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toprayarc · 2 months

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BAD COPS, GOOD CRIMINALS, AND SOMETHING IN-BETWEEN: A BACKGROUND DRABBLE, DEPICTING THE EVENTS PREVIOUS TO MARI'S DESCENT TO BEING ON THE RUN. CANON CREATED IN AFFILIATION WITH @TOCOOK, @METHEMPIRE, AND @GUSTAVOS. CONTENT WARNINGS ARE AS FOLLOWS— ABUSE MENTIONS, C-PTSD SYMPTOMS, ADDICTION / DRUG USE, ABUSE OF POWER, MURDER / DEATH, VIOLENCE, MANIPULATION.

in 2001, philadelphia police department send their best and brightest (otherwise known as the individuals with more bendable moral codes) to the door of state judge kenji dai’s home. with a notepad in hand, and a crooked jaw set straight, mike ehrmantraut presses a little further into a domestic dispute call than what self preservation tells him to. work with me, kid, he murmurs beneath a tired tone and a sidestepped gaze from the nearby father. give me something to go off of, he pushes, but sixteen year old mari dai is watching her hands unfold and refold in her lap, shrugging her shoulders inward, and telling him there isn’t anything to give. there’s nothing to talk about, she mutters, and traces the side of her sock onto the hardwood flooring. thanks for checking in, is what her father says as they leave, wrapping his grasp around the edge of the front door, but mike’s stare never strays off the beaten path in the slightest, watching carefully as the white-clad teenager in question peeks her way out from the closed curtains — and then abruptly disappears.

several days later, in the closed-blinded office of philadelphia’s police department, mike ehrmantraut is biting out the words something is going on in that house. a sigh circulates in return, giving empty advice that neither officer of the law believes to amount to anything: you wanna make an accusation, mike — you go right ahead. can’t stop you. but you and i both know how this goes. the silence sits between the two, and a bitter-breathed exhale works in tandem with an exit, leading his patrol car right down the street mike had driven down only a few days previous. the crackle of gravel aligns with his window rolling downward, pace slowing to creep in an approach to the driveway that now has carved itself empty: with the exception of one. a frown digs into the side of his cheek, watching as a distant form collects little shards of what he can only assume to be the remains of a bottle, tucking them into a crinkled plastic bag, and looking over her shoulder every few seconds. any slow pace has lulled to a stop, brakes creaking and meeting the gaze of a blank-faced sixteen year old. what do you want, she spits from across the yard, all heat and no quiet hesitation, and it’s almost enough to make him chuckle. instead, he raises his eyebrows just the slightest, and tells her he’s just doing his rounds. i’m checking in, is what he means, and they both know it. she stares at him for a moment longer, picks up a final shard of glass to fold inside of her palm briefly, and tells him there’s probably something more important going on elsewhere. he pauses, the faint rustle of windchimes ringing in the distance, and says simply: no, i don’t think there is.

only a year later does word circulate about matt ehrmantraut’s death, with mari’s close ear to the ground hearing murmurs and whispers on how stand-up cop mike ehrmantraut is drowning in grief. at dinnertime, her finger traces along the warped edge of her desk, sheltered into her room, and pries out a fake i.d from the box hidden in the very back of her closet. silent steps carry her out of her front door, catching the nearest bus and working her way into a bar that surrounds her in the hustle and bustle of a world she only finds a brief reprieve in. the taste of a watered down whiskey hits the back of her throat, spinning the glass in her palm as she watches the in’s and out’s of a dive bar that find it just not worth their time to argue with her by now. she’s got an answer for everything, they’re not paid enough to care, and her fake i.d is passable enough to get her in the door. what more do they need? ignorance in the face of the law isn’t breaking the law — it’s just ignorance. plausible deniability, and no one in this town gives enough of a shit to figure out anything otherwise.

living vicariously through the chatter in bars has been enough to know a little more about the cop who wouldn’t stop making his rounds in mari’s neighborhood, and once the non-concealable scar came with no return from her and only a glimpse of her gaze through the drawn-curtained window, any brief conversations held dwindled down to nothing. her choices are limited, his options were none, and trying to find an out through a law that abides by nothing but dollar signs and false hierarchies isn’t a dream that mari has ever invested into. but sometimes, she likes to hear about him. sometimes, she likes to think of the things she could say. it’s only on the chances of picking just the right dive bar at just the right time that makes those hushed whispers into something more of a reality — a gruff voice familiarizing itself at the end of the bar. her back molar outlines the inside of her cheek, still fresh with a nervous-found wound, before impulse overrides any logic.

people say drinking alone is dangerous, is what she tosses out into the air as she hops onto a nearby barstool. mike’s voice rumbles, not quite as humorous as it is dry, letting her know that he’s heard something similar about teen drinking. a smirk twitches at the corner of her lip, an empty glass nudged his way, with her stare fixating on a nearby bartender briefly. a fluid defense of it not looking like she’s got anything left to drink contrasts with a slow introduction to truth, hindered only by a pause before mari’s voice drops to a low murmur. she says thanks — any reasonings going unsaid, with quiet implications and silent understandings knitting themselves underneath. another pause stretches outward, with her finger tracing over the edge of the bar and a swallow of mike’s drink working itself between his lips. the clock ticks onward, a repetitive touch circling itself over a worn surface, before she tacks on one additional word after: sorry. it breathes itself hesitant, as if not quite sure what to apologize for, and the gentle clink of mike’s glass returns to the space in front of him.

something close to a bittered wane wedges itself into his voice, boomeranging the sentiment right back to her. me too. the statement is simple, as plain as hers is, and neither need more of a heart-to-heart to pinpoint just where it hurts. mari’s gaze watches as the remainder of his drink dissipates, leaving nothing but a hollow-shell and a bar napkin stuck beneath it. as the minutes waste themselves away, and the last drops of liquor swipe themselves clean, mike heaves out a sigh, and tugs a pen from his jacket pocket. i’m moving on, he states, all gruff and factual with only a scribble of numbers to spare. he stands, the napkin nudging against her palm, as a stare levels out to her. look after yourself, kid, he advices, and gestures to the dim surroundings of the bar. you won’t find anything good in places like this.

the calls come in small increments. how are you holding up, keep an eye on your mother, and is that boyfriend of yours behaving himself all stack into five minute phone calls that span out over the years. she tells him things in return — like she’s holding up just fine, her mother should learn how to take care of herself, and her boyfriend never behaves himself so mike should give up on that dream. sometimes she’ll get a brief chuckle through the phone, sometimes she can hear a distant huff of disapproval, and sometimes it’s a silence that says everything she needs to know. it’s nothing special, but it’s a secret that keeps itself contained to just the bare essentials. mike doesn’t need to know anything more than what she tells him, but his stand-up citizen routine doesn’t fool her. he left the very day after two cops dropped dead, and she doesn’t need to hear the shots ring out to know who the hell pulled the trigger. it’s why she keeps calling, she thinks. part of why she keeps calling, at least, because there’s some pieces of her past she doesn’t know how to let go of, and that younger year, sort-of-tipsy self being given ten digits towards a lifeline isn’t something she takes lightly.

so much so, that when her apartment space clears and her life bumps down to a population count of one, there’s no hesitation in packing her bags and sob-storying her way into a one way plane ticket to new mexico. mari needs a clean slate, mike found his in that city 5 years ago, and albuquerque welcomes her in with a straight faced mike ehrmantraut running his hand over his face as she dials his number for a couch to crash on. three days and some subtle amounts of digging later, he tells her two weeks, as she changes the channel for the 10th time in their conversation. and no visitors, he adds, with just a little less patience than before. her tongue clicks against her cheek, humming as she presses a button on the remote again, and tosses out a comment that runs any last patience downward. why, you got something to hide? her shit-eating smirk meets his unamused disapproval, and any formal barriers shred themselves shy. nothing you haven’t already tried to find, he responds, and unsaid understandings birth anew. mari’s laugh echoes through the room, telling him she’s glad his skills aren’t slipping in his old age. he shakes his head, and only pauses in his step as she follows up with a piece of advice: you might want to consider some other hiding spots, though. mari clicks through a channel, flashes her pearly whites in a grin, and finishes any last wipe-aways of lies with a taunt — your collection of suppressors is pretty tempting for a girl like me.

mike could tell himself that he gets her in the door with gustavo fring for the sake of his couch being free again, but he doesn’t. the world is a rat-race of whoever bears their teeth the sharpest, and mari may have proved she’s a sharp-shooter and a clean-criminal, but he still remembers the days before her left eye had a permanent reminder on why she became that way. she’s older, wiser, but not as old and wise as he is, and he knows there’s something beneath all those laugh-tracked smirks and casual callousness. he’s got too many memories of her looking over her shoulder to focus entirely on the days that she doesn’t. or, seemingly doesn’t, because their weekly diner chats and early morning pop-ups seem to be the only thing that she keeps around in her life. she does her job well, she’s more than equipped for her line of work, but he’s been around the block enough times to know that padlocking the world shut comes at a cost. mike may roll his eyes as she dumps 10 packets of sugar and too many cups of creamer into her 6am coffee, but if he chooses to stand outside while she burns down a cigarette and makes just a little more conversation than usual, he’s in no denial that it might be the only conversation of the day she has. so, maybe he was never a good cop. maybe he’s not even a good criminal. but, at the very least, mike thinks he owes it to her to try to be a good friend.

by the time 2009 rolls around, and mari’s life is a work-play cycle on repeat, mike tosses the consideration of suggesting to find a friend her age between his teeth. it never makes its way out, in a careful reminder of just who mari dai is — and what she refuses to be — but he does find a little relief when she mentions plans that are more comfortable, rather than concerning. i’m going birdwatching with a friend, she admits after a diner breakfast that only finds itself half eaten. her fork nudges at syrup-soaked pancakes, cheek resting in her palm as her gaze raises. an eyebrow perks, humor concealing any small admittances that mike doesn’t miss. got any advice, old man? she teases, and he swallows a mouthful of black coffee before telling her a little sliver of truth he isn’t so sure she’s going to listen to. don’t overcomplicate it, he murmurs, adjusting his palm against the newspaper, and choosing to ignore when mari asks what’s so complicated about birdwatching. avoidance, he knows, is more of an answer than she wants it to be.

however, that friend in question seems to be a little more close to home than expected. jesse pinkman: textbook addict, meth cook sidekick, the unfortunate companion of a man that mike thinks has never learned the meaning of quit while he’s ahead, and apparently, mari dai’s newfound friend. it’s a thin line between business and pleasure that skews into nothing, when her routine presence turns to absence and her phone skips to voicemail. he’s aware mari has her fair share of hobbies —- some of which are people — but skipping out on work is a waving red flag if he’s ever seen one. it’s not hard to figure out where she’s ended up, and any suspicions turn factual when her re-entry into the workplace is lock-jawed and jittery. addiction, regardless of mari’s so-called functionality, is still addiction, and her exceptional skills don’t make her any exception to the rule. her indulgent habits have never made her a liability before, but mike is well aware: this won’t fly. they’ve both got a boss to answer to, and the product they’re pushing has no place to become something that mari keeps on taking. but getting her to do something she doesn’t want to do, comes down to not just one factor, but two. if she’s got a supplier, mike’s dose of advice won’t cease any downward spiral dealings, and jesse pinkman has enough on his plate as is.

you know his policy, mike sighs against the spark of her lighter and a pupil-blown blink. smoke billows between them, a hand flicking a flame to life repetitively as mari tries to fend off the inevitable. it’s never been an issue before, she bites out along with a short sniff and a stand-still gaze that only adds onto the already-existing issue. he keeps his tone straight, leveling a stare that says more than what his words do. you’re right, he affirms, before letting discretion speak the rest of his implications. this hasn’t been an issue before. mike knows, just like she does, that this high-rise of a behavior isn’t comparable to any past discussions on late-night drinking or numb-toothed recreations, and trying to fool a man like him, isn’t as easy as any stray idiots she decides to drag through her front door. mari draws from her cigarette, flicks her lighter to life again, and then drops her gaze. it makes things easier, she murmurs in the midst of another cloud of smoke. mike quiets, trying to find the line dividing business and personal matters, and picks something in-between. no, he says, as gentle as it is, firm. it really doesn’t.

in an impromptu evening of what mike has decided to deem as something of a payment on an infinite debt, mari has found herself on his couch yet again. over the years, he’s learned that she’ll only sit tucked into the very corner of the left side of the couch, and she won’t ingest a single movie he decides to put on. he watches his tv, mari blasts music from a bygone era through her headphones, and occasionally, they’ll say something. tonight, however, is not following any of those rules. she sits in the middle of his couch, the sides of her forearms resting on her knees, and her hands clasped together as if preparing for a prayer. i’m guessing you know who my friend is, she exhales through a slightly bittered laugh. mike gives a hmph of a noise in confirmation, pours himself a cup of coffee, and prepares for whatever confrontation mari has in mind. yet, instead, she blinks down at the ground, traces her sock over the hardwood flooring like she’d done so many years ago, and asks him what his opinion on jesse pinkman is. any surprise is filtered away from his features, replaced with a contemplative silence that tells her he’s choosing his words carefully. little fish, in a big pond, he starts, and then swallows a sigh, finishing his admittance: and he’s starting to drown.

