat with a dazed look.

The click of the lock had Draco scrambling up, giving you one last look that made your stomach clench.

“Oh! Miss (Y/L/N), Mister Malfoy,” McGonagall greeted, holding the door open for another professor to step through.

Deputy Headmaster Kimathi nodded in acknowledgment. You had had very few interactions with Professor Kimathi, only attending Transfiguration once before taking on muggle studies. He seemed a thoughtful yet passionate man and you could easily tell why he had been asked to come to Hogwarts.

“Did you find everything you need?” McGonagall asked.

“Nearly,” you replied, reaching into your bag to give McGonagall the rest of the money she had loaned you.

“That’s wonderful.”

You nodded, “We should probably go now.”

Draco nodded and the two of you quickly escaped the office not noticing the knowing look on McGonagall’s face.

An awkward silence fell over you and Draco as you walked back to the Eighth Year dorm.

You wanted to ask about what had happened in the office, but you were starting to second guess if it had even happened the way you thought. The interaction couldn’t have lasted more than a minute.

You entered the dorm room finally looking over at Draco. He appeared to be lost in thought and you opened your mouth.

“(Y/N),” Harry called from the couch.

You held back a frustrated noise and turned to Harry.

“Did you just get up?” you said, looking over the still pajama-clad man.

Harry looked sheepish for a moment, and you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you.

“How was it?” Harry asked.

“It was great,” you replied, looking over at Draco.

Draco nodded stiffly and you bit back the disappointment. There was no way Draco would ever talk about what had happened now.

Draco mumbled something about going to change and you were left with Harry looking at you with an odd look.

“What?”

“You look stressed.”

“And you look about three months early to Christmas,” you replied, flopping down onto the couch next to Harry.

“Are you going to tell me about Malfoy in the muggle world or not?”

You slumped further into the couch and groaned.

“Later, Harry.”

Harry frowned but didn’t press which you were grateful for.

“I got some good books for class though,” you said after a moment of silence.

You could feel the curiosity radiating from Harry and you knew he was seconds away from questioning you about what Draco did wrong.

It’s not about what he did do, it’s about what he didn’t do.

You tamped down that thought and began telling Harry about your plans for the classes and pulling out the array of books you had purchased.

Eventually, dinner rolled around, and you opted to make something quick in the kitchen while Harry went down with Ron and Hermione.

You didn’t see Draco while you ate, and you considered sending him a note before deciding you were making too much of what had happened. Just because you found Draco attractive and the thought of his hand on your waist caused your stomach to do somersaults didn’t mean Draco thought or felt the same thing about you.

You sighed and cleaned up your dinner.

You went up to your room and went about dividing the books into sections of assigned reading, leaving the plays to the side.

When Harry came back you realized how late it was and he had probably been with Hermione and Ron in the common room.

You didn’t say anything to Harry, your mood having soured in the hours you had spent replaying the day and the maybe, sort of, almost kiss in your head over and over.

“Night, (Y/N),” Harry called out when you had both laid down to sleep.

“Night,” you replied.

------

A scream woke you sometime in the middle of the night. You shot up and grabbed your wand.

“Lumos,” you murmured, looking around the room.

You immediately saw Harry, twisted in his sheets with his hand clenching them so hard you thought they might rip.

You were at his side in a flash, you laid your wand on the side of the bed.

“Harry,” you called, gently laying your hand on his arm.

Harry whimpered, he whimpered, and your heart cracked.

“Harry.” You tried again, shaking him gently.

Harry’s eyes shot open and for a minute it seemed like he didn’t recognize you. You tensed recognizing the panicked look in his eyes. You knew how easily Harry could lash out with magic; hell half the Wizarding World knew it.

“Harry, it’s me, (Y/N),” you said gently, pushing his sweaty locks out of his face.

“(Y/N)?” Harry croaked.

“Yeah, you’re at Hogwarts. You’re in the Eighth Year dorm and you just had a nightmare.”

Harry’s eyes closed for a moment, but when they opened, he looked more lucid.

“Harry…” you breathed out his name.

Harry’s jaw clenched your eyes caught on the tear that escaped and tracked down his face.

“Oh, Harry,” you exhaled, moving your hand down to his cheek and gently brushing the tear away.

Harry closed his eyes and leaned into your hand.

Your heart stuttered at the action.

“What happened?”

Harry shook his head, and you gently removed your hand. You grabbed your wand, keeping the Lumos going and setting it on his bedside table.

Harry’s eyes opened at the loss of your touch and a slightly distressed look crossed over his features.

You gave him a reassuring smile.

“Scootch,” you said, climbing onto the bed.

Harry looked surprised for a moment but sat up and moved over.

You settled down next to him, grabbing his hand and squeezing it.

“We can talk about it, we can not talk about it, or we can not talk at all.”

Harry nodded his posture tense.

“Harry, I won’t judge you. Nobody would.”

Harry exhaled and you shifted. You moved to sit in front of him, swinging your legs over his, but keeping your weight off of him.

“I’m serious,” you said.

He seemed to search your gaze for some falsehood, but not finding any he finally relaxed.

“I died that night,” he finally replied in a low voice.

“In the forest?”

“Yeah. Most people think I was protected or something, but I was dead. I felt myself die, (Y/N).”

You resisted the urge to shudder. You couldn’t imagine the feeling of being dead. You hadn’t even considered that that had a feeling.

“What if I hadn’t come back?” Harry asked, closing his eyes against the pain.

“But you did.”

Harry sighed and your hands twitched wanting to shake him. It was like he was torturing himself with what-ifs on purpose.

“If I hadn’t? Voldemort enslaves or kills half the wizards in Britain?”

“Harry, you can’t live in that what if world. It’ll kill you.”

“Everyone’s survival was tied to mine. How could I not think about it?”

“Harry, look at me.”

Harry’s eyes didn’t meet yours and you couldn’t control yourself. You cupped Harry’s face in your hands, forcing him to look at you.

“He’s gone. He can’t come back. You did it. We did it.”

Harry choked out a sob and you felt a lump in your throat.

“I’m so sorry, Harry. If I could take all of this away I would in a heartbeat,” you swore.

More tears escaped his eyes, and you couldn’t stop yourself from crying now.

“You didn’t deserve any of this,” you gasped out, pulling Harry into a tight embrace.

Harry buried his head into your hair and your arms tightened around him.

You don’t know how long you stayed like that, but the gentle morning sun was what woke you up.

Taglist: @benbarneswife1 @oh-my-overlord @hotleaf-juice @redcoatgirl @captainamericasinnocence @sugarlustry @eggs-whiskey-snipes @saayanaaa @haleyessence @marshmellowhat1 @bigpoppajes @dracosdarling @itchywitch33 @smilfoy @meaganjm @draw-back-your-bow @fiannee

#harry potter fanfiction #harry potter x reader #harry x reader #harry potter imagine #harry imagine #harry potter x y/n #harry potter x you #draco x reader #imagine #ravenclaw reader #draco x you #draco malfoy x reader #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #reader insert

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heliads · 4 years

Text

Some Things Have To Be Said (Part Three)

When S.H.I.E.L.D. agent Y/N L/N is called to the S.W.O.R.D. encampment outside Westview because of her history working alongside Wanda Maximoff, she’ll have to face her past with Wanda and even a confrontation with the woman she loved.

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You can only stare at her. Your blood feels like it’s freezing in your veins, slowing to a stop. The world crashes to a halt around you. After a long moment, you’re able to claw up the strength to form a single word. “What?” Wanda’s gaze doesn’t break. “Who are you?” She repeats, and the question still burns just as deep the second time.

“You don’t- you don’t know me?” Wanda shakes her head, the movement slow and unflinching. “Should I?” You blink, trying to regain any sense of clarity. “Yes. No. You did, once.” Wanda’s emotionless mask flinches once, and she tilts her head slightly to the side to consider you. “I did, didn’t I?” She looks deeply into your eyes, and you have that same sense of overwhelming scrutiny that you had felt before. Wanda must be reading your mind, but there seems to be something blocking her from looking too deeply, because she looks away after barely a moment has gone by.

“L/N. Agent L/N. If you’re with the government, why don’t I feel afraid of you? Something is telling me to trust you, but I don’t know why.” You feel a bitter smile creep onto your cheeks, lips tugged up at the sides. “It’s because I loved you.” Wanda nods once. “And me? Did I feel the same way about you?” You force yourself to keep a calm face, to not break down. “I don’t know. That’s why I came, to find out.”

Wanda furrows her brow. “Y/N. Your name was Y/N.” You incline your head. “We met a while back. I don’t know why you can’t remember me.” Wanda seems about to answer you, but then you hear the sound of shouting from across the town. It sounds like the cries of two young boys, and you realize it must be Wanda’s children.

Wanda appears to have come to the same conclusion and seems drawn towards the sound, but she forces herself to turn back to you, as if held in place by some anchor tying her to you. “I have to go.” You nod once. “I know. It’s alright.” Wanda’s eyes flicker up to you, and she places her palm lightly against your cheek. It barely touches you, but the sensation of her so close to you is spellbinding. “You need to be careful. There’s a woman here, Agatha. I don’t want you to get hurt.” You let your hand come to rest against hers, contact for just a second. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

Wanda nods, takes in one quiet breath. “I’ll come back, Y/N. I promise.” You try for a smile. “I know you will.” Wanda hesitates one last second, as if drinking in the sight of you, then she finally pulls her hand away and hurries off down the sidewalk to help her children.

You’re left standing there, your own hand unconsciously rising to where hers had just left you. Your fingers feel cool against your cheek. Out of nowhere, a woman appears in the middle of the street, and walks until she’s shoulder to shoulder with you, both of you watching the place where Wanda had just been. You speak first. “You must be Agatha.” The woman leers at you, and you realize she was the strange neighbour from before, the one who had known your name.

Agatha’s voice is colder now that she’s dispensed with the ‘happy neighbour’ attitude. “And you’re Agent Y/N L/N of S.H.I.E.L.D. Don’t take Wanda’s lack of memory too personally, I’m afraid that was my fault. I needed her to completely fall apart so I could take her powers, and I knew she wouldn’t crumble as easily if she knew she had someone else waiting for her who wouldn’t vanish when her little suburban dream disappeared.”

You cut a glance over to Agatha. “So you took her memories of me?” She nods, shoulders lifting in triumph. “Had to be done. I’d tell you not to worry because the memories might come back, but I’m not even sure that will happen.” Agatha claps her hands together, suddenly purposeful. “Well, I’m off to rain destruction on your little friend. Stay out of my way, sweetie, or you’ll find yourself in more trouble than you can handle.” The words, spoken so carelessly, carry a far deeper threat than the seemingly innocent words would otherwise show.

In a heartbeat, Agatha vanishes, and you’re alone on the street once more. You glance around you at the houses nearby, and realize with a dull panic that Monica was supposed to be checking out Agatha’s house to find Wanda. Surely she would have heard the voices and come out, right? When you check around, you can’t find Monica anywhere, so you decide to enter Agatha’s house and try to find your friend. If you can’t help Wanda right now, you can at least try to get Monica out of Agatha’s control.

The door to Agatha’s house is unlocked, and you can hear a vague commotion going on upstairs. When you make your way up a flight of stairs and down a hall, you pause by a door leading to a bedroom. You can hear Monica’s voice coming from inside, so you try the doorknob but find it locked. From inside the room comes the sound of someone panicking, and they seem to be begging for their life. That does it- you back up a little, then run at the door and kick it down. Monica looks up at the sound of the door splintering open, and you find that she’s not alone- there’s another boy there, who looks like the new Pietro casting on Wanda’s show.

You raise an eyebrow. “Well, I was ready to join in the fight but it doesn’t look like you’ll be needing my help. Who’s he?” Monica gives one last look to the boy on the ground. “Ralph, apparently. I think Agatha put him under mind control to make him act like he was Wanda’s twin brother. Easier to recast than bring someone back from the dead.” You shrug. “I can’t argue with that logic. You want to come to the town center? I think some big fight is going on between Wanda and Agatha.”

Monica nods, and the two of you leave Agatha’s house, heading quickly towards the center of town. Sure enough, you see Wanda and Agatha hovering in the sky, exchanging blasts of magical energy. You also see Hayward and his S.W.O.R.D. reinforcements arriving to the scene, and tap Monica on the shoulder to point them out. “You see that? He’s still gunning for Wanda even though it’s obvious she’s not the villain anymore.” Monica frowns in determination. “He’s got a bigger hand in this than he’s letting on. Are you ready to help defend Wanda and her kids?” You grin, reaching for the gun at your belt. “I thought you’d never ask.”

At last, after days of research and planning and mind control, you’re finally back in your element. As Hayward’s reinforcements pour out of their armored vehicles, you take them down one by one, moving with the methodical grace of someone who was practically born for combat. It feels so freeing to be able to finally push everything out of your mind and just take down everyone in your path. A large part of your S.H.I.E.L.D. training was combat, so it’s nice to use that familiar skill set again.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Hayward training a gun at Billy and Tommy, Wanda’s kids. Your eyes go wide as you realize he’s prepared to shoot, and even as you race towards him, desperate to stop this, you already know you’re arriving too late. Luckily, Monica is there just in time, and stands in front of the boys to protect them from the bullets. To your shock, Hayward still fires, but the bullets pass harmlessly through Monica and fall to the ground.

Hayward seems just as surprised as you are, and races into an armored vehicle in an attempt to ram the twins and Monica. Just as he’s flooring the gas, though, a food truck of all things hurtles into the vehicle, crashing into it in a flurry of sparks and twisting metal. You realize with a grin that it was driven by Darcy, and sigh in relief to realize that your friend is alright.

You hurry over to Monica. “Okay, I knew about the glowing eyes, but the bullet trick was new. Very cool and very dangerous.” Monica purses her lips in thought, but she looks exhilarated by her new powers. “I know about the dangerous, but I’m not so sure about the other part.” You toss her a grin. “I’ve worked with the Avengers for a while, and I’ve seen a lot of powers. Trust me, that was very cool.” Monica laughs at that. “It is, isn’t it?”

You look up to see Wanda floating out of the sky towards her children, and turn away hurriedly, distracting yourself by running checks on your weapon so that Wanda won’t see you. Monica frowns at you. “Y/N, when I got my powers I could see into Wanda’s head for a little bit. I know she loves you, and I know how you feel about her. Why are you trying to hide from her?”

You look back at the retreating figures of Wanda, Vision, and the twins. “She only has so much time left with this family, I don’t want to mar any of it with thoughts of others.” Monica follows your gaze, watching them leave. “Does it hurt to see her with them?” You sigh quietly. “Yes and no. It hurt more before, but I know that I’ll be able to be with her again once she lets them go. I want her to have as much time with them as possible.” Monica nods, and puts a hand on your shoulder in comfort. “If you need anyone, you know you’ve got me, right?” You smile back at her. “I do. Thank you, Monica.”

A woman in a black suit comes up to Monica, asking for a word in private. Monica nods, then turns back to you. Both of you know that this is goodbye, that you won’t be meeting up again today, or even for a while. Your eyes warm as you take in the sight of your friend. “I’ll see you again soon. I have no doubt of that.” Monica smiles at you. “Good luck, Y/N. I hope you can make things work with her.” You nod goodbye, then she turns and walks away, following the woman into a movie theatre. You slip away from the crowd of agents, walking briskly into the fading light.

Wanda Maximoff is striding purposefully down the streets of Westview. She’s almost on the outskirts of town when she notices the parked car waiting at the far edge. A woman is leaning up against the car, staring up at the sky, although she straightens once she notices Wanda approach. “Need a lift?” Wanda’s eyes widen as she recognizes the woman. “Y/N?” She hurries over, wraps her arms around the other woman. Although Y/N has had years of training on managing her emotions, she still freezes slightly, surprised at the sudden contact.

Then a smile appears on her face. “You remember me?” Wanda nods. “I remember everything. Agatha’s spell fell apart once I took care of her.” Y/N nods, a warm happiness glowing in her eyes. “I knew you would.” Wanda looks over at her, face falling. “Y/N, about everything, I-” Y/N holds up a hand, cutting her off. “You don’t have to explain. I know. I’m just glad that you came back.” Wanda reaches out, takes Y/N’s hand. She stares at it for a second before finding the strength to continue speaking. “I knew I would, eventually. I don’t think I could ever really leave you.” Her voice falters for a second. “I love you, Y/N. I wish I told you that before.”

Y/N’s face lights up at that, even as she struggles to keep her emotions under control. “I love you too. Always have and always will.” Wanda runs her finger over Y/N’s knuckles absentmindedly, fingers trailing over the faded scars that line her palm. “Thank you for waiting.” Y/N inclines her head at that, then gestures towards the car. “Are you ready to leave?” Wanda takes one last look at the town of Westview, then opens the door and slides into the passenger seat. Y/N crosses around the front of the car, and Wanda watches as she swings her legs over into the driver’s side chair. They lock eyes for a second, both closer than they ever have been, and then Y/N speaks at last. “So, where to?” Wanda looks back over the road before them, eyes trained not on the town behind them but the journey ahead. “Home.”

Wanda is sitting on the porch of a cabin in the woods, dressed in a simple gray. The piercing whistle of a kettle echoes through the open door, and she stands to pour herself a cup. Wanda glances at a dusty clock resting on the mantle, then gestures lazily with a free hand. A portal appears in the space next to her, scarlet sparks flying off into nothingness. A woman in a black suit walks through the portal, trading the tall buildings behind her for the quiet of the cabin. A label is stitched in white over her coat pocket: S.W.O.R.D. Director L/N. A promotion after the success of a recent job.

Wanda smiles at Y/N, handing her a cup of tea. “How was work?” Y/N takes a sip of the beverage, savoring the warmth. “Pretty good. Only a couple of new crises, but it’s nothing we can’t handle.” She gestures with her chin towards the corner of the room, where a strange energy seems to hover in the air despite nothing being there to conduct it. “Have you learned anything new?” Wanda grins, a faint aura of power tugging at her lips. “You have no idea.”

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rivalsforlife · 3 years

Text

Phoenix Wright: The Truth Reborn: Oh No We’re Doing This Again

hi.

Nearly two months ago, I wrote an essay summarizing and making very wild conclusions about the second Takarazuka Musical. I did this about two and a half years after watching the first Takarazuka musical. As such I did not have the full context for many things from the musical and was relying mostly on my memory, which blocked many things from this musical for my own safety. However, just this week, I decided to rewatch it, because I enjoy tormenting myself. I said I wouldn’t write anything on it. Here I am writing something on it.

Here’s the youtube thumbnail so that you know what you’re getting yourself into. And here, of course, is the link. This is the HD version which may be slightly more pleasant to watch. Maybe.

It was not quite as cringe in a funny way as the second musical to me, and therefore this essay may be less funny, but I feel like I’m doing a disservice to people by providing a summary of the second musical while completely neglecting the first. Quite possibly doing this is even more of a disservice. I just eagerly await the day that the third musical is translated because *that* will be the day that I finally shuffle off this mortal coil. Either way, I want to write this stuff down so that I never have to watch the musical again out of curiosity.

The following essay will contain major spoilers for both the first and second Phoenix Wright Takarazuka musicals, as I will be using many points from this musical to argue my thesis of the second musical. ... like you were going to watch them anyways.

This one broke 8k. I’m dead inside.

Introducing The Director

Again another disclaimer that I don’t have anything against the actresses or the theatre troupe. I DO have something against Suzuki Kei, who I recently learned is the writer and director of all three of the Ace Attorney Takarazuka musicals, and is quite possibly my mortal nemesis.

This man is the one who brought this monstrosity into the world.

This man, allegedly, cleared the first four ace attorney games *seven times* before sitting down to write these musicals. He played these goddamn games seven times and did not take in a single word. The man clicked through them mindlessly while watching a badly written legal romance drama in the background and got them completely confused. I genuinely have no idea how this man could have played these games more times than even me and yet managed to get so many characters (MAYA!!!!) completely and utterly wrong. This haunts me every day, truly.

This man played Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney, Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney - Justice for All, Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney - Trials and Tribulations, and Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney seven times. SEVEN TIMES EACH!! and was told to create a musical based on the series. He played these games seven times each and you know what he said?? You know what he said?? “This sucks, I’m getting rid of all of Phoenix’s backstory, butchering half the characters, and writing Phoenix/Lana fanfiction, but also rewriting all of Lana’s backstory so that she was Phoenix’s childhood friend, and you know what, I’m changing her name for good measure.”

I think this man played the games seven times each and then hated it so much and was so sick of it he tried to write something that destroyed as much of the series as possible while still being vaguely recognizable. And then somehow it became a massive hit because people like me see this and go “what the actual hell” and watch it, or people who haven’t played the games see this and go “wow what a great musical!” and then he wrote TWO MORE, destroying EVEN MORE every time in his wake, until finally, finally, he stopped after making Edgeworth straight and time traveling into the past to face off against a corrupt Gregory. I guess that was the last straw.

I have to issue a disclaimer here that for legal reasons this is a joke. I don’t actually hate this man and would not punch him in the face if I met him because that would be rude, and he is entitled to his wrong interpretation of the games. I don’t know what his thought process was. But allegedly he did play the games seven times according to the wiki. This whole essay here is satire and not slander and I don’t want to offend this guy if he somehow stumbles across my nonsense tumblr post. At the same time: Suzuki Kei blink twice if you need help.

Anyways half the reason that I’m making this essay is because I want to share my fake ao3 page for this musical. The other half will become apparent later.

Sorry if that’s illegible because of tumblr quality it’s not really important. All you really need to know is that it’s a fake ao3 screenshot for the musical. Also in the author’s note I said he played the games four times but it was actually seven I just remembered wrong because I didn’t want to believe it.

at this point you may be like “Grace shut up and get to the actual musical” and okay, fine, let’s start this nonsense. Also note that I may be referencing things from my essay on the second musical very frequently; I’m not going to force you to go read that though because the fact that you’re reading this is enough of a torment already.

The Musical Begins

Unlike the second musical, this one opens with some narration from Phoenix.

Transcript:

Phoenix: I’m reviewing a particular case at the moment. To me, this case... is one I’ll never forget.

Immediately I think this is important because it establishes that this whole musical takes place in a flashback that Phoenix is reflecting on. Why is this important? Because we know, by the time of the second musical which takes place three years later, Leona is dead.

Knowing that Leona is inherently doomed to die of her Sad Woman Disease paints this whole musical in a different light. It’s not Phoenix reflecting on how he got back together with his lover; it’s Phoenix dwelling on their past together, and the opportunities they had, before her life was so cruelly and inexplicably taken away. We don’t know if Phoenix’s reminiscing takes place before or after Leona’s death... but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was after.

Phoenix, still in the present, starts to sing. “A wave appears on the horizon like a mirage, it trembles, then vanishes. Your voice, carried upon the waves, fades upon the shore, erasing the splendor of the past.”

This line actually shows up in the second musical, sung by Lucia about her imprisoned fiance quite possibly. It’s kind of hard to tell what the meaning of these songs even are. They’re too abstract for me I think. But this line appears very frequently in the first musical when Phoenix is thinking about Leona.

Then we enter the flashback time.

Phoenix inexplicably yells at a newspaper saleswoman. This is not relevant to anything whatsoever. Then Larry barges in to the office, looking for Maya. Phoenix describes him as “A real trouble maker, but you just can’t hate the guy”, the latter part of which I think many people would disagree with.

Well, afterwards, Maya comes in. Phoenix describes her like this while making exaggerated “can you believe this shit” gestures.

Transcript:

Phoenix: She’s as ditzy as they come. Oh, and about the outfit... Apparently she comes from a family of spirit mediums. Try not to make fun of her, okay?

Suzuki Kei personally has it out for Maya and I can never forgive him for it. Maya in these musicals is here for pure comedic relief but it’s not even comedic because I just get so angry. How can you play the trilogy seven times and think this about her?? The girl who figured out DL-6?? The girl who told Phoenix to sacrifice her life in order to find the truth?? The girl who put on a brave smile in order to try and cheer up her younger cousin even after she saw her own mother murdered right in front of her eyes?? That Maya Fey?? Ditzy as they come??????

Ugh. Moving on.

Maya and Larry run off, leaving Phoenix to watch the American Broadcast.

Important things to note here are the Godot mug, the little line up of what I think are the messed up little ace attorney figurines beneath the screen, and the fact that while this broadcast is supposedly from and to America the screen is actually not at all showing America. Like literally almost everywhere in the world except North and South America.

The broadcast says that Leona Clyde, age 24, was arrested for murdering the senator Robert Cole! Leona Clyde -- that’s Phoenix’s ex-girlfriend! He runs off to the detention center.

She is not happy to see him.

Leona: Mr. Wright... I’m not the woman you once knew.

Let’s Play A Matching Game

Sorry for the abundance of screenshots that are going to be throughout this section. Phoenix convinces Leona to let him defend her. Some of the conversation seems... familiar.

Leona: No one would defend someone who admits to killing a senator. I’m waiting for a court-appointed attorney.

Edgeworth: Every defense attorney I’ve talked to has turned me down.

Phoenix: In that case, let me defend you.

Game Phoenix: Let me defend you.

Leona: Don’t be ridiculous!

Edgeworth: Don’t be ridiculous.

Phoenix: I’ll never accept that you’re a murderer. Let me prove your innocence!

Game Phoenix: Huh? Isn’t it obvious? I’m going to prove that Miles Edgeworth is innocent.

