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I love reading about older philosophies and religions we didn’t really get to cover in college-level philosophy and religion because looking back at traditional Gnosticism as someone who was raised Christian is like.
Okay so Gnostics essentially believe there is a bigger secret god behind Yahweh who is an all encompassing whole of all aspects from which divine good flows and Yahweh still exists but perhaps as a more malicious deity who created the world with intrinsic conflict and suffering. Work. Like that’s legitimately fierce.
#I really wish we knew more about gnosticism it sounds so based#the last surviving place of worship that uses traditions from antiquity is in Iraq#Which if you haven’t been living under a rock is a grim telling of what happened to the others
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Tracer/Emily “on a scar”
Talk about stuff I've meant to write for ages, this moment is finally out in the world. ANYWAY THANK YOU 1600ish words, all of my OW universe is here.
Tracer kissed her shoulder.
It should have felt good. She wanted it to feel good. She was incredibly attracted to Tracer, who had been a perfect lady over the past few weeks. Tracer, who was handsome and charming and gallant, who had treated her to dinner and walks in the park and made her laugh with all her stories, brought her flowers and told her she looked wonderful in purple, who had never invited herself up even though her eyes clearly wanted to be invited up.
But instead, there was a sort of deep grim that lapped at the corner of her mind. Emily was not good with women. She wasn’t good with anyone really, over the age of six, she thought, quiet and shy and awkward, the way she’s been all of her life. She wanted this, and she was afraid of it. She was not a casual person. Sometimes she wished she were.
The hard part, for Emily, was knowing when to tell someone. When she had been younger, it had been easy to blame her being trans for every ounce of hesitation she felt in a public setting, for every stumble through a conversation, and every bad date where her calls were never returned. It some ways, it had made things easier, to know that there was an immutable reason for such things, but life is rarely so kind, and she had met so many other women like her who glittered and had full dance cards, who lived life loudly.
So her own hated timidness had to, at least in some capacity, be an organic consequence of being Emily McNair, rather than anything else. It was disappointing.
But because she was Emily McNair, and because she had no idea of what it meant to be casual, and because she, like the silly fool that she was, was dangerously close to being truly in love with Tracer, she had to tell her. She wanted to tell her. Because if she was going to love Tracer, she had to know that Tracer could love all of her, even her history.
She tried not to expect too much of people in that vein.
“Em?” Tracer pulled away from her, ‘Can’t ‘elp but notice you don’t seem particularly engaged. You,” she seemed disappointed, “you not want to?”
“Oh, Lena, I do, but it’s only..” She tucked her hair behind her ear, “I have to speak to you, first.”
Her eyes darted around the room. “What ‘ave I done? Or not done?”
“No, no, of course no. It’s only me.”
“Alright. All ears.”
Emily was sure there had to be a perfect way of doing this, but over the twenty odd years of her life, she had never quite found it. Words were, most people would agree, not Emily’s strong suit, and generally she was as content to listen to others talk as they were. The handful of times she had gotten far enough to want to tell someone, it had never come out the way she’d imagined, and as Tracer looked at her, she realized that new and better speech she kept planning wasn’t going to reveal itself this time either.
“I’m trans. I just--thought you should know, before.” She swallowed and looked off to the side, waiting.
Tracer rocked back on her heels and looked at Emily.
“Is that all? Doesn’t matter, I don’t care about that,” she stopped for a moment, “Sorry. You know,” she tilted her head quickly and leaned forward, trying to put herself back into Emily’s gaze, “it’s just now occurred to me why me Dad put it that way when I told ‘im I was gay, can’t really think of a better way to say it--suppose it didn’t urt that ‘e wasn’t the slightest bit surprised by the news--but wasn’t helpful to me then either.” She took Emily’s hand. “Thank you for telling me. I feel all the same about you as I did. I think you are absolutely beautiful, and I cannot believe me luck, sitting on the sofa with you. You ‘ave no reason to be shy with me. Still buzzing about being invited up, love.”
Emily let her shoulders relax a little. “I’m shy with everyone.”
“I ‘ope sincerely that it’s not that people ‘ave been cruel to you.”
“Not, I think I’m just a bit awkward, I mean,” Emily shook her head. “Most people haven’t known since I left school. But I don’t much,” she fiddled with the strap of her dress, “you know, see women.”
Tracer smiled. “Right. Let me show you something.”
She slipped her shirt off under her CA with a speed and grace Emily would not have guessed was possible, leaving only her CA and a sports bra. The first thing she noticed were the bright toucans on Tracer’s bra. The second thing she noticed was that Tracer was as spectacularly toned as she might have guessed given her quick strength, and she blushed.
The third thing she noticed were two deep and heavily puckered scars, right at the edge of her rib cage. Her eyes widened and she brought a hand to her mouth, without thinking, and then immediately realized Tracer must be seeing her, after being so kind to Emily, showing shock, and she might think it was disgust--
But Tracer gave that loud peal of a laugh that Emily loved so much. “I know! Terrible, innit? Man shot me.” She scowled a moment. “Thought ‘e was me friend, once upon a time, but ‘e did disabuse me of that notion, as Fareeha put it, you know, love, for all the times she pretends she doesn’t understand a bloody thing I’m saying she manages to put up quite the English vocabulary when it suits her, right? Right, absolute tosh--listen to me waffling on, me Dad always said I could talk for England--what I mean is, love, you ain’t the only one with a thing or two unusual. Say nothing about the machinery. I’m loads of things to get used to, right? So you and I are of a kind. Me more than you, even, ‘ave no doubt you look better with your clothes off than me, if you don’t mind me saying so, right? So you never need be shy with me, for I’ll always do me best. I ‘ave no doubt that I will say or do something unbelievably bloody stupid, and when that happens, I want you to say, ‘Lena, you bloody stupid cunt,” Emily laughed and shook her head, “--No love, I’m being very serious just now--Lena, don’t do that” and then I won’t.”
Emily looked at her. Tracer’s eyes were bright and sparkling, but full of sincerity. Even now, she had that little resting smile on her face that Emily had come to realize just sat there, as unhappiness did on others. There was something about Tracer that drew Emily in, that made her feel safe, and suddenly it felt true, that someone like Tracer could not mind. Suddenly it seemed silly to Emily that anyone had ever minded at all. She had so many explanations planned out, ways to make it okay for Tracer and assure her that there wasn’t much different about Emily, but it all seemed completely unnecessary in the moment.
She had been honest, when she said she didn’t care.
Emily reached her hand out and brushed her fingertips against the deep crater on Tracer’s stomach, and Tracer did not flinch away from her touch, even for a moment.
“It must have hurt terribly.”
Tracer shook her head. “You know, actually, I lost a great deal of blood very quickly, which doesn’t necessarily recommend itself but I will say made the pain a bit of a non-issue.” She laughed again. “Honestly, Winston’s more traumatized by it than I am, I only remember little bits of the thing. Lost some of me liver though, and I am sore about that, as I make quite a bit of use of it,” she looked down, “ as you can see by the fact that I lack a bit in the definition department.”
“You’re very handsome, Lena.” Emily said, still looking at the scar, unable to look Tracer in the eye when she said it.
“Well, you’re kind to say so.” Tracer put her hand on top of Emily’s. “I still am keen to root about the cabbages, so to speak, and I want you to know I won’t be put off so easily in future,” she grinned, “but if you’d rather not tonight, I understand that, as well.”
“Oh, but I don’t want you to go!”
Tracer took Emily by the shoulders. “I can stay then, love. ‘Appy to ‘ear it. Can stay all night, if you like. But we don’t ‘ave to do nothing.”
Emily leaned forward and put her head on Tracer’s shoulder, letting herself fall into her embrace. Tracer kissed her forehead.
“We can stay just like this, love.”
I love you, she wanted to say, I love you, and I feel excited and happy and utterly terrified at the fact. But, she reasoned, she had tripped over her own tongue enough for one evening, and in this moment, she thought she would have plenty of other chances. Tracer would stay. She kissed Tracer’s cheek and settled into her arms as Tracer laid back against the couch.
“You know, the scars aren’t even the worst of it, with me. ‘Ardware neither.”
“Oh?”
“Right, there’s the entirety of me personality to deal with, as well. Messy. Can’t pay attention to save me own life, sometimes quite literally, depending on who you ask. Touch of P--well, honestly, just ask Fareeha, when you meet her, she’s got a list of me negative qualities, I think. Probably alphabetized. Maybe categorical.”
Emily felt herself melt into Tracer and allowed herself the joy of a laugh.
The cool wind of October shook the trees outside, and litter blew along the street next to her shabby little London flat, and Emily had never been happier.
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The Most Beautiful Moment in Life <I’M FINE>
BTS Universe Story Highlights, pt. 2 / 4
« pt. 1 | » pt. 3
Introduction
JungKook’s and YoonGi’s stories are the first of the paid content in BTS Universe Story and are substantially more detailed than the episodes covered in part 1. As this led to longer summaries (4.2k and 3k), I have added “tl;dr commentary” at the bottom of the post after a section of additional thoughts. This commentary summarizes the parenthetical asides I made throughout the summaries and may be of interest as standalone reading to those who have already played the game yet would like to review its connections to the BU texts and MVs.
Content warning: contains references to death, suicide, suicidal ideation, child abuse, domestic violence, blood, homicide, depression, trauma, PTSD
This guide contains major spoilers and includes references to other BU media
Do not repost, copy, or quote without permission
The Boy on the Threshold
In this story, SeokJin works to uncover the motivations behind JungKook’s nightly street wandering, instigation of fights with thugs, and decision to jump from the roof of a construction site. He was aware of the “darkness” within JungKook but never thought that he would give up on himself. SeokJin is determined to find a way to make JungKook think “I want to live” on his own.
In the afternoon on 11 April Year 22, SeokJin drives by the crosswalk outside Songju Jeil High School. Spotting a grim-faced JungKook, he gets out to greet him. JungKook visibly brightens and pelts him with question after question, finally finishing with, “But how come you’re here at school?” If the player chooses the response “I came to see you” rather than “I was in the neighborhood,” JungKook seems a little disbelieving due to the coincidental timing but nevertheless pleased. SeokJin offers him a ride, thinking that JungKook will not carry out that night’s actions from previous loops if he gets home right away. In the car, SeokJin reminisces aloud about the day they all met. On 3 March Year 19, all seven boys arrived late on the first day at Songju Jeil High School and were scolded outside by the Dean. (Aside from the absence of extra students, this scene looks very similar to the BTS Begins Middle Scene VCR, including the detail of YoonGi arriving last. This VCR predates official BU content.) When the Dean spotted SeokJin in their lineup, he reduced their punishment of community service for one month to just that afternoon. After classes, the boys cleaned the annex. The old classroom-turned-storage room became their secret hideout where they enjoyed various activities like dancing, playing the piano, and spending time with one another. JungKook appears happy as they chat about their school days, although in one path, his face falls after he remembers when he and YoonGi were caught in the annex. SeokJin is concerned, but JungKook insists, “It’s nothing.”
They say goodbye outside JungKook’s house, but SeokJin watches to make sure he goes inside. JungKook hesitates before ringing the bell at the gate. His mom answers, surprised and at a loss by his unexpected arrival. She asks him to come back later because his father’s relatives stopped by, and the intercom cuts off before he can answer. (His mother remarried, so this is really his step-father and family.) SeokJin wonders if JungKook has no one to lean on at school or at home and if this is why he wanders the streets at night. He asks JungKook where he wants to go now. “The beach… the one I went to with you guys,” JungKook answers, then says he’s kidding when SeokJin hesitates, thinking about the night ahead. SeokJin invites JungKook home instead, hoping to keep an eye on him before he needs to save NamJoon at the gas station.
In his bedroom, SeokJin hastily takes down the map and notes pinned on the wall of the boys’ incidents around the city. After letting JungKook inside, he shows him a box of photos from their time together in school. While JungKook browses, a notification on SeokJin’s phone reminds him of Songho Foundation’s inaugural ceremony that evening. Songho Foundation is a scholarship foundation funded by his maternal grandmother’s estate, and his father formally introduces him on this occasion. SeokJin also receives a call from his father’s long-time aide, a man he refers to as Uncle JunHo, who instructs him not to be late to the ceremony. Claiming it won’t take him long, SeokJin asks JungKook to stay there and wait for him to return. He is worried about leaving JungKook alone but also concerned that bringing him to the gas station after the ceremony will make him late to intervening in NamJoon’s incident.
In the lobby of the hotel hosting the Songho Foundation Inauguration Ceremony, SeokJin recognizes many important faces from around the city: Song JunHo, his father’s aide; Seo HyunJung, the city’s deputy mayor; the CEO of Youngjin Engineering & Construction Company; a professor from Munhyeon University; and the Jeil High School principal, Jo JinMyung. SeokJin doesn’t want to cross paths with the principal but is drawn into a conversation with him, the mayor, and his father, Kim ChangJun. “Assemblyman! Congratulations on the launch of the scholarship foundation,” Deputy Mayor Seo says to Kim ChangJun. “I hear that your son has been accepted to Munhyeon University? You must be happy that he’s attending your alma mater.” Kim ChangJun shakes his head. “He still has a lot to learn.” She remarks that everyone knows how well SeokJin has grown up and inquires about his career plans. The player is presented with three choices: “I haven’t decided yet,” “I want to become a good person,” and “I want to become someone like my father.” SeokJin’s father continues to look grim while the others chuckle in response to the first two answers, but his expression softens at the third, which SeokJin knew would not rub him the wrong way. Deputy Mayor Seo proposes to Assemblyman Kim that they establish a regular meeting to discuss community development, mentioning that it would be better if he could invite the city’s prominent citizens and give a speech. Assemblyman Kim agrees, telling his assistant Song JunHo to make note of it. The ceremony concludes, and the guests head towards the hotel’s restaurant. SeokJin is wary of his father’s watchful gaze but impatient to carry out the rest of the night’s plans. While his father is surrounded by other people, he informs Uncle JunHo that he has to leave to work on a group project. SeokJin slips out of the hotel and heads to NamJoon’s gas station.
While SeokJin is gone, one of the photos in the box catches JungKook’s eye. It shows the seven boys sitting on a wall with the ocean behind them. (This photo resembles the shot in Euphoria at 5’32” except that they appear to be wearing school uniform shirts and slacks.) A flashback retells the afternoon of 12 June Year 19 when the boys cut school early and visited the sea, trudging over 3 kilometers under the scorching sun to find a boulder that is rumored to make your dreams come true. (The date is not specified in the game, but the memory closely follows this set of entries in The Notes 1.) Everyone collapses in disappointment when they can’t find the rock at its designated location. JungKook is tired but not as disappointed as the others—just walking there with them is enough for him, even though he often feels uncertain of his place among the group. He gets up on the pier railing, reflecting: “I’ve always liked walking on the edge of walls or on top of lines. Focusing on centering my gravity means that I don’t really think of anything else, and the boundary—not quite a part of either place—always felt like where I should be.” Balancing precariously, JungKook walks until someone grabs his arm. YoonGi scolds him not to do this. JungKook assures him that he will not fall but privately thinks: “YoonGi would often grab my arm when I walked on railings. The others would look after me, too, after seeing him do that. I liked their helping hands. It felt like they were telling me that I should go to them. That this wasn’t my place. Maybe their hands were why I walked on the railings.”
The story returns to the present in SeokJin’s perspective. He rushes back to his room after saving NamJoon and finds JungKook asleep, leaning against the bed with the photos still scattered around him. Feeling both relief and regret, SeokJin quietly coaxes JungKook to lay down and sleep more comfortably. JungKook wakes up and says he should go home after hearing that it’s past ten o’clock. The game cuts briefly to SeokJin’s father in his study with his aide. Kim ChangJun asks Song JunHo to fetch SeokJin, as he needs to know what goes on for the foundation. JunHo says that SeokJin must be entertaining a guest for the group project because he spotted an unfamiliar pair of shoes in the entryway.
Back in his bedroom, SeokJin is startled when his father knocks on the door. It’s rare for his father to visit the second floor of their home, so he let his guard down while chatting with JungKook. “F-Father.” Stammering, SeokJin flinches and gathers up the scattered photos. “Did you leave the ceremony early to waste time like this? Even lying to say you were doing a school project?” asks Kim ChangJun. His cold and reproachful stare suffocates SeokJin. When his father’s eyes scan to JungKook standing awkwardly at the side, SeokJin is plunged into a childhood memory. On 10 October Year 9, 9-year-old SeokJin hid a school friend who was being chased by scary men in his bedroom. His father arrived and asked if the boy was Mr. Choi’s son, saying people had come to take him. When Kim ChangJun ordered him to “be a good boy,” SeokJin froze and was powerless to stop his friend from being handed over. The following day, SeokJin was told his friend transferred schools. (This event is also depicted as the first entry of The Notes 1.) In the present, SeokJin struggles to think of an explanation, smothered by that memory and his father’s pressuring stare. JungKook timidly speaks up. “I was only here to visit for a short while. I was actually about to head home. Hey, I’ll go now.” SeokJin knows he can’t leave him alone yet and finally forces himself to move. “Father, I… I’m going to go out for a little while.” He runs outside, but JungKook is already gone.
The story cuts to JungKook’s perspective as he arrives in a familiar alleyway. He is thankful that SeokJin was so considerate to him but feels that he shouldn’t have gone to his home since it made things more complicated for his friend. “YoonGi even got expelled because of me… Why do I always mess things up for the people around me?” JungKook thinks. The player is presented the choice to either text SeokJin or call YoonGi. In the first path, SeokJin calls JungKook while he is mid-text and says that he’ll come pick him up, but JungKook declines, thanks him, and hangs up. In the second path, JungKook fiddles with his phone, wondering if YoonGi will be annoyed or even answer. He remembers when they crossed paths a few days earlier. On 7 April Year 22, JungKook heard a familiar tune while roaming the dark streets and saw YoonGi playing piano through a broken window of a music shop. YoonGi stopped and eventually staggered out of the shop without noticing JungKook reaching out to him. JungKook tried to play the music by memory, and suddenly YoonGi returned—just like their days at the classroom. (Note: In his 7 April Year 22 entry of The Notes 1, YoonGi is drunk and stumbling by an empty construction site when he recognizes a clumsy piano tune that he’d been playing “not long ago.” But when he runs to the music shop and finds JungKook, the text does not indicate that he remembers this is his second visit to the shop this evening. Additionally, the Wings short film First Love seems to reference some of the events of this night—or evokes YoonGi’s distorted memories of it, mingled with a representation of JungKook’s later accident.)
In the present (11 April), JungKook wonders if YoonGi is doing well. He has thought about him since their chance encounter but doesn’t have the courage to call him first. (The narrative paths rejoin here.) JungKook wonders where he should go now yet doesn’t want to think about anything. He stops in the middle of the road, and a passing car’s headlights make him dizzy. SeokJin arrives in the distance and shouts his name, but JungKook just thinks, “One more step from here. Just one more step, and everything ends.” He steps in front of the honking car. SeokJin calls him in the distance, and JungKook feels everything slip farther away. The glass shatters and the loop resets.
Awakening once more on the morning of 11 April, SeokJin vows to protect JungKook until the end. The memory of arriving too late as JungKook threw himself in front of the car reminds him of how he was also unable to protect his childhood friend when he was 9. He needs to devise a new plan, since JungKook practically ran out of the house when confronted by Kim ChangJun. The story cuts to that evening, with JungKook looking at the photo in SeokJin’s bedroom. This time, SeokJin ignores his phone’s buzzing reminder about Songho Foundation’s inaugural ceremony. He asks JungKook where he’d like to get next and, when he doesn’t have any ideas, offers him a tour of the university campus.
JungKook seems happier looking around the campus, the cherry blossoms in full bloom. SeokJin uses this opportunity to ask him if anything is on his mind and if school is going well. JungKook answers nonchalantly, but SeokJin remembers how grim he looked at the school crosswalk that afternoon. He asks if JungKook still hangs out with the other guys. “HoSeok and TaeHyung are working part-time jobs. The others… I’m not sure,” JungKook answers, expression darkening. SeokJin wonders if he shouldn’t have brought it up but still presses him. “How come? You should talk to them from time to time.” “But it’s because of me,” says JungKook. “The reason why YoonGi was expelled… It was because he was trying to protect me.”
SeokJin either responds “It’s not your fault” or “Don’t think that way.” Following the first choice, JungKook insists, “No, it’s my fault. YoonGi wouldn’t have talked back to the teacher if I wasn’t there.” SeokJin shakes his head. “No, you couldn’t really do anything given the situation.” JungKook replies that he should have at least apologized and that he never had the chance to tell YoonGi he was sorry. “That’s how you felt, huh… I should’ve done more. I’m sorry,” SeokJin apologizes. JungKook shakes his head with a smile, but SeokJin knows that he doesn’t understand what he really meant. (Per events in The Notes 1, it is technically SeokJin’s fault that the teacher found them in the classroom.) If the second dialogue choice, “Don’t think that way,” is chosen, JungKook questions, “How could I? When it was because of me.” “No…” SeokJin is not brave enough to say that he’s the one to blame. The camera (i.e. the animation) starts wobbling as though SeokJin’s vision is swimming. “SeokJin?” asks JungKook in concern. “I should’ve done more. I’m sorry.” The episode ends with the same dialogue and animation of JungKook shaking his head with a smile, except that in the second path the camera is still wobbling from SeokJin’s perspective. (This is the only episode I noted in the game that has a slight difference in endings based on the player’s final choice, although it is essentially cosmetic.)
Episode 5 opens with a more detailed memory of 11 June Year 20 from JungKook’s perspective. The high school was holding an open house for parents. Not wanting to stay in a classroom, he wandered off and heard piano music drifting from the annex. JungKook slipped into their classroom hideout and settled down to listen. YoonGi continued to play without acknowledging him. The music helped calm JungKook—it seemed as though YoonGi understood how he felt and was trying to console him. The sound cut off abruptly as the door slammed open. “You rascals! What are you doing here?!” the Dean of Students demanded. He slapped JungKook, knocking him down. A flurry of verbal abuse poured over his crumpled form. YoonGi shoved the teacher’s shoulder and stepped in front of JungKook. “Wow, look at this kid… You put your hands on a teacher? You better be prepared, Min YoonGi.” With that ominous threat, the Dean departed. JungKook spoke from the floor. “Hey, sorry for making you—” “It’s nothing,” YoonGi cut in. JungKook wondered why he helped him. It was the first time someone had protected him, and he believed that he would never forget the view of YoonGi’s back. YoonGi asked why JungKook was smiling. “I don’t know.” Still smiling, JungKook touched his throbbing cheek. YoonGi stared at him before breaking into his own smile and sitting down next to him. They sat there wordlessly for some time. The feeling of growing closer to YoonGi made JungKook feel giddy the rest of the day. But YoonGi did not come to school the following day, and two weeks later, he was formally expelled. (The encounter with the teacher and YoonGi’s subsequent expulsion are also referenced in JungKook and YoonGi’s 25 June Year 20 entries in The Notes 1.)
In a brief interlude in the present (11 April at the university campus), SeokJin reflects again that he does not have the courage to confess to JungKook the real reason why they drifted apart. He walks with his eyes trained on the ground until JungKook calls for him to look at the cherry blossoms floating in the wind. The scene cuts to 30 September Year 20 for another of JungKook’s school memories. He stood outside the school’s annex, reflecting that his friends probably didn’t know that he went there every day. Although school was a place he found awkward and unfamiliar, their hideout was a space for him that put him at ease. On that day however, only HoSeok was inside the classroom, gathering up the items they’d left behind. JungKook realized that the time they spent together was now a memory and would never return again. (This is also an entry in The Notes 1.) Back in the present, SeokJin notices that JungKook looks grim once more and tries to improve his mood by asking if they should go to the beach. JungKook privately wonders: “Do you think YoonGi would go? And no one knows what’s going on with JiMin. Will we really be able to go together like we did then?” Holding up his pink camera, SeokJin says they should take a picture to commemorate the evening. They’re both smiling in the photo, and he hopes that they’ll all smile together again one day. After their campus tour, SeokJin walks JungKook home, ignoring the many calls he receives from his father’s assistant JunHo.
At the crosswalk outside the high school the next day (12 April), SeokJin reflects that staying with JungKook instead of attending the inauguration ceremony seemed like a good choice. He prevented JungKook from jumping off the building and stopped NamJoon’s incident too. But SeokJin wants to keep an eye on JungKook for a few days. While he’s waiting, the principal Jo JinMyung approaches and greets him, asking what brings him to the school. SeokJin tries to excuse himself, but the principal brings up the ceremony. “I thought you’d be there, but you weren’t. Did something happen? Why weren’t you there?” Caught off guard, SeokJin either answers vaguely (“I had something important to do”) or honestly (“A friend had an emergency and I couldn’t attend”). JungKook joins them slowly during the exchange, and the principal seems a little suspicious regardless of the player’s choice. In the “honest” path, he adds, “Next time, think about what's truly important before acting.” The paths rejoin when the principal smiles pointedly and mentions that he should call the Assemblyman soon. SeokJin wonders if Jo JinMyung intends to tell his father that he was with JungKook. Kim ChangJun did not approve of the time SeokJin spent with his friends even in school. “Father thinks it’s useless to have human relationships that don’t help you succeed.” When he and JungKook are in his car, SeokJin notices that the principal ominously watches them pull away.
Later that day, SeokJin meets with his father in his office. Kim ChangJun looks exhausted. Though they’re similar heights, to his son he seems like a massive grey wall. “Why didn’t you attend the inauguration ceremony yesterday?” he asks. SeokJin either lies (“A professor asked me to do something last minute”) or answers honestly (“A friend had an emergency and I couldn’t attend”). The ultimate result is the same: Kim ChangJun speaks after a long moment of silence. “The one thing I want from you is for you to be a good son.” “Yes,” says SeokJin. “I don’t think it’s a difficult task. You may leave.” As he exits, SeokJin hears him call Song JunHo and worries that his flimsy excuse will fall apart. Running into the principal may have made matters worse too. Despite his uneasiness, SeokJin has no choice but to keep going and trust that everything will work out. While NamJoon and JungKook are safe for now, he wonders if he can be a person for JungKook to lean on for comfort whenever he needs it so that he will not resort to such an extreme decision again.
SeokJin visits JungKook after school every afternoon the following days. On 15 April, JungKook asks if it’s okay for him to come like this every day. SeokJin assures him, “Yeah. I come to see you because I want to.” He observes that JungKook still seems to take social cues from him rather than acting comfortably, so he encourages him to either pick what they do next or where they should go eat. On 19 April, however, JungKook does not appear at the school gates. SeokJin tries calling him, only to learn that the number isn’t in service. Someone shouts his name, and HoSeok emerges from the Twostar Burger across from the school. “I had heard you were back, but I didn’t think I’d see you here in front of the school.” HoSeok digs a piece of paper out of his pocket, explaining that JungKook stopped by earlier. “He said he’s switching schools.” SeokJin asks where, but HoSeok doesn’t know. This has never happened before in a loop, and SeokJin wonders if he caused it. HoSeok hands over the paper, which JungKook requested be given to SeokJin. It’s a drawing of the cherry blossom tree they saw together, with a thank you note written at the bottom. SeokJin hopes that his suspicions aren’t correct.
Hunting for clues to JungKook’s whereabouts, SeokJin visits Jeil High School’s administrative office the next day (20 April). He receives slightly more information if he acts like he knows the Director of Administration, but as the student records are confidential, the man only reveals that JungKook transferred to a boarding school. On 30 April, SeokJin is summoned to his father’s office. Kim ChangJun asks him to sit down and continues speaking with his aide, Song JunHo. He confirms an upcoming appointment with the Deputy Mayor before asking, “Oh, did you take care of that incident?” “Yes. Do you mean the one concerning the Jeil High student?” JunHo responds. “I’ve taken care of the issue with the student.” Heart racing, SeokJin realizes that his father was behind JungKook’s transfer and deliberately let it slip as a warning to him. On their way out, Uncle JunHo adds, “SeokJin. You do know how difficult it was because you didn’t attend the inauguration, right?” SeokJin promises that he’ll be at the next meeting. Back in his bedroom, he decides that he made the wrong choice in this loop. He wanted to be someone JungKook could always come to, but instead he pushed him farther away. HoSeok calls him at that moment. Voice wavering, he relays that JungKook has disappeared. Some of his classmates stopped by the restaurant that day, inquiring if anyone talks to him often.
The story cuts back to 25 April with JungKook in class at his new school. His mom likes the dormitory here, and he suspects that she feels more comfortable without him at home. School, home, the dorms—he doesn’t belong in any of those places. While pairing up the students, the teacher notices that they have an odd number now and asks JungKook where he wants to go. He closes his eyes and remembers a voice: “JungKook, let’s all go to the ocean.” He thinks, “I want to go…” The scene jumps to JungKook walking towards the ocean shore. The glass shatters.
SeokJin opens his eyes on the morning of 11 April. He wonders what caused the loop to reset and assumes something must have happened to JungKook after he transferred schools. Again, he could not keep his promise of getting them all to the ocean. The episode ends with SeokJin sitting atop the seaside observatory at sunset. (This is a key location on 22 May Year 22, recurring in The Notes and depicted in the HYYH On Stage: Prologue short film and Euphoria MV. It looks the same in the game.) SeokJin ruminates on what may have happened to JungKook and where events started going wrong. He thought he could be the person JungKook needed to lean on, but he failed. This arc concludes with him wondering: “Was my method wrong? Or is it not supposed to be me? Maybe… If the person who’s supposed to console JungKook’s scars and be there for him isn’t me… Then, who can save JungKook?”
The End of His Gaze
SeokJin’s main challenge in saving YoonGi is the unpredictability of his actions between loops. The opening of this story is no different. On 2 May Year 22, SeokJin chases YoonGi after he leaves his workroom with a heavy bag but loses sight of him in the streets. As soon as he picks the nearest motel, black smoke pours from one of its windows. (The sign matches the motel in YoonGi’s scenes of the I Need U MV.) YoonGi ignores the commotion outside the room’s locked door. Once again, SeokJin is too late, and the glass shatters, resetting the loop.
Waking in his bedroom on 11 April, SeokJin considers how YoonGi backs himself into a corner no matter how or when he tries to intervene. It’s different from the incident with NamJoon because no outside person or situation is involved. SeokJin realizes that if YoonGi’s struggle and variables that make his decision so unpredictable are within him, then the only way he can stop YoonGi is by truly understanding him. He takes out his old camcorder from high school, hoping its footage may reveal some clues. In the first video clip he plays, YoonGi is off in the corner of their classroom hideout drawing music staves but speaks up to tell HoSeok and TaeHyung not to play a prank on JiMin. SeokJin wonders if YoonGi still writes music and remembers the piano in his workroom. In the second video, TaeHyung quibbles with NamJoon, who is tired yet refuses to take a nap until YoonGi pushes some desks together and tells him to lie down. SeokJin focuses on YoonGi for the rest of the video, but he is either motionless or off camera. He finds a similar challenge within his photographs: he has less than ten solo photos of YoonGi, and though his face is visible in group pictures, he is never looking at the camera. Still perusing the photos, SeokJin overhears voices from the camcorder. “It being here is a secret. Okay?” TaeHyung whispers to YoonGi. “What’s a secret?” SeokJin in the recording asks. TaeHyung and YoonGi, standing by the piano, both whip around. TaeHyung dismisses it as nothing and shushes YoonGi when he asks, “Why are you hiding something like that?” In the present, SeokJin wonders what they hid in the classroom and decides that it’s worth investigating in case it can help him save YoonGi.
On 15 April, SeokJin visits their old classroom hideout at Jeil High School, which is still being used as a storage room. The player can choose from a total of four locations to explore, provided they select the piano last. SeokJin identifies his father’s name alongside the message “Everything started from here” on the graffitied wall (he first saw this note in his 25 June Year 19 entry from The Notes 1). Even after thoroughly examining the piano, he does not find YoonGi and TaeHyung’s secret or anything else useful. Uneasy at leaving YoonGi alone for so long, SeokJin leaves the school and parks in front of his friend’s workroom. YoonGi appears to be safely inside, so SeokJin browses through the old video files on his camcorder and finds one that continued recording after he thought he had pressed the stop button. Listening to his and YoonGi’s voices, he recalls a forgotten memory of the day they walked out of school together.
The majority of episode 3 plays through a memory of an afternoon that SeokJin and YoonGi walked out of school together (date unspecified; this event is also referenced in YoonGi’s 2 August Year 22 entry from The Notes 2 and the similar Note accompanying Map of the Soul: 7). SeokJin receives a text summoning him to the principal’s office. The office is empty yet suffocating when he arrives. Principal Jo JinMyung arrives and apologizes for making SeokJin wait. SeokJin looks down, heart suddenly heavy. The scene cuts to YoonGi entering the storage classroom as he thinks about all the days he doesn’t feel like going home. It’s not a comfortable place for him, yet there’s nothing for him at the school either, except for the group’s hideout. He feels awkward in the oddly quiet room and puts some sheet music on the piano’s rack. But when he thinks about how no one is there requesting songs from him, he can’t bring his hands up to the keys. The flashback transitions back to SeokJin’s perspective following his meeting with the principal. As expected, the principal wanted him to report on YoonGi’s behavior. SeokJin spoke carefully so as not to tip him off about anything, but he hears internal whispers calling himself a hypocrite even when he’s laughing with his friends. Fretting over how much longer he can protect YoonGi, SeokJin runs into him at the classroom hideout’s door. He hopes YoonGi doesn’t notice how flustered he is, but YoonGi doesn’t say anything beyond confirming that he’s heading home. SeokJin tries to strike up a conversation as they walk out together, but the conversation awkwardly fizzles out whether he brings up food or the weather. YoonGi points out that his phone is buzzing, and SeokJin’s camcorder falls from his bag as he looks for it. YoonGi waves him off when SeokJin films him to test that it still works. He sheepishly lowers the camcorder and forgets to turn it off. YoonGi breaks the uncomfortable silence when they are almost across the field. “Is something up? You didn’t look very happy earlier.” Heart pounding, SeokJin tries to laugh off this sharp question with an excuse, but YoonGi stares straight at him. “You’re awkward too, SeokJin.” “What is?” “Your laugh.” YoonGi pauses before continuing, “When was the last time you genuinely laughed?”
