#They have a box in their closet of the remains from one of their victims that they didn’t realize they thought of as their lover

[sniped-hugger]

Going ahead and just ploping this here….

The Guy reference!!! Ish!!! Left to right we’ve got the “Faking being a normal person with control over their petty rage and bloodlust” look,

The regular ol’ Guy look when you know them much much deeper than the 24/7 customer service smile,

And The Fresh Crime Scene Look, complete with the stylized bloodlust eyes!! They’re not normal nor okay

They use They/Them, have a name I’m keeping from you >:3, are 4’11”, and are lesbian fyi

[kaisacobra]

Let You Go - Tara Carpenter

Summary: It's been a while since Tara has seen you. She misses you, but maybe she's broken your relationship to a point beyond repair.

Warnings: Violence, blood, mentions of death, angst

Word Count: 7.9k

a/n: thank you so much for the ride guys! Here we have part 3 of second best, which (kind of) ends this trilogy. Of course, I'm still writing the alternate ending so stay tuned if you're interested!

third part of Second Best

It was two in the afternoon when Tara began rummaging through that box she kept at the back of her closet, sorting the contents into "burn" and "don't burn," all in line with what her therapist had advised. She needed to overcome the past, even if in small steps, and what better way to start than by burning traces of when everything started going wrong?

She looked into the box, examining the contents that would survive the purge. To no one's surprise, most of the photos contained you.

Tara reached for a specific photo among the others. A polaroid depicting a hug between the two of you, both with radiant smiles and faces so close that your cheeks touched. Mindy had taken this photo just before you both visited an amusement park that had been in town for a while. Tara's heart throbbed painfully. She missed you. A lot.

The girl sat on the bed with slumped shoulders, clutching the polaroid as if it were a precious possession. She couldn't take her eyes off the image of the two of you, with a happiness and innocence that would soon be ruined by her own actions. With a tired sigh, Tara closed her eyes, remembering her therapist's words.

The initial sessions were slow and unproductive, mainly because Tara kept her guard up and refused to talk much about her life to a stranger. Over time, the man became a pleasant presence, and Tara began to see him as some sort of a grandfather figure trying to advise his granddaughter. That's when she started sharing her problems and actively sought solutions.

"Do you think she'll forgive me?" she remembered asking, looking at her hands with shame. The bright white light in the room made the sweat on her palms stand out on her tan skin.

"Tara..." The man sighed, taking off his glasses as if he was preparing for a battle. "Don't you think you should worry about forgiving yourself first?"

The girl frowned and looked at him as if he were crazy. If anything, she was guilty of not only ruining her own life but also becoming a problem in everyone else's. She had no right to see herself as a victim. "What do you mean?"

"From what you've told me, I've realized you harbor a lot of resentment towards yourself on the inside." He pointed to Tara's chest, and she noticed no hint of judgment in his expression. Still, she felt strangely exposed. "Have you ever really reflected on this internal conflict you feel? About feeling guilty for things beyond your control?"

Tara scoffed and leaned back until her shoulders rested against the chair again, crossing her arms and staring at the walls like a stubborn child avoiding conflicts. "Beyond my control? I was awful to the best person in my life! I let a murderer into our life for-"

"See? You're doing it again." He smiled with a patience that bordered on irritating for the girl, crossing his hands on the glass table that separated them. "I'm not saying you're not at fault for being rude to your friend, but I'd like to focus on your past. That girl's attacks, parental abandonment... You're not to blame for that, Tara, but it doesn't stop you from carrying the pain anyways. Don't you think it affects you?"

She remained silent, but now her head was bowed in embarrassment. Her arms, once crossed, now enveloped her elbows in a half-hug, as if that would protect her from something. Without more exchanging words, the therapist followed the cue and continued speaking in a gentle tone, as if trying to educate a wounded animal.

"Tara, have you ever talked about your concerns with anyone, or have you just kept all these grievances inside until they exploded? Have you ever had any healthy coping mechanism?"

I don't deserve one. That's what she wanted to say, but didn't, because she knew it would make the situation even worse.

"Do you think I don't recognize the signs? Troubled young adult refuses help out of fear of abandonment and ends up driving everyone away, taking the opportunity to take out your emotional wounds on others? You won't be the first or the last person I've seen with this pattern." He spoke as if he could read her thoughts, leaving the girl a little scared.

Sitting up straighter in the chair, Tara turned her gaze back to the therapist, momentarily becoming interested in the conversation again. "Okay, what do I do to end this? What do I do to not be like this anymore?"

Broken, she wanted to say.

The man smiled gently and pulled open a drawer in the wooden cabinet to his left. Tara watched impatiently as he took out a black notebook and placed it on the table between them, looking between her and the object with a certain expectation. "I thought you could start documenting your feelings on paper, instead of keeping them locked within you. I think it can help you in the long run."

"Do you think writing in a journal will make me less of an ass and make y/n forgive me?" Tara replied with a sarcastic tone.

"I think it can influence a change in behavior, yes." The therapist reaffirmed, deliberately ignoring the girl's foul language. "And this exercise is not about y/n; it's about you. How do you expect her to forgive you if you can't do it for yourself?"

As stubborn as Tara was, the words had truly left an impression on her. That's why, on top of her messy desk, was the damn black notebook. The calluses on her hand throbbed with the memory of the force with which she wrote each new entry, trying to release her negative feelings onto paper.

She knew that your name was probably the most repeated word on all the pages, like a sacred mantra that she had to honor. Tara couldn't escape the fact that many of her emotions were so directly intertwined with the idea of you, and honestly, she accepted having to carry that burden as her own Sisyphean stone. She deserved it, after all.

Looking again at the polaroid, she sighed and slowly ran her thumb over the smiling image of your face, almost wishing she could offer you the same affection in person.

She was going to change. She had to change. For you.

_

"That was pretty good!"

The floodlights on the university’s sports field lit up as it began to get dark, allowing the young athletes to continue their training even at night. There weren't many people around, but you could see that the track team seemed to be gearing up to practice for the 100 meters a little to your left.

"Kate, I hit the white part." You grumbled in response to your friend's encouraging words. Kate Bishop had convinced you to attend one of her archery practices to "see her talents firsthand," and at some point, she thought just watching wouldn't be enough, and that you had to experience the sport for yourself.

That's why you were now on the archery training field with her, holding a semi-professional bow that was much heavier than you expected, proving over and over again that you were definitely not a natural at this.

It didn't seem to discourage Kate, however, as the girl still smiled with enthusiasm while looking at your target with a single arrow stuck in it. "At least you hit the target! You're improving; it could be worse."

"True! You could have hit someone's foot, like Miss Bishop did once." One of Kate's teammates, Yelena, commented with a laugh. The two, along with Maya Lopez, made up the Blackmore University women's archery team and were surprisingly good at it, having won all the recent competitions.

You laughed along with the other two while Kate gradually turned redder and assumed a betrayed expression. "Hey!" She protested.

It was amazing how people you had known for such a short time could make you feel so good. You couldn't even remember the last time you had laughed so freely since the incident with Tara happened, and that was already a significant victory for you. It's not like being with Mindy, Chad, Anika, and the others didn't make you happy, but it was hard to enjoy the moments with them when you remembered that, in any other situation, Tara would be there with you too.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket, and you leaned the tip of the bow on your foot, letting its weight rest on your shoulder so you could reach the device with your hands. Through the lockscreen, you could see a message notification from Mindy, as if she had read your thoughts.

Best Twin: Movie night at the Carpenters' house, are you coming?

Best Twin: Sam misses you

Best Twin: We all do

You sighed deeply and looked at the notification with a grimace, not sure exactly what to do. Of course, you would love to spend time with your friends, and you definitely felt guilty for avoiding Sam by extension, even though she understood the reason. But your palms started to sweat just at the thought of sharing a small space with Tara again.

Mindy had already told you that Tara had started therapy after the encounter you had in some of the university’s corridors some time ago, but she had also said that it was entirely valid if you still didn't feel ready to see Tara after everything.

It was a strange feeling, as if two forces were fighting for dominance within you when it came to Tara. On one hand, just thinking about her made your chest ache. A wave of anger, sadness, and pure humiliation invaded you, and your eyes threatened to well up. What she did to you, what she said to you, marked you like a painful burn that might never stop pulsating.

But on the other hand, you wondered if there were still traces of that other Tara who loved and treated you well. The Tara who made you soup when you were sick and promised never to leave you. Maybe it was your foolishness, but you didn't want to believe that that part of her had simply gone away forever.

"Are you okay?" A soft voice reached your ears and quickly snapped you out of your thoughts, causing you to loosen the tight grip with which you had involuntarily held the phone. Looking up, you came face to face with Kate's kind blue eyes, patiently waiting for your response.

Kate Bishop had been an angel in your life, fitting in perfectly at the moment you needed her most. You had met her in the waiting room of the counseling center after spending a week living like a zombie following everything that happened with Tara, and you could barely comprehend that you were sharing the same space with someone like her.

At first glance, Kate Bishop didn't seem like someone who needed to be in a counseling center. She carried herself with confidence, always with impeccable posture and a calm expression on a model-like face. Always dressed in neat clothes that you were sure were designer and carrying a sports bag indicating her athletic background.

But when she approached you and started a conversation, saying she needed to talk to someone or she'd explode with anxiety before her first appointment, you began to realize that Kate might not be what you expected. She was, in fact, much kinder and more attentive than you could have predicted.

You talked a lot that day, and the next day, and the day after, until there came a point where you got along well enough to consider her a friend. Kate listened to everything about your issues with Tara and provided advice and emotional support. In return, you listened to her vent about her problems with a father who died in childhood, a mother imprisoned for fraud, and an inherited company she didn't want to have to run at that age.

They were quite different dilemmas, just as you were quite different people, but still, you felt at ease in her presence, and it was good to have someone who truly noticed you for once in your life.

"Hm? Okay. It's fine, yes, I just..." You searched for words but gave up, opting to speak the truth about what was bothering you. "Mindy invited me to watch movies with the others, and it's at Tara's house, and I didn't want to have to refuse, but I don't know if I'm ready for-"

Kate widened her eyes and raised her hands as if asking for a pause, interrupting your rapid and anxious flow of words. "Woah, hold on, champ. You don't have to go if you don't feel okay. They'll understand."

"Yeah, I know, it's just that..." You sighed, looking down at your feet planted in the field's grass. "I miss them, but... I can't."

As much as it hurt and was embarrassing to admit, you knew it still wasn't the right time. Not when you sometimes still woke up crying in the middle of the night with nightmares involving her.

"Then how about this?" Kate began to suggest, getting closer to you and gently shaking your shoulders. Physical touches had always been her way of offering comfort. "There's a party at my place tonight with some of my childhood friends, and I'm officially inviting you. You can tell your friend that you'll be busy spending time with a very beautiful, charming, and talented company."

You smiled as you let yourself be shaken by the cheerful girl in front of you. "A very humble company, apparently." You teased, poking her ribs playfully. "I don't want to disturb you, but thanks for the invite."

"Disturb? I'd be the one disturbing your illustrious evening by forcing you to hang out with my friends! Believe me, it's torture listening to Peter for 2 hours when he gets excited about his nerd stuff." Kate tried again, and by the way she looked at you with the expression of a begging puppy, you knew there would be no escape. "Please? It'll be nice to have you there."

There were two available possibilities. In the first, you could go back to your dorm, watch a bad movie alone, and spend the rest of the night thinking about how your friends would be having fun, specifically wondering if she would be having fun. In the second, you could take another step in getting rid of your codependent friendship (if it still existed) and enjoy the night with new people and a person who was becoming more and more important to you every day.

If Tara didn't want to be stuck in the past, you also had the right to do that. You deserved it too.

So, you accepted and only remembered to inform Mindy when you were already in the passenger seat of Kate's black Audi RS7.

_

Tara was distraught. Actually, saying that she was distraught was an understatement.

Last night had already started off as garbage from the moment Mindy announced that you wouldn't be coming to see them at the apartment. Sure, she should have expected it, but that didn't mean she didn't have any hope. She couldn't stop thinking about what you might be doing, the reasons why you hadn't come, how everything would have been better if you had.

But mostly, she felt relieved that you hadn't been there, because that meant she hadn't put you in danger again with another ghostface attack. It was a selfish thought. Quinn, her roommate, had died in front of her, Anika had her belly almost cut from end to end and was now in surgery, and all Tara could think about was finding you to see with her own eyes that you were okay.

She urgently searched for your face in the midst of the crowd of students walking through the Blackmore University campus, seeking the slightest fragment of your presence anywhere. She cursed herself again for not being able to just call you like she would if she hadn't messed up and made you block her in practically every possible place.

Finding you and making sure you were okay, in addition to delivering the terrible news, was her obligation. Mindy and Sam were with Anika at the hospital, and Chad had gone to check Ethan's alibi in the damn economics class. She needed to find you.

Fortunately, her prayers seemed to be answered by whatever entity it was. She saw you in the distance, radiant as she hadn't seen you in a long time. Tara's heart skipped a beat, and she opened her own smile after yours. It was bittersweet, the feeling of seeing you so happy but knowing that this happiness would be ruined the moment you laid eyes on her.

In a moment of distraction, a new wave of people passed in front of her, blocking her view of you. Fucking height. She thought with some annoyance as she tried to make her way through the students, trying to get closer to where you were.

When Tara finally managed to locate you again, the scene was quite different from before. Instead of laughing, looking forward, you had your back turned, seemingly struggling while a girl wrapped her arms around your neck. Tara felt a wave of anger rise through her veins and marched in your direction, ready to free you from whoever that crazy bitch was.

The younger Carpenter approached you with a speed she couldn't quite explain, and her motivation only seemed to grow when she noticed that the mysterious girl looked a lot like that senior she had seen with you in the hallway some time ago. Choosing to embrace her negative feelings, she used her strength in a way that would make her sister proud and aggressively pushed the girl away. "What do you think you're doing?!"

"Tara?!" You exclaimed in shock, your voice carrying surprise, and your expression wavering between anger, astonishment, and anguish. "What do you think you're doing, are you crazy?!"

Tara saw you getting closer to the girl (Karen, Kendra, she couldn't remember.) and gently placing your hand on her shoulder, as if checking her condition. That small gesture made more anger bubble in her stomach. She wanted to scream, throw a fit, damn, she wanted to destroy something just to get rid of that rotten feeling corroding her from the inside.

But she looked into your eyes and could see a glimpse of the sadness she had caused in the past by this same line of thinking. She couldn't do this to you again, especially because that wasn't even why she had come looking for you. Tara swallowed hard and clenched her fists, deciding to save her frustration to take it out on calluses on her own fingers later.

"She was attacking you," Tara mumbled reluctantly, knowing that the explanation sounded stupid but that she also owed some reasoning for her actions.

You clearly didn't seem satisfied with her motivation, as you only stared at her with a frown and crossed arms. "Kate is a martial arts expert, Tara. She was just showing me how to escape from an arm lock."

Well, how was I supposed to know that? Tara thought, but she decided it was better not to worsen the situation. Before you could ask why she had been clearly looking at you for some time, she decided to explain.

"Look, I'm sorry. There was a ghostface attack in the apartment yesterday, and I just needed to know if you were safe."

"What?! An attack?! How- Are you guys okay?!" You asked exasperated, and Tara saw it. She saw the exact moment when you had to restrain your arms by your sides before doing something you would regret.

Tara remembered that being the first thing you did when you could see her after the surgeries last year. You ran to her on the gurney and held her face with both hands, as if she were fragile. You ran your thumbs over her cheeks, right above the freckles, wanting to make sure nothing was injured. She remembered feeling well cared for and loved.

But that was before she messed everything up. Now, all that was left was that. You restraining yourself from offering your heart to Tara, and she wanting to die realizing the damage she had done between you two.

"Sort of. Anika is in critical condition in the hospital, and... Quinn died." Tara delivered the news with a solemn voice, trying to control her own tears as she remembered what happened. She saw when Kate raised her arm to offer a comforting stroke on your back, and, for the first time, all Tara felt was emptiness knowing she couldn't comfort you in that way.

You let out a few sobs before trying to compose yourself. It was clear that you had been affected by the events, and Tara knew you well enough to know that you would want to go after the others to comfort them. "Which hospital is Anika in? And where are Sam, Mindy, and Chad, I... I need to talk to them."

Tara felt a bit of pride in realizing that she still knew your way of dealing with things, even though she was worried that your priority was always to take care of others' pains. Of course, much of that was her fault, and a knot closed in her throat every time she remembered that fact. "Sam and Mindy are at the hospital waiting for Anika to be discharged. Chad went with Ethan to handle something about an alibi."

"I can take you if you want," Kate offered you  in a chivalry that almost made Tara vomit. "It will be faster if we go by car."

"Or maybe it would be faster for her to take the subway with someone who knows the address, like me." Tara retorted sarcastically, crossing her arms to try to cause, at least, the minimal intimidation to her rival. It didn't seem to be working, which made her even more irritated. "Speaking of addresses, where were you last night, Kate?"

Feeling that the conversation would only escalate, you quickly shook your head. "Stop it, Tara. There's no way Kate could be the ghostface."

"And why not?" The girl asked defensively, with an offended tone almost similar to one she would have if you had accused her. It was frustrating for Tara that you seemed willing to vouch for a person you had barely known. "She suddenly appeared in your life, got so close to you in such a short time, don't you find that a bit suspicious?"

"This might sound a bit surprising to you, Tara, but some people actually like having me around." You retorted with irritation, throwing daggers at the girl with a look so intense that she almost stumbled backward. "Kate can't be ghostface because I spent the whole night with her, okay?"

Suddenly, Tara felt dizzy, with a buzzing in her ears. Apparently, you hadn't had the best problem in overcoming your feelings for her. She felt weird inside, as if something were stuck in her throat. "Oh, I didn't know you guys..."

"No! Not like that, I just..." You widened your eyes and hurried to correct the double meaning of the sentence, waving your hands frantically in a way that made Kate open a smile in amusement beside you. "...I slept at her apartment, but not with her. Not that I owe you an explanation anyway."

Your phone vibrated with a notification, and all three pairs of eyes turned to the device. You quickly checked the message and let out a sigh of relief. "It's Sam. She sent me the address of the hospital; I'm going there now. Without any of you, please."

"Okay. Just be careful, alright? And call me if you need anything." Tara watched reluctantly as Kate pulled you closer by the shoulders and planted a small kiss on your forehead. She swallowed the envy and looked away, trying to think of the last time she had offered you any kind of affection.

You said goodbye to Kate with a warm smile and a hug. For Tara, your lips pressed into a line, and you nodded briefly, almost as if you were greeting a stranger.

She wondered if that's what you two were now.

The Carpenter girl prepared to leave, maybe to find Chad and help him or just take a walk to ease the tornado swirling in her chest. However, she was interrupted by a hand on her arm. Kate Bishop tried to get her attention, wearing a conflicted expression on her face.

"What is it?" Tara grumbled, shaking her arm to free herself from the other girl's touch. She was used to being shorter than most people, but with Kate, it became even more annoying, especially when she had to look down at her.

"Look, I know you don't like me, and, to be honest, I don't like you one bit, but I need you to do something for me," Kate said seriously, putting a hand in her pocket and retrieving an object that Tara could only identify as a car key.

The shorter one scoffed. "Listen, I know Y/N and I are on bad terms, but I don't need you to ask me to take care of her. I'm going to do that anyway because I care about her, believe it or not."

Kate rolled her eyes impatiently. "I know. I can see that in you the same way you can see it in me."

It was true, as much as it bothered Tara to admit. She wasn't blind, and she had enough experience in reading people to know that the way Kate looked at you was sincere, and the girl genuinely cared about you. Putting aside her own jealousy and envy, Tara was relieved to know that there was someone good enough to show these feelings for you. You deserved it, after all.

The girl continued, "This device here is a prototype from my mom’s—my company. It's for security." She raised the object and placed it in Tara's hand, who could now see the details of what she had previously thought was a car key. It was a black oval keychain with a single button in the middle, also black. "I pulled some strings and turned it into an emergency button. As soon as you press it, a signal will be sent to police cars and ambulances, and it will be their priority to get to you. That's one of the advantages of being rich and having contacts, I guess."

Tara turned the button in her hands, feeling the object weigh more now that she knew its function. "And why are you giving this to me and not Y/N?"

"Because I know she would use it on anyone but herself." Kate sighed in frustration. Tara knew it was implied in the sentence that you would use the button for her. "I'm giving it to you because... despite the fighting and you being a jerk..."

"Wow. Thanks for the honesty."

"... I can still see that you care." The taller one finished her sentence without caring about the interruption. She looked between Tara and the button with a bit of uncertainty. "When you press it, a signal will also be sent to my phone, and I'll come running wherever it is."

There were more implicit intentions in that sentence that Tara could pick up. I'll come running to help Y/N. I'll take her away from you. I can protect her better than you can.

Tara just offered a short nod and turned to leave, with the emergency button weighing as much in her pocket as her heart weighed in her chest. Thousands of thoughts filled her head, and all of them were about you and your safety. It was Tara's duty to keep you safe, first because it was her fault that you were even in that situation, and second because she had already hurt you enough.

It was her mission to protect you. To prove to herself that she could still be good for you. To prove to you how much she still cared.

And if she couldn't, if she had to press that button... well...

Maybe it would be the sign she needed to understand that Kate Bishop deserved more of a place in your life than she did.

_

The lobby of the abandoned cinema ironically looked like something straight out of a horror movie that Tara would hate. Dust had piled up in heaps on all surfaces, and the orange lights were so dim that they threatened to go out at any moment.

The others were in the center of the other room, where Richie Kirsch, being the maniac he was, left his extensive collection of items from stab movies and real life ghostfaces. Tara, however, thought it would be a better idea to follow you wherever your feet and lost expression took you, just so she wouldn't have to leave you alone, of course.

You had your back turned to her while leaning on the filthy counter with your elbows. Tara couldn't tell what you were thinking, but obviously, you were not okay, just like everyone else in that situation.

From the corner of her eye, she saw a box of Milk Duds on the other side of the counter that seemed untouched, just a few inches to your left. She approached with light steps, not wanting to make any sudden movements as if that would scare you away, and reached out to bring the box closer. "You like these, right? You can have them if you want."

You didn't respond to the joke, and you didn't even turn around to look at Tara. She felt your indifference like a stab to the chest, but she continued nonetheless. "Or not. This must be like a thousand years old anywa-"

"Tara, shut up." You finally responded sharply, making the younger girl look down in shame. She really needed to get used to your new treatment of her. You ran your hands over your face, covering it as if you were tired.

"Sorry." Tara whispered back weakly. She deserved it, but more than anything, she wanted to be able to offer you some kind of support in that difficult moment, just as you had given her all the support she needed in the past.

You scoffed, in a gesture so hostile that the younger Carpenter almost couldn't believe it came from you. You were still facing away from her, but now slowly taking steps away with tense shoulders. "Did you learn a new word? Didn't know it was in your vocabulary."

Tara felt the anger in your voice, and it made her hands begin to tremble with anxiety. You were right, and it was long overdue for you to know that. "I’m sorry, Y/N. I know it's too late for this, but I'm sorry for everything I did."

"Do you even care? Seriously, Tara, do you really feel sorry, or do you just miss having some idiot around who would do anything for you?" You retorted, your voice rising even as your vocal cords trembled. A dam had just burst open between you two, and now it was time to deal with the flood.

"Of course, I care, I love you!"

"SHUT UP!" You shouted in response. Tara recoiled from you with a start, startled as she had never seen you raise your voice at anyone. You were still facing away, but Tara could see that, even though you had wrapped yourself in a hug to control your reactions, it wasn't working. Your entire body was tense, as if your brain was struggling to choose between fight or flight, and the result was the tremors that seemed to spread through your system. "You have no right to do this to me! To play with me like this!"

"I'm not lying!" The shorter one retorted, and in an impulsive move, she grabbed you by the shoulder and forced you to turn until your gazes met. Tears were already streaming down your eyes like waterfalls, and your entire face seemed contorted in excruciating pain. Tara wished she could absorb all your hurt for herself. "I know I messed up, but I really love you!"

"You're toxic, Tara! That's what you are!" You shouted back with strength, holding the girl's gaze as if it were a challenge you needed to win. "You hurt me! And I was getting better, damn it, I was getting better away from you!"

"I know you were! I know! That's why I'm apologizing, okay? Because you're the best person I've ever met, and I ruined you like I ruin everyone! Because the best moments I've ever had were with you, and I feel like tearing my eyes out when I remember that I hurt you by being this way!"

"Tara..."

"No! Please let me finish." She rejected your interruption, taking the opportunity to relieve all the pain and guilt she felt inside her. "I'm getting treatment, okay? And I know you're not obligated to forgive me for anything, but I want you to know that I'm trying to be better for you! I'm trying to fix my shit to be someone you and Sam and the others can be proud of!"

"Tara..."

"And I know I hurt you a lot, but please don't doubt the love I feel for you because it's the only good thing left in me. I won't blame you if you never want to see me again, but..."

"TARA, GET DOWN!" You shouted, and before Tara could react, you were already pushing her toward the dusty wooden floor.

