#but the silence between levels leading into the waves at the start of stage 6 is amazing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thedistantdusk · 3 years

Text

Arcadia, Chapter 2

Here we gooooo :) Thanks again to @secretkeeper13, @accio-broom, @ginisbetterthanfirewhiskey, @remedialpotions, @not-steve42, @jamezbot, @gryffindorhealer, and the majority of the HG server for their help <3

If you’ve just arriving, here is Chapter 1. :)

_____________________

D A Y + T W O

He’s driving her mad. Absolutely fucking mad.

Ginny grips the hose in an attempt to water the rose bush outside their window, but her eyes are unfocused, unseeing.

This entire thing was such a terrible idea.

She should’ve insisted on another Auror as backup on her first solo mission. Someone less attractive. Someone she hadn’t shagged up one side of the Burrow and down the next.

But the request was difficult to grant in the first place. It took Ginny a full year of documentation to prove this was a necessary use of resources. Attica (and Unspeakables in general) don’t tend to be well-liked by the older Aurors, which made Harry the best fit. The only fit. Everyone— from Kingsley to Attica to even Hermione— agreed. And even aside from the sheer convenience of it all, Ginny’s years of experience with the Thought Chamber and Harry’s ability to sniff out trouble like a niffler after gold made them a brilliant combination to tackle… this.

It’s just a pity, then, that she still finds him so bloody attractive. Even though he’s become a bit of a brooding, sarcastic mess.

Ginny blinks down at the bright pink petals, their leathery flesh beaded with water droplets. Maybe the problem’s that she hasn’t spent much time around him since then. He still comes around for Sunday roast, of course, when his work schedule permits. In spite of what Mum went through, she’d never allow Harry to feel unwelcome. It’s his house as much as theirs— and yes, Ginny still lives at home. It’s the least she can do to maintain a degree of normalcy, even though everything irrevocably changed when It happened.

Ginny’s hands begin to shake around the hose; her brain starts to spiral. The Burrow is less welcoming now. Their hugs are more forced. Their family more distant. And although everyone functions on a basic human level, Ginny knows in her gut that the remaining Weasley siblings — Harry most certainly included — are still going through the motions to cope.

And maybe it’s because she really hadn’t had a libido in nearly five years, but fuck, it hasn’t taken much to come rushing back. Her thighs press together as her head fills with another series of intrusive thoughts instead. But she can’t suppress the memory of Harry emerging from the shower this morning, his top-half dripping, his bottom-half toweled. Not that it matters much, not when she knows every fucking inch of—

“I think that bush is good now!”

Ginny jumps, a string of swears springing to her lips. “I— fuck.” She turns to the unexpected voice. “Sorry! Let me—”

But Oliver from last night merely leans over to turn off the hose. “You’ll quickly learn that sort of language isn’t great for Arcadia, Jen,” he intones, finger wagging.

Years of training allow Ginny to blush in chagrin. To shove aside the telling-off she’d have provided a long, long time ago. “Sorry.” She winces. “It’s just a habit, leftover from—”

“—London, right,” he finishes, his eyes never leaving hers. “Anyway. Listen. Sharon and I would be honored if you joined us for dinner tonight.”

“Did I hear something about dinner?” Harry strolls out of the house, the door shutting behind him with a satisfying thump. “Goodie! As my wife knows, dinner is my favorite word.” He rests his chin on her head, sliding his thumbs through the belt loops of her jeans. Ginny’s heart clenches in familiarity even as her face remains placid. They agreed to all of these terms beforehand… to feign public affection. To seem utterly smitten. It’s just funny how they’ve both relied on old habits.

Ginny reckons that makes sense, though. After all, it worked for them once.

She turns towards Harry with a pout. “But Pookie Pie, I thought your favorite word was snuggles! We certainly did enough of that last night.”

Harry’s chuckle rings out with false bravado as he tucks her hair behind her ears. “We did something, all right. Not sure if snuggling is the right word for it. What do you think, Oliver?” Harry whips around to face him. “What’s your favorite word for… marital relations?” His eyebrows waggle suggestively above his glasses; Ginny stomps on his foot to keep herself from laughing.

Oliver, however, does not find them delightful. “I think this is for you. From Mike.” He points to a box that he apparently rested on the ground while Ginny was drowning the roses.

Harry bends over to pick it up. This does nothing to distract her.

“Couldn’t Mike erm…” Ginny shakes her head to clear it. “Sorry. Couldn’t he bring it over himself? He lives just—”

“Out of town on business, I’m afraid.” Oliver’s voice turns cold as he peers at Ginny again. “He won’t be back for weeks. Months, maybe.”

Ginny makes a noise of concern and rests a fist on her hip. “Huh! That’s funny. What out-of-town business could a primary school teacher possibly have?”

Oliver’s eyes narrow, but his grin remains. “Teacher business, I guess.”

“When can we speak to someone about the trampoline?” Harry blurts, slicing the tension. “I’m missing my exercise, Ollie. It’s how I stay fit. You won’t like me when I’m not exercising!”

With that, Oliver’s grin finally fades. “Well, you can ask Mr. Gogolak, but I don’t think anything will come of it. He’s available tonight from 5 o’clock to 6:13, on the dot. He lives just up there, on the corner. Anyway, I’ll be off.” He gives a parting wave and turns to walk up the drive, but Harry isn’t done.

“Not sure how we’ll manage to make that and dinner, though,” he calls. “Don’t we have to be indoors by six?”

But it seems Oliver is absolutely intent on being elsewhere, because he opts to walk backwards and yell from the street. “Of course not!” he shouts. “Six is only the move-in deadline.” Then he barks out a cruel laugh, throwing his hands in the air. “Any idiot knows that dinner starts at 7!” With that, he sends them a final glare before lumbering away, his brown loafers crunching on the pavement.

Harry and Ginny snort in unison; if Oliver hears them, he doesn’t engage.

“See you later!” Ginny confirms, ensuring it’s loud enough for him to hear. Then she drops her voice to a stage-whisper and cups her hand into a regal wave. “Hope Sharon removes that stick from your arse before dinner tonight, you miserable sack of shit. Suck my dick!”

Harry laughs. “As much as I appreciate the support, Muffin Cakes, that’s one insult that just doesn’t work when you say it.”

And Ginny doesn’t know what comes over her next… she really, really doesn’t.

Because in the blink of an eye, she’s pushed Harry against the front door with a petulant pout. The pulsing between her legs returns with humiliating swiftness; it’s a blessing, really, that Harry’s dreadful at flirting and picking up on cues. They’re in public, but this is the furthest thing from acting.

Nonetheless, Harry’s Adam’s apple bobs as her arms drape around his neck. She watches, rapt, as his eyes darken. Apart from that one slip-up last night, he’s excelled at his job… and as she leans into his hard chest, she realizes how she really feels: she's jealous. Dreadfully jealous.

How dare he be better at this? What in hell gave him the right to soak her knickers with a single look? She’s had years of professional training and a lifetime of practice, but it comes naturally to him— this pretending shit.

And for fuck’s sake… he’s a lot better at it.

“But it’s been ages since you’ve been in my knickers, Baby Bear,” she croons, batting her eyelashes. “How would you know?”

She intends it playfully. A gentle way to put him in his place. But to her surprise, something stinging and sober crosses Harry’s face.

The moment’s over… absolutely over.

