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gpsoftun · 3 years

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Demolishing every ludicrous trait Erik and Raven apologists hurl at Charles.

In no particular order....

Arrogant: Something Erik claimed in FC that fandom latched onto like the Gospel truth. I think the word they and the moron of magnetism are looking for is excited. As in, excited to be forming a team of fellow mutants to do real, likely history-making good. Were he arrogant, he would not have insisted they needed to train nor would he have been so quietly apprehensive. That was something he hid from the kids and when he tried confiding in Erik, naturally, the older man twisted things like he always does.

Naive: Similar to arrogant, Charles' entire mutant lifestyle is completely contrary to this. As an elder, he kept his students hidden and maintained strict anonymity. As a young man, outside of some bar hopping, he and Raven lived inside their own private bubble, separate from the world. It's pointed out in FC that Charles has no close friendships outside of his sister. Strange since he's so charismatic, smart, witty, and warm. Though he wants to co-exist peacefully with homo sapiens, he's no idiot. Especially in the 60s, he knew that anyone figuring out the truth about him and Raven would all too likely react with fear, panic, and hostility. Just because Charles chooses to be upbeat and friendly doesn't mean that he doesn't comprehend the wickedness found in human nature. He wanted to help take down Shaw as a big gesture of good faith to bring mutants into the mainstream. There was nothing unrealistic about this strategy. FC went out of its way to lean in favor of Erik's cynicism, but both men's predictions were equally possible. Yes, Erik had precedent for his belief, but so did Charles. As one example, the US and Japan went from bombing each other in WW2 to allying together during the Vietnam War. Charles sought a similar result for mutants and homo sapiens.

Controlling/manipulative: This one I wish was true about him most of the time. If he was as controlling as fandom claims, he would have performed lobotomies on Raven and Erik a long time ago, making the world much better for mutants and homo sapiens alike. But alas, Charles likes to let people make their own decisions. As he pointed out, he could have forced Erik to stay but didn't. He could have royally guilt-tripped Raven into staying but didn't. Before anyone brings up Moira or Jean, Charles suppressed Moira's memories to ensure no one could ever track him and his team down. He had no reason to trust anyone after what Raven and Erik did to him in Cuba. As for Jean, as I've previously stated, she's a psycho omen child! Charles KNOWS more than anyone the damage unchecked mental mutations can inflict. She would've been another great candidate for the lobotomy treatment. Facts of life: Real leaders have to make the hardest choices.

Evil-rich-white-male: Contrary to modern day assertions, those last three things are NOT synonymous with that first thing. People convince themselves that Charles' invisible mutation, fair skin, and money make him too out of touch with the plight of 'real' people. Because all stuck-up, racist elitists invite freakish blue thieves, emotionally volatile nazi hunters, ex-convicts, awkward gingers, and homeless children with unstable powers into their mansions all the time, right? They also apparently make lower class black people- including a stripper- their first two recruits. He clearly didn't flaunt his wealth, considering how the other mutants reacted to seeing his colossal house.

It's insane how much those waving the victim flags are utterly oblivious to Charles' hardships. His invisible mutation made him think he was losing his mind and totally isolated him. Erik had wonderful loving parents while Charles had to be completely self-reliant. Yes, Erik lost his parents to senseless cruelty but I wouldn't be surprised if Charles sometimes wished the same fate for his own parents. Even still, he kept his powers in control to prevent tragedies such as killing his parents in a severe car crash for example.

Like the majority of the US and UK, Charles is white. And it is so doubly insulting to be of the ignorant mindset that this grants him some sort of impenetrable shielding from all the bad things in the world. No group on this planet owns the copyright to suffering. In proclaiming whiteness to be some grand privilege, you're saying that melanin is a devastating curse. Fandom wants to grant Raven and Erik passes due to one being an insecure blue girl and the other being a Jew. However, it's Raven who is more privileged because her shape-shifting powers give her an eternal get-out-of-jail free card and allows her to manipulate whoever she wants by deception. What Erik suffered during the holocaust was unforgivable. However, as soon as he gained his freedom, the world became his oyster. He has absolutely no traditionally Jewish features so when he reveals his tattoo, enemies are caught completely off-guard. He's tall, handsome, sophisticated, has accumulated his own wealth, powerful- essentially, the poster child for the idealistic man. Charles is short by male standards, has more weight on him, and softer, slightly feminine features. Even when he's put in a wheelchair at such a young age, people still want to act like he has it better than Erik and Raven. That could not be further from the truth. And what's with people expecting this rich white man to always save the day? Erik mandating that the friend he abandoned/paralyzed had a responsibility to get him out of prison and protect murderous mutants, Raven claiming Charles is so controlling then she wants to come around asking for favors and criticize him for how he runs his school. Not to mention, a random scruffy dude showing up from the future with an urgent request for Charles to save all of mankind before it's too late- but no pressure! Every time Charles is trying to mind his own business, the wolves come scratching at his door.

This brings me to Charles being male- yet another fact-made-accusation and alleged privilege. Since the dawn of time, there have been societal gender roles passed along in some form throughout the generations. Like those roles or not, the fact is that humanity itself (men AND women) forged and maintained them. Through Raven, fandom sees some female freedom fighter, burning bras and dethroning the wiiiicked patriarchy. Because of this, Raven is infantilized and given the green light to let her emotions dictate her actions without real repercussions. Because again, the white man is right there to clean up after her. The elder Xavier states that their greatest gift is to bear others' pain without breaking. By the time he becomes that elder, Charles is a shadow of his former self. The fun, spirited, affectionate, passionate, feeling young man is reduced to a closed off, self-sacrificing saintly sage who has to hide his emotions and problems at all costs. Any time he dares think about himself or make his sorrows known, he's attacked for it. Through his relationship with Erik, he thought he had something of an older brother to turn to the way he did for Raven. But Erik turned out to be entirely selfish and emotionally stunted. Whenever Charles expresses how much he misses Raven and wants her home, she viciously throws everything he ever did for her in his face. After being unable to openly grieve, Charles tried to share fond memories of his life with Raven to his oldest friend and Hank not only coldly dismissed him but blamed Charles for his sister's death and made him out to be a child abuser. Charles is the definition of what a real man is supposed to be. A pillar of strength who provides safety and support to all those in his care with very little concern for his own well-being. This takes a severe toll on his mental health as the years go by. By the stupid phoenix movie, his alcoholic self-medicating has resumed and everything in his voice and mannerisms indicates that he's rapidly heading for a nervous breakdown. But not ONE of his loved ones ever cares to notice in between throwing accusations at him.

Sexist: Ohhhhh boy, where to start with this baffling BS.... I guess from the beginning. In the first movie from 2000, the active X-Men consist of two women and a man before Logan joins. While Jean and Storm are in dignified, respected positions, Mystique is running around as Magneto's naked, animalistic pet wench. In X2, Charles sends Jean and Storm into the field while Scott goes with him to the prison to visit Uncle Magnetwat. While Mystique is running around as a naked, animalistic pet wench. In last stand, though Scott is team leader, Charles chooses Storm as his successor. Once again, binding Jean's powers had nothing to do with misogyny and everything to do with safety. Rogue's powers are very dangerous, but Charles never tries to take them away. Storm could probably wash an entire continent away yet Charles trusts her as a leader. Meanwhile, Mystique is replaced by new wenches and dumped by Magneto like a naked, animalistic pet wench shot for a broken leg. Also, Jean betrays and murders Charles to take one of Magneto's wench slots, where her unstable state is taken advantage of as she's lugged around like a muzzled pitbull. That progressive, dehumanizing metal head is such an upgrade from that conservative, caring, fair-minded mental man, isn't he? On to the FC series, where this complaint mostly originated, Charles is specifically presented as very much not a sexist. Yes, he flirted and enjoyed the company of women. Shocking as it may seem due to the lack of flags and orgy parades, hetero people like a little romance, too. Also, unless you believe Erik to be a rapist, how do you think he sired two children? Charles offered Angel a job, where she would not have to objectify herself. Then, ditched him to be objectified by Shaw. Charles stood up for Moira against her actual sexist employer and trusted her instincts- even referring to her as boss- over the older male CIA agents unless it conflicted with his loyalty to Erik. When he's abducted- thanks to Erik- Jean is the one Charles trusts and reaches out to for help (Raven, who that?). He often shows confidence in her capabilities. Even in the stupid phoenix movie, his love for Jean never waivers, even after she kills his sister (Eh, Raven, who that?). He didn't want Storm- or anyone outside of Scott- on the mission because he didn't want another casualty or critical injury like Peter's. The slimy street urchin proceeded to emulate her dead 'hero' Raven by being snide and argumentative. I swear, Raven, Storm, Jean, Angel- they're all so easily manipulated by the worst kinds of people. Charles isn't sexist but I have no doubt that the producers of these films are.

Mistreatment of Raven: Oh, you best believe this filthy, filthy lie deserved it's own category. Charles has no concept of how to mistreat that shape-shifting shrew. From the second they met, he adopted her and had to use his powers to convince everyone she was his sister- a use of his powers Raven conveniently never complains about. He respected her request not to read her mind, though. As the older child who pretty much raised himself, Charles felt he was doing the same with his protection of Raven. He never hated her appearance and only tried to be honest with her about the dangers in the world and how he did NOT view her as a sexual being. Obviously, he wasn't overprotective. When he was recruited by the CIA, Raven was by his side the entire time and even helped him during his presentation- where she sat up front right by her brother. Charles probably wanted to find the other mutants with her, but he cooperated with Erik and made it a bros-only road trip. Charles 'condescendingly' excluding her from the first mission? Yeah, the same penalty as the other young mutants horsing around like a fleet of immature idiots. Yes, Charles behaved similarly- in BARS aka the proper setting for youthful frolicking. They were in a government facility in the midst of strategizing a plan to stop a powerful nazi and unify mutants and homo sapiens. Charles was mature enough to put all that college kid stuff on the back burner. He thought Raven grasped the gravity of the situation as well but clearly, she didn't. He said he expected more from her because he expected more from her. After the CIA attack, instead of locking Raven in a tower for her own safety, Charles keeps her on the team. This is where Erik's smug snake self got to swoop in and act like the 'good' guy. Too bad she's the only one he took ANY interest in. No, shoving a scared teenage boy off a satellite dish doesn't count. Raven had YEARS to train with Charles already. He had three new young mutants- including one with lethal fire power- to take care of in addition to training Erik. While Erik was propping Raven up, Charles was doing the same with Hank, encouraging him to let the Beast and his big feet free. After more gross sweet talk from Erik, Raven lashes out at Charles, not wanting him to use his powers but expecting him to be a mind-reader. When she starts walking around all blue and clothed, Charles couldn't care less. For some reason, despite her bratty attitude, Raven sat on the jet by Charles all the way to Cuba, where he sheltered her during turbulence. As leader, Charles assigned everyone a task based on their skills. Raven did not have enough combat experience or offensive powers. It made more sense for her petulant self to guard Charles and Moira on the ship and act as a distraction. After he was shot and experiencing massive agony, Charles kissed Raven's hand and gave her the OK to go. Ten years later, despite his depression from missing her, it takes a world-ending threat for Charles to even contact her. Having not grown up a bit, Raven only accuses him of being controlling.... With zero evidence. People transfer their own man issues onto Charles and automatically side with Raven. All Raven does is contradict Charles. She wanted to continue the mission in FC and Charles agreed. She called him controlling in dofp and Charles had to agree to keep her from killing someone. She criticizes Charles for running a school in xma instead of training child soldiers and Charles eventually relents and even lets her lead the X-Men. By the stupid phoenix movie, Charles has achieved harmony but Raven is pissy about going on dangerous missions and his endangering the 'kids'. The same kids she plans to abandon but not before trying to turn Hank, Charles' most trusted friend, against him. Yay for defying negative feminist stereotypes 😏

Paternalistic: In my day- roughly ten years ago- being paternal was a very positive male characteristic. But as with many things in the modern day, it's been perverted into something negative. After all his years of being abused and abandoned, being bombarded by others' thoughts and emotions almost to the point of insanity, Charles reacted to it all by becoming a devoted father figure. Idiots like Simon Kinberg try to act like Raven's 'maternal' relationship with the kids was wonderful while claiming Charles' paternal one was problematic. What's Charles supposed to do exactly? Sexualize his young female mutants and use the males as nothing but cannon fodder a la Erik and Shaw? News stories are constantly coming out about teachers who groom and molest students yet Charles being fatherly is a bad thing?! Okay, this is already freakishly long so let me put this in terms this fandom can understand. You know how you may feel an attraction to the same-sex or the sudden urge to swap genders? That's your nature the way being paternal is for Charles and others. Mmkay?

Idealistic: I swear, the directors, writers, cast members, and fandom need to stop sharing the same cocaine straws. Again, being an upbeat person instead of a perpetual dour emo does not make someone an idealistic fool. In X-movie land, Charles is the realist to Erik's delusional idealism. Yes, Erik is right that it is in human nature to try to eliminate whatever they perceive as a threat. However, his ridiculous methods only ever result in making things worse for mutants and/or getting many of them killed. This holocaust surviver lived under the most infamous dictator in recent memory. Despite getting countless people on his bandwagon to slaughter, imprison, and experiment on millions, Hitler still lost! Those guys always lose! Charles did not grow up under such a cruel regime yet he knows that waging war against most of the planet will only end in a senseless bloodbath for everyone. He has seen despicable actions from mutants and homo sapiens alike and knows one is not purer than the other. Erik has seen the same- starting with the *mutant* that killed his *homo sapien* mother but he continuously plays the us vs. them game like the naive twat he is. This is to the point that while Charles is uniting everyone, Erik winds up building the mutant equivalent of Themysicira, offering refuge under the strict stipulation of zero contact with the outside world like insects sealed in a jar. Fandom tries to paint Erik as this forward-thinking revolutionary when he's the most closed-minded. Charles forces nothing on anyone. He offers mutants a home, food, safety, education, and training completely free. It's then up to them how they use those tools. Stay with the X-Men, live in anonymity as private citizens, live as open mutants, get into politics, join the entertainment industry, take the X gene cure, don't take the X gene cure, open the first llama farm in Alaska- Charles is supportive of whatever outside of genocide. Erik honestly thinks he can be the ruler of a kingdom linked solely by a single random gene. Because of course there could never be in-fighting between various kinds of mutants, right? No telepaths made to feel like unwanted intruders? No physically abnormal but powerless mutants resentful of the beautiful ones with invisible powers? It's not as if the X-Men movies have prequels that showcase this sort of conflict....

All in all, James McAvoy and Patrick Stewart gave a staggeringly, one in a million performance in shaping Professor Charles Xavier. In the hands of other actors, he could easily come off as an obnoxious gary stu. The writers had nothing to do with this. The two actors combined to turn the iconic but standard wise mentor figure into one of the deepest, most likeable, multi-layered characters on film in a really long time.

I really had hoped for Michael Fassbender to do the same with Erik but alas, the uncreative team betrayed us all there.

This took over 4 hours to write.

I regret nothing 😎

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luvreyn · 3 years

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lex talionis | Gojo Satoru x Reader (Part 1)

Summary: When the Royal Knights took your Father and people, they also took your innocence, dreams, and life. Because of that, they will pay, and you’re targeting the Royals who decreed it in the first place.

lex talionis (noun) law of retribution in kind : an eye for an eye

(AU Royalty! Gojo fic.)

"Love," your Mother hummed as she brushed your hair. "Your Father would be so happy to see you wear his gift."

"Will he?" You can’t stop the smile on your face.

"Yes," she said, kissing your cheek tenderly. "That necklace has been passed down from one chieftain to another."

Your eyes twinkled. "But I am still 12 years old. Am I not too young to be Chief?"

"You are, Love. That is why you must learn all that you can from your Father to be a great Chief."

Your Mother has never lied, and so you believe her. So when your Father came home that night with the meat he traded in exchange for the grains your people planted, you thanked him and showed him the necklace around your neck.

You feel a sense of pride when he looks at you and tells you that you’re going to be a great Chief.

The years passed.

You’re a chief-in-training, almost of legal age. You helped with the preparations for the next harvest and studied medicine under your Mother.

Life is peaceful in your village. Peaceful and beautiful. You could hear the contagious laughter of children, the proud boasting of men, the soft and calming voices of women, you could hear life.

A dark cloud hovers above your village like a bad omen. At night, you heard the sound of the rain, horse noises, swords being unsheathed, and yelling.

Your Father orders you and your Mother to stay inside while he faces the Royal Knights. Odd, they don’t step foot here because they say you are savages. (You didn’t follow his order. You’re a chief-in-training. Surely you should know why the Royal Knights are here. They might not be your people, but a good leader is someone who can harmonize with other people)

"I am the Chief. What brings you here at this late hour?" you hear your Father.

A Knight hops off the big dark horse and faces your Father, scowling, produces a piece of paper (you later saw the Royal Insignia attached to it) and says, out loud. "As the King decrees, all men of legal age are arrested for the crime of murdering a member of the Royal Family."

Murder? Of a Royal Family? Who? (Later on, you’ll find out that Her Majesty, the Queen, was slayed in a gruesome manner.)

"Good sir," you said as you took a step forward, your shoe making contact with the wet ground.Your Father looks horrified to see you outside. "There must be some kind of mistake. My people are not murderers. We are farmers. "

The Knight looks at you in disgust, like your very existence personally offended him.

When the Knight refused to speak to you, your father pleaded their innocence.

"Please, I would like to request an audience with His Majesty. We did not kill anyone. It is unforgivable. It is worse than death."

But they did not listen.

You watched in horror when they started dragging people out of their homes in the pouring rain.

"Please, sire," you pleaded again. "There is a mistake. Please."

"Take them away." The Knight ignored you. They rounded up your Father’s friends, your people, and your Father.

Your Father fell when the Knight suddenly pushed him. You shrieked and ran towards your Father to help him, but the Knight pushed you away.