The scene fades back to the present in SeokJin’s car (15 April). He can’t make out the rest of their conversation in the recording or remember what he answered. He wonders why YoonGi asked him that. SeokJin was always tense then, afraid that his friends would learn of his meetings with the principal. Did the others notice, too? While he’s lost in these thoughts, someone outside shouts, “Fire!” Flames erupt from YoonGi’s workroom. Realizing he should have focused on YoonGi and not the video, SeokJin runs into the building. As he tries to open the locked door, he hears the glass shatter.
The fourth episode opens on the night of 11 April with SeokJin watching JungKook and YoonGi walk away from the construction site and towards NamJoon’s container. A few days later, SeokJin spots JungKook on the sidewalk on his way to YoonGi’s workroom. When asked where he’s going, JungKook avoids his gaze and replies, “I was just… walking around.” SeokJin knows this is because he has nowhere to go. Not wanting JungKook to keep wandering and remembering that he was once close with YoonGi, SeokJin invites him along. The perspective switches to JungKook as they enter the workroom. It reeks of alcohol, and YoonGi is fast asleep among empty bottles. “YoonGi… will be okay, right?” he asks. SeokJin picks up the bottles without responding. A memory from their school days occurs to JungKook. TaeHyung chased him around their classroom hideout, trying to snatch his sketchbook and succeeding when JungKook found his escape unintentionally blocked by YoonGi standing in the doorway. JungKook was dismayed when YoonGi called TaeHyung over to the piano so they could look at it together, but then YoonGi deceived TaeHyung and threw the sketchbook to JungKook. In the present, SeokJin doesn’t want to waste time while YoonGi sleeps. He taps a lost-in-thought JungKook on the shoulder and says they should leave, but JungKook responds that he will stay until YoonGi wakes.
Back again at the classroom hideout, SeokJin hunts further around the piano. He uses an old mop handle to fish out a piece of paper from underneath it. The hidden secret turns out to be TaeHyung’s abysmal math test. Dejected, SeokJin slumps to the floor. On this level, he notices a small handle on the piano’s lower panel and uses it to pop off the cover. Faded music sheets are wedged into the piano’s frame. A phrase on one of them catches SeokJin’s eye. (함께 라면 웃을 수 있다 : The Korean is not translated in game, but Google translates it as “if we are together, we can laugh.” This recurring phrase is instead translated as “we can laugh when we’re together” in The Notes 2. In YoonGi’s 2 August Year 22 entry, he also reflects on finding the note written in the margins of the music scores he took from the classroom. The handwriting isn’t his own. Additionally, a similar sentiment is expressed in a line of You Never Walk Alone, which is the basis for one of the BU-inspired Graphic Lyrics books.)
This message reminds SeokJin of YoonGi’s question: “When was the last time you genuinely laughed?” “This moment is the answer to that question,” he thinks, initiating a flashback to 20 March Year 19. The boys gathered around HoSeok in the classroom, chattering excitedly about the new club he’s leading. TaeHyung jokingly called him “Mr. President.” HoSeok told him only members could call him that before asking YoonGi if he wanted to join. “I’ll allow you to join without an audition, but only you.” TaeHyung exclaimed that he was just trying to get YoonGi to call him president. “Oh, it was obvious?” HoSeok chuckled. “Acting up again, huh?” YoonGi spoke up from the corner. The memory fades, returning to a pensieve SeokJin. He clearly remembers YoonGi’s face as he laughed with the others. “When did we stop laughing? Did it start that day, when I ruined everything?” SeokJin wonders. “It’s my fault,” he says aloud, standing there with the sheet music in hand until the sun begins to set. (Note: the date of the memory may be a typo. On 20 March Year 20 in The Notes 1, TaeHyung overheard SeokJin in the classroom informing the principal of the trouble he and YoonGi had gotten into. SeokJin realized that NamJoon heard it but not TaeHyung, who remained hidden out of sight and then pretended not to know. It’s not impossible that this memory really occurred in March Year 19, but most of them had only met at the beginning of that month.)
On the night of 15 April, SeokJin follows YoonGi at a distance from his workroom to an alleyway bar. (It is possible but not entirely clear that this is the same day SeokJin found the sheet music at the classroom, which is why I did not specify the date earlier.) It appears that YoonGi visits this bar often since the owner asks him if he has money today. SeokJin sits at a table behind YoonGi and watches him knock back shot after shot. Deciding that he shouldn’t leave him alone any longer, SeokJin musters up the courage to join him. YoonGi doesn’t look surprised to see him. He smiles before looking down again. SeokJin attempts a natural conversation to catch up. YoonGi asks why he didn’t come along the night when everyone got together at NamJoon’s container. “It’s been awhile since we’ve all seen each other, and JungKook… Never mind. You were probably busy.” SeokJin apologizes and inquires how JungKook is doing, then turns the same question on YoonGi when he replies that he doesn’t know. “Anything new with you?” SeokJin presses when YoonGi avoids his gaze. “Well, as you can see.” YoonGi dodges a direct answer.
The restaurant owner brings them a second glass. They are quiet in a restaurant full of chatter. SeokJin brings up the past to break the awkward silence, asking if YoonGi remembers the day they walked out of high school together. “Why do you ask?” says YoonGi. SeokJin explains that he remembered what YoonGi said to him that afternoon. “I want to ask you the same thing you asked me then.” SeokJin is nervous but continues, not wanting to waste this opportunity. “When was the last time you genuinely laughed?” YoonGi is silent for a moment. “Who knows.” SeokJin encourages him to think about it. “What good is it whether I remember or not? It wouldn’t change things now, even if I remembered.” YoonGi’s refusal to express his feelings upsets SeokJin more than his indifferent tone. “I just wish he would open up to me so I could figure out… anything. If only I could tell him,” SeokJin thinks. His internal narration continues over a shot of him in high school looking at his phone: “Or maybe… If I went back further in time, mustering up the courage to protect my friends, and prevented YoonGi from being expelled. If I did, maybe now we’d be…” “What’s with that expression?” YoonGi’s voice snaps him into the present, and he stares at SeokJin the way he had when they walked home from school. “Nothing, just… I feel like it’s been a while since I last saw you and I’m wasting time with useless subjects. It’s nothing—” SeokJin tries to laugh it off, but YoonGi interrupts. “You’re the same as always… There’s something there in your expression, but you say that it’s nothing.” This remark hits hard, rendering SeokJin speechless.
YoonGi’s words echo in SeokJin’s head even after he arrives home later that night. How did YoonGi notice what SeokJin thought he kept well-hidden? He once viewed YoonGi as someone who was indifferent to the world and trying to distance himself from everything. It dawns on SeokJin that he is mistaken. He opens his camcorder, hoping to see something new with this changed perspective. A recording plays in which he, YoonGi, and JungKook are the only ones present in the classroom hideout. When YoonGi starts playing piano, JungKook gets up from the desk and carefully stands by him. YoonGi doesn’t seem bothered and continues to play. Suddenly, he stops. “You wanna try?” In the present, SeokJin wonders why he asks JungKook that out of the blue and replays the footage, feeling like he missed something. This time, he notices that JungKook begins chewing his nails before YoonGi asks him. “Can I?” says JungKook. “Why not? It’s not my piano or anything. You can play if you want to.” At YoonGi’s words, the color returns to JungKook’s face and his hands drop from his mouth. SeokJin watches a little more of the video. As the recorded YoonGi patiently corrects JungKook’s wrong notes, he realizes that YoonGi doesn’t merely ask JungKook to play on a whim but out of respect for him.
SeokJin turns his attention to his box of photos. The player can choose up to three to examine. SeokJin realizes that YoonGi is a little further behind the group and not looking at the camera not because he feels left out or is avoiding attention, but because he is always watching how they are all together. YoonGi knows us very well, he thinks. He stopped JungKook from biting his nails by asking him to play the piano rather than acknowledging it directly. He saw through SeokJin and recognized when his laughter wasn’t genuine, even after several years apart. SeokJin thought that YoonGi wanted to give up everything, would never open up to anyone, and experienced feelings that were impossible for him to understand. “But if we were the ones to make YoonGi laugh… It may be possible to save YoonGi,” SeokJin reflects. With more determination, he vows to save him. “I’ll save him no matter what, because we can laugh when we’re together.”
SeokJin visits YoonGi every day after their meeting at the bar, responding that he’s making time to see him when asked if all university students have this much free time. They grow more accustomed to each other’s company, but SeokJin’s glimmer of hope fades as alcohol and aimless wandering continues to fill YoonGi’s life. Since just visiting YoonGi’s workroom seems meaningless, on 24 April SeokJin decides to show him the sheet music he found in the hideout, hoping it will encourage him to resume songwriting. Upon seeing the music, YoonGi has a flashback to 25 June Year 20, the day he received the school expulsion notice. He ran immediately to the classroom and played the piano as though possessed. The anger refused to settle. He shoved all of his sheet music into the piano and vowed to never play the piano again. In the present, YoonGi asks, “Where’d you find this?” At his cold expression, SeokJin wonders what he’s done wrong and explains aloud that he just happened to find it in the hideout’s piano. The papers fall from YoonGi’s hand, scattering across the floor. “Leave,” he spits. “What? Min YoonGi, what’s going on?” SeokJin asks. YoonGi shoves him. “Just leave.” “Don’t do this, let’s talk for a moment,” SeokJin tries again. But YoonGi replies, “I have nothing to say to you.”
YoonGi avoids him after that. On 25 April, SeokJin calls him numerous times without any answer and finds only torn sheet music and empty bottles in his workroom. He remembers YoonGi’s last words to him and says aloud, “It can’t be. No way.” An ominous thought crosses his mind, but he forces it out to focus on recalling something from memory. The story cuts to him running down a street, trying to figure out where YoonGi went to set the fire in the last loop. (It is never clarified what SeokJin’s “ominous thought” is—it may refer to YoonGi setting a fire or possibly even a suspicion that YoonGi figured out SeokJin was involved in his expulsion.) SeokJin finds the same motel (the one with the sign like in the I Need U MV) and rushes upstairs in a cold sweat. Faced with a hallway of identical doors, he doesn’t know how to locate YoonGi’s room. Whether the player chooses for him to call out to YoonGi or “think of something else” (which results in him pulling the fire alarm), the result is ultimately the same. SeokJin forces open the last closed door with a fire extinguisher, but the room is empty. Filled with regret, SeokJin wonders what he has done wrong. “Like an idiot, I… I knew that the location and method of YoonGi’s attempt could change, and yet…”
“Fire!” someone yells. The motel across the street erupts in flames. “No! Please…” SeokJin begs, falling to his knees. “How can I stop this tragedy? … Am I not enough to stop it?” The story ends as he hears the glass shatter once again.
Additional Thoughts
For me, JungKook’s arc really draws back the curtain on SeokJin’s private life. It demonstrates SeokJin’s challenge to balance saving his friends and maintaining his own daily life, particularly fulfilling the duties that fall to him as a prominent assemblyman’s son. We see little of this side of him until The Notes 2, when his perspective has already drastically changed.
JungKook’s reflection about his habit of walking along the edges of walls is an interesting moment of self-awareness. This “tightrope-walking” is depicted frequently in the MVs.
The car accident and loop reset at the beginning of JungKook’s 4th episode suggests the possibility that the I Need U MV depicts JungKook deliberately stepping in front of the oncoming car rather than accidentally. (Maybe people have already interpreted it this way, but personally the thought had never occured to me due to how it’s shot and acted.) The car accident is a recurring theme in the loops for JungKook, particularly as he is struck the night of 22 May and comes to believe that it was SeokJin who hit him.
This internal dialogue of SeokJin’s from YoonGi’s arc gives me a lot to think about: “If I went back further in time, mustering up the courage to protect my friends, and prevented YoonGi from being expelled. If I did, maybe now we’d be…” SeokJin’s first experiences of the time loops are depicted in the Save Me Webtoon. At that time, he believes that 11 April is the date that he can begin fixing things, but it’s not clear if this ability granted by the cat-like creature truly gives him control over to which date the loop resets. (It is more obvious that he cannot control what triggers the reset itself.) Does he ever go back earlier? Only *ahem* time will tell, but if you want some more food for thought, please check out these interesting quotes that occur before 11 April Year 22.
As mentioned above, the following “tl;dr” commentary summarizes the parenthetical notes I provided in the summaries in case you want to review them on their own.
The Boy on the Threshold — tl;dr commentary
SeokJin’s flashback to 3 March Year 19, when all seven boys arrived late on the first day at Songju Jeil High School and were scolded outside by the Dean, looks very similar to the BTS Begins Middle Scene VCR (aside from the absence of extra students), including the detail of YoonGi arriving last. This VCR predates official BU content.
The photo in SeokJin’s collection that catches JungKook’s eye resembles the shot in the Euphoria MV at 5’32” (the seven boys sitting on a wall with the ocean behind them) except that they appear to be wearing school uniform shirts and slacks.
JungKook’s flashback to the night of 7 April Year 22 expands the context of his reunion with YoonGi, adding that he is drawn to the music shop by a familiar tune and through its broken window sees YoonGi playing piano. YoonGi doesn’t notice him when he staggers outside, and JungKook tries to play the music by memory. In his 7 April Year 22 entry of The Notes 1, YoonGi is drunk and stumbling by an empty construction site when he recognizes a clumsy piano tune that he’d been playing “not long ago.” But when he runs to the music shop and finds JungKook, the text does not indicate that he remembers this is his second visit to the shop this evening. Additionally, the Wings short film First Love seems to reference some of the events of this night—or evokes YoonGi’s distorted memories of it, mingled with a representation of JungKook’s later accident.
I mentioned in part 1’s introduction that every episode’s ending is identical regardless of the decisions made by the player, but the end of episode 4 is actually cosmetically different (a wobbling camera/animation effect) if the second path is selected for the last choice. The dialogue is the same.
The end of episode 7 depicts the seaside observatory. This is a key location on 22 May Year 22, recurring in The Notes and depicted in the HYYH On Stage: Prologue short film and Euphoria MV. It looks the same in the game.
The End of His Gaze — tl;dr commentary
The motel sign at the beginning and end of the story matches the one visible in YoonGi’s shots of the I Need U MV.
When searching the classroom hideout for clues on 15 April, SeokJin identifies his father's name alongside the message “Everything started from here” on the graffitied wall. He first saw this note in his 25 June Year 19 entry from The Notes 1.
Episode 3 presents a memory from both SeokJin’s and YoonGi’s perspectives of the afternoon that they walked out of school together. Although the date is unspecified, this event is also referenced in YoonGi’s 2 August Year 22 entry from The Notes 2 and the similar Note accompanying Map of the Soul: 7.
On his second attempt at searching the classroom, SeokJin finds sheet music that was hidden inside the piano. A phrase written in the corner of one paper catches his eye: 함께 라면 웃을 수 있다. The Korean is not translated in game, but Google translates it as “if we are together, we can laugh.” This recurring phrase is instead translated as “we can laugh when we’re together” in The Notes 2. In YoonGi’s 2 August Year 22 entry, he also reflects on finding the note written in the margins of the music scores he took from the classroom. The handwriting isn’t his own. Additionally, a similar sentiment is expressed in a line of You Never Walk Alone, which is the basis for one of the BU-inspired Graphic Lyrics books.
SeokJin has a flashback of 20 March Year 19 in which the boys are excitedly chattering about HoSeok’s new club. However, given the larger context of this moment (both in the past and what prompts it in the present), the date of the memory may be a typo. On 20 March Year 20 in The Notes 1, TaeHyung overheard SeokJin in the classroom informing the principal of the trouble he and YoonGi had gotten into. SeokJin realized that NamJoon heard it but not TaeHyung, who remained hidden out of sight and then pretended not to know. It’s not impossible that this memory really occurred in March Year 19, but most of them had only met at the beginning of that month.
Did you learn anything new from these stories that I did not specifically mention? Let me know in the replies or tags! Please stay tuned for part 3, featuring JiMin and HoSeok’s stories.
#armiesnet#bangtanarmynet#networkbangtan#armysource#dailybangtan#bts universe#hyyh#bangtan universe#bts universe story#bts universe story highlights#seokjin#jungkook#yoongi#jinkook#yoonkook#yoonjin#bts theories
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Looking forward to whatever you`ve been writing on! I always wondered what Judy`s reaction would have been in `on the hunt (for who I’ve not yet become)` when they eventually told her. Like how did that go down. Or something to do with their story after the fic finished idk I just really loved that story.
“I can’t do this.”
Dani glances over her shoulder, frowning. They had been, until this moment, walking in more or less perfect tandem--Dani trying to whittle down her usual stride, Jamie moving at twice her natural clip--a steady flow of forward until just now. Now, with Jamie pulling up fast, her hand in Dani’s performing a sort of rubber-band-snap trick to keep them both on the pavement.
“What do you mean, you can’t do this?”
“This.” Jamie, grim-faced, gestures down the block. The house is still just out of sight, the car parked a truly ridiculous distance away. Jamie’s idea; If she sees us, she’d muttered, we won’t get a moment’s peace to figure it all out.
“We have to tell her sometime,” Dani points out. “I mean--we do, don’t we?”
“Yes. No. Doesn’t have to be now, does it? Why don’t we just--just wait until we’re sending out wedding invitations. Or invitations to my funeral. Or never.”
Dani, despite herself, grins. It’s not that Jamie doesn’t get nervous--it’s just that Jamie doesn’t tend to show it. Not like she does, all sharp intake of breath and tight-clenched fists. Jamie’s nerves are quiet, smoothed over, tucked into the motion of hands which are never left idle. Jamie’s nerves are an unexpected kiss, a fumble of motion, the constant urge to put those feelings somewhere productive.
Now, she’s standing stock-still on this too-familiar street, one hand loose in Dani’s. Stock-still, looking for the first time in years like the child who had gazed balefully around a foreign living room.
“Christ, she’s gonna fuckin’ disown me.”
She looks like she believes it, the only thing that keeps Dani from laughing outright at the idea. She believes it, and there’s a small, simple hurt on her face at the idea--her jaw held tight, her shoulders hunched. Dani presses a hand to her cheek, leaning in until their foreheads meet.
“She won’t. You know she won’t. You’re her kid.”
“He’s her kid,” Jamie corrects, breath skidding across Dani’s lips in a way that--even at this inopportune moment--makes her pulse race. They’ve been building this beautiful thing together for a few months, and the heat of it never quite seems to fade. “I’m just the baggage.”
“Stop.” Dani kisses her once, softly. “Stop doing that. No falling back on bad habits, Jamie. She’ll be happy for us.”
She says it, and she means it, as if there isn’t a tiny spark of absolute terror kindled in her own heart at the idea of telling Judy O’Mara the truth. That Dani has not moved all the way to Vermont to share Jamie’s little apartment out of friendly camaraderie. That Dani has spent the last few months shaping a life around not only school and new friends, as she’s told Judy over the phone, but around learning just how well she and Jamie fit together.
They do. They fit so well. Jamie’s bed--their bed--has become the kind of safe haven she hadn’t known she could find anywhere. Jamie’s fingers toying with the braid of a worn old bracelet is like coming home.
“Come on.” She squeezes Jamie’s hand, kisses her again, lets the warmth of Jamie’s body steer her toward courage. “Like a band-aid, Jamie. Just rip it off.”
“Better idea,” Jamie says, though her legs are moving reluctantly forward again. “We go back to the hotel, I rip other things off instead, we forget this whole stupid idea.”
Tempting. “After. Come on, you haven’t seen her in how long?”
Jamie doesn’t answer. Hand in hand, they walk, and with every house they pass, a few more years seem to cycle back. They are twenty-three, newly bound, and they are seventeen, unaware of one another, and they are twelve, camped out under too-few stars.
They are on the front step, Jamie’s hand falling away, tucking restlessly into the pocket of her jacket like she’s terrified to be seen gripping Dani’s. Dani presses the tips of her fingers lightly to Jamie’s back for a moment.
“Deep breath. She loves you.”
“Gonna fuckin’ find out,” Jamie mutters.
The door swinging open feels like a portal to the past, Judy O’Mara’s small frame somehow seeming as expansive as it had when Dani had been eight years old. Her face wears a few more lines these days, but wears them well--the pride of a woman who has loved hard, raised good kids, made a place for herself in the world that feels warm and right. Her eyes are wide, her mouth falling open in a delighted grin, even as Dani raises a hand in a small wave.
“Surprise?”
“You didn’t tell me you were coming to town!” She pushes through the storm door, hugging them both in a single sweeping motion that nearly knocks Jamie off the porch. “Oh my god, you should have called, I’d have made a feast!”
“It’s eleven in the morning,” Jamie mumbles, but Dani can see her smiling. The Judy O’Mara of her anxious mind can’t withstand, even for a second, the truth of the woman.
“A feast for lunch, then,” Judy says without missing a beat. She leans back, takes Jamie by the chin, turns her head gently from side to side as though looking for new scars. “You look good. Healthy. You finally learn to cook?”
“She did,” Jamie replies, tilting her head toward Dani. “Sort of.”
“I make an excellent roasted salmon,” Dani proclaims, “and...very little else.”
“Well, come in! Come in, tell me--I mean, you have to tell me everything, right? Oh, I wish I’d known, I would have moved some things around, told Mike the game could wait.”
“Game?” Jamie seems frozen on the porch, her face unreadable. Judy is moving deeper into the living room, her back to them, and Dani takes the opportunity to slip an arm around Jamie’s waist to guide her over the threshold.
“Baseball. You know how the boys are.”
Never interested in baseball, Dani thinks wryly, remembering all the times Eddie had complained that nothing ever happened in a sport that slow.
“They won’t be back until tomorrow, they drove all the way to Indiana for the thing. Silly,” Judy is saying. “Come on, into the kitchen, I can at least get you girls something to drink.”
“That’s, uh. That’s all right, actually,” Dani says, following the familiar path back to the big kitchen table. It feels a little less expansive now, a little more worn; the wood is pocked in places, scuffed and weathered by decades of plate and fork and cups laid down without coaster. “We really just came to see you.”
“Oh, that’s sweet to say.” Judy makes a flapping gesture without looking, busy at the kettle. Jamie, grimacing, sinks slowly down in her old seat as if pulled by magnetic force. “But I know how much you must miss Edmund. Even after it all...you know. He still loves you so much, Danielle.”
"I’ll bet,” Jamie says in a low voice. Dani kicks her very gently under the table, amused when Jamie arches a brow that says oh, there will be consequences for that later.
Can’t wait, she thinks with a dizzy, rather inappropriate burst of desire, her hand creeping over to rest on Jamie’s knee. There’s a stabilizing sensation to the act, reminding her in no uncertain terms: this is who she is now. This, not Eddie’s long-lost girl, but someone lucky enough to be so in love with Jamie, it sometimes puts an ache into her chest.
“Not to say you should be getting back together,” Judy says, running steel straight up Dani’s spine.
“You--you aren’t?”
“Oh, Danielle, it’s been such a long time. I’d be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed, you know, when it happened--but I always thought, in the back of my mind, how many childhood sweethearts really work out? You grow up. You grow apart. It’s natural.”
Jamie is grinning, biting the inside of her cheek, her knee beginning to shudder under Dani’s palm as her boot rocks against the tile floor. Dani squeezes harder.
“Well, that’s--that’s sort of the thing,” she says. “The reason we wanted to visit. We, um. We’ve--well--”
Judy is doing that mom thing she’s always admired, carrying three steaming mugs to the table without spilling a drop. She takes a seat across from them, beaming with every inch of her face, and Dani thinks, Love. This is what love looks like. This will be okay.
“Judy, I--I wanted you to be the first to--I mean...”
There are words here, she knows with frustration. Words, not even so big or so complicated, if only she can pluck them from the air. Just say it, Dani. Just say--
“I never thanked you properly,” Jamie says. Her voice is impossibly steady, her face passive. Beneath the table, her leg has stopped its jittering dance at last. Judy looks surprised, Dani’s teeth clacking shut on her own stammering.
“Why do you say that, dear?”
“’Cause it’s true,” Jamie says simply. “Never did. All those years of feedin’ me, keeping clothes on my back, never once making me feel...unwanted. Didn’t have to do that, Judy. No one was making you.”
Judy’s surprise is inching toward some emotion Dani can’t quite pinpoint--pleasure, that Jamie is saying this now, or pain, that Jamie thinks for a second she wasn’t worth it. “Sweetheart, of course I--I mean, you’re my kid. You know that.”
“Wasn’t, though,” Jamie says, almost earnestly. She’s leaning across the table, her hand moving to press Judy’s. “Was just some wee mess stumbling into your life, wasn’t I? And not always grateful, besides. I was--I don’t know what I was, half the time, but I was always lucky. So fucking--sorry, sorry, so utterly lucky. Was smart enough, at least, to figure that out.”
Judy’s cheeks are bright, her eyes brimming. She seems quite unable to speak, which Jamie seems to take as a relief. Her voice is rolling with surprising emotion, pushing a little faster than is normal, save for her most vulnerable moments.
“I was lucky you took me in, and lucky your family was willing to open up for one more. And I was...really lucky for this one.” Her eyes cut to Dani, her foot curling beneath the table around Dani’s ankle. “You brought me to her. Don’t think I can ever be grateful enough for that.”
Judy looks almost puzzled, though she’s smiling. “I’m glad to hear it. I always had a feeling, you know. That...you were a good match, somehow. You balance out. It’s important, having a friend like that.”
Friend, thinks Dani with a mouth gone dry. Best friend, sure. Best friend I can’t imagine ever being without again.
“You brought me to her,” Jamie repeats, almost stubborn, though she’s smiling. “I’ve never loved anyone more. Don’t think I could, given all the time in the world.”
The air seems to go still, the kitchen suddenly rife with small noises Dani’s never noticed before. The hum of the refrigerator. The trickle of water down the drain through a leaky faucet. The tap of Judy’s slipper against the floor.
“Please say something,” Jamie says. “I don’t honestly know how to--”
“Eddie had an idea,” Judy says quietly. “When you were all still, gosh, back in high school. Long time ago, it seems now.”
Dani is nodding reflexively. Jamie isn’t moving at all.
“There was...a party? I think. Almost didn’t let you all go, it was against my best judgement, but--I figured, if you were together, what harm could come of it? And then Eddie came home early. Tried to pretend he wasn’t drunk, like he’s ever been good at lying, and wasn’t angry.”
Her voice is almost dreamy with memory, her back leaning against the chair as she raises the mug to her lips. She isn’t quite looking at either of them.
“I asked him where you two were. I remember being furious that he’d leave you alone. And I remember, very clearly, him saying something strange. Danielle doesn’t need me when she’s got her. I remember that so well. Danielle doesn’t need me when she’s got her.”
Jamie swallows audibly. Her hand is still resting on the table, inches from where Judy’s was not so long ago. She looks as though she’d very much like to give in to the oldest Jamie-urge in the book, to push up and bolt from the house without looking back. Dani traces her kneecap through her jeans, fingers pressing firmly until Jamie draws a deep breath.
“I thought it was so odd,” Judy goes on. “That he’d say something like that. But he wasn’t in his right mind, and by the time I heard you sneak in--yes, Jamie, you were never as subtle as you thought, dear--he was fast asleep. No one said anything else about it, and I thought maybe you’d just gotten into a fight. Young love is like that. It can be so jealous.”
Not always, Dani thinks. If Jamie was jealous--and she’s sure she was, to a point; there are some feelings too big and too natural to ward off completely--she tried not to let it show. Jamie’s love has always been sunlight, reassuring and steady and there even when clouds roll in.
“This is why,” Judy says, looking Dani in the eye. “Isn’t it?”
“Why he was mad?”
“Why you broke it off.” Her eyes never blink, never stray, her gaze as solid as the table. “You said it was because you didn’t love him the right way. I didn’t understand what that meant, but I knew you knew. Always knew your own mind, Danielle. It’s one of the things I’m most proud of.”
Dani breathes, trying hard to quell the dizzy rush in her head. “Judy, I--”
“She doesn’t think she needs anyone taking care of her,” Judy goes on, like she hasn’t spoken. “Never did, even when she barely came up to my hip. Always thought she had it handled.” Her gaze slides to Jamie’s face, her lips curving. “Isn’t that right?”
“Right,” Jamie says, sounding breathless.
“But you took care of her anyway. Every step of the way. Wouldn’t listen to me or anyone else, but she always listened to you, didn’t she?”
“Right,” Dani says, a helpless grin working onto her face. This feels like a dream. This feels like a story not quite within her own control. Judy sighs, sips her tea.
“Well. There’s nothing more to it, then, is there?”
“There isn’t?” Dani asks. Judy pushes up from the table, shaking her head.
“I only have one question.”
The silence is too loud, punctuated by hum and drip and tap. The silence is going to drive her crazy, Dani believes, and drive Jamie to run, and this is all going to fall apart because she so desperately needed for Judy O’Mara to know them--
“Will you be staying the night?”
“What?” Jamie says, in the same moment Dani blurts, “Sorry?”
“Staying the night,” Judy repeats. “Jamie, we’ve converted your room into a sort of hodgepodge storage-guest combination, but you can just throw all those boxes into the hall. I don’t suppose you’ll be needing the sleeping bag.”
“I--” Jamie is shaking her head very slowly, as though trying to clear water from her ears. “I--no, we’ve got...a hotel...”
“Oh, that’s just silly.” Judy waves a dismissive hand. “You’ll take the room. No sense spending money, you already came home.”
Home, Dani thinks, her heart pounding. Home, here, in the O’Mara house--an address she’d never quite claimed, but the place where all her fondest memories live all the same. The place she grew up. The place that brought her to Jamie.
“Have you stopped in to see your mother yet?” Judy asks. “I can invite her to dinner, if you like, I haven’t caught up with her in...months, now, probably--”
“You’re not,” Jamie begins, the words drying up before they can truly escape. Judy pauses at the sink, her hand tipping the remnants of her tea toward the drain.
“Not what, sweetheart?”
That word, more than anything, seems to unbind Jamie’s calm. That word, a simple endearment spread back through their lives like so much love in two syllables, belonging to Judy and Judy alone. Jamie swallows again, presses a hand to her jaw, closes her eyes.
“Upset,” she croaks at last. Judy raises an eyebrow.
“My kids are happy. What on earth would I be upset about?”
It’s not a good time, Dani thinks as Jamie slumps against the table in mingled relief and exhaustion, to say I told you so. Later, she thinks--when they’re nestled in a bed just a little too small for their adult frames, when Jamie is looking up at her with glazed delight, when they’re trying their best to make a kiss sound like silence. Maybe she’ll do it then. I told you she loved you. I told you.
Now, watching Jamie slide from the table, move across the kitchen in a daze, slip her arms around Judy in a firm hug, Dani thinks--not for the first time--that family is as much a choice as it is a gift. That Judy has always chosen well. That Jamie has learned from the best.
Told you, she thinks, feeling perfectly at peace.
#fanfiction#ficlet#the haunting of bly manor#dani x jamie#damie#AU one-shot#not entirely sure how to tag the ones that are extensions of my own pre-existing work#nor am I sure how they're going to find their way over to AO3--possibly will throw all the extensions into a single piece#and all the others into the confetti one#regardless I hope this is what you were looking for#going back to the childhood AU was a trip I forgot just how much I adored that story
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Looking Through A Window (2)
macriley married undercover au
masterlist.
Oh man. My dudes. I received so much love and support and excited feedback on the first chapter that I thought my heart was going to explode. Y’all are so wonderful. Keep it up. <3
*****
Luckily, Matty lets them take the Phoenix jet to Houston. Flying commercial would make today even more tortuous than it already promises to be, albeit for a different reason.
No matter how hard he tries to distract himself, Mac cannot stop staring at the diamond ring on Riley’s finger. The princess cut gem is stunning and ridiculously large, but it suits her cover as a lucrative arms dealer. A white gold wedding band sits below it. Riley left her usual assortment of rings at home, and Mac can’t help but think her long, delicate fingers look bare without them.
He tears his eyes away from the rings again and again, both on the plane and while driving to the safe house. Riley drives with just her left hand, her right elbow resting on the center console. Mac likes driving, but there’s something relaxing about riding shotgun while Riley drives instead. He’s never been able to put a finger on it, but the sense of ease washes over him all the same. Admiring the way sunlight illuminates her engagement ring is simply a bonus.
He doesn’t let himself imagine what he might give her, in an alternate future where she reciprocates his feelings and one day wants to marry him.
Harley obediently lays in the backseat, staring out the windshield. She's been on her best behavior the entire twenty four hours Mac's known her, ever the professional.
Which puts her completely at odds with Mac and Riley's shenanigans—cracking jokes, dancing on the plane and in the car, doing purposefully bad impersonations of Russ. These are the best parts of going on ops alone with Riley. They can let loose in a way they just couldn’t when anyone else other than Bozer was around. Everyone else is professional all the time; Mac and Riley are only professional when they have to be.
Riley taps the steering wheel in time to the classic rock song on the radio. “What do you want for dinner?”
“Dinner? We haven’t even had lunch yet!”
“True.” Riley chuckles. “Can you tell I’m hungry?”
Mac gives her a sly look. “Not at all.”
They settle on Texas barbecue for lunch on their way to the safe house, because that’s what Jack would choose if he was here. If only the old man could see them now, all grown up and getting sent to take down terrorists unsupervised.
Seated in a booth in the far corner of the restaurant, Mac raises his brisket sandwich in a toast to Jack, in whatever afterlife he found himself in. Hopefully it’s the one with an endless supply of good barbecue.
