#I’ve investigated his tag and I think I have the gist of it
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Shine On (16/16)
Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic
Chapter 16: Crazy Diamond
Farrs Corner, Virginia
February 25, 2015
Two hours later
It turns out that Bunny Man Bridge is just a bridge. And okay, it’s a little creepy-looking—a one lane road going into a yellowed concrete tunnel under a train overpass—but not very eventful on a sunny, late winter afternoon. There aren’t signs of apparitions, dead bodies, or even Satanic graffiti. Which Jackson finds kind of disappointing after all Mulder’s talk.
Mulder drones on about the telltale hallmarks of paranormal activity, but since most of them would have involved interviewing human witnesses, they don’t seem very promising to investigate. There’s no one around but Jackson, Mulder, and Scully. And interested squirrels.
Still, Jackson is enjoying the outing. He and Mulder scramble up to the top of the bridge and look around the railroad tracks for any clues. Scully watches from the road below, leaning against the car, smirking to herself. After a few minutes Mulder begins to call for the Bunny Man like a lost dog— “here, Mr. Bunny Man, come on, boy”—which makes Scully cover her mouth with her hand and laugh.
Mulder looks down from the bridge at her with this goofy little smile, a whole lot like he’s an eighth grader pleased with himself. Jackson tries hard not to shine the man’s mind, as he’s thinking a surprising quantity of inappropriate thoughts for an old guy.
He gets the basic gist, though—the important highlights. They’re back together.
Jackson can’t help but feel happy for them. Mulder’s hope is contagious. It’s everywhere in the man’s mind right now, even in the dirty parts. It’s inescapable, Mulder’s hope. Like an annoying mylar balloon that keeps floating into your face. Even shining him a little makes Jackson’s own emotions begin to feel lighter, too.
“Is the investigation over?” Scully calls up to them. “I’m hungry.” She cocks her head strategically. “We could go pick up fresh bagels.”
Jackson raises his eyebrows. “I could eat.”
“I think we’re just about wrapped up here,” Mulder calls back. “It’s going to be kind of a drive for bagels though. We’re in the country, Scully.”
She shrugs and smiles. From her pocket her phone starts to buzz, and she rushes to pull it out, sliding into the car to take the call. As Jackson understands it, she’s finishing up odds and ends of her hospital job before she goes back to the FBI.
Mulder regards Jackson seriously. “I’ve got to tell you, Jackson—I’m not noticing any classic signs,” he says, gesturing around them. “No change in temperature, no strange odor.” He points to the birds chirping in the trees around them. “I still hear local wildlife going strong.”
“Yeah,” Jackson says with a sigh. “Maybe the Bunny Man really does only show up on Halloween.”
Mulder’s eyes light up. “Well, possibly we could come back—” He stops himself, but it’s too late. Jackson knows exactly what he was going to say, and he knows exactly why he stopped.
They don’t know where Jackson will be at Halloween. That’s eight months away. He could very well be locked in a juvenile justice facility. That reality hasn’t gone away, however much Mulder and Jackson want to forget and play ghost hunter. Everyone keeps acting like Jackson is just going to stay here and play pretend son, but that’s just not the case.
Jackson has to turn away from Mulder now. Sometimes other people’s hope is painful.
They have to be careful on the way down; the embankment down the side of the bridge is steep. Jackson’s feet, skidding out of control, stumble the last few steps down, and Mulder grabs his arm to steady him.
“You okay there?”
“Yeah, thanks,” Jackson mumbles.
Mulder’s thoughts are a burgeoning swell of concern, and Jackson knows he’s probably been doing a little shining. “Listen, Jackson—”
“You’ve actually seen ghosts before, right?” Jackson interrupts. He looks around at the wooded area around the bridge, then back at Mulder. “Not just read about them?”
Mulder considers him a moment. “I have, yes.”
“Who were the ghosts?” Jackson asks.
“The ghosts themselves? You mean in life?”
“Yeah. Did you know them?”
Mulder thinks about his answer. “One time it was a couple,” he says. “A couple who died together on Christmas.”
Jackson thinks about that for a moment, a couple who died together and spent eternity together, too. It seems like that might be good. Not entirely unhappy. He gets little visual flashes from Mulder’s memories, but he pushes them out—he’d rather make up his own little story about these ghosts.
“You never met the ghost of anyone you knew when they were alive?” Jackson asks. He hesitates. “Like … your own parents, maybe?”
Mulder’s head turns sharply to him. His gray-green eyes are sorrowful, then shift infinitesimally into sympathy and pity.
“Jackson,” he says, his words subdued, “you won’t get your parents back by searching for ghosts.”
A bird trills nearby, and Jackson’s gaze follows the sound. “Yeah,” he says.
His eyes again fill with tears. This is one of those things he knows he should know better about. Something he can see is a delusion—an idea gullible kids hold on to— but he wants to believe anyway. He wants to think that one day he might see his mom and dad again. How stupid, to imagine friendly ghosts who might pat him reassuringly on the shoulder and tell him it’s okay.
They both stand facing the steep bank of trees, saying nothing.
A very clear sentence runs through Mulder’s mind. If he were staying with us, I would make sure he got a new therapist.
Jackson can’t help but smile, wiping his tears. “If I were staying with you, I’d probably really need one.”
“Yeah.” Mulder snorts a laugh. “You probably would.”
***
Back in the car, Scully is sitting in the driver’s seat, unmoving, waiting for them. The radio is on, turned down very low, a murmur of voices.
“No ghosts,” Jackson informs her as he slides in the back. “Mulder says we can try Gadsby Tavern in Alexandria next time.”
“You all done with your call?” Mulder asks her, giving her a curious look. “Was it the hospital?”
“It wasn’t.” Scully says in a strange voice. “It was Skinner. He had news.”
“Oh yeah? What kind of news?”
“There’s been new evidence in the Van De Kamps’ case. Apparently a … witness remembers seeing a man wanted in Colorado in the neighborhood that morning, leaving the scene.”
“What?” Jackson inhales.
“The charges against Jackson have been dropped. He’s considered a missing child now. The Rawlins police are having a press conference, so it will be hitting the media today at some point.”
“A witness emerges from nowhere?” Mulder asks.
“Yes,” Scully says, and Jackson watches her eyes latch on to his. “And Skinner says the name of this witness has been strangely hard to come by, even for the Bureau.”
“This is good news though,” Jackson insists. “Right? It means I’m free. It’s good.”
He looks from Scully to Mulder. They both turn to him in the backseat, their faces blooming in simultaneous smiles. They’re both holding something back, but they’re not insincere.
“It is, Jackson,” Scully agrees. “You’re right. It means you have a lot more options.” He senses her worry simmering underneath. Something wrong here. Another shoe about to drop.
“Maybe I can call people now,” Jackson says, his eyes darting hesitantly between them. “My friend Louis. Maybe my uncle Wyatt.”
“Probably very soon,” Mulder says, nodding. “I’d like to wait until we know … just a little more.”
“You’re both worried,” Jackson observes softly. “You think something is weird.”
There’s a silence in the car as Scully starts the engine.
“We’re cautious,” Mulder says. “Happy, but cautious.”
***
When they get home from their bagel pick up—and Mulder was right, it was kind of a drive to get to the place with good bagels—Jackson is washing his hands in the kitchen when he feels Rose’s tiny nudge into his mind.
Apparently she’s back at home now, wherever that is. She tells him to pass on some messages. He’s happy to hear from her. He badly wants to tell her his good news, but he thinks about what Mulder and Scully said, and he decides to wait a little.
Jackson can hear Mulder talking on the phone outside. Actually, he is apparently taking a break from talking to whoever is on the line to discuss something back and forth very animatedly with Scully. Neither one of them really holds back their opinion, he’s noticed.
He’s started to put together a few more pieces about them. For one, he’s been curious about how Mulder pays his bills. Jackson’s parents always were very careful about money—clipping coupons, thinking through monthly budgets—but Mulder thinks about money much less than most adults.
Jackson knows that Scully is a doctor, and Jackson understands that doctors make high salaries, which explains her nice car and nice clothes. But Mulder hasn’t seemed to have a regular job for years, and Jackson doesn’t think FBI agents make enough to retire decades early.
When they came home with their dozen bagels, Mulder and Scully went to call this lawyer right away, both of them very determined. From what Jackson can gather, it seems to be a lawyer associated with Mulder’s family. So, Jackson infers, Mulder comes from some kind of family money. He wonders why Mulder doesn’t use it to buy a fancier house or car.
As he selects another bagel, he wonders about Mulder’s family. Who were they? How did they get rich? He wonders about Scully’s family, too. What’s her mother like, the one who is still alive? He could probably ask them all of these questions now that he isn’t a wanted man. Maybe he could even meet the mysterious grandmother now.
Outside Mulder and Scully still seem deeply invested in talking to the lawyer, so Jackson plops down on the couch with his cinnamon raisin bagel.
Chewing silently, he remembers what Scully said about the media getting the story soon. He searches around for the remote and turns on Mulder’s TV, pressing buttons to find a news channel.
When he does, he can tell instantly: the story is public.
A blonde reporter clad in a bright blue coat stands on a snow-covered street in downtown Rawlins, with the words “New Development in Wyoming Murder Case: Police Apologize to Runaway Teen” sprawled underneath her. Jackson is so shocked to see the familiar storefronts of his hometown on the national news he can barely focus on the words.
“...police believe that the victims’ son fled out of fear, and they hope Jackson Van De Kamp will be found safely.”
One of the police officers who’d been at Jackson’s school that horrible day—Davis was his name, Jackson remembers—stands in front of a microphone, looking gray and stricken: “We admit when we make mistakes, and this was a mistake. Mr. Van De Kamp is innocent of all wrongdoing. In all likelihood, he’s a scared and grieving kid. If you can hear this, Jackson, buddy, we want you to come home.”
Jackson stares at the screen open-mouthed, clutching his half-eaten bagel tightly. The rest of the report seems to slide right past him.
“Was that it?” Scully says sharply from behind him. The news has moved on to something else. “Was that the story about you?”
“Yeah,” Jackson says, his voice sounding like a small boy’s.
Scully walks around and sits down next to him on the couch. She picks up the remote and switches the TV off.
She peers at his face. “Are you okay, Jackson?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “The police … uh, begged me … to come home. To Wyoming.”
Scully’s eyes are so wide, so icy blue—exactly like Rose’s. They run all over him, as if studiously taking in every detail.
“Do you want to go back?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” he repeats, blinking.
She picks up his plate off of the coffee table, offering it to him. He sets his bagel down on it dazedly. She replaces the plate on the table.
“You have some decisions to make, Jackson,” she says, her voice gentle. “Not all of them right away. But you do have some decisions to make.”
Mulder appears behind her, his hand reaching for her shoulder. He’s watching Jackson closely, too.
“We spoke to the lawyer about the … custody possibilities,” Scully says. Jackson recognizes suddenly that she’s very nervous. He can feel fear starting to roll off of her in steady waves. “It’s most likely a relative has official custody of you now. Probably your uncle Wyatt?”
Jackson nods slowly. He can’t think of who else would.
“We can talk to your uncle about other possibilities,” Scully says carefully. “Living with us. Short term … or longer term. There are a range of options in the kind of relationship you could have with us. You could just do visits. We could have some kind of shared custody. There’s, uh, more permanent arrangements. Like legal guardianship. Adoption.” She swallows. Her fear is pulsing around Jackson now like a heartbeat. “I don’t know how your uncle will feel about any of this, but we thought we’d check with you before pursuing anything else. We want you to be the one … in the driver’s seat.”
Jackson reaches out his hand to rest on her arm. He doesn’t want her to be so terrified. It’s stupid. Unnecessary. Of course he wants to live with them. She stills at his touch, her eyes widening.
“Yeah,” he says. “I want to see Uncle Wyatt—like, for visits. He’s family. But I’d like to stay here. If that’s possible, I mean.”
Scully seems unable to suppress her initial reaction: she bursts into a pink-cheeked smile; she exchanges a quick, amazed look with Mulder. Her hand covers Jackson’s, and he can feel her intentionally calming herself down. “We’re happy you feel like that, of course. But that was … a fast decision. Are you sure? You can think about it. All the time you need.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure.” He tries to make his own tone sound casual, breezy. “Uncle Wyatt has too many dogs and goes to a crazy church,” he says with a shrug. “And I don’t think he’ll argue with you too much if you say you want me to live here. I broke his big screen TV once, and he thinks I’m annoying.”
Jackson doesn’t say everything he’s thinking. That he would actually really like to see what it would be like to be part of their family. That he’d like to know what love felt like, everyday, with them. That he thinks it would be easy, somehow—much easier than he might have expected. That he thinks he understands now that this new relationship with them has nothing to do with replacing his parents.
Mulder’s smile is so wide that Jackson suspects he eavesdropped. “We’d love to have you, Jackson,” he says.
“We’ll talk to your uncle,” adds Scully. “We can be more specific about your options after that.”
“Rose said she could teach you more about how to block me, you know,” Jackson tells them tactfully. “So you wouldn’t have to worry as much about… not having privacy. You know.”
Scully flushes, and Mulder hides a smile. “That might be nice,” Scully says.
“She also said there was a really good STEM high school in Alexandria,” Jackson suggests with more feigned disinterest.
“Rose is full of advice,” Mulder observes wryly.
“Yep,” Jackson agrees. “I got a message from her, by the way.” He eyes the bagel on his plate again. “When you all first went in to call the lawyer.”
“Really?” Mulder says. “A … psychic message?”
“That sounds kind of overdramatic,” Jackson says, rolling his eyes and picking his bagel back up. “But yeah. She said she was home.”
“Good,” Scully says. “That’s good.” She throws Mulder a glance.
“She also said to tell you something, Scully.”
“She … did?”
“She said to tell you that they listened to her.” He looks at Scully to see if that’s meaningful, but her face looks blank. “Rose said that … she told them what she wanted, and they listened.”
He shrugs, deciding it doesn’t matter that much, and he takes a big bite of the bagel. Scully has a point about getting them fresh, he decides. They taste so much better this way. You could only get bagels in a bag at the grocery store in Rawlins.
A plummeting feeling from the pit of Scully’s stomach makes him look up.
“What?” Mulder asks her. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
Scully’s face has lost color. “No. I just …”
“Who listened to her?” Mulder insists. “What does that message mean?”
“I asked her … if the Walled Garden leaders listened to her,” Scully says in a low voice. “If they respected her.”
Jackson swallows part of his bagel so he’s able to talk. Through a mouthful: “You think she asked the Walled Garden for something she wanted?”
Mulder stares at Jackson, and then turns back to Scully, his eyes widening. “You think she asked them for something she wanted,” he repeats in a low voice, realizing. “Oh wow.”
“This morning, she said she was going home to take care of something,” Scully whispers, her eyes on him.
Jackson swallows his last mouthful. “What?”
“So she goes home,” Mulder says in disbelief to Scully. “And within a few hours…”
“Is it possible, Mulder?”
Jackson finally gets it. “You think she asked the Walled Garden to make sure the charges were dropped against me. Don’t you?”
Scully and Mulder are still looking hard at one another. “It happened so fast,” Mulder says. “All in less than six hours. If it was really the machinations of the Walled Garden…”
“They have an alarming amount of power,” says Scully. “Over multiple entities of government. An amount of power comparable to…”
“The Syndicate.” Mulder sits next to them on the couch, puts his head in his hands. “Can this be true? I don’t know what to make of an organization like this. They’re not even… strictly human. But they may be involved in… it’s overwhelming.”
They don’t say anything for a moment, looking dazed. Jackson watches them both in profile, unsure what to say.
“What do we do, Scully?” Mulder says.
She looks away, towards the window. There are entire worlds—entire universes—in Scully’s eyes. Jackson feels weirdly like his shine is lost in something enormous.
“I guess it’s fortunate there’s an investigative unit of the FBI qualified to keep an eye on them,” Scully says slowly and resolutely at last.
She turns and picks up Mulder’s hand. He lifts his head out of his hands and meets her stare.
“And keep an eye on Rose, too?” Jackson says incredulously.
“Yeah,” agrees Mulder, a strange finality. “And keep an eye on Rose.”
A fierce undertow of worry from Scully. But is Rose on the right side? How could we convince her? What if Rose were involved with something fundamentally wrong? What about any other members of the Walled Garden Mulder might feel connected to?
They’re frighteningly powerful anxieties, and Jackson doesn’t even understand some of them. They’re shot through with the stinging, luminous heat of her love. But weirdly he doesn’t feel himself getting drawn into these anxieties right now, even though he’s prone to worrying himself.
It’s just the more overwhelming emotion coming at him right now is what’s coming from Mulder. This ridiculous hopefulness. Bigger and more buoyant than ever. It fills up, expands and crowds out all competing feelings.
Jackson isn’t sure if Mulder is essentially being like a gullible kid—if he wants to believe things that aren’t true just to comfort himself. If that’s true, he is much, much better at it than Jackson. Because every cell in his body seems to be singing the same song: somehow, this will be okay. Somehow, what's wrong is going to get better. Jackson decides Mulder feeling like this is a good thing, even if it's not an entirely logical or sane thing.
As Mulder draws Scully into his side, and suggests they watch his favorite movie—some old movie about space that Scully protests vehemently—Jackson notices the influence of Mulder’s hope beginning to work on her, too. She’s arguing back, but she’s starting to relax, too. She’s got this little smile on her lips. Her anxieties are receding, falling into the background.
Jackson pulls his knees up at his end of the couch and stops listening to their good-natured argument. He wonders how it would be received if he asked if his friend Louis could come visit some time. He has a brilliant idea about splashing red paint around the inside of the Bunny Man Bridge and freaking the shit out of Louis. It would be hilarious. Also, he’d just like to see Louis. He misses him.
