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reyescarlos · 3 years

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all through the night || a tarlos fic

❄️ @911giftexchange fic for @buckieys ❄️

happy holidays, sy! i'm wishing you a wonderful and prosperous new year. i hope this fic helps to usher in 2021 right!

word count: 5.2k || read on ao3

All through the night I'll be awake and I'll be with you All through the night This precious time when time is new

When Carlos envisioned winter in New York, his elaborate fantasies had somehow managed to eclipse the reality of what it might actually entail. He had enjoyed his brief stay, taking in the window displays along Fifth Avenue. It had long since been something he wanted to see for himself and the storefronts had more than delivered. But on the flipside of such a picturesque scene has come the downside of what heavy amounts of snow could mean.

It’s why he finds himself now planted in a too hard seat at JFK Airport, wondering how he’ll possibly fill his time now that his flight has been delayed until morning. Outside the blizzard rages on with no real end in sight and Carlos mulls over the merits of his decision to leave Texas in the New Year and make this city his home. This is a far cry from Austin. He’d once thought winter temperatures there could be bad but it’s been nothing compared to the arctic blast in the North.

He tries to keep busy with a book but his attention is split between the words before him and the cute guy across from him frantically digging inside his backpack, a phone teetering dangerously on his knee.

“God, where is that stupid thing,” the man mumbles to himself. “Come on charger, where are you?”

Carlos looks away, burying his head in his book to hide the smile that breaks out on his face. The guy is obviously peeved but Carlos can’t help but to find his muttering endearing. After another moment of fruitless searching on the stranger’s end, Carlos takes mercy on him.

“Here, you can borrow mine,” he says, unzipping his own backpack and fishing out his charger.

The man sighs in relief. “Thank you. I really appreciate it,” he replies, reaching over and taking the cord from Carlos.

He settles back and plugs it into the wall, the screen lighting up a moment later. Carlos smiles politely and gets back to reading, only to be interrupted.

“So, I take it you’re heading down to visit family before the new year comes, huh?” the stranger says.

Carlos looks up from his book, head tilting slightly. It hadn’t been expecting the man to strike up a conversation.

“Sorry, awkward small talk. I’ll let you get back to it,” he says, face scrunching as he gestures to the book in Carlos’ hands.

Carlos waves him off, bookmarking his page and closing it.

“No worries. We’re here all night so...plenty of time for that.” He licks his lips and drums his fingers against the front. “To answer your question though, no. Austin is actually my home so I’m just heading back.”

“Oh, cool. I’m going to see my dad. I thought he’d want to do the whole white Christmas, New York for the New Year thing but ever since he moved down to Austin last year, I think he’s gotten spoiled by the warmer weather.”

The man looks out of the window where the snow is swirling so heavily it’s hard to even see the sky or planes sitting idly on the tarmac.

“Guess I can’t exactly blame him.”

Carlos laughs. “It’s disgustingly cold here and all of that,” he says, gesturing to the storm, “doesn’t help. I don’t know how you guys manage.”

“You get used to it. I’ve only ever grown up with it so while I like to complain about the snow at times, I can’t picture this time of year without it. It’s been a few years since it’s been this bad though, I’ll admit.”

Carlos smiles a bit, looking out of the window briefly. “This is actually my first time experiencing snow. And the city was gracious enough to give me a blizzard to commemorate.”

The man smiles at this thoughtfully. He sits up, stretching his hand out across the aisle towards Carlos.

“I’m TK, by the way.”

Carlos touches his fingertips to his forehead before shaking TK’s hand.

“God, my mother would be so ashamed of my manners right now,” he laughs. “I’m Carlos. It’s nice to meet you.”

He lets go, his palm feeling extremely warm from TK’s touch. TK smiles at him, a slow grin that ultimately reveals his teeth. This man is very good looking, there’s no denying that. He’s got an easy way about him that makes Carlos feel comfortable in his presence as if they’re old friends catching up and not perfectly good strangers meeting for the first time.

TK’s phone buzzes, stealing his attention and Carlos is all too grateful for it. TK types something on the device for a few seconds before pausing.

“Sorry, excuse me for a second,” he says, putting his phone to his ear.

Carlos nods and gestures for him to go for it.

“Hey, Dad. I—,” TK starts out but stops short as his father speaks. “I bet it’s all over the news but I’m alright. Not looking forward to being stuck here overnight but,” he continues, his eyes landing on Carlos and away so quickly Carlos is sure he’s imagined it. “I guess there are worse ways to be trapped for a few hours.”

Carlos looks away then, cracking open his book again to keep himself occupied while TK chats with his father. He tries not to dwell heavily on TK’s look or what the implications of that glance could mean. It could’ve been a coincidence and nothing more. All the same, it doesn’t make his heart race any less to think that TK feels a spark too.

TK ends the call with a sigh, stretching out his legs before bouncing one of them. The gesture is distracting but endearing. For the second time, Carlos closes his book, this time putting it back into his bag for good as TK speaks to him again.

“Are you hungry? I could go for a bite.”

“I could eat,” Carlos says. He rises from his seat as TK does, both men dragging their carry-ons along with them.

They follow the winding path down from their gate, Carlos taking notice of all the fellow flyers now forced to wait out the storm. Some have taken to stretching out on the ground, laying on top of jackets like makeshift sleeping bags, others keeping busy with phones and tablets, hunched over in chairs.

Carlos isn’t looking forward to the uncomfortable sleep he’ll have tonight but as he looks over at TK, he wonders just how much rest he’ll actually manage to get. The guy is already proving himself to be a good way to pass the time and Carlos can’t say he wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to keep chatting with him.

As they approach the cluster of food stands, TK groans and it’s easy to see why. Many of the shops are already closed, no doubt the employees hurrying home before the worst of the storm kicked in. All that’s available now is Cinnabon but Carlos supposes that can suffice as dinner.

TK orders a hot chocolate and a classic roll while Carlos opts for a cold brew in addition to a roll as well. TK eyes the drink with raised brows.

“I’m fully committing to the cause of being awake until we board, apparently,” Carlos muses, pushing his straw through the lid and taking a sip. “Worth it.”

The two head to a nearby empty table, settling into their elevated seats before unloading their food. The scent coming off the baked goods is incredible and Carlos’ stomach suddenly feels desperate for a bite.

“So, Carlos, since we’ve nominated each other for the buddy system while we wait this storm out,” he jokes, “Why don’t you tell me more about yourself?”

Carlos drums his fingers on the tabletop as he tries to decide what to share.

“Well, you already know that Austin is where I’m from but the whole reason I’m even here now is because I’m going to be moving to New York soon. I’ll be transferring next month.”

TK’s brows raise. “Seriously? That’s awesome. Do you mind if I ask what you do?”

“I’m a police officer. I’ve been with the Austin Police Department for a few years but I’ve been considering leaving Texas for a little while now and I’ve been exploring my options. For some reason my mind kept coming back to the idea of New York and I figured I should just take the chance and see what happens.”

TK laughs and shakes his head. “Oh man, well, we have something in common, more or less. I’m with the NYFD myself.”

Carlos holds up a hand. “Wait, wait, wait. You’re a firefighter?” he laughs.

TK puffs out his chest jokingly and nods with a grin on his face. “That’s right. Ladder 252.”

Carlos does his best to push the image of TK in uniform from mind but the picture is an appealing one. He can see it so clearly, the way he’d look in suspenders, not to mention full gear. It’s almost unfair just how much hotter the man becomes as if Carlos hasn’t spent this whole time finding him attractive. He picks up his drink again for something to do with his hands, swirling the straw inside of the cup.

“Small world. Outside of my own little bubble, I can’t say I casually meet many people who are first responders. We seem to be a pretty special breed to get into this line of work.”

TK laughs. “I fell into this because of my dad. He’s been a firefighter for years. He, uh, actually was on site during 9/11. I always thought he was incredible but knowing the full scope of what he and so many others did that day and for people in times of crisis, big and small in general, it just made me want to be like him.”

Carlos frowns, unsure of what to even say or think. “Your dad’s a hero.”

“I like to think so.” TK draws in a breath, squaring his shoulders. “Anyway, now he’s kicking ass down in Texas so, even though I miss him as my captain, I know he’s doing great work with his crew down there.”

Curiosity gets the better of Carlos as he asks, “What station is he with?”

“The 126,” TK replies, taking a sip of his hot chocolate.

Carlos’ eyes widen. “Captain Owen Strand is your father?”

It makes sense the longer he looks at TK. Captain Strand is an attractive older guy and TK clearly got handed some solid genes. Still, it throws him for a loop to realize they have a legitimate connection to each other.

TK tilts his head to the side. “You know him? Shit, okay, wow, small world just got a whole hell of a lot smaller.”

“Unbelievable,” Carlos laughs in disbelief. “I don’t know him that well but we work together sometimes on calls. He’s amazing in the field and he’s really turned that station around.”

TK practically beams. “Guess this means we’ll be seeing each other again soon once we finally make it to Austin then.”

“Uh, yeah. I guess so. Assuming you don’t get sick of me before this night is through, that is.”

TK holds Carlos’ gaze for a moment and if it were anyone else, it would be unnerving but something in TK’s stare just sends a thrill through Carlos, excites him in a way no stranger has ever really gotten under his skin.

“I don’t see that happening,” he says plainly, as if this is an irrefutable fact and not something that’s truly subject to change.

Carlos doesn’t argue the point. He merely enjoys the next few hours, seeing just how easily TK’s theory pans out.

~*~*~

The contrast in weather between New York and Austin is one of the first things Carlos’ remarks on as he steps outside of Austin-Bergstrom. He’s never been more grateful for a forty degree afternoon. He’s kept Michelle updated about his new set time and he waits patiently outside of arrivals. Beside him now, TK types out a message on his phone before smiling over at him.

Carlos has had hours to get used to that look on TK’s face and yet he’s still brought up short. Last night and the early morning hours were spent talking to TK about everything imaginable, trading stories about crazy calls they’ve been on and even touching on personal things like their families. When they grew tired of talking, they watched movies on TK’s laptop, fighting off the urge to sleep for the mere sake of hanging out.

It isn’t rare for Carlos to become friendly with a person but this connection to TK feels different in a way he can’t quite parse.

By the time their flight boarded, Carlos knocked out for the entire length of the trip but it had been worth it in his eyes to stay up and take advantage of the uninterrupted time that stretched before him with TK. It was safe to say a bit of a crush had formed, as absurd as Carlos felt for it. TK was going to be in town for the next few days and that prospect was both thrilling and terrifying. If he could feel this close to TK in one night, there’s no telling what could happen in a few days.

Before he can get lost in that thought, Carlos sees Michelle as she pulls up to the curb, the trunk popping open.

“Are you good out here?”

“My dad’s coming in just a minute. I’ll be just fine,” TK muses as Carlos puts his carry-on inside and slams the trunk shut.

“Alright, well. You have my number now so text me whenever you’re free. I’ll show you a few places while you’re here.”

Carlos extends his hand but TK rolls his eyes jokingly and pulls him into a half hug instead.

“We’ve spent the night together, Carlos. I think we’re past handshakes now.”

Carlos’ face burns with TK’s wording but the man merely laughs.

“See you soon?”

Carlos just nods and finds the wherewithal to get inside of Michelle’s car. He waves after he buckles himself in, TK lifting a hand in response.

“Okay, who is that?” Michelle asks immediately, head turned to take in the sight of TK.

Carlos tips his head back against the seat. “You won’t believe the night I’ve had.”

~*~*~

Carlos has spent two days showing TK some of his favorite stomping grounds. TK relished in all that Austin had to offer and Carlos has been happy to see that their closeness from the unexpected overnight at the airport hadn’t been a fluke. If anything, these outings have only made Carlos feel closer to TK.

Michelle has been relentless in her teasing, finding it all too amusing that Carlos managed to cross paths with Captain Strand’s son of all people. She’d clung to his every word during the ride home from the airport as he filled her in on how he waited out the storm.

The 126 meets at their usual bar and Carlos is glad for this post-work gathering. It’s the perfect time to show TK what a real honky-tonk is like, further immersing him in the culture of the state his father now resides.

TK sits next to him at the table, the large group so packed in that his leg presses against Carlos’. It’s light but it’s enough to make the point of contact all Carlos can focus on even as everyone else at the table engages in conversations that overlap, laughing amongst themselves. He does his best to ignore it but it’s difficult not to take notice of each shift TK makes. Michelle keeps looking at him and Carlos, to the best of his abilities, avoids her gaze knowing that it’ll make it just that much more difficult to act as if he isn’t freaking out internally.

“I’m gonna get another. You want anything?” Carlos asks TK.

TK shakes his head. “No, I’m alright but thank you though.”

Carlos nods once and gets up, finding it much easier to breathe already now that he’s no longer sitting beside TK. Michelle catches his eye as he leaves from the table and he can hear her shoes as she follows behind him to the bar. She rests against the counter facing the room at large as Carlos gets the attention of the bartender and asks for another beer.

“You sure know how to pick them,” Michelle laughs at his side.

“Chelle,” he groans, shaking his head.

She merely laughs again, bumping her hip against his. “When did your life become a romantic comedy?”

“I must’ve missed the memo myself because this sure snuck up on me.”

The bartender sets a bottle down in front of him but Carlos doesn’t move. This little reprieve away from everyone but Michelle right now is welcome.

“I like him. He’s nice. Really cute too.”

“Oh, so you’ve noticed?” he deadpans, looking over his shoulder at TK.

He looks so at home here, hanging out and laughing with these people he’s, up until now, only known secondhand from his father’s work stories. TK is personable as ever, Carlos knows all too well. Had he not been swept away after one night in the man’s company?

“I think this is so great.”

“Funny, I think it’s the universe trying to mess with me.”

Michelle scoffs, finally turning to face the bar like him. “There are worse things in the world than a seemingly perfect guy practically falling into your lap. We should all be so lucky.”

Carlos casts the mental image aside, taking a sip of his drink. “The timing though. I can’t think about guys right now. I need to be figuring out my next set of moves for New York.”

“If those plans just so happen to include an attractive new friend…,” she trails off with a grin.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to screw this up because yeah, he is a new friend and we get along well, it’s a good feeling.”

“Do you like him?”

Carlos falters. “I barely even know the guy.”

“That’s not even remotely close to what I asked you.”

Carlos scratches at his forehead before letting out a sigh. “I do. Which hardly makes any sense at all. It’s only been a few days and yet I can’t stop thinking about him. That’s strange, isn’t it?”

Michelle shakes her head. “No, actually. I don’t think so. You guys had such a cute introduction to each other and you clearly hit it off. Some people just click and are meant to meet. The fact that you two had a connection to each other beforehand without even knowing it? I think there’s something to be said for that.”

“What, you think it’s fate or something?”

Michelle shrugs. “I wouldn’t rule it out. Your flight could have been a day earlier or even a few hours before his. On a plane filled with hundreds, you connected with him, Captain Strand’s son who just so happens to live in the city you’re about to move to. I think it’s worth seeing just how far it could go. If you ask me, you’ll wind up with a boyfriend in no time.”

Carlos mulls it over for a moment. He can admit he is in fact curious. It’s been a while since he’s felt this drawn to someone and with TK, it’s been as natural as breathing since they first met. The timing is less than ideal but it’s been so long since Carlos has felt this urge to get close to someone, since he’s felt safe enough to even open his mind and heart up to the possibility.

“Maybe you’re onto something.”

“One of these days you’ll learn to just accept my brilliance, no questions asked. But this will do for now.”

Carlos rolls his eyes but drapes an arm over her shoulder, pulling her into his side and kissing her temple.

“I’m going moments like this with you,” he says.

Michelle sighs and pats his back. “I will too but we still have time on the clock, right? Let’s not think about that now.”

Carlos sighs, knowing she’s right. It just feels as if these moments are slipping through his fingers, the new year and all its changes lurking just around the corner.

~*~*~

As customary, the Ryder house is the staple for parties among the team and New Year’s Eve is no different. Carlos has lost track of how many times he’s sat on their couch or been treated for Grace’s incredible home-cooking. It’s always been a source of comfort for him, being surrounded by these colleagues who have become an extended family to him.

This time next year, he’ll be in another time zone, familiarized with a new group of people. Carlos knows he’s jumping the gun. There’s no doubt in his mind that he’ll be able to visit back home and that this collection of people will still love him as they do now.

Carlos looks around the living room, taking stock: Marjan blowing into a noise maker in Mateo’s face and bursting into laughter, Paul shaking his head and dropping his face into his palm. Over by the kitchen he sees Grace and Judd swaying to the music playing as Captain Strand takes Michelle’s hand and begins dancing alongside the other couple. It warms Carlos’ heart and breaks it too, seeing this all for what will be the last time with this city being home.

Suddenly the room feels too small and he finds himself heading for the door, grabbing his jacket off of the coat rack. It’s cold out but Carlos remembers just how bitter the weather in New York was. This is nothing compared to that. And it’s this thought that twists at his heart a bit more, one more reminder of how much his life is set to change sooner than he thinks he’s ready for.

The new year is biting at his heels and time is just slipping by. Logically he knows that he shouldn’t be outside now, that he would be wise to savor these memories with his Austin crew while they’re here rather than lament later. But it all feels like too much and the last thing he wants is to let his pensive mood be a dark cloud over a celebratory and joyous time.

Carlos keeps walking until he reaches the park nearby the Ryder household. Naturally it’s abandoned as everyone is tucked away inside their homes either enjoying a quiet night in or throwing parties like the Ryders. Carlos draws in a breath and takes a seat on one of the swings, his fingers clutching on to the links. He quickly stands up the second he hears footsteps approaching, a figure walking towards him.

“It’s just me,” comes TK’s voice and sure enough the man’s features come into focus the closer he gets until he’s settling into the swing beside Carlos.

“I saw you take off. I just wanted to check that you were okay.”

Carlos smiles a bit. “I appreciate it. I’m okay. I’m just...thinking about a lot right now.”

TK sways on his swing, letting a comfortable silence fall between them before he speaks.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Carlos’ heart and thoughts feel so heavy now, such a contrast to how lighthearted and hopeful this holiday is meant to be. But TK looks at him with such genuine care that he finds himself almost desperate to unburden himself a bit.

“Sometimes I wish I could just stop time, you know? But hell, it’s New Year’s Eve. What more proof do I need that life is always moving forward?”

Carlos sighs and rocks slightly back and forth.

“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be a downer. You should head on back inside, have fun with the others.”

TK is silent beside him, long enough for Carlos to pull his gaze toward the other man. TK is eyeing him thoughtfully.

“You’re scared about what comes next. That’s totally normal. Moving away, starting a new life somewhere else, it’s a big step. A huge change.”

Carlos frowns as he nods. “I wish I could see the end, you know? I wish I could see if it’s all worth it, that I’m making the right choice.”

TK hums in thought. “Well, the best way out is through, right?”

“So you don’t think it’s a mistake to move out to New York?”

TK shrugs. “I don’t know you well enough to say one way or the other for sure. But no, I don’t think it is. I think the fact that you’re even considering it at all should tell you something about how you feel about where you are now.”

Carlos grows quiet, considering the man’s words. But TK isn’t done dishing out his opinion.

“You’ve got an amazing team here, there’s no denying that. It’s a real family, not to mention your actual family is here too. But—and mind you I’m super biased here— New York is an amazing place to be, to live. If you’re feeling restless in Austin, I think New York is the perfect alternative.”

Carlos laughs at this. “So, so biased,” he muses.

TK jokingly puffs up his chest. “Hey, it’s not my fault people have written songs about it and flock to it from all corners of the world,” he jokes. “And all of them, like you would, find home.”

A soft sigh escapes Carlos’ lips as he grips the chain link of the swing.

“That does actually sound pretty nice. I’d miss everyone here like crazy but maybe it’s time for something new? I don’t know. I keep waiting for something extraordinary to happen but nothing ever really changes around here. And there’s nothing wrong with that, of course. I just—“

“You’ve outgrown it,” TK says simply. “And there’s nothing wrong with that either.”

Carlos smiles at him and nods. “I suppose not, no.”

“At least you’ll come to the city knowing someone; you won’t be alone or completely starting from scratch.”

“You? You would take that on?”

TK rolls his eyes. “Of course me. You think I’d leave you high and dry? Damn, I know New Yorkers have a bit of a rep but jeez,” he teases.

Carlos laughs. “I only meant...you barely even know me. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Maybe so but I’d like to get to know you better. And if we’re gonna be calling the same city home, it’s kind of perfect. You get a new job, a new city, a new friend. Pretty sweet package, if you ask me.”

“You’ll be my tour guide then? You can take me to all the hot spots, Central Park and Times Square for starters.”

TK shakes his head in dismay. “God, Times Square,” he groans. “Hell on earth but sure, just for you I’d make the exception.”

“I’m honored,” Carlos says, placing a hand over his heart.

“As you should be. There aren’t many reasons I’d willingly go there so you should be patting yourself on the back right now.”

Carlos raises a brow. “But you’re thinking I’d be worth it?”

TK’s face grows serious. “In a lot of ways I’m thinking you would be, yes.”

Carlos' face flushes a bit and he looks away, down at his feet as he begins to kick out in earnest to start swinging.

Not for the first time since meeting TK he isn’t sure if there’s more to his words just below the surface, if he’s flirting or just being naturally charismatic. It shouldn’t matter either way, Carlos tells himself. Starting up a new relationship when so much in his life is already about to change doesn’t seem smart.

And yet it’s difficult to bear that in mind when he looks over and sees that TK is still watching him. The man smiles softly and follows Carlos' lead, swinging a bit.

In the distance Carlos can hear the rise in voices from houses where everyone is celebrating, just waiting to usher in the new year.

“One minute to go,” TK says, looking at the time on his watch and digging his feet into the ground to stop himself.

Carlos keeps going, breathing in the last dregs of this year before it’s gone with the tick of the clock. He looks up at the pinpricks of stars above, almost glistening in the clear sky. He closes his eyes, soaks in the moment, the last few seconds of this year winding down.

The New Years party goers can be heard shouting their countdown and beside him, TK joins in quietly as well.

Carlos opens his eyes once more and holds his breath as he upward, counting down the last few seconds in his head. This year is going, going...

Gone.

He exhales as shouts from the neighboring houses rent the air. He stops swinging then, digging his feet into the hard earth beneath him as he looks over at TK. Beside him the man’s face is flushed, the tip of his nose pink from the cold but his gaze is unrelenting as he leans forward.

Carlos’ body seems to move on its own accord, closing the distance between them as well. He doesn’t think about anything other than what TK’s lips will feel like and before he realizes it, he’s getting his answer.

It’s a chaste kiss, truly just a meeting of mouths in a gentle press but it warms Carlos from the center all the way through his entire body. TK’s lips are soft and warm despite the cold.

“Happy New Year, Carlos,” TK says softly.

Carlos doesn’t have the slightest clue of what the road ahead will look like exactly but it’s enough to know that in some capacity, TK is going to be a part of it. Be it as a friend or something more, it makes Carlos hopeful to see how life will unfold, what other surprises it may have in store.

Carlos stares at him for a moment and it seems as if TK and the whole world is holding its breath as they sit in silence together. This feeling in his chest is so unlike anything Carlos has experienced before. He likes to think things through, to anticipate at least three steps ahead but his future is such a blank slate that it’s truly anyone’s guess as to what will happen next. All he can do is control this present moment and as Carlos sees it, kissing TK is the only thing on his agenda for right now.

He leans in again and kisses the man once more, deeply this time, hand cradling the back of TK’s neck.

Maybe this is risky, maybe this will only complicate his life further when he settles in New York and has to figure out what this all means. But in this moment, that all feels like a lifetime away, a page from a chapter that hasn’t been written yet. There’s only the here and now with this beautiful man that fills him with possibilities.

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angelbrock · 3 years

Text

con artist love - c.b oneshot

summary: two con artists hate each other but they're set on a mission together to rob a money laundering-staged bank. however, some things go out of hand. - A/N: This is my first ever imagine, i really hope you guys like this! <3

warnings: SWEARING! SOME SWEET LOVIN

AU - SOME PARTS OF THE STORY IS BASED ON A TIKTOK ABOUT GOING FROM ENEMIES TO LOVERS - THE FALLING OFF A ROOFTOP THING - AND SOME OF IT IS BASED ON THE NETFLIX SERIES ‘THE GREAT PRETENDER’.

masterlist

your point of view

i woke up to my alarm being blared at my face, to which i groaned at. i slammed my hand over the snooze button, burying my face back into my pillow as i slowly dozed off; until i felt something poke me from behind. i swatted it off, covering myself with my blanket. then, i felt something poke me once again.

"mmmh." i swatted at it for the second time.

"wake the fuck up!" i jumped up, spuinting my eyes as i adjusted myself to the light. i rubbed my eyes, furrowing my eyebrows intensely, "finally. you're such a heavy sleeper."

"what the fuck are you doing in my apartment, and why are you waking me up at," i looked over at my alarm, "seven in the morning." i rasped out.

colby, the asshole who woke me up, smirked in response, "sheesh, quit being a bitch," he rolled his eyes, chucking a piece of paper at me, "our boss assigned us to a mission, and unfortunately, it's with you." he stuffed his hands into his pockets. i groaned, throwing my head back in annoyance. "nice hairdo, by the way."

i shot a glare towards him, flipping him off before tying my hair up in a bun. "what's the mission." i asked blandly, taking the blanket off of me and getting out of bed.

"i just gave you the mission, cant you read?" i rubbed my temples.

"okay first of all smartass," i walked towards him, pointing my finger directly at his face, to which he brought his face back to avoid, “it’s 7am and i only fell asleep at four in the morning, so you either tell me what our fucking mission is, or you tell boss to find another partner for you. and i’m sure that you don’t want to get on his nerves either, do you bud?” his eyes were widened at the end of my sentence. i let out a gasp, feeling breathless when i finished talking.

“jesus christ, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” he spoke to himself more than anything, grabbing my finger and pushing it away from his face. “we have to rob a bank. but nobody gets hurt, the whole bank is just a setup for money laundering.”

“is that it?” colby nodded, “that’s easy. when do we start?”

“we have to be there by four.” my mouth went agape for a moment,

“then why the hell did you wake me up so early?!” i pushed his chest slightly, a yawn escaping my mouth. he smirked a little,

“because you’re cute when you’re mad.” he nudged his shoulder against mine, “i’ll see you at two. and be ready with the equipment, i’m not lending you mine if you forget any.” i rolled my eyes at his statement. he walked out the door, flashing me a snarky smile before leaving.

i pressed my tongue against my cheek, replaying his comment, you’re cute when you’re mad. hm, is that so? i sighed, well i cant go to bed now, since that blue eyed bastard woke me up. might as well start preparinng myself now. i picked up the paper that he that thrown at me earlier, actually bothering to read it. i pouted slightly then nodded, sounds good.