“Oh man, Jack would’ve loved this,” Riley says through a mouthful of food. She sneaks Harley a piece of brisket.
Mac smiles. “Yeah, he would’ve.”
It’s easier, now, to talk about him. At first, Mac hadn’t been sure he could ever get to a point where talking about Jack didn’t make him want to hit something or just curl up and sob.
But here he is, on the other side. Him and Riley both.
Their safe house is another twenty minutes away from the restaurant, in a nice neighborhood full of trees and children playing on the sidewalks. It’s so much greener than a California neighborhood could ever dream of being. There’s even a park across the street from their apartment complex. It’s exactly the sort of place a young, affluent couple would want to live.
Riley parks in their designated space, and the pair ascend the stairs to apartment number 202. Outside of the car, they don’t dare use each other’s real names until they’re sure the apartment is free of bugs. The place was furnished earlier that week by other Phoenix agents, but Mac and Riley do a thorough sweep of every room just in case.
It’s a nice apartment. Wood flooring, granite countertops, matching cabinets throughout. There are pictures on the walls, but Mac doesn’t bother to stop and check what they are.
Riley clears the space from back to front, so Mac does the opposite. He clears the kitchen first, frowning at the absence of any sort of food, before moving on to the living room.
Mac stops dead in his tracks when he enters the bedroom. The singular bedroom. With a singular, queen-sized bed.
Oh no. This is not happening.
Mac shakes his head and rubs his eyes, hoping his mind is just playing tricks on him and that there’s actually two beds. Or a whole other room he missed before.
The one and only bed seems to mock him.
He walks back out, finding Riley already sitting at the kitchen table, turning on her laptop. “Uhh, Riles? There’s only—”
“One bed,” she finishes, not bothering to look up. “I know.”
Oh god. He can’t do this. He can’t. Not with his dignity still intact. Mac stammers, “I’ll, uhh, sleep on the couch. You can have it.”
That gets Riley’s attention. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re going to be here for weeks. You’ll hurt your back sleeping on the couch that long. Just sleep with me.” Riley’s eyes widen as she realizes what she just said. “In the bed,” she quickly adds.
Mac ducks his head to hide his blush.
“What are you working on?” he asks in a feeble attempt to distract himself from their sleeping situation. Because it will definitely be a situation if Mac’s not careful.
“Connecting to the Wi-Fi,” Riley says in a slow, “What else would I be doing?” sort of way.
“Right.” Mac silently curses himself. Of course that’s what she’s doing. “Anyway, I’m assuming you already know this, since you probably opened the fridge too, but we have no food.”
“I saw.” She’s multitasking again, manicured fingers flying faster across her keyboard than Mac can keep track of. “Why don’t you unload our bags while I finish this, and then we can go.”
Unable to help feeling like he’s been dismissed, Mac complies without protest.
Soon they’re back in the car, headed to the grocery store, and the whole thing feels ridiculously domestic. Mac’s never been a fan of grocery shopping, but Riley makes it almost...fun. For starters, she’s not methodical about it the way Bozer and Desi are. But more than that, getting to spend time with her doing mundane, non-work stuff is a nice reminder that their relationship is more than just the job. They’re friends too.
Mac wishes there is a way to tell her all that without it sounding weird.
They come home, unload the groceries, and take Harley for a long walk, and that feels easy too. It feels normal, even though literally nothing about this situation is normal, and Mac already knows he’ll miss this when the op is over.
But normalcy ends when Riley beckons Mac to sit beside her at the kitchen table, and together they write an advertisement for their arms dealing business. Once they’re satisfied with it, Riley sends it off into the dark web, and there’s nothing to do but wait, like a spider after spinning her web.
The waiting is the worst part.
Mac is contemplating taking Harley for a second walk when Riley asks, “Want to help me make dinner?” He takes one look at her hands on her hips and the “you don’t actually have a choice” look on her face and knows he’ll be left to fend for himself if he doesn’t help now. Mac learned that the hard way back when he and Riley lived together.
“Sure.”
They work in comfortable silence. Mac chops vegetables and grates cheese for their quesadillas while Riley does the actual cooking part. Even though they are doing separate tasks, Mac is acutely aware of every move Riley makes, no matter how insignificant. Flexing her long, thin fingers around a knife. Itching the back of her calf with her foot. Dancing in place, spatula in hand, while she waits to flip the quesadillas sizzling in the pan.
Mac smiles softly. Her random little dances are cute. He’s noticed them more and more since realizing he has feelings for her, but if Mac is being honest, he’s always thought the dances are cute.
Riley hisses as she peeks under the tortilla, checking to see if it’s browned yet.
“You good?” Mac asks, frowning.
“Yeah, I touched the pan by accident.” Riley runs her thumb under cold water.
Her laptop dings while they eat. Wide-eyed, Mac glances at Riley. That was fast. She grimaces before sliding the laptop closer and checking the notification.
“Is it them?” he asks tentatively. That’s the hard part about this; in order for their business to look more legit, they had to just put an ad out and hope for a response, rather than target the terrorist organization directly.
Riley exhales. “No, it’s not them. It’s someone else.”
Swallowing another bite of quesadilla, Mac says, “I don’t know whether I’m relieved or if that’s worse.”
“Same.”
There are no more responses that night.
*****
Mac wakes up in the same position he fell asleep in—on his side, facing outward, with as much space between him and Riley as possible. When they crawled into bed the night before, Riley did the same.
Harley spent the night on the couch.
She’s a very guarded dog, Mac is slowly realizing. Tolerating, but not trusting. Mac supposes he would be like that too if he was a dog and he got stuck with a bunch of strangers after his human suddenly disappeared one day.
He makes coffee, feeds Harley breakfast, and takes a shower, all before Riley loses her battle with the snooze button and finally gets out of bed. While she showers, Mac takes Harley for a walk in hopes that the cool, spring air will ease the anxiety that took root the moment Riley released their ad into the void.
It doesn’t.
Dark, puffy clouds loom on the horizon, and the few birds Mac hears shriek at each other in warning. It looks like a storm is coming.
When Mac returns, he’s met with a grim expression, one he understands without Riley uttering a single word. “They answered,” she confirms.
“What did they say?” Unclipping Harley’s leash, Mac moves to stand behind Riley, resting his hands on the back of her chair. The scent of her shampoo tickles his nose, and he forces himself to ignore it and focus on what Riley’s saying.
“They want to meet. Today.”
“Time or place?”
Riley points at a small box on her screen. “Just an address.”
“What’s there?”
“A warehouse,” Riley says. “Owned by the same shell corporation other Phoenix techs already tied to the organization.”
“Not very clandestine, are they?”
“No, they’re not.” Riley looks up at him, her head bumping his sternum, and butterflies ricochet inside Mac’s rib cage. There’s something soft in Riley’s expression that makes Mac want to kiss her. “Are you ready for this?”
Mac sighs. “As ready as I ever am. Are you?”
“Yeah,” she says, but her confidence falters. Without thinking, Mac squeezes her shoulders in reassurance before walking away to change.
*****
The warehouse is located on the edge of the city, in an industrial area that has certainly seen better days. Even from a distance, Mac can see cobwebs decorating the warehouse windows and rust creeping up the roller doors. Aside from Riley, there’s not another soul in sight.
As per the directions the organization sent after Riley confirmed the meeting, Mac parks on the south side of the building, near the only functional-looking door. He doesn’t look at Riley as they get out of the car, instead desperately trying not to cringe at the cold, heavy weight of the gun holstered at his side, hidden beneath his jacket.
High-end arms dealers couldn’t walk around unarmed, unfortunately.
Although her hands are occupied with holding Harley’s leash, there’s a gun hidden beneath Riley’s suit jacket as well. Mac’s stomach churns. The second Riley emerged from their bedroom earlier wearing that jet black suit, she was a different person. She was wholly Genevieve Turner, and no matter how hard Mac tried, he couldn’t find even a single trace of his best friend beneath the icy exterior.
Locking their SUV, Mac smooths the lapels of his own black suit and slips into character as well.
The dark clouds Mac noticed earlier are directly overhead now. Mac has never believed in omens the way Jack did, but he can’t help hearing Jack’s voice in his head, warning him that black clouds are a sign of certain doom. Or something like that.
There’s no one inside the warehouse, at least as far as Mac can see. “Hello?” he calls, the word echoing slightly in the open space. Aside from a few random wooden crates, the room is empty.
A door slams, and then an older man comes into view. He’s probably in his late fifties, with graying hair and a beer belly his shirt doesn’t quite cover. The man swaggers like he owns the place, although Mac doubts the leader of a terrorist cell would deign to play tour guide.
No doubt there’s a quip on the edge of Riley’s tongue about entitled white men, but she doesn’t share it.
The man extends a hand to Mac in introduction. “Conrad.” His sneer doesn’t reach his eyes.
Mac frowns, keeping his hands at his sides. “Last name?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
What he’s about to say might screw everything up before it even starts, but Mac says it anyway. In his gut, he knows it’s the right call. “If it doesn’t matter, then we’re done here. My wife and I have no interest in entering a business relationship with someone too inexperienced to understand that trust is integral to any transaction.” Mac spins on his heel and strides toward the door, Riley falling into step beside him.
“Wait!” the man calls. They pause, turning around slowly. “Deacon. Conrad Deacon.” The man seems to know he’s already lost. Good. “Welcome to the cause.” He gestures for Mac and Riley to follow him.
Mac stands his ground. In his peripheral, Riley stands utterly still, the perfect mask of cool, collected neutrality. Almost bored, even. It’s scary how easily she becomes her cover.
“Come on now,” Conrad says, taking a single step forward. “We have much to discuss.”
That’s enough of the power play, Mac thinks, but just as he’s about to give in and follow Conrad, Riley utters a single, sharp command that rings through the room. “Sit.”
Harley obeys.
Riley’s lips curve in a cruel, taunting smile. “Then enlighten us.” Mac suppresses a shiver; he’s seen this side of Riley plenty of times before, watched her hone it over the years, but it’s still unnerving. Admittedly, it’s also kind of hot.
Conrad ignores her entirely. He croons, “Why don’t we start with your names?” It’s phrased like a question. It sounds like a question, but Mac sees the demand for what it really is.
Mac gestures to Riley. “This is my wife, Genevieve Turner. And my name is James.” His father’s name tastes like ash on Mac’s tongue.
“And the dog?”
“Killer,” Riley sneers. Mac isn’t sure if she’s kidding or not.
Again, Conrad doesn’t acknowledge her. “James, why don’t I give you the tour and explain what we do here.”
“We’ll go on the tour, but we are not here to join your cause.” It takes every ounce of Mac’s willpower to maintain his neutral tone. “All we care about is what you’d like us to provide and how much you’ll pay for it.”
Conrad doesn’t hide his displeasure. “Fine. Follow me.”
Mac and Riley are led through the open warehouse. The layout is straightforward and nearly impossible to get lost in. But after Conrad shows them a room full of rifles—countless hung on the walls, floor to ceiling, the rest in half-open crates—Mac finds himself counting the number of wooden shipping crates scattered around the building.
He doesn’t like his final number.
Arming terrorists doesn’t sit well with Mac, even if it serves a purpose. It makes him sick, knowing he will likely be indirectly responsible for their next attack.
Especially because those crates are no doubt full of the kind of rifles designed to kill people most effectively. The ones hanging on the wall are military grade, probably cutting-edge. Desi would know exactly what they are and how they work.
Trusting Riley is paying close attention, Mac only half listens to Conrad babble about the cause. But then the older man says something that stops Mac in his tracks. “Our country is being run into the ground by whiny do-nothings,” Conrad asserts, “who waste our money and spew garbage that some people matter more than others. Well, you know what? Hardworking, everyday Americans matter. But no,” he scoffs, “those damn liberals don’t like it when we remind them of the truth. Once we’re rid of them and the insufferables who elected them, this country will be better off.”
The ground sways under Mac’s feet. He knows these people believe this, read it in Matty’s extensive briefing notes. But it’s another thing entirely to hear someone say it to his face.
He can only imagine what Riley must be thinking.
Clearing his throat, Mac tries to redirect the conversation. “Like I said, we don’t care about your cause. Just tell us what you’re looking for, and we’ll be on our way.”
Conrad eyes him suspiciously, but complies. “We’re looking for something a little more than what you can get at the store, you know?”
Mac doesn’t, not exactly. He’ll have to ask Desi later. “I do,” he lies.
“Good. Here’s what we’re willing to pay for it.” He hands Mac a folded piece of paper, and Mac does a double take when he reads the number. There are a lot of zeroes. “And as a show of good faith, we’d like it delivered tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Riley splutters. Mac feels it then, the broiling rage slipping through a crack in her persona. He needs to get her out of there. Now. Not just to preserve the op, but for Riley’s wellbeing. Some audacity Matty has making Riley play nice with men like this.
Mac slides his hands into his pockets, using the movement as a cover to brush his knuckles against Riley’s fist. I know. I’m here. I’m sorry.
For the first time, Conrad addresses Riley directly. “Yes. Tomorrow. Unless that’s something you can’t do?”
“We can do that,” she replies calmly, and the difference between her reactions is like night and day. As quickly as that crack appeared, it was gone.
“Excellent.” Conrad takes another step toward Riley, offering to shake hands, but Harley’s low, menacing growl keeps him at bay. Rewarding the dog with a quick scratch on the head, Riley closes the gap and shakes Conrad’s still-outstretched hand.
“It’s a deal,” she says. Following suit, Mac shakes Conrad’s hand as well and follows Riley out the door, neither of them uttering another word.
Mac drives. One look at Riley’s trembling fist decides for him.
By the time the warehouse disappears from the rearview mirror, he can’t take the silence anymore. “Hey,” Mac starts, but Riley cuts him off with a hand.
“Not until we’re inside.”
They hit every single red light between the warehouse and the apartment, and Mac anxiously taps the steering wheel. Raindrops land on the windshield. They’re small at first, but soon the drops are large and numerous enough to refract the streetlights, and Mac struggles to see where he’s going. He adjusts the windshield wipers over and over, never landing on the right speed.
Too slow. Too fast. Too slow. Too fast.
Mac settles on a setting that’s slightly too fast, and the squeak of rubber on glass nearly matches his heart thudding in his chest.
Riley stares straight ahead, unmoving, unblinking. Mac wants to reach out, to let a gentle touch say what he verbally can’t, but the road is slick enough to make him keep two hands on the wheel. We’re almost there, he reassures himself.
By the time he parks, it’s pouring hard enough that the ten second walk from the car to the door soaks them to the bone. Riley’s hands shake as she unlocks the apartment door.
Once they’re inside and Mac unclips Harley’s leash, Riley turns to him with pained, pleading eyes. His heart breaking all over again, Mac draws her in for a long, tight hug. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to.
Mac just cradles the back of her head and sways gently, wishing he could fix the world for her.
Neither pulls away, even when Riley suddenly says, “If Conrad was smart, he would’ve had someone bug our car while he paraded us around the warehouse. I don’t think he’s actually smart enough to do that, but we should check first, just in case.”
Mac curses himself for not thinking of that. “Good call.” He rubs Riley’s back, hoping the gesture is soothing. “I hate the way he treated you,” he snarls. “Like you weren’t even worth acknowledging.”
“Welcome to being a woman.”
It was more than that. They both know it. But neither say it.
*****
“You need what?” Matty shrieks over the phone.
Mac winces. “Sorry.” He’d called Desi first, to ask what kind of guns Conrad meant with his innuendo, and received a verbal lashing for not asking any follow-up questions. But she made her best guess anyway. Now on the phone with Matty, it doesn’t take even a single brain cell to know that her reaction will be much, much worse.
“He wants us to prove ourselves,” Riley adds. “As a show of good faith.” The words come out dripping in venom, but their boss doesn’t comment. Mac takes a second to study her; Riley changed into leggings and an oversized flannel shirt, and there are still remnants of dark makeup smudges under her eyes. Now, she’s sitting on the kitchen counter with her knees tucked into her chest. It’s weird to see her take up so little space.
Matty sighs, deeply and loudly in a way conveys her annoyance more than words ever could. “Fine. A few weeks ago, Border Control confiscated a huge shipment of smuggled guns near El Paso, so I’ll see if we can borrow those. But next time, Blondie, don’t make promises you can’t keep.” He doesn’t correct Matty in that it was Riley who made the deal. That would only add fuel to the fire.
“Thank you,” he says, and Matty hangs up. Mac runs a hand through his damp hair. “That went well.” Riley’s lips twitch, but it’s not the amused reaction he hopes for. He’s at a complete loss regarding what to say to her, so Mac gently asks, “What can I do?”
Riley slides off the counter, and Mac reaches for her automatically, although he doesn’t actually touch her; his hand hovers just beside Riley’s elbow. She doesn’t shrink away, but she makes no move to touch him either.
“Help me put him and everyone like him in a deep, dark hole where they can’t hurt anybody. And then just…” she trails off, taking a deep breath. “Keep being you.”
With that, she walks away, leaving Mac alone in the kitchen, racking his brain to figure out what that last part means.
*****
Later that night, Mac tosses and turns, replaying Conrad’s words. Once we’re rid of them and the insufferables who elected them, this country will be better off. They seem off-kilter, like what the man said and what he really meant are misaligned. Mac sighs, rubbing his face.
Another bolt of lightning illuminates the bedroom, and Mac automatically counts the seconds until he hears thunder rumbling in the distance. The storm is moving closer.
Beside him, Riley lies on her back with her eyes closed, although her breathing is too light for her to be asleep. Mac wonders if her mind is just as loud and chaotic as his.
For Riley’s sake, he hopes it’s not.
*****
Sleep never finds Mac.
The storm rages all through the night, but by the time dawn arrives, the thunder and wind dissipate, leaving just the steady downpour. The clouds are dark enough that Mac can hardly tell the sun even bothered to rise this morning.
When Riley’s alarm goes off, it’s like the shrill tone is mocking Mac for being awake. Riley groans as she shuts it off.
“Morning,” he mumbles. His throat hurts. He needs water. “Did you sleep well?”
Another groan. “No.”
“At least you slept,” Mac mutters.
Riley rolls onto her side, drawing one of the extra pillows into her chest. “Do you always toss and turn that much?”
It was his fault, he realizes, that she didn’t sleep. Mac suddenly feels guilty. “Sorry. And no.”
He expects Riley to be upset at being kept awake, but she isn’t. With a look that just might be understanding, she softly asks, “What were you thinking about?”
Mac can’t say that his thoughts whip around his mind like raindrops in last night’s storm. Not without sounding crazy, at least. So instead he says, “I don’t even know. I just have a bad feeling about this.”
“Me too,” Riley admits. “It feels off.” Her eyes are heavy, and Mac’s had enough early mornings with Riley to know it’s not just the lack of sleep weighing her down.
“Go back to sleep. I can handle the delivery.”
Riley rolls her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not letting you do that by yourself.”
He doesn’t argue. “Okay.”
A moment passes between them. It’s been happening more and more lately—holding eye contact a little too long, sharing smirks when no one else is looking, stealing moments where it’s just the two of them and nothing else matters. Each one gives him hope that there’s not a wall between them, but instead, a door. Someone just has to be brave enough to open it.
Sitting up, Riley quipps, “Just don’t make me regret letting you sleep in the bed with me.” Mac snorts.
“No promises.”
.
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Heyy
90. Dance for Rhycien?
Please send me whump Prompts
(Heck yes, it's time for The Gay. Have some Under the Mountain Angst. Slight warning for mind control/influence (Rhys to Lucien) It's short-lived, demanded by Amarantha, and doesn't last long)
Old Time's Sake
"Ah, Lucien, nice of you to finally join us," Amarantha drawled from her place upon the carved throne, sitting above the writhing fae bodies, watching with that grim pleasure Rhys had come to loathe so intensely.
Turning, he spotted Lucien, long red hair gleaming in the dancing faelight, barely concealed loathing etched in every line of his angular face.
The exiled Autumn prince hadn't been seen for several days now. Not since the brutal whipping at Tamlin's hand that had left him unconscious and, if rumours were to be believed, near death.
From the look of spite in Lucien's remaining eye, it seemed he had spat in death's face for the simple pleasure of being able to glare at Amarantha once more.
"You're looking a little grim there, princeling," Amarantha crooned, "Why don't you join your little human friend? Dance with her."
She gestured towards Feyre, who had drunk the wine Rhys had provided her and accompanied him to the dance as he did each night. Her body moved with surprising grace, considering she was human.
A muscle feathered in Lucien's jaw as he watched Feyre. He turned that simmering hatred on Rhys instead, fire blazing in that russet eye. Rhys just smirked at him and winked. Lucien's hands balled themselves into fists at his sides.
It was clearly an effort for him to project even a facade of civility as he turned his gaze back to Amarantha and said, "I fear my skills are not equal to those already here. I wouldn't like to offend you with my display, lady."
Amarantha tapped one sharpened nail on the arm of her throne. Few caught the suppressed flinch in Lucien's body at the sight of it, but Rhys saw, and looked away, disgusted.
"You will offend me deeply if you refuse me again, Lucien," she said, voice soft and dangerous now.
"I'm sure we both know how much I'd hate to do that," Lucien growled, and Rhys found himself closing his eyes.
Lucien never had learned to keep his mouth shut. There seemed to be some self-destructive part of him that enjoyed snapping at those who could snap him in half with a wink.
Silence enveloped the hall for a few, pounding heartbeats. Then Amarantha turned her head sharply, all the false air of a pleasant queen amongst her court banished.
"Rhysand," she said, darkly, "Make him dance for me."
"It would of course be my pleasure," Rhys said smoothly, nudging Feyre to one side and rising from the plump cushions he'd been reclining on, keeping an eye on her as she reveled blindly.
Lucien turned to him, his jaw set, his eyes hard. There was no fear in those eyes. Many here underestimated Lucien, as he didn't possess the same power as his father or brothers. Rhys thought they were fools. It took an extraordinary level of strength and courage to face him that way. Not to mention his return here in the first place.
"Little Lucien," he clucked, aloud, shaking his head, "You know it's not polite to refuse a lady."
Inside his head, he murmured, I'm sorry.
Lucien's eyes flashed, almost giving him away with his moment of confusion. Then Rhys swept away his will, and forced him to perform for Amarantha. Just as he was forced to perform for her.
At once, Lucien's face contorted with pain. He shouldn't have come here tonight. Tamlin had no doubt ordered him, the cowardly bastard, unwilling to come himself to see Feyre. Lucien's magic had been suppressed, and he had been denied any kind of healer. His body had been forced to heal at the rate of a human.
It didn’t take long for the wounds to re-open, blood staining the handsome tunic Lucien wore.
Amarantha underestimated Lucien, too. Rhys could sense he would refuse to give out until this killed him, just to spite the bitch. But she wouldn’t know that. Once Lucien was breathing heavily, and finally cracked to let out a whimper of pain, Rhys enveloped his mind in darkness and allowed him to slump to the floor, unconscious.
“Pathetic,” Amarantha hissed, as Lucien’s brothers, clustered around her throne as usual, sniggered and jeered their approval.
She waved a dismissive hand at Rhys, “Get him out of my sight,” she commanded, already bored, turning away to watch Feyre with amusement.
“At once, lady,” Rhys said.
Snapping his fingers, he lifted Lucien’s limp form into the air then carried him down to the cells, where he would return Feyre to in a few hours.
Setting him down far more gently than he would have dared to under Amarantha’s watchful gaze, Rhys gazed down at the fae male he had almost let himself love, once upon a time.
His fingers traced the scar over his eye with sadness. Then gently unbuttoned the blood-stained, ruined tunic, and examined the mess of his back. Torn, raw flesh, weeping fresh blood once more after Amarantha’s forced dancing.
It would have been worse if you hadn’t put a stop to it when you did, he tried to tell himself. Anger flared as another thought crept into his mind, And it would have been a lot better if Tamlin hadn’t sent him to that fucking party.
The High Lord of Spring had to know how much Amarantha enjoyed using Lucien as her plaything. Torturing him was becoming something she enjoyed almost as much as she enjoyed torturing him.
Sighing, Rhys reached out a hand, magic flaring, but-
Slim, hot fingers wrapped around his wrist, surprising him, which was impressive in itself.
Lucien, remarkably, had fought his way back to consciousness.
Stupid, stubborn bastard, Rhys thought, with fondness.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Lucien demanded, spitting blood from a bitten tongue out of his mouth at Rhys’s knees.
“That’s really no way to speak to a High Lord of Prythian, Lucien,” Rhys said, tutting, “I see you haven’t improved your manners since last we met.”
“I see you haven’t stopped being a prick, either,” Lucien shot back, weakly.
“I’m overwhelmed by your wit,” Rhys said sardonically.
“Fuck off and let me bleed, Rhys,” Lucien muttered thickly, body starting to tremble with the pain.
“Is that what Tamlin would do?” Rhys asked, unable to stop himself picking at that old wound between them.
A muscle feathered in Lucien’s jaw, but for once he restrained himself from answering. Perhaps Amarantha’s eye gouging had changed him, after all.
“No,” Rhys continued, folding his arms across his chest, “No, Tamlin doesn’t even know your bleeding out down here for his foolish command. Or, more appropriately, he doesn’t care.”
“Shut your fucking mouth,” Lucien snapped, some of that fire flaring in his remaining eye again.
Rhys still wasn’t used to the mechanical one. He’d spent a long time, previously, getting lost in that blazing gaze before. It wasn’t the same now.
Rhys tutted idly, rocking back on his heels, peering down at Lucien, “He doesn’t deserve your loyalty, you know.”
“And you do?” Lucien shot back, an awful disdain twisting his face.
Rhys’s jaw tightened, “I didn’t say that,” he said, smoothly.
Lucien laughed bitterly, even though it made him convulse with pain, “You meant it, though.”
He rolled onto his side, snarling with pain as he did, so that he could look Rhys full in the face as he spoke. Lucien had always been far too skilled at reading him, and he looked away, unable to bear that burning gaze.
“He didn’t deserve the sacrifice you made to stay with him,” Rhys breathed.
“Sacrifice?” Lucien repeated, “You mean you?” He laughed, the sound raw and humourless, echoing in the cavernous cell around them. It degenerated to coughing before long. “I owed him. I still do. He saved my life. He took me in after Jes. I pledged my fealty to him. You thought I’d turn away from that for your fucking dick?”
Rhys met his furious gaze once more as he said, softly, “I thought you might have turned away from it for the chance at happiness.” He rose to his feet, staring down at Lucien, something tightening within him, “But you could never let yourself have that, could you? It’s always been your most fatal flaw, Lucien. You don’t know how to let yourself be happy.”
“And you do?”he shot back.
“I could have learned,” Rhys said, very quietly, and he knew Lucien felt the sincerity in it, “For you.”
That actually shut Lucien up, for once. The only times he’d managed to achieve that before had been with decidedly more creative applications of his tongue.
“Don’t return to the party tonight,” he said, “I’ll be back here in a few hours with Feyre, and you can visit her yourself. Lie there and try not to drown in your own blood until then, won’t you?”
He turned, cloak covering Lucien in black for a moment, before pulling away, leaving him trembling on the cold stone floor.
Despite the anger that pulsed in his chest, he couldn’t leave him like that. He waved an idle finger, and Lucien’s wounds sealed themselves. Not fully. Not enough to leave Amarantha suspicious, but enough to ease his agony for now.
Lucien blinked and sat up as Rhys turned away again.
“What will she do to you if she learns of this?” he asked, very quietly.
Rhys forced himself to smile, “I doubt she’ll think of anything new. She’s not particularly creative, you know.”
“It’s still a risk,” Lucien said, gazing at him with suspicion, as if he expected some bargain, some demand for recompense.
Rhys shrugged in response, “Perhaps I think it’s worth it.”
“Why the fuck would you think that?” Lucien asked, sounding genuinely, heartbreakingly, bemused.
“Maybe I think you’re worth it,” Rhys said, more softly still.
Lucien eyed him for a long moment, pregnant with heavy silence, words they’d never spoken to one another echoing up through the lonely decades they’d spent apart.
“I’ll never understand you, Rhys,” he muttered finally, shaking his head.
“Isn’t that part of my enigmatic mystique and irresistible air?” he replied slyly.
Lucien smirked at that, “Enigmatic ego and insufferable ass, more like.”
“You found my ass quite sufferable, if memory serves,” Rhys smirked.
Lucien grinned. For a moment they weren’t trapped in this foul pit of a place. They were on the borders of Spring, Lucien’s mouth hot and insistent against his, fingers roaming beneath dark Illyrian leathers with surprising knowledge of buckle placement.
“Thank you,” Lucien said, a little too stiffly.
“I do believe that might have caused you more pain than the whipping,” Rhys quipped.
“It certainly is now, with you gloating in my face,” Lucien scowled in response.
“Take care, Little Lucien,” Rhys said, waving an idle hand back towards him as he moved to the door of the cell.
“And you, Rhys,” Lucien said, very quietly.
There was such emotion in that deep russet eye of his, that Rhys forced himself to winnow back to the party, before he did something incredibly stupid. Like kissing him.
***
Thanks for the prompt!! I hope you liked it!
#rhycien#rhysand#lucien vanserra#ratabrasileira#rhycien fic#acotar series#fic prompt fill#my fic#rhycien is the BEST#acotar#ask game answers#fun fact: i'm fucking incapable of writing anything 'drabble' length lol
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Ducktales: Terror of the Terra-Firmians! (Lena Retrospective) (Commission by WeirdKev27): Launchpad Looses his Last Brain Cell and I Loose My Patience
Welcome back Weblena Warriors to the second part of my look at everyone’s favorite Emo Teen Shadow Lesbian Duck... and probably the only one but hey, semantics, Shadow Into Light, which was made possible by viewers like you, the ultra humanite and a commission from WeirdKev27. Picking up where we left off, we have our first episode that has a different intended order than airing order.
As most of you probably remember, but some of you who joined later might not be aware of the broadcast order for the first half of season one is, in the academic sense, pretty fucked. It’s not Darkwing Duck’s entirely fucked by a web of badger spiders and a queen snake on top to make it some sort of train situation, but by just sorta airing whatever episodes they wanted to, Disney messed with the character balance so Huey got less focus, not that he got a ton of focus this season but still, as well as leaning into the episodes focusing more on the kids with less involvement from the adults which gave the wrong impression about the series. While it IS very focused on the triplets and webby, the show isn’t entirely about them, but as Frank has mentioned a few times, Disney Channel apparently has this WEIRD thing where they assume kids won’t like stories starring the adult characters.
Yeah I’ve been wanting to talk about this for a while. Mostly how it’s so dumb I could swear Pauly Shore was an exec at Disney Channel. And he might be I don’t know what he’s doing these days and i’d like to keep it that way. For starters, the Scooge comics, while barely published in the US these days, are still popular globally and have appealed to kids and adults for generations and are mostly focused on him, with the kids in a supporting role and Ducktales, you know the thing your directly remaking here, was also mostly about him with the triplets supporting, if a bit less than the comics. Most of the Disney Afternoon was about adult characters, with any kids in side roles in the main cast. And it comes off entirely hypocritical of them to say this when the MCU is easily marvel’s biggest cash cow at the moment, and marvel properties have appealed to both kids and adults, like the duck comics, for decades. And if it’s because the marvel cartoons weren’t doing well , I’ll let you in on a little secret: Those didn’t do well because they looked bland and from what I’ve seen of them felt kind of bland, though I haven’t seen enough to fully judge. Kids LIKE adult characters as much as kid characters, and also like teen characters despite not being teens. Focusing on either is valid and while I LIKED Disney’s youth starring shows I also want another X-Men cartoon before I turn 50, and I bet kids would like that too, with the last one only failing because you bailed on it because you were throwing a hissy fit over fox having the movie rights, and do not get me started on that. Point is this argument is horse shit and should stay in the stables.
So yeah I do think this episode came too soon and it’s placement effected it at the time and as such it dosen’t have the best rep with the fandom aside from the Lena bits and that includes me. The fact it was very early in the series and the characterizations hadn’t yet sunk in really hurt this episode in places but is it really that bad? Join me under the cut to find out
We open at the movies! Which scrooge apparently hasn’t been too since the 1930′s or seen any on video despite Della existing and being really stubborn.
A rant for another episode. But the kids just got out of a Mole Monster movie, along with Lena, Beakly and Launchpad. Their reactions are as follows: Lena, Webby and Dewey really enjoyed it, Huey found it unrealistic... says the boy whose uncle fought a dragon made of gold a month or two back but we’ll get to that, and Louie was bored and felt it didn’t have enough of the ultra violence, kids these days it’s not about the gore it’s about the tension. And Beakly.. is just pissed Lena tricked them into seeing this and said it was educational. And the more I think about it the more this sounds like BEAKLYS fault than Lena’s. BEAKLY is the one who likely bought the tickets, who saw it was likely an r or pg-13 and who as we’ve seen HAS A PHONE, and ulnike scrooge probably isn’t so stingy she wouldn’t spring for a smart phone, so she could’ve just googled it, or whatever bird related pun is in this version.. gandered it.. yeah let’s go with that, gandered it, and SEEEN it wasn’t appropriate or walked htem out of the theater and ate the cost if she was that bothered by it. Sitting through a Horror Movie you didn’t research, didn’t pull the kids out of and dind’t bother to even check the poster for or use basic common sense is YOUR fault. And this could’ve worked fine, had Lena talk the kids into begging for it or had launchpad take them and have Beakly find out after, having driven to pick them up as she didn’t trust launchpad to take them home. Instead it makes the former super spy look REALLY stupid and feels really out of character for a SPY to not to do research. And it wasn’t like they decided on this later, Bentina being a spy was part of the character’s backstory from day one and its made clear as early as episode 2 in both airing orders. This is just lazy writing to justify the episode and I expect better from this crew.