Leona: I’ve already confessed my guilt.

Gumshoe: He confessed that he did it! In court!

Leona: It’s foolish to think you can win this case.

Edgeworth: My case is near hopeless, Wright.

Leona: (in response to phoenix offering to defend her) No you won’t! Don’t ever come here again.

Edgeworth: Look, just go away, and leave me alone!

Phoenix: You of all people should know. Once I decide to do something, I see it through to the end.

Edgeworth: Once you start on something, you always see it through, don’t you?

Leona: I never thought that you’d be representing me.

Phoenix: Ah, who could have guessed this day would come?

Edgeworth: Not me.

Phoenix: You believed in me. You saved me. And this time, I swear... I swear I’ll save you!

Game Phoenix: Edgeworth believed in me, and I believe in him. I’m the only one who knows the real Edgeworth. I’m the only one who can help him.

I could’ve done a few more, but tumblr is already threatening to murder my laptop.

So long story short, Phoenix manages to convince his lover to let him be the defense on the case. Then immediately after swearing to save Leona, he starts singing a song, which I’m not screencapping because this is enough:

“As long as there are people in this world, there’s only one path I will follow! As long as there is love in this world, there’s only one path I will believe in!”

Edgeworth sings this in the second musical after saying that he returned to California because of Phoenix. Phoenix sings it now after swearing to defend Leona. You draw your own conclusions.

And then we finally get the opening credits. Eleven minutes in.

Just Pretend This Is Narumitsu Fanfiction

Following the credits, we see a beautiful beach. Couples (exclusively heterosexual, of course,) dance and embrace in the background for some time, before revealing Phoenix and Leona, in the Even Further Past, before the LSATs or whatever the ace attorney universe’s excuse for law school exams are.

Phoenix establishes his absolute hatred of change, an important characterization moment.

Phoenix: The view here never changes, huh?

Phoenix reminisces on when they were kids. Leona’s parents were both lawyers (they’re both lawyers) and sometimes they would be like lawyers with her when she was a kid. This inspired her to also become a lawyer after their tragic death of Sickness. They never specify what the sickness is that caused two people who must be relatively young to die while Leona was in her early twenties at the latest. It may be whatever sickness claimed Leona’s life later. Sad Woman Disease. (Sad Man Disease for her father, I guess?)

Phoenix also talks about why he’s becoming a lawyer.

Phoenix: Watching you chase your dream inspired me to become a lawyer too.

So, it’s not “my childhood friend looked sad in a newspaper” because I guess that makes no sense or is too gay or something. But this is another important piece of Phoenix characterization. His entire life so far has been focused around Leona. They’ve been friends since they were kids, and then Phoenix decided to become a lawyer solely because Leona was becoming a lawyer. Not even to try and get back into contact with her after she moved away or anything; just because he’s so obsessed with her that he wants to have the same career as her, then they can run a Mom & Pop Law Firm or something, years in the future, after years of happy marriage and a few children or like whatever the hell.

Well, there’s a few steps they’ll need to get to that. At this point Phoenix still hasn’t confessed his feelings for Leona. He does so here, on this beach.

Leona tries to protest.

Leona: But I’m pushy, selfish, and only care about my goals... You’d get fed up with me.

Phoenix: That’s what I’ve always admired about you. That’s who I’ve been chasing all these years. That’s the only person... I love.

Sooo, Phoenix, your type is pushy selfish people who only care about their goals...? In the first, older lower-quality video translation it was “only care about my work”, too. Hm. Things to think about.

They sing a little duet together. Then we go back to present-day of what’s technically still a flashback. Whatever. Murder is happening.

Back To The Murder

So some plot things to establish: Leona is the legal counsel of Governor Miller, who is running for president in the AMERICAN PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION. After the flashback so that Phoenix has some time to change clothes, they show an interview of him talking about the murder.

Governor Miller: I vow to forge a peaceful country with my own two hands, and to prepare myself for whatever may lie ahead.

Reporters: Through thick and thin, he’s a friend of the people!

The Takarazuka musicals are not very good at hiding their killers.

Phoenix: Oh yeah... It’s almost time for the presidential election, isn’t it?

NEVER FORGET, WRIGHT. THIS IS AMERICA. LAND OF THE FREE! god what even was that line.

Anyways, we meet Gumshoe, who is incompetent once again. Maya runs around the crime scene, picks up the murder weapon, puts her fingerprints all over everything, moves things around, all while Phoenix is like “lol get a load of the world’s stupidest girl” or whatever. But who cares about that.

It’s time to get to the only valid part of this musical.

Edgeworth’s Gay Little Villain Solo

You may have seen this one before.

Edgeworth arrives, but not really. It’s like Phoenix heard Edgeworth was prosecuting and immediately entered a dream-like state, where Edgeworth is heralded by the sound of trumpets in Great Revival. He’s played by a different actress than in the other two musicals, since I think she retired in between the six or so months from this musical to the second. She still plays the role well, though, or as well as can be when you’re written in an ace attorney Takarazuka musical.

Shrouded in scarlet solitude... it’s Edgeworth.

Yes, those are six Edgeworths. Yes, they pick Phoenix up and carry him around and dance with him. Yes, it was probably not meant to be at all homoerotic.

He sings a song that’s called “My rule”. I only figured this out later, but it’s loosely based on a “catchphrase” of his in the Japanese version - in game 1 he says something along the lines of “All I can do is get every defendant declared guilty! So I make that my policy.” In DD in his dramatic anime introduction before the trial, he says “I intend to question the defendant with all I have. For that is a part of my creed.” “So I make that my policy” and “For that is a part of my creed”, to my understanding, are both translated from the same line, which I think is like, “sore ga watashi no ruru”, “That is my rule.” (If I’m wrong, please correct me.) In this song he sings about how he’ll reduce all criminals to ash and such, basically talks about his game 1 prosecuting strategy as “my rule”.

It’s very fun and probably if you want to only watch one number of this musical, it can be this one. It starts about 26:10 in the video I linked.

Once the musical number is done, Phoenix and Edgeworth stare at each other, and the background fades into the courtroom, so court begins. I feel like I should note that Phoenix has not picked up any evidence or talked to any witnesses in this investigation except for Gumshoe, since Maya just moved some things around and then Phoenix had some weird fever dream about Edgeworth which presumably took up the rest of the day.

The Trial, Day 1

Edgeworth: Consider it a prelude to the poignant Greek tragedy that’s about to unfold.

Maya: The real tragedy’s your pompous attitude!

Those are the only screenshots I took of this trial day. Here’s a summary, though:

The trial starts off with Leona confessing, Phoenix says “no I think she’s innocent”, and since ace attorney doesn’t care about the defendant’s wishes he’s allowed to proceed. For some reason Leona lets him do this without complaint.

Gumshoe is the first witness, he claims to have caught Leona red-handed at the scene of the crime, standing over the corpse. Phoenix tries to claim that since Gumshoe didn’t see Leona committing the crime, he didn’t actually catch her red-handed, to which Edgeworth responds “What do you think being caught red-handed means?”

Once Gumshoe is dismissed, Lotta takes the stand. She has a photo of the actual moment of the crime, where Leona is holding a knife in the air in front of the victim.

The Takarazuka musicals like to do this thing where the image is blurry and zoomed out, but then Phoenix will go “I’VE NOTICED A CONTRADICTION” and it zooms in really far as the resolution increases drastically in order to show you the contradiction that is impossible to spot for yourself, because they don’t want people figuring out the mystery in this musical based off of a video game where you have to solve the mystery yourself. Anyways Phoenix zooms in on this photo and sees that there’s blood on Leona’s hand, presumably before she stabbed the victim. How did it get there?

Edgeworth suggests the victim was stabbed multiple times. Phoenix says the autopsy report contradicts that. Edgeworth, uncharacteristically, does not update it to suit his argument.

Phoenix concludes that this photo is not showing the moment Leona stabbed the victim, but the moment Leona removed the knife! ... Which somehow casts doubt on her having been the one to stab the victim. Because as everyone knows, anyone wanting to kill someone would never remove a knife, it’s not like they’d bleed out faster that way, or anything.

And this whole contradiction is confusing because presumably if the victim was stabbed and then the knife was removed, they’d know that happened, because then the knife would not be found stuck in the victim’s body, since the victim was only stabbed once. So this shouldn’t be news to the prosecution that someone removed the knife after stabbing. But the investigation was headed by the most incompetent version of Gumshoe ever, so. sure. I guess no one knew.

That at least manages to extend the trial another day.

This Totally Has To Be Illegal

After the trial, Phoenix goes to talk to Governor Miller, aka Mr. Totally The Real Killer. Phoenix asks him why he decided to hire Leona as his legal advisor.

Basically, it’s because her parents were both renowned lawyers. Her father was a Chief Prosecutor, and her mother was a defense attorney. ... a prosecutor and a defense attorney couple... who does that remind us of...

Phoenix points out that just because her parents were good lawyers, it doesn’t mean she’d necessarily be one. Miller says that, sure, but she is actually really talented, and her law school marks were spectacular. Phoenix says “WHY WERE YOU LOOKING AT HER LAW SCHOOL MARKS”, like it’s somehow? suspicious? for a government official hiring legal counsel to look at their law school marks?

Apparently it IS suspicious because Governor Miller freaks out and asks if this is an interrogation. Before Phoenix can press much further, he gets a phone call, and leaves Phoenix alone in a big room.

So naturally Phoenix behaves like a fully grown adult running a law firm.

If all he did was sit in the chair, lift up a desk lamp, and poke his finger on a pen, that’s one thing. But then he leans over, OPENS THE GOVERNOR’S DESK DRAWER, and finds a knife that’s just sitting there casually. It looks like a butter knife. It’s not anything major. Maybe the dude just wanted to butter his toast?

I mean I know Phoenix will dig around in stuff whenever in the games, but he has no reason to suspect Governor Miller at all, much less dig through his drawer probably full of confidential government documents to lift up a knife that he thinks is suspicious. It’s not even covered in blood or anything?

Naturally Governor Miller’s assistant comes in just then, and Phoenix puts the knife. in his breast pocket.

bud. It may look like a butter knife, but putting knives up against your chest is not a great idea. Much less stealing a knife from a governor?

Well, in his panic, he accidentally knocks over a bunch of books on the desk. The governor’s assistant helps him pick them up, and they find a photo. Look a little familiar?

The photo has the assistant, the victim Robert Cole, Governor Miller, and the victim’s brother who died in an incident two years ago. He’s the “Neil Marshall” of this musical, and he died in what was essentially the SL-9 incident. Same general premise, except it occurred in the courthouse, and the names are different.

AND FINALLY WE REACH THE END OF ACT 1. They do a musical number here which is a weird sort of mashup of the main opening credits song, Edgeworth’s Villain Solo, and the love duet between Phoenix and Leona. They are all such different songs that it sounds a little weird.

ACT 2, FINALLY

The act begins on a sour note with Maya playing with the knife and showing off her characterization, which is one of the most infuriating Maya characterizations you’ll sometimes see around the fandom by people who don’t like Maya.

Maya: Let me whip up my special spirit channeler hamburgers!

sigh.

But then we’re saved (?) by the arrival of EDGEWORTH, who is presumably just here to chat. He asks Phoenix if he’s defending Leona in hopes of winning her back, then says to keep out of it, since it’s a very important case and he can’t understand the gravity of it.

Then Phoenix says this.

Phoenix: Would you be saying that if you were the one on trial? The defendant is in a dark prison, reaching out for hope... Can you imagine the loneliness and sorrow of being ostracized?

CAN YOU IMAGINE IT, EDGEWORTH? CAN YOU IMAGINE IF YOU WERE ON TRIAL AND I WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO WOULD DEFEND YOU AND BELIEVED IN YOUR INNOCENCE??

Edgeworth responds to this by essentially rehashing his speech in Turnabout Sisters about how he needs to find all defendants guilty because he can’t guarantee their innocence and all that. Maya gets upset and leaves so that Phoenix and Edgeworth can talk about their childhood in private.

Phoenix once again complains about how people change since nine years old.

Phoenix then says that he has something Edgeworth doesn’t: the POWER TO BELIEVE! Then Maya comes in and tries to spike Edgeworth’s coffee, so he leaves.

The Class Trial

Phoenix explains a bit about Edgeworth and his backstory to Maya. Namely, the class trial. Phoenix was accused of stealing lunch money, Edgeworth stood up for him, but instead of Larry, Leona stood up for him. I guess Suzuki Kei thought “oh the class trial, if Leona stood up for him, it would be so romantic, because she’s a woman, and he’s a man”, or something like that.

Edgeworth wanted to become a Great Lawyer Like His Father! But then he turned cold as ice.

Phoenix: His father got too deeply involved in a case... and paid for it with his life. Edgeworth saw him murdered. He was never the same again. I bet he couldn’t forgive the criminal.

Yeah I bet he couldn’t ever forgive the person he thought killed his father all these years, Phoenix. I bet he really hates that person, Phoenix. I bet he has nightmares about that person killing his father or something, Phoenix.

Phoenix: He vanished, then returned without his mercy or compassion. He had become a monster. When he lost his father, he also lost the ability to believe in others.

So like... one of the most chilling things about this musical is that they never actually solve DL-6. This probably roughly takes place 15 years after DL-6, since they were about the same age when the class trial started, and at least Leona is 24 now. The next musical takes place three years from now, and in it, Edgeworth refers to von Karma as his mentor, implying he’s still around and doing things.

So, in addition to everything else going wrong with this musical, DL-6 still happens, but von Karma never frames Edgeworth for it fifteen years later. The statute of limitations runs out, and von Karma forever gets away with his crime. And Edgeworth has no idea.

What changes did they make to DL-6, though, you may ask? I’m desperate to know as well. In the third musical, which I’ve watched because I hate myself but am unable to fully understand because I don’t know much Japanese, there is a scene where Miles flashbacks to DL-6. It’s abstract, but he makes gun-throwing motions at Gregory, followed by a gunshot sound.

Therefore, in this musical’s internal canon, either Miles Edgeworth shot his father, or he believes he did for the rest of his life.

... moving on.

Phoenix: But he still has his humanity. It’s still there, deep down inside!

At least, if nothing else, Phoenix still believes in him. Even this Takarazuka Musical couldn’t touch that.

The Feenie Sweater

Right after this, Larry barges in, and Phoenix leaves him alone with Maya. The musical tries teasing Larry/Maya, but fortunately, Maya’s having none of it.

Maya: You’re barking up the wrong tree.

Props to this musical for not being as bad as it could have been.

After this, the two sit down on the couch, and Maya asks for more gossip on Phoenix and Leona. Larry launches into a story, which turns into a flashback that ends up being narrated by Phoenix halfway through. This one’s about Phoenix and Leona’s relationship.

This is an interesting line in here, “I’ll guide you to the future”, for it loosely referencing the sort of love ballad Phoenix sings with Lucia in the second musical which is about “I’ll take you to that radiant future”, and he later sings to the memory of Leona right around the time of his big spiral into despair.

I’m sorry if you haven’t read my other essay and just said “wait what” to what I just typed.

Leona was getting ready to move to New York to defend the weak “in the big city”. This is rather strange wording because it implies that California does not in fact have a big city. She says some things in her conversation with Phoenix that probably plant some of his later issues.

Leona: This is the first time we’ll be apart since we were kids.

Leona: We promised we’d always be together.

Leona: I’ll be waiting. Waiting for you to come to me.

Haha. Sure would be a shame... if something were to happen... and they wouldn’t be able to be together anymore...

So some dancers wearing black come in and take off their outer jackets, to symbolize the passage of time. They circle around Phoenix and Leona. In this, you can just barely see, Phoenix is wearing a pink sweater beneath his jacket.

“Oh,” I think to myself, “Is that the Feenie sweater? Are they including it here as a reference to the games?”

Then the dancers keep moving.

THAT IS NOT THE FEENIE SWEATER. That is a pink sweater with a sexily drawn woman on it.

This is the other half of the reason why I decided to go through with making this essay.

This is so incredibly funny to me. Suzuki Kei Who Has Played The Games Seven Times has seen the hand-knit bright pink sweater with a giant red heart on it seven times. The sweater Iris, Phoenix’s girlfriend, lovingly knit for him that he wears all the time even though it is one of the tackiest, cheesiest items of clothing to ever exist. And so, when the costume designers were designing the clothes for College Phoenix Wright, they asked themselves: “Should we include the Feenie sweater?”

and “NO,” someone must have shouted, “NO, we can NOT include the Feenie sweater, it is PINK and it has a HEART on it and it’s TOO GIRLY. Phoenix Wright is a MANLY MAN. He would not EVER wear something PINK with a HEART on it.”

“BUT,” someone else said, “it’s a REFERENCE to the original games, where he DID wear a pink sweater with a heart on it! We MUST include it to pander to the fans!”

“WAIT,” a third person interjected. “I have a BRILLIANT IDEA. We can keep the pink... But to make it VERY CLEAR he is a heterosexual, masculine male... we put a sexy woman on it.”

And Person Three Got A Raise.

Thank god we’re finally halfway done this musical.

We Just Have To Go On With Our Lives Now

There’s plot or something happening. Leona breaks up with Phoenix inexplicably over the phone. Probably because of that freaking sweater. Imagine wearing that. God.

Eventually we go back to Phoenix talking to Leona, and he asks about the Jack Lyon case, which is the rip-off version of the Joe Darke case. Leona is pretty cagey about it, but Phoenix proves that she was there in the gallery that day. Leona refuses to answer, claims again that she killed the victim in her case, and leaves.

This makes Phoenix sad, so he starts singing.

Phoenix: I want to bring you back! I believe in you.

If this sounds familiar, it’s the part where I started absolutely losing my mind in the second musical because this line had never shown up before then, I’d forgotten it was in this musical, and Phoenix was screaming it alone in a red room, so I thought he was like desperately resorting to a necromancy ritual in hopes of bringing Leona back to life.

Instead, this line actually has CONTEXT, though it does just end up enforcing my theory. This is Phoenix mourning what he used to have with Leona, wanting to bring the “old her” back, because he’s devastated that people sometimes change. There are several flashbacks of their college days where he’s wearing his Sexy Woman Sweater. He does succeed in winning her back at the end of this musical. Before she dies, of course.

Phoenix in musical 2 still believes that he can bring back what he used to have with Leona... even beyond death. That’s something affirmed by this musical. I’m very grateful to it for somehow managing to enforce my nonsensical theory.

Doctor Ema

After this, Phoenix returns to his office, and meets with someone new.

That’s right! Only now, halfway through the musical, do we actually get to meet the Ema-equivalent to Leona’s Lana-equivalent. Her name is Monica Clyde. She has little rainbow heart stickers on her briefcase, which is the closest thing this musical has to acknowledging that gay people exist.

But what does this little briefcase contain, you may ask? Scientific investigation tools? No.

A full surgical toolset. Because you never know when someone’ll get sick, or when someone will need an entire operation in front of you. I guess.

So yes, Monica Clyde is not a forensic scientist in training, but a doctor! She decided to become a doctor because of her parents, who passed away of The Sickness, and so became a doctor in order to save lives like theirs.

Once more this has much darker and deeper implications than the musical is even aware of, because Monica is so anxious about treating sick people that she carries a full surgical toolset around with her at all times, scared to lose someone like she lost her parents... and then sometime in the next three years, Leona, her big sister, is going to die.

Of what? The strange Sickness that claimed her parents? A car accident? A botched spur-of-the-moment surgery? Whatever it is, Monica was unable to save her, even when she’d been training her entire life for it.

Monica is not mentioned at all throughout the second musical. It’s as if she does not exist.

Because unlike Ema of Rise From The Ashes, Monica is not at the heart of this story. She is, primarily, a plot device here to make Leona not trust Phoenix so that he can angst about their relationship.

What a mess this world is.

The Trial, Part 2

Rather than try to prove Leona’s innocence, Phoenix wants to link the current case to not-SL-9, the Jack Lyon case. He does this by showing this picture.

Senator Cole, the victim, is in this picture. His younger brother whose name I’ve forgotten, the victim of not-SL-9, is also in this picture. They are brothers. It is apparently novel that they are in the same picture, and somehow makes their cases linked.

As well, Governor Miller is in the picture. I guess you could say like... Governor Miller’s legal counsel is the defendant, so that’s another link? Even though the Governor would presumably know a Senator, so this isn’t an unusual group. Right now Phoenix has absolutely nothing to prove that these two cases are linked other than “hey, these two victims are brothers”, but apparently it works. So they spend a lot of time talking about not-SL-9, since Leona has confessed to the murder on day 1 and there is absolutely nothing indicating that she can’t be immediately declared guilty.

They hid the fact that Monica was a hostage in this not-SL-9, meaning that some of the case records were forged. Here’s Edgeworth’s reaction when this comes out.

Edgeworth: This is an outrage! I’m the most influential prosecutor in America! There’s nothing I don’t know!

In RFTA, when Edgeworth learns he’d been using forged evidence to give a man the death penalty, he is devastated, his entire worldview is shaken, he sees himself as a monster who could end up becoming horribly corrupt if he isn’t stopped.

Musical Edgeworth goes “I DIDN’T KNOW SOMETHING???”

It’s certainly strange characterization, but I guess Edgeworth is further behind in his character arc than in RFTA, so... ugh. Fine.

Phoenix calls Monica out as a witness to prove she was involved in the case. This causes Leona to panic, and try to dismiss Phoenix as her attorney, like Lana in RFTA, but Edgeworth interjects to call Monica in anyways. He and Phoenix have a little moment.

Edgeworth: You said to believe in others. I suppose I’ll try believing in you. Try to keep up.

Phoenix: Edgeworth!

So Monica comes to the stand to testify. We get to see this picture of Monica being held hostage, and not-Joe-Darke’s incredible eyeliner.

Lots of it is very similar to the actual RFTA, except instead of the victim being stabbed on the knight with the giant knife, he’s instead stabbed with a regular old knife. Leona still refuses to admit to what really happened, until Edgeworth convinces her to believe in Phoenix.

Edgeworth: Your attorney is a runaway train with a one-track mind. Yet he placed all of his faith in you. Believe in him. You owe him that much.

Leona testifies, and says that when she found the victim, he was stabbed with a scalpel.

Here is where things get weird.

Scalpels Can’t Kill People

So basically earlier in this trial, they talk about how Leona knew that the knife that stabbed the victim was double-edged despite being buried in his chest. The judge questions if this means Leona killed him, but Phoenix is quick to say no, she was searched when she entered the courthouse and couldn’t have concealed a knife.

Yet, Monica was able to bring in her surgical toolkit which contains several sharp knives, scalpels, scissors, etc.

This is the first major contradiction.

Leona continues to say that when she found Monica, and the scalpel stabbed in the victim, she also ran into Governor Miller, who if you haven’t been able to tell yet is the Gant-equivalent of this musical. He offered to help her with the cover-up, etc.

The next bit goes a lot like RFTA. Phoenix accuses Governor Miller, who barges in, says Phoenix has the decisive evidence in his pocket. This is the “butter knife” that Phoenix took from his office when he dug around in confidential documents and stole it for no particular reason. It has Monica’s fingerprints on it! ... And Phoenix’s and Maya’s too probably because they were handling it without gloves, but they don’t mention that part.

Leona cries about how she shouldn’t have trusted Phoenix because he was apparently now blaming Monica, Monica looks terrified, she and Leona have some good sister moments but it’s not as good as it could be if the story was actually about Leona and Monica like how RFTA was about Lana and Ema. But Phoenix has the decisive piece of evidence that can turn this around.

It is this:

Phoenix: Scalpels are made for medical incisions, not stabbings. So how did it stab the victim?

...

... What?

So like. Yes, scalpels are made for medical incisions. Medical incisions often involve cutting through flesh, very easily. As a result, they are sharp. Extremely sharp. As in: their purpose is literally to stab people, very specifically.

Yes, they’re easier to control, so that surgeons don’t regularly stab people how they’re not supposed to be stabbed, but it’s not like, impossible to stab someone in a killing way with a scalpel? Admittedly, I have never tried to kill someone using a scalpel. And I do not have experience using a scalpel for surgeries because I am not a surgeon. But I’m pretty sure, if you take a sharp scalpel, and you stab someone in the chest with it with a reasonable amount of force... they die.

Like, is this a particular kind of scalpel that is not very sharp? Is the problem that the blade doesn’t match up with the initial wound? But even then, we don’t have the original unforged autopsy report or even a picture, so how would Phoenix know what the original wound looked like to say it didn’t match up? And even then why wouldn’t Phoenix say that instead of SCALPELS CAN’T STAB PEOPLE???

This is his decisive contradiction and it makes ABSOLUTELY NO SENSE TO ME!!!

Well Darn I Guess Scalpels Can’t Kill People

This is such a decisive piece of evidence, that scalpels can’t kill people, coming from the man who thought “caught red-handed” does not involve being caught standing over a corpse with blood on your hands, that it causes Governor Miller to confess.

Unlike Gant, who created the murder with Neil Marshall both to ensure that there was decisive evidence to convict Joe Darke, a serial killer who had not left any decisive evidence behind, and gain control over the prosecutor’s office in order to pull similar stunts to get criminals convicted using false evidence, Governor Miller does not have that as his motive. After all, he’s not a police officer. Instead, he ended up accidentally killing not-Joe-Darke, and then set up the incident in order to get Leona on his side. As her parents were both influential lawyers and very respectable, having her and her parents’ reputation on his side could help him become President of America Where This Takes Place.

