#ITS THE TIME PHONE CONVERSATION. ITS TRAGIC. THE SMILE. THE LAUGHTER JUST SPEAKING TO HIM | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

a-cai-jpg · 3 years

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this is the most honest i know how to be.

as we walk down the streets of boston at 5:30 am, the air is cool and sweet.

i breathe in, and i'm in indiana, at camp, dragging myself from my cabin to the main lodge and trying to hide my weariness from my campers. their laughter filters through the cotton grogginess of my mind. i lean towards it as we eat. on the train, the trees rush past my window. we didn't even notice when the train started moving, but then suddenly we were out of boston.

the last time i took ground transport to somewhere else, it was october, maybe. i was with hannah then, and we talked about traveling. it was 5 hours of conversation, and from that day, i knew i had to keep her. you were on my mind then too.

the early morning sunlight shifts through the trees. i'm reminded of rural england, 16 years old, something wild rearing its head in my chest, a shadow of which i still feel if i try hard to look for it. i'm writing a postcard to a friend. "the forest looks like a place for fae," i write. i received a letter from him last year and spent too long thinking of a reply.

so here it is--we are at the end. i was cooking at casi's stove yesterday night, and i said, "why can't we just rewind to orientation?" and the fear comes out as a whine. we are walking across a bridge towards brown university today, and i think about why humans are afraid of death.

"people are afraid of the unknown," i say as we wait for our starbucks drinks. "i think that's why we are scared of death."

i'm responding to her fear of unnaturally large things. i don't think this is what she meant.

but i'm thinking about how and why we are on this earth. to what do we become once we die? are we afraid of the unknown, or are we afraid to become no more? how many of us are remembered when we pass, how many of us are worth being remembered? for what do we live?

i think the questions in my head, but i don't speak them aloud. we walk past a canopied path that she says reminds her of haikyuu.

i am both weary and restless. i want to crawl out of my skin and take a nap somewhere for a few decades, but instead i'm trapped on a 6 hour flight back home. i'm scared of going home.

the plane is warm, i can't breathe, and i wait for my earbuds to charge so i can continue watching television. i think my thoughts in coherent sentences so they do not wander, and so here i am, writing this on my phone. i glance up at the map sometimes, and chuckle inwardly as i realize i can't actually recognize the states without labels. which one is arizona and which one is new mexico? it's a 4 hour drive to arizona so it must be closer to california, i think to myself. or did i make that up?

i think traveling will help, but i wander different cities and mountains and cliffs and lakes, and i want to go back home.

but it's weird, because home is a feeling. god i've written about this before, but home is a feeling. a route that i walk without thinking, feet moving to the beat of my music. shrieks of laughter as we watch television. the calm silence as we eat dinner. i can count back the hours and days to which i last felt at home.

when did you last feel like yourself? daniel asks.

sometime today, i think. not when we were driving up the north shore. probably the arboretum. it's familiar, and i am grounded. i was actually thinking about this today, i joke. i don't know when it was, but i thought, wow the crystal really worked.

but god, the last time i felt at home.

i ask daniel to put my cot in his room because i'm scared to sleep alone. i sit in casi's living room for as long as possible, and play with the idea of asking whether i can sleep over. she offers, but i decline, because how long can i push it off? for the first time, i'm annoyed that my basically-stepfather lives with us now, because i can no longer crawl into my mother's bed. i haven't done that in years.

ten, twenty, thirty minutes pass, and i allow myself two teardrops and tell daniel my most irrational fear. what the fuck? he says in reply. i know it's irrational, but if it happens, i'm going to be so fucking pissed. yeah, it's irrational. it's easier now that someone else holds it with me, even if he thinks i'm crazy for even having the thought.

a few years back, i wrote a piece about not finding your home in people. people change, your home crumbles. i wrote this after meeting an old friend in ginza. i got a new haircut that day, and he dyed his hair brown. i never found a home in him, but i did in others that we once shared. i thought about change and college and what comes next, and as i looked at him in wonder, i was nostalgic and wistful and hopeful.

i tell my therapist that i identify myself in relation to people. when they are gone, i am lost, or i spend too long looking for myself again, and when i find the self, i'm not sure i like her. she doesn't understand, because i smile and joke and talk about the theory of the reflexive self, but i'm so fucking scared.

i don't know, i muse. see, i think the problem is this. i'd created an expectation for who i wanted to become. but i don't think i became her, so now i've disappointed myself.

i'm watching a korean drama right now, but i keep thinking about a japanese movie i watched with my aunt in china. it's called hanamizuki, and i'm not too sure what about it stuck with me. 花水木. maybe the poignancy of loss? of the happy ending not working out?

i've written stories in my head all my life, and i'd tried to write a script for my own life. i would joke i'm the tragic greek hero, trying and failing to defy the gods, but if there is a god out there, he'd probably just smile sadly at me.

i'm not unhappy. i'm happy.

i keep asking the people around me this question, and everyone says, "i'm not unhappy, but i'm not happy."

i can definitively say i'm happy. i've had so much fun this past month, i don't know if i deserve it. it's just sometimes, i want more. life is an exercise in being content with what you have, but i'm still learning the steps towards that.

i don't expect all the days to be good. one day, i know i will be definitively unhappy. but i also (do i dare?) don't expect all the days to be bad. one day, i know i will be definitively happy again.

but at the same time, i don't know how to respond when people ask, "how are you? what's new? tell me what happened."

i realized i'm terrible at lying, because i want people to see me for my full self, but at the same time, i'm terrified of that.

jason pulls up a picture on my instagram and says, this doesn't look like you. i'm almost offended and laugh, until he says, you look too happy here. did i not look happy in the pictures you took of me today? i ask. no, you did. but you look genuinely happy here. i've never seen you look like that before.

i don't know how to respond, so i just shrug and say, it was a good day.

it was after an exam and the weather was warm. i could wear a dress and a light jacket. i really like that dress. i remember something about a watch. my ankle ached because of where i'd rolled it a few years back, but yeah, i guess i was happy.

people ask, how are you? i'm okay, i say after a pause, not reflexively. my professor says he's sure i am well, and i smile.

i'm okay. i began the year okay, and am ending the year okay. i'm happy, and life is good even if it's not ideal. i'm going to hawaii and going ziplining even though i my own lungs suffocate me when i'm high up. look, it will all be okay. the world loses its color, but gains some back.

the world does not end.

i'm sure i will go to bed melancholic. i will watch television until my eyelids grow heavy, and i'll reach over to lock my ipad and pray that i will fall asleep. i might wake up melancholic, probably from a dream that will seem childish in a few months time. but i have to wake early tomorrow, and have things to do and people to meet, so i will be okay.

non-daily song rec: 郭頂 - 水星记

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platonicone · 5 years

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Devotion - Story of the Oracle and her Shield

Chapter 13 - Stomping hearts

Is your mind your prison or a palace? I wonder…

As they approached the next outpost, Leon instructed, “Open the armrest compartment.” Luna did as she was directed.

“There are gils in that wallet. If you are out of money, you can take it from there. You can use it for anything you want to buy at our next outpost,” he stated.

“Am I in charge of our finances?” she asked enthusiastically.

“If that’s what makes you happy, then yes,” he replied, looking at the Burbost Souvenir Emporium outpost in the distance. His next delivery was supposed to be there.

“Your future wife is going to be a really lucky one,” she said with a smile. She noticed that she had been smiling a lot lately.

“I won’t be so sure,” he disagreed, slowing down the car.

“You are good-looking, strong, kind-hearted, and generous with your money. What more can a girl want?”

“I am hardly the husband type. You, of all people, should know that,” he said, pulling that car in the parking lot.

“Yes, you do have your flaws, but so do everyone else,” she defended her stand while unbuckling her seatbelt.

“Some of my flaws are irredeemable,” he argued, as he parked the car.

“I don’t think so. You just need to be handled with a lot of patience,” she teased him.

“Whatever,” he said, brushing off his criticism. “I have to make a few deliveries here, fill up gas and finish a few chores. Feel free to browse around.”

“Okay, I’ll make myself busy,” she said, getting out of the car.

They both went their separate ways as the Sun started its descent. When Leon came back after 15 minutes or so, he found Luna playing with a small girl. They were playing tag and running around the car laughing. Leon wasn’t sure which of these two girls had more innocent laughter. Their game came to a halt when Luna saw Leon. Luna picked up the little girl in her arms and twirled her around. She carried her on her hip and said, “I am going to miss you my little monster.”

“I will miss you too, Luny,” the little girl said and followed it up by a hug.

“Aw, you are so sweet, Karen,” she said, returning the hug. Luna walked to her parents who were standing close by and returned their daughter.

“Bye, Karen,” she said with a wave.

Karen and her family wave back with a smile.

“What was all that about?” Leon asked, getting in the car and buckling his seatbelt.

“I was just standing here waiting for you when little Karen came up to me asked if I could play tag with her,” she replied, buckling her seatbelt too.

“Nice,” he said, backing out the car.

“I love kids,” she said enthusiastically. “I wish someday I could have my o--” she did not finish her sentence as her expression suddenly changed again. Fortunately for her, Leon was too busy trying to merge with the traffic to pay attention to what she had just said.

The Sun was setting and the darkness was starting to take over. “Leon, the Sun will set soon, we should consider resting somewhere.”

“I had asked at the Crow’s nest and the guy said Mynbrum Haven, which we passed on the way here, would be the closest. We should be able to camp there,” he replied, keeping his eyes on the road.

“When a girl elopes with someone, she at least expects to have decent lodging. You eloped with a girl and now you are making her stay at the camp? That’s not nice,” she faked a complaint.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” he shrugged.

“You are so not romantic,” she said jokingly. To which, Leon just shrugged.

After a few quiet moments, she suddenly remembered something, “Oh, I forget to show you what I got from the local store there.”

“What did you get?” he asked curiously. She proudly showed him the book she had bought.

“A book?” he said disappointingly.

“This is not just any book. This is a limited edition of ‘I Want to Be Your Canary’ by Lord Avon. It is a tragic love story between a princess and a peasant.”

‘A tragic love story between a princess and a peasant, this is too on the nose.’ Leon’s mind chimed in, while Luna continued talking passionately.

“It’s a heart-wrenching story. Lord Avon’s writing style is simply out of this world. He is my favorite author,” she explained enthusiastically. “Not only that, every year on my birthday, my mom would invite ‘Tantalus Theater Troupe’ of old Lestallum to perform this play.”

“You watched the same play every year?” he said in disbelief.

“Yes, this story is THAT good,” she said, sounding like a salesman.

“Nice,” he said, not knowing what else to say. Leon noticed the sudden shift in her tone whenever she talked about books. He figured books were one of her favorite topics to discuss.

“Leon, what is your favorite book?” she asked.

“I don’t have a particular book as a favorite. But I used to love reading Weapons Monthly magazine. In fact, I collected all the existing publications of that magazine. Each magazine contains information about various models of weapons, which can be upgraded with the right material,” it was his turn to speak enthusiastically now.

“That is the most boring piece of literature, if you can even call it that, which you can ever read. Is there anything you do that is not boring?” she teased.

“Hey, I am a practical guy and that magazine is a practical choice,” he defended his stance.

“True. I guess it does fit with your profile,” she admitted.

“How about you? What is your favorite book?” he asked. Honestly, he was not interested in the books, but his purpose for extending this conversation was for Luna. She seems happy whenever she is talking about books.

“My favorite book is ‘Wishing Upon A Star’ by none other than Lord Avon. I have very fond memories associated with that book. My mom used to read it to me every night when I was little. There were only two copies made of that book. One was in our Tenebrae Library, which was burned down during the Empire’s invasion. The second copy is out there with some lucky fellow. No one knows who has the last copy of this book.”

“Interesting,” he said, as he slowed down the car. “What would you do if somehow someone gave you that last copy of that book?”

“I would enamor them. You have no idea how much this book means to me. It's more than just a book to me. It represents the bond between my mother and me. To hold that book once again in my hand would mean the world to me.”

“Never thought you would be one to be attached to objects,” he remarked. “Then again, who am I to say? I have a similar attachment to my Griever ring and necklace,” he said after a bit of self-reflection.

“Sometimes, it’s not the object, but the meaning behind that object which makes it important,” she acknowledged. “So, what is the story behind your Griever?”

“I’ve had this ring and pendant for as long as I can remember. In all my time spent alone, this was my only companion. When I felt like giving up, this gave me the strength to fight on like a lion. To me, this is a symbol of courage and resilience against all odds. I think it might even have been from my parents,” he revealed.

“You are like a lion. Fierce when you fight. Brave and courageous when the odds are against you. And your hair is like a lion’s mane,” she said, ruffling his hair as you would do to a pet.

“Hey, don’t do that,” he said, leaning away from her trying to get away from her reach. She laughed to her heart's content upon seeing his reaction.

“We are here,” he announced shortly after.

“Where?” she asked, confused.

“Mynbrum Haven,” he said, pointing out the glowing ground from the window.

“Oh good, sleeping under the stars tonight,” she said in a singsong voice.

“Let’s go. There is a lot we need to carry there and unpack,” he said, parking the car.

They made their way to the haven. Leon carried all the camping material from the trunk while Luna unpacked everything. He silently thanked Lina for gathering all the camping gear and neatly arranging it all in the trunk.

Leon was busy setting up the tent and starting campfire while Luna was preoccupied with cooking on her portable stove.

Once Leon was done, he asked Luna if she needed any help with the cooking. Although he was not a great cook, he could at least cut vegetables he thought. Luna politely declined his help and insisted that he should sit and relax for a change. She assured him that she had everything under control.

Leon sat by the campfire he had started and took out his phone. He started browsing through all the photos she had taken of them together. A smile crept upon his face as the photo brought back fond memories. He did not realize how time flew by as he sat there looking at his phone.

Luna announced from behind, “Food is ready.” Leon turned around and saw her carrying two plates. She carefully handed one plate to Leon, which he gratefully accepted. She made herself comfortable next to him with her plate in hand. She nervously waited for him to eat. She wasn’t sure if he would like the taste.

He took one bite and said nothing which added to her nervousness. He took another bite and said, “I don’t like it.” Her heart sunk upon hearing those words. Sadness was evident on her face. But it all changed when he said, “I don’t like it because I love it. This is so much better than any of the restaurant food I have ever eaten at Lestallum.”

Her smile came back and she let out a big breath she did not even know she was holding. He arched an eyebrow to that reaction.

“I am so relieved that you liked it. I used to cook frequently for our retainers and staff, but I never had to cook for someone like this. I still don’t know your taste very well, so I wasn’t sure to make it mild or spicy. But since I saw you eating all those peppers during lunch, I went with spicy and I am so happy that you liked it.”

“Correction. Loved it,” he interjected.

“Thank you,” she said, before commencing eating.

“No, thank you, for cooking this wonderful meal. I am not a good cook so any food is good to me, but this is in a class of its own,” he said and followed it up with another bite.

She thought her food was okay, but Leon seemed to love it so that’s all it mattered to her.

As the flames of the fire fought against the wind, the flickering light cast an amber glow to the surroundings. Crickets were chirping in the background on this mildly cold night. They ate their food peacefully under the moonlight and radiant fire. Luna gave all the remaining food to Leon, and he gladly devoured it all.

After all the cleaning was done, they returned to the campfire. “You know, Noctis is a very lucky guy,” Leon confessed, surprising Luna.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because he gets to a partner like you. You are beautiful, have a heart of an angel, you are amazing with kids and on top of all that you are an amazing cook. You are a complete package for a wife.”

“You Sir, give me too much credit. I am not perfect. I can be very naïve and idealistic at times, so outside of the providence I don’t know if I have anything to offer to Noctis. Also, I think I will be the aggressor in our relationship as I don’t like to wait passively for this to happen, so I don’t know if Noctis would like that. Lastly, as you often say I can be stubborn and I am rarely honest with myself.”

“Your qualities outshine your perceived flaws.”

Luna blushed at hearing Leon’s compliment.

Not wanting to embarrass herself any further, she changed the topic. “Oh, I am getting so forgetful lately. I forgot the most important thing.” She grabbed her trident in the right hand and stood up. She chanted some sort of spell as Leon eyed her curiously. Soon, golden energy started radiating from her body and slowly it expanded to cover the whole heaven. Spectral particles danced around her as she waved her trident in a circular motion. She closed her eyes as a divine glow surrounded her. She looked nothing short of an angel. After a few seconds, she opened her eyes as the spectral particles descended downwards like rainfall. The ground absorbed all the particles and gave out the blue ethereal radiance. Once all the energy was absorbed in the ground, Luna quietly sat back next to Leon.

Leon noticed that she was breathing heavily and was out of breath. He waited for her to recover before asking her what was on his mind.

“What was that?” Leon asked, no longer able to hold back his curiosity.

