#Scene 1. Eight: Face split open | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

milolovesbmc · 7 months ago

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I've pretty much never written anything like this before, but it was actually really fun and here's to hoping it's good because I can't really tell........ Anyways here's some art for it, fic under the cut!! :)

Twenty-eight: Storm

The kids are 28

Sometimes Doug has to sit on the roof.

He sits hunched over with his knees tucked tight between his arms. He covers his eyes with his hands and pressures until there's black spots blocking his vision. He presses on both of them, even though he doesn't have two eyes to feel the pressure on. Pressing his left one, the eye socket, feels especially nice, it makes him feel dizzy.

It's not like when he was eight and fantasized about climbing on the roof. He used to picture himself standing on the very edge, putting his faith in the hands of the statues, hoping the angels would push him off.

It doesn't give him a rush. Sometimes he just needs to breathe and the roof of his house is the only place where he actually can.

Mainly because it's not his house.

He's dating this girl, Elaine.

She moved in two (or was it three?) years ago. He remembers the day she did, it was Monday. Doug took the day off from whatever shitty job he had back then to help her move.

He kind of wishes he hadn't. She barged into his house, with the trunk of her car full of boxes and her hair tied up, claiming as much territory as she liked. He could only step back and watch. He had this feeling, deep in his gut, like something was wrong. Or missing. He wonders if that's how Corey felt.

It wasn't her assertiveness he minded. He liked that she knew what she wanted. He needed to be pushed around and roughed up. But watching her spread her belongings around his place just felt intrusive.

He feels a drop of water fall on his face, and then another. It's starting to rain.

In retrospect, he should've known, the sky had been grey all day. He's wearing a shirt and some sweatpants that will definitely get soaked in a matter of seconds. He still doesn't move from his spot on the roof.

It's times like these Doug wishes he had something to do with his hands, instead of just letting his mind wander. Maybe, Corey was onto something with the whole smoking thing. He used to say it calmed him down. Doug just liked the smell, the way it would cling into his clothes and stay there for what felt like forever.

It's not like he had been enabling Corey's smoking. Doug would go quiet and stare whenever he'd take a cigarette between his fingers. Corey never seemed to care. Somehow it would always end with both of them sitting closer than they were before and Doug blowing smoke out of his mouth.

At some point he had started lighting his best friend's cigarettes for him. Their weird kind of ritual stayed mostly the same, except this time around he was needed. Corey would look at him, holding a cigarette, practically boring his eyes into him, waiting for him to notice. Doug would wait until he got impatient and subtly rolled his eyes before scurrying to give him what he wanted.

Right now he misses the warmth and the weak flame that would light up part of Corey's face. He felt warm to Doug.

His hands were always freshly scrubbed clean, to the point of the skin looking raw. He remembers when Corey first touched him and poked at his wound. The momentary sharp pain when he picked the gravel out of his palms. His hands pressing into Doug's, cold spreading from one's hands to the other's. It was the kind of freezing cold that when stuck to your skin for a while, it almost felt warm.

Every time Corey would touch him, touch his scars and wounds and cuts, it felt ice cold for a minute, and then it was warm. A warmth that would get into his veins and make him feel like everything inside him had been shaken up.

It's raining even more now, it doesn't seem like it's going to stop anytime soon. He's soaked and the water's dripping down his face.

He wipes it off with the back of his hand.

The last time Doug saw him, Corey said he was dating some guy. Some asshole that wrecked his car and didn't even attend his father's funeral. Worst of all, he was living with the guy.

Who's freaked out by a dead body anyways? What a pussy.

It freaks him out, knowing he has settled down, left Doug behind. Corey used to need him. All those years ago.

This guy doesn't care about Corey like he does.

He would do anything he asked him to. He'd light his cigarettes even if it meant breathing the smoke in and feeling it scratch down his throat. He needs it.

Did Corey ever actually need him? Doug's not the only guy with a lighter in his pocket and the willingness to breath in.

He spins the shiny new ring on his finger until it's loose. Then he puts it back on again.

It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because Doug is getting married, to his girlfriend. He has settled down. He has settled down even more than Corey had. Who cares about what's-his-name and his stupid fear of funerals. He's getting married.

He sent Corey an invitation. A neat white card with both their and Elaine's name on it. Sent the night before, at three in the morning, not before he had emptied two cans of beer and almost half a bottle of pain meds.

It was stupid, Doug doesn't want him to come. He was just bleary from the pills. The last time he saw him, Corey made it clear he didn't care. He didn't care that Doug was in pain and he didn't care to mend his wounds.

He wouldn't have needed to take the pills back then if only he would've helped. He wouldn't need them now. It's like he wants him to be in pain. Wants to watch him suffer and whine and beg, trying to make his way into his hands, or arms, or anything.

The sky rumbles, the rain is pouring down even harder now, and the clouds are a dark grey.

He wants Corey to come to his wedding. Maybe his mere presence will make the pain go away. Maybe if he could have him again, just once. Maybe if he could just feel the warmth reaching out to him. Softening the sharp edges of his aching.

It'd be nothing like the funeral. He'd be good. He just needed one more chance. He could fix everything so that Corey could fix him. If the pain went away he could think clearly for once. Choose the right words to make him stay this time.

Corey came back, he always did. Maybe it was divine intervention, or just plain pity, but he came when Doug called his name. Reluctantly that is, but he came.

Every time he got injured, Corey was just where he needed him to be. Like a guardian angel.

Five years ago Doug walked in to the hospital. He vaguely recalls a nurse rushing to him. Being wrapped around in bandages so tight he felt nice and clean again. Getting pushed into a room.

He knows he sat on the bed staring at nothing for a while, he doesn't know how long it was, for a while he felt nothing. As if he had been watching himself sit from outside his own body. He might've been muttering something.

Until Corey arrived. Suddenly he was pushed back into consciousness and he saw a light, a way out. It didn't matter that said light reeked of alcohol and the mud on his shoes reached up to his knees.

He's abruptly made aware of his surroundings. The roof underneath him and the rain falling aggressively from above him. For a moment he thinks he can hear the sky rumble.

The clouds and the sky are a matching shade of pitch black and he can't make anything out.

For a fraction of a second, staring ahead into the dark, he sees a light. A tiny little flicker in the distance.

This was his way out. Of course. It was obvious now. He just needed to sit in that hospital once more. Corey would come. Corey would find him. Just like he found him five years ago. Someone would call him. Maybe he would just know to look for Doug. It all made sense.

He takes a step towards the edge.

The tiles under his feet are wet and slippery from the rain.

He takes a second one.

There's no angels to push him off this time. They want him to do it. He has to do it. He watches a tree get struck by lightning.

He takes a third step.

Everything around him glows a strange shade of blue.

Another one.

His skin buzzes painfully. He wants to scratch the buzzing off. He doesn't. Both his hands stay on his sides

And he takes another step.

Sweat drips down from his palms. He wipes them off on his shirt to no avail.

And a last one.

Sometimes Doug has to sit on the roof. This time he stands on the very edge.

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aphelionatseven · 6 months ago

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Op. 71 Act 1, Scene 1: Regali Teneri: winter warmers day 003

✶ prompts: dildo | holding hands

✶ ship: pierresteban

✶ words: 1,593

+ a little song

Charlie

[Voice Message—0:35]

Transcript:

“Cheri! Uh, was wondering if you and Este would want to join Max and I at the symphony this evening? Or is it the ballet?”

Max sounds grumpy as he supplies, “Ballet. The Nutcracker.”

“Yeah! What it is the, um, rat king and all that. The one with—” Charles starts singing the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy, horribly off key.

“Please say yes, Pierre, or else I’ll be stuck next to the FIA dick sucker—” “That’s rude, Maxie, he is only doing his job—” “I do not care he is of course a cunt who pushes bullshit—”

Pierre snorts as the bickering gets cut off, and even if he does ponder on it for a split second, his reply gets typed out faster.

pierre

I’m sorry, mon amie, but I’ve got sim training to do. Surely you can just put Max on the end so he doesn’t even have to look at George?

As he goes to lock his phone and continue with the monotonous task of cutting up lettuce for his salad, Charles’ contact shows up on a screen. With a reluctant sigh, Pierre shoves his phone in between his ear and shoulder, then answers with a tsk.

“Charles, as I said I am busy. I cannot magically move around my schedule.”

He can practically hear Charles pouting, “Oh, you are such a liar. We are all in London, non? So, it will be a lovely double date!”

“Date?” Pierre sputters, narrowly slicing his finger, “Non, ce ne sera pas un rendez-vous. For me, at least.”

Charles sounds so confused, even Max has to chime in, “Este talked to me about you for so long in Qatar. Everything is good now, right? So I do not see the issue.”

Pierre thinks he must have cut something somewhere and died from blood loss, then woke up in a world where everyone thought he was back to being in love with his ex teammate-best friend-boyfriend-whatever. All because of a 2-3 that really was just gifted to them. Utter nonsense.

“Mon amie? S’il te plaǐt? I can video call you and plead with puppy eyes if you are not swayed!”

“Jesus,” Pierre mumbles and rubs a hand down his face, “Sure, fine. Merveilleux. Just text me the address, d’accord?”

Charles giggles, all proud of himself, “Wonderful! I’ll see you at eight!”

—

It wasn’t hard. It wasn’t like—equivalent to shunting it on a formation lap or equal to whatever Esteban must have felt when he was thrown out before Abu Dhabi or when he got the call from his ex about—it wasn’t a soul crushing thing to do. To open up the short string of blue and grey code between him and the person stuck firmly in whatever invisible string held Pierre’s life.

Pierre

Hey man!

No. Too informal. This is a date, gotta make him think it actually is, right? That seems to be the best course of action; think of it as revenge given too late.

Pierre

Hi copain! Max and Charles have two extra spots for the Nutcracker tonight.

Pierre thinks he might bite down through to the bone before he lets his thumb press onto another letter. It’s fine. Deep breath, it’s not hard, this isn’t hard.

Pierre

Hi copain! Max and Charles have two extra spots for the Nutcracker tonight, at 8:30. Would you want to tag along with us? Max would appreciate it, since the other option is George and Carmen.

Delivered.

He winces as he bites down on an olive with its pit still intact, and nearly chokes when Esteban’s reply comes through almost instantly.

Esteban

That sounds wonderful! Is 7:30 a good time to come pick you up, chéri?

Read 2:15pm

God. Jesus. Fuck. Pierre stabs the remaining sad pieces of lettuce with his fork and screams into his hands. He thinks about wishing he had choked on the olive pit.

Pierre

Sounds good. Charles said to dress nice!

Delivered

“No, he fucking didn’t! What am I, sixteen again?” Pierre wallows to the open air of his flat, and flings his head against the back of the couch. Who was he, wanting Esteban to dress nice because, yeah, so what, he looks really fucking good in a suit. Pierre hopes a blizzard blows in and freezes him to death so that he never has to even think of doing something like this again.

Esteban

I’ll put on my very best for you, calamar ;)

Read 2:20pm

Pierre grinds his teeth together and takes another deep breath to suppress another frustrated, throat scratching groan. He glances at the clock and does it anyway. Five and half hours. He’ll make it.

—

He barely drags himself out into the front lobby.

His hands are stuffed into his Burberry coat as he waits, grateful Charles wasn’t forcing them into going to Covent Garden or something ridiculously unfun—sure, the ballet was equally miserable to Pierre, but at least there wouldn’t be a sea of tourists to push through just for a dried up overpriced mince pie.

“Ah, there he is,” and Pierre swears he must have fallen into the fire, with how his face heats up at the sight of Esteban—a neatly pressed dark burgundy velvet suit, an obnoxiously adorable bow tie, and his perfectly fit black coat. Merde, “I was worried I overdid it with the festivity.”

Pierre clears his throat and opts to set his gaze on the Christmas tree that’s illuminating the halo of Esteban’s slicked back hair, “Surely Max will make us all look overdressed. As long as there is wine, I will be happy anyway.”

There’s a few moments of ungodly awkward silence before Pierre steps forward a little, “Before we go, I am…” He digs his nails into his palms and his shoulders feel like they’re about to snap with how tense they are, “I am sorry. I wish you had more time, to make a proper goodbye and all. C'est injuste.”

And the guilt washes in the second Pierre sees the genuine hurt flash in Esteban’s expression, how he sadly smiles with those stupidly fucking adorable teeth, “What does Charles say? It is like this. At least I did not end up in Daniel’s boat. Que sera, sera,” he opens up the lobby door and gestures for Pierre to go first, “Prettiest out first.”

“Ever the charmer,” Pierre rolls his eyes and buries himself into his scarf, willing it will hide the blush that hasn’t left under his eyes. Once Esteban is distracted by fiddling for his keys, he mumbles, “You look really good.”

Esteban’s eyebrows fly up and he doesn’t even try to hide his grin, “Hm? What was that, again?”

“Oh, s'il te plaît arrête, you heard me!”

“Still so small and angry, calamar,” Esteban laughs, leading them down the snow covered sidewalk to his car, “It is wonderful how so much but so little changes.”

Pierre doesn’t question the sudden philosophical ramblings, too busy mulling over every decision he’s ever made that landed him in this situation. He thinks about feigning a migraine, or a fever, or near death—anything to avoid being in such close proximity to Esteban for any longer than he has to. Pierre had finally gotten rid of him; he was Ollie’s problem now.

Fine. It’s fine. He can handle a few more hours. And if he wishes those hours were more plentiful, absolutely no one has to know.

And the car ride, it’s short, it’s fine, it’s tolerable. Up until they park, Pierre unbuckles his seatbelt and reaches for the door handle—Esteban loudly protests, “Nuh uh! Getting the door is my job, mon chou.”

“Aie pitié de moi, I am not a child,” Pierre sighs into his hands and waits impatiently as Esteban comes around the side to let him out. It would be something to write away into a box to be burnt, until Esteban shuts said door, locks said car and then he’s—he’s.

His gloved fingers are intertwining with Pierre’s like it’s as easy as breathing, “Bonsoir, Charles, Max!” Esteban calls to the couple huddled beside a space heater, all along dragging a stunned Pierre behind him.

His brain has been reduced to static and the soul crushing nostalgic feeling that the warmth of Esteban’s hand is giving him. It’s perfect, how they fit together. It’s like going home and sliding into the car for the first time pre-season and slipping on a favorite hoodie that smells like asphalt and expensive cologne. Which, Esteban is certainly wearing his nicest–all smoke and earthy leather.

Pierre didn’t even realize he was aching for that missing piece—Esteban’s arm pressed up against his as they sit in their rented out box seats. The way he laughs at Max’s horrible jokes and the way his eyes crinkle at the photos of Leo he gets shown. Through every instance of small talk, his grasp at Pierre’s hand never falters. Esteban rubs his thumbs in circles, squeezes absentmindedly. Like they never stopped doing this. Like no binds had ever been severed and Évreux was just outside the back door.

Once the lights dim and the ballet begins, Pierre finally looks over at Esteban, who is staring right back. All childhood wonder and glimmering hope—they’re teenagers again, they’re screaming in a hotel room, they’re crying in Pierre’s driver's room in Brazil. The first note plays and Pierre decides to swallow down the lump in his throat, in favor of squeezing Esteban’s hand back as tight as he can. To convey something. To keep him there, long after the curtains fall.

#the library #pierresteban #pierre gasly #esteban ocon #eo31 #pg10 #very much threw this together .. not my best but . wanted it out anyway #enjoy da read #winterwarmers2024

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starstruckbyacomet · 4 months ago

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There Is No Safe Word (Part 6 of 10)

(Source) (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Prewarning)

Who Killed Amanda Palmer by Neil Gaiman and Amanda Palmer (2009) First Edition. Photo: eBay.

Editor’s note: This story contains content that readers may find disturbing, including graphic allegations of sexual assault & child abuse.

Gaiman and Palmer met in 2008, when she was 32 and he was 47. Both were at a turning point in their lives and careers. Gaiman was in the midst of finalizing a divorce from his first wife, with whom he had three children, and on the verge of breaking into Hollywood (nine of his works have been turned into movies or TV shows); Palmer was in a fight with her record label that would culminate in a split. Palmer had a collection of photos of herself posing as a murdered corpse and wanted Gaiman to write captions to go along with the pictures. Gaiman liked the idea, and the two met to work on the project, a book tied to her first solo album, Who Killed Amanda Palmer. As Palmer described in The Art of Asking, they were not attracted to each other at first. “I thought he looked like a baggy-eyed, grumpy old man, and he thought I looked like a chubby little boy.”

Gaiman was the first to propose a romantic relationship. In an interview, he later said, “I got together with her because I couldn’t ever imagine being bored.” Palmer could. Ever since she’d gotten her start as a street busker, painting her face white and standing on a crate in Harvard Square dressed as a silent eight-foot-tall bride, she prided herself on a low-rent, bohemian lifestyle, couch-surfing when she toured, playing random shows in the living rooms of her fans. She had no savings and didn’t own a car, real estate, or kitchen appliances. Gaiman owned multiple houses. He was too rich, too famous, too British, too awkward, too old. And they didn’t have great sexual chemistry. But he appeared to be kind and stable, a family man, and they shared a dark, fantastical aesthetic. She also felt a little sorry for him. He seemed lonely, in spite of his fame, and Palmer found herself hoping that she could help him. “He’d believed for a long time, deep down, that people didn’t actually fall in love,” she wrote in her book. “‘But that’s impossible,’” she told him. He’d written stories and scenes of people in love. “‘That’s the whole point, darling,’ he said. ‘Writers make things up.’”

Neil Gaiman and Amanda Palmer's wedding photoshoot. Photo: Amanda Palmer Blog.

They wed in 2011 in the Berkeley home of their friends Michael Chabon and Ayelet Waldman, the novelists. Their union had a multiplying effect on their fame and stature, drawing each out of their respective domains of cult stardom and into the airy realm of tech-funded virality. They became darlings of the TED talk circuit and regulars at Jeff Bezos’s ultrasecret Campfire retreat. Gaiman introduced Palmer to Twitter, which he had used to become fantasy’s most beloved author of 140-character bons mots. Palmer, in turn, leaned into her growing reputation as a crowdfunding genius. Online, they flirted, went after each other’s critics, and praised each other’s progressive politics. In an interview with Out magazine in 2012, Palmer said that the main “other” relationship in both of their lives was with their fans: “Sometimes when I’m with Neil, and go to the other room to Twitter with my followers, it feels like sneaking off for a quick shag.”

This wasn’t strictly a metaphor. During the early years of their marriage, they lived apart for months at a time and encouraged each other to have affairs. According to conversations with five of Palmer’s closest friends, the most important rule governing their open relationship was honesty. They found that sharing the details of their extramarital dalliances — and sometimes sharing the same partners — brought them closer together.

Who Killed Amanda Palmer music book (2009). Photo: Amazon.