But an argument errupts between Huey and Webby over the Terra-Firmians, a hidden race of rock people living in Duckburg’s discontinued sewer system, allegedlys. So Lena suggest simply going down which gets a disapproving look from Beakly, despite you know this being their bread and butter, and the fact that if she had a problem with Scrooge not being involved.. she could just call him. Exploring fabled rock people is something he’d be into. I mean there’s a low profit margin but it also costs him almost nothing to walk to the theater or have launchpad swing around and pick him up. Just gas which given how much he pays for jet fuel isn’t a big ask. But Beakly soon gets distracted by Launchpad whose convinced the film is real and is attacking the poster a grim sign of things to come as while Beakly annoyed me in this one on rewatch, especially after realizing the above... Launchpad annoyed me both times and for VERY good reason we’ll get into. This provides a distraction and allows the trio to escape. Cue titles.
After the title sequence, our heroes head deeper underground, there’s too much panic in this town... I mean props to Donald for trying something new but he really needs to rethink his cologne choices. Sex Panther is just.. not a good smell on.. anyone.
So our heroes journey through the depths of the subway system, and we find out part of why Huey’s so skeptical, as he finds anything that isn’t in the Junior Woodchuck Guidebook to not exist, though the cracks in this already show as he’s added anything that does. We’ll get back to this later but as you can tell the basic dynamic for 24 minutes is Webby being a wholehearted True Believer and Huey being a Skeptical Sally. And Lena is just sorta “Eh gives me an excuse for shenanigans” about it. We also get a peak into webby’s mind as we see her notes .. which really just come off as Terra-Firmian fanfiction involving a war of succession between two sides, the terra’s and the firmies, something based on previous media, and also some doodles of a fictional candy called webby-dings and herself as a superhero, both things I want to see.
But yeah the first third of the episode is pretty simple, just them journeying, the occasional shift in the firmament, and it’s not bad, and there are a few great bits: Huey nerds out about rocks, and finds them way more interesting than a possible rock monster.
Which leads to the best gag of the episode as when Huey tries to pick up a big sample Webby, annoyed at his hyperfixation on the JWG, asks him to ask his book for help.. which he does by reading it and actually manages to pick the large rock up. This is halted though when Lena screams.. though she really just did it to draw them to an abandoned subway car full of glomgold posters for glomgold products because of course a failed subway project has his name plastered over it. You can’t spell glomgold without failure.. the failure is silent. Glomgold is not.
The fun is interuptted though by a livid Beakly who had realized they were missing in an earlier scene, after telling the Manager that McDuck Industries would pay for the poster.. and then found out Launchpad also destroyed the toilets “They come up thorugh the sewers!”. Launchpad that’s CHUDS, Ninja Turtles and Rats who raised Ninja Turtles like their own sons, mole people dig or use old mineshafts. It’s basic mole science. Also Beakly really shouldn’t sweat it, I just assumed the city has had a runnig bill witht he company for “McDuck Family and Employee Related Accidents, Mayhem and Shenanigans”. I mean he’s had Gyro on his payroll for at least a decade and a half by the series start, Gyro has leveled whole sections of city in an afternoon more than most giant monsters. Of which several have destroyed Duckburg. It got better.
Point is she’s livid about them sneaking off with Lena pointing out their some sort of adventure family and Beakly.. saying she won’t see them again, or at least implying it hard. I’ll put a pin in this, as the train buckles and a bit of seismic, or rock men, activity means their stuck. So they divide into teams: Beakly will go try and unhook the train car from the busted cars so they can ride out, Launchpad will go try and fix it, and we get this lovely exxchange as a result
Launchpad: Cool never crashed a train before Beakly: Can’t you try driving it without crashing it? Launchpad: Wha?
His face in that scene is priceless. He takes Dewey along. More on that in a second. Webby, Huey and Louie are told to stay put with Beakly only bringing Lena along because she dosen’t trust her. So since we have three split plots for a second... let’s split up gang, starting with the most aggrivating, middling with what you all came here for and why this is part of the retrsopective, and ending with the plot that directly heads into the final part of the episode.
Launchpad and Dewey: GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Okay starting with the most infamous plot and easily the worst part of this episode, probably the worst plot in any Ducktales 2017 episode. That’s not hyperbole it’s really that bad and really pissed people off, as fans of the original launchpad felt they made him overly stupid. This is where the airing order’s a problem as putting an episode with a subplot where one of your characters is obnoxiously dumb right up front means they assume this is his charcter and not just one poorly written chapter in a very dumb but very loveable characters life, likely because the writers hadn’t figured out how to properly scale his stupidity with comptience.
So as a result we get a good 3-4 mintutes if not agonizingly more of Launchpad assuming something he saw in a fucking movie film was real. That.. that’s his actual plot. Need I remind you, he’s in his late 20′s early 30′s. He’s not much older than me. While other episodes have him as dim this one claims he CAN’T TELL FACT FROM FICTION.
There are lines you have to keep with your characters to keep the audience from hating them. They crossed it about 80 times with this plot and make Launchpad into a gibbering dunderhead who can’t do anything right versus a regular dunderhead whose good at one or two things and loveable enough for us to like him and not care about his numerous safey violations and child endagerment charges. Thankfully this is the ONLY episode that gets this bad and they clearly learned from this, but it dosen’t make it any less of a tough sit.
Dewey spends most of the subplot with a look on his face that just screams that he’s as done with this bullshit as we are, as Launchpad assumes he’s a mole person and brought along a pipe to presumibly bludgeon him, because wanting to cave his best friends skull in over stupidity is a GREAT look> Thankfuly he does not. And when the lights come back on Launchpad.. assumes he’s a monster because of bright light, GAH, and locks him out before they end up outside and the plto resolves itself by Dewey pointing out by Launchpad’s utterly baffling logic that he could be a mole monster, so Launchpad.. assumes he is.
The subplot’s later buttoned up as he claims “I love being a mole monster”, again diffrent subteranian creature launchpad, she says he’s not and my suffering is thankfully at an end. This plot just sucks, it’s bad, overly stupid and dosen’t work with an adult character. Someone like say Ed from Ed, Edd N Eddy, or someone who belivies in weird conspiracy stuff like Dale Gribble or Stan Pines. with either of them this plot would’ve been fucking great. I could buy it from Dale and it just comes off as his normal paranoid weirdness. With Launchpad it comes off like he seriously needs help because the episode frames it as if he can’t tell ficton from reality, and his splotlight episode later would directly contridct this and make this episode even more aggrivating, as he’s a fan of Darkwing Duck, and KNOWS it’s acted out by an actor, so why wouldn’t he get this? It’s just....
It sucks, it sucks and I thankfully get to move on to a better subplot
Beakly and Lena: What You Are in the Dark
Beakly tells Lena she’ll never see Webby again after this.. then chastises her when she won’t help despite you know having just said she’s going to force their friendship apart, which Lena points out. She then gets mad at Lena making a sarcastic comment at her. Okay she’s lived with Louie for at least a week in airing order and a month or two in actual order. She has to be used to this by now. She’s insolent.. because you show her no respect, blame her for something that while sure she talked you into, you should’ve known better, and top it off by saying you want to keep her from the kids because they have bright futures and come from good familes and asks who rasied her and her face.. well.
Yeah wheras Launchpad and Huey, more on that in a second, were hurt by this being some of their earliest big roles, Bentina wasn’t.. until later when we found out just HOW bad Magica is to Lena and how much she dosen’t care about her other than as a tool to use. At this point we didn’t know just how much Lena was playing webby, how much she was only manipulating her, and even with her heroic act here we didn’t know if she only saw Webby as her way to break free. The next episode makes it clear she dosen’t and genuinely does care, 100%, so in hindsight it makes Bentina come off as ghoulsih for horribly asssuming about a girl she dosen’t know, and even if she did know about Magica wouldn’t know the full story, just like us, and then BERATING her after already saying she’s going to rip her away from Webby, which itself is PRETTY bad as she’s the only friend the girl has and sh’es doing so on... talking them into a horror movie, which as I outlined was more Bentina’s fault than Lena’s, and leading the kids into a dangerous place whicha gain, Lena pointed out is something she lets Scrooge do. And trust me i know that she actually knows Scrooge, and we later find out, as we’ll cover next month, that she isn’t ware HOW dangerous things are with Scrooge. It dosen’t change the fact she knows they do dangerous stuff to a point and that Lena may just be acting out. It also dosen’t change the fact she drove three children, yes including launchpad, down here with her instead of sending them home with Launchpad.. granted that option isn’t the safest but it’s safer than taking her with them thena cting like it’s ALL lena’s fault when three of the children, again including launchpad, are down there because of HER. Not Lena, HER. I’m harder on her because she’s older, wiser and was “raised properly” apparently. Though given the way she treats a random teen off the street she again knows nothing about and dind’t bother to ask... it begs the question.
IT’s a good question. I could see the classism coming from being raised in 40′s and 50′s britain, judging by the timeline.. but even then she’s seen the world, and while her nature is supscious, the classit bullshit makes no sense after presumibly working with, and later spymastering for, various agents of various backgrounds. How has she not dropped this in decades. Scrooge very clearly dropped the racisim and homophobia of his time, so it still stands on her for not dropping this. And Lena’s hurt shows under hte mask for the first time, that beneath the snark and secrecy.. is just an abused teenager with nowhere else to go and no way out being bullied by an older woman whose cutting off the only light at the end of the tunnel nto for good reason but out of classist, overprotective mallice. My issues, which to be fair probably were intentional in the episode but sitll are a bit overblown, aside we do get an absoluttley tremendous moment later as a car falls on top of Beakly.. and Magica, speaking once more urges Lena to leave her, let her die and let their plans progress. And while that iself is.. dumb, what if someone finds her or her corpse later, especially since Scrooge would likely perosnally want to retrive the body to give her a proper burial as she’s his only friend at this point, or the rest of the family questoin the story?, it fits Magica’s lack of foresight we see throughout the season. But Lena... saves her. While she later gives an explination, and a valid one at that, it’s clear from her expressoin, her actoins and how she does it... that this is her. Part of it is defiance, as she glares at Magica before doing it, her own stubborn nature mixed with her hatred of her “aunt”, meaning Magica just made it all too easy for her to do this. But the real reason is clear: It’s the right thing to do. While pissing off her aunt and getting away with it is the cherry on top.. the real reason is that unlike Magica.. Lena is not a killer, not a monster, and not a heartless vacum ofa person. Even if she doesn’t like Beakly, for good reason.. she can’t, she WON’T leave her to die and leave Webby an orphan again. She loves Webby too much to do that to her and while she may deny it.. she’s too good a person to leave someone to die for something so petty. Even if she never sees webby again and the plans ruined. It’s better than the weight of knowing she let someone who wasn’t trying to harm her and whose actions, while terrible, were out of misguided protection of her granddaughter, die like this. She saves her. And as we’ll see it pays off.. but before that.
Huey, Webby and Louie: Into the Unknown This plot’s a bit shorter, as Webby and Huey continue their argument, with Louie eventually making it clear, and not even hiding it when directly asked by Huey, that he’s playing both sides with a delighted expression on his face as the movie was boring but this, this is interesting. Which it is. But it’s interupted by dings on the roof and while Huey assumes i’ts just a regular rock, it moves while their not lookiung.. and soon red eyed, horrifying beasts look out at them and the kids flee back to the car. This dosen’t pan out as the car starts to shake and is clearly going to collapse.. and while Webby and Louie are prepared to flee, rock monsters or no, Huey, in an utterly heart shattering image.. stays in place, terrified of moving.
This is where this plot goes from mildly aggrivating, as Huey’s Skeptic shenanigans can get on the nerves.. to BRILLIANT. See at the time this was more annoying because it was assumed the skepticsim would be a part of Huey’s character and we’d get more episodes of him being annoying only to be proven wrong, as he semeingly dosen’t learn his lesson at this point, looging the terrafrimians in the guide book. But on rewatch.. this plot is amazing. For starters the plot subtly introduced the defening characteristic of Huey’s personality, one that’s become more prounounced in Season 3: His need for Order. He needs things to make sense: He solves stuff because he likes there to be order in the world and something he can understand, he can put in a box in his head. Like a lot of neurotypical people, myself included, he struggles horribly when the clearly defined boxes of his life and things he undestand have wrinkles or complexities he can’t get. I for instnace easily got it when I was introduced to the concept of trans people or being non binary.. they just make sense in hindsight: given how our brains are messya nd complicated it makes sense some people would be born in the wrong ones, and tht with all the science and medicine we have to correct that, should be allowed to transition if they so choose. It makes equal sense that some people just don’t have a gender or are gender fluid, being both or neither. Despite struggling with non binary prounouns due to force of habit.. I get the concept with no real difficulty. But when it comes to accepting I don’t have to apologize for everything and that everyone is not angry or that anger is natural and people sometimes get mad and you can’t and shouldnt’ fix it.. it’s something I STRUGGLE with even knowing it’s not right, because my brain is just wired that way.
That’s how Huey’s struggle comes off here.. he reveals he’s willing to stay and die.. because he’s SO scared of the unknown, that the idea of dying from something he at least knows what it is versus something he dosen’t.., so paralizyed by his own brain he can’t figure out the obvious.. it takes Webby reaching out to him figuratively and literally, to show him that sometimes you have to face the unknown. The unknown is fucking terrifying.. but it can be good and it’s better than sitting there, scared and unable to move. You have to try, to grow and take that risk that things may not go well to really LIVE.
So he does.. and they reunite with the rest of the group.. and soon find the terrafirmains.. who as it turns out once we get some light on them... are actually just goofy looking, brightly colored, each one matching one of the kids, kids themselves, and Huey reaches out and touches one, which by ET logic means their friends now, and the terrafirmians help them get out. And this lesson sticks. While sure Huey catalogues it and it seems it didn’t.. he’s never this skeptical again. This douchey skepticsim was only for one episode, his fear of the uknown replcaed with boundless curosity and from here on he’s CURIOUS about new stuff as long as it’s not trying to kill him. He loves taking in new experinces, maybe not to webby levels but he does actually try them and study them instead of just fearing them.
Before we wrap things up, obviously we need to talk about the JWG not having entries on a lot of stuff. This would be corrected next season as it returns to being a big book of everything, but dosen’t completely contridct this as Timephoon! shows there’s stillcgaps.. which i’m fine with. While it knowing EVERYTHING was fine for the original series here, with things being slightly more groudned, it’d just be an obvious plothole if Huey didn’t use it every single time they ran into something and that’d get boring. Instead it’s simply that it dosen’t know everything, and really in the comics at times it didn’t and the triplets found out new things. It knew almost everything mind you, but having some gaps for dramatic tnesion is fine with me and Seasons 2 and 3 decided on that instead of just having it being a scouting manual which wa sfor the best. And even by later in the season hit has guides to getting a small buisness loan, so they already course corrected.
So everything’s wrapped up and while Magica berates Lena for disobeying her.. Beakly interputps, thankfully not seeing magica and admits she was wrong and invites Lena for pancakes, even taking a crack about if their actually pancakes or english muffins with syrup, which sounds like my own living hell, in stride, having clearly grown. And Lena explains to Magica that this was the better approach: now she’s got the in theyw anted, and is above suspcison for now. Still not so much that an obvious act won’t be detected but enough that she dosen’t ahve to work actively around her anymore. Magica scoffs.. and while part of it is probably rage.. part of it is deep down both of them know she did it out of defiance.. and only Lena knows that she did it for the right reasons... she just dosen’t get why. She probably justifies it as playing the long game.. but deep down she knows something’s changing about her.. and she’s not sure if that’s a godo thing or not.
Final Thoughts: This episode is as you can tell a mixed bag. It’s 2/3 of a good episode, with the Lena plot, my issues aside, being excellent and the Terra-Firmian plot likewise fun, even if Huey can get grating the payoff is worth it, and the jokes are really high quality. It’s just bogged down by that fucking launchpad plot that just crushed my soul in it’s palms every time it came back. I went on at length why i hated that one but boy oh boy was the hate of that subplot warranted and I stand by calling it the worst plot of the series. It is: it’s not funny, it makes no goddamn sense, and it drags down what’s otherwise a pretty solid epsiode.
Next Time on Lena: Jaws the shark, lurking in the dark, in the depths of the bin one day of a lark decides to get rowdy, get real violent takes a vacay out to Duckburg er.. Island.. also Scrooge faces his greatest Nemesis.. a PR Tour to clean up his image after an unfortunate giant Beanstalk Incident. Be there and be hip to be square.
Next Time on This Blog: I Tackle a DCOM for the first time for another commissioned review as we take a look at racisim, specifically Apartheid and breaking indoctrination, with The Color of Friendship. See you next Rainbow.
#ducktales#ducktales 2017#lena sabrewing#webby vanderquack#weblena#bentina beakly#launchpad mcquack#huey duck#louie duck#dewey duck#terror of the terra-firmians!#disney channel#disney xd#disney plus#disney#disney ducks#comissions
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Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-CHANGES!
So I'm... super late posting this, but I was traveling this weekend and yeah, life. Anyway, this is my submission for Day 3 of RNM Heat Weekend: Alien Biology. It's Isobel helping Michael with some startling changes his body is going through.
This is also on AO3 here!
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Isobel didn’t know what she’d done in her pre-pod past life, but she was surely atoning for it.
It started with Michael texting her frantically that he needed to come over and see her. It was the middle of the afternoon on a Saturday in July when he should’ve been working for Sanders. She didn’t have anywhere to be or anything to do, so she’d been reading a magazine in bed and texting non-committal responses to Jake, her newest admirer. Her alien super ESP or whatever was tingling so she knew whatever Michael needed was going to take up the rest of her day. With a frustrated huff, Isobel finally adamantly turned down Jake for a hook-up later that night and told Michael to come over. She might as well get the drama started now so maybe she could text Jake and tell him she’d changed her mind later if she got finished with Michael early.
The middle part was worse than the beginning. After she’d snuck him in the back door and up to her room, she could see that he was properly freaked out. His eyes were wide and wild, his skin was dewy with perspiration, and he couldn’t stop pacing from one end of her room to the other. Isobel down calmly on the end of her bed and waited for him to calm down enough to explain. When he did stop in front of her, he met her eyes and visibly paled. In fact, he looked like he was about to be sick.
“What is it, Michael?” she asked, her tone more demanding than she meant it. He was starting to scare her.
Michael opened and closed his mouth a few times, consonants only half forming before they were cut off while he thought of another word to start with. She glared up at him from the bed, crossing her arms and tapping her freshly manicured nails against the sleeves of her shirt. Michael looked at her expression and she could see his throat move as he swallowed.
“Come on, Michael. Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad. And if it is, you know me and Max will have your back. Just spit it out,” she demanded, though her tone was softer than it had been a moment before. She didn’t like the fear on his face.
“I… I don’t know how to start. I just… I…” he began, before collapsing in her desk chair across from her and burying his face in his hands. Isobel could see that they were shaking and she started to sit forward herself. She reached out and laid a hand on his arm, keeping at bay the distaste that the cool, clamminess of his skin rose in her.
“Well, I guess we could try twenty questions, but it might be—” she started, trying to lighten the mood in an effort to make him open up.
“Something is leaking out of my ass!” Michael all, but yelled, hands still covering his face but his words perfectly clear. Isobel stilled completely, unsure that she’d heard him right.
“Uh.. like…like…poo?” she asked tentatively. God, she hoped Michael wasn’t going over here and sitting in her chair while he had uncontrollable diarrhea. He shot her a filthy glare that made her feel like he could read her mind.
“No. Not like poo. Like… It’s clear? And.. and like, kind of sticky? It, uhm, started when… when…” he seemed to lose his nerve, because in the next moment his face was buried in his hands again. “wheniwasmakingoutwithAlex.”
He said the last part in such a rush that Isobel wasn’t sure she understood him.
“What? You were what?”
”I WAS MAKING OUT WITH ALEX,” he said again, louder. He’d said it while shooting up out of his chair to start walking back and forth across her room again. Isobel stared at him, stunned, her mouth hanging open. She didn’t know what she wanted to know more about – his leaking asshole or the fact he was still making out with Alex even after what his father had done to Michael’s hand. She watched him pace while she sorted out which was more important at that moment. Obviously, he was more freaked out about his ass than the Alex thing. She’d get that story out of him later.
“So… so what do you… think it was? Like… Why are you telling me about it?” she finally asked, a little unsure where this was going.
“Well, I guess I was just wondering if you’ve ever experienced anything like this!” he replied, raising his hands in exasperation.
“Uh… you mean had my ass leak when I’ve made out with someone? No. No, I haven’t. Gotten wet while making out with someone? Yeah, sure,” she said, evenly.
“So you think that’s what this was? You think I was “getting wet” for Alex?” he asked, fear lacing his anger as he searched her face for answers she didn’t have. She shrugged, raising her hands up by her shoulders in the universal ‘I don’t know’ gesture.
“This is so out of my realm of expertise, Michael. I mean, I’m a girl. I’m supposed to get wet when I’m turned on. And before you ask me, NO. Max has never, and if there is a creator to this shitty universe, will never tell me that he has been leaking fluid out of his ass,” she said, cutting Michael off when she saw him open his mouth. “I don’t know what to tell you.”
Michael shifted uncomfortably where he stood, hugging his arms around his torso and looking confused and scared.
“Will… will you look?” he asked, quietly.
“WHAT?!” she screeched, looking over at the closed door to her bedroom and praying her parents had the TV downstairs on particularly loud to cover her volume. Both she and Michael stilled, staring towards the door for half a minute waiting to see if anyone called up after Isobel’s exclamation. When nothing sounded, Isobel turned back and met Michael’s eye.
“Please, Is. I just… I don’t know what’s going on and I just… don’t want something to be wrong down there,” he begged. Isobel stared up at him, took in his keyed up nerves and his reddened cheeks as he flushed from embarrassment. This was exactly the kind of situation where an older alien in their lives would have really come in handy. She did not want to look at Michael’s naked ass. She did not want to look at his asshole and possibly see his balls and dick and other things. She did not want to be responsible if she saw something strange and had to tell him about it. But she couldn’t make Max do it. He and Michael weren’t talking after the Rosa thing and Michael’s pride wouldn’t allow him to show this much weakness right then. Pursing her lips together in a grim line, she finally nodded.
“Go into the bathroom and I guess pull down your pants. I’m going to go get some latex gloves from the garage,” she instructed as she stood up and began to turn towards the door. Before she could take a step, she was enveloped in a hug.
“Thank you, Is. Thank you so much,” Michael breathed past her shoulder, his arms flexing and holding her tightly. She hugged him back, patting his shoulder and nearly rocking him to try and comfort him a little. With a sigh, she stepped back and laid a hand on his cheek before giving him a soft smile.
“We’ll figure this out. It’s fine,” she said, not sure she believed herself but knowing Michael needed to hear it. He nodded, expression clouded with doubt, and stepped back and over towards her en suite. She watched him shut the door behind himself before she sighed and went downstairs. When she returned, blue latex gloves covering her hands, she knocked softly at her bathroom door.
“Come in,” Michael’s muffled voice sounded. She opened the bathroom and found him standing in his green Hanes boxer-briefs in front of the mirror. His jeans were in a pile over his shoes next to the shower stall. He looked so out of place and awkward in her clean, obviously femininely dominated bathroom that it made her heart ache a little for him. He gave her a pained smile and when he turned she could see that he did indeed have a set spot the size of a softball on the back of his boxers. She moved to stand behind him, meeting his gaze in the mirror. With a fortifying breath, he hitched his fingers into the back of his underwear and pushed them down under the swell of his ass before bending forward and resting on his forearms across her vanity. Isobel held eye contact with him, trying to keep her own discomfort out of her expression, but the longer she waited to look down the more awkward this was beginning to feel. Swallowing her feelings, she finally glanced down.
It was a butt. Not particularly hairy. Very muscular. Paler than any other part of Michael, but still holding the healthy olive undertone of his skin. His cheeks were still covering his hole, but she could see a faint shiny residue along his crack.
“I’m going to have to touch your butt to look at your… uh… anus,” Isobel finished lamely. This was so out of her depth. She looked at Michael’s face through the mirror and he nodded grimly. Clearing her throat, Isobel reached out with both hands and gingerly pulled apart Michael’s cheeks. It looked… it looked…
Well, it looked exactly like her own thighs after being turned on, but that was definitely an asshole she was staring at and not a vagina. She swiped at some of the viscous liquid with her gloved finger and Michael’s muscles tensed as he jumped at the unexpected touch. A small drop of liquid squeezed past his tightened sphincter and Isobel stared in something between horror and wonder. She rubbed her thumb and the finger she’d gotten wet and noticed that it felt slick like lube, not oil or water. The same as her own body.
“Well, this is fucking weird,” she finally said.
“You fucking think?!” Michael replied through clench teeth.
“Are you hurting at all?” she asked, still rubbing her fingers together. She brought her fingers to her nose and sniffed. It smelled mildly musky, but not unpleasant. She caught Michael watching her in the mirror.
“What?” she asked, caught off guard.
“Well? Does it all look… like it should look back there?” he forced out the question. Isobel glanced back down between his cheeks. It occurred to her in another situation with another man, she might find all of this kind of hot. Not with Michael, but maybe someone else. She made a mental note to see if Jake would bend over for her if she asked.
“It looks like an asshole, Michael. Just… leaking a little. It kind feels like lube. You didn’t… I mean, he didn’t… uhm… finger… you, did he?” she asked, awkwardly. Michael glared at her.
“We hadn’t really gotten that far. We were just making out, like I said,” he answered her, keeping his voice even.
“Well, I don’t fucking know what to tell you! Congratulations? You may never have to waste time or money on anal prep ever again?” she said, whipping her gloves with a snap and throwing them into the garbage can next to her toilet. Michael hitched up his underwear and turned around to face her, his butt against the counter and his folded over his chest.
“Pretty sure he’d still need to stretch me out. I don’t feel loose. I just feel… drippy,” Michael said with some distaste. She patted his shoulder affectionately.
“Welcome to the club. I guess just… monitor it? Maybe it’s a fluke!” she replied with an affectionate smile. Michael grimaced, but nodded. She turned and stepped out of the bathroom, shaking her head and hoping nothing that weird ever happened to her.
The end was her not hearing from Michael for three days despite her texts and calls to try and check in on him. On the fourth day, she drove around and looked for the truck around town. She found it in at the nice, but slightly run down roadside motel just outside of town. Michael was sitting on his open tail bed looking like he’d been wrung out. His cheeks were gaunter than she remembered and the shadows under his eyes were deep. She pulled into the space next to his truck and got out, rounding the corner of the tailgate to look at him.
“Where have you been? I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for days! I was worried about you,” she snapped at him angrily. He looked at her, his expression forlorn and kind of glassy. He took another sip from his water bottle before answering.
“I’ve been here. With Alex. For three fucking days. For three days fucking. Jesus,” he said, ending with a humorless laugh that sounded tired and borderline hysterical.
“Okay? And you couldn’t take a break to fucking text me back?” she asked, not getting it.
“This is the first time I could get far enough from the bed to do anything. It was like… like I was in heat or something. Shit, Is. I’m… it was… I can’t even explain it. It was like my body was just taken over by a specific physical need. I am so sore and tired and thirsty and hungry now, but for the last three things the only thing I could think of was… was having sex. It was intense,” he explained, voice drawn. She eyed him suspiciously.
“What?” she asked.
“You heard me. I’m not saying it all again,” he replied, before finishing the last of his bottle. He hopped off the back of the tailgate and almost stumbled. She could see how weak he was.
“Where’s Alex?” she asked, eying the line of closed motel doors.
“Sleeping. Like I should be, but I had to get something to fucking drink. I think I’m going to order a few pizzas and then sleep for another day or two. Fuck, I’m tired,” he repeated. He looked it. She’d never seen Michael look so haggard.
“Okay. Well. Text me back, okay? You scared me,” she replied, trying to stay mad but just feeling pity. Sex for three days sounded wonderful, but she wondered if it really had been. He nodded and walked around the truck and towards the room door directly in front of it. She watched him key himself in and the door shut behind him. She wondered if this was a one-time thing or something that was going to come and go like her monthlies. She chewed on the side of her finger and stared at the closed motel door Michael had disappeared behind. She decided she’d see if they needed anything before she left. When she got closer, close enough to raise her hand to knock, she could already hear the tell-tale sounds of sex on the other side. Feeling a little bad, she tilted her ear towards the inappropriately thin door.
“Jesus, I’m sorry to wake you,” Michael’s muffled voice sounded behind the door.
“Fuck, it’s fine. Just… just go slow,” Alex’s voice replied, sounding as tired as Michael’s had. They moaned together and Isobel jumped back from the door like she’d been burned. Feeling ashamed and guilty, she walked over to the Jeep and jumped in. She drove fast to get away, to go home, to scrub her brain of what she knew about Michael’s past week.
Later, much later, Michael admitted that it only ever happened with Alex. After Alex went into the military, Michael thought it was a one off, but every time he visited Michael went on a sex-binge fueled by need as much as by sex. When he moved back it was more random. He’d never been able to figure out a pattern, but it only happened with Alex or when Alex was around. Max admitted something similar happened to him but without the “leakiness”. She never experienced it. She was beginning to think it was something that happened when you found your person. Something like a mating bond or a biological drive to procreate. She assumed cause Michael was with another male, his body had assigned him a role to mimic being a female. It was all… confusing. She wished she’d known Noah was an alien longer. She wished Caulfield had better files on their actual biology and not the one-sided studies that only proved what the scientists had already agreed was happening. It was unfair. She also wondered if she ever would have an episode like the boys did. Would that be how she knew when she found her person? Was it only for one person or could the person change as your heart changed?
#rnmheat2021#rnmheatweekend2021#rnm fic#isobel evans#michael guerin#isobel evans being a good adopted sister#isobel evans taking one for the team#they really needed to leave these kids a 'My Body and Me' booklet#at least a quick sex ed pamphlet#signal boost
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au! ben’s your dad now lol
Okay so when I used to have a wattpad account I wrote some parent scenario things, here’s one that I wrote for BEN. Will I be continuing this? no lmao anyways enjoy
word count: 1708
KEY:
(Y/N) = Your Name
Him/Her = Your pronouns
Line of ~~~ = Time Skip
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As I gazed at the teenage girl through the screen, I couldn't help but feel sorry for her.
A teen mother? She only looked to be 15 or 16, but she held a child in her arms that looked like a mini copy of her. I only made a quick connection.
The mother, a blonde with hazel eyes and light freckles and wet cheeks, looked like any other girl. The child in her arms cried loudly as crashes came from downstairs. Loud footsteps and banging of cupboard doors were heard, and the mother was sobbing quietly.
From where I watched, safely within her small computer screen, I watched her bundle up her young child and hide them inside her closet. She locked the doors quickly, then went to her dresser. Her room was in pristine condition, and the dresser had a small pocket knife on it.
I could hear footsteps barging up the stairs now. Though, they weren't just one pair. There had to be at least two or three people charging like bulls. The girl sobbed and her child cried through the closet door. Terror echoed through their cries, and to be honest, I'd be terrified if my home was barged into as well.
The clock below me ticked, and wires buzzed. It being 4 am, I didn't expect my victim to be awake, or even to be home alone and in the process of being robbed like a homeless man.
But that's exactly what was happening in front of my eyes.
I shivered as three large men broke down the bedroom door. The mother was huddled in the corner, tears of fear dripping down her cheeks and a small pocket knife held in her hand. Her young child cried and screamed, but the mother was unable to do anything.
I started to back away as the men advanced on her. Ski masks covered their faces, and they held large rifles. Those could do massage damage to a human, and even a ghost like myself.
But as the men advanced and the underage mother cried, I backed away from the screen, and back into the portal leading to the Mansion.
Her screams quieted down as I pulled myself away from the computer screen. I fell back in my small frenzy and landed back inside the living room of the Mansion. I looked around quickly, my blond hair flipping around and ruffling itself up. Looking around, I realized the living room was empty and smelled like something had burnt itself to a crisp.
I sat, the upper half of my body hanging out of the television, with actual fear plaguing me.
Why the hell was I afraid? It was just a simple robbery.
I thought about the girl and her child. It pained me, actually, to think about them. What would happen to them? I debated on going back for a little while, until giving up and pulling myself out of the small television, then dragged myself up to my room.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I can't believe that I'm back in this house.
I kept telling myself that as I walked around the now trashed house. Some things from before were gone or broken, or thrown around. The living room was thrashed and missing some furniture. The house was quiet, which gave me the chills along with an eerie feeling. The television was left on in static, and what was left was thrown across the room. As I continued to explore the house, I noticed that I could no longer hear the child's cries from earlier.
As I finally reached the staircase, I stopped.
What would I find up there?
Sure, I was a murderous virus that slowly ate away at my victims, and who had no sense of fear other than water, but this actually scared me a bit.
I took a deep breath and slowly crept up the stairs. They creaked under my lightweight, but they were relatively quiet. As I slowly climbed them, my breath started to quicken.
" What the fuck, " I whispered to myself. Why was my breath quickening? And why was I fucking whispering? I have no reason to.
I shrugged and continued to climb the stairs, reaching the second floor.
The second story of the house was just as disastrous as the first. Broken furniture littered the floor, vases were smashed, ripped paintings hung from the walls by a single tack, and the doors were all thrown open. Looking closer, I realized that small bullet shells were thrown across the floor.
" Oh my God, " I sucked in a breath at the sight of them.
I immediately looked back up and ran to a random room, looking for the mother and her young child. I tucked inside random rooms until eventually finding her closed bedroom door.
I wiggled the knob, but it didn't budge. I tried again, but the door seemed to be locked.
Had the girl somehow locked herself safely into her room?
That's what I hoped had happened.
I wiggled the knob again until backing up. I backed up against the wall opposite of the door, then ran at full speed and threw myself into the door. It worked in the Mansion, hopefully, it would work here.
The door stayed locked. I fell backward onto my ass, with a now sore shoulder.
