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frogtanii · 3 years

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[buckle up; this one is a long one (1.6k words)]

things weren’t supposed to turn out this way.

she was supposed to show up, apologize “sincerely,” and the boys, her boys, were supposed to welcome her with open arms and swiftly discard of you.

instead, she was sitting in the back of a cramped police car with two pigs, one of which had a horrible b.o. problem and an affinity for sauerkraut.

it was so frustrating.

and, of course, it was all your fault.

you’d been blocking her from true happiness ever since the beginning when you’d first met in middle school. it was crazy because you’d actually seemed nice; kind, understanding, and you didn’t judge her for what her father did to her mother or for how she acted out because of that.

sure, you were a little weird and sometimes you could be downright rude to other kids in your class but you cared for her in a way that no one else had before.

(un)fortunately, you didn’t come alone — you were a packaged deal. your childhood friend, daishou, came into her life right along with you. she didn’t mind at first; daishou was fun when he wanted to be but he was mostly full of snarky comments and sarcastic quips.

the three of you spent all your time with each other; from playing at the playground to helping her begin her makeup youtube channel in 8th grade.

you all got along pretty well up until you got to highschool. once there, you threw yourself into your studies, sort of retracting yourself from her and daishou.

how selfish.

she couldn’t help but feel betrayed by you—you knew how bad she was at making friends and you didn’t even care, leaving her all alone to fend for herself.

well, not all by herself.

daishou was a constant. no matter where she was, or how alone she was feeling, he was there to provide entertainment at the most, and his presence at the least.

it wasn’t always the healthiest, most functional friendship, she could admit that. there were weeks that daishou would choose to ignore her for no apparent rhyme or reason, citing his explanation as he just didn’t feel like it.

obviously it sucked but he was her only friend, ever since you so cruelly abandoned them. i mean, you still ate lunch with them every day and invited them over to study and hang out, but it was not the same.

with you so absent, she grew closer and closer to daishou to the point she was spending almost every waking moment with him. and, as the story so goes, she fell for him, head over heels.

she knew it was a bad idea, if their friendship was anything to go off of but she didn’t care. she was desperate for love and physical affection and he seemed willing to at least give her the latter.

after she decided to confess, nerves all the way in her throat and a box of chocolates behind her back, daishou took her virginity in the back of his ford fusion, hard, fast and nothing like she’d imagined.

the next day, she’d cornered you in the library (where you always seemed to be) to tell you the good news. your face was unusually blank as she detailed the best night of her life to you, your response being less than stellar when she was done. “please be careful,” you had said.

what did that even mean? you clearly wanted to keep daishou safe from her which was ridiculous because weren’t you supposed to be her friend too? she’d stormed out of the library after that, determined to demand a kiss from daishou to make her feel better.

that day was one of the last that she’d see you for a while. you got caught up with clubs and schoolwork (and apparently therapy for god knows what) while she got caught up with daishou.

things with him weren’t... great. they never really were but things were getting even worse. his random bouts of silence got longer and though it was only freshman year and they’d been dating for less than 5 months, he’d meet with her after school with a hickey plastered on his collarbone that she knew she didn’t put there (she sucked even harder over the spot to claim it as her own).

as she said, things weren’t great but they weren’t horrible either. they remained that way all the way up until sophomore year.

you and her had drifted even further, hardly speaking to one another unless it was for a project or to vaguely greet one another in the halls. it was okay though. you had all your other friends and she... well she had daishou.

speaking of, her “boyfriend” had been more distant than usual. she wasn’t an idiot and she knew he’d been seeing other girls on the side, but she believed she would be the one he’d end up with, the one he’d marry.

how foolish she had been.

it was prom night and she felt beautiful. her beauty channel had finally begun picking up traction (she’d just hit 13k subscribers the night before!!) so she filmed a prom night makeup tutorial, making sure that every square inch of her face was perfect. donning a silky blue floor length dress, she felt like a princess and she certainly looked the part.

she showed up to daishou’s house about 30 minutes before the event, ringing his doorbell with an elated grin painted all over her face. he had mentioned in passing that his parents and older sister would be out for the weekend, leaving the house for themselves. that meant sex and sex meant being wanted.

after the third ring of the bell, she started to get nervous. maybe he wasn’t ready yet? maybe he needed help with his tie? just when she was about to wring the bell again, the door swung open to reveal daishou... not in his suit.

“oh, it’s you,” he’d grumbled. “‘m not goin’ to prom.” she felt her breath catch in her throat. she’d protested and begged for an explanation but he wouldn’t give one to her. eventually, she’d followed him into his house, furious because how could he do this to her? on her night?

it didn’t take very long for him to get fed up, his snake-like eyes honing in on her, filled with venom. “‘m not goin’ because i don’t like you anymore. you still look pretty though.”

just like that, with just a few words, he’d shattered her heart. she was frozen in place, completely disconnected from daishou, her love, as he not-so-gently pushed her out the door, slamming it in her face.

she felt tears stream down her cheeks and before she knew it, her legs were carrying her to a place she hadn’t been in months.

banging frantically on the door, she cried out, begging for someone, anyone to hear her. the door opened quickly and there you stood. you’d clearly been studying but as you took in her frazzled appearance, it seemed as though your heart broke.

you ushered her inside, sat her own the couch, and began to make her a cup of tea, your parents having been out for the night as well. once the kettle went off, you quickly prepped her drink and gave it to her, the words flowing out of her like liquid once she had taken a sip.

she didn’t know why she was even there but despite the animosity between the two of you, you seemed like you truly... cared. (neither of you mentioned the tears that stained your favorite t shirt or the quiet apologies you muttered into her hair).

that night quickly went and passed and by the next day, she was feeling rejuvenated and more like herself. however, that feeling quickly dissipated when she caught you in the hallway between classes speaking with daishou behind the stairwell in hushed tones.

within the span of a few hours, her heart had been broken twice and she was sure she’d never felt such heartache before.

she turned on her heel and darted away, avoiding your every attempt to talk to her for weeks and weeks until you just... stopped trying. after you’d cut off conversation, yet again, the sadness quickly festered and morphed into anger.

that anger only grew when she watched you graduate at the top of your class in your senior year, your smile blinding as you accepted your diploma. it only grew when she saw that you had made it into the university of your choice on your instagram story, her own rejection letter torn up in the bottom of her wastebin. it only grew when she saw you’d made your own youtube channel, her own going untouched and neglected (her last video had been a half-assed “get ready with me” that had more dislikes than likes due to her horrible makeup and even worse attitude).

soon enough, the rage had intensified until it had taken over her whole being. she was just so angry at all that you’d done to her, all the ways you’d ruined her life that she couldn’t keep herself from plotting your demise.

when she got the email from the hyper house management team that invited her into the house and offered the option that she could pick someone she wanted to move in as well, her anger turned into excitement.

this was her chance. this was her moment to turn your life into a living hell, to make it at least a fraction of what she went through by your hands.

she was going to make you pay and god, was it going to feel great.

the metal of the handcuffs chafed her wrists as she adjusted herself against the cool leather of the cruiser, the discomfort removing her from her reverie.

yeah, right. it seemed as though she was the only one “paying” right about now.

she tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling, tears filling her eyes but refusing to fall.

things definitely weren’t meant to turn out like this. not at all.

℗ poker face

not like this

series masterlist

(●’◡’●)ﾉ

an - OMFG THE BACKSTORY REVEALED I AM SO OVER IT >:(( this took me forever to write and i still wasn’t able to include everything i wanted to so hop over to my asks if you need any clarification!! oh oh && just a reminder, this playlist is from meiko’s perspective so chances are, things didn’t exactly go just like this wink wonk KAJS ANYWAYS DONT FORGET TO FEED ME ILY <3333

taglist - if your name is in bold, i cannot tag you

@boosyboo9206 • @geektastic84 • @elianetsantana • @trashy-simp • @infinitebells • @6mattsun9 • @suhkusa • @katsulovee • @kotarosbabygirl • @fucktheworlddude • @insomniacwreck • @calumsfringe • @saltylettuce • @chai-blu • @al3x1ss • @hawksyoongi • @jooleuuh • @loubells • @kissungjae • @liberhoe • @tetsurocore • @animeoverdosee • @duhsies • @saiKishaircLip • @afire24 • @premiyagi • @kit-kat428 • @doctorspencereid • @daphnxy • @kyomihann • @maer-333 • @sinoflust19 • @peteunderoos • @peachiikichu • @iidanotlida • @yongboxerrr • @kac-chowsballs • @tanakaslastbraincell • @memorableminds • @risjime • @starry-magicshop • @sugavwara • @smuttyanimeslut • @kiwibirbs-library • @haijkk • @airybnb • @crybabygumi • @iwaisa • @decaffinatedtealover • @notameera • @kawaii-angelanne • @rintarovibes • @urlocalsimp • @keiarma • @shrimpypenis

the rest of the tags will be in the replies!!

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providencehq · 3 years

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Who will stop me from making self indulgent role swap au art?

Explanation more so under the readmore, it's a lot if you're interested:

Brook got a severe head injury while within the nanite research facility, since they had no one even remotely specialized to deal with any kind of emergency, especially that kind of injury, which is why the experimental nanites got approved to be used on her. She has scars from the incident since I like to think it took a bit of time for the nanites to reach their full healing capabilities so she still has evidence of what happened to her. Also it doesn't become clear that the nanites had some extra side effects until a few months into recovery.

After the nanite event and Brook is left on her own, she more or less wanders around the globe simply vibing. One of the people she briefly met and stayed with was Dr. Rebecca Holiday, a biomedical engineer and her sister, Beverly. Holiday doesn't work for Providence. Holiday tries to help Brook figure out who her family is but to no avail, but she offers help in simply being a guardian for Brook for a short while. Holiday helps to cut Brook's untamed hair into her more iconic cut and Beverly is the one to give her the dyed streak.

Thanks to @maya-makes-art for helping me figure out a friend to give Brook! I cannot thank them enough! Claire Bowman takes the place of Noah, she's originally hired to act as a mole for Providence since they need a way to both get to know Brook better (she isn't the best at getting along in Providence when she starts living there) but to also keep an eye on their child soldier. They end up getting along really well and become pretty close friends. Claire also plays soccer and this is how they bond a bit too

When Brook is first bought into Providence, they just assumed she was just another criminal like Gatlocke, who she was found with (they destroyed some Providence vehicles simply for fun, using the EVO attacks as a way to get away with their chaos, but they were caught and brought in.) Due to protocol, everyone and anyone has to get a cleared by a medical check up before being sent to a more appropriate facility/different Providence controlled location. Dr. Van Kleiss ends up doing taking care of Brook and everything comes back wildly off, causing White Bishop/Caesar to get involved.

Dr. Van Kleiss or as most simply refer to him, Kleiss, wears lab appropriate clothes (I'm sorry! Holiday is not lab safe!!!!) and keeps his hair tied back. He does have notable burn scars from the nanite event but can easily be covered up with clothing.

Providence finding out she is in fact an EVO and can actually control her nanites happens on day one of being at Providence. It doesn't go great and she actively tries to make herself seem scary by using her EVO powers (they're gauntlets! each having a half shield covering that can be pushed together to make an actual shield.)

Gizmo acts as an active voice of violence, chaos, and general recklessness around Brook, kinda of an opposite to Bobo's more passive 'break the rules' kind of attitude. Gizmo simply craves petty violence.

Rylander's powers turns EVOs into more uncontrollable and dangerous versions of themselves. Gizmo at one point is affected by Rylander (he takes the place of Van Kleiss in the au) and we get an EVO version of them that looks a lot like their og bunny EVO form. Brook can cure EVOs from this evolved state but they more or less become an incurable EVO after that, so she may be able to fix them from being a monster but can't fix them from being EVO.

Brook runs and and tries to hide from Providence when she's first there since she doesn't trust them. She isn't good at staying hidden whether in Providence or outside of it. Usually it's someone in the Pack sent out to find her and bring her back. She's only like this at the start and quickly grows out of being scared of Providence.

Also have a playlist for this au because it's gotten to that point

#mine #my art #generator rex #brook au #biowulf #black knight #brook #caesar salazar #white bishop #wulf #gizmo #gatlocke #claire bowman #dr. van kleiss #van kleiss #it's just so fun to draw them it really is #this weekend i have matched the number of generator rex related art with that of ben 10 art

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pathofcomets · 3 years

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soldier, keep on marching on (12)

fandom: mass effect andromeda (AO3)

pairing: jaal/ryder

summary: Sara Ryder will replay that moment before she died for the first time many times afterwards.

playlist: spotify

There’s no scientific explanation for the way this angara follows untaken paths, remembering truths inscribed in stone, connecting to feelings that he has not felt before. Sara Ryder watches it all unfold in front of her, and maybe she has to take back her words during a conversation with Suvi, because it makes her believe just the tiniest bit in a force she cannot explain. Maybe in another world, she is still back on the Citadel, nothing but a scientist doing her job, watching another universe unfold, that still as far away as this glimpse at another’s species beliefs.

But stars protect them, Sara Ryder, the human Pathfinder, might actually be the key for their survival in Andromeda, for an end with the war against kett. Her rumoured Remnant skills are not just rumour anymore: at her touch, the ancient structures blink alive, heeding her command, turning and glowing to the tunes she is singing. he finally understands the weight of her title, the sparkle of her role – the heaviness of all of that on shoulders that shake in exhaustion after the vault’s doors close behind them.

She manages to stand for 4 seconds, and then Sara falls to the ground, one hand going around her stomach, trying to calm down her nerves enough not to end up throwing up next to a robot’s jumbled parts. Peebee whistles, pleased, taking a deep breath of air, though the change in the environment’s quality is never any faster than a few months. Placebo effect, or theatrics, though knowing the asari, it’s probably the latter. The Pathfinder manages to turn, still frowning, still looking in pain, her gaze fixed on the closed vault now, inside which they ran for their lives just mere moments ago. It’s the most unlike herself Jaal has seen her.

She sticks mostly to herself on the way to the Nexus – and will use her recent sickness as the perfect excuse, even if her crew is not as easily fooled. Jaal sits in a small chair in the kitchen, watching Liam making himself a sandwich, the smell of mustard strong in his nostrils, because he wants to understand, even if he cannot grasp the reason why.

“How did Ryder get her ability to control Remnant technology?” he asks, his voice even, but Liam still chokes on his bread, his eyes going wide, staring at his angara friend.

“The worst kept secret in the universe, and you have no idea, huh?” he mumbles, and it’s with a delayed time that Jaal’s translator pick up the words.

“I don’t understand.”

“I think you should just talk to Sara directly. I may have been there, but it is her story to tell.”

He doesn’t miss the way Liam has mentioned their Pathfinder by her first name.

“So it’s not inborn.”

Liam shakes his head, tapping one of his fingers against his temple. “SAM.”

Jaal nods, though his curiosity is not fully satisfied. He only knows now this is passed down instead, from Pathfinder to Pathfinder. He doesn’t know yet, who the last Pathfinder was, or why does that matter so much, why no one seems to discuss it ever, even when it might seem relevant, even when the topic is right there. Aliens and their many conversations habits, slipped so easily into everyday life; making everyday life so much more difficult than it has to be. The way Peebee darts around any personal detail by making a sexual innuendo, welcomed and pleasurable, but a diversion nonetheless. Drack invokes his age, his clan – sometimes just stomps over people’s toes, or breaks a spatula between his hands. Liam jokes, words lost between translation, meaning entirely escaping the angara for the fact that none of these phrases invoke the metaphors behind it, and he dislikes that the human so obviously knows what he is doing. Lexi is a mask of professionalism, even Kallo up to a point, two sides of a different coin. Vetra just offers a connection, brings up a rare artefact, making people forget about what they wanted to discuss in the first place. He understands everything for what it is, understands not to push – at least not then.

Ryder is not so practiced. When she hears something surprising, something she doesn’t want to face on, her entire being stills, an unreleased tension budding beneath her skin. If she is facing someone she does not like, she’d straighten her back, fist her hands, make her voice louder, aggression more evident, a tactic that she employs so often during her calls with officials, gaping the special distance with attitude. If it is a friend challenging her, she smiles: but it is not a real one, no feeling behind the gesture, and she offers weak kindness, platitudes to tide her over. Those who accept it, leaving her be, seem to do it out of pity, because she is terrible at masking emotions; or those that hurt, anyway.

Which is how Jaal learnt that talking directly to Sara is not easy. Opening her up takes slow coaxing, constant work, a hand always outstretched in understanding, and she is still a feral dog licking her wounds most of the time. He wonders how deep they go, how raw it must all be, if he glimpses only at the surface and she seems so broken. It talks of a soft heart that has been beaten down into doubting, of a person that didn’t have to be strong until now, and is overwhelmed by the task.

He wonders, in the deep, dark voyage from her home, who did she have to hold on to?

And then he does not ask. He tried, fumbling over his words, before they disembarked on the Nexus, to bring it up, but her omni-tool pinged – once, twice, thrice – and at the fourth sound, she sighed, breaking eye contact with him, and looked down, her eyes widening with every word taken in, her presence shaken. Lexi found her almost immediately after, calling out her name from the doorframe, and Sara only had time to glance back at him in parting.

So he does not ask. Just yet.

***

“Director Tann is waiting for you in his office,” Addison greets Ryder, but she only pushes against her shoulder, not even wording a greeting back.

Vetra follows, catching up easily with the shorter human, even as she is almost running through the hallways of the Nexus. Everything else in this damn galaxy can wait, because where her brother is laying in his medical bed, she can finally reach him. For only a little while, but the ache of his absence is so humongous, her need for a little piece of him (for a living little piece of him) is so stifling, that she doesn’t know what else to do but push forward, harder and faster, anticipation almost choking her.

“Ryder!” Vetra shouts, and she finally turns.

“What?”

“Just… don’t get your hopes high, okay?”

“I can talk with my comatose brother. Yes, I’d say those are high, incredible hopes already,” she spits back, though she knows she is unfair.

Vetra knows it too, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She wanted to be by Ryder’s side by virtue of their roles, both of them older sisters, even if under different circumstances. She already thinks the Pathfinder way more put together than she would have been in the same situation, but this is a chance that seems so perfect, so wonderful – she knows Sara would break, if it was just a re-do of her life so far here.

Sara sighs, and her expression softens, just a bit.

“It will be fine. It can’t be… worse, right?”

“No, of course not,” Vetra lies.

Ryder resumes her chasing of ephemeral dreams. She barely even greets the doctor, a mumbling lost in gulps of air, as she takes a seat next to Scott’s bed, his hand in-between hers, her forehead glued to his fingers in a mimicry of praying, as SAM starts their connections.

Hearing her twin say her name brings that painful, familiar knot in her throat, that she has to struggle to swallow down. She kisses the back of his palm, allowing his voice to wash over her. She has always hated their father’s secrecy, but she finds that telling Scott the truth is the hardest thing she ever had to do. Her voice shakes and she takes often breaks between her words, trying to explain him a loss that she herself still cannot believe it is real. It feels like all of this is a nightmare, or a game – and at some point she will blink awake, and she’ll be in her stasis pod, or in a dusty bunk bed on Mars; she’ll even take cold Pluto.

She doesn’t know what she was thinking. Maybe the distance; between getting the news of Alec Ryder’s death and him actually having to face it when he wakes up will numb the pain, will smooth over the shock – but it doesn’t make handling his distress now any easier. If anything, it is worse, because while Scott’s voice rises, panic ringing in every syllable, his body remains so utterly still, a disconnect that cannot be bridged.

So the next words are lies; pretty beautiful lies. She describes Aya to him, but she doesn’t tell him it is the one planet that she will never touch, not like a Pathfinder, nor that the rest of the galaxy is trying to have them killed. But this is not enough to calm Scott, and their connection is severed afterwards. She wonders if the beautiful world she tried to paint him will be enough to make him dream of wonderful, nice things. It is an ugly thing, to be so grateful that her younger brother at least wasn’t there to witness their father’s death first-hand. Like this, even the worst nightmare is only make believe, because the reality is so, so much worse.

When she blinks, her head so much more silent than a second before, Harry offers her a glass of water, a timid smile. She gulps it all down, if only to have anything else to focus on, and she nods her gratitude to the man, pats Scott’s hand in goodbye, and leaves the room before she loses it entirely, looking at her brother’s body. He was so close, and yet he is still so far. The wait might just as well slowly kill her.

