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hockeyboysiguess · 4 years

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peace | t. seguin

a/n: had this idea for a hot minute. finally felt like writing it out!

wine pairing: a port wine, pretty much as sweet as wine gets.

warnings: cavity causing sweetness. some swearing.

word count: 2.8K

Tyler Seguin had taken a while to grow up, longer than some people wanted, longer than even Tyler himself had wanted at some points. Some people had lost faith he ever would, even some of the people closest to him. It made him cautious and caused him to retreat further into his comfortable shell of youth and false innocence. It prevented him from becoming the person he was always meant to be. Youth and the mistakes that come along with it weren’t forever and he had always know that. But it was easy. Continuing down a straight, defined path was easier than taking one that branched off into the surrounding mist with no idea what the end would look like, even if the path he was on would end in a brick wall he’d seen coming since he’d started on it.

Until you.

Meeting you for the first time was one of Tyler’s foggiest memories. He had been absolutely trashed, falling all over himself at a bar. You had been there with a few friends, celebrating something that good that had happened at work, a good presentation, a new client, a promotion, Tyler couldn’t remember for the life of him. Tyler had tried to be smooth and offered to buy you a drink, but the interaction instead ended up with you flagging down a bartender to get him a glass of water and slyly confiscating the whiskey sour from him when he was too lost in the effort of trying to impress you to notice. You got two cups of water in him before he had even noticed. To be fair, Tyler hadn’t noticed much of anything that night, just that you were beautiful and that he had liked your smile from across the bar.

Somehow, someway, you had given him your number before he left under the guise of letting you know when he got home safely. It wasn’t a guise on your part, but Tyler had used it as an opportunity to ask you out to brunch, the most innocent sounding of dates, as a way to say thank you for taking care of him. By some grace from something Tyler wasn’t even sure he fully believed in, you had agreed to brunch. He was all but convinced you were going to stand him up, realizing that he was just the mess you’d seen that one night, and that you could definitely do better than him. But you were there when he arrived, put together and so good, so much better than him. You were still there really, since Tyler had shown up fifteen minutes late.

He didn’t know why, considering you were probably the most beautiful person he had ever been allowed in twenty feet of, but you laughed, you smiled, you enjoyed his company. You told him you did. You were blunt, strong in your beliefs in the face of any test. In all the time Tyler had known you, beginning with your choice to show up on the date even though he was certain everyone in your life who looked out for you told you not to go, you never wavered from your convictions, not even for a second. Your feet were firmly planted in your viewpoints, roots wrapping around each one to hold you in place, strong enough to weather any storm.

You showed up for a second date, then the third, then Jamie’s birthday party, then to dinner with his mom and sisters. You kept showing up, even as Tyler held his breath, waiting for you to realize that he was so flawed compared to you. You were a future masterpiece and Tyler was at best a work in progress, but it was already so obvious that while you deserved to be hung in a prominent spot in the Louvre when you were finished, Tyler’s top showing might be an abstract college art gallery in a hidden New York alley. But god, did he love getting to be the person who got to stand next to you, seeing each brush stroke of the life you were building in motion. You were the most impressive person he had ever met and you continued to be, every layer of paint containing something else that astounded him and made him feel inferior, like he was tarnishing, borderline ruining, the masterpiece that was you by putting his hands in the wet paint of your life. You swore to him he was only making you better.

He didn’t know how that was possible, but he trusted your words. Your integrity ran too deep in the foundations of who you were to lie to him. With every addition to your life, your integrity ran through it. You knew exactly the person you wanted to be and you would drag yourself there kicking and screaming if that’s what it took. The depth of your integrity was the thing that made Tyler most terrified, because he barely had any idea of who he was before he met you. He felt like he was standing in the middle of a hurricane that made up his life and he was a sapling among the winds, green and flexible, but with swallow roots, barely sunk in, constantly in danger of being lifted from the soil at the words of shitty friends and strangers on the internet. You were solid, firm, sunk deep into the soil next to him and thank god for that. Tyler wasn’t great at a lot of things when he met you, but he knew he had to hold onto you. If holding onto you was the only thing he ever did right, it would be more than enough.

Except Tyler felt guilty for doing it, because while Tyler matured with you, his roots growing deeper along with his convictions, he still felt small standing next to you. Sometimes when he got to do his childhood dream of a job, a grown man playing a little kid’s sport, talking shit on the ice, in interviews, in the locker room, he felt like he was wasting the good person you were, like he was wasting your integrity and honor with his own actions. He could give you adventures, fulfill your wildest dreams. He could give you the family you always wanted. He could hold your hand through the worst storms, help you fight off the potential robbers of your happiness. But the storm would always come and the robbers would always be on your doorstep because Tyler was the one pulling them in. His job brought attention, resulting in a chaotic version of your life that you never envisioned for yourself. He could never stop it, only stand next to you as you stood tall in the storm.

Standing there, with the sun slowly setting behind him, barring down on his neck, his suit felt heavy on his shoulders, but not as heavy as the velvet box in his hands. He’d had it for over a month now. Designing the contents had been easy, arguably fun even for Tyler who had thought it would be like a root canal, but the second the jeweler had handed him the finished product, the doubt started forming, dragging his mind down. Before he held the ring, he felt like he had been floating on the best memories of your relationship, giving him confidence that you would say yes. Those cherished memories kept his mind afloat, far enough away from potential pitfalls to move forward with creating this symbol of your relationship in his hands. But without warning, he was in mental quicksand made up of past fights, the negative outside opinions he has always pushed aside and hoped you did to, and past versions of himself he didn’t like as much, and he felt like he couldn’t get his head above water long enough to find any possible reason you might say yes instead of no.

But here he was, unable to handle the doubt anymore, velvet box in hand, ready to ask you to marry him because the only way he couldn’t doubt your answer was if he knew it. Tyler bounced on his heels, his new dress shoes creasing with his movements. Why had he gotten new shoes for this? Didn’t he have enough dress shoes? That’s what you asked him when he’d brought them home a week ago, after he finally realized he was going to feel like he was drowning until he asked you. He had waved you off, saying he didn’t have a pair this particular shade, which was a lie. They were black. Shades were a little irrelevant in the realm of black dress shoes. He didn’t know exactly why he had bought them, or why they helped bring him to this point, the park where you’d walked together after your second date, but they had and because of that, he didn’t regret buying yet another pair of black dress shoes.

He checked his watch again for easily the twentieth time in a tenth of those minutes. You would be walking down the path any moment and this would be real. This was the last moment that Tyler could live in limbo, the last moment of carrying the doubt that was hanging so heavy on his mind, but also the last moment he wouldn’t know if your answer was no. God, what would he do if you said no? He didn’t have a plan for that, for what it would feel like to watch his entire future go blank in one moment, for what it would feel like for his heart to come out of his chest through his throat only to have it tossed aside like yesterday’s newspaper. Tyler shook his head softly and turned the box over in his hands again.

He heard your laugh before you came around the bend and it made him smile. It made him remember exactly why he had started this horrible journey to this moment in the first place; he couldn’t imagine his life without that laugh, without your hair ties scattered across his house, without you standing at the front door every single time he came home from a road trip, no matter the time. Tyler’s breath caught in his throat when you came into view. You looked beautiful every day, but that was his favorite dress, the one from your fourth date, and you were wearing the heels he had bought you for the first birthday of yours he spent with you. As you came closer, he saw the earrings from Christmas this past year and the necklace that matched them that he followed up with for your anniversary a few months ago. There were touches of how he touched your life all over you and it made him feel, for a second, like maybe you might just say yes.

“Tyler,” you smiled at him softly and he had to let out a long, strained breath to try to get his head on straight, “what is all of this? Jamie didn’t tell me anything.”

“Yeah, I told him not to,” Tyler laughed a little, trying to expel some of his nerves in his laughter.

“What’s going on, Ty?” you pressed again, taking in the flowers, the candles, and Tyler’s suit, which at least made you feel less like the only person overdressed for a walk in the park.

Tyler didn’t answer with his words. He let his eyes find yours and he thought about how central the woman behind them had become to his entire life. He didn’t have a speech planned. He knew he would have forgotten it anyway. He slowly dropped down onto his right knee and just let the words tumble out of his mouth, just trying to keep the pace somewhere near where you could possibly understand.

“When I met you, I was someone else. I was a guy who never showed up anywhere on time. I hated mornings and responsibility. I didn’t know who I really wanted to be, let alone how to get there. I didn’t really believe in much of anything, least of all myself,” Tyler started, “but you changed all of that, just by being there. You showed up in my life and didn’t try and change a single thing about me. You showed up and I realized I wanted to be better. You were the catalyst. You started this chain reaction of change that made me realize the person I wanted to be was the person who deserved someone like you.”

Your hands were covering your mouth as the tears welled up in your eyes. You couldn’t speak so thank god you didn’t have to. You just needed to listen, so you did.

“I’m still not some perfect guy. I’m a work in progress and I know that. I’m not a hundred percent sure of who I’m going to be, but I know I’m ready to be the best husband to you. You’re the person that I tell everything to, my wildest dreams, my fears, my ups, my downs, my lefts, my rights, but you’re also the only person I can sit in silence with and feel comfortable doing it because I don’t feel alone in silence if you’re sitting next to me in it too,” Tyler continued.

“I see your brother as my brother, your family as my family. God, I want to create a new family with you so badly, give you that child I know you’ve wanted your entire life. I want to keep you warm during the cold nights. I want to make sure your head stays above water when the blues come in waves. I want to love you in a way that’s only meant for the two of us to ever understand. I want to be your husband. I want to be your husband more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

Tyler cleared his throat. The tears falling down your face were mirrored in his eyes now, threatening to spill over. He couldn’t talk if he cried, so he looked up toward the sky, willing the tears to let him finish first.

“But baby, I can’t ever give you peace. I can give you all of me, my absolute best foot forward every single day, but I can’t give you peace. I can’t give you the quiet, calm life that you deserve.” His voice was cracking and breaking every other word, the pain he felt behind the words hanging onto each syllable unyieldingly. “There’s always going to be people talking shit, saying terrible things about you, about us. We’re always going to have to live behind high walls with narrow gates. The storm is always going to come for you if you’re standing with me and that kills me, because you deserve to feel safe and secure and at peace in your life.”

Tyler wiped his eyes with the back of his hand slowly, letting out a deep, shaky breath as he tried to pull himself back to a place where he could actually ask you what he came here to ask you. He didn’t think it would be this damn hard. He might have tried to practice otherwise.

“Is it enough?” Tyler asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Would I be enough, even if I can never give you peace? Is my love good enough to overcome that for the rest of your life? I hope so, because I’m asking if it’s enough. I’m asking you, if everything I can offer you is enough to overcome all of that. If it can, let me be your coparent. Let me be your partner. Let me be your husband.”

Tyler opened the velvet box he swore weighed a ton right now and you gasped behind your closed mouth. His mind was too foggy and too anxious to try to figure out if your reaction was positive or negative at this point.

“Will you marry me?”