a week later, mari’s voice is carrying itself over the phone in a haphazard panic that tells mike he’s got about ten minutes or less before she’s past the point of no return. absolutely not, she’s repeating, the faint jingle of keys in the background eliciting an upturn of his head to stare at the ceiling. you’re not going to fucking mexico without me, she continues, her words rushing together. she presses onward, telling him he can tell gustavo fring himself that she doesn’t trust this. if he needs an enforcer, she says, i’ve more than proved myself. the slam of her car door aligns with her half-sales pitch, half-plea. that is not what this is about, mike responds, his slow pace of words contrasting hers. it is not in your best interest, or mine, to go off book on this one. a pause in any rustle or background noise gifts a sign of getting through, and mike takes his cue to carry onward. it’ll be two days, and then we’re back to business, he reassures, and mari swallows. her forehead presses against her steering wheel, keys palmed into her hand as her eyes close. promise me, mike, she murmurs through the receiver, sounding just a little bit more like that sixteen year old girl, and mike closes his eyes too. i promise, he says, and forces himself to keep it at that.

two days and a notice of mike’s recuperation period later, mari’s holding well over twenty insults and reasons on exactly why she didn’t trust that mexico trip to begin with behind her tongue. gustavo fring may deal with her less-than-serious comments she dishes out, but arguing with him over something that’s already happened is a waste of her goddamn energy. instead, she bides her time, and thinks that the next time mike decides to go on a stay-cation across the border, she’s not giving in for anything. the days pass slowly, with jesse dwindling out into the distance with his on-again off-again girlfriend, and mari designates her new task as familiarizing herself with the empty corners of her apartment. that new task of hers, however, doesn’t make it to even two weeks, before gustavo fring is dropping dead, and mike’s voice is slinging back across the receiver. his words rumble through the speaker of her phone, telling her it’s only a matter of time, and reminding her that a one-way ticket to elsewhere is a small price to pay. what about you, she tosses out into the speaker-phoned conversation as she packs, and mike’s sigh is disgruntled enough for her to imagine the twitch of his lip to follow. i’ve got to wrap things up, he says, and then pauses long enough for her to visualize him holding back another sigh. and then? mari prompts, because neither are under the impression that the suggestion of a matter of time doesn’t apply to him, either. on the other end of the phone, mike glances out to 308 negra arroyo lane, and tells her he’ll be getting the hell out of dodge, too.

marissa dai died plenty of years ago, and planning a pseudo-death is a security measure in maintaining the existence of mari, herself. excessive is what mike had called it back when she’d first mentioned the idea, but thorough, is what mari’s decided to call it, now. recreating herself is something she does figuratively as is, and slapping on a new name to match is nothing she’s got any room to be sentimental over. being mari dai has its perks, but there’s more of a risk, now, and while leaving the few connections she has behind isn’t her first choice, it happens to be the only one available. that is, until jesse’s contact name is flashing on her screen, with a ramble about a poison cigarette that has somehow removed itself from his pockets, and only one person who fits the bill on why they’d take it to begin with. walter white is a name that hasn’t ever quite made it into the conversation, but mari’s been circulating the great heisenberg for longer than he’s been aware of. it doesn’t take an idiot to put two and two together, she thinks, but it takes a particular brand of man to condition someone into this level of submission. or devotion. or both, because mari’s no stranger to the big-egoed eagerly-greedy kind of man that walter seems to be, and reading out the situation is as instinctive as any of her next moves are. but first, she needs more information, and mike ehrmantraut is full of it.

give me a rundown on what you know about jesse pinkman, is what she leads with. below ten minutes, and any thoughts on his partner are appreciated, is what she adds on afterwards. there’s hardly a pause, before mike’s response of should i ask why, is as flat as mari expects it to be. the faint rustle of the phone pairs with a scoff, her head shaking as her car flies through a stop sign and her palm adjusts on the wheel. i’m not killing him, if that’s your concern, she retorts, and swerves out and around a car that’s decidedly going too slow for her taste. mike reels out the hits, avoids any too-personal touches, and, in under ten minutes, delivers a nearly-full rundown on the man in question — with a few jabs at walter mixed in the middle. after 20 seconds of what mike can only assume to be a processing time, mari clicks her tongue, gives a hmph of contemplation, and then says thanks, before abruptly hanging up. he closes his phone, slides it into his pocket, and knows that that conversation most certainly will not be the end of it.

it’s no surprise when mike picks up the phone to mari asking for a favor. what is, however, is the specific favor in question. even more, is the sheer determination in it. he’s been around mari for long enough to know when to sway her mind, and when it’s near impossible to even try. picking your battles with her is the most efficient and effective route, and this isn’t a battle he believes she’s ready or willing to give up. what’s your move here, he asks through a veiled layer of uncertainty, and mari hesitates. he needs an out, she says, her voice shrinking for only half of a second. mari inhales, sliding her hand around the rings that dangle around her neck, and finishes her answer as simply as she can: i’m prepared to give him one.

a way out isn’t as clean or efficient as mari had planned on, but she’s chalking that up to a business-woman who’s gone off leash. handcuffs, a DEA agent, or even a warrant out for her arrest were all on the list of risks in lingering around to try to get an ending tied up in a bow, but this? this wasn’t quite expected. an answer to who has it out for her is cursive looped in lydia rodarte-quayle’s name, and while mari’s sure mike has tried his best to deter her hit-man hiring activities, she would’ve preferred if it was through a bullet, rather than a stern warning. spending an already risky afternoon disposing of a body is more than just an annoyance, and at this point: it’s a liability.

after she catches her breath, mike’s ten digits dial into her phone, and mari’s tone weathers thin as it crackles through the other end. get ahold of your chihuahua associate, she drawls. i’m risking enough as is, and while i’d love to tally some numbers up in any other circumstance, i’m not feeling too competitive right now. mike’s jaw clicks, mari takes his silence as an understanding, and continues. i can’t stick around, she states, and sinks a bite into the inside of her cheek. a beat of silence stagnates, and then her point forges forward. but i’m taking him with me. neither end of the call needs a name, to know exactly who she’s talking about, and mike slowly hauls himself upward, adjusting the phone in his hand. alright. his confirmation is brief, moving to pluck his keys off of the counter. he pauses. now? the question sits, both parties still attempting to pick options out of a mess that provides nearly none. mari inhales, exhales, and digs her shoe into the gravel beneath her. eventually, she speaks, her gaze darting to the skies. i guess there’s no time like the present.

the crawl of mike’s car coming to a stop parks right along the street, a short whine of his brakes echoing outward. the creak of his door opening doesn’t depart mari’s stare from the house that sits across from them, her lips wrapped around what he’d assume to not be her first cigarette upon arrival. he could ask if she’s ready, but this isn’t the type of situation that either of them were ever fully ready to encounter to begin with, so he simply listens to the crackle of tobacco and her slow exhales. thanks, she says, as if it’s almost a secret. and, to her, maybe it is. smoke flies out and up into the air, catching itself through the wind, and mike spares a glance her way. ash flutters downward, as she leans herself against her car. i’m sorry, she murmurs, and mike doesn’t need to ask what for. after a beat, he clasps his hands, leaning against her car beside her, and says don’t be, because leaving an old man who’s been on this road for a long time isn’t anything to be sorry for. she’s got a whole lot of life ahead of her, and the least mike can hope for, is that she won’t spend it forcing herself to be alone. he knows, just like she does, that as much as mari may paint herself selfish, and choose only a select few to do differently for, no one is as loyal as her.

though, jesse pinkman, he thinks, may come pretty damn close.

#drabble.#abuse cw #ptsd cw #drugs cw #addiction cw #murder cw #death cw #manipulation cw #violence cw #v. (arc i.) primary.#r. (jesse pinkman.) tocook.

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sickkiller · 2 months

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Is it normal that my relationship rush is already over, i feel like im faking my emotions towards him. Im not nervous anymore, like at all... I feel like I should still be. I mean he's the sweetest and cutest guy ever, also my first ever serious thing but my feelings are wearing off.

I remember just before we got together telling my other friend(ill refer to her by this or she/her for the rest of this post)i don't like my now bf romanticaly, i just liked him as a friend. I wanna tell someone about it cause i don't know if i actually like him or im just faking it so I don't want to hurt his feelings. She sent me screenshots of their convo (idk if it was bad that we did that), he was telling her all about how he likes me and he's afraid that i just want a quick boyfriend. Idk if the screenshots impacted anything, maybe they did.

I've always wanted to get into a wlw relationship but since i live in eastern europe its very looked down upon (my parents for example are very against it), is that why i just said yes when he asked... I don't want that to be true, I don't want to hurt him for saying this. I've never felt true romantic feelings towards a guy so i have no idea how this shit works. I feel so fake for saying yes but I would also feel so guilty if i said no.

Was it just the pressure from my other friend that led me to this... She was dead set on us being together, I was not(?) or I was... idk anymore. I don't want to tell him this cause he's so sweet and i can tell he geniuanly likes me, he's the one that starts all the conversations and I feel so guilty for that but I have almost nothing in common with him to talk about

He's also asked me multiple times about my ed history (i didnt tell him it was ed so he just asked why im kinda sad so much) I've never told him about it, i feel like he'll like me less which might be a good thing(?). I just want to know how i really feel about him, because I'm afraid that my emotions are just here cause I'm very easily bendable.

He texted me... I don't want to text him back or do I. I need help, he's so sweet everytime we talk i don't want to break his heart by telling him all of this but i also don't want to fake everything anymore. I feel like I need help... but I also don't want any, I'm just torn thats all.

I don't want to hurt him but I also don't want to hurt myself.

#i need some advice #so if anyone knows how to handle this #pls help me ngl #im cooked maybe even overcooked

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cosmicangel888 · 1 year

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The Dangers of NOT DISCERN YOUR OWN TRUTH ~ 5D

It is so sad, as a true healer, we pray, give light, daily walk in prayer, and sing to better days, and it is not a narrative of us-them, it is a narrative of wasted sacred life and no one is waking up.

Light workers bring light, offer light, show other ways, and to know, Source, love, light, grace and deep unconditional shifting, transitioning is within - possible and whole to be whatever any wants it to be; and no matter how many times you go, offer, give, in whatever way, there are the staunch 'beliefs' and practices of darkness that will be an utter waste of what is and always will be sacred;

Beliefs will break you or make you

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Discern how flowing, bendable, detached you are to your beliefs Ascension, self-actualization will include every day - to detach

Life is sacred

Your breath is sacred

Your heart is sacred

Your tissues, cells, brain, all is sacred; and those that play, do relentless magic to make their stories come true while all others suffer, while the energy being forced, and chanted, and deranged means nothing -

WE ARE ONE

LOVE IS ONENESS

Love begets love

Inner abundance begets outer abundance - it is simply law

THE DANGERS OF WITCH-craft & NON-Responsibility for ONENESS

Any doing spells, voodoo, and witchcraft - if it is not healing, and under your own high self guidance, and if not under universal laws in the enactment - will be karma and return and what is being shown, bathed over all doing so in order to prove to the most staunch stubborn selfish misguided - it is only resulting in destruction, and loss.

Spell work, sacrifice will result in loss, karma.

Unless this and the core selfish, which is wounding of lack of self, the pit we feel empty in, that makes us do such to get stuff, outcomes, people is a forcing of nature, and others free will - and will be immediate karma and loss;

At what point will people stop playing

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* Universal Laws

* Honouring, and being guided by the higher self, and God, (God would never ever guide any to do sacrifices or spell work - for all is within the mind and self loving honour of all life ) all that is before you is a soul lesson, growth, and purpose to love more, be more of inner feeding, inner design - spell work, magic on others to get, take, have a story work out is dangerous dangerous thought patterns and beliefs that do nothing but destroy and hurt, harm, deconstruct the sense of self - period

Who are you?

How sacred life is, our body, our mind, our eternal life that is a gift from Source, the real God, and there are those that will continue in the cycle of spells, harm, and emanating cancerous darkness, negativity to an entire globe, world, and city, affecting all

~ Readers are so very tired, the ancestors, and the guides are so tired to such babysitting to ensure the innocent do not get harmed, and these people still continue

~ When all in the community know what is going on - purposefully, intentional malice to innocent lives and why we offered years ago; sacrifice and spells only impale and implode, and the heavens have cried for years on the degradation done to humanity, to divine ones, and how little any cared to do 'the right thing' money was your poison to own, control, have outcomes, narratives your way and now the entire group intentions are their intentions story and truth, God are the only way out of the darkness all created

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- it is so so so sad

- Crime, violence, corruption, is not necessary

~ All any need to do is devote within

* heal

* acknowledge, accept, allow light to heal, transform, work with spirit, healing teams, the higher self - all is possible and there simply is no self love, self care to do what is right and many suffer.

* people that do spell work on you - do not care about you - they are deeply wounded and have no sense of self, and use such practices, scams, schemes, to fill what is missing within - and no amount of money, false schemes, spells will correct what is only within to do the work and heal

* how and what are you being told, shown, offered in the outer to discern truth, piercing truth of who you are within - what you are within to change and alter our reality in love, light, promise hope, and discernment for the higher mind, higher self, God, Source, and live in holistic alignment and manner?

I was never in a 3rd party, nor was there ever agreements, discussions, only deceit, denial, and ego's that choose to be better than another, choose money, title, and spiritual honour, life in honour will continue to mean nothing if there is is no healing, accountability - ego, wounding, all is unnecessary

wake up dear ones, please wake up - our world, our health, our inner connection, abundance - who are you and what do you exist within and all is sacred, magical - love is love, life is honour and good will

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All is energy Energy is sacred - you are the master in which you choose negative or positive how to affect, direct, intend - may lessons be that of grace and peace, and hope and never ever force another to be with you and on your path when you know it is not right within to do so.