TIME SKIP - 3:45PM

i jumped when i heard a harsh knock on my door, but before i could even go and answer it, colby barged inside without warning. “yo grumpy, let’s go.”

“do you always have to barge in like that, or?” i sarcastically questioned, grabbing my backpack and swinging it over my shoulder. he shrugged,

“yeah, it’s just you. i don’t need to be polite to you, do i, hm?” he spoke back, smiling just as sarcastically.

“i wish i hadn’t known you since sixth grade.” i scrunched my nose out of mockery. “let’s go.” he huffed out a laugh, walking ahead of me. i shut and locked the door behind me before i caught up to him. “okay, what’s the plan?”

“we need to find the roof to this place, apparently there’s some spare room where the security cameras are located, you need to disable them and i’ll get the guards.” i nodded, the elevator ride being awkwardly silent after talking.

“right, why exactly did boss choose me and you to be partners again?” i rose an eyebrow, fixing my beanie.

“i don’t know, he said something about us two being compatible for this job,” i gave him a look, “yeah, that’s what my reaction was too. but apparently as much as me and you hate each other, we work really well together. skill-wise.” i just hummed back in response as we walked to my work car; a black jaguar sports car. “i’m driving.”

“uh, what?” i fake laughed out, “i hope you realise that this is my car.”

“and i hope you realise that i’m the main getaway driver.” he snarkily replied back. i rolled my eyes, tossing the keys at him. he swiftly caught them, smiling sarcastically once again. i got into the passenger seat, putting my backpack near my feet, “aaalright,” he started, buckling his seatbelt, “you got your gear, or did you forget again.”

“fuck off.” i grumbled, looking out the window. god i hate this guy. or do you? the small in my head scolded me. i shook my head at the accusation.

once we got to the destination, i furrowed my eyebrows at how fancy this ‘bank’ looked. “damn,” i shut the door of my car, getting my bag. “for a money laundering scheme, this place is fucking huge.” colby hummed in response, slinging his gear bag over his shoulder too. “okay, i see a back exit. there must be an emergency exit right above it, maybe we could climb up the ladder to it.”

“you’re smarter than you look.” he pushed past me, i squinted my eyes at him in annoyance.

“fucking dick.” i whispered to myself. walking behind him, keeping a close eye behind me. god, i wish i had a different partner. compatible, pshh. boss is fucking stupid to even think that.

we eventually found an emergency exit, climbing up the ladder and into the building. we hid behind a wall that led to the security room, colby looks over his shoulder, “okay, we have to distract those guards, then we can get in there.” i didn’t respond, waiting for the sign for us to go.

“hey! what’re you guys doing here!” my eyes widened,

“oh shit.” i whispered, “we’re um-” before i could even finish my sentence, colby had already shot the four guards that had approached us with tranquilizers, which also caught the other two security guards’ attention, to which he did the same thing to them. “colby, what the fuck are you doing?!” i whisper yelled at him, opening the door quickly and walking in.

“saving us! what else?” i rolled my eyes,

“are you saving us, or are you trying to get us caught?!” i took my jacket off, sitting down at the computers. “because whatever you’re trying to do, is 100% going to get us killed!” i whisper yelled again.

“shut the fuck up, as if you could think of anything better. ‘uh-i-we’. pfft.” he mocked me, chuckling to himself. “damn relax, it’s just tranquilizers, it’s not going to kill them. they’ll be awake in like two hours.” i clenched my jaw, staying quiet and focusing on hacking the security systems to disable them.

“there’s so many cameras here, holy shit.” i typed in some codes, switching computers a few times. i had my eyes all over the screen, but colby’s eyes were on me. i could feel it. “stop staring at me dipshit, i can see you through the screen.”

“don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. it’s not everyday that you have guys staring at you.” i turned my hand back to flip him off, causing him to chuckle. after a few seconds, all of the cameras had finally been disabled. i got up from the seat,

“let’s go, let’s go!” i quickly hurried out of the security room, colby following me close behind. “i’m going left, you go right. there shouldn’t be any workers now. if anything happens-”

“-i’ll buzz you in, gotcha. now go.” we split up, i took my gloves out of my bag, putting them on and using a screwdriver to get the locks off. i stuffed one of my trash bags with all the money that was in the safe.

i repeated this to about five other safes, i now had two big bags filled with $1000 bills. i was going to do my final round, just when colby had buzzed me in. “y/n! the dude that owns this money laundering place is outside the building, head up to the roof! and then i’ll tell you what to do! over n’ out.”

“oh fuck,” i buzzed him in, “yes, copy that. over n’ out.” less than a second later, i hear some other guards screaming out at me,

“whoever’s there! surrender now!” i slung the bags of money over my shoulders, sprinting past them, “GET HER!” i ran as fast as i could. i bolted up the stairs, taking one of my tranquilizer and shooting it at them.

“y/n, we have backup here waiting, just make sure the money bags are tied and throw them over the roof. we’ll catch them.” colby buzzed in with me, “be careful, please don’t get hurt.” my eyebrows furrowed at the last sentence, feeling a slight flutter in my stomach.

“o-okay. th-thanks.” i buzzed back with him. please be careful... never thought he’d be the person to care about someone like me..

i reached to the roof, doing as colby said; throwing the money bags over, “you got nowhere to go now, pretty girl.” i breathed heavily,

“colby, help.” i whispered into the earpiece.

the group of guards began walking towards me, causing me to walk backwards towards the edge. i slipped a little, gasping then catching myself. “y/n, i’m gonna need you to trust me with this one, okay? please.” i furrowed my eyebrows in confusion.

“what?-”

“just trust me,” he said into the earpiece, “i need you to jump.” my eyes widened.

“what?!” i whisper yelled,

“what the fuck have you done to our money, bitch.”

“just trust me y/n! jump!” i mentally cursed to myself, here goes nothing. i’m gonna die.

“you’re stuck with us now, get her!” before they could get close to me, i pointed my fingers into a gun position,

“bye bitches.” then saluted to them, stepping off the edge. they all shouted for me, i was falling down two stories. yep, i’m dead. the air grew more tense and heavy around me.

i closed my eyes just as i thought i was going to land on the concrete grounds, i felt as if i was being embraced by someone. then, i heard the grunt of someone familiar, “are you alright?! y/n?!” colby’s worried voice called out for me. i slowly opened my eyes, seeing his face inches away from mine.

“colby?” i whispered lowly, feeling my eyelids getting heavier, i felt insanely dizzy. i hummed a little. he had caught me in his arms, holding me tightly.

“oh shi-” was all i heard before passing out.

TWO HOURS LATER

i heard faint voices as i slowly woke up. i was now laying on my bed. “congratulations to both of you, you both did amazing on this mission.” “thanks boss.” colby’s deep and tired voice responded back, i felt shivers down my spine when he spoke. “alright, i’ll leave you to it. tell her i hope she feels better.” i was now laying on my bed.

the door opened and shut. i heard colby sigh, then i felt his hand cup my cheek; his fingers gently brushing a few strands of my hair away from my forehead, those same butterflies fluttered in my stomach. i shut my eyes tightly before slowly opening them, he retracted his hand away from my face. i gulped a little, opening my eyes completely. “bgh.” my hand went to the side of my temple, “ugh.” i groaned, my head was pounding.

“grumpy’s awake,” i turned my head to the side, making eye contact with him. “how you feeling?” he quietly asked.

“like ten pounds of bricks took a shit on my head.” he laughed a little, watching me get up slowly. i groaned, my hand slipping,

“woah, be careful.” he held my waist, getting up a little and helping me sit up. “you’re still a little drowsy.” i looked into his eyes as he helped me, trying to ignore the tint in my cheeks, his face was turning a little red too, he cleared his throat and sat back down.

“what happened anyways?” i asked, pressing on the side of my neck, feeling it ache.

“one of those douchebags shot you with a tranquilizer dart.” i huffed, “but, we succeeded on our mission.” he smiled a little, “i guess we do make good partners.” i shrugged a little,

“yeah, i guess we do.” i smiled a little. “thank you for saving me, by the way..”

“of course, i wasn’t going to let you die.” he looked away, “i can’t let that happen.” he mumbled under his breath. i bit the inside of my lip, trying to fight a smile. “thank you for trusting me.”

i breathed out a small laugh, “no problem.” it then fell silent for a long time before he spoke up.

“hey, grumpy,” i giggled to myself at the nickname, humming in response, “um..” i rose my eyebrows, indicating him to continue, “i- i just wanted to say that i’m sorry for treating you like shit all the time.. i just-” he sighed, gulping. “i-”

“just say it colby,” i softly spoke to him.

he bit his lip out of nervousness, “i’ve liked you for.. years now..” holy shit, “and-and i know i don’t have a chance with you, but, after seeing you in danger today, i couldn’t see the sight of you ever getting hurt. and i completely understand if you don’t feel the same about me, but i-” i cut him off, getting up and cupping his cheeks before caressing my lips over his. he was taken aback from the kiss, but slowly melted into it.

he brought his hands over my hips, pulling me on top of his lap. i ran my fingers through his hair as our lips moved softly. fitting together perfectly. i pulled away for a moment, “i can’t believe i’m saying this,” he pecked my lips gently, “but i like you too colby.” he smiled, i copied his expression before kissing him once again.

“thank fucking god.” he mumbled against my lips. i giggled. continuing to kiss him. he got up from the chair, my thighs wrapped around his waist as he led us back to my bed, laying me down and getting on top of me. “who knew con arists like us could ever fall for each other.” our noses brushed against each other, looking deeply into one another’s eyes.

“who knew.” we smiled before kissing once again.

that, is cliche isn’t it. oh well.

#colby brock imagine #colby brock #colby brock stories #colby x reader #imagines #youtuber x imagine #colby brock x reader #colby brock oneshot #traphouse x reader

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sierraraeck · 4 years

Text

Takin’ One for the Team

BAU x OC Aundreya

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Summary: Partially inspired by 8x12 Zugzwang. Maeve arc reimagined. Can Aundreya being in the mix change the outcome? Story seventeen.

Category: Angst. Per usual.

Warnings: Cussing. Shots fired.

Word Count: 4.4k

I felt like I was 14 again. Double that amount of time later, and I was back to doing the same damn thing. It’s like my life is taking place inside of a hamsterwheel and I’m just the ignorant, pitiful little hamster, tirelessly running around and around and around again, expecting to actually get somewhere. Expecting things to actually change. But I just kept looking at the same metal bars spinning beneath my feet. Or in my case, metal bars in front of my face.

Luckily, I was getting some reprieve from said bars because I was out, tracing a possible stalker and murderer. Much better than having to be stuck in a cell with one, though.

Hotch was right; this Robert character was not someone who wanted to be found. Not like he was any match for me. Garcia gave me a general starting point with his last known address and where he used to work, but he hadn’t been seen or heard from for weeks. I casually struck up a conversation with some of his coworkers and previous neighbors, indulging myself in the lies I had to come up with for the more cautious ones. I was Robert’s girlfriend, ex-wife, parole officer, drug sponsor, and hot barista fuck buddy. They gave me an even better idea about what kind of person he was and where I could find him. It was funny to me, that a few of the people I talked to had informed me ‘against their better judgement’ that the FBI was interested in him as well. I acted surprised, as if I didn’t already know that the rest of the team was still going about their profile as usual. They were just hoping I could maybe get to the same conclusion faster (since they didn’t want to get docked for using illegal stalking methods. Funny though, that they weren't allowed to do that, but were allowed to ‘hire’ someone to do that, but nobody asked for my opinion).

After two and a half days of nonstop chatting and moving around to follow his friends and family, I overheard a conversation between two of his previous best friends. They were meeting at 11 at night in a small bar. I sat a few seats away from them, pretending to sip on the cocktail in front of me. They mentioned some new and sort of secret girlfriend. The way they were talking, it sounded to me like they were worried about him.

“He hasn’t told me anything else besides that,” the blonde said.

“And you’re sure? I wouldn’t think that he’d just disappear on us like that? And for some chick?” the ginger questioned.

“I heard a woman’s voice in the background, and he quickly hung up. I’m telling you, that was it.”

If I could get my hands on his phone…

From my seat at the bar, I turned to face the pair. I caught the blonde’s eye, gave him a small smile, and then took a slow sip from my drink, keeping eye contact with him the whole time. Then, I looked away. I gave it a minute or so more of them arguing over what they think did and didn’t happen before glancing back over at the blonde. His eyes were on me, so I decided to cut to the chase. I didn’t have time for the long game.

I hopped out of my seat and strutted over to them. “Hello, boys.”

Both of them looked up at me from their seats, a smile spreading on their faces and their shoulders becoming less tense. I scanned the blonde, evaluating his pockets, trying to figure out which one had his phone in it.

“Well, hi there,” the ginger said. “What is a pretty girl like you doing here all alone?”

“I don’t intend on being alone for much longer,” I smiled, cheeky. I ran my hand along his shoulder and then across to his friend, the blonde, who was my real target. I noticed the rectangular outline of his phone in one of his pants pockets.

“You don’t?” the blonde squeaked. Good, he’s the shy one. That’ll make this a lot easier.

I walked around him to the side that concealed his phone. My hand brushed over his chest and down to his leg which had started jumping.

“No, not really.” I reached inside his pocket and pulled out his phone. “Do you mind?”

He shook his head, eyes wide.

Men, I laughed to myself.

I opened his phone and quickly typed a message to Garcia’s number, letting her know that she should track his call history. I deleted the message, and then seductively slid his phone back into his pocket. Just to complete the sale, I leaned over and put my lips to his ear. “When you’re done here, give me a call.”

I turned and walked out the door, offering him one more wink in my wake.

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

Garcia tracked the number back to his apartment. Which we already knew was empty.

Fuck. Ok, so if I’m Robert, skipping town for a girl is not usual for me, so I’m either running from something or I’m in trouble. If I’m running, the first place I’d go is to my secret girlfriend’s place, because no one would know how to find me there. If my girlfriend is crazy like my friends think she is, then she’s the reason I’d potentially be in trouble. If I’m the crazy one, then maybe I’m going after Maeve, which we already knew, but then where would I take her? I couldn’t take her to my girlfriend’s house, now could I?

Unless… I could? Maybe they’re both crazy and he’s getting back at Maeve for god knows what, and maybe his girlfriend doesn’t like that Maeve ‘hurt’ her boyfriend in some way? Or maybe she doesn’t like that he’s still thinking about her? Could this be a team effort?

However I sliced it, I had to figure out who, and where, this girlfriend was.

I broke back into his apartment and searched his entire phone again, already knowing there wasn’t really anything helpful there. I rummaged through his desk and random things in his bedroom and still didn’t see anything more useful than the first time.

So I’m dating someone that I feel comfortable sharing things like Maeve with. I’ve known her for a while, and I probably felt an immediate connection or something extra special because I haven’t introduced her to anyone. Maybe there’s something about her that I just don’t want to share. Am I embarrassed or protective? Am I worried that people won’t approve? Is there something different about her than my usual type? What is my usual type? Is she manipulating me into not sharing her? Is she controlling me, compelling me to submit to her? Is it more subtle than that? Could she be the mastermind behind all of this? I mean, his friends did sound pretty worried…

The one question I decided I could try to answer first was his usual type. For the next few days, I struck up more conversations about who he usually dated, and all of their answers described someone like Maeve. Smart, brunette, into science and medicine and stuff.

So this new woman, does she fit this type? Does she almost fit this type, but not completely? Based on what I’ve heard, someone like Maeve would handle these types of things, relationships and such, with a clear head, so whoever this is has got to be more immature. Petty? Probably. What is her role in all of this?

I went back to his apartment, again, to rummage through his stuff for the third time. But I guess they do say, third time’s the charm.

I was messing around in his bedroom when I heard the door unlock. I froze, not daring to make a sound. I peered around the edge of his door and saw Robert standing right there in the middle of his living room. He sighed and then started heading for his bedroom. Heading right at me. I scrambled over his bed and luckily hopped out of the window before he got in. There was a railing just below that I could put my toes on so I could peek into the room. Robert bee-lined it toward his bed, got on his knees, and then crawled almost completely underneath it. I watched in curiosity as he squirmed back out, seeming to have accomplished nothing, and then turned to walk right back out the door.

I slid back inside and dropped to my own knees, needing to know what it was he was looking at. I swiped my hands around on the increasingly dusty floor until I felt it. A small, single finger sized, latch. I tugged and it offered some resistance, but then revealed a pile of pictures. Him and his mystery woman. I pulled them out and into the light, only to notice an outline of dust on the top picture.

A gun. He just grabbed out a gun.

I flipped the pictures over and read a single sentence: “Lovely Diane, 2013.” Of course, there was no last name.

I tossed the pictures on the bed and exited through the window, eyeing Robert from above. I dropped down to the pavement, and made sure to keep a healthy distance behind him. I followed him all the way back to some beat up, abandoned loft, taking a variety of unnecessary twists and turns. At least he was trying to be thorough, not like it was really doing him any good. I watched him cross the street and stood in the nearest alleyway where I could still see him.

He walked in, but after 19 hours of nonstop serveilience, he never came out.

What is going on in there?

My answer came an hour later when a bang went off. It was practically the dead of night, but when it happened, even the few people standing around didn’t seem too bothered by it. If you really wanted to ignore it, I guess you could have just crossed it off as someone throwing a really heavy metal pot on the cement floors. I, however, knew better.

I left my hideout spot and swiftly crossed the street in search of a back door. Turning around to the back of the bruised building, I found no doors, but there were windows. Luckily for me, there was an emergency ladder drilled into the wall, so I could use that to peer through each of the windows. Of course, nothing can be easy, so it took me all the way until the top before I found something. Sitting there, tied to a chair, was Robert, blood streaming out of the hole in his temple. Across from him was that crazy bitch Diane, pacing back and forth with the gun in her hand, and Maeve, tied to the chair in front of her.

She’s pretty, and she looks sweet. Perfect for Reid. Too bad he refused to look at her picture.

I was tempted to just barge in and handle things on my own, but I knew it wouldn’t go as well as calling the team. I convinced some poor guy to give me a few quarters for a payphone I ran to, calling Garcia. She said the team was already on their way.

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

“She got a gun, Robert’s dead, and Maeve’s in there,” I confirmed as the stream of agents got out of their SUVs.

Reid started moving in the direction of the door before I grabbed his arm and yanked him back. “Where do you think you’re going? Did you miss the gun and the dead part?”

“I was kinda focused on the Maeve part,” he spat, trying to shake me off. I held him firm, almost digging my nails into him. He longingly looked towards the door, but he didn’t make a move to go. Had he, I probably would have left bruises on his bicep.

“What’s the plan?” I asked, directing my attention to the rest of the group.

It was Reid who answered instead, “Me for her.”

The weight of those three words hit me like a brick, causing me to loosen my grip on his arm. He took advantage of that, pulling his arm out of my grasp. “Huh?”

“I was in contact with Diane before the ride here. The deal is me for her. I’m going in there,” he gave me a pointed look. Whether you like it or not, seemed to be the follow-up phrase in his eyes.

Hotch gave out orders as to what everyone needed to be doing, and what they needed to be ready for, all except for me.

“And you are going to stay here,” his voice was stern and not one to argue with. But when have I ever not argued?

“What? You’re going to let Reid go in there literally blind while the rest of us wait out here? And then when something does happen, you just expect me to stand here?”

“Yes.”

The look in his eyes shut me up. But they didn’t stop me from looking for the first opportunity to get away.

Everyone was so focused on what Reid was doing, and paying attention to the front of the building, that no one noticed me sneak off to the back of the building. I used the same avenue I’d used earlier, climbing up the escape ladder to the top. I now saw Reid tied to a chair, opposite Maeve, Diane just waltzing around, waving her gun between the two of them. Since they were in a room across the narrow hall, I hoped she wouldn’t hear me as I slowly brought the window upwards. I slid into the room soundlessly, relieved that there was concrete beneath my feet and not squeaky wood. I looked around for anything in the room that could potentially be useful against this lunatic, considering I didn’t have a gun with me, and the FBI confiscated all of my knives. I found nothing.

When I turned my attention back to the other room, I saw Diane with her lips on Reid’s. Maeve and I had similar reactions to the sight, but there wasn’t time to think about that, because the next thing I knew, Diane screeched, “Liar!”

Had I blinked, I would have missed Spencer standing up out of his chair, aiming the gun away from him and towards the ceiling. There was a loud bang, followed by the echo off the roof. Within seconds, another bang went off and Hotch was leading as the team streamed into the room. Spencer was on the ground holding his arm, and I released a sigh of relief knowing he wasn’t dead. That relief quickly diminished as I saw Diane grab Maeve around the neck, gun to her throat.

No, no, not today bitch.

Spencer’s pleas for the team to stay back were being ignored, so he spoke up, “Diane, Diane, there’s still a way out of this.”

“You never wanted me,” she said, and I could hear the tears in her throat. “Never! You lied!”

As her grip on Maeve tightened, Spencer took a step forward. “I didn’t,” he tried, “Diane, I offered you a deal, and you can still take it. Me for her, let me take her place.”

He looked so desperate, and Diane’s posture was rigid as she continued to adjust her grip on Maeve, whose head was bobbing around like a bobble head. I started to move in from behind her, steps even and noiseless, like I liked.

“You would do that?” Diane croaked.

“Yes.” The sureness in Reid’s voice almost shook me enough to stop me, but I couldn’t stop now. I had emerged enough from the hallway entrance that the team could see me. Hotch gave me a wicked side eye, but Spencer seemed to be blind, tunnel vision on Maeve and Diane.

“You would kill yourself for her?” Diane’s voice cracked.

“Yes.” Not if I can help it.

Any doubts in my head about messing this up flew right out the window I’d come through. In a single move, I reached around the pair and grabbed both Diane’s hands. I easily pulled them out from around Maeve, turning her to face me, both arms up. I kneed her in the stomach, which left her breathless and on the ground.

But she didn’t drop the gun. The impact of her hitting the floor wasn’t enough to release the gun out of her determined grip like I’d planned.

Whatever Maeve was about to say got muffled by me yanking her behind me. With no weapon, no bulletproof vest, and a psycho with a gun pointed at me, all I could think about was how if I died, at least I died for the sake of two people’s happiness. Probably more.

From her position on the ground, Diane shot at me. My ears were ringing from the sensation and I made a movement to stay standing, but all I could feel was the cool concrete that seemed to be melting underneath me.

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

The first thing I felt was the chains. Well, that’s not true. I felt the pain first. The pounding in my head, the throbbing in my left side, and then the all too familiar ring around my wrist, surly leaving a bruise. I peeked one eye open, confirming my theory that I was in fact handcuffed to the hospital bed by my right wrist. Right after, I saw faces staring at me, and decided to close my eye again. I was not about to face the team. Not yet.

But, because I seem to have to face things much sooner than I’d like, a deep voice cooed, “Wakey, wakey, Sleeping Beauty.”

With my eyes still squeezed shut, I muttered, “I swear to god, if you came anywhere near my lips to wake me up, I think I’ll vomit.” I squinted open my eyes to Derek making kissy faces at me and groaned. I went to playfully push his face away, but my wrist caught in the cuffs. He looked down at them with a strained face as I quipped, “Well, that kinda kills the mood, now doesn’t it?”

“Chambers-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Some bullshit about getting me outta prison and it being necessary or whatever. Doesn’t make it more enjoyable,” I gave a tight lipped smile.

“How do you feel?” Prentiss asked, trying to change the subject.

“Like someone who just got shot in the side,” I nodded nonchalantly, “What happened to our favorite sociopath?”

“You just told us. She got shot in the side,” Derek smiled with a shrug.

“Ha ha, you’re hilarious. But seriously?”

“As Diane shot at you, I shot her in the back of the head,” Hotch stated.

“Naturally. Of course, you couldn’t have done that before I got shot,” I offered him a small smirk, “So, uh, him and Maeve are good?” I questioned.

“Yeah, Maeve and Spencer are fine,” Prentiss said, emphasizing Spencer’s name a bit extra, letting me know she, and probably the rest of the team, noticed I’d avoided using it. I just nodded in response.

“Actually…” Penelope said, looking around at the others for what seemed like some sort of approval, “They want to see you.”

My face scrunched up in a mix between a question and disbelief. “Why?”

“They want to thank you,” she simply put it.

“Great. Tell them ‘you’re welcome’ for me,” I raised my eyebrows. Hotch gave me a pointed look but I wasn’t really in the mood for seeing the happy couple together after just getting shot for them. I should have been fine with it, him and Maeve were good together and I was over him. I was. Really, I was, but I just didn’t want to see them together, was that really so bad of me? But the look on Hotch’s face told me otherwise.

I huffed out, “Fine.”

Penelope smiled at me, and went to fetch them. The interim before they showed up was painful, in more ways than one. Hotch, Morgan, Prentiss, and I all just waited in silence, the three of them sharing looks I was not privy to, and frankly too tired to decipher. Penelope returned, ushering Reid and Maeve into my room.

“Hey,” Maeve’s gentle voice rang.

“Hey,” mine, in contrast, sounded scruffy, tired, and deep.

“How are you doing?” she asked. Her soft features had a brightness to them, and I could tell that light was probably why Reid was attracted to her.

“I’m doing okay. How are you?”

“Doing okay as well, thanks to you,” she smiled at me. I attempted to give her one back without grimacing. I waited in silence for her to continue. “I just wanted to thank you for what you did. It was very brave and I wouldn’t be standing here with this amazing guy-” gag, “-without you. I owe you everything.”

“That’s very sweet, but you owe me nothing,” I managed through clenched teeth. I hadn’t even looked over at him yet. I honestly didn’t think I could, knowing only days before I’d been on the brink of a love confession to the guy whose girlfriend I just got shot for.

“I wanted to thank you as well,” the voice, his voice, hit my eardrums like a hammer, “You didn’t have to do something like that for her, you didn’t really even have a reason to, and you did it anyways. I’m glad you’re okay.” I wanted to be insulted by the fact that he thought I wasn’t nice enough to do that for any rando, but I knew what he was getting at, so I attempted to overlook it. I finally glanced over at him, which was one of the many mistakes of my life. My heart clenched, and I fought the feeling of water brimming in my eyes. I thought I could do it, but I couldn’t. I can’t sit here and look at them, thanking me for saving their relationship when I don’t want them to have one in the first place.

That thought hit me hard, realizing that, while I’d been convincing myself this whole time that he was better off without me, better with Maeve, I still didn’t want that. Yes, I still believed that he would be better with someone else, but it was the first time I cracked and allowed my real thoughts to rise to the surface of my mind. And it almost broke me.