“Oracle’s blessing. One of the duties of Oracle is to bless Havens to repel demons so people can rest here peacefully when nightfall,” she replied with a hint of pride in her voice.

“The Oracle conveys Astral’s will to mankind, provide spiritual guidance, heals people, and even repel demons. All very essential things for the stability of this world. It still boggles my mind that someone as important as you travel alone,” he said with a facepalm.

“Who said I was alone? I have you,” she deflected his concerns with a smile.

“That does not count. Do you know what kind of trouble the world would be in if anything were to happen to you?” he restated his concerns.

“The world would be just fine. People are more resilient than we think,” she placed her left hand on Leon’s right hand reassuringly. “When faced with despair people often find courage, they did not know they had. I am just someone who makes things a little easier for them, that’s all.”

“You are too modest. You don’t realize your own worth,” Leon said in disbelief, shaking his head.

‘It’s funny, how you could be important to the whole world, but sometimes all your heart desire is to be important to just that one person whom you love.’ She thought to herself.

It was still too early to go to sleep, and it was starting to get slightly chilly. While Leon stroked the fire, Luna returned from the tent wearing one of Leon’s jacket. They both sat side by side basking in the warmth of the fire.

Ever since they met, it was like some invisible string of fate was pulling them closer to each other. Ever since they first laid eyes on each other, they felt the familiarity that cannot be described in words. They felt as if they had known each other for eternity. When they were together, they felt complete. But now that they knew more about each other’s life, everything feels different.

Their earlier conversation kept playing his mind on a repeat mode.

“Do you love Noctis?”

“Yes, I would like to believe so.”

“I’d rather marry Noctis than anyone else.”

“Luna, will being with Noctis make you happy?” “Yes, it will.”

‘Don’t get too close to her, Squall. She clearly loves Noctis. She will walk away with her prince charming and live happily ever after, and the only thing you would be left with is a broken heart.’

‘So, you are saying that she had absolutely no feeling for me? What about all the time we have spent together? What about everything we have been through together? What about her care and compassion for me?’

Two voices were arguing within him. One he assumed was his mind, and another was his heart.

‘You idiot. She has lived most of her life in isolation. You are probably the closest thing she has to a friend. She is clinging on to you as a friend, not as her lover. She said it herself that she would rather marry Noctis than anyone else. Besides, she is already someone’s fiancé, it is an honorable thing to respect that and back off. She is already taken.’

‘I agree. I will never say that I love her, it’s not honest, but it’s an honorable thing to do.’

‘As a soldier, you have fought, hurt and even killed people. You have committed lots of sins for honor, for the country or for some Astral. But one sin you should never commit is trying to deviate her from her path. She is a noblewoman fighting for a noble cause. The future of this world relies on her shoulders and if she fails to fulfill her calling, then everyone in this world would be doomed and it would all be your fault. That would be your sin to bear. She is carrying lots of burdens and if you cannot help her carry that weight the least you can do is not to add to it.’

‘But... what about me? I think...I love her.’

‘Then tell me, what do you have to offer to her? If she marries Noctis, she will be the queen. She will have a comfortable and royal lifestyle, people will bow down to her, she will have an army to protect her, and on top of all that, she will be with the one she loves. What do you have to offer her in exchange for all this? You are vagrant who does menial chores to make your ends meet, you couldn’t even protect her properly last time, and on top of all that you might disappear forever on a whim of an Astral. What is she left with then? A broken heart and a miserable life. Is that what you want her future to be?’

‘No, I want nothing but happiness for her.’

‘If you truly mean that, then you would do well to realize that her best shot at happiness is with Noctis. Remember what she said? Rather than being with the one you love, doing what’s best for them is better. When you love someone, their happiness is all that matters to you, not your sacrifice for it. If her happiness is all that matters to you then do what's best for her, let her go.’

‘Let her go...’

‘Besides, someone is waiting for you back home. What about her loyalty to you? Does that mean nothing to you? Are you going to just abandon her? If Luna can wait 12 years for her love, then so can you.’

‘Yes, you are right, I must be loyal to her. I cannot let her down. She might still be waiting for me.’

‘Good, then we are in agreement. This madness needs to end.’

They both sat there silently staring at the flames in front of them while trying to calm the flames from within.

Her battle was not much easier than his.

‘Wake up, Luna. You have lived in this fantasy for far too long. Your calling is to be with the King, not with some stranger you met a few days ago. You have a role to play and responsibility to fulfill towards this world. You can’t abandon the whole world for one guy. You can’t plunge the whole world into darkness so you can be with your light.’

‘Yes, I shall never do that. I have sacrificed my body for Noctis, but I guess I am required to sacrifice my heart too.’

‘Yes, that is your duty and your destiny.’

‘But I don’t think I am strong enough to do that. I have feelings for Leon, perhaps even stronger than my feelings for Noctis. I sincerely believe that I love him.’

‘That is foolish. What about your future? If you are with King Noctis, then you will be the queen of Lucis. You will have all the comfort in this world, a kingdom to rule, an army at your disposal.’

‘I don’t care about any of that.’

‘But you should, because being with Noctis would ensure you that you are not required to sacrifice anything ever again.’

‘Except for my heart?’

‘So, you don’t love Noctis?’

‘I do love him too. I think.’

‘You can’t love two people at the same time. It’s not fair to either of them. You have to pick one and let go of the other.’

‘But I don’t want to pick...’

‘You would have to. The longer you delay this, the more you would end up hurting everyone.’

‘I don’t want to hurt either of them.’

‘But you are. I don’t know why you are even struggling with this choice. If you think about it, you only really have one option.’

‘I know. My fate was decided even without my consent.’

‘Being with Noctis, eradicating the plague of darkness and helping people: isn’t that what you always wanted?’

‘Yes, that’s all I ever wanted until recently.’

‘Let me entertain you for a bit. Let’s say you decide to be with Leon. Once you complete your journey, he will disappear and just leave you behind. What will you do then? Live out the rest of your life in his memories? Abandon your duties for a guy who won’t even be there for you?’

‘I am sure we can figure out some way to keep him here.’

‘Hahahahaha you think he will stay?’

‘Yes, I believe he loves me too.’

‘Foolish, foolish, child. He already loves someone. The one he danced with, the one he jumped out into space for, the one he tore the fabric of space-time for, that’s the one he loves. Not you. He is only putting up with you so he can be with her.’

‘But what about everything he does for me? What about all the care he shows for me?’

‘He is just doing his duty; didn’t he say that himself?

"My mission is to protect you and everything I did was to advance my mission.”

“I would do it in a heartbeat for you. It’s my duty to protect you so I’ll do anything to for you.”

'You are nothing more a means to an end. Sooner he can help you, the sooner he can get away from you.’

‘No, I refuse to believe that. I think he truly loves me.’

‘He loves you because he sees her in you. He is not good with people, yet he is very comfortable with you. Why do you think that is? When you were unconscious for days, he would take care of you, talk to you, always stayed with you. He barely knew you back then so why do you think he did that? I always thought that it was odd, but now I know why. It was because he saw her in you.’

His words from earlier in the day playing in her mind:

“It wasn’t until she was in a coma that I realized how much I missed her. I had fallen for her and I didn’t even know about it. I would talk to her all the time, even though she was in a coma.”

‘Every time he fought for you, every time he fought with you, every time he blushed, every time he cared, even him being here with you is because he sees her in you. It was all for her. He is just filling up the void in his heart with you. Is that the kind of man you want to leave everything for? You are nothing more than a substitute to him.’

‘Besides, have you stopped and thought about Noctis? He has lost his father, his kingdom, and if he loses you imagine his suffering. You being with Noctis is the best thing for you, the people of our countries and the fate of this world. Do not mess this up.’

‘I guess you are right. I would do best to keep my distance from Leon going forward.’

They sat there by the fire, stealing glances at each other. When their eyes meet, they looked away quickly either from shyness or to hide their pain.

After a long silence, Luna finally spoke, “Leon, about us.” She gathered her thought once again to make sure what she was going to say came out right. “I don’t think we should…” she couldn’t finish the sentence. But Leon understood what she meant and replied, “Yes, I agree.”

It amazed her how much they could communicate in so few words. She was thankful that Leon understood what she was trying to say because saying it out loud would have been painful.

He got up and went back to the tent with pain evident on his face. She sat there alone as tears streamed down from her eyes. They both knew things would never be the same again between them.

Author's notes:

This chapter's question: Who is Karen (FFVIII)? What the connection between 'Tantalus Theater Troupe,' 'Wishing Upon A Star,' and 'I Want to Be Your Canary’ and Lord Avon? (easy)

Please leave a comment if you've enjoyed the story so far. I would love to hear your thoughts. Or at least say 'Hi' so I know you are reading this. Thanks :)

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reddogf13 · 5 years

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Covenant ch 7

summery: They did it, IT was left to die alone in the tunnels under Derry. months have passed and the losers thrived after what seems to feel like a curse lifting off the town. if only Beverly had not decided to make a last minute deal with IT on its death bed. will her choice to let IT live destroy all that she holds dear?

status: complete

rated: M - fowl language and gore

prev chap: Covenant ch 6

next chap: Covenant ch 8

_____________________________________

~ch: 7 Regrets~

The two under the table glanced at each other in shock. Whipping their heads back around to listen more carefully.

“What do police think happened?” … “Animal attack.” … “I guess.” … “like you said. Children go missing all the time. Its such a shame.” … “don't worry, I'll be fine.” … “Bye.” The conversation ended on a click. The principle jogging out toward the front of the building.

“What was that about?” Eddie asked in whisper.

“I don't know.” She whispered.

“ something killed a kid. … Do you think-”

“No.” Interrupting him. “Not everything is because of IT. It probably was an animal. We do get mountain lions and bears around here. Eddie getting that obvious worried look on his face. Pulling out the inhaler for a puff.

“You okay?” She asked. Getting a nod as he took another puff of his medicine. “Want to visit the nurse? I kinda do need ice actually.” Giving a smile to comfort him.

“Okay.” He nodded. Carefully sneaking out to check if the coast was clear. Waving Beverly to come out of hiding. For the rest of the period they sat in the nurse's office. Shooting each other concerned looks or ones of confusion. Unable to talk about the subject with the nurse sitting less than 10 feet away.

The ringing of the school having them separate. Eddie forced off to class as he was fine by what the nurse saw.

“Still need to ice your ankle?” The nurse asked Beverly. Who was laying back on the thin med beds with an ice pack wrapped around her ankle.

“Yeah, it's still really swollen.” This time not lying. Her ankle hadn't taken all that uneven walking off the crutch very well.

“Okay, but you,ll have to go to your next class in 10 minutes. If it's too bad today, then you can be excused home.” The nurse said before exiting the room back to her small desk.

Beverly sighed from her seat. Staring up at the ceiling on what to do. Did Pennywise not trust her to hold the deal? Did he toss it all aside after their conversation? Was it only a matter of time for some child to be devoured.

“No, this doesn't feel right.” Why go after one random kid instead of her, right then, in the nest? “Not even attempt to pick me off before i made it to school. He had a whole 15 minutes to think it over before i made it. Kill a kid, leave remains to be found so quickly? So much waste of energy for a tragic message? To get us pissed off and then what? It can't have enough energy for a round 2 yet.”

“ IT hibernates, but a bear needs fat to survive. IT needs energy to do the same. No way it collected enough off half an eaten child. He may as well be starting his hunting spree over like he'd just woken up. We know about him, he knows that, so he cant get very far.” Talking it over to herself.

“... I know about him.” Correcting herself. “Nobody else. That's not helping anyone. I keep this secret any longer our-”

“Times up.” The nurse pulled Beverly from her thoughts. “I'll give you a note to class. If it still bothers you, come back to call someone to pick you up.” The nurse reminded her. Taking the ice packs back to storage. Beverly taking her blue slip from the nurse to the class. Going through the usual of sitting through her classes.

Lunch time she went to switch books in her locker. Food service still canceled after Pennywise's sabotage of the cooker. When she opened the small metal door she found another rolled up brown bag. Grabbing it immediately to cautiously open similar to the last time she did. Hit with another strong smell of freshly cooked food.

Pulling out the white food tray to cautiously pop open that next. Inside was a large burger pre cut down the middle for easier eating of the massive half's. A side container sealing a hot batch of mac & cheese next to a mountain of fries.

“Looks normal.” Dissecting each little ingredient of the meal. Hesitantly taking a bite for the final testing of it. Nothing strange, tasting like a normal burger. No sudden appearance of worms or blood oozing. “Okay, no more of that.” Making herself sick off imagination. Packing everything back to share it with the guys.

Books sorted she went outside up to the tree they stayed under for shade.

“Hey guys, i got food.” Holding up the lunch.

Ben looking confused about why she was happy about it. “That from your stalker again?”

Eddie corrected the assumption. “It's from her aunt.”

“What?! So that juicy hunk of steak wasn't tainted?! We could have ate that!” Richie whined at the sky.

“Yeeeah, sorry about that rich. I didn't find out till later.” Beverly halfly apologized. “ i got a big burger if you want some of that.”

“Fuck yes!” Standing by her for the offering.

“Split it with Eddie Handing him half the huge burger. Splitting the giant pile of fries between Ben and bill. Stanley getting the mac & cheese to himself. Her eating the large remaining half of the juicy burger.

Smiling at watching Eddie pick out the tomatoes. Giving Richie the pickle slices who he watched with disgust as he straight ate the pickles plain.

“How can you stand that vinegary taste?” Biting into his burger half while Richie crunched on the pickles.

“No vinegar, tastes salty like Gretas tears.” Joking through chewing.

“You're drinking her tears now?” Beverly laughed.

“After it's filtered with gold.” Taking the official first bite of the burger. Breathing out as he chewed by the unexpected temperature. “Hot,hot, hot!” He chewed through.

“Y-y-you were suppose to blow on it dumb ass.”

“Like how i blowed your mom?!” Richie replied after the food was mostly chewed. Bill waved him off then turned his attention to Eddie

“Did Eddie tell you my idea? It d-d-doesn't matter much now if he didn't. Since the lunch turned out to b-b-be from your aunt.”

“He did. We tried to find out who got my book instead. We guessed it may have been a TA.” Her happy expression dropping. “We didn't find anything, but heard something bad from the principal's office.”

“What was it?” Stanley asked with a toss away of the empty aide container.

“A kid died.” Eddie answered for her. Everybody who was still eating paused for a second.

“How'd they die?” Bill questioned. Beverly noticing how on edge he was already.

“Animal attack.” Eddie answered.

“ has to be-” bill coming to a fast conclusion.

“It's not IT!” Beverly interrupted.

“Why not?” Bill holding back his rage to ask.

“ not every kid death is IT. Derrys never been safe for anyone even when IT hibernated. An animal can kill people once a year. We do get bears, mountain lions-”

“Moose and poisonous snakes.” Stanley added.

“Exactly.” She gestured toward Stan.

“Lets c-c-check the wall then. If there are more posters w-w-we’ll know.”

“I still have detention. If we want to check we'll have to check tomorrow morning. Else i am going to get double the detention.”

“A-a-alright. Eddie, fake an asthma attack and go to the nurse. Say y-y-you need to call your mom. Call mike and tell him we need an emergency meet up e-e-early tomorrow.”

Eddie looked at bill wide eyed. “I can't fake an asthma attack! I think the nurse will figure things out when i say “hey mike! Can we use your car tomorrow to investigate kids dying?” over the phone.”

“T-t-this is important. I know you can pull it off.” Giving faith to the nervous boy.

“Okay, but I better not get detention for this. My mom will never let me see the outside world again. It’d be permanent home school for me!”

Richie jumping in to joke. “At least you’ll have a hot teacher!”

“Shut up Richie!” About to smack the laughing fowl mouth jokester if he hadn't had moved away.

“This is serious.” Bill killed the laughter. “Keep a lookout. W-w-we don't know if ITs here or not.” They all agreed. Anxiety's high with not wanting to speak any more of IT.

The rest of their lunch turning from oddly quiet to words suddenly buzzing among students. Police rolling up in front of the school to meet outside with the principal. Catching the eye of every student to gather a crowd. Kept away by a few more officers. Rumors already being spread of what was going on.

The losers club stuck again at the back. Watching far from any possibility of them figuring out whats going on.

Richie turning to Beverly. “let me borrow your crutch. I cant beat a path to the front!” receiving a glare from her that hid an inner laugh. This was serious and not the best time for jokes.

“hey!” he caught the attention of a kid running off from the crowd. “know whats going on?”

the kid stopped with a grim paled look. “the principals kid was eaten by a mountain lion. They think he was alive during it too.” the kid spoke quickly. Sickened by repeating what he heard he turned green with a rush off to the bathrooms.

The losers turned pale. Looking between one another in shocked silence.

