#that last line had me rolling in my metaphorical grave | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

libraryoftime · 2 years

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writing-prompt-s:

You’re a mystic who runs a shop full of mysterious artifacts and potions and you’re sick of uninformed middle-aged suburban moms asking for energy crystals and herbal weight-loss mixtures while throwing around made-up terms.

When a middle-aged woman rolled into my shop and told me she was looking for ichor, I didn’t think much of it at first.

You get all kinds in a shop like mine, and doubly so when you put up the right signs on your door. The signs that let certain kinds of people know they’re welcome, not just the collectors or the curious or the new age mystics, looking for this root or that crystal or wanting to gawk at a jar of old bones, but the less innocuous individuals as well. The kind who mean business when they come looking for their… less run-of-the-mill specialities.

You also get people who are completely out of their depth. It pays to take a few minutes and be sure of who you’re dealing with. My Old Gran once accidentally inducted a hapless college student into a coven because she thought he was being metaphorical. I’ve always made it a point to be a bit more blunt than people in my profession generally are, just as a precaution.

“Are we talking bile, or are we talking blood of the immortals?” I asked from behind the counter, where I’d been sorting what my mother referred to as the ‘tourist crystals’. They were good enough crystals, I thought. Nothing you’d use in an actual ritual, but there was no reason to be snide about it. Sometimes a pretty rock was allowed to be nothing more than a pretty rock.

Pretty rocks tended to be a damn sight nicer to look at than most of my customers, anyway, including the woman I was talking to. She was tall, with stooped shoulders, dressed in dirty jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. Her face was pale and unmade-up, with an insomniac’s bruises under her eyes and stains on the collar of her shirt. I took a discreet whiff, but I didn’t smell any grave dirt underneath the sour tang of sweat. Her reflection showed clearly in the polished countertop. So she was probably alive, and there was a decent chance she was human, or at least partly so.

“Do people actually come in looking for the other kind?” she asked me, her voice wavering between a put-upon grumble and something decidedly squeakier. One of my eyebrows ticked up.

“You haven’t even told me which one is the kind you’re looking for,” I replied.

“The – the second one,” she squeaked, and then growled, hastily, like an overgrown cub pretending to be a bear.

For a good solid minute I debated just throwing her out of the shop. I probably should have. There was no chance anything good was coming from this. This sort of high-grade request and low-grade industry awareness could only come about a few ways. Best case scenario, I had some kind of hero on my hands, and yeesh. The last hero who’d frequented the shop had nearly gotten the place pushed into a nearby dimension, stolen three rings from the supply room, and summoned a demon. A demon which he had then left running loose. It’d taken Old Gran, my mother, two aunties, and all six of my sisters just to get the place back into working order again, and even so there was a lingering scent of brimstone near the toilet that never quite seemed to go away.

But the thing is, I didn’t take over running a shop full of curiosities because I lack, well, curiosity. Even if my mysterious customer turned out to be a thorn in my side, I still hadn’t figured out what she was after, and I wanted to. So once that minute of hesitation passed, I walked over to the supply room door, and opened it.

“Don’t touch anything,” I warned her, motioning for her to follow.

She shuffled in behind me, hunching her shoulders even more, as if she was being especially careful not to brush up against the shelves. Good. The ‘supply room’, as Old Gran had always called it, was bigger than the actual shop front. It was filled with rows upon rows of shelves and lines of crates, all methodically organized by yours truly, of course. I had redone the entire place years ago, after my mother handed ownership of the shop to me. Old Gran’s idea of a filing system had, as near as I could tell, relied on astrology, temporal wind patterns, and metaphorical alphabetization. Loosely. And that was before my mother attempted to introduce the card catalogue.

My own system divided things primarily into basic categories – animate, inanimate, animal, mineral, and so on, and then alphabetically and by item size. The aunties always complained that it was incomprehensible. I led my prospective customer over towards the back wall of shelves, and grabbed the step ladder along the way.

“So,” I said, as her gaze darted nervously around the room. “What sort of ichor are you in the market for? The term can cover a fairly broad range of substances.”

“Um…” she helpfully replied. I waited, but no further response seemed to be forthcoming. Sighing, I ascended the ladder, and directed her attention towards several jars and vials in stock.

“Gods’ blood, demigod’s blood, vampire’s blood, gorgon’s blood, demon’s blood. Ichor for animating lifeless constructs, ichor for fertilizing lifeless soil. Gods’ blood wine, gods’ blood willingly given, gods’ blood unwillingly spilled, dragon blood – not generally called ichor, I know, but some texts get iffy in translations, and most dragons are immortal – sap from an undying tree…” I glanced back towards her, only to see her staring at the shelves with a sort of dazed bewilderment. Another sigh escaped me. “What do you want it for?” I tried asking.

The customer jumped, then flinched, then swallowed.

“I… just, um, do you just have plain ichor?” she mumbled.

I treated her to my very best unimpressed look. It’s a good look, if I do say so myself. According to my aunties I remind them of Young Gran when I do it, and Young Gran is an accomplished necromancer who’s seen so much, by now, almost nothing impresses her anymore, and she doesn’t care to disguise that fact. Buying birthday gifts for her is absolute hell.

“Plain. Ichor. You do realize that all of this is poisonous, yes?” I asked, nodding towards the shelf behind me. “You can’t just drink some and become a god or get high or whatever it is you’re looking to do.”

The customer actually looked faintly alarmed.

“What, even the wine?” she wondered.

“Especially the wine,” I replied. What were they teaching kids in school these days? I stomped down off of the ladder, feeling increasingly confident that I wasn’t going to get a sale out of this. The customer shuffled her feet some, clearly debating something within herself, and then reached into the pocket of her hoodie. She pulled out an old, stained note. I caught a whiff of parchment and ink and human blood, and a faint tang that reminded me of Young Gran.

Aha.

“Give it here,” I said, knowingly, and after a moment’s hesitation, she complied.

The list was written in fancy cursive. The dramatic sort that my mother would say only two-bit hacks use, though I’ve always found a bit of razzle dazzle to be harmless myself.

“Don’t tell me you actually have the phoenix ash?” I asked. That was tricky to come by, and expensive to boot, especially in this part of the world.

“I got some from the shop on Roadhill,” the customer replied. “But, um, they don’t stock ichor. Said it wasn’t vegan. They told me you might, uh, have it, though.”

“Fucking Roadhill,” I muttered. Then I wrinkled my nose. “Wait. Phoenix ash is vegan?”

“Um, I guess?”

I stared a moment, wondering how they came around to that conclusion. After failing to come up with anything, I decided it didn’t much matter, and thrust the list back at the customer.

“So,” I said, turning back to the step ladder. “You’re trying to raise the dead.”

Behind me, the customer coughed, and then sputtered. Her list crinkled in her hands as she clutched it.

“M-maybe,” she hedged.

I clucked my tongue at her.

“Amateur necromancy’s a good way to desecrate corpses and upset cemeteries, but a piss poor way to get anything else done,” I informed her. Then I retrieved a vial of titan blood, and a pamphlet from one of the boxes on the shelf below it. “If you want to raise the dead, you really should hire a professional. There’s a lot of nuance to this kind of thing, you know. It takes a proper necromancer decades to learn their craft, but everyone always thinks they can just look up a recipe online or dig one out of grimoire somewhere and cut out the middle man. I mean, gods know they’re expensive, my grandmother’s been on the outs with one of my great-aunts for thirty years because she refused to resurrect her for free, but you only get one shot at resurrection. Well. Mostly. You don’t want to botch it either way, though, do you?”

The customer hunched into herself yet more and stared out at me from underneath her hood.

“I’m, um. Um,” she said. “It’s… um. I’m fine.”

I shoved the pamphlet at her. The words ‘Abominations & You – A Guide to Responsible Necromancy’ were emblazoned across the top. One of my younger sisters had printed several dozen of them out during her short-lived Public Awareness phase. She fumbled with it in surprise, and then followed me back out of the supply room again.

“You have pamphlets?” she asked, as if that was somehow more bizarre than a shelf full of supernatural blood.

“Obviously,” I replied. “And do yourself a favour and actually read that, don’t just shove it into your pocket and forget it. I don’t want you rushing back here at the end of the week with a flock of semi-conscious zombies shuffling behind you like the world’s smelliest procession of ducklings.”

The customer gripped her pamphlet so hard it crinkled.

“Do they do that?” she asked, with some alarm.

“On occasion,” I said, and slipped behind the counter to procure a padded box. The vial of titan blood was fairly small, stoppered in a brown bottle and sealed with wax. I double-checked the seal and then packaged it up, and stuck a poison warning label onto the side. Then I set it onto the counter in front of me. “Do not let it get in contact with your skin. Wear leather gloves or oven mitts when you’re handling it, not latex. Do not attempt to ingest it, and try not to breathe in any of the fumes when you open the vial. If you dobreathe in any of the fumes you may experience dizziness, disorientation, delusions of grandeur, or momentary bouts of homicidal rage. As long as the seal remains unopened, the ichor will last well beyond your lifetime. If the seal is broken, freshness is guaranteed for three days, viability for up to a week. After that, you’ll just have a vial of toxic golden goop.”

The customer shuffled her feet, and stared at the box with increasing trepidation. I waited to see if she would change her mind. But after a moment, she only nodded in understanding, and shuffled a bit more.

“Now, for the matter of payment,” I said. The customer reached a hand into her hoodie pocket and produced a battered grey wallet this time. I clucked my tongue at her.

“Don’t tell me they took actual moneyfrom you at Roadhill?” I asked.

She blinked at me.

“Um. Yes?”

I let out an appropriate sound of disgust. My mother might have muttered something deprecating about New Age hacks, but I’ve always been above that sort of thing.

“Idiots,” I said instead. “We don’t do business like that here. Anything in the front you can buy for money. Anything from the back requires payment.”

The customer fiddled with her wallet, and darted a glance towards the windows.

“I don’t get it,” she confessed.

I scowled, and tapped the counter as I considered my options. Dealing with first-time buyers was always tricky. Everyone had something worthwhile, of course, but people had gotten savvier about those kinds of things in recent decades. Back when Old Gran ran the shop, you could get two years of someone’s life or the baby tooth of their firstborn just for a swatch of chimera leather. Now, you’re lucky if anyone will even give you a day, and don’t even think about trying to get anything off of their kids. You’d assume new customers would be easier sells, but most of the time they’re even more tight-fisted than the regulars, because they have no idea what someone can actually do with their firstborn’s baby teeth.

“Blood for blood,” I finally decided, and the customer blanched.

“What?!” Her eyes went wide as she backed away from me.

I sighed.

“Don’t look so alarmed,” I advised, and ducked beneath the counter to retrieve a clean needle and syringe. “It’s a bargain, really. You get a vial of ichor – which is considerably harder to come by than human blood, I can assure you – and I’ll take a vial of yours in exchange. A first time customer’s deal.”

“Why do you want my blood, then? If it’s less valuable?” she wondered. She hadn’t bolted for the door, though, which was a good sign.

“It’s a new moon,” I said. “Blood freely given, as part of an exchange involving life and death, is an attractive acquisition. I have some customers who will be interested in that. It’ll be a quick sell, and since they won’t know your name, as I don’t know your name, they won’t be able to harm you with it.” Any of my regular customers would have refused such an exchange outright. There would be too much risk of my using their blood against them. But a newcomer, perhaps…

“…Alright,” she agreed.

I nodded in satisfaction.

“Excellent.”

She flinched when I took the blood, a jumpy sort all around, and then held her purchase gingerly, lingering for an awkward moment as she gave the shop a final once-over. Then she shuffled out of the door, and out of my thoughts. I was more concerned with Roadhill selling phoenix ash, to be honest. I had an exclusivity deal with my supplier, and if he’d broken our agreement, I’d have his head. Literally, according to the wording in the original contract he’d signed with Old Gran.

Two days later I was restocking the candles and handmade soaps when the bell at the door jangled, frantically, as it was thrown open and then pulled shut with an audible bang. Frowning, I abandoned a box of goat’s milk hair conditioner, and headed towards the front.

The ichor customer had returned. She was all but plastered against the shop door, dressed in the same dirty jeans and a different hoodie, a hunted look on her face. What I could see of her skin was covered in a myriad of scrapes and scratches.

I let out an internal sigh.

“Did you read the pamphlet?” I asked.

“You! You have to help me!” she said, which was the very last thing I wanted to hear, to be honest.

“No,” I replied. “I am a shop owner, not a necromancy mentor. I sold you a product. I instructed you in the safe handling of that product, and provided you with additional safety information, free of charge. I even advised you to seek professional assistance. What you did with your purchase after you left my shop is not my responsibility.”

“They’re after me,” she insisted.

Wonderful.

“Didn’t I tell you not to come traipsing back in here with a hoard of zombies? Was that not explicitly one of the things I said to you?” I checked the windows, but I couldn’t see anything on the street. Nevertheless, the little hairs on the back of my neck were beginning to stand at attention, and that was not a good sign.

“I, I followed the instructions to the letter. I don’t understand what went wrong,” she blathered.

Had my mother been present, she probably would have informed her that ‘what went wrong’ was that an amateur moron had attempted to meddle with powers well beyond her ken, and suffered the appropriate backlash for her hubris. Fortunately for the poor woman, I have always been of a more forgiving mindset.

“Get out of my shop,” I said.

“Please, they’re – they’re not normally like this at all!” she begged.

Damn it all, but some small kernel of curiosity kindled in me at her words.

“How many, exactly, are there?” I wondered.

“Two. Just two,” my former customer replied.

I rolled my eyes towards the ceiling.

“Well that would explain the problem,” I said. “I didn’t sell you enough ichor for two people. The recipe you showed me didn’t call for enough ingredients to serve more than one. If you tried to split it, small wonder things went awry.”

The woman swallowed, heavily, glancing nervously through the window in the door behind her. I didn’t imagine she could see very much. That was one of the windows I left artfully grimy in order to provide an appropriately mysterious aesthetic.

“Yeah, but, but I figured, with the size difference, it’d work out,” she stammered.

It took me a moment to wrap my head around what she was implying.

“You tried to resurrect children?” I demanded, reeling. Undead children were the absolute worst. But even as my dread surged, the woman shook her head.

“No, no, no,” she said. Then, casting one last glance at the door behind her, she reached into her pocket and fished out a phone. The battered case and slightly cracked screen looked like they had both seen better days. She fiddled with it, and then handed it to me, clearly intent on showing me a picture. Would it be little people, I wondered? Perhaps a pair of pixies, or even imps? And then I looked.

“That’s Crisps,” she informed me, pointing to a fuzzy white rat napping in the left of the photo. “And that’s Wrinkles,” she added, pointing at the brown rat peering into the camera from the right. Both rodents appeared to be sitting inside of a laundry basket.

“You wanted to resurrect your pet rats?” I asked, strictly for clarity’s sake.

The woman hunched in on herself, ducking her face lower into the collar of her hoodie.

“They’re, um, good pets,” she mumbled. “Not like what people say. I mean, I know some folk don’t, y’know, like the tails, but they’re really smart and they love to cuddle. They’re not dirty or diseased or anything. Cleaner than me most of the time, really. It’s, it’s only that rats don’t live for very long. Nature and all.”

“Shit,” I said, with feeling.

“Well, well how’s it any worse than bringing back a person?” she demanded, snatching her phone back. “That’s what I want to know. I like my rats. They’re nicer than most people. Mostly. Um. Well, they were.”

“No wonder fucking Roadhill sold you phoenix ash for money,” I said. Damn soft-hearted animal lovers. Then I stomped over to the supply room, pointing emphatically towards her as I did. “Stay there, and do not open that door, you understand?”

When she nodded, I threw open the supply room door, and headed straight for the emergency cleansing incense on the shelf to my right. My nerves settled marginally once I’d lit it. I closed my eyes, sucked in a deep breath, and weighed my options. The situation was either very bad, or incredibly dire. Enough so that I might have called in reinforcements, if I thought there was time for it. But there probably wasn’t, so instead I gathered up three vials from a back shelf, a small wooden box, and a locked chest from underneath the incense table.

I unloaded my haul onto the front counter. My returned customer was still peering through the windows.

“This is going to be expensive,” I informed her.

She swallowed, visibly.

“You’re not going to take one of my kidneys, are you?” she asked.

I raised an eyebrow at her.

“Why? Are you offering me one?”

“N-no!”

“Well then it’s not going to do me any good, is it?” I pointed out, as I opened the box.

A sleek, black, taxidermy cat glared up from inside with a gimlet eye that had been carefully immortalized long before I’d ever been born. It smelled of death and sand and old, fearful things, and I couldn’t help wrinkling my nose a bit as I closed a hand around its brittle fur, and set it onto the counter. I made sure to have it facing the door. Strictly for ritualistic purposes, of course, though the fact that it seemed to unnerve the woman hovering beside it was an added bonus.

“Is, um, is that because they’re rats?” she wondered, nodding towards the cat.

I scoffed.

“They are most emphatically not rats anymore,” I informed her.

“But why?” she blurted, gesturing inarticulately with her arms. “I don’t understand what went wrong!”

Gods help me, but she really did say that. Despite everything, I had to pause and take a moment to marvel at her, and mankind in general. It was almost a pity my mother wasn’t present to witness her. She would have given her such a verbal lashing, it might have actually split her skin. I took another calming breath. Underneath the scent of the incense, and the taxidermy cat, and the pungent odor of fear, I detected a sickly sweet hint of rot. Time was short.

“Believe it or not, necromancy doesn’t tend to follow a ‘one-size-fits-all’ model of operation,” I nevertheless felt compelled to inform her. “I selected your ichor under the assumption that you were going to use it on a human, because the recipe you showed me was for resurrecting a human. That takes a lot of kick, do you understand? Human lives are expensive. So what’s happened here is that you’ve essentially used a jet engine to try and power a tricycle. All of the excess power that would have gone into recovering a human life spilled into your rats and then overflowed.” I shuddered. “Do you have an idea how rare it is for people to over do a resurrection spell? To just let loose a torrent of energy with no particular purpose into the space between life and death?”

The customer’s shoulders had been hunching further and further inwards as I spoke, so that, by the time I finished, she looked as if she was trying to absorb her arms into her own torso.

“It’s not like they exploded or anything,” she mumbled.

I paused in my rant, baffled.

“Why would they explode?” I wondered.

“Well, um, I mean, if you put a jet engine on a trike, it’d probably explode. Right?” she suggested. “Just as soon as it crashed, I suppose.”

“For all its pitfalls, necromancy rarely involves a lot of combustion,” I informed her, with just a hint of impatience.

“Oh,” she said.

“It can, however, summon unspeakable evils from beyond the veil of death to wreak havoc upon the mortal realm.”

“Oh,” she said again.

It was at that point that the sound of scratching began.

The sound was faint. Just a light scritch, scritch, towards the bottom of the doorframe. But the customer leapt back and away from it as if she’d been burned, her eyes wild, her hands clutching at the pockets of her hoodie.

“Oh god, they’re here!” she gasped. “They can’t get inside, can they?”

“It’ll take them some doing,” I replied, unlocking the chest I’d hauled out to the front.

“How, um, how much doing?”

“Come here,” I said, instead of answering. The sound of scratching started up again, underneath one of the front windows instead. The taxidermy cat tilted its head ever-so-slightly towards the sound. The lights flickered, but the ominous effect was somewhat diminished by the bright sunlight still streaming in from outside. A baritone squeak drifted through the shop, deep and menacing, seeming to come from all directions and none at the same time.

With a shaking hand, the customer produced a battered sandwich bag full of cereal from the depths of her hoodie. She clutched it like a lifeline.

“Ah, good,” I said. “Give me that, and hold this.” I scooped up the cat, and before she could protest, I snatched the baggie from her grasp and dumped the cat into her arms. She clutched it, at first, and then did a disgusted double-take and held it at arm’s length instead.

“Why do I have to hold this?” she asked.

“Why does anyone in this shop do anything?” I replied. She stared at me blankly. “Because I fucking tell them to, that’s why. Now, stop asking stupid questions. I need to focus, unless you’d prefer to spend the rest of your brief existence being gnawed apart by your former pets?”

“I would not,” she conceded, and then backpedalled frantically as I grabbed up the chest and two of the vials, along with the bag of cereal, and carried it to the middle of the room.

The cat’s lifeless head tilted towards the far right. The sound of scratching intensified, followed by several more ominous squeaks, and the putrid scent of rot was getting strong enough to unnerve me. Even the customer seemed to notice it, if her wrinkled nose was anything to go by.

“They didn’t smell that bad when they were just dead,” she mentioned.

I uncorked one of the vials.

“This is lich ichor,” I informed her. “It is more than four hundred years old. The only comparably valuable substances you could barter for it would be your still-beating heart, your firstborn, or your immortal soul.” I broke the seal on the top, and with great care, spilled a handful of drops over the circle carved into the floor at my feet. The customer flinched as each droplet fell. I stared at her as I closed the vial again, and held up the second one. “This is a tincture of Night Phlox. It comes from one of my sisters’ gardens. She overcharges, and I intensely dislike having to replace my store of it.” With a flick of my wrist, I tossed it onto the floor, where it shattered. Then I reached down, and carefully grabbed up a handful of the contents of the chest.

“What, um,” the customer asked, before she seemed to swallow back the rest of her sentence.

The cat looked up towards the ceiling, craning a little awkwardly in her arms, and the sounds of scratching started to coalesce around the skylight. They were joined by a tapping sound, and then a great, resounding bang. That was followed by another, and then another, until the entire shop was filled with the cacophony. It was rather impressive, as a matter of fact. The crystals on the shelves started to vibrate, and one of the books at the tarot display toppled over.

The skylight cracked. The banging abruptly stopped.

“That’s going to need to be replaced, too,” I said.

“Shit, oh god, shit shit shit,” the customer replied.

From the corner of my eye, I saw something dart between the shadows in the room.

Carefully, I scattered the handful off dust into the circle. Then I held up the bag of cereal, and began to shake it.

“Here, mousy mousy mousy,” I called.

“They’re rats, not mice!” she blurted at me.

I rolled my eyes, but refrained from correcting her on the front of them not being any variety of rodent at all. Again.

“Here, ratty ratty ratty,” I called, instead, still shaking the bag of cereal.

Massive shadows began to loom along the walls. The cat turned and looked towards a far corner of the shop. Beneath one of the bookshelves, two sets of glowing red eyes appeared.

I shook the bag of cereal again.

The customer attempted to hide behind me.

In a rush, the rats – or, rather, former rats – charged. They were very fast. Not totally surprising, considering that they were bleeding excessive energy into the boundaries between space and time, and were likely possessed by at least a few demons. I almost didn’t snatch the cat away from the customer in time, but you don’t hang onto a job like mine with poor reflexes.

With only a little fanfare, I dropped the unnerving taxidermy specimen into the circle.

There was a smoky boom and the scent of bone dust, and the taxidermy housecat warped and twisted and then sprang to life. The fast-moving rats were already racing towards it too quickly to reverse course, and what followed was a battle that literally shook the foundations of the shop.

Several crystals finally gave up and crashed to the floor.

“You will also be paying for those,” I informed the customer, who was, by then, clutching the back of my shirt and attempting to invoke a god she probably didn’t believe in. Just going off of the general lack of effectiveness. Jupiter was an odd choice, though. You didn’t hear that invocation every day. Especially not when it was being made by someone who, it was becoming swiftly apparent, didn’t actually know that was a name of a god as well as a planet.

Where had this idiot been getting her information from? If she’d actually had a guide, whoever it was deserved to be shot.

The rats were eviscerated.

The cat turned towards us, and I opened the rest of the chest and, before it could get any clever ideas, slammed the box over top of the beast. It took some work to get the lid closed. Furious growls resounded from the inside, but once shut, the chest refused to move. Just as it should. It would be a noisy mess until I could get Young Gran to come and put it down again.

She would charge for that.

I turned, and regarded the customer, who was staring at the mangled corpses of her former pets with…

Well now.

You see a lot of grieved people in my line of work. And a lot of desperate people. A lot of remorseful people, and a lot of angry people. A lot of curious people as well. You get a knack for picking out the genuine ones, and so help me, but that scruffy, smelly, foolish, woman was genuinely distraught over her mutilated, undead vermin. They had been trying to kill her not two minutes ago, and yet she looked as if someone had just pulled the floor out from under her.

I sighed, and scooped up the corpses.

“Where are you taking them?” she asked.

“Failed resurrections need to be carefully disposed of, if you don’t want them twitching their way through lingering unlife and potentially getting back up again,” I replied.

She hung her head, while I unlocked a case beneath the cash register.

“I, um, I guess… does this mean you own my soul now?” she wondered.

I gave her a flat look.

“Are you offering me your soul?” I asked.

“No!”

“Keep up, then,” I advised. “I can hardly accept what you won’t offer. Haven’t I made that clear?”

Now, where was…? Ah, yes, that would do. I pulled out a long, slender box, and an older lighter that whispered about flames until I shook it quiet. The customer watched as I set the rats into the box, along with a few key components.

I did not mention their cost.

“Well… but… you said I had to pay,” the customer reasoned.

“And you do. But how you pay is not solely to my discretion. What do you take me for? A bully? A thief? If anyone has been unfairly harassed and robbed here, it’s clearly me,” I reasoned.

Then I lit the box on fire.

She flinched.

Two seconds later, the fire went out. I caught a whiff of the smoke. Sweet, a little flowery, carrying away the last note of fetid rot.

With a satisfied nod, I opened the box, and moved to quickly catch the living, squirming, perfectly healthy rats that immediately attempted to clamber out of it.

The customer gasped.

That was rather pleasant, actually. It had been some time since I’d done anything to elicit a pleased gasp.

I handed her pets back to her. She took them reverently, letting them sniff at her, tiny whiskers twitching as she cuddled them against her hoodie. I averted my gaze when she started to cry, and instead set about cleaning up the mess.

“You…” she finally said.

“It would have been much cheaper just to mention all of this up front,” I informed her. “So consider those two a reminder of the values of forthrightness, and tread a little more carefully in the future.”

The customer swallowed. She really was a crier. I was glad my mother wasn’t around, then; she loathed criers. Never had the heart to completely take them to task.

“But how do I pay?” she wondered. She sounded rather more resolute than despairing about the whole idea, then.

I Looked at her. Really Looked, mind you. Straight all the way through.

“I am sure you will come up with something for the other expenses. But the resurrection is free,” I decided, and shoo’d her back out of the shop.

A little touch of genuine goodness.

In my line of work, that is invaluable.