So, let’s just take a moment to run over some of the things that made the original Rise From The Ashes great, in my opinion. Just for fun.

1 - The heart of the story between the Skye sisters. Lana closing off to protect Ema, Ema wanting to get through to her sister and get back to the way things used to be. Phoenix, in this story, is more of a bystander to this plotline rather than in the heart of it himself.

2 - Edgeworth’s Character Development. Basically RFTA creates an interesting transition between Turnabout Goodbyes and JFA. It causes Edgeworth to re-evaluate everything he knows about being a prosecutor. So quickly on the heels of Turnabout Goodbyes, it crushes the last bit of hope in him. It compares him to Gant, who also hates criminals, and forces him to wonder if his hatred of crime will one day lead to him being a criminal himself. He’s already convicted one person on forged evidence; how many others could there be?

3 - The Ends Justify The Means. ... wait come back, don’t leave. What I found neat about this case was also Gant’s motive. At one point he was presumably an honest person who hated crime and wanted to stop criminals. But over time in the police force, he became corrupted. He wanted to have all criminals convicted. So what do you do when you don’t have the evidence to convict them? Joe Darke was a serial killer who has killed several people and may have killed more if he’d gone free. The only way to stop and convict him was by using forged evidence. Other criminals could hide evidence to get away with their crimes, so people like Gant would make it up to catch them; but then when do you stop? What happens if there’s no evidence because someone is truly innocent? When does the line between “this person is a criminal and I want to stop them” and “I just want to convict everyone I’m dealing with” become blurred? This is also something he shares with Edgeworth and helps to advance his character.

All three of these things are either lessened or outright ignored in this musical. Leona and Monica’s story takes a backseat to Phoenix and Leona’s Love Story, with Monica only showing up halfway through, and mainly as an excuse as to why Leona is withdrawn. Edgeworth doesn’t seem to blame himself for the forged evidence he used, and doesn’t have a crisis questioning his morality over it. And Governor Miller’s motive is purely power. Unlike Gant, who would have become Chief of Police whether he solved SL-9 or not, Miller needed Leona to win the presidency. And instead of asking her to help him with his campaign like a normal person, he just blackmailed her instead.

... How do you play the games seven times and miss this much?

The Case Finally Ends

god. we’re almost there.

The case ends, Leona is declared not guilty but will still face trial for covering up murders and such. Probably less of a sentence than Lana because she was not involved in ongoing police corruption? Either way she’s dead in three years, so she’s got something a bit more concerning coming up.

She’s led away. Phoenix sings a bit about Leona before being interrupted by Edgeworth... who has something important to tell him.

Edgeworth: You awakened within me those once-cherished emotions I had discarded. I see visions of a distant, nostalgic past.

So basically this is the unnecessary feelings of the musical. Something along the lines of “seeing you again and fighting for my former ideals is making me question many things about myself.”

How does Phoenix respond?

Phoenix: Edgeworth... Try talking normally for a chance.

Sure, we were all thinking it, but that’s a little cold, Phoenix.

Edgeworth tries a smooth recovery.

Edgeworth: I don’t do... idle chit-chat.

This doesn’t accomplish much. So he leaves to allow Leona to visit with Phoenix alone. He’s got to go change for something more important coming up.

Leona and Phoenix decide that they’re going to get back together once Leona is done her sentence! They make a promise that is very funny if you know she’ll be dead in three years.

Phoenix: I’ll be waiting. For you.

There are a lot of hugs here, I’m not screencapping them all. There are also several moments where their faces get very close together and like, their nose brushes the other’s cheek or something, but they never actually kiss. Is it because the actresses weren’t comfortable with it (valid), or they thought kissing would be too much for the musical (sure, whatever), or since both characters are played by women the show staff did not want two women kissing on stage (probably the real answer)? I don’t like watching kisses, but I kept bracing myself for one and then it never happened, so.

Phoenix ends the main part of the musical with one last musical number starring my personal favourite piece:

Phoenix: I want to bring you back! I believe in you.

I like to think that at this point, this is present-day Phoenix, after finishing his reminiscing, still desperately wishing he could bring Leona back from death.

But alas, he cannot. And so, after one last daydream of them dancing together on the beaches of California, singing about their love, the musical ends.

Dance Time!

This starts at exactly the two hour mark, if you’re interested in watching what is, once again, one of the only fun parts of this musical.

Seriously, Edgeworth’s actress kills it here, when I first saw this I went “oh, this is why I saw so many people being gay for her on twitter.”

Edgeworth’s song is an encore of “My Rule”, so it’s lots of fun. Afterwards Phoenix gets another fun piece.

Then we get to the love ballad part, which I can probably overanalyze, I feel like I haven’t done enough ridiculous over-analyzing in this essay in comparison to the other.

Uhhh so the fog represents how Phoenix feels lost in this world without Leona. You can see it in the second screenshot separating the two of them, representing the barrier of death between the two of them. Idk it’s midnight I’m getting worn out from having to think about this musical for so long.

But his mourning over Leona’s death becomes even more apparent in the credits, where Phoenix sings that one line again:

Phoenix: I want to bring you back! I believe in you.

I’m not fixing that screenshot, I think it’s oddly fitting, in a way. That’s me right now.

Then at the very end, he sings this song.

Phoenix: I’ll spend... this eternal life... soaring through... the heavens!

Technically, this refers to his name Phoenix, but let’s dig a little deeper. He spends the rest of his life soaring through the heavens... the heavens that Leona went to after her untimely death, perhaps?

Overall, the musical becomes much more interesting when you just see it as a prequel to the second musical. This musical establishes many core concepts of Phoenix’s character: his refusal to believe in the concept of things changing, for one, and also his extreme dependency on Leona who he was never separated from since they were kids and where he based his entire life around her dreams and ideals. All he can think about is her. And in the end, he promises to wait for her in California.

Yet, to paraphrase Miles Edgeworth, all that is waiting for him is her death. Their dream of opening up a Mom & Pop Law Firm will never come true.

Thanks again for bearing with me even though this wasn’t as funny!

#ace attorney #phoenix wright the truth reborn #idk maybe someone wanted to know what the first musical was like without actually watching it?#my essays #my posts #i'm TIRED i'm going to BED goodNIGHT #this is less funny jokes and more actually criticizing the musical #because so much of this is like. wow. you really thought that was a good idea huh #just skip to the feenie sweater part honestly that's the funniest part of this musical

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swcetnight · 3 years

Text

It’s Definitely You || kth (m.) 1

synopsis:

Working as a barista in NYC has its perks, but when your ultimate dream of being on the Broadway stage tends to come crumbling down, the only thing that raises your spirits is the comfort of a complete stranger… who seems to have known you for far longer than you thought.

masterlist here

→ pairing: taehyung x barista!reader (also musical theatre performer cause I had to)

→ genre: fluff, angst, future smut | strangers(ish) to lovers… i won’t give the truth away... gonna have to read and find out for yourself ;))

-> warnings: self doubt, adorable plant names... there's really not many warnings for this chapter!

→ word count: 7,973

authors note:

alrighty everyone... here we go! (i’m so nervous) this is the first chapter of this series (which it took me 50 years to figure out whether I wanted this to be a series or a two shot... lets just say that it's gonna be a long one, so I think that a series is the best way to go)! this story is really near and dear to my heart, so 1. I really hope you enjoy it and 2. I hope all of you know how hard it was to write this into words... my goodness. now, make sure you look for clues throughout this series... there's a secret in here that won't be revealed for a while ;)) but if any of you have ideas, please be sure to send an ask while we wait to find out together! anyways, I hope you enjoy !!

authors thanks:

a HUGE thank you to @hantaev and @monvante for beta-reading and being so so supportive of me and this little (but not so little) story... y'all truly have no idea how helpful you've been and how thankful I am to be friends with both of you! forreal, y'all are the greatest and I'm sending you all my love!!

also, if you are enjoying this story, please don’t hesitate to send me an ask (on or off anon) and let me know your thoughts, feelings, theories, etc!! i would love to hear from all of you 🤍

If time-travel existed, you would be on the first time machine and head back to 2 years ago. A time when you had a free schedule and were able to go out on Friday nights. A time when you felt confident in yourself and were raring to pursue theatre. A time when you didn't have this job (cause apparently, theatre is impossible to get into) that forces you awake at 4 in the morning for the opening shift.

You can't say you don't love your Barista job because you do. Still, when your alarm wakes you from the beautiful dream of performing on the big stage, you have to use everything within yourself to crawl out of your sheet cocoon… and that is unacceptable.

What's even more unacceptable is the fact that your co-worker, Jimin, hasn't arrived at the Academia Cafe yet. You have about 30 minutes to prepare for the morning peak; brew coffees, set up the bakery items, clear the boards "coffee of the day," etc. The problem is, it takes up all of the 30 allotted minutes— and you can't start prepping early because Jimin has the keys to the cafe.

You’ve worked at the Academia Cafe for about a year now, taking a break from your endless theatre audition schedule— since that was getting you absolutely nowhere. No matter how badly you want it, nothing seems to work. No matter how many times you practice, it never seems to be good enough. Let’s just say, you took this job at the cafe because you were over the repetitive let downs.

… But here you are, with a “Jimin being late” let down.

[To: Jimin ☕️] hey, you almost here? times ticking, keys!

You stuff your phone into your winter coat pocket, the brown material catching snowflakes as they fall gently from the cloudy sky. You love this weather; it's always been your favorite. When you were little, you used to pretend to be a dragon; running all over your front yard and releasing heavy breaths that chilled in the air and spread like smoke. You don't enjoy the cold, but the entire feel of winter has you cozying up in a blanket with hot cocoa and a good book… nothing could beat that.

A buzz in your pocket catches your attention.

[From: Jimin ☕️] Hey! Look up.

Your eyes immediately lift to see Jimin smiling a few feet away, shuffling through the snow as he drags the keys out of his pocket. He's sporting a heavy blue coat that reaches down to his knees — making his short stature appear even smaller — topped with a matching blue beanie. Despite his tardiness today, you’ve always been fond of Jimin. He's like a ray of sunshine, beaming through the skyscrapers of the city and making everyone around him happy just by flashing a single smile. Honestly, you wish you could sneak some of that happiness from him and lock it somewhere safe... so you can save it for a time when you need it most.

"Your timing is impeccable." He laughs, gently placing the keys into the front door lock. "You texted me right as I was rounding the corner."

"I'm telling you, Jimin; we're always on the same wavelength." Smirking, you make your way through the doors of the cafe, greeted by the warmth that surrounds you like your sheet cocoon did this morning, but accompanied by the smell of fresh coffee. "Except for the fact that you, my friend, are late, so now we only have twenty-eight minutes until opening."

Old, rustic book pages litter the cafe's dark walls, executing the dark academia theme flawlessly. You have to give the interior designers a hand, what with the black stools and high dark wood counters etched with different story pages. You wonder if anyone took the time to read the stories that covered the cafe; maybe the stories moved them in a personal way. Maybe there was a reason why they read them, a part of the butterfly effect of their life.

With a quick survey of the main room, you shuffle into the back to put your belongings away. "You would think it would be less busy on the streets because of the snow," Jimin calls, already working on the first batch of light roast coffee. "But unfortunately for me, that was not the case, and I nearly lost my life multiple times on the way here because of how slick it is."

A laugh emits from your lips, echoing in the backroom as you throw your apron over your head.

You begin with date labeling all of the pastry items, placing them accordingly onto the pastry cart; croissants, muffins, scones, etc. Then, you move onto organizing syrups and setting toppings along the bar where drinks are made. Bar is your personal favorite position-- since you're able to make the drinks… Plus, you're so busy that your shift goes by way faster. The sooner you're done, the sooner you get to go home and sleep.

“All set?” Jimin questions when you finish setting the steaming pitchers next to the espresso machine, tossing the rag he used to wipe down tables into the sanitizer bin. You give him a nod, taking a quick once over of the bar. “Alright,” he claps, “let's do this.”

This morning runs like every Friday morning, busy and fast. The sounds of coffee glasses clinking and the calling of customer names at the hand-off station echoes through the air.

Ahhhh, the scenery in coffee shops; the quiet hush over the room as soft jazz plays over the speakers. It’s soothing, all encompassing, and extremely helpful for motivation… You used to go to a local cafe for homework when you were still in school.

You take a breath, relaxing against the back counter as you overhear a conversation a group of regulars are having. It’s the usual small talk: the weather, families, sharing pictures of recent events. Coming up with questions of the day for customers becomes easier after knowing their stories, so you subconsciously listen in often.

Because of this, you almost don't notice the man waiting at the register, wholly delved into the neighboring conversation— only looking over when you hear your name called.

"Y/n?"

You turn your head, catching eyes with the stranger behind the counter who holds his credit card ready. The first thing you notice is that he's young, probably around your age, wearing a brown turtleneck and white slacks. His eyes are dark, standing above his perfectly sculpted nose and lips. His hair is dark as well, forehead drowning within the wavy bangs that fall over his eyebrows as he takes you in. To be completely honest, he's probably the most handsome man you've had the pleasure of seeing… is that weird? You don’t know him… maybe that is weird.

The second thing you notice is that he looks completely anxious, hands grasping the edge of the counter like there's a thousand-foot drop below him. Why is he looking straight at you while doing that? Maybe you should call Jimin to take ove-

“Is it really you?” He questions, taking you aback.

"I-" You clear your throat, walking forward to meet him at the register, "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

With an intake of breath, he releases the counter as he studies you. Was he… crying? You swear his eyes were not this bloodshot three seconds ago.

"You-" He pauses, taking another sharp breath and running a hand through his hair. If you thought he couldn't get more attractive, you were wrong. "Do you know me?"

Attractive? Yes. Psycho?...possibly.

You shake your head slightly, “I… I’m sorry. I don't-"

Wait… is he a regular? You swear you haven't seen him come into the cafe before. Shoot.. What if he is? The number one thing your boss has made perfectly clear: remember the regulars, so they come back and feel at home; recognized. Customer connection was the most important thing at the Academia Cafe… He's probably a regular.

“I’m so sorry, there're so many people that come to visit us and sometimes I forget the regulars!” You apologize. “That’s my fault… remind me of your name again?”

He's staring at you. Full-on staring, jaw slacked. Shifting uncomfortably in your keds, you eye beside you to see Jimin working away at a macchiato. You consider changing places, nearly walking over to him before the customer speaks again.

"It's- It's Taehyung."

You force a smile, nodding while he continues to stare at you. He seems a bit more hesitant, his eyes looking in different directions but ultimately falling back onto your own. Even if he tried, he couldn't hide the rosy color that spreads onto his cheeks. What was this guy's problem?

"Taehyung! Awesome, well, what can I get for you today?" You chirp, attempting to brighten up your increasing discomfort. He might have mistook you for someone else, you decide, jumping back into your customer service personality: kind and quick to the point.

Taehyung doesn't move, training his eyes on you. You've never had a man's undivided attention before, since boyfriends were never an option. When you were a teenager, you stayed home most of the time in your hometown, and the boys there were all just in it to take your pants off. You avoided them and never really caught their attention, so you can't help the uncomfortable blush that grows on your cheeks. It’s short lived though, your nerves dissolving as soon as you notice a single tear fall onto the front of his shirt.

Oh. Okay, he’s definitely crying.

"Sir..." You begin, leaning in closer to avoid drawing attention. "Is everything alright?"

"I…" The shake in his voice is evident as he puts his credit card back into his wallet, still refusing to break eye contact. “Excuse me." Without another word, he turns on his heel and rushes towards the exit, clocking a customer in the shoulder in his rush. He apologizes quickly, bowing to them before glancing behind to make eye contact with you once more.

You wish you could read minds, wondering what the hell is going through his brain… but you notice the tiniest gleam of a hopeful smile that hides on his lips.

And then he’s gone.

“I swear it was the strangest thing, Jimin.” You speak nervously, tugging at the strings of your apron and lifting it over your head. It had been busy all day, despite a quick thirty minute break when everyone had left and the cafe was suddenly a deserted island. You appreciated the busyness, it made your shift go by faster. Right now, all you wanted to do was go home, eat a fat bowl of icecream and distract yourself from the events of today with a movie. Thank God your shift was over.

“Maybe he thought you were someone else?” Jimin insists, taking a bite into the extra Blueberry Muffin you’d accidentally heated when you were distracted by the events that occurred earlier.

“Yeah? Well, I must be the spitting image because he was totally freaked out.”

“You never know, y/n. Or, maybe he just used that as an excuse to talk to you.” You could hear the smirk in his voice, throwing your rolled up apron at him harshly before you grab your belongings.

“Ha, ha, you’re hilarious. This guy looked like he had seen his ex… He was crying. I don’t think he was into me.”

“Maybe his eyes were watering from the cold wind?” He offers.

“Enough to cry actual tears?” You scoffed, “C’mon Jimin.”

He shrugs defensively, picking up his things so the two of you can head out a few minutes earlier than usual. Whenever the baristas have a chance to leave early, they take it. “If he comes back, then ask him: hey, dude, what’s your deal?”Jimin works his way through the cafe, throwing an excess chair upside down onto the table with the rest of them.

You hold your hand above your heart, which is still beating at a faster pace due to this discussion. Can hearts even beat this fast? This can’t be healthy… “Oh wow, you have such a way with words. That definitely won’t make him feel uncomfortable!”

Yes. Sarcasm coping mechanism.

“Y/n.” Jimin meets you at the door and puts his hands on your shoulders, making extra sure he has your attention. “Go home. Don’t think too much into it… He was probably high or something and mistook you for his ex that dumped him and now he’s moping through the city and getting into all sorts of trouble and he’ll forget that he even came here tomorrow morning. Okay?”

You nod slowly, exiting the cafe with Jimin on your tail. "Don't worry, y/n." Jimin adds, "He probably won't even come back." He locks the door and gives you one last thumbs up before heading in the opposite direction, calling out at the last second. “See you tomorrow!”

The forced smile on your face appears again (looks like this was a regular occurrence today), waving him goodbye.

Yeah… tomorrow.

Jimin was right. The handsome crying stranger was probably never coming back.

It has been a few weeks since you met him for the first time. Now, it feels like a distant memory. He hadn’t shown up to the cafe the day after the encounter, or the day after that, or the day after that, and eventually you’d come to the conclusion that he was probably never going to show his face again out of pure embarrassment. You can’t say you blame him. You’d be embarrassed too if you stared at and cried over a random stranger.

Still, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment... You'd kind of hoped you could figure out what his problem was, maybe ease his mind a little if you really did look like a past lover. You would make sure he knew that it wasn't you. What if he was avoiding the cafe because he literally thought you were someone else? Great… now you just feel bad.

"Y/n? Are you listening?" Jimin beckons over the phone.

"Huh? What?" You bounce back to reality, the soft comforter of your bed lying beneath you as you stare out the window. Thanks to your wonderful apartment search, you have a beautiful view of the city. Jimin had helped you find a place when you first moved here. The two of you had met when you visited to check out the first apartment options; he even took you out for a drink afterward to celebrate the first days' completion. Jimin had immediately clicked with you, as he does with everyone-- he was the kind of person to make friends insanely quickly. He must've been super popular in high school... unlike you.

"Y/n Y/l/n. I am giving you a chance to meet more people, and you're not even listening to me!" He cries, a light smack coming from the other end (probably from him slamming his hand on the table).

"Okay, okay-- I'm sorry. I'm listening now; what's up?"

With a deep sigh, he speaks again. "Party. My house. Tonight. It's not gonna be wild, don't worry... it's just a get-together with some of my friends, and you can have a few drinks if you would like to."

Gnawing at your bottom lip, you look over towards the clock on your nightstand. 5:00. "I don't know..." You begin, the bed shifting as you raise into a seated position. "I have to work tomorrow morn-"

"Already got your shift covered." He deadpans.

"What??"

"I already got your shift covered, so you have no excuse."

This sly guy.

"Who covered it?" You question, setting the audio to speaker-phone as you rummage through old text messages you haven't gone through (to prep for your "thank you for covering my shift" text message).

“Jin.” Noted.

“So…” Jimin continues, “are you coming?”

You can't even remember the last time you met new people, let alone gone to a party. Parties weren't necessarily your thing, especially with your busy schedule of workdays and auditions-- you just never had the time. You should be excited, right?

Well, you aren't.

"Jimin, I don't know… I'm not really a huge fan of parties." You mumble over the phone, picking at the lone string that popped out of its stitch on your comforter.

"Y/n, it's a small get-together, and it's not gonna be that kind of party. Believe me; it'll be really chill. It's just me, you, a few other coworkers, and some friends from my journalism class."

You chew at your bottom lip, looking over at your closet to see a single green cocktail dress that you hadn't worn in years. The memory of the dress was a good one… you had just finished up curtain call for The Addams Family and wore that dress to the after-party. It's a short sleeve, layered green dress that flows just over your knees, the same color sash tying the waist in a floppy bow. You blush at the memory of winning best dressed.

A pause, “Okay.” You conclude. “I’ll go.”

Jimin was honest about how chill it would be; soft music plays in the background as the group sits around the table playing cards. A basketball game is playing on the TV, desperate for attention as a player scores a 3-pointer, but no one is watching. Shuffling of cards is the only sound heard in the room as the game continues.

The atmosphere is calm… quiet…

“BULLSHIT.”

The immediate crumble of everyone’s mood causes the loud “HELL YEAH” that makes you jump in your seat.

"And that is how it's done, Ladies and Gentlemen." Jungkook (your fellow coworker) claps, his smile brighter than the sunset that seeps through the curtains on the opposite side of the room.

"And that's on cheating!" Jimin picks up the cards in the center of the table, gathering them clumsily back into a pile.

"It's called having skill," Jungkook replies, holding his hands up as he smirks at his opponents.

"No, it's called luck." Yoongi finalizes as he puts his hand of cards down on the table with a roll of his eyes. You haven’t met Yoongi before until tonight. He’s one of Jimin's friends from Journalism Class.

When you arrived, you decided to sit out of this round and learn to play before joining the game-- knowing you; you would've been crushed within the first minutes of playing. Card games weren’t exactly a skill of yours— board games on the other hand were where it’s at! That, and charades. For the sake of the party, a card game didn’t sound too bad this time around— so you poke at Jimin to give you the hand as he serves cards for everyone else.

“Wait, wait, wait—“ Jimin pauses, his hand disappearing beneath the table to grab his phone. “Hello?”

“I’m not Irish, so does luck really count?” Jungkook questions in a hushed whisper, nudging Yoongi in the side.

“Oh hey...yeah... it’s apartment 205.” Jimin continues.

“You’re so funny, Jk. Maybe you’ll actually become successful if you choose stand-up comedy rather than becoming a musician.” Yoongi replies nonchalantly, his cat-like eyes staring at the abandoned pile of cards before he seems to come to the decision to shuffle them himself. He gives you a small smile when you hold your hand out to signal that you’re joining in this round.

“Mhm, you can just walk on in! Doors unlocked… okay.. alright, see ya in a minute.” When Jimin's phone is down, Yoongi passes a hand of cards to him.

“Think you can beat me, Y/n?” Jungkook asks,”Since apparently these four can’t?” He motions to Yoongi and Jimin, glancing at the other two players of the game: Hoseok (Jimins other classmate) and his girlfriend, Faith.

“I think I can.” You say, smirking at the determined expression on Jungkooks face. Even if you weren’t very fond of card games, there was one thing you were even less fond of: losing.

“Mmm, might want to rethink that, but okay.” Jungkook replies. The two of you are death staring when the sound of the front door creaking open catches the attention of everyone else at the table. Jimin shoots out of his chair.

“Taehyung!”

You freeze.

"You-" He pauses, taking another sharp breath and running a hand through his hair. If you thought he couldn't get more attractive, you were wrong. "Do you know me?"

Attractive? Yes. Psycho?... possibly.

“I’m so sorry, there're so many people that come to visit us and sometimes I forget the regulars!” You apologize. “That’s my fault… remind me of your name again?”

"It's- It's-."

“Taehyung, you just missed me creaming everyone in bullshit.” Jungkook boasts. Your eyes are glued to the side of Jungkook's head, not daring to make eye contact with the source of your nerves the past few weeks.

“Oh did I?” The familiar, deep voice utters.

Okay.. you can’t help but look…

Holy—it’s actually him.

Immediate regret sinks into your soul when you see him. God, he’s even handsomer than you remember. A white woolen sweater hangs over a pair of his black pants, matched with white sneakers and accenting the head of dark wavy hair you’d been thinking about since you last saw him.

“Yep!” Jungkook continues. “And now Y/n’s about to get shitfaced too.”

The moment his eyes swiftly glance your way is the moment you crumble and turn your head back to Jungkook. You had hoped to make a sly remark, something along the lines of “in your dreams,” but you’re caught breathless from the tension in the room. The tension only the two of you are aware of. He must be tense too, right?

“I wouldn’t underestimate her.” You hear out of Taehyung's mouth, stealing a look at his face once more. He’s smirking at Jungkook, hanging his coat on the hook beside yours, oblivious of the way you’re basically dissecting his every move.

“Have you met Y/n?” Jimin questions, provoking Taehyung's eyes to fall back onto yours. This time, you don’t look away.

He doesn’t answer right away, making you more nervous than you should be— the silence deafening as you make to explain, “We-“

“No.” He states plainly, cutting you off. An innocent smile plays on his lips as he looks at Jimin and places his messenger bag beside the door.