I swallowed that though and replied, “Yeah, I’m okay. At least we both have matching injuries now, you know, trying to save Maeve and all.” Venom, and what I refused to be jealousy, clung to my words, and I knew the look I was giving the two of them. Both of their faces contorted into a vast mix of hurt, confusion, and discomfort. And while that’s what I was going for, I knew it was wrong of me. Neither one of them asked me to take a bullet for her, I did that all on my own. So I quickly shook the feelings, and the face, and covered with, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. I think I’m just tired, and the drugs they’re giving me-”

Morgan piped up, “They didn’t give you any drugs, we made sure of that.”

“Good,” I clenched my jaw, but forced my words to be relaxed and welcoming, “then it’s the pain. Either way, thank you for coming in here and thanking me. It means a lot, and doesn't happen enough to the people in this line of work. Plus, it wasn’t just me, it was everyone else, too.”

Maeve and Reid quickly recovered and gave me a small smile. Maeve quickly thanked everyone else, which I’m sure she’d already done, and left with a small, “I hope you recover quickly.”

“Thank you. I’m glad you’re both doing well,” I croaked. Once they left, another quiet spell hovered over the room. Before anyone could say, ask, or scold, I followed with, “I think I’m going to get some rest.”

The three of them nodded, and left me alone without another word.

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

The only thought coursing through my head was, I have got to get out of here.

So that’s exactly what I did. It’d been a few hours since they left, and I didn’t foresee any new visitors coming, or even nurses for that matter. I searched the room for anything useful that could release the cuff on my right hand, and luckily, the clipboard with whatever fancy papers on it was by the foot of the bed. I shimmied down until I could grab the board between my feet, and made an awkward maneuver to get it to my left hand. I brought it back to my face and pulled off the paper clips holding some of the sheets together. I awkwardly bent my right wrist to try to aid in the process of picking the lock, but I had to essentially do it all with my left, not like that was particularly difficult. Definitely not compared to some of the things I’d been through lately, that’s for sure. Then I heard what had come to be one of my favorite sounds, a nice little ‘click.’

I quickly got out of bed with a groan, hobbled over to the table with my few belongings, and threw on the clothes I’d been wearing since they retrieved me from prison. They were itchy and smelled similar to sewer water, but they were clothes that were not a jumpsuit or a hospital gown, so at least there was that.

Right before I left, I walked over to the sheets of paper still attached to the clipboard. I flipped the first one around, and wrote two simple sentences on it.

Because I had to.

Because I have to fix things.

I left that face up on my now empty bed, where I honestly should’ve still been considering how shity my side and head still felt. But instead, I kept my head down, my hands in my pockets, and just walked right out the door. Because while their stalker case might have been solved, I still didn’t have mine as neatly wrapped up.

Series Taglist (open)

@justanothetfangirl @kris-stuff @blameitonthenight21 @wooya1224 @unded-bride @swiftingday @dezzxmx

#criminal minds fanfic #aundreya chambers #bau x oc #spencer x oc #criminal minds #cm #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfiction #bau #behavioral analysis unit #spencer reid #reid #morgan #rossi #hotch #prentiss #garcia #maeve

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justlightlysedated · 4 years

Text

for my lovely wife @christchex 🖤🖤🖤

The only reason that Alex even comes to the party at Valenti's is because he knows exactly where to hide out until Liz gets tired of following Kyle around and getting slobbered on when they kiss.

Alex finds the theory of making out with someone to be kind of appealing, but in practical applications (from observing, not experiencing) it just seems to be gross.

Why would you want someone's tongue in your mouth anyway? It's especially gross considering that most teenage boys have no idea what dental hygiene actually is.

So Alex leaves Liz to get trapped between a wall and a Valenti, and ducks out of the back door making a pit stop in the kitchen for one of the sixers cooling in the fridge, closing it behind himself and exhaling in relief when it cuts the music down by at least forty five percent.

He inhales deeply and walks across the backyard, smiling when he sees the treehouse.

The rope ladder creaks alarmingly when he climbs up, but it holds his weight when he tests it, and it doesn't take him long to get inside of the treehouse.

There's enough dust and cobwebs and dry leaves and twigs inside to let Alex know that no one has been up here in awhile.

Alex doesn't mind. It just means that no one will actually come bother him.

He walks over to the rope that they had rigged to hold the trap door on the roof down, and it almost breaks in his hands, but it opens the trap door with a loud squeak, and the sounds of dry leaves and twigs sliding off.

Dirt and leaves fall inside, but once it settles and Alex is able to look up, he can see the stars.

Alex finds an old cushion in one corner and uses it to dust off a small area so he can sit down, setting the beers down beside himself.

The space is just wide enough that he can sit and stretch his legs out. If he points his foot, he'd be able to touch the far wall with the tip of his boot.

It's about the same in length as it is wide, but it's almost twice that in height, which meant that Alex could stand comfortably.

He tugs his phone out of his pocket and unravels his headphones wrapped around the case and slips them into his ears.

Alex presses shuffle on his i don't give a fuck playlist, and leans his head back against the wall, closing his eyes shut and exhaling as the music starts blasting in his ears.

Alex pops open a beer and loses himself to the music, leaning his head back and looking up at the stars occasionally.

He's still sipping on his first beer when he feels the wooden floors shudder, like someone is climbing up the rope.

Alex gathers his feet to his chest, and holds the beer tightly in his hand, ready to throw it at the first sign of one of Valenti's Goons, but he goes still when Michael Guerin's curly head pops up through the entrance in the far left corner.

His eyes are delighted when he looks around, and they seem to sparkle even more when he spots Alex, and starts to speak, but Alex can't really hear what he's saying.

He pulls the headphones out in time to hear, "-but I can make myself scarce if it bothers you."

He's holding out a joint that he had tucked right by his ear, so Alex deduces that he was just looking for a place to smoke and Valenti had sent him out here.

He looks back to Michael, whose eyes are beginning to dim slightly and opens his mouth.

"You can stay if you're willing to share."

Michael's smile lights up his entire face and probably the entire state of New Mexico, "Yes, dude! My bud is your bud."

He tucks the joint back behind his ear, and then pulls himself the rest of the way into the treehouse.

Alex moves to the furthest corner, not really caring about his pants getting dirty, and sets his phone down beside the beers, tugging one can free from the plastic and holding it out to Michael who sits down right next to Alex, about a foot separating them, and he smiles when he sees the beer, reaching out to grab it and pooping the tab open with one hand before he chugs most of the can.

"Thanks," he says once he lowers the can down and sets it aside. "I was parched."

Alex just waves the gratitude away and stares at Michael as he moves the joint from behind his ear to his mouth, pulling a lighter out from his pocket.

Alex stares as he lights it up, and takes the first hit, inhaling deeply, and letting his head fall backwards.

Alex licks at his suddenly dry mouth, and he tries to remind himself that even though Michael is sweet and nice and looks at Alex with big hero worship eyes for knowing all of the guitar parts to My Chem’s Bullets, it doesn’t mean that Michael is interested in him like that.

Alex knows that Michael only really talks to Isobel and Max, and they’re weirdly codependent to a slightly unhealthy degree, so it figures that Michael doesn’t know how to act in a friendly manner like a normal person and goes over the top.

Alex grabs his own can of beer, and takes a small sip just to wet his mouth.

Michael passes the joint over to him, and Alex who has only ever smoked once before with Maria and Rosa, coughs out the first inhale, the smoke dragging across his throat painfully.

Michael slides over and thumps Alex on the back, a little too hard, and takes the joint out of his fingers before he drops it.

Once Alex is able to fill his lungs with air, Michael shows him what to do.

“Just go slow at first,” he says, voice throaty as he passes the joint back over to Alex, smoke curling out of his mouth. “And try to hold the smoke in for as long as you can. And then breathe out slowly.”

Alex nods his head, and does what Michael tells him to do, and he still feels the urge to cough, but he manages to hold it until he lets the smoke out again. This time when he coughs it hurts less.

“Take another hit,” Michael urges, and grabs his beer to drink the rest of it.

Alex does as he’s told, and this time when he holds the smoke in, it almost feels like he goes lightheaded, and he sways backwards, head thumping against the wall, before he’s exhaling, blowing the smoke up in the air.

Michael snickers, and takes the joint out of his fingers, leaning back next to Alex, their shoulders brushing.

They pass the joint back and forth, and Michael produces another one tucked behind his other ear, and when he offers it to Alex after Alex burnt his fingers on the other one, Alex offers him another beer.

They pass that joint back and forth until Alex is giggling too much to actually take another hit.

Michael doesn’t say a lot, but he’s funny, and leans heavily on Alex’s shoulder while Alex talks, which he figures out that being high, and being slightly buzzed, turns him into a chatterbox.

He tells Michael about building the treehouse, about it being his idea to have the trap door on the roof, about how much he loves the stars, about how he wished when he was little for someone to come and take him away, about how music helps him find an escape from the hell that is his life, about how he doesn’t like going to parties, but he loves his friends, about how he knows that Michael wants to be his friend, about how sometimes he wishes that Michael would want more than that-

He sits up as soon as the words are out of his mouth, hearing them somehow breaking through the bubble that they found themselves in.

“That wasn’t-” he starts, moving to slide over to the entrance of the treehouse, and then Michael’s hand is on his arm, fingers gripping tightly to the fabric of his hoodie, and when Alex looks at him, Michael isn’t frowning or angry or disgusted.

He’s smiling something tentative but bright, and his eyes are sparkling, and there are basically no lights out here, but he seems to be shining in the night.

“Do you like me, Alex?” he asks in a low voice, slightly teasing, but there’s something very serious about the way his hand is still gripping Alex’s hoodie.

Alex just licks his lips, feeling like his mouth is as dry as the Sahara, and when he swallows, his throat clicks.

Alex can’t seem to find the words to say, so he just nods his head slowly.

Michael’s smile goes supernova, and he pushes in closer, invading Alex’s personal space in a way that makes his head spin, and his heart races.

His eyes are almost glowing as he leans in even closer, lips just shy of brushing Alex’s cheek, leaning his weight on Alex’s side, feeling heavy and almost too warm.

“Do you want to kiss me?” he asks, whispering the words right against Alex’s skin, his breath hot and humid and smelling like pot and cheap beer.

Alex can’t look away from Michael’s eyes.

Michael doesn’t wait for him to answer.

He presses a soft kiss to Alex’s cheek, something chaste and soft, and Alex feels it like a brand on his face, and he gasps, eyes fluttering shut.

Encouraged by the reaction, Michael presses another kiss to his face, closer to Alex’s mouth, before he pulls away a little,

Alex blinks his eyes open, and gets trapped in Michael’s gaze again, something liquid and endless about them that makes Alex feel like he could almost drown.

He breathes in a raggedly, and his eyes drop to Michael’s mouth very obviously.

He still doesn’t understand what the big deal about making out is, but he knows, deep down in his bones, that he wants to try, and that he wants to try with Michael.

Alex doesn’t ask.

He moves, fitting his hands on either side of Michael’s face and leaning in slow enough that Michael knows exactly what he’s doing, and then he kisses him, pressing their mouths together, and crushing their noses awkwardly.

Alex feels a little mortified, but Michael doesn’t push him away and laughs or anything like that. He just reaches up with one hand and cups the side of Alex’s face and tilts his head to the side and then presses their mouths together again.

Alex makes a soft noise against his mouth, unable to help himself as a tingly shiver goes down the back of his neck.

Michael makes a low sound, and then lifts his other hand to Alex’s face and slides both of his hands to the back of Alex’s neck, rubbing against his hairline.

Alex gasps, and Michael licks against his mouth, and Alex automatically opens his mouth wider.

Michael licks into Alex’s mouth, and Alex starts to feel even more tingly and warm and he thinks dimly, oh that’s why they use tongues, before he surges into Michael, hands dragging into the curly hair that he’s only dreamt about getting his hands in, and Michael’s hair curls around his fingers and Alex tugs.

Michael moans, and Alex licks into his mouth, repeating the same thing that Michael had done to him.

Alex kisses him until it gets hard to breathe, and he has to pull away to gasp.

Michael takes the opportunity to lean down and closer, pressing his mouth, hot and wet right against the curve of Alex’s neck.

It sends zings of pleasure through Alex, and he flinches, not used to the sensation, “Wait.”

Michael stops immediately, pulling away, but he can’t exactly get too far with Alex’s hands still caught in his hair.

“Sorry, was that not okay? I’m not usually this, aggressive I guess, I just never felt like-I mean that was-”

“New,” Alex says, and Michael stops talking, and his eyes go a little bit wider when he realizes what Alex is saying. “And I’m not saying to stop. I just-I’ve never-”

Michael’s eyes go even wider with disbelief, and Alex starts to feel a little defensive, moving to pull his hands away from Michael’s hair.

“Wait,” Michael says. “I’m not judging you. I’m just surprised. You’re like the hottest guy in our school.”

Alex feels a flush working across his face and down the back of his neck and he shakes his head. “I’m really not.”

Michael opens his mouth like he’s going to argue, but then closes his mouth and shakes his head.

“Okay, then we’ll take things slow,” he says and slides his hands down to grab Alex��s. “But I don’t want to be just friends, either.”

Alex licks his lips and looks at Michael for a long moment, at the way he looks so hopeful and like he’ll actually die if Alex tells him that they can’t do this again.

Alex tugs on Michael’s hands hard enough that he stumbles forward into Alex, and then he fits his hands on either side of Michael’s face, and leans in close.

“We don’t have to go that slow,” he whispers before he’s pressing their mouths together again.

Michael makes a happy sound against Alex’s mouth, and kisses him back.

#i wanted to write some kisses!!#so here have some teeny bopper malex #getting high and making out for the first time #malexnotitle2k20

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ill-go-with-that-then · 5 years

Text

ERASERMIC MODEL AU I SORT OF WROTE

On the erasermic server I'm a part of, we have a thing called Story Time, where people can tell a story to whoever’s around, mostly in real time. This is one I did for @sraye96, who was having a bad day and wanted a model au.

Shouta hates models.

Unfortunately, as one of the principle photographers for the country’s fastest-growing fashion magazine, Plus Ultra, dealing with models is one of life’s regular little annoyances, like the subway being too crowded, or his favorite coffee shop running out of cinnamon rolls before he arrives. His agent, Nemuri Kayama, has assured him that this is temporary, a necessary stepping-stone for his career before he can move on to more interesting work, for news and travel magazines. Something real.

But in the meantime, models. They’re not all bad, Shouta supposes. Some are there to do a job, same as him, in and out of his studio with a minimum of fuss. But those are few and far between. For the most part, the models are whiny, demanding, critical, and rude. And the more famous they are, the worse it gets.

So when Kayama calls him, ecstatic because Hizashi Yamada is on his way to the studio, Shouta genuinely grimaces. Yamada is a rising star, having him on the cover of their magazine will benefit everyone involved, especially Shouta. But he can’t work up any enthusiasm for what’s surely going to be a long, difficult day.

“What are his demands,” he sighs into the phone.

“Demands?” Kayama echoes, like she has no idea what he could be talking about. Shouta pinches the bridge of his nose, willing himself not to snap at her.

“You know what I mean. What brand of water do I have to keep perfectly chilled? What zero-calorie snacks should I buy? Am I allowed to talk to him directly? Do I have to look at him through a mirror?”

He can practically hear Kayama roll her eyes. “As a matter of fact, he didn’t say anything about any of that. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll be easy to work with? And even if he isn’t, this will be such a boost to our careers that I’ll drive him over some fancy bottled water myself, okay?”

Shouta slumps forward. Kayama isn’t usually the type to embrace a fool’s hope, but he knows that when something seems too good to be true, that’s because it is. And if Yamada hasn’t been unreasonable yet, that just means whatever’s to come is going to be all the more unpleasant for it.

Shouta sets up the studio himself. He could probably have an assistant, if he pushed, but he doesn’t have time to train anyone and after dealing with models all day, his tolerance for bullshit is at a personal low. He’s setting up a light and cursing all of his life-choices, when he hears a soft voice from behind him. “Hey.”

It shouldn’t startle him as much as it does. But he hadn’t heard anyone enter the studio, let alone the irritating entourage that usually accompanies a popular model, so finding himself suddenly not alone shocks him enough that he wobbles on the ladder. His panicked attempt to self-correct just makes things worse, and time slows as he plummets backwards. He only hopes he’ll kill whoever caused this, as well as himself.

But he never hits the ground. A strong pair of arms grabs him beneath the shoulders, holding him steady in the air, his feet still balanced precariously on the ladder’s step. “Whoa! That was a close one!” A voice says, near his ear. Shouta’s heart is pounding too hard for him to reply, so he just blinks helplessly as he feels himself lifted upwards, back into a position that lets him grab hold of the ladder and pull himself the rest of the way standing.

“Sorry about that!” says the voice, as Shouta quickly climbs back to the safety of the ground. He turns around, not sure whether he’s about to thank whoever it is for saving him, or scream at them for startling him in the first place.

He ends up doing neither. “Who the hell are you?” he snaps, not sure why this person is in his studio fifteen minutes before anyone is scheduled to arrive. Shouta’s never had a model show up less than thirty minutes late, and someone as famous as Yamada probably won’t be here for hours. So whoever this guy is, he has some explaining to do.

The guy blinks at him, surprised. “Uh… Hizashi Yamada?”

Shouta looks the guy up and down. His clothes are nice, well put-together, but casual. His hair is tied up in a messy bun, and his glasses are thick and nerdy. He looks more like an IT guy than the type that usually hangs around models, but Shouta supposes he can’t judge. “What, did he send you or something?”

The guy smiles nervously. He looks awkward. It’s cute. Shouta would think about asking him for coffee, if he weren’t some sort of model groupie. “Uh, no? I mean, I guess? He’s me?”

Shouta stares. The guy smiles a little wider, still looking nervous, and suddenly it’s obvious. Of course this is Hizashi Yamada - the trademark green eyes that Shouta would have bet his camera were photoshopped are blinking at him owlishly from behind the ugly glasses.

Oh well. It had been a good dream. Shouta hopes that when all this is over he’ll be able to get a job as a department store baby photographer, but he isn’t counting on it.

“Am I too early?” Yamada says, breaking the silence.

“Yes.” Shouta speaks by reflex, and it’s all he can do to stop himself from slapping a hand over his mouth. Why, why does he always make things worse. “I mean, I’m still setting up. Don’t you need to do… makeup, or whatever?”

Yamada relaxes slightly. “Yeah, I brought some stuff with me. It’s supposed to be a natural look, right? I can do that myself.”

Shouta raises an eyebrow, too surprised to say anything. If this guy ruins the shoot because he thinks he’s a makeup artist, it’s Shouta who’s going to get the blame. But it’s not like he can argue - he’s in deep enough already. “Whatever. I’ll be ready to go in ten minutes.”

Yamada shoots him a thumbs up, hitching the black duffle bag over his shoulder a bit higher and heading towards the dressing area at the back of the studio. Shouta finishes setting up the lights while he’s gone, then eyes the set critically. He’d staged it with a particular look in mind, flashy and modern, not really suitable for the man who’d shown up. Still, with Yamada already here it’s too late to change much. There’s just enough time to switch the backdrop to a warmer color and swap out a few props to make things a little softer. That’s barely done before he hears Yamada walk up behind him. “Good to go? I brought a book if you need more time.”

Shouta searches Yamada’s open expression for any signs of a taunt, and finds none. “We’re good. Make yourself comfortable.”

Yamada does as he’s told, dropping himself down on the set and looking utterly relaxed. “How do you want me?” There’s no hint of flirtation in his tone, but Shouta nearly blushes anyway.

“These photos are for an interview, right? About you?” Yamada nods. “Okay, then stay casual.” Yamada nods again, leaning back against one of the props and looking thoughtfully at the camera. This is the tricky part. Shouta knows the kind of shots he wants, he just has to figure out how to get them. “Tell me about yourself.”

Yamada smiles a little. The shutter clicks. “That’s a very broad question.”

“Something dumb,” Shouta clarifies. “Ugliest thing you used to wear in high school.”

“Okay, wow!” Yamada throws his head back in a laugh. The shutter clicks again. “You’re coming right for me, huh? How do you know I can answer that?”

Shouta hums. “Everyone hates how they dressed in high school. Give it up.”

“You got me,” Yamada grins. “I had a crop top that said Work It in pink sparkles, and I wore it everywhere. Now you answer.”

“My school had uniforms,” Shouta says blandly, snapping a photo of Yamada’s annoyed face. “But outside of school I only wore black.”

Yamada’s face lights up, delighted. “That’s amazing. Did you have an eyeliner phase?”

“I don’t know you well enough to answer that,” Shouta says, taking a few more pictures.

“Something to look forward to,” Yamada says brightly, and Shouta grins. His shoots are rarely this productive. Usually by now the model would have demanded a cigarette break, or a fizzy water, or some member of their entourage would have broken something. But Yamada is professional, moving here and there whenever Shouta asks him to without a word of complaint, answering all of Shouta’s questions in a way that makes it seem like a conversation, rather than like Shouta is some kind of photograph-producing robot.

He can see why Yamada’s star is rising so fast. He’s a pleasure to work with, on top of having a face the camera loves.

After a while, Shouta calls for a break. He flips through what he’s got so far as Yamada walks over, out from under the heat of the lights.

“Are the photos not good?” Yamada asks, taking in the way Shouta is frowning at his camera.

“They’re good,” Shouta admits. “But they’re missing something.” Yamada just looks at him, like he’s waiting for Shouta to say more. “This shoot is supposed to show the real you,” Shouta says, not used to someone actually listening to his explanations. “It should be personal. The shots are good, but they’re not deep. It would be better if we could show people who you really are.”

Yamada pauses, considering. “Can I go get something from my car?”

“Sure,” Shouta nods, hoping desperately it’s not going to be drugs. But when Yamada comes back, he’s carrying a guitar case.

“I love music,” he admits as he opens the case and takes out an acoustic guitar. It’s old and cheap, clearly well-used, and Yamada starts tuning it as he continues. “I never intended to be a model. I wanted to be a musician, or a DJ, something like that.”

Shouta can’t resist quietly taking a few pictures, not wanting to interrupt. Yamada looks so different like this, softer, happier. More like himself. The crumbling brick wall of the studio is a better backdrop for this than Shouta’s flashy set. “There’s still time,” Shouta says, hoping the lighting by the window is good enough that he can capture the wryness of Yamada’s smile.

“Sure,” Yamada shrugs, fingers brushing over the guitar strings. “Should I get back on the set?”

Shouta shakes his head, not wanting to ruin the moment. “Play something. Whatever you like best.”

Yamada smiles, leaning back against the wall and strumming a chord. Then he starts playing in earnest, fingers flying over the strings, some complicated piece of music filling the air. He’s good, far better than Shouta expected, and for a moment he’s so distracted by the music that he forgets what he’s there to do. But only for a moment. As good as the music sounds, Shouta is a visual person, and the peaceful, pleased expression on Yamada’s face is the stuff photographer dreams are made of. Shouta does his best to capture it, swapping out filters as subtly as he can, not wanting to be a distraction.

Eventually, the song ends, and Yamada looks up, surprised. Like he’d forgotten where he was, who he was playing for. Shouta captures that, too. “Was that okay?” Yamada asks, tentative for the first time since he’d arrived.

“Let’s see,” Shouta says, walking over to his laptop. He plugs the camera in, downloading the photos quickly. He can hear Yamada walk up behind him, and though his personal policy is to never let the models see any photos before he’s retouched them, Shouta will make an exception this time.

Yamada breathes out, like a sigh of relief. “These are really good.”

He’s right. As rough as they are, Shouta can already tell they’ll be excellent, probably the best photos of his career so far. The light from the window is perfect, illuminating Yamada from the side, making him look ethereal, but the rough bricks behind him keep him approachable. The only way to describe his expression is content, and there’s absolutely nothing fake about it. It’s real.

“Yeah,” Shouta nods. “I think we got it.” Surprisingly, he feels a flutter of disappointment. For once, he wishes the shoot had dragged on a bit longer. He probably won’t get the chance to work with Yamada again.

“You’re really talented,” Yamada says, still looking at the screen. “I usually can’t stand pictures of myself, but these are… I like these.” He looks up at Shouta, smiling. “Can I steal you? Make you my personal photographer? I’m told everyone has a price.”

Shouta hesitates. It wasn’t a flirtation, necessarily. And getting involved with models is a bad idea, the worst thing you can do in this business, but-

But if he lets Yamada walk out that door, he’s going to regret it forever. “I like coffee.”

Yamada’s smile widens, blooms over his features, pretty enough that Shouta wishes he was still holding his camera. “Don’t sell yourself short, hold out for dinner at least.”

“Dinner then.” Shouta can’t stop the corners of his lips from quirking up, ruining the his casual tone. “With further negotiations to follow.”

“I like the sound of that,” Yamada grins.

#erasermic #maizawa #I have kind of a backlog of story time fics #including a sequel to this #if anyone is interested?#my ramblings #my writing

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orenonahaichigoda · 5 years

Text

I had a rough day, and came to a realisation. I will say a bit about my own experience, and then, after having to lay the groundwork of explaining 400 things about Japan because American schools and media think the whole world is the US, Western Europe, and places to blow up, making explaining necessary, will tie it to Ichigo, or at least how I portray him.

I'm Post Dankai Juniors, growing up in Japan. So's Kubo, actually. The boundaries of this Japanese generation are roughly '75 to '85, Yutori, the following generation that's always translated and localised as Millennial, pretty solidly set as beginning at '86. These things are always fuzzy because you can't vivisect living brains and find the part that likes char siu buns and the part that likes jazz fusion. I *majored* in Social Science. You'll have teachers who say "it is absolute that we date people who are similar to us because we're all actually narcists." (It *might* be because they're like our beloved family or community. Narcistic Personality is not universal) But it really just is fuzzy, and that teacher/book author is an idiot. Anyway, Yutori is always translated as Millennial. I don't know the end boundary. Post Dankai Juniors covers almost totally a debated throe for Germanic nations (I know Britain, Germany, and Nederland use the same generations as America, and their languages are Germanic) because of how fuzzy it all is, though.

Anyway, so since coming to the US, my interactions with other Asians, again, how is this defined when China, Mongolia, Japan all border Russia and West Asia includes Jordan and Saudi Arabia, South Asia is India's area, Southeast Asia is Laos, Thailand's area, I mean, find the Arabic kanji. I don't think Thailand even uses soy sauce. What the heck IS Asia, really? (Or "Middle East" when half of that's Africa and the other half shares plate with Europe? )

Anyway, my experience with Asians that are Boomer ages tends to be people who immigrated as adults, who more identity with a generation like "Dankai" or "Sirake." My experiences with Latinos older than me... I've never actually asked if the generational labels are even the same.