The words, the four words that had felt like a shackle on his mind for months now, finally came out of his mouth. The doubt was gone. There was no reason for it anymore. Your answer would be what it was and there was nothing Tyler could do or say to change your mind now. Nothing he said in this moment would. If you wanted to marry him, you would’ve decided you did long before you showed up here today. Your answer was fixed long before Tyler’s speech and he knew that now.

Tyler watched you with anxious eyes, taking in the tears sliding down your face, your hands shaking over your mouth. He watched as you slowly took your hands away from your mouth. Your lower lip was quivering not unlike your hands as you slowly fanned your face in an effort to calm your reddened checks and put a dam on the tears that were still flowing. Even if he hadn’t said a word other than those last four tonight, you already knew your answer.

“Yes, Tyler. Yes.”

You offered your hand out, watching as his shaking hands clumsily collided with your to slide the ring onto your left hand. Tyler’s arms around you and his mouth on yours happened in a blurb and you melted into his strong chest. Your fiancé. Your future husband.

Tyler was wrong though. He thought he would create endless noise in the background and foreground of your life, robbing you of the ability to live a good, quiet life. But Tyler gave you all of the peace you could ever want in moments like this, where the entire rest of the world drowned out by his warmth and his love, when you were pressed against his chest.

This was peace and it was more than good enough. It was everything you had ever hoped for.

#Tyler Seguin #tyler seguin fanfic #tyler seguin fanfiction #tyler seguin imagine #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl blurbs #nhl imagine #Hockey Fanfiction #hockey writing #hockey imagine #folklore writing series

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perriwinklesblog · 3 years

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Heyyyyyy so Idk if you like asks but if you do can I send you lore asks?? I feel just genuinely confused on c!Wilbur's character and intentions rn and need someone to talk to. Like, cc!Wilbur is amazing at acting both in voice and in body language, but it also gives me those fun little creepy vibes that come when you love-hate a villain, you know? I just honestly don't know if I should feel dread or happiness when he says he's happy with something, lol. Your thoughts, pretty plz?! 🦝

I'm always happy to answer asks as long as they're respectful!

Wilbur's character is still keeping things close to his chest so I think it's hard to gage his true intentions on anything right now. He's still figuring out where everyone is at and what they're doing, whats happened and just enjoying the fact he's alive again.

I feel dread and happiness with Wilbur currently.

I do not believe he is intentionally trying to be antagonistic but he has very much displayed antagonistic traits through streams since returning. He most likely just wants to go back to have things were before the elections and schlatt, back to that day where he won. Where everyone was happy for a little bit.

I think he wishes to capture peoples nostalgia and therefore their happiness by recreating old memories but in slightly different ways. He's trying to gain peoples trust and become part of the group again. He's been alone for so long and when he returned he wasn't welcomed with open arms he was shunned. So that stung and so he's a little hurt and trying so hard to regain that sense of family and kinship.

However, with Wilbur there is also a darkness. Everyone has a little but of darkness but there is definitely a more prominent darkness in Wilbur than say Tubbo. And this is obvious through his treatment of Tommy and his general analytical nature.

Wilbur is constantly trying to figure out what makes people tick and then use that to either provoke or sway them to his side. He knew using family would sway Tommy to side with him over Quackity. Wilbur can be quite a manipulator with lots of people whether intentionally or not. He's also quite bad at pushing and backing people into a corner until they do what he wishes, cough cough Ranboo.

But that doesn't mean Wilbur is necessarily being bad. I think it's more like he's got learned behaviour from his past life and from being by himself that he's not figured out how to stop yet. So he cares for Tommy, loves Tommy would do so much for that kid but has such a bad bad way of showing it. He's so manipulative to the kid but it comes form love. His intentions are usually good. That doesn't make his behaviour good for either him and Tommy.

So the dread is there because it is definitely a fine line Wilbur is currently walking.

But he's trying and him respecting Tubbo's wishes and words indicates that he is trying to be better and trying to unlearn some of the toxic behaviours he has previously displayed.

But again, you also have to consider Tommys time in limbo. He said Wilbur was worse than before, he was so adamant that Wilbur not be revived, so absolutely desperate that no one revive him.

And I know Tommy is an unreliable narrator but there is something there. Something to consider.

Wilbur is very good at pretending things are normal when they're not. He's trying but we don't know much of what is going on beneath the surface.

At the end of the day, all we can do is take things as they come. Wilbur for the most part is trying to improve himself and regain his friend trust but like Tubbo, he needs to do more to show that its genuine.

Its interesting and I do hope for Wilbur that his character is on the track for redemption and not tricking us before being "evil".

But yeah, like Tubbo and a few other characters, I am wary (positive)

#dream smp #wilbur soot #tubbo #tommyinnit #ranboo

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srbachchan · 4 years

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DAY 4545

Jalsa, Mumbai Aug 12, 2020 Wed 11:43 PM

Birthday - EF - Sunil Venugopal .. Venkatachalan-Ramanathan .. Thursday, August 13 .. all the Ef wishes you the very best for the day and wishes that you keep safe and protected ..

‘..... जो बसे हैं वे उजड़ते हैं , प्रकृति के जड़ नियम से ;

पर किसी उजड़े हुए को , फिर बसाना कब माना है ?

... है अँधेरी रात पर , दीवा जलाना कब माना है ?’

they that are settled , do get up rooted through natures harsh conditions and rules .. but when was it not allowed to resettle the uprooted again .. yes the night is dark and deep .. but when did any stop you from lighting a diya ..

.. that emblem that symbol of time place affection love and ceremony through the years from 1976 to 2020 , did come down in natures storm .. but today on the auspicious day of Ma’s birth did I resurrect it by planting another fresh new Gulmohar in her name, exactly where the ‘emblematic symbol’ had fallen ..

.. and in her memory did I plant two more to look after and guard over her .. the ‘Bakul’ and the ‘Bahava’ tree .. they with the essence and beauty of their unique flower blooms .. much like the essence and uniqueness of Ma ..

.. much before her marriage to my Father, Ma had for a while taught in a prominent College in erstwhile Punjab, before partition .. and the students of her class would wait in the corridor .. waiting for her to pass by so they could admire the sari she was wearing and to savour the whiff of her fragrance as she walked by ..

.. the ‘essence and uniqueness’ of Ma ..

.. their fragrance enticing drawing each other to it .. bringing all of us in unison with the harmony of home and place ..

Ma loved flowers and gardens and wherever we shifted residence to she would surround us all with the most beautiful gardens and flowers of the new environ .. she wanted fresh flowers each day in the house .. particularly so in her room .. the rose being her most favourite ..

.. mine have always been the ‘mogra’ and the ‘parijat’ and the ‘raat ki raani’ which gave the most soft gentle fragrance through out the night, particularly in the Delhi winters .. the ‘parijaat’ with the orange stems and beautiful white blossoms were always a delight for me .. in the early hours of the morning they would lie on the floor of the drive way .. gentle soft .. to be picked up with utmost most care and threaded together to form a necklace as an offering in the temple for the God’s ..

.. I am rebuilding them again at Prateeksha .. and perhaps if space permits at Jalsa .. hopefully, near the gate so that when the Sunday well wishers come these sweet smelling perfumed flowers would greet them ..

.. there is so much at the present now which is being built on hope .. for the conditions that should and would have prevailed are still in limbo .. a condition that the entire World faces .. strange and ironic in many ways ..

.. there would always be an answer for unanswered questions coming from some part of this vast Universe , in the past .. but suddenly now there is no response .. no answers .. no reliable answers ..

.. when ever did we face such a situation in our lives .. when ..

Amitabh Bachchan

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endexe · 3 years

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ON SEPTEMBER FOURTH, 2021, as time becomes shorter and space grows colder, Morningstar Fate decides that it is time to lock [ redacted ] into darkness for creating too much chaos across the universes and dimensions and timelines once more. Emotions and thoughts can be the horrors of the existence, though when they are expressed by the being ( ? ) who does not ever know how to bear the stars and embrace the seas in gentleness, ruination is bound to take part of the Natural Order, and Fate can not ever allow that event to occur for all will only come to cease. So with Halloween quickly approaching, it decides that there will be times that [ redacted ] will lose their head and turn into a prominent horrible fable told by strict parents and paranoid children, PLUNGED INTO THE ENDLESSLY COLD AND LONELY DARKNESS. While there are still a few few timelines that [ redacted ] is in where they are safe from the drastic change made by Fate, though in most timelines, in the end, darkness is what they become until the November determination breaks the limbo.

I decided as to celebrate for Halloween, I will be placing [ redacted ] in a bit more different position for temporarily where Fate decides to remove their head as a form of punishment to their excessive creating of chaos, and [ redacted ] have to deal with the continuous affects of being headless, when the head is known to be an extremely important body part to their character. I hope that despite me being more busy with college, I will use the real time from September fourth to October thirty first to develop [ redacted ] through the themes surrounding the concept based on trying to remember the memories in darkness, relying on oneself with own thoughts and emotions rather than the world’s, the determination through the overwhelming darkness, being the light that only knows how to consume violently, the horror of one unseeing while knowing they are seen deeply, and more.

IF YOU ARE OKAY WITH YOUR MUSE(S) INTERACTING WITH R IN THIS STATE OF BEING HEADLESS, PLEASE LIKE THIS POST SO I CAN KNOW WHO CAN I SEND PROMPTS / REPLY TO THREADS ANYTIME AFTER SEPTEMBER FOURTH WITH THEM AS BEING HEADLESS.

Here are more details located under read:

Any threads made and prompts sent prior to September fourth will not have headless!R involved. Anything after the said date will be automatically assumed that R is headless in your muse’s timeline if you like this post. Though if you send prompts to me, you are more than welcome to specify if you want R to be headless or not, otherwise I will choose for myself. When I send prompts to people, I will use ( 🎃 : ) next to the sentence / action prompt to indicate that R is headless while saying / doing the prompt to your muse. I won’t use the emoji if I decide that R wouldn’t be headless in that scene.

I use the tag “ #redactedundarkness “ for any replies that doesn’t involve headless!R and “ #redacteddarkness “ for any replies that does and to blacklist if you are not comfortable with the theme of decapitation being excessively explored throughout the duration.

How R is headless in your muse’s timeline is up for you to interpret, though I am more than okay to have this aspect specifically established and discussed about through ooc interactions. It can be any reason from them having an accident, having their head cut off by a threat, or even just them suddenly having their head drop out of their body!

[ redacted ] in this state is deaf, muted and mostly blind. They use a pumpkin to give themself an unsettling desperate grasp of being a human despite the incident, which can be worn or carried around. When there is a candle in the pumpkin, they can see only the white outlines of items, people, etcetera, while everyone else is pitch black. If there is no candle placed in the pumpkin, they are completely blind.

Because of that, [ redacted ] begins to use sign language a lot more often or uses a tool to write their words down. Anyone who likes this post is automatically assumed that [ redacted ] would teach your muse at least the basic words / sentences of sign language in case they have no access to any writing tools. If you do want your muse to have higher knowledge of sign language because of [ redacted ], then you’re welcome to portray that as we can establish that aspect together.

