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deiitaelric · 3 years

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Soulmates bakudeku / kirikami au FINAL PART

Part 12

He had one text from the day after the last time they saw each other.

Kacchan: “We need to talk about yesterday”

He had a missed call on the following day. And another text sent late that same night.

Kacchan: “Where are you going, anyway?”

The next text was two days later.

Kacchan: “Did you fucking block me!?”

There was another missed call the next day, accompanied by another text.

Kacchan: “Deku, pick up the phone! We need to talk. Fuck!”

The next text was sent about a week later, in a completely different tone.

Kacchan: “Hey, just call me, okay?”

But a few days later he sounded angry again.

Kacchan: “Were you fucking serious back then? Are you gonna pretend I don’t fucking exist anymore?”

The next thing to check was a voice mail. “Deku. Just… pick up the phone. I… something happened and-” There was silence for a moment. “I… I don’t get why you’re doing this” A sigh was heard and the line was cut.

Another week had passed until the next texts were sent.

Kacchan: “I’m mad at you”

Kacchan: “I’m just so fucking mad I would punch you if you were here”

Kacchan: “Come back”

The next was another voice mail. Katsuki remained silent one moment and sighed before starting. “I called your mom today. She said you need space and that you’ll come back to me” Katsuki became silent again, and Izuku heard shuffling, like he was moving around. “Is that true? Are you gonna come back to me?” There was silence one again, and Izuku thought there was nothing more when he heard a weak “Just do it”

Izuku stopped reading his texts and listening to his recording for a moment. His heart was pounding and tears were burning his eyes. Izuku breathed slowly, trying to calm down. Finding out Katsuki felt like this wasn’t easy. Maybe he was just upset because he wasn’t in charge anymore, so Izuku needed to keep his mind clear.

But it only lasted until the following voice mail.

“Deku, I… I have a stain” Izuku caught his breath, tears finally bursting from his eyes. He heard Katsuki catching breath. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I have a stain” Another silence. Long, too long. “You left a stain” Was all Katsuki said before cutting the line.

Izuku froze. His eyes widened and he breathed deeply. That was impossible. He was careful to not touch Kacchan’s skin. Izuku knew he hadn’t touched Kacchan. Why did he had said something like that? After some moment, Izuku continued reading.

Kacchan: “About the last call… I’ve been searching and nobody knows about this”

Kacchan: “I guess I’m wrong and this thing isn’t a stain, but it won’t go away”

Kacchan: “I like it, tho, it has the same color as your eyes”

Izuku read those last texts over and over again. He replayed the last voice mail, too. Izuku found sadness in Katsuki’s tone and his heart ached. Izuku continued scrolling.

Kacchan: “Do you think it’s possible you marked me with your tears? I can’t stop thinking about it”

Kacchan: “I hope you aren’t crying right now, since you’re far away from me”

Kacchan: “That’s why you left?”

Wait. Did Kacchan think he left because of that? He hadn’t known anything. Izuku kept reading, hoping he was wrong in his assumption.

Kacchan: “I always knew I wouldn’t be able to leave your side, but I never thought about the possibility of you leaving mine. Was I always this stupid?”

“Kacchan, no…” Izuku said to the phone, as if Katsuki was able to hear him. He played the following voice mail.

“I don’t know why I keep doing this. I guess it’s what I have left, right?” Katsuki let out a dry laugh and Izuku closed his eyes tight. “Do you miss me?”

“I do” Izuku answered, crying and holding the phone tight.

“I miss you” Katsuki said into his ear, and everything started spinning. He replayed it so many times he lost count. But there were some more text, and Izuku started to scroll again. The following texts were separated by days, but there was many of them.

Kacchan: “I thought I was used to feeling scared, but I guess I’m not”

Kacchan: “You said you have to lose me, but I don’t want you to. If you love me, like you said, come back”

Kacchan: “Why it hurt so much?”

Kacchan: “Why did you leave?”

Kacchan: “The stain remains. It still the same color as you”

Kacchan: “Why did you leave a stain and then disappear?”

Kacchan: “Come back”

Kacchan: “I miss you”

Izuku couldn’t stop crying. He rubbed his eyes, trying to continue reading.

Kacchan: “I’m spending so much time with myself, thinking, and I get it. I should have said something, I should have told you everything before. But I just couldn’t”

Kacchan: “I get it’s my fault for being an asshole. I just…”

Kacchan: “I was scared”

The next thing was a voice mail and Izuku breathed deeply before playing it.

“Hi. I guess I keep doing this, huh? I don’t know if you’re going to receive all this shit. Maybe you just threw your phone away” Katsuki laughed weakly and sadly on the record. “I only… Look, I never meant to make you do this. You can… come back, and… and I will stay away, okay? You don’t have to do this. We don’t have to be nothing. You don’t have to worry about the stain or any shit. Just come back. Don’t run away from your life because of me”

“No” Izuku said out loud. “I want to be by your side, I-”

Kacchan: “If your tears marked me, did mine marked you?”

“No, don’t… Did you…?”

Kacchan: “I’m lost”

Kacchan: “I think about you everyday”

“Me too. I can’t stop”

Kacchan: “Are you finally happy? Is this what you needed? I would step aside. I would do anything for you”

“No! I don’t want this!” Izuku cried, holding his phone tight. “I don’t want this, I miss you” Izuku curled in on himself, hiding his face with the bed sheets. Reading and hearing Katsuki’s feels and thought was making his heart ache. When Izuku collected himself a little, he played another voicemail.

“You know? I can’t stop thinking about you hugging me that day” Katsuki started without wasting a second. He laughed, but it sounded broke. “Ten years” Katsuki laughed again. “Do you believe it? I’ve spent ten years scared of hugging you, of touching you” his voice broke a little. “Because I always knew I wasn’t enough”

“What are you talking about?” Izuku made a face of disbelief, staring at the screen.

“I’m not enough for you and I’m starting to think you knew, too. That’s why you left and threw your phone away, right? You saw the stain. And I’m not blaming you”

“What are you talking about, stupid?”

“I just wish I was more worthy” Katsuki hung up.

Izuku frowned deeply at the screen. He stormed out of his room, grabbed his keys, put on his red shoes, and left the apartment.

Kacchan: “I didn’t mark you, right? So you can just pretend you didn’t neither”

Kacchan: “I keep sending you shit, what is wrong with me?”

Kacchan: “I just… just tell me to stop and I’ll do. You can come back. I’ll step aside. But don’t do this because of me”

He kept reading on his way, finally reaching at the last texts.

Kacchan: “I wish I was worthy”

Kacchan: “I hope you find someone worth it”

Izuku clenched his teeth and started running. He reached Katsuki’s apartment, with the phone still unlocked, and the sound of a new message came to his ears.

Kacchan: “Deku?”

Izuku didn’t mind it, knowing probably Kacchan had seen the change of states of the icons. Instead, he pounded on the door. He heard nothing inside.

Me: “Open the door”

Izuku texted while hitting the door again. He heard steps running towards him and the door opened wide.

“Dek-” Izuku pushed him roughly, making Katsuki take a few steps back. “Wha-” Izuku shoved him again and Katsuki fell on the floor.

“You’re a fucking asshole!” Izuku yelled. Denki appeared in front of him, asking what was happening and Izuku only glared at him. “Get out!” Denki looked at them both and decided to leave them alone, closing the front door behind him, and already calling Eijirou.

“I know” Katsuki said, without any attempt to get up.

“No! You don’t know nothing! What the fuck is all that about not being worthy?”

“Look, I-”

“No! Just shut up! You’ve said enough shit already!” Izuku started pacing around the place, glaring at him intermittently. “You are not the one to decide if you are enough or not, okay?” Katsuki kept silence and Izuku approached. “Okay?!”

“Okay” The blonde whispered.

“You… I can’t believe you” Izuku continued pacing around. “What were you so scared of, huh?”

“Deku, I…” Katsuki started excusing himself but Izuku knew him far too well.

“No. Enough excuses. Tell me!”

“I… I was afraid of not being the one for you, okay?!” Katsuki looked up at Izuku, who continued pacing around, but smacked his own forehead in disbelief.

“Are you serious?”

“I am! It terrified me thinking about touching you and nothing happening!” Katsuki yelled, because fuck, it had been ten fucking years carring that weigh on his shoulders. Izuku stopped and looked into his eyes. Katsuki’s breath caught at the intensity of his gaze. They kept staring each other for a few seconds until Izuku’s face relaxed a bit.

“That wouldn’t matter” Izuku’s voice was calmer now.

“Hah?”

“That wouldn’t matter”

“What are you talking about?”

“I love you, okay? I always have” Izuku looked away, sighing, and his phone caught his attention. He looked at it a moment, locked it, and turned his eyes again at Katsuki. “It is true? Do you have a stain?”

Katsuki took a moment to react, then he reached a hand up to pull his sweater aside. Izuku’s eyes stared at his skin, where his tear had burned him that day.

“I… did that?”

“Your tears burned me, and I didn’t have it before. I just noticed later that day”

“Do that mean…?”

“I guess?”

“You guess?”

“Yeah, I don’t know. I’m fucking scared. I-” Katsuki sat properly on the floor. “I missed you so much”

“Are you scared of you not leaving a stain on me?” Izuku avoid the second part, he had missed Kacchan so much, too, but they had to talk about another things.

“I’m terrified” Katsuki admitted. He looked up at Izuku and saw him turning to face him entirely. Katsuki got up slowly under Izuku’s watch.

“I always believed that you had to be my soulmate. I just stopped thinking it because I thought you feared being it. I lost faith”

“It was just the opposite” Katsuki said, shaking his head.

“But you never told me”

“I know. And I’m sorry”

“Just…” Izuku moved his green eyes to the stain. “I can’t believe I did that”

Katsuki raised a hand and caressed it, just as he did every day. “Me neither”

They looked into each other’s eyes, without walls between them for the first time in ten years. Izuku raised one arm, offering it to Katsuki. He didn’t move.

“Do it” Izuku said, moving his arm a bit closer. Katsuki raised a hand, slowly.