In 2012, Palmer met a 20-year-old fan, who has asked to be referred to as Rachel, at a Dresden Dolls concert. After one of Palmer’s next shows, the women had sex. The morning after, Palmer snapped a few semi-naked pictures of Rachel and asked if she could send one to Gaiman. She and Palmer slept together a few more times, but then Palmer seemed to lose interest in sex with her. Some six months after they met, Palmer introduced Rachel to Gaiman online, telling Rachel, “He’ll love you.” The two struck up a correspondence that quickly turned sexual, and Gaiman invited her to his house in Wisconsin. As she packed for the trip, she asked Palmer over email if she had any advice for pleasing Gaiman in bed. Palmer joked in response, “i think the fun is finding out on your own.” With Gaiman, Rachel says there was never a “blatant rupture of consent” but that he was always pressing her to do things that hurt and scared her. Looking back, she feels Palmer gave her to him “like a toy.”

Whittling Hazel, an original illustration from The Ocean at the End of the Lane written by Neil Gaiman (Headline, 2019), illustrated by Elise Hurst. Photo: Elise Hurst.

For Gaiman and Palmer, these were happy years. With his editing help, she wrote The Art of Asking. They toured together. And when Palmer was offered a residency at Bard College, Gaiman tagged along to give some talks, then ended up receiving an offer to join the faculty as a professor of the arts. After they’d been together for a few years, Palmer began asking Gaiman to tell her more about his childhood in Scientology. But he seemed unable to string more than a few sentences together. When she encouraged him to continue, he would curl up on the bed into a fetal position and cry. He refused to see a therapist. Instead, he sat down to write a short story that kept getting longer until it had turned into a novel. Although the child at the center of the story in many ways remains opaque, Palmer felt he had never been so open. He dedicated the book, The Ocean at the End of the Lane, “to Amanda, who wanted to know.”

Back to: Part 5, next: Part 7

#tw: sa #tw sa mention #neil gaiman #neil gaiman allegations #good omens #good omens fandom #tw child abuse #tw childhood trauma #neil gaiman accusations #neil gaiman abuse #the sandman #lila saphiro

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letyukisayfuck · 1 year ago

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@moose-goosey-2-babey

so i actually have an existing outline for this. it's pretty basic, based on the idea that i could get two more 14-episode seasons (a feat which feels admittedly unlikely in the modern anime landscape)

Season 3 Outline: Ep 1 - Love At First Sight Ep 2 - SOS Christmas Party (or half that and then Snow Mountain Syndrome Part 1) Ep 3 - Snow Mountain Syndrome (Part 2??) Ep 4 - Where Did The Cat Go? Ep 5 - Random Numbers Ep 6 - The Melancholy of Mikuru Asahina Ep 7 - Intrigues 1 Ep 8 - Intrigues 2 Ep 9 - Intrigues 3 Ep 10 - Intrigues 4 Ep 11 - Intrigues 5 Ep 12 - Intrigues 6 Ep 13 - Wandering Shadow Ep 14 - Editor In Chief

Season 4: Ep 1 - Dissociation 1 Ep 2 - Dissociation 2 Ep 3 - Surprise 1 Ep 4 - Surprise 2 Ep 5 - Surprise 3 Ep 6 - Surprise 4 Ep 7 - Surprise 5 Ep 8 - Surprise 6 Ep 9 - Surprise 7 Ep 10 - Surprise 8 Ep 11 - Surprise 9 Ep 12 - Seven Wonders Overtime Ep 13 - Tsuruya's Challenge Ep 14 - Tsuruya's Challenge

now, these outlines are suuuuper set in stone; some of the orders and such can be shuffled around (tsuruya's challenge could probably be sanded down to one episode or just not get adapted for now; where did the cat go isn't strictly necessary; you could probably shave off a single episode of intrigues or surprise. mixing those together you could get the number down to 12 episodes per season). but i am pretty happy with this layout.

there is something very specific i want to do with dissociation/surprise, which would be incredibly fun and possible to do with an anime adaptation and which would absolutely get me punched in the face.

(this next bit is going to contain spoilers for dissociation and surprise.)

so, during dissociation, the timeline splits with a phone call that kyon receives at home. the context and the content doesn't matter, other than a single line of dialogue.

ending the episode right before it, and opening the next two episodes (each set in their respective split timeline) with their take on that scene.

the line of dialogue that scene starts with, of course, being

"kyon-kun, phone!"

give people a split second panic as they start to think oh, god, is this endless eight again--

(and then it isn't, so it's fine.)

#ruby.txt #moose-goosey-2-babey

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wagmi-mga2023mi6021 · 4 months ago

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The Brief: A Detailed Breakdown

1. Introduction to the Divine Void

The film opens with a lone soul drifting through an ethereal void, surrounded by other souls that appear gradually. This setting conveys a sense of disorientation and awe, emphasizing the character's isolation amidst the incomprehensible vastness.

(we the animals | 2018)

2. Transition to the Mind's Courtroom

The narrative shifts from the divine void to the confined space of an elevator within the character's mind. This transition highlights his internal struggle to make sense of his existence and judgment, contrasting the vastness of the void with the grounding reality of the elevator.

(it comes at night | 2017)

3. The Statues of Sins

Central to the story are eight statues representing different sins: Pride, Greed, Wrath, Lust, Envy, Gluttony, Sloth, and Disloyalty. Their presence symbolizes moral judgment and inner conflict. Each statue lighting up in response to a sin underscores the gravity of the situation, visually impacting both the character and the audience.

(good omens: season 2 - episode 3 | 2023)

4. The Judgment Process

The scene shifts to the courtroom where souls are judged. Condemned souls face a fate determined by the lit-up statues, leading to either heaven or hell. This part builds suspense and highlights the merciless nature of divine judgment, affecting the character deeply as he witnesses others' fates.

(contempt | 1963)

5. The Character's Trial

When it is the character's turn, the statue of Disloyalty lights up, signifying his ultimate failing. The judges' reactions and the indecision of the scale add tension and confusion, heightening the suspense about his outcome.

(you: season 2 - episode 9 | 2019)

6. Duality of Self

A pivotal moment occurs when the character splits into two versions of himself: a pure self representing hope and a flawed self carrying his sins. This duality emphasizes his internal conflict and the finality of his judgment, as he watches the pure self recede, symbolizing lost virtue.

(severance: season 1 - episode 2 | 2022)

7. Descent Through the Void

The character's fall through the void symbolizes both literal and metaphorical descent into darkness. The elevator imagery as a manifestation of his mind underscores his entrapment in a loop of judgment, contrasting with the vibrant courtroom scenes to reinforce themes of entrapment.

(audrey nuna - "space" | 2021)

8. Conclusion: Endless Torment

The film concludes with the character falling deeper into the void, mirroring his initial experience. This reinforces themes of sin and divine judgment, leaving him in an endless cycle of torment without resolution.

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globznow · 7 years ago

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What the hell is going on in Middleburg Heights? Unpaid overtime, spy-novel snooping, bitterness underlie lawsuit

A lawsuit filed in January by Middleburg Heights’s former police chief has its roots in a dispute over $22,000 worth of unused sick pay that the chief said Mayor Gary Starr refused to let him tap into upon his 2017 retirement.

Ex-chief John Maddox’s attorney spent eight months collecting records that revealed the extraordinary lengths that Starr and interim city law director John Ligato went to have Maddox investigated by multiple agencies as the more than three decade relationship between Starr and Maddox soured.

Those records include surreptitiously recorded conversations that Starr and his attorneys failed to disclose to Maddox’s lawyer; Starr’s spy novel-esque attempt to lift Maddox’s fingerprints to compare to a year-old anonymous letter; and emails that Ligato sent from his personal email account to a state agent that laid out what Ligato claimed were several crimes that Maddox committed.

Lawyers for Maddox and Starr are in negotiations that could soon bring the lawsuit to an end.

Records already made public in court filings offer a behind-the-scenes look into a long-steady administration that, in the past 14 months, mired itself in abrupt and often unexplained firings; an $80,000 payout to a former safety director; and a bizarre incident that saw the door to the ousted law director’s office at city hall plastered in police tape.

All of this started in late 2014 when Starr’s adult son, who once came under suspicion, but was never charged after $20,000 disappeared from an armored truck, applied to become a Middleburg Heights police officer, according to court filings.

The theft

Peter Starr worked as a driver for Loomis Security for a short time in 2014, according to investigative records obtained. He drove a truck with another employee to fill ATMs around Northern Ohio on Sept. 1, 2014, when $20,000 in cash went missing.

The other employee, Keith Marshall, wrote in a statement to police that a few days after the money went missing, Peter Starr said that he heard about another Loomis employee who stole $40,000 but was never caught because the company couldn't prove it. Marshall also wrote that Peter Starr told him he would never take a lie-detector test, and that he asked about security cameras mounted inside the trucks.

Marshall described other statements that Peter Starr made before the money disappeared.

Peter Starr once adjusted the cameras to face the road instead of the drivers, and on two occasions carried money back to the truck instead of dropping it off in a gas station ATM, Marshall wrote. Marshall wrote that he told the younger Starr that it would be "a headache" for them and said that the gas station manager would get in trouble because he had signed off on a delivery order that said he received the money.

"Peter's comment to me was 'so we could have kept that money and split it,'" Marshall's statement read. "My trust for Peter was totally gone after that."

Marshall said that on Sept. 16, 2014, he and a manager at Loomis devised a scheme to casually mention in front of Peter Starr that video from the truck's cameras were retrievable for up to 30 days after an incident and gauge his reaction.

The younger Starr's eyes got wide and his mouth fell open, as if he was in shock, Marshall wrote. Another employee later corroborated that statement.

The next day, Peter Starr called in sick, saying he sprained his ankle playing basketball and couldn't walk.

He resigned the next day by text message to a manager and declined an offer to come in for an exit interview, according to a copy of the messages.

The investigation

Loomis reported the theft of $20,000 to Garfield Heights police, who assigned a detective to investigate. They found surveillance video of Peter Starr leaving the office on the day the money went missing with a bag of trash that appeared to be "heavy and swinging as he carried it," the report said. Another employee offered to take the bag, and Starr rejected the offer, the report said.

The video showed Starr then walked out of the office into the parking lot, turned back toward the door and walked directly to his car without dropping the trash bag into the garbage can, the report said.

The detective went as far to recreate the surveillance video with a mocked-up trash bag that had a brick of $20,000 in $20 bills, according to police records. He then sent it to a Parma police detective to have it analyzed to determine if it swayed like the bag seen in the video of Peter Starr. The detective wrote that, while there were no significant differences in the bags, the video was too grainy for him to testify in court that the two bags were a match.

Investigators took Marshall's statement and a BCI agent gave him a lie-detector test. The agent wrote that Marshall “told the substantial truth” during the test.

Peter Starr did not take a lie-detector test or provide police with a statement.

No charges were filed.

"The matter from Garfield Heights from four years ago was investigated and nothing was found to implicate Peter," Peter Starr's lawyer, Tom Rein, said.

Mayor's polygraph questions begin

Maddox and Starr began negotiating the terms of Maddox’s retirement from the department in January 2015, according to handwritten notes from Maddox obtained.

They reached an agreement over lunch at the Crowne Plaza Hotel in Middleburg Heights that would see Maddox stay on the job through 2017, the notes said. Maddox wanted to spend six-to-eight weeks in Florida during the winter months, the notes said.

Starr immediately pivoted to asking questions about the police department’s background check process for recruits, the notes say. The mayor asked Maddox for the department’s views on previous drug usage, specifically marijuana, and asked if the department contacted a recruit’s previous employer, the notes say. He also asked why the department made recruits take lie-detector tests, which he said were inaccurate, and asked Maddox if he would ever ditch the process, the notes say.

Maddox said no, and wrote in his notes that he found Starr’s questioning unusual. Starr seemed “agitated” about the background check process.

“I wondered if it was because his son is on the entrance list,” Maddox wrote in the notes.

An intern's notes

A summer intern in Starr's office supplied notes that she jotted down while listening to a July 2015 conversation between Mayor Starr and Maddox. The intern said she could hear the conversation from outside the mayor's door.

The mayor chewed out Maddox and said there was "a rat" in the department who was wasting public money in investigating his son's connection to the missing money "based on false rumors," according to the notes. He also again asked Maddox about the department's policy on administering lie-detector tests, the notes said.

The intern wrote that after Maddox left the room, she heard Starr tell his assistant, Robert Downey, that he wanted to get rid of the department's policy to administer polygraph tests to police recruits because they are "liable to cast more suspicion than alleviate it," the notes say.

He then joked with an employee on the phone about forcing all current police department employees to undergo a lie detector test at the mayor’s direction "with or without cause,” the notes say.

Maddox's lawsuit

Things heated up in early 2017, when Starr abruptly fired longtime Safety Director Sandra Kerber without giving a public explanation.

The city eventually paid Kerber about $87,000 as part of a settlement after she submitted a draft of a wrongful termination lawsuit in June 2017. Maddox submitted his notice of retirement from the department that same month, and city’s finance director, Jason Stewart, told Maddox that the city would not pay him the $22,000 in unused sick time, according to Maddox’s lawsuit.

Starr withheld the payment as a way to retaliate against Maddox because Starr accused Maddox of helping Kerber compile information to put together her draft complaint that also mentioned efforts by Starr to ditch the department's polygraph requirements for police recruits, according to Maddox’s lawsuit.

In the months that followed, Starr sent a letter to city council members that accused Maddox of trying to coerce a state prisons employee to file fraudulent documents related to an annual inspection of the city jail, as well as lying and using obscene gestures, the lawsuit says.

In January, Maddox filed his lawsuit accusing Starr of retaliation, defamation and withholding his unused sick pay.

Unearthing records

Maddox’s lawyer, Steve Forbes, filed several public records requests for documents related to Maddox, in addition to relying on lawyers for Starr and the city to hand over evidence.

The move paid off when the Ohio Attorney Office’s Bureau of Criminal Investigation supplied an August 2017 email in which the city’s interim safety director, John Ligato, requested a special agent investigate Maddox, records show.

The message, sent from Ligato’s private email address because he does not have a Middleburg Heights government email address, included a 12-page document marked “confidential” that Ligato compiled. The document referenced several conversations between Starr and Maddox, Ligato and Maddox, and Starr and then-law director Peter Hull. Many of the conversations were “consensually recorded,” the document says, but Forbes did not have copies of the recordings.

The document lays out an extraordinary tale that in some parts reads like a spy novel.

Spies like us

Ligato, a decorated Vietnam War veteran, ex-FBI agent and author of two novels about an FBI agent who engages in high-stakes and deep-cover investigations, describes an attempt by Starr to get Maddox’s fingerprints sometime in 2016, about a year after a package that included information about the Garfield Heights investigation involving Peter Starr was sent anonymously to city council offices.

The mayor gave Maddox a golf ball and lifted Maddox’s fingerprint off the plastic case it came in, the letter says. Starr then sent the print, along with a “latent fingerprint” that was found on a letter inside the anonymous package, to a fingerprint analyst to determine if the two were a match, the letter says.

The analyst said he could not determine that the two prints matched, the document said, but Ligato still listed evidence as circumstantial.

It’s unclear if the analyst, who is not named in the document, was paid to make the comparison.

In another example, Ligato writes that Hull and Maddox worked together on a criminal conspiracy to extort Starr by threatening to expose his son’s involvement in the 2014 Loomis truck theft investigation unless Starr appointed Maddox as safety director and let Maddox hand-pick his successor as chief.

Starr asked Hull in July 2017 whether Maddox would leave his family alone if he agreed to the terms, and Hull said it would all go away, the letter says. Starr asked Hull to find out if Maddox agreed with the deal and to call him back the next day and say “something like ‘the weather is great in Colorado’” or something like that, the letter says.

The next day, Hull told Starr in a voicemail that “the weather in Colorado is nice,” the letter said.

Ligato sent a follow-up email to the special agent two days later and said that he and Starr would be willing to drive to Columbus and meet the agent in person to discuss the investigation, court records show.

The agent referred the document to the Cuyahoga County Prosecutor’s Office’s public corruption unit, which promptly decided that no charges were warranted and declined any further investigation, records show.

None of those documents or any audio recordings, were included in Middleburg Heights’s response to Forbes’ initial records request. Lawyers representing Starr said in letters to Forbes that many of the tapes did not exist. Ligato was deposed earlier this year as part of the lawsuit and said that some of the tapes had been given to the FBI and were part of an active investigation, but he could not provide any documentation to show there actually was an investigation. He and Starr also said no one made copies of any of those tapes to keep on file with the city.

Hull's firing, police tape

Starr abruptly fired Hull less than a month after Maddox filed his lawsuit and, in a bizarre incident, orchestrated a stunt to have Hull’s door covered in police tape.

The mayor claimed that surveillance video showed Hull broke into his office after a meeting and remove a piece of paper. Starr then claimed that several records had been shredded in the office, and called city council members in to view the shredded documents, officials said.

Hull and a lawyer reviewed the video at city hall and said that the person on the video was not Hull.

A few days later, a sign that read "Please do not enter" showed up on the door alongside a strip of yellow police tape. City officials said they were conducting an "administrative review" before a decision is made to hire a new law director and wanted to ensure that no one disturbed the office.

Starr’s executive assistant, Bob Downey, told that police were not involved in the investigation.

Starr still has not given a public reason for Hull’s firing.

In March, Starr asked council to create two new assistant law director positions -- one that would oversee civil litigation and the other be the city's prosecutor. Starr asked council to let him appoint Jazmyn Stover, who had handled his early representation in the lawsuit, into the civil position.

Council balked and refused to OK the creation of the new positions.

Rebuking the mayor

City council members voted at an August council meeting to hire their own lawyer, Joe Diemert, after they said Starr and Hull’s replacement, Gary Ebert, were giving them heavily redacted documents related to the lawsuit and city expenses that left council unable to perform its oversight job.

The move touched off a public dispute with Starr, who objected at the meeting. Starr last week imposed his veto power to prevent the hiring, but Diemert and council claim the mayor cannot do so.

Diemert told before that move that he and council are prepared to do “whatever we have to” to compel the administration to release un-redacted versions of the documents.

Peter Starr resigns

Peter Starr did go on with his career as a police officer.

He was hired out of the police academy in 2016 by Gates Mills, and moved to the Clinic police department in March 2017, records show. He worked through July 30, a hospital spokeswoman said. He applied for a position as a police officer in Ashland but withdrew his application “in the last 30 days or so,” during the department’s background check process, Chief David Marcelli told.

Records show Peter Starr was hired on Aug. 20 as a Cuyahoga County sheriff’s deputy.

A county spokeswoman confirmed that Peter Starr took a lie detector test as part of his application process on June 26.

But a copy of his employment application shows that Starr did not include his time at Loomis on his employment history, and checked “no” when the application asked if he had ever been “investigated, suspected, arrested or charged with an offense by any law enforcement agency.”

After an August report by WKYC Channel 3 noted the investigation, supervisors in the sheriff’s department called Peter Starr to ask him about the omission on his application, county spokeswoman

Peter Starr submitted a three-sentence letter of resignation on Aug. 27, one week after he was hired, in which he said he was leaving immediately “to pursue another career in law enforcement.”