No? Uhhh, was he not the guy who pretended to know who you were and cried in front of you without even explaining why? Nope, it’s definitely him.

“I’m Taehyung.” He calls in your direction, offering you a boxy smile and a small nod, “Don’t let Jungkook fool you. A girl pinched him when we were in grade school. He barely lasted five seconds before running away screaming.” Taehyung moved to the table, sitting beside the man he just brutally embarrassed.

“That girl was terrifying. She was way taller than all the other sixth graders. It was an unfair situation.” Jungkook protested, sinking in his chair as he shuffled the cards he held in his hand.

You couldn’t help but stare dumbly at Taehyung. Was he embarrassed of his outburst at the cafe that he just hopes you forgot about him? You guess you didn’t exactly meet each other, other than a few words exchanged before he disappeared out the door. He probably doesn’t want his friends to know about what happened. Or did he not recognize you and completely forgot about the whole ordeal?

Okay, it’s fine… totally fine.

“I’ll have to keep that in mind,” you laugh, “no more coming in late, Jk. Or I’ll have to pinch you.”

Jungkook merely rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his beer. You see the crinkle in Taehyung's eyes as he laughs, the boxy smile taking root on his face again… a smile you’ve begun to enjoy the look of.

Hey. Snap out of it. This guy is so confusing. That’s a red card.

You straighten up in your seat, catching Jimin's attention when you move towards the kitchen, motioning with your hand to signal that you’re getting another drink. You have a feeling you’re gonna need some more alcohol to get through the evening.

Jimins place is clean, every knick knack placed neatly where it belongs; accompanied by the smell of potted plants that he keeps by his windows. Little name tags are attached to the plant stems: Flo, Sprout, Bob. He names his plants. Sweet.

He, like you, has a great view of the city too, a mid-size window perched above his breakfast nook where a small potted plant (quotabley named “bean”) grows. The city is bustling below as you reach for a beer, shrugging off the fact that you hate beer, but at least the taste will distract you from Tae-

“Hey.” You hear a soft voice call from the kitchen archway. When you turn you nearly drop the bottle out of your hand. Taehyung gives you a soft smile.

“Hey! Uh.. did you want a beer, or are you a wine guy?” You question, cringing at how much higher your voice sounds at his close proximity.

“I— Sorry, neither.” He starts, shoving his hands into his pockets as he makes his way around the island. “I uh- I just wanted to talk to you about something.”

You nod slightly, “Yeah of course… what’s up?”

“Um,” he’s nervous, you notice. “I just wanted to apologize about the whole thing at the cafe a few weeks ago.. I was— not in the right state of mind.” He meets your eyes hesitantly, “you just look like someone I know from a long time ago and it kind of.. took me by surprise, I guess.”

Jimin was right. You offer him a smile, shaking your head in disbelief, “You know what, I truly thought that was the reason… It’s totally fine. I’m not who you think I am, by the way.”

A flicker of something crosses his features at your comment, something you can’t quite pick up, but he changes it quickly to a smirk. “Obviously.” He laughs, “I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.. I’m not weird, I swear.”

“Mmm, that’s what they all say.” You tease.

He laughs, a soft sound that you want to hear over and over again. “You’ve got me there.” He takes a pause, placing his hands on the island countertop. “Let’s start over? If that’s okay? I didn’t want to mention it when I came in because I wanted us to have a fresh start.”

You push down the questioning thought of who this woman he mistook you for was, not wanting to overstep any boundaries. “That’s totally okay.. clean slate?”

“Clean slate.” He finalizes.

“Straightforward,” You add, “I like it.”

He gives you a warm smile, the same edge in the way he looks at you dances in his eyes before he breaks it off, sliding the bottle of beer out of your own hand. “Actually, I think I will have a beer. You don’t seem like a beer drinker, anyway.” He turns quickly, smirking at you before striding out of the room. “Thanks, Y/n!”

Protestations die on your lips as he disappears from the room, your beer along with him. How rude. You can’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you turn back to the cupboard, skipping the beer and pouring yourself a second glass of wine. You weren’t a beer drinker, after all.

Although you weren’t one for parties, you couldn’t help but admit the fact that you were having a good time. No, a great time. All of you are seated in Jimins living room; a plate of chips sits on the coffee table, which was the hot spot of the night (considering there’s hardly any remaining). Others in the group still have a glass of alcohol in their hands, the tipsiness evident by the slurring of their words. You had stopped yourself after half of your second glass, playing it safe since you still have to walk home after the party. You weren’t much of a drinker anyway-- your family history being the root of this decision.

It isn’t the games that made the night this enjoyable, or the food, or the movie that is currently playing over Jimin's television (which, by the way, is Moulin Rouge, because half of the room enjoys musicals, and the other half enjoys regular movies. So, you decided to settle on a movie musical). None of that matters, except the fact that you’ve never felt this carefree in a long time.

For one night, you can put aside your cafe job, auditions, and never-ending to-do lists and just have fun. Real fun. Even in the audition rooms, it has never been fun for you. It’s been nerve-wracking to a fault and always ends with a “thank you for taking the time, but we’ve decided not to accept you this time around,” or a callback, which ultimately concludes with the same grueling fate.

But this is different.

This is a group of people who genuinely want to spend time with you and get to know you… with no “not this time’s” or open-ended questions.

Especially with Taehyung. You’re surprised at how quickly the two of you seemed to hit it off, despite the awkward introduction. Now, it feels like he’s known you for years… in the best way. You’re comfortable talking to him, chatting together during the movie about the plot points or songs you find specifically endearing. You had initially planned to sit next to Jimin… but ended up next to Taehyung on the couch.

It just happened.

He enjoys musicals as well, you learn. Maybe not as much as you do, but at least he doesn’t despise them. He’s one of Jimin’s friends from their shared art class. He loves the color brown. His favorite food is watermelon. He does illustrations for Jimins journalism projects (which, in your opinion, are exceptional from the photos he showed you during the movie while the others were engulfed in the film). He wishes to pursue traveling journalism, where he draws what he sees rather than taking pictures. His whole aura is warm… like a heated blanket that envelopes you whole when you feel him shift beside you on the sofa. A small reminder that he’s still there.

Okay, you’re liking his presence way too much.

He finds romance movies corny but a guilty pleasure nonetheless. This, the reason why he agreed to watch Moulin Rouge despite the cheesiness in the beginning. In the end, it was anything but cheesy.

"Well, that was stupid." Jungkook scoffs, slamming the remote onto the neighboring loveseats' armrest. The once loud room filled with music is now quiet from the after-effects of the movie.

“I told you it was sad!” Jimin exclaims. The two of you had seen this movie before in theatres… and this was nothing compared to how the ending hit the first time. “Y/N was nearly choking. She was crying so hard when we saw it.”

An immediate blush rises onto your cheeks as you shake your head in defiance, trying to hide the tears that had been stinging your eyes for the last thirty minutes. “Who wouldn’t cry at that??”

“Taehyung probably didn’t. He never cries.” Hoseok deadpans. Ha. You can’t help but remember the tear that ran down his face in the cafe… He never cries?

With a quick look over your shoulder, you find that Taehyung is no longer seated on the couch. When did he get up? You attempt to shrug off your curiosity, pivoting back towards the chip table where only sad little crumbs remain. You were worrying way too much over a man you quite literally just met tonight… even if it felt like you’ve known him for much longer.

Taehyung eventually reappeared, stating that he had to use the bathroom— you ignored the fact that it took him a solid 30 minutes to get back to the party. It wasn’t your place to ask any questions, especially since he lifted a smile onto his face the second he reentered the room. See, y/n… nothing to worry about.

It wasn’t long before you insisted you head home, knowing that you’d curse yourself in the morning if you stayed out past the sunrise. If you did, you’d sleep through tomorrow, and that would be awful. You’ve done this a few times… and every time, you felt like you had wasted an entire year of your life.

You move to grab your purse and jacket, which are hanging comfortably on the hook beside the front door. With a small smile, you bid everyone goodnight— smiling as they resume a card game around the table at one o’clock in the morning. It’s nice to know that the group of you hit it off… now; you can look forward to plenty of get-togethers in the future.

Your mind is bustling with all kinds of ideas: picnics in central park, late-night broadway shows, hangouts at the caf-

“Y/n!” The soft calling of Taehyung's voice causes you to halt near the exit, turning on your heel to see him jogging towards you. He had haphazardly thrown his jacket over him since it’s still being tugged onto his body as he runs. His hair becomes even more chaotic in his haste… Why do you want to run your hands through it?

“Hey!” You squeak, interrupting your thoughts before they trudged down a guilty road. “What are you doing? Weren’t you going to play another round?”

He gives you a smirk, catching his breath as he holds out your house keys. “You forgot these! You were really moving fast… sick of us already?”

“Wh— oh my god, thank you!” With a quick swipe of your hand, you’re stuffing your keys into your pocket with a grateful smile. “Also, hardly.”

You admire the way his eyes light up at your confession. “Well.. since you don’t want to leave us so quickly.. how about I walk you home?” He seems almost hesitant asking, but you can’t help but applaud him for actually taking the initiative to inquire.

You shake your head, pulling the strap of your purse farther up your shoulder. “You don’t have t-“

“I want to!” He cuts you off quickly, catching you by surprise as he moves past you to open the door. He glances back, taking in your reluctant expression, “It’s not safe this time of night Y/n… You shouldn’t be alone.“

You know he didn't mean anything by that statement… But the idea of someone genuinely caring and not wanting you to be alone makes your heart swell. Jimin cares about your safety of course, but this feels… Different.

This is the reason why you allow him to walk you home.

The snow crunches beneath your feet, like a symphony that beckons you home. You’ve been feeling exhaustion seeping into your bones for the last ten minutes, but Taehyung's occasional brush of his arm as he walks beside you keeps you wide awake. He doesn’t think to apologize for accidentally touching you, but you blame it on the time of night. Delusion.

“How long have you lived in New York?” You question, wrapping your coat tighter around you to kick out the nipping air.

“About a year now,” He responds, shuffling his feet, “though it feels like way longer. You?”

“Three years.”

Taehyung turns his head towards you, eyes wide. “Wow, way to one up me.” With a teasing smile he continues, “You must know this city like the back of your hand.”

The truth is… you don’t. You came here for the sole purpose of making it on Broadway... you never really took the time to focus on anything else. Part of you wishes you had learned more, craved more, wanted more with your life—then you wouldn’t be so miserable when the one thing you do want doesn’t work out. “Yeah… kind of.”

If he hears the somber tone of your voice, he ignores it, turning against the wind as he walks backwards down the sidewalk. “It’s overrated in my opinion.”

You raise your head at this, “Why is that?”

“Everyone here has dreams… and those dreams get crushed more often than not.” He shrugs, “No one cares if you want to succeed, only if you already have.”

You stare at him for a moment, awestruck by the weight of his words. “But,” he adds, turning back towards the wind, “the ones who never give up and continue to chase that dream can become successful. Despite all of the no’s they might face, they always hold on till they hear a yes. That sounds like true success to me.”

Turning your head, you stare at the side of his face— admiring the way his hair tosses back a bit against the harsh winter winds. His words hit you way deeper than he probably realized, sinking into your chest with an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. You’ve been contemplating recently on whether or not to give up on your dream… that maybe it just wasn’t going to work out for you. You have been trying for so long, and have repeatedly been let down. There was no way Taehyung could have known, which is why his words hit you as hard as they did. Despite the hardships, you’ve been here for three years and you’ve never given up or stopped trying to chase your dream.

That was an achievement, right?

“To be honest… I've heard a lot of no’s in my three years of being here.” You speak softly, tucking a fallen strand of hair behind your ear. “Sometimes it feels like there will never be a yes… but here I am. At least I'm still working— at a coffee shop, not on the stage.”

“It’s admirable that you keep going.” Taehyung glances at you over his shoulder. “It makes you different from a lot of people who have left the city when they faced failure. It’s something to be proud of. Plus, coffee shop or big stage, you’re in New York City and pursuing your gift. It’s special.”

When your eyes meet, you smile at him, feeling a sense of victory the longer you hold his gaze.

“Don’t give up, Y/n. No matter what.” He speaks genuinely, leaning towards you to nudge you gently on your shoulder. You can’t help but laugh at his playfulness, giving him a nudge in return before your eyes downcast to your winter boots. The snow on the ground is fresh, powdery and sticking to the toes of your shoes. “Plus,” He adds, sucking in the chilly air, “you've got what others don’t have…”

This time when you meet his eye he has a serious expression, making sure he has your full attention as you round the corner towards your apartment building. His gaze is genuine, captivating… and a part of you hopes that the close proximity of your apartment wouldn’t cut this moment short. Finally, he speaks.

“You have passion.”

Taehyung's words weigh on you for the rest of your night. It started off as something simple, looking up audition songs for an upcoming off-broadway show your agent was telling you about. Then, you went to learning it. After that, putting on makeup. And finally, completely forgetting about your sleep schedule and filming an entire audition tape in your room at 2 in the morning (and you were belting… your poor neighbors). It wasn’t until four that you finally turned in for the night, not bothering to take off your makeup or get changed-- simply falling onto your pillow and blacking out the moment you hit it. You were definitely sleeping the next day away… but at that moment, you didn’t mind. Having a day off from your busy schedule wouldn’t be so bad.

“I sent in an audition tape two nights ago.” You speak confidently, wiping down the back counter that’s littered with coffee grounds. They stick to the rag like glue, tiny dots scattered along its white surface. If it weren’t for your apron,

and your expertly rolled up white turtleneck sweater, you would look alot like this rag right now.

“Did you?” Jimin questions from the bar, sleeving the cup before placing it on the handoff counter.

“Christopher! Medium cappuccino!” He calls, multitasking while he cranes his neck to still hear you.

“I did. I feel really good about this one..” You add, meeting him beside the bar as he lifts the pitcher up and down to create the latte-art of a flower in the center of the mug. You have tried sooooo many times to make latte art… and every time it ended up looking like a glob. A big, distorted snowball. Jimin was the master of latte art, always finishing it off beautifully with a whip of his wrist. The foam atop telling a story. “It was so late-- I was totally out of it… and yet I actually enjoyed myself while filming it. I just imagined being there.. In center stage.”

“I’m happy for you, Y/n!” He smiles, turning to place the hot mug next to the cappuccino.

“Caleb! Medium caramel latte!”

He was only half listening to you. The cafe was bustling, so it truly wasn’t Jimin's fault that he was sidetracked— but nothing could hold back the small smile that played at the edge of your lips. You had actually enjoyed singing for the first time in a while.. all because of Taehyung's Academy Award winning pep talk. Who knew that all you needed was for someone to tell you like it is. With a minuscule smile, you turn back towards the counter and lift the latte you’d whipped up this morning to your lips. Your distorted snowball is fully on display at the top.

Despite the busyness, the front register is deserted, giving you time to think for a moment about the pep talk... or rather, the person who gave you it.

“I think Taehyung likes you.” Jimin deadpans.

Uhhh… You nearly spit out your snowball at that— clearing your throat as you set it down slowly onto the wooden countertop. He speaks as if this is a natural conversation starter… it’s not.

“I’m sorry?” You croak.

“Taehyung.” He repeats, turning his head in your direction with a knowing smirk. “I think he likes you.”

You give him a scoff of disbelief, watching as yet another group of regulars enter through the door. “That’s not true, he just doesn’t know me… so he made an effort to talk to me.” If you weren’t studying the group, you would've seen Jimin giving you a scrutinized look.

So, now you have his attention.

“Y/n. It’s so obvious… He spent the entire night talking to you, he left moments after you did to give you your keys and he never came back. If that isn’t someone who’s interested, I don’t know what is.” Jimin is an expert at multitasking, finishing off two drinks at the same time and calling them out.

“Well, Jimin, when people don’t know each other, they get to know each other. It’s this thing called talking and becoming friends.” The sentence hangs in the air as the doorbell chimes, signaling that yet another customer has entered the cafe and into the swarm of regulars, but the two of you disregard the sound and continue on through your bickering.

“I’m just saying, Taehyung doesn’t usually talk to girls.” Jimin adds, wiping his hands off on the white rag seated beneath his espresso machine. “Even if they wanted his attention, he didn’t give it to them. I mean— he’s nice to girls, don’t get me wrong.. but he’s never talked to them like he did with you on game night. I don’t think he’s dated anyone since he got here.”

“He’s career driven.” You say quickly.

If you thought his smirk couldn’t get any wider, you were wrong. “Yeah, girls don’t know that about him— meaning he told you, and not other girls.” Jimin deadpans.

You stare blankly at him. There’s no way. No way that a guy as attractive as Taehyung would even think about looking at you like that. There’s just no way. You’ve never had a boyfriend... or even a guy friend, until Jimin. Eventually, you’d accepted the fact that maybe you just weren’t that interesting. Maybe you weren’t pretty enough. Maybe you couldn’t flirt…. okay, you definitely couldn’t flirt— but that’s besides the point.

“He’s not interested in me.” You conclude.

“He is.” Jimin counters.

“He’s not.”

“He so is.”

“He’s so not.”

“Y/n. I swear to you. He’s interested and you need to shoot your shot.” He whisper-screams, throwing the rag in his hand onto the bar.

“Taehyung is not-“

A clearing of someone’s throat from beyond the register cuts your argument short, nearly making you lose your balance when you see who the source was.

You’re fairly certain you’ve turned pale.

Taehyung stands in front of you, eyeing between the two of you with an awkward expression. God, how long has he been standing there? “I figured I should step in before the two of you start fist fighting.”

“Hey!” The shrill of your voice causes you to wince.

“Hey.” He says with a smile, folding his arms in front of him and raising his eyes to the menu above your head. You can’t help the glare you send towards Jimin, who's notably holding back his laughter as he moves to the blender, the station farthest from the register. Ridiculous.

“What can we get for you?” You ask routinely, trying not to make it obvious that you were just talking about him… and praying that he wasn’t there to hear what the two of you were talking about.

“Hmm…” He looks especially good today, wearing a brown, long coat and a brown plaid scarf around his neck. He wasn’t kidding when he said his favorite color was brown, that’s for sure. It suits him. His hair is wavy, flowing to a point just under his eyebrows with a split off center, giving you the tiniest glimpse of his forehead. “How about an americano with hazelnut, and some cream?”

“We can do that for ya!” You have to force yourself to stop looking at him, pressing the buttons to ring up his order before you forget. You nearly overlook ringing up the hazelnut syrup. Why were you so dazed? He’s already placed his credit card into the chip reader, but your foggy brain asks anyway. “Anything else?”

“Yes, actually.” He speaks as you move towards the bar beside the register. Grabbing an empty pitcher, you pour the milk inside and reach for the steamer. He drops a dollar into the tip jar, not giving you enough time to thank him for the unnecessary effort before he speaks again. “Are you free later?”

NEXT CHAPTER

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plus-size-reader · 4 years

Text

Crush

Philip “Lip” Gallagher x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1726 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Lip develops a crush on the reader, Fiona’s childhood best friend

——————————————————————————————————

Fiona'd had friends of hers in and out of the house since Lip was a kid, but no one more so than you.

You were arguably her best friend in the entire world and everyone knew it. For the better part of both of your lives, you’d been inseparable and it was only natural that you get close with the rest of her family.

In a way, for them, it was like you were a part of their family, and even Frank spoke highly of you, which in itself was a feat. They just all seemed to love you.

Unfortunately though, as Lip got older, he didn't seem to feel the same way.

It wasn't that he didn't love you, because he did, and you were very important to him. It was just that he didn’t feel the same way for you that the rest of the Gallaghers did.

More than anything, he was in awe of you for everything that you were. You were confident and gentle, with more heart and soul than anyone he’d ever known. You were sweet, and caring, while also being a huge badass.

To Lip, you were everything.

...But he knew the truth.

You saw him as nothing more than your best friend's annoying baby brother, and that was never going to change. What did change though was how Lip wanted you to see him.

He didn’t want to be that in your eyes, not when he could be so much more.

Not that you could ever know that.

Lip was positive that he would die if you ever found out how he really thought about you. Nothing could ever be more embarrassing, especially because he had a pretty good idea of how it would go.

You were the one woman in the world he couldn't be confident around, and it had everything to do with the history you two shared.

You had helped Fiona raise him; and Ian, and Deb, and Carl. Hell, even now, you picked Liam up from daycare three days of the week.

You knew everything about every single one of the Gallaghers and the crush that Lip harbored wasn't going to be anything more than a cute little joke.

What you didn't seem to realize was that Lip was a grown man now.

He didn't need you to take care of him now, not anymore.

You were no longer the girl who came around and bothered him when he tried to hang out by himself, and you certainly weren't the girl who'd found his playboys under his bed and put them back without a word anymore either.

You were attainable, as far as age, feelings, and experience went but that didn't mean that Lip could make you his.

Every member of his family was too invested in all this for him to start going out with you, not to mention that Fiona would never allow it. She would sooner end his life than let him be with you.

So Lip kept quiet.

It was much easier to do than opening that can of worms.

He opened the refrigerator door slowly, his hand lazily falling on the neck of the bottle. It was as if the motion was a habit by now, and he didn't even have to think about it.

Across the kitchen was you, giggling at whatever was being said over the phone. He didn't know who you were talking or what it was all about; all he knew was that you were having an amazing time.

There was nothing Lip wouldn't do to hear that laugh but he just wished that he could be the one making you act that way.

Knowing that he couldn’t was more than enough to anger the younger male, who slammed his near-empty bottle down on the counter without a word and stormed out.

You hadn’t really been paying attention to him before that, but you couldn’t help but notice that he was gone. It would have been impossible not to but what you didn't know was why?

It certainly couldn’t have had anything to do with you.

You had just been on the phone with your cousins in Jersey. They spent most of the time arguing with one another more than talking to you, but they were also a laugh riot.

...But Lip didn’t know that.

In his mind, you had been laughing and carrying on with the greasy yet somehow charming usher from the theatre who loved you. He hit on you all the time and it wouldn’t have surprised Lip if you’d hooked up with him.

There was no way for him to think about it that didn't make his blood boil.

You were his, you just didn't know it yet.

~ Normally, you would have let Lip be.

Sometimes he could be dramatic and it was possible that he’d just gotten upset about something else and you’d read the room wrong. However, you had a feeling that wasn’t the case.

So, naturally, you went to go check on him.

If you were wrong, you could just move on and go about your business, but if you were right, you might be able to make him feel better.

“Hey kid, what’s going on?” you asked, knocking lightly on his door frame to let him know that you were there. You didn’t want to say anything if he was busy, but he didn’t seem to be.

In fact, he was far from it.

Lip was just sitting there on his bed, his beer bottle long discarded on the floor. It was funny, or perhaps it would have been, if he wasn’t so clearly upset.

“Don’t call me that” he snapped, catching you off guard.

There was something so pointed and aggressive about the way he spoke and it shocked you. Maybe you had done something after all, but you had no idea what it was.

“Okay, sorry. Is there something going on?” you asked, doing your very best to be understanding, even though you were more and more confused with each passing moment.

You were just lost.

Nothing that was happening made any sense at all to you.

“No, why would there be?” he questioned, that accusatory tone still evident in his voice.

You weren’t even sure why he wouldn’t just tell you what it was, but since you were clearly gonna have to pull it out of him, you sat down.

“Out with it?” you suggested, though you both knew it was more of an order. If he didn’t want you to call him a kid, he’d have to stop acting like one.

Usually, Lip was the most mature of the Gallagher siblings but times like these made you wonder if that was true. It didn’t really make sense that he couldn’t just tell you what was wrong.

He sighed at first, the deep sort of sigh that you’d gotten used to hearing in this house. Someone always had a problem that needed to be worked out, even Lip, apparently.

“I don’t like that you talk to that guy, he’s trash, even more than most of the people around here” he commented finally.

There was a casualness in the way he spoke, though you could see just how hard this was for him in his eyes.

“Who? What are you talking about Lip?” you asked, genuinely confused this time. Clearly he thought you were talking to someone else but you had no idea who it could be.

You haven't been seeing anyone new lately.

“That guy from the theatre, what’s his name-” He huffed, scrambling a little when it came to his name. Lip had always been so focused on how much he hated him that he didn’t pay attention to what he said.

All he knew was the guy was not good enough for you and he was tired of hearing about him.

“I haven’t talked to him in forever. Why do you even care?” you asked, finding it hard not to be offended that he clearly didn’t think very highly of you.

He assumed that you were just going out with whatever guy paid attention to you, and honestly, that hurt. You had never been that kind of girl, but even if you had, it wasn’t really his business.

“Because, you’re way too good for a guy like that” he groaned, going for broke. The cat was out of the bag and there was no getting it back in now.

Gingerly, Lip reached out to take your hand in his own, his fingers brushing over the back of your knuckles slowly. The skin of his hands was noticeably rougher than yours, likely to working construction over the summer, but you didn’t mind.

Instead, you chose to ignore the strange feeling that overtook you at the touch. This was Lip, and the fact that you were even in this position was not alright

You’d known him all your life.

“Lip-” you started, but he stopped you before you could continue.

He knew that as soona s you said what you needed to say, this would be over and he at least had to get out what he was thinking before that happened.

If this ruined any friendship you'd ever had, he had to know that he got it all out there.