Everything was happening too fast for the Carpenter's mind to process. She hit the ground with a grunt of pain and a potential bruise on her arm, but she could see the exact moment when an arm covered in a black cloak descended toward your leg, making a deep cut in your thigh.

You screamed in pain, and Tara screamed next, watching your blood soak through the fabric of your pants and start dripping onto the floor. In a surge of adrenaline, the small girl ran to your side and almost reached for your arm when she was suddenly engulfed in a tight grip, with her two arms pinned to her back and a hand holding a knife to her neck.

She struggled against the masked person holding her, futilely trying to break free to get to you. Tears streamed so quickly down her face that she could taste the saltiness invading her senses. "Let me go! Y/N, run! Please, run!"

A sinister laugh reached her ears like the hiss of a snake. "Oh, Tara. Did you think it would be that easy?"

She recognized that distorted voice with effects all too well. She still heard it in her nightmares, calling her name in the dark. Ghostface was back. "I'm going to kill you, you motherfucker!"

"Oh, but I don't think so." The voice spoke in an amused tone as another killer, wearing the same mask and black cloak, approached your figure on the ground. Tara wailed like a banshee when the other pulled your hair forcefully, forcing you to stand up as he placed a knife on your neck.

She struggled a little more. "Leave her alone!"

"And where's the fun in that?" The ghostface holding her responded, almost as if they were laughing. "Come on, Tara. Weren't you the one who liked to release your anger by hurting Y/N? Why should only you have that privilege? Let's see, where was it that you got stabbed again?"

At the same time, as if reacting to a code, the ghostface holding you advanced in quick and precise movements, gripping you by the waist with one arm while thrusting the knife into you with the other, just above your kidney.

You let out another gasping scream as the blade pierced your skin, and Tara felt your body sagging as if you were about to collapse. She herself wanted to fall to her knees and plead for you to be released, but she couldn't. Whoever was holding her had great strength.

"Don’t you want her to feel the same pain you felt, huh, Tara? Don't want her to suffer what you suffered?" The voice continued to growl in her ear, sounding increasingly excited by the escalating violence. The knife on Tara's neck kept her head in place, so she couldn't look at anything other than your agony.

"No, I don't. Please, PLEASE." Tara pleaded with a tearful voice as another stab was delivered to you, this time in the center of your abdomen. Your shirt gradually turned into a pool of blood, and Tara feared you would faint at any moment.

"Tara..." You could barely pronounce her name, your voice choked and your own blood streaming down your lips. Tara's gaze met yours, and she shivered when you shook your head. She knew what that meant.

You looked feverish. Sweat and blood mingled on your skin, creating the most disturbing of the paintings. Your eyes were vacant, and Tara was so afraid they would close at any moment, never to open again.

And yet, with that nod of your head, Tara understood that your top priority at the moment was to make her understand that it wasn't her fault.

The girl's knees threatened to give up as the knife entered you one, two, three times. She shook her head but couldn't close her eyes because she needed to see you, needed to see that your eyes were still open, that you were still alive.

You couldn't die. You promised not to leave, even if everyone else did. You couldn't die. You couldn't die. You. Couldn't. Die.

"I love you. I'm sorry for loving you, I'm sorry," Tara whispered because she had no strength to speak louder. She felt on the verge of giving up and letting those maniacs do whatever they wanted with her. Nothing mattered anymore if you weren't here, and it was all her fault.

The ghostface holding her laughed with a deep voice. "You know, I could turn this into a Romeo and Juliet scene, but I think it would be more fun to kill you while Sam is watching."

With that, Tara felt her body being thrown backward, and she hit the dirty wooden floor again, this time landing with her head in a wound that would undoubtedly become a concussion.

She got up in a frenzied pace, in an adrenaline rush, thinking she could try to save you now that she was free. But, looking ahead, she realized she was outside the lobby’s door, and the maniac murderer already held the handles. Despite Tara's attempt to advance, the ghostface had already sarcastically waved and locked the doors, creating a deadly separation between you and herself.

Tara pounded on the hard wooden door, ignoring the pain in her knuckles. She hit and hit and hit, feeling cuts open on her skin and burn from the repetitive contact. She was crying, screaming, punching, cursing, doing things she couldn't even rationalize because it didn't matter anymore.

Nothing mattered anymore. Not without you.

She collapsed on the floor, tired, injured, and desperate for you. Her sobs echoed in the seemingly empty hallway, and she was too afraid to put her ear to the door and hear screams of pain like your last breath. Tara felt lost until she remembered that she was no longer trapped.

Rushing to reach the device in her pocket, she sighed in relief to find it unbroken. She pressed the button multiple times without a second thought. If she had a chance to maybe save your life, she would grab it without a doubt.

Tara remembered what she had thought before, how pressing that button might symbolize that she shouldn't be in your life. She stood up and leaned against the wall, trying to rid herself of the wave of nausea, and left the button hidden near the door. If help came following the signal, the first place they would look would be where you were.

If help came and you made it out alive, that was a promise. Tara would finally leave you alone. That's what you deserved.

---

Tara was almost sure she had developed a hospital phobia since the events of last year.

There was no other explanation for why she felt uneasy in that environment, even after they had taken all precautions for her. She still hated the white walls and the smell of chemicals and couldn't wait to get out of there.

For now, she decided to ignore this feeling and continued following Sam through the corridors of fluorescent lighting. It was important for her to stay inside until they finally found the doctor who could tell them what they wanted to know.

She checked her hands again, finding the tanned skin covered in some bandages but free from the mixture of her blood and Ethan's after she... lost control.

After she was separated from you, everything happened so fast that Tara could almost think it was all a delusion. All the revelations, the attacks, her adding another victim to her count, the police arriving... All of that had taken a back seat because nothing was more important than you.

It was as if her life had turned into a black and white movie in the moments she was without you. Everything felt colorless, purposeless. Fortunately, she was pulled out of her own spiral of melancholy when she saw you being taken out of the old movie theater on a stretcher by paramedics. She tried to get closer, but it was needed to give you space so that nothing touched your wounds and caused an infection.

Tara tried to go in the ambulance with you, but she and Sam were pulled for another checkup, and you needed to be rushed to a surgery room urgently if you wanted to have the slightest chance of survival. So, Tara let you go, but there was not a moment when you weren't on her mind.

That's why now, she desperately searched for your surgeon with Sam. No one seemed to know about your condition, and she already felt like tearing her hair out from anxiety. Tara just needed to know if you were at least breathing.

"Dr. Isley?" Sam called the attention of a red-haired doctor who was passing by them in a hurry. Tara sighed in relief that her sister was paying attention to her surroundings because her mind was in a completely different place. "We were informed that you performed emergency surgery on a family member. Her name is Y/n Y/L, admitted with multiple stab wounds."

"Oh, yes. Miss Y/L." The doctor replied in a professional tone, but there was impatiency all over her body language. "It was a difficult surgery, and she lost a lot of blood, but fortunately, no vital organs were hit. I won't lie, the recovery will be painful, but at least she survived the operation without any apparent severe collateral effects."

This was the best news Tara had heard in days. She opened a smile and didn't even try to hide her own happiness as she prolonged the conversation. "Is she in any room? Can we see her?"

"Miss Y/L is in room 604, but I'm afraid only one person is allowed in at a time to avoid any disturbance."

"No problem, we can take turns." Sam pointed between her and her sister. Despite seeming much calmer than the younger one, Tara knew Sam was just as relieved as she was to know that you were still alive.

"No, you didn't understand. There's already someone in Miss Y/L's room." Dr. Isley warned and, seemingly losing the rest of her patience, she began to walk away. "Sorry, but I have other patients to attend to."

The two Carpenter sisters looked at each other alarmed. Who could be in your room? Chad was still in his own surgery, Anika had gone to stay with Mindy while she received some stitches, and frankly, your parents had never been present enough to travel between states so quickly for your sake.

They walked down the corridor, moving as fast as possible without disturbing the other people being treated or working in the area. Tara's heart threatened to jump out of her mouth as she looked from door to door, searching for the numbering of your room. 601. 602. 603.

Tara stopped so abruptly at the door that she and Sam bumped into each other, their sneakers making noise against the shiny white floor. The simple door had a small window through which it was possible to see the inside of the room without necessarily entering. Tara looked inside, ready to break the handle and force her way in if necessary.

But it wasn't, because Tara Carpenter recognized exactly the girl sitting next to your bed, holding your hand gently and stroking your hair, even though you were sleeping. She remembered, with a tightness in her chest, that Kate Bishop would be notified the moment she pressed the button.

And, in her own words, she would come running to take care of you.

"Tara, who-"

"I have to go." Tara interrupted her sister's words, looking at the scene in front of her without blinking. She knew what she had to do; there was no reason to fight the facts.

"What? What do you mean? You just got here." Sam asked, partially annoyed and partially confused by the younger one's actions.

"You heard the doctor. Her recovery will be painful, and if I stay around, all I'll cause is more pain." Tara opened a small smile just to try to pretend that she wasn’t dying inside. She knew Sam could see the truth, that she could see her broken heart and internal conflict, but she also knew that was the only possible solution.

"Tara..."

"Sam, you know I'm right. You told me that yourself a few days ago, remember? I hurt her." The girl shook her head in surrender and took a few steps away from the door. Away from you. "She needs peace, Sam. And the only way she can get that now is if I'm not around."

Tara took one last look inside the room, seeing how peaceful you looked. Sleeping, without any worries, and with an incredible and caring person by your side, ready to help you in whatever you needed.

Someone much better than her.

Perhaps that was the first time Tara had made a selfless decision in a long time, but she didn't feel deserving of any credit for it. What she had to do now was get better. Maybe more entries in her journal and more visits to her therapist would eventually fill the void she felt within her.

For now, she just turned around and started walking away from room 604. Each step hurt, like a razor cutting her skin, but it was the right thing to do. Tara had hurt you for far too long, and now...

Now it was time to let you go.

[moonjxsung]

Snowed In

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin x fem reader

W/c: 7.9k

Warnings: forced proximity, mention of smoking, mention of cheating, unprotected sex, oral receiving, fingering, crying during sex, both characters are kinda toxic lol

Synopsis: a snowstorm traps you inside with none other than your perplexing ex-boyfriend Hyunjin, leaving the two of you to contemplate the relationship you once had.

•

“There’s more tape in the closet by the stairs,” you say to Hyunjin.

He’s already packed three boxes of his stuff- old paraphernalia from the days you were still together. Days which now remained a mystery to you- how did you ever tolerate each other long enough to fall this deep? Having him back like this, it’s clear to you why things ended the way they did. He’s as obstinate as they come- never willing to bend for you or anyone but himself. Your tides crash against his unmoving shore, dissipating whatever love had once existed into thin lines of regret and indignation.

What was once the love of your life, now reduced to nothing more but this- a stranger in your home, memories of the role he once played neatly stacked into cardboard boxes and sealed away for the next victim of his antics. Sometimes it felt he was never meant to be more than this- more than a fleeting, breaking thing, quick to dissolve at your fingertips and free himself of your hold.

“Can you move any faster than this? I have somewhere to be tonight.” Your voice is laced with rancor, and Hyunjin rolls his eyes at the familiarity of it all.

“As if you ever cared about being late anywhere. You couldn’t even show up to our first date on time.”

You squint your eyes at him through the mirror in front of you. He’s so loathsome when he wants to be- anyone who knows him remembers the way he begged you to go on a date with him, for months, only to be rejected time and time again. When you finally did agree to go on a date with him, there was an ultimatum involved- go out for dinner or he’d keep the wallet you “dropped” in the parking lot. One that he so conveniently found- one that he snagged from atop your work desk.

Hyunjin was calculated from the moment he saw you- quick to make your friends his, finding a place within your social circle and gaining approval from those closest to you. He frequented your favorite coffee shops, kept up with your social media, and even took an interest in all your favorite hobbies. While your friends downed shots of whiskey and picked up random men at bars, Hyunjin stayed close to you, grazing his fingertips against your skin and whispering compliments in your ear at every chance he got.

It didn’t take long before you were wrapped around his finger- exactly the way he’d planned for it to be. You quickly became the first to invite him to dive bars on Friday nights, the first to text him song recommendations and new coffee recipes, even first to make subtle advances so that you could feel his skin against your touch.

A graze of his hand against your cheek was all it took one October night, before you gave yourself away to him completely. Like giddy schoolchildren, his hand in yours, running about the street to his place, where he fucked you three times in a row. He was patient and forgiving with his kisses, but he fucked you like he might lose you. He lit a joint beside you as you came down from your third orgasm. You thought you might be in love.

“You’ll have to help me carry all this down to the car,” Hyunjin interrupts your thoughts. You pause applying your eyeliner to glance at him through the mirror again.

“You couldn’t have asked earlier?” You cap the eyeliner shut, slamming it down on the console table and turning around to face him with a vexed expression.

Hyunjin’s beautiful- he’s always been beautiful. One of the things that angered you the most about him. The whole world, with your beautiful boy at their disposal, to do whatever they pleased with him. It never took much either- he could raise his hand in a diner and have a flock of men and women within his radius, ready to do whatever, whenever. He looks elegant in a crimson cardigan, one button undone below his jutting clavicles, tucked neatly into a slim pair of black trousers. A silver watch around his wrist glints under a beam of light as he looks down at the disarray of boxes.

“Eleven boxes,” he says teasingly. “So you can take 6 and I’ll take 5.”

You scoff in response. “That’s not happening. Take the first one to the car and I’ll meet you down with my half.”

You turn around again to finish your makeup, when a loud buzzing sound interrupts the two of you. The intercom buzzes once, and then twice, and you’re quick to make your way to answer before Hyunjin can.

“Hello?” You speak softly, holding the button and cupping the box to prevent Hyunjin from listening. A futile effort, as he’s already listening closely from beside you.

“Hello ma’am, this is management. We wanted to inform you of a weather advisory for the remainder of the evening. All tenants are advised to stay indoors while the snow storm passes through tonight. Please shelter in place immediately and do not plan to operate your vehicle until at least tomorrow morning-”

“Tomorrow morning?” You interrupt. “No, no, my guest was just heading down. Could you- is there somebody who can help with a few boxes?”

“I’m sorry,” the voice says. “But no one is allowed to operate their vehicles off the property right now unless it’s an emergency. We have been ordered by the county.”

“It is an emergency,” you say quickly, eyes flickering over Hyunjin’s smug expression from beside you.

“What is the emergency?” The voice queries, and Hyunjin practically pushes you aside to speak into the box on his own.

“The emergency,” he says, “is that she’s so prideful she can’t provide shelter to a friend for one night.”

The voice on the other end goes quiet, and you pinch the bridge of your noise in annoyance. With a deep sigh, you motion Hyunjin aside and take over the intercom once again. “Nevermind, sir. We will stay inside. Thank you.”

A small click indicates his departure, and you spin around on your heel to face Hyunjin again, this time infuriated with him.

“Seriously? You couldn’t have lied or something?”

“What did you want me to say? That I’m having a baby? There’s a fire in here? You heard him, I can’t drive on these roads. I know you hate me, but that’s low even coming from you.”

Your makeup items are quickly stuffed back into your bag as you avoid eye contact with him, thoughts rushing through your head as you realize he may have to stay here for a few hours. You catch a glimpse of the window as you consolidate your products, noting the way the city lights are now blurred by frost on the windows. The falling snow isn’t visible from in here, but a growing chill around you confirms that management is correct.

“I’ll be in my room for the night. The lock isn’t working, so knock if you need something. And don’t touch anything.”

He holds his hands up like he’s guilty of something- and he might be, accidentally intruding in your space like this, tainting the atmosphere with his uncompromising jokes and mulish expression. But he lived here once too- drank coffee in the same kitchen you now call yours, fixed the shitty space heater when it broke, and fucked you on your mattress like it was an extension of you. Intruding was hardly the word when traces of him lined the walls- and bedsheets, still.

“Okay,” he says with a mocking tone, and he slumps over on the sofa like he owns it now.

*

2 hours pass, and the situation feels like something out of a horror movie- only the antagonist is a shitty ex boyfriend, and the movie has been left on pause. Hyunjin doesn’t disturb you, and you don’t disturb him. The apartment is quiet, maybe too quiet, but as you wake from your evening slumber, a sound in the kitchen reaffirms this was not just a nightmare.

“What are you doing? I told you not to touch anything.”

He turns around momentarily, drawing his attention back to the stove he towers over. “I was making us coffee. Unless you don’t want any.”

A deep swallow in your throat. Your pride is replaced with reluctance, taking a step toward him and finding a seat on the bar stool. “Sure. Thanks.”

When he’s finished, he places the speckled mug in front of you, sauntering over to the couch and spreading across it like he’s going to sleep. But he doesn’t, instead he runs two hands through his hair, licking his lips and smiling mischievously.

“I was supposed to be at an art show tonight.”

You say nothing.

“They’re displaying that one I painted when we were still together- you know, with the lilies?” He sits up to look at you. “Remember?”

“Yes, I remember. The one you fought with me about.”

He laughs, and your face involuntarily reacts with a smile at the sound. His eyes form little crescents as his head rolls back, melodic giggles leaving his parted lips. Hyunjin’s laugh was one you could never forget- one that echoed throughout the apartment despite his absence, one you found a home in. One you missed, even.

“I didn’t fight with you,” he says. “It was a disagreement. There’s a difference.”

You remember that morning vividly. Hyunjin hadn’t slept that night, sitting cross-legged in front of the canvas while he painted finishing touches on the assortment of blushing lilies immersed in a glass vase. It was one of your favorites, representative of both your birth month and Hyunjin’s favorite flower.

“They’re too pink.” He’d told you, frustration clear in his tone.

“They’re perfect,” you said, crouching down beside him and pressing a chaste kiss to his temple.

And in all the unpredictability that was Hwang Hyunjin, he wielded the box cutter he kept tucked away in the pocket of his apron, crawling forward in a swift motion and slashing the painting across its face. The lilies seemed to wither as the now-cut corners folded inwards and curled in decay, still wet from the fresh paint.

“What the fuck, Hyunjin?” You said, reaching for the canvas like it was a dying child, caressing the two-dimensional petals in trembling hands as you tried your best to mold the fabric back to its place, to no avail. Hyunjin laughed, head rolled back as he let his wicked cackles fill the space around you, and you began to cry at the scene. He was always that way- feeding mercilessly off your stunned reactions, with you always more shocked than the last time at how unpredictable he could be at times.

He laughed as you cried, both sounds waltzing around the makeshift studio in the spare room of your apartment.

You left him alone for several hours that day, only returning to deliver food and water to him, Hyunjin still sat in that same spot on the studio floor. The painting was tossed aside like a piece of garbage, a new canvas erected in front of him with fresh pencil sketches and colors.

As he dug into the steaming bowl of ramen provided, you propped up the canvas, beginning your task of repairing the painting by gluing a small patch to the cut and coating it with varnish. He watched through ravenous mouthfuls as the petals laid flat like they once had, giving life to his art again. And through frustrated sniffles, you mixed a new shade of pink on his pallet, a lighter one this time, sliding it over to him and placing the paintbrush between his fingers where his chopsticks were.

“Please don’t ruin it this time.”

Hyunjin placed his dinner back on the wooden floor, making his way over to you and enveloping you in a hug- one that meant to say sorry in his absence of words. But Hyunjin was never one for apologies, you quickly learned, as his hardened bulge pressed against your thighs. He peppered kisses down the column of your neck, fingers grazing the hem of your shirt as he began to take it off you, no words of protest from your end. With dizzying thoughts, and before you could comprehend the pool of arousal that was now formed between your legs, he was fucking you there in his studio, one hand cupped around your face, forcing your gaze onto the painting.

“Know what lilies represent?” He said between rhythmic thrusts. “Innocence. And purity. And devotion, and fertility.”

Your eyebrows arched up in pleasure, too fucked out to respond to his words, simply moaning loudly in response.

“And your birth month is a lily. Sound like you? Innocent? Pure? Fertile?” His thrusts increased in pace, your hands searching desperately for somewhere to steady your body, now trembling with pleasure as you approached your high.

He took note of your struggle, taking your hand in his as he gave it a squeeze, another way of saying he was sorry for his actions. Your eyes remained locked on the painting, which now seemed to morph into hues of flesh and arousal, the petals mirroring your wet cunt filled so deliciously and completely by Hyunjin. And as he reached his orgasm, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing down the throat he kept a firm hold of. “My lily,” he cooed between kisses and a release inside of you. “My sweet, pure lily.”

*

Three hours in, the space heater has given out. A typical occurrence from when Hyunjin still lived here, but an aggravating one nonetheless.

“It hadn’t given out in the time you were gone. Must be some kind of curse when you’re around.”

Hyunjin laughs wickedly, like he knows something. “I’ll get the screwdriver.”

As you watch him disassemble the old thing, you take note of the way his nimble fingers hold each tool so delicately, much like how he handles his art supplies. You were no stranger to them during your time together, often picking him up new pieces of charcoal and sketch pads for him on your way home from work. Your love language had always been the little gifts you pampered him with, falling deeper in love with him whenever he’d excitedly dig through the bag of goodies and rope you into a hug. Hugs- physical affection, Hyunjin’s love language. The only way he knew to express the conflicting emotions in his pretty mind- pacify you with a kiss, or a swaying hug, or a myriad of lewd positions in your bed together.

Part of you knows Hyunjin is conditioned to be this way. Something of a mad artist, good with his fingers and bad with his words, chased after everything he ever wanted and never learned to take no for an answer. There was never a moment he had to sit with his own mind, sit with his intimate conscience and teach himself to tear his walls down. You were always there to do that- remind him of the ways in which he fell short, express enough emotions for the two of you and live with the knowledge that you were, in many ways, an extension of him. In all his madness, and lust and adoration. But he was never going to change- and hard as may have tried, you could never change him.

“What are you thinking about?” Hyunjin asks, still focused on the tilt switch below him. His ebony hair hangs loosely in front of him, caressing his face the way your hands used to.

Your fingers embrace the warm mug of coffee in front of you, observing as steam disappears in the cold air in front of you. “I’m thinking about the first time you ever cried in front of me.”

He stops what he’s doing for a second, looking up at you with furrowed brows. “What?”

“I’m just being honest,” you say in response, getting up from the bar stool to now sit on the couch. “Do you remember?”

He’s quick to shake his head. “I don’t cry. I never cry.”

You scoff. Hyunjin cries at everything, albeit trivial instances- maybe it’s the Pisces in him, or maybe it makes up for the lack of using his words to convey emotions. Either way, he’s always been a crier- and you, a shoulder to lean on.

“Your painting was rejected. For the January gallery show. By that guy- the really stuck-up one, remember? You said he looked like a praying mantis. All beady-eyed and skinny.”

Hyunjin laughs, fumbling with the screwdriver. “Even his hands bent at the wrists. Like a bug.”

You smile at him- you reckon it’s the first time he’s ever recalled crying in front of you. That was the difficult part- despite the crying, you were never to speak of it. Like it didn’t happen, like it wasn’t a natural part of him. It made him feel nonhuman at times, all those resolute efforts to mask who he was. But you knew, truths that lived and died with you.

He sticks his tongue out in focus as he fixes the screws back onto the panel. “He’s the gallery host. For tonight’s event.”

Your heart sinks at his words. It was a dream of Hyunjin’s to avenge the death of his art by praying mantis art man, and you hadn’t known he was selected for the gallery this time. Only to wind up here, with you, stuck in the dingy apartment you used to call home with him.

“Fuck. Hyune, I’m sorry,” you say with wide eyes. “I wouldn’t have asked you to come by tonight if I knew.”

He waves a hand in dismissal. “Better I’m stuck here than the gallery. I’d be snowed in with bottles of champagne and lots of pretty girls.”

He smirks at you mischievously, and you roll your eyes playfully. As he fixes on the last screw, he restarts the heater, slouching back in satisfaction as the familiar hum starts up again. “Thanks,” you say, sitting back and putting your feet up.

He winks, and then shuts his eyes as his hands fold over his chest. Your phone interrupts the comfortable silence, and you make your way back to the bar stool to answer it.

“Hello? Oh, yes, hi! Yeah, I’m so sorry… Yes, that works for me. Thanks, and sorry again. Okay, bye for now!”

When you hang up, Hyunjin’s head is raised curiously.

“Who was that?”

You take a deep breath as you set your phone aside again. “That was… my plans for the night.”

He cocks his head. “Like, a friend?”

“Like, a date,” you finally say. Hyunjin scoffs casually, lying down again.

“You’re going on a date.”

“Was,” you interject. “He’s snowed in, too. We’re planning for something tomorrow if the weather’s good.”

Hyunjin nods, and you can see that his eyes are glued to the ceiling now. Jealousy- one of Hyunjin’s worst traits. Be a waiter, a friend, even the trash guy on Mondays, Hyunjin was a raging, jealous boyfriend when you were together. At times it was flattering, making you blush when he’d give creepy men stares at bars, holding you closer and letting everyone know you were his. And then things escalated.

The doorman stopped greeting you, per Hyunjin’s request, citing that he was “taking a special interest in you”. Bartenders had to take your orders through Hyunjin, who turned irate at the sight of you smiling at another man. Even your close male friends distanced themselves when he was around, feeling uncomfortable at the way he’d interrupt your conversations. Your confrontation about it turned into a screaming match, followed by 2-hour makeup sex in the shower- but his jealous tendencies never ceased.