“Whatever happens… I love you too” Katsuki said, grabbing Izuku’s wrist to pull Izuku against him, kissing him. Izuku felt a warm pain, right there where Katsuki was touching him, both his wrist and his lips. They wrapped their arms around each other, kissing deeply and desperately, until they felt breathless. When they parted, they pressed their foreheads together, breathing the same air. Izuku moved his hand between them and they both looked down. A beautiful orange stain had just bloomed there, with a little green stain underneath. They smiled and Izuku moved his eyes to the green stain again. He touched it, and Katsuki gasped. The same warm pain reaffirmed the stain.

“I love you so much, my soulmate” Izuku whispered, and Katsuki just kissed him again.

THE END

(you can give love to this on my AO3)

#bakudeku #bakudeku fic #kirikami #kirikami fic #bkdk #krkm

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writing-is-my-guilty-pleasure · 4 years

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Gone || Twelfth Doctor x Reader

A/N: Based on a request by anon: ‘12th doctor & reader sort of a platonic hurt/comfort type of thing??’

I had to relive Season 9 Episode 11 for this so I hope you’re happy with this fic anon - tears were shed while getting inspiration. Also because this is my first time writing anything Doctor Who, forgive me if it’s not as good as it could be. Ngl my eyes did get a bit watery but I was also very tired when writing this so mixed reviews.

Main Masterlist

Doctor Who Masterlist

You hummed to yourself as you checked your phone whilst leaning against your kitchen counter as you waited for your kettle to boil. As it was currently a Wednesday afternoon, it was Clara’s turn to travel with the Doctor - you travelled with him on Fridays. You worked a normal job the rest of the week, and considering the Doctor could travel in time, you technically never missed Fridays anyway, and if you ever were a few minutes late, you could always blame it on the traffic.

When you first started travelling with the Doctor your previous job didn’t have too much of a problem with you being an hour late, or sometimes more, as long as you made the hours up later. But this new job, which you actually really enjoyed, was far more strict on shift times, so you’d had to have several stern talks with the Doctor about his navigation through time so that you wouldn’t get fired. Even then, you’d sometimes walk into work after several warnings and had actually been fired, but you’d just walked back out, hopped back in the TARDIS and made the Doctor arrive at the correct time as to avoid getting fired again.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You’d been the Doctor’s companion since his tenth regeneration; you’d been good friends with Donna and had gotten yourself in a bit of a sticky situation - basically you’d been caught in the middle of an alien invasion, and Donna had been coming up with all these amazing stories of places she’d travelled to, so you spammed her phone with texts and calls until she replied and saved your ass. Since then, the Doctor had allowed you to come on adventures with him, even after Donna had lost all memories of the Doctor and the times you’d spent together.

When Amy and Rory had gone, you’d stayed with the Doctor until he met Clara, and then you arranged a schedule with the two of them. It had become very crowded with you, Amy and Rory travelling with the Doctor, and even though you and Clara both travelled together some days, you needed some time to yourself and needed to get a real job instead of ignoring reality by travelling through time around the universe. Also, you needed a slight mental health break - losing Donna, Amy and Rory had really taken a toll, as even though you’d lost family members, it was a different story when death was the result of alien life-forms and your friends had died right in front of you with no chance of truly telling them how much they meant to you, and the fact that one of your closest friends had lost any memory of some of the best moments the two of you had shared together, and if you ever spoke of them to her, she’d burn up and die.

You always liked Clara - she was clever and level-headed, which was rarely found when you travelled alone with the Doctor. He tended to be extremely unpredictable with his decisions, and even though you’d known him for a while, his brain would always outpace yours when it came to piecing together the answer to whatever mystery you were solving, so it was nice to have another human to travel with. The two of you also got along extremely well, and Clara was always eager to hear about your previous adventures with the Doctor, and you were always happy to tell stories - but it was always painful to reminisce on memories with your old companions.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The ‘click’ of your kettle snapped you out of your memories, and you absentmindedly turned to fill up your mug with hot water - you’d already put the teabag in - and finished making your tea, heading back to your position on your sofa. You had just sat down, shifting back into the dent you'd made in the cushions from how often you sat there, and had taken one sip of your tea before you were rudely interrupted. If it had been anything or anyone else, you would have been far more annoyed, but as the familiar, comforting sound of the TARDIS flooded your home, you couldn't help but allow a smile to grace your face.

But that’s odd, you thought to yourself as you stood up. You were sure that it was Clara’s day for an adventure, and the Doctor would normally visit you in the evening after your shift was over (it was currently about 3pm and your boss had let you all out early after a water-pipe burst) and have a cup of tea and tell you what he’d done with Clara that day. He’d probably got the hours mixed up or something, you mused as you headed to where the sound was coming from, as it was hours too early for him to swing by.

You followed the sound to your bedroom, and sure enough, there stood the TARDIS. As you closed the door behind you, the familiar sound stopped, signalling that it had finally materialised. Your smile widened as the door opened, and you bounced excitedly on the balls of your feet as you waited to see the Doctor and Clara, and to hear about whatever crazy adventure they’d had today.

But your smile dropped slightly when the Doctor finally came into view.

“Doctor?” You asked, moving closer to him as your eyes roved over his face. Something was wrong. Really wrong. “Are you okay?” You peered around him, trying to look into the TARDIS. “Where’s Clara? Did you drop her off at home already?” The Doctor finally seemed to regain a sense of where he was and who he was talking to, and collected himself together.

“Clara’s gone.” The Doctor’s voice hissed into a low rasp, that you had come to associate with the most dire of situations.

“Gone where?” You asked slowly, even though you already knew the answer. You could feel your heart start to beat faster, and your vision began to grow blurry as the beginnings of tears gathered in your eyes. “Gone where, Doctor?”

“She’s dead.” He answered simply, his voice breaking on the last word, his eyes growing glassy with unshed tears. “She’s gone. And I can’t bring her back.”

“No.” You breathed, feeling as though something sharp had been driven into you; as if every breath hurt. Your chest hurt; it was as if you could physically feel your heart breaking apart just a little more. “Doctor please, tell me you’re lying - she isn’t gone; we can just go back and get her, right? We can go back into last week and see her again, and stop whatever happened from happening.” You begged, hearing your voice grow louder as the tears that had been building up finally started to fall.

The Doctor only watched you, with the same tired look on his face, his eyes shining with his own unshed tears. “Please Doctor. Not again. Not another one, please, I can’t keep doing this.” The tears were starting to fall in earnest now, with no sign of stopping, as you drew in deep, painful breaths. “Why Clara?” You choked out, rubbing furiously at your face to get rid of the tears.

Not Clara. Who was now just another name added to the long list of the Doctor’s companions. Clara, who had done so much for the universe, and was now gone in an instant, and who had left her life behind for a taste of adventure. And nobody left in her life would ever really know what happened.

“You think that I want to keep doing this?” The Doctor grasped your shoulders, forcing you to look at him. “It’s my duty to keep moving forwards and to keep helping people. Clara-” his voice broke and he looked away, his grip tightening, and he shut his eyes tightly as he tried to compose himself. “Clara knew what she was doing, in the end. She wanted to help people, and she did. She helped so many people. But I couldn’t help her.” The two of you stared at each other, both of you crying silently, and you occasionally wiping your tears away.

“You did help her, Doctor.” You smiled sadly at him, finally reaching up and brushing his tears away with your thumb, stepping close enough that his hands were just comfortably resting on your shoulders. “You helped her see the whole universe, and we all travelled through time. You helped open her eyes to so many wonderful things, and helped her learn so many valuable lessons along the way.” You sniffed, swallowing thickly. “And I know she helped you, too.”

He said nothing, but simply gazed at you, a mixture of a sadness than ran deeper than words could express, and wonder showing on his face. You pulled him in for a gentle hug, leaving him room to back out if he wanted to. You knew he wasn’t much of a hugger in this body. For a moment he was still, then he seemed to crumple in your arms, his body shaking from the force of his sobs as he clutched you to him, seemingly trying to ground himself to the last shreds of his reality. All you could do was hold him tightly, running your hands gently through those soft, silver curls like you’d always wanted to.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Eventually, after what felt like a lifetime of intermittent crying, you broke away, and pulled down the long sleeves of your top so that you could reach up to wipe away the Doctor’s tears once more.

“Come on.” You whispered, slipping your fingers through his and tugging him towards you kitchen. “I’ll make us some tea. That always makes everything seem a little better.” You smiled weakly at him, and he followed obediently.

As you started up the kettle again, you felt him rest a hand on the small of your back - a comforting gesture for the both of you; it felt like too much distance was between you otherwise. Once you had poured away your cup of cold tea, you turned to face him, and his hand slipped to rest comfortably on your waist.

“I feel like this is an unnecessary question to ask, Doctor.” You murmured, running your hands over the lapels of his jacket. “But why did you come here? I mean, there are thousands of moments in time or people that might have...comforted you better than I have.”

“Clara told me that I might be on my own for a while.” He replied, voice sounding slightly thick. “She predicted that I’d go off and...I don’t know, destroy a planet or something.” He suddenly smiled down at you - a real smile, not as big as it should be, but one that made the skin around his eyes crinkle, which in turn made you feel warm and slightly fuzzy inside. “I didn’t even set the TARDIS to come here. I think she just knew that I wouldn’t be alone with you.”

You smiled widely at him, feeling an overwhelming sense of happiness amidst the sadness that hung over the both of you. “You’re always welcome here, Doctor.” You said warmly. “And I’m flattered that the TARDIS thinks so highly of me.” The two of you basked in the warm atmosphere until your kettle signified that it was time to make tea. “Now, if you’re going to stay here, I’m going to need you to grab some teabags. They’re in that cupboard over there.”

#doctor who #doctor who x reader #doctor who imagines #peter capaldi #peter capaldi imagines #twelfth doctor #twelfth doctor x reader #twelfth doctor imagines #12th doctor #12th doctor x reader

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steve0discusses · 4 years

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Yugioh S4 Ep 9: Denial on so Many Fronts

I’ve managed to have a pretty open timeslot this holiday, where I decided I was going to do lots of catch up work. (I have instead filled up my Background Music Playlist with lots of youtube piano covers of Castlevania.)

So of course I find myself back at this blog to fill the leftover time, it being so many weeks (months, actually) since I was able to do a double update weekend (spoiler, I did not finish a second update :) ).

This episode, Yugioh decided to legitimately enter romance territory and y’all it is something. And I don’t mean it in a “Ain’t that something!” sort of way, I mean it in the “That is...something.” Kind of way. And for the first time in forever, I actually have to talk about romance today. For once that is actually something this episode is about. For about 5 entire minutes. It’s staggering.

