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astermacguffin · 3 years

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What if the Mark of Cain manifests differently when it's imprisoning God and not the Darkness? If the Darkness makes the Mark bearer go insane with unbridled want for destruction, then what does sealing God make you do?

An obsessive desire for creation? Creation to the point of corruption? (Think of the Shimmer from the film Annihilation. Continuous reproduction to the point of begetting alien, cancer-like entities. A refracted, distorted notion of creation.)

Okay, so canon divergence from The Trap. They successfully seal away Chuck, then Castiel bears the Mark. (Jack won't be back until later episodes, so he's not here yet.)

At first, they think he's fine. Cas says he's not feeling any bloodlust just yet. (He does feel a certain itch under his skin. Not a desire to murder, but a desire to do...something. He doesn't tell this to anyone.)

His grace is getting stronger, almost archangel-like (if not more). It's incredibly helpful for hunts, and Cas is happy to feel his wings healthy again after a long time. Sam is happy for him, but Dean is suspicious of things (especially since he's a previous Mark bearer).

After a while, Cas starts feeling...burdened, almost bloated by grace. (After all, he does have access to an infinite supply of it.) He needs to have an outlet for it.

Cas tells them so and Sam suggests healing people. Dean gives the green light on the condition that he remains invisible and he doesn't go Godstiel on them again.

It's a great outlet, and for the first few weeks they start feeling normal again. But unfortunately, healing stops being enough to relieve Cas of his excess grace anymore. The mass healings start to pile up all across the globe and it catches everyone's attention. Some think it's a blessed miracle, some think it's a sign of the end times. They make him slow down on the healings after that.

Without an outlet, however, Cas starts feeling antsy and pained. They brainstorm on possible alternatives. Cas suggests going to Heaven and saving it from collapse by healing his brethren's wings and creating more angels out of consenting souls in Heaven.

He explains Heaven's endangered and dwindling numbers. Sam agrees that it would hit two birds in one stone: relieve Cas from excess grace and prevent the extinction of angels. Dean doesn't like the idea of more winged dicks so he shoots down the idea. Eileen says that since Cas is the one in pain, he should be the one to decide.

Ultimately, Cas defers to Dean's judgment (as always). Sam protests, arguing that he can't just shoulder that pain. Cas replies: "I've suffered worse, Sam."

Cas doesn't complain about the pain for about a week, so for a while, everyone believes him when he said he can shoulder the pain. One day, Dean finds him outside the bunker, groaning in pain as he bleeds himself out, his grace pouring into the ground and sprouting plants. Dean sees this and is finally convinced to allow Cas to make more angels.

What follows then is a series of escalating events:

While Sam and Eileen are practicing their witchcraft for spell they need in a hunt, Cas suggests to enhance Sam's physical and magical abilities using his grace. "It will make the process faster and safer," he reasons. He agrees, but Dean eyes this suspiciously.

During one of their hunts, they encounter a young and freshly-turned vampire. The boy begs them not to kill him, and Cas gives him a proposal. "Promise not to feed on humans ever again and I shall cure you of your hungers and your pains. Pledge your allegiance to me and you shall never be afraid of yourself ever again." The boy agrees, and before Dean could even protest, Cas slices his palm and feeds the vampire his grace.

They argue about the grace-feeding in the Impala. Dean notices Sam's pointed lack of complaints and figures it out. "You're in on this, aren't you? How long has Cas been doing this? He's going Michael behind our backs and you're letting him?"

Sam argues that it's different because Cas isn't making super monsters; he's making them less "monstrous" (whatever that means). Sam's obsession with his own "purity" is key to understanding him here.

One time, Dean catches Cas in his "garden" ("forest" seems more apt with how lush the greens already are) creating butterflies and bees out of thin air using his grace alone.

Reports of the miraculously healed people suddenly gaining new abilities like increased strength, heightened senses, and prophecy start popping up. Some are experiencing phantom limbs, talking about their sprouting "wings."

Sam is becoming addicted to Cas' grace to the point that he willingly lets himself be hurt in hunts just so Cas can cure him. Dean confronts him about this, but Sam just argues that he's "never felt this pure before." Eileenn shares the same concern as Dean.

Hunts are becoming less frequent the more monsters are being "cleansed" by Cas. The world is becoming disconcertingly quiet.

Cas' "garden" is starting to emit this strange aura. The plants and creatures growing inside it are starting to look more...alien.

One of the original angels goes to Dean and tells him of Heaven's affairs. The Host is stable again, but the angels he created are...not exactly angels. They're graced up and they sustain Heaven, but their true forms are "horrifying and incomprehensible, even to an angel." The angel adds that more than 60% of Earth's creatures have already been touched by Cas' grace.

The final nail in the coffin is when Dean catches Cas in the garden fiddling with his angel blade. It's emitting a strange glow, vibrating a subtle hum and looking as if it's liquid, flowing and distorting here and there.

Dean asks him what he's holding. "Oh, this?" Cas responds. "This is the Last Blade. Last, not in terms of time but in concept, for no other blade shall ever compare to it. The spark of creation. Fiat lux."

Dean's heart sinks. Of course. The First and the Last, Alpha and Omega. "Cas...the Mark, I think i-it's scrambling your brain, man."

"I know," he replies, eyes wet and apologetic. It's a small moment of lucidity amidst weeks and months of...whatever that was.

"Okay, okay, so you're still you, that's... that's good. Okay." Dean doesn't know how to approach this. Give him a fight and he'll know what to do, but this? Watching his best friend, the love of his life, be distorted into something incomprehensible? Yeah, this is totally beyond him.

"You know, I used to hate Chuck," Cas says. "How could the Father of All Creation be this angry, petulant child? But," he continues, "knowing what I know now, it's either regressing into a petty child or being reduced to insanity."

"Cas...what are you talking about, man?"

"No mind should bear this burden, Dean. No matter how infinite they are," he says, voice trembling in exhaustion.

(more below the cut)

He continues. "The awareness of everything is the awareness of nothing at all. Imagine perceiving every possible piece of information about the world all at once. Seeing light in all its forms all at once: ultraviolet, infrared, etc. Sensing all the neutrinos zip by, sensing gravitational waves, sensing the slighest bit of seismic activity."

Dean doesn't know how to respond, so he lets him go on.

"Knowledge can only ever be a slice of the Totality of Truth. Truth is absolute chaos, and Knowledge is the partial ordering of this chaos. One can sanely approach Truth only through organized paritions of Totality. Why do you think Chuck is so obsessed with stories? Stories are linear and finite; they're sensible snippets of the endless sea of possible worlds."

"So, what? Are you trying to—"

"I'm not trying to justify Chuck's actions, Dean," he interrupts. "I just want to contextualize them. Chuck's simplistic and repetitive narratives are what they are: manifestations of a chaotic Totality, gone insane trying to understand itself. Looking for simple things to hold on to."

Cas takes a deep breath. He speaks with a shaky voice. "I'm barely holding myself together, Dean. I can feel the universe beneath my skin."

He doesn't know what possesses him to ask, but he does it anyway. "What are you holding on to?"

Cas smiles at that. "You."

They stare at each other for a while, frozen where they stand. Cas, with unrestrained affection in his face. Dean, struck by shock and indecision. It's Cas who first breaks the silence.

"I think we both know what needs to be done, while I'm still lucid enough." Cas slices his palm and lets his blood drip down the soil. He then thrusts the Last Blade into the ground, lifting it when the soil glows.

Dean stared in awe as the ground erupts and a familiar shape rises from the hollow. "Is that.."

"The Ma'Lak box, yes. I also enhanced it with the Blade to be able to house things as powerful as me."

"Cas, wait, maybe we can think of another way to—"

"Dean," he says, calmly. "You know there's no other way. I wouldn't ask this of you if there was."

In any other scenario, Dean would've kept arguing, but even he knows that they're running out of time. Sam's grace addiction is getting worse and all the creatures touched by Cas' grace are slowly mutating into eldritch horrors. Dean offers a shaky nod. "Okay."

Tension visibly releases from Cas' body. "Thank you, Dean." He opens the box and enters it with ease. "When you lock this, bury me with the garden's graced soil. Once I'm under, my influence over the world should dampen."

Dean gives a wordless nod. For a while, they just stared at each other, Cas lying down and Dean trying to memorize every inch of his face while he can.

Cas presses his hand into Dean's left shoulder where his mark used to dwell. "My untainted grace," he whisper gently. "Some of it is still inside you. That's probably why you're not as affected by me."

Dean wants to say, I'll always be affected by you, but he holds himself back.

He takes his hand back, a bloody handprint now on Dean's jacket. "I love you, Dean," he says, breathless.

"Cas..."

"I probably would've built up to that if we had more time but," he makes a surprised laugh, "I am, as you would say, already 'losing my marbles', so."

The air quotes would've been funny and endearing in any other scenario, but it just makes Dean's vision blur up with tears.

"Thank you for everything, Dean. I know we've done nothing but repeatedly hurt each other these past few years, but I don't want to spend a deathless eternity with that as my memory of you. I forgive you, even for the things you haven't forgiven yourself for yet. And I'm sorry for everything, especially for ending things like this."

He should probably wipe away his tears to clear his vision, but Dean can do nothing but stare at Cas in awe, in fear, in grief, in reverence. They're both fully crying now.

"Goodbye, Dean."

"Wait, Cas."

Cas looks at him, waiting.

"Can you...can you say it again?"

He doesn't need to clarify what 'it' means. They both know.

With one last mournful smile, Cas says: "I love you, Dean."

And with that, Dean finally gathers all the strength he needs to shut the lid and lock the box. He stares at it for a while, unblinking. He forgot to ask, Can you hear my prayers down there? But it's too late now to ask.

The box automatically lowers itself into the hole it arose from. Now all that's left to do is to cover it again with soil.

Dean doesn't bother with a shovel. He gently buries the box with his hands deep in the soil, some of it getting trapped under his nails. He continues the mindless task, whispering a tireless series of I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I hope you're okay I'm sorry, over and over between his quiet sobs. Cas is quiet inside the box. No screaming or crying. Dean doesn't know if that's better or worse.

When the final clump of soil is pressed into the mound, he suddenly feels it: a visceral shift that echoes throughout the world. The alien glimmer of the garden dims, and the world corrects its axis. Dean screams his agony into the air.

That's how Sam finds him: sprawled over a mound of soil, crying his heart out. Dean doesn't need to say anything: he knows what happened. He pulls his brother off the ground and brings him inside the bunker.

For the first two weeks, Dean cycles through drinking and passing out in various places in the bunker. If he's not wearing the jacket, he's holding it with close to him. Sam gives him a considerable space to grieve while he monitors the world grace problem with Eileen. The grace mutations have significantly dropped since then and everyone's going back to normal.

Unfortunately, that means monsters are getting hungry again. Sam doesn't want to leave his brother alone after going nonverbal with grief and dysfunctional due to alcohol. Eileen assures him that she can handle hunts on their own and that the hunter network that they're building will lessen the workload.

Sam's attempts to sober Dean up finally work, mostly due to the latter having very little strength to protest. Dean remains sober an entire day for the first time in weeks, and all he can think about is: I haven't prayed to Cas in a while. The longing might have reached him, but never a coherent prayer.

The first time he goes out of the bunker in a while, he heads straight to Cas' garden. Sam's glad that he's finally going out because "the sun is good for you" or something, but he's really only here for Cas. He kneels in front of the burial mound (where a patch of an unknown species of flowers is already growing).

The first prayer he says to him in a while is: I love you, Cas. I should've said it while you were still here. Not saying it out loud and just strongly thinking about the words somehow bolsters him to get the words through.

He's crying again, and he knows he's losing coherency. In his mind, he's explaining about his hangups and his regrets and his continuous denial of his own joy, but one constant remains: he's beaming all his love and affection into this prayer.

He's halfway through explaining all the traits that he finds endearing in Cas when suddenly, he feels it like a snap. If the glimmer dimmed when he buried Cas, now it's as if it was never there in the first place. With an unsettling amount of certainty, Dean just knows that Cas is gone. For real, this time.

"C-cas...?" It's the first thing he's said in a while and it sounds rough in his long unused voice.

"CAS! CAS!!! " He's now screaming, ripping away the flowerbed with his bare hands and scratching the soil away. Tears are obstructing his vision, but he has no time to wipe them away. He needs to make sure that is really gone. His hands are bleeding and he doesn't give a damn.

Eventually, Sam comes running towards him. "Dean! Dean, stop!"

He tries to hold his brother back, but Dean just keeps on clawing away soil. "Sammy, Sammy he's gone, he's not there anymore, Sammy I have to see, please, let me see Cas again, I need—" he breaks into sobs again, and like a puppet with its strings cut off, he slumps into Sam.

"Dean, it's okay, it's okay..." he says softly to his shaking brother.

Eventually, when Dean calms down, he looks at the carnage he's done and starts sobbing again. The flowers, his last evidence of Cas being here, are all destroyed. Now Cas truly is gone.

. . .

When Cas first heard Dean's confession prayer, he was overcome with joy. When he realized what that means, however, his stomach suddenly sinks.

He hears before he sees the Empty arrive, slithering like black goo.

"Wow, were you excited enough for eternal slumber that you wanted a preview?" The Shadow teases in Meg's voice.

At first, he was dreading the Empty, but now that he thinks of it, it's actually the perfect prison for him: a vast, endless nothingness for him to fill with his creations.

And if Jack wasn't in Heaven, that only means that he's in the Empty, and he can't wait to see his son again. Even when blinded by the madness of the universe, he can never forget the joy of being a father.

"Yes," he replies, "I'm actually glad you're here now."

. . .

Somewhere around the globe, Billie drops Jack back.

"Don't worry, kid. You'l reunite with your father very soon."

(to be continued)

#spn #destiel #supernatural #aster writes #destiel fic #long post #im totally obsessed with moc!cas #moc!cas

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artzychic27 · 3 years

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An akuma with reality powers, The Artist Family and the canon Art kids (maybe the other classmates too) meet each other

Their reaction? Chaos?

Another day, another Akuma for the Malevolent Miraculous team

This one is named Alterna, and they’re a scientist who got Akumatized because their alternate universe theory was rejected

They have the power to open portals to other dimensions

While fighting, Alterna grabbed Black Widower’s whip and used it to ensnare the team before flinging them into a portal

Once they land, they find themselves... In Paris? Only, something feels off, very off...

Since there doesn’t seem to be any danger, they detransform

They look around while getting weird looks from people. (Imagine the ‘Going into town’ scene form the Addams Family 2019 movie)

Nathaniel Artist: Everyone’s dressed so... Conformist. *Sees a magazine with Adrien on the cover* And what happened to Adrien’s new look?

Rose Artist: Is this one of the universes where his dad is a jerk?

Alix Artist scares off a few people by throwing a brick through a few car windows.

Marc Artist: Alix, don’t be rude. Let the others have their turns.

Manon approaches Marinette Artist and asks why she’s wearing dark colors

Marinette Artist: Manon, you know I despise all colors.

A few more minutes of walking, and they see Marinette Dupain-Cheng running to school

Marinette Artist: *Checks her watch* School has begun three minutes ago. She’s not very punctual, is she?

The Artist Family follow her to the alternate DuPont to see what’s going on, then they bump into Mme. Bustier, who was making her way to the teachers lounge.

Mme. Bustier: Marinette? But I just... I saw you, all of you in the classroom. And Marc, shouldn’t you also be in class?

The Artists rush to their respective classrooms and find their alternate sleeves, much to their shock

Nathaniel Kurtzberg: ... What the fuck?!

Nathaniel Artist: I could ask the same about your outfit. Must you insult my eyes with such a color combination?

Chloé: Ha! You just got burned by yourself, tomato head!

Marinette Artist: At least he doesn’t go out looking like a clown gave him a makeover.

Chloé: I’m telling daddy!

Marinette Artist: Yes, let your father get involved with petty teenage drama. That will get him more votes in the upcoming election. Now silence.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng: ... Thank you, me?

They explain what happened, (Leaving out the part about them being superheroes because this universe’s Lila will no doubt run her big mouth to Hawkmoth who they’re sure she’s working for), and the art club is not sure how to react

Alix Kudbel: So we’re basically the Addams Family?

Lila: Oh! You know, my great great grandfather actually inspired Chauncey Addams to create the Addams Family!

While the class eats it up, the art club and Artists just glare at her

Marinette Addams: It’s Charles Addams, idiot.

Lila: Oh, you guys hate me too? *Cue bitch crying*

Juleka Artist: *Waves a skull in front of Lila* Luxor, nexor, burst and burn!

Lila: What’s she doing?

Juleka Artist: Just a curse that will make your pants burst into flames every time you lie.

Lili: *Whining* Why are you all trying to hurt me?! I never lie! *Her pants bursts into flames and she runs out of the school before she’s left in only her underwear*

Alya: *To her Marinette* My sincerest apologies.

Suddenly, screams are heard, followed by Mme. Mendelive and her students running past the classroom. Marc Anciel and Artist walk into the classroom while being trailed by a clutter of spiders

Marc Artist: Well that was quite rude, wouldn’t you say?

Marc Anciel: In their defense, spiders are a little... Horripilante.

Nathaniel Artist just stands there, trying very hard not to kiss the alternate version of his boyfriend and wondering why his alternate self isn’t going kissing his Marc madly with passion

The Artists explain to the Art Club during lunch about their situation and tell them that they’re Miraculous holders in their world, much to Marinette’s shock since she’s never heard of the Malevolent Miraculous

The art club let their alternate selves stay with them until they can figure out a way to get back, but Nathaniel and Marc Artist insist that they stay together

Alix Kudbel and Artist volunteer to let them stay with them. (Cuz they ship ‘em!)

Marinette A is stunned to see her alternate parents, and when they welcome her with open arms since her own parents were always so distant.

Even when she shows her dark nature, they still treat her like family. She tries very hard not to show any emotion

When they’re alone, Tikki and Screech reveal themselves. Tikki explains that there are alternate realities with different Kwamis with similar powers to the Kwamis they’ve alternate versions of. Screech is her alternate self

Marinette A questions why Marinette DC’s Ladybug suit is so skintight and insists that she change her suit which Marinette DC doesn’t mind doing

Marinette A tells Marinette DC about her boyfriend, Damian, confusing DC a bit. What about Adrien?

Marinette A: Adrien wasn’t able to satisfy my needs. Yes, he’s quite attractive, but I needed someone who could keep up with me, worship me, be my love servant and follow me into the underworld.

Marinette DC: ... So who’s this Damian?

Nathaniel K insists that Nathaniel A spend some time away from his Marc so they can talk without them making out every five minutes

Nathaniel A: How is it that you have not gouged out your own eyes?! Your Marc is miles away from you, and you believe you have the right to live?!

Nathaniel K: ... We call each other.

Nathaniel K is starting to regret letting his alternate self live with him since he keeps starting fires! He had to hide all of the matches and anything flammable. And if that’s not bad, Chompp keep chewing on his sketchbooks

Once all of the fire causes were hidden, they bonded over their love for painting and sketching

Nathaniel K: So, your paintings are actually cursed?

Nathaniel A: Very much. One caused the mayor to stumble down the stairs and stay in intensive care.

Nathaniel K: *Thinking of all the ways he could torture Chloé and Lila with his art* ... Teach me.

Marc Anciel is trying not to scream every time one of Marc Artist’s spiders crawl on him, not wanting to seem rude

Marc Anciel: *Shudders* Oh, and that’s a black widow in my hair.

Marc Artist: They’re my favorite. It’s why I chose the name Black Widower.

To release some of the tension, Marc Anciel suggests they read each other’s writing... He will not be sleeping for a while after reading Marc’s Artist’s stories. He asks why his alternate self wrote eulogies for his Nathaniel

Marc Artist: I want others to know of the love we shared together before he’s put to rest. And who better to write my love’s eulogy than the one who knows him best? The one who has loved him, tangoed with him, stabbed his heart.

Marc Andiel ignores the last part and actually considers writing Nathaniel’s eulogy.

Alix K and Alix A are having an awesome time together

Alix A and Duuo throw grenades which Alix K dodges while skating until Alim tells them to do this away from the museum

They outrun the police, prank Kim by putting itching powder in the pool, and watch their Marcs and Nathaniels make out

It’s all fun and well until Alix A meets this universe’ Jalil. Her Jalil sold her out since there was a reward to turn her in, forcing her to run from the authorities and she’s never forgiven him

Jalil K assures her that he’d never do that and reminds her that family always comes first. Alix A is resisting the urge to cry and instead lights a firecracker in his jacket

Juleka A CANNOT stop staring at her alternate self’s Luka. She can actually see his face and body. And he can talk!

Luka: Hey, are Marinette and I a... Thing where you’re from?

Juleka A: She has two hands. Soon to be three when she takes Damian’s in marriage when they’re of age.

Juleka C and A bond over their love for the macabre and witch culture. She even teaches her a few spells to use against Chloé and Lila if she ever shows her face again

They work! Chloé broke out into a terrible rash, and all of Lila’s pants are on fire

Rabbid also may or may not have chewed up the rest of Lila’s clothes, forcing her to spend all of her money on new clothes

Rose A tries to get used to her alternate self’s love of bright colors and Disney movies, but it’s a struggle. So, she exposes her to the darker side of Disney.

Rose L is horrified but also a little excited.

They do a dark Disney marathon and watch all of the movies Disney tried to hide from audiences.

Rose A even changes up Rose L’s look so she looks like a badass punk Princess, which gives Juleka C a slight nosebleed

Rose L is still her bubbly self, but now also has a love for the darker things in life

The Artists stay in this universe for three more days, starting another goth trend in the alternate Paris by giving Adrien a makeover, introducing Marinette to Damian via pen pal program, teaching Nathaniel and Juleka how to curse their enemies, setting Lila’s clothes on fire a couple more times, introducing Marc to a more gothic style of or writing & Rose to a punk style of clothing, and teaching Alix all of the stunts she’s never even thought of doing that involve explosives

They also have a little fun with Nino and help him pursue his dream of traumatizing Gabriel Agreste

This involves chloroform, a coffin, and a walkee talkee. Gabriel is forced to listen to Nino’s voice for 12 whole hours, telling him to be a better dad to Adrien, fire Lila, and to give him $1000 dollars

Gabriel gives Adrien more freedom, fires Lila and burns all of the magazines with her face and name in them, and gives Nino $1000 dollars. Then he passes out

Nino: *Hugging the Artists* I... I love you guys so much. I don’t ever want you to leave. You have made me the happiest man alive!

Then Alterna shows up

Nino: NO! DON’T TAKE THEM! TAKE GABRIEL!

Adrien: Hey!

Nino: I’m just kidding... Not.