“I care because the right guy for you is right here, I always have been” he continued, startling you with his admission but he was far from done. Lip had been sitting on his feelings for so long, it was almost a relief to be honest.

“I know you probably think it’s just some stupid crush but it’s far from that. I’m in love with you”

By the time he’d finished, the male was almost entirely out of breath but neither of you minded. In fact, you were just trying to wrap your mind around what he was saying.

Lip was in love with you? How was that possible?

“I have to go” you decided finally, the walls of the room felt like they were closing in and you could hardly even breathe. It was ridiculous that you were even considering this, but you couldn’t help it.

Was it possible you cared about him in that way? Then, as if you hadn’t been handed enough, you realized something. What happened when Fiona found out?

#Lip Gallagher #Phillip Gallagher #shameless #lip x reader #lip x ps reader #lip x plus size reader #lip imagine #lip gallagher x reader #lip gallagher x ps reader #lip gallagher x plus size reader #lip gallagher imagine #shameless x reader #shameless x ps reader #shameless x plus size reader #shameless imagine

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unpopularwiththepopulace · 3 years

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Don’t I Get a Dream for Myself ? – Bernadette Peters and the 'Gypsy' Saga

Gypsy. It’s perhaps the most daunting of all of the projects related to Bernadette Peters to try to grapple with and discuss. It’s also perhaps the most significant.

For someone notoriously guarded of her privacy and personal life, careful with her words, and selective of the questions she answers, the narrative around this show provides some of the most meaningful insights it is possible to derive in relation to Bernadette herself. The show’s ability to do this is unique, through the way it eerily parallels her own life and spans a large range in time from both Bernadette Peters the Broadway Legend, right back to where it all began with Bernadette Lazzara, the young Italian girl put into showbusiness by her mother.

The most logical place to start is at the very beginning – it is a very good place to start, after all.

(Though no one tell Gypsy this, if the fierce two-way battle with The Sound of Music at the 1960 Tony Awards is anything to be remembered. Anyway, I digress…)

Gypsy: A Musical Fable with music by Jule Styne, lyrics by Stephen Sondheim, and book by Arthur Laurents, burst into the world and onto the New York stage in May of 1959. After closing on Broadway in March 1961, Ethel Merman as the world’s original Mama Rose herself led the first national tour off almost immediately around the country. Just a few months later, a second national touring company was formed, starring Mitzi Green and then Mary McCarty as Rose, to cover more cities than the original. It is here that Bernadette comes in.

A 13-year-old Bernadette Peters found herself part of this show in her “first professional” on-the-road production, travelling across the country with her older sister, “Donna (who was also in the show), and their mother (who wasn’t)”.

The tour played through cities like Philadelphia, Chicago, New Haven, Baltimore and Las Vegas before closing in Ohio in 1962. Somewhat uncannily, its September 1961 opening night in Detroit’s Schubert Theatre even returns matters full circle to the 2003 revival and New York’s own Schubert Theatre.

Indeed this bus-and-truck tour was somewhat of a turning point for Bernadette. She’d later remember, “I mostly thought of performing as a hobby until I went on the road with Gypsy”.

But while this production seminally marked a notable moment for the young actress as well as the point where her long and consequential involvement with Gypsy begins, it’s important to recognise she was very much not yet the star of the show and then only a small part of a larger whole.

Bernadette was with the troupe as a member of the ensemble. She took on different positions in the company through the period of nearly a year that the show ran for, including billing as ‘Thelma’ (one of the Hollywood Blondes), ‘Hawaiian Girl’, and additional understudy credits for Agnes and Dainty June.

The above photo shows Bernadette (left) with another member of the ensemble (Sharon McCartin) backstage at the Chicago Opera House as one of the stops along the tour. Her comment on the stage of the Chicago theatre – “I’d never seen anything so big in my life!” – undeniably conveys how her experiences were new and appreciably daunting.

Along the tour, she assumed centre-stage once or twice as the understudy for Dainty June, but playing the young star was not her main role. Unlike what more dominant memory of the story seems to purport.

Main credits of June went instead to Susie Martin – a name and a tale of truth-bending that’s now well-known from Bernadette’s concert anecdotes. While performing her solo shows as an adult and singing from Gypsy, Bernadette has often been known to take a moment to penitently atone for historical indiscretions of identity theft or erasure where her mother long ago conveniently left out the “understudy” descriptive when putting down Dainty June on her resumé, in an effort to add weight to the teenager’s list of credits.

Whatever happened to Susie Martin? – many have wondered. Well, she soon left the theatre. But not before appearing in two more regional productions of Gypsy and a 1963 Off-Broadway revival of Best Foot Forward with Liza Minnelli and Christopher Walken.

Bernadette too went on to other regional productions of Gypsy. She spent the summer of 1962 in various summer stock stagings with The Kenley Players, like in Pennsylvania and Ohio, and this time she did indeed get to play June.

Above shows photos from different programmes for these productions. While some may have featured odd forms of photo editing, they at least also bring to attention Rose here being played by none other than Betty Hutton.

The two women couldn’t have been in more different positions when they coalesced in these rough-around-the-edges, small-scale productions. A young Bernadette was broaching summer stock in starting to take on bigger roles in the ascendency to her bright and long career. Meanwhile, Betty found herself there while navigating the descent that followed her sharp but fickle rise to Hollywood fame in the ‘40s and early ‘50s. Top billing Monday, Tuesday you really are touring in stock after all.

While details aren’t plentiful for these productions, it was recounted Betty apparently struggled in performing the role. And understandably so. Following the recent traumatic death of her mother in a house fire, and the birth of her third child shortly before the shows began, it’s not hard to see why her mind might have been elsewhere. Still, she was apparently impressed enough by the younger actress who turned in one of the show’s “creditable performances” to make comment that she would’ve liked Bernadette to play her if a movie were made about her life.

Bernadette might not have done this exactly, but she did go on to revitalise Betty’s best-known movie role, when stepping into Annie Oakley’s shoes in the 1999 Annie Get Your Gun revival. With Bernadette’s first Ethel Merman show under her belt, the ball was soon rolling on her second.

The 2003 production of Gypsy was imminently beckoning as her next successive Broadway musical and it was Arthur Laurents who lit the match to spark Bernadette’s involvement. Laurents, as the show’s original librettist, drove the revival by saying he “didn’t want to see the same Rose” he’d seen before. Going back to June Havoc’s description of her mother as “small” and a “mankiller”, and Arthur’s take that Bernadette sung the part “with more nuance for the lyrics and the character than the others”, the choice of Bernadette was justified. Moreover, “Laurents – whose idea it was to hire her – [said] going against type is exactly the point,” and Sam Mendes, as director, qualified “the tradition of battle axes in that role has been explored”.

So Bernadette also had her own baseline of innate physical similarity to the original Rose Hovick, in addition to her own first-hand memories of the women she’d acted alongside as Rose in her youth to bring into her characterisation of the infamous stage mother.

But there was a third factor beyond those as well to be considered in the personal material she had access to draw from for her characterisation. Namely, her own real life stage mother.

Marguerite Lazzara did share traits with the character of Rose. She too helped herself to silverware from restaurants, and put her daughters in showbusiness for the vicarious thrill. Marguerite had “always wanted to become an actress herself”, but had long been denied her desire by her own mother, who likened actresses to being as “close to a whore as you could be without, you know, getting on your back”.

In that case, to “escape a housewife’s dreary fate in Ozone Park”, Marguerite channelled her latent dream through her pair of young daughters instead, shepherding them out along the road. Thus was produced a trio of the two children ushered around the theatre circuit by the driven mother, forming an undeniable parallelism and a mirror image of both Bernadette’s reality and Gypsy’s core itself. Bernadette didn’t see some of these familial parallels at the time when she was a child, considering “maybe I didn’t want to see” – “didn’t want to see a mother doing that to her daughter”.

It was coming back to the show as an adult that helped Bernadette resolve who her mother was and some of the motivations that had propelled her when Bernadette was still a child. She realised, “I think she thought she was going to die very young”, as her own father died young. So “she was rushing around to get as much of her life as she could in there”.

When she herself returned to the production in playing Rose, Bernadette conceded to sometimes bringing elements of her mother and her driven energy into her portrayal, and admitted too she looked “like her a lot in the role”. You can assess any familial resemblances for yourself, from the images below that show a young Marguerite next to Bernadette in costume as Rose, and then with the pair backstage in 1961 in a dressing room on the tour.

Marguerite was ambitious. From her own personal position and with the restrictions imposed upon her, it was ambition that materialised through her children. Irrevocably, she altered them. She placed Bernadette on TV as a very young child (“I was four when my mother put me in the business”); changed her daughter’s surname (“She told me my real name was too long for the marquees,” or really – “too Italian”); doctored her resumé (“Somehow the word ‘understudy’ vanished. ‘No one will know,’ said Marguerite”); and lightened her hair (“She’d say, ‘Oh, I’m just putting a little conditioner on it.’ But slowly my hair got blonder and blonder!”). All in the hope of giving her child a more favourable chance at the life she’d always wanted for herself.

On paper, a classic stage mother. “When I was a kid, she fulfilled herself through me,” Bernadette would say. “She put me into show business so she could get a taste of the life herself.”

But it’s important to consider Bernadette often qualifies that her mother wasn’t as brutal as Rose, nor was she herself as traumatised as June.

Bernadette didn’t begrudge her mother for her choices – at least by the time she was an adult, she’d rationalised them, explaining “naturally it was more exciting [for her] to go on the road with me than staying home and keeping house”.

As a child, Bernadette hadn’t necessarily wanted to be on stage, but there was a sense of ambivalence – not resentful belligerence – as she “didn’t care one way or the other” when she found herself there.

Like June, Bernadette may have been entered into and coaxed around a path she hadn’t voluntarily chosen. But unlike June, Bernadette had a deal with her mother that “she had only to say the word”, and she could leave.

Most crucially, she never did.

But that’s not to say Bernadette was enamoured with acting from the beginning.

She seemed to feel ‘outside’ of that world and those in it. And others saw it too.

It was in 1961 in Gypsy that Bernadette first met Marvin Laird – her long-time accompanist, conductor and arranger. The way he put it, he “noticed this one young girl, very close with her mother” who, during breaks, “didn’t mix much with the other girls”.

Beneath the effervescent stage persona, there’s a quieter and more reserved reality, and a sense of separation and solitary division.

When asked by Jesse Green in 2003 for the extensive profile in The New York Times if she thought her experiences on the road in Gypsy were good for her at that age, she gives a curious, somewhat abstract, predominantly dark, potentially macabre, response. He wrote:

She doesn’t answer at first but seems to scan an image bank just behind her eyes for something to lock onto. Eventually she comes out with a seeming non sequitur. “I didn’t know how to swim. I remember, in Las Vegas, I fell in, once, and they thought I was flailing, but I felt like: ‘It’s pretty down here!’ I might have been dying and I was thinking: ‘Look at the pretty color!’ And suddenly my fear of water was gone, and I could have stayed in forever.” After a while, I realize she’s answered my question. Then she dismisses the image: “But I had to get my hair dry for the show that day, so up I came.”

I’m still not entirely sure I know what she’s trying to convey here. My interpretation of this anecdote changes as I have re-visited and re-examined it on multiple occasions at different time points. It’s arguably multiply polysemic.

Was she simply swept up in a moment of childlike distraction, lost in the temporary respite alone away from the usual noise and clamour? Was she indicating comprehension that her feelings and perspectives came secondary to any practical necessities and inevitable responsibilities? Was she using the water to depict a muffling and fishbowl-like detachment from others her age who got to live more ‘ordinary’ lives in the ‘normal’ world above that she felt separate from? Was she referencing the pretty colours she saw as a metaphor for show business and how she became bewitched by them even despite potential dangers? Was she trying to legitimately drown herself, or at least exhibiting an ambivalence again as to whether she lived or died, because of what the highly pressurised demands on her felt like?

The underlying sentiment through her response in answer to Green’s primary question was that, in essence – no. Being a child actor was not “over all, a good experience for a youngster”.

Acting might have been something she fell in love with over time, but not all at once, not right from the beginning, and not without noting its perils.

It was a matter of accidental circumstance that landed Bernadette in the show business world to begin with at such a young age in the first place – “I just found myself here,” she would offer.

Her mother, who was “always crazy about the stage”, “insisted” that her sister, Donna take lessons in singing, dancing and acting.

A further point of interest to note is that, although it was Bernadette with her new surname who would grow up to be the famous actress, look to the cast lists from the 1961 touring production of Gypsy that featured both sisters in the company (see photo below) and you’ll find no ‘Lazzara’ in sight. Donna too, appearing under the novel moniker of “Donna Forbes”, had also already become stagified (nay, ethnically neutralised?) by her mother. As such it is clearly demonstrated that Marguerite’s intention at that point was to make stars of both her daughters. Correspondingly so, when her sister returned from her performance lessons some years before, “Donna would come home and teach me what she had learned,” Bernadette remembered. She may have gotten her “training second hand”, but the key element was that she got it.

For Bernadette, it was a short jump from emulating magpied tricks from her sister as well as routines from Golden Age Busby Berkeley musicals on the ‘Million Dollar Movie’ in front of the TV screen, to her mother getting her on the other side of the screen and actually performing on TV itself – belting out Sophie Tucker impressions aged five for all the nation to see.

The photos below show Bernadette in performative situations at a young age (look for criss-crossed laces in the second for identification).

“At first, as a toddler, Bernadette enjoyed performing; it came naturally, a form of play that people inexplicably liked to watch.” It was “just a hobby” and she “wanted to do it”.

But while she may not have detested it, she didn’t entirely comprehend what was going on either. “I didn’t even know I was on TV,” she said. “I didn’t know that those big gadgets pointed at me were cameras and that they had anything to do with what people saw on the television set.”

When she started gaining more of an awareness of how “such play [was being] co-opted for commercial purposes”, she grew less enthralled. “She didn’t care for the bizarre children, accompanied by desperate mothers, she began to see at auditions: ‘They spent their whole time smiling for no reason, you know?’”

Being a child who had become sentient of being a child performer began to grow wearisome and grating to the young girl who had her equity card, a professional (and strange, new) stage name, and an increasingly long list of expectations by the time she was nine. There’s a keen sense she did not enjoy being in such a position: “I wouldn’t want to be a child again. When you’re a child, you have thoughts, but nobody listens to you. Nobody has any respect for you”.

Gypsy did indeed mark a turning point for Bernadette as mentioned above – but not just in the way that seems obvious. Looking back at it now, it does appear the monumental turning point at which she started appearing in significant and reputable productions, beginning what would be the foundation to her ‘professional’ career. However it was also the turning point after which she nearly quit the business altogether.

When she returned from performing in Gypsy, Bernadette felt like she’d had enough. One way of putting it was that she “then retired from the business to attend high school”, wanting to have some semblance of a normal scholastic experience “without the interruptions”. But whatever dissatisfaction she was feeling as an early adolescent on stage, she didn’t resolve at school – going as far as saying that while at Quintano’s School for Young Professionals, “she was in pain”.

“When you’re a teenager you’re too aware of yourself,” she recalled. Being a teen and trying to come to terms with of the expectation of the ‘60s that “you are supposed to look like Twiggy, and you don’t, you feel everything is wrong about you”. Everything “was all about tall, skinny, no chest…[and] hair straight”. Little Bernadette with her “mass of [curly] hair and distracting bosom”, as Alex Witchel put it, was never going to fit that mould. “That was not me,” she stated. “At all.”

Her self-consciousness grew to the point that it became overwhelming and asphyxiating. “I was trying desperately to blend in and be normal, but that doesn’t allow creativity to come out,” Bernadette said. “I knew I was acting terrible. The words were sticking in my mouth and all I could think about was how I looked”. It was hard enough just to look at herself (“I didn’t like what I saw in the mirror”), let alone to have other people gawk at her on stage. So she stopped trying. She “didn’t work much from age 13 to 17” in the slightest. Bernadette would later reflect in 1981 in an atypically open and vulnerable interview, “I was very insecure. Insecurity is poison. It’s like wearing chains”.

It was a combination of factors that helped her overcome these feelings of such toxic and weighty burden to draw her back into the public world of performing and the stage. “The two people who helped her most, she says, were David LeGrant, her first acting teacher, and her vocal coach, Jim Gregory.” Jim helped with “[opening] a whole creative world for [her] with singing”; and it was David who’d give her the now infamous and often (mis)quoted line about individuality and being yourself.

Having these kinds of lessons, she reasoned, was “really a wonderful emotional outlet for a kid of 17”. The process of it all was beneficial for her therapeutically – “you have a lot of emotions at that time in your life, and it was great to go to an acting class and use them up”. And Bernadette felt freer on stage than she did out on her own in the ‘real world’, saying “[up there] I don’t have to worry about what I’m doing or saying because I’m doing and saying what I’m supposed to be doing and saying”.

Finally then and with considerable bolstering and support, she grew comfortable with the notion of being visible on stage and in public, and realised she was never going to blend in as part of the chorus so it was simply better to let go of such a futile pursuit.

David LeGrant’s guiding advice to Bernadette (“You’ve got to be original, because if you’re like everyone else, what do they need you for?”) wasn’t just a trite aphorism. For her, it was a life raft. It was the key mental framing device that allowed her to comprehend for the first time that she might actually have intrinsic value as herself. And that it was imperative she let herself use it.

She had always stuck out, yes, but she had to learn how to want to be seen – talking of it as a conscious “choice” she had to make when realising she did “have something to offer”.

Thus soon after Bernadette graduated, she stepped back into productions like in summer stock and then Off-Broadway as she made her debut at that next theatrical level at 18. It wasn’t long before she was discovered in what’s seen as her big break in the unexpected smash hit, Dames at Sea. And so Bernadette Peters, the actress, was back. And she was back with impact and force.

Besides, as she’s also said, she couldn’t do anything else – “if I ever had to do something else to earn a living, I’d be at a total loss”. An aptitude test as a teenager told her so apparently, when she “got minus zero in everything except Theater Arts”. So that was that. Her answer for what she would’ve done if she’d never found acting is both paradoxically exultant and macabre – “I don’t know, probably shot myself!”

Flippant? Maybe. Trivial? No.

Acting is thus undoubtedly related highly to Bernadette’s sense of purpose and self-worth. This is what makes it even more apparent that a show with such personal and historical connections for her, as in Gypsy, was going to be so consequential and impactful to be a part of again as an adult and perform on a public stage.

She’s called inhabiting the role of Rose in the 2003 revival many things: “deeply personal”, “life changing”, “like going through therapy” – to name a few.

In interviews regarding Gypsy and playing the main character, when asked what she had learnt, Bernadette would frequently say something like, “It taught me a lot”. Pressed further about specifics, her answers often hem close to vague platitudes as she maintains her normal tendency of endeavouring to keep her privacy close to her chest.

On one occasion, she actually elaborated somewhat on what she’d learnt, giving a fuller answer than the question is normally afforded anyhow. Beyond all it revealed to her about her mother, she extended to admitting “my capacity for love and my capacity for anger” as aspects in her that the show had permanently altered. Moreover, Rose to her was undoubtedly the “most rewarding and fulfilling acting experience” she had ever had.

But while such deep, personal and emotional depths and memories were being stirred up beneath the surface in private, she was getting vilified in public singularly and repeatedly by New York Post columnist, Michael Riedel.

Even before she’d set foot on stage, Riedel set forth in motion early in the 2003 season a campaign of vocal and opinionated defamation against Bernadette as Rose that she was miscast, insufficiently talented, and would be incapable of executing the role.

Too small, too delicate, too weak, too many curves (and too much knowledge of how to use them). Not bold enough, not loud enough – not Merman enough. Chatter and speculative dissent begun to grow in and around the Broadway theatres.

For such a prestigious and historic musical theatre role, it was always going to be hard to erase the large shadow of an original Merman mould. Ethel was woven into the very fabric of the show, with the rights to Gypsy Rose Lee’s memoirs being obtained at her behest in the first place, and the idiosyncrasies of her voice having been written into the songs themselves by their very authors.

To step out from such a domineering legacy would be a marked challenge at the best of times. Let alone when battling a respiratory infection.

Matters of public perception were certainly not helped when Bernadette then got ill as the show started its preview period and she started missing early performances.

Nor did it help with critical perception that the Tony voting period coincided so synchronously with Gypsy’s first opening months – giving Bernadette no time to recover, find her feet, and settle more healthily into the show for the rest of the run before the all important decisions were made by that omnipotent committee.

The tale of her illness is actually undercut by a more innocent and unsuspecting origin than you’d expect from all the drama and trouble it engendered. Bernadette decided nearing the show’s opening to treat herself to a manicure. In the salon, she was next to a woman very close to her with a frightful sounding cough. Who could’ve known then that this anonymous and inconspicuous lady through a fateful cause-and-event chain would go on to play such a part in what is among the biggest and most enduring Tony Awards “She was robbed!” discourses? Or even more broadly – in also arguably playing a hand in the closure and financial failure of an $8.5 million Broadway show after its disappointing performance at the Tony Awards that ominously “[spelled] trouble at the box office” and led to its premature demise?

Bernadette did not win the Best Actress in a Musical Tony that night on June 6th 2004. The award went instead (not un-controversially) to newcomer Marissa Jaret Winokur for Hairspray.

She did however give one of the most indelibly resonant and frequently re-referenced solo performances at the awards show just before she lost – defying detractors to comprehend how she could be unworthy of the accolade with a rendition of ‘Rose’s Turn’ that has apocryphally earned one of the longest standing ovations seen after such a performance even to date.

Even further and even more apocryphally, she reportedly did so while still under the weather as legend as circulated by musical theatre fans goes – performing “against doctor’s orders” with stories that have her being “afflicted with anything from a 103-degree fever, to pneumonia, to a collapsed lung”.

Seeing then as unfortunately there is no Tony Award speech to draw on here, matter shall be retrieved fittingly from that which she gave just a few years earlier in 1999 for her first win and previous Ethel Merman role in Annie Get Your Gun to wrap all of this together.

As has been illustrated, there are many arguably scary or alarming aspects in Bernadette’s Gypsy narrative. There’s undeniably much darkness and an ardent clamouring for meaning and self-realisation along the road that tracks her journey parallel to the show. But unlike Rose’s hopeless decries of “Why did I do it?” and “What did it get me?”, there was a point for Bernadette.

As her emotional tribute in 1999 went: “I want to thank my mother, who 48 years ago put me in showbusiness. And I want to finally, officially, say to her – thank you. For giving me this wonderful experience and this journey.”

Whatever all of this was, maybe it was worth it after all.

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threecrowsinatrenchcoat · 3 years

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So Give Me Hope In The Darkness

Dukeceit Week Day 4: Free Day

Janus comes to him scared and broken. And there is nothing Remus wouldn’t do to help him.

AO3 Link: [here]

Word Count: 8855

Warnings: violence, dehumanization/people as test subjects, implied past abuse.

@dukeceitweek <3

“Remus, the transport’s here. You ready?”

Remus looked up from where he had been meticulously finishing the last fold on the absolute best paper airplane he had ever made in his life. “The what?”

Roman, leaning against the doorframe of Remus’ office, sighed deeply. “For the love of all things Disney and musical theatre, Remus, check your e-mail on a regular basis.”

Remus glanced at his desk. His laptop sat half-buried in crumpled up reject airplanes, the screen dark, so he slipped his phone from his pocket to check his e-mail with instead and… oops. One official work order, sent over 40 minutes ago, and three more messages from Virgil that all read somewhere along the lines of “Jesus Christ Remus respond to this so we know you read it.” Which, of course, he hadn’t.

“Uh…” Remus said helplessly. Roman scrubbed a hand down his face, then motioned for Remus to follow as he stepped back out into the hallway. Remus scrambled after him.

“I’ll fill you in, but we need to hurry,” Roman said.

“The hell do they need me for? Wasn’t it just another one of those underground lab bullshit raids? Those always turn up fucking zilch.”

“Not this one,” Roman replied and, well, shit. Now Remus was interested enough to shut up and let his brother talk. “They actually found, like, the real headquarters. Evil scientists and all.”

“Fuck yeah, good for them. Logan and Virgil have been working themselves to the bone...r. But why do they need me?”

Roman gave him a look. It was his it’s time to be serious now, Remus look. “They found a, uh…” he hesitated, looking for the right word. “A test subject.”

“Oh.”

Well that answered that.

By this point, Roman had reached the door that led out to the parking garage. He stopped at the door and gave Remus a pointed look.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Remus muttered. Quickly, he emptied out his pockets and shoved his phone, wallet, keys, a small notebook, a miniature lockpick set, and a pocket knife all into Roman’s waiting hands. The last time he’d tangled with an aggressive gifted, he’d gotten the entire contents of his pockets- as well as the pants themselves- reduced to a pile of molten plastic and ash. “Right. Here I go.”

“Logan will brief you. Be careful.”

“I’ll be fine, bro, chill out.” Remus patted Roman’s cheek- which his brother couldn’t do a damn thing about with his hands full of Remus’ stuff- then pushed the door open and made his way out to the intake dock.

There was already a small crowd gathered around, a safe distance from where the armored transport van had been backed into the receiving bay. Logan, Patton, and Virgil were there, of course. But the presence of a handful of armed officers was a surprise. Logan usually refused to allow the police department to send their thugs into situations like this. This sort of thing was what Remus was on the payroll for.

“Wasn’t expecting a party,” Remus said as he approached his team. Logan turned away from his conversation with Virgil.