Control none Dominate none Force none

* Right Use of Free Will and NON - Interference #1 LAW

* Law of BALANCE #2 LAW - if the first is not adhered - the balance will not be there and it is 'your life is your proof' sickness, illness, mental, emotional, spiritual confusion and loss, disease, destruction, all is shown - all is energy - and it is showing how sick thought bring sick world - that is corruption and at what cost It has been our message from day one.

So sad.

God, Essence of eternal life is within; deceit, manipulation, spell casting, warping entire lives to get, take, to have a false corrupt title, receive, scam, plot, scheme is no God; dogma or false titles and ways, it is demonic ~ and the ways to understand darkness how will all feel and know that such is the story

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This story is no different than what is planned, agendas, in our collective world, What will you do - how will you know life is sacred, reconnection within, the breath of life within the healing and taking ownership and accountability of your thoughts, words and deeds, All affects the all -

Blessings and good will to the multi-verse -

Joanna

More on Creational Realities; Paradigms Shifting of Consciousness ~ Perfection of the Divine Plan for all life;

For private sessions, webinars, classes or consulting ~

Email me at [email protected]

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#ascension

#healinghumanity

#God

#Source

#corruption #healingcorruption #understandingenergy

#Oneness #worldimbalance #love is oneness

#healinghumansdysfunction #healing #lifeissacred #sacredness #life #honour #selfvalue #selfdesign #selfhonour #creationalreality #manifesting #abundance #spiritualabundance #Highfunctioning

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snailor-bee · 2 years

Text

Little Prince

Written for the wonderful @sugxrslushy ! We happened to get on the topic of Fukaboshi and how it was sad that no one writes for him and decided to do a little swap. <3!! Maxx wanted making a shell crown with male reader and I was happy to deliver! Anytime you want more Fukaboshi content, you know where to find me. >:3c

Fukaboshi x M!Reader / SFW / 939 words Summary: It was just another regular day, spending time with your fish man boyfriend, who just happened to be a prince. You tease him about it. Warnings: None.

Looking up, you admired the sight of schooling fish swimming by, large silhouettes of whales further in the distance, past the bubble.

You giggled as a large finger brushed against your face. “What’s up my prince?” you asked with a smile, leaning back further so Kukaboshi’s face came into view. It was his default expression, lips turned down in a frown looking back at you. You were seated on his lap, enjoying some quiet time out on the palace grounds, just the two of you.

“I told you didn’t have to call me that,” he reprimanded lightly. You rubbed your face against his finger, still close by.

“I know, I think it’s funny.”

“Funny to tease me with you mean.” Kukaboshi sighed before pulling you closer, so you rested against his torso, the one hand he used to curl around you making you feel extremely small. Still, you weren’t scared. He always made you feel nothing but safe.

“Maybeee,” you drawled out, laughing as he attempted to tickle up your side.

“I have an idea,” Fukaboshi said slowly, tentatively. Recognizing the seriousness of his tone, you laid your hand atop his and looked up. He wasn’t looking at you, focused on the fish floating by above the two of you. “If you were amiable.”

You had to choke down the urge to tease some more. Fukaboshi always went proper and polite when he was anxious or unsure.

“Sure!” you said instead. Gentle hands grabbed under your armpits and lifted before positioning you on his shoulder. You steadied yourself with a hand buried in his thick blue hair as he adjusted, pulling out a bag of something that jingled as it moved and resettling himself, large speckled tail whipping back and forth. You watched with interest.

Fukaboshi was so handsome, you’d always thought so.

Finally, a hand reached up for you and as he grabbed you to pull you back down, you kept a grip on his hair. “Wait!” He stilled. “Kiss?” you asked hopefully. This close to his face, you could see with perfect clarity the way the confusion melted from his face and transformed into a sunny smile.

“Of course,” he agreed, cradling you with both hands. Quickly, he dropped kisses all over you, making you squirm in his grasp as you laughed joyfully.

Still, you couldn’t help a pout as he pulled back. “Not what I meant, prince,” you said with a tug at his hair. He rolled his eyes slightly. Even that expression didn’t take away from his beauty. Maybe others didn’t see it, with his pointed nose and sharp teeth, the mole in the center of his forehead but it was all you could see.

Tilting up your head eagerly, soft lips brushed against your own. Fukaboshi was always so careful with you, achingly so. He never wanted to hurt you.

Satisfied with your kiss, you released his hair and allowed him to bring you back down to his lap. Fukaboshi settled you with you facing him before digging into his bag and withdrawing something before handing it to you.

“Pick out the shells you like,” he said with a small, secretive grin.

Peeking inside you were astonished by the sheer amount of shells in there. None were very large, all about the size of your palm or smaller. Picking out one, you stared at it before he held out a palm and you placed it there.

In a smooth motion—you didn’t exactly catch what he did—he had the shell on a skinny bendable metal rod. “Keep going,” he encouraged and quickly you snapped up another one.

It took you a while to realize what he was making, although once he got the shape down you had to bite down a gasp.

Fidgeting awkwardly, when you finally handed over the last shell you waited with bated breath to see what he’d say.

He’d made you a small crown, perfectly sized for your head. The mismatched shells should have looked silly but honestly were anything but.

Fukaboshi brushed your hair back softly. “For my own prince,” he said lowly before laying the crown upon your head.

Immediately you reached out and touched it, feeling the smoothness of the shells beneath your fingers. “Silly,” you croaked out past the sudden lump in your throat. “You’re the actual prince here, not me.”

“You’d make a wonderful prince!” Fukaboshi cried out. “One day. Until then, I can teach you.”

“Careful,” you warned, “might be giving me ideas.”

The seriousness in Fukaboshi’s eyes didn’t fade. “You don’t like the idea?”

You bit your lip and he thumbed at it until you released it. “I didn’t say that, just feels…”

“Hm?” he prodded.

“Not sure if I’d be a good candidate for it,” you settled on. Many didn’t understand how you caught the eye of one of the Princes of Fish Man Island, not to mention the crown prince, the one destined to rule. You didn’t understand half the time either, but you reveled in Fukaboshi’s attention all the same, expecting him to break it off someday.

This was wholly unexpected.

“You’d do great,” Fukaboshi said genuinely. Two thumbs rubbed against your cheeks, tilting your head up. “I’ll ask properly later. But just know, I very much believe that. And,” he added with a smile, “now whenever you call me a prince, I get to call you it too.”

You couldn’t help it, you snorted with amusement.

“Yeah okay, you win,” you conceded.

Fukaboshi’s eyes softened, looking at you with so much love it made you squirm before he picked you up, to seal the promise with a kiss.

#one piece #one piece x reader #fukaboshi #fukaboshi x reader #bee writes #bee writing

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dresshistorynerd · 4 years

Photo

So I saw this illustration recently floating around here and it’s so riddled with bullshit I decided to go through it with meticulous detail. Also it’s whole point is bullshit, but we’ll circle back to it. I have to note I’m not dress historian and don’t know all the nuances related to history of undergarments, and wouldn’t have even room for that in this post. And the illustration is completely devoid of them anyway.

So strap in and jump into the rabbit hole with me! Let’s start with the accuracy of the figures illustrating the undergarments. I don’t know why the 18th century stays (corsets come later) look like that? They are so wrong in so many ways. This is what 18th century stays looked like.

They did not flatten the bust at all. On the contrary, they pushed the bust up. It makes the stomach flat, but bust very much not. The boning was made from whale bone, reeds or slim wood bents most often, which are all very bendable and soft materials. Which means it was firm but not hard or restrictive. They mostly just smoothed the torso and supported bust. Also none of these illustrations have shift or chemise under their corset/stays, which was extremely important part of the undergarment (they protected the skin from corset/stays and it from oils of skin).

Now I’m questioning weather the makers of this info graph have seen Regency dresses. Firstly they claim that the ideal figure was “natural waist” when you can see that the waist can’t even be seen under the dress. There’s literally no waist. I would rather say the ideal figure was long tube body and boobs (emphasis on boobs). They also say the “corset” (still stays) stops bellow the bust line, but if you have seen a Regency dress, you know the bust is basically on the chin. (There were some stays that actually stopped under breasts, but the ones with cups where much more common as they were better at getting the fashionable silhouette.)

You don’t achieve this look without some heavy lifting done by the undergarments.

Here’s what they looked like. (Picture is from Abigail Polston’s blog.) They were basically push up bras. They didn’t have boning at all or sometimes a couple bones, but were usually made at least partly of stiffened fabrics. Between the breasts there’s a wooden slab that keeps the boobs separate and the stays from crinkling. They only smoothed out the rest of the torso and their only real purpose was support the bust and lift the hell out of it.

The next figure has so so many things wrong about it. In 1830s the stays were basically same as Regency stays. In 1840s the stays started to have a little more of the Victorian hourglass shape, but their construction was still similar. Though at the same time corsets started to live along side stays, till in the 1850s they took over the undergarment business. Here’s an example of 1890s corset.

Victorian corset is result of very complicated engineering. The shape is achieved with very ingenious patterning and strategically placed bones. Maximal shape with minimal boning. When you go back to look at the 18th century stays, which are covered in bones and then check out bow little there’s bones in the Victorian corset. The shape subtly changed thorough the rest of the century, but the basic construction and hourglass figure stayed the same.

Now the description says tight lacing became popular and it’s not entirely wrong. Tight lacing became a thing. In the previous centuries it wasn’t really even possible in same sense, because the materials used were too soft. Well some rich fashionable women still did it in 18th century (with regency stays it just wasn’t possible), but because of the materials, they couldn’t restrict bodily functions like breathing (looking at you PotC). Victorian corsets however usually had couple of iron bones, the rest being the soft whale bone, giving them more ability to shape the body. Tight lacing however was not common. Some rich, young and fashionable ladies would do that, but it was seen broadly negatively at the time. People talked about the health consequences and perhaps more than that, saw it as very vain. Tight lacing every day for a long time had negative health consequences, but vast majority of women didn’t do that and they were nothing nearly as dramatic ass people claim. Corset’s magic wasn’t it’s ability to reduce waist, but rather accentuate bust and hips. It was all about the illusion. Padding was added too on top of the corset. All women used corsets and it didn’t restrict them from doing all kinds of stuff, like working in a factory, or climbing a mountain.

I don’t really have anything to complain about the 1900s, 1910s and 1920s. They have at least the right shapes and don’t have weird claims. Now, I’m not very knowledgeable in any decade after 1920s, but I know at least that bullet bra were already a thing in the 40s? You can see it in 40s dress silhouettes too.

After all this wildly inaccurate info, the whole point of the info graph is that lingerie is going backwards and apparently it’s a bad thing. It gives the impression that undergarments were bad in the ye olden times, then they got good and apparently they are bad again. I think the funniest part is when it says in the 80s bit that “lingerie no longer a way to control the body but to empower women”. Empower how? How were 80s bras more empowering that previous or following bras? Also it says that the ideal figure was “any”. Now, I’m not that familiar with 80s, but if you look at the fashion then, you definitely notice a common silhouette: broad shoulders and natural waist.

After that apparently shaping bras are used to make the bust look bigger, which is bad I guess. Worse than padding on shoulders for some reason?

It is not outright said that the undergarments of earlier periods were used to control women’s bodies, but it’s implied. That’s a really common misconception, but not really true. In the 17th century women didn’t wear stays, but the bodice was heavily structured and boned. When mantua (loose robe draped on body, think of robe á la francaise) entered the western fashion (around 1680s), women jumped on it. Stays became very quickly very popular, to give the fashionable silhouette even without the rigid bodice. Stays and mantua combo was more comfortable and more adjustable to changes in body so it took completely over the fashion during the 18th century. And when corsets became a thing in the Victorian era, most corset makers were women. Women invented a lot of the engineering that went into patterning corsets.

Corsets and stays were not some torture devices. They were flexible, constructed with the right measurements and their purpose wasn’t to reduce the measurements of the body, but rather create optical illusions and support the bust and the back. Many people who have used recreations of historical corsets say they are in many ways more comfortable than modern bras, which shift all the weight of the bust on shoulders. Corsets and stays distributed it on hips instead. Perhaps the biggest actual health concern with a regular use of corset especially (excluding tight lacing and stays didn’t to my knowledge have this problem at least to the same extend) is it supporting the back too much, making the wearer’s deep muscles wither. So in a way, they were too comfortable. Victorians were aware of that, and upper class women, who didn’t do manual labour, were encouraged to excercise to keep their torso in good shape.

Now at some point when making this post, I started to wonder who made this illustration and why. It does seem, if not well researched, at least professional. After googling the label in the bottom left corner, I found this.

The poster is saying it’s terrible when fashion tries to shape your body with clothing and it has the solution for you. Shape your body literally with the serum they are selling. They even say in the 2000s section that big bust is the desired shape, which now looks a lot like marketing. Though it doesn’t seem like they are selling it anymore. Their website is down and I couldn’t find any info on them. The whole product seems a little suspicious. It’s apparently a cream containing estrogen you put on your breasts and it should make your breast grow. Now I’m no expert, but that’s not how estrogen works. Any cream that claims it has some hormones that will change your body or skin? They don’t work. Don’t buy them.