In a flash, he pushes her away and gestures at the door. After you. She nods, still turned on but now confused. The whole thing reminds her of ancient history, where she waited for him after each quidditch practice and thought, wished, prayed that he’d touch her… all while hoping to God he wouldn’t.

It takes until they’re inside for her to figure out why he’s upset.

He locks the door behind them with a wave of his wand— and when he whips around, his face is twisted into such a brooding scowl that it pins her on the spot. Shit.

“It goes without saying,” Harry mutters, voice dangerously low, “that there are some things a bloke just doesn’t forget.” He lets out a deep breath, his eyelashes fluttering. “Ok?”

Oh.

Ginny’s cheeks flush as it all comes rushing back. She’s honestly forgotten how… attached he was to that ability. How much he prided himself on being able to please her. How he worshipped her body with such respectful, hushed reverence that it still features in her fantasies.

It seems there’s a limit to his acting skills, after all. A line that he just won’t cross. She should be chuffed that she got what she wanted. Instead, her stomach throbs with guilt.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, biting her lip. “I didn’t mean—”

“Forget it.” He waves his hand over his shoulder and trudges upstairs, leaving her in hollow silence.

Right.

_________________________________

Mr. Gogolak crosses his left leg over his right and swirls his brandy tumbler. Between the ruddy patches on his cheeks and the way his words slip over each other, it’s not his first of the evening. Harry’s reminded of Slughorn. In the worst possible way.

“Anyway.” Gogolak waves at the massive tabbed binder to his left. “As the rules clearly stipulate, a trampoline would lead to other things. Unsavory things.” He raises his eyebrows and takes a sip.

Harry’s eyes flit around the room, trying to take it all in. The decor is… nice, he supposes, if you want every guest to be aware — beyond a shadow of a doubt— that You’ve Been Abroad, thanks. Multi-colored felt flower vases dot the floating shelves above Gogolak’s head, each a pop of color in a room that’s otherwise painfully beige. Scrolls hand-painted with renditions of Buddha and Lokta hang on the far wall. And above them… Harry cocks his head, puzzled, and tries to place where he’s seen that particular mask before.

“Of course,” Ginny agrees with a fervent nod. “We understand the need for decorum and cooperation, don’t we, Hen?”

“Where‘s that mask from?” Harry blurts, nudging his chin up.

Ginny rubs her temples in frustration, but if anything, Gogolak seems flattered.

“Oh! That.” His face flushes with pride as he takes another drink. “That’s a wrathful Mahakala mask. From Tibet! I bought it cheap off a street orphan during my last trip. Can’t say he had much need for it, what with being starving and living in the street.” His laugh booms over the sitting room.

Harry tries to focus. He’s there for Ginny. He’s there for Ginny. He’s only backup. But ah, bugger, after the other shit today it’s too much, and—

“Ha!” Harry returns his humorless laugh. “Isn’t poverty hilarious, Jen?”

There’s an anxious pause.

Ginny ends it with a fake giggle of her own. “As you can see, Mr. Gogolak, my husband is growing a bit testy without his exercise!” She nudges Harry in the ribs— hard enough to make her point, but not hard enough to hurt. “So if we could only have the trampoline, then—”

“‘Fraid not,” Gogolak slurs, peering down at his brandy again. “See, there’s a reason Arcadia has been named Best Village for so long: People simply love to live here!”

“Oh?” Ginny returns her teacup to the table. “Everyone loves to live here?” She rests her elbows on her knees, her voice dropping to a discreet whisper. “What about the people who’ve gone missing, then?”

At first, Gogolak is unperturbed. Then his smile deepens, his eyes traveling from Ginny’s face down to her chest. For fuck’s sake. This arsehole can’t be serious! Harry’s gut swirls with something visceral and protective. He wraps his arm around her shoulders as his hand inches for the wand in his back pocket. Ginny catches his hand on the way and interlaces their fingers with an almost imperceptible, “Shh.”

“Well, well, well,” Gogolak drawls, leaning back to full-on leer at her. “You’re a feisty one, aren’t you? Should’ve known. You’re a ginger, after all.”

Wrong answer.

“Not sure what the color of her hair has to do with her question,” Harry says stiffly. It’s the politest thing he can manage. Ginny squeezes his thigh.

Gogolak faces Harry instead, his face a mask of delighted malice. “Your wife is very beautiful, Mr. Petri,” he drawls. “You must forgive an old man for noticing.”

“Pee-tri,” Harry grouses.

Is it possible to accidentally Avada Kedavra someone with your eyes? Surely he’d be forgiven for that, yeah? He counts five deep breaths, his face burning, as he waits for Ginny to take the lead.

He’s still a bit taken aback at how quickly things changed. He thought he was irritated with her earlier, but now he realizes that frustrated is a better word. They haven’t been together in ages, but she has to know what she still does to him. It wasn’t like she’d grown less beautiful. And while he’s not proud of how things ended, he’s spent the last five years taking pride in knowing her. In being her first, as primitive and knuckle-dragging as that sounds. Because no matter how bad things were, he was always able to make her…

Yeah.

He bites the inside of his cheek. Had he deluded himself into thinking it was as good for her as it was for him?

Ginny clears her throat again. “But what of the people?” she prompts. “The missing people? Like Eric Highland, who lived in our house until last August, when—”

“Oh, him!” Gogolak booms out another uncomfortable laugh and drains the rest of his tumbler. “Well, don’t tell anyone I told you this, but—” He makes a slitting motion across his throat and pours himself another drink. “Committed suicide. Quite a mess.”

Then Gogolak stills, his eyes widening; for the first time this evening, he looks vaguely embarrassed. “Oh, but not in your home, of course!” He waves his hand dismissively. “We’d never, you know, let someone move in after that. Would affect property values, you see.”

Harry’s heart pounds in his ears as Ginny clenches his hand, for once. He wonders if he’s ever given less of a shit about property values.

Another span of uncomfortable silence stretches between them… but this one grows more furious and heated with every second. The version of her he knew before would have Bat Bogeyed this wanker before she took a breath. But everything’s different now.

“That’s… not the preferred term,” Ginny finally manages, her voice strained. Harry grips her hand more tightly; that odd rush of pride returns. He knew she’d say something. There’s not a single version of her that would let that go.

Gogolak’s brow furrows. “What do you—”

“—Took his life,” Ginny interjects, her voice ringing with the righteousness Harry only dimly recognizes from the woman he knew before. “Or died by suicide. Or had terminal depression.”

He holds her hand even tighter as she draws a deep breath, shifting in her seat. Get him, Gin. Get the bastard. Whatever you need, I’m there.

“Committed is a word that… implies a crime,” Ginny finishes. But her words sound careful now. “It just adds to the stigma that people with mental illness are problematic. Words mean things. So.”

Gogolak presses his lips into a thin line. “Forget I brought it up.”

“I will,” Ginny says coolly.

Ginny hadn’t thought much could be worse than the meeting with Mr. Gogolak. Unfortunately, dinner with Sharon and Oliver is proving her wrong.

“This is free-range chicken, of course,” Oliver drawls, gesturing towards their plates. “Got them at the organic market. Anything for health!”

They’d already been treated to iceberg lettuce salads and glasses of generic Merlot. Perhaps she should have anticipated chicken breast and rice as the thrilling main course.