So lets get into it because the stance the show decides to take against the only valid romantic relationship it’s had outside of Pegasus sure is something.

Duke has managed to get inside Pegasus’ facility/Place Duke works at every single day. Incredible that he finally made it inside of his actual workplace. Whether he just found an open door or Metal Geared up a trash chute is undeclared, since that was all off screen between episodes, but maybe he has to do this like...all the time? Like heaven forbid Duke ever leave his phone at the office because this place seems iron clad and apparently there is absolutely no one he can call to let him in.

Like for reals isn’t Duke upper level management or something? Like a team director for an entire model of card game? Wtv, I guess he got demoted at some point and now he’s at the same level as a Google temp.

Duke used to air on international TV, just throwing that out there. He used to be a very big deal. Course, for all we know, maybe he also got locked out of his game store all the freakin time?

Anyway, he finds some random room he’s decided is the security room and uh...

Starts just mashing buttons.

I assume that he was just mashing the entire time it took for this duel to last, PS, because we all know that password, but does Duke? Is Duke, in fact, the only character left on this show that doesn’t know Pegasus’ password because he wasn’t there in most of S1?

(read more under the cut)

As Joey is playing Mai, he’s noticed that she is freaking out, but only intermittently. She’s going in between personalities like Yugi and Pharaoh.

In the show it makes it seem like she’s “Snapping out of it” as far as the Orichalcos’ effects go. But like...becoming a stumbling crying mess in between card draws is sort of like...not making Joey look like a good guy.

In fact, this episode goes out of their way to try and paint him a hero but they didn’t accomplish that. They start to. It starts to look like that. As Mai is breaking down, she loses her weird Oricalchos ability to no longer feel fear, and Joey takes the opportunity to try and get her to away from the dark side.

Thing is, the duel has already started so it’s kind of moot now since neither she nor Joey really know how to end the duel without killing the other. So it’s like he’s trying to reach out to her the only way he can since this duel wasn’t his choice anyway, but it is in a way that is killing both of them. Symbolism, I guess.

You know, it seemed like the show just needed a way to put a timer over Joey’s head and this was the only excuse they could give because the right thing to have done is just not play anything.

And that whole thing last episode where Pharaoh was like “there is ONE way out of this situation” I assumed would be about a tie. I kind of just assumed a tie would take place like between Kaiba and Alister...instead...it got weird.

First off, Valon--out of all people, Valon the drug card pusher of the wacky accent--decided to be more heroic than any of our heroes who are currently just gawking at a force field.

It’s been like 4 seasons since Yugi jumped and hung off the edge of a clocktower, only holding on by the point of his pyramid puzzle, and I keep seeing situations where we could see Yugi impress us yet again and instead he keeps his feet planted firmly on the ground while random ass Valon just shoots into the air like a rubber band.

Why didn’t I just assume that when Pharaoh said “I know how to beat this.” he meant to punch it directly in the face?

I’m pretty sure it’s an allusion to the fact that Oricalchos takes away your sense of fear that these three are constantly being huge idiots and jumping off ledges and out of airplanes but like...

...they are wearing a lot of padding, to be fair.

(I joke about Joey getting possessed as if he hasn’t been already)

And so Valon, this evil as hell villain who’s probably killed countless numbers of people up until now just starts freaking out about Mai. Like, a lot for this show. Like we even get a really awkward death squeeze. And like she ain’t even dead.

Almost like Severus Snape in that awkward Harry Potter Movie flashback, but Valon actually dated her once (I could go off about the Harry Potter movies but I’ll spare you.) It’s just every time Mai passes out there will be some man crying over her that she doesn’t even seem remotely aware of when she’s awake.

Like remember how Mai got engaged and she forgot? At the time I thought that was super weird but I’m starting to realize she probably just took a nap or something and then boom.

So although none of this is Raphael’s business, he’s so annoyed at Valon for possibly pissing off Darts that he decides to deflect his anger onto Pharaoh--who wasn’t even participating in this duel.

I mean Raphael wanted to kill Pharaoh anyway but it still feels like kind of a reach.

Speaking of reach...I miss our really good storyboarder. Check out that foreshortened hand. Man Yugioh, the whiplash from good to eh. It’s so much whiplash.

So, in a burst of green light, the three bikers vanish.

And I guess now they can just use Mai’s bike whenever, because it’s not like she’s gonna use it. But I doubt very much Tristan will remember that.

And so, this is about where this episode’s romance goes a little weird because Joey just...

Am I supposed to want Joey to break up Valon and Mai? Like I know one time Joey attempted to take a fireball for her (but didn’t, that was Pharaoh, who isn’t currently crying about Mai despite taking a fireball for her), and then another time Joey dueled Marik for her (and lost.) But like...then Joey lost touch with her for over a year and legitimately didn’t seem bothered until just now when she showed up.

Valon not only seems at least 2 years older than Joey, he’s also stuck around with her for longer than a week, which is much longer than the amount of time that Joey Wheeler has spent with her (while she was conscious). And listen I don’t ship, you know me, but I feel like the show isn’t doing a good job to convince me that Valon is anything but loyal to Mai. Just throwing that out there.

It just comes off that Joey is jealous and unable to cope with Mai being around another guy, when it’s like...Joey...Mai was gone for over a year. You can’t claim dibs anymore. It’s possessive this episode to a degree I don’t think the writers wanted to go. It feels like an accident that they wrote him like this.

I guess, story wise, Joey needs a reason to duel and be on this show--but why must it always gravitate around a girl who’s actually just fine without him?

Like Mai right now is a mess but she wants to be this mess. Personally I think he should respect her decision and give her space but I guess this show really wants to go the angle of “If your friend goes off the deep end, dive after them” to which I would like to say “or don’t.”

Like I think this is all on a case by case basis, but...Mai’s MURDERED people (and a gas station). Although one of them was Pegasus, who doesn’t count, this is still a situation where you should maybe avoid your friend and just call the cops already. If there has been a murder, especially if there’s been over 20 murders, it’s OK to finally call the cops. Mai is a SERIAL MURDERER, which should never mean “she can come back.”

I mean it’s not like any of these kids decided to start hanging out with Marik, right? And I mean they kinda all decided unanimously that maybe they should hold back chilling with Bakura? This should be old hat for them now. They’ve had to deal with the murderous betraying friend so many times. Why must Mai be so special?

But I guess that is Joey’s whole shpeal, isn’t it? That’s Joey’s magical superpower? He wouldn’t be friends with Yugi if he was bothered by his friend occasionally going Pure Asshole. And Joey did have a darker background himself (which is something the show keeps telling me but I have never actually seen because we haven’t seen it in Season Zero. Which honestly means I should do a Season Zero next because how long am I going to wait to watch that Joey backstory?)

So I guess I should stop being so practical about it, this is a fantasy story, and the fantasy of Joey Wheeler is that he can actually try to keep the people in his life from going topside and it actually works. The most magical person in all of Yugioh if that’s true because you ever try and change a drug addict? There’s a reason why they have therapists for that.

Speaking of topside,

Kaiba just shows up in the middle of a Joey meltdown and youknow what? He’s barely even that surprised that these guys are in San Fransisco crying on the floor of his ex-competitor’s lobby. He’s just so used to this.

And so, we’re all going to ignore Joey and just try not to notice Rex and Weevil and instead talk about cards.

Ps in the show Mokuba says his brother “swept the floor” of Alister when like...Seto nearly died multiple times. Mokuba’s so ready to lie his face off to save his brother’s face when like...no one asked. He just volunteered this information.

That and Mokuba might not actually know how this game is played (NO ONE REALLY KNOWS) and legitimately thinks his brother did really good in that card game. We still don’t know entirely what the title “Battle Commissioner” even meant and knowing this company it was probably a secret job made to hide lots and lots of illicit insider trading. Because we all know Mokuba wasn’t playing cards.

So, Yugi remembers that he has this key card that is a card with a key printed on it, and figures...it probably opens a door or something. That maybe they should do that thing they came to California to do, and since all (counts on fingers) 9 of them (10 if you count Pharaoh) are here, they may as well all do it together.

Meanwhile, every animator in that studio cried a single tear over the amount of bad hair they will have to shove into every frame between 9 of these people. Crowd scenes wow.

And what’s great about this next shot is that you have no idea which way Joey’s head is pointed. I dare you. take it in.

And so they all go up to the top floor with Duke Devlin while these two are just...still here.

Rex and Weevil are still here. Despite everything.

(forgive me if this is a joke I forgot I read off of tumblr once. I’ve been reviewing this show so long I just...I don’t remember what jokes I’ve already made)

(Also, I can’t believe they stuck in Rex and Weevil but didn’t put in Mokuba into this shot.)

So they open the cryptic door with the cryptic Keycard and enter...Pegasus’ room of toon suits.

I imagine he just pulls these out whenever there’s an event in the city, just like “Hell yes hell yes it’s Bay to Breakers time to be a parrot with boobs for some reason.”

(fun fact, despite the weather, SF is home to 3 clothes-optional beaches. You can see two of them from the Bridge.)

And so Pegasus decides to tell everybody what we already know. Rex and Weevil have overheard this, but they’re busy like...looking for trading cards in all these mascot suits. Whatever makes it easier for this team of animators. Like you never really think about it, but kid’s shows have just a hell ton of crowd scenes. Worse than a Marvel comic right here.

PS, if you are designing a comic or a drawn story of any degree--just never allow a party to be more than 4 people at a time, Kill off anyone you have to in order to make this happen, you’ll thank me later. Never EVER a draw a crowd scene. Once you do, then other people will think that you can draw crowd scenes, and you never, ever want anyone to know that.

It was nice of Pegasus to let Arthur Hawkin’s take the fame for Atlantis, I guess. But like...Pegasus just...he really doesn’t seem to care about the fate of humanity unless it inconveniences his card game.

Bro brought up “how much do you think Pharaoh even knows about America other than it’s a place across the sea that Rebecca lives? Like do you think that he has a good grasp on there being 7 continents?” and I’m guessing...not much. Course this is like a weird America with mesas and deserts in Napa so...I don’t know if the animators have a good grasp even.

Anyway, where do you think the key is?