I think this illustrates very well why I disagree so much with the idea that shaping your silhouette with clothing was so terrible and it’s good that we moved away from it. Fashion always has a silhouette, it’s part of the overall look. When the silhouette was still achieved with undergarments, your body shape and size didn’t matter. It wasn’t about the size, it was about proportion and you could create that with corsets/stays, padding and illusions. Nowadays you see sometimes thin celebrities praised for being fashionable when they wear boring clothes which show their stomach, and people have started to question if they actually have style or are they just thin. And often bigger people are ridiculed for wearing the exact same thing. Now it’s the body which is fashionable, not the clothing. And it leads to companies like these trying to push people to change their bodies.

Now, I don’t think any strict fashion or beauty standard is ever good, even if it could be achieved with clothing alone. But I think there’s something to be learned from past, to maybe not reserve fashion and style only for a specific type of body. I don’t think it’s ever helpful or healthy for a body type to be trendy. There’s always all types of bodies and they all deserve to enjoy style, if they wish.

TL;DR: Add tried to sell their boob cream by spewing inaccuracies about historical undergarments.

#fashion history #fashion #historical clothing #historical fashion #history #dress history #historical undergarments #beauty ideals #body ideals #long post #dress history research

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just-a-creep-babe · 4 years

Text

Kinktober Day 15

Masky and Hoodie: Threesome

~Requests are closed~

Masterlist: x

Any tips are greatly appreciated!

There was never anything romantic about your late night rendezvous with the proxies

They were purely means to an end; stress relief from your grueling, seemingly endless stream of work

No strings attached; just the way you like it

Tonight is no different

As soon as you reach their cabin, they‘re on you like depraved, horny teens, eager to palm you up and run their calloused hands over every inch of your body

Your clothes fall away much too easily, accompanied by the sound of tearing, leaving you completely bare before them

Masky’s fingers brush over the back of your neck, tangling into the fine hairs at the base of your scalp, and with a sharp tug, he yanks your head back

You groan, feeling the warmth of his breath on your neck, his porcelain mask tilted up as he hums

You’re so malleable, so perfectly bendable to his will

His touch has goosebumps dancing up your arms, your entire body like a live wire about to implode

Another set of hungry fingers dig into your waist, pulling you flush between the two

Hoodie nips at the other side of your neck, his mask also pulled up halfway to graze his teeth along your skin

You whimper, his pelvis grinding into yours, and the way his bulge feels stretched over his jeans already has you weak at the knees

A hand lifts your leg up, hooking it around their forearm to grant them both unrestricted access to your pulsing sex

“Your thighs look so lovely when they’re spread apart for us, sunshine~”

Masky’s voice is a husky murmur against your ear

His tongue teases along the shell of the cartilage, and just as you shudder from the contact, Hoodie snaps his hips forwards—right against your clit

You can’t contain your gasp, hands fluttering to his broad shoulders, trying to steady yourself through the haze of sex overpowering your mind

He snickers

“Aren’t you so eager~”

Your face flushes at the teasing comment because he’s right

Masky’s grip tightens in your hair, pulling your head back further against his shoulder, while his other hand moves between you and Hoodie to reach your clit

“F-fuck—!”

Your hips buckle, nearly losing balance as he jerks at your pearl

“So wet already, baby?”

When you can only answer with a pathetic whine, Hoodie groans

“She likes being used—don’t you, dollface? You like being our perfect little cocksleeve, hm?”

You bite back another moan, trying to rock yourself harder against them, feeling Masky’s erection dig into your backside while Hoodie’s rubs against your front

“F-fuck me, I need more~” you whine

You tug on the belt loops of Hoodie’s jeans, pulling him closer in to the point where it almost hurts

He chuckles, humming, and pulls away briefly to tug his shirt off over his smooth, strong torso

You’re almost embarrassed by the wet spot you’ve left on his pants, his crotch noticeably darker against his hard-on

But then your eyes are screwing shut as you cry out, legs trembling as Masky’s pace grows unbearably hard and fast at your swollen clit

“Oh—oh God, s-shit, Masky!~”

Your hands flutter down to his forearm, needing a grip on something as your knees buckle—until the only thing keeping you up is his frame and the hand tangled in your hair

Part of you registers Hoodie’s mouth at your chest but the feeling‘s almost immediately overpowered as two gloved fingers push past your entrance

You mewl, panting and moaning obscenities, body squirming and twitching in their holds

The mouth at your tits moves down, all the way below your navel, and then Masky’s hands are roaming up your front, returning attention to your nipples as a tongue dips between your legs

Your back arches desperately

“F-fuck—I can’t—I’m gonna—!”

You pull at Hoodie’s hair through the inky black mask, bringing him flush against your aching heat

“You gonna cum for us, sunshine? Gonna fall apart so easily already?”

“M-Masky—God, fuck—yes!”

You lose track of your lewd cries until all you can focus on is the winding knot in your stomach and it’s nearly blinding

It bursts as you come undone, euphoria overriding your senses, your whole body sent buckling and jerking and writhing at the beckon of the two men

Hoodie laps at your cunt in long, broad strokes, cleaning up as much of your mess as he can while you struggle in Masky’s hold because it’s so much

You’re still shaking as he moves away, easing you down from your high, the adrenaline still pounding in your ears while you try to catch your breath

“Should we move to the bed?” Hoodie’s voice thick and husky as he licks the rest of your arousal from his lips

Masky groans behind you, strong hands never once faltering in their hold

“Too far, I’m getting impatient”

His belt clatters as he unbuckles it, and though you’re still recovering from your first orgasm, the sound is enough to bring excitement blazing down your spine and back to your drenched cunt

Hoodie’s mouth quirks into a wolfish grin

“You can take it, can’t you, Princess?”

He tugs himself free and you nod, swallowing thickly through your breathless pants

Masky’s length brushes against the flesh of your backside, and he graciously drags it between your legs to coat himself in your slick before pressing at your entrance

A choked moan catches in your throat, stealing your breath as he tilts you up, thick head of his cock pushing at into your ass before he’s slowly sheathing himself inch by inch into your tight, welcoming heat

Hoodie pumps his member, watching the scene unfold in front of him as you’re stretched open on his best friend

“God, she takes cock so well, doesn’t she?~”

He wraps his hands around your thighs, pushing your legs apart and lifting you up like you weigh nothing

You instinctively wrap your legs around him

Despite the amount of times they’ve used you like this, you still can’t get over the feeling of being so full as he slips into your fluttering entrance, bottoming out all in one thrust

“How are you always so fucking tight~” Masky hisses through gritted teeth

His voice has you clenching around the both of them, making them groan in near unison as you tighten up even more

You’re lifted and brought back down on both their stiff cocks slowly at first, though it’s more than enough to have you dropping your head back with a shaky moan because it feel so good

Teeth graze your neck, scraping against your pulse while they bounce you up and down between them, their pace steadily growing with every push into your squelching cunt

“Fuck!~ D-don't stop!~” you moan, your toes curling and back arching up, sending them both deeper into your slick walls

Masky cusses, his grip bruising as he starts getting faster, needing so much more of your velvety walls gripping him tightly

Dropping you down and thrusting up, fucking you in synchronization doesn’t last long before they can’t hold back anymore

They screw into you so wonderfully, moving at different speeds and being as rough and mind-numbingly brutal as they like

They have you moaning and whimpering like a slut, and you don’t even have it in you to care anymore

“That—that fucking feel nice, baby? You like getting dicked down by two cocks at once? Hm?”

“Yes—yes, fuck, i-it feels s-so fucking good!~”

A slew of pleas and begs fall from your mouth, your second orgasm already starting to peak, your body feeling raw and overused but singing for more as you grow so, so close

“Gonna cum again, doll? You getting close, little Princess?”

“Y-yes—fuck, please!”

A hand, you’re not too sure who’s, moves to your front to jerk at your clit again and everything inside you tenses all too familiarly

“Cum, baby. Be a good girl and cum for us, sunshine~”

The groaned encouragements are all you need to be sent toppling into another orgasm

Your body reels from the intensity, shaking and twitching between them like before, except it’s so much more intense than last time

They don’t stop fucking into you until the most you can do is scream, clawing at their lithe skin as they keep using you to their own ends

Masky groans into your neck, the sound downright sinful as he spills the entirety of his load into you

Hoodie’s quick to follow with a quiet moan, pumping his seed deeper into you with sloppy thrusts until they’re both eventually stilling inside you, panting into your necks

You feel so full

You can feel their cum leaking out of you through their pulsing lengths

You’re numb and sore by the time they ease out of you, gently setting you down, but still keeping a hold around you so you don’t lose balance

Hoodie dips a finger between your legs, gathering up the cum that’s dripped from your entrance, and brings it to your lips

You wrap your mouth around his digits like second nature, swirling your tongue around them as he chuckles

“Good girl~”

Masky rubs over the marks on your ass, almost like an apology, or maybe an appreciation of his work

Hoodie pulls his fingers free and cups your jaw

His lips are soft and gentle as they brush against yours, wordlessly checking if you’re alright

There‘s never anything romantic about your late night rendezvous with the proxies

No strings attached; just the way you like it, you silently remind yourself as your lips buzz against the comforting warmth of his mouth

#creepypasta #masky x reader #hoodie x reader #masky x reader x hoodie #masky x reader x hoodie smut #marble hornets #mh #creepypasta x reader #masky #hoodie #creepypasta kinktober #kinktober

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whump-town · 3 years

Note

Do you take asks for prompts? If you need another way to hurt Hotch how about him hurting his knee while taking down an unsub and trying his best to hide it from his team and going home to Jack. So maybe he doesn't come to work the next day so they check up on him?

Sure you can!

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

Hotch doesn’t say anything about it because he’s been an ass all week and the very last thing that he wants is to ruin what little fun they’ve managed to find. The pain really isn’t that bad, it’s just that the hotel they’re posted up in has this long winding set of stairs and they’re on the fourth floor. Wistfully, he glances over his shoulder one more time, double checks that they’re all distracted by the pool before setting his shoulders and starting up the stairs. Besides, it’s his fault that he busted up his knee. He’s not going to interrupt the first sounds of their laughter he’s heard in a month.

They’re taking Emily’s death hard, barely managing to keep their heads above the water. It also means their numbers are odd again and realizing that he’d sent them off with each other (Rossi with JJ, Reid with Morgan) and had gone around the side of the house by himself. They’d ended up chasing the Unsub out to him where he’d taken him down by himself (or rather they’d ran right into one another). They’d heard him fall, the harsh crash of two bodies colliding had drawn in some noise, but he was already on his feet when they got to him. Was already shaking off the ache in his right leg, brushed it off as a skinned knee. Wouldn’t be first and he doubted it would be his last.

He did skin his knee.

Judging by the purplish bruise color around his knee, the skin swollen and sore to the touch, and it’s general refusal to move within the joint he did more than just skin it.

He hasn’t really been an ass, though. That’s just his excuse.

He’s been an ass all week and they’re struggling to cope with Emily’s death and he just wants one second without Morgan comparing their grief or Rossi trying to pry or Reid looking at him like the sky’s falling in and he’s screaming himself hoarse looking for an Atlas to remind him where it’s rightful place is.

He’s been withdrawn and he got a little snippy at Rossi but, in general, nothing worth hating him over. Nothing that any of them so much as took a second glance at. So calling him an ass is really stretching it but he’s just looking for an excuse to not have to tell them. Besides, he can do this on his own. Just needs some ice… and to get up the stairs.

He doesn’t get ice.

He doesn’t even take a shower.

Getting up that many stairs with a leg that tries to buck out from underneath him after the first floor is hard enough without trying to figure out how to wrangle himself into the shower. That’s excluding the problem of getting out of the shower.

That’s about half a lie anyways. He steps into his room, the A.C. blasting on it’s highest setting where he left it, and drags himself to the bed. The sweat across his body is cold and as nice as it would be to stand there at the machine and let it blow the cold into his face he can’t. He’s not slept since they landed, not in this bed and only naps he’d slipped into while coffee brewed. With the room nearly freezing and his knee keeping pace with his heart he sags into bed.

Doesn’t even bother to get under the covers or take off his shoes.

He saves that for their trip back.

They wake him up, Reid shouting at Morgan. They’re sopping wet and Morgan thinks it’s funny watching Reid squirm because he forgot his towel.

His exhaustion has weighed him down, pulled him under the pain. He hears Reid yell and after the initial fight leaves as he realizes Reid’s not in pain or being murdered (Morgan’s deep laughter clears that up) his knee comes back with vengeance. There’s no way he’s making it to the ice machine down the hall and he’s sure as hell not getting in the shower.

Taking his pants off is miserable.

Getting his left shoe off is fine, that knee is bendable. The other is just out of reach and he curses under his breath, loses his temper and throws his shoe down on the ground. Tears gather in his eyes as the pain gets unbearable but this isn’t worse than being stabbed. It’s not so he manages. Holds his breath until his face is pulsing with the heat of his pain and when he finally manages to get the shoelace untied he’s light-headed, dizzy.

The pants are not easier.

It gets the better of him, his belt smacks his knee and he cries out. He hears the other’s, knows that Morgan hears him make the sound and calls out for everyone to be quiet. Hotch holds his breath again, waits out their footsteps until the doors shut and they’re gone.