#( WHEW OKAY!!! HERE WE GO!!! )#( LETS DO THIS!!! )#╰┄┄┄・ ༉ ‧ ₊ ˚ ✧ : 0UT 0F CH4R4CT3R . / /#horror cw #gore cw

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thesevoiceswontleavemealone · 3 years

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Understandably so, the fact of the matter is

If I were to disappear into the abyss

Cease to exist entirely

The world would not stop turning

Flowers would still bloom

Weeds would still sprout

My loved ones sadness would rise

But also their worry would fall

Their happiness would still grow

I would soon become a distant memory

And I think I am at peace with that

Which scares me but also is a comfort

People would be able to move on

Grief would alter into relief, ashamedly

That there is no longer so much worry

Heartache is something that is important

For when you know what you have lost

You know the importance of those you care for

Thinking of nothingness is terrifying

In reality, the inability to think is comforting

But is is not just the inability to think

It is the inability of utterly anything

Sometimes the idea of death is needed

Succumbing to the screams within my head

The fight inside me wears thin each and every day

It does not matter how much I plead for help

I am seen a lost cause, so how can I think otherwise

I do not want to die, at least I do not think I do

I want to live for a future that is simply fictional

When someone questions my aspirations

I answer with a dream that deep down I know

Will never become a reality

Pursuing my dream job is comparable to a fairytale

Although I reiterate it constantly

Trying to convince myself moreso than others

People believe in me and my ability to have a future

And I understand why in a logical sense

It is not as though I am uneducated

I am quite talented in some fields I am told

But my mental illnesses are a barrier

Or are they, or have they just become an excuse

An excuse for a detrimental fear of failure

I do not know anymore

Fear is an emotion that does not just impact you mentally

But physically, the entire flight or fight reflex within you

Do I throw myself into the deep end and fail once again

The chances of achieving what I want is so minimal

Stress could entirely engulf me to my end

Failure could cause so much more damage

So I should not set the bar so high

But, how can I not?

For someone with such a lack of motivation

Inability within a mental capacity due to breakdowns

I am one of the most competitive people you will ever meet

I am fixated on if I am to have a future it will be a worthwhile one

If I don’t put myself out there then what is the point

But I fear that if I do and I fail again I will ultimately give up

Give up on a future and give up on my ability of anything

So I do not know what is worse

I am aware I can no longer continue like this

Living in this limbo of uncertainty

All I am sure of is I cannot do this alone

I am in desperate need of help

In any capacity, however not only my screams

But even my literal attempts of giving up on life

Does not phase professionals anymore

They almost aid my mentality that I have nothing to live for

Abandonment is something that is beyond sufferable

But again and again I am given up on

By friends, by loved ones, by family

I am used, abused and broken by everyone I trust

Which is why I struggle so much each day in constant worry

That those I am trying to let in will hurt and destroy me

I am determined to get through this

But I cannot do it without help

Yet no one seems to want to help me

Being a lost cause is something that has always

Prominently screamed at me from the voices within my mind

But now it has become more factual

As everyone gives in as they do not know what to do

I do not know what to do, professionals do not know what to do

No one knows what to do with me or how to help

So I am in a constant destructive mindset

That I am to not waste more resources

Not wasting others love and worry and hope

And help everyone; by simply giving up.

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afinepricklypear · 3 years

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Confessions & Deleted Scenes

I get a lot of anxiety when it comes to comments on my writing. When a story of mine starts to garner a lot of attention, replying to readers and continuing the work, becomes increasingly difficult. Maybe it’s a touch of Imposter Syndrome, but I get stage fright. Yet, if I got no comments, or I saw no increase in comments, I couldn’t continue either. It’s this strange “damned-if-you-do, damned-if-you-don’t” struggle. I used to get around it by starting new fanfiction accounts and starting over, rebuilding an audience in a new fandom, but I don’t want to do that anymore. I don’t want to run from my stories. But. I’m in that mental place right now, even looking at comments and trying to muster the werewithal to reply makes me sick to my stomach and want to break down. I can’t breathe and I start crying, the thoughts in my head: I’m not this person, I didn’t write this thing that you liked so much, it’s trash, it’s all trash, and if I did, it was a fluke, and I can’t recreate it. Then the paranoia sets in: the readers are leaving, they see that I can’t do this, they hate me, they hate my work, I knew all along it wasn’t good enough.

Ah. Well. I’m working on it. I want to move past this and feel confident and continue with the stories in my head without the fear that no one will like it or they’ll like it too much so that eventually I’ll disappoint them. The words are there, I just can’t get them on to paper right now in a way that is satisfactory. So I’ll try and I’ll fail and I’ll try and I’ll fail.

In the meantime, while I get my shit together, here’s the original chapter 1 from my first attempt at writing “Wake Up” for my BSD fanfiction series Release (posted here on AO3). I haven’t read it since I retconned it, so it’s not edited. I wonder if anyone will find this here.

*Chapter*

A cold gray frost coated the windows of every building along the dusky alleyway. Chuuya leaned back against a building’s brick wall, crouched low to the ground, head tipped to one side, and a heavy gray, linen coat draped over his shoulders. He tried not to think about the lingering scent of urine on the air, or the fact his thin shirt and jeans provided little protection from the severe drop in temperature that evening. The hair on his arms and back of neck prickled on end, his ability, For the Tainted Sorrow, was desperate to unleash and wreak havoc on the cityscape around them. But like the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that, he wouldn’t be using his ability that night.

A week had passed since Chuuya was forced to join the Armed Detective Agency after his violent departure from the Port Mafia. The injuries he sustained from leaving the organization he’d called home for seven years, and the incident leading up to it out in Hiratsuka, were little more than dull aches and scars, now, thanks in part to the Agency doctor and her healing ability, but the memories lingered like bad dreams. He kept waking in the middle of the night, lost and disoriented, in a vaguely familiar bedroll that his instincts rejected as ‘home’. It was only Dazai’s slumbering embrace, unconsciously blanketing Chuuya with No Longer Human that kept Chuuya from doing damage to his surroundings on instinct with For the Tainted Sorrow.

On top of that, he was still adjusting to his change in employment, still settling into his decision and the concept that it could be right for him, even beneficial, to work with the Agency of detectives he’d called enemy a month ago, and even tried to kill on more than one occasion. Those facts, of course, were the reasoning behind the strict conditions of his joining the Agency, which included a moratorium on his ability use without ‘permission’ from the Boss, Agency President Fukuzawa, and a zero-tolerance policy of No-Killing, No-Torturing. To say sticking to these conditions proved difficult was an understatement but Chuuya was nothing if not willing to rise to any challenge. Even despite Dazai’s constant efforts to rile him up at the office, or Kunikida breathing down his neck, eager for him slip up so they could oust him like the Port Mafia. Every day he felt like a caged tiger, gawked at by zoo patrons, while pacing his confines, flexing his claws and unable to do anything with them.

Luckily, and speaking of caged tigers, Chuuya’s week with the Agency had been spent shadowing his new “mentor” in the Agency, Atsushi. He worked alongside the boy and the boy’s partner, another newcomer to the Agency from the Port Mafia, Kyouka. They were the greenest detectives in the Agency, so while the rest of the detectives took on any higher priority cases that walked through the door, Atsushi and his mentees were tasked with handling all of the smaller, more tedious, and lower risk ones. That night they were following up on a serial burglary case in a prominent neighborhood following a lead given to them by the Agency’s resident smug bastard detective, Ranpo. After hitting multiple dead-ends on their case all week, Atsushi finally took their case file to the “best detective in the world” and appealed to him with a box of candy to use his “Ultimate Deduction”. He recommended they stake out a particular convenience store in the targeted neighborhood that night – odd, because all of the burglaries had been at residences – and he warned that they were dealing with an ability user.

“As if we hadn’t already figured out we were dealing with an ability user,” Chuuya muttered under his breath. He hadn’t been impressed with Ranpo’s display. There had been no signs of a break-in, no forced entry, just items missing. The only clue was uncovered at one of the victimized houses, the back portion of a shoeprint cut in half by the house’s exterior wall. Chuuya shuddered again from a wintery breeze nipping at any exposed bit of his skin. He knew he should’ve brought a scarf, but he’d been too preoccupied about ensuring Dazai was properly packed and prepared for an overnight in Hiratsuka. Chuuya couldn’t decide if the other man was really so terrible at taking care of himself, or if he just got a kick out of Chuuya doting over him. Years of ‘hating’ one another had taught Chuuya the latter was more likely.

For the most part, the Agency was in limbo regarding their most recent case out in Hiratsuka that had revealed there was a mysterious organization kidnapping ability users for experimentation and using them to manufacture replica abilities. It was the kind of discovery that, according to everyone at the Agency, despite Chuuya’s skepticism, needed to be handed up the ladder to government officials for them to determine the next plans of action. Meanwhile, Dazai and his partner, Kunikida, were tasked with gathering any and all evidence left behind in Hiratsuka, as well as, maintaining relations with the leader of Hiratsuka’s syndicate, Lady Murasaki, who had hired Dazai to investigate the disappaereance of one of her employees, Fujiawra Sadaei, before the conspiracy was exposed.

It was Dazai who uncovered the entire plot, only to go missing himself, but not before setting up a series of cryptic messages to be sent to Chuuya. Chuuya had been ordered to ignore the messages and delete them from his phone, but he couldn’t turn his back on his former partner, and onetime Port Mafia traitor, regardless of the fact they’d spent the months prior sneaking off to play house together at a small house out in crater city, Suribachi. The decision, and a stack of intimate photographs from that Suribachi house that had been delivered unbeknownst to Chuuya to his former Boss, Mori Oogai, were the toppled pai gow pieces that led to his own fall from grace in the Port Mafia. He still didn’t know where the photographs had come from, but he narrowly escaped their fallout with his life.

Chuuya spotted Kyouka across the street at a park, sitting in a swing and fiddling with the phone she constantly wore around her neck. For all intents and purposes, she looked like a young, middle school aged girl, that was enjoying her winter break. Atsushi, Chuuya knew, was on the other side of the building keeping watch towards the backside. They all wore headpieces to keep in contact with one another.

“Was it supposed to be this cold tonight?” Atsushi’s voice crackled through the headset.

Chuuya frowned, letting his breath out in a puff of steam. He heard a crackle and pop from the metal dumpster beside him and, glancing to it, realized with a start that he could see the frost crystals growing, “I don’t think it’s ever supposed to be this cold, kid. Looks like an ice ability, user’s got to be nearby.”

“There’s movement,” Kyouka’s voice was soft, almost inaudible as a whip of wind roared from nowhere, but firm, “Above you. Third floor window.”

“I can walk up there, no problem,” Chuuya offered, itching for the excuse to defy gravity.

“No,” Atsushi quickly and sharply replied. Chuuya could feel the boy wince at the severity of his own reply through the headset, “I mean…what I mean is…I’ll go, Mr. Nakahara. You and Kyouka stay put, continue watching, in case anyone else shows up.”