The Artists and Marinette transform. The Malevolent Miraculous team are shocked to see Chat Noir but are even more shocked when they immediately recognize him as Adrien

They’re able to defeat the Akuma even though Lila (Who’s being a brat because she got fired) keeps interfering by whining about her broken leg, this time in a skirt. (Loophole) And she keeps trying to snatch their Miraculous whenever she gets close to them

Jaws: *Uses power to make his teeth sharper* Keep crying and I’ll give you a real broken leg. *Lila shuts up and lets them work*

They defeat Alterna, and Ladybug and Nocturna use the Miracle/Malevolent cure to remove all of the portals opened by the Akuma and put people back in their respective dimensions

They start to disappear and head back to their dimension as the Bats and Ladybugs swarm around them

Nino: NO! TAKE ME WITH YOU! *They disappear* DAMNIT!

Alya: You have them. *Points to the Art Club*

Nino: Can they murder Gabriel or frame him for a crime?

Juleka: We can try. There’s six of us, one of him. Nathaniel and I now know how to curse people.

Nino: I’m in!

Alya: And while you go ruin Gabriel’s life, I’m gonna go kill Lila.

Back in the Artist’s Dimension!

Juleka Artist: Are we back? Is this our dimension?

Nino: Oh, thank God you’re back! Gabriel was starting to gain consciousness again and Adrien is becoming suspicious. I think he knows I’m keeping him in my basement.

Marinette Artist: *Sighs* Yep. This is our place.

#miraculous ladybug #marc x nathaniel #nathaniel kurtzberg #miraculous #marc anciel #akuma #au #marinette dupain cheng #alix kudbel #rose lavillant #juleka couffaine #the artist family #the addams family

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suzyundertale · 4 years

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tumblr user suzyundertale makes a post about Suzy from Undertale

Suzy masterpost, because people need to pay more attention to Suzy. This is not a theory post, but more of a collection of information on what we currently know about the Undertale character Suzy. Of course, due to the nature of Suzy as a very mysterious character, there will be slight speculation, but hopefully it’s clear what is canon and what isn’t.

Section One: The Beginning

When Undertale first released, there was very little that we knew of the character “Suzy”. Even less than what we know now, which is impressive. The only connection we had to her was word of mouth from an NPC with no name, but known in the files simply as “clamgirl”, found in Waterfall if your “Fun” value is between 80 and 89.

When you first talk to her, she says the following:

* I'm visiting Waterfall from the city. * Synchronicity...? * My neighbor's daughter looks about your age. * Her name is "Suzy." * I feel like you two should be friends. * You have... * A neighbor's blessing!!!

(”Suzy” here is written in yellow text.)

Talking to her a second time:

* Not knowing where I live is no issue. * Fate finds a way.

And, finally, talking to her post-pacifist:

* So you never became friends with my neighbor's daughter. * Don't despair. * This world has infinite opportunities. * But there's a limit to the things you can do. * Accepting this is healthy. * Take my neighbor's blessing! * And consider this blessing for anything you like!

(She has more dialogue, but this is all that you really need to know.)

Section Two: The Patch

In January of 2016, a couple weeks after Toby made (and subsequently deleted) a tweet about he wanted to “start something else” in 2016, a something which we now know to be Deltarune, Undertale received its first major update - version 1.01.

Here’s the relevant information.

Toby made two very, very minor changes to Clamgirl’s post-pacifist dialogue. Here is the new dialogue, with changes bolded:

* So you never met my neighbor's daughter. * Don't despair. * This world has infinite opportunities. * But there's a limit to the things you can do today. * Accepting this is healthy. * Take my neighbor's blessing! * And consider this blessing for anything you like!

He changed “became friends with” to “met” - emphasizing the fact that Suzy is not a character you can meet in Undertale.

He also added the word “today”, to emphasize the fact that this does not mean Frisk will never be able to meet Suzy.

This wasn’t the only Suzy-related thing in the version 1.01 patch, however. The patch added a well-known line of dialogue to the lab behind Sans and Papyrus’ house. Normally, when you examine a certain drawer in the lab, you get this dialogue:

* (There's a photo album inside the drawer.) * (There are photos of Sans with a lot of people you don't recognize.) * (He looks happy.)

However, from version 1.01 onward, if you examine this drawer after having spoken to Clamgirl, you will get this dialogue instead:

* (There's a photo album inside the drawer.) * (There are photos of... Huh?) * (A card is sticking out from the back flap of the binder.) * (It's a poorly drawn picture of three smiling people.) * (Written on it...) * "don't forget."

Again, I’d like to emphasize that this dialogue only appears if you’ve spoken to Clamgirl, if you know who Suzy is. In this way, the phrase “Don’t forget” is intrinsically linked to Suzy.

So, from all of this, we can gather a few things about this mysterious “Suzy” character.

She is a girl around Frisk’s age.

She lives in the capital.

She has at least one parent (who happens to be Clamgirl’s neighbor.)

Frisk is, apparently, fated to meet her.

Despite this, it is impossible to meet Suzy in Undertale.

Sans’ photo album will have a card reading “don’t forget” only if you know who Suzy is.

Section Three: Fast Approaching

Did you think that was the only Undertale update that added cryptic Suzy-related dialogue?? Guess again!

Fast-forward to September 2018. Undertale has just been released on Nintendo Switch! Almost immediately, it is discovered that the Switch version added this:

youtube

(excuse me posting my own video, but it’s really the best one on youtube...(side note; i’m not sure if she’s actually supposed to reappear when you exit and re-enter the room, that might be a side effect of me poorly emulating the game))

Anyway, this is what happens post-pacifist in the Switch version if your fun value is exactly 81. If it’s 82-89, Clamgirl has her regular dialogue from v1.01.

The Switch version of Undertale came out September (15 in Japan, 18 everywhere else) 2018 - A month and a half before the release of Chapter 1 of Deltarune. In hindsight, it’s obviously foreshadowing - but when you think about it, foreshadowing what?

A month later, we play Deltarune, and meet a brand new character named Susie. Not Suzy. (More on that distinction in a bit.) If that’s the case, why did Clamgirl claim that we were going to meet Suzy very soon?

Well, the answer is that we don’t know.

It’s important to consider what Clamgirl says from an in-universe standpoint. It’s easy to take this line as Clamgirl talking directly to us, the player, since she’s clearly hinting towards Deltarune - but in actuality, in the game, in-universe, she’s talking to Frisk. She’s telling Frisk that they’re going to meet Suzy very soon. It’s possible that, when it comes down to it, what Clamgirl said might not apply to us at all.

Section Four: Deltarune

In October 2018, Toby Fox not only released an entire demo for an entire new video game, but a video game with a major character named Susie. Not Suzy, but Susie???? What’s going on?

Since Deltarune seems to have an alternate universe thing going on, some people believe that Susie is simply the Deltarune universe’s version of Suzy. This is definitely a possibility, but there is also reason to believe that this may not be the case.

Deltarune also introduces a new character named Catti, who is Catty’s little sister. Like Suzy and Susie, their names are pronounced the same, but spelled slightly differently. This could be hinting at the difference between the two.

As it stands, however, we currently do not know the relation between Suzy and Susie, or if any even exists.

In any case, it is likely that Suzy will be a major part of the story of Deltarune, as the main theme of the game is called “Don’t Forget”.

Bonus: A Comment From Toby

To my knowledge, the only time that Toby has ever publicly spoken about Suzy is in this tweet, since deleted (not specifically, but because Toby wiped all his tweets before a certain date), from nine days after Undertale’s release:

Unfortunately, since we’ve lost the context, it’s difficult to know who exactly “yellow kid” refers to here. The tweet was most likely in response to speculation regarding Suzy’s identity. Since Suzy’s name is written in yellow when Clamgirl speaks about her, some people assumed that Suzy may be associated with the color yellow. “Yellow kid” could be referring to Monster Kid, Frisk, or the yellow human soul. (I’ve heard people say before that this tweet is specifically in response to people speculating about Monster Kid being Suzy, but I don’t know how true that is. If anyone has any proof of this claim, let me know!)

Conclusion

Generally, when you’re writing an analysis of a character, you’re able to say more than three facts about them. There is very little we can say about Suzy, however, without delving into pure baseless speculation. Hell, we know more about Gaster, who is generally regarded as the mysterious Undertale character.

It’s very likely that we will learn more about Suzy in the future, but right now, we don’t have much to go on. However, that also means we’re free to speculate pretty much anything we want. Essentially, until proven otherwise, Suzy is whoever you want her to be..!

#ut #undertale #deltarune #analysis #suzyposting #thats a tag now.#since my suzy tag is um. shitposts

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the-roanoke-society · 4 years

Text

boys and girls of every age...

wouldn’t you like to see something strange?

happy halloween, my flowers!

this year hasn’t been the best--and the list of reasons why is as varied, as wide and as deep as all of creation.

it has, essentially, sucked on a truly cosmic level.

but!

it doesn’t help anyone to look at the big picture and only focus on the dark parts. because for all the truly horrible, disastrous events we’ve had to slog through together (first time crying every day for months, first time being taken by ambulance to the er--truly a year of firsts, at least for me, personally), there have still been good things.

for example, did you know that this year we celebrated the 6th anniversary of the release of kingsman: the secret service? and the 3rd anniversary of the release of kingsman: the golden circle--which means next month it’ll be the third birthday of the ronaoke society!

our house might’ve gotten quiet--but it still stands.

i love all of you very, very much, and halloween is still my favorite holiday of all time. so all this month, i worked on the aus you’ll find below the cut. i’ll have to post this in parts over the next while, as there’s thirty-one total--one for each day of the season, of course.

honestly--it felt fantastic to dig back into my horror roots. roanoke’s entire conception was inspired by the fact that for as much as i love the kingsman universe, i also love things that go bump in the night.

and i don’t like having to choose between one thing or another.

be forewarned: if you choose to look into the source material for these aus, be prepared for possible graphic violence, gore, disturbing themes, explicit sexuality and jumpscares. i sort of walked through the proverbial garden and just grabbed fruit where i could find it--you’ll see what i mean. and as always, the endings are in your hands. these ideas are gifts, to do with as you please.

so journey below the cut... i̷̛̝͎͎̝̣̹͊̓̂͛̃̋͟f̛̯̟̱̖͔̌͊͐̏̃̓̇̎͠ y͈͇̙̘̬̓͌̑̈́͛̿͌͠ở̴̢͉͉̳͙̞͈̻̀́̎̄́̈͢͡ȗ̵̬̳͙̫̥̜͍̲̔̐̽̃̀͒̑͜ ḑ̙̩̼̤͓̫̟̥̈͑̐̚͡a̧̢̦̟̙̤̠͐͌̾̆̑͌͡͞r̷̡̰̲̣͓̣̝͒́̿͊̉̀͒͠͝͠ͅe̫̯̣̰͍̤̬̭̺̒̿͊̾͊.

blackbird on the old church steeple - a butterfly knife au inspired by the silence of the lambs

rae clementine doesn’t frighten easily. in her line of work, fear is not a friend. so when she’s abruptly pulled out of her fbi training at quantico to interview none other than the notorious harry hart, known for his--let’s say unusual appetites--she’s less intimidated and more annoyed.

but women are being taken, and found without their skin, if they are even found at all.

if hart’s insight into the mind of a psychopath can help her find the infamous buffalo bill, who has repeatedly evaded arrest--then she is more than willing to sit across from the gentleman in a pristine cell, and be continuously surprised that for a murderer, his gaze is surprisingly gentle.

in the back of her mind, she remembered all the things her mother had ever told her about lucifer--how the king of hell himself was utterly wicked, but catastrophically beautiful.

charm could hide blood. polished etiquette could hide bodies.

“most serial killers keep some sort of trophies from the victims.”

“i didn’t.”

“no. you ate yours.”

she’d felt this kind of intrigue before, and given the face it wore this time... well.

focus on the case, she thought. find buffalo bill. watch yourself. get out alive.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: ajr, ‘bang!’ + tame impala, ‘the less i know the better’ + barney bigard, ‘readdy eddy’

dogs & deadbolts guard the night - an au featuring @roanoke-after-dark‘s the gremlin and @agentjotunn inspired by resident evil, particularly the released imagery for resident evil: village

santi’s first thought was that the rumors were just blatantly untrue. an entire village of people? suddenly vanished? he doubted it. besides, winters this far north were brutal--and could be fatal, if you weren’t careful. they had probably just all tucked in for the season, he reasoned. the snow and ice would’ve made travel impossible, anyway.

weeks passed. the stories faded from his thoughts as he minded his garage, and people spoke less and less about it.

until one evening, when an old friend knocked on his door with blood on his jacket and no color in his face.

“bradley? jesus, what hap--”

“grab your gun. something’s happened, and we need to leave now.”

“but what--”

“i’ll explain on the way, just go!“

right before he slammed the passenger side door of bradley’s jeep closed--wheels appropriately chained to keep a grip on the iced over roads--he heard a deep, long howl from some distance away.

there hadn’t been wolves this close in fifty years.

santi broke the silence in the car gently: “... you look like you’ve seen the face of the devil. what exactly happened?”

mini soundtrack sampler includes: ac/dc, ‘highway to hell’ + think up anger ft. malia j, ‘smells like teen spirit’ + marilyn manson, ‘sweet dreams’

the light under the door - a body shots au inspired by dark skies

the blacks weren’t superstitious. jason wasn’t, just like his father wasn’t before him, and now that he’s finally settled down happily married to joanne--finally, he thought, finally married to his jo--he is more than ready to see what the next chapters will bring. they moved into a house not too far from his parents, so he could still see his siblings regularly.

and he did.

which means he and jo both noticed when his younger brother christopher began to act a little--off.

they noticed when the bruises appeared.

they noticed when he kept copying the same strange symbols onto papers in crayon over and over and over and over--

and jo definitely noticed when she walked into their own kitchen in the middle of the night to find every single cabinet door open, with all the contents arranged into an impossibly perfect pyramid on the center island.

“i--are we being haunted?” she wondered out loud, the next morning. “this--and weird things are happening at your parents’, too, jason, something isn’t right here. i know you don’t believe in ghosts or anything, but...”

and this wasn’t a haunting.

it was something much worse.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: kennyhoopla, ‘how will i rest in peace if i’m buried by a highway?’ + cannons, ‘fire for you’ + days, ‘the drums’

permission access eternal - an au featuring @siggy-the-meme-master and technical officer wyvern, inspired by a.m.i.

it was supposed to be the world’s most cutting edge ai software. and since jeremy and dodger were both at the top of their class at m.i.t., of course, nobody was surprised when both their names were on the finished product--even if there was just one prototype to start.

and it wasn’t an ‘it.’ it was a she. jeremy insisted. repeatedly. “let’s call her ami!” he’d been flush with booze but his eyes were so bright and his expression so sincere, dodger just let him have it. and jeremy clapped his shoulder, “we did it, man! we have built the jessica rabbit of ai programs!”

they had one last test run to prove they’d metaphorically kicked the ass of everyone else in their field before they began the work to begin mass production. so, dodger set ami up as a sort of overhead assistant for their shared lab. she controlled temperature, lights, she could make phone calls, keeps schedules and most importantly of all, place takeout orders. the more she proved she could do, the more power, and control, she was given.

two weeks passed. they gave ami a voice, gave her a large proverbial eye to see through, making tweaks as they went to polish her off.

dodger was so proud of his work his heart could’ve exploded.

so imagine how he felt when he realized he’d left his cell phone in his car--and realized he couldn’t open the door.

“ami? ... ami. can you unlock the front door please?” he stared up at the red lens, and a silent point of light stared back at him.

“... i’m sorry. i cannot do that. dodger.”

“... uh, jeremy?”

mini soundtrack sampler includes: cage the elephant, ‘social cues’ + sneaker pimps, ‘6 underground’ + saint motel, ‘preach’

in hell i’ll be in good company - a lies & lessons au inspired by underworld

for centuries, a war has raged between vampires and lycans, completely outside the notice of the general human population. lauren is a death dealer, a lethal and beautiful member of an elite squad of vampiric assassins who have been charged with finding all the remaining lycans in the city and taking them out one by one.

when she realizes the lycan pack seems to be looking for an ordinary man--a medical student named jack daniels--she tracks him down herself, narrowly escpaing lucian in the process. (as soon as they were in the car he was already screaming, “what the fuck is goin’ on?!” with a southern twang she hadn’t expected) she takes him under her wing, still baffled at why the lycan pack could possibly want him.

he’s only human, after all.

... right?

as it turns out, vampires and lycans have a single common ancestor.

jack is a direct descendant.

and after being bitten in an attack--becomes a hybrid, carrying the powers of both species.

between unraveling the truth surrounding the death of her family, what really happened between lucian and kraven, and her growing feelings for jack--who is rapidly trying to understand his role in the story that’s been unfolding without his knowledge for generations--lauren finds herself at a crossroads, and her loyalties tested to a breaking point.

but as long as jack is at her side--perhaps it doesn’t matter where the road goes from here.

as bullet-riddled and blood-soaked as it will turn out to be.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: wallows, ‘are you bored yet?’ + cage the elephant, ‘shake me down’ + puscifer, ‘rev 22-20′

ash, fog & rust - alternatively titled ‘@gaygent, @agent-judas and agent seraphim finally take that road trip to pennsylvania’

it was time to hand over the torch. that’s what lilith had finally decided. between the white patches in her hair, the strain it was putting on her relationships (especially with hamish)--morgan only had to return to the hills one more time as envoy.

and she wasn’t going alone.

“after this, anything that comes through this area, anything that hits our radars, is going to end up on both your desks,” she began, glancing at z in the passenger seat, and meeting cillian’s eyes once in the rearview mirror.

“so this is--what, a test run?” z asked, head slightly tilted. morgan hummed.

“this place--this town--it--” she huffed, frustrated. cillian could hear the leather wrapped around the steering wheel creak as her grip tightened. “it’s hard to explain, to someone who hasn’t been there. and i’m glad that neither of you have had to go before this, but...” another sigh. “i couldn’t think of any other duo that i could entrust this to. not something this big. you--” she pointedly lifted her brows at z, “--have experience with creatures that aren’t from around here. and you--” this time her gaze went to cillian. “--do too. just in a different shape. it’ll take both of you to handle centralia. and i couldn’t introduce you without coming along.”

“how long, exactly, has roanoke been keeping tabs on this place?” cillian asked. he’d spent hours going over everything he could find--mission logs, reports, feeds and images housed in the media room. morgan looked at him again. her eyes were still kind--but very, very tired.

“... a long time.”

i’ll admit that this is less an au and more a canonical event that i just haven’t gotten around to writing more about. but i couldn’t make this list without at least one entry paying homage to a franchise that’s had a huge influence on not just me as a writer, but on roanoke’s canon as a whole.

for the sampler, i will simply redirect you to this post here.

the devil’s gonna set me free - an anchored hearts au inspired by horns

joseph moretti had been in love with louise franz since fifth grade.

granted, he didn’t realize it until he almost drowned because of that stupid dare--a dare that not only almost killed him, but took two of lee’s fingers when that goddamn cherry bomb went off in his hand.

the same cherry bomb he’d traded to him for fixing louise’s broken necklace--a small silver pendant, shaped like an apple. she’d worn it every single day since he could remember. the image of her and snow white were eternally tangled in his head.

that necklace--it’d been the start. he’d woken up because of an apple. louise, did, too.

the hours they spent in that treehouse, listening to david bowie and memorizing every scar and curve of the other--he wished that could have been his eternity. just him. and her. ... well, and bowie. every good love story needed a soundtrack.

but... but...

his head pounded as he lifted it off the counter in his parents’ kitchen. his mouth was dry, and he blinked, causing a half-empty bottle of vodka to come into focus.

louise is gone now, he thought.

and they thought he was the one who did it. he, the one who loved her more than anyone else on the planet.

he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

he was going to prove his innocence even if it killed him. no matter what happened.

even if he sprout horns.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: machine gun kelly, ‘bloody valentine’ + the black keys, ‘go’ + david bowie, ‘heroes’

moonlight rising from the grave - alternatively titled ‘that time @agent-nightcrawler and agent iuniore found a haunted mansion,’ inspired by disney’s haunted mansion

“hello? ... hellooooo?” the massive door let out a huge groan as sylva pushed, putting one hand on tina’s shoulder as it swung open. “uhm--i’m really sorry to bother you, but we hit a deer and we just...” sylva sighed, her voice lowering in volume. “... need to use the phone...”

“this place is gigantic,” tina whispered, close at sylva’s side as they stepped out of the pouring rain into a very quiet, very elegant foyer. “and look! there’s lights, and all these lit candles... someone has to be here,” she continued as the door came to a gentle close behind them, muffling another roll of thunder.

“good evening.”

both of them yelped, sylva immediately yanking tina closer to her and whirled around in time to see--a butler? he was dressed like a butler.

and his clothes were... he was...

“sylva! why is the butler see-through!” tina whispered harshly, all while the spectral gentleman just looked at them expectantly. sylva clamped a hand over her mouth.

“hi!” she answered brightly.

this is a ghost. i’m talking to a ghost. this is fine. everything is fine.

“uh,” she coughed, beginning again, “we’re just having a little bit of a car emergency, is there a way we can call our head office? so they can come get us?” this is what i get for being out where i have no bars, and neither of us have our specs...

the ghostly butler nodded. his hair, glowing faintly, waved around his head as though he was underwater. “of course. please--follow me. the master of the manor will want to meet you.”

mini soundtrack sampler includes: the chordettes, ‘mr. sandman’ + bobby pickett, ‘monster mash’ + bastille, ‘survivin’’

mercy no more - a magic & mischief au inspired by the evil within

aly had been kieran’s partner at the krimson city police department for years. she’d walked with him through the death of his daughter, the disappearance of his wife.

neither of them acknowledged the spark. they didn’t then, and--as she met his eyes once in the rearview mirror, trying to pay attention to connelly and joseph as they talked about beacon--they wouldn’t acknowledge it now.

as soon as the hospital came into a view, a high-pitched ringing overame every other sound in the cruiser, every other sound period. aly slammed her hands over her ears, but it didn’t seem to help.

as soon as it started--it stopped. connelly had to swerve to avoid getting into the wrong lane.

“what--what was that?” aly asked, her palms still hovering by her ears.

“it was probably just a problem with the radio,” joseph suggested, pushing his glasses up as they drove pass the established police barriers.

the last dispatch team, they said, hadn’t come back. it was up to the three of them to find out what happened to their colleagues.

aly was close by kieran’s side as they walked through the rain. her gut twisted at the sight of the entry doors.

the smell of the blood and the slaughter hit her nose before she saw the bodies.

“what on earth happened here?”

“i don’t know. stay close. let’s find the surveillance room. if we can find the security cams, we’ll find out answer...”

if only that had been the end.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: all time low, ‘monsters’ + bastille, ‘what you gonna do???’ + gary numan, ‘long way down’

and the wind will be my hands - an au featuring @agent-sentinel-official, @agent-chimera and @gaygent, inspired by session 9, with a special appearance by @agent-thorn

walter vaughn was an expert in abestoes abatement. so when he put in a bid to take on the entire danvers state mental hospital, the owners of the rotting estate welcomed him on board.

and as they did, he brought on two crewmates--xander, and z--to help him.