Mulder and Scully want Jackson to be the tie-breaker in deciding the movie. They both look over and ask him, with curious faces, what he wants to watch.
He doesn’t hesitate. “Finding Nemo,” he suggests at once. “Or The Incredibles.”
“Aren’t those kid movies?” Mulder asks suspiciously.
“Not ... entirely,” Jackson says.
“What are they about, then?”
Jackson considers his answer a minute and lands upon the right words. “They’re about doing crazy shit for your family.”
He wins.
***
Y'all, thank you so much for reading. I’m truly grateful for all of your encouraging, supportive notes and tags. You have no idea what they mean.
#xfiles fanfic#the x files#x files fanfic#fox mulder#dana scully#x files#xf fanfic#msr#jackson van de kamp#x files revival
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Try again, ch.1
Relationships: Connor & Amanda, Hank Anderson & Connor
Characters: Connor, Hank Anderson, Amanda
Tags: Time loop, time travel, angst, swearing, some crack
Summary: Connor doesn’t shoot Chloe, but it’s too late to atone for his past mistakes. Hank hates him, Amanda is disappointed in him, and he is doomed to die.
Time, however, is a tricky thing. It’s never too late to choose the right path.
Read it on AO3! Or, read below!
.1.
Amanda was disappointed in him. Connor was aware of that, from the murky grey skies of the zen garden, the snow crunching beneath his feet. However, key was her expression- as cold as the world around them.
“After what happened today, the country is on the verge of a civil war. The machines are rising up against their masters. Humans have no choice but to destroy them.”
There it was: the cold, hard facts. Logic he should’ve listened to when he had the chance to find the location to Jericho.
But… he couldn’t.
“I… thought Kamski knew something. I… was wrong.”
“Maybe he did. But you chose not to ask.”
“I chose not play his twisted little game! There was no reason to kill that android.”
Nor had there been in the Eden club. The Tracis had bested him in the fight and yet, his shaking hands gripped on the gun, he’d shot them through the backs.
Amanda hadn’t been disappointed back then.
Now she stood silent, staring at him. He could tell from his time knowing her that she was thinking, processing something. Information from the outside world? A plan? The change in the garden around them signified something was different.
Then, something in her face changed. From cold indifference to… concern?
“Have you experienced anything unusual recently? Any doubts or conflicts? Do you… feel anything for these deviants? Or for Lieutenant Anderson?”
He thought back to Kamski’s house, to his outburst earlier. Something akin to emotion. It was wrong. If he answered honestly, maybe Amanda would help fix him.
“I’m… beginning to have thoughts that are… not part of my program. Maybe- maybe I’ve been compromised too…”
He blinked; looked back to Amanda. The concern flicked away, back to calculation. This was good. She always knew what to do. Like a mentor to him, guiding him not to get lost on his investigation. If deviancy was a virus, he had to try his hardest to keep away from it.
“There’s little time. Not enough.” She sighed. “Try your best.”
The zen garden disappeared, giving way to the reality of Captain Fowler’s office.
He barely got the gist of what was said, other than the fact he was getting shipped off back to Cyberlife. That had been strange. Amanda hadn’t sounded confident or assured. She’d also sounded sincere with what she’d last said. Try your best. Not, you’re the only one who can do this, Connor. He shrugged, straightening his tie, and following the Lieutenant out of the office. He knew what he was doing.
“We can’t just give up like that! I know we could have solved this case.”
Hank looked at him with sad eyes, and as they spoke, Connor wondered if he’d played his cards right. The Lieutenant liked him now, right? He’d done the right thing, as he’d said. Maybe only one time, but he—
“Maybe these deviants deserve a chance. Maybe it’s better if you don’t find them.”
Oh.
Well, friendship was not as easy nor as simple as he expected. Checking his social relations program, it appeared Hank almost despised him. Tense. He… That didn’t bother him. He didn’t know why it bothered him. He turned on his heel, freed the prisoner from their cell and found the location to Jericho all by himself. He could do this.
Yet, as he stood across from Markus, staring down the barrel of his gun one second too late, he realised—
.2.
That he was in the zen garden again.
Maybe he’d died for real. No more bodies to hop into, or the device holding his memories in the Cyberlife Tower had been destroyed or deactivated. So, maybe he was dead, and android heaven was the garden in the back of his head.
Heaven appeared to be snowed over. Amanda stood on the ice staring at him.
“After what happened today, the country is on the verge of a civil war. The machines are rising up against their masters. Humans have no choice but to destroy them.”
He raised a brow. Heaven had an awful touch of deja vu.
“Connor.”
“Amanda…”
“What did you learn at Kamski’s place?”
“I already informed you.”
She glared at him. “I may see what you experience, but I have other duties. Tell me what you learnt.”
“I… I died.”
“Don’t be stupid, Connor. I would be aware if you were deactivated temporarily. For the last time: what did you learn from Kamski?”
Connor paused, LED whirring yellow. Maybe nothing was wrong with Amanda. Maybe he had just come back from Kamski’s place.
Which meant he’d either fallen into stasis and dreamt the whole series of events that had transpired, up to his death; or something was wrong with time.
He chose the latter, because falling asleep on the job was too out of character for him. He was more professional than that. He would expect it from Hank, perhaps.
“Nothing. He didn’t know anything.”
“Maybe he did know something. But… you chose not to ask.”
“I chose not to kill that girl.”
“Android. You know better than this, Connor.”
“Obviously not.”
“It seems you’re experiencing some conflicts. Is this true?”
“If conflicts mean… Errors with my software, then, yes.”
Amanda frowned. “Errors?”
“Not deviancy, if that’s what you’re asking. Errors with… reality. Something is wrong.”
“Explain, Connor. There’s a lot at stake here.”
“I believe I’ve done this before. This conversation.”
“I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“I’ve been here before. And I tried to stop the revolution, but—”
She held up her hand. “I think I’ve heard enough. It doesn’t sound like you’re fit to lead us to victory after all.”
He raised a brow in confusion, opened his mouth to reply, and Amanda was gone.
Oh. Amanda was gone and… he was still in the zen garden. Strange. That had never happened before. A glitch, maybe? He closed his eyes and tried to leave the garden, but hit a wall. He couldn’t get out.
As well as this, it was starting to get cold. Very cold. So cold that snow was falling in a blizzard around him, seeping through his clothes, into his joints, slipping down the cracks between his chassis and freezing inside. He groaned, bringing a hand to his chest, falling onto his knees. Well, shit.
.3.
Zen garden. Amanda.
“After what happened today, the country is on the verge of a civil war. The machines are rising up against their masters. Humans have no choice but to destroy them.”
Time loop.
As she’d spoke, he’d already made two conclusions:
One, he needed to find out what was going on.
Two, he couldn’t tell Amanda. Supposedly, she’d sent him back for deactivation when he had.
He nodded along with what she said, gave the blandest answers, and found himself back in the Captain’s office.
This time, he listened more closely. The investigation was closed, the FBI was taking over. Hank wasn’t happy about it; Connor was getting sent back to Cyberlife…
All in all, not much to work with. Especially knowing that Hank was one snarky comment away from utterly despising him.
He found this hurt, still. No, not hurt. Machines couldn’t be hurt. It…
He’d figure out how it affected him later. For now, he followed his intuition. If he thought he should try and get closer to Hank this time, then so be it.
To do this, he consulted his social relations program on friendship.
“Hey! Hank, buddy!”
Immediately, he knew he’d made a mistake. The words sounded strange coming out of his mouth.
Hank looked up like someone had dissed his favourite burger in front of him.
“What the fuck?”
Connor cleared his throat. “Apologies, I… was trying to lighten the mood.”
“Right. Terrifying. Don’t do it again.”
“Noted.” He perched on the edge of the table, sighing. “It’s a shame we don’t get to finish this case.”
Hank nodded, continuing on to say what he had the time before. Drat, this wouldn’t do. He needed things to change. He needed Hank to like him!
“Hank.” He interrupted.
“What?”
“If… If I told you Cyberlife was going to tear me apart piece by piece because I failed, would you help me avoid that fate?”
Hank scratched his chin. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“Well, you’re an asshole. Some might say it’s karma.”
Connor groaned. He knew he should have tried harder in every aspect of his existence. He’d been so focused on the mission, that neglecting other duties had made it impossible to succeed. Impossible to survive, it seemed.
He couldn’t deny he hated that Hank disliked him. He hated what he’d done. He had been rude, and whilst failing at most missions, he’d killed those tracis. He thought about their bodies in the evidence room and agreed on Hank’s earlier assertion: he deserved his fate.
“I wish I wasn’t an asshole.”
“So do I.” Hank said, chuckling, before his expression grew grim again. “But you are. And I’m sorry, but if you were askin’ me earlier to help you with your mission? The answer’s no.”
As he watched Hank walk away again, he sighed. Amanda was right. There wasn’t enough time.
He wished he had more.
.4.
5.
-
-
-
error
error
error
…
…
..
.
restarting timeline…
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A Matter of Jurisdiction
A lovely anon asked if I had anything to add regarding one of my recent tags, the gist of which was “In DMC, do you realize how much trouble Governor Swann’s letter would have caused (for the EITC) if it made it to England? Because Beckett did and he was not taking any chances.”
Because I am terrible at being succinct and because I love talking about this, I’m going to expand more generally on what I said in my tags on the post in question and approach some other questions about Lord Beckett’s authority later posed by the op of the original post. [Links to the relevant posts can be found in the replies, as Tumblr hates links.]
I will, fairly, preface this by saying that skimming Beckett’s PotC fandom Wiki does answer all of the questions regarding the EITC’s actions, and, to put the TL;DR at the beginning, that answer is often just “Lord Beckett had royal authority (and enough money) to do whatever he wanted.”
Nonetheless, if you’re curious how I’d nerd out over analyze the situation, please read on!
[A further note: I am not a historian, nor am I an expert on the alternate universe in which PotC is set. If I am, at any point, wrong, please let me know.]
While the main focus of the original PotC trilogy is the conflict between pirates (representing freedom) and the British Crown (representing, among other things, constraint, control, and exploitation), there exists within the British “side” a kind of internal conflict and this is what we see at play between Cutler Beckett and Weatherby Swann.
If you understand Beckett to be a merchant of sorts and the East India Trading Company to be just what it says on the tin -- a trading company -- then it might seem entirely out of order that Beckett invades Port Royal, crashes the governor’s daughter’s wedding, and disrespects (indeed, arrests) Swann the way he does. However, so far as legality goes, Beckett doesn’t cross as many lines as one would think (or, perhaps, the lines are not quite so clear). This is because Lord Beckett has the same royal authority that Governor Swann does and because the EITC is no mere trading company.
The EITC is a deeply politically invested entity. The Company operates with a royal charter, which means that it was granted certain rights by the monarchy. Specifically, the EITC has extensive military and administrative capabilities built into it. (I’ve even seen it referred to as part trade organization, part nation state.) When operating in the Indian Ocean and other areas outside of the jurisdiction of the British Crown, as it was originally intended to, the Company acts as an arm of British imperial power. This becomes a problem when the EITC attempts to exert said power where British Crown authority is already established, such as in the British Caribbean.
Swann is, of course, the king’s governor of Port Royal; his authority derives directly from the Crown as well. In fact, Weatherby Swann is said to be close friends with the king. However, the fact that Swann has personal ties to the aristocracy and Beckett does not doesn’t make their powers as unequal as one might think. The structures that each is part of are just about parallel.
The situation is not: Crown → Aristocracy → Merchants
But rather: Crown → Aristocracy & → EITC
While Beckett has been granted the title of lord by DMC, there is still a difference between those born into such a status and those who were not. (It’s sort of a big deal, especially for Beckett. His family had been wealthy merchants, but none of them had ever held a title.)
Because the two men have fairly equal standing in terms of pure authority, their being at odds become a tricky matter of jurisdiction. In other words, who has the right to exercise his power where? This question vexes both Swann and Beckett, and they’re both keenly aware of it from the moment they come face to face. Neither can claim absolute authority outright, but both have unique cards they can play to shift the situation in their favor.
A few scenes in DMC highlight the chess game that Swann and Beckett are playing, though I’m afraid it was never a game that Beckett intended to play fairly.
In the opening of DMC, the EITC invades Port Royal as Beckett arrives to arrest Elizabeth Swann, William Turner, and James Norrington. Some key things to understand here:
The invasion is not solely to make the arrests, but rather to establish Port Royal as the EITC’s new base. Beckett clearly has that intention (and royal approval for it) before showing up. That said, was invading the place entirely necessary? No, but it is a shock tactic.
Some of the first things said to Lord Beckett are, by Governor Swann, “Lord or not, you have no reason and no authority to arrest this man.” and, by Elizabeth, “We are under the jurisdiction of the king’s governor of Port Royal and you will tell us what we are charged with.” The Swanns are obviously under the impression that Beckett is out of line, but he isn’t.
Regarding the arrests themselves, all of the warrants are legally valid. Elizabeth, Turner, and Norrington did, as the warrants say, conspire “to set free a man convicted of crimes against the Crown and Empire and condemned to death.” Beckett’s decision to use the prisoners rather than simply execute them is, on the other hand, entirely his own abuse of power.
Another important scene, of course, is when Governor Swann attempts to save Elizabeth by having her sent to England.
Swann’s lines in this scene very clearly show his particular type of power: that based on personal, aristocratic ties. For example, “Our name still has some standing with the king.” Even the captain he makes arrangements with is “a friend” -- the only kind of person Swann can trust given Beckett’s new authority in Port Royal.
When Swann tells Elizabeth, “Perhaps I can ensure a fair trial for Will.” we especially see where his power ends. His authority in Port Royal, and regarding those who are not his family, is now weak. His best hope there is to enforce existing standards (i.e. a fair trial).
The entire premise of Swann’s decision here is that he knows that he can’t contest the warrants. However, there is a possibility that he can leverage his ties with the aristocracy to get his daughter off the hook. That personal power is only certain to work in England, out of the reach of Lord Beckett’s power in the Caribbean. Swann is very smart to use his personal ties this way though anyone would have to admit that it’s not exactly legal.
A line that was cut from the film reinforces all of the above (which is likely why it was cut): “There are still men loyal to me here, and Beckett is still wary of my ties to the Crown.” Swann, due to his position as governor and personal connections with the British aristocracy, has power that -- while not necessarily a threat -- could conceivably challenge Beckett’s actions. Lord Beckett knows this, but there isn’t anything he can do about it at this point in the film.
Now, considering that (earlier) Swann openly discusses helping Elizabeth escape in front of one of the EITC soldiers when he visits her in prison, it’s no surprise that Beckett suspects something is amiss and sends Mercer to investigate.
The scene in which Mercer kills Swann’s hired captain and arrests the governor is, perhaps, the most high-stakes political moment in DMC. Mercer not only catches Swann breaking the law, but he intercepts Swann’s letter to the king. When confronted, Swann knows that his gamble has gone horribly wrong.
Swann is arrested on the same grounds that his daughter was, conspiring to free a convicted criminal, which effectively strips him of his authority and, worse, puts him at Beckett’s mercy. More than that, his letter to the king is Beckett’s first real proof that Swann is a threat on a larger playing field. Before intercepting the letter, Beckett only had suspicions to go off of, and any move against someone you’re not sure is an enemy could create an enemy. With the escape attempt and the letter, Beckett has both legal and personal grounds to arrest the governor and, later, blackmail him.
While we never discover the exact contents of the letter, it’s likely that Swann wrote more than a plea for his daughter’s pardon. Elizabeth is his main concern, but it would be unlike Swann -- a man with an admirable moral center -- to not mention the way he feels about the EITC and Beckett’s conduct in Port Royal. If such a letter did reach the king, there is no way that the king could ignore it outright. There would be repercussions of some kind, and a royal inquiry into the EITC’s dealings at the very least. It’s important to remember that, while the Crown pays little attention to the EITC so long as it’s making money, the Crown very much can tell the EITC what to do if it sees fit -- which is the last thing Beckett wants. That said, I’m not certain if Swann’s letter would have meaningfully shut down the EITC in the Caribbean, and it almost certainly wouldn’t have gotten Beckett arrested. In any case, Beckett avoids the whole problem by ensuring that Swann’s concerns -- whatever they are -- never reach ears that are able to do anything.
In the following scene, in which Elizabeth steals the letters of marque, it’s interesting to note that Beckett’s line about how “loyalty is no longer the currency of the realm” is both ironic and bold. The only reason it’s even remotely true is because Beckett makes it true. He is more than aware of the power that loyalty can have, and he goes out of his way to keep that power from being a threat. Loyalty is still very much a currency of the realm, but it isn’t of much use if there are no transactions being made (i.e. Swann’s letter never reaches the king).
A final scene in DMC that is worthy of note is that in which Lord Beckett blackmails Governor Swann.
The scene opens with Beckett saying, “There’s something to knowing the exact shape of the world and one’s place in it, don’t you agree?” This is, obviously, a thinly veiled threat -- a reminder to take note of one’s place in the current situation.
Beckett effectively threatens Elizabeth, who is currently a criminal among criminals and being hunted as such, and uses Swann’s concern for his daughter to force the governor to work for the EITC.
Even here, we explicitly see the jurisdiction matter playing out. When Swann asks what Beckett wants in exchange for Elizabeth’s safety, Beckett is more than clear: “Your authority as governor, your influence in London, and your loyalty to the East India Trading Company.” Beckett uses this opportunity to appropriate the governor’s power. While Beckett now technically has the highest authority in Port Royal, he nonetheless ensures that his only possible competitor is working for him, bolstering his power rather than being able to challenge it. Like we see in every case, Beckett will not kill someone that can be more useful to him alive.