And What do you think the key is?

So in the show Kaiba sees this card and goes “It’s a worthless card” (because I dunno maybe he forgot for the zillionth time that this was how he got turned into a playing card) and then Pharaoh replies “Maybe to you it is.” and like...

...You know the thought crossed Pharaoh’s mind.

To just put a little Seto in there.

Youknow, it took me 4 seasons but I can deffo see why and how Pegasus did it. If I were in Pegasus’ shoes, how long would it take me before the Kaiba kids are paper? Like 10-20 minutes tops? Especially with how completely insane Kaiba acts this episode?

And speaking of endless denial, Joey still hasn’t quite caught up to the plot.

He’s getting there, but he’s mentally still crying on the floor of the lobby.

Just Joey going all ham about a girl he hasn’t thought about in over a year. And then from the other side of the room, Kaiba is still coming to terms with Ep 2.

Like you have to hand it to Duke Devlin that not once in this entire series has he had a denial meltdown. Even Yugi had a denial meltdown (at several points) but Duke? Duke’s just winging it. Dukes just has no idea what’s happening or what he’s doing and is just winging it every second he’s been alive. He’d fit right into San Fransisco.

Like remember Duke hangs out in the bad parts of the Tenderloin for some reason, he deals with PG&E just deleting your power willy nilly and still making you pay for it, Comcast, Bay Area traffic, and, of course, the entire North Bay lighting on fire once a year, so he’s totally fine when it comes to cards.

And so Yugi, just unable to think of any solution to Kaiba being a wall just holds this up

And so with that, Kaiba has joined the party. I guess.

Well, back to eating this large stack of holiday cookies. Hope y’all have a good one--happy holidays!

It’s been a very weird year, but we’ve had some good news here in the States recently, I’m sure you all heard about it, that Inktober is legally unprofitable so now that means there will be nigh an Inktober ever again, and I am so stoked. I am so excited that the decade of hellish Inktobers is finally over.

That and the other stuff that happened but we won’t get into that ;)

Hopefully I’ll do another post before 2020 but I’m sort of in denial that 2020 is happening so I’m doing my best not to look at the calendar.

And if you just got here, this is where you can read my recaps in Chrono order from S1 Ep1

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cherrynika · 3 years

Text

It’s nice to see Alex again though he usually avoids former partners. It’s simply been long enough since their breakup that no trace of awkwardness is felt, simply a sense of familiarity. He’s more or less the same, having decided to keep the facial hair Jipyeong had always hated. It’s as sleazy-looking in real life as it is in the instagram photos he pretends he’s not scrolling through. That’s a pointless exercise that makes him wonder if he’d be more successful if he had chosen to stay in San Francisco, or if he’d still be the same person but with shittier fashion sense. It does, however, answer many questions that he’d like to ask (have you neutered Tim Tam yet, yes), prefer not to (are you married, 2 girlfriends and what was probably a sugar baby later, the answer is no), and never wondered (Crossfit is indeed life-changing; hot yoga gives you 10 more IQ points!).

Alex is cordial and professional at the Sandbox, offering Jipyeong nothing but a handshake before they sit down to grade the baby startups. But he lingers conspicuously in the meeting room after all the other judges leave. Jipyeong fingers a piece of his hair that’s come loose despite the pomade and waits.

“You look fluffier. Fatter.” Of course Alex’s first words are about his weight.

“I started eating rice again. I hated low-carb.”

“Rice or tteokbokki?” Alex smiles. “Anyway, it’s not a bad change. Let’s go to Gotgan. I have a reservation for 7pm.”

“You made a reservation for two?” Alex has always been overly confident, but that’s his charm.

“If you say no, I’ll ask Dongchun.”

Jipyeong considers him, looking almost exactly the way he did when Ms Yoon first introduced them 5 years ago. She’s always been able to look right into him and see what he wanted. As much as he respects her, he’s never wanted to tell her that her matchmaking attempt worked. Nothing he does today will have the tiniest effect on the future. All that’s in the past. All that’s waiting for him are Yeongsil and his big silent bed. So he gathers his notes into his satchel and fishes out the keys.

“Let’s take my car.”

“Let’s take the subway. It’s not far and we’ll probably get drunk.”

They stay sober. While getting drunk is fun, Jipyeong’s most regrettable moments (bar one that has surfaced intermittently for the last fifteen years) have all occurred when he was intoxicated (crying at a class KTV when Mrs Choi’s favourite song came on, dancing to Wonder Girls in front of a girlfriend’s parents). Staying sober is for the best.

Alex makes some noises about heading back to his hotel room. They both know he doesn’t mean it.

“I want to show you my new place,” Jipyeong says when they’re halfway there. He’s forgotten how private the sidewalks can be at night, cars on one side, the river on the other, blanketed in the dark. “It’s bigger than the one I had before I went to America.” Waves of headlights wash over them, illuminating Alex’s face before dipping them back into darkness. Everyone is rushing somewhere that only they think is important.

“I’d be surprised if apartments could be any smaller.”

“They’re always getting smaller.” Jipyeong jostles against him to avoid a woman on a bicycle. Alex puts his arm around him and doesn’t let go. In San Francisco this is what couples do. In Seoul they’re just old friends. Skinship, being a mentor, being a sunbae--these are all great excuses for what Jipyeong really wants to do. Even through two shirts and a lined blazer his body wants Alex’s body.

They walk in silence though the lobby, past the doorman whose chief qualification is knowing when not to look and float skywards in the lift.

“We have to take our shoes off, I just want you to know. You can leave them over there. Yeongsil, lights please.” The lights flicker on, Yeongsil is clearly having a good day.

“You know, I don’t let people wear shoes in my house either… That’s not Alexa.”

“It’s Yeongsil, it’s an AI speaker. It’s one of Ms Yoon’s more promising startups. It’s… more interesting than Alexa.” Jipyeong says, taking off his jacket and leaving it on the table. “It told me you were coming last week.”

“No, no, I told you that I was coming.”

“Yeah, but before I got your email. He tells fortunes too and he told me someone from my past was coming.”

“Everyday you meet someone from your past. And you shouldn’t let it listen to everything you do. It’s going to get hacked.”

“Astrology is in, everyone is going to love that feature,” Jipyeong shrugs. “Nothing I do here is worth any money, they can just hack my bank accounts.”

“You’re not paranoid enough for someone who works in tech.” Alex says, as he almost fondles Yeongsil.

“I’m actually trying to reduce my paranoia.” Jipyeong takes Yeongsil from Alex and stuffs him under the jacket. “Does that make you feel better?”

“No.” Alex continues to touch the other things in his apartment without permission. “Is every photo here of yourself? I know you don’t have family photos but that’s so vain. You should’ve kept some of the gang at 2STO or at least something to remind you of me.”

“The internet is filled with pictures of you. Anyway I still have the Grandpa Rudin you lent me, it’s more useful.”

“Did you really finish it?”

“I just wanted to know why everyone complains about it.”

“Well, now you know I guess. If you liked it don’t tell me.” Alex has moved on to the cardboard sign that proclaims Jipyeong the 2001 winner of the Inter High Schools Investment Competition brushing a finger over the scratch mark Tim Tam made on it before Jipyeong decided it would be safer in his closet. “I like the lamps. Are you into art now?”

“The seller had it staged, I just decided to buy it the way it was. I think it looks very cohesive.”

“So that’s why it looks like no one lives here. It’s like you don’t have any stuff.”

“No, I have the plants and I keep the EXO and Apink merch in the walk-in closet, it’s too personal to have it out here.”

“Red Velvet is better. I wish it weren’t so bloody creepy to be an uncle fan.”

Alex is still the only man with whom he can talk about Eunji and Kyungsoo and not feel dirty. He’s stumbled upon Dongchun’s Twitter (which is, in his own defense, a fascinating read) and knows too much about his deep love for TWICE. There is something a little unsettling about ajusshi fans, even if he is one himself.

“I think there’s something more interesting we can do here.” he takes the sign and puts it back on the top shelf. “I haven’t been laid in 6 months. I’m going to burst.”

“Couldn’t you have picked someone up at a nightclub?” Alex is smiling in such a familiar way; they both know this old dance.

“They’re full of university students.” Jipyeong says while helping Alex out of his jacket, which surprisingly, is only GAP. “You smell like metal.”

“It’s Sartorial, remember? From Penhaligon’s? It’s got that magnesium note.”

“You still haven’t finished it?” Jipyeong bought it as a gift while in London for him. It was so long ago, almost like a dream. He’s had dreams, whenever he’s been alone for too long, of undressing another person, but he can never remember what happens afterwards. The dream-person’s shirt has no smell, no trace of sweat. He slips Alex’s shirt off his shoulders. No undershirt as expected.

“Nope. I bought another bottle. It’s different from all the other man-perfumes. It doesn’t just smell like tonka bean.” He slips a finger over Jipyeong’s mouth, smearing his summer lip balm before dipping inside and scratching his gums lightly with a fingernail. “Your mouth is as lovely as you are horrible. Have you learned anything since we split up?”

“Test me,” Jipyeong says.

The only light in the bedroom is light pollution from the city below. It’s still more than enough to see by, despite the fact that Jipyeong’s night vision has gone to shit from more than a decade spent staring at a computer screen.

[this part not written yet]

He dozes off without meaning to and wakes up to the sound of engines. Alex is playing F1. He must have gone through his closet and found the playstation Jipyeong has been trying and failing to quit.

“You’ve got some very impressive beard burn on your jaw. ” Alex says as he overtakes Rosberg. He’s chosen the Singapore circuit. Onscreen the city is cloaked in darkness, the only thing that exists is a winding silver road and cars driving nowhere at 300 miles an hour.

He leans over and takes the controller from Alex, crashing into a Ferrari before spinning out into the barriers. “Are you bragging?”

“No, I’m just being honest.”

It’s a strange mirror of their early days when he would wake up to Alex on a coding binge, the clacking of the keyboard starting and stopping with his thoughts, the weak light of his laptop throwing huge shadows on the wall.

Jipyeong rolls forward on his belly; he wants to see Alex properly. “What do you like about Samsan Tech?”

“I like their engineering. Dosan’s incredibly talented. Their CODA algorithm builds on existing knowledge, and is an improvement on it.”

“And that’s your professional opinion?”