The thing about that is that when the name is the same, it means enough cultural traits are shared.

My biggest experience with people who grew up under the term "Boomer" are Black and white.

I've noticed a unifying trait.

If they're something oppressed (Black, gay), their attitude tends to be"it is mandatory to stand up for *my* demograph...but kicking the person behind me on the ladder in the teeth is wholesome, pure, and fun."

Outing me to large groups and saying I "speak Asian" seem to be the most common two. Calling me "Chinese" long after I've cleared this up for them is a close third.

I mean, don't get me wrong--my experience with Italian Americans past GI generation has been that now acquiring the "white" label, just like biphobic/aphobic/transphobic cisgays, they're more often staunch priveledge defenders than cishet people of Anglo descent! And it's just as true for X and Y as it is for Boomer (for the latter, one need only look at NYC destroyer and trump defender Giuliani) I actually don't really identify with my Italian side at all because I was kinda locked out of making any meaningful connection.

But back to my point that even in so-leftist-it's-almost-not-America Bay Area, Boomers are still like this!

The kind of stuff that flows out a X/Y TERF's mouth, or the mouth of an X/Y person with a Confederate flag on his wall, American-raised Boomers say with ease regardless of their alignment! It's banananas.

(Please note that I also just have not met a whole lot of Native Americans, period, nor enough people significantly older than me from any one place in Africa, that was an omission of lacking data, not intended as erasure)

How I tie it to Ichigo--

So Kubo avoids specifying birth years for anyone.

When I see something like this, I generally assume date of publication, as do most people in most fandoms (which of course gets screwy when you have something endlessly rebooted like Superman or Batman or something eternally unchanging like Detective Conan)

Anyway, the first Bleach something published was the comic in '01.

I generally assume it was supposed to be the start of a new school year, as Ichigo doesn't know many of his classmates until at least the first test scores come out. So it's probably April or something.

If Ichigo was 15 then, he'd also be Post Dankai Juniors, just barely. If Ichigo TURNED 15 shortly after, during his adventure, he'd be undebatably Millennial.

Now, there is still something up with Dankai and Sirake. PM Abe is the latter, b. 1954. A lot of his age-peers are behind him. This is the guy who supports remilitarisation and was caught funding a private militarist/fascist high(?) school that teaches that people from countries Japan conquered during its brief phase of trying to beat colonial Europe are less than dogs.

Now, I left there as a teen. Clinton was US president. Scandals still got people kicked out of public office in Japan. I hadn't figured or come out yet. Sure, I got bullied for being mixed, but kids will pick if you like different singers than the "cool" ones. They'll pick based on what's in your lunch. That data is sausage.

I'm not 100% sure what Ichigo would face day-to-day sociopolitically as he grew up/aged. I haven't had living family since'95 there, and friendships don't get deep enough to ever last distance until at least high school. For me, adulthood.

But I've kept/caught up enough (you try keeping up in the South before the internet was more than ten University sites!) that I know he'd face fascists (c'mon, the guy takes on a martial law government to save a new friend--that's anarchist, he just doesn't seem anarchist in his own world. He only fights humans in defence) I'm not sure how he'd feel about the JSDF, but he only fought the sinigami's war out of feeling like it was his responsibility because the adults around him kinda made it so. I super don't see him being for *starting* wars. In a human war, I see him actually being like Sugihara Chiune, a historical figure who died when I was a kid who I majorly admire. He worked at a Japanese embassy in Nazi territory, and when the embassy was evacuated,he continued throwing passports to Jewish people to go to Japan from the train he was departing on,and is hidden from Americans in the same spirit that Martin Luther King is...pulled the teeth out of. (PS, speaking of,go Google Steven Kiyosi Kuromiya)

Also, Ichigo's whole schtick is defending those worse off than him. He's not someone I see defending Yamato Japanese priveledge. Heck, I could see him joining Uchinanchu efforts to get Parliament and the US base to leave them alone. I can easily see him sticking up for a Filipino domestic worker he met thirty seconds ago.

To this end, I think regardless of what he is, he'd have a large rub with Japan's equivalents of Boomers.

Not to mention that Abe supporters tend to be very sexist and queerphobic, which isn't even homegrown but imported from Américanisation. I mean, there were female warriors--assasins, which is what Yoruichi and Soi-Fon are styled after, and go look at some Ukiyoe, like Utagawa Kitamaro. Quite a few artists in the 200-ish years of the Edo period depicted life in the queer districts. I've also had people posit that Noh might've been a welcoming draw for trans people the same way drag was all over the US in the twentieth century and still is in rural areas, where there's less cisgay gatekeeping. But this isn't something I can reasonably research without access to plenty of older and not well known dusty documents, and lots of time, and I live in the US many years now. And do you know how much round trip airfare alone is!? Also, the language changed so much and I can't read anything before Meiji without dropping words. Rukia, Byakuya, Yoruichi all have made for TV old-sounding Japanese like period dramas. Actual 18th Century Japanese would be unintelligible to the unspecialised.

So this stuff isn't really native, but Abe and a lot of people his age support all these -isms.

I super don't see Ichigo being happy about this.

(I also feel like Issin's old enough to remember before these -isms, but that's my own thing. In my project, he was in those districts, but that's me)

At the same time, I'm still writing this through my own lens. Also, not still being there, I just don't have enough data on Yutori in adulthood, or the grown Yutori lens. Honestly, even most other immigrants I meet are older than that. Or older than that and their adorable three year old children. So I have no clue.

In the early 2000s, I got myself from the South to CA and began to reconnect, but began to is the key phrase. I can tell you right now that Abe is as much of a second phase of Nakasone as trump is of Nakasone's buddy Regean. But what shifted when, I can't say. I'm not entirely sure how Koizumi ran the ship, as it were. I know some things, but not enough to say.

But whenever things shifted however, and whichever year Ichigo was born, I just cannot imagine him being any more on board with current events than really anyone in my area not born between 1946-1964 and raised in America.

I feel like he'd probably be too tired or self-effacing to fight for himself, but he'd take on, loud and proud, any bigotry against *others.*

I...also can't really say I'm much different, except my joints are held together by the power of wishes, so I'm more like "get the victim to safety" than "give the attacker plenty of regret." So, I can only do anything in limited ways.

Ichigo is also entirely fuelled by the power of love. Lost his ability to protect and feels like his sinigami friends ditched him? Mondo depressed, however much he wants no one to notice--which most do a great job of ignoring! Everyone in his world turned against him for a guy who has attacked people close to him? Terrified, and murder can now be an answer. (Fullbring Arc)

I was going somewhere with that. I've forgotten, but I'll leave it.

But anyway, I feel like he really only comes close to fighting for himself when others are taken away from him in a way that's also wronging them.

So yeah, I super don't see him happy with current events or Sirake gen.

I'm not sure how much I see him fighting for himself as mixed panromantic grey-ace. I mean, we know he fights people who are about to punch his face in for his looks, but what else can you reasonably do at that point? Get your head bashed in? I'm not sure how much I see him fighting hateful words pointed at him versus resigning himself to "people are the worst." I mean, when he talks about being picked on, he kinda seems resigned, or at least like it's a fact, like shoes being for outside or something.

I guess I tied it to Ichigo a lot better than I thought!

But also, the struggle against people born just after the war is not just you, and not just America. It's a major problem.

And it's likely that Ichigo would agree.

#out of body #musings #baby boomers #generation x #millennials #Japanese generations #Japanese politics #queerphobia #colonialism #moritomo gakuen scandal #sugihara chiune #japanese history #yoruichi shihouin #edo period

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pocket-luv101 · 5 years

Text

Secrets in Time || Chapter 17

Fandom: Servamp (Anime & Manga) Relationships: KuroMahi (main), LawLicht (main), Tetsono (side) Characters: Kuro, Shirota Mahiru, Hyde, Licht Jekylland Todoroki, Arisuin Misono, Snow Lily, Sendagaya Tetsu

Summary: Mahiru refused to accept that his friend killed himself and went to the Alicein Household to discover the truth. He didn’t know what to expect from the residents or who to trust. But with Kuro, he discovers the secrets hidden within the mansion. {KuroMahi, LawLicht, Tetsono/ Mystery AU}

“Who calls a person in the middle of the night? Everyone is asleep at this time. Mahiru, can you answer it for me?” Kuro groaned when he remembered that Mahiru left the manor. He sat up and looked towards the empty bed next to him. Each time he closed his eyes, he could picture him. But then he would open his eyes and miss him. Another sigh escaped him, “Can’t deal.”

He laid back down on his bed and pulled the covers tighter around him. He intended to let his phone go to voicemail and return to sleep. Kuro heard his phone’s beep and held the pillow over his ears to muffle the sound. After sharing a room together, he could easily hear the lecture Mahiru would give him. “Kuro, are you awake? Please get up, you need to pick up your phone.”

“Mahiru?” Kuro realized that his voice was from his phone. He fumbled to answer his phone on his nightstand. The reason for his call worried Kuro. While he hoped that it was a simple goodnight, it could also be related to Licht. The first thing he heard when he answered was Mahiru’s relieved sigh. “Is everything okay? Did something happen?”

“Licht remembered something. It’s complicated so I can’t tell you everything over the phone. I’ll explain everything as soon as we can talk in person. Do you remember where we first met? Meet me there. Be careful that no one sees you.” He couldn’t respond before Mahiru ended the call. Kuro was confused but he quickly changed to see him again.

In only a few minutes, he managed to pull on his clothes and left the manor. He was still struggling with his jacket as he walked along the tall gate until he came to the place he met Mahiru. His mind was racing with questions about what Licht could’ve remembered. Kuro couldn’t see him though. Then, he heard a voice above him. “I’m up here, Kuro.”

He followed his voice and glanced up. It was dark but their eyes met. He also saw Mahiru grin down at him before he jumped down from the wall. Kuro immediately rushed to stand beneath him and caught him in his arms. He managed to keep his footing and hugged Mahiru against his chest. Mahiru managed to surprise him more than the first time he jumped into his arms.

Mahiru cupped his face and kissed him. He was surprised by himself as well. He blushed and pulled away. Tenderly, he caressed Kuro’s cheek, “I didn’t think I would be able to do that again so I couldn’t help myself. I would love to talk more but we need to go to the attic. Licht remembered that was where he was attacked. He found something there and we need to go.”

“Okay,” He nodded and carefully placed Mahiru on his feet again. Kuro took off his uniform’s jacket and draped it over his shoulders. He pulled the hood over his head so the other guards wouldn’t recognize him immediately. He had a lot of questions but he trusted Mahiru. Taking his hand, they sneaked back into the manor. He knew the guard’s patrol route well and took the best path to avoid them.

They managed to reach the top floor without anyone noticing them. Kuro pulled on the cord and released the attic’s door. The ladder fell onto the ground with a loud thud that made Mahiru flinch. He was scared that someone would overhear them. He knew that it unlikely since most of the residents were sleeping but he couldn’t help worrying.

Kuro lightly squeezed his hand and the small gesture made his worry disappear. He gathered his courage and then walked up the stairs. Mahiru turned on the light and his went to the piano where they first found the pocket watch. He turned to Kuro and told him, “Licht remembered playing the piano and then he was attacked right here.”

“Does he remember who it was? Maybe we can piece together a motive and find more proof. We’ll be able to go to the police with evidence that the Alicein can’t hide with their money. If Licht put the pocket watch here, he might’ve hidden more things here.” Kuro said but Mahiru appeared a little doubtful. He bit his lower lip.

“Licht said it was Rapunzel.” Mahiru stood in front of the bookcase and pulled down each book. “It sounds crazy but Licht insists that it was Rapunzel who stabbed him. Rapunzel was what he called her because she slept in this attic. I didn’t know if I should believe him but Licht said that there’s a diary here that will prove everything. We need to find it.”

“Are you sure he wasn’t mistaken?” He asked. Kuro helped him look through the books for the diary. “I don’t know of anyone who has ever stayed here. This attic was crowded with heirlooms before we moved them to the library. Why would someone want to stay here when there’s a lot of free rooms downstairs?”

“Rapunzel didn’t have a choice when she was trapped in a tower.” In the time he stayed in the manor, Mahiru had grown to care for the family and staff. He couldn’t picture the family would trap someone in the attic. A part of him hoped that they wouldn’t find evidence of the family committing a crime. Yet, he needed to know the truth of what happened to Licht.

They took down each book but they didn’t find a diary. Mahiru’s brows furrowed and he remembered the conviction Licht had earlier. He stood on his toes and searched the top shelf for a book they might’ve missed. Kuro placed his hand on his shoulder and said softly, “It’s unlikely that the family was hiding a secret in this attic. They let people come and go through here freely.”

“Licht learned something here that led him to being stabbed. That diary holds the answers. I know it’s crazy to sound that a fairy tale character attacked my friend but that’s the only lead we have.” Mahiru turned in his arms and gripped his shirt. He was also holding onto the hope that the answers wouldn’t hurt Kuro. He knew that the family was important to him.

Mahiru’s hand moved to take Kuro’s and held it between them. “I don’t want to think that they did something terrible to my friend. Even more than that, I don’t want to drag you into danger. You can go back to your room and pretend you didn’t help me sneak into the attic. I’ll continue to look alone. I know my way out of the manor so you don’t have to worry about me.”

“But I will worry, Mahiru. This isn’t a small thing I can just ignore and run away. Like you said, this person stabbed Licht to keep a secret. I won’t let the same thing happen to you. Didn’t we agree to work together and protect each other?” Looking into his deep brown eyes, Kuro realized how much he grew to care for Mahiru. He couldn’t let anything happen to him.

Kuro said, “We searched through all the boxes when we collected the heirlooms. Where else would Licht hide the diary like he did with the pocket watch.”

His eyes immediately moved to the bed and desk sitting in the corner of the attic. Mahiru walked to the desk and searched through the drawers. He did his best to stay as quiet as possible. If anyone found them searching through the attic, it would lead to questions they couldn’t answer. At best, they would throw him out and charge him with trespassing. He didn’t want to think about the other possibilities.

Mahiru found that most of the drawers were empty and he sighed heavily. He leaned his head against the wood. Each time he thought he was closer to the truth, he was left disappointed. The furniture was arranged like a bedroom and he thought the person Licht referred might’ve used it. “What will I tell Licht after I go back without that diary and answers.”

“Where is he now?” He knelt next to him.

“It would be difficult for all three of us to sneak into the manor. I thought I would the best person to climb over the wall. Licht also said that he needed to confirm something from his memories but he didn’t tell me what. Hyde promised that he will keep Licht out of trouble. He has done a good job so far and that’s reassuring at least.”

“Hyde likes to keep the things precious to him close. He’ll protect Licht well.” Kuro said and squeezed his hand to further reassure him. He paused and then he started to search through the bed. He lifted the mattress and Mahiru saw a worn diary hidden beneath. “He often hid things under his bed. It looks like he has that in common with Licht.”

“This is great, Kuro!” Mahiru exclaimed and hugged him. Then, he took the diary and jumped to his feet. He grabbed his hand and said, “We must go to Licht with this and sees if it helps him remember anything more. The person’s motive might also be in here. I’ll read this in the car ride back to your home.”

“I’ll drive you back.” He said. Without a word, Kuro took out a key from his pocket. “I didn’t give it back when you were fired. We can go through the east wing so no one will see us. It’ll be less troublesome than sneaking around the guards. Shall we go?”

“I promised Mahiru I would keep you out of trouble, Licht, but I’m doing a shit job at it.” Hyde muttered. While Mahiru went to the manor to find the diary, Licht planned to confront Rapunzel. They now stood in front of the antique shop Hyde took him to before. Hyde didn’t know Mikuni well but he hoped JeJe wasn’t involved. The two didn’t act strangely when he talked to them. Then he thought of the reaction Licht had once he saw Mikuni.

The shop was closed and neither Mikuni nor JeJe answered his call. Hyde could see that Licht was frustrated when he kicked the door. “People are going to call the cops on us if they see us trying to kick down doors, Lichtan. Do you want to go back home and wait until JeJe calls us back? Maybe Mahiru has found the diary.”

“I want to hear that man tell me why he stabbed me!” He shook his head and kicked the door once more. The wood rattled against the door frame but it held strong. Hyde took his wrist and gently pulled him back. Licht thought that he intended to merely stop him from breaking the door. He led him through the side alley and to the back of the shop.

Hyde only let go of his hand to take out a few hair pins. He knelt in front of the front door and began to pick the lock. “We can wait for Mikuni inside and ask him your questions when he comes back. Just give me a few minutes and I’ll have this door open for you.”

“You’re a demon but you have some useful skills. I don’t know if I should ask you where you learned how to pick locks or not.” He sat next to him on the step. It was late at night and cold so he leaned close to him. Licht unconsciously rested his head on his shoulder and he felt Hyde chuckle. “My instincts were right. You shouldn’t have stopped me from confronting him last time we were here.”

His words made Hyde stop laughing. “No one wants to think that someone they know is a murderer. I don’t know him well but I’m hoping that this is some misunderstanding and it’s someone else who attacked you. Are you certain that it was him?”

“I don’t remember that night I was stabbed but I can never forget those eyes.” Licht said in a hard voice. He hugged himself and closed his eyes. Now that he regained fragments of his memories, he needed to confront the person who stabbed him. “I was trying to help them and he pushed me off a cliff for my troubles. I don’t know why he would want to keep his secret for that family.”

“What secret?” Hyde unlocked the door but he didn’t enter the shop immediately. He faced Licht. He opened his eyes and their gaze met. Licht told Mahiru about the diary but he hesitated to do the same with Hyde. He didn’t know how he would react if he told him. “How much do you remember?”

“I remember everything before that night I was pushed.” He was compelled to answer when he looked into his eyes. Licht moved closer to him and whispered: “I would practise my piano in the attic. Since it was so late, I would sleep there instead of returning to my room. I found a diary hidden under the bed.”

“Did that diary belong to Mikuni?” He was shocked and confused when Licht shook his head.

“No. It belonged to Rapunzel, the woman Mr. Alicein was having an affair with.” He paused and waited for Hyde to absorb what he told him. He was too shocked to respond. Hyde thought that the family was happy together. Licht wouldn’t lie in their situation. “They were sleeping together even though he had a wife and kid. They would meet in the attic. Mikuni was the result of that affair. I planned to tell him that after I search for more proof in the east wing. Going down there was the last thing I remember.”

Licht struggled to recall more and touched the wound on his rib. Hyde hugged him and said, “I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”

He let him go when he heard someone approached him. They both jumped to their feet when he saw that it was JeJe.

#servamp #kuromahi #lawlicht #sloth pair #greed pair #servamp kuro #mahiru shirota #servamp hyde #licht jekylland todoroki #fanfiction

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never---ending---story · 4 years

Text

A Walking Nightmare

New year, new story. Here's a story with my treasured ocs. I haven’t checked this because god said I should and I won’t let him do that

Possible triggers: death, gore, end of the world/apocalypse, food, starvation (not self-inflicted)

The guy looked like death. Sawyer wouldn’t deny that in a million years. Then again nowadays everyone looked like death. Still, Sawyer stood by what he said. Everyone Sawyer knew looked like death but this kid took it to a new level. He was primarily nothing but skin and bone and his skin was caked in a thin layer of dirt. Now, with only 10 years of education under his belt, Sawyer was sure of one thing. This strangely cute but mangled boy wasn’t gonna make it to next week if he didn’t get either medical attention or at the very least some food. Luckily Sawyer had a solid balance. Elliot was in med school before the infection that swept America was leaked and boy oh boy did Carson get them some food after his last raid. They’d be good for months as far as he was concerned. What was the harm in bringing in another boy?

Though, Sawyer was sure he shouldn’t have been thinking at that moment because the boy who was seemingly ripped to shreds was now holding a knife up to him.

“How did you find this place?” he hissed through gritted teeth. The boy’s voice was raspy but didn’t pack a lot of punch. It was slightly gruff though it was clear he rarely spoke. The boy had an accent. A small one but it stood out to Sawyer none the less.

Sawyer only aimed his breath up at his wavy pink locks to blow a strand of hair out of his eye

“I’m a scavenger idiot” Sawyer responded sassily.

Cute quiet nightmare chuckled darkly

“A dang good one I suppose?” he questioned.

Sawyer nodded “I would bet I’m the best one there is,” he lied through his teeth “Of course, there’s no evidence to back that up considering,” he cleared his throat “our situation”

The boy lowered his sharp blade. It didn’t glimmer like most knives. It wasn’t clean and had ruby red bloodstains along the blade and small stains on the hilt. Sawyer added a new dagger to the mental list of essentials for this mysterious survivor. He made sure this boy saw him looking at his knife

“Come with me and I can give you a new knife and some clean clothes” he offered “hell I’ll give you the hoodie I’m wearing.”

The boy peered at Sawyer doubtfully. Like he couldn’t decide if he should trust him or gouge his eyes out of their sockets. He had a fire raging behind his eyes though. A hunger that told Sawyer he was not a person to be messed with, but Sawyer couldn’t bring himself to care

“Listen, you’re cute and all,” he started “and I happen to have a keen eye. I can see the hunger behind your eyes” Sawyer felt himself smirk as the boy looked on in confusion “but you’ve gotta at least take me out to dinner before I consider doing any of that with you”

The boy shoved him away from him as Sawyer’s laughs came out like a bray. His face was flushed

“Alright!” he cried with a fixated glare to Sawyer “I can tell you’re nothing but a threat to my pride” he mumbled, which only earned a snort from Sawyer.

“What’s your name,” Sawyer asked, “if I am no longer a threat then I would hope we can get along.” The boy rolled his eyes but obliged to Sawyer’s simple request.

“My friends call..called me Radio. If you want to be my friend I guess you can call me that. I’m gonna call you princess bubblegum”

Sawyer’s entire face lit up “I’d be honored!” he exclaimed throwing a hand over his heart fondly. After a beat, he looked at his newfound friend “What kind of name it Radio?”

Radio crossed his arms and looked at Sawyer “I helped my dad fix radios. It’s nothing special” he explained looking at his feet. It was like the memory caused him pain, which, if Sawyer thought about it, made sense. Once tragedy struck, memories of your previous happy life stung. To Sawyer, they felt like a stab to the heart. That is exactly why he chose to bury his emotions deep down to the tips of his toes.

A scream echoed in the streets above them and Sawyer frowned “Well if you’re going to be my new best friend-”

“Who said anything about best friends” Radio interjected

Sawyer ignored him “I should introduce you to my family” The skinny boy in front of Sawyer looked shocked

“You have a family?’

“No. By family I mean people I’ve teamed up with. You can’t really survive out here alone”

Radio thought about that, and while he did Sawyer took it upon himself to look around. This kid’s living accommodations were not good. Wallpaper was peeling and it was awfully dark. Sure they had lost electricity a while ago but it looked like the only light in the room was coming from a small window. There was no decor, only plain peeling walls. It was honestly depressing. There was no personality to place. It wasn’t a home, it was more like a prison.

Sawyer twirled around on his heels “how ‘bout we get you out of here Radio” he offered “I’ve got shelter, running water, food, and friends”

Radio stared blankly at him. It reminded Sawyer of one of the horrid creatures roaming the streets above them. Not only was Radio small and frail, but he also looked awfully sad. The boy looked at his feet for a moment

“Yeah, alright. I’ve got nothing better to do” he obliged, grabbing a backpack that was leaning against a wall “I’ll just waste away in here anyway. I’d hate to eat you as a zombie, especially since I haven’t gotten to take you out to dinner yet”

Sawyer flinched at the mention of zombies and being killed by one, though he knew it was the brutal truth. If Radio died here he would just waste away and eventually rise to join the undead army. It wasn’t always this way. It started with people contracting the Black Plague up in Canada and scientists trying to fix it. In the end, there was an outbreak at the lab. The disease samples paired with the lab’s chemicals created an unstoppable force. This being said, Sawyer was still optimistic. He offered a soft smile and extended his hand to Radio

“Let’s get a move on. Those walkers will be here any minute,” Sawyer said. Then something sawyer wasn’t expecting, happened. Radio grabbed Sawyer’s extended hand timidly. He could feel Radio’s hand shaking in his own but it wasn’t apparent on his face that anything was wrong. He ruled out the fact that nothing was wrong and settled on the fact that the kid must have been a really good actor.

Sawyer’s boots made soft stomping sounds as he walked across the room to the ladder “I’ll go first.” he offered “there could be something out there”

Radio rolled his eyes and let go of Sawyer’s hand, pushing past him “I’ve been on my own for two years-”

“This whole thing has been happening for four years” Sawyer interjected and Radio’s shoulders stiffened

“Fine then. Four years. My point still stands. I’ve been on my own for four years I can handle a few zombies. It’s why I wear steel-toed boots”

Radio hauled himself up the ladder and peaked his head over. He looked around before slipping up into the rotting streets of New York City

Sawyer was treading carefully as he walked, not wanted to arouse anything around. To keep the beings in the shadows where they were. Radio was twirling his knife around his finger and at some point had tied a red and white bandana around his face

“What’s the bandana for?” Sawyer had asked only to have Radio hiss at him to shut up. It was fair though. Rousing the walkers wouldn’t be fun.

Speaking of walkers one stumbled out of a dark alleyway stupidly. As it hobbled along the street with flaying skin its dead eyes found Radio. It made a strange gurgling sound of interest and started limping over to them. Sawyer stepped in front of Radio as it got closer

“Bubble gum I can defend myself” he argued, but Sawyer wasn’t going to stand down. He pulled a gun from his pocket and Radio snatched it from his hands “are you dumb! You can’t go around firing a gun at a zombie! It’s like a food bell to them!”

“What else am I suppose to use” he hissed

Radio rolled his eyes and set the gun on the concrete. He then pulled a knife out from his pocket, this one considerably cleaner than the one Radio threatened him with earlier.

“Use this,” he said, placing the blade in Sawyer’s palm and closing his fingers around it

Sawyer looked at the blade. “Thank you I-” he started but Radio quickly shoved him out of the way and dug the blade of his own knife into the eye socket of the walker Sawyer was attempting to protect him from. He tilted the knife up and the walker made a gurgled sound before falling to cold concrete. Radio pressed his boot to the head of the walker and put down pressure until- CRACK- the skull had collapsed and the walker was clearly not going to get back up. At the sickening crunching noise of the skull, Sawyer felt nauseated. He pushed himself onto his feet and then looked over at Radio to see the crushed skull. He felt like throwing up, so that’s what he did. Right onto Radio’s shoes.

Sawyer whimpered and looked up at Radio, stumbling back “I’m so sorry” was the first thing that left his lips. There was a sour taste in his mouth and he snuffled, wiping at his watery eyes. It was becoming increasingly obvious that they viewed the walkers extremely differently.