"My love," your Mother cried out as she tried to reach for your Father.

Your Father looks back at you both. "I am fine. It will be fine. I will ask for an audience. " He assured. You would have believed him if you hadn’t seen the killing intent in the eyes of the Knight earlier.

Nevertheless, you gave a firm nod.

"Keep our people safe, my love." your Father told you.

Your people are tied tightly using ropes and were forced onto a cart.

You nodded again while holding the necklace tightly. You’re a chief-in-training. It’s your duty to take over whenever your Father couldn’t.

"Stay with your mother! Stay safe!"

As if he were not being dragged against his will. Your Mother is hugging you tightly while crying, and you turn around to comfort her. You say assurances that you do not believe in , but you hope that will happen.

You can hear crying, rain drops, sounds of horse noises, swords sheathing, and yelling.

The nightmare has just begun.

You dropped on the ground as you bowed deeply in front of the Prince and King. The Royal Knights are trying to remove you because you are in the way.

Your Father failed. They did not allow any audience. They did not want to listen. The investigations are over. The evidence clearly points to them. They told you over and over again.

It does not make sense.

"Your Majesty, Your Highness, I beg of you, my Father is innocent. All these men are. " Your head was pressed against the cold, hard ground as you prayed for them to believe you and for the salvation of your people and Father. "We are only farmers. Please reconsider, Your Majesty-"

"Get her out of my sight." His Majesty’s tone reminds you of the Knight who visited your home. He is disgusted with you.

"Your Majesty! Your Highness!"

(His Highness's eyes are a clear blue, like the skies - threatening to devour anyone and anything they see. It’s beautiful and terrifying all at once.)

The smell of death is strong. It hovers around you like a mother's hug. You are sure your lips are bleeding with the way you are biting it.

You watched with tears in your eyes as they executed your villagers one by one for a crime they didn’t commit. You refused to blink or turn your head away. You wanted to see your people. You owe it to them to know that they didn’t die alone, here, in front of a crowd that wants them dead. They’ve been there for you since the day you were born, and you will return the favour by being with them till they die.

Look, look, look. You failed to protect your people. You can feel the soft liquid on your hands where your nails are digging. Don’t falter now.

Your Father, as the chief of the village, is the last one. They say he was the leader and was the one who killed Her Majesty. Another lie.

"Do you have any last words, murderer?" his executioner (death) asks. And you want to hurt him for talking to your Father like that.

The blade is shining as if in waiting. You closed your eyes and prayed, please let there be a miracle. Save my father, please. Gods, if you are real like my Father told me, then save him.

"I—" coughed your father.He is weak physically, but you saw that his spirit is still alive. "I didn’t kill her Majesty. We didn’t kill her."

"Liar." they hissed, whispered, cursed. "Savages, they should all die."

They chanted for your Father’s death. Again and again and again until you had to cover your ears.

You are overwhelmed by their sheer hatred and prejudice. These people—citizens and aristocrats alike—want your beloved Father dead.

Your Father's eyes found you. His eyes widened, and he looked scared. His eyes tell you that he didn’t want you to be here when he take his last breath (for a crime he didn’t commit, a crime the Empire is accusing him of).

"You would be wise to tell the truth before you die." Death hisses.

Your Father took a deep breath and you cried at how broken he is. He is shedding tears right now, for his people, for your Mother, for you.

"My family... my daughter...Please spare my daughter."

You don’t recognise yourself as you sobbed loudly, clawed at the guards trying to stop you from going to your father. You are undone.

Death is swift, precise, and unforgiving.

Finally, they are dead. They cheered, saying justice had been served.

Your ears are ringing, your head is spinning, and the smell of blood and death is strong. It hugs you like a Father cradling a scared child.

You have never been a hateful child. Your parents told you that you are born from love. You were raised with love and affection by a devoted mother and a (now deceased) father. So you shall embody it. That is why we call you ‘Love’, they said.

But, right now, as you stand alone in the crowd, among the people who wanted your people (your Father, you terribly missed him.) dead, you are overcome with hate and loathing.

You think you are seeing blood on your hands, on your clothes, but there is only blood where your people and your father stood just a moment (or is it minutes?) ago.

(Blood, so much blood. Blood of your people, blood of your Father, your blood)

There is one death today, too. The death of Love, the wishes of your Father and Mother that you would always be full of love. You mourned for it, too.

One day, you vow as you look at the people gathered, that will be all of you. I will not stop until you are all dead.

(You could paint the sky with their blood right now and give it to your people and father without feeling guilty.)

And when your eyes find the eyes of the Young Prince (His Majesty is sitting next to him, a satisfied grin on his face and eyes full of mirth as he looks at the aftermath), you are hit with an overwhelming desire to drag them to the mud where they deemed you worthy.

You clutched the necklace your father gave you tightly and thought darkly. Especially you, Royals. I will take everything you ever loved from you.

(When you closed your eyes, you saw blood, still, and the young prince's eyes that were so terrifyingly beautiful.)

#Gojo Satoru x Reader #Gojo Satoru x y/n #Gojo Satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen au #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #Gojo Satoru au #royalty gojo #reynwrites

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batwake · 4 years

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wearing yellow to a funeral - reddie

ao3 link

summary: The Losers Club find the strength to carry on after killing It, and Richie deals with his feelings by politely ignoring them.

In the months following It, the Losers miraculously find some way to carry on. The cuts on their hands scar over and fade, Stanley gets his bandages taken off, Bev keeps her hair short and choppy, and September arrives with little fanfare.

Turns out that killing a demon clown doesn’t change much as about their status in the middle school hierarchy, but Henry Bowers isn’t around to shove Eddie into lockers and they only get called slurs every once in a while. Eighth grade, Richie decides, is the best year yet.

Puberty hits them all at full force by November, and it’s nice to see Beverly starting to laugh and smile more often as the boys’ voices crack as they get deeper, or they hurry out of the classroom with their notebooks held discreetly in front of themselves. Richie thinks it’s funny too, even has his limbs practically grow overnight and he has to actually start shaving, even if it’s just the fuzz on his upper lip.

Focusing on his developing body is a good distraction to his developing mind, as well. He thinks about how wild his hair is becoming, instead of thinking about how soft Eddie’s looks. He avoids the arcade and tells himself that it’s because he has a Sega at home, or that he’d rather be listening to his records instead.

Mike tells them all about his first kiss with some girl who hangs around the farm because her father works there. That’s the first time Richie notices how handsome Mike is, with his jaw that is just starting to square up and big, working hands.

Richie’s not stupid. He knows the other Losers are attractive, and what this means for him. It’s just starting to become a problem.

When Bill tosses his arm around him in the hallway, Richie is quick to stumble out a laugh and brush his arm off. When Ben and Stan are hovering on either side of him, looking at something in a textbook, Richie leans as far back as he can without breaking the rickety old library chair.

When it gets warm enough again, Richie spends a Saturday morning by himself at the Kissing Bridge, trying to force himself to scribble out the letters that he scratched there himself nearly a year ago. They’re going into high school, how could Richie still feel like that, after everything? He had sort of been hoping that the clown had snuffed out his Eddie-Libido. Instead the damn thing had added fuel to the fire.

Instead Richie sits in the still-wet grass for an hour or two, digging his pocket knife even further into the wood and forcing the letters back to prominence after the last eight months of wear and tear.

It feels childish. The whole walk to Eddie’s house, he contemplates turning around, running back to the bridge, and kicking the damn post over and off the cliff for good. Instead he just ends up in Eddie’s bed, laughing and reading comics and thinking thoughts he shouldn’t think, relishing in their private moments, where it’s just them, before they leave to meet up with the other Losers in the afternoon.

It’s easier to pretend, if he lets himself be present. Poke and prod Eddie like he always does, but avoid skin. Call him the stupid nicknames, but not my love, or dearest, as he had when they were younger, grinning and shoving at each other. He throws a few extra mom jokes in there, and Eddie even laughs, bright and warm and beautiful.

One ounce of honesty per day.

By the summer before their junior year, it almost feels like they’ve moved on with their lives. Richie can walk through the park again, Stan can hear the sound of a flute without a panic attack. Bill’s stutter is even mostly gone, which the Losers figure is the miracle of miracles. The sunshine after the storm, the good omen to put the past behind them and be semi-normal teens.

Hey guys, Richie doesn’t say, remember when we fought that evil clown a few summers ago? Wasn’t that fun?

Sometimes Richie feels like the only one who remembers. None of them bring it up unless it’s on accident. And even then, it’s fleeting. Just a moment, a second of silence if someone says something about a clown, or balloons, or Georgie.

Ben and Richie are by themselves in the clubhouse one afternoon. Richie’s stretched out in the hammock, his gangly limbs poking every which way.

“I can’t believe we used to fit multiple people in here,” Richie says, offhand. There’s the beat of quiet, as both Richie and Ben remember the Summer of It when Eddie and Richie used to share the thing all the time. Then, Richie continues, “we should get another one.”

Ben scoffs. “There’s no room for that. Besides, I’m sure you and Eddie could find some way to squeeze in there together.”

More silence, but it’s not the heavy, thick kind that usually befalls them as they remember that summer. This silence is a bit more awkward, more friendly. Well intended.

“Why’re you signalling Eds out?” Richie laughs the weight in his chest away. “You could come cuddle with me, Benny-boy.” He makes kissing noises as Ben huffs out that almost-laugh that he does when he isn’t really sure what to say.

Well, that makes two of them.

“I mean, that’s yours and Eddie’s spot,” Ben finally says, albeit a bit sheepishly.

Richie leans forward as far as he can in the hammock, trying to get a good view of Ben. He’s sitting on the floor, writing, or drawing, or something. Stan and Bill have already begun college applications, Richie wouldn’t be surprised if Ben was hopping on that train too.

“It’s not our spot,” Richie says defensively. “Bev sits in here all the time.”

“Sure,” says Ben. He sounds sarcastic, which is rare for him. “You guys might as well write your initials on the side of that thing.”

Richie very carefully tries not to choke on his spit or fall off the hammock. Ben continues, “maybe we should just get a new one, so you can both fit.”

“No!”

“Weren’t you the one just campaigning for a second one?”

Frustrated, Richie flops back onto his back, closing his eyes as the hammock rocks beneath him. Sure, it’s getting old, more brown than yellow these days, and there’s definitely several holes from where Richie and Eddie had dug the heels of their feet into the nylon a few too many times. It smells like dust and water from the quarry, and maybe a little like the lemon cleaning supplies that Sonia Kaspbrak uses. It isn’t hard to imagine Eddie sitting with him, as much as they have grown in the last few years. They’d find a way to force themselves in just to annoy each other.

There’s the sound of shuffling, like Ben putting down his papers and crawling across the space to sit next to the hammock. Then, a reassuring hand finding Richie’s shoulder.

Richie opens his eyes. Ben is looking over the edge of the hammock, a knowing look on his face.

“Benjamin Handsome,” Richie presses his hand against Ben’s face as he laughs, “I hate you.”

“You don’t.”

Folding his arms, Richie looks back up at the ceiling. Some dust falls. Richie opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted by the sound of voices, quickly followed by the hatch opening.

“Hey,” says Mike as he climbs down, followed by Eddie. If Ben notices the hitch in Richie’s breath, he doesn’t say anything.

“We were just talking about how old this hammock is, do you think we should replace it?”

Eddie’s face appears over Richie’s, an odd look on his face. “Why should we?”

“Ben doesn’t think we can both fit in it anymore!” Eddie yelps as Richie grabs him by the shoulders and hauls him into the hammock. They spend a few seconds laughing and flailing, almost falling off the damn thing several times, before they manage to steady themselves, Richie still sprawled out and Eddie place precariously on his lap, legs on either side of Richie’s hips. Both of their faces are red, and Eddie is breathing sort of heavily.

“I knock the wind out of ya, eh Eds?”

He can’t be totally sure, but Richie almost swears that Eddie gets a bit pinker around the ears. “Fuck you, Trashmouth, you could’ve killed both of us just then! Crack both of our skulls open-- ”

Mike and Ben are laughing somewhere to Richie’s right. Eddie’s going off on some tangent about hammock safety, but makes no real effort to move, and doesn’t even say anything once Richie’s hand finds purchase on his calf, right above where he used to wear those ridiculous socks. The skin there is soft and smooth, unlike Richie’s legs, whose growth spurt also included dark hair on most parts of his body. Richie takes a moment to revel in that, think about what that means, before he tunes back in to what Eddie is saying, his face screwed up in a very cute way.

Mentally, Richie sprays himself with water. Down, boy.

“--and what would have even been the point, a total waste of time.”

Eddie shakes his head with a sigh when he realizes that Richie hadn’t been listening. “If this thing breaks with both of us on it, it’s your fault.” Then, he flops onto his back, unfolding his knees and sticking his feet in Richie’s face. They’re more on top of each other than they ever were as kids, and something feels a bit different than how it did when they were thirteen. Eddie even kicks of Richie’s glasses.

His vision is fuzzy as he looks over the yellow nylon, glasses disappearing somewhere between their tangled limbs, but can still tell that Ben and Mike are flashing him two thumbs up.

It’s kind of ridiculous, that the whole thing comes to a head during their senior year.

At this point, Richie is fairly sure that most, if not all, the other Losers know about his crush. He hates calling it that, feels like a twelve year old carving their initials into the fucking kissing bridge. He keeps thinking that one day he’ll wake up and the feelings will be gone, that he’ll realize that it wasn’t romantic at all and that it was just the lingering side effects of It or some shit. It doesn’t help that Richie’s still a teenager who has needs and likes sex.

Eddie, in his track uniform, sweaty after a meet. In the quarry, stripped down to his underwear, wet and smiling like the sun. Even during the goddamn winter, Eddie’s nose pink and eyelashes covered in snowflakes and shouting profanities as Richie throws snowballs at him. It’s enough to drive an eighteen year old closeted, flaming homosexual crazy.

Beverly likes to look at Richie knowingly over cigarettes, just as Ben does whenever Richie and Eddie are in the hammock together. Bill pats his shoulder in a sorry, buddy, gesture. Mike and Stanley like to give vague speeches, about patience and idiots who just need to shut up and make out already.

Mike and Stan aren’t the most subtle, to say the least.

They go to prom, all seven of them as each other’s dates. Richie wears this hideous powder blue suit that he found in an antique store for three dollars, and Eddie manages to keep a straight face as Richie bows and asks him for a dance.

To his surprise, Eddie takes the hand that Richie had extended, pulling them head first onto the dancefloor full of girls with too much hairspray in their hair and guys who aren’t wearing enough deodorant. Behind them, Richie can hear the other Losers cheering and whistling.

“Y’know Eds, I had kind of expected you to throw punch in my face or something,” Richie says, loudly enough over the music once they’ve stopped in the crowd of people. Eddie shrugs, and starts moving his shoulders and legs in the most perfect, awkward way possible. Richie follows his lead, bouncing lightly on his toes to the beat.

Just as the chorus kicks in, they both open their mouths to sing along, grinning goofily at each other.

There’s a room where the light won’t find you, holding hands while the walls come tumbling down. When they do, I’ll be right behind you.

Eddie’s sort of screaming it, and Richie supposes that he is too. Their hands are held tightly together as they dance playfully, spinning and wiggling their arms and laughing the whole way through.

So glad we’ve almost made it, so sad they had to fade it, everybody wants to rule the world.

Despite the people all around them, Richie feels like it’s just them. Richie and Eddie, Eddie and Richie.

When the song ends and transitions into something else, they’re pressed closely together. More people have joined the dance floor, and it takes a second for Richie to realize that it’s because a slow song started to play. Couples with matching dresses and ties start to pair up, or hopeful looking boys hover awkwardly around a bored looking girl who looks out of their league. Richie even spots Ben and Bev over Eddie’s shoulder.

His eyes drop back down to Eddie, who is still looking up at him. Eddie’s sort of standing between Richie’s legs, and one of his hands holds onto Richie’s sleeve. They’re both breathing heavily.

“Hey,” Richie says breathlessly. “Wanna go outside?”

“Yes please,” Eddie huffs, and it’s maybe the sexiest thing Richie’s ever heard.

They shuffle through the crowd of high schoolers until they get to the gym’s side door, slipping out into the warm night unnoticed.

The door clicks shut behind them. The music is muffled, but still audible. Richie laughs and leans against the brick wall. “You sure know how to treat a lady, Eds.”

Eddie shakes off his black suit jacket and seems to relish in the relief for a moment. It’s only then that Richie realizes how warm he is, too.

Richie is quick to follow suit.

“That suit is hideous.”

“You’re hideous.”

“Real smooth, Trashmouth.”

Richie shrugs, tossing the jacket onto the concrete. Eddie winces, but lets him do the same to his own.

There’s only one light on this side of the building, casting their little alleyway in an eerie sort of glow. As they collect themselves, Richie doesn’t have to even say anything to know that they’re both thinking the same thing. It.

Richie holds out his hand. Their fingers slip together easily as Eddie steps forward and back into Richie’s space. Neither of them have really slow danced, unless you count the time they drunkenly celebrated New Years in Bill’s basement and broke a vase as they attempted the Dirty Dancing dance.

It’s not too hard to get into. Richie’s hands go to Eddie’s waist, and Eddie wraps his arms around Richie’s neck. The height difference makes it slightly difficult, and it’s only when Richie laughs lightly does Eddie step on Richie’s foot.

“Dick,” Richie mutters into Eddie’s hair as he hunches his shoulders. Eddie can wrap himself around Richie properly now, one of his hands tangled into the mess that has become Richie’s hair. Then, “you look good tonight. I, ah.” He huffs nervously as he feels one of the hands on his neck tighten. “Yellow is your color.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to laugh into Richie’s shirt. He pulls back a little, just enough to look up at his taller friend. Richie takes him in, with his yellow dress shirt and cute curls and a stupid smirk on his face.