“What else would it be based on?” Alex fixes him with a look.

“Well. People say that you can’t be emotional as an investor. But how can it not be emotional?”

“Jipyeong. I’m excited in the way that I am when I see something beautiful. I wish you could see it too. I still can’t believe you’ve gotten so old without learning to read code.”

“I can code.”

“I don’t mean using OCaml to code a model.”

“There’s only so many hours in a day.” He rolls over and watches the dead light from the screen play across the ceiling. “I can always ask an expert.”

“I’m going back to America after Demo Day, you know. As fun as it would be to stay here and pretend we don’t know each other I have a job I have to get back to.”

“I meant other experts.”

“There are none like me.”

“Well. Talking to you is more fun.” He tangles his fingers with Alex.

“You’re not still posting loss porn on Wallstreetbets are you?”

“I just did. Lost fifty thousand on Apple puts.”

“You’re going to end up living in a corndog stand again.”

“Actually, I won’t. I didn’t tell you yet but I found her last month. She’s in a food truck now. So there’s nowhere I would go.”

“Can I meet her?” Alex perks up. He’s always loved a good story. “I want to know what you were like as a kid.”

#fic

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unsettlingshortstories · 4 years

Text

The Furnished Room

O. Henry (1904)

Restless, shifting, fugacious as time itself is a certain vast bulk of the population of the red brick district of the lower West Side. Homeless, they have a hundred homes. They flit from furnished room to furnished room, transients forever - transients in abode, transients in heart and mind. They sing "Home, Sweet Home" in ragtime; they carry their lares et penates in a bandbox; their vine is entwined about a picture hat; a rubber plant is their fig tree.

Hence the houses of this district, having had a thousand dwellers, should have a thousand tales to tell, mostly dull ones, no doubt; but it would be strange if there could not be found a ghost or two in the wake of all these vagrant guests.

One evening after dark a young man prowled among these crumbling red mansions, ringing their bells. At the twelfth he rested his lean hand baggage upon the step and wiped the dust from his hatband and forehead. The bell sounded faint and far away in some remote, hollow depths.

To the door of this, the twelfth house whose bell he had rung, came a housekeeper who made him think of an unwholesome, surfeited worm that had eaten its nut to a hollow shell and now sought to fill the vacancy with edible lodgers.

He asked if there was a room to let.

"Come in," said the housekeeper. Her voice came from her throat; her throat seemed lined with fur. "I have the third-floor-back, vacant since a week back. Should you wish to look at it?"

The young man followed her up the stairs. A faint light from no particular source mitigated the shadows of the halls. They trod noiselessly upon a stair carpet that its own loom would have forsworn. It seemed to have become vegetable; to have degenerated in that rank, sunless air to lush lichen or spreading moss that grew in patches to the staircase and was viscid under the foot like organic matter. At each turn of the stairs were vacant niches in the wall. Perhaps plants had once been set within them. If so, they had died in that foul and tainted air. It may be that statues of the saints had stood there, but it was not difficult to conceive that imps and devils had dragged them forth in the darkness and down to the unholy depths of some furnished pit below.

"This is the room," said the housekeeper, from her furry throat. "It's a nice room. It ain't often vacant. I had some most elegant people in it last summer - no trouble at all, and paid in advance to the minute. The water's at the end of the hall. Sprowls and Mooney kept it three months. They done a vaudeville sketch. Miss B'retta Sprowls - you may have heard of her - oh, that was just the stage names - right there over the dresser is where the marriage certificate hung, framed. The gas is here, and you see there is plenty of closet room. It's a room everybody likes. It never stays idle long."

"Do you have many theatrical people rooming here?" asked the young man.

"They comes and goes. A good proportion of my lodgers is connected with the theaters. Yes, sir, this is the theatrical district. Actor people never stays long anywhere. I get my share. Yes, they comes and they goes."

He engaged the room, paying for a week in advance. He was tired, he said, and would take possession at once. He counted out the money. The room had been made ready, she said, even to towels and water. As the housekeeper moved away he put, for the thousandth time, the question that he carried at the end of his tongue.

"A young girl - Miss Vashner - Miss Eloise Vashner - do you remember such a one among your lodgers? She would be singing on the stage, most likely. A fair girl, of medium height and slender, with reddish gold hair and a dark mole near her left eyebrow."

"No, I don't remember the name. Them stage people has names they change as often as their rooms. No, I don't call that one to mind."

No. Always no. Five months of ceaseless interrogation and the inevitable negative. So much time spent by day in questioning managers, agents, schools and choruses; by night among the audiences of theaters from all-star casts down to music halls so low that he dreaded to find what he most hoped for. He who had loved her best had tried to find her. He was sure that since her disappearance from home this great, water-girt city held her somewhere, but it was like a monstrous quicksand, shifting its particles constantly, with no foundation, its upper granules of today buried tomorrow in ooze and slime.

The furnished room received its latest guest with a first glow of pseudo hospitality, a hectic, haggard, perfunctory welcome like the specious smile of a demirep. The sophistical comfort came in reflected gleams from the decayed furniture, the ragged brocade upholstery of a couch and two chairs, a foot-wide cheap pier glass between the two windows, from one or two gilt picture frames and a brass bedstead in a corner.

The guest reclined, inert, upon a chair, while the room, confused in speech as though it were an apartment in Babel, tried to discourse to him of its divers tenantry.

A polychromatic rug like some brilliant-fowered, rectangular, tropical islet lay surrounded by a billowy sea of soiled matting. Upon the gay-papered wall were those pictures that pursue the homeless one from house to house - The Huguenot Lovers, The First Quarrel, The Wedding Breakfast, Psyche at the Fountain. The mantel's chastely severe outline was ingloriously veiled behind some pert drapery drawn rakishly askew like the sashes of the Amazonian ballet. Upon it was some desolate flotsam cast aside by the room's marooned when a lucky sail had borne them to a fresh port - a trifling vase or two, pictures of actresses, a medicine bottle, some stray cards out of a deck. One by one, as the characters of a cryptograph became explicit, the little signs left by the furnished room's procession of guests developed a significance. The threadbare space in the rug in front of the dresser told that lovely women had marched in the throng. The tiny fingerprints on the wall spoke of little prisoners trying to feel their way to sun and air. A splattered stain, raying like the shadow of a bursting bomb, witnessed where a hurled glass or bottle had splintered with its contents against the wall. Across the pier glass had been scrawled with a diamond in staggering letters the name Marie. It seemed that the succession of dwellers in the furnished room had turned in fury - perhaps tempted beyond forbearance by its garish coldness - and wreaked upon it their passions. The furniture was chipped and bruised; the couch, distorted by bursting springs, seemed a horrible monster that had been slain during the stress of some grotesque convulsion. Some more potent upheaval had cloven a great slice from the marble mantel. Each plank in the floor owned its particular cant and shriek as from a separate and individual agony. It seemed incredible that all this malice and injury had been wrought upon the room by those who had called it for a time their home; and yet it may have been the cheated home instinct surviving blindly, the resentful rage at false household gods that had kindled their wrath. A hut that is our own we can sweep and adorn and cherish.

The young tenant in the chair allowed these thoughts to file, softshod; through his mind, while there drifted into the room furnished sounds and furnished scents. He heard in one room a tittering and incontinent, slack laughter; in others the monologue of a scold, the rattling of dice, a lullaby, and one crying dully; above him a banjo tinkled with spirit. Doors banged somewhere; the elevated trains roared intermittently; a cat yowled miserably upon a back fence. And he breathed the breath of the house - a dank savor rather than a smell - a cold, musty effluvium as from underground vaults mingled with the reeking exhalations of linoleum and mildewed and rotten woodwork.

Then suddenly, as he rested there, the room was filled with the strong, sweet odor of mignonette. It came as upon a single buffet of wind with such sureness and fragrance and emphasis that it almost seemed a living visitant. And the man cried aloud, "What, dear?" as if he had been called, and sprang up and faced about. The rich odor clung to him and wrapped him around. He reached out his arms for it, all his senses for the time confused and commingled. How could one be peremptorily called by an odor? Surely it must have been a sound. But was it not the sound that had touched, that had caressed him?

"She has been in this room," he cried, and he sprang to wrest from it a token, for he knew he would recognize the smallest thing that had belonged to her or that she had touched. This enveloping scent of mignonette, the odor that she had loved and made her own - whence came it?

The room had been but carelessly set in order. Scattered upon the flimsy dresser scarf were half a dozen hairpins - those discreet, indistinguishable friends of womankind, feminine of gender, infinite of mood and uncommunicative of tense. These he ignored, conscious of their triumphant lack of identity. Ransacking the drawers of the dresser he came upon a discarded, tiny, ragged handkerchief. He pressed it to his face. It was racy and insolent with heliotrope; he hurled it to the floor. In another drawer he found odd buttons, a theater program, a pawnbroker's card, two lost marshmallows, a book on the divination of dreams. In the last was a woman's black satin hair bow, which halted him, poised between ice and fire. But the black satin hair bow also is femininity's demure, impersonal common ornament and tells no tales.

And then he traversed the room like a hound on the scent, skimming the walls, considering the corners of the bulging matting on his hands and knees, rummaging mantel and tables, the curtains and hangings, the drunken cabinet in the corner, for a visible sign, unable to perceive that she was there beside, around, against, within, above him, clinging to him, wooing him, calling him so poignantly through the finer senses that even his grosser ones became cognizant of the call. Once again he answered loudly, "Yes, dear!" and turned, wild-eyed, to gaze on vacancy, for he could not yet discern form and color and love and outstretched arms in the odor of mignonette. Oh, God! Whence that odor, and since when have odors had a voice to call! Thus he groped.

He burrowed in crevices and corners, and found corks and cigarettes. These he passed in passive contempt. But once he found in a fold of the matting a half-smoked cigar, and this he ground beneath his heel with a green and trenchant oath. He sifted the room, from end to end. He found dreary and ignoble small records of many a peripatetic tenant; but of her whom he sought, and who may have lodged there, and whose spirit seemed to hover there, he found no trace.

And then he thought of the housekeeper.

He ran from the haunted room downstairs and to a door that showed a crack of light. She came out to his knock. He smothered his excitement as best he could.