Chuuya bit back his frustration, he knew Atsushi was only worried about him, as he said between grit teeth, “Fine. You’re in charge, kid.”

On the other side of the building, Atsushi activated his ability, Beast Under the Moonlight, partially transforming into a mystical white tiger form. He climbed up the wall in a few short jumps, and rounded the corner to investigate the movement Kyouka had seen. Chuuya tucked his gloved hands under his arms, his fingertips aching from the growing chill in the air around him. He stalked towards the back of the building to take up Atsushi’s post. After a couple minutes, Chuuya tapped his foot impatiently.

“You see anything interesting, kid?” he asked.

Silence.

“Atsushi? What’s going on up there?”

Still silence.

“Kyouka, you got eyes on Atsushi?” Chuuya said, pulling away from the backside of the building and hurrying back towards the front, spotting the little girl in her position at the park, dull gaze now fixed skyward, cell phone dangling from its chain around her neck.

“Yes,” she answered, her typical monotone trembling slightly, “He’s at the window. He hasn’t moved for many seconds.”

The sound of several gunshots erupted through the night, and before the ring of their report could finish, Chuuya was sprinting up the fire escape. One quick, last glance to the park to note Kyouka was gone from her post, as well, and without thought to his agreement in joining the Agency, Chuuya used his ability to lift the third-floor window, diving through its entry and rolling to his feet in a light fighting stance, hands loose at his side and senses on high alert. The hallway he’d landed in was empty and somehow cooler than outside, it felt like an ice box. Somewhere inside was the sound of soft sobs. He started forward through the dark apartment and nearly slipped backwards to the ground, catching himself on the wall and a hallway table, the framed pictures atop it quacking and falling over. He winced, but the sobbing didn’t stop, his carelessness hadn’t been heard. Breathing a sigh, his eyes dropped downward to find the wood floorboards were coated in permafrost.

Delicately, Chuuya righted himself and took small, deliberate steps to slide with some semblance of control along the hall. He passed by dark, empty rooms towards a luminescent glow ahead in what, Chuuya assumed, would be the kitchen. He sidled up next to the entryway, listened for a moment. The sobbing, he surmised, was a woman. There were no other noises. He frowned, reached for the knife he kept strapped at his thigh and held it low against his side, out of sight but ready if he needed it. He stepped into the kitchen.

On the floor, there was a woman kneeling in a tattered gray bathrobe, a gun on the ground beside her. There was splintered wood around shallow bullet holes in the wall on the far side of the room where her gunshots had hit. Chuuya’s breath caught. Outside of the window was Atsushi, his skin pale and lips turning blue. His eyes were moving but the expression behind them was dull, as though staring through a fog, and, every so often, his breath steamed the window in wet puffs.

The floorboard creaked under Chuuya’s weight and the woman reached for her gun, spinning around to point the barrel at Chuuya. Her crisp green eyes were wide, her short, chestnut colored hair falling in greasy, uneven dregs around her tear-stained face. From the corner of his eye, he could see Kyouka’s demon ability hovering beside Atsushi outside, its hand on the ethereal sword at its hip.

“Whoa, let’s be reasonable about this, lady,” Chuuya said, loud enough for Kyouka to hear from wherever she was hiding, undoubtedly nearby. He slipped the knife back into its sheath and put his hands up in as unthreatening a manner as he could, his mind turning possible outcomes from this encounter around in his mind. Every ounce of his body and heart was screaming to kill her swiftly, but then there was the niggling voice in the back of his head, that sounded not unlike Kunikida, whispering, when you slip up…

“I…I didn’t mean to…” the woman cried, whimpering, more, fresh tears forming, turning to droplets of ice on her cheeks, “It wasn’t my fault…I swear…it wasn’t…I had no idea what he was…I had no idea. Please…”

“It’s okay,” Chuuya told her, having no idea what she was ranting about, he assured her, “I know you had nothing to do with it. Not your fault, right? We all make mistakes, put our trust in people that turn around and betray us. You’re just a victim in all of this, huh? Why don’t you put the gun down, Lady Winter, and unfreeze my friend outside, and we can talk about this like civilized people, alright?”

The woman glanced over her shoulder at Atsushi outside, spotted the Demon before it could duck out of sight, and her eyes widened with panic. She yelped, half-crab walking towards the far wall, stumbling to her feet and dropping the pin of the gun, she pointed it back and forth between the window and Chuuya, her hands visibly shaking, unable to hold the gun straight. At that rate, she was more likely to miss than hit if she fired off a shot. Chuuya sighed, and placed his hands in his pockets. He was not cut out for this negotiation crap.

“We’re not here to hurt you,” he said, “We would’ve done it already if we were.”

That made her hesitate. Her eyes flickered from him to the window.

“Why are you here, then?” she demanded.

“Still trying to figure that one out,” Chuuya admitted with a shrug, he glanced at the wall behind her, those bullet holes and furrowed his brow, darting a look back at Atsushi, “Maybe you could start by telling us who you were shooting at.”

“No-no way,” the woman whispered, jabbing the gun at Chuuya, “You tell me who you are first, I’m not just going to confess my life story to some stranger that broke into my home.”

Chuuya smirked, tilting his head to one side, “Fair enough. We’re detectives, investigating the burglaries from that nearby housing community. Someone told us this would be a good lead for solving the case. I’ve got an idea who you are too. You own the convenience store downstairs, nice set-up, only store like it in this city block. I bet you know everyone in this neighborhood. Which house they live in, where they work, what kind of money they make, how many people they’ve got living with them, and what everyone’s schedule is.”

Another trickle of tears that froze halfway down the woman’s face and peeled off like crystalline beads.

“You and a friend get the idea that you could make a little extra cash, on the side. So, you start putting that information to good use. It’s gone good for a while now, but one of you got greedy…or maybe cold-feet, thought the other was going to talk. My friend shows up peeking in the window and it looks like betrayal. Shots are fired and your friend took off,” Chuuya said, “How’d I do?”

“Burglaries…?” the woman faltered, shaking her head, a look of puzzlement crossing her features, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No?” Chuuya scowled, “Everything made sense though…”

Admittedly, there were still missing pieces to the puzzle. There was no sign of break-in, so he assumed her partner had the ability that got them into the houses undetected. The question of where the stuff was could likely be answered by a thorough search downstairs. Still, where was the partner, why had she been firing off a gun, and what had she been blathering on about when he got there…something about not being her fault and some mysterious ‘he’ – likely the partner, but what didn’t she know about him? Was he working another angle behind her back? As if on cue, a flicker of movement caught Chuuya’s eye, a man stepping through the wall behind the woman, a glinting chef’s knife in hand, poised to stab the unsuspecting woman in the back.

“Hey, watch out,” Chuuya shouted, moving before the words had left his mouth.

The woman, stunned by his sudden lunge at her, fired off a couple shots that Chuuya deflected easily. The man with the knife grabbed the woman, she screamed, Chuuya’s hand brushed the man’s forearm as the blade began to bite into her backside, and Chuuya sent the man flying back towards the wall. He passed harmlessly through. Chuuya pulled the woman behind him, darted looks around the kitchen, jaw set and muscles tense, searching for movement.

“Oh god! He’s going to kill us. You can’t do anything against him. You can’t, he’s too powerful,” the woman blubbered.

“Lady, we just met. Seems too early for you to make that call, don’t you think?” Chuuya felt the ground give out beneath him, and he dropped his gaze to find his foot sinking through the floor, “What the hell?” He darted an anxious look to the woman, barking out commands rapid-fire, “Unfreeze my friend. Find the little girl. Get out of here with them.”

He felt a pinch at his calf, he was starting to solidify in the floor. He sent out a shudder of energy and the ground gave out under him in a hailstorm of plaster and wooden splinters. He picked himself up from the wreckage, coughing and dusting away the debris, finding the startled man standing across from him.

“Dammit, that’s twice now you’ve made me use my ability. I’m on parole,” Chuuya yelled, rushing at the momentarily stunned man and swinging a roundhouse to his head. Chuuya’s leg passed right through, but he didn’t let it slow him down, swinging and thrusting kicks and punches with deadly precision, all of which would have landed if the man wasn’t a fucking ghost. Chuuya fell back, trying to hide that he was a bit out of breath.

“My turn,” the man grinned and began his own assault. When Chuuya raised a block, the man’s strikes passed through unhindered only to solidify and land their hit. He cut across Chuuya’s cheek, jabbed into his side, and blasted him back with a kick to the chest that Chuuya caught himself on with For the Tainted Sorrow. He spit blood and fixed his stance.

“So, you’re the thief, huh? Why do you want the woman dead?” Chuuya said.

“What business is that of yours? You can die with her if you’d like, though,” the man threw a cross jab and, as predicted, his hand passed through Chuuya’s block, but the second it was close enough to Chuuya’s face, the man was dropped to the floor with an increased density. The man used his own ability, and passed through the floor. Chuuya stumbled around as the man reappeared behind him and shot out a fist into his stomach. Chuuya stared down in surprise, puzzled at what the point was, the man’s entire arm was sticking through Chuuya.

“Do you know what happens when an incorporeal object becomes corporeal inside of you?” the man taunted.

Chuuya’s eyes widened, using his ability to propel himself backwards at a breakneck pace, feeling a growing tug as he flew away from the man. He stumbled rather than landed gracefully back against the far wall, gasping in pain, and grasping at his stomach, fingers brushing along a hand sized hole in his shirt, underneath the flesh was damp and jagged. He dropped to his knees and coughed out a thick wad of blood. His eyes blurred, and he shuddered, feeling like he might vomit. There was a crunch of debris under foot as the man approached. Chuuya steeled himself, his thoughts tumbling towards a singular decision: if he was going down here, he’d take the man with him. When the man became solid, Chuuya would crush him to a bloody pulp.

On his way across the room the man swept up a broken pipe from the wreckage, whistling dramatically some off-key tune.

“Where should I put this, I wonder?” the man mused, tapping the pipe in his hand, then pointing it to Chuuya’s forehead, covered in a thin film of sweat, “Your brain?” He lowered it to point at Chuuya’s jugular, “Your throat?” The man’s lip curled up into a sinister grin, as he hovered the pipe in front of Chuuya’s chest, “Your heart.”

“Do it,” Chuuya bit out, “You die with me.”

The man’s pupils dilated with his murderous intent, and he drove the pipe towards Chuuya…only to find resistance. The man frowned, desperately pushing the pipe at Chuuya’s chest but the pipe remained solid, refusing to pass through. Chuuya perked a brow up at the man, and the man scowled, swatting distractedly at something brushing the back of his neck.

“Oy, careful now. I almost lost contact,” a familiar voice chirped in mock cheer, the finger that had been gingerly touching the man’s neck giving way to a bandaged palm wrapping firmly under the man’s chin. Dazai’s face appeared peeking over the man’s shoulder, his other hand pressing a gun into the man’s side, “Hi, Chuuya! This seems like a bad situation.”

“Idiot. I thought you were in Hiratsuka for the night,” Chuuya replied, partially choking on his own blood and the mix of emotions swelling through him at the welcome sight of the other man.