“Thanks,” Eddie says simply. He let’s Richie spin him, and it feels oddly elegant, even if they’re just two teenagers poorly slow dancing in an alleyway behind their senior prom. “I’d say you look good too, but I don’t think baby blue suits you.”

“Yeah, I agree, I’ll have to ask your mom if I can borrow one of her yellow blouses so we can match next time.”

He just manages to catch Eddie roll his eyes before he realizes that his head is being tugged down and their mouths are being pressed together.

Well then.

Richie spends a second trying to decide what to do, while also battling with the thirteen year old horndog in the back of his brain that is two seconds away from getting on his knees. Just as he decides to tilt his head, though, Eddie is stepping away. He looks surprised, if anything.

Eddie opens his mouth, like he’s about to say something, then closes it with a click of his teeth. Christ, Richie was just kissing that mouth.

“I would’ve asked to borrow a shirt from your mom years ago if I had known you’d do that,” Richie finally manages.

Eddie groans and runs his hands through his hair. It sticks up in several directions, and all Richie can think is cute cute cute. “Can’t you be serious for two seconds?”

“I am serious!” Richie waves an arm vaguely. “I’ve been in love with you since we were like, eleven! And don’t even get me started on that stupid cl--”

They’re kissing again before Richie can finish the sentence, which is just as well. Eddie’s up on his toes and Richie’s leaning down, wrapping his arms around him and pulling Eddie as closely to his chest as possible.

“You’re so stupid,” Eddie mutters into Richie’s mouth. It sounds more like Oar Show Shoe Ped, but Richie is basically the leading expert on all things Eddie Kaspbrak, and gets the jist. Richie’s about ready to add very good at kissing to the list of Strange Things About Eddie Kaspbrak, right between wears socks to bed and can say the alphabet backwards.

When Richie leaves for LA, Eddie gives him a little black journal. “For your jokes,” he says with a final kiss to the side of Richie’s face.

It’s only once Richie is on the plane does he find the flowers, dried and pressed carefully between the front and the first page of the notebook. They’re the same yellow ones that grow in Richie’s backyard back in Derry. The same ones that Eddie braided into Richie’s hair, and the little blue and yellow ones that Richie liked to decorate Eddie’s windowsill with.

The old lady on the plane beside him tells him that the yellow ones are called butterweeds. Then, with a sweet laugh and a hand pressed to her heart, “and those blue ones with the yellow in the middle. Forget-me-nots. ”

“Makes sense,” Richie says shakily, although he doesn’t know why. “I’m leaving my hometown to go to LA.”

The woman pats Richie’s leg reassuringly, sensing the trepidation in his voice. “I’m sure it’ll all work out fine.”

People ask Richie all the time; what’s with you and the color yellow?

The Lie: It’s my favorite color.

The Truth: I have vague memories of yellow shirts and yellow sneakers and yellow hammocks. When I first moved to LA I always painted my nails yellow because it made me feel less homesick. I keep these pressed yellow weeds taped in this thirty year old notebook and I’m not sure why. The smell of cleaning supplies makes me sick. Sometimes, I have these strange dreams, of the sun reflected on clear water and a yellow raincoat. There’s laughing, and smiling, and joy, but there’s also something like fear. Shame. Guilt. And the yellow that got me through it, the light within the darkness. You know when you press your fingers to your eyes, and you start to see spots? That’s what yellow feels like. So I surround myself with yellow. Yellow flowers in the green room, yellow lights on set. Ugly yellow patterned shirts because they make me laugh and I know they make someone else do, too. Yellow phone cases, yellow ties, yellow posters for my Yellow! tour, where I tell an odd joke about being allergic to lemons, even though I’m not, and I don’t know anyone who is. I remember a yellow hammock, and a warm, sunshine filled body pressed close to me. I remember how yellow the sun seemed after… something. Darkness. Something that I see in my nightmares but I forget the words before I wake up. Something yellow.

When the Losers Club officially reunites 27 years later and Richie remembers why he hates arcades so much, he waits for the memories of yellow to return to him. In the clubhouse, there’s the yellow hammock, where he wonders if he and Eddie would still fit. They pass by Richie’s old house, and he can almost see the yellow weeds peeking out from behind a fence. Eddie says something about lemons, and he remembers that it was Eddie who had claimed to be allergic to them, all those years ago, and how his house smelled like lemon cleaning supplies anyway.

They fight It for the second time, and they’re pretty sure they killed it for good this time. When Richie got caught in the deadlights, the glowing yellow of them was so bright that they were almost white. Something about it doesn’t sit pleasantly in Richie’s stomach, as if the color has been ruined for good.

They make it out alive, climbing out of the wreckage of Neilbolt and back into the daylight. Richie is supporting Eddie, who limps slightly but is otherwise unscathed. They watch, all seven of them, as the house crumbles in on itself, darkness and evil crumbling until there’s nothing but them and the sun. Stan says something about how glad he is that he made it, just to see this house finally disappear for good. It makes them laugh, in the tense moment, and when Richie looks down and over at Eddie, he’s glad he made it here too.

“I hate this,” Eddie groans, almost as soon as he comes back up for air after jumping into the quarry. The sun reflects off the water and onto their faces, just like Richie remembers it.

“I knew you’d say that!” Beverly splashes him for good measure, which just makes Eddie sputter and gag more than he already was.

It feels like they’re thirteen again, splashing each other and squealing at the feeling of something brushing their feet. By the time they’ve tired themselves out and begin the walk back into town, Richie’s starting to feel like he’s missing something, as their long and weird journey comes to an end.

“I don’t remember this walk being this long when we were kids,” Mike groans. He raises an arm over his head and audibly cracks it.

“That’s what happens when you get old,” Ben says, who’s one to talk. He’s easily the most in shape of all of them.

“We've almost made it,” Bill reminds them, putting on his Leader voice. Even as an adult, that tone in Bill’s voice makes Richie want to believe it.

Stan hums something from beside Richie in response to Bill.

Richie freezes, as if a shock went through his entire body. It’s enough to make Stan and Eddie stop to look at him worriedly, signaling to the others to pause.

“Stanley,” Richie says, looking at his old friend, who really hasn’t aged a day. “What were you just humming?”

He looks surprised, like that’s not what he was expecting Richie to ask. After a moment of confusion, he says, “Everybody wants to rule the world. Tears for Fears? I’m sure you know it.”

There’s a second, a moment, where Richie processes that information. He’s used to this feeling by now, his brain struggling to catch up to what his heart knows--

“Prom!” He shouts excitedly, spinning around to face Eddie, whose eyebrows are raised adorably high on his head. “I can’t believe I forgot!”

Eddie’s about to say something, but he’s cut off by Mike asking something, but Mike is cut off by Richie rushing forward and kissing Eddie right on the mouth, hand on his cheek over the bandage.

Once Richie parts to breath, he pumps a fist in the air. Eddie’s eyes are far away and his head is slightly tilted, clearly also processing this information.

It’s Ben who speaks first. “Jesus, I can’t believe you guys forgot that you were in love.”

Eddie’s mouth is on Richie’s again in a second, and it feels like the first time. Eddie on his toes, Richie leaning down. Except this time their friends are here, and they’re soaking wet, and they killed that fucking clown for real.

“Eddie, light of my life, sunshine on my rainy day, how on earth are we so fucking stupid?” Richie is shouting this to the open air as he spins Eddie around. He doesn’t ever remember feeling this happy. Not since the first time they fought It, not since he last kissed Eddie 27 years ago.

The other Losers are quick to wrap their arms around the two of them, even as Eddie is laughing through the tears that are welling up in his eyes. He shoves good naturedly at Richie’s glasses.

“This would only happen to you two.” That’s Bev, from somewhere near Richie’s elbow.

“Please,” says Bill, who sounds like he’s pressed to Eddie’s back. “As if you and Ben didn’t just go through the same thing.”

God, Richie thinks. 27 fucking years. How had he never realized how sad and empty he had been? Without his best friends, without the love of his life. He woke up every morning feeling like he was about to go to a funeral, not some talk show or red carpet event.

They begin their walk back once again, and this time, Richie holds tightly onto Eddie’s hand.

“So, Eds,” Richie begins. Eddie looks over at him, eyebrows raised and suspicious, but eyes full of light and love. “For our wedding, I’m thinking butterweeds and forget-me-nots. Yay or nay?”

They have sunflowers, on their wedding day, because the sight of forget-me-nots makes Ben start crying, and if Ben starts crying, the rest of them do too.

It was a pointless effort, considering they all end up crying anyway.

The seven of them get a picture, decked out in their finest yellows, and Richie finds himself remembering the days after It, the first time. When they could hardly sleep without one of the others in the room, and Bill still stuttered, and there was that lingering sensation of this isn’t over yet.

Well, it’s over now. And they can finally carry on.

#shut up mary #my fic #reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #it chapter one #it chapter two

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new-endings · 4 years

Note

Heyo! I’ve followed you ever since the ol’ Genosai days, and I remember loving your fics sooo much. Imagine my surprise when you hopped onto the Good Omens trains too! And also started writing some Good Ineffable Husbands stuff. Almost sounded like a dream come true for me ;w; thank you for pulling through after all this time- know that you’re a blessing in my life (and yes, pun intended :P) ❤️

AAAAAAAAAAA /)///(\ you’re so very sweet! i’m glad you still enjoy my fics after all this time 😭❤

you and your kind words are a blessing in mine! 💕

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amuseoffyre · 5 years

Text

Fic: Inverse Omens - 1941 - London

Notes: I’m posting this one early today, because I won’t be around in the evening because I’m trying this strange thing called a social life. Also I love this chapter like burning :)

1941 - London

Distant sirens were wailing as Crowley hurried up the path towards the church. The searchlights were stabbing up at the heavy clouds and he could smell the rain in the air. He hugged the book more tightly to his chest, praying that everything would go to plan.

Why they would choose this place of all places for a meeting point seemed a bit on the nose. He knew who they were. They knew he knew. No one, they had laughed, would look for Nazis in a Church.

Crowley had smiled and laughed with them, but he had been to Germany only a few weeks ago and plenty of Nazis could be found in churches. Many of them liked to use it as an excuse and even though Aziraphale hadn’t asked – hadn’t even spoken to him since that stupid, awful day in St. James’s Park – he put a little temptation as well as a miracle of courage into a few minds to ensure there were a few less Nazis to take Her name in vain.

He paused at the door, taking a deep breath, then stepped into the building.

The place was alight with candles, warm and glowing and welcoming. It should have felt safe and sacred, but the presence of the two men – at the altar, for Heaven’s sake! – made him tighten his hands around the book he was carrying.

“Mr. Crowley.” Glozier said, smiling. “We were beginning to wonder if you would come.”

Crowley forced a smile onto his face and walked briskly down the aisle. “Well, I would hate to disappoint you now,” he said, his cheeks hurting with the effort.

Mr. Harmony rose, a hungry look in his eyes. “You have the book?”

Lord, Crowley wished he’d never agreed to it. He could have found a false copy. He could have lied. He could have done anything but stretch out his hands, holding out the tome to the man. “As requested, the Sefer Raziel HaMalakh.”

Harmony’s eyes gleamed greedily as he snatched the book from Crowley’s hands. He didn’t even flinch, but then, maybe he wasn’t a human who was meant to feel the power bound up in the tome. It was Her will, of course.

Harmony opened the gnarled and ancient covers, leafing through pages that had been copied and recopied more times than Crowley could recall. Behind his glasses, his eyes widened and he looked over at Glozier. “It’s the real thing.”

Glozier moved closer, bending to peer down at the book. “You’re certain?” Harmony muttered something in German, which made his partner grin delightedly. “Marvellous. You have done very well, Mr. Crowley.”

Crowley sighed inwardly when he heard the click of the gun being cocked. Just once, he thought sadly, it would have been nice to be wrong about people. But then, they were Nazis and there wasn’t really much more you could expect from them.

“Don’t,” he said wearily.

“Don’t?” Glozier said, amusement all over his face. “You think this is how it works, Mr. Crowley?”

The angel pinched the bridge of his nose, one hand on his hip. “Rose?”

A second gun cocked, this one behind him.

“Who–?”

Crowley lowered his hand, giving them a tired smile. “Spy, Nazis,” he introduced. “Nazis, spy.” He jerked his thumb towards the back of the church. “Now, if you don’t mind, she’s going to arrest you and I’m going to go and get a drink.”

He turned around to face Captain Montgomery, only to find her gun pointed at him and not at the two men at the altar. She gave him a crooked smile and shrugged, as if she hadn’t played him like a fiddle and walked him right into his own discorporation.

“Oh, for God’s sake!” he exclaimed, spinning around to face them. “She’s with you?”

Well, he thought bitterly as they grinned at him, you wanted to be wrong about someone didn’t you, you idiot.

“And sadly, she will also be killing you.”

“Right.” Crowley looked at the floor, blowing out a sigh. “Right. Of course. Why not? Killed by Nazis in a Church on a Sunday. Perfect. Just fantastic.” He threw his head back and stared up at the ceiling. “Bet you’re having a great laugh up there, aren’t you? Ooooh, he took the book to give to the humans again! Bet he won’t see this coming!” He threw his arms wide. “Come on! Give me a break!” His voice faltered and he dropped his arms. “Please?”

“Prayer won’t help you now, Mr. Crowley,” Glozier said, “but we do appreciate all you have done, so we will make it a quick–”

The door of the church crashing inwards interrupted him, followed by an “Oh, holy fuck! Ow!”

Crowley whipped around, startled. He knew that voice. He would recognise that voice anywhere, and there he was. Aziraphale, bouncing down the aisle like a badly-buoyed balloon, bobbing from toe to toe. “Aziraphale?”

The demon waved vaguely, every step accompanied with a fresh profanity. “Jesus, Mary, Joseph, fucking Nora, bloody buggering bastarding ow!”

God, it was good to see him, but not here. Not in a church. Not when they had guns trained on them and everything had been left so horribly wrong.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded.

Aziraphale flashed a pained grin at him. “Messing with your business arrangement!” He held up a bundle of books tied together with string. “Let this one go and I’ll give you some tasty prophecies for you to take back to your Fuhrer. Binns, Shipton, Nixon. First editions too.”

Books. Aziraphale’s books. He never let anyone near them. He rarely even let Crowley look at them, unless he wore his white gloves and promised not to break any spines. And after the years they hadn’t spoken to one another, he’d still brought them here to trade for…

Crowley’s legs trembled under him, his hand leaping to his mouth.

“Prophecies?”

The angel was close enough to feel the prickle of covetousness from Harmony, pricking away at the soft warmth that was threatening to smother him.

“Aziraphale, don’t,” he said urgently. “They’re your books. You don’t need to give them away. I’m fine.”

Aziraphale pointedly looked at the guns as he lightly bounced on the spot. “Fine. I see.” He jerked his head towards the door as Harmony snatched the bundle of books from his hand. “Go on. Bugger off. I’ll tidy up here.”

“I won’t!” Crowley shook his head. “Not this time.”

“I think,” Glozier said, his smile audible, “you misunderstand the situation, Mr. Crowley. Whatever your… ebullient friend’s intentions are, we are the ones who hold the guns. We will take your books too, since you have brought them all this way.”

Crowley saw the gleam of hellfire in Aziraphale’s eyes. “Oh no.”

The demon’s smile split his face. “Oh, don’t worry, my dear,” he said, looking beyond Crowley’s shoulder at the two Nazis. “I won’t do anything to them.” He tilted his head, staring at them, unblinking. The way he was moving lightly from foot to foot made him sway like a snake. “I rather think hubris might.”

“Enough,” Glozier said. “We are done wi–”

“Ah,” Aziraphale took slinking steps forward. “Before you get around to it, you should know that in about thirty seconds, a bomb is going to be dropped right on this building. Shoot us, if you like, but you’ll have to be damned quick if you want to get out alive.”

Glozier snorted. “Very amusing, but we know the bombs will fall on the East end tonight.”

Aziraphale flashed a serpentine grin, his fangs lengthening. “Even odds?” he said, then snapped his fingers.

Above them, something was screaming down from above.

Crowley stared at him. “Oh no, no, no, no! Aziraphale! You didn’t!”

Behind him, the Nazis swore, scrambling up and scrabbling for the books.

Aziraphale’s expression softened as he smiled at him. “Only a little one,” he said. “Although we may need a real miracle to get out of this alive, dear boy.”

“A real…” Crowley’s breath hitched and he closed his eyes, calling on every bit of his power as the bomb struck.

Sirens were wailing again, louder and closer. Somewhere nearby, a panicked child was screaming in terror, and as the dust settled, Crowley uncurled his fingers. His palms were sticky where his nails had dug in, but it had been enough and Aziraphale was standing there, face turned up to the moonlight, sighing with relief.

“Oh, that’s much better.”

Crowley shifted from one foot to the other, rubble rippling under his feet. “You didn’t– I–” His throat felt too tight and he wanted to believe it was the dust making his eyes sting. “You’re being kind to me again.”

The demon looked over at him with a small, quiet smile. “Obviously.” He dusted flecks of ash from his sleeves, then looked around forlornly. “I probably shouldn’t have brought the original books, should I?”

Crowly stared at him. “Oh! Oh, wait!” He turned on the spot, searching around in the rubble, scrambling across it gracelessly. “Ah!” He sprang up victorious, a bundle of perfectly-tied books in one hand, his own book in the other, and beamed at the demon. “The least I could do, since you came all this way for me.”

Aziraphale stared at him, looking more dazed than Crowley had ever seen him before.

Crowley hopped back over the rubble and held out the bundle, then looked down at the book in his other arm. Well, of all the people who would appreciate and take care of the book as it deserved, he could think of no one better. “Would you like this one as well?”

“This one?” Aziraphale echoed, looking down.

Crowley held out the other book to him.

The demon’s eyes widened in shock. “That’s…”

Crowley nodded. “I think you’re the best person to look after it.” He held it out. “I can’t say thank you, but…” He shrugged with a tentative smile. “Please?”