“we’ve got three weeks, so, no need to rush,” he explained on the first day, the sun beating down on his broad shoulders and half his hazmat tied around his waist. xander and z trailed behind him as they approached the massive building. “and i know, i know it’s still a big undertaking--but the money will be worth it. trust me.”

“you fellas our cleanup crew?” a tall, thin man in a suit with dark hair and a pair of ray ban sunglasses walked towards them, smiling broadly. he extended a hand, “carter jensen. the ah, danvers’ estate board sent me on their behalf to give you a tour of the building, let you get a good assessment of what you’re dealing with. i’m not entirely sure what they’ll do with the property when this is done, but we know for sure nothing can happen until this part’s complete. come on, the entrance is just this way... i’ll make sure to give you a master key ring.”

xander leaned down by z’s shoulder, muttering, “dude this place gives me the creeps... but maybe there’s still some cool old stuff left in there. like maybe, possibly, the trapped souls of the damned. you think it’s haunted?”

z answered, murmuring, “if not by ghosts--then maybe by something else.”

mini soundtrack sampler includes: the talking heads, ‘psycho killer’ + lou barlow, ‘choke chain’ + sublime, ‘doin’ time’

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end-of-pizza · 4 years

Text

WEIRD ANIME NIGHT

guys, I’m going to level with you. I am running out of weird anime’s I have watched. I want to do these guys every week I really do....and I have a stack of VHS tapes and DVD’s downstairs to dig through that MIGHT have some more gold in them, but it would be SUPER COOL of you if you would DM me some ideas or suggestions to look into in the coming weeks and months now I said I am RUNNING OUT, that doesnt mean I’m empty. Tonight I am going to go on a tangent, and talk about one anime you dudes have LIKELY seen already MOBILE FIGHTER G GUNDAM

You might say to yourself, hey Brian, that show isn’t THAT weird, gundam is a big big robot show, and that is just another cookie cutter big big robo show

BUT YOU ARE WRONG

DEAD WRONG

Mobile fighter g gundam was only the 9th gundam series ever made, and the series it follows Victory gundam is considered one of the darkest in gundams canon, where kill them all Tomino really showed that he earned that name, it wasn’t gifted to him. I mean the shows about a 12 year old who, in its final act fights a giant, moon sized ring full of psychics that try to reduce humanity to animal like stupidity so that they can rule the earth, and also like…..all of his friends die. All of them, most of them children. Victory gundam is dark as shit

G Gundam though? Naw, this show is like two clicks away from being a gundam skin over top of a king of braves show. I mean let me break it down like this. G gundam is about a buncha people, hired by their countries to represent them in a martial arts tournament , with giant robots that used to be used for war, but that war destroyed earth real bad, so instead they still destroy earth real bad with giant robots, but instead of war, its just a boxing match and they make it clear that this ish is bad for the earth like EVERY city is fucked, and whoever wins the tournament, their government gets to be dictators of the world and space for 4 years.

and its played for laughs

I also want to mention for people who are passingly familiar with Gundam through things like wing or seed etc, and know that gundam has different time lines, THIS is the first alternate timeline, this is the first non UC timeline in the whole of gundam. Imagine if the last few shows were, a war drama about a 14 year old being drafted and getting ptsd, then a sequal where a child psychic also gets drafted then his parents die, then the girl he loves tries to kill him and dies, then a sequal to that where again, a ton of main characters die, then a sequal movie where two of the main characters of the entire show both die, then a show about a boy making a new friend, who turns out to be a soldier, and introducing them to his next door neighbor who turns out to be a soldier, then while trying to help his new friend, his neighbor murders him, ON CHRISTMAS, then he has to just go back to normal life because he kept all of this a secret to everyone.

AFTER THAT ALL WE GET THIS

youtube

I mean it took a show that for 20 years had been a dead ass serious war drama, and turned it into well......MMA with robots and dudes (and a few ladies) in latex cat suits using magic to destroy famous land marks

THE WIKI SAYS Unlike previous series in the Gundam franchise which are set in the "Universal Century" timeline, Mobile Fighter G Gundam takes place in an alternate "Future Century" universe.[1][2] Within this timeline, much of mankind has abandoned a ruined Earth to live in space colonies. The countries on Earth have corresponding colonies just outside the planet's atmosphere. Rather than fight wars for political and social dominance, the colonies agree to hold a "Gundam Fight" tournament every four years. Each country sends to Earth a representative piloting a highly-advanced, humanoid mobile fighter called a Gundam. The Gundams compete with one another in one-on-one battles, under a strict set of rules, until only one fighter remains; the nation represented by the winner earns the right to rule all of space for that period.[2] Each Gundam is controlled directly by the user within the cockpit using the "Mobile Trace System", a gesture recognition and feedback mechanism whereby the Gundam mimics the pilot's own body motion, combat skills, and weapon-wielding capabilities.[1]G Gundam opens at the start of the 13th Gundam Fight in Future Century year 60 and follows Neo Japan's Domon Kasshu, fighter of his nation's Shining Gundam and bearer of the coveted "King of Hearts" martial arts crest.[1] Aside from winning the tournament, Domon's mission is to track down his fugitive, older brother Kyoji, who allegedly stole the experimental Dark Gundam from Neo Japan's government, leaving their mother dead and their father (Dr. Raizo Kasshu) to be arrested and placed in a cryogenic state.[3]

Under orders from Major Ullube Ishikawa, Domon and his childhood friend and mechanic Rain Mikamura travel from country to country, challenging each one's Gundam while searching for clues to the whereabouts of Kyoji and the Dark Gundam.[3] Domon's initial matches with Neo America's Chibodee Crocket, Neo France's George DeSand, Neo China's Sai Sai Ci, and Neo Russia's Argo Gulskii end in draws, gaining mutual respect among the fighters.[1][2] As they encounter Gundam pilots who had come in contact with the Dark Gundam, Domon and Rain learn of its unique cellular properties to regenerate, multiply, and evolve by infecting organic matter and causing violent behavior in living things.[3] The duo then journey to Neo Tokyo, a city decimated by the Dark Gundam's army of mobile weapons. Domon reunites with his esteemed martial arts instructor Master Asia, who is also the champion of the last Gundam Fight, the former King of Hearts, and one-time leader of an elite group of Gundam fighters called the Shuffle Alliance. After Domon and Rain help the city's survivors defend their last outpost in Shinjuku, Master Asia reveals himself as a servant of the Dark Gundam, having also gained control over Chibodee, George, Sai Sai Ci, and Argo using Dark Gundam (DG) cells.[2][3] The four remaining members of the Shuffle Alliance intervene and vow to destroy their previous leader for his crimes. Ultimately, the Alliance members offer their lives in purging the DG cells from Domon's four comrades and bestow each of them with a Shuffle Alliance crest as their successors. Kyoji and the enormous Dark Gundam eventually appear from beneath the ground of Shinjuku, but shortly thereafter vanish alongside Master Asia. As the Shuffle Alliance trains in the Guiana Highlands for the Gundam Fight finals, Master Asia and the Dark Gundam reappear.[3] With the help of his friends and a new ally in Neo Germany's masked warrior Schwarz Bruder, Domon defeats the Dark Gundam. When the Shining Gundam becomes incapacitated during the battle, Domon desperately manages to activate a newly acquired God Gundam(AKA Burning Gundam outside Japan), escape Master Asia, and make his way to the finals set in Neo Hong Kong.[2][4]

The Gundam Fight finals are presided over by Wong Yunfat, Neo Hong Kong's prime minister and the current ruler of the space colonies and Earth. Wong chooses to have the qualifying nations battle in one-on-one and tag team preliminary matches to reach a battle royale on Lantau Island, where the tournament is to end with the winner facing the defending champion Master Asia.[2][4] Having gained possession of the Dark Gundam, Wong secretly plots to revive and control it as his trump card to inevitably maintain his own power over space. Domon and his companions make their way to the battle royale while several truths concerning the Dark Gundam are unveiled. Rain's father, Dr. Mikamura, eventually explains that the Dark Gundam (originally called the Ultimate Gundam) was constructed by Dr. Kasshu to rejuvenate the dying Earth. Jealous of his genius colleague, Dr. Mikamura had Neo Japan's officials attempt to confiscate Kasshu's creation. To prevent the military from using his father's invention for its own agenda, Kyoji fled with and crash landed the Gundam on Earth, where its computer malfunctioned, triggering its malevolent activity. Ullube subsequently had Dr. Kasshu arrested, framed Kyoji as a criminal, and used Domon and Rain as pawns in recovering the Gundam.[4] In a separate confession, Master Asia discloses to Domon that, having been distressed by the utter destruction wrought by the Gundam Fights, he planned to use the Dark Gundam to wipe out humanity and allow Earth to heal naturally.[2] The battle on Lantau Island culminates with Domon fatally besting Master Asia in a final confrontation, while Kyoji and Schwarz sacrifice themselves so that Domon can attack the Dark Gundam's cockpit and disable it once again.[4] Though the schemes of both Wong and Master Asia are foiled, Ullube quietly claims the Dark Gundam and transports it to Neo Japan's space colony for his own purpose. Having been corrupted by DG cells with ambitions of supreme power, Ullube kidnaps Rain and places her into the Dark Gundam's core to act as its energy source. The hulking monstrosity then merges with the colony and begins absorbing Earth itself.[2] As the entire world's Gundams unite to assault the Dark Gundam from the outside, the Shuffle Alliance breaks inside the colony and destroys Ullube. Finally, Domon professes his love for Rain and releases her from the core. Invoking the power of the King of Hearts, the couple vanquishes the Dark Gundam once and for all

I just rewatched it like a month ago, its real good, def go watch it

if you are the kind of person who was maybe put off by OG gundams TONE or wing gundams edgy-ness, give g gundam a watch its honestly a good anime, its about as shonen as a shonen can legally get. Also its spiritual successor, the Build series is really good too, really liked Build Fighters Try A LOT, and I guess like.....it might be canon to this reality? its weird. Gundams weird when it comes to canonisity, its sort of all canon kinda.

∀ ∀ ∀ ∀ ∀ ∀ ∀ ∀ ∀ ∀ ∀ ∀ ∀ ∀ ∀ ∀ ∀ ∀ ∀ ∀ ∀ ∀ ∀ ∀ ∀ ∀ ∀ ∀ ∀ ∀ ∀

Also the model kits for this show, and you knew I was going to bring up Gunpla at some point, well they come in two qualities

AWESOME and brand new

or shit and 20 years old

So if you collect these things like I do…..get both kinds of their kits

They’re good.

Have a good one

~Hoover

#weird anime night #gundam #g gundam #not pizza

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foolgobi65 · 4 years

Note

Ram/Sita + spy au+ friends to lovers + “you know i’ll do anything for you”

lol this...AGAIN....spun out of my control.....and is apparently 6020 words while still having massive massive holes in characterization and plot and ...general stuff..lol. anyways hope u like it? it ended up being way less Spy Spy and more ....arranged marriage au...... because everything i’ve written has basically been that now lol and raazi is the only spy movie i could think of that works bc rama and sita dont have mr and mrs smith vibes to me. love u!!!!!!

----

“Are you serious?”

The face on the screen is somehow almost as familiar as Sita’s own -- she’s never been one for the gossip rags, but at some point, it’s almost harder not to know the features of someone who’s been famous since his parents announced his conception.

“You know him, then.” Sita’s handler Kaikeyi seems remarkably even-tempered for a woman charging Sita, her top recruit, to attach herself to the arm of Kaikey’s stepson -- a boy that the papers seem to believe Kaikeyi prefers even to her own Bharata. Sita raises an incredulous eyebrow before realizing that Kaikeyi does actually expect Sita to recite what she knows about her newest target.

“Ramachandra Raghav,” Sita recites from memory, “but the papers call him Ram. Only son of Dasaratha and his first wife Kausalya, sole presumptive inheritor to the Kosala industries fortune. Dasaratha Raghav and his wife publicly struggled to conceive and adopted a daughter, Shanta, nine years before they had Ram whose birth coincided with the release of Dasartha’s final film and his entry into politics.” Sita purses her lips, unsure if she should continue, but Kaikeyi remains impassive. “Dasaratha and Kausalya divorced when Ram was five, and three months later Dasaratha married you.” Judiciously Sita chooses not to include the fact that Kaikeyi, who during her acting days had only been paired with the already greying movie star, reportedly delivered her eight-pound son Bharata three months early.

Kaikeyi rolls her eyes, still the same striking green that had made her first film such a hit. “Of course I was pregnant when we got married. What else.”

Sita racks her mind. “The custody case was unusual -- Kausalya shifted to America with her children, but Dasaratha petitioned for them to stay with him in India. Shanta was 16 and decided to finish school abroad with Kausalya, but the courts decided that Ram would spend alternate years with each parent until he reached his majority.” It was the oddity of the arrangement that kept the Indian public so desperate for news about what otherwise might have been just another star-turned-politician’s son: pictures of Bharata, who was constantly being presented at building openings, movie premiers and other assorted Party functions went for nearly a quarter of the price as those of Ram whose arrival at the Delhi airport became more and more of a national event in sync with his father’s increasing political power. The exoticism of his American English was viewed with as much pride as his unaccented Hindi which the Party often used to great effect, having him canvass his father’s constituents on camera the year Dasaratha was put forward as the party’s candidate for Chief Minister and releasing them online.

But it has been a few years since Ram was last in India for more than a month or so’s vacation -- at 16 he graduated from school and sent the Indian media into near paralytic shock when he decided to attend university in Delhi. Not even three years dimmed the public’s fascination, which quickly turned into genuine discontent when it was announced that Ram had accepted an offer to do his doctorate in California and had barely been seen in India since.

“You want me to investigate a Chief Minister’s son?” Again, Sita leaves unsaid the rumors that swirl even in headquarters -- that Dasaratha’s relative competency at state-wide management has made him a viable candidate for even higher office. That after the last election’s dismal results, it is apparent that Dasaratha might be the only remaining Party figure popular enough to lead a coalition that would bring them to power in the Centre after nearly a decade at the periphery.

Kaikeyi laughs. “Not quite,” she says, still perfect red lips twisting in a faint smile, “Ram is in New York now working for the UN, and it seems that he will have a long and illustrious career in diplomacy which will bring him into contact with all sorts of people of interest to our national security agencies. We need someone at his side to make sure that those contacts are being utilized to their full potential.”

Sita frowns. “He’s too young to need a trusted aide or a secretary.”

“Correct. That’s why we’re sending you to New York as his wife.”

When Sita is 18, a woman comes up to her on the street asking if she’d like to be a model. As a laugh Sita shows up at what the woman’s business card says is the head-hunting agency’s main office only to be quickly moved to a backroom, divested of her backpack, phone and shoes and investing her with a new lifelong wariness of strangers with offers too good to be true. Her father is the aging yet venerable University President -- they don’t have the money for ransom, but Sita just as quickly rules out potential trafficking since her father has one or two connections that would raise quite the fuss if he informed them that his daughter was missing. But before she can think of another reason behind her apparent kidnapping, the door opens, and Sita’s life changes with the incoming rush of bright light into the dark room.

“You’re..” she splutters, eyes raking up and down the perfect figure of the woman in front of her.

“Yes,” Kaikeyi Raghav says, sunglasses perched delicately at the top of her head as she adjusts the pallu of her elegant chiffon sari. “I’m sorry for all the confusion, but we really needed to get you alone before we could try and talk to you.”

“Talk,” Sita rasps, suddenly hyper aware of her own dry throat. Kaikeyi sighs, clapping her hands once before taking a bottle of water that appeared almost instantly at the door’s threshold, opening the cap and offering it to Sita who gulps it down. “Talk about what?” Sita asks.

“One of our associates brought you to our attention about a year ago thinking that with some work you could be turned into something quite extraordinary.” Kaikeyi brings up her right hand to pull down her hair from its updo, the cascades only making her more breathtaking to Sita, whose father always had a soft spot for the old Dasaratha-Kaikeyi films. “I’ve been observing you ever since, and recently came to the same conclusion.”

Sita can’t help but glow at the praise, even as she tries to keep her sense of rationality -- she’s been kidnapped after all, even if by one of the nation’s most illustrious figures. First: “Are you trying to traffick me into sex work?”

Kaikeyi laughs, and the sound is clear and captivating like a bell. The more Sita watches, the smaller details begin to stand out -- a mole just slightly to the right of Kaikeyi’s collarbone, the green of the embroidery that brings out those colors in her eyes, the red fingernails that perfectly match Kaikeyi’s lips.

“Do I look like a pimp?” Kaikeyi’s tone is one that does not truly seek a response, though Sita is not sure she even has one. The proclivities of the rich and powerful are rumored to skew to the truly scandalous, and there is no reason that an elegant woman could not be the front for the procurement of such services.

“Then is this supposed to be recruitment for politics?” Sita has never thought herself particularly gifted at deception, which seems to be the first requirement for a fruitful career of public service.

“No,” Kaikeyi laughs again, “but I find it interesting that you didn’t consider that I might be signing you on as a heroine.”

“I don’t have a face for film,” Sita says, “and I have no intention of leaving Delhi.”

“You have exactly the face for film,” Kaikeyi counters, “but I agree -- your mind would be as wasted as mine in Bombay.”

“Then politics?” Sita, who was born and brought up in Calcutta before her father was given a position in Delhi had never given much thought to the Raghav’s stronghold Ayodhya -- she can’t imagine what Kaikeyi could possibly see in her.

Kaikeyi shakes her head. “What do you know about this country’s intelligence services?”

Sita blinks. “You want me to be a spy?”

Five years after their first meeting, Sita has learned how to handle all sorts of weapons including her own body, how to speak a dozen languages, how to scope out a room. In some strange way, Kaikeyi seems to have filled the gaping hole left behind by Sita’s long-dead mother Sunaina, who Sita is not entirely sure would approve of what her daughter decided to make of her life. There isn’t quite a bond of affection, but there is loyalty beyond even what Sita would have given her own mother -- no better proof than the fact that here Sita is agreeing to marry Kaikeyi’s stepson entirely because Kaikeyi demanded it, where Sunaina would have had quite the shock if she had tried to suggest a man for Sita to wed. Sita had dreamed of marrying for love, but loyalty she reasons is close enough.

Ostensibly, Sita has finished her MA with high honors and works at an NGO that enjoys Kaikeyi’s patronage -- this, they decide, is how the papers will be told Kaikeyi knows Sita. There are a few strategically leaked photos of Kaikeyi first paying the NGO a visit, then taking Sita out for a series of lunches. Sita finally travels to the ancestral Raghav mansion in Ayodhya for Diwali, bringing along her father to meet and pay his respects to his favorite screen star.

“You must be Sita’s father,” Dasaratha booms when they approach, somehow brimming with the same vitality and presence that drew such crowds to the theater in his youth. He grins, left arm wound around Kaikeyi’s waist at his side as he turns to speak to Sita. “My wife has grown old and taken up matchmaking to pass the time, but from what I have seen you would be a fine choice for my Ram.”

Janaka stiffens at Sita’s side, hearing about such an arrangement for the first time, but Dasaratha’s charisma pulls him into its orbit as Dasaratha reaches out his hands. “I confess that I was never well educated myself, but I believe it would only bring me and my family honor to be able to call someone as learned as yourself ‘Brother.’”

Janaka is sold. Sita, who has never been quite sure about the real dynamic between Kaikeyi and her husband, realizes with some relief that there is genuine fondness, even love, in the smile she flashes her husband. Perhaps there might be hope for Sita herself.

Dasaratha insists that the informal engagement is enough to justify Sita and her father’s extended stay at the mansion. After one day, he calls Ram himself informing his son that Dasaratha has found him a wife. Within a week, the news reports that Dasaratha’s eldest son has found himself back on Indian soil.

Sita finally leaves the mansion two weeks after Diwali with the instruction that she must treat the property as her own home whenever she returns to India -- after all, Dasaratha booms, she is his beloved Ram’s wife now, and Dasaratha’s daughter now as much as Janaka’s.

“So,” Sita says on their first night, sitting on what's supposed to be their marital bed, “what name should I call you?”

Her husband raises an eyebrow, silent just as he has been for almost the entire week since he was called home. Kaikeyi, when Sita asked for details, had not elaborated on the character of her stepson nor had she offered details about how Sita might best seduce him.

“Follow your instincts,” Kaikeyi had said, smiling at Sita’s frustration. “You’ll know what I mean when you spend time with him.”

Well, Sita thinks perversely, her instincts are telling her to confess everything to the man she has promised herself to in front of her father, and God almighty. Somehow, she is meant to maintain a lifelong relationship with a man she is only now speaking to, and to mine his contacts for information to send back to her handler, his stepmother.

“The papers call you Ram,” Sita says, only a little sullen at the thought of the task ahead of her, “as does your family. Is that what you prefer to go by?”

“My father’s family,” he corrects mildly, and Sita immediately flushes at the mistake. Kaushalya and Shanta had of course come, but arrived only the night before the wedding -- Sita had met them both the morning of, but only enough to touch their feet and have Kaushalya cluck, teary-eyed, over the beauty of Sita in her wedding sari.

“Of course,” Kaushalya had said off-handedly to Shanta standing at her side, “Kaikeyi has always had excellent taste.” Sita had not trusted herself to answer.

“Will we live with your mother in America?” Sita has been provided with what she considers shockingly little information regarding her future living situation -- Kaikeyi insists that, largely, this assignment requires Sita to effectively live her own life and as such being more information than provided a new wife would only detract from her performance.

He shakes his head. “My mother and Shanta live in New York too, but Shanta needed to be closer to Columbia and...” he looks away, suddenly just slightly awkward. “Things changed so much for Mother throughout my life that I think she was finally able to find some type of stability when I was away at university. When it turned out that I was moving back, I didn’t want to be the one to throw her life back into flux.”

Sita nods. “Are you close?”

Her husband hums, fingers of one hand slightly worrying at the hem of a blanket. “As much as I can be, having spent every other year away.”

Sita can’t imagine -- for years, the story of the boy caught so explicitly between two worlds has always been interesting or amusing, but now that she’s confronted with him in the flesh she knows that it must have been sad, too. She tries to imagine a mother committing to the notion that the child she waves off at the airport gate would not be the one who returned, and finds that it’s impossible.

“It must have been difficult,” she offers, not elaborating on whether she is speaking of her husband’s family, or himself.

He nods. “Father and Mother Kaikeyi always had Bharata, and the Party. I was glad when Mother found Sumitra and the boys.”

Sita’s eyes widen. “A friend?”

He turns his body to look at her for the first time head-on. “No,” he says, eyes boring into Sita’s, exuding the same gravitational force as his father. “Her wife. The boys are my Father’s during a...period of disagreement with Mother Kaikeyi, and when Sumitra decided to keep them Mother brought her to New York to have the children. They fell in love.”

This is a test, Sita realizes, and for the first time, she realizes the wisdom of Kaikeyi’s lack of preparatory material even as she curses Kaikeyi in equal measure. She would have liked to have not been blindsided, but there is a truth to her reaction she could never have mimicked so effectively. Her mind roils with the amount of information relayed in such few sentences -- Dasaratha, already so old, still fathering sons. Kaikeyi and her husband having a disagreement so strident it sent him into another’s arms. Kausalya, raising more of Dasaratha’s children as her own. Kausalya, in love with a woman.