He lays starfished out on the bed. Stripped down to his boxers and his white undershirt. It’d be nice to get under the covers but even thinking about moving is an excruciating idea. He doesn’t even look at his knee, doesn’t need to sit up to see it. Doesn’t want to.

He sleeps.

Dead to the world for hours until his alarm clock goes off at six in the morning. He’s got hours of just dead, limp sleep in his body and he still can hardly muster the strength to move. But he hasn’t got the time to be hurt. The jet leaves the tarmac at ten and he still has places to be-- hands to shake and people to talk to. It takes fifteen minutes longer than normal to get ready and six long laps around his room until he can walk without a heavy, easy to spot limp. Each movement, if he focuses enough, can be smooth.

You can’t even tell.

“Walking like an old man.” Hotch stops, frowns and chooses not to say anything. He continues locking up his room, grunting in annoyance when Morgan steps around him and grabs his go-bag. “Figured you were just tired,” Morgan informs him, leaning on the wall of the door so he can see Hotch’s face. “That Unsub got you good, huh? What is it? Your back?”

Hotch glances at his go bag, still held easily in the palm of Morgan’s left hand. He’s not getting that back. With a frown he turns for the stairs, “I’m fine.” But he focuses far too hard on his gate and Morgan can see it.

“It’s your knee,” Morgan deduces. He can see it. The way Hotch has to lean on the rail when he extends his right leg out, knuckles white. “Haven’t iced it yet, have you?”

Hotch ignores him, keeps walking down the stairs.

“When we get on the jet let me wrap it up.” He’s not offering so much as warning Hotch of his plans for later. Morgan’s been an athlete his whole life, that’s lent years of practice in figuring out how to tape up and ice various injuries. “You’ll need to put ice on it, it’ll help.”

He doesn’t.

The jet ride home is distracted, buzzing with energy he hasn’t seen out of them in a while. The pain is worth it.

He goes home. Jack can sense his pain, he’s not entirely sure how but he’s gentle. Talking Hotch’s ear off about a book that Jessica bought him and that he intends to beg Hotch to read him tonight. They have their typical “Dad has a concussion” meal-- macaroni and cheese with cut up hotdogs. Jack loves it and it’s a treat to make up for Hotch’s physical status.

He always feels bad about being home but not being able to do dad things yet.

Not that Jack minds, he can always find something for them to do. He just likes having him home. Watching Jack fight sleep, trying to stay awake for a few more minutes of his father’s undivided attention, Hotch decides right then and there to call everyone out. Give them the day off.

“We can make cookies tomorrow,” he whispers into Jack’s hair. He doesn’t respond, which is odd, so Hotch lifts his head up. He shifts them both around until he can see him better, careful once he’s positive Jack’s asleep and not ignoring him. Jack whines at the movement, clutching Hotch’s shirt so that he can’t be pulled away. “Alright,” Hotch rubs his back, soothes him back to sleep.

It’s a fight, nearly impossible, but Hotch gets Jack back to his room. As he’s tucking his blankets in around Jack, double-checking his night light and making sure he’s comfortable, he knows there’s a good likelihood that Jack will still end up in his bed tonight. If so, he’s not fighting this battle. He’ll leave his bedroom door open and what happens, happens.

Jack does make his way into Hotch’s bedroom. Just as the sun’s coming up and Hotch is still half-asleep, having woken up just a little too much to send the other’s the “take the day off” text.

“Morning,” Hotch whispers, hearing Jack’s feet on the carpet but not opening his eyes.

Jack comes to the empty side of the bed but still climbs over Hotch’s shoulder, slipping down over his side until he’s precariously being kept onto the bed by a little bit of bed and Hotch holding him. “Daddy,” he whispers back. He wiggles himself around, stretches his arms up to put a hand on Hotch’s cheek. “Daddy?”

Hotch knows he’s not going back to sleep. “What is it, buddy?”

Jack rubs at the facial hair growing along Hotch’s cheek, short coarse hair that feels funny against his hands. “I want to make, ugh…” Jack taps Hotch’s cheek as he thinks. “To make, uhm, I want pancakes!”

Hotch opens his eyes, smiles, and squeezes Jack. “Alright,” he responds. “We can make some pancakes.”

Despite the text message that Hotch sends out, Morgan and JJ still have to head into the office for paperwork, to at least take it home to work on it. Over the last year, Hotch is better about work. He leaves earlier and spends a lot less time at the office, still averaging more than them but undeniably on the mend. Still, Morgan walks into the BAU and is surprised, he’s cut short in his mission, when he sees Hotch’s empty office.

Morgan assumes the worst.

The knock at the door is surprising, Hotch doesn't exactly get visitors. Jessica doesn’t bother knocking, she just opens the door and shouts for them. Other than that, Rossi calls and Emily used to drop by to find something to do but… “Jack!” Jack’s five, he loves answering the door. He just never gets to do it.

“Look!” Jack cries.

Hotch pushes the pancakes he’s butchering off the stove, limping quickly to get to Jack. “What’re you doing here?”

Morgan frowns, lifts Jack up into his arms with a swoop and a happy squeal from Jack. “I came to make sure you were okay, knucklehead.” He looks at Jack, shaking his head with a look of pure ‘can you believe this guy?’. “Glad I got here,” Morgan shifts Jack over to his hip. “You’re burning the shit out of these pancakes.”

Jack giggles, glancing at Hotch to see his reaction.

Hotch moves to follow Morgan, going to attempt a poor argument on behalf of his pancakes but he’s cut-off. “Sit,” Morgan orders, pointing at one of the kitchen tables. “Jack, can you get me some ice?” Hotch watches as his kitchen is taken over. Morgan grimaces at the pancake currently in the pan but is quick to smile again when Jack calls for him by the freezer. He can't reach the tray.

Jack’s eager to please, right under Morgan’s feet, but constantly looking back at Hotch. Morgan’s pancakes are better and with some ice, Hotch’s knee becomes a bendable appendage once again.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #jack hotchner

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the-mainverse · 3 years

Text

A reward for FA.

....Sometimes. Things happen without warning. Things happen so quickly, you ask the questions.

Why?

Why did it happen? Why did it have to happen? When?

Flowers. Those Echo-Flowers was a warning. But her small little mind was too naive to know. One by one. They left. To a better place, she likes to call it. But she was scared.

She didn't want to get left behind. She didn't want the others to go there. She didn't want them to leave.

She didn't want to be alone.

But.

First one was gone. Her scarf was left behind. Then the second one. A ribbon was left behind. She still didn't know who had done it. It couldn't be that human, right?

...Right?

Wrong.

She stood there, trying to talk them out of whatever they were doing. Closer and closer they got, the more the smiled widened. The more it widened, the more fear that creeped into her.

Then. With one strike. She was sent to that better place.

Then back down.

She woke up. She thought it was just one big, realistic nightmare.

Then, the same thing happened again. And again. And again.

... It's funny how that lasted over 600 times. It had driven her insane. But not insane enough to do something crazy. Her soul was still pure.

But it had driven her into a great depression. She wasn't strong enough to stop that human. Not with words. Not with violence. All she can do is hope that the human stops this so they could rest peacefully.

The last one...left behind words.

"See you on the other side sis..."

...

...Flowers. The Echo-Flowers.

The same ones she saw before escaping the timeline.

The same ones that lie within her garden.

---------

"FA~! Look look!" Star floated I to her garden. FA patted the grass next to her. Star sat down.

"Look what I found! It's a flower made of crystals!" She showed FA the flower.

"Interesting." FA responded. "It's a new one right? Maybe you should add it to your collection!"

"I should. Thank you Star." FA smiled a little and took the flower. It sparkled for a second before she observed it. It didn't seem that hard. It was quite bendable. She didn't see this species of flower before.

"See you later!" Star gave her a tight hug before leaving again.

Star had visited this place a lot. She's really interested in scavenging for flowers for FA. FA should reward her for the rare flower she found.

She set in down in the area full of Echo-Flowers. She stared at the Echo-Flowers before turning back and walking away.

Those Echo-Flowers are treasure to her. They mean a lot. Those helped her get a sense of what was going on back then. Plus it was her older sister's favorite flower.

...Older sister.

She sat down in front of the patch of buttercups again. She went back into her thoughts.

...

The silence didn't feel right anymore. It felt like something important was happening. But she couldn't tell if it was good or bad. Usually she could.

"..." She tried to ignore it. But it could be important...

She huffed and got up. Her wings appeared and she spread them. She turned to the exit and took off.

She looked for the problem. She hoped none of the little ones are in any danger. Then someone would have to get killed. Literally.

Suddenly, she got the urge to take a sharp right turn. There was something coming from there. She can feel a presence. It was strong.

Then she saw Dove. She was flying at the same altitude as she was, 40 feet above the trees below.

"...Dove?" Dove turned around, chirping in curiosity. "Oh FA!" She looked happy to see her.

"What are you doing here?"

"Just looking for something." FA looked around to see if she can find anything.

"Oh, that's a coincidence! I'm looking for something too! Something had been scaring all the animals away, there was a knocked down tree over there, and I heard birds fly away from something. I'm trying to find why that is."

"Fallen tree?" Could it be a bad person? No, Crimson can do that along with some others. But Crimson would never do it here.

"Mind showing me?"

"Sure!" Dove flew down to the tree as FA followed.

"See?" The tree looked terrible. One side of it had been smashed, causing it to fall over. But the question is from what?

"Wow."

"That's what Nimbus said when I showed her! Then she said it might of been a big animal."

"That is a possibility." FA agreed.

"I'm starting to think it was. With a bear if some sort. No... A Moose? Yeah a Moose!"

"Great job using logic." FA praise her. Dove chirped happily.

"Well, I will get to the bottom of it." FA said as she was accending into the air.

"Are you sure? Because I'm kinda getting a little scared.."

"I will. You have nothing the be afraid of." FA smiled. Dove smiled back. She waved as FA took off again.

Flying back, she was a little confused too. The tree was one sign at least.

She couldn't feel the presence anymore. That was strange. It's like it wanted her to find that tree.

Maybe she should look for more clues...

#diamond writes #current events #FA #part one

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that-yandere-life · 5 years

Note

Since you asked for ideas how about mafia au with tony and/or Peter (separately). (Hope your dad's doing better sweetie ❤️)

Tony Stark-

Are you kidding? Tony is the most known and feared man in all of the land.

The richest by far, standing on the bodies of men who challenged him to keep him in his elevated status.

Expect his goons to follow you everywhere if you catch his eye.

Talking to everyone you know to get information on you, which they readily hand over because of their own fear of wronging him.

However the money he forks over as a thank you definitely sweetens the deal and spreads the word causing everyone around you to watch you at all times.

Wanting anything to report back to him to receive more of his good will.

You might as well give in to him when he finally approaches you, because you literally have no option.

Calling the police won’t do you any good, they are all on his payroll.

Even if you could find someone to arrest him, it wouldn’t stick as he also has all the judges wrapped around his finger.

Money talks, and he has a basically unlimited amount, making more money in the time he takes a shower than you do in an entire year.

Won’t even have to kidnap you himself, he will just have his men grab you from the comfort of his armored limousine sipping a whiskey on the rocks.

It’s okay if you are intimidated by him, it makes his job all the easier.

Shocks you when he is actually a seemingly kind and warm person who smiles and laughs all the time.

To be fair, it is only a side his closest friends and family have seen, the only side that he reserves for you.

Doesn’t want to scare you with the anger and gore he has incurred with his own two hands, and never wants you to experience it.

So he would never lay a hand on you when he is frustrated with you, his firm tone is all that is needed to strike fear of consequence in your heart.

Do all that he asks of you and you will have a cushy life with whatever your heart desires.

Resist and you will be left alone for days on end, your only human interaction being the ones who bring you, your food.

They won’t even say a word to you, before leaving as quickly as they came.

This will go on until you are begging for someone to talk to, begging for him to return to you.

It might seem cruel but he wants you bendable, pliable, to turn you into the perfect significant other for him.

Once he feels he can trust you however, you will be treated to the lavish lifestyle that he indulges in.

The finest food, drink, experiences that money can buy.

Clothing that you could have only dreamed of as you gazed longingly at in a catalog before.

Make-up and hair professionally done so you don’t have to lift a finger yourself.

Being his arm candy whenever he does venture out in a public setting for whatever reason.

Having your own bodyguards personally picked by him should you ever have to go out without him which would be extremely rare.

Vacations to dream destinations, flying in a private jet with your favorite drink stocked at all times.

The best rooms in the fancy hotels, always devoted just for the two of you.

You will be expected at one point to give him an heir, or many depending on how easy it is for you to bear children.

Should you not be able to conceive, suddenly you will have an infant thrusted upon you to care for.

Don’t ask where they came from, you will never get a real answer anyway.

At the end of the day Tony loves you, and will have you. Nothing will stand in his way, and I mean NOTHING.

Peter Parker-

[As always Peter is 18+ in my fics, in this one he is college aged]

While Peter isn’t old enough to be the main head of the operation, he does however rule over Queens under the Stark family name.

Taking after his mentor he finds someone he likes while out making sure things were going well in his territory.

They likely will be working in one of the shops or restaurants he visits for his protection fee.

His main job being to make sure that they aren’t attacked by any one trying to contest Stark’s hold over the area.

Once he tells “Uncle Tony” about you, he will offer support to Peter and help him in his attempts to learn more about you.