“same kid?” bill asked Beverly and Eddie.

Beverly speaking through a depressed breath of air. “we didn't hear it was his. It didn't sound like it.” looking to the floor, sickened. IT had to be on a killing spree.

When the bell rang everyone was escorted back to class. Moved along by officers as some students kept loitering for the gossip. The classes passed, the end of school came, the losers met back up before leaving the grounds.

“i made the call.” Eddie informed. “he'll pick each of us up around 7 tomorrow morning.”

bill nodded. “set alarms.” glancing over the others who nodded back. Speaking stay safe to each other when Beverly had to leave for detention. Walking the whole way there glaring at the floor. Pissed at IT for what it was doing. Pissed at herself for allowing this to happen on stupid hope that it would. Then there was simply being pissed at her asshole teacher she was heading to detention for. Yet when she walked in she saw the principal sitting at her desk instead.

“wheres Mrs. Bren?” asking the man doing paperwork.

“the breaks on her car failed and she had an accident. Shes fine, but wont be back for a while. For now I am taking up her work until a substitute is found.” he answered, pointing for her to go sit down. Returning back to the work as she did.

Watching him bury himself in paperwork pulled at Beverlys heart. Having to stay late babysitting with papers while grieving at work instead of home. All due to a mistake she made.

“ i-i am sorry about your son.” speaking her condolences as gently as she could. The man paused his writing, but didn't look or even speak to her. A moment of silence passing before he picked up writing again.

She turned her attention to her backpack. Pulling out school work to pass the time. Helping her mind avoid the thoughts of guilt eating at her. How many other kids would they see on the wall? Pushing the thoughts away again. Finishing some homework when the thoughts crept in again. Was IT biding its time? Waiting to have enough energy to gorge itself on children overnight? It wasn't long before she was free to leave. This time making it home at a much more reasonable hour. Greeted as usual by her aunt. Who soon noticed Beverlys low mood.

“you alright dear?”

“i am fine. Hate detention is all. Ill be relaxing in my room until dinner, okay?” covering her real reasons.

Despite feeling that wasn't the truth, her aunt didn't press further. “okay. I'll knock on your door when foods on the table.”

dinner came and passed with little conversation at the table. Through the night she didn't get a minute of sleep. All over the same subjects she worried over. Preparing for the worst at the break of morning. Preparing early before her usual time to leave. Writing a note for her aunt to know she left early. Greeting mike along with a few others packed into the small car like sardines. The air between everyone full of anxiety. The uncomfortable quiet broken by Ben.

“what are we going to do if ...” voice trailing off.

“we fight it l-l-like the last time.” bill answered.

“we couldn't even hurt it once it changed. We don't even know how it could have gotten better either.”

Richie butted in. “ah, some idiot crack head probably stumbled in and gotten eaten.”

“i d-d-don't care.” bill huffed. “this time w-w-we'll beat IT. T-t-then watch it e-e-every day if we have to. T-t-to make sure it stays dead.” his stutter worsening the angrier he got.

Richie chuckled over it all. “calm down bill before you suffer a stroke.”

“s-s-shut up Richie!” bill snapped. Starting his rhyme to break the stutter. “He t-t-thrusts his fists against the post, and still i-i-i-insists he sees the ghost.” repeating it to himself.

“guys! Now's not the time to fight!” Beverly shut them down. “time to get out anyway.” Beverly gestured toward the car window. Mike parking the car not too far from the wall bulletin board alley. Everyone piling out from the car far too small to squeeze 7 inside.

Although she was the first one out she delayed in approaching the alley. Fear having her lag behind everyone. How much irreversible damage was done from her mistake. Bill stomped up to the mouth of the alley where he stopped in his tracks. Starring frozen toward the wall out of everyone's view.

“what is it?” Ben asked with no answer received by the frozen bill. Coming up behind to also peer down into the alley. “ … oh ...” freezing also at what he saw.

The rest of them looked between each other then rushed over. Except for Beverly standing back on a sinking heart watching all the others stop at what they saw. She limped over to stop at the first glance of what she saw.

A wall of white posters.

Layered over and over to make a noticeable bulk. It may as well have been a layer of thick wall paper.

Not a spot of wall showed between the white posters. This wasn't like all the other times. When posters were layered up by three in one spot. Layered here or there with exposed parts of wall in between

All blaring large photos with the massive word MISSING in black.

Some already falling off in chunks under the weight of their stapled stacks. The fallen ones replaced right after by a man stapling on even more. A pile sat near by on a cardboard box for easy reaching.

#It (2017)#pennywise #beverly marsh #bill denbrough #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #ben hascom #mike hanlon #stanly uris #covenant ch 7

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raintherainywriter · 5 years

Text

Made a poll on Instagram asking if they wanted me to write a letter from Will for Stella time after or a "waaay worse" thing, which is Will's death. Don't read this if you don't want some spoilers like dialogues, some stuff that happens etc. Otherwise, enjoy!!!

I received the call while I was sleeping at home.

At first I didn't understand why Jason would be calling me at the early three in the morning, the day after my transplant was the last time I saw him. Three weeks ago.

Everything was silent for a few seconds: the raw glow of the mobile screen, the drip of the bathroom faucet, the ticking of a clock.

And everything was summed up by the cliffhanger of silence on the other side of the line. The visceral silence prior to the orchestra.

«Will is dead.»

Finally, my orchestra.

It was like watching a tragic scene of bloodthirsty and passionate film.

I screamed. I cried desperately. I cried until I felt the darkness choking me; its thumbs pressed against my throat, cutting off my breath.

I dropped my phone as I stumbled up into the living room, feeling gravity bend my legs to the floor.

It couldn't be true. It couldn't be true. Not Will.

My parents were around me before I even had the chance to explain myself.

They knew it was about Will ,about his death. And his words echoed in my head like a painful torture: "It's just life, it'll be over before you know it."

One of the disadvantages of living under absolute and total vigilance is that they deprive you of the human right of letting you break into a thousand pieces.

I didn't want kind words, I didn't want consolation, I didn't want plasters.

I wanted to feel pain, the most intrinsic and overwhelming pain.

I wanted to hate Will Newman. And, beyond that, I wanted to hear him tell me he was sorry, I wanted to see the shame in his eyes for breaking his promise: "I'll be fine."

Another flash: Will in front of my window, his half-sided smile that so maddened me–which I so much wanted to slap, a whisper, a breath:

«I love you.»

A third voice appeared in the frenzy of caresses and silent explosions speaking clearly in the fog.

Echo, in love with Narciso, saw her true love die slowly and humanly, sheltered in the soft embrace of a tree, deciding to whisper her lover's last words until death took her with him. The myth says that the echo that gives us back the solitude of silence, are the sobbed whispers of the shattered nymph.

And selfishly I wondered if Will whispered my name as a tribute to our love with numbered days. I wondered if he gave me his last breath with a sarcastic and smug smile that highlighted the blue of the oceans imprisoned in his irises as life slipped through his fingers, without enough force to try to stop him; The paradox of life is that life itself kills you.

I remember hearing my parents' broken cry while they told me again and again that they were sorry and covered my skin with caresses that spoke: «I love you», «I'm here», «I'm sorry», «its not fair», «I'd like to take away the pain, absorb it ».

I only knew that I was crying when the burn of the tears moistened my cheeks like a poisonous kiss, the memories sprang up, running down my face to fall to the cold uncomfortable marble slab of the floor that cradled me.

«Reborn,» I thought «reborn, come back to me.» And it sounded like a desperate prayer.

I thought about the Christmas lights.

The video calls.

The roof.

The drawings.

I thought about the first date.

And I found the funny irony of death: the happiest moments now tore apart, shattered, sank.

"Close your eyes, Stella, I don't think I'll be able to leave if you're looking at me. Let me go, Stella."

His voice resounded in my ears like the comfort of a lullaby.

"I'll be fine."

His soft voice, his luminous eyes, his honest smile.

And if his smile was honest, his soul would be honest too. His promise would be honest.

«He'll come back tomorrow. Will is fine, he promised.»

And, somewhere lost between tears and memory, trapped in the loop of despair, silence returned. I fell asleep.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

When You Kiss Me Heaven sighs

And though I close my eyes

I see La Vie En Rose.

The soft verses woke me up, accompanied by the purring of a guitar.

Slowly I was waking up. An uncontrolled smile rising on my lips, hypnotized.

With a delicate and drowsy heartbeat, I reached for my phone to text Will, my own chest hammering with hunger and urgency.

They were playing our song.

(FLASHBACK)

And he laughed sincerely, five feet, not one more.

It would be some hour lost in the lonely poetry of the dawn when the insomnia threw them into each other's arms–metaphorically.

The hospital was submerged in a placid silence that highlighted his laughter, having an effect on Stella.

They walked to the cafeteria when, in front of the reception, they heard a sweet voice tell a promise.

Stella stopped short, dazzled by the love in every word.

Will smiled at her, intoxicated by the innocence of the girl's bright, passionate eyes.

She turned to look at him, with a smile that went to both cheeks bathed in blush . She was beautiful.

Will arched an eyebrow, inviting her to share any thoughts that were haunting her at that moment. Stella's smile seemed to grow.

"We're not going to dance, Stella," Will said, frowning at such lack of prudence on Stella's part. "Five feet, remember?"

My fingers froze, still.

Will.

Like an iron slab on my stomach, I fell into the bleak darkness last night when Jason uttered those choking words:

"Will is dead."

And next to that, my little conversation with Will that wasn't Will anymore (Or would he always be?)

«Let me go, Stella. »

I cried silently against the pillow, except that this time the dream didn't come to save me, but left me to drown in the sudden emptiness of my heart while whispering broken

"Will, I love you Will Newman"

"Come back, Will"

"Don't ask me to close my eyes."

(FLASHBACK)

They both rocked with the purring of the guitar, feeling forgetful of insomnia when feeling out of all measure of time.

Only them and their five feet apart.

And they danced without touching.

Smiling with the stares, kissing with the smile and dancing with their hearts while they rocked with small swings to the passage of the moon's sweet song.

#cole sprouse #five feet apart #ffa #cystic fibrosis #haley lu richardson #will newman #stella grant #sprouse #fanfiction #fanfic

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theprinceandagcd · 6 years

Text

we were crazy, tragic and epic and so amazing

companion piece to “I’ll always wear the crown that you gave me” -- Bellamy’s perspective of Clarke’s birthday and the morning after

words: 5,558 also on ao3

we were golden, we were fire, we were magic and they all knew our names all over town we had it made in the middle of the madness we were neon in a grey crowd

It’s not like Bellamy didn’t know that Clarke’s birthday was coming up. The date is one that’s been etched into his mind since he was fourteen, and it’s been marked on their calendars every year since Octavia was ten, usually adorned with hearts or stars or something.

Still, when Octavia starts a conversation three weeks before its arrival, Bellamy is shocked that it snuck up on him, shocked that even with her relative absence lately, he still managed to let her birthday get so close without him noticing.

“Since she’s turning 21, I figure we can just take her out for the night, maybe get her one of those signs to hang around her neck with a list of things to do. She’s drank before but, you know… it’s a rite of passage, basically.” Octavia sits down on the other side of the couch from him, and he feels like she’s watching him closely. He doesn’t glance over at her, just in case.

“You can save the speech. You gave it to me two months ago when you turned 21.”

She grins. “Cool. So, that sound good?”

He hesitates, hating that he even has to ask the question, but he isn’t as sure about what Clarke does these days. “Is that what she wants?”

Octavia’s eyes sharpen and she’s staring at him in a way that is becoming increasingly prevalent. He can never quite place it, but he thinks that it’s just her way of trying to decipher if he’s okay, if missing Clarke is actually going to drive him crazy or not.

“Yeah, it is.” She gives him a half shrug, and now there is definitely pity in her expression. “I know you miss her, Bell. She misses you, too.”

He nods, no words forming on his lips as an all too familiar ache settles into his chest. He does miss her. Ever since earlier that year, when she changed her major against her mother’s wishes, she’s been busy more, so often that he rarely gets to see her. He texts her every now and then, tries to keep up with what she’s doing, but it isn’t the same as having her around all the time.

Thinking back, he can’t even remember the last time he actually saw her in person.

“Yeah, okay. That sounds good.”

Octavia smiles, her gaze breaking away from his face and focusing on the TV.

Bellamy stares down at his lap for a while, though, thinking about grabbing his phone and texting Clarke, ask her how her weekend is going so far, check and see if she has any projects she’s working on. Is that too much, too desperate?

He doesn’t know anymore.

His screen flashes and he almost expects to see Clarke’s name, but instead it’s Gina calling him. He knows he should probably answer it, but decides against it. The sadness coiling in his stomach is settling deep and he’s sure she’d be able to sense it. She’s pretty perceptive about things relating to him, usually.

The only thing she hasn’t figured out is that he’s in love with his sister’s best friend.

------

When he and Gina get to Octavia and Clarke’s apartment on the night of her birthday, Clarke is trying to put an earring in her ear, brows furrowed in concentration. He thinks he sees her glance their way, but she seems much more interested in pouring a round of shots. She downs her before anyone else can even touch one, and he grins at her.

“Little fast there, huh princess?”

“I can handle it,” she tells him, and her eyes narrow in on the tiny box in his hands.

“I thought we established presents this year were buying me drinks downtown,” she says with halfhearted distaste, but he can see the curiosity in her eyes. He shrugs, trying not to show that he’s actually nervous now, wondering if she’ll still appreciate the gift even though she had tried to tell everyone not to worry about them this year.

“I’ll still buy you drinks, too. Promise,” he says, and it seems to satiate her because she takes the box from his hands.

Bellamy watches in silence as she opens it, picking up the tiny paint palette charm inside of it. He’d come across it only a week ago, sitting in display case at the jewelry store down the road, and he figured it would look nice on her bracelet that he’d gotten her. Now, he tries to assess her reaction as she holds it up to eye level.

It takes a second, a moment of her staring at it, but then she smiles. It’s small, just the tiniest upturning of the corners of her mouth, but it’s probably the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“I always wondered if you’d ever add to it,” she says, glancing up at him through her eyelashes. His heart jumps hard in his chest.

“Well, I figured major life events were good. Graduation, changing your major to something that you actually want to do…”

Her grin widens and then suddenly she’s there, tucked underneath his chin with her arms around his waist. He hugs her back, trying to keep himself from holding too tightly, from blabbering about how much he’s missed her as the warmth of her body surrounds him. It’s been so long since he’s seen her, much less gotten to touch her, so he’s starting to wonder how he’s ever going to let her go when Octavia speaks.

“So, one more shot for the road?”

Clarke pulls away, and he doesn’t dare look at Gina for fear that she’ll see through him, see that just being near Clarke is making his head spin.

(He was stupid, so stupid to think that he could ever get over her.)

“Here, I’ll put it on for you,” he says to distract himself, hands reaching for the charm. He attaches it easily, barely even thinking about the way his skin buzzes where it touches hers, and then they head over to where Octavia is pouring another round of shots. They all clink their little glasses together and he tries not to look at Clarke, tries not to keep checking to see if she’s looking at him, if it’s her eyes that he feels following him.

It’s probably not. He’s probably just making it up.

When Octavia hands Clarke a plastic crown to wear out for the night, he watches her pin it into place with a smirk on his face. She keeps her eyes on him, too, a playful glare in them.

Once she seems content with its placement, she points an accusatory finger at him. “Bellamy Blake, even think about touching this crown and I swear to God—“

A burst of laughter escapes him before he can stop it, and when he catches sight of Gina’s raised brow, he shrugs, trying to maintain some semblance of a casual expression. “Try to tug a girl’s crown off one time, and she remembers it for a lifetime, apparently.”

Gina’s head tilts, eyes curious, but Octavia is ushering everyone out the door, so she doesn’t have the time or space to ask whatever question was hiding behind her expression.

(Probably for the best.)

------

Clarke is already pretty tipsy when they leave, so by the time they’ve gone to a couple of bars, she’s tripping over her words and her feet, giggling every few seconds in a way that only drunk girls can manage. While Raven, Octavia, Wells, and Lincoln all seem to be doing just fine themselves, she attaches herself to his side as if she needs him to function. She latches onto him when they move to another bar, using him to keep her balance as she walks, pressing her laughter into his chest, arm snug around his waist or hooked tightly through his elbow.

She pokes his rib at one point, grinning up at him. “You’re my favorite, you know.”

He laughs, biting on his lip to try to hide the way her words are echoing in his mind. “You’re my favorite, too, princess.”

“I meaaan it,” she drawls, and he has to look away from her smile, from the way her eyes are shining as she looks at him. “You’re my favorite person, like, ever.”

“Thanks babe,” Octavia says dryly from Clarke’s other side, looping their arms together.