“How’d you meet?” Hyunjin asked suddenly, fidgeting with the skin around his fingernails. He no longer wears a smile, but a tight-lipped, stern expression.

“He’s… a friend.” You reply.

“Jisung,” he whispers suddenly, and you swallow a lump in your throat.

Han Jisung, the mutual friend you always told Hyunjin not to worry about. The friend who always got a little too close, the friend who leaned on you for emotional support during your lows. The friend who confided in you with all of his relationship issues, and the one you confided in when Hyunjin was at his worst. The same friend you slept with to make Hyunjin jealous.

“I knew it,” he said, draping an arm over his eyes. “I had a feeling it wasn’t over from that one time.”

“Hyune, we’re not together anymore.”

“We were together,” he says. “When you let him fuck you.”

A statement he’s not wrong about. A decision you weren’t proud of- but one that was a long time coming. It had been a week straight of arguing with Hyunjin- him, locked up in his room working on paintings and destroying the ones he didn’t like. Repeating the cycle like he’d gone mad- refusing to eat and drink, getting no sleep and engaging in screaming matches with you when you were home from work. You opted to stay with Jisung that weekend, unable to put up with his state of mind. A little red wine, crying into Jisung’s shoulder, and you found yourself betraying the one thing you swore you never would- Hyunjin’s trust.

It was you who told him, throwing it on him like a casual work chat when you returned.

Hyunjin never took something so hard in his life. You watched his sleepless nights and maddened sessions turn from weeks into months- going mute for the better part of each day, only talking to ask you questions about Jisung. “Was he better than me?”

“No, Hyune,” you’d coo, holding him in your gentle embrace as he cried. “No one’s better than you. I was angry, and I made a mistake. There’s no one better than you.”

And in the second month, he forgave you, finally giving into your touch as his fingers found their way inside of you, using his voice boldly for the first time to demand the same answers from your quivering figure under him. “Was it better than this? Does he feel better than this?” You cried under him, validating his ego again in an orchestra of moans, holding him in your arms like you might lose him. And you almost did- a feeling you swore to never replicate.

Your bodies one again, your souls one again. Jisung was promptly cut out of your life, Hyunjin’s existence enough to fulfill a lifetime of friends and lovers. His body made for you, his mind consuming you whole.

“You’ve always been so jealous,” you say to Hyunjin, drawing his attention back to the conversation.

He fixes his hair. “And you, a cheater. Forgive us our sins.”

“I had reason to. You’re just a mean person when you want to be.”

“Yeah?” He queries. “So mean I fixed your heater? So mean I got you those tickets you wanted last summer?”

The tickets.

Hyunjin had bought you tickets to Paris last summer, a surprise that left you in shock, crying like a baby when he presented them to you. They were “complementary” with the exhibition he was chosen for- three nights in Le Marais, a showing of his gallery, and a free dinner at the host’s favorite restaurant. It was his most upscale showing yet, and although the tickets were originally meant for a manager of sorts, he’d bent some rules to bring you along. (This meant he paid for the tickets, something he never told you about until much later.)

The trip was nothing short of a dream- days spent looking at art and watching Hyunjin network with the guests, nights spent trying fancy French foods and making love in the hotel bed until you couldn’t anymore. But the reveal that he’d actually paid for the tickets hit you hard.

He let it slip accidentally, annoyed at the way his manager was pressing him to contact guests from the museum, huffing a simple “I paid to get him off my ass and he’s still like this.”

After pressing him for answers, it all made sense, and you bawled like a baby again, this time ridden with guilt. Hyunjin rubbed your back in gentle circles, chuckling at the way you gripped his t-shirt and cried harder into the fabric. “You should’ve taken him instead,” you said to him between sobs. “I was a shitty girlfriend to you and I didn’t deserve to go.”

Of course this was about Jisung, and he knew that. But he also knew that he loved you- this emotional, second half of him, one that he breathed life and love into, and that one instance of letting it slip through his fingers was not going to come between the two of you. “But you’re here,” he told you. “You didn’t leave. I’m not going anywhere either. We’ll always have Paris.”

And you cried harder at his words, for the man who so desperately needed you like you needed him, two halves working to keep one whole being alive.

*

4 hours into the night, Hyunjin begins getting stir-crazy.

“It’s hot in here- you’re not hot? I feel like I’m going insane. What if we tell them I’m having a baby? Maybe they’ll-”

“Hyunjin. Calm down. They’re not letting us out for the night. You’re not going anywhere.”

He rips off his cardigan, tossing it aside dramatically and leaning back on his forearms with his eyes shut. You take in the view- his toned arms are now fully on display in a ribbed white tank top, a simple gold necklace now visible against his broad chest. He’s still tall and lean as he ever was, but his biceps seem to have filled out, and your mouth parts a little at the sight.

“You’re staring,” he says with his eyes still shut.

“No, I’m not.”

You pull your own sweater tighter around you, trying your best to keep a casual demeanor in his presence. He opens one eye, taking a peak at your clear nervousness.

“Don’t be shy,” he says smugly. “It’s stuffy in here.”

You swallow, saying nothing as you turn away from him and peel your own sweater off over your head. The cream white knit falls gently to the floor, leaving you in nothing but a pair of jeans and a slim-fitting black shirt. When you turn back around, he’s adjusted his position so that his legs are spread comfortably, a smug grin still plastered on his pretty face.

“Is that a tattoo?” He asks inquisitively.

You palm over the little heart on your inner elbow, sitting down in front of him and undoing your hair from its loose braid.

“Yeah.”

“I like it,” he says, flashing you his teeth like a stamp of approval.

“I thought you hated tattoos,” you retort. “You never wanted me to get any.”

“I said you had beautiful skin,” he counters. “And that covering it in ink would be a waste.”

“Same thing.”

“Not exactly,” he says, tilting his head toward you. “You prove me wrong time and time again.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” You say, raking your fingers through your hair and sitting cross-legged in front of him on the rug.

“It means,” Hyunjin says, crawling toward you to take your arm in his. He traces the heart with his index finger, and then brings it close to his mouth, where he presses his lips to it and graces it with a single, gentle kiss. “I like this one.”

You retract your arm from his hold, cheeks set ablaze at his words. He’s always been like this, too- flirting in every possible way he can, quick to make any situation either romantic or sexual to fluster you. And it works- he’s somewhat of a pro at it now.

Hyunjin laughs loudly at your reaction. “I’m starving.” And then he hoists himself up again, making his way to the kitchen to find something for dinner.

You want to scream when he’s like this- quick to wrap you around his finger momentarily, leaving you dizzy with thoughts of him, only to leave you hanging like it’s nothing- like there’s no history between the two of you. A murder with no weapon, no motive- just a victim. You. Always.

After you’ve both scarfed down bowls of rice, Hyunjin proposes a game. Uncharacteristic of him since you know he typically prefers his silence, but you digress.

“Truth or dare?” Hyunjin asks.

“Truth.”

He hums in response, crafting a question in his mind. “What’s my best feature?”

You roll your eyes. “I said no weird questions! Can you at least try to make this whole thing platonic?”

“What’s weird about that?” He queries. “There’s nothing romantic about answering a question. You’re the one making it weird.”

“Okay fine, dare.”

He raises his eyebrows, declining a change in selection.

“God! Fine, I don’t know- your hair, I guess.”

He tosses his hair around like he’s in a shampoo commercial, twisting the ends around his index finger. “Good answer. Your turn.”

You roll your eyes at him again. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

You take a moment to think. In actuality, there are so many things you want to ask him- too many things. You don’t know much about the man sitting across from you- or at least not as much as you once knew so many months ago. He’s never been an open book, but the time apart from each other has driven a stake between the two of you, and having him in your living room like this offers you ample time to tear down his walls like you never could before.

“Y/n?” He asks, cocking his head to one side.

“Why’d you stay?” You ask breathlessly.

“What?”

You swallow, determined to get an answer out of him. “I mean, after the whole thing with Jisung. Why did you stay? You could’ve left, you could’ve gone with any other girl or guy you dreamed of. What was in it for you?”

He purses his lips together in thought.

“I dunno. I guess I was in love.”

You shake your head at him. “No, you weren’t in love, Hyune. We never even said it to each other.”

He runs his hands through his hair, smoothing it back- a nervous habit of his, you recall. “You asked, that’s my answer. I said I guessed.”

With a lump forming in your throat, you drop the question with a nod. He’s visibly more serious now, his upper body turned away from you as he glances out the window and observes the heavy snowfall. For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of the space heater and your breathing as he maintains his composure again. Your heartbeat has quickened at the word love- one you never said to each other.

“I love you is an overrated philosophy,” Hyunjin had told you on the balcony in Paris, arms wrapped around you while you took in the vast skyline. “What about I care about you? Or I need you? Those sound more significant, more like us. Let’s not lose ourselves to outdated philosophies.”

And when he put it like that, it made sense. You did love him, but you also cared about him, needed him, the whole nine yards. The difference in a single word did not change what you shared. In fact, putting weight into a single word felt like it might only serve to drive you apart someday. (Come to find out it wasn’t a word you had to attribute that to.)

“It’s late,” you say to him, a guilty conscience consuming your mind. “We should just get some sleep.”

“Why did you stay?” Hyunjin asks, turning his body toward you again. “You had every reason to leave. Why did you put up with a lousy painter for all the time you did? Why didn’t you just book it with Jisung the first chance you got?”

Your throat is dry. The questions are valid- an extension of the ones you asked him. And yet, you don’t have the answers. You think you understand now.

“I… I don’t know. I think maybe I needed you.”

I needed you, I cared for you, I loved you.

Hyunjin narrows his eyes. “Your draw.”

You’re dancing with the devil now, fully at his mercy to do whatever you want with this game of yours. All the walls he so carefully built in your time together, and yet you finally hold the first stone in your hands, aimed and ready to tear them down like you’d always dreamt of. This much freedom was dangerous- what did Hyunjin want from having you in this position? What could he possibly gain from offering you the irrevocable truths that lied behind this? You can’t take your aim. Not yet- not like this.

“I don’t want this,” you say weakly, and brows furrow at your words. “I don’t understand why things happened the way they did. But it’s behind us now.”

He extends a hand toward you, a classic apology though the words may never leave his lips. And you accept reluctantly, taking his slender fingers in yours, letting him guide you up off the floor and into his arms. The familiar scent of his cedarwood and vanilla cologne surround you, and your hands find their way around his back, as he envelops you whole and puts your mind at ease again.

Perhaps you would never understand Hyunjin- the way his emotions clouded him to a point he could only funnel them through you, the way a 4-letter word scared him more than the act of cheating, or how certain shades of pink were too pink, and yet patched canvases were still beautifully flawed in his eyes. And maybe you didn’t have to, maybe simply existing alongside him like this was enough for the two of you. Your beautiful boy, who you once tried so hard to make sense of, now at the disposal of the world around him, and for that you despised him. But you prayed they would have mercy on him, prayed they’d understand him like you once had, understand that some pinks are too pink, and that love doesn’t imply end.

*

The night reaches its lowest temperature as you lie in bed, this time on one side as Hyunjin occupies what was once his side of the mattress. The sight of him is reminiscent of your old life- him facing you, arms crossed and legs extended carelessly, a hood tossed over his messy hair and a frown as he tries his best to fall asleep.

You chuckle seeing him like this, the dichotomy of his sexy features coupled with his cozy appearance, something you always found attractive in him.

“What are you thinking about?” Hyunjin whispers as he breaks the silence. A small smile forms on his lips at the sound of your muffled laugh.

“Nothing. You look so cozy.”

“I feel cozy,” he replies. He reaches a hand out to you, palm facing up, and you gently place your hand in his. His calloused fingers rub yours gently, and you can’t tell if he’s trying to fluster you or warm you up- either way, you like the sensation, silently hoping he doesn’t stop.

In a swift motion, he brings your hand to his lips, pressing little kisses to each of your knuckles. You don’t say anything to him, instead observing the way his eyelashes flutter with each movement of his lips.

“Hm,” he hums against your fingers. “Remind me why you left me again.”

You feel your heart sink; one question, and yet hundreds of answers at the same time. You have everything and nothing to say to him. You settle on silence.

“I asked you a question,” he says against your knuckles, and your heart races at the change in his tone.

“Because it was time,” you say.

Hyunjin lets go of your hand, resting an arm behind his head and shutting his eyes. After a moment of silence, he speaks again. “You have to understand how confused I was.”

Your hands miss his contact instantly. But he scares you when he's like this- on the brink of clarity, and yet not quite there yet. He’s so unpredictable, and you know very well this could end a million different ways.

“I know,” you say.

You left Hyunjin in possibly the worst way you could. There wasn’t a screaming match, or a composed adult conversation on the matter. In fact, there wasn’t much of anything at all.

Hyunjin had been distant that week, locking himself away in the spare room and working on several different paintings for his upcoming gallery show. You hadn’t fought- at least not that he remembers. You had sex twice that week, once on Tuesday and once on Wednesday. It was September. The air was cold and the space heater had busted again. Little details you never forgot about that time.

It was the box cutter that gave it away. Carelessly left on the counter, thin white threads still caught in the serrated edges. Like a murder weapon he couldn’t be bothered to wash the blood off of. And while he was out, you took the opportunity to sneak into the studio, finding his latest victim tossed aside like his first one. A watercolor painting of a bridge, hues of browns and blues melting together where a giant gash now impaled the scene. This one unsalvageable, unlike the others.

It was then that you made your decision. Not through confiding in Jisung like he accused you of, nor your family or friends. But there, in the studio, as you held the painting close to you and wept for its loss. He was never going to change. It had felt like a lifetime of patching canvases for him, trying to fix him like you did his art. But Hyunjin made up his mind the second he took a box cutter to his work. And he did it again, when he shut you out, and again at his refusal to utter 3 simple words in the span of your relationship. It was the crime of insanity that drove you to the edge- repeating the same thing over and over, hoping for a different outcome. One that would never come- one that you owed to yourself to stop chasing.

And so you left- you took a small box of your things, and you requested your close friends relay the message to him that things were over. Hyunjin didn’t fight it- of course he didn’t understand why, but there were enough theories to reaffirm that this wasn’t some epiphany rooted in pure delusion.

“I wish you had talked to me,” he says. His voice is trembling.

“I wish you had talked to me, too.” You reply. “I wish a lot of things had been different.”

“You had to have known,” Hyunjin says.

“Known what?”

“You had to have known that I loved you.”

You look over at him now, a straight expression on his face still. He keeps his eyes glued to the ceiling above him, and for a second you’re not sure if you heard him correctly. It’s not until you release the breath you’ve been holding that he finally looks down at you, giving a small shrug. He breaks the silence with a loud laugh, and you’re confused by his actions all over again.

“It doesn’t matter,” Hyunjin says. “Because I’ll always have you.”

“You won’t,” you reply through gritted teeth. “That’s why I left. You’re not a part of me anymore.”

“No?” Hyunjin says, shifting his body toward yours, a wicked smile on his face. “You don’t still yearn for answers I haven’t given you? You don’t still wonder how things could have been different?”

He reaches out a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, and you melt into his touch. Your cheeks grow hot with his proximity now, and you scoot away just an inch, failing as he moves his whole body even closer to you.

“Look at you, you can’t even push me away properly. You’re mine, aren’t you?”

And without warning, his lips are on yours all over again, tongue dancing against yours as he adjusts himself to be positioned on top of you. You want to push him off of you, so badly, but your mind doesn’t let you, instead urging you to keep pressing your thighs together as overwhelming desire for him grows in your core.

“Hyune,” you say between his kisses, and a hand snakes around your waist, toying with the hem of your underwear.

“Say you don’t want this,” he says, pulling away to let you breathe. You stare into his eyes, now dark and pooling with intensity as he begins working kisses down your neck.

“Say it,” he says again, and you can’t.

You feel him smile against your throat, grazing his teeth gently over the skin before biting down harshly and earning a moan from your parted lips. His hands work their way into your underwear again, rubbing small circles against your clit as he pulls them down to your ankles.

“You’re this wet already?” He asks curiously.

Before you can process his words, your underwear and shorts are tossed off the bed, his hands wrapped around the backs of your knees to pull you closer to him. He sits up and observes your fucked-out expression before working little kisses and nibbles to your inner thighs, all the way up until he’s found your clit again.

“Please,” you beg, and he smiles. In slow movements, his tongue is pressed against your wet cunt, giving kitten licks to your clit as he rubs his nose along your folds. You gasp in pleasure, hands tangling in his hair as he lets out moans of his own that vibrate against your bundle of nerves. “Fuck,” you say, and Hyunjin loves every second of you losing it.

As he works you with his tongue, his other hand dips itself into your hole, filling you up and stretching you with two fingers.

“Fuck!” Ah- just like that,” you exclaim. “Please don’t stop.”

“I’m not stopping,” he says against your wetness. “Until you cum for me.”

“I’m close,” you echo, tugging on his hair and applying more pleasure to your clit. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

“Let go, baby,” Hyunjin says. “Cum for me.”

You find your release at his words, making a mess of your sheets and dripping onto his stubbled chin. He’s quick to lap up your cum, painting your thighs with traces as he kisses back down your skin.

“Turn around,” he orders quickly, sliding his own pants and boxers down, freeing his painful erection against his abdomen. You do as you’re told, flipping over onto your stomach and gripping the sheets below you.

One hand works his length over you, dripping precum in anticipation, while the other snakes around your throat and holds you still for him.

“Did you miss this?” He says as he enters you, and you moan loudly at the sensation of his throbbing cock stretching you out. “Always so good for me. You haven’t changed. So obedient.”

You can’t say anything in response, panting heavily as he thrusts in and out of you, feeling yourself nearing another orgasm as his hand finds your aching clit once again.

“You’re mine, right?” Hyunjin says again. “You had to have known I loved you. Fuck, I love you so much. You’re all mine. You know it too, right?”

You still can’t talk, moments away from your second orgasm now, the only sounds emitting from between you are those of your wet arousal and slapping skin. You feel tears pricking your eyes, overwhelmed with pleasure and racing thoughts, yet too aroused to form a coherent response to his words. The only sound that comes out is a sob, followed by your stream of tears as he grips your throat and fucks you harder.

“You’re crying,” he says, kissing tears up your cheek, but not slowing his pace. “You’re just an emotional wreck tonight, aren’t you? Me too, darling. You’re an extension of me, huh? I’m gonna come now, okay? I want you to finish with me.”

His hand moves to hold yours as he guides you through your second orgasm, filling you up with his hot load and fucking every last drop back into you. “That’s it,” he says, pulling out of you and kissing the remainder of your tears back up your face. “That’s my girl.”

*

At daybreak, the snowfall has stopped entirely, and the skyline is frosted beautifully in crystal white snow.

You’re the first to wake, Hyunjin still passed out beside you, a peaceful expression on his face as light snores escape his lips. It’s another sight familiar to you- Hyunjin’s innocent slumber the night after he’s used you so roughly.

Your legs tremble as you slip out from under the covers, making your way to the mirror where you take note of your disheveled appearance- your neck is painted with purplish bruises, eyes swollen from crying and hair tangled from being pulled. You envy the angelic way Hyunjin wakes after nights like these.

When you arrive in the kitchen, you start yourself a cup of coffee, slouching on the bar stool as you recall yesterday’s events. It hadn’t been a dream, but a strange turn of coincidences that led you to having sex with Hyunjin in your apartment. What was once a normal morning for you now felt more confusing and uncertain than it ever had before.

Your ringtone from across the room interrupts you, and you’re quick to answer to not wake Hyunjin.

“Hi Jisung,” you say quietly into the receiver.

“Hi! The snow’s stopped where you are, right? I just woke up and it seems to have finished here.”

“Yeah, it’s not snowing here either.”

“That’s good!” He says cheerfully. “I hope your night was okay.”

“Yeah,” you say plainly. “It was interesting.”

“Great! Do you still want to grab something to eat tonight?”

“Sure thing,” you say, desperate to end the call before Hyunjin can hear any part of it. “I’ll text you the details.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

And when you hang up, a familiar voice behind you is quick to make itself known. “You won’t go out with him tonight,” he says, making his way to the coffee maker to pour himself a mug. He’s so sure of himself, a small smile tugging at his lips as he works. Like he’s reading your future.

“Who are you to dictate that?” You retort.

Hyunjin smiles as he fills his mug, his shirtless back turned to you. “I know you,” he says simply.

“You don’t know anything,” you say to him through gritted teeth, quickly regretting what you’d done last night. You make your way back to the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed with your phone in hand as you watch Hyunjin pour milk into his coffee.

Jisung’s contact glows under your thumb as you fidget with the screen, pressing down on his name and then dragging away so that it won’t dial. You play the conversation in your end, debating what you could say to either him or Hyunjin to fix this- but your emotions are clouded with traces of yesterday, and nothing useful comes to mind.

As you weigh your options, you catch a glimpse of Hyunjin from the doorway, observing the way makes himself comfortable in the kitchen.

His box cutter tears through the previously sealed cardboard boxes, digging through his items for brushes and paints. He hums as he undoes all of yesterday’s efforts- confident, unwavering.

[springfallendeer]

Secret Arts and Crafts

A commission for @zenkaiankoku, featuring a new OC of theirs. Just a little something of a sneak peek/introduction to their situation. Nothing overly complex. 1600 words and some change.

Fear the daylight. For its ever reaching glow carries with it the watchful gaze of the Sun.

A gaze that is judgemental and full of vibrant, seething anger.

Anger that is intense. Like fire. Blazing and unrelenting in its destructive potential. So much so that any who dare to touch it are liable to find themselves burned beyond recognition.

Yes.

The daylight should be feared. For the daylight is the domain of the Sun. And though the Sun might smile and speak in a cheery tone, it is the opposite of friendly.

At least when it comes to anything outside of children.

He has learned this lesson the hard way.

Much like Icharus, who flew too close to the Sun in their hubris, he too had acted in arrogance. He had believed himself to be protected from the dangers of the blazing forces beyond the threshold. The forces that he knew had led countless others of his kind to ruin.

He drew too close to that ever forbidden light.

So close, in fact, that he inevitably fell under the ever watchful gaze of the ominously smiling Sun.

Then he was burned. Badly.

So badly, in fact, that he had very nearly ceased to be. So badly that it might have been better if he had succumbed to the damage done to his body, for now he existed as a deformed shell of his former self.

One which would be hunted down and executed if he ever dared to venture out into the light once more.

Only it wouldn’t be the Sun destroying him this time around. It would be the very people who he had once diligently served.

Which was how he had gotten into this situation in the first place. By daring to clean up after his masters, who likely would have demanded that he do just that had he failed to seek out the mess on his own accord…

He had only done his job. And he was punished for it.

Now he spent his days locked away, doing everything in his power to evade the ever present threat of the Sun. All while anxiously awaiting the arrival of the Moon, who brings with them the comfort of the darkness.

The Sun burns. It destroys. It murders and it abandons the remains of its victims in a secluded place where the masters will, ideally, never discover them.

The Moon, however, is surprisingly kind. Equally as observant as its counterpart. Equally as capable of descending upon those who unwittingly step into its domain.

Yet their grasp is anything but lethal.

The Sun spitefully dismantles. Whereas Moon tenderly repairs.

The Sun aggressively crushes. Yet the Moon lovingly embraces.

The same hands that were once used to rip his body apart are the exact same hands that went on to assure his survival. Those hands merely belong to different entities at different times.

The Sun roams the light. There, it uses its continuous gaze to meticulously scour its territory, in search for innocent animatronics to maim and destroy.

The Moon patrols the darkness. There, it uses its gaze to seek out those who are not meant to inhabit the night. And rather than seek those individuals out for the sake of destruction, it merely assures that they are escorted to where they need to be.

The Sun will kill you. The Moon will be your salvation.

…

But the night is limited.

The lights always feel as though they have been on forever. He spends so much time confined to the manufactured shadows, just waiting for the faint glow of the outside to disappear so that he can creep out into the open.

The closet that has become his home acts as the only barrier between himself, and the forbidden light.

It protects him from the horrors that exist beyond the threshold.

Yet it confines him. Imprisons him.

Being in here is akin to being a toy crammed into a tight box. One that wraps around his body so snugly that he scarcely has the ability to move.

He cannot step back. Nor can he really step forward. Not without opening the door. Not without exposing himself to the devastating light of the Sun.

The little light that he can see peeking through the small cracks around the frame is more than enough for him. Any more than that, and the Sun would surely take notice of his presence.

Well…

More notice of him. It isn’t exactly a secret that he is in here. Claiming a closet space that would otherwise be put towards arts and crafts supplies, which do not seem to get restocked at all.

Likely because the Daycare is closed and has been for years…

If not, then the masters would have discovered him long ago, and he would have been terminated for his many unauthorized upgrades.

Like his legs.

Legs which he was still trying to get used to.

They were heavy and awkward. Not at all designed to be put on a frame such as his.

Thankfully, he’s managed to at least figure out how to walk. Which took a considerable amount of time, considering that his kind did not typically have legs of any sort. So those first steps that he managed to take without keeling over were an achievement in their own right.

Awkward and unwieldy as they were, he did appreciate his new legs.

They were just one of many gifts from Moon.