A dazzling beautiful smile lit the demon’s face and he nodded, taking both bundle and book with such reverence that Crowley knew at once he had been forgiven for the mess in the park and that he had made the right choice.

“Do…” He hesitated, then adjusted his hat. “I’ve got a car now. Would you like a lift home?”

“My dear,” Aziraphale said, his voice soft and wondering, “I would be delighted.”

(Post-notes: The book Crowley brought with him is a Medieval grimoire called The Book of Raziel. There are reasons why this is relevant :))

#fic: inverse omens #good omens fic #good omens #demon aziraphale #angel crowley

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bewarethelivingwra · 5 years

Note

The Raven: omens, worry, sanity.

Omens – Malacai Browning

Malacai Browning lay awake, staring at the small brass clock on the table beside his bed. Most everyone in the house had retired within the hour previous, but he liked to make sure everyone was good and asleep before he took off for another of his usual outings. His parents declared it “itchy feet,” his need to travel and socialize without the constraints of both his position as well as the magics he utilized being so taboo. He sat up, having laid down fully dressed, and felt around for the bag he had packed earlier and stuffed under his bed so no one would notice. He pulled it out carefully so as not to make much noise and threw it over one shoulder, heading out of his bedroom as quietly as possible.

Something, however, gave him pause. He stopped at the cracked door to his youngest sisters' room. He could see the second-youngest, Divinia, bundled up under her blankets, her slender arms wrapped around a pillow she had had since she was small, cased in white with pink embroidery on the trim. Even as close to adulthood as she was, she held onto it like any other child would a comforting stuffed animal. He stepped in quietly, looking over at his youngest sister, Holleigh, out cold with only her blonde curls showing above her blanket. Luckily, she wasn't snoring, but he worried he would wake both when he only wanted to wake one.

Malacai crouched beside Divinia's bed, shaking her arm gently. She wasn't an easy kid to startle, thankfully, so his answer was knit golden brows before she looked at him blurrily with pale blue eyes.

“Want to go on an adventure?” he whispered. This was a game they often played, usually before he took off on a trip for a while. Her expression instantly shifted and she smiled, nodding without a word. “Find something to wear, meet me at the front door.” With that, he made his silent way out the door and down the stairs to wait, finding his dark red leather duster and throwing it on. It was early summer, but even still the nights could be chilly, with Stormwind being a port city.

Divinia crept down the stairs within minutes, her own bright blue cloak thrown over her shoulders, hood up over her golden hair.

“Ready?” he asked in a whisper, and she nodded again. Malacai opened the door, grateful the hinges were kept good and oiled, and they both stepped out into the sleeping city, seeking out the stables and the horses they had use of when in their mother's home capital.

Malacai put down his bag when they selected their horse, moving quickly to tack him up and lift his smaller younger sister into the saddle. He threw his bag back on, over one shoulder this time, before mounting as well, guiding the roan gelding through the remaining streets and out of the front gates of Stormwind.

Once outside, Malacai encouraged their horse into a faster clip, and he obliged, speeding down the cobblestones toward Goldshire, fast enough to throw back Divinia's hood as well as fan Malacai's shoulder length deep red hair behind him. Her laughter as well as her thin arms squeezing his waist as they flew made him feel suddenly melancholy. Eventually she'd no longer want adventures with her big brother, he was sure. She'd start taking an interest in young men, if she didn't fall fully into her priest training. All he knew is seriousness was on the horizon for her soon and he would miss these times.

“Are you excited about starting your service?” he asked as he guided their horse from the main road, just before the small town of Goldshire, outside of the capital. He urged the horse into the woods and a slightly slower clip, as they had trees to navigate between now.

“Very,” Divinia said. “We've never had the freedom Mother and Father allow you to have.” She said this last not with even a hint of jealousy, just a bit of fatalism, as if this was her and her sisters' lots in life and there was no changing it. Malacai felt as if she had bounced a pebble off of his heart. He knew he was given more room to move than they were, even his older sister, Juel, who was very capable. He also knew their father had good reasons.

“Hopefully you can enjoy it,” he said, a wry smile on his face as he turned to look over his shoulder a moment at her, his dimples flashing. She smiled back. “Could be nothing but work. Noble-born girl sent to small town to paint houses and sweep floors.”

“I'll take it,” Divinia said loudly, her eyes widening, and he laughed as he turned to face back the way they were going. “Anything is better than being penned up in the house all the time, or stuck like glue to our parents' sides.”

“They have good reason,” Malacai said. He could feel her nod in agreement before resting her cheek against his back, holding him tighter even though they were moving more slowly now.

“Maybe, but it's still very stifling,” she admitted, and he felt her yawn. He tugged the reins, directing their horse toward a small lake, deciding that would be a good place to stop for a little bit.

“Want to swim?” he jested as he hopped down off the horse, helping Divinia down. She laughed.

“Oh yes, I'm sure the water's bathing temperature,” she jested. Malacai sat on the shoreline, Divinia following to plop down next to him. “How long do you think, this time?” she finally asked him after a comfortable silence. He shrugged.

“Not sure. Think I may hop a boat this morning. One of the supply vessels. They tend to like me there. Sometimes I help with cargo and they keep my secrets.” He looked at her again, grinning. She shook her head.

“What secrets do you have, anyway?” she jested. Just then, both heard a rustling nearby, and the siblings' eyes met, gold and blue both mirroring the other's confusion. Malacai felt the words rise in his throat, but knew better than to utilize spells, especially so close to the city. Instead he rose and turned the direction the sound had come from, his hand going into the pocket of his duster where he carried a small knife.

He met the eyes of an older woman who looked startled to see his reaction. Malacai relaxed.

“You scared us, walking up unannounced,” he declared, his tone friendly, tipping into embarrassment. She laughed a dry laugh, like boots crunching dead leaves. He blinked, the apprehension rising in his chest again.

“Oh, just taking a late night walk,” she said. “Seems you two had a similar idea,” she added, nodding toward Divinia. Malacai's concern grew tenfold at how the woman looked at his younger sister. He cleared his throat.

“Well, we were just about to get going, honestly,” he said, moving to take his sister's hand and help her up, as well as buffer between this strange woman and her. The woman looked at him curiously.

“It seems you're worried,” she said, her tone even, almost dissociated, like her voice was coming from somewhere else entirely. Malacai could feel his heart go from stopping cold to thundering in his chest, the words he had been told only to utter in emergency caught in his throat, ready to burst out at the next thing done to make him concerned. He walked over to their borrowed horse, nearly dragging his sister along by the arm. Divinia's eyes seemed unable to tear focus from the strange woman who smiled at her in what was a disturbing facsimile of friendliness that only came off false. Without warning, Malacai lifted his sister onto the horse, causing her to give off a surprised little squeal.

“We'll be going now. Enjoy your walk,” Malacai said, his tone much less friendly, leaving no room for offers. The woman's odd smile dropped then, and she pointed toward him first.

“This won't be the last time you ride in the woods,” she said, her tone confident, forboding. “But the next likely will be.” He blinked then.

'You're insane,” he said, moving to mount the horse in front of his sister, to get them away from here quickly and back home, where it was safe. The woman's unnerving smile deepened and she reached for Divinia's hand so quickly, Malacai had no chance to react and stop her. She didn't pull Divinia from the horse, or do anything else as horrific as Malacai could play out in his mind later, but did something much, much worse.

“Those you think are friends, they'll betray you, even if you're careful,” she whispered. Divinia made no move to wrench her arm away, even as Malacai could see the woman's grip dimpling his sister's skin, skin that bruised easily due to her paleness. “You're on borrowed time with trips into the woods and by the water, as well.”

Divinia shook her head, her expression going from scared to amused. “You're crazy,” she said, much like her brother before. She pulled her arm away easily enough, wrapping both her arms around her brother's waist as he went to spur the horse on and head back home.

“You'll make your mother childless yet!” she hollered behind them, her voice unnaturally loud for how quickly they were riding and how much distance they had put between. Malacai resisted the urge to stop and turn back around, to take the woman by the front of her dress and ask her what she meant by such a thing. Instead, he felt it smarter to get back into the city proper, and get his little sister home. She had a long trip ahead of her tomorrow, as did he.

Both siblings walked home from the stables in uncomfortable silence, neither wanting to bring up what had just happened, but both mulling it over in their own minds. Malacai was loathe to leave her side, to send her back to her own room, as safe as it was.

“You should change and sleep with Juel tonight, just in case,” he whispered when they got inside. Divinia looked at him, as if she had had the same idea. If they were followed, the only person more likely to protect her from a crazy person was their father. And Juel slept much less deeply. Divinia hugged her brother tight before he left again, heading toward the docks to find a ship that'd take some extra hands offered by a friendly, able, if not a bit thin, young man just wanting to see the world. He had put on this face many times before, but tonight...tonight it wasn't coming to him as easily as it usually did. The warnings were impossible to shake without distraction.

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awesomehimalayanhigh-blog · 5 years

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Best Jungle Safari In India - Madhya Pradesh

I have recently come back from four-month solo spending travel in Europe and still inside seven days, the post-travel gloom kicks in. What's more, to aggravate it, my morning sniffles incited by a brown haze covered Delhi turns into a daily schedule. I am desiring to return to nature at the smallest probability. I begin searching for choices – the slopes of Himachal, a forsaken place where there is Ladakh the perfect shorelines of Kerala or the sand ridges of Rajasthan. Subsequent to considering for a couple of days, the choice is made. I am going to visit the woods that roused Rudyard Kipling's Mowgli. Toward the part of the arrangement, set off from Delhi to investigate natural life the travel industry in India. While there are numerous choices to pick the best wilderness safari in India, I settle for a five days Tiger Trail in Madhya Pradesh.

The best Jungle Safari in India begins at Pench

At 5:30 am on a hazy morning in November, I leave for the Pench National Park in an open-jeep alongside my Naturalist, Alwyn from Jamtara Wilderness Camps. Before beginning our Jungle experiences, we are blessed to receive a hot cuppa espresso and tea alongside home-heated treats. Our naturalist reminds us to abandon all electronic gear at the hotel excepting our cameras and binoculars. The crisp breeze stings my cheeks and makes my eyes water however I am solid and steady with a few layers of winter garments, woolen top, suppressor and a high temp water jug tucked under my cover.

As we enter the recreation center, I see langurs hopping from tree to tree, feathered creatures tweeting as one, chital and sambar crowds cautiously munching in the prairie. We move along the wilderness and I smell the sweet fragrance of the moist earth at sunrise. I see the morning dew dribbling from the trees onto the rich undergrowth. Before I could catch any of those, the jeep moves and the scents and sights vanish. The quietness of the wilderness is every so often broken by Alwyn and the neighborhood park control, who exhaustiveness and enthusiastically educates us concerning the widely varied vegetation of the wilderness. They share stories of the backwoods that are a charming blend of logical certainties gathered from their preparation and the books they have perusing, and neighborhood legend from the region.

All of a sudden Alwyn hears an alert call of a langur pursued by the snorting of a deer. It is a sign that a tiger is on a lurk. A feeling of readiness holds the gathering as we drive towards the pain call. When our jeep stops, we pack onto one side of the Jeep to look outside.

Following 10 minutes, our understanding is reasonably compensated when the great feline uncovers itself to us from the thick foliage. My heart is everlastingly held by the glossy orange coat with dark stripes. Only a couple of feet away… the Royal Bengal Tiger crosses the earth street… gives us a hateful look… and evaporates again in the thick timberland. My day is made!

We at that point proceed onward to investigate the recreation center's huge assorted variety of untamed life, including Leopard, Tiger, Jungle Cat, Dhole (Wild Dog), Sloth Bear, Wild Boar, Mongoose, Gaur, Cheetal (Spotted Deer) and Sambar. When our long for Tiger satisfies, cravings for food kick in. At around 9:30 am an excursion breakfast is served in the wilderness with some hot tea or espresso. We at that point remain in the recreation center until 11 am before coming back to our base camp at Jamtara.

At night, we had an alternative to either go for the evening Safari from 3:00 pm to 6:00 pm or drench ourselves in the ancestral existences of the Jamtara town. We stroll through the town market selling a wide range of knickknacks – from silver gems to crisp vegetables. Peddlers genuinely call us as we go through the mud way with our eyes stuck on the cobs of corn, which develop richly in the region, dry in patios. Jug gourd vines climb wooden fences and tiled rooftops. We are welcomed for some steaming tea in a nearby house made up of wood and mud. As the sun sets, we come back to our camp seeing the residential dairy cattle returning home with their herders.

This was my first day of a five-day Tiger Trail in Madhya Pradesh, where Rudyard Kipling got enlivened to compose the Jungle Book. While visiting the two key national parks, Pench and Satpura, I saw an assortment of creatures and flying creatures including tigers, panthers, wild pooches, wolves, sloth bears, buffaloes, wild pigs to give some examples. Alwyn and Aly Rashid (naturalist and the proprietor of Reni Pani) continued sharing the top to bottom learning about the undulating geology and untamed life.

About the National Parks – Pench and Satpura

There are more than 1,200 types of plants in Pench and 1300 in Satpura including a few uncommon and imperiled ones. We went through a variety of vegetation extending from clammy, shielded valleys to open, dry deciduous timberland. Satpura is dissimilar to Pench, however they are only a couple of hours drive from one another. The previous is lusher and has trees greener and taller than Pench. In Pench, there are higher odds of Tiger locating, while Satpura has a lot of panthers, sloth bears, monster Malabar squirrels, and transitory winged animals. Pench is best investigated on jeep safaris, Satpura can be investigated by walking, pontoon, jeep or elephant.

Past the untamed life

Each night, we shared our accounts of creature sightings as the tidbits and beverages made the rounds around the blaze. Furthermore, every night a fortunate individual got an opportunity to rest under the stars in the Star Bed – a glitzy machan in fields at Jamtara Camps. The Star Bed experience is a wellspring of salary for neighborhood ranchers, and 80 percent of the staff are procured from encompassing towns.

Truth be told, it was here I became more acquainted with how profound established organization's history is in protection. Proprietor Amit Sankhala's granddad – Kailash Sankhala – was the person who begun Project Tiger, a preservation program in India in 1973. Furthermore, the heritage has developed as far back as then with his child Pradeep Sankhala assuming control over the charge of the Tiger Trust after his dad's passing and setting up eco-accommodating Jungle lodges. Also, presently Amit is holding the post effectively.

Nourishment is either developed nearby or sourced locally from the encompassing farmlands. Goods are produced using reused wood, every characteristic item are utilized where conceivable, and visitors are given a tempered steel bottle for sifted water.

In any case, it wasn't only the national stops and camps that intrigued me. I was astonished by the real protection and network advancement works of Jamtara Wilderness Camps and Reni Pani Jungle Lodge. In addition to the fact that they provide an extraordinary Jungle safari experience interface you with the neighborhood networks that call these remote zones home and assume a crucial job in protecting the national woods. Both Jamtara and Reni Pani resorts supply school work areas and different things to the network and assume a functioning job in Tiger preservation.

I had gone to focal India to dispose of my movement blues yet I wound up observing so much common excellence and good omens in untamed life the travel industry – on account of edified law-production, a couple of submitted people, and some genuinely great cabins.

Things being what they are, when are you heading on a Tiger Trail in Madhya Pradesh?

Travel Essentials

Where to Stay in Pench

While there is a wide range of settlement alternatives accessible in the Pench National park territory, I profoundly prescribe remaining at eco-accommodating hotel Jamtara Wilderness Camps arranged in the Village of Jamtara, close Pench National Park. There are 10 extravagance safari tents with en-suite restrooms and private verandah, open air and indoor parlors, library, valet stopping, pool and clothing. Rooms are outfitted with free sifted water, tea-and espresso making offices, boiling water bottles, cooling and Soultree shower items. There are no TVs and no WiFi or versatile sign all through this remote, eco-accommodating camp.

Where to remain in Satpura Tiger Reserve

As of late, the Satpura National Park has seen the blooming of a few boutique wilderness lodges. Among these, the Reni Pani Jungle Lodge is best in class. Situated in an immaculate backwoods common of the Satpuras, it gets its name from the neighboring innate town. Reni Pani highlights twelve extravagance bungalows enveloping three particular structural plans.

The nallah units, the backwoods units and the slope units are altogether assembled utilizing nearby/indigenous material and are portrayed by survey decks, huge relaxing narrows windows and extravagance restrooms. The 'GolGhar' or the gathering place, has an interesting and one of a kind plan and highlights an eating territory, a bar, a library and a parlor set in its different corners. Its actual woodland condition combined with neighboring patches of rural land make Reni Pani and its encompassing territories a hotbed for creatures and flying creatures.

The most effective method to arrive

The Pench National Park is all around associated via air, street and railroads

By Flight: Arrival to Nagpur, Dr Babasaheb Ambedkar International Airport (130 km away) or Jabalpur Airport (213 km away) from any significant Indian city.

By Rail: The closest railhead to Pench is Seoni Railway Station, which is around 30 km from the Pench National Park and has ordinary trains interfacing the spot to Mumbai and different spots.

By Road: Pench lies on the Nagpur-Jabalpur parkway and is effectively open by transports and cabs. Take a transport or a taxi from Seoni transport remain to the Pench National. Seoni is connected to all spots in Madhya Pradesh and Maharashtra by a decent system of Roadways. In the event that you intend to take the transport from Nagpur, you should get down at Suktara or Khwasa.

The Satpura National Park is a 3.5hr/130km drive from Bhopal. Bhopal is all around associated via air, rail and street to real Indian urban communities.

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devintrinidad · 6 years

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Unfinished Business

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13015189/1/Unfinished-Business

"Hey, White Blood Cell." AE-3803 began in a cautious manner. While she followed her friend on his patrols around the body, she carried a basket filled with nutrients. At his nod of confirmation to affirm that he was listening, the erythrocyte continued. "I have come to the conclusion that your friends are weirdos."