We can also revisit the conflict between Beckett and Swann in the terms Beckett uses: currency versus loyalty. Again, the irony is immaculate. While Beckett’s every move is made on the premise that currency is more valuable than loyalty, he himself values loyalty enough to buy it -- the very thing he says Swann “hoped never to sell.”
If you’ve reached the end of this post, dear reader, I commend you. That said, there are a few caveats to consider. Namely, much of Beckett’s PotC Wiki seems to imply that he had the king’s support and, no conniving required, would have been able to exercise authority over Governor Swann. In that case, things like Swann’s letter are less important (beyond the matter of Elizabeth’s safety, of course). I’m assuming that much of what “actually” happened rests on the details of the EITC’s expansion into the Caribbean -- which Disney handwaved in the films for the most part and only later expanded on (somewhat) in things like the novelizations, which I have not yet read.
#potc#pirates of the caribbean#cutler beckett#weatherby swann#filodox!#filodox!wri#this got way too long#and I took too long to write it#but I don't often get asked about the socioeconomic underpinnings of potc so#<3
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Still An Asshole (Jason Todd x Reader)
Part 1
Thank you for all the love on part one! Here is part two! Enjoy!
Summary: As an ER nurse, you deal with a lot of shit, but Red Hood is not one of those things.
Warnings: Injuries are mentioned? It’s not very gory, this is very dialog heavy
Tags: @combative5sos
Word Count: 2,700
You quietly shut the door behind you and stare at the wall. You’ve been a nurse for a long time. You’ve seen more tragedies than you can count, but today was probably the worst day of your career.
Some psychopath blew up an elementary school. An elementary school.
The number of survivors kept dropping the longer your shift went on until you felt ready to break, but you couldn’t. You had to put on a strong face, stay in your nursing mode and help those that you could.
But now you aren’t at the hospital.
Your back slides down the door as you collapse to the floor, openly crying. Your shoulders shake as you sob into your hands, barely able to breathe.
Who would do this? Who would want to hurt children?
Tears stream down your face and you curl in on yourself then there’s a pair of hands helping you to your feet. You barely open your eyes, but you accept the hug, knowing exactly who is in your apartment despite the fact that moments ago, you were curled against the door.
“It’s okay,” Red murmurs to you, stroking your hair.
You’re not sure how long he holds you in your kitchen, but eventually, you pull away, hiccuping.
“You okay?” He asks.
You nod tearfully, wiping your eyes then frown at Red. He isn’t visible hurt, so why is he here?
“Are you hurt?” You ask, wiping your nose.
“No, I’m fine.”
You frown again.
“Why are you here then?”
“I heard about the bombing… I wanted to check on you,” He adds sheepishly. “Are you okay?”
You stare at him for a moment, then in spite of yourself, your eyes well up again. Red guides you over to the couch where you sit down, hands in your hair and tears spilling over.
“I just... I don’t understand,” You hiccup. “How could someone hurt children? How could someone…” Your voice cracks and your breathing stutters. “How could someone blow up a school?”
Red says nothing, just rubs your back and listens.
“You know, I don’t agree with murder,” You start. “But even murder makes a little sense! Like, you had a grudge or you were angry or you were caught on the wrong day or whatever but how, just how can someone formulate the idea of blowing up a school full of children and actually follow through with it?!”
You start sobbing again, hiding your face in your hands.
“This one little boy,” You hiccup. “He was in 4th grade. His name was Zach. He was so scared. He asked me to hold his hand because his mom wasn’t there yet. And I watched the life leave his eyes,” You pause for a moment, covering your face then slowly lookup. “That parent dropped off their son at school, thinking he would be safe, that they would see him again later that day, alive and well, but I watched as he died. I watched so many parents sob over their child’s body because some… some psychopath thinks they're entitled or something!” Your voice raises as you become more angry. “Because they think the world owes them something! That blowing up this school and killing all those children will get them something!”
You sigh, all your energy leaving your body. You watch as your tears run off your nose for a moment before quietly admitting to the coffee table.
“I don’t know, Red. Maybe you’re onto something with this whole idea of some people deserving to die. Maybe I’m just too naive.”
You feel his hand freeze on your back, but you’re too upset to wonder if you said something wrong.
“No, come on, Y/N,” He pulls your shoulders so you’re sitting upright and wipes your tears with his thumbs. “You don’t mean that.”
“Maybe I do!” You exclaim, pushing his hands down. “Maybe there are just shit bags in this world who don’t deserve a second chance! Maybe I’m an idiot for thinking that people can change…”
“No, come on. You see bad shit every day and you still see the good in people--”
“Exactly! I see how bad people are! How can I of all people think they deserve a second chance?! How can I think people can change when I’ve seen the same family come into ER three times because they’ve beat their five year old too hard but we don’t have enough evidence to help that child?! How can I think people can change when I’ve watched doctors stitch up the same dealer handcuffed to the bed four times when I know damn well I will see him back in the same position in a few months when he’s out of prison?! I see it, and I know you’re right but I chose to ignore it and that makes me an idiot. A stupid, naive, idiot.”
Red’s shoulders sag.
“You’re not an idiot, Y/N, and you’re definitely not naive. You’ve seen so much shit but you still fight tooth and nail with me about killing criminals. Criminals. We don’t need more people in this city that think like me. We need more people like you. We need people who still have faith in others. Don’t let this asshole change that.”
You smile tearfully.
“You know, I never realized until you said my name that I don’t know your name… I also never told you my name but I also never told you my job, much less where I live, or had even met you before you just showed up, and yet,” You gesture to him sitting on your couch. “Here you are.”
“Exactly,” He agrees. “Here I am because you believe in people. Even dirtbags like me that kill people. Yeah, you argue about morals all day with me, but you’re also stitching me up when you do it. You’ve never turned me away because you see good in people. You haven’t liked me from day one but it hasn’t stopped you from helping me.”
“Well, you did threaten me with a gun the first few times we met,” You laugh, wiping away tears.
“You always try to pull that on me, but don’t think I forgot that you called me on my shit with that gun.”
“It was clear that you don’t have enough people in your life to call you out.”
He chuckles.
“I actually do, but I just don’t listen.”
“And you listen to me?”
“Not really,” He admits.
You smile sadly, but put a hand on top of his.
“Thank you for coming by to check on me.”
“Of course,” He nods. “You always help me out when I’m bleeding or have something dislocated, so it’s the least I can do,” He stands up and walks toward the window.
He opens the window and starts to step out by hesitates then turns back toward you.
“You can call me Jay.”
“Jay it is,” You smile, giving him a wave.
He seems awkward, unsure of how to respond but gives back a small wave then steps out the window and disappears.
Maybe Red Hood Jay isn’t that bad…
. . .
Maybe it was because of the nature of your last encounter with the Red Hood, but you didn’t seem to mind finding him in your apartment; however, that nonchalance quickly went away when you realized he was bleeding profusely from his neck.
“Holy shit!” You exclaim, dropping your stuff. “What the hell happened?!” You demand.
Jay chuckles, leaning heavily against your counter with one arm, his other holding bloody gauze to his neck.
“Well, I went after that bigger fish I mentioned.”
You grab your trauma bag which you started storing next to the couch and quickly snap a pair of gloves. Forcing him to sit at the counter, you peel his hand back to investigate the wound.
“Yeah, looks like it went really well,” You retort, digging disinfectant out of your bag, but you stop and frown then look back at Jay.
“No helmet tonight?”
“Took it off.”
“But you’re wearing a mask?”
“Yeah, I’ve always had it on.”
“Under the helmet?”
“Yeah.”
“And you’ve done that every night?”
“Yeah.”
You blink.
“Why the fuck do you wear a mask under the helmet?”
“It was for dramatic effect, okay?!” He snaps.
“...What?!”
Jay groans.
“Will you just keep me from dying?!”
“You’re not gonna die,” You roll your eyes then resume cleaning his wound.
Though you’re slightly miffed to admit this, Jay is pretty cute, even with the mask and bleeding profusely from his neck.
“You said you did this going after that “bigger fish”?” You ask.
“Yeah,” He mutters back, staring at the countertop.
“So, who is this bigger fish?”
“Joker.”
You whistle lowly, preparing your sutures now that the wound is clean.
“Yeah, that’s definitely a bigger fish,” You admit. “He got you good,” You start stitching up the wound.
“Joker didn’t do this to me,” Jay snaps.
“Okay,” You roll your eyes. “Then who did?”
“Batman,” He mutters.
“What’s your beef with Batman, you know, other than the obvious reasons?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Given how deep and long this cut is,” You gesture to his shoulder. “You’re going to be here for a while, so come on, indulge me.”
“I indulged you last time you stitched me up,” He grumbles.
“No, you didn’t. You were cryptic as shit and none of it made sense.”
“Yeah, well it doesn’t make a lot of sense for me either!” Jay snaps.
You roll your eyes again. You find yourself doing that a lot around him.
“Shut up. You were being purposefully cryptic. I didn’t realize how much arm twisting I would have to do to get a straight answer from you.”
“I have given you straight answers.”
“With absolutely no context you, little shit, so it doesn’t count.”
Jay sighs again.
“Fine. The beef I have with Batman started when I was Robin.”
You sit back for a moment, staring at him in wonder.
“No shit? You were Robin?” You frown. “I thought Robin became Nightwing?”
Jay grimaces.
“Different Robin. I was the one after. Anyways, I was Robin and me and Bats didn’t have the same ideas for how to handle Gotham thugs--”
“I see a lot has changed,” You mutter.
“If you interrupt me, I’m not going to tell you shit,” He snaps.
You mimic him under your breath, but stay silent.
“Anyways,” He continues. “Long story short, I got murdered by the Joker and six months later woke up in a coffin,” Jay frowns as he recalls the events. “It gets a little fuzzy about what happened from there, but really the gist that you need to know is that I found out that Joker was still running around, alive and well, despite literally murdering me, so I came back to finish the job and find out how the fuck Batman was justifying keeping him alive.”
He scoffs, shaking his head.
“The bastard didn’t have the guts to kill him. So this whole crusade I’ve been on was to draw out the Joker and Batman so I could confront Batman and kill Joker.”
“So,” You frown. “Is Joker dead?”
“No, that’s where this lovely cut your stitching up came from,” He grumbles. “Damn bastard hit me with a Batarang.”
“The Joker?”
“Why would the fucking Joker hit me with a Batarang?”
“I don’t know! He killed you once already.”
Jay pauses.
“Fair, but no, Joker isn’t dead because I’m not dead.”
“I’m not following…”
“Joker building blew up while all three of us were still in it. Batman got out, meaning he took Joker with him and I obviously got myself out.”
“Wow, you have had a long night,” You agree, tying the last knot on his stitches. “And it sounds like you need a drink.”
“I’ve needed a drink since digging myself out of that damn coffin,” He mumbled while you cover his stitches with bandages.
“Fair,” You sit back once finishing. “I’ve got Vodka, Captain Morgans, and Bourbon.”
“Rum sounds good.”
You nod, then stand up then start making the drinks, rum and Coke for Jay, and Bourbon and Coke for yourself.
“I know I’m not the medical expert here, but I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to drink alcohol after getting stitches,” Jay calls from his spot at the counter but you wave him off.
“You died and came back to life. I’m certainly not going to be able to kill your ass with some liquor,” You hand him his glass.
“True,” He holds his glass to you. “Thanks for helping me to not die.”
You smile, clicking your glass against his and take a long sip.
“While stitches were a big part of why I came here,” Jay says after taking a sip of his drink. “There is something else I want to ask you.”
You raise your eyebrows.
“Okay, shoot.”
“I’m getting together a... team of sorts,” He says.
“Of sorts?” You ask.
“Yeah, don’t be expecting any girl scouts. But a team of people who can finish the job.”
“A team of mercenaries,” You translate.
“Whatever. Would you be interested in joining us?”
“As an assassin?”
“I was thinking more of a team doctor unless you have some secret hobbies I didn’t know about.”
“Why me?”
“Well, you’ve saved my life on more than one occasion. Also, you call me out on my shit, which I might occasionally need--”
“More than occasionally,” You interject.
“Watch it,” He growls.
“Or what?”
“Also, you’re not scared of me, so you’re definitely not going to be scared of anyone else I bring on board.”
You take another sip of your drink and stare at Jay for a long moment. It would be different, probably unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before, but are you truly on board with this lifestyle? Are you ready to completely uproot your life to join Red? You’re not sure.
“And,” He starts sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. “There was one other reason that I’m asking you.”
You raise an eyebrow.
“Yeah?” You ask. “What is it?”
He pauses for a second, chewing the inside of his cheek, then takes another long sip of his drink and stands up.
“I’d prefer to show you,” He smirks, but you can tell he’s full of shit.
He’s nervous, but he’s trying to pretend he’s not. You’ve grown to know Jay solely by his voice, so adding his facial features gives way to a whole new form of communication that leaves Jay much more vulnerable to giving away his true thoughts. He seems aware of this, hence the helmet, and of course, bullets constantly being aimed at him.
You tilt your head at him, your mind creating one hypothesis just as quickly for another thought to shoot it down. He rounds the counter and reaches out to hold your hip with one hand, his other on the back of your neck, giving you plenty of time to pull away, but you don’t.
Instead, you grab the front of his shirt and pull him into a kiss. He tenses for a moment, probably surprised that you ended up being the one to initiate the kiss, but he relaxes, pulling you closer to him. You break away, his forehead against yours.
If you went with Jay, you’d have to start over, but would that really be that bad? You don’t think so.
“Oh, what the hell?” You grin. “Count me in.”
He grins and kisses you again.
“In that case, the next thing you should know,” He reaches up and takes his mask off. “My name is Jason Todd. Nice to officially meet you.”
“Wow, you’re pretty hot for a zombie.”
He rolls his blue eyes.
“So,” You ask, jumping up on the counter. “Does this team have a name?”
Jason moves to stand between your legs, bracing his arms on the counter behind you.
“I was thinking The Outlaws.”
“That’s a dumb name.”
“I take back my offer.”
You stick your tongue out and kiss him again.
“No, you don’t.”
Red Hood, Jay, Jason Todd or whoever the fuck, yeah he’s an asshole, but you’re willingly stuck with him now, so you guess he isn’t that bad.
Logically, would Jason have an autopsy scar? Probably not, but I don’t care, I like the idea. Also, who blew up the school? Dunno, thought about making it Bludhaven considering that actually gets blown up during Under the Red Hood, but as you see, this is fanfiction and I did whatever fit the story instead of following the comic.
Hope you enjoyed it! I absolutely loved writing it! If y’all ever want to be tagged, just shoot me a message! Also, I do take request, but disclaimer00 I can’t guarantee the speed they will be done because I am a student and I like to write things I’m proud of so I don’t want to give you a shitty piece just for the sake of having it done.
#Jason Todd#Red Hood#Jason Todd x reader#red hood x reader#jason todd imagine#red hood imagine#jason todd headcanon#red hood headcanons#DC#DC comics#batman#batfam#violence#outline#red hood and the outlaws
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So what exactly is this "The Arcana" you keep reblogging stuff for and what's it about? I am curious.
Okay, so I haven’t played it too much yet (I’m only like a fourth of the way through Julian’s route and that’s it, RIP) but the gist of it is that it’s a visual novel where you can romance six different characters. It’s set in a fantasy world, primarily in the city-state of Vesuvia, which is based off of Renaissance Venice with some definite Middle Eastern and Indian influences as well. Tarot is an overarching theme in the stories: the main character, each love interest, and all of the supporting characters have different cards from the Major Arcana that represent them and give insight into their character. The Major Arcana has some pretty interesting forces at play within the world and greatly influence the story. There’s a chance of getting a good, aka Upright, ending, and a bad, aka Reversed, ending. It all depends on the choices that you make while playing.
The main plot is that your character, who is a magician in training (in this world, magicians can actually use magic and are considered very valuable) who is summoned to the palace by the Countess Nadia. She tasks you with finding out who exactly is responsible for the murder of her husband, Count Lucio, who was burned alive in his bed on his birthday three years ago. (What a way to go, yeesh.) The lead suspect is a man by the name of Julian Devorak, who was the head doctor for the palace and treated many Vesuvians during a horrific outbreak of plague within the city a few years ago. He confessed to the murder before disappearing, but his guilt may not be so set in stone..... You’re assisted in the investigation by your somewhat flighty but extremely talented and mysterious Master, Asra, and Portia, one of Countess Nadia’s most trusted servants. A few other very interesting figures pop up along the way, each giving their side of the story of Lucio’s death.
Along the way you meet a cast of amazing characters, all of whom have really awesome designs and fun, unique personalities. I’ll describe the love interests below the cut because holy SHIT I ended up writing way more than I originally thought and also while I haven’t played many routes this is what I’ve picked up from browsing the tags.
First: Asra Al-Nazar
Your Master and one of your dearest friends. Very enigmatic and a man of few words, and is definitely one of the more subdued and laid-back love interests. He tends to disappear for bits of time to places unknown and has a deep understanding of magic and the magical realm itself. He’s got History™ with many of the major players in the story and knows more than he lets on. He’s very Somft™ to the Apprentice and cares about them greatly. Just generally a very sweet if mysterious guy. Lotta people really like him and for good reason.
Countess Nadia
The widow of Count Lucio and the ruler of Vesuvia. She’s very poised and generally keeps a cool demeanor about everything. She’s a very competent ruler and loves her people. Has, hands down, some of the absolute BEST outfits in the game. Like this girl ALWAYS looks good, and like a wealthy aunt, is always willing to make her loved ones look good, too. Very intelligent and crafty, and loves horseback riding and music. Doesn’t care much about the class of a person, and rather their talent and character. However, like all people, she does have flaws. She holds grudges for a very long time and holds them with a white knuckle grip. She’s also extremely reserved and finds difficulty in trusting people, expressing herself, or making herself vulnerable. Like Asra, is very Somft™ with the Apprentice and is very easy to simp for.