***

She inhales, her father’s favourite coffee package open under her nose. It is a stronger tinge than she is used to, but the familiarity of it almost makes her cry again. It is a coward’s instinct that brought her to her father’s room – her room, she has to remind herself. Though there is no personal touch from her, nothing even moved from its original place. She sits in his chair, feeling like a child playing dress-up with their parent’s clothes, and she listens to audios of the one of many secrets Alec Ryder withheld from his children.

“In his defence,” SAM’s voice is loud in the room, but soft. “He didn’t think he would die so soon.”

She has to blink, hard, before she is able to come up with words again. “Thank you, SAM. For this, and Scott… If you had a mouth, I would kiss you.”

It is a joke, but one that she actually believes. It’s not that she doesn’t trust or care for her crew, but it’s different having someone fighting so hard for her, in a galaxy that can feel so unbearably lonely. Here, the loss of her entire family is so much more obvious: where the air around her is finally silent, where there’s no distracting, needy messages, or loud trouble-makers. And even in the solace of her solitude, she still has SAM. The last standing bit of the Ryder legacy, besides herself.

His voice, this time booming privately, just inside her head, sounds amused and somehow pleased – she wonders if he had this realization from the first second they got united.

“If I had a mouth, Pathfinder, I would be honoured.”

She laughs, a real sound this time, getting up on her feet. Her father has bended the rules so much for his kids, on this trip, and in-between his important dossiers and weaponry files, he allowed them to stack each whatever it would fit. She picked books, and her finger lingers along the spines, all the titles read already. There’s a book, on explorations – the old ones, to Antarctica back when it was filled with ice, that she chose simply because she hoped her father might be interested in it. He, of course, never got to see it, most likely. She takes it from the shelves, and gets ready to leave the room.

Upon a second consideration, she steps back, picks another book from the shelves, and that’s when she returns to her duties.

***

“Hey, what do you have there?”

Ryder instinctively tightens her hold around the books, before she reminds herself how stupid that instinct is; she is not in middle school anymore, nor is Liam in any way some kind of bully (unless he really wants to, which luckily, he rarely does). So she moves, shifting her stance, allowing him to grab at what interests him from the array of things she is carrying. He takes the two books, and she busies herself stocking up a shelf with her dad’s coffee: whatever the Initiative is calling coffee, it is a watered down version of it, and she tries to plan a trip to Kadara port soon enough, if only for their illegal shit.

“Shakespeare?” Liam asks, snorting as he drops the battered old copy on the kitchen table. It’s clearly been read over and over again, pages yellowed and a corner bent, the spine broken.

It’s the most favourite thing she owns.

Jaal appears in the doorway, his eyes warming when he notices the two humans, taking in the scene in front of him.

“The author of Hamlet?” he asks, and of course Jaal, who asked immediate access to the cultural centre, knows exactly who Shakespeare is.

Sara Ryder points her finger at him, suddenly serious.

“Whatever theory they might want to make you believe, he was not elcor!” she says, a tone not unlike that of the Moshae when delivering her most important lectures accompanying her words.

“Though,” she softens. “Their version of Hamlet is a must-watch for everyone, I admit.”

“Yeah, if you want to go through psychological torture,” Liam snorts.

Jaal looks between the two, his eyes starry, curious – and Sara cannot stop staring, even when Liam lowers himself in his chair to stupendous levels, just to kick her in the shin, back to awareness. Her luck, though, Liam’s name is called out from a distance away, Gil’s voice booming loud. The two have a poker game planned, now that their snacks stock got refilled on the Nexus, and she snorts when Liam almost tumbles out of this chair in his haste.

Jaal looks down at the book the male human discarded, reading over the title.

“The Tempest,” he breathes, a bit of reverence in the word. “Is this the reason for the ship’s name?” he asks.

“Just lucky coincidence, though I have no doubt some might call me a romantic for it either way.”

But it’s fitting. What better name for the one ship that is supposed to explore a whole galaxy? When hit by a storm and finding yourself in a new unfamiliar place, the only thing you can do is make sense of it. When they gave her command over it, this is the first thing she thought about – how words and stories echo throughout centuries, throughout galaxies now.

“And this?” he asks, holding up the other book.

She smiles, a smile lost in a world 600 years ago.

“Explorers… Pathfinders of the past. Isn’t it ironic? I studied the things that people like my father left behind. I’m not a trailblazer.”

He nods, as if he actually understands the words, when he has no idea who this woman used to be, in her so distant life. He steps closer to her, and she looks at him, fully and openly, trusting him in this tiny kitchenette space, when just a day before he slammed her fully to the ground because she tried to wake him up. He has no idea what to make of her. He won’t, unless he asks.

“Will you tell me? About your father, your family?”

The change is immediate, the way she wants to claw her arms around her, protection in the body language, the space too cramped between the two of them for her to comfortably do so. But then, she looks at him, holding his eyes for a long moment, and then she sighs.

“He died to save me, you know?” she raises a hand to her eyes, mimicking the shattering of a glass, and realization chills him to the bones. “So now each time I restart a vault, I can hear my father taking his last breath, I can feel the phantom pain of my lungs crashing.”

Each time she saves a bit more of Andromeda, she revisits the trauma of her father dying for her, of her own body losing a battle, for the half of a minute she could have been called dead. Of course she cannot heal from it, not when she’s haunted by the cause of his death on every single planet she lands, not when it is her purpose.

It is the worst kept secret of the galaxy, and it has not yet reached him. Jaal asked, not unkind, his eyes focused on her; her inabilities have not rendered her a fraud in his eyes, not yet at least. But he deserves to know the truth, in the same way that he has offered it to her. And she is still shattered and fragile after the earlier situation with Scott, and there is no comfort in this galaxy that she can be offered, but perhaps this.

She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath, readying herself to tell a story that she never had to tell anyone else. Hell, everyone knows – or at least everyone pretends to know – her life story, the poor Ryder orphan who somehow still became the Pathfinder. It’s a perfect rag to riches tale, sprinkled with enough drama and trauma that the story tells itself so easily in-between gossiping mouths. But nobody has asked her about herself, the Sara behind everything else, or about those she has called family, beyond the titles. Everyone just assumed they knew everything there is to know. And so she never had to recount her experiences, or call them by their names. She does so, slowly, stumbling over her own words, pausing so she can focus on the cadence of her voice, rather than the tangibility of her life.

“My mom died a while ago; she was a scientist – but she was always just mom to us. I have a twin brother, though he is younger than me. He…” she breaks off, her vision unfocused, and Jaal’s hand around her elbow is warm. “His cryo-pod malfunctioned when we arrived in Andromeda, so he is in a coma. I… I don’t know when he will wake up.”

She doesn’t say if. Because if this galaxy owes her anything, after it has taken so much from her, then it owes her the recovery of her sibling.

“Dad wasn’t really in the landscape. Too busy fighting, the workaholic genius soldier. I didn’t think we mattered much for him, until… until he died to save my life. How’s that for father of the year? He threw away the future of humanity to save his daughter.”

“It seems like he loved you,” Jaal’s voice is warm, but she does not look up at him, too focused on the pattern on the floor, already pulled in her past.

“I wish he would have said it. For Scott if not for me: he tried so hard to be everything dad wanted. He trained and fought, he’s the muscles and the charm in our family. If someone, he should have been the Pathfinder.”

“You speak so highly of him.”

“He’s all I have left, 600 years away from home. Well… not home anymore, I suppose.”

“You are an amazing wonder, Sara Ryder,” Jaal says, and she startles, her head moving to look up at him.

Fat, wet tears are falling down Jaal’s cheeks, silent, not betrayed even by his voice. But his forehead crinkles together, as if he is barely holding in his pain, eyes closed. He knows he would have scared her off, if he had stopped her in any way until this point, until the story took its complete shape. Here, in front of him, is just a young human who had so much to deal with in the span of months. Yet here she is, not only standing and doing her best every single day, as he has witnessed for all this time, but taking responsibility well beyond her skill, just because no one else would – fighting in the name of her beliefs, even when she shouldn’t have to.

“Are you crying?” she asks, incredulous, panic rising in her voice.

Jaal’s body shakes, and his eyes meet hers. Yes, he is crying: for her. Something in her chest twists, and she lets out a shuddering breathe. The something snaps, and she feels the build-up of tears at the corner of her eyes. Fuck. She didn’t cry when she woke up alone. She didn’t cry when Scott panicked at the news of their father’s death. But she cries now, because someone had understood and felt her pain, allowing her to do the same.

Sara’s fingers find his rofjinn; an awkward angle, but when she tugs, he falls willingly against her chest, his arm immediately wrapping around her. He smells like spices, a sweet tinge behind it all, and she inhales, his palm pressing against the small of her back, his face burying in her hair. She can hear her name, muffled, repeated over and over, like a chant that keeps both of them anchored, and if she wasn’t busy crying her heart out on his cape, maybe she would have been embarrassed, at being in such a position, comforted over something that shouldn’t be hurting anymore.

But the angara are not like that. Not once has Jaal – or any of his people for that matter, implied that she should get over things, nor do they forget their emotions as easily as humans or turians or krogans or salarians pretend to do. The wound, no matter how far in the past, can still hurt, and that is okay. Sometimes, there will even be people around to support her.

She sniffles, feeling her face burn with her exertion from crying, and when she slowly untangles herself from Jaal’s embrace, she almost pouts at seeing him look exactly just as beautiful as before, if not for the pained twist of his mouth. She is flustered, dabbing with her fingers at the wet material of his rofjinn. He smiles, amused – though she is still too embarrassed to look up at him, and his hand rises to stop her action. She frowns, but does not pull her hand away. His wrist twists, and although awkward and not exactly inter-species friendly, he locks his fingers with hers, just as she did before, when the roles were reversed. Her thumb now takes to rubbing circles into his skin. He’s not wearing his usual gloves, and she suddenly feels even more light-headed, not entirely from crying alone.

“I apologize,” he says, and she just blinks at him, dumbfounded.

She can feel his heartbeat against her wrist.

“I did not know the manner in which you became a Pathfinder, and I criticized you for it. Now knowing it, I think you are worthy of praise.”

She chuckles, a sound that turns into another round of tears, though no more loud sobbing accompanies it this time.

“Thank you, Jaal.”

“What was it you said? Always, Sara.”

***

“Ryder,” Jaal’s voice echoes throughout the empty hallways, and she looks up from her data pad, where she is lounged on the couch, to find him already walking towards her.

She cannot quite hide her surprise, because they are on the most perfect planet in the Andromeda galaxy, and he is somehow looking for her. They have yet to discuss the breakdown over her family story, and she burns with embarrassment when he stops in front of her, his arms crossed across his chest, clearly knowing that she is on board of the Tempest, and not out there enjoying fresh air and perfect nature, because she is actively attempting to avoid him.

But Jaal’s face breaks into a smile; a small one, but this is still a new development and she wouldn’t fault his hesitancy, when it’s in reply to her own cowardice.

“I would like you to accompany me,” he declares, and he extends out his hand, palm up, waiting patiently for her to stop ogling at him, and drop her own hand in his, so he can help her up on her feet and right wherever he wants to take her.

“Where are we going?” she asks, finally shaking off her surprise, placing her data pad aside, her fingers finding the soft padding of his gloves.

“Aya,” he replies, his voice thick with humour.

Obviously, since they are stationed on this planet and not even the resident pilots are on board at the moment. She may do many strange, stupid things, but attempting to fly the Tempest while her head holds only the most basic flying notions would be downright suicidal.

Jaal allows her to step out the ship first, and immediately afterwards matches his pace to hers. His strides are longer; she has seen him enough times in combat, to know the kind of distances that he can cover in only three well-timed strides, but he seems content to force them small enough to fit her own rhythm. She feels particularly touched by the attention, since no one has extended any such care to her thus far in this galaxy far away from home. Politeness at its finest, even as she’s sure he can feel the tension in her body at their unknown destination.

They don’t even walk that far. With a short sprint to catch an empty bench, Jaal, with a wide gesture of an arm, invites her to sit next to him. She is dazed and a bit dazzled, underwhelmed by the setting. She has passed through this particular long pathway many times since discovering Aya, but she listens without opening her mouth to voice her doubts. At their back, the plants grow so large that they’re shaded from most of the sun, the green tips so close that they can almost tickle then nape of her neck. She can hear the nature, murmuring with life, brimming with health, the way it should be – and well, this is not so bad, a sound that she doesn’t think she will ever get tired of, especially not when she can spend months at a time without seeing any plant at all.

She sighs, closing her eyes against one light breeze passing through her hair, and when she opens them again, she finds Jaal already looking at her. She cocks an eyebrow at him, which makes his small smile return.

“This area actually has a name. Memorial Gardens; mostly used for relaxation, but as the name suggests, it is a place angara find themselves in when trying to grasp something of the past in their present.”

His explanation is calm, same tone all throughout, but she knows exactly what he is hinting at: her own loss, her own unmade peace. She doesn’t know if she should be mad at him, for not playing along with her obvious discomfort at the situation, or kiss him because he has sought out a way to make her feel better.

“Jaal,” she starts, trying to find some words to explain the tumultuous emotions inside her heart, fumbling to find her footing in what she wants to say.

“Ryder,” he interrupts, but his voice is so gentle that it doesn’t feel like much of an interruption at all. “Stay for as long as you please.”

He rises to his feet, bending over her just enough to squeeze her hand in his, reassurance and some force passed for her to be brave in just the barely-there ghost of a touch. She looks up at him, a storm hidden in her eyes, and Jaal nods at her, still trying to convey the same support.

“You are welcome here between my people.”

And with that, she blinks and he’s already half out of her sight. She takes in one shaky breath, trying to gather her bearing, and she asks SAM to turn off her translator, so she won’t get side-tracked from this one task from Jaal: enjoy this present moment, even when haunted by her past.

The first ten minutes, she follows the patterns on the stone walls supporting the higher level of the garden, stories that she cannot even figure the beginning of, too entrenched in a rich cultural understanding of the angara, that she still lacks. The next five, she remembers the time her and Scott hid on the Citadel for three entire days, trying to avoid Ellen’s wrath about a stupid bad assessment that they fucked up and forgot to notify their parents about. They returned when all their pocket money ran out, dirty from scrapping by and so hungry that their mother simply laughed when she saw them, and made them eat soup in their underwear, on the cold tiles of the kitchen, not allowed to walk over any of her carpets.

SAM notifies her that he has an entire database of photos and videos saved by the entire Ryder family, their reminders of a life in the Milky Way, once they’d brave the deep slumber. The ones from Alec remain perfectly untouched; Sara may be brave but she is not brave enough for that, not without her other half. Ellen’s are much the same. She opens her own with the ghost of a smile, and for an hour, she is lost in smiles centuries gone, people whose outline is turning blurry in her memory, whose descendants are probably lost in bureaucratic hells.

It is a picture of her and Scott, on their fifth birthday, each of them sat on one of Alec’s knees, that undoes her, unravels the tight lid that she had over her emotions. Her nose and cheeks are covered in whipped cream, Scott’s hand much the same, painting him the culprit. He’s grinning, a large smile, and one of his front teeth is chipped. Alec is beaming, not quite a smile, but the closest damn thing to it, and he looks so proud to be there, between his two children, that Sara cannot look away.

If the angara see the human cry, and cry, and cry – well, the angara feel deeply anyway. There’s nothing strange with it. And Jaal has given her the one place where she, Sara Ryder, the human Pathfinder, would not be judged for her emotions, now or in the future either.

#me: andromeda #mass effect andromeda #mass effect #jaal ama darav #sara ryder #jaal x ryder #jaal/ryder #jaal/female ryder #soldier keep on marching on #writing

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saphyhowl · 4 years

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Chapter one: Encounter

Here it is. I know it’s not very long but I will continue tomorrow for part two. The fic I asked your thoughts about. Hope you like it. Again sorry for the long wait.

Edit: I added part two

“And on your right, you may admire the work of Jacques-Louis David, “the Coronation of Napoleon” painted in 1807. It took the artist two years to finish the painting. It is not only imposing because of its size but also by the…”

A young woman in a formal suit guided a group of visitors through the gallery in the Denon part of the Louvre museum. While the visitors admired the painting, the guide waved discreetly at a young man standing on the sidelines. He looked visibly bored but managed a timid smile as the woman waved at him. He strode towards her, his boredom noticeable even in the way he walked.

“I’ll be done in a few hours, why don’t you grab something to eat or maybe take a stroll outside. I know museums are not the funniest thing to see for a 19-year-old,” the woman said with a chuckle.

“No worries sis, I’ll grab something to eat at the “Paul” bakery. Text me when you’re done?” the young man answered.

The sister nodded and went on to describe the other paintings to her group. She glanced one last time at her brother’s figure among the visitors. The young man put his headphones on as he strode towards the exit. He scrolled through his phone to find the playlist that would suit his mood and nearly bumped into an elegant-looking man.

“Sorry,” he mouthed at the elegant man and continued walking.

A moment later he sat on a bench munching on a sandwich. Someone sat next to him but he paid them no mind. A tap on his arm. He looked up. It was the elegant man from before.

“Well, we meet again,” said the elegant man.

The brother smiled politely and took another bite from his sandwich.

“You can call me Comte,” the gentleman added as he stretched out his hand.

“Louis,” answered the young man as he stared at Comte’s outstretched hand, visibly refusing to shake it.

“What is your favorite painting in the Louvre museum?” Comte asked.

“None. I don’t like museums,” Louis answered as he immediately took another bite from his sandwich. Hopefully, that way the weird man would stop talking to him.

“I thought so. A pity. Paintings are a heritage, they have many stories to tell us,” Comte commented.

“I am sure they do sir,” Louis said as he looked away in annoyance.

“Le Sacre de Napoleon is a masterpiece. However, you must visit the Musée d’Orsay as well. The paintings there are filled with life,”

“I will,” Louis said with a loud sigh.

“Make sure to go with a knowledgeable guide, otherwise you might miss a few gems,” Comte added.

Louis nodded and continued to munch on his sandwich.

“Well, then Louis. I bid you farewell. Take in my beautiful city of Paris, she has yet to offer you plenty of treasures,” Comte nodded his head and walked away.

“What a freak,” Louis mumbled to himself.

He was about to reach for his soda bottle as he noticed a leather wallet next to him. Louis cursed under his breath as he knew what he was about to do.

A few hours later.

“Are you sure he never left the Denon area?” a young woman asked the security guard as he replayed the security footage.

“No Mademoiselle Sophie,” the security guard answered.

Sophie saw the footage for the fifth time. There was her brother passing through the gates leading to the Denon area at 1:32 pm. She held her head in her hand.

“This cannot be happening,” she whispered.

“It’s been past closing time Mademoiselle. Have you tried his cellphone again?” the security guard inquired.

She nodded and took out her phone. She tapped on her brother’s contact and held her phone to her ear.

“Come on. Come on. Answer idiot…”

She heard the familiar beeping that announced her call had gone straight to voicemail.

“Maybe he went already home Sophie?” suggested someone behind her. It was Alicia, one of Sophie’s colleagues.

“Maybe you are right Alicia. I will go check and if not then I will go straight to the police. He knows nothing about Paris and it’s getting late,” Sophie decided as she went to grab her bag and coat.

Sophie watched the city lights pass by the window as she sat in the subway. The closer she got to her stop the more nervously her knees jumped up and down. She practically ran towards her tiny apartment. She dropped her keys a few times because her hands trembled with anticipation. She opened the door and shouted her brother’s name. She shouted again as she entered her apartment. The apartment was dark and was exactly as she had left it before heading to work this morning. She shouted her brother’s name again storming into each room. No one.

Sophie crouched down and called her brother’s phone one more time. Voicemail. She looked at her phone and selected another contact. The sharp light from her phone hurt her eyes or maybe the tears she held back started to sting her eyes.

“Hello?” a voice came out of the speaker.

“Mom? I-I lost Louis,” Sophie managed to say before bursting into tears.

A few hours later, Sophie sat in front of a police officer, telling the middle-aged officer what had occurred. Sophie tried her best to recall any detail that could be decisive for the investigation. Another officer handed her a paper cup with what seemed to be coffee. She gave them a faint smile. The middle-aged officer spoke with Sophie it took her a moment to understand their explanations. All of this seemed surreal. The busy police station even at night, the neon lights. The office was busy with people doing paperwork. Sophie was sitting there filing a missing person report for her younger brother just like in any trailer movie. However, the heavy truth was nowhere comparable to what any series could transmit. She had lost her brother for whom she had always looked out for. Sophie felt as if part of herself went missing for good that day as well.

The police officer gave her a business card with a number on it.