"Will you tell me, madam," he besought her, "who occupied the room I have before I came"

"Yes, sir. I can tell you again. Twas Sprowls and Mooney, as I said. Miss B'retta Sprowls it was in the theaters, but Missis Mooney she was. My house is well known for respectability. The marriage certificate hung, framed, on a nail over--"

"What kind of a lady was Miss Sprowls - in looks, I mean?"

"Why, black-haired, sir, short, and stout, with a comical face. They left a week ago Tuesday."

"And before they occupied it?"

"Why, there was a single gentleman connected with the draying business. He left owing me a week. Before him was Missis Crowder and her two children, that stayed four months; and back of them was old Mr. Doyle, whose sons paid for him. He kept the room six months. That goes back a year, sir, and further I do not remember."

He thanked her and crept back to his room. The room was dead. The essence that had vivified it was gone. The perfume of mignonette had departed. In its place was the old, stale odor of moldy house furniture, of atmosphere in storage.

The ebbing of his hope drained his faith. He sat staring at the yellow, singing gaslight. Soon he walked to the bed and began to tear the sheets into strips. With the blade of his knife he drove them tightly into every crevice around windows and door. When all was snug and taut he turned out the light, turned the gas full on again and laid himself gratefully upon the bed.

It was Mrs. McCool's night to go with the can for beer. So she fetched it and sat with Mrs. Purdy in one of those subterranean retreats where housekeepers forgather and the worm dieth seldom.

"I rented out my third-floor-back this evening," said Mrs. Purdy, across a fine circle of foam. "A young man took it. He went up to bed two hours ago."

"Now, did ye, Mrs. Purdy, ma'am?" said Mrs. McCool, with intense admiration. "You do be a wonder for rentin' rooms of that kind. And did ye tell him, then?" she concluded in a husky whisper laden with mystery.

"Rooms," said Mrs. Purdy, in her furriest tones, "are furnished for to rent. I did not tell him, Mrs. McCool."

"'Tis right ye are, ma'am; 'tis by renting rooms we kape alive. Ye have the rale sense for business, ma'am. There be many people will rayjict the rentin' of a room if they be tould a suicide has been after dyin' in the bed of it."

"As you say, we has our living to be making," remarked Mrs. Purdy. "Yis, ma'am; 'tis true. 'Tis just one wake ago this day I helped ye lay out the third-floor-back. A pretty slip of a colleen she was to be killin' herself wid the gas - a swate little face she had, Mrs. Purdy, ma'am."

"She'd a-been called handsome, as you say," said Mrs. Purdy, assenting but critical, "but for that mole she had a-growin' by her left eyebrow. Do fill up your glass again, Mrs. McCool."

0 notes

satorisa · 7 years

Text

Lift the Veil - Chapter 7

Lift the Veil - Chapter 7: Take Me

Rating: T

Summary: After living in Tokyo for the past six years, she decides to head back to Azumano to escape the big city. However, she now has to face everything that she tried to flee from all those years ago. How exactly will she fare when the pages of a long forgotten book start turning once more?

Read On: FanFiction.Net, Archive of Our Own

...I said I would upload this on Thursday or Friday, but I was apparently fooling myself. Would’ve uploaded this earlier today, but I am tired from canoeing (it’s terrifying when the boat capsizes) and decided to practice some voice acting today. (TBH I REALLY SHOULD BE STUDYING FOR MY MIDTERMS RN.)

The song used for this chapter doesn’t really add much to the story, but since I did listen to it while writing most of this chapter, and since it is a good song, you can listen to it here. For now, enjoy (or suffer) reading about our two leads being hella awkward in this chapter.

Chapter 7 – Take Me

We need some time to mend this broken trust…

I woke up to the scent of miso soup and steamed rice accompanied by whatever was beautifully sizzling. Sitting up, I turned to see Ritsuko in the kitchen, back towards me, dutifully manning the stove with her hair up in a messy bun. She spun around to put something in the sink, and I laughed at the pink, frilly apron she wore.

“Good morning to you, too, Risa!” she called.

“Sorry! It’s just…” I couldn’t finish my thought and burst into a fit of giggles.

“Don’t judge me! It was the only thing left at the store when I went!”

I shook my head at her blatant lie before getting up and folding my blanket. Sauntering over to the kitchen, I asked Ritsuko if she needed any help. She raised her eyebrow in skepticism and told me to set the table instead, pointing at the cabinet where she kept the dinnerware with her spatula.

“So, um…” she started as I took out some matching plates and bowls. “Are you okay? Did you sleep well?”

“Why ask?”

“Well, I woke up in the middle of the night to hear you rambling on about Dark, light, and that blond guy with the spiky hair from those video games,” she explained, and I had to stifle a laugh at how she got “Cloud” from “Krad.” “I thought you were awake, so I went to check on you, but you were fast asleep, squirming around like crazy. Did you have a terrible nightmare or something?”

“I don’t remember dreaming about anything last night,” I told her while setting the table, arranging everything as neatly as I could. “But it sounds like I had my recurring nightmare again.”

“About video game characters?” I nodded with a straight face, imagining her puzzled expression and finding amusement from this hilarious misunderstanding. “Well…um…alright?” She paused for a bit. “Have you had that checked out?”

“I’ve never had a reason to go to anyone about them.”

“Well, if you say so…”

When I finished setting the table, I returned to the kitchen to convince Ritsuko that I wasn’t incompetent in the kitchen, but she only brushed me off and laughed, calling me names relating to the weird content of my dreams. When she finished cooking, we sat down at the table before digging into the meal. We weaved through moments of silence and chatter, talking about everything but anything related to last night and my nightmare. (She did, however, keep pestering me about why I was dreaming about video games when I wasn’t an avid gamer, so I gave in and told her that she had misheard the name I spoke before she finally let the topic go.)

“Hey, were you planning on heading home soon?” she asked after finishing her food.

“Nope. Why ask?”

“I have to head to the store soon, and I don’t want to keep you here any longer than you want to. I’ll be back before dinner though, so do you think you can be alone until then?”

“I’m not a kid, you know.”

“I know, but I can’t help but worry about you.”

“I’ll be fine.” Getting up with the dirty dishes, I placed them in the sink to soak for a bit. I appreciated Ritsuko’s concern, but damn, it was suffocating.

“Alrighty.”

She went into her bedroom, and I wiped down the table before floating over to her bookshelf. When I finally found the book I gifted her once upon a time, wedged in between a worn fashion catalogue and a thick textbook, she came out with her hair styled, a face full of makeup, and a well-coordinated outfit that I was wishing I had.

“Stay safe and enjoy yourself!” She closed the front door behind her, leaving me alone to read a book I haven’t touched in years and would probably regret picking up again.

In high school, during one of the many afternoons I spent holed up in the school’s library, I stumbled upon an out-of-place book sandwiched in between thick tomes detailing what seemed like the finer points of sociology. Its cursive English title on the spine stood out to me, so I took the book off the shelf to read its synopsis and checked it out the moment I realized it was a romance, immediately ditching my afternoon study plans to read it.

After I found myself thoroughly enjoying the book, I messaged Ritsuko saying that she had to read this whenever she found some free time before messaging Hiwatari, wondering if he could meet up with me that evening. Whenever he was swamped with work, I studied at the library since the Niwa household was too distracting for me if I was by myself. To make up for his absence, Hiwatari would always call me once he returned from work, guiding me through assignments and topics beyond me or keeping me company through time-consuming projects and last minute crunches because of my terrible habit of procrastinating.

After getting a message from him saying that he could grab dinner with me, I headed over to the family restaurant close to the police station and reserved a table. Mostly undisturbed, save for the waiter intermittently asking if I needed anything, I plowed through the book, miraculously finishing it despite having just started it earlier that day.

Unfortunately, Hiwatari arrived shortly after I read its ending, and he rushed over in concern when he saw me trying to discreetly cry into my hands, asking me what was wrong until I shoved the book into his face. Sighing, he slipped into seat across from me before resignedly questioning what the “accursed” novel was about. Through my blubbering, I somehow coherently explained its plot, pausing twice through my summary to order and thank the waiter when the food came out.

“Risa, please, your food’s getting cold,” he interrupted when he realized that I wasn’t even close to the halfway point of the story. “Just lend me the book, and I’ll finish it later.”

“Thank you for…ordering the food…and listening.” I sniffled before digging into my omelet rice.

“You’re welcome, but please don’t worry me like that again. Coming here and seeing you cry after you asked me to meet up with you stressed me out more than my work itself. And then I come to find out that all this fuss was over a book…” He jokingly glared at me, and I laughed.

I eventually cheered up from my food and company, and I left the restaurant with Hiwatari accompanying me back home. He called me later that night, nestled in an ottoman while I was somehow comfortable on the kitchen floor as we whispered the night away.

The next day, Hiwatari picked me up right after school and bought me two copies of the book: one for my personal use and the other for me to give to Ritsuko. (He personally didn’t like the book, but that’s because we didn’t share the same tastes in genres. He did acknowledge my books when he found them well-written, and he told me this one was much better than the usual drivel I read. [I smacked him because I knew he was only saying that to avoid getting hit, but he laughed at how little faith I had in the veracity of his opinions.])

In the span of a week, after my annotations and bookmarks marred every page, the book looked like it had years of constant wear and tear. Despite being my favorite book, it had become too difficult for me to ever read through again after graduating high school. I couldn’t bring myself to destroy it or give it away either, so I kept it perched on my desk as a reminder and a silent promise to myself.

After completely reading through Ritsuko’s copy, I heard the door ring. Without thinking, especially since I was emotionally compromised on several different levels, I opened it to see Ritsuko and Hiwatari slightly panting with concern on their faces. Ritsuko’s expression fell, and Hiwatari looked about ready to hightail out of there.

“Risa…are you okay?” Ritsuko asked as I let them in.

“Yeah…um…” I pointed to the book on the sofa while wiping away my uncontrollable tears. Both Ritsuko and Hiwatari nodded, sharing a brief look with each other before looking back at me. Ristuko patted my back before heading into the kitchen while Hiwatari followed me to the sofa, settling down as far away from me as possible.

“I sent you a text saying that Hiwatari was going to take you home tonight,” Ritsuko told me. “But you didn’t reply, so we rushed over here only to have a heart attack because you were crying…over a book.”

“To think that you would worry people again over the tears you shed over that accursed book. If I may be so bold, Harada-san, I believe you should reconsider your tastes in literature.”