Radio shook his head “You’re um” he kicked his foot away from either of them to get the puke off his foot

“You’re fine bubblegum. I did the same thing the first time I killed a zombie” he confessed “but I’m guessing you’ve killed them before,” Radio assumed “you’re armed”

Sawyer brushed his sleeve across his mouth “I have before. I don’t like doing it but I do. It’s just you..you crushed his head like it was nothing,” he whimpered

“Well, it was going to kill you if I didn’t do anything. Let’s get going it’s cold” Radio changed the topic and nodded in the direction they were originally heading

Sawyer just nodded softly and grabbed Radio’s hand so he wouldn’t get tugged away without being noticed “We’re nearly home” he muttered, picking up his face. He might’ve been just above the average height but wanted to hurry, even if that meant taking longer strides the usual.

Sawyer pressed his hand to a scanned on a hidden gate. They had made a small hike through the woods to the tall metal gate.

“Who is it?” he voice asked through the mic. His voice was low but it was apparent the guy speaking had a smirk on his face.

Sawyer sighed and looked at Radio “That would be Carson.” he faced the scanner again which had a small camera “It’s Sawyer you idiot,” he said.

The voice on the other end scoffed “I wasn’t talking to you. What have I told you about hook-ups during the apocalypse?”

Sawyer squeaked and his face flushed. Radio was snickering behind his bandana.

“It’s not like that!” he cried “I’m saving him!”

Radio raised his eyebrows “I didn’t need saving” he added “he just offered me better shelter”

There was a beeping sound through the speaker

“Fine fine. Well dad man Elliot is making tacos” he said before seemingly leaving

The doors squeaked open and Sawyer and Radio walked in. The streets were damp as everywhere else was. Behind the gates was a grand house that stood tall. It was almost as if someone had prepared for the end of the world. Like a survivalist. The metal doors clanged shut as Sawyer pulled a key from his pocket. He shoved it into the keyhole and turned it. The door clicked and Sawyer opened the door. Radio was following close by his side.

To his right, there was a staircase and left of the staircase was a hallway that led to a living room. To the far left of the foyer was an office that seemed unoccupied and to the far-right led to a dining room.

Out of the blue, there was scuttling down the stairs. A boy with long wavy brown hair, black glasses, and blue eyes looked at Radio. He was skinny, but a different skinny compared to Radio. He was healthy, Radio was starving and living off rations. He smiled and charged at Sawyer, wrapping his arms around him

“You were gone for quite a few hours. I was worried” he mumbled. Sawyer sighed and patted his back

“I’m sorry,” Sawyer apologized “we just ran into some trouble is all”

Radio shuffled awkwardly on his feet as Sawyer and the brunette spoke. The brunette gripped Sawyer’s shoulder and Radio felt a pang of jealously. The stranger smiled “So Elliot was looking through the stuff I got and found spaghetti. So we aren’t doing tacos anymore, but we’ll see. Hopefully, he won’t burn it” Sawyer laughed. He looked over at Radio, whispered something into Sawyer’s ear and smiled at Radio.

“Hey,” he greeted and stuck out his hand, stepping around Sawyer “I’m Carson Anderson”

Radio took his Carson’s hand into hi down and shook it quickly before letting go “Radio”

Carson raised an eyebrow “Radio…”

“Well, that’s private information. My real name and my last”

Carson rolled his eyes “Fine then.” He looked him up and down “You need some new clothes” he commented quietly, more talking to himself. Radio’s stomach growled “and maybe some food.” Carson turned around to face Sawyer and relayed this information to him. Sawyer nodded and faced Radio

“We should get you settled in. Maybe some new clothes, a shower?” he offered. Radio felt his face heat up from embarrassment. He hadn’t realized how poorly he was presenting himself.

“I’d like that,” he said sheepishly. Sawyer nodded and grabbed Radio’s hand, dragging him up the stairs. Radio took one last moment to look over and seen Carson with a smirk looking at them before he was pulled out of view.

Radio peeked his head out of the bathroom to see if anyone was in the room. The bathroom was connected to Sawyer’s bedroom so he felt inclined to check. Sawyer looked up from the bed.

“Need something?” he asked “We have plenty of stuff”

Radio shook his head “No um” He sighed “Do you have a jacket or hoodie?” he asked

Sawyer stood up and opened a drawer “not in the room, but you can have mine. Unless you wanna wear my other blue one”

Radio smiled softly at him “Thank you, you’re a lifesaver bubblegum”

Sawyer smiled back at him and walked out of the room. When the door closed with a small click Radio slipped out of the bathroom and felt himself fall onto the bed. The closes Sawyer gave him were the nicest he had in a long while. They were clean and soft. It had been years since he felt like he could sleep soundly since the apocalypse started. It all started in his living room. The day was normal and quiet as many days in August happened to be when there was a banging at his door. His mother put down her cards from their card game and answered. “Caio!” she had greeted before screaming at the top of her lungs. That was the day it started. August 16th. Things hadn’t gotten better since then though. He ran to a friend’s house after that, and they had been inseparable. Until she died that is. Since then Radio had learned not to trust anyone. He found it hard at first but it soon became easy. It was as simple as seeing someone and turning the other way instead of running for help. It became even easier when everyone left learned the same thing. Even if the human race was going extinct it didn’t stop people from forming gangs, killing each other, and all-around acting like maniacs. These were the things that Radio didn’t like to think about, especially before bed. Who knew the apocalypse and his impending doom would keep him awake at night?

The door creaked open and Radio looked over. Sawyer walked into the room with a plate and dark blue hoodie

“Dinner might be a minute. Elliot caught half of the pasta on fire” he chuckled “no, I don’t know how he did it. Though that’s what Carson told me”

Radio took the hoodie from Sawyer’d hands and pulled on it on. He smiled at him “Thank you so much” he said truthfully “I can cook for you guys. I’m Italian and my mom_

Sawyer just shook his head “You need to sleep Radio. Maybe tomorrow?”

Radio sighed “Fine but I will not let this Elliot guy disgrace pasta ever again”

Sawyer chuckled softly “Don’t let me cook ever” he warned “I’ve burnt toast and nearly burnt your toast” he said handing Radio the plate he waked in with

Radio laughed at him and gratefully took the toast that Sawyer offered and took a bite of it. He smiled at Sawyer who happily returned it.

“Anyway, I’m going to help Elliot our non-chef make something edible. Come down when you want” Sawyer said before bounding out of the room and closing the door.

Radio took a deep breath. As much as he enjoyed the company that he was given and the shelter, he knew he couldn’t stay. He could, but Raffaello ‘Radio” De Luca worked alone. Being cooped up in a house for too long would tear him apart bit by bit and he knew that. But he decided that he would enjoy it while he could still handle it all. Sawyer seemed content, yet free-spirited. He was roaming alone when he found Radio even though he seemed to have a good support system.

As skinny as Carson was he intimidated Radio ever so slightly. Whether it was his height or the fact that he had survived four years of the apocalypse easily. Or looked as if he was handling it well. Radio finished his toast and rolled onto his back to continue thinking. It was clear that the boys in this house knew how to survive. The first thing he thought of that could possibly teach survival was boy scouts. Was sawyer a boy scout? Carson maybe? It suddenly dawned on him that boy scouts didn’t teach apocalypse survival, but wilderness survival. Even so, it didn’t stop him from smiling at the image of Sawyer in a boy scouts vest. Speaking of Sawyer, Radio thought he was nice. Sassy, but still all around a sweet guy. His hair was cute and wavy and his eyes a deep chocolate brown. He had a bit of a retro vibe to him between his tucked-in shirt and bleached and cuffed jeans. Even if he was cute Radio didn’t want to find himself falling for him. It was the apocalypse and people died every day and he knew he would be taken eventually.

That was the part that scared him the most. Death. Once he died he would, one day, become one of the monsters on the street. Hopefully, though, he would get his skull crushed first thing. One thing he knew more than anyone was the feeling of being trapped and he didn’t think he could handle the idea of being trapped in his own bloodthirsty corpse he couldn’t control anymore.

Radio ran his fingers through his still slightly wet hair. It felt nice to not be caked in dirt. It was his first real shower in years. He had soap products, buckets of water, and the rain to keep him semi-clean but, nothing compared to the feeling of hot water hitting your skin and the smell of floral shampoo. He was surprised at how much they really had. Sure, things were told and battered but they still worked. Radio had done some snooping around the closet had a full shelf filled with shampoo and body wash. He already liked it here an awful lot.

A beam of light was cast across Radio’s face and looked over to see a blonde-haired boy standing in the hallway holding a lantern. Radio hadn’t realized how dark the room was until blondy had come in with a light source.

“Hi,” the boy greeted quietly. His voice was soft and smooth “, dinner is ready and as the mom friend I can’t let someone as skinny as Sawyer has said skip it”

Radio said straight up very quickly. More food? Sawyer has already mentioned dinner but now that he really thought about it his stomach growled. He thought it was quiet but it was loud enough for the blonde boy to hear. He chuckled “C’mon kid,” he said with a gesture for Radio to follow “I’m Elliot. You can trust me. Also, get some socks on. It’s cold in the house”

Radio didn.t have any socks but he hoped sawyer wouldn’t him stealing some of his. He bounced over to the dresser and pulled out the first pair of socks he could find. They were light blue with avocados on them. Radio laughed a bit before shoving his feet into the soft fabric of the socks. By this point, Elliot had taken it upon himself to come into the room. He seemed very nice. Calm, collected and mature. Radio was glad to see that. He needed some form of guidance in his life and Elliot seemed like someone he could go to for that. He was also starting to get the feeling he was the youngest.

Radio pushed himself up from the wooden floors and faced Elliot. “What are we having?” he asked

Elliot beamed at him for some odd reason “Spaghetti!” he said cheerfully “Sawyer ended up helping me because I’m a terrible cook. All of us are but with our powers combined we make..we make an okay chef”

Radio chuckled at him “I guess that’s what I can contribute to this place then. My mama taught me too cook”

Elliot stood up “Perfect’ he said, smile never fading “but for now you’ll have to put up with me slightly overcooked spaghetti”

Radio shook his head “I haven’t eaten a solid meal that wasn’t heated up or from a can in a few years. Your undercooked pasta sounds like heaven to me.”

#apocalypse #death #story #personal story #self written #self writings #original character #original #characters #my writing #my ocs #oc writing #apocalypse world #zombie apocalypse #text post

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bluewatsons · 5 years

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Stuart Jeffries, A dwelling for the gods, The Guardian (January 4, 2002)

The door handles took a year to design. The radiators took another. And then the ceiling had to be raised - by a few millimetres. Stuart Jeffries on what happened when Ludwig Wittgenstein applied his philosophy to architecture

The house that Ludwig built was not cosy. Wittgenstein forbade carpets and curtains. Rooms were to be lit by naked bulbs, and door handles and radiators were left unpainted. The floors were of grey-black polished stone, the walls of light ochre.

The Wittgenstein House, in the unfashionable and ugly-sounding Kundmanngasse in Vienna, was a stark cubic lump devoid of any external decoration. In this, the house the philosopher designed was true to the architectural principles of Wittgenstein's close friend Adolf Loos, who once wrote a paper called Ornament and Crime, in which he argued that the suppression of decoration was necessary for regulating passion.

The Unknown Wittgenstein, at the Royal Academy, features photographs and a model of the house that indicate just how far the most difficult yet rewarding 20th century philosopher went in suppressing decoration. Built between 1926 and 1928, the Wittgenstein House made the contemporaneous architecture of Bauhaus seem as jaunty as Art Nouveau. Indeed, it could be seen as a reaction against the sexy decadence of Art Nouveau: there were no curves, little in the way of joie de vivre, and probably no scatter cushions.

The Wittgenstein House was very Viennese - its absence of decoration came from a conviction that Austrian ornament had become as unhealthy as Viennese sachertorte cake. Fin de siècle Vienna was a city of aesthetic and moral decay and, at the same time, of creatively frenetic reaction against that decadence: Schoenberg's atonal music insisted that everything that could be expressed had been expressed by tonal music; Loos's architecture railed against decoration; Freud argued that unconscious forces seethed below a purportedly ordered and elegant society. Established values were being turned upside-down in Vienna. According to Karl Kraus, Vienna was a "research laboratory for world destruction".

The Wittgenstein House was a laboratory for living. For some, though, it was an experiment that didn't work. Wittgenstein's sister, Hermine, wrote: "Even though I admired the house very much, I always knew that I neither wanted to, nor could, live in it myself. It seemed indeed to be much more a dwelling for the gods than for a small mortal like me, and at first I even had to overcome a faint inner opposition to this 'house embodied logic' as I called it, to this perfection and monumentality."

It was just as well, then, that Hermine didn't live there. But Wittgenstein's other sister, Gretl, did - both before and after the Nazi Anschluss - and apparently found it fitted her austere temperament perfectly. She and Viennese architect Paul Engelmann had invited Ludwig to collaborate with Engelmann on the design of her new house. Gretl did not issue the invitation lightly: she was no philistine and indeed, like the rest of the Wittgenstein family, was immersed in the world of arts (when she married in 1905, for instance, Gustav Klimt painted her portrait; Ravel wrote Concerto for the Left Hand for her brother Paul, a great pianist who lost an arm during the first world war).

At the time of the commission, Wittgenstein was at one of the many fraught transitional stages that pitted his life. He was fighting against depression and struggling to find a vocation worthy of his genius. He had abandoned philo-sophy in 1918, believing (wrongly) that he had solved all its problems with his Tractatus Logico- Philosophicus, whose ideas he had developed while serving as a soldier and later as a prisoner of war.

After the first world war, Wittgenstein had rid himself of his vast inherited fortune (his father had been a wealthy Viennese industrialist), sharing it among his brother and sisters. And, while philosophers around the world were realising that the Tractatus was the work of a genius, Wittgenstein became a primary school teacher in Trattenbach, in remote rural Austria. But after a classroom incident (the highly-strung Wittgenstein hit a pupil so hard the boy passed out), he quit. In despair, he contemplated becoming a monk - but instead took up gardening at a monastery.

But it couldn't last. There had to be some outlet for his visionary spirit. So the commission to work on his sister's house came at an opportune moment.

Colin St John Wilson, one of the organisers of the RA exhibition and architect of the new British Library at St Pancras, suggests that we can best understand Wittgenstein's architecture by seeing it as an extrapolation from the Tractatus. There Wittgenstein wrote that his philosophy was disposable: "My propositions are elucidatory in this way: he who understands me finally recognises them as senseless, when he has climbed out through them, on them, over them. (He must so to speak throw away the ladder after he climbed up on it)...Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent."

For Wittgenstein, it was precisely the most important things - God, ethics, aesthetics - that could not be put into words. They could not be said, only shown. Wilson writes: "It was as if Wittgenstein's first attempt to deal with his predicament after the ladder had been thrown away was instinctively to make things (architecture, sculpture, photography) whose essence is that they cannot be 'said' but must be 'shown'."

According to Ray Monk, one of Wittgenstein's biographers, the philosopher's work on the house focused on the design of windows, doors, window-locks and radiators. "This is not so marginal as it may at first appear, for it is precisely these details that lend what is otherwise a rather plain, even ugly house its distinctive beauty."

Wittgenstein spent much time on these details. He took a year to design the door handles, and another year to design the radiators. Instead of curtains, each window was shaded by metal screens each weighing about 150kg, but easily moved by a pulley system designed by Wittgenstein. Bernhard Leitner, author of The Architecture of Ludwig Wittgenstein, hailed this "aesthetic of weightlessness": "There is barely anything comparable in the history of interior design. It is as ingenious as it is expensive. A metal curtain that could be lowered into the floor."

Ah, the expense. Bugger (one hears Wittgenstein saying as one studies his handiwork) the expense. When the house was nearly complete, he insisted that a ceiling be raised 30mm so that the proportions he wanted (3:1, 3:2, 2:1) were perfectly executed. "Tell me," asked a locksmith, "does a millimetre here or there really matter to you?" "Yes!" roared Wittgenstein.

Wilson praises the resulting house for having "none of that blatant self-satisfaction of minimalism" (something which, incidentally, is equally true of his British Library building). But then Wittgenstein was the least self-satisfied of men.

He probably wouldn't have been very satisfied with the little exhibition that has been set up on the landing and stairs to the Royal Academy's library, dangling over librarians trying to get on with their work. Wilson wants it to "act as a celebration of, and a focus for discussion around, a unique body of work". Wittgenstein might well have seen it as a ladder - and one to be kicked away before ascending - so irksome would he have found its insistence that he was an all-round genius of Renaissance proportions.

As well as display cases of that unlikely stuff - Wittgenstein memorabilia - the exhibition features drawings by Tom Phillips inspired by his reading of Wittgenstein, and a series of 12 silkscreen prints by Eduardo Paolozzi called As Is When, made in 1965.

The exhibition is dominated by the ticking of a machine that Wittgenstein devised while working in Newcastle during the second world war, in a research group studying blood loss through so-called wound shock. It's an ingenious instrument for measuring continuous pulse rate - and probably drives the librarians crackers.

But then Wittgenstein was no slouch at mechanical design. He originally trained as an engineer and retained a lifelong fascination for mechanical things (he once took great delight in repairing a fellow philosopher's toilet). He wasn't just a thinker, but also a doer - something few philosophers have managed. To clinch this point, the exhibition includes models of a kite and an aeronautical engine he made while a student in Manchester before the 20th century reached its teens. That engine - it was driven by jets on the tips of the propeller and so exerted no torque on the fuselage - proved revolutionary to the later development of helicopters.

Shortly after he finished work on the house, in 1928, Wittgenstein returned to Cambridge University and philosophy, developing a new philosophical vision that deconstructed his earlier work. It remains hugely influential today.

The Wittgenstein House had a less distinguished future. After the 1938 Anschluss, Gretl fled to New York. In 1945, Russian soldiers used it as barracks and stables. In the 1950s, it was bequeathed to Gretl's son who sold it to a developer for demolition. It was saved by the Vienna Landmark Commission and made a national monument in 1971.

Today it is home for the Cultural Department of the Bulgarian Embassy. Wittgenstein would have hated what they have done to it. Room dividers have been removed to form L-shaped rooms, walls and radiators have been painted white, the hall has been carpeted and wood-panelled. Wittgenstein would have preferred demolition to the cosy, human touches and changes Bulgarian vulgarians have inflicted on his unloveable, unliveable house.

The Unknown Wittgenstein: Architect, Engineer, Photographer is at the Library Print Room, Royal Academy of Art, London W1, until January 28. Details: 020-7300 8000.

#ludwig wittgenstein #art #architecture #philosophy #wittgenstein family #historical sites #history #world war 2 #haus wittgenstein #reviews #exhibitions #critique #austria #vienna #landmarks

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kingofthewilderwest · 5 years

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Deponia Doomsday and Meta: Responding to Gripers in Game?

I haven’t finished Deponia Doomsday and I don’t know spoilers. However, I can already say: the fourth game’s opening is fucking brilliant. So brilliant that apparently I have to write this longass analysis nobody asked for. XD

I love when game creators subtly go meta. In-game they might respond to fans’ criticism or make teasing jokes about previous parts of franchise gameplay. For instance, the first Mass Effect had a terrible driving system with the M35 Mako. That gets referenced in ME 3 when Vega and Cortez argue about what vehicles drive best. ME 1 had frustrating elevator travel with awkward conversations, which Garrus jokes about in ME 3′s Citadel DLC. ME 3 dialogue lovingly pokes fun at imperfect parts of the first game, all while embracing it as part of the universe.

Then I got to Deponia Doomsday. Doomsday’s introduction feels like a hysterical middle finger at people who didn’t appreciate the third game’s ending.

And goodness did that ending bother some people.

Which isn’t surprising, I suppose. Killing the main character in your story can upset some fans. I feel sad about this because I believe this was *THE* right ending for the story. That’s not the focus of this analysis, but in short: Rufus getting a perfect ending in paradise would have felt contrived and unrealistic given the rest of the story’s atmosphere... not to mention... can you imagine Rufus settling down and chilling... with what he’s like? Rufus was a character never meant to have a perfect ending, and there’s far more heart, emotion, and power in a death. After ALL this time being an insensitive megalomaniac... Rufus does a purely selfless act... an act which ends up being his last. Damn. That’s cool. I cried. It’s a brilliant, perfectly chosen ending. It made me love these games more.

Obviously, this ending didn’t please everyone. I’m sure Daedalic Entertainment noticed that.

I suspect - but haven’t confirmed - that for those who enjoyed the series, they:

Tried to find in-story loopholes, etc. in the ending, and thereby argue a way wherein Rufus wasn’t dead.

Tried to pester Daedalic into making a fourth game... despite the fact that Deponia was CLEARLY envisioned as a trilogy from the first game’s release. And despite the fact that it’s hard to make a sequel when your protagonist’s dead.

Enter: Deponia Doomsday.

I was leery of this concept. I could tell Doomsday was working with time travel, alternate universes, and the like... bringing us into an AU where Rufus isn’t dead. I feared Doomsday would retcon what was THE most potent and heartfelt point of the entire series. You can’t bring Rufus back to life! You can’t erase his sacrifice! That would take away all the power of the moment retroactively! It’s a shame when stories do that, undercutting what was once great moments... simply to pull a story beyond when it should have ended, and make more money. Deponia was meant to end at three with Rufus’ death... as much as I’m someone who always enjoys more content from my fandoms, this seemed like shaky and unsatisfying ground to tread.

The opening to Doomsday has entirely assuaged my fears. I shouldn’t have worried about retconning great storytelling points... because if anyone knew that the ending of Goodbye Deponia (#3) was The Right Ending... it was Daedalic themselves.

Repeatedly in Doomsday’s opening, the writers pound in the point that Rufus is DEAD and that’s FINAL. They WILL NOT retcon what happened in Goodbye Deponia and they WILL NOT sacrifice the integrity of the story they’ve written.

They get this point across in many ways, but the two most prominent are Goal’s introductory speech and the first Huzzah song.

Goal reflects over what transpired in games one through three:

The end was never our creation. It was there, all this time. All we did was tempt it - the same way a surfer tempts fate, or tempts a shark by trying to outswim it. A for effort.

We crafted spears against beasts, built walls against spears. Ladders against walls and towers against ladders. After that, we built boats, ramparts, chimneys, shaving-foam-pie catapults, and when all our trash threatened to swallow even our highest spires, we built... a spaceship. Powered by nothing less than the destruction of our own planet.

The preparations took decades. What was meant to be an ark became our home. My home. Elysium. None of us ever thought there were thousands of clueless survivors down in that trash. Our bastion of hope became a herald of doom for Deponia.

Fortunately, the tables turned. One of those clueless people foiled the plan. He saved Deponia and all who were left behind. And he saved me. By falling for me... literally.

The end.

Oh? You don’t like this ending? Still hoping for something more upbeat? Well... it’s like I said. Endings and sharks: don’t tempt them.

Though... I got to admit... even after all this time I keep asking myself: If I was able to turn back time, what would I change? What would be the better ending? Or do I just want it to never end?

There’s so much to appreciate about the opening.

First, it’s a rhetorically well-crafted speech, where even the oddest earlier lines of dialogue come around again (ex: tempting sharks) to focus on one point: the end is the end, even if Goal might want to imagine otherwise.

Second, the speech provides a nice recap for the first three games.

Third, it’s the perfect set-up for what Doomsday is about: an alternate timeline than the main trilogy. From a writing perspective, Goal’s monologue gives game players an introduction into the concept of what Doomsday explores. Even without knowing anything about how other fans might have reacted, this addresses to every player what’s important about Deponia’s story: Rufus’ death was a concrete irreversible end, but we can still explore an alternate timeline of “what if.” It solidifies the ending of Goodbye Deponia, makes it clear there’s no retconning the emotions and events of Rufus’ death, while at the same time opening doors to another adventure with our idiotic anti-hero.

That’s damn meta already. But considering that maybe the writers were aware of fans’ mixed reactions to the third game’s ending, this speech could also be a way to address the controversy.

Goal’s speech might be from her perspective, thinking humanity’s poor actions trashing their planet led to the inevitable conundrum she’s in today. However, the ideas of tempting fate and unavoidable endings are also applicable to game playing fans who wished for a different trilogy conclusion.

It’s not just that Goal sees the ending as inevitable. It’s that the writers, from the storytelling standpoint, see the ending as inevitable, too. “It was there, all this time,” Goal says, and they say, too. Rufus’ story was intentionally, unwaveringly written to end like this; the entire series was structured to build to this end, from its foreshadowing to its tone to what makes sense for effective plot arcs. There might have been some “tempting fate” on the writers’ part by what they chose to include... but ultimately... this had to be the ending for the story to work.

Tempting fate would be trying to goad the writers into a different ending... but trying to make something different could make things worse, no? Careful what you wish for, anyone? Endings and sharks: don’t tempt them.

And then, right in her speech, Goal asks, “Oh? You don’t like this ending? Still hoping for something more upbeat?” It’s like she read peoples’ Steam reviews on Goodbye Deponia’s “disappointing” conclusion. And when she goes on to muse about what she might have changed, she wonders if it’s that she wants it “to never end” - as though fans just want to have more and more and more Deponia games, not a trilogy with a definite, uncontinuable brick-wall end.

As if that weren’t enough to drill the point home, we have the opening tune, too. Every single lyric is meta as fuck.

You old amaurotic pinhead! Act like this thing is not dead, and didn’t Run into a brick wall at full tilt already Let me help you fill that gap in memory Living in the waste Was not to your taste But soon you will gaze Truth straight in the face: That all rivers run eventually to the sea

At this stage it’s evident: There will be no happy end Suck it up, princess! No one cares for your tears! It’s over! I’ve no damns to give For second thoughts that you’re stuck with: Looking for loopholes and wondering “what it?”

This again serves multiple purposes!

The singer has always been the in-game “narrator” of Rufus’ life: he chronicles the past of when their fathers “dwelt in a world filled with rubbish and stink.” He mentions historians, lost records, and the like, so we know that, for the bard, Rufus is a historic figure. The bard’s reason for singing the song? The person he lives with is throwing a fit “about dirty dishes congesting the sink” or other minor household slovenliness; the bard’s trying to deflect his fault in not cleaning the house by talking about when things were worse on a planet of literal trash. It’s trying to guilt his house-sharing listener into being appreciative they live in a more clean environment than the Deponians did. So when the bard tells his listener in the fourth game that they’re an “old amaurotic pinhead” who “act[s] like this thing is not dead,” it’s probably because he’s still being harangued, despite the fact that he “close[d] [his] case; there’s nothing left to say” and went “off now for reals” (got kicked out of the house?). Purely from the perspective of the bard, he’s frustrated that this old dispute is still being brought up - it’s beating a dead horse for which he’s got “no [more] damns to give.”