Harry cuts his chicken breast with a sigh. “That’s a pity, Oliver. We all know that caged chickens are tastier!”

Ginny muffles a snort with a cough and reaches for her glass of wine.

Sharon pauses, fork mid-way to her mouth, to peer at Harry, bleary-eyed and confused. Oh, for fuck’s sake; what was it about suburbia that removed one’s ability to recognize a joke?

Oliver changes the subject before Ginny gets the chance. “Where did you two meet, anyway?” he grunts. “And how long have you been married?”

Ginny smiles, preparing the canned response they practiced for months. They met in uni through mutual friends. They both work in computers, and last year, they finally realized it was time to leave the big city.

Harry shatters all of that with three words.

“Magic camp, actually!” he announces, throwing an arm around Ginny’s shoulders.

Fuck. She analyzes her chicken with newfound intensity and tries to imagine something sad.

“Huh,” Oliver says flatly. “Wouldn’t have taken either of you for magicians.”

Sharon has the grace to act embarrassed. “Now now, love,” she chides, reaching for the breadbasket, “I’m sure people have loads of hobbies that aren’t always obvious to everyone!”

“Exactly!” Harry grins and reaches for a piece of baguette. “Besides, it’s mostly Jenny who’s mad for it. Card tricks, pulling bunnies from hats, sawing women in half. Even—” he pauses for a dramatic gasp— “magic wands! You name it, she loves it.”

“Well!” Sharon raises her eyebrows; it’s clear she’s feigning being impressed. “If I’m ever in need of disappearing something, I’ll know who to call!”

Aha! The perfect opening!

“Speaking of disappearing,” Ginny starts, as casually as possible, “we checked with Saint Julian’s Primary. It’s not true Mike left on business.”

Sharon’s smile freezes and melts with such speed that Ginny feels a pang of sympathy. Poor Sharon. She’s really just doing her best to be a pleasant hostess. It’s Oliver who has the clear ulterior motive.

The man in question takes another sip of wine, unfazed. “And why did you have interest in contacting a primary school in the first place? Bit weird for a grown adult, that.”

Harry releases another fake chuckle. “Oh, Oliver, you’re such a prankster!” He bites off some bread. “Surely you’re not turning the tables on my wife and accusing her of being the weird one. After all, all she did was ask about the whereabouts of a lovely member of our community. Right?”

He gives Oliver such an exaggerated wink that even Ginny almost believes him. “And besides…” Harry’s hand wraps around her shoulder again. “Do you reckon we should tell them?” he murmurs, voice laden with his expectation.

Ginny rolls her eyes, fully intent on a thin-lipped, silent warning about making shit up… but Harry’s earnest expression stops her. His green eyes blink behind his glasses, the corners of his mouth slightly upturned. Before she knows what’s happening, one of his warm hands cups her chin while the other comes to rest on her stomach.

Oh. She sucks in a breath, her heart pounding— because for a moment, she forgets where she is. She forgets they’re faking. She forgets they split up and chose separate paths, that they weren’t looking through a portal of what could have been, should have been, before their lives turned to shit.

“Not yet, of course,” Harry murmurs, appearing for all the world like he’s drinking her in as his fingers tap at her stomach. “But soon. We hope.”

And with that, he abruptly clears his throat and turns back to the Skinners. “Anyway, that’s why we called Saint Julian’s,” Harry adds, nonchalantly as you please. “Always good to be prepared, eh?”

“Oh, how exciting!” Sharon cries, clasping her hands together. “And yes, I agree— preparedness is key.”

“Knew you’d be happy for us,” Harry says with another wink. “Quite an exciting time, I’m sure you understand.”

It’s then that Ginny finds her voice. “So. Erm,” she starts, trying to focus. “They hadn’t heard from him. Mike. The school, I mean.” She takes another sip of wine to get her bearings back. “Any idea where he could’ve gone? You understand why we’re a bit worried, especially if we’re planning to—”

“No,” Oliver snaps, nostrils flaring. Sharon’s fork clatters to her plate; if swearing were allowed in this house, Ginny’s confident she would’ve let one slip. “I don’t understand, and you’ll find that snooping isn’t a past-time I appreciate,” Oliver finishes, drawing himself up taller to puff out his chest.

Ginny lets out an incredulous chuckle. “But Oliver… this is a matter of safety. We’re worried about our neighbor.”

“Yeah, Ollie-O!” Harry clucks his tongue, relaxing further into his chair. “Perhaps Arcadia isn’t as perfect as we were led to believe.”

Oliver just fixes them both with a stern glare. “Nope,” he says flatly. The p pops. “You’re wrong. Per usual.”

For six seconds, the four of them sit in painful, frigid silence. Ginny feels Harry’s hand reach behind him… inching closer to his wand...

“Jenny!” Sharon finally chirps, her voice a falsetto. Oh, thank fuck. “I need to walk the dog. Would you join me?”

___________________________

Captain Bone’s toenails tick on the pavement as Sharon holds his lead. Ginny peers at him with unexpected affection as he prances beneath the street lights. Dogs are too high-maintenance for her to even consider, but something about this one is undeniably appealing. As if he hears her, Captain Bone turns to Ginny with a slobbery grin.

Sharon laughs. “He likes you. He’s a sucker for a pretty girl.”

Ginny scratches beneath the thick leather collar with Captain Bone emblazoned on a bronze plate. He throws his head back for more access. Poor Captain Bone. The whole collar looked horribly uncomfortable. “I like him too,” Ginny agrees as he flounces away. “I’m afraid work keeps me too busy for a dog, though.”

Sharon waves this away. “Nah. I’ve seen the way Henry stares at you.” She flashes a knowing smile as they continue strolling, side-by-side. “I reckon if you really wanted a dog, he’d oblige.”

Captain Bone halts, mid-step, and picks up his leg. Sharon removes a waste bag from her pocket.

“You’re probably right,” Ginny mutters. She’s not sure why that feels like admitting to a scandal.

Sharon sighs. “The way he looks at you. The way he touches you. Like he’s holding the whole world in his hands.” Her voice grows wistful, distant; Ginny has a feeling she’s not actually talking about Harry at all.

“Well, we are newlyweds.” Ginny mashes her kitten heel — a clothing acquisition specific to this assignment — into the pavement. “I’m erm. Sure that’ll change.”

But Sharon just stares at Captain Bone as he does his business. “Maybe,” she says softly. “But I don’t reckon Oliver ever looked at me quite like that.”

Ginny blinks at Sharon beneath the streetlight, the fluorescent throwing her features into sharp relief. Wrinkles fold the corners of her eyes. Bits of gray sprout at her scalp beneath the warm chestnut color. Her smile may have been natural once, but now it’s forced. Uneasy. Ginny grimaces. This poor woman… imagine thinking you couldn’t do better than a wanker like Oliver.

“Shit!” Sharon swears, ripping Ginny from her reverie— and soon, she sees why. Captain Bone charges down the street, his lead scraping the ground like a limp noodle. “I wasn’t holding him tightly enough,” she whispers, horrified. “I’ll have to—”

“No,” Ginny says, taking off her heels and thrusting them into Sharon’s arms. “Let me!” And with that, she’s off, bare feet slapping the pavement.

“Don’t blame you for trying to get away,” Ginny mutters, rounding a corner. “The place is bloody creepy. But next time, Captain Bone, could you do this in broad daylight? Nighttime ‘round here is—”

Wait.