" Fuck! " I yelled loudly as my shoulder ached. I looked up at the door, still in the same condition as before.
" Alright, door. Let's try this again, " I hissed and stood up with the help of a cabinet near me. I stood up again and faced the door again with grim determination. Hell, I haven't felt this way since first entering Majora.
With a yell, I ran at the door again, throwing all my weight against it loudly.
The door crashed down loudly as I somehow managed to knock it down. The door broke and crashed to the floor, closely followed by myself. I fell with a loud thud and layed for a second on the now broken door, clutching the shoulder I landed on.
"Ahh, shit, " I said, sucking in a breath. I sat up slowly and looked around. I was back in the room I was in before, only this time it was thrashed, being in the same condition as the house. Furniture was knocked over and items were thrown, and the room was strangely quiet. Looking around again, I realized that the teenage girl was no longer in the room and that her window was smashed.
I sighed sadly at that sight, but I didn't let myself dwell on it. I wanted to see if her child was still here, and hopefully not abducted.
I stood up, remembering that in a hurry she hid her kid in the closet. That was the first place I wanted to check.
I made my way over to the closet door. It was cracked open and had small items in front of it, and sent shivers up my spine for an unknown reason. I got on my knees and cleared the debris in front of the door, then opened it slowly.
The young boy/girl sat all alone in the closet. They were somehow asleep, and was bundled up in a small green blanket. His/Her cheeks were red and stained from crying, and they clutched at the blanket they were wrapped in as if they were having a nightmare.
I gazed at the small child as they slept and picked him/her up carefully. They snored softly and seemed so innocent in my arms that had killed hundreds of people.
I couldn't just leave him/her here. He/Her would starve, or the robbers would come back, or a fellow Pastas might find this house and end their miserable life. A bunch of different scenarios played in my head of what could happen if I left this child here, in this house.
I let out a breath that I hadn't realized I've was holding and looked at the puny child.
" Ya know kid, you don't deserve this at such a young age, " I whispered to them. " I really want to help you, but I can't unless I took you back. " I spoke quietly to the sleeping child. " Slender will kill you, then me. " I said with a frown. " I mean, maybe I could, but even if Slender allowed it, Jeff would get his hands on you and... do things... " I shuddered at that thought.
" But I can't just leave you here. Heh, Slender has been wanting me to get more responsible, but maybe this is a little too much... " I trailed off at that thought.
But, as I gazed down at the small child asleep in my arms, an idea formed in my head.
Maybe I could take the child.
Maybe they'd survive, and become a psychopathic killer like me and the rest of us.
Maybe I could be a parent to this child.
I looked back down at the child and let out another breath. I stood up and turned back to the girl's room and walked back to her queen-sized bed. The television that stood here before was now gone, along with her laptop and cellphone. My options were either walk or get a lift.
I frowned at the thought of walking back to the Mansion and pulled out my phone. I searched for Toby's contact and called him. I put it on speaker as the phone rang loudly. I was surprised it didn't wake up the kid, who I put in my lap and slowly rocked back and forth.
After a few more seconds, Toby answered my call.
" Hey BEN! What's-what's up? " He asked. In the background, I could hear the scream of a girl, so I guessed that he was busy.
" Is this a bad time, Rogers? I can call someone else. " I told him.
He chuckled. " I'm kinda-kinda bus-busy right now, but it-it's fine that you cal-called. What's up-up? "
" Well, Toby, it's kind of a long story... "
#hhhhh fifth grade writing#or something like that#i cant remember when i wrote this#ben drowned#creepypasta#creepypasta scenarios#parent scenario#daddy drowned
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Could you do KoyoIchi (Swinging Pendulum), please? C: I have fallen in love with this ship ever since you posted those short one-shots (or whatever they are called) a while ago.
Hmm you didn’t include an AU and I’ve already done a KoyoIchi SP AU in the last batch, there’s not much else I can write for that I think. So how about KoyoIchi post-canon AU instead, where Ichigo’s human body gives out after the Quincy War, so he ends up splitting his time between SS and the Human world afterwards.
Edit: omg wtf did i do i went off i’m sorry this ended up semi-background pre-relationship KoyoIchi + like a dozen unrelated headcanons thrown in it’s a mess fml
1. It’s not usually done, he’s technically dead now (but not a Shinigami, not a Quincy, not a Hollow, and not even a Human anymore), but he has a lot of support from a lot of people - Kisuke has no qualms crafting him a gigai that would allow him to draw his blade even without stepping out of it, and Kyouraku basically gives him free run of Soul Society after they hammer out what Ichigo is supposed to do there considering he’s now stronger than the entire Gotei combined but also he’s technically only eighteen years old.
(It would be scarier, Kyouraku thinks, if Ichigo’s moral fibre hadn’t already proven itself superior.)
In the end, they settle it like this - Ichigo attends the Academy part-time for all the lessons Kisuke and Yoruichi and Shinji never bothered hammering into him because it was never important to the war, attends university in the human world, and the rest of his time is his do with as he pleases, whether that’s taking missions directly from Kyouraku, visiting with his friends in various squads and being roped into doing paperwork, or digging up yet another rebel faction or secret invasion out of the woodwork (”Please don’t dig up yet another rebel faction or secret invasion out of the woodwork for at least a month, Ichigo-kun. One month, you hear? We still haven’t finished cleanup from the last one.”).
Because it’s Ichigo, it works. it’s not like he wasn’t already coming and going from Soul Society when he was still human. The Shinigami have let him get away with far too much already to put restrictions on him now, especially considering he’s saved all their asses twice over now, and that’s not even counting all the trouble in-between. If there are some who complain, well, there are even more who are capable of making sure nothing ever comes of it.
So okay, no rebel faction, no secret invasion, but Ichigo’s not Ichigo without something to work towards, and he’s always wondered why the Shinigami side of his family was slumming it out in Rukongai when they’re supposed to be nobility like Byakuya and Yoruichi. The answer is simple enough - Aizen had mind-whammied everyone after Isshin ran off and fabricated a coup that resulted in assassinations courtesy of the Second Division before the remaining Shibas were ousted from Seireitei overnight.
(It was only too easy for Aizen to make them believe it.Nobody ever questioned whether or not the Shibas could. They had the power. They just never had the ambition, which nobody could understand.)
No way is Ichigo going to take that lying down. So he goes and yells at Kyouraku, who says it’s complicated and would take time, but Ichigo reminds him of the Visored and Kisuke and Yoruichi and Tessai, all let back in in the wake of the Winter War. If they could be pardoned, and rightfully so, why can’t the Shibas too?
“I’m not saying they can’t forever, Ichigo-kun,” Kyouraku says placatingly. “But Central 46 will want… assurances-”
“You mean they’re scared to let my family back in cuz they might still be a little bit pissed from having three-quarters of their members murdered in their beds,” Ichigo summarizes flatly.
Kyouraku sighs and gives up all pretenses of a neutral party. “If you have a better idea…” He waves a hand at the general situation, eyes dark and intent on Ichigo’s face.
Ichigo snorts and straightens up. “Yeah. It’s called ‘being too strong to fuck with’. The old bastards are in session right now, aren’t they? I’ll be right back.”
One day, Kyouraku muses as he watches Ichigo go, this will probably not work, and it’ll come back to bite them all in the ass. Then again, Central 46 has run Soul Society their way or no one’s way for far too long; Yama-jii had always given them too much power. They’d learned nothing from Aizen, so maybe Ichigo is exactly what they deserve, straightforward and running on emotion, but fair, always, and decent in a way that Kyouraku thinks most of their government has forgotten how to be, if they ever knew to begin with.
One day, even Ichigo’s threats won’t make Central 46 back down. But a god doesn’t bow just because someone demands it, no matter how important they think their bloodline or rank or status is. And Ichigo is probably the closest thing they have to a god these days. A god, with plenty of friends to back him up if he needs it.
So Kyouraku leaves him to it - better Ichigo than him, less headaches in the long run - and he isn’t at all surprised when Ichigo sweeps back into his office five hours later, expression grim but triumphant, reiatsu still writhing like a living shadow around him as he informs Kyouraku that his clan will be needing their old estate back.
Kyouraku pushes over the paperwork he’d completed an hour ago, authorizing the full restoration and compensation of the Shiba Clan. Ichigo smiles at him almost fondly, features only slightly tinted with a banked sort of inhuman rage that he carries around almost constantly these days - it’s three steps left of his cousin’s memory, with Hollow glinting in his eyes and the shade of his ancestor draped across his shoulders. He’s gone again in the next moment, off to tell his family the excellent news, and Kyouraku thinks it was probably a good thing Yama-jii died when he did. However reasonable Ichigo still is, he is no longer that boy with the too-forgiving heart who took the insults they served him with all the doormatted self-sacrifice of a storybook hero.
(He came back from the Soul King Palace equal parts pensive and victorious, with old eyes and reiatsu levels they could no longer sense and a terrifying sort of detachment when he looked at them all. But his friends had fallen on him without care, only relief, and the icy distance in Ichigo’s mien had melted. Kyouraku had understood though, in that moment, that Soul Society would stand only so long as Ichigo allows it.
He likes Ichigo, he genuinely does. Jyuushirou had too. That hadn’t stopped his old friend from attempting to leash him, which had almost backfired in the end and literally only hadn’t out of the goodness of Ichigo’s heart, and it doesn’t stop Kyouraku now from catering to Ichigo’s whims. Only time would tell if this approach will work better or worse than Jyuushirou’s law-abiding one, and in the meanwhile, it doesn’t hurt that Ichigo doesn’t actually want anything Kyouraku doesn’t want to fix anyway. Soul Society has been his home for over nine centuries now. He does not want to see it burn. If that means dragging it kicking and screaming into a new era with a boy their world created to fight their wars for them looking over his shoulder, then Kyouraku will do it gladly.)
It takes almost three months for the Shibas to gather again and move back in. They’d scattered, after their exile, all across Rukongai, but Kuukaku is their head, and Ichigo has single-handedly wrested back their birthright for them, and when both of them call, the rest of the clan answers, trickling in in twos and threes and fours, suspicious and wary and not inclined to trust anyone but their own, but they come, and the first thing they do is raise wards around their home strong enough to withstand a siege from the Royal Guard.
“That’s everyone?” Ichigo asks, looking from the civilians to the once-Shinigami to the children. All in all, they barely make thirty total, and over half of them are from their retainer families.
Kuukaku shrugs tiredly at his side. She’s never looked older than she does now. “You know Isshin’s staying in the Human world for your sisters, but other than that, pretty much. Everyone else is dead.” She pauses. “Well, except one, but I doubt he’ll come. Kaien’s wife’s brother,” She adds for Ichigo’s benefit. “Koyonagi Senzou. He was the Kidou Corps Commander before Tessai, demoted to Academy teacher after some mission the higher-ups covered up. He was the only one the Gotei kept on after we were kicked out. Never found out whether he actually wanted to stay or if Central 46 insisted he stay. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the latter. He’s wasted at the Academy, too useful to kill but too dangerous to let out of sight. As far as I know though, he’s still there.”
Ichigo frowns as he digests all this. “And he won’t come by to see you guys?”
Kuukaku shakes her head. “I doubt it. He was never really one of us.”
“Why not?”
Kuukaku shrugs again. “He never wanted to be. I didn’t know him very well, Ichigo, but he loved exactly one person, and she was more or less killed under Kaien’s watch. It wasn’t Nii-san’s fault of course, but she was sent out on a mission given to her by the Thirteenth Division lieutenant, and she never came back. He attended her funeral. That was the last time any of us saw him, although our Shinigami members reported glimpses of him in and around the Academy over the years.”
Ichigo hums. Kuukaku gives him an arch look and then snorts. “Shall I prepare a room for him anyway when I start renovations?”
Ichigo grins at her. “That’d be perfect, Kuukaku, thanks.”
2. Of course Senzou has heard of Kurosaki Ichigo. You’d have to be living under a rock in a cave in a different dimension to not have heard of Soul Society’s God-Slaying Saviour.
And of course he’s a Shiba. That lot always was more trouble than they were worth, too powerful for their own good, and too reckless or too confident or too stupid - Senzou has never really figured out which - to hide it from the world or at least play it down to keep the world from turning on them because of it. No subtlety at all. And look where it got them in the end.
In the aftermath of the Quincy War, he hears of the Shibas’ return to the city, and he can feel the power in the wards they almost immediately erect around their home. For protection, no doubt, because old dogs can learn new tricks after all, but to Senzou, it just looks like a very pretty cage. Why they - or the Visored for that matter - came back to serve the very people who betrayed them in some of the worst ways possible is beyond him.
Not that it makes much of a difference to Senzou. He’d ignored them for decades before their exile; no doubt, he’ll happily ignore them for decades more. They’re related only through an unfortunate marriage, and considering both parties are long dead now, what little obligation he had to them likewise expired years ago.
But, he thinks, as he watches an increasingly familiar head of orange hair slide into his classroom, someone forgot to give that memo to the Shibas’ newest pride and joy. Even Senzou - with expectations that literally no student has ever met - can admit that Kurosaki Ichigo attending Kidou lessons is a complete waste of time. Senzou spends his days teaching idiots the incantations for each of the ninety-nine standard spells, trying not to scratch his own eyes out when he has to grade their papers, and making sure they don’t blow themselves up when they practice producing them. Even the most advanced of the sixth-years can only manage spells in the fifties range, with a fifty-fifty chance of average-at-best success.
Ichigo memorized all the incantations in the first two weeks he was here. His first essay on the use of forbidden Kidou - instead of a regurgitation of laws citing the illegality of them that everyone else turned in - became a dissertation on their pros and cons, arguing that every case in which they’re used should be thoroughly investigated not only by Central 46 but also by a panel of Shinigami, and why the laws against them should be amended to allow for unexpected circumstances. The brat even had the gall to throw in quotes of interviews he’d conducted, and if it had been anyone else claiming to have received firsthand and eye-witness accounts of forbidden Kidou usage from names like Tsukabishi Tessai and Hirako Shinji, Senzou would’ve set them on fire for being such a bad liar. He couldn’t even fail the boy for incomplete research because the books he referenced might not be found in the Academy library but they all had Urahara Kisuke stamped on them.
And his practicals? A high level of reiatsu usually means the caster would have a harder time performing Kidou, especially when they’re first starting out, too much power shoved into the lower-level ones, too little control to hold together the higher-level ones.
Not Kurosaki Ichigo. That boy spent the first week putting holes into everything except his targets, went away for a weekend, and then came back with singed eyebrows and bags under his eyes but a resolute set to his jaw and picture-perfect Kidou at his fingertips. He didn’t even need the incantations anymore. And to make him even more of an anomaly, he could perform spells right up into the nineties. In fact, the higher the difficulty and reiatsu output, the better he was with them.
There is nothing the standard Kidou curriculum from any year can teach him. His learning curve is insane, and his essays read like he’s gearing up to go toe to toe with Central 46, never mind an Academy class.
He doesn’t need to be here. Senzou knows it. The other students know it. And Ichigo most certainly knows it too. And with the special allowances granted by the Soutaichou himself, he doesn’t even need permission to skip. The boy’s been given unprecedented free reign to come and go as he pleases, and yet he comes back, week after week after week. He doesn’t even have the decency to sleep through Senzou’s lectures. He’s a flickering candle in the corner of Senzou’s eye, all flame-bright hair and brown-gold-brown eyes and shadows that won’t stop moving, and that unwavering attention he pins on Senzou every time makes it damn clear exactly what he’s waiting for.
Shibas. No subtlety whatsoever.
The bell rings. Bags are packed. There’s a scramble for the door.
“Kurosaki-chan,” Senzou calls in bored tones without looking away from sadistically adding an extra assignment to the board. If no one notices, that’s their problem. “Stay behind.”
There are some interested whispers and prying eyes, but one glance from Senzou sends them scurrying away. And then Ichigo is there, sauntering up with his perpetual scowl - not at all like Kaien this one. The two are as charismatic as each other, from what Senzou’s observed. But Kaien had people wrapped around his finger because he had a knack for putting them at ease and making them feel special and making himself both approachable and worth looking up to. Ichigo on the other hand scared a lot of people when he first showed up at the Academy with an armful of books and a gruff disposition that didn’t lend itself to making allies, let alone friends. He wasn’t arrogant, just introverted, but it made him the kind of genius that people resented.
And then Senzou caught him in the hallway one day, looming over a mousy-looking fifth-year student huddled on the ground, and at first, he’d thought Kurosaki was bullying her. Everyone’s golden boy, picking on a shrinking violet of a girl. But then Ichigo had stooped down and gathered up all the books spilled across the floor before offering them back to the girl. The girl had still cowered, but she’d accepted them, and when Ichigo reached out and hauled her to her feet, she’d flinched but hadn’t moved away once she was on her feet again and Ichigo had let her go.
Then Ichigo had told her, quite clearly, “Next time someone can’t keep their hands to themselves, break their fucking wrists. Or kick them in the balls. Or tell them to fuck off. Start a scene so they have to stop. Do something. Don’t just fucking stand there.”
And then he’d stormed off, and the girl - Fujiwara, from the Kyouraku family - had stared after him, all baby-duckling wide eyes. And the next time Senzou had happened across her, it was just in time to see her chuck one of her textbooks at the head of one of her bullies. Said bully had staggered back, and then purpled with anger, already moving forward with fists clenched. Half a second later, he was on the ground and wailing from a broken nose, and Ichigo was standing over him, murder glowing gold in his eyes and black reiatsu streaking his hair and pooling at his feet.
Nobody had touched Fujiwara after that, especially since the girl had taken to following Ichigo around. Ichigo had still scowled like no one’s business, he’d also been seen kicking Fujiwara’s ass in one of the training rooms, they studied together in the library, and they ate together in the courtyard when Ichigo happened to stay for that.
And gradually, other students joined in, tentatively, some nervous, some with hero worship in their eyes, all hopeful. Ichigo never turned any of them away, but one day, he started a debate in the library about laws that would take species outside of Shinigami into consideration that ended with raised voices and enthusiastic opinions that got the whole giggling bunch thrown out, and another day, he suggested a free-for-all game of tag where only Kidou could be used to catch each other which ended with everyone sweaty and gasping and wanting another round, and in calmer in-betweens, he answered when the others finally asked him about what Hueco Mundo was like, what the Material world was like, what Arrancar were like, what Humans were like, and he never lost his temper with them even when he had to explain something more than once.
He was still blunt and borderline rude and not at all like Kaien, like a Shiba, not outgoing or friendly or instantly personable. But the charisma was the same, people couldn’t help but be drawn to him, and it took weeks for Senzou to realize he was just as susceptible to it as Ichigo’s growing circle of friends within the Academy. So susceptible he was literally stalking him everywhere just to see what other chaos he was sowing.
That’s probably why he wants the boy gone so badly. He’d sworn he’d never forgive the Shiba Clan for taking his sister away from him, the only leeway they got was that he wouldn’t actively go after them either because Miyako wouldn’t want him to, and it wasn’t as if it was difficult to keep such a vow. He’d never liked the Shibas anyway. When they’d been slaughtered and cast out, and no assassins had shown up at his door in the aftermath, all he’d thought was good riddance.
But Kurosaki Ichigo…
Under any other circumstances, Senzou would be thrilled. Here is a student who challenged the world around him and brought a storm to the Academy.
But this isn’t any other circumstances, and as Ichigo stops in front of his desk, a beast glinting behind his eyes and a dead king’s inheritance pulsing in the shadow splashed at his feet, Senzou meets his gaze and slices a mocking smile in his direction.
“Kurosaki-chan,” He starts, smirk widening when Ichigo’s eyebrows twitch. “The Academy’s star part-time pupil. What exactly are you still doing in my class?”
Ichigo shrugs. “I signed up for it, your lectures aren’t boring, and I’m trying to figure you out.”
Senzou feels his smile grow fixed. “And how is that going for you?”
Ichigo scruffs a hand through his hair, pauses briefly to frown tug at the shoulder-length strands like he wants a haircut, and then shrugs again. “You’re the one following me around all the time, what do you think?”
They stare at each other for a moment.
“Let me make one thing very clear, Kurosaki-chan,” Senzou finally says. For once, he doesn’t feel like weaving his usual mind games. “I don’t know what your clan has told you, but I have no desire to play happy families with them. I know you Shibas tend to be all about bringing family together, but I am not one of you.” His lip curls. “Do not push this issue any further than you have. Am I understood?”
Ichigo cocks his head, something animal in the way he watches Senzou now. “Kuukaku agreed to reserve a room for you at the compound if you ever want it, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I’m not here for that.”
Senzou’s eyes narrow. “Then what are you here for?” He gives the boy a sardonic look and cuts him off preemptively. “Besides class.”
Ichigo grins, quicksilver bright, and something in Senzou recoils with surprise.
“I don’t really have a plan,” The boy tells him. “But I’m getting my family settled back in, and making sure nobody can fuck with them ever again.” He aims another considering look at Senzou. “If you don’t wanna be all buddy-buddy with them, that’s fine. It’s not any of my business if you wanna hammer your shit out with them or not. But you were connected to them even if you didn’t like it, and that doesn’t change just because that connection’s gone. So I guess what I wanted to figure out was whether or not someone’s fucking with you too.”
Senzou opens his mouth, then closes it when nothing comes out. How embarrassing. He settles for a derisive smile that feels a touch too brittle on his face. “I don’t need your protection, God-Slayer.”
Ichigo immediately makes a face. “Don’t call me that. And I didn’t say you did. But when I start something, I like to see it through, so I thought I’d check just to be sure.”
Senzou scoffs with disbelief. “Then why didn’t you just ask?”
Ichigo rolls his eyes like he thinks Senzou’s being dumb on purpose, which is a new experience for Senzou. Usually he’s the one rolling his eyes.
“Well you didn’t want me to, did you?” Ichigo says, looking exasperated now. “You were curious about me, and all the stalking was recon or whatever.” He levels a thoughtful look on Senzou before snorting with something like amusement. “You are the type. But yeah, anyway, now you know. If you need help, the offer’s open indefinitely. But I’ll stop coming to class if you don’t want me here.”
He trails off, arching an eyebrow in question. When Senzou doesn’t reply, the boy shrugs once more, adjusts the strap of his bag, and turns to leave.
Senzou… Well, he’s pretty much been on the back foot this entire conversation, hasn’t he? There’s something about Ichigo that just… throws him off. It’s frustrating. Unnerving.
And yet… Ichigo didn’t push. Kaien would’ve pushed. The rest of his family would’ve pushed. It’s what Shibas do when they want something - push and push until they get what they want, a single-minded persistence hidden under their signature cheerful geniality that makes the rest of the world believe them to be the nicest clan in all of Soul Society.
Miyako had said no, the first time Kaien had asked to court her. But he’d asked again and again, until she’d said yes, and she’d been happy to, Senzou had made certain of that, she’d been perfectly willing, had found a good man in Kaien and been glad she’d finally given him a chance.
But she’d said no first, and Kaien had pushed, and it just… rubbed Senzou the wrong way. Because once upon a time, Shinigami had plucked them out from Rukongai, dusted them off and provided the training and shuffled them into the military, all expenses paid, but no had never been an option, and that had become all the more true after Miyako became such a public, vulnerable figure, not only Third Seat of the Thirteenth but also wife of a clan head.
When Central 46 had come knocking, interested in Senzou’s prodigal skills with Kidou, they hadn’t even needed to drop Miyako’s name for Senzou to know that saying no then wasn’t an option either. He’d been pushed into their service, and it had taken Miyako’s death for Central 46 to finally leave him alone, solely because he had no one else for them to hold over his head.
It’s not the Shibas’ fault, not really. It’s been long enough that Senzou can admit that, if only to himself. Miyako’s choices were her own, and even if she hadn’t married him, Central 46 probably would’ve found another way to get to him through her. But Senzou has always been petty and vindictive at heart, and he’ll blame the Shibas for the rest of his life, because at the end of the day, they’re just like all the other nobles in this place. What they want, they’ll push until they get, because privilege is in their blood.
So Senzou flounders when Ichigo doesn’t push his advantage. The boy is already halfway to the door, and somehow, Senzou is certain, if he doesn’t say anything now, Ichigo won’t come back. It’s so wildly different from what he’d expected, so unexpectedly not-like-a-Shiba, that he has to fumble for something to say for an unforgivably long moment. Him, fumble. This whole conversation has been one unexpected surprise after another, and later, Senzou will blame the shock for his next decision.
“Wait.”
Ichigo stops and turns back. He doesn’t look surprised, but neither does he look triumphant or even just smug.
Senzou suppresses a grimace. “The school has nothing left to teach you about Kidou.”
Ichigo nods in unabashed agreement.
Senzou snorts softly. “But I do. And I guarantee it won’t bore you.”
Ichigo blinks, and a crooked smile slowly curls at his lips. It doesn’t erase his frown, but it softens his brow and makes his features look less harsh. “You sure you wanna teach me?”
Senzou scoffs and pulls out his chair. “I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.” He gives himself a mental shake and drags a grin back onto his face, sharp enough to cut. “Sit your ass down so we can figure out a schedule, Ichi-chan.”
Ichigo instantly loses the smile and glowers like a thundercloud. Senzou all but basks in the familiarity of it, inwardly relieved at being back on steadier ground.
“Don’t call me that, asshole!”
He probably shouldn’t have offered, should’ve just let him go and good riddance. But Senzou hasn’t been taken so off-guard so quickly in a long time, and it had been frustrating and unnerving but underneath both…
There is a storm waiting on the wings of Seireitei, and Kurosaki Ichigo is the one holding its reins.
And Senzou. Senzou is just curious enough to want to see what that storm will bring.
3. “Did your hair grow three inches over the weekend?” Senzou asks the moment Ichigo walks into one of their weekly lessons.
Ichigo dumps his bag in a chair and scowls at him. His hair has been swept up into a bun, which is certainly a feat considering the last time Senzou saw him three days ago, it had only brushed his shoulders.
“This body is seriously shit at regulating itself,” Ichigo grumbles. “I didn’t have time to go to the barber’s, and Kuukaku threatened to shave me bald if I tried to chop it off with my Zanpakutou again.”
Senzou squints at him. “You realize that’s not normal.”
Ichigo rolls his eyes. “I didn’t have a knife on me, and it was getting in the way, okay? Don’t judge.”
This time, it’s Senzou’s turn to roll his eyes. “That wasn’t what I meant, Ichi-chan. Shinigami bodies don’t suddenly grow several inches of hair overnight.”
“You’d be surprised,” Ichigo mutters before shaking his head, and Senzou watches as black reiatsu crackles lazily across his shoulders. “I’m just kinda weird. Excess reiatsu plus funky biology apparently means random hair growth and dye jobs.” He shrugs. “Kisuke’s still figuring it out.”
Senzou hums noncommittally. “Urahara Kisuke. Your… mentor?”
Ichigo pulls out the books Senzou had given him last week, along with a notebook and the latest essay Senzou had assigned him. All are tagged with multiple sticky notes.
“Kind of?” Ichigo sounds like he isn’t all too sure himself and even less concerned about it. “He’s… Kisuke.”
Senzou eyes him curiously. “You don’t care that he basically engineered half your life then?”
Ichigo stills. Then he glances up with Hollow-gold eyes, and Senzou smiles and meets them without flinching.
“Why would you say that?” Ichigo asks in even tones, but the office suddenly seems darker.
Senzou shrugs carelessly. “Urahara has a bit of a reputation for… working outside the box. It’s not just me who thinks it, Ichi-chan. There aren’t many who knew him who wouldn’t take one look at you and guess that he had something to do with your existence.” He pauses. “Although admittedly, I suppose the worst of these rumours come from the ones who want him back most. Central 46 doesn’t benefit half as much without his skills in assassination and technological development. It must’ve been a blow to their egos when Urahara refused their invitation to come back after the Winter War. They might be hoping enough unease over any other projects he’s bound to be working on would be enough to make him come back under their protection-”
“That’s not called protection,” Ichigo growls, and Senzou stops, words withering on his tongue.
There is something about the black abyss of Ichigo’s unblinking stare that makes some base instinct in even Senzou want to back away, run, throw himself at this eldritch entity’s feet and beg for mercy. He squashes the urge and smiles like monsters don’t exist.
Ichigo blinks. The darkness in his eyes recede, and the room clears again, bright with the sunshine pouring in through the open window. A shadow passes over his face, and when he opens his mouth to speak, Senzou catches a glimpse of fangs.
“Well that sucks,” The boy remarks succinctly like the silhouette on the far wall behind him doesn’t outline a grinning mouth with too many teeth. “It’s none of their business anyway. Kisuke prefers his shop. He’s his own boss there, and he likes it that way. Central 46 will just have to deal with Kurotsuchi.”
He flips open his notebook and shoves his essay over. “Now come on, we only have an hour today, and you said you’d go over this bit with me.”
Senzou nods and drops the subject. But three weeks later, he laughs when whispers tell of five Central 46 members retiring from their seats, replaced by one Shiba elder, one Shihouin, one Kuchiki, and two seated officers from the Gotei, one of which has served long enough that she doesn’t mind semi-retiring, and the other who prefers more time at a desk job over constant fieldwork. Both have roots that trace back to the slums of Rukongai. Twelve days after that, the Soutaichou announces a new official position filled by Urahara Kisuke - Human World Liaison - and a team of his choice, effective immediately.
“You don’t waste any time,” is Senzou’s greeting the next time he sees Ichigo after that debacle.
Ichigo, seated on the edge of the Academy roof and surveying the rest of Seireitei (like a ruler looking over his kingdom), waves a dismissive hand that trails solid shadows through the air. “People who’ve never been Shinigami shouldn’t be allowed to judge them. Kyouraku-san agreed.”
“I’m sure he did,” Senzou agrees, fighting near-hysterical glee down to a chuckle as he drops down to sit beside Ichigo.
He wonders if this is what it looks like, for a man to crown himself without even trying while most of the world cheers him on.
He glances to the side, arching an eyebrow when he finds Ichigo watching him. “Yes, Ichi-chan?”
There’s a disappointing lack of irritable twitching this time, but the thoughtful look Ichigo has levelled on him instead is more interesting.
“I have finals starting next week,” Ichigo says abruptly. “So I won’t be coming by the Academy until I’m done.”
Well, less interesting than he’d expected. “I’ll pick up your assignments for you,” Senzou offers, feeling generous. It’s not every day Central 46 takes a beating. He doesn’t care about Aizen, but if there was one thing he did right, it was butchering the judiciary authority on the way out. One group of them anyway.
Ichigo snorts. Rude. “Thanks, but I was thinking, you could join me down there for once instead of me coming up to meet you here. I want to concentrate on my university exams, but I have to eat and stretch my legs sometime. If you want, I could show you around campus. Kisuke can lend you a gigai so you won’t even have to request one from the Twelfth and wait for the acquisition forms to be approved.”
The first thing Senzou wants to say is I can’t. Because he can’t. Central 46 can’t make him do shit anymore, but short of slaughtering his way to the Senkaimon or disappearing into the Rukongai and living out the rest of his life as a fugitive, he can’t leave Seireitei. He doesn’t hate it here so much that he’d prefer either of those options, but the truth of the matter is, this is as much his home as it is his prison.
(A very pretty cage indeed.)
So he can’t, but Ichigo isn’t stupid, he should’ve already figured it out, or guessed, if not from the start after whatever his family told him about Senzou, then in the five months since. Stuck at the Academy because he’s too much of a wild card to go on missions.
Ichigo isn’t stupid, but neither is he cruel, not to those he has no quarrel with - that much Senzou can accept as truth. That he’s bringing this up anyway…
So, “How?” He asks instead, raising his eyebrows when Ichigo actually barks out a laugh. And then his eyes widen when Ichigo twists fingers through the air, and a Garganta springs into existence beside them.
“This can take us there,” Ichigo grins. “And no one will ever even know if you don’t want them to.”
Senzou stares from him to the murky void and back again. “…Why?”
Why are you doing this? Why would you offer?
They’ve known each other for five months, six if you count the one Senzou spent studying him. Most of that time has been spent in private tutoring sessions, and it’s benefitted Senzou as much as it has Ichigo. He technically shouldn’t be teaching Ichigo even half the Kidou Corps secrets he’s already imparted, but Ichigo makes it worth his while - quick on the uptake, a challenge in the sparring ring, and a breath of fresh air from the tedious drudgery of teaching his other students. Occasionally, they even go out for meals, tucked away in a quiet corner of a restaurant or a food stand. And sometimes, Ichigo brings souvenirs back with him from his trips to the Human world - fiction, toys, tech, trinkets the living modern age has that Soul Society does not - and he gifts them not only to his friends amongst the students but also to Senzou these days.
It’s a friendlier relationship than Senzou thought he’d ever have with anyone outside his sister, doubly so for a Shiba. Then again, Ichigo’s barely that, thank the Soul King, even if he was raised by one of the worst examples of that clan.
“Why not?” Ichigo counters, like it isn’t downright unnatural for anyone to do anything for Senzou, mostly because he’d rather stab himself in the face than fall into anybody’s debt. People avoid him when they can because he is cruel, and that’s the way Senzou likes it. He has high standards and little tolerance for things that bore him. Nothing bores him as easily as people do.
Until Ichigo.
“You don’t wanna be stuck here all the time,” Ichigo continues. “And I have an easy way out. So yeah, why not?”
Senzou turns his gaze to the horizion, past the sprawling streets and buildings of Seireitei to the sun setting beyond the wall.
He looks at the Garganta again. When Ichigo doesn’t move to stop him, he reaches over and lets his fingers drift past the mouth of the portal. The void is cool to the touch but not freezing the way he’d half-imagined.
He retrieves his hand. “A campus tour then?” He muses lightly, and Ichigo’s features brighten in response.