Her silence has drawn on too long during her contemplation, and her husband’s eyes have gone cold as he leans away from her.

“You call her Sumitra,” she decides on, “but if she’s your mother’s wife, should I call her mother in law as well?”

Her husband is wide-eyed himself for a moment, but then his face cracks into a smile just dripping with sudden, unexpected delight. Sita’s heart skips a beat at the sight.

“It would make her very happy if you did,” he says. “And as for me, my mother has always insisted on calling me Ramachandra and none of my siblings use my name at all. You can call me whatever you’d like.”

---

“Rama!” Sita exclaims, trying to rise from the chair behind her desk and managing to trip on the hanging sleeve of the sweater she had been sitting on. She laughs, picking herself up off the ground. “Oh, and you brought the boys too!”

It’s been a year since Sita moved to New York, a year in which she’s found fulfilling work at a South Asian women’s shelter, learned how to navigate herself via subway to find the best of ten different cuisines in New York, read three books related to Shanta’s new area of interest, featured in the boys’ Instagram Lives over 20 different times, and found herself a best friend in the form of her husband.

Ram, she had decided, was how the public knew him even if his father’s family chose the same. Ramachandra was much too long. Rama was short, sweet, vowels easy in Sita’s mouth.

“No one calls me that,” he’d said when she’d first used the name, his tone again one of unexpected delight. “I’ve always thought it was strange that they never did.”

Sita’s due a lunch break, but she’s always been prone to eating at her desk unless she’s eating out -- a budgeted, once weekly expense she keeps track of after the humiliating exorbitancy of her first month’s bill.

“We have money,” Rama had said, bemused at Sita’s profuse apologies. “I’ve got a trust fund, but my salary certainly pays well enough for this.” He’d glanced at the bill Sita had handed him as she had wrung her hands in front of him, so unsure of how she’d managed to spend so much. “It looks like this is mostly just restaurant charges anyway, and,” he’d looked up at Sita with a smile, rising to hold her hands before she could twist them again, “you live in New York now. I’m glad that you’ve spent the last month trying all sorts of the things the city has to offer. It’s exactly what I did when I moved back, except I probably spent twice as much.”

Sita had felt the first of many twin pangs at his kindness -- one pang of joy, at being with someone so well suited to herself, and another of sorrow when she thought of how their relationship was founded on a lie. Kaikeyi had told Sita that there was no need to actively seek out contacts for at least the first year, and so the extent of her real work was having regular conversations with Kaikeyi that easily blurred the line between professional and personal relationships.

“Is he any good at sex,” Kaikeyi had asked one day after asking for a report about Rama’s “family situation” which Sita found distressingly similar to the inquiries of a second wife wondering about her husband’s former paramours. Sita had hung up.

“Sita?” Sita starts, bringing herself out of her reverie and smiling.

“Sorry,” she says, grabbing her coat. “I was just thinking about something.”

“Something interesting?” He takes the coat and holds it out for Sita to slip her arms into, smoothing down the lapels when she turns around. “I spent the whole morning stuck in the single least productive set of meetings, and knowing them they’re probably arguing about what appetizers to get for lunch. I’ve never felt as lucky as I did when I told them all that, unfortunately, I’d already logged that I was taking a half-day to take care of my brothers.”

The boys scowl. “We’re thirteen years old,” Lakshmana says. Shatrughana nods in agreement. “We could have gone home by ourselves!”

Sita flashes Rama a smile, leaning down with an expression as if in deep thought. “That’s true enough -- if you’d like we can send you home and just join you after I finish work, but aren’t your moms on a health kick right now?”

Lakshmana, always the more suspicious of the pair, crosses his arms. “And?”

“Well,” Sita drawls, hearing Rama snort softly next to her, “your brother and I were thinking of taking you to the greasiest joint we can find in walking distance, and then to 7/11 after to find you both snacks for when you spend the weekend at our apartment. But if you’d rather not, that’s totally ok too!”

The boys fall for the line, hook and sinker.

“Oh,” Lakshmana says, voice suddenly a pitch lower than usual as he squares his shoulders in what Sita doesn’t think any of the three recognize is his best imitation of Rama, “that’s ok.” He looks over at Shatrughana, who nods. “Family is important. Let’s go eat!”

“Thank you,” Rama says softly after they’ve finally decided where to eat and are walking in the correct direction. Sita raises an eyebrow. “You’re good with the boys,” he explains, shrugging his shoulders. “I was expecting to have to take them out on my own, and stay at my mother’s when I wanted to spend time with them but --”

Sita interrupts him before he says something truly embarrassing about what she only sees as a pleasure. “It’s easy when they’re such good kids,” she says, “and I would have done it even if it was harder. It’s the least I could have done for you, after everything.”

Everything being the credit cards he’d given her when they landed, his insistence that he wouldn’t monitor her spending and would set up a bank account for her that he would periodically transfer money into but not be able to access. Everything being the books he shared with her and the books he read on her recommendation, in turn, the concerts they’d attended together, the plays and musicals and movies and street festivals. Everything being the conversations they’d had on the couch until late at night, the meals he learned to cook because they reminded her of home.

The one similarity underlying all others between them, Sita realized one day, was that they had both grown up lonely, without anyone person, they could claim truly, entirely understood them. Neither of them had had a best friend until they met the other. By unspoken agreement, they had not consummated their marriage that first night, nor during the first few hectic months of Sita’s acclimation to New York. Eventually, it became easier to simply maintain things as they were and to enjoy the novelty of a companion before things became ... complicated.

If a part of Sita insisted that she hold off from sex so as to not build even more on an inherently unstable foundation -- if that same part screamed that her husband had given her trust beyond all else and she squandered the gift every day she didn’t tell him who she really was -- then that was something for Sita, and only Sita, to think about.

---

“Oh,” Sita hears from the bathroom threshold, glancing through the mirror at the figure Rama cuts in his tailored tuxedo. It’s been nearly a year and six months since their marriage, and what Sita thought of as friendship has since bloomed into a wild, uncontrollable love. Yet, she keeps her love to herself, knowing that it would be cruel to offer him fruit with a rotted core.

He cares too, she knows -- only a fool could willingly ignore the little signs of it he offers so freely, long and lingering looks, kisses to her cheek, forehead, the corner of her lips and the edges of her knuckles. She knows that her resistance to further intimacy must confuse him, perhaps even hurt him, but still, she can’t help but think that things would be worse if she gave in only for him to find out later. Sometimes, she wonders if Dasaratha knows about Kaikeyi -- if Lakshmana and Shatrughana owe their existence to a revelation of the truth which so discomfited their sire that he sought another woman to drown in.

Sita is selfish, far too much so, to allow the truth to poison what she now has, half-life as it is. So she smiles over meals Rama cooks for her, meets the contacts Kaikeyi has started sending her way during lunch breaks she takes less frequently at her desk and begins preparing her heart for when things will inevitably fall apart. Today, she and Rama will attend a gala meant to raise funds for refugees which will double as a drop-point for some dissident’s data collection from the last five years on the inside of their regime’s surveillance operation.

“You look beautiful,” Rama says, walking in. Sita’s hands, haphazardly smoothing down the last wisps of hair that refuse to curve to her skull in their updo, pause when he places his own over them. “Is that my mother’s sari?”

Sita nods. “The style has come back,” she says, reaching out to the counter for the strand of jasmine Sumitra had sent to their apartment to be paired with Kausalya’s sari. “Even Kaikeyi approved, which means that this outfit technically has the approval of all three of your mothers, and your sister as well.”

Rama smiles softly, taking the jasmine and pinning it up with a deft hand that speaks of experience. “I’ve never been one to keep up with fashion trends, but I think you wear it very well.”

“Kaikeyi says it makes me look like a movie star.” In order for the drop to be successful, Kaikeyi had demanded Sita pull out all the stops possible within the relatively demure confines of charity-wear. Sita’s blouse plunges at the back, skin unobstructed by a pallu or bra, and she shivers slightly when Rama’s left-hand traces lines.

“I suppose she would know,” he says absently, eyes raking up and down at Sita’s reflection in the mirror they both face, passing over her eyes rimmed with kohl and her dark red lips. His right-hand falls to his pocket, searching for a moment before he finds what he needs, pulling out a pair of beautiful earrings Sita hadn’t known he had.

“Mother Kaikeyi had me get these from storage a few weeks ago, but I wasn’t sure if they would suit what you were planning on wearing.” They look at the pieces in his hands, realizing together how well the earrings will look with Sita’s sari.

“Will you put them on me,” Sita asks, voice thin and breathy despite herself. His hands are gentle, just slightly cool to the touch as they gently thread the earrings into her lobes, tightening the screws and caressing her ear before moving to ghost over Sita’s hips. If Sita moved into his touch, allowed him to grasp her body so hard that she bruised if she turned her face just slightly and brushed her lips against his -- her entire body is one flame, but even now she is attending this gala with her own motive, even has a small gun she plans on holstering to her left leg as insurance. She can’t.

She can’t. Sita takes one step forward, Rama’s hands falling back to his own sides.

“We’ll be late,” Sita says, moving them back into purgatory instead of choosing heaven or hell.

Rama shakes his head slightly, taking a breath. “Yes,” he replies, tone never betraying a sense of the frustration he must feel. He smiles again, holding out a hand. Sita will tell him one day, she tells herself. He deserves that much.

“Let’s go.”

One day, it seems, will be sooner rather than later. Sita’s very first drop of this assignment, after nearly two years of prep, and it seems like she’s going to end up just another statistic, shot in the head for all her efforts.

Worse, she thinks, she’s going to break Rama’s heart. The dissident was less careful than they’d thought, trusted someone they shouldn’t have, and now they’re both being held up against a wall and being told to recite any final prayers for their souls. Sita’s single measly gun at her hip wouldn’t change the odds of 10 against 2, especially since no amount of physical training will significantly change the realities of her smaller physique going up against larger numbers of even better-trained muscle.

She only wishes that she’d thrown caution to the wind once, had told Rama the truth and let the cards fall where they may. She wishes she could see him one more time and apologize, reassure him that her love was true even if her initial motives weren’t.

“Hey,” she hears from somewhere in the distance, away from their cluster of a firing squad. Her heart simultaneously sinks and soars to realize that the voice is Rama. “That’s my wife!”

The leader laughs, just as the dissident sobs. Sita clutches their hand tighter. “Then I��m sorry to say that she hasn’t been much of a wife,” the leader sneers, “just another one of Kaikeyi’s little rats meddling where they’re unwanted.”

“Run!” Sita screams, deciding that she’d rather Rama be alive than hear her confessions before he too is killed. “For my sake run, before they decide to kill you too!” In the back of her mind, she knows that it’s already too late -- people are executed for far less than what Rama is doing, which is continuing to walk forward.

He sighs audibly, not even pausing his forward momentum. “I’m sorry,” he says, and for some reason, Sita genuinely believes that he is. “You know I’d do anything for you, but there’s something I haven’t told you yet about me.”

Shouldn’t that be Sita’s line? “What,” she croaks, captivated by how he’s somehow holding the group hostage, each of them curiously watching as he walks right up to wear Sita and her companion stand against the wall. “Please,” she sobs, breaking her own vow to face death with dignity, “if you’ve ever cared about me, you would leave.”

Rama’s fingers come up to trace Sita’s bruised eye, her puffy lip, the cut at her cheekbone. “Concussion?” he asks, completely ignoring Sita’s plea.

“It hardly matters,” she says, “when I’m going to die in about five minutes. Just like you will if you don’t leave right now.”

Rama hums, right hand shifting down to her thigh, where her gun is strapped. Sita’s eyes widen as though the fabric he seems to be easing the gun out and up to where the fabric wraps around her waist. Left hand still caressing her cheek as the right holds the gun in place against her stomach, he leans in to gently kiss Sita’s forehead.

“All three of us are going to live tonight,” he says, so confident that it seems as if it would be absurd for Sita to think anything else as if even three against 10 the odds are stacked firmly in their favor. “Hold this for me?”

Sita’s hand shifts down to the gun still hidden in the fabric as Rama steps away and turns, his hands now busy divesting himself of his tuxedo jacket and the bowtie Sita had so painstakingly learned how to tie for him earlier.

“Now,” he says casually, as everyone watches him worry at his cufflinks, dropping them in the pile now at Sita’s feet, later followed by his wedding ring. “Unfortunately for you all this means that you will not be surviving this encounter. Do you have any last words?”

The leader laughs. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Rama’s left-hand reaches out behind him. Sita, as if in a trance, dutifully fishes out the gun and places it in his hand before realizing that she has something she needs to say before it's too late. His own confidence gives her some of her own, but still how could he possibly win? How will they possibly survive -- and if, against all odds they do, what on earth is she going to say? So: “I love you,” she blurts out, smiling slightly when Rama’s head twists to look at her, incredulous, but before he can respond the first bullet fires and he explodes into action.

For the first two minutes, the fight is 10 against 1 and still, Rama makes it look like child play. Weaving in and out, every shot he fires taking down at least one if not more of the men against him. At some point, he grabs another gun and tosses it in Sita’s direction, whose entrance into the melee serves to turn the tide even further. At least she’s always been a good shot, she thinks to herself, taking a man out even when her head rings with what she knows her husband accurately diagnosed as the beginning of a concussion. Part of her can’t do anything but watch as her studious, gentle husband breaks someone’s nose before shooting them through the heart.

Within five minutes, it’s over. Just like Rama said, all ten men are dead at their feet. The gun drops out of his hand, slippery now with other people’s blood. Sita’s kill count is 2. He’s just killed eight men.

“I...” Sita starts, realizing she doesn’t know what to say. She swallows, looking at the carnage around her and tries again to reconcile the sight with Rama’s soft sweaters, old fashioned glasses, and aversion of horror films. “How?”

Rama purses his lips. “Same as you,” he says, wiping his hands on his pants with a grimace. “Mother Kaikeyi trained me, and while I was in India I was sent on assignment.”

Sita pauses. “You’re a spy?” Even as she says it, she knows that she’s in no position to speak with such scandal in her voice -- yet, she thinks, she had thought she knew him, that he had trusted her.

Rama laughs as he never has: short, hollow, bitter. “No,” he says, “not anymore. And even when I was, I was more of a hitman than anything else. I quit and moved away, and I assume that’s why Mother Kaikeyi sent someone to make sure I didn’t step too far out of line as a rogue element.”

Somehow, Sita thinks, this is worse than she imagined. “No,” she says, rushing forward, hands wringing as if he’s looking again at her first credit card bill. “I asked at the beginning. It was never about you.”

Rama is silent for a moment that seems to stretch endlessly as the adrenaline wears off for Sita, and her aches start to make themselves known. Her face throbs, her head spins, and there’s something in the vicinity of her ribs that twinges while she stands still -- not broken, she doesn’t think, but maybe bruised? Rama’s hands, almost as if it were against his mind’s will, come to stop her hands and tangle his fingers in his own as they do nothing but stare into the darkness over the other’s shoulder. “I’m glad that that’s what you were told,” he says eventually, and Sita suddenly realizes that there is an entire lifetime’s worth of complication she hadn’t known existed.

“I wasn’t told anything,” she says, sure now that Dasaratha knows at least part of Kaikeyi’s truth, because why else would Kaikeyi have made sure that Sita walked into her relationship as transparent as possible. “Everything we shared was real.” She pauses, uncertain. “At least from my end.”

Rama’s hands are like vices, clutching Sita’s fingers so hard it feels like he’s cut her circulation. “From mine as well. So when you just said--”

“Yes,” Sita says, unable to say now what fear of imminent death had so successfully inspired. “Before, I was afraid of you finding out about me, but yes of course.”

Rama exhales. “I’d hoped that’s what was stopping you, but I was never entirely sure that you really were one of Mother Kaikeyi’s recruits,” he smiles with a hint of self-deprecation. “You’re a good actor, you know.”

“No,” Sita says, bringing her hands up to cup his face, finally deciding to be brave. “I’m really not.” She leans in.

Their first kiss is gentle, tastes just slightly like blood, and ends quickly when Sita’s lip is irritated and makes itself known. It’s perfect.

“I love you,” Rama breathes into the sliver of space when they part, one hand drifting to hold her at the waist, another rubbing small circles into the nape of her neck. Sita’s head spins, and not only from the concussion.

“Hey,” she hears from somewhere behind. “I’m glad you two seem to have made up...and also .... that we’re all alive. But can we go now?”

Sita laughs, and then immediately regrets doing so. “Yes,” she says as Rama holds her still, “let's go.”

#ramayana #maya writes #avani008

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leeknow-bestboy · 4 years

Text

If You Close One Eye - Chapter Two

Ships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Bang Chan/Yang Jeongin | I.N, If you really squint you can notice Lix is into Binnie, Hyunjin was into everyone once

Characters: All the kids, The ex kid isn't here I edited him out, Other Character Tags to Be Added

Trigger warnings: panic attack, ptsd, original character death, homophobia, original character cheating, descriptive imagery.

Word count: 5878

Chapter: 2/?

Next / previous / first

Tags: Murder Mystery, amateur detective minho, Soulmates, not your typical soulmate AU, Alternate Universe - College/University, Slow Burn, Slow Build, good things take time let it slowburn, minho is singlehandedly responsible for the slow burn so blame him, no soulmates in this universe only they are, criminology student minho, art student jisung, POV Third Person, chan deserves better and he does indeed get better don't worry, art references please look stuff up, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, best sibling bond ever.

"If you close one eye, you can see what your soulmate sees"

Born with one eye an unnatural golden color, Minho and Jisung have been forced to cover them up with colored lenses in order to blend into society.

The magic to their eyes? Even they still didn't know.

This is the story of how criminology major and dance minor Lee Minho found himself hopelessly in love with the serial killer, local artist Han.

[Alternatively, let's see how long I can make these two dumbasses pine without one of them snapping. Edit: they finally did]

[Also WARNING: a HUGE amount of Jeongchan ahead, it's not subtle at all! So much fluff--]

The streets of Seoul bustled as night fell, clubs and pubs lighting their headlights for the passerby's attention. Not a single soul felt real then- as if it was all nothing more than a scene in the movie. Most importantly he knew, not one person dedicated a thought to Minho at that time.

Sitting at the edge of the bed, he had no urge to cry. The tears ended, they've gone, he was past that. Instead, the shock had settled back in. Even his warm, soft covers and a light breeze from outside couldn't comfort him now. The distant sound of civilization... it all proved no use as he dissociated farther.

Calling the police had been an easy first step, so was giving his account of the incident. No, the hard part came in between.

Laying there waiting for help had been... jarring. Lightly said it was hell; crying, scared and anguished, it hadn't even hit yet that he found what he asked for, have been looking for over the last few weeks. All he knew was that he will never forget the sight, and as the sun went down, he kept his light on; terrified of falling asleep.

Blinking rapidly, even late into the night it hadn't left him. Should he call his old psychiatrist? The hallucinations didn't seem to return despite his distress, at least. No pills kept them away, but they hadn't worsened at all like he feared.

Sitting frozen in place he recounted the voice answering his emergency call, deep and reassuring. The warm hands which pulled him to his feet, the worried gaze of the patrolling officer- a kindhearted man in uniform who hugged and comforted him until he calmed down enough to speak coherently. He remembered the backup call for investigation crew one, staying in the man's hold until others arrived. He remembered a tall man speaking, another squeezing his shoulder and commanding the others.

He remembered the officer taking him to the station, same one who found him in that state, the kind mister Kim- worriedly glancing at him as he drove. The tall one joined them, only ceasing in his stream of questions after a pointed glare from Kim.

"Pill, he's the only witness. There was a corpse out there." The tall man defended, crossing his arms and looking out the window without another word.

Arriving there, Minho was struck by how much he wanted to go home. Not to his apartment, mother or sister, not to anywhere he could set his mind to either, but a home he didn't have, didn't know at that time.

"Come on, lets get you some water." Kim offered, leading Minho inside with a warm hand on his back, not before taking his backpack away and placing it where belongings of suspects went presumably.

"Are you cold?" He asked worriedly, noticing the slight shiver that went through Minho as he sat down.

At his hesitant nod Kim left his side, talking in hushed tones to another worker before returning and ruffling Minho's hair.

"I'm heading back out; someone has to stay on patrol. Jae, be nice." He warned, stepping out of the room.

As he left, the worker from before had entered back in carrying a yellow blanket and a cup, and Minho dully noted that he seemed a few years younger than himself. An intern?

A loud cough brought his attention to who he understood by now was an investigator- the tall guy who joined them in the ride, dubbed Jae by officer Kim.

"Are you okay to start?" he asked.

And so, they did.

Turning his gaze to the window in present day, Minho tried his best to forget the things said at his investigation as it led to farther memories of the incident. Passing his statement had gone fine, leading up to his release. The officer had been kind enough to drive him home without being asked, not wanting him to roam the streets in his shaken-up state. He imagined they would summon him back tomorrow, seeing as he collected a lot of valuable information on Chelle's case over time, but that had been it.

Should he look up cat videos? Minho sniffed, shuffling back till his back hit the wall. A sudden movement made him jump, relaxing immediately when he saw Dori and Soonie both jumped up to check on him.

"I'm okay, don't worry." He lied, wiping at his face with a sleeve.

An unfinished drawing; the field from today, Seoul's towers in the distance.

"…I'm not, I'm not okay." Minho corrected, bitterness filling his mouth.

He jumped up, running to crane over the toilet as nausea hit. He didn't even have any dinner, but his appetite had fled the scene for now, so it didn't matter. First night, it was only the first night- he'll get better for sure, he promised himself. He was only shocked, this can't be the end of normalcy for him. He still had a lot to look forward to, he didn't want this day to scar the rest of his life, wouldn't let it.

For now, he let himself go through it. He didn't even like Chelle, but that never meant he wanted this to happen. What was he expecting, anyway? For her to show up one day, alive and well as if nothing happened? On some level this was inevitable, wasn't it?

Dragging his feet to the kitchen, he fixed himself a glass of water and headed back to bed, where he sat and waited for sunrise. He had a few assignments still due, but he was in no mindset to do those.

Eventually light broke, dark circles evident under Minho's eyes. He got up, picking four of the empty water cups to put away and making some coffee for a change.

It was around seven AM that a knock sounded, alerting Minho who's been nodding off and shaking awake with a shiver every couple of minutes for the past hour and a half.

He stood, head spinning as he opened the door to a policeman he only vaguely recognized as the one left in charge of the scene the day before.

"…Minho, right?" The officer started after a while, undoubtedly noticing Minho's tired eyes and deciding to drop the formalities for the time being.

"I am. You have questions for me?" Minho confirmed, fighting the urge to sigh deeply.

"I do. Would you mind if we head out? I can wait for you to change, if you'd like." The cop asked.