(via lostinlifeandbooks)#filled prompt#kinda deviated but eh#original writing#first person#this kind of ate my brain#oops

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tanoraqui · 3 years

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okay I have to do this today because even I wouldn’t do it after the godforsaken finale airs, and it’s basically my specialty and I did spend like an hour thinking about it last night while washing dishes. Definitely partly inspired by @words-writ-in-starlight‘s insightful post on everything Supernatural did wrong, and apologies in advance to all the characters for dragging them into anything related to Christian mythology:

Wei Wuxian’s parents die in a house fire when he’s 6(? I refuse to look anything up) months old

Jiangs are a hunter family I guess? That whole disaster of a family dynamic, except WWX dips out at some point to be idk an environmental activist bc at the time, that seems like the larger threat to the whole world. “Mom and Dad went on a hunting trip and they haven’t come back”, “bitch” “jerk”, 2 brothers in a beat-up old car, you know the drill

Jins are also an old hunting family, but more Men of Letters energy - they have a fancy bunker and do research and avoid getting their actual hands dirty. Jiang Yanli ducked out of the active hunting life a few years ago to be happily married to her peacock and settled down with a baby and she’s fine. We’re not going to bother Yanli. She’s safe and happy and doesn’t need to involved in any of this

so, WWX is the demon blood child developing exciting new abilities like telekinesis, mind control, exorcising demons by sheer force of will...etc, and Jiang Cheng is the Righteous Man. Lucifer, Michael, etc.

s1-3 probably proceeds more or less as spn canon...which I more or less remember...by the time they find their parents at the end of s1, Jiang Fengmian is...ugh, we probably shouldn’t kill him offscreen, I mean, we should probably meet him before he dies. I guess. Madam Yu lasts longer because I’m way more interested in her. But we do know that both Jiang parents are totally inclined to fling the boys into a metaphorical or literal escape boat and go hold the line for as long as possible, so...that’s spn energy...

Xue Yang is the one who’s like “fuck yeah, demon powers” and opens the gates of Hell, because I want him to have nice* things

*nice for Xue Yang

from characterization rather than memory, I’m 90% sure that Dean tried to hide his crossroads deal from Sam, but Jiang Cheng does it...better. I think it does come out, though. Right before the hellhounds do.

here’s where it starts to go farther off from spn canon. Jiang Cheng crawls his way out of the grave, gets stalked by a menacing presence that explodes windows for an episode, incidentally can’t find WWX...*Lan Wangji voice* “I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition” (a baller line then and a baller line now)...and then the next episode starts with them all awkwardly standing around, and JC is like, “ok well let’s go find my brother then”, and you think there’s going to be an mdzs-riffing JC+LWJ Roadtrip To Find WWX...and they’re immediately attacked by like a dozen demons

in fact, the first time we see WWX in s4 is here, wherein he goes toe to toe with an angel and...holds his own. that’s new and terrifying! also is leading a squad of demons??

because here’s the thing: for the last 3(?) months, there’s been war in hell

because unlike Some People Mooses, upon finding out that his brother’s soul was legally nearly-owned by a crossroads demon, heir-apparent-to-Satan!WWX went, “actually fuck that” and kicked open the door of Hell (metaphorically, not loosing any demons this time) and was like, “who do I have to beat the shit out of to get a specific crossroads contract around here”

this did not work, obv. He didn’t know until it was too late, Lilith had already snapped up the contract, etc. etc.

obviously he also tried to offer himself instead, and got rejected for some reason

Since Jiang Cheng died, however, there’s been a war for control of Hell. Leading one side, Lilith, the Original Babe, who wants to break all 666(?) seals keeping Lucifer bound and in the meantime, break the Righteous Man so Heaven won’t even have Michael’s destined host ready for the Final Battle. Leading the other side, Wei Wuxian, infamous upstart, who wants to rescue the Righteous Man and restore him to life, tear Lilith’s guts out through her nose, and also stop her from doing the Lucifer thing because Wen Qing explained that yes, that’s a Thing, and it’s Bad.

Wen Qing! I’ve decided to combine Bela and Ruby’s roles and let WQ be both the cool badass example of how demon deals can go Bad and the demon deliberately leading our heroes astray for most of s3-4. Wen Qing is a very new demon; she used to be some sort of herbalist/witch but then she sold her soul in a crossroads deal to cure her brother of some lingering illness. 10 years of happiness and then boom, hellhounds. WQ is so obviously competent, though, that they (Lilith, I guess?) immediately offers her a job, with the promise threat that gee, that’s a nice brother you’ve got there, even with his Designated Chronic Health Condition getting all relapse-y. It’d be such a shame if something were to...happen to him...

we find this out at some point in last s3 I guess? some Monster of the Week case involves WN as a witness or something, or possible next victim, and WQ shows up to be A Normal Amount Of Invested In This, while desperately trying to avoid actually interacting with her brother (who thinks she’s dead). YES, the truth comes out; YES there’s a tearful reunion

now in s4, Wen Ning is fine actually, health-wise, bc he maybe made a crossroads deal with Wei Wuxian personally, and Wen Qing may or may not have admitted that she’s supposed to be working for Lilith to get WWX ready to host Lucifer? Or potentially that comes out later, idk. Either way, she’s 100% his top lieutenant in this exciting Hell War they’re waging

[insert whatever the hell (ha) happened plot-wise in s4 of supernatural]

we obviously mix up the relationships, too, bc it’s like, *LWJ internal monologue* I’m too young to remember my brother Lucifer as he was before he Fell, but surely Wei Wuxian is his Heir and Destined Vessel in truth, for he is Charismatic and Charming and Makes Me Feel Things, with his Clearly Feigned Righteous Drive and Compassion for All God’s Creatures and - why does heat keep pooling in the lower abdomen of my vessel when I look at his lips, which I am definitely doing a Normal and Not-Weird Amount - I’m just keeping an eye out for the famed Silver Tongue, and not in any way wondering how it would feel in my own mouth -

it’s actually DEFINITELY plausible for Lucifer to still be released even if our designated Heir Apparent is using his demon powers to his full potential and no one’s lying to each other about their motives. You just need to let Lilith be more scary too, and especially bc by “no one” I mostly mean Wen Qing; the angels are still totally hiding the fact that they, too, want to jumpstart the shit out of this apocalypse. LWJ decides at the last minute that that’s a bad idea actually, gets himself discorporated to send JC to intercept WWX because he accidentally releases Lucifer, etc. etc. Oh yeah, the boys were def fighting before this, bc JC has actually fairly reasonable concerns about the sort of things WWX is getting up to in his quest to become King of Hell...

...I neither know nor care what happens in s5

it does end with both Lucifer and Michael locked in the cage probably, bc I rather liked that solution. Fuck both of ‘em, basically.

I was toying with the idea that WWX also found Madam Yu in whatever hellish torment she was suffering after making a deal so her idiot son(s) would survive, and she was leading forces for him in the war against Lilith as well. If she came back to life somehow, body and all, it’d probably be compelling if she offered her own body to Michael - bc it’s her lineage! - and we’re all led to believe that she’s, uh, being a bitch and actually wants to risk destroying the world in order to destroy all demons...but then she seizes back control and flings herself/Michael and Lucifer into the Pit, because she’s just That Hardcore?

which means we’d actually have had her around and having characterization for most of s4-5, too, which would be fun

More importantly, it ends with newly crowned King of Hell Wei Wuxian appointing Wen Qing as Queen-Regent and ditching to go on an indefinite honeymoon with his new angel boyfriend (they’re going to fuck for like three weeks straight, then roll up their sleeves and go conquer Heaven in the name of free will), and Jiang Cheng gets to live out his hitherto-unknown-to-himself life’s ambition to be the sugar baby of the Queen of Hell. It’s very Hades/Persephone, except he goes back down to the underworld at least once a month. He gets his own demon squad whom he trains up in all the hunting techniques and it’s gr9. Wen Qing is reforming the crossroads deal process to make it more fair to the humans.

the end

Addenda:

it should go without saying but Jiang Yanli is definitely a recurring character, like, at least once a season there’s a filler episode where they go to Jiang Yanli’s for dinner and have to get along as a family, and also do the much easier job of defeating some sort of terrible demon that gets loose in the bunker and turns the evening into a horror movie. She’s their main research/emotional check-in person, a la Bobby, more often appearing in later seasons when there’s, uhhh, more to emotionally check in about.

Jin Zixuan is actually a perfectly competent hunter; he’s just a priss and we don’t Like him

we like Mianmian, though. Oh, I guess the official Hunter’s Guild or w/e tries to declare WWX a public enemy on account of the whole “King of Hell” thing and she’s like “actually what if you’re morons and assholes?” and joins hte team in s4 or 5? Yeah.

idk how the 3zun disaster happens in this ‘verse but I do encourage it to be happening in slow motion as a recurring subplot for several seasons. NMJ is a hunter, LXC is obv an angel, and JGY is...I wanna say one of the more human monsters, like a vampire? Or, you know, something that could be born from JGS sleeping with someone/something he shouldn’t have

#mdzs #the untamed #supernatural #ficlet #my fic #spn #ugh it'll probably fuck up hte bullet points again

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starculler · 3 years

Text

Whumptober 2021: Day 1

Word Count: 2489

Read on AO3

“Jason.”

Dick turned his head, trying to get a proper look at his brother without adding momentum to his slow, circular spin. His arms had gone alarmingly numb a while ago, pinned above his head, bound at the wrists by the same thick cord he hung from, and bearing the bulk of his weight unless he stretched out onto the tips of his toes. He considered doing so for a moment if for nothing else than to plant Jason firmly in his line of sight, but figured his peace of mind wasn’t quite worth stretching the painful length of bruising up and down his torso.

He’d managed well enough for the … hours? Days? Time had started to blend together after a spectacularly precise his to the side of his head, the blood long-dried and flaking against his cheek and jaw where it had dripped down from his hairline. His lack of broken bones — not for lack of trying if the pain in his sides was anything to go by — were at least a point in his favor. A little luck on his side, though he wouldn’t hold his breath hoping it stayed that way. It was a matter of if not when, as Jason’s own swollen, mottled-purple bruised wrist had proved.

“Jason,” he rasped again, wincing at the dull ache in his throat. “Jason, please,” he said, hating the frustrated edge leaking into his voice, “this isn’t the time for—”

“For what, Dick-face?” Jason snapped, voice echoing and too-loud in the still silence of whatever damp basement they’d been stashed in. “For more of your fucking martyr-hero stick? Maybe another round of trying to bullshit those fuckers into letting us go ‘cause that went so well last time? Maybe —”

Dick frowned as he finally circled back around to facing Jason, still bound at his ankles and wrists and cuffed to the leg of what might have been an old, rusted water heater or an antique stove after he’d slipped his restraints once already. He’d been caught only because he’d tried to help Dick. Jason’s next attempt had been a sore point since.

“Just,” Jason snarled, cutting off whatever he’d been about to say. “Just keep your useless trap shut unless there’s an actual idea rolling around in that empty fuckin’ head of yours.”

Thick, acrid anger burned through Dick’s chest and bubbled, useless, in his throat. His head throbbed, the steady drumbeat in his skull he’d felt since the hit that might as well have dissolved his concept of time in this godforsaken place growing to a much less negligible roar. He breathed through the pain and anger and the sudden nausea roiling in his stomach, the same slow, measured breaths Bruce had taught him as a kid. It would only do so much, but better that, he figured, than either letting his mouth run away from him or throwing up. Again.

“Jason,” he tried again once he’d sorted through the worst of what he felt, and wondered if he’d wind up with the name tattooed to his tongue from how much he’d repeated it. Had he ever used Jason’s name so often before now?

“Got anything new to say?” Dick pressed his lips into a thin, grim line and remained silent. Jason sneered. “Then shut the fuck up already.”

Dick sighed. He tried to shift, numb, prickling fingers wrapping clumsily around the cord keeping him suspended, and pulled to ease some of the pull on his shoulders only to slip. He hissed through clenched teeth, scrambling to stretch onto his toes and ignoring the ache along his sides and the burn in his back. There were more than bruises there, he knew — he’d screamed himself hoarse as they’d worked him over — but had refused to give it much thought beyond a brief acknowledgment of the pain. He stayed on his toes just long enough to breathe through what he’d done before easing off, slow and careful as he let his arms take the brunt of his weight again.

Jason’s head ducked, glaring once more at the cold, cement floor the second Dick’s gaze focused back on him. Some distant, probably slightly hysterical part of him wanted to laugh at that glimpse of concern he’d caught in his brother’s eyes. The anger for him rather than directed at him. It was nice, in a way, to know Jason cared — to be shown, however unwillingly. They had never really been close: Dick too distant to a brother he hadn’t wanted before Jason’s death, and too distracted after he’d come back to life and mellowed out enough to really come back to the family. It was nice, but unhelpful.

More than anything, Dick needed the ruthlessness the Red Hood was known for. He needed the man able, if not willing, to do what was needed for the sake of a plan. Not that Dick’s plan was much of one. He understood Jason’s anger in that regard. If anyone had told Dick to willingly leave one of his family in danger, he would have sucker-punched them in the face or worse. But he was the more injured of the two, strung up and beat and barely coherent most of the time because he’d spent his time running his mouth to keep their captors’ focus on him rather than on his brother.

Close or not, Dick had decided years ago that he’d do what he could to keep his family safe. If that meant taking a beating to spare someone else, then so be it. Even if it really fucking sucked.

“Jason,” he tried again, and rushed to talk when Jason’s head snapped up, glaring and ready to shout over him if need be. “No, shut up,” Dick hissed, gratified when Jason grimaced, fuming but silent. “I’m not telling you to abandon me here.” He was, they both knew he was, but there was no need to say it out loud. Their captors were playing with them right now, hoping to make Jason talk by hurting Dick. The chances of Dick dying after Jason was gone, though, were high. Still… “You’re not abandoning me. You’re getting help. We need help. Even if you somehow managed to get me down with a broken wrist, I don’t think I could walk out of here on my own and, again, you have a broken wrist. There’s just no way you’re getting me out of here alone.

“No,” he snapped when Jason moved to argue. “We’re good, can’t do what we do if we weren’t, but we’re only human.” Dick sucked in a single shaky breath and forced a grin that further split his lower lip. “I know you’ll come back for me, you and B and anyone else you can get your hands on. But first, you need to get out of here, find out where we are, and make the call. Got it?”

“You’re not the boss of me,” Jason growled, but there was no real heat to it. His shoulder had slumped, face twisted into a frown, and resignation visible in every line of his body. Dick was right and he knew it. “You’re not dyin’ here Dick-face,” he said, sharp and unhappy.

“I’m not,” Dick agreed despite the knots his stomach tied itself into.

Jason nodded, slow, and got to work getting free. The light across the room was too dim for Dick to see clearly — little more than the outline of Jason’s body and a few details catching the light visible, but he was enough of an escape artist himself to guess what Jason was doing. It would have been easier, faster, if they’d been caught as Red Hood and Nightwing instead of Jason Todd and Dick Grayson, but not impossible. All of them tended to carry at least some basic supplies on their person: lock picks, multi-purpose tools, a knife or two.

Dick held his breath while Jason worked, praying they hadn’t wasted too much time arguing and hesitating, and let it out all in a rush when he heard the distinct click of a cuff unlocking. He watched Jason stand, gingerly checking his fractured wrist and hissing when his fingers brushed it. Dick flashed him a smile, smaller this time but no less full of the same false confidence he’d injected into his earlier grin. And just as see-through. Jason frowned, nodded once, and stalked to the room’s only exit. After a brief moment spent listening for people on the other side and another to pick the lock, Jason strode through, silent as a shadow despite his bulk, and left Dick alone in the silence and near darkness.

Without another person there to occupy him, despite how neither had spoken much beyond brief check-ins and arguing about escape plans, time grew fuzzy. It seemed to slip through metaphorical fingers, no way to tell how long it had been since Jason had slipped out. The only relief was the lack of sound — no shouting, running, storming the basement, or anything else that might have indicated that Jason had been caught.

It was a relief.

It was a relief, until it wasn’t.

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

Jason couldn’t breathe.

The stale air cycling through his helmet tasted sour, made worse by the mingling damp, mold and the thick, coppery stench of blood. A fine tremor started in his hand, his white-knuckled grip on his pistol tightening until it threatened to either crack the grip or snap his fingers. He breathed in the deep, meditative breaths they all tended to use, but it did little to lessen the tightness in his chest and even less to banish the red haze creeping in at the edges of his vision.

A hand settled on his back under his jacket and pressed into the sweat-damp sweater he’d been wearing since they’d been caught, small but steadying. Firm and warm. A comfort and a warning bundled together in that special way only Cass managed. Calm, it seemed to say, but he could feel the way it shook, just slight enough that if he wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been trying to focus on anything else but what lay in front of him. He swallowed, wanting to gag on the taste in his mouth. Wanting to storm out of this stupid cellar and press the muzzle of his gun to the temple of the nearest idiot and pull the trigger.

He wanted to crawl out of his skin. Crawl back in his grave. Be anyone or anywhere else because then, at least, this wouldn’t be his fault. He wanted to go back in time and strangle his brother for his idiotic ideas and too-good-self-sacrificial bullshit and find a way to switch places. Let Jason be the one on the floor because at least he’d already died. He’d lived the torture, the hopelessness, the last trembling breath before the explosion and the brief, concussive burn, so hot he’d felt cold. That, too, had been his fault.

It was funny, just a little, in an odd, hysteric kind of way.

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t cry. Didn’t move until Cassandra took him by the wrist and pulled him back up the stairs and out of the basement. His broken wrist throbbed, braced and in a sling because he’d refused anything more time consuming in lieu of going back personally with the others. It had taken him over an hour to find his way out of the maze of a hotel their captors had holed up in — some old place half fallen over with more rotted wood than intact some few miles outside of town — and another one and a half to find another living person with a cellphone.

Cass and Stephanie had found him some time after he called, his jacket, helmet, and guns in hand despite how they told him they were supposed to take him back to the cave so Alfred could check him over. Bruce, Tim, the demon brat, and Duke had gone after Dick. The girls hadn’t needed much convincing at all to take him there too once they’d at least stabilized his wrist and gotten him half-dressed in his Red Hood gear.

Stephanie and Duke were on the main floor, tense but trying to look casual where they leaned against moth-eaten, damaged furniture. Cass pulled him in their direction and past, out the door and into the cool, night air. Jason breathed it in with numb relief. He nearly jumped when another smaller hand touched his back, a brief pat before pulling away, and he looked to find Stephanie on his right and Duke on her other side.

“B commed,” she said, subdued and strained. “They made it to the hospital and N’s been taken in for surgery.” Her breath hitched, voice cracking toward the end. “They’re not sure if he’ll …”

“He will,” Jason rasped. “If there’s one thing I know,” he said, voice noticeably thick even through his helmet’s modulation, “it’s that luck fucking loves him. ‘S not about to run out any time soon.”

That pulled a startled laugh out of all three of them, and Jason’s lips pulled into an unwilling grin despite himself. He forced himself to breathe in sweet, fresh air and let some of the tension in his body drain out on the exhale. Dick would be fine, he told himself. The day Dick Grayson died without a single gray hair on his head was the day hell froze over, even if Jason had to drag him back to life kicking and screaming to make that true.

“I think we should make him a cake, for when he gets back,” Stephanie said, voice pitched up in a mostly poor attempt to cheer herself and them up. Duke nodded, about to say something when Cass interrupted with a cheerful chirp of:

“Two cakes.”

“Four,” Duke doubled to the girls’ obvious delight.

Jason groaned, tipping his head back dramatically and drawled, “None of you hellions are touching A’s goddamn kitchen. I’m not sitting through gross, obscure recipes for a week just ‘cause you decided to try playing baker.”

“I can bake!” Stephanie groused, and Jason laughed.

“You can go to a bakery,” Jason shot back. Stephanie huffed and Duke clapped her on the back while Cass muffled a small laugh of her own behind her hand.

Jason breathed in and finally holstered his gun as they reached the three bikes the trio had ridden in on. Dick would be okay, he told himself again, and for now he could do this. Play nice. Be a big brother. He owed that much, at least.

“I’ll bake,” Jason said giving the three a look before they hopped on their bikes, “and you can help.” He rolled his eyes behind his helmet as one cheer and two laughs rang out, then pulled himself carefully onto the back of Cass’ bike as she revved the engine, waiting for him to grab onto her so they could get back home.

#whumptober2021 #no.1 #bound #batman #dick grayson #jason todd #fic #injury #blood #my fanfic

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chichirichick · 3 years

Text

SoMa Week Day 3: Protect

I may have gone a little crazy with this one... it's sort of a lyric fic inspired by @macabremermaid sending me awesome playlists for my other fics.

Check out my @soulxmakaweek entry for Day 3 on ff.net, ao3, or after the cut! Also, feel free to listen to the playlist on repeat 😘

"What the hell is this?"

There were never more dreadful words strung together, but the fact that Maka was shouting them as she was unceremoniously plopping onto his stomach while he was lying on the couch added a blistering wave of anxiety to them. As Soul realized it was in fact his laptop in her hands, the utter panic was compounded as his heart threatened to entirely spew from his chest.

Had he perhaps left a porn tab open?

Had she opened his email and saw how much money he actually spent on the new sound system that he bought for the living room?

Had she found the chat logs between him and Liz where she dogged him day in and day out about the uncomfortable reality of his feelings for his meister?

"Soul, seriously- KPop?"

I wish it was the porn, he cursed out at the universe.

"Because I go to YouTube to find a video on how to fix-"

"Why are you on my laptop though?" He finally managed to squeak, even though that was most definitely not even close to raging; it was just the poor, pathetic squeal of a man entirely metaphorically stripped.

"Mine needs to charge," she spat back as if that was a stupid question in the first place. "Going back to my point- I open it up and on the top of your playlists is this one: Mix0903. Which is filled with Korean boy bands." She leveled her eyes at him with the playful accusation. "Does that mean you have nine hundred and two other mixes of Korean pop music or are the others at least filled with the snooty music you've led us all to believe you actually like? I think Miles Davis would be rolling over in his grave-"

"Give me that!" Soul finally let some of his panic feed action rather than frozen fear as he sat up and grabbed for the laptop. Regardless of the implications, part of him wished for it to take a skyrocketing, crashing fall, shattering to bits just as his coolness had moments prior, but Maka had an iron grip on the machine. The only thing his movements earned him was Maka settling in his lap, leaning as far forward as she could manage with arms outstretched to keep the laptop from his grasp.

Yes, this position was in no way, shape, or form comfortable as her ass ground into his crotch, but at least Soul's body was more involved with the hysterics of her hitting play, of that stupid first song starting the emotional rollercoaster that he sat on at least once a week.

"BTS, Soul, seriously," Maka teased through twittering giggles. "Dimple? Do you know the dance for this? Please, please, tell me you do!"

"There's no dance," he groaned as he attempted to wrap an arm around her waist, hugging her closer so that his other hand could hopefully stretch far enough to the spacebar to at least stop the torture. Instead, he was left cursing Maka's flexibility, the tuck of her waist still leaving it out of his grasp.

"OK, OK, next!" Maka clicked a button. "Who's WOODZ?"

"You wouldn't know 'im," Soul grumbled.

"Ugh, even with K-Pop you're an insufferable hipster. You wouldn't know him, he's so underground," she added as she put on her best Soul impression.

He sucked his teeth as he heard the click again.

"OK, Shinee's a classic, Soul," Maka interrupted herself for laughter again. "But this one's a little creepy, isn't it? With all my body baby- I'll crash into you- So that I can feel- Every little thing with you."

Soul huffed.

Another click.

"VIXX?" Peels of laughter left her again. "Oh, and look at the collars, Soul! Are you serious? Is that going to be a new fashion look for you?"

As if I need more jokes from Black Star about bein' on a leash, Soul sighed.

Another click. "Worship U?"

This was spiraling out of control and Soul's only hope with the insufferable length of her reach was to let his head fall in defeat between her shoulder blades.

"If you think giving up already is going to save you from teasing…" Maka started but the words trailed off, overwhelmed by the song.

"I won't stop, never

Until the end of my life

Don't stop forever

Without wavering like this

Now don't worry, worry, worry

I will protect you-"

The line cut off quickly as Maka clicked again.

Soul's hand tensed around her wrist.

"BTS again." She was trying to laugh but it came out a little too breathy.

"Why is it so dark when you're not here

It's dangerous how wrecked I am

Save me because I can't get a grip on myself"

The arm around her waist pulled, and Maka allowed her back to curl into his chest, the laptop now well within his reach. He moved his head to hover just over her shoulder, eyes on the screen. Instead of grasping for it, his hands were busy on her skin, trying to hold her as much as he was holding the words he'd listened to a million times.

Another click.

"Even though I like you, nobody knows

Even when I see other girls, nobody's like you

I'm sorry for having no courage

You can laugh at me all you want

I'm a loser who loves you

Yes, I'm a misery

To you, I'm a nuisance, I'm an outsider

But in this world, I only need you"

"Don't know why you'd listen to that," Maka murmured. "You're such a cool guy, right?"

Soul couldn't help but feel the sting of it, even if her voice was warbly and barely above a breath.

Another click.

"I won't ever let you go again

I'll hold you, we'll be together forever

I'll cover your beautiful eyes so you won't go anywhere

I'll trap you inside of me"

Say it, Soul wanted to spit out the venom from between his teeth. It's possessive. It's awful. It's too much. That's what it feels like sometimes. Too much. It's selfish.

Instead, in the silence that came with the song cutting off, he got one more click.

"It's the last one."

"After that," he barely squeezed out the words as he pressed his face into her hair, "you gonna leave me alone?"

"If a shadow covers your light

I can't see

I get confused again

It's not like me

But you still smile for me

It's you

Will I be able to protect you?

I'm afraid"

"That was…" Maka forced a long, slow breath. "Soul, it wasn't your nine-hundred-and-third playlist, was it?"

He let out a weak laugh as he started to loosen his hold on her, his hand trying to slip away.

"September third." Maka grabbed his hand on retreat, tangling his fingers with hers. "The day we met, right?"

"Yeah," he muttered.

"And I- I actually have a dimple?"

Soul cleared his throat. "Sorta."

"Sorta," Maka echoed. Suddenly her fingers were clacking on the keyboard, hitting the enter with extra vigor. "I don't have a list, but listen."

"How much time

are you gonna spend worrying? question

I'm preparing to go to war

with the things that bother you, yes sir

My mood changes according to yours

I get so mad when I see you sad

Like a wave crashing on sand, erase it all

Your worries are no more, now only happy days are left"

Maka pushed the laptop forward and out of her hands, the song still trickling along to the chorus as she turned her head over her shoulder. "So, are you going to look at me?"

Soul leaned, letting his eyes meet hers with a searching stare.

"You always protect me." She shook her head softly, tossing his ridiculous worry aside. "And I doubt GOT7 had the kind of protection you offer in mind when they wrote that song." Maka tapped her knuckle below his shoulder where his shirt hid that blaring white scar. "You shouldn't listen to some playlist of boy bands mourning how they can't have the girl they love or they're afraid about treating her right when you do." Green eyes hit his, a plea from them, her soul, and her mouth hitting him in the face, "Tell me you do."

"That I…?"

"Stop worrying, and tell me," Maka murmured, saturated in her own fears even as she was asking him to throw away his.

"It's not just…" He sighed as he flexed his fingers in hers. "It's not just because we're meister and weapon, Maka, it's not-"

"I know," she pressed. "Can you just channel their energy for just one second and be cute and romantic?"

Soul's eyebrows shot up. "But, I-"

"Am bad at this," Maka sighed. "Fine. Soul Evans, if you can't put it into words can you at least-?"

He quickly pressed his lips to her cheek, derailing the rest of her thought entirely. Before his lips had even disengaged, Soul was squeezing his eyes shut, ready for the standard Maka-chop to clobber him into next week. When it didn't come, he knocked his forehead against her shoulder, turning his face to rest it against the warmth of her neck.