Senzou almost sighs. He thinks he might understand now. Ichigo is a little more like a Shiba after all. It’s just that he’s also a little more manipulative than one would expect of him. Senzou had all but told him not to interfere, to play hero for someone else, so Ichigo had backed off. But he’d figured out what Senzou wanted anyway, and his solution was to offer another way out instead.
Persistent, without disrespecting boundaries, and cunning enough to find another answer. In that regard, he’s nothing like his Shinigami relatives, who are always so loud about their intentions.
Charismatic, but… discreetly, almost insidiously so.
Senzou blinks. And then glances sharply at Ichigo again. His eyes look bronze in the light of the sunset, with the heat of his Hollow just beneath it. He has his head propped up against one loose fist, elbow balanced on one knee.
He smiles, almost guileless if not for the possessive resolve in the curve of that expression, and Senzou thinks, unbidden, ah. That’s how he won their devotion.
He gave his friends and family and allies everything they wanted, everything they needed, threw his heart and soul and body into every fight in their defense, shattered himself and rebuilt himself to protect the ones he’d taken under his wing, and so when the time came, how could any of them have done anything less for him?
It had probably not even been something Ichigo had done consciously from the beginning, it was just how he was built, through a quirk of the genetic fun park Urahara had ensured, or perhaps from the numerous near-death experiences life had forced him into. Ichigo probably hadn’t been aware, at first.
But he definitely is now.
Senzou thinks Ichigo is only just starting with him. Senzou’s already been claimed, because - for whatever reason - Ichigo wants him.
It probably says a lot that even this early on, even having already figured it out, Senzou… can’t say he cares enough to protest.
A Shiba in his bones, but leagues more dangerous by far.
4. The Human world is bigger than he remembers. Size-wise, it’s the same. But there’s a lot more in it than he thought, and he isn’t sure if that’s due to the passage of time or because he’d never spent more time than strictly necessary here when he took missions on the material plane back in the day.
Either way, he’s free to explore it now, even if just a small part of it for the time being. The campus of Ichigo’s school is large and sprawling, and with Urahara’s gigai and fake IDs and some Human money (he trades them for a box of seal traps even Tsukabishi Tessai wouldn’t know of because they’re Senzou’s own creation, and Urahara smiles like he understands and doesn’t object), it’s easy enough to come and go once Ichigo drops him off.
“You bought an apartment?” Senzou asks the first time Ichigo shows him the place and lets him poke around inside. It’s recognizably a living space, but it’s foreign to him all the same, with a generous open floor plan and wide windows, marble countertops in the kitchen and dark wooden cabinets and a bathroom constructed of polished chrome and gleaming tile.
“Kisuke bought me an apartment,” Ichigo corrects, flopping down on the couch where he has papers and books spread all over the coffee table and floor. His hair’s shorter today, barely past his shoulders, tipped black and hanging loose. Senzou is vaguely curious about what the boy’s classmates think of it.
“I wanted my own place,” Ichigo explains. “But Kisuke took one look at the rent I could afford and practically frog-marched me here instead. Then he had Yoruichi-san steal all my stuff and move it here, and then he said I might as well just take it because staying would be less work than moving all my stuff back.” He snorts, but it’s a fond sound. “The asshole. It’s not like I’d want to turn this place down. But it’s a bit much, so I try to help him with his research projects whenever I can in exchange.”
Senzou digests this with briefly raised eyebrows but says nothing. Urahara probably considers this another desperate form of making amends, and Ichigo probably knows it too. He probably wouldn’t have accepted otherwise.
“There’s a guest bedroom,” Ichigo calls after him as Senzou wanders down the hall to investigate exactly that. “Rukia’s stayed overnight, Renji too, and a few of my human friends have as well, but I always clean the place after they leave, so if you wanna stay tonight, feel free.”
That’s all the conversation between them for the rest of the day. Ichigo already showed him the campus the day before, and after tossing him a key to the apartment, Senzou is free to wander off and explore on his own.
Two weeks of regular visits to the Human world, and he still feels a little awkward in one of the shirts and jeans and sweater that that Quincy friend of Ichigo’s had shoved on him before whirlwinding back out again, apparently neck-deep in the middle of his own finals project.
“It’s Ishida, he makes clothes for everyone,” was Ichigo’s unhelpful clarification. “You help by walking around and looking good in them.”
So Senzou does, and part of him feels like he should stand out more, but nobody gives him more than a passing glance at most. Well, some do, but he recognizes shallow attraction well enough to ignore it.
In the end, he finds himself spending the most time in the libraries and lecture halls, slipping into the back of a classroom and listening to lessons he actually has to pay attention to to even understand some of what the professor is talking about. The science lectures mostly go over his head, and he’s never been interested in that field anyway so he doesn’t bother putting much effort into following them. It’s the literature courses he likes the most. There aren’t any at the Academy, not like this, and there are so many more books in so many more languages and genres than Senzou ever thought there existed in the world.
Soul Society suddenly seems so small in comparison.
It’s always an exercise in patience every time he has to return to Seireitei to teach now. After the first two weeks of almost daily trips to the Human world, he orders - on a whim - the students from his upper-year classes to split into groups before assigning each of them a project due at the end of the term on the theoretical creation of three new Kidou spells.
Group projects are not a thing at the Academy. Senzou wonders why.
He tells them that at least two of the research sources have to be from outside the Academy, and he smirks when he follows Fujiwara Asuka to the First Division compound to speak with her cousin, and then the Eighth to speak with her cousin’s former lieutenant, and then even braving the Fourth, straight-backed and stiff with anxiety but marching in anyway with her nervous group members in tow until she manages to wrangle fifteen minutes of time from a few of the healers willing to answer her questions about Kaidou.
Even here, Ichigo’s influence flourishes.
Outside the classroom, Senzou begins collecting copies of Human books. He half-bribes, half-blackmails the librarian into setting aside a section for him, and then he begins his own project of filling it.
“You’ve been busy,” Ichigo remarks when he staggers in from his last exam and collapses into a chair just as Senzou finishes setting the table for dinner.
Senzou arches an eyebrow, smirking when Ichigo just rolls his eyes.
“People tell me things,” Ichigo informs him, barely waiting for Senzou to sit down before falling onto the meal like he hasn’t eaten in a week.
“You would make a poor king if people didn’t,” Senzou murmurs, smiling serenely when Ichigo’s eyes flick up to meet his. It’s not as intimidating when his cheeks are bulging like a chipmunk’s.
Actually, Ichigo in the Human world just seems less… overwhelming in general. It isn’t as if he’s any less powerful. This particular gigai doesn’t restrict him in any way. But there’s a relaxed quality in him here that Senzou’s observed in the past three weeks that’s always absent when he’s the rawest form of himself up in Seireitei.
“Soul Society needs to change,” Ichigo says at last, instead of denying anything. “If that means kicking it in the ass until it stops fucking up the lives it’s supposed to be looking after, then that’s exactly what I’ll do.”
Yes, and Senzou has no doubt he’ll succeed. The majority of those in power have no desire to stop Ichigo. Those who do aren’t strong enough. And Ichigo wants it. He wants it with a conviction Senzou has never seen in anyone, almost obsessive in its unfaltering desire… like the abyssal hunger of a Hollow and the eternal grudge of a Quincy and the timeless pride of a Shinigami all rolled into one.
Ichigo wants it, and he’ll get what he wants.
The Soul King knows the universe owes him that much, and even if it didn’t, Senzou doubts it would make a single bit of difference to their God-Slayer.
He lifts his mug in a toast. “Then I look forward to your endeavours. You’ll need to watch out for Central 46′s spies though. I’m sure they won’t take this lying down.”
Ichigo cocks an eyebrow. “Is that an offer to keep your ear to the ground for me?”
Senzou attempts an innocent face, which works about as well as he expects when Ichigo snorts. “A mere Academy teacher like me probably can’t help much, but…” He thinks of the seals he’d planted throughout the entire Central 46 compound every time he’d had to report in, slowly but surely sneaking invisible ears into the heart of Soul Society’s government. “I might hear things now and then. I’ll pass it on if it happens to be interesting.”
Ichigo grins and tips his own mug at Senzou like they aren’t talking treason.
5. “So.”
Senzou almost rolls his eyes. The Shibas’ commitment to their theatrics clearly hasn’t changed.
“Kuukaku-chan,” He says instead as he strides into his office and smothers the urge to draw his blade on the woman sitting on his desk like she’s posing for Most Dramatic. He smiles instead, hiding the teeth of it behind his lips. “What a pleasure.”
Kuukaku grins back without any of the same courtesy. Of course. “None at all, I’m sure, so I’ll get straight to the point. What are you doing with Ichigo?”
Senzou does roll his eyes this time. “You’ll have to be more specific. As of yesterday, he’s teaching me how to drive a car.” His lip curls. “It’s a mode of transportation Humans have developed.”
“I know what a car is,” Kuukaku snaps, finally hopping down from the desk to prowl across the room. “Why is he teaching you? What do you want with him?”
Senzou pauses halfway through setting down a stack of essays to be marked. “…If I said vengeance on the Shiba Clan once I’ve convinced him to side with me, would that be about what you were expecting?”
Kuukaku glares and crosses her arms. “Ichigo would never.”
Senzou smirks. “Then you have nothing to worry about, do you? You’ve wasted a trip.”
He brushes past her to flip through the paperwork on his desk. End-of-term reports are coming up, and that’s always a waste of his time, so the sooner he gets them done the better.
“I know you resent us for what happened to Miyako,” Kuukaku says from behind him, and Senzou wonders if he can just walk out. Probably, but there’s no way this woman won’t cause a scene. “But Ichigo wasn’t part of any of that.”
Senzou heaves a sigh and turns back around. “Kuukaku-chan, I thought we just established that we both know that using Ichigo against your family won’t work.”
“No,” Kuukaku nods. “But you could hurt him to get back at us.”
They eye each other for a long moment, not quite hostile but far from amicable.
“…My vengeance for Miyako was not lifting a finger when your clan was all but massacred,” Senzou finally says, ignoring the way Kuukaku’s expression pinches. “And so long as contact with you and yours is kept at an absolute minimum in the future, I don’t care anymore. Besides, there is no point in targeting Ichigo to get to you.” He sneers. “He’s a Shiba, but it would be an insult to consider him one of you.”
Kuukaku bristles but doesn’t explode in anger the way some of her even more hot-tempered relatives would. She stares at him instead, and when she doesn’t speak right away, Senzou goes back to organizing the contents of his desk.
“Say I believe that,” Kuukaku finally says, ignoring Senzou’s scoff. “Maybe you are hanging out with Ichigo with no ulterior motives. The gods know he makes that easy. But if that’s what you’re doing, there’s no way you won’t be seeing more of the rest of us eventually. He wasn’t raised the way a Shiba should’ve been, with none of our traditions and only a fraction of the family he should’ve had. That’s on us. But he’s still family, and so long as he doesn’t say no, we’re going to be a part of his life. You’re going to have to accept that if you plan on marrying in.”
The shelf closes with a resounding thud under his hand, and judging by the give, he’s probably cracked the back of it too. He barely notices as his gaze snaps back up to stare incredulously at his uninvited visitor. “I beg your pardon?”
Kuukaku smiles thinly, and this time she looks more amused than anything else. “Something to consider. But you’re more like Miyako than most people would think.” Her arms drop to her sides as she turns abruptly towards the window. “That’s all I had to say. You’re a smart man, Senzou. I don’t need to tell you what will happen if you fuck up.”
And before Senzou can demand an explanation or - more likely - set her on fire for cracking such an abysmal joke, she’s gone, disappearing through the window in a rush of Shunpo.
Senzou stares after her, then at the books he’d carried in earlier, then at the paperwork he’s putting off for the weekend because he has dinner with Ichigo tonight… just as he does almost every night nowadays.
He runs a hand over his face.
Shibas.
6. He says nothing. He’s self-aware enough to know (now, damn Kuukaku) that there’s something there, a spark, a connection, a pull Senzou has never felt towards anyone. He isn’t going to call it love or whatever Kuukaku thinks is happening because it isn’t. He finds Ichigo fascinating and endlessly entertaining, and anyone willing to face down Central 46 is worthy of some admiration in Senzou’s opinion. That Ichigo plans on turning the whole system upside-down and actually has the power to achieve it only raises Senzou’s esteem for him.
But he says nothing because Ichigo knows all this already. The day Senzou’s first instinct, when an assassin sent by Central 46 attempts to take Ichigo’s head, is to slit the hapless woman’s throat - even though he knows full well that she wouldn’t have come anywhere near to succeeding - is the moment Ichigo gets irrefutable proof that Koyonagi Senzou is willing to kill for him.
Ichigo doesn’t gloat of course, he isn’t the type. Senzou half-expects it anyway, breath caught in his lungs for a moment with something disgracefully close to fear twisting in his gut as he turns to check Ichigo’s reaction.
But Ichigo only wrinkles his nose and toes the fresh corpse at his feet, and then he glances at the blood splatter dotting Senzou’s shirt and offers to get him a new one.
He also reaches out to touch the hilt of Senzou’s Zanpakutou before nodding once, deliberately, solemnly, the weight of it as much a thanks as it is an acknowledgement.
And that was that. Senzou relaxes, doesn’t bat an eye when shadows surge up and swallow the body whole, and goes to change into another shirt. The incident passes, and it will be longer still before Ichigo’s enemies realize they probably should’ve tried harder to get rid of Senzou years ago. They’d thought themselves safe enough though: they would never earn Senzou’s allegiance, but at the same time, nobody - including Senzou - ever thought anybody else would earn it either.
But the point is, Ichigo knows. Senzou has no need to speak of it, and both of them are content with that. If something more comes of it down the road, Senzou doesn’t think he’d fight it. He lost this battle a good while ago, and he never even cared.
In the meantime though, he spies on Central 46 and enjoys what time he can spare in the Human world and continues reconstructing Seireitei’s education system brick by stubborn brick. There’s a kingdom to conquer and a god Senzou has pledged himself to, and for now, that is enough.
#headcanon meme: answered#bleach#koyoichi#koyonagi senzou#kurosaki ichigo#kyouraku shunsui#shiba kuukaku#post canon au#headcanon#hi brain#wtaf happened
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Black Swan (3)
Summary: Y/N used to be a Russian spy under the code name Black Swan. But that was a lifetime ago, now she’s a part-time avenger, dance teacher, surrogate sister to Natasha Romanoff, and trainer to new Shield Agents. She’s come a long way from the days of killing targets and being tortured. But when someone from her past comes around will she be able to ignore her history anymore? Or will she end up falling in love with the only man her sister ever loved?
A/N: Reblog / Like If you liked the chapter!! (I really love this chapter it’s one of my favorites)
Things shifted slightly after you sat down with Bucky. It wasn’t a dramatic shift, but a noticeable one. The two of you shared life events few could understand and you felt for him. So, you started to hang around him. You’d eat breakfast with him, never talking but always closeby. And you two ran together. You could keep up with his pace, and that felt comforting to him. He wasn’t as alone as he thought. The more time you spent with him the more you realized. He wasn’t the soldier, that was an entirely different person. Not necessarily better or worse, just different. He was just Bucky.
Two weeks had passed with this new schedule. A part of you felt like you were betraying the only person to ever matter to you. Would Natalia see this as disloyalty too? You didn’t like him the way she did, but you did start to form a kinship. She had texted you to meet in her room and short walk there your stomach was in knots.
“Yгадать что? (Guess what?)” Nat asks when you get to her room.
“Что? (What?)” you ask back. She looks giddy. Something you haven’t seen in a long time. She’s happy and it’s nice to see your little sister so happy.
“I’m going on a date,” she declares in a sing-song voice. You’re taken aback by this. Since when does The Black Widow date?
She never mentioned guys other than to talk hookups. The two of you shared a similarly grim outlook on dating. When you’re held together by glue, love doesn’t come easy. Hookups and one night stands provided what you needed without getting complicated. They didn’t threaten to tear the fragile state you remained in. And besides, it wasn’t like pregnancy or diseases were something to worry about. The Widow Program took that away.
You l lean your head forward and give her a look, encouraging her to tell you more. She moves to her wardrobe and starts talking.
“Need something easy to move in, but hot.” Is all she says. She’s thumbing through her wardrobe and frowns then makes her way towards the door with you in tow.
“Where are we go- wait, no. Tasha, you can’t just steal my clothes without asking!” You say upon realizing she’s headed for your closet.
“Just your leather jacket! Please!” she pleads.
You nod, “Only if you tell me where and who this date is with.” She smiles and pulls the jacket down and puts it on over her outfit. She was right, it did look good with the outfit.
“We’re going to get coffee and then a shooting range!” She says and you immediately know who she’s going out with. There is only one person in the world who loves coffee and shooting things as much as Nat does.
“When did Clint ask you out?” You ask and she looks perplexed.
“I didn’t say who?” You laugh at this.
“Oh, honey only one person besides you considers that a date.” She joins you in laughing. “You really think he asked me out? I did. He didn’t have the balls!” You laugh even harder at this. Of course, she did. Nat was never one for subtlety.
Natalia and Clint leave both in leather jackets, which shouldn’t surprise you, you can’t help but think they are perfect for each other. Clint had a tragic backstory too and was there for Natalia when you weren’t. He wouldn’t pull her apart, he would hold her together. You smile to yourself at the idea of her happy again, and head to the joint kitchen to steal some ice cream. You make yourself a bowl and sit at the countertop and eat while scrolling through your phone looking for dance costumes for the girls. Then you hear a loud “Hey!”
“That’s my ice cream!” you turn to see who’s shouting to find Bucky. Quiet, shy Bucky. The guy who barely talked, and sure as hell never yelled.
“Swry,” you say through a mouth of ice cream. He looks taken aback by your half-hearted apology. As if you just insulted his entire being.
“They only sell it at Trader Joe’s! I make a special trip there specifically for the ice cream!” you pause to digest both the ice cream and this information.
“You know what Trader Joe’s is?” you ask completely seriously.
“Yes! I may have missed a few decades but I don’t live under a rock anymore. And you’re eating my ice cream. Boo you whore”
“Chill man, if it’s that big a deal we can go get some more. Wait did you just quote mean girls?” He smirks, hiding his blushing cheeks. But nods and then turns to grab his coat off the hook. “I didn’t really mean now, but sure guess we can go to Trader Joe’s now,” you say mostly to yourself.
You weren’t sure what you expected taking a super soldier to a supermarket. The trip went a lot like the book “If you give a mouse a cookie”. After getting the ice cream he decides he needs more cones, and that leads him to milk to wash it down and within thirty minutes you’ve grabbed a cart and filled it up with various protein items, and strange foods only a child would eat.
“I love the future,” Bucky beams to you while wheeling the groceries to the car. You laugh at his statement.
“Hun, this is the present now, not the future.” This has him taken aback for a moment and all he can do is stare. Great, one trip to the grocery store and you break the guy.
“I know I've been alive for most of this time, but it feels like I’m in this freaky movie where I step foot into the future and if I change something it will all fall apart.” You can’t help but laugh harder.
In between laughs, you manage to say “You just described the plot to Back to the Future!” After taking a few deep breaths you face him seriously. “I’m sorry, I know this is a lot. But nothing you do will mess this up. This is your life now, so enjoy all the ice cream you want, and don’t worry about messing up.”
He smiles at you, “I will if you don’t eat my ice cream.”
“Oh god, a girl makes one mistake!”
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The Broken Sword
@susiceri okay I really set this little story here on my blog c: Because you said you really liked it and it honors me so much ;o; (No Frieza content here, dear followers but I just wanted to write over a character I also love really much <3)
"So, you want to hear the story of a being with nothing left to lose?" an amused laugh sounds as the being props up one side of his cheek with his hands. A grim, indignant expression adorns the elegant, flawless face, "Why would I tell that to a mortal being.... such a weak person like you? What use would that be?" He, the Demon Lord, his master the Demon King who will never rise again....
The big violet eyes, with one hidden under the white hair, literally fix you. The creature you have never met before looks fascinating and its posture earlier looked very suffering when you encountered it on the rock, deep in the forest. Actually, you would continue your walk, but you notice to the side of the rock now a small child. You wanted to hurry to her, but stop abruptly when you hear that voice again. "Don't worry, she's just unconscious." The little brat didn't turn out to be useful for him at all. All the while, he only wanted to use her so he could send his master back to this world. But he really seems to be banished now, forever.
His white lips suddenly form into a sardonic grin. This... curious visitor, namely you, had found out who it was: It is the heir to the throne of Princess Zelda.
"Bravo. So you know your future ruler.", his voice now seems sarcastic and monotone, before immediate indignation builds up again. You just hear a snap of your fingers and the next moment this man appears right in front of you. His long, dark red cloak waving lightly in the warm breeze. "And you don't recognize me, Ghirahim, the Demon Lord!? What an insult to my blue blood!"
...You still don't know who this person is and you seem perplexed.
Ghirahim or whatever he called himself seems arrogant, and now it is you who is looking angry. You tell him that you only wanted to rush to the child to help her, but you also tell him that you will not consider her a legitimate princess. Authorities... You hate such persons and now there is also a pompous, yet elegant man standing in front of you.
"Oh? If that isn’t interesting. A Hylian who seems to be a renegade? Yet you once worshipped that accursed goddess so much."
He is right, you are a free thinker, an atheist who lives in a small hut here in the forest. He seems to know a lot about your people and yet...he seems strange. His skin is so different...grayish, which perfectly accentuates his white clothes and hair. A stronger breeze blows and the tips of his cloak lightly touch your legs. It almost seems like the fabric is out of this world...mystical and phantasmal. What were his words earlier? He has nothing left to lose? You ask him again, wondering what kind of being he is. He can use magic. Perhaps an ancient mage? Also, he called you a mortal being earlier.... Either it is probably the highest arrogance you have ever encountered, or he is indeed a mystical being. Of course, in this world you are permanently surrounded by such beings. Fairies exist, you can't deny that, and yet you've never met a god.
Again you hear a short, amused laugh and for the next few seconds you can't react that quickly. A black blade lays against your neck.
"Do you really think I've forgotten you asked me that before, foolish human?", it's an angry hiss that rings in your ears and you back away, very slowly and carefully and so far he hasn't cut your throat yet. Your eyes glance tremulously at his other hand as he summons the same sword once more. And then you see something sickeningly ominous: a long tongue slides across the sharp scabbard of the sword, but strangely, he doesn't hurt himself at all in the process.
"I haven't tasted blood in so long.... You would be the perfect victim for a long time.... The abyssal sword of Demise.... let me end your life!" You widen your eyes even more as he raises his other sword now, the one still cutting at your neck and some of your blood now flowing. You wanted to let out a scream, but you are too frightened, so that you only tremble in his grip. Only when the sword threatens to pierce your heart, you squint your eyes and have mentally finished with your life. But there is no stab, no fatal thrust through your skin, which you had so firmly expected.
Quickly you open your eyes again, he had let go of you, his swords have disappeared and he has fallen to his knees. It is again this suffering, like earlier on the rock, that you have become aware of. You've just come face to face with death and yet you stop, don't take a panicked flight.
"You know...I have nothing left to lose either..."
But Ghirahim doesn't seem to hear you, making grumbling, tormenting sounds. Light mutterings can be heard. “Master, Demise..." He seems to be looking for something and will probably never find it again.
You should be angry, yet you feel pity. Your dainty hand wanders to the injured spot on your neck and you hiss briefly as you touch the cut. But you haven't been seriously hurt. You approach him slowly, but stop again as he conjures a sword. Some of your blood drops still gleam on the dark blade, but this time he turns it on himself. He wants to judge himself! This makes no sense to you at all right now. First he wanted to kill you and now himself!?
You immediately take the opportunity to hold the sword back so it can't be rammed into his body. "Even if you have nothing left to lose, death is not a solution!", you are always very calm, but you almost scream these words.
"You want to teach me better, inferior being!? How dare you? You don't know what it's like to have lost your only master and he will never be resurrected!", this time complete anger and frustration can be heard in his voice. It was a pure act of despair from this man. He seems broken...
My hands remain shaky on the hilt of his blade, along with his white gloves. For appearing dainty himself, he has tremendous strength.
"Then...you'll just have to find a new master!" that are just the only words that come out in response, and they seem to have actually caused something. The sword dimly dissipates, but you are once again grabbed by the neck and thrown into the grass. "Another master? Oh, how amusing! Do you really think I would accept anyone else?!", there is mockery in his elegant voice, he presses so hard against the cut on your neck that the wound bleeds more again and your windpipe is crushed. You gasp for air. Your hands both grab the other's wrist and you try to free yourself. You really should have escaped before when you could.
"I-I... have certain... e-experience...", you can't utter any more words, but he loosens his grip a bit now. "Hm...", he now detaches one hand, looks at the white glove, which has reddish stains with your blood. He tastes your blood and his one visible eye widens for a moment. "Well...I didn't expect anything like this," you now look confused, his other hand has also come off and you straighten your upper body, supporting yourself with your elbows on the soft ground. What on earth had he found out? Your blood, it seems to have evoked something in him, but what? He stands up from your legs now, summons one of his swords and tosses it to you within reach. "Go on. Show me some of your skills." Still gasping for breath, you look at the black sword for a moment, but you first say, "Okay... but first let me notify a soldier so the... little princess can be taken back to her castle." The creature responds with an indifferent gesture and accepts your indirect request. He wants a sword fight and wants to test you, it's been years since you touched your own sword, but you will still do your best.
#my writing#no Frieza content#Ghirahim#the legend of Zelda skyward sword#skyward sword#the legend of zelda#Demon Lord#Demon Lord Ghirahim#one shot#I have to think if I continue this...I just need ideas and time
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Ice Cream and Fire Oven Pizza - Chapter 22
Pairing: Elsa x Lea/Axel || Side Pairing: Riku x OC
Summary: Modern AU. She's an introvert ball of nerves who works at Ice Palace, a mall food court ice cream shop. He's the outgoing, sassy goofball who works at the Pizza Planet across the way. Hilarity, snark, and fluffy romcom hijinks ensue.
Word Count: 9,146
FIRST CHAPTER || PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER
Credit for super friggin’ cute and super friggin’ amazing cover art goes to the super friggin’ talented ky-jane here on tumblr!
“Alright, Elsa, you can do this! You're going to get up on that stage and you're going to wow them!"
So all that stuff about me not trying out? Total bald-faced lie. Kudos to any of you who saw right through it. Since, you know… I'm so good at the whole deception thing.
"...alright fine, maybe not wow them, per se… but you can do okay at least, right?"
This was all just for fun, after all. It's not like it was anything important, it's not like it really mattered. It was nothing, just a silly childhood dream. Just one moment, one blip in time that would be over before I knew it. No big deal.
"...passable? Surely, you can at least give me passable!"
Now if only I could convince my reflection of that.
Which, judging by the flat look she was giving me from the mirror on my vanity, was not going too hot.
"Ugh!" I huffed, tossing up my hands and turning away to pace my bedroom floor. "Just try not to fall flat on your face and I'll be happy. Can you just do that much for me? Please?" I snapped, facing my reflection once more.
She scrunched up her nose and gave me a noncommittal shrug.
My shoulders slumped and I hung my head, bracing my hands atop the vanity table. "Look, you've been practicing nonstop since yesterday. And yes, I know what basically amounts to cramming sing-alongs for almost twenty-four hours straight isn't going to make up for the lack of any sort of professional training. Or the absence of any real experience. Or the fact that besides karaoke that one night, you pretty much haven't sung in almost a decade except for maybe a personal concert in the shower once in the blue moon. I know you're going into this blind and have no idea what you're doing and others there will be way better prepared than you and-" I frowned, narrowing my eyes, "...and I had a point. Fudge, what was it again?"
My reflection looked remarkably unmoved by my rallying little speech just now.
"Ah!" I snapped my fingers, face brightening before jabbing my index up against the mirror. "The point was that none of that matters! What matters is you've done the best you could do in the time you had! So worrying about it any further is nothing more than a useless waste of time and energy! So just go on out there, have a good time and… and give it your all!" My hands closed into fists and they made weak, halfhearted thrusts into the air over my head as I gave a tiny, "Woo!"
She just drooped her eyelids at me.
I plopped down hard into my chair with a small growl. "I know I suck at pep talks. Yeesh, you don't have to be so negative!"
I don't know why I even bothered. Reflection Me was always such a downer.
Sighing, I propped my chin in my palm while I brought my other hand up to fiddle with the flower poking out of a miniature vase sitting on my vanity. It was the winter honeysuckle Lea had given me, dried out now because I'd wanted it to last. I toyed with its delicate petals, my fingers gentle so as not to break them. Somehow merely touching it seemed to sooth my frayed nerves and lighten my spirits, even if only just a little bit.
My phone buzzed and I checked it to see that it was a text from Lea telling me he'd arrived and was on his way up. I exhaled slowly. Okay, I couldn't procrastinate any longer. It was now or never. I stood up and made my way over to my bed, on top of which laid the sheet music I'd managed to hunt down after some internet searching. Gathering it up with care so as not to wrinkle any of the pages, I then headed towards my bedroom door.
"Who's a pretty, pretty princess? Daddy is! Isn't that right, jelly-belly-welly-bean?"
The dulcet tone of Rayne cooing down at her own tummy was the first sound to greet me when I walked out into the living room. I blinked, taking in the scene before me as Rayne returned her attention to the, er… "pretty, pretty princess." That is to say, her husband, whose lips were set into a grim line while his left eye gave a little tick. She had him seated in one of the kitchen chairs as she stood behind him, putting the finishing touches on the long braid she'd fashioned his hair into. It was complete with teeny butterfly barrettes, a colorful assortment of flowers weaved throughout, and a giant, frilly bow at the end holding it all together.
More practice for styling her future daughter's hair.
I'd know, since normally I'd be the one sitting in that chair instead of Riku.
Thankfully, it was now his turn to suffer hair bedazzling hell.
"Not one word, Fryse," he grumbled. "Not a single, solitary word."
I held the sheet music up to my mouth, concealing a tiny grin behind it. Then carefully schooling my features, I told him, "I was only going to comment on how masculine and rugged you look this evening."
"Damn straight," he harrumphed, crossing his arms and slouching further into his seat.
"I have the bestest, sweetest, manliest hubby in the whole wide world," Rayne declared happily, pulling his head back so she could plant an upside down smooch to his lips. This seemed to mollify him somewhat. Giggling, she then glanced my way. "You all ready for your big debut, pumpkin?"
Rubbing one elbow, I shrugged, "...as ready as I'm going to be, I suppose."
Her lips twisted sourly as she clipped another glitzy butterfly into his hair. "Still wish I was able to go and give you moral support."
"No no, it's fine," I said hastily with a shake of my head and a small, reassuring smile. "Lea's driving me so it's not like I'm stranded in need of a ride or anything. Plus you have your baby appointment to get to and I wouldn't want to make you reschedule for some silly little thing like this. Really, just don't worry about it."
"Besides," Riku tacked on, "friends and family of those trying out aren't usually allowed in to watch the auditions anyway."
Rayne's cheeks gave a little puff of annoyance. "I'd like to see them try and stop me if I showed up."
There was a knock at the door just then. Knowing it was Lea, I moved to open it and found him standing there, one shoulder propped against the doorframe. He grinned down at me, "Hey, El! Ready to go? I-" he stopped as he looked past me, blinking a couple times. Then the curl to his lips grew a touch evil, "Yo, Raindrop, who's your new gal pal? She's hella cute!"
"Cram it before I curb stomp your ass," Riku ground out through his teeth.
"Threaten me with a good time, mamacita," he purred back at him, waggling his eyebrows.
Riku sneered with a tch, grumbling under this breath, "Better pray we don't meet in a dark alley, clown, because I will crush you."
"Oof, I usually like a girl to ask me to dinner first, but I might be willing to make an exception just this once if ya keep sweet talking me like that, gorgeous," Lea winked. As Riku shot up to his feet with a black look, I ran out the door and grabbed Lea's arm. "Oops, looks like duty calls. We'll hafta continue this later, hot stuff. Call me!" he blew Riku a kiss with a snigger as I dragged him away, slamming the door shut behind me.
I started jogging down the steps, listening to Lea's footfall as he followed close behind. Shaking my head with a soft scoff, I said, "Can't believe Mr Guyliner here is making fun of a dude with flowers in his hair."
"Was only doing it cuz I knew how butthurt he'd get over it," he snerked as he appeared at my side. "Now me personally? Don't have a problem with it. I'd rock a thousand posies in my majestic mane and look damn fine doing it too."
I glanced over at him, one corner of my lips tugging up. "I might have to hold you to that."
He flung himself onto the handrail and slid down past me in a blur. Converse hitting the landing below, Lea spun around to block my way just as I caught up to him, smirking as he brought himself nose-to-nose with me. "Only if you're the one weaving all them pretty lil blossoms into my hair."
My heart spasmed.
Down, girl.
After all, it was only the empty teasing he always did.
I turned my head a little, shooting him some side-eye. "...do I get to choose the flowers?"
"I don't see why not."
"Good." I ducked under his arm to slip past him and make my way towards the next flight of stairs, "Leadwort it is then."
"Well now, that sounds ominous." I could hear the frown in his voice. "Should I be worried?"
I shot him a sly grin over my shoulder. "Depends. Very pretty. Very, very itchy. Hope you're ready to suffer for fashion."
"For you?" he beamed, hopping down the steps two at a time now to gain on me once more. "Totally worth it."
I merely rolled my eyes, electing not to dignify his comment with a response.
Soon enough we'd climbed into his car and were hitting the road. Sunset Hill Auditorium wasn't really all that far, but still a bit further than I'd rather walk. Thankfully Lea had been free and only too happy to give me a lift over, seeing as how Riku and Rayne had a prior commitment on the other end of town. Speaking of, they'd probably left immediately right after us and I idly wondered if Riku was planning on showing up at the doctor's with his hairdo still all fab like that. The image brought a little smile to my face.