“Ah, Remus. There you are,” he said. “I take it you have read the work order?”

“I… skimmed it,” Remus lied. Logan looked unimpressed.

“Well, just in case you missed anything important, let us recap. Virgil?”

“Uh, yeah.” Virgil stepped closer, looking troubled. “We found a gifted in there, probably a test subject knowing these bastards. He’s aggressive, borderline feral, and those jokers-” He jerked his head in the general direction of the uniformed police. “Didn’t fucking help the situation. I couldn’t reach him, but I don’t know if that’s cause he’s in a state of mind where logic and reason are completely out the window, or if he’s… like us.”

Remus nodded. His own powers would work where Virgil’s had failed, but only if this one wasn’t completely immune to the effects of other gifteds like he and Virgil were. He turned to Patton. “You got anything for me, pops?”

“Of course!” From the pocket of his white doctor’s coat, Patton produced a small capped syringe filled with bright blue liquid. “I had to guess at the dosage, though.”

Remus accepted the tranquilizer and shoved it in his pocket. It would be a last resort. Looking to Logan, he asked, “Any ideas on powers? What to watch out for?” He was not pleased to see Logan grimace.

“We don’t know yet. The base is still being swept, so it will likely be some time before we will know what, if any, information was found on this subject.”

There was a heavy thunk from inside the armored van that made Patton jump.

“Sounds like we don’t have that kind of time,” Remus mused. “Somebody wants out.”

“He was restrained when we found him. Blindfolded, too,” Virgil offered. “So he needs either visual, touch, or both.”

“Really narrows it down there, Virge,” Remus said with a huff. There was another thunk. “I’m going in. Standard operating procedure?”

Logan nodded. Remus nodded back, then looked to Virgil.

Virgil led him through the crowd of uniforms, snapping at a few of them to move back, and up to the back doors of the van. He met Remus’ gaze. There was another thunk.

“Ok, now!” Remus said. Virgil tore open the door. Remus threw himself at the gifted on the other side, and Virgil slammed the door shut behind him.

He hadn’t been sure what to expect, so when he collided with a much smaller body, his momentum sent them both sprawling across the back of the van. Remus was bigger and stronger though, and didn’t have the disadvantage of being blindfolded, so he flipped the smaller body easily beneath him, wincing slightly at the hiss of pain he heard, and pressed a palm firmly against the bare skin of his neck.

“Why don’t you take a nap,” he growled. His power reached into the body, weaving its way into the circulatory system to slow the heart. Or, well. It tried to. He couldn't get a hold anywhere.

“Fuck. You are like us,” Remus muttered; more to himself than to the other, who was becoming increasingly difficult to hold down as he writhed and struggled against Remus’ weight. With his free hand, Remus reached around to try and fish the syringe out of his pocket. But the movement put him off balance. The gifted threw him off with a sharp jerk and scrambled away.

They both staggered to their feet on opposite ends of the cramped space, and Remus got his first good look at the gifted. His long blonde hair was a tangled mess, and he was still blindfolded- though he tracked Remus’ location enough to bare his teeth at him. Some sort of restraint seemed to be keeping his arms behind his back. Remus kind of wanted to murder whoever had done this to him.

“Hey, look, I’m not trying to hurt you,” he offered, even though he knew Virgil had already tried using his literal powers of persuasion on him. “I swear, I’m just trying to help you. But you need to calm the hell down.”

The gifted had pressed his back up against the wall of the van. Talking wasn’t going to do shit. The sooner Remus ended this the better. He rushed the gifted again; the gifted spun out of his grasp, and his hand closed on… feathers? The fuck? Whatever. The gifted had cornered himself against the back wall of the van. Remus spun sharply and slammed his weight into him. Winded, and with his back pinned into the corner, there was a precious few seconds where the gifted made no move. That was enough time for Remus to slip the cap off the syringe and jam it into the gifted’s thigh.

His muscles immediately went slack, and Remus carefully lowered him to the floor, mindful of the goddamn wings he could now see were strapped down tightly against the gifted’s back.

“What the fuck did they do to you?” he asked sadly. He leaned over to bang three times on the van wall to signal the all clear to Virgil. A sudden, sharp pain raced up his other arm, and he jerked back with a yelp. The gifted had apparently gathered enough strength for one last act of defiance and had lashed out to fucking bite him, what the hell? Remus pushed him back down to the floor, and this time he stayed down.

One of the back doors to the van eased open, and Virgil peeked in. Remus turned to him, and the whole world spun.

“Ah, fuck,” he managed. “Venomous. Cute.”

And then he promptly blacked out.

Remus woke up in one of the dimly lit rooms of Patton’s infirmary. Patton had a vendetta against fluorescent lights, instead opting for soft, warm lights that didn’t give everyone headaches. Remus was thankful for this every time he woke up here- which was often- but especially now. His head was throbbing, and he kind of felt like he’d been hit by Virgil’s big armored transport van. Which he had before (his own damn fault) so he knew exactly how it felt.

His phone buzzed. Wincing at the movement, Remus glanced over to the small table beside the bed where his phone sat amid the pile of his other belongings. Which meant he had been out long enough for Roman to stop by and leave again. His phone buzzed again, so despite his body screaming at him for doing so, he reached over and grabbed it.

His team’s groupchat was filled with missed messages from the past hour. He scrolled through the most recent ones with a slight frown.

Nerdy Wolverine

Patton, please give us an update on Remus’ condition.

Daddy

He’s gonna be just fine, kiddos, he’s just sleeping it off.

Daddy’s Favorite

👏👏👏

Surly Temple

Oh joy.

Daddy’s Favorite

You were just as worried as the rest of us, Dr. Gloom.

Surly Temple

You can’t prove that.

Daddy

Calm down, kiddos.

Nerdy Wolverine

Patton, I would also like an update on the subject.

Daddy

Are you sure? There’s kinda a lot to talk about.

Nerdy Wolverine

Something brief, then. I will come by the infirmary when this meeting is over.

Remus

Logan, texting during a meeting??? 😱😱😱

Surly Temple

Remus!

Daddy’s Favorite

Wake up, Sleeping Beauty!

Remus

I lived, bitch.

Daddy

I’ll be right there! Don’t you dare sit up!

Remus was already in the process of sitting up when Patton burst through the door. He winced slightly at the pain, but moreso at the disappointed look Patton gave him.

“Uh-uh, you lay back down, mister,” he said. Remus sighed.

“I’m perfectly fine, pops,” he whined, but laid back down anyway, because even Remus knew better than to argue with Patton.

“Maybe, but you know the drill,” Patton replied. Remus made a noise of protest, but let Patton take his vitals and check him over. Then after an eternity- or more accurately, about five minutes- Patton stepped back and said, “Alright kiddo, you’re all good. Take it easy though. Maybe go home after the debrief, ok?”

Remus sat up now that he was allowed to. “I can’t believe that little fucker bit me,” he scoffed. He glanced down at his arm, where it had been bandaged up. “What happened to him? Where is he?”

Patton looked a little uncomfortable, which more or less answered Remus’ question. The agency would be forced to hold the gifted here until the illegal lab had been fully cleared out and all the paperwork filed; and, well, there was a good chance Logan’s bosses would send in government officials to “assess the mental stability of the liberated test subject,” which was really just shitty politician speak for “see if this could become a huge scandal and decide if it was better to just make it all disappear.”

“Fuck,” was all he said. Then he got unsteadily to his feet. “Where’s Logan?”

Patton put a hand on his shoulder to help steady him. “He’s in a meeting with the chief of police. They’re trying to take the case.”

“Teach won’t let ‘em,” Remus said proudly. “I’m gonna, like. Go sit in my office. Cool?"

Patton eyed him suspiciously, but nodded. Remus gathered up all of his stuff from the table beside the bed, and darted out the door before Patton could change his mind.

When Janus woke up, he immediately became aware of three things, in consecutive order.

First, he was somewhere he had never been before. That realization did not come as a surprise. He, of course, distinctly remembered the whole… “getting dragged out of his cell by people he didn’t know” incident. Usually he knew better than to lash out, but… there had been so much noise, so much unfamiliar chaos, and in his fear, he hadn’t known what else to do. And of course, it hadn’t done him any good; it never did. And now he was here. Wherever “here” was.

The second realization did come as a surprise, as he sat up on the cot where he’d been laid, and looked around the sparse, softly-lit room: he was completely unbound. His wings were still instinctively pressed against his back, but they twitched at the realization and slowly unfurled to their full span. He winced slightly as tendons snapped into their proper places for the first time in a very long time but then he sighed in relief as the fragile bones settled.

He had only just begun to catalogue the state of the rest of his body when a voice startled him into the third realization: he was not alone in the room.

“Damn, look at you!”

Janus flinched so hard he almost hit the wall the cot was pushed up against. He brought his wings around him protectively, and turned his eyes on the man sitting on a plastic chair near the opposite corner of the room. He narrowed his eyes as he recognized the voice of the man from the truck.

“Hey, hey, don’t ruffle your feathers at me like that,” the man laughed. “Sorry about before, man. It was the only way to get you off the truck.”

Janus didn’t say anything. But he shifted so he was crouched on the cot rather than seated, in case he needed to dart away quickly. That seemed to amuse the man further.

“Relax, I ain’t here for a rematch. You kicked my ass fair and square. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

Janus glared.

“I’m Remus, by the way. You got a name, snake-bird?”

He stood up as he said it, and Janus instinctively flinched back. The man-Remus?- didn’t look like the bad people, dressed in baggy jeans and an alluringly soft-looking green flannel. The bad people always wore white coats or body armor, depending on what they were planning to do to him that day. But… maybe they were just trying something new.

The man hadn’t moved closer. He was watching Janus with a look that fell somewhere between sadness and anger, and it kind of made Janus want to curl up into a ball and hide.

“I, uh… I guess they treated you real bad down there, huh?” Remus said slowly. “Look, I know you’re scared, and you’re probably super confused, but you’re safe now. I can at least promise you that.”

He didn’t wait for any sort of response from Janus this time, instead turning to riffle through the bag that had been leaning up against his chair. He withdrew a fluffy, pale yellow blanket. He looked between it and Janus, and while Janus wasn’t the best at reading facial cues, he thought for a moment that Remus looked… embarrassed. Then, he moved forward a few paces and set the blanket down and backed up again.

“Here, uh… that’s for you. If you want it. Anyway, yeah. I’m gonna just.” He edged toward the door. “I’ll leave you alone now.”

“Janus.” His name leapt from his tongue before he could stop it. His voice was raspy, and his throat was sore, and he was still afraid- terrified- but still he ground out the words that made Remus pause in the doorway to look back at him. “I’m… Janus.”

The file Logan put down in front of them was almost the size of the textbooks Remus used as doorsteps in college (rather than their intended use) and for a moment, they all just stared at it. Then, Remus said what they were all thinking: “Well, fuck.”

“I hate to agree,” Roman sighed. “But yes. That.”

“Of course there will be much more to go over after I have had the time to fully analyze these files, but I thought it imperative I explain the current situation to you all as soon as possible,” Logan said. He was seated at the head of the conference table. The rest of the team was seated around the table except for Virgil, who paced restlessly nearby. Everyone- even Remus- stayed quiet, because when Logan talked, everyone listened.

“With this file, and similar documents recovered both from the most recent site and from previous sites, as well as the recovery of a live test subject, our case is more than sufficient to ensure those responsible will not walk away from this.”

There was a collective sigh of relief. Virgil, who had been working on this case alongside Logan for years, looked especially relieved. He collapsed into the chair next to Remus, and Remus leaned over to ruffle his hair with a grin.

“You guys should be proud,” Patton exclaimed. “You worked so hard to see this through!”

“Well it’s not finished yet,” Roman pointed out. He nodded to the file in the middle of the table, that none of them had dared to open yet.

“Roman is correct,” Logan said. For a moment, he looked very tired; then, he adjusted his tie, and continued. “We must first ensure we have indeed apprehended all parties responsible. There are more names in these files than persons in our custody. Additionally, there is the matter of the test subject-”

“Janus,” Remus interrupted. Everyone gave him an odd look, so he clarified, “His name is Janus. He told me.”

“...Janus, then,” Logan amended. “Janus is to remain in our care until he can be evaluated. If he is deemed capable, he will be free to go once the investigation is closed.”

Logan did not, nor did he need to, state what would happen to Janus if he didn’t pass the evaluation. The agency’s evaluation essentially just looked to see if a gifted could still be considered a “person,” or if they had gone “feral”- and not in the fun way. Feral gifteds got locked up somewhere and were never seen again.

Remus, like all gifteds, hated it; but the government viewed them as dangerous. And a gifted that wasn’t in complete control of their mind, and thus, their powers, was considered too dangerous to let go free. Regardless of what trauma had made them that way in the first place, and if, with proper care, they could heal from it. It made Remus sick.

“They’re not taking Janus,” Remus spat out, interrupting whatever Logan was going to say next. “I won’t let them.”

“Ree,” Roman said gently. “We may not have a choice.”

“No. You guys haven’t seen him- he isn’t aggressive, he’s just scared.”

“Do you know how many people it took to get him into the damn truck?” Virgil snapped. “Oh and also, he bit you? You’re immune to gifted powers and he still knocked you out?”

“Think about it from his perspective. You’ve been trapped in literal hell for who knows how long, and then suddenly you’re getting dragged out by people you don’t know, blindfolded and tied up, to go who knows where? I’d bite too.”

Patton looked heartbroken at Remus’ words. Virgil didn’t look convinced. But it was Logan who spoke.

“We have time,” Logan said. “Until the investigation closes, he remains in our custody. We make the decisions regarding his care.” He cast Remus a meaningful look, and repeated, “We have time.”

Remus understood.

He left Janus alone for the rest of the day, because he figured the guy probably could use some time to calm down. He even managed to persuade Patton to put off any sort of medical examination for the time being- partly for the same reason, and partly because Remus would need to be there in case Janus reacted badly, and Remus still sort of felt like shit and he just wanted to go home and sleep.

So Remus had gone home, passed out for like 15 hours, and woke up feeling a little less like death and decay.

The benefit of going to sleep at like 2pm was that, even after his stupidly long “I got bit by something venomous” nap, he still made it back to the agency at the crack of dawn. It was quiet, none of the police department’s goons hanging around, and Remus, with his years of practice, could sneak easily past Logan’s office.

He peeked in through the little window in the holding cell door. Janus himself was nowhere to be seen- instead, there was a Janus-sized blanket mound curled up on the floor in the corner of the room. The sight made Remus smile fondly.

“Damnit, you’re actually kinda cute,” he muttered. And then promptly decided he was not going to overthink that.

Remus camped out outside the holding cell until the headquarters came to life. The mornings were always a flurry of activity, even moreso today what with yesterday’s events. He saw the moment the noise from the hallway woke Janus up- the gifted poked his head out from under the blanket, mismatched eyes blinking sleepily, and then quickly vanished into the blanket mound once more. It was stupidly adorable.

An intern came by with a tray of food for Janus, and Remus stopped him from approaching the door.

“I got this, kid,” he said with an amused grin. “This is way above your paygrade.”

The intern handed over the tray with a look of relief and scampered off. Poor kid.

The blanket mound stirred when Remus stepped into the room, but there was no further indication that Janus intended to come out. He shut the door behind him, and walked over to crouch down near- but not too near- the blanket mound.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty. I take it you like the blanket?”

The blanket shuffled backward a few inches. Remus set the tray down on the floor in front of him.

“I don’t really know what kind of food you like, so hopefully there’s something here you'll eat,” he said, eyeing the assorted fruits, toast, and eggs that had been sent up. “But like, if you want something else, you can tell me.” There was no response, so Remus stood up slowly and backed away. “I’ll just… be over here, then.”

He dragged the plastic chair to the opposite end of the room to give Janus as much space as possible, and plopped down in it with every intention of waiting him out.

It took about forty minutes of idly scrolling through his phone before Janus emerged, slowly and warily, mismatched eyes darting between Remus and the plate of food. Remus glanced toward him.

“Go ahead. It’s yours. Cold by now, I’ll bet.”

It took a further ten minutes for Janus to make up his mind and emerge fully from under the blanket and approach the plate- but when he finally did, he downed the food so fast, Remus was surprised he didn’t choke.

“Guess you like everything,” he mused. “Fuck, did they even feed you down there?”

He wasn’t really expecting an answer, because Janus was moving back toward his blanket. But rather than vanishing again, Janus sat down facing Remus, with his back to the wall, wings draped around his body like a blanket, and the actual blanket across his lap.

“They did, sometimes,” he replied. His voice sounded a bit rough still, like it had been a while since he’d used it, and quiet enough that Remus had to strain to hear him from across the room.

“Shit, man, these people fucking suck. How long'd they have you?”

Janus seemed to consider the question, but ended up just shaking his head. “I don’t know.” He avoided Remus’ eye for a few minutes, but he looked like he had more to say; Remus just waited in silence until finally, Janus asked, slowly, “Why am I here? Who are you?”

“I’m glad you ask, bud,” Remus answered. He stood up, and Janus flinched back slightly, feathers puffing up a bit. Remus moved a few feet closer, and then sat down on the ground so he was level with Janus. “It’s kinda a long story, but the short version is that it’s our job to go after the kinds of people who do this sort of shit. And the people who took you are gonna go to jail for the rest of their fucking lives for what they did.” He hesitated for a moment, then added, “They ain’t gonna lay a finger on you ever again. I promise.”

Janus eyed him carefully, like he wasn’t sure if he could believe what he was hearing. Remus couldn’t blame him. And then he was gone, vanishing back under the yellow blanket. Remus cleared his throat awkwardly, and stood up.

“I, uh. Yeah. I guess I’ll leave you alone then.” He paused at the door, and glanced over his shoulder. “You want more blankets? Some pillows, maybe?”

A muffled “Yes,” was the reply. Remus, again, could not help but smile fondly to himself.

Sleeping on the floor meant that Janus could stay alert to anyone approaching his cell, by sensing the vibrations in the ground. By his third visit, Janus could easily discern Remus’ gait from that of the others that passed down the hall.

He brought pillows and more blankets, just like he said he would. And then he asked if he could bring a friend in.

“He couldn’t give you more than a quick once-over when you first got here,” Remus explained while Janus sat on the floor and inspected his new blankets, marveling at how soft they were. “But he wants to make sure you’re not hurt anywhere.”

“I’m not hurt anywhere,” Janus said quickly. It wasn’t totally a lie; he wasn’t hurt anywhere specific, he just sort of hurt in general. That was normal though.

“Ok, I’m gonna pretend I believe that,” Remus huffed. “But even so. He’s gotta do it sometime soon.”

Janus cast Remus a sideways glance. He still wasn’t sure what to make of the situation, and he still wasn’t sure how much he could trust these people. The ones before had never shown him kindness- he’d been grabbed off the street in his early teens and treated like an animal ever since. This new place… it felt different from anything he’d experienced before, and that made him wary.

Being shown kindness and then having it taken away was worse than having never been shown it at all.

“Okay,” Janus said finally, because he didn’t think he was actually being given a choice in this.

“Okay,” Remus echoed. He seemed unconvinced, which sent a small spike of anxiety into Janus’ chest, because the last thing he wanted to do was upset Remus. The man had brought him blankets, for goodness’ sake. “I’ll text him.”

Janus decided to busy himself with nervously running his hands through his oily feathers. His wings badly needed grooming, but he didn’t know how to ask for brushes. Would they let him have brushes here? He wasn’t allowed them at the old place. He was so lost in that thought, that he didn’t sense someone approaching the door until it was being opened.

“Hey, pops, come on in,” Remus said. Janus glanced over, and was immediately gripped by panic.

He didn’t recognize the man, and his expression of “cheer fading into concern” was an unfamiliar one, but it was the white coat he wore that Janus recognized. He knew what the white coat meant.

He got caught in his pile of blankets as he tried to scramble to his feet. He tripped and crashed to the ground; out of the corner of his eye, he saw Remus make a grab for him. But he was too quick, kicking off the blanket that had tangled up his legs and springing to his feet. He used his wings to balance himself and buffeted Remus over the head in the process.

“Janus- fuck-” Remus staggered back to avoid a second blow from Janus’ thrashing wings. The man at the doorway looked torn between rushing in to help and backing away. Janus bared his fangs at him, but he was shaking so badly, he felt like a small breeze could topple him.

The man took a step closer, hand held out, but Janus barely heard his words- “Oh gosh, kiddo, I’m not gonna hurt you!”- over the blood pulsing in his ears. His back hit the wall behind him, and abruptly his legs gave out. He slid down to the ground and curled his wings over his head.

“Janus?” Remus’ voice sounded far away beyond the curtain of feathers. “Hey, you gotta talk to me here.”

“I’ve been good,” Janus managed to choke out. “I- Please don’t, I’ve… I’ve been good.” He curled further in on himself, fully expecting to be struck.

But nothing happened. The door opened and closed. Then silence. Janus risked a quick peek through his feathers and found that the other man was gone. Remus sat a few feet away.

“It’s ok, he’s gone,” Remus said quickly. Janus did not lower his wings, but the shaking abated slightly.

“I’ve been good,” he said again, a little more firmly this time. “You promised.”

Remus looked unnerved. He scooted a few inches closer and asked, “What did I promise?”

“That they… they wouldn’t hurt me again,” Janus hissed. Then, softer this time, “I’ve been good.”

“You have been good, but that doesn’t have anything to do with… wait, did you think…” Remus looked confused, his brow furrowing slightly. “Patton isn’t one of them. Is that what you thought?”

Janus just glared.

“Oh, snake-bird.” Remus’ eyes softened. “Patton’s one of us. He’s ok.”

“He looks like them,” Janus growled. “White-coat.”

“White coat… oh, shit, man, I didn’t even think.” The sudden volume of Remus’ voice made Janus shrink back into the safety of his own wings. “Oh, shit, sorry. Hey, come back. I’m sorry.”

Janus folded his wings back with a huff, and gave Remus an unamused look. Remus gave him a soft smile in return.

“I mean it. Patton is one of us. I can tell him to take off his coat. He won’t touch you unless you tell him he can. And you can tell him to leave, at any point, and I’ll throw him out myself. Deal?”

Janus searched his face for a long time. Remus seemed… so distressed. What would be the point, of faking that? There would be no reason to fake any of this, would there?

(Or maybe there was, and he was just too blinded by the hope that his nightmare had finally come to an end to see it.)

But slowly, reluctantly, but unable to shake the small seed of trust in Remus that had just started to take root, Janus said, “Deal.”

After the small fiasco that was Janus and Patton’s first meeting, things actually went rather smoothly. Patton wasn’t able to give as thorough of an exam as he was hoping. Janus was too skittish for that. And he had flat out refused a blood draw, which Remus had kind of expected.

But at the very least, Patton was able to sign off that there were no signs of physical trauma that demanded immediate medical care, which was really all Logan’s bosses wanted.

Despite his initial reaction, it seemed like the experience with Patton actually helped Janus feel more confident in his new situation. He grew more comfortable exercising his new control over his body and his space, even going so far as to tell Remus to go away when he wanted to be alone. And when he asked for brushes for his wings one day, Remus left work then and there to go get them. When he came back, Janus was waiting at the door for him.

“Well then, eager beaver, I hope I got the right stuff,” Remus said. He handed over the bag. It was way more than the two brushes Janus had asked for, but Logan had given him the company card and, well, Logan should know better than to do that.

“Anything is better than a rag and my own hands, which is what I usually use,” Janus said. Remus very politely did not make the joke he so desperately wanted to make. “Is that… a bottle of dish soap?”

“Sure,” Remus answered as Janus pulled the little blue bottle of Dawn dish soap out of the bag. “They use it to clean crude oil spills off penguins and shit and, like, a penguin's a bird, right?”

Janus sighed deeply, but he was smiling, and Remus would steal him the sun if it meant Janus would keep smiling.

“Anyway, uh…” Remus shifted awkwardly. “I can, like. Leave you alone, I guess. If you want. Unless you want… uh, never mind, I’ll go-”

“Would you help?” Janus asked. He glanced down at the bag in his hands, and added, with much less confidence, “Um. There are parts I can’t reach.”

“Yeah, of course,” Remus said immediately. “Just tell me what to do?”

Janus guided him to sit down on the ground, and then plopped down next to him. He carefully spread one of his wings out and, after a moment of hesitation, let it drape across Remus’ lap. Remus tried not to feel too overwhelmed by the incredible amount of trust Janus was putting in him right now.

“Here,” Janus passed one of the bristle brushes to Remus- one of many that Remus had bought- and then chose one for himself. “Just go with the growth, please. But if you find any loose feathers go ahead and work them out. Gently, though.”

Remus obeyed. He brushed carefully through the feathers, marveling at their soft golden-brown color. Even covered in oil and grime, they were beautiful. But after a few minutes, Janus frowned.

“Everything ok?” Remus asked. He was suddenly afraid he was brushing too hard, or hurting Janus somehow, even though Janus had given no indication that he was in pain.

“It’s just…” Janus sighed helplessly. “They’re so dirty.”

He looked almost on the edge of tears when he said it, which was enough to put Remus immediately into I will do anything for you mode. “Do you want to try the Dawn? One time Patton used it to wash a cat he found that was all grimed up and shit, and it worked real well.”

Janus seemed to consider it. He glanced over toward the door that led to the little private bathroom attached to the holding cell, then shook his head.