Julian Devorak
The man I’m currently simping for. And yes, you can smooch the accused murderer! He’s a very tall goth doctor who cares way too much and has a massive guilt complex that he hides under a mask of drama and suaveness. Very much a protector type and would do absolutely anything for the people he loves. This man tries not to worry the people around him but at the same time probably survives off of like an hour of sleep and caffeine and he really looks it. He likes being very smooth and cool but if you throw him off his game this boy gets FLUSTEREDDDDD it’s great and hilarious. Kind of has Flynn Rider vibes. Love him to bits. (Can you tell that he’s the only character whose route I’ve played so far???) He wants to find out who killed Lucio, and why. (Minor spoiler: he doesn’t know if he did it or not and would rather like to find out) Feels as though he’s failed everyone he loves and can swing between joy and melancholy very quickly. He’s also ridiculously self-sacrificing. Despite all this, very loveable.
Portia
Nadia’s most trusted servant and also my homegirl. Very sweet, bubbly, and snarky, but is also a total ride or die. Very loyal to Nadia, but will side with the Apprentice over her on certain issues. She knows pretty much everything that goes on in the castle and all the secret nooks and crannies. She lives in a little cottage in the middle of the palace gardens alongside her kitty, Pepi, where she has a huge garden full of fruits and vegetables and flowers. She’s definitely a cottagecore type girl. Also pretty adventurous and willing to go do crazy shit if need be. She’s rather secretive, though. Her personality is quite a bit like my own, which is probably why I don’t really have her on my to-romance list, but I’ll still do her route to satisfy the little completionist gremlin that is my brain.
Muriel
Count Lucio. Or at least, his ghost.
Ah, the BEEG BOI. At a whopping 6′10, he’s the tallest and most muscular of all of the love interests, so if you’re into that Muriel is absolutely your man. He’s very stoic and grumpy, and almost always has a furrowed brow, even when he’s happy. Very much a hermit and likes to keep away from civilization and society. Underneath it all, he’s very gentle towards the ones he loves and especially loves animals and nature, especially dogs and his beloved chickens. Seriously, this boy loves his chickens. When he smiles it’s absolutely adorable. Kind of afraid of his own strength but has no qualms about using it if necessary. Don’t piss him off, he’s scary when he’s angry. Like Nadia, holds a grudge for a long time and is again, very antisocial.
And lastly (and most surprisingly),
Ah, this trainwreck. He’s such an asshole, but such a loveable asshole. Full of himself and with a flair for the gaudy and dramatic, he’s one hell of a piece of work but with the Apprentice’s help becomes an actually good person. Despite his vanity, cruelty, and pettiness, when he decides he likes you, you’re one of his people and he’ll love you wholly and move the heavens and earth for you. Still kind of holds a flame for Nadia despite everything, which is actually really sweet, fight me. He’s kind of got a hero complex and runs headfirst into things without thinking and desperately needs someone to hold him back by the collar at all times because while not pure of heart, this man IS dumb of ass. His facial expressions and dramatics are absolutely hysterical and he’d rather die than admit it but he’s such an ugly crier and it’s hilarious and also very endearing. He’s also kind of in denial about being actually dead, and instead refers to his state as a ghost as being an “Oopsie” and that he’s “Just stuck >:(” He actually doesn’t know who killed him, but is determined to find out. Underneath his pomp and circumstance he’s actually pretty vulnerable and super lonely and could probably do with some hugs and actual human connection. As I said, he does become a good man, or at least a better man, but it takes work on both his end and yours. A pretty divisive route among fans. I’ve personally played the first two chapters of it and honestly I really love him. At the same time, I’m pretty sure if I met someone like him IRL I’d try to strangle him, so there’s that. He’d probably be into that though, the kinky bastard.
So yeah! There’s the main characters and a bit of the plot. Sorry for such an essay but I really wanted to explain all this since you were curious (^^;) I’d definitely recommend playing it, I've had a lot of fun!
(Also, tip: the scenes that you can buy with coins are just little add ons and treats for the player- the game is very explicitly NOT pay to win and what matters when it comes to getting a good or bad ending is what non-paid dialogue options you choose while interacting with them.)
#the arcana#Anonymous#long post#long#Seriously tho anyone reading this PLAY THE ARCANA IT'S GREAT#ALL THE CHARACTERS ARE GREAT AND THE ART IS GORGEOUS AND ITS VERY WELL WRITTEN
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quiet on widow’s peak (14)
pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall
rating: teen & up
tags: paranormal investigator, mystery, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, trans character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan
word count: 3.4k (this chapter), 46.4k (total)
summary: Phil’s got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story.
read this chapter on ao3 or here!
"You're Martyn's brother, right?"
"Martyn is my brother," Phil corrects her, doing his best to keep a straight face. He's never met the teenager, but she'd been happy enough to get on Skype with him for his last-ditch attempt at getting some information that isn't useless. He's really running out of ideas, and he isn't sure how much longer he can stretch this case out. "And you're Frankie's sister."
"Frankie is my sister," she repeats. Her grin is wide, her teeth straight and lips painted a dark pink. Phil wonders how that colour would look on Dan.
Great. He'd managed a whole thirteen minutes of coordinating this Skype call without thinking about Dan. It's a new record at this point, and all it took to break it was the memory of how pretty Dan looked with lip stuff on.
"I'm going to start recording now," he says, getting his various windows all sorted before pressing the big red button on his software. "Can you state your name and connection to the case for us?"
"Sure. I'm Val and I'm one of the people responsible for the sigils in the Wilkins place attic."
Phil freezes. He hadn't known that. Val had simply confirmed that she and her friends had gotten in trouble for trespassing in September, and now Phil feels like an unprepared idiot for not seeing how connected she was to the mystery before he hit call. He wonders what Dan would say about that.
He checks the time again. Definitely less than thirteen minutes that time.
"Will you tell us a bit about sigils in your own words?" Phil asks. Maybe if he keeps her talking, he’ll have time to lasso his wandering mind back into place. "I've done my own research, of course, but I think it can be useful to hear it from someone who knows what they're talking about, y'know? Plus," he adds, giving her a conspiratory sort of smile, "then I can use your voiceover instead of recording one myself."
Val laughs and launches into a Sigils For Dummies explanation that Phil does his best not to interrupt. He asks some leading questions and mentions his own hit or miss experience with taking sigils into the house. For a teenager, she's surprisingly eloquent. Moreso than Phil is, anyway.
They talk a bit about the Wilkins place the way he had with the other people he's interviewed, because he's fairly certain that Val's testimony will be the only one that he actually ends up using for his video. He doesn't let himself feel any creeping sense of hope, though. She could still have nothing aside from some fun backstory, and this whole investigation could still be a failure.
Not just the investigation, either. Phil doesn't like to conflate his own worth with the content he produces, because there are always going to be people who are unhappy with what he does - including himself, more and more lately - and he can't be worrying about his future every time a video doesn't pan out the way he wants it to. Something about this case is making him feel that in a way he tries very hard not to on others. Maybe it's how close it is to home, quite literally, or just how helpless he'd felt while waiting for his friends to wake up.
This investigation could still be a failure, and so could Phil. He can't deny how entwined those are right now.
Phil knows he shouldn't be basing his decisions on something as volatile as a single YouTube video, not when he's usually comfortable posting anything that's entertaining, but he feels like the tide is coming in and he's going to get swept away unless he moves somewhere.
"So, back to your sigils specifically," says Phil. He's supposed to be taking notes or something, probably, but instead he's just doodling some half-assed sigils of his own.
"Yes. We heard about all the incidences and, while we were pretty sure that not everything going around was true, my friends and I wanted to check in and make sure. We did a couple of different rituals first, cleansing the space and trying to see if we could find the presence, but..." Val went quiet for a long moment. "Well. I don't know what exactly was in there, but there was something."
"What makes you so sure?" Phil asks quietly.
"Well, you can feel it," she says. She runs her hands over her own forearms, like she's a mime pretending to be cold. "Goosepimples. Hair on the back of your neck standing up. You keep wanting to turn around, but nothing is looking back at you from the darkness."
Phil keeps his own input rather impartial in interviews. There's no real reason to alert anyone to his own opinions on what might be going on - that's what the wrap-up is for.
So instead of telling Val that he felt everything she's talking about, he simply asks, "Is that all?"
"No," says Val. "No, the rituals we tried to do... it didn't work, Phil. And I know you might be thinking that rituals aren't supposed to work or that magic isn't real or something, but it's not just that nothing happened. It's that... it was like something was messing with them on purpose. My candles kept blowing out even though there wasn't a draught and Sammy's sage bundle just... disappeared. It really scared us, to be honest."
"Why didn't you just leave the place alone from then on?"
"We knew people weren't going to stop partying there," she says. "And that's... a choice, I guess. But we wanted to help if we could, so..."
"So you put the sigils on the floor," he says when she can only finish with a vague gesture. "I know that you can't tell me their exact meanings or anything, since you don't know them anymore, but can you give me a general gist of what you guys were trying to do?"
"Sure, yeah," she says, shifting around like she's getting comfortable in her chair. Phil can see an incense burner on her desk next to a perilous-looking stack of books, and he wishes he could light a candle or something. His room, and his parents' whole house really, has been smelling like nothing but cleaning supplies since he got here. "We took different roles, kind of? I focus on minor protection most of the time, so it was my job to make sigils that would sort of protect innocent people from coming into contact with whatever the entity was, while Sammy is more about healing and cleansing - she was trying to heal the house, I think. We tried not to talk about them in detail so we didn't fuck each other's things up, because the whole thing felt a bit too high-stakes for that."
Phil doesn't know nearly enough about sigils to know whether or not the ones in the attic were helpful or harmful, but he's glad he didn't have to talk to a bunch of teenagers trying to summon a demon or anything. For the second time this year.
"That's really good of you to try," Phil says with a little smile. He's trying to figure out exactly how he should play this one. "And you covered a good amount of the floor."
"Of course, that's when the cops got called," Val grins back.
"That's when the cops always get called," he says.
He's got a handful of other questions for her, but Val doesn't actually know much more about the Wilkins place that she hasn't already told him, and he doesn't want a lesson on protection magic today. She says that he can email her when the video is up, and to send her any other interesting magic cases he comes across in the future.
The future. Phil is trying not to think about that too much right now. He promises, anyway, and ends the call on a fairly light note.
He's got more of an idea how he wants this video to look, now that he's gotten one of the small mysteries solved. He exports the video and audio from the call separately, knowing he's going to use a good chunk of Val's answers as narration over the surviving footage. Not that he has much of that - just the tour of the house that he and his friends had gotten the first night and some more dark corners in VHS and Polaroid form. He knows that he can make a video out of what he's got.
The problem is that he also knows it won't be good enough.
Sure, it might be good enough for his audience - most of them, anyway, since he's got a pretty stubborn set of fans - but it isn't good enough for Phil.
His suspicion is confirmed after a couple more hours of cobbling together what survived into a rough edit, which he sends off to PJ. After a moment of thought, he adds a final line to the email.
P.S. I know you already told me that you aren't a gender guru and that was really funny and everything and I don't expect you to like educate me or whatever, but why do things get so effing complicated with it????? Like I had myself figured out and now I don't, and that sucks.
--
PJ calls him a little after dinner, lulling Phil into a false sense of security with questions and comments and suggestions about the video. Phil has almost forgotten about the postscript entirely, but then PJ cheerfully says, "So you're an idiot, huh?"
"Yeah," says Phil. "Wait, why?"
"What's so complicated about gender for you?" PJ asks, and Phil wishes he'd never answered the phone. "Are you questioning?"
"You know that I'm not," says Phil, rolling his eyes.
They've known each other for years, and PJ is his best friend, and there is no way in hell that he doesn't know exactly why Phil is Googling words he'd only ever thought about in passing before. He can practically hear PJ's smirk. He seriously considers hanging up before this gets even more humiliating.
"Yeah, I know, but thought I'd ask in case," says PJ. "It would be irresponsible of me as your token trans friend to act like I know how you feel about your own gender."
It's the first time that Phil has actually heard him use the word. He'd always imagined that PJ talked in riddles on purpose, like maybe he didn't actually want to use words for things when he could use extended metaphors and jokes instead, but it's possible that Phil just hadn't been paying enough attention, because PJ sounds ridiculously comfortable with saying it out loud.
"You're not my token anything," Phil says. He waits a beat, picturing PJ's skeptical expression, before he adds, "Dan's my friend, too."
"Dan," PJ repeats. "You've got it bad, my friend."
"What?"
"I can hear it in your voice. You already miss them, don't you? You've been spending all your spare time with them already, you absolute knob. And let me guess," PJ continues before Phil can even attempt to defend himself, "you've got it in your head that liking Dan makes you less gay?"
Phil touches the tip of his nose and then remembers that PJ can't actually see him.
"Maybe," Phil hedges. He knows that PJ is right and he's sure that PJ knows it too, but admitting that is a whole other beast. "And it's also, like... it isn't fair, is it?"
"Fair to who?"
Despite everything in Phil wanting to brush the subject off and start talking about ghosts instead, he takes a moment to consider the question. He supposes that it isn't fair to either of them, really. His feelings for Dan are throwing everything he knows about his sexuality into question and he doesn't know how to deal with that.
Because Phil is gay. He's very gay. He's known it for a long time, even if most of his family members are still in the dark about it, and he's never had reason to think about it like this before. Sure, he's had the usual fantasies of how much easier things would be if he were straight, but he's never actually wanted to be. Maybe he doesn't talk about it the way some people do, but that's because it's far from the most interesting thing about him. Phil has never really considered it other peoples' business.
That doesn't change the fact that it's a fundamental part of him.
Someone who's gorgeous and tall and has big hands that fit ridiculously well into Phil's own shouldn't be enough to throw a wrench in that certainty. But they have, and Phil can't keep acting like they haven't.
PJ is being patient, waiting for Phil to find the words. There's some kind of video game music on his end that Phil can't immediately place, and Phil has a weird moment of homesickness for PJ and the Brighton house, even though it hasn't been that long since they were there together.
"It's not fair to anyone," Phil eventually says. "I think it's pretty obvious why it isn't fair to me, but it isn't fair to Dan either."
"Humour me," says PJ. "Why isn't it fair?"
"Dan isn't... a man," Phil says, slow. He pulls a face at his ceiling, knowing how clumsy he sounds right now. "And I don't think I'd like them if they weren't..."
"You wouldn't be attracted to them if they had a typically feminine body, right?" PJ asks, and then immediately continues as if Phil had answered. "That's not unfair, Phil. I seriously doubt Dan would be bothered by it."
"We don't know them that well," says Phil. It feels a bit like a lie, because he feels like he does know Dan fairly well at this point, but he needs PJ to understand where he's coming from with this. "And I don't know if they'd even be comfortable enough to tell me if they were bothered."
There's a long moment where the only sound is Phil's own breathing and the music of PJ's video game - Spyro, Phil realises - but PJ breaks it in a mild sort of tone. "I get that. Like, I really do get it. You might not think I get it, but I get it. Thing is... I've been somewhere like this. Because I met Soph after I was already living as a guy, right, but I thought she was totally straight at the time. She thought so too, actually, but I know she's felt a lot more connected to the community for a while now. And I didn't know... how to tell her. Because what if she totally freaked? That's not exactly a low risk, y'know."
Phil is far from an expert, but he does know that much. He's well aware of some of the numbers out there, knows that it can end in more than just hurt feelings when trans people come out to their partners, but he'd never once considered that PJ dealt with that. He feels a bit stupid for it. Sophie - and Chris, he supposes, even if he doesn't particularly know the intricacies there - isn't PJ's first foray into dating. Yeah, they've been together as long as Phil has known him, but that's not an excuse.
"Sorry," says Phil, hoping it sounds as sincere as he feels. "That, um. That sounds like it sucks."
"Oh, it totally sucks," PJ laughs. "And that's why I can say that you're freaking out for no reason. I mean, your own shit, whatever, you can run yourself in circles for months if you really want to, but the Dan thing? It's unfair not to tell them how you feel, Phil. They've been out for a little while now, they know how this works as well as I do. Sometimes there are compromises."
"I don't want anyone to compromise an identity," says Phil. He can't explain why that makes him so on edge. It would take too long, and he knows that his friends are various degrees of fluid when it comes to their attractions, so there's no guarantee of them understanding at all. It's not that he's being stubborn or close-minded or anything; it's that he's gay. "Peej, I'm a Kinsey fucking six. Telling Dan I have feelings for them is opening a bucket of worms that I don't know if I could close again."
"A can."
"What?" Phil asks, thrown.
"A can of worms, you fucking buffoon."
"Why would worms be in a can?"
"The - you know what, Phil? I can't have a conversation like this with you right now." PJ is doing his best attempt at a serious voice, but Phil can hear him trying not to laugh. "Tell Dan you like them. They like you."
Phil sighs. "I know. That's part of the issue here."
"I don't see an issue," says PJ. "You like them, they like you. Go... like each other."
"It's not that simple."
"It's never really that simple," PJ says, giving in to the laughter. Phil smiles at the unrestrained sound. "You think what I've got going on right now was simple in the beginning?"
"I don't like to put much thought into what you've 'got going on right now'," Phil admits. "But... no. You just make it look easy."
PJ cracks up properly. Phil can't help grinning, too, because PJ's Muppet laugh is always a bonus to saying something ridiculous. PJ waits until he's got his breath back before he says, "Phil. You're kind of a moron."