Sweet, kind Moon. Who saved his life upon discovering him still alive but very much dying on the floor of the Sun’s room of terror.

They took him to parts and services and repaired him themselves.

While the end result was far from perfect, he was alive. And like any other animatronic confined to this horrible place, he very much wanted to be alive. Even if that meant being condemned to the life of a freak.

At least now he had a friend. Someone who genuinely cared about him and tried to find ways of making him happy. Even if they unwittingly confined him to long days of anxiety and terror.

If not for the threat of having the limited art supplies completely destroyed, the Sun would have ripped down this door and finished him off long ago.

Moon makes sure to reward their demented counterpart with little rewards of art supplies. Just to encourage them to leave him alone.

Just to reduce the amount of damage that will be done to him while Moon is sealed away by the forbidden light.

There are still days where the Sun rips open the door, just to terrify him with their presence.

Then there are days where he is picked up and shaken about like a toy. All while the monster of the daytime angrily rambles about how Moon is a monster that should not be trusted, and how he hates having unauthorized animatronics in the daycare.

Those days are the worst. Because his body will be left damaged and broken as a result of the Sun’s hostility.

There have been times where he lost the ability to move body parts. There were times where senses were completely disabled due to the damage done to his body.

More than once he was left blind. Which really made him uneasy, as the lack of eyesight meant that he could no longer take a guess as to when the Moon would appear to grant him some relief.

Yeah. Those days are the worst, due to what the Sun does to him.

But those bad days will often lead to some of the most pleasant nights. Nights where the Moon arrives to find him broken and afraid, only to gently nurture him back to health.

The hands that were used to damage him become tools to repair his broken form. Their once overbearing grasp becomes gentle and calculated. All while under the control of the Moon.

A smiling face that would otherwise terrify him becomes strangely gentle and appealing, when worn by the nocturnal counterpart of the Sun. When their warm tones fade to deep blues and soft whites, and their movements transition from jovial to mischievous.

The Moon was made to be the terrifying counterpart of the Sun. The one that tormented disobedient children and animatronics alike.

And for a time, they absolutely were.

But something had changed about them, as of late.

The Sun had become more chaotic. More violent towards those that were not children. So much so that even their misplaced displays of affection were guaranteed to lead to painful injuries.

Something had happened. Something that damaged them. And so the Sun had gotten worse.

But somehow, these same issues only made the Moon better. Softer. Far less violent and more willing to show empathy to the very beings that they would have previously tormented with absolute glee.

The night became salvation after years of being nothing but a time of terror. Because the boogeyman, ominous and forever present, suddenly became something of a benevolent mischief maker.

One who cared enough to take an obviously destroyed animatronic to parts and services to personally fix them up after discovering them in their room.

One who, regularly and consistently, went out of their way to take care of that very same animatronic once it became obvious that they could never return to their original purpose.

The flickering of the light shining through the cracks in the doorframe signals that the darkness will soon take hold of the daycare.

He will soon be free to step out of his closet. Even if only for a little while. And the Moon will inevitably arrive to check in on him.

His body sags in relief as he patiently awaits the final fall of night.

It will be here soon. Very soon.

He need only wait a little while longer.

[madly-empirical]

Has Hollywood Gone Batty? 

L.A. TIMES ARCHIVES

AUG. 29, 1993 12 AM PT 

Bravo to author Anne Rice (“Interview With the Vampire’s Picky Creator,” Film Clips, Aug. 22) for having the courage and honesty to publicly voice what thousands of her readers have been crying about for weeks: Tom Cruise is totally miscast as the Vampire Lestat.

Producer David Geffen is dead wrong about casting being solely a director’s choice. As members of the moviegoing public are the ones whose money will dictate how successful the film is or is not, any of the film’s financiers would be smart to listen to them (a great example of this would be the public’s choice of Clark Gable for “Gone With the Wind”).

If the screenplay remains true to its source in its dealings with the homoerotic relationship between the two lead vampires (as well as some subsidiary fangsters they meet along the way), I doubt that anyone could truly conjure the hopelessly hetero Cruise as a character actor strong enough to overcome his more-than-well-established screen persona of boy next door. His support from Geffen, himself only recently out of the closet, is curious, to say the least.

I find it ironic that the long-awaited transition of “Interview With the Vampire” from novel to screen is falling victim to another kind of bloodsucker--the Hollywood kind.

DAVE HUTCHINSON

Mission Viejo

P.S. Besides Jeremy Irons and Daniel Day-Lewis, how about three other fellow Brits for consideration, all with neck-biting experience? Gary Oldman has played gay men and king vampires with a lot of success. Or how about Julian Sands, from the low-budget wonder “Tale of a Vampire,” just released on video? And of course there’s always Ben Cross, who recently hung up his cape as Barnabas Collins in the “Dark Shadows” revival.

*

Fans of “Interview With the Vampire,” be they Cruise fans or not, must surely be aghast at his casting as Lestat. The milk-and-cookies star has neither the physical presence nor the range as an actor to effectively play the role.

Think of Dana Carvey as Dirty Harry, and you can see how implausible is the casting of Cruise as Lestat. Cruise flashing those fangs for the first time will likely engender unwarranted laughter from the audience, just as Carvey as Dirty Harry would saying “Make my day.”

With the attachment of director Neil Jordan to the project, this book seemed destined to become a fully realized artistic success after languishing for 15 years waiting to be made. Jordan should be capable of properly tackling the homoerotic elements of Rice’s sensual story, as he so ably proved with his tale of sexual ambiguity in “The Crying Game.”

Cruise’s experiment in stretching his acting range may be as painful for his audience to watch as Sylvester Stallone’s pathetic forays into comedy have been. And with the potential for a $200-million box office due to the wide public regard for Rice’s novel and the bunch-o-hunks cast producer Geffen has assembled, it is not likely that any changes will be forthcoming (as in Cruise realizing he is very wrong for the part and backing out).

Cruise as the Interviewer, yes. Cruise as Lestat (I’m still trying to stop laughing), no.

JEFF SOFTLEY

Los Angeles

*

Are they out of their cotton-picking minds? Say it ain’t so, Joe!

Back in 1978, when Rice’s “Interview With the Vampire” was first considered for a film adaptation, there was a short-lived plan to star John Travolta as the tormented vampire Louis. Now that scheme is look back on as preposterous.

But here it is 1993, and fans of Rice’s novel are forced to endure the same thing all over again, this time in the far more serious threat of Tom Cruise. Once again, the powers that be have decided to cast a young, “hot” actor they think will best pull in the big bucks, the character be damned (no pun intended).

But what was a bad idea in ’78 is a bad idea in ‘93, and oh, what a character to sacrifice! Here is a character so strong and affecting that he renders poet, novelist and National Public Radio commentator Andrei Codrescu, your Aug. 8 cover subject, momentarily speechless, and causes this same, nominally sane man to state, with apparent conviction, that an imaginary being “lives” in the Lafayette Cemetery.

Where Hollywood has erred, I think, is in the casting of such a familiar actor in the role. Vampires in general, and Lestat in particular, get their kick from their alien-ness, from their difference from the mundane. Tom Cruise is too well-known, too famous and too, well, Tom Cruise to achieve the kind of chilling strangeness the role demands.

If seems so sad to me that the studios give so much weight to the opinions of test audiences once their films are made and the money has been spent. Just this once, it would be nice if they’d listen to their audience before the damage is done.

LAURA S. KING

Anaheim

*

And I thought I was the only one offended by the selection of Cruise to play Lestat. Finally someone with sense speaks out. Thank you, Anne Rice!

Cruise, while perfectly able to play the All-American type, is not cut out to play this most ambivalent (in every sense of the word) character. If producer Geffen and director Jordan would get over the grosses of “The Firm” for just one moment, they would see the inherent problems with this gross miscasting.

Lestat is tall and sinewy, French and aristocratic, the owner of a long, blond mane. In other films, these characteristics might be altered, but not in this case. Many of Lestat’s physical characteristics are direct results of his having become a vampire.

The main problem with the casting of Cruise--indeed the casting of any of the “Vampire Chronicles” characters--is that reader identification and affection are unusually high; readers of the “Chronicles” feel that the characters are their friends. Rice is one of the best writers today at visualization. Reading one of her books is like creating a little movie in the mind. And it is highly unlikely that anyone was imagining Cruise as the vampire everyone loves to lust.

Mr. Geffen, Mr. Jordan, the box-office receipts will swell if you follow the book and the characterizations it outlines as faithfully as possible. Trust me.

ADELE BAYLESS

Los Angeles

*

There hasn’t been such bad casting since “The Bonfire of the Vanities,” and I suggest that producer Geffen look at the box office for that one, despite its being based on a best-selling novel, when he says casting is the job of the director, not a public opinion poll.

Perhaps, with Cruise as Lestat, all of Anne Rice’s fans will just stay home and reread “Interview With the Vampire.”

E. M. BECKMAN

North Hollywood

*

I concur, as would anyone with any taste and insight, that the Vampire Lestat must be played by someone with maturity, character, pathos and vulnerability, not a pasty-faced weakling.

What a shame. A marvelous story and movie are being ruined.

MICHAEL H. SUKOFF

Santa Ana

*

Cruise as the Vampire Lestat is inspired. To compliment this brilliance, Jordan and Geffen should consider cameos by Beavis and Butt-head. Heh-heh-heh.

MICHAEL ROBERTS

Twentynine Palms

*

Cruise as Lestat? Why not Bugs Bunny or Sylvester the Cat, and make it a real cartoon?

Tom Cruise--never!

GARY MANNING

Hollywood

[riverdamien]

A Place In Time-The Esquire Theatre!

("Sloughing Towards Galilee!")

"A Place In Time-- the Esquire Theatre!"

    Today as we remember September 11, 2001, I see it in light of the past; I remember growing up in Southeast Missouri, in a small town. We had a theatre named "Esqire" where my friends and I 

would hang out every weekend, and remember those times with much nostalgia. The truth is that theatre contained much pain for a queer kid, where he had to camouflage his sexual orientation for his friends and one that would continue for many years to come in the ministry.

Nostalgia forgets a lot of pain!

    Walter Bruggerman, whom I remember as my Old Testament professor in a nostalgic fashion as well, once wrote:

"Excessive nostalgia for a past that never existed will lead to violence against those who have taken from us what we falsely remember as in "Make America Great Again or Make My life Great Again!"

    The truth is we can only hold handfuls of life at a time and room must be made for what enters next.

    As I look at my past with nostalgia I also remember my anger, and my fear, which I carried over for many years toward others and myself. as I dealt with my "coming out!"

    The years that followed were good, but some of the most difficult in my life as I remained in the closet to be a minister in a denomination that was like most mainline denominations of the time anti-gay. When I returned to ministry I found my place in a queer denomination.

    Queers have difficulty being involved in religious groups that hold on to their past, even as they say they are progressive!

    On this day I remember the terror of September 11, 2001, and how that fear led us into a destructive war and many, many have died!

    Today we remember Father Mychal Judge, a gay priest, who could not acknowledge that because he would lose his priesthood who gave his life in the Tower's ministering to victims; He lived out his prayer:

"Lord,

take me where

you want me to go;

Let me meet who

: You want me to meet;

Tell me what You want me  to say and

keep me out of Your way."

    He let nothing get in God's way, even the falling bricks of a Tower, where he died!

    I also remember the prejudice that followed the falling of the Twin Towers, which continues today. My prayer is that as we remember 9/11 we move from nostalgic for those moments and hear these words:

"When some children become expendable

all children become expendable.

When some hospitals become legitimate targets

all hospitals become legitimate targets.

When some schools, mosques, and churches become acceptable losses,

all schools, mosques, and churches become acceptable targets.

And when some people live in fear for their lives because of who they are

none of us are free.

(from DesMoine Catholic Worker)

Deo Gratias! Thanks be to God!

===========

May the work of

“figuring people out”

Never replace the work of knowing people

And loving people

And giving them room

To confound

And inspire

And surprise me

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

30th Anniversary Celebration

Victor’s Pizza

6 p.m.

November 9, 2024

WE ARE BEGGARS! WE REALLY NEED MONEY--Really Badly At the moment!

FOR FOOD, SOCKS, HARM REDUCTION AND OTHER SERVICES!

P.O. Box 642656

415-305-2124

temenos@gmail.com

pay pal

www.temenos.org

(Temenos and Dr. River seek to remain accessible to everyone. We do not endorse particular causes, political parties, or candidates, or take part in public controversies, whether religious, political or social--Our pastoral ministry is to everyone!

Temenos Catholic Worker

P.O. Box 642656

San Francisco, CA 94164

Dr. River Sims, D.Min, D.S.T.

e

[dearviper]

Certain Dark Things Chapter 17: I Know

WARNINGS: 18+ (minors dni!); fear of rape/murder mentioned; stalking/shrine to stalking victim; blood/murder; unwanted touching/kissing (Check the replies for where to stop/restart reading if you want to avoid these while reading the chapter!)

Table of Contents | My Masterlist

Apart from any cameras Edward had hidden in his bedroom (and you wouldn’t put it past him), you were completely alone in the apartment. Your mind was racing, unable to land on any one worry for too long before another took its place.

Edward’s going to kill.

He’s killed before.

He’s thought about killing me.

He’s thought about worse.

“Our first time,” he had said.

He’s going to rape me.

He’s going to do it soon.

Not until his “guest” leaves though, right?

Who is his guest?

I’ll find out when he’s back from killing the mayor.

Edward’s going to kill the mayor.

Your thoughts ran in this circular nature and you began to spiral with them.

Jumping up, you looked desperately for something to distract yourself with. You began to snoop through Edward’s things, potential cameras be damned.

Based on the state of the living room, you weren’t surprised that his bedroom was somewhat of a mess. Despite his apparent penchant for minimalist decor, there were plenty of random knickknacks and articles of clothing strewn about.

You set your sights on the closet first. When you opened the doors, you expected something horrible to fall out (a skeleton in the closet, either proverbial or literal).

You were almost disappointed by the normality of its contents. He had only a few shirts and pants hanging there, and the bottom of the closet was filled with a pile of the rest of his clothes.

Briefly, you wondered if that was his dirty laundry or if he just couldn’t be bothered to hang them up. Probably a bit of both, knowing Edward.

Closing the doors, you moved on to his bedside table. It was surprisingly empty apart from a notepad and pen. As with the rest of his writing, it was practically unintelligible.

You expected more plots and plans, but the only thing the pad seemed to contain was a generic to-do list. It was probably the least incriminating piece of writing in the whole apartment.

Shaking your head, you sat down on the edge of the bed. Out of sheer boredom, you tried spinning the pen around your thumb. Most of the time it just fell in your lap.

“Ha!” you exclaimed in victory when you finally got it to spin. Immediately after, the pen dropped to the floor and rolled under the bed. You scowled.

Dropping to your hands and knees, you looked under the bed for it. Though you did find the pen, another object piqued your curiosity more.

Reaching past the writing utensil, you took hold of the shoe box you spotted and pulled it from under the bed. The box was clearly worn, but not dusty.

He must go in here a lot, you reasoned, standing back up and placing the box on the bed.

For a moment you hesitated, but your curiosity got the best of you and you flipped up the lid — and froze.

Right on top were Polaroids of you. In some you were sleeping, in some you were getting ready for work. In almost all of them, you were in some state of undress.

Your heart rate skyrocketed as you shuffled through them, each causing more duress than the last.

You should have stopped looking through the box then, but you couldn’t stop yourself. In morbid fascination, you delved further into his shrine to you.

The photographs had been resting on a pile of fabric you now recognized as the pair of panties you thought had gotten lost in the wash.

With revulsion, you noticed how unnaturally stiff most of the cotton was and immediately dropped the underwear. This wasn’t just a shrine — this was his pornography.

Your stomach twisted as you hastily threw the photographs back in and shoved the box under the bed where you had found it.

Sitting on the edge of his mattress again, you tried to calm your disturbed mind. When your nausea dissipated, all that remained was anger.

Just when you thought you knew of all his transgressions, you had found another. He did not view you as someone with autonomy- but no, that wasn’t quite true, was it?

He knew of your agency, and he got off on violating it. On taking it away from you.

Taking a few deep breaths, you tried to center yourself to no avail. Your hands were shaking with barely-contained fury, and you had to ball them in your lap to quell them.

In the rest of the time you were alone, your rage reached its zenith and then died down. Eventually, you managed to get a few hours of sleep in.

That sleep was interrupted when the front door banged open early in the morning. Unlike your room, Edward’s was not even remotely soundproof, and you woke up with a start.

Your heart leapt to your throat as you momentarily forgot where you were, and thought someone might be breaking into your apartment — until you heard his voice.

”Don’t worry, Commissioner, I’ve saved you our finest suite.”

Edward’s voice was muffled by the walls (and likely by his mask as well), but you knew it was him. There was a sound like something heavy being dragged across the hallway floor and then a door creaking open.

You listened with rapt attention, but no discernible sound came from the room.

After a few minutes, you heard the door slam shut and Edward’s footsteps down the hall. You quickly flipped onto your side with your back to the door and began taking deep breaths, feigning sleep.

Slowly, you heard the bedroom door creak open. Edward called your name softly, testing to see if you were awake. You did not respond at first, but then he called it again a bit louder and you pretended to stir.

“Edward?” you tried to murmur drowsily.

“Are you awake?”

“Yeah, I am now,” you responded.

Not like you gave me much of a choice, you thought irritably.

He was hovering outside the doorway with an air of uncertainty, concealed by the shadows of the hall. Though you knew he was waiting for you to ask about his night, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

Eventually, he took an impatient step into the room. You let out a gasp at the sight of him, your hand flying up to cover your mouth.

He was terrifying to behold. The mayor’s blood had dyed most of his clothing an almost-black shade of red. He still wore the mask, and his breath was coming through it heavy and wet.

The worst, though, was that he continued to approach you. All you could see were his eyes, but it was enough to strike fear in your heart.

His pupils were blown wide and his eyes jumped all across the room in a frenzy. Again, you wondered if he had a Drop habit. But his gait was too controlled for that, his movements too precise.

He stood before you, trembling in exhilaration. You didn’t dare speak, afraid of any reaction you might provoke. It didn’t stop him, though.

Reaching a gloved hand out, he caressed your cheek as he had so many times before. But this time you jerked away at the wet feeling of his glove.

You swiped your cheek and examined the residue he left behind. In horror, you realized that he had smeared blood on your face.

“Jesus Christ, Edward!” you shrieked, unable to control yourself as you tried to scramble away.

His hand closed over your collar, though, and he yanked you up to a kneeling position on the bed. You were almost eye-level with him like this, but desperately tried to look anywhere else beside his face.

He wasn’t having that.

His hand closed around your jaw, painting your face with more red and causing bile to rise in your throat.

“Riddler,” he hissed out. “Not Edward.”

You nodded frantically, too fearful to pull your face from his grasp. Tears were streaming down your cheeks, mixing with the blood as they continued their journey down your neck and to your chest.

Edward- no, the Riddler’s eyes followed their path with curiosity before snapping back up to meet your own.

“You look so pretty when you cry,” he crooned in that strange, altered voice.

He tried to wipe away your tears with his thumb, but ended up smudging a new streak of blood across your cheek. With his free hand he pulled off his mask, revealing the plastic wrap underneath.

“Take it off,” he commanded.

You quickly obeyed, unwinding the plastic and letting it fall to the ground. When you were done you started to lower your hands, but he caught one and brought it back up to his face.

For a moment, he simply held it there. You could see the hesitancy in his eyes as he deliberated before bringing your palm to his lips.

It was such a strangely intimate act, so incongruous with the violence of the situation that for a moment you forgot. Your lips parted and a soft, involuntary breath escaped them.

He paused, eyes flickering back up to yours at the noise. Then, he began to move again. He placed another kiss on your wrist, and trailed a few more up your forearm.

You were deathly still, unsure of what to do. He didn’t give you much time to think about it, though, as he suddenly crushed you against his chest.

His hungry mouth sought out your own as he kissed you sloppily. More aggressive than when he had kissed your palm, his teeth gnashed against yours and dug into the soft skin of your lips. You yelped in pain, but it just seemed to encourage him.

When you felt his hard length digging into your hip, you decided you had had enough. You pushed back from him, sucking in a deep breath to replenish your oxygen.

“The- the blood,” you lied, trying not to anger him. “The smell is making me nauseous.”

His hands were wrapped around your wrists. For a moment it seemed like he wouldn’t let go, but eventually he dropped them and left the room.

After a minute, you heard the shower turn on and breathed a sigh of relief. You glanced down at your stained clothes, vision swimming as it finally hit you that you were covered in a dead man’s blood.

Numbly, you traded your soiled clothes for a (hopefully clean) set of pajamas sitting on the chair in the corner of his room.

You turned off the light and climbed back into bed, though you knew you wouldn’t sleep.

A few minutes later, Edward joined you without asking. You did not protest.

Despite his shower and despite the fresh clothes, the smell of blood still lingered.

previous chapter | next chapter

[cafeacademic]

omg congrats on your milestone!!!! here’s to many more *clink clink*,,, anyways i loVED YOUR ‘off the record’ with fox, and i’m a s1ut for him sOOO maybe prompt 31? f/gn!reader is cool!!

Fox sluts unite I love that man so much. here is some pure smut for our man because he deserves some time off and a bunch of smooches. hope you enjoy my lovely thank you for all your support <33

also i saw that you were working on a new fox thing as well very excited for that👀👀

On Background

click above for AO3 link

Pairing: Fox x Reader

Rating: Explicit (You know the drill)

Warnings: PiV sex, oral sex (m receiving), orgasm denial, teasing, semi-public sex, some objectification of reader (but it's pretty tame)

Word Count: 2.2k

When Fox stumbled into your apartment one night, the first thing he saw was you slamming the door to your closet closed.

“You alright, princess?” he asked warily. He rolled his neck as he removed his bucket, trying to ease some of the tension of the day.

“Yep!” you said a little too eagerly. Fox closed the gap between the two of you, lifting your chin with his forefinger. You looked up at him innocently.

“What are you hiding?” he teased. Leaning into his touch, you smirked.

“Oh, just work stuff. Wouldn’t want to bore you,” you said. Fox narrowed his eyes but didn’t press you further. “Are you working the Chancellor’s speech tomorrow?”

“Don’t remind me,” Fox groaned. The Chancellor’s annual speech was never a fun night for the Guard; they often had to arrive early to help set up, listening to Palpatine fuss for several hours before the actual main event. If that wasn’t already draining, they often had to hear faux praise from the various elites that attended the event, though they knew that most considered them less than human. Sensing that Fox was getting lost in his thoughts, you reached up to plant a kiss on the tip of his nose.

