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ladyc0312 · 4 years

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A Jikook Guide to RunBTS: 91-101

Sometimes, I think about some of the moments I list here and start to worry that I'm reading too much into things. And I'll be the first to admit that a bunch of them are ambiguous enough that reasonable people can differ in their interpretation.

The thing about jikook, though, is that there are so many of these eyebrow-raising types of moments that you could throw out half of them and still have enough left over to think "there's something up with those two." Especially in the following episodes...

Ep 91 "Mini Golden Bell Part 1" (Ep: 3 / KM: 1)

The ones where they make the best of sitting on the floor of an empty room and Jin and JK just barely manage to avoid murdering Tae over his less-than-excellent MC skills

03:35 - Everyone is confident that the "oh!" sound that's played is either JK or JM, but aren’t sure which is which.

8:14 - When JM gets the right answer, JK is the only one to clap.

16:38 - JK is once again the only one to clap when JM gets an answer right.

Ep 92 "Mini Golden Bell Part 2" (Ep: 3 / KM: 2)

15:00 - As he goes to measure JK's arm, JM informs everyone that JK's arms have gotten longer since he's been boxing.

15:54 - When JM keeps moving around while JK is trying to measure his arm, JK tells Suga to hold JM still.

16:31 - When JM's arm somehow seems to get slightly shorter from his stretching, JK gets excited and calls him "Jimin" (no hyung) a few times and then "Jimin-ssi."

20:03, 20:18 - When JK is singing his karaoke love song, the other guys are all over-emoting or swaying and listening, but JM just stares straight at him (and even looks genuinely emotional?) and the camera just stops showing him at a certain point. See picture above.

20:46 - When JK starts to criticize Suga's cham cham cham performance, Jimin tells JK to just sit down. And he does.

BEHIND 5:48 - After RM tries to comfort JM about his short arms by saying his legs are long, JK repeats "yes, your legs are long" and then sings a lyrics with JM's name inserted ("moon, moon, what kind of moon jiminie")

Ep 93 "BTS Marble Part 1" (Ep: 4 / KM: 3)

The ones where I still don’t understand this game but enjoy the episodes involving it anyway

0:42: Not jikook-related, but I can't not point out the adorable moment where RM makes a pun about how Marble sounds like the way Koreans pronounce Marvel and JK says "I love you 3000" to himself.

10:22 - JM and JK are sitting pretty close all episode, but it's particularly apparent here, where JM's arm is resting on JK's thigh as they read a question together.

10:40 - Reading the question is long done, but JM's arm remains.

12:21 - JM pats JK's shoulder in comfort after he messes up a question.

16:14 - After the heart-making game is over, JM and JK make hearts towards each other once more.

20:21 - JK taps JM's leg while sweetly reminding him that the pedometer game is difficult. Then they lean in to strategize together.

21:07 - JM pats JK's back when he ends up winning the pedometer game, then again when it seems like JK was tired out by it. BEHIND 1:15 - JK is sitting next to JHope in this shot. The next time we see them, JM is there instead and stays there the rest of the game.

2:10 - JK pats JM's hand after JM says that the winning team should share with the losing one so no one's feelings are hurt.

2:48 - JM appears to be sitting half in JK's lap as he explains his answer.

4:41 - JM leans into JK as he laughs.

5:51 - Another angle of the 16:14 moment.

6:25 - JM is half in JK's lap again as they watch the other team eat snacks. When JK says it looks good, JM gets a piece for him and rather intensely watches him eat it.

8:40 - JM and JK continue working on a puzzle after the game is over. When JM solves it, he shakes his whole body and makes cute frustrated noises. JK looks like he finds it adorable (how could you not?). Jimin does it again closer to JK's face and JK looks away shyly.

Ep 94 "BTS Marble Part 2" (Ep: 4 / KM: 3)

4:20 - JM & JK trace a line with their fingers together in sync and the on-screen text informs us "two hands are moving like one hand."

7:24 - After JM and JK mess up in a game, the reach towards each other and hold each other's shoulders while collapsing in giggles onto the game board. The caption dubs them "dumb and dumber."

16:28 - JM has his arm around JK's shoulders (while continuing from last ep to be half on his lap).

23:13 - When they're going back and forth about who should do the challenge, JM puts his hand on JK's thigh (the far one, for some reason) to tell him that he (JM) might get a leg cramp if he does it. JK does the challenge.

24:12 - After JK loses the leg-shaking game by only one point, JM comforts him by massaging his thigh, shin, and calf.

BEHIND 0:29 - JK yells out "Jimin-ssi!!!" after JM gets an answer wrong.

1:54 - Another angle of the 7:24 collapsing together on the board moment.

4:03 - More of JM with his arm around JK.

7:48 - JM and JK stay behind to geek out together over some sort of kitchen appliance.

Ep 95 "Let's Play with BTS Part 1" (Ep: 3 / KM: 2)

The ones where BTS play childhood games

9:17 - JK whispers to JM to ask for clarification on the rules.

11:18 - JK falls backwards laughing and, immediately after, JM does exactly the same thing.

15:23 - JK comments on how small Jimin's hands are.

31:33 - JM shushes JK when he tries to give advice on the game.

34:32 - JK puts his hand on JM's shoulder and asks for a snack.

BEHIND

7:40 - JM and JK giggle together over something.

7:56 - JK wants to show JM a jacks technique.

8:18 - JM and JK giggle together again and JM puts his hand on JK's arm as they do so.

10:24 - When JK adjusts the cameras, JM says JK is the director, then congratulates him and offers him candy when he's done.

Ep 96 "Let's Play with BTS Part 2" (Ep: 4 / KM: 3)

The one where we get the origin of “Rock Bison” - and it’s rather jikook-y!

3:18 - JM sees that JK is sad because he didn't get the top he wanted, so JM gives JK his top and takes the Rock Bison one that no one else wanted.

11:32 - JK giggles at JM repeatedly throwing his top in the background.

22:52 - JM and JK do a weird backwards handshake before competing against each other in the eraser game.

23:56 - JK claps for JM after JM beats him in the game.

31:11 - JK consults JM on which lane to choose for his model car.

33:46 - When JM reaches out to take a box that might be heavy, JK watches and stands up as if ready to assist. BEHIND 6:51 - JM stands with his hand on JK's shoulder as they watch RM compete.

6:57 - JM holds JK's arms from behind and acts as resistance for him as he does arm-lifting exercises.

10:19 - An off-camera JM tries to help JK figure out what's why the model car he built is so slow.

Ep 97 "Pajama Party Part 1" (Ep: 4 / KM: 4)

The ones where the guys wear cute pajamas and yes the Behind picture in the second part is real!

5:49 - We see that JM and JK have been drawing on their socks together. More on this in the Behind...

11:14 - JK is lying in JM's lap and they're playing around with their feet. This one is also expanded in the Behind!

22:13 - JK pokes a rod he is playing with in between Jimin's asscheeks. I... have been searching for a less suggestive way to describe this accurately and I keep coming up empty. Blame JK, not me!

22:38 - Another entry in our ongoing "it's JM's fault if JK thinks everything he does is hilarious" series, JM collapses laughing when JK skips back to the group carrying a Cooky doll attached to the rod like he hunted it. (In JM's defense, JK does look incredibly adorable doing it.)

23:54 - JK reaches over and touches Jimin's hand and the camera immediately cuts to something else.

Note: For fans of JK's satoori, it comes out multiple times in this episode when he gets frustrated with various members after they get a question wrong.

BEHIND 2:41 - JM calls for Taehyung to come sit next to him. JK does instead.

3:04 - JM rests his foot on JK's thigh as they both draw on their socks.

4:07 - After JM finishes showing off the drawings on his socks, he points the camera to JK in full focus mode finishing his drawings and JM smiles like it's the most adorable thing ever.

5:26 - I'm sure you've all seen this clip already somewhere, but I'll describe it anyway! After JK tucks his feet under Suga's robe, JM pulls him back so he's laying in JM's lap. JM then puts his arms around JK as he grabs his decorated socked feet to show him while making silly noises. JK then picks up his foot to show his drawn-on sock and makes a different silly noise, causing JM to giggle. The shot gets cut off mid-giggle for whatever reason...

5:53 - JM rests his foot on JM's back while he adds to his sock art.

7:52 - When JK stretches his arm out to indicate some of the members, he maybe puts his hand on JM's back for a moment.

Ep 98 "Pajama Party Part 2" (Ep: 4 / KM: 1)

You'd think this would be a super jikook-y episode given those pictures, but strangely enough, there are no moments of note in the episode itself. Since you can see the pics without watching the ep, I didn’t include them in the KM score.

BEHIND 1:20 - JM complains to JK that he hasn't gotten any answers right so far. Some people have matched this to a round of the game in the episode itself where JK doesn't seem to be guessing as enthusiastically as he did before, perhaps in an attempt to make JM feel less bad. I mention it here because it's a theory I've seen a lot, but YMMV.

7:50 - JK shows JM that he has attached J and M balloons to his shirt while saying "JM" and "Jimin," making JM giggle.

Ep 99 "Florists" (Ep: 5 / KM: 3)

The one where we learn that Jin probably doesn't have a future as a florist

4:33 - When JM starts to get embarrassed because everyone is laughing about his birth flower name sounding like a dirty word in Korean, JK rubs JM's neck and then continues rubbing circles on his back for a while after, seemingly to comfort him.

19:05 - When Jimin looks confused after RM says he comes out of a glass bowl in Serendipity, JK lightly slaps him on the chest for forgetting. It's almost like it has some sort of personal meaning to him...

28:05 - After JK presents the bouquet he made (which he says represents all different kinds of love), JM says "I think I'll love it when I get it as a present." Translation note: As we've discussed before, Korean can be hard to translate because often pronouns are omitted. A more literal translation is "present if received will be loved." Most translations that I've seen interpret it as Jimin talking about himself as the recipient, but it's not totally clear. Mentioning this because I know I was wondering why this moment isn't talked about more, since it seems fairly suggestive that JM would assume JK was going to give him a bouquet of flowers he made.

28:38 - When JM explains what "Serendipity" means, he's looking at JK (I think - I'll be totally honest and say the angle is weird and it could be RM).

31:02 - After the florist picks J-Hope's bouquet over JK's as his favorite, JM comments that Jungkook's "looks like a real bouquet for a wedding."

Ep 100 "100th Episode Special Part 1" (Ep: 4 / KM: 3)

The ones where the show does enhanced editions of games previously played on the series and you will walk away with zero doubt as to whom the episodes are sponsored by

21:36 - When it looks like Suga hit Jimin with the badminton birdie, but he actually made a bad serve, JK approaches with his frying pan racket held out and an angry look on his face and starts to scold Suga. I’ve seen this written up as a jikook moment with JK being over-protective of JM. I’m going to be totally honest with you and say that I didn’t see it that way - JK had been getting increasingly annoyed at the other team re-doing serves and my read was that the moment was more about that. Let me know if you see it differently. Regardless, the more significant moments are the ones in the Behind...

BEHIND 4:13 - When JM is hit near the eye with the badminton birdie, JK goes over to him and checks on whether his eye was hit. JM reaches out towards him as he gets up. It's interesting to me that the others stand back and let JK be the one to check in on JM, even though Tae and Jin were both closer when it happened.

5:03 - Not a jikook moment, but JK is doing an adorable cheerleading routine in the background here and I can't not mention it...

8:39 - When JM sees that Jin and JK aren't messing around and JK was actually hit in the nose with the volleyball, he gets serious and walks over, asking him multiple times if it hurts a lot. He ruffles JK's hair before kneeling down next to him to check in.

Ep 101 "100th Episode Special Part 2" (Ep: 4 / KM: 1)

17:40 - JM tells everyone JK is good at this type of game.

BEHIND

1:06 - JK instructs Jimin (in half-informal language) how to work the box.

5:50 - JK calls out to Jimin that his photo makes him look like he's in a cartoon (and there's a slight pause when he calls him in between "Jimin" and "hyung").

7:09 - Jimin asserts that JK does look sexy in the "sexy pose" photo. He is imho correct.

9:15 - When JM is playing around after the game is over, he calls for Jungkook to cover him

100th Episode Special: Survival Directors Cut (Ep: 2 KM: 0)

5:32 - JM covers JK with his laser gun, allowing JK to escape. Not particularly shippy since they're on the same team, but including it for anyone who wants a visual aid for some sort of military AU...

#jikook guide to run bts #jikook #Kookmin #run bts

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jonspurpleskirt · 4 years

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An Unlikely Befriending

Summary: Jon gets kidnapped. Jon gets bored. And Jon makes very unlikely friends because of it. Aka: Pen and Paper saves the day (world) and Jon finally gets to have a band. A/N: This is pure fluff, no warnings apply I think. ___

The worst thing about being kidnapped by a crazy mannequin murder clown monstrousity and sitting in a cold, room with creepy wax works, tied to a chair was not the ever present terror. True the fear of Nikola finally deeming his skin good enough and skinning him alive was quite potent, but it wasn't as bad as boredom.

Jon had never taken well to waiting. His mind needed to be occupied 24/7, needed something to latch onto, to obsess about. It's why he became a researcher in the first place. Having most of his freedom taken from him made occupying himself very hard.

At least they still let him eat and drink here and there. Nikola always visited personally, her overly cheery voice bubbling forth as she chattered away while slathering him with lotion or shoving bits of take out food in his mouth. His diet those last two weeks had been very varied and healthy and he had never drank so much water before.

He still probably looked a mess, what with no access to a shower and barely being able to sleep at all. And the constant terror. Oh yeah and the boredom.

Oh the boredom.

Jon was currently sitting in his chair as he was wont to do. Thankfully not nailed down despite all the nagging from Sarah Baldwin. The coffin was singing or moaning with a slight melody behind it, depending on who you asked. And somehow Jon found himself humming along, trying to find a good melody to go with the haunting tune. It wasn't like he had anything better to do and if he didn't start doing something creative his mind would start eating itself soon.

So he hummed, experimenting with the notes, twisting them into something that was reminiscent of circus music and airships. And then he kept humming the melody over and over, forming words in his mind to go with the tune. Once the spark was lit a fire started to burn, the story branching out and out into a twirling mass of chaos and fire.

He had gotten lost in his imagination, hadn't noticed how loud he had become, hadn't heard Nikola approach. Jon screeched when she leant down over him and grinned at him upside down, nose nearly touching his.

Nikola had the gall to laugh at him, no breath fanning over his face as she did so.

"Awww Archivist! I didn't know you had such a nice voice!"

"Hrmph."

"Yes your singing was also quite good!" She straightened herself, back cracking in several places. Striding around his chair she towered over him, tattered, bloody ringmaster uniform filling his field of vision.

"I'm glad you feel comfortable enough to sing, of course! And the broken repeat is lovely."

"Hm."

"Anyway water time!"

With gleeful cackling she ripped the tape from his mouth, amused enough to not immediately shove the bottle between his teeth.

"There are words to it, too." Jon rushed to say, not exactly sure why. What was he offering her here? A solo performance?

"Oh?" she at least didn't tape his mouth shut again. For now.

After waiting several beats where both stared at each other and nothing else happened Jon dared to speak up again.

"I ah... well I wrote it myself? Not wrote, of course. My hands are tied at the moment-" He was rambling. Nikola had given him the freedom of speech and he was off like a shot, telling her everything about what he had been thinking about before she had interrupted his impromptu jamming session, terror completely terminating his brain to mouth filter.

Nikola, for her part, took it all in stride. She even settled on the floor in front of him, blinking every now and then to indicate that she was still present.

"It's such a shame." she finally spoke, holding the water bottle to his mouth, letting him drink of his own volution for once. "You would have made a perfect piece for the choir. Hm maybe what will be left of you will do."

"I could sing for you now." Jon offered as soon as his mouth was free again.

Nikola startled at the offer and Jon just shrugged as much as he was able to. He'd rather sing to a creepy murder doll than spend one minute longer alone and bored out of his mind. And if he could delay the Unknowing (and the violent removal of his skin) by keeping Nikola entertained than even better.

That sounded like he almost had a plan. Which was untrue. He only had a very strong desire for entertainment.

"No sneaky questions." Nikola warned.

"Promise. I can't guarantee good quality rhymes, though. I'm still workshopping."

Singing out loud what had been in his head was always an awkward affair. He had wanted to start a band with Georgie in uni. But it was exactly because of this that he had never bothered.

"That was fun!" Nikola screamed after he was finished nontheless. Clapping her hands in delight, which created a horrible cracking noise.

"I'm glad? I also DM."

She tilted her head at him. "What's that?"

Jon explained the concept of pen and paper games to her while she rubbed lotion into his skin and had her hooked immediately.

Later that day (or maybe the next day, really Jon had no concept of time anymore) Jon was for the first time allowed out of his chair, carefully rubbing circulation back into his hands. Nikola had only briefly left him alone after watering and lotioning him. They had hashed out what kind of world and system they wanted to use (a horror setting, of course) and then Nikola was off and dragging Breekon and Hope back into the room so they had enough people to play.

Either Breekon or Hope sat down behind Jon, large hands lightly clasping his arms, squeezing every once in a while to remind him that should he try and escape he would only end up in pain.

Jon shifted awkwardly in the grip, unused to gentleness even if it was supposed to be threatening.

"Alright. First, character creation. Who do you guys want to play?"

It became a daily thing. The three beings in his group quickly became addicted to his story telling and to the characters they were allowed to play. Nikola tore through characters, trying on different personalities like pieces of clothing. She had a beautiful eery singing voice, Jon was surprised to find out when she had decided to play a member of a steampunk band.

Breekon and Hope were less manic, too attached to their twins to play anyone else. They changed voices and accents every session, though. Jon deigned to ignore their shenanigans, scared to make them angry. He hadn't had this much fun in ages, he didn't want to loose that.

The two delivery men took turns holding him down while they played, Hope holding onto his arms and Breekon using him like a child would a Teddy bear.

Eventually the three lingered after their sessions had ended, the ropes that tied him to his chair less tight. Jon tried to keep the conversations casual, to not ask all the questions that burned at the tip of his tongue. He found that he didn't need to. Tongue loose from goofing around Nikola was often chatty, Breekon and Hope throwing in their two cents every once in a while.

Eventually the topic about Tims younger brother came up.

"Danny Stoker? Grimauldi skinned him? Hm..." Nikolas head nearly dislodged as she stared at the ceiling in thought. "Noooo." She giggled. "We didn't skin anyone that night, silly! We were scoping out locations for the dance! Danny's little group stumbled into us and got a little confused~"

"But Tim saw Grimauldi rip Dannys skin off of a puppet."

Nikola shrugged. "An illusion. We're good at making you people see things that aren't really there. Yet."

"So Danny is alive?"

"I believe so!~ If he didn't die in a ditch somewhere."

Jon was very careful to keep his voice as soft as possible with the next question. "Could you find him again and bring him to the Institute? To Tim and... I don't know... maybe that's a stupid idea given that he can't be sure it's really him..."

"If I track him down do I get inspiration for my character next session?"

"That's cheating." Breekon complained under his breath behind Jon.

"I... yes?"

Nikola grinned. "Wonderful! I see what I can do!"

Days went by like that, Nikola or Breekon or Hope updating him on Dannys search, which had turned out to be harder than they had thought. Well at least Jon was keeping them busy.

They were in the middle of racing a burning train into the central bank of London when a door creaked behind Jon, bathing the room in technicolour and spiral shapes.

"That is not what I thought I'd find here." A voice that wavered between confused and gleeful mused.

Jon twisted in the grip Breekon had on him. "Hello Michael."

"Hello Archivist. You've found yourself in an interesting situation." The grin Michael shot him was a knife glinting in the light before striking.

"Yes. Why are you here?"

Nikola had let him practice after Jon had explained his lack of training, much more lax with her hostage now that he fed her fascinating stories of blood and gore. So there was no trace of compulsion in his voice when he asked the question.

Michael answered truthfully anyway. "I came to kill you of course!"

"I have dips on that!" Nikola said, voice pleasant and grin feral.

"I'm sorry about that. Would you like to join the game instead?"

Michael stared at him as though he had grown mad. Impressed, curious and lightly terrified. Then it laughed that horrible, headache inducing laugh.

"There's a lot of lies and delusion." Jon coaxed, heart beating out of his chest with nerves.

"He's a good storyteller." Hope added, Nikola and Breekon nodding along.

"Hm alright. I guess I can play for a bit."

It didn't stay just for a bit. Michael stayed through the finale of the story and then demanded to start another, their little ragtag group of definitely not heroes causing more chaos than any other player group Jon had ever DMed before. And that was saying something. Hours upon hours passed, Michael disappearing and reappearing to get Jon coffee and tea to keep his voice from giving out.

In the middle of it all Michael began twitching and twisting, glitching in and out of sight before slumping to the ground with a groan, form for once near comprehensible. Another door opened and out walked Helen looking down at the Distortion in disappointment.

"Oh that didn't destroy you. Shame."

"Helen?"

"Hello Jon! I was coming to rescue you given that Michael got a little distracted. Do you want to come to the archives with me?"

Honestly Jon should have been shocked, probably angry. He was definitely sad. And yet the most he felt was just an overwhelming sense of whelp.

Jon vaguely gestured towards Nikola, as much as Breekons hold allowed him to. "Ask her."

"We're not done yet."

"Later then?"

Nikola considered Jon for a long moment, both staring unblinking at each other. "Give us an hour."

To Jons great surprise Helen just nodded and delicately sat on the chair Jon usually frequented in his "freetime" all prim and proper except for the long sharp fingers curling at the edges like corkscrews.

"Now where were we?"

Michael groaned from the floor for once not smiling. Jon felt a twinge of sympathy for him.

"Are you alright?"

"Been better. Been worse. Let's burn this village down!"

There was no end to the tale they had been playing, not with just one session of playtime. Jon felt a bit bad about that, especially because he had left it at a cliffhanger. No one seemed to be angry at him for it, though. Michael had recovered fast and was again his usual ominous cheery, albeit lightly aggressive self. He poked and prodded at Helen like a curious cat while Nikola massaged lotion into Jons skin for the last time and handed him several expensive looking bottles, rattling down a step by step skin care routine he was to follow to the t or else she would break into his house and do it herself.

Hope patted him on the head. "See you around, Archivist."

"You're really letting me go? Just like that?" Jon still couldn't believe it.

Nikola shrugged. "I found another option. And I'd like to keep doing this after the Unknowing."

"Will that be even possible?"

The grin he got from was not at all reassuring. "I don't know~"

Well that was probably the best he would get from her. Jon gave a hesitant tiny wave and, flanked by both Michael and Helen stepped through their door.

Back at the archive no one had even questioned his disappearance. A fact that made Michael and Helen laugh, even though they both refused to leave as Tim, Melanie and Basira questioned him about his whereabouts.

Martin was the only one who took Jons forced vacation in stride. Maybe he even was a little too happy about a group of mannequins harassing him to take better care of himself.

"You're not compromised now, are you?" Basira asked when Jon had settled back into his office after a long shower.

"No? Because I still don't want the world to end?"

"Good."