“If you need to talk, we have a few people here who are specialized in helping families cope with the situation,” the officer explained.

Sophie took the business card and thanked the police officer.

“We will be at the Louvre tomorrow to investigate possible leads. We will let you know if we find something,” the other officer added.

Sophie managed to blurt out a few words of gratitude and exited the station. She caught sight of a familiar man leaning against a car.

“Antoine,” Sophie whispered and smiled.

The man named Antoine held out his hands to take hers. She rested her forehead against his shoulder.

“This is a nightmare,” she said as series of sobs took over.

Antoine held her in his arms until she had calmed down a little.

“It is not your fault. He will show up again, ok? Let’s go back to your place and get some rest,” Antoine suggested as he opened the door of his car.

The next day, at the police station.

“Our colleagues have scanned every profile of the visitors and staff on that day and none of them match with the man we see here,” explained the policewoman to his lieutenant as she circled the zoomed face of an elegant-looking man.

The lieutenant gazed at the different screenshots from the security footage showing the missing Louis with an unidentified man.

“How could anyone pass the heavy security of the Museum?” the lieutenant wondered.

“We found something else,” the policewoman showed him another screenshot.

The lieutenant looked closer and recognized Louis. The young man was following the suspect through a door.

“Where does that door lead?”

The policewoman turned pale.

“Now now Marie, it cannot be that bad,” the lieutenant encouraged the policewoman.

“Nothing,” she answered.

“What do you mean exactly with nothing?” the lieutenant asked.

“A storage room for flyers and whatnot. There are no windows, no shafts, nothing that could lead them out, except the same door they went through,” Marie explained.

The lieutenant sat back in his chair. He had seen a lot of cases in his lengthy career. However, this one was fairly new and slightly worrying.

“I’ll make a call. This, dear Marie, is bigger than I anticipated,” the lieutenant added before getting up to make a call. This case was out of his hands.

#Trouverlouis

Paris was on fire. At least the social network was. The social media of every Parisian was showing and sharing one hashtag, a plea for help from a desperate sister. Sophie was in the kitchen, her phone on the table could not stop buzzing ever since she had followed her friends' advice. She had placed her faith in the algorithms of Instagram and every other network that might help to obtain hints on her brother’s whereabouts. However, after a month, the shares and posts resulted in lots of public empathy but few leads.

Sophie sat on a chair and stared at a picture hanging on her fridge door. The unidentified man who took away her brother Louis. She remembered the day she went to the police station with her mother this time. After they had told them another unit had taken over the case because of the lack of leads, her mother had thrown a tantrum. She insulted every policeman with every imaginable name. However, all the commotion dulled out as she saw the portrait one police officer had handed to her, explaining that she was allowed to use it to see if anyone in her circle could identify him. Ironically, no one recognized him.

Sophie looked at the portrait, eyes filled with pure hate. The pure-hearted, art and history passionate Sophie had made a vow to personally strangle the life out of this man. She grabbed her purse and went to the Louvre as she did every day for work. However, this time she went to stand for the umpteenth time in front of the door through which her brother never came back.

The door looked insignificant as usual, noted Sophie. She was alone in the area, it was yet too early for the storm of visitors to invade the halls of the Louvre Museum. Sophie sighed. The police had explained that it was a mere storage room of two square feet. She had looked at it many times during the past weeks. She lazily put her hand on the doorknob and opened the door, she knew what to expect.

Sophie let out a scream. The stack of cardboard from yesterday was gone, the pile of flyers and maps as well. The storage room looked more like an old corridor from the Louvre with a velvet rug, old paintings on each side of the walls.

“Mademoiselle Sophie,” a voice whispered. It came from the far end of the corridor.

Sophie fumbled with her purse and took out her phone to take a picture.

“Mademoiselle Sophie,” the voice repeated.

Sophie searched through her phone and was about to leave a voice message to her boyfriend Antoine.

“Sophie” another voice whispered.

Sophie shuddered; she knew that voice very well. It belonged to Louis.

“Antoine, I think I found a lead. I’ll send you a picture,” Sophie whispered on her phone, her voice a mix of fear and joy.

She released her finger from the recording button. She was about to tap onto the picture she had just taken to send it to Antoine. Something or someone pushed her into the corridor causing her to drop her phone. The door slammed behind her and Sophie was drawn towards the other end.

“No no no no. Let me out! Let me go! Please let me go! Alicia! Anyone! Get me out of here, please!”

On the other side of the storage door, Sophie’s phone rested on the floor. The screen shifted as a call entered, the name “ANTOINE” appeared on the screen. The phone buzzed in the still empty museum.

#Ikemen Vampire #IkeVamp #ikevamp fics #ikemen vampire napoleon #ikemen vampire arthur #ikevamp sebastian #ikemen vampire theo #ikemen vampire le comte #ikemen vampire leonardo #ikemen vampire vincent #ikemen vampire isaac #ikemen vampire dazai #ikemen vampire jean

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peonies-and-honeybees · 4 years

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Peonies-and-honeybees’ Spiritual Services

Hello! I have decided to open up paid readings for you guys! I have been practicing for about four years now and enjoy every minute of it. I’m excited to help you guys along your own spiritual journey and provide guidance using my favorite forms of divination and my talents as a medium.

(To receive a service please direct message me rather than using the ask box. I use Venmo. Please only send money after I have answered your message. Please do not mention anything about spirituality in the description as I could be shut down due to app policies. If you feel a reading was incorrect I will redo it but I cannot refund the service.)

Disclaimers:

Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to because I will not be filtering anything, so shy away from death or anything medical please

I will need payment before the reading, but after we have discussed what you are asking for

I am not a health professional and tarot shouldn’t be used as a replacement for medical advice or therapy

No form of divination can predict with 100% accuracy, they just show you the most possible outcomes, paths, etc.

In the notes about payment, please only put your tumblr handle so it’s easier for me to keep track and I don’t get taken down

-Tarot and Oracle Readings-

(Requires giving me your initials and sign as well as some background on the question)

These are some spreads I’m offering, if you find any you like that aren’t listed we can negotiate a price upon messaging. I will choose a deck to use after hearing the question but for $0.50 extra you can choose the deck you feel called to from a list :)

🌸🕯🔮One card pull~ $3🔮🕯🌸

A simple one card draw to provide insight into a question or situation

🌸🕯🔮The Wheel of the year~ $15🔮🕯🌸

This 9 card spread will discuss what to expect during these different celtic festivals/ points of the year, reading will be dependent on the time of year it is purchased and will be in chronological order

🌸🕯🔮Shadow Self Spread~ $5🔮🕯🌸

A three card spread to show you the different positive and negative sides and defining traits of yourself, as well as how to work on your own growth

🌸🕯🔮Fairytale Archetype reading~ $10🔮🕯🌸

A 6 card reading describing your character and how to defeat the villain in your life

🌸🕯🔮Elemental reading~ $8🔮🕯🌸

A five card reading predicting aspects of your future in regards to each of the four elements

🌸🕯🔮Spirit guide spread~ $8🔮🕯🌸

A five card reading about about your spirit guides

🌸🕯🔮Soulmate Reading~ $7🔮🕯🌸

A four card reading about the details of your relationship with your soulmate

🌸🕯🔮The spirituality star~ $8🔮🕯🌸

A 6 card spread to explore a clear and concise question and help problem solve

-Aura Readings-

(Requires giving me your full name)

A reading of your soul’s color signature

🌸🕯🔮Basic aura reading~ $5🔮🕯🌸

A basic analysis about what color your aura is and what it means

🌸🕯🔮Advanced aura reading~ $8🔮🕯🌸

A more personalized analysis about what your aura color means and a card pull about how to maintain your energy and stay true to yourself

-Shufflemancy Reading-

A reading about the theme or feeling of a person or situation done with a specially curated playlist

(requires your initials and star sign)

🌸🕯🔮One song and explanation~ $2🔮🕯🌸

Even if you dont want to purchase, reblogging helps! Thank you!!

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sortavibing · 4 years

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what the haikyuu!! boys/girls favorite songs/bands are📼

hello! this is my first post so i hope im doing it right :P anyways enjoy!

karasuno💾

daichi: Don’t Stop Believin’ by Journey. he’s such a typical dad holy shit so yeah he 100% listens to this i don’t know what else to say like- 🤠 yeah he probably sings it in his minivan (you cannot convince me that he doesn’t drive a minivan)

sugawara: WAP by Cardi B. yes we stan this bad bitch. he LOVES this song like he can do the dance and everything and he pulls it off like the baddie he is please someone animate this i NEED it anyways yeah he doesn’t really sing it but he 100% has done the dance in front of daichi.

asahi: Lullaby by Johannes Brahms. this baby hes such a slut for classical music and he always listens to it before a big game to calm his nerves. he pretends that he’s listening to something “tough” but everyone knows that he listens to classcial, they just pretend to not know.

nishinoya: Old Town Road by Lil Nas X. yeah, he hasn’t gotten out of the old town road phase and he unironically sings it and does a yeehaw dance. no one can stop him because everyone (except tanaka) is too embarrassed to be around him when he sings and dances, so he thinks it’s ok (honey, no), also, tanaka sometimes joins in and it’s painful to hear and see.

tanaka: GOOBA by 6xi9ine. he thinks it’s “badass” and tries to rap it whenever it comes on, and he fails horribly, but nishinoya always hypes him up saying that he did a good job, causing him to start singing again please save karasuno from hinata, nishinoya, and tanaka’s singing

ennoshita: Cough Syrup by Young The Giant. though it may not seem like it, but this man has got music TASTE like- yes. anyways yeah this song is a vibe and he really likes it. he once tried to introduce good music to tanaka and nishinoya, but they said it was “boring” and “sappy” and he never wanted to beat them up more than he did then.

kageyama: he listens to like play by play volleyball games or podcasts that talk about improving your skills because he’s a hoe for that volleyball shit try and prove me wrong i dare you

hinata: Red by Taylor Swift. he has terrible music taste and he literally just listens to what’s popular and like what his sister listens to. he likes to sing outloud and his voice is worse than oikawa- like karasuno cannot handle hinata singing at all it’s literal earrape.

tsukishima: Fancy by Twice. tsukki is a hardcore kpop stan, and he 100% listens to twice religiously, like that's the majority of his playlist, and he refuses to play his music out loud, and everyone thinks he listens to like rock or some shit like that. only yams knows that tsukki listens to it and he was sworn to secrecy.

yamaguchi: Sports by Beach Bunny. he likes to hum it quietly to himself because he really likes the beat and the lyrics. tsukishima has this song saved on his playlist just for yams and he plays it whenever they share headphones.

kiyoko: Body by Megan Thee Stallion. i dont know what to say, she is just a baddie who loves the confidence boost she gets from listening to this song as she should kiyoko is amazing she even learned the tiktok dance to this song and she performed it to yaichi yaichi.exe has stopped working but she won’t show it to anyone else anyways shes just a baddie and we stan.

yachi: Green by Cavetown. yeah she really likes the calming peaceful vibes this song has and she likes to sing it quietly when she is in a public place, like a bus or a subway to calm herself down and she also plays it when she studies.

aoba johsai 📼

oikawa: Bubblegum Bitch by MARINA because it just raidates that “i’m hotter than you” energy (just like he does our twink king). he prob sings it in the locker room while everyone is changing and his singing bursts everyones eardrums omg the whole team hates oikawa’s singing so much

matsukawa: Toad sings WAP he’s such a memer like- yeah so he and makki probably obsess over these toad sings video because 1. they are funny as hell like it’s some god tier comedy and 2. they say oikawa sounds like that when he sings it’s true tho

hanamaki: Toad sings Sweet Home Alabama. he and mattsun have a running debate about which one is better, and they ask the opinions of literally everyone they meet about it. so far more people have chose maki’s favorite song and he’s a little smug about it.

iwaizumi: Ride by twenty one pilots. this is probably like one of his secret pleasures. most people think he listens to like rap or something like that, but he really likes this song. he hopes that oikawa will never find out about this, because he will never hear the end of the teasing, so he just listens to this song while he is by himself, or just without the team.

yahaba: Walking On A Dream by Empire Of The Sun. idk this just feels right, like i really have no explanation why i think this works it just does🤠

kindaichi: Wake Me Up bye Avicii. this man is borderline bad taste, but we will let it slide for now, so yeah again, he just gives me the avicii stan vibes, he probably thought he would like rap more, but one day he heard avicii playing on the radio and he was hooked. he still pretends to like rap because he has a “reputation”

kunimi: Advice by Cavetown. this man gives absolutley zero fucks about everyone’s opinions you bet your ass he listens to this song. he 100% puts headphones in to listen to this while someone is talking to him because he just doesn’t want to have a conversation with them. everyone hates when he does that, but again, he doesn’t give a shit.

kyotani: We Will Rock You by Queen. yeah this is probably his pump up jam and he always listens to it before a game to get hyped up. if anyone dares to talk to him while he has headphones in, he will not hesitate to bite their head off i know this for a fact.

nekoma💾

kuroo: Yarichin Bitch Club OP. ever since kenma introduced him to anime OPs, he’s been obsessed, and he loves the yarichin op becuase 1. it’s dirty and he thinks that’s funny and 2. it actually slaps like why does it go so hard i’m in awe- anyways yeah he always sings it in the most public places just to get attention bc he’s a whore for the spotlight like that 😌. he also sings it with bokuto whenever they are together bc we stan the dumbass duo.

yaku: Arms Tonite by Mother Mother. yeah he is kinda obsessed with mother mother but this is hands down his favorite song. lev once heard yaku listening to this song and made fun of it, and let’s just say lev got the ass whopping of his life, yaku takes no prisoners- anyways yeah he just vibes with it and it’s great.

yamamoto: Who Let The Dogs Out by Baha Men. the whole nekoma team HATES his music taste, and they never let him play any music becasue- it’s just so bad i’m sorry this man has no taste like have you seen his hair? (the slander is real :))

kenma: Hikaru Nara (Your Lie in April OP) kenma loves to listen to anime ops while gaming bc they are highkey all bops and he says they help him concentrate. he tried to get kuroo to listen to the songs with him, and kuroo started to like listening to anime OPs, so they usually listen to them together.

fukunaga: he listens to like john mulaney comedy shows becuse he’s a little dork like that and (timeskip spoiler) he becomes a comedian later on so it just fits 🤠

inuoka: Roar by Katy Perry. again, it’s just the vibes that i get from him, i can’t explain it, he just seems like a big dork who would like this shit. so yeah, he probably sings this song really loudly when it comes on and the whole nekoma team just has to tolerate him when he does it.

lev: Ra Ra Rasputin by Boney M. he probably started listening to this song as a joke because he’s Russian, and the songs about Russia, but he genuinely started enjoying it and whenever it comes on, he starts singing. his voice isn’t actually that bad but yaku still gets annoyed as hell when he does it and beats the shit out of him.

fukurodani 📼

bokuto: Mr. Brightside by The Killers. he gets really excited when this plays and always gets up to sing it really really loudly, and do a really energetic dance. akaashi calm your child please he’s not a good singer, but he’s not a terrible one either, so the team has just gotten used to it.

akaashi: This Side of Paradise by Coyote Theory. eep akaashi the hopeless romantic we stan- anyways yeah he found this band in like his first year of high school and has been addicted ever since. he doesn’t really share his taste in music with others, but the one time he let bokuto listen to music with him, bokuto got way to excited and accidentally dropped akaashi’s phone and cracked it.

konoha: Spirits by The Strumbellas. idk i just feel like he would listen to this song. he would never play his music out loud though, because bokuto always takes the aux cord/ speaker before anyone gets the chance to.

shiratorizawa💾

ushijima: he doesn’t listen to music. like if tendou offers to play music with him, he’ll accept, but like he’s just confused why people like listening to music so much, so he will just listen with that face he always makes (😐) while tendo is jumping around, dancing, and going batshit crazy.

semi: All I Wanted by Paramore. he is flat out obsessed with this band and he learned how to play this song on his electric guitar and has went to a couple of their concerts. semi 100% makes fun of his teammates music taste as he should

tendou: Yoda CBT remix (i linked it if you want to listen), ok but seriously, i think money machine by 100 Gecs. tendo is so chaotic and i think his music taste reflects that. he cannot listen to music without dancing or singing, and he always plays his music on full volume (hearing? what’s that?) tendo never gets the aux cord, because the last time they gave it to him, the speakers almost broke.

goshiki: Eye of the Tiger by Survivor. this little dork omg i really don’t have an explanation for this, it just fits and i take no criticism on this because y’all know it’s true.

shirabu: Cigarette Ahegao by Penelope Scott. semi introduced him to this song and he pretened he didn’t like it but he’s secretly obsessed. i think he generally doesn’t like music but this song- this song is such a vibe that he has to like it. (anyways yeah go listen to this song its so good)

inarizaki 📼

kita: Animal by Neon Trees. he isn’t really open about listening to music, he only listens to his songs when he is alone and when he has earbuds in, and if someone walks up to him to talk, he takes his earphones out (we stan a respectful boy). so yeah, he isn’t a big fan of music, but he still likes to listen from time to time.

aran: You Know It by Colony House. he will never listen to music in front of anyone because whenever he hears this song, he has to sing, and he doesn’t like singing in front of people (the miya twins are annoying he can’t do anything in front of them🙄), but yeah, this songs really good we stan this man’s music taste.

atsumu: Girls in the Hood by Megan Thee Stallion. this man LOVES this song like- he is obsessed. if you ask him something, he will literally reply with “can’t talk right now, doing hot girl shit” and he just walks away and ur just like- what the fuck bro. anyways yeah he thinks he’s a bad bitch but he really is just a dork.

suna: 505 by The Arctic Monkeys. yeah, the basic choice would probably be “why’d you only call me when you’re high”, but i feel like he would like this song better because it starts off kinda vibey, and then it goes into this great guitar bit, and just- the v i b e s so yeah i think he really likes this shit.

osamu: cooking podcasts. like he literally doesn’t listen to music, just shit about cooking. atsumu makes fun of him for it and he is just like “bitch shut up and go do ur hot girl shit 😐” and just walks away and keeps on listening to his cooking shit. (we stan this petty bitch)

others💾

saeko: E-GIRLS ARE RUINING MY LIFE! by CORPSE and Savage Ga$p. this is self explanatory, she just is a bad bitch and this is what bad bitches listen to 😌 she def has played this song while getting it on with someone.

terushima: Bust It Open by Lil’ Wil. we all know terushima listens to these thirst trap songs and tries to do the tik tok dances that are associated with them. he probably posts videos to these songs on tik tok and they get a good amount of likes (cough cough he has a following of many thirsty girls).

sakusa: 24 hours of nothing yeah he doesn’t listen to music he just puts this on with headphones so people won’t bother him. he finds the silence relaxing and hates it when people interrupt him (cough cough atsumu)

btw: for some of the songs that aren’t on basic streaming services, i linked the youtube video for them.

anyways, i hope you enjoyed my first post [eep finishing this made me really happy]! have a nice day!

bye for now🌊

#haikyuu #haikyu #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu!!#haikyu imagine #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines

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discocritic · 4 years

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putting this under a cut because this bitch got long.

first, let me welcome you to the fandom. since we’re a pretty small one, it’s always exciting to hear more people are joining!

my advice for you is just basically what i wish i knew when first joining the fandom a couple years ago. the danger days album, comics, and twitters are the three main pieces of media that the universe is made up of, and some of those can be a challenge to navigate (because i was sure as hell confused when i started trying to figure everything out), so i'll outline some things you might want to know!

i'm assuming you've listened to the main danger days: true lives of the fabulous killjoys album, but there are a couple of bonus songs such as "zero percent" and "we don't need another song about california." those aren't on spotify, as far as i know, but you can find multiple audio/lyric videos on youtube.

there's also a 3-track EP called the mad gear and missile kid that includes the songs "f.t.w.w.w.," "mastas of ravenkroft," and "black dragon fighting society." tmgamk is described in an interview by mcr as a band that the killjoys would listen to. these are also not on spotify but, like the other songs, can be found on youtube.

if you don't want to buy the comics but still want to read them, i know of two (legal) ways to do that. this youtube playlist has videos that show each page of the comics, and this post has pictures of each page.

there are two danger days wikis (with comic spoilers! so beware), but one of them is way more useful and people don't tamper with the information in it.

there's also another little extra comic thing called "dead satellites" that was released for free comic book day a few years ago. it doesn't really have anything to do with the main storyline of the actual comics, but it does offer a glimpse of battery city life and zone bands, which is cool.

there are character twitter accounts for dr. death-defying, party poison, dj hot chimp, newsagogo, agent cherri cola, and gary levko (i may be missing some; i don’t really pay attention to the twitters lmao). here’s a link to dr. d’s and you should be able to find links to the rest through his tweets.

i would also suggest checking out the danger days side of tumblr! (although you sent this ask to me so i'm assuming you've started this step already.) starting a danger days blog is a great way to get to know other members in the fandom while creating content of your own, and if you send asks to any of the blogs i'm about to mention, i'm sure they'll be glad to interact with you!