I only pouted at Hiwatari’s comment, still too preoccupied with trying to calm myself down to wonder why Hiwatari, of all people, was accompanying me home. Ritsuko returned, placing two cups filled with tea and coffee respectively and a bowl of snacks on her coffee table, telling me to let her know when I’m heading out before disappearing into her room. When her door shut, I became painfully aware that she had just left me alone with Hiwatari. My tears immediately dried up, and the muggy haze that usually clouded my mind during (and after) a good cry gave way to an alertness characteristic of Hiwatari himself.

“Why…are you here?” I cautiously asked him.

“Riku and Daisuke had evening dinner plans, so they asked me to bring you back home.”

I groaned and whatever composure I wanted to retain in front of Hiwatari vanished. “Am I really that unreliable that I need people around me constantly?”

“Yes, you are,” Hiwatari scolded. My eyes widened at the sudden sharpness in his tone. “You’ve been practically drinking yourself into stupor every night since you’ve gotten here, worrying everyone with such immature recklessness that is, frankly, scaring us. If you want to be treated like an adult, you should start acting like one.”

I let out a dry laugh. “I…can’t believe I’m being scolded by you right now.” Picking up my cup of tea, I took a sip before letting it rest on my lap, staring at my rippling reflection as if it had the answers to my unanswered questions.

Silence settled between us before Hiwatari cleared his throat. Glancing up at him, he looked annoyed. Or was that distress? I really couldn’t tell anymore. “Sorry if I came across as harsh.”

“No, it’s okay,” I told him softly, absent-mindedly tracing my cup as I returned to my reflection. “Even as adults, we sometimes still need a stern talking-to.”

He nodded, opening his mouth as if he had something to say before immediately shutting it, knotting his eyebrows as if deep in thought. He sat there thinking as I helped myself to Ritsuko’s snacks in a vain attempt to focus my attention on anything but the awkwardness of these interactions. Our current relationship (if you could even call this mess one) stood on unstable ground; one wrong step out of the many that could easily occur, and this odd reconciliation we finally reached would crumble instantly.

“We should probably head out,” he finally settled on saying, getting up from the sofa. “I’ll wait for you outside.”

Going our separate ways, I knocked lightly on Ritsuko’s door, patiently waiting for her to open it. She finally appeared, makeup stripped off her face and hair messily gathered into a bun, smiling as she strutted to the door in an oversized shirt and equally baggy shorts. She gave me a hug, wishing me well before letting me out. When I heard the door shut, I came face to face with Hiwatari leaning against the wall by the doorframe with his eyes glued onto me as I stood there staring back at him. Somewhat straightening up, he got off the wall and lead me through the complex until we finally found its entrance.

On the streets, we joined the many heading towards their plans for the night. Six years later and the streets were alive and bustling, almost reminiscent of those in Tokyo. They weren’t the same in scale, of course, but I found this change comforting. After living in the city for so long, the constant busyness became my norm, and I appreciated that I wasn’t fully alone with Hiwatari. While I relished his lone company as he walked me back then on these once practically empty streets, it would’ve driven me crazy now if I had to deal with that.

Hiwatari walked ahead of me, and I couldn’t help but examine him under the meager lighting of the street lamps and storefronts. Outside of work, he didn’t carry the air of the Police Commissioner. He disguised his slim and toned body under his dull, ill-fitting clothes and hid his face behind those awful wire-rim glasses from last millennia that he apparently never needed; if it weren’t for his eye-catching hair color, he would easily fade into the background. And no confident man would stuff his hands into his pockets as he slouched: only a ruffian would do that.

He didn’t have to hide anymore with Krad finally gone for good, and he had actually gotten better with maintaining his outward appearance while living in the Niwa household, probably under Ms. Emiko and Towa’s tutelage. His casual clothes finally coordinated to some degree, and he walked around with his back fully straight. If anything, he should’ve continued down that path, especially as a young bachelor with the world at his fingertips. He could attract any woman if he tried and, if they bothered to uncover his actual personality hidden under that prickly shell of his, he’d be set for life.

Odd for me to even bother going down this train of thought, especially considering that I couldn’t even stand Hiwatari’s presence mere days ago, but I couldn’t help but notice that idiosyncrasy. When Hiwatari and I were good friends, he would always walk beside me, and I was too preoccupied with his face to bother paying attention to anything else.

Grumble.

Hearing my stomach growl, I slowed my pace down to distance myself from Hiwatari. I wanted to get home as soon as possible so I could shorten the time that I spent in his presence, but my stomach, hellbent on ruining my perfectly reasonable plan, decided to growl louder. Hiwatari turned around, looking somewhat startled, and I felt my face burn up from his attention.

“Harada-san, are you—“

“I’m fine.” My stomach decided to rumble yet again, and I hung my head down in embarrassment.

“We can stop by somewhere to grab food if you’d like.”

I nodded, lifting my head up to find a place to eat nearby. There were several fast food restaurants and convenience stores, many of them having popped up during my six-year absence, but I really wasn’t in the mood for unhealthy food. Not that I should be picky if I wanted to head home quickly, but I wanted something that I wouldn’t regret eating the next morning. I walked past Hiwatari, trying to see if there were any other places, but they all had a queue of people huddled close to their entrances.

“Royal Host is close by,” Hiwatari spoke up behind me, as if he knew that nothing interested me here.

I turned to face him. “The one by the station?”

He nodded before brushing past me, leading the way to our destination without bothering to confirm whether I wanted to go or not. We used to meet up at this family restaurant for dinner whenever I wanted to personally see Hiwatari whenever he was busy. I wished he had recommended another place since I really didn’t want to revisit memory lane, but I wasn’t going to complain about it, especially if I could get some omelet rice…

I bumped into Hiwatari, who had stopped walking while I was preoccupied with my thoughts. “Sorry,” he apologized for what seemed like the umpteenth time. “I didn’t realize that I didn’t ask you if you wanted to eat there.”

“It’s fine.”

I pursed my lips, hating how forced everything felt. We stood there, stagnant and unmoving in the sea of people, and I looked at our new surroundings to see if I could avoid going to Royal Host. Luckily, I spotted a Starbucks nestled at a street corner.

“Um…why don’t we go there?” I suggested, pointing to the café.

Bobbing his head once more, he turned around and lead the way. He opened the door, letting me in before it shut behind us. The overwhelming aroma of coffee washed over me, and a brief memory of the many late night study sessions and early morning caffeine runs (for tea) at coffee shops flashed through my mind. Hiwatari headed for the counter first, ordering an americano and pausing a beat before turning towards me.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll pay for myself.”

He faced the cashier again and paid before passing by me, choosing to sit at a table close to the entrance. I watched him take out his phone, opening what seemed like LINE before looking at a wall of text, before I turned back around to the menu, deciding on an iced tea, a bakery item, and a wrap. After I paid, I joined him at the table and pulled out my own phone.

Checking through my messages, I briefly replied to the ones Riku and Daisuke sent, hoping that some word from me could stave off their unnecessary worrying. I smiled looking at Ritsuko’s barrage of texts that started off relatively calm before devolving into a mess of typos and all caps. I also had a message from Saehara asking if I wanted to come over to Akane’s apartment for dinner to which I replied that it was about damn time before busying myself with anything, everything, to avoid conversing with Hiwatari.

He shuffled out of his seat to grab his drink but didn’t return, so I assumed he went to the restroom. When I heard my name, I was about to get up and grab my order, but I settled back down when I saw him returning with our food. I hesitantly mumbled thanks, uncomfortable with this chivalry, before digging into my food.

“Sorry,” he said again in the middle of my bite. What the hell was he apologizing for now? “I didn’t realize it would be this difficult to talk to you.”

“The feelings are mutual.”

Hopefully, that would end any possibility of Hiwatari speaking up again so I could eat my food and put this night past us. We stayed quiet for a while, me enjoying my food while Hiwatari absent-mindedly scrolled through whatever he was reading on his phone while periodically sipping his drink. Well, until something compelled him to open his mouth yet again.

“I…want to make this up to you.”

“Why?”

“Our…relationship isn’t going to get better if we run away and refuse to communicate. I want to make things right with you, if only to make this easier to bear…for both of us.”

“Hiwatari-san, keeping this cordial and impersonal is the best way for both of us. Going any further than that is…”

“Dangerous? Difficult? Nigh-impossible?”

“Exactly, so why are you insisting on this?”

He didn’t answer, resorting instead to look out the window. I followed his actions, wondering what was so interesting outside. There were just passersby and the fluorescent lights of signs and cars: nothing particularly interesting but somehow hypnotic in a way. The rhythm of the mellow jazz song softly playing in the background followed the beat of everything outside, lulling me into a brief trance.

“Because seeing you act this way because of me hurts too damn much to bear.”

I spun around with my eyes widened in shock, gasping when I found him already facing me. Instead of hiding it behind his blank expression, behind those glasses that helped to disconnect him from the world, his bared it all for anyone to obviously see. His furrowed eyebrows cast a slight shadow onto his face from the lighting above, contrasting the light colors of his eyes that crinkled in pain. And his mouth, always shaped into a slight frown, slanted in discomfort.

The cruel joke that had bubbled inside of me to break the tension around us disappeared. I managed a small smile to get my mind off the swirling emotions inside, but I could already feel my voice bubbling up in my throat, threatening the truth I could no longer keep inside.

“Satoshi, you know that I’m only like this because you hurt me…right?” I croaked, struggling to speak while my throat closed itself in on my voice.

“…I know.”

I inhaled, trying to keep a hold of the composure that I knew would break soon. “Then please,” I begged, painfully aware of my cracking voice, “leave this be. I shouldn’t have you in my life anymore; I shouldn’t even care about you, but seeing you like this…it’s…”

I couldn’t finish. The tears broke out, and I brought my hands to my face to hide and suppress the screams threatening to escape. And Hiwatari, knowing full well of his place in my life, could only sit across from me, facing the consequences of his actions and knowing, with every fiber of his being, that he shouldn’t be comforting me.

After I finally calmed down, I quickly finished my food, and we resumed our trek back to my house. The walk was silent between us, and I expected Hiwatari to leave once we arrived, but he let himself in, lying down on one of the sofas. I went into the kitchen, guzzling down a bottle of water to hydrate myself from all my crying before I joined him in the living room, settling down on a chair close to him.