Somehow Jon knew that she would still keep an eye on him from now on.

~~~

When the day came to blow up the ritual site Jon hadn't slept a wink in three nights and was overcome by guilt. Despite how aweful his initial time at the circus had been and despite him knowing what horrible things Nikola and her kin did in their freetime, Jon still felt bad about probably killing her.

He tried to rationalize his feelings away, connecting his rising anxiety with the fact that Danny still hadn't been found. It was a flimsy denial.

Tim stayed by his side the whole time, resolute in his burning desire for vengeance. Jon was scared that he would loose him to this, too. Had confessed as much to Michael and Helen, who had taken to keeping at least one door manifested somewhere in the tunnels at all times. The two had started to get along well after some initial disagreement. The Spiral, split as it was between the two of them, was weaker in its influence now, leaving more of Michael Shelley and Helen Richardson to make decisions.

They weren't here now. Daisy, Basira and Tim were, setting up explosives and arguing about rescuing people that were already long dead.

And then Nikola appeared and the dance started and nothing made sense anymore.

Jon woke up six months later, Georgie calling him a monster and Basira giving him a statement to "eat" catching him up on everything he had missed. Tim had miraculously survived, having been dragged through a door by either Helen or Michael. Daisy and Basira had encountered Breekon and Hope, who had argued about what they should do with "Jons feral friends" and in the end had led them savely out of the building before it could go boom, muttering about possible inspiration points.

The only one who hadn't been saved was Jon. He tried not to feel too hurt about that.

Coming back to work was as anti climatic as it had been after the kidnapping. The only one who seemed happy to see him was Martin. He had apologized profusely for the hug and promptly stopped doing so when Jon dashed forward and back into Martins warm embrace, finally breaking down.

He had been too caught up in his crying to make a note of the little kiss Martin pressed into his hair.

They all were a little lost after averting the apocalypse, normal everyday life eluding them. Elias might have been out of the picture for the moment, but Peter Lukas had taken over and fighting against the isolation was taking its toll on everyone.

They were all huddled in the breakroom, faces grim and stewing in silence so as to not break into an arguement when they got their delivery.

Breekon and Hope stepped into the small space with their usual nonchalance dragging a scared young man between them, who had a lot of resemblance to Tim.

"Delivery for Jonathan Sims. Nikola says hi."

Tim was the first one up. "No... No no nononononono that can't be. He's dead. Jon. Jon tell me is that really him?!"

Jon looked at the scared man, who had his gaze locked on Tim, recognition slowly dawning on his face. He Looked and he Knew.

"Yes. No one was killed the night Danny disappeared. His group encountered Nikola and her troupe during a rehearsal, got confused and then lost. And was lost ever since. Nikola told me of this. She promised to find him for me, for you."

That was all Tim needed to rush forward, catching his brother in his arms and hugging him close. "Danny!"

Danny clung back just as tightly, awareness barely back. Still obviously shaken and confused.

Jon smiled at the two delivery men. "Thank you. Will he... will he be alright."

Hope shrugged. "Dunno. Nikola said to make him remember bit by bit. Been not Danny for a long time. Might need to get used to it again."

"We'll take it slow." Tim promised, silent tears streaming down his face.

"Good luck. Hey Archivist, do we get inspiration, too?"

Jon laughed, incredulous. The others in the room watched the exchange with varying degress of exasperation and outrage.

"You know what? Yes. Yes you have. And I'll give you all advantage on your rolls next session. Only that one session, though! Same for Nikola. How is she, by the way?"

Breekon made a so-so sign. "Restless. We've waited over six months to find out what happens after that cliffhanger you gave us."

"Right." He still couldn't believe it. "Tonight 8 o'clock, my flat?"

Twin grins, the most excited he had ever seen them. "See you then, Archivist."

Tim was still gently hushing his brother, rocking back and forth on his feet to try and calm him down a little. And he still had tears streaming down his face, looking like an absolute wreck. But he still managed to join the unimpressed stares that were thrown his way by everyone but Martin, who at this point had just started to roll with the punches.

"You really befriended the clown club and made them rescue literally all of us?" Basira asked in a deadpan voice.

"I kind of feel cheap now." Daisy muttered. "As though those clowns let us win."

"Look, what can I say? Pen and Paper games are fun. I can't blame them. And Nikola did want to start a band."

"Oh my god." Melanie groaned, her head thunking onto the table. "I can't believe it."

"A band?" Basira asked, suddenly much more alert. They really had gotten quite desensitized to the whole monster thing, hadn't they? "What, you can sing?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. But really. Shouldn't we... I mean shouldn't we focus on Danny? There's a cot-"

"I know." Tim interrupted. "We all know there's a cot. I'll take him home, you keep talking about your weird band plans. Monster boss? We talk later, but... thank you."

Silence reigned long enough to follow Tim out of the Institute before Martin piped up, cheeks reddening before he had even opened his mouth. "Could we... Could we have a taste?"

"A taste? Of what? My voice?"

"Hold up, if Sims is going to sing I'll have to record it." Melanie tapped on her phone and held it into the room as one would do a microphone. "Alright go."

Jon sighed, what he didn't do to keep up the group morale.

"Aww shit." Was Basiras conclusion when he was done. "What kind of music were you thinking of playing?"

"Steampunk."

"Count me in."

~~~

Today had been weird, Jon thought, mind reeling from the whiplash of... kindness? That had happened after the delivery of one Danny Stoker. Granted the last month, no

year

had been weird. But this had topped it all. At least it had been a nice weird.

Jon had nearly forgotten about his appointment with a certain group of Strangers when he got back to his flat, overworked, hungry and still processing. So he should be forgiven for the scream he let out when he saw three large figures huddling on his too small couch.

"You haven't been taking care of your skin at all!"

There was no time to duck away from the cold, hard hands that fluttered all over his body. Nikola squished his cheeks like a proper grandmother, clearly unhappy about their elasticity.

"I was in a coma for six months."

"And awake for a few weeks now." A cheerful male voice said from behind him, bringing the smell of pizza with it.

"We were there he didn't take care of himself at all!" Helen added, putting down several cans of soda and what looked to be instant coffee.

"You're horrible!" Nikola wailed, manhandling him until he was squished between Breekon and Hope. "All my beautiful work! Ruined!"

"Uh... sorry?"

"You can make it up to us with weekly sessions." Michael suggested with a grin.

"Both on Saturday and Sunday!" Helen added.

"I actually planned for Sunday to be band day." Jon lied. "Basira wants to join, by the way."

They were all settled around the small coffee table now, food and drink on the floor so they had enough place to roll their dice.

"Wonderful! What did you think we'd name it?"

Jon tilted his head given the illusion of thinking it over even though he had known what to name his band since highschool.

"The Mechanisms."

#tma #jonathan sims #nikola orsinov #breekon and hope #michael the distortion #helen the distortion #kidnapping #fun times #humor #fluff #fanfiction #my writing #everyone lives cause i said so #even danny #enemies to friends

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writethelifeyouwant · 4 years

Text

Dive Bar, Ch. 1/?

Pairing: Dean x OFC (Dany) x Sam (brief), Dean x Sam (eventually) Rating: 18+ Prompt/Summary: @spnkinkbingo square - Gay Panic (eventually, I don’t know how to write short things, so the gay panic comes later). Dany and Dean hit it off at a bar and Dean is confident it’s a sure thing. But Dean doesn’t know that Dany’s has a dare to complete, and he definitely didn’t imagine his night would end with his pull inviting his little brother to come home with them too. WC: 3278 Tags: alcohol, cheesy flirting, tags will change next chapter 😉😏🍆 A/N: Okay, let’s be real. Anyone who knows me by now, knows I can’t fucking cut to the chase. Welcome to part one of who knows how many. If you want the smut quickly, I encourage begging 🤣(and so does Sam 😏) Ambience: Really want to set the mood? Welcome to a dive bar in Nowheresville, USA: Playlist and Ambience

***

Sam told Dean he was crazy for even trying but Dean had a sense about these things; Sam didn’t. He was too considerate. Sam thought the fact she was out with her girlfriends meant she wasn’t interested, she wouldn’t want to be bothered, but Dean knew better. The ones who went up to get the next rounds were the ones who were looking to be bothered. They were separating themselves from the pack on purpose, to give guys the opportunity to pick them up and show them a good time. They wanted to prove to their friends that they were desirable. It wasn’t a bad confidence boost either, even if the guys that came on to them weren’t what they were after.

So, when the girl with the flirty eyelashes that had been staring over at Sam and Dean’s table for the past half-hour spun off her stool and went to lean against the unpleasantly sticky bar, Dean knew his window had opened.

“Watch and learn Sammy,” Dean smirked and slapped Sam’s shoulder as he sauntered over to his target, fixing his best smoulder in place.

The girl felt movement behind her when Dean slid up and motioned to the bartender that he was after another round, and she turned with a coy but almost predatory twitch to her smile. She knew exactly who was behind her.

“Hi there,” Dean was almost leering at the girl.

Across the room, Sam was resisting the urge to put his head in his hands and pretend he’d never met his brother. This was gonna be a train wreck. At the very least, Dean was about to end up with one of those margaritas the bartender was laying down in front of her thrown in his face.

Deciding to spare himself the second-hand embarrassment of watching Dean crash and burn with the coed he’d been eyeing since they arrived, Sam let his eyes wander the rest of the bar absentmindedly. He was nursing his second beer of the evening, after pounding back his first one with Dean in their stupid post-hunt ritual.

It was new, their whole ‘who can down their beer the quickest’ routine. Before Stanford, Sam was lucky if his dad let him split a beer with them after a hunt, let alone chug one. But ever since he and Dean had been back on the road, it was like Dean was trying to make up for a bit of lost time, and things that absolutely smacked of immaturity were becoming part of how they lived their lives. Like how now, after a successful hunt, they always raced to the bottom of the first beer bottle, leaving the loser to buy the rounds for the rest of the night.

When Dean started it, it was because he figured he obviously had the upper hand. He had years more drinking experience than Sammy, and there was no way the little geek had drunk that much at college.

What Dean didn’t know is that, for a while there, Sam and his friends had gone through a bit of a mental breakdown that manifested itself in endless parties, borderline alcoholism, and a very brief experimentation with some drugs on the ‘gateway’ end of the spectrum. Really, it was Sam’s best friend Brady pushing all of that, but with how he had grown up, Sam felt he was due some kind of breakdown, and it had felt good to let go for a little while. So, when Sam beat Dean in that first chugging contest, it became a whole different ball game. Now every time they did it, Dean was defending his honor. And he defended it about half the time but that night, Sam had won.

Exhaling quietly in amusement at the absurdity of their routine, Sam spared a glance back towards Dean at the bar. He quickly ducked his head down when he realised Dean and the girl were looking over at him, like Dean was talking about him. Why would you spend time telling the girl you’re trying to bang about your weird kid brother? Maybe she had asked who Dean was there with, just making small talk.

Yeah, that must be it, Sam thought to himself as he took another swig and realised he’d finished it on the sip before.

Torn between wanting another drink and not wanting to walk into the middle of a Dean Winchester flirt fest, Sam tried to quietly observe his brother again, hoping he would have struck out by now and it would be safe to approach. Peeking out from behind his hair Sam could see them leaning against the high wooden bar quite cozily, and laughing all nice and friendly-like.

Damn. It looked like Dean was gonna be right about this chick; she was into him. Really, she shouldn’t be surprised. Everyone’s into Dean. And now he was gonna have to sleep in the Impala tonight. For once he’d like to just have a drink with his brother and go home (to the motel) and sleep in his own (motel) bed. Just perfect.

When Dany turned around to acknowledge Dean, who had just sidled up behind her at the bar, she was very pleased with herself.

Guys are just too simple, she mused.

“Hi there,” Dean smiled down at her (he was considerably taller, despite her heels), charm turned on full blast.

“Hey yourself,” she smiled back. She was friendly, but careful not to be too forward. Dean was the kind of guy that felt proud of winning the chase, she could just tell. And considering how forward she was planning on being after she made sure this guy wasn’t an axe-murderer, she figured playing coy for a little wouldn’t hurt.

“So, this is kind of embarrassing,” Dean leaned down conspiratorially but still had to speak quite loudly to be heard above the noise of the bar. “My brother over there is a little shy.” Dean jerked his head behind him, to indicate where he had left Sam a moment before.

Taken by surprise, Dany leaned back to look at Sam sitting alone at his high-top, who happened to look over at the two of them at the same time. Sam quickly ducked behind his bangs, trying very hard not to make eye contact. Dany giggled to herself. She had figured this guy was about to chat her up but he was over here asking for his brother who, based on his reaction a second ago, definitely was shy. How cute.

“And,” Dean continued speaking and pulled Dany back from her thoughts of his shy and cute younger brother, “he wanted me to ask you for your number, so he knows how to get a hold of me tomorrow morning.”

It took a second, but when the penny dropped Dany burst out laughing. Dean beamed, proud of his choice in pick-up lines, and let Dany get the giggles out of her system. “I know, I’m adorable.” Dean shrugged as if to say ‘what can you do?’ and leant back against the bar, bringing himself closer to Dany’s level. “I’m Dean.” He held out his hand and she took it, still stifling the last of her laughter.

“Well, let me congratulate you on your originality Dean. I genuinely have not heard that one before.”

“Do I get a prize?” Dean’s eyebrows arched cheekily.

“I don’t know,” Dany shrugged. “What do I get out of this deal?”

“Sweetheart, you get whatever you want.”

“How about we start with a drink?”

“Sure your friends won’t mind me taking up all your time?”

Dany looked behind her to where she’d left her friends. They were all giggling and looking at her and Dean at the bar but trying to look like they weren’t paying attention to them at all. She shook her head despairingly at how unsubtle they were. Her friends were the worst. But she supposed they had more of a vested interest in how her night went than usual. Tonight was her dare night.

“I think they can live without me for a little while.”

“Wow, you’re really putting ‘em back sweetheart,” Dean laughed as Dany drained another beer. She was matching him round for round.

“Well, I came out to have a good time tonight,” Dany shrugged, smiling mischievously.

“How’s that working out for ya’ so far?”

“I’d say, so far so good, Dean.”

Dean made finger guns at the empty glasses. “Get you another?”

“Yeah, thanks,” she grinned as tucked her hair behind her ear.

Dean rocked up to the bar and motioned to the haggard looking student behind it that he was after refills. When something brushed against his shoulder he jumped, reaching under his jacket until he realised it was just Sam.

“Hey,” Dean drew out the ‘y’ on the end of his word. “Ma’ man Sam.” Dean smacked Sam’s shoulder and his brother tried to tamp down his bemused grimace.

“How buzzed are you, dude?”

“Just the right amount Sammy,” Dean grinned wolfishly as he accepted the new beers from the bartender. The kid tried to take Sam’s order but Sam brushed him off. “Woah, you’re not tapping out?” Dean’s concern was almost comical.

“Yeah, I’m just gonna go back to the motel. Grab some shut eye.” Sam tried to sound sage, like he was making this move because it was the smart, responsible thing to do, and not let on that it was his loneliness driving him home too early for Dean’s approval.

“No, come on man, I’m not letting you be a sap tonight.” Dean waved over to the bartender for another beer, over Sam's objections. “N- listen. You’re gonna take this beer, bring it over to my table with Dany, and we’re gonna pick you out one of her friends.” Again, Sam tried to protest but there was a cold glass sloshing into his hand and a commanding grip on his shoulder and… he was always gonna follow Dean. “They’re all college chicks Sam. One of them has gotta be geeky enough for you.”

When Sam got dragged to the edge of the table where Dean had left Dany a moment ago, something felt off. Sure he felt a little awkward becoming the third wheel while Dean sealed the deal on his sleeping arrangements for that evening but that wasn’t what he noticed the most. Dany looked far too happy to have the extra company at the table. Most girls with Dean in their tractor beams didn’t want anyone interfering, he’d been on that end of the stick one too many times to forget how it felt. But Dany was relaxed and smiling, beaming even, when Dean pushed Sam into a chair between them.

Sam tried to settle into the easy conversation that Dany and Dean were having but he’s too preoccupied trying to suss Dany out to contribute much, despite Dany’s attempts to bring him into the discussion.

“So Sam, Dean said you were the college goer in your family, what did you study?” Dany sipped her beer with her eyes trained on Sam.

“Uh, pre-law,” Sam’s answer turned up at the end like a question. He wasn’t questioning what he studied at Stanford but he was questioning Dany’s motives in talking to him. Why wasn’t she just ignoring him and flirting with Dean?

“Ah, smart guy. Interesting.”

“What are you studying?”

“Media and communications. I want to go into news or television.”

“Well you definitely have the face for it,” Dean cut in smoothly. Dany flushed but she didn’t look embarrassed. She knew what she looked like.

“Okay captain obvious,” Dany laughed. “You usually try this hard to get girls?”

Sam snorted into his beer, highly amused someone was calling Dean on his shit besides him.

“Well I’m sitting here drinking with a beautiful woman. I don’t see any reason to pull punches,” Dean grinned. “Speaking of,” he leant forward craftily, “you got any other beautiful friends we can hook him up with?” Dean jerked his thumb towards his little brother. “I feel bad leaving him high and dry for the night.”

“Dean!” Sam objected loudly, rolling his eyes. Dany just giggled.

“Yeah I think I can help with that.” She drained her remaining drink and stood up. “Let me grab us one more round.”

“Sounds great sweetheart,” Dean swatted at her ass as she passed him on the way back to the bar, ignoring Sam’s further objections to Dean’s new-found mission to get him laid.

“Dude what are you doing?”

“Helping you!”

“I don’t want your help!”

“Well trust me, you need it.”

“Do not!”

Sam’s objections were cut short when Dany returned with three beers and three shots on a tray; one clear and two amber. Dean reached for the drinks to help her unload. “What are we celebrating sweetheart?” He nodded to the shots.

“We’ll find out soon,” Dany hedged, without giving up any more details. “So Sam, what’s your type?”

Sam nearly choked on his beer. “Look Dany, ignore Dean please, I don’t need-”

“No, come on, I’m invested now. What are you into? Boobs? Ass? Both?” Dany’s questions were curious but clinical. None of the teasing that Dean usually injected into the conversation when he tried to get Sam to open up about his sex life. Something in her tone was compelling.

“Are we actually having this conversation?” Sam glanced between Dean and Dany astonishedly. “Did you slip something in my drink?”

Dany laughed at Sam’s attempts to deflect but she could also see something in his face twitch, like his brows tugged up the corners of his lips. Something in him wanted to answer the question, wanted to open up to her. So she pushed.

“Well?”

Sam chuckled once ruefully, more to himself. Cracked his neck and settled back in his chair. Dany could tell he’d made up his mind, he was playing now.

“Both,” Sam smirked. He was invested now too, and he wanted to see where Dany was taking this. Plus, it had been ages since he’d gotten any.

“Okay,” Dany nodded and processed the information, deciding how that affected her line of questioning. Dean was keeping to himself in his corner, but he was having trouble hiding his grin behind his beer. This was already more than he’d ever been able to tease out of Sam.

“Okay, so, not specific about body type, what about attitude? Feisty and forward?” Dany leant forward and trailed her finger down Sam’s arm. He smirked. “Or shy, and sweet?” She withdrew her hand, and ducked behind her hair.

“Okay, why do I feel like I’m getting shut out here?” Dean laughed from his over his drink, not sounding as cocky as he hoped he did.

“Don’t worry Dean, I’m not letting you go anywhere,” Dany smirked. “I’m just doing what you asked, making sure Sam here is sorted out for the night too.” Dany turned her smile back to Sam. “So which one? You like feeling in charge? Or you like getting a little roughed up like Dean over here?”

Now it was Dean’s turn to choke on his beer. “Excuse me sweetheart, what makes you think-”

“Come on Dean,” Dany batted her eyes back in his direction. “I know what you’re after. I know you’re a boob man, that’s why you picked me. Your pick up lines and bravado, they’re looking for validation. You’re looking after your little brother, trying to make sure he’s happy, taken care of… you want someone to do the same thing for you.”

Sam and Dean were both a little speechless. Dany reached past her empty beer and grabbed the shot glass with the clear liquor.

“You sure you don’t actually study psychology or something?” Sam drained the last of his beer, impressed.

“I’m not a shrink,” Dany smiled and shrugged. “I’ve just spent some time with some people, I know what to look out for.”

“So, who are you picking out for me then?” Sam leant forward, now profoundly interested in what Dany may have deduced about what he wants in the bedroom.

“Come clean time,” Dany knocked back her shot with a grimace and let the courage that came from lower inhibitions bubble up. “My friends and me, we play a game most weeks, pick a dare out of a hat. This week mine… was ‘have a threesome.’” Dany peeked up from behind her hair to look at Dean, who looked like he had just won the lottery. Sam’s expression was cautious.

“Okay, so who else we taking home with us sweetheart?” Dean rubbed his hands together and turned to look back at Dany’s group of friends.

“Sam.” Dany answered simply.

“Which one’s Sam?” Dean was still scanning the group of coeds.

“Uh Dean, I think she means me…”

“My dare was a threesome with two guys.” For the first time that evening, Dany’s grin was a little sheepish. “Look I uh- I’m not just doing this because of the dare, it’s not coercion or anything. I wouldn’t be asking you both back if I didn’t want it.”

Dean hadn’t found his voice yet. He was just staring at Dany, mind clearly running a mile a minute, and resolutely not looking at Sam. Sam, on the other hand, couldn’t take his eyes off Dean. The only recognisable emotion on Sam’s face was the tinge of fear in his eyes, like he was waiting for the bomb to go off, and getting more and more anxious by the second the longer it didn’t.

“Why don’t I give you guys a minute to talk,” Dany stood up and pushed the shots she had bought towards them, “and I’ll go grab my purse and meet you by the door?”

“And by ‘you’, you’re speaking in the strictly plural sense?” Sam checked, fingering the whisky in front of him.

“That’s up to you guys,” Dany smiled and rounded the table, dragging her fingers over Dean’s shoulders on her way back to her friends. That seemed to be enough to jumpstart Dean back into speaking.

“Dude what the hell?” Dean’s voice was so, so close to a squeak, Sam really had to hold in his laughter.

“What?” Sam was good at poking the bear.

“What do you mean what? What the fuck?”

“Yeah, I think that’s what she wants Dean. She wants to fuck.”

“Yeah with me and my little brother!” Sam could tell Dean wanted to be shouting but he was keeping his voice to a hiss as best he could.

“Yeah, so?”

“So?!”

God Dean was so easy to wind up, Sam grinned. “Dean, have you never had a threesome before?”

“Uh, yeah, of course.”

“You’re lying,” Sam was astonished. He figured of course Dean would have done this kind of thing before. “You’ve never done one before?” Sam had to double check.

“What, like you have?” Dean defended angrily.

“Uh, yeah,” Sam’s grin was an unusual combination of sheepish but proud. “I um- I have actually, yeah.” Sam reached back and rubbed his neck, at a loss of what to do with his hands right now.

“What the fuck did you do at that college?”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me Dean.”

“Okay, so what, you’re saying you’re okay with this?”

“I’m saying, there’s a real pretty girl over there by the door that wants to have sex. And she wants it so much, she wants two dicks in the equation.” Sam fixed Dean with a firm, decided stare. And he was pretty sure that Dean’s uncertainty was about to evaporate. Dean finally met Sam’s eyes and Sam saw the fight melt out of him.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean breathed, then downed his shot.

***

Tags: @negans-lucille-tblr @hawkerz12 @akshi8278 @babybrotherandthedemon @dylansbabygirl24 @mineshinamary @popsensationnicole23 @spn-problems @donthateme454 @doyouknowsamw @peridottea91 @delightfulbakeryaliendeputy @fictionallemons

I tagged everyone who liked my ‘announcement’ post. If you want to be tagged or you want me to take you off tags, just lmk!

#spn #dive bar #dean x ofc x sam #dean x sam #wincest #spnkinkbingo #gay panic

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xxwritemeastoryxx · 4 years

Text

Death Wish Part 5

Author: xxwritemeastoryxx

Pairings: Klaus Mikaelson x Reader

Word Count: Borderline 3K

Warnings: Canon typical blood and gore, character death, married murder beans.

Author’s Note: I can’t believe this one is coming to an end. I absolutely loved writing this one for you guys. Thank you so much for sticking around for this one and giving your feedback for it. Thank you to the Anon that requested this. I really appreciate it!

Feedback gives me life and motivation for future things. ♥

You have to find her quickly.

Klaus's voice came over the speaker of Rebekah's cell phone. "We're trying, Nik."

Try harder. He hissed before hanging up the phone.

"You heard him." Rebekah said as she looked at Melissa and Marcel. "If Y/N passes that border, she'll die."

"What are we standing here waiting for?" Melissa's worry only grew by the second. And with the time ticking down until the full moon, she was more on edge than she had ever been.

"We're close." Marcel said, reminding them. "There is no way we'll miss her."

"Somethings changed." Freya called out as she looked at the map that currently had her locator spell.

The three of them moved quickly to surround the table to look at the map. The radius that Freya had managed to Narrow hadn't changed. What changed was within it. A simple dot of Melissa's blood moved in a path that showed someone's movement.

"We've got her." Rebekah said with a grin as she looked towards Melissa.

Y/N kept to the woods that surrounded the neighborhoods she found herself in. The last thing she needed was someone to see her in her current state. Finding clothes that fit her wasn't at the top of her priorities.

She knew Klaus and Christine were somewhere in the Quarter. Once she figured out which way she needed to go, there was nothing stopping her from heading in that direction. All she cared about was getting there quickly so she could tear Christine apart.

"Y/N!"

She heard her name before she caught sight of Rebekah in the distance. Without thinking, she ran and stopped right in front of Rebekah.

"Are you alright?" Rebekah asked, taking in Y/N's appearance.

"I've never been better." Y/N said with a smirk. "I need to get to your brother."

Rebekah sighed. "That can't happen. Christine ensured that if you passed where I am standing, you'd die."

"I highly doubt that." Y/N said not caring. All she cared about was getting to Klaus.

"She's right, Y/N/N." Melissa came to stand next to Rebekah.

The murderous look that had been on Y/N's had faded the moment she saw her sister standing there. "Mel." She said as she took a step towards her sister. "You're here."

"I got worried when you didn't show up." Melissa explained as she made sure that Y/N didn't cross the border.

"I need to go help Klaus. And then once I do that, you and I have a bayou to go run through." She promised.

"We can't let you do that." Melissa said, shaking her head. "I can't risk you passing this border and me losing you."

"It won't happen." Y/N said almost sure that there was nothing going to happen to her.

"We'll stay here until Klaus comes." Melissa offered, hoping that her sister would stay put.

A growl passed Y/N's lips. She looked down her nose at her sister as she took a step closer to her. "I don't care if you stay here or not. What you are going to do is let me pass. If you don't I won't hesitate to go through you."

_____

"Satisfied with your calls yet?" Christine asked as she looked down at her nails, feeling rather bored with the fact that Klaus hadn't handed over the dark object yet. "Come on, we both know any other time you'd be on my side about putting your siblings down."

"Any other time didn't involve you taking my wife as a hostage." Klaus gave her a glare. This all could be over with a simple exchange, but here he was fighting himself on it.

He wanted to say to hell with his siblings and save his wife, knowing he'd face the consequences later. While earlier he would have done it in a heartbeat to save Y/N, Klaus knew that wouldn't be something she wanted.

Y/N was a fighter, he'd known that. Even as he heard the venom in her voice about being free, he knew that she'd be okay in this. He just had to beat Christine at this game.

A small pout formed on Christine's lips at Klaus's words. "What makes Y/N Mikaelson so special? How was she able to tame the hybrid?"

“That will be something you never get to find out.” Klaus was stalling. He needed to know Y/N was safe. He just needed to wait long enough.

Rolling her eyes, Christine grabbed Klaus by the neck and pushed him against the wall. “Stop stalling and just give me what I’ve asked for.”