“There’s not enough space in there,” he said. “We’ll make a mess.”

“We can go downstairs,” Remus suggested. “There’s showers in the employee locker rooms. Plenty of space.”

Janus looked skeptical. “Is that allowed?”

It was, technically, not allowed. Janus had not been evaluated yet, and he wasn’t really allowed out of holding until he was. But… well, if they were quick, no one would notice. What was life without a little risk?

“Sure!” he said. “It’s fine.”

“...Okay. Sure.”

Grinning, Remus got to his feet and gathered all their supplies back into the bag. Then he beckoned for Janus to follow.

“Logan’s in meetings for most of the day, and Roman’s off on assignment,” he said. He eased open the cell door and peered out into the empty hall. “And Patton’s usually swamped with paperwork in the afternoons. Everyone else who works here is too scared of me to say anything.”

Janus didn’t question it. Remus led him down the hall and paused to make sure the stairwell was also empty before leading him down the two flights to the ground floor. Janus seemed nervous in the unfamiliar surroundings. He clung close to Remus, close enough that he almost ran into him at several points. Remus tried to give him reassuring smiles and the occasional word of encouragement.

There were voices in the break room, so they had to go around to get to the locker room. It was usually empty at this time, and today was no exception. Remus held the door open and ushered Janus inside.

“The showers are over here.” Remus pulled back the curtain and leaned in to turn on the water. “You a warm water person or a cold water person?”

“Warm,” Janus said quickly. “Please.”

As the water warmed up, Remus helped him to pull off his soft flannel shirt (one of many Remus had bought because the agency-provided shirts were those horrible starchy t-shirts and Janus had hated them.) Remus was amazed at how much healthier the scaled half of his face and body looked after just a week of proper meals and consistent rest.

“Are you sure this isn’t going to turn everything blue?” Janus asked when Remus passed him the bottle of Dawn. He still looked vaguely unconvinced about this whole thing.

“Nah, it won’t, don’t worry!”

Janus sighed. “Ok, but if it does, I shall never forgive you.”

“If I turn your wings blue, I’ll buy you so many blankets, they’ll fill up your whole room. Ready?”

“Well that makes me want my wings to turn blue,” Janus said. He followed Remus into the shower stall.

It took longer than Remus was expecting to wash out all the years of grime from Janus’ wings. It was especially difficult closer to the point where the wings met his back, because Janus couldn’t reach there on his own. Remus worked through those spots carefully, and it wasn’t until he was almost done that he realized Janus had gone silent.

“Hey, you good?”

“Mhmm.”

Remus leaned over to catch Janus’ eye, only to find his eyes were closed. There was a content look on his face.

“...did you fall asleep?”

“No.”

“You totally did!” Remus grinned. “You fell asleep standing up!”

Janus opened his eyes to glare at him, but the glare was tempered by the obvious half-dazed look of someone who had, in fact, just woken up.

“...Ok, maybe I did for a moment there,” Janus huffed. The glare became a pout. “It just feels nice.”

Remus let his grin soften into a smile. “Good. I’m glad.”

The sound of the locker room door opening and closing startled them both. Remus pulled back the curtain just enough to look out into the locker room- and he immediately came face-to-face with Virgil.

“Oh. ‘Sup, Virge.”

Virgil was eyeing him suspiciously. “What are you doing?”

“Uh… a smoothie?”

“That’s not… Remus, that’s not how that meme works. And you’re not even holding a smoothie.”

“Worth a shot.”

“Are you showering with your clothes on?”

“Sure, doesn’t everyone?”

Virgil’s eyes flicked toward the ground, then back up to Remus. “You realize I can see there’s someone in there with you, right?”

Remus also glanced downward. The curtain stopped about six inches off the ground. “Uh…”

“And I can also see the pile of feathers on the floor that you sure as fuck better not try and wash down the drain.”

“I’m not that dumb.”

Virgil sighed. “Hello, Janus.”

Janus hesitantly poked his head out from the other side of the curtain. “Hello.”

“The fuck are you guys doing?”

“We’re not having sex if that’s what you’re thinking,” Remus said. Janus made a choked sound and vanished back into the showers.

“There is no universe in which I was thinking that,” Virgil growled.

“No universe? Not even one?”

“What the fuck are you doing down here?”

Remus rolled his eyes. “If you must know, snake-bird here looked like a penguin in an oil spill. We’re washing his wings.” A pause. “Hey, since you’re here, wanna hand me a couple of towels? The big fluffy ones Patton hides.”

Virgil walked away grumbling, but by the time Remus had finished rinsing the soap out of Janus’ wings and shut off the water, Virgil was waiting outside with a stack of Patton’s fluffy light blue towels. Remus took one and wrapped Janus up in it.

“What’re you up to, Emo?” he asked as he took a second towel and started toweling off Janus’ dripping wings.

“Logan sent me to find you,” Virgil answered. He was watching the scene unfold in front of him with a look that Remus didn’t bother trying to decipher. “You weren’t answering your phone.”

“Probably ‘cause it’s sitting on my desk. What’s Teach need me for?”

“He wants to talk. Work stuff.”

“Oh.” Remus looked at Janus. “We should, uh. Probably get you back upstairs before he comes looking for me himself.”

Janus nodded. He gathered up the brushes and, after a moment of eyeing Virgil cautiously, reached over and snatched up one more of Patton’s fluffy towels and shoved it in the bag as well. At Virgil’s look of incredulity, there was nothing else for Remus to do but burst out laughing.

As it turned out, Logan would probably not have been upset over Janus’ field trip downstairs, because when Remus finally made it to his office, the first thing Logan said to him was, “Would you be opposed to letting Janus stay in your home?”

Because apparently, Logan had pulled some strings with his bosses to get Janus out of holding; he had argued that spending his time in a home environment- instead of a type of confinement similar to what he’d endured for a large portion of his life- would vastly improve his chances of passing the assessment. The higher-ups had agreed, with the stipulation that Janus be released into the care of one of Logan’s team.

“Of course he can come home with me,” Remus had said, almost automatically. It was a chance to get Janus out of the box he’d been stuck in all this time. There was nothing that could make him say no.

Janus had seemed hesitant at first, but ultimately agreed to it. So the next day, they had packed up the mountain of pillows and blankets, the bag of brushes and stolen towels, the couple of books Logan had sent up to keep Janus occupied when Remus couldn’t, the snake plushie Virgil had apparently dropped off the night before, and the multicolored cake Patton and Roman had brought by for him that morning that was now half-eaten, and hauled it all over to Remus’ apartment. For a guy who’d been dragged out of hell with only the clothes on his back, Janus sure had a lot of shit to move.

Janus had balked at getting into a car, so Remus talked Patton and Roman into driving his stuff over for him, and then walked with Janus to the apartment. It wasn’t that far, and, Remus realized with a stab of guilt, it was probably the first time Janus had seen the sun in a long time. He kept pausing to close his eyes and tilt his head up toward the sunlight for a few moments at a time, before darting after Remus. Remus didn't stop him.

It slowed them down to the point that when they finally got to the apartment, Roman had let himself and Patton in, brought all of Janus’ stuff up, and then left. Which was just as well- Janus had met Roman only once, and had seemed oddly jumpy around him.

“So, yeah,” Remus said, after showing Janus around. “You can just grab anything you need. I don’t really keep anything fragile in here ‘cause I tend to break stuff, so don’t worry.”

It was odd, seeing Janus standing in the middle of his living room, with his wings- which after their scrubdown, actually had a soft golden sheen to them- folded carefully against his back. But he seemed relaxed in a way Remus hadn’t seen before. Logan was right.

That evening, Remus got Janus settled into the bedroom.

“Where will you sleep?” Janus asked tentatively as Remus dumped all of Janus’ blankets onto the bed.

“Huh? Oh, I’ll just be in the other room,” Remus replied. “I sleep on the couch half the time anyway, no big deal.”

“Oh.” was all Janus said. Remus made sure he was comfortable, and then went to pass out on the couch.

When he woke up sometime late in the night, he wasn’t quite sure what had woken him. Remus was, historically, a heavy sleeper. He’d once slept through a monsoon in a cheap tent. If he was tired enough, he could probably sleep through an earthquake.

He turned his head to squint out into the dark apartment, and could just make out that the bedroom door was ajar. Remus stood up to go check on Janus- and then promptly tripped over Janus.

Remus yelped, and collapsed into the blanket nest that had appeared on the ground next to the couch; Janus yelped, on account of being tripped over, and scrambled out from under his pile of blankets. They both stared at each other through the darkness for a moment, and then both spoke at once.

“Are you ok-”

“I’m sorry-”

They both paused, and then Remus laughed.

“Shit, J, almost gave me a heart attack there. You ok?”

Janus looked a little sheepish. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s ok. What’re you doing sleeping there, though?”

“Um…” Janus looked down at his hands where he was clutching the snake plushie. It was stupidly cute. “I couldn’t sleep, alone. I thought I’d sleep better… out here.”

Remus blinked at him, still half-asleep. And it was probably because he was still half-asleep that he said, “Do you want me to sleep in there with you?”

Janus, after a moment, nodded.

“Ok. I can do that, snake-bird. It’s ok.”

Remus helped Janus stand up, and they moved the blanket mound back into the bedroom. The rest of Janus’ blankets and pillows had been made into a nest wedged into the space between the bed and the wall. Remus smiled fondly.

“Didn’t like the bed, huh?”

“I feel safer on the floor,” Janus said, looking embarrassed. “I can… sense vibrations in the ground. I know if someone’s coming up to me.”

“Oh. That makes sense.” Remus glanced between the nest and the bed, and shrugged. “I got the bed, then.”

He laid down, while Remus clamored over the bed to get to his nest and then promptly burrowed under the mountain of blankets. And as he was drifting off, Remus could have sworn he heard a soft sigh from Janus, of something that could, perhaps, be contentment.

Janus had never slept so well before. Tucked into the space between the bed and the wall, in a room so unlike the cement-walled cell he’d spent years calling home- and with the soft snoring of Remus, the man he had tentatively come to trust, nearby, Janus slept through the night. And the night after that, and the night after that.

So when he woke with a start the fourth night, it took him a few groggy minutes to piece together why he was awake. He was still curled up comfortably under his blankets. Remus was snoring away in the bed above him. And then the people in the kitchen took another step toward the bedroom, and the vibrations in the floor raced up to Janus’ body. He sat up in a panic.

“Remus,” he hissed. No response. He reached up and grabbed at Remus’ shoulder to try and shake him awake. “Remus!”

Remus grumbled something incomprehensible, and did not wake. Starting to feel frantic, Janus crawled up onto the bed and shook Remus harder. At the same moment that Remus’ eyes fluttered open, the doorknob turned.

“Janus?” Remus asked, voice rough with sleep. Then the door was flung open. Flashlight beams fell across them both as men poured into the small room. Janus turned, baring his teeth, and spread his wings to shield Remus behind him.

“Take him, alive,” one of the men ordered. Janus squinted through the harsh glare of their flashlights to pick out who was speaking. “Kill the other.”

No. Absolutely not.

Janus caught the leader’s eye and summoned his powers to him. The man tried to look away, but even in the gloom, Janus’ powers held him rooted to the spot.

“Sleep,” he snarled, forcing all of his power and will into the command. The man dropped to the floor.

In the seconds it took for him to wrest the leader’s consciousness away, the other men had fanned out around him. Janus whipped around to his left, but froze when he felt the cold muzzle of a gun touch the back of his neck.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a voice behind him sneered. A man to his right reached to grab him. There was a crack and a grunt of pain behind him, and the gun fell away- Remus appeared on his right and swung what looked like a crowbar. There was another sickening crack, and the man grabbing for Janus immediately collapsed in a heap.

The momentum of the swing propelled Remus up off the bed and into the next armed goon. They both fell backwards- Remus knocked his gun away, and as they hit the ground, a whack from the crowbar meant only Remus stood back up.

“Janus, get down!” he shouted suddenly. Janus turned- there was one man still standing, and he had his gun leveled at Janus’ chest. Janus froze. A gunshot rang out.

Janus felt himself hit his mound of blankets. Remus had shoved him off the bed. Hesitantly, he peered up over the edge.

Remus had bowled the man over onto his back amid the sheets and now sat on top of him, a hand grasping at the exposed skin of his neck. The man, rather than struggling against Remus’ grip, was clutching at his own chest. He convulsed, then fell still.

Janus put a hand on the ground. There were no more in the apartment. He climbed up onto the bed.

“Remus?”

No response. Janus hesitantly reached out to touch his shoulder. At the same time, Remus slumped forward and slid to the ground.

“Remus!” Janus cried out in alarm. He vaulted over the bed and crouched down next to Remus. There was blood soaking his shirt.

“Remus, fuck. Why’d you do that?” Janus hissed. He gathered Remus up into his arms and tried to put pressure on the wound. Remus gazed up at him with glassy eyes.

“I promised,” he said weakly. Janus looked down at him.

“What did you promise?” he asked, probably sounding a little hysterical. Remus gave him a gentle smile.

“I promised they’d never touch you again.”

A neighbor had heard the gunshot and called the police, which was just as well, because Janus had no idea how to work Remus’ phone. The police had come and whisked Remus off to the hospital in an ambulance. Virgil came to take Janus back to the agency so that he wouldn’t be left alone in what had now become a crime scene. Janus made sure to bring his pale yellow blanket, the first one Remus had given him.

The investigation that followed revealed the intruders to be the extra names Logan had been searching for, and had returned to try and reclaim Janus before leaving town. With this, Logan could finally put the case to rest.

Remus was fine. When Janus was finally allowed to see him a few days later, he had just grinned and said, “Still not as bad as that time Virgil hit me with his truck.” Janus was not amused.

With the investigation closed, the agency could release Janus to be evaluated. Everyone gathered in Logan’s office to wait anxiously.

“He’s gonna be fine,” Roman said in what was probably supposed to be a reassuring tone. It did nothing to soothe Remus’ frayed nerves.

“Yeah, but what if something goes wrong, like they spook him or something-”

“If he can tolerate Princey randomly belting out Disney songs, he can tolerate anything,” Virgil scoffed. Roman glared. Patton stifled a giggle. Remus opened his mouth to reply, but in that moment, the door opened. Logan stepped into the office- behind him came Janus.

“...Well?” Remus asked impatiently. His eyes were fixed on Janus.

Janus glanced toward Logan. Logan gave a slight nod, and a smile spread across Janus’ face.

“I’m free to go.”

Remus sprang up and engulfed Janus in a hug. Janus clung to him tightly, and his tears of joy soaked Remus’ chest.

94 notes · View notes

whaleofatjme1920 · 3 years

Text

At the End of Your Rope (Jeff the Killer X F!Reader)

At the End of Your Rope

[Jeff the Killer X F!Reader]

[Warnings: heavy domestic abuse, violence, murder (not heavily described though), language]

[AN: This one's kinda heavy in some places. Take care of yourself first and foremost.]

It was rare that you had moments to yourself and even rarer when you found yourself enjoying those moments. Usually, you were tense, on edge, bitey and waiting to snap or invert back into yourself. That is what it does to you. It takes away, it destroys and it saps you of all your energy, your drive and your will.

No matter, that’s not what you’re supposed to be thinking about. You hum softly as you do the dishes, wondering how long this set of plates will last until he returns. You scrub hard at the bits still stuck to it, wondering how on earth he even managed to get this much filth plastered onto its surface - you made the meal, served it to him, you even took it back to the sink. Was he trying to key you off?

You took in a deep breath and scratched at its surface, only smiling softly when the piece finally dislodged from the blue floral design. You ran it under the sink, lukewarm water feeling alien against your skin as you continued to mindlessly rinse off the suds. As you began to stare off into space and by extension, the void, you found yourself remembering the times he used to bring you blue flowers at the beginning of every date.

A long time ago, when you were starry eyed about the world around you, he loved you deeply and truly. And it was the most strange of couplings, but they do say that opposites attract.

Last class of the day, what a relief. What wasn’t a relief was that it was chemistry. You’d never been particularly good at the subject, but you would often try your hardest and so far, throughout the year, had managed to coast by with a -B. It wasn’t perfect but it was good enough.

For the people around you who knew you better than that, they were more than surprised you hadn’t managed an A in the class just yet. You were the over achiever, the smart girl, the one who knew it all. But not in a cocky way, no, of course not. You were sweet, helpful and kind. That’s what spared you from how cruel teenagers can get - your aura was incredible and people would be absolutely dense to not like you. For the most part, you were quiet and only spoke to a few close friends.

Unfortunately for you, your last period chemistry class didn’t have any of your dear ones near. You sat in the middle of the classroom, attempting to take notes and kept your head down, honestly focused on the material when you heard laughter from the back of the classroom.

“Don't make me come back there,” your teacher said, her eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Do I need to split you up?”

“No, sorry Mrs. Haut,” a dark haired boy piped up.

Mrs. Haut rolled her eyes slightly before going back to writing on the chalkboard. She was talking about the electron configuration of atoms or something like that when the laughter picked back up again. Mrs. Haut sighed again before continuing writing. “One of you move up here by Miss Reader, another by Miss. Rhys, and another by Mr. Clarke.”

The three boys in the back verbally voice their distaste with their teacher’s decision but ultimately went along with it. You buried yourself in your notes even deeper when you realized just who it was sitting next to you. Usually, the person sitting next to you wouldn’t bother you, but the fact that this was by far the most disruptive person in the class had you a little flustered. You couldn’t afford skipping the notes or getting sidetracked especially with midterms coming up.

“You have a pen?” He asked quietly.

That made you pause. “Excuse me?”

“A pen..?” He repeated, albeit a little slowly, as to really get the point across.

You didn’t want to disrupt your teacher any further by the idle chit chat and quietly rummaged in your bag for a pen. Once your fingers grazed the object, you plopped it back onto the desk and got back to writing.

“Thanks,” he said.

Your eyes wandered from your notes over to him - and he smiled at you. Fighting back slight heat, you began scribbling down the notes with a nod as if to say ‘no problem.’

The lesson continued on for a little bit longer until you felt him gently poking your shoulder. You pried your eyes off of the board to give him the attention he so desperately craved. With an eyebrow raised, you asked him what was on his mind.

“What’s your name?” He asked softly.

You felt heat rush to your cheeks - how the hell did he miss your name? You were the only consistent question asker in this class! “... Reader,” you answered, eyes narrowed slightly at the fact he’d miss your name. Though, you do suppose what else could you expect from a class clown? “And what is your name?” You asked simply out of politeness.

His eyes widened in shock, and his face followed in suit. “You seriously don’t know?”

When you shook your head he gave a quiet, but exasperated groan and then flew into a tanger about who he was. The guy who set all those frogs loose last year, the same one who orchestrated turning all the furniture upside down, the guy who did donuts on the football field and the one who covered half the auditorium on elaborate post it notes art.

And unfortunately for you, none of those rang a bell. “I knew someone did it, but I didn’t know you were the one who did it.”

And that spirited yet another tangent from the boy sitting next to you. He went into painstaking detail about how he even got some of those things done, and you pretended to care, more so interested in the passion in his eyes than the actual content of the story. He was a surprisingly good storyteller! You hadn’t even realized the both of you had been chatting more than note taking when everything went dead silent. Much too silent.

“Miss Reader, I am more than disappointed in you,” Mrs. Haut said with another frown pulling on her red lips. “Both of you, detention.”

Your eyes widened in shock as she slapped down two pink slips on your shared table.

“Again?” The boy next to you asked incredulously, taking the note into his fingertips along with his bag in the other hand. “Mrs. H, this is like the second time this month!”

Mrs. Haut only shook her head and gestured towards the door, her shoe tapping impatiently on the ground.

“There’s only thirty more minutes left of class,” you said as you began to pack up your things. “I... “ Upon seeing your teacher’s tired expression,and not being one to directly challenge authority, you relented. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled before taking the slip into your grip and exiting her classroom. You took in a deep breath and trudged out of the classroom, wondering how you would explain to your parents your record had a spot on it when you exited the classroom and closed the door softly behind you.

“Do you know where the room is?” You posed your question to the resident class clown with a crestfallen expression.

“You’re actually planning on going?” He said it like it was a surprise.

“Uh, yeah? Where else would I be going?”

“I don’t know, but we can figure it out.” He smiled widely at you and plucked the pink slip from your hand.

“Wait what-? Give that back!” You cried out as quietly as you could to not disturb the other classes.

“C’mon, Princess, come and get it,” he teased. It didn’t sound like he had malice in his tone though.

You chased him through the hall attempting to get the slip back, narrowly avoiding the watchful gaze of hall monitors and the like when you found he had led you out to the parking lot. You didn’t have a car.

“Let’s go,” he beamed, scrunching up both of your pink slips in his hand before tossing them into the trash. “I wasn’t joking about figuring it out together.”

“I… But-”

“But nothing, Princess. Live a little.” He nodded for you to follow him, and you, feeling much too awkward to challenge someone, found yourself being led by him to his car. It wasn’t a fancy car, but it wasn’t near as run down as you expected it to be. It looked like he kept it relatively decent, and the scent was that of lemon. Whatever, live a little.

You slid into the passenger seat and put on your seatbelt as he became once again.

“Atta girl!” He chuckled as the car roared to life. He then flicked on the radio, turned up some music and the two of you left the school.

You can’t quite say you’ve ever had fun like that before. He took you to a diner, out bowling, you two snuck into a movie theatre then got smoothies before he dropped you off at home. And he was so sweet and kind throughout it all. He made you laugh, listened to you attentively, and over smoothies, he attempted to help you study a bit. It was moot, but it was nice that he even attempted.

That was what started a beautiful friendship that lasted throughout the rest of that academic year. Later, it blossomed into a relationship, and further, it transformed into marriage. The day he asked you to marry him was one of the best days of your entire life - and then, you were convinced you had met your soulmate. He was everything you’d ever wanted in a partner, and he was oh so helpful and attentive.

High school sweethearts was what you were referred to, and you both fit the image so well. You were practically glowing anytime anyone had seen you. Your marriage had happened too fast, but you were convinced he was your one and only unaware that growth comes in many forms. And in this specific case, the roots have burst the pot.

Back then, he used to give you flowers nearly every day in various shades of the rainbow. Blue seemed to be the preferred though.

“You always get these, why?” You had asked one evening, fingertips gently petting the soft petals.

“Apparently, they mean something poetic,” he replied before pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “That’s what the flower guy keeps telling me. And they’re kinda hard to find,” he continued, eyes looking out at the starry night sky the two of you laid under. “So, whenever they come in, I grab them tight and bring them back to my baby.”

You giggled slightly before shutting him off with a kiss.

They were damn near unattainable after the two of you had gotten married. It seemed they’d gone out of style, or perhaps they just weren’t thriving as they used to. One day, when you were lonely and missing your husband, you pulled out an old book on various flora and fauna. You must’ve spent hours upon hours learning about the area you lived in when you chanced upon a dash of blue.

Cornflowers, they were cornflowers.

The flowers on the plate you’d run under the faucet for far too long weren’t the same shade of blue, but they were just as pretty. It’s a shame that these plates would most likely be broken before the month was out.

Gods, when did he change? It was hard to pinpoint it because the two of you had been under each other’s spell for a good chunk of that time. When did he flip the switch? When did he… You shook your head and turned off the faucet, deciding you were done with the dishes for now. Accidentally, when you were placing the plate back in its place, you bumped your forearm on the counter. With a wince, you hissed and mentally reminded yourself to mind the bruises that were still fresh there. He gripped your wrist so hard that night you were sure it was going to snap right off.

He really wasn’t like this in the beginning and your mind raked constantly with reasons as to why when you laid awake at night hoping he wouldn’t go too far or burn a bridge only to find it needed to be rebuilt with supplies that no longer existed.

It was nearing the late evening and he wasn’t supposed to be home until later in the night. You could afford to relax for just a little longer. With a deep breath, you walked up the stairs dead set on drawing a bath to just let your mind go blank. Hidden away in the bathroom sink’s cabinet was a ‘mix’ of herbs and such a dear friend of yours had said would aid in relaxing your soul and maybe your wounds. You could only use the clumsy excuse for so long.

You opened the door to your bathroom, quietly shut it behind you and didn’t bother locking it. If he was here, you might have, but you weren’t expecting him back until much, much later. You could afford to breathe. You drew the faucet and let it run for a moment or two until the water got a little warmer, then you plugged the tub and let it fill. You crouched down and poked your hand around towards the back of the bathroom sink before finding the jar filled with herbs and salts. It smelled divine even when closed. Unscrewing the lid, you are able to take in the scent of lavender, chamomile, rosebuds, sweet lemongrass and vanilla. Pink sea salt for added effect made the bath look heavenly when you poured in a generous scoop. As the water heated the herbs, you notice the rosebuds blooming into large, pink and red flowers. It was nothing short of magickal and filled you with some type of serenity.

Once the water was to your liking, you stripped and got into the tub, sighing in contentment as the water heated your form up. And from there, you let your mind go blank and take in the aroma of the herbs and flowers. You feel the stress leaving your body. You wish you could feel like this forever.

You allow your brain to wander as you relax and find it going back to your husband every single time. If he wasn’t asked to sit next to you, would you have been in this awful situation now? This was no way to live - and you wondered if you had just gone to detention that day if things would be different, or perhaps better. You thought you were able to pinpoint when everything went wrong when yet another starting point would come into your mind. It was like your brain was purposely making you move the goalposts so you wouldn’t be retraumatized by anything all over again.