“What’s this? Did you miss me already?” Dazai mused, his lips pressed into a thin frown, his eyes wide with amusement, “I suppose that means I’ll have to give you extra attention tonight...”

The man took their conversation to mean Dazai was distracted, seizing his opportunity, he swung the pipe over his shoulder towards Dazai’s head, and Chuuya’s hand shot out to grab the man’s leg and send him flying, first to slam into the ceiling and then crashing back into the ground, which cratered under his body. He wheezed, blood pooling around him, seeping from his every orifice. Chuuya guessed all of the man’s bones were broken, ground into a fine powder from the impact not unlike falling from a thousand feet overhead, and the thought made Chuuya feel a tiny bit better about the gaping hole in his stomach. Dazai stared blankly at the dying man and blinked a few times.

“That was dramatic, Chuuya.”

“Yeah, well, he’s an asshole,” Chuuya said, words trembling, and his face flushed white, “Where’s the doctor?”

“I sent Kunikida to retrieve her, he took Atsushi and Kyouka with Miss Gould back to the Agency, as well. They should be returning with Yosano shortly,” Dazai knelt in front of Chuuya and smiled, careful not to touch as it was Chuuya’s ability alone holding his guts inside, and Dazai’s No Longer Human would nullify his one lifeline, “It’s a good thing Ranpo called or, it seems, I’d be coming home to a tiny pincushion. Ranpo said ‘Chuuya will definitely do something stupid tonight’. He’s never wrong, you know, so I had no choice but to come here.”

“We only showed Ranpo the file an hour and a half ago. There’s no way he called you with enough time for you to get back here from Hiratsuka. You never made it there, did you?” Chuuya replied.

“Hmm…what’s this? That’s very clever, Chuuya, to figure out on your own…Atsushi must be training you well. I’ll have to reward you later,” Dazai grinned from ear to ear, “A good dog deserves a good treat.”

Chuuya flustered and fell forward, Dazai scrambling back to avoid him as he slumped towards the floor.

“Hey, hey, slug, what are you doing? Taking a nap? I can’t reward a dog that doesn’t greet its master with energy,” Dazai cried out, concern laced beneath his otherwise lighthearted words. He sat down cross-legged on the floor, plopping his elbows on his knees and cupping his face in his hands, he began to explain, “Don’t you want to know that you’re right? We returned early from Hiratsuka. The government contacted President Fukuzawa. We have a meeting with them in the morning.”

“We, huh? You’ll actually show up to it, then?” Chuuya murmured reply, trying desperately to keep his eyes open as black, inky splotches exploded along the edge of his vision.

“Wha-at? You make it sound like I skip out on important work all the time,” Dazai complained, “That’s not very nice, Chuuya. You’re worse than Kunikida, you know.”

“…crossing…the line…” Chuuya murmured.

“It’s not polite to fall asleep when someone is talking to you,” Dazai said, worry now heavy in his words, “I have no choice but to show up. President Fukuzawa personally requested I be there. Ah…but there are really so many other places I’d rather be, more exciting things I could be doing.”

“…oh yeah…like where?”

“Where…hm…anywhere, really. A small country village with a cottage, cobbled streets and cafes. Vineyards and sweet-smelling pastry shops…” he sighed, his voice faraway, “Somewhere where there is a quiet room with an ocean view.”

“…sounds nice…” Chuuya was struggling to draw his breath in, “…should go…sometime…”

“Mmm…maybe. I wonder if someone will be waiting for me there,” Dazai whispered, and Chuuya couldn’t muster a reply. He felt the other man lean over him, breath tickling his ear, “Rest now, Chuuya. Kunikida’s car is here. I’ll take care of you tonight; you take care of me in the morning.”

Like hell, Chuuya tried to reply, but his energy left him all at once, and he leaned unconscious on the ground. It was a few hours later when Chuuya woke in the Agency clinic. He pushed himself up to sitting, found the doctor, Yosano, rearranging the medical supplies in her cabinet nearby. She spared him a glance over her shoulder when his bed creaked protest of his movement. On a nearby bed was laid the ghost man.

“Starting to think we should set you up a permanent bed here. It’s only your first week, but I’m sensing a pattern,” the doctor said, there was an edge to her words that let Chuuya know she hated the thought of him spending more time than necessary in her clinic as much as he did, but the comment was an attempt to meet halfway. They were far from being friends but they were co-workers now. As much as she despised saving his life, she’d continue to do it as long as he worked at the Agency, it was her weird way of saying he could trust her on that, at least. Chuuya gave her a wary look.

“You know, I never had nearly as many near-death experiences working at the Port Mafia as I have working with your Agency. I’m starting to think forcing me to join here was part of a grand ploy to torture me the rest of my life,” Chuuya replied. His throat was dry and his words came out rasped. He gave a nod to the man in the other bed, “You managed to save this tool, too, I see.”

“Despite your best efforts. Quite the number you did on him. I’ve seen the dead bodies of people who fell from hundred story buildings that had less concussive injury than this guy when you were done with him,” Yosano crossed over to the man’s bedside to check on an IV drip attached to his arm. She spotted Chuuya’s questioning look and explained, “Drug induced coma. His ability would make it difficult to keep him locked up, and this seemed like the better solution than forcing Dazai to hold his hand until we could transfer him to government custody.”

“Would’ve been a better punishment to trap him with the waste of bandages,” Chuuya muttered, inspecting the bloody hole in his t-shirt with a click of his tongue.

“Speaking from experience?” Yosano pointed to a bag on the chair beside Chuuya’s bed, “He brought you some clothes from home.”

Home. Home, with Dazai. Their home that they shared. Chuuya smirked, picking himself off the bed and making his way to the chair on unsteady legs, “Fine. Maybe it would’ve just been more entertaining for me. Dazai ‘loves’ holding hands with strange men.” He frowned. “Where’re the kids?”

“Outside, in the office, I presume. Drafting the report for your case tonight.”

She hesitated, pressed her lips into a thin line, examining Chuuya in a way that sent a tiny, self-conscious shiver down his spine. He ignored her staring, picked out the garments in the bag and busied himself with changing. She averted her gaze when he removed his ruined t-shirt, revealing a bandage over his stomach where the ghost-man had stuck his arm. Yosano had the ability to heal him completely, but she never did, only enough that he would live, leaving the rest for him to heal naturally. She thought of it as her own way of getting a bit of justice for Chuuya’s ‘victims’ during his time with the mafia, but from what he understood of how her ability worked, he decided she was really letting him off easy.

“Atsushi is alright, if you were worried. The woman had entombed him in ice, but the tiger kept him safe while he was trapped. His recovery after she unfroze him took no time,” Yosano leaned back against the cabinets and folded her arms across her chest.

Chuuya pulled the fresh shirt over his head and bagged up the tattered one, tossing it in a waste bin. He swept his hat off the chair where it has been propped up next to the change of clothes and strode to the door, leaving without another word. As the doctor surmised, Atsushi and Kyouka were out in the Agency’s main office area, hovered together over Atsushi’s computer. Ranpo was also there, sitting with his feet propped up on his desk, some flashy cartoon that looked to feature robots streaming on his computer screen and a box of caramel coated popcorn in his lap, he laughed uproariously between mouthfuls of the saccharine snack. Chuuya wrinkled his nose in disgust at the childish man and joined the kids.

“Mr. Nakahara, you’re awake. I’m so relieved,” Atsushi perked in his chair, looking sheepish, “I’m sorry…about what happened today…it’s my fault that…”

“Don’t stress it, kid, we were all caught off guard,” Chuuya shot Ranpo a scalding glare, Ranpo continued to watch his cartoon and showed no outward sign that he noticed the look, “Not that we couldn’t have been better prepared if someone had given us more to go off, but that’s not your fault.”

“Right…though I don’t know if any amount of preparation could’ve really prepared us for that. It’s a good thing Dazai showed up,” Atsushi said, and Chuuya bit back the reflexive bitter retort, reminding himself they were on the same side now, but it did little to sway the competitiveness he still felt towards the other man. He was doing just fine on his own, dammit, he didn’t need Dazai to rescue him, “We still haven’t pieced together everything, but it seems the woman’s name is Hannah Gould. She came to Yokohama from America to live as a refugee after her father died in the war. According to Miss Gould, the man’s name is Marcel Aymé but she doesn’t know anything about why he was at her place or why he was trying to kill her.”

“That doesn’t make sense. She said something about…something not being her fault and she mentioned a ‘him’ before that guy showed up. I was sure she was talking about this Aymé guy. She’s got to be lying,” Chuuya said.

“That’s what Dazai thought, Ranpo agreed but he told us she’s not lying about not knowing anything of the burglaries and Marcel is our burglar. We’ll be transferring his custody over to the Special Abilities Department in the morning when they come for that meeting,” Atsushi explained. He paused, his features furrowed. His eyes flickered away; his expression mildly guilty. Chuuya glanced at Kyouka but her face was lowered and features naturally blank.

“There’s more,” Chuuya decided, folding his arms over his chest and tapping his foot, “But you don’t want to tell me.”

“It’s not that,” Atsushi said quickly, his eyes shooting up to Chuuya’s, wide with emotion, “It’s just…”

There was the sound of a door opening and closing down the corridor where the Agency President’s office was located. Kunikida and Dazai’s voices preceded their entry into the main office area, bickering about something nonsensical. It seemed Dazai was trying to convince Kunikida that lemon juice mixed with a bit of clay was restorative when worn on the face and feet at night, President Fukuzawa trailed behind them. When they reached the office, Kunikida’s eyes swept over the room, deliberately avoiding Chuuya. He made a comment to the other two men, said in a gruff voice, “Atsushi, I expect your report on my desk in the morning,” and left for the exit.

“Nakahara. A word,” the Agency President said. Chuuya frowned, meeting Dazai’s eyes momentarily, but the other man gave nothing away.

“Sure thing, ‘Boss’,” Chuuya muttered, moving to follow President Fukuzawa back to his office.

“I’ll help Atsushi with his paperwork,” Dazai declared, cheerfully making his way to Atsushi’s desk.

“Shouldn’t you do your own paperwork…?” Atsushi pointed out to Dazai’s laughter.

“You’re so silly, Atsushi, if I did my paperwork, then what would Kunikida do?”

Once they were in the president’s office, Chuuya plopped down in the available chair and waited for Fukuzawa to pour out two cups of tea. Chuuya had only been in the office once before, when he delivered his choice as to what his post-Port Mafia fate should be. The feeling of that day, and the weight of that decision, came back to him as he settled back in the chair and braced himself for the inevitable fallout of his earlier fight with the ‘ghost’, Marcel. He’d used his ability multiple times, albeit the situation was life or death, and then did his best to kill Marcel.

“We’ve reached the end of your first week,” Fukuzawa began in a tone that Chuuya hadn’t expected. Fukuzawa set one tea cup in front of Chuuya, took his own to his seat. Chuuya glanced at the cup but said nothing. Fukuzawa fixed him with a cool stare, “How are you settling in?”