Ginny stops, dead in her tracks. A weird sensation creeps over her, crawling against her skin. All the street noise vanishes. Crickets stop chirping; wind stops whistling. She looks around, panic rising in her throat, but nothing looks amiss. She can’t shake it, though… their eerie, numb ringing that fills her head, and—

Like a thunderclap, it all comes back. The faint wind returns. Bugs resume their buzzing. The electric lamppost makes a dull crackling just above her.

Weird. Very fucking weird.

Luckily, Ginny specializes in weird; in the aftermath of whatever the hell that was, she’s more confused than frightened. She takes a few more shaky steps, making every observation she can (temperature, cloud pattern, weather conditions, insect movement)... and that’s when she spies something glinting to her left. Something golden and stuffed in a storm drain.

No. Ginny’s heart pounds as she rushes over, sinking to her knees. It can’t be…

But the closer she gets, the clearer it is: Mike’s chain necklace… the medallion of Saint Julian. Right beside Captain Bone’s pretentious leather collar. For the first time, fear floods her stomach. She surreptitiously reaches for the wand tucked into her waistband. “Accio necklace.” It soars through the gate and into her hand just as Sharon’s footsteps round the corner.

Ginny shoves the necklace into her bra— and it’s only then she realizes that there must’ve been something strange and slimy hanging from it, because whatever the fuck that was is now pressed to her right nipple.

Blech. It takes every bit of her willpower not to shudder and gag. She manages to school her features into innocent concern as Sharon finally catches up.

“Well,” pants Sharon, hands on her thighs, “did you find him?”

“No,” Ginny laments, genuinely upset. She gestures towards the storm drain. “But for some reason, his collar’s down there.”

Even beneath the streetlamps, Sharon’s face turns white.

______________________________

Harry’s back muscles contract in agony as he hunches over the laptop. This whole assignment is a painful reminder that he’s not as young as he used to be. How many hours did he spend snoozing on the lawn at Hogwarts without so much as an ache? But a single bloody night on these shit couches, and he’s popping Paracetamol like sweets. He shifts in place; must be time for another dose.

“Hear anything?” Ginny emerges from the walk-in closet in a towel turban and fluffy white dressing gown, two evidence bags in her hands.

Harry glares at the laptop screen and tries very hard not to remember that one of those bags contains a lacy black bra— one he definitely hasn’t seen before. For the past hour, he’s been in an envious haze of wondering if she bought it for the mission or bought it to wear for someone else.

Either way, it consoles him that deep down, she’s still Ginny; she took this necklace and shoved it into her bra without letting on that something vile and gross was pressed to her ti—

He shakes his head to clear it, but that hurts his neck. For once, though, he embraces the pain. Anything to shift his focus.

“From the props department? No.” Harry sighs and retrieves the medicine bottle from his luggage. “I swear, I have no idea who they got to make the moving boxes and pick the couches, but I’m fairly sure Victoire could do better.”

Ginny scoffs at this. “Well, of course Vic could do better. She’s the most perfect, adorable human alive,” she says fondly, tossing the evidence bags in the transporter box.

It’s plain cardboard, easily disguised as a standard moving box. But with three taps of her wand, the bags evaporate, presumably materializing in a Ministry lab somewhere. Not that Harry cares about the specifics. This is a key example of the sort of detail that’s less and less intriguing the longer he holds this job.

“But I was actually asking if you’d heard anything about Mike and — hey, what are you doing?”

“Paracetamol,” Harry mutters, popping open the bottle. “I’m getting old, Ginny,” he warns, rising to his feet with an exaggerated grimace. “Dunno why you thought it would be a good idea to go on a mission with an old man.”

She rolls her eyes and walks into the bathroom. “You don’t need to be so bloody noble. Please join me on the bed. We could make it longer, even, if you—”

He clears his throat to cut her off. That would be a terrible idea on all counts. Silence on the other side of the door tells him that Ginny either realizes this or chooses not to press the issue. Good...

“Erm. There’s no hits on Mike,” Harry calls into the bathroom. “I reckon he’s dead, Ginny. Credit cards and car haven’t been touched.”

The tap turned on behind the door. “Can’t say I’m shocked,” Ginny admits, voice muffled, “but— holy hell, who taught you how to squeeze toothpaste?”

Harry smirks and returns to the computer. “Myself, probably.”

Ginny lets out another irritated groan. “And the toilet seat’s up!” She strides out of the bathroom. “Strike two!”

Harry hears the distinctive sound of clothing hitting the floor beside her bed but wills himself not to turn around, not to turn around, not to—

“Well.” Ginny sucks her teeth as the bedding rustles. “I suppose I should take all of that as a good sign, really. You clearly don’t have girls in and out of your flat.”

Oh?

Harry’s heart thunders in his ears, his stomach flipping in hope. She takes that as a good sign? Really? He glimpses over his shoulder before remembering he’s not supposed to look.

And just as quickly, he regrets it.

Because Ginny’s sprawled back against the bed, her face so white that she nearly blends into the linens, but his eyes aren’t too focused on her face. They’re drawn down, down, down… down to her creamy chest, dotted with chocolate freckles. Down to her breasts, which he definitely still knows every inch of, even as they rest beneath a black lace vest he hasn’t seen before. Down to the shorts that hug her hips and graze the tips of her thighs… the same thighs he spread open and dipped his head between as she tugged on his hair, her cries breathy and panting in the garden’s evening mist.

Ah, fuck. That one does it. Harry adjusts his basketball shorts as discreetly as possible, but another glimpse at her face tells him he didn’t need to worry.

“I can’t believe I said that,” she whispers, eyes filled with horror.

Harry clears his throat. He honestly forgot she said anything. Now he just feels guilty for eyeing her up while she spiraled.

“I’m so… fuck. This is so unprofessional.” She sinks her head into her hands. “Please, Harry, forget that I said anything. I’m so sorry. That was—”

“It’s forgotten,” he rumbles, his voice deeper than he realized. “Legitimately. I’ve already forgotten it.”

She shoots him a weak smile through the slits of her hands. “I know you haven’t. But thanks for saying it.”

Harry offers his best expression of bafflement as he picks up a pillow from the end of her bed. “Haven’t a clue what you mean, Unspeakable GW. See you at 0-700 hours.” He stops halfway out the door and gives her a military salute. “Unless, of course, you decide to start a bit later,” he adds seriously, “in which case I’ll see you… erm. 0-whenever-the-hell-you-wake-up-hours.”

Ginny giggles, settling against the pillows again.

“Thanks,” she says after a moment, peering at her cuticles. “For… everything. And especially for forgetting—” She makes a vague hand gesture as her cheeks flush the most fascinating shade of pink.

Harry stills, one hand on the doorknob.

He wants to make her feel better… but really, it’s more than that. He wants to tell her that his heart still jumps into his throat when he hears about an Unspeakable being injured on the job. He wants to admit that he avoids Sundays at the Burrow not because he stopped caring, but because he cares too much. He wants to confess, in a rush of passion, that she wasn’t just his first: she’s his only. That he reckons she’ll always be his only. That exchanging work for Them was the stupidest thing he ever agreed to, regardless of the circumstances.

Oh, and of course, that he still fucking loves her. Harry rubs his forehead, frustration gnawing at his stomach. Why in hell did he admit that to himself? You never admit that to yourself. What an idiot.