This also is a good moment of foreshadowing. Again, I haven’t played Doomsday to the end yet, but I’d drink Rufus’ espresso ingredient-per-ingredient if something terrible didn’t happen. In the image above, that looks like Elysium crashed. Rufus talks about how he had a dream where all his friends died. We see old!Rufus destroy the planet with him still on it. I’ve seen fan reviews claim that “Thought 3 was bad emotionally? 4 said ‘hold my beer’.” McChronicle freaks out that he alters the timeline wherein Rufus saves the planet, suggesting we’re now on a timeline where that might not happen. Deponia Doomsday sure as hell ain’t gonna to have some optimal, squishy ending. And this song here foreshadows that: “At this stage it’s evident there will be no happy end.” This game’s story is doomed from the start. And: “Soon you will gaze truth straight in the face: that all rivers run eventually to the sea.” It’s an idea that, you can go into AU territory all you like, you can want something else than the trilogy’s conclusion, it’s INEVITABLE that all alternates will lead to the same, bad-ending sea. The theme of inevitability and tempting fate strikes again.

So there’s all that.

But the bard, more than ever, sounds like he’s talking to game players. The lyrics make the most sense if you hear it as him addressing you.

Gripers in particular.

Every. Single. Line. Sounds. Like. He’s. Addressing. Controversy. About. The. End. Of. Deponia. 3.

You old amaurotic pinhead! Act like this thing is not dead, and didn’t run into a brick wall at full tilt already. As in, all the people who tried to act like Rufus wasn’t dead. These people couldn’t accept that the ending ran into a brick wall: that all the painful horrors happened, and that the ending cannot be budged.

Living in the waste was not to your taste, but soon you will gaze truth straight in the face: that all rivers run eventually to the sea. Dissatisfied players wanted a different conclusion. The bard’s telling them an alternate path wouldn’t have made them any more satisfied.

At this stage it’s evident: there will be no happy end. The ending of Deponia 3 and start of 4 have made it clear Deponia isn’t a story with a happy ending. To deny that would be futile: it’s clear from what everyone’s played that this is how the story’s supposed to go.

Suck it up, princess! No one cares for your tears! It’s over! I’ve no damns to give for second thoughts that you’re stuck with: looking for loopholes and wondering “what it?” Fans can complain all they want. Fans can try to reinterpret the ending to try to explain how Rufus could have survived. But the creators know the truth: the trilogy’s over. It’s ended. It’s sad. Not accepting that means you’re not accepting the reality of the story!

I mean. Holy crap. It literally sounds like Daedalic told gripers, “Suck it up, princess! No one cares for your tears! It’s over! I’ve no damns to give.” IN GAME. Wow.

In fact, the fact that Doomsday exists at all is an interesting response: in some ways, the premise of the fourth game seems to be a “Careful what you wish for” phenomenon. That “if you guys reeeeeaaaalllly want something else and keep begging for something else, you’re tempting fate and you’re going to get an ending that’s even WORSE.” Similar to how Llamas With Hats became increasingly depressing as the creator was pestered to continue the series beyond what it was due, so also is the response here: you’ll get more content, but it won’t be the happy alternative that you wanted.

I don’t want to say that the creators are lashing out against people who didn’t like the ending. I think it’s just as tongue-in-cheek as everything else in the Deponia series: written with a little edge for humorous effect. They’re not addressing grumblers to be rude, but instead to be clear: they’re not changing the ending, and they’re not apologetic about what they wrote here.

Deponia Doomsday isn’t made with salt... the creators have come up with another story that’s a fun and worthy addition to the universe. They’re not making another game JUST as a response, but because they came up with something worth telling. However, given as they might have heard lots of complaints, or people trying to explain-away to a happier ending, or people begging for a fourth game... I would not be surprised if they’re intentionally addressing these things intentionally by inserting them in-game.

Now, this whole shpeel that I’ve looked at doesn’t have to be an intended addressal to grumblers. It can also be read as meta addressing any generic game playing fan who might have felt emotionally battered at the trilogy’s conclusion. It’s a simple acknowledgement that the third game’s ending would be reason to make someone emotional. It’s not something that’s attacking criticism, but something that’s discussing the nature of the story itself. Everything in Goal’s speech and the bard’s lyrics fit this bill. It doesn’t have to be the case that it’s any addressal to fandom reaction.

Still... to me it sorta feels like a response to gripers is in there. Not as the sole intention, but as part of it? I’m not saying this is an addressal to grumblers, but that it very well could be.

I suspect that this game’s introduction was written with an intent to handle all of the above I’ve talked about.

Nevertheless. Whether it’s one meta or the other, it’s a brilliant use of meta in Doomsday’s opening. It’s brilliant if it’s just talking about the in-game course Deponia’s led, and how that might make players sad. It’s brilliant if it’s actually meant as a meta response to mixed reviews.

Love it.

Repeatedly, at the start of Doomsday, the writers get across EXACTLY this point: that the ending of #3 c-a-n-n-o-t be reversed. This has two brilliant effects:

It allows the story to explore an AU without retconning the emotions of the first game.

AND. As I said, it’s a middle finger at anyone who might not have liked this ending. It’s not a rude middle finger - it won’t turn away fans or anything - and it’s 100% in the game series’ character. But it’s a way that hits the point HOME that Rufus DIED and that is FINAL.

So for me, as someone who adores what the trilogy did, I couldn’t be more stoked at this meta start. It’s hammered, over and over and over, that the conclusion is what it is. It gives me a new adventure to explore without fearing a plot-irreverent, money-grabbing retcon. It’s amusing, it’s meta, it’s multi-faceted, it’s well-conceived.

Yeah. I shouldn’t have worried about the fourth game’s content at all.

#long post #non-dragons #Deponia Doomsday #Deponia #Goodbye Deponia #Deponia spoilers #Rufus #analysis #my analysis #as always... who knows if my qualified thesis came off as well as is in my head

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mimiplaysgames · 6 years

Text

Strength to Protect the Things That Matter (Ch. 21)

Pairing: Terra/Aqua Rating: T Other characters: Garnet, Aqua, Hope, Rydia, Noctis, Riku, Kefka Word Count: 7,113

Summary: Terra has prayed for years. He wanted relief from having no one to talk to in the dark, except with the monster of a man who stole his life. One day, when two boys get a lead, he gets his chance - less than a week - to set things right before he loses everything again.

AO3 FF.net

A/N: I’m so damn excited to finally get to this! The flashback scene was inspired by @holyteapotofrussell ‘s absolutely adorable art that features Terra and Aqua as children. They also wrote an equally adorable fic that fits their headcanons for this art piece. Please check out their work and send love! Thank you so much for allowing me to use this piece as inspiration. It’s been MONTHS since I have asked you for this, and I have been so blessed to get to you know you since. <3

I have been asked by a Tumblr reader to include pictures/video of Final Fantasy characters that have never appeared on Kingdom Hearts before. I included those links at the end of this chapter.

Clowning

The windows on the second floor of the hotel have large enough window sills that Terra can sit on one and stare away at the clock tower. Hope has given him an herbal drink brewed with acacia for strength and alertness. Everyone who volunteers to fight Kefka will drink this ahead of the battle. For now, all he can do is wait for orders.

But it isn’t the fight with Kefka that occupies his mind. He holds his Wayfinder in his hand, stroking it as he daydreams about meeting her again.

Being that Aqua has been surviving in the Realm of Darkness for a little more than twelve years, Terra builds an image of her in his mind. She is about thirty years old now. The baby fat will subside, leaving hollower cheeks and stronger cheekbones. She will probably be curvier than before, in all the right places. If she smiles at all, the lines of her eyes will grace them. Her hair may have grown out, and it’s a wonder how long it is now. Maybe it already is showing sneaky strands of gray. Her eyes will be the same. Either way, she would still be pretty.

The sound of shaky wheels creep up behind him. Garnet is pushing a cart filled with bandages, multi-colored potions, and a large pitcher of water, approaching a door. He gets up and holds it open for her so she can slip through. The lights in the room are dimly lit in a warm glow, almost as if to be relaxing... but it’s a different story altogether. Inside are two rows of small beds, each with a person either sleeping, coughing, or dealing with pain. There are more people, as well - some with arm slings, others who do not have any visible injuries but are perhaps suffering nonetheless. Some of them approach her when she enters.

“Terra,” she calls as she is surrounded, “would you be a dear and fetch me those cups?”

She points to a number of cups that are placed high on a shelf - clearly too high for her unless she used a ladder. Terra states that he will help her, and follows her around as he pours each person in the room a cup of water. She speaks quietly to every single person in the room. He overhears her asking much of the same questions: if they have any pain, if they are thirsty, when was their last meal, if they are calm and comfortable.

For those in pain or who have open wounds, she uses her magic to heal them, holding her hands up close to the physical source, a bright light mesmerizing out of them as she works. It is not the same as the green healing aura that emits out of a Cure spell that all Keyblade wielders know (or from any other magic casters he’s seen). The color is nearly white instead.

And she does it effortlessly, almost like a thought, without having to pray for it or summon it vocally. Each time she does it, the dimness of the room brightens up just a little. It’s truly a special gift.

When she’s done, they head for the room directly next door: a small storage room with no windows, a row of cupboards, and a sink. Garnet drags a tall stool across to climb it, in order to store some things away.

Terra leans against the wall. “You are amazing with magic. It’s unique, where did you learn it from?”

Garnet stands straight as an arrow as she balances on the stool, almost as if she is aware that she may fall. She beckons Terra to hand her empty bottles.

“My professor.” She smiles as her eyes travel into memory. “I’ve spent all of my youth in his library, with not much to do except to indulge myself in his works. He gifted me the use of magic... Of course, he was also good on his promise that I was to be presentable as a lady.”

He holds his hand out to help her balance. She hops off the stool.

“I was also in a library practically my whole life,” he says. “My Master ran an academy for Keyblade wielders.”

“And what did your mother think of this?” She reaches for a clipboard and writes in it, checking off an inventory list.

“My Master adopted me.” Terra chuckles, his cheeks warm. It’s one of the best memories of his life. “What about you? Did you have a mother?”

“No, I sprouted off some hole in the ground,” she says dryly, continuing her list as though she isn’t fazed by the question.

A nervous crackle - he didn’t realize it was such a poorly worded question. “I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

Garnet stops writing and dramatically turns to him with a grin on her face, touching the crystal that hangs off her neck. “This is my inheritance, from my mother.” She places the clipboard on the sink counter. “I do wonder about your own knowledge of magic. I know all Keyblade wielders can cast spells.”

“Yeah, and we’re each unique in how we mold it. But I’m not that good at traditional spells.”

“Yet you do know how to recognize skill with it. I beg to ask for the story behind that.”

He finds a chair and sits, rubbing his chin as a tight smile forms on his face.

“My best friend, Aqua.” It doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue like it used to. He wonders if she’s really a best friend anymore, in the case that he ruined everything about the two of them. He forces this thought out of his mind. For now, it’s better to pretend that nothing’s changed. “She’s really spectacular with it.”

The day was cloudy and breezy - but not the kind that left the sky dark. When the sun wasn’t beating down on the mountains so harshly, he could see the coloring of the trees and the rivers far away even better in weather like this. They were taking a walk on some short ledges, where the terrain was particularly rocky. As long as they promised not to go too far (and as long as Terra promised to hold her hand so they wouldn’t separate), they could venture much farther than the gardens within the castle perimeters.

Aqua had been with them for a year now, and had just turned nine. For her last birthday, Eraqus gave her a pointy hat adorned with stars and moons (much like an old friend of his, he said at the time). A wizard’s hat, because she had expressed so much interest in learning magic. She wasn’t wearing it now. It instead rested on top of a giant book of basic spells that she wanted to drag around with her.

Right now, she was practicing cartwheels and backflips. She was slow to start them as she braced herself before the execution, but she gracefully landed each one with perfection. Or at least she made it look that way. Her long pigtails flicked before landing on her shoulders again with each presentation of athletic ability.

But that was the thing with her. Perfection. Always trying to get Eraqus to notice it. Always trying to make sure she got it right each and every time. It made him look bad. It was annoying.

Terra was ten years old. Two digits, that was. He was supposed to be proud, and he was supposed to be better naturally because he was older. “I can do that, too,” he scoffed.

“I never saw you do it well,” she retorted with a smirk.

Eraqus had tried to get him to understand that he really was much better than her at most things - fighting, memorizing what was in the books, doing chores, being adept in the outdoors. He had tried to tell Terra to allow her to be proud of her flexibility and mastery of her own body.

But that still made him lesser. Worse still, she admired Eraqus for being a Master. And he wanted her to admire him as well, because he worked hard for it. “You’ll eat your words.”

His cartwheel, according to her, looked like a frog trying to hop with its stubby forelegs. What followed was an attempt at throwing himself even harder so his legs would straighten out. He could already do handstands - cartwheels were different.

What came next was a flop onto the ground, a tumble off a rock, down one of those tiny ledges, and a roll against rough terrain. His reward was several scrapes all over his arms, and a horrible throbbing sting on his knee.

“You ok?” she called to him, and he held his knee as he grimaced and squirmed a bit, shaking his head. She ran down to him, one hand holding the hat on her head and the other arm draped over the book, which was as large as her torso.

“Can you stand?” she asked as she sat beside him.

“No.” His voice was meek and he sniffed. The scrape on his knee was large and bloody, and tiny rocks wedged into it that made it hurt more. He told himself to keep it together. He had fallen way too many times to count that normally it wasn’t a big deal.

But when he got really hurt, the worst that came was the lecture the Master would give him.

“Let me help.” She said that too excitedly, and she brushed her pigtails and straightened the hat. She laid the book on the ground and flipped through it until she got to a page displaying calligraphy. The chapter was titled ‘Basic Healing Spells.’ She whispered what she was reading to herself, before facing him. “How does it feel?”

“It burns and it stings.” He slowly rubbed the dirt off the scrape.

She continued to read off the book, but waiting for her did not help the pain go away.

“Can you hurry it up?” He held his hands tightly on each side of the knee, hoping that the pressure would ease it.

She put her hands on her hips. “Shush!”

He leaned on his hands while she continued reading, sighing. From the corner of his eye, he could see that she held a finger to her chin. It looked as though, just for a second, she was ready to cast the spell because she started to face him... only to go back to sticking her nose into the book.

The stinging was coming in waves, and he leaned forward a little. “Before I die, Aqua?”

She gave him a quick, severe glare. She hated that word. ‘Die.’

“Sorry,” he said. He tried to breathe deeply while she continued to read.

Then she was ready. He held his knee while she waved her hand over it. She called out “Cure!” but what came was a horrendous burn instead. The kind of burn that would bite when touching something icy.

She had cast Blizzard by accident. He screamed as the ice dug itself into his knee. She yelled her apologies multiple times as he whimpered in pain, until she held her hands to her eyes and cried.

This sight made him uncomfortable, but he couldn’t understand why. “Don’t cry,” he said shakily. “I’m fine, really.” He grunted and breathed sharply. It hurt really badly, but the crying was what he will remember. It just made him sad.

“Can I try again? Please?” She wiped the tears flowing from her face, sniffling.

He hesitated first before agreeing, this time dealing with the sharpness of what felt like a knife rubbing itself while giving her all the time she needed.

She hesitated to cast again. She closed her eyes, telling herself audibly to just relax, and then called for a Cure spell again. It felt soothing, and it was like the pain was just lifted off the knee by some angelic force.

Relief. His arms went loose as he dropped onto his back, relaxing into the grass, gazing up at the clouds.

“I did it!” She laid on the ground next to him. She flashed a huge toothy smile, her face marked by dry tear streaks.

Garnet holds her hand to her mouth, almost in a way that gives him the impression that laughing as hard as she is would be considered unladylike. “She sounds brilliant,” she says.

“She is,” he says softly, his heart pumping as these words leave his mouth.

“Describe her to me.”

He gives her a wide-eyed stare, not knowing how to interpret such a request. “Um, well she has blue hair and blue eyes.”

Garnet, once sporting a smile, straightened her mouth into a line as she rolls her lips inward. “I was hoping for a more dramatized, romantic kind of description.” When he looks at her confused, she continues. “Much like what you would hear at a theater.”

He chuckles sharply. It isn’t exactly pleasant to have everyone around him read his feelings so easily, especially when he isn’t trying to be so blatant about them.

He considers a daydream of Aqua standing next to him. He would hold her close and kiss her in all the ways he was terrified to do before, because it kills him to wait longer. Because he should muster up the courage that he struggled with all these years, since she is still the one person who frightens him the most.

And yet, either way, he isn’t a romantic. “I don’t think I can do that.”

“You can start by comparing her to a symbol of your choice.” Garnet’s smile widens, her voice warm and encouraging. Hoping for entertainment.

At first he thinks about the unique way Aqua fights. It’s always mesmerizing to watch. “She dances when she fights. She... sometimes she’ll jump in the air and hit her enemies with a lot of...” What kind of person dances in the air? “It’s like looking at a ma-rio-nette.” The last word comes out rigid, as though he has tried to stop himself in the middle of it but he was too far into the word to be successful. Stupid.

Garnet’s brows furrow and her eyes narrow. “That was dreadful.”

“Can I try again?”

She holds up one finger, and he takes his time to think about it, going through several comparisons in his mind. His heart flutters, and finds himself wanting to get it right this time. He begins slowly, “Her eyes are like shallow ocean water, on a bright sunny day.”

Garnet claps her hands together. “That was so lovely.”

He laughs nervously as he runs his fingers through his hair. Not knowing what to say, he sits silently as she continues to gush about his words.

The clock strikes ten. Garnet’s laughter turns off, and she holds one hand to her heart, as if she’s monitoring how hard it’s beating.

When the clock is finished, a loud siren goes off. It blares loudly until it fades, only for it sway into a high-pitched scream again. Repeat. Garnet closes her eyes as it continues to weave back and forth into their consciousness, whispering to Terra that it’s a signal for a strict curfew - though most know to be in their homes by now.

When it’s over, she slowly opens her eyes, forcing a smile. “Come along, Terra. We mustn’t fear the reaper.”

The streets are completely empty except for the volunteers making their way into the third district, which is located several blocks from the hotel. It’s an incredibly modern area, where electric lights and fountains are fully utilized in its architecture. Riku tells Terra that this area has been recently quarantined. Normally, they choose territories farther away, but the more people go missing, the more Heartless will stick around in those previous battlegrounds. The numbers prove too much during an intense ten-minute fight. All the residents previously living in the third district have been evacuated.

In the corners of the block that will be the battle site, there are stacked cartridges, filled with ammunition for energy guns, offensive potions, first aid supplies, healing potions and smoke bombs. There are also small electric bombs placed high on a few of the buildings, and Terra is told to keep his distance from them.

Some people are even tasked with battering rams. Overall, it seems like the scientific team in Radiant Garden has spent a number of hours supplying the faction here with weapons. But what is most surprising of all is that there seems to be about forty people there, just to fight one Heartless.

They approach one of the hubs where some cartridges are stacked, where Hope is doing a final check-up.

“What are you doing here?” Terra asks him, surprised that they allow someone so young in such a dangerous arena.

“I’m a mage,” Hope says in a matter-of-fact way. He sounds nervous, but not enough to be intimated by the question. Almost as if he knows he has to be there. “I’m nowhere near as good as the others.” He gestures towards Noctis, Garnet, and Rydia, who are standing together in the middle of block, deep into a conversation that is impossible to eavesdrop from where they stand. Hope then turns quickly to Terra in an attempt to justify his words. “B-but I heal really well.”

Doesn’t this mean that he would be a target for Kefka? “Aren’t you scared?”

“Of course, we all are.” Hope scatters his sight on the clipboard in his hands. “This isn’t my first fight. I have survived the others, so I can survive this one.” He nods. These words are more for his own sake than for comforting Terra’s worry.

Hope then invites Terra to walk with him, and they approach Rydia, who is gazing into the electric lights as if she is studying them. She is holding her biceps like she is giving herself a hug, her long sleeves barely touching the ground. She gives them a tense smile, and reaches her arm out to embrace Hope.

“You ready for this?” she asks the boy.

“You ask me that every time.” He accepts the hug, and seems to relax when she places her hand on his head.

“And like every time, it won’t be an easy night.” She smiles widely at Terra. “But we have Terra for now. Maybe we’ll have it luckier.”

It’s such a warming thought that Terra feels his stomach swell. “That’s what I’m here for. We’ll both look out for you.” He ruffles through Hope’s hair, and it makes the boy smile.

Hope then hands Noctis his clipboard, which the latter places on top of several others. There are so many burning questions about what’s going on that Terra can’t help but speak out about them - against Garnet’s warning not to.

“I notice that the streets are empty. It seems like everyone else is hiding in their homes. Why face Kefka if you can just hide out?” Terra asks, trying his best to sound respectful, certain that they’ve all tried different scenarios in dealing with this situation.

Noctis’ jaw tenses before he speaks. “If no one’s outside to greet it, it will just destroy random buildings and crush everyone inside.” His tone is incredibly serious and raw. When he sees how shocked Terra is, he continues. “It’s a clown. It wants an audience.”

There is such contempt and anger in his tone that it’s undeniable. Regardless, Cid, who is passing by as this is said, loudly clears his throat and barked a “That’s highly inappropriate.” Noctis returns the statement with a glare so severe that if it had powers, it would have killed him.

Terra doesn’t know what to say in return, and a part of him wishes he never asked. How often did they experiment to learn something like that? Something on his face must have given his guilt away, because Noctis continues after a moment of silence.

“Those were some painful experiences. I remember being so scared every other night.” He flips a page on the clipboard. “The surprises always hit us the hardest, and when we lost the most.” He’s been at the same page for so long that it’s possible he stopped reading. “We’ve been fighting it for so long now that it seems like we know everything there is to know. And yet, sometimes, I still ask myself the same question: what if tonight is one where we will learn something new about it, and we aren’t prepared?”

Terra has been holding his fist, not realizing that he’s doing so. It’s not an easy subject to reply to. “I’m sure if you know everything about it, then tonight should go smoothly.” Is that an insensitive statement?

Noctis scoffs. “As smoothly as it could ever be.”

“Oy, we need to take the picture!” Garnet calls out to the two of them, and Noctis promptly agrees. He does it so quickly it’s as if the photograph is the most important event of the night.

Hope is setting up a camera that stands on a tripod, and Rydia makes a motion where she holds one open palm up and brushes it with her fingers. “This thing is amazing. It can create little paintings that have no brush strokes,” she says to Terra. The joy she is emanating is sincere, a rare source of light in such a tense night.

Rydia then calls out to other members that Terra has met, ordering him to stand in the middle since he’s the tallest. She tells Garnet and Hope specifically to stand in front of him (Hope replies that he’s still preparing the camera). Rydia stands to Terra’s right and rests her hand on his shoulder. Riku is beside her. Noctis stands to Terra’s left, with Cid by his side.

Noctis briefly pats Terra’s shoulder and says, “Welcome to the fam.”

Garnet turns, holding her fingers to her chin and pronouncing out a ‘Fam?’

Hope says that the camera is ready and rushes to his position while Garnet briskly faces the camera again and prepares her posture. Terra makes it a point to hold both of their shoulders, and gives a smile as the camera flashes.

As soon as it’s over, Hope scurries to pick up the tripod and runs to put it away. The group huddles around in a circle, waiting for him to come back. Garnet holds out her hand toward the center of the circle. Rydia places her hand on top, followed by Cid and Riku, and lastly by Hope. Noctis nods to Terra as if to invite him in, and he only rests his own when Terra complies.

“We’re here for another night,” Noctis says, his voice cracking. “And the only reason why I’m still whole, and why you’re all here, is because of all the friends we’ve lost. We’ll give them the remembrance they deserve. We’ll fight this thing, and tonight will be the one where we can finally breathe because it will be all over. I’m immensely proud to fight alongside all of you.” Even through a glove, Terra can feel the young leader’s hand tremble.

Hope hesitates to speak, but does so anyway. “Here’s to many more nights where we can be together.”

Noctis chuckles. “That’s something Sora would say.”

Riku nods in agreement. “We should call him our mascot next time he’s here.”

Hope laughs at the suggestion, his eyes beaming. In some ways, imitating Sora seems to bring out the best in him.

Noctis takes a breath. “Be safe, everyone.” And he lets go. Everyone else situates into some pre-determined position, and Riku leads Terra to stand out in the open, behind the leader of the group. Garnet stands staggered behind them.

��You, me, and Noct will be the heavy hitters,” Riku says. “The others will support us from behind. You should know that Kefka carries six swords on its back. They are all deadly poisonous.”

“Lovely.”

“It will also freeze at some point and blow out a toxic gas - also fatal.”

Terra breathes out quickly. “Anything else I should know?”

“When it eventually materializes, cover your ears. Once the clock’s done chiming, it’s showtime.”

Riku leaves his side to find a position with some distance between them, and summons his Keyblade. Garnet holds a shortstaff in both her hands, and brings up the orb that sits on the tip of it to her forehead while whispering a spell. It glows, and a spinning crystal covers every individual on that block before completely disappearing. If Terra focuses on the space in front of him, he can see tiny sparkling particles.

The protection spell.

Hope brings out a large boomerang and holds his stance directly behind Terra, standing the farthest behind. Rydia pulls out a whip and waits by a manhole that is releasing a misty cloud. Cid readies a spear, and holds his place by the volunteers, his job to order them during the fight. The rest of the volunteers are ready with their energy guns, and explosive potions. The battering rams are set. Noctis stands the farthest forward as the leader, not holding any weapon but looking up, as if he is expecting someone tall.

The clock strikes eleven. No words are uttered. Terra summons his Keyblade and holds it close. Everyone around him keeps a lookout.

Eleven.

The bubbling sound that signals the appearance of a Heartless is deep this time, and a large black mass immediately forms right after the last chime. A tall, colorful, humanoid stomps onto the ground, and the entire area shakes.

It laughs. A mechanical laugh that sounds like it’s coming from a speaker, but it is so high-pitched that it feels as though Terra’s head is being crushed inside a metal crusher. He holds his head and yells out loud, hearing everyone else yell out as well.

Then it starts. Kefka is nine feet tall at least. Its joints are bolted, its limbs thin. It wears a ridiculous clown costume, with the black and red insignia that signifies its existence as a Heartless large on its chest. The colors on the costume are a sickly combustion of yellows, purples, greens, and reds, with a bright white ruffle collar that is pointed at the ends. Its shoes are mismatched.