Even giving him more manpower so that he can utilize them to watch over you, knowing that if the wrong people found out he was interested in you that you would become a target.

Likely would take to watching you himself before approaching you, wanting to try and court you normally.

As if there was a normal when you are part of the mafia, but his idea of normal at any rate.

Of course you would already know who he is, how could you not?

His name is one spoken pretty much everywhere in Queens, but not in the way you might think.

They are all very grateful for him, he has helped the community grow in ways they didn’t think possible before.

Praising him, even you had caught yourself honoring him in one way or another as he had made it much safer in your neighborhood recently.

Shocking you when he came up and started talking to you, a civilian who didn’t report to him in any way.

Those soft brown eyes and timid smile incredibly endearing to you, and you can’t help but give into his demands of you.

Quickly you will find yourself swept up in the life he leads, quitting your job being supported by him entirely.

Giving you the finer things in life, and helping you take up a leadership role in the business.

Peter wants to help you grow, but with him by your side at all times.

Working together means that you will always be around him, night and day just how he wants it.

Doting, and praising you every step of the way.

Everyone knew not to mess with you, because it would set off a chain reaction leading to a shitstorm.

No one dared to disrespect you regardless of how long they have been working with Peter, or before Peter.

Peter’s main concern was your safety, and when or if you had kids it would also turn to protecting them.

There was nothing he wouldn’t do to keep you his, even if he had to leave the entire life behind.

You are his everything, and goddamn he will make sure you and everyone else knows it.

[Thank you so much darling! My Dad is doing okay, it’s been quite a process and learning curve but it’s getting easier! I hope you enjoy this, and that it was what you were looking for!

#yandere marvel #marvel yandere #tony stark x reader #peter parker x reader #yandere tony stark #yandere peter parker #Anonymous

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honeydots · 4 years

Note

127 with shuake would be good.

"My hands are not clean, and maybe they never will be, but they can still carry you home when you're ready to sleep."

once again. didnt forget abt these. im working thru em.

Summary: Goro wakes up one day in a hospital bed with only a bullet wound to keep him company, and not a single memory of who he used to be.

(ao3 link)

He was almost certain the last few weeks had been a dream.

Or maybe, several long and white coated dreams. The kinds with bright lights at an arm's length, and ill-fitting clothes, and men coming in waves carrying their clipboards as flags. With deep voices all at once whispering, echoing, “what is your name?”

Maybe he was in a hospital.

His first day of full consciousness was slow and lonely. His second day too, time spent wiggling his toes and counting ceiling spots. Day three he asked for a glass of water and scared a nurse out of her skin, and his week was kickstarted. Which only really meant an actual doctor came in and declared retrograde amnesia the only explanation for his condition.

His “condition” was quite the word to use. Which condition? They could play bingo. Was it his memory loss (obvious, weak narrative), or could it have been the state of comatose he’d been in (intriguing), or even the bullet wound (now here was a mystery, what a plotline) he’d heard remarkably little about? Amnesia, the fickle bastard, was the type to bring one answer to dinner, and disappear by morning.

But what did he know?

Well, he knew that this was a pretty shitty hospital. As far as how he assumed they should be managed, this one was on a low tier. And according to the nurse, as was their police station. Incompetent, and uncaring of his case, which had apparently been made.

It’d been a week now. He could get up. Limited, with his IV, but he could. The nurse said later that maybe the police would listen to him now, since he was conscious, basically up and kicking. ‘Listen to him now,’ was also an interesting phrase, because he hadn’t been speaking in the first place.

He wasn’t injured. His vitals were fine, the nurses had told him, and commented he was taking up an unnecessary bed. Not that he could actually make any kind of sound argument, which was frustrating enough on its own, but this didn’t seem like proper procedure.

He was, once again, very alone in his room. He thought about going to the police station. Incompetent as they may be, there would be no answers here. There was no one here to help him; some healthy boy in a hospital bed.

He got up. His IV was stuck in poorly, the tape just barely holding on. They’d disconnected him from all sorts of machines. Nothing was roping him down except for saline solution and his own two feet.

And, he was already standing.

It wasn’t hard to pull out.

His hospital gown was tied all the way down, falling just past his knees. He had odd socks on, their texture was weird, and they were several sizes too big. They were thick and patterned, maybe slip proof? But shoeless as he was, they would do.

The hallway was very empty. He was on the ground floor, but he wasn’t sure there were other stories. Maybe one, or a basement. It didn’t matter much. There just wasn’t anyone around. His concern was in that he didn’t know how long their absence would last.

There was a glass door at the end of the hallway.

To the police he’d go. A medical bill dodging amnesiac would probably get him some attention. Enough to get a name?

The door was not locked. That was probably good, for a hospital, and not a security breach, which is where his mind had initially gone.

Doors are meant to be opened, he thought. There really isn’t anything wrong with that.

It was just a little bright outside. The sun was up but not too far. He was in the parking lot, and it was almost entirely devoid of cars. Small, small hospital.

He didn’t exactly have a map, and no nurse was around to give him any condescending directions. He’d might as well go forward, then. He started walking, and thought to himself how odd his feet felt on the concrete.

No one was out. He hesitated to call it deserted, just maybe a bit early. He kept walking, nerves high, still worried he might get mauled by a stray doctor.

It seemed like this was a very small town, going by his surroundings. Lots of trees, and cracked roads, and old buildings. He didn’t think much of taking it all in. He’d have time for sightseeing when he remembered his initials.

A bit farther ahead was a woman, leaning on a car parked on the side of the road. She was glaring down at her phone. She looked— maybe irritated? Or tired. He wondered if he could ask her for directions. An aimless stroll through town wouldn’t take him to where he was going, after all.

“Excuse me,” he called, “Ma’am? Do you know the way to the police station?” He approached her with just enough caution to call it looking out for himself, ignoring the sorry state he was already in.

She glanced up from her phone. Her hair was short, and dark, and it bobbed around her face. She registered him for a moment, and her eyes went big.

“Holy shit.”

He knew enough to know that wasn’t the answer he was looking for. “I need to go to the police, please.”

The woman kept staring at him. “You—” she stuttered, “are you Goro Akechi? You are, aren’t you?”

This encounter was already going awry. Did she know him? “Do you know me?”

“Uh…I mean, no, we’ve never met.” She pushed herself off her car, and slowly put her phone back into her pocket.

That wasn’t really what he meant. He needed to persist, here. This could be a lucky hit. “No I— Do you know who I am?”

Blatant confusion spread across her face. “Uh… Are you not Goro Akechi?”

“I don’t know,” he answered.

She stared at him again, almost suspicious. Then she looked him up and down.

“Are you… coming from the hospital?”

“Yes.” He watched her mouth open just a bit in disbelief. He wondered how this woman knew him. If explaining would get more information out of her, then he’d do it. Privacy only existed when you had something to protect, after all. “I’ve been given an amnesiac diagnosis, you see. I’m going to the police station to see if I can find any sort of lead on myself.”

She looked shocked. “Amnesia? And you’re going to the cops?” She blinked, and suddenly looked very serious. She grabbed one of his shoulders. “Wait. That’s bad news. Don’t go to the police.”

He (Goro?) hadn’t expected to hear that.“What? And why shouldn’t I?”

“You… holy shit, kid, do you actually have amnesia?” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Listen you need to— oh good god, this is gonna sound like I’m trying to kidnap you— I definitely know who you are. I can tell you but we shouldn’t… here. If someone finds you… ” She exhaled hard, and looked him dead on. It made Goro freeze. “Fuck, okay. The gist of it is— you’re in more danger than you realize. Like, a lot more. Will you come talk with me in my car?”

Alright. So, a lot to process, and a lot he didn’t know how to. He didn’t even know if he should process it, or if that was the kind of story that should be immediately disregarded. Someone telling you to not go to the police and please get in their car seemed like a textbook stranger-danger red flag. There had been something uneasy about her tone, though. Like genuine concern— not that such a thing couldn’t be perfected and acted, however.

But she’d given him a name. And it felt almost tangible, the more he thought about it. Less bendable and more sturdy. It was very easy to attach to himself. And it was a lead, wasn’t it?

“Hey, did you get discharged, or are you just wandering around? Cause they’re gonna be looking for you if they didn’t let you out,” said the woman, jump starting Goro (almost certainly, Goro) out of his head. “And kid, I cannot just let you turn yourself in to the cops.”

‘Turn myself in,’ he thought to himself. Such particular wording. It made his stomach drop. This woman knew more than him, clearly. And really, for fucks sake, if he died, he died. Obviously he hadn’t left enough of a mark on anyone to warrant not a single visitor during a five year coma. According to the nurses, it was more evident that he’d simply been dumped in town— like someone had already been trying to get rid of him.

Well, whoever they were, they’d forgotten to bury his bones.

He straightened himself up. “Okay.”

She looked surprised, at first. She swallowed around it. “...Yep, okay then. Hop in before you change your mind.” She popped open her car door, and Goro circled around the side and followed suit.

Her car was messy. It was filled with food wrappers and empty bottles, but papers and notebooks were scattered around, too. So she kept busy, it seemed. He decided he’d consider this a point in the not-about-to-murder-you direction. Too much here that could be used as evidence against her. Too personalized. He was almost envious.

She adjusted her seat forwards and turned on the ignition. She was a bit jittery, Goro noticed, as she scratched the back of her head vigorously.

“So, I’m gonna drive us somewhere that isn’t here but I can talk and drive so, just— like, just a second, okay?”

He nodded. She drummed her fingers against the steering wheel. “...Goddamn,” she muttered, and then pressed down on the gas, turning her car onto the barren road.

She kept her eyes forward, but kept true to her promise of talking. She sighed. “Right. So, uh, to start… Okay, first, my name’s Ichiko Ohya, I’m a journalist. Get that cleared away. Next comes you which is a bit more complicated, but you probably wanna know why we’re dodging cops so I’ll start there. Or, as close to there as I can.”

He would take anything he could get from her, actually. The cops situation was undeniably concerning, but right now he was essentially a sentient empty shell, absorbing everything for the first time. A kid in a metaphorical candy store, but the store was a dodgy reporter who still might be kidnapping him and just stalling. He’d call himself the kid, but it dawned on him he didn’t even know how old he was. Fantastic. More things the hospital staff hadn’t bothered to tell him.

“Your name’s Goro Akechi. I told you that already but, that’s you. At least I’m like, ninety percent sure.” She spared him a glance. “You do look a bit different but all in all I’m— I’m pretty sure. Just the hair and the stubble, you know.”

Goro hadn’t exactly looked in a mirror recently, so no, he didn’t know. He knew he had long hair— certainly longer than Ohya’s. He rubbed his jaw and felt the rough and gritty bristles that had prickled onto him. It bothered him that he didn’t know. It bothered him that he didn’t know what he looked like.

Ohya continued, not letting him dwell for long. “You’re also sort of famous. Well, you were, and it was mainly with teenagers and moms in the city, but you were a popular detective. So, that’s how I know you. And I swear I’m getting to the running from cops part, but you have to know this first first. Oh, shit, it’s right here.” She took a sharp turn into a grocery store, and Goro had to grip the side to keep steady in his seat.

She didn’t act very sheepish about it. “Sorry, for that. We’re gonna talk in here.”

She paused her explanation to pull into a spot, which Goro felt a little thankful for because, under his circumstances, that felt like a lot of information to take in. He was well known, but not well known enough that anyone out here knew him. ‘Famous detective’ raised some weird alarms in his head, a position absurd enough that it might be true. It felt unfortunately right, like a disappointing truth. It was different from his name, more unwelcome. But it didn’t click either. Nothing had been clicking at all.

There was a pit growing in his stomach, like something was in there, chewing down on his insides. But he’d found he didn’t care for ignorance, so he would put up with it for as long as it took.

Ohya turned her car off, pushed her seat away from the wheel, and got herself comfortable. She faced him, nonchalant but sincere. “So this is where the really juicy stuff comes in, alright? So like, listen up now, if you weren’t.” There was something very serious about her eyes.

As if he’d have let any of her explanation slip under his radar. “I��m listening.”

That was a good enough answer for her, it seemed.

“I’m trying to think of the best way to explain this, honestly,” she started, thumbing the back of her hand. “You… okay, there was this guy. He was a really big politician that you were involved with, and it’s kind of a gray area as far as what you were doing for him, but you and him worked together. Kind of. He was a really shitty guy.”

She looked like she was considering her words. She turned her focus out the windshield for a moment, and sighed again. “He basically ended up confessing because this group— well, actually, they don’t matter right now. He confessed, and he talked about you. For some of it. It was a long fucking confession. But half of what he said wasn’t even coherent. He was talking about some crazy shit and no one knows what he meant by it. You were part of that whole section.” She paused again, thinking. Goro let the silence sit. He didn’t want to jump to a conclusion until he’d heard her out. Which was proving difficult, truthfully, because this all left a sour taste in his mouth, one that had almost certainly been there before.

“They wanted to take you in for questioning, but you disappeared. And, to add fuel to the fire, they were having a hard time getting any actual concrete evidence,” she began. “Can’t make an arrest based on a confession alone. He did other things, too, and that's what he ended up being indicted for, but there's still that problem. This whole chunk of confession is still there that technically lines up with his timeline of events, but there’s no way to prove it. That’s why they want you,” Ohya’s expression darkened. “At least, publicly, that’s why they want you.”