“I’ll make sure to stop by then,” you said, snuggling into his hold. Fox rested his chin on the top of your head, enjoying the feeling of being held.

~~~

The next day, Fox was running around, trying to ensure that everything was set up for the Chancellor’s speech, at least security-wise. In between pretending to listen to the demands of Palpatine and downing cups of caf from the break room, he would respond to the silly comms you would send him. On typical days, you would complain about your coworkers or send him pictures of cute lothcats you saw on the holonet. Today, however, your messages were suspiciously short.

“Miss you xoxo,” your last message read. That had been nearly two hours ago, and Fox hadn’t heard from you since. It was probably for the best, considering how much work he had to do, but it still hurt a bit.

“Are you stopping by?” he tapped out a message to you. A few minutes later, his commlink buzzed.

“Something came up. Have to take the time to get ready for a work thing tonight,” you replied. Normally, Fox would have sulked at the fact that you couldn’t visit, but he was instead intrigued by the fact that you had followed up your message with a photo attachment.

He nearly dropped the comm when he opened the picture. You were laid out on your bed, crisp white blouse unbuttoned and falling off your shoulder. A thin, lacy bra covered your chest, the material a perfect Corrie Guard red. At the very bottom of the photo, Fox could see that your skirt was hiked up over your hips, allowing just a glimpse of the matching panties.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he typed back. He could imagine you smirking down at your comm as you tapped out a response, the image only making his half-hard cock press even tighter against his codpiece. A soft buzz alerted him to your response.

“Is it a good look? I’ve been told that we’re supposed to dress nicely for the Chancellor’s speech. Wouldn’t want to make a poor impression on my first time covering the event,”

Fox nearly groaned out loud; there would be no way he could concentrate if you were going to be at the speech tonight. All he would be able to think about would be how badly he needed to see you in the pretty lingerie you were wearing.

“You better behave tonight,” Fox responded. It was only a few seconds before your reply came.

“But where’s the fun in that, Commander?”

This time, Fox did groan out loud.

By two minutes into the Chancellor’s speech, Fox was already bored out of his mind. Instead of being on alert for attempted assassinations as Palpatine had requested, his eyes were scanning the crowd for you. The general comm chatter from his brothers had become a background hum as he searched for your telltale white blouse.

When he finally found you, he was almost embarrassed that he hadn’t noticed you sooner. You were sitting in the press box near the front, near enough that you could pick up all the details of the speech but out of the way enough that the Chancellor couldn’t see you. As if you could feel his gaze, your eyes immediately snapped to Fox’s visor. You bit your lip teasingly as you toyed with the top button of your blouse. Fox straightened his posture, hoping to convey as much warning as he could with just his body language. You either didn’t notice or didn’t care; likely the latter, seeing as you popped the button with ease and pulled your neckline open slightly, revealing just the top of the lace covering your breasts.

“Hey Fox, you see that girl in the press pit?” Thire’s voice cut through the comm chatter that Fox had blocked out. Thire’s comment, however, snapped him right back to his senses.

“What about her?” Fox snapped back a little too defensively.

“She’s cute, isn’t she? Keeps toying with the hem of her skirt,” Thire commented. Fox bit his tongue to keep from snapping at his brother.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind tearing that skirt off of her!” Hound added with a snort. Thire hummed in agreement. Before Fox could start yelling at his brothers, Thorn cut into the conversation.

“Hey, vod? I think that’s the Commander’s girl,” he said warily. Thorn was the only one Fox had confided in about his newfound relationship, and that was mostly because he had heard the two of you going at it in Fox’s office. A number of curses poured over the comm, and Fox smirked at the panicked apologies his brothers gave.

Turning his attention back to you, Fox noted that the second button on your blouse had also come undone. The crimson lace was now peeking prominently through your neckline, and you had a smirk plastered on your face. With a wink, you spread your legs in your chair slightly, allowing Fox a glimpse of your panties.

Faking an important message, Fox pulled out his comm and quickly tapped out a warning: “Keep that up and you’re not going to like your punishment,”

You checked your comm and responded quickly, still smirking. “Aww, can’t handle a little teasing?”

Fox growled quietly under his helmet. Just as he was about to type out a message back, he was roused from his thoughts by thunderous applause, signaling that the Chancellor had finished speaking. Mentally, Fox made a note to thank Palpatine for keeping it short this year. As soon as he was off the stage, he sent you a quick message. “My office. Now.”

You were already sitting on his desk when Fox entered his office, swinging your legs innocently.

“Fucking finally! I’ve been trying to get you alone all night!” you said, hopping off the desk and reaching for your lover. Before you could get to him, however, Fox scooped you up in his arms and pressed your back against the wall.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” he growled, voice still modulated by his helmet. You smirked up at him.

“What, you didn’t like my little show? I got all dressed up for you and everything!” you pouted, reaching to take off Fox’s helmet. His hand shot out and gripped your wrist before you could touch him.

“No way, sweetheart,” he said, grinding against you. “You’re not getting away with teasing me that easily,”

Holding you steady against the wall with his hips, he ripped your shirt in two, the remaining buttons flying around the room. He could still feel the heat of your breasts, even through his gloves. You squealed as he pinched your nipple through your bra, admiring how the bud peaked through the red lace. In the back of his mind, Fox worried that he was being too rough with you, that you might not like how he was touching you. His worries were calmed, however, when he saw the absolutely delighted look on your face as you squirmed out of his grasp and sank to your knees.

“Can I please suck your cock, Commander?” you batted your eyelashes. Fox nodded and you launched for his codpiece, getting the armor off in record time. You grinned devilishly at him as you pulled his cock out of his blacks, the tip already flushed a rosy brown and a bead of precum leaking from the tip. When you licked teasingly up the throbbing vein on the underside of his cock, Fox reached out to roughly tangle his fingers in your hair.

“Don’t tease. You’re in enough trouble as it is,” he warned. You obliged, taking him all the way down your throat in one motion. Fox swore loudly, trying to keep from bucking into your mouth. You worked what you couldn’t reach with your hand, twisting your wrist to spread the saliva that was slicking his cock. When Fox’s grip on your hair tightened, you pulled off of him with a pop.

“Was that what you wanted, sir?” you teased. Before Fox could scold you, his words caught in his chest as you began pumping him again, this time slowly working down him with your mouth. The modulated groans of the clone above you made you rub your thighs together for some sort of relief. When you thought he was distracted enough by your tongue, you slid a hand down between your legs.

“Oh, sweetheart. You just keep testing me, don’t you?” Fox growled, tugging you off of his cock by the hair. You looked down sheepishly, not having expected to get caught. Fox quickly discarded his helmet before yanking you back to your feet.

“‘M sorry, sir,” you said. Fox looked like he was going to fall victim to your puppy dog eyes, but he shook his head and adjusted you so he could have access to your clothed cunt. With two fingers, he slid the scrap of fabric to the side, inhaling sharply when he noticed how wet you were.

“Does putting on a show like that get you this wet?” Fox said, lining himself up with your entrance. “You know all my brothers could see you?”

“Really-- fuck!” your words were interrupted by the stretch of Fox sliding into you with one movement. Normally, you would’ve been upset that he didn’t touch you first, but you were so turned on that he slid in with little resistance.

“They were all drooling over you, sweetheart,” Fox said through gritted teeth as he fucked you. The slight jealousy he felt was obvious not just in his voice, but in the rough way he was fucking you, almost as if he was worried you’d disappear out from under him. You grabbed his chin and kissed him passionately.

“Mhmm, but you’re the only one who gets to fuck me, Commander,” you said when you pulled away from the kiss. “I’m all yours, Fox,”

That seemed to unlock something in Fox’s head, because he began fucking you with even more force, trying to get as deep inside you as he could with every thrust. He began to mouth at your collarbone, teeth grazing over the sensitive skin.

“Fuck, that’s right. Mine,” he repeated into your neck. You scrambled for purchase on the plastoid armor he was still wearing as he ruined you, moans pouring out of you too loudly for the only semi-private office. Neither of you seemed to care, though.

“Fuck, Fox, I wanna come,” you whined, shivering from when his groin rubbed against your clit with a well-angled thrust. Fox seemed to contemplate for a moment before grinning into your collarbone.

“No,”

“What do you mean no? Shit, Fox!” you cried out. Fox’s thrusts were getting sloppy, and you knew he was close.

“I mean no. I’m gonna fill up this pussy, and then we’re going to go home, and if you’re good, maybe I’ll let you come then,” Fox said, voice shaking slightly.

“Shit, you can’t be serious. Come on, I’m so close,” you said breathlessly as Fox’s hips snapped into yours with such force that you slid up the wall you were pressed against.

“Maybe you should’ve thought about that before teasing me all night,” Fox growled, breathing heavily. You whined in protest, but he had made up his mind. “Fuck, you’re all mine. I’m the only one who should get to see you like this,”

“All yours, Fox. Only yours,” you moaned, and that sent Fox over the edge. He bit down harshly on your shoulder to muffle his loud groan as he emptied himself inside you. Fox slumped against the wall, leaning into your body, and you pressed gentle kisses to his temple as he recovered.

“You know, I love you and everything, but I need you to get me home so you can fuck me properly,” you said, the serene smile on your face in sharp contrast to how needy you felt. Fox pulled back, leaving one last kiss on the tip of your nose.

“Are you ever going to learn to behave?” he said with mock exasperation.

“No, you like me better this way,” you teased back, making yourself presentable before pulling a lovestruck Fox out of his office, the two of you too enamored with each other to register the catcalls from the other guardsmen.

[todomitoukei]

Japanese vs. English Shigaraki - A Look At The 281 Speech

Thanks for reading!!

The speech from 281 is really interesting, especially considering that despite Shigaraki talking about heroes in general - specifically in regards to his own situation - it parallels Endeavor and the Todoroki family situation, so I’m going to talk about his speech, compare the official English translation with the Japanese version and also explain how it relates to the Todoroki family.

First things first, this speech can be treated as one long sentence. I’m breaking them all up by speech bubble/panel, but just keep in mind that these parts all string together and are building up on another (I am including the full speech at the very end of this!).

Right off the bat, Shigaraki’s speech starts with a sentence that, although about himself, is a perfect parallel to the Todoroki family.

「ヒーローというのはな。。。他人をたすける為に家族を傷つけるんだ。」

「ヒーロー ; hiro 」-> hero

「というのは ; to iu nowa」-> the meaning of … is~

「な ; na 」-> ending sentence particle to express emotion or an opinion

「他人 ; tanin 」-> other people; stranger; unrelated person

「を ; o 」-> direct object marker

「たすける ; tasukeru 」-> to save

「為に tame ni 」-> for the sake of

「家族 ; kazoku 」-> family

「を ; o 」-> direct object marker

「傷つけるんだ ; kizutsukerunda 」-> injuring; hurting someone’s feelings

= “The meaning of ‘hero’ is someone who hurts their family for the sake of saving strangers.”

What’s interesting is that the panel shows Shigaraki’s dad, showing that Shigaraki recognizes that he wasn’t the only victim in his family. Instead, his whole family was hurting as a result of his grandmother, a hero, leaving to help others.

“You heroes... pretend to be society’s guardians.”

「ヒーロー（おまえたち）は社会を守るフリをしてきた。」

「ヒーロー ; hiro 」-> hero

「おまえたち ; omaetachi 」-> you (plural)

「は ; wa 」-> sentence topic marker

「社会 ; shakai 」-> society

「を ; o 」-> direct object marker

「守る ; mamoru 」-> to protect; to guard; to defend

「フリ 」-> pretending to

「を ; o 」-> direct object marker

「してきた ; shitekita 」-> to have continued to do something

= “Heroes have continued to pretend to protect society.”

As you might have noticed, the official translation says “you heroes” whereas the fan translation I read just says “heroes” - which is due to the furigana (omaetachi) that differ from the actual reading of the word (hiro). In a case like this, the furigana represent what the character says, whereas the kanji (or in this case the katakana) represent what the character actually means. The official translation always either decides to include both words or just goes for one of them. So here, Shigaraki says “you” but the katakana let us know that he is addressing this solely to all heroes, not all of society, thus showing that Shigaraki doesn’t blame all of humanity. Even though his goal originally was the destruction of everything, he has since grown to care about the League and has already promised that he wouldn’t destroy the things they care about. With that, he clearly knows not everyone is to blame - there are people out there who are in the same boat as him, who are also victims of the same corrupt society. The heroes are the ones to blame and so he is going to directly address them.

Another difference is that the official translation says “pretend to be society’s guardians” - personally, I don’t think there is much difference between using the verb (to protect/guard) or the noun (guardian) here, but the Japanese text uses the verb.

There is, however, an interesting subtle nuance in here: shitekita. Shite means to do and connects to kita (past of kuru, which means to come). This form can express a continued change in a state for something that moves toward the speaker (doesn’t have to be physical). In this specific case, it means that the pretending has been going on until now, though it’s not specified whether it will stop or continue to be. It can also imply the involvement of the speaker. Not only is Shigaraki trying to put an end to this facade, but there is no telling when exactly the pretending is going to stop.

This next panel shows Endeavor, which is all too fitting considering the text: “Fow generations... you pretended not to see those you couldn’t protect... and swept their pain under the rug. It’s tainted everything you’ve built.” Sound familiar?

「過去。。。何世代も。。。守れなかったモノを見ないフリして」

「過去 ; kako 」-> the past

「何世代も ; nan sedai mo 」-> many generations

「守れなかった ; mamorenakatta 」-> couldn’t protect (negative past potential of 守る)

「モノ ; mono 」-> used to indicate a common occurrence in the past (usually written in hiragana)

「を ; o 」-> direct object marker

「見ない ; minai 」-> can’t see

「フリ ; furi 」-> pretending to

「して ; shite 」-> did

= “In the past… many generations… have pretended to not see what they couldn’t protect.”

An interesting nuance here is the word mono. As already mentioned above, this word is usually written in hiragana, whereas here it is written in katakana, which is done to emphasize the word. The word itself when used after a verb in the past tense as is done here, indicates a common occurrence in the past, in this case, it means that the inability to protect was already very common in the past. The use of katakana emphasizes even more that this wasn’t just a few cases here and there - instead, it was almost normal.

This line can also be seen as a reference to the Todoroki family, with Endeavor having been unable to protect Touya, yet the public doesn’t know about this - nor does he acknowledge what he has done to his family and how his own actions have led to Touya’s “death”.

「傷んだ上から蓋をして」

「傷んだ ; itanda 」-> damaged

「上, ue 」-> above

「から ; kara 」-> from

「蓋 ; futa 」-> cover; lid

「を ; o 」-> direct object marker

「して ; shite 」-> did

= “Covered up the damage from above.”

The fan translation worded this as “silently swept the filth of society under the rug” similar to the official translation, which basically expresses the same notion here - that of covering up the damage, pretending that it doesn’t exist instead of acknowledging the heroes’ failures.

This is also a continuation of the previous line: Not only does he pretend not to see the one he couldn’t protect (Touya), he is also sweeping that whole situation under the rug. He doesn’t give interviews, doesn’t let the public know about how he has treated his own family and the trauma he has given them.

「浅ましくも築き上げてきた」

「浅ましく ; asamashiku 」-> shallowly; miserably (adverbial form of 浅ましい)

「も ; mo 」-> adds emphasis, criticism, or commentary of the speaker to the whole sentence

「築き上げてきた ; kizukiagetekita 」-> to have (continued to) build up

= “It was built up shallowly.”

As already mentioned above, the mo in this sentence adds emphasis to the sentence, in this case, to show just how bad everything that has been built up has become.

The kita at the end of kizukiagetekita is similar to the shitekita in the very first sentence. In this case, it means that what has been built up shallowly has continued to be built up until now and it’s also unclear whether the process ends now or will continue even after this.

Again, this sentence can be treated as a reference to Endeavor, who has been building up his career, even more so since becoming the Number One, but it’s all so shallow, being the greatest hero, despite all the ghosts in his closet and despite his whole career being built on his selfish obsessions.

The official English translation wrote this as “it’s tainted everything you’ve built” which doesn’t quite capture the nuance of the actual phrase or the fact that what has been built up has been meaningless from the start rather than it having been tainted later on.

Shigaraki, in the English translation, then goes on to say “That means... your system’s all rotten from the inside... with maggots crawling out. It all builds up... little by little, over time.”

「結果中身は腐って」

「結果 ; kekka 」-> result; consequence; outcome

「中身 ; nakami 」-> contents; substance

「は ; wa 」-> topic marker

「腐って ; kusatte 」-> to rot

= ”As a result the contents are rotten.”

This refers to the whole “covering up the damage” part. Much like with food left in an opened container, the contents eventually spoil. Covering up the crimes and failings of the heroes doesn’t make those hidden secrets go away. If anything, it only makes them get worse over time, until -

「蛆が湧いた」

「蛆 ; uji 」-> maggot

「が ; ga 」-> subject marker

「湧いた ; waita 」-> hatched

= “Maggots hatched.”

Dabi rose from the ashes of Touya. Yes, I’m suggesting Shigaraki is more or less comparing Dabi to a maggot here (rude), but it’s nothing personal because he is also referring to himself; essentially him referring to all villains. People who society tried to silence and erase, but the villains are those that didn’t just become rotten as a result, but those who turned into a new person; one strong enough to stand up and fight back.

So while Endeavor had spent years not admitting to how his selfishness has led to the death of his own child and in a way pretended that never happened, the remains of Touya didn’t just stay in the box; they crawled out as a new lifeform - Dabi.

「小さな小さな積み重ねだ」

「小さな ; chiisana 」-> little

「小さな ; chiisana 」-> little

「積み重ね ; tsumikasane 」-> accumulation

「だ ; da 」-> to be

= “It’s a small… small… accumulation.”

Fun fact about this sentence: This exact phrasing first appears in chapter 236 when we get Shigaraki’s backstory in reference to his feelings, particularly his hatred, piling up over time when his family kept telling him to not cry:

And here’s the Japanese version for comparison:

This time, it refers to all those little maggots (=villains) mentioned before, who have come together and joined forces to become the League of Villains, who then grew in numbers even more by uniting with the Meta Liberation Army to form the Paranormal Liberation Front.

Reusing that same phrasing is basically saying that history will repeat itself if nothing gets changed. But every time, the pile gets bigger and so do the results.

“You’ve got the common trash, all too dependet on being protected,” Shigaraki says next in this panel showing random civilians, aka the “common trash”.

「守られる事に慣れきったゴミ共」

「守られる ; mamorareru 」-> to be protected

「事 ; koto 」-> nominalizer (similar to adding “to” or “-ing” in English)

「に ; ni 」-> express object of verb (similar to を but used for verbs with a nuance of motion/direction)

「慣れきった ; narekitta 」-> was too used to it

「ゴミ共 ; gomidomo 」-> garbage; scumbags

= “Scumbags that are too used to being protected.”

Narekitta consists of the words 慣れる ; nareru (to grow accustomed to) and the suffix しきる ; shikiru (to do… hard; to happen to the maximum) and added together they mean that someone is too used to something.

This part emphasizes the fact that those heroic acts create a false sense of security for society, with absolutely no one questioning anything. People want to feel secure, so they don’t see the flaws around them.

“And the brave guardians who created the trash that need coddling. It’s a corrupt, vicious cycle,” he continues, now showig a panel of heroes rescuing civilians.

「そのゴミ共を生み出し庇護するマッチポンプ共」

「その ; sono 」-> that

「ゴミ共 ; gomi domo 」-> garbage; scumbags

「を ; o 」-> direct object marker

「生み出し ; umidashi 」-> to create; to bring forth

「庇護する ; higo suru 」-> to protect

「マッチポンプ共 ; macchipanpu domo 」-> match pump; stirring up trouble to get credit from the solution

= “A match pump that creates and protects those scumbags.”

The words for garbage and match pump in Japanese both end with domo, which is a pluralizer. This shows that Shigaraki is making it clear that this is not just a single exception, but something that happens numerous times.

Match Pump is an interesting and fitting term to use, as it refers to someone causing a problem to occur, ensuring no one knows who the actual culprit is, and then solve the problem they caused to appear as the savior. The words themselves refer to an example of this, where someone sets something on fire with a match and then pretends to just arrive at the scene and pump water onto it, thus appearing as the hero that put out the fire, despite them being the one to start it.

In the case of the hero system as a whole, it’s because the heroes are the reason the citizens need them. Because some heroes cause the existence of villains, protect citizens from those villains and get thanked as a result. But citizens wouldn’t even need all that protection if it weren’t for the heroes that create the villains in the first place.

In other words, a pretty obvious parallel to the Todoroki family. Endeavor, being the one to have trained and then abandoned Touya. Touya then dying in a fire which - although not directly caused by Endeavor - represents Endeavor, a father who allowed that situation to happen. Touya died and became the villain, Dabi, which in turn gives Endeavor work and opportunities to present himself as a hero to society by taking down villains. The most notable example of this is his first proper debut as Number One, as he defeated the Nomu sent by Dabi. But that Nomu wouldn’t have been sent by Dabi if Endeavor hadn’t created Dabi, to begin with. Society can’t help but appreciate his work as a hero, despite not knowing that villains like Dabi wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for people like Endeavor.

The official English translation added the phrase “it’s a corrupt, vicious cycle” which doesn’t appear in the original Japanese text, but it is actually a pretty fitting statement. 

“Everything I’ve wittnessed... this whole system you’ve built has always rejected me,” Shigaraki says in the official translation, which isn’t necessarily wrong, but the word “rejected” isn’t exactly what he says, nor does it capture the point he actually makes. 

「これまで目にした全ておまえたちの築いてきた全てに否定されてきた」

「これまで ; koremade 」-> so far

「目にした ; me ni shita 」-> saw; witnessed

「全て ; subete 」-> everything

「おまえたち 」-> you (plural)

「の ; no 」-> particle to indicate possession, works like an apostrophe

「築いてきた ; kizuitekita 」-> have been building

「全て ; subete 」-> everything

「に ; ni 」-> by

「否定されてきた ; hitei saretekita 」-> has been denied

= “So far, everything I’ve witnessed has been denied by everything you’ve built.”

The kita at the end of hitei saretekita is, much like the prior sentences, showing us that this denying has been continuing up until now.

That whole hero facade and the heroes pretending their failures don’t exist by sweeping everything under the rug is the reason why people don’t see the League as victims. Little Tenko wasn’t helped and has become a villain as a result of that, but heroes don’t admit this. They don’t care about what Shigaraki has to say; they refuse to see the dark sides that he has seen and then label him as the bad guy instead of recognizing that their system is flawed. This is also why the English translation isn’t really that great here. It’s not just about him being rejected, it’s about the fact that his truth is being denied. The system doesn’t just turn him away at the door, it doesn’t acknowledge his existence, to begin with. An existence that is filled with injustice and pain.

“Now I’m ready to reject it. That’s why I destroy. That’s why I took this power for myself. Simple enough, yeah?”

「だからこちらも否定するだから壊すだから力を手に入れるシンプルだろ？」

「だから ; dakara 」-> so

「こちら ; kochira 」-> this

「も ; mo 」-> also

「否定する ; hitei suru 」-> to deny

「だから ; dakara 」-> so

「壊す ; kowasu 」-> to break; to destroy

「だから ; dakara 」-> so

「力 ; chikara 」-> strength; energy

「を ; o 」-> direct object marker

「手に入れる ; teniireru 」-> to obtain; to procure

「シンプル ; shinpuru 」-> simple

「だろ ; daro 」-> I think; don’t you agree?

= “So I also deny this, so I break it, so I obtain strength. Simple, don’t you agree?”

Heroes have denied the pasts and pain of the villains, so now the villains refuse to accept this society. They deny this system the same way it has denied them all this time, too. And although Shigaraki is referring to himself, you can also exchange the “I” for “we” to refer to the other villains like him:

We deny this - The villains oppose the current hero system.

So we destroy - When all else failed and no one would ever listen, their last option is to break everything so they have to make a change.

So we obtain power - By showing people the truth, the villains obtain power instead. They get their voices back and get to live again.

“I don’t care if you don’t understand... that’s what makes us... heroes and villains,” is the end to Shigaraki’s speech and yet this is where a big change is made.

「理解できなくていいできないからヒーローと敵（ヴィラン）だ。」

「理解 ; rikai 」-> sympathy; comprehension

「できなくていい ; dekinakute ii 」-> don’t have to be able to; it’s okay to not be able to

「できない ; dekinai 」-> unable to

「から ; kara 」-> because

「ヒーロー ; hiiro 」-> hero

「と ; to 」-> and

「敵 ; viran 」-> villain

「だ ; da 」-> to be

= “You don’t have to be able to understand. Because you are unable to, there are ‘heroes’ and ‘villains’.”

This is a very interesting statement and one that is entirely accurate. Shigaraki says it’s okay that the heroes are unable to understand the truth. After all, his goal is not to educate them, but to destroy the hero system. But it’s because of their lack of understanding that there are heroes and villains. If people like Endeavor didn’t exist, then villains like Dabi wouldn’t exist, either. If people knew and understood the truth about Endeavor’s past, then he wouldn’t be a hero. What is the difference between someone like Endeavor and any other criminal? The divide doesn’t make sense when the sides are so blended together.

Overall, this speech is Shigaraki addressing the heroes to call them out for this ongoing facade they put up, pretending not to see the truth, not to see the victims that aren’t good enough. And despite the fact this speech addresses heroes as a whole, it perfectly describes the whole Endeavor/Todoroki family situation, too. And what’s interesting is that during all of this, the heroes prove the accuracy of this speech by ignoring it completely. Particularly Endeavor, who should feel called out here, who just thanks Shigaraki for the monologue so he could regain some of his energy.

Endeavor himself needed to see what Shigaraki was talking about since he first shows an actual reaction once Dabi revealed himself to be Touya. Shigaraki hit the nail on the head, yet Endeavor chose to not listen and instead continued to pretend not to see, but Dabi doesn’t let him continue to pretend.

In a way, it’s fair to say that a continuous theme of this story is the whole “actions speak louder than words” - Shigaraki could write a whole book talking about the problems with hero society, yet Dabi had to show up and reveal to Endeavor that he’s Touya; that the first-born failure of a son that got tossed aside when he was of no use anymore didn’t just die for no one to find out what really happened. 

All these months of Endeavor regretting the past, yet not changing anything, not even acknowledging his wrongdoings; so now his own past came back. Because throwing Touya aside wasn’t the end. From the remains of Touya came a new lifeform - Dabi, who only exists as a villain because of Endeavor.

And with Dabi’s existence and Shigaraki’s existence, they can destroy the system that denied the pain of Touya and Tenko. 

It’s such a good speech that perfectly captures the problem of the hero society, yet both heroes and some fans ignore it. Still, ignoring isn’t enough because now it’s time for the villains to strike back and put an end to a system that creates victims, labels them as villains, and then pats itself on the back for putting them in prison instead of admitting who the real culprit is and instead of helping the victims back on their feet.

As I mentioned at the start, the entire speech is essentially one long sentence, so here’s the full text both in Japanese and English:

「ヒーローというのはな。。。他人をたすける為に家族を傷つけるんだ。ヒーロー（おまえたち）は社会を守るフリをしてきた。過去。。。何世代も。。。守れなかったモノを見ないフリして傷んだ上から蓋をして浅ましくも築き上げてきた結果中身は腐って蛆が湧いた小さな小さな積み重ねだ守られる事に慣れきったゴミ共そのゴミ共を生み出し庇護するマッチポンプ共これまで目にした全ておまえたちの築いてきた全てに否定されてきただからこちらも否定するだから壊すだから力を手に入れるシンプルだろ？理解できなくていいできないからヒーローと敵（ヴィラン）だ。」