Maka reached up awkwardly to run her fingers over his hair, letting out a sweet sigh in the process. "That'll work." She giggled to herself as she reached for the laptop again. "But I want a new playlist. It's better when we make music together, right?"

#soulxmakaweek #SoMaweek2021 #SoMa #Soul Eater #KPop

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buck-nialled · 4 years

Note

could you write something based on that Niall insta story with the chocolate and the “it’s the small things” where maybe y/n bought him the chocolate on her way home after work just because?? I don’t know if that makes sense

NOTE: been seeing a lot of negative stuff on my dash these past couple of days so I figured I could write a little and cheer this anon up and others too (hopefully). I kept the concept the same for the most part and just changed a few small things. Also made this a barista!niall au bc why the hell not? HOPE YOU LIKE THIS ANON, it’s a small thing but i hope it cheers you and others up :)

Take It - N. Horan Imagine

You had been infatuated with the man behind the counter the moment you stepped into the small café. Though, it was the smell that had captured your attention first. The aroma of coffee beans brewing winded around the block which you usually traversed through to get to your job. You were thankful you left early that morning upon reaching the building which had been under construction for quite some time, but now held large, red-printed letters on its window reading “NOW OPEN”. You did not fight the smile stretching on your lips as you entered the building and let your eyes cascade over the textured wallpaper lining the interior of the store, which mimicked that of aged stone. A small logo came into sight a few times as you gave cursory looks over more of the interior. Your heels clicked over the sanded hardwood flooring, which you admired for a moment or so until your eyes looked up and caught sight of something more captivating.

This something was adorning a black shirt, partially guarded by a green apron, with the familiar silhouette of the shamrock and a name embroidered beside it. Your eyes chose not to decipher the cursive and rather traveled upward to meet two clear oceans staring back at her.

“G’mornin! Welcome to Horan’s Coffee House, how can I help you?” The man’s lips peeled open, revealing a gorgeous set of teeth between his light stubble. You were still unsure if it was his smile or thick, accented voice that sent your knees into a small wobble and tongue tremble in apprehension. You chose not to think too hard about it though and reminded yourself that despite your leaving early, your schedule was still airtight.

“Um, I just need some coffee.”

“Sure, our coffee menu is right up here,” his hand motions toward a chalkboard right above him, where various drink options were listed, “or I could tell you about our special.” He offers, smile now residing to a quirk in the left corner of his pink lips. You tried refraining your curiosity, but his kind eyes could not help to tighten the metaphorical lasso his voice and smile already had wound around your body. You moved closer to the counter he was stood behind.

“And what might that be?” His tongue peeked out to lightly wet his lips at your interest. And he joined you in your eager state, leaning forward against the counter.

“It’s our Mullingar Macchiato, like regular macchiato but with a shot of Irish crème.” You hummed in interest, eyes flicking upwards and to the side in a pondering gaze. It made the range of the man’s smile increase as you did so and had him baring his teeth at you once more when you gave him a firm nod. “Alright, you sold me.”

“Perfect. I’ll start on that for ya right now, love.” Luckily, he had turned his back to you and face the machine as the blood ran up to flame your cheeks. You took the silence as an opportunity to let your eyes wander the interior of the store once more and think back to the man’s prior words.

“So…you’re Irish? That’s the whole theme of this place?” You question, turning away from the counter just in case he turned to peer at you. You were not confident the fire in your cheeks had dimmed down quite yet.

“Uh, yeah I guess you could say I was inspired. I’ve been cookin’ ever since I was little. When I finally left culinary school, I figured this was the best place to get started.”

An Irish-themed bakery was incongruous to this block of buildings, to say the least. The interior was like nothing Y/N had ever experienced. But with how expansive New York City was in its culture and wide-ranging heritage, it was nothing arbitrary in terms of the state. Your feet led you to a large case, which held all different and unfamiliar sweets. Among the various nametags, you picked out a few which piqued your interest the most: Bailey’s Cheesecake, Irish Apple Cake, Shortbread, Irish Oat Flapjacks.

“So…you made all of these?” You look up, ready to pivot to face the worker at the coffee machine but are startled to find him behind the case already. His arm lifted and the corner of his apron peered up enough for you to catch the embroidered name: Niall. He set the coffee atop of the case for you to take, which you did with a smile. The coffee made your hand feel warm, much like your insides when he spoke his reply.

“Yeah. I know they look complicated, but most of them have the same base of alcohol. That’s one stereotype I won’t deny being true.” Both of you chuckle as you nod your head.

“Trust me, I’m well aware. I studied abroad in Ireland for six weeks.” You had hoped this unnecessary knowledge you were spewing was helping your case, rather than hurt it. And it seemed like you made the right choice in sharing when Niall raised his brows at you.

“Really? What part?”

“Dublin.” You answer, bringing the lip of the cup to your lips for a sip. But before you could tip the cup back, a small scoff left Niall. Your brows furrowed as you let the lid leave your mouth, now slightly agape.

“What?”

“Please,” he muttered with a shake of his head. “Dublin is nothin’ compared to other towns in Ireland. It’s an overpriced tourist-sucker with extremely overpriced drinks.” He declares, unbridled.

“Well, I can confirm that last part.” You murmur. “So, you’re not from Dublin then.”

He shakes his head rapidly, very eager to dispute the thought as he informs you. “Mullingar.” And he is beaming once again after saying it.

“Mullingar.” You repeat, before furrowing your brows and glancing down to the warm cup in your grasp. “Like the name of this drink.”

“Aye, she’s catchin’ on!” He cheers, cueing you to roll your eyes.

“Whatever. Speaking of the drink though, I should probably pay you now.” Your voice declines in volume as your turn to fish your wallet from your purse slung on your shoulder. But Niall’s hands begin waving nonchalantly from your peripheral vision.

“Ah, don’t worry 'bout it. You’re the first customer since we opened this mornin’. It’s on the house!” He insists.

“What? No, let me—” Niall reaches to lightly shove your free hand away from the lips of your purse.

“I’m serious, don’t worry about it! If you end up liking it, which I’m sure you will,” you mimic the smirk that falls onto his lips, “you can pay next time you’re here. Swear it.” You carefully eye him, a suspicious squint only making his smile grow as you readjust the purse’s strap on your shoulders.

“Alright, here’s to hoping I like this drink then,” you raise the styrofoam cup before you are pivoting and walking out of the store. As you step out of the building, a man bustles in behind you, shouting desperately at Niall to see if he left his card there. You pause in your footing and glance back to see Niall consoling the man and handing him the credit card he had supposedly left in the store earlier. All you could do though, despite the small irritation within you, was smile and continue your journey to work with the shake of your head.

It had been three weeks since that morning, and approximately five additional visits to Horan’s Coffeehouse. Of course, Niall tried playing the same trick on you your next two visits, which you wanted to so badly refuse. But his voice, which was especially gravely one particular morning, and paired along with his charming pools for eyes, was enough to have you concede. The previous three, however, you refused to leave without paying which left Niall sighing and feigning pain from your card as it was accepted by the machine.

It made you feel accomplished, to have him taste his own medicine. That was until you checked your account later in the day to find various returns, all from the same place: Horan’s Coffeehouse. You despised how the sight made your heart flutter and gnawed on your lip in thought, the monitor on your desk at work mocking you with its blank stare. You were too concentrated on Niall to even concentrate on your current tasks. How you were ever going to let this man receive something, anything from you?

One particular memory played out in your collage of dreams that night. It was a morning you had visited Niall and took notice of a small chocolate bar hidden (not so well) in the register. You questioned him about it once the previous customer he was helping departed, leaving the two of you alone in the store.

“Can’t a man get cravings for chocolate, too? Damn,” He replied in his usual, jocular tone, before explaining how it was his favorite chocolate bar growing up, and remains so to this day. You think the best part about that conversation was you not even asking for the context of the chocolate, and how easily he justified himself to you. Of course, the dream ended much differently than that day did. Rather than leaving the shop with a smile like you always did, you somehow ended up on the counter with Niall’s face between your thighs and a never-ending string of moans leaving your lips.

But that’s not important. Not as important as your alarm waking you up with a jump in your heart and smile curling your lips upward as an idea came to mind. You bustled from your apartment as quickly as possible, not wanting to waste more time than necessary as you hurried out of your apartment and to the small shop near Niall’s and seeking out your treasure.

You underestimated how early you managed to arrive at Horan’s Coffeehouse, though, and nearly ripped the door handle off upon tugging it and not receiving its normal swing open. “Huh?” You muttered, attempting to dig your phone out of your pocket to check the time, a frame popped up beside you. Looking up, you found Niall smiling down at you as he was twisting the key into the shop’s door.

“Wow, you’re here early today.” He comments, swinging the door open. You meet his eyes and were certain there was no covering up your red cheeks now. “Well come on.” He chuckles, encouraging you to step inside the building with a small motion of his arm.

“So,” he sets down the Mullingar Macchiato, a drink you’d never grown tired of since beginning your mornings here, on the counter behind him to cool. “What brings ya here so early t'day?” he sets his arms down onto the counter and leans towards you curiously with a small smile. It was as if he already knew he was a constant thought of yours. Which, you would not be surprised if he admitted. You were not the most “subtle” person when it came to falling for somebody.

‘Well, I uh—I wanted to give you this…” You slowly reached in your purse and pulled out the chocolate bar. The same one he tries hiding in the register and does poorly at. His mouth falls open at the familiar label, and he takes it into his hands with a laugh of disbelief.

“I also want to go on a date with you.” You continue, “that is if you want to go out with me. And if you aren’t busy…or are already with someone else. In that case, I totally understand if—”

“Love,” he addresses, before cooing you in a shush. “You’re rambling…a date with you sounds lovely. I think I’d be an idiot to say no to tha’.” You bite your lip to hide the smile threatening to break out on your face.

“Cool…but I’m paying for it.”

“Of course,” Niall huffs out, face forming an expression of slight annoyance. “Knew there’d be a catch.”

“That’s my offer, Horan. Take it or leave it.” You straighten your stance, looking all business. Niall’s lips twitch back and forth in thought.

“How about I take the bill, and you leave the tip.” Niall counters, with a raise of his brows. You shake your head, rolling your eyes at him. “Alright alright, how about this. Come closer,” suspiciously, you inch towards his frame stood behind the counter. “Closer.” He encouraged, and you proceeded until your body was practically up against the counter’s rim.

“Wha—” before you could question his motives, his hand swoops down to grasp the back of your neck and let your lips collide with his as an answer. It was an answer you could not refuse, and your arms glided up and reached his shoulder blades to keep your lips pressed against his. When you finally broke apart, lightly panting, the smile which never seemed to leave Niall’s features was more prominent than ever as he grabbed the cup of coffee from behind him, “you take that…and leave with this.” He finishes as he places the cup down on the counter in front of you.

on the look for more niall stuff? my masterlist is full of it. seriously. go check it out!

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kaylorrehabcenter · 3 years

Text

A Very Self Indulgent Analysis of the 1 from ~a Kaylor Perspective~

Is the 1 about Karlie Kloss? Probably not. It’s probably a song about wishing Taylor and Harry could’ve been more than beards, who am I to say? But I will write you this post about Kaylor and this song because I was listening to it last night and it made me sad. (And I’m avoiding being actually productive besides)

That being said. This analysis isn’t the word of god, I’m not Taylor nor do I have access to her brain. Every interpretation is equally valid but I will roll my eyes at you if you say this is about Taylor au-ing if her and Karlie broke up I will roll my eyes at you. I also don’t take this song 100% literally. Few if any people Taylor’s been with can just “meet some woman on the internet and take them home”, so whether or not Karlie can or would do that with a husband and a baby due soon is a moot point to me.

The fact Aaron Dessner also said it was from another friend’s perspective also does not impede my analysis. We know Taylor is in a happy committed relationship with Joe, most people would side eye their relationship if she said with her whole chest she wrote this from her perspective.

That all being said, in the words of one Philip DeFranco, let’s jump right into it.

“I hit the ground running each night/I hit the Sunday matinée/You know the greatest films of all time were never made”

I see the first line as a bit of a double meaning. She’s demonstrating how moved on she is a la the first line in the song, while also describing the relationship she moved on from “the one” with, it happening to her rather quickly. In this context “hitting the Sunday matinee” could be a metaphor for our actor boy Joe.

“You know the greatest films of all time were never made”

This is my favorite line in this motif. Taylor never got to tell any of her stories about her relationships with women. Not plainly and explicitly anyway. Not only did their coastal town they wandered round never see their love (whether because of hiding or having to tip toe around Josh), even if Taylor comes out tomorrow she’ll never be able to acknowledge these relationships the same way she can with men, and I’m not crying about this I’m definitely not.

“I guess you never know, never know/And if you wanted me, you really should've showed/And if you never bleed, you're never gonna grow/And it's alright now”

Karlie chose Josh, thus is the fundamental truth of Kaylor. Taylor was the other woman, longing to be remembered and to be “more than a footnote in the story of your life”. If Karlie wanted Taylor, as a friend, girlfriend, whatever, Taylor is saying she should’ve acted like it. Though Taylor has grown from the experience, and time has passed, she still catches herself dwelling on these memories, the good times if you will a la my gold rush and happiness analysis.

“But we were something, don't you think so?/Roaring twenties, tossing pennies in the pool/And if my wishes came true/It would've been you”

To me, the first line of the chorus here feels like Taylor, even though years have passed, to try and acknowledge they were something, if not girlfriends, at least a relationship with meaning. Roaring twenties could also be a 1989 era reference, and Taylor acknowledging that at one point, being with Karlie in an actual relationship, not an other woman scenario, was her wish.

“We never painted by the numbers, baby/But we were making it count/You know the greatest loves of all time are over now”

One day I will write a post about every time Taylor mentions counting, you see this a lot in Karlie songs (You did a number on me, but honestly baby who's counting?) or rather, ones I think are Karlie songs.

I also interpret not painting by the numbers as a reference to Tay and Kar never having a traditional relationship, and the following line being another dig at Karlie that they did have a relationship and it meant something, whatever Karlie has to tell herself to sleep at night. Still, even if they were in love, it’s all over now.

“I, I, I persist and resist the temptation to ask you/If one thing had been different/Would everything be different today?”

If Josh wasn’t there, if Karlie had been more available in xyz capacity, if the master heist hadn’t happened, would they still be together? Would they still be friends even? Does she even want that anymore? There’s a wistfulness here for the imagined possibilities. You can know something ended for a reason, and you’re happy now, and you’re better off without them anyway, and still wonder if there’s an au out there where everything fell into place and you ended up together.

“In my defense I have none/for digging up the grave another time/but it would’ve been fun/if you would’ve been the one”

#i finally defeated my writing block yay!#kaylor #the 1 #song analysis #the 1 analysis #kaylor songs

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j-wonwootrash · 4 years

Text

Vernon || What we are

Word count: 2.9k+ Genre: Angst + fluff A/N: Apologies if this took so long and this is probably badly written since I didn’t proof read but anyway dear, I love angst & fluffy oneshots so here’s my take on your request @sweetie-yoongi7 😚 Enjoy!

“I’m worried that you’re changing into someone I don’t recognize anymore.”

— — —

Seven days.

It has been a week since he last talked to you. Be it physical or virtual, the tension deepened between the two of you and the distance continued to stretch like bubblegum.

Since you both started off as friends, it seemed too good to be true when at that one class, he exchanged numbers with you for a project. Ecstatic and excited, the chemistry you had with him just.. sparked.

He filled in the blanks of your questions of a certain topic and you matched with him as if you were the missing piece to his jigsaw puzzle. The flavour of your friendship was really sweet, people viewed you as each other’s lover. You guessed that, to him, that teasing gesture was a joke. But in fact to you, hoped it was real, even the slightest percent.

How you fell for him was totally uncalled for. At first you treated him like any other friend and gosh how Cupid worked fast. You developed feelings for him and whenever you’d meet, your fingers were crossed in hopes you didn’t wear your heart on your sleeves. So you wore a baseball cap or mask to hide your ‘inlove’ eyes or the redness spreading across your cheeks.

Hansol was dense, or maybe not. You couldn’t read him at all.

Yet that flavour slowly became bland as time passed. Hansol avoided you for who knew what reasons why he did. You thought you knew; guess the number of years doesn’t equal with the intimacy of your friendship.

Tapping letters on your keyboard, you sigh and slid half of your frame on the table at the cafeteria. Seungkwan saw your saddened body from afar right after he got his tray. “Hey y/n..” his voice creating a tune that you immediately lifted your head as if you were hypnotised. “Have you risen from your grave?”

He bit his lips knowing his metaphor went too far, but you accepted it anyway since you did act lifeless for while when Hansol started to ignore you. “I have. But I’ll probably go back to it if ever I run into Hansol again.” you let out a stupid short breath. “I’m not supposed to be sad about it, yet I am, why am I like this, does he not like me anymore- I don’t know what to do.”

Seungkwan rolled his eyes at the tantrums you unknowingly let out. He was starting to feel embarrassed when your lips began to open again. “Ah-ah.” he warned you as his fingers waved sideways. “Girl, did you forget how to think? We use our brains, not our mouths!” he hissed, eyes looking at the surrounding people just in case they ever witness or eavesdrop the conversation.

Your pale lips formed a flat line and Seungkwan swore you looked like you’ve seen a ghost behind him. Realistically speaking it was mid-day so obviously they wouldn’t appear. There were other things though, but in this specific meoment he knew why your whiney attitude suddenly turned cold, vulnerable and fragile like a dented glass cup.

He assured you that he’d try to talk it out with him; maybe knock down his walls to open up about the ongoing, about-to-be toxic friendship. Seungkwan left his tray for a while to catch up to Hansol, who was now with Wonwoo to eat lunch just tables away from yours. You eyed him as Boo approached your new-found crush a.k.a project partner with a knuckle fist nudge in the arm.

“Hey man, wanna eat with us?” Hansol asked as he pointed the table with his thumb and

“Oh yeah join us. We were just talking about the gathering we’ll have with the others later.” Wonwoo nodded in agreement with the younger one’s company.

Seungkwan declines in an instant, saying that he was already having one with you. Hansol turned to where you were seated and became silent as a response. “I just mentioned her name and you’re already shushed up.” he joked where in fact he was trying to hit him with words so Hansol could open his heart.

“Nah, I’m just really hungry.” he said. A total excuse to not cross paths with you again today.

“Uh-huh, keep saying that.” Seungkwan’s tone alerted the dude. “That’s excuse number twenty-one.”

Wonwoo tried to hold back his smirk. He as well noticed the Hansol’s recent behaviour and it was honestly stupid to able to have the guts to ignore you.

Hansol raised his eyebrows, the topic was getting too personal at least for him. “What’s up with you ‘Kwan?”

“One day dude. One day!” he brought his finger up in emphasis. “You’ll look back at those times and see that all along, you were falling in love with y/n.” Seungkwan turned his foot to head straight to you.

— — —

The days of ignoring you gradually became frequent to the point where it eventually turned out to be a habit. Hansol laid lazily in his bean bag with an awkward posture, tapping his phone away in which Seungcheol thought he was doing his project. The kid was too focused and it would be rude to stop him; but the older one knew his ways. He grabbed the phone, making Hansol shocked and lost for words.

Busted.

Seungcheol was the big brother of the group and he knew he had to correct the habits that were going too far. In this case? The way Hansol continually avoided the conversation regarding you; the way he changed directions to not meet you face to face; the way he does not head out to discuss about the project- the list could go on and on.

Yet, there one certain thing that went too far, and all the boys in his circle do agree and were all in favour to beat the dense one to a pulp if he still does it the last time.

And that was the way he doesn’t invite you to the apartment anymore.

Since befriending you and all of his friends funnily ‘adopted’ you in their group, they loved your company and how jolly you were and how they finally have a sister to bicker non-stop. But because of Hansol’s new weird habits and inconsistent contact with you, those were put into halt. And they didn’t know when you’ll ever visit.

“I thought you were doing your project?” Seungcheol asked as he waved the phone in question.

“I was.” Hansol shrugged, reaching out for his phone. He took it back but now he attracted attention from everyone in the apartment, though they didn’t bother add in remarks. They stood and watched. “Taking a little break that’s all.” he sat back down.

“Okay.” Seungcheol walked towards him, nudging him to snap out of it. “Are you having a break with her too?”

The television’s volume lowered down to silence just so that Hansol knew the intensity and how serious it had become with you. He rotated his head dramatically— and quickly too— that he probably pulled a muscle around his neck. “You mean y/n? No, I still talk with her.”

“Doesn’t look like that to us.” Seungcheol noticed they others with ears attentively listening and hearing the conversation out. “Her presence needed in the crew, she’s part of us now. Like she’s the honey syrup to plain pancakes.”

“And your point is?” Hansol scrolled down some platform for entertainment before stopping at a certain thing.

“Everyone here misses her. I know you do too.” he said, but leaned backwards as the younger one stood and headed for the door.

The hallway revealed you and although he expected it after from scrolling down his phone earlier, he internally panicked. He didn’t know how to act at your appearance and existence so close. Regaining his composure, he exhaled as he began to speak. “Why are you here?”

“I came because you didn’t answer my calls.” you showed your phone. “For three weeks ‘Han. Three weeks and you just left me hanging in the air.”

“Yikes.” Chan whispered and pursed his lips at your tone with the rest who now witnessed the both of you. Jeonghan had to ask him to refrain from giving reactions since this was serious.

Hansol’s lips agape but he shut them close. “I didn’t ask you to come here. I’ll reply to you immediately anyway.

“Sure, you do.” you smiled sarcastically with arms crossed, not knowing where this talk would end up in.

“C’mon y/n, can we just talk virtually? I’m getting tired-”

You scoffed, now unfolding your arms in disbelief and how idiotic he just sounded. “-tired of me?”

Hansol paused for a while and then rubbed his temples at your attempt in completing his sentence. “Look the main point is, at least I replied.”

“But how am I supposed to continue doing my part in the project when the suggestions I get is your one-word text messages? A call would be better. Just what is up with you?” you asked with a tone a little louder this time that it echoed the empty hallway.

“Tsk, you’re so naggy whenever you’re pissed. Seriously you’re so annoying.” he turned his heel when he noticed how pale you looked. He realised that he has gotten too far this time.

His friends gestured with their faces and limbs at Hansol’s blunt, unnecessary reply. You’ve gone ridiculously silent and it drove them crazy.

“Ah.. I see.” you stepped backwards, hurt with his words. Your fingers fiddled nervously and it was as if oxygen was taken away from your pained heart.

This action of yours caused Hansol’s heart to drop, plummeting to the floor. He cursed himself for not thinking things straight. It was a simple conversation that eventually turned into a serious one. Full offence was written on your face and he never seen you like this before. And to think this was his doing? Uh-oh.

He tried to reach out for you but you continued to step backwards and then turning to leave. Right.. what was I thinking? Coming here in hopes things may change and him possibly loving me.. you said to yourself.

Unbeknownst to you though, a group of other college kids filled the end of the hallway. They were drunk, Hansol could clearly see it. But with the way you swayed weakly at his doing, you didn’t notice them approaching you.

“Ooh, hey girl did your boyfriend break up with you?” he asked, seeing Hansol still at the door of his apartment.

“Get away from my boyfriend you ugly!” The guy’s girlfriend, or more of a hook up, got in the way and pushed you aside until you were shoved to the ground by the staircase.

You hissed at the impact and the growing pain at the back of your head. Those drunken kids left laughing until their echoes weren’t heard anymore.

Now your vision was getting in and out of consciousness, black and white patches take their turn to overpower your sight. Of course, Hansol wouldn’t save you. It was already given with the way he acted earlier. Your hearing rang as you tried to lift yourself when a figure shook your weak self.

But with the combination of the hurt Hansol gave you and the impact of the fall, darkness overpowered your sight; dimming until you eventually lost consciousness.

— — —

The softness of the sheets, warmth from your body heat and the coolness of the damp towel on your forehead were enough to keep you out of your slumber. You fluttered your eyes open, blinding shortly from the rays of the sun entering the window beside you.

It didn’t take long for you to figure out the man sitting by the bed with worried arms. His perfume gave his identity away. You wanted to sound ecstatic but then you remembered how he treated you at his front door.

“Hansol?” you managed to let out words he didn’t expect you to say first thing after waking up. “Where am I?”

“Hey, y/n..” he prolonged your name. “.. you’re in my room, on my bed.” he held your hands as he helped you sit up.

Silence filled the room again, just like what had happened at the hallway. Seungkwan entered swiftly and brought a breakfast tray for you to strengthen up, then smacking his friend in the head; obviously for hurting you. “Tsk, see what you did to my bub. You’ll pay for it Chwe Hansol.” he bit his lips in attempt of hitting the lad. Mingyu took the bucket and replaced it with a new one for the towel.

“Why am I in your room?” you asked.

“You had a concussion when those drunkards pushed you down the staircase. Gladly it wasn’t serious but Jeonghan hyung said you were burning with a fever as well. He helped me carry you back to the apartment.” he twisted the cloth where the droplets of water was the only thing heard in the room again.

Observing his actions, clearly he was sorry for how he treated you; that being written in his face when he averted eye contact with you. While you ate, questions began to fill your mind and maybe this was the time to actually be frank with him. You lowered your spoon which caught his attention.

“Do you want water? I’ll get some for you-” he offered, only to be cut off with that one striking description.

“I’m worried that you’re changing into someone I don’t recognise anymore.”

The words were monotonous, piercing to the core and Hansol thought he shattered to pieces. The more he absorbed the words, the deeper the wound got and it was like salt was added to it for intensity. But in fact it was just a push he thought he needed.

“Surprised about that fact of myself too. And the guys did me a scolding for it, hence why I’m telling you in all honesty.” Hansol scooted closer to you, where he was adjacent to your laying body. “But I just wanna let you know.. it’s not you, y/n. It’s me.”

“Fine, okay. Make this be a worth one listening to.” you munched on the food prepared by Joshua.

“It was never you, and it’s always me. You didn’t do anything wrong- rather it was me-”

You scoffed annoyingly that you were already angry eating. “Okay, maybe not. ‘Me, you, me, you’.. Get straight to the point Hansol or else I’m gonna have to ask Minghao to drive me home-”

“Wait! I- uh- hear me out, please.“ he exhaled. “I’m not good with words. And I know I’ve been a douche in the past weeks and I wasn’t myself. But, the guys made me realize something I thought I was doing correctly. Honestly y/n, my feelings for you have changed since. It was more than what we are and I’m afraid it’ll take a toll on our friendship if I confirmed it.”

You let him speak as if he was music to your ears. He held your left hand and played with it as he continued.

“I was like a device buffering and delaying the minutes, preventing it to load to a full one hundred percent. If I reach that point I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it.” he paused when you actually turned you direction to him.

“‘Handle’?..” you raised your brows.

Hansol scoffed for himself at how stupid he’d be when he says it. But whatever, it was you anyway. “I’ll explode each time I see you. I shy away when you give small laughs at my corny jokes and I turn red even if we only talk about the project and-”

“Red as in you are now?” you asked, poking his cheeks lightly to the touch.

“Yeah red like I am now- Wait huh?” he stopped to feel the growing heat in his flesh.