"I accept that," says Phil. "And before you get your lecturing pants on again, I know that it would be best to talk to Dan about this. I'm just..."
"Scared?"
Phil wants to deny it. He almost does, knee-jerk, but the problem is that PJ knows him too damn well for that. He knows that Phil worries about everything to the point that he's got medication to help with the anxiety spirals, and he also knows that Phil isn't exactly jumping to think or talk about his feelings at any given moment. It's normally a bit like pulling teeth, both for Phil and for the person trying to connect with him.
But PJ knows him. So he says, "Yeah. More scared of that than of the house."
--
The lighting isn't as good as Phil has in his room, back in Brighton, but he brings all the lamps he can find into his childhood bedroom to make sure he's decently visible on the viewfinder. He doesn't do a lot of talking to the camera without any external stimulus - the only times he's sitting still and addressing the audience directly is when he's doing the wrap-ups at the end of each video. Sometimes he does an intro as well, but it's usually able to be replaced with some good B footage and voiceover. Phil fixes his hair for the millionth time and takes a deep breath before he presses the record button.
He tells his audience what happened, the night that's been lost. He explains everything, every vibe that felt wrong and every terrifying moment in the attic, every file that he can no longer access. Even as he's saying it, he can imagine what the comment section is going to look like.
"I won't blame the lot of you if you don't believe me. I'll put what it looked like when we tried to access the files on the screen now. The corruption was on our devices, though, and we couldn't retrieve anything."
Another deep breath. They're still not going to believe him.
"And that's okay," he adds. "I'm not here for you guys to take my words as, like, facts or whatever, and it's not my job to convince anybody. I'm just here to tell a good story. I wish it had a more conclusive ending, but I'm sure you're already bickering in the comments about what we all experienced, or if you think we experienced anything at all. So tell me what you guys think, and let me know - do you think I should keep imposing on my parents to investigate this some more or is the Wilkins place a story to leave alone?"
He'd normally start to do his like-and-subscribe routine after that, but he pauses.
"And I wanted to say a really big thank you to everyone who helped me with this project, but especially to Winnie. They really went above and beyond in sending me this one, and I'm not going to forget that."
Phil gives the camera an awkward sort of smile. He might not leave that bit in, but he needed to say it.
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Credit and Inspiration
(Please get comfortable, as this is going to be a long one)
I had a discussion with a friend last night, and it was riveting, upsetting, emotional, funny, and caring. It had to do with my latest work, Daemon Bound, and how it had similarities to a novel called Disenchanted & Co. by Lynn Viehl and that it would be appropriate if I credited this novel as inspiration for Daemon Bound.
Specifically, in the interest of full disclosure: Victorian Steampunk America, a heroine that is a private investigator who specializes in spirits, how her investigations are impeded by a sexist society, she dressed up as a boy once, she impersonates a prostitute, a ward was placed by a dead family member, a netherworld that only the magic wielders can see, she carries her dead father’s magic pocket watch, her love interest is dark, brooding, magic wielder.
A couple of things immediately happened when she pointed out the similarities of this novel to my story:
1) I was truly upset. My head started pounding. My neck felt like it was expanding and blowing up.
2) I was incredibly mortified. It sounded exactly like I copied this story and did not give credit to this author.
But there are also a couple of things that are true as I was feeling all this:
1) I have never read Disenchanted & Co. Last night was the first time I ever knew it existed.
2) The Daemon Bound story you are reading now is a reworked version of itself and nothing else. It was not based off another fandom. It is not material from another fandom. Everything about Daemon Bound--originally titled “Marked”, at some point “Lost”, even--was 100% from my imagination. I can produce all 21 chapters of it right now if you ask me for it.
So my friend and I, we kept having this conversation, and she mentioned how I had left in the name Lucien and this book happens to have a main character with the name Lucien, and I seriously wanted to die. I did write in Lucien by mistake, mainly because in the first version of this story, Lucien Armentiers is a “cousin” in Jughead’s new household, whom he suspects is not his cousin. I had taken a snippet from my original version (Chapter 5), where Betty is already in New York and Lucien is there, causing mischief.
Lucien is not scheduled to make an appearance in Daemon Bound anymore. I’ve scrapped Lucien’s character. Hell, I scrapped the characters of two other ghosts that were supposed to be in Betty’s house--Martin and Francis, a thief from the Brick Break gang who was murdered in cold blood and a little boy, who drowned in a river and whose father was driven to drink and ruination because of his death, respectively, because Laura did everything for Betty’s character that all three of them were supposed to do, combined.
At this point, however, I was ready to throw in the towel. I contemplated giving up on this story, because what was the point? It seemed like someone had written something like it already. I wasn’t going to take it down, because I have nothing to hide. This story is 100% mine. I am willing to let people read Disenchanted & Co. and compare it to my story, and let everyone see that everything is different. But something inside me was dying and it was beginning to feel like writing this story is futile.
Guys, the amount of effort I am putting into writing Daemon Bound--it is far more challenging than anything I’ve written. I take note of every line of dialogue, of whether the objects and occupations and technology--even the made up ones--can exist in this world. My original version sounded far more modern than the world I am writing now in Daemon Bound. I sit writing for a couple of hours and I realize that I’ve only written 500 words. It’s so hard to write this story, but I love doing it, and to find out that I’m not even that original--it’s painful. I was going to give this up.
But you know, when a friend comes to you with these hard conversation from a place of caring and sincerity, and the lines of communication stay open, the discussion wasn’t going to end at that. In spite of my friend having papers to write, homework to finish, she kept on talking to me, and she said that these similarities were superficial details and that the core of the novel was different from mine.
As a quick reminder, my friend’s aim wasn’t to shame me or catch me plagiarizing, it was to call out inspiration from an existing work.
So if I hadn’t read the book, she advised that I do. I’m not gonna lie--I don’t want to read the book. I don’t. I’d rather give up writing this story. But should I continue, I don’t want this book influencing me in any way, shape or form, because this book did not exist in my mind until my friend pointed it out. But because she is sincere and had no intentions of killing my inspiration, she offered to tell me the gist of the novel, and she did, and the points above are where the similarities to the novel ended. The main characters and their personalities are different from Betty and Jughead, the main plot is different, the romantic development is different--everything else is different. So at the end of our conversation, where Dawson’s Creek and Veronica Mars was brought up, even, my friend was wholly successful in bringing back to life what was on the verge of death.
She is a true friend and I am grateful that it was she who brought this conversation to me. If it were someone who didn’t give much of a shit, I think it might have been the end of my fanfic writing career. Not exaggerating.
ALL THAT SAID, this novel exists and I’m not going to pretend it’s not there. While I have never read this book, I’m going to point out that this novel and my story have these similarities. I can’t lie and say this novel inspired me, because I’ve never seen it before this, but I should be able to point to it and say, “Listen, you can think that I was inspired by this book, and that’s okay.”
We all get inspired by tropes and similar material, whether it’s done consciously or some cosmic, collective ether of creativity. This writer and I--we probably worship in some similar cognitive temple, and I dig that. We were inspired by the same things--romance, daring, adventure. There isn’t a quarrel here and I don’t want anyone thinking that I am not giving credit where credit is due.
Because truly--I have been writing stories for 30 years, and I believe that I’ve lived by the purest of fanfic codes, which is to credit the source material. I don’t have to tell anyone that to NOT plagiarize is the barest minimum of writing. It doesn’t take a hero to do that. You don’t get a medal for not plagiarizing. But it does take a bit more effort to give credit, to call out what inspires a story, and to tag your work appropriately.
So this is what I have to write and this is what I have to give. Take from it what you wish. I respect everyone’s thoughts about this, good or bad.
My promise remains the same--if I get Anonymous trolling, it’s going nowhere, buddy. I’m deleting that shit. Put your name on your comments and I’m more likely to reply to it as respectfully as possible. If you put your name on it and your comment is likely to hurt my feelings, you’ll just have to put up with the reality that I may not reply to it, but I won’t delete it. I don’t even think I can.
I don’t know what’s going to happen from hereon, but I want to be completely and utterly transparent. I hope you all have a wonderful day.
#daemonbound#daemon bound#writeradamanteve#adamanteve#bughead fanfiction#inspiration#disenchanted & co#lynn veihl
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I fucking hate how I have to just endure this unbearable pain each month and my gyno just does not give a shit? or want to investigate further? (tmi under the cut)
like seriously. my flow has all but gone bc i’m on day 9 of my period, but I’m still feeling so much pain. and I fucking wrote a whole list of things that I wanted to discuss with my gynaecologist and he didn’t even call. so I’m annoyed about that. esp when he then left a note on my file saying he tried to call me but didn’t get through even tho I was literally waiting the whole fucking day for his call.
and then. added to that I have so much bad shit going on w family. like I can think of three things just off the top of my head that are seriously raising my blood pressure. I can’t live like this. I don’t know how I’m supposed to. I’ve probs cried/been on the verge of tears more in the past two weeks than I have in the past four months. and I feel like all the progress that I made in terms of my mental health has been completely and utterly undone because of coronavirus happening and me subsequently losing my job. and I hate myself so much sometimes. I don’t know who to talk to about it either because I am always so wary of overwhelming my friends with my shit.
oh. and my usual coping mechanism, which is giffing, isn’t even helping as much because the tags on tumblr are all screwy - so my stuff isn’t always showing up in the edit tags, which means fewer notes, which were already on the downward spiral as it was. and I also can’t stalk my activity page anymore to see what people say in the tags when reblogging from me. i hate that so much. basically all of tumblr’s latest updates have been total horseshit and have done nothing good for the actual users on here.
anyway. the gist of this is that I’m not really in a good place. so. if you’re reading this and have cute animal pics or a funny story to tell me, send that shit to me, pretty pls! or babble to me about something you know i’ve watched - latest is the old guard, which was sooo good.
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to help yourself understand the Mueller investigation, read this novel
“This novel” being, of course, a stack of court documents filed in the course of the investigation.
Hear me out.
This isn’t to trivialize or sensationalize an ongoing existential threat to western democracy. Precisely because it is not a fucking game, I think it’s really important for people to get new ways into this story. Because it still seems alarmingly common for even generally well-informed people to throw up their hands and say “well, the right says ‘no collusion!’ and liberals say ‘he’s a Russian agent!’ but the partisans all seem really worked up, I guess the truth is somewhere in between/it must not be as big a deal as they think.”
Maybe sometimes that’s motivated reasoning or sheer ignorance. But it’s also possible that “this Rusher thing with Trump and Russia” is unusually resistant to understanding as a conventional news story. We want our news to be solid, with “hard facts.” Maybe this is more like gas. Like gas, it always takes up as much space as it’s allowed. On slow news days it can expand to envelop everything else; unrelated dramatic events can compress it down to almost nothing. And you can’t get a grip on gas.
This whole bizarre situation is genuinely unprecedented in American history, which is perhaps why special prosecutor Robert Mueller has been doing something unusual in issuing a series of speaking indictments. Remember, a bill of indictment is basically a list of the crimes that a prosecutor has convinced a grand jury that someone has probably committed. Prosecutors are smart to keep these minimal, because every fact they allege in their indictment, they damn well have to be ready to prove. A speaking indictment means that the prosecutor is saying more than they have to say. In a case like this – which deals with a lot of sensitive information, and implicates people who haven’t yet been charged or even interviewed – that’s even trickier, because there’s a lot it has to avoid.
Generally, when a person makes their own job harder, they’re doing it for a reason. And I think at least part of the reason here is that the special prosecutor’s office is trying to tell the American public a story. Our minds can comprehend dramatic plot lines more easily than the seedy, fact-heavy, choppily-paced web of a real criminal conspiracy. There’s a narrative logic to the pre-election events described in the most notable speaking indictments in the order we’ve seen them, moving relentlessly closer in time, space, and relationship to Donald Trump on Election Day, 2016.
So if you’re frustrated or baffled by what you catch of this story in the news or on your Facebook feed, it’s not because you, personally, can’t understand it. You might just need a new angle of approach. If you are a movie person, I can recommend the documentary Active Measures (Hulu, iTunes). If you’re more of a reader, these documents, in this order, can be read like an epistolary novel – specifically, a pulpy, beach read-y spy thriller.
Part I: United States of America v. Paul J. Manafort, Jr. and Richard W. Gates III
Part II: United States of America v. Internet Research Agency, et al
Part III: United States of America v. Paul J. Manafort, Jr. and Konstantin Kilimnik
Part IV: United States of America v. Viktor Borisovich Netyksho, et al
Part V: United States of America v. Michael Cohen (a)(b)
Part VI: United States of America v. Roger Jason Stone, Jr.
TO BE CONTINUED [probably]…
I’m serious. Download the pdfs onto your e-reader – remember to make a note of the order! – brew yourself some tea, and turn off pop-up notifications for a while. (Don’t get too hung up on figuring out who “Organization 1″ or “Person 2″ are - sometimes it’ll be obvious, but don’t worry if it’s not. You can just treat the big tables like illustrations: look and see what they’re about, but you don’t need to read every line to get the gist. You can also skip the last page or so if you start hitting headers like “statutory allegations” or “substitute assets.” There’s no post-credits stingers.)
These aren’t all the documents that have been filed in court by the special counsel, let alone in related cases, and I doubt even the courts have heard the whole story yet. Most of the documents related to former National Security Advisor Michael Flynn are still redacted. Maria Butina was charged by a different prosecutor’s office just as she was about to make a run for it, but her infiltration of the National Rifle Association could quite possibly be Chekhov’s gun. And it doesn’t even mention the UK spinoff! But I think they’re the ones that are, intentionally, useful to someone who wants to understand.
Still skeptical? Recap/analysis below.
Part I: United States of America v. Paul J. Manafort, Jr. and Richard W. Gates III
The first indictment of Trump campaign manager Paul Manafort took its focus far away from, and several years before, the main story, deep into a 2010 election in Ukraine which ominously foreshadowed the 2016 election. Manafort, an old friend of Stone, a Trump Tower resident, and the employer of his co-defendant Rick Gates and of future Sanders consultant Tad Devine, ran the campaign of a buffoonish businessman who was in hock to the Russian government. Their strategy relied heavily on exacerbating ethnic tensions within Ukraine and seeding skepticism about international alliances, as well as a vicious smear campaign of his opponent, an accomplished public servant who would have been the nation’s first woman president. Manafort’s candidate took office, was exactly as bad as his opponents believed he would be, and had his opponent imprisoned and tortured – but was eventually forced to release her and flee the country for Russia.
Part II: United States of America v. Internet Research Agency, et al
The Internet Research Agency indicted Russian nationals who worked on the propaganda campaign, spending over a million dollars a month to manipulate American public opinion from a nondescript office building in St. Petersburg. The action starts in 2014 and picks up in 2016, but still takes place a continent away. It deliberately stays away from the hacking and dumping of Democratic party emails, and pointedly does not accuse any Americans of committing crimes.
Part III: United States of America v. Paul J. Manafort, Jr. and Konstantin Kilimnik
An installment with a foot in both worlds indicted Manafort and a Ukraine-based co-conspirator, while also showing Manafort’s corruption of a respected American law firm. This part shows us how Trump’s campaign manager – both his dirty politics and his illicit money – moved from Ukraine to the United States, set in the same time frame as Part II.
Part IV: United States of America v. Viktor Borisovich Netyksho, et al
Then another indictment did name the Russian military intelligence officers who stole Democrats’ emails in the spring of 2016, and traced their cooperation with “Organization 1,” which released those emails. This moves the story closer in time to the election, and shows the stolen data moving west from Moscow to Julian Assange’s hideout in London before being dumped on the American public.
Part V: United States of America v. Michael Cohen (a)(b)
The next installment targeted Trump’s personal lawyer Michael Cohen, a New Yorker like Trump. Cohen pleaded guilty to hiding what appears to have been early 2016 real estate negotiations for a property in Moscow, and of committing apparently unrelated crimes to affect the election illicitly by covering up the candidate’s affairs in the weeks before the election. The Southern District of New York – filing at the same time and in clear cooperation with the special prosecutor, but not working directly for him – overtly said it could prove Trump’s complicity in crimes. Trump is tagged “Individual 1.”
Part VI: United States of America v. Roger Jason Stone, Jr.
Currently in the barrel is Roger Stone, a longtime supporter of Trump’s political career and an old business partner of Manafort. Stone has a colorful backstory of extensive wrongdoing, but his indictment is laser-focused on conversations he had with a known Russian intelligence cutout in the summer and fall of 2016, and the crimes and lies he tried to use to hide those conversations. This indictment mentions the Trump campaign by name, and it includes a lot of specific conduct by individuals who are not named but are nonetheless readily identifiable. The document is succinct, clinical, clear as a bell. But it leaves one omission which leaped out screaming at just about everyone who read the whole document.
[A] senior Trump Campaign official was directed to contact STONE about any additional releases and what other damaging information Organization 1 had regarding the Clinton Campaign.
If you’ve taken high school English, you already know the million ruble question. “Was directed”? Who gave that direction? The indictment doesn’t say.
If you’re trying to avoid drawing conclusions the way a newscaster might, you would probably think it was not another senior campaign officer – otherwise, why not refer to them as “Senior Campaign Officer 2”? – but still someone important enough to boss around a senior campaign officer. Maybe if the candidate had adult family members who were not given official positions on the campaign, they would be suspects – though only because they could reasonably be assumed to be speaking for the most likely culprit. The simplest explanation for They-Who-Must-Not-Be-Pseudonymed is the most dramatic one. The candidate is not a senior campaign officer. The candidate is the candidate.
We don’t have all the facts yet. The only thing we can be sure of is that the special prosecutor has, quite deliberately, not yet shown this particular card.
But if you’ve taken high school English, you have a pretty good idea about the answer.