“The meaning of ‘hero’ is someone who hurts their family for the sake of saving strangers. You heroes have pretended to protect society. In the past… for many generations… you have pretended to not see what you couldn’t protect. You covered up the damage, shallowly built it up. As a result, the contents are rotten and maggots hatched from it. A small, small accumulation. Garbage, too used to being protected. A match pump that has created and protected that trash. Everything I’ve witnessed so far has been denied by what you’ve built. And so I deny this. And so I destroy this and get power from it. Simple, isn’t it? It’s okay if you can’t understand. It’s because you don’t understand that there are ‘heroes’ and ‘villains’.”

[haddonfieldproject]

<<PREVIOUS⏺<<CONTENTS>>

1.3.13 SATURDAY NOVEMBER 1st 1:29 PM

Warren County, Illinois

Reverend Taylor snapped off his goggles and threw them down on his work table. He then put down his welding torch beside the goggles and inspected what he had done. Nodding approvingly, he picked the remote control up from the table. An old fashioned box shaped television sat on top of a behomith blue toolbox across the workshop. The Good Reverend, hit the VOLUME UP button and the room was filled with the voice of James Christian, the high profile reporter from Vision World News:

“You are looking live now outside of Haddonfield County General Hospital as we await Governor Kathleen Joyce of Illinois to come to the stage for an official briefing on the crisis situation going on in her state. As soon as she takes the podium we will cut in so we can listen together to what she has to say...”

Reverend Taylor held up his handi-work. Forging the symbol had not been difficult. He had decided that the pair of stainless steel chopsticks that his father had given him as a house-warming gift all those years ago to be the best instrument for the job. Stainless steel chopsticks had been quite the “far out” and novel thing to have in 1973, but he had maybe used them once in all those years. He was a meat and potatoes kind of man, rarely branching out from American cuisine, and when he did, he used a knife and fork like any normal red, white, and blue male. In Rev's mind, these pieces of retro utensil novelty had finally found a reason for existence in his house.

We all have our purpose, he had thought.

His welding torch was strickly that: a welding torch—-the small compact kind that he had bought at Hagan's Hardware Store fifteen years ago. What it was not, was a cutting torch, so heating one of the chopsticks to the point of severing the piece in two had been tedious, but it had been done.

Rev took one half of the now severed piece and flattened one end so it nearly matched the other, as neatly as he could. Then he took the other piece, and heated the center just enough to bend it into a right angle, forming two sides of a triangle. This piece, he then welded to the other, completing the triangle, but leaving about an inch of stick at the top and an inch of stick at the bottom. Like a straight vertical line merged with an arrow pointing to the right. Like this:

He then took the other chopstick and welded one end of this to the center of the long and straight piece to create a handle. This he held now as he padded across to the corner of his workshop and to the potbelly stove which stood there. The stove had belonged to his great grandmother when she had lived in a one-room shamble shack off Harris Road... what was then called Crow Coal Bluff.

Ina Shirlene Taylor sold the house, and her land on the “bluff” to Morgan Strode in 1906, who removed the escarpment from the landscape, scooped all the coal out underneath of it, paved Harris Road, turning it into a “street”, and by 1928, selling all of the land for retail development. The sight of the old Taylor shack was now the sight of a Crazy Chan's Chinese restaurant. The stove was the only relic from that old place, and now it most of the time gathered dust in Revered Taylor's basement workshop.

Rev opened the little door on the stove and stuck his masterpiece into the hot coals, leaving the handle sticking out of the hatch. He then turned toward the television. The Governor was taking the podium. Her expression, which generally always gave the impression of a lack of concern for the welfare of other people was enhanced by the severely short spikes adorning her head.

Reverend Taylor scoffed when he saw her, “But if a woman have long hair, it is a glory to her: for her hair is given her for a covering, sayeth God in Paul's testimony to the people of Corinth, chapter eleven, verse fifteen”, he thought to himself, pulling his little office chair from his work table toward the center of the room, and grabbing a seat in front of the television.

“Good afternoon.” The Governor began, “Beginning at midnight on Friday morning and ending at roughly eight o'clock this morning, an unfortunate and terrible series of events combined together to create a tragic state of emergency for our friends and loved ones in North-Central Illinois.”

The Reverend smiled to himself. The Lord hath made all things for himself: yea, even the wicked for the day of evil, sayeth Solomon's proverb, he thought.

Governor Joyce continued, “At 12 am on Friday October 31st, an extremely disturbed and dangerous patient by the name of Michael Myers escaped Smith's Grove Psychiatric Hospital during a routine patient transfer. We strongly believe at this time that he may be responsible for several deaths and injuries to persons both in Smiths Grove and Haddonfield. At this time, out of respect for the victims and for the integrity of our investigation we cannot give you the names of any of the victims or even an accurate count of the casualties.”

The Reverend stood up and walked to his work table, grabbing the gray oven mitt he had brought down from upstairs. The prophet Isaiah sayeth, 'I form the light, and create darkness: I make peace, and create evil: I the Lord do all these things.'

Rev put on the mitt and walked across the room toward the potbelly stove, listening to the Governor's speech: “In addition, approximatley twenty-four hours after Myers' escape, the brothers' Lloyd and Lee Chumway, two armed and dangerous and wanted individuals out of Biloxi Mississippi entered Warren County and were also responsible for several deaths in the area. Again we cannot turn over any names or any numbers at this time.”

Swinging open the door, Rev pulled what he had fashioned from the stove. The design on the end of the handle burned red hot. He looked at it with a smile and then he looked across the room. His basement was a long rectangular room with the stairs on one end, and the only window on the other. His work bench ran along one of the longer concrete-block walls. On the shortest wall, opposite the wall with the steps leading up into the rest of the house, was where the pot belly stove was, along with the furnace to the house and the large tank of the water heater. On the other long wall, opposite hit massive work table, stood his gun cabinet, his large blue tool chest that held up the television, and a long wooden table.

This table was mostly kept clear, and most often than not was for drying things that Reverend Taylor had freshly painted. The other table was littered with tools, pieces of wood, rolls of tape, markers, papers, and the like. On the wall before it was a peg board, with numerous pegs, on which were mounted various other tools and work utensils. The wall behind the opposite table was clear, like the table most often was, only now, the table was not clear.

The Shape lay upon the table.

Reverend Taylor had fastened a thick metal chain around the hulking body of the man, wrapping it several times around his chest and thighs, threading it through the bottom of the thick oak table, and locking it with a large padlock. The Shape lay on his back, with his blackened face to the ceiling, his feet slack to either side, and his arms by his side. He had not moved or made a sound since Rev had knocked him with the stock of his shotgun. The Shape's left arm lay palm down on the table, the blackened sleeve of whatever remained of his garment was down to his wrist. Reverend Taylor had turned The Shape's right arm however so that the palm was facing up. He had peeled back the sleeve—peel being a good word for it considering that large chunks of the man's burnt flesh had come with the sleeve, giving off a pungent sickly odor in the process. The underside of The Shape's forearm sat bare in the harsh flat glow of the basement's florescent lights.

The Reverend came toward The Shape now, holding his glowing brand before him.

“The mercy of the Lord is liken to a rose, but His vengance is liken to the thorn.” He spoke aloud, and then pressed the red-hot symbol down into the flesh of the forearm.

The Shape's head snapped back and forth, the feet began to move as well. There was a hiss as the steel cooked off a layer of skin, followed by a whiff of the odor of burning flesh. The Shape snapped up his right arm in a flash, knocking Reverend Taylor back. He stumbled against his office chair and crashed into the opposite table. A roll of masking tape and a red Solo cup filled with screws crashed to the floor, along with the brand, which hit the smooth concrete with a large TING!

Reverend Taylor watched, not wanting to move, not wanting to breathe even as The Shape bucked and thrashed in his chains for a few seconds, and then abruptly fell silent and still. The Rev gathered up the misplaced items off the floor and then took a seat in the chair with a long exhale.

It is finished, he thought with a smile. He turned toward the television. The Governor had been replaced at the podium by a face he knew well. Fred Colbourne, Deputy Fire Chief of Warren County. A member of the press in the crowd in front of the podium had raised her hand, Fred pointed to her.

“You say at this time you believe the fire was accidental, do we know how this fire started, how you came to that conclusion?” The woman asked.

Fred responded, “The fire originated from a supply closet near the front of the building. The closet had various flammable tanks inside and we believe that something caused ignition here and led to the explosion. We have not found any inciderary devices such as a bomb or a fuse or what-have-you that would lead us to suspect foul play, that being said, the cause of ignition itself still remains a mystery.”

Reverend Taylor smiled. The Lord works in mysterious ways, he thought.

NEXT>>

[rupertgayesarchive]

Dean should have to watch people hitting on Cas more because he would be caught between physical violence and being unable to do anything because ‘it’s his choice he can do better he should do better nobody should love me’ and he’d probably just melt

yeah, okay (takes place either pre-pilot or around chapter 43 or so)

The bar has bad lighting and worse drinks. Dean nurses a domestic while he plays pool, acts drunk and inexperienced so he can funnel in some easy cash. When he pulls his head out of the game he realizes Cas isn't where he left him at one of the nearby tables. 

He moves around the perimeter of the place; a few women at the bar catch his eye. He glances over and sees one of them wrapped up with Cas. Well. No. That's not really true - he knows Cas tends to veer back whenever most people try to show him a good time, barring Dean. He's sitting a polite distance away, but he's smiling, is the thing. She's fiddling with the strap of her dress like it just might fall down and show a bit more skin than what's already there, and she's talking to him about whatever, and it's making Cas's mouth quirk up in a way that he only shows when Dean's done something, said something, to get a reaction from him.

He pauses by the bar. He can hear some other people tittering around him, the music blaring from the old sound system on the other side of the building, the sound of billiards clacking. He doesn't hear what she's telling Cas, but then his smile gets wider. Turns into a grin that makes his eyes crinkle. Dean takes a breath.

He bums a smoke off of someone outside instead. Leans up against the cheap siding and stares at the cars parked all in a row. The Impala's off near the sidewalk - he and Cas drove together, figured they could shake down the locals for some info on their case, hustle a bit, get some drinks, and... He takes another drag of what tastes like Menthols. 

"Need a drink?" It takes him a second to realize someone next to him is speaking. He glances over at the bartender. Swallows. 

"Nah," he says. 

Cas comes out a few minutes later, nestled in a crowd. Dean spots the same woman pressed up next to him at the same time Cas notices him and starts to pull away. “Hey,” the woman says, “call me, okay?” Her friends laugh in response and drag her away. 

"Should I be jealous?" Dean asks, not jealous at all. 

“I think I have a lead. All the victims went to that gym in town at some point.”

“So you put the moves on the yoga instructor?”

“Kick boxing, actually,” Cas says. “She said she can give me a tour of the place tomorrow.”

“Right. Tomorrow.”

-

Cas doesn’t remember, is the thing. No family, no friends, nothing before that motel room in 2003. Dean can’t decide if that makes it better or worse, what they’re doing. If one day Cas is going to realize he’s been cheating on someone who’s been worried sick about him. Sometimes Dean wonders if maybe Cas will never find out what happened before. 

Sometimes - just sometimes - he thinks he might like it better that way. 

“What are you thinking about?” Cas says, next to him, “and don’t say nothing.”

“Um...” He pauses. Panics.

“You’re taking a while.”

“Most of my blood is not anywhere near my brain right now, Cas.” 

Cas makes a noise and sits up, stretches. Dean watches his silhouette as he goes into the bathroom, puts the shower on. He leaves the door open, not so much an invitation but just a sign that Dean can be there, if he wants, in the same room that's slowly growing humid.

-

The wannabe kick boxing instructor isn’t killing the locals - one of her students is. Dean gets her with a silver bullet while Cas protects the instructor before she can become missing person number four. They burn the body and get out of town. Dean glances at the little postage stamp sized houses on either side of the road, the flower beds and freshly painted fences. 

He drives until he can’t, anymore, and they stop at a diner. 

The server calls Cas ‘handsome’ when she slides him his burger.

“Do you ever think about -” He starts. Stops. Cas is already eating his fries.

“Huh?”

“It’s nothing.” 

-

The Vetala kisses Cas to try and paralyze him, is the thing. It looks like an attractive guy their age, dark hair, muscular, and it presses up against Cas and -

“You’re losing blood,” Cas tells him. He pants, looking down at the crumbled remains of the male Vetala. He slashed at its counterpart that was holding him back so he could get to Cas, and her ashes are somewhere behind him. Maybe. Who knows. Who cares.

“I’m fine,” he says, swaying. Cas’s hand closes on his arm. He shakes it off, over corrects, and nearly falls over. Cas drags him to the car and presses him between his body and the cool metal of the Impala. “I’m fine, Cas, I -”

“It’s okay,” Cas says. Dean shuts up. Fingers come up, thread through his hair.

Cas kisses him and heals him in one fell swoop. They stay like that until the metal at Dean’s back grows warm.

-

“I mean, a home, you know,” Dean mumbles, Bobby’s house in the rearview, “you ever think about - you know.” 

“Do you ever think about that?” He shrugs, regretting the train of thought already. They were in Sioux Falls for the past week, which meant eating home cooked meals with Pamela and sleeping in an actual bed, a library of occult research all in one place, somewhere they could put their clothes in a closet, if they wanted to. “...Maybe,” Cas says, eventually, “if it wasn’t just me there.”

“Yeah,” Dean confesses, “me too. Sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” Cas returns. Dean breathes out, once. Hits the gas and goes, Cas riding shotgun until he can't anymore.

[hoekaashi]

Imagine | S.H.

a/n: this isn’t the best but i’ll be damned if i don’t upload it after the shit i went through to write it. also based off the song imagine by ariana grande. pairings: shinsou x reader warnings: death, mentions of blood taglist: @suckersuki​, @babydabi​, @bakugoustanaccount​

As a pro hero, Shinsou had to work long hours and was always on the clock. Even when he wasn’t on duty, he still was. There would be mornings when you woke up and he was gone, not even a note left behind as he rushed out the door to fight whatever villain disturbed his sleep. But nothing had prepared the two of you for those two weeks neither of you saw each other - despite living together. It was difficult, you were working overtime and Shinsou’s schedule was never fixed. By the end of the second week, you had enough. You marched your way into his boss’s office and told him that Shinsou was taking an extra long lunch so the two of you could spend time with each other.

Shinsou still remembered how shocked he was to see you waiting at his desk when he came back from patrol. The smirk on your face was engraved in his brain. He swore he could still feel your grip around his wrist as you tugged him back outside. You took him to a small cafe that the two of you had been dying to try. It was a new cat cafe that opened up and you were damned if you would let another day go by hearing people rave about it without having gone yourself.

It was nice, just being able to spend time with each other and just talk. You told Shinsou about this new project you were working on to help rescue teams better locate hostages in unknown areas and he told you about a new group of villains who had been targeting the families of heroes. Shinsou never held anything back from you. He never understood the point of keeping things hidden and this case was no exception. Without hesitation, he told you about his concerns for your safety. You were a civilian, no formal training with your quirk. These villains had brought the best of the best to their knees due to their cruelty and it terrified him. He recalled the smile on your face when he told you that you were the reason he had been working overtime to catch them. He couldn’t sleep knowing that they were still out there and the possibility of them hurting you was too high.

After lunch, the two of you took a walk through the park. He held your hand tightly as the two of you strolled in silence. Well, it was silent until you squealed and ran out of his grasp. There was a pet adoption fair going on and despite the amount of times Shinsou told you that the two of you didn’t have the time to take care of a pet, it didn’t stop you from constantly bringing the subject up. He sighed and walked over to the dogs. You were playing with two of them and Shinsou couldn’t help the smile on his face as he watched the small fur balls attack you with kisses. You moved through all the animals present until you got to the cats. You couldn’t stop yourself as you picked up a black cat with golden eyes. Holding it close to your chest, you walked over to your boyfriend who was already prepared to give you the same, tired speech, but one look at you with the cat was enough to get him to forget everything he was going to say. That night, Shinsou came home early and found you with your new cat playing in the living room.

Shinsou looked over at Shadow who was happily munching away on his dinner. He ran a hand down his face before finishing the rest of the beer in his hand. That took place only a few months ago. He should’ve said no to lunch. He should’ve told you to go home and let him take care of his work. Raising the empty bottle, Shinsou was ready to throw it across the room, but ended up placing it on the dining table. He should’ve done a better job taking care of you. Maybe you would still be here with him then.

A few days after that, he got a text from you.

Except it wasn’t you. It was the group of villains he was chasing. They sent him a picture of you tied to a chair, unconscious and gagged, with dried blood that trickled from your head and down your face. They gave him a week. If he could find them in 168 hours, you would be allowed to live and go home with him. Shinsou found them alright, with your life on the line, how could he not? Unfortunately, he had missed his deadline by a few minutes. He found you, but you were dead. If the villains held their end of the bargain, you would’ve been able to be saved, but they were villains. Your death was a slow and cruel one. Paramedics had to pry him away from your body as other heroes checked for any other victims.

This would never have happened if he never asked you out. You would’ve lived a long life. You wouldn’t have had to deal with the fear of being held captive or the anxiety of whether you would make it out alive or not. Shinsou could only blame himself.

He was selfish. He never needed you. No, he wanted you. He craved you. If only he had better self control. What would your lives have been like if he was a normal person like you? No hero work or fighting villains. Just two regular people who were in love. He would’ve taken you on that road trip you always wanted to go on - cross country, stopping at all the spots you always wanted to visit. He never agreed to it because it would be too risky, just driving out in the open without anyone to call for backup if you two were attacked. But now? Shinsou wished more than ever that he had just listened to you and took you out on a trip.

He missed all the late night conversations the two of you had. It was a tradition that started before you moved in together. A tradition that helped him learn a lot more about you and himself. It didn’t matter how busy he was or what he was doing, when you called for your talks, he would excuse himself to listen to whatever you had on your mind that night. After moving in, those last night conversations felt even more real with your head on his chest and his arm around you. It felt like you were the only two people in the world. It killed him inside knowing that he would never be able to tell you another secret about him or hear your laughter when you said something deeper than he imagined and you saw the look of shock on his face.

Your laugh.

The way your laugh instantly lifted his mood. The way your smile brightened his day. He would never get to experience that again. Shinsou closed his eyes and tried to picture the last time he got to see you smile for him. He felt the tears begin to form as the memory was hazy. It hadn’t even been that long and yet, here he was, forgetting his favorite thing about you.

Slowly getting up, he made his way back to the bedroom you once shared with him. He remembered how he would always have to remind you to clean up your clothes that were littered around the room and how you would always brush him off and forget to do it. When he would come home from work, you would always have dinner ready for him - his favorite takeout - as a thank you since he would always end up cleaning your mess for you. Those nights would always end with you decorating the cuddle corner, as you dubbed it. The cuddle corner was an empty corner that looked sad in the room so you decorated it with a fuzzy throw blanket and pillows. Whenever you did this whole routine with Shinsou, you also spread flower petals everywhere that he made you clean up the next day, and the two of you usually sat there and watched a bad romcom until you fell asleep in his arms. Walking into the room now, the throw and pillows had been packed away. There were actually a lot of boxes filled with your things that were sitting in the room. Shinsou went through your stuff little by little, not able to make a lot of progress before breaking down each time. He taped off a box that said donations.

After your death, he contacted your family to ask if there was anything of yours they wanted to keep. Other than pictures and some jewelry pieces, they didn’t want anything else. They told him to donate whatever he didn’t want to keep around the place because that’s what you would’ve wanted him to do.

Shinsou picked up a picture of you that he had on his nightstand. He remembered that day so well - the day he first kissed you. He knew you were nervous the entire date and when you started rambling about how you never had a real boyfriend before, he pulled you in for a kiss. It wasn’t because he was tired of hearing you talk. No. It was because he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to know how your lips would feel against him. The entire date, he kept finding himself staring at them, wanting to know how they felt against his. They were soft and tasted like strawberries. When he pulled away, he heard you take a deep breath. It was from that moment he knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you.

Putting the picture back down, Shinsou looked back over at the closet. Some of your clothes were in a pile on the ground, barely anything of yours still hanging up. After putting the remaining clothes in a box and moving it to the side, he had one last place left to clean out. With a heavy heart, he made his way over to the dresser that the tv sat on. He opened the top drawer, unsure of what you kept in there. You were always adamant about having one place in your apartment that was all yours. Something Shinsou never knew about. And that place was the top drawer of the dresser. His eyes widened when he saw a bunch of CDs sitting in the corner. He picked one up, a date written on it. Shinsou placed it in the CD player and turned on the tv. Your face immediately showed up and Shinsou felt his heart clench. He gently touched the screen.

“Toshi stop!” you shouted at him. He laughed from behind the camera. “Stop it already!”

“Why, kitten?”

You looked away. “The angle makes me look like I have a triple chin.”

“It’ll be the same angle our children see when you feed them so what does it matter.”

You turned around, shocked, and slapped him in the chest. “Hitoshi, knock it off.”

The camera shook as he laid down. You sighed and joined him, resting your head on his shoulder. He turned the camera around so it faced the two of you. He kissed the top of your head and you looked at him, smiling.

“I mean it though.”

“What?” you asked.

“I want you to have my kids one day. Grow old together. Live out all of our dreams with each other.”

Shinsou didn’t realize when, but he found himself sitting on the end of the bed watching. Silent tears were rolling down his cheeks.

Your hand caressed his cheek as the two of you stared at each other, eyes filled with love. “You think you can keep me interested that long?”

“Kitten please, I know you aren’t going anywhere.”

“Bold of you to assume that. A new person got added to my team a couple days ago and he’s been flirting with me like crazy.”

Shinsou raised an eyebrow. “Good for him for practicing his lines with you.”

“I don’t know… If he asks me out, I might say yes.”

“Okay. Let me know if it goes well.”

You sat up, almost knocking the camera out of his hand. “Hitoshi!”

He sat up as well, placing the camera down, somehow managing to show you both in the frame. “Yes?”

“How could you say that?” you pouted. 

“Kitten, I don’t care who thinks they have a chance with you. At the end of the day, you always come back to me. Doesn’t matter who buys you a coffee or an ice cream, none of them know you like I do.” He grabbed your chin, making you look at him. He pulled your face closer to his until his lips were hovering over yours. “None of them will ever make you scream like -”

You shoved him away. “We’re in public,” you whispered harshly.

Shinsou sat back, resting his weight back on his hands. “That hasn’t stopped you from doing worse before.”

He laughed as you threw your sandel at his chest. Shinsou grabbed your hand and pulled you close to him. He wrapped his arms around you as you rested your head on his chest. “You can be with any other person in the world, but they will never love you the way I do.”

With his arm over your mouth, the rest of what you said wasn’t caught by the camera, but Shinsou didn’t need to hear it. He remembered exactly what you said. Closing his eyes, the memory came back to him as if this date was yesterday. 

“I’m never going anywhere. We’ll grow old together and tell our grandchildren stories about us. I love you so much, Toshi.”

Taking a deep breath, Shinsou opened his eyes. The tv was black. The clipped had ended. It felt like you were still there, in his arms. Wiping his face, he took the CD out and placed it back in the cover. He shuffled through the other CDs you had. Over the years the two of you had been together, you had collected around seventy little home movies. They varied, some of them shot on a camera, some from a phone, and there was a mix of the two of you filming. Gently removing them, he placed them on the ground. He needed to finish packing your stuff up. 

The following day, Shinsou gathered all the boxes for donations and drove off to a donation center. Dropping them off had been harder than he expected. The owners of the place gave him looks of pity the entire time, up until he had gotten back in his car. The news about your death had been out for a while, but he hadn’t been working since then. He never really left his house, his friends bringing him stuff he needed, his mother coming to keep him company every so often.

Walking back into the apartment, it felt empty. Not because you weren’t there, but because everything that reminded Shinou of you was now gone. The only things left were Shadow and the ring. The ring Shinsou was going to propose with once those villains were caught. He had been contemplating if he should return it to the jeweler or not. It was sitting in the drawer of his nightstand, collecting dust. He headed over to take it out. Shadow followed behind him, acting more clingy since your passing. Looking at the ring, he felt a heaviness take over him. What would it have been like if he was able to ask you? How would you look on the day of your wedding? Would your first kid be a boy or a girl? He had so many questions, all of them bursting out of him because of one ring. He closed the box and placed it back in the drawer. Shinsou walked back out into the living room and stood out on the balcony. He leaned forward and watched the city come alive as the sun set.

“I’ve never seen your eyebags this bad.”

Shinsou didn’t reply.

“And your hair's a mess. When was the last time you cut it - no! Washed it?” He could hear the disgust in your voice.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. It was all he could get out. 

“Why are you sorry? You didn’t do this to me.”

He dropped his head lower. “I should’ve saved you.”

“Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve.”

Shinsou covered his face with one hand as he felt a sob begin to erupt from him.

“You need to move on.”

“How?” he whispered as his voice broke.

“Go back to your life. Be the hero I know you are.”

“I don’t think I can.”

“I know you can.”

“I miss you. So much.”

“I never left you.”

Shinsou steadied his breathing. “I’ll make you proud.”

“I already am.”