Still, they have a mission… a moronic, suburban mission filled with every literal and metaphorical breed of Karen imaginable. But as worthless as Harry considers this whole assignment, her neck is on the line if they come up empty-handed. And she values her assignment— and her neck, he reckons— quite a bit.

So he makes the choice to both reassure her. And to be foolishly honest.

“Erm… for what it’s worth?” Harry croaks, staring down the dark corridor to avoid meeting her eyes. “You’re the only girl I’ve ever wanted in my bedroom, anyway.”

Before she can reply, he closes the door and walks away. His cheeks burn as he pads downstairs, but Harry knows it’s best to leave it, really. To save them both the awkwardness.

Even if it means sleeping on this shit couch forever.

#harry/ginny fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #x-files #canon compliant #au

44 notes · View notes

peaches-writes · 4 years

Text

before one a.m.

description: bang chan, college of music, friend of a friend who surprisingly offers to share a workplace in a cafe on this busy friday night member: chan genre: fluff, college au, strangers to friends au, reader is a fine arts student word count: 7.4k warning: explicit language note: inspired by the before trilogy but it kinda feels like i didn’t do it justice i rlly cant do strangers to anything lmao im a clown + this took rlly long but it’s not that good sldkfjkdsl :(

6:30 PM

You hurriedly skip up the steps of the campus library’s entrance staircase, backpack slung over one shoulder and your laptop, tucked in its own bag, and a sketchbook pressed to your chest. Entering through the double doors, you breathlessly sigh in disappointment at seeing most of the working tables full. I run from Fine Arts across the oval to a full library, you huff at scanning the floor from the entrance one last time before proceeding to run up the staircase by the reception desk, skipping the steps again in an attempt to cross the distance faster.

On the second to the last step, as you focus on not missing the steps you hop onto, your shoulders accidentally bump into someone rushing down from the opposite side, almost making you slip if not for the stranger who quickly steadies you by your upper arm in time. “Woah there.” A familiar voice mutters under his breath as you regain composure. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry!”

You look up from almost dropping your laptop and sketchbook on the staircase, meeting eyes with an apologetic Bang Chan who has moved a step above you with a messenger bag and his infamous laptop.

“Are you okay?” He prods on, going down one step again so you’re on the same level now.

Though he’s in a different college, you know him by name and face from similar social circles, hence the slight embarrassment you felt at recognizing him after almost slipping right in front of him. “I’m okay.” You muse, eyes then flitting over to the second floor entrance. “Is it full too?”

Chan nods once, fixing his messenger bag with one hand as it starts to feel heavy. “Y-yeah, it’s finals week in the College of Sciences, I think.”

“Oh.” You frown. “Well, that’s too bad.”

The two of you stand in silence for a moment, you slowly alternating your gaze between the second floor and the staircase leading back to the first, contemplating on what to do now, while Chan strangely waits for you to say something again.

When you don’t speak, he speaks up again, “Do you want to...” He trails off until you avert your gaze back to him. “I’m going to Block 325 to work. Do you want to come and share a table with me?”

Your eyes widen, surprised at a fellow college student being generous enough to share a study spot with you, but Chan misinterprets, thinking you don’t remember him from when you were introduced in Seungmin’s birthday party. “I’m sorry.” He quickly apologizes again, scratching the nape of his neck sheepishly. “It’s just that I thought you’d—now I sound like a creep. I’m so sorry, that’s not my intention at all.”

Simultaneously, you respond, “O-Oh, I was just surprised. College students aren’t really that generous with work areas—what?”

Chan takes a step backward, leaning close to the railings. “W-What?”

You chuckle, amused by the small miscommunication that suddenly made the atmosphere lighter. “Why did you think you sounded like a creep? I just said it’s a nice offer, not everyone here offers to share work spaces.”

“Well, I thought you didn’t recognize me,” He answers honestly. “we were introduced at Seungmin’s party?”

You shake your head, your smile growing at how cute he looks when he’s flustered. “Bang Chan, right? College of Music.” You smile when he nods innocently. “See? I’m more worried you didn’t recognize me, CB97.”

Chan blushes in embarrassment, but even more in the way his Soundcloud rapper name rolls off your lips almost teasingly. “So...” He changes the topic immediately. “Do you want to go with me, Y/N?”

You nod, noting the way he mimicked the tone you used in referring to him by his stage name. “Of course, thank you for offering to share a workspace.”

“No problem, any friend of Seungmin’s my friend too.” He waves his free hand dismissively before leading you down the staircase. “Come on, let’s go.”

You leave the library together, the feeling of the building’s cold air conditioning leaving escaping your skin making you sweat slightly. You don’t skip down the stairs this time since Chan doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to get to Block 325 cafe, North of the campus oval.

“Look.” Chan points up as the two of you reach the sidewalk. You follow his gaze as you continue walking, seeing the sunset’s sky move with the crown shyness of trees forming a canopy over the road. “Careful when you’re walking.”

You deliberately ignore his last comment, musing, “Wow, it’s so beautiful.” Your mouth falls agape and your eyes widen. “The canopy shape makes it look so magical, don’t you think?”

“You don’t stay late out here much?” Chan asks when you turn your eyes back to the sidewalk ahead.

You return his gaze with a shrug, “Only on hell weeks like this...but even then, I usually stay in our department building so I don’t get out much at this hour.”

“So why aren’t you working in your building tonight?”

“The floor where I usually work overnight is under renovation. I can’t work at my dorm too since we don’t really have that much space for studying,” Your eyes move down to his laptop bag, noticing how it’s bulkier than yours. “What about you? Don’t they have studios in the College of Music?”

“They’re full tonight since a lot of seniors are starting their thesis proposals.” He points out. “I’m actually not out making a school project, this one’s for a gig.”

“And in your dorms?”

“It’s movie night so everyone’s going to be really noisy.”

“Oh, then lucky you didn’t get a table in the library,” You point out with a giggle. “the entire College of Sciences would’ve been pissed at you.”

Chan scoffs lightheartedly, “And you? If you got a table, the entire library would’ve gotten annoyed by you making a mess.”

“I’m organized when I work outside the studio, thank you very much.” You roll your eyes, chuckling towards the end. “But yeah, I guess it’s better that we’re going to a cafe since I’m working with watercolor.”

At this, you arrive in front of Block 325 cafe, Chan courteously opening the door for you.

7:30 PM

You settle in a booth by the window, illuminated by a white paper lantern and one of the cafe’s neon signs that reads, “COFFEE,” in a metallic color. Chan sits across from you and takes the half of the table near the window, his laptop blocking his face and his headphones covering his ears, while you sit near the aisle, occasionally mistaking your open cup of latte for the small bowls you brought with you containing tap water as you work on your plate due on Monday.

Chan glances over to your work space whenever he reviews his work every 15 minutes, propping an elbow on the table and resting his cheek on his palm, and you take rests from your own work by trying to catch him in the act, giggling when you do and shaking your head when you don’t.

As an hour passes by, you put your brush down to let your plate dry and look up at Chan as he tests out melodies on his synthesizer, taking a long sip of your latte before asking, “How’s your song?”

Chan’s eyes widen at the faint hint of your voice, hands traveling up to his headphones and taking them off. “Hm?”