“I love you, too, O,” she giggles, leaning a bit toward Octavia for a minute, pressing a sloppy kiss into her cheek. Octavia scrunches her nose, but lets Clarke hold onto her for a second, arm wrapping around her shoulders. It doesn’t last—some seconds pass and then she’s clutching tightly to Bellamy once again, tucked into his side like she belongs there.

Bellamy nearly forgets Gina even came with them, but a little after midnight, she pulls him to the side while everyone else has walked in the direction of the bathrooms. “Hey, I think I’m going to head home.”

He feels his cheeks flush almost immediately, guilt rushing through his veins because he knows it’s his fault. He should have at least tried to make sure she was having a good time, too. “Ah, I’m sorry. I’m the shittiest boyfriend ever.”

Gina shrugs, her smile sad. “No, it’s okay. I’m just… ready to head out.”

He can tell that there’s more, that her mind is working overtime on something. After a glance over his shoulder to make sure that everyone else is still absent for the moment, he takes a deep breath. “Is everything okay?”

She seems as if she’ll shrug it off for a moment, but then her eyes lock with his and she shrugs again, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t belong here with all of you.”

“That’s not true,” he tells her, guilt accumulating higher by the second.

Gina fixes him with a look that’s nearly exasperated, but it’s definitely tired at the very least. “You’re in love with Clarke, and she’s in love with you. And I’m just in the way.”

It takes him a second to register what she’s said, but his automatic reaction is to shake his head. “She’s not, Gina. It doesn’t… we’re just friends.”

Now, she almost looks amused. “But you are in love with her.”

He opens his mouth to counteract it, but one look in her eyes and he knows that it’s pointless. He sighs. “That doesn’t mean I don’t like you, that I can’t… It’s not like it matters anyway. She doesn’t feel the same way.”

Gina’s eyes narrow. “I think you’re wrong. I think that’s why she stopped coming around, Bellamy. Because of me. I had considered it before, but… seeing her tonight, with less control over her expressions and words, now I’m pretty sure.”

He’s sure his confusion is still plastered on his face, but his heart is frantic, racing to an unknown destination. Taking a breath is almost difficult. It’s not true— he would have known if that was the reason. He knows Clarke, knows how she operates. She’s just been busy, that’s all. Plus, if Octavia knew, she would have told him, right? Or would that be breaking Clarke’s trust, to tell him that the girl he’s in love with loves him too, just because they’re best friends?

“She’s just been busy,” he says, part of his mind begging Gina to let it go. His chest physically aches, and he doesn’t want to get his hopes up. He doesn’t want to let himself think that there’s even a possibility.

“Bellamy, you’re not that stupid.”

Octavia chooses that moment to walk up, and Bellamy looks behind her to find that the other members of their group at the bar, trying to get the bartender’s attention. “Why does my brother look like someone slapped him in the face?”

It takes him a moment to realize that, apparently, Gina isn’t going to answer.

“Gina thinks that Clarke… likes me.” The words seem to fall flat, but Octavia’s eyes flash, bright and aware and less under the influence of alcohol than he would have expected.

“And I know that he loves her,” Gina adds quickly, but it’s the first time he registers that she doesn’t seem extremely upset or anything.

“It doesn’t matter, she doesn’t feel that way.” It’s all he can do to repeat the words, to try to maintain some semblance of reality in his head, to attempt to keep his world turning on its axis like it’s supposed to be. That’s what is easy. That’s what keeps him from going crazy.

“Well, at the very least, you love her. And I don’t want… I don’t want to be in this, not like this. Not when you’ll never look at me the way you look at her.”

He opens his mouth with every intention to argue the point because it feels like what he should do, but then he really looks at her.

And she’s right. It isn’t fair to her to be hung up on someone else.

He sighs, looking her in the eyes when he says, “I’m sorry. I do really like you.”

It’s not the best thing to say, he knows, but it’s honest and all he can think of at the time. Gina tilts her head, gaze surprisingly affectionate. “I know, I’m not mad, Bellamy.” She reaches out and squeezes his arm, leaning up to press a kiss to cheek and lingering for only a moment. “Good luck, okay? I’ll see you around. Bye, Octavia.”

She starts to just walk away, but he remembers that she rode with them downtown and grabs her elbow. “Hey, wait, please. Do you need help getting home?”

Gina shakes her head. “Already ordered the Uber, it’s outside. You guys have a good night.”

Once she’s gone, Bellamy turns back to Octavia, who has her arms crossed over her stomach. Her eyes are glued to a spot on the floor, hard and intense. “You love Clarke?”

He shrugs, but knows there’s no sense denying anything now. “I mean, yeah, but… it doesn’t matter. What Gina said isn’t true, right?”

Octavia’s expression shifts until it’s almost… sad? He can’t tell for sure.

“You’re an idiot, and I need a drink,” is all she says before she turns sharply on her heel and heads back to the bar, where Clarke, Lincoln, Wells, and Raven are clinking their cocktail glasses together. He follows slowly, settling next to the bar beside Clarke while keeping some space between them, if only to try to maintain his sanity.

He’s pretty sure Godzilla could come crashing into the bar and he wouldn’t realize it, his mind too far away, his emotions too thrown off balance. He watches as Clarke sips on her drink that he can tell is a little watered down, likely thanks to Lincoln or Wells, trying to think back on the past summer, on the way his texts had gone unanswered more often than not, how Raven and Octavia would show up on the weekends without Clarke with them.

The way Clarke had left his house so quickly on the night that Gina showed up, the day she’d officially changed her major. He had always just assumed she felt bad for supposedly crashing his date, but maybe that wasn’t it at all.

Clarke turns to him as if she’s just realized he’s there, grin wide as she offers him some of her drink. He takes a sip just to confirm that it’s nearly all sprite and not much vodka, and then hands it back to her. “You should probably drink some water,” he tells her, and she scrunches her nose.

“I’m just fine, Bellamy Blake, thank you very much,” she says, but she trips over her words a little, giggling when they don’t fall off her tongue correctly.

When she asks about where Gina went a few minutes later, he doesn’t tell her the truth. Not yet, not when she’s drunk, not when she might not remember the conversation anyway. So, he just tells her that Gina went home, that she was tired and ready to turn in for the night.

Clarke nods once, looking a little confused before she wraps herself around him, arm low around his hips, lips grazing his jaw when she whispers, “If I was your girlfriend, I don’t think I’d ever leave you.”

She seems to forget that she’s said anything as soon as she’s spoken, and he lets himself look down at her, for the first time letting himself really wonder if maybe Gina was right. When she sees him looking at her, she just pokes at his cheek with her pointer finger and laughs, collapsing into his side.

Getting Clarke into bed once they’re back at the apartment takes both him and Raven—him getting her into her room, Raven getting her changed into PJs, both of them getting her settled in. He leaves water and Tylenol on her nightstand and, once he’s sure Raven has left the room for good, leans down and kisses her forehead.

She’s already nearly asleep, and he knows she probably won’t remember it in the morning, but he thinks he sees the corners of her mouth lift into a smile.

It’s not much, but it’s enough to give him hope.

------

Bellamy wakes up long before anyone else in the apartment, and he spends nearly an hour reading lecture prep material before Octavia pads into the living room, settling next to him on the couch.

“My head kinda hurts,” she says, resting her cheek on his shoulder.

“Crazy how that works when you don’t drink water.”

She groans softly. “You’re a jerk.”

He laughs, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Am I better if I make you some breakfast?”

She smiles, eyes still squinted. “Yes, please.”

Octavia settles herself on the counter while he cooks, silent for a long moment. “Are you going to tell Clarke?”

He doesn’t look up from the pan of scrambled eggs in front of him. “Are you?”

The pause that lingers makes him nervous, but eventually, Octavia sighs. “No, I won’t. But I think you should.”

And that’s the only things said until Lincoln comes in, thankfully redirecting the conversation. Octavia is whining about her headache and Bellamy is telling her she should have drank water when Clarke shuffles into the kitchen. She looks adorably rumpled, last night’s curls falling flat around her shoulders and the narrowness to her eyes showing evidence of her own hangover.

He smiles easily, easier than he would have thought considering that the moment he saw her, his heart burst into a frenzied beat. “Morning, princess. Hungry?”

The gratefulness is obvious in her expression when she nods, and when he hands her a plate of eggs she smiles before hopping onto the counter next to Octavia. He can hear them having their own little conversation, but he’s stirring another three scrambled eggs into the pan for Raven, trying to decipher whether or not he should say something to Clarke while making sure he doesn’t burn the food.

She’ll likely find out eventually, probably sooner rather than later, that he and Gina broke up. Whether or not to tell her the real reason is another question entirely. No matter what Octavia says about staying quiet about it, both of them keeping something like that from her would be difficult.

But maybe worth it.

Last night was the first night they had felt relatively normal in ages, and he doesn’t want that to be ruined for the possibility that she might want him, too. He spent an entire summer missing her—he doesn’t want to have to go through anything like that again.

He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he nearly jumps when Clarke speaks, a little louder than when only talking to Octavia. “Did Gina make it home okay? I’m sorry she got tired.”

He looks at Octavia, who gives him the highest eyebrow raise she can muster through what he assumes is still a pretty nasty headache. He wonders how much of his inner turmoil she can sense, how much of his distress she can decipher just from the look he’s giving her.

Clarke looks back and forth between them, and he recognizes that she’s trying to figure out what she doesn’t know, what their looks are communicating. He can practically feel her brain working overtime, trying to fill in pieces that she doesn’t have, gaps in her memory that tequila and vodka sprites put there. “What? What’s up?”

“Yeah, yeah she did,” Bellamy says before she can question any further, slowing his actions of putting the eggs on a plate to buy him some more time before he has to look at anyone again.

It’s quiet for a long moment while he does that, the silence falling and lingering, settling into the room and making his palms sweat. Octavia is the one who finally breaks it, and he hears her feet hit the floor as she speaks. “I think I still need some rest. C’mon, Lincoln, we can watch Netflix on my laptop in my room.”

Octavia and Lincoln disappear and the quiet returns. Unable to fathom looking at Clarke just yet, Bellamy takes his time washing out the pan and the plates that Octavia and Lincoln left, taking Clarke’s once she’s finished eating. He dries them slowly, puts them up in the cabinet behind her, wipes the counter a little, until finally, he leans back against the stove and lets his eyes slowly trail to her.

She’s still sitting in the same place on the counter, brow lightly furrowed as she stares at her lap, though now he can’t tell if it’s due to her thinking or due to her alcohol induced headache. What catches his eye, however, is that her attention seems to be focused on the silver charm bracelet on her arm. She’s turning one of the charms between her fingers absentmindedly.

He’s never seen her not wear this bracelet that he got her, not since the day he gave it for her a few years ago. Seeing it on her wrist always made him smile, because if her constantly wearing it was any indication, she loves it. Still, his stomach is in knots and he doesn’t know what to think anymore, so when he takes a step forward and reaches up to brush his fingers against it, he asks, “Do you really like this thing?”

Her lips twist a little, though it doesn’t quite look like a smile. “Bellamy, I don’t care for jewelry that much. But I’ll probably wear this bracelet every day for the rest of my life because you gave it to me.”

“Really?” Even as he asks the question, he realizes that she’s telling the truth. Clarke doesn’t wear jewelry. She has a necklace that he’s seen her wear a few times, one that her dad got her when she was little. Sometimes she wears earrings, but Bellamy is pretty sure she can’t own more than five pair. Yet, he’s never seen a day that his bracelet hasn’t been wrapped around her wrist.

Clarke picks her hand back up and toys with the crown charm again. “Yeah,” she says, and even though she doesn’t look up at him, even though she gives the tiniest shrug of her shoulders as if she’s trying to lighten the statement, he can feel the honesty of the reply.

He can feel himself staring, shocked at the realization that him giving it to her is what makes it so special to her. He’s suddenly feeling like the room is way too crowded even though they’re the only two in it—his heart is pounding in his ears and he’s suddenly leaning much more toward saying something, towards telling her the truth.

Because maybe Gina was right. Maybe he is an idiot.

The biggest one on the planet.

But maybe, even if she doesn’t feel the same way, it doesn’t have to ruin them. Maybe they’ll be okay. They always have been, after all.

He takes a breath, trying to figure out what words to use, how to approach what is probably the scariest thing he’ll ever do, the riskiest chance he’ll ever take.

(But he’s so in love with her, so completely in love with her, and maybe he should have done this a long time ago.)

“Gina broke up with me last night. That’s why she went home.” It’s not giving anything away yet, not giving her the truth of the matter just yet, but he watches her closely, wanting to gauge her reaction, to see if her response gives him any information.

Clarke’s mouth falls open for just a moment and then her brow furrows, her head shaking a little. “I’m so sorry, Bellamy. I—“

He can hear the guilt building in her voice, and he shakes his head before she can go too far. “It’s fine. It’s not like that or anything, and it wasn’t because of last night in particular, not really. It never would have worked anyway.”

“Oh.”

She’s not looking at him, even though he’s sure she can feel his eyes. It’s hard to read her, hard to break through the stoic nature of her expression. They’ve spent so much time apart, and now instead of being able to decipher her actions easily, he’s left trying to decide if this really is the best decision. He nearly backs out a dozen times, his mind screaming at him that it’s too much, that there is no way he can just casually tell Clarke Griffin that he’s in love with her.

(How does she not already know?)

“She broke up with me… because I’m in love with you, Clarke.”

Her eyes jump to his immediately, and her body flinches as if she’s been shocked. She’s searching him now, he can tell, eyes moving over his face as if she’s trying to figure out what’s wrong with him. Otherwise, she’s completely still.

And she doesn’t say a word.

He starts panicking a little in the silence, heart jumping into overdrive as he races to try to find a way to maybe take it back, to laugh it off, because that is not the reaction he was hoping for at all. But he knows there’s no way to go back, no way to unsay the words that he’s spoken into existence.

So he rambles instead.

“It was just the way we were acting last night, I guess. You kept telling me… that I was your favorite person and… you kept hugging me and it… I guess she saw through any pretense I tried to keep up and called me out on it, but I think she knew before last night. That’s why it never would have worked. It’s always been you, I think.”

He figures she’ll say something to stop him, laugh it off herself and tell him he’s crazy, get angry because he’s throwing this on her while she’s hungover, punch him in the face. Something. Anything. But she’s still completely silent, her eyes still on him but now they look… almost cautious, like she’s waiting for him to pull out a knife and stab her to death.

It’s turning into his worst case scenario pretty quickly and he has no idea what to do about it.

He runs his hand through his hair out of habit, the words that tumble from his lips nearly incoherent, barely even sentences at all. “She told me that… she thinks you feel the same way, that she thinks that was why you stopped coming around so much lately, because of her. I told her she was crazy, but... But she seemed really sure, and then Octavia said she was right, too. Actually, Octavia told me I was an idiot, so… I don’t know. I guess I’m telling you, to see if it’s true. And if she was wrong, or whatever, it’s fine. You’re like… my best friend and I get that this is probably weird because we kind of grew up together but… If you don’t feel the same way it doesn’t have to change anything, and—”

“Bellamy.” Her voice finally stopping his is the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard, even before she continues. “You idiot, I’ve been in love with you since we were kids.”

It takes a second for the words to process, for him to understand that the apprehension he thought he’d seen in her expression has vanished, replaced with a smile that is almost a smirk. He feels himself relax a little, his heart slowing to normal speed for the first time since she came in the kitchen to begin with.

“Really?”

Her nod is short, the barest movement of her chin. Her grin widens slightly, but she ducks her head like she’s trying to hide it. “I… sort of figured you knew, honestly. And I thought you just saw me as another little sister.”

“Maybe I did, at first.” He inhales deeply, glancing away from her while he comes to terms with what she’s said. His head is reeling, spinning a little with the understanding that she does love him, too. He gathers his composure and turns back to grin at her. “But I wouldn’t offer to kiss my sister.”

She shoves at his shoulder, and he smiles, but then he takes a minute, picks up her hand slowly, as gentle as he can manage. He doesn’t hold too tightly, doesn’t want to ruin something that he’s just found because he rushes into it.

“I’m crazy about you,” he tells her, meeting her eyes because she needs to understand how deep he already is, how deep he’s always been. “And I only even dated Gina because… I realized earlier this year how bad I had it, and I didn’t want to risk what we had for just a chance that you might feel the same way, so… I was trying to convince myself I could get over it, you know? But then you stopped coming around and… I missed you so much, princess. Not seeing you drove me crazy.”

Clarke seems like she understands, turning their hands over as she smiles, looking far away for a moment. “I just couldn’t see you with her. It hurt too much. At least at first, but… not seeing you drove me crazy, too.”

He smiles just a little too, holding her hand more firmly now, hesitations slipping away. “Sorry that I was an idiot, princess.”