Minho stared, realizing he hadn't changed or washed up over the past 24 hours. In comparison, the cop had been clean shaven- black hair in a pretty cut that ended right over his ears. His eyes, sharp and fox like, seemed to hold just the right amount of chill and wit expected of a detective. Moreover, he seemed a sharp contrast to last night's tall detective wearing round glasses, short blond hair messed by wind and small eyes tired yet warm.

"I'd rather we head out right away." Minho decided, trying his best not to let himself get intimidated. Describing the first detective as tall might have been fair, yet standing next to the seemingly icy man he realized he too had a good eight centimeters on him- he was just built a bit wider.

"Before we go, you said yesterday that you have files with information on the case. I'd like to see those" The man requested. Minho nodded, speeding to his bedside where his bag had been left stranded containing everything he's gathered before he left for yesterday's search.

He blinked hard, hoping to stay alert even at his tired state as he handed over his recent list of loose ends. Despite doing so, he failed to notice the man's impressed gaze scanning over the information. "Let's go." He said eventually, seeming oddly pleased. "Bring the bag with you."

The car ride had been silent for a while, Minho struggling to stay awake and missing all the concerned glances the other took in his direction. It was broken, eventually, by an unexpected offer trailing from the driver's side.

"Up for some coffee?" The cop asked, eyes twinkling as a cheeky smile spread across his features. Shocked, Minho nodded and noted over to himself- never judge by first impression. The moment the cop smiled, the ice broke- it was as if all the stars in the universe found a new home in his eyes, lips shaped in a heart.

The cop huffed a laughter, and Minho wondered how that person ever left a cold impression to begin with. "I'm gonna get an iced americano for me, what would you like?"

"The same." Minho said quietly, flustered. The cop hummed, obviously agreeing with that choice before his smile grew even more, a feat Minho hadn't thought was possible.

"Hold on," he instructed, stopping the car near a café and stepping outside. Soon enough he returned, two cups of iced americanos and a small croissant in hand.

"You look tired, some sugar might do you good." He explained, and it turned clear to Minho that he was one kind gesture away from breaking into tears.

"Let's go, I have questions still." Ah, there it was. Alright, fair enough- he might have been playing the role of the good cop, there was no need to take it personally.

At the station, Minho was faced with a few familiar faces; The tall blond detective, and the boy who brought him a blanket. Officer Kim, however, was nowhere in sight. Instead, a new addition was some guy seated on a waiting chair meant for fugitives, sleeping with a hand thrown over his face, covered head to toe in blankets and snoring quietly.

"Sit down." The blond detective instructed, pointing with his chin towards the chair he had sat in before, next to an office table with two additional chairs on its inner side. The detective himself had elected to lean against the wall, as if rejecting the idea of sitting next to his partner during this.

"Look at this." The black haired commented lowly, placing the bag they brought in the other's hands before sitting in the chair opposite of Minho.

"Would you like some water?" A voice piped in. Looking to his left, Minho found that it was the boy. Black hair messy, he could now tell for sure he wasn't an employee since he wasn't in uniform, and Minho dumbly recalled that he wasn't wearing it the day former either. Smiling lightly, he shook his head- he still had some of his iced americano left.

"Let's go over these again- You are: Lee Minho, a major in criminology, minors in dance. Twenty-one years old."

"Yes." Minho confirmed confidently.

"Yesterday, late afternoon, you were following Chelle's tracks, a girl who's dated your sister and has gone missing without notice. Attending a location that she had occupied in her last moments according to her Instagram page, you have encountered her corpse. Is that correct?"

"Yes." Minho confirmed, quieter this time.

"Over the passing weeks since her disappearance, you have acquired extensive information on Chelle's life and behavioral patterns, coming to know her well- leading to her discovery."

Minho nodded. Please be done soon…

"This was done under the request of your younger sister, eighteen-year-old Lee Ryujin."

"Almost nineteen." Minho corrected numbly. Her birthday was due next week, so nineteen.

"This is good." The tall detective commented, startling the table's occupants. He handed out the papers, slamming them on the table.

"You were right, Bri. We could use that kind of mindset." He continued, throwing Minho into a state of confusion. What was this about?

A groan behind them made the black-haired detective straighten up, leading to Minho looking behind him as well. "Oh, you're awake?"

The sleeping man stretched, making a few painful sounds and moving his hand away from his face. At the sudden recognition, Minho couldn't help but stare.

"Chan?" he asked, disbelief clear in his tired voice.

"Minho? You’re here too." He noted, taking in where he was as his expression fell horribly.

"We called him in after you went home. You can leave, you know." The tall detective commented in a hard tone, hinting on the fact he had told him this numerous times before.

"I can't go home like this; I need to know what happened." Chan insisted, sitting up and leaning his face into his hands. The image had been devastating, unlike anything Minho expected of Chan's character. At that moment the intern returned, carrying a big cup of nice smelling brown liquid and offering it to the grieving man quietly. As he accepted, the intern sat by him and comfortingly held his hand- a kind gesture, filling Minho with sudden affection towards the boy.

"To be honest, we didn't bring you in for questioning." The dark-haired detective spoke, capturing Minho's attention once more.

"We need people who think like you," he continued, communicating with his partner with his eyes, sending him off somewhere-

"And we were wondering if you would agree to an internship, here, with our team."

Minho perked up, surprised. An internship? What for? Why? And how come?

"We investigate hard cases, where people have gone missing or worse. There are a few other teams, this is response crew one. Generally speaking, we are in charge of district nine as well as that part of Seoul's outskirts."

Minho froze, adrenaline starting to pump through his body. "You want me to investigate missing person cases?"

The detective paused, eyes turning sad. "That might be a bit much at this time. Please consider it."

The blond detective returned, carrying a few files which he offered to Minho. "The terms aren't bad, right Innie?"

Minho turned, making eye contact with the boy. "Pretty good. I don't deal with investigations though; I'd rather make coffee." He added.

Reading his terms, they did seem pretty good. The pay was high, and he was promised to get credited over cases he took part in. As for hours, they seemed to be flexible enough for a college student to partake.

What?

Minho stopped, eyes lifting from the paper. Never in his life did he intend to pursue a career as a police detective, hadn’t considered it seriously even. The offer itself had nothing attractive about it, nothing to aid him in his career path and ultimately-

It meant, what happened yesterday?

That will happen again.

Minho felt himself choking up even as he made an effort to settle his breath. These people expected him, they really thought he could go through it again. It hadn't been a day, and still-

What kind of obscure offer was that?

Minho stood, turning away with the intent of leaving that place for good. From the other side, the detective had sighed. "Could you take the papers with you? Think about it?"

It was then that Minho looked up and saw, Chan had been looking at him all that while. He didn't seem judging or tired, although his eyes were red, they were filled with expectations. It seemed that, without knowing Minho that well, he fully believed the other would take and sign those papers, and it hit him that for Chan he was the only real detective at presence.

Had he not taken that request from Ryujin… he wouldn't have found her. He wouldn't have seen it, he wouldn't, and then...

And then she'd have stayed there.

And no one would have ever found her, because no one was looking. Even if Chan was looking, he never would have found her, because none of the information he gave was what led to her and because Chan was not Minho, didn't think like him.

And that wasn't okay.

"Oh?" The tall detective sounded, pleasantly surprised as Minho sat back down and pulled a pen out of the batch near the computer, neatly signing his name in big letters. If he didn't, he knew it would haunt him forever, the thought that he would have left Chelle to lay in a field if given a chance.

"What can I say kid, welcome to the crew."

After that, he had learned the names of all the office workers. The detective in charge; Park Jaehyung or Jae, his partner; called Young K on the field, Kang Younghyun normally and Brian by close friends. Their boss, an impressive man named Park Sungjin, would show up here and there but mostly worked odd hours. The head of the emergency call unit who had coincidentally picked up his call was a shy man named Yoon Dowoon, and head officer Kim- the title had Jae wheezing for air, was normally called Kim Wonpil. The intern, referred to as Innie by the others, stood up and formally introduced himself as Yang Jeongin, grin shining brightly enough to draw everyone's eyes to himself.

"For Chelle's case." Young k spoke up, immediately drawing Chan and Minho's attention.

"We found that she had shot herself. Her parents asked to cremate her as soon as we called, but the forensics team decided to get an autopsy anyway. It seems that the time of death was right around the upload of her last post, which makes it a bit difficult to tell if there is anything more to it. We have no reason to suspect that much, either."

As he went on, Chan covered his mouth, tears beginning to spill from his eyes.

"Some things we found a bit strange, but it could be that a wild animal got to the scene before us. Since the art suggests she went there herself, it isn't too far fetched to assume she went out to die."

Minho stared at the ground, hand lifting to pass his fingers through his hair. "Can I call my sister?"

Young k nodded. "Of course. Go ahead."

Minho fished his phone out, staring at Ryujin's contact. He hadn't found it in him to call her last night, but now that its been confirmed he had no other choice.

"Hello! Oppa? How are you?" Ryujin voice sounded, breaking Minho's heart farther.

"Ryu, where are you?" He asked, skipping formalities.

"I'm at home! Did anything happen?" She asked, concerned.

"Please sit down." Minho instructed, stalling.

"Yes? I'm seated. Are you alright? What's going on?" She asked with slight panic.

"I'm at a police station. I found Chelle yesterday, Ryu, she didn't make it." Minho said, hoping to make the pain quick.

"What? What do you mean she didn't make it?" Ryujin asked, confused.

Young k grimaced, gesturing for Minho to pass him the phone. As he did, he elected not to put her on speaker.

"Ryujin? This is Officer Kang speaking. We regret to inform you that my crew has recovered the body of Chelle, twenty-one-year-old, yesterday during late afternoon."

The cries that followed will remain in Minho's memory for the rest of his life, and suddenly he felt thankful to Young K for letting the memory relate to himself, a cop, rather than Ryujin's brother.

The ride back home had been uneventful, Young K deciding to leave Minho be in his fatigued state. By now his head had started to pound, making it clear he wouldn't make another night without sleep.

Frustrated, Minho lifted a hand to rub over his face. There it was: the drawing of the field, now colored more fully. It seemed that this particular hallucination would stay with him a while.

"Are you okay?" Young k asked, worried but not overbearing. No, he wasn't okay- but that was a private issue.

"As okay as I can be." He replied, hoping to end it at that. Young k nodded, full focus back on the road.

That night's sleep had been broken, Minho waking up every thirty or less minutes from vivid nightmares he couldn't fight off. By morning it felt as if his head was split in two, and he couldn't imagine attending his classes for the day. Instead he stayed in, arm thrown over his eyes in despair. He will get through this, he better.

Soon, for sure- he will get to sleep. Right?

Deciding to at least fix himself up, Minho stood up and took off his shirt as a start. Walking over to the bathroom sink, he brushed his teeth lazily for a while and checked the dark circles under his eyes. Next, he took his good cleanser and foamed it, spreading it on his face before washing it off. Toweling off the right side of his face, he could read big letters written on a whiteboard.

Example number one: the post-impressionistic art of Vincent Van Gogh

Notable works: Wheat Field With Crows, Starry Night, Sunflower On A Vessel, The Potato Eaters.

Background: Born in 1853, Van Gogh has been traveling for most his life, finding inspiration in different places and subjects. Van Gogh had famously suffered from prolonged psychotic episodes that were reflected heavily in his art, resulting in him taking his own life on 1890.

Minho blinked, faced back with nothing but his reflection. He picked up the dropped towel, a striking thought sending shivers down his spine.

There was no way, was there?

Jogging back to his bedside, he picked up his phone with shaking hands before typing the painter's name into the search bar. Changing his mind, he deleted it- he'd be out of his mind to think that a hallucination of his could be of importance. This was a result of his mind playing tricks, nothing more, and he should remember that. Hold on to reality, don't confuse it with illusion.

The illusions, he thought, might be worsening after all.

Turning back to finish what he started, Minho picked out his contact lens and stripped the rest of the way, stepping into a warm relieving shower. However, he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched- not disturbingly so, but somehow reassuringly. He stared at air, reminding himself that the bathroom had no windows and trying to empty his head.

On the other end of the bathroom, the mirror had fogged up.

When done, Minho threw on a hoodie and joggers, deciding to go on a run despite his exhaustion. Staying here, he though, would do him no good.

It was late noon when his phone rang, Jae calling him up to the station. Everything had progressed so fast, But Minho figured it was a better pace for coping rather than dwelling on each unfortunate development in his life.

Fortunately, he had been near the station at that point, having refused to return to the stifling apartment after his Jog. As he ran there, he was comforted once again by the feeling of normalcy- the couples, children and teenagers roaming the streets with no fear. Soon, he swore. Soon he'll recover and feel as unbothered as they do, as he used to feel.

Once at the station Minho was confused to see Chan once more, seated on the waiting chair as he had last time. Rather than greeting him or even glancing his way at the sound of the door closing, the blond seemed occupied with daydreams. Following his gaze, Minho figured he was probably fixated on nothing in particular, seeing as it fell on the unexciting sight of Jeongin watering some flowerpots by the windowsill.

"Hello to you too." Rang Jae's voice from where he was standing at the start of the corridor. Minho turned, realizing he had completely ignored the man earlier.

"Hello hyung. How are you?" He asked calmly, hoping to sooth the other's anger, that he hadn't realized was non-existent.

"If you talk politely to Jae, he's going to grow a bigger ego." Warned a smooth voice that entered behind Minho, softly closing the door behind him.

"Officer Kim!" Minho called, smiling at the man he recognized as his savior during what was arguably the most scarring experience in his life. At the title the man smiled, and Minho could swear he saw flowers bloom around him for added effect, a bright halo shining around his head like a real-life saint sent by god himself.

"I heard you've joined team one! That's very impressive. I'll have you know they're the best of the best, you can learn a lot by interning here with them. That and I'm glad you seem to be better, I kept worrying about you, you know."

Minho's eyes warmed, turning glossy. That was a very cool thing to say, which was probably what warranted Jae to speak next.

"You say that and then pretend to be some hero. You're just Wonpil, resident snake." He commented, eyes squinting with pretend annoyance. Ah, Minho noted. So, they are friends.

A small rustling of Jeongin squeezing past Jae into the hallway averted Minho's attention back to Chan, who still hadn't spoken a word. Comically, it seemed, his gaze followed the intern.

"Chan?" Minho asked, slight amusement sneaking into his voice. Chan sighed, moving his gaze to the floor. It seemed that he had been quite out of it, and Minho suddenly wondered if Chan had it any better, or if he too was unable to sleep like himself.

"Chan!" he tried again, this time snapping the elder out of his trans.

"Minho? Hello! How long have you been standing there? Hyungs too?" He asked, visibly flustered.

"You'd be surprised." Jae chuckled, quickly correcting himself to lessen the blow,

"Not too long, don't worry. I get like that too when I work."

Chan hummed, marking the end of the discussion. Accepting that fact, Jae had instead picked up his explanation of the relevant topic at hand.

"Chan, since you're here as Dowoon's volunteer, I expect you to take responsibility and show us we can count on your help. You two won't go through the same materials, obviously, since detectives in training don’t correspond with call receptors at all, but since Dowoon is busy I agreed to take you in for the general introduction to the law system. I assume Minho doesn't need this sort of thing?"

Minho shook his head, processing the new information. Then, Chan came to volunteer at the emergency call center? That sounded impressive. As for training, at least, his college classes would be of some use.

"Great. To make a point, I am also busy- and I'm going to be busier with Minho from now on. Please ask Jeongin for help if it's anything basic, he knows his way around better than maybe half the newly hired cops, even if he says he wants no part of it."

After the short disclaimer, Jae made way for a closet at the end of the room. Unlocking it smoothly, he pulled out some neat files to lay on the table. Turning to a shorter cabinet on the other end of the room, he struggled with the lock numbers, eventually asking Wonpil for help. When they did crack it open, it made a rusted sound- creaking and opening painfully with force. Pulling out a thick, heavy book from the bottom, Jae sneezed with feeling- erupting a tall cloud of the dust that gathered on top of it.

"Jesus." He commented, wiping his nose. Figuring out the outcome, Minho stifled a laugh as the taller dumped the dusty book unceremoniously into Chan's arms, causing the other to stagger a bit.

"Good luck." Minho mouthed, earning a nose scrunch in return. It was essential to find pleasure in the little things in life, such as being spared of having to read that monstrous fossil and getting to watch Chan suffer through it instead.

"Get started on that, then. Minho, come take a look." Jae instructed, Wonpil sending Chan a look full of sympathy.

And so, it begun.

Over the past week Minho had gotten used to the reduced amount of sleep he was getting, returning to his classes and working as earnestly as ever. After classes ended on some days, he would pay a visit to the station, where training went by surprisingly fast and without an issue. At night, he would still fail to rest for over forty minutes at a time- but that was sure to get better, wasn't it?

Before he knew it, life settled back in a routine.

Entering the office, Minho sighed at the sight of Chan, staring dreamily at Jeongin's back. That weird habit of his had started to turn less spontaneous, everyone noticed- yet collectively decided not to address it. Looking over to Jeongin, the boy had probably noticed as well, judging by the soft blush spreading onto his ears.

"Minho! Good, I have a lot to show you today." Young k welcomed, walking out of the hallway and over to the table they always used. As Minho looked over, he noticed Jae was present as well, although he seemed to be in a sour mood.

"We talked for a while and decided to hand you some cold and ongoing cases to read. Personally I find closed cases a little boring, and we don't want you to try and adopt our own thinking patterns as guidelines -creativity is important, it's why you're here-, so I vetoed we won't give those to you."

Minho nodded, sitting down and accepting the folder Young K offered. "These are some girls and boys who have gone missing, we hadn't found helpful leads on them since."

At the numerous pictures, Minho's anxiety peaked. "So many?" he asked in petrified shock, earning a deeper frown from Jae.

"It's more often than it seems that people are reported missing. A larger number of people we have found successfully, safe and sound, and a smaller number were not as lucky. All in all, we experience many more successful investigations than futile ones, but remember that cold cases gather over time, and some of these are still in the process of investigation."

Minho swallowed, looking over pictures. There was one girl in particular who slightly resembled Ryujin, whose image he had to put away quickly before his mind got to make that into brand new nightmare fuel.

"You don't have to choose by face," Young k intervened, taking away the pictures before farther scarring could be caused.

"We can choose one for you. What do you say?" He offered, looking to Jae at the lack of reply from Minho.

Jae sighed, expression signaling that he was less than pleased to face Minho with the cases, and Minho wondered if he was touchy over sharing what he ultimately failed to crack. After a moment Jae had fixed his attitude, pulling an unusually thick file from the closet and slamming it next to the folder.

"This girl, her case has been cold for four weeks, making eight weeks in total since she had gone missing. If you have any insight on the matter," he paused,

"Please report to me. I've been working on her since the day she went missing."

Reading the files for a while, Minho had eventually requested to take them home. At his request, Young K beamed with pride- telling him that of course he could, under the condition that he takes care not to damage them.

That night he had spent reading. Min-ra, seventeen-year-old; no enemies, no behavioral issues, no dating history. A happy girl to all who knew her, confident and comfortable in her own skin. Independent, she would spend some nights attending high school parties and sleeping over with minimal concern from her parents. As such, she hadn't been reported missing until 34 hours of silence.

Minho switched through pictures, saddened at a pretty selfie the girl took by a window and posted online the night before. The view had felt familiar, similar to the one from his own room, and he wondered if she too liked to sit next to her window and watch the cars drive on occasion.

From the window Minho could see a main road, littered with pubs and restaurants whose signs have been lit beautifully in preparation for the night crowd. By whim he had looked up her address- she lived in the other end of the district with both her parents, a little sister and two cats. Relieved, he looked up a map anyway, and quickly noticed a detail that piqued his interest.

Looking at the map, the kid's house was located in a family friendly apartment building block near a wide road that seemed easy to drive on to reach her place. However, said road only split from the main road a considerable distance away from the apartment, and made a few inconvenient twists that could prolong the way for any vehicle by about ten minutes.

Tracing the channels with his fingers, Minho noticed that a straight distance towards the main road led to a convenient bus stop, and immediately concluded that the alleys connecting the two could easily serve as a shortcut. At that realization, Minho's blood froze, and he hoped to be wrong on his developing theory.

A closer look had provided farther support. For a convenient shortcut, a person would have to pass in an alley that went a short distance behind one of the main road's clubs. Breath hitching, Minho threw on a pair of shoes and ran down to start his car, not minding that he was still in sweatpants and a tee, ignoring the fact it had been four AM and that he could possibly be faced with the drunk crowd himself. Blood searing in his ears, he couldn't cease in his movement until he stood there, dark alleys curving into a spot for large waste containers.

Picking his phone, he numbly dialed Jae's number, hoping the other would pick up.

"Minho? Do you have any idea what time it is? What are you doing awake-" Jae ranted, exposing the fact he hasn't been sleeping either.

"Hyung, I'm sorry but, you need to get over here." Minho choked breathlessly. In front of him stood a huge garbage container, filled to the brim with trash that clearly hadn't been vacated for at least two months. The scent coming off the pile had been so horribly and sickingly sweet, that Minho didn't have to guess anymore. To make himself clear, he rephrased: speaking with his shirt over his nose.

"The girl, your cold case- I found her, she died. I texted you the address, so please be quick hyung."

Jisung hummed, finishing up a work he had started a week former and signing with a HAN at the edge. Depicting water had always been a bit hard, but the image was so vividly burned into his mind that he couldn't help it. Pastel art of a foggy bathroom mirror showcasing the torso and upward of a showering man, face blurred by steam- it was so beautiful he could cry.

Checking the time, Jisung wasn't even surprised to find that he stayed up till near four AM painting again- that much was normal and happened fairly often. Stretching and rubbing his left eye, he left a trail of color on his cheek at the sudden new imagery of a club at night. Rolling his shoulders, he sighed and set out a new canvas; it's not like he had an intention to sleep tonight anyway.

#Minsung #jeongchan #stray kids fanfiction #skz #lee know #han jisung #lee minho #bang chan #yang jeongin #tw panic attack #tw ptsd #tw original character death #tw original character cheating #tw descriptive imagery #tw homophobia #heart of mine #golden boi #fried fusilli #mean boycrush

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queenofmoons · 4 years

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It Builds Up, Then it Breaks Down

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Fandoms: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man (Video Game 2018)

Characters: Peter Parker, Mary Jane Watson, Miles Morales, May Parker (Spider-Man), Harry Osborn, Otto Octavius

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Read on AO3

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Peter was forced to watch F.E.A.S.T. die slowly. One by one, the infected dropped off and the bodies were cleared away until he was just looking at empty beds in a gym.

May had hardly spoken to him.

That was three months ago.

“What do you think?” He’d asked MJ when the reports had started coming out. When J. Jonah Jameson had started making sense.

She’d been quiet. For once, MJ didn’t have an immediate opinion. That made his stomach twist.

“I think you did your best,” she told him. “You did all you could.”

She excused herself after that, something about work, and he didn’t say anything when she gave him a pitiful smile. He stayed in the booth ( their booth) for another half an hour, avoiding the knowing look from the short line cook.