It’s especially ugly in the face - it dons a white mask with red painted lines that mark its mouth and eyes, screwed onto the face. The teeth that are drilled into a permanent smile are sharp. The skin right around its bright yellow eyes are charcoal black. It is topped off with a garish feather sticking out of its hair. There are six swords, three behind each shoulder, which are as thin as needles.

Noctis summons a broadsword the first moment he gets and throws it at Kefka. He disappears. The sword flies into the air, and right before Kefka can block it, Noctis re-appears in the air and reclaims his weapon. He warps from various spots in the air as he strikes Kefka’s arms, which are up in defense. He strikes, then warps. Repeat. This process keeps him the air and makes him a difficult target for Kefka to grab.

The other volunteers start to open fire, aiming at its face. At first glance, the battle doesn’t seem too bad. Kefka seems slow to react, casting its gaze around as if dazed by all the violence directed at it. Then it sweeps an arm - a movement so quick that it can’t be predicted considering how long it takes for the clown to think. A group of men are thrown back. An explosion. It then tries to blast Noctis, who throws his sword onto the roof of a faraway building and warps there.

Garnet juggles between following Noctis in order to stay close to him and casting her white healing spells toward the people just injured. Rydia holds her hands ahead of her, chanting as the mist from the manhole solidifies.

Out from the mist flies a silver dragon. Riku jumps onto it, taking a ride across the sky. Cid yells some orders and runs around the clown while Terra follows.

At this point, Kefka is skipping around the block, its hands behind its back. Any time a person throws an explosive or shoots at it, its retaliation is tremendous and widespread. It stops. It dances, waving its arms. Explosions appear at random. There are plenty of sporadic cries, and men barking more orders. Hope makes laps as he he tries to heal anyone caught in the foray.

The dragon spreads a thick fog to hide some of the straggling volunteers as they carry out the injured from the immediate battlefield. Riku takes the right moment to jump off of it, striking Kefka from the top. Terra runs in an attempt to strike its legs - this is the perfect opportunity to trip it, considering that it is striding so casually in one direction.

Kefka shudders a moment. It makes an about-face and runs the opposite way, and Terra misses it.

The Heartless drags Riku its in hand before slamming him into the ground. The six swords float outward and Kefka makes a sweeping motion to strike Riku in a rush. He uses his Keyblade to block each one. The Heartless then waves in the opposite direction, the swords following suit. Noctis warps behind the clown’s head and makes several strikes. Rydia casts bombardments of fireballs and icebergs to push it back and away from the teenage Keyblade wielder. Her dragon comes and picks Riku from the ground, taking him to Garnet for healing.

The Heartless freezes for a moment, slowly turning to face Noctis. There is a widening of its eyes, as if Noctis’ strike is the most offensive out of everything else that is happening.

It doesn’t like its face or its head being touched.

“Let’s get him at the ankles!” Terra calls out to Cid, with the latter aiming to throw his spear. Terra strikes the ground, shattering the concrete and tripping Kefka some before it could attack Noctis. It doesn’t come down to its knees, but it eyes Terra. It stares as him as he sends shockwaves of light to attack it, its smile plastered.

It grabs Terra, too quick for him to dodge. It squeezes, and purple strikes of electricity engulf him, making the protection crystal around him visible as he screams from the pain.

Then it throws him before sending a dark blast of its own against him, shooting out from its palm. He hears what sounds like glass shattering as he lands onto the ground.

Terra can’t hear anything. Any voices are muffled and indecipherable. His vision is blurred, and he feels dizzy enough that he can’t feel anything. No pain. No fear. He just needs to stand up. But what for? He forgets where he is, and just wants to move. Just to figure out where he is so he can decide what to do. Just move, dammit.

His vision clears a bit. His face feels wind on it, his hair blowing. Right in front of him, rocks are floating. Gently spinning in the air. He’s like a feather, levitating above the ground as well.

He should have been face down on the ground.

When he realizes this, he falls flat onto himself, the rocks falling alongside him. There is pain in every muscle, and he’s twitching.

There are glows of green, literally pulling some of the pain out of him, and leaving behind a comforting warmth.

“You ok?” Hope calls out. The healer runs up to Terra, and helps him up. He continues to heal the Keyblade Wielder by gesticulating wide circles, so that Terra can start to be fixed all over. He mumbles to Hope that he’s fine, although he’s still dizzy. He isn’t sure what he just saw.

Some of the buildings have been destroyed and are up in flames. More bodies, uncertain if dead or alive, are being carried out of the area. Kefka is jumping around and twirling, making it difficult for Noctis to land a hit. Some of the volunteers wait until their opportunity, and run the battering ram right into the clown. They push it against a building, and a bomb goes off, knocking it forward onto the ground.

Terra hears a voice: “Darkness!”

Riku, covered in a purple aura, charges ahead to pick a sword fight with the fallen clown. The power gives him an edge in speed. He attempts to strike it in the face - the one place Kefka is most protective of. Riku hits furiously, following each with another. Kefka bellows a tremendous screech, which sounds like gears rubbing against each other in super speed.

It’s loud and worse than a nail scratch. Everyone close to the clown, including Riku, run as fast as they can away from it. Hope grabs Terra by the wrist and tries to get him as far back as possible.

From its neck and its joints a purple gas blows out, which flies far out and floats into the sky. No one is near it when this happens, and all wait until it dissipates before approaching again, giving the clown plenty of time to pick itself up and skip around. Another dance, another set of random explosions.

Terra, breathing heavily, readies his stance for when Kefka passes by him - although it’s difficult to do so. The pain may have been healed, but he is still unable to lift his heavy Ends of the Earth with confidence. He curses at himself for being weak. Hope stands by him, bracing for whatever Terra is silently planning in his mind. Maybe to heal him again. I can do this. I’ll trip him when he comes...

Should I use darkness this time? What if I turn against the others?

A sword is thrown up against Kefka’s cheek. It doesn’t even scar or leave a mark, but Noctis appears anyway, aiming just for the face. Kefka laughs, and it hurts every ounce of Terra’s head. It’s the worst headache he’s ever had.

When he comes to, Noctis is struggling to stand up, collapsed against a wall. Kefka prepares an energy blast in its palm. Garnet rushes and slides onto her knees, putting herself between Noctis and Kefka. She holds her shortstaff, the orb glowing. An intense pillar of light shoots upward from the ground, making everything shake. It sends a loud swoop before it swallows itself, and the light is gone.

It is enough to send the clown backward.

With his arm around Garnet, Noctis throws his sword towards the entrance of the third district, where all the injured are gathered. He dissipates, and she is carried through the air before being dropped behind the cartridges. She holds her sides, as if tired and in pain, unable to stand straight without leaning on someone else.

Rydia throws more fireballs, each one larger than the previous one. She engulfs Riku’s Keyblade in flames, and he rides her dragon again in another attempt to hit Kefka where it hurts. It blocks his attempts, and it ravages the dragon with a dark forcewave, throwing it aside along with its rider. Kefka rules its swords as they twirl around it, aiming it to make sweeping motions against the female mage. A boomerang hits the clown on the back of the head.

The clown hits Hope directly with a dark blast from its palm. The crystal around the boy becomes visible and shatters. He slumps on the ground.

Kefka laughs and everyone screams. It skips away.

Terra scuffles to Hope, who is still breathing. He cradles him in his arms. “You’re going to be okay,” he says. “I know a little bit of healing magic.” (It is true, but he’s not in the position to heal such a terrible injury.)

Hope writhes in pain, his eyes darting in every direction. He grabs Terra by the arm, and nearly scratches him because the grip is so desperate. “Don’t let me go to sleep,” he begs, a tear falling.

His breathing is sporadic, but it slows to a restful state. His eyes close. A warm pink-orange glow shines from out of his chest.

Eraqus has always told them that touching a heart is forbidden, for it can cause irreversible harm. There is Hope’s heart, floating in the air. It looks bright, and Terra aims to grab it with both his hands but stops himself. It turns dark before disappearing, Hope’s body evaporating along with it. In his mind, it happens so slowly, cursing himself because he lost the chance to grab the heart and put it back. Even though it occurred over seconds.

“He’s too young,” he says softly. No one is close enough to hear him. He stares at his lap, where Hope was just laying.

Ahead of him is Rydia, who witnessed it. Her face contorts into fury. She casts lightning, with a power so forceful that it spreads all over the area. It chaotically flies in every direction, hitting the clown. Thunder strikes when her magic marks her target, clapping several times.

She continues to send lightning against the Heartless, making it shake. Kefka walks in resistance against her casting, taking its time with every step. It keeps getting close to her, its swords floating behind it, and she can’t hold it back anymore.

Terra, silent tears coming down his own face, grunts and summons his armor. Just let the dark heat take over. Let it bring life back into his muscles. Let it give him the strength to wield his giant Keyblade. Curse this Heartless. Curse Xehanort for making it possible for it to exist.

He sprints forward, striking an ankle so hard that the monster actually trips to its knees. Shatter the ground. Strike its swords directly, strong enough to hold back the pressure that the clown is pushing against him. Send shockwaves of black and purple to damage the Heartless.

Kefka blasts him directly. If it weren’t for the armor, he would have been suffering the same fate as Hope. He is thrown against a wall behind him. Even with the armor for protection, being thrown this hard against such metal makes him ache. He is on his knees, breathing deeply into his helmet. He needs to get up. He needs to defend himself from the next energy blast that the Heartless is preparing for him.

He hears the crack of a whip. Rydia strikes the clown in the face, although she doesn’t scar it. She whips it a second time. A third, a fourth. She mouths spells as she summons a large fireball. Kefka grabs one of its swords and prepares to brush it across her. She hits the Heartless first.

Kefka steps through her fire, and swipes the sword across her, breaking her protection.

Then stabs her with it.

She stumbles backward, holding her oblique. Unable to get up, she looks up to the clown, and relaxes. Not because she is passing out. Not because she is too weak. It is much like the exact moment where a lamb knows that it’s too late to strive for life. She closes her eyes and waits for whatever it will do next.

Terra hates the clown more. He sprints in front of her and calls for another shockwave, throwing Kefka backwards and onto its back. He stays by Rydia, but instead of waiting for the clown to retaliate, he prepares a mass of darkness. It swirls and flickers around him, and he feels his Keyblade throbbing with the power. This is the end. I will destroy you.

Kefka stands up and stares at Terra. A swirl of darkness surrounds it and it disappears.

Terra looks toward the clock tower. Ten minutes past eleven. Terra shakes hard enough that the armor makes noises. He yells, because the darkness makes his head hurt so damn much. He pulls his helmet off. It’s so hot, and he’s sweating, but the exposure to the outside air doesn’t cool his face. I have to stay in control. I need to let this darkness go.

The pain is so bad that he cries out in half-breaths. He can still see the traces of smoke emanating through the cracks of his armor. He loses all feeling in his limbs.

“Are you alright?”

He looks up to see Garnet rushing as fast she can while she stumbles. She kneels in front of him. “Where does it hurt?” she asks.

“H-headache.” It’s too difficult to talk. Am I losing control of my mouth?

She holds her hand out by his temple. A warm white light, a pure light, and the pain slowly fades away. He can lift his limbs, and he stops trembling. His breathing steadies.

Garnet gently squeezes his wrist. “I saw what happened,” she says solemnly. “I must tend to the wounded, but I’ll be sure to add him to the list.” She gets up and meets with other people, including Riku, who are down on the ground as well.

The list. A same type of list that Aerith and Tifa collect to count how many people turn into Heartless after the end of a swarm. A pile of former identities. As time passes by, it’s only faces that are lost in the throws of it. Hope’s face.

“This looks bad,” he hears Cid say behind him. Noctis cradles Rydia in his arms, who has her hands up. She’s quivering with such a force that Cid has to be the one to carry her.

“Can you get up?” Riku limps over to Terra. “We are going to have a long night. There are always Heartless that pop up everywhere when Kefka’s been around. Including the hotel.”

Terra leans on his Keyblade to stand up. Garnet will come back after taking care of more immediate injuries to heal the both of them more, so they can be in better shape for the upcoming hours.

Some people are being carried in stretchers. Others have their arms draped on those strong enough to help them walk. Some are left behind for now - the unlucky ones who haven’t escaped this specific slaughterhouse. It’s just one that exists among the thousands of stars out there, each of them marked by Xehanort as his personal experiment.

Lambs for his needs, and Keyblade wielders as his tools.

For those of you who would like some references as to who these FF characters are. I added photos first and then some videos that suits their personalities:

Noctis (x) (x) (yep I’m cheap) Garnet (x) (x) (skip ahead to 4:19 for the vid) Rydia (x) (x) (that was difficult - this game was re-made for the DS) Hope (x) (x) (hard to find one without context or melodrama) Kefka (x) (x) (had to include his classic laugh)

#terraqua #terqua #kingdom hearts fanfiction #kh fanfic #terra #aqua #riku #garnet til alexandros #noctis lucis caelum #rydia of mist #hope estheim #cid #kefka palazzo #oh my this is finally out #i can't believe i have written this chapter #i've been daydreaming about this for MONTHS #and it's finally existing #my fic

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cecke8 · 6 years

Text

Your Ginger Housemate - Part 13

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So I’ve been trying to create more of an idea of what I’m visualising through the pictures I’m adding. If you refer to Part 12, the picture of the alley is what I visualise behind the apartments. So that’s just something to link and think about.

How could I do something like that? I almost lost control after all this time making sure all I would “behave myself”. Make sure I’m always in a good mood. Make sure I always rein in my anger. Make sure I don’t scare her anymore! That was the deal I made myself when I started living there.

Okay sure, I frighten her sometimes - like when I’m standing in the doorway for a while, but I’ve always scared people from time to time. I guess it’s because, ever since I was really young, I developed the habit of walking really softly.

No one would hear me enter rooms, so they’d turn around and I’d just kinda’ be there. Funny though. Their fear fueled me. Still does, so I just let the habit become an advanced skill of mine. But that fear is reasonable. The fear I must have just given y/n was worse. A lot worse.

How could I do something like that? Ugh!

I kick a trashcan and it goes clattering down the alley for a good five, seven meters? I couldn’t care. The heavy throb in my toes signifies that I belted that thing pretty hard. I’m not gonna lie, it felt good. I feel so wound up, but why... Y/n’s parents! No wonder I wound up.

Behaving “normally” is exhausting me mentally and physically. I have to be so careful all the time. I probably shoulda’ started with a more... cocky persona? That’s how she would define it anyway. Maybe Tyrone shoulda’ been a little less reserved? But then her parents wouldn’t adore me as much as they do. Well, her mom anyhow, her dad is a little trickier.

That��s why I pestered y/n for as much information about her parents as I could get. I wanted to know what they were like so I could figure out the best persona to take on. Patricia, I figured - and figured correctly - would be the most susceptible to charm and modesty. Brandon seemed to be a typical dad. He likes a guy who is dedicated to his aspirations, career and is polite to the women in his life. Simple enough. Seeing and listening to them interact with y/n really set it in stone and told me exactly what to do. Unfortunately, it’s the most restricted I’ve ever been. Even at the circus, I wasn’t as reserved. Jeez, I woulda’ snapped years ago!

I’m striding down the alley, so deep in thought, I’ve just realised it’s drizzling. My hair feels dishevelled and strands keep getting in my eyes. I wrench the grey hood over my head to stop water running down my back. At least only the hood and end of the sleeves are cotton on this thing. The rest is leather. It’ll stand the rain for a while longer yet.

Jeez. What is wrong with me. It’s broad daylight... well it’s raining, but all the same.

This alleyway is particularly unique because it’s like a separate, hidden street. Almost every apartment block connects to it through the fire escape. Y/n’s is special because her apartment has the lowest ladder. Few rungs up and I’m good. Easy to escape undetected, if dark enough. It usually is. That’s why I chose her apartment. It was a good choice apparently. I haven’t felt at ease like this since before... before he left.

Bad thought. Shut up!

I’ve almost gotten to the end of the street-like alley and am becoming more aware of the piercing throb in a couple of my toes. I know it’s painful, it’d almost a searing pain if I wasn’t so ignorant towards the feeling. Over time, that sorta stuff had really just been covered in a layer of numbness. It’s as if my pain receptors have been covered with a heavy layer of fabric. Like a tarp. I know the pains there, it just isn’t a direct problem for me anymore. Some would call it a high pain threshold - and sure, that’s part of it - but it also comes from years of experience.

Just before I get to a legitimate street, I turn left into another small alleyway. Every time I enter this one, my breathing becomes heavy and it feels like all my muscles have tightened. I don’t know why, but I hate it in here. It could be claustrophobia, but I refuse to admit I have such a feeble fear.

It’s a darker ally, sheltered from the rain so you’d think it's dry. It’s not. There are numerous vents and drains that lead back here resulting in constant clouds of steam, mist and drips of water. This alley could only fit one person, there’s barely a gap between my shoulders and the wall.

After manoeuvring under pipes, between vents and over grates, I arrive at my destination. The only abandoned apartment block in the neighbourhood.

It’s a rundown piece of shit that can barely keep out a draft. However, it’s pretty handy when wanting constant entry whether this is scaling the broken fire escape, easing through a smashed window or picking the lock to the door.

Yeah, I’m pretty equipped. This jacket has a fair few inside pockets. Perfect for a small collection of pocket knives, a standard revolver and a small lock kit.

“C’mon now, daddy needs to get dry,” I whisper as crouch down next to the door. I prepare the two small instruments for the lock and get to work. There’s no need. The door creaked open. I roll my eyes.

Terrific. Someone else is here.

As I sneak through, I hear voices arguing.

“Marty, shut up will ya? There was no noise.”

“Terrance, honey, it might be a good idea if he goes and checks hmm? Just in case.”

Great, three people. And one with keen ears apparently.

“Yeah. That’s right. Just in case. She’s right.” The guy who I’m guessing is Marty retorts.

I dunno how I’m gonna deal with the trespassing trio. Maybe when the Marty guy comes round, I’ll kill him. Not with my gun, it’ll be too loud. Ugh, but a knife is too messy - even if it is an enjoyable mess, it’s not something I want to deal with yet. Maybe I’ll knock him out and tie him up. Same with the others? Might work.

“Deedee love,” - seriously? Deedee? - “we can’t keep being so paranoid. No one's there.”

Time to make an entrance.

I sneak around the corner, hoodie down and just to be theatric lean against the wall while a twirl a knife around my fingers.

Yep, there’s three of them. The blond chick Deedee, and the two males. Dunno which is which, but they look pretty similar. Might be brothers.

It takes a while for anyone to notice me. They’re all too entranced by the fire they got going on. Great. Thanks for stinking up the place guys. At least put it near a vent. Sheesh.

Finally, the guy facing me looks up and goes stiff. His mouth opens to yell but I put a finger to my lips. Tellig him to keep quiet. But the other guy has seen gaper and whips around.

“What the fu-”

“Uh-uh. Don’t swear. Not in front of the lady,” I grin as she too whips around. With bulging eyes, the trio watches me walk over and stop next to them. I swing back on my heels, hands behind my back just to mess with them.

“You know, you're stinking out my crib. At least put the fire near a vent. Idiots.” I shake my head. They just stare. The dude with blondie starts to stutter.

“Well spit it out,” I mock.

“W-w-we don’t want no trouble man. We’ll leave. We didn’t know anyone else was using this place.”

“Oh really? So you didn’t go upstairs?” They all sake there heads. The girl is clinging on to guy number one for dear life.

“Oh, goodie,” I say in a sing-song voice, and then drop my smile, “then leave.” I glare at him. He seems to wanna argue, but I start throwing my knife up and down. He gets the point. Hmm... can’t have them blabbering my whereabouts. They seem like the sort to shut up if I threaten ‘em enough.

Before they can react, I lunge at the dude who must be Marty, wrapping my arm around his shoulders and pressing my knife against his neck. Not enough to kill him, but enough to pierce the skin. I feel the small drops of blood trickle past my fingers. A little more pressure wouldn’t hurt...

Restraint Jerome. Restraint.

“Now you two better not leave just yet. I need to talk with, Marty was it?” I ask in his ear and wait for him to nod, I nod also, “Mhm. Because if two leave, then I kill this one and come after you. Got it?” They nod vigorously. I lean in and start whispering into his ear. Occasionally looking at the others with a grin.

“Now, I’m guessing you know who I am. And you know that I’m on a lay-low at the moment. And quite frankly, it’s nice. So I’m gonna’ let you leave. But you’re not going to tell anyone I. Because trust me, I know how to find people, and I will find all of you. But if you leave, don’t come back, and don’t squeak, you live. Yeah?”

He nods. Shaking violently, he tells the others that they’re gonna leave. I let him go, but not before cutting him a little more.

So much for restraint.

**Later**

It’s been a couple of hours and no one has come to investigate. So maybe they did keep their word. I’m a little pleased, but some action would have been fun. I shoulda’ done more to scare ‘em.

Turns out I dislocated three of my toes. I’ve had it happen before, so I knew how to fix ‘em. Hurt like hell, but nothing I couldn’t laugh off. They’re a deep purple, and too tender to put my shoe on comfortably. So I’ve just pressed them against the cold concrete and laid back. It makes me giggle. Gotham has such a gift for turning things into an ice pack.

Laying down like this is really making me how boring my life has become. I’ve been cooped up too long. But any funny business now would give Y/n too much trouble with her parents.

I hope she deals with them properly. At least lies convincingly. I can’t help but sigh. It’s strange, but I think I’m feeling... remorse. Ha, yeah. remorse for scaring her. I can’t deny it. She’s driving me crazy!

She seems so insecure when she talks about herself, but there’s a confidence in her eyes that she doesn’t let escape. Even though emotionally, she’s an open book, I barely know anything about her. We barely know anything about each other. But her smile and her laugh are intoxicating.

Oh, her laugh. It’s so free and contagious. It’s so hard not to laugh with her when I’m trying to string her on. She makes no sense and yet it’s like I’ve known her forever. Not seeing her for days is gonna be hard, but it will be necessary.

I hope she doesn’t stay too upset. I wanna be the one to make her laugh strangely enough. I’m gonna have to give her a good sorry present, and I think I know the perfect thing.

Taglist: @sp00der-m00n @unicornwitch870 @skellingtonarmy @rockyrocket15 @thegirlofwolvesandfangs @hahaha-141 @purexuncreative @aqswdefrgthzjukilop

#Yourgingerhousemate #jerome valeska #jerome valeska imagine #jerome valeska fanfic #jerome valeska xreader #lovingjerome #Gotham #gotham fanfiction #DC comics #Cameron Monaghan #x reader

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annaktheslightlygay · 6 years

Text

Orcas Island: Pt. 1

Beca

The worst part of her job was probably the smell. She could deal with the finicky steering of her least favorite boat (Big Baboo), or the constant whirring of the motors, but it was the smells that really got her. Or more specifically, the smell of someone throwing up. You’d think after the 3 long, antagonizing years of smelling of fish guts and gasoline that Beca would be used the less potent smells of her passengers’ upchuck, but she was about ready to take up the same position if she didn’t look away soon.

She did just that, already feeling her stomach churning.

She took the wheel and steered expertly into the dock, watching as the other half of the young couple went to soothe the other; patting her on the back until she was done.

If that’s what love is, Beca thought, then I don’t want any part of it. She screwed up her face, still managing to not slam any part of the decently sized motorboat into the dock. A wave of pleasure washed through her as it had the first time she’d done it a few weeks ago. And this time, she didn’t have proper vision!

She took threw the rope onto the dock, quickly following it by doing a one handed maneuver over the side of the boat and landing expertly on the worn wood, both feet planted firmly as if she was on solid land. Which of course, she was not.

She held out the hand that didn’t have the rope in it to the woman ready to get off, still looking pale and as sickly as she did before she got her lunch all over the side of Beca’s boat. Even so, she took a tentative step onto the moving dock, and her male counterpart quickly followed.

“Sorry about that,” Beca said in her most ‘customer friendly’ voice. She looked out at the water, that was almost as smooth as glass, save for a few ripples of sea kelp that dwelled around the marina.

“The swells were big today,” she said as earnestly as possible as she offered the young woman a smile, as if that would console her. The woman nodded weakly. “Enjoy a juice, on us,” she said, a little brighter, handing the man a coupon card as a pathetic apology and gesturing to the little marina shop just up the beach. The dock creaked at the footsteps as they made their way towards dry land.

“Thanks,” he said dryly.

“No fucking problem,” Beca said under her breath, turning around and assessing the situation that they’d left behind. At least the woman had had the good sense to throw up in the water, and not in the boat.

“What was that?” She heard a slam and would have jumped if she hadn’t seen a pair of green and blue swim trunks land hard onto the deck from the neighboring boat.

“Nothing,” she said in a sing song voice, not even bothering to hide her rolling eyes.

“Where is that damn hose?” she muttered, looking up at the boy and his shaggy brown hair. Luke barely deserved to be called the manager of “Eclipse”; the only thing he did around here was give Beca a hard time and give his beloved sailboat a good wash at least once daily. Twice, if the rain came in and messed up his job. She strode over to where it stayed docked easily finding the green of the hose against the bright (obnoxiously) red paint job that Luke had insisted she help with the second day she was here.

It was back then, in her bathing suit and covered in red paint, that’d she’d noticed little dribbles of paint that took her back to the walls of her apartment in New York. She’d quickly painted over them, only leaving the faint outline left behind.

That’s what she was hoping to do here. She wanted to paint over Barden and The Bellas and most importantly a very particular redhead and just start over. Unfortunately, she too still had the outline of those girls imprinted on her but she passed the boat and it’s drips this time without having to suppress a single thought, so that was progress. Kinda.

“Please, for the love of god, let me take Rosa out this time,” Beca said in the direction of her barely there boss, looking longingly at the boat that was parked in front of hers, and then back at the whiteboard that was parked in the

The boat was practically a yacht in comparison to Big Baboo; she’d heard that her steering was impeccable and unbelievably easy, that she could go up nachts in a matter of seconds, and it had this great visor that both protected the driver from the sun and the sea spray. Big Baboo had neither of these luxuries, and it was because of him that she had now sported a thin permanent layer of salt water coating her eyeballs.

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘P’. “You need practice first.”

That was exactly the thing he’d said to her when she’d asked the last five times. She thought about telling him just that, but his smirk said he was quite aware of that fact.

“Then let’s go ‘practice’,” she said, adjusting the flow of the water from the pump on the dock and climbing aboard the boat to get a better angle of the half dried puke.

“No can do, shortstack.” She stiffened at the name. Why did couldn’t her nickname just respect the country’s borders? And stay in the country where it belonged? Or, even better, go back to the country of origin for the blonde australian who’d originally said it? Nevertheless, she looked up at him with a death glare.