She grins, nothing but happiness in this upturn of her lips. “Well, you’re here now.”

“Not too late?” he asks, shifting a bit closer.

She shakes her head and then pulls him all the way to her, between her legs where she sits on the counter. Her proximity makes his breath catch in the way like just before you make the first drop on a roller coaster. “For you? Never.”

Despite the way his heart is pounding and the excitement coursing through his veins, he leans in slowly, wanting to savor the moment. After years of imagining what it would be like to kiss her again, and years of wishing he could, he surprisingly doesn’t want to rush now. He’s slow in the way his lips press over hers, in how he trails his hands over her sides, fingers grazing her jaw, one hand taking up residence on her hip as she seems to tug him even closer, even further into the cradle of her hips. She doesn’t seem to be in a hurry either, her hands traveling leisurely over his chest, shoulders, and back, then up into his hair and scratching lightly into his scalp.

Getting lost in her kiss is effortless, so easy that he nearly jumps out of his skin when a voice speaks from just behind him.

“Fucking finally.”

He doesn’t let her go, just turns his head to look over his shoulder at Raven. Her eyebrow is raised and she seems in perfect health, no signs of post-alcohol misery anywhere in her expression or body language.

“Apparently I’m an idiot,” he tells her with a shrug, and even though he can feel how obnoxious his grin is, there’s no way he can rein it in.

Raven had never directly asked him about Clarke or how he might feel about her, but he’s always wondered if she had an opinion at all, or if she, unlike Octavia, had just kept hers to herself. Now, he figures she certainly had an opinion, if her answering smirk is any indication. She pats him on the shoulder as she reaches over to grab her food. “Hope you weren’t expecting an argument, Blake,” is all she says before slipping back out the kitchen door.

His laugh is nearly giddy, and he muffles it into Clarke’s hoodie, holding onto her tightly. She holds him there, resting her head on top of his. “You think my sister will say I told you so?” he asks her after a minute, shifting just enough to look up at her.

She laughs a little, her smile bright. “Maybe just a little.”

#bellarke #bellarke ff #my writing #the 100

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thoughtsofadaydreamer · 4 years

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Cleaning house

(Punisher fan fiction)

Little Italy, NY. Circa 1977. New York. Americas Mafia homeland. Originating in the late 19th century long before any of us in this era even knew how to say the word “Mafia”. Growing fearsome and powerful in the 20s and 30s. Prohibition era was a goldmine for the Mafiosos. And into the 40s, 50s, 60s. Reaching their peak in the 70s. No one, not even the president could stop the Mafia in this time. At least that is until a tragic sunny day happened in the summer of ‘75. “They should have put another bullet in my skull.” Castle thinks to himself. Sitting patiently inside of his black van. He stares off into the distance towards the front of a convenience store. “Tricanni’s” the building reads. Frank Castle was the victim of an attempted murder on his life. Still alive to remember the day, he truly died when his wife and 2 kids werent so lucky. Slain by the mob on what was meant to be a picnic day at the park. After discovering a mob hit, the Castle family were to be killed for the witnessing. When Frank arose from death, with no help from the crooked police department, he began a one man war against the cities underworld. After 2 years, Frank is digging deeper and deeper into the mob. Chipping away for the past 2 years to get to the higher ups.

Dominic Tricanni was a Caporegime (captain) for the Gnucci (pro. NEW-CHEE) crime family. The same organization responsible for the death of Franks family. Tricanni being his last lead on the whereabouts of Ma Gnucci after she went into hiding. Ma Gnucci was the wife of Don Vittorio Gnucci. When the Don died, his widow decided to take his place of power. Something never before seen until her time. Ruling the crime family with her hand practically on everyones balls. A real mean old bitch as many of her own associates consider her. Castle originally planned on attacking each of the capo’s crews to break down the family section by section. But when Ma Gnucci decided to lay low, Castles only way of finding out her location is through the last captain still breathing. This is where Tricanni comes in. Frank waits outside for another 10 minutes. Only looking away for a millisecond to check his watch every now and again. Once the lights go out in the building, Frank gears up. He throws his leather trenchcoat over his white skull kevlar and makes his way across the street.

Tricanni’s was a typical NYC business building. Store on the bottom, apartments on top. He knew thats where the mob run establishment counted profits through the fronts. The place where you buy a loaf of bread, some milk, maybe some snacks, smokes, beer, and a package of God knows what if you ask for the right people. Understand? However much money was made through the packages, was moved upstairs. So the building had to have wiseguys with guns throughout the building. Frank taps on the glass of the door, holding his head down as the man behind the counter peeks out. Castle sticks up his middle finger yelling the words “Fuck you, you fucking guinea pricks!” The man dashes out through the door “I TOLD YOU LITTLE BASTARDS TO STOP COMI-“ the man stops and looks around an empty street. Feeling alone. Until 2 man hands grip under his chin and on top of his cranium. Twisting with a loud violent crunch. He drops dead weight into Castles arms, dragging him into the store. Dumping him off behind the counter. Castle searches his body and discovers a Colt. 1911. Checking the chamber for a round. “Full clip” he mutters to himself. Holstering the weapon down the front of his belt. His boots silently stepping through the door to the stairway. He listens. “HAHAHAHA!!!” Laughter coming from upstairs. He follows the sound of humorous covervastion until he spots 2 more waiting around the next corner. “Ay, so how was that slut you took home last night?” One asks the other. Castle eases up the stairs hugging the wall close with his back, listening. “Yo i think you were right about’er....been itchin’ all day. Fuck!” The 2 men laugh hysterically, castles lip snarls at the sound of the 2 mobsters. He listens for footsteps. Trying to pinpoint how they move.

Planning his next move, he unholsters one of his own pistols. An all black enhanced 1911 .45. Loaded with armor piercing rounds. He begins to twist a silencer on the handgun as one of the pair speaks, “you hear about Freddy?” Then the other, “All i know is hes dead, why?” The conversation continues. “I mean how he died. Cops and news reporters saying its the punisher. I believe ‘em.” Castle almost smiles as he peeks around the corner ever so slightly. “Ahhh fuck Castle. If i see ‘em ill have ‘em carrying his heart in a fuckin’ doggy bag.” Castle makes his move while their guards are down. “Nows your chance.” He mutters to them, standing below the staircase. Before the men could draw their weapons Castle unloads 2 rounds into their heads. The bodies drop with the shell casings. The wall behind them painted with blood and brain. “Whoops, too slow.” He jokes as he steps past the bodies. Meanwhile on the 3rd floor, Dominic Tricanni discusses bullshit talk while he counts his earnings. “So far its 15 G’s Dom.” One of his associates speaks up. “Not bad, not bad at all.” Tricanni replies. His face a little aged. Like an old war veteran who was the grease monkey cook of the platoon but could fight. Which he could. Tricanni used to be an amateur boxer on the streets of Jersey. Eventually being hired by Don Vittorio Gnucci himself as a source of income. Over time he became a small time enforcer on the side before choosing to work full time for the mob. Rising through the ranks and being granted his own crew in NY. A foul mouthed, tough Italiano with a love for money and a good fight. “This stays between us. Ma wants 10% of every take. Well we gonna give her what she THINKS is 10%. Tell her maybe business was slow this week. Not alot of customers. Capiche?” The others nod and reply, “Capiche”. Flicking cigarettes and downing scotch. “That bitch gets on my nerves.” Tricanni states. One cracks a joke, “Maybe shes a bitch because ever since Vito died, she hasnt been getting...properly pampered? If you know what i mean?” They chuckle as another pokes fun, “yeah Dom why dont you dust her off and take her for a spin y’know? Take one for the team huh?” Dominic laughs then responds, “I wouldnt fuck her with YOUR little pee shooter Ralphy.” They laugh, oblivious to the trouble approaching. Outside the room, Castle covers the mouth of another mobster. As his knife calmly slices across the adams apple of the man. The sound of muffled choking and blood curdling fills the vigilantes ears. Watching the door in case he is too audible. More laughter is heard as Frank drops the body. Snagging a sawed off shotgun from the dead mans grip. He holsters the shotgun to unscrew the silencer from his pistol. “Gonna have to get loud.” He thinks to himself. He currently wields both weapons, standing in front of the apartment door. He knocks on the door, waiting to hear the footsteps get closer. He hears whistling from behind the door signaling a cue for his next move. “BOOM!”

The mobster goes stumbling back, leaving a large hole in the door from the sawed off. “WHAT THE FU-! [BOOM!]” the last round from the shotgun bursts through the door. Enough to send the gangsters back falling to the floor. Castle spartan kicks the door with his large heavy combat boots. Breaking it off the hinges. Dropping the sawed off and equipping his secondary pistol. “BAM! BAM!” Headshots. 2 mobsters rise from behind the table, greeted with .45 caliber rounds to the cranium. Tricanni, still down, is painted with his mens blood. From the kitchen another spawns “HEY!!! ITS CASTLE!!!” Castle twists his head to the left. Just as the gangster pulls the trigger on his Micro smg. Machine gun fire sprays the room as Frank jump into the bedroom. Landing on his side. Bullet holes spawn as the mobster continues to unload his clip. Sending glass and drywall pieces all over the bedroom. Castle sends a few rounds through the wall in return. He notices a change in the scenario. The shots change place, now being shot from the right instead of the left. Frank follows up with gunfire of his own. Popping off the rest of the clip into the wall as a distraction before “BAM!” He lets off one last round just as the mobster was changing positions. Killing him. Tricanni sees this and attempts to run. “BAM! BAM!” Castle puts 2 in Tricannis leg. The Mob captain screams in agonizing pain as he attempts to crawl. But Frank beats him to it. And grabs him by his foot. Dragging him to the kitchen.

Tricanni sits handcuffed in a dining room chair. Dripping blood from his leg wounds. “What do you want with me Castle?” Frank stares him down, silent. Pulling up a chair seating himself directly in front of Dominic. “You want to know where Ma is!? Is that it? Well fuck you! I hate that old cunt just as much as you but ill be damned if i cooperate with you!” Frank doesnt break his cold stare. Keeping eye contact. Suddenly Tricanni feels a jolt of excruciating pain sent up his thigh and all over his leg. Frank has stuck his finger inside his bullet wound. “I think we need to try that again.” His voice gruff and dark. Like death itself if it could talk. Tricanni grits his teeth, holding back any screams as best as he can. Frank hooks his finger making Tricanni tear up and jolt around. “Where...is...Ma...Gnucci?” Tricanni breathes heavy but doesnt scream or give in. “I admire your pain tolerance. I wont take away your strength, ill give you that. But Tricanni either you give me an address or i plant a third one in your leg and play bowling. Now tell me....” he cocks his pistol and aims below the 2 bullet wounds. Suddenly, his home phone rings. Frank looks at Tricanni and stands. “No running off.” He walks over and picks up the phone as a woman speaks. Tricanni watches as Castle writes down on a napkin. He hangs up after a few minutes and washes his hands of blood. Tricanni pants as he speaks up “s-so what now?” Castle stops and looks down at Dominic “Now?” He raises his arm “(click) BAM!” Tricanni’s brains coat over the kitchen counter. “You give the devil my regards.”

As Castle walks back down into the convenience store the phone behind the counter rings. Frank ponders but then decides to answer. “Is this Tricanni’s?” Frank almost chuckles “It was...” he thinks to himself. “Yes” he answers. The man on the phone continues on. “Tell him ill be back by to pick up my package i ordered. Is tomorrow a good time?” Frank looks outside for any company. “Not a good idea. Tricanni’s is kind of going out of business after tonight and will be discontinuing any service to the public. Sorry for the inconvenience.” He hangs up and walks out into the New York streets back to his van. Checking the napkin he wrote on. “Rochester-3:00 p.m.-brick house few blocks from hospital. Tuesday.” He folds it up and starts the van. “Nothing like a little spring cleaning to make you feel like a new man.” He smirks to himself as he drives through the dark lonely streets.

#the punisher #marvel fandom #marvel fanfic series #punisher fan fiction #fanfic #frank castle

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theherothechampiontheinquisitor · 7 years

Text

Undercover Boss - Chapter 1

That’s right it’s the Undercover Boss Rumbelle AU that no one asked for! Except me...and @anonymousnerdgirl ... and I think someone else too...Okay the AU that SOME asked for.

Shout out to my lovely Beta @shipperqueen93

Summary: Undercover Boss Rumbelle AU: Life was great for, Mr. Cluck's Chicken Shack, CEO Aiden Gold. At least until he finds himself roped into a reality show where bosses go undercover in their own companies to find out how their businesses are really being run. Gold nearly gives up when he is paired with a young Manager named Belle who teaches him what's really important in life and work.

Read it on AO3 or FFN

Chapter 1/3

If there was one thing that Mr. Gold hated more than normal social interaction then it had to be forced social interaction on a reality television program. Oddly specific he knew, but given his current situation it was understandable.

Wearily, he pulled the hotel room key from his wallet and frustratingly had to insert the key three times before the damn green light would come on and grant him entry. He trudged inside the darkened three star quality hotel room with a great sigh and quickly peeled off the hot wig from his head and threw it onto the bathroom counter as he passed by. It was part of his contract with the show that he not remove any of his altered costume or break character until he was back in the hotel room for the evening, lest he be spotted. Spotted by who or what he had no fucking idea, but he believed that the producers delighted in making this as antagonistic as possible for him.

He ran a hand through his short sweat filled strands as he collapsed backwards onto his bed. He could deal with the beard that he had had to grow out, he had the odd one from time to time throughout his life but the low quality, polyester monstrosity was another thing. It was hot and itchy and he looked fucking ridiculous. When he had first been presented to his 17 year old son in his new transformation, Neal had laughed hysterically and questioned why he had roadkill on his head.

The glasses he wore were actually his own. He didn’t need them all the time but they were particularly useful reading the fine print of his dealings. He pulled those off and folded them, gently tossing them on the nightstand. Gold pinched the bridge of his nose where the glasses left their mark and gently massaged the area. A headache would be coming, he knew, as it had every night since he’d been forced onto this television show.

It all started several months back when his Public Relations Manager, Ursula Finn, had come to him with a proposition. A popular reality show, Bosses Undercover, had approached them to appear on the show. A higher up from their corporate ladder would go undercover in their chain of restaurants, Mr. Cluck’s Chicken Shack, and work with their everyday employees to gain insight into the front lines of the business. Both she and the Chief Talent Officer, Ella Deville, thought it was a brilliant idea, and a great way to increase their public image and moral.

Gold didn’t think it could hurt. He had been with the company for around 7 years now, and though their numbers were generally good and they were consistently named one of the top chicken joints in the US, he knew there was always room for improvement. It wasn’t until after he’d already signed off on the venture, (he’d left his glasses at home that day), that he realized that he would in fact be the boss going undercover.

“Well, it couldn’t be either of us, darling,” Ella had drolled, leaning back against his desk. “We are the beautiful faces of the company. We visit the stores on occasion. Too many people know us and see us.”

“You on the other hand,” Ursula picked up, “You are a virtual ghost. You’ve been here forever but aside from us and the people on this floor, I don’t think anyone even knows what you look like. You’re more recognizable by your signature in the monthly memos than visually,” she laughed and Ella nodded in agreement.

Gold had groaned realizing that there was no way out. This was one deal he made that he truly hadn’t understood. The women carried on laughing at his misery and thinking up all of the terrible jobs that he would be forced to do and worse yet, the horrible disguises they could come up with.

“You know...they’ll probably make you wear…” Ursula paused, a glint of laughter in her eyes. She leaned closer into Gold and whispered, “Jeans!”

“Ohhhhhh perish the thought!!!” Ella exclaimed, clutching at her heart and throwing herself back across Gold’s desk knocking off several items and howling in laughter.

Gold internally cringed. The thought of dressing down almost more terrifying than the fact he’d been stupid enough to sign off on something without reading the fine print. Ursula and Ella may be his only friends but he had seriously began thinking of all the different places he could hide their bodies.

His phone buzzed gently in his pocket and he groaned just knowing instinctively who it would be. He ignored it deliberately, not ready to go down that avenue yet. The day had already been too fucking long.

The filming that was done that day had been the most humiliating of them all. It had started out with a young know it all cashier named Killian Jones being his “trainer” for the day. He spent most of the day patronizing Gold as if he had never operated a cash register before, slowly walking him through every button and its function, going even slower on the self explanatory ones like, “Total.” As if speaking slowly wasn’t bad enough he also would often adapt his tone to speak louder than necessary when answering any of Gold’s questions drawing the attention of everyone around them.

He was less than an hour into filming when he wanted to throttle the man. While Gold ended up doing all the work Killian flashed his smile and batted his eyelashes at every female under 40, striking up conversations and inviting them to see his houseboat on the harbor. Anytime that the line would get backed up Jones would placate the line of customers by reminding them that the elderly needed jobs too and to give Grandad a break.