He turned MJ’s words over in his head, “you did all you could” and it was like he was standing over Otto again, the serum in his hand. A second chance.

That’s all any of us can do.

He wished, abruptly and out of nowhere, that he could see what the other choice had been. If, maybe, there had been a chance to save everyone-- something he’d forced himself to learn early on wasn’t always an option.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t looked.

The hours-- days-- after saving May had been spent looking for another vial, or using the few drops they’d saved on a slide to recreate it. Peter and Michaels had worked until the last person at F.E.A.S.T. had died, and even then Peter kept working until MJ and Miles had dragged him away. They’d pushed him into May’s office and barricaded the door until he’d caved and passed out on the couch.

He’d dreamt of Ben.

When Miles revealed himself to Peter, there was a disconnect. Joining him on the ceiling had led to the fall of Miles’s face. Peter understood. He wished he hadn’t.

That night he’d dreamt of alternate realities. A world where May had died and New York hadn’t plunged into chaos and Miles could still look him in the eyes. He dreamt of time travel and selflessness and when he woke up it was in a cold sweat alone and in the dark.

The next morning, New York was still struggling to recover. Crews were still cleaning up the rubble from Spider-Man’s fights with Otto (Doctor Octopus, as the news had so aptly nicknamed him). The news was still listing the missing and the dead. Osborn gave a press conference, then another, and the press wrote more articles with updated death tolls, and F.E.A.S.T. still wasn’t open again yet.

“You working on a story?” he asked MJ one night, nearly two weeks after the Devil’s Breath had been released. He had been avoiding patrolling, so he was on her couch instead, watching her stare at her laptop. Actually, he was waiting on a call from Yuri, but one hadn’t come since that day and he had given up hope of hearing from her. At least for now.

“I’m covering Otto’s case,” she said without looking up. He felt like maybe he was supposed to know that, and also like he had already asked her.

He fiddled with the web-shooter he had laid out on the coffee table. He was supposed to be repairing it, but he’d really only turned it over and over again in his hands. “Have you found anything else out?” He asked, “About Harry?”

There were two unspoken rules between them now:

1) Don’t ask about their relationship

2) Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to

“Nothing,” MJ said, and Peter suddenly wondered if he had already asked that, too. “If he wanted us to know anything, we would. He clearly didn’t think it was important enough to tell us.”

Her words stung. She was hurt. “You know how Harry is,” he said sheepishly. “He’s proud. He didn’t want us to know he was hurting.”

MJ made a sound Peter recognized from when they were dating. It was the sound that usually preceded a fight so he pretended to worry he’d left the stove on and left through the fire escape.

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

His strained relationship with May was the hardest part.

“Hey.” He leaned against the railing on the porch of her house in Queens. He held up a bag of Chinese food. “I brought dinner.”

She looked tired. She’d been working longer hours trying to get F.E.A.S.T. back up and running, mostly by herself. Miles helped when he could but he was just a kid, and now that he’d been bitten… He had work to do for Peter, too.

Peter had already talked to May about his “second job.” After the shocking discovery, they’d found time to sit down. May looked hurt, still. He supposed that was fair. Peter had just traded hundreds of lives for hers.

For the first time since he’d been bitten, he didn’t need to lie to her. It was a weight off his shoulders to tell her about everything he had done, every mistake he had made, and when he said, “I need to tell you something about Uncle Ben--” she had just put a hand up.

There were some things he would need to take to the grave.

“I was so proud of you,” she said, “when I figured it out. My nephew was the one out there keeping us safe.” And he imagined her watching the news every night, watching the recap of his fights from the blurry CCTV footage while a picture of Ben hung beside the television. It made his chest ache a little bit.

That conversation hadn’t managed to fix things. She never expressed her unhappiness, but he could feel it. She was colder, sadder.

“I’m one old lady,” she had said to him one day out of nowhere. He was helping her clean up the remnants from the Devil’s Breath patients. “There’s a whole city out there that needs you more.”

And when he opened his mouth to point out that the city had The Avengers he thought about the responsibility that comes along with power and how this had been an argument he’d had with Tony Stark a long, long time ago. He chose to close his mouth instead of sounding like a teenager.

“I know,” he told her. “But I need you more than that city needed me.”

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

The hiatus he was taking from being Spider-Man was making Peter restless. He tried to focus his energy on finding Harry, but all of his calls went straight to voicemail and his hopes that there was some kind of hint at the research stations was quickly crushed. There wasn’t anything Michaels could tell him that he hadn’t already known.

On more than one occasion he thought about biting the bullet and patrolling, but then the news would come on or he’d hear Jameson say something or another that he couldn’t even argue with and hesitation would set in. Cold and blinding.

“It’s been a month,” MJ said. “When are you getting back out there?”

This was, of course, in reference to the incessant pacing he had been doing around her apartment. Front door to kitchen to bedroom to front door. He was flipping his cell phone as he walked, one headphone in and listening to the police scanner. When MJ spoke, he almost missed catching his phone.

“I’m not sure that I can,” he admitted.

“So you’re just going to mope around forever?”

She had a point.

“I’m looking for a job. Something less… Evil scientist-y.”

“Who’s going to teach Miles?” She had looked up from her laptop. This was a serious conversation, apparently. Peter swallowed and stopped pacing.

“I can show him the basics,” he said, monitoring his words carefully, “but maybe he shouldn’t be out there. He’s just a kid.”

“So were you.”

“And look how that turned out.”

MJ sighed and closed her laptop. Uh oh.

“Peter,” she said, and her voice was gentler than he had expected. “You can’t second guess like this. Do you know how many times you’ve saved this city? Do you know how much you’ve sacrificed? Jobs, and time, and hospital bills. Relationships.” He smiled at that, tired. “There was something you weren’t willing to sacrifice. You made that decision, you need to move on. Either you’re Spider-Man or you’re not.”

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

The city had very mixed reactions when Peter got back to work. But, just like they had in the beginning, they settled down to a simmer. The opposition became those who had lost someone, and J. Jonah Jameson.

When the press tried to ask him a question he told them simply, “I did my best. It’s the best any of us can do.”

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

“You need to make sure you look for yourself out there,” Peter said sternly. “This isn’t a game. If you’re in real danger, you get out of there and call me.”

He looked down. So did Miles, and Peter saw him balk at the height. When Peter had first started, this height had been dizzying. Now, he climbed to the top of the empire state building and jumped for fun. Hell, he’d found one of his old backpacks up there just last week.

“Our suits are on a call. I can hear you and you can hear me. But I need you to promise to do what I tell you.” They both watched the robbers load up the truck. Peter hadn’t loved the idea of bringing Miles along with him. These guys had guns and possible murderous intent.

(“Do you remember why we broke up?” MJ had asked. “If you don’t show him the ropes he’s just going to go off and do it without telling you. You can’t protect him, but you can teach him how to be safe.”)

“Yeah, I promise.” Miles slid his mask on. “What are we waiting for? They’re pulling away.”

“Alright,” Peter said. “Let’s do this,” and both Spider-Men leaped off the side of the building.

#I'm about to replay the game and I wanted to get this on here bc it doesn't have much love and it's one of my favorites #spider-man #Peter parker #spiderman #miles morales #spiderman ps4 #spider-man fanfiction #spider-man fic #Mj watson #may parker #Spiderman ps4 fic #spider-man ps4 fic #Spiderman fanfiction #Spiderman fic

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delicateunraveling · 4 years

Photo

Dear Taylor,

A version of this has been in my drafts since the week Lover came out, and I’ve been alternating between too shy and too overwhelmed to post it, but I wanted to try and say something in honor of your 30th birthday, the astonishing year you’ve had, and the impact you’ve made on my life. (The photo is of things I received in a package from a fellow Swiftie, who sent me the deluxe version of the album - and the extra surprises! - because I couldn’t afford it myself, and that itself was remarkably kind and a testament to you - you’ve inspired so much goodness and generosity in others.)

Even if you’re, understandably, never able to see this, it’s honestly a blessing to think I can send this out into the universe. That's enough. Somehow I never knew that I could reach out on Tumblr until recently, or I likely would have said something to you many years ago (despite that overwhelming shyness). I wish I could be eloquent or imaginative in writing it (if I could be complex, if I could be cool!) instead of...an overemotional mess? I just wanted to take a moment to say thank you, for everything you've given to us in your music, everything you've given of yourself no matter how hard it's been, everything you've represented in your honesty, your displays of compassion and strength.

Music is the deepest passion and love of mine, it's the gossamer thread that's held me together in the worst times, the safe place where I could pour my heart and be myself. I'm a couple of years older than you are, though I generally feel behind these days because I've been chronically ill and mostly housebound since I was 19, and that halted my life and dreams in their tracks. The dream of truly honing my voice and my musical self was the most difficult to put away in the midst of all the others. It's often felt like being trapped in amber while the world keeps spinning, or like being a ghost, ostensibly drifting in the world, but nearly invisible to it, only occasionally peeking out of the windows to see the sun.

Ten years ago, I fell for a boy (still the only person I've ever felt that way about), and everything he was ended up being a lie and devolving into him gaslighting me and threatening my safety directly, along with breaking my heart. It took such a toll that I had to pull myself out of a harmful darkness, and he was a musician himself, so I had some terror that the experience with him had stolen or tainted that dearest part of my being. It hadn't, but the recovery took a while. One of the very first things that got me through it, that woke me up again, was being able to hold close to your first two albums. Those songs quite literally helped keep my heart beating, and then Speak Now helped it to heal. I’ve unfortunately never had the chance to see you live (the concert films are spectacular, though!), but your music became a part of the tapestry of my life from those first moments on. I've loved your work ever since then, but often quietly and tenderly, because it's near to such a delicate part of my spirit. It's vulnerable and personal, it's romantic and devastating, it’s starshine salvation when the world feels cold and clouded, and saying that is strange since those expressed emotions are fundamentally yours, but the way they transform into something both universal and specific is truly magical.

This year has been the worst and the darkest I've felt since that heartbreak ten years ago, though for very different reasons. My health took a serious turn for the worse. My beloved dog, who was my constant companion and my emotional support through every day of my illness for almost 13 years, succumbed to cancer. She was my sweet baby (I'm sure you understand this feeling with your precious kitties), and I still struggle with her absence daily. My mom and I are in the most precarious position we've ever been in financially, and we're looking at losing our condo with nowhere else to go. I've felt like everything is terrifying and tenuous and slipping away from me, including time itself. I apologize for even putting those burdens down in words, but if I don't, the weight of my thanks to you isn't as real. "Me!" came out only a couple of weeks after she passed away, and the pure happiness of it was the first bit of joy I'd even felt since she had relapsed. Then when you released “The Archer,” it moved me to the point that tears were streaming down my face when I first played it, feeling like I wake in the night, I pace like a ghost was transcribed from a cathartic place in my own thoughts. Knowing a new album was coming from you once again gave me something to look forward to, a reason to want to keep going, even when it hurt to breathe from missing her, even on days when my illness has been flaring too severely and painfully for me to get out of bed, I kept thinking...make it through to August, you have to hear Taylor's next album. Making it there felt like a minor miracle, and even though I’m scared and don’t know what’s ahead or what’s going to happen now, I am unbelievably glad that I was here to listen to your music, and then to witness your continued bravery, over the past few months. Laying that out in words on a screen sounds too small, but it's tremendous to me.

There are connections to each of your album releases that I could ramble about (Red would take several chapters of its own in my hypothetical novel, My Melodic Inclinations and Inspirations: An Autobiography), in their meaning to me and how much they represent in the pages of these passing years, but I realize how special Lover is to you specifically, and that's why now, more than ever, I wanted to be able to say how grateful I am for your poetic words, for your sweeping and intimate melodies, for your works of art. Hidden away in my room, I've sung-screamed your songs in delight at the top of my lungs, I've curled up under covers and cried to them, I've twirled around in pajamas with them. This is the first time I won't have my fluffy girl to hold on my lap and sing them to, but somehow that has made having new songs all the more treasured and cathartic. Lover is an absolutely exquisite, sparkling gift of an album. I cherish it as I do each of your albums, each for their own special reasons, and I will forever be thankful for all of your work.

I respect and admire you so much for the way you've stood your ground, the way you've championed what you believe in and spoken for equality and for artists’ rights, the grace with which you've approached everything you've been dealt in such a harsh spotlight. I can't fathom what that's like, but I am constantly proud of how you respond, your ability to both grow and remain authentic in expressing your views and truths. Exceptional artistry is worth celebrating (your Artist of the Decade and every other accolade is earned and deserved!), but being an exceptional person is even more worthwhile, and I believe you're both. When we say we stand with you, when we rally around you, I hope you remember that it’s out of not only that admiration and pride, but also rooted in genuine care and connected humanity. Our society needs bright, bold women, making changes and supporting one another. The world is lucky to have your beautiful songs, and your individual voice.

Thank you for creating such incredible things. Thank you for giving a valuable perspective to such a breadth of emotions. Thank you for giving your dazzling art so wholly. I hope you remember how much it means, how deeply it resonates, to so many people. I hope you remember that so many of us are in your corner with the brightest wishes, for your happiness and your freedom to be yourself, with prayers for you and your family and loved ones. I hope you know that your words have given some of us life rafts in swirling currents that threaten to drag us under, that your music has the ability to break through shadows with powerful light. There is a sacredness which exists in art that knits us together. Wherever I go, I'll carry your songs in my heart and soul.

Happy, happy Birthday!!! 🍰 🎈✨ It truly is the end of the decade, but the start of an age. May 30 be the beginning of brand new creativity and experiences, and even more wonder and daylight, golden on the horizon.

Love always,

Jess 💖💖💖

@taylorswift @taylornation 😘

#taylorswift #taylor swift #taylor nation #taylurking #happy birthday taylor #i love you so much #this is absolutely okay to reblog if anyone wants to #♥♥♥

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cooltrainererika · 5 years

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Alt-talia x Evillious Chronicles: The Key to Zorn (Part 1 v. 1)

Couldn’t come up with a better title.

This is for Alternate Universe/AU, or Angst, it can qualify for both.

Okay… so… holy hell.

This is the longest fic I’ve ever written. And it isn’t even finished.

I thought “Superbia” was long. But… I outdid myself. Over FORTY FREAKIN’ PAGES IN GOOGLE DOCS. And again, this is not finished, I’m splitting it so I at least have the hope of releasing something! With two routes! This is a novel, folks!

I’m probably going to repost this for the Christmas event since I want as much people to see them as possible. Because there are some Christmas elements here. So yeah, you can take this as an early Christmas fic too.

This will be a movie, folks. Grab a seat and some popcorn.

Also, look, it’s goddamn Ludwig torment again! For the fourth time in the span of a month! And this might just be the most elaborate way I’ve tormented the poor guy yet. But I didn’t really have many options.

So I wanted to enter Mirror Week, but in the main canons write in, Alt-talia and Hetalia Emblem, I haven’t come up with any use for 2Ps, and in the former case I can’t see how I could use them.

However, there was one Alt-talia spin-off AU I had been thinking they would exist on; I didn’t know whether I wanted to release media to it so early, and due to a reason I will explain in a moment, I was reluctant to release media about it in general. But… I went with it.

This is my Evillious Chronicles AU. Yes, an AU of an AU. What about that.

Basically, the Evillious Chronicles is what started as a series of Vocaloid songs telling a much larger story; it has since ballooned into a vast, tangled network of light novels and other such media. It’s as confusing as it sounds. Some of you may have heard of the songs “Daughter of Evil” and “Servant of Evil”; those were the first songs to be released in that series. Those two songs weren’t self-contained, oh no.

The thing is, for this AU I wanted to write just based on the seven sin songs (and Servant of Evil), with accompanying Hetaloid covers, and leave the rest of the story up to the audience. I’m still planning on that. However, I still wanted to enter the event, so here I am presenting a version of events for one of the arcs; however, it is merely the route that hews closest to Evillious canon from what I can gather of it. So yeah, NONE OF THIS IS HARD CANON. Especially since I wasn’t sure on the roles of some characters here.

Also, if I somehow ever get to publishing my main Evillious x Hetalia fics sometime in the future; first of all, hi. But more importantly, please, I implore you, do not read this before reading The Muzzle of Ludwig. Especially the second half. I tried to avoid spoilers, but someone becomes extremely obvious with contextual clues.

Also… it’s not like I wanted to write Ludwig torment again. But he was basically my only option, since he was the only one whose sin most likely overlaps with… well, it’ll become clear as this goes on. Ludwig’s story here is based on Nemesis Sudou’s story. Though since Nemesis and Ludwig are vastly different characters, there may be some plot holes, unfortunately.

And THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT: for those who have read none of my other works yet, Alt-talia has often vastly, vastly different characterizations. I based most of these characterizations off of their late 19th century to very early 20th century personalities in Alt-talia. Special OOC warning for the following characters: Austria, Hungary, and Prussia. Minor OOC warning for Germany. I used @askimperialludwig ‘s version of the character as a reference, along with my personal perception and research. may add more later.

Also, credit to my friend @tomboyjessie13 , my Evillious consultant, for helping me through this!

I can’t let this be too long, since the fic is long already. Let’s go!

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(Also... people who read my fics, please reblog them. I work hard on them, and want many to see them!)

And since I forgot to add this above the cut; this canon is also one of the few times Nyotalia characters canonically exist as their own entity in my works, if not the only one so far. It’s kind of necessary, since otherwise it’ll turn into a complete sausagefest. However, as I have no set personality for them in main Alt-talia canon, I basically write them the same way as I would their male counterparts, with maybe some minor changes. I do have some ideas for Nyotalia characters in “what if” stories for main Alt-talia canon, but since this would be an Alt-talia spinoff, most of my theoretical audience would be there for the Alt-talia characters who appear in most Alt-talia media. Not to mention male stereotypes for countries are usually more fun anyway. However, in this universe two counterparts of the same character can co-exist. I try to avoid that though.

Also, a character named “Arendt” is briefly mentioned; this is Brandenburg. He isn’t really that important though, and really I’ve barely fleshed him out, so that’s all you need to know.

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The Key To Zorn

In a certain continent, there was a forest.

A serene, peaceful forest, where inside one could almost feel mystical energy in the clear, unpolluted air.

Until, under the evening sky, a gunshot sounded.

Ludwig Beilschmidt, a boy of merely 8 with innocent, cornflower blue eyes, ran through the forest he knew so well, a basket of wild berries and herbs in his arms and a small sack over his back.

Soon, in his view, among the trees and wild cornflowers was the only place he had known all his life, the little wooden cottage he called home.

The boy immediately checked his old, somewhat rusted mailbox, a look of anxiousness on his face - one which immediately turned to disappointment upon finding there was nothing there.

He sighed.

“Nothing today either...”

He reached up somewhat, twisting the doorknob and opening the wooden door.

“I’m home!”

No one answered back.

As per usual.

He didn’t expect one anyway.

Ludwig went to the dining table, setting the basket and sack, as well as his small, old-model pistol, down on his side of the table. Inside the sack was a small rabbit; the poor little thing. He hoped it didn’t struggle for long after he had shot it.

He prepared dinner as he always did, the bubbling as the ingredients stewed the only sounds other than the cries of the wildlife outside.

And he ate in silence by the light of the lamp, staring at the empty, vacant other side of the table, the light of the sun dim and faint.

“Mutter, is it good?”

Nothing.

Ludwig sighed again, going back to shoving the stew into his mouth.

——-

Ludwig tucked himself into bed after a bath and a change of clothes, now in his old, almost too small pajamas, having finished the book in his hands an hour ago - while he had reread it and others several times already, it was a window into a world different from his, where friends supported each other and families told stories in front of the fire - but now that it was over, here he was, once again, stuck in loneliness, on his own, within the cold, dark walls of a small cabin.

Once again, it was quiet. All too quiet; except for the sounds of the forest.

Now as he had nothing to distract him, every rustling of the underbrush, every animal cry made him bristle. The forest was his comfort by day, almost a second mother, but by night, it was dark, feral.

He pulled his blankets up to his face, curling up, shaking like a leaf. He felt any moment, a beast could break through the walls and tear him to shreds.

He missed his mother so much, oh how he missed her. Her harsh but protective voice, her calloused hands squeezing his wrists. He missed his onkel Arendt, who told him stories of the battles he and Mutter had been through.

She’s dead. She’s dead, accept it.

No, no she wasn’t.

She couldn’t be. She had to be alive.

She was too strong to die.

She would come back. She always came back.

His mother wouldn’t want to see him like this anyway. He was being pathetic.

“Einz, zwei, drei...”

He took a deep breath. He was stronger than this.

Imagining his mother was standing by his bed, staring at him with disapproval at his fearful behavior, finally his shivering started to lessen ever so slightly.

He needed to make it so that when she came home with another medal shining on her chest, she could come home to a son she could be proud of, after all.

“Good night.”

He said to no one in particular, as he let the faint moonlight be his comfort, finally closing his eyes.

Lu li la la lu li la la la...

A soothing, calming melody played in his mind; Ludwig didn’t know where he knew it from, but as it surrounded him in soft, almost familiar gentleness, the shivering stopped, his muscles loosened, and he was finally lured into the welcome embrace of sleep.

Lu li la la lu li la la la…

Lu li la la lu li la la la...

———-

“FIRE!”

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Birds flew away in massive numbers, disturbed by the sudden noise.

Ludwig blew the steam off his pistol, seeing that the bullets had all landed near-target. Almost there.

Not bothered by the recoil anymore, he lined up the shot again, swearing he would get it right this time.

Every two days he did this, before 10 sets of running, marching, and every parallel bar routine; this wasn’t how most children his age passed their time, willingly anyway, if the books he read were any indication, and surely he felt sorry for the animals who had to hear such things, as they were the closest things to friends he had. But it broke the silence.

And most of all, he could almost sense his mother beside him during these practice drills; he could feel her hands on his arms guiding him in his aim, and hear her voice shouting in tandem with him as he shouted “FIRE!”. In fact, sometimes he swore she actually was there, by his side.

He took a deep breath and aimed again.

“FIRE!”

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

When he came home, he once again saw a basket of supplies.

They always puzzled him. They came at such random, unpredictable intervals, filled with food, a few bottles of milk, several cartridges of bullets, and even occasionally a book, toy, bar of soap, or other extra, but by the time he found them no one was ever there.

He should be grateful. Though he wished someone would explain to him.

Oh well.

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

Days passed, then months.

Once again, on the night of his 9th birthday, Ludwig laid alone, the weak moonlight unable to brighten his gradually deepening pit of despair.

The silence was maddening. He craved for any touch, for any warmth of another person, for anything. But even that simple wish was too much to ask.

He bunched up the worn blanket, the cold, frigid winter air seeping into the cabin.

Every day, he wondered if he was slowly going mad.

Holding a cornflower and his mother’s black cross necklace to his chest, looked out into the moon, to the night sky peeking from a clearing in the trees.

A star shot through the night sky, and Ludwig was quick to make his wish.

I hope Mutter will answer my letters soon.

She had always told him that believing in such things was foolish.