“Your next trip is just coming down the dock,” he said in response. As soon as he pointed it out she heard them: the unmistakable creak of the dock as it swayed under the sound of footsteps and excitedly chattering voices of her next passenger’s, surely. She heard them stop by the side of her boat and Luke’s voice as he went over their travel plans for today and swiped their card. She felt the rocking of the boat with the weight of her first passenger, prompting her to franticly wipe the remaining mess into the water.

“Hi, uh folks. I’ll be your guide today. Excuse me while I take care of a few, last minute details before we get going on the water.” Satisfied with her cleaning job, she went and checked all of Big Baboo’s motors, the main and the back up. And because it was just Beca’s day today, there was kelp tangled in the main motor. Not having any success with yanking at the thing, she stole a glance at Luke.

“Really?” she grumbled. He gave her a smug nod. She pulled off her t shirt and shorts to reveal the second half of her uniform, a bright blue one piece with the white letters of “Eclipse” in long loopy writing before she dug into the water.

The cold hit her hard, as it always did. It was something that she’d never get used to: the icy ocean water that came with Orcas Island; there was a reason why they were a marina and not a swimming beach. She shuddered, body shaking as she used her fingers to pull at the sea plant, finally yanking on it hard enough that it snapped and she was able to toss the separate pieces into the water and away from the rudder. She then used the ladder to climb back on, knowing that asking for help from Luke was a lost cause.

Last time, she’d ended up falling back into the water more times then she’d ever set foot in it. (Luckily, with the normal temperatures, that wasn’t very often.) To her surprise though, her threw her a towel after launching Big Baboo off the dock, the corner just barely touching the water as it landed. She grabbed at it as she began her customary speech.

“Hi so, sorry about that, Big Baboo here–” she patted the steering wheel of the boat– “got a little preoccupied by his first love: sea kelp. But don’t mind him, he’s just a little salty,” she paused, hoping that at least one of these passengers was somewhat close to being a millennial, “that someone just got sick on him. No worries, though. It looks like smooth sailing from here on out.”

She took a look at the waters ahead of her, steering with one hand past Picnic Island and toward the opening in the bay.

“So, my name’s Beca,” –she checked the fuel gage, the depth monitor, and the wind speed– “and I’ll be your guide today. A little bit about myself: I don’t often do that,” she said, smiling and squeezing her hair to get all of the excess water out. She paused again to look down at the receipt she’d taken from Luke absentmindedly.

“Looks like we’re going to do some whale watching today, eh?” Though she didn’t technically live in Canada, she figured that crossing the waters into its territory every day at least earned her the right to steal a little bit of slang from the country. Well, maybe not. But she kinda liked to stray from the script, occasionally.

“Alright, so. Before I take you out into open waters, it would be a bit easier if I knew a little bit about you all. So can I have your guys’ names?”

“Well, I’m Suzy. And this here is Jeff. And our daughter...” the woman’s voice trailed off, obviously wanting her daughter to fill in her own name. Beca, head still bent and reading the parameters Luke gave her, even in the beat that it took for the girl to admit her name “Chloe,” came the soft voice of a redhead. Her head snapped up after a little bit more of reading. Beale.

* * * *

Shit. Shit. Shit. How did Chloe even know? It had been years since they’d last seen each other, a little more than 3, perhaps. It seemed like after the USO tour they’d go back to the states and live their perfect lives. But that wasn’t exactly the case.

For one, Chloe never went back with them; she stayed with Chicago, much to Beca’s distaste. He was her least favorite subject, and all Chloe seemed to talk about. It wasn’t in that Beca had been in love with Chloe, exactly, but after living together for so long there definitely was something missing. She was missing when Beca had moved to LA; when she played her first live show without the Bellas in the crowd. And yeah, those things hurt.

But it was mostly in the little things: not having someone to come home to at the end of the day, not having anyone to spend weekends with, and not having anyone, for a first time in a long time, inspire her songs. Sure, there were occasional hookups and people that came over after album release parties but there was no one that Beca would stay up just listening to them talk at 2 am, anymore... and all at once it just seemed like: what was the point?

She wasn’t having fun. Her career seemed to be at the height of what it could be with the little effort that she was so commonly putting in, and things just didn’t seem to be going in her favor. She was frustrated with her work. And with herself. And she was beginning to see in her absence, that Beca had grown fond of the redhead that so often brightened up her days and her thoughts. So it seemed like a good change of scenery, moving up here.

To be honest, she’d been initially been thinking about whales. Which brought her to google and a map of the country that shared the same name as her favorite animal. But to be honest, she wasn’t exactly fond of moving to the UK or trying to learn Welsh. She needed to go somewhere that had no resemblance to the life she was currently living.

She’d googled as much and found this little place: where it was warm, but not too hot. A place that met the ocean, but it was nearly impossible to swim in it’s frigid waters. So of course, this city girl/ LA DJ thought this was the perfect solution. Especially seeing as it had absolutely no connection to the outside world, save for the ferry that came once a week with a new round of people ready to explore. Hell, the wifi was only available in one shop in town. This place had an off season as well, and even in it’s height of popularity the people that inhabited it wasn’t overwhelming. So she went to Orcas, a type of whale, and now an island. Because it was all kind of fitting.

...but she didn’t exactly let anyone know. She struggled with that for about a week: what if someone died? Or urgently needed her in some crazy kidnapping scenario (@amy)? But eventually, it just became part of her island life. She stopped worrying about what everyone else was doing because surely, when she was ready, she could just catch up.

Not that the girl in front of her would see it that way.

To be honest, she was kind of afraid of the wrath of Chloe. Like everyone else, she’d cut her off in the move. They hadn’t even spoken much before hand, except Chloe telling her that yes, it was looking very real and possible that Chloe was going to move to Europe, for a good while, at least.

But unlike everyone else, Beca actually cared about Chloe’s reaction.

That didn’t mean that Beca let it show, however.

“Hi, Chloe,” she said as casually as she could muster. She was really good at hiding stuff. Or she once was. She supposed now she was a little out of practice.

Still, the redhead’s jaw dropped.

Read pt. 2

Read pt. 3

A/N: hello everyone! This is a fic I’ve been working on for quite some time, and it’s almost complete so I decided to begin sharing it. Many more parts to come! Hope you enjoyed! Xx Lil

#bechloe #pitch perfect 3 #beca mitchell #pitch perfect #anna kendrick #chloe beale #pitch perfect 2 #mine #bechloe fanfic #orcas island fic

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sending-the-message · 6 years

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For Better or For Worse by Ilunibi

When I was eleven, my parents divorced.

I didn’t understand why because they always seemed to get along, and my mom’s reasons always seemed very petty. Even if I can recognize that she probably thought she did the right thing for herself, I always held onto this tiny bit of resentment because she didn’t try harder to make it work. It put a distance between my dad and myself, and created this soul-eating jealousy as I watched my younger half-sister become his golden child. Though I tried to pretend it didn’t leave a mark on me, it did, and the trauma of “losing” my father made me swear that, if I ever got married, I would never, ever get divorced. I would do anything in my power to make it work.

Considering my husband, that’s not always been the easiest task. Tyson is, at his core, a good man who just happens to have very bad genes. He’s quiet and not very affectionate, but he’s supportive and hardworking and has a dry, dark sense of humor that never fails to make me laugh. Despite his size and resting bitch face, he’s a massive pushover who’s only ever been good at posturing himself to look intimidating. In fact, he tends to short-circuit when confrontation rears its ugly head.

That said, Tyson is also schizophrenic.

Being fresh-faced sweethearts who were exchanging vows within a year of graduation, we had exactly two years of marital bliss before he started hearing things, seeing things, and wondering just how many people were out to get him. It started with small, innocuous things--staring at the vents for a second too long, checking every closet when we’d come home from a night out--but by the age of twenty-three, he was talking to nonexistent visitors and barking threats at our bathroom mirror. I came home from work to find he’d duct taped all of the vents shut and, when asked exactly why he had to do that, he offered a nonchalant shrug and told me it was to keep “them” out of the house.

Who is “them?” That’s an excellent question that I tried to figure out for seven years. He’d never tell me. I’d push and push, and he’d roll his eyes like I should already have known.

In stark contrast to what I’d seen on TV and in movies about people with the illness, he was infuriatingly blasé about the whole thing aside from becoming mad at the occasional imaginary intruder. While I struggled to piece together whatever skewed narrative he was building in his head, he approached the subject of “them” and all of his quirks with a matter-of-factness that pissed me off.

Except I don’t know if I was angry or scared. I didn’t like the idea of the man I tied the knot with becoming a shadow of what he once was, especially so young, even if he seemed less terrified and more perturbed by the unusual direction his brain decided to go. Regardless of what the root of the matter was, his eccentricity and my own exhaustion trying ended with us trading barbs more than a couple of times, snarling and hissing and spitting at each other until he’d storm out angry or I’d lock myself in the bathroom. Most of the time it was the former since, as I said before, Tyson tended to panic when tensions ran high.

There were times when he’d leave and I’d have to go get him because he felt “safe” outside and didn’t want to come home. He’d accuse me of messing up his attempts to keep the mysterious “them” out. Sometimes, I would catch him watching people in public with a peculiar look on his face, or staring at reflections in car windows or grocery freezers, or gawking at blank spots in store aisles like something was blocking his passage. Any questions I had he’d answer with the same sigh and shrug.

Occasionally, he’d throw in something along the lines of, “Whatever. At least I know how to deal with them.”

I just kept chanting to myself that divorce wasn’t an option as I made sure he actually went to his appointments (that he claimed he didn’t need) and took the medicine (that he wondered whether or not was safe). When he finally wound up on disability, so caught up in his hallucinations that he couldn’t keep a job, I worked twice as hard to make up for the slack. Divorce wasn’t an option because he wasn’t a danger, he never threatened me, and I loved him. I didn’t like him sometimes, but I loved him.

It all came to a head last night, when I came home from a long, frustrating day at work and saw the vents sealed. Again. Or, rather, I caught him on the stepladder with a roll of duct tape, trying to tape shut the one above the entrance to our hallway. We’d had multiple talks about how it wasn’t necessary, and I’d even thought I had worked it out by reasoning with him using his own logic, but there he stood, silver-handed.

When I asked him why he was doing it, he quietly finished his work and stepped down from the ladder with the same composed tone and indifferent shrug he gave me every single other time I called him out on it.

“They’re in the vents again.”

I demanded to know what “they” were. Who was “them?” What did he think was in the goddamn vents this time?

“I love you, you know.”

I told him that wasn’t an answer. So he repeated it again, firmer this time, like there was an implication behind those three words that I should have magically picked up on. Instead of heeding that and spending the rest of my evening trying to decode what he meant, I spent it prying the tape off of the walls and floors. Tyson watched me, bemused and then dejected and then with mounting concern. When I caught him following behind me, trying to redo what I undid, I confiscated his tape and chucked it out the kitchen door into the cold.

He tried to tell me that I was making a huge mistake. Tired, angry, and bristling, I responded that I wanted a divorce.

Time stopped. Oddly enough, he didn’t respond by storming out and finding a place to hide. Tyson just stood there, with this look of confusion on his face, like a dog that heard a weird noise. Then, with a shake of his head, his expression melted into the same look of exasperation that one would give a toddler throwing a tantrum. When it sank in what I had said, however, I burst into tears.

Divorce wasn’t an option. I was just miserable and lashing out. I never meant to say that because I took a vow, for better or for worse, and I knew I could work harder to help him when he was the one who was truly suffering. He smiled as I spewed out apology after apology, begging him to forgive me. He just wrapped an arm around me and started escorting me to the bedroom.

“I know you don’t mean it. You think it, but you don’t mean it. I think things, too.”

He paused.

“Like whether you’ll let me redo the vents.”

I told him that if he did, I would walk out of the house right then and never come back. His face fell and his body stiffened. After we reached the end of the hall, he leaned past me to glimpse at himself in the bathroom mirror through the open door, pausing long enough to investigate his own reflection. He poked and prodded his face, inspected the corners of the glass, then sighed.

“We’ll be fine for one night. Probably.”

That made me feel a little better. I felt like I had won, as hollow of a victory as it was. If nothing else, once he got me in bed, he made sure that I knew that there was only one “hard feeling” he had towards me. Still, as much as I appreciated the attention and as much as I wanted to believe my win would break the cycle of his behavior, I mostly just wanted to go to sleep and forget the night ever happened.

We dozed off on opposite sides of the bed. I coiled up like a snake with all the sheets in a corner, and he was a full foot away from me on the mattress. Occasionally, my anxiety would wake me up and I’d feel for him, just to make sure he hadn’t gone and fetched the tape or ran away entirely. I’d brush an arm and feel comfortable enough that I wasn’t alone, then immediately drift off again.

Then, something other than anxiety jostled me awake.

It was a sound, like hushed and angry whispering, coming from behind me on the mattress. I could tell that it was male, but it didn’t sound like my husband; he was a large man with a large voice, but this was smaller and raspier, older and hissing. If smoke could speak, it’s like what I would imagined it sounded like. Too groggy to be scared and only dimly aware of my surroundings, I curled up tighter in my blankets and scowled.

“The fuck?” I wondered aloud, like the sage I was. The whispering continued and nobody answered me. As the seconds ticked on, I became more and more alert and I could feel this cold, sinking feeling in my gut. I tried telling myself that I was dreaming, but everything was too solid. I could feel the sheets against my skin and I was hyperaware of every overpriced thread.

“The fuck,” I repeated, less a question and more a statement of fear. I hoped I had said it loud enough for Tyson to hear, though I was beginning to wonder if it was him making the noise. After all, isn’t it a trope or something that schizophrenic people change their voices and talk to themselves? Different personalities and all that? His doctor had been frank that he doubted multiple personality disorders existed, but at the time, that was the only reasonable thing I could come up with.

So, I called his name. And I did it again. And again. And when he didn’t respond, I shifted my weight uneasily and decided that if I could just reach out and touch him, that maybe it would confirm my suspicion that nobody else was there and he was just very good at voice acting. Maybe it would even startle him enough to shut up. Holding my breath, I started to wriggle free of my cocoon when I heard something deep, familiar, and startling.

“Don’t.”

It was Tyson. The whispering was talking over him. Unless he’d learned the secrets of Tibetan monks last night, there was no way he could talk in two voices.

“What is that?” I demanded.

“Them.”

I was in no way shocked with his answer, but it did make me nearly puke in fear. A defiant part of me wanted to roll over in bed and see if I could see anything, but common sense and terror held me glued in place. The most I could do was look at the floor, trailing the moulding until I came across my bedroom vent, partially covered by the bed skirt. It fluttered as the heater blew, but I could see something moving and hear scratching, like rats trying to scamper up the ductwork.

Then, as clear as it would have been in daylight, I spotted a single eye. An eye belonging to something that shouldn’t have been able to fit in the vent, and unmistakably human. It was a stark white against the blackness of the room, lolling and rolling until it came to rest on me. The whispering fell silent when our gazes met.

“Don’t look at them,” Tyson warned, so I shut my eyes and pulled the blanket over my head. The whispering started again, louder. I whined over top of them, asking him what they were.

Again, he told me they were “them.”

Who is “them?” That’s an excellent question that he’s been trying to figure out for seven years. They wouldn’t tell him. He’d push and push, and they’d just laugh at him like he should already know. The only thing he’d managed to figure out was that they were invisible in the light, aside from reflections, like weird, reverse vampires. You could always see them in windows and mirrors and anything made of glass, no matter where or when you looked.

Were they dangerous? Probably. Thankfully, they seemed to go “someplace else” every so often, which would give him enough time to try to figure out how to keep them out. Did duct tape work? He had no clue, but at least he didn’t have to look at them or hear them.

When I asked if this meant he hadn’t been schizophrenic the whole time, he actually growled at me.

“Look, I probably am, but you can be crazy and competent at the same time, alright? Just go to sleep.”

I told him that he was insane. I didn’t want to go to sleep with those things haunting my house. I wanted to get up and get out, and maybe live at a goddamn Marriott for the rest of my life.

“You’ll just piss them off, babe. Just go to sleep.”

“How?” I demanded.

“Just do it. I manage it every fucking night you make me take the tape off the vents.”

I didn’t fall asleep. I never fell asleep. I spent all of last night staring at the wall beside my bed, wondering whether or not I’d make it through the night alive. It was only when the first light of day spilled through my window that I gathered up the courage to jump up, over my husband, and out of the room. In one fluid motion, I had scooped up my clothes from the floor, grabbed my purse, threw on some unseasonal sandals that had been next to the door, and was gone. There was a 24/7 Wal-Mart two blocks away with a hardware section that had my name on it.

Tyson was, as expected, fine when I got back, in his boxers, on a step-ladder, taping shut the vents with the tape he’d recovered from the driveway. When I came in with six rolls of Gorilla tape, he eyed me up and down and cocked his head. He asked if I was giving him permission to do what needed to be done, and I answered that I would start in my bedroom and meet him in the middle.

I called into work today and the house, while freezing, has been quiet as of ten o’clock tonight. No whispering, no eyes peering out of the darkness. I haven’t seen anything in the mirrors and, according to Tyson, neither has he. That said, I’ve just been glued to the living room couch, afraid there may be something underneath waiting to drag me under if I put my ankles where they could reach. I’ve been obsessively trying to figure out if there’s a vent I missed.

But at the end of the day, all I can be thankful for is the fact I married a man who, despite his flaws, has been taking care of me despite the fact I would never listen to him. Despite being so conflict-avoidant, he’s been trying to keep these things away from me for years. I’m glad I took that vow when I was younger that, no matter what, I would find a way to work through it. Not just because I love Tyson, but because now that they’ve seen me, I think he’s the only one who can keep me safe.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

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terracottasunrise · 3 years

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My Life’s Playlist

Alright so this is a weird one. I’m going to break form for a minute and do something sorta fun (yup only 20% misery here a new low). Granted this is coming around because I created a playlist and then suddenly felt the urge to defend every song on it to the person it was made for. Then like most things said fuck it no one reads this anyway and this is easier than sending a massive text of “this is why I picked this, and this is why I picked this” ect. So yeah this is less for the world and more for the one person this was made for. However I’m an open book so fuck it may as well let the world see this soul expressed in music, at least in the year of 2021. No particular order by the way, just going to hit play and write as songs pop up and explain what they mean to me.

It’s Alright by Mother Mother-

It was between this and “Bottom is a Rock”. But I got to be honest “It’s Alright” is such a good representation of what I need to hear when I’m going through mental spiral. Cause when I spiral it’s a rough thing, a problem with writing everything I feel is I remember it so much more vividly after putting it on paper. So when I start getting into that mindset I basically go through a mental slideshow of my failures bringing up every reason why I wasn’t good enough a lot of times reaching back years to find ammunition against myself. This song eases that a bit. Just that helpful reminder “You’re alright, you’re ok.”

Dear McCracken by Bug Hunter-

This is one of those awkward love songs that I love so much. A guy looking for love watching someone else losing it. The thing resonates with me on a personal level is I have 100% been that person sitting in an airport or on a plane/train writing trying to craft a way to express something. I can only think of how many people read some truly depressing shit over my shoulder without me knowing. The line “There’s a heart balanced on how her words are perceived.” Gets me every time. Because that’s my medium and that for sure is the truth.

Mr. Loverman by Ricky Montgomery-

This song. This song serves as a perfect reflection of the months leading after a heartbreak. It’s every relationship ending, every hopeful romance lost, every failure. But it’s real, and there is that twang in the music that is sad but bouncy at the same time. It makes me think of every time I’ve had a relationship end and that anxiety of being alone and desire to just drown it. It’s looking at the past and future at one point or another, love lost or love found and lost.

Peanut Butter Waffles by Ryan Caraveo-

I’ll be honest this is the only song I know from Ryan Caraveo. But it reflects my place in life almost perfectly. A guy who takes too much about how he feels, a guy who tries not to disappoint anyone. Someone who revels in verbal admiration because he’s not used to it. A guy that had to grow up way too fast and is unable to figure out how to cope with the world and is just finally trying to find some of that childhood joy. A few lines in this song hit me in the feels“I can hear my thoughts clear” just makes me think, I never don’t have something going. I can’t handle silence, as soon as I do I start thinking and overthinking I need that left brain distraction to keep me happy. It feels like in the last 10 years I have never had time to relax, and then when I did I was literally “Making life decisions in the time it took to brush my teeth” yeah this is me. A guy trying to find his home, a place to belong and someone to belong to.

Would That I by Hozier-

When I first heard this song I listened to it on repeat. I want to say for days but let’s be honest it was hours but it gave me everything I ever wanted for the melancholy mood I was in. It reminds me of probably my biggest heartbreak and how I stopped letting it define me and judging everyone off that one person. For years I was hung up and miserable and convinced that I was never going to find someone and wouldn’t let myself. Now god forbid if someone is good to me because her kindness will consume my wooden heart like a flame to tinder. It’s the idea that for me infatuation is a fire that will consume me and I need to embrace that side of myself. I stopped looking back because “That’s not tonight”

Typical Story by Hobo Johnson-

I hated this song when I first heard. But something about the beat just works to get me riled up and fired up. I think the main reason I came around was because the lyrics just make me think of myself and that little voice I’m at war with that constantly tells me to bail and give up but the song gets me mad at myself for thinking that way. I will not be the Typical Story.

Hell and You by Amigo and the Devil-

This is one of those songs that I like but I flip it every time I hear it because it makes me think a bit too much about who I am when I am deep in a relationship. It’s a song about utter loyalty, especially that line “I’d crawl in bed with you, even on someone else’s blood, on top of someone else’s love” saying that no matter who else falls in love with him, or sacrifices themselves for him, he will always fall asleep alongside his lover. That feeling, of caring so much nothing else matters besides the one you care for, is a terribly wonderful feeling.

Blood in the Cut by K.Flay-

I’ve always liked this song, even before I was living the gender swapped version of it. Almost like a self-fulfilling prophecy. But it’s that self-deprecation and really the need for noise that gets me singing it. I don’t like the quiet. I need some form of simulation something that distracts my left brain and lets the right brain run rampart. If I can’t distract myself I start freaking out and over analyzing, which is a character flaw to be sure but it’s real. Even when I go to sleep I run something to keep my brain distracted otherwise I lay in bed overthinking everything. Guess the teachers were right when they said I had an over-active imagination.

Fast Talk by Dawn Golden, Houses-

I grew up in the country, just let’s get that straight real quick. But this song, it reminds me of another on this list. Especially when I go home. Things are just simpler. This is probably one of the more well-known songs on this list but it’s about appreciating the simple things. Seeing the threads of fate in the little things that could have worked out so much worse. I can think of many times where I should have gotten in more trouble than I did and this song reminds me of that. No many how many breaks I don’t catch, I’ve caught a few.

Firebreather by Macklemore-

Most famous person on this list for sure but this song is not as well known. I love this song. This is my pump up song. The song that makes me feel invincible. Had to throw it on here because it would be a lie to not mention that before big things, this song gets played. With that said the, the chorus and that beat are really what gin me up. The buildup gets me ramped up and ready to tackle whatever gets thrown at me.

No Home by New Vega-

This is the mentality. “you are always alone and you want to go home” This past year this whole pandemic life has made me just alone. All the time. Just living out of a hotel, no one checking up on me no one caring about how I am, just me fighting to find purpose. Trying to find some sort of relatable person. That’s why I got a cat. That little shit is a pain in the ass but the most comforting provider of serotonin I’ve had in years. Love ya Cataban

Cannonball By Watsky-

Watsky gets two, but this is a great song…. Not really a song more of a word jam that captures that feeling of starting to fall in in a kind of love that you know heals something in you a little bit. Late love, when you get past the heart happy bullshit and hit the real shit and are just still somehow happy because you have each other. It’s that idea of forgiving yourself and your situation because you are with someone that makes all the nonsense worth it.

Sloppy seconds by Watsky-

This is so real to me. In a world of music and stories where everyone is perfect and wonderful this song celebrates the perfection of imperfection. Nothing exquisite has been born out of anything but tragedy. I’ve made the mistake of dating someone that never had a day of adversity in her life and let me tell you, not my kinda person. I fall for people that have some baggage. You have to. If you don’t it means you haven’t done anything.

Disaster Hearts by I Fight Dragons-

Definitely was one of those songs that I just sat down and said yeah, at this age we all have disaster hearts. We all figure shit out and say we won’t be hurt again and then guess what it happens again. That calloused muscle that has been rebuilt to survive nuclear fallout is completely susceptible to the infatuation of one person. No construction of wall or barrier will stop it. But disaster is necessary it molds you.

The Mask by Matt Maeson-

This is one hits me close to my heart every time I hear it. It’s something we all do to an extent, blocking out the emotions that hurt so much and just crafting a mask that make everyone think things are going alright. Crafting that mask of mirth and nonchalance that makes everyone think you are ok. In my case my mask is my writing. I write things out and never look back. “I settle my grievance by crafting a mask”

Oh My Dear Lord by The Unlikely Candidates

Life in the fast lane. Man this was me for years. “I was a good guy, but I was the worst type/ Give me an inch man, and I’ll take a mile” That was me. Fuck still is me. It’s a self-destructive advancement I can’t get away from. I found myself in the last few years not even climbing the ladder, just getting recognized and successfully driving my life forward, and it’s like getting whiplash finding that all that success is not at all what I wanted. I’m over my head.

Castle on the hill by Ed Sherran-

Well sorry Macklemore, Ed Sherran might be the most famous, even more than Fast Talk this reminds me of home. Every time I drive home this is the song that plays in my head. The images of a bunch of children with a thirty of beer sitting on a hill watching fireworks on the 4th of july. Damn there was such an innocence back then. That bit on the tail end where he lists what happens to everyone, that’s almost a one for one snapshot of my childhood friends. I don’t know how I was the one to make it out. But I did. Kicking and clawing but here I am.

Tubthumping by Chumbawumba-

Very little to be said but in any soul discussing playlist Tubthumping needs to be involved. Every conflict in my life. Don’t know how I pull it off but I stand up every time.

Wait for it-by Leslie Odom Jr. Hamilton

I had to pick something from Hamilton. This song… It’s the bad guy. It’s Burr. The play paints him as such a relatable character. And the line that fucking line. “Love doesn’t discriminate, it takes and it takes and it takes” Yup. I wish I could choose who I fall for. I would be such a happier person. But I can’t I fall for the complicated, the unreturning the ambivalent. That’s who I will love. It’s a sick disease the likes I would never wish on a single person.

As the Rush Comes by Motorcycle-

Chills, every time I hear this song. It’s hard to capture the feeling this invokes. It’s the wanderer, the scoundrel, the Romani in me. Drifting through life loving and moving through life as if I was water diffusing through gravel. It’s a song that illicit highs and lows in my body and I would love to just lay next to a bass speaker listening to it on repeat.

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