By: Mary Morley

1 note · View note

abc-times · 7 years ago

Text

What the hell is going on in Middleburg Heights? Unpaid overtime, spy-novel snooping, bitterness underlie lawsuit

Lawyers for Maddox and Starr are in negotiations that could soon bring the lawsuit to an end.

The theft

Marshall described other statements that Peter Starr made before the money disappeared.

"Peter's comment to me was 'so we could have kept that money and split it,'" Marshall's statement read. "My trust for Peter was totally gone after that."

The younger Starr's eyes got wide and his mouth fell open, as if he was in shock, Marshall wrote. Another employee later corroborated that statement.

The next day, Peter Starr called in sick, saying he sprained his ankle playing basketball and couldn't walk.

He resigned the next day by text message to a manager and declined an offer to come in for an exit interview, according to a copy of the messages.

The investigation

Investigators took Marshall's statement and a BCI agent gave him a lie-detector test. The agent wrote that Marshall “told the substantial truth” during the test.

Peter Starr did not take a lie-detector test or provide police with a statement.

No charges were filed.

"The matter from Garfield Heights from four years ago was investigated and nothing was found to implicate Peter," Peter Starr's lawyer, Tom Rein, said.

Mayor's polygraph questions begin

Maddox and Starr began negotiating the terms of Maddox’s retirement from the department in January 2015, according to handwritten notes from Maddox obtained.

Maddox said no, and wrote in his notes that he found Starr’s questioning unusual. Starr seemed “agitated” about the background check process.

“I wondered if it was because his son is on the entrance list,” Maddox wrote in the notes.

An intern's notes

He then joked with an employee on the phone about forcing all current police department employees to undergo a lie detector test at the mayor’s direction "with or without cause,” the notes say.

Maddox's lawsuit

Things heated up in early 2017, when Starr abruptly fired longtime Safety Director Sandra Kerber without giving a public explanation.

In January, Maddox filed his lawsuit accusing Starr of retaliation, defamation and withholding his unused sick pay.

Unearthing records

Maddox’s lawyer, Steve Forbes, filed several public records requests for documents related to Maddox, in addition to relying on lawyers for Starr and the city to hand over evidence.

The document lays out an extraordinary tale that in some parts reads like a spy novel.

Spies like us

The analyst said he could not determine that the two prints matched, the document said, but Ligato still listed evidence as circumstantial.

It’s unclear if the analyst, who is not named in the document, was paid to make the comparison.

The next day, Hull told Starr in a voicemail that “the weather in Colorado is nice,” the letter said.

Hull's firing, police tape

Starr abruptly fired Hull less than a month after Maddox filed his lawsuit and, in a bizarre incident, orchestrated a stunt to have Hull’s door covered in police tape.

Hull and a lawyer reviewed the video at city hall and said that the person on the video was not Hull.

Starr’s executive assistant, Bob Downey, told that police were not involved in the investigation.

Starr still has not given a public reason for Hull’s firing.

Council balked and refused to OK the creation of the new positions.

Rebuking the mayor

The move touched off a public dispute with Starr, who objected at the meeting. Starr last week imposed his veto power to prevent the hiring, but Diemert and council claim the mayor cannot do so.

Diemert told before that move that he and council are prepared to do “whatever we have to” to compel the administration to release un-redacted versions of the documents.

Peter Starr resigns

Peter Starr did go on with his career as a police officer.

Records show Peter Starr was hired on Aug. 20 as a Cuyahoga County sheriff’s deputy.

A county spokeswoman confirmed that Peter Starr took a lie detector test as part of his application process on June 26.

After an August report by WKYC Channel 3 noted the investigation, supervisors in the sheriff’s department called Peter Starr to ask him about the omission on his application, county spokeswoman

Peter Starr submitted a three-sentence letter of resignation on Aug. 27, one week after he was hired, in which he said he was leaving immediately “to pursue another career in law enforcement.”

By: Jacob Cooper

0 notes

blacksupremacy86 · 2 years ago

Text

Villainous Redemption Part 1

I have been causing hell in Gotham city for a few months trapping Batman in fury of Greek fire.

Red Hood and Robin tracked me over a tidal wave of chaos unleashing on to the many city streets.

I found myself huddling a way in some old fashion warehouse in the green distract of the city to their doom.

Nightwing uses a escrim stick swinging it in the air he flips it hard and smashes through the sky line.

The glass cracks splitting all over the place he lands it rains over him in excitement for him.

I clap a bit kicking the door open applauding his dramatic entrance in to the building or

crime scene.

“Nightwing babe! Good job”

“Please do not call me babe”

“Why not sexy?”

“Back up now or you will regret it”

“I will hold you to that”

“Asshole”

I clap my hands one more time a super loud thunder clap comes from my hand cashing a eruption.

The walls descend on to the building in a huff everything is enclose their no escape for him.

He flips in to the air somersaulting high end his reign with leap to the side attacking me legs first.

I side step him at the time of the lasers hit him hard covering over the room locking him in place.

Snapping my finger reverberating in sound so hard sending him flying in to the wall hit his back.

I stomp my feet the ground stir shaking out of control falling back on to his face Dick is at a loss.

“Oh your down fall is upon you “

“I no longer give a fuck anymore “

“I will soon assume control”

“No please”

“I beg of you “

“What do you beg of me?”

Nightwing conks out for eight hours on a cold night in the pitch of darkness he awoke to no avail.

“Where is he?”

“Did he leave me trap?”

“Come and find me”

“Bastard”

“I know you want me”

“You are obsessed with me”

“What if I am?”

“Then take me”

“I love your Grayson”

“Possess me”

“If you catch me you can have me”

“There you are, found you.”

“What’s my prize?”

“You get to love me”

“Mmmmmm”

“Aaaahhhhh! Fuck”

“So hard! Perfect body”

“Sorry Dick?!l what was that?”

“I took possession of her”

“Sir Yes Sir”

The end

#dick grayson #Nightwing #brenton thwaites #mind control #hypnosis

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lyrabythelake · 3 years ago

Note

If drable ideas are still open (feel free to ignore if they aren't) I know sometimes people see ghosts via pictures so Ghost au! Wild taking a photo and Wind's in the background?

Whoohoo, Ghost AU, it’s been a while! So, funnily enough, you completely nailed it on the head with this one, because this was almost exactly the idea I had for the next part of this AU—thanks for sending in this prompt and giving me the motivation to actually write it!!

(Previous parts X X X)

Wind laughs aloud at the strange scene in front of him. If anyone were to emerge over the top of the hill right now, they would probably retreat right back down again for fear they had run into some kind of weird ritual.

Purah (Wild’s friend who they are visiting for some kind of ‘tech upgrade’), stands precariously on a piece of ancient tech half buried in the ground to make up for her rather lacking height, Wild’s slate held out in front of her. The eight heroes stand in a group in front of her like musicians to a conductor, Four, Legend, Hyrule and Wild standing in the front so the taller ones can be seen behind.

“Are you sure we can’t do this somewhere else?” Warriors asks. “This wind will make our hair look horrible.”

Legend snorts.

“What?” Warriors retorts. “Is it so bad that I don’t want one of Wild’s only memories of us to look like we’re in the middle of a hurricane.”

“A hurricane?” Wind scoffs. “Jabun’s flippers, you’re so dramatic, you should’ve seen some of the storms I used to suffer through at sea. There was this one time—”

“Can’t handle a bit of wind, Pretty Boy?” Legend says. “Don’t join the Navy, some of the sea storms I’ve seen would blow your hair right off your head.”

“Huh,” Wind says. It seems he and Legend share more experiences than he thought. “Interesting.”

“Excuse me!” calls Purah, clearly struggling to keep her balance on the piece of eroding tech beneath her. “I haven’t got all day. Nice big smiles in 3… 2… 1…

Wind doesn’t know why he does it; there’s no reason to, he knows nothing will come of it. If he were being completely honest with himself, he would probably realise it’s simply the deep, agonising longing to be considered a part of something that makes him zoom to the space between Time and Warriors and put on the cheesiest grin he has just in time for the click of the slate camera. And he does feel part of something in a way, for that one split-second, standing with his fellow heroes as equals, like he could possibly be one of them.

But then it’s over, and the others break away from each other to crowd around the slate, leaving Wind standing alone.

He sighs forlornly. Maybe he’ll tell Wolfie he was technically there in the photo later so at least they’ll know, even if they can’t see him.

“How does it look?” asks Four, standing on tiptoes to try and see over Wild’s shoulder. Purah, after handing the slate to Wild, had muttered something about having better things to do and headed inside.

“I wouldn’t expect too much with your ugly mugs,” says Wind, slightly more bitterly than he had intended.

Wild grins. “It’s great. Thank you for doing this, guys. I get paranoid sometimes that I’ll forget everything again, but this helps a lot.”

“It was no problem, Cub,” says Twilight, ruffling his hair.

“Okay, you’ve looked at it long enough. Give it here,” says Warriors, and swiftly snatches the slate from Wild who lets out an affronted “Hey!”

“I need to check how bad my—”

Warriors stops mid-sentence and frowns, looking at the slate with an odd expression.

“What is it?” Hyrule asks as Warriors brings the slate closer, squinting his eyes at the image there. “I seriously doubt your hair is that bad.”

“No, it’s…” He trails off, the slate held centimetres from his face as he focuses on one point in the photo.

“Wars?” Four prompts.

Suddenly, Warriors grins, his white teeth glinting in the midday sun.

“No way!” he laughs. “It seems we’ve received an image from beyond the grave.”

“Eh?” says Wind, scrunching his nose in confusion as Wild snatches the slate back and peers at the photo more closely.

“What’re you…” Wild begins, and then his eyes widen. “Oh!”

“What?! What is it?!”

They all huddle around the slate, knocking into each other to find out what all the fuss is about.

“What’s going on?”

“Look, in the corner, there.”

“Where?”

“Between Warriors and Time.”

“Oh!”

“I don’t see it.”

“What’s everyone talking about?”

“It’s Wind!”

It’s… what?

For once, Wind is utterly speechless. He hesitates a moment, motionless, almost paralysed in his shock, then he shakes himself and zooms over to look at the picture over their heads. Sure enough, right where he was standing when the photograph was taken, is a pale, translucent figure, so subtle it would be easy to mistake for a sun glare on the slate screen.

But a closer look reveals his own features staring back; big eyes that were once ocean blue, a crooked grin from ear to ear, salt-sprayed hair windswept from a lifetime at sea. It’s been one hell of a long time since he’s seen his face (he’s heard some ghosts appear in mirrors or still water, but he’s never been able to), and it’s almost strange to see he hasn’t aged in all these years, despite knowing it would be impossible. It’s like looking at a painting of an old, dead relative, someone he was close to once but has long since forgotten to keep mourning.

“He’s so cute!”

Sky’s cry makes Wind tear his gaze from the photo.

“Er, no,” Wind replies. “I’m handsome. And cool. I’m not cute.”

“I thought he would look older,” states Legend.

“He must not have gone through puberty before he died.”

Wind lets out an affronted sort of sound.

“I’ve gone through puberty!” he says, and then immediately coughs, wincing at the high pitch of his voice. “I mean, I, like, half got through it.”

Twilight chuckles.

“If he’s still around, he can probably hear you. He won’t be happy you called him cute.”

“Thank you, Twilight,” Wind says as Sky turns red in embarrassment.

“Oops, sorry, Wind. I know you’re a fierce pirate and all, but your cheeks are so chubby!”

Entirely too offended to do anything more than splutter, Wind is glad when Wild changes the subject.

“Do you think we could use the slate to see him without taking a photo? Like a sort of ghost radar thing?”

Wind perks up. Now, that would be useful. Even if they couldn’t hear him, he knows a bit of Hylian sign.

“Why don’t you try it,” says Time. “Point your slate over there. Wind, if you’re here, try getting into frame.”

As Wind positions himself in front of the slate, he can feel the excitement bubbling up inside him at the thought he might have a way to contact them all the time, that they might be able to have conversations there and then rather than him having to relay messages through Twilight. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but, Nayru’s tits, that would be awesome!

“So?” he asks with desperate hesitation. “Can you see me?”

“See anything, Wild?” Four asks.

Wild shakes his head disappointedly.

“No. He’s either not there or he’s not showing up.”

And just like that, Wind’s heart plummets to the same watery depths that claimed his life. There’s a click, and before he’s realising what happened, Wild’s announcing excitedly, “He’s shown up in a photo again, though!”

Once again, they gather round, and as each one takes a look at the slate, their expressions drop.

“He looks so sad!” Sky says, appearing close to tears.

“That was not fair,” Wind tells them grumpily. “I wasn’t ready, you caught me at a vulnerable moment.”

“There’s got to be something we can do,” Warriors says. “Surely Purah can do one of her upgrades…”

Legend narrows his eyes in contemplation.

“It’s said that in certain frequencies of light, Ghosts that would otherwise be invisible to the naked eye can suddenly be perceived.”

“No one knows what you mean, Legend,” Wind tells him, trying to quash the hope that once again rises within him. “None of us speak ‘Science’.”

“You think you know how to improve the slate?” Twilight asks.

“With Purah’s help… maybe.”

“I swear, Legend,” Wind mutters as they all move to huddle inside the tech lab once again, “if you manage this, I’ll never ping a tree branch in your face again.”

#lyra writes #ghost wind au #crack and angst #more angst in this one #thanks neohood!!#linked universe

113 notes · View notes

sylverstorms · 3 years ago

Text

Jinx x Vel ---- Two Wrongs Make A Right Ch.2

Ch. 1

After a few chapters this story will be Updaded only on Archive Of Our Own. Link here.

[Vel]

Azure eyes blink open to a vaguely familiar room.

There is a weight pressed tightly to her side, Vel notes, less out of a need for closeness and more due to the size of the mattress, she’s sure. She shifts her head ever so slightly, glancing at the brunette still fast asleep after last night’s activities. If she tries to recall her name –she doesn’t try very hard— nothing comes up. Not that it matters, anyway.

It was fun while it lasted –and Vel is only in it for the fun.

Silent as the shadows she’s named after, the bartender slides smoothly out of bed and into her clothes. Some of the cuts and scratches she got during the last job pull uncomfortably in the process, but she ignores them on her way to the door.

Mornings in Zaun are… well, they’re like nights, really.

She wishes she could describe them as peaceful or beautiful, yet there’s only the slightest change in lighting and nothing else. The air is still too thick, smelling of fumes and pollution and the vomit of people who drank too much or did too many drugs the previous night. There’s mist and vapors lingering throughout the tight alleys.

Home sweet home. Vel thinks with no small amount of sarcasm, climbing up the rusted stairs –they’re not really stairs, more like uneven pieces of metal welded together that look as though they could come apart at any moment— to her house. Even the word house is an overstatement, because the space consists of two crammed chambers, her living-room-slash-bedroom and the bathroom.

The fact she has a shower in the latter is considered luxury, even if it rarely has any pressure. Vel braces a hand against the chipped stone wall while the cold water drips down her hair and back.

Freezing water. Polluted air. Slivers of sunlight. Surrounded by toxins, lowlives, drugs and shit. She thinks bitterly. How long did you wait for me in this hellhole…?

The cold feels piercing against her skin, but something inside of Umbra burns. It renders her numb to the discomfort as she steps out of the shower, pats herself dry with a towel and stands in front of the lone mirror of her apartment. The tattooed thorns climbing up her left side, all the way to her neck, are an eternal reminder of why she’s here.

Of how it felt—

Looking at them now, it’s like the ink comes alive to prickle her. Past her ribs, through the heart. It’s been years now, but the pain never goes away. The wounds are open, bleeding, every single day.

Vel turns on the radio for background noise as she dresses up in her bartender vest, although she wishes she could skip straight to the uniform and mask. It’s infinitely more pleasing being Umbra than anything else.

Halfway to the exit, Vel’s ears catch something that makes her halt dead in her steps. The radio program has paused the songs in favor of news and…

“Councillor Zeithal is further funding Jayce Talis’ improved Hextech gates, an action heavily endorsed by the people of Piltover—”

Vel’s hand moves on its own, instinctively. One of the knives she always carries with her falls to her palm and is launched across the room in the same breath.

Crash!

The radio on her bedside table gets split in half by the force. The blade embeds itself onto the wall behind it, right by her headboard. Vel’s eyes flash cold at the torn object’s remains.

When she leaves, the door rattles in its frame behind her.

Pointless. Boring.

It’s always the same scene in clubs like the The Last Drop. Bass-heavy melodies that she’s gotten sick of hearing. Unpleasant faces all over. A never-ending cycle of shitty drinks, catcalls from drunken assholes, the occasional woman sauntering up to her to ask for her time later. If she’s anything above an eight –Vel has standards— she gets it.

Nothing ever changes in Zaun.

Then again, Vel is not in Zaun to change Zaun.

“Hey, you.” A different voice than what she’s used to calls.

It’s not laced with the intent to entice her, it’s not heavy or gruff or hoarse from too much alcohol and addictive substances. If anything, it’s clean and cheery and a good change for her ears. Perfectly matches the blue and pink nails that drum to the beat of the music on the countertop.

“Jinx.” Vel greets with a smile that’s way less forced than usual. “Here for the usual?”

“Hit me with that Ka-Bloom, toots.” She claps her hands twice.

The nickname isn’t new. Ever since that first mission together where everything nearly went to hell, Jinx has taken to calling her that. Oddly enough, Vel found that she doesn’t mind. Turns out, a near-death experience of that calibre really helps in the bonding department.

They’re not friends, not exactly –it’s too dangerous a word for Vel to use, let alone the fact the girl is literally like her Boss’ daughter and she wants no part of that— but she will gladly take Jinx’s company over most others’ in their circle of business.

She’s …interesting, for lack of a better word. The way a bomb half a breath away from exploding is interesting. Most people call her batshit crazy –and it’s debatable whether they’re wrong or not— but everyone in the Undercity is at least a little touched in the head.

So, yeah. Jinx is definitely colorful. It helps that said colors are not half bad to look at, either. All electric-blue eyes and matching hair and cloud tattoos that one may –if they’re brave enough— wonder how far down they reach.

The blue-haired girl seems content to linger in her own head, this time and Vel has other customers to attend to, anyway. She turns around, towards the patrons signalling for her at the other end of the long counter. Vel already knows their order before they even place it.

Vodka-Venom shots. It’s always the same with these types of men.

Her hands, experienced in doing this for years, slide deftly over the bottles stocked behind her. Pour and stir and make the liquid fly from one glass to the next in smooth arcs without spilling a drop. The task doesn’t require much of Vel’s focus. Maybe that is why she immediately catches the fearful shift in one man’s eyes, upon something going on far behind her back.

Vel snaps around. Her eyes go wide.

Jinx has the barrel of her pistol pressed tightly to a pink-haired girl’s sternum. Despite the latter’s bigger stature, try as she might to escape, there is no breaking free of the former’s steel grip.

“I already said I’m sorry for bumping into you!” the girl cries, shoulder-length strands flying frantically with her pulling. “Let go!”

People are slowly backing away from the scene.