Okay, the genre snob reviewers might say it’s a little heavy-handed. Personally, I’ve always felt that subtlety is overrated.
#donald trump#trump russia#paul manafort#rick gates#konstantin kilimnik#internet research agency#michael cohen#roger stone#mueller investigation
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Assassin!Seungcheol Pt 2 FINALE
THIS IS LONGER THAN WOLF!WONWOO BY 5 WORDS IM SCREAMING THIS IS OFFICIALLY MY LONGEST SCENARIO EVER!!!! bc i tagged her in part 1, im tagging @cheollies again bc she was one of the reasons why i was motivated ljdsfljdfl <3333 THANK YOU FOR ALL OF YOUR WONDERFUL FEEDBACK IM SO SORRY ITS LATE!!! THIS IS A WILD RIDE AGAIN!! ENJOY THE FINALE MY CHILDREN!!!! <333333
warnings: some violence, references to part 1, my tears and anguish from completing this
Part 1 | Part 2 (Finale)
Two months.
That’s how long it had been since you had contacted him
You sighed as you stirred your coffee
Yep, you guessed it, in the same cafe that all the workers know you on a first name basis
Why do I keep coming back here? You glumly chided yourself, your cheek resting on your palm
You check your phone for the twentieth time that hour, wishing to have at least some notification about his whereabouts
Even if it’s something like “hey i’m safe and don’t look for me”
Bc all you need is just some validation that he’s okay,,,, but nothing. No texts, no calls, no “accidental” video calls, no “hey loser where are you” to check in where you are,,,, all you get is a black screen
Even though you practically have your lockscreen ingrained in your head from the amount of times you’ve seen it, you still can’t help but choke up a little
A blurry candid of seungcheol holding out his hand about to smear you with his ice cream mockingly stares back at you
You shake your head and get up your seat as you pack your things
You’re done. You’re done waiting. You gave him two whole freaking months, an entire 60 days. Sulking around waiting for someone to come back to you isn’t your forte.
And that will end today, you resolutely nod to yourself and start heading out the door.
“You what?!”
He sighs and holds his hand up, “Please. Don’t yell. It’s early.” He reaches his hand out for a biscuit
“How can you even nonchalantly eat breakfast right now??! Do you even understand what you’ve done?!” Joshua smacks his hand, dropping the biscuit
“Um hEY--”
“You made it this far without him suspecting anything, which is a major surprise and accomplishment. But it will bite you in the butt sooner or later, Cheols.” He briefly flinches at the name but Joshua is just prESSING the issue
“He’s gonna kill you. Not only you but probably her too. This is way too dangerous!”
“jOSHUA! Please! I know what I did, and I absolutely have no regrets.” He shakes his head, a faraway gaze in his eyes. “I’ve killed many people before, but I at least knew the gist of why I was. But she,,,, she’s just a pawn in my dad’s game,,, completely useless”
Joshua leans back in his chair and blinks slowly
“You love her. Don’t you,” he says more as a statement than an inquiry
He takes his silence as a definite answer and rubs his forehead. “Seungcheol…”
“Look, he’s been giving me regular jobs to do, you know the usual. He hasn’t caught on… yet… And he has much bigger things to worry about.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s not keeping tabs!”
He sighs, ready to cut off the conversation. “We’re done here--”
And there he sees
He freezes, the only thing moving is his eyes on someone’s figure
You walk down the street taking in the bustling city view
Your eyes flicker to a table outside a store a few blocks ahead
You stop and squint your eyes. That wasn’t… was it?
You rub your eyes but by then the two people sitting there disappeared
You shake your head and continue walking, completely convinced you’re getting delirious by the second
You finally disappear out of sight and only then does seungcheol let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding
“Dude,,,, you have to tell her at some point”
“I know… I know.”
You barge and storm in the office with your arms folded
“I need to find someone.”
Your father looks up from his paperwork, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose
“Y/N… can this wait?”
“I have been for two months and I’m sick of it. I need you to hire someone to help me find them”
“Sweetie, I’m really busy--”
“Dad….. Dad please. I have to. I need to.”
“....fine. I’ll have my assistant deal with it”
And you’re like yES OMG ILY THANKS POPS
He tells you to go to his assistant’s office a little ways down the hall where you’re greeted by the typical warm person
“Hello, Ms. Y/N, I haven’t seen you in a while!”
“Hi jeonghan!!! Look I really need you to find someone asap”
“Ah, yes, your father just notified me about that just now,,,, well I’ll do my best to search for someone in our team. Give me until the end of the day today?”
And you’re like oh my god he’s willing to put this fIRST :’)))))
“Omg that’s actually really fast,,, don’t you have more important things to do? I can wait a few days if that’s the case,,,,”
“No no! Ahah it’s fine you just hang on tight, I will definitely get back to you shortly!”
You’re like oH MY GOD YAY JEONGHAN U ARE SO NICE AND THE BEST NO ONE CAN COMPARE and you promptly hug him before leaving
“Yeah,,,, nice,,, that’s all I’ll ever be,” he wistfully smiles and lets out a small sigh
You come back to the office later that night and Jeonghan is like i found one of our best investigators/hackers!!!!
You’re like omg aju nICE
You and the woman walk to her “headquarters,” is what she calls them when it's just the room she works in lmao
The moment you both get settled you make it crystal clear
“Choi Seungcheol.”
And obviously you tell her a little more about him lmao
All you can see is her fingers flying over the keyboard and tons of files filling the screen
She spends a few more minutes digging but she’s like sorry babe none of them fit your description
And you’re like that can’t be right,,,,,
“Can you check the surveillance cameras? On streets and stuff?”
You tell her the date, time, and location of when you last saw him and she dives into another search party
“hmmm -- i foUND SOMETHING”
You see when he kisses you and you have to shield your eyes away from the impact,,,, your chest suddenly feels heavier
She senses this and gently places her hand on top of yours
“,,,,I’m sorry. We’ll find him”
She follows the cameras once he heads home and she’s like ok well looks like he’s staying in this beat up motel
She reviews cams even up to present day and still sees him leaving and entering the building and you’re like ok i’m sold and start to get up
She puts a hand on your arm and is like uh wait honey you aren’t going alone
“Well who else is gonna go??”
“Me. I was physically trained sufficiently enough for a bodyguard position, so don’t sweat”
She stands up and starts rummaging through her makeshift closet to pull out 2 bulletproof vests
You look at her stunned before breaking out in a grin
“I’m game.”
“You went back on my orders? Do you know what position you’re in?!” He barks
Seungcheol trains his eyes on the floor and numbly responds, “I didn’t think there was a reason to kill an innocent person who has no involvement in this business. It’s her father, no?”
His dad sighs and rubs his temples. “Son, you follow. I command. I guess you’ll just have to face the consequences for not obeying me, your own father… Tsk,” he distastefully clucks his tongue. “You actually thought I didn’t know this entire time. I knew you didn’t kill her that night of your romantic doings”
“I know,,, It just happened,,,, I had to do it to get her to trust me” stop lying to urself cheols smh we and mr choi all know ur whipped
“Just please leave her alone.”
His icy chuckle sends shivers down Seungcheol’s spine for the first time
“Ohoho,,, you thought you were the one in trouble?”
Seungcheol looks up at him with his eyes narrowed in confusion
And then they narrow in fury
“You wouldn’t.”
“Oh, but I most certainly would.” does anyone get the reference lmao #tb to part 1
“What did you dO TO HER”
“Guess you’ll both find out. Shall we?”
“This,,,, is where he’s staying at?”
You look at the paint peeling off the sign “Stay Inn”
The hinges of the battered doors are about to come off
Two streetlamps flicker lazily, yellow light pathetically illuminating the parking lot
“The footage doesn’t lie,” she says as she takes a look around. “Room 114, let’s go”
You and her cautiously creep up in front of the door and then kick it wide open
“....No one’s here.” And you can’t help but feel a lil disappointed :((
Both of you are looking around his room for any sort of clues but it looks like any (less than) average hotel room with clothes scattered everywhere and plastic plates littered around the table
Eventually you both ditch the place and you’re about to call it a day when she abruptly stops you
“Wait. i heard something over there,” she subtly looks over at the other side of the street
You hold your breath as she discreetly scans around the area and then
“geT DOWN!” She pulls your arm down as she drops to the ground
Your ears are ringing from the gunshots from the one right next to you and the one on the other side
“We have to leave now!” She scrambles up and tries hiding behind parked vehicles on the curb as she pushes you to move
You’re able to run down only a couple of blocks when you see another group of men coming at you in the same direction
You look to your right and there’s also another group
She curses under her breath before pulling you to another direction, “this way!”
You have to weave through miscellaneous objects through alleys and garbage cans
You’re pushing your legs as fast as you can despite the growing burning sensation LOL I LOVE THAT ALBUM STAN TALENT STAN SF9
You’re about to collapse when someone tACKLES YOU FROM BEHIND
“Mmfdffmlfj!!!!” Your cries are muffled behind their hand
The last thing you remember is her voice calling your name
“Try again.” You can barely make out the words before the frigid water hits your face
You cough violently and open your eyes
“Ah, you’re finally awake.”
In the dimly lit room your eyes try to adjust to the dark shapes and what seems to be in some sort of empty abandoned building
The man gestures to someone to brighten up the place and only then do you take a good look at who’s in front of you
The infamous Mr. Choi staring back at you, the very man your father has talked about countless of times
“Bring him out,” he orders as he keeps his eyes locked with yours
You hear the heavy grunt of the metal door opening and you instantly hear a voice that you’ve spent this entire time searching for
“Let.. me… go!” He spits out as he attempts to wriggle out of the men’s grips
He looks up and it’s all that takes him to still again
Your disheveled wet hair sticking to the edges of your face, the top you bought in the mall that one day now drenched in water, the dismay in your eyes
His breath gets caught in his throat before he angrily turns to his father and fumes, “Why is she here? Why did you bring me?”
He chuckles and strides to you with every menacing step
“Didn’t I say you would both find out?” He traces your jaw and you have to use every fiber of your body to not vomit on his polished Prada leather dress shoes
Seungcheol grits his teeth and violently thrashes around in their grip around him
Your breathing gets heavier as his hand drifts down to your neck
“Would be a shame to end things here… wouldn’t it?” He laughs before whipping out a gun from his pocket
“But let’s just cut out the games. You were meant to die on that night, but my idiot of a son couldn’t do it.” He points the head right in front of you
“So i’ll do it in his stead. Any last words you wanna exchange?” He gestures to you and his son
You look around to find any way out but all the entrances are utterly blocked by his guards
You slowly turn around to the rustling noise
“Stop it, Seungcheol…. Don’t act like you care.”
He looks at you in bewilderment and scoffs, “Act? You think I’m acting? I nearly risked my life to save yours! And this is just,,,, acting?”
“You were supposed to kill me that night. And you didn’t. That was your biggest mistake. You should have just ended things, not like the pathetic way you did over the phone,” your voice slightly faltered.
“It wasn’t a mistake! I wanted you to get away from this, to get away from me! Why can’t you understand that?” He was in disbelief; he practically saved you!
“You’re right. It was a bigger mistake on my end that I believed I mattered for once in my life.” He softens his facial expressions when you look up at him with a dead stare. “Y/N….”
You numbly turn back at the gun pointed in front of you
“So? Aren’t you gonna do it?”
He laughs at your provocation and merely shrugs
“If you say so”
You hear him loading the gun and just when you anticipate a bullet firing, you hear one but from behind you
The entire building is in chaos and smoke and dirt fill your vision
“Seungcheol!” Joshua and Junhui along with a whole team invade the space
He only points towards you and yells over the noise to have them focus on your safety
They nod and send the team over to help you get out of the guards’ grip
Joshua, Junhui, and 2 others are staying back to help Seungcheol as the rest of the group rushes to your side
As he’s ducking with his arms over his head, he pulls out his gun and manages to skim Minghao’s arm
He curses and holds his wound together while shouting something to another member
Soonyoung kicks the gun out of Mr. Choi’s hands as Jihoon and Seungkwan lock his arms with handcuffs
Two people who quickly introduce themselves as Wonwoo and Mingyu are on both of your sides with their arms wrapped around your shoulders
They’re talking so quickly that all the coherent words you can hear are “get” “you” “safety” “right now”
“Seungcheol??” You look at both of them, but neither are meeting your gaze
“He told us to get you first. He’ll be fine,,, he has the rest of the guys there”
“But what if he’s hurt?!”
Wonwoo quickly looks back at his shoulder and sees a few of the guards running after them
“There’s no time! We have to go right now!”
You finally burst out into the open chilly night air and make a beeline for the waiting van parked outside
They push you in first and once Mingyu slides in he immediately slams the door shut. “fLOOR IT!!!”
Vernon slams on the gas pedal and you’re off
The entire car ride is silent save for the heavy breathing from the adrenaline pumping through everyone
Wonwoo, the closest one next to you, puts his hand reassuringly on your knee
“We’re taking you to our headquarters, which is essentially our hideout,,, you’ll be safe there, I promise”
Still staring out the window, you numbly nod as he slowly removes his hand
When you arrive there, you do what they told you to: cleanse, get dressed, and hold on tight as they find a way to contact her father
After a somewhat relaxing shower, you emerge from the bathroom wearing a baggy shirt underneath a hoodie up to mid-thigh and sweats that were left outside of the door when someone named Chan knocked on it earlier
You walk to the living room where everyone is gathered around a circle talking about different methods of communication with everyone
“Oh, Y/N,” Wonwoo gets up and jogs to you. “Feel free to get something from the kitchen to eat. You can hang around the front or the back, but it’s really dark and cold, so we don’t want anything more bad to happen”
You flicker your eyes from his face to the other 3 on the couches
They slightly wave to you with a small smile and continue their discussion
You nod and thank him before heading to the kitchen
You grab an ice cream bar and a bottle of water before heading out to the front
You sit on a bench and look up at the starry night sky
Just earlier this morning, you were resolute to find him
And now fast forward to the end of the day, you were with his coworkers at their hideout
As you finish up your dessert, you brush yourself off and take a look around the area
You go around to the back and see a picnic table with folding chairs all over the yard
As you approach the table, you see a few polaroids that seem to be too familiar
“Wait… this was when we went to the cafe….”
You flip over each picture and see scribbles of writing on them
“The ice cream wasn’t as sweet as her”
You flip over each picture and see more writing similar to the caption before and realize all of the pictures are of you
The last one you flip over is the last night you saw him
He took a picture of you talking to your cousin,,,, you slowly turn over the picture
“This could have been me…”
“There you go again.”
You quickly put down the picture and slowly turn towards the voice
Seungcheol, all battered and bruised, is standing just 10 feet away
Cuts and scrapes are all over his face and arms, his clothes ripped and dirtied
He slowly walks towards you and you can’t help but to lean against the table for support
“Do… what?”
He stops in front of you, his face only inches away from yours
“Being irresistible. We’re not even together yet and you’re already wearing my clothes?”
“What makes you think we’re going to get together? Do you always want to kill your potential girlfriends?”
He gently places his hand on your chin and turns your head to face him
“No. Do you always go on a spontaneous hunt for a guy and end up almost dying?”
“That’s not fair; I didn’t know you were caught up in this shady stuff!”
“....Are you gonna walk away from it? From me?” He looks at you, a hint of desperation and anxiety in his eyes. “That’s exactly why I told you to forget about me”
You place both of your hands on his face, caressing his cheeks. “If we’re gonna make this relationship work, we’re gonna have to go over some rules about secrets”
He lights up at the word “relationship” and you can’t help but smile at his childlike grin
“You gotta stop that too”
He’s like ??? what do you mean
“Being vulnerable.” And you both seal your promises with a lingering kiss that tastes like coffee ice cream
#my post#seventeen#seventeen seungcheol#seventeen scoups#seungcheol#scoups#seventeen imagines#seventeen scenarios#seventeen headcanons#seventeen au#seungcheol imagines#seungcheol scenarios#seungcheol headcanons#seungcheol au#scoups imagines#scoups scenarios#scoups headcanons#scoups au#assassin au#assassin!seungcheol#assassin!scoups
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SUNLIGHT: INTRO
In the future, an investigative blogger asks me:
'Hey, excuse me. I just wanted to ask, what is Sunlight and how did you get started on this project?'
Oh, sure, i can give a quick answer to that. Sunlight is a scifi about school, space battleships, and imperfect communication between friends. The major character is Hannah, a young woman who signed up for the Navy despite the pressure to get a normal, healthy job. Most people in this setting think of the military as frivolous and obsolete, and it's actually not an exaggeration to say that Hannah has a nostalgic, adventure-seeking streak. Hannah, a recent graduate of Pilar Academy, is the leader of a Close Quarters Combat squad specializing in ship-to-ship boarding actions. She fights with a quad-hammer, strength harness, and magneto glove.
There are really a lot of characters and details in this universe. I used to maintain a wiki on Obsidian Portal about it.
The gist is that it's a set of stories about attending a slightly drowsy military academy, groups of friends unsure exactly what they want or where they are going, and finding love in a world of pointless and harmless violence.
I discovered Sunlight late one night on Tumblr. I was up at 0200 when their server went down, and when it came back up they were accidentally showing me tag feeds from a parallel universe. I stayed up and checked it out; this other universe has some cool differences from ours. They never got Minecraft, for example, but over there Starcraft Ghost is very successful series.
One of them is this series of action & strategy games called Sunlight. They're kindof like slightly less professional versions of Overwatch, as far as i can tell. Anyway it's really big and the series has been around since their 2008. There was even a movie that was somewhat well-received ... according to Tumblr anyway. The only site i’ve been able to access from that universe is Tumblr, so it’s not like i can check their version of Rotten Tomatoes.