@killjoyhistory is a goddamn lifesaver. everything you could ever want to know about the danger days world is collected and archived at this blog, whether it's behind-the-scenes content from the music videos to interviews with the band where they mention danger days to forgotten concepts from the first drafts of the comics!

@graffitibible writes the most in-depth danger days fics with the best characterization and plots i have ever read. and they've come up with some super cool explanations for things in the DD universe. definitely check them out.

@neon-rat posts tons of great headcanons and has an ongoing fic series called How To Navigate and Contemplate (and i'm promo-ing this because i cannot fucking wait for the next chapter to come out!). Although you should probably read her first fic, How Time Decides, on ao3 for the current one to make sense!

speaking of fics, @enby-partypoison has multiple different DD AUs! with everything from superheroes to ghosts to modern-day, aer ao3 will have something for you! i also had the privilege of working with aer to organize a holiday gift exchange the past december, so ae gets bonus points for that :)

if it's worldbuilding you want, @ruination-formation has tons of headcanons about places and people in both the zones and the city. she also writes tons of fics on her ao3 that you should check out as well.

@tapefish, @funkobraofficial, and @ravenxbones make amazing killjoy art! sometimes i just have to sit down and scroll through their art tags because everything they create is absolutely fantastic.

there are so many other amazing blogs i could mention, but these are a few that happened to come to mind when i was typing this out. but seriously, fire an ask towards any blog and i'm sure they'll be more than willing to answer it!

anyway, i’m going to end this now, because most of this was drafted as i sat in a drive-through for half an hour and lost track of its length, but i hope at least some of this has helped! and of course feel free to drop by my inbox again if you have any questions.

#long post #danger days #advice #ref #asks

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adrenaline-roulette · 5 years

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Hallow-Queen (Joe)

I wrote three Hallow themed one shots back in October for the Boh Rhap cast (There was supposed to be a fourth, but unfortunately some things came up, and I was unable to write it. Maybe this Halloween I’ll finally get it done!?)

Anyways, there is a fic for Joe, Ben and Gwil

First up will be everyone’s favourite Dino boi! Pairing: Joe Mazzello x Reader

The monster mash filled the bathroom as you got ready for the evening, your poor spotify algorithm will be so confused after tonight. You go for months listening only to the hits of the 80’s, and then suddenly, monster mash, and the Addams family theme are on loop! That however did not stop you from grooving along to the song, moving your hips to the beat and bobbing your head. You could hear Joe downstairs, setting everything up for the party he had organised at the last minute. Joe had sent a group text to the BohRhap cast, demanding everyone be free for Halloween. This, of course had been met with a rather loud outcry. Rami and Lucy had already made plans, Gwil was travelling to Wales to see his brother, and Ben well, Ben was free and had accepted immediately. Up until two days ago, it had been planned for just you, Joe and Ben to have a quite night together, watching scary movies, and pigging out on pizza. That is, until Joe had received a message from Gwil, his brother had come down with the flu, and didn’t want to pass it on to him. Your party now consisted of four. Next came a message from Lucy, “Okay, this is crazy, I haven’t seen you in months! Tell Joe that Rami and I will be there this weekend! (Don’t mention anything to Rami please, I’ve still got to figure out how to tell him…)”

With six confirmed people, you had taken it upon yourself to invite a few extra people, work mates, old school friends, and the castmates of Joe’s current project. As far as Joe knew, there were only going to be four of you in attendance tonight, yet somehow the extra bags of crisps, candy, and drinks hadn’t clued him in on the fact that there would be a lot more people in your house tonight. The doorbell rang downstairs, and you pause your music listening out for Joe as he shuffles around the floor below. There’s the faint mumbling of voices, though they’re too quiet for you to pick up on who had arrived. Your phone ‘dings’ on the bathroom counter, and you turn your attention to it, a message from Ben illuminating the lock screen. “How long am I keeping Joe occupied for?”

You had a rather special surprise instore for Joe tonight, but to execute it properly, you needed Joe to give you some space for a little while. Ben had been more than willing to help out, offering to keep Joe away from you and the bathroom for as long as you required. “Just need 20 mins.” You send back just as the doorbell rings again. If you had planned everything correctly, everyone would arrive at roughly the same time, which meant Joe would be busy greeting all his unexpected guests. Turning back to face the mirror, you grin at your reflection, time for the piece de resistance! Carefully, you step into the legs of the suit you had chosen to wear, shimmying the material up to your hips. The suit is incredibly baggy on you, and it only becomes more noticeable as you shrug the outfit over your shoulders, but that was all about to change.

*****************

“What the hell is that noise?” Joe asks, turning his attention to Ben beside him, who paused as he went to open a beer. A loud ‘whirring’ noise seemed to echo around the entire apartment, Ben had a suspicion as to who the cause of the noise was, but had promised not to say a word.

Instead, Ben simply shrugs, popping the cap off his beer and taking a swig. “No idea sorry.” Joe squints at the blonde, but says nothing more on the topic, his eyes traveling over the costume his best mate had opted to wear. “Ben, mate, I’ve gotta ask. What are you wearing?” He waves his hand in the general direction of Ben’s costume, which consisted of a lime green skirt with purple flowers, salmon coloured tank top, and black boots.

Ben looks rather outraged at Joe’s obliviousness to his costume. “I’m sexy Patrick Star you uncultured swine!” He cries out, folding his arms across his chest, glaring at Joe. “What about you? You’ve barely put any effort in at all!”

Joe looks down at himself pouting at the blonde. “What do you mean? I’m in costume too!”

“It doesn’t count if you dress as your own character!”

Now that was something Joe hadn’t considered, he hadn’t even run his costume by with you, he just assumed that what he had decided to wear would be fine! He had on his baseball outfit from undrafted, lucky number 15 for Pat Murray. Looking at the slightly faded red shirt now however, Joe realised it was perhaps a somewhat lazy costume choice, he had just been so excited to still be able to fit into it! He never stopped to think, should he wear it? “At least my ass looks good in these pants.”

Ben can’t help but chuckle, shaking his head slowly. “Well, you’re not wrong.” A grin is plastered to Joe’s lips, as he gazes around the kitchen. Clearly you had been up to something, as there were currently at least fifteen people milling around the apartment, none of which he had invited, not that they were any less welcome though.

“No fucking way!” Joe screeches, as he looks over to the front door. It had been left open, allowing the warm night air flow into the apartment, also to stop people from constantly ringing the doorbell, allowing the guests to just walk right on in. Ben casts his glance towards the door also, an identical look of glee on his face also. “RAMI! LUCY!”

The sheer volume of Joe’s voice carries over the small crowd of guests, and the two people of his calling turn to look at him, only to find the man in question jumping up and down like a child on Christmas, waving his hands in the air. Ben looks almost embarrassed to be stood beside him, though he would never leave his side, especially seeing as the only other people who he knew at the party, were headed straight for him now. The ever impeccably dressed couple, now stood with them, dressed as Jack and Sally from the nightmare before Christmas. It was a classic costume, but they both pulled the look off so well! “What the hell are you two doing here?” Joe grins, as he wraps his arms around Lucy, then Rami in a tight, welcoming hug.

“You know, I would love to know the answer to that also Joe. Lucy, perhaps you could shed some light on the situation?” Rami smirks, wrapping an arm around the blonde bombshell.

Ben raises a quizzical eyebrow at Lucy, while she shies away from the interrogation she was currently facing. “Maybe, I accidentally typed in the wrong address when booking our uber?” She offers in explanation, though it’s obvious that even she doesn’t believe her own lie.

“Did Y/N have something to do with it?” Joe laughs, swiping a beer off the table for himself.

“I’m pretty sure Y/N had something to do with this entire party. You just weren’t told.” Ben offers quietly. Joe nods in agreement, there was no denying you had created this party, even if Joe had thought he was the one planning the whole thing.

The front door continues to swing open and closed, allowing more and more people inside, the dull mumble of conversation rising to one of a low roar. A tall shadow looms over the small group, who had migrated into the sitting room, Rami was scrolling through Joe’s phone, creating a playlist for the night, while Lucy, Ben and Joe discussed their latest projects. “Looks like our mission from God was a success. We’ve gotten the band back together.” The deep voice of Gwilym is one that cannot go unrecognised, and the small group all turn to face him. The Brit was dressed as Indiana Jones, complete with a whip from a children’s costume of the adventurer, and a brown sable fedora.

*****************

You switch the air pump off, turning to face the mirror once more, a broad grin covering your concealed face. “Joe is going to love this!” You chuckle to yourself, moving to exit the bathroom. Your walk is a slow, lumbering one, your oversized costume causing you to take short steps, as apposed to the long strides you usually took. You left your phone on the bathroom counter, having realised you had no way of picking it up and storing it on your person, now you had your costume fully applied. As you exit the bathroom, the soft notes of the time warp, melt into those of the much louder all star, the smash mouth hit blaring through the speakers on the floor below. “Stairs, okay, we can do stairs. This is fine, I am fine...”

At no point during the costume planning process had you considered the need to travel downstairs, and now here you stood, trying to gauge what the best way to tackle your descend. To say it was a slow process down would be an understatement, as you neared the bottom, a few guests stopped to look at your larger than life costume, attempting to peer in and see who had donned such an outrageous outfit. However they soon gave up, when you took too long to reach them. You could hardly blame them for walking away, by the time you got off the stairs, it had taken you close to seven minutes! You wouldn’t wait for you either.

You scan over the crowd, costumed people milling around your apartment drinking and eating, a few dancing along to the music that filled every crevice of the small home. Finally, you spot the people you had been looking for, your small band of misfits who had taken up one of the sofa’s in the sitting room. Somehow Ben, Lucy, Gwil and Rami had managed to sit themselves of the two-seater, leaving Joe sat cross legged on the carpet beside them. Moving closer, Ben is the first to spot you, not that you had expected anything else, he was the only one who knew what your costume was, in all honesty, he had been keeping an eye out for you all evening. Your shadow looms over Joe, who frowns slightly at what he would deem, as a rude intrusion into his personal space. “Hey mate, I think one of your guests needs a hand.” Ben smirks, raising an eyebrow in your general direction.

*****************

Joe looks up at Ben, his neck straining from having to continuously tilt his head back at an awkward angle to see his friends. He pushes himself up from the floor, adjusting his now lopsided baseball cap, before pivoting on the spot, only to come face to face with an inflatable T-Rex. The grin which takes over his face, is one you had been praying you would see tonight, and it only cements the fact, that you had worn the perfect costume. Sure it would likely never be worn again, you couldn’t think of a time where you would require a T-Rex costume, and you could almost guarantee that after tonight, it would be folded back into the amazon box it had arrived in, then shoved under your bed, never to see the light of day again. But just for this moment, the look on Joe’s face, made it all entirely worth it!

“Y/N that had better be you under there. Or I’m about to profess my love for a complete stranger.” He chuckles, the grin never wavering from his cheeks, as he looks past the mesh below the dinosaur’s head, searching for a face he could recognise.

You shake your head from side to side, the dinosaur’s head moving erratically as you do so. “Of course it’s me! Honestly, who else would do something like this?” You laugh, as Joe wraps his arms around you, hugging as best he can through the thick layer of inflated costume.

“Bugger me I love you.” He breaths out softly before he whirls around on the spot, one arm remaining wrapped around you, causing you to stumble forward with him. “Benjamin! Did you know about this?” Joe cries, mock hurt flashing through his hazel eyes.

Ben simply shrugs, downing the last of his beer, before leaning forwards and placing the empty bottle on the coffee table. “Don’t yell at Ben! If it hadn’t of been for him, this whole thing would’ve been ruined with your snooping!” You laugh in your friend’s defence.

Joe turns to look at you, mouth agape at your outcry. “What do you mean, my snooping?”

You roll your eyes, though quickly speak up, having forgotten no one can see your face terribly well. “Oh come off it Joe, you know as well as I do that if you get a hunch something is going on, then you do everything in your power to get to the bottom of it!”

“I do not!”

This time, there is a chorus of people agreeing with you, and Joe now turns to the group who he had only moments ago been sitting with. “Ben, I expected this from you. But the rest of you? I expected better!”

“Oh Joe, we love you, But Y/N is right. You remember Christmas last year, when you thought Gwil had you for secret Santa? You wouldn’t let it go for weeks! Not until you finally got you present, only to find out Rami had had you!” Lucy grins, shaking her head softly. Joe has the decency to look somewhat embarrassed.

“You followed me home one night after filming! It was bloody terrifying!” Gwil chuckles, crossing one leg over the other. “I nearly called the police, I thought someone was about to rob me, until I realised it was you lurking by the front door!”

You can’t help but laugh at this, as Rami turns to look at Gwil in shock. “I’m sorry, Joseph did what now?” Joe fumbles with his words as he attempts to explain himself, as Gwil simply laughs loudly, unable to form words to explain the situation to Rami. You remember that discussion quite well with Joe.

*****************

It was close the four in the morning when you heard the front door creak open, you had been napping on the sofa, the show you had been binge watching on Netflix long since finished. But Joe had promised he would be home at a reasonable hour tonight, so you had decided to stay up and wait for him. This, however, was not what you considered a reasonable time! And from the way he had been talking when you spoke on the phone earlier in the day, he was expecting to be home just after midnight.

“Hey babe.” He smiled, toeing off his shoes at the front door, and hanging his coat up on the hook by the door. You frown over at him, peering over the back of the sofa, sleep clouding you vision momentarily.

“Where have you been?” You sigh, on any other night, you would likely get into an argument over his late arrival. But you were too tired for that right now, and quietly you were just glad that he was home now.

Joe has the decency to look somewhat guilty, as he moves around the apartment, settling down on the sofa beside you. He lifts your legs for a few moments, before lowering them back down, now resting over his lap. “I’m sorry Y/N. I had a few errands to run. I guess I lost track of time.”

“Errands at three in the morning?” Joe goes still, and you can see the cogs turning in his mind as he tries to think up an excuse. “Out with is Mazzello.”

Joe pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index fingers, his eyes squeezing shut tightly. “I, um, followed Gwil home.” He mumbles.

You’re at a loss for words, and blink steadily at the ginger beside you. You had met Gwilym only a handful of times, he was such a gentleman! And for the life of you, you couldn’t understand why Joe had felt the need to follow the man home. “Expand and explain.”

“You know how the cast and I are all doing secret Santa this year?” Joe pauses, and looks over to you, watching as you nod in understanding before he continued. “Well, Rami kept asking me about things that I liked, and what I would perhaps want for Christmas. At first I thought nothing of it, but then I saw him and Gwil whispering to each other, and they kept looking over at me when I was grabbing a coffeein between takes. I put two and two together, and figured Rami was collecting information for Gwil! I asked around, tried to find out if anyone knew who had me, but either no one knew, or they refused to tell me. So I decided to take things into my own hands! We finished up for the night, and I decided to follow Gwil, to try and confirm my suspicions. He went to a department store, and I followed him as best I could, but I couldn’t see what he purchased, there were too many people around. So I realised I just had to follow him home, and see if I could catch what I was wrapping. And well, that’s kinda what I did. Problem is, he caught me lurking around the place, swung the door open, demanded I come inside, and proceeded to give me the lecture of a lifetime.” Joe finishes looking like a kicked puppy.

You can barely contain your laughter, and if it were to be told by anyone else, you would say they were lying. But you knew Joe, and this was exactly the kind of thing he would do! “You’re a fucking idiot, you know that right? The whole point of secret Santa is right there in the name, it’s supposed to be a secret!”

“Yes, I know that! But I just had to know if he did have me!”

“And, the verdict was?”

“I still don’t god damned know! I couldn’t see what the gift was when he wrapped it, and he refused to tell me!”

You shake your head, sighing deeply, it was a good thing you lived this man, otherwise you would be on the verge of sending him to a psychiatric ward. “Bloody hell Joe, I’m going to bed before you tell me anymore.”

*****************

As you stand with your rag-tag group of friends, you make a note of the one flaw in your costume, you have no way of eating or drinking whilst wearing it. A pout forms on your lips, as you join in with a conversation Lucy had sprung up with Ben. After a while, you excuse yourself “I’d best go play hostess to the rest of the guests.” You say with a grin, stepping away from the group.

“We all know we are the best guests here!” Rami calls, giving you a double thumbs up as you walk away.

You grin, shaking your head softly as you move around the large number of guests. It seemed like most people had taken the option of bringing a plus one, not that you could blame them. You often did the exact same thing, dragging Joe along to most social gatherings you were invited to. Slowly, you made your way around to everyone, making polite conversation with the guests you didn’t know well, and speaking enthusiastically about your costume with those you did know. By the time you had made the rounds a few times, you were hungry, and honestly really frustrated about not being able to eat. You made your way over to Joe, attempting to be subtle as you slide into the conversation he was engrossed in, Gwil talking animatedly with him about his latest project. “Hey babe, could I borrow you for a few minutes?” You ask softly.

Joe turns away to look at you, smiling at you, leaning down to hear you over the loud noise of the party. “Sure love, let’s go somewhere quiet so I can actually hear you?” He grins, before leading you away, towards the laundry. It was a rather small room, and was barely more quiet than where you had just been, but you were thankful for not having to manoeuvre the stairs once again. It was one thing to go down, and you wouldn’t know where to begin with how to go up. “What’s up?” Joe grin, leaning back against the washing machine, arms folded loosely over his chest.

“Can you give me a hand getting out of this?” You laugh, gesturing as best you can with you tiny T-Rex arms, at the costume you were surrounded by. “It was a bitch of a thing to get on, and I don’t even know where to start with taking it off.”

Joe grins, though moves to you quickly, helping you out of the outfit with ease. Perhaps you should’ve asked for some help getting it on also? That probably would’ve been a good idea… Joe places the sad looking T-Rex in the corner of the laundry, grinning across at you. “Now who are you supposed to be?” He chuckles, taking in your now lack of costume.

You look down at your yoga pants and shirt combo. “I’m a Jurassic Park fan still, can’t you tell?” You smirk, pointing to the faded Jurassic Park logo shirt, which you had long ago stolen from Joe. “I’ve got a soft spot for ‘lil Tim Murphy. He was my first movie crush.” You giggle.

Joe sighs, rolling his eyes at you, though a smirk tugs the corner of his lips. “How about a soft spot for Pat Murray too?” He suggests wriggling his eyebrows at you suggestively. You walk over to him slowly, rolling your hips as you do so, watching as his eyes travel from yours, and down to your hips. You stand up tall, taking the dusty cap off his head, planting it firmly on your own. His hair is an absolute mess underneath, his auburn locks pointing in all directions.

“Perhaps I just have a soft spot for that actor in general?” You tease, before making your way out of the laundry, and back to the party. You don’t wait for Joe, making your way over to your group once more, throwing yourself onto the sofa with an “Ooof.” Ben barely had a chance to get out of the way before you land partially on him, and Lucy grins at you from where she sits on the arm of the sofa.

“Someone pass me something alcoholic in nature please.” You grin, as you make yourself comfortable, sinking into the cushions. You don’t have to as twice, a glass of what you assume is rum and coke, thrust into your hands from Rami. “Cheers!” You grin, raising your glass in the air, before tipping the contents back.

You quickly fall into conversation with Ben, thanking him over and over again for keeping Joe distracted earlier in the evening, to which he brushes you off, telling you to not worry about it. Completely unaware, that when he brings up the promotion you recently got at work, that perhaps he was now keeping you distracted. Joe had reappeared recently, sitting on the opposite side of you, with a bowl of hula hoops in his lap. Carefully, he takes your left hand, and places one of the snacks on your ring finger, a soft blush covering his cheeks. “Thank you Joe, I am starving!” You grin, eating the food off your finger.

You’re oblivious to what he’s getting at, paying no mind to which finger he continues placing the crisp on, and instead, eating it off each time a new one appears. Joe looks at Ben over you shoulder, who simply shrugs in response, unsure what either could do about it. “Babe, could I maybe have more than one at a time?” You ask sweetly, and Joe looks physically pained.