"Oh." He peered down at her, his left eye looking down at her in what most would think was the creepiest stare that they had ever seen. However, since she was used to his taciturn disposition, she more or less brushed off his creepy aura. "Are we that strange compared to the red blood cells?"

AE-3803 shook her head.

"I don't mean it in a negative sense. However, while red blood cells and white blood cells grow up in the bone marrow and arise from the same progenitor cells, you can't deny that we're...very different." The red blood cell took a bite of her sandwich, smiled at the flavor, and gestured for the white blood cell to take a bite. "But, I actually admire you guys a lot, especially since all you do is ensure that the rest of us cells live a happy and healthy life."

"And I already told you," the neutrophil chided playfully, "you don't have to thank us. We are, after all, doing only our jobs."

The red blood cell swatted at his arm, but immediately sobered as she tried to press the topic that had been bugging her for quite some time.

"Well...I think it's mainly your friends that are the biggest weirdos in the bunch. Remember how one of them carried me to the lungs? Or how all four kidnapped me because they were bored?"

The first part of her statement rankled U-1146 a little, but the second part of what she said was new.

"Wait. What?"

"Yeah," AE-3803 continued, oblivious to how U-1146 froze at her admission. "They literally blindfolded and knocked me out after I traveled to the alveoli. Don't worry, though, 2001—I think?—led me back to the lungs. Do you know why your…"

The redhead's words froze in her throat as she saw that her friend looked paler than most neutrophils. His hat hung low over his face, his lone eye looked like he had seen the worst things imaginable, and he seemed lost in thought. Heavens above, did she break him?

"Ah, White Blood Cell!" She called out to her close companion. Perturbed at his lack of reaction, the red blood cell tried shaking his left arm a little. "Are you all right? Nothing bad happened to me!"

Laughing to alleviate the neutrophil's apprehension did nothing but raise AE-3803's stress levels.

"They kidnapped you?"

"Umm...did they not tell you that?"

U-2146 steadily held her gaze as he shook his head in what seemed like an omen for disaster.

"Er, that look of murder on your face doesn't look too good on you when you aren't chasing bacteria."

U-1146 looked down at her, his expression softening just a fraction.

"Noted."

And before the erythrocyte could say anything more, the neutrophil waved goodbye, migrated into the narrow crevices of a building, and vanished.

"Hey! White Blood Cell, please don't do something ridiculous!"

U-2001 moved through a narrow passageway that was mostly reserved for white blood cells. Although he was unhurried, there was still a sense of urgency. On one of his patrols, he had spotted one of his colleagues, U-1146, stalking off in a direction opposite to his. Because they were friends, 2001 made as if to wave 1147 over, but he had to stop. There was some kind of dangerous aura that emanated from his fellow white blood cell. Frightened, but still curious, he began to shadow 1146.

For some odd reason, the white blood cell that he was tailing didn't seem like he was doing anything out of the ordinary—not that 2001 expected him to do something illicit. Given the dangerous vibes that 1146 was emitting, any other blood cell would think that he was out for fresh blood—bacteria perhaps. However, given that both their receptors remained near the base oftheir necks, that probably wasn't the case.

So why was 1146 looking like he was about to blow up?

"Hello, Mr. Neutrophil!"

Startled, 2001 literally jumped from the shadows of the building that he had been spying his colleague from and onto the pavement. As he adjusted himself to his surroundings, he found himself staring up at an apologetic erythrocyte and an outstretched white glove. Recognizing that the erythrocyte in question was the red blood cell that 1146 had taken a shine to, he readily took her gloved hand and heaved himself off the ground.

Would it be presumptuous of him to assume that maybe she would know what was eating at his colleague?

"Ah, hello Miss Red Blood Cell," he greeted. "Did you happen to talk to U-1146 recently? I just saw him a few minutes ago and he looked...murderous."

"Really? I don't think I—" Suddenly, the questioning look that was on her face was replaced by one that was filled with fear. Her face paled, almost as if the hemoglobin had completely drained from her cytoplasm. "Oh gosh...I think I may have something to do with it!"

2001 grabbed her by the shoulders, fully concerned about his friend's wellbeing. What did she do? What happened?

"Tell me! Is it something dangerous?"

"Haha, yeah...remember how you guys kidnapped me that one time?" She mumbled, "And how one of you carried and launched me point blank at him?"

Abruptly, 2001 let go of the red blood cell as if she were some virus ridden cell.

Oh, no.

All of them, himself included, didn't inform their colleague of what happened. It wasn't a conscious decision; his friends certainly didn't meet up with each other and vote to keep the situation under wraps. It's just that...the whole kidnapping fiasco was so ridiculous and completely out of character for them, it just never came up in conversation. Their conflicting schedules and lack of imposing threats also led to the overall conclusion that maybe they wouldn't have to own up to having acted out of their duties.

Unfortunately, they never took into account that the red blood cell that they had targeted was the wild card.

"Umm, Mr. Neutrophil, I'm so sorry! I didn't realize…"

2001 immediately turned to her and immediately felt the cytosol drain out of his already pale face. Her lips were trembling and she looked so small under his towering frame. Her eyes met his and he was shocked to note that her eyes—hazel and all too innocent—glimmered under a haze of tears.

Back when he was a mere myelocyte, he never experienced the tears of a young girl. Most myelocytes were males, but those who were female mostly ended up as eosinophils. Even so, they were designed to be tough and showing weakness so willingly wasn't encouraged. (Training myelocytes to become the main defense patrolling the blood vessels wasn't as rigid as it was in the thymus, but it could be just as harsh in some regards to their training). So when 2001 found the guilt radiating in the young erythrocyte's eyes, he couldn't help but fidget with his hands and wrack his nucleus for the right thing to say.

Was there anything that he could say?

"H-hey! It's not your fault! Like I said, it was my colleagues and their weird meddling ways...d-don't worry too much about it, Miss Red Blood Cell!"

She seemed to stop her little spiel of crying—much to 2001's relief.

"A-are you sure? Because—"

He waved away her concerns before he awkwardly patted the strange divot that was on her hat in order to further calm her down.

"It's okay, Miss Red Blood Cell. At least, now we know that 2626's hypothesis wasn't all too far off…" That last part was mumbled, but the young erythrocyte happened to hear that last part.

"Er—"

"Ah...we should probably rectify the problem before something terrible happens, yes?"

"So scary!"

"Why does he look so murderous?"

"Let him be. Who knows what goes on in an immune cell's nucleus."

4989, a little perturbed by what numerous cells were commenting, asked, "Hey, are they talking about us?"

2626 shook his head.

"I don't think so. We've been at this cafe for a little while now. Must be a newcomer." As 2626 took a sip of his favorite brand of green tea with a side dish of some bacteria, he peered outside the cafe's windows. "Although, I wonder which one of us was so frightening. Some of the platelets are cowering in the corners!"

4989 toyed with the spoon that lay within his teacup, a bit bored with the explanation.

"Maybe it was a T-Cell. Those guys are always causing trouble for the normal cells whenever they're free."

"In the blood vessels? Remember your schooling, 4989," 2626 chastised as he chewed through a particularly fleshy bit of bacteria. "T-Cells usually congregate in the lymphatics unless called out by the Helper T-Cells for backup in the blood vessels."

"Yeah, yeah! I remember...but how can you explain the complaints from outside? It's been ten minutes and some of the red blood cells look like they're about to lyse themselves." Despite the annoyed front, 4989 looked anxious as he drained the rest of his green tea. "I think we should get back to patrolling instead of causing the locals stress."

2626 nodded distractedly—he was still stuffing his mouth filled with bacteria and washing it all down with green tea.

Within seconds, both of them were out the door and—

"Men, we have a problem."

"Geeze, 2001! Give a neutrophil a head start on PCD, why don't you?"

2048 lay in one of the marginating pools of a deep in a vein of the upper arm. For the time being, he allowed himself to rest and mentally prepare himself for his next round of patrols. He had been resting for quite some time when he felt his transceiver vibrate in one of his pockets. As he fished it out, he could hear 2001's voice urging him to answer right away.

"I'm in the upper arm. What's happening?"

"I'm trying to fix a problem that has arisen within our ranks."

Immediately concerned, he asked, "Should I be worried?"

"Very. Meet us at the lungs. Over."

"Uh, sure. Roger that."

As 2048 stretched his legs and hopped back onto the main roads of the blood vessel, he felt a great sense of dread. Kids what made 2001, a usually laid back white blood cell, act so...unsettled?

When 2048 met up with the rest of his squad, he took notice of 2001's grim face and the twin grimaces upon the other two neutrophils, he immediately felt like backtracking. However, he was still a white blood cell with a task to protect the body. Bravery and determination were only but a few of the traits that were needed to be part of the immune system. Therefore, against his instincts to turn tail and leave them to resolve their own issues—whatever they may be—2048 stepped forward and announced his presence.

"Yo."

"2048, good of you to come here. As you can probably tell, we've got ourselves a problem."

"And—"

"Just so you know, it's all 2626's fault!" 4989 interjected as he pushed his favorite colleague in front of him. "I was just supervising and 2626 took it too far!"

2626 rounded on his partner in crime, a wounded look on his face.

"Last I recall, you were the one who had the idea all along. You just needed my help to actually see—"

Before 2626 could continue on his hurt tirade, 2048 spotted the red blood cell looking at them with a look of utter confusion on her face. Unlike last time, she didn't look too uncomfortable in their presence. Understandably, though, she stood off to the side and watched them curiously.

"Miss Red Blood Cell! What brings you here?"

"Hello, Mr. Neutrophil!" Her face colored a little—presumably because she was surrounded by neutrophils. Still she pressed on with her greeting, completely ignoring 2626's look of utter bewilderment and abandonment. "I actually came with your colleagues. It was kind of my fault that U-1146 found out that you kidnapped me. I'm sorry!"

She bowed her head and seemingly held her breath.

Oh gosh.

She was so cute!

2048 already knew that the red blood cell was quite cute—he did carry her that one time, but he was distracted by thoughts of teasing 1146–but her display completely destroyed him.

She was almost cuter than the platelets.

Nervously, he laughed as he waved away her apologies.

"That's what this is all about? I was expecting something more devastating."

"But it is."

At 4989's somber tone, 2048 found himself looking away from the erythrocyte and into his fellow white blood cell's direction. 4989 looked tired; his face was ashen. It was very rare for the youngest nuetrophil in the group to be so serious unless there was a bacteria present.

"We think that 1146 might be plotting against us."

"Erm...he's too kind for that sort of thing."

"You should have seen him, though! He looked like he was about to phagocytize the platelets when he last saw him!" 2626 cried aloud. "The platelets!"

Oh.

That was bad.

It was decided that the erythrocyte would first approach their colleague. After all, she was still one of 1146's closet friends and well...it's not like he was mad at her. That still begged one question that had yet to be answered.

Just where was he right now?

They could contact him via transceiver, but…

"You never know, he could have learned how to phagocytize cell's via transceiver," 4989 helpfully supplied.

Not that it was possible, but one could never know for sure.

So, they took the next best option.

Following AE-3803 around.

"Hey," AA-5100 whispered conspicuously. "Is there a good reason why there are four white blood cells stalking you?"

"Yeah...best not to question it."

AE-3803 was on one of her scheduled deliveries, but she was deliberately taking her time. It had been decided by the neutrophils that she try her best to attract attention from as much bacteria, viruses, what-have-you in order to gain the attention of U-1146. So far, she had been attacked almost five times, got lost eight times, and had run into her mentor at least two times. Both times, her mentor had merely eyed her curiously before stopping at a tissue for her scheduled delivery, but now, the brunette erythrocyte wanted answers.

Her mentor took hold of AE-3803's shoulders, her eyes flickering between her mentee and the four intimidating males who were busy plugging up one of the crevasses between cell complexes.

"Are you sure you're not in trouble"

"Actually, they're more in trouble than I am."

"And they're not bothering you?"

"I feel like I'm bothering them by not doing my job."

Taking the hint AA-5100 moved away from her friend and hoisted her package against her hip. With a small murmur of goodbye and a promise that AE-3803 would tell her the entire story when they had coinciding breaks, AA-5100 left.

Once her mentor left, AE-3803 ventured towards the currently plugged up crevasse and tapped her shoe against the wall, looking like one of those stern hematopoietic stem cells whenever they were feeling irritated.

"Aren't you guys supposed to be more subtle than this? I thought you were all military trained so that you could ambush bacteria."

"Impressive. However, your knowledge is a little lacking," 2001 noted as he popped out of the thin space. "That's more of a Natural Killer Cell tactic. We just happen to get lucky whenever ambushes happen. Other than that, we're just as subtle as a cancer cell."

"I see," the young erythrocyte mutters more to herself than to her white blood cell companion. "Still, isn't it a bit weird that we haven't seen from him in ages? I think you guys should resort to just calling him."

"And risk him killing us all!" 4989 popped out this time—without help this time—and resisted the urge to shake the redhead's shoulders. "Trust me, Red, it's better to attract him via bacterial invasion with you as an intermediary."

"Careful, little white blood cell, you might just get what you were wish for."

AE-3803, if she wasn't so used to it, would have fainted at the sight of parasite looming over the lot of them.

In the end, a kind hearted eosinophil with pigtails came to save the day. With one strike from her weapon, the parasite exploded into scattered pieces that had to be carried away by several troops of neutrophils and macrophages. The excitement of that encounter was far from over. Within one of the backup crews that came shortly after the incident, U-1146 had arrived.

Stoic and impassive, he barely noticed his favorite red blood cell approaching him until he was knee deep into the parasite's undulating membrane. Well versed in how neutrophils would phagocytize their enemies—she had been hanging around the white blood cells for so long, she practically felt like them already—she merely sat back on her haunches and appraised her friend.

Focused.

Impassive.

And not as mad as what his colleagues made him out to be.

"Red Blood Cell," the neutrophil murmured softly. He wiped the back of his glove against the smeared cytosol that was on his face and offered her a small smile. "What brings you here? Shouldn't you be out on one of your deliveries?"

"Well...about that…"

Curiously, the white blood cell looked down at his companion as she stuttered out a hushed reply. As much as he hated to admit it, he couldn't make out a single word that she had just uttered.

"Do you mind repeating that?"

"Well, since you did mention that I was on delivery, I actually have to deliver something to you."

"I don't need oxygen."

"No, it's actually a message from some of your colleagues."

Carefully, the neutrophil kept his face as aloof as possible. After all, he didn't want to scare his friend.

"And what did they have to say?" He added a moment later, "And how come they aren't the ones confronting me?"

"They just wanted to make sure that you didn't phagocytize them first before explaining themselves."

"Phago—?"

"Please don't do it! If you do—" 4989 shoved 2626 and 2048 in front of him "—eat these guys first!"

"Oy, 4989—"

"Who gave you the right—"

2001, once again in charge of his companions' shenanigans, pushed himself to the forefront of the group and offered a sympathetic smile. Much to all the neutrophils' collective relief, 1146 nodded in return.

"We just wanted to let you know that kidnapping and overstepping our boundaries with your friend was completely all in good fun. However, we do realize that what we did was completely uncalled for and we all humbly ask for your forgiveness."

U-1146 continued to stare impassively at his fellow neutrophils before he took a step forward.

And another.

Until he was standing directly in front of them.

Even though neutrophils were usually the same height, for some odd reason, 1146 seemed to tower over all of them.

A beat.

"Oh, I already forgave you guys."

"WAIT WHAT?"

"WE'VE BEEN TAILING A RED BLOOD CELL FOR NO GOOD REASON!"

"WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL US?"

2001, clearly relieved, but still wary, regarded the eldest neutrophil. Something wasn't quite right…

"I just took a walk to clear my head."

"A walk?"

"Yes, I happened to visit Dendritic Cell on the way."

Oh.

No.

And with that, 1146 guided AE-3803 back to her scheduled route to the lungs.

"Oh, we are so screwed," 2626 breathed.

2001 couldn't have said it any better.

"Hey, White Blood Cell, what did you mean? What's wrong with going to the Dendritic Cell?"

"Oh...we just made a deal of sorts."

In one of U-1146's many pockets, a small sachet of photos lay innocently within.

52 notes · View notes

savathewolf · 6 years

Text

Mark of Fate

Genre: Jimin x Reader AU, BTS, Romance, Angst, Soulmate AU

Rated: Teen (For angst) No swearing

Keywords: Jimin, soulmate, angst, dance major, college, one-shot

Written for @b00pydoooo (she likes angst apparently)

Mark of Fate

Part One: A Night to Remember

Soulmate marks. A rather tricky business. They are sometimes known as “the mark of fate,” “angel kisses,” or “matchmakers.” The lucky ones get a mark somewhere obvious---their hand or cheek maybe. The slightly less fortunate might end up with one on their stomach or leg, but still those aren’t that bad. A soulmate mark on your butt and you are going to have a heck of a time.

Each mark is unique in texture, size, and shape, often reflecting personality. Marks of fate show up right around your high school years, and the appearance of one is seen as a coming of age and is usually celebrated---usually.

The exception to this is in the extremely rare case of two marks appearing together.

Having a second mark is a bad omen indicating the worst of soulmate fortunes. There are four types of secondary marks.

The diamond: you and your soulmate are destined to part ways early in life.

The circle: you will suffer infertility or the loss of your children.

The triple star: one or both of you have multiple soulmates.

The cross: you and your soulmate will never meet in this life.

You remember vividly the day you got your mark. It was your junior year of high school. You woke up and pulled off your pajamas and there it was---the silhouette of a heart dissolving into music notes, located on the left side of your chest. Right over your heart.

You checked every microscopic inch of yourself over, looking for a second mark. To your relief, you found nothing.

Throughout high school and into the first two years of college you searched diligently for your soulmate, dating around to build good relationship skills. However, by the time your third year rolls in, you are still unmatched and feeling a little discouraged.

Last semester you were accepted into the dance program at Farsight University, one of the most prestigious schools in the country for the performing arts. You are thrilled to finally be pursuing your passion.