“Why, why would you do that?! Why would you—” Vel can hear Jinx saying as she approaches, over the deafening beat of the bass.

“Let go of me, you psycho!” the stranger barks.

Vel sees everything in slow motion; the agonizing squeeze of Jinx’s pink-manicured finger over the trigger, the shock on the woman’s face at the realization she’ll take the shot, Sevika rising up and calling out from the far end of the club—

As if on autopilot, Vel vaults over the counter and crashes into Jinx from the side.

The impact is enough for her to loosen the grip of her hand. At least, human casualties are avoided. For the time being.

The blue-haired troublemaker is still too far away, however. Someplace else, seeing images vastly different from their surroundings. Vel recognizes the rapid eye-movement, the shallow breaths and tension all over her muscles. She knows the slightest thing right now can set her off…

“Jinx? Jinx, it’s okay.” she assures, keeping her voice calm by the shorter girl’s ear, palm steady on her shoulder.

If she prioritizes making her drop the gun, she worries that will result in the opposite of what she’s trying to achieve. Jinx is holding onto it for dear life. It is her defence mechanism, her protection. She can’t be forced to part with it, no matter how it would ease the onlookers' minds and de-escalate the situation.

“Look at me. I’m Vel, you’re in The Last Drop.” she reminds. “It’s all good. It’s over, now.”

When Jinx looks into her eyes this time, she does recognize her. She recognizes what she’s done, as well. “Oh, no, Shit, shit, shit, no.” she whispers under her breath. “No, I didn’t fuck it up, stop it—” next comes the whimper.

“I didn’t say that, blue.” A slight frown creases Vel’s brow.

“I—I know. Not you. I just— ugh, nevermind.” Jinx shakes her head.

“Do you wanna go outside?” Vel offers.

“No, no. It’s too quiet out and I’ll hear—” she cuts herself off again. “I don’t like quiet. I hate quiet.”

“Okay.” Vel nods. Ponders on the best course of action for a moment.

She takes the girl’s hand, leading her around to the bartender’s space, where there is the relative privacy of the long counter to obscure them a bit from curious eyes. With a motion of her head, her relief for the night gets the que to take over early. This is about both their Boss’ daughter, so he cannot complain.

Vel chooses the darkest corner on the inside for Jinx and herself. “How about I teach you how to make the cocktail you like?”

‘Blue’ perks up a bit at the suggestion. It only takes a moment for Umbra to gather the necessary bottles and tools, then she’s leaning over a pale, tattooed shoulder, explaining the order they are to be used in. A calming scent of gunpowder and lavender, mixed with fruity shampoo, tickles her nose.

Girly. It suits her.

To her credit and for probably once in her life, Jinx is perfectly still. She doesn’t make any jerky movements, she doesn’t screw up the given instructions. At first.

Aaaaand… spoke too soon.

Somehow, the alcohol dosage flies right over her head. Instead of the few grams equivalent to three times the bottle’s cap that are supposed to be stirred in… Jinx damn near pours three glasses of vodka and gin.

Vel knows she’s a good liar. It comes with her line of work. So when she lifts the finished cocktail to her mouth for a taste, she doesn’t have it in her to tell Jinx –looking up at her with those big, hopeful blue eyes— that it’s a thing of nightmares.

“It’s a good attempt.” she smirks. The raw burn in her throat claims otherwise.

“Don’t you lie to me!” Jinx growls, non-lethally. She bats her arm. Surprisingly strong. Surprisingly perceptive.

Vel notes never to make the mistake of underestimating her again. The hard truth it is, then. “Okay, okay… so…” she trails off. “You… bombed it.” The bartender tries hard not to snicker. Fails. “You bombed it.” she finally laughs.

Jinx, who seemed originally dispirited by another failure, starts to shake with little giggles, as well. “Stahpppp…”

“That’s not a freaking Ka-Bloom. It’s just Boom. I could throw that at my enemies and they’d be running for their lives. It’s a bomb.” Vel covers her face with her hand and just can’t stop laughing.

Jinx grabs her biceps and shakes her. The cutest chuckles in the history of Zaun escape her. “Shut up, shut up, shut up…!”

When Vel eventually clears her throat and straightens up again, a worrisome thought crosses her mind; when was the last time I laughed like this…?

Because, honestly, for the life of her… she cannot remember.

In Umbra’s mask and light-armored suit… there is quiet. There is power and there is purpose.

It is where Vel feels the safest. Behind the mask covering the lower half of her face, cleaning the air she inhales with its nano-filters, cradling her jaw protectively, almost lovingly. Beneath the googles that attach on top of it, shielding her eyes from the world. Under the hood that wraps her in shadows. Zaun is not home, but this is.

She awaits silently for the next assignment, leaned against the alley wall, among new and old members alike. She rarely ever engages in conversation with them –it’s pointless, they have nothing in common and nothing of interest to her— but she hears everything that they say. Information is always useful.

They sure are being chatty, tonight…

“Did ya hear?” A heavily accented man speaks, at some point. “About the Boss’ girl. She lost it again at the club. Damn near blew some poor gal’s brains all over the floor.”

“Ah, ye. She’s nuts, that one, I tell you.” another agrees. “But you know what they say about the crazy ones.” A short pause, probably followed by some obscene gesture. “She can blow something of mine anytime.”

“Hah! Think she even knows how? Never that seen her that close to anyone before.” the first says. “She sure looks tight, ya know what I mean?”

Vel grimaces behind her mask.

Thankfully, Sevika soon shows in the distance and all such conversations cease.

The mission is pretty straightforward. Most of them are, a fact Vel deeply appreciates about working for Silco. A wealthy man with dirt on everyone who’s someone in Piltover is visiting his favorite hooker in Zaun later at night, accompanied by a few dozens of private guards. Their goal is to take them out without killing anyone, then get useful intel out of him through whatever methods, so long as they are not lethal.

It’s no surprise Jinx isn’t anywhere near the mission. Restraint is not exactly her forte. Enforcers would already be on their ass.

Umbra keeps to herself, a mute shadow at Sevika’s side until the time of the assault. When the signal is given, she is the first to throw the sleeper-gas grenades, followed by the rest of the team. Whatever guards are left up that resist its effects or are quick enough to put on a mask, they prove to be no issue. Nothing a good ol’ punch can’t solve.

Vel claws the filter right off the final man’s jaw and kicks him in the gut, straight into some leftover smoke.

“These masks aren’t for topsiders.” comes the heavily altered voice of Umbra, that hides her own.

After that, Sevika grabs the target of interest, drags him to the nearest alcove, formed by fallen buildings stacked onto each other, then ties him to a vertical pipe sticking out in there. Umbra and the rest of the mercenaries are told to wait outside. Whatever secrets the rich guy spills, they’re not for their ears to overhear.

Azurites glance down at the watch around her wrist. A quarter passes. Half an hour. Despite one or two cries of pain that reach her ears from within, it’s clear Sevika has not taken what she wants. They don’t have much time until his private guards start waking up. Without lethal force, they will be forced to retreat.

The mission will be a failure.

And Vel cannot stand for that.

Subtly, she sneaks away from the others and backtracks towards the alcove. She makes sure to announce her presence there, so Sevika hopefully isn’t completely pissed at her by the end of the night.

“He has not spoken yet?” she asks. The older woman understands what she means: time is almost up.

The tied man spits out a bit of blood and gives her an arrogant smile. He knows they can’t seriously injure him. That they can’t kill him. He’s just holding out, gathering bruises to show his rich friends in Piltover the next day, during a game of golf or something equally bland.

If anything, they’re making his night.

“Bits and pieces that I could get from holding a Piltover kid upside down.” Sevika growls.

Umbra tilts her neck left and right, satisfied by the stretch and the metallic clicks of her armor readjusting to the new positions. She walks forward, a silent inquiry to take over the task. Sevika moves a few paces back, crosses her large arms.

In a flash, Umbra stands before the guy, holding a vial with a thin needle at its end right to his eye. It’s more from the speed than the gesture that the target snaps his own head back against the steel pipe.

“Do you know what this is?” she asks, inhuman behind the googles and filters and mask.

The man’s eyes are wide, his throat working, yet he summons false bravado to reply, “Nothing you can use.”

“Yeah… yeah.” Umbra nods. “Among other things, it contains a lethal concentration of Mercury. If used in its entirety.”

The same odorless, colorless poison the people of Zaun, working day and night in the Piltovans’ mines –to make the rich even richer, as is the twisted way of the world!— had to inhale. The companies that hired them didn’t even take the cost of providing safety masks. Maybe once in a blue moon, but those filters died fast. And then? Then the workers, who barely made enough to eat, had to buy their own.

Who would choose such a thing over another loaf of bread? Over a bed or an actual locking damn door?

The man audibly gulps. “You think you’re more intimidating than her because you hide behind a mask? I'm not afraid of your poisons.”

“Oh, it’s not for you.” Umbra completely ignores his comment. “No, no. This is for Lucy.” She cocks her chin at the vial.

Violently and suddenly, as though ran through by electricity, the target thrashes against his bonds. “You piece of shit! Leave my daughter ou—”

Umbra grabs his jaw, with force enough to shut him up. “Shhh. Quiet. The next thing that comes out of your mouth better be every dirty little secret you know about Piltover’s most powerful.” she says. “Because if it’s not, I will tell you exactly what your future year looks like. It starts with your pretty, blonde daughter getting home one night from the Sky Lounge nightclub that she frequents with her friends.”

How does she know all that, his wide, fearful eyes are asking.

Well. Isn’t that the billion-gold question.

“Collapsing onto your front porch, located at the second corner of Sunrise Street. It continues with her health deteriorating, along with her mind. Seeing shadows where there are none. Feeling maggots eat away at her very sanity. You won’t be able to cure her, because I will be there to reapply the dosage. As many times as it takes.” Umbra continues, with a dead-even tone.

He is hyperventilating. Good.

“And just when she tries to take her own life, overcome by the madness, I will be there in her last moments to tell her… it’s all because her father refused to prioritize her over his rich friends.”

“I—I— will keep her away. From you. From everything. Y-You won’t touch my daughter.” He stammers.

“You’re here tonight, though. And tonight… I can also be there.”

And just like that, the birdie sings all the songs he knows how to. He doesn’t hold a single thing back, Umbra is sure, because that is way more dirt any of them –even Silco— could have expected him to give up.

“If I see a single Enforcer down here because of you… you know how it goes.” Umbra warns, at the end.

Sevika then knocks him out with a good hook to the face. Unties him, leaves him there for his men to find when they regain their senses. On their way back to the rest of Silco’s crew, however… Umbra notices the weird look the older woman casts her out the corner of her eye.

A chuckle escapes Vel. “What?”

“The way you said all that was pretty intense. How did you know so much about him, anyway?” Sevika asks.

“Oh. I just… keep tabs on Piltovans of interest, is all.” Vel easily replies. “I hold a bit of a… personal grudge.” A pause. “…Do you think I’m a psychopath? Didn’t peg me for it?”

“Didn’t peg you for it.” the gruff woman agrees.

“I’d like to think that I’m not.” Umbra denies. “But then again, when it comes to Topsiders... it’s frightening how much I love to watch them bleed.”

Not with knives or wounds or gashes they can close in a week with their technology. No, that is far too easy and not her style. Umbra is talking about leaving a real scar, something that they cannot stich or hide or pretend it doesn’t exist. Fear for a loved one can cause such internal bleeding.

Loss of wealth and power and their brightly paved futures, built on Zaunites’ broken backs.

Umbra is a shadow, one day massive enough to cast itself over the most brilliant city in the world. That is her goal and what she is named after;

Loss of their light.

#Jinx #jinx arcane #arcane league of legends #origianl character #jinx x oc #fanfiction #arcane vi #arcane silco #arcane sevika #creative writing #in which Vel proves she has her fair share of issues... so she's perfect gf material for lil Blue #rb if you agree

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adiarosefandoms · 2 years ago

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Random Stranger Things Thoughts Pt. 1

I’m back with the Stranger Things fandom in the forefront of my mind, and I have some thoughts.

1. I miss shipping Jonathan and Nancy. The Duffers kind of pushed Johnathan to the back in recent seasons and I hate that they made him the Cali-high dude. The only moment I liked him in the more recent season was when he had the talk with Will in Surfer Boys pizza, and I used to love Jonathan. I want the Duffers to appreciate the character more and give Charlie Heaton more to work with. 2. The Stranger Things score now creates a sense of nostalgia within me, both the opening theme and the other music that just plays in the backgrounds of scenes. 3. Hopper and Eleven need to stop being separated from one another. Every time they’re split apart it breaks my heart, though I will say their reunions (season 2 after she returns from Eight, three when they meet again in the mall, four after she thought he was dead) are some of the best happy-cry moments. 4. Going back and watching season one, all I could think was this show was genius. The books, and movies, and shows that introduced me to this whole fandom world were all about these kids, who really felt and looked like teens, thrust into these extraordinary situations, prevailing, and showing everyone around them that they are more than they appear. I genuinely think that this is one of the cleverest tv show of the past 20 years. The salt bath gave the fantastical a sense of logic behind the whole process Eleven goes through, the light communication with the alphabet was amazingly thought out and executed, and they made Eleven’s adapting to society seem authentic. She didn’t know anything, but she did grow, and grew slowly as anyone else would do in that situation. 5. I really like Finn Wolfhard, but for some reason as the seasons go on I like Mike just a little bit less. I miss the quiet empathy he expresses toward El in season one, though I know he doesn’t need that anymore. 6. I also like Nancy a little less each season. She felt so new, smart, and badass at the start, but I feel like she’s being overshadowed now a days. I did love her interactions with Robin though. 7. I want all of Eddie Munson’s clothes. 8. Utilizing the established game of Dungeons and Dragons means the beasts the characters face are more recognizable, and just makes them feel more real. 9. I’d rather see the Demogorgon over the Demodogs, Mind Flayer, and Vecna any day. 10. I still can’t watch Jamie Campbell Bower without expecting him to either A) start making sarcastic quips at Clary Fray, or B) suddenly start singing “Joanna”. 11. What really makes Stranger Things work in my opinion is it plays like an 80′s movie. Not just in the clothes, or music, or aesthetic. But it has the same formula as all those iconic 80′s adventure movies, which just doesn’t exist anymore. And those 80′s movies are still beloved for a reason. Stranger Things, especially at the start and still now, brings back that comforting feeling those movies gave us. But it gave us that nostalgia while still being something new we get to experience.

#stranger things #Jonathan deserves better #ST #eleven #demogorgon

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the-insomniac-emporium · 4 years ago

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Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 6

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language, brief violence, and a line that hints at past physical abuse (depending on how you choose to interpret it) Warnings: Mild TW for implied/referenced abuse Notes: Okay so this was supposed to be somewhat therapeutic? But it ended up taking longer to get to that part than I intended, so... Don't worry though, next chapter will be fluffy and also involve more, like, actual Daniela scenes. Previous Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne, Pt. 2 Overture, Pt. 3: Accelerando, Pt. 4: Toccata, Pt. 5: Poco a Poco

Chapter 6: Elegy

(Elegy: A piece of music in the form of a lament)

When you dream, you do not dream of being locked in a tower, awaiting a kindly knight to come save you. When you dream… you dream of your old home, infested with monsters, nearly unrecognizable. Of being forced to flee, leaving everything you loved behind. Of escaping to a remote, quaint little village, only to end up trapped once again, as friendly faces morph into gaping maws and fangs dripping red. When you dream, it is less a nightmare, more memories retouched, covered in a fresh coat of paint.

Waking up is but a brief source of comfort. One hand goes to your head, rubbing gently, as if you could wipe away all traces of your past. A quick glance around your shared room leaves you confused, but serves as a welcome distraction. Though there are six beds in the room, yours is the only occupied one, the others having all been vacated and made presentable. The only explanation that fit with what you knew was that everyone had gotten up, and gotten to work, without waking you. Panic filled you as you connected the dots, knowing that missing work was a death sentence.

Rushing, you rise to your feet, throwing your dresser open to search for fresh clothes. While the castle’s staff was almost entirely female, the Dimitrescu family didn’t enforce traditional gender presentation, allowing maidens to choose whether to wear a dress or a button-up and trousers. Remembering the wound on your neck, you pause, glancing in the dorm’s singular mirror to inspect your injury. Most of the blood had rubbed off in your sleep (and would likely be a nightmare to clean from the sheets). There were, however, a few spots where dried blood mingled with the protective scab. Considering how late you already were, you didn’t believe you would have time to clean up.

As much as you hated the thought, the best you could do was go for a button-up, hoping the collar would hide the worst of your disastrous appearance. Your hair was another matter entirely, far messier than it normally was, and you struggled to brush/comb it enough to be mildly presentable. Good thing Daniela won’t see me today, you think, remembering her insistence on skipping today’s lesson.

Then you remember the rest of your conversation with her; the yelling, being dragged to your feet, and the pain in her eyes. For a moment you feel woozy, pausing in the middle of buttoning your shirt. Your eyes focus on a spot on the now-closed dresser… and suddenly you wish you had paid more attention when you first woke up. There’s a note stuck to the furniture, clearly addressed to you.

Heard you had some trouble yesterday. We’re just glad you’re alive! A certain someone has been a lot nicer since you started playing the piano, and we’re grateful. To show that, we decided to split your morning duties among ourselves, so you can sleep in. If you’re reading this, then it’s still before 4 AM. Feel free to just relax for a while, or even get some more sleep! We’ll be by to make sure you’re up eventually.

Sincerely,

Daphne, Rosalia, Ygritte, Alexandra, Juniper, and Riley

“I… have… freetime?” You mumbled, still a little drowsy, but now also shocked. This was a complete first for you. Maybe even a first among the servants! Sure, you had been given breaks before, but having a couple hours to do whatever you wanted? No one had ever pulled strings like this for you before. It made your chest feel warm, and you just about forgot the whole mess with Daniela. “I’ll have to find a way to pay them back, even if they think they’re paying me back.” With that said you relaxed a little, no longer rushing getting dressed, though still leaving your neck the way it was. You figured you’d stop by one of the maidens’ restrooms before you officially started your shift.

In the meantime, you knew exactly what you’d be using this time for: finding those damn piano books you had been promised!

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“Let’s see… dust, more dust, a dead spider, even more dust, and- oh shit, the spider is not dead,” you said, barely holding in a yelp as the arachnid scurries away from you. If you had known the attic would be so unclean, you might not have bothered to come up here. So far your targets had alluded you without giving so much as a hint towards their location. The library had seemed a likely location, but you had heard Daniela’s voice within, and anxiety had sent you dashing away. Up here, in an area clearly used for storage above all else, was the next best guess, as far as you were concerned. Still, you hadn’t seen anything worth your time yet.

Just insects, really. Not even terribly interesting ones. Well, there had been a shiny beetle of some sort, but it had crawled into a crack in the wall mere seconds after you saw it. Other than that, though, nothing but creepy crawlies. Creepy flyers?... Both, for sure. One fly in particular kept buzzing around you, weirdly interested in what you were doing.