Lucy, who had been watching the events unfold before her, had cottoned on to what was going on early in the piece, and decided to jump to Joe’s aid. “Y/N darling, just take a second and look at your hand yeah?”

You frown slightly at her, before turning away from Joe, looking down at your hand. “What’s so special about? Oh….” Perhaps it shouldn’t have taken you this long to figure out what was going on. The hula hoop sat just above your first knuckle on your ring finger.

“Um, I know this isn’t how one normally does the whole, proposal thing. But we haven’t gone out looking at rings before, and I don’t know was your ring size is… So I’m kinda hoping this will do for the time being? As a place holder kind of thing?” Joe rambles, the blush creeping steadily up to the tips of his ears.

“Joseph, I’ll marry you with or without a ring.” You grin, throwing your arms around his neck, as his snake around your waist, your lips pressing together in a fierce kiss. A kiss full of promises of the future.

“Jeez, I don’t know how we’ll upstage Halloween next year.” Gwil smirks, as he and the other guests who were aware of the happenings clapped for the newly engaged couple.

My Masterlist

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eyos-interlude · 4 years

Text

YOU WAITED TOO LONG I’M SORRY

*gets ready to post and receives a reminder that I still have work to do*

me:

heyyyyyyyyy guysssssssssss. i’m bak. for a little. bit. ok thats a lie y’all have watched me make a meme and reblog shit but also. making playlists takes alot fam.

here’s the playlist link if you don’t read my uber long explanation of what it is

Anyways

I FINISHED TWO PLAYLISTS THOUGH ITS JUST TAKEN ME FOREVER TO POST THEM LIKE I DO.

so. @sweetsweetemo, a patient saint. first person to come back and request again. requested a playlist where someone’s bf left them, the felt alone in the world, and they were gonna get try and drink their pain away. and that in itself is very depressing, and i can kinda relate cuz um. just dON’T USE HIGHSCHOOL TV SHOWS AS A BASE-LEVEL EXPECTATION FOR RELATIONSHIPS OKAY? OKAY.

so i based this off my own experience except i am not 21 so i cannot drink. instead to get over my hopeless loneliness i read fanfiction and basically threw myself into any positive outlet i could think of to distract myself.

so this playlist isn’t strictly depressing, it’s more dreamlike and wonky - don’t get me wrong you’re still sad - but there’s that upbeat feeling your distractions offer you that you can’t exactly refuse. cuz you keep shoveling it down your own throat. but there’s more feelings than sadness. there’s anger, y’know, the sting of being left, the bruised ego. the feeling that no one really gets what you’re feeling??? like they just don’t really care and you’re a burden. and then of course, there’s the momentary happiness of all the devices you try to use to distract yourself.

basically, this playlist means a lot to me, cuz i forced myself to relive my most embarrassing (cuz it was my only) break up and try and simulate the feelings i felt during the first 24 hours of the aftermath.

so without further ado, click this bitch to go through a fake break up.

list of songs is under the cut.

Affluenza - Conan Gray he’s my go to sad boy

Answer - Tyler, The Creator KING

Barefoot - Summer Soul

Chanel - Frank Ocean

The Cut That Always Bleeds - Conan Gray

Daisy - By By Bad Man & Kim Yoonju

dayfly - DEAN, SULLI, & Rad Museum

Dry Flower - SURL

EVERYTHING - The Black Skirts

Female Energy, Part 2 - WILLOW

Fight or Flight - Conan Gray

for lovers who hesitate - JANNABI

GGONDAE - Wetter the song title awoke something in me and idk what

Heather - Conan Gray

Hollywood - The Black Skirts

Honey Tea - OOHYO

Kill Your Darling - Summer Soul & Charming Lips

The Lights Behing You - SURL

긴 꿈 (A Long Dream) - Se So Neon

점심시간 (Lunch Time) - Dasutt ITS!!! SO!!! GOOD!!!

Okinawa - 92914

P - Jaden

Ribs - Lorde yesyesyesyesyesyesyESYES

See You Again - Tyler, The Creator & Kali Uchis

She - JANNABI

Stay - Post Malone

Summer - JANABI

summer depression - girl in red gotta have my girl in here somewhere

Summertime IN Paris - Jaden & WILLOW

Sunflower, Vol. 6 - Harry Styles

Sweet Tooth - Cavetown

Time Machine - WILLOW

WANTED U - Joji

파도 (The Wave) - Se So Neon

Who Do You Love - The Black Skirts

Wish You Were Sober - Conan Gray

Wonder - ADOY

Young - ADOY

Your Dog Loves You - Colde & Crush dogs are the best

잊고 살았던 것들 - Summer Soul this song is SO FUCKING PRETTY

i dead ass just got hit with a wave of loneliness by LOOKING at this playlist i hope this invokes the feelings you wanted!! i’m so sorry it took so long :(

here’s the link again!!

more playlists coming soon!!

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fracturedmotivationwriting · 4 years

Text

Dexter was developing a routine since joining this new pack. She woke up extra early (before anyone else in the 'barracks'), went for a run, grabbed a coffee on her way back, showered, and waited for a job assignment for the day. When there were no jobs, Dexter spent her free time searching for her own apartment and a side job to help pay the bills. She hadn't exactly been swimming in cash when she joined the pack. A year on the run will do that to a girl.

Because of her routine, it was no surprise to find Dexter running through the city streets as the sun was barely inching over the horizon. She had her headphones in, her pump-up playlist blaring a bit too loud to be respectable. With her strengthened sense of smell, eyesight, and balance, she figured she could spare her hearing while she ran.

She was passing a coffee shop, heading towards the park to run through the wooded trails, when the smell hit her.

Dexter nearly fell right then and there.

The same smell from the party bombarded her senses. New but familiar. Comforting but exciting. It made her heart start beating even faster (which was probably unhealthy since it was already pretty fast).

As Dexter realized that she had run past her mate, her panic response kicked in. Fight or flight. Dexter chose flight. She pumped her arms a little harder, pushed her legs a little faster. By the time she reached the park, she was full-on sprinting.

And the scent was following her.

Dexter refused to look behind her. She took a sharp turn onto a different trail, this one with a little rougher terrain than the one she usually took. The path weaved and curved before her, rocks and tree roots twisting and turning under her feet. But Dexter couldn't stop. She wouldn't stop.

She faintly heard someone calling after her over the sound of her music, but she did her best to ignore it. She focused her attention on the smell, trying desperately to outrun it. She was so consumed by it, however, that in her haze she didn't notice the ground beneath her growing more uneven. The tree roots were becoming thicker, the soil looser, and lifting and dipping unevenly -- this trail was not as well-traveled, not as well maintained.

Dexter didn't see the giant root. But she sure did feel it when her foot slipped just under it, her leg lurching as her momentum carried her forward but her captured foot pulled her back. Dex's instincts kicked in as she ducked her head in, pushed her hands before her, and attempted to use her momentum to roll her forward.

She hadn't seen that she was heading straight towards a drop in the terrain. She gracelessly rolled down the hill, instinctively reaching out to grab onto anything to stop her momentum. She felt her head hit something sharp on her descent. Her arm brushed the broken side of a fallen branch. Her hand finally connected with something steady, and she latched on. She felt her body jerk as she pulled herself to a stop. Her shoulder burned from the pain. Dexter closed her eyes, letting her body fall limp against the earth as she held onto the root her hand found.

Her headphones had fallen out during her fall, and Dexter could hear someone scrambling down the hill above her. She heard muttered curses as the man skidded to a stop above her head.

The scent was almost unbearable.

Every fiber of her being was screaming at her to open her eyes, to take a look at the mate that Fate had picked out for her. To meet her future.

Dexter stayed still.

"Oh no. No, no, no. Don't be dead. Please don't be dead," the voice continued to mutter, a hand reaching out to her neck. She felt him searching for a pulse. Dexter almost laughed.

"I'm not dead," she groaned, her eyes still firmly shut. "Bruised and battered, definitely embarrassed, but not dead."

"Oh thank God," she heard him chuckle. She still couldn't see him, but she could feel him lean back a little, giving her space. It felt easier to breathe now that he wasn't touching her.

"Are you going to open your eyes, or continue to play dead?"

Dex couldn't help the half-smile on her face. She waited a moment, gathering her courage, before slowly blinking open her eyes.

At first, she was blinded by the sunlight poking through the trees, but then he came into view. His hair was a mess, probably from chasing her almost two miles away from that coffee shop, through the park, and down the hill. There was a tear in the knee of his pants, and Dexter could see the dirt and blood on his skin. He must've tripped coming down the hill, scraping it on the ground. His button-up shirt would probably need to be dry cleaned if it was salvageable at all. Yeah, after chasing after Dexter through the woods and stumbling down the hill after her, he was definitely a little worse for wear.

But that wasn't what stopped the brain circuits in Dexter's head. That wasn't what stopped her breath short. That wasn't what made the butterflies in her stomach turn into birds.

His eyes were the most beautiful shade of blue-grey she had ever seen. It may have been cliche to think, but Dexter had never seen eyes quite like his. And while her mate apparently had eyes that made her heart skip a beat, Dexter still wasn't ready to be staring into them.

But she was.

"So," he spoke up, a small chuckle in his voice. "You must be Dexter."

Dex nodded, unable to form words as she examined the face of the man hovering over her. She was still getting distracted by his eyes.

"Do you think you can sit up?" He asked gently, offering her a hand for support. "You fell for me pretty hard. I think your forehead might need stitches."

Dexter slowly sat up, wincing as she gently touched her forehead. Judging by the blood on her fingertips and the pounding in her head, he was probably right. Her ankle was also throbbing and burning all at once, from getting her foot caught underneath that root that caused her descent down the hill in the first place. Not to mention every other muscle and joint in her body was aching from the run and the tumble. She was sure there were more minor injuries her adrenaline was just ignoring.

Then his words hit her.

She glared up at him, slapping his hand away as she tried to rise to her feet.

"I did not fall for you," she (harmlessly) snarled. "If you hadn't been chasing after me like some serial killer, I wouldn't have tripped in the first place."

Dexter didn't miss the cheeky grin that the man was trying (and failing) to hide. He took a step back, hands raised in surrender as he chuckled softly.

"Maybe if my mate didn't go running every time I was nearby, I wouldn't have had to chase you."

Dexter rolled her eyes. She didn't need to explain herself to him. He may have been her mate, but she wasn't ready to meet him yet. And she didn't owe him an explanation as to why.

She started to walk forward, trying to get back up the hill and away from him, but as she shifted her weight to her right foot she realized just how big of a mistake that was. She practically howled as a sharp, burning pain raced up her leg. She felt her knees give out. But before she could fall to the ground a second time today, a pair of rather strong arms caught her. In one swift movement, her mate had caught her and lifted her body into his arms bridal style. He started marching up the hill, a furrow in his eyebrows and worry in his eyes.

"We should get you to a hospital. Your ankle may be broken. And you should get checked for a concussion while you get your stitches."

"I'm not going to a hospital," Dexter shook her head, panic filling her veins once again. It wasn't like she was scared to be found out as a werewolf (she knew the pack had connections that would overlook that sort of thing). She just couldn't risk her name being filed into any systems. She couldn't be on any official records. Not while Devin was still hunting her down. But that wasn't a conversation she wanted to have with her mate within the first hour of meeting him. She didn't even know his name yet!

"Please, no hospitals. You have to trust me, but I cannot go to the hospital. Please."

The desperation and urgency in her voice must have done the trick. Her mate looked down even more worriedly at her but nodded.

"Fine," he conceded. "I can get a doctor to do an unofficial house visit. We'll go back to the Pack House. It's the closest."

"Thank you," Dexter mumbled softly, tightening her grip around his neck. She felt her cheeks heat up with embarrassment. Her mate probably thought she was bat-shit crazy. And she was just now realizing the humiliation of the entire situation: she had sprinted away, gotten so distracted that she'd tripped, and now he was carrying her to safety because she had hurt herself trying to get away from him.

And she still hadn't learned his name.

"This is going to sound kinda stupid," she mumbled, earning a raised eyebrow from her mate. His grip on her tightened a little as they made there way out of the trail and into the main area of the park.

"But what's your name?"

Her mate let out a small laugh, glancing back down at her.

"Frankie," he introduced himself. "Well, Francesco Bellandi. But my friends call me Frankie."

Dexter felt her heart sink. She really had the most rotten luck.

"Bellandi? Like the Alpha's son, Bellandi?"

"Yes," Frankie answered slowly, that furrow in his brow returning.

Dexter felt like she was going to vomit. Only she would have the bad luck of being mated to the Alpha's son. The Alpha who she still had to prove her worth to. She had spent the last year of her life on the run, searching for a new pack to accept her, to protect her, and now she was mated to the son of the Alpha. Cause proving her worth hadn't been hard enough.

Then another realization came to her. It was harder to hide when you were mates with the Alpha. And one day, Frankie would be Alpha. Her scent would be out there, easily detected by other packs as a sort of warning alongside Frankie's. Devin would be able to find her.

Dexter really felt like she was going to puke.

"Put me down."

The sudden command almost made Frankie stop. And the seriousness in her voice almost made him drop her.

"What? You can barely walk, Dexter."

"Put me down. Now!" Her words came out harsher than she had intended. A passerby spared them a curious glance, but continued on, minding their business. Frankie gently set her down.

"Dexter, what's wrong? Are you feeling dizzy or something?"

Dexter shook her head, taking a gentle step away from him. She winced as the pain rushed up her leg, but managed not to fall again.

"I- I just need some time. I need some space. I can't- I can't do this. I can't do this,," she mumbled, refusing to meet his worried gaze. "I'm sorry. I"m so sorry. Just- just please let me go. I gotta go."

She continued mumbled as tears filled her eyes. She turned away from him, hobbling down the street and trying desperately to ignore the pain. Thankfully, Frankie stayed put, confusion and shock in his eyes as he watched his mate stagger away.

#mafia mates #dexter takes a tumble #dexter and frankie #finally meeting

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unofferable-fic · 5 years

Text

Do You Fear the Devil? (Loki x Reader): 6 - Elizabeth Stride

Summary: You are one of the many working women roaming the streets of Whitechapel when a madman begins to murder your comrades one by one. The attacks are so gruesome, that the detectives can only describe his work as that of “a devil than of a man”. Loki Laufeyson is a Metropolitan police detective and surgeon who is assisting on the case. As more bodies pile up and you and your friends fear for your lives, the police remain well and truly stumped. When Detective Laufeyson turns to you for help to find the murderer, you must face your fears to save yourself… But who can you really trust when you are the prey being stalked at night by someone who calls himself Jack the Ripper?

Gif originally posted by maryxglz

————

Victorian London AU

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of injuries/violence, gore, language, angst, a bit of sexual tension.

Word Count: 5,954

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Playlist: “Snuff” — Slipknot, “Raised by Wolves” — U2, “Not in Blood, But in Bond” — Hans Zimmer, “Lead Me Home” — Jamie N Commons

————

A/N: Also available on AO3. My apologies for the delay. I have been swamped with projects lately, and I genuinely appreciate those who still anticipate updates. You guys are, as always, a delight. I have brought in some sexual tension between Reader and Loki that will hopefully make up for the delay! Feedback and any thoughts at all are always welcome. Hope y’all enjoy!

30th September 1888, 12.00 am.

It was late on Saturday night when Sgt Rogers showed up at the brothel asking for your help yet again. You thought he seemed more urgent than usual and, upon asking for an explanation, he explained that Tony was beginning to get a little desperate for leads. Apparently, Strange was getting impatient too. You were no fool to this matter either, and completely aware of the current public displeasure being spread throughout the press.

So, when Steve came asking for your help, you, Natasha, and Wanda were more than happy to assist.

It was near enough to midnight when you wandered into the Princess Alice Pub on Commercial Street with your friends. You recognised some of the patrons who would have been considered regulars in the pub. While you and Wanda grabbed a table near the window, Natasha ordered a round of gatters for the group. You went about your usual business, drinking and chatting with the patrons. You turned down any advances, calmly explaining that you were actually waiting to meet someone. Your excuse was never questioned, as most men were reserved when they asked for your services in the first place. Though you were keeping an eye on your surroundings, no one sketchy really stood out — nothing bar the usual ones drinking that bit too much.

When the second round of beers arrived, you offered to go and order them, leaving Wanda and Natasha together at your table. You weren’t standing at the bar long before you grabbed the barman’s attention and asked for the same drinks again.

As you handed him payment, you were surprised to hear a familiar voice address you. “I say, we must stop meeting like this, my dear.”

You turned to see a grinning Loki standing behind you. You couldn’t stop your own smile forming on your lips. “Loki!”

He’s here? Did he just arrive, or have I failed to notice his presence until now?

“That is my name, yes.”

Your retort was swift. “If I didn’t know better, I would say that you were stalking me, Doctor.”

“Funny, I was about to say the same thing about you.” He took a seat on the stool beside you as your beers were placed on the counter. “Are you here with your friends?”

“Indeed I am. They’re over there.”

You pointed to your companions, who waved at Loki when he saw them. The smirks they wore said a lot and you felt like rolling your eyes at their teasing. Natasha turned to Wanda, saying something in her ear before she got up and all but ran to the bar.

“Excuse me, you two,” she said and took two of the gatters. “I will just take my drinks and go back to my table. Don’t let me interrupt.”

You grew wide eyed. “Nat—”

“Bye, Y/N! We shall be over there working if you need us.”

For the love of… I am going to give her a smack for that later.

You knew that her intentions wouldn’t go over Loki’s head, and the slightly raised brow he wore was merely confirmation of this fact. He met your gaze. “Working?”

“Eh, we are out on detective duty tonight,” you elaborated, hesitating to take a seat. “Stark’s orders. And you?”

“Out gallivanting as always. I have been out most of the evening as my private appointments finished early. Please,” he said, gesturing to the stool. “Join me for a drink.”

“I do not wish to interrupt your night.”

“Though I came here with the intention of drinking alone, your company is welcome.”

You hesitated again but, after giving him a once over, finally relented and sat down. He seemed pleased with your decision and ordered himself a gin. When the glass was placed in front of him, he turned his attention back to you. “So, Stark has you lot out working this evening?”

You nodded. “Steve came by earlier to ask. He said they are getting desperate for leads.”

“Quite,” Loki agreed, eyes drifting down to his drink. “There has been little progress on the case and I think Stark is beginning to feel the heat. The press are quite… demanding.”

“Rightly so. Though I like Tony, they really need to pick up a lead soon, or else more women will be killed. It is a matter of life or death, after all.”

“And I am sure you do not take that lightly, given your current employment and its ties to the victims.”

You chuckled dryly. “Yes, it’s not exactly comforting knowing that there’s a mad man out there murdering women like me. It’s not even necessarily about that either — not all of them are regular prostitutes. He seems to be just killing vulnerable women for the sake it.”

He tilted his head slightly at that. “I would imagine so. How is Wanda faring?”

“A lot better now, thank you.” You threw a cautionary glance her way and happened to catch her laughing happily at something Natasha had said. “I heard from Tony that the post-mortem showed that Annie was already quite sick. I know it was likely that she would die soon regardless, but it doesn’t really make it any easier.”

“I did not expect it to,” he said before pausing to sip on his drink. “It made my job no less harrowing as well.”

“The papers said it was awful. Apparently you lot think he may be a doctor now?”

He nodded. “A doctor or someone with basic anatomical knowledge, yes.”

“Jesus, this really is dire.”

“You aren’t wrong, I shall give you that… Perhaps we should converse with regards a lighter subject? This is hardly something to discuss over a drink.”

“Well,” you drawled, resting your chin in the palm of your hand. “What do you usually talk to street walkers about?”

It was a bold and risky statement, but you thought it was worth it to see his reaction. He hummed at that, seemingly amused by the comment, and you briefly thought about how you quite liked that sound of his voice. It held a delicious tone to it — deep and low. There was something so elegant and otherworldly about this man, and it intrigued you to no end.

“I do not usually spend time in the company of such women,” he admitted, green eyes portraying nothing but honesty. “So I cannot really answer that question.”

“Really?” You couldn’t hide the surprise, but perhaps Dr Laufeyson was married? It was entirely possible, though he had admitted to having no family to you already. That being said, he was certainly handsome and charming, so him having a wife would not have surprised you. “Are you wed?”

The question seemed to entertain him. Either that or he was trying to hide any discomfort with such a thought. “No, no. As I told you, I do not have any family to speak of. I have had women, yes, but no, I am not married. And I leave all the consorting with street walkers to Dr Banner.”