A smirk pulled at Klaus’s lips pushed Christine off of him, which sent her across the room easily. “Have you forgotten that you are a child compared to me? You don’t have the upper hand in a battle.”

“But I have the upper hand when it comes to the people you love.” She said as she stood herself up. “Are you really willing to protect your siblings over the woman you love?”

Before Klaus could even voice his anger on the question Christine had asked, the sound of glass shattering filled the air. Both Klaus and Christine looked towards the noise and found a light grey wolf standing on top of the shards of glass that now covered the floor.

A loud growl could be heard coming from the wolf as it took quick steps towards Christine. While Christine stood her ground, it was Klaus that had relaxed where he stood. The wolf placed itself right in between the two while facing Christine.

"It seems that whatever plan you had on keeping Y/N away has obviously failed." Klaus said as he took a step closer to the wolf. A snarl left the wolf as Klaus came close. A warning to Christine to stay away from him.

Christine’s eyes were wide as she took in Klaus’ words. “That’s not possible. She should have died crossing the border. The only way she’d be able to get out of there is if-.” Christine stopped herself to take in her options. This could likely have been a trick.

“If what?” Klaus asked at the same time the wolf snarled, taking a step closer to Christine.

“If she killed her sister.” She said as a small smirk pulled at her lips. “And we both know Y/N would never put her sister’s life in danger. Especially since this was to be the first night that Melissa turned with her sister’s guidance. This wolf is nearly a distraction.”

For a moment, both Klaus and the wolf looked towards each other before turning their attention back to the woman before them. A silent message between the two. One that had been conveyed so many times in the past.

The sound of bones breaking filled the air, indicating the wolf changing itself back into its human form. Klaus stood by protectively, keeping his eyes on Christine just in case she tried to pull something while she was vulnerable at the moment.

Y/N stood up once her body had changed completely. A smirk had pulled at her lips as her eyes fell on Christine. “Wrong again.”

Christine laughed and walked up to Y/N. “Oh you really are a match made for Klaus. Willing to go against your family like that. I really didn’t see that coming.”

“There are a lot of things you didn’t see coming.” Y/N said as she took a step closer to Christine. “All those years ago, you may have known my husband. You may have been able to get inside his head. Learned what made him tick to give up on his family. But I am the one thing that goes against everything you know.”

“Oh please, I know what has gone on inside your head as well Y/N. My friend managed to break down quite a few walls while you were with him.” Christine shrugged. “You are just as damaged as the other women in Klaus’s life. A pointless target because he’d eventually throw you aside. At least that was until he married you and then you became the easiest target.”

A humorless chuckle left Y/N’s lips before she reached up and wrapped her hand around Christine’s throat, not hesitating to squeeze. “The easiest target is standing before you still living despite your plans.”

While Christine may have been older, Y/N being a hybrid meant she was a lot stronger than the vampire before her. Christine tried to pull Y/N’s hand off of her, but it wasn’t an easy task. She struggled to get her hand away but no matter what she had done, Y/N’s grip had only tightened.

Klaus hadn’t said or moved to say anything. He stood behind Y/N with his hands crossed over his chest as he watched her. There was a look of pride as he watched his wife. Klaus knew Y/N would never break so easily. Even when she had beaten down, his wife was strong enough to take things into her own hands.

The sound of Christine’s neck snapping filled the air and Y/N let the woman fall to the floor. At that, Klaus began to remove the jacket he had been wearing. “I thought you would have ripped her heart out.” He said with a playful smirk as he held out the Jacket for her.

“As much as I wanted to, that would have been too easy a death. I’d like to make her suffer.” Y/N gave him a smile before she looked down at the jacket and shook her head. “I won’t be needing that.”

Klaus’s eyebrow raised at that. “And why not?”

She rolled her eyes and chuckled. “Because when she wakes I plan on sinking my teeth into her. But until then, I need to go find Melissa.”

Klaus nodded. “How is she?” He asked, running a hand along his wife’s face. Knowing that if she had in fact hurt her sister, it would have eaten away at her.

“She’s okay.” She said with a nod as she leaned into his touch. “After I found out what was keeping me in the barrier, I had Freya help. We were able to stop Melissa’s heart for a moment to bring it down.” She sighed softly before taking a closer step to Klaus. “Would you have really given her what she wanted?”

“I had hoped not.” He admitted. “I knew there would be a moment where you’d get out of this on your own. But if she had done-” Y/N has brought her lips up to his in an attempt to silence him.

Klaus’ hand moved from the side of her face to the back of her neck as he kissed her back. The worries that had been playing through his mind had disappeared the moment her lips met his. Y/N smiled against his lips as she felt him relax. A moment later she pulled away and looked up at him.

“As much as I hated being a pawn in this game and being tortured for it, I’m fine.” She promised. “She took me so I’ll be the one to take care of it.”

“And as much as I would enjoy watching you take her on your own, she went against our family.” He reminded her. “It will not just be you that takes her down.”

Y/N smirked at that. “How about a family hunt?”

Klaus’s eyes widened as he took in the idea before his own smirk grew. “Now that, I will enjoy.”

______

Christine woke up surrounded by trees. The sight itself had been surprising to her as she looked around the area. She had expected to be dead after Y/N had found her way to her. She had even expected to be locked up in a cell for Klaus to torment. She had not been expecting to be under the night sky.

The was until several low growls played in her ear. Somewhere in the distance there had been wolves. Even with her enhanced senses, she couldn’t pick them up. If there was one thing she knew, it was better to run on the night of a full moon.

As Christine got up from the ground and began running, she could hear the sounds of the wolves running after her. She didn’t dare to look back to see where they were. It would make sense for the Mikaelsons to leave her out there in the bayou where she could easily be torn apart without them ever getting their hands dirty.

She was just out of reach of a place to hide when she ran straight into the barrier. Her heartbeat picked up at that. She was trapped inside with the very things that will kill her. A chuckle caused her to look past the barrier. The Mikaelson sisters were standing there just a short distance away.

Rebekah had a devilish grin on her face as she approached the border. “You should have been dead centuries ago. It’s going to be satisfying to watch them rip you apart.”

The moment Klaus had called and informed them of what Y/N had come up with, Rebekah had never been more proud of her sister in law. It had been all too easy to get things together while Y/N helped Melissa through the first several moments of turning.

The intensity of the growls grew as they came closer to the edge of the barrier. At the head head of the trio had been Y/N. The snarl that had been formed on her face was enough to make the hairs on the back of Christine’s neck stand up. Klaus and Melissa were on either side of her.

Any other time, Klaus would have easily taken the lead. But seeing as this was Y/N’s plan that he fully supported, he wasn’t going to stand in her way. He was going to enjoy this just as much as she was. Killing Christine with Y/N by his side was all he needed.

“I would say to run,” Rebekah said as she watched the wolves stop a few feet away. “But there would be nowhere for you to run to. You never should have taken Y/N away from us.”

The second the words left Rebekah’s mouth, Y/N lunged forward at Christine with Klaus and Melissa following soon after. Even though Christine tried her hardest to fight Y/N at first, Y/N had still managed to get the upper hand and bite Christine. Screams filled the air as Christine was attacked. The sounds of flesh tearing and bones cracking could be heard mixed in the screams.

It wasn’t long after they had begun did it all come to an end. All three of them had stepped back leaving the mess of Christine behind. The dismembered body left as a message to anyone that may come looking for Christine. Her plans had failed and this was that consequence of going up against the Mikaelsons.

Rebekah tossed a few piles of clothes into the barrier. Clothes for the three of them once they changed back. It didn’t take long for Klaus and Y/N to go through the process of changing. Just as their fur coats had blood covered on them, it matched the blood that currently covered their skin.

“Have I ever mentioned how amazing you are?” Klaus asked as he handed Y/N the clothes intended for her.

A smirk grew on Y/N’s blood covered lips. “Plenty of times. Though it definitely wouldn’t hurt to hear it again a few more times.”

Her smile quickly faded as she took in Melissa. Tonight was supposed to be about her and it ended up being about an enemy that needed to be taken down. It was supposed to be the two of them that ran together throughout the night until the moon released Melissa from the curse.

After tossing on her clothes, Y/N slowly approached her sister. The whine that came from the wolf had hurt Y/N to hear. Melissa would still be in her wolf form for several more hours. She ran her hand along the top of Melissa’s head. “Just a little bit longer before you turn back.” She said softly. “Now would be the time to embrace this side of you and run freely through the bayou. I’ll be there when it’s time.”

Melissa slowly backed away from her sister’s touch before looking between her and the Mikaelsons. Klaus came and linked his hand into Y/N’s. “She’ll be safe.” He said looking at Melissa. “She won’t be leaving my sight for a long time.”

With that, Melissa turned and left. Y/N watched as she took off in a run right for the trees. “Knowing my family as I do, you both won't be letting me out of your sight for years.” She said with a small smile as she looked over at Klaus.

A chuckle passed his lips as he pulled her to him. “More like centuries.” He promised before bringing his lips to hers.

There would always be enemies that would come into their lives. There would always be someone who sought to take power away from the Mikaelsons. At any given time, someone the Mikaelsons loved would be used as leverage. But if the centuries of living has taught them anything, it was that those who dared to stand against the Mikaelsons would always fall by their hands.

Always & Forever Tag: @taylordrunkonwhiskey @thewolf-and-thesheep @wayward-dan @neeadinghugs @fafulous @kenmen02 @elizamonet @dora-the-grownup @mschellehitt @xanderling @fandom-princess-forevermore @buckysarm4 @hi-my-name-is-riley @helenasingers @alka16555 @yaniiie

Death Wish Tag: @esclisa @thoughtsofthestars @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @andrea25434 @intoomuchfandoms @curlyhairedblueeyedangel @vampiregirl1797 @xlosttdreamss @fandom-imaginestar @alina-barnes @killerheelsanddullkinives @une-lueur-dans-la-nuit @lovelyy24 @believeinyourdreamsxo @coldbookworm @kidcouve @dpaccione @nohemi2500 @sadn0va @lovelydivs @hybridgirl99 @n0vadaddy@goodjackboy @surfingtessi

Hybrid Tag: @xxsovereignsarayaxx

The Originals Tag: @zillahvathek @obsessedwithvampires

Thank you guys for reading! For those of you that are on the Death Wish Tags, now would be the time to ask to be placed on other taglists! You won’t be updated on anything else after this part. That is if you aren’t currently on any other taglist.

#the originals #The Vampire Diaries #Death Wish #Series #Reader Insert #Klaus Mikaelson x Reader #Wife!Reader #Klaus Mikaelson x you #Rebekah Mikaelson #Freya Mikaelson #Marcel Gerard #Original Characters #TVD #TO #Klaus Mikaelson Request #klaus mikaelson fanfic #fanfics #OMG ITS FINISHED #excuse me while i go cry

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aksthetwosainthijimiko-blog · 4 years

Text

I am not Zero; Part three

A bit of a plot-hole between game and game two... Copy X blew up the top part of the Neo-arcadia tower, and the energy generated was so great, it propelled Zero out of it crumbling concrete structure and kilometre’s away from the Eden dome and right into the desert...

Now, how did the floor X was on remained intact? Really, he should be at the same place as Zero, and more damaged.

Unless the X in the second game was a fake... and mother Elf-was a hoax... or the whole thing was dreamed up by Zero as he laid dying in the desert.

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

Phantom stared... the floor was gone, Master... the copy, in a desperate bid to destroy Zero, had destroyed it... partly. Leaving a rather convenient platform for the Red ripper to play on... Until the Mad Man tried to reach to him again.

Phantom had to give it to him. For a maverick and the antithesis of X with the way he dealt with the enemies, Zero was rather... Kind.

But the copy only got more intense than before. And while the first part of the fight had been pathetically easy for the ancient reploid, the second one was a floorless, forcing Zero to use the walls and the Copy’s own control rod to survive.

And Zero did! Practically flying from surface to surface as he rained punishment on the pirated copy of the legendary blue reploid. Whom, after his first attempt, had learned that it was better to use those wings to move then to just hover in one place like a lagging mess of wires.

Seriously... it was like the copy wanted Zero to destroy him.

But, as always, the red hero had won... and the pirated copy of the greatest reploid alive plummeted to his doom, his fate sealed with Zero’s disk weapon cutting his power core out.

After this fight... the quiet that pervaded Area X was deafening. And Phantom was his with the reality that he had helped Zero assassinate the leader of the ‘supposed’ last bastion of humanity... And Phantom as watched the event without even raising his voice.

He was Zero’s accomplice in inaction.

Speaking of the Successful assassin, Zero was hanging from an edge... something he had to cut out from the panels. He had ripped out some wires and... hot wired himself?

No... Phantom had no idea what the mad man did... only that he was dangling from this tear like an electrocuted squirrel a wire.

The Shinobi, using his nin-jutsu, made his way to Zero.

Dare he hope the bane of Neo-Arcadia died?

‘No... He stopped me from suiciding. So for him to perform this act would be ridiculous...’

But dared he hoped for Zero to be unharmed?

He was already a traitor by his inaction...

“Zero?” He called out to the limp reploid... no reaction.

‘He doesn’t look all that damage... and he didn't use one of his damn subtank... what’s wrong with him?’ Phantom wondered as he moved ever so closer.

And then... He heard it... a sniffle.

Now, not Many reploid would make this noise simply because they didn’t have any mucus to deal with. Meaning that this was purely cosmetic, and why was Zero crying after killing an enemy?

“Zero?” Phantom tried again, a little more forceful this time.

Still nothing...

Phantom mentally prepared for what he had to do next. “Dear... Lolita...” he managed to speak out.

Obliviously, This roused Zero from whatever was afflicting him. But it was clear the reploid was not at his best.

“Zero... what Happened? Why are you-” Crying... not that Crying and Zero should ever be in the same phrase, it was criminal.

“He was so young.... they never gave him a name.” The red and black reploid rasped. “ He... He wanted to die... to leave his mark on the world and...” He bit his lips as he vented out harshly. “He made his choice... I can only pray Yamaraja won’t let him wait down this shaft for too long.” He cleared his vents as his eyes turned dull.

‘Great... now what?’ The Shinobi wondered... only to have a hidden door open at the other side of the chasm.

This was the door Copy-X had used to get in the room... it was also a maintenance way.

“Alright... let’s get out of here... do you have a bomb squad?” Zero asked the Shinobi as he hopped his way to the open door.

“Not personally. But Fefnir has.”

“Obliviously...” Zero paused as he sat down on solid ground, leaning his head and back on the wall as he closed his eyes and took out a white cotton thread from under his armour and wrapped it around his thumb. Then, sitting straighter, he began to meditate again.

Phantom stared owlishly at the sight... He had no idea someone would be so eager to meditate... or pray as Zero.

Especially after murdering a copy.

Exactly four minutes later, Zero reopened his eyes and tucked the tread back in... but didn’t get up. Instead, he let all tension leave his body.

“Zer-”

“Just Lalita Das will do.” The red and black reploid mumbled. “I just needed some time to pray. Krishna told me I needed to rest and wait for a bit before I could find X...” He opened his eyes and looked right at Phantom.

The Shinobi... not knowing what to do, sat down.

“And who’s Krishna Again?” He asked as he observed the oddly devoted reploid.

“God... He’s a good friend to.”

Phantom grunted... Apparently, the cyber-devil was a buddy with God...

“He told me that if I killed... this kid, then, in a last ditch effort, he would blow this whole level.” Zero explained. Then he pointed at something behind Phantom.

The Shinobi followed the digit... and indeed, there was an unmistakable pack of potent explosive placed there.

This maintenance shaft was off limit to most, save X’s copy and a few humans...

The implication chilled Phantom core to a kelvin that would make Leviathan inelegantly splutter and blush.

‘How did I not noticed? I’m his... was his spy master!’ The Black and white reploid thought with quite a bit of shame and anger... and a healthy dose of fear.

The damage done to the towers surrounding area would be extensive, the debris would’ve killed quite a few, since the surrounding area of the tower yet another rather popular park... and the ever so popular apple market.

“Z... Lolita, tell your God... Thank you.” Phantom managed to choke out as he contacted Fefnir trough one of his tertiary account. He still wanted to appear dead to the world until Lalita’s work was done.

“Krishna’s your God too... and he said; Your welcome.” A soft smile drew itself on Zero’s... Lolita Das’ soft lips. “So... what’s your plan Phantom? I just killed tour ruler, I’m damaged and at your mercy... I’m sure the Neo-Arcadia will hail you as a hero when you drag my corps in the street’s to be disposed of.” he openly joked.

Well... probably not about being damage, he certainly looked roughed up. And he did have a point.

And yet...

“Humph! You're not getting out of the deal this easily Lolita.” Phantom smirked as he crossed his arms against his chest and leaned on the wall... the one that he hoped had no C-4 or whatever. “You still have plenty of time to find the real master X... but I doubt you will find him here.” Phantom admitted to his... Partner in crime.

“Hmm? And why is that?” Zero... Lolita asked.

“Think about it, why would they keep the original in a place where he could be easily found? Can you imagine if this copy-”

“Jagadananda already did...” Zero spoke sadly. “That’s why he went mad with power and desperate to prove that he was better than my friend.”

Phantom stared as he tried to work out whom Lolita was speaking about. “You gave it-”

“Him.”

“-A name.”

Zero opened his sharp blue eyes and glared at the Shinobi. “Despite what he did, Jagu was still just a child and a soul robed of all senses of individuality.” He began, not bothering to hide the anger in his voice. “ He was called X the moment he was activated, his head stuffed with the idea that he was the original who suffered from amnesia. He was X, he was the Hero...” The black and red reploid gritted his teeth. “And last year... Krishna told me a woman brought him to the top of the tower...” Zero’s voice faded as his ire grew.

“And then?” Phantom ventured... knowing that what would come next would probably cement his budding allegiance to Dear Lolita Das.

“He saw X... my best friend... and it broke him.” And this seemed to break Zero.

as this phantom learned about Lolita Zero... He was not as emotionless as expected.

He let him... express his sorrow. For if what Phantom had learned so far was true... Lolita had woken up in a worst-case scenario...

Not even Phantom would remain of stones if he would wake up one day in Lolita’s place...

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

An hour and a half passed, an hour in which the glitch in the system had mourned for an innocent life lost and concluded his meditation.

Meanwhile, this gave Phantom a chance to review all that had happened in the span of four hours... and how much his life had changed due to Zero’s intervention.

He was alive, first... and he had learned and witness the madness of a four-year-old trying to play the role of a king, his death and the dept of Zero’s heart.

It was deep... and had more than enough space for the fake, the resistance and Neo-Arcadia. From what Phantom had learned from the red hero, this was to be expected from a Vaishnava... for he saw everyone as a dear parcel of God, an eternal spirit soul suffering in the material world.

“But... I’m not really there yet.” Lolita Zero admitted. “I still have some resentment for some people.”

“Like that woman who showed Jagu the truth...”

“Yes... and whoever thought it would be a good idea to keep X’s body inside Neo-Arcadia’s wall.” Zero grumbled. “I mean really, who’s idea was it to keep the Dark-Elf in Neo-Arcadia?”

“Probably the same person who showed Jagu X’s remains.” Phantom grumbled... then he realized what Zero had just told him. “How do you know about the Dark-Elf and how she got sealed?!”

Zero gave his partner in crimes a look.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Krishna just told me were to look.”

“But it’s top Secret!” Phantom scoffed.

“Once again, God told me were to look... I just followed his indication.” Zero muttered.

Silence fell on the two reploid like a heavy blanket. That was until Zero got up and stretched. “Talking about it won't get us anywhere.” he muttered. “I know you’re... other units will start to look around for you’re remains, and I would rather not have to face Harpuia and Leviathan.” A small shudder moved his frame as he climbed the wall up to a trap at the top.

“Oh? too strong for you?” Phantom teased as he went to help Zero open the trap.

“No, not really... But Harpuia’s wind ability messes up my proximity sensors more than I care about, and Leviathan... Is a bit too into me for my taste.”

“Why? You don’t like the attention?” Phantom openly teased, he knew he was now a traitor, and accomplice of Lolita... might as well enjoy it.

“No... I’m under strict vows of Brahmacharia.”

“Meaning?” Phantom asked as he managed to unlatch the hidden trap door, pushing it up to a dark void.

“Meaning, I’m a monk... and celibacy is the name of the game.” He admitted as he fearlessly hoisted himself up the hatch and into the unknown.

“A monk named Lolita...” Phantom flatly shot back as he followed the crazy fighting monk... who happened to be more right than wrong.

“It’s Dhira-Lalita Das Brahmachari. Servant of Manorama das and his wife Tivra-Bhakti devi dasi.” Zero corrected his unlikely companion as he scanned around the dark. “Great... This body’s useless in pitch darkness.”

“Really? You don’t have night vision?” Phantom asked as he pulled himself up, selecting said visual option now that he didn't run the risk of going blind.

Zero remained silent, probably digging in his surprisingly intact memories. “Well, it’s seemed I used to have it, but after my first bout of amnesia, I forgot I had it.” Zero admit as he jumped to an edge only Phantom could see. “I have better now.”

“Yes... so, you're a celibate monk who just so happen to be the deadliest reploid out there, having decommissioned and killed the ...’leader’ of Neo-Arcadia.”

“Serving God can take many forms... and I swear I didn't mean to kill him, Jagu forced my hands.” Zero argued back. “And I’m terrible at saving people... exe-” he stopped himself, it was clear he didn’t want to jinx it.

After that, Dhira-Lalita remained quiet until they reached the real upper floor. Where, If he were to be trusted, X remains were kept, and the dark-elf lurked.

And phantom could only pray to Krishna that Lalita was wrong.

#fanfiction #Mega Man Zero #mmz #mmz zero #hidden phantom #copy x #its a AU at this point #let's go get x #Zero does things early #Dhira-Lalita Das Brhamachari #he a monk now #a hare krishna monk

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imaginationofacrazyfangirl · 5 years

Text

*jhs / hanahaki! au/ 🌙☆

*4.5k written

Summary: Hoseok desperately wants to continue your guy’s friendship despite his girlfriend Soo-min hating you. What he doesn’t know though is that even just being friends will kill you.

A/N: After much consideration what started off as a one-shot then two-shot, shall now have three parts. Thank you everyone for your patience. I appreciate all the support given to me.

—————————————————————————————————

White orchids spill from your mouth as you heave into the toilet only to miss. A minute passes before you collapse onto the cold tile floor of your restroom. Your eyes stare blankly at the white mocking flowers splattered with blood. How fitting for the product of your disease to be such a rare exotic flower. Most people who suffered from Hanahaki threw up roses or lilies, but you got orchids. It is as life wants to personally point out that your first and only time falling in love with someone is doomed.

Forcing the remnants of blood and flowers back into your throat, you stood up on shaky legs. It was 9:10 am last time you checked, and time you spent throwing up has fucked up your morning schedule. If you don’t change soon you’d undoubtedly be late to your morning class. “Come on (Y/N), you can do it. No stupid flowers are going to-”

“(Y/N)! Are you ready?” a familiar jovial voice calls out, causing only more flowers to fall from your lips.

Quickly you slam the door to the restroom shut, locking it for extra measure. Your mind races trying to figure out why the object of your affection Jung Hoseok was here. Sure he used to walk you to class every morning, but only to make his ex-girlfriend Soo-min jealous. Soo-min hated you with a passion. Which is why when Hoseok and her broke up, he thought fake dating you would be the best way to get her back-and it worked.

For three months you faked a relationship with Seoul University’s ‘sunshine boy’. At first you felt awkward not being a people person and Hoseok was under the impression that you were some sort of monster. Eventually though you two passed those hurdles. Hoseok broke through your icy barriers, he became your first friend and through him you began to make other friends. Everything went perfectly except for the fact you began to fall for him.

It started slow, but you could feel the symptoms progressing each day. His love began thawing the ice around your heart. Then a seed planted itself in it sprouting leaves that grew like ivy. Soon after flowers escaped your mouth the sure sign of an unrequited love. Your love for him was real. Probably more real than anything Soo-min could give him. However Hoseok felt oppositely hence the Hanaki disease.

“(Y/N)? Are you in there? “ Hoseok knocks. “It’s kind of late to be getting ready. Did you oversleep?”

“Yeah.” You croak. “I just got up. What …what are you doing here, Hoseok? Didn’t you and Soo-min get back together?”

It’s a question you already know the answer to, but you can’t help not to ask. You need to know for sure, before you make any decisions regarding your Hanahaki, you need to Hoseok got his wish. “….we did, but that doesn’t we can’t still be friends-”

His answer both hurts and relieves you at the same time.

“It means exactly that, Sunshine boy. You can’t be friends with me. You can’t even talk to me unless you want Soo-min to hate you.” You say, hardening your heart.

Hoseok isn’t the type to abandon a friend for girl. Not even if he’s only known them for a few months. Which is why you need to be the bad guy here…for both your sakes. “(Y/N)…” Hoseok says.

Taking a deep breath you opened the door coming face to face with the cherry haired boy you loved. His dark eyes gaze at you sadness radiating through them. You have a feeling he knows how right you are, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. “We can’t. Being friends with you will only cause pain and trouble for us. Trust me.” you reaffirm.

Hoseok shakes his head. “I don’t believe that. Not for one second. You are my friend whether Soo-min or anyone else wants you to be or not.”