It quickly faded however as I stared down at the sheet music sitting in my lap. My fingers twisted at my braid as I took in a shaky breath and blew it out slowly. Now that I'd fallen quiet, I could feel that nervous energy creeping its way back into my chest. It was actually kind of sort of a good nervous. I was a bit loathe to admit it, but a small part of me was looking forward to this.
That said, it didn't mean I wasn't also absolutely friggin' terrified.
I was actually a little relieved that friends and family weren't normally allowed into the auditions. The offer of moral support was appreciated, but ultimately I think I would have been more anxious if Riku and Rayne had been able to come and watch. Anna too, for that matter. I know my sister would have dropped everything to be here in a heartbeat, which is why I hadn't even mentioned anything about this to her. Making a fool of myself in front of strangers? Mortifying, but I'd survive - at least if I royally screwed up, I'd never have to see any of them again and could just pretend the whole big mess had never happened. Not so if people I actually cared about were there to witness me flop hard. And it wouldn't matter how kind and supportive they would have been after any sort of epic failure on my part... in fact, that might have only made me feel even worse.
Still, them not coming was only a minor comfort lost in the sea of dread filling up inside me now. My stomach burned with queasiness and my lungs felt like they were shrinking, making it harder and harder to breathe.
"Hmm," Lea's low hum broke me out of my thoughts. I glanced over at him as he pursed his lips to one side before shaking his head, "Mm-mm, nope. Too tangy. You need to be spoiled rotten with the sugary sweetness."
Feeling that cold anxiety loosen its grip and recede somewhat, I furrowed my brow for a few seconds before it clicked. "Ah. You've ruled out another ice cream flavor for me."
"Yup!" he chirped, switching his car over into the next lane.
"So which one got the boot this time?"
"Ever After."
"Huh," I fixed my eyes on the road straight ahead, squinting slightly. "Didn't you rule out a different flavor previously for being too sweet?"
One of his hands came to rest on the shoulder of my car seat. "Well yeah, but having a sweet tooth is one thing, while suicide by pure, massive sugary overdose is something else altogether. I think you know where to draw the line."
I tipped my head to one side. "Interesting."
"Interesting?" he echoed, quirking an eyebrow as he checked his side view mirror. "...am I wrong?"
"Didn't say that," I muttered, my fingers absently fiddling with the corners of the sheet music. "Just said it was interesting."
He frowned. "Crap. That's gonna bug me now."
I flashed him a half-grin. "I know."
"Cruel, cruel woman."
I just crinkled my nose at him smugly.
I knew he was trying to take my mind off the audition. And the distraction was welcome, but unfortunately brief. I could already feel that frown resurfacing, that apprehensive chill knotting tightening in my stomach once more.
Lea shifted his head slightly towards me, watching me out of his peripheral with a small downward tug at the corner of his lips. "...ya know you got absolutely nothing to worry about, right?" he asked softly. My eyes flicked over to him for a second before staring back down at my lap again. He elaborated, "It's community theater."
My eyebrows knit together. "...so?"
"So that means ya got no one to impress. Nothing to prove. No one's gonna be expecting a Julliard education from you or for you to have a few Broadway shows under your belt. This is all just for kicks. An absolutely zero pressure environment. Just a buncha goofballs who like acting and singing and dancing around in wacky costumes and so have found others who share their same brand o' crazy so they can all geek out together doing what they love in their free time. Doesn't matter to any of 'em how good or bad ya might be. They're not there to judge, they just wanna have a good time." He lightly tapped his knuckles to my shoulder, "So loosen up, will ya? You're gonna have a blast and knock 'em dead."
The knots loosened a little and a small grin found its way onto my face despite myself. "Thanks, Lea."
Surprisingly, his words helped.
For a grand total of two minutes.
Which just so happened to be right about when we were parking in front of the auditorium. Imagine that.
"Break a leg! I'll just chill in the car and you can meet me back here when you're done," Lea told me as he rolled down his window and fished his phone out of his pocket.
I barely heard him over the sound of blood rushing in my ears. Swallowing hard and finding my throat too tight for words, I simply gave a stiff nod before climbing out of the car. Hugging the sheet music to my chest, I stepped over the curb and up onto the sidewalk before pausing to stare at the auditorium's double doors, opened wide to invite people in. My bottom lip tucked in and I made a quick glance back towards Lea who grinned and gave me a thumbs up through his window. Then I looked at that doorway once more.
My eyes hardened. My hands gripped the papers more firmly. My chest puffed up and my spine snapped straight.
Let's do this.
I determinedly marched right up to the bottom of the stairs leading up to the entrance.
Then I spun one-eighty and determinedly marched straight back the way I'd come from.
Lea looked up from his phone, both eyebrows shooting up his forehead. "El? Did you forget-"
Whipping back around, I drew in a deep breath before releasing it.
Alright, let's try that again.
I stomped towards the building once more.
This time I actually made it onto the first cement step before retreating.
Expression blank, Lea said nothing as he watched me do this again (making it as far as the second step up) and yet again (third step). By my next attempt, he'd gotten out and was leaning back against his closed car door, arms folded beneath his chest, ankles crossed. Drat, only the third step again. As I returned and came to a stop in front of him, my eyes narrowed and I released a huff through my nose. He just gave me a small shrug, as if to ask what exactly I expected him to do. I whirled on my heel once more, stormed back towards the auditorium and… fudge! Third step again! Now I was just in a friggin' rut!
Beyond frustrated with myself, I walked up beside Lea this time, folded my arms atop the roof of his car, pillowed my face into them and let out a muffled yell. Then I flipped around, bracing my back against the vehicle and scowled up at the sky.
A pause.
Then Lea piped up, "Ya know you actually have to go inside the place in order to audition… right?"
I whacked him upside the head with my sheet music.
"...take that as a yes."
My shoulders sagged and I hid my face behind the papers in my hands, mumbling, "I can't do this. I'm too much of a scaredy-cat."
There was a snort from him. "You kidding? You're one of the bravest people I know."
I scoffed into the printouts, "Stop patronizing me. I don't appreciate it."
"I'm serious." I felt his hands on mine, gently pulling both them and the sheet music down so I could see him standing in front of me now, hunched down to my eye level. "Do you know what the definition of being brave is?"
"Not Elsa, that's for sure," I muttered, looking away.
"Shush," he flicked my forehead. Rude. "Being brave is not a complete and total absence of fear. No, being brave is taking action despite your fear. Remember your wedding day?"
I fixed him with a dull stare. "How could I forget? I ran away. Like a coward."
"No, a coward woulda done nothing. A coward woulda just done as she was told cuz she would be too chicken to make any waves. A coward woulda stayed, gone through with the wedding and led a miserable life she didn't want just to please her folks. Just because it was the safest, easiest route. But you didn't do that."
"No, instead I oh so bravely ran away like a warrior," I corrected my previous statement with a roll of my eyes.
He nodded, "Exactly! You were frightened, had no idea what you were gonna do, didn't have the foggiest of where to go or who to turn to, and yet you still did it. Took that leap and did the whole independent thing and guess what? You've been thriving!" His hands still cradling mine, I felt his thumbs start to trace soothing circles along my knuckles. "And sure, everything's been new and scary… finding a job, meeting new people, not caving to your family's demands… but no matter how afraid you may have got, you never hid from any of it. You've been facing your fears and meeting each new challenge head on. Now I'd call that pretty damn brave."
Wow, his pep talk game was way, way better than mine.
That said, I still eyed him dubiously. "Really?"
"Hell yeah! Shit, if I had to carry around as much fear inside of me as you do, I dunno if I'd be strong enough to do half the things you've done! You're a goddamn hero, babydoll!" he smiled big. "Now, I know this is something ya really want."
My face heated and I averted my gaze. "...how can you tell?"
"Trust me, I can read you pretty well by now," his fingers tweaked my nose. "So listen up: if you can do all that other stuff that terrified you before, if you can just grab hold and take charge of your life the way you have so far, then this one teensy-weensy audition should be a total piece of cake!"
"You really think so?" I frowned uncertainly at him.
"I know so!" he declared with a laugh. "So whaddya say? Think you're ready to do this?"
Though my chest was still tight with anxiety, I could feel that tiny glow of excitement and longing deep, deep down sparking back to life. I slowly smiled and gave a hesitant nod, "...yes, I believe so."
"Then what're you standing round here for? Go on, scoot!"
I didn't budge an inch. After a few seconds, I hung my head. "My feet won't move."
Lea blinked, then chuckled softly. "Do you need me to give ya a tow?"
I grimaced, "Maybe."
"Alright, I can help you inside, but that's as far as I'll be able to take ya. It'll be up to you to get yourself on that stage."
"Just get me through that door," I agreed quietly.
Linking his hand in mine, he turned and led the way towards the auditorium. I stumbled into a walk behind him, drawing what little strength I could from his warm, steady grip. With his help, I finally made it all the way up those daunting stairs and through that foreboding doorway.
Only to be stopped almost immediately once we stepped inside by someone standing in our way.
That someone being a tall, familiar, skinny guy with a spooky yet snappy suit.
"Elsa!" Jack flashed me what I was beginning to suspect was his signature ear-to-ear grin. "You don't know how thrilled I am to see that you could make it! Here to try out or just observe?"
"...try out?" I said, voice small. Yes, it came out just like that. Like it was a question. Like there was a right or wrong answer and I was just guessing, hoping for the best.
"Splendid, Splendid! Glad to hear it! I'll get you added to the director's list and your name will be called when it's your time to shine. For now, you can just take a seat and watch the others. Lea," he turned his gaze on him now, "good to see you too, but you know the rules. Unless you're here to audition, you're going to have to wait outside."
I unconsciously sidled closer to Lea, squeezing his hand.
Huh. Guess I actually wanted him to stick around and watch me make a fool out of myself. Shocked? I know I was.
Maybe it was because he thought I was brave. Maybe if he stayed, I could trick myself into thinking I was brave too.
Lea snuck a glance my way. Eyes crinkling, he squeezed my hand back before returning his attention to Jack with a sheepish grin and ruffled his fingers through his crimson spikes, "Aw c'mon, man, this is her first time! Could ya maybe be a pal, do me a solid and bend the rules a lil just this once?"
Jack crossed his arms, squinting at him with a flat look. Then he sighed and stepped to one side, his smile back and bigger than ever, "Alright, just this one time though! And you better be on your best behavior, bucko!"
"I will! Scout's honor!" he held up three fingers pressed together and beamed. "Thanks, man! Let's go, El." And with that, Lea was pulling me further inside.
The auditorium was larger on the inside than I expected, with rows upon rows of theater seating stretching out before us. While those seats were far from full, there were still more people here than I'd expected there would be, making me gulp. Auditions were already under way it seemed as I watched a familiar guy I recalled seeing in the food court previously - Joshua, I believe? - dip into a flamboyant bow before jumping down off the stage. Remaining up there was an old, clunky piano on wheels with Mullet Boy from the Blue Sitar seated at it.
"Setzer, you're up," came a call from someone sitting in the middle of the third row, presumably the director. All I could tell about him from the back of his head was that he had choppy, shoulder-length pink hair. Slumping lazily into the seat next to him with feet kicked up onto the chair in front of her was that blonde chick from Cinema XIII - I'd recognize that weird hairdo anywhere.
"Ah, looks like Marluxia The Douche-ah is running the show this time round," Lea whispered into my ear with a nod towards Mr Rosy-Locks as we walked down the aisle. "Not gonna be winning Personality Of The Year anytime soon, but I hear he can be a halfway decent director."
He then straightened back up, eyes scanning the people gathered here for a second before his face lit up, "Oo, let's sit with them!" His hands went to my shoulders and he steered me into a sharp turn down one of the rows. Coming to a stop next to two more faces I vaguely recognized, Lea greeted, "Ladies, mind if we join you?"
The two women looked up at us with friendly smiles, the ginger nodding, "Of course! Take a seat!"
We did just that, with the pair of them to my right and Lea to my left. He reached across in front of me to fistbump the closer of the two girls, "Sweet! Redheads of the world unite, booyah!"
I looked over with a timid grin. It was time once again for another one of my little misadventures into the world of small talk! Clearing my throat and tapping my sheep music against my knees to straighten them even though they were in no actual need of straightening, I asked, "It was Tiana and… Ariel, I believe?"
"Mm-hm!" Ariel closed her eyes as her smile grew. "Elsa, right? We haven't officially met yet, but I remember seeing you around at 7th Heaven that one night! You and Lea were amazing at karaoke! Well… really more so you. No offense, Lea," she giggled.
"None taken. I know my gal's got a beautiful pair o' lungs on her," he slung his arm around my shoulders, hugging me close and pressing a kiss into my hair.
Tiana leaned forward to look past Ariel and meet my gaze, "You really do. Do you work with a professional voice coach or anything?"
I blushed, tugging on my braid. "I, uh… no. No, nothing like that."
"Really?" Ariel's lips formed a surprised little 'o'. Then her face brightened once more, "Well, if you're looking for someone, I can put you in touch with mine if you'd like. His name is Sebastian and he's absolutely wonderful. He can be uptight and a bit of a party-pooper, but he gets results!"
Squeezing my braid harder now, I gaped at her slightly. "You actually have a voice coach?"
This was community theatre, as Lea had made a strong point of earlier. People here weren't supposed to have friggin' voice coaches!
"Yup! I'm going to be a famous singer one day and finally leave this sleepy town to tour all over the world, after all, so it's important I do my best right now! I've been practicing ever since I was-"
"Eric to the stage please," Marluxia's voice suddenly echoed throughout the room.
Ariel gasped excitedly and struck a finger up to her lips, shushing Tiana, Lea and me (despite the fact that none of us were talking) before eagerly sitting forward in her chair, practically buzzing with anticipation. That silver-haired Setzer guy - oh gosh, had he come in costume or was that crazy getup just what he normally wore? - swaggered cockily down the stairs to the right of the stage while another dude was coming up the left. The newcomer had short black hair, dimples when he smiled and I suppose what some might call Prince Charming good looks.
Ariel plonked her elbows down onto her knees and propped her chin up in both hands with a delighted sigh. "Isn't he dreamy?"
Tiana wrinkled her nose and muttered to me behind Ariel's head, "She has a bit of a crush."
"You're one to talk," Ariel snorted, elbowing her in the arm. "Naveen's should be up next. Believe me," she smirked towards me, "you haven't seen heart-eyes until you see the ones Tiana has for this guy."
"Shut up, do not!" she laughed, swatting her shoulder.
Brushing her off, Ariel suddenly pointed towards my sheet music. "May I?"
"Oh, uh… s-sure," I handed them over, freeing up both my hands to strangle my braid now. Noticing this, Lea took one of them in his own, shifting it over to the armrest between us and lacing his fingers into mine. The warmth of his palm against the back of my hand brought me some comfort and I felt a little less restless.
Ariel squinted at the papers for a second before grinning, "Oh wow, I love this song! Good choice! Although, if I remember correctly…" she flipped towards the end. "Ah, yup! A second singer does come in. They only have a couple lines though. I can go up with you and fill in for those bits if ya want, the director shouldn't mind!"
"That's really nice… thank you," I smiled, taking the pages back. Sally had said pretty much the same thing when I'd texted her to make sure the song would be okay, but that still had meant I needed to find someone to sing those few extra lines. I hadn't counted on someone finding me instead. Thank goodness for small miracles.
This was one of my most favorite songs too. One from a musical I'd watched over and over again when I was a child, so often that it'd probably driven my parents to the point of insanity. I had just identified so much with the character who sang this number and it still to this day held a very special place in my heart, even after all these years. I knew this song forwards and backwards. Knew it like the back of my hand. I figured if I had any chance of leaving any sort of good impression here today, it would be with this song.
Looking up from the music notes scrawled across the papers, I saw that that Eric person had left. He'd been replaced by a man with a newsie hat on over his wavy, dark brown hair and was singing something jazzy. The way Tiana was reddening while Ariel giggled and whispered to her, I suspected this had to be Naveen. I tried to just sit back, relax and enjoy the show. Tried to banish the anxiety from my thoughts, instead focusing more on Lea's hand now toying with my fingers. On the way he lightly traced up and down their lengths, making them tingle pleasantly. Hoping that little tingle would help keep the nervousness at bay.
But it didn't.
I began to flinch slightly with each new name called, fearing it would be mine. Feeling a little relief when it wasn't, as well as a little annoyance from just wanting to get this over and done with already. A flinch for when Olette was called, who was sitting with a boy with black spiky hair held up by a headband. I idly wondered if it was that buddy of hers who hadn't been able to make it to Friday night drinks - Pence, I believe? Another flinch for when Yuna was called, some brunette with mismatched eyes who sang a pop song I was unfamiliar with. Two more flinches for each of her friends when their names were called, a perky blonde with a long ponytail full of small braids and a freaky looking goth chick in a tight, strappy leather outfit. And yet another flinch for when Rhyme was called, a girl whose sweet demeanor was at odds with the little skull on her black cap and the rap number she'd chosen to sing.
I had to keep resisting the urge to glance towards the doors in back. The ones leading to the outside world. To freedom. Not for the first time, I wondered… what if I made a run for it? You know, just straight up booked it? The idea did hold merit and was very tempting. Nay, extremely tempting.
The only drawback? I'd hate myself.
Because as much as I was dreading this, Lea hadn't been wrong. This was something I wanted. Like… really, really wanted. I'd been trying to lie to myself, pretending I didn't really care, downplaying how important it actually was to me. But this was something I'd dreamt about since I was little. Sadly, I had lost that dream somewhere along the way as I had grown older. Had misplaced and forgotten it in favor of pleasing my parents, of fulfilling their wishes and expectations for me and how I led my life. I had carelessly discarded it, giving it up for nothing more than useless childhood fantasy.
But now it had found its way back to me and I'd been given a second chance. And even if it ended up going nowhere and turned out to be nothing more than a deadend, I still had to try. I just knew that this was something that I had to do. That I needed to do. For me. For the sake of my own happiness.
...gah, just why did it have to be so scary though?!
And all these women trying out before me? Were so not helping! They were all so amazing and talented. Each one seemed better than the last. Each one had most likely been practicing for this audition for days, if not weeks. Each one had probably done this at least once before. Everyone knew everyone here and were all friends. Everyone, that is, except for me. How could I, a stranger with no real experience or training and very little preparation, possibly even hope to stand a chance?
Man, making a break for it through that back door was looking better and better by the second.
My fingers clutched the sheet music more tightly, wrinkling and creasing it after I'd tried so hard not to this whole time. I didn't really seem to care anymore. I could feel the blood draining from my face and-
"Yawn, total snoozefest," came a sudden whisper in my ear.
I jerked my head around towards it, blinking owlishly at Lea once, then twice. "...huh?"
"Her," he nodded to the current girl trying out, her long golden hair ending in curls. "That Aurora chick. She's got me just 'bout ready to hibernate over here."
My wide eyes darted back and forth between her and him. Then it happened. A tiny snerk, escaping through my nose before I could stop it. Too late I clasped a hand over my mouth. After a short pause, I lowered it to whisper back, "You don't really mean that. You're just trying to distract me."
He bobbed his shoulders and grinned. "Is it working?"
I looked away now, carefully schooling my expression as I attempted to smooth the crumples out of my sheet music. "...maybe."
Next up was Tiana. "Jeez, talk about frog in your throat," Lea murmured low out of the corner of his mouth. A mutinous little snort burst out of my nose and I tried to shush him. Then it was Ariel's turn. "Love that girl to death but I'm sorry, a warbling seagull sounds better." I bit back a soft pft and pinched his arm. I was trying not to laugh, I really was, but each remark was so ridiculous, so stupid, so obviously not true that it was hard to resist. A Snow White was called next - now that was a stage name if I ever heard one. At least, I hoped it was. She'd gotten about halfway through her audition when I heard a hushed, "Tch, who taught her to sing, a buncha tone-deaf coal miners?"
I spluttered, clamping my hand firmly over his mouth. "Okay, you need to stop now," I hissed out in a poor attempt to hide my amusement.
There was a mischievous gleam in his eyes. Then I felt him licking my fingers.
"Ugh, real mature," I scrunched up my face, snatching my hand back only to wipe it off on his cheek a second later.
"Psh, acting like ya don't like it," he sniggered, cupping the side of my head so he could pull me in and rub his damp cheek to mine.
I squirmed, trying to break free. "Gross! Why? Just… why?"
Grip holding me firmly in place while he still nuzzled our cheeks together, he cooed, "Consider it a good luck charm from me to you! Now you have no choice but to knock their socks off!"
"How old are you, seven?" I grunted, trying to wedge an elbow between us. "You seriously need to gro-"
"Could Elsa please step onto the stage now?"
Both Lea and I froze for a split second. Fudge, I'd all but forgotten where I was and why I was here. Now it all came crashing back to me.
Ka-thunk.
What was that, you might be wondering? Oh nothing really. Just the sound of my heart plummeting to the bottom of my gut.
Before I'd even realized what I was doing, I'd sprung up onto my feet and was walking briskly towards the center aisle with all the grace and dignity I could muster. As if I couldn't still feel Lea's slobber drying on my cheek. Good luck charm, indeed. I'd show him good luck!
...that hadn't come across sounding as threatening as I would have liked.
It took a few seconds for it to really sink in. What I was doing. Where I was going. What I was about to do. I was about to audition… to sing in front of all of these people. I had to remind myself that this was something that I really, truly wanted. It was hard to remember right now in this exact second, but the desire was still there. Way deep, deep down inside of me, there was still that tiny spark valiantly burning away, smothered and small though it may be at the moment.
As each step brought me closer to that stage, I felt it again. That chilly dread pooling in the pit of my stomach. The iciness seemed to spread outward and I slowly grew numb. My mind started to feel detached and far away from the rest of my body, like I was no longer in control of it. Instead, it was more like I was only a passenger as it kept moving me forward seemingly of its own accord now, taking me up those stairs leading to my doom. That's right, my doom. I wasn't being over dramatic here at all. Not one bit.
Conceal, don't feel.
As I started crossing the stage, I was hardly even aware of Ariel out of the corner of my eye, whispering something to Marluxia before he gave a curt nod and she was scrambling up those steps after me. My ankle boots against the hardwood echoed loudly throughout the quiet theater. Too loudly, it felt like. But it paled in comparison to the thundering of my heart - oh gosh, could everyone else hear it too?
Conceal, don't feel.
All too soon, I was reaching the pianist and offering him the (rather abused at this point) sheet music with a shaky hand. He took it, looking it over briefly before setting it down on the music rack and smiling, "Just give me a nod when you're ready."
Ariel popped up then, plonking down onto the bench beside him with a grin. "I'll just sit with Demyx here and jump in for the parts you need me. Don't worry, you'll do great!"
My mouth tightened into a crude approximation of a smile before I turned to face the audience.
Big mistake.
Jeez, were there more people out there now? I could swear there were more people. Somehow, I willed my feet to move me closer to the front and center of the performance area. My fingers were running along my braid nonstop, up and down, up and down. My breathing had become so rapid and shallow. It felt like I wasn't getting enough oxygen into my lungs. Could the air be thinner here on stage? You know, all the way up at this higher altitude of a whopping five feet?
Conceal, don't feel.
My eyes darted from face to unfamiliar face, not sure where to look. At the director maybe? That'd make sense, right? He'd be the one to decide my fate here, after all. I glanced down at Marluxia. At that blonde chick next to him - maybe she was his assistant director? Did community theater even have an assistant director? Well I suppose it would just depend on- focus, Elsa, focus! I squeezed my eyes shut with a grimace before opening them back up, looking to that pair once more. By their expressions, they both already seemed so remarkably unimpressed by me and I hadn't even begun yet. No, staring at them would only rattle me more.
I gripped at my braid more tightly and my gaze shifted about once more, almost desperate now, searching for what, I wasn't quite sure. But at last I seemed to find it - a face I knew. Lea's face. There, suddenly, like a beacon in the crowd. I wasn't quite sure how I'd not seen him until now. When our eyes met, he merely bobbed his head slightly and smiled at me. So small, so simple. And yet it filled me with such warmth and encouragement.
Lea thought I was brave.
And maybe, just for this one moment, I could pretend to be.
I inhaled deeply, my breath a raspy hiss through my nose. Holding it in for a couple seconds, I then puffed it out softly, releasing my braid and letting my hands fall to my sides. Finally, I gave Demyx a stiff nod over my shoulder.
Welp. This was it. No turning back now.
It was probably only a second, maybe two, but it felt like an eternity before that first piano note sounded. When at last it did, I swear it practically gave me a heart attack and my knees almost buckled. But I steadied myself, my clammy hands smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles out of my dress as I let the tune wash over me, trying to find solace in its familiarity. I kept my eyes fixed on Lea. Anywhere else and I knew I would lose my nerve completely. I could hear it coming in the music. My cue to start singing. I sucked in a breath.
"Every inch of me is trembling," oh gosh, that had never been more true than it was in this very moment, "but not from the cold. Something is familiar like a dream I can reach but not quite hold." Was I too quiet? Pretty sure I was too quiet. Licking my dry lips, I pushed my quavering voice to be louder, "I can sense you there like a friend I've always known... I'm arriving and it feels like I am hom-" I choked, my tongue stumbling over the word. My pulse flatlined, my blood turned to ice in my veins, and every atom in me was screaming at me to run, run, run.
But I resisted. I don't know how, but I did. Maybe it was Lea's reassuring gaze still holding mine. Maybe it was that spark deep down inside, flaring up obstinately to fight back against the cold fear closing in around my heart. Whatever it was, I remained rooted to the spot, clenching and unclenching my hands and eyes hard.
"I have always been a fortress," my heart hammered in my ears as I stubbornly pushed on, pretending I hadn't made a mistake, "cold secrets deep inside. You have secrets too, but you don't have to hide." Lea folded his arms atop the back of the chair in front of him, bending forward to rest his chin atop them and looking quite content. Feeling emboldened, I went into the chorus, "Show yourself, I'm dying to meet you. Show yourself, it's your turn." I think my voice was getting stronger. Perhaps it was only wishful thinking. "Are you the one I've been looking for all of my life? Show yourself, I'm ready to learn... Ah-ah, ah-ah!" I rang out the last bit and I heard Ariel's voice echo an answering call behind me.
"I've never felt so certain, all my life I've been torn," some of my tension was beginning to melt away and I took a tiny step forward. "But I'm here for a reason, could it be the reason I was born?" I could feel something bubbling up inside my chest… giddiness, maybe? "I have always been so different, normal rules did not apply. Is this the day? Are you the way I finally find out why?" A smile was beginning to find its way onto my face. I couldn't believe it. A small, but actual, genuine smile of pure joy.
"Show yourself, I'm no longer trembling!" I burst out suddenly, almost triumphantly. Lea was lifting his head back up, face slack, eyes round. I had no idea what that meant. Was it a good reaction? A bad one? Either way, I was spurred on to do better. "Here I am, I've come so far! You are the answer I've waited for all of my life! Oh, show yourself, let me see who you are!" I wasn't even looking at him anymore. I was starting to forget about where I was, just getting lost in the was the only thing that mattered to me anymore in that moment.
I brought my voice back down, singing slowly, sweetly, "Come to me now, open your door, don't make me wait one moment more... Oh, come to me now," I repeated the line with more energy, "open your door, don't make me wait one moment more!"
"Where the north wind meets the sea," Ariel chimed in now and I took the moment to close my eyes, pulling in a big breath and reveling in the delightful tingle in my chest. I was entering the home stretch and there was no fear left. Only excitement. "There's a river full of memory... Come, my darling, homeward bound…"
"I am found!" I sang, putting all I had into it, letting the last word stretch and ring throughout the theater. "Show yourself, step into the power! Grow yourself into something new!"
Ariel came in one last time, "You are the one you've been waiting for…"
"All of my life!" I belted out, finishing the line she'd started. "Oh, show yourself! Ah-ah, ah-ah!" I vocalized the notes a few more times, each round louder and more confident than the last before finally ending the song in one long crescendo.
The auditorium was suddenly very quiet except for my low panting as I tried to catch my breath.
Then I heard it.
The sound of clapping. More specifically, of one single person clapping very enthusiastically, reverberating noisily around the otherwise dead silent room.
Feeling my face erupt in heat, I immediately buried it in my hands. I knew who it was, even before I parted my fingers to peek between them out into the audience. Yup. There he was. Lea, up on his feet to give me a standing ovation while everyone else remained seated, staring at him blankly.
The dork.
Ariel was at my side now, snickering as she muttered behind her hand to me, "This is why they normally don't let the boyfriends in to watch."
He didn't look like he planned on quitting any time soon either.
"Hsst!" I blew through my grit teeth at him discreetly. Well… as discreetly as I could, given I was still standing on a stage in front of a room full of people. "Stop it," I whispered, narrowing my eyes on him. I could see Jack making long, annoyed strides towards Lea. "You hear me? Stop. It."
He seemed to take 'stop it' to mean 'applaud harder and pepper it with a few shrill whistles for good measure.'
I sighed, hanging my head and pressing my fingers between my eyebrows.
"D'aw, I think it's cute," I heard Ariel laugh and I hazarded a glance up again. Lea, finally spotting Jack coming for him, had vaulted himself over some chairs into the next row and was trying to make a run for it. "Your boyfriend is your biggest fan."
"...yes," I rubbed a curled finger over my lips, eyes crinkling as I watched the little scene he was making. Sally had been waiting for him on the other end of the seats opposite of Jack. Realizing his mistake too late, she snagged him by the ear before he could backtrack and started dragging him out of the auditorium. "Yes, I suppose he is."
I still had to sing my second song, the one from Wicked itself. That one ended up being a lot less nerve-wracking. Don't get me wrong, a few jitters yet remained to wriggle about my insides, but I was still riding the endorphin high from getting through my first song, making the second one seem like a breeze in comparison. When I was done, the only acknowledgement I got from Marluxia was an impassive, "Thank you," before he was calling the next person. I hurried off the stage and had a quick word with Jack and Sally before saying my farewell and walking outside.
The sun was beginning to set by now, making the shadows stretch long. It wasn't hard to spot Lea, leaning against his car as he thumbed through his phone and waited.
My heart swelled and my feet suddenly had a mind of their own, propelling me forward.
He glanced up, pocketing his phone and grinning big at me as he used his foot to push himself up off the car. "Hey! You kicked some serious ass up th-" A surprised grunt was forced out of him as I suddenly crashed into his chest, hugging him tightly around the waist.
"...thank you for that," I muffled quietly into his shirt.
Lea was very still for a second. But then I felt a small chuckle rumbling throughout his body as his arms slowly wrapped around my shoulders, returning the embrace. "Nah, that was all you, El. I just provided the wheels that got ya here."
I loosened my grip but didn't fully let go. Just enough so I could lean back slightly to smile up at him. "Thanks for coming with me. I didn't think I'd wanted anyone here, but… it made a difference and meant more to me than I realized it would. And thank you for encouraging me to do this and…" my nose wrinkled a bit, "...and for making me get up on that karaoke stage a couple weeks ago, despite my multiple protests."
He snorted, but his face softened as he brushed some of my hair behind my ear, his thumb just barely grazing along my cheek with the gesture. "What can I say? Being a pushy, overbearing asshole is one of my many wonderful talents."
"That's not what I meant," my eyelids drooped.
"I know," he hummed a laugh as he pulled me in for another hug, squeezing me close as he rested his chin atop my head. We stayed that way for a few seconds more before he released a heavy sigh. Then he pulled back, cupped my face with both his hands, tenderly pressed his lips to my forehead, and...
...blew a goddamn raspberry.
I gasped and shoved him away, furiously scrubbing at my brow with my forearm. "Ugh, was getting more of your slobber on my face completely necessary?!"
"Oh without a doubt! I know what a huge fan of it ya are," he smirked cheekily as he made his way around his car to open the door for me. "Now then, shall we get you home, m'lady, so we can spread the good news?"
I squinted at him with a frown as I followed him over and took a seat. "...what good news?"
"That ya got the starring role, of course!" he chirped down at me.
"I did not-" I was interrupted as he shut the car door in my face. Huffing and buckling myself in, I waited until he was climbing into the driver seat to try again, "They won't even be announcing who's getting what part until next week, but I seriously doubt they're going to give me a lead."
"You're right, my mistake," he stuck his key into the ignition and twisted it, shooting me a wink. "They'll give ya two."
"Goodness, I'm getting two leads now?" I fought the upward tug I felt at one side of my mouth. "Do you even know how plays work?"
"Course! That's why I know for a fact that they're just gonna give you all the parts."
I bit back a grin. "Huh. A one-woman Wicked show. Now that'd certainly be a… choice."
"And one I have every confidence in you to pull off!" he nodded chipperly as we exited the parking lot.
I just shook my head at him. Honestly, I didn't care what part I got. I'd be honored just to be included in the chorus if they even gave me that much. But no, all that I really cared about was that I'd actually done it. Gone through with the audition and lived to tell the tale. And sure, it had scared me out of my mind, but in the end it'd been worth it. Because you know what? Turned out I'd absolutely loved singing on that stage. And I knew for sure now that this was something I wanted to do… something that I wanted to play a part in my life, no matter how big or small. And so what if I most likely wasn't going to get the lead this time around? I could just use this experience to learn the ropes and get better prepared.
Better prepared, that is, to totally crush it at the audition for the next show.
Author's Note: And yet another scene where I included the full lyrics of a song sang by a character - again, it's not something I would normally do, but I felt this was a rare occasion where it's important enough to Elsa's character growth that again I shouldn't just gloss over it. But gosh, I feel so awkward writing detailed singing scenes! Why oh why did I have to make her want to do something with singing? This was a story decision I fast grew to regret, haha xD I hope it turned out okay tho! Anyhoo, for anyone out there who hasn't seen Frozen 2, the song she sings this chapter, Show Yourself, is from that - I suggest you give it a listen if you haven't heard it before :) Actually hearing it does it way more justice than I could ever do in writing xD And I've decided that Disney movies still exist in this AU, they're just musicals now and the characters in those musicals most likely just all have different names than their Disney movie counterparts, but the plot is otherwise unaffected xP Fun fact: The ice cream this chapter, Ever After, is named after Corona's keyblade and I imagine its description on the menu would look something like: "Let down your golden lemon soft serve! A specialty from Corona, this treat is garnished with edible flowers and served in a stack of purple waffles cones to form a tower."