“You know he’s one of Natasha’s regulars?”

He nodded. “He is a bad liar.”

“He is certainly a soft sort,” you agreed. “But that is not exactly a bad thing. He has been nothing but kind to her for years. If I’m honest with you, I think he is quite taken with her.”

“Possibly. Although I suppose you see them together far more than I ever would.”

“Definitely, but it’s not like it could ever work between them.”

As you paused to take a swig of your beer, Loki considered your words. “Yes, although many men in various social circles rely on prostitution.”

“I meant if he wished to make it something more. Their backgrounds are just too different. Many prostitutes are married yes, but Dr Banner could never do that. He works for the police, for God sake.”

There was a brief silence, in which Loki’s gaze drifted to focus on his glass. “Though I know that Dr Banner would be foolish enough to try, I think you may be right about that, Y/N.”

“I’ve worked long enough to know that it would not. Perhaps someday we will marry if we wish, but I doubt it would work for them in particular.”

It wasn’t a nice thought — realising that a couple could never be was harsh business — but you needed to be honest with yourself and your friends. Living in blissful ignorance would do you about as much good as living in self-pity. They were fierce beasts, and honesty and acceptance was what kept you alive and protected so far in life. And yet, despite your knowledge that succumbing to such notions would do you in, the thought that you would probably never marry a man in Loki’s profession was somewhat sad. No, you certainly weren’t desperate for a husband or children, but the option would have been nice. You certainly would have liked to in the future, but no, perhaps it wasn’t to be for you. At least not with someone like him. And yet, Loki had already told you that he was quite content in his own company, so maybe his desires were quite different to yours. You weren’t exactly sure why you were spending so much energy contemplating being with someone like him. Bar your childhood sweetheart, you had no experience with relationships, so what was the point?

Boredom, loneliness, curiosity… Take your pick.

“Are you speaking from experience?” he asked, gauging your reaction with an analytic expression.

“It is very rude for a gentleman to ask after a lady’s status,” you joked playfully. “Very rude indeed.”

“I am no gentleman.”

“You certainly look like a gentleman to me.”

His thin lips stretched into a smirk. “Looks can be deceiving.”

“So you’re telling me that I have been socialising with a scoundrel this whole time?”

“I prefer the term trickster. I think it is a more accurate description of my character.”

“Ah…” You drawled, letting your eyes wander up and down his defined torso. “I think I know men of your character quite well.”

He flashed you a smile, one that had your heart fluttering. “There are no men like me.”

Why is it that the more he spoke, the more you wanted to hear him continue? His voice was a weapon — one from which honeyed words flowed like an unstoppable torrent. The tone alone did things to you that were unfamiliar and oddly pleasing. You couldn’t help it — his mysteriousness, proud personality, and gorgeous appearance had you hooked. Whether he had intended to or not, Loki had ensnared you in his sinfully elegant hands.

Yes, you thought. I think I might push my luck with this fellow.

“No men like you?” you teased, looking sceptical. “That’s a bold statement to make.”

“Bold, but true, darling. Of that I can assure you.”

“Perhaps you can enlighten me then?”

For the briefest of moments, you saw the slight twitch in his eye and upturned corner of his mouth. You didn’t know Loki well enough to know whether this was positive or negative, but you knew the brazenness of your query had caught him off guard. “Oh?”

“And I can teach you how to speak with… women of my sort.”

You weren’t exactly sure why you suddenly felt so daring. Perhaps you were just going with the flow of the conversation, or perhaps your curiosity of Dr Laufeyson had gotten the better of you. You knew you weren’t throwing yourself at him, but rather tentatively dipping your toe in the pond. It was harmless flirting really; harmless flirting with a man you couldn’t help but be in intrigued by.

It’s no big deal, you thought, trying not to get distracted as he loosened his neckerchief. I’m not getting myself into a situation like Nat and Dr Banner. This is just friendly banter!

“Teach me?” he repeated lowly. You distinctly caught how he leaned a little closer to you, his head tilted at an angle. You liked this — perhaps his mischievousness accounted for a flirtatious attitude as well?

Your smile widened, confidence and amusement growing with each positive response. “Yes. Consider it an education, from which we can both benefit.”

“I think you are playing with fire, my dear.”

After taking another slug from your beer, you set it back down and rested your hand in the counter. “Perhaps I like playing with fire. Had you considered that, Doctor?”

His green eyes were piercing — incredibly so — and you couldn’t have looked away from them even if you tried. You couldn’t help but fuel that part of you that craved adventure. It was one of the reasons why you had taken on assisting Inspector Stark and his men. Despite knowing little of Loki, you couldn’t stop that part of you that kept tugging your form closer to his, eager to find out more. With the usual arrogance and mischievous attitude you had come to recognise, Loki mirrored your actions — he drank from his glass and then set it down on the countertop. When he let his arm rest beside it, it was also left dangerously close to yours. For a beat he remained silent, the time in which your mind raced with whether he had intentionally put himself in close quarters with you.

He cleared his throat then, and began to delicately run his fingers up and down the bare skin of our arm. His touch was feather-light but calculating, and sent goosebumps through your body. Whatever uncertainty that possessed you with regards his intentions was well and truly dashed.

“I suppose I should have,” he murmured, looking between you and the gentle movements of his hand. “And if you are so eager to play with it, then it is only fair that I provide.”

With the smashing of glass, the spell was broken. Loki discreetly removed his fingers from your arm, and lowered his gaze to his drink. A group from which the noise had come began to cheer, teasing their drunken friend who had dropped his early empty pint on the floor. You swallowed, brought out of the inappropriate daydream of this doctor that your mind had concocted.

He cleared his throat and finished the end of his gin. “I mustn’t take up all of your time this evening — especially if you are supposed to be working.”

“It is alright,” you began, probably embarrassingly quick as he got to his feet. “I promise you’re not bothering me—”

Despite your words, he hastily pulled on his coat. “That is reassuring, but I also think I have had quite enough to drink tonight.” He paused, grabbing his hat with unsteady fingers. His green eyes met yours and, although you presumed your expression to be hopeful and pleading, he pursed his lips and nodded. “Goodnight, Y/N. Thank you for the pleasure of your company.”

You barely had any time to register what had just occurred before the man’s lithe form had all but raced out of the pub. Equally disgruntled and confused with what went down, you turned to see Natasha and Wanda looking back at you. Once they had beckoned you over, you returned to their table.

“What the hell happened there?” Wanda asked, her face the epitome of bewilderment.

“I’m not sure,” you replied. “The conversation was going fine beforehand. I think he might have even been flirting with me a little bit.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Yes, we could see that from over here. He may like to come across as very aloof, but it’s obvious to me that he fancies you.”

“I’m not trying to be a smart arse, but people look at us like that all the time. It somewhat comes with the profession.”

“Yes, but there’s not harm in having a little fun with him,” Wanda shrugged. “Especially if he wants to as well.”

“Running out of here with his tail between his legs hardly conveys that, now does it?”

“Perhaps he, you know, prefers men?”

You shrugged. “That is a valid excuse, but I doubt it very much.”

“The good ones are always a challenge, Y/N,” Natasha explained. “But they’re certainly worth it for the fun.”

Wanda laughed slightly. “And then you can join Nat’s club of shagging a doctor.”

Before Natasha could even retaliate, the Sokovian had dashed over to the bar for another round. You couldn’t help but smile at seeing her happy after all she had been through, but soon your own thoughts clouded your mind yet again.

“Don’t worry about it,” the red-head reassured you with genuine concern. “Men are unusual sometimes, but you will navigate this situation just fine.”

“I don’t really know what I want out of it,” you admitted sheepishly. “Yes, Loki is a good looking bloke, and yes I wouldn’t necessarily mind temporarily joining your club, but beyond that…”

With a wave of her hand, she hushed you. “You are getting way ahead of yourself. Stop overthinking and play this by ear, alright?”

“Alright. I shall try to relax a bit more.”

“Good, because I am always right. Not to mention, we are on the job tonight and we have a murderer to catch. This is no time to be worrying about boys.”

Leave it to your friends to ease your mind. They never failed to stop your overactive imagination from creating never-ending loops of anxiety. You soon managed to (mostly) banish any thoughts related to Dr Laufeyson, and instead focused your energy on helping to prevent more women being killed. It was near enough to 1.00 am when the three of you left the pub. The outside streets were still relatively busy despite the hour. You suggested that it might be a good idea to do a few laps of the surrounding area before you met PC Barnes later to regroup.

You and your friends were chatting idly as you veered off the mainstream and down another one of the many laneways scattered throughout London. In the midst of making notes of some of the shadier characters that Wanda had noticed in the pub, the distant noise of police whistles cut threw the windy night air.

“Did you hear that?” you asked, standing dead still where you stood.

Natasha looked from you and then quickly turned to the other end of the lane, from which another whistle blew. “That cannot be good.”

“It might just be a fight,” Wanda suggested with a slight quiver in her voice. “A brawl, or a robbery.”

The temporary hope that maybe nothing serious had occurred was quickly dashed when cries of “Murder!” came swiftly from both civilians and policemen sprinting down the street.

“Come on!” one shouted to another. “There has been another murder.”

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath. “What do we do?”

Natasha’s reply came without a hint of hesitation. “Follow the crowd.”

You nodded, knowing she was right. You turned to gauge Wanda’s reaction, and she too agreed. “We came out here to do a job.”

“That we did.” You took a deep breath, and looked back at the street ahead, the cries for police still rising on the howling wind. She was right. “So let us go help whoever we can.”

Despite your thumping heart or you shaking hands, despite the nervous twisting in your gut that only rose with each passing second and each planted step, you forced yourself to move. Inspector Stark took you on to help other women who roamed these streets, and you weren’t about to turn your back on them. Not even with the terrifying thought of whatever horrors or beasts may await you in the darkness.

You ran as quick as you could, being sure to keep Wanda and Natasha close. It was easy to know where to go once you had locked on to a policeman and followed him as he sprinted towards the action. Gasping for breath and trying to ignore how the cool night air burned your lungs as they fought to work hard, you veered back on to Commercial Street.

Rounding the corner, you weren’t prepared to hit a solid body at high speed. A pair of strong arms wrapped around you tight, preventing your body from slamming backwards into the pavement. You were about to fight off whoever had their hands on your body until you heard Natasha announce behind you.

“Dr Laufeyson!”

Your breath caught in your throat. With the adrenalin running high, you forced yourself out of his arms and, sure enough, was met with the wide green eyes you had been staring into not long ago.

“You’re alright!” Loki declared, ignoring all forms of pleasantries. He seemed relieved as he spoke, despite being obviously dishevelled and out of breath. “It is good to see you ladies.”

“I thought you went home?” you nearly barked, far more accusatory than you had intended. “What are you doing out here?”

“I…” He paused and quickly tried to gather himself as he pushed some hair out of his eyes. “I was nearly home when I heard there had been another murder in the area. I was worried about you three out working and… I wanted to make sure you were alright.” He blinked, then frowned. “Why are you lot still out here? Did you not hear that a woman was killed?”

“It is kind of hard to miss it,” Wanda replied impatiently, gesturing around them. “What with all the policemen running around screaming about it!”

“We have a job to do, Doctor,” Natasha added. “And we shan’t run away when there are women in danger. It could have been any of us.”

In the heat of the moment, you had little time to register that Loki had sprinting across Whitechapel to make sure that you were alright. Had you been more relaxed, you might have even blushed like a school girl, but you could barely think straight. Instead, you looked at him curiously. “Should you not be on the scene?”

“Dearest Bruce was sent for,” he answered. “He is tending to matters there, and I am sure that Natasha will be happy to see him.”

Natasha rolled her eyes before restlessly ordering you and the others onwards. “Sod off. I do not have time to argue with you when there is a murder scene to find. Priorities, Doctor!”

Sensing the urgency, he eagerly agreed. “Come then. She was found on Berner Street.”

Now with another member of the group, you set off running once more. The streets came to life with panic, and people either headed towards the commotion or away from it. It was shortly after 1.00 am when you arrived on the street, and Loki quickly led you and your friends into Dutfield's Yard, a narrow yard situated between No. 40, also known as the International Working Men’s Educational Club, and No. 42. The crowd of onlookers had already grown to around twenty to thirty people, and police were desperately trying to control the rabble. Amongst the throng you spotted PC Wilson and Sgt Rogers.

When they noticed your arrival, the latter was quick to approach, despite the chaos. “Ladies, I was not expecting you. And Loki, you know that we have Dr Banner here working now.”

Loki nodded. “I know, Sergeant, but they wished to come and help if they could.”

Though Steve looked a little skeptical, he seemed willing to oblige. “Very well. We have alerted Inspector Stark by telegram, but perhaps you could identify her while we wait for his arrival?”

“Maybe,” you offered. “Where is she?”

Steve lead you away from the crowd to where the victim lay. Around the body stood a number of police constables, overseeing Dr Banner as he stooped over her and studied her injuries. Your eyes immediately veered to the ugly deep gash in her throat, partially hidden beneath a torn checked silk scarf. A pool of blood lay beneath her, and it was tough for you to focus solely on her face when such a sight lay before you.

Get it together, Y/N, you thought to yourself. You are here to help. It does not look good for her, but you can still help somehow.

Though her still face was turned into the wall, you did your best to take in her features. She had a pale complexion, light gray unmoving eyes, and curly dark brown hair atop her head. She was dressed in all black, topped with a long black cloth jacket, fur trimmed around the bottom with a red rose and white maiden hair fern pinned to its breast. You studied her for what felt like a long time, feeling the eyes of Sgt Rogers boring into the back of your head. And yet, you were disappointed to admit that you didn’t recognise this poor women.

“I do not know her,” you said, unable to hide the disappointment in your tone. “I’m sorry.”

“I might,” Natasha offered and, upon speaking, caused Dr Banner to nearly jump out of his own skin. Apparently so transfix with his work, he only noticed your arrival when hearing her voice.

“At ease, Bruce,” Loki said, hushing him as his colleague steadied his eye glasses. He squatted down to help exam her cut throat. “Our friends are here to help.”

“O-of course,” Dr Banner replied, blushing deeply and avoiding eye contact with the red head.

“You know her, Nat?” Wanda asked curiously.

“I do not know her personally, but I know her to see. I think I have heard people calling her Long Liz.”

“Long Liz?” Steve repeated before quickly jotting it down into his notepad. “Good, that will hopefully help to identify her.”

“I am sorry I can’t offer you much else, handsome, but that is all I have. Ask around and I am sure you will find someone who knows the poor woman.”

“It is more than enough,” he replied with a slight cough. “As always, you ladies have my thanks, and that of the Metropolitan Police.”

“She is most definitely dead,” Dr Banner announced, checking her pulse as Loki studied the wound in her neck. “But she is still slightly warm. She cannot have been killed more than twenty or thirty minutes ago.”

“I agree,” Loki offered, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. “And that means he cannot have gone far.”

“Who cannot have gone far?” announced a voice from behind them, and you turned to see Inspector Stark shimmying his way through the crowd with PC Barnes in tow. He seemed slightly frazzled, even when he gave you all a pleasant greeting despite the circumstances. “Please tell me there is some good news. Strange is going to have my arse if he wakes up tomorrow morning to another murder and no leads.”

“The killer might still be in the area,” Steve offered, before gesturing to you, Natasha, and Wanda. “And we have a small lead, in the form of a nickname for the victim. Thanks to these ladies.”

Stark turned to you, and placed his hand softly on your shoulder. All sarcasm had left his body, but you supposed it was an inappropriate time. There was action, which meant that the leader had arrived to help. “As always, you three are much appreciated. But unfortunately we also have another dead woman on our hands, so a nickname is being quite overshadowed at the moment.”

Wanda shook her head. “Trust us, we agree. We would much rather this had not happened, as do the angry crowd it would seem.”

“Ah, yes, that.” He threw a dissatisfied glance at the crowd. “They are the least of my worries right now. This lady and her killer come first. Report, Dr Banner?”

“Her throat has been cut, but other than a small abrasion under her right arm, there has been none of the usual goings on. No disembowelment, no removal or organs…”

“Is this still the work of our apparent Ripper?”

You were confused by the nickname while Bruce continued. “Well, she was discovered at 1.00 am, and going off my time of death judgement which is between twenty and thirty minutes ago, it is quite possible that he was walked up on and interrupted. The throat seems hastily cut.”

“Who found her?”

“A man called Louis Diemschutz,” Sgt Rogers explained and pointed to a nearby figure who was being questioned by police. “The Steward of the International Workingmen's Educational Club. He had spent the day hawking cheap jewellery at Westow Hill Market in Sydenham Hill before returning here. He was turning his pony and cart into the yard when the pony noticed the woman on the ground and refused to go any further. He said that when looking into the yard, he saw a dark form lying on the ground close to the wall of the club, and proceeded to poke it with his whip, and then tried to lift it. After being unsuccessful, he jumped down to investigate and struck a match to get a better view, though the wind extinguished it rather quickly. He did manage to see that it was a woman lying on the ground. Apparently, he assumed it to be his wife, who was attending the club tonight, so he ventured inside and, upon finding his wife alive and well, gathered some more club member to discern if the woman in the yard was dead or drunk. Now with a candle in hand, he noticed blood by her body, and her slashed throat.”

“Be sure to double check that his alibi is a valid one, just to be safe.”

“Of course, Inspector. He also said that he thought the killer may have still been in the yard when he arrived, given his pony’s unusual behaviour.”

“Dr Laufeyson, you said this lunatic may be nearby?”

“Quite. Given Dr Banner’s conclusion with regards her time or death, he cannot have gone too far.”

“Blast it… Then here is what we shall do. Sergeant, I want policemen on as many streets as we can manage, searching for this sick bastard before he gets his hands on someone else. You shall remain here and get the names and addresses of every single onlooker in that crowd. Dr Banner and Dr Laufeyson, continue your examination for as long as you like, and gather all you can from the scene.”

“I would very much like to accompany the men on patrol, if that is alright,” Loki requested as he got to his feet. “Bruce well and truly has this covered, and I know you could use an extra man.”

Though Tony appeared momentarily perturbed, he agreed, allowing Loki to join the other constables in their search.

“Do you want us to search too?” you asked, eager to get out and lend another hand.

“With all due respect, ladies, I would much rather if you three were off the streets for the rest of the night. I will have PC Barnes accompany you back to Commercial Street Station.”

You argued with his decision — of course you did — but you knew it was foolish. This man was an Inspector, and his word was final. Nor did Steve or even Loki vouch for you. They all wanted you hidden away for your own safety and, despite the burning urge you had to incite revenge on the monster that did this, you couldn’t win. All of them agreed that you had to go. The only one who seemed a bit torn with the whole affair was Loki, who watched you intently as Bucky lead you back to the station.

The place was practically deserted when you arrived, with only Happy there to welcome you inside. Bucky had been charged with keeping you in the station until Inspector Stark returned and, with no idea how long they would be, immediately offered to make you tea and sandwiches. Needing something to distract yourself, you accepted the food. You spent two hours there snacking on sandwiches and drinking your weight in tea. Bucky didn’t seem eager about discussing the case, and chose to talk to you aimlessly about your work and life in general. It was only when you questioned him about Stark’s new nickname for the killer did he allow himself to talk about it.

He looked at you and asked with a mouthful of bread and ham. “What do you mean?”

“When we were at the scene, Tony called him Ripper — has he even gifted the murder his own nickname?”

“Oh,” he mumbled and swallowed his food. “It’s uh, it’s not a nickname that Stark gave him. I suppose I can tell you ladies about it because you are part of the investigation.”

You and your friends couldn’t help but look at him in an accusatory manner. You set your tea down with a sigh. “So, you are hiding information from us now?”

“No! Course not. We had not yet released the information the public. Look, yesterday, Inspector Stark was passed on a letter for the Central News Agency. They claimed to have received it themselves a few days before, and it was apparently signed by the killer. He bragged about the killings and laughed about our struggles to find him. Even wrote the bloody thing in red ink like a nutter… But he called himself Jack the Ripper.”

“How theatrical,” you said evenly. “And uncurbed.”

“He sounds like a right piece of work,” Wanda added.

The constable agreed. “Right you are. But don’t speak a word of this to anyone, alright? We do not know when we shall make it public knowledge—”

“Barnes!”

Whatever further explanation Bucky was ready to divulge was cut short. Chief Inspector Strange burst through the entrance to the station, rather unceremoniously and visibly enraged.

Despite the intrusion, the constable remained in his seat beside you, and drank a sup of his tea. “Mornin’, Chief Inspector.”