“Fine,” Chuuya replied, narrowing his eyes on the older man, scrutinizing him for the meaning behind his words. Mori could never be taken at face value, there was a plan in motion, and a plan underneath the plan, and a plan under that plan. No question, no matter how innocuous it may seem, was ever without some unseen intent. Working for Mori meant staying on guard, and being successful in the organization required looking under the layers to see the layers beyond, but also, understanding your place in those layers and, all the while, not questioning the parts you didn’t understand even as you were intended to predict their subtle meanings.

“You’re comfortable working with Atsushi and Kyouka?”

“Sure,” Chuuya shrugged, picking at a loose thread on the upholstery of his chair.

“And the other’s in the Agency? I know some have expressed a distaste in working with…”

“Can we cut the crap?” Chuuya interjected, eyeing Fukuzawa dangerously, “I know I screwed up tonight. I used my ability without your permission and I did my damndest to kill that Aymé guy. I’m not even going to pretend I’m happy he’s still alive, I would’ve squashed him into mush like the roach he is if I’d known the doc was on her way, made sure he was good and dead before she got there.”

“Is that what you truly want right now? Aymé to be dead?” Fukuzawa mused, “In the moment, it could be construed as self-defense, but to still feel so strongly after the fact…to kill him now might be called vengeance.”

“He stuck his arm right through my stomach and out my back. Call me crazy, but I kind of hold it against people when they stick things in my body without my permission,” Chuuya grumbled, slumping down in the chair and tapping his foot on the ground, “So what now, huh? What’s my punishment, ‘Boss’? Am I out?”

“I wonder, if you were given the chance now, left alone with Aymé, would you kill him?”

“Huh?” Chuuya wrinkled his brow, eyed the Agency President suspiciously, “What are you getting at?”

“Merely curious. Is there harm in answering, if you’re already ‘out’, as you say?”

“No. I guess I can’t get in any more trouble, can I?” Chuuya leaned his head back and frowned at the ceiling, “We’d be better off if he was dead. His power was difficult enough for me to take on, hell, he almost killed me, and it’s no secret, I’ve got the most power and skill here in a fight. Not to mention, the man walks through walls, how do you keep someone like that locked up short of sticking them in a permanent sleep or gluing him to Dazai?”

“He has certainly proved himself to be a danger to society.”

“Same is said about me, though, right? Kill what you can’t control. But that’s the government’s style, not mine,” Chuuya smirked wryly at Fukuzawa, reaching forward to take a sip of his tea, and feeling a strange nostalgia from the scene, flashing to a meld of memories of being a younger man seated on a tatami mat across from an oddly serene woman in a kimono, katana sheathed and laid flat beside her. Their conversations then had the same energy and Chuuya felt an inexplicable tranquility cast over him, as he realized, there’s no Mori-level hidden schemes here, Fukuzawa just wants to understand, “Like you said, in the moment, I would’ve killed him because I want to live and, besides, he pissed me off. Same for him, I got in his way, so he wanted me dead. Self-defense, if that’s what you want to call it. But now, I don’t know the whole story and I’d really like to know what the hell is going on. It’d be better to wait for him to wake up so I can ask him, rather than kill him in his sleep and never know, right?”

“And when you have your answers? Would you kill him then?”

“Not my choice, is it?” Chuuya said.

“If it was,” Fukuzawa prompted patiently.

“No,” Chuuya met Fukuzawa’s stare evenly, “If he wants to come for my life or my organization again, I’ll accept the challenge and I’ll make sure there aren’t enough pieces left for the doc to save, but what’s the point in killing him otherwise?”

“I understand.”

“So,” Chuuya crossed his legs at the knee and leaned back in the chair, smiling at Fukuzawa, “You still haven’t told me my punishment for breaking my parole.”

“Even though it went against restrictions imposed on you by our Agency when you joined, you acted in the only way that you could to protect your team and our organization’s interests. I wonder, in this type of circumstance, would Dr. Mori have punished you?” Fukuzawa said, folding his hands in his lap and looking at Chuuya with a stern intent.

Chuuya cleared his throat, shifted in his seat, thought it over a moment before carefully answering, “Mori always said that it’s okay to bend or break the rules sometimes if it’s for the greater good of the organization.”

“A reasonable concept. Why then do you believe that I should act less reasonably than him?”

Chuuya ran his fingers over his palm where he could sense, more than feel, under the fabric that aching scar left behind by Mori’s scalpel driven through his palm. Fukuzawa caught the action, the corner of his lip twitching downward.

“I’m not Dr. Mori, I have no ulterior motives,” Fukuzawa said, in a tone as cold and firm as granite. Chuuya’s eyes flickered to his hard expression and then lowered to the ground, “If we’re to work together, you need to understand that. I’ve conferred with Kunikida and Dazai, we’ve concluded your actions were reasonable given the situation. There is no punishment. Rest tonight, your presence is expected in the meeting with the government’s representative tomorrow.”

“Oh good, and here I thought you said there was no punishment,” Chuuya muttered. He rose from his chair and started to the door.

“Nakahara,” Fukuzawa called him to a halt, “Thank you for protecting Atsushi and Kyouka tonight.”

Chuuya nodded, feeling stiff and a thousand times more exhausted than after using Corruption as he exited the room, shutting the door softly behind him. He found Dazai seated atop Atsushi’s desk, his legs folded and his body entirely blocking the flabbergasted tiger boy and his bemused partner from the computer screen and, what Chuuya could only presume, was their unfinished report. Dazai was speaking excitedly about something or the other, his voice trailed off when Chuuya entered the room and he bounced to his feet.

“Excellent! It’s decided,” Dazai declared.

“Decided? What’s decided?” Chuuya furrowed his brow, certain he was going to regret asking that question. Atsushi and Kyouka looked just as puzzled, and Dazai puffed up, looking rather proud of himself.

“Atsushi and Kyouka will come over for dinner tonight and Chuuya will make us all a wonderful dinner.”

“Who the hell decided that?” Chuuya shouted, his cheeks flustering with the heat of his emotions, and his stomach flopped knowing the futility of his protest.

Dazai’s smile, of course, never faltered, “It is, after all, Chuuya’s fault that we’re all still here.”

“What? No, no, Mr. Nakahara, that’s not…” Atsushi quickly attempted to amend. Kyouka covered a smile, and Chuuya softened his expression on the two young detectives.

“Fine, but we’ll have to stop by the store for ingredients on the way home. I’m not feeding them canned crabmeat,” Chuuya said, leading the way out the door. It only took Dazai a few long strides with his long legs to catch up, resting his hand between Chuuya’s shoulder blades. Kyouka and Atsushi had to scramble to follow after.

At Atsushi’s request, and despite a bit of prodding, because that can’t be all you want, Chuuya prepped some chazuke for dinner that night, topping Dazai’s with crabmeat and Kyouka’s with some fresh tofu cubes, and seared salmon on his and Atsushi’s. He used dashi instead of the traditional green tea, and let Dazai serve the bowls while he plated up some dinner for the kitten winding circles around his ankles. Dazai was regaling the youngsters with a story from their mafia days, with an embarrassing amount of embellishments that Kyouka looked to be taking with a grain of salt and Atsushi devoured wide-eyed and overflowing with naïveté.

“…at that point, my part was done and once they had me chained up in the backroom, all I needed to do was wait for Chuuya to come ‘rescue’ me,” Dazai was saying, Chuuya poured himself a glass of wine, “Of course, Chuuya was late as always. He cleared out the enemy, we returned the hard-drive to Mori, and still had plenty of time for Chuuya to lose ten bets with me before the arcade closed!”

“Amazing! And he really figured out where you were and what you needed him to do just by your turning one book on his shelf backwards?” Atsushi beamed before his features crumpled a little, “I wonder…is it wrong to say that you two made a really impressive team…since the work was for the Mafia?”

“No way, don’t fill his head with that kind of praise, kid. Dazai doesn’t need any more of an ego,” Chuuya complained, making his way to the futon.

“Ah, just who has an ego, glorified hat rack?” Dazai replied haughtily.

“Unlike you, my superiority is real and earned,” Chuuya shot back, scowling down at Dazai with a hand on his hip.

“There’s one thing I don’t understand though,” Atsushi interjected before the two could become fully embroiled in their bickering, “Once you were inside of the enemy’s headquarters, Dazai, it seems like you could have cleared the guards and secured the drive on your own. I’ve seen you fight and if you’d had a gun…I guess I can’t help wondering why…”

“Why he called me into all of it? That’s easy to understand. It was more fun for him to drag me out of bed in the middle of the night and make me do all the hard work,” Chuuya sipped his wine and took the seat next to Dazai on the futon, “Also, back in those days, I never let Dazai have a gun when we worked together.”

“Really? Why is that? I’ve seen Dazai shoot a gun before, he’s a very good shot,” Atsushi furrowed his brow in confusion.

“That was the problem exactly. He is a good shooter and…a suicidal prick,” Chuuya cupped Dazai’s chin, pulling the bandaged man’s face down to press a kiss to his jaw, and Dazai smiled sweetly at him in return, “I couldn’t trust him not to shoot me or himself.”

“Oh, I guess that does make sense,” Atsushi murmured, happily spooning some chazuke into his mouth.

“Hmm…always taking care of me. Such a good dog,” Dazai grinned, slinking his arm about Chuuya.

They ate over light conversation and then Dazai saw the two young detectives to the door as Chuuya cleaned their dishes. He smiled when Dazai crossed the room into the kitchen, slipping his arms around Chuuya’s waist from behind and burying his face in Chuuya’s shoulder. Chuuya relaxed back into Dazai’s embrace, continuing to scrub clean the pot he used to cook their rice that night.

“Mmm…Chuuya…be my lover,” Dazai murmured against Chuuya’s neck, his words vibrating warmly against the skin there, soliciting several shivers of pleasure.

“No,” Chuuya replied softly, rinsing the soap from the pot and his hands, setting the pot on the drying rack beside the sink. He squirmed out of Dazai’s grasp, reaching for a towel and drying his hands. Dazai remained by the sink, head hanging and arms limp, empty and cold, by his sides. Chuuya went to stand in front of Dazai, reaching up to push the shaggy hair from Dazai’s face, curling the tendrils around his fingers and pulling Dazai to his eye level, “I know what you want to do with your lovers, sicko, and I’m not interested.”

“Ah…is that right. So, what are you interested in doing with me then?” Dazai said, grinning into the kiss Chuuya leaned up to his lips, his arms slunk around Chuuya’s body, squeezing out the space between them and deepening their connection. Chuuya ended it first, pressing his forehead to Dazai’s, heat of their kiss coloring his cheeks and smile breathless. He slid his hands down along Dazai’s arms to find Dazai’s wrists, untangling the hold Dazai had on Chuuya’s waist. Chuuya entwined their fingers and led the eager Dazai to their bedroom.