“I asked how’s it going.” You repeat patiently over your latte. The sweet taste of the coffee brew reminds you of Chan’s coffee order, finding the cappuccino only half-empty in the hour you’ve been in the cafe.

“Oh, it’s going well.” He answers proudly, eyes alternating between your expectant eyes and his laptop’s screen. “I’m just fixing some mixing issues.”

You nod, looking around the surprisingly organized table. Before Chan could wear his headphones again, you gesture to the counter, “I’m ordering. Do you want anything?”

He shakes his head in response, wearing his headphones again. “No, thank you, I’ll order later.”

You purse your lips, standing up from your seat and briefly stretching your arms upwards. “Okay.” You then adjust your denim jacket as it loosely falls on your right shoulder before walking over to the counter.

“Hello, is there anything you need?” The barista on duty politely asks from brewing an Americano behind the counter. Though the cafe is full today, like you and Chan, most of the customers are only here for the wifi and the work space.

You skim through the menu once before leaning over the counter and responding, “I’ll have two slices of strawberry shortcake, a banana bread, and the chocolate glazed doughnut, please.” The barista immediately acknowledges it, moving over to the cashier to input your order. “Thank you!”

You then pay when the she tells you the price, moving over to the display case of desserts and pastries where she then carefully takes your orders.

You survey the other desserts, pastries, and bottled drinks before your eyes return to Chan across the cafe, catching him leaning over the table and trying to take a peek at your work from his angle, making you giggle once again.

And as if he heard you, he turns to you, eyes widening briefly at getting caught before awkwardly waving at you. You decide on waving back until the barista presents your order next to the counter, neatly organized on a tray.

“Thank you again!” You say politely before taking the tray and going back to your table, Chan eyeing all the delicacies the entire time.

“Stressed much?” He asks, pointing at the two slices of strawberry shortcake. When you look down, only then do you realize that the two slices were placed in one plate with a pair of forks and napkins. “Not that it’s bad to eat a lot, it’s just...a lot of sweets.”

“The other one’s supposed to be for you but I guess the barista thought we’re sharing a plate.” You hand him the chocolate glazed doughnut, thrusting it into his hands when he initially refuses. “You need to eat on time even when it’s just a small amount.”

“I’ll pay you later,” Chan says after thanking you for the doughnut, reluctantly unwrapping the plastic cover and taking a big bite. “And you can have the cake, it’s fine.”

“I can’t finish the cake on my own.” You sit down now, taking a bite of the banana bread with one hand while pushing the cake at the center of the table with the other. Chan then politely helps you by placing the tray on the empty space of his share of the table. “Just take the other slice, you don’t have to pay me”

“But—“

“It’s for offering me a table tonight.” You immediately interject reassuringly. “Please, have the other slice of cake.”

Chan ends up smiling appreciatively at you, picking up one of the forks and cutting a forkful. “...Thank you.”

You nod, moving your banana bread to your non-dominant hand to pick up your brush and go back to work. “No problem.” You muse, smiling unconsciously at watching Chan stop working altogether to eat. “Like you said, ‘any friend of Seungmin’s a friend of mine too.’”

As you turn back to painting, returning to your unfinished Winter wonderland, you look at Chan again, asking, “Anyway, what do you think?”

He looks up immediately, his slice of cake almost gone. You quickly clarify, “My plate, I mean.”

“Oh,” His eyes flicker down to your work again once. “It’s really beautiful. Akita, right?” You nod at his question, letting him continue. “I love the details and the colors—they seem so whimsical and nostalgic, like a childhood memory.”

You feel heat rise to your cheeks by the genuine tone of his voice, “Thank you. I hope the professor feels the same way when he sees it.”

“Why Akita?"

“We’re supposed to make a study on nature but I didn’t want to just make something that’s so common around here so I chose this, from a winter trip I won in an art competition last year.” You look down on your work, a flood of memories making your smile wider. “It was the first time I went on a trip alone and it’s abroad so it was a little scary at first but I had a lot of fun.”

“Really? That sounds cool.” He comments enthusiastically. “It must be fun to travel on your own. I mean, I do too but, sort of; only until I arrive in Australia when I visit my family.”

Simultaneously, you nod, “It is fun, like it’s one of the things you have to do at one point in your life.”

“Right, right!” He replies with a chuckle, nodding along still. “I don’t know a lot of people who think the same way so I’m weirdly glad.”

You spare a glance at Chan, your gaze softening at his genuine expression. When he gives you a questioning look, you answer, “I’m surprised, too; you just seem more like the crowd-type of person.”

He shrugs. “It’s always fun to be with friends but I think you can enjoy the company of others the best when you’re already comfortable with being on your own.”

“And are you?” You prod, reaching over for the unused fork and and taking a small piece of your strawberry cake. “Already comfortable with being on your own?”

He nods with a confident grin. “Yeah, I invited you over, didn’t I?”

You smile back. “I guess so.”

8:30 PM

An hour later, you catch Chan stretching his arms upward, leaning back on the seat cushions. You momentarily stop touching up your work, looking up at him with a raised brow, “Break?”

He nods, stifling a yawn as he brings his hand back down to close his laptop. “Just for 10 minutes.” He gestures over to your work, leaning close to the table. “You should, too, you’ve been working for an hour straight.”

You glance down at your work, contemplating for a moment before carefully placing your brush to the side and leaning back to your seat as well. “Okay, but just for 10 minutes.”

You then finish what remains of your latte while Chan organizes the table by gathering all the empty wrappers and your shared plate and cutlery to the tray you used a while back. In response, you take his empty glass.

“I can take that.” He gestures over to the glasses in your hand with your empty plate while scooting over to the aisle. “Just sit down.”

You shake your head but place the glass on the tray, standing up almost simultaneously as he does. You then pick up your bowls of paint waiter, holding them up to him. “I’m going to go and change my water.”

“Oh...okay, then.” The two of you then proceed to the counter where the barista happily takes the tray from Chan’s hands while you dump your dirty paint water in their service sink and replace it with cleaner tap water.

“Thank you for letting me use your water, again.” You told the barista after Chan offered to carry one of your bowls.

“It’s no problem!” The barista replies with a dismissive wave and a smile.

You and Chan then carefully return to your table, placing your bowls on your half of the table.

Chan checks the time on his phone as he sits down, 8:34 PM. “We still have six minutes, what do you want to talk about?”

“You’re really keeping check?” You ask in disbelief to Chan who nods with his lips in pursed and his arms folded to his chest as he slides down his seat. “So responsible.”

“I just thought you might be wary of the time,” He shrugs nonchalantly. “so you can go home early and all, it’s Friday anyway.”

You shake your head, scrunching up your nose, “I don’t have to be somewhere this weekend. All my friends are all busy studying and catching deadlines and Seungmin’s tutoring someone for the entire weekend.”

You decide on busying yourself by scrolling through your Instagram on your phone, glancing over at Chan occasionally as he contemplates on what else to say while opening his laptop again.

“How do you know Seungmin by the way? If I may ask...?” He settles for such a question when his eyes trail over the customized keychain on your backpack, a photo of you, Seungmin, and your other best friend, Sooyoung, in a Mickey Mouse-shaped frame. “I mean, he talks about you a lot when we hang out but didn’t introduce us until recently so I thought you were dating but he said you aren’t so I’m just...curious.”