“So you’ve been avoiding me because you like me?” you asked, holding back the full-on laughter that he’d probably be embarrassed of. “What are you, five?”

“I- I do have feelings for y-you but I’m not really sure if they’re just i-infatuation or-”

“Maybe this will confirm it.” The frequent stutter he has had you doing the unbelievable. You tugged his shirt closer to you enough for a kiss, forcing a little to deepen it.

Hansol knew he was blushing since he noticed the presence of his friends just behind that wooden door.

Realizing and confirming the feelings he bottled up inside, he smiled within the kiss and pulled you back again when you thought you finished your part. He cupped your chin, tilting slightly to tell you he wasn’t done. You loosened the clench on his shirt and returned the kiss.

You both pulled away with red cheeks and swollen lips. The sun came out just at the right timing when he thought he saw an angel before him. Its sunrays added color to your eyes, and the outline of your body enlightened with glow.

“Yeah.. That confirmed it so well..” he hummed, sitting next to you on the bed as you laid on his chest.

He said he buffered the minutes because he was afraid to explode. Maybe it was meant to do that because he knew he wouldn’t take it when it was done so suddenly. But because he reached full percent, he somehow, actually expected the kiss.

You were now his girlfriend and that ensured him to know where you both stand.

Today he was yours and you were his.

#seventeen #seventeen angst #seventeen scenario #seventeen vernon #seventeen hansol #svt imagines #chwe vernon #chwe hansol #vernon #svt vernon #vernon scenarios #vernon angst #svt scenarios #svt fanfics #vernon fanfics

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whirlybirbs · 5 years

Text

⋆ —– CARHOP COOL, 3.

summary: you and steve talk. apologies are exchanged. steve wishes he had friends like you and robin a year ago. you might like steve. robin can tell. pairing: steve harrington x reader, post season three word count: 1.6k a/n: we love some good dialogue work & h.s. regrets/nostalgia, don’t we?

⤌ PREVIOUS ⋆ NEXT ⤍

If he was being honest, you were the last person he ever thought he’d find himself next to on a summer night, perched on the bumper of your hatchback at the drive-in’s.

Even more so, you’re the last person he would ever see himself having a big, ol’ honking crush on.

High school hierarchy had established that you were both very different people and for the sake of keeping the metaphorical crown of Hawkins High King on his head, he’d stuck with what he knew. And that was being a huge dick and having good hair, mostly, but also keeping the chit-chat with the weird kids to a minimum.

Now, Steve’s realizing that you aren’t a weird kid and if anything, he’s the weird one. You seem to humor it, though -- frosty demeanor quickly melting with every passing minute spent in the setting summer sun in the back of your car.

(Robin’s taking a suspiciously long time getting a bucket of popcorn. She’s been gone for fifteen minutes at least.)

“Okay, sure,” Steve drawls, leaning back on his palms and swinging his legs, “But if you had to pick...”

You grimace, pulling one leg up to your chest and screwing your brows. Steve’s face quirks into an amused smile, leaning to watch the way your thought process plays out on your face. He could care less about your answer to the trivial question, mostly interested and enamored with the fact you’re actually talking to him, never mind laughing at his jokes.

“This is hard.”

“Yeah,” he chirps, hair bouncing as he shakes his head, “See?”

“I dunno,” you lean back against the side of the trunk, turning to eye him critically, “And you said I had to eat it everyday -- but, does that mean every meal?”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve rattles off, raising a finger with each word, “Breakfast, lunch and dinner. All three meals.”

“What about snacks?”

“-- They have to be smaller bits of the Hawkins High meal of choice.”

You groan and Steve grins to himself.

“I guess chicken patties,” you huff, giving in to his line of questioning, “That was, like, the best lunch they served, so --”

“Oh, amazing choice.”

“You think?”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve waves, dropping his hand to his jeans and speaking as if he knows what he’s talking out, “Dress it up, dress it down, put it on a salad --”

You snort. You nudge him with the toe of your skate shoe. “What about you?”

“Uh,” Steve shrugs, “I packed my lunches everyday, actually --”

You blink. “Really? Steve Harrington carried a lunchbox around?”

He raises his hands. “I know, cool kid faux pas --”

You laugh at that, dropping your chin to your knee and shrugging a bit. “Who cares. You cool kids weren’t even that cool anyways.”

Steve dramatically blinks at you, laughing a bit as he pretends to be offended. “Uh, says who?”

“Me, the girl who had spitballs in her hair for three periods because of you!”

It’s different this time -- you’re laughing as you say, leaning to flick his ear. Steve makes a surprised sound, dodging the attack and playfully shoving you back.

“Hey! That wasn’t me!”

“You and Tommy H. shared the same brain cell, Steve.”

“Rude.”

Your jaw drops as you laugh, startling another grin out of Steve as you shove his shoulder. He laughs as you do, raising his hands in surrender.

“I’m kidding -- I know, I... Listen, I was -- I was the worst in high school. Robin’s made that pretty clear,” he says, turning. His converse poke yours, knees pulled to his chest as he leans on the back stereo to face you completely. The Rolling Stone’s song Beast of Burden is playing through the radio, “And I know I was. I’m... I’m sorry. For being the worst. And the spitball --”

You move to open your mouth.

“-- And the perm thing,” Steve raises a finger, eyes gentle, “And, like, every other instance where I was mean.”

Your mouth closes and your lips turn up into a content smirk.

“... Apology accepted.”

Steve blinks.

“... Really?”

You raise a brow. “Yeah...?”

“Wow,” he says, doe-eyes glued to the look on your face, “I thought... Okay. Cool. We’re... We’re cool?”

You exhale quickly, laughing a little before breaking into a wide smile. “Yeah. We’re cool. I’m... I’m not good at holding grunges anyway.”

A lie. Steve calls it.

“Yeah, okay, Frosty.”

Your jaw drops again, spurring Steve to grin and shrug, turning to face the blank screen. More cars have started to congregate now with the sun setting almost entirely. Still, Robin is nowhere to be seen.

You lean around, popping into his field of vision. You look amused.

You are.

“Hold on, ‘Frosty’?” you peel into a laugh, “What, like the snowman?”

“No, like, uh, like the Foreigner song?” he asks, corners of his lips quirking as his voice hikes into a high croon. He’s singing the song, “You’re as cold as ice --”

“Oh, come on --”

“I thought you were gonna punch me in the mouth,” he says, shoulder to shoulder with you, “Seriously -- the other night at Roll-o’s? It was, like, absolutely terrifying.”

“... Really?” you ask, whispering a little.

“Yeah, god -- if looks could kill,” he chirps, “I’d be in a shallow grave.”

“I... Sorry,” you say sheepishly, “I thought -- I thought you were still an asshole.”

Victory fleets across his face. “Does that mean I’m not anymore?”

You shoot him a look in retaliation. “I’m still deciding.”

“Okay,” he grins, “Okay. That works for me.”

You both slip into a comfortable, friendly silence that’s different -- there’s no malice in the way you nudge his shoulder with yours when you spy Robin juggling two huge containers of popcorn, moving quickly towards you both.

You’re about to make a joke about her taking her sweet time when she blurts out:

“I have to go.”

Both you and Steve blink at her as she shoves the popcorn into your lap and Steve’s.

“What?”

She’s wide-eyed, moving to smush herself between the both of you. You and Steve share a look, leaning around her to connect your gazes. She’s zoned out, face contorted into a look of absolute horror.

What? he mouths.

I dunno, you shrug.

“Tammy Thompson,” Robin breathes, “Works at the convenience stand --”

You both perk up.

“Rob, that’s good --”

You nudge her, beaming. “Did you say hi?”

“Oh, did I -- I made an ass of myself -- she didn’t even remember me.”

Your face falls. And Robin makes a pained noise into her hands. Steve grits his teeth and winces, silence falling across the three of you -- then he speaks.

“I mean, you’re not missing much,” Steve wiggles the popcorn, “She still sings like a muppet.”

Your jaw drops for, like, the upteenth time tonight. “Steve!”

Robin groans. “He’s right!”

“I know he’s right,” you groan, “But --”

“Oooooh, don’t you want me baybee --” it’s not Steve Harrington singing, it’s Kermit.

And you’re laughing.

It’s not soon before Robin is too, cracking a pained laugh through her internal suffering as he continues to croon in a muppet-styled serenade, aimed at both of you with the kind of theatrics that would have gotten his a lead in the spring musical.

That seems to remedy the moping as she leans into you and scoops up a handful of popcorn. She shoves it entirely into her mouth.

“It was awkward.”

“Seeing people from high school is always awkward,” you say, trying to ease her worry, “Remember when we saw Farrah Goodman when she worked at Kroger’s?”

Steve pulls a face. “She was mean.”

“Vicious,” you correct, “An absolute bulldog.”

“Yeah,” Robin mumbles, “She tried to give us coupons.”

“Coupons?”

“Yeah, for adult diapers,” you supply, “And we were too scared to say no, so we just smiled and laughed and said, ‘oh we will be using these, for sure’, like assholes.”

“She was scary!” Robin cries as Steve descended into a round of laughter, “Did you ever see her deck girls during soccer games? She lived for bloodsport.”

“I can say,” Steve snorts, “I never went to a soccer game.”

“We know,” you groan, “It was our safe space.”

“Safe space?” Robin cries again, “Says you!”

“It was my safe space,” you offer Steve.

Silence settles between the three of you as you begin to munch on the popcorn, ignoring the fading of Robin’s remorse -- Steve breaks the silence with a quiet string of words that catch you by surprise.

“I really wish I was friends with you both in high school.”

When you look over at him, he’s looking at his hands.

Robin watches the exchange, eyes light with a budding curiosity for how you’ll react. She’s pleasantly surprised when your usual hardened demeanor towards Steve seems to be absent.

“... Really?”

Steve swallows, nodding a bit. He looks up, catching your eyes.

“Yeah. I mean, maybe then my Senior year wouldn’t have sucked. I would have had... I dunno, I would have had real friends and --” his words trail off, voice splitting into an emotion like regret, “And I woulda been happy, probably.”

It’s like getting punched in the gut.

In a desperate attempt to move past the feelings his words stir in your chest, you speak quickly.

“... Does that mean we’re cool?”

It makes Steve laugh, if only a little.

Robin feels like she’s watching from the outside, grinning like an idiot.

“Yeah,” he says, finally, brown eyes glued to your blooming smile, “You’re cool.”

Oh, this is good.

#carhop cool #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #stranger things imagine #joe keery imagine #steve harrington reader insert

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gyakutengagotoku · 4 years

Text

GS4 vs AJ:AA - Episode 3, Part 3

Lately, I’ve had a terrible time setting a posting schedule that keeps conflicting with my folks’ plans. I’m like the resident errand girl... Now, especially now, I understand the pain of Nick and his pupils when the court makes them do whatever because no one else wants to.

Anyhow, I’m back and back on schedule. No more mess-ups dragging me back to a previous post, no sirree! Oh, and again, don’t mind the extra entries I through in there just for sharing. I got at least one viewer who has yet to play through the English versions of these next games.

If only I knew how to be funny when I have nothing to say, though...

> Wright Anything Agency

<Trucy> なんていうか。ナゾが多いって、ワクワクしますよね！　なんとなく。 It's another mystery, Apollo! I love mysteries.

<Apollo> オレはしないケドね。 I don't.

そういえば‥‥成歩堂さんは？意見を聞きたいんだけど。 Speaking of mysteries, what's Mr. Wright up to? I wouldn't mind asking his opinion.

<Trucy> あ。そういえば、パパ。最近、見ないですよね。 Now that you mention it, I haven't seen Daddy around.

<Apollo> おとうさんを、 “のらネコ”みたいに言うなよ。 What, is he some kind of stray that just wanders in and out at will?

"Don't treat your dad like some 'stray cat'."

Ah, so he's a cat?

> Examine: photo

<Apollo> 古そうな写真に、みぬきちゃんが尊敬する魔術師が写っている。 A faded photograph showing one of Trucy's favorite magicians.

みぬきちゃんは、毎日この写真に向かって手をあわせているみたいだ。 She talks to it daily for good luck, I hear.

<Trucy> あ！今日の“お祈り”忘れてました！ Ack! I almost forgot!

えーと。偉大な魔術師になれますよーに！ Umm... I hope I become a famous Grand Magician!

あと、ついでにオドロキさんが、リッパな弁護士になれますように！ Oh, and I hope Apollo becomes an Ace Attorney!

‥‥‥‥‥‥‥‥‥‥ これで、よしっと。 ...There! All done.

<Apollo> （まあ。ご利益があるかどうかは、　ナゾだよな‥‥） (I suppose if you're going to talk to inanimate objects, a photo isn't so bad.)

Aww, Trucy. Yeah, this is more of a custom you'd find in Japanese households and offices, since they're pretty big on praying to their family members beyond the grave or certain lucky Kami for good fortune and all that. 'Tis an Asian thing, really.

Odoroki: "(Eh. Who knows if it really works or not...)"

> Examine: silk hat

<Apollo> やっぱり。ボウシから、色々なものを出すんでしょ？ That's one of those hats you pull things out of, right?

<Trucy> もちろん、やりますよ。みぬきのボウシも小宇宙ですから！ Of course! My hat's like a little universe! Bigger on the inside than on the outside!

<Apollo> 小宇宙か‥‥なんだかスゴイね。 “ギャラクティカ！”ってカンジだ。 Hmm... That reminds me of a sci-fi show I used to watch.

Odoroki actually gives that sci-fi show by name: "Galactica!", which is most likely referring to Battlestar Galactica itself.

> Examine: spaghetti

<Apollo> ロウ細工じゃなくて、ホンモノの料理を置いてるお店もあるよね。 I've seen some restaurants that set out real food to show what's on the menu.

<Trucy> そういうのって、なぜか減ってることありません？ I have, too! But I noticed something strange...

喫茶店のサンドイッチの具だけが、なくなってるの見たことあります！ One time, there was a sandwich without any lettuce!

あれはあれで、フシギです！ Like it had disappeared... by magic!

<Apollo> ‥‥ダレかが、ツマミ食いしただけじゃないの。 ...I'm sure someone just swiped the lettuce and ate it.

<Trucy> あ！　あのサンドイッチ、もしかして‥‥ Wait, that sandwich... You didn't...!

オドロキさん。いくらおナカがすいたからって、カラダ壊しますよ。 Apollo, you shouldn't eat sample food, no matter how hungry you are!

<Apollo> 食べないよ！ヒトを“のら犬”みたいに言うなよ。 Just how hard up do you think I am!?

Last two lines: "Odoroki-san, if you're always keeping yourself hungry like that, you'll hurt your health." "I didn't eat it! Don't treat others like a 'stray dog'."

Ah, so he's a dog. Btw, yes, it is still a sandwich with lettuce from a coffee shop in the JP script.

> Examine: hula hoop

<Apollo> けっこうジャマなんだよな、それ。 You know, that ring kind of gets in the way.

この前も、依頼人がつまづいて転んでたし。 Our client the other day tripped on it and fell on the floor.

<Trucy> そのあと、外までころがったリングを探すのもタイヘンでしたね。 ...Sending my ring rolling out the door! You know how long it took me to find it?

<Apollo> 怒った依頼人をなだめる方が、もっとタイヘンだったよ。 You know how long it took to calm down the client?

けっきょく、依頼もらえなかったし。 ‥‥少しは、片付けようよ。 And in the end, they walked out without hiring us. Could you clean up a bit?

Oh, I would pay a private eye good money to find who this client was based on, out of the staff who wrote the original script. Any ideas, guys?

> Talk: Yesterday's Trial

<Apollo> 今日の法廷で‥‥ラミロアさんは、ハッキリ証言した。 Lamiroir dropped a bomb in court today...

《犯人は、ダイアンさんだ》って。 "It was Daryan"...

<Trucy> ラミロアさん。一度、聞いた声はゼッタイ忘れないんでしょ？ Lamiroir said she's never forgotten a voice, right?

なんか、カッコイイですよねー。 That's so cool!

<Apollo> うん。まあね。 Um, I guess.

<Trucy> なんていうんでしたっけ、アレ。 What's that called again?

ええと。 “じごくみみ”っていう‥‥ Um... Elephant ears...? I bet that's what they're called...

<Apollo> ちょっとちがうぞ、それ。 ...Somehow I don't think that means what you think it means.

In JP, Minuki uses the word "jigoku mimi", which is a metaphor like "ears so sharp they could hear into hell itself", or so it sounds. It can refer to one of two kinds of people: 1) those with the special ability to remember something forever after hearing it once, or 2) incredibly nosy people who'd dig into others' secrets without permission.

Also, I just learned that "elephant ears" can be another name for taro.

> Talk: Interpol

<Apollo> 国際警察の捜査官‥‥かあ。 An Interpol agent... hmm.

<Trucy> で？　なんですか？ “こくさいけいさつ”って。 I was wondering, what is "Interpol" anyway?

<Apollo> え！　そ。そりゃ、アレだろ？ Huh? Interpol?

国際犯罪のハンニンをつかまえるんじゃないか。 They're the guys who catch international criminals.

<Trucy> なんでも“こくさい”をつけりゃいいワケじゃないと思いますケド。 Why can't they just call them "International Police" instead of making up some silly name?

Minuki: "I don't think just throwing 'International' onto anything has an excuse, though."

Unfortunately, they don't have the rights to name themselves "Justice League of Nations" yet, so "Interpol" will have to do.

<Apollo> ‥‥やっぱり、アレかな。ラミロアさんを調べていた、とか？ Yeah... ...Anyway, you think he was investigating Lamiroir?

<Trucy> えええ！　ナニ言ってるんですか！ Whaaaa--!? Why would anyone do that?

ラミロアさんが犯罪者なワケ、ないじゃないですか！ She's not a criminal! She couldn't be!

<Apollo> いやいや。ヒトは見かけによらない、って言うぞ。 Don't be fooled by appearances is all I'm saying.

<Trucy> コドモの純真な目はゴマかせない、って言うじゃないですか！ But remember I'm a magician, Apollo! I can spot a palmed coin at fifty paces!

<Apollo> 自分で言うなよ。 If only it were that easy.

Last three lines: "Sorry, but like they say, 'You can't judge a book by its cover.'" "Don't you mean, 'You can't fool a kid's true-seeing eyes!'" "Don't make up your own saying."

(Fyi, I do sometimes hear this saying about how "kids aren't so easily fooled" in both English and Japanese, but I wanted to make a pun of my own.)

> Enter Valant

<Apollo> はあ。どうも‥‥ Ah, um, nice to meet you. Who... are you?

（ニヤニヤ笑いながら、　言われてもなあ‥‥） (And could you please stop smirking like that?)

<Trucy> ああああッ！　あ。あ。あ。あ。あ。あ‥‥あなたはッ！ Ah. Ahhhhhhh! It's you!!! Uncle Valant!

<Apollo> なんだよ。やっぱり、トモダチか？ Uncle Valant...? He's your uncle!?

<Trucy> ナニ言ってるんですか！ No, silly!

或真敷（あるまじき）バランさんですよ！ It's the Great Gramarye, Valant Gramarye!

あの。大魔術師のッ！ The Grand Magician!

<Valant> さよう‥‥テレビでおなじみ、あの有名な或真敷　バランです。 Yes, it is I, the Great Valant Gramarye. As seen on television.

<Apollo> （ニヤニヤ笑いながら　言われてもなあ‥‥） (And could you please stop smirking like that?)

Btw, it's only in English that Trucy calls him "Uncle". In JP, she simply calls him "Valant-san". Oh, and that "t" at the end is supposed to be silent.

<Apollo> あの‥‥ Um, I hate to intrude, but...

いったい、大魔術師さんが、オレたちになんの用ですか？ What is a Great Magician doing paying us a visit?

<Valant> ‥‥おそらく。用があるのは、あなたたちの方でしょう。 I believe it was you who wished to see me?

なんなりと、聞いていただいてけっこう。 So, be quick with your questions!

このバランに乱反射する‥‥ And do not quail, quake, or quiver. I am quite tame.

ビッグスターのオーラを、恐れることはありません。 Though my stardom may sear the sight... I'm quite down to earth when need calls.

<Apollo> （‥‥たしかに、あるイミ、 ��恐るべきオーラがマブしいな） (He does have a certain aura to him, it's true.)

"(...Yeah, in a way, he does have an impressively shining aura.)"

> Talk: Troupe Gramarye

<Trucy> あの。もしかしてオドロキさん。 Wait, Apollo...

《或真敷一座》を知らない‥‥ なんてコトはないですよね？ Don't tell me you don't know about Troupe Gramarye?

<Apollo> あるまじき‥‥ なんていうか、その。 Troupe Grammarie... huh? No.

どこかで聞いたような気はするんだけどね‥‥ But it does sound kind of familiar...

<Valant> おお。まさに、あるまじき青年というべきかな。 Oh, lost life! Lamentably listless lad!

今をトキめく大魔術集団をご存じないとは。 To not know of the greatest troupe of magicians on the planet!

<Apollo> （或真敷　バラン‥‥ 　思い出してきた） (Valant Gramarye... The name began to surface in my mind.)

（たしか、オレが小さいころ、　テレビによく出てたような‥‥） (It was a name I'd heard on television as a child.)

<Trucy> そうですよ！ You bet you've heard the name!

ゴウカ客船を消してみたり、遊園地をバクハしてみたり、 He made a cruise ship disappear, and blew up an amusement park...

銀行の金庫から金塊を消してみたり、あげくの果てに、 ...Oh, and he made all this gold disappear from a safe!

閉じこめられた刑務所から脱走してみたり！ And then escaped from a high security prison!

<Apollo> ‥‥なんだか‥‥ Um...

大いなるゴカイを生みそうなプロフィールだな、それ。 ...You said he is a magician?

"That kind of profile could lead to some big misunderstandings."

(Ok, honestly I only kept this bit in because I love how colorful they made Valant's lines and they are worth sharing.)

> Talk: During the Show

<Apollo> あの‥‥もしかして。 So, I was wondering...

この歌の途中で起こっている “フシギ”は‥‥ That stunt in the middle of the song there...

<Trucy> フシギ‥‥？ I didn't see a stunt...

<Apollo> ラミロアさんが消えたり現れたりしてるじゃないか！ What about Lamiroir vanishing and reappearing!?

<Trucy> あ。ああ‥‥見なれてるから、フシギだって思いませんでした！ Oh, that? I guess I'm so used to seeing that happen I didn't even notice.

<Apollo> （さすが、魔術の子‥‥） (So young to be so jaded...)

"Oh, that... I'm so used to seeing it that it's no mystery to me!" "(As expected of a young magician...)"

<Valant> ‥‥さよう。かの、ささやかなステージこそ。 A simple slight-of-hand, a petit prestidigitation.

この或真敷が仕掛けた魔術なのです。 A modicum of magic from me... to you.

<Trucy> やっぱり！　バランさんが、コンサート会場にいたのは‥‥ So that's why you were at the concert!

<Valant> ご想像のとおり。 Yes.

このバランのトリックを見届けるためだったのです。 I was there to watch my trick take to the air...

<Apollo> じゃあ‥‥ラミロアさんが消えた、そのシカケ‥‥ご存じなんですか？ So you're the one who knows how it was all done.

<Valant> トーゼンでしょう！我こそ、ステージの神。 Of course. I am like a deity, with the stage as my domain!

ステージ上で起こるすべてのフシギを操る‥‥ I suffer no mystery upon those floodlit boards not grasped tightly twixt my fingers.

そのフシギなチカラこそ神たるゆえんなのですから。 It is a potent, primeval power I possess.

Someone give this man a medal for "Ascending the Astral Apex of Alliterative Ability" at once.

<Apollo> あ、あの！よかったら‥‥そのシカケ。 Um... Well... Do you think you could...

教えていただけませんか！ ...tell me how it was done!?

<Trucy> おっと！ Hey now!

<Apollo> み。みぬきちゃん‥‥？ Trucy...?

<Trucy> 魔術師にシカケをたずねるのはルール違反ですよ、オドロキさん。 That's like, totally against the rules, Apollo!

<Apollo> ナニ言ってるんだよ！殺人事件の捜査だぞ！ Not during a murder investigation, it's not!

<Valant> そういうワケにはまいりませぬ。或真敷の秘術は、或真敷だけのもの。 Mais non, for my illusions are mine alone, m'sieur.

And he speaks French! ...Well, actually that's not so surprising. His name is very Frenchy in the first place.

Also, I just wanna mention how he's one of the few AA characters to use the '-nu' form of negation to some words. So far, I think only two others have used such colorful or cultural language, and that would be Luke Atmey and Victor Kudo.

> Present anything

<Valant> ほほう。この私に‥‥ただで、キセキを要求するというのですか。 What's this? You would ask me for a miracle? Free of fee?

いいでしょう。その証拠品を、消せばいいのですね？　永久に！ Then thy wish be granted! Thy will be done! Thy evidence evicted into the ether!

<Apollo> いやいや！　やめてください！ Ack! No evicting, please!

（‥‥魔術師って、　こんなのばっかりなのか？） (...Are all magicians like this, I wonder?)

From my experience? Yeah, quite a lot of them like to make things disappear right from people's pockets. Usually they return them to people, though. I still remember that one lady who was still screaming after the show about the autograph she got from Penn & Teller after volunteering in an act...

Sorry, I feel nostalgic for the ol' Vegas days. Anyway, this is just another entry to share.

> Finish talking

<Valant> ‥‥それでは、みぬき嬢。バランはこれにて失礼いたしますぞ。 ...I, Valant Gramarye, now make my leave, Miss Trucy.

<Trucy> バランさん！　もう少し、ゆっくりしていってくださいよー。 There's no need to rush, Uncle Valant! You should stay a while!

<Valant> そうもまいりませぬ。 I am afraid I cannot. I may not. I shall not.

捜査に協力を求められているゆえ、現場に戻らなければ。 I have been asked to assist with an analysis and so I shall slink back to the scene.

<Apollo> じゃあ‥‥今日は、あのコンサート会場に？ So... you'll be at the concert venue today?

<Valant> さよう。このバランに話があったら、あのコロシアムへどうぞ。 Correct. If you would call on me, come to the Coliseum!

ではッ！　いざ、さらばッ！ See you later, crocodile.

<Apollo> （サッソウとマントを　ひるがえして‥‥） (With a whirl of his cloak, and a wink of his eye...)

（ドアからフツーに出ていったな） (...he turned and walked out through the door. Normally.)

...I don't know why "See you later, crocodile" irks me so much. It's either "See you later, alligator!" or "Been a while, crocodile!" Not both mixed up! This scene does remind me of the "dancingly descended through the front door" boys back in the day, though.

> Move: Detention Center

> Examine: camera

<Apollo> 監視カメラがこっちを見ている。 That security camera is looking at me.

カメラを向けられると、ついポーズを取りたくなるな。 Why do I feel this sudden urge to make a silly face?

"Suddenly I feel like making a pose before that camera."

> Present: anything

<Machi> ＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠‥‥ ＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠‥‥

<Trucy> “コトバが分からず、話せないのが　残念です。美しいお嬢さん‥‥” I think he said...

<Trucy> ‥‥ですって。 "I am sorry I cannot speak your language. You are very beautiful, fair maiden."