Today your brother Namjoon found his soulmate and came over to share the good news.

“Her name is Hana!” Namjoon hands you his phone, his eyes shining. On the screen is a woman with flowing black hair and deep black eyes. On her neck is a soft blue feather matching your brother’s. He holds her gently in the photo, an arm around her shoulder, his face practically glowing. You pull him into a hug, feeling ecstatic.

“I’m so thrilled for you! How did you find her?” you say, looking excitedly up at him.

“It was pure luck. I was shopping for some new shoes and she came into the store. I didn’t notice her mark until we got in line to check out. I got her number and now we’re going out this Saturday.” Namjoon smiles shyly, running his hand through his hair, cheeks flushed. “She’s really great, I already like her a lot.”

“I’m really happy for you!” you say sincerely. But a small part of you is frustrated with your inability to find your match. Namjoon stays and talks for a while before heading home, leaving you to process it all.

Your last roommate just got engaged to their soulmate. Your parents found each other when they were sixteen. A cousin who is close to your age has just announced their first baby. Now Namjoon has found his match.

You head into your room and flop down on the bed, feeling dejected. Seeing Namjoon already so in love fills you with longing to meet your own soulmate. You want someone to look at you that way, with the deepest affection in their eyes. You are always wondering what your soulmate is like. Taller? Shorter? Can they speak the same language? What do they like to do in their free time?

You’re carried away in your daydreaming when there comes a knock on your door, derailing your train of thought. Before you can even sit up your roommate Jungkook comes barging in, waving around a piece of paper.

“Hey, I brought you this!” he says, plopping down on the bed beside you and dropping the paper on your face. You hold it up to read it.

“Dance competition---The Diamond Nightclub. Compete against other dancers from around the city. Grand prize of a hundred dollars.” You notice the date at the bottom. “Hey, this says the sign up date was two weeks ago!”

You smack Jungkook, feeling annoyed that he brought you a useless flyer. He shrugs.

“I kind of forgot about it ok? I just found it underneath my keyboard. But I thought it might be fun to still go and watch since you’re a dance major and all.” He grins mischievously. “You’re also one hundred percent single, so it wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to get out out there and dance with a few hot guys, and I can totally help you with that.” You roll your eyes.

“In your dreams Kookie. Are you forgetting that you are even more single than I am? You’ve never even been on a date. I think you need to go.”

Jungkook wrinkles his nose.

“Hey, I don’t need anyone right now. Too much to do, you know?” he sniffs.

“What, like playing video games until four in the morning?” you grin, sticking out your tongue. He responds by pushing you off the bed onto the floor. For a moment the two of you wrestle for the space, but with his ridiculous physique your attempts are useless

“That’s my bed, let me up!” you grumble, shoving him as hard as you can.

“Come to the dance-off with me!” he says, keeping you back easily with one hand.

“Nooo you’re being annoying! Get out of my room!”

“Say you’ll come with me and I’ll leave,” he smirks. You sigh, knowing you’re defeated. He was right anyway, you didn’t exactly have plans for tonight. All of your friends were off on dates with their soulmates.

“Fine, I’ll go! But you’re paying the bus fee,” you insist, eyeing him. He laughs, hopping off the bed.

“I knew you would give in! It starts at nine so be ready to go in two hours!” He struts out of the room, leaving the door wide open. You turn over on your bed, not feeling like getting up, and open your phone. Pulling up the search bar, you type “findyourmatch.com” and login to your account. The website keeps a record of soulmate marks, but so far it’s been completely useless and today there are still no results. You glance at the flyer, picking it up.

Even if he was a brat, Jungkook was right. Getting out there and actually meeting people was the only way you could find your soulmate. Feeling a little more determined, you jump out of bed and start getting ready to leave.

Two hours later you’re dressed in a white t-shirt tucked into skinny jeans with a pair of black converse to match, ready to take on the night. As promised, Jungkook pays for you both to take the bus. You arrive at the club after a short ride, starting to feel pumped up to watch the dancers. Jungkook pulls you inside and out onto the dance floor. The dimly lit building is packed, bodies jostling wildly about under the flashing lights. As you’re making your way through the crowd the DJ taps the mic for attention.

“Ladies and gentleman, please clear the floor! Our dance-off is about to begin!” he calls. You manage to snag a spot right in front. Jungkook makes a fist.

“This is going to be so cool!” he says, jumping on the spot.

“Please give a round of applause for our freestyle dancers!” shouts the DJ. The crowd explodes with noise as the competitors strut onto the floor, a few of them striking cheeky poses for their audience. The DJ continues his spiel, spitting out the words almost as if he were rapping. “Out of the twenty people who signed up to dance, only five will make it past the first round and have a chance to really show off their skills! In this tight space the competition will be tough, so let’s cheer for them as they get on the beat!”

The lights go dim except for in the arena. The dancers take position. A hush steals over the room. The DJ slowly eases up the volume, the base causing the floor to vibrate. Slowly the dance floor comes to life with people swaying on their feet. There’s not a lot of space, so they’re forced to get creative and keep their moves tight. The DJ watches carefully, inspecting each of them in turn. His judgement is swift and final---by the time the first song is finished, ten have already been eliminated.

With the added space, the dancers are spreading out and getting elaborate, some doing complicated spins and others flipping head over heels in an effort to please. With a final wave of his hand, the DJ pushes the last five off the floor.

“Now is where the fun really starts!” he cries out as the crowd goes nuts. You scream and jump with Jungkook, blown away by the dancers’ talent so far. You have no regrets about coming now. Three girls and two guys are left. They bow, relishing the attention.

“Unlike round one, these dancers will be performing individually! The winner will be chosen by you, the audience. Our first contestant is number three! Please give it up for PARK JIMIN!” You peer over Jungkook’s shoulder at the black-haired man who heads for the center of the room. His sharp black eyes stare down the crowd, his well-muscled body a powerful presence.

As the music starts he stands silently, poised on the edge of his toes. Suddenly he’s off, moving at such an intense speed it becomes hard to follow exactly which way he’s going. He spins, dives, rolls, flips---everything you’ve witnessed up until now is nothing compared to the grace and intensity of this man. He waves to the crowd as he shows off complicated footwork, diving toward the floor into a handstand where he continues the pattern. You clap to the beat, unable to take your eyes off of him, adrenaline rushing to your head as though you’re the one out there on the floor.

Jimin is upright again, sweat pouring off his body, tank top clinging to his chest. He spins rapidly, corkscrewing up and down, finishing with a front flip and landing in a split, one arm high in the air. Everyone loses their minds over his spectacular performance, the volume deafening.

Jimin smiles, chest heaving. He stands up, frame trembling, and attempts to wipe some of the sweat from his eyes. He yanks off his tank and dabs at his face, exposing his abs, at which the crowd breaks into a fresh round of applause. But there’s something else. It’s hard to make out in the dim light, but you think...it looks like…

You lock eyes with Jungkook, astonished.

“He’s got your matchmaker!” he hisses excitedly. You’re not really sure how to process this information. The room swoops underneath you and Jungkook grabs your arm to hold you steady.

That beautiful, graceful, sexy, intense dancer is your soulmate.

The next four performances are completely outside of your notice. Your eyes are glued to Jimin who rests casually on the sidelines. Never in your wildest dreams could you have come up with anyone more perfect. Over and over you rehearse scenarios in which you tell him that he is your match. You feel two feet tall, completely insignificant. My dance skills are nothing compared to his!

To no one’s surprise, the crowd declares him the winner without a moment’s hesitation, leaving Jimin looking very pleased. He waves at the people, laughing, his eyes smiling until they’re practically closed. The DJ taps the mic again.

“Congratulations to Park Jimin! Now we’re going to have a bit of a twist. One volunteer from the crowd will have a chance to compete against him for the title! Take five minutes to think it over, and the first person on the floor when I call out will compete against our champion!” The buzz of chatter fills the room.

You look at Jungkook, still not thinking clearly. He laughs at your expression.

“You should get out there and dance with him! It would be perfect!” he giggles, eyes glowing with mischief. You shake your head vigorously.

“I wouldn’t even be able to start dancing! I would just melt into the floor!” you say resolutely. Jungkook grabs your shoulders, giving you a playful shake. The DJ comes back to the mic, the entire room on edge, ready to burst forward.

“GO!” he screams. In one swift move Jungkook lifts you up and throws you onto the dance floor; you barely manage to stay on your feet, crouching low to the ground as you rock back and forth. Mortified, you stand swiftly up, coming face to face with none other than Park Jimin. He smiles at you politely.

“Ready?” he asks. You nod, unable to speak, unable to comprehend anything aside from the pure terror coursing through your veins.

“It’s ok, dancing is easy!” Jimin says encouragingly, striking a pose as the music starts. You take a deep breath, summoning every ounce of strength you have in you to keep it together. At first you’re uncertain, but watching him from up this close, you start to relax, your movements becoming more fluid and free-spirited. Nothing else could speak from your heart like moving to the music.

Jimin faces you, taunting you with various poses and a front flip. You smirk back, eyes narrowing, and mimic his dancing, as if you were his reflection. The two of you circle around, playing off of each other. If he flips forward, you flip backward. If he dances toward you, you dance away. Back and forth you go, pushing and pulling, tied by an invisible string. Closer and closer you get until you’re nearly touching. He gives you the slightest nod, signalling the finale’s arrival. He moves to roll forward and in a burst of creativity you pull a front flip over him, landing in an identical pose by chance.

The applause is like thunder in the room, Jungkook screams hysterically in the front of the crowd for you. You sneak a glance at Jimin, who is grinning back at you with the most adorable smile. The two of you stand up together, taking a bow in unison. He turns to face you, holding out his hand. You grab it, and in a surge of confidence, pull it behind you, yanking him forward so that your chests are touching. Reaching up with your free hand, you shyly pull down the rim of your shirt, revealing your mark. He gasps, pulling away from you sharply.

“You...you’re…!” He can’t seem to function, his mouth just hangs open, his eyes huge. The DJ announces the results, but neither of you can hear him, you’re both too caught up in this moment. After a moment Jimin finds himself.

“We need to talk. Can we go outside?” he says quickly. You nod, unsure of how to react, unable to read his expression. He starts to pull you toward the exit, and you make sure to catch Jungkook’s eye, who gives you a nod. He motions toward his phone for you to text him later.

The night air is cool on your sweaty skin. Jimin looks at you for a moment, before reaching a hand out to touch your mark, trembling. He traces it gingerly with his fingers.

“It’s really you,” he whispers. Suddenly he laughs, pulling you toward him.

“Out there, when we were dancing...it’s like I knew all along,” he says softly. His skin is warm and damp against yours, and you lean into his embrace, feeling a little lightheaded.

Just this morning you were jealous of Namjoon’s discovery, and now you had just happened upon your soulmate, who is better than you could ever imagine.

For a long time the two of you talk softly, the moonlight reflecting off his chest as it moves in and out. His black hair curls out past his forehead, shadowing his eyes, which are softer and sweeter than you initially thought. He holds you close to him as if this was completely natural. As the night air grows colder, you start to shiver uncontrollably.

If Jimin had had any clothes on that he could offer you, he would have---instead he holds you tightly and leads you back inside. Jungkook is nowhere in sight, you assume he has gone home. The DJ lights up when he spots you coming in, waving vigorously as he runs toward you.

“That was a spectacular performance from you both! Are you a couple?”

Jimin responds with a confident “yes” making you blush scarlet. The DJ hands you an envelope.

“Since that’s the case, I’ll leave it up to you to split the money!” He leaves promptly, heading back to his table. You hold the envelope out to Jimin.

“This is yours, I didn’t even sign up to compete.”

He pushes the money away.

“You keep it! I never expected to meet anyone like you tonight. That is enough for me.” He runs a hand through his hair, suddenly looking exhausted. You too are starting to ache from the long night.

“Can I give you a ride home?” he asks. You nod happily, taking his arm and leaning against him as the two of you make your way back outside.

It’s around two in the morning when you finally open the door to your apartment. Jungkook is out cold on the couch, it’s likely he fell asleep waiting up for you. You toss a blanket over him and click out the lights.

Despite your fatigue your mind is is wide awake, thoughts racing. You keep picturing his tan skin, the curve of his jaw and thick lips, the way his eyes become the tightest line when he smiles. You drift off to sleep, thoughts blending into dreams.

Jimin drives home alone to an empty apartment. He unlocks the door, stumbling inside. He doesn’t even make it to his bed, he just crashes onto the couch in a heap, curling into a tight ball. He loves the pain in his body, the wariness of his muscles, it keeps him from thinking about anything else. Was there any point in agonizing over the future? He can’t change destiny. Still, he lies awake and pictures your face in his mind, smiling in spite of his worries. Maybe he’ll have regrets, but for the moment...it all feels so right. He falls asleep, meeting you in the dance of his dreams.

Part Two: Racing Hearts

You soon find out that Jimin is also a dance major at Farsight. He’s a year ahead of you, so you don’t have classes together, but he starts meeting up with you for lunch every day and coming over on the weekends. Your favorite moments are spent dancing together late into the night. It doesn’t matter what style, whether it’s the lively, sensuous dancing of hip hop or the close, graceful dancing of ballroom.

Out on the floor, your hearts are beating as one. You start to forget what life was like without him.

One night you’re moving to the slow count of a waltz, head on his shoulder, your marks brushing. He strokes your hair, leading you through the motions, rising and falling with you. One, two, three. One, two, three. Around the room you float until Jimin stops leading suddenly, just standing in the middle of the floor.

You lift your head, looking up in confusion. He simply stares back at you with a soft expression, stroking your hair, one hand on your waist. He leans forward unexpectedly, kissing you slowly, hand still tangled in your hair. For a moment you both just rest in each other’s embrace. You breathe in his warm scent, running a hand along the skin of his back. He holds you a little tighter, more urgently.

“I love you,” he whispers, pressing his lips to your cheek.

It was a moment you would remember for the rest of your life.

The school year grows busier every day but Jimin still makes time to come and see you. Whether it’s helping you practice your choreography or taking you out for dinner, he’s always there to brighten your day. He buys you little gifts of flowers, of stuffed animals, different shirts with cute patterns on them. He video calls his family and introduces you proudly as his “beautiful, amazing, spectacular soulmate.” He showers you with love in every moment until you’re blissfully drowning in it.

One day you come home from class to find him standing at your doorstep, waiting.

“Ah, I was just about to text,” he says sheepishly. Something seems off. Normally he runs to hold you the moment he sees you, but today he shuffles his feet, looking pale. You stroke his cheek---it feels unnaturally hot.

“Hey, what’s up?” you ask, concerned to see his normally cheerful face looking so haggard. Jimin shrugs half-heartedly.

“I don’t feel very well,” he admits. A quick forehead check and you determine he has a scorching fever. Scolding him for wandering around like this, you pull him inside and settle him on the couch. He’s started to shiver as he curls up, uncomplaining, sweat beading on his neck.

Worried, you run to your room and find a blanket, coming back and tucking it around him. You grab a rag and wet it with cold water, laying it on his forehead. Jimin insists it’s just a little cold, that he’s fine, but the moment you’re finished forcing him to take some fever reducers he passes out.

You attempt to wake him after a few hours but he hardly stirs. He sleeps fitfully, his head cradled in your lap, hair slicked back with sweat. Jungkook comes out of his video-game zone to find you spiraling into a panic.

“He won’t wake up!” you choke, looking up at Jungkook with frightened eyes. Immediately he comes over, giving Jimin a rough shake. Jimin cracks open glassy eyes.

“Jimin, wake up!” you say loudly, feeling panicked. He stares at you sleepily, mumbling something before drifting away again, his head going limp against your knee. Jungkook looks alarmed, his face white.

“I’m calling an ambulance right now,” he says, pulling out his phone and heading into his room. Seeing him act serious for once is enough to send you over the edge. You take a deep, shaky breath, trying hard not to cry as you cradle sleeping Jimin in your arms. You shove the blanket off of him and pull off his jacket, trying to cool him down. Jungkook comes back from his call.

“They’ll be here in fifteen minutes,” he says, glancing at Jimin, eyes wide.

“Let me change clothes, I’ll ride with you both,” he comes up behind you, giving you a brief hug around the shoulders and then heads into his room to change. The seconds tick slowly by. Your legs are asleep from holding Jimin in your lap for so long.

You fidget with his hair anxiously, brushing it up, down, to the side. He still remains unconscious. You’re pushing it away from his neck when something catches your eye, just on his skin. You part the hair a little more and recoil in horror, your stomach heaving. On his scalp is a tiny mark, no larger than your fingernail.

The mark of a black diamond.

Jungkook returns to find you sobbing hysterically, your face in your hands. Despair seeps into your heart like a poison. Jungkook repeatedly asks you what’s happening, and all you can do is point to the mark in reply. He grabs your head and holds it steady while he parts your hair. It takes him a few minutes of searching, but you can feel his hands clench tightly before they drop to his sides. You look back at him and he gives a slight nod before he looks away. He puts his hands on your shoulders, unsure of what to say as you continue to weep.

A few moments later there is a knock at the door. Jungkook rushes to let in the EMTs. They gently lift Jimin off of your lap and onto a stretcher. They hurry out to the ambulance, you and Jungkook follow close behind. The medical team runs some small tests on the way to the hospital, alarmed by the elevation of Jimin’s heart rate.

Once you arrive, they sprint inside with the stretcher, instructing you to go and check in while they run diagnostics. Jungkook holds you back as you protest, but they’re no longer listening, intent on treating their patient.

As the doors close behind the stretcher and Jimin is out of sight, a cold numbness steals over your body, your arms going limp in disbelief. You’re led away to the front desk, where Jungkook helps you to fill out the paperwork as best as you can. He sits with you in the waiting room, rubbing your back gently while he stares silently at the floor. You’re feeling completely empty, your mind devoid of thought. It’s almost two hours before a nurse comes up to you, tapping you on the shoulder.