A vine shoots out at his words coiling tightly around your rib. It takes everything within you not to double over in pain as it bruises muscle and bone. You are so far gone, any sort of relationship with Hoseok will kill you. “What about what I want? What if I don’t want to be friends anymore? What if I am tired of dealing with you and everyone else?’ You snap uncontrollably. “I don’t want to do it, Hoseok. I don’t want to be your friend anymore. Alright?! “

Hoseok doubles back a crushed look on his face. “Alright. If that’s what you want, I’ll leave you alone then.”

“It is.” You say looking away . You can’t handle the expression on his face. It hurts more than anything the Hanahaki does to you. A ray of sunshine like him should never be anything less than shining, especially not at the expense of an ice queen like you.

Later that night you receive a visit from Yoongi, Hoseok’s best friend/fraternity brother and the only other person who knows about your disease. The blonde haired boy arrives with an assortment of medicines, books, and pamphlets revolving around Hanahaki. It’s a sight that makes you both laugh and cry at the same time. “I heard you broke up with Hobi.” Yoongi says as he enters your dorm.

You snort, shaking your head. “We weren’t really dating to begin with, so how can we break up?”

“He looks awful. Almost as if you murdered his whole family in front of him.” Yoongi mentions. “Seriously I’ve never seen him so upset. Not even when Soo-min broke up with him.”

You look down ashamed. “I didn’t want to hurt him, but I-”

“You had to.” Yoongi finishes knowingly. It’s only been a few days since you revealed to him your secret, but already Yoongi could see the damage done to you by this disease. You are paler than normal, skinnier too with dark circles under your eyes. Your lips are chapped and your hair lost whatever shine used to be there. Overall you look like shit and Yoongi feels so fucking guilty for not noticing sooner.

“He’ll kill me.” You whisper sadly. “Just by being around me, this plant will grow and strangle me to death. It’s not fair-especially for Hoseok, who didn’t even ask for my affection. So I have to stay away for both our sake.”

It sucks, but you don’t doubt sunshine boy will bounce back. You’re merely another side note in his novel of a life after all. “Have you decided what to do yet?” Yoongi asks, looking over the pamphlets. “They have tablets that are supposed to reduce hanahaki growth, but they aren’t a permanent solution.”

“There are only two solutions to hanahaki disease: death and surgery.” Tears well up at the thought. Neither option is preferably, especially since you know first hand the consequences behind them.

“I hope you aren’t seriously thinking about death. I mean I get that you love Hobi, but it’s only a feeling. It’s not worth your life.” Yoongi says, his dark eyes pinning you with a look. “Besides it’s not like you two can’t be friends afterwards.”

Your lips curl into a bitter smile at his words. Memories of a vacant stare and careless question of ‘who are you?’ flash before your eyes. Yoongi’s naivety is not his fault. The horrors behind hanahaki surgery are such that even doctors belittle its effects. After all who wants to hear that the person they loved will be forever erased from their memories?

And like that night three days ago you confide in Yoongi about your horrible truth. “Hey Yoongi…have you seen someone go through hanahaki surgery?”

Three hours later Yoongi stumbles home wanting to throw up. Your words play like a never ending loop in his head gripping tightly to his heart. ‘My parents suffered through Hanahaki disease when I was little. My mother died from it and my father forgot everything.”

His knees buckle as he steps inside the frat house. For once it is silent. No one up playing video games in the living room, no loud music blasting, or groups of people conversing simply silence, something Yoongi can’t tell if he’s grateful for or not. On one hand he could use the distraction-the noise to blare out your tearful story, whereas on the other hand Yoongi’s glad no one is around to see him like this.

“Fuck.” he whispers to no one. “Fuck. Fuck..Fuuuuccck.”

He’s haunted by the calm expression on your face as you whispered. ‘Everyone thought my parents had a happy marriage. After all, my father loved my mother and she always smiled but I guess not all smiles equal happiness…my mother loved someone else. Who? No one knows. She never gave any indication of fancy someone other than my father. No one knew until I found her propped up against the toilet, roses sprouting from her lips like some macabre painting.“

Seven. Seven fucking years old when you found your mother dead, yet you spoke as if she simply gotten a cold. If he didn’t know any better Yoongi would’ve thought you to be soulless. However the orchids clamouring out of your own body only proves how much of a heart you did have. “Hey, man is everything alright?” Hoseok’s voice comes, as he steps into view.

He’s dressed in his normal sleepwear, a white t-shirt and boxers cladded in cartoon birds. His hair is disheveled which normally meant he was sleeping, if not for the purple bruises decorating his neck. Anger flashes through Yoongi at the sight. Soo-min must be over, that fucking bitch. “Fine. Sorry for waking you up.”

“I wasn’t really sleeping.” Hoseok shrugs.

“I’ve noticed.” Yoongi says dryly. Logically the blonde knows it unfair to be mad at his friend. It isn’t Hobi’s fault you fell in love with him. Nor his fault that he loved Soo-min…but Yoongi can’t help himself-especially since Soo-min replaced you. (You might’ve gotten over her bullying you, but Yoongi hadn’t.)

“Ah yeah, Soo-min got a little wild. She’s never been this possessive before.” Hoseok laughed. “If making her jealous is all I got to do for sex like that, I’ll have to do it more often.”

Yoongi didn’t even bother faking a smile. Hoseok already knew how much he and the rest of the guys hated Soo-min. “Whatever you say, just keep it down okay? I have a math test tomorrow.”

Hoseok nods. “Of course. Sleep tight Yoongs! Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

“That’s the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard.” Yoongi grumbles, walking away. Hoseok’s laugh echoes down the hall as Yoongi heads to his room. It is not until he falls back onto his soft bed that Yoongi allows the final tidbit of your confession to play.

‘Forget. That’s what the surgery makes you do. It doesn’t only erase emotions of love, it erases all memories pertaining to it as well. When my father returned from his surgery the first thing he said to me was, ‘who’s kid is this?”

Forget or die, two shitty options for someone who already had it shitty. Yoongi closes his eyes thumbing the pair of keys belonging to a certain roommate of his. Slowly he slips the key covered in mickey mouse prints off. There isn’t much he can do to help you make your decision, but perhaps Yoongi can make life a little easier for you.

A week passes from that day and Hoseok can’t ignore the gnawing feeling that something is wrong. He knows your guy’s friendship has ended, but the cherry haired boy can’t keep his distance. Not when every cell in his body screams for him to fix this somehow.

After three months of fake dating you somehow became a permanent fixture in his life. He misses teasing you about your bad breakfast choices, or forcing you to eat an actual meal instead of coffee for lunch. He misses the way you listened to him, barely muttering more than ‘uh huh, ok, yeah’; it always seemed like you weren’t listening until you surprised him with a question or comment.

Hoseok just misses you period.

Which is why he decided to give your friendship one more shot. Surely if he misses you this much you feel the same. Memories of your callous words from a week ago come to mind tormenting his fear, suddenly Hoseok feels like he can’t breathe. You said he annoyed you, that you were tired of him, but that was just because you were scared of losing him to Soo-min? Once you see how genuine he is, you two will go back to being friends.

"I don’t want your stupid apple. I’ve already eaten. ” Hoseok perks up at the sound of your voice. He’s been sitting on the steps of the language building for the past half hour waiting for you. Your name dances on the tip of his tongue. Eagerly he opens his mouth to call out to you but freezes at the sight of a familiar blonde walking beside you.

"A gogurt and a cup of coffee doesn’t count as lunch, dumb ass. Now eat the apple, it’ll help you from getting sick. “ Yoongi says, shoving the red fruit into your hands.

Something within Hoseok twists, he finds himself nearly doubling over in pain. A dark ember burns in his stomach, suddenly Hoseok wants nothing more than to punch Yoongi. "She hates apples. ” Hoseok can’t help but inform. “It’s her least favorite fruit. ”

Both you and Yoongi jerk surprised by his presence. As if on instinct Yoongi steps forward blocking your view from him, it causes Hoseok’s blood to boil more. “Hey Hobi, waiting for Soo-min?” Yoongi asks nonchalantly.

Hoseok bit his cheek suddenly remembering Soo-min has a class right before yours. The two of you share the same major meaning your schedules often coincided. He walked you to class everyday just to show off your “relationship."

"Something like that."

"Cool. See you at home I guess.” Yoongi nods, pulling you with him towards the door. You barely even glance up at Hoseok as you’re led away.

Again something twists violently in the pit of his stomach and the question, 'are you guys together,’ slips through his teeth before Hoseok can stop. The two of you freeze, Yoongi’s fingers tightening around your wrist. Suddenly Hoseok doesn’t want to know the answer.

"Something like that. “ Yoongi replies, dragging you into the building.

Three weeks go by since your 'break up’ with Hobi, and ironically, you find yourself in another fake relationship this time with Yoongi. Unlike your previous pseudo-relationship this one contains nothing more platonic love. There are no fake dates or pet names. Yoongi doesn’t treat you like some girl he’s in love with. Instead he forces broth and anti-growth pills down your throat only to hold your hair back when white petals flow back up from it. He shields you from Hoseok, Soo-min and the judgemental glances of the world, protecting you from harm. No, Min Yoongi is a god send, but you aren’t in love with him.

Sometimes you wish you were though. Loving Yoongi sounds easier than loving Hoseok, but that could simply be wishful thinking. After all, Yoongi and Hoseok are two different elements. Hoseok is the warm sun melting away all your defenses, while Yooongi is a winter’s breeze offering relief from the sun’s rays while fortifying your protection. "So the date has been set. A week from now I’ll have the surgery and this will all be over. ” you announce, ignoring the painful ache in your chest

The idea of forgetting Hoseok scares you. You don’t want to forget him or the way he’s made you feel. As selfish as it sounds Hoseok is the first person to show you affection in years. Your family basically ostracized you after they discovered your father’s amnesia. While he could learn to love you again the possibility of him remembering your mother ran too high. So instead you lived as his niece with an aunt and uncle who despised you, because you looked like your mother.

Yoongi nods, glancing over at the calendar. He can’t help but frown at the date circled in red. “I know this is the only viable solution, but I feel like I should ask you if this is what you really want?”

"No, but I don’t want to die either.“ You say softly. "As much as I want to hold onto these feelings of love, they don’t really belong to me, you know? Hoseok loves Soo-min. They’re her feelings not mine. ”

Yoongi’s frowns. “Soo-min only loves herself. You know it, I know it, and deep down Hobi does too.”

"Maybe but it doesn’t change a thing.“ You murmur, eyeing the date. Your grip tightens around the mug you hold. You don’t want to admit but you’re scared; scared of waking up the exact person you were before Hoseok: cold, intruding and alone.

Yoongi shoots a knowing glance. "Something else bugs you, doesn’t it? ”

You take a sip of your tea. “ Don’t worry. It’s stupid stuff. "

It’s three days before your surgery that you see Hoseok for the first time in a month. Logically you know you should avoid him even if the appointment is less than forty-eight hours away. However you find yourself staying at the coffee shop, eyes unlocking from the cherry haired boy. 'Just one more glance.’ You assure yourself. 'Something to carry with me onto the operating table that’s all I want. ’

But it’s more than one glance it’s several long stares, watching as the boy talks animatedly amongst his friends. He looks so happy right now practically glows like the sun. The sight is so beautiful it causes your heart to bear faster. This is what you wanted to see. Hoseok happy and carefree even if it is without you.

You smile, ignoring the painful pulse your heart gives when the Hanahaki’s vine squeezes around it. This is how things are meant to be. Hoseok deserves a life filled with equally bright people. He deserves happiness in every form. You aren’t.

A content sigh escapes you. You swore to Yoongi, you accepted the surgery with no regrets, but that was all a lie. Seeing Hoseok like this though, so free and unaffected by your absence, you can finally let go of the little doubt holding you back.

"Order for (Y/N)!” The barista calls out sliding your drink across the counter.

You cringe at how loud they are; internally hoping that Hoseok hadn’t heard your name. Seeing him from afar is dangerous enough, if you actually interacted with him… You push the thought out of your head, quickly exiting the cafe, completely unaware of the eyes following you.

"You okay man? You’ve been staring at the barista an awful lot. “

Hoseok blinks, tearing his gaze away from where you stood. The moment you walked into the cafe Hoseok could only focus on you. It is like everything else disappeared except for you. "Yeah I’m fine. "

"You sure? Because if you like the dude that much, I can get you his number. ” Another, Jo Kwon teases. “Though I think Soo-min would kill both of us- wait! Isn’t that (Y/N) up there? Didn’t you two used to date before you and Soo-min got back together?”

Hoseok nods barely listening. His focus once again on you, this time watching you leave. Neither Dino or Jo Kwon knew about the dumb deal or how sweet Seoul University’s Ice Queen really was. While they are good friends, they were nowhere near close enough for Hoseok to feel comfortable sharing his secret.

"Gotta say you must’ve been really off your rocker, Hoseok. Dating such a scary girl. “ Dino snorts.

"Seriously, I heard (Y/N) got arrested for murdering her parents, but since she was a kid no one believed she did it.” Jo Kwon says. “You know someone should warn Yoongi-hyungnim about her. They’re together now aren’t they?”

"Something like that…" Hoseok mutters. His chest burns at the mention of Yoongi and you. While you refuse to even look his way, you have no qualms hanging on Yoongi’s every word and move. It is like Yoongi’s the sun and you’re the earth orbiting around him- it pisses Hoseok to no end and he can’t explain why.

"Maybe he just figured she’s an easy lay. I mean a girl like her is probably desperate for attention. She’s probably spreading her legs for anyone who looks at her-“ Hoseok’s fist hits Dino’s face before either one can process what is happening.

The younger boy falls to the ground with a loud crash, causing everyone to stare at them. "What the fuck man!? You just hit me. ” Dino sputters wide eyed.

"And I’ll do it again if I ever hear either of you talk about (Y/N) like that again.“ Hoseok threatens. The anger within him is uncontrollable. He can’t explain it. Especially when it is not only Dino and Jo Kwon who pisses him off, but Yoongi too. Just the mere sight of the blonde sickened him nowadays.

"You’re crazy man. She’s a freak and she made you one too!” Jo Kwon says.

Luckily, all it takes is a warning look to have them scrambling out of the coffee shop. “Assholes.” Hoseok mutters, ignoring the still plentiful stares at him. He reaches for his coffee only to pause when his stomach turns suddenly. Annoyed Hoseok pushes the cup away. He must be getting sick.

Word of the fight spreads across the campus like wildfire. Fury does not explain the anger Soo-min feels when she hears about her boyfriend’s outburst. In all the years she dated Hoseok never once did he get offended for her sake. Boys literally listed off her body count at parties and Hoseok merely shrugged asking Soo-min. 'why does it matter when everyone knows you’re mine?“

Mine. The claim used to send shivers down Soo-min’s spine. Yes, she was his. Just like how she owned him. They were meant to be no matter how many times they broke up. It didn’t matter if Soo-min decided to date around a little, because Hoseok would wait for her.

At least so she thought until one day Hoseok ended up on the arm of her biggest enemy. Originally Soo-min assumed he simply wanted her jealous- a clever ploy really, after all wherever she went you two appeared. Three weeks later though, you started wearing Hoseok’s hoodies. After that Beta-Tau-Sigma invited you to their house, a privilege which took Soo-min months to achieve, but the real straw to the camel’s back happened when Hoseok threatened her.

The cherry haired boy who cared little about gossip finally spoke out against it and not for her sake. In that moment Soo-min realized the relationship between Hoseok and you ran deeper than she assumed. For the first time in her life, Soo-min felt threatened in Hoseok’s and her relationship. So she ended it.

With a bat of the eyelashes and the purse of her lips, Soo-min took back what was hers. Once again Hoseok and her were together while you cried your ugly heart out. Everything went back to normal. Except it didn’t.

Hoseok refused to leave you alone. He was determined to have some sort of relationship with you, despite now being with her. Not even you dating his own best friend stopped Hoseok’s unsettling obsession with you.

"I don’t expect you to understand, but (Y/N) is someone special to me. I can’t just let her go. ” he told her one night.

He was right. Soo-min didn’t understand. Nor did she want to. What Soo-min wants is you gone. “(Y/N) (L/N), you fucking slut! Stay away from my boyfriend!” She hollers, charging after you.

You stare at her confused. The sight spurs her rage more so. How dare you act clueless! As if you don’t know what you are doing? She pushes past the throng of students cornering you against a tree. It’s just her no posse unlike last time. Not that Soo-min needs one to kick your ass.

Since elementary school, she has worked to put you in your place. The only difference now is the strange attachment Min Yoongi has towards you. Last time he stopped her from teaching you a well deserved lesson. Today however he won’t be able to save you. “I’m not in the mood Soo-min. ” you mutter, walking around her.

She grabs onto your hair yanking it. A small gasp escapes you as you tumble onto the ground. “Well I am. So you are going to listen to me and listen real good you got it?”

"Fucking psycho. “ you spit.

Her hands twist, tightening the pull on your hair. You reach up trying to pull away, but Soo-min’s stronger. "Me? Psycho? No no you’re the heartless ice queen here. You might’ve tricked Hoseok and everyone else into thinking you’re some innocent little girl, but you and I know the truth. You are unlovable.”

You let out a loud laugh surprising her. “Again with that hanahaki shit? You and our family have been holding that over my head for fifteen years. My father’s disease wasn’t my fault. Nor was it my mother’s. ”

Taking Soo-min off guard, your right leg sweeps back, knocking her off balance. She loses grip on your hair allowing you to push back. You stand towering over her. “Love is an uncontrollable force. You can’t choose who you love. Just like you can’t choose who loves you back.”

Soo-min snorts. “What do you know about love? Your mother chose to love over her daughter, and your father chose life over you too. Meanwhile Hoseok only used you to get me back. He never loved you and he never will-”

A small cough breaks through her rant. One tiny hiccup like cough that normally would go overlooked if not for a single orchid petal escaping your lips. She freezes eyes locked on the white petal.

"You…“ She hardly managed to say the word when you turn tails running.

Her body moves on its own chasing after you. She doesn’t want to admit it. Doesn’t want to acknowledge it but Soo-min’s scared. As much as she hates you, you are still her cousin. It doesn’t take long for her to catch up to you. Out of the two of you, she’s always been the more athletic one. Moreover thanks to the disease, you hardly make it a few feet before heaving a basket of flowers up.

Soo-min stares at the blood soaked plants in horror. Full stems. You are throwing up whole plants. "You are dying. ”

The words come out more blatantly then she intends, but you snort nonetheless. “Yeah, I am. Don’t celebrate yet though. I’m getting the surgery.”

"You. You are in love.“ She continues speechless. 'But how? I mean who? Is it Hoseok?”

"Yoongi.“ You correct quickly. "I’m in love with Yoongi. He ah he doesn’t love me though. He loves someone else so we broke up.”

"Oh.“ Her throat tightens around the word. For the first time ever Soo-min does not know how to react. Deep inside she wants to reach out, comfort you, scream at Min Yoongi until she’s blue however she can’t. Not only does Soo-min know you won’t accept it, but there’s still something within that holds onto her parents’ prejudice

"Does he know?” Soo-min asks.

You shake your head. “No. Nor does he need to. In two days this will all be a forgotten memory.”

Soo-min frowns. Her heart squeezes pain at the thought. It’s funny she’s always wanted to see you suffer, but not like this. Despite being little during your parents’ illness Soo-min remembers clearly everything that happened. From the hole your mother cut through you and your father’s heart to her uncle’s empty expression after the surgery. More than anything she remembers her warm fun loving cousin falling into herself. The person who was once her best friend suddenly distanced herself from everyone including Soo-min.

It is a memory that stirs up something within Soo-min, she hasn’t felt in a long time…: guilt.

#jung hoseok x reader #hoseok imagine #hoseok x reader #bts imagines #bts x reader #bts #jhope x reader #bts jhope #min yoongi x reader #yoongi x reader #hobi x reader #hobi

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sgtrolandhills · 4 years

Text

Simple Kind of Man || Nicodemus & Roland

TIMING: Last week some time, before Regan does a loud PARTIES: @bountybossier & @sgtrolandhills SUMMARY: A weary Roland runs into Nic at a bar. The two chat and have some good life talks.

Normally, Roland could find comfort in his work. That had always been a constant in his life. It was why he had excelled in school and in his career, but now, he just wasn’t so sure. Now that it seemed like he was falling short at every corner in his career, he didn’t know where to find comfort. Most of the cases that came across his desk lead him to more questions than answers and that night spent in that abandoned house with Stryder still haunted him. Reading through case files wasn’t going to dull the lingering pain that maybe he wasn’t nearly as good at his job as he thought he was. He couldn’t help but think his father would have been able to figure all of this out. In his mind, his dad had always been this larger than life figure. Jim Hills had always dutiful and committed to honoring the city he served. His dedication motivated Roland much of his life, but even outside of work, it always seemed like his dad had the answers. When the road ahead looked dangerous or unclear, he’d always drove on and somehow knew the way. Roland would have given anything for some of his guidance right now. Instead, the only Jim in his life would have to be Jim Beam. He ordered his whiskey neat with a pint of Sam Adams to wash it down and let out a disgruntled sigh, not even realizing there was a man sitting next to him. “Sorry,” he grumbled, “It’s been a bit of a day-- week-- month.”

As fun as the idea of sitting at home and drinking alone in the dark was, Nicodemus needed some kinda noise to drown out his thoughts. Hell, when had he ever been so worried? Months later, he supposed accidental murder had that effect on a person. He stressed the word accidental and as a byproduct, stressed himself out. He wasn’t about to wallow. He feared the pull of the undertow if he did that shit. And fear had been the start of it all. Not to mention the crime gig Erin had taken to. He knew she could handle herself but hell if he didn’t consider the what ifs from time to time. It was hard to wallow in it when, instead, he could order a double whiskey neat and sit back while some soccer game played. The cheers of the patrons rang loud in his sensitive ears. Shit, he was at the Perfect Pint. Football. It was a football game. He grunted and took a long drink. Grit his teeth as the whiskey nearly burned the skin of his mouth. He had asked for the cheap shit and he could taste it. The crowd quieted for a second and the sigh that came from the man next to him just about startled him. But he held fast. Held tight to his drink as he glanced over. The man looked about how he felt and by any indication, it wasn’t fucking great. Nicodemus wasn’t a man of small talk. Nicodemus after a few whiskey neats, on the other hand, sure was. “Yeah, looks that way,” he commented, before he winced and waved a hand. “Shit. Sorry. Not what I--But, uh, yeah. Been a fuckin’ year. That drink you’re havin’ for the day or the month?” He snorted and shook his head. “Whichever one’s been worse, I reckon?”

How he’d ended up in a bar of all places, Roland wasn’t sure. Here his superiors probably thought transferring him to a small town would leave him bored and stagnant. He had stark determination when he first arrived, but now everything seemed to be spiraling further and further from his grasp. Every answer he reached for seemed to float away just past his reach, just where he couldn’t see it clearly. All it led to was an ever growing stack of half solved cases on his desk. Nearly getting himself and Stryder killed had been the icing on the metaphorical cake. Finding out how wrong he’d been about Erin was a last straw of sorts. At this point, he wasn’t even sure if his drink was for the day, month, or year. All had been weighing heavy on him. “Your guess is as good as mine. I’d have to say month,” he answered, perhaps more truthfully than he would have otherwise if there weren’t a fresh shot of bourbon in his system. “From the sounds of it, I’m not the only one getting my ass handed to me by this town. Care for a shot?”

“Hear that,” Nicodemus muttered out with a small, slow nod. “Months got a way of feelin’ like years here, don’t it?” The way White Crest could make a man feel older yet younger all at the same time, no wonder the town carried itself the way it did. All just about half awake, heads just above water. As long as there was a game on and a full fridge at home, what’d they have to worry about? But hell, they stayed. He certainly had and he had stopped trying to question why. He knew why. The hunter went to take another dry sip but snorted, lowered the glass back down. “Nah, definitely ain’t just you. Ain’t that nice,” he said with a slight lift of a brow. The humor in his tone withered as he sat up straighter and heaved a sigh. “Yeah, sure, deal me in. I’ll get the next.” He leaned into the bartop, arms slightly folded together. Before he spoke up, he laughed as he looked at the other man. “What happened, if’n you don’t mind some asshole askin’?”

“You got that right,” Roland agreed and took a gulp of the beer the bartender had set down in front of him. The time flew by, but so much happened so quickly that it felt longer, somehow. At this point, he barely felt like he was keeping his head above water, but there was still too much on the line to give up entirely. All of it had little to do with his own work ethic or sense of worth anymore, people were in danger. Mores so every single day. He’d made that his weight to carry and while he needed the night off mentally, tomorrow he’d be back at it again, trying his best to make this town even a little bit safer. “At least we’re not alone in this boat… or bar, rather,” he responded with a small chuckle. He was tired, but it felt better to be talking with someone who seemingly understood. He rested his elbows on the bar with his beer mug still in his hand. He looked down at the beer momentarily before he answered, “You hardly seem like an asshole. But yeah, I guess I could do with talking about it a bit. You ever used to feel like you were really good at something-- then all of a sudden you start to realize you’re not?” That was one way of putting it. The ever growing number of unsolved cases on his desk said it all. “I moved here a while back from Boston. Transferred from Boston PD. I used to think I was a good detective and leader and now… I guess this town’s just giving me a run for my money.”