Gold could only scream internally and question for the millionth time why he had decided to give up smoking. A cigarette or two or three would have taken the edge off that he so delicately teetered on these days.

After the lunch rush, the producers decided that it would now be a good time to film the pair outside of the restaurant. Each episode featured one of these “intimate” scenes where the employee would spill their guts with their tragic background. Many of the people were genuine enough but Gold already had a feeling Jones was far less deserving than the others he had met along the way.

They headed outside to take out the trash with Gold doing the bulk of the work. Jones dragged his feet behind him and offered no assistance with the heavy bags.

Killian Jones was the worst kind of employee and so far nothing that he had said about his past in this “intimate session” made Gold feel anything but disgust for the man. He had after all seen the man in action all morning. He was the type of employee that made the general population look down on the customer service industry. He was the guy that accosted every woman he saw no matter how uneasy she seemed or who was with her. He was the guy that forgot to wash his hands and then handled your food without gloves. The employee that then later was caught sneaking chicken strips off the pass to eat himself or taking a bite and putting it back. Killian Jones was the employee that dropped your food and just picked it back up and served it to you with a smile.

Gold had stopped trying to feign interest until his own real name had been brought up in conversation, and how it was specifically his fault that he had been passed over for a shift leader promotion over the company’s stricter attendance policy. ��“I miss a couple days without calling or come in an hour late and it’s as if the world has ended.” Gold rolled his eyes and really wanted to tell him that corporate and he especially had no hand in the appointment of individuals for smaller internal positions but he knew that wouldn’t matter.

The ranting was far from over as he rattled on about the company’s core values; integrity, accountability, customer first, enjoying your work and one team one goal; and how unrealistic it was to expect the employees to follow this “code of honor.”

“Gold thinks that we should treat this menial job as some sort of a career instead of the low class slop it is. Take pride in what we do and how we do it. It’s fucking fast food, mate. There’s no pride in this. The guy is just another shit for brains corporate clown. No one’s even ever seen the guys face. Even he isn’t proud of this monstrosity. Why should we be?”

Gold was tempted to relieve the man from his job then and there but that would have meant breaking cover, and as much as he wanted to rip the sweltering wig from his head and dump it in the trash, it would just be a bigger pain in the end.

“Why stay then? If you hate it so much?” Gold had to wonder if it would it be too much to hope that perhaps the man had some redeemable quality in his background. Working to support an ill parent maybe, or to put himself through college?

“Well, mate, between you and I, I’m only working here for awhile longer. I have a band on the side. Perhaps you have heard of us. Hook and the Jolly Rogers?” he questioned with the self importance only youth could bring. Gold just quirked a brow and kept his face impassive.

After a moment Jones growled and finished his thoughts.“Well, I suppose I can’t expect the leader of the geriatric society to know anything about music, but we’re this close to signing a deal with Midas records. When we do I’ll burn this place to the ground. Til’ then though, this place is just a means to an end. I take some buckets of chicken with me, maybe pull in some off the record tips for my services rendered and call it a day.”

Gold focused on one of the garbage bags still between them, processing all the information this idiot had not only told him but the camera crews as well and felt a smile quirk over his lips. The reveal show could not come soon enough.

“Did you say Midas Records? As in Stefan Midas?” Gold asked, lifting the bag up and tossing it into the open dumpster.

Jones eyed him warily. “Yes,” he spoke softly drawing out the word. “Why?”

“Oh, no reason. My son and I are fans of some of their artists. You see in between my early dinners and naps at the retirement home, they sometimes let me out for recreational activities like concerts and such. I was just having a hard time imagining Midas and company willing to diminish the quality of their content and reputation with some petty thief and his rag tag gang.”

To Jones credit he took Gold’s comments without much much of an outward reaction. His eyes registered the insult but he just smiled back at Gold with his bright, bleached teeth, a predatory edge in the corner of his grin.

“Here, mate, let me help you with that last bag,” he said reaching for the large trash bag in Golds hand. Before Gold could decline he pulled a small pocket knife from his trousers and slit a hole in the side of the bag spilling its contents across the pavement. “Whoops, would you look at that? Better get that cleaned up straightaway,” he laughed and dashed back across to the restaurant.

Gold let loose a string of profanities so immense in their detailing that he knew that the scene would have to be heavily edited if not cut all together. The nerve of the bastard. He was still fuming ten minutes later after he had finally gotten all the chicken bones and assorted trash up. He slammed open the back door uncaring of who he startled and made a beeline to Jones, who was chatting up a young looking blonde at the front counter.

“Hey, mate.” Gold bumped into Jones harshly. “Do you have a problem with me? Why don’t you come back outside with me for another little chat and I can tell you exactly how I feel about you and your pathetic little life.” He shoved at Killian’s shoulder again and this time he shoved back but Gold stood his ground. The customers had all began to turn their heads and gather to watch the conflict. The cameramen were practically in the men’s faces, excited to finally catch some action.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, mate. Perhaps you should head on back to the retirement home for your early dinner and a nap. Maybe then you won’t be such a crotchety old man,” Jones hissed back.

Gold would have punched him then and there but they had been broken up by the store manager Sydney Glass. The men were brought back to the office where he spoke to them calmly about how they were improperly representing Mr Cluck’s franchise and lectured them on teamwork and character, using phrases like “One team, one goal.” as he brought up the restaurant's core values. Gold genuinely liked Sydney, he seemed a fair man, but he didn’t appreciate the lecture at all.

“We just simply put cannot have this level of behavior out on the floor in front of customers. Carl,” he addressed Gold and it took a moment for Gold to remember his alias. “I know that we were going to have you working with Killian the rest of the day but under the circumstances I think that it may be best to separate you for the duration. Especially, considering we are due for a corporate visit today.” Sydney folded his hands over his desk and stared at the men like a principal breaking up a schoolyard fight.

“Corporate visit?” Gold questioned, hoping this didn’t mean what he thought it did.

“Yes, we received a call this morning that Ursula Finn and Ella Deville will be making a stop to our store this afternoon. They wanted to see how our team was getting along with this Job Swap show and observe some of the filming. You can see now why this behavior is especially unsavory,” he concluded.

“Of course they’re visiting,” Gold mumbled under his breath.

“I’m sorry?”

“I said of course it’s unsavory, and I apologize.” Gold covered and extended his hand to Sydney. Sydney took it without hesitation and then shook Killian’s too.

“Glad we are back on the same page. Now about the new job we’ll have you do...how tall are you, Mr. Benton?”

Gold’s phone buzzed again in his pocket and he groaned. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone?

He pulled the phone out and unlocked it with a quick swipe of his finger, the home screen indicating two new messages. One of them was from Neal telling him good night and that he loved him. He quickly responded back with the same and let him know he was sorry he hadn’t called and he’d speak with him in the morning.

The next message was a picture message from Ella and he already knew without opening what it would be. He contemplated deleting it without ever looking but he knew it would drive him crazy if he didn’t verify the monstrosity with his own eyes. With great reluctance, he opened the message was assaulted with the self portrait that Ella and Ursula had taken with him during their “surprise” visit.

They stood on either side of him with biggest grins. He was pretty sure that Ella even had tears in her eyes from her barely contained laughter. Right in the fucking middle was Gold in the yellowest, feathery, and hotter than the sands of hell chicken suit. Sydney’s job had been to spend his remaining time drawing in customers in the sweltering July heat and handing out coupons.

Underneath the photo was a single caption.

Have a cluckity, cluck, cluck night, Aiden!

Gold text back furiously sending nothing but dozens of knife emojiis and Ella responded back immediately with a winky face and a kiss. Gold just sighed and plugged the phone into the charger beside the bed and set his alarm for 545am.

He pulled the yellow uniform shirt over his head and angrily tossed it into the corner as he headed in to take a shower.

“One more day,” he whispered to himself looking in the mirror feeling older than all of his years. One more day of this madness and he’d be free. Well, technically. He still had the reveal show and wrap up but at least then he could finally be himself and not some fool nearly dying of heat stroke on the corner telling all the people to have a cluckity, cluck, cluck day.

That motto would be the first thing to go, he promised. In fact he was pretty sure it had started as a joke by Ella in the first place before somehow managing its way into their marketing campaign.

He took his time in the shower, washing the smell of chicken, grease and sweat from his body, using copious amounts of soap and body wash to be sure the smell didn’t linger. The inside of the suit had been the worst. He wasn’t sure when the last time was that the thing had been dry cleaned but certainly not in recent memory. It reeked of sweat and body odor, making him gag whenever he breathed in too deeply. The suits would be the second thing to go. No human should have to degrade themselves like that, advertising be damned.

When he was satisfied he no longer smelled like the rotting insides of that yellow suit he got out and dressed for bed. Exhaustion finally took its toll as he collapsed back onto the bed and pulled the covers up, reaching a hand out to switch off the bedside light.

The next day would be easier. At least he didn’t have to make a mad dash for a red eye across the country again. This time he’d be working at one of the company’s top stores just on the other side of the city. The work would be in management and his task was to work with the store manager to get an idea of what they were doing differently from their lower performing stores. What was the manager’s name? Something French he thought? He was too exhausted to remember as sleep slowly began to claim his weary mind, thoughts of dancing yellow chickens, fueling his nightmares.

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #rumbelle fanfic #rumbelle fanfiction #UB1

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todoroqis · 7 years

Text

Rule of Thirds

Title: Rule of Thirds

Rating: PG-13 Pairing: Jeongcheol Word Count: 4.9K Summary: Seungcheol is a photographer in quest of inspiration and Jeonghan meets him right where he needs him. a/n : SOOO... I’ve been writing this for over 6 months can you believe? Writer’s block is a bitch. @jiminsbootyshorts THANK YOU FOR BETA-READING THIS YOU’RE AN ANGEL !

Cross posted on AO3

What’s a picture without a story to tell? There’s only so many deserted train stations, unconventional buildings or busy subway stations in early mornings Seungcheol can capture and it’s all starting to look bland and boring. There’s nothing much he can do about it and it’s sad to say that his award winning career has only lasted for as long as four years.

Seungcheol dreams of rich burgundies and soft mint greens, of bewitching landscapes and still pictures so full of complex emotions yet so simple on the eye. Seungcheol doesn’t want to wake up and yet when he does, he’s back to the dull reality, to the vicious circle that is everyday life. He can’t really pinpoint whether it’s the blaring ringtone of his alarm clock or the icy early morning air that penetrates his thin duvet that makes him want to lie there and not do anything, just wait until he shrivels and dies of dehydration.

He’s at the train station today, hopeful he’ll find something that catches his eye, an epiphany or a revelation that will change the world of photography forever. It probably won’t be the case, though; he’ll go there, take hundreds of pictures, hate every single one of them, delete, go home then repeat. The only thing Seungcheol sees is a swarm of faceless bodies, walking around as fast as they possibly can, trying to catch the first train to wherever they have to go; so much movement, dynamic and life and any other photographer would be enchanted by the scenery, the only thing Seungcheol sees is a potential headache.

There’s a bunch of middle-schoolers running around, a stressed out businessman walking in circles while yelling at his phone and a high-strung city mom pulling her kindergartener son’s hand a little too hard and they’re all pushing Seungcheol back and forth against other strangers who do not seem very happy about the photographer being all up their personal space. He ends up doing more profuse apologizing than picture taking.

It gets kind of annoying after awhile, he’s sweating through his low-cut tank top, his bag is half open, documents, wallet, snacks and everything in between so close to collapsing and he’s sure he’s getting tan lines from the camera’s strap around his neck. Said camera, his pricy yet trustworthy Canon EOS 5DS, hasn’t captured anything remotely captivating in so long and Seungcheol decides to call it a day after 45 minutes of intensive glaring around. Delete, go home then repeat.

When Seungcheol thinks about it, nothing has really triggered his massive creative block. There has been no tragic backstory, no break-up, and no loss of a loved one… Nothing; just a blurry brain buzzing like a staticky TV monitor on a particularly rainy Sunday morning. Seungcheol thinks it would’ve been less painful, less poignant had there been a reason; it wouldn’t have meant that his career was just plain meaningless.

It dawned on him when he sat at his favorite coffeeshop, that day, looking out of the window, eyes completely unfocused. His coffee – black with no sugar and no creamer – was left forgotten on the table as Seungcheol daydreamed of utter nothingness. “The camera captures what the human eye sees;” Seungcheol only sees a blurry mash of industrial grey.

There's an empty seat by the railroad, and it's a real blessing given the fact that people usually fight for these types of spots. He guesses people didn't see it, too possessed by the demon of rush hour to be aware of it, rushing into trains, out of trains, pushing each other into a sort of human traffic jam that Seungcheol just doesn't understand. There's nothing appealing about the scenery; it's all just a major pain but Seungcheol sits there nonetheless, headphones on, plugged into his phone and playing music hard enough to cancel out any external noise. He's going through every single picture he's taken at least five times, trying to understand where the problem comes from; he has time, job offers have become scarce lately.

He's used fast shutter speed, capturing movement in different aperture levels, the focus was more than perfect, blurring the background in such an artistic way and yet, there's no story behind these still pictures, nothing that ties them together, nothing worthy of moving crowds and awing critics.

“Rush hour” is an overdone concept, appropriated by amateur college students on their first assignments. Seungcheol remembers taking trains aimlessly on his first year, eyes full of stars and passion taking over reason. Now that Seungcheol thinks about it, the pictures weren’t that great, his low-light shots were blurry and he’d cheat, using the automatic mode when picture didn’t come out as he wished, but his smile was there, and so was the excitement when he’d stop at completely random train stations, hours away from the capital, ready to explore whatever was behind the door.

When Seungcheol snaps back into present time, rush hour is over, the train station is almost deserted and the only people still standing are frustrated students who’ve missed the first train. Seungcheol sighs as he closes the lid of his camera, he has nothing to do here anymore, it’s time for him to go home and pursue the usual routine. Seungcheol likes routine, it’s comfortable and it never lets him down.

… Except for today... And it makes Seungcheol huff out loud. Of course someone has to take a seat near him, in the plastic chair situated right next to his, invading his private bubble and staring at him with big curious eyes. Out of all the empty seats, Seungcheol thinks. It’s suffocating, Seungcheol is uncomfortable and almost irritated and the stranger just wouldn’t stop staring.

“Neat camera!” The strangers finally speaks and Seungcheol wants to retort, ask him what would he know about cameras anyway? He wants to just stand up and leave but he turns around and faces the stranger. His determined eyes falter as he takes in the face of the beautiful stranger with the warm eyes and perfectly styled hair, kindly smiling at him. He’s beautiful, Seungcheol thinks, better looking than anyone he’s ever seen on the streets.

“It’s an EOS 5DS right? Nice pick, you’d need a fast shutter speed or a mirror lock up to get a good outcome from the sensor but other than that, it’s a trustworthy one you got there.” The stranger says. He sounds like knows what he’s saying, like he’s been there and done that and his eyes shift back into the overpriced camera around Seungcheol’s neck. “You’re a professional, right?”

Seungcheol laughs, bittersweet and borderline sad. “Yeah, I like to think I am, although I haven’t taken anything worthy of a professional photographer in a while.”

The stranger’s look switches away from the camera to take a good look at Seungcheol’s expression, eyes so focused on his face that Seungcheol can’t help but break the eye contact. There’s something about the man that’s so intense and yet so comforting and honest, it makes Seungcheol want to bask in his warmth, bundle up against him, spill out all of his problems and cry until no tear is left in his body. It’s exhilarating and downright terrifying.

“Creative block can be quite a bitch, huh?” The stranger sighs. There’s no sign of pity or sympathizing in his voice; it’s just a statement, the words of someone who’s been through the same rough path.

“Right.” Seungcheol answers. He isn’t using that condescending tone anymore. They’re both staring at whatever is in front of them, careful to not meet the other’s eyes. The stranger is grinning widely, Seungcheol can pretty much feel its warmth, and it makes the corners of his mouth curl up just a tad bit.

“My name is Yoon Jeonghan, by the way. I'm here because I missed my train… and the train after that.” He says, no hint of shame, embarrassment or regret in his words. “I'm pretty sure I'll get kicked by my client the second I step into the studio; if I ever get to work that is…”

“If?”

“I don't know... I like it here, I'm tempted to call in sick.” Jeonghan shrugs, eyes mischievous and a lopsided grin that would lure anyone into his trap, he’s playing with the zipper of his seemingly packed bag and Seungcheol wonders what’s in there. The photographer doesn't even want to go home anymore, his ass is burning from sitting too long on the hard plastic, his shirt is clinging onto his chest like a second skin and the camera strap feels heavy against his neck, but there's something about the beautiful Jeonghan that makes him want his company.