Somehow you didn’t understand what that meant until a firm hand had wrapped itself around your neck. The grip was tight, putting more than enough pressure to make your vision blur. Thankfully, or perhaps unfortunately, the culprit didn’t intend to just choke you out. Instead they lift you and toss you aside- casually, at that. You hit the wall with a terrible crashing sound, certain to leave bruises, and narrowly avoid toppling into a stack of heavy crates. So much for enjoying some free time, you think. Stunned for several seconds, you find yourself left helpless as your attacker approaches.

“You’re not allowed to be up here,” a voice snarled, familiar enough to leave you terrified. Of course you had to run into the most violent of the Dimitrescu sisters. “Looking for a way out, hmm? Or are you stupid enough to think we’d leave a weapon where a wretched thing like you could find it?” Cassandra asked, pausing only to send a swift kick your way. A grunt escapes you, leaves you coughing, but it doesn’t hurt as bad as hitting the wall. Despite wanting to curl up and give in, you tried to drag yourself to your feet. Surprisingly, Cassandra makes no move to stop you, perhaps enjoying the sight of you struggling.

“Lady… Daniela… gave me permission,” you said between painful breaths. By the time you’re back on your feet, the vampire before you is watching you with narrowed, albeit curious, eyes. Normally it would take a lot of courage to face her. But you’re exhausted, in pain, and you’ve taken nearly as much hurt from someone who called themselves your lover. It’s not brave to stare down Cassandra, it’s foolhardy. It’s idiotic, really, and yet you find yourself unable to care. “I’m just looking for a couple piano books I’ve been told about, so I can use them to help teach Lady Daniela.”

“Oh? You’re her instructor?” Cassandra asked, a strange smile overtaking her expression. Something in the atmosphere has shifted, dangerously, but you can’t figure out why. Clueless to your self-betrayal, you nod in response. Instantly Cassandra’s smile turns into an open-lipped snarl, and she reaches out to grab you by the shirt, this time slamming you into the wall with her own hands. “Then you’re the reason she kept me up yesterday, crying non stop! I’m going to rip you apart, you vermin.”

The look in her eyes is, most definitely, the scariest thing you had ever seen. It’s feral, inhuman, and unstoppably determined. But when tears fall from your eyes, it’s not because you know you’re about to die. No, it’s because the last thing you think you’ll ever hear is the news that your partner had been sobbing for hours… and that you were the reason why. Your heart aches, both physically and emotionally, as you brace yourself for the bloody end.

Instead, the grip on your clothes loosens. You don’t dare open your eyes to see why.

“What the fuck do you want, sis?” Cassandra asked, sounding like she had turned her head away from you. Before you know it you’ve been let go, and you slide to the ground, too surprised to hold yourself steady. When you look up, you see an irritated Bela pulling Cassandra away from you, whispering something you can’t quite hear. They argue for a minute, under their breath, keen on keeping you out of the loop. Eventually the younger of the two storms away, but not before making a dent in the wall with her fist.

“What a child,” Bela said, rolling her eyes at the display. Then she’s walking back towards you, extending a hand in an offer of assistance (one you gladly accept). “That girl has the foresight of a magic eight ball, I swear. If she had actually killed you… ugh, I can hardly stand to imagine how inconsolable Daniela would become. Then I’d have two insufferable sisters. Regardless, do tell me why you thought it would be a good idea to come up here unaccompanied? It is normally off limits for servants, after all.”

“I-I, well… I mean, firstly thank you for saving me, I had no idea-” Bela holds a finger up in a ‘shut up’ motion, then puts it away as soon as you pause- “right, you don’t care. Look, I was just trying to find the piano books that Lady Dimitrescu mentioned, but I’ve looked all over and I can’t find them, so I should really just go,” you explain, eager to get out of the attic. To your surprise, Bela gives you an odd look before turning away. Then she takes no more than five steps, shifts to the side, and opens an old cabinet. Inside you can see a dozen books of sheet music, notably from several different decades, all worn but still in decent condition. “How did-?... I thought I checked there.”

“Well, you must have been distracted. Nonetheless, you know where they are now, and you owe me twice over. With that in mind… come with me. We have things to discuss,” Bela commanded, walking away before you could protest. All you can do is grab the sheet music, tuck it under one arm, and follow her to who-knows-where.

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

“I’ll have to have you make my tea more often,” Bela mused, letting the mug keep her hands warm. The two of you were sitting in some sort of study, a room that you had never been inside before. From what you could tell it belonged solely to the eldest Dimitrescu daughter. Inside were several shelves, each filled with well bookmarked collections, a desk next to a massive window, a couple simple chairs, and a few instrument cases. All in all it was an aesthetically pleasing room, organized but not exactly neat. You could certainly imagine Bela spending entire days in this chamber. “Now, why do you think I brought you here?” Her voice brings your focus back into the present moment, as well as sends a spike of anxiety through you.

“Based on what nearly got me killed earlier… Does it have to do with Daniela crying?” You asked, doing your best to indicate just how bad you felt about the subject. No matter how cruel she could be, you did honestly care about Daniela, and even wanted a real, healthy relationship with her. Desire, or willingness, wasn’t the root of the problem by any means. Something told you that Bela understood this, maybe even respected you for it.

“Guess there’s more in that pretty head of yours than air and symphonies, hmm?” Bela replied, laughing a little as she did. It was a far nicer sound than Cassandra’s maniacal giggling, for sure. “Now, I don’t know all the details about what happened- just that there was an argument, clearly a bad one, and Daniela barely made it through dinner before locking herself in her room. Luckily for you, our mother doesn’t seem to know about your little ‘fight’. She’s not sure what upset Dani, and I doubt my sister would tell her, so your secret is safe. Assuming that I blackmailed Cassandra well enough, that is. Anyway, I can’t help you, and by extension my sister, if I don’t know the full story. In case it wasn’t clear, that’s your cue to start talking.”

You’re surprised, admittedly, by a number of things. But Bela seems impatient, so you go over the details of the previous night with her, occasionally pausing to let her ask questions. The whole time her focus is on you, unwavering. There’s also a noticeable lack of judgement in her expression, even when you voice your regret about how you handled the situation, and what is there seems directed more towards Daniela than yourself. Once you finish, Bela releases a deep sigh. One of her hands goes to rub her forehead as if warding off a migraine.

“Well, I can’t say I’m terribly surprised, as much as I wish I could. Daniela’s always had her head in the clouds, and it’s left her tripping over her own feet more than once. Still, this is certainly one of her bigger messes…” Bela said, shaking her head in disbelief. “I’m going to have to talk to her about this, aren’t I? There’s no way she’s going to process this correctly on her own.” This time she seemed to be talking to herself, gaze locked on her tea as if it might suddenly offer to speak to Daniela in her place. When the tea stayed silent, understandably, she returned her focus to you. “You seemed upset, earlier, about this ridiculous situation. I am going to assume, from that, you are genuinely interested in my dear sister. Normally, this would be the part where I drain you of all blood, and possibly keep your skull as a memento... mori. Yours would look lovely on a window sill, I think.”

She pauses, head tilting a little to the side, clearly evaluating your artistic value.

“However, Daniela appears to care about you, far more than her usual fleeting infatuations. So, for now, I have decided not to eviscerate you, you’re welcome,” Bela cooed, teasingly, enjoying the way you shifted uncomfortably in your seat. Still, you were glad that you would apparently be surviving the day. “So I’m going to give you some advice, which you will take, and you won’t even owe me anything extra for this. Daniela is in love with the mere concept of love- and she has been for as long as I can remember. Romance novels are practically the only books she reads. It’s… embarrassing, truly. More than that, I get the impression that she couldn’t even begin to describe what love actually feels like. She’s digested so much of that written drivel that it warped her senses. Of course, the, ahem, situation we find ourselves in, here at the castle, has undoubtedly added to this effect.

“To get to the point, Daniela’s terribly, hopelessly clueless when it comes to things like what she wants from you. And so I take it upon myself, as her older sibling, to ensure that you understand. Moreso, that you are not dissuaded. If this is an actual chance for her to experience real romance, then it could make her happier than I’ve ever seen her,” Bela explained. The look in her eyes was incredibly soft, to the point where it made you realize just how much this odd little family cared for each other. “Don’t give up, don’t let her occasional infuriating antics push you away. Given enough time… I think the two of you could, I suppose, compliment each other quite nicely. But if you break her heart? I will pull yours from your chest and eat it raw. Understood?” Gulping, you nodded quickly, ignoring the feeling of heat rushing to your cheeks. It was one thing for Bela to want her sister to be happy, but another thing entirely for her to acknowledge your “suitability” for the position. “Good. Now return to whatever it is you maidens normally do. I have a sister to talk sense into.”

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

Hours later, you stand alone in a display room, dusting various relics from bygone times. A trophy here, a bizarre art piece there, strange, unlabeled tools you can’t quite imagine are for wine-making. It’s a fascinating collection, really. But your mind is focused on other, far softer things. All you can think about is what Bela had told you, about how Daniela really is interested in you, and how she thought the two of you could make it work. After the chaos earlier in the day, this was exactly what you needed. Just some time to yourself, working quietly, thoughts all to yourself. Even your bruises bother you less, the pain fading out into the background. Considering where you are, though, it is not at all surprising that your peace cannot last. As soon as you finish your task you move towards the exit.

The door swings open, outwards, at your touch, only to reveal a familiar figure reaching for the doorknob. Both of you gasp, taken by surprise, before your gazes meet. Of course it’s Daniela. Who else would you bump into right now?

“I thought about what you said,” she blurts, suddenly, eyes wide and hands shaking. “We need to talk, yeah?”

#daniela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu x reader #resident evil: village #re8 village #cliff hanger oops #had fun writing this one

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bktaro · 4 years ago

Text

seven-three (part 1)

pairing: nanami x f!reader

themes/rating: explicit, 18+, clubs, bars, masquerade parties

tw: (eventual) rough sex, drinking, sex clubs (will be updated when part 2 is released)

wc: 2.5k

ao3 | part 1 | part 2 | part 3

Nanami Kento had a hardened shell surrounding his personal life. Clocking out at five ‘o’clock on the dot every day, he left little to no room for others to get to know him better— leaving him as an unsolvable mystery amongst the office.

Likewise, you too aimed to clock out at five ‘o’ clock. You preferred routine during the workday, finding comfort in maintaining equilibrium and peace and wanting to do nothing more or nothing less than what was required of you.

Little did you know the two of you shared an interesting weekend hobby.

Your daily routine generally consisted of four simple tasks: waking up, working, eating/drinking and sleeping.

Truthfully, you didn’t mind what others might argue as the mundaneness of life under your routine. You preferred it, simply finding life under a routine like yours leading too little to no troubles. There would be no surprises and no shocks under this routine— you would simply just do what was expected of you, collect a paycheck, and go home, living each workday in a balanced equilibrium of serenity and peace.

However, of course there were inevitable bumps in the path you wanted to be nothing but flat and straightforward. Every once in a while there would be something that came up, disrupting the equilibrium and wreaking havoc into your preferred routine way of life.

Lately, the disruption had a name— Nanami Kento.

—

It wasn’t as if Nanami forced and wedged himself to disrupt your routine. Instead, it was almost as if some higher divine figure was controlling and planning it all, fate landing him like a roadblock in your path.

You wouldn’t classify Nanami as a complete stranger in your life. Yet you wouldn’t say you had any sort of relationship with him other than being work colleagues. You more or less merely just knew of him— the dubbed ‘enigma’ of your office.

Your knowledge of Nanami was limited to the understanding he was a rather timid, quiet and reserved man. Despite his popularity in the office for his handsome looks accompanied by his cool and calm demeanour, he kept to himself for the most part, choosing to opt out of things like office politics, gossip and drama, never attending optional after work events such as dinners or drinks.

In a way, he reminded you much of yourself. Work was strictly just a place to remain polished and professional, not to be mixed with pleasure or fun.

For you, pleasure and fun existed every Saturday night, in an underground yet upscale club tucked away in the heart of the city. Shedding your usual sleek and polished weekday appearance, for an evening every week you indulged yourself in what others may argue to be activities ridden with sin.

On the exterior, the club seemed to be no different than any other nightclub. Bars, booths, dance floors were all present— it was what was behind a certain doorway that made this space different from others.

To promote anonymity, the club required its patrons to wear masquerade masks throughout the entire time in the vicinity, and all attendees had to refer to one another through their aliases, forbidding the exchange of any detailed personal information. The club was exclusive through invitation only and had just one main purpose: engaging in whatever kind of sex you wanted with any other consenting partner(s) for the night— no strings attached, and parting ways before sunrise.

For as long as you began your weekend hobby, you have never encountered the situation you were currently in. The situation should have been considered one of the worst possible outcomes given the scenario— yet a part of you felt enticed, a rush of adrenaline washing over you signified through the increased beating of your heart pounding in your chest.

After all, what could be more dreadful yet alluring than seeing the sexiest man in your office at your weekly sex club?

It wasn’t Nanami’s fault at all you instantly recognized him. His mask, half black and half white parting down the middle concealed his face well enough, leaving openings at only the areas of his mouth and eyes. If you hadn’t studied those features eight hours a day for forty hours a week at the office, you probably wouldn’t have been able to connect the dots that those features belonged to one of your many colleagues.

But you knew it was him. There was no doubt in your mind it wasn’t. He was incredibly easy on the eyes in the office, your eyes darting towards his desk almost by instinct whenever you had the chance. You wouldn’t necessarily say you suppressed any harbouring feelings of romance for him or anything like that, it was more that you would let your mind wonder, wondering how his plush lips would feel, how his clearly toned body looked under his clothes, and even how he tasted.

Yet now that the opportunity to find an answer to all your questions was so close you could quite literally almost taste him, you stood frozen. All you could do was lean against the bar and watch his figure head over to the free bartender beside you momentarily, before shifting gazes and eyeing the familiar man that had accompanied him approach you.

“There she is— the sexiest girl in the whole world.”

Tall, toned, and ridiculously confident yet sexy, a familiar figure waves your way. He had let his name slip to you before in a drunken request to call him ‘Gojo Sensei’ in a previous rendezvous, but you still opted to call him by his alias in the club most other times, Sensei.

He was most notably known to wear a black blindfold wrapped around the upper part of his entire face instead of a mask. A peculiar and uncommon choice to the view of most, yet to the surprise of all not hindering his abilities in the slightest, mentioning previously his senses to his surroundings were extremely sharp and developed as a result of whatever his line of work was. And one night with him was more than enough for you to believe it— Gojo was more than skilled with pleasuring your body despite not even having a clear view of it in front of him.

“You always know how to flatter me, don’t you Sensei?” Your voice comes out more confident than you expect, and you think it’s the aid of the alcohol courage creeping in, or the smooth and soothing voice belonging to Gojo that indirectly pets down your nerves.

He places a hand just on the side of your hip, gently moving past you to call the attention of the bartender with his other free hand. The bartender simply nods his head in acknowledgement, no further explanation required for the regular drink Gojo ordered every weekend. His drink of choice is not a difficult request, merely a glass of ice topped with a swig of patron and is in his hands in no time, focusing his attention back on you.

“You’re a hard one not to flatter. It just comes so easily for my favourite baby girl that always treats me so well.”

“Favourite baby girl, hm?” You raise an eyebrow under your mask, the corner of your lips curving into a small grin. “You don’t have to beat around the bush, Sensei. Just ask and we’ll waste no more time— you know you’re a hard one to say no to for me.”

He lets out a deep chuckle, the whites of his teeth peeking momentarily as a result. The touch of his hand on your hip turns into the gentle tracing of fingertips up the side of your body, sending a small tingle down your spine.

“Such tempting words… and body.” His gaze follows his fingers, tracing the curves of your body with his eyes momentarily before he shuts them close, pulling his hands away and taking a deep breath of composure to shake his imagination off. “But I’m here to ask you, Fairy, for a particular wish tonight instead.”

“A wish?”

You’re intrigued. He’s definitely asked favours or wishes as the fellow club goers would call it when it came to you, going under the name ‘Fairy’ inspired by the pastel-colored wing shaped mask you wore. Yet, they were usually sexual wishes behind closed doors— this was the first time he was requesting something fully clothed.

And you suspect it has something to do with the blond man, joining your party once more with a drink now in hand.

“As you know, I’m quite the selfless man.” He begins, propping his elbow up on the blond man's shoulder. “Tonight, I’m helping a good friend instead. Fairy, this is Seven-Three, and Seven-Three, this is Fairy.”

You hesitate for a split second, questioning your next course of action. You had definitely taken notice of so called Seven-Three’s true identity in no time at all— but has he noticed yours? You feel an instant rush of sudden internal panic at the thought of being exposed, your scandalous weekend hobby tainting and bleeding into your normal, daily life.

However, the panic vanishes almost as quickly as it appeared, Nanami extending his hand out towards you with a tiny smile curved upon his lips.

“Pleasure is mine to finally meet you, Fairy. Sensei had so much to say about you.”

Mimicking his movement, you grab onto his hand with yours, expecting him to shake your hand with his. Instead, he shifts his hands to grip the tips of your fingers, bringing them towards his lips and leaving a soft kiss against your knuckles.

Your eyes widen, briefly frozen in shock at the scene in front of you. By no means was the action itself shocking enough to throw you off guard, it was who was doing the action. You would have never suspected in a lifetime you would see the same Nanami Kento, normally slumped back on his chair with the same nonchalant expression on his face to be behaving the way he was in front of you— confident, flirty and sexy.

But you had no complaints. You were loving this version of him, something riling and bubbling up inside of you the more you got to know of this Nanami.

“Good things, I hope.” You shoot him a small wink when his eyes flicker upwards to meet yours.

“Baby girl, when it comes to you I only have good things to say.” Gojo cuts in, causing Nanami to release your hand and stand back upright. “It’s partially why I’m here to request something specifically from you.”

“And what would that be?”

“You see, my dear friend here has been just so stressed out lately. And as the selfless friend I am, I couldn’t just bear to see my friend suffer like this.”

He brings a finger up to his chin, tapping against it physically expressing his train of thought.

“So, I thought about it long and hard— how could I help my dearest friend out to alleviate some of his troubles? Then boom… the best idea came to me.”

He snaps his fingers in the air, before turning his finger towards you.

“You, sweetheart. The perfect stress relief.”

You can’t help but let out a scoff, forcing yourself to hold back your laughter at his exaggerated explanation.

“Me, huh?”

“Precisely.”

“And this relates to this wish of yours?” You take a sip of the drink in your hand, the flavour sweet yet potent in the taste of alcohol. “What, you boys want to have a threesome or something tonight?”

Gojo lets out a whistle at the thought, and both men feel the constriction in their pants tighten just the slightest at your suggestive words. Gojo makes a mental note to take up your offer next time; he would be a crazy man to let such an opportunity slip through his fingers.

“That’s definitely now one of my life wishes. Rain check on that.” Gojo gives you his notorious cheeky grin, before turning his back towards you and resting his hands on top of Nanami’s shoulder. “I got to get going, but I’ll let this guy explain the rest.”