<Apollo> ‥‥勝手なホンヤクをするなよ。 ...This is why I never trust a translator.

Screw you, Apollo. I didn't make this blog to ask for your opinion. >:(

Anyway, it was just: "...Don't make up your own translation."

> Move: Sunshine Coliseum

> Examine: blimp

<Trucy> あ！　飛行船ですよ！ Look! A blimp!

<Apollo> となりには、バルーンもあがってるね。 Those balloons next to it have ad banners on them.

<Trucy> えーと‥‥《大安の日セール・大安売り》ですって！ Let's see... "Big Sale, All Shirts 50% Off."

<Apollo> なんだ。となりのデパートのバルーンじゃないか‥‥ Oh. It's an ad for the department store next door.

It doesn't specify what kind of sale it is in the JP, so I guess it's officially a clothing shop sale. That said, it does say it's a "Lucky Day Sale - Huge Bargain Deals!" I'm not sure exactly how common it is among the Japanese to honor particular "auspicious" days of the year (though, they do have a lunar calendar for these kinds of events), but you'd definitely see these events affect the seasonal shopping cycles.

> Examine: coliseum

<Apollo> 《県立国際ひのまるコロシアム》か。やたらとビッグな名前だね。 Sunshine Coliseum sure is living up to its name today.

<Trucy> おっきいですよねー。 It's huge!

こんな大舞台に立てるなんて‥‥ うー。牙琉さん、うらやましい！ And Mr. Gavin got to play on that enormous stage... I'm so jealous!

みぬきもいつか！このコロシアムで、デビュー戦を！ Someday, I'll fight my first battle on this stage!

<Apollo> なんだよ。“戦”って。 Battle?

<Trucy> だって。なんか“コロシアム”って、格闘技のイメージがありませんか？ Well, yeah, it's a coliseum, isn't it?

<Apollo> 語感が、“コロシアウ”に、似てるからじゃないかな。 Um, they don't do gladiatorial contests at these places any more, Trucy.

<Trucy> そっか！　さすが、オドロキさん！ナゾが解けました！ Really? I had no idea! I wonder why they stopped.

<Apollo> （そんなに、感心されると、　訂正しづらいな‥‥） (Sometimes I worry about her.)

Last four lines: "Well, when I hear 'Colosseum', it makes me think of duels to the death, right?" "Maybe the nuance of the word comes from 'koroshiau'." [mutual killing] "Really? Nice, Odoroki-san! We solved the mystery!" "(With how much she's admiring me, it's hard to correct it...)"

> Examine: costumed mascot

<Apollo> なんだ？あのイヨウな人物は‥‥ What's that... creature there?

<Trucy> わあ！　警察局のアイドル、等身大「タイホくん」だ！ Oooh! That's the police mascot, the Blue Badger!

<Apollo> え！あれが等身大なの？ Eh? It's life size!

<Trucy> 知らないんですか？　よく見ますよ。夜の街をパトロールしてるところ。 Haven't you seen them around town? Patrolling the streets?

暮らしの“安心”を願う、正義のマスコットキャラクターなんです！ Yes, now even law and order has a mascot!

<Apollo> ‥‥それは、アクニンもゼンニンもまとめて逃げ出すだろうね。 ...I'd run from that thing even if I wasn't a criminal.

歩くたびにグラグラするアタマが“不安”なカンジだし。 Why does its head wobble like that when it walks? It's freaky.

<Trucy> オドロキさん！モンクが多いですよ！ I don't think you're showing true Blue Badger spirit, Apollo.

It was just "Odoroki-san! You're complaining too much!"

To be honest, though, I kinda agree with him. I love the Badgers, all of them, but it didn't take AAI to make me question whether they'd be cute or creepy... At least the official Tokyo PD mascot Pipo-kun actually looks cute, kinda like a mouse or teddy in uniform.

...Manly Pipo scares me, plz make it go away.

> Move: In the Wings

> Examine: piano

<Trucy> おっきなピアノですよね！みぬき。弾いたことないんですよね。 That's one big piano! I've never actually played one.

<Apollo> ふうん。成歩堂さんに習えばいいのに。 Heh. You should get Mr. Wright to teach you sometime.

<Trucy> あー、ダメダメ。パパ、弾けないから。 No good, he can't play either.

<Apollo> （これだけソンケイされてない　パパもめずらしいな） (I kind of feel bad for the guy now...)

"(It's not too often that I'd find a dad who is respected this little.)"

> Examine: electronics

<Apollo> いろいろなキカイがある。音響装置だろうか。 Look at all the electronics. They must be sound-related.

<Trucy> こういう機械を見ると、どうにもいじり倒したくなりますよね。 Doesn't seeing a bunch of machines like this make you want to just fiddle with 'em?

いじり倒していいですか？オドロキさん！ Can I, Apollo? Please?

<Apollo> “いじる”だけじゃダメなのかよ。やめとけよ。コワれるから。 No, no fiddling! You'll break something.

<Trucy> でも。コワれることをおそれてちゃ、何もイジれませんよ！ If you're going to make an omelet, you gotta break some eggs!

パパがいつも、言ってます。 “カタチあるもの、みなコワれる” That's what Daddy always says.

<Apollo> ‥‥そこまで悟ってコワしても、怒られるの、オレだからな。 These eggs look kind of expensive.

"But if you're always afraid to break things, you'll never get to fiddle with them! Daddy always says, 'Anything with form will eventually be broken.'" "...Even if you understand and still break it, I'm the one who'll be blamed."

> Examine: tower

<Trucy> このステージの塔の上に、レタスさんとマキさんが‥‥ I still can't believe we found Machi and Mr. LeTouse up there...

<Apollo> アレはさすがに驚いたよ。だから、高いところはキライなんだ。 Yeah. I used to not like high places. Now I hate them.

<Trucy> それ、高さはあんまりカンケイないと思いますけど。 It's not like it would have been nicer if we found a dead body closer to the ground.

‥‥そういえば。パパもニガテですね。高いトコ。 ...Though that reminds me. Daddy's bad with heights, too.

<Apollo> へえ。そうなんだ。 Huh, no kidding.

<Trucy> こないだ。遊園地でカンランシャに乗ったんですよ。 He took me on a Ferris wheel ride a while ago, you know!

パパ、途中からカオが “もすぐりーん”になってました。 Halfway through, his face got all green and he mumbled "objection" over and over.

<Apollo> （‥‥成歩堂さん、かわいそうに） (...Poor guy.)

"Moss green", she says. Thank you, Minuki-chan, for that very detailed description.

> Examine: instrument case

<Apollo> 巨大な楽器のケースが置いてある。 Now that's a big instrument case.

<Trucy> それ、コントラバスっていう楽器のケースですよ。 That's a case for a contrabass, I think.

<Apollo> ちょっとしたバイオリンなら２０個は入りそうなイキオイだ。 You could fit twenty violins in there, I bet.

<Trucy> カタチは似てますけど、ゼンゼンちがう楽器ですっ！ It may look like a violin, but it's a completely different instrument!

<Apollo> みぬきちゃんなら、５人は入りそうなイキオイだ。 You could fit five Trucys in there, I bet.

<Trucy> もう！　ワザとやってるでしょ！ Hey! Are you comparing me to an instrument!?

みぬきとしては、あのビミョーな “半開き”が気になります。 Hmm. I wonder who left it sitting open like that.

Second to last line: "Hey! You're doing that on purpose, aren't you!?"

> Examine: ladder

<Apollo> 昨日、塔の上にのぼったハシゴが置いてある。 That's the ladder we used to climb up the stage tower.

‥‥あれは、キョーレツな体験だったな。 ...Not a moment I'm likely to forget any time soon.

<Trucy> うーん、たしかに。アレは見モノでしたよね。 Me neither...

みぬき。《へっぴり腰》ってコトバの意味、ハッキリわかりました！ I'll never be able to climb another tower again without thinking about it, you know?

<Apollo> ‥‥だから、ニガテなんだよ。高いところはさ。 ...I'll never be able to climb a tower again, period.

Second to last line again: "I now understand what they mean by 'weak knees'!"

(Literally, it's "bent back", but has the meaning of that. Though, it definitely puts a smile on my face picturing moss-green Nick with his bent back again.)

> Talk: Valant Gramarye

<Valant> ‥‥あなたの考えていることはわかります。 I know what you are thinking in that head of yours.

『“或真敷”‥‥ああ。そういえば　ムカシ、テレビで見たっけ』 "Gramarye, yes," you say. "I recall seeing him on television."

おおかた、そんなトコロではないでしょうかな？ Something of that sort?

<Apollo> え‥‥ええ。そのとおりです。 Um, actually, yes, you're right.

<Trucy> これがウワサの “読心術”かもしれませんよ！ Wow! He just read your mind, Apollo!

<Apollo> ‥‥ウソつけ。 ...Or everyone tells him that and he made a good guess.

"So this may be the rumored 'mind-reading technique'!" "...I'm not buying it."

> Talk: Magnifi Gramarye

<Valant> 天斎とザックの亡き、今。私のねがいは、ただひとつ。 Now that Magnifi and Zak are gone, I have but one wish.

残されたこの私が、天斎の奇跡をステージによみがえらせるッ！ Let it be I, Valant Gramarye who brings the Gramarye miracle back to the big stage!

<Trucy> みぬき。応援してますから！ I'm rooting for you!

<Valant> みぬき嬢。早く大きくなることです。あなたのウデっぷしが必要なのだ。 Miss Trucy, you cannot grow up quick enough! I need your skill by my side!

<Trucy> はいッ！　このウデっぷしで！ One skill, coming up!

<Apollo> （やれやれ。ものすごいスピードで　話が事件からそれていくな‥‥） (How do we manage to get off the topic of the case so quickly all the time?)

Interestingly, the "skill" he mentions refers to physical strength? Was he expecting Trucy to help him move some loads backstage or something? Well, times have been tough on the troupe, so I guess stage workers are short...

> Present: attorney's badge

<Valant> ほう‥‥それが、あなたが弁護士たる“証”ですか。 Ah... The proof positive of your profession, yes?

<Apollo> ええ。そうです。 Um, yeah.

<Valant> ‥‥ふむ。少々、拝借してよろしいかな？ Might I... have a look?

‥‥おや。消えてしまいましたな。 Oh! What's this? It is gone!

<Apollo> うわわっ！　何するんですかッ！ Ack! What'd you do with my attorney's badge!?

<Valant> はっはっはっはっはっ。あわてずともよいですぞ。 Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha. Don't be alarmed.

みぬき嬢！　その腰のトピットの中をごらんなさい。 Miss Trucy! Take a look into your topit, if you would.

<Trucy> きゃっ！　こんなところにオドロキさんのバッジが！ Eek! It's your badge, Apollo! What's it doing in there?

スゴいです、バランさん！フシギですよねー。オドロキさん。 That was amazing! Wasn't it, Apollo?

<Apollo> （そんなコトより、みぬきちゃんの　腰についてるポシェット‥‥） (He called that pouch at her waist a "topit"...?)

（“トピット”っていうんだ。　‥‥魔術師用語か？） (Is that some kind of magician speak?)

So I had to search it up, and apparently a topit is a hidden sleeve or pocket that a magician uses to hide objects during an act. So it is indeed magician-speak. Normally, these topits are hidden in a jacket or outfit or somewhere and not out in the open like Trucy's pouch, though... If anything, her topit is stuffed with a certain Mr. Hat already.

> Move: Backstage Hallway

> Examine: Gavinners' dressing room door

<Apollo> こっちは、《ガリューウエーブ》の楽屋だ。 That's the Gavinners's dressing room.

今、ガリューウエーブのメンバーは捜査でいそがしいはず‥‥ They're all out on the investigation.

おそらく、誰もいないだろうな。 Being backstage isn't half as glamorous without a band here.

Funny seeing this coming from Apollo of all people. For reference: "There's probably no one in there."

> Examine: Lamiroir's dressing room door

<Apollo> ラミロアさんの楽屋‥‥ 事件現場のドアだ。 That's Lamiroir's dressing room... and the scene of the crime.

殺人事件の現場にしては、警備がウスいよな‥‥ It's kind of lightly guarded for being a crime scene.

<Trucy> いいじゃないですか。入りやすくて。 I'm not complaining! Makes it easier for us to go in!

それに、みぬきたち。アカネさんも公認ですから。 And Ema gave us her OK, right?

堂々と入って、これでもかとひっかきまわしても大丈夫ですよ！ We can wander in and do as we like!

<Apollo> （‥‥なんだか、アカネさんが　心配になってきたぞ） (How is Ema doing, anyway...?)

（カリントウ食べすぎて　虫歯にならなきゃいいけど） (I hope she's not getting cavities from eating all those chocolate Snackoos...)

"(...I get the feeling Akane-san is gonna worry.) (Ah well, as long as she doesn't get cavities from eating so much karintou.)"

> Finish talking

<Lamiroir> 連絡はそれを使っておりましたから。ないと困るハズなのですが‥‥ We use it for communication. It would be quite inconvenient should it go missing.

<Apollo> わかりました。オレたちが預かっておきますよ。 We'll hold on to it for you then.

牙琉検事に会ったら、言っておきますから。 We'll give it to Prosecutor Gavin when we see him.

<Lamiroir> そうですね。では、おねがいできますかしら。 Yes, that's best. Thank you.

<Trucy> あ！　じゃあ、ソレ。みぬきがつけておきますね！ So, can I put it on?

< > 《ヘッドセット》をみぬきちゃんに取りつけた。 Headset attached to Trucy.

<Trucy> プラモデルみたいに言わないでください！ "Attached"? I'm not some kind of robot, Apollo!

Or a plastic model, as per the JP.

> Move: Lamiroir's Dressing Room

< > ‥‥さくさくさくさく‥‥ ...MUNCH MUNCH MUNCH...

<Apollo> う‥‥‥ Uh oh...

このキョーレツなニクシミをこめてカリントウを噛み砕く音は‥‥ There's only one person I know who can munch with such... venom.

<Ema> ‥‥ナニしに来たのよ。 ...What are you doing here?

<Apollo> あいかわらず、フキゲンそうですね。アカネさん。 Hello, Ema. You're looking as grumpy as ever.

<Ema> そりゃそうでしょ。 Oh, am I supposed to be happy?

法廷でアンタにやりこめられて、牙琉検事にバカにされちゃうし。 You give me the second degree in court, and Prosecutor Gavin makes me look like a fool.

Heh, I like both the descriptions with "venom" and the "intense crunching noise" from the JP. Thinking about it, for someone to munch so loudly even with a closed mouth, that is a pretty impressive level of intense.

> Examine: crime scene

<Apollo> あれ。ここ、カーペットが切り取られてるぞ。 Look, the carpet's been torn up here.

<Trucy> 今日の法廷で《のみとーる試薬》をふりかけたトコですね！ That's the part we did the lunimol testing on in court!

<Ema> “ルミノール試薬”よ！ノミを取ってどうするの！ "Loony mall"? What's "Loony mall"!? It's "Luminol"! Get it right!

<Trucy> ‥‥‥！ ...!

アカネさん、カガク捜査のコトになると、コワい‥‥ Ema's kind of scary when it comes to science.

<Apollo> ‥‥みぬきちゃんも、そろそろキチンとおぼえようよ。 ...Best learn the word and not incite her wrath again.

Heh, she mistakes it as "Nomitol", and Akane-san snaps at her about "Why would I be catching fleas!?" since "nomi" is "flea" and "toru" is to "take" or "pick up".

> Examine: bullet holes

<Apollo> こんなに厚いカベが、ぺっこりヘコんでいる。 Look at the way those bullets tore through this thick wall.

ホントに、オソロシイ威力のピストルだったんだな。 That revolver really was something else.

<Trucy> マキさんみたいに小柄なヒトでも、撃てるものなのかなあ。 I wonder if someone as little as me could even fire it?

<Apollo> 肩がハズれちゃうかもしれないね。しばらくピアノなんか弾けないよ。 Dislocating your shoulder would kind of put a crimp on your stage career.

<Trucy> あ。じゃあ、ウチのパパの肩コリも吹き飛ばしちゃうカモ！ Daddy always has stiff shoulders, maybe that could loosen him up!

<Apollo> やめてくれよ。ホントに撃ちそうだぞ、あのヒト。 Don't even mention it. I'm afraid he might go out and actually try it.

<Trucy> たぶん、ないと思うけどなあ。そんな度胸。 Nah, he doesn't have the guts to pull the trigger, I bet.

Haha, Odoroki's second to last line: "It might dislocate your shoulder. You wouldn't even be able to play piano."

> Examine: bowl

<Trucy> きゃあ！　フルーツですよフルーツですよフルーツ！ Look! It's fruit! Fruit, Apollo! Fruit!!!

<Apollo> ‥‥１回多いよ。 ...I heard you the first time.

これだけあるのに、スイカをひとクチかじっただけとは‥‥ It sure is a lot of fruit. I doubt anyone would miss a bit of watermelon...

<Trucy> メロンを瞬間移動させましょうか。 ‥‥みぬきのおなかに。 I know, I'll make it vanish! Into my stomach!

<Apollo> やめておこうよ。ベンショウさせられるかもしれない。 Better not. They might make you pay for it.

そんなおカネがあったら、事務所のカベを塗りなおそうよ。 And if you have the money for that, you should probably repaint the office first.

<Trucy> メロンって、そんなに高いんですかっ！ Watermelons are that expensive!?

<Apollo> まあ、よく知らないけど。 *shrug* These could've been imported from some exotic locale, for all we know.

Nice shoutout to Japan's exotic fruit market. There are indeed such things as square watermelons and exquisite canteloupes that can go for as high as 10-15,000 yen per melon (~$95-143 these days).

Also, Minuki mentioned she'll have some of the canteloupe to herself, which is why Odoroki warned her about how expensive it'd be.

> Examine: bouquet

<Trucy> “ゴウカらんらん”な花が飾ってありますね！ That's one heavy-duty bouquet there.

<Apollo> ワルいけど、“けんらん”だぞ。 I have trouble thinking of flowers as being "heavy-duty".

<Trucy> えー！　でも！“ゆうきりんりん” って言いません？ But they call lots of things heavy-duty!

<Apollo> それは言うけど。 Not flowers, they don't.

<Trucy> “るんるん気分”とか。 What about a "heavy" scent?

<Apollo> たしかにね。 I think you mean "heady".

<Trucy> 事務所のトナリのメガネ屋さんは “れんれん”だし。 What if the flowers were plastic?

<Apollo> お。苦しくなってきたな。 They still wouldn't be heavy.

<Trucy> “ろんろん”は‥‥‥‥‥‥ないや。みぬきの負けですね！ OK, what if they were made out of metal?

<Apollo> じゃ、満を持して “けんらん”ってコトで。 What, like a magnolia made out of steel?

<Trucy> はいっ！ Exactly! Though I hope all my fans don't start throwing metal flowers at me.

Once again, we have a case of Japanese wordplay that couldn't make it through translation. Here it is:

"There's some 'gouka ranran' flowers here!" [splendid-fiery] "Sorry, but that should be 'kenran'." [gouka kenran = luxurious] "Huh? But don't they always say 'yuuki rinrin'?" [full of vigor] "That they do." "And 'runrun kibun' too." [exuberant mood] "That's right." "And even the glasses shopkeeper next to the office is 'renren'." [attached to /

fond of] "Oh, now you're starting to grasp at straws." "And for 'ronron'... I can't think of any. Well, I'm out!" "Then, you can accept that it's 'kenran'." "Okay!"

I respect the ref to Steel Magnolia, though.

> Examine: wigs

<Apollo> 美容院なんかで見かける、パーマをかける機械だ。 That's one of those permanent dryers you see in hair salons.

<Trucy> そういえば、これ。正式な名前はなんていうんですか？ Is that what they're really called? "Permanent dryers"?

<Apollo> パーマをかけるキカイだから ‥‥《パーマ機》？ Do I look like a beautician? I just know they dry your hair and give you a permanent...

<Trucy> “機”だけニホンゴってカッコ悪いです！ It just doesn't sound very glamorous, you know?

<Apollo> じゃあ‥‥ちょっとコジャレて《パーマシーン》‥‥？ OK, how about a "permachine"!?

<Trucy> シンプルに《パーマー》とか。《ドライヤー》のノリで。 Or you could go more simple, like "permer"!

<Apollo> ‥‥けっこう遊べるね。《正式な名前を考えよう》って。 ...This isn't a bad game, thinking up official names for things.

その時点で“正式”じゃないけど。 Not that it makes the name actually official or anything.

As it happens, it's not too far from the original script, even including a bit of Japanese wordplay: "It's one of those machines you'd see at a beauty salon that gives you a perm." "Say, what is the official name of those things?" "Well, it's a machine that gives you a perm, so... 'perma-ki'?" [kikai = machine] "It sounds weird just leaving that 'ki' in there!" "Then... to keep it trendy, how about 'permachine'?" "Or keep it simple like 'permer', kinda like 'dryer'." "...We sure can play around with thinking up official names for things. Not that it makes the name actually official or anything."

> Examine: presents

<Trucy> ラミロアさんへのプレゼントですね。 A stack of presents for Lamiroir.

さすが、大スターのプレゼントはどれも大きいですよねー。 Stars always get the biggest presents.

ね。ね。オドロキさん。みぬきも受付中ですよ。プレゼント。 You know, you could give me a present, Apollo.

<Apollo> ‥‥じゃ、はい。アメ玉。 ...Here, have a piece of candy.

<Trucy> わあい！　ありがとう！ Gee! Thanks!!!

<Apollo> （喜んでくれたのに、なんで　こう、ムネがいたむんだろう） (She must not get a lot of presents... Poor girl.)

(I'm happy for her and all, but why do I feel so bad?)"

I guess it can go two ways: he's sorry that she doesn't get many presents, or he's upset he had to give away some of his sweets.

> Talk: Yesterday's Trial

<Ema> とにかくね。あのちっちゃな子にダマされてたと思うと、くやしくて。 It just bugs me to think that little kid outsmarted me.

<Ema> 目が見えたんなら、よけいにアヤシイんじゃない？　あの子。 And it makes him even more suspicious now that we know he can see!

天井の通気口も見えたワケだし、ピストルも撃てたし。 He could have seen the air duct, and he could have shot that revolver.

<Trucy> でも‥‥ラミロアさん、そうは証言していませんよ。 But that's not how it sounded in Lamiroir's testimony.

<Ema> ああ。現場で、ハンニン‥‥ 眉月刑事の声を聞いた、ってね。 You mean her saying she heard Detective Daryan's voice at the scene? Hmm...

<Trucy> そうですっ！ That's right!

<Ema> もう。なんでワケのわかんない事件ばっか起こるのよ、この国は！ Why can't we have a normal, straightforward killing once in a while in this country!?

<Apollo> クニのせいにしないでくださいよ‥‥ I'll pretend I didn't hear that.

Ah, here's the legendary Ema quote! It's pretty similar to the original: "Ugh. Why is this country just full of cases that don't make sense at all!?" "Please don't blame the country, it's not at fault..."

> Talk: Song Lyrics

<Ema> ここまで一致していると‥‥ グーゼンとは思えないよね。 It is kind of hard to chalk it up to coincidence, hmm.

<Trucy> ですよねっ！みぬきが見つけたんですけど。 I know! And I found it.

<Ema> これって、やっぱり。ハンニンがやった‥‥のかなあ？ You think the same person did all of this?

<Apollo> オレに聞かないでくださいよ。ハンニンじゃないし。 Don't ask me. I didn't do it.

<Ema> あたしだってちがうよ。あの通気口、入れないし。 Neither did I! I couldn't fit through that air vent anyway.

<Trucy> ‥‥え！　みんな‥‥ みぬきを疑ってるんですかっ？ What... You all think I did it!?

<Apollo> （ダレも言ってない） (Sometimes I worry about that girl.)

"(No one said anything about you.)"

This here is some fine Among Us logic, yessiree.

> Talk: Something Odd

<Trucy> ‥‥あの。ナニか見つけたんですか？ ...So what did you find?

<Ema> まあね。ちっちゃくて、きのうは見落としていたんだけど‥‥ It's so little I must have passed over it yesterday.

あの、ソファの下に、コイツがね‥‥ I found it under the sofa.

<Trucy> ‥‥なんですか。コレ。 ...What is it?

<Ema> 何かの機械の部品、みたいだけどね。サッパリわからないの。 Part of some device, I think. I haven't a clue what.

ハジっこについてるキカイ、見覚えがあるから調べてみたら‥‥ The bit sticking out from the end looked familiar, so I had it examined.

どうやら《アンテナ》みたい。 Turns out it's an antenna.

<Trucy> アンテナ‥‥ Ooh, like on a beetle?

<Ema> だから。電波に反応するのかな、って思って。 Like on a cell phone. This device must use an electronic signal of some sort.

<Trucy> 電波、か。ココロ当たりあるような‥‥ないような。 An electronic signal, you say? Hmm...

Hm, I wonder if Trucy likes collecting beetles. Otherwise, I have no idea where that line came from.

> Finish talking, examine crime scene again

<Trucy> ‥‥ちょっと、気になったんですけど。 You know what I couldn't stop thinking?

このカーペット、誰がベンショウするんでしょうね。 Who's going to pay for this carpet?

<Apollo> オレたちじゃないコトはたしかだけど‥‥ As long as it's not us...

やっぱり。ハンニン‥‥じゃないかな。 Maybe... the shooter?

<Trucy> うーん。それじゃあ、悪いコトするときは‥‥ I guess it's true what they say.

ヒトにメイワクがかからないようにしないと。 Crime doesn't pay!

<Apollo> ‥‥ベツのルートからそこへたどり着きたかったね。 I would hope that carpet replacement costs weren't the only thing holding you back.

The last three lines: "Hmm. It's like, 'When you do something wrong... don't cause trouble for others too.'" "...I wished we could have come to that through a different way."

> Move: Sunshine Coliseum

> Meet Daryan, finish talking

<Daryan> どう思ってるんだよ。ホントのトコロは。 What do you really think happened? Really?

‥‥オレがやった‥‥なんて考えてないだろうなあ？ You don't think I did it, right?

<Apollo> そ。それは‥‥ W-Well...

<Daryan> なんか、たよりないからな、おまえさん。おぼえておいてくれよ。 Great. Way to instill a guy with some confidence.

事件が起こった瞬間。オレはステージで、暴れてたんだぜ。 Just remember, I was ripping it up on stage when it happened, OK? Ripping!

<Apollo> ‥‥‥！ ...!

<Daryan> あの“歌姫”とかいうおばさんの言うことに、ダマされるなよ。 Don't get led astray by some siren song, eh?

さもないと‥‥ １年ぶんのハジをかくことになるぜ。 Get this one wrong, and you'll be eating humble pie for a year. I'll bake it myself.

<Trucy> なんか‥‥感じ悪いですね。 Let's... not talk to him anymore. Alright?

<Apollo> （眉月　大庵‥‥刑事、か‥‥） (Detective Daryan Crescend... He's one stone I'd leave unturned if I had a choice.)

Heh, nice. It was plainly "Don't be fooled by that 'songtress' lady", but made the perfect opportunity for a reference to siren songs. Ngl, I was half-expecting the JP script to run off of her Goddess title in some way...