In different bars in different towns, Nicodemus kept to the back corners. Kept to himself unless someone suddenly developed a problem or those in the know knew to ask something of him. He didn’t know how it happened or when it did, but in White Crest, he gravitated toward the bartop itself. Found himself in conversations with people he might even see the next day. He snorted. He had a strong feeling that he and the other guy wouldn’t be getting into any bar fights. A breath of relief followed after. “Sure ain’t,” he agreed, voice a tired whiskey drawl. He nodded. “You don’t seem like one either.” As the man continued, opened up, he sat up a little straighter. Weathered, he thought. That’s what they were. Weathered and continuing to weather. His eyes dropped from looking at the other man to the worn bartop. Being good at something. What did that even mean to him anymore? He had been good at what he did. Bounty hunting. Hell, he still was, but lately, he hesitated. The money said as much. And he couldn’t blame it on age. Wasn’t sure he could blame it on anything. It just was. No attribution necessary. The hunter tensed in his chair. Boston PD. A confessional with a cop, why the hell not. “Yeah...Yeah, I do,” he said after a beat. The shots slid across the bartop and he took his in hand. “I do the, uh, odd job here or there. People knew that I was reliable if they needed something done. But hell, lately...I don’t know anymore. I don’t know if I’m good for it anymore. That realization’s the worst part of it all, ain’t it?” He tossed the shot back. “Creeps in slow and fucks you right up. Town’s got a way of doin’ that too.” Erin had told him that once. That it wasn’t him, it was the town. Somehow, he got lost and understood the town more than he understood his own damn self. “Boston, huh? Ain’t too far from home then.”

Feeling a bit less alone in the world did help to an extent. The feeling of lead in his chest seemed to be dissipating at the very least. Roland wasn’t sure when or how things had gotten so out of control, but it was difficult for him to navigate. He thrived on order and found himself in a town ruled almost exclusively by chaos. Maybe one day all his efforts would pay off, but it was getting harder and harder to maintain the optimism he once possessed. He finally set his stein down and brought his shoulders back if only a little. Slouching indicated defeat and he wasn’t ready to reside himself to that yet. The people of this town were worth fighting for. He leaned back away from the bar top and looked to his new found friend. Understanding was a powerful thing. “You’re right. The realization hits like a ton of bricks. And then it’s a hell of a time trying to figure out when it even happened,” he responded a little more emphatically this time. He was feeling more comfortable with this… It dawned on him he didn’t know this man’s name. “Yeah, starts out so slowly, you don’t even know it’s happening. This town definitely has a way of it though. Let me tell you, gang violence has nothing on the strange crimes that happen in this town.” Mimes and eyeballs still haunted his nightmares. Now there were organs being sold and mutated animals. Nothing could just be simple. “Yep-- Born and raised. My dad was on the force there, too. I miss it sometimes, but this town has turned out to be a challenge at least.” One he wasn’t so sure he was up to facing anymore, but giving up was never an option. “What about you? You don’t sound like you’re from around here.”

Nicodemus was so used to dealing with the children of White Crest finding new and inventive ways to achieve martyrdom that he damn near forgot what it was like to talk to someone a little more than reasonable. Even as the topic grew heavier, his shoulders didn’t. He didn’t feel as rusted over, as withered. Maybe it was the booze or maybe it was the strange ease of the conversation. Either way, he took well enough to it. Breathed a little easier. “Feels like half the time you’re just tryin’ to keep up with it all and shit, you’re still gettin’ lost somehow,” he said with a slightly furrowed brow. “It’s weird, y’know? I feel lost as shit in this town most of the time but the, uh, people sorta help with that.” Plenty of people had helped him and oddly enough, he thought as he glanced over, their numbers kept growing. Nothing like bar hospitality and the kindred nature of the weary. Strange crimes. The hunter had to wonder how much this man knew about White Crest’s strangeness. Had he seen one of those native wolves? Maybe the bloody aftermath of some vampire’s creation? Nicodemus frowned some as he moved the small shot glass between his hands. “Shit,” he said with lifted brows as he looked at him. “Take it you’ve been seein’ weird stuff ‘round these parts?” He gestured to the bartender to bring them a couple more drinks. This time on him. “So it’s a family kinda business for you? I know that one. You do the same stuff he did?” Air rushed out his nose. “Sure as hell can be a challenge. Don’t really know how we all keep survivin’ here but we do.” The more he drank, the heavier his drawl came. The more the bayou came through. A wry smile made an appearance. “Louisiana. Y’all got a couple seasons we don’t up here,” he said with a raspy laugh. “Do a lot of travelin’ but-- Hell, I think this is the longest I’ve stayed in one spot in about ten years.” As their drinks came by, he shifted some. “I’m, uh, Nicodemus. By the way. Nic works.”

In times like this, Roland always did his best to remember his father. There were so many ways in his mind that the man had always been larger than life. Even when the world around him seemed to be moving far too fast or in ways no one could have possibly understood, Jim Hills stood tall. It was the same energy he tried to emulate now. Letting some of it out helped keep his chin up. Did he live up to the man who raised him? These days he couldn’t be sure, but it was hard to be too torn up about it as the effects of the alcohol slowly kicked in. “That’s exactly it. Most days it feels hard enough just to tell up from down,” he agreed, “There are some good people here, though. Guess that’s what makes most things worth it at the end of the day.” There were also people who were only seemingly good. Erin and whoever in his department had disposed of her evidence were proof of that. Still, there were kind souls out there like the one sitting next to him, letting him get some worries off his chest. Even the crimes he had no explanation for. Maybe if he spoke his piece out loud, he’d have some sort of epiphany that brought this all together. “I think you’re on the nose with the weird shit part. Mimes, eyeballs, cults, diseased animals, you name it-- this town seems to have it.” Surely, there were probably run of the mill drug rings, too. The unbelievably high homicide rate just took precedence. “Oh yeah, Pops was a cop, too. Boston PD Captain before he passed. Always looked up to him though,” he answered. He nodded along with his note on survival. It seemed all he could do some days was just survive. “You got that right. Louisiana, now that’s a cool state. Only ever been to New Orleans there. Ex-Wife was very into the history of the town. I enjoyed the food.” He paused and took a sip from his fresh beer before asking, “What brought you to White Crest?” Now his mystery bar friend had a name. “Nic, it’s good to meet you. I’m Roland.”

It would take a great deal more for the hunter to start seeing double. Even so, Nicodemus slowed down. Took his time between sips as he just listened. It was funny, how he had honed that skill by listening to the details of bounties to get them just right. He almost laughed. Maybe Morgan had been right, Erin too. That he could do something else with it. Yet, the mornings and evenings went on the same. How could he end when he didn’t even know where to start? He hummed low to himself. “There are, yeah,” he admitted. He had to wonder if this man had that same crusted over optimism that he did. “Made more friends here than I have anywhere else. Maybe it’s that death rate, y’know? Got people eager to make friendly.” He shook his head, a slight smile of disbelief as he turned his drink in hand. A bit of dark humor to shadow over how fucking worried he was about everyone. “Shit, half the time it seems like they’re all in on it together. Group effort. Just...mimes?” He looked at Roland with his glass in hand, his face sour. “They ain’t right.” From time to time, he thought of how he had twisted the head off his own mime and then wondered why sometimes he didn’t sleep. The hunter went quiet for a moment. Father figures weren’t a familiar notion to him. He didn’t know his father. Only that he had his face and for that, he was troubled from the start. He was too busy having his grandfather look down at him to consider looking skyward. When the hell fires came for Samson, maybe Nicodemus could look down at him for once. The burn of his whiskey shook him out of it. “Sounds like he was a good man,” he finally said with a nod. “Could do with more of those.” What constituted a good man? He didn’t know. Didn’t think he had much to say on it. “New Orleans, Baton Rouge. Those are the real nice places, can’t go wrong with ‘em. But you wanna see the weird shit? Gotta get out to the middlin’ or upper parishes. Ain’t too different from here sometimes.” Hell, that was how he had spent most of his growing years. Dealing with the weird shit. “But, uh, work, mostly. Depends what people need. Handyman or pest control type stuff. Left home and just sorta kept moving. Make myself useful.” It sounded good enough in his head. “Likewise, likewise.” He held his glass over. “Well, Roland, to weird shit and alright people, huh?”

There was something to be said about trauma bringing people together. Roland agreed the death rate likely helped bring them all together. He knew even within the station, he felt more of a sense of comradery than he had back in Boston. Given, the competitive atmosphere in Boston’s department likely didn’t help, but here in White Crest, they’d all been through a lot. They’d all seen some shit. “Yeah, that must be it. Gotta be in this together to survive a place like this,” he pondered aloud. He slowed down with his drink. It wasn’t often that he indulged in drinking and it hit him more quickly than it would hit most other men his size because of this. While he had every intention of grabbing an Uber home, he didn’t love the idea of making a fool of himself in public. The mention of mimes working with the other crazy things in this town made his brow scrunch up. “God, I hope not,” he grumbled, “The mimes are bad enough on their own. I don’t want to see what happens if they team up with overly aggressive animals and cults… though maybe the mimes are a cult.” He really hated that thought though they did seem to have a cult following in this town. At least they weren’t stabbing people anymore as far as he could tell. All he knew was he could go the rest of his life without seeing or hearing about a mime and he’d be damn glad. “He was,” Roland agreed when Nic mentioned his father sounded like a good man. There wasn’t much more to say about that unless he wanted to go down memory lane and make himself sad. Seemed like he’d done enough of that tonight. Mentions of parts of New Orleans being like White Crest caused him to shake his head. “If I’m going on vacation, the last thing I’m looking for is more weird shit, but hey, guess it builds character.” He nodded along with the odd jobs, “Well, I’ll definitely keep you in mind if anything comes up.” He raised his stein and clinked it to Nic’s glass. “Cheers to weird shit and good people.” Maybe this wasn’t his normal scene, but after a good chat with Nic, he understood why people enjoyed it. He felt a lot less alone in this crazy world having found a kindred spirit.

#wickedswriting #simple kind of man #nicodemus #nic

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gothiccbts-blog · 5 years

Text

My Darling, Chapter 2

Genre: Murder Mystery, Horror, Angst (in this chapter)

Pairing: BTS x Reader

Summary: Working as a detective constable for 5 years definitely had you seeing some horrific scenes in your career. However, nothing would prepare you for the string of murders around the city which all had one intention; getting your attention.

Words: 4.4k

Author’s note: Hello! Sorry, this took so long to write, I was in London at the Wembley concerts (which were AMAZING btw) and also doing some shit in real life but here is chapter 2 finally!! Let me know what you think, thank you!! - Lisa

Chapter 1◀ ▶Next Chapter

‘Dear My Darling, Y/n Y/l/n,

Finally, my words meet your beautiful sparkling eyes, I can only imagine how they widen and still in shock as you take in each one of my words on this very piece of paper. Even writing this knowing that you’ll be holding it one day is getting me all excited here, detective~ haha.

You’re finally getting to notice something of me. Finally, I’m getting your attention. If only I could see your doe eyes in real life staring back into mine. You’re so beautiful, detective. I don’t think you get told that enough. You’re just surrounded by dogs who can’t see the true flower that’s right in front of their eyes, they don’t deserve to be in your presence. They don’t deserve you.

Anyway! You’re probably wondering; ‘why is all of this happening?’ ‘do I know this person?’ ‘am I being stalked?’ and as much as I would love to give you answers, I won’t. It would spoil the game, silly! A little game of ‘who did it?’ to keep you on your toes, detective, doesn’t that sound fun?~

I must leave now, places to go, people to see, people to kill… I’ll see you soon, detective <3,

But you won’t see me~

L.32’

7:28pm

“L.32’? What the fuck does that mean? Is this guy talking in code or something?” A frustrated and obviously anxious voice booms from beside me as he runs his hands over his pale face for the 10th time since he got into the lab, not that I was really listening at this point.

After seeing that letter on the ground of the night club’s freezer and having to open it with cold stiff hands, processing every word, process what was actually happening; You’ve been in a state of pure shock ever since. Apparently, it’s been almost 12 hours since you found the letter, for 12 hours you’ve been in this lab with forensics and other officers, but it all feels like 12 minutes at the most, your mind right now is in a dream-like state. You always see victims at crime scenes, ones who discovered or witnessed vile and outright evil acts that have been committed or even in TV shows, they’re sitting there like an empty shell of a human with a blanket wrapped around them just staring into nothing as though their whole entire being has been shut down within them. You never actually know how shock feels until you experience it yourself.

It’s trauma. Your body goes numb and suddenly everything around you is just in a state of blur, voices aren’t even reaching your ears, air isn’t reaching your lungs, your muscles tense up like they’ve turned to stone, unable to move from the ground you’re stood on, your brain is working at hyper speed trying to process and make sense of the events that have just occurred. That’s a shock. That’s what you’re having to deal with.

“I can’t say anything right now as we don’t have any results or answers back… we’re working as fast as we can on this, Officer.”

You’re very thankful for that voice, the deep and honey-rich voice that belongs to no other than your roommate and long-time best friend, Kim Namjoon. You both met back at University, you both having a keen interest in crime and forensics so you both instantly clicked. It all began with you being forced to work with him and a few other people on a group project, needless to say, you both bonded over how the other students weren’t helping with the project leading to endless nights of bitching. Oh, what a simple time that was.

You’re so happy and thankful to have him within this field with you working as a Forensic Scientist, he’s always been there from terrible boyfriends and break-ups to when you’re having a mental breakdown over a homicide case. He’s your rock and you couldn’t be more thankful for meeting the big tree of a man, plus he has a good taste in plants for your shared apartment so that’s always a plus.

“Hey, Y/n… you still with us?”

You’re quickly snapped out of your daydream when Namjoon waves his glove covered hand in front of your face, a small smile appearing on his lips, not in amusement but more in sympathy.

“I’m fine, Joon… Just a little… shocked, that’s all.” You say honestly if there’s anyone who can read you like a book it’s him so there’s no point in putting on a fake mask of being okay when you’re totally not.

“Maybe you should call it a day, y/n. You look really tired; a good night’s rest will do you some good,” He suggests, looking like he’s just witnessed a crying puppy in an alleyway as he looks down at you, your eyes must be revealing how drained you are to him as you look up at him,

“Plus, analysis on the paper, pen, and handwriting used on the letter will take a good day to come back with results, that and trying to pinpoint any clues or indications within the writing itself… you should use this time to rest, please.”

A hand comes in contact with your other shoulder, rubbing the numb skin a little as the body comes closer, making you break eye-contact with Namjoon to turn to face the person.

“He’s right, Miss y/l/n, you should call it a day… do you need me to give you a ride home?” Officer Min softly asks as he peers down at you, a look of sympathy on his face, mirroring Namjoon’s. It’s not often Officer Min changes his expression from his neutral ‘cold’ one, that’s another reason why he’s always picked to lead the homicide cases around the city, he’s got that threatening look to him which gets people to talk. You know he isn’t just a stone cold officer, you’ve noticed the little things he does to show he actually cares; getting you coffee when you’ve got a long night, making sure you eat and get home safely, making sure you’re not cold or not too warm. It’s the little things that you appreciate.

You shake your head, too drained from all of this to even bring yourself to say no, all you can let out is; “I need a walk, don’t worry…” before pushing yourself away from both of the men, grabbing your jacket and putting it over your vulnerable and stiff body, the weight of the jacket feels like it’s increased as though someone’s put boulders into your pockets, or maybe it’s your body that’s grown weak.

“be careful, Miss y/l/n, give me a call if you need anything…” Officer Min says, sympathy laced throughout his words before the man next to him speaks up,

“There are some leftovers in the fridge, heat them up then call it a night, you always forget to eat…” Namjoon states more than he suggests, he’s always looking out for you especially during big cases like this, although all of those cases seem pretty little now.

With a nod and a forced smile, you make your way to exit the building, just trying to keep whatever Namjoon has left in the fridge for you in mind rather than the nauseating letter that’s sat in that very lab.

8:00pm

The cold piercing air brushes against your exhausted and discoloured skin as you make your way down the damp pavement, the streetlights being your only source of sight as well as some car’s headlights which would pass now and then. It’s weird, you thought, how your mind isn’t bursting at the seams with possibilities and questions into the events that occurred tonight but rather it’s quiet. Not a single thought or idea is running its way through your mind and developing into worries and ‘what if’s, instead you’re just enjoying the silence of the world around you. The silence of the street. The silence in your head.

As if your body was being controlled by someone else, you’re stopped dead in your tracks, right in front of a pathway coming off of the pavement, only lit by a single orange street light in the middle of it. You head slowly turning as your eyes scan the concrete of the ground trying to figure out why your body had the sudden urge to stop as you made your way home.

Your eyes widen as realisation dawns on you as to where this other path leads to; The Stigma Nightclub. You should’ve guessed since the faint noise of the club’s bass travels through the air to where you’re standing, cold in the middle of a dimly lit pavement.

The murder all seems different now, it isn’t just something you can detach yourself from and solve through an outsider’s perspective, this time you’re entangled in this mess. This involves you now, that what makes this murder so much different. You were on this person’s mind as he was slaughtering this poor boy, you were on this person’s mind when he stained his fingers with the person’s blood and smeared it on the cold brick wall of the club. You.

Without any thought, you’re moving in the direction of the bass and laughter, seems like Mr. Jung hasn’t decided to keep the club closed for even a few days after the murder happened. Not that you’re surprised in the slightest, he is money hungry after all and he doesn’t hide it. All you have to do is take one look at what he’s wearing and you’ll know that he’s proud of his bank account. Always the latest designer watches, rings, personally designed suits and shoes, his outfits alone are easily over a million dollars.

Your eyes burn at the sight of the vibrant pink neon sign at the club’s entrance piercing through the darkness of the night. It’s pretty packed outside already with girl’s shivering in their tight and short bodycon dresses and men who are obviously trying to look impressive and appealing to whoever they can get their hands on. They’re all waiting like caged animals behind a red rope waiting for the club to open at 9pm.

Just shows how popular this club really is, even with murder right outside its doorstep there’s still people coming here waiting to fill their stomachs with alcohol. You can’t blame them really I mean, you used to be one of them.

You move before you catch the stern eyes of one of the bouncers, who seem to be occupied by an already very drunk and touchy girl trying to get in early, heading to the side of the club which is still covered in police tape and markings of where the boy’s body was. From the looks of things, the crime scene cleaners have already come since all is left of the murder is the faint red stains on the concrete of the ground and the brick wall.

You duck under the police tape with shaky legs, your wide eyes focused on the brick wall of the club, the faint stain of the embedded message still slightly visible.

‘My Darling..’ you mumble to yourself, your stiff fingers moving out to touch the cold wall like a puppet being controlled by some string, your brain congested with the question of who the hell would write this message specifically for you? And why? What did they want from You?

A bright flash of white light had you snap out of your trance, your glossed over eyes rapidly blinking in order to get your eyes back in focus as you turn to the direction of the sound of movement.

A figure. You can’t identify who it is as you squint, the person seems to have their hood up and… is that a camera?

Whoever this seems not to have noticed you yet, you are pretty far back in the alley since you were looking at the writing, plus this person clearly is focused on something else rather than you.

Maybe they’re forensics? Weird, I thought Officer Min’s team was finished here, especially since everything’s been cleaned up... You thought, staying as still as you can so you can try and take in as much of this person’s appearance before getting noticed, luckily the sound of people’s laughter and shouting from the front of the club are drowning out the noise of your rapid breathing from fright.

They’re lean... tall... maybe 5’9”? 5’10”? Pale from what I can see from their hands around the camera lens... looks male from their build…

The bright flash of light illuminates the alleyway, giving me a millisecond of the appearance of the stranger. Obviously, this boy appears to have noticed me too by the way his brown doe-like eyes widened as his shutter went off. He’s wearing an oversized black hoodie with the hood up, the peak of his dark brown fringe coming out from underneath, pale glowing skin.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

Trying to sound as stern and intimidating as I can, I take a few steps towards the boy who is obviously in a panicked state by the way his shoulders are tensed up and his fingers tighten around the camera.

“What are you doing at a crime scene, you know I could have you arr- hey!”

Before I could even reach him or finish my sentence, he makes a run for it, his head quickly ducking underneath the tape as he sprints over the wet pavement, as far away from the club as he can. My natural instinct is to sprint after him, my own fitness level only allowing me to run so fast. This boy is obviously quite fit if he can this fast! Must be an athlete or something! Your thighs and calves are already on fire and you’re not even going at half the speed he is.

“Stop running! Hey!”

Your loud and strained shout, obviously not going to the gym for a while has worn you out easily, must have startled him as the next thing you hear is a smash of what sounds like glass, his camera.

Quickly scrambling to pick it up, leaving pieces of his shattered camera on the wet pavement as he makes a run for it again before he’s out of sight, jumping over a nearby fence into god knows where, probably some poor family’s garden.

With painful breaths you slowly make your way to where he dropped his camera, looking down to see broken glass and some plastic. Deserves him right for creeping on a crime scene.

‘Shit…’

As you’re about to walk away, pissed now that you have to call Officer Min and tell him exactly what just happened in detail, something else on the ground catches your eye where the smashed camera parts are laying. Squatting down, you pick it up from the murky ground, rubbing off some of the dirt with your thumb. It’s a little small black piece of plastic in the square-like shape, but you know exactly what it is; an SD card. A proud smirk takes over your dried-out lips. Let’s go see what other photos you take, creep.

8:45pm

Your exhausted body finally relaxes as you flop onto the soft comfort of your sofa, not bothering to take off your jacket or your shoes, it’s too much effort to do right now. The last thing you needed tonight was to do a 100-meter dash in the most uncomfortable shoes in the world but who knows what this job will throw at you, all you know is: you’re in dire need of a massage and some wine.

Finally dragging your deflated body off of the couch, you drag your feet into the kitchen, immediately going to the wine rack that you and Namjoon keep stocked up and grab one of the cheapest bottles of red wine. Grabbing a glass from the top shelf of your cupboard with a drawn-out groan and pouring yourself a well-deserved drink, not before grabbing the bottle and taking it back to the couch with you. You already know the whole bottle is going to be empty by the end of the night.

A loud moan escapes your lips as you take off your torturous shoes, if the neighbours had heard they’d think you were finally hooking up with someone. Truth is, after Taehyung you were never with anyone else, not even one-night stands sounded appealing to you. In your mind, if it wasn’t Taehyung then why bother? He was the one you wanted, why settle for anyone else?

Now you’re too busy to look for anyone else after your heart was broken, you didn’t see a point in trying to build a relationship again, truth is you never got over him. How could you? You had your whole future planned with him from your wedding, honeymoon, future house, future kids, and then for it all to be shattered by his hands and thrown away was just too much for you. How could you move on after something like that?

The piercing taste of the cheap wine hitting your taste buds takes you away from those thoughts, I can’t be thinking of that now!

Suddenly remember what you picked up tonight, you reach into your jacket pocket and take out the still dirty SD card. Wiping away some of the dirt from the small golden plates, you grab my laptop and carefully put in into the correct slot, your chipped fingernails drumming on the surface of the laptop in the anxiety of what I might find.

If this guy is weird enough to take photos of a crime scene, who knows what else I’ll find on this thing…maybe I should call Officer Min first…

Glancing at your phone on the table, you shake your head, he’ll probably be passed out or too busy with Forensics right now to bother with this. Plus, that means calling him and you’re really not in the mood for any more human interaction for the night, today has been too rough.

Finally, your laptop is able to read the damaged SD card, multiple files appearing on your screen. This guy must use this SD card a lot seeing as there are multiple folders on here. Looking at his first glance you’d think that this was a normal person’s memory card, files such as ‘Holiday 2017’, ‘Photography’ and ‘Other’ are all carefully organised.

Moving your cursor, you click on the file titled ‘Photography’ and before you know it your screen is filled with various photos; photos of anything you could imagine. Plants, buildings, the sea, architecture, clouds, people, this is everything you would see in the portfolio of a professional photographer. If you didn’t think this guy was such a creep you’d be impressed with his work, doesn’t look like he’s going to be taking any more professional photos like these for a while considering he smashed his lens running.

Going back, you try to find some of the photos he took tonight, he couldn’t have deleted them while he was running. Biting the skin of your lip as you move onto the ‘Other’ folder, the grey blank squares slowly loading to reveal what you were looking for.

These aren’t just photos of this crime scene; these are photos from so many crimes scenes. You click on one, a small gasp coming from you as you take it in in all its glory. He took these while police were there, while forensics themselves were taking photos! How did he even manage to sneak there without anyone noticing?

Skipping to the next photo, your heart is frozen stiff when your brain finally picks apart what it is that’s staring at you from the screen. It’s you. This photo must have been from like last year from what you can tell from the length of your hair, plus you don’t wear that jacket anymore.

In the photo you’re facing a body on the floor, you remember; It was a robbery gone wrong. Poor guy was making his way home from work from a car insurance company in town, some young boys decided it was a good idea to try and rob the guy, needless to say, they got what they wanted. Your eyebrows are furrowed as you look as though mid-conversation, probably with Officer Min who is usually always by your side, even back then.

The photo is just focused on you, this guy is obviously using his professional photography skills in order to capture you. You try to steady your breathing, trying not to jump to the conclusion that you’re already thinking; is this man linked with the murder?

With a sudden harsh press to the ‘esc’ button, the photo is quickly removed from your screen, your shaking fingers coming up to rub your tired eyes. As if this day couldn’t get any worse.

As you’re about to pull the SD card out of its slot in your laptop, a sick feeling washing over your exhausted body unable to look at anymore, sudden realisation dawn over you. There’s still another folder on this memory card. It’s innocently titled ‘Holiday 2017’.

Swallowing, your fingers find the touchpad and move the cursor over to the file, closing your eyes as you double click, god knows what this sick fuck will have hidden in her- huh?