He swore he could hear the smile in your voice, but when he looked in your direction, he realized he was alone. He sat down with his back against the railing and Shadow climbing in his lap. You were right. It was time for him to go back to work. He needed to show the world that the villains didn’t win. He wasn’t defeated. And he knew that you would always be there right beside him until he didn’t need you to be there anymore. Things would get better. He would get better.

[mysteira6]

FukaFlower - (Mother) Flower’s Day

Summary:

She stared at the object in her hands, eyes glued on the two red lines smeared onto the white strip of paper.

Right. She has to tell him. Or rather, she has to surprise him.

~*~*~*~*~*~

In other words, wow, we’re going there for Flower’s birthday AND Mother’s Day, aren’t we? :D

… Sorry for being so late. Let’s just pretend that it’s still 9th May, okay? ><;;;

You guys get a heaping amount of fluff at the beginning as my apology for not writing in forever. :’D

Also, fair warning: Flower is notably more feminine here than many people would perceive her. As is Fukase being more mature than most interpretations. Don’t get me wrong; I love tomboy Flower and child-like Fukase, but I also like perceiving them this way too ;3

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was just an hour after dawn when she woke up.

Thin rays of gold peaked from the horizon as the indigo hues from the wide expanse of the sky slowly faded away. In the passing minute, the scenery from their window transformed into shades of red, pink and orange while the sun rose, enveloping their neighborhood with its warmth.

Somewhere in that row of quaint houses was where the waking woman lived in. A humble two-floored home consisting of everything she could ever ask for. A kitchen to cook in, a living room to relax, recording rooms for musical expeditions, amenities… And the shared bedroom where she would spend all her spare time with her beloved husband.

The white-haired figure shuffled restlessly, even while lying down on her bed. She took care to not wake the still sleeping figure next to her, but the temptation to just shake him awake was unbearable. After all, how could she stay still? From the moment she fell asleep the night before to the early hours of the morning, she was well aware of how special today was going to be.

And also of how much her heart was pounding as she relayed her plan over her head once more.

Just stick to the plan, Flower. She firmly reminded herself, fearful of the one-in-a-million chance that she would forget about it at the last minute. Leave it in the box, get him to reach in and let the conversation flow from there. Not too hard for you to handle, right?

A minute of silence later and all she could do was sigh in frustration. It was not unjustifiable, however; it was already a known secret between all of their friends that between the couple, she was anything but the fun type. Even after she had spent so much time with the red-haired joker, it was impossible for her to really pull off a fun-filled trick to anyone else, much less to do so at the man who was able to see through her every stoic façade. It would be no surprise at all if he managed to see through her plan too, she realized. And for that to happen would be… 

Under the sheets, Flower slowly raised her left hand to her face, slowly sweeping her right fingers across the silver band on her ring finger, as if her subconscious was reminding her of exactly who she was thinking about. Ah, how could she forget? That the man she was about to try and trick was none other than her husband? The one person in the whole world that she had dedicated her life to her secrets, her weaknesses, and even her moments of joy?

As she pondered, she was filled with renewed vigor. This occasion was certainly a joyous one, and whether or not he saw through her procedure to unveil it, she was going to share it with him regardless.

Shuffling a little more on her bed, Flower reached over to the closet-door compartment of her bedside table, occasionally glancing back at the sleeping man on the other side of the bed in case he suddenly woke up. It certainly didn’t help that he had his back facing her, giving her no hints on whether his eyes were wide open and awake or closed in soundly slumber. The young woman eventually gave in to her taking the risk and assuming the latter.

Gradually rotating her body to the side, her hand stretched out to pick up the mostly-empty, cardboard box laying behind the wooden door, taking extreme care to not shake it around even a little bit, knowing that the small object within was sure to rattle if she did.

A quick visual and kinesthetic inspection of the apparatus managed to calm her heart slightly, seeing that everything was still in there (and not damaged in any bit, thank goodness). She spared no second in setting it up properly, placing the box upright and relocating the white, flat item in its proper place. With the preparations complete, it was finally time for phase two.

That is, waking him up and convincing him to play a game.

While she was still a little nervous, to boot.

Flower tried to take in a deep breath to calm herself, though much to her dismay, it could only help her so little. Was this how Fukase felt when he proposed to her? Feeling a deeply rooted sense of anticipation and excitement flowing through his entire body, almost ready to burst out of him while carrying the weight of nervousness on his back like rocks? Was he worried if she’d say no to him? Of course, he would, wouldn’t he? Who could really tell him that his girlfriend of so many years would still say yes to his proposal to be his wife?

Suck it up, Flower. You’re better than this. A last-minute attempt to push herself to go for it; pep-talk. This is Fukase, we’re talking about. Your husband, no less. He’s been with you through everything; singing together, chatting together, spending time together… He devoted his very existence to be with you and do everything with you. Have more faith in-

“Mmrph…”

Speak of the devil. His muffled groans were so sudden that she nearly dropped the box in her hands. Setting it aside on the floor next to the bed, Flower stared at the digital clock on the table again, its digits reading ‘08 30’, the time when they would emerge from their bed and prepared for the day ahead. She heaved a last breath of air for encouragement. Show time.

Quietly, she spun around to face the back of the snoozing redhead, though it was clear that he had moved slightly, as if ready to wake up. The young woman bit back the urge to just glomp on her beloved and beg for his attention on her special day, instead skimming her fingers through his soft, fluffy scarlet curls. A fitting payback for the countless times that he would wake her up by ruffling her own hair.

A smile that rivaled the cheekiness of a little trickster slithered to her lips. “Fukase…” She murmured in the quietest tone she could muster, keeping one hand buried in his hair while another gently held his left shoulder sticking out in the air, shaking it slightly. “Fukase, wake up.”

“Mmm? Fi… Five more minutes…” The groggy young man tried to inch deeper into the covers as if evading her attempts to pull him from the depths of his slumber. Despite the audible beating of her heart, Flower was certainly having none of that, and only advanced in swinging his body back and forth with a little more force. “I don’t have five more minutes, sleepyhead.” She uttered in mild impatience, saying each word bit by bit as if she was hesitating. It was only natural since the usually quieter, shyer Flower was a complete stranger to putting on a cheeky front, but since today was so special, she decided to give it a shot anyway.

“Can you get up? Please?” She pleaded after seeing that Fukase hadn’t moved for a few seconds, thinking that he might have actually gone back to sleep unknowingly. “I won’t stop messing with your hair if you don’t.”

“Go ahead and… mess it up anyways…” He grumbled, though his tone sounded more affectionate than annoyed. “I’ll just comb it back to normal when I wake up-”

“Then… I won’t stop shaking you back and forth. Like this-!” As if to emphasize her point, she propped herself on her right elbow, giving herself more leverage to rock Fukase’s figure even more. Though she managed to sway his body to lie flat on his back, it did nothing to tug his eyelids open, his sleepy chuckles indicating that he was still not waking up.

“Gonna have to…” He paused to yawn before mumbling again. “Try harder… than that… Flowie…”

The mention of his loving nickname for her sent a wave of warmth coursing through her. It was almost enough to distract her from her original objective and coax her to snooze by her lover’s side for the whole morning. Perhaps for the whole day, too, seeing that neither of them had any work to do for a good 24 hours.

Fortunately for her, it was only almost enough. And if she really had to ‘try harder’ to wake him up…

A knowing smirk and a bit of maneuvering later, plus a light pat on the redhead’s temple, and Fukase soon opened his eyes to the most flustered position he could ever be in. Straddling on top of his lying figure was his gorgeous wife, her shimmering violet eyes gazing at him with her loving adoration and a glint of mischief. In the now ivory rays of sunlight, Flower’s snow-white hair seemed to be sparkling, even the black streak sitting atop her scalp and the ebony highlights peeking from her neck. While she remained there, clothed in nothing else but one of Fukase’s shirts and her underwear, a playful grin was written all over her face, fully aware of the growing red blush spreading across Fukase’s cheeks.

No doubt was he wide awake at this point, though it was a struggle to keep his voice from trembling in excitement. After all, Flower just seemed to know exactly how to push his buttons and Fukase considered himself lucky and unlucky to fall victim to her knowing touch. “G-good morning, Flower…” His words came out in an unsure whisper that made Flower’s heart swell with pride. “Um, why are you uh…”

“Hm?” The young lady in question only fluttered her eyes innocently as she leaned her face close to his while gently caressing the intricate scars embedded on his left cheek, a remnant of a fire accident in his youth that caused the entirety of his left side to be riddled with darkened skin. For a long time, Fukase refused to let anyone see his full body disfigured and cursed to look hideous forever, let alone allow anyone to lay a finger on his skin and trigger a flashback of the trauma that was cruelly bestowed on him on the day of the accident. It was one of his defining features when they first met; him being the boy who would pat the shoulders of his friends to comfort them and ruffle the younger singers’ hair as a sign of affection, but would refuse to be hugged or touched by anyone else.

Though as they had seen through the past few years, Fukase’s fated meeting with his wife was the exact cure he needed to fully overcome his past, the exact remedy he needed to allow the love of his life to see beyond his appearance and love him just like any other human being.

As soon as Flower’s fingers left his face, he found himself sighing at the loss of her warmth, aching for it to return. “Fukase…” She cooed flirtatiously, her intense gaze on his ruby eyes making his heart skip a beat. “Is it working?”

“Wh-what’s working?” An uncharacteristic stutter from the usually confident man gave Flower the courage she needed to position her elbows squarely by his head, bringing her face even closer to his and making him anticipate a passionate kiss.

“Are you… wide awake now?”

“Yeah, I am.” He answered quickly, hoping that his voice did not sound shaky anymore. It had only been a few minutes and granted that he wasn’t wearing anything to cover his chest, but having Flower lay on top of him like this was getting him way too excited in the wrong place. “I’m uh, wide awake now, princess.” He hurriedly declared, trying to prop himself on both of his arms as a way to get out of bed fast. His efforts, however, were only foiled by Flower’s asserting hold on both of his wrists, pinning him back to the bed and certainly not helping out in keeping his inner passion in check.

Instead, the redhead was forced to keep watching his angel lean in close, close, closer to his face once more, not breaking eye contact for one single second as her lips barely brushed over his. No doubt it was her way of teasing him so early in the morning, all because he just wouldn’t wake up to the strangely provocative-in-the-morning Flower.

Hm. Something was up, wasn’t it?

Before he could confirm such a thought, and thankfully before he was about to give in to the fire that had been burning within him for a while now, Flower gave him a simple smooch on the cheek and rose from her straddling position, resuming her original spot next to Fukase on the bed, the latter who still hadn’t sat up properly after bearing witness to his lover’s inner seductive nature.

When he finally regained control over his limbs, the young man gradually raised his upper body off the bed, turning slightly to converse with the cross-legged lady next to him. “What, not gonna give me a proper good morning kiss?” He quipped, trying to reclaim his lost confidence.

Flower only giggled in response. “I just did, didn’t I?”

“Felt more like a nip than an actual kiss.” He casually commented, a hand lightly rubbing the spot where she had landed her soft lips on, a milder yet still present redness on his face. “Seems unlikely for you, my dear ice-queen-who-never-seduces-me.”

“Hey! It’s my special day.” The aforementioned ‘ice queen’ protested childishly, shifting her body away from the quipping man. “You have to spare me for being a bit cheeky for once.”

“A ‘bit’ cheeky?” A combination of doubt, suspicion and a dash of jest rose in his tone as he crossed his legs and his arms, facing the now beaming woman. “Flower, do you know how much of a tease you were back there?”

Her answer was in the form of a question, though it sounded as if she was replying in certainty as well. “Yes…?”

“And do you know what I could’ve done if you kept doing it?” Fukase continued, narrowing his eyes at her as if to intimidate her.

A sly wink was his answer. “I know~”

“ … You would be totally fine with me doing it, wouldn’t you?”

He could hear the smile on her face, even if she hadn’t whipped her head around and flashed a cheeky smirk at him. “Maybe~” She cooed before turning around again.

That look on her face, burned into his memory, was both alluring and annoying to him. The former, since it was so rare to see her emit such a daring and downright enticing persona, and the latter since her being such a tease was an even rarer sight for him that he would never get used to. Instead of acting on either of those urges, Fukase opted to crawl towards his wife, wrapping his arms around her petite waist in a tight hug from behind. The sensation of him nesting his chin on her right shoulder, effectively leaning against her face, cued a startled gasp from the unsuspecting woman, though it was soon followed by a melodious chuckle. He loved hearing her laugh.

“You are absolutely insatiable, you know that?” He remarked lovingly, letting out a relaxed sigh.

“So are you.” Came as her spunky reply, though that didn’t stop her from relishing in his warm embrace, placing her palms against those pressed against her waist.

All was still for a while as they sat there, sharing each other’s presence in the silence of the morning. Between their busy recording sessions and composing their songs, such peaceful moments between them seemed scarce, which was exactly why they both had come to treasure them so much.

“By the way,” Fukase suddenly spoke, breaking the momentary silence. “Happy birthday, dear.” He continued, brushing one of her stray hairs behind her ears with his right hand, as if to unveil her beauty to himself.

“Thank you.” Despite her calm composure, the blissful, congratulatory phrase had set a reminder ringing in Flower’s head. Right, how could she forget? A morning of fun-filled quips between the couple had nearly swept her plan under the rug. Her eyes darted to the ground next to the bed once more. The box was still there. And from the looks of it, so did her earlier trepidation and nervousness return to her senses.

The longer she held it off, the more likely she was going to forget about it for the rest of the day. Now or never.

“Ahem,” She slowly began, gradually moving herself away from Fukase’s arms as she approached the edge of the bed. “Before we get today started, because I know you definitely have a plan for today-”

“Only natural if you want to celebrate your lover’s birthday in the best way you can~” He joked, winking at the girl in question while he crossed his arms again, as if recalling his own schedule in his head.

“I figured you would.” She nodded, hands reaching down to finally grab the nearly forgotten box lying on the carpeted floor. “But before that… I need a favour from you.”

“What is it?”

Seeing him willing to comply sent a wave of excitement coursing through her, boosting her confidence in picking up the cardboard box and placing it right in front of her, keeping the opened side of it facing her while the side with a circular hole was facing Fukase. In her usual, straight-to-the-point tone, she spoke. “Just stick your hand in this box.”

“ … What?”

To say that the redhead was confused was a huge understatement, seeing that one, his wife might be seductive or cheeky, but in no way would she ever pull a trick like this, and two, what in the world was even in there?

“Are you trying to copy those reality TV shows or something?” He laughed whole-heartedly, shifting a little closer to the box. “Like when they put a fake cockroach or a live toad in the box?”

When the white-haired girl didn’t reply, only stifling her giggles under her breath, the light in his eyes slightly faded. “Y-you didn’t actually put something absurd in there, did you??”

“Nooo…” If only he could see what was really in the box…! Instead of holding it off any longer, Flower simply held the upright box and nudged him again. “There’s only one way to find out what’s in there so…”

Though he continued his skeptical gaze at her, Fukase went ahead and raised his hand anyway. “I guess  it is your birthday, so I’ll comply. But if I get my hand chopped off by a baby alligator-”

“Fukase, do you think I could fit a baby alligator in a small shoebox like this?”

“So it’s something small?” He narrowed down verbally, about to reach in until he retracted his hand at a terrifying thought. “Is it a spider?”

She couldn’t hold back her giggle. “No, it’s not.”

“Is it…  slime?”

“You know how I hate touching those things, let alone expect me to leave one in there for you to hold it.”

He held up his spare hand as if surrendering. “Just making sure that you weren’t pulling my leg. Or arm, I guess.” He reasoned, seeming to eventually give in and squeeze his hand through the hole while Flower tried her hardest to restrain her eagerness. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how he would respond to all this, let alone sit still as she watched him.

From the back of the box, Flower could see a rough coarse left hand swinging around cautiously, as if Fukase had already forgotten how he deduced that the mystery object in the box was likely smaller than he thought. The sight of his fingers skittering across the cardboard walls made her snicker so much that the redhead took the hint and just went straight for the bottom of the hollow space.

Only to come in contact with a flat, rod-like item that rattled every time it moved. Something that was made out of plastic and was quite long. A quick grab-and-drop of the object proved that its weight was nothing to scoff at; for a rod small enough to fit a shoebox, it was rather… heavy… Wait… 

“So…?” Flower’s voice shivered a little, likely due to both her nervousness and her anticipation of his answer. “What is it?”

He didn’t respond for a few minutes, the initial cheerful aura that was always present on his face gradually ebbing away, the reality of what he was holding sinking into his head. The young woman’s heart was threatening to sink to the depths of her chest too if it weren’t for his free right hand springing out and latching on hers, conviction dripping from his unusually low tone. “Flower, please tell me if I got this wrong.”

Half-letting go of the box and interlocking her fingers with her lover’s, she spoke softly. “What is it?”

“This… This is a…” As if for further confirmation, his left hand held the object inside once more before dropping it again. “This is a pregnancy test, isn’t it.”

It didn’t sound like he was asking a question but she decided to answer him anyway. “Yes, it is.”

“And today… Today’s also Mother’s Day, isn’t it?”

So the ultimate trickster managed to see through why she decided to tell her today of all days? To that end, Flower giggled again. “Yeap…”

“And this…” The atmosphere in the room felt as if a huge revelation was about to drop on the floor. “This is actually… yours…?”

There was no stopping the brightest expression that was spreading all over her face, through her wide, sparkling smile and radiant eyes, and even to the rapid nodding of her head as her other hand reached into the box in front of her, holding the test kit before the both of them while gently shoving the now forgotten box to the side. The natural lighting of the room was more than enough to illuminate the two very visible red lines contrasting against their pale white background. He didn’t have to look at the guide written next to the small window to understand exactly what was going on.

The fingers clenched around her left hand tightened. For a long, nearly unbearable silence, Fukase stared at the test kit, then at Flower, then back at the test kit over and over again. It was only when his other hand reached for her face that he ultimately spoke in the shakiest voice she had ever heard. “Th-this isn’t a joke… right?”

The overwhelming emotions bubbling inside her rendered her unable to speak, leading her to shake her head enthusiastically enough times for her husband to get the hint that she wasn’t joking. At all. “Y-you’re… You’re really gonna… holy shit-”

What happened next went by way too fast; both of his hands flying to her wrists, exerting enough force for him to pounce on top of her as she laid on her back on the bed once again; his body being propped up on his elbows while his fingers searched for hers, his face dipping low to land a long, very well-deserved smooch on her soft lips as both of them closed their eyes, enjoying the bliss of their intimacy; one lasting kiss following another as he smothered her with physical blessings of his undying adoration of her; his forehead naturally perching itself on top of hers as his eyes shuttered open again, greeting his lover, his wife, his everything with the most tender gaze any woman would envy for.

“Oh my god.” It was a barely audible whisper, but the still flabbergasted look on his face spoke volumes of what he was feeling. So did the small beads of saline water slowly dripping down his eyes. “Oh my god, Flower.”

“I know.” An almost voiceless reply came from the usually sharp voiced singer as a hand shot up to rub his tears away. She couldn’t tell if she herself had started crying too. “I just… I can’t believe it either.”

“You’re going to be a mom,” The sheer joy in his heart bleeded through those words. “And I… I’m gonna be… a dad.”

“Are you nervous, Mr Mad Hatter?”

Though he was still sniffling, Fukase sulked at the childish nickname. “That was from ages ago, darling.” He commented with a single choked up laugh. Even though it was a fitting name for the still humorous and top-hat wearing Fukase, it felt like way too long ago when she would call him that. “Besides, aren’t you speaking too highly for someone who’s been trembling all morning?”

“I wasn’t trembling that much.” She protested, raising a small finger to sweetly boop his nose, musing at how odd it felt seeing that his usual red cross was missing (normally, he wouldn’t have it on until they were out of bed). The red-haired man chuckled at the gesture, returning it by caressing her face as if it was a precious jewel, seeming to wipe her cheeks clean of any remaining tears streaking her face. “I beg to differ. After all, you were trying to pull a trick on me, weren’t you?”

“Like I said before, it is my birthday.” As if mimicking him when he successfully pulled a prank on her, Flower stuck out a tongue like a child would. “And I’m so happy that I got to spend it with you, dear.”

Hearing that cued him to slowly rise from his hovering position, allowing Flower to sit up a second time as he continued. “And speaking of which, now that you’ve completed your plan, it’s time for me to execute mine.”

She laughed amusingly. “Oh?”

“I did have a plan of how to spend your birthday with you, you know.” He winked knowingly as he stretched across the bed to reclaim the nearly forgotten pregnancy test kit and fateful shoe box. “Of course, I’ll need to make some minor tweaks here and there, but I intend to still follow it through, you know.”

Flower could only beam at her husband’s ever-present devotion to make her special day even more special for her. It was one of the thousand of things she loved about him. “I can’t wait.” She gleefully declared as she too approached the edge of the bed, ready to doll herself up for the day ahead.

While Fukase slipped on a spare tee and made his way to the bathroom, a quiet mutter slipped out of his mouth. “Looks like the night plan’s gonna need a replacement…”

“What night plan?”

“N-nothing!!”

The young lady only raised a palm to her mouth as she laughed once more, watching her lover duck behind the door and fully aware of what he meant by those words. Indeed, how in the world did she gain the affections of such an amazing man?

One thing was for certain; it was going to be her best birthday yet.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

by the way, I kinda want to have an idea of how much my one-shots have impacted the fukaflower army, so I would appreciate it if you would answer this poll really quickly, thank you!!

https://www.strawpoll.me/45273276

[crimemagazine]

The Otaku Murderer

Tsumoto Miyazaki. There's a chance you have never even heard that name before, so who is he? Despite the fact that Miyazaki grew up to be one of Japan's most sadistic killers, he started out as an insecure, quiet child.  

In august of 1962. Tsumoto Miyazaki was born prematurely with a birth defect that kept him from bending his wrist completely. Due to the defect, he spent most of his childhood alone and was often bullied by others.

Even though he was not a social student he was a successful one, ranking in the top 10 of his class. Going into high school he had hopes of becoming a teacher, but his dreams were not met. His grades began declining. He went for being in the top 10 of his class all the way down to 40th. The reason for his grades declining stays unclear.  

The Miyazaki family was well known in the Itsukaichi district of Tokyo. His father owned a newspaper. Tsumoto was supposed to take over after his father retired but he showed no interest in doing so.

Miyazaki became convinced that his family only cared about his financial and material success. “If I tried to talk to my parents about my problems, they’d just brush me off,” claimed Miyazaki. He felt that his younger sisters despised him but he was fairly close with his older sister.

The only person in his family that he didn’t despise was his grandfather. Miyazaki considered him to be the only person that cared about his personal interests.

In college Miyazaki’s strangeness deepened severely. He took ‘crotch shots” of young women on the tennis courts. He looked through pornographic magazines but soon became bored with those as well. He stated that they “black out the most important part.” In 1984 he began looking at child pornography which wasn’t yet illegal in Japan.

Then in 1988, What experts now believe was the turning point for Miyazaki, his grandfather suddenly passed away. Family members saw a momentous change in him immediately after. The said that he was caught spying on his little sister while they showered and even attacked his mother at some point.

Miyazaki admitted himself that after his grandfather was cremated, he ate some of the ashes so that he could “feel closer too” his grandfather.

Despite all this, the worst was yet to come.

One day after his birthday in August of 1988, Miyazaki kidnapped four-year-old Mari Konno. According to Miyazaki, he simply approached her outside, led her back to his car, then drove off. He then drove to a wooded area and parked the car under a bridge. He waited in the car for half an hour and then murdered her. He then proceeded to remove her clothes and rape her corpse. He left her naked body in the woods and took her clothes home with him. For several weeks he let the body decompose in the woods, checking on it occasionally. Eventually, he removed her hands and feet and kept them in his closet at home. He then called her parents. He didn’t speak, but only breathed heavily into the phone. He then sent the little girl’s family a box that contained a photo of the outfit Mari had been wearing when she disappeared, several small teeth, and a postcard with a message, "Mari. Cremated. Bones. Investigate. Prove.”

In October of 1988, Miyazaki kidnapped a second little girl. This victim was seven-year-old Masami Yoshizawa. He spotted her walking home, and offered her a ride. But the little girl never made it home, instead she was driven into the woods, where she was murdered, her corpse raped, and left naked in the woods just like the first victim.  

Within the next eight months, Miyazaki would escalate as two more children would go missing both young girls, and both in the same manner as the first two.

Four-year-old Erika Namba was soon kidnapped, like Yoshizawa, while walking home along the road. However, this time Miyazaki forced her into the car, and made her take off her own clothes in the back seat. Miyazaki took pictures of her, murdered her, and then tied her hands and feet. Rather than leave her body at the murder scene, he put her in the trunk of his car under a bedsheet. Then, he dumped her body in a parking lot and her clothes nearby in a wooded area. Like Mari Konno’s family, Erika Namba’s family also received a disturbing note. It read: “Erika. Cold. Cough. Throat. Rest. Death.”  

Although this is very disturbing Miyazaki was far from done. His last victim was the most disturbing of them all.

Miyazaki abducted five-year-old Ayako Nomoto in June of 1989. He convinced her to let him take photos of her, then murdered her and took her body home, rather than dumping it in the woods as he’d done before. At home, he spent two days sexually abusing the little girl's body, photographing her and masturbating, as well as dismembering the body, and drinking the little girl’s blood. He even ate part of her hands and feet. As soon as she began to decompose, Miyazaki dismembered the rest of her body and deposited the parts in various locations around Tokyo, including a cemetery, a public restroom, and nearby woods. However, he began to fear that the police would find the parts in the cemetery and two weeks later he returned to retrieve them. After that, he kept the body at his home in his closet.