> Move: Prosecutor Gavin's Office

< > ‥‥ピッ‥‥ ...*beep*...

<Klavier> やれやれ‥‥こんなときにこそ、ダイアンが必要なんだけど。 It's times like this when I start to miss Daryan...

‥‥ん？ ...Huh?

<Apollo> あ‥‥どうも。 Erm, hiya!

<Trucy> えへ。来ちゃいましたあ。 Tee hee! Just thought we'd drop in. Hope you're not mad...?

<Klavier> ‥‥“えへ”とこられちゃあ、怒るワケにもいかないな。 ...How could I be? There's not enough "tee hee" in the world, in any case.

まあ、座りなよ。 Have a seat.

<Apollo> （意外にココロの広いオトコだな） (Prosecutor Gavin, the philanthropist.)

<Trucy> オドロキさんも見習うんですよ。 Watch and learn, Apollo!

"(He's a lot kinder than I thought, this guy.)"

> Examine: guitars

<Apollo> すごい数のギターですね。こんなに持ってて、どうするんですか‥‥ Look at all the guitars! Why so many?

<Klavier> 何本あったって、困らないさ。ギターは、ぼくの恋人だからね。 You can never have too many guitars. They are like... my lovers.

<Apollo> （なんだかハラの立つセリフだな） (I didn't just hear him say that.)

"(Feels like he's saying that just to rub it in my face.)"

<Trucy> オドロキさん、知らないんですか？これは、予備のギターですよ。 They're backup guitars, Apollo. Don't you know anything?

“ろっくんろーる”は、ギターを壊してナンボの世界ですから！ Rock 'n' rollers always smash their guitars at the end of a show!

<Apollo> どんな世界だよ‥‥ No wonder it's so hard to make it as a musician.

"What kind of wacky world do they live in..."

<Trucy> ほらほら！　オドロキさんも、 “ろっく”してみてくださいよ！ You know what, you should try rocking a little, Apollo.

<Apollo> ‥‥持ち主の目の前でそれは、さすがにロックすぎるだろ。 And breaking his guitars while he watches? That might be a little too rocking.

<Klavier> はっはっは。でもね。ぼくは、そーいうのはやらないんだ。 Ah ha ha ha. Of course, I would never do such a thing.

言っただろ？ギターは、ぼくの恋人だって。 Did I not say, they are like my lovers?

ぼくが、恋人にそんなことをするオトコに見えるかい？ Do I seem like the kind of man who would do such a thing to ones he loves?

<Trucy> いいえ、まさか！　見えませんよ！さすが、ガリューさんですね！ No, no! Not at all! I mean, you're Mr. Gavin, upstanding prosecutor!

<Apollo> （おいおい‥‥“ろっく”な　世界はどうしたんだよ） (What happened to Prosecutor Gavin, god of rock?)

"No, no! Not at all! It's you we're talking about, Garyuu-san!" "(Hey... what happened to that world of 'rock' you were on about?)"

> Examine: window

<Klavier> どうだい？すばらしい眺めだろう？ The view is exhilarating, ja?

いつも、ここで夜景を楽しみながら、曲の構想を練るんだ。 I sit here, gazing down upon the city, writing my songs.

<Apollo> 検事の仕事をしましょうよ。 Try working on cases.

<Klavier> 曲を考えることと、事件の推理をすること‥‥ It is the same thing.

ぼくにとっては、同じなんだよ。 I write lyrics the same way I corroborate evidence.

どちらも大切なのは、ロジックと感性のハーモニーだからね。 It is a harmony between the logical mind, and the primal spirit within!

<Apollo> （言ってることはカッコイイけど、　ごまかされている気がする‥‥） (Is it so hard to admit that you like staring out your window and daydreaming?)

"(He may have put it in a cool way, but I bet he's just trying to deflect...)"

Do prosecutors have a habit of just staring out their windows for some reason? I know that frilly guy does it because he's got a bit of time at this time.

> Talk: The Case

<Klavier> ああ‥‥そうだ。今日の新聞を見たかな？ Ah, that reminds me, did you see the paper today?

<Trucy> はい！ Yes!

テレビのページだけはみぬき、毎朝チェックしてるんですよ！ I always read the TV section.

<Klavier> それはエラいね。おデコくん、キミは？ Good girl. How about you, Herr Forehead?

<Apollo> オレも、４コマまんがはチェックしてますけど。 ...I read the funnies.

Ah, something we can agree on, Apollo. Then again, with how Odoroki mentions the 4koma, I can't help but picture those on Gyakuten Tsuushin and now the joke is super meta.

<Klavier> ‥‥コイツを見たまえ。 ...Then you will not have seen this!

<Apollo> 《悪魔のしらべが惨劇をもたらす！　～二枚目検事のキケンな歌声》 "Concert of Tragedy -- The Prosecutor's Deadly Song!"

<Trucy> え。今夜、そんなドラマ、ありましたっけ？ Ooh, is that a new show? I haven't heard about that one.

<Klavier> ドラマじゃないよ。れっきとした、記事の見出しさ。 It's not a show. It's an article. News, you know?

<Trucy> あ‥‥もしかして。みぬきたちの‥‥ Oh, does this have anything to do with the case...?

<Klavier> 法廷から帰ってから、ぼくの電話は鳴りっぱなしだよ。 Since getting back from the trial, my phone has been ringing off the hook!

Second to last: "Oh... so it's about us...?"

> Finish talking, get the replica

> (optional) Move: W.A.A., present replica

<Trucy> レタスさんは‥‥ コレを調べていたんですね。 So this is what Mr. LeTouse was after...

<Apollo> うん。国際警察がコレを追いかけていた、ってことだろうね。 It's international smuggling. That's why Interpol was involved.

（今回の事件とどう関わるのかは、　まだイマイチ分からないけど） (I'm still not sure how this ties into our case, though.)

<Trucy> ちっちゃいのに、すごいんですね、コレ！ Wow, how could such a little thing be so important!

<Apollo> たしかに‥‥ まるで、みぬきちゃんみたいだね。 In that way, it's a bit like you, Trucy.

<Trucy> ！‥‥‥‥‥‥‥ オドロキさん！ ...Apollo!

みぬきは、ちっちゃいんじゃなくて、まだ若いだけです！ I'm not small! I mean, I am, but I'm still growing!

<Apollo> （‥‥一応、　ほめたつもりだったんだけどな） (It was intended as a compliment.)

<Trucy> オドロキさんこそ、前髪で身長かせいでるじゃないですか！ Well you cheat your height by sticking your hair up like that!

<Apollo> （こ、これは別に、そういうんじゃ　ないんだけど‥‥） (Hey, it's called fashion.)

"(H-hey, I just like it this way. I didn't mean it like that...)"

> Move: Sunshine Coliseum, In the Wings, then Hickfield Clinic

> Move: Detention Center, present replica

> Talk: The Cocoon

<Trucy> この“マユ”‥‥ いったい、なんなんですか？ What is this cocoon, anyway?

<Machi> ＠＠＠＠＠＠‥‥ ＠＠＠＠＠＠‥‥

<Lamiroir> 『マユ、糸‥‥特効薬』 "The cocoon, the silk, is a potent cure."

<Trucy> とっこうやく‥‥？ A cure...?

<Apollo> 何かの病気に効く、ってコトかな。 It must cure some disease.

<Machi> ＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠‥‥ ＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠‥‥

<Lamiroir> 『《チリョーレス症候群》‥‥』という病気に効くみたいですわ。 It's a cure for "Incuritis".

<Apollo> チリョーレス‥‥ A cure for Incuritis?

Ughhh, it literally is just "Chiryoles" (chiryou + less = cure-less), aka "Incuritis". And here I was expecting it was just the loc team having a brainfart once in a while.

#gsvsaa #gs4 #ajaa #turnabout serenade #part 3

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echodrops · 4 years

Text

Lately I’ve been seeing a lot of posts going around about how you should never leave criticism on someone’s fanfic unless they directly ask for it, and while I agree there’s a definite line between constructive criticism and cutting someone down just to cut them down, I’m struggling to grasp the fact that there are people who post their works out on the internet in front of the public and don’t, in any way, shape, or form, want their works to be open to criticism. Something something Roland Barthes is rolling over in his grave something something.

I started writing fanfiction a staggeringly long time ago, and when I started, my writing was really, really bad. Like, truly embarrassing. I cringe just thinking about it. And actually, I received many positive comments, even on those original cringe-worthy pieces! (Not that my fics currently aren’t cringe-worthy...) But none of those positive comments changed my writing. The only comments that ever helped me grow were the negative ones.

Sometimes (oftentimes) negative remarks pissed me off. Sometimes (oftentimes) I insisted until I was blue in the face that the person who commented negatively was wrong. If I had had the power to reject those criticisms--or to stop those readers before they could give me their criticisms and tell them I didn’t want them, I definitely would have. As a young writer, I had a very hard time admitting that my work wasn’t at the level I thought it was (I was even more full of myself back then, you know). Who are they to talk?! I thought.

But at the end of the day, the negative comments were almost always right, even if they weren’t kindly worded, and the things they were pointing out in my writing really could be improved a lot. When, after huffing and puffing and feeling bad for myself a bit, I finally got over each criticism and actually thought about their comments, my writing always improved.

I have received thousands of positive comments. I have seen hundreds of variants on “My favorite part was this; you did this part so well!” People have changed careers because of stuff that I wrote, they liked it that much. But you know what sticks with me most, even more than that? One time someone told me my pacing sucked. One time someone told me my dialogue felt robotic. One time sometime told me my writing was about as subtle as being hit with a bag of bricks. I literally remember, almost word-for-word, every critical comment my fics have ever gotten.

I never explicitly asked for those criticisms. And I certainly didn’t think I needed them at the time. If someone had said first “Do you want concrit?” I would have flat out told them no. I wouldn’t have even known to ask for criticisms in those areas if I had wanted them because I didn’t even know those areas existed. But some people took the initiative to tell me what I was doing “wrong” or what I could “fix,” and first I got mad but then... I got better.

A bit of a jump here, but this situation brings to mind two moments where I made very different decisions as a reader. Once, maybe 10-ish years ago (Jesus Christ), in the height of the Durarara’s fandom’s peak, I read a fic whose plot and characterization I found very well done, but which, about half way through, picked up a bad habit of truly excessive use of repetition. I’m talking the same line being repeated 14 or 15 times in a single chapter. Once this had dragged on (and worsened) for five or six chapters, I finally couldn’t take it anymore, and I--politely, thank you--explained in the comments that while I appreciated some repetition, it was getting hard to enjoy the story because the repetition was losing its impact from being overused.

The author didn’t ask for that criticism. That was actually the first time I’d ever even commented on their work at all. They didn’t know me from George at the corner store. But I felt compelled to say something because I loved their fic’s idea and I knew it could be fantastic if the author just addressed that one thing. I genuinely cared for that fic and wanted to see it, and its author, grow. And you know what? The author listened. The repetition dwindled to an effective level and the fic was infinitely better for it; she received a greater number of positive comments, and now, my hope is that person is somewhere else, in some other fandom, still writing away--with effective repetition this time.

Contrast that with a fic I read much more recently, just last year. Originally the writing style started out straightforward and easy to follow and I quite liked the premise, so I followed it for a long time. But over time, the writing grew into... just a deluge of metaphors and similes. We’re talking a metaphor or a simile on virtually every line, often with minimal connection between them, so that the images changed so rapidly it felt like the actual characters and plot were being completely lost underneath the churning sea of literary devices (see what I did there?). I was at a crossroads. I could comment on the fic and tell the author that I really wanted to keep enjoying it but was finding it hard to follow with the new writing style. Or I could just stop reading.

In the end, I dropped the fic, and I guess I’ll never know how it finished. I didn’t give the author my criticism, not because I thought they’d take it badly... But because I just didn’t care enough about their story. I wasn’t emotionally invested enough to try to help it become clearer. I didn’t feel passionately about wanting to see it improve.

As a writer, excited keyboard smash from happy fans certainly doesn’t displease me... But it doesn’t make think deeply about myself, my achievements, or who am I as an artist. It’s moments like the ones above, when the question of criticism arises, that truly leave me thinking... How many people have silently engaged with my work, wanted to see something about it improve, and instead... just gave up on me, stopped being my readers at all?

To me, that’s so, so, so much worse than the occasionally rudely-worded critical comment, because, hey, those people still took the time to tell me what they thought was bad. They felt enough about my story that they thought it was worth commenting to try to effect change. Whether they did it politely or not, they did care.

But somewhere out there, there are thousands of people who just didn’t care enough to feel compelled to comment before quitting my stories. What were their thoughts? What weaknesses did they see in my writing?

If every one of them had commented to suggest improvements, I can’t help but wonder, how much better could I be?

#just some thoughts #basically what I'm saying is #feel free to tell me my writing sucks #because it probably does #and telling me it's good won't change that #the arguments against criticism just baffle me #they're just posting to have fun #yo you know what's even more fun than a small response from friends #a big ass response from the general public after you've improved your writing enough to impress the masses #or the argument about having beta readers for criticism #my dudes #diversity is celebrated in all areas #even in criticism #you should not shut yourself in a think tank with the same ten people #and expect to keep growing beyond your small group's collective level #hey I know this is salty #gentle reminder that this is still my personal blog #and my personal opinions are just my opinions #not rule of law for other people

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halfgclden · 4 years

Text

something to take the edge off

date: Sunday, May 10th, 2020

characters: Chase and Cyrus

summary: cyrus went ghost, chase felt sad, the bros get together and talk about the most dramatic part of fight night and what caused it

Cyrus knew that he had been out of line and, with his messy emotions, he'd lashed out at fight night. He even felt bad for ghosting his best friend the day afterward. He was very aware of how much time had passed though, and was itching to get this apology out of the way. During the moments that were in between then and now he'd felt pretty much like a raw nerve. He still felt a little out of it but only because he'd been sober for way too long. He hadn't messaged Chase but, by now, Crooke had the other's schedule pretty much down. He thought about knocking but, instead, figured to play it like he would on a usual day. He entered the Morpheus townhouse slowly and cleared his throat as he glanced around. "...Aye, yo, Chase?" Cyrus called out.

During fight night, Chase had been worried about the savagery, but was somehow more surprised about the way that his friend had lashed out at him. After thinking about the circumstances more, he moved between being upset and then understanding that what he'd said was less than a comfort to his friend, especially with the way that he'd put it. After, he'd left Cyrus a few messages, one about swimming for his brother despite the fact that he didn't win, one about his cats, a few about smoking up his closet, and yet no reply came. Chase was starting to get somewhat worried, unsure if it was his best friend being upset with the world or specifically him. He was in his room, lying on his floor and staring at the ceiling when he heard someone enter, and heard a familiar voice call out. He rolled over and pushed himself up, then bounded down the stairs. "Hey, Crooke," he said, trying not to seem out of breath. "Hey," he repeated. "What's up?"

Cyrus heard footsteps before he saw Chase quickly emerge from down the stairs. He moved the rest of the way so they stood nearby one another. He shot Chase a narrow-eyed look but it lasted only a moment because he shifted in his stance. "Shit, so, I was thinkin'..." He said, rubbing his hands together. "I kinda flipped on ya' a few days ago, huh?" He raised his brows and then sighed, shoulders dropping. "Uh, can we smoke first, man?"

Chase chewed on his thumb nail and nodded at Cyrus, not really sure what to say about the first two statements. "Sure, yeah, no problem. Y'wanna go sit in the closet, or just my room? The roof?" he offered, already starting back up the stairs.

"Uhh, closet's fine with me," Cyrus said after thinking for a second and dropped his eyes to the floor as he followed Chase up the stairs. Being antsy, he wanted to do something with his hands so he rubbed the back of his own neck. "I haven't smoked, like, all fuckin' day, man." He commented from behind.

Chase nodded and opened the door to his room, making sure there were no cats around while he was smoking up his room. He pulled his grinder from his drawer and his bong from his desk, then tilted his head at Cyrus. “Dude, are you good? Cause you seem really... Not, man. Like, off.”

Cyrus sighed. "I wanna be better," He simply answered Chase's question as he moved to enter the closet. He let himself take a spot against the wall. "I'm shook, to use my brother's words," He claimed with a frown, continuing to speak so Chase could hear even as he was still gathering things. "I got bad shit on my mind, man, and I owe you an apology."

Chase chewed his lip and stopped for a moment so that he could look at Cyrus fully. He frowned, a small crease forming between his eyebrows. "I was thinking about the other day, and honestly, I can see why you kinda flipped. I gave you a shit answer."

"Nah, man. You were fine, really," Cyrus responded. "I don't know why I expected you to be perfect. That's so fuckin' unfair to you. Especially when I'm far from it..." He'd realized how much he'd come to rely on Chase even before entering the townhouse for this visit. "I mean, I hadn't even told you anything. At all, about what I've been dealing with, so I'm sorry for spazzin' out," He apologized with a sober mind after swallowing his pride. "Whether you wanna say it was warranted or not, I shouldn't talk to someone I think of as a best friend like that," He sighed and let his eyes settle on Chase again. "I want to explain some things to you though... If you're in a headspace to hear about some life-changing bullshit?" He questioned.

Chase frowned as he watched his friend, letting his eyes scan over him, take in his expression and the way he carried himself along with his words. “Nah, man, you’re fine.” He could admit that there was a bit of a sting that came with the realization that most of his close friends felt uncomfortable sharing anything too deep with him, but he decided not to take it personally, and to accept the information when it was presented to him. “I’m... nah, yeah, I’m totally down for some life-changing bullshit. Y’sure y’wanna be high for this? We can just chill. Unless y’want something to take the edge off.”

Cyrus felt a tiniest bit at ease. Maybe it was due to how the other spoke their words, or just the calming atmosphere of the Morpheus townhouse settling in once again. "Yeah, I wanna chill, but get high as hell too," He assured Chase but his tone still wasn't as mirthful as he usually came across. The metaphorical grip that Crooke held onto his secrets with started to lessen even more-so. "With whatever you got too," He then promptly added without much of a blink. He had ripped right into this same confessional with the previous people he'd told about his curses lately, but he figured this time would be different. "But, uh, aye," Cyrus shifted in his seat. "So I guess I can start with the easy stuff first? Um... I did something reckless and impulsive, like, five or six years ago and my past is still haunting me." He expressed with a frown.

Chase's lips twitched upwards in a semblance of a smile at Cyrus's words, and he began to pack up a bowl so that he and Crooke would be able to smoke their worries away. He wasn't sure what else he had, but he made a mental note to check his drawers once he didn't have to be so focused on his friend. He pressed his lips together into a line and nodded, fully feeling as though he understood Crooke's situation. His decision to leave camp was one that was not fully thought through, and the thought of it still put knots in his stomach. "Ah, yeah, um, I get it." He crossed the room to take a seat next to Cyrus. "What happened?"

“It was right before the war got really bad," Cyrus spoke again once Chase had sat down. "I was upset? I thought I was doin' things for the right reasons, but I honestly don't know what I was thinkin'... But, I fuckin’ graffiti’d the shit outta one of Hecate's temples," He finally admitted. "Call it retaliation, or retribution, or whatever. Graves was with me too," He sighed. "But I was the one who also broke an artifact that was on display. It actually ended up being irreplaceable to her,” Cyrus explained only to fall quiet again. He sighed and ran his hand down his face. "She showed up that night, and was so damn pissed. Absolutely livid," He described. "And... Well, she cursed me. Twice." Crooke confessed.

Chase let Cyrus tell his story in its entirety before responding, but he wasn't sure exactly what to say even when he heard everything. It was like each layer of the story only made it more complicated, and the fact that his best friend was living with this for so long without ever mentioning it to him made his heart heavy. "Fuck..." Some part of him was relieved that the night didn't result in the kidnapping of Cyrus, as had happened to others who challenged her. "So once for the graffiti and then for breaking the shit? What are the curses?"

"Yeah," Cyrus spoke softly. Talking about this topic had oddly become familiar to him within the past days. "They're basically personalized, fuckin' just for me to be the most miserable," He continued on, swallowing hard one last time before further addressing the situation. "The first one, makes it so that I have to tell a handful of complete truths. Which wouldn't be that bad, but I've been spilling my truths every day since I was fuckin', like, still a punk-ass kid. I hate it, sometimes I don't want to tell the truth," Cyrus finally added in confession and frowned. "I'm sorry, dude, for not telling you earlier too..." He faltered, but pushed through anyway and continued. "It's not that I didn't want to tell you, I just hoped it'd go away," He shook his head. "But they never did... The other is a curse of obsession, by the way." He then attempted to gloss over the nastier of the curses.

Chase frowned and rubbed at his collarbone. The idea of Cyrus having to do something that he didn't want to for so long felt... wrong, but the fact that he was trying to ignore it until it went away seemed quite in character for his best friend. "Yeah, nah man, it's like, you can do whatever you want, but as soon as you have to do it, maybe you don't want to anymore, and that should be up to you." He shook his head. "Fuck, man, nah. Don't apologize for not telling me. Like, I'm just glad I know now, I guess. Or... It's the type of thing that's weird to bring up, but I'm just glad that, I dunno, you feel like you can tell me." He frowned playing with a piece of his hair. "Obsession with...?" he trailed off, hoping that Cyrus would fill in the blank.

"I feel like there's not much I wouldn't tell you at this point. I tell you a lot," Cyrus shrugged. "I mean, I've used you for the truths quite often. It's just a sore fuckin' subject," He admitted. "But, hell yeah," Crooke agreed with his best friend's sentiments about free-will, but his tone lacked his usual enthusiasm. "It's my prerogative if I wanna change my damn mind," He added to his agreement and sighed out of frustration. He closed his eyes, head hanging back for a moment. "I get obsessed with anything I start to really care about. It just spirals. Uh, fight night, dealin' drugs," Cyrus chuckled, very bitter, and opened his eyes again. "—Or Malia. Those are the latest, if you wanted examples." He commented and yet was conscious of how all of this sounded.

Chase felt his lips twitch upward, not quite a smile. He would be happy to hear that one of his friends trusted him with anything, if not the fact that this something was particularly terrible. One of his favourite things about Cyrus was how blunt he was, and he didn’t like that (or anything) being impacted by some god’s will. “Ah.” He twisted a piece of hair with his fingers. Malia was a... rather sore subject, since two of his closest friends were quite infatuated with her, and the one that wasn’t Cyrus was his brother. He’d suggested that they all could date, but apparently that didn’t fly, and so he tried to avoid the subject all together. “So that’s why you went so wild on Lulu?”

Maybe there were multiple reasons why all three wouldn't work if they dated, but mainly Cyrus's opinion of Jesse, and vice versa, was nothing less than disdain. He nodded as if that explained everything, especially regarding any past actions he might've taken. "Yeah, sorta like an outta body experience too. I was conscious of everything my body did, aware of the thoughts I wouldn't normally have thought and, yet..." Crooke huffed and then gestured to the weed that Chase figured he'd forgot he was preparing. "You almost ready there, bud?"

Chase tugged at his hair when Cyrus explained himself, his gaze growing far away as he thought about his own experience in that department. “I, uh, kinda get what you mean. The out of body thing.” He licked his lips, then blinked quickly as Cyrus addressed his again, just about snapping himself out of his momentary daze. He nodded and packed the bowl up like he planned to, then held the bong and a lighter out to Cyrus. “Y’wanna start?”

Even if nothing had changed regarding his curses, Cyrus did feel relief that he'd gotten his best friend on the same page as him. He nodded sullenly as he took the bong from Chase. He faltered before actually taking his hit. Eventually doing so, he exhaled the smoke and gave the bong back to the other. "Thanks, man," Cyrus sighed, leaned his head back again and closed his eyes to usher in the high until it was his turn again. "I feel a bit better already."

Chase watched Cyrus as he took the hit, and as he took the bong from his friend, he reached out to give his knee a small squeeze. “‘Course, man. Whatever you need.” He lit up and took a long hit, blowing the smoke over at Cyrus as he exhaled. “Y’wanna do something? Or just chill? We can fuck around.” He leaned back on his elbows. “But I’m also good to get stoned out of my head and leave my body— in a good way.”

Cyrus gave the other a genuine smile upon feeling Chase's hand on his knee. He happily accepted being blasted with the smoke from his friend's hit. "We can fuck around," He accepted the offer. "But, let's just chill like this for a bit longer..."

#c: chase #c: chasecyrus

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halothenthehorns · 4 years

Text

ARAGOG

Remus took the book very unwillingly, not looking any kind of excited to see how right they were about those 'attacks a day.'

The weather was showing its end of the year spirit, showing the brightest of blue skies and the grounds bursting with garden life.

"Sounds lovely," Lily sighed, wishing her favourite time of year wasn't so amok due to the events of this year.

The inside of the castle was the opposite. Every face inside was now permanently etched with worry and fear now that Dumbledore was gone. Harry and Ron were now barred from entering the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey fearing that someone could return and finish off the students inside.

All five of them winced, James saying, "err, yeah I guess that could be a possibility. We still don't even know why those students were attacked."

"Man this is depressing," Sirius huffed,"makes me wish for the old years where the students were just being hauled out of school because of paranoid parents."

"That wasn't any more comforting," Remus snorted.

The corridors were barren, students could no longer linger around and chat as usual, and any laughter that could be heard faded quickly.

"Now that I remember," Lily sighed.

"I couldn't stand that after my third week," James sighed, "I grew up in a pretty quiet house, I wasn't going to stand a quiet school!"

Harry kept turning Dumbledore's last words over in his head, but who was he supposed to ask for help? The teachers looked just as confused and scared as anyone.

"I thought he meant it more metaphorically," Lily grinned, "not literally."

While Harry smiled at his mother for the light comment, he also sighed, wishing he had someone to turn to back then.

Hagrid's comment was much easier to understand, but the problem was there seemed no spiders around. Ron wasn't very eager to help find them.

"Yeah," Remus nodded, "I picture Ron looking for spiders like Sirius looking for a dragon's nest."

Sirius huffed and muttered something under his breath.

They didn't get much of a chance to look though, as they were being herded through the corridors by teachers, much to Harry's exasperation.

"As would I," they all agreed, that sounding annoying.

The only person who looked to be enjoying this new mood was Draco, who had been seen strutting about and preening in pleasure.

"He's really trying his hardest to make himself not look suspicious, huh?" Sirius laughed.

Harry wasn't sure what he was so happy about,

"He's pleased because his wish came true," James growled to himself, "wasn't he the one who wished it was Hermione that got petrified next?"

"Thanks for that reminder," Harry grumbled, his fists balling up all over again.

"Are we sure Malfoy doesn't have something to do with this?" Sirius asked. "Cause if you ask me, he's still taking this too lightly."

"Well, since nobody but Muggleborns have been attacked yet, I'd have to say he doesn't have anything to worry about," Lily sighed.

until he overheard him talking loudly in their next Potions about how happy he was his own father had been the one to get rid of Dumbledore.

"Oh yes, now let's brag about your father getting rid of the greatest headmaster ever," Remus growled.

"I will genuinely sob if someone doesn't punch that kid in the face soon," Sirius hissed.

Going on in high spirits about how the next Headmaster hopefully wouldn't even want to close the Chamber.

"I shudder at the thought," James sneered.

"What, is he hoping his dad will be the new headmaster as well?" Lily asked.