Gojo leaves the two of you, giving you one last single wave before disappearing into the crowd.

“Aright.” You cross your arms around your chest, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Now enlighten me, will you?”

“Let me ask you a question first.” Nanami gives you a small, impish grin. “What do you think my nickname means?”

His nickname? Truthfully when you heard the words Seven-Three, there was one instant thought that popped up into your head. A certain measurement for a certain body part that would be highly relevant in the current circumstances.

“...your dick size? Seven inches tall and three inches in girth?”

Nanami chuckles, his voice deep and rich ringing throughout your ears despite the loud music of the club behind you. He leans his body forward, trapping your body in between his two arms and your back leaning against the bar.

“Sensei was right, you’re so cute. If that was the reason behind my nickname, then my nickname would be Eleven-Six instead.”

Eleven? Eleven. You gulp, your mouth watering and licking your lips subconsciously at the thought.

“Let me explain for you then, cutie.” Nanami leans closer to your face, a hand sliding down the side of your body until it rests just on the bone at your hip. “It’s simple, really. I do want to ease my stress, but I also have a record that Sensei says you’re the perfect person to help me beat it.”

“You think I am?”

“Well, I won’t of course make you do anything you don’t want to do.” His finger finds its way under your chin, tilting your head upwards to look him directly in the eye. “But if you’re up for it, I think you’d be a great fit in making my wish come true to beat my record.”

“I’ll be the judge of that— let’s hear it.”

He tilts your chin to the side, gaining access to whisper into your ear instead. You shiver at the sensation, both in excitement and nervousness for what he’s about to say next.

“The seven in my name is for the record of how many times I’ve made a woman cum in one night. The three is for the three holes I’ll fill up with cum.”

There’s a lingering silence in the air, now thick between the two of you when he pulls back, staring back at your face to see any sort of expression in reaction to his words. It’s difficult to see with the mask on your face, and for a moment he wonders if perhaps he’s gone too far.

But those worries fly out the window nearly instantly. Nanami breaks into a grin when he sees the corner of your lips perk upward into a toothy, mischievous smirk.

You respected him immensely for still being considerate of your boundaries and asking for your consent, but you also thought it was silly for him to even think there would be a possibility of hesitation when it came to a request coming from someone like him. You truthfully weren’t sure what to expect, but you were quite open to a lot of different things when it came to sex. Frankly, the nastier, rougher, lewder the sex was— you thought the better. And his request to essentially make you cum at least eight times and fill you up was just right up your ally.

But really, what other answer did he expect coming from you whose weekend hobby was a sex club anyway?

“Congratulations, Seven-Three.” Your fingers grasp the hem of his shirt, scrunching the fabric and bringing his body closer to yours. “You’ve met your greatest match, and I’ll do my best to grant you this wish.”

#nanami #nanami jjk #nanami fanfic #nanami x you #nanami reader #jjk x reader #nanami kento #nanami smut #nanami x y/n

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woolishlygrim · 4 years ago

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youtube

So, with the new Madoka Magica thing coming, I watched Rebellion again, and was reminded of how interesting and thematically rich the weird, surreal transformation sequences from that movie are.

So I looked up some people’s analyses of the sequence, and those analyses were, you know, really bad. Luckily, I’m a relaxed person who can let things go and doesn’t feel the burning need to waste a lot of time analysing a one-and-a-half minute sequence from an eight year old movie.

...

1) Mami.

Mami is really straightforward. As the transformation sequence starts, she’s doing an ice dance, a kind of dance that strives to create the impression of free movement, grace, and creative expression but which is actually governed by incredibly rigid rules, not unlike how Mami attempts to foster an external presentation of effortless, free-spirited grace, while binding herself to a rigid code of behaviour.

As she moves into her final spin, she folds up one leg, forming the shape of a grief seed, which her magical girl form tears its way out of, breaking her back open as it goes. This is some incredibly literal symbolism: For Mami, who made her wish solely to escape death while the rest of her family died and later threw herself into being a magical girl, her magical girl persona literally tore its way out of her grief, breaking the person she was before.

Her back breaking also ties back to her death in the series, as Bebe crushed her in its jaws.

2) Kyoko.

Kyoko has an excitable, fast-paced dance to pretty straightforwardly represent her excitable, wild personality. As the sequence goes on, she sprouts a multitude of arms, waving about her, in what is almost certainly a reference to Guanyin, the Goddess of Mercy. Apart from referencing Kyoko’s selfless wish to help her father, and her act of mercy-killing Sayaka, Guanyin was typically conflated with the Virgin Mary, with statues of Mary disguised as Guanyin and a cult of 'Maria Kannon’ having formed around her at one point. Giving that her father was apparently a priest excommunicated for heresy, it’s entirely plausible that heresy was the veneration of Maria Kannon.

Next we see a man’s hand reach for Kyoko’s face. This is almost certainly Kyoko’s father’s hand, reaching for her either in affection or in anger after killing the rest of their family. We see Kyoko split into multiple images, referencing her now lost power of duplicating herself, before the scene is torn open by a demonic, red-eyed, terrifying looking Kyoko. This is the one bit of symbolism in this sequence that has me completely stumped. A representation of how Kyoko sees herself, maybe? Or perhaps a representation of how her father saw her.

3) Sayaka.

Winning the prize for ‘least disturbing,’ we’ve got Sayaka, who kicks off her transformation by break-dancing, as coloured silhouettes mimic her movements at a slight time delay. The break-dancing itself is just a reference to her athleticism, but what’s interesting is that some of the silhouettes occasionally flicker to black with spots of oily colour, the pattern of a soul gem just before it becomes a Witch, referencing Sayaka’s fate in the original timeline of becoming the Witch Oktavia.

As the transformation ends, a silhouette of Sayaka as a schoolgirl sprints (with perfect form, again referencing her athleticism) at a silhouette of herself as a magical girl, the two colliding and splattering like water. There’s a general running theme of water in this one, referencing Oktavia again. As the two colours mix, a liquid version of Sayaka as a magical girl emerges, and for a split-second we see her cry into her hands, representing her regret at becoming a magical girl.

This one is almost as simple as Mami’s, all told.

4) Homura.

The most symbolically rich and also probably the most disturbing. As Homura starts, we see her holding her soul gem, which for a split-second flashes to an artistic representation of a scene later in the movie: The forest of lanterns that Homura and Kyoko end up passing through when they’re trying to leave town.

Homura’s dance is a ballet dance, representing how ... let me check my notes here ... she’s a ballet dancer. Like Sayaka, she has a silhouette following her at a time delay, but unlike Sayaka, her silhouette isn’t actually perfectly mimicking her movements, instead deviating at points. This is probably playing triple duty on the symbolism side: Homura is at this point both magical girl and Witch, both the original Homura and the new universe’s Homura, and is in two minds about what she wants to do.

As the transformation goes on, the white silhouette gets caught in a film reel, repeating her infinitely, while the purple silhouette is still and singular: The purple silhouette is the new universe’s Homura, while the white silhouette is the original timeline’s, repeating the same period of time over and over again.

We get another short shot of a future part of the film, this time the rising lanterns that lead up above the city, which will eventually be transformed into the arch and castle where Homura becomes a Witch.

This transitions to a silhouetted, yellow-eyed version of Homura (the ‘lizard-girl’ she figuratively becomes) bursting into patterns as Homura escapes from it, reaching for something, before transitioning to a pair of glowing hands grasping around a soul gem. The colour grading makes the soul gem look purple, making it look like Homura’s, but it’s actually not: Homura’s soul gem is visible on one of the glowing hands. This is actually Madoka’s soul gem that Homura is grasping at.

After a split-second shot of some very sinister witch text, we cut back to Homura, who segues into some more ballet moves before her striking her pose. These actually aren’t just any ballet moves, though: She’s dancing the death of Odette at the end of Swan Lake. At the end of Swan Lake, Odette dies and ascends to heaven, freeing the other swan maidens from the grip of Rothbart. It’s a very close match to someone’s story, but that someone is Madoka, not Homura: Homura’s mimicry of Madoka/Odette casts her in the role of Odile, the Black Swan (whose costume Homura wears as part of her devil attire later on in the movie), who imitates Odette and in doing so steals her purpose from her. This is some really heavy foreshadowing for the end of the movie.

5) Madoka.

Madoka’s dance is styled after the pop dances of idols, figuratively representing her as Homura’s ‘idol,’ (and potentially tying in to ideas of the artificiality of Jpop idols: This both is and isn’t Madoka, after all, it’s a mask that the real Madoka is wearing).

After the dance, the transformation cuts to the same film reel Homura was stuck in, but this time with an endless line of paper dolls of Madoka. This is pulling double duty for symbolism here: The dolls are both the many iterations of Madoka that Homura has seen in her time loops, and the infinite iterations of Madoka that exist in the moment of every magical girl becoming a Witch -- we actually see an almost identical scene elsewhere, in Ultimate Madoka’s transformation in Magia Record, with the key difference being those Madokas are real, whereas these ones are a chain of paper dolls, hinting at Homura’s view of those Madokas as being ‘not fully real.’ The Madoka she knew is gone, and Ultimate Madoka both is Madoka and is just a pale imitation.

We cut from there to grainy, close-up images of Madoka. The angle of these suggest that we’re seeing through someone’s eyes, and we are: These are Homura’s memories of the ‘real’ Madoka. As we watch, a glowing hand breaks through, shattering the images like a mirror. A lot of people have assumed this is Madoka’s hand, but it’s not: We’ve already seen this exact glowing hand, in Homura’s transformation, because it’s Homura’s hand, reaching for Madoka. As if to confirm this, behind the hand we see buzzing stripes of colours for just a moment: The same ever-shifting rainbow shades as Devil Homura’s eyes briefly turn.

Madoka is revealed, peering through her hands in a way that mimics the floating eyes of Kyubey outside the isolation field they’re all trapped in. Like Kyubey, Madoka is a godlike being who exists beyond the world that Homura has created here.

Whew. Okay, that’s all five. We get Bebe’s transformation later, and the symbolism there is that she likes cake and shit.

#madoka magica #puella magi madoka magica #pmmm

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wisterialagoon · 4 years ago

Text

For you, I'll Stay : Pt.2

Dabi is one of the top soldiers of the League of Villains. He does the dirty work and feels the stain of crime on his hands. You're an Assistant Inspector at the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency, resigned to records-keeping instead of doing actual fieldwork. What happens when these two become intertwined in the most prominent political event that changed the era of 1990's Tokyo Japan?

Warnings: Violence (a girl gets beat up in this chapter), gangs, eventual smut(not in this chapter tho)

Btw, in this dabi doesn't have any scars on his face!

Azabu Gardens,

Moto-Azabu 3-7-5 Minato-ku, Tokyo 106-0046.

January 9, 1990, Tuesday.

The League

20:00 hours

The first rays of the morning began to creep into the premises of their mansion, illuminating the entirety of their eight-hectare complex. The lawn had been freshly mowed and the foyer had been polished to sparkling clean, as per the orders of their leader. It had been his first order of business during the general assembly with the entire brotherhood.

The soldiers were understandably taken aback at hearing him rattle off a list of things to do which were, in essence, house chores. From checking the car engines, laundering their clothes, and stocking up on groceries, the loyal members followed everything down to the very last detail, albeit with a little curiosity as to why they were doing this when they were supposed to be preparing for a major operation set later in the day.

Meanwhile the boss carried out everything as if it was business as usual. They had convened at their usual 10:00 am meeting at the solarium, exchanging data and intel regarding any updates on their framework's current phase. After making sure that everything was in order–from the time it would take to execute the operation to the time it would take for the police to arrive on scene, they called it a day and retired to their own rooms.

That was this morning.

Preparations were over and it was almost nearing midnight–time to start the show.

Everyone had gotten dressed in the same all-black attire, distinguished only by the formality of their suit and quality of the fabric. The leader had worn a two-piece suit, while the soldiers only had lightweight turtlenecks to pair with their slacks.

The cars were ready by the driveway, it's trunks loaded with a series of guns, masks and the deactivate system; and everyone had lined up at the foyer, at the foot of the grand staircase, awaiting the greeting and instructions of their boss.

"Good evening gentlemen," his voice didn't have that booming quality that most of his leaders had, but the clarity of his diction and richness of his timbre proved sufficient to command everyone's attention. He didn't need any of the pomp or fanfare that was usually associated with the league–his presence alone was enough.

There weren't many of them tonight, it was a small operation that needed only seven of their best men; even so, his under-boss, and the rest of his soldiers were waiting with bated breath at what he was about to say.

Finally standing by the newel post, he slowly slips on his leather gloves and begins to address their small unit.

"A rundown Kurogiri," he instructs his under-boss, with not so much as a glance spared his way.

"Today we initiate phase 2.1 of our framework," Kurogiri steps out of the line and proceeds to hand out a file on their operation and walkie-talkies to the soldiers. "Team A, Touya and Atsuhiro, will take care of the decoy. Team B, Himiko and Jin, will secure the target. Team C, Magne and Spinner, will deactivate the sensors and tip the police," he finishes, working his way back to his position beside their leader.

Tomura looks at him with a quirked eyebrow, expectant.

Kurogiri clears his throat. "Phase 2.2 of the framework will begin immediately after."

6 Chome-10-1 Roppongi, Minato City, Tokyo 106-6108, Japan.

The Takahashi Residence.

21:30 hrs.

As soon as Kurogiri parked the car in an empty lot two blocks from the site, he turned on their linked communication system and radioed to their leader that they were ready.

"Masks and Positions," Tomura instructed."Remember, one slip up will cost the entire operation."

Save for the thrumming of the engine, their leaders voice was the only thing that had cut through the nights silence.

"Yep, Tomura everyone is positioned," Kurogiri confirms, and signals to Team A that they were good to go.

As soon as they were given the signal, Touya and Atsuhiro make their way to the site, with the latter updating Tomura about their position. "Currently making my way into the Takahashi Residence along with Touya."

As they stopped to confirm that it was indeed the residence of the Minister of National Defence, their leader warns, "Keep an eye out for the security Atsuhiro," both soldiers nod their assent, replying that they located a blind spot in the houses security system and private guards.

After signalling Team B to follow, Kurogiri had set up operations control with Magne and Spinner. Just as they had gotten access into the house's security system, Tomura radios, "Kurogiri, do you copy?"

"Yes, I copy," the under-boss replies, holding the walkie-talkie in one hand and the other sifting through the nights operation file.

"Do you have a visual on the Minister and his wife?" Tomura asks.

"Yes," he turns around to look at Magne and Spinners surveillance feed, which was focused on the master bedroom.

"They're currently separated from the decoy."

"Good." Tomura affirms. "Magne, when Atsuhiro, Touya, Jin and Himiko are in place you'll override the security system, understand?"

"Understood!" the soldier nods while simultaneously preparing all the codes needed to deactivate the system.

"Once Touya and Atsuhiro take care of the decoy, that's when Himiko and Jin will go and search for the target," Tomura reminds, looking over at his copy of the operation file as well.

"Spinner, monitor all frequencies from a two-kilometre radius of the site. If anyone reports anything before we do then I want to hear it. If anyone is even in the middle of dialling a government or police number, I want to be the first to know, understood?"

"Gotcha boss," Spinner confirms. "The hacking system is ready to go, all lines within a two-kilometre radius is tapped as well."

21:42 hours.

After a preliminary entry into the estate, the four soldiers settle in their own entry points and radio back. "Spinner, we're in place, you can drop the security."

"Alright. You have a little over thirty minutes before the back-up security kicks in," the enthusiastic man programmes a few codes and counts backwards, "it's down in...5, 4, 3, 2, 1."

"Go." A deep voice follows, alerting the four soldiers on-site.

For a second, Team A and B thought it has been their leader who had addressed them, but immediately broke out into grins when the voice followed with, "Be careful in there guys."

''Don't worry, Kurogiri." Jin assures, giving Himiko, Atsuhiro and Touya a thumbs up. "We've got this"

The four soldiers discreetly jump over the deactivated sensors and immediately break into action, disarming the guards and eventually knocking them unconscious by landing considerably hard blows to their neck, causing their head to snap to the side.

After slipping past the unconscious guards, Atsuhiro and Touya pry open one of the windows, climbing in quietly while Himiko and Jin wait outside.

Team A immediately proceeds to the target's room, bolting the maid's quarters from the outside after unfortunately having to knock her out as well.

The two check their copy of the house's floor plan, with Touya sending a glance to Atsuhiro before slowly opening the door into one of the mansion's bedrooms.

In the room sat 18-year old Takahashi Yua. with her back facing Atsuhiro and Touya slowly the boys made their way to her and in mere seconds Atsuhiro had his hands over Yua's mouth and held her in place.

The shocked girl could do nothing but try to thrash around and scream for help but Touya tied her hands and gagged her.

Touya then raised a fist, about to hit the girl before he was quickly stopped by Atsuhiro "Dabi, not here, let's take it outside. "

Nodding in agreement, Touya helped Atsuhiro drag the silently sobbing girl back outside from where they came from, leading to the back of the house and into the garage.

Seeing Touya and Atsuhiro leave with Yua allowed Himiko and Jin to make their way inside and find their operations primary objective, leaving Team A to deal with the girl.

"Compress, take off the gag," Touya instructed, to which Atsuhiro nodded and quickly removed the bundle of cloth that had been choking the girl.

As soon as it had been done, Touya struck her across the cheek with a force that pushed her backwards. It was a strong enough blow to leave an angry bruise but not enough to knock her out completely.

After taking stock of her figure-from her laboured breathing to her split lower lip, he delivers a few more punches to her torso and a last strike across her face. All the while, Atsuhiro hands had snaked around her arms. keeping her in place.

Finally, Touya pulled out a handkerchief that had been previously doused in ether.

He pressed it firmly to her mouth and nose. forcing her to inhale the substance which quickly knocked her out.

"Hey, you guys done in here?" Himiko skipped into the parking lot, "We've got the stuff."

"Yeah," Touya pockets the handkerchief and watches as Yua unceremoniously slumps to the floor with a dull thud.

"We're done." he drags her body to the main entrance of the parking lot, ensuring that she would be the first thing to be seen by anyone coming through the garage's main door.

"You're too brutish Touya." Atsuhiro grimaces at the bruised girl crumpled in the corner.

"Whatever, someone make the signal, we're done here." Touya gets up to leave.

6 Chome-10-1 Roppongi, Minato City, Tokyo 106-6108, Japan.

The Takahashi Residence.

23:00 hrs.

"Magne. I got a call from the other guys." their leader radios from where he was keeping sentinel of the entire operation.

"They're all clear, make the call."

"Got it boss, making the call now."

Magne dials the number on a burner phone expecting the line to ring a couple of times before anyone answers, as expected, on the fifth ring, a woman's voice breaks through the radio silence.

"SMPA, what is your concern?" her voice was clear. but slightly unstable. when she doesn't give her a reply, she repeats her question, louder this time.