When you look up at him, you follow his gaze to your keychain, an amused smile taking over your features. “We’re not dating, just childhood friends but not really close to the point that we know all of the other’s friends.” Unconsciously, your hand finds their way to the keychain, fiddling with them lightly before turning to Chan. “Anyway, even if we just met recently, I’m really happy it’s you and the others he specifically befriended.”

Chan nods with a hum. When he doesn’t speak, you ask him back his question, “How about you? I’m guessing you met through Felix and Jeongin?”

“Yeah,” He agrees with another nod. “I toured them around campus last year during their orientation.”

“Aw, you’re in the Orientation Committee?” You coo. Even though it suits his personality, hearing him say it out loud made it somehow more adorable. “That’s so cute! That’s probably why I always hear the Freshmen gossip about you in our studios.”

His eyes widen at this, pink dusting his cheeks. “W-what?” He stammers, making you laugh.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know.” You shake your head in feign disapproval, crossing your arms for emphasis. “You’re very popular on campus: music major, radio DJ, performs in a rap trio, and I just find out that you’re in the Orientation Committee touring Freshman on the first week? If I was any batch lower, I would’ve swooned over you in my first months here too. Oh? You’re blushing!”

Chan scoffs, rolling his eyes in an attempt to hide the now prominent blush on his cheeks. “I’m not, I’m not!” He waves his hand dismissively to distract you from the clearly seeing his face.

“You definitely are!” You point out in between chuckles, sitting up properly when you unconsciously slide down the booth. “Are you not used to getting compliments? Seriously, this is why I didn’t think you’d remember me from earlier: you’re too charming and popular with other students.”

Internally, he briefly wonders if you’d still swoon over him even when you’re in the same batch but quickly pushes the thought away. “I really don’t think I’m that popular. I’m pretty sure people like Jisung and Changbin more.” He shrugs. “And popular or not, I can remember you anywhere.”

The last sentence immediately makes you stop laughing, your heart skipping a beat at what you think is just a casual statement from him, You come up with a retort, only to be interrupted by a sound alert from Chan’s phone, reminding the two of you that it’s already 8:40 PM.

“Okay, break’s done!” He exclaims happily, relieved that he can finally get out of this embarrassing conversation.

You tsk playfully, picking up your brush while Chan opens his laptop again. “I still think you’re very charming and popular, CB97.” You comment before he can tune you out with his music again. “In fact, if someone asked, I’ll have to say that you’re my favorite 3racha member.”

Chan pretends to increase the volume on his laptop in his flustered state. You catch this, an amused smile forming on your lips. You conclude to yourself that you feel more casual and comfortable around him now that you made him flustered.

Cute.

9:30 PM

You’ve been done for quite a while now, having busied yourself in the past 5 minutes in disposing the paint water, cleaning your brushes, and packing your things while your work completely dries. Chan looks up at you from his own work when you return with clean bowls and brushes, his headphones falling down his shoulders. Hesitantly, he asks, “Are you leaving?”

You sit down first, contemplating on the question as you carefully place your bowls and brushes inside your bag, before opting for a shrug and answering, “I’m too lazy to leave yet.” You then briefly break eye contact to check your phone for the time. “Besides, it’s too early. I can stick around, right?”

He nods once, lifting his headphones up to his ears again. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

You give him an appreciative smile, leaning back in your seat and opening your phone to Instagram. Blindly, you reach your backpack pockets for your earphones as well, managing to find them after a while.

Simultaneously, Chan lifts another glance over to you just as you’re connecting your earphones to your phone. A thought then passes over him, “Do you want to...” He trails off again, just until you return his gaze with a raised eyebrow. “Do you want to listen with me?”

“Wouldn’t we bother everyone else studying?” You ask back in response, your forehead crinkling in confusion as you gesture over to the other remaining customers in the vicinity.

He quickly pauses his music and takes out what seems to be an adapter that splits into two ports on one end, holding it between the two of you. “You can connect your earphones here, I’ll do the same, then I’ll plug it on my laptop.” He motions to his laptop while taking out his headphones’ audio jack towards the end. “It’s an earphone splitter—for sharing music from one device, basically.”

“Oh.” You nod along in fascination. You then disconnect your earphones from your phone, plugging it on one of the two ports of the splitter. “Okay, if it’s okay to listen.”

He shrugs reassuringly. “Well, it’s an unreleased track but it’s okay since everyone’s going to hear anyway—just don’t tell Changbin I let you listen to it first before him.” His eyes then widen and his mouth falls slightly agape when you get up from your seat, leaving your earphones on the table, and move to the empty space next to him, picking up your earphones again and placing the buds on your ears.

You look to your side, raising an eyebrow at his surprised expression, “What?”

“N-Nothing.” He stammers out, casting his eyes downward to connect his headphones to the splitter’s other port then connecting the splitter itself to his computer.

You giggle. “I can’t stay in my seat, I’ll get cramps from leaning over the table.”

He pretends to ignore your comment in his flustered state, his mouse hovering over to the very start of the track before pressing play. “Playing now.”

You slide down the booth comfortably, shoulders jumping slightly at the soft drums and bass that flows into your earphones instead of the usual aggressive percussion and beat that everyone associates with Chan’s rap group. Next to you, Chan props his elbow on the table and rests his cheek on the palm of his hand, pretending to watch the stacked and overlapping tracks’ wavelengths move with the music’s progression while stealing glances in your direction, trying to catch a reaction.

“What’s the name of this track?” You ask over the music, your voice coming out louder against Changbin’s rap. “Does it have a name already?”

He unconsciously grasps the fabric of his hoodie with his free hand, holding it up to you. “Hoodie season?”

You chuckle, a little skeptical. “You sound unsure. Did you come up with that on the spot?”

But he shakes his head, gesturing over to the file name. “It’s the name of the track, seriously.” Internally, he also wonders why he seemed to have hesitated.

"It’s a fitting name, I guess.” You end up nodding with a hum, eyes lighting up when Jisung begins to sing. “Perfect for the incoming Winter.”

Jisung then starts rapping after the chorus, surprising you once again. “As expected of Han Jisung.” You clap lightly in satisfaction, a proud smile on your face. “Changbin’s verse was also great. Ah, I can’t wait to hear this live.”

Chan starts feeling visibly anxious next to you as his verse nears, leg bouncing up and down under the table and his fingers poking into his cheek to the beat of the song, that he blurts out, “We’re performing here before break.”

You look up from the laptop screen to him expectantly. “Really? When? What time?” You ask hurriedly, not wanting to speak over the music in case Chan’s part comes up next.

“On the Saturday before break, I think?” He answers, eyes glancing back and forth between you and the track. “Saturday night, from what I can remember.”

The chorus then plays again after Jisung’s verse, making you sit up properly in your seat once again in anticipation for Chan’s verse. “Tickets?” You ask him to the already familiar tune of the chorus.

“It’s free admission.” He answers, the most anxious now. Why did they have to say I’m their favorite member? He sighs in his head at the very cause of his sudden anxiousness.

Chan’s verse then plays, your tight-lipped smile turning into a satisfied grin. You don’t say anything more, leaving Chan internally lingering over the question of whether or not you’ll attend the gig.

“Hey, baby, I’ll make you my lover, ay. I’m thankful that I’m warm in the Autumn, ooh ah, ooh ah, I’ll hold you wherever we go.”