“Well, you're welcome to stay here and contemplate life with me on these amazingly dirty, uncomfortable plastic chairs!” He’s feeling bold, and it's a change in his routine, a much welcomed one. “I'm Choi Seungcheol, by the way.”

They end up leaving the station anyways in favor of a coffee shop. “There’s air conditioning and food. My treat!” Jeonghan says and there's no way Seungcheol can refuse free food. The atmosphere is light and filled with laughter as they stroll down the streets of the capital. Jeonghan is leading the conversation, talking about things as random as last night’s dinner, the pet shop near his house, the weather... It confuses Seungcheol why Jeonghan’s so dressed up, the sleeves of his button down are pulled up because of the heat and he’s uncomfortably pulling at the collar. The bag he’s carrying looks heavy as well and Seungcheol’s never been so curious about someone.

Seungcheol asks him when they're finally seated in the coffee shop and they're downing their iced coffees. “You look so uncomfortable, does your job require you to dress up on a daily?”

Jeonghan sighs, long and exasperated.

“Not all the time, no. Only when I’m meeting clients. I hate working for corporations, they’re too demanding and shut down every seemingly fun and creative idea, I have.” It’s funny coming from a man who dresses like a corporate heir, but what does Seungcheol know?

“Where do you work?” Seungcheol tries, testing the waters and his eyes are fixated on the way Jeonghan’s features soften and his smile is brighter than ever, on the way his eyes crinkle as if he’s about to go on a rant about his passion. Seungcheol’s always had a soft spot for passionate people.

“I’m a photographer as well! I mostly do fashion and advertising photography. ” Jeonghan replies. He takes out a camera from his bag; it’s a Mark III, Seungcheol notices, a gem handled with utter care and almost affection and Seungcheol can tell how much Jeonghan loves what he’s doing. He can’t help but feel amateurish when he looks at Jeonghan and it makes him want to hide. “I’ve actually made a lot of commercials, I’m surprised you didn’t recognize me, especially since you’re a photographer yourself” Seungcheol is flabbergasted by Jeonghan’s bold statement and he’s wondering whether the man sitting in front of him is bragging but by the way his elbows are on the table and his chin against the back of his hands, eyebrows furrowed, he looks genuinely curious and Seungcheol’s more than ready to just melt into the decor and hide in embarrassment. He’s sitting with this good looking big shot photographer while he isn’t worth much himself.

“I’m … So sorry.” Is all he can say, eyes looking down at his big iced coffee that looks so interesting all of a sudden. Seungcheol’s never been a theoretical person and of all the photographers he’s studied in college, only Stephen Wilkes’ name remains in his memory. He expects Jeonghan to be offended, to frown and leave; even worse, leave and let a broke Seungcheol pay for the drinks but Jeonghan is genuinely laughing, head thrown back and lips stretched into a heart shape and Seungcheol swears he’s never seen a man so beautiful.

“There’s no need to be so embarrassed about it. If anything, I’m glad I’m talking to someone who sees me as myself, not as some kind of deity.” And talk he did. Seungcheol learns that Jeonghan is the mastermind behind big brands ads, that he works mostly freelance and that he is self taught. It puts Seungcheol, who’s taken intensive classes for four years, to shame.

“I actually went to college for mechanical engineering, can you believe that? I hated every second of it, everyone was so focused on themselves and no one actually took time to interact outside of school. It was horrible, so naturally, I dropped out of college. Haven’t talked to my parents since then but I guess passion makes up for it?”

It’s as if Jeonghan’s asking a rhetorical question. He doesn’t seem bothered about being in bad terms with his parents and Seungcheol wishes he could be as carefree as the man in front of him. He decides to talk about his college experience too, about his photography assignments, his trips to random places to take pictures. He talks about his only award winning portfolio and abundance of job offers. It brings him back; Jeonghan takes in all of his words, marvelling at what used to be a wanderlust filled life, since Jeonghan’s job mostly requires him to be in studios and Seungcheol can see the sadness in his eyes when he hears about the other’s lack of motivation and the way his life completely took a turn for the worst.

By the time they leave the coffee shop, it’s already early afternoon, Seungcheol is beaming after he sees Jeonghan off, -not without exchanging numbers. For the first time, he goes back home feeling accomplished and joyful, a feeling he hasn’t had in a while and for the first time, the white walls of his apartment, the lonely dirty coffee cup in the sink, the dirty laundry don’t really seem to bother him at all.

“You wouldn’t believe what happened to me today, Seungcheol!” Jeonghan dramatically exclaims into Seungcheol’s speaker. Seungcheol’s smiles grow wide as he hums into his phone, waiting for Jeonghan’s daily rant. They’ve been doing that a lot recently, call each other at ridiculous hours and talk about random things. It makes Seungcheol happy, he’s beaming most of the time, his house doesn’t seem as bleak and lifeless when Jeonghan’s laughing out loud on the phone, filling his living room with colors he has never noticed before.

“I’m pretty sure the world hates me today! I missed my train and stood there waiting in the rain. My client had the guts to yell at me, uhm hello I’m not your corporate employee, you can’t just take out your pent up frustration on me. Don’t you hate it when that happens? My presence itself is a blessing to your company.”

Seungcheol’s laugh is reverberating across the living room. He can vividly imagine Jeonghan huffing and puffing wherever he is right now, he wants to see him, shoulders slumped, pouting as he spills the monologue. Seungcheol can’t really relate since he hasn’t worked with companies before but he sympathizes anyways, trying to reassure Jeonghan in the best possible way.

“There, there. They will come around, eventually.” He isn’t very sure, he doesn’t really know much about the whole corporate system.

“You’re really bad at this, Seungcheol…” Jeonghan complains, voice slightly high pitched and he stresses on the ‘Seungcheol’, and it makes the older’s heart jump. He’s pretty sure it’s unhealthy and Jeonghan will be the reason for his death.

They fall into a comfortable silence, Jeonghan is humming into the phone and Seungcheol is sprawled out in his couch, mindlessly listening to Jeonghan’s half assed singing. It feels great, as if Jeonghan was there by his side, as if they’d known each other forever, as if Seungcheol’s never ever felt lonely.

“How was your day, Seungcheol?” Jeonghan suddenly breaks the silence, his tone is wary and cautious, completely aware that it is quite a sensitive topic. Seungcheol wants to tell him that it isn’t, that it’s okay to let his guards down when talking to him, but they haven’t known each other for longer than a month after all, no matter what Seungcheol feels.

“Old same, old same.” Seungcheol sighs. He didn’t take his camera with him this day, opting for a more traditional approach to trying to find inspiration. He’s walked miles, hands deep into his pockets and eyes on the lookout for anything worth his time, a new perspective, interesting textures, landscapes, facial expressions, anything….

“I sometimes feel like I should just quit and go get myself another job.”

“Seungcheol…”

“What’s there for me anyways. Who tells me people will even look at my portfolio after that, I’m not like you, Jeonghan. Have you seen me? I have no charisma, I can’t say one sentence without stumbling over my words. The whole fresh out of college with professors’ recommendation won’t work anymore…”

By the small “ah” that Seungcheol hears on the phone, Jeonghan doesn’t really seem all that convinced. He hears a small sigh and he knows Jeonghan’s looking for the right thing to say. It’s overwhelming and he doesn’t hesitate to make up a whole bunch of excuses on why he needs to go and that he’ll talk to him later. He knows Jeonghan will call him anyways, he always does.

Jeonghan always calls, he always text, documenting every single aspect of his life and Seungcheol is overjoyed when he wakes up to pictures of Taco, Jeonghan’s cat, his failed attempt at breakfast, early morning skies or things as random as tree leaves or one quarter of his nephew, Chan’s grumpy morning face.

Seungcheol’s gotten used to waking up to Jeonghan’s texts. They’re usually either about Jeonghan not wanting to leave his bed, - Seungcheol relates -, Taco’s early morning mischieves or insane ideas that make Seungcheol believe that Jeonghan hasn’t gotten a grip on adulthood just yet. It’s the latter today and Seungcheol isn’t awakened by one but a multitude of texts sent one after the other.

At this point, Seungcheol is half laughing and half crying, mourning what could’ve been the most peaceful and cozy morning he’s had in awhile. His phone on his bedside table seems too far away and the stretch of his arm is almost painful. He hopes it’s an emergency this time, a text worth waking up to.

from : Jeonghan; 7.26 a.m. Do you think it’s socially acceptable to order pizza for breakfast?

from : Jeonghan; 7.27 a.m. And Coke.

from : Jeonghan; 7.27 a.m. Pizza and coke really sound like a good idea…

from : Jeonghan; 7.28 a.m. So apparently pizza places don’t open at 7:30 a.m. It’s an abomination.

It isn’t. It is most definitely not worth waking up to and Seungcheol makes a memo at the back of his mind to put his phone on silent before sleep starting today.

To: Jeonghan; 7.32 a.m. omg Jeonghan make yourself some coffee like the rest of the world.

He angrily types away. The reply comes faster than it takes Seungcheol to put his phone back on the table and go back to sleep.

from: Jeonghan; 7.32 a.m. I’m not a chef, Seungcheol.

If there’s one thing that Seungcheol’s most definitely learned in the few weeks he’s known Jeonghan for, it’s that Jeonghan needs to stay away from kitchens. It’s endearing to say the least, and he’s glad he’s able to see past Jeonghan’s intimidatingly perfect physical appearance.

The first time Seungcheol visits Jeonghan’s studio, he feels like a freshman again. He’s mesmerized by everything, wants to touch everything, wants to know how everything works and it’s probably annoying to Jeonghan, but when Seungcheol turns around to see Jeonghan fondly smiling at his childlike curiosity, he doesn’t care about the rest anymore. All he sees are the little crinkles at the outer corners of Jeonghan’s eyes when the man laughs, the way his hand subconsciously moves to dishevel his previously perfectly styled hair, the tongue that darts out to lick at his seemingly dry lips and everything in between.

“So… That’s where I work. I take it you like the place?” Jeonghan asks and he almost looks proud. It’s not hard to see why Jeonghan takes so much pride in his workplace, it makes Seungcheol feel out of place. He nods, though, because who is he kidding? He loves everything about the studio, from the equipment there to the man who owns the place.

“It’s incredible, Jeonghan.” He assures. “Goddammit, I feel so underqualified, now.” Seungcheol groans and it takes him a split second to regret and wish he hasn’t said it out loud. Jeonghan’s gone from adjusting his camera’s settings to looking at him with a pained expression. He knows Jeonghan doesn’t like to hear him wallow in self pity, but there’s nothing but truth in his words.

“Don’t say that, Seungcheol. If there’s anything you’re not, it’s underqualified.” Jeonghan sighs. He’s said it many times before, Seungcheol’s heard it more than once.

“C’mon. I’ve seen your portfolio before. You’re incredible.” Jeonghan points out. And yes, Seungcheol’s showed Jeonghan his portfolio, not sans a lot of whining coming from the younger. Jeonghan had looked quite impressed with Seungcheol’s work and the latter couldn’t say he wasn’t feeling proud and boastful that someone as influential as Jeonghan was appreciating his work. It felt like one of the biggest seals of approval and yet, the seal was on his previous work.

“Whatever…”

Seungcheol looks down, almost ashamed of his childish behavior. He's supposed to be enjoying his day and yet, he's ruining it for both himself and Jeonghan. The latter is back to fixing the settings of his camera, single handedly handling the device while his other hand is carrying a tripod. His eyes are narrowed in focus, that tongue that drives Seungcheol crazy is darting out again and he wonders if there are any instances in which Jeonghan isn't looking beautiful.

His hand is reaching out for his camera, he doesn't realize it, too busy remembering each and everyone of Jeonghan’s features. It happens like a flash and the sound of the picture being taken is what wakes Seungcheol up. He's just taken a picture of Jeonghan and it feels good. Taking a picture’s never felt so good and yet when Jeonghan turns around to take a look at him, the realization just falls on him like meteor. He's in love. He's never been so in love before and it probably creeped Jeonghan out. Who would take someone else's picture so suddenly.

“Seungcheol?”

“Oh my god I'm so sorry…. I have to go.” And before Jeonghan says anything, Seungcheol had long left the studio.

It’s the tenth call from Jeonghan he’s avoided. Seungcheol can’t take it and every time he hears the generic ringtone playing, he feels like he’s slowing going crazier and crazier. He’s sitting on his living room’s floor, camera in hand and he can’t take his eyes out of the picture. It’s beautiful; Seungcheol doesn’t know if it’s because of his skill or because Jeonghan looks beautiful no matter what.

He knew he was attracted to Jeonghan, but again, who wasn’t? He’s been nothing but a delight in the three months they’ve known each other and in Seungcheol’s mind, it was only natural he'd appreciate the man in return. Yet, the adrenaline rush he felt when the focus was set and the shutter release was pushed was like no other. He's taken many pictures of incredible sights before, the excitement pooling down his veins but nothing compared the Jeonghan’s reflection on his little camera monitor.

Seungcheol loves Jeonghan, it's a fact now. He loves a man that’s way out of his league, a man that could get himself anyone, a man that doesn't need a sore loser like him. It’s ridiculous, Seungcheol thinks, he’s free willingly throwing himself into this dark hole he can’t escape and the image on the screen monitor is a concrete proof. At this point, Seungcheol considers moving into another town, possibly another country. It would help to change his name, his identity and maybe grow a mustache for maximum anonymity.

He drops his camera to the ground, right between his crossed legs and lets out a long sigh he didn’t know he was holding. His eyes are closed, mind full of unwanted thoughts and he doesn’t know how long it is before he hears the loud knocks on his door. They’re relentless and persistent and Seungcheol is sure that a very angry Jeonghan is the one behind the incessant noise.

He stands up slowly and he’s reluctant to open when he nears the door. What is going to say? There’s no way for him to deny what happened back in the studio, or find a rational explanation other than “you’re beautiful and I’m madly in love with you.” He stands there, facing his front door while listening to Jeonghan’s livid threats of clawing his eyes out if he doesn’t open the door. He finally caves in and opens the door as Jeonghan is yelling “I can hear you’re inside, you fucker!” Jeonghan rarely ever curses but the man in front of him is very much ready to not only curse but also probably throw in some punches too. His hair is disheveled and his glares could burn holes into Seungcheol’s skin.

“Hi…?” Seungcheol’s words are tentative. He knows Jeonghan isn’t here for friendly conversation and it shows by the way the younger pushes Seungcheol inside, fingers painfully digging into his shoulderblades. Jeonghan closes the door with a push of his foot and the bang resonates into Seungcheol’s head.

“What the fuck?” Is all Jeonghan says and he’s standing there, in the middle of his shabby living room, arms crossed and waiting for Seungcheol to say something.

“I’m… I’m so sorry for what happened in the stu-...”

“No ! No, don’t give me that bullshit.” Jeonghan cuts him and he’s ready to go into a passionate monologue. “Nothing happened there. You just decided to make up a whole scene out of it. You took a picture of me; oh wow, fucking tragic.”

Seungcheol is astounded by Jeonghan’s words, more by the colorful vocabulary than the fact that Jeonghan didn’t really mind Seungcheol snapping a picture.

“You just ran away and left me there alone and fucking confused. I texted you, I tried to call you. But you just decide to ignore me altogether, to hide inside your house and to lament yourself for days.”

The silence is heavy when Jeonghan finally stops talking. He’s patiently waiting for Seungcheol to speak, say something, anything. He finally seems to be calming down with every breath he’s taking and Seungcheol believes he’s been holding those words for a while now.

“Listen. I know I fucked up and I’m sorry. I just… I freaked out, okay?” Seungcheol starts. He drops his gaze to the floor when Jeonghan cocks his eyebrow, obviously unsatisfied with Seungcheol’s vague response.

“And?”

“And what? I just didn’t know what to do. I thought you believed I was a freak because who the fuck just impulsively snaps a picture of someone?”

“I thought it was flattering.” Jeonghan says in the softest of voices. “It’s a change from being the one behind the camera.” It makes Seungcheol’s jaw drop.

“Oh…I’m sorry then.” It burns. He wants to say it and finally relieve that ache in his chest. He’s encouraged by Jeonghan’s tone and expectant looks, as if the younger is waiting for Seungcheol to finally confess and move on with it.

“Ok, here. I’m gonna say it.” He blurts out and it doesn’t really seem to take Jeonghan by surprise at all. He’s just standing there, arms still crossed, eyes fixed on Seungcheol and it drives the latter crazy. “I like you, okay? I really really like you, Jeonghan.”

“Finally !”

“What?”

“Well… I can’t say I wasn’t waiting for you to finally get on with it and finally ask me out. You’re really dense aren’t you? I like you too but it seems as if you don’t understand it when other people flirt with you.”