"Kidnapping" she says, evenly distributing the stress on each syllable to feign monotony. "23:00, 6 Chome-10-1 Roppongi, Minato City, Tokyo 106-6108, Japan. Takahashi Yua." Magne states calmly, while she hears rapid scribbling on the other end.

Here come the textbook reactions she thinks to herself, amused.

"who is this? Where is your intel from?" she asks, an undertone of panic lacing her voice. "Hello?" she follows up when Magne

doesn't reply—to which she settles for perching the receiver directly over his mouth to make sure it picks up her heavy breathing.

Magne waited a few moments before ﬁnally hanging up.

She radios to their leader. "Alright, the phone call is done the officer will be calling for backup soon."

After checking his watch, Tomura smirks at their record. "Keigo, you ready to receive that request for backup?" Tomura asks through his walkie-talkie.

"Yeah, on patrol near the area so I should be getting that on my frequency." he affirms, shifting to a more comfortable position on the drivers seat he had convinced his partner in advance to take a leave for their shift that night, so as to ensure that he would be able to carry out his part in the operation without any hiccups.

"I'll be first on the scene when the request for backup is made."

6 Chome-10-1 Roppongi, Minato City, Tokyo 106-6108, Japan.

The Takahashi Residence.

2:40 hours.

"Don't worry Ma'am, we'll find out who did this to your

daughter." Keigo assured the Ministers wife, pure concern ﬂawlessly depicted in his facial expression. "We've done a preliminary search of the crime scene, we'll come back with updates as soon as we find anything conclusive."

"You had better catch that criminal, I want him in jail, my daughter is lying unconscious in a hospital!" she demands, hands coming up to cover her face as her body was enveloped in a series of sobs.

Keigo gave a curt nod and comforting pat to the woman's shoulder before turning around and getting back into his car to leave.

As he pulled out of the driveway, he immediately drove to a remote alley in the outskirts of the district, once he was assured that his location wouldn't be found, he made a call.

"Hello? Keigo?" their leader answered. ''What's your status?"

"Shigaraki, I just got back from the crime scene." he says, turning the police radio down and killing the car's engine.

"And?" their leader asks, undoubtedly expectant of his answer.

Keigo knew that his cover was especially pivotal for that night's operation—and that Tomura had made it clear with no uncertain terms that the success of this phase relied on his ability to herd the police where they wanted them to.

"The family doesn't suspect a thing They believe it was an attempted kidnapping" he says, waiting for their leader's response.

After a beat, their leader simply hums in affirmation and hangs up, It wasn't much—he knew that Tomura had always been a man of few words, but he also knew that he always meant whatever he said, with that in mind, he restarted the car and proceeded to drive back to their residence.

Azabu Gardens,

Moto-Azabu 3-7-5 Minato-ku, Tokyo 106-0046.

January 9, 1990, Tuesday.

The League

03:00 hours.

He had stopped at the driveway, feeling no need to actually park his car since he was sure he'd be back at the station soon enough. Besides, he needed to speak with their leader immediately.

He had successfully crossed the foyer and was about to go up

the stairs when a familiar voice calls out to him "Keigoo, you're back!" The youngest member of their group, Himiko, approaches him, grinning.

"How'd it go?"

"Went well." he shrugs off his coat, and hangs his police hat over the coat stand. "Only one problem though, can you go get Shigaraki? We need to have a group meeting"

After a few minutes, everyone who had worked on the operation had gathered at their usual dining hall, with each finding their own seat at the round table.

"Everything went well with the family." After everyone had settled in, Keigo began immediately, fingers interlaced over the single file folder resting in front of him.

"But one of my subordinates is a little too close for comfort." Keigo states, instantly gaining the others' attention.

"What's his name?" Shigaraki questioned.

"Actually, it's a woman." he opens the folder, and pulls out a headshot photo.

"Her name is Miyasaki Y/N, she's the Assistant Inspector."

"A woman cop?" Touya reached for the photo then let out a snort at the subtle smile and short haircut she sported.

"So there's no problem then?" he chuckled, throwing the photo across the table for the others to see, clearly uninterested.

"Shut up Touya, you could probably get your ass kicked by this girl." Himiko quipped, earning a sharp glare from the other boy.

"I swear to god you psycho bitch, I'm gonna—" he shifts in his seat, calling out the girl, knowing full well that the mean name would provoke her.

Just as he was about to continue to prove that no girl could possibly kick his ass, he's thoroughly cut off.

"stop bickering this is serious." Keigo interrupted. "Girl cop or not, she's a threat." he declares.

He looks at them one by one and rests a brief glance at Tomura, their leader nods at him to continue. Keigo sighs, aware that he has to set the context for the rest of the group.

He had been given this role by Tomura directly so not everyone knew just what he was doing at the station or just how important his role was in their whole framework.

"she wasn't supposed to be the one who would get the police tip."

Keigo expels a deep breath, screwing his eyes shut.

"It was supposed to be her direct senior, the only other female Inspector in the agency, she usually does overtime with Miyasaki, but she changed her schedule tonight. I don't know why." again, Keigo sighs. This time, he's slouched on the dining chair, gently massaging the bridge of his nose.

The silence that follows only aggravated his frustration with himself.

He had been counting on Usagiyama Rumi, the agency's female Inspector, who he had been assigned to follow for the past few weeks.

She had the same routine ever since he "started" at the agency—time in at 7:00 am, attend meetings and facilitate cold opens throughout the day, follow-up on interrogations or meet victim's relatives and finally, time-out at midnight.

He wasn't counting on this assistant Inspector, she was an outlier, he didn't pay much attention to her other than the times that they'd cross paths at the cafeteria or when they'd get things from their adjacent locker units. He was working in the patrol and public safety unit, she was busy with comms and records-keeping.

Nonetheless, he did know everyone's business in the agency—even if he wasn't exactly tailing each and every one of them.

He knows the case assignments, he knows who had called in late and he knows why and he even knows how their chief liked his coffee down to the number of espresso shots and percentage of sugar.

"This girl is relentless." He presses on. "I've observed her at the agency—she dedicates herself to everything she does, it's borderline obsessive, even if it is something small and unimportant" he adds the latter as an afterthought, suddenly aware of all those times she stayed overtime.

"I don't like the idea of someone like that sniffing around where we don't want them to."

On his own, he just concluded that she did overtime because she wanted to kiss ass—especially given the kind of rumours going on about her, but it only dawned on him now that perhaps she was more dedicated to the job than others painted her out to be.

"Keigo's right." Kurogiri chimed in. "We should do something about her."

Silence fell for a beat, until it stretched on for a few minutes.

Everyone had exchanged glances, they knew that after Kurogiri, their leader had to have the final say.

"I agree," finally Tomura declares.

He stands up and proceeds to stand by the French window, parting open the satin drapes.

"It's time for modiﬁcations before starting phase 2.2."

"Find out why Usagiyama broke her routine. Enlist the others' help on this if you need more hands on comms." Tomura spares a glance at Magne and Spinner, at which the two people reply with nods.

"As for this new player..." their leader trails off, returning back to look at their garden and the approaching dawn.

Expectant, Keigo awaits his next orders. "I want you to keep an eye on her at the station. make sure she stays out of the way, try and befriend her if anything, I need you to throw her off our scent, okay?"

"Got it." the undercover member nods, rising from his seat.

The others follow suit, but Tomura gives follow-up instructions that stops them where they stood.

"Kurogiri, take over my 10:00 today." he announces, immediately piquing everyone's interest "Take Himiko and Jin, you'll need the extra eyes for surveillance."

After the three echo their assent, Tomura clears them, including Keigo, to leave, He adds a few reminders for Magne and Spinner to follow-up on their contracts with their current suppliers, experts and other assets before ﬁnally dismissing the two of them as well as Atsuhiro.

singled out, Touya stands by the doorway, intrigued.

"Dabi," he calls Touya by his alias, turning around to face him he then closes the distance between the two of them within five quick strides.

"I want you to pay a visit to that poor girl, make sure she's on bed rest," his voice strong and amplified by the domed ceiling and marble flooring. Touya nods. "I'll see which hospital admitted her," and moves to leave the room.

Not missing a beat. Tomura places a hand over his shoulder just as he was in the process of doing an about-turn.

"I wasn't referring to Miss. Yua.

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jaceyneedsabetterusername · 4 years ago

Text

Broken Down (p.2)

Pairings: Arvin Russell x F!Reader (I just realized that though there’s a few little flirty parts or thoughts, it’s actually pretty platonic and open ended)

Summary: (Part 2 of Broken Down) After escaping from Carl and Sandy, you and Arvin find yourselves in Knockemstiff. Little did either of you know, there was somebody else following you there.

Warnings: Murder, Mention of Suicide, Canonical gore and violence, Reference to sexual assault but no depictions

Word Count: 6.6k

Find Part 1 here!

_________

Meade was the last big town until you hit Knockemstiff and you had decided to pull off at a gas station to fuel up to avoid accidentally running out of gas in the middle of nowhere. When the car’s tires rolled to a crunching halt, Arvin jumped out to pump the gas for you. You stepped out of the car and stood beside him while the tank filled with fuel. “What do you wanna do when we get to Knockemstiff? It seems like why ever you’re here is pretty personal so I understand if you wanna do this alone.”

“Where ‘re you gonna go?” He dodged the question, the pump clicking to a stop in the background. He moved to shake the last few drops from the nozzle before replacing it at the pump.

You and Arvin had talked a bit on your long overnight trip about your lives and your plans. He had told you that he was from Coal Creek and admitted to murdering a preacher named Preston Teagarden that impregnated his adopted sister, Lenora, which led her to committing suicide. He had told you all about this monster of a human and why he felt he had to do what he did and, though it felt twisted to genuinely support the murder of somebody, you couldn’t help but support Arvin’s actions. When you asked what was so special about Knockemstiff, he confessed that it was where he used to live, where his parents had died.

Arvin had never found himself the overly talkative or trusting type. Coal Creek residents only seemed to judge him and his family, from bullies to the richer folk who looked down on his family simply for not having much money. There was something special about you though, and perhaps it was some unspoken bond that came about from nearly being murdered and then murdering said murderers, but it made him feel like he could open up to you more than he’d ever felt with anyone.

You told him about your life and family thus far. You told him about your hometown of Barren Springs, not that there was really much to tell. It was just some small town full of cows and churchgoers. When he asked you what you were gonna do after today, you really weren’t sure. Hell, you were barely sure what you were doing now.

You looked around at the surprisingly clean gas station before picking at your nails, “I don’t really know. Figured I’ll drive around for a few days. Maybe head back to Meade after I drop you off and stay here for a few until the story comes out in the newspaper. Just gotta make sure they don’t have any leads, y’know?”

Arvin adjusted his baseball cap, “You ain’t gotta just disappear. I mean, you been mighty kind givin’ me a ride all the way out here but I don’t wanna just use you for a ride ‘n send you on your way. Not after everythin’.” He paused to think for a moment. His story wasn’t a pleasant one and his entire point in coming all the way out here was to try and find some peace with all ghosts in his closet. It was a personal journey, one that he didn’t really want anyone else to join in on, but he really did feel terrible just using you for a ride so far away and leaving you alone. “‘M gonna go visit my old home from back when I was a boy. There’s some things I gotta do there. It’s, uh, it’s somethin’ I gotta do alone. You’re more than welcome to leave me here if you wanna go somewhere else but I don’t want to make you feel like I just used you for a ride.”

You chewed your lip to hide the small way the corner of your mouth turned upwards at his ever-courteous manner. “Well what’re you gonna do after all this? You gonna be able to make it wherever you need to go?”

“I ain’t got anywhere to go but I’ll figure it out. Don’t you worry ‘bout me,” he admitted, leaning against the car beside you.

You looked up at him with your arms crossed, “How ‘bout I wait in town till you’re done doin’ what you need to do and then you can come stay with me in Barren Springs until you get a plan. It’s better for you to know where you wanna go and what you wanna do before running off.”

Arvin’s eyes narrowed skeptically, “You sure you’re alright with that? I don’t wanna put you out anymore than you’ve already done for me.” He was never one for charity and didn’t want to take anything he felt like he couldn’t reciprocate.

You nodded, pressing yourself off the side of the car and swinging towards the driver's side of the car, “It’s no problem, really. Now how much further to Knockemstiff?”

The drive to Knockemstiff wasn’t long at all and within the hour you and Arvin found yourselves driving along the road that he found hauntingly familiar. Even so, everything looked so different. Arvin couldn’t imagine the town changing much over the last eight or so years so he figured that the place just must have felt darker and grimmer with the ghosts of the tragedies that took place there.

“Where’s your house?” You leaned forward over the steering wheel to peer further ahead up the road, trying to see through the thin layer of condensation that had built up on the inside of your window from the contrast of the heated interior with the dreary drizzly outside.

Arvin gestured up the road you were headed down, “Should be just up there but it’s been a while.” You could see the way the road split off into a fork just up ahead and you could tell by Arvin’s face that he wasn’t quite sure which road was the right one.

“Should we ask someone?” You pointed towards a small building up ahead, pulling over when Arvin nodded.

The pair of you got out of the car to see an older man sitting in a rocking chair on the porch. “Howdy,” he greeted with a thick accent, “You pair look like you been travellin’. Where you headed?”

Arvin shoved his hands in his pockets as he answered, hiding beneath the brim of his hat from the rain. You shielded your face with your hand from the mist, tiny droplets accumulating on your eyelashes. “There used to be a house and a barn up on that hill over there. Some lawyer owned it. You know it?”

“Sure I do. Up in the Mitchell Flats.” The man answered sure as could be.

“Still there?”

The man leaned back, eyeing Arvin, “Well, I’ll be damned. You’re that Russell boy ain’t you?”

You felt the way Arvin tensed up a little beside you, clearly not comfortable with the legacy he seemed to have in this town, but stepped forward nonetheless. You followed him under the shelter of the porch awning, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I just thought, seeing as I was this way, I’d stop by and see the old place again.”

The man sighed heavily and stood, “Son, I hate to tell you this but that place burned some years ago. They think some kids did it. Wasn’t nobody livin’ there since you and your folks.”

“Well, heck, we came all this way. May as well walk up there anyways.” Arvin insisted.

The man’s eyes flicked over to you and back to Arvin, “Sure, just cut across Clarence’s pasture. Don’t know if you remember but there’s some pretty flowers growin’ up there this time of year for your girl there, too. He won’t mind if you take a few.” He glanced at you with implying eyes and you tensed up.

“Oh, uh, we’re not- it ain’t like that.” You stammered over your words, hands waving slightly with a flustered chuckle.

The man put his hands up, “My bad, ma’am. Just figured since you two were…” he paused and cleared his throat, “well, anyways. It’s nice to know you’re doing alright, son.”

Arvin nodded in a brief farewell before turning to head back to the car and you followed, only stopping when he turned back to the man on the porch, “I never did thank you for the night my dad died. You were awful kind to me and I just want you to know that I ain’t never forgot it.”

Even though you didn’t know the extent to which Arvin had suffered that night, the fact that he was thanking this old man that barely recognized him for the good deeds of nearly a decade ago spoke miles in your opinion. You stood back silently, knowing that this was his path to healing and resolution and that, at least for now, you were merely a spectator.

“You had that pie smeared all across your face,” the man reminisced almost as if it were a happy memory, “Damn Bodecker thought it was blood. Remember that?”

You looked at the ground with a silent chuckle at the thought of Arvin as a young boy with pie smeared across his face but that faded when you heard the way he said, “Yeah, I remember everything about that night,” with such heaviness.

“He ain’t the lawman that I expected,” he continued, “Shame about his sister though.”

“Why? What happened?”

“His sister and her husband were found dead. Not far from Meade.”

Your heart stopped beating and you glanced over at Arvin to find him already casting a nearly imperceptible but highly aware glance at you. “That’s awful. They know what happened?” You questioned, trying to force as much sincerity into your tone as possible. There was no telling with certainty that Bodecker’s sister and her husband were Sandy and Carl but that would be a huge coincidence for two different couples to wind up dead not far from Meade on the same day.

The man nodded, “Last I heard, they don’t know for sure. I got a friend who’s son works in the sheriff’s department, though. Said they thought it was a murder-suicide at first but found bullets from a gun that they couldn’t find at the crime scene so they ain’t so sure no more. Looks like they’re investigating it as a murder.”

Your mouth fell open, trying to find the words that would secure your innocence, as if this man had any reason to believe you were guilty anyways, but it took a moment for you to find your voice, “That’s terrible. I hope they figure out what happened,” you lied, less convincingly than you hoped but this man had no reason to not believe you.

He nodded in agreement, “Yeah, real unfortunate to hear. But, uh, I won’t keep you any longer. You two stay safe out there.” He waved the pair of you off and you and Arvin returned to the car.

The second both doors were securely shut, you let out a breath of air you weren’t aware you’d been holding, “We’re fucked, ain’t we?”

“They ain’t got no reason to suspect us.” Arvin tried to reassure but the way he gripped onto his thighs tightly made you nervous.

“He said they found bullets that didn’t match the guns at the scene. Did you pick up the bullets at the church? Can they trace the gun back to you?” Your questions flew frantically, pulling out onto the road and following the fork that the man had pointed down earlier.

Arvin nodded, fingers rolling over the lumps in his pocket where the empty cases had been residing since yesterday. “Yeah, I picked ‘em up. ‘M pretty sure I got ‘em all.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling sick to your stomach, “Good,” You lied, feeling anything but, “good.”

***

You sat at the tiny diner in town at a booth all to yourself, sipping at a soda and picking at a basket of fries. At first, you had thought that you could possibly read the book you’d packed into your bag for the trip but it sat on the table beside the napkin dispenser, untouched since you set it down after giving up at trying to read after your third time rereading the same paragraph and retaining no information.

How could you read at a time like this? No matter how much you thought you had processed what had happened over the last twenty-four hours, it felt like the reality never truly weighed in. They knew that there was an additional gun so they knew someone else was involved. Carl and Sandy were murdered and the police knew it.

And of course Sandy would turn out to be the fucking sheriff’s sister! Just your luck, right? Carl probably could have disappeared and nobody would have noticed but the sheriff’s sister was going to be a hard one to hide from, especially now knowing that they suspected foul play. There’s no reason for anyone to suspect us, you breathed deeply, trying to calm yourself.

The picked at basket of fries hadn’t been nearly as much comfort as you had hoped and your soda was none too great a therapist either. You didn’t realize you’d actually miss Arvin, the man you’d only known less than twenty-four hours, when you’d only dropped him off at the site of his old home thirty minutes ago but there was a loneliness now that made you uneasy. When Arvin was around, the last day’s events felt bearable but now that you were alone, the paranoia gnawed at you.

Reaching for the ice cold Coca-Cola brand glass full of soda, you dragged it towards you, the sparkling liquid fizzing against your tongue as you took a long sip. Focus on the bubbles. Focus on the bubbles. Arvin will be done soon and you can get the hell out of Knockemstiff and as far from the crime scene as possible.

There was a light chime from the small bell that hung over the door that drew your attention and you watched a tall dark haired man walk in, looking around like he owned the place. One of the waitresses walked right up to him with a warm smile, “Heya Sheriff! What can I get you?”