She readjusted in her seat again. She faced him fully. “This guy— Shido’s his name— he’s got goons. Not to mention, he had complete control over the police, and there are other higher up’s who worked with him. Some of those guys got busted with Shido’s confession, but there’s a few where there just isn’t enough evidence to put ‘em away. These are the ones who you need to watch out for.” She took a deep breath, not finished.

“I’m gonna be frank with you,” she continued. “They want you dead. They don’t want a single loose end, and you’re still dangling. The police are on their side. Are you understanding me?”

Goro tried to let the words sink in. That was more than a lot to think about. The creature in his stomach was grinning now, he could tell. But, this was also no time to get overwhelmed. If her words were true— which, the overwrought familiarity of her explanation compelled him to trust them— he needed to keep his head above the water.

“So these— subordinates. You’re saying they’re after my life? They can’t be actively hunting me down, if they have the influence you’re implying, or I’d have been found by now,” Goro said, deciding to ignore the fear creeping up his spine. “So then, what’s my public status? How unlikely was it that I was the egoless comatose patient they were searching for?”

“Uh…” said Ohya, seeming like she was the stunned one. “Well, you’re right, they don’t really have a manhunt right now. I guess I don’t need to worry about beating around the bush here— you’re presumed dead.”

Interesting. “That doesn’t surprise me,” he said, furrowing his brow. “But, obviously, a body was never found. They’re probably prioritizing morgues then, not hospitals. That does explain why I wasn’t discovered after all this time.” Though, if they’re smart, they’d also keep an eye on cases like his. They probably were, in fact. He’d gotten lucky that the police here were clueless.

Ohya gave him a very funny look. “You know, it’s almost creepy how well you’re taking this. You were in a coma this whole time?” She shook her head. “I’d have thought you’d be more out of it, honestly.”

“Is this not what you’d consider a wake-up call? I’ve been ‘out of it’ for a week. It’s common sense that I’d react like this,” he told her. Just going outside had cleared his head. He had a feeling hospitals had never been a fitting place for him. “Yes, I was in a coma,” he added, as an afterthought. “They said I’d been shot.”

Just as the words left his mouth, he realized the implications that had.

Ohya noticed just as fast. “You said shot?”

They’d certainly both had the same assumption— maybe an attempt had already been made after his life.

But there was something that felt wrong about that scenario, too. “I’m not… entirely sure it’s what you think it is,“ he replied. Maybe wrong wasn’t the correct word but, it wasn’t completely right either. “There’s no benefit to not making my body public. And, if they’re really after me, it seems messy, to say the least, that they didn’t finish the job properly.” He tried to speak confidently. The effort was familiar, too. Part of him wondered when he’d get the chance to do some self-analysis and tear himself apart.

Ohya caught on very quick, rolling with every punch Goro gave. “Christ, kid. What kind of shady shit were you into? So we’re thinking you’ve got another group after you?”

“I don’t know.”

He really didn’t. There were missing pieces, but that was evident. He had no end of missing pieces. If he was supposed to be some detective, then maybe he should get on with acting like it, and figure out whatever the hell this was.

Whatever business he’d wrapped himself into.

Ohya, again, spoke too quickly for Goro to finish digging through his own head.

“Maaan, I’ve really got myself into something haven’t I?” She rubbed her eyes, like she was already exhausted. “Look, I’m a busy woman. Don’t expect much out of me, but apparently I’ve got a bad habit of adopting puppies. So I’ll see if I can at least point you in the right direction, okay?”

He didn’t have much of another choice, other than to let himself be killed. He nodded again, not sure whether to call himself pleased or solemn.

She buzzed her lips and looked at him, obviously thinking. Then she opened her car door. “Well, okay. First things first, you gotta get some clothes, ‘cause you can’t go walking around like that. God, you don’t even have shoes…” She got out and stretched, and then turned back to him for one last comment. “Don’t expect much, okay? I’m not made of money. Don’t you dare go anywhere, either.”

She slammed the door shut and started walking into the store.

Goro was glad for the moment of peace. He let his jaw relax, closing his eyes. He hated how familiar the stress felt, and how desperate he was to welcome the feeling. A life or death promise was about as thrilling as one day should get.

Getting any memory back was his top priority. But he didn’t have an inkling of where to start. He didn’t have a phone, or a computer, and certainly not a home. He guessed he could use a public computer at a library, but just searching himself might raise more questions than answers. They’d be important questions, he was sure, but he wondered about the bias, the assumptions, the fact that it’d be an outside perspective looking in. He didn’t know how delicately he should go about regaining his memories.

Not to mention, he had only the word of a stranger and a low feeling in his stomach confirming he was even Goro Akechi. And now, with the reputation he’d had, if he even wanted to be him was questionable. Memories of such a life seemed… unpleasurable, at best, but he hadn’t set himself up to be able to just start over. Remembering his past was his best chance at plain old survival.

He wanted to have some kind of plan before Ohya came back, but he was drawing blanks. What he really needed was someone who knew him personally. Beyond media attention, if there was a single poor soul around who’d actually known him. He found himself doubting such an existence, past anyone who was out for his head.

He heard the car doors unlock, and he opened his eyes. Ohya was walking back with two bags, and she was on her phone again, barely looking where she was going. Well, there goes him having a plan. Bouncing ideas back and forth was the last thing he wanted to do. It was time wasted and he knew he would get frustrated, but his choices were limited. At least Ohya seemed pretty knowledgeable. It was possible she knew more than she was letting on, too.

She opened up the car door and tossed the bags onto his lap. “Hey,” she began, setting herself back into place, “I got your stuff but— I remembered something in there that might be a good starting place for you, if I can run that by ya.”

Or, of course, he could hear Ohya out and avoid idea bouncing all together. Something solid had come by much quicker than he thought.

*****

Ohya’s plan wasn’t bad at all.

She’d told him she had a contact from a few years ago, who was in charge of a bundle of self storage units. Apparently a certain “Goro Akechi” had registered himself one a couple months or so after Goro’s public disappearance. They’d told her once they noticed the name, but Ohya hadn’t taken up the lead at the time. When Goro asked why they’d even told her that, she left it at “no reason important,” and kept the topic adamantly off the table. Goro would push the envelope if it weren’t for the fact that his life (a life he didn’t even know he had, for the record, and one that still bothered him) was on the line.

If this unit did belong to him, there could be a very solid lead on himself in there, and leads on his acquaintances, too. Ohya didn’t know if the garage still existed, though. So she said she’d give them a call and see if they could figure something out.

Which is what led to Goro sitting in a barber’s chair. After he’d gotten dressed (an ensemble of sweats, a sweatshirt, and tennis shoes) Ohya had commented that he looked like he belonged in a homeless shelter, and “really needed a haircut.”

She said something about how he’d always kept himself looking clean, and Goro believed it. He was already feeling discomfited the way he was. So unkempt and basically filthy. So, she decided that while she was getting her contact all in order, she’d pay for him getting a trim and a shave.

She was helping him more than he’d expected her to, in ways he didn’t really expect. But he’d take what he could get. He’d hardly had a reason to say no.

He sat waiting in front of a mirror. He hadn’t gotten a good look at himself until now, but god, she was right, he looked pretty fucking bad.

The first thought that came to him was sickly. Eyes sunken in, deep bags under his eyes. You wouldn’t expect him to have just been in a permanent state of slumber for the past five years. Or maybe the correct assumption would be, a coma hadn’t been enough sleep for him.

His hair was just below his shoulders, and he had a very pitiful looking beard. He didn’t recognize himself. He didn’t think that would change much after his haircut, but it made him itch. It was a face that didn’t feel like his. He wanted to rip it off and replace it with a new one, one he knew better.

Maybe he’d never liked looking at his reflection.

Ohya had spoken to the barber for him. The one he got either wasn’t the talkative type, or really got his vibe of not wanting to speak to anyone. She went to work in silence, washing his hair with fruity shampoo and dressing him in a long black apron. That was all fine, albeit uncomfortable, but once she started cutting, Goro found he couldn't watch. The snips were loud, and definite, and it left his chest feeling tight. He couldn’t do anything but let his thoughts run blank.

He wondered if that was hair he’d had before his incident, now falling away. He’d have the same eyes, and organs, and teeth, too. But he felt all wrong in this body. Like it had gone on without him.

He was thankful when she moved to his beard. Just for a moment, though, because having someone so close to his face made him want to retreat as far back into himself as possible. A blade so close to his throat. He wondered how hard of a push it would take to make a cut. He wondered how deeply he’d have to go to make it bleed.

Maybe he’d always hated barbers, too.

When she’d announced she was finished, and Goro forced himself to look back in the mirror, it actually took him aback. It had taken years off him. She’d styled his bangs, and left no hair on his chin, but most importantly, it was clean. Soft looking. Pleasant.

It was almost enough to distract him from the discolored scar plastered on his forehead.

He stared for probably too long. His disheveled bangs had kept it clearly out of view on his first glance, but now that he was fresh and groomed, it pushed its way into the limelight. It was reddish, and almost shiny, and painstakingly circular.

He could feel dread bubbling up. He tore himself away from the mirror, and found an instant sense of relief when he wasn’t staring anymore.

Reflections and barbers. More to read into later, he supposed. He was learning he had been quite the hassle. What an annoyance.

Ohya met him at the entrance. Pure amusement was all over her face. “Shorter than I expected, but you’re looking pretty smart like that.” Her eyes went to his scar, but she made no comment on it. She frowned, but that was all.

Goro didn’t mind her reluctance on the topic. He raised his eyebrows, and spoke with the silent mutual understanding of “that is one gnarly goddamn scar” between them. “Ah, and I’m sure the sweatpants add to the look.”

“Watch it,” she snapped back, sliding into her usual demeanor. “Not like I could get you Levi’s, kid.”

She paid for his haircut, and out of the shop they went. They walked to the car in anticipating silence. She had her phone out again, texting someone now. Goro didn’t want to get his hopes up. Texting could mean anything, or nothing, or half of one or the other.

She pushed her seat back getting into the car, and pulled one leg up with her. Goro waited for her to speak, keeping himself tense. He really wouldn’t be able to loosen up if he tried, like a wound up doll who’d gotten stuck.

Ohya broke the quiet. “It’s still there.”

Goro sucked in, but didn’t let himself relax. Nothing ended there. It was one check off a list, but not all of them.

“And can we go in?”

Ohya blew air out of her mouth. “Well, she said she wants to make sure it's you, because there's only so many privacy laws she wants to break.” She shrugged at him. “But honestly, looking at you now, there's not a doubt in my mind you’re Goro Akechi. So, you can chill about it.”

He leaned back into his seat. The tensity had not left him. Something was making him lucky today, and he hated it. He would feel much more comfortable in the mitts of misfortune. But he couldn’t help feeling giddy, too. Like something was rubbing circles into his back, easing, but not erasing, bits and pieces of his concerns. It was something to focus on, and a goal to achieve. Above all, that relief made him feel pathetic.

“I was gonna ask if you wanted to go today or not, but you look more thrilled than I think I’ve ever seen you, so I’m just gonna take that as a yes.”

He hated the way she worded that. He frowned. “Only if you’re as concerned about my identity as you seemed to be earlier. You’re welcome to take your time, I’m surely not going anywhere.”

“You’re snarky! I never realized you had an attitude,” Ohya laughed.

She got the car going, and they were on their way to the unit. Apparently it was quite a ways, and Ohya advised him he’d better buckle in for a long one.

He could feel his eyelids getting heavy. He had things he wanted to think about, and questions he wanted to ask. Working up a tolerance to being active was not something that could be done in a day, but fuck if he wouldn’t try anyway.

But, despite how he tried to fight it, Goro fell asleep.

*****

He woke up when they were about ten minutes from the units. Ohya commented she’d thought it was a little funny that he’d been so exhausted doing just about nothing all day, but admitted too that his body was probably pretty weak, and he really should take it easy. As easy as he could, at least.

They were both quiet for the remainder of the drive. The sun was getting low now. They were passing by suburbs between grassy fields, driving past exit by exit. He had no idea how long they’d been going for. Ohya had called herself busy, and Goro believed it, so her continual help felt unusual. People weren’t just like this, he was almost sure.

She also knew things that felt… almost inappropriately relevant to him. The topic of the unit still tingled in the back of his mind. Why had they called her about his storage? And for that matter, why had she even known so much about him? The information she had felt intimate— like the results of a deep investigation. Had this all been yielded from that politician?

But Ohya had a distinct air of privacy. There could’ve been something personal about her aid, but Goro figured that she wouldn’t crack easily. It might be better to leave it— personal matters tended to yield lasting effects, after all. At least, he assumed so. He really wasn’t sure if that was as big of a plus as it appeared on the surface, though.

When the centre came into view, Goro let those thoughts ease into the back of his mind. He could focus on Ohya’s MO later. This was leaps and bounds more important to him; if anything was going to last, it was this. He could play detective, just like he was supposed to, and maybe come across some special clue. Perhaps he could test out his muscle memory and flex whatever skills he presumed he’d had.

They arrived, and it looked extremely closed. Like the only customers they’d been expecting were ghosts. The lights in the windows were off, and the gate guarding the units was shut tight. It wasn’t encouraging.

Ohya read his expression pretty clearly. She bumped his shoulder with her fist. “She knows we’re coming, my contact’s still here. The front just closes at 6:00. I’ll deal with it, so just stay put for now.”