“Why are you still here?” I asked, resting my head on the armrest.

“Tired,” he mumbled placing his glasses on the nearby table before rolling around to hide his face.

I watched him for a while until my parents appeared, wondering if Riku and I were back yet. Apparently, my sister was still out with Daisuke, so they just stayed in the living room for a bit, asking if I was okay in hushed tones to not disturb Hiwatari. I told them I was fine even though I was sure that I looked terrible, but they didn’t push me for answers and returned to their room without a fuss.

I grabbed the nearby remote, turning on the television and browsing through the channels before settling on one that was showing an American rom-com. Even though it was rife with clichés, I reveled in its predictability and the character’s stupid antics, trying to keep my laughter down so I wouldn’t disturb Hiwatari. When the movie finished, the front door opened, and I heard Riku and Daisuke. They said their goodbyes before the door closed, and a lone pair of footsteps echoed through the house.

Turning around, I saw Riku in a dress that hugged her torso, flowing down a little past her knees. She complemented it with matching accessories and well-done face of makeup, and I was impressed. To think that she was hopeless with fashion years ago.

She approached me, and I braced myself for a slap or a long tirade or well…something, but she pulled me into an embrace instead.

“What perfume are you using so I could steal it?” I asked, mostly joking.

She let go with a huge smile on her face. “You must be fine if you’re able to joke around like that.”

“Mostly, yeah. I was kind of scared you’d be upset or something.”

“I was worried, not upset. Especially after your dinner at Daisuke’s house.” Riku turned towards Hiwatari’s resting figure on the sofa, and she looked at him in confusion “Why is Hiwatari still here?” I shrugged. “You should wake him up since I’m back. And make sure you drop by my room when you come up.”

“So that you can scold me and probe into the depressing recesses of my mind?”

“No!” she responded, upset that I even suggested it. “I just wanted to talk about anything: the perfume, your life…you know, to catch up with my sister since we’ve been so busy. And if you’re comfortable with me poking my nose where it doesn’t belong, that too.”

“Fat chance of that happening,” I told her. “But I’ll take you up on talking about everything else. Maybe with a couple of beers?”

She laughed, shaking her head at me before walking up the stairs with a womanly grace she probably also picked up during my absence. I went to Hiwatari, gingerly shaking him awake while whispering his name until he moved. He slightly rolled over but was clearly still asleep.

“Risa, please forgive me.”

I blinked, wondering if the external stimulus of me calling his name triggered it before deciding to play along just for the hell of it. “I’ll forgive you if you wake up.”

And he did, as if those words worked. I backed away, startled at the impeccable timing. Luckily, he didn’t notice having just woken up, and he slowly sat up and put his glasses back on.

“Is Riku back?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

Standing up, he headed to the entrance and said his farewell before disappearing into the crowds of the night. Closing the door behind me, I headed to the kitchen, grabbing two beers and some snacks before heading up to Riku’s room to forget about the day’s events by chatting the night away.

#dnangel #satoshi hiwatari #risa harada #satorisa #my writing #fanfiction #and yet another chapter that hit the 4000 word mark #i'm astonished and slightly terrified at the length of the past three chapters #and now some cultural things before we move onto the actual story!#so a traditional japanese breakfast consists of steamed rice and miso soup and some type of protein with vegetable side dishes!#and a family restaurant is...kind of like a diner in a sense?#they're really hard to describe in english tbh #but they're really cool and i love them #and when ritsuko's talking about risa's dream she says light and cloud right?#the most common reading and usage of hikari is light so that's what she assumes risa is talking about #and i think it's confirmed somewhere that the the kanji for hikari is actually ice hunter and not light #and i needed to find something that sounds similar to krad (pronounced using japanese syllables) so i went with cloud #it's a stretch but it kind of works since ritsuko's not familiar with what risa's talking about #ANYWAYS...chapter stuffs #so this chapter was so hard to write #i've rewritten it a couple of times before finally coming to this #and i'm really happy with this #the middle part where they're at starbucks was initially really hard and i actually cried writing it during a rewrite #other than that i felt like i needed to add a riku scene at the end so there you go #and there's a couple of things that pop up in this chapter that you...might want to hold onto...#just saying #AND PREPARE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER #BECAUSE THERE'S GONNA BE A REVEAL #OF SOMETHING #BUT SOMETHING WILL BE REVEALED

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thedrunkedit · 7 years

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how to quit your job

Hello friends, today I quit my job! Maybe you’ve done this before and are curious as to how other people do it. Maybe this concept is foreign to you and you’ve been blessed with tolerable workplaces your whole life. Maybe you’ve never worked before. Regardless, I’m going to tell you about my experience, because it’s truly wild.

To understand how I ended up in this predicament, it’s crucial to explain the background. I just graduated in May of 2016. In the months leading up to graduation, I worked hard in class and pushed myself to do as well as possible I have always worked myself hard but it seemed especially important in that moment because there was no promise of grad school, this was it.

In between writing essays and studying for exams, I began applying to jobs. All of my business major friends already had theirs lined up and it seemed like the only way to be successful was to follow suit. I watched my friends slowly gain employment around me, getting towed out of the wake of school and into the shoreline of real life. I waited patiently, treading water and hoping my lifeline would come soon. On graduation day, I worked hard to be “in the moment”. I wanted to be proud of myself and remember that no matter what came next, I had done all that I could.

But it didn’t last long. After that rather chilly day in Boston, I went back to my Allston apartment, grabbed dinner with my boyfriend, and panic set in. I was in the real world now, but I had no idea what was next. Sure, I had friends that were still out at sea with me, treading water, but there were so few of us now that it made me nervous. If a shark came, my chances of getting eaten were much higher! What if I drowned? How long could I tread?

It became a source of severe anxiety and stress for me. I felt like I had failed before I even began. Sure, I had worked hard for the past four (more like sixteen) years and had earned a coveted degree, but what did any of that matter when I didn’t have a job?! (Watch out: this becomes a recurring theme in my life.)

I embarked on the interview journey. You know the one, laden with nausea-inducing, generic questions, ones that make your brain go all fuzzy but you have to appear chipper every time you answer them? The type that makes you want to passive-aggressively burst out, “I don’t know, Donna, what do you think my greatest weakness is?” Yeah, those. It started as a test of willpower (when was the last time I did one of these? How long do they usually last?) and became a test of wits (I swear I’m smart, just look at all the current events I can talk about!).

(I’d also like to take a quick aside here to point out that most of my job hunting was completely uneventful and silent. In fact, most companies didn’t even email me to tell me that I was vastly underqualified or that my name gave them a good laugh but they weren’t interested. The majority of any job search is spent shouting into the void and convincing yourself that you hear echoes. Most of my life is also spent this way.)

After many interviews, I stumbled upon The Job (spoiler alert: the one I just quit). The Job was full time, permanent, guaranteed to last as long as I could make it, and even came with the shiny promise of promotion. The Job started out as menial front desk duties and then would transition (spoiler alert: in three months) to a back-end, hard work type role. I asked them to pay be $35,000 because I live in Boston and anything less would be extremely hard to live on. They agreed and I took it. It didn’t look or sound glamorous, it wasn’t in the field I wanted or using any of my top strengths, but it was downtown and offered me a lifevest when I was one of the only people I knew still struggling through the formidable post-grad oceans.

So, what went wrong? Well, reader, everything. I mean, that’s dramatic. It started slowly. My boss used to ask me to get her coffee all the time. This seems small and most of you would probably argue that it’s not uncommon in entry-level roles. But I was already overqualified to be in that position and, to be frank, my boss did nothing. She never lifted a finger to get any work done and coasted on the success of those beneath her. In fact, her paycheck was determined by our (the little people’s) ability to do our jobs, not her own. She also used negativity as her main driver. If the business was failing it was because we needed to do better, we needed to work harder, we weren’t up to the company standards. Miraculously, it was never because she was on Facebook four hours a day (It’s true! I saw her!).

Over time, my spirit was beaten down. When I was promoted, I was so excited to finally be seen as an equal or at least a person of value, but nothing changed. Day after day I was told that I wasn’t good enough and when I explained to her that I needed positivity and praise to thrive in my work she told me I would not receive any praise until the business was doing better. In short, if I was busting my ass (which I was!) it didn’t matter because the business was falling short.

It also, as my friend Kayt pointed out, was a system of punishment before reward. I’m sorry but if you tell me that I am a fat lard and so obese it’s a wonder that I can get through a doorway then ask me to work out, I will not want to work out. I will want to sit down and cry for a solid three hours before going home, lying in the dark, and watching TV until my brain turns to mush. I know. I’ve been there.

She also hired people who were sexist, sexual harassers, racist, bigots, you name it. It was hell. Dealing with people I genuinely did not like and being told that my hard work meant nothing was heartbreaking. I began getting migraines on almost a daily basis. I couldn’t eat at lunch anymore. My mental health was being stripped from me slowly.

So what did our perilous heroine do? She started looking for jobs. Intermittently, between cold calls and helping our receptionist, I started finding positions that were a better fit. Again, mostly I heard nothing. But eventually, I got lucky.

This morning I got an emailed offer from a wonderful place that I’m genuinely excited to work at. It isn’t perfect but no job is (except the one where I get to wear sweatpants and be a best-selling author). It has everything I need right now, including the ability to write part time.

So, friends, here we are. I told my boss I was leaving this afternoon, grabbed my things and went. The two-week courtesy didn’t exist at my company so it wasn’t rude to give such short notice. She took it surprisingly well. For a woman who made me feel like shit every day, she seemed to really care about me. She even cried a little.

But after everything I had been through (so much of which I could never fit in one blog post), I couldn’t feel bad anymore. I needed to help myself. I needed to remember that nothing is worth losing your mental health (another theme!).

I was so happy when I left today, I was beaming the entire T ride and walk home. That's a crazy feeling, my friends. I have only felt it one other time when I broke up with my high school boyfriend. Oh, don't worry, that story is coming too. Till then, stay foolish, stay happy, stay healthy, and don't try to change others. It never works and it will make you crazy.

#how i quit my job #work #job #quitting #blog #blogging #aspiring blogger #new blog #new blogger #who the fuck am i honestly #i hate tags #damn #post 2

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