“O-oh…”

“Look at the camera.” Seungcheol says, kneeling on the ground, trying to capture the moment as fast as possible. Jeonghan is laughing, sitting on a bench at the park, legs crossed and his ice cream is melting all over his hands. He looks beautiful, Seungcheol thinks as he presses the shutter release for the fiftieth time today.

“Aren’t you inspired today?” Jeonghan chuckles. He’s trying his best to wipe his fingers clean and it’s adorable how much of a messy eater Jeonghan is.

“How could I not be inspired when I’m dating such a beautiful prince?” Seungcheol boasts standing up from the ground to plant a kiss on Jeonghan’s cringing face.

“You’re too fucking cheesy.” Seungcheol knows Jeonghan loves it when he’s sappy and corny anyway, so he doesn’t mind the younger’s complaints, especially when Jeonghan’s eagerly kissing him back.

“And you taste like cookies and cream. That flavor is a disgrace to ice cream.” Seungcheol mumbles and he’s playfully pushed back by a half laughing, half offended Jeonghan. They still stroll down the city streets holding hands, even though Jeonghan is still feigning offense and looking out to his side, mumbling about how Seungcheol is always insulting his taste in food and how his ‘bland and boring ass’ wouldn’t understand the joys of cookies and cream anyway.

His career may not be completely restored to its previous glory, but he’s working on it and he’s much happier that way anyway.

#jeongcheol #jungcheol #jeonghan #scoups #seungcheol #writings #seventeen #svt #jeonghan curses in this #also the last 1000 words aren't proof read at all i digress #I haven't posted a freshly written fic in so long #feels gooooddddd #but also nervewracking #I'M SORRY THIS IS QUITE THE MESS

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momentskrp-archive · 6 years

Photo

introducing...

evan park, the employee at v records who moved into the sweetheart sharehouse three years ago. we hear he’s staying in 1L, and that he wants to be a musician. good luck with that.

THE PAST.

i. SEOUL, winter of ’92.

snowfall and chilly winds. hot tea and hotteok. scarves and snow boots.

these are the said associations of the general population for the cold winters of seoul, but for park jinhyung and bae woohee, they will only ever associate winter with the birth of their pride and joy; their son that they will come to name park minjae.

minjae’s first cry is melodic and it echoes throughout the ward, his cries bouncing from wall to wall.

“you have a healthy baby there, m’aam.” says the nurse, a smile spreading on both his parent’s lips.

but then their eyes lock and their smiles begin to fade. it had been a journey to get where they are now, the multiple moments of disappointment when the pregnancy test turned negative all leading to this—this moment where they could hold the love of both their lives.

minjae is only a few hours old and he’s already felt more love than his parents have ever felt for each other.

ii. SAN FRANCISCO, spring of ’97.

the scent of fresh flowers and the radiance of the sun. the shuffling of feet against concrete and the sound of car engines on the street. the distinct noise of a baseball hitting a bat and the slight trickle of rain against glass windows.

at five years old, minjae has seen more of the world than most others of the same age that he knows. in the short five years that he has breathed in the world, he has also seen more of life than the rest of his peers. he doesn’t understand why his mother had always been crying, he doesn’t understand why his father always seemed so angry, he most definitely doesn’t understand why on one seemingly quiet night, his mother decides to pack their belongings and head out the door.

‘their belongings’ meaning only his and his mothers.

“minjae-yah, we must go now. here…isn’t good for us—for me.”

his mother’s voice is soft and had he been old enough to tell, he would have realized she had been holding back tears as she held him in her shaky arms, limbs loosely and weakly hanging around his tiny frame.

( he never sees his father again after that. )

at age five, minjae takes his first airplane and enters the western world of san francisco as evan park.

at age five, park minjae ceases to exist.

iii. NEW YORK, summer of ’02.

coffee and fresh toasted bread. horns honking and crosswalks dinging. phones ringing and pens scratching paper.

a job opportunity lands both his mother, and of course evan in tow, in the hustle and bustle of new york city, the city of dreams where you can be anyone you like.

the two have a morning routine of getting breakfast at a quaint café just at the corner of their cramped apartment before evan is then dropped off at school and his mother proceeds to go to work.

“mom, why did we have to move from korea?”

( the question is finally asked. )

there is an innocence to evan’s voice, the slightly raised tone at the end of a sentence alongside the hushed tone proves that he is unsure of whether he should ask or not. but he does regardless, because when little ten-year-old evan park needs to know something, he must know it.

he watches as his mother freezes up, her fingers tightening around the silver spoon she had been using to stir her coffee—two creams, no sugar—knuckles almost white and her expression sour. if his mother had been a fruit then, she would have been a lemon; sour, tangy, and all up in your face.

“we don’t speak of korea, evan.”

simple. her answer is simple yet it is the tone of her voice that cuts to his core, the ice-cold monotone sound that he has only ever heard once before in his life; the last night he spent with both his parents.

he’s about to delve deeper, ask more questions about a seemingly innocent topic, but before he can do so he is picked up from his seat and ushered towards the door. “we’ll be late!” says his mother.

they were half an hour early to school.

iv. PARIS, fall of ’10.

the scent of freshly baked baguettes and the sound of chairs scratching against floors. the jingle of the doorbell and the rustle of pages of a book turning. the sound of fingers against keyboard keys and the hushed tones of people speaking into their phones.

“bonjour, comment ça va?”

“ça va bien, et tu?”

“ça va bien, merci.”

paris serves as a new beginning for one evan park, whose life has been nothing but ups and downs, moving from place to place and never seeming to understand what home really means. he had been reluctant to bid his mother farewell but who is he to reject an offer from conservatoire de paris, a prestigious music school located in arguably the greatest location for muse to bloom? he thinks it will be the beginning of the greatness he is destined to be but he should know by now that life never follows a smooth path.

“mr. evan park?” inquires the voice on the other end of the phone, sounding rushed yet calm.

“this is him. who is this?”

“we’re calling from coney island hospital regarding your mother bae woohee.”

the pronunciation is off but evan hardly registers it. in fact he hardly registers the rest of the phone call. the next thing he registers is the airplane ride, then the cab from john f. kennedy airport to the hospital, the white walls enveloping him the second he steps into the building. everywhere he looks there seem to be families crying over those they have lost and he sure hopes he won’t have to be in their position.

but of course, nothing ever goes as planned.

evan park is on his own at eighteen, the last of his immediate family disappearing.

“bonjour, comment ça va?”

“ça va bien, et tu?”

“ça va bien, merci.”

he is not doing well.

v. AUSTRALIA, winter of ’14.

warmth and the smell of fresh cut grass. games on the television and crunches of potato chips. gentle waves and the lax beach.

winter approaches australia faster than evan had seen it coming, and before he knows it he’s packing his belongings once more. four years in one place is four years too long, he thinks.

after the death of his mother in a tragic drunk driving accident evan escaped to the opposite side of the world, secluding himself in the shelter of accents and surfboards in little ol’ australia. he stands out without a doubt. it isn’t his bright blonde hair ( there are far too many blondes around ), it isn’t his american accent when speaking english ( ever heard of tourist central? ), funnily enough, it’s the pair of ugly tortoise-shell patterned glasses he adorns. he hates them, to be quite frank, but he wears them because they’re a gift from his mother. his now very dead mother.

evan wears the glasses to the airport, heads turning his way as he strides through the vast building, weaving in and out of groups of bodies. he approaches the desk labeled with the red and blue sign of korea air, gently placing his passport on the counter and lugging his luggage onto the scale. he hears a faint chuckle from his right and when he looks up, it is none other than the female behind the counter.

“it’s the glasses, isn’t it?”

she only nods with another sheepish laugh, proceeding to begin the check-in process.

evan laughs too, genuinely, for the first time in what seemed like ages.

korea here i come.

vi. SEOUL, spring of ’17.

the cherry blossoms and the pastel colours. the soft tunes from the radio and the soft giggles of little children. the click of cameras and the strumming of guitars.

three years. that is the length of time he has been home, albeit a home he doesn’t recognize. seoul has changed from when he was a mere little boy, or perhaps it is he that has changed. park jehyung—who stands as evan park—is twenty-five this year and as he stands on the roads of hongdae looking out at the crowds walking happily, the corners of his lips unconsciously turn downwards.

evan is happy, but is he really happy?

working at a hipster record store in the middle of hongdae has its perks, he supposes. he gets to listen to the music he enjoys and witness the people passing by the store, each having their own story. twenty-five-year-old evan park is letting his life pass by right before his eyes as he spends his days organizing, then re-organizing, the display of old records that most fail to appreciate anymore.

but it’s alright because he’s home, and nothing is more important than home.

THE PRESENT.

vii. SEOUL, summer of ‘18

scents of smoke mixed with alcohol and the soulful laughter of friends. gentle voices and the quick steps of those exiting the stations. car horns honking and music blasting from stereos.

evan does not know what the word ‘home’ truly means, he has hardly stayed in one place long enough to establish such a concept– a trend that began from his early years. however, korea has always been the closest thing to a home that he knows. the sharehouse had been a cheap option for housing and the location (hongdae, to be exact) had been optimal for an individual like him who lives to find muse in those around him. every day is different for evan as he strolls the streets and overhears conversations passing by, not to mention the individuals he encounters at his part-time job at the rundown record store at the corner of the street. every passing face is an opportunity for a story that he can use– and that is why for three years, evan has not strayed from the sharehouse.

#mm:accepted

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larksinging · 7 years

Text

James Cd Case Packet: Mix Notes

alright here’s another long post about my song choices for this mix

THE HARDEST THING

i wanted another sh2 mix that was less industrial/hard rock than those tend to be so i made this. i have less to say about some of these songs because i feel some of it is a little bit more... self-evident?

i. the view - modest mouse

“If life's not beautiful without the pain / well I'd just rather never ever even see beauty again / Well as life gets longer, awful feels softer / And it feels pretty soft to me [...] For every good deed done there is a crime committed”

i feel this one is just a good mood setter for how like... overall fucked up james’ situation is. his situation does stem from getting hit with something awful and tragic and struggling to deal with that. what really sold it for me was the “for every good deed done there is a crime committed” with the radio static-y distortions

“You loved her, right?”

ii. satin in a coffin - modest mouse

“Are you here right now / or are there probably fossils under your meat? [...] Are you dead or are you sleepin'? / God I sure hope you are dead. / Well now the blow's been softened / since the ocean is our coffin / Often times you know our laughter / is your coffin ever after.”

“ Or maybe... you hated her."

i wanted to do some more messing with duality via song choices, so here we have two songs by the same artist back to back. besides the fixation on death in this song, i chose it as the flip side of the love/hate issue with james and mary. after all, there are times james wished she was dead, weren’t there?

iii. my secret friend (remix) - IAMX

“Oh take me to the river / My secret friend / So we can swim forever”

setting up another duality, but this one is mostly mood. think of it as james entering silent hill - the eerie and vaguely foreboding mood of the song sort of captures the fogworld. also, water themes.

iv. vices - brand new

“Those days are dead / (forgive me) / We need vices to wave to the good old days / She said goodbye to the ground / She said goodbye to the ground”

wow it would be SURE NICE if this song could ACTUALLY PLAY ON THE MIX. anyways. this song starts out soft and gentle, like some old style song, and then shifts very suddenly into a much harder rock. that felt very appropriate. anyway the concepts of something lost and a need for vices, or sin/something carnal seems... very appropriate for james

v. kettering - the antlers

“I wish that I had known in that first minute we met, the unpayable debt that I owed you”

it’s the first in a series! honestly you could probably just put on the antler’s hospice album and practically call that a sh2 mix, but, you know. a lot of the themes are similar - the struggle of losing someone, dealing with the slow death of a loved one, the strained relationship that follows and abuse. while james and mary are nowhere near as unhealthy as the couple in hospice, at they end things definitely got bad. it still works very well

vi. get out (acoustic) - circa survive

“I can't get started from the part where I left off yesterday / Should've spent my time a little wiser / I sat alone guilty as sin waiting for words to come / From out of my head still making sense to anyone [...] Lock myself up in a room without a window just to see / If it was any easier to breathe / I was wrong”

i like this song for the sense of confusion from the weight of the burden. there’s a kind of self-destructive desperation in the pursuit of understand that honestly characterizes james’ pursuit of “mary”. also, suffocation themes. while the original version is more energetic and jarring, i felt the slightly subdued acoustic version was more appropriate here

vii. daisy - brand new

“I'm a river that is all dried up / I'm an ocean nothing floats on [...] Well if we take all these things / and we bury them fast [...] Or if the sky opened up and started pouring rain / Like he knew it was time / to start things over again / It'd be all right, it's all right / it'd be easier that way”

james is a... conflicted person, and i like the chaotic mood of this song to represent this. there’s a sense of self-loathing and uselessness that really speaks to the heart of james’ character. the mix of wanting to move forward and also being stuck on the past and the easy route. also, water themes. also, another duality, since there are two songs by brand new

viii. my secret friend - IAMX (feat. Imogen Heap)

“My secret friend/ I'll take you to the river / My secret friend / So we can swim forever / In your skin / To die a little death / This time there's no code word / When everyday frays in hollow ends / Dream sweet love submissive”

the original version of the remix from earlier. this one feels a bit darker, more subdued, which i feel reflects how one’s perception of the town as you go along. i also like that this is a duet, which seems... appropriate. also, water themes.

ix. against the tide - celldweller

“Under the waves we're sinking like a stone / I'm sorry son, you're reaping what you've sown [...] This sorrow weighs down on my shoulders / This fear is getting harder to hide / You'll leave me alone in this darkness /Left to hold out /Against the tide”

james is crushed by the weight of his own actions. “you’re reaping what you sow” - this is, ultimately, james’ doing. maybe a song for pyramid head? anyway i feel the theme of this is pretty clear in its relationship to james. also, to beat a dead horse, water themes! this may also be the closest to the sh vocal track sound as this mix gets

x. holocaust - jordaan mason (original by big star)

“Your mother's dead / You're on your own / She's in her bed”

replace “mother” with “wife” and... well. the mood and feeling of this song is the most mary-ish of them all, and i chose it to capture the quiet misery and hopelessness of that whole situation. listening to this song doesn’t feel good in a really purposeful way.

xi. epilogue - the antlers

“I think you buried me awake (my one and only parting gift) / But you return to me at night / Just when I think I may have fallen asleep / Your face is up against mine / And I'm too terrified to speak / You're screaming / And cursing / And angry / And hurting me / And then smiling / And crying / Apologizing”

another song off of hospice. the scenario of seeing a dead loved one in a dream as a nightmare is... basically james’ silent hill experience? anyway i feel this captures more than anything the complexity of emotions going on between them during mary’s last day. as if the lines i quoted above aren’t basically the hallway conversation

xii. kings of medicine - placebo

“Don't leave me here to pass through time / Without a map or road sign / Don't leave me here, my guiding light / 'Cause I, I wouldn't know where to begin / I ask the kings of medicine / But it seems they've lost their power / Now all I'm left with is the hour”

this mix needed a song that was completely and purely just james’ grief. kings of medicine is an expression of - a healthier kind of grief, maybe? it comes at the end of the mix as james’ grief through the lens of the truth. or maybe in the past? but the explicitness of being lost without mary. i like just the pure power of this song

xiii. vindicated - dashboard confessional

“I am Vindicated / I am selfish / I am wrong / I am right, I swear I'm right / I swear I knew it all along / And I am flawed / But I am cleaning up so well / I am seeing in me now the things you swore you saw yourself [...] Just one touch and I'd be in / Too deep now to ever swim against the current / So let me slip away [...] Slight hope / It dangles on a string / Like slow spinning redemption...”

the thing about silent hill - about james’ story - is, at the end of it, there is a sliver of hope. i mean, more or less depending on the ending, but there is always the possibility of growth. of... healing? james reaches a point where he has the opportunity to move forward. mary forgives him, mary asks him to do what’s best for him/live for himself. that’s what this song is - the flicker of hope, the ability for james to become a better person. also: water themes!

xiv. wake - the antlers

“It was easier to lock the doors and kill the phones than to show my skin / because the hardest thing is never to repent for someone else / it's letting people in [...] Some patients can't be saved, but that burden's not on you.”

how could i not end with another song from hospice? wake is the song that likewise has that glimmer of hope, but in this case it represents a move towards self-forgiveness. after all, mary is dead, her last will and testament is just the letter. it’s ultimately james who has to forgive himself. while uh there is a bit more legitimate blame in mary’s death, her illness was something that was never his fault. if the last song is the final boss battle and mary cutscene, this is mary’s letter

i could have included something to indicate at all of the endings (none of these, for example, really gesture towards in water or maria). there might be a slight lean towards leave, but i like to think it matches just the games’ mood in general. i have a few songs that were cut - most notably fever dreams by circa survive (replaced with get out), but most of my ideas made it on.

#long post cw #silent hill #james sunderland #ask to tag

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