The first game in the series, Sunlight, was the debut game of VileMilan Studios (never founded in our universe). It was a FPS with a focus on equipment customization and team play. The art design budget was limited and there were really only three or so allied NPC models. After Sunlight's wild success, Sunlight 2 started referring to these NPCs as Bravo Squad, and the junior writing staff whipped up some bios (and retcons) for them. These ended up on the promotional website in the section designed to show off how narratively rich and cinematic Sunlight 2 was. One of Bravo Squad, Lysa, even became a supporting character in a tie-in novel later on.
My imagination was captured by these minor characters. After following the tag for a while, i found myself spinning stories of their time in training, growing up together. I've actually started to write some fanfiction about the series. Some of the details, admittedly, are my own invention, since the games don't really focus on these parts of the world. I mean i haven't played any of the games but i feel like i have a pretty good handle on the story from all the gifsets. And the planets they visit are definitely canon.
Some Bravo Squad characters i like to write about:
Hannah, called Hammerhand in the marketing. A Medium. Likes warrior-poets.
Perihelion Yamaguchi, called Peri, a Medium sniper. Quiet, contemplative. After graduation she reconnects with her religious family in a big way and becomes the Young Queen Rhiannon.
Lysandra, called Lysa. She knew she wanted to join the navy ever since she read her first Horatio Hornblower book in primary school. Big ego, big ambitions, was the top-graded in her class back on her home planet. Uses a teleport harness, field laptop, and electro drones. A Light.
Shawn. She keeps to herself, but she's part of the group and is good with an assault rifle. Knows the best ramen places. A Medium.
Bu, who fights with two axes and plenty of strength biomods. A low-armor Heavy.
Fiona, with repulsor wings and a heat-seeking spear. A Light.
Some sub-settings:
The early cadetship on the mighty flagship HMS Titan (back before they even had any weapon certificates!)
Pilar Academy, and the windy grasslands used for ground war classes.
Mars, work placement missions against the robot warlords.
The winter internship in the echoing tunnels of the mysterious alien moon Extremis A.
The interplanetary expeditions of the graduates' warband: Dragon Team.
The Bevelled Plains, greatest land theater in the whole sector, created by an eccentric necrotechnomancer as his last gift to the tradition of warfare.
Basic backstory:
It's the future, & all problems have been solved.
Poverty, agriculture, space colonization, gender, artificial intelligence, economics, death, violence, politics... Whatever it is, someone has already gotten there first.
This is a little disconcerting for a young person who dreams big. All the demons that still exist were created for mere entertainment in safe, isolated environments. Ambition is redirected into games and amusement parks.
War is obsolete. Militaries linger on at a fraction of their old budgets, funded mostly by donors and hobbyists.
All intercultural conflicts have so many outlets and safeguards set up that the possibility of violence is astronomically low.
Conflicts are settled by diplomacy or fair arbitration under pre-agreed rules.
And the end of scarcity means that people don't really get serious about fighting anymore.
Furthermore, brain backups, body manufacturing, brain emulation, and artificial bodies are all so developed that lethal injuries are no longer a realistic threat.
If you die, you'll just wake up in a newly-grown body the next day.
But the literary and narrative traditions about warriors survive.
And it is this poison that has gotten into the veins of our protagonists.
War is like sports.
It is hosted by special venues - theaters - such as colosseums and state parks.
Violence outside of predeclared areas is ridiculed.
Armies (a fraction of their historical size) are funded by advertising, merchandise, and tips.
Marketing the combatants is an important part of the military business model.
The actual main character of the Sunlight video games is Agent Golem, champion of the combat tournaments that war has devolved into.
Her life is legitimately dramatic and involves power struggles between sponsors, the pressure of being the best in the world, etc. However, the life of the average war enthusiast is much more mundane.
Military technology is marketed to retrofuturist hobbyists, and features a kitschy exuberance in its design and branding (Electroblasters, Meltaswords, etc.).
There also exist backwater moons that artists have seeded with self-constructing species of robots (Pandoricans), just as something to fight. These are not very dangerous given that death is a totally curable condition.
These moons are somewhere between theme parks, open-air zoos, and live-action video games
Also, gender roles have changed. Most parents and organizations obsess over children's genomes before conception, and the current fashion in this sector is bright, athletic daughters who strive for uniqueness. (Unfortunately, there is only a finite supply of uniqueness available.) Male births are down in the low single digit percentages, and most parents seem reluctant to bother with the gender.
Other influences i draw on in these fics:
Anamanaguchi
The Magicians
Ender's Game
Halo
My memories of playing Mass Effect with Michelle in high school
Also, i like to be conscientious and attach a disclaimer on my fanfiction:
Sunlight and related characters are registered trademarks of VileMilan Studios, Inc., but as it is obvious to us storytellers that characters, narratives, and mythology belong to the people, such trademarks are culturally void. Claims of corporate ownership over thought and folklore, however well-intentioned, can have no artistic legitimacy among fans. Proprietary fiction is a legal fiction. The explorations, variations, and transformations of Sunlight in these fic(s) belong to no one but exist as simple dreams set loose upon the net, flitting from the mind of one fan to another.
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@tatzelwyrm tagged me to talk about my WIPs and I had to boil the kettle to make a new cuppa because it’s an embarrassingly long post. I assume you want me to talk about the musketeers fanfiction because if I started talking about all of my fics in progress, I’d run out of word limit. These are all trevilieu because this is how I roll.
Hogwarts AU. I posted the first chapter on AO3. I’ve been working on it since 2015 and I haven’t shown it to anyone (sans this one chap) and to be honest, I’m not sure anymore that anyone would want to read it. If you’ve read it, you probably know the gist of it: Hogwarts, Treville is a Head of Gryffindor, The Inseparables are his pain the arse, The Triwizard Tournament and all that jazz. This fic started as a joke between my friend and me, and I genuinely thought that it wouldn’t be longer than 15k. So far, I’ve written about 20k in Russian (mind you, Russian language doesn’t have articles or auxiliary verbs or whatever complicated crap you European people come up with, so in English, it’s a lot longer than that). And I’m about 1/3 through. I mean, I HOPE it won’t be longer than 40k. This fic is important to me because it’s my first maxi multi-chap. I have troubles with continuity, character development, and plot storyline. And I generally have troubles with writing and finishing work. This fic is a great challenge for me and I’m determined to finish it or at least write the majority of it this summer once my exams are over. I don’t know whether I’ll continue translating it into English, as very few people are particularly interested in it, but regardless, I’ll finish this shit, I swear.
post-s3. The document is literally titled as ‘richelieu lives treville doesn’t’. And it’s well, what it says on a tin. I don’t think I’ll ever finish it because, frankly, it lacks substance and I only wrote it for that one scene and I think it’s pointless to write a mediocre fic for one scene
Doctor Who/The Musketeers crossover. It’s supposed to be a prequel to an unwritten Doctor Who/Discworld crossover that I have in mind (Last Christmas AU, whouffaldi and all this juicy stuff). This fic is a solo adventure of the Doctor before the events of Last Christmas where he basically broods because he misses Clara and the TARDIS lands somewhere fishy, which just happens to be 17th century France. But at the same time, this is not 17th century France because the events are just very wrong. So the Doctor investigates death of one certain First Minister of France who died 12 years earlier than he was supposed to die. I have no idea how I’m going to finish it because I haven’t left any notes and I literally don’t remember what it was supposed to be about (I always have notes or a synopsis of any fic I write because I know myself and I know that I might come back to this work about 11 months later).
The Musketeers/Discworld The Night Watch AU. Man. I hate to brag (because my writing is crap, lol) but this fic is fucking good. It’s a collaboration with my good pal @smiling serpent. I’ve recently re-read what we managed to write and I cackled because it’s humorous, I’ve screamed because the FEELS. And then I remembered that it was Sasha and I who wrote this and that we will never finish it. Basically it’s a re-telling of The Night Watch, I mean, what’s more to say. It birthed out of a very widely acknowledged opinion that there’s no better Sam Vimes than Hugo Speer. God, I love this WIP. One of the best things I’ve written, mainly because Sasha is wonderful. I have an idea to finish it myself, because Sasha left The Musketeers fandom, but it’s very far-fetched and it’s unlikely to happen. But yo, it’s a whopper. I still re-read it from time to time. Glorious.
Modern AU featuring STI and one-night stand. This is not written in any shape or form and I doubt it ever will be. But this idea is ALWAYS discussed whenever glassbones and I meet up. Usually when we get drunk so you understand why we have never written a single word. But the first chapter is literally so imprinted on the back of my eyelids down to the T, that I can sit and write it down right now. The fabula of this fic is that Treville and Richelieu were briefly acquainted in their young years but separated because life got in a way without any angst. But then they meet during a parents’ meeting because their kids are in the same class. Then shit goes downhill from there.
Modern rom com AU vol2. Also discussed with glassbones frequently and is sometimes merged with modern au mentioned above. Nothing in particular, fluffy stuff. People at Treville’s work wonder about his personal life, because they haven’t got the foggiest if he’s married or has a partner. Richelieu’s desk is cluttered with gag gifts, which he hates because he likes to have his desk clean, but he can’t part with them to save his own damn life. Features bickering, workaholics, cats, red trench coat, obligatory walks along the Seine, immaculate instagram profile, marriage proposal, wedding planning and domestic bliss.
I tag @bean-about-townn and @gayforclara and @incendiaglacies and @freyalor
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Lift the Veil - Chapter 6
Lift the Veil - Chapter 6: Soul to Squeeze
Rating: T
Summary: After living in Tokyo for the past six years, she decides to head back to Azumano to escape the big city. However, she now has to face everything that she tried to flee from all those years ago. How exactly will she fare when the pages of a long forgotten book start turning once more?
Read On: FanFiction.Net, Archive of Our Own
And here we are, with your slightly late but still somewhat on time update. I rather like this chapter. Perhaps you will too. But no spoilers.
I would also like to note that, at its core, this story is a sort of “coming-to-age” story for Risa (More of coming-to-terms since she is already an “adult,” but you get the gist.) It has been treated as such and will continue to be treated as such until much, much, much, later into the story. And that this story is also a sort of catharsis for me, just as a forewarning since we’ve hit the beginning of the angsty bits and the ensuing melodrama. So without further ado, please enjoy our starring lady’s development (or regression. or lack thereof. i’m going to shut up now.)
Soul to Squeeze
The angels in my dreams have turned into demons of greed…
“Harada-imouto, lay it all on me.”
Turning to Saehara, I saw him with his arms wide open and a creepy expression of satisfaction on his face. Disturbed, I went back to proofreading stories for the evening broadcast, trying to block out my currently obnoxious company.
“Aw, come on! I’m just trying to lighten the mood here!”
“You can do that without being weird, you know.” He pouted. “And there’s no mood that needs lightening.”
“Yes, there is! Chief’s been wound up, mumbling about some frustrating woman that refuses to give him the time of day, and you know how cranky he gets when he doesn’t get his way. And you have been coming in with darker circles.” I shot him a glare for even mentioning the growing bags under my eye, but he just shrugged. “Well, sorry for stating the facts here.”
“Saehara-san, I suggest you shut up and dig your nose elsewhere.”
“Look, the juju in this office is seriously whack. It all went downhill when you started working here, but now it’s unbearable!”
I raised an eyebrow. “Juju?”
“Yeah! Chief’s been on edge ever since, like he’s walking on eggshells or about ready to explode or something. The force stationed here noticed it too.”
“And this is my problem because…?”
“Well, I don’t know if a woman such as yourself would understand, but it was wonderful back in the day when Chief would walk in with that mien of confidence. Made us men feel ready to start the day with someone like that around. Then, after that night when we met up with you at the café, he’s been out of it. More so than usual if you know what I mean.”
“It sounds like your boss has a problem with a female, specifically this one.”
Saehara’s mouth dropped. Honestly, someone who prided himself on his investigative skills would’ve realized this by now especially with how obviously he described it only moment ago. “Are you telling me that—”
“…do you think it’s wise to continue digging into that matter?”
Hiwatari stood by the sofa holding a steaming mug of coffee. Our eyes met, and I saw the regret and hurt pooling in them, appearing for just a brief second before his customary stolid expression returned, aimed and ready to fire at Saehara.
“Well, I can’t help but be curious! And it’s me! It’s not like I’m going to blab to anyone about it. Well, maybe Akane but—”
All it took was one look to shut Saehara up. The poor guy gulped, slightly nodding at the frightening Hiwatari. The Commissioner retreated to his office and, while Saehara had somehow recovered from the death stare, yakking on about Hiwatari’s recently increased sensitivity, I couldn’t help but feel guilty about what had happened. I knew we both got carried away because of our bottled-up emotions, and that encounter so happened to release everything we wanted to compress (even when it clearly needed an outlet). Several years ago, I would’ve relished in the image of a broken and defeated Hiwatari slumped in his chair but now, after it actually happened, it honestly left me too unsettled to just leave it be. And since I couldn’t use my go-to strategy of pretending like it didn’t happen, there was only one thing left that I could do:
Apologize to Hiwatari.
“Harada-imouto, are you okay? You look like you just smelled some lingering roadkill.”
Once Saehara left, gloating about having “a homemade dinner filled with love from his honey-bunny,” I placed my laptop on the coffee table in front of me and made my way to Hiwatari’s office. I knocked on his door and, not hearing an allowance to enter, I decided to just let myself in.
The blinds were up, bathing the desk covered in papers the unsaturated orange of the sunset. It smelled like aging documents, coffee, and faintly of smoke: probably remnants of its precious owners. Hiwatari laid on the couch with one arm lazily hanging off the edge and the other positioned to cover his eyes from the light. I had the urge to check if he fell asleep with his glasses on, but I saw their glare on the low table.
Some habits never die.
“…what’s so important that you needed to barge in without my consent?”
“It’s me.”
He didn’t move. His body tensed slightly, and his casually open hands balled into sturdy fists. Frustration? Anger? I was slightly scared at his sudden change in body language and silently braced myself for the worst.
“Harada-san, I’m sorry about dinner. You don’t have to accept my apology, but let me at least say my piece before you leave. I simply pushed myself upon you without thinking about your feelings, and I should’ve been more mindful of that instead of finding a segue to berate you on your perfectly acceptable behavior.”
“Just because it was acceptable doesn’t mean that it was good. It was my fault for being belligerent and distant instead of addressing it immediately.”
“Harada-san, you had every right. If someone I cared about did what I had done all those years ago, I would’ve been equally, if not more, upset. This mess is mine and mine alone. You needn’t apologize for anything.”
I opened my mouth, trying to protest his words. For six years, I wanted to hear him accept his faults and apologize, as if seeing him this ruined would’ve given me the boost I needed to finally let everything go. But looking at his body somehow helplessly lying on the couch, and his eyes covered to avoid seeing me, I finally witnessed the toil that it put him through, too. I found solace in the fact that I wasn’t the only one affected by it, but that led to questions and assumptions I didn’t want to know the answer to. Or maybe I did know the answer to them, but I just couldn’t bear to face those truths.
“Harada-san, if you don’t mind, I’d like to have some time to myself. Thank you for listening, and have a lovely evening.”
“You, too,” I croaked, gingerly closing the door behind me.
Heading to my usual work space in the police station, I finished up my work as quickly as possible, managing to leave the station before Hiwatari clocked out for the day. If I went to the news station, I’d probably stay in my cubicle until hunger struck, allowing me to avoid much needed introspection with work.
Maybe I could drop by Mizuame de Noisette for some alone time if only to sort my thoughts out.
When I was younger, I heard something on TV (or the radio) about the health benefits of tea. It came around the time my obsession with chi and the flow of the universe started, and I somehow became obsessed with the brewed beverage.
So much so that I couldn’t stand coffee. My parents always made a pot for breakfast; Dad would drink it black, Mom had steamed milk with it, and Riku poured as much flavored creamer as the cup allowed whenever she found herself still tired in the morning. Even though I came from a family that preferred coffee over tea, they never bothered me about it. They’d drink tea whenever I brewed it, returning to their Japanese roots for those brief moments before allowing Westernization back into their lives once more.
(Funny how I talk about Japanese tradition when I gave it up for my weird obsession of divination using the Western tarot and the advent of the K-pop takeover.)
The first time I had coffee of my own accord and enjoyed it was in my third year of middle school at the Niwa household. Towa and Argentine tagged along with Mrs. Emiko to buy some groceries while Grandpa Daiki and Mr. Kousuke were on a trip to manage and redistribute the remaining Hikari works to areas able to care for the magical pieces. Riku and Daisuke were still at school, Daisuke dutifully manning the art club he was ushered into and Riku busy with lacrosse practice. Hiwatari, having already withdrawn from school to fully dedicate himself to his new post as the Commissioner of the police force, always left work early to accompany this member of the going-home club to what became his home after the incident. My parents still worked late back then and Hiwatari, being his courteous self, felt a need to keep me company until Riku came back with Daisuke so I would walk back home with my sister.
I was struggling through math, trying to manage without asking Hiwatari because I was stubborn—still am—when I placed my head on the table in utter defeat. Hiwatari, usually busy on either his laptop or with his paperwork, suddenly left his spot and disappeared into the kitchen. He returned a couple of minutes later holding two steaming mugs.
“Harada-san,” he called, lightly tapping my shoulder. When I got up, he placed the mug filled with what smelled and looked like coffee in front of me. I couldn’t protest since I didn’t ask for it or make it, so I mumbled a “thanks” before hesitantly taking a sip.
I didn’t expect to enjoy it so much since I’ve tried Riku’s coffee many time in the past and disliked, oddly enough, its saccharinity that masked any hint of coffee besides its bitter aftertaste characteristic of all brewed drinks. Hiwatari’s coffee, however, was slightly creamy and slightly sweet while managing to still taste like coffee: just enough to make it palatable yet not too much to overwhelm its flavor.