“Morning?” Strange spluttered. “Morning, Constable? That is all you have to say?”

“Uh, tea?”

“Oh, for God’s sake… I was woken from my sleep to hear that another woman was killed! Did I not order you all to find new leads?”

“You did, and we were all out in the field tonight trying to find them.”

Strange ran his eyes over you, appearing both exhausted and frustrated in every sense of the word. It was the first time you had seen him legitimately frazzled, and you wisely kept your mouth shut. Even Natasha seemed unwilling to tease him.

“This is to be the last one,” the chief inspector remarked. “When this hits the papers tomorrow, the public is sure to go mad. No more bodies, I shan’t have it. This is the final one, yes?”

You had not expected another interruption so soon after the first, but it seemed that the night was about to get much worse.

In the door came a burly-looking man, decked out in a police uniform somewhat similar to that of PC Barnes. Slightly out of breath, he removed his helmet and greeted Strange with a nod. “Chief Inspector? I am PC Grillo of the City Police. I was told to come find an Inspector at this station as quickly as I could.”

Strange’s face hardened almost immediately. “What is it?”

PC Grillo reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a torn piece of apron, stained deep red with spilled blood. “There has been another murder, Chief Inspector, on our territory this time.”

“Another one?” you exclaimed before you could hold yourself back. Your hands shook as you clasped them together. “In the same night?”

PC Grillo nodded, his lips pulled into a tight line. “You best follow me as quickly as you can. You need to see this.”

Taglist: @heysliver @lisalisa007 @ava-royal @eloisemacguffin @tvdplusriverdale @trickster-grrrl @mellow-mischief @arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77

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chroniccombustion · 6 years

Text

Caught in the Grey (ch 1)

Genre: Trans!AU, hurt/comfort, romance, angst with a happy ending Rated: T Characters: Souji Seta (Yu Narukami), Yosuke Hanamura, Naoto Shirogane, Investigation Team, Izanagi/Shadow!Souji Warnings: depression, dysphoria, disassociation, self-hatred, implied suicide attempt, suicidal thoughts, mentions of homophobia, implied past child abuse and transphobia, canon-typical violence, mild sexual content Status: multi-chapter, incomplete

Playlist: Spotify | Youtube next chapter ->

He stands on one end of the red-washed roof beneath a sky of blood and onyx and watches himself watch back from the other side.

“I’m fine,” he whispers to the figure across from him.

It shakes its head and sobs. “No,” it answers with two voices – layered over top each other in perfect stereo, one low and one high-pitched. It looks at him with eyes the color of sickness, gold and harsh against the pale, flickering silver of its hair.

“No, I’m NOT!”

Chapter 1: Beauty In the Breakdown

“So let go, let go, and jump in. Oh well whatcha waitin’ for? It’s alright, ‘Cause there’s beauty in the breakdown…”

– (“Let Go”, Frou Frou)

October

“You better have damn good explanation for this!"

Yosuke is livid, incredulous. His voice cracks as he rounds on the girls, asking them how they could have done this, and from somewhere far away, Souji can hear him growing increasingly upset.

He knows that Yosuke has raised his voice in panic and embarrassment, knows that Kanji is nearby, adding his own disbelief to the mix, but everything is… muffled. Distorted. Like he’s hearing it from behind a wall, through a rushing current that’s pounding somewhere inside his head and can’t breathe!

Seta Souji

It’s there, on the list of names under “Pageant Signups” – in scrawled black letters, clear and bold.

Everything is numb.

He curls freezing fingers around the cuff of his jacket sleeve, absently noting that his hands are shaking. He wants to run, wants to bolt, wants to go find a nice, quiet place to hyperventilate, because he can feel his lungs seizing and his vision blurring and he. Can’t. BREATHE.

“…isn’t that right, Senpai?”

Souji looks up. Sharp, manic, eyes wide and chest stuttering. He stares at Rise – because that’s who was calling him, right? – and tries to think. He doesn’t know what she said, has no idea how to respond. Fake it. Don’t crack where they can see. You’re the leader, you’re the leader, you’re the leader…

Crushing down the weight inside his chest he forces himself to soften his eye contact, to school the line of his shoulders so that he doesn’t look like a cornered animal. He evens out his features until all semblance of expression is gone and only a blank mask remains. Jerkily, puppet-like, he gives the slightest nod of his head and consciously pulls up the corners of his lips into what he hopes is a faint smile. His stomach churns.

Rise crows with delight. “See?! I told you, Yosuke-senpai! Souji-senpai believes in us!”

Oh. Oh god.

“Dude, what the hell?!” Yosuke whips around and gives him a look of utter betrayal, his mouth hanging open and eyes bright with indignation. “Why would you agree to this? Do you just want to get paraded around in drag?!”

He feels sick. He feels so sick and he still can’t breathe and the edges of his vision are starting to go all fuzzy and he didn’t mean to agree to whatever she just said.

Oh god oh god oh god oh god

Something acidic climbs up his throat and burns the back of his tongue.

Yosuke is staring at him and Rise is grinning at him and Chie and Yukiko are sniggering and---

“Y-you’re positive we’ll be pretty?”

“Kanji, not you, too!”

He can’t do this. He can’t do this; even with Yosuke’s blistering gaze now turned towards Kanji, (and fuck fuck fuck even Kanji’s agreeing now!) the room still feels too small, too crowded. He needs to get away. He needs out of this whole situation but he knows he can’t escape because he’s trapped. He’s been roped into doing the one fucking thing he would rather chug bleach than do and there is no way to get out of doing it without making everything so much worse.

The girls would demand a good reason for backing out. Kashiwagi probably wouldn’t even listen, would just dock his grades or something if he skipped. He almost wonders if it would be worth it.

He’d do it anyway if he didn’t think somebody would find a way to do something to punish him for it.

I can’t breathe!

Everything is cold. He can’t feel his fingertips as they twist and wrap themselves deeper into his jacket sleeves, nails digging through the fabric to prick at his palms. Is anyone looking at him? He can’t tell. The room dims; a ring of grey static, like the Midnight Channel, fizzles in around the edges of his sight and makes everything around him dull and blurry. His friends are speaking. He doesn’t know to whom. He can’t pick out their voices anymore, can’t make out any words against the thunderous drumming of the river inside his head. It’s too loud, too dark, too cloistering, too much.

He turns. He doesn’t stop to figure out if anyone is calling after him, following him. He doesn’t care. Through muscle memory alone, he manages to get out the classroom door and into the hallway. He wills his legs to move, to push, to carry him forward in the direction of the nearest bathroom, even if he doesn’t know where he is anymore. The hallway is too long, too crowded, too, too, too, and he can’t.

He pushes the bathroom door open, body trembling so violently that he barely makes it inside before he’s throwing himself into a stall, to his knees. He feels them connect with the hard tile floor, is aware of the impact, but cannot feel the pain he knows will be there when he comes back down. He doesn’t feel anything but sick.

He curls over the toilet as if it could offer him salvation and vomits up everything he’s eaten today. Even long after he’s purged his stomach, the roiling is still there; he coughs until the taste of bile and acid sits heavy in his mouth.

The world is finally quiet by the time he’s able to stand again – though whether that’s from the roar in his ears subsiding at last or because the school is starting to empty, he has no idea. He doesn’t care. He washes his hands, his face, his mouth with water from the sink and refuses to look in the mirror as he does. His hands shake so badly that he’s certain there’s puddle on the floor beneath him. He doesn’t care. His breathing is still too shallow, too thin, comes too fast. He doesn’t look in the mirror. He doesn’t think.

It’s only after he hears a quiet creak that he even remembers other people still exist. He glances up from his shaking hands – why is there steam coming from the faucet? Is the water that hot? – forces his head sluggishly up and his eyes blearily over until he thinks he can see just the barest hint of hallway beyond the cracked-open door.

“Souji-senpai?” someone calls from outside. The voice is low, blessedly quiet, like deep blue twilight and old velvet. “Are you alright?”

Naoto.

“I’m fine,” he tries to say. His throat screams at him, raw and papery, like crusted salt. He tries to clear it and winces as the burn nearly makes him choke. “I’m fine,” he says again. It’s weak, scratchy, but louder than before.

Silence.

He wonders if he’d been too quiet, runs his tongue over his lips to try again. He tastes panic and shame.

“Please don’t lie to me, Senpai.”

Damnit.

Of course, even if Naoto wasn’t a detective they’re still the most observant of the team, the most logical. They’re exactly the kind of friend that wouldn’t be fooled or placated by something as weak as his automatic response. Of course they would notice him leaving, would find him even if he’d somehow wound up on the opposite side of the school building. Of course they would call him out for his obviously bullshit answer.

The door creeps wider open and suddenly there is a swath of blue in the line of the doorway. Naoto swings their head from one side to the other – checking the hall – before stepping further into the bathroom and settling their too-keen gaze upon him.

He looks back down at his hands, watches them turn pink, then red under the scalding water.

Naoto gasps softly. “Oh! Senpai…!” There are footsteps, the sound of the door closing, and then there are hands in his line of sight as Naoto reaches over and turns the water to cold. He still doesn’t feel a thing.

He stands there and lets Naoto keep his hands under the faucet, watching the redness of his skin slowly start to recede.

“I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t look up at them.

There is a pause, a measure of silence before they whisper again. Their voice is calm and level, and he focuses on it rather than the rush of water from the sink, the rush of blood still behind his ears.

“It was only Teddie and Yosuke-senpai that signed us up for the beauty pageant; I tried to tell them that but they had already put your name down as well. I didn’t know…”

Their voice catches slightly, and when he lifts his eyes from his numb fingers he can see them pursing their lips as they stare at their own hands on his wrists.

“I couldn’t stop them. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he whispers back. Because it is okay, even thought it’s absolutely not; he believes Naoto. They’re the newest of the group, but they’re honest, and he knows them well enough by now to know that they’re also the most rational member on the team. They would have agreed to punishing Yosuke for his stunt – he’d like to think they would have stood up for him.

Naoto shakes their head. “It clearly isn’t.” They look up at him then, the movement of their head so sharp and startling that he finds himself looking up at the same time out of shock and catching their eyes. They stare and he can’t look away.

He holds his breath as Naoto opens their mouth to speak. But then, they don’t. They close their mouth again with a soft ‘click’, sighing out their unspoken words through their nose. Their gaze falls back to the mess of hands beneath the stream of water.

“You should see the nurse,” they say instead.

He shakes his head.

No. He absolutely does not want to do that. He’s already going to be poked and prodded enough for the damn pageant, thank you, and at least he can try to keep his friends’ hands on his face and hair and away from the rest of him. The nurse? Not so much.

He tries to say, “I don’t need to”; what comes out instead is a weak, shaky, “I can’t.”

Naoto looks back up at him, their lips pressed into a thin line and their forehead creased in concern. They stare at him for what feels like eons. “...Senpai—“

“Naoto, I can’t.”

And the way his voice breaks, the way his vision blurs, he’s sure he’s close to crying. But he can’t, he won’t, not here, not in front of his teammate, not in the middle of the school building where anyone else could walk in at any moment. He pleads with his eyes instead, because if anyone is clever enough to see hidden meaning in someone’s face, it’s Naoto.

Slowly they nod, and he feels a burst of relief for the first time in far, far too long. He wants to sob.

Naoto sighs and slumps their shoulders, apparently giving in for now. “I understand.” They tilt their head pointedly, searching his face for something he can’t fathom. They must find it, because the ghost of a reassuring smile passes over their features and he feels something inside his chest lift just the tiniest bit. “I really do.”

He should be afraid, he thinks, that Naoto can see through him – even though, out of all of the IT, it was always going to be Naoto that saw him first. He should feel like the floor has been shattered underneath his feet, like he’s falling into blackness again, but no. Not this time.

No one has said anything; no one has spoken the words out loud. It’s Naoto. He’s safe for now.

And he didn’t even have to pull the words from his mouth like shards of broken, bloodied glass. They just knew.

“I’ll do what I can to make sure they don’t go overboard tomorrow,” Naoto is saying. Their fingers uncoil from his wrists and turn the faucet off. (He thinks he can just barely make out the feel of the air on his freezing skin now.) They sigh again. “Chie-senpai and Yukiko-senpai will likely be all too glad to focus on Yosuke-senpai, but Rise-kun…” They trail off, unspoken horrors hanging thick in the air between their lips like oil.

Souji nods. He can feel the cold of his hands now, the leftover sting from the hot water still burning beneath his skin; the room is less fuzzy, now the lights less dim and his vision clearer. He feels himself slide back into his body – not lock into place, he’s still too shaky, too jittery – like a sheet of colored plastic overlaid across a different one to form a new color only where they touch. He’s there, he’s just not solid yet.

Souji flexes his fingers. They hurt. “I’m in drama club,” he rasps. “I can do most of it myself.”

The look that Naoto gives him is full of pain and sympathy – much more emotion than he’s sure anyone else in their group has ever seen. “Awful, isn’t it? That playing pretend has become so natural for people like us.”

The laugh that tears unexpectedly from his chest sounds more like a sob.

---

The next morning dawns like bile against the horizon. Souji watches from the window, barely real as he takes in the sickly yellow of the sun as it rises. A glance at the clock shows he’s been awake for several hours now, unable to stay asleep because of the constant, taunting reminder of what today is; the hummingbird-quick beating of his panicked heart bringing him back to wakefulness any time he managed to doze off from sheer exhaustion.

Numb, nauseous, he drags himself over to the desk and grabs his uniform from where he’d habitually set it out the night before. He feels like nothing, like a wind-up doll as he puts it on. He gathers his things, heads downstairs, passes by the kitchen without even bothering to glance inside. He doesn’t want breakfast right now, doesn’t even want to try and keep his stomach under control long enough to make a bento for later. He stops just long enough to give his little sister a hug.

Nanako asks him if he’s okay.

“I’m fine,” he answers with a strained smile.

---

He runs into Yosuke on the way to school, even though Souji’s absently aware that it’s far earlier than Yosuke actually needs to be leaving his house. But it doesn’t matter, so he doesn’t ask. Yosuke looks about as tired as he feels and at first there is silence.

And then Yosuke opens his mouth and starts to talk.

Yosuke rants about how unfair it is that they have to go through with the pageant, about how it’s totally different for the girls to be up on stage, about how real men don’t wear dresses, damnit, this is so stupid! Yosuke gesticulates as he talks and never once looks over to see the hollowness in Souji’s eyes or to see why Souji hasn’t said a single word to agree with him.

Souji tries and tries to tune his friend out but in the end he feels every word as though it were a splinter of ice burrowing ever deeper into his gut.

Yosuke finally asks him if he’s okay only once the front doors of the school are in sight.

“I’m fine,” he says, and pretends the catch in his voice is a yawn.

---

The day stretches and stretches but still seems to go far too quickly and soon he’s being handed a girl’s uniform and a long silver wig done up in a pair of braids. There are stockings, too, and a padded bra stuffed with what looks like socks pinned inside. He takes the uniform and the wig and stifles the burning, sinking, suffocating feeling that spreads throughout his body so that he can make it to the bathroom to change. Rise calls out to him as he walks stiffly into the hall like a man marching to his execution, asking him if he needs help fastening the bra. He keeps walking as if he hadn’t heard her.

He stands in the stall and tries, tries, tries not to hyperventilate, not to give in to the way his vision blackens and his lungs scream and his stomach – still empty from yesterday – lurches and rolls. His heart pounds like he’s been running, like it’s already escaped and is pleading for him to come with it. He barely manages to hook everything together with how badly his hands are shaking – fingers slipping and nearly dropping everything as he slips the bra fasteners into place. He wraps the socks that had been padding it up in his own uniform and doesn’t think about how well the bra actually fits him without them.

He puts the wig on last while still in the stall. He uses his drama club training and feels for the tabs on either side of the wig, pulling on them until they’re next to his temples. He keeps the stall door closed, keeps his back to it and his head down, even though he cannot see the wall of mirrors over the sinks while he hides behind the door. He squeezes his eyes shut as bits of the wig brush across his cheekbones and does not look at the long silvery strands that now frame his face.

The way the skirt swishes around his legs, the way the shirt hugs his chest, the way his hips look fuller, his waist smaller, his hair longer—

He clamps a hand to his mouth as he gags, body heaving to expel his fear and panic, even though his stomach is so empty it cramps. Sweat breaks out over his forehead and he has to blink back the sting of tears behind his eyelids because everything is wrong wrong WRONG!

It takes everything he has to lock himself away and call up the bone-deep coldness. He slips into the numbing distance, pulling it over himself like a cloak, and pushes everything away until there is nothing left inside but nothing.

Gathering up his things, he finally steps out of the stall and breezes past the line of sinks towards the hallway. He watches himself from someplace far away in his own mind as his body looks dead ahead and refuses to even glance at his own reflection in the mirrors.

Naoto is waiting against the wall just outside the classroom when he makes it back. They take a glance at his mask-like face and their expression twists like they can feel every bit of black, oozing wrongness that has filled his veins and settled into his lungs; like they want to cry every tear for him that lurks behind his frosted wall of forced calm.

He hears them whispering to him as he passes, hears them asking senpai are you okay?

“I’m fine,” he responds, voice like a worn-out recording on an over-played cassette.

---

He doesn’t let Rise do his makeup. He doesn’t let Yukiko or Chie do his makeup either. Thankfully, the latter two have Kanji and Yosuke to focus on to keep them from descending upon him. Rise, though, winks mischievously and waggles a foundation compact in his direction.

He doesn’t want her touching him. Doesn’t want anyone touching him. But he stills just before he can tell her he’ll do it himself because even through the cloak of numbness he knows that to do it himself he’ll have to look in a mirror. His mind stutters, reboots, works his mouth on autopilot and tries again to tell Rise she doesn’t need to help but she isn’t listening. She leans into his personal space with a wide, sweet grin, and he doesn’t want to be upset with her when he knows she’s doing it because of her not-so-subtle crush on him, so he can’t recoil or shove her away like his instincts want to. Luckily his mind and his body are so far removed from one another right now that his knee jerk reaction doesn’t reach his limbs through the void.

He feels the ice encase his heart just a little more solidly and pulls himself further back into his head.

In the end it’s Naoto that winds up doing his makeup. He doesn’t remember them speaking up or shooing Rise away, doesn’t know how he wound up sitting in the far corner of the room with Naoto in front of him like a shield even as they lean in close with a brush.

I’m sorry, their lips say; he can read the words up close like this but the sound is lost behind the echoing cold.

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t know if he’s human enough to remember how. He just sits there and lets them dust the smallest amount of pale brown shadow onto his eyelids. Someone whistles nearby, one of the girls saying something about the ‘natural look,’ but he catches next to nothing else. He can’t even tell who it was that said it – the voice muted like his head is underwater and he’s drowning.

Naoto sweeps something minty-smelling across his bottom lip; a tube of tinted balm, it looks like, not lipstick, but he doesn’t bother trying to read beyond what passes through his peripherals.

He sees Naoto rest their hand tentatively on his shoulder – he can’t feel it, can’t feel anything – and another pained, worried look paints itself over their features. Any other time he would feel guilty about making one of his friends worry, but right now he’s so hollow that he barely even notices.

Naoto turns over their shoulder, eyes suddenly sharp, and parts their lips as though they’re about to speak at someone, when Chie and Yukiko appear in front of them both with matching expressions of glee.

Chie’s mouth moves, quirking upwards as she gives a stunned Naoto a thumbs-up. Yukiko, however, tilts her head at him, appraising. Her mouth moves as well; a great wall of static noise blocks out her words but her lips shape the letters ‘O’ and ‘K” and he absently sees his own head turning to mimic looking in her direction.

“I’m fine,” he feels his body say in his absence.

---

It’s over. The pageant is over. Everything is finally, finally over.

He barely even waits until everyone is off the stage before he’s pulling the wig off his head as though it burns him. He tosses it at someone beside him, not caring whom, and immediately grabs for the bag full of his clothes – his clothes – that someone has apparently stashed backstage for him. (Probably Naoto.)

The world is a blur around him and he all but runs to the bathroom and slams his shoulder into the door. He’s already kicking off the shoes before he even makes it into the closest stall. The first thing off is the stockings, which he nearly trips over as he tries to yank them from his legs as gently – but quickly – as he can, because he doesn’t want to tear them. He’ll have to return everything in one piece; he doesn’t know whom any of this belongs to. He whips them over top the side of the stall and lets them hang there, reaching for the skirt next and hearing something ‘pop!’ as he tugs it down almost before it’s completely unfastened. It joins the stockings in a whirl of fabric.