It’s… it’s literally holiday photos.

Photos of the beach, family members, group photos, drinks and food, lots of happy smiles. Thank god, no more photos of dead bodies or even you. You sigh out in relief, grabbing your wine glass again as you skim through all the photos, seeing if anyone matches the physic of the boy you saw tonight.

Downing the remainder of your glass, you sigh out, looks like this guy was taking more photos of his friends and family rather than have him in them. Well, it’s a start I guess, I could always take these to Officer Min and look through some databases for any identification of any of these people. Hopefully, some are family members, that would just be grand.

Pausing at one photo you notice that it isn’t older people anymore, it appears to be young men, look around the age of the boy tonight. Leaning in towards the screen, you scan the bodies before you reach one face in particular, your intoxicated brain taking a moment to identify who the person in this photo is.

‘No… it can’t be…’

Moving your fingers on the touchpad, you zoom in on the man’s face, a sharp intake in breath fills your lungs. It’s him.

It’s Jimin. Taehyung’s roommate. Smiling on the beach with some other guys you don’t recognise.

Oh, what a night this is.

Friday 7:38am

After seeing that image of Jimin on that man’s SD card, you already knew exactly what you were doing today. Let’s just hope Jimin still lives in the same place as before and hopefully he isn’t home. The last thing you need is to be faced to face with the man that broke your heart again.

“Baby? You awake?” a deep and husky voice said into your ear, the feeling of a hand rubbing the side of your thigh also pulls you out of your slumber.

“Mmm, well now I am…” you smile sleepily, keeping your eyes closed as you move your hand on top of his, your fingertips brushing over the smooth skin of his hand.

“You know… Jimin’s out right now, he got called into work early…” the feeling of wet pecks being placed against your neck has a giggle escape from your lips, your eyes fluttering open slightly.

“And? What are you suggesting, Tae?” you innocently ask, feeling his hand turn to intertwine his long slender fingers with yours, his leg managing to make its way in-between yours.

“Well… It involves a lot of this…” he says as he places more and more kisses all over your neck, his teeth grazing against the skin of your neck.

“This…” his hand is now released from your fingers, slowly making its way up your stomach just below your breasts, a teasing laugh escaping his lips as he runs his fingers between the valley of your breasts till it reaches under your chin, where he tilts your head towards his.

“and maybe just some of this…” he grins, leaning in to place his plump lips onto yours, both of you smiling into the kiss as my moves his body on top of yours.

You stop your car with a loud sigh, just staring at your steering wheel before slowly tearing it away to look at the apartment complex in front of you. Oh, how it’s been so long since you’ve been here. You practically lived here with Taehyung when you were dating, you both were inseparable. The last time you were here was when your heart was broken.

Shaking that memory from your head, it’s too early to be thinking back to that, you think. This is for business, for work, there are people’s lives in danger here you shouldn’t let your past come in the way of this. Who knows what will happen if you don’t catch this creepy bastard.

The clicking of your shoes echoes through the hallway of the apartment, making your way up the cold concrete stairs up to the 3rd floor, you know now never to take the lift, the amount of times you got stuck in that metal death trap is unbelievable! Although you and Taehyung always made most of your time alone in there.

The familiar sight of the discoloured wooden door with the number ‘36’ displayed in silver is now in front of you, a breathy laugh comes from your lips; looks like they never did get round to painting the door again, no matter how many times you told them.

You look at your watch, it’s almost 8am, Jimin doesn’t usually leave to work in his family’s butchers till 9am which means he should be up. That is if he still even works there. Let’s just hope Taehyung is passed out or moved out, you pray.

Your knuckles bang against the wood before stepping back, your jaw clenching with nerves as you hear shuffling from behind the door, keeping your head down as you hear the fumbling of keys and the lock turning.

You bring your head up when the door is swiftly brought open, the lump in your throat now getting even bigger when you see who’s answered the door.

“Y-y/n? Baby?”

Oh no.

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dentalrecordsmusic · 5 years

Text

Album Review: No Momentum - “everything's whatever”

Words by Ari Jindracek

I became acquainted with No Momentum at Sled Fest, as I did with many bands, and after seeing them live, the chance to check out their first full-length LP was one I knew I had to jump on. I left Mount Prospect that night with their CD in my bag, though various holiday circumstances meant I couldn't actually check it out until January, and the second I listened, I was in. The more I listen, the more in I get. No Momentum feel like the sort of band that would result if you took topics that the DIY scene spends a lot of time on, like love, nostalgia, and modern Internet culture, chopped up a weird and sometimes distressing therapy session, and shoved everything into a food processor with early Fall Out Boy. That's a bad metaphor for a good band, but you might get my point: there's a bit of old, a lot of new, and the result is wholly terrific.

The first few seconds of “yr telescope” feel like a cool day in a small park in the middle of the city, soothing but with a sense of modernity still there. This impression goes away as soon as it came and I must admit the transition into the more bouncy, vocally-fried song was jarring. The lyrics take a backseat, for me, to the rhythm which singer Will Bowman spits them out; if I brought this song to my sophomore year class on prosody (look it up), my professor would probably listen to “I’m not defined by rhymes or lines,” look at the class, and say something in his deeply profound voice about how he thought it was cool as hell. It feels like every word of this song falls perfectly into its right place, a perfectly-played game of musical Tetris. I long for a return to the serene beginning just so it doesn’t seem like such a one-off, but this song latched in my brain and I think of it sometimes, unprompted, on walks to the train, wishing I could listen to it on my phone.

The way “gts” starts steeply contrasts the way “yr telescope” does, opening with harsh, metallic, picky noises that make my teeth itch before opening into the guitar-backed vocals, and sliding into a bouncy rhythm like water off an umbrella. The vocals lapse into traditional nasally emo, into a rasping, into screaming. The range of sonic texture in this song alone is stunning and makes me think about how some hardcore bands have separate people giving clean vocals and screamed vocals, unable or willing to cover all that territory. A lot is going on in “gts”, so much that I feel like it slipped off my brain on the first few listens. The first half of the lyrics are grounded in simple reality (“You’re probably used to it by now / you’ve probably got your script out” reminds me of that now-dead meme about the “I’m at capacity” text script. I’m on Twitter a lot, sue me.), then after a beachy instrumental interlude, the song collapses into murderous imagery, ending with what seems to be the death of the listener at the hands of the speaker. The first line, “my brain feels like it’s overloading”, is right. I’m not mad about it, but feel like I’m missing something between verses.

“not my home” grabs my attention almost immediately with the way “dot dot dot” smartly multitasks, working on the levels of both lyric and catchy, pop-punky sound effect. This song feels colossal, partially because the two before it are so short, a billowing blanket castle that takes up half the house. The line “you said this body’s not my home anymore” is the most powerful of the song to me, though I’m not sure if it hits for me, a transgender person, for the same reasons it might hit for the band. The song feels like it comes in waves--soft-loud, gentle-fast. Every time I get used to the sound I’m hearing, it flips again. In the end, the slow rhythm underneath the tragic-sounding apologies gives way, almost naturally, to the more intense moment that follows, which slows down again as the song fades out. The beginning of “painted yellow lines” feels like it follows naturally, in much the same way. Again, the cadence of the lyrics in this song grabs my attention. The vocals feel like a rhythm instrument in their own right for the way they seem to be hammered out, exactly on every beat. This song was the first one that outright surprised me with how good it was. The lyrics read as a simple but painful testament to mental illness and intrusive thoughts; “who’s to say some painted yellow lines can quell impulse / but that’s not me, no that’s the disease” and “maybe I’m damaged goods but I’m good” both hit me hard. The former feels very visual, an image of an image in someone’s head of steering their car out of its proper lane, crashing headfirst into traffic; the latter, an almost-too-easy denial of the very distressing feelings that might make one want to steer into traffic. I love the ghostly effect of the effect-riddled vocals behind the guitar solo, and the thick bass in the breakdown right before the end of the song makes me think of it as a headbanging moment.

The beginning of “chill’d,” the first single off the album and first half of “chill’d / passenger,” echoes that of “gts” but feels more suspenseful, from the chords and growly bass to the little triplets. This effect dissolves when the vocals start, much like it does in “yr telescope.” The band does echo this in the chorus, though, which I’m grateful for. My primary thought about “chill’d / passenger” is that it feels like two songs--and not like one two-part song, as I would have expected by the two-part title. Both are remarkable, don’t get me wrong. “chill’d” is high-energy with remarkable drum fills and one of those bridges I love that slows down before picking itself back up. After a second of tuning, “chill’d” lapses into the much slower “passenger,” which glitters like black ice under streetlights. The breakdown of the song, screams of “what are you scared of?” is raw and stunning. My main problem is that these two halves don’t feel like they cohere, which is sad because they’re both such brilliant halves! The feel of the two songs, however, both lyrically and musically, is just too different for me to connect them as one and the same without a little more transition work than those quiet seconds that it takes to twist up one or two guitar strings. There are smoother transitions on the album between songs that are listed separately. I think picking “chill’d” as a single independent of its mate was a good choice--it’s a lot more fun and less gut-wrenching. Honestly, if my only problem with a song is the transition between it and the next song, even if they’re both the same track, that’s pretty high praise.

My first impression of the second single “my dad invented punk and he’s gonna cancel your band” is obviously tied to the title, because I judge a book by its cover more than I should. It’s a good impression--feels very mid-2000s--and it doesn’t let me down. The opening guitar grit feels familiar at this point, a thread woven through earlier songs. Bassist Dan Watkins’s part feels extra distinctive, partially because the guitar largely drops out at the end of the first verse to give the bassline extra room, but also because it drives the song as it crashes forward through the brush. Lyrically, I love “deify me, crucify me” as a couplet, and as a quick summary of the way cancel culture works in the music world we all live in: musicians and their work are so important we end up idolizing them, until they step over a line, at which point the scene, metaphorically, cuts their heads off. The ending is abrupt--like the end of a smaller band’s career if they cross that line--and I wish I had some more of it to sink my teeth into, but I also have no problem with the song slamming the brakes in a way oddly similar to how it started.

“orange julius erving” kicks off with that scratchy guitar sound that seems to be a No Momentum signature sound over lush rhythms. I feel like I could listen to the drums at the very beginning on their own and they’d feel like a song in their own right. The subject matter feels very domestic, in great contrast to the very-online subject of the previous song: brushing teeth, kitchen towels, and love for someone with the sort of deathwish that makes someone crash their car into a wall. The guitar solo slots in perfectly after the second verse and I love the way it feels so tonally clear. The slow tremolo at the end of this solo creates a great springboard for launching into the final sequence of screaming, loving but brutal to feel.

The song “yes, momentum”, obviously named with tongue in cheek, is also very aptly named: it builds from the wash of sound in the first few notes, into a first voice sung normally, into a slower bridge, into a final minute of screaming. Even in the slower verse, the line “sit on my hands and scream too loud” indicates what is to come, and Marty Headley on drums keeps the energy up even as the instrumentals fade out. The whole effect of this build feels like I’m trying to walk down a steep hill--tentative, then walking, then running due to the buildup of, well, momentum. The end of the song after “the buck stops now” feels right, because if the song had kept going any more, it seemed like it would spin itself out and wreck on the side of the road, so great was the force behind it.

"donettes" is a great example of a type of song I-- probably wrongly, let's be real -- refer to as "grand emo ballads.” Out of my top five songs of all time, I would classify three under this heading. That is to say, "donettes" falls into my favorite flavor of song: characterized by slow-tempo instrumentals that take up a lot of real estate in a long song full of lyrics that contain significant emotional depth. Think of the richness of the instrumentals here, paced much slower than almost anything else on the album so far but pulling just as much attention in as the killer songs earlier on. The drumming in the final two minutes is phenomenal. The lyrics, though there aren't as many of them as one might expect from a song almost six minutes long, hit me like bricks every now and then. “What made you think that you could outrun time?” got me immediately, as did the slow, heartfelt rendition of, “tell me what you want, what you really really want.” The imagery in the last verse is vivid for how grounded it is, all sugar sweet and nostalgic.

There is a rawness in the love there, shown in the desperation of the vocals, the cries of the guitar. It all comes together into pretty much my platonic ideal of a slow song by a fast band. The album's title track follows, another slowed-down closer. "everything’s whatever" begins with a doubled guitar that isn't present elsewhere, probably because No Momentum only has one guitarist. It takes more than a minute and a half for the rhythm section to come in, and the first time they take the foreground is more than halfway through. Most of the song has a sonic feel like a gray-skied day by the shore of a lake. Lyrically, there is apathy and neutrality showing in lines like “I’m waiting for some things to fall together so I can start living.” It's very relatable but there is a distinct undercurrent of forcing it--there is more emotion under the facade. “Can’t seem to stop the room from spinning” feels like the beginning of the cracking of that facade to me, a crack that leads to a crumbling in the last full minute; after that, there are explicit mentions of pretending regularly, subtext fully made text. In the end, the song gets musically much harder, more wrenching, and you can tell that the end is nigh. It feels like light is slipping out through the places where the mask of not caring has worn thin.

While working on this review, I found myself wanting to listen to everything’s whatever more than just when I was at home with my good headphones on, flipping through MP3s, with my orange CD player waiting for when I needed it. No Momentum at times remind me of some of my favorite bands. Sure, there are a few blemishes on the album, but the sheer caliber of the work means I am all too willing to ignore those little scrapes and stage-dive into a crowd about it instead. No Momentum’s work is going to make it into my rotation, absolutely, and when they blow up and start headlining national tours, you can catch me in the pit.

everything’s whatever was released today, 2/14. You can listen to the album here on Bandcamp and be sure to catch up with No Momentum on all of their social media.

Ari Jindracek wants some powdered sugar donuts now. Ari doesn’t even like powdered sugar donuts. You can find Ari on Twitter.

Follow DRM on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter.

Subscribe to the DRM YouTube channel.

#no momentum #everything's whatever #everythings whatever #punk #punk rock #emo #emo punk #poughkeepsie #poughkeepsie new york #new york #indie #indie rock

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deviationdivine · 6 years

Text

Even Until There Is No End (RK900|Request!)

TLDR: The horrors of Cyberlife never seem to fade even after the revolution...

Word Count: 2,460

TW: Angst, Violence & Character Death (I don't know how it went there)

A/N: Prompts: 36. “They’re monsters.” & 2. “Hey, hey, calm down. They can’t hurt you anymore.” | Ahhh! Your comments make my year! Hope this turns out the way you like! Thanks so much for dropping me a prompt exchange. :) My queue is open!

How can it end like this?

A question swirling around in your brain ever since news broke about an incursion orchestrated by the very people who pretend to integrate with public opinion. The war was won. Androids were no longer at the mercy of persecution and everyone waited in baited breath about the outcome involving Cyberlife.

Following the revolution they proposed a peaceful continuation of the company. Skepticism is ripe for the picking. This isn’t just something androids were leery of. Humans, civilians having nothing to do with it, voicing questions.

Cyberlife never answers. They did now.

Your breath catches. More you attempt to find a flaw in this lab in order to escape the less hopeful.

Why throw you here in the first place? Easy. This is a higher level. Anyone who tries to get in will face a bigger accumulation of guards. Those same men who...

Tears threaten but nothing spills readily. People have died and you are bait.

“Nines,” you whisper defeated.

He went deviant too. Like so many others.

Cyberlife waits and waits to concoct a scheme. Now it’s in full swing because Detroit is chaos. Never imagined this will somehow be worse. It is. It is so much worse.

Connor is already gone. Everything is in shambles and it is all due to those...

Your head rises quickly. Shouting echoes down corridor becoming louder, closer up until thunderous pops of gunfire eclipse the original cacophony.

Pounding floods your ears. This time it’s an erratic heartbeat and everything tingles in a swath of dread. Sweeping down head to toe increases discomfort not that you’ve had a pleasant time here.

Apprehended like this despite being part of the DPD is ridiculous itself. When there are multiple security guards armed to the teeth there isn’t much proper training can do to alleviate that situation. Unless dying is what you want to do.

Makes you sicker knowing. Several officers cut down in cold blood. What is this all for except Cyberlife’s unwillingness to allow freedom for everyone to live together. Accomplishing another megalomaniac plan to control or eradicate and this time everyone’s caught.

Crossfire is a horrific thing. Innocent people will suffer the most.

As your thoughts swirl in this entrapment it’s obvious why. Part of you felt as much when they took you alive.

All of this started when responding to a generic emergency call. Ambushed. They knew. Somehow they manage to take you knowing that he-

The noise stops. It ceases everything even your thought because the door busts open under a powerful kick. Shrinking back on hard surface of table doesn’t last because nothing can make you flinch away now.

“Y/N.” The RK900 moves swiftly through lab.

“Nines.” The strangling whisper accompanies your spring up to feet. How did he even…? Your body molds with his as a key in a lock. It will always open because these two parts are of one whole. “They’re monsters.”

“Hey, hey, calm down.” His words soothe in a gentler less stiff timbre. Perhaps it is a bit more human than he realizes but this moment does not offer much time for analysis. With you in his arms it is far more imperative to protect, comfort. “They can’t hurt you anymore.”

Soft promises make your legs weak. Exhaustion eats away at your body. Only the firm sheltering embrace of your android lover keeps you afloat. Strange but this is the first time you realize how painstakingly soft he is.

Only in privacy far from prying eyes; Nines never wants to outwardly show affection for eye witnesses. He feels it’s none of their concern.

Why should he do that when he shows you how much emotion exists in your private sanctuary? You find it typical. Or so you did…

This means more. Even if he took out several guards to stop an audience at this point it really wouldn’t matter. Somehow this tells you how much Nines really loves you. There is no hesitation. Certain things just evaporate the fog of doubt encasing your heart and clear the way.

Peering into his face, gripping up onto broad shoulders serves as an anchor. All that’s on your mind now is how happy you are seeing him in one piece. After what they did to Connor –

His lips meet yours in urgency. Pulling both of you flush together settles indicator into flickering amber a drop from its initial scarlet warning because you are safe. He does not say it aloud.

Unspoken, intense and full of pure emotion the android cradles you as a delicate flower petal. Wild and untamed blowing in the wind and his presence abates its wilting chill.

“Nines.” Breathing up into his lips says everything and nothing at all. “Thank God you…”

“Step away from the human, RK900!”

Jolting back from Nines at the cutting demand fills your lungs in a shock of breath. Connor?

An immediate aim of handgun in your direction answers before you know what’s happening. A shove forces you out of range putting you in contact with one of those lab tables. Stabilizing on two feet is too late to act further.

RK900 grimaces in the path of fire. Preventing deadly precision striking in a vital area that will surely lead to your death, the android absorbs gunshot. The quick action allows a useful shield to protect.

A moment after he staggers in a collapse. Thudding to wall brings the advanced android down in a slide. Knocking every thread out of his system it is immediate:

Error

Critical Malfunction

Imminent Shutdown

Even so the sound of your terrified voice fills his core. “Nines! No!”

Frantic hands clutch at the front of his white jacket. Sinking down automatically brings you close on knees pressing hands over a hole in his sweater torn from gunshot. Blue blood stains your skin creating a sickening drop pit of stomach. It’s visceral. A grisly hue means life ebbing away and he is alive. He is.

He’s hit where his thirium pump is. It’s obvious from how horribly Nines slumped. Never did you ever imagine seeing him crumble in such a way. Not him. Not the very powerful storm that sweeps you away along his torrent.

Exactly what describes that initial attraction you held meeting him. Eye of the storm in steel unmakes you each night in his fiery regard. He can weather any tempest because he is that gale. There is nothing more you love.

“Faster, stronger,” the other android mocks effectively.

Coward! He shoots Nines when he’s distracted. That’s the only reason! He-he put himself in the way. No, he can’t do this.

“More resilient,” the duplicate continues unnecessarily smug. “But not for me.”

Tears blind in a messy streak unable to see this fake clearly. Instead he resembles a blur, a nightmare figment seemingly crawling out of the depths of every one of your darkest fears. The idea this thing is identical to Connor makes insides churn to the point of retching.

Never would the soft doe-eyed android hurt Nines. They held a peculiar relationship but in the end developed an understanding. This is not Connor. It even isn’t the one you heard about from the warehouse.

“Nines! Nines, look at me.”

Desperately cupping his face drew his crystalline gaze, icy but never frigid when he looks at you now. “Y/N…”

“No.” You choke on that plea. “Please, don’t leave me.”

The android behind you watches in disinterest. Brandishing weapon in steady footsteps brings him closer. “Why do humans like you wish to sacrifice for a machine? We do not feel anything.”

Anger twists the anguish in your features. Throwing a sharp glance up at the faux Connor evaporates all of this fear riddling your heart. “You don’t feel! Connor, Nines…they felt! They’re alive.” Were alive.

Liquid spilling from the ducts of your eyes forces a grimace on the goading duplicate’s face. Tears shed over a filthy deviant when he is loyal to their creators.

There is no denying this connection between machine and human is unsettling. It is enough to watch and feel a strange pull center of his chest. The loyal machine steps back in a huff against that unfamiliar sensation.

“Cyberlife will win,” the faux Connor promises. “All of these deviants will be destroyed. But…you may leave.”

Leave? As if that’s even an option! “No,” you sneer. “I’m not going anywhere!”

“Y/N.” Grabbing onto wrist breaks your heated exchange with Connor’s doppelganger. Nines looks to you with something far different in his once stoic shell. There is only you. “Go. My Flower.”

What is he-? “Nines, I won’t leave you.”

“I am shutting down,” he is blunt. To be unkind is not his motive but to save you still. “I-I love you.”

Always in your heart you knew it was true. While he may not have said those words before everything he ever did was a sign. Now they crush whatever is left of a soul because he is yours. How can this happen?

Please, please wake up!

This is a nightmare. All of this cannot be real. Unfortunately all the pleading in the world can’t undo reality.

“Listen to your deviant lover. You were taken as a tool to use in a lure. We have no further need of you.”

Thinking on how much time Nines has left fuels brand new determination. You rise to feet. Moving towards the fake Connor, heart hammering in chest, there’s something gleaming just under the surface. When he made this offer to let you go it clicks.

Machine he says. Loyal to Cyberlife who are nothing more than mass murderers at this point; you reach up to place hands against the clone’s chest.

Issue jacket with Cyberlife branding as Connor once wore but he stopped. This is the only sign needed to know this is not your friend.

The android stutters. Physically jolting from your touch it leaves his LED a flood of crimson. “What game are you playing?”

“Proving a point,” the response is dangerous to his unfeeling self. It’s in his eyes. He’s…afraid.

You squeeze eyes shut not to look when pulling the clone into you. Kissing him hastily brings a hand down to his. Fingers stretch for handgun, ready to snag and blow his head off.

Yet your movement knocks off kilter when this supposed unfeeling machine grabs on. Pressing a harsher, hungrier kiss back sinks your entire plan and self preservation.

All instinct to pull away kicks in as your ruse seemingly backfires. Until he thrusts you off himself both incensed at his participation and privy to where your hand grabs.

In a split second the gun goes off striking faux Connor in the shoulder. A heavy swat of arm knocking you down is what you receive harshly in return. The frazzled android’s attention on your trickery completely fails.

The RK900 locks a crushing arm around the machine’s neck. Coming up behind while your actions wrestle weapon away it is the only preconstruction offering high probability of success.

Holding upright onto the RK800 copy as much as struggling to gain upper hand careens them both into clinical table. Thirium stains the faux Connor’s jacket where Nines continues to lose volume.

Shutdown 1 min 23 seconds

A crack of knuckles connects revealing the white plastic beneath. Marring synthetic flesh clean off the duplicate’s cheek reveals more of the machine he so readily claims to be. Even with all those parts, circuitry exposing true internal clockwork, androids can be more living than other organisms.

Deviancy is not weakness.

Nines remembers. You told him that once. And that is what gives him strength while tearing open faux Connor’s shirt and ripping thirium pump cleanly from its port.

A gasp escapes where you pick yourself up off floor. Their skirmish hardly lasts but those seconds feel an eternity. Watching the phony twitch, attempt to crawl and swipe fingers out at Nines brings his digits in a vice on the android’s black shoe.

The same sole pulls free and crushes down atop the so-called loyal machine’s digits. Loyalty you disproved with a ruse that ultimately destroys him.

“Nines?” Your voice is thick. Watching him hunch over, tossing away stuttering red glowing pump, his back straightens stiffly in an all too human huff of artificial breath.

RK900 blinks. Processing, analyzing his system status. For now he is able to function to complete his mission: you.

“The RK800 is backwards compatible,” he explains, clearly seeing your tear stained face and no longer blind to critical warnings.

Backwards compatible? Why didn’t he say that?! You thought maybe in an act of desperation but there was no way of knowing for sure.

“Oh my God.” Part of you wants to punch him in the shoulder for that but the simple urgency to bury within his chest overwhelms. “I’m sorry.”

Murmuring quietly does not prevent RK900 hearing every catch in breath that spills from your lips, ones that he must reclaim over and over again after that pathetic clone. However, he is hardly irate on account of the dire circumstance.

“Don’t worry. I believe you are quite efficient.”

Praise from mister stoicism? That’s funny. Too bad it’s not in a normal situation because you would laugh. Thankfully there is a chance to do that again. With him it’s all you want.

“Are you OK, Nines? Tell me, please…”

A tug to his synthetic heart turns the advanced model into everything he originally fought against. At one time he held similar thoughts to the Cyberlife machine. Emotions cannot be for his kind nor will they invade his system.

Now you invade every single circuit. Each thread yearns to fuse itself with the core spirit of your body. This will not change that. He will destroy all who threaten to remove this one humane light.