#bungou stray dogs #fanfiction #random thoughts #bsd fanfiction #soukoku #chuuya nakahara #dazai osamu #dazai x chuuya #deleted scenes #bsd release series #bsd fanfiction wake up

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webkinz-05 · 3 years

Note

could i get a general reading for my purpled timeline ? i was in a poly relationship with ranboo , tommy and tubbo , and was friends with a pink dragon non-canon . i wasnt very canon-compliant , and i was in fact an alien . my memories are kind of all over the place , but my most prominent ones are me staying at las nevadas for the money , and tommy helping me rebuild my ufo and even making it better . a lot of my time was spent at home or at work , but i had some good relationships ( not a lot , but enough to keep me happy ) . ( jesus i hope i did this right- )

Of course! Just a quick disclaimer my deck isn't exactly a typical deck, so not all the cards will really fit with the more well-known suits. It is a deck of remembrance though, so it will be able to help with past occurrences :]

self - The Separation (reversed)

The Separation represents an increase in freedom and lovingly letting go of a person/aspect of your current life. Reversed, it probably means that you felt trapped in your current situation-- I'm guessing working at Las Nevadas, or possibly missing your home planet-- and felt the need to get closer to someone, or in this case your polycule.

environment - Captivity/The Imprisonment

Captivity/The Imprisonment represents being trapped in a choice and knowing that there is no right answer, but that the decision to stay in this sort of limbo is intentional. The solution here may be to back away. I believe that this card is talking about your job at Las Nevadas, and how you felt like you were stuck between making money and working there.

relationships - The Stocks/The Pillory (reversed)

The Stocks/The Pillory represents that you will either start or become the victim of a rumor and that either way you will spread it. Reversed it means you were part of a close-knit community that keeps each other's secrets-- your polycule.

challenges - The Angel/The Search for Salvation (reversed)

The Angel/The Search for Salvation represents the hopelessness of searching for salvation/enlightenment. Reversed and in the context of challenges, it means that you should start searching for salvation. You feel like it's a hopeless search, and so starting is the biggest challenge for you.

triumphs - The Battle

The Battle represents the need to get angry and rough, not to win, but to fight. In this case, I believe that you did get angry, you did fight, most likely over your position at Las Nevadas.

overview - The Seducer/The Idea (reversed)

The Seducer/The Idea represents getting tangled in your own web of desires and expectations, and reflecting on your current predicament. Reversed, it means that you generally kept a good touch with reality. You were overall level-headed and kept your and your partner's best interests at heart.

✪ Mod Honk ✪

#tarot reading #purpled kin #purpled bedwars kin #tommyinnit kin #tommy kin #tubbo kin #tubbo underscore kin #ranboo kin #ranboo beloved kin #dream smp kin #dsmp kin #mod honk

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aesthbaby · 4 years

Text

You’re going to be okay

Summary: Reader and Emily meet as ghosts in a hospital after a case

Pairings: Reader x Emily Prentiss (Emily x JJ implied)

Prompt: Reader and Emily as ghosts haunting the same place (School, hospital, house, whatever). Reader has been dead for a few years and helps Emily deal. They end up liking each other and maybe have ghost fun all over the place. ;)

Warnings: a handful of curse words | death | sadness

Word Count: 4k

Master List

Pt. 2

“What the hell...” the agent looks around the bright hospital room, she’s standing in the middle of the hallway while nurses and doctors rush past her. “Excuse me,” she reaches out to a nurse but the woman walks right past her. She turns in circles with a very confused expression.

“You’re okay,” you say as Emily whirls around to face you.

“I’m sorry, what?” She’s pretty and younger than most of the people you encounter.

You try to walk closer to her but she backs away and rests her hand on her gun. You laugh a little at that, but now comes the hard part. “I’m not going to hurt you. To be technical, I wouldn’t be able to do that even if I wanted to.”

“Wha-” she stammers, more people come rushing past the two of you. “Hey, that’s my team!” she starts to run after them but you appear in front of her, effectively blocking her path.

“Trust me, you don’t wanna do that.”

“Why can’t they see me?” she asks.

“Come with me.” you offer your hand but she doesn’t take it. You transport both of you into an empty inpatient room. “What’s your name?” you ask with a small smile but her eyes are narrowed on yours.

“I need to get back to my team.” she stands up and tries to head for the door but you block her path again. “How are you doing that?”

“Please,” you say softly while gesturing to the bed. “Sit down.” When you don’t make a move to faultier she reluctantly sits down on the hospital bed. “What’s your name?”

“Supervisory Special Agent Emily Prentiss.” she answers professionally.

“Emily.” you say softly. “My name’s y/n but you can call me y/n/n’

“What is going on?” her eyes look a bit glossy but something tells you she’s not going to cry in front of you. You look into her dark eyes, she looks so tired and hurt. “Am I...” she chokes, almost shedding a tear. “Dead?” She whispers the word like it’s forbidden and she’ll be in trouble for saying it. Like she doesn’t want to accept the reality of it all.

You take her hand and squeeze it reassuringly. “Emily-”

“Just tell me!” She demands

After a minute of silence you whisper, “Yes.” That’s when the dam cracks and you see a tear glide down her cheek.

“What happened?” she asks after a moment. Some spirits you’ve talked to have been completely distraught when they die because they remember how horrible their death was and how it all felt but luckily for her, she doesn’t remember yet. Which makes your job of transitioning her a lot easier.

“You were shot while working on a case, by someone your team calls ‘unsub.’ There’s another woman here by the name of ‘JJ,” her ears perk up at the mention. “You sacrificed yourself for her, the gun was aimed at her but you stood in the way. The bullet exited your body and went into her shoulder. JJ suffered a flesh wound but you didn’t make it out.” As you finish you see that her face is now full of despair, tears, and grief. “But that was a few days ago,” with her confused facial expression you continue, “To be fair I’m not completely positive about the timeline,” you almost laugh but now isn’t the time. “Spirits, ghosts if you may, do not have the greatest perception of time.” she doesn’t look very amused so you move on. “You were stuck in a type of limbo for a while but now you’re here.” You gesture around the room.

Now her face has morphed into a look of frustration. Uh oh...

“You say that like its a good thing.” She stands and marches out the room before you can do or say anything. When you catch up to her you decide not to stop her.

“Emily, where are you going?” You practically jog alongside her. Damn this girl can run.

“Where do you think I’m going? I need to find my team. She stops in her tracks when she realizes you’re both back where you started. “What the-” she looks up bright at the ceiling and squints from the overwhelming light.

“Ah,” you touch her arm in hopes of getting her attention. “You don’t want to do that.”

“Why is everything so bright?” she asks while rubbing her eyes.

“Its always like that for new spirits, you’ll get used to it.”

“New spiri-” shit she looks angry “I’m not a spirit, ghost, whatever you want to call it.” She looks agitated, please don’t fuck this up. You’ve done your job well for years but there’s something different about her.

“Okay,” you hold your hands out towards her. “What do you want to do Emily?” you try to reason with her.

“I want to see my team.” she says sadly, it looks like she’s about to cry again.

“You want to see your team, okay, I can do that.” She nods in agreement and then starts to cry but only a little. “Emily, who do you really want to see?”

“Huh?” She looks up in confusion.

“Who do you really want to see?” You ask gently and a lot slower. “JJ? Is that who you want to check on?” She stares for a minute and then nods. “Okay,” she then starts to cry even more. “I can do that for you.” She collapses in your arms and you stroke her back sympathetically. While her head’s in your arms you transport both of you to the room where the woman named JJ is. She’s fixing coffee for herself in one of the ‘close family’ waiting rooms. They’re usually a lot smaller than the main waiting rooms and aren’t open to the public. Her arm is in a sling and she’s still wearing her work clothes. No wonder Emily is crazy about her, she’s beautiful. “See,” you lightly nudge Emily “She’s fine.”

The agent stands straight and looks over at JJ, she lets out a sigh of relief like she was holding her breath before. “She’s okay.” She walks over to the blonde and tries to hug her but she goes right through. She looks down at her hands like they’re foreign to her, then she starts to stammer.

“You can’t touch her Emily,” You pause before continuing, debating on if you should tell her the next part. “At least not right now.” Her red-rimmed eyes shoot up towards yours.

“What does that mean?”

“New ghosts are sort of the equivalent of newborns; weak and fragile, also very powerful in their own way. You know, with the strong lungs, untouched sense of taste, strong grips, and how close they are to the supernatural world. New spirits have light sensitivity, memory issues, time distortion, and have basically no control over their abilities. Not being able to touch, interact, or disrupt the physical world is one of the abilities you cannot control.”

“But I can try?” she looks hopeful “Right?”

“No Emily that’s not a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Irrational ideas are also prominent in new ghosts. You’re pretty smart Agent Prentiss and if you were in your right mind you’d know this is a crap idea.”

“So what am I supposed to do?”

“Even if you could interact with her what would you do? Hug her? Write a note to her?” Her face gets even sadder, you take her hands in yours. “You’re not apart of their world anymore, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be there for them.” you pull away from her “I’ll give you some time alone with her. Just sit with her for a bit, say your piece, do whatever you need to do.” Before leaving you turn back to her. “Although you cannot interact with her, she can still feel your presence. You love her?” she doesn’t say anything but its quite obvious. “Yeah, well if your love is strong enough, just you being here will give her a sense of comfort. I always hear doctors say that to the grieving but trust me, it’s real.” When you leave the room you make sure to stay close. Just in case Emily needs you or you have to stop her from trying to see herself.

What’s happening to her is sad and all but over the years you’ve seen thousands upon millions of spirits. The stories you’ve heard have been horrific, romantic, sad, violent, and on rare occasions, happy. A pedophile died in this hospital after being beaten within an inch of his life by a group of high school kids. Obviously it’s not something to be cheery about but he finally got what he deserved in the most painful way possible. Watching him wander through the halls covered in blood was entertaining and a happy ending for all. You watched him go into the darkness and the world felt a little lighter. Now he’s where he belongs.

There was also a couple that sacrificed themselves for each other. It kind of reminded you of Romeo and Juliet.

At some point all of the stories start to blur together, still, you remember them all. Its why you’re here.

“She’s going to be okay.” you hear Emily say from behind you. Her face is littered with tears so you decide to pull her in for a brief hug. “Right now she’s on the phone with Will, her husband.” There’s definitely a problem there. Sounded like she wanted to barf at the mention of him. “He and the kids are on their way here.” She takes a deep breath. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah sure,” you shrug “Anything.”

“You said I was stuck in Limbo for a while, what did you mean by that?” Another thing you’re debating telling her, but it wouldn’t do any good to hold back.

“When people go into comas or any type of unconscious state they are brought to this empty mental space. It’s basically a representation of your self conscious, your safe space if you will. Everyones’ looks a little different. Most of the time you’ll have a spirit guide talking you through it. On rare occasion, there are some people who do not have a guide so your brain will use someone closest to you in order to help you through it. They usually help you decide what’s next.”

“Who was mine?”

“No idea.” and I’m met with a scuff “Its not my department.”

“Depart-” she narrows her eyes on you. “What is this a corporation?”

“No Emily its not like that.” Before you can finish she’s already walking away from you but she can get too far you blimp in front of her. “Only you know the answer to that question, I can’t get into your head. I only know a limited amount of information about Limbo because its not my place.”

“Then how do you know so much about me?”