So, did Elsa manage to impress the powers that be at the audition? Will she make the cut and land a part the musical? Will she get a lead, a bit part, or the boot? WAS Lea's slobber actually lucky enough to tip the scales in her favor? Find out… NOT next chapter xD No, we have something else on the horizon for next time… could that fated yet dreaded weekend with the folks finally and at long last be upon us? Stay tuned to find out!
Thanks for reading, I super duper appreciate it! And an extra BIG thank you to those of you who’ve liked, reblogged, and followed so far, seeing those lil notifications always brings the biggest, goofiest smile to my face!
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#kingdom hearts#frozen#elsa#axel#fanfiction#lea#fanfic#kingdom hearts fanfiction#frozen fanfiction#kh fanfiction#kh fanfic#frozen fanfic#kingdom hearts fanfic#axelsa#fluff#romcom#slow burn#kh3#my writing#ice cream and fire oven pizza#rare pair#crossover pairing#humor#snark#fake dating au
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Here’s to a Better Year
(A/n): So uhhh, this is late but hey, it’s me, so what’s new? I was meant to write this for New Years, and I especially dedicate it to those who haven’t really had the best time with the holidays, or to those who’ve been alone throughout it, it can be a really fucking difficult time. Arthur’s here to make it all better! That being said, I genuinely hope everyone’s been great and I hope y’all have had an amazing time. Y’all deserve all the love in the world :,) 💓
Summary: The only company you had on New Years was a bottle of alcohol, and a view of a city you often hated to call home. When a familiar face arrives in a rather noisy manner, things could perhaps change for the better.
Words: 1600 words (I KNOW W O W I actually managed to write something short for once).
Pairing: Arthur Fleck x Reader
Warning: Mentions of alcohol, drinking alcohol, implied stalking, depression, swearing
———
New Year’s Eve.
Gotham’s current avidity was a weird combination of distant, yet lively noise as you observed from your elevated haven; excited screams, laughter and drunken singing all merged together in one chaotic swarm of joy. While holidays were never really your thing, particularly parties (and the throbbing headaches blaring music would inevitably elicit), it would be a lie to deny the bundle of sound’s contagiousness – the smile tugging at your lips confirmation of such a fact.
There was one thing, however, you had in common with such partygoers, and that was the bottle of alcohol trapped within your clutch, it’s thin neck rocking side to side as its contents sloshed. As your forearms leaned against the brick half-wall and your hands dangled off the edges with the booze, you wondered how many others were viewing the city from above, like you; admiring a hidden gem.
Gotham rarely looked beautiful. But, from where you were on the rooftop of your gritty apartment block – the nippy breeze caressing your cheeks – the grim, menacing capital was able to achieve such a feat. The skyscrapers and the energetic spirit of colours decorating the city in celebration was almost enough to hide its rot.
Almost.
At the very least, it could make you forget – for a moment.
You were about to throw your head back and take a swig when the distinctive wail of the fire exit pierced the air, interrupting you. Old and wonky like the entire building, the door ensured no stranger could sneak up on you with such a boisterous announcement. Coinciding with this was the frightened squeak you emitted, the gruelling sensation of embarrassment hardly relenting its prodding stings like a nasty wasp.
Before you could even process who'd emerged after revolving around, the smell of smoke was an instant phenomenon. Second, was the orange glow of which the wispy clouds originated. Such an amber radiance posed as a lamp, illuminating the striking features of the new arriver. Clad in a carmine suit, a white patterned shirt underneath an equally red waistcoat, and a tie you could scarcely distinguish, you were sure you’d seen him before – on your floor and mysteriously, albeit seldom, while running errands.
Despite not knowing him from a bar of soap, not even his name, what you had noticed was that inside every interaction, the sorrow engulfing the man’s lithe frame, more so held within his gaze, was a prevailing thing.
You'd never seen him smile.
Now was no different as the stranger focused on the stick between his lips. Ignorant to your watching as his face contorted, sucking on its end.
Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the flooding relief of the year ending which coaxed your lips to move. You weren’t entirely sure, although it didn’t matter ultimately, as the unplanned remark was something you registered only after it sailed against the wind.
“If we bump into each other one more time, I’m going to suspect you’re following me,” you said, bracing your back against the wall you were leaning over just seconds ago.
Like a cat, you recognised the waver in his stature, a jolt in which had his eyes flying to yours, hinting shock and... worry?
Well, that hooked you in.
The giggle you gave in reply fluttered and cut into the tension, urging the twitching upturn of his lips. Before long, a reciprocal chuckle followed as if a major weight had lifted, his rigid form going lax.
Apparently then, it was your turn to be surprised. It hadn’t taken much for the man to laugh. His own joy graced his features, and so the real tragedy was that upon all the times you had come across him, the lack of spoke volumes. Filing this at the back of your mind, you silently picked up on the indicators of fatigue, particularly the bags under his eyes.
“Long night?” You nodded your head towards the cigarette.
A dramatic pause, then a furious shake of his head was his reply.
“Year.”
Boy, you felt that.
Like a compass near a magnet, his emotions flipped between each other, the predominant feeling of astonishment seemingly returning when you laughed at his quip.
Another small halt.
“So, may I know the name of my stalker?” Your tone was playful as you brought the cold glass up to your maw. It lingered for a moment and traced your lower lip while you stared at the man expectantly, an eyebrow quirked up. Before he could respond, however, you tilted its bottom up, welcoming the rich imprinting burn.
“Arthur,” he said in that same soft-spoken tone, hardly able to contain the mischievous twinkle flickering across his features – an expression which tugged at your chest. Even with the noise of the alcohol scrambling your mind and snugly embracing your form, you were still able to pinpoint your attraction.
Wordlessly, you patted the brick next to you in slow successions with your empty hand. A playful grin decorated your face as you relished in the purity of his reactions – all interwoven with a touch of innocence. For a moment, you held his stare, swearing you could hear him gulp until you abruptly turned back around to resume the absorbing magnetism of the cityscape. Hearing the pep in his step, his stride contained speckled confidence as he scurried next to you.
He made himself comfortable, mimicking your position against the top of the wall. The persistent gusts of wind had you shuffling closer to him; what was lost in its strength was made up with its bite.
“I’ve never seen it like this,” he whispered, struck by the wonderment of sparkling unfamiliarity. His look was almost hopeful, awakening a small twinge which began to eat away at the foundations of your heart; a slither of serenity prompted by the simplicity of such a tender moment.
“Makes you think what it could actually be like… you know, without the crime and corruption,” you jested.
He acknowledged your statement with an absent nod, entranced by the view like a kid's first time at an aquarium; completely enamoured and eager to make sense of the chaotic intermingle of vibrancy.
“Want a sip?” You asked, shaking the bottle with the arm you’d extended.
Sweetly he accepted, his gentle touch grazing your fingers for just a second too long as you passed him the alcohol. He met the entrance of the bottle and drank a generous amount, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He placed it down on the brick shortly after.
“Wait, you never told me your name,” he pursued, angling his body towards you.
“Well you’re not a very good stalker if you don’t know your victim's names now, are you?” You poked, not daring to return to the eyes that were no doubt searching yours. You caved at the uncomfortable pricks silence brought and at Arthur’s expectant gaze – which you could practically feel.
“(Y/n).”
Another unanticipated appearance of the icy gust had you rubbing your arms, a subconscious movement in which Arthur had picked up on. He shrugged his red suit jacket off his shoulders. With a quick maneuver, the material cuddled your upper-half, a safety blanket from the treacherous cold mother nature had bestowed upon Gotham. His thin fingers loitered around your shoulders, pressing down lightly. Judging by the abrupt softness overtaking his features, his green eyes dropping to your lips, you could tell he felt the unspoken, thrilling surge between the two of you too.
"You know, there's a tradition with New Years," you murmured, your heart racing from your escaping words. There was no going back now.
Unbeknownst as to how much time had passed, an eruption of excited cheers came from out of nowhere, interrupting you. It had caught you both off guard for a split second. It seemed like the whole of Gotham had gotten together to count down, those out on the balconies the loudest of the bunch.
"FIVE!"
"Oh really?" he practically purred, ignoring the surrounding clamour, feigning ignorance. His lopsided smirk told you all you needed to know, “do tell.”
"FOUR!"
You reached out, two digits climbing up his chest until they finally reached his tie, a yellow and crimson striped thing which somehow wound up tangled in your fist, pulling him closer. The fluttering of your stomach intensified from his proximity which was, give or take, a few measly centimetres away.
"THREE!"
"A kiss," you said, all but a whisper, gaze refusing to stray from his mouth. As his breath gently grazed your lips, they ever-so-slightly trembled in anticipation.
"TWO!"
“Tradition’s tradition,” he hummed with parted lips, his delicate hands cupping your cheeks.
"ONE!"
His nose gently brushed yours and he angled his head.
"HAPPY NEW YEAR!"
Cries and laughter were drowned out when Arthur finally closed the gap at the stroke of midnight. You could taste the alcoholic tang on his lips, merging together with his cigarette in a unique union. Although strange, it hardly deterred you, his slow rhythm perfectly matching your own.
Arthur was full of surprises.
When you finally pulled away matching his goofy smile, you both swivelled to awe at the booming array of hues past the towering buildings. Gracefully, the whistling fireworks morphed into soft trails after each climax, vanishing like falling stars.
While there wasn't a whole lot you could positively say about your apartment block, one of the few things was its unexpectedly clear view of the light show. Buzzed and your mind dulled with a fuzzy warmth, you rested your head against his shoulder, releasing a content sigh.
Here's to a better year.
#HAPPY NEW YEAR#IK IM LATE#BUT I HOPE THIS MAKES UP FOR IT?#HOPEFULLY AAA#IDK IF THIS IS GOOD#BUT ENJOY#idk where I was going with this#tbh#Arthur Fleck#Arthur x reader#Joker x reader#Arthur Fleck x Reader#Arthur Fleck imagine#Joker movie#joaquin phoenix joker#Joaquin Phoenix#fluff#new years fic#joker x you#the joker x reader#dc x reader#dc x you#dc x y/n
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Puzzle Piece
Part 7a
Summary: Alot of things come to light.
Note: reader has esteem issues, oral sex male receiving, dom!kink, & sex.
Getting a drink, you poured yourself some sake. You knew this particular one should be warmed but right now, you could not handle that formality. You needed to simply drink it. Within the last week your entire world had turned upside down.
For certain you were grateful that Ford had not died. You were also grateful that you no longer had to worry about why a chill clung to him or his heart that barely beat. Though your whole idea of reality, living and being dead were no longer anything you were certain of.
Swallowing the smooth liquid you tried to grasp onto something. You couldn’t. While pouring yourself a third, a fuzzy warmth made you feel less unsure about things. You grabbed the bottle and made your way back to your bedroom. You found Ford sitting with his back against the headboard.
“There you are.” He remarked.
You smiled and went over to him. “I needed a drink.”
His mouth twitched upward. “A few actually from the smell of it. Did you bring some for me?”
You nodded. “For us.” You put the bottle down on your nightstand. You eyed his lap, before meeting his eyes. “May I?”
He nodded. “Yes, you know I enjoy you in my lap.”
You couldn’t place a finger on it, possibly because of the sake, but that was oddly the most erotic and comforting thing you had ever heard. Right now, both were exactly what you needed to feel alive, grounded.
Climbing up you straddled his lap, leaned over and grabbed the bottle. His fingers grazed yours as he took it from you. “I need to catch up.” He sniffed it. “Oh.” He made a soft sound. “This is a good one.” You watched as he took a hearty gulp.
“So why me?”
He took the bottle from his lips, and rubbed them with the back of his hand. He put the bottle down. “When I saw you on that park bench I had to come over and say hi. You were so lovely.” He idly ran his hands on your thighs before he rested them beside you. “The night before I had fallen asleep in one of the bushes in that park, it was your delicate scent that roused me from the darkness.”
“Because you wanted to eat me?”
He chuckled and shook his head. “I’ve wanted to devour you. But not like that.” He smirked. “I thought we could have fun together.”
“Oh?”
He nodded. “Yeah baby, then you challenged me and excited me. I grew curious.” He looked away before looking back at you as he raked his fingers through his hair. “Honestly, I have enjoyed how dynamic you are.”
“How’s that?” You took the bottle and took a swig, you weren’t sure if you wanted the answer. Though how he said you were caused nervousness in the bottom of your tummy.
“Living this long I’ve grown bored with the usual meeting and getting to know someone. I haven’t bothered getting to know anyone, I’ve just been eating and walking away.”
You nodded. “What makes me different?”
“Your beauty drew me and then I grew to care about you.” He simply said.
Something about that was particularly dark. It excited you, you didn’t know why but it did. “Should I worry, that one day you will tire of me?”
He shook his head. “Baby, I let it be known that you’re mine. I claimed you.” Taking the bottle from you, he took another drink again. “To be honest, I’ve never done that. I’ve had a few who stuck around but I never claimed any of them.”
You knew that you should be happy that he claimed you, but you were pretty sure that you couldn’t compete with anyone else he had cared for. You were just you. Desperately, you tried to withdraw emotionally. He could very well have fallen for princesses or queens, how could you possibly compete.
“Baby, don’t pull away. There is no reason to even feel a twinge of jealousy.”
You opened your mouth to say something, but the fact that he knew stopped you. “How?” Was all you could say, as your heart beat painfully in your chest at the thought of the others.
“I could feel it. I’ve developed gifts over all my years. One of them is gauging the emotions I feel coming off people. It makes me a better hunter.”
“How could I compete with anyone? I’m just a girl.” He placed a finger to your lips, but you brushed it aside as tears prickled your eyes. “A girl,” you swallowed. “whose lover was killed. You are like a sex god on two legs, who has probably had several women begging to be with you.”
A smug expression washed over his face but then it grew serious. Your breath quickened as his hands drifted up your legs till they slipped under you cami. “Do you have any idea how desirable you are?” His thumbs caressed your sides gently.
You looked away, you had not felt that way in years. Even then, Jerome had been the one to convince you. His cool hands gently squeezed your hips. “Look at me.” His voice had an edge, which brought knots to the pit of your stomach.
Reluctantly you did. His blue eyes dark and his lips were a grim line. “When I was a mortal, artists sketched me or carved my likeness. That’s why I became a fucking ghoul. The vampire who took my life felt my beauty needed to be preserved.”
You had been right, but for the first time ever you didn’t want to be. Why hadn’t the vampire made him a vampire, wasn’t a ghoul a step down, you wondered.
“It’s something I’ve always taken pride in. I use my looks and my charm.” He smirked. “To get what I want, when I want it. But to be honest, when I saw you I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you.”
You flushed.
“Look, the first one I had a relationship with was a handmaiden of Cleopatra, I was infatuated with her. She had taught me how to be a man. I had been a boy with an infatuation.” He shrugged. “When I heard she had died with her mistress, I fled. I stuck to the shadows and avoided all those with ties to Rome.”
“How?” Your interest was growing.
He placed a finger to your lips. “One day, I will tell you. But not now. Ok?” He rose his eyebrows.
You nodded. Something about how he spoke to you now or even silenced you, made you incredibly happy to be his. It made your heart race. It felt as if some kind of wall that had been between the two of you was finally gone.
“The last one I had any kind of connection to was a lady in the court of Czar Nicholas’s wife, Alexandra.” He shrugged. “We met by chance and got to exist outside of the world of rules and protocols of the court.” He grimaced. “What we had was more mutual, but like the one before her. She died. We never saw it coming. Once again, I escaped with those of my kind. I managed to make it here to America where I stayed till the wind of violence ended.”
He took another swig. “So there I am, I was drawn to you baby. You are special in ways I never knew existed. The ghost of your past love was worthy of novels and poems. How you survived his death is beyond me. You are so damn strong. Till you I never knew ghosts were real. I always thought it was some silly way humans would cope with death.”
“But...” He put his finger to your lips again. This time you closed your eyes when he did, letting a soft sound come from you. Something grabbed you as he spoke. It was intoxicating.
“All right, I’ll be quiet.” You said softly, your lips grazing his fingers. Slowly, you opened your eyes.
You watched as he licked and bit his bottom lip. You could not resist squeezing your legs against his.
“I went for a drink.” He continued. “I needed to see if I could push you away. You brought an intensity, an energy in me I had not felt since my maker. It was there I met Jerome. He told me of you and what had happened to him.”
Your breath caught at his name. It had been Jerome, that showed you desire, need. But now with Ford. It was so sharp and intense. As he rocked you gently, he went back to having both hands under your cami. The ache you began to feel for Ford was growing.
“He had wanted to tell me, that he wished you nothing but happiness. That he had wished you’d move on and now be with me. He sees something in me, that I don’t even understand.” He made a face. “But he so desperately wanted the pain you had been feeling to be replaced with love and passion once again.”
“Perhaps that’s why he went into me. I still don’t understand any of it. But know this, that despite caring for those others, I always saw an eventual end.” He shrugged. “Maybe not murder but an end.” He drew close. A sigh came from you as you felt his hand on your cheek, his thumb caressing you. “I don’t see that with you.”
“Ford?”
“Yes.”
“Kiss me.” You breathed.
“I’m going to do more than that.” He pulled you against him. “Do you feel that?”
You moaned, he was very hard under the cotton pajama pants he had slipped into. You’re slick with your desire. “I do but there is something I’ve been wanting to do. Will you indulge me?” You met his eyes from under your lashes.
“Indulge you? I suppose I could.” His words made you shiver.
Gently taking his hands, you placed them beside the two of you. You shimmied till you were between his legs. Once you were kneeling, you reached up and released him comfortably from the confines of his pajama pants.
Your mouth watered. You wrapped your fingers around him, moving up and down. Meeting his eyes, you smiled. “I’ve been wanting to devour you. Feel you hard in my mouth.”
“Baby.” He purred, his fingers ran through your hair.
Holding him you licked slowly from base to tip. You could vaguely remember the lovemaking the two of you had done earlier. Though, you could tell he must have tidied himself up before he had drifted off. You slowly slipped him into your mouth. It felt so good to have him there. Though he certainly filled your mouth like he had the rest of you.
As you braced yourself, you smiled as one of his hands held yours, your fingers interlaced. While with his other hand he gently held your hair to help anchor you and let you set the pace.
Your lips and tongue worked together. The beat of the ache between your legs began to match your pace. For a moment, you just barely paused as you felt his fingers withdraw from your hair or how you were no longer holding hands. But the pleasure from dragging your mouth up and down on him was too good to stop.
You felt a slight tug then a breeze, as the fabric of your cami floated down on either side of you.
You moaned around his hardness as you arched to his touch. His fingers had found the tiny buds that were your nipples. He rolled them between his fingers.
A low purr that could have been a growl came from him. “Does my baby like that?”
Somehow you managed a yes, as you moved with his fingers feeling yourself get even wetter. You could have cum from just that. You sucked and moved even tighter over his hard length.
He trembled himself, you pulled your mouth off him. You met his eyes. “Do you want to-” a loud moaned poured from yours as his fingers continued to play with your nipples. You writhed and arched where you knelt.
“What baby? What do I want?”
You swallowed. “Do you want to cum in my mouth or in me?”
One of his hands left your breasts and you felt as his thumb dragged across your lower lip. “As much as I want to cum in this sweet mouth of yours. I want you to ride me as I sit.”
“Oh...” Your voice shook at his words.
Gathering yourself up and hovering above him, you then slid onto his length. You loved how his hands rested on your hips. Together you moved. Your eyes locked, occasionally a hungry kiss took you. But it would break as a moan would come over the two of you.
Lost in the feeling of him so deeply inside, you took his hands and held them against your headboard. Holding them there you rode him harder.
He drew close. “Are you pinning me to your headboard?”
You pressed a little harder, as you did you felt a little wetter. “Maybe.”
“All right.” He said in a tone you couldn’t read as his lips curled into a smirk.
You were calling out when you found yourself on your back with your hands pinned above your head. He was above and deep inside you.
A moan poured from you.
“You need to know, you need to feel who has claimed you, baby.”
“Yes.” Was all you could say.
You trembled under him, he continued to move in and out.
“Are you mine?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“I’m yours.”
“Are you going to let me feel you cum around me?”
You matched his thrusts. And before you could stop yourself you did just that.
“That’s my baby.”
Moving his grip on your wrists, he let you wrap your arms around him as he thrust deeper and you melted under him.
“You’re mine. All fucking mine.” He growled. And then you felt as he came deeply in you.
*****
Sighing, languid kisses between the two of you were passed as he held you in the hot bath. Your sweet smelling bath salts swirled in the water. Relaxation and just tenderness was between you.
“You’re going to regret not letting me have her ghoulie. Mark my words. Relax now I’d say, she will be in pieces at what will be left of your mangled body.” Ford stiffened as the vampire’s voice filled his mind.
“Fuck you, fangs.” He concentrated and soon he pushed the vampire out.
“Ford, Ford.”
Startled he looked at you. “Yes, baby?”
“You were suddenly far away.”
He chuckled. “It’s you, baby. You leave me dazed.”
You smiled. “Oh Ford, you can be so silly.” You chuckled and nestled close.
Choices and decisions had to be made. In the end, he was certain he wasn’t going to like what had to be done in order to beat that fucking vampire. But now he held your warm curvy body tighter against him and allowed his dead heart to enjoy more heartbeats than it’s had in centuries.
@mac-n-cheesie @shantellorraine @vcat55 @fandomgirl800
#femi!reader#ewan mcgregor#ewan mcgregor imagine#ewan mcgregor angst#ewan mcgregor fluff#ewan mcgregor fanfiction#ford#ford imagine#ford fanfiction#ford angst#ford fluff#ford x you#ford x y/n#ford x reader#ford smut#cold wars tales from the cyrpt#tales from the cyrpt#puzzle pieces#part 7a
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Congratulations on your followers milestone 😊🌸 then can I request a Nobunaga for hot god... Thank you
So this kind of got out of hand haha
Warnings: Female!Reader, mild family conflict, possible inaccuracyWord count: 2,435Tagged:#hanayomeTranslations and important notes:
Tengu (lit. heavenly dog) are Japanese legendary creatures that are regarded as either youkai (supernatural beings) or kami (gods). This fic treats Tengu as the latter.
Obi, as you may already know, is the ‘belt’ of the kimono.
Shinsoku means abbot/head priest of an abbey or temple.
Miko refers to a priestess.
Geta are traditional wooden clogs that resemble flip-flops.
Oshiroi is the name of the white powder used as makeup.
Aneue is a highly formal and archaic way of addressing one’s elder sister.
FYI, Kiku means ‘chrysanthemum’.
Enjoy!
Part 2 Part 3
1.
Sounds of hurried footsteps echo through the wooden flooring of the temple, and along with them, the chatterings of people. They come for one second, allowing the listener to grasp only a few words, before ultimately becoming an auditory blur as they grow further away. You are in a room tucked away in one corner of the temple, sewing the last few stitches that would make the final adjustments to a white over-robe.
Once the moon is at her highest tonight, your little sister is to become a bride. Her procession begins in no more than two hours.
A couple other elderly priestesses are by her side, gently folding and twisting her hair up into an intricate hairstyle reserved only for those about to marry with delicate ornamental hairpins. Another is fixing up the wataboshi, the bridal hood that will hide Kiku’s face from all eyes except her groom’s.
Never have you heard silence so loud that even the hustle and bustle in the hallways feel like a great distance away. The air is cold and tense, a complete antithesis of wedding preparation. Faces are grim and eyes are tearful—if only she were wearing black, you’d think this was a funeral instead.
Young Kiku’s beautiful ebony eyes are narrowed in a mix of emotions even as one of the priestesses tucks a fan into her obi, the symbol for a happy future. Despite her general optimism, you know that she feels more like an item to be sold than a bride.
Because it truly was a transaction.
——————————
Your family is a long line of clerical servants of the god Tengu who rules over war and prosperity. (You’ve always disliked that dichotomy.) The men and women of your family devote their whole lives as priests and priestesses with the privilege to communicate with him in his dwelling—a lone temple on top of the mountain Kurama that towers over your village. Seiiki—‘sanctuary’, they call it.
It has been decreed since the days of old that once a year, each autumn solstice, on the day of the full moon, the abbot would climb the perilous steps up the mountain to speak to the god Tengu. Tonight is that of a full moon, and so your father, the abbot, made the ascent. The news he delivered was unusual, but at that time you know little of how bitter it would all turn out.
“The god Tengu demands a young virgin as his bride in exchange for the earth’s eternal yield. At sundown, a fiery arrow shall descend from the sky and pierce the roof of the house in which this virgin dwells. When night falls, she will climb up to the peak of Mount Kurama to meet her groom and dwell with him in the Seiiki forever.”
A girl for lifelong milk and honey, when each previous year the god Tengu would demand only a portion of the harvest he had already given. Of course, the atypicality wasn’t lost to the people, but they faithfully waited until sundown. The gods were never the most sympathetical beings anyway, and the people felt lucky that Tengu’s demands were not as outlandish as the others.
You were among the people at the temple grounds when the promised arrow indeed descended, appearing as a faraway white dot floating against the violet-pink sky. Before the last of the sun’s rays faded it flew towards the village, but what you didn’t expect was for those pale flames to pierce the very roof you were under.
Tied on its stem is a paper with ‘marriage’ written on it.
——————————
If she was composed during her dressing, now Kiku is anything but. In your arms she sobs, a pure white mess, smearing your miko uniform with the red face paint around her eyes. When she looks up at you, shaking her head in disdain, it looks as though she cried blood.
“I don’t want to go,” she croaks, “I don’t want to leave you.”
“And I don’t want you to leave,” you reply.
There are no tears in your eyes, for this predicament seems too fatal, too fast, like a bad dream. You wish it were a dream. You don’t tell your little sister you wish it were you—because she has her whole life ahead of her and because it is probably easier for your family to let you go.
The two of you are the abbot’s dear children, yes, but you are the eldest daughter instead of the eldest son—one that can continue his name. Even in your adulthood your father still looks at you the same way, like you’re something he didn’t ask for. It’s different for Kiku because Kiku is different. “She is the temperate lake to your forest fire.” That was what your father once said to you. Through it all, your mother is ultimately the one that loved you unconditionally, but behind her gentle smile, she hides the same sadness from your father’s disappointment for not having a son.
If you were to tell the truth, you’d rather be the god Tengu’s bride than stay here, but alas, he demands a young bride. Moreover, your father sees this as an absolute honor for Kiku to be chosen, though eventually you know he’ll grow bitter from only having your mediocrity left in his house.
The sliding door opens. It’s your father and mother.
“Procession will begin soon.”
“I need to fix her rouge,” you say without looking at him, “and then she’ll have to wear her wataboshi.” You hear a choked sound coming from your mother as she embraces Kiku. You look on somberly, but can’t stop yourself from stealing a glance at your father, who remains unmoving. You’ve never seen him look that sad before.
A shuffle of footsteps and you see the silhouette of a monk beyond the screen door—he’s considerate enough not to stand where your sister can be seen, at least.
“Shinsoku-sama, the procession is ready.”
The moon is at its biggest and brightest, looking as though she is peering down to watch the events unfolding under her soft light. You’ve moved to the edge of the temple grounds with your parents and the clerics. The procession is only to be done by the betrothed and their attendants, and with the absence of the groom, Kiku was left to walk with only two other lesser miko and four monks to carry the traditional harvest offering. The click-clack of their geta is loud against the masonry floor, it being the only sound other than the buzzing crickets. There are no more exchanged words or touches allowed in this holy rite—the only thing Kiku can spare you and your family is a meaningful look before she takes her first step beyond the red gate, lantern in hand to guide her through the dark of the night.
She makes her way up, up, following the curves of the stone steps, and not long after, all you can see is the flickering light of lanterns like gold slowly pumping through a vein. The bamboo forests surrounding the stairs sway left and right in the night wind, and it reminds you of a worried man rocking on his feet. The stairs twist and turn in a serpent-like manner, and the trees, taller and thicker, conceal their light, infrequently at first, but more and more as they venture higher before eventually they disappear out of sight.
Next to you, your mother is the first to break, letting out a long breath and a sob. You reach for her hand. When her cold fingers wrap around yours, you allow yourself to cry.
——————————
It is the fourth hour after Kiku stepped out the red gate, and the attendants who went with her haven’t returned. Rain started to pour not too long ago, and though it isn’t heavy, it’s enough to cause concern. You are in a prayer room with the other miko, joining them in their quiet chants. Your mother’s body and mind are too exhausted to participate, and it’s not like she can pray to a god that chose to take her daughter away forever.
Truth be told, you feel the same, as the prayer beads on your palm feel much heavier than they should. The chants lose their meaning, replaced only by questions only the god Tengu can answer. You realize the futility of the situation and contemplate whether you should just run up those stairs and confront him yourself.
You’re picturing it with your eyes closed. The flight of stairs might be steep and many, and it might be dangerous going up there in the rain, but you’d be fueled with enough rage to overcome them. What happens there, you’d worry about later—the holy grounds are supposed to be accessible only to the abbot. Should the sacred boundary be created by a spell, you could always try to break it. Once the barrier is broken, you’d be able to come face-to-face with the god Tengu.
You realize you don’t know what he really looks like, but it hardly matters. What then? Would you attempt to kill him for taking your sister away? No, that’s not really what you want. What do you really want?
Fatigue makes it easier for your consciousness to escape you, and unbeknownst to you, your wandering thoughts lull you into the beginnings of slumber. Your prayer beads are now stationary, and your chants are reduced into incomprehensible murmurs before they stop completely.
Mind clouded with fog, the only thing you could see in your head is the lantern light flickering as it makes its way up the stairs. Golden light, twisting and turning. The wind’s howl in your ear, deafening. The orange leaves’ crackle as they are dragged across stone floors by the gale.
…lady…
The god Tengu’s arrow floats again in your dream as if waiting for its time to strike. Your eyebrows knit in anticipation, your eyes dare not look away.
…Milady…
The flames on the arrow’s tail seem to flicker before it grows stronger, its shape becoming larger and larger. In the blink of an eye, it flies, but this time not towards the roof of the temple.
It’s coming towards you.
“Milady!”
Just as the arrow pierces through your heart, you open your eyes with a pained gasp, but the trickle of cold sweat on your nape and your feverish breath makes you feel as though you’re still trapped in a dream. Some of the elder priestesses crowd around you, one of them holding your trembling hand as she places her own against your forehead.
“You were shaking,” she says, eyes worriedly darting around to inspect your face, “Milady, you’re very warm.”
You’re still trying to gain your bearings when you hear a pair of footsteps dash towards the room. One second later, the screen doors open with a loud bang, revealing a young miko drenched from the rain—you vaguely remember her as one of Kiku’s company. Her eyes search the room before falling on you, and the look on her damp face turns into that of bewildered trepidation. She calls your name once and kneels in front of you, gently tugging at your arm to get you to stand.
“It’s Lady Kiku, she—when we got up there, we—I’m sorry, it’d be better for her to tell you in person. Please come with me. She’s downstairs, she—we need you.”
Equally, if not more confused than the miko, you force your numb legs to carry you out of the room and down the steps with her help. The cold of her clothes against your warm skin wakes you up a little. She guides you to the main hall, her footsteps leaving trails of water droplets as she goes. Once the door slides open, you’re equal parts baffled and relieved to see your little sister. The floor around her is littered with discarded hairpins and baskets of fine products, reduced into a dirty mess. She is weeping, her face buried in her hands. You unlatch yourself from the miko’s arm to rush to Kiku’s side, your arm around her.
“What happened?”
“He…” she begins, looking up at you with wet eyes. She looks like a wreck, the oshiroi powder washed out from her face and her hair in a disheveled state. “W-We went into the Seiiki and everything seems fine, but then he—”
It is then your father interrupts, his voice booming in the cold, dim room.
“It isn’t Kiku the god Tengu wants.”
“—he saw my face as we entered, it was a huge room and we weren’t even face-to-face! I don’t know how, but he saw me, and a gust of strong wind blew, he… he told me that I wasn’t the one. And then he said your name. He told me to bring you. Aneue, he… he wants you.”
Your heart sinks, and it clenches as if responding to a piercing wound. One that’s left by a flaming arrow.
Kiku then proceeds to gather her now loose hair and moved it across one shoulder, revealing her bare neck to you.
You almost can’t believe your eyes—a crimson string blooms from the side of her throat, and when you reach out to touch it with a finger, it doesn’t smear or fade, as if it’s permanently embedded within her skin. As if she was marked. Stepping closer to see it, you realize that it is alive, its two ends moving ever so slowly around her. It would be a complete circle once it meets on the other side of her neck.
“You have until sunrise to see him,” your mother finally speaks, her face a tired blank canvas. Her daughter was returned, only for the other to be taken away. “We concluded that this string will make one complete round by then. He didn’t tell Kiku what would happen if the ends meet.”
“It’s a timekeeper enchantment,” your father supplies, “to make sure you make the ascent.”
Every bit of composure in you snaps just then and you make for the door as fast as you can. Kiku captures your wrist just in time, a concerned look on her face. She gently places something into your open palm and you take it, inspecting it.
It’s a crumpled up piece of paper with the kanji ‘marriage’ on it. The look on Kiku’s face tells you not to question how that item came to her possession.
Your mouth runs dry. It seems like Kiku also has trouble speaking because her voice cracks as she says this to you:
“Aneue, he wants to see you in red.”
#1.5k#hanayome#sfw#elievalentine#nobunaga#oda nobunaga#nobunaga x reader#reader insert#female reader#au#ikemen sengoku#ikesen#cybird#imagine#imagines#scenario
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