"Wouldn't surprise me," Sirius gagged at the thought.

McGonagall surely wouldn't last long.

"No," Remus snapped, "if the worst happens and Dumbledore really can't come back, they'd have to kick her out as well before being able to replace with their own Headmaster. Even then,

McGonagall has her own right to designate her own second."

"You kind of scare me when you start ranting like that," James told him honestly.

Remus shrugged, only simmering down slightly.

Then Malfoy turned to Snape and asked if he was going to get the job next?

"Then I'm sure I'd roll over in my grave," James hissed to himself.

Harry suddenly felt like he'd been sucker punched between the eyes, but surely he must be misunderstanding Malfoy. There was no way in Merlin's pants that Snape could ever get ahold of that position...right?

Snape was clearly pleased, unable to suppress a horrid looking smile,

"I'm sure he's just sobbing with grief," Sirius grumbled.

but he corrected Malfoy that he was sure Dumbledore would be back soon. Malfoy disregarded this and said that Snape would have Mr. Malfoy's vote should he apply, how Lucius had always said Snape was the best teacher at this school.

"If he kisses up to him anymore, I'm going to be forced to make a very lame brown nose joke," Sirius huffed.

"For the love of Merlin, please don't," James groaned. "Since most of your jokes are bad enough as is."

Snape was still smirking as he turned away, thankfully missing Seamus faking vomiting into his cauldron.

All five of them cracked up laughing at this, finding it a more than appropriate response.

Malfoy was still talking, saying how he was stunned the Mudbloods hadn't jumped and left themselves yet,

Remus finished that sentence with a foul taste in his mouth. He hated how casually this child threw that word around.

and said that he was positive the next one would die. He was just sorry it wasn't Granger.

"I can't believe this," Lily gasped, losing a shade of colour. "Who could say something like that? Let alone a child?"

The other three boys agreed, but Harry puzzled over something. He had a distinct feeling that, when it came down to it, Draco wasn't a killer. What on earth could possess him to think this? No one noticed his silent questions, Remus was already done agreeing with Lily and moving past this.

The class was moving towards the door now, cutting off Ron's attempts from lunging at Malfoy.

"Attempts?" Sirius frowned in annoyance, "who's stopping him?"

"Sirius think about it," Remus sighed, "he's in Snape's classroom."

"I don't care," James snapped, backing up his friend, "I'll take fifty detentions just to punch that git in the face for saying something like that."

Harry shook his head sadly from side to side, saying, "while I agree with you, Snape would have stopped Ron before he even started. Then he would have gotten the detentions, without the

satisfaction."

"I love it when you reason things out like that," Remus grinned, "shows a lot more thought than these two ever did, or even Lily for that matter."

"I've no idea what you're talking about," she grinned.

"Don't even," James huffed, sitting back in his seat, "we all know you've got a temper, and you would have cursed this kid sky high given half the chance. So far the only one who can keep their heads in this sort of thing is Remus, and Harry it seems."

Harry just smiled and shrugged.

Harry and Dean were holding him back from doing anything rash, despite Ron's very verbal protests that he didn't need his wand to kill Malfoy with his hands.

"There's that to," Remus chuckled, "he doesn't want to go puking slugs up again now does he?"

"Like he said though," Sirius shrugged, "fists can work just fine."

Harry and Dean still wouldn't release him until Snape had escorted them all to Herbology, when the Slytherins went back inside and they were standing outside the greenhouses. The class seemed very off with two of their numbers now missing.

All five of them shivered at once, hating to hear that aloud once more.

Sprout set them the assignment to prune an Abyssinian Shrivelfig, and Harry turned to see himself facing Ernie Macmillan.

"Not this one again," James groaned, placing his face in his hands, "I already want to punch one twelve year old in the face today!"

"I really hope he's not going to start throwing insults at you again in the middle of class," Lily huffed.

Harry tensed up for another fight, but Ernie surprised him by apologizing to Harry for ever thinking it was him.

"What's this?" Sirius asked, craning around and trying to pull away the book.

"Knock it off Padfoot," Remus griped, keeping the book closer to himself, "and let me read. I think I like where this is going."

He said how he was foolish to think Harry could hurt Hermione. Then he offered his hand.

"Well that was nice," Lily said, brightening at once.

James hesitated for a moment before nodding and saying, "any kid who can admit they were wrong, and then apologizes like that. Yeah, guess this kid's not all bad."

"Still a gullible idiot," Sirius grinned, then nodded along saying, "but not all bad."

"Well this couldn't have worked out better," Remus smirked, agreeing full heartedly with the other two, "hopefully the rest of the school follows that same line of thinking, and you'll stop getting rumours following you around."

"I sure hope so," Harry agreed.

Harry took it and let the whole matter go, so Ernie called over his friend Hannah and they all started working on the same plant. Ernie began the conversation by stating how he'd instead come up with a new idea for the Heir of Slytherin, Malfoy.

"Now he's at least more on the right track," Sirius grinned.

"To bad he's wrong," James huffed.

Ron snarked back that he must feel so smart, clearly not as forgiving of his earlier slight as Harry was.

"And that's how a real friend does," Sirius nodded, "even if your mate stupidly gets over it, you hold a grudge for him."

"That doesn't make any sense," Lily rolled her eyes at him.

Sirius just shrugged, it made perfect sense to him.

When Ernie asked if Harry agreed, Harry said no so forcefully, it made the two Hufflepuffs stare.

"Well that wasn't very thought out," Remus out right laughed this time, "you should have at least given a good reason as to why you thought not, or even better agreed with them. Just because you know they're wrong, doesn't mean you can't indulge them."

"I didn't see the point in spreading rumours," Harry defended, "I hate them, even aimed at people I don't like."

"Maybe he's less like Remus then I thought," Sirius grinned.

Then Harry's attention was distracted by spotting some spiders scuttling over the grass through a crack, and Harry hit Ron's hand with the shears to get his attention.

"Ouch," Sirius winced, "what was that for?"

"To get his attention," Harry pointed out.

"A simple poke would have been kinder," James laughed.

When he pointed out what he saw, Ron looked far from happy, and when Harry followed their path further he noticed that they must be heading for the Forbidden Forest.

Lily then said something very unladylike.

"Mum?" Harry asked in concern.

"You're not actually going to follow them in there are you?" She demanded, going a little wide eyed.

Harry mulled that over for a moment before shrugging and saying, "if I give you one of my gut answers again, are you still going to be mad if I'm right?"

"That's a yes then," she moaned, beginning to gnaw on her lip at once.

"This can't be good," Sirius huffed, "this can not be good."

Harry thought back to the stories these boys had been telling him about the Forbidden Forest, and then agreed out loud with Sirius.

"So you lot have never seen where the spider's den is?" Lily asked pitifully.

"Nope," James shook his head sadly. "We followed them in pretty far once, but then we came across some that were twice the size of us. We hightailed it out of there and never went back."

"Why would Hagrid say to follow them anyways?" Remus demanded. "It didn't even occur to me that when he said to follow the spiders, he meant the ones that would lead him into the forest!"

"Where else did you think they would lead?" Harry asked.

"I don't know, maybe to the chamber, or if you followed them backwards, to where the monster was hidden. Not to their den!"

"This isn't going to be good," Harry sighed, before encouraging Remus to go on anyways. None of them looked the least bit happy about this.

Ron looked even unhappier about that.

"Can't imagine why," Sirius muttered.

When that class let out, Professor Sprout had to take them all to their DADA class.

"Great," James huffed, "even more of an annoyance to deal with."

"Believe it or not, I'd take a double Dark Arts class with him over that bleeding forest," Lily shuddered.

Harry and Ron fell behind to the back of the group as Harry whispered to Ron that tonight they were going to put the invisibility cloak back on and head out there. They'd take Fang along, since he always travelled the forest with Hagrid.

"Now that's fair," Remus nodded, "last year Hagrid did say nothing would hurt you with Fang around."

"Think that holds true for the giant spiders?" Sirius asked. "They saw me and didn't have a problem trying to eat us."

"I don't think it works with just any dog," James disagreed. "It might just be Hagrid's dog in particular."

"Here's hoping," Lily murmured.

Ron agreed without any enthusiasm. Then he voiced out loud a common rumour that werewolves had been seen stalking that forest.

"So glad that rumour never died out," Sirius chuckled as a brief distraction.

Harry chose not to answer that,

"Oh that was comforting I'm sure," Lily muttered.

and instead reminded Ron of some of the good things going around there, like the centaurs and unicorns. Ron had never had the pleasure of being in the forest before, and Harry's one escaped had not led him to want another go. They'd reached their next class by this point, and Lockhart came bounding in with high spirits.

"As blundering and useless as always then," Remus grumbled to himself.

When he saw the students all sitting quietly and tense, he demanded to know what they were so upset about.

"I'm not even going to answer that," Sirius declared.

"Thank you," Lily said sincerely.

No one bothered to answer him, and Lockhart was all too happy to point out to them that the danger the school was in was gone! The person who'd done these terrible things had been arrested.

"Oh please," James huffed.

Dean demanded to know how he knew that, and Lockhart laughed lightly before pointing out that the Ministry would have never arrested Hagrid if they weren't positive he was the one.

"And here I thought he couldn't get more stupid," Lily said in disbelief.

"The Minister was covering his own arse by taking in someone who hadn't done a thing wrong-" Sirius began hotly.

"Yes Sirius, we know, and it is wrong," Remus pacified, "but stop that now so I can read."

Sirius slouched back and kept up his muttering anyways.

Ron shouted back that yes they sure would. Lockhart brushed him off by saying he knew far more about the goings on of the situation then Ron.

"You flatter yourself too much," Remus snapped in disgust.

"Besides, I doubt you know a touch more about anything over a toddler. I'm one hundred percent sure my little four month old upstairs could do more magic than him," James growled.

Ron was about to bite back and say he definitely knew otherwise, but Harry kicked him.

"Ron seems to be getting attacked by you a lot today," Lily grinned.

"He is acting out," Remus noted in surprise.

"I'd be even worse if one of my friends had been attacked," Sirius defended.

Shushing him and reminding him that they weren't actually supposed to know anything. Still, Harry was half tempted himself to chuck Gadding with Ghouls at Lockhart by the end of class.

"Slow applause for your show of strength anyways," James sighed.

He contented himself with instead writing a note to Ron that they were going to do it tonight.

"Can't you do it never?" Lily muttered under her breath.

Ron hesitated, glanced at Hermione's empty seat,

"Best motive for doing anything ever," Sirius agreed.

and nodded his agreement. That night drew on much longer than usual, the twins having come over and decided to play a few rounds of Exploding Snap,

'Well that was rather nice of them,' Lily thought, noting they hadn't really been known to do this yet, and she couldn't help but wonder if Ron's siblings were trying to be extra nice to him in sympathy for the temporary loss of his friend.

while Ginny slumped in Hermione's usual chair and looking rather morose about it. Harry and Ron kept losing on purpose,

"I guess I can see the point of doing that," Sirius shrugged, "but still, wouldn't that look a bit suspicious?"

"They didn't seem to notice," Harry shrugged.

and finally Fred and George grew tired and went to bed along with their sister. Harry and Ron took the chance, went upstairs for the cloak, and once again left the tower.

"Well here you go boys," Lily snarked, "Harry and Ron are finally doing something with the cloak you should approve of."

"Please Lily," James moaned, "is now really the time for that? Yes, we snuck into the forest all the time, but we never intended to go find giant man eating spiders, except for one time! Then we didn't again when we realized how bad they were, give us some credit."

Lily tried for a smirk, she had been trying to push some humour into the room, but it didn't seem to hold the same effect.

They once again had problems with stealth, the teachers still constantly patrolling all of the floors, but they still managed to make it onto the grounds without getting caught.

"It really should be harder to get out of the school," Lily noted.

"Nah," Sirius disagreed, "I insist they make it easy on purpose. The teachers know we need out of the castle more than they allow." Present time excluded of course, where they were clearly going out of the way to stop them.

"Soundless logic as that is," Lily snorted.

Ron tried to convince himself that maybe the spiders hadn't really been headed for the forest, they could have veered off in another direction.

"Poor kid," Remus winced, "boy is he in for surprise."

They made it to Hagrid's hut, and Harry let Fang out

"Oh, please tell me that someone's been letting him out," Lily fretted.

"I think someone said something about McGonagall taking him out," Harry soothed.

"That's an adorable thought," James grinned, "picturing her coming out and around and taking Fang out to go potty."

who began barking with mad joy. Harry quickly fed him some of Hagrid's food which promptly sealed the dog's jaw shut.

Sirius started laughing very loudly, and it took him a moment to calm down before he breathed out, "I think that's base torture."

Harry decided to leave his cloak inside Hagrid's place, as he didn't really think he'd have use for it in the already dark forest.

"I disagree," James scoffed at once, "there are plenty of reasons you don't want to be seen in the forest. Fold it up and carry it or something."

Harry just shrugged, he had nothing to say to that and it was already done.

They walked over to the edge of the forest, where Fang promptly lifted a leg and pissed on the nearby trees.

"Well at least he's going to have a good time," Remus chuckled.

Harry took out his wand and used the spell Lumos to light the tip of it, giving him a glow of light. Ron said he'd do the same, but his wand would probably set the whole forest on fire if he tried.

"That's probably true," Sirius snickered.

Harry glanced around at his feet, and sure enough, came across some spiders heading in. Ron sighed, but didn't argue the point and led them inside.

"That's some friend," James grinned from ear to ear, "walking into literally a real fear just to find out a secret that might help his friend."

"Best kind of friend there is," Sirius and Remus both grinned, Sirius privately thinking he'd brave a dozen dragons' den if it would stop this catastrophe of a future he was hearing about.

It wasn't easy, keeping track of the tiny black crawlers going over leaves and through bushes. Many times Harry lost sight of them and it took some time to come across some more. Deep into the woods, they caught sight of them again, heading off the path.

Lily shuddered in disgust, remembering Hagrid's words clearly about not leaving the paths, though also trying to comfort herself with knowing that these four boys in the room had obviously ventured off the path and seemed to be alright. Still, she herself didn't much like the idea, no matter how much she heard about it.

Harry hesitated as he clearly remembered Hagrid's words of warning against this,

"Sound advice," Lily sighed out loud this time, "wish you would have followed it," clearly to herself.

but Hagrid wasn't here, and they had to do something. Harry was startled out of thinking when something cold touched Harry's hand, and he startled so bad he jumped onto Ron's foot, but it only turned out to be Fang's nose.

"Jumpy much," Sirius said in forced light tones, not finding it remotely funny.

Ron shrugged it off and pointed out they'd come this far already, they may as well keep going.

"No, the correct response to that was, we shouldn't go any farther," Remus muttered under his breath.

So deeper they went, until Harry's tiny light was the only break in the darkness. At some point the ground began to slope beneath them,

"And that's about when we ran into the giant spiders," James nodded in remembrance, "when the ground began sloping towards the middle of the forest."

"That was not comforting, in the slightest," his wife informed him.

and Fang scared them both again by barking.

"Not good," they all muttered. Anything Fang barked at was never good.

"Thought Fang had his jaw glued shut?" James randomly giggled as a distraction.

"It wears off," Harry reminded, pointing out how he'd earlier wrenched his jaw apart to snap at Hagrid about his crack in wanting a signed photo.

Ron was going pale with fear, his eyes shifting around to figure out what had startled the dog. Harry whispered that he could sense something big, listening intently.

"Please tell me you just run away once you find them," Remus hissed without any conviction.

They both remained tense and frozen, Ron consistently muttering 'no' under his breath,

Even as Remus read that, he could hear the faint echoing of it in the room from the other occupants. No one wanted Harry anywhere near...well anything that was big and in the forest.

and Harry could feel himself growing even more stressed as time elapsed and nothing happened. When Harry said this out loud, Ron muttered whatever it was, was probably getting ready to pounce.

"I don't want Ron to answer questions anymore," Lily muttered.

Still they stood there, until finally a bright flash of light,

"Light?" Sirius asked in confusion.

"You think a teacher followed them out?" Remus asked curiously.

"Nah, or they would have been stopped long before this," James disagreed.

"Then what would cause a light in the forest?" Sirius asked redundantly.

Since none of them had a real answer, Remus read.

came boring down on them. Fang startled and tried to make a run for it, but only managed to get tangled up in a thorny bush.

Lily very much wanted to feel sympathy for the poor dog, but she was far more worried about her little Hare Bare and his extremely vulnerable, wandless, friend.

Harry was blinded and blinking spots out of his eyes, when Ron sighed in relief and exclaimed it was the car!

"The car?" they all repeated in confusion.

The fear that had been mounting in Harry's face suddenly relaxed again to confusion and slight amusement. "What on earth would the car be doing there?"

"Did no one ever go and get that thing out of there?" Remus demanded, rubbing at his chest from delayed fear.

"Wow, that car's just been running around the forest this whole time?" Sirius asked, slightly bemused, and trying to shake off his want of screaming from the mounting fear.

"Better it than Fluffy," James muttered.

Ron wasn't wrong. Harry finally made out the shape of Mr. Weasley's Anglia, which was scratched and muddied, but nudging up to Ron like an old dog greeting its owner.

"Wow, Mr. Weasley must have had the car for ages for it to be so imbued with magic," Lily said, rather impressed.

"Kind of want to enchant my bike like that now," Sirius said, grinning brightly, "looks like it might be loyal."

Lily dearly wanted to smack him for that, not finding it funny in the slightest.

Ron was laughing with relief as he patted the hood and noted that the car must have been running around the forest this whole time turning wild. Harry went over and got Fang untangled from the bush, and then joined Ron while putting his wand away.

"No," James shook his head frantically, "I'd still keep that out." He couldn't quite get the image out of his mind of the last time Harry had been in the forest. Sure he had better backup then Malfoy now, at least Ron wouldn't run at the first sight of trouble, but with a broken wand he still didn't feel that secure about the place as normal.

It didn't hold Harry's interest long though, as he told Ron they'd lost their trail of spiders and they had to get going.

"Can't you just get in and go back to school," Lily groaned.

"Now what would have been the point of going out there?" Harry asked rhetorically.

Ron did not respond. He was looking ten feet above Harry's head.

Remus' voice began pitching with fear, this didn't seem good.

A fixed look of terror in place.

"Well that's not good," Sirius whispered, right in line with Remus' line of thinking.

Harry didn't even get a chance to turn around, as something caught him around the middle and he found himself dangling upside down.

Lily's mouth was half sagged open, like she wanted to scream but couldn't find the air. Harry gave her a very concerned look and asked, "ah, Mum?"

"Ten, ten feet," she stuttered, then gave a great shiver as if trying to shake them off herself.

"I, dang yeah, they were about that big," James was a little off colour as well.

"I hate acromantulas," Sirius muttered, rubbing goose bumps out of his arm.

"But I'm fine," Harry reassured at once, "and this trip is really important, I'm sure of that."

"So long as you and Ron come out with all four limbs," Remus huffed.

Harry tried to get loose, but whatever was holding him seemed not to even notice. Harry spotted Ron and Fang in the exact same situation, all of them being carried away farther into the forest.

"Fang's probably why they didn't eat you outright," Remus reasoned aloud, "like Hagrid said, the spiders must have recognized Fang and knew not to attack."

"I really kind of want to know now how Hagrid made a pact with spiders," Sirius said honestly.

"Whatever he did, thank Merlin for it," Lily shuddered again one more time, that horrid mental image of her boy being clutched in a sea of spiders still not quite leaving her, "because it's

probably what saved these boys' lives."

Harry caught sight of what was carrying him, and wished he hadn't. Six legs were marching along, while the front two were holding him aloft above sharp pincers.

All five of them gave one last wince of disgust, hoping the book would quite describing this now.

There were dozens more all moving across the leaves, and before he knew it the car had faded away.

"Wish the car had gone to protect them or something," James muttered.

"I think it was trying to," Sirius offered, "seems a bit of a coincidence it just showed up then yeah? Personally I think it was trying to warn them to get out of there."

"Too bad they didn't listen," Lily huffed, giving Harry a sidelong look which he sheepishly ignored.

When Harry's vision adjusted to the dark ground again, he saw the floor of the forest was nothing but a carpet of the smaller spiders.

"Okay, I don't even have a fear of spiders, and I'm starting to freak out," James gaped.

"Poor Ron," Sirius agreed, "and you," he added on thoughtfully to Harry when he saw his pup watching him.

They were brought into a natural den, surrounded on all sides by the carthorse sized arachnids.

"How big do they get?" Lily asked in disgust.

"They keep growing until they die," Remus seemed to be regretting having to answer, but willing to anyways for their benefit, "and they can live for up to sixty or seventy years. They also have some form of a hierarchy, a dominant male and female, that continue reproducing until the mother of the group is too weak to fend off the young. Once they grow too old, their young will eat them, and a new hierarchy will start to form."

"That was more than I ever wanted to know about them," Lily grumbled, "but thanks all the same."

They were dropped onto a thankfully spider free patch of leaves, and Harry was now staring at the largest spider web he'd ever seen in his life. Fang was dropped on one side, the dog nonstop whimpering, his tail tucked up tight beneath him. Ron fell on his other side, his eyes so wide they looked likely to fall out of his head, and his mouth seemed frozen in a scream he couldn't get out.

"He must be living in a nightmare right now," Sirius said pityingly.

"There goes any hope of Ron getting over his fear of spiders," James agreed.

Harry's ears then tuned into the fact that the spiders were speaking.

"They speak?" James demanded in disgust.

"How smart are they?" Lily yelped.

"Human smart," Sirius and Remus both said.

"They just get better and better," Harry muttered.

They were calling out the name Aragog.

Harry went bright eyed for a moment, nodding to himself as yet another name slide into place in his mind. It wasn't a very important name, of that he was sure, but one that he felt he should have remembered vividly and feeling pleased he now could.

The largest spider of all came climbing up the web, equal in size to a small elephant, each of its eyes pure white. This spider was blind.

"That is almost funny," Sirius said curiously.

"Just as dangerous without his eyes," Remus disagreed, "so whatever you're thinking, the answer's no."

"You're no fun," Sirius told him, while privately he was scoffing. Like he really wanted to go anywhere near those things.

The underling spiders announced they'd brought humans, and Aragog at once asked if it was Hagrid. When they said no, he simply said to kill them,

"Yeesh, harsh much," James winced, going several shades paler.

that he'd been sleeping.

"And now we know not to disturb you during your nap," Sirius grumbled, "next time, we'll give you notice."

Harry found his tongue and shouted out that he was a friend of Hagrid's.

Remus nodded, knowing on instinct this was the best thing to say right then.

Aragog hesitated then, telling how Hagrid had never sent people into their place before. Harry explained that Hagrid was in trouble, and was shocked to hear Aragog repeat this with concern in his pincers.

"Aw," Lily said in surprise.

"Wow, I'm genuinely impressed," Remus agreed, "most acromantulas don't form human bonds. In fact, I'm almost positive this is the same giant spider that Riddle tried to kill, and Hagrid

protected."

"It would make sense," James nodded.

"Well then thank Merlin for Hagrid's oddity with monsters," Sirius shrugged.

Then he asked what had happened, and Harry said that Hagrid had been blamed for something going on at the school, that he'd been sent away to Azkaban. This didn't seem to be the right thing to say, as the spiders all around him began smashing their pincers, making it sound like a horrid mockery of applause.

"Not a good idea to be agitating them right now," Sirius fretted.

"I'll keep that in mind," Harry responded calmly, giving all of them a chance to give him a weak smile.

Aragog protested that all that had happened years ago. Harry spoke of how it was all happening again, then asked if Aragog was the monster from the Chamber. Aragog denied he was, stating that he came from an egg from far away, and Hagrid had taken him in.

"Oh that's even better," James muttered, "seems Hagrid is the one who started the Acromantula colony in the forest himself."

"Yeah, Hagrid just lost some brownie points with me," Sirius grumbled, taking back his earlier comment a bit.

He'd hidden him up in the castle and fed him scraps from the table.

Lily might not like the idea of giant man eating spiders much, especially ones that so casually said her son could be eaten, but she did feel grains of pity for this creature and could understand why it felt so partial to Hagrid now.

Hagrid had been a good friend to him over the years, even acquiring a female named Mosag.

"A little too much goodness if you ask me," Remus frowned, "I think giving him a girlfriend was going just a bit far."

"Oh but it's so much fun picturing it," Sirius grinned, "think of little Hagrid talking to a lonely Aragog, and then him asking about girls and whether Mosag liked this or-" he stopped when

Remus smacked him, even though Remus didn't seem to notice the nasty glare Sirius was now giving him.

Harry confirmed that Aragog had never hurt anyone, and Aragog said he never had, though it was in his nature, he'd never harmed a human out of respect for Hagrid.

"Bet your kids can't say the same," James muttered to himself, having heard a few stories in his time of other students wandering into the forest and not coming back out.

The girl who had been killed all those years ago had been found in a bathroom,

Harry nodded to himself, saying aloud, "that's it. That was the important thing I remembered about this night."

"So you went out there only to find out it was Myrtle who died," Sirius frowned. "Honestly, you could have just sat around and talked to her with much less deadly results."

"I didn't know that then," Harry defended.

"Guess there's no point in arguing it then," Remus butt in before Sirius could respond.

and Aragog had never left his cupboard. Harry asked if he did know what had killed her, and Aragog actually sounded afraid as he remembered begging Hagrid to let him run away when he heard the creature moving through the castle.

"Well this just got unbelievably creepier," Lily frowned, "I'd hate to meet what scares an acromantula."

Remus nodded to himself, as if he needed more proof of what he thought was in the bowels of the castle.

All around Harry, the other spiders were growing with agitation, inching closer and still rustling their pincers.

"Could you please stop describing that now," James groaned, trying to ignore the fact that it was getting hard to hear at all from the harsh thumping in his chest.

"Kay, you got your information," Sirius said, starting to bounce in place again, "can you please leave now."

Harry had his own look of unease in place, but he was still determined to talk to the spider as long as possible.

Aragog then snapped that he did not speak the name of the creature,

"Which is a real shame, cause I would have liked to known by then," Harry muttered mostly to himself.

he'd never even told Hagrid. Harry was starting to feel closed in, all he could see around him were infinite spiders of all sizes still getting closer. Aragog seemed to be back away now, clearly growing weary of talking.

"Now, we were wanting to leave," Harry agreed with Sirius, forcing back a sense of unease that was starting to build.

Harry couldn't help but notice this, and said that they'd just be on their way then. Aragog disagreed,

"I'm sorry, I'm starting to wish Hagrid hadn't ever found this stupid spider," James snarled, "cause I don't like it."

"Agreed," everyone else muttered.

saying that he may be able to stop his children from attacking Hagrid, but not any random person that came in. He called a goodbye to the friend of Hagrid.

Remus couldn't help yet another shiver of fear and disgust as he read that. Acromantulas were extremely hard to kill, so how on earth had his cub gotten out of this? He didn't wait for the stony silence to erupt into outrage at the spider, he simply read on swiftly.

Harry and Ron jolted to their feet, Harry pulling his wand out despite knowing it was no good, he definitely didn't know any spells to get him out of this mess, but knowing if he was going to die he was going to go out fighting.