“Are you here for Park Jimin?” he asks. You nod, standing up stiffly. He flips open his clipboard and reads over it for a moment before delivering the news.

“I’m going to give you as honest a prognosis as I possibly can. He has bacterial meningitis which has caused intense swelling around his spinal cord and brain. We’ve managed to relieve some of the pressure and have started him on a round of intense antibiotics. However, with the extent of the illness, his chance of waking up again is fifty-fifty.” The nurse shows no emotion. It’s as if he’s spoken to you through the noise of a hurricane, you can hardly hear him. You stare blankly as Jungkook nods in understanding.

“Can I see him?” you ask, barely managing to form the words. The nurse gives an affirmative and leads you through the hallways. The reek of antiseptic and the glaring lights overhead are making you feel dizzy. The world spins underneath you, and you’re briefly grateful that Jungkook is keeping a steady arm around you.

Upon spotting Jimin through the window of the door, you rush to kneel at his side. He looks peaceful lying on the bed, hooked up to oxygen. His pulse beeps softly on the monitor nearby, a little faster than it should be. You reach out and brush the hair out of his face with a tender hand, your heart sinking low into your stomach.

Had you known about the mark, would you have told him? Would you have avoided contacting him at all? You run a finger lightly over the soft curve of his cheek, tracing the edge of his lips, trying to remember what they felt like against yours.

Was all of this worth it?

A doctor tells you that if he is to recover he will show signs of improvement in the next twenty-fours hours. He gives you permission to stay the night. Jungkook pushes the couch next to Jimin’s bed and settles you in with a blanket he finds somewhere. He makes himself a bed on the floor.

“Wake me up if anything happens,” he says warily. Within moments he is asleep, his gentle snoring rising from under the cover. You take Jimin’s hand as you lay next to him, listening to his labored breathing. You hesitate to fall asleep for fear of something happening while you slumber. Three o’clock in the morning comes and goes and you still lie awake, tossing and turning on the couch. It feels like cement underneath you. It’s around five when you finally doze off, your hand still clutching Jimin’s tightly.

Jungkook rouses you late in the morning.

“His breathing is better, and there’s less swelling,” he reports as you sit up, rubbing the sleep from your burning eyes. He hands you some breakfast from the cafeteria, a rather tasteless bowl of oatmeal. You swallow it anyway, your stomach growling for more.

“Hey, I’m going to go home and pack a few things for you quickly and come back, okay?” He hugs you tightly, patting your back. You can feel your eyes watering again, and you brush away the tears quickly.

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” you say. He gives a small smile before heading out the door, leaving you alone. You sit down on the couch, resting your head on Jimin’s bed, looking up at him. The low cut of his hospital gown exposes his mark, and you trace it, feeling deeply lonely. You take up his hand again.

To your astonishment, Jimin squeezes your hand weakly. You look up quickly to see his black eyes trained on you. A strange expression comes over him, and he opens his mouth as if to speak, but he closes it again and remains silent. You recognize the remorse etched in the tired lines of his face. A disturbing thought comes to you.

“You...you knew about the mark, didn’t you?”

He nods ever so slightly, his heart rate beeping a little faster. You take a deep breath, trying to remain calm.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you ask, pain slicing through your chest. He speaks softly and with intense effort.

“I was...being selfish. I thought you might leave me. Will you leave me now then?” he asks, looking resolved His eyes are sad.

You clasp his hand tightly, bringing it up to your lips and planting a kiss.

“Never. I just wish you had told me so that we could have spent every spare moment together,”

Tears flood Jimin’s eyes, running down his cheeks. He smiles lovingly over at you, lifting his hand up to your face with intense effort. His eyelids are drooping again but he is fighting sleep. You run your hand over his temple.

“Just rest,” you whisper. “I’ll be watching over you,” His eyes are already closed, his head leaning toward his shoulder.

“I love you,” he says, his voice fading as he drifts aways. You lean right up to his ear.

“I love you too,”

Jungkook returns an hour later with some clothes in a bag for you and some real food. Throughout the day Jimin’s condition steadily improves, but you do not let your hope rise. Inside you’ve made peace with whatever might happen.

However, by the next day Jimin is completely awake and talking, albeit a little hazily. After three days his mind is starting to clear and he’s able to have lengthy, normal conversations. The doctor declares him on the mend.

Overwhelming joy seizes your heart, and you allow yourself the smallest amount of hope. Whenever his time will be, it doesn’t seem like it will be now. The dark cloud of the mark hangs over you, casting a shadow on every happy moment you find, but you do your best to push it away. Jimin seems relieved that you aren’t dwelling on it too much. However he is growing increasingly frustrated with the constant bedrest.

“I want to dance with you so badly,” he confesses. “If I could stand properly, I’d like to dance with you right now in this room,” You smile fondly at him, wishing you could make his words a reality.

You lay your head on his chest, feeling the shape of his body next to yours. It felt like an eternity since the two of you had stood on the dance floor and let your spirits soar in harmony.

“Listen,” he says suddenly, his demeanor shifting. “I...I don’t want to waste any more time. We can’t deny it, we’ve both got the diamond mark. Our time together is limited in one way or another. I want to spend every second of the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?”

Your cheeks blush scarlet, and without any hesitation you nod, stopping yourself before you lean in to kiss him for fear of contracting his illness. His eyes are completely hidden in his beaming smile, and he pulls you back into his arms, kissing the top of your head lightly. No words are needed as you lay there, feeling your hearts beat as one in this moment. The sunlight streams into the room from the window, bathing the two of you in warmth.

Immediate plans for the wedding begin later that day. Namjoon takes you shopping for a dress and rings, even tagging along as you pick out flowers and a wedding cake. The moment Jimin is released from the hospital will be the wedding date. A simple ceremony will be held at a church not too far away, with the reception at a beautiful park. Though Jimin is forced to spend much of his time resting, he helps make decisions as much as he can and makes all of the necessary phone calls to your families.

At last the anticipated day comes when Jimin is healthy enough to be released from the hospital. He helps you into your wedding dress, tenderly brushing your hair and weaving in little white flowers. You knot his tie for him in the fanciest knot you can muster, brushing the dust off of his midnight-blue tuxedo and smoothing his glossy black hair. His face glows at the sight of you, and he spends every moment drinking in your presence.

Namjoon calls you and confirms that you’re about to leave.

“Hana has everything decorated beautifully, you’ll love it,” he promises. His voice grows thick with emotion. “I can’t believe my little sister is getting married,” he says, you can hear rustling as he brushes tears out of his eyes. “Mom and Dad are here, Jimin’s parents and his brother are here. Your roommate is here. All we need now is the bride and groom, so hurry up!” he teases.

You laugh and tell him you love him before you hang up. Jimin offers you his arm and you cling to him happily as he leads you out to the car. He opens the door for you and helps you climb inside and tuck your dress in. He smooths your hair one last time before he walks around and settles in the driver’s seat.

The two of you make your way to the church. You chat excitedly, your stomach full of the liveliest of butterflies, you can hardly sit still. Jimin turns to look over at you at every stop, unable to stop smiling.

“Quit that, you’re going to burn a hole in my face!” you giggle, leaning over to kiss him.

The light changes, and Jimin carefully starts to pull through.

The screech of tires slices through the air, echoing in your head. Time seems to slow down as you turn toward the sound. Jimin is turning the wheel away from the car skidding toward you at lightning speed, but in this position it will strike the driver’s side head on. In a flash you wrench the wheel in the opposite direction, locking eyes with Jimin seconds before the oncoming car collides with the passenger side.

Jimin’s horrified expression remains etched in your mind as the car rolls over and over, finally crashing into a light post and slamming back upright. Jimin coughs weakly, winded from the impact. Dark bruises are starting to pool around his eyes, his nose bleeding heavily, but otherwise he seems unharmed, protected by the airbag.

You’re finding it increasingly hard to breathe. Jimin shakes his head in confusion, looking around with wide eyes, until they come to rest on you. In a flash he is fumbling shakily with the seatbelts, managing to get both of them loose. He stumbles out of the car and comes around, yanking open your door with all of his strength. He lifts you gingerly out of the seat and cradles you in his lap. The other driver is getting out of the car now, staggering.

“Call 911!” Jimin screams frantically, his voice cracking. You can feel the blood trickling from the corners of your mouth and the scarlet stains flowering on your wedding dress. In a haze you look up at Jimin, reaching up to caress his cheek.

“You’re going to be fine!” he insists, pressing your hand to his lips. “You’re going to be fine, I love you! You’re going to be fine…” he repeats this over and over, his voice growing quieter until it’s barely above a whisper. You smile lovingly up at him, unable to feel anything in your body.

“I love you,” you say, but you’re not sure he can hear you, your voice is fading fast, you can’t find the strength to breathe. Darkness is eating at the corners of your vision. You reach your hand out and touch the space over Jimin’s heart where his soulmate mark resides. The last thing you see is the light as it leaves his eyes.

In the streets, crouched among the shattered glass is a man cradling a woman. He’s held her for a long time, even after the paramedics came and tried to carry her away. He strokes her beautiful hair with the white flowers he helped put in, whispering words of the deepest love. He places a ring on her finger that he was carrying in his pocket, and slips one onto his own hand. He pulls her closer toward his chest, her cheek right against his heart. In the wreckage of the broken car, a phone call rings in from the waiting party, no doubt wondering about the delay. He ignores it, still holding the woman tenderly in his arms. If he closes his eyes, he swears he can still feel her warmth.

What he wouldn’t have given to dance with you one last time.

Part Three: Jimin Alone

Under a night sky devoid of stars he stands peering into the darkness. His soul strains at the atmosphere, probing the universe. Are you there? He feels nothing but the aching loneliness answering back. He tries to remember how he danced the night he met you. His movements are stiff, unfeeling, without life, but something inside forces him to keep trying. He tries to leap forward into a roll but he stumbles, scraping his hands against the rocky ground and skinning his knees. The cuts sting painfully, but he tries again. Over and over he tries to jump and roll until his knees and hands are stained with blood. Panting, he falls to the earth in defeat, hot tears scorching his cheeks. He twists the ring roughly on his left finger. The empty sky seems to mock him, and he shrinks away from it, curling up on his side.

Without you, dancing means nothing anyway.

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biteyourbetters · 5 years

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will i ever stop writing shitty isekais

The suit I wore to my best friend's wedding went like this:

First, the pants. A pair of simple black slacks that let my long legs speak for themselves.

Then a maroon shirt under a black vest. The tie was a vibrant red and the brightest thing in my outfit. The jacket I slipped over that was also black.

For warmth, and just because I liked it, I donned a long black coat and could not resist combining it with a pair of black leather gloves.

To top it all off, I slicked my hair back and pushed a pair of round pink shades onto my face. You could say I was... viewing the world through rose tinted lenses.

I looked in the mirror. My reflection gave me a cocky smirk. We exchanged finger guns.

How's it feel to consistently be the best looking and funniest person in the room?

Oh, I wouldn't know- Just kidding, it feels great.

Damn, I looked good. Spending all that time and money shopping was totally worth it. Rubbing my chin, I leant closer to admire myself from close up.

As always, flawless. Thanks, honoured parents, for your great genes. At this point, I might as well usurp the groom's place and steal the bride away.

I imagined the face of exasperated resignation Ivan would make and snickered.

He'd bought me a plane ticket to Japan and even organised a place for me to stay though, so I'd let him off this time. Also, his soon-to-be wife would eviscerate me.

My phone rang. I grinned at wedding march ringtone I'd set. Speak of the devil.

"Ah, Ivan. Just the man I was thinking of."

I then had to hold the phone away from my ear as a loud and incomprehensible mess of syllables spilled out of the speaker.

"Ivan!" I yelled as soon as he ran out of breath. "Ivan, calm down. Chill. Be like me, be at... peace."

I cackled as he groaned.

"Peace, must you use that pun every opportunity you get?"

"You know I do. And hey, it got you to stop panicking, didn't it?"

That reminded Ivan and he started panicking again. Oops.

I gave up calming him down and started to make my way to the venue instead.

While I listened to him babble and made sympathetic noises when appropriate, I got ready to leave. I slung the chain attached to my clutch over my shoulder, double checked the wedding gift, and polished my shoes a final time before putting them on, all with my phone firmly sandwiched between my shoulder and ear.

Ivan somehow still hadn't run out of things to panic about by the time I reached the hotel lobby. I waved goodbye to the concierge and left the hotel.

The skies were clear and cloudless today despite it still being a bit chilly, a good omen for Ivan's marriage. I pointed this out to him but it only fueled his anxiety.

"What if it's a sign that this is as good as it's going to get? I'm going to get jinxed by the weather!" he fretted.

I sighed and muttered, "Can't ever win with you, huh?"

This was the point I made the second biggest mistake of my life. (Don't ask me what the biggest was.)

Instead of hailing a taxi, I decided to show off my outfit and took the scenic route instead. Sometimes, I wonder how different my life would be right now if I hadn't taken the train, or even just hopped onto a different car. But I don't have the ability to rewind time or look into parallel universes, so I guess we'll never know for sure.

It was a surprisingly empty train. The only other people in the car were five high school students, clearly skipping school despite not looking the type to do so. Three boys and two girls. They all seemed to be revolving around one of the girls. I remember thinking 'yas, girl, go get that harem', when the first indicator something weird was about to happen showed up.

The first time the air in front of me blurred, I didn't think much of it. The second time it happened, I rubbed my eyes and made an affirmative noise for Ivan. The third time, I shushed Ivan and watched carefully.

"Shhhush, Ivan, there's something weird going on here."

"Weird? Peace?"

"Shhh... Ah! It happened again."

"What? What happened again?"

"Not entirely sure, there was some kinda weird distortion in the air- that's the fifth time. Hey, are you guys seeing this?"

That last bit was said in Japanese and directed at the teenagers. But before I could get an answer from them, the floor lit up under our feet in a bunch of strange lines and symbols.

"Hey, Ivan, it's not normal for the floor of a train car to light up with something that looks like a magic circle, right?"

That was the last thing I said before vanishing from this world.

~◇~

Two things clatter to the floor. First, a small and prettily wrapped box intended to be a wedding gift for a dear friend. Second, a phone with a black cover, still in the middle of a call. On the other end of the line, one man yells his best friend's name over and over.

There is no answer.

~◇~

The next few seconds brought some of the most uncomfortable sensations I'd ever felt in my life.

It was scorching and it was freezing. It was moving too quickly and remaining motionless all at once. I was squished into a tiny sphere and spread out wide like fog in the sky.

It was no wonder that the emotion I felt the strongest once out of that paradoxical not-space was overwhelming relief.

I wasn't the only one.

"Finally..." one of the boys who'd been in the same train car panted, "Solid ground!"

That set off the rest of them.

"Oh my god, that was awful!"

"Right? Seriously..."

I was so occupied with making sure I didn't have any chunks missing that when the cheering started, I flinched and spun a full circle, surprised I hadn't noticed the thirty or so people that were surrounding us.

What the fuck.

Swearing was uncouth. I felt nothing but contempt towards people who apparently would die if they didn't swear every other sentence. In this instance, however, I felt it was alright for me to say 'fuck' just once.

"What the fuck," I said out loud. "What the fuck."

Or twice.

The high school students looked just as confused as I was. Most of them did, at least. One of the boys with his mouth agape had an expression of dawning comprehension, and he clearly liked whatever it was that he was comprehending.

I, myself, was also getting an inkling of what was happening, and I most definitely did not like it as much as he did.

The six of us were in various positions in the middle of a masterfully lain mosiac. I'd managed to land on my feet. The others were either kneeling or lying flat on the ground. The mosaic tiles were either white or faintly glowing purple, and even as I watched, the glow faded until the only indication it hadn't always been just a simple white tiled floor was the positioning of the tiles. If I concentrated a bit, the tiles would form the pattern that had flashed on the floor of the train car just before we disappeared from it.

The pattern was about 10 metres in diametre, and the room we were in was about the size of my high school gym. The stained glass windows and gothic archs made it look like a church. At the front of the room were five statues, each one at least three times my height. They were arranged in a v-shape, and different coloured gems were set into the marble as eyes.

In front of the lead statue knelt a beatiful woman. Unlike everyone else who was dressed in plain white robes, she wore a gorgeous pale green gown befitting a princess. The tiara on her head was inlaid with large precious stones that glowed like the mosaic had. When the woman unclasped her hands, the gems faded to a dull gray and disintegrated, but she only smiled and let a servant exchange it for another tiara, this one simpler and with smaller gems. The golden glow around her disappeared when she stood up and the noise in the room died down to a murmur.

"Welcome, otherworlders. This world needs the help of the Five Legendary Heroes once more."

There were six of us.

#obv not done #my writing #stuff i wrote #original content #in recent years i've shifted from writing main characters with shitty self esteem to borderline narcissists #i wonder what that says about me

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watermarginhk-blog · 7 years

Text

Thriving in The Orient

FICTION

Ever since their fall from grace into middle class, Mum’s temper had quickened and the tallies marking her lips had grown to outnumber the ones around her eyes. Wilhelmina had suggested some creams, but Mum was in denial.

“Ladies and Gentleman, welcome to Hong Kong,” says a man with a funny accent. “It is a safety requirement that you remain seated yada yada yada. Yada yada yada, on behalf of Captain Darryl and my team, thank you for flying Cathay Pacific and enjoy your stay in Hong Kong. Goodbye!”

Wilhelmina, or Willa as her friends back in Grimsby call her, has butterflies. As in she has literally hidden a jar of dead butterflies, cleverly wrapped in a scarf, in her bag. What if they stop her at customs?

She’ll probably breeze through. They eat turtles and frogs here for crying out loud.

Plus, she is wearing her rose quartz choker. Willa chants a long ooommmmm in her head and shivers as it reverberates through every chakra of her body. She smiles and bows to the flight attendant, who smiles back at her wearily. It had been a long flight.