“I...”

“Exactly!” I’m going to need this woman to stop storming off in the middle of a conversation. “You know a hell of a lot more than you’re letting on.”

“I’m telling you everything you need to know.” You ineffectively defend yourself.

She scuffs “What you're doing is proving my point.”

“Alright,” you stop her “Ask me anything.”

She seems to consider it and then after a minute, she begins. “Who are you?”

You’re speechless for a second, surprised by her first question. “Excuse me?”

“Who are you? You’ve told me nothing about yourself except your name. So who are you” Wow! You’re very forward.

“I’m honestly not sure how to answer that.”

“Are you a ghost, spirit, whatever?” She crosses her arms defensively.

“Yes. What else would I be?” you laugh a little at that.

She shrugs, “How do you seem to know so much about me?”

“Because I heard your team talking and sometimes I just get a feeling.” At her suspicious expression, you continue. “I’ve been around so long and met so many different people that I have sort of a 6th sense. I also heard your people talking about you and the incident.”

Her face morphs into that of sympathy.“How long have you been here?”

“Not long, a few years, maybe four or five. Its hard to tell. All I have to go on is medical charts, calendars, and other spirits.”

“What did you mean by ‘not my department?”

“It’s not a job in the sense you’re thinking.”

She looks almost hesitant to ask the next question. “How’d you die?”

You take a sharp intake before answering, “I was poisoned.” You feel a tear prick your eyes, you never talk about your death because you’re always busy dealing with everyone else’s. ‘‘The doctors did everything they could but it was too late, it had already reached my bloodstream.”

She looks as if she regrets her actions but if she cared she wouldn’t have asked that question. A bit rude in my opinion. “I’m so sorry.” She rubs your arm lightly.

“It’s okay.” You reassure her. “After my death, I stuck around, I became a Wanderer.” Before she can interrupt you again you quickly answer her unanswered question. “A Wandering spirit is one of the worse kinds. They died way before their time and left too many things unfinished in their life. Usually, your self conscious/Limbo stage is supposed to help with that but since I was never ‘unconscious’ I didn’t go through one.” You want to believe that you’re telling her all of this because she asked but its because she’s easy to talk to. Spirits are very selfish in your experience so its nice to have someone like her here to listen to you. Calling them “selfish” isn’t fair, they suffered major trauma and someone needed to help them through it. “It’s really hard to help a wanderer move on so there’s still 3 or 4 moving around but they don’t bother anyone. Most of them are busy trying to leave the hospital or get back to their bodies.”

“That is so sad.”

“I’ve tried my best to help them and I’ve been pretty helpful over the years but they just would not let go.” you trail off in thought.

“Hey,” she rubs your arm again. “What about you?”

“What about me?” You repeat confused.

“You said you were one. What happened?”

“I figured it out.” You shrug nonchalantly “There was no one around to help me so I helped myself. All of the spirits I ran into were also lost but they found their way. It’s complicated I know. So I started to take notes on their experiences and applying them to myself. Whenever I would meet a very religious person I’d rack their brains on how they felt about all of this. You’d be surprised by the number of priests I’ve met.” you both laugh at that, she has the most beautiful smile you’ve seen in a while. “Instead of moving on, I decided to stay and assist the new spirits with their transition.”

“You’re allowed to do that?”

“The invitation doesn’t expire...or at least that’s what I’m told.” You immediately regret revealing the last part to her.

“What you’re told?” She repeats. You panic a bit and try to walk away but the brunette quickly grabs you by the forearm and turns you around. “Hey, no that’s my thing remember? Now, who told you that?”

You weigh your options and telling her the truth seems to be one of the worst ones but something about Agent Prentiss makes you want to tell her all of your secrets. “A saint.”

“A saint?”

“Yes, a saint.”

“Like in the bible?” She asks completely baffled.

“Actually the Catholics got it wrong, they’re not at all like what we were taught growing up. Apparently, there was word that a wandering spirit found their way and stayed to help others transition. Said spirit being myself. He basically came to bestow his blessings and let me know the invitation doesn’t expire.”

“So God is real? Heaven is real?” Never took her for the religious type.

“Truth is, I don’t really know Emily. Its more complicated than heaven and hell. Black and white. God and science. Its not my place to tell you what to believe in.”

“Fair enough.” After a beat of silence she asks, “So what do we do now?”

“What do you want to do?” you ask softly.

She takes a deep breath before answering, “I want to see my team.”

“Are you sure? I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Yeah,” she shrugs your concern off “I’m sure. Can you take me?”

You nod and then take her hand in yours. You take her to her room, lucky for you her team is all standing outside of the room while the morgue nurses take care of her. When ghosts see their bodies there tends to be a bad reaction. When she sees her team there seems to be a level of tension lifted off her shoulders. She really does love them, and they love her back. They’re a family, not a team. You give them some time alone while you contemplate your choices. Am I doing a good job or making this worse for her?

Your thoughts are interrupted by her walking up to you, she’s not crying but you can tell she wants to. “I uh,” she stumbles “Are they going to be okay? I want them to get through this.”

“They’ll be okay Prentiss.” you stroke her crossed arms.

“How do you know that?”

“Like I said agent, I’ve met enough spirits to know how death affects a family.” She’s not buying this. “Look I can call in a favor if you don’t believe me.” Why are you offering this? Favors are a one time thing and you might need it.

“Could you call in that favor for me? Please?”

You smile at her and then nod. “Of course Emily, but in order for me to do that I need you to do me one teeny favor.”

“Anything.”

You transport both of you into the floral courtyard. “You have to stay here while I call in that favor.”

“Why?”

“Emily, you have to stay here. I don’t need you running around causing trouble for yourself.”

She gives you a very suspicious look before reluctantly agreeing. You don’t trust her answer so you make sure to stay nearby while praying to Saint Francis of Assisi, he’s the one that owes you.

After convincing him that this is necessary and you’re doing this for the right reasons, he agrees. “There’s something different about her? Tell me what it is.”

“No.” You flat out tell him. “Remember what I said about asking nicely when you want something.”

“Please, excuse my actions dear, it appears that I am out of conversational practice.”

“Its okay France.” you laugh “Now can you please help me help her?”

“Of course, whatever you desire.” He plucks the image into your brain. “Next time I am near we must discuss your muse.

You laugh again at his antics, “Whatever you say France. Whatever you say.”

When you return to the courtyard to discover its deserted. “Shit!” You pick up your feet and make a mad dash through the hospital but it ends shortly with Emily standing in the middle of the pediatric hallway. “Hey!” you grab her shoulder but she doesn’t turn around. “I thought I told you to stay put.”

Her eyes are fixated elsewhere, almost trance like. “The girl, she was crying.” she points in front of her and you follow her line of sight. “Why is she crying? Why isn’t anyone helping her?”

She wasn’t meant to find the pediatric unit. You were supposed to keep her as far away from here as possible. “Emily...” the words fall dead on your lips. She walks out from under your touch and toward the crying child. “Hi.” she says while crouching down her eye level. “My name’s Emily. What’s your name?” The child’s cries dialed down to puppy like whining.

“Jonah.” She can’t be older than 6 years old. She’s in her pajamas with a small blank and little brown bear. “My friends call me Jo.”

“What’s wrong sweetheart?” she begins to wipe the child’s tears with the pad of her thumb.

“My- my- my mommy, she-” the poor girl could barely get anything out through the sniffling.

She shushes the baby and pulls her into her arms. “Its okay Jonah, you’re okay.”

After her breathing starts to steady she says, “My mommy and daddy are crying and they can’t see me.” She then starts to cry again and Emily just holds her tighter.

“Jonah,” she pulls her away so she can look into her eyes. “My friend here,” she looks over her shoulder to you. “Is going to help you. Okay?” The kid just nods in response. “You have to go with them, okay?

“I don’t want to leave my mommy and daddy.” she whines.

“I know, I know but...” she draws “You can take your blanky and bear with you.” she promises with a big smile. “Okay?”

“Can you go with me?” Emily looks back at you for approval but you just shrug.

Another thing about ghosts is that the children, especially the younger ones, are easier to convince. It makes your job significantly easier but that doesn’t make it any less depressing.

So you take them into the light with Emily holding the child’s hand. “All you have to do is walk through Jonah. Its better on that side.”

She looks up at Emily and then back at you. “Promise?” she holds out her pinky and you instantly take it.

“Promise.”

She looks towards Emily for confirmation. “Its okay.” She lets her hand go and before crossing, she looks at you and Emily one last time, then waves goodbye.

“You’re disturbingly good at that. Your job requires you to work with kids often?”

“In the worst circumstances.” she answers. “Now,” she turns to you “My team.”

“Your family, Agent Prentiss, and don’t worry they’re going to be fine.” The clips of her loved ones start to play in your head.

“How do I know that?”

“What so you don’t trust me anymore?” you joke but she doesn’t laugh “Sorry, right. Give me you hands.”

“Why?”

“Just give me your hands Agent Prentiss.” She slowly gives you her hands. “Take a deep breath for me, Softie.” She actually laughs/huffs a little at that. “Are you ready?” She nods and you begin to release the clips into her subconscious; it implants itself like a memory. When you finish you open your eyes she’s surprisingly not in tears, hell I know I would be if I wasn’t so numb to grief. The clips are a perfect combination of tragedy and joy but in the end, they’re okay.

“So,” She adjusts herself “Do I want to know what you had to do to pull that off?”

“I blew a god.” at her wide eyed reaction you burst into a fit of laughter. “I’m kidding Prentiss, I’m kidding.”

“Oh haha very funny.” She soon joins in on your laughter and oh my god it sounds amazing. “Hey,” She gets your attention and looks deeply into your eyes. “Thank you for that. Really.”

You pull her in for a big hug and while her head’s down you take both of you to the green yard. (Another courtyard in the middle hub.) There’s a ton of miniature yards with different themes in order to help patients get fresh air and a better view without putting themselves in harm’s way. The kids love the butterfly garden the most, directly in the middle of the pediatric wing. Your favorite is this one but you have no idea what its meant to be called so you just call it the Green Yard. She lets go of you and now you’re both left with a comfortable silence. “What do we do now?” She asks you for the 3rd time and I’m not even sure how to answer.

“Are you ready to move on?”

“Am I ready to go into the light you mean?” You know for a smart person she asks some dumb questions.

”Yeah.” you nod, “If you’re ready I can take you.”

“Actually,” she pauses while stepping towards you. “I’d like to stay.” Well that one threw you for a complete loop. At your facial expression she continues. “Not forever of course and only if the said ‘invitation’ you talk about doesn’t expire.”

“You- you want to stay?” you stutter.

She nods with all serious. “Why would I be in rush a rush to leave when I could help other spirits? You saw that little girl! She had no one.”

“Yes well this isn’t a decision to take likely.” You offer her a small smile but she doesn’t take it. Her face is stoic and is giving me major compartmentalization vibes.”Emily do you seriously want to continue helping victims even in the afterlife?”

“Yes. I do.” She takes one of your hands. “There’s nothing I’d rather do.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Part 2/ is here

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