Then he had to stop again to choke off a strangled sob. All he could picture was James, doing this same thing for his soon perished life-he jumped slightly when Sirius nudged him in the ribs, hard. His eyes were too bright, he looked like he was trying to force himself not to blink to hold back tears, but one glance over to the couch showed that the little family of three were having their own issues with that sentence. Knowing Harry was fine and alive only slightly comforted him as he forced himself to keep reading.

Before anything else could be done though, another to bright light came barrelling onto the scene, as Mr. Weasley's car came hurtling down the slope.

Lily blinked once, twice, then she burst out in half hysterical laughter. "I-I'm sorry," she gasped, looking around at Harry and finally getting out, "I am so sorry for having yelled at you for taking that car to school."

Harry grinned at her, never having held the scolding against her, but pleased all the same she didn't seem to be holding that against him anymore.

Almost giddy with excitement and laughing at this bit of circumstance, Remus now read eagerly.

It came swerving to a stop right in front of Harry and Ron, doors thrown open.

"Definitely going to be enchanting my bike," Sirius said with real conviction now, watching Lily warily to see if she was going to get mad at him again, "it seems like it will be handier than harm."

Lily pursed her lips, but then chose to say nothing. While she was still a woman of the law before a lot a things, she decided just then she might be able to turn a deaf ear to what he had just said...the benefits seemed far more important just then.

Both boys lunged inside, Ron grabbing up Fang and hauling him in as well. The doors slammed shut and the car revved off of its own accord, knocking into many spiders on the way.

"They deserve it," James muttered mostly to himself, though no one would have disagreed. They were all still just a little winded at yet another horrifying deadly experience that happened to Harry, heart rates weren't even considering going back to normal until Harry and Ron were far away from that den.

The car followed its own path, somehow knowing where the widest gaps in the trees were.

"I hope that car never leaves the forest now," Sirius grinned wildly, "can you imagine the sight of that?"

"It seems to come in handy," James agreed.

Harry glanced over at Ron and found his mouth was still frozen open, though his eyes looked a little less huge.

"Ron seems to have gotten quite a bout of bad luck this year," Remus noticed with a slight wince.

"Walking into the forest into his worst nightmare," James agreed, "takes some kind of kid not to have run screaming."

"Didn't you hear though?" Sirius asked, trying to keep a straight face, "he was silently screaming the whole time."

"Knock it off you three," Lily finally cut in, "enough of your joking around, this isn't funny."

"We didn't say it was," James defended, now massaging his chest and hoping his heart rate would go back to normal before the next catastrophe, "we're just sympathizing with Ron."

Lily watched them for a moment more before shrugging and letting it go.

Harry asked if he was okay,

"I'm going to guess the answer to that is no," Remus said sadly.

and Ron seemed unable to find the words to answer. The car carried them all the way out until they could finally see the moon above again.

"Now for the love of anything, please tell me you don't go back in there!" Lily moaned.

"Ah," Harry wanted to fervently agree with his mother, but he had a sinking feeling it would be a lie if he agreed, so he instead said nothing. They all noticed this, and it didn't improve a mood one bit.

When the car parked itself and opened its doors again, Fang launched himself out, running full pelt back to Hagrid's with his tail still tucked between his legs.

"Poor dog," Sirius said in sympathy.

Harry stumbled out as well, thankful feeling had returned to his limbs, while Ron tumbled out and just sat in the grass. The car gave one more slight rev of its engine before turning tail and going back into the forest.

"Sweet," James said, finally finding a grin again, "I can't wait to spread the rumour about a car trundling the forest."

"Let's see how many people you can get to believe that," Remus snorted.

Harry went back into Hagrid's and grabbed his cloak and came out to find Ron vomiting over by the pumpkins.

All five of them winced, hoping Ron wasn't going to do something worse like pass out. He had just lived through his worst nightmare, so the kid could afford to be more than a little queasy, but it would be really bad for the two of them to not be in bed in the morning and Ron passing out would make that all the harder.

He finally found his voice again when he ran out of vomit and swore he'd never forgive Hagrid for leading them into this.

"That does make me really wonder what Hagrid was thinking," Lily agreed with Ron.

James opened his mouth to say something, but then Remus caught sight of the next sentence and read loudly.

Harry offered that Hagrid must have thought Aragog wouldn't hurt friends of his.

"Thought?" Lily hissed, "well he shouldn't have tested that theory on Harry."

"He was scared," James defended, "and desperate. Maybe he thought Aragog would give Harry some more useful information about why he was in Azkaban."

Lily didn't think that excused Hagrid's negligence, but she couldn't find it in her heart to be too angry with him either. He hadn't known what was going to happen, of that she was sure, so to hold a grudge for it would be petty, so she let the matter go.

Ron still wasn't happy, demanding to know what the point of them going in there was!

"Another piece to the puzzle," Harry sighed, "which you guys mostly worked out already."

"Don't feel too bad," James said at once, "we're older, and time really does add on to experience. Plus, this is kind of something no one your age should even be looking into, so the fact that you do know what you do is kind of amazing in itself."

"Yeah, don't beat yourself up because you weren't old yet," Remus agreed.

Harry couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face then.

Harry reminded that Hagrid hadn't opened the Chamber, that he was innocent. Ron snorted in disbelief, clearly thinking that hiding an acromantula away in the school wasn't exactly innocent.

"Well innocent of murdering the girl then," Harry amended.

"Close enough anyways," Sirius chuckled.

They made their way back to the castle as Harry mulled over all that he'd heard tonight. The way Aragog had been speaking made this monster sound something like a Voldemort creature.

"Now that's a creepy parallel," Lily said, not liking the comparison one bit.

Harry collapsed back onto his bed and still wondered over the whole thing, like how Riddle had obviously got the wrong person, but the Heir of Slytherin was still out there. Was it the same person then who was doing this now?

"That is still a big question," Remus agreed.

There was one other thing, and Harry realized what it was as he jerked upright with a start, waking Ron who awoke with a muffled scream of fear.

"Nightmares," James said with a frown, "boy's going to be having nightmares for a month."

"Can't even blame him," Sirius agreed.

Harry quickly explained his epiphany, how Aragog had said a girl had died in a bathroom, what if she was still in there?

"I still say that mad trip was worth figuring that out," Harry shrugged, quickly adding on, "though

I hope to never repeat the process."

"Guess I'm going to have to live with that," Lily grumbled.

Ron had to rub some sleep out of his eyes before he caught on, whispering the name Moaning Myrtle.

"Yeah, whoever would have suspected that nutter," Remus agreed as he passed Lily the book.

#Harry Potter #James Potter #Lily Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Marauders #Reading the books #fanfiction #the life that never lived

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benevolent-poet · 4 years

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Why I Write

I write with a cigarette between my fingers on tea stained pages. I write with the sun on my back to the sounds of wild galahs cooing. The outside of my little finger smudges the black ink, leaving a cloud-like shape to discolour my skin. The remaining tea leaves a ring on the off-white ceramic, mildly scratched by the stirring of a teaspoon. I write to create a tangible timeline of my life. To look back on my growth. To plan for my next adventure in life.

I embroider pages with mixtures of neat lines and rushed cursive. I illustrate the imperfections in our world. I dance with my imagination on a page. I write to nourish myself. I encourage myself. My words are my tears whether they be joyous, passionate or sorrowful. I play with grammar and vocabulary like a child would engage in craft. I experiment with my words.

I theorise. I criticise. I write to examine the world; to qualify it; to make sense of it; to categorise it in neat packages. I write sentences with symbolism, usually fuelled by emotion, to scribe my personal experience; to express how my mind interprets the outside world. I write as an ode to words, a tribute to the plethora of splendorous adjectives, adverbs, nouns, and verbs, to ensure these fabulous words do not evaporate out of existence. I like poetry. I write poems to appreciate my surroundings. I write them to expose my deepest, darkest secrets. I write poems to reciprocate the rhythms of nature.

Amongst the shaky list, usually comprising of soy milk and bread, I write kind words on my skin, too. Sois gentile, I wrote most recently – be kind. As a child I was told by grown-ups that I would suffer from ink poisoning. I am yet to notice any symptoms.

I write for my university professors. In each piece I grow a little better, more academic, more to-the-point and I expand and deepen my understanding. I write only out of necessity. I will not achieve much by polluting my work with unnecessary language, the abuse of a thesaurus and ideas that are not my own. I intend to avoid clichés, so that the piece purely reflects the thoughts that roll around my mind, formed by my own personal experience.

I write to my lover. He always sneaks in to my poetry. Usually, sweet ballads in admiration. I write in hopes to boost his esteem. To the kind gestures and the pure heart he offers me. I write because I want to shout from the rooftops, cry out about how much I appreciate him, but that would be dangerous.

I write to my online community. To the companions I have not met and will never meet. I have fleeting moments with passers-by and meaningful long-lasting connections with old friends.

I write music. I dream in D minor 7. I adapt my experiences in to chord formation, melodies and lyrics. The way spoken word, or music conveys emotion contrasts particularly different to written text. It is just as meaningful, but there is a certain complexity to it - the interweaving of individual elements, the tone and the emotive response that arises from it.

I stopped writing because my words were too tangible. My thoughts were private. What if someone had read my words? The introvert in me would be appalled. Each Diary entry followed with ripping it, scrunching it up, making the words illegible. Now, writing is a useful tool for me to locate, interpret and communicate my thoughts. I find that I often experience a blank mind in a social-setting causing me to stumble in conversation. I write for reaching the final sentence means – I am free. Free from worry, free from fear.

I write for the same reason I would light incense. For some kind of spiritual cleansing. To meditate; a form of mindfulness; tranquillity; relaxation. There something about burning that is very scared. I write as an act of self-care or self-love. Words line my pages like its aromatic smoke that clouds a room. I write to become in touch with how my mind and body feels, as I describe the sensations – I can process and heal.

I write in metaphor. I write poetically. I write for meaning; to find purpose. I write about the little things. Happy things, grave things. Parfois j'écris des choses en français. I write as a pathway between my past and my future. I note where I’ve been and where I aspire to be. It grounds me. I write for I find the act cathartic; I find satisfaction in creating sentences. For clarity, for peace, for patience.

I write for her. The voice that screams to be heard. For that one time, where she had known of the fight or flight response, but she was yet to experience the freeze reaction to a traumatic situation. The pamphlets on anxiety were yet to include it. Then, it happened. And not too long after there was that freeze response. She lay still. As still as the air in that room. The air surrounding her changed in general after that incident. Polluted with disdain, fear and confusion. It sparked a change within her; a silence. A loss of innocence, loss of trust. I write for her, the shame that swallowed her and the peace she searched to find. She stopped writing for two years, that girl. The light inside her withered away. She couldn’t concentrate in school. She didn’t feel safe at home. I write for her; the girl who grew up too fast.

I write to the moon, for only it listens to my story silently. I write to keep the fire inside me burning alight. I write to condense weeks of built up feelings in a paragraph. I write to ease the voices in my head. I write to reassure myself, to motivate myself. I form words to be different.

I write to find god in a godless world. I write to defy police brutality. I fight for equality. I write for justice. I write for George Floyd. For all the black men and women failed by the justice system and subjected death at the fault of racism. I pray for their daughters and sons, that they do not grow bitter and hostile; that they prosper. I write as a prayer to the universe.

I write to express my gratitude to the brave indigenous peoples of this country, who sacrificed their culture and land. Colonised by the British, tortured and disrespected and still to this day, belittled. I want to express my appreciation of the land I call home, for its wonderful unique flora and fauna. I praise the world that surrounds me. I note its beauty. I question society. I wonder about its harshness and the repercussions of imperialism.

I write for my women. To stress the importance of building each other up. For the magnificence that is the essence of woman. I write to note that feminism is just as important today as it was 100 years ago. I write to represent a population of women who are unheard, mistreated or too scared to speak out. I write to fight the against the abuse, the unheard screams, patriarchal dominance... sheer terror.

I write memories. I write stories. I write observations. I write in the same way a photographer takes a picture, to capture a snapshot of a moment. I write for me. I explore the depths of my mind, conjure my true feelings. I cast a net in to open waters, some days gifted with a fantastic catch, other days trash. I write to filter the important from the unimportant. To capture my identity. I write to get to know myself, the inner workings of my mind. I write until it cannot fathom any new full sentences.

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wazzupmrstark · 5 years

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We’re Only Kidding Ourselves- Part Fourteen || Tom Holland x Reader

A/N: I will take my romantic bakery side story to the grave it is the ultimate life goal. Also big shout-out to @alt-ernativewonderland for helping me with my indecisiveness with this part!!

Prompt: Enemies to lovers au (from @marvelellie‘s 1k writing challenge!!)

Summary: You work as a production assistant for the Spider-Man: Far From Home crew, or rather as Tom Holland’s handler. The two of you don’t get along very well to say the least, but you won’t quit and he can’t fire you so you’re stuck with each other.

Warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of previous smut

What I listened to while writing: mamma mia + rap playlist I made for literally no reason

Word Count: 3.1k yeah boi

“Are you okay?” Tom asked. “You were crying out,”

“Yeah,” you panted, trying to convince not only him, but yourself too. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Nightmare?”

“Something like that.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”

He settled back down on his side, but didn’t turn away from you. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, sorry to wake you.”

“S’okay, don’t worry about it,” he assured you before rolling back over. His accent combined with his mumbling from being half asleep made his sentences almost unintelligible, but that’s not what you were focused on at the moment.

Your heart was still beating a thousand miles a minute and the sheets were still tangled between your fingers like they had been in your dream, making the line between fantasy and reality that much finer.

Pushing your hair off of your face you sat up and saw that the pillow barrier between you and Tom was all messed up from how you must have been thrashing around in your sleep. You would have laughed at the irony of the metaphor if you weren’t still internally panicking.

You were thankful you hadn’t been saying actual words in your sleep. What if you had called out Tom’s name? God, you were already so mortified. You had never had a sex dream so vivid before, and never about someone who was sleeping right beside you.

You dogeared the page in your book and set it on the bedside table. Every time you picked it back up you’d be reminded of how Tom had thrown it across the room with lust in your dream. Taking a risk, you peered over cautiously at him whose breathing was steady now. Somehow the boy had gone back to sleep instantly and you were so jealous.

He had to have come back from the bar, showered, brushed his teeth, gotten into bed, and fallen asleep- all without waking you. He was the loudest person you knew, and you were such a light sleeper, how was that even possible?

It was the middle of the night, four am to be exact, but it was safe to say you were awake now. Despite everything there was still a dull ache in your core and an electric energy that tingled in your veins. You had been this close to getting off in your dream before real-life Tom had woken you up. You considered finishing the job yourself, but you couldn’t do that with him in the room, much less right next to you.

You rolled over, away from him and towards the window, trying to breathe steadily. Just because you’d dreamt about Tom in that way didn’t mean you actually wanted him in that way. It’d just...been a while that’s all. And people have random sex dreams about their bosses all the time, this was no different.

You told yourself all of this, but weren’t convinced.

Much like the last, your night was restless. You were afraid that if you drifted off again the dream would pick up right where it had left off, not that you’d be able to sleep if you tried, but you couldn’t risk waking Tom like that again.

You figured that if you were already awake you might get some work done so you propped yourself up in bed and filled out overdue paperwork until you were actually a week ahead of schedule. You were so focused you hadn’t even realized how long you’d been working for until you noticed the sun had started rising and was steadily filling the room up with light. You glanced over at Tom who was still fast asleep and saw that his arm was slung over the pillow barrier and his fingers were outstretched almost like he was reaching for you. His hands looked soft, yet calloused from stunts and training. You wondered if they actually were soft.

For once you were up and getting ready before Tom. You even braved the streets of Venice without Harrison’s sweatshirt to get you and Tom some breakfast. He had gotten you waffles that one morning and you wanted to pay him back. It seemed like there were cafes on every corner so the hard part wasn’t finding where to get breakfast, but choosing where. You decided on the family owned cafe where you’d gotten your coffee the other day because you knew the people were friendly.

To your surprise they recognized you immediately and smiled at you as you approached the counter.

“Can I help you?” one of the women asked, seeming to remember you had ordered in English the last time you were there. You hadn’t noticed before that she had an American accent and your eyes must’ve lit up in recognition because she chuckled a little at your reaction. “I’m from Atlanta,” she explained.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude or anything! I was just surprised that’s all-”

“Don’t worry about it, you didn’t do anything wrong!” she assured you. “My wife, Paula, is from here so this is where we decided to open our cafe.”

“I would love to live here,” you lied. Any reasonable person would want to spend the rest of their life in Venice, but you couldn’t say the same for yourself. Not after everything that had happened over the course of just a few days.

“Yeah, what’s not to love? Good people, good food, good business.” You nodded and smiled politely. “Anyway, what can I get started for you?”

“I’m not quite sure, actually. I’m supposed to get something for me and my...friend, but I don’t know what he likes. What do you recommend?”

“Our cornettos are really popular and so are our fette biscottates, which is like a little toast. Paula butters the cornettos really lightly so that they’re just fluffy enough and everyone orders them with this rich chocolate sauce she makes, it’s not a very healthy breakfast, but it is delicious.”

“I’ll do two of those, please,” you decided.

“With the sauce?”

“Of course.”

You managed to carry the baked goods and two coffees back to the hotel without any casualties, which was pretty impressive for you.

Tom was awake and getting ready by the time you got back. When you walked in he was pulling up his jeans and you immediately and shielded your eyes with the bag of pastries .

“Oh shit, sorry!” you apologized.

“We’ve been through this a hundred times, y/n, I don’t care. I change in front of dozens of people every day,” Tom sighed.

“Well, the door was also wide open and I don’t think you want the whole world to see that,” you added, hoping he’d attribute your jumpiness to that.

“I’d be doing the world a favor,” he said and smirked over at you as he pulled a t-shirt on over his head, clearly flexing for emphasis in the process.

You tried not to spill coffee all over the carpet as you watched him. “I don’t know if ‘favor’ is the word I would use,” you shot back, trying to keep your voice even. Tom laughed. You put the food and drinks on the dresser and picked up your cup. “I got us some breakfast.”

“Us?” he asked, looking up from the watch he was fastening around his wrist.

“Yeah, you got breakfast the other day, I wanted to return the favor.” You handed him his coffee and began rifling through the paper bag for the food.

“Thank you,” he took a sip. “It’s prefect, thanks.”

“It better be. I memorized your coffee order after two weeks of being on the job.”

“I was surprised it took you that long.”

“I can eat all this food myself,” you threatened.

“Sorry! I was joking,” he insisted.

You shot him a look. “Mmhmm.” You pulled the pastries out of the bag and handed one to him. “They’re cornettos, basically big croissants. I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s perfect.”

You sat on the floor with your cornetto and Tom followed your lead. You popped the lid off of the chocolate sauce and put it in between you and Tom on the floor to share. He ripped a bite-size piece off to dip and you did the same and tried not to let any drip on your clothes or the carpet in the process. The woman at the cafe had been right, it was delicious.

“You didn’t sleep last night again, did you?” Tom asked after taking another sip of his coffee.

“No,” you admitted, figuring he would know if you were lying anyway. You didn’t know how he always called you on your bullshit, but he did. And it was irritating.

“Y/n!” he groaned.

“I know, I know,” you sighed. “How’d you know?”

“You were up earlier than me, which never happens so I figured you just hadn’t gone back to sleep,” he explained. “You should’ve kept me up, sometimes it helps to talk nightmares through.”

You shook your head with half a laugh and tore off another piece of your cornetto. “Trust me, it only would’ve made things worse.”

His face softened. “Well, I’m sorry that you had such a bad dream. I hope you get some sleep tonight.”

“Thanks,” you smiled and put the bite in your mouth, letting the bittersweet chocolate roll over your tongue. “Me too.”

Tom went down to the lobby first and you followed a few minutes later. Everyone was already scrambling around, trying to get on boats, and you decided you’d just stay back and get on one of the later ones. You couldn’t see Tom in the sea of people anyway, but figured he’d already snaked his way through the crowd onto one of the earliest boats. At least, you hoped that’s what had happened.

One of the main differences between filming in London and abroad was that here it was every man for himself. Back in England the actors had all had preferential, treatment, especially Tom. He was Spider-man. But back there everything was centered around the actors, everyone was always making sure the actors were catered to and where they needed to be when. But here in Venice (and in Prague) everything was centered around production. Everyone had their own shit to take care of and being on-location made everything ten times harder to set up so the actors were on their own, aside from having assistants.

You thought Tom might actually like this style better. He was pretty independent, as he liked to remind you, and you noticed that having everyone fuss over him all the time definitely made him a little uncomfortable. That being said, you’d still be the one in trouble if he didn’t get himself where he was supposed to be when he was supposed to be there, so you could only hope.

Thankfully, no one was blowing up your phone about Tom once you got to set so you figured he’d checked in like he was supposed to.

The sky was gray and overcast, unlike it had been this morning, threatening to start a downpour at any moment. The storm had rolled in unannounced, throwing everyone and everything off schedule. Over your radio you could hear different people starting to yell directions about waterproofing the equipment, which ideally should’ve started hours ago.

Once you got over to the tent with the other crew you were able to see Tom at his mark, ready to start filming whenever he got his cue. Harrison was over there with him, most likely telling a story from what you could tell by the way he was gesturing wildly with his hands.

Watching from the sidelines made the feelings of helplessness you’d had when you initially took the job start creeping back. It was hard to resist the urge to help run wires or set up rigs and dollies with the other production assistants like you’d been trained to do, but you’d tried before and were only scolded for it. The other PAs saw you as an outsider and didn’t want your input and the higher crew heads thought you were incompetent even though you had the same training and experience as all the other assistants. Standing and watching everyone work was your job, and you’d learned to have a sort of indifference over time, but on hectic days like these you still had to fight the itch to jump in and help.

It was starting to sprinkle now, and more and more people started crowding around under the tent while others ran around trying to save the scene and the equipment. People were arguing in your ear about whether to shoot the scene or postpone it. Everything was descending into chaos.

You looked back over to where Tom had been standing on the bridge and saw that he was still there, waiting for instructions. Harrison was holding an umbrella over the both of them, shouting across the lot at someone on the other side. You wondered whether or not you should try to get over to them. You were reaching for your phone to text Haz when you felt someone bump your shoulder. You started to apologize before you realized it was Zendaya who had somehow made her way through the masses to be at your side.

“How many cups have you had today?” she asked with a smirk, nodding at the paper cup in your hand.

“Only two,” you insisted.

“Right.”

“I swear!”

“Well you look crazy,” she said.

“Thank you so much, Z,” you scoffed. “You know, I keep hearing that-”

“No, I mean you just look exhausted, yet also super buzzed.”

“I had a weird night,” you sighed.

“No sleep again?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Wanna talk about it?” she asked sincerely and you were reminded of every time she’d confided in you about her dating life. Maybe she’d have some good advice.

“Um, yeah actually,” you agreed thankfully. “But can we, uh go over there?”

You led her over to a small area that had been cleared out because of the rain, holding an umbrella over the both of you.

“Miss y/l/n, can you please tell Mr. Holland that we’re moving shooting up an hour?” an indistinguishable voice suddenly asked over headset.

You sighed. Of course you had to be the bearer of bad news.

“I’ll let him know,” you replied over the comm and rolled your eyes, thankful they couldn’t see you. You pulled out your phone and shot Tom a quick text, something literally anyone else could have done, before giving Zendaya your attention again.

“Okay, what’d you drag me all the way over here for?”

“I have to tell you something, but you can’t tell anyone,” you said nervously, hoping what you said wouldn’t get back to Tom somehow. “Promise?”

“Promise,” she agreed. “Okay, why didn’t you sleep? Oh my god, is this about a boy?”

“Kind of?” you cringed at the way Zendaya’s eyes lit up. “Not like that.”

She deflated visibly. “Oh.”

“So I sort of, had a dream,” you paused, not sure if you could force yourself to say the words.

“A dream?”

“A...sex dream.”

“About who?”

“About...Tom.”

“What?”

“I know,” you groaned and put your head in your hands. Zendaya pursed her lips, trying not to laugh. “It’s not funny!”

“I know, I know I’m sorry,” she said, pulling herself together. “What happened?”

“I-I didn’t even know it was a dream at first, he was just in my hotel room and we were talking and then he kissed me again and then-”

“Wait,” Zendaya cut you off. “Again? Tom...kissed you? In real life?” You froze, realizing you’d slipped. Your expression must’ve given you away because Z’s eyes went wide and she grabbed your wrist excitedly. “Y/n!”

“It wasn’t like that! I think. He didn’t mean it-I don’t know it’s confusing.”

“Clearly. Okay wait, wait, your dream. What happened in your dream?”

“Right,” you inhaled deeply, trying to clear your head. “He kissed me again and then he...took off my shirt and my...ummder,” you mumbled the last part.

“Your what?” She grinned, obviously loving this.

“You know what!” Your cheeks were positively on fire, but getting it all off your chest was starting to feel good. “And then he, you know.”

Zendaya waited for you to elaborate. “He what?”

“You know,” you hissed and put your tongue in between your fingers to demonstrate.

“He ate you out?”

“In my dream!” you reminded her.

“Did you, you know?” she asked with a smirk.

“Almost, but no.”

“Damn. What do you think it means?”

“I don’t know, people have sex dreams about their bosses all the time, right?”

“I guess, but your boss has also kissed you.”

“Yeah, and?”

“Do you think maybe your subconscious was giving you what you really wanted?”

It wasn’t what you’d wanted to hear, but Zendaya had a point. But before you could even process what she’d said yourself, you felt a tap on your shoulder and whipped around. Behind you, was another production standing in the rain and you instantly wondered how much she’d overheard.

“What?” you asked, wanting her to get to the point as fast as possible. Clearly she had something important to tell you if she came all the way over here, but she was hesitating, cheeks tinted pink with embarrassment.

“Um, sorry to interrupt, but we kind of need to use channel three.”

“What?” you repeated, even more confused.

“The radios, we need to use channel three, but we haven’t been able to because your headset is, um, in use on that channel.”

Still confused, you looked down at the wiring on your headset and realized the speaking button had gotten stuck from when you told whoever that you’d pass the message on to Tom, meaning the whole production crew had just heard the entirety of what you’d just said. Every production assistant, manager, director had heard about the wet dream you’d had about your boss. Including Harrison.

Without another word you thrust the umbrella into Zendaya’s hands and took off at a sprint, not even sure where you’d be able to find Haz.

He wasn’t that hard to locate, as it turned out. You found him right where he’d been earlier, standing where the actors marks were on his phone. He looked up when he heard you run up, unfazed.

“Haz,” you panted, “did you-”

“Hear all of that? Yeah. Kind of wish I hadn’t,” he said coldly.

You were thrown off for a second. You’d expected him to joke with you, tease you about accidentally telling at least fifty people about your sex dream, but you were met with hostility instead.

“Please,” you begged. “Please don’t tell Tom.”

“How do you know someone else won’t?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“I don’t. But he can’t hear it from his best friend. Please. Promise me?”

fuck me this is late, but it was a lot of fun to write!! today was a fucking day, y’all. I had a french quiz, I fell in the middle of the street and scraped both my knees, it was wild. anwyay, lmk what you think I always appreciate feedback!!

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