* * *

Two months into her new position teaching English at a Youth College for disadvantaged youths in the New Territories and Willa is ready to hop on a plane to Bali. Or Laos. Or Vietnam. She has been dreaming of Angkor Wat since her best mate back home Constance Jane returned from her Asia trip eyes wide skin red and peeling like an apple under hot water. She’d told Willa about a tiger-breeding monk who had taken her under his wing for a day and opened her third eye during a short ceremony she couldn’t clearly recall.

The week after, Willa’s ex-boyfriend Colin, who graduated the year before with a 2:2 in English Literature, same as Willa, got back from his teaching job slash gap year in Hong Kong.

When he asked her out for coffee, she knew it was an omen. A symbol from the Creator that she should explore her options in Asia. Career-wise. The guys there were a bit on the short side for her liking, but her good friend Laura had written in her weekly newsletter that her Chinese boyfriend worshipped her like some kind of goddess, and especially loved her hair, which was blonde. She’d made a pact with herself after she and Colin’s mutual break up over Skype, anyway.

Willa thinks about asking Margaux, one of the other female NET teachers, about travelling together at the next Bank Holiday weekend. Margaux is French and has Rosemary’s Baby hair. At lunchtime, Willa goes downstairs to ask the quiet receptionist girl, whose name is either Vicky, Kathy or Fanny, where Margaux’s classroom is.

“Upstairs the second floor, Room 15,” says Vicky or Kathy or Fanny. “Thanks,” says Willa, and dutifully inclines her head.

“Margieee hiyaaaa!!! Want to grab a dim sum after work?” she asks, swinging from the doorway, a bit like Pocahontas from a tree.

Margaux whirls around. She’s wearing fluorescent orange eyeshadow today.

“Mais yes, sounds délicieux—but s’il vous plait never call me with that name again uh?” she rasps with a sophisticated wrinkle of the nose.

Willa’s cheeks itch and Margaux turns back to her monitor.

She was only trying to be friendly.

“Brilliant!!! Meet you there at six, Margaux!!!” she warbles and turning to leave, almost trips over a small child. Quiet as ghosts, these children. Like their parents are training them up as ninjas or something. Even more disturbing is when there’s thirty of them staring vacantly at the whiteboard after being asked a seemingly obvious question, like how to conjugate a verb to match plural nouns.

She is dreading next class. Maybe, if she’s lucky, the ring leader will have caught that nasty stomach bug that’s been going around. Maybe the back row girl gang won’t threaten her life today.

She had taken this job at the Youth College, despite it being farther out, because four days into her initial job at St. Margaret Teresa Catherine’s Royal Kindergarten, she'd realised she hated young children, actually, because they were annoying little cunts who snotted everywhere and never listened no matter how many times she shouted for them to sit down.

The older the better, she had mistakenly thought, but it seems Asian kids only have two settings. Dead loud or dead silent.

As soon as her last student fucks off out the door, Willa packs her bag, checks her lipstick and virtually flees the school. Today is one of those days she questions her very impulsive decision to move thousands of miles away from the comforts of home to a foreign country where barely anyone knows any English. Did these people learn nothing from the Brits?

* * *

There’s no queue outside Dim Sum Palace, which is not its real name, but it sounds good on her blog and the name stuck. It’s usually quiet at this time, which is confusing, because don’t Chinese people eat dinner too? She approaches the pinch-faced hostess and holds up two fingers. Leng gow, she mouths, meaning two people in Chinese. The hostess looks bemused and smiles at her as a mama bear would smile at a sweet little rabbit in the woods.

Twenty-two minutes late, Margaux shows up with Nina. And Marty. Of course.

Margaux undulates into one of the chairs at the next table, Nina and Marty either side of her. Seeing the p-d off look on Willa’s face, Margaux grins.

“Willa cherie don’t look so angry uh? The more the merrier non?”

She crooks her finger and Willa comes to sit.

They order the usual ha gow (shrimp dumplings), sew moy (pork dumplings), cha sow bow (roast pork buns), low pak gow (fried turnip cake). Marty insists on steamed chickens feet because he wants to “expand his horizons.”

“Your wife not doing it for you lately?” Willa asks.

“Well as you know Willa my wife just gave birth hey and look I hope this won’t put off your appetite guys but as you know guys I don’t do well with all this lady stuff right and when I come back in the room after her you know Scisserion right you know where they snip the belly open right because what with me being a Westerner and all the baby would’ve got stuck or something so they handed me the baby and I said guys I said no right I mean come on that thing came out of my wife’s……like it was covered in blood and piss and shit before they wiped it I mean what were they expecting me to do here right?”

Nina frowns at her tea.

“But Marty you are le papa de bébé non? Why don’t you want to ‘old ‘er?” Margaux asks.

Before he can spring to self-defend, steaming baskets of pungent dim sum appear on the lazy susan. Everyone deploys their chopsticks as best they can and the wait staff try not to laugh.

* * *

An hour later, Willa is home and scanning the fridge. She’s still hungry from dinner because actually, she finds Chinese food abhorrently bad, and Marty’s story about his wife’s placenta or whatever really did put her off her appetite. But she wants point 28 on her “Things You Should Know About China Before You Move” list to sound authentic. Readers can intuit lies, so she always does the things she writes about so she can’t be called out.

She settles on the Quinoa Egg and Baby Spinach Protein Boost Pot she bought from M&S last week. Definitely worth the $30 it cost for the thirty minute cab ride home.

“Willababes is that you? Could you grab a beer for me while you’re at it please?” shouts Colin from the living room.

Willa reaches for the last Kronenbourg. Behind it is a small velvet box. The kind they keep rings in. She drops the can and it explodes across the kitchen.

“Nevermind that, love. We’ll get the cleaner to mop it up tomorrow,” says Colin from behind her.

He’s down on one knee.

Willa squeals and throws herself onto him, knocking him over onto the wet floor. They lie kissing in the beer puddle until the doorbell chimes off-key Für Elise.

“Don’t you want to get that, babes?” asks Colin, nuzzling the bindi on her forehead.

Willa can hear giggling behind the door. She gets up to answer it, thankful that the Chinese prefer tiles to carpet.

“CONGRATULATIONS MRS COLLINSON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Constance Jane, Mum, Laura, Margaux, Nina and Marty are grinning ear to ear, waving streamers and blowing party horns.

Willa pulls out her phone and snaps a picture for her blog.

#FICTION

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chriscoleman · 6 years

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Pinned on the Green

Mistakes were made…

Julia and I recently bought a 17’ Clipper Tripper canoe. We’ve been on about 8 trips with it and our confidence has been growing. The Puget Sound taught us to avoid big boats. The Chehalis River taught us to pay attention to wind direction and speed. The Black River forced us to learn shallow water exit/entry repeatedly. Plus, a variety of other lessons as we’ve jumped into the deep end of the boating world.

However… nothing prepared us for what happened on the Green River between Auburn and Tukwila, just south of Seattle, WA, on Saturday, October 6th, 2018.

Early Saturday the 6th we headed out for a 15-mile paddle on a section of the Green we’ve never seen. It was a rather last-minute plan, as our weekend was open and the weather looked clear. It’s one of the many ‘urban’ rivers near Seattle that we have been exploring.

The day started out badly, possibly an omen of what was to come. We drove 2 cars to the put-in. That’s bad, because you need to drive both vehicles to the TAKE OUT first, so that 1 can be left there. We quickly realized our mistake and took the extra 40 minutes to drive to the proper take-out spot and leave my Jeep. We had another mini-adventure here because the take-out was not optimal. We scouted up and down the river for another close option, but ultimately stuck with the Van Doren’s Landing spot.

The put-in was another ordeal. The first spot we began to unload at was not possible to use. The gate was just enough for a person, not wide enough for a boat. A kind neighborhood homeowner asked us about our plans as we were unloading. He had never seen someone try to get a boat into the water via his street. He kindly gave us directions to a spot we could get through a wider fence just around the corner. This was probably red flag #1 (limited boat activity from a guy who looks to have lived there a long time). Immediately followed by red flag #2 when another friendly neighborhood homeowner at our next put-in spot also knew very little of boating on the river right behind her house.

We charged ahead, already past noon, two hours behind schedule. We instantly saw another canoe on the river. 2 guys in a red boat just like ours. Cool! We aren’t alone. This must be legit, someone else is doing it. A classic heuristic trap we learned from backcountry skiing avalanche training (just because someone else is doing it doesn’t mean it’s safe).

The first hour of floating was amazing. Perfect in every way. The water was flowing well, making our paddle strokes easy. We were making great time with little effort. This was the fastest water we’ve been in with our new canoe. The salmon were jumping left and right. One scared a scream out of Julia it jumped so close to our boat. There were fishermen on every bank. We probably passed 50 anglers in 10 miles of river travel.

The red flags began to stack up as the fishermen asked us if “it was safe” and “what do you do about the trees”. We shrugged it off with a laugh and kept going – everything was great!

Then we saw it. About 30 seconds after a fisherman said “there is a blockage ahead” - we came upon our first major hurdle.

A tree was blocking the entire river. Shore to shore, no way around in a boat. The left bank had eroded dumping the recently live tree exactly perpendicular to our path. I pointed our boat left, towards the base.

This is one of the most dangerous situations for boats of all types. The water is rushing under this obstruction. The flow wants to pull you under with it. The problem is that there is a mess of branches and other junk under the water. If you were to get pulled under – it’s very likely that you will get stuck – unable to swim upstream against the current and unable to swim downstream because of the branches/rocks. This is called a ‘strainer’ in the river community. Extremely deadly.

Luckily we handled the situation well. We balanced the boat, leaning into the tree. Julia scrambled out onto the huge trunk / muddy roots. I stabilized the boat as Skye made it towards the front of the boat. Julia pulled her on the tree by the scruff of the neck. Then I scrambled out too.

At this point our lives were relatively safe. The boat was still in a bad position though. We began to form a plan of squeezing the boat through the splintered base of this enormous tree. The water did not allow us to get the boat in line with the hole the tree provided. We pulled with all our might and eventually got the canoe wedged into the tree, out of the water. Some of our gear had floated away during this maneuver, but nothing irreplaceable (water bottles and booties).

Nothing worked. We could not get our canoe over/through the tree. The next plan was to go up the steep bank. It was nearly straight up – through blackberry bushes. I held the boat at Julia forged a path up the loose dirt into a thorny mess. 10 minutes later she returns with a story about the farmer. The farmer rode his 4x4 to the edge of the field, then kept on going. She screamed for help but no reaction.

I pushed while Julia pulled. 1… 2… 3… GO. 1… 2… 3… GO. 1… 2… 3… GO. 1… 2… 3… GO over-and-over. Sometimes I only heard the number 3. Sometimes I had no strength, so just held the canoe from falling back into the water. We eventually got it balanced where I could climb up myself and help from the other end. Climbing was one of the hardest things of the trip. There was a crux where I could not get my leg up another inch and there were no hand holds other than thorny blackberry vines and loose dirt. I eventually pushed in a faithful move, successfully. Skye bounded up easily.

Julia’s legs were bloody with scrapes by the time we got into the farmers field. We could finally rest. It was about an hour from the time we hit the tree to the time we laid in the field. Collard greens everywhere.

“Our friends are out picking pumpkins with their kids. We are bloody & sweaty sitting next to our canoe in a field of collard greens with our dog in a life vest.” Sounds about right.

At this point we had 2 options. #1 – call uber. They would take me to my car, I would return for Julia/Skye/canoe, and we’d be home with our tail between our legs. #2 – find another put-in downstream of the tree and keep paddling. We really were 50/50 on this until we found a relatively safe access back to the river. We both agreed we wanted to continue. The farmer has a pipe to pull water from the river where we scampered down to re-launch the adventure.

Back on the water, it felt good. I was still a bit shaky from adrenaline and fatigue. We were happy. It should have been another 30 minutes of paddling until the takeout. Then we hit major incident #2…

We rounded a bend in the river and saw a handful of wood obstacles. The majority of the river was running left so we naturally decided to stick with the flow. We zigged past 1, zagged for number 2, and hit 3 hard. This big log twisted us sideways, Julia’s bow end pointed directly at the left shore. We leaned into the log downstream, but it was too much force. We began to take on water as our upriver side dipped into the water. In seconds we were all tossed from the boat. Julia stayed next to the boat, standing almost immediately. Skye somehow ended up in the eddy behind the boat, frantically trying to climb onto the now sideways canoe. I floated into the next obstacle of wood. My head began to go under and my mouth filled with water. This was the closest I came to dying, which says a lot after our previous experience. I was quickly able to roll out of the tree, float away, and get my footing. I quickly returned to the boat to rescue Skye. I helped her to the shore where we all regrouped.

Once again – our lives were safe, but the boat was not.

The next hour was spent pulling on the boat in freezing cold rushing water. No progress was made. We could not budge the boat, even using rocks/logs as levers. Eventually we pulled the gear we could reach out of the boat.

Getting out of the river from this location wasn’t very easy. One bank had massive blackberry thorns. There was fast moving deep water between us and the other bank. We made the command decision to go for the easier exit (thorns are bad). We scouted an area that allowed us to walk without getting swept away. I pulled Skye using her life vest handle. It was cute how she tried to still doggy paddle as I pulled her across. After much effort we made it up to a bike path at Foster Park in Kent, WA.

The boat was pinned in the river, but all 3 of us were uninjured on shore. Cold.

I called for Uber. Sat on my rain jacket as we drove to my Jeep. 15 minutes later I was back to Julia to load up the few pieces of gear we owned. Drove home without a boat.

7pm we arrived home in Seattle. Started making plans to rescue our canoe first thing Sunday. Crazy decision – I went to play ultimate at 8pm. Hip Hop had a hard game vs. Huck Butters. I had been nursing an achilles injury the past 3 weeks. I was really looking forward to playing, plus getting to hang out with my good friends for a few hours was a valuable respite from the day’s incidents. We won 15-13!!

Back home at 10:30pm Julia was pulling the cat in a laundry basket with ropes and carabiners. This was a scaled down version of the pully system we were planning to execute. It worked on the 15 pound cat, it should work on our 1000 pound boat.

Sunday morning we were back in action. Sore, but moving by 8am. We staged everything in the garage to begin the rescue mission. Our friend Jared offered to lend equipment. I originally planned to buy everything necessary, but accepting help is often the smart thing to do.

REI was still our first stop. We needed rope to make a temporary ladder into the water from the steep bank. We also got a 200’ rope to use as a ‘safety line’, to prevent the canoe from going downstream further, potentially into the next obstacle, after we release it. Plus some carabiners, prusiks, and a wet suit top for Julia.

Jared lived only 4 miles from where our canoe was stuck. It was great to stop for gear + advice. Shortly after we were parked back at the scene of the incident.

The first activity was to verify the boat was still there. It was. Not folded in half or yanked out by some other crazy people with ropes. We could begin the operation.

We tied the ladder rope, lowered all the gear down, and setup shop on a small island near the boat. The first anchor was in the water – a sturdy stump about 50’ upstream of our canoe. I laid out the rope while Julia walked to the canoe to attach the 2 lines (1 primary pull and 1 safety backup).

Unfortunately the come-along we brought was not functional. We were unable to get the cable extended out. It was fully coiled, jammed shut. Luckily we had the pully system as backup.

The 3-to-1 mechanical system we setup with the pulleys worked well. It was the first time we’ve done this. I’d like to think we did it flawlessly, although I’m sure if any experts were around they would have found mistakes. The Z shape gave us triple the pull power, which was 100% necessary for the situation.

Pull. Pull. Pull. Pull. The boat barely budged. Although we were making small progress. We changed anchors to a spot more equal with the boat. Then a spot slightly downstream. We also moved the boat anchor from wrapped around the stern to the bow handle. My hands hurt. Pull. Pull. Pull. Pull.

I’m not one to ask for help hastily. If that tells you anything about the situation we were in – I called for help. Jared and his wife were quick to accept. They suited up and headed towards our location.

Julia and I waited for reinforcements. We got cold as this was the first break after getting soaking wet. We decided to setup the anchor system in preparation for help, mainly to stay busy. We secured the most durable anchor upstream and tightened all the prusiks. Then we decided to give it one last yank.

HOLY HOLY it’s moving! We saw the most action in this final yank. We started to pull hard then release. It was rocking free. We pulled then the river pulled. It was just like in the videos! The safety line worked as expected, preventing the boat from getting away downstream. We pulled towards our little island, eventually getting the boat in a safe location. High fives all around.

Throughout the day there were people walking on the path above the river. A few asked us if we needed help or simply took pictures. I’m sure they thought we were crazy. The sad part was that when we got the boat free – no one was watching. Julia yelled out in happiness. We got out of the situation just as we had arrived into it – alone.

I quickly texted Jared about our success. He was already en route. We began to clean up our equipment to prepare for the final stage of the rescue. The boat was not out of the river yet. We didn’t bring paddles or have any desire to continue paddling this river. The plan was to pull the boat up the bank and onto the Jeep.

Jared also asked a river friend of his to come help. Together we all pulled the boat up the bank and onto the bike path. I laid next to it completely exhausted 4 hours after we arrived at the river – about 4pm.

The boat looks to be in great shape. A minor bend in the gunnel. Slight discoloration in some of the Kevlar, but no real damage. We loaded it to the top of my vehicle, changed into dry clothes, and enjoyed warm cider with Jared and Lyss. A great ending to a crazy weekend.

Now we are home. The garage is full of wet gear. My online shopping cart is full of river rescue equipment. Skye has no idea how much danger we were in, she just wants to go on another adventure. Overall – life is good. Long list of lessons learned on this one. Julia and I survived an adventure together – handling the stress extremely well throughout. I’m proud of us.

A river rescue course is next on the list. Official training will be helpful the next time we get ourselves into a situation like this (I mean – so we can avoid another situation like this).

We almost died, then we didn’t. Yay.

-Chris

#canoe #greenriver #Kent #WA #Clipper #Tripper

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