Your blood ran cold at the realization of who this was and your fears were only confirmed when he turned and you could see the heavy expression in his eyes, “‘M not here for food, Sally. You seen a boy and girl come through here? They’re both young and pretty good looking. He’s kinda average height, brown hair?,” he went on to describe you briefly as well before continuing, “Might have been hitchhiking.”

As casually as you could, you picked up the book and buried your face in it, letting your hair drape over the sides of your face to conceal yourself as much as possible. Sally thought for a moment, “Hm, we get the usual hitchhikers through here. The boy got a name?”

“Arvin Russell.” Bodecker’s voice was flat and serious and the waitress could tell that he was in no mood for stretching this out.

She shook her head apologetically, “‘M sorry, Bodecker. I ain’t seen nobody come through here with that name or a new couple at all. I saw Henry talkin’ to a pair who might’ve matched that description though. Saw ‘em on my way into work. Couldn’t see ‘em too well but sounds like they might have had the same hair color. I don’t know… they didn’t look familiar though. Maybe check with him?”

It was amazing how your breath could reverberate so loudly off the thick walls of paper that shrouded your face from view. Your heart pounded in your chest as you continued to eavesdrop in silence. “Yeah, I’ll go do that. Thanks, Sal.”

You peeked over your book to see her nod and perch up on her toes while she gestured to the kitchen, “Can I get you somethin’ for the road? Coffee maybe? You know it’s on the house.”

Bodecker just shook his head, a solemn look on his face, the look of a man on a mission, “Nah, I better just head out.” With that he walked out the door and you watched him carefully as he climbed into his police car and drove off down towards the old man’s house that you and Arvin had been at not more than an hour ago.

This was bad.

As quickly as you could, you paid for your meal and hustled out to your car, practically throwing yourself into the driver’s seat and speeding down the road after the officer. If he was stopping at the old man’s - Henry, as you just learned - house, that could possibly give you enough time to find Arvin at his house and drive off before Bodecker could even find the pair of you.

Your knuckles turned white on the steering wheel as you sped down the road, grateful that the roads were mostly empty at this time of day. The only sound was the wheels spinning against the asphalt and you talking aloud to yourself, trying to devise a plan. “Just get there before Bodecker, pick up Arvin, get the hell outta dodge.” You repeated it over and over again as if it were that simple.

Soon, you passed Henry’s humble abode and, sure enough, the sheriff’s car was parked just outside and you saw his large figure questioning the old man. Neither of them paid your passing car any mind, which you were grateful for as you peeled off down the left fork of the road, the one that led up to the Mitchell Flats.

You pulled up to the flat area that only had remnants of a house’s foundation now. Slabs of cement were the only signs that a house ever was here, mostly broken from years of abuse from the elements and teenagers. When you pulled up, you noticed that Arvin was nowhere to be seen. “Shit!” You hissed, jumping out of the car and jogging down towards his backyard, the direction he had headed when you dropped him off earlier. He couldn’t have made it far.

“Arvin!” You called out, arms reaching out in a desperate attempt to keep your balance as your feet skidded every few steps along the leaves and moss that slicked the hill you hustled down. “Arvin!”

“I really need you to fucking respond…” You groaned the words meant for Arvin aloud to yourself as you nearly tripped over logs on your trek through the woods. The trees all looked the same and you kept glancing behind you to ensure that you weren’t going in circles, often choosing little landmarks, like that one log that had mushrooms growing on it, to make sure you could find your way back.

Finally, you saw Arvin’s form kneeling before an eerie wooden cross, his white t-shirt dirty from several days of less than ideal situations. You ran towards Arvin, tripping slightly over a few rocks here and there along the way. He turned, ears perked up at the sound of your footsteps. “Arvin! Thank God I found you. We gotta go. Bodecker’s onto us. He came into the diner looking for us and is at Henry’s now.”

Arvin stood up hastily, “Where’s the car?”

“Up by where your house used to be.” You pointed over your shoulder in the direction you came from, “C’mon! If we leave now we might be able to get outta here before-” There was the distinct rustle of footsteps coming from uphill that made you freeze. Your voice lowered to nearly a whisper, “Did you hear that?”

Arvin froze as well, the only sound being your breathing, as you both waited for the sound again. Sure enough, there was a rustle of footsteps again. “Arvin Russell! I know you’re down there somewhere!” Bodecker’s voice rang through the forest clear as day, “You ‘n that girl you’re with. I know y’all are out there.”

Arvin literally tackled you to the ground and hugged your body close to his as he rolled the both of you into a small crevice between a fallen tree and a hole beneath it. He pressed you close into the tree, hiding you as far into the small space as he could while he fumbled around in his pocket for his gun.

“It’s Sheriff Bodecker, kids! I just got some questions to ask you!”

Arvin perched up on his elbows to try and peer over the log. You reached up and fisted his shirt, trying to drag him back down. “What the hell are you-”

A gunshot blasted through the empty forest and both you and Arvin flinched aggressively. His body dropped against yours and you held his chest tightly, burying yourself in his body and pulling him as close to you as possible, concealed in the shelter of the log. You let out a tiny shriek of surprise that you muffled by biting your thumb. His arms wrapped around your body in both an attempt to shield you but also as a knee jerk reaction looking for safety himself in you.

“Sorry ‘bout that! Goddamn bird scared me!” Bodecker breathed heavily somewhere to the west of where you were, his footsteps getting closer and closer. “I ain’t here to hurt you! And I know that y’all don’t wanna hurt me. Come on out so we can have us a talk!”

While Bodecker spoke his lies, Arvin laid back on his back and fumbled around with his gun yet again, this time gripping it and loading the clip with shaky clumsy hands. Finally, he got the clip loaded and he cocked the gun, holding it with both hands like an inexperienced marksman.

You looked around frantically for something to use as a weapon, anything to not feel helpless. Rocks and sticks seemed to be your best choices but you knew damn well that wouldn’t do jack shit against a gun. Arvin glanced over at you with fear in his eyes, the fact that you both found yourselves facing death yet again for the second time in two days. Tragedy seemed to loom over Arvin like a storm cloud but, looking in your wide beautiful eyes, he’d be damned if he let you become another ghost in his past.

“I had a feeling you’d be here. Remember that night you brought me up here? That was an awful thing your daddy did.” His footsteps were terrifyingly close now and you did the only thing you could think of to help. You tossed a stone as far away as you could. According to plan, Bodecker jumped and shot at the sudden movement. “God damnit, don’t fuck with me!”

Arvin may have had the gun but if you could make Bodecker waste his ammo, that was less chances he had of shooting you and Arvin. It was the best solution you could come up with in the heat of the moment. Bodecker sounded furious now and when you peeked over the log, you saw him hiding behind a tree.

You threw another rock in his direction and he wasted yet another shot. “Fuck! I swear to God-” He cursed angrily, knowing he was wasting his shots on nothing.

“Put the gun down, Sheriff. I got one pointed right at you!” Arvin yelled back and your eyes blew wide in panic. You smacked him on the arm and the question in your eyes was clear: What the hell are you thinking?

“Can’t do that son!”

“Just set it on the ground and step away.” Arvin’s voice shook despite his attempt at sounding firm.

“What?” Bodecker asked with a notable change in his tone. Footsteps started approaching again.

Poor Arvin fell right into the trap. “Just set it on the ground and step away!” He repeated even louder. You smacked his arm again and held a finger to your lips.

“So you can kill me like you did my sister and that preacher in West Virginia?” Bodecker hollered back. “You and that girl murdered my sister, didn’t you?”

For the first time since the incident, you felt actual guilt for what you’d done. Hearing the way Bodecker’s voice cracked with grief made you realize that Sandy’s death did actually have an effect on other people, even if she wasn’t a good person. Arvin swallowed hard too, “We ain’t bad people, Sheriff. That preacher weren’t no good. He hurt my sister so bad she killed herself, Sheriff. I had no choice!”

You shook your head and waved your hands at him, desperately pleading him to stop talking. Bodecker’s footsteps were only getting closer and you knew he was getting Arvin to talk so he could locate the two of you. Arvin just had to explain himself, though, and before you could move, Bodecker was right on top of you. From your new position, awkwardly creeping up a nearby tree, using its trunk for cover, you could see Bodecker’s shotgun peek out from around a tree.

“I hate to be the one to tell you this, Sheriff, but your sister and her husband… they weren’t no good neither.” Arvin continued to explain yourselves to the sheriff. By then, your upper back was pressed up awkwardly against a standing tree but you were still lying down, hiding mostly against the fallen log still. Arvin stayed laying on his back, gun up against his chest. “I got a snapshot in my pocket of her huggin’ on some dead guy. And Y/N… you shoulda seen what they was doin’ to her,” Arvin’s eyes met yours and you could see a well of unshed tears as this poor boy was on the verge of breaking at the thought of watching you relive that horror. It was a brief moment that he wanted only you to see before he continued, “What they wanted to do to us. We had no choice! Let loose that gun and I’ll show it to you!”

Suddenly, Bodecker jumped out from behind the tree and Arvin pulled the trigger as soon as he saw him coming but not before the sheriff got a shot off right at the two of you as well. You shrieked out in pain as a few pellets from the shotgun grazed your arm, tearing holes in your jacket. They weren’t deep wounds but they tore long thin gashes across your flesh that began bleeding immediately.

“Agh!” You yelled out, clutching your bicep that was already wet with crimson liquid. Arvin rolled over next to you, having flinched away from the bullets in the opposite direction. You wanted to ask if he was alright but he rolled back over to look up at Bodecker, confirming that he was thankfully at least alive.

Your attention went to the sheriff as well who stood there looking dumbfounded at the red spot blossoming on his shirt. His jaw went slack and his knees buckled before he finally dropped to the ground. You and Arvin shot each other glances of disbelief. You both pressed yourselves off the ground and hopped over the log towards the sheriff.

Bodecker was on the ground, gasping and trying to hang onto what was left of his life. The first thing you did before even looking at him long was kneel down and take his gun from his hand. Now that you were sure he couldn’t hurt you, you looked down at him sadly. Killing Sandy and Carl had been disturbingly easy because they were genuinely terrible people who were trying to murder you. They also died quickly. Bodecker lied helpless on the ground at the mercy of two young adults, gasping and gripping desperately to this world. This time, the murder made your heart feel heavy. Yes, he had been trying to murder you and Arvin but it was for his sister’s sake. There was a twisted nobility in the action that you could empathize for.

Bodecker looked up at Arvin and then up at you. “So it was you in that picture,” he attempted to say, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Your brows furrowed in confusion, “What do you mean?”

He laid his head back, too tired to continue straining himself, “In… in my pocket… Found some pictures in Carl’s camera of… of a girl crying with her shirt.. With her shirt…” Bodecker attempted to explain but his voice failed him as much as his the rest of his body was beginning to shut down.

You gasped at the mention of the photographs. In the heat of everything, you had completely forgotten that Carl had taken a few pictures of you. You patted down the sheriff’s pocket until you found a developed picture of you with your shirt torn wide open, bra out for the world to see, and tears streaming down your face despite the defiantly angry look on your face. Sandy was topless behind you, her lips pressing against your neck and her hands gripping your breasts, pressing them up and inwards to amplify their suppleness. Her direct eye contact with the camera was chilling.

You shuttered at the picture, shoving it in your own pocket instead of giving it back to Bodecker. You weren’t sure what you’d do with it but you couldn’t risk anyone else seeing it.

Arvin had caught a glimpse of the picture and noticed the way it shook in your hands. He noticed the way your eyes glazed over looking at it like you couldn’t believe it was actually you. When you shoved it in your pocket, he sighed and pulled out his own photograph to show the sheriff, the one of Sandy posing nude behind a man’s corpse.

“We had no choice.” He told Bodecker. There was such sincerity in his voice and almost an apology in his eyes for the harm that he had caused to Bodecker and his family. It was never meant to be like this for either you or him. Neither of you were supposed to have become killers. Your hands were never meant to be stained red but life or death situations called for extreme measures and it had been you or them every time. “They was gonna kill us. I swear.”

“We didn’t wanna do it but they had a gun to our heads and tried to force us to... We didn’t have a choice. They were gonna kill us.” You reiterated, voice just as shaky as Arvin’s as you had to sit and come to terms with the events of the last twenty-four hours.

“I’m so sorry.” You and Arvin apologized in uncoordinated unison, hanging your heads low to genuinely show how sorry you were for causing him pain and that it had all had to boil down to this.

Bodecker’s eyes left the pair of you and stared upwards at the trees. You glanced up to see what he was looking at and saw a beautiful clearing in the branches that framed the perfectly clear late afternoon sky. It was a beautiful view to have to be your last, you thought morbidly but truthfully.

You and Arvin sat by Bodecker’s side, listening to his ragged strained breaths until they finally stopped and you knew he was gone. It felt like the least you could do after everything, staying with him so he didn’t die alone. You hoped that maybe it counted as some shred of redemption for the sins committed over the last two days.

When Bodecker’s body finally went limp and his eyes glazed over, you reached up and brushed your hand over his face, closing his eyes. You couldn’t stand to see the empty blue orbs stare off into nothingness and know there was nobody behind those eyes anymore. Arvin stood up and walked over to where you had been hiding, not giving Bodecker’s body much attention at all after he finally slipped away.

With a heavy sigh, you pressed yourself to your feet and walked over to where Arvin stood, looking down at a hole full of animal bones that you hadn’t noticed earlier. You visibly cringed, wondering what in the hell you walked into, “What’s that?”

Sadness overtook Arvin’s features as he stared at the pile of bones, “My best friend from when I was a boy. I had to come back and give him a proper burial.” His vague answer clearly had a story attached to it but you didn’t have the heart to press him further on it right now. Arvin turned his attention to the pistol in his hand, the one he had used to shoot Teagarden, Carl, and Bodecker, and saw nothing but the bloodshed it had caused.

You wished you could know what was going on in Arvin’s brain as he twisted that Luger in his hand. His eyes were deep with remorse, grief, and heartache and you could tell that this boy had seen too many tragedies for one lifetime and somehow, they were all related to the gun he held in his hand.

After almost a minute of silence, he placed the gun gingerly on top of the bones in the makeshift grave and piled it full of dirt until it was indistinguishable from the rest of the forest floor. The only landmarks to signify its location were the three crosses that humbly stood above it. “Why’d you do that?” You asked with gentle curiosity.

He stood up but kept his eyes trained on where the hole once was, “My daddy always told me to wait for the right time to do anything.,” He nodded his head, as if agreeing with his own decision, “I think it’s the right time.” His answer was cryptic and, yet again, you could tell there was a story behind it that you would have to wait to discover.

There was a cool breeze that sent goose bumps rising across your arms and you glanced around the forest to see the leaves rustle and fall to the ground. That was when the black and white clothing of Sheriff Bodecker stood out against the gold and brown foliage and reality settled back in.

“We should probably get outta here soon, Arv.” You urged with a gentle tone, a hand coming to rest softly on Arvin’s bicep.

Arvin’s jumped slightly, eyes darting down to where your skin gently grazed his own. The softness of your touch and the sincerity in your eyes was one that he wasn’t sure he’d experienced since his mother. Even Lenora hadn’t filled that gap that he was secretly desperate for to be filled. She was kind and gentle but had a childlike naivety that you lacked. Arvin’s mother had never looked at him the way you did either. His mother had been tender and compassionate but there was a different kind of understanding in the way that you looked at him. One look into your eyes validated all of his sins over the last few days, for better or worse.

His opposite hand reached across his body and rested over yours, revelling silently in the way your hand fit against his. “Yeah… you’re right.” Arvin took one last look at the three crosses that had haunted his dreams for years and it was almost as if he could feel himself kneeling before them with his father. These weren’t memories he ever thought he’d want to hold onto but now that he was faced with the possibility of never coming back, a part of him felt reluctant to leave. “Rest easy now, Jack.” He let his hand fall from yours with his last good bye and while you weren’t entirely sure who Jack was, you were fairly certain it was the name of whoever those bones in that grave belonged to.

“‘M sorry,” Arvin said out of the blue from the driver’s seat of your car, shaking you from the silent daze that both of you had been sitting in for the last thirty minutes.

You tore your eyes from the dashboard where they had long since zoned out on, emotionally overwhelmed, to look over at him. “For what?” You asked, brows furrowed.

“If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have gotten caught up in all this.”

You shook your head, “That ain’t true, Arvin. We both ended up in Carl and Sandy’s car yesterday and we both pulled those triggers. Bodecker was shooting at us because he couldn’t settle with the fact that his sister was a monster. It’s like you said, us or them. I probably would’ve died with Sandy and Carl if it weren’t for you being there so if anything, I should be thanking you. You saved my life.”

Arvin looked over at you, his eyes red from holding back tears for so long but he still shed none. He wasn’t sure what to say to that. The way you had been sitting so quietly had him convinced that you hated him for dragging you into a life ruining situation. “Well I wouldn’t have made it this far without you either so thank you.”

You nodded with a small appreciative smile but there was an exhausted sadness behind your features that Arvin shared. Silence settled back over the car aside from the faint ever present sound of the wind outside the car as you and Arvin drove on down the highway headed for Pennsylvania. Neither of you knew what your next steps were but since killing Bodecker, you’d both decided that heading back to Barren Springs was not a wise decision. The two of you needed to get as far away from this area as you could, at least until everything blew over - that was, if it ever would. If Bodecker could track Arvin, that must have meant the other police officers knew that he had killed Teagarden as well. You weren’t sure if the police knew that you and Arvin were responsible for Carl and Sandy but you could assume as much since Bodecker came after the two of you. Even if they didn’t, there were pictures of you on Carl’s camera but your body wasn’t at the crime scene. Finally, when Bodecker didn’t return, wouldn’t that just put you and Arvin at the top of the suspect list?

So with all the uncertainty in the world, you sat in the passenger seat of your own car with a stranger who you felt like you understood more than you’d ever understood anyone, driving across state lines with no clue as to what you future held. You didn’t know where you were going, when you’d get to come back home, when you could safely see anyone you cared about again, or what was going to happen to all your life goals now. Everything that had been planned and comfortable had been stolen away by a twisted couple picking up a poor girl with a broken down car.

You didn’t know what was waiting for you in Pennsylvania, or anywhere for that matter, but even with all the uncertainty, one thing felt beyond doubt. Maybe it was the exhaustion from going two days with no sleep but you just knew Arvin Russell was going to be in your life from this day forward. There was something you couldn’t explain between the two of you. A spark felt like an inappropriate way to put it under the circumstances of your relationship thus far but it was an understanding, an empathy, a trust, a sense of protection of one another. When you tore your eyes off the road ahead long enough to look over at the man sitting beside you, his hair parted messily down the middle and his face and shirt smudged with dirt, you could have sworn you saw your future. Whether it was a future in prison together, as partners in crime, friends, or lovers, you weren’t quite sure, but a content smile crept up on your face at the inexplicably comforting knowledge that Arvin Russell would be there with you for whatever ups and downs were to come.

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