But what was the pain in hanging onto the little light he could find?

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

Now’s your time.

Alright. I’m going in. See you.

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

One cold, chilling day, towards the final days of the year he turned 9, Ludwig stepped outside to check his mailbox again.

Snow lightly dusted the ground, softly landing on his old, worn coat.

He had checked his homemade calendar; Sancbruma. Such a lovely holiday. But now, just yet another cold, freezing, lonely day. Oh well. He had known Pater Natalis wasn’t real for years to need confirmation.

But this day, after creaking the old thing open, he found something.

His heart almost stopped.

Immediately, he ripped the envelope often, his heart pounding in his ears, his breath quickening, and he immediately glued his focus to the words, written specially to be understandable to a child.

Ludwig Beilshmidt, we are sorry to inform you that…

Time seemed to stop. He swore his heart stopped.

Dread shot through his body like lightning.

He read on, clinging onto the little hope that still remained with him all those years as they escaped from him, flying away as he fell deeper.

…

Tears fell from his face.

She was gone.

She was really gone.

Finally, suppressed despair replaced dread, filling every corner of his mind and body, every nerve, every muscle.

But mixed with it, and eventually almost overpowering it in the concoction of emotion, was wrath.

Pure, unbridled wrath.

He tore the paper and screamed, his screams piercing the serene forest air.

Tears fell from his eyes like a burst dam as he cried into his hands, cursing whoever had killed her, her fate, the cruelty of the gods.

If only he could get his hands on whatever bastard killed her, he would strangle them, he would gouge out their eyes, he would shoot them in the leg and watch them bleed to death, how dare they take his mother away!

He had always been told the best came to those who were patient.

He was proven wrong that day.

All those years, waiting, hoping, hoping for nothing.

Nothing.

His mother was never going to come back. Ever.

Grief, anger, and sadness gripped his small frame as he shook, on the ground, his young brain besieged with intense emotions and reality, dreaded, painful reality.

Don’t cry. How pathetic. Is that how I raised you?

Ludwig forced himself to take deep breaths, desperately fighting his tears and holding back the flow of the concoction of emotions any further.

No, his mother wouldn’t want to see him like this. He couldn’t let her be honored like this.

“Einz, zwei, drei, einz, zwei, drei...”

He took a breath with every word, forcing his emotions back and attempting to lock them away, until finally once again he could think somewhat coherently.

It was here he noticed something wet poking his hand.

There was something in front of him.

A dog.

A medium-large dog with pointy, perky ears and snout; a magnificent, beautiful coal-black Fernirhund, its bright, intelligent eyes a rare violet.

He didn’t notice it before in his panic, but now the dominant emotion in his mind was confusion.

As he sniffled, the dog nudged him again with its nose, looking up at him with its soulful eyes.

“...A dog?”

The dog stared at him back.

Ludwig’s mind immediately jumped back to the beginning of the year.

I hope Mutter will answer my letters soon.

“Are… are you from my Mutter?”

Silence.

Immediately, he embraced the dog, making it yelp, crying into its fur.

“It’s adorable! I love it Mutter! Thank you!”

It let him cry into its fur, as the boy’s short arms wrapped around it in the first living thing it had embraced, nay, touched, in years.

He was actually holding something living. Oh, it had been so long. Oh so long.

He had almost forgotten what it felt like to hold life in his arms, to feel its warmth, to feel its gentle rising and falling, to hear the subtle sounds of another’s breath in his ears.

For the first time in years, despite the unforgiving cold of the winter morning air, warmth reached Ludwig’s heart, happiness brewing with and overpowering now subdued despair and rage.

<Sure… Whatever makes you happy, kid.>

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

“Oy vey… I was too late again.

...This world is fucked.”

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

Ludwig put a saucer of stew in front of the dog, which surely enough it soon started lapping up.

“It’s good right? What should I call you… I’ll have to give you a name.”

He stared at the dog, deep in thought.

“Oh, I know… Schwarzchen!”

The dog looked at him.

“You like it? Then Schwarzchen it is!”

<...I didn’t say anything. ’Blackie’? You cannot be serious.>

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

That night was different from usual.

Ludwig nestled his head in Schwarzchen’s fur, holding onto him like a stuffed animal, running his fingers through his soft coat. It had seemed reluctant at first, clearly not used to such close contact but as Ludwig begged it to stay, as if it understood him, it decided to stay with him.

The dog’s breathing neutralized the deafening silence he had gotten so used to, its warmth protecting his small body from the frosty air.

It was like heaven.

Oh, he almost forgot something.

He took his mother’s necklace from his bedside table, putting it around the dog’s neck like a collar.

“There. Perfect. It suits you.”

He barked.

“Good night, Schwarzchen.”

That night, sleep came to Ludwig easier than usual, as he was surrounded by his new companion’s soft breathing and warm fur.

----------

“Hallo. Kid. Wake up.”

Ludwig awoke, his eyes fluttering open.

Once his eyes focused, he almost yelped in shock.

He was somewhere he didn’t recognize, some formless void; Schwarzchen was nowhere to be seen, nor were the walls of his cabin or even his forest, all that remained was his bed.

In front of him was a man clad in what seemed to be a long white lab coat and some type of mantle, or at least Ludwig assumed, his clothing style almost resembling that in illustrations in one of his novels, ostensibly chronicling ancient legends; but not just any man.

A man who looked almost exactly like how one would imagine Ludwig would look like when he was older, save for his unnatural purple, almost magenta eyes that shined with a calculating glint, a scar under his left.

“H… hallo?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to hurt you.”

“I… Who are you?”

The man smiled at him softly; despite his harsh features, it calmed some of Ludwig’s nerves, just a little.

“That isn’t important. But you’re lonely, right? And it’s causing you pain, yes?”

His voice was deep; much lower than Arendt’s, the only other reference he had for an adult man, surprising Ludwig a bit.

The boy nodded.

The man dug into one of his pockets, taking out a key.

“Here. I’ll be your friend; all you have to do is take the other end of this key, and you won’t feel any of that loneliness and pain any more…”

Tentatively, Ludwig took it.

The boy gasped as he suddenly felt something overwhelming and indescribable other than energy blitz between him and the strange man through the key; it was painless, in fact almost manic energy, bright lights flashing in his vision.

Ludwig woke up.

The boy laid there, his eyes wide, his mind mulling over what he had just seen.

“A dream… it was a dream… Who was that man?”

He turned, and there Schwarzchen was.

“Never mind… Good morning, Schwarzchen.”

Ludwig blinked.

“...Did you just…”

Ludwig’s eyes widened. He held his head; it seemed to be coming from within his head, like a thought, instead of from his ears.

“...Schwarzchen? Is that you?”

<Yes, this is the dog. And I have a name.>

Ludwig took a few seconds to process the information.

“...What? ...Mein Gott, I’ve really gone crazy…”

<No. This is real. I’m speaking to you through something called telepathy. Speaking to you through your mind. I could explain all the intricate details but it would probably short-circuit your child brain.>

“I know what it is. But it’s just like in the stories! Wow! I didn’t know they really happened!”

Ludwig sat up on the side of his bed.

“You keep insulting my naming sense. So what is your name?”

“Schwarzchen” looked him directly in the eyes.

<Well, well, it’s the same as yours, funnily enough. Ludwig.>

“We have the same name? What a coincidence.”

“Alright… Lutz it is. ...I liked ‘Schwarzchen’ though.”

<...Whatever, kid.>

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

Like that, Ludwig and Lutz became friends.

His 10th birthday had been the best birthday he had in years, even if it was just the two of them.

Over time, Lutz taught the boy how to use telepathy; and without him saying a word, he became a third hand to him.

...Sometimes. Other times, the dog merely yawned, telling him to “Do it on his own.”

Ludwig wondered if all dogs were like this. But even then, he didn’t mind. Even if Lutz was a cold, snarky jerk sometimes, it didn’t matter.

Every day, they ate together, went hunting together, bathed together, and at the end of the day slept together.

He could almost forget his loneliness, and the fact that his mother would never return.

Almost.

——————

As Ludwig braced himself on his bed, he once again counted his breaths.

The wrath he felt that day; it was coming back. From within, it seemed to spread to his entire body, to the point it was unbearable.

He would never forget that pain. He couldn’t. But mindless rage was for the foolish.

He wouldn’t forget. But he would remember, silently.

When he looked to Lutz, Lutz didn’t seem afraid at all. He merely stared at him with those violet eyes.

Ludwig embraced Lutz, not letting go.

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

Lutz stared at the young boy as he slept, his chest rising and falling.

It was easy.

A bit too easy.

What did he expect from a child though.

<Still, would have liked a bit more of a challenge.

Oh well. Sleep tight, kid.

...Though why do you have to use me as a pillow?>

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

Over the next year, Ludwig grew. Now on the cusp of puberty, he became stronger, he could run faster and further, and he could shoot with more and more accuracy.

On the morning of his 11th birthday, Lutz presented him with a query.

<Kid.>

“Huh? What is it, Lutz?”

Ludwig froze.

<Don’t cry on me.>

“I wasn’t going to”

<Yes, yes. In anyway, since you know you mother isn’t coming home, what’s the point staying in this place anymore?>

The boy pondered it.

<I’m a dog and even I think it’s pointless waiting for someone if they’re clearly dead. Well maybe I’m not the one to talk here.>

He was right.

“But… This is all I have ever known.”

<Don’t worry about it. You’re smart. I think. You should find out what to do soon enough.>

“...Jawohl. I don’t know what my purpose is being here forever too… It’s not like this place will disappear either. And it’s not what Mutter would want me to do. ...We’re leaving tonight.”

————-

Ludwig opened his drawer.

There it was; the notice he had torn up all those years ago.

Why did he still have it?

Just so he would never forget, probably.

Ludwig sealed the notice into a pouch before the rage became too much to bear, stuffing it into his bag, going to fetch his clothing. He had a sailor suit saved up for “special occasions”; he hoped he hadn’t outgrown it already.

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

Ludwig looked behind his back one last time to the small cabin, the cornflowers, the trees he had known for his entire 11 years of living.

It felt so odd to know he would be away from it.

He quickly ran back, Lutz grumbling behind him, and picked a few flowers, pressing them between the pages of a book.

“Jawohl. Coming, coming!”

-----------

When Ludwig entered the capital, the little truly important belongings he had on his and Lutz’s backs, he was in awe.

It bustled with energy, with people, rickety, clanking automobiles and trolleys spewing steam or smoke that made him cough if he went to close, radio commercials resounding through the air, as well as delicious smells the likes of which he hadn’t known in years, some never before, but mixed in with the inexplicable smell of whatever was coming out of the automobiles.

Ludwig wasn’t quite sure whether he liked it or disliked it, but most accurately he would describe it as a strange mix of the two; but more than anything, everything was so new.

He marveled at the sight of a trolley passing by, when he heard honking behind him.

“Get out of the way brat!”

Ludwig stepped back, hopping back to the sidewalk, and an automobile clunked on, its driver looking at him irritated.

But its movements fascinated him, how the machine seemed to move magically, how it seemed to have a life of its own.

“...Where should I even start?”

<Well? Do you have any relatives?>

“Not that I know of.”

Lutz pointed in the direction of some other children, in a way much like how a pointer or setter dog would.

“...Oh.”

Ludwig sighed. He may as well.

————-

“Shoo! Shoo!”

“No money? We aren’t a charity, sorry.”

“Outta the way!”

————-

Ludwig slept in an alley that night, huddled in his old blanket, snuggling against Lutz, who had gotten used to the close contact years ago.

He was so tired. He just remembered he hadn’t slept for an entire day, and it was finally catching up to him.

He had gotten some attention due to being cleaner-looking than the rest, though Lutz was far more charming in their eyes. But more often than not, the overwhelming message in the air was clear; he wasn’t welcome here.

“Lutz?”

Lutz looked up.

“Why didn’t you tell me I needed money for everything?”

<Didn’t you read about it?>

“I didn’t know it was this necessary.”

“...Lutz?”

<...What now?>

“There’s so many people here. But I still feel so alone.”

“Jawohl… Good night.”

————

Seeing no reason not to, Ludwig had decided to explore the city a bit more the next morning, after having helped himself and Lutz to a piece of bread and some beef jerky he had bought, plus the miscellaneous items he had been given the day before.

After a long while of walking, taking in the different sights, from the historical landmarks and building to new projects, some even in the midst of being built, neatly separated or together, working in at times harmonious and at times chaotic tandem. Every so often he saw stray animals run about. After some time he started to see schoolchildren, some about his age, run to school with their friends, adults dressed in suits on their way to work.

Until, Ludwig started to feel the air change.

It felt somewhat... sticky? The breeze seemed stronger. And inexplicably salty.

For he had reached the city harbor. Birds, they were called seagulls he believed, cawed above. Fishermen had far since left the dock, and in the distance, trade ships were being loaded to go who knows where. And they were floating on a vast, open field of water, water, nothing but water.

“Lutz... is this...”

He had heard his mother’s stories about the ocean; while she had never been a woman of the seas per se, she was in the army, not the navy after all, he had heard her describe growing up near it. It was odd thinking that she, too, had been a child once like him.

This ocean was to her like the forest was to him, quite possibly.

She had also spoken about a rumor; a rumor that a wish put into a bottle and cast into the sea would, eventually, be granted. She had dismissed it as childish of course. And she did say that she much preferred the land after growing up.

Though according to Onkel Arendt, she would at times, despite this, just go to her childhood home, staring out into the eternal ocean.

He wondered what she had thought as her red eyes stared out into the distant horizon, the salty breeze flowing through her silver-white hair.

It was strange, imagining his mother like that. The sea was so free, almost careless; the complete opposite of her. But maybe that was exactly what drew her to it.

Ludwig started running along the dock, letting Lutz chase him, the briny wind rushing past him and through his hair. People had started to come to swim, and the city was starting to fully come to life.

Even if life was hard, at least he had some way of entertaining himself when everything was so brand new.

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

One day, a duo of teenagers spotted Ludwig.

And being the thugs they were, Ludwig suddenly found himself in confrontation with two kids much larger, older, and stronger than he; even if Ludwig was tougher than most 11-year-olds, these two seemed to be about 14 at least, if not, and probably, 15.

“Hey street rat, where’s your mutti?!”

Ludwig tried not to pay them any heed, even if he bristled at the rude words.

“...What business do you have with me?”

The shorter one grabbed him by the collar.

“I asked you a question, shorty!”

After the initial shock and fear, Ludwig felt a flash of anger. His fists clenched as he tried to struggle his way out. And worst of all was that he couldn’t do anything.

<Kid. Listen.>

“What?!”

“Of course! ...Intimidate, Lutz!”

————-

Ludwig stood there, dumbfounded at what he had just witnessed, as the teenagers ran away, screaming “DEMON DOG! DEMON DOG!”.

And there Lutz was, looking terribly bored, as if nothing had happened.

“How… how…”

<I’m a Very Amazing Dog, you could say.>

————

A week passed; Ludwig counted, as he always valued timekeeping, no matter what. The other street children left him alone, eyeing him strangely. Occasionally, he heard extortionists threatening some unfortunate soul.

That was when, however, Lutz told him something vital.

<Hey. Have you ever considered asking the police if you have any relatives?>

Ludwig looked at the dog, puzzled.

“What?”

Lutz pointed at a building.

<There. It says “POLIZEI”. Can’t you read?>

“...Why? Won’t they throw me in jail or something?”

Lutz looked up to see Ludwig’s dumbfounded face staring back at him.

“...Why didn’t you tell me that, you mutt?!”

<Thought it would be interesting to observe you. Also don’t be too loud. Everyone will think you’re a crazy person.

Ludwig took a look around, and indeed there were some passerbys staring at him.

Ludwig loudly sighed, his palm on his face.

“...Fine. Thanks anyway.”

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

“Your name?”

“Ludwig Beilshmidt.”

The officers looked at him for a few seconds.

“...As in Julia Beilshmidt? General Julia Beilshmidt?”

“Jawohl.”

They were in shock.

“...Excuse me? Is something wrong?”

“Erm… We apologize. Ja.”

“Do I have any relatives? I need some place to stay.”

“...Ja. We will search immediately. Please wait here. But it may take a while.”

————-

“Hallo? Is this the police? Why must you be calling?”

“Well, you see, sir… It appears that a relative of yours has suddenly shown up out of nowhere. ...He claims to be Beilshmidt’s son.”

“...Mein Gott. Julchen did say she had a son… I knew she wasn’t the type who should be able to take care of a child. I will be there as soon as I can.”

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

“I know, Lutz. Shut up.”

Lutz yawned.

“He should be here soon-”

It was then that the door to the police station opened with just enough force to be noticeable without slamming.

Standing there was a dark brown-haired gentleman with a large, curly cowlick, probably in his thirties, most likely affluent from his clothing.

“Excuse me, I hear there was someone waiting for me here?”

Ludwig stood up, and their eyes met.

“Hallo. ...You are Ludwig?”

He adjusted his glasses, then his tie.

“Ja?”

He looked him over.

“Ah, I can see some of the resemblance. Though you’re actually somewhat adorable, unlike her.”

“...Is that an insult against her?”

Realizing his mistake, the man cleared his throat.

“Ah, sorry.”

He outstretched his hand.

“I am Herr Roderich Edelmann. Your mother’s cousin. Nice to meet you. I’ve heard about you, but it is nice being able to see you with my own two eyes.”

Ludwig took the hand, shaking it.

“Ludwig Beilshmidt. Nice to meet you, Sir.”

Then, suddenly, Roderich’s formal facade dropped and he pulled the boy into a hug.

“You’re so precious! You may call me Onkel Roderich! Don’t worry, we will take great care of you!”

Lutz looked on in amusement as Ludwig’s cries of shock became muffled in the man’s chest.

Ludwig was flabbergasted. It had been so long since he had been hugged. He only could relive them in his memories, and they weren’t frequent, but here he was, feeling it yet again, surrounded by warmth; he didn’t know how to process it.

But if there was one emotion he was certain about as the man smoothed his hair and cooed over him, it was that he felt loved.

————-

Ludwig held on tightly as the automobile rocked around them. Roderich didn’t seem to mind it whatsoever, but Ludwig had only heard of an automobile once, and had seen, much less ridden, none. Roderich was happy to make him comfortable next to him though, warning him whenever a bump or “pothole” was coming up.

“I forgot to ask… what is that dog doing with you? A purebred Fenrir no less?”

Lutz was lazily sprawled out in the back seat behind them, his ears pricking somewhat at the mention of him.

“Oh, that’s Lutz.”

“...Lutz? As in…”

“Jawohl.”

Roderich looked puzzled.

“Erm… Mutter named him.”

Roderich huffed.

“Ah, Julchen, of course…”

“He was my last Sancbruma present from her before she died.”

Roderich quieted for a few seconds.

“Oh… I see. We will accommodate him too. Do not worry. ...Also, no need to ‘jawohl’ around me.”

“Jawo… ja.”

—————

Onkel Roderich was a renowned musician; he was a master of many instruments and even knew how to compose, but his main forte was the piano. He was sought after for his talents across the land.

And he had the house to show it as well.

“Welcome to your new home, Ludwig.”

Ludwig took it all in; the house was already larger than average compared to others in town, and as a boy who had grown up in a small log cabin all his life, it seemed especially enormous.

A woman with long, light brown hair came up to them, looking from Roderich to Ludwig.

“Ah, Erzsébet! This is my nephew, Ludwig. He will be staying with us from now on.”

Roderich bent his knees so he was at Ludwig’s level.

“Ludwig, this is Erzsébet, my wife.”

“H… hallo. Nice to meet you, Tante Erzsébet.”

Ludwig outstretched his hand.

The woman merely eyed him for a few seconds.

“Hallo. I guess.”

She said, gruffly, with a distinctly foreign accent.

Roderich sighed.

“Erzsébet, why do you have to be like this?”

“Why do we have to take in this ratty-looking kid?”

Ludwig scowled.

“Hey!”

Roderich held Ludwig closer, glaring at her.

“Erzsébet! He’s a child! Have you no heart?!”

“Fine, fine.”

She shook his hand, roughly.

“But the dog is cute though. And wow, a Fenrir?! Hallo, come here!”

Lutz merely yawned.

Ludwig couldn’t help but snicker as an unamused frown crept across Erzsébet’s face.

“...Whatever. Make yourself at home I guess.”

She walked off.

“Prepare the bath and extra room for the boy! Come on now!”

Roderich commanded, and soon after servants bowed and quickly ran upstairs in single file.

“Don’t mind my wife. She wasn’t exactly enthusiastic to hear from you. But she will warm up to you eventually. Though… you are in need of new clothes, aren’t you?”

He gave the boy a once-over, making Ludwig look down to his old, beaten-up and washed out child-sized military uniform.

“Sadly, we do not have any clothes your size as of now. I will have a servant hire the tailor immediately. Meanwhile I will order them to wash what you have now.”

<He’s awfully happy to see you, isn’t he?>

“Ja… he seems like a nice person.”

————

That might, Ludwig had the best dinner he had ever had.

He could only marvel at the dishes in front of him; even those he had heard of before looked so refined. And there was so much of it! The variety of bread available was amazing.

But he couldn’t let himself forget his discipline. Even if it took all his willpower not to start gorging himself on everything like he had been possessed by some demon of gluttony.

“Onkel, what is this?”

“A chocolate torte, you see. A type of cake.”

Ludwig remembered actually having a cake a grand total of once. He still remembered its sweetness so well and it was probably the best thing he ever had eaten. And then there were two other things he had only read about before.

...And Lutz seemed unusually interested in it.

He couldn’t blame him though, it’s aroma was mesmerizing to Ludwig’s senses.

“Chocolate? Is that what the brown is?”

“You have never had chocolate before?! Mein Gott, Julchen, What have you done?”

Ludwig was quick to take a bite, and he froze.

The mellow, deep sweetness melted on his tongue, spreading throughout his mouth in such an indescribably perfect way, a tinge of bitterness within that instead of detracting from the experience, somehow harmonized with the sweetness in such a heavenly way.

“...Ludwig?”

“...It’s amazing.”

Roderich seemed somewhat amused by how floored the boy was.

“Even your mother was quite a fan.”

<Hey, hey. Kid.>

Ludwig was surprised by the unusual agitation in Lutz’s thoughts. He didn’t think he had ever heard anything like it before.

“Lutz? What is-“

Ludwig almost panicked, giving a piece to the impatient dog.

“Ludwig!”

“I… erm… It was unfair to have it to myself!”

“...Wasn’t chocolate poisonous to dogs?”

Erzsébet questioned.

“Wait wha-“

<Don’t worry. ... Ahh, bliss...>

Ludwig smiled nervously.

“He’ll be fine.”

The couple just stared, confused.

“Erm…”

“Trust me! I know him well. ...Can I have more? Please?”

“Absolutely.”

His face absolutely lit up at that, and in the corner of his vision Ludwig saw quite possibly the most genuine expression of joy he had seen from Lutz in all the time he knew him.

“Why’s it that everyone in your family loves chocolate so much?”