“I am fully operational until I receive a proper repair.” Nines narrows eyes onto the fallen android while speaking softly.

The tremble in your body is all too apparent. Shock is a high probability despite how strong, savvy you behaved. It is an interesting ruse you manage but why must he question skills while in the same employment?

“The DPD is in the middle of everything. A chaotic turn of events,” cool sarcasm benefits your state. Discussing this will come later. He realizes his near death will have emotional and mental consequences.

“You are safe now. I-I will take you home with me.”

Any other case or important life threatening scenario and he would wind up staying. This time is different. He has something to lose. That something is remarkably you.

One thing is true. You didn’t lose him now. You can’t lose him ever. No matter what comes of this there is only the RK900′s shield to harbor you until the end.

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kindcstguardian · 5 years

Text

MISC.

i. / basics.

Name. Lynn Darcy. Nicknames. Troublemaker, sweetie, Candy Birthday. Age. 17-23 years old. Nationality. French. Languages. French, English &&. Spanish. Gender. Cis female. Sexuality. Bisexual. Status. Single. Occupation. Student &&. part-time worker in Cosy Bear Café. Speciality. Finding solutions to problems that aren’t hers and, instead, causing them in her own. Hobbies. Jogging, boxing, taking care of plants, ocasionally playing basketball.

ii. / physical.

Height. 160cm / 5′ 3″ Weight. 50kg / 110 lb Hair color. Brown. Eye color. Green. Blood type. O + Appearance. A petite female with a slightly built body ( at the moment due her newfound interesting in boxing ). Long hair naturally straight with chocolate brown pigment alongside green eyes.

VERSES.

Main verse. TAG. 「 MAIN ／ Lynn 」

Highschool student, 17 years old. As a transfer student, she is a bit clueless and lost at the beggining. However, she quickly got used to the institute and learnt every little secret of it. Still, this does not apply to actual people. Lynn does have a lot of friends, though, and is quite close to Kim due having her as lab partner in Chemistry. But she doesn’t get along with Amber, Capuccine, Li or Charlotte. Peggy is on thin ice. Ah but, ever so caring Lynn — she can’t help but always want to help everyone.

MCLUL verse. TAG. 「 SECOND MAIN ／ Lynn 」

College student, 23 years old. Canon divergent. Mostly based on what’s taking place in the canon of My Candy Love University Life — except that Lynn never cut ties with all friends and kept in touch with Kentin alone, she still has a hopeless crush on Nathaniel but hasn’t gotten herself involved with anyone, keeping everysingle friend at arm length. So, no route Lynn?

Third main verse. / A different outcome TAG. 「 THIRD MAIN ／ Lynn 」

College student, part-time worker in Kentin’s bakery, 23 year old. She didn’t want to be bossed around by her parents, neither leaving the city she grew to love. In fact, she wanted her freedom but Lynn wasn’t having it so easy. From a side, her parents had stood their ground but so she did, fully determinated to stay. They all bickered and argued, raising their tone than trying to find a solution — that was, until Aunt Agatha got in the middle and decided to take care of the situation. After much talking and convincing, she persuaded Lucia and Philip. Thus, leading Lynn to win only one obstacle from the many that would appear in her road. Happily that she got to stay rather than losing all connections, she first started to help Kentin before deciding what she wanted to do with her future.

Fourth main verse. / What if? TAG. 「 FOURTH MAIN ／ Lynn 」

Highschool student, 17 years old. So what if she could see the relationship stats that she had with other people? Like, a visual novel game? Well, that was about it! It was strange but she could not see options at all, she had free speech ( thankfully ) which allowed her faster to either improve or fuck up further her relationships.

Persona 5 verse. TAG. 「P5 ／ Lynn」

Highschool transfer student, Star, 17 years old. ‘ You have truly made me wait, I am known for being impatient, ma fille, but I will allow it this time ’ , the brunette fell to knees, holding her head while she screamed in utter pain, tears rolling down her cheeks while her eyes were shut, trying to somehow make the pain bereable. All background noise was blocked, overpowered by a female voice inside her mind. ’ You have always clenched your fists and withdrawn for the fight, doing little to nothing. Finally, you have grown tired; let us form a pact, shall we? ’. The voice was right, Lynn had enough. Taking blow after blow, being ridiculized, embarrassed and tossed aside — being the stepping stone others needed to feel superior while she put on a show, the happy pierrot that everyone relied onto but whom never spoke a single struggle. It was time for her to realize her own worth and speak her mind, yell to the four winds her heart’s desires; to defend and attack instead of being a mere broken shield. ’ I am thou, thou art I we cannot tear out a single page of our life, but we can throw the whole book in the fire! They can bind our body and tie our hands but nothing can be done nor can shatter our will! ’, the hands that once had been holding her head were now on the floor underneath her, helping her to push herself up slowly — green hues had turned yellow and filled with such aggresive determination that she had never felt before. Straightening her back, her right hand placed itself before the mask that had manifested to existence, gripping it hard, she pulled away at once — blood running down her eyes. “ We shall show them what we are made of, come to me Amantine! ”

Eldarya verse TAG. 「Eldarya ／ Lynn 」

College student, 23 years old. Absynthe Garde / Alchemist. As a descendant of a human, her father Philip, and a fairy, her mother Lucia, Lynn is a faerie. However, she was never told about the truth and because of her clueless nature, she never suspected anything weird ( not even when her aunt would show up in particular clothes which she lied that it was part of her job as a dentist not to scare children, including wings on her back as part of the costume ). Which is precisely how she stepped in the thin line of human world and magic world, the blindfold had been finally removed. Currently stuck in Eldarya and unable to return nor communicate with her parents, Lynn spends her days working to win the meal of the day alongside an elf named Ezarel as an assistant for the potions he needs to create, but mostly errand girl: running here and there to provide everything on time.

Mystic Messenger. / MC1. TAG. 「MysMe ／ Lynn 」

College student, 23 years old. Actually, Lynn isn’t sure how she found herself in Korea. Mostly, trying to be a good friend for Hyun and be his emotional support friend when he needed one given his grandfather had gotten terribly ill and chances were… No, no. She shouldn’t focus there. In fact, she should focus on finding the place her friend had indicated that both were staying at — yet, things rarely go as planned. Sometimes, the female felt that she was a magnet to problems. A message, an adress and a distressed person were the formula to lure her towards an unknown appartment in which she ended up locked. Stuck in a position of party hoster of sorts, Lynn Darcy chose not to fight her fate and assume her role. Kim Yoosung, Kang Jaehee, Hyun Ryu, Han Jumin and Choi Luciel needed her, after all. And God knows how big her heart is to leave without providing the needed help.

Shall we date? Destiny Ninja 2 + TAG. 「Destiny Ninja 2 +／ Lynn 」

Living in the Spring Village has been a wonderful experience since she can recall, to wake up everyday and see how flowers would blossom — new ones that would arrive because of the ocasional windy days and carry along new seeds for the view to change, take different shape and colors. Yet that lovely experience started to come to an end when the Yamato Island began to get corrupted. Was the story they told her as kids to make her fear true? All Lynn can do is pray and keep up with her training; she might not be an expert, but basic defense moves could safe her. Besides, her father had always taught her how to use a gun since possessing a sword was more of an honor, a lifestyle.

Shall we date? Blood in roses + TAG. 「Blood in roses ／ Lynn 」

It was a poor idea for a human to wander into a castle, but after having lost her family, the brunette found no better choice than try to find a temporal refugee. Much to her horror, it turned out to be the rumored Hotel Libra Sincera — unable to return nor escape because she had nowhere to go, she decided to step inside that place. Truthfully, Lynn never thought she would use a Humphrey’s bottle of False Mist that her mother had bought to her at age nine in case something bad would happen to them. It was easy to forget about it but Lucia has insisted for Lynn to carry it at all times; and now, she could finally use it.

Wizardess heart + TAG. 「Wizardess heart + ／ Lynn 」

Student &&. buddyless, 17 years old, spellsinger. TBA.

Ephemeral: Residents in the dark. TAG. 「Ephemeral ／ 010」

Student, 120 years old, half-breed. A lovechild from a vampire and a human, a horrible sin for all creatures that should have been killed hasn’t been that she was born with the strongest gen as expected, which is the single reason she had managed to survive thus far in the world were ranks meant everything. However, her mother had been murdered by other humans as soon as it was discovered that there were vampires within their world — Philippe had returned with shame and head hung low back to his family. Forced into a marriage with another woman, a mermaid that grew to terribly hate Lynn going as far as to dig her nails into Lynn’s wrists due being young and beautiful. To say Lynn was grateful to being accepted into that prestigious institution wasn’t enough, she decided to stay and live there. Refusing to return to a place where her stepmother wanted her head in a spike — yet, her secret keeps her awake at night, what would happen if she was discovered?

ANIMAL.

Main verse.

TAG.

23 years old. WIP.

Aggrestuko verse./ Publishing department. TAG.

Office lady, 24 years old. Lynn Darcy had studied art history, however, she did not find many jobs suitable for that and ended up undergoing trainment to become a ‘desk person'—work in an office and fall into a comfortable routine for another year and a half.

TAGS.

「 Lynn Darcy ／ 𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓭𝔂 ┊ swcctlcve 」

「 Lynn Darcy ／ INQUIRY」

「 Lynn Darcy ／ MUSINGS 」

「 Lynn Darcy ／ VISAGE 」

「 Lynn Darcy ／ MANNERISMS 」

「 Lynn Darcy ／ INTROSPECTION」

「 Lynn Darcy ／ ROMANCE 」

「 Lynn Darcy ／ CRACK 」

RELATIONSHIPS.

DISCLAIMER. I will not ship with the same character more than once unless my partner tells me they will no longer write said character and, therefore, the ship spot is free again. Please, do not force the issue. 001. Will you have exclusives? If my partner and I discuss it before hand, then yes. 002. Will you have mains? This will be more popular but yes, I will have limit of three mains.

KENTIN BRONSWORTH. ROMANTIC TAG. ✘ · Kentin Bronsworth ♡（ ᵒᵘʳ ʰᵉᵃʳᵗˢ ᵇᵉᵃᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵃˢ ᵒⁿᵉ ᵃᵗ ˡᵃˢᵗ ⁻ ⁱ'ᵐ ˢᵒʳʳʸ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵃⁱᵗ ） FRIENDSHIP TAG. kcntin ; ʜᴏᴘᴇ（ φιλíα ） ABOUT.

RAVEN KENDALL. ROMANTIC TAG. ✘ · Raven Kendall ♡「 ᴵᶠ ᴵ ᶜᵒᵘˡᵈ ᵗᵉˡˡ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵒʷ ˢʰᵉ'ˢ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵉ ᵇᵘᵗ ʷᵉ'ʳᵉ ᵃ ᵐⁱˡˡⁱᵒⁿ ʷᵒʳˡᵈˢ ᵃᵖᵃʳᵗ」 FRIENDSHIP TAG. ABOUT.

HAIDA HYENA. ROMANTIC TAG. ✘ · Haida Hyena ♡「 ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ⁱᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ᶠᵃˡˡ ᴵ ʷⁱˡˡ ᵇᵉ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ ᵗᵒ ᶜᵃᵗᶜʰ ʸᵒᵘ ／ starryburglar 」 FRIENDSHIP TAG. ABOUT.

✘ · ♡（）

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catradora-stan · 6 years

Text

i kinda wrote some widowtracer fanfic for the first time so im gonna post it here. give me some feedback if you want.

She was about two seconds away from murdering her. But then again, she always was. Lena’s incessant bantering had plagued her for far too long. On many occasions it almost drove her to a premature completion her task. The day would come when her orders were given but for now she was required to deal with the annoying, British imbecile.

“Hey now, look. I’m not saying that you can’t do what you love as a profession, but trying to make money from playing video games is pretty dumb.” The girl gave Amelie a cocky look that dared her to challenge.

She glanced over where Lena was sitting, and gave her most evil glare. “I make money by being here. Therefore I am making money playing video games. Now do shut up.” She had to focus on the enemy in front of her. She couldn’t risk losing the match. This was her first tournament where victory meant she could win real compensation. She flicked her arm and clicked on the mouse while mashing buttons on the keyboard. Another clean headshot.

Lena let out a groan and started rapping her fingers against the wall. Over the course of a week Amelie learned how hard it was for her to sit still and be quiet. The annoyance was like a high maintenance puppy; she requires constant attention if you don’t want to deal with her getting into trouble. Amelie had never owned a dog. She wasn’t for the idea of having something that cannot help itself.

Yet here she was, a trained assassin, forced into this highly undesirable mission because she was still a newcomer in her field. One day she would work her way up the ranks until she was the one giving orders. The schmuck that continued to underestimate her and give her these horrid assignments would find himself employed at K-Mart. Or dead. One of the two. Retail jobs and death are about equivalent. The notion made her grin as she picked off another enemy in her game.

For now she had to deal. She had originally been stationed as Lena’s bodyguard while her father was away doing business. He had been in close company with her organization for years doing whatever it was he did. Something with weapons. She didn't know the specifics, and why would they tell a grunt like her? All she knew was that while he was away plans had changed. He apparently failed to deliver what he promised, and if the deadline were to expire then her orders were to take out the girl. He had only a couple of weeks. Good enough incentive to get him going. He seemed like a nice guy who cared about the girl; enough to get in trouble with one of the most dangerous group of criminals.

Of course Lena was unaware of the truth. Incidents like these had been a constant occurrence in her life. Her father had fed her lies about what he did so he would still look noble to his precious daughter. On the day he left he told her: “I have a very important job therefore I make lots of enemies. But don’t worry about me I have good people keeping me safe. The same people who will be keeping you safe while I’m away.” His words were a complete fabrication. And due to the abnormality of her father’s work life the girl never had a typical childhood. She was raised more so by nannies and bodyguards than by her father. He had been absent approximately eighty percent of her life. And her mother had been gone the whole eighteen years. Of course the only reason Amelie knew all of this was because the little parasite could never suppress her constant need to jabber.

So it was no surprise when Lena started singing. It was from some awful, dramatic musical she had been watching the other day.

Mon Dieu. Does she ever shut up?“Silence you leech!” Amelie was trying hard to focus on her game. It was a tie at the moment and she was desperately trying to fix that.

Lena paying no mind started to increase in volume. “DO YOU HEAR THE PEOPLE SING? SINGING THE SONGS OF ANGRY MEN!” She let out a chuckle in the middle of the song, knowing the frustration she was causing, before she started up again. “IT IS THE VOICES OF A PEOPLE WHO WILL NOT BE SLAVES AGAIN.”

Lena observed from her position as Amelie tried her hardest to concentrate. Her callous look intensified as Lena grinned. Then suddenly she saw the character on the screen die, which led Amelie to cry out in fury. She told her teammates through the headset to cover for her but it was too late. Everyone was dead. The enemy quickly captured the objective and in big bright letters the word Defeat spread across the screen.

That was when Amelie snapped. She rotated her chair away from the screen and towards Lena. A malicious grin splayed across her face as her hands hardened into fists. In a calm tone that did not match her demeanor she breathed, “I am going to kill you.”

That was all it took for Lena to sprint out of the office. Amelie pushed herself up out of her chair and quickly followed in pursuit. The girl had almost made it down the hallway when she slipped on the hardwood floor. Fuzzy socks were not good running shoes. The assassin was right there on her. Lena tried to scramble back onto her feet but it was too late. Amelie had pulled her up by the back of her shirt and slammed her against the wall.

The girl yelped in pain and looked up, terrified into Amelie’s murderous gaze. “You can’t kill me cause that’s like the opposite of your job.” She stammered. She tried to move but the assassin tightened her grip.

“Oh really? The opposite of my job? My job does not consist of dealing with your constant BS. I am not required to be your dumb little therapists and listen to your incessant, childish squealing.” She knew that her words were cutting into the girl like knives. With added venom she spat, “I am not your friend. I am only here to make sure that no one kills you.”

“No one is going to kill me! No one is ever gonna kill me!” Lena pushed her tormentor off of her and continued. “My father doesn’t even care about me and all he does is stick me with you people all the time. If he actually knew what I needed he would know that I don’t need to be babysat-”

“What do you not understand when I said that I don't care? Go plague someone else.” She turned and began walking back down the hallway towards her quarters.

“I don’t have anyone else to plague because no one lets me go anywhere or make any friends!”

“I DON’T CARE!” She slammed the door behind her making the valuables on the shelfs tremble. She threw herself onto the bed that did not belong to her. Being an assassin should not involve being a babysitter. The girl was a legal adult anyways. Amelie wanted to break something, someone, shatter a collarbone. The vase on the wall would have to do. She grabbed it from its home on the shelf. It was ornate, covered in the symbols of some ancient civilization and encrusted with gold. But it wasn’t in her hand for very long. She launched it as hard as she could at the adjacent wall, causing it to shatter, bringing great satisfaction to Amelie in her aggravated state. She had doubted that anyone would care about its absence, but sound of hurried footsteps indicated otherwise.

“What the hell was that?” Lena inquired through the door.

Amelie responded, “A metaphor.”

“What?”

“A Metaphor for what I will do to you if you keep messing with me, imbécile.”

“Hmm. I see. Your French voice is pretty.” Lena shuffled outside the door then leaned her back against it.

Are you joking? This job was an actual nightmare. Amelie tried to dwell on the hopes of promotion but that was difficult with Lena making noises outside her door. After about a minute had passed she asked, “Why are you still there?”

“Cause we’re friends.” Lena giggled, “You're just mad cause you’re bad.”

“First of all, no. Second of all, no. I lost because you are the world’s biggest annoyance. I would like nothing more than to end you.”

“It’s just a game bro.”

Amelie groaned into the expensive bed spread. This was going to be a long three weeks. She stealthily stood up and walked towards the door, careful to make sure that Lena wouldn’t notice. Then she reached out towards the handle and yanked the door open as quickly as she could. On queue Lena fell backwards, landing on her butt. She swore loudly then glared up at Amelie.

She looked down at the little disaster. “You’re just mad cause you’re bad.” She mocked.

It seemed as though the bothersome brit didn’t know how to respond to what had just happened. Lena just sat there quietly, with a contemplative look on her face.

Amelie went back to the bed and began looking at her phone, thinking that perhaps the matter had been settled. As long as Lena wasn’t making noise or bothering her she didn’t care what she did.

Eventually the girl on the floor spoke up. “You know, I have never had a bodyguard like you. You pretend to be impassive yet you are so easily moved to emotion. I guess that’s why it’s so fun to piss you off.”

The assassin acknowledged her with a grunt and pretended to be more interested in her phone.She knew that Lena would be the most interesting, yet deserving person she would kill, if it came to that. She might even regret murdering her. Might.

“The best part about it though is that now matter what, you don’t actually get to kill me.” Lena joked as she layed on the floor.

That’s what you think Chérie.

#WidowTracer #overwatch #widowmaker #tracer #amelie lacroix #lena oxton #widowtracer fic

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bluewatsons · 5 years

Text

Neil O’Connor, Anti-Hero - Life, Love and Death in Gainsbourg’s L’Homme à Tête de Chou (1976), Conference: Serge G. An International Conference on Serge Gainsbourg, Sorbonne University: Paris

Abstract

This paper explores Serge Gainsbourg’s 1976 album L’Homme à Tête de Chou (1976). The concept album allowed Gainsbourg to explore, transverse and peruses the anti-hero. The albums musical imagery provides to us a collection of mini tome’s that revolves around madness, murder, sex, infidelity and ultimately, death. These themes are, and would become, central too much of Gainsbourg’s lyrical palate, but take a much sinister route on this album. The album took Gainsbourg on a deeply personal quest for expression - to the darker side of baroque pop music. This paper presents the background and setting for the album, followed by both a thematic and compositional analysis of the albums title track Flash Forward and Lunatic Asylum and ultimately examines the albums identity Gainsbourg’s use of tone and timbre to map the anti-heros adventures and mishaps in life, love and death.

I. Background - Rebellion & Modernity

Popular music is intimately embedded in mechanisms of power and ideology. In Noise, a political economy of music, Jacques Attali’s addresses, something that Adorno refuses to do, is to regard popular music vehicle for transforming society;

‘Music is a credible metaphor of the real. It is neither an autonomous activity nor an automatic indicator of the economic infrastructure... Undoubtedly music is a play of mirrors in which every activity is reflected, defined, recorded and distorted. If we look at one mirror, we see only an image of another. But at times a complex mirror game yields a vision this is rich, because unexpected and prophetic’ [1].

This ‘metaphor of the real’ lies in poplar’s music reliance mass reproduction and the stockpiling of commodities. The construction of musical identity within musical expression can be perceived as a form of ritual in that, as Simon Frith points out in Performing Rites, ‘it describes one’s place in a dramatized pattern of relationships’ [1]. In France, like elsewhere, the locale where popular music’s difference is shaped has of course been intensely variable, ranging from the ‘imagined village of tradition, through seedy café and variety hall, the cabaret of nostalgia and regret, the political theatre of national and proletarian anthem, to transatlantic images of modernization and rebellion, in jazz and hip hop’ [2]. During the 1970s, popular music expression and ideology was shaped by the changing mainstreams in American musical styles. Funk, soul and electronic music, via disco, were now becoming part of the ever-changing mainstream. Youth culture during the 1970’s was rooted between the rural-urban split, the degree of educational qualification and the socio- professional status of individuals.

Two musical forms – the copains and two auteurs within the chanson tradition, shaped part of Gainsbourg’s identity: Léo Ferré and George Brassens. Johnny Hallyday created a new cultural form that imagined their social relationship based on camaraderie and equality. This identity failed and ignored to identity the divisions in French society. Ferré and Brassens were more successful. Both expressed resistance to the bourgeois, the Catholic Church and the French state. Ferré’s Les Rupins [The well-off] (1960), examines the empty values of consumerism and questions the French republics ideals, considering them as having lost of meaning. Ultimately, they laid the foundations for future musical anarchists, establishing non-conformity identities on margins of social and cultural fringes.

II. Thematic Analysis

Conceptually, Gainsbourg had already broken the mold with Historie de Melody Nelson in 1971. Gainsbourg created an album that’s focus was narration and that of the narrator, the musical contact seems merely as a supporting act at times. Popular music expression and identity politics are inherently linked, linked to the social and cultural trends of the time. Musicologist Phillip Tagg defines this as:

In this sense, a most effective way of comprehending identity is by disconnecting it from an essence and perceiving it as a dramatic effect rather than an authentic core [2].

The sculpture, The Man with the Cabbage Head, by Claude Lalanne, sat in the courtyard of Gainsbourg’s Parisian home. Gainsbourg’s obsession with the immoral anti-hero dances and exists, in some degree, within most of his discography. It’s only on L’Homme à Tête de Chou (1976) that this obsession truly comes to life. The tail, of Marilou, is of a girl the narrator falls in love with. The ensuing album goes on to describe their love affair and untimely, the death of Marilou, a death that leads to the narrators decline into madness. Not only are the lyrical and musical elements convey this macabre love story but also so does the cover itself. It portrays the darker elements hidden within the grooves. The opening title, of the albums name, begins with Gainsbourg stating that:

‘I am the man with the cabbage head, half vegetable, half guy’ [3].

The confession begins. The opening tracks lyrical theme is almost like a police statement report; how he fell for Marilou, that fateful day in Mac’s Men’s Hairdressers, where he first met the ‘bitch of a shampoo girl’. The narrator continues to open up an inner dialogue. He is at the ‘bottom of his depths’, lost everything to her, including his mind and his job – at ‘cabbage leaf’ – slang for either money (he was a banker) or a newspaperman. It points more so towards the printed matter, as a more reveling line comes as ‘where scandals equal beefsteak’, indicating that he was indeed, a tabloid man. This job allowed him to spend his money aimlessly, for the entertainment of this femme fatale – ‘I was finished, fucked, checked mate in the eyes of Marilou’ [4]. In the end, he is ‘stuck on a beach in Malibu’ or indeed, in the within the beaches of an approaching insanity.

Flash Forward sees the protagonist reach towards the beginnings of lunacy – he catches Marilou in sexual encounter with some rock musicians. The accompanying music allows this encounter to unfold, crashing and bashing about, following the narrator as he lurks towards his lovers misbehaving:

I move forward in the black-

Out and my kodak

Impresses onto the sensitive

Plaques of my brain the vision of a bordel

I feel my cardiac rate

Go briskly to mach

Two tic tac tic tac

Like from an electroshock

He sees this and wonders, is he paranoid? Surely not as he reminds himself that all that he does, all that he sees, will be stored in memory and will come back as flashbacks, until he croaks.

Lunatic Asylum, the albums epilogue, revolves around a trance like didgeridoo motif, like call to the wild, to the insane. In the previous song, Meurtre à l’extincteur, the act of murder had been committed – Marilou’s life ends, her head beaten in with a fire extinguisher, battered under white foam.

Here in the psychiatric ward, he wonders, ponders, on the ‘scrambled messages’:

The little Playboy rabbit gnaws my plant skull

Shoe shine boy

Oh Marilou little cabbage

That rolled me between his fingers like corporal

Sucked me like a kittty

The anti-hero is born; bewildered, deluded, a misfit. His head now truly turned to cabbage, punished and exiled in mental hell. Its sense of morality is cinematic or as Sylvie Simmons in Serge Gainsbourg – A Fistful Gitanes refers to the album as:

Menacing, atmospheric and marvellously mad, part Dostoevsky, part Kafka, part film noir, quite surreal [6].