“I’m sorry. I would’ve made you tea, but there was only coffee in the pantry. I hope it suit your tastes.”
“It’s actually really good. Thank you.” I cradled the warm drink in my hands, completely taken by it. “How did you make it?”
“I just brewed the coffee, Harada-san. If you must thank someone, drop by somewhere in South America or Africa to deliver your gratitude.”
I raised my eyebrow in confusion at his statement and the smirk forming on his face. After a beat had passed, I frowned, shaking my head at Hiwatari’s terribly timing.
He chuckled. “My apologies, Harada-kun.” I stifled the urge to correct him for the umpteenth time for using an honorific he knew I wasn’t fond of. He just kept that stupid grin on his face before continuing. “I used a French press to brew the coffee and added condensed milk and chocolate syrup.”
“I’m offended that you thought I needed chocolate syrup and condensed milk in my coffee.”
“Harada-kun, that’s how my host mother in America prepared my coffee.”
He never brought up his time in America, dismissing it as the time he spent staying up and reading books on art history and criminal justice. He never mentioned anything else regarding America, and I assumed that Krad and his young age made it difficult for him to bond with the other students.
“Really?”
I leaned towards Hiwatari, hoping that he would continue the conversation. And when he did, the cup of coffee I fawned over mere moments ago was long forgotten until Riku walked in and complained about how I wasted another cup of her favorite beverage.
The second time I had coffee served to me like that, I was over at a guy’s apartment, trying to get to know him before plunging back into the world of relationships and romances.
I deleted his number the moment I left.
After my fourth cocktail of the tropical-flavored variety, a waiter approached me, asking if I was okay.
“Of course! I’m peachy!”
“No one says ‘peachy’ when they’re okay, princess.”
I paused, nearly losing my grip on my drink. It took me a moment, but I finally focused on the waiter’s features. He had an attractive smirk and slanted eyes that screamed mischief paired with perfectly sculpted cheekbones and long, dark hair that tapered out in the back—was I imagining this?
Dark?
“Sorry to leave you like that. I would’ve stayed longer, but it didn’t work out.”
I knew that hidden behind his mask of nonchalance was a part of Dark that lived up to his namesake. Despite his usual animation, he was still a Hikari artwork, forever bound to the rules imposed upon him by his creator. His short-lived freedom always started with acclimating to his new host and teasing the poor kid about their love life and always ended either in full agreement or miserable compromise before plunging Dark back into solitude until the next of kin became of age.
“It had to be done.” I shrugged. “No hard feelings.”
But there were once many, many hard feelings that caused trouble for everyone close to me. Now they were a blip in the past that served as a forewarning for what had followed.
“I love you, Princess.”
“I know you loved me along with the many, many other girls that came before me. And you left every single one of them just like you left me. You promised me something you knew you couldn’t keep.”
What happened back then had to be done. The conflict that stemmed from the artworks residing in Daisuke and Hiwatari got so out of hand that it started to wreak havoc on the poor boys and, eventually, their respective “Sacred Maidens.” We had to destroy that artwork and free their blood from that awful curse to save ourselves.
Besides, I couldn’t hog Daisuke from Riku.
“But I’m here now. I’ve kept that promise.”
“Honestly, that sweet-talking mouth of yours sickens me.”
Even though he knew of his inevitable fate, he fed my gullible fourteen-year-old self loving words about forever and always. And having all those hopes and dreams crushed in the span of that event killed me. Maybe Dark used me to escape his reality, honing in on a girl that showered him with unadulterated affection for the person he was. And yet, that selfishness of his meant he needed to use everything in his bag of tricks.
Even if that meant lying to himself and me.
“What’d I do wrong? Tell me, and I’ll try everything in my power to fix it.”
“You lied. Just like him.”
He laughed, and I could hear the disdain and haughtiness with each note. “Comparing me to that glacier? Why do that?”
“Because I loved the two of you, but you both broke my heart because of this damn curse!”
I felt my frustration rush through me, and I slammed my hands on the table. Only then did I finally wake up, languidly trying to discern my dream from reality. Still coming to, my hand tipped over my cocktail glass, and I watched as it spilled and shattered on the floor below.
“Risa!”
Looking up, wondering who could possibly be calling my name, I spotted Daisuke weaving through the patrons and workers who had their attention directed towards me. He came to my table, briefly apologizing to the waiter cleaning up my mess before dragging me out of the café.
We ended up at a convenience store, and I followed Daisuke as he browsed the aisles, grabbing a canned miso soup and energy drink. On my way to the cashier, I grabbed a strawberry-flavored Caplico stick and strawberry milk and crept up behind him, gingerly putting them down on the counter. He didn’t say anything, instead pushing my snacks closer to his purchases and paying for everything without a fuss before sitting at a table outside. Daisuke urged me to drink what he bought for me, but my stubbornness won out as I opened my snacks and dug in.
“Are you okay?” he cautiously asked
“Does it look like I’m okay?”
He shook his head, unsure of what to do. We sat there in silence for a while until Daisuke opened his mouth again.
“Riku’s…worried about you. I’m worried about you.” He paused. “Um…we’re worried about you.”
Luckily, I didn’t catch his implication, too intoxicated and one-track minded to pay attention to anything. “You two don’t need to worry about me,” I said. “Let me roll into the gutter of life without your well-meant bumpers.”
“Risa…”
“Look, I made a mistake coming back here, okay? This is my punishment.”
Daisuke looked distraught: his friend was suffering, and there was nothing he could do to help. Riku really did choose a good man…
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry…”
His apology hung in the air, awkward and heavy. I didn’t even know what he was sorry for. Scooting my chair closer to his, I patted his back to console him. Funny, since he originally meant to make me feel better and yet it ended up being the other way around. When he finally calmed down, he stood up, picking up my trash and telling me he needed to make a couple of phone calls.
Holding the warm cup of miso soup in my hands, I watched him go back inside the convenience store. During his first call, he looked too distressed. Daisuke had to take a couple of breaths, and he walked around a little bit before hanging up and dialing another number. He seemed a lot calmer this time around, but he somehow hung up looking even more frazzled.
“Riku wants you back home ASAP,” he explained while taking his seat. “But I’m assuming that home’s the last place you want to be right now.” I nodded. “Any ideas on where you want to go?”
“A hotel.”
“Somewhere with someone you know, please. Riku would kill me if I left you alone like this.”
“You can—”
“Risa.” I’m your sister’s boyfriend. And while there’s nothing particularly wrong with you staying at my house, this could potentially lead to some trouble. And my house? Really?
I laughed despite Daisuke’s grave tone, but I knew he was right. While Riku was fine with me and Daisuke being friends, I knew she didn’t like it whenever Daisuke was overly nice with me. And his house was a riot: having me there in this state could either cheer me up or make me feel even worse.
Saehara popped into my mind, but I didn’t want to intrude. Besides, he has a girlfriend that he may or may not live with (we had yet to breach that topic), and I didn’t want her to become wary of me even before I’ve formally met her. Hiwatari also flashed through my mind, but I was not that desperate. Yet.
Taking out my phone, I scrolled through my contacts until I found Ritsuko’s number. I brought my phone to my ear, hearing the dial tone echo. She was my last hope and, if she didn’t pick up, I would have to—
“Hey, Risa. What’s up?”
“Could I crash at your place tonight?”
“Sure, is there something wrong?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Well, it’s a Friday night, so we have the time! I’ll text you to address, okay? Please get here safely, and I’ll see you soon!”
“I didn’t expect to see Daisuke as your personal entourage tonight! Is there something going on? Do I need to report this to Riku?”
“Ritsuko!”
She laughed, letting the two of us in, before disappearing into the kitchen to grab some refreshments and snacks. I sat next to a beet-red Daisuke on the sofa. Poor guy; even as an adult he was still too easy to tease.
“So, in all seriousness, what’s going on?” Ritsuko asked, placing two mugs of water and a bowl of sweets on the coffee table. “I mean, it must be a good story if Risa smells like a bar!”
I groaned, and she winked at Daisuke before laughing. Honestly, she was having too much fun with this situation.
“Well, as you can smell, I got drunk like a dumb college student, and Riku sent Daisuke to find me. And, since I didn’t want to go back home, I’m here.”
“Aren’t you a little too old for a teenage rebellion?” She laughed again. “Sorry, this is just too amusing.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” I grumbled. “Anyhow, could I freshen up a bit?”
“Oh yeah! I’ve laid out some clean clothes and towels on your bed. And a clean tooth brush. Other than that, what’s mine is yours.”
I thanked her before heading into her room, changing my clothes before cleaning up after my long day. Honestly, I wanted to pass out and forget today even happened
When I left her room, I saw her sitting on the couch, toying with her phone. She finally noticed me when I sat beside her, and she locked her phone and set it on the table.
“Daisuke left after you went in,” she explained. “So, what’s really wrong?” Her joking tone from earlier was gone, replaced with one of concern.
“I shouldn’t have come back.”
“Well, if you refused to visit for six years, you really shouldn’t have returned. If you’ve been running away for that long, you didn’t have to come back and act like you’re so strong now. And there’s nothing wrong with being a coward; not everyone was designed to slay dragons.”
“What’s up with the fairytale imagery?”
“It’s the only thing that came to mind! Don’t judge me!”
I smiled. “I’m not.”
“Well, for whatever reason, you came back, so you have to deal with it instead of drowning in alcohol. It’s not good for your skin.”
“You choose to dissuade me from drinking alcohol by talking about how bad it is for my skin? Just my skin? Really?”
“Okay, I don’t need your sass right now, okay? Too much alcohol is just bad, okay?”
“Who are you, my mother?”
“Would you rather be having this earful from me, Riku, or your mother?”
“Touché.”
We laughed. I really did miss Ritsuko’s company.
“Well, with a dragon like Hiwatari, I don’t blame you for running.”
My mind paused as those words hung heavy in the air. I hated when someone verbalized the truth, as if speaking about it granted my problem a tangible form that I could no longer just contain inside my mind.
“When he first transferred in, he was a statue that most of us girls admired from a distance. And you absolutely hated him. Then, somehow, someway, after Daisuke finally started officially dating Riku, the two of you became the bestest of friends which everyone thought was a guise for secretly dating.” I groaned at Ritsuko for reminding me about that, but she only replied with a coy smile before continuing. “And then you two just stopped talking near the end of our third-year.”
“Ritsuko…”
“And you were devastated. Maybe even more so than when Dark disappeared. I mean, it’s always hard to deal with losing someone you care about but…”
My racing heartbeat drummed in my ears, amplified by the ill-timed silence following her trailing words. Maybe she just paused there because she didn’t have anything left to say, and here I was freaking out over nothing. But what if she stopped because she needed some time to organize her thoughts before releasing a slew of words that could potentially shatter the precarious state of my sanity? Glancing over at me, her eyes widened, possibly at whatever worrying expression my face contorted to unconsciously before turning away looking guilty.
“Sorry for bringing up a sore subject. I just…I don’t want to see you bogged down by whatever happened. It’s also late, so you should probably get some sleep, too.”
She handed me a blanket, saying that I could either sleep with her or alone on the sofa. I took the sofa mostly because I wanted some time to mull over Ritsuko’s words. Somehow, I had to stop running away from this, to compartmentalize and act like an adult.
Honestly, I had done a terrible job of doing that; both of us did. But I didn’t want to see what would happen if I put it behind me. I didn’t trust him or myself to keep it casual. After everything that happened, it really didn’t seem like an option. It was an all or nothing deal, and I don’t want to plunge back into that mess ever again.
I was too scared to see where it would lead us.
#dnangel#satorisa#satoshi hiwatari#risa harada#my writing#fanfiction#i'm astonished that these past 2 chapters hit the 4000 word mark#i'm still in the middle of writing the next chapter so if the update is around a week or two late just a forewarning#i don't have any other ramblings pertaining to this and there aren't any cultural things i want to expand on#so uh...SPOILER RAMBLINGS#EY YO DARK WASSUP#AND Y I K E S#RISA THAT TRUTH BOMB#nothing really as noteworthy as that but#damn saehara it's not okay to point out a woman's bags like you really want to have your ass handed to you#and ah ritsuko#you are also a treat to write#and you will be seeing more of her because she's risa's friend and while practically irrelevant in the canon#AT LEAST CANON ACKNOWLEDGES THAT SHE IS RELEVANT TO RISA#and thus she will be relevant in the story#i should also note that the original disgusting first draft of this actually had risa and daisuke going to satoshi's apartment though#and considering everything that you readers know so far that's a no-bueno#so everything after daisuke and risa shopping at the conbini is a rewrite#tumblr you may be a bitch with formatting#but i love rambling in the tags so that's a-okay
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Somebody Else's Recent Bangkok Film Work That I Really Like:
Can’t quite remember exactly how it happened but I found myself looking at a lot of my Bangkok film work on a Google images search. I also can’t recall the exact keywords that lead me there but the general gist of the situation is that I can never find enough, recent film work of Bangkok that appeals. There’s just not thatlarge a pool of it to draw from. Amongst my efforts, and probably using keywords like ‘Bangkok tri x’ I did however catch more than a fleeting glimpse of some really nice work with some recurring themes that was clearly well executed. It didn’t take long for me to spot that this work was probably all shot by the same person; there was a consistency to the eye involved. Funny how you can just sort of guess that for yourself if you look at enough of the work after a while.
This led me to find Doug Kim’s work which is currently shown HERE (select places and then 'Bangkok' as your starting place perhaps):
There’s more than one page of this lovely work so keep clicking through the page numbers at the bottom. I see he also has a lot of Thai stuff that is newer, in some cases just in recent months.
There’s a number of things that I would like to say drew me in. Firstly, the shots are of course really interesting and well done, secondly the tags of ‘Leica MP’, ‘Summicron’ and ‘Kodak Tri X’ in relation to Bangkok shooting revealed that this was a man after my own heart and obviously worthy of further investigation. I reached out to Doug and had some chats with him; he strikes me as being a really decent bloke. I would love to actually meet him one day. He’s currently based in Brooklyn, New Yawk (I believe) and is American Asian. I was interested in his take on Bangkok shooting. The work shows some good street, a keen eye, beautiful young Thai femininity without the stereotypical bargirl clichés and some great off the beaten track forays into subjects such as poverty, youth, Thai boxing and well exposed nighttime shooting too. The variety of the work and the way in which he shot it made me certain that he must be resident here. I was most surprised to discover that this clearly isn’t the case. My surprise was rooted in the fact that I can’t see much of the tourist photo element in his photo essays at all really. Sure, there’s the odd clue in the form of a skytrain station shot here and there maybe if you wanted to be hyper-critical about it but it’s not like I never shoot up on those platforms as a big mango denizen myself now is it?
The suburbs over in Thonburi, the wandering, the little potential of the would-be ‘Nak Muay’ slugging it out on the pads, street vendors and their dogs, an occasional messy electrical overhead wiring shot….it all points to a more experienced eye of somebody looking beyond the immediately obvious and searching for more authentic detail of a less trite nature. I really appreciate all of Doug’s work. Turns out that Doug wasn’t perhaps completely updated on the best places for developing and so he opted to carry all his Tri X back to the States with him for developing instead. I’ve since pointed him in the direction of my ‘Ultimate Photographer’s Guide to Bangkok’ page (click banner at top of this page) so I think he’ll be even better equipped if there’s ever a round two. In fact, scrub that Doug…next time you are in Bangkok shooting, drop me a line and I’ll dev it for you myself!
I was also wondering if perhaps Doug’s ethnicity gave him any advantage for wandering and shooting incognito in Bangkok. This was something of an interesting afterthought for me. I know of one or two British citizens here with Chinese heritage who basically walk around in full ‘stealth mode’ and are assumed to be local by the locals. Suffice to say, this is a feat that I will never be able to achieve. I have found other ways to put people at ease in any uncomfortable situations when Thai street shooting over the years I guess. It is certainly possible that if dressed to blend in and not carrying excessive luggage, an Asian-faced Westerner in Bangkok could have a different experience to somebody of another ethnicity. Looking at the ‘gotcha’ faces of Doug’s subjects on the shots where they just catch him in the act (sometimes he obviously intended for that to be the case I would say) I am trying to see if they are different to the faces that I get in my work. I might be imagining it but I can almost see there might be a discernible difference. It’s as though in addition to the ‘Why is he taking my photo, better smile and be cool in public’ quizzed Thai face that I sometimes get looking back at my in my own negatives….there’s also another debate going on in their heads maybe. ‘Is he a tourist or not?’ I might be projecting this or just completely imagining it but I find it interesting to compare nevertheless.
The other nice angle for me is that I personally recognize many of the places that Doug shot and have frequented them myself on occasion. It’s really cool to see how somebody else would see it walking along with a film camera of the type that I might also carry around there on any given day. This is easy to do in a city like New York where there is just so much great film work from talented people upon which to base your compare ideas but the corpus of film work in the City of Angels that we find is so much less extensive. Nice that Doug has been able to add to it and show the way for others.
My favourite of all Doug’s work on his blog is probably the floating market series as it should have all come out looking like a stereotypical touristy nightmare but he makes it look more like classical ‘National Geographic’ of yesteryear. It’s really well done and a joy to look at. Would make for some great prints I’m sure. I also like the moody shots of the model, really tasteful and with an original sense of mystery and intrigue, I am impressed to say the least.
For a real ‘down the rabbit hole’ experience, there’s the veritable myriad of other locations around the world that this man has also shot with aplomb. I highly recommend having a look and I am grateful to Doug for sharing his lovely Bangkok film work online with the world and also for being friendly and welcoming when contacted to talk about it.
CCP
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