Still in the top, the scarf, the bra, he unzips his duffel bag and starts grabbing at the clothing inside, not even caring what he pulls out first. He separates a pant leg from a jacket sleeve and drops the jacket back into the bag. As he slides his legs into his pants his knees nearly buckle in desperate relief.

Never again never again never again

The frigid wall, the cloak of numbness, the nothing inside his head; all of it starts to peel and crack and unravel as his violently shaking hands fumble with his button. It takes him far too long to get them fastened, scraping his knuckles on he teeth of his zipper, but when they’re finally, finally, FINALLY ON, the breath leaves his lungs like he’s been slashed open and he has to lurch forward to brace himself against the wall. He trembles, gulps in lungful after lungful of air like a dying man and it still isn’t enough, still feels too shallow. All the color has left his vision, leaving only blacks and whites and greys behind in the ever-tightening circle of static sparkling at the edges of his eyes. He feels unbalanced, off-kilter; his head spins as he continues to try and fill his chest with enough air to keep him above the line of blind panic.

He wonders just how much adrenaline a human body can handle in a day before serious damage is done.

But he can’t relax yet. There’s still the rest of the girl’s uniform, and then the makeup, and he doesn’t know if he has enough left in him to keep going right now. He’s running on sheer luck – body too sick and anxious, deprived of any kind of fuel beyond adrenaline and well-practiced autopilot since yesterday afternoon. And even then, not by much, since everything had come up again after seeing his name on the sign up sheet. How he’s standing he has no idea; how he’s going to make it home, he doesn’t want to think about.

He wills his body to move, to peel off the remainder of the costume – because he has to think of it that way, it cannot be anything else – and locate the toughest part of his own clothing to put back on. He doesn’t look down as he practically rips off the bra, nearly drops his next item of clothing into the toilet in his haste and rising exhaustion. He only gets stuck for a moment as it rolls up underneath itself, but he’s done this before, so many times, in fact, that detangling himself has become muscle memory by now. He rights the fabric, tugs it down over his torso, runs the palms of his hands down the smoother, flatter surface of his chest.

Breathe in. Hold it. Breathe out. Almost done, almost done.

The shirt takes several minutes to button. He keeps getting the wrong hole, keeps slipping as he tries to push the buttons through only for them to resist. He’s better now that he has pants on, more in his own body than he has been in hours, but he’s still not entirely there, not completely whole again. He won’t be until he can put this entire fucking day behind him and he can’t even start to do that until he can get his goddamn clothes on, please just button!

He gives up on the last couple of buttons, letting them hang open; they don’t go low enough to show the flesh-colored fabric beneath, so it doesn’t matter. The rest of the shirt is fastened, though, which is good enough for now. He grabs for his uniform jacket and pulls it on without a hitch. Somehow he manages to get his socks and shoes on without sliding down the wall and cracking his head open on the tiled floor.

He’s stuffing the pageant costume into the bag so he doesn’t have to look at it anymore when he spots the pack of makeup remover wipes tucked into the bottom. He owes Naoto everything, anything; anything they want, he will gladly give them. He will run himself ragged in the TV world to earn as much money as he needs to, if only for this one last kindness that his friend has shown him.

He rips open the pack and feverishly starts to scrub at his face with the first wipe he can get his fingers around. It hurts; even through the numbness still plaguing him and the chasm between his body and his mind he can feel his skin starting to burn. He doesn’t remember if Naoto put foundation on him – he doesn’t think they did – but he scrubs and scrubs and scrubs at his eye makeup, at his cheeks, at his lips, until he can taste copper on his tongue and see stars behind his lids. He grabs another wipe and keeps going. He doesn’t dare step out of the stall until the makeup wipes come away clean.

He washes his face with cold water at the sink, both to clear away the film of makeup remover and to quell the rawness of his skin. He watches the water stream around his freezing hands just like he did yesterday and absolutely does not look up at the mirror.

Somewhere out in the hallway he can hear clock chimes; he counts them to himself long after they’ve stopped.

---

He’s almost human again when he reemerges from the bathroom and finds his way back to his friends. Truthfully he wants nothing more than to hug the living daylights out of Naoto and then roll into a ditch somewhere to sleep for a million years. He can’t, though; he knows he has to make an appearance with the rest of the group or even the most oblivious among them will get suspicious. He doesn’t have the energy to think up a lie.

He shuffles his way into the classroom and sinks down into a nearby chair, legs wobbly and threatening to fail him. Once he can focus on something other than keeping himself upright, he takes a moment to properly look around the room. It’s weird seeing it suddenly, (even through the grey veil still clouding the edges of his vision,) since he’s barely registered anything around him for the past two days. He’s exhausted and probably hungry and really just wants to go home, but there’s still that responsible part of him that thinks he should try and rejoin the living and clean up the classroom with his friends. Though, looking harder, it seems like most of the decorations have been taken down already.

Just how much time did he lose?

“There you are! Damn, I was wondering where you disappeared to.” Yosuke steps over to him, also back in his own clothes, and slumps into the chair adjacent him. There is still makeup on his face, and his hair has a crimp mark where the hair tie had previously been. He looks haggard.

Souji doesn’t say anything I return, only gives his best friend shaky smile that goes nowhere near his eyes; he doesn’t think he can manages human words right now.

Luckily it doesn’t seem like Yosuke notices. Instead, he gives Souji a pitiful look and says, “Duuuuuuude, how’d you get your makeup off? Rise keeps saying she doesn’t have anything because she ‘forgot.’” He snorts sardonically and levels an unamused look over his shoulder at where the girls are snapping pictures of Teddie still in full costume. “’Forgot,’ my ass,” he grumbles. “Probably forgot on purpose just to make us suffer longer.”

Souji makes a mental note to ask Naoto if they paid for his makeup wipes out of their own pocket, and how much he owes them for it.

He doesn’t answer – again – but he does expend a little of what energy he has left to lean over and unzip his duffle bag. He doesn’t let his eyes focus on anything inside, just feels around until the familiar crinkle of plastic reaches him. Covertly, he taps the pack of remover wipes against Yosuke’s knee.

Yosuke looks down, confused, before taking the pack with barely-contained glee. He fixes Souji with a face-splitting grin. “Oh man, you are the best, Partner!” He hurries to stand, shooting Souji a quick, “be right back,” and nigh on sprinting towards the door. He nearly runs into Kanji as he’s leaving, the other boy apparently just now returning from changing out of his own costume with the dress draped over his arm.

Yosuke actually grabs kanji by the elbow and drags him back out into the hallway with a hushed, “come on!” The two of them disappear around the corner.

It would be funny, Souji thinks; probably should be funny, but the whole situation is some kind of overly-customized personal hell, and he’s about two steps away from saying “screw it” and slinking out the door to make his own escape.

He never gets the chance.

Somewhere, at some point in his life, Souji must have cashed in all of his good luck and used it up forever because its only once Yosuke and Kanji have vanished that he realizes there’s no one left to distract the others. Rise spots him first and, with a bubbly, “Senpai, you’re back!” she hurries over and into his space.

“Look!” she beams, holding her phone out towards him, screen turned where he can see. “I took pictures of all of you!”

He makes the mistake of almost looking – even knowing full well what’s probably on her phone screen, he instinctively turns his gaze and catches sight of long silver braids.

Immediately he freezes, doesn’t let his eyes finish focusing on the image now shoved in his face. He can’t. He’s tried so hard, made absolutely sure that any mirror he passed, any reflective surface, any window for god’s sake, was kept just out of his line of vision. He’s tried, for two solid days to keep from looking at himself, to keep from thinking, and now it’s all about to come unraveled because Rise has photographic evidence of this complete massacre of a day.

He shifts his gaze over to Rise’s face instead, looks just past the edge of her cheek and doesn’t meet her eyes. He thinks he might feel his lips twitch cordially upwards at the corners – autopilot yet again – and thinks he might hear himself say something. It might be, “so I see”; it might be, “please kill me.” He isn’t sure. The room is starting to waver in his vision and the river inside his skull has begun trickling to life.

Whatever it was he said must not have been too bad, because Rise just giggles and leans back on her hip, pulling her phone with her. She grins down at it and starts poking at the screen, likely flipping through her pictures.

He wonders if he could make it to the door before she pulls up another one to show him.

Chie and Yukiko wander over, much more relaxed than Rise had been, and while that part is appreciated it’s rapidly becoming too crowded in the little sliver of classroom he’s found himself trapped in. He lets his mind pull away from his body, giving his friends a fake smile and a nod while he tries anxiously to see if he can spot Naoto anywhere. He can’t pinpoint the exact moment his subconscious started hyper-fixating on them, viewing them as safe, as shield, but he won’t complain. For once there is an anchor, a lifeline, even if Naoto can’t really do much right now; it’s been so long since he’s had any form of hope when his panic surges and rolls, tugging at him like a vicious tide. Even just knowing he wasn’t alone in this cage of people would be enough to ground him.

But Naoto isn’t here. Naoto isn’t here and Yosuke – who could have at least pulled their attention away from him – is off in the bathroom and there’s nothing to keep his heart from quickening in his chest like a frenzied moth.

“Hey could you send me those?” Chie is saying to Rise, blessedly not looking at him for the time being. “I’m gonna lord this over Yosuke’s head for weeks!”

Yukiko launches into a laughing fit and the level of static noise in the room ramps up to just shy of too much.

“You got it! Senpai, do you want me to send some to you, too? I got a bunch of cute pictures of you backstage~”

No, please no.

He pulls himself back into his own head on a burst of sheer adrenaline, clutching onto his fight or flight moment of sickening clarity to open his mouth and beg her not to---

A whirlwind of blue dress and blonde wig throws itself at him, practically into his lap, and suddenly Teddie is latched around his arm like a vice.

“Ooh ooh! Send one to me, Rise-chan! Send one to me!” He pulls a little yellow Junes-brand phone out of seemingly nowhere and shoves it into Rise’s hand. “I want a bear-utiful one of Sensei!”

Without even seeming to pause for breath, Teddie wraps back around his arm and sighs dreamily. The blonde wig brushes against his face. It feels too much like the silver one had.

Longer hair, a smaller waist, fuller hips, the swish of a skirt…

His chest is full of cinders.

Teddie beams up at him. He stares back with wide eyes, only vaguely seeing.

“You should have won, too, Sensei!” Teddie says – very loudly, right near his ear. “Just think of it! We could have been heartbreakers together, on the hunt for bear-utiful admirers!”

The cinders in his throat climb higher, choking him, burning everything in their path.

Teddie sighs again. “Sensei makes such a pretty girl.”

Everything whites out.

It’s like being dropped into dark, freezing water; his body is paralyzed, rendered immobile in the sharpest, most bone-deep way, with every inch of skin so cold it feels like a thousand shards of ice digging into him and twisting. It forces the air from his lungs, suspends it in time so that he cannot draw another breath to replace it. He feels the frigid water seep into his mind, his mouth, his chest, feels the way it drains everything from his body until he is so numb he can’t even call his limbs to shake. There is no sound, no voices – only the muted rush of the water as it claims him and fills his head with silence.

---

There are flashes of black and grey in his vision.

From far, far away, he catches a glimpse of himself in the school hallway as he throws himself out into it and against a wall. He sees Yosuke and Kanji, coming casually towards him, sees their faces as he passes, shocked and confused.

He sees the door to the stairwell. He sees the landing halfway down.

He sees Naoto near the bottom, close to the exit to the first floor, heading upwards in his direction. He sees their look of terror as they notice him, the recognition dawning in their eyes, sees them reach out as if to intercept him. He sees himself dodge, sees his body swing itself over the railing and past the last couple of steps, landing wrong and slipping, falling, catching himself with the palms of his hands and using the last of that momentum to fling himself out the door.

He sees the front entrance of the school. He sees the walkway beyond.

He sees nothing after that.

---

The world is dark around him as he slowly blinks his eyes open. He is back in his room at his uncle’s house; he can just barely make out the outline of the desk, the couch, the TV in what faint moonlight filters in through the windows behind him. The wall is hard and unforgiving at his back; the floor is cold on his already-cold legs. Vaguely he notes that he is bare from the waist up, the skin of his arms and chest and shoulders all exposed to the chill of the room.

His hands sting and his knees ache. He has no idea what time it is.

“I’m fine,” he whispers to no one. His voice, though weak and raw, echoes like a temple bell in the maddening quiet of his dark, empty bedroom. In what sounds like a dark, empty house.

He licks at his lips, closes his eyes. He leans his head back again and rests it against the wall. “I’m fine.”

His next exhale is wet and trembling, like the dying breath of a drowning victim, pulled from the river only to die with water in his lungs. There is something crusted under the fingernails of his right hand. He touches it with the tip of a finger from his left hand and finds it thick and sticky beneath the first layer. Something smells sweet and coppery. There is a long stripe of stinging pain across the side of his left arm when he shifts it. He doesn’t focus on it.

There is a buzzing noise and a square of light shines from his pants pocket in the perfect outline of his phone. He lolls his head to stare at it until it goes away. It comes back what feels like a few moments later. Again and again, he watches as it blinks until going dark once more.

“I’m fine,” he whispers as the lead in his bones pulls him down to curl up on the floor against the side of the couch.

“I’m fine,” he whispers again as he lets the exhaustion settle across him like a weighted blanket and slips his eyes close.

“I’m fine,” he whispers like a mantra as sleep finally takes him.

His dreams are full of fog and shadowy places that he does not recognize; a crumbling indoor maze with whispering voices, a rooftop surrounded on all sides by impossibly high chain link fence. He stands on one end of the red-washed roof beneath a sky of blood and onyx and watches himself watch back from the other side.

“I’m fine,” he whispers to the figure across from him.

A wail of anguish rises from their chests, long and loud and keening, and the figure lurches forward to bury its face in its hands.

“No, I’m NOT!”

14 notes · View notes

mystieres · 5 years

Text

hello

it’s swagoru. this will be a message for the people who care about me or just don’t have anything else to do. (sorry if this is straightforward.) it is april 3 today, so please don’t treat this as a prank.

includes: general mood for the past few months, notice of hiatus, where else u can find me, and my plans while i’m on hiatus

once you’ve started reading this, please read through everything. i might cause misunderstandings if only part of this is read.

i am posting with the risk that people will not see this. and that’s alright. i just want to say it. i’m used to people not saying anything back for now. i never expect responses of any kind until they are actually given. this is a little pessimistic but i promise you all that i will not be doing anything reckless. and i promise that i do not blame anyone for this. the message was intended for the sole purpose of expressing how i feel and what i will be doing, and it is not against anyone.

i’ll start with the bad stuff first.

i’ll be frank, and i won’t blame anyone. i feel unwanted on social media and in general. and i don’t want anyone telling me that they did want me around all along, because that doesn’t change the way i experienced or the way i currently feel. i don’t want anyone to apologize for this either, because maybe they really don’t want me around, or they didn’t know how i felt. in any way, none of you are ultimately responsible for how i feel. don’t be. don’t feel responsible. in the end, i should be the one responsible for my own feelings and happiness. it’s just what i’m feeling right now. but i really do love and appreciate the messages of help i have gotten, all the gifts. they have pushed me forward.

while i tried to be as accommodating as possible before, i somehow ended up becoming selfish. as much as i tried to prevent people becoming uncomfortable, somehow i did. i unknowingly hurt others or made them uncomfortable. i do have my own personal problems but i won’t use them as an excuse. i’ve been through a lot, but it shouldn’t have changed the way i talked with others. i’m sorry.

i know i might have been rude or weird without being aware of it. but i just wanted you all to know that i appreciate you all a lot. everything has been causing me anxiety lately. i don’t know what i’m supposed to feel on social media anymore. i feel like i don’t belong anywhere anymore. irl, all my other friends are in relationships, and i’m really starting to feel that i was meant to be a lone wolf. right now, everyone’s already developed close ties when i started interacting with them.

in short, when it comes to building relationships and socializing, while some of you consider yourselves bad at doing this, i am a complete failure. i don’t know how to interact with past friends. even a hello seems awkward and like a burden. but i am afraid of hurting, of being hurt, leaving, and being left behind. and it always feels like something is going out of my control. and i am creating and maintaining the status quo of being alone. i am hoping that this will change. of course, i should be changing the way that i look at myself. but i see myself as nothing more than a problem to others, and have been for the past six or so years.

now, some of you might have offered or will offer your dms for me, and i appreciate it. it really means a lot. unfortunately, i’ve never been the type to want to rely on anyone because then, i’d feel like a burden. most of the time i’d prefer to just rely on myself instead of giving other people more problems as i know they’re busy, or i’m just not close with them. i have been so used to people spoon-feeding me, or completely leaving things to me, that asking for help is a completely foreign idea. someone like me, who is completely aware of her weaknesses, needs to learn how to rely on others. i would like to change this someday, but it’s just improbable for me to do that right now.

i have been having periods of silence where i would refuse to talk or reply to anyone for a few days at a time unless necessary. this has happened at least twice in the past month. i don’t want to feel rude or like a problem. another reason is that i don’t get that much interactions anymore. so i just don’t see any point. my lack of self-esteem aside, maybe i’m not that likable, i’m not very fun to talk to, or maybe what i make sucks or i’m just not talented enough. the algorithm has something to do with it too, i guess. all of them are good explanations.

a lot of you can understand how disheartening that must feel. personally it makes me feel inferior or unwanted. often i get told, “well, screw what they do. just continue to do your stuff!” and i will. i tell this to other people a lot. i’ll continue to draw and write. but as for small talk, i don’t know what exactly to say. there has to be a point now. i can’t say things that don’t make sense anymore.

so to the people i know on tumblr, instagram, twitter, and discord, thank you so much for being a great part of my little circle of friends. i’m going to admit i don’t keep many. i love you all so much that you’ve all made me cry with your kind words, gifts, and playlists. the music, art, writing, and advice you share. a bunch of you even met me before i turned into a legal adult, and even saw me through graduation. although i can’t recall every single thing i’ve experienced, i just wanted you all to know that i’ve been thankful for everything so far. you’re all great and amazing people. and i feel like i can’t express it enough. i am hoping that this is just another phase of me trying to break out of my shell.

there is a high likelihood of me going on an indefinite hiatus. this has happened before. all these past breaks have been half-assed and only making my emotional health worse. if i feel unwanted, then something must be wrong with me and i must change it myself. but i can’t do it while being problematic to others. it’s self-defeating. i must go on and better myself. and most of all, i’m tired of treating my depression and adhd as excuses. i’ll experience problems, but i don’t want to talk about them anymore when i could just do something.

i have logged out of my current discord because i always feel compelled to open messages and talk. i’m not forced. but i’m making myself uncomfortable.

twitter will probably be the exception (handle: swagoru_), and i will continue posting online, waaay less on tumblr. i cannot guarantee replies to messages. i’ve tried socializing but i just suck, so i’m too afraid to reply to anything. i have also put up a wordpress (check reblogs for the site) but there’s nothing in it yet. best site ever, because i won’t feel pressured or forced to interact or gain clout.

and here’s some slightly better news. please let me flex for now.

i am graduating with around/at least 11 awards bagged in total for my entire high school life (grades 9-12). some math contests and journalism stuff. and i am going on to college.

it leaves me with just one issue: money. i am budgeting the inheritance i received from my late mother. aside from her, no one else is earning money for me. i have the support of my grandparents but i want to establish financial independence as soon as possible. i tried to apply for a job a while back but i was so busy. but i might take it this summer. for months i have been considering commissions, but it’s either i don’t have enough clout or talent to do them. my works barely get any notice so i’m deciding against it. but i am always going to try improving my art, writing, and myself. one day i will be brave enough to open commissions. i hope some of you will consider when i have my portfolio ready.

this means that i will be a lot busier preparing and improving myself. this also serves as my adjustment period from a high school student who was sheltered and completely dependent all her life to someone who is slowly being introduced into adulthood and reality. i’m still learning how to live. i can’t let others befriend me while i’m still a mess. and most of all, even with my conditions, i don’t expect the world to adjust to me.

but when i become active here again, i hope that i’ll have the courage to speak and reply like usual. i hope to get rid of all this negativity and this shyness i must overcome.

i hope you read through everything. i’m going to miss you guys. i don’t know when i’ll be more active to talk. hopefully when we do, i will have become a better person by then.

all the love,

swagoru 💙

#mentions of depression #mentions of anxiety #mentions of adhd #real life talk #swagoru on hiatus

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