And just as she said, after she hopped out of her car and approached the office, the door swiftly opened and a woman joined Ohya outside. The two of them seemed friendly. Goro watched as they talked, noting quizzically to himself that Ohya was someone who talked with her hands.

Ohya gestured to her car and they both looked over to Goro. He watched them walk over, and obeyed smartly when Ohya signaled him to roll down his window.

The woman peeked her head around to look at him, her eyebrows arched high. “Wow,” she said, completely staring now. “I mean, he looks like him, that’s for sure.”

Ohya grinned. “Sure does. That enough for you to let us in?” She didn’t really say it as a request, more like an expectation. Goro appreciated the tone.

She fiddled with her bottom lip. “Hmm. You said amnesia? He got any doctor's notes about that?” She asked, giving cue to Ohya’s sour expression.

“You didn’t say a word about notes

on the phone, you know.”

The contact clicked her tongue, and looked back to Goro. She bit the inside of her cheek, and sighed. “Just cause it’s you, Ohya, I’ll take that nasty scar on his forehead as my confirmation.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Come with me inside, I’ll get his key.”

Ohya made a haughty noise of achievement, and followed the woman back in. Goro rolled up the window again.

They were taking a little while. He rubbed at his scar absentmindedly. So obviously a bullet wound, maybe that had been the real reason his barber hadn’t made much conversation. Whoever tried to kill him had shot just where it counted. You don’t fire a warning shot into a head. He wondered if he’d deserved it, and doubted he didn’t.

Goro removed his hand when Ohya reemerged from the building, and she was looking confident. She slid back into her car and jingled the key to his unit victoriously. “Easy peasy. She’s gonna open the gate for us in a second. Your unit number is 508.”

They waited for a little while, nerves ever growing, until the automatic gates opened on their own, groaning and creaking until fully extended. Ohya started her car and drove in, squinting at the unit numbers in the low light.

Rows upon rows of garages awaited them. This must’ve been a pretty large lot, by the looks of things. The dirt road was the only uneven piece of scenery, the repetition was endless. He kept a watchful eye on the unit numbers, as well, skipping between the evens and the odds.

After a few right turns, and one very tight u-turn, they were there. 508 stood wedged between its neighbors, almost at the end of the row, but not quite. Not a thing stood out about it. It was just as gray and worn and untouched as the rest of the facility. Not even the dirt was remarkable. It reminded him of the hospital.

Ohya held the key out to Goro.

“I’m assuming you want this to be a ‘just you’ kinda thing?”

The gesture was something he should’ve expected, but didn’t. It made him hesitate for a moment.

He took the key. “I appreciate it,” he said.

“No sweat.”

He got out of her car, and she drove off to the end of the row. She stayed parked within general sight of the unit. It was essentially pseudo privacy, but neither of them knew how long he’d be in there, and who knows what this could trigger. Ohya also didn’t seem like she knew a thing about amnesia. He wouldn’t look to her for comfort of any sort, but there was reassurance in her being a safe figure.

He took a deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. This was his step one. He’d gotten himself into some deep shit, his past self hadn’t seemed to have a shred of self preservation in mind. Had he not encountered Ohya, he could’ve been dead by the hands of the crooks that call themselves the police by now. He had a lot more steps to cover, and each one would be riskier than the next. He was much more on his own than he realistically should’ve been. Most people had friends, as far as he knew. But this was seemingly his own fault. He wanted to know why exactly it was his fault.

One more deep breath.

He inserted the key into the lock, and grabbed the handle of the metal shutter. He pushed up, and with a squeak of rust and a bang of metal, he opened up his door to more dangerous times.

And it was nearly empty.

It was barren concrete. Newly disturbed dust was floating about. It was eerily quiet, and the stale air made his throat itch. Cobwebs stuck in the corners, barely visible in the low light of the setting sun. Though he wouldn’t call it underwhelming.

In the center of the floor was a cardboard box. About medium sized, without a lid. It matched well with the rest of the room, lined with dust and unaltered. He kneeled in front of it.

It was its contents that felt much more exciting. There were papers, lots of them. Thick manila envelopes full of information for him to flip through. He scooted back towards the entrance and pulled the box along with, trying to get the last of the light funneling in to help him read.

It was heavier than he expected, and he didn’t know how much to attribute that to his current lack of strength. He took out the first envelope and it, despite the dust, was clear and candid. When he flipped it around, he noticed with eagerness that there was writing on the front. He tried to make it out as clearly as he could, and in careful handwriting, it read: “05/21/2020— Case No. 1471”

It was a case file. He pulled out another envelope, and it was similarly marked. His interest was surely piqued. There must’ve been some sort of relevance to these, if they were going to be so pointedly left here. He pulled out a third, and then a fourth, and from the weight he’d expected many more. But, the pile ended there. Instead, what filled the rest of the box was another, smaller, wooden one.

He took it out delicately, gripping it securely around the sides to ensure he didn’t drop it. This seemed much more… personal. Shiny cherry wood, latched but not locked, just small enough to sit on his lap firmly. A thought that couldn’t help but be excited came to mind.

This could’ve belonged to me.

He wasted no time. He undid the latch, and it gave a satisfying click. The hinges creaked just barely as his clammy hands lifted the lid, and pulled all the way back, until it rested hanging by itself.

Inside sat more papers. Some were crisper than others, some had obviously been crumpled and then flattened out again. But there was consistency in each of them being folded neatly in half, stacked neatly on top of each other.

He picked up the one from the beginning of the pile, unfolded it, and was surprised to find it had hardly been written on; a simple “To you,” at the top. This was a candidate that had been clearly wadded up and discarded. He set it down carefully, and picked up the next.

This one hadn’t been written on much, either. It said even less, just “Hello.”

He picked up another, and another. It was all soft stationary, each topped with slightly different wordings, and some decorated with a couple lines, even. But they were all just about the same, a simple greeting, and then resigning.

They were letters. Or rather— drafts for one. So he’d learned today that he was indecisive, maybe a bit quick tempered, but potentially also at least organized. He assumed the existence of these drafts meant he’d never gotten around to sending his letter, either. And perhaps he’d never get such a chance, if this visit didn’t convince any muggy memories to creep out of their caves.

As he pulled out drafts and read his pathetic one-liners, he came across a page that was different. There was actually a fair amount of content on it, over a paragraph's worth. It had obviously also been cast aside, but even a spare scrap could be useful to him, in this state. He used the last of the remaining light to read it.

“To whom it may concern,

I would like to skip the inherent shamefulness of writing a letter to you, of all things, in my introduction, and I will title this ambiguously under the assumption that if you believe this does truly not concern you, that you will save me the mortification of reading through it anyways.

I won’t formally phrase this as a farewell, but you should take it as one.

Our unknowns are too great to write, and while you were not innocent, neither am I, and there are truths between the two of us that shouldn’t have remained unspoken. I’ve never thought to run from the blame.

My hands are not clean, and maybe they never will be, but they can still carry you home when you’re ready to sleep.

Perhaps a fact I recognized too late.

I do not want to say goodbye, however I—“

It cut off.

The letter left a lump in Goro’s throat. He read it through once more. He wanted to analyze each sentence down to its core, but the light had died out. But there were bits and pieces, words that suck out in his mind. “Farewell,” “Innocent,” “Unspoken.”

“Too late.”

Goro bit down on his lip hard. The case files— those he understood. With the life he’d allegedly lived and the people he’d known, of course something like that would be predominant. They were fact on paper, ignorant of bias, they’d be full of names and leads. They were important. But, he didn’t understand why these almost-letters had been left here. Out of anything that could’ve been kept. Had there been someone he’d felt so strongly for? To be kept in safety behind lock and key?

To identify this person— that could be his next goal to achieving his memories. To ignite the fire of their eventual reunion, and perhaps they could know what happened to him. They could come easy, though he suspected that anyone who he’d decided to be so rottenly open with wouldn’t be typical. But, they would also know him, past the media, past the appearances.

And, though he wasn’t going to admit it, he’d needed something more hopeful to work towards.

He put the papers back where they belonged, placed the entire case back into the cardboard box, and stacked the case files back atop it.

There was no telling how old these letters were. They could’ve been from much before his incident. But this set him up for a goal, a big one, that might get him back to whatever meager place he’d left himself in.

He picked up the box, and prepared himself to head back outside to Ohya. He needed to muster up his resolve, because this was only the first out of two very important clues this visit could provide.

He positioned the box onto his waist, and took one last look into the dark before closing up his unit. He returned to Ohya’s car, pulling open the door without so much as a greeting, and set the box on the floor in front of his seat.

Ohya leaned forward, interested. “That a box you got?”

He wasn’t going to talk about the embarrassing letters he found. Even if he wanted to, his second clue came first. “It’s not that important right now,” he lied. “Is your contact still here?”

She raised her eyebrows at him, but let the topic drop. “Sure is. She can’t leave ‘till we leave.”

Good. “I need to speak with her.”

She hummed in reply, seeming very curious by his idea. They drove back up to the entrance, Ohya not questioning his motives, but still giving him an inquiring side eye every so often.

They got out of the car together this time, and walked into the front office. The woman was reading behind the counter, almost completely in the dark, with only a desk lamp lighting her work area.

She glanced up at them, and placed her book upside down. “Hey there. You got that key?”

“Yes,” Goro replied. He placed it lightly on the counter. She took it without a word, and got up to put it back on its hook. Goro stopped her before she turned. “I have a question for you.”

She seemed a little surprised. She glanced between him and Ohya, and then put her free hand on her hip. “Okay?”

He hoped he could push his luck just a bit further today. He’d made it this far, after all.

“Is there any way I can see the documentation that was filed when this unit was made?” he asked.

The woman pursed her lips. “Ohya?”

Ohya put her hands up defensively. “Don’t look at me. This is all him.”

The woman stared at Goro. He stared back. This was arguably the most important part of the visit. He needed to see those papers. Just a single particular part, it was the one factor that needed an explanation. He would not leave until he got that documentation, and if he had to stand his ground and pull her leg a bit to get it, he would.

After their staring contest lasted just a moment too long, she folded her arms. “Jeez. Only because I feel bad for you, okay?” she huffed, turning on her heel. “And because my niece liked your food blog.”

She disappeared into the back of the office, leaving Goro feeling just a bit full of himself. He would think about the food blog comment later.

Ohya lightly punched his arm. “Okay, good going. But whatcha going to do with that?”

“There’s something I need to check,” he replied flatly. It made Ohya grunt unenthusiastically.

The woman returned with a few papers, all paper clipped together. She tossed them onto the counter. “This is a customer copy, okay? So feel free to keep it.” She glared at Ohya. “And, I’m going home now. So, get out, please.”

That got a laugh out of Ohya. “I know I can always count on you to bend a couple of rules for me.”

“Out.”

They left the building, Ohya waving her last goodbyes while Goro rushed to the car. He needed to get some light on these papers, it was long past sundown now. He slid himself into the car, clicked on one of the lights, and went to work reading, all while Ohya was still walking over.

Ohya opened her door and stood outside watching him, leaning on the frame. First, it was with interest, but it soon turned into irritation.

“Kid, tell me what you’re looking for. You’ve got your eyeballs all over that thing,” she said.

He didn’t let their conversation stop him from reading. He kept his eyes glued to the page, checking each word and box before moving on.

He did owe her an explanation. Getting his thoughts out would help him focus a bit, anyway.

“These sorts of things— storage units. Wouldn't they be paid for recurrently?”

Ohya went quiet for a moment. “They are,” she said, and joined him in the car. “Shit. Those funds can’t be coming from you, can they.”

“Exactly. I’m looking for the responsible billing party.” He turned onto the next page. None of the handwriting matched what he’d seen on his papers and files, which further confirmed to him that this unit hadn’t been one he’d purchased himself. Whoever this was had put all that information in there, those cases, those letters. He suspected they weren’t his mystery recipient, but he could confirm that with them once they’d met.

Why this had been done in his name, though, was beyond him.

He flipped onto the last page, and found his prize. Big black bolded letters asking for the responsible parties name, and neat penmanship filling in the blank.

“Sae Niijima,” he read aloud.

Ohya gawked.

“‘Sae Niijima?’ Seriously?” she scoffed to herself, and sunk down further in her seat. “She’s an attorney. A damn good one, too.”

An attorney? He wondered how she could’ve known him. “She’s the one paying, apparently.”

Ohya tapped long slender fingers onto her steering wheel again. She dropped her head. “Guess that means she’s our next lead, huh?”

Goro adjusted himself in his seat. “It does.”

“Ahh, man,” she complained. “You’re really somebody who’s in with the big guns, you know. You better let me have some exclusive with you after all this is done, or something.”

Goro gave way a hint of a smile. Probably his first since he’d woken up. If this would be the last of his luck, so be it. He hated to rely on something so shifty and mischievous, anyways. This was a start, barely a sprout, to whatever his big picture was. But he’d see himself to the very top.

Really, he’d already died once. Hardly a way to go but up.

“We’ll see.”

#thank u for the aaaask!!!#this is shuake but akira is actually not in it at all whatsoever #also im so sorry i know the ending is. unsatisfying.#i just realized if i wanted the most satisfying ending possible this would go from 8k to like 32k at least #maybe once i post all these prompts on ao3 ill consider adding chapters to this cause i do like the premise #this is also like. my first published non comedic piece. so a lot of this is experimental for myself #anyway i hope you enjoy!!!#my fics #ask #anonymous #my p5 fics

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