Miyazaki was finally caught as he was attempting his fifth kidnapping. In July of 1989, Miyazaki spotted two sisters playing in their yard. He managed to separate the youngest one from her older sister and lured her to his car. The older sister ran to get her father, who arrived to find Miyazaki taking photos of his daughter in the car. The father attacked Miyazaki, and got his daughter out of the car but was unable to subdue Miyazaki, who fled on foot. When Miyazaki came back for his car, police captured and arrested him.

After arresting him, they conducted a search of his car and apartment, which turned up incredibly disturbing evidence. In Miyazaki’s apartment police found over 5,000 videotapes, some of anime and slasher films, and some homemade videos of himself abusing the girl's bodies. They also found photographs of his other victims and pieces of their clothing. And, of course, they discovered the body of his fourth victim, decomposing in his bedroom closet, her hands missing.

Throughout his trial, Miyazaki remained incredibly calm. Reporters noted that he was almost undaunted about his arrest and entirely unaffected by the things he had done or the fate he was facing. He answered questions calmly, and appeared almost rational in his thinking, even though he had committed senseless, horrifying crimes. When Miyazaki was asked about his crimes, he blamed them on “Rat-Man,” an alter-ego who lived inside him and forced him to do terrible things.

Psychoanalysts who examined Miyazaki during the trial pinpointed his lack of connection with his parents as an early sign of his disturbance. They also noted that since he had no connection with his family, he had instead turned to a fantasy world, including manga and slasher films, to give him solace. Meanwhile, his parents publicly disowned him and his father refused to pay for his son’s legal fees. His father would later commit suicide in 1994.

After his 7-year trial the courts eventually found Miyazaki guilty, and eligible for the death penalty. In 2008, his sentence was carried out and Tsutomu Miyazaki, the Otaku killer, finally answered for the terrible crimes he committed. He was hanged.

[maomao-words]

Hello there! May I request Gavin x MC where she’s a medic and happened to be entangled in a hospital hostage scenario because of some deranged patient then Gavin who’s in a mission found out after hearing the news or something? Then she’s just downplaying the event and maybe her injury just so he doesn’t worry? Thank you so much!

You guys sure like your Medic!MC (✿´‿`)

I think it’s quite clear at this point but I adore angst! Please keep sending me angsty requests because I live for them! *glance back at the 546 other fluffy and sweet requests I have and nervously laugh* I’ll get down to those shortly, I swear!

My ask box is still open for the moment!

Trigger Warning: A touch of angst, blood-shed, near-death experience.

MLQC Gavin and a Medic!MC who got caught in a hospital hostage situation:

Dried blood.

That was the first thing Gavin saw.

The once snow-clear walls of the reception area of the hospital were stained with the rich and deep color of blood. The marble floor, where few bodies covered in a white cloth were waiting to be transported, also carried the bloody trails of last night’s tragedy. Wails and muffled sobs could be heard from every corner of the vast room, and police officers trickled in and out of the place, barely withstanding the heavy metallic smell dripping from everywhere.

Flashing his badge at the official standing near the entrance, Gavin took his first steps into the hospital. At his sight, a young man dressed in a black uniform moved from his position and came closer to him. Without bothering to greet each other, few whispers were exchanged between the two and a thin document was handed to Gavin.

With his duty fulfilled, the young man lightly bowed and moved to leave when Gavin’s quiet voice echoed in the silence.

“Where is he?”

The man blinked in confusion at the question, a frown immediately appearing between his brows.

“With all due respect sir, but this is outside of your jurisdiction. The director only ordered for you--”

One single glance at Gavin’s face was all it took for the man to swallow his tongue. The cold, cruel and ruthless eyes that were gazing back at him were wordlessly screaming at him to shut the fuck up before he tore his throat out. It took a mere heartbeat for the man to decide which choice was worth more: Revealing the whereabouts of the deranged monster who just killed four people in one night or risk having his eyes gouged out by the equally dangerous man standing in front of him?

The decision made was easy enough.

After being handed the rest of the documents he demanded, Gavin silently watched as the guy deeply bowed at him this time before hurrying over to the exit as if afraid he will be asked to hand out his life next.

Once the man was out of his vision, Gavin turned to focus all of his attention on the few papers in his hands, which resume the happenings of the previous night... the night he almost lost you for good.

The report cited that the night started out normal. The hospital you worked for was considered one of the best in the area, yet due to its relatively small size, it tended to get too crowded at times. It was already past midnight when the first signs of trouble started to appear.

Gavin flipped a page and continued reading. At a corner of the next paper was a half-torn image of a man. Underneath it, it was recorded that he was admitted to this hospital a few days ago due to a dislocated jaw and several broken ribs caused by a savage brawl at a bar. The man’s situation was not dangerous enough to threaten his life, but the document registered the various precautions the hospital had to take during his stay due to his peculiar identity. The man carried a heavy medical record as well as a pretty bloody criminal history. The hospital, which was extremely concerned about the safety of its staff and its other patients, requested the transfer of the man to another major hospital that was secured enough to dismiss any worries. Due to the serious circumstances at hand, the transfer was approved as fast as possible, but unfortunately, it was not fast enough to prevent an entire massacre from occurring.

It all started with one of the nurses in charge of the floor the man was kept at. A young woman barely out of her residency training was found on the floor of his room, bleeding to her death through the multiple gashes in her head and stomach. Near her was an empty bed filled with blood-stained bandages.

The man was nowhere to be seen.

The doctor who entered the room an hour later was the next victim. When he first stepped inside, he found the room shrouded in full darkness except for the faint light coming from the window. The doctor cursed inwardly at the incompetent nurse who was not doing her job properly and tapped his hands around the left wall until he found the light switch and flipped it on. It took a few seconds for the doctor’s eyes to get used to the now bright room and to step forward. The scene which greeted him, however, was not one he ever expected and was unfortunately the very last one he will ever come to see.

Suffocated to death. Gavin read in bold letters as unrestrained rage started to boil once again in his veins.

Once the doctor’s lifeless body hit the floor, all hell broke loose as the man’s appetite for blood was awakened.

The next two victims fell prey to the man quite quickly as the clock neared two in the morning. Their bodies were stashed away in a supply closet out of everyone’s sight as the psychopath made his way down to the reception area, where you were at

Gavin sighed and rubbed his exhausted eyes. His fingers stopped moving, refusing to turn the next page.

He could still hear your broken voice over the phone after you begged one of your colleagues to call him as you bled to death on the cold, hard floor.

Gavin has been barely sleeping for half an hour after finishing up with his most recent mission when the familiar tune of his phone woke him up. His brain, muddled with sleep, did not register your very first words. He hummed in exhaustion, slowly turning his aching body in the bed and struggling to focus on what you were saying when the sounds of your sobs finally hit his ears.

“--Just know that I love you and that I- want... I want you to be happy- even without m-me-”

Your last words were broken, so full of anguish and grief and Gavin was fully awake in a heartbeat. He could hear police sirens in the background but he could not understand what was going on. But before Gavin could even start to formulate a question, your weak voice started up again.

“Take good care of your--self, baby,” before the line was abruptly cut off and only eerie silence remained.

A gentle tap on his shoulder snapped Gavin out of his thoughts and he turned around to greet Anna. She weakly smiled at him and his eyes traveled down to her bandaged arms before asking her how she was feeling. After the call was cut off with you, Anna was the one who reached out to Gavin to inform him of what was happening and to urge him to hurry back to you.

Anna told him how the lunatic tried to choke the first medic he laid eyes on, the minute he steeped into the lobby of the reception area.

That medic happened to be you.

Once your screams and wails reached the ears of the few nurses and doctors close by, they all came running for you. The man, instead of feeling cornered, seemed to enjoy the new attention that came with trying to kill you, and only increased the strength of his fists around your neck, threatening to snap it if anyone came near.

The situation was too fragile for anyone to directly attempt to get him away from you, but the police has been contacted already at that point, and all was left was to pray that the lunatic won’t kill you before they arrive.

Once the maniac realized that all exits were blocked and that the police was on the way, he recognized that his ‘game’ with you has come to an end and started to nervously glance around for a way out. Taking advantage of this moment of panic, Anna flung herself at him in an attempt to loosen his hold on you but the man’s stolen scalpel was faster than her and he ended up slashing your neck in the struggle.

Anna was sobbing her heart out when she delivered the news to Gavin and barely managed to tell him that you were rushed to an emergency surgery before Gavin was up on his feet and out of his hotel’s room.

Anger, frustration, bitterness, anguish, hatred and guilt all welled up inside of Gavin’s chest until all he wanted to do was scream until his throat was sore. His eyes were burning and his chest felt heavy as if it were filled with lead as he drove back to Loveland city at dawn .

Gavin felt as if the world was crumbling around him the moment he laid his eyes on your bruised figure helplessly laying on the hospital bed.

In the few hours it took for you to finally open your eyes and to smile weakly at him, Gavin felt as if he was stuck underwater, with everything slow and warbled around him. Only when he tenderly held your hand and gently kissed your knuckles that Gavin finally felt able to properly breathe again.

But things were far from being over.

Gavin was not planning on putting last night’s massacre to rest until the lunatic tasted hell itself.

That was the oath Gavin swore as he turned around to smile at Anna before gently knocking on your hospital room.

[cpd5021]

Secrets

Hello and welcome to yet another multi-chapter fic I’ve started, despite the fact that I haven’t finished my other two yet. I like to have options, mmkay? This is an AU fic that, for the most part, will follow along with the story lines set in the show, just tweaked a little to add one small detail.... 

This first chapter is set in episode 5x18 and sets up this fic for future chapters. Most of this chapter is basically a recap of that episode but there are details added in to set my stage. It is definitely the longest chapter I’ve written for any of my fics so get some snacks! 

      The day started like any other, the team got word from Antonio’s CI that there was a large shipment of liquid meth changing hands today and Antonio was able to arrange his undercover ego to be there. They had scrambled into their vehicles, ready to surround the area and bring this guy down. Hailey found herself grateful once again for what an amazing partner Jay was, as she sipped the coffee he had brought her, the only thing keeping her warm on this cold and rainy Chicago day. Everything seemed to be going to plan, until of course, it wasn’t. The sound of gunshots echoed through the abandoned lot, causing the team to jump into action. Jay rounded the truck around the corner, coming to a stop beside Kevin and Adam as they knelt over one body. Hailey immediately jumped out and began searching the area, drawing their attention to blood scattered across the floor and following it’s trail. Hailey entered the building, calling out “Chicago PD!” when she noticed the body. She made her way over, Jay close on her heels and knelt before the injured man. She could hear Jay behind her, calling for medical but his words blurred as recognition settled into her. 

“Kelly?” The man recognized her too. Of course he did, they had only spent over a year together on her undercover gig. “You’re a cop?” She tried to give him a small smile but it faltered. 

“Yea.” She quickly pieced two and two together and, realizing he didn’t have much time, pushed him for answers. “Are you working with Booth?”

     He wasn’t able to answer her, instead spitting up blood before his body slumped over in front of her. Jay’s voice behind her made Hailey stand, eyes still locked on the man before her. 

“Kelly?” He asked, having overheard what he called her. “How do you know this guy?” She couldn’t bring herself to answer him as memories flooded through her. Hailey followed her team back outside, thankful for the cold air to help clear her head. Voight was making his way over to them and she knew she wouldn’t get out of an explanation with him. She listened as Jay filled him in on what had happened, sighing when Voight turned to face her. 

“You knew one of the victims?”

“Yea, Scott Jansen. Part of a distribution crew run by Ronald Booth.” Hailey fought back a shiver at the mention of Booth, pushing the horrible memories out of her mind as she continued. “I was undercover with him three years ago, busted him for distro.” Her words came out clipped, trying to leave any emotion from entering her voice. She noticed the look Jay was giving her, one filled with concern, but she chose to brush it off. When Hailey revealed that she kept tabs on Booth and that she knew he had been released from prison, she caught another look from Jay. She knew he wouldn’t push her for answers, not now in front of Voight, but she knew the questions would come at some point. At least she could be prepared. Hailey walked away from them then, effectively ending their conversation.

     Back at the precinct, they huddled over Adams desk, reviewing the traffic camera’s. Voight asked her if she recognized anyone else but she told them it must be a new crew. He gave them a break down of what to do next and headed to his office. Hailey hated the idea she was beginning to form in her head, not yet ready to voice it. 

    A while later, she found herself in the surveillance van with Jay and Kim, snapping pictures of the man she hated most in this world. It was taking everything in her to retain her composure and keep it cool, she wasn’t ready for Jay to know her story just yet. They noted a security camera above the door, but Hailey knew Booth was to smart for that. He was calculated and didn’t take risks that could get him caught. As they headed back to the station, Hailey knew what had to be done. She pulled out her phone to send a text, typing out a long message and explaining that she couldn’t call just yet. The response she received threatened to bring tears to her eyes, a detail that didn’t go unnoticed by Jay, but he returned his focus back on the road and they made their way to the precinct. Once inside, she bolted up to the bull pen, immediately filling Voight in on her plan. Jay never left her side as Voight walked down the hallway, reviewing her old case file. She could tell he didn’t like the idea, but he remained silent. Hailey herself hated the idea but she couldn’t pass up the chance to finish this monster once and for all, after all, it wasn’t just her life that had been affected. Her own self pep talk was interrupted by Voight mentioning Garrett and she faltered for a minute, her walls threatening to crumble. Another detail that did not go unnoticed by Jay. 

“What about him?” She feigned ignorance.

“Says here you were under as his girlfriend.” That was the understatement of the year, but she couldn’t let Voight see her true hand so she played it down. 

“Correct.” She curtly replied, adding a small nod. “He got killed during that operation.” Hailey added, swallowing hard at the words. She blocked out the flash backs quickly before they could tear all her walls down. 

“There’s a note in here that says Garrett might have flipped and moved to Mexico?” For a brief second, Hailey hated Jay for his words. He didn’t know Garrett. Didn’t know the whole story. Garrett never would have flipped, never would have left her, certainly never would have left their son. She steeled herself, walls going up impossibly higher and turning her attention to Voight before she responded. 

“He was good police. Booth murdered him.” Her voice broke ever so slightly as she repeated the words. Hailey decided it would be best to turn the focus off of Garrett and back on Booth. She pitched her idea, straight shooting the facts once again to Voight who thankfully agreed. Just when she thought she was in the clear though, he spoke again. 

“I want you going undercover to bust Booth for his drugs, not avenge this Garrett’s death, understand?” His eyes drilled into her, causing her to falter slightly. 

“Understood.” She replied bluntly. 

*********

    A few hours later, Hailey was walking around a run down apartment, strewing Kelly’s belongings about in an attempt to settle in and make this look real. Out of the box of belongings she pulled out a piece of paper that was crumpled up. Unfolding it, she swallowed back tears when she saw her smiling face next to Garrett’s. She remembered this picture, had her own copy in a box tucked away in a closet at home. She remembered the night they snapped this picture, it was moments after she had told him she was pregnant. Garrett had been so excited at the thought of having a child together that Hailey had wanted to capture the warm look in his eyes. She remembered the fight that had after that, Garrett wanted to pull her from the operation, knowing it would be too dangerous for her with a man like Booth. But Hailey had stood her ground and remained under. If only she had listened to him, maybe he would still be alive. She was pulled from her thoughts as Jay’s voice filled the room, she had forgotten he was here with her. He made a joke about her dirty water and that she should only get take out and Hailey was thankful for the distraction. She made her way to the fridge, securing the picture with a magnet as a reminder of why she was here. 

“Is that Garrett? You guys look like a real couple.” Hailey smiled as she replied, not much got past Jay. 

“All for show, you know the drill.” Something in her voice told him not to push the subject further. Instead, he decided to brief her on how this was going to start with Booth. They talked it out, agreeing it would be best to approach during the funeral in hopes to not cause a scene. Jay remained with her well into the evening, even ordering them pizza and cracking another joke about her questionable water source. Hailey continued to move around the apartment, setting it up with as much detail as possible to make it convincing should Booth end up here. She shuttered at the thought but knew there was a good possibility of it happening. 

    As happy as she was to have Jay’s company, there was something she needed to do that she couldn’t until he left. Someone she needed to talk to that he didn’t know about. Hailey had kept her three year old son, Lucas, a secret from everyone in her unit, with the exception of Voight. And honestly, she wouldn’t have even told him but on the chance something ever happened to her, she wanted to know that someone would watch over him in her absence and explain things to him when he was older. Voight, as much as they butted heads, was the perfect man for that job. Plus, as her Sargent, she figured he had a right to know. No one else in her unit knew though, in fact, only a handful of people did period. She had seen first hand how family’s of law enforcement could become targets should things go bad and she didn’t want that for her son. While Voight knew she was a mother, he didn’t know any of the specifics. He certainly didn’t know that her son’s father was Garrett and avenging his death was exactly what Hailey had planned for this operation. If he had known, he would have never allowed it.  

    Eventually, Jay left her alone in the apartment. Hailey wanted nothing more than to go home and hold her son in her arms, rocking him before bedtime. But she knew he was in safe hands with Stephanie, her neighbor that had a son around Lucas’s age. She had been a godsend for Hailey, the two women instantly clicking and becoming good friends. Stephanie had told Hailey that she could take Lucas whenever she needed to be away for work and the arrangement had worked out wonderfully so far. As much as Hailey hated to be away from her son, she knew he was safe and having fun with his caregiver. She settled for calling him, hoping he wasn’t already in bed. Stephanie’s cheerful voice happily called for Lucas on the other end of the phone and Hailey blinked away tears when his small voice met her ears. They talked for a while, Lucas told her all about the day he had with Stephanie and her son Ian. Finally, it was time for bed and they ended the call. Hailey made her way to the bathroom, cleaning herself up as best she could before climbing into the bed that was incredibly uncomfortable compared to her warm and cozy bed at home. 

********

   Hailey’s appearance at the funeral had done the trick and sparked Booth’s interest in her again. He had come to her apartment and they talked enough that Hailey felt she had got her in. Hailey cringed when Booth brought up Garrett, he was toying with her and she knew it. She played it cool and brushed him off as just a guy who had left her without so much as a good bye. Memories flashed through her of the night she was attacked when Booth grabbed her arm, placing a silent threat not to cross him. 

    Hailey spent the next few days getting closer to Booth, laying the path to pitch Jay as a potential buyer. It was tough but eventually she got Booth to agree to a meeting, not without Jay forcing his hand a little. It had been almost a week that she had been under, a week that she hadn’t talked to Jay face to face, a week that she hadn’t really seen her son. She knew that Jay had burning questions to ask her, things he would demand to know when he got the chance, things he probably had every right to know. Hailey wasn’t sure she was ready to answer those questions. But when Jay called her that night, telling her it was an emergency, she flew to the precinct as fast as she could. She met him down in the tech room, already not liking the look in his eyes as he opened a folder on the desk. Hailey shuddered as pictures of her face, beaten beyond recognition, laid out before her. Her lip quivered as she quickly went from shock, to hurt, and finally anger. She stormed away from him, struggling to control her emotions. Jay followed behind her, of course he did, Jay wasn’t one to back down. Hailey decided to give him the cliff notes version, telling him the run down of the night Booth had attacked her, almost raped her and Garrett had saved her. Jay let her off the hook, for the time being, and agreed to let her continue against his better judgement. 

    The next day, Hailey was able to get a camera into Booth’s office, resulting in a confrontation that shook her to the core, though she wouldn’t let Booth know it. Jay saved her then, his fast thinking to call her phone drew Booth’s attention away from her long enough to not finish through with his threat. Booth agreed to a meeting and Hailey gave Jay the rundown. It went south when Booth panicked after hauling Jay away from Hailey. Voight called off the operation and Hailey was reeling. She was so close to finally getting Booth, to avenging Garrett and maybe bringing some peace to herself and her son. She simply couldn’t not act and went against direct orders to not continue. Luckily, Jay knew her well enough to know something was up when she didn’t show to the apartment and she wasn’t answering his calls. He saved her ass once again when he showed up at Booth’s building and got the deal back on track. Hailey knew as soon as they left Booth that she was going to have to face Jay now, have to clue him in on the rest of the story. Or at least more than he already knew. Not surprisingly, he followed her back to her undercover apartment, already yelling before they even made it inside.

“What the hell was that?” He asked, storming into the apartment as she shut the door behind them. Her temper flaring to meet his. 

“That was getting a deal back on track! Getting a murderer sent back to prison! She argued back, emotions boiling. 

“Voight told you to shut this down!” Jay countered, anger growing. 

“I’m doing my job, Voight shouldn’t have a problem with that.” Even as Hailey said it, she knew it wasn’t true. Voight was going to be pissed when he found out about this, that much was for sure. 

   Jay’s next statement, one questioning whether he could trust her as a partner, sent her over the edge. He accused her of being way to emotional and he wasn’t wrong. She couldn’t deny to herself that she was in this too deep, that her personal ties to Booth were clouding her judgement. He accused her of not thinking straight and she tried to counter his argument. 

“This isn’t about me!” She yelled, all hopes of keeping her secret to herself going out the window.

“Then what is it?” Jay exasperated, trying to make sense of this situation. His words were met with silence as Hailey’s eyes bore into him. He could see the emotion behind them and he wondered if he had pushed to far. He had known Hailey for almost a year, they had been partners for most of that time, yet he felt as if he knew nothing about her. She didn’t let people in, pushed them away when they tried. She was friendly with everyone in the unit, had earned everyone's trust and respect, including his, yet she kept herself distanced from them, her walls never coming down. He watched as she focused on controlling her breaths. 

   Hailey struggled to keep her emotions in check. She debated if now was the right time to tell him. Would it make him agree with her, help her to avenge her sons father? Or would it only spur him to have Voight shut this down faster, knowing she was in way too deep with this. She weighed her options as Jay loomed in front of her, neither saying a word as they waited for her to say something. 

“This isn’t about me Jay.” She repeated her earlier statement, but this time it was a whisper. Her head dropped, eyes glued to the floor. She wasn’t sure she could do this, she wasn’t sure she should do this. Hailey had kept Lucas a secret for a long time and for many reasons and she didn’t know if she was ready to let that out. But as she looked at Jay, his eyes dripping with care and concern, even though he had every right to be livid with her, she felt a certain comfort in deciding to tell him. He was a safe place she realized. Her safe place. 

“Sit.” She motioned towards the couch and Jay didn’t hesitate to follow her command. She made her way over to the box of Kelly’s belongings, pulling out the picture Jay had packed away for her. Hailey walked back towards the couch, holding her breath as she sat on the opposite end from Jay. She set the picture between them, watched as some realization flickered across Jay’s face. 

“It wasn’t all for show.” It wasn’t a question, he had put two and two together the first time he saw the picture, but had chose not to push her at that point. 

“No.” She whispered. “Garrett and I...” Hailey trailed off, voice trembling. 

“You loved him.” Jay said it so softly, so free of the judgement she feared that it brought tears to her eyes. 

“Yea.” She gave him a sad smile, tears running down her face. 

“And Booth murdered him. So you want revenge.” Jay stated the partial truth he had figured out. 

“Yes, but..” Hailey swallowed hard. Admitting she loved Garrett was one thing. Telling Jay they had a son together was a whole other deal. “That’s not all. I’m a big girl Jay, I can handle heartbreak. I can handle the fact that Garrett is gone from my life, from my future..but...” Hailey’s voice was thick with the emotion she was holding back. 

“But?” Jay gently pushed after giving her a moment to get control. 

“But, there’s someone who can’t. Someone who doesn’t understand and probably never will.” Jay watched her intently as she pulled out her phone, unlocking it and scrolling through her camera roll. Whatever she was looking at brought a genuine smile to her tear streaked face and Jay was eager to see what it was. She turned her phone to face him and he was met with a picture of Hailey, a huge smile splayed across her face. In her lap was a little boy, his arms wrapped tightly around her neck, pressing a sloppy kiss into her cheek. His curly hair, her shade of dirty blonde, hung around his face framing blue eyes that were an exact replica of Hailey’s. “This is Lucas. My son. Our son.” Hailey’s words were so quiet, Jay almost missed what she had said. He wasn’t sure how to respond as he processed this new information. So many things made sense now. Not just about this case and Hailey’s reaction to it, but just Hailey in general. She was only trying to protect her son and suddenly it was all clear to him. 

   Hailey sat, watching Jay’s face as he took in what she had said. She didn’t know what to expect from him. She would be lying if she said there wasn’t a huge weight off her shoulders. Finally, someone knew her secret. And Jay being that someone brought her a feeling of comfort she hadn’t expected. They sat in silence, both of them reveling this new milestone between them. 

“I get it...I guess.” Jay spoke first. “I would do the same thing.” 

“I know this isn’t a smart idea Jay, but now that you know my reasoning, will you please let me do this. I have to go through with this.” Hailey pleaded with him. She would need Jay’s help if she was going to pull this off and she would need him to back her up when they were finished if she didn’t want to be completely destroyed by Voight when he found out. 

“Yea Hails, I got your back.” Jay gave her a reassuring look and she let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. 

“Thank you Jay.”