The albums song cycles are masterfully put together. For the next section of the analysis, the same three songs are discussed, compositionally. Gone is the grandeur used in Historie de Melody Nelson, instead, its musical palate is a wide and varied as the lead characters state of mind. In such, the shifting styles of the album (rock, jazz, country and Caribbean) help define the wild variations of life itself.

III. Compositional Analysis

An intra-musical framework has been implemented in this case to decompose the compositional design and musical organization of L’Homme à Tête de Chou. This process has been referenced and adapted from Stan Hawkin’s Setting the Pop Score and involves examining the following:

Formal Properties: the sections within the song’s overall structure that supports the general progression;

Recording and Production Techniques: manifested in the mix, which is responsible for shaping the compositional design;

Textures and Timbre: colors and patterns that arise from vocal and instrumental gestures within the arrangement and finally;

Rhythmic Syntax: the recurring groupings and metric patterns that communicate ‘beat and groove’ [7]. –

Formal Properties

Formally, Gainsbourg decided that a selection of genres would sufficed toward the many states of mental conditions that our anti-hero goes through; ecstasy, bliss, ignorance, remorse. The song structures are somewhat uncoordinated, stemming from somewhat shorter pop song standard duration – the titles average at 2 minutes 30 (Opening Title) while others act as narrative interludes, barely achieving time to talk or discuss out their content as in Transit a Marilou. Meurtre a L’Marilou, the albums shortest title at 47 seconds, allows Marilou’s death not to linger on; it’s short, sweet, and abrupt. Variations sur Marilou is the album longest title and structurally, the most interesting, as a motif is repeated, built upon and only develops toward its crest seven minutes in. The album concludes with Lunatic Asylum, the most diverse and experimental composition, likes its theme, its formal structure is intense and confessional but in some ways progresses towards a sense of optimism.

Recording and Production Techniques

Shifting production styles are used to map the different scenarios the anti-hero finds himself within. Perhaps not as important as structural or thematic ideas contained with the album, the recording and production techniques utilized in any album can help define its ethereal nature and ambience, what lies beyond theme and aesthetical concept. Recorded at Mercury Studios in London and Paris, English rock themes are played out of the last time, but the production sees Serge for the first time, a reggae song. The production sees an extensive use of synthesizers for the first time. Alan Hawkshaw and Serge carried out arrangements. Hawkshaw had previously worked for KPM in the UK who wrote music for television and film. His arrangements can be heard on songs like Flash Forward in that they employ similar sounds to early radiophonic electronic music. The soft rock and production touches on Aeroplanes make this a standout song. A more common production technique on the album is its little or no cymbal usage – toms and snare drums help propel, like the clock of life itself, pushing and guiding the musical ideas along. This allows the lead vocal to take center stage, as there is limited high-end frequency content to compete with.

Textures and Timbre

There are some very interesting uses of texture and timbre on the album. In Meurtre a L’Marilou, the cymbals signify the sound of the fire extinguisher while the kick drum allows for the pounding heart to bounce toward her death. Life returns and air of optimism prevails in Marilou sous la neige. Here, Serge, lyrically, paints a dark picture of her burial under the snow. In a bold venture of contrast, the music is light, upbeat. The most interesting use of textures and timbre lay within Lunatic Asylum and Première Symptoms. Here, the albums epilogue, the sounds revolves around like a trance through a didgeridoo motif, like call to the wild. The texture and tone of the female vocals at the end of the song envisage and suggests Marilou raising from the dead, coming back to life to haunt our anti-hero for one more time. Textural and rhythmical analysis is summarized here as core musical themes:

Life: L’Homme à Tête de Chou – aggravated, downbeat, strange and surreal.

Love: Marilou Reggae – upbeat and optimistic, bright synthesizers used in major key.

Death: Meurtre a L’Marilou – tense, unknowing, frantic drums.

Rhythmic Syntax

Rhythmically, the album is a rewarding experience. It spans rock, country, disco, jazz, reggae, and funk. What’s evident more so is that some rhythms are used to support themes further. In Marilou Reggae caribbean rhythms allude toward the exotic sexual worlds of far way places. The drum tracks act as bedrock for the narration. Meurtre a l’extinguisher provides the most dynamic rhythmic analysis. It begins with hi-hats suggesting the sound of foam, then is replaced by a beating heart of a kick drum beating towards death, then, ultimately, the rhythm completely falls apart, settling again in the hi-hats, the narrator lost and quiet in his remorse and or satisfaction.

IV. End Note

L’Homme à Tête de Chou demonstrates Gainsbourg’s skill at integrating contemporary influences into chanson; highlighting the fact that it could be global, more far reaching. He allowed it to connect with young generations who understood the rhythms and sounds of international pop music. Gainsbourg’s omnivorous cultural tastes allowed the album to showcase the unstable nature of chanson was during the early 1970’s, ‘illustrating the effects of globalization on so-called traditional genres’ [6].

In classical mythology, the hero tended to be confidant intelligent, with few, if any flaws. In such, a hero tends to exude idealism, courage and morality. The classical anti-hero then, as the title suggests, is a flawed and conflicted character. The anti-hero, on the other hand, is plagued with self-doubt. Our characters hindrances made him prisoner of the mind, his imperfections of thought, of ideals of life, love and death, took him on a journey, full of sensual intentions with the end goal of lust and companionship.

What Gainsbourg has masterfully laid out for us is the story and journey of an anti-hero who completely lacks the skills and capabilities to perform such a feat and ends up failing in the most spectacular and morose fashion. Gainsbourg, furthermore, uses and indeed, manipulates the power of shifting rhythms, instrumental tone and timbre to help supplement and support our anti-hero’s transition into insanity. It’s perhaps the perfect concept album, one where the musical ideas support the extensions as documented above, all swimming in harmony, in the echoes of an untamed sexuality.

References

J. Attali, Noise: The Political Economy of Music, trans. Brian Massumi, Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1985.

H. Dauncey & S. Cannon, Popular Music in France from Chanson to Techno, Hants: Ashgate Publishing, 2003.

S. Frith, Performing Rites, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991.

P. Tagg, Black Music, Afro American Music and European Music, Popular Music, 8/3 pp.285-98, 1989.

S. Hawkins, Settling the Pop Score, Hants: Ashgate Publishing, 2002. [6] J. Briggs, Sounds French – Globalization, Cultural Communities & Pop Music 1958-1980, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015.

#music #art #analysis #music theory #critique #serge gainsbourg #chanson #review #anti-hero #adventure #musical composition #themes #thematic structure #lunatic asylum #popular music #1960s

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skyblxssom · 6 years

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Title: Justice never sleeps! Fandom: Ace Attorney Rating: K Word count: 2974

Basically my first attempt at writing something for AA. Recently played through the games all the way to DD, and fell head over heels for Bobby! A lot of the inspiration came from @windmaedchen-aa lovely art, specifically the office baby version cause I’m a sucker for soft interaction.

This piece is chock full of attempts on grasping the characters mixed with my own hearty sprinkling of personal headcanons. Also involves windmaedchen’s OC, Kid Fox! Thanks to them also for talking and bouncing ideas with me haha. Hope I did Kid some justice!

Well, please enjoy!

As always, Detective Gumshoe left his apartment bright and early, decked in his usual jacket that had been with him through thick and thin. While some had called it ratty, he personally thinks it added a sort of charm to it.

Regardless, he made the walk to the precinct. His apartment might not be all that maintained, but its close location in relative to the precinct made the blasted icy showers and creaky elevator worth it. Half of the time.

Gumshoe gave a wave at the clerk manning the front desk, flashing her his patented ‘pal’ smile as some of his coworkers dubbed it as. She returned it with a shy smile of her own, her face flushing slightly at his hearty chuckle. He took the elevator to his floor, and it was when he stepped into the office that something immediately caught his attention.

The detective blinked, his steps drawing him closer to the small lounging area set in the right corner of the open floor space. It was a cozy little spot where people tended to sit and chat away, or sometimes eat their boxed lunches at during lunch time. No one laid claim to the sofa, as it was a who got there first sort of situation, but he had to admit that this was the first time he saw someone actually sleeping on the old, somewhat lumpy thing.

It was even more surprising that the person was none other than Detective Bobby Fulbright. One of the more dedicated detectives in the Police Department, there was nobody in the precinct who hasn’t heard about him. He carried this sort of exuberance and positivity that – while annoying at times – was honestly so genuine that one couldn’t help but become fond of, or at least tolerate after direct exposure.

He was a prime example of someone who followed the law, but Gumshoe knows that he wasn’t inflexible. Detective Fulbright walked down his own path of justice that pretty much involved helping anyone that he was able to lend a hand to. He believed in the good of people, though that doesn’t translate to naivety. He chose to spend his time and effort to make the lives of the people better, no matter how small and seemingly insignificant it may be.

A detective that examined gruesome murder scenes that also helped the elderly cross the road was a bit of a whiplash, but that was just how Fulbright is. It is only just that he lent his support to those who could use it, for their job is to maintain the peace and to assure the public that crime would not run rampant in the city.

They don’t have to necessarily limit themselves to just investigating and solving crimes. Interacting and helping the common folk, ensuring that they are happy and able to walk down the streets peacefully is an act of justice in of itself, Fulbright had once told him.

He was usually whizzing about, doing his work and other things, so it was rather unusual – and slightly concerning – to see the good detective passed out on the couch. Fulbright had taken off his white jacket, using it as a makeshift pillow to give support that the arm rest can’t hope to provide. His aviator glasses were still perched on the bridge of his nose, looking dangerously close to sliding right off. The sofa wasn’t capable of holding Fulbright’s 6'0 frame, so one of his legs dangled over the edge while the other laid motionless by his side. His right arm rested on his stomach, his left hanging off the sofa.

Gumshoe leaned in a little, his eyes quickly taking in the little details. Even with the glasses, he was able to see the dark bags peeking out, showing that Fulbright had been missing on some good sleep lately. There was a hint of facial hair smattering his chin, pointing out that he had no time to shave. If Gumshoe remembered it correctly, he did hear on how someone helped to cover one of the officer’s night shifts due to them facing a family emergency.

Even if he can be a little slow on the uptake, it wasn’t difficult to connect the dots. Ah, it seemed that Detective Fulbright had extended a helping hand, essentially pulling double shifts because the man still performed his regular duties. It wasn’t not surprising then that he pretty much exhausted himself.

Gumshoe eyed him for a moment longer before coming to a decision. The professional thing to do would be to wake him up, but the kinder option was to let him catch up on some sleep. With that in mind, he carefully leaned over the couch, being super careful not to jostle anything as he drew the blinds shut. The mild furrow on Fulbright’s brow smoothed with the absence of light.

With his mind still whirling, Gumshoe briefly left the office. The detective soon returned with a blanket that they kept on hand, as well as a Blue Badger doll that was often used for safety announcement videos. Very gently, he draped the blanket atop Fulbright’s form, covering halfway up his torso. It wasn’t able to cover his legs, but it would provide him some warmth.

Gumshoes froze when he shuffled a little, looking like he was roused from slumber but Fulbright remained fast asleep. Heaving out a quiet breath, it was a bit like surgery on how precise he had to be in planting the Blue Badger by his head. He pulled his hand back, observed for a moment longer then sighed once more.

There was no indication that Fulbright realized what he did, though he nuzzled a little into the stuffed doll before settling. Gumshoe could feel the wide smile that tugged at his lips, feeling quite pleased with himself.

Right, he knew what they should do today.

When Ema entered the office that morning, the first thing she noticed was how quiet it was. Usually, there’d be some form of noise—idle chatter, loud phone calls and the like. She paused by the door, giving the area a general sweep. His coworkers were hunched over their desks, so the silence can’t be attributed to a lack of people. In fact, it looked like they were actively trying to do their work without making too much noise.

“What’s going on…?” She mumbled, looking a bit confused. Her expression must’ve given her away, as one of the detectives jutted a thumb to his right. Ema followed it—and then she understands.

She had worked with Detective Fulbright multiple times in the past. You’d think his sunny personality would clash with hers but she did find him as one of the better detectives to partner up with. His enthusiasm for justice can be rather overwhelming, but he more than makes up for it by showing genuine interest in her own excitement about forensic science.

Once she got used to it, there really wasn’t any reason to dislike him. Fulbright reminded her of a loud, tall puppy. Kind, eager to please and – as she approached the sofa to get a better angle – right now, looking rather adorable with the Blue Badger plastered next to his face.

Ema wore a faint smile. Poor guy must be completely tuckered out to even consider the sofa as a comfortable resting spot. She figured that everyone else wanted to let him rest, thus explaining their odd behavior. Heh. She didn’t think that some of the gruffer detectives would agree to it, but everyone seemed to content to leave him.

She gave him another once over, noticing that he was still wearing his glasses. As someone who had her own pair, that was just a recipe for disaster. Ema noticed the eyes on her when she bent forward. Just like how she treated a crime scene, she was being super careful in her act of removing his glasses. She held her breath, keeping check of his expression and only exhaled when she stepped back with it in her hands.

Ema fished in her pockets for her eyeglass case. Green in color with her name etched on top of the cover, she placed his glasses into it. While the lenses were a bit rounder than hers, it slotted in without much trouble.

With an air of accomplishment, Ema placed the case on top of the arm rest. Detective Fulbright continued to snore softly, oblivious to the world around him.

Idly, she smoothened out the blanket – like how Lana used to do for her during bedtime – before fully stepping back. Well, it was time for her to get to work.

She’d make sure to keep the Snackoo munching as quietly as she possibly could.

An almost silent air greeted Detective Kid Fox when she came in for work, sending her mind into overdrive on various possibilities. It was never this quiet, so there had to be a reason for it. How was the atmosphere? Did something horrible happened within the precinct? Were her colleagues in mourning? If so, how did it happened without her knowledge? A recent happening? Had that been the case, this place would have been buzzing with activity as opposed to near stillness.

Though, her trail of thought came crashing to a halt when a quick survey of the area landed her gaze on the little lounge area close to her desk.

The proverbial light bulb lit up as she reached her answer. Truthfully, Fox found it a tad odd that all of them were being so… considerate with sleeping beauty over there. Bobby slept on amidst the quiet compromise that the rest of his coworkers granted to him. He looked real cozy on that lumpy thing, what with the shutters drawn, a blanket draped over his form and—was that a Blue Badger doll that he was resting his head against?

It wasn’t what she expected coming into the office this morning, but Fox would be stupid to complain about it. If the rest were letting him sleep, then there was no real reason to disturb it. Besides, she thinks that Bobby should sleep in the office more often, if it gave her this silence. She did love working in quietude when she dug through old case files.

Knowing that this wasn’t something to worry about, and after another quick overview of the sleeping detective, Fox silently approached the sofa. Those shoes looked quite stuffy, so she figured she’d do him a favor by taking it off.

Fox moved quickly yet carefully in the process of tugging his shoes off. Doing so revealed that he continued to be a fiend to society by not wearing socks, but she didn’t let that bother her or anything. After his feet were free from its confines, she placed his shoes on the floor in front of the sofa.

With that out of the way, Fox went back to her desk, ready to tackle on the files whilst relishing this rare peace in the office.

Usually, it was the detectives that made their way over to the Prosecutor’s office to meet up with their partnered prosecutor when they’re working on a case. This time however, Klavier personally swung by the Police Department to see Ema, as well as take care of some other business within the building. He had been to this place multiple times, though the moment he stepped into the office, being met with silence wasn’t something that he expected.

Klavier wore a faint look of confusion, wondering about the reason behind this strange tranquility. He could see that the detectives were doing their work like always, but silently. Any form of conversations involved hunched backs and whispers. It was like they were actively making an effort to do things as quietly as possible.

Before Klavier could ask someone about this admittedly strange scenario, his eyes just so happened to spot the sleeping figure on the sofa.

Ah, that made sense. He could feel a small smile tugging at his lips. Klavier recognized the other, having worked with him a couple of times. Detective Fulbright always had this larger than life sort of personality; a brightness that drew attention to him like when he used to perform on stage with the Gavinners. Only with the detective, it was purely a solo gig.

Still, he found it mildly surprising that the other detectives were allowing this. It showed a camaraderie that he privately found to be quite outstanding. Clearly they looked out for one another. This might come across as unprofessional, but they cared more about Fulbright’s wellbeing to let him get sleep.

Now wouldn’t that be a good muse to write a song about? The tale of a tired detective who endlessly pursued justice, but could fall back into the support of the friends around him. That, or some form of rocking lullaby. Maybe taking the classic lullaby and putting a rock twist on it?

That was something he’d entertain more on later. Right now, he wanted to see the Fräulein detective regarding the case they were working on. Until he found the surprisingly amicable Ema, Klavier hummed a soft tune beneath his breath.

A gentle tug at his consciousness was enough to slowly rouse Bobby from slumber. Initially, he was in a groggy state of confusion, his brain taking its sweet time to boot up. Shifting slightly, he started to realize multiple things.

His neck felt stiff while the rest of his body resembled a giant ache. The surface he apparently slept on was not his bed—too small and lumpy. Slowly, he pried open his gummy eyes, blinking multiple times through the blurriness. In an absentminded gesture, his finger touched nothing when he tried to push up his glasses.

Bobby settled with pressing a hand against his forehead as he tried to recall where he was. The last thing he remembered was going back to the office at night to cover for Detective Russel’s shift because he had a family emergency to attend to. Then he decided to take a break when it was getting difficult to keep himself awake. Bobby shuffled to the sofa and laid down with the intention to get back up after a few minutes but—

Wait, did he fall asleep!?

That thought pierced through the fogginess and with it, a sudden rush of panic filled him. Bobby hastily tried to push himself up, which was easier said than done when his legs dangled over the edge of the couch. Something fell by the side of his face, but he didn’t notice it in his hurry to get up and get back to work--!

“Woah pal! Take it easy!” A familiar voice greeted him, which effectively halted his attempt. Bobby harshly rubbed at his eyes before he looked up to find Detective Gumshoe standing by his side. Wait, when did he get here? Wasn’t it supposed to still be the night shift?

“D-Dick?” Bobby uttered, the confusion noticeable in his voice.

“Yep! Did ya get some good sleep?”

“Sleep?” The detective looked around, finally noticing that it wasn’t night time after all. “Wait—how long was I asleep for!?”

“Well, it’s just about noon, pal! About time to grab lunch, so you woke up at the right time!”

Bobby felt something icy course through his veins. Not only did he fall asleep, he practically overslept! That was unacceptable! While everyone else was hard at work, here he was, sleeping like he didn’t have responsibilities in this department! Hardly a good example to show his fellow detectives, nor was it fair!

It was… it was unjust! Bobby sported a horrified look, hands gripping the side of his face.

“Oh my god—I’m so sorry Dick! I didn’t mean to fall asleep! I promise I’ll get right to—“

“Hey, it’s fine pal!” Gumshoe interjected, placing his large hands atop his shoulders for emphasis. Bobby’s mouth snapped shut as his wide eyes looked into his senior’s kind ones.

“We knew you were running yourself ragged pulling double shifts like that. Of course it’s understandable that you’d just be out like a light! You needed some sleep, so we let you catch up on ‘em!” A hearty laugh. “I can’t imagine the sofa being all that comfy but hey, it’s better than the floor, I guess!”

Bobby felt his jaw dropped at his words. They knew he was literally sleeping on the job, and they left him be?

“But I’m missing out on work—“

“Which ya can get back to, after you’ve charged up.” Gumshoe wore a warm, friendly smile. “You’re real dedicated to your job, Bobby. One of the most hardworking fella I’ve had the pleasure to be friends with! You needed the rest before you risk worsening yourself. Last thing you want is to get sick!”

Bobby felt an assuring squeeze on his shoulder. “Trust me. Everyone understood it, which is why we’ve been working real quiet so you’d be able to sleep peacefully.” Another chuckle. “From the looks of it, seems like it worked!”

He was still processing everything, but one thing surged to the front of his mind—and made his eyes sting with tears. Bobby just felt… touched, that everyone seemed to have put in effort to let him sleep, even when they should have woken him up.

They… cared about him and his wellbeing. That thought alone made his lips quiver into a wobbly grin, the tears finally slipping out in a rush of happiness. Amidst Dick’s sudden worried questions, Bobby realized that he learnt something valuable today.

Justice never sleeps—but he needs to so he could be in good condition during his endless pursuit for it.

And preferably, back in the privacy of his bedroom and on actual bed.

#Ace Attorney #Bobby Fulbright #Detective Gumshoe #Ema Skye #Klavier Gavin #Hana writes stuff #this is a mess and a half but might as well jump into the pit guns blazing #i'll definitely be writing more pieces bout the good detective in the future!

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rewoundcircuit · 6 years

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Monotheatre 2 | The High Priestess’s Final Duel

tw: heights

Everything must come to an end.

With the press of a button, a robotic arm launches out and comes to whisk the convicted party away back into the recess it had come from. It's done with an even faster rate and velocity than it seemed to have been done the last time, though maybe you're imagining that difference. It's been a couple of days since you last saw this agent of death; could a few days alone make memories seem that much more cloudy?

With the absence of Ikuko comes a swift replacement in the form of the screens in the center of the room lighting up. They at first show only a blank white flash before you see a dark, grey room. Could this be another warehouse space?

Nothing seems to be happening for a couple of minutes, staying at a constant frame. It's hard to even tell it's video footage with how still it is. However, a large electrical noise comes from the above and the camera shifts, rotating swiftly to the source.

Out of the ceiling comes out a platform. It looks like it came straight out of a sci-fi film; it's a metal open elevator with a light-up blue tiling floor that is small, barely enough to fit a single person. It smoothly descends on its supports at the corners, a chain moving behind it. On the platform itself you can see Ikuko as she rises to her feet, using the fencing around her platform to help herself up. It also appears as if on her arm is some kind of toy? Oh, a duel disk.

The camera takes the opportunity to look around a bit, though it's clearly fixed in whatever location it is, only rotating. There's a large square hole beneath Ikuko's platform which has now suspended about three-fourths the room's height above said hole. Between the hole and wherever this camera is is a light-up grid composed of tiling similar to flooring of Ikuko's elevator.

Bizarrely enough, that's not where it finishes as the viewpoint goes a complete 180 away from your so-called "murderer." There's a large, red button low on a wall behind where this camera had initially been looking at but more noteworthy is the sight of a pale hand reaching down to take a duel disk almost identical to the one Ikuko had been fashioned with. The mystery person picks it up off the railing of their own platform and after a bit turns back around.

When the camera returns to its original angle, it's just in time to show you Ikuko's expression turn into one of surprise. Perhaps the music playing deafens her, but one can imagine that she might have been gasping or maybe that guess in itself is completely wrong but it doesn't matter.

Numbers flicker until they are hologrammed clearly for you all. '8000' it displays next to Ikuko and backwards next to your mystery player's. This number also matches the one depicted on your cameraperson's duel disk.

And with that the game begins.

The screens flicker a bit and when it stabilizes, you realize you're no longer bound to the perspective of the mystery person you had once been. You're closer to Ikuko, aimed more at her than at the scenery around. If you believed this would give you a glimpse of her opponent, that turns out false when it's revealed a hologram of a large monster is in front of their lift, obscuring them from view.

It's a bit hard to follow the game without a commentator or even worse if you don't have an understanding of the rules, but by the scowl growing on your classmate's face, you gather this isn't a fair one. Any card drawn from her deck seems to be not Yu-Gi-Oh! cards but rather the same tarot cards that have been displayed by your two chaperones.

Placing them on her disk either portrait or landscape style doesn't seem to produce any holograms the same way her opponent's do. The projection of the creature moves and draws its sword down on your peer. Of course, as artificial as it is, its blade doesn't cause her to flinch but the next thing you know, the 8000 next to her drops down to 5500.

That rolling number seems to trigger something with Ikuko's platform. It plummets, the sudden movement of it seeming to knock the champ off her balance briefly but she saves herself by grasping onto the support rail around her. Still, although she saved herself from that first surprise, that doesn't stop it from coming back as with no usable cards in her hand, Ikuko cannot defend herself against the onslaught of attacks in the turns that follow.

5500.

3000.

500.

Her number drops and drops, closer and closer to an uncertain fate but whatever it is, it can't be good news. After all, you had all seen what had happened to ZenZen. If she were to be given a punishment just like him, then even if the presentation wasn't the same, surely that still meant the same end result.

The aura of futility begins to cloud and dawn and with the rate that the math is going, it would only take one more attack against a defenseless Ikuko to take that number down to below zero.

Maybe it's a desperation born out of knowing she's about to lose if she can't figure out something and fast, but whatever motivates her, you watch as the champion removes the duel disk attached to her arm and chucks it forward with a tremendous force and speed. She's no SHSL athlete of any kind but fate might as well have made her one in that moment. It's a stroke of luck no different from a miracle but the contraption hits the big red button from before with enough accuracy and force to actually press it. It could be a sweet turn, a last-ditch attempt at breaking out of this fate...!

Instead, the floor beneath Ikuko's feet collapses to hang at the sides of the platform, leaving nothing for her to stand on, and she plummets down into the hole below. It's deep but you soon see a spray of blood coming up, indicating her fall.

Though you can't see her, you're left with the knowledge that her gamble made upon intuition, made upon hope, would be her last-- that no matter how anything worked, she was doomed from the start to the grave they had made her.

Ikuko Ueno, the Super High-School Level Yu-Gi-Oh! Champion, has been executed.

#monotheatre #rwc #chtwo #ikuko #ikukodeath #executions #plot #heights tw ----

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