It started small and in little bouts. He lost his patience with you. If you accidentally burnt the pancakes? It was alright but don’t let it happen again. Over watered the petunias just once? Great, now he needed to go to the store and pick up some new ones should those suffer root rot that was relatively treatable. Couldn’t get dinner ready on time? What a mess. Said something slightly off base? Your intelligence was being actively questioned. It kept snowballing until it reached the first time he hit you. Which was a dark enough day that you rather not think about.

He said he loved you. That he would protect you and make sure you were safe from all harm. But he broke that the moment his hand slapped your face so hard you felt the air leave your lungs. That was a really dark day, but it was not the darkest yet.

You must’ve spent close to an hour in the bath when you heard the front door opening. Shit, he wasn’t supposed to be back. You feel your heart pounding as you leap out of the bath, quickly drying yourself before throwing your clothes back on. In your haste, you forget to unplug the bath. But it’s too late, you hear him coming up the stairs. Seconds later, he’s in your shared bedroom.

“Reader? Where are you?” He sounds exhausted. Upon seeing the bathroom door closed, he stalks up to it. “Reader? Open up, Princess.”

It’s not the first time he’s tried to soften the blow like this.

“I-I’m still in the tub-”

“Sure, sure, sweetie,” he hums. “Can you uh, tell me why you haven’t gotten any food ready if you were going to fuck around in the tub like this then?”

Your heart constricts and your stomach twists. “I didn’t know you were gonna be home this early,” you say softly, ready to brace the door.

“Oh you forgot,” he says as if he’s speculating whether that was a decent answer or not. “You forgot,” he repeats. He stands in front of the bathroom door, swaying slightly like he’s waiting for you to come to you. “Come out of the bathroom.”

“I just drew it-”

“Did I ask for your excuses?”

“No-”

“Then come out of the FUCKING BATHROOM!” He hits the door so hard you thought you heard it splintering.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You cried out as you immediately rammed against the door, struggling to keep your husband back from breaking it down.

He didn’t answer, only continued to rattle off about everything wrong. She kicked the door harder and harder, sending you bouncing against the wood. You continued to cry out in pain but dug your shoulder into the door as you prayed it would be enough to keep him out.

“Stop, stop, STOP IT!” You felt tears pour out from your eyes as your husband pounded the door. “You’re being crazy right now, stop it!” Your throat felt raw with anguish as you continued to screech, head coming dangerously close to bouncing against the door as your husband began kicking it.

Eventually, he succeeded. He backed up, reared his leg up and took three hard hits, successfully kicking the door down. You went flying down with it and tumbled down the tile floor with a yelp of pain, landing sharply on your hip. You looked up through your pain and saw he was standing before you, fists balled and nothing but rage in his eyes.

“I told you to fucking let me in,” he seethes as he narrows in on you. Before he can touch you, his eyes travel to the tub. “And now you’re clogging up my fucking pipes?” He asks in an exasperated tone as he feels his blood pressure rise. “You need to learn a lesson,” he sighs as he runs his fingers through his hair. “When dogs are just puppies and they have an accident,” he begins as he bends down to the ground and nears you as you struggle to crawl away from him. “You take their nose and bury it into their mess.” He finishes. He straddles your waist and sloughs off your weak attempts to get him off of you.

You continue to cry and scream, beg and plead as his hands snake up your arms and to your hair. And your eyes widen as he takes a fistfull and then roughly stands up, dragging your body up with him.

“You fucking dog,” he spits as he drags you upwards. He begins to drag you towards the tub.

“No, NO!” You plead as you dig your heels into the tile, trying to grip onto the sink for dear life as he continues to drag you. You feel your strands of hair damn near get lifted from your scalp as he continues to yank you. He’ll kill you if you don’t put up a fight. “I’m sorry! Gods, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! Whatever I did to piss you off I promise that it won’t happen again!” You attempt to reason as he finally pries your hands off the sink.

“You should’ve known that to begin with,” he replies as he pulls your hair harder. He then brings you to the tub and roughly shoves you to its lip. You catch yourself and try to get away when he pushes at the back of your head. You still continue to fight him, crying and pleading even harder as your husband kicks in the back of your legs, attempting to cripple you further to get you to bend. You continue to push back, staring into the now cold bath like it’s a watery grave.

A scream rips through your throat as he hits the back of your skull, having you gasping for air and consciousness. He takes that moment as your weakness and finally overpowers you. Your head is thrust below the waters, and you find yourself screeching all the while. From above the water’s surface, you can hear your once beloved husband muttering about you and the faults of your character as he holds you under the water. Before you can even register that air is in your lungs again, you’re plunged back into the water, coughing and hacking all the while as he does so.

When he grows tired of continually plunging your head into the water, he picks up your lower half and tosses you in, sending the water and herbs flying everywhere as your clothed body enters the freezing tub. Your tears mix with the remnants of the bathwater as he holds you under, nothing but rage in his eyes as he does.

When you feel like it’s too much, you begin to let go. Perhaps darkness would be a nicer sight than the sunrise of tomorrow.

You open your eyes slowly to see that you’re still in the tub and laying in a small pool of water that isn’t enough to harm you regardless of how you were laid. You feel aches all over and you feel like water is weighing down your lungs. Slowly, you get to your bearings as you prop yourself up. Step by step and painstaking muscle movement by muscle movement, you stand and grip the edge of the tub, realizing you need to change out of your clothes. You pause momentarily to look at yourself in the mirror.

“Gods,” you whisper to yourself. You look like you were in a car accident. There’s bruises on your throat and your face from where he tried to slam you into the bathtub, and your face is puffy and discolored from crying. Your hair is knotted and you feel like no amount of conditioner on earth can get that out - to even think about detangling it is a nightmare. Your clothes are ripped and waterlogged. Everything about you screams pathetic. When you turn your head and look at the door, you see it’s broken beyond repair. He kicked it out of its latches and the wood itself is splintered in two.

You quietly step out of the bathroom, ready to change into drier clothes when you see your husband sitting at the edge of the bed, waiting for you. You feel yourself begin to shiver, momentarily feeling your mind drift elsewhere to protect your brain from further trauma.

“You’re finally up,” he says, a blank expression on his face. “Are you okay?”

You feel disgust come up in the back of your throat but swallow it back down in favor of not angering him further. “I’m fine,” you lie, not bothering to plaster on a smile.

“Good.” He slowly stands up. “I’m heading out. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.” He holds his arms out to you.

Shivering and absolutely terrified, you find yourself bending to his will. Quietly, you pad across the carpet to him and allow yourself to be wrapped up in his arms. His arms feel like a metal cage as they wrap around your quivering form.

“I’m sorry,” he says emptily as he buries his nose into your hair. “It won’t happen again.” He sways the two of you side to side as he holds you a little tighter, not bothering to mind the bumps and bruises he inflicted on your body.

You internally sigh and hollowly nod, allowing him to hold you.

He said that the last time.

It’s been a few days since your husband flew off the handle like that. Your husband stayed in the house, but like every time before, he pretended nothing had happened and instead vied for avoiding you. In a day or so, he’d be back to pretending he still loved you. But, your mind wasn’t entirely on him coming back to you and acting sweet - it was on everything in between.

See, this isn’t the first time that something of this caliber has happened to you. Convenience was something that seemed to pop up in your life more often than not, and you’d just accepted it. The first time you could remember it was when you were in your garage, trying to have a moment alone after your husband had shoved you into a wall for not making the potatoes the way he wanted (what a stupid thing to be upset over). As you sat at the workbench, sobbing quietly, your attention was pulled towards a thing of antifreeze. It was just propped up there. You don’t remember buying it, nor did you remember your husband buying it either. Neither of you regularly did car maintenance, nor did it seem like the kind used for a pool (which neither of you had). What on earth was it even doing here?

You quietly picked up the bottle and tossed it before your husband came calling for you to redo the potatoes.

The second time you noticed something much too conveniently placed was when the coffee in front of you was decaf. Your husband was terrible at waking up in the mornings, and the only thing that kept him up was his morning coffee on the drive to work. Well, one morning it was decaf in the keurig- and you almost didn’t notice it. The last time that happened, he’d almost swerved off the road. In a panic, you switched it to the right one before he noticed. If neither of you did, it could have claimed his life as the drive from your neck of the woods to the city was kind of dodgy in general.

The third most prominent time was semi-recently. You were cooking and once you finished, carried about your day. When you stopped by the kitchen to grab your keys and head to town for some shopping, you noticed that the gas was left on. Your husband was due to come home soon - if it stayed on for any longer, it might have killed him. Of course, you turned it off, but your hand lingered on the dial just a moment longer, wondering what would have happened if you didn’t turn it off. Feeling monstrous for even letting that thought pop into your head, you pulled back your hand like you had thrown it into the fire.

Those were just some of the most prominent things that happened. There were also little things that occurred as well, such as the TV always being clicked onto certain types of true crime documentaries entailing warring spouses, or the reading material being a tad too detailed in how to get away with things that obviously weren't legal. It started with petty theft, or piracy, and then moved onto other things that were much too unpleasant for you to even detail. All of these things seemed to be calling you towards something more sinister than you had ever imagined.

And until now, you’d managed to hold it all back. Sure, you entertain yourself by watching the documentaries and reading the material (which you wonder deeply who put it in your mailbox to begin with) but you never actually thought to harm him, did you?

It all came to a head a few weeks after the bathtub incident. He pushed you around plenty since then, but it hadn’t crossed the threshold like what happened back then - and that was enough to keep you at bay until this specific dinner. Apparently, your husband had missed out on a promotion given to someone younger and more ambitious than him and that killed him on the inside. He had a chip on his shoulder and he was dead set on taking it out on you.

“Gave it to that little prick,” he mumbles as he stabs at his food.

“I’m sure you’ll get it next time-”

“Next time? That’s half a fucking year away,” your husband replies as he bites down on his food. “Worthless job and can’t even move up in it. Stuck in this hellhole,” he continues to mutter as he stabs around.

Not wanting to even think about flaring him, you just drink uncomfortably at your water. “Is…” You close your mouth, not wanting to even hear his voice.

“No, no, finish your thought,” he says with a deep sigh.

“It’s not important.”

“My wife has something to say, she says it.”

“No, really I-”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Reader, spit it out.”

“Is the food okay?” You ask quietly as you avert your eyes to anywhere but at him. You gulp thickly, worrying that you’ve upset him further and lament even opening your mouth up to begin with.

“It’s awful,” he replies before taking another bite. “You must really be testing me, y’know that?”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur.

“I know.”

Uncomfortable silence passes between the two of you as dinner goes on with that same unease. You practically exude discomfort as you sit there, picking at your food and not wanting to even stomach it as long as this monster sits across from you. You wonder if your husband is going to go on one of his tangents when he answers that useless question by opening his mouth.

He talks a lot about how much he hates work, his coworkers, his lot in life, literally anything he could complain about and everything. He has such a hatred for the world around him that you wonder if it was always hiding just below the surface when you first met him. Probably. People tend to grow into who they were always meant to be as the years go on.

“And you,” he continues, pointing his fork in an accusatory manner at you. “You are the worst part of it,” he says as he narrows his eyes. He does this to you at every meal. And by the end of it, he’s always so riled up he almost breaks the plates. “Remember that girl, Jada? From honors math?”

You quietly nod.

“I should’ve married her. Girl with some brains and a nice ass,” he muses. “Instead I settled for you. Worthless, bruised and battered, puffy faced you,” he says with absolute vitriol, getting more and more riled up as his complaints carry on. “Hell, if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have been thrown in detention again either.”

“That wasn’t my fault-”

“Oh so she speaks, does she?” He stands up.

You brace yourself.

“You know better than that,” he says lowly like a tiger waiting to pounce. “Than to talk back to me in my OWN GODDAMN HOUSE!” The plates and the dinner go flying off the table as he roughly shoves his arms across it.

There go the plates that reminded you of something nicer.

You immediately stand up and gasp, your chair flying back as you do so. Your hands fly up as your husband’s hands grip ar your wrists, his power taking over your frail form as he begins hurling you backwards to the countertop.

“Teach you to talk to me like that again,” he growls as he slams you down onto the counter, wrists not being jostled into his one hand. “You’ll never learn,” he mumbles, strill wrangling you down to the countertop.

From the corner of your eye, you could see him reaching towards the knife rack - and you see your very life fly before your eyes as he palms one.

You begin to repeat no like a mantra as he grips the knife and then lets go of your wrists, hsi hand going to the collar of your shirt. You cry out as your hands balled into fists and start punching, your legs being held by his body as his hand latches onto your throat and squeezes. Tears prick your eyes once again as his eyes flick down to your shirt.

“Stop!” You weakly cry out as his fingers dig into your flesh.

He raises the knife, a mad look on his faze as the steel catches the light. It shines, and then comes plunging down.

You scream as the knife is stabbed much too close to your neck, instead trapping you by snagging your shirt to the counter.

“You stay here and think about all the trouble you’ve caused,” he says in a ‘bubbling with rage’ tone as he shoves your head into the counter. “And clean up this mess.”

Once he leaves and slammed the front door shut, you pry yourself free from the knife and then fall to the floor sobbing, once again feeling your heart broken over your husband treating you so. But, once the rain fell, all that came was a ping - a spark. As you finally composed yourself and began cleaning his mess, the spark ignited to a flame that grew like wildfire in your mind’s eyes as you gingerly picked up the pieces of plates that you held such saccharine fondness over.

You couldn’t stand for this anymore.

With exhaustion sweeping over your body and the kitchen now cleaned, you allow yourself to move on autopilot and move upwards towards your bedroom. You don’t bother changing and plop down onto it. You stare at your ceiling, wondering if you should run away or - oh! Here comes a thought. With your eyes inching towards your nightstand, you finally give into the overwhelming feeling to open the drawer and you do so. Your hand gropes around before you finally touch something cold. Your mind lurches once you realize what it is.

You sit up, more than surprised to see the handle of a gun under your fingertips. On it is a sticky note with a smiley face: ‘don’t forget to turn off the safety :)’. A shiver of horror runs down your spine when you realize there’s a silencer attached to it. Gods, you knew he had a gun but a silencer? Everything about this - you knew it was wrong.

But holding it in your hand… That felt right.

You decided to stay quiet on things for now and think. Afterall, he was stronger than you. You couldn’t just confront him with the gun. He might wrestle it out of you and shoot you instead. You couldn’t take that kind of risk right now. So, you waited, looked over the gun some more, and waited.

Your husband entered back into the house at some gods awful time at night, more than pleased to see the house was back in order as it should be as he closed the door behind him. He was exhausted on all facets (though it could not hold a candle to how you were feeling) as he trudged up the stairs.

You laid in bed, pretending to be asleep. You knew what had to be done.

When your husband came in, huffed and got ready for bed, you itched for the trigger. You knew you had to act soon, but not too fast or he could hurt you again an take you out instead. Your breath hitched when you felt him sit on the bed and get comfortable, of course, turned away from you.

You took in a deep breath, closed your eyes, and held the gun in your hand once you felt him slip into sleep. The moments felt like hours as you quietly sat up and held the gun in your hands. Were you really going to do this?

Your mind flashed with hundreds upon hundreds of possibilities. At one point, a long time ago, you loved him. You loved him deeply and truly.

You took aim.

You shot.

Gods, if you knew it was going to be this hard to drag his body out here, you would’ve chosen a different place to shoot him. Dragging your now dead husband through the woods behind your house was an absolutely miserable process. You were working up a sweat as you did so and it was so dark that you could hardly make heads or tails of anything.

Finally, guided by the moonlight, you came to a place that looked more than decent. It was far enough, and the growth here was so heavy that if you tumbled the earth around, it would hardly look like anyone had disturbed it to begin with.

“Always making things harder on me,” you mumble as you toss his limp body back to the earth before you juggle the shovel you’d dragged along into your hands. You let your mind go blank as you began to cut into the soil.

A plethora of thoughts entered into your head as you shoveled away, making a deep enough hole to throw your deceased husband in. In a way, you didn’t think he deserved a hole this nice, but you knew deep down you had to hide the body. You continued to shovel, and once you finally made it deep enough to your liking, rolled his body into the ground.

“Didn’t think you had it in you,” a low, slightly gravelly voice chuckles, slow clapping.

“Who’s there?” You ask in a slightly panicked tone, holding the shovel up like a weapon. “I… I won’t hesitate-”

“Don’t make me laugh,” the voice continues, a playful bite on every syllable. “No, no, you did good.”

Your eyes frantically look around for the voice when you hear a whistle. There, behind you, is a man. Possibly mid 20s, shoulder length black hair, pale skin that rivals the light of the moon, wearing a hoodie covered in things you’d rather not think of and taller than you by a good head or so.

“You gonna put the shovel down?” He asks with a brow raised.

Hesitantly, you lower the shovel in your grasp just to let him get a little closer. Your eyes widen when you see he’s cut a smile into his face. “Who… Who are you?”

“I’ll tell you if you finish your job here,” he says as he nods to the uncovered, deceased body of your husband. “And before you go through the typical ‘oh my gods, are you gonna turn me in’ bullshit so many of you seem to go through, rest assured that I’m not gonna do anything to you. Just finish your job. Can you do that for me, Bird?” He leans against the tree, looking at you with a small smark.

A mind too frazzled for anything else, you nod and get back to work. It doesn’t take near as long to fill the hole as it did to carve it out, which was a pleasant surprise. When you were done, you wiped the sweat from your brow.

“What are you doing here?” You asked as you held the shovel firmly in your hands.

“Checking in on you,” he replies. “You want to go back to your house and-”

“No,” you cut him off, eyes averting down the ground. “Anywhere but there right now.” You say softly, gesturing to the disturbed earth.

The man pops off the tree and stalks over to the hole you’d covered, lightly shoving some foliage on top of it. “Okay, still sensitive. I get that,” he hums. “Follow me then. Let’s take a walk.” He nods for you to follow, blue eyes silently telling you to bring the shovel along with you.

Not wanting to be near his body anymore despite it being packed below the ground, you relent and follow.

“So, you did good, really good,” the man says as he puts his hands back in his hoodie pockets.

“Why do you keep saying that?” You ask, quickly matching pace with him. “And I never did get your name..?” You trail off slightly, taking in the deep scent of the woods around you. The scent of pine and autumn fills your nose.

“Because you did my job for me, and it’s Jeff,” he replies, his arm momentarily pushing back some low hanging pines. “I’ve been keeping tabs on you for a while, Bird.” He chuckles softly when he sees your confused expression.

“Really? Bird?” You repeat in a dry tone, face deadpanning at the very mention of it. “Job?”

“You’re flighty, like a bird, and judging by how fast you switch topics, bird.” He smiles, continuing to lead you further and further into the woods and away from your now empty house. “Little while back, I was asked to kill your husband. But, I saw you during one of my stalking outings and well, thought I could make things interesting.” He says it like it’s nothing and common knowledge.

“You what?” You ask in a surprised tone. “You stalked us?”

“Well, yeah,” Jeff says. “Normally, I don’t take that much care in my work. I tend to gut first and never ask questions, but you posed something interesting in my wake.”

“Holy fuck,” you murmur as you continue to trot throguh the woods. “We’re both going to jail.”

“Me? Absolutely not. You? Well,” he turns his attention to the deer path laid before the two of you and smiles at the open, moonlit field. “Depends on how you’ll answer my question.”

The two of you step through the remaining brush and finally reach the field. You had no idea this place was even behind your house or even so close. Tall grass rising to your waist sways gently in the wind as you step out of the trees and into the open air. Stars dot the sky as the moon hangs overhead. This place feels nostalgic. Out in the distance is a little stone structure, and upon Jeff taking you closer to it, it’s a little stone shelter.

“Take a seat, gonna be a while,” Jeff says as he rummages around in his pocket. He pulls out a lighter, bends down and lights the pieces of wood conveniently left inside of it, and the night is no longer cold.

You get comfortable and let your exhausted body rest. “Have you been watching me for long?”

“Longer than necessary,” Jeff answers as he cracks his back before finally getting comfortable. “But, I only watched you from a distance. Tell me about yourself first, let me know it wasn’t a mistake to let you breathe.” He smirks at you and winks, sending shivers down your spine.

You take in a deep breath, not really feeling anything but exhaustion and decide to tell him. You tell him everything, about your childhood, about little intricacies and so on. You told him about high school and how you met your husband. Little stories, anecdotes, memories and feelings resurfaced as you detailed how everything was bliss. And then one day, it wasn’t.

“Something in him snapped and went rotten,” you sigh. “And he hurt me. Hurt me really bad.”

Jeff looks up from the fire to see how the light dances across your skin. It’s here that he’s finally able to see the extent of your dead husband’s power over you. Bruises darker than your natural shade line your skin like oddly erased marks on a stubborn piece of paper. Your eyes are hollow, devoid of all life. Hair from your scalp is oddly placed as if it’s still trying to grow back. Your posture conveys nothing but pure exhaustion.

“I’m sorry,” he says in a tone that’s much more gruff than he originally means. It’s not that he doesn’t genuinely feel bad, it’s that he’s awful at actually verbalizing it. In truth, Jeff doesn’t like abusers. They make him feel wrong, make him feel like something’s not fair. Jeff like to fancy himself as someone who goes by the rule of ‘equality.’ If you pick on someone weaker than you with them having no chance of fighting back or at least inflicting the same damage back, you are nothing but a coward who gets off on hurting smaller people. And that in his mind is nothing short of detestable. “Guess good on me for letting you take him out, huh?”

You look at him with an odd mixture of confusion and absolute relief. “I guess,” you say, the sound of serenity slipping into your tone. “And what about you? What originally sent you out here?”

“Tall guy in a suit,” he stated, a small scowl pulling at his lips. “Y’know, he’s interested in you.”

“Tall guy in a suit?”

“Slender Man. I call him ‘Pale Ass’ though. He’s like… A murderous businessman. Has little drones to do his work even though he’s more than capable of doing it himself. And that’s where you come in.” Jeff shifts slightly and fixes his posture. “He’s the guy who originally wanted your husband dead. Sent me to do it.”

“Why did he want him dead?” You inquire. You knew your husband had done some dodgy things, especially with how strangely he was acting within the last few years as his abuse ran up, but you originally assumed he was cheating or something. Maybe into some other shady things. What on earth could he have done to garner the attention of some murderer kingpin?

“Saw something he shouldn’t have. My guess is Toby - maybe Theo. Both of them suck at covering up their tracks,” Jeff laughs slightly. “Probably saw one of us hiding a body, committing a murder, shit, he could’ve stumbled on some finals when he obviously shouldn’t have done that. Regardless, it got Slender’s attention, and now he’s dead because of it,” Jeff continues as he casts his eyes from you to the flickering flames. “You remember that night he fell asleep in his car in the garage?”

You nod.

“Almost took him out right there.” Jeff’s brows furrow slightly. “Something stopped me and then I saw you. The way he reacted to you asking if he wanted a certain type of potato made me giggle, and then I got a thought.”

“The antifreeze…”

“Yeah, the antifreeze. I’d noticed you were being pushed around for a while, honestly planning on taking you out to give you some rest but,” his eyes flash, “seemed more fun to get you into it too.” He sighs and leans back. “Was it cathartic?”

You find yourself uncomfortably shifting and wanting to answer with ‘no, of course not! I killed someone,’ before realizing that wouldn't be truthful. It was cathartic to put an end to his life. It was cathartic to finally bring justice for yourself in a way that no prison system would allow. “It… It was.” You admit, shyly and quietly like confessing to a bad secret.

“Feels nice to admit it, right?” He smiles.

“It does.”

“Now, imagine doing that to other pieces of shit,” he says as he sits up again. “Imagine being able to do that to every monster that’s ever hurt anyone just like you/”

You close your eyes and feel the red hot rage tingle your fingertips. Being able to unload on your dead husband was more than pleasing - in fact, it was nice, and dare you say, fun. The thought of being able to do that to other people who hurt others like that, while a far off possibility now as you were still frail, was still a possibility nonetheless.

“I mean, where else do you have to go?” Jeff continues, watching as you toss the thought around in your head. “You’d never get caught. He’d handle it all right now. You’d be free.” Jeff stands up and begins crossing the distance to meet you. His shadow walks alongside him. Dusk hangs in the air. “Or, if this isn’t to your liking, you can join him.”

“What?” You question, eyes flicking up from Jeff’s shoes to his eyes.

“You gotta understand,” he begins as he crouches in front of you. “If you say no and

decide to deal with the fallout like a normal human being, you’ll be caught and most likely killed for it. You’d be at the end of your rope.”

You feel an ocean of emotions swell up inside of you. “And if I… What would you even have me do if I followed you?”

“I’ll take you to meet him, and we’ll see what happens next. He’ll cover for you. You won’t ever have to see this place ever again.”

The sun begins to peek over the horizon. The fire is dying down. You can hear birds chirping in the early morning sky as fluffy clouds bid good morning to the dimming stars in the sky.

“Let’s get outta here, Bird.” Jeff stands up, holding out his hand.

You take in a deep breath, hand hovering over his. You thought of your husband, your life and everything that had ever happened to lead up to this moment. You’d gone this far, and there was clearly no going back. Another deep breath in and you pressed your hand down to his.

Jeff’s smile bloomed once again.

#jeff the killer #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #jeff the killer x reader #reader insert #x reader #creepypasta jtk

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