Erzsébet asked as her husband took another piece.

“Why don’t you is the better question.”

“...Actually, yup, you two definitely are related. Leave some for me though!”

————

Roderich doted on the boy; he made sure he had the nicest clothes and the nicest food that he could afford.

He had made sure the room was in absolute best condition, that his pillows were always fluffed and bed always made, even if Ludwig insisted he wanted to do it on his own.

He taught him everything about the basics of civilization, how to read more complex sentences, how to play the piano and the violin, even how to dance. He took him with him to work, across the city and sometimes even country to places he had at best read about and to meet so many new people.

His next Sanctbruma and 12th birthday were the most extravagant he had ever had.

Yet…

Yet something was missing.

Despite the man’s kindness, he felt something wasn’t right. Ludwig couldn’t put a finger on what, and he felt awful about it to be sure; he did so much for him, what more could a boy ask for?

But yet…

Sure, Erzsébet never completely warmed up to him; even if she wasn’t as cold to him, according to Lutz she was merely tolerating him. And the same was true for many of the servants.

But that didn’t change the fact that Roderich himself was nothing but loving towards him. Even if he had curfews and other such rules, he never had trouble with rules. His mother raised him to obey rules. And while he was often busy, he still tried his best to spend time with him.

Finally, he actually had someone who resembled a parent after all those years. He should have been thankful.

But he wasn’t doing anything wrong.

Someone had to be doing something wrong.

At times, he still lay awake at night, those lonely days and nights and that fateful Sanctbruma playing back in his mind; as well as the accompanying emotions of pure hatred and wrath.

Once, Roderich has entered the room at an inopportune time to Ludwig curled up in his bed, seething, growling at him to leave him alone.

While he didn’t say anything about it at dinner, it was obvious he was disturbed by it.

“...Lutz. Why can’t I be happy? I still feel alone, but I don’t even know why.”

“At least I have you.”

<Whatever.>

———

“Ludwig.”

“Ja, Onkel Roderich?”

The man sighed.

“It has been over a year since you started living with us. What is it with your standoffish behavior? Is something wrong? I will listen to it.”

“...I just can’t, Onkel.”

“Excuse me?”

“I… Something just doesn’t feel right. I don’t know why.”

The man looked so disappointed.

“I try my best to make you happy, Ludwig. I really do. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to satisfy your needs.”

“Nein. It isn’t that.”

Roderich shook his head.

“As I was saying… the chords for this piece are…”

—————

Ludwig continued to do his practice drills whenever possible, even if they had taken a different shape; makeshift targets became proper shooting galleries, improvised exercises became possible using an open space between buildings and proper equipment. And as he grew more and more by the day, his physical abilities took leaps and bounds above what he had been capable of before. He just wished he could go more than weekly. At first, Roderich objected, but it didn’t take long for him to cave in.

After all, he had to keep himself in shape, especially as he now had access to all the candy and chocolate that could be plausibly afforded.

After a while, Roderich started to continuously try to ask him to consider other options in this weekly time slot. He was never too forceful, however. And after a while, as Ludwig expressed his clear annoyance, it finally ceased just as it had begun.

There was another episode that irked Ludwig.

One night, as he went to get a glass of water, he had seen Roderich, seemingly sneaking away from his room.

“...Onkel?”

The man bristled as soon as he turned on the lights.

“Erm… Ludwig, I didn’t expect you to be awake..

Then, Ludwig saw it.

In his hands was his mother’s necklace.

“...What are you doing with Mutter’s necklace?”

He immediately stuffed it inside his pocket and turned around, a fake smile on his face.

“What necklace, my dear Ludwig?”

“I know you’re hiding it.”

The man sighed, taking it back out again.

“I… I wanted to put it in a place it will be safer in.”

Ludwig tried not to grill him further, even as he felt something fueled by doubt start to boil within him.

“I’m sure it will be safe with me. It’s been so for all the years I’ve had it. Can I have it back now?”

“...Ja.”

Ludwig swiftly took it back, going down to get his glass. He really needed one.

“You could tell a servant to get it for you?”

“No. I prefer to do it on my own.”

When Ludwig had returned to his room, he had quite the things to say to Lutz.

“Lutz. Why did you let him take it?”

“It’s from Mutter. You should know. ...Lutz. If anything, protect this with your life.”

“I’m serious. It’ll be the last thing I ask of you.”

<Alright, alright. Whatever.>

“You aren’t sincere, are you?”

——————

One day, as Ludwig overheard some servants speaking to each other in hushed voices, glancing at him every so often.

He was able to catch two things; “Miss Erzsébet” and “barren”.

He wasn’t exactly sure what that meant. But for whatever reason he didn’t like the sound of it.

That night, after some shouting, once again Roderich stormed out of the master bedroom, telling Erzsébet to “Get a hold of yourself already, you indecipherable woman!”, to his own separate room, as Erzsébet shouted some words back that sounded really angry and probably inappropriate.

Lutz thought, as Ludwig tried to sleep. Lutz, meanwhile, had no trouble.

————

13-year-old Ludwig stood outside of the bar, alongside Lutz, as always, and other members of his gang.

It was in a seedy, rough part of town. And it was where their rival gang frequented most often.

It wasn’t the most well-to-do of bars, to say the least; as soon as they entered, the air smelt pungently of alcohol, and ambiently of various nasties.

<Ergh. Try coming here as a dog.>

They immediately saw their target; the offending gang’s leader.

Their leader went up to confront her rival, fists clearly ready to fly.

“Hey! We know ya killed him!”

“Who?”

The rival boss said, with a cheeky grin.

“Ya know who!”

The two continued to escalate their argument, until they became close to blows.

“Enough yammerin’! Get ‘em, boys n’ girls!”

Suddenly, they were grabbed by the rival gang bangers, including Ludwig, who held back a yelp.

“We didn’t kill one of yer ratpack, asshole! Now get out or we’re gonna force ya out!”

“...You better tell us.”

Ludwig said, tersely, utilizing his now lowering voice and copying his mother’s tone.

The rival boss laughed.

“Or what, kid? What are ya gonna do, huh? Man your recruiting standards have gone down!”

His boss smirked.

“Ya better listen to the kid.”

“Or what?”

They laughed uproariously.

“Lutz. Restrain.”

Their laughing instantly stopped, their faces going sheet white, all the other bar patrons, the bartender, and staff turning to gawk.

For they bore witness to the gang boss being pinned down, on the floor, between the claws of a giant, terrifying hellhound, its eyes glowing, its fangs bared, its breath in the unfortunate gangster’s terrified face.

Ludwig walked up to the rival boss with measured steps, the gangsters holding him having let go out of sheer terror, the thumping of his feet the only sounds other than his companion’s breathing and the squeaks and sputtering from bystanders and rival gangsters, and pulled out his old pistol, aiming it at the thug’s head, glaring daggers so sharp that they could gouge eyes out.

Show your enemy no mercy.

Once again, he thought he felt his mother voice in his ear.

“Tell us the truth.”

The rival boss sputtered, shaking like a leaf, looking awfully smaller than the much younger boy.

“We… we… d-d-di…”

Ludwig cocked his pistol.

“Speak in a real language!”

The rival boss flinched, and the rest of the rival gang huddled, terrified.

“W-we didn’t do anything! I-I swear! I swear!”

Ludwig lowered his pistol slightly.

“...Really?”

“J-ja! I swear! I swear by both the Heavenly and Hellish Yards! P-p-please let me go, Sir!”

“...Alright. Lutz, release.”

The dog shrank back down to size, returning to his original, fluffy, cute self.

His boss grumbled.

“Whoop. That was pointless. Lud, let’s get outta this dump.”

They turned to leave, the other people in the bar still staring at them.

“W-Wait.”

Ludwig and his boss turned back to the humiliated rival boss.

“We might’ve not killed ‘im. But I-I have a good idea who might’ve.”

———-

“So, Lud. Good job today. We’ve got ourselves a lead.”

“Jawohl.”

Their boss patted Ludwig on the head and gave the group a once-over.

“Ok. You’re all dismissed.”

Ludwig was quick to leave, the others staring after him.

“What’s it with him? I swear, it’s like he doesn’t wanna be associated with us.”

“He said something about a curfew.”

“Really? Kid still follows curfews? What is he, 10?”

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

When Ludwig came back, Roderich was waiting for him.

“Ludwig.”

“Onkel Roderich?”

Roderich’s expression was serious and stern.

“...What have you been doing?”

“What do you mean, Onkel Roderich?”

Roderich held Ludwig’s shoulders.

“Let me state this plainly.”

He took a deep breath.

“You’re involved in gang activity, aren’t you?”

Ludwig was in shock.

“How…”

Roderich shook his head, his hand on his forehead.

“Ludwig. I am sure even Julchen taught you to obey rules.”

“I… I don’t want to depend on you for everything. I feel like a leech.”

Roderich was shocked.

“You’re only 13, Ludwig! It is alright! It isn’t worth putting yourself at risk like this!”

“I don’t know how to do anything else.”

Roderich shook his head.

“Don’t say that. You could deliver newspapers, or use those piano skills I taught you-“

“And they’re my friends.”

“Friends?! I care for you, why do you need them?! Do you even know any of their names?!”

“...”

“You’re going to get into trouble eventually, young man.”

“I… I know!”

Roderich flinched.

Ludwig looked down and stormed back into the house, Lutz running behind him, into his room, throwing himself onto his bed.

“Hmph, teenagers...”

Erzsébet mumbled.

—————-

“Ludwig?”

Roderich opened the door to Ludwig’s room that night, peeking in.

Ludwig couldn’t bare to look him in the eye.

“I’m sorry.”

Roderich sighed.

“Is it because I’m not Julchen?”

The boy felt a pang of guilt.

“I’m sorry! I don’t hate you, I’m thankful for what you’ve done, and-”

“I see. Just try to forget about her, alright?”

Ludwig froze. He felt like someone had stabbed his heart.

“But…”

“I do so much for you. I give you everything. What was it that she had that I don’t? I’ve been a far better parent than that stone-hearted, cruel, cold-”

“DON’T SAY THAT ABOUT MY MUTTER!”

His voice cracked terribly, but he didn’t care.

Roderich stumbled back, his face pale, horrified.

Silence.

“Ludwig… I’m sorry.”

Ludwig buried his face into his pillows.

“...I’ll tell the servants to bring you dinner. I’m sorry. I really am.”

“Leave me alone!”

“...I’m happy with any path you want to take. Just please stay safe.”

Roderich sighed and closed the door.

From that day on, Roderich started informing Ludwig of where police may find him, and locations of stations across the city. Anything for his safety, he had said.

But from that day on Ludwig knew; he knew that his suspicions were true, that all this time he was trying to make him forget about his mother. He couldn’t let that happen. It was only confirmation when he heard him brutally disparage her one night in a drunken stupor during one of his binge-drinking sessions.

Once again, Ludwig could trust no one.

And once again, wrath simmered within him.

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

Their boss summoned Ludwig and the rest of the gang to a gathering; to sort out their clues, they had said.

Ludwig was appreciated for his abilities; but outside of the action, he sat somewhat removed from the rest. He couldn’t connect with them much either.

His mother had despised lawbreakers; “scum”, “rats”, she would call them. If she knew what he was doing now, she would have caned his palms until they were raw and bleeding. She would have told him he was better than this. He never would have imagined he could stoop this low too. After all, he was his mother’s only son. He should have been destined for greatness.

Quite honestly, he didn’t fully understand what he was doing here either. How did he even get here? Was it just a business affair? Were they really his friends?

Maybe it was because this was the closest thing to military service he could find. Even if it were on the other side of the law.

A girl a year or so older than him, the second youngest in the gang, came up to him attempting to speak to him. Ludwig hesitated, but in the end continued to be fascinated with the clues they had and Lutz.

“Hey give up on Herr Stick-In-The-Mud already! Bet he’s never even kissed a girl!”

A gangster said, using the nickname they often used when ribbing him.

“What’s with him? He to good for us?” One of them muttered when Ludwig refused a drink.

“Ja. Imagine being one of us and caring about drinking ages. Never can understand Herr Stick-In-The-Mud.”

“Ja. Where was he raised, His Majesty’s Elite Imperial Barracks?”

“Hey, hey, did you hear that Boss might have the hots for him too?”

“Why don’t you fuckwits shut the fuck up?” Their boss barked at the last one. “The kid’s basically an infant!”

<You’re the most rule-bound gangster I’ve ever seen.>

“Why do they treat it as a bad thing?”

<You’re the one who joined a street gang, genius. They’ve got different rules.>

Ludwig looked at the bottle of cheap moonshine he had been offered again, sighed, and took a gulp.

He immediately gagged.

The last time he’d had booze was when Roderich had allowed him to try beer, and even then he had basically diluted half of it with water and it definitely didn’t taste like... whatever this bottle of horse urine was.

“Ack! This is awful! ...I did it, are you happy now?”

“That’s the spirit!”

“Doesn’t count! He gagged!”

Ludwig took a deep breath.

“Let’s get back on topic. We are discussing the murder of a fellow comrade. This is no time for inane chatter.”

Finally, the air became solemn.

“Ja, reasonable, I guess…”

“Now, onto the information Scout 2 gathered...”

—————-

Ludwig, more than anything, considered himself a logical person.

He and his mother both despised vagueness. It seemed pointless, really, all the dancing around the true meaning of your words in the name of “politeness”. While apparently many in this part of the continent were considered similarly blunt and practical, it seemed even then he was exceptional.

So his own emotional turmoil, how he could never seem to explain himself, frustrated him more than anyone else. It angered him.

But one thing he knew for sure was that he looked forward to stopping by the library on the way home. Thank goodness Roderich had taught him to read to a level more appropriate for his age; it was difficult at first, but he was also fortunately a fast learner.

He always had taken a fascination with the sciences. They were at first glance unpredictable, but once broken down and observed, logical. They made sense, they were rational. Recently, he started finding them more investing than fiction, in fact. And his new reading skills finally made the higher levels of it beyond simplistic drawings attempting to explain the laws of physics and magic accessible.

Which was why today he sat outside the library in his usual spot, looking through a medical encyclopedia, munching on one of many bars of dark chocolate and a small loaf of bread.

Lutz licked up pieces of chocolate Ludwig had given him, peeking from under him.

“HERS?”

Ludwig looked to Lutz in shock.

“How…”

“Though… Hereditary Evil Raiser Syndrome? Who names this stuff?”

<Hey. They probably had their reasons.>

“Why do you care? Did you come up with it?”

<Maybe. Plus, that’s rich coming from the kid who literally named me “Blackie”.>

Ludwig sighed.

“I... Fine. And wait... are you reading with me?”

<Yeah, I can read. I never told you?>

Ludwig continue to stare at him.

“I... I just didn’t think you would...”

"Maybe you could try reading a novel, Lutz?”

<Don’t care. Why should I care about what you flesh-apes think, much less fake ones? No one in the world knows what I’m thinking anyway.>

Ludwig closed the encyclopedia.

“You mean you feel that no one understands you, right?”

Lutz looked up, his ears erect.

His words struck him like a spark of lightning.

“That makes two of us”

An awkward few moments passed. For once in his life, Lutz had nothing to retort back.

Why was he so shocked?

Ludwig blinked, confused.

“Lutz? What’s wrong?”

<...Nothing.>

Lutz didn’t know what he had just felt.

“That makes two of us”

It should have meant nothing, coming from this brat.

But yet...

Whatever. It probably still meant nothing.

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

“We’ve got our guy! Rich bastard’s not gonna know what hit ‘im.”

Their boss said, confidently, gesturing to an assassin she had bought into their abandoned factory hideout.

The assassin looked across the crowd of gangsters.

“So. Which one of you brats wants to come?”

“Actually, we’ve got a good clue already for who’s gonna be a good fit for this mission.”

Ludwig waited, anxiously. He would gladly take the job of avenging his fallen comrade, of course.

“Ludwig!”

Ludwig stood to attention.

“...You’ll be providing nice clothes for us to blend in!”

Ludwig was speechless.

“How… Why?”

But when all had left, he went up to his boss. He needed answers.

“Why am I excluded?”

She looked at him as if he was stupid.

“I don’t think ‘Giant Enemy Dog’ is a viable weapon to use on a cruise ship.”

“But… I can shoot well too! You said I was a great marksman!”

“You’re good. Gotta say that. Still, don’t know about your skills in stealth yet. Can’t risk it. Now, see ya.”

Then, she abruptly cut him off and left.

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

Three days later, Ludwig and the rest of the gang not chosen for the plot awaited at the dock.

Soon, they spotted the assassination party, coming towards them.

One person was clearly missing.

“Hey! Boss! ...Boss? And where’s...”

Her face was dire.

“Shot dead. ...He spotted us.”

“He saw all our faces. All of you are fucked. We’re all fucked.”

More silence.

“...WHAT?!”

Silence immediately gave way to panic.

Ludwig stood, frozen.

“How… Why…”

He clutched his head, overwhelmed.

“But it can’t…”

Emotions swirled inside the boy, overpowering all of his senses, all of his thoughts.

What was going to happen to him? His friends?

“No, no, no, nonononononono…”

Suddenly, he bolted.

Along the harbor, he ran.

Then, in a burst of emotion and without much thought, as if on instinct, he acted immediately as Lutz took a running leap into the sea.

“SIC ‘EM, LUTZ!”

He didn’t even bother with the telepathy.

Everyone could only look on in shock and horror as Lutz became an utter behemoth of a beast, seemingly not completely solid and with a godlike glow, his tail alone twice the size of the ship; to those who were watching from afar, it would have looked as if a demon dog had risen out of the sea itself.

The ship was no match for the beast. Before anyone could fully comprehend what was going on, the ship had been sunk, every single person on it with it.

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

Ludwig walked back to the gang, who all stood staring at him, utterly horrified.

Finally, someone broke the silence.

“...Holy shit.”

Another turned to him, their eyes wide.

“...Lud? Did you just…”.

The boy’s mind was blank. What could he even say?

He had killed all of them. Every single one of them.

But in the end...

“Mission accomplished…?”

“Am I trippin’?”

“Did we just witness a massacre?”

“...What the fuck?”

Ludwig took a deep breath.

“But we accomplished our mission. ...I did what I had to do.”

“Ja, but… Holy shit.”

“In anyway…”

Their boss cleared her throat.

“Let’s… Let’s go with this loot before the cops find out.”

The rest could only muster a “Ja” in unison.

Lutz trotted up to Ludwig, as unbothered as always.

“Lutz…”

In the dog’s jaws was a doll; an eerily faceless, unusual, porcelain-ish doll of indeterminable gender.

<Here. I brought a present.>

“What is…”

“It’s… it’s probably from a dead child, Lutz!”

<Don’t be ungrateful. Oh, and your buddies are waiting. You should go.>

“...Ja. I did what I had to do. We killed him. That’s all that should matter…”

————-

The news of the shipwreck was all over the radio. They had listened to it in their hideout, huddled around the device.

“The perpetrator is currently unknown. However, many claim to have heard the voice of a boy or young man scream for the dog to attack…”

————-

When Ludwig came home, Roderich was standing in front of the door, in shock.

“Ludwig…”

“Onkel?”

“...It was you wasn’t it?”

Ludwig looked down to his feet.

“Lutz, specifically…”

<Hey.>

Roderich pulled him into a protective embrace.

“You could have put yourself in so much danger! What if the police find out about you?! Don’t you dare do that again.”

"...”

Roderich pulled him in.

“Now, come in before someone recognizes you.”

—————

Roderich rarely ever let him join the rest of the gang since that day; it was too dangerous, he had said.

He went out in mostly in a dark hood for a disguise, at times without Lutz, for over the radio, one expert had identified the beast as “a black Fenrir transformed with powerful magic.”

Later that year, a month before Sancbruma and two months before his 14th birthday, he had heard something unusual.

<Ludwig… Ludwig…>

“Huh?”

Telepathy. But Lutz wasn’t with him; it came from the doll in his bag.

Ever since that fateful day, Lutz had told him to carry it for some vague reason he couldn’t understand; his alleged simple explanation was “It’s amusing to see you carry around a girly doll like that.”

<Ludwig...>

He took the bag off his back and looked in.

“What?! How do you…”

He slung it back over his shoulder.

“Lutz!”

He had to get Lutz. Now.

But by the time he had gotten home, it was too late.

“No, Sir, he is not here. You will not find him here…”

“There he is!”

Two figures stood with Roderich; two figures he didn’t recognize.

A tanned, sturdy-looking man in a black suit, probably from the south of the continent, turned his attention away from Roderich, and pointed at Ludwig, gun in hand.

“Ludwig Beildshmidt! You are under arrest!”

Ludwig’s eyes widened. Emotions and stress once again blitzed through him.

“Lutz! Restrain! ...Lutz? Lutz?!”

His eyes darted next to the man to the other figure, what Ludwig thought to be a long-haired, somewhat tall foreign woman in eastern attire, her dark, raven hair pulled back into a ponytail; seemingly holding Lutz back without touching the dog, but clearly struggling.

“Hurry!”

She shouted, in a foreign accent Ludwig didn’t recognize.

Ludwig bolted.

“Don’t you dare, you-“

“Herr Edelmann! Stop, or you will be arrested as well for interfering with police procedure!”

“Don’t touch him!”

The mysterious man finally shoved the weaker-looking man off him and gave chase, but Roderich grappling with him had given him some extra time...

“Ludwig! RUN! RUN!”

But before Ludwig could escape, all of a sudden he was blindsided by a third person, jumping on his back and pinning him down, the boy’s small body no match for the adult.

“LUDWIG!”

“Let me go, LET ME GO!”

That was the last thing he remembered saying before he had been slammed on the back of the head.

Ludwig blacked out.

To be continued in part 2...

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Author’s notes:

So I had to split this thing in half since it became much longer than I expected. Wow this is a monster. You will see the parts listed here after I write them. Parts, because this will have two different routes! Hopefully! Then again it seems like no one read this...

Also, the scene with the sea is even more ambiguous “canon” in this already ambiguously “canon” story, but I wanted to write it in because I liked it, having seen the idea that Prussia has some kind of connection to the sea before and liking it. I wish I could find it now. I think Alt-Prussia would have grown up with the sea when he was younger, and while he would stay very strictly a land fighter (in fact the Prussian navy was never all that good, being mostly a merchant fleet. Even the German navy, while it did go through a growth period in the 1880s in competition with Britain I believe, by WWII at least their Kriegsmarine kind of sucked. It’s why the invasion of Britain never happened, their navy would have been laughably curbstomped), and I still associate England, Netherlands, or Portugal way more with the ocean, maybe the North Sea has some kind of soothing effect on him.

Also adorable child!Germany is adorable. Why do I love this kid so much? Why is he so damn cute?!

#Mirror Week 2019 #aphmirrorweek2019 #Day 3 Alternate Universe #Germany pair #evillious chronicles #aph #hws #hws Germany #bringbackhetalia2k19 #Key to Zorn series #Evillious Chronicles x Alt-talia series #alt-talia #hetalia

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