You chuckle somewhere between the lyrics, looking over at Chan in amusement who returns your gaze with a confused look. “You make hoodies sound so romantic.” You comment, answering his unspoken question. “Not that it can’t be, it’s just that you made it sound witty and funny somehow.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” He asks with genuine concern. The song now ends but you don’t take your earphones out of the splitter and he doesn’t bother as well.

“It’s a good thing.” You comment, careful of your tone in case you let it slip that you’re totally swooning over him right now. “Plus, this sounds fresh—it’s so different from the songs you usually put out.”

“Really? Thanks.” He heaves a sigh of relief, smiling more carefree now.

The two of you don’t speak for a while, not even bothering to take out your earphones. Sitting closer to Chan now, you feel even more lazy to get up and move back to your seat, much less leave and walk to your dorm right outside campus.

After a while, Chan speaks up again. “Want to listen to something else?”

You motion over to the track, “Are you done already? I might be interrupting your work.”

He tilts his head to the side, placing his propped up arm on the table back on his lap as he sits up properly. “It’s pretty much done, just needs a little tweaking on the mixing. I can do that later.” For emphasis, he saves the track and exits the software, the screen displaying his files folder. “Come on, choose a song.”

You scoot closer to him, your leg brushing against his now as you lean closer to the screen while he slowly scrolls down the files for you. “Oh, play WOW, that one’s funny.”

Chan frowns. “Not that one, please.”

In retaliation, you quickly swipe the mouse from him and play the track, laughing maniacally as the familiar intro skit begins to play.

“Oh God.” Chan groans in embarrassment, hiding his face in his hands.

But he lets the music anyway. Though he’s feeling very embarrassed, all these feelings are immediately forgotten with seeing you enjoying yourself.

10:40 PM

The barista passes by your table to remind you kindly that the cafe is closing in a while. Only then do you realize that, besides her, it’s just you and Chan in the cafe now, having spent the last hour going through Chan’s laptop.

“Ah, time passed by really quickly.” Chan muses as he finishes packing up his laptop then slings his backpack on his shoulder. You stand on the aisle, backpack on one shoulder while your laptop and sketchbook are tucked neatly on one arm reminiscent of when you came in, as you watch and wait for him quietly.

“It sure did.” You nod when he turns to face you, walking you to the door now. He opens the door for you again, chuckling when you tried beating him to it. “Oh, that reminds me, we only ate sweets a while ago.”

Chan hums in acknowledgement, catching up to you after closing the door behind him. Now, the campus oval is illuminated by yellow street lights, white building lights, and the occasional passing car against the dark night sky, a complete contrast from when you were outside hours ago. Besides the two of you, there’s barely any people outside anymore as well.

“Chan?” You tilt your head so that you have a better view of his face while walking, catching him off-guard in his dazed state.

“Yeah?” He blinks twice, embarrassed that he accidentally drowned you out. “Sorry, I zoned out.”

“You look like you fell asleep for a second there. I asked if you wanted to get a late dinner.” You repeat your question with a chuckle, facing the sidewalk ahead now. You see the library still open at this time from up ahead, half-empty from the view on the clear windows now that it’s nearing midnight. “My dorm’s across the West entrance and there’s a 24-hour grill on the corner of our street.”

“Oh...sure, sure,” Chan replies, suddenly realizing that he’s hungry again. “We can just eat at my dorm up ahead on the South side, though, it’s nearer.”

“In your dorm?” You raise an eyebrow teasingly.

“Yeah?” He replies back in an unsure manner before quickly realizing how he seemed to have come off. “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that! We have a common area with a kitchen. I’ll cook for you, don’t worry!”

You nod in agreement just as you pass the intersection leading to the East entrance, laughing at the way his eyes crinkle in embarrassment. “I was just joking, sure, let’s go to your dorm.”

Chan sighs next to you, awkwardly rubbing the nape of his neck with his free hand. Such a tease. “Our pantry’s just ramen and canned food, though, so don’t raise your expectations too much.” He warns you lightly once he’s recovered from being a flustered mess.

“Seungmin says you cook fine, though,” You counter. “so I’m still having these expectations.”

You reach his dorm after 10 more minutes, Chan walking ahead as you walk up the steps of the entrance so he can open the door for you for the third time this evening and lead you into the common area kitchen. You catch sight of a few familiar faces in the dim light of the lounge area, mostly younger students from your department raving over an action movie playing on the big flat screen and Jisung and Changbin who greet you with knowing smiles on their faces before you disappeared into the kitchen.

“Are they always glad to see people?” You gesture over to Jisung and Changbin behind you from the wide open doorway as you and Chan leave your things by an empty bench. You briefly turn around to look at them once again, catching them wiggling their eyebrows at Chan before they notice you looking and waving at you with sarcastically sweet smiles in return. “It’s just that...they’re smiling really weird.”

You then turn back around to see Chan a few steps ahead of you shoot the two younger boys an annoyed look, shooing them away with his hand when they lean over the lounge sofa they occupy to have a better look of you and Chan, before turning to you again and laughing nervously, “They’re just being weird, ignore them.”

“Okay?” You nod, quickly dismissing the thought, before sitting down on the dining table as Chan proceeds to open the nearby refrigerator, passing you a pitcher of water and two glasses.

He then moves over to the overhead cabinets to your left, examining its contents once before turning to you, “Chicken, beef, or jajangmyeon?”

“Jajangmyeon, please.” You answer happily as you pour water on the two glasses in front of you. “I can’t believe Bang Chan of 3racha is making me ramen on a Friday night.”

“Stop teasing me.” He scoffs playfully, taking out four packets of jajangmyeon and opening another cabinet for a clean pot and ladle. He glances over to you slyly over his shoulder, looking away immediately when he catches you taking off your denim jacket to place on your chair behind you.

You take a sip of the cold water, the sensation making you feel refreshed after hours of working. “Bang Chan of 3racha offered me a work table, called my art pretty, let me listen to an unreleased song, and is now cooking for me—and this is the first time we talked without our mutual friend Seungmin.” You continue teasing him anyway, more as an attempt to distract yourself from the fact that he does look very handsome cooking even with your limited view. “I take back what I said a while ago, I’m definitely swooning right now.”

Though your tone is casual and playful, Chan can’t find it in himself to fight the blush creeping up his cheeks and the way his hands shake slightly while cooking jajangmyeon. “I’ll burn your share of the jajangmyeon.”

He hears you laugh behind him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

11:30 PM

You’re presented with a steaming bowl of jajangmyeon along with a few quick side dishes after 10 minutes of scrolling through your Twitter with the dorm’s guest wifi. You thank Chan as you pick up your chopsticks, eating when he does as he sits right across from you.

“Oh, this is really really good!” You comment after a bite, eyes bright and hands clasping together in satisfaction once again. “I don’t usually trust Seungmin but he is right, you cook well.”

Chan narrows his eyes at you, his lips unconsciously forming a pout as he chews. “You tease me then turns out you’ve been doubting my cooking skills this whole time.”

His expression makes you laugh in between big bites of your late dinner. “I meant to say after that what Seungmin said was an understatement, you’re not just fine you’re great so stop pouting!” You take a sip of water after swallowing your fourth bite, your gaze softening to a more sincere expression now. “Anyway, thank you for making me dinner.”

He smiles shyly now, quickly eating his food to reply, “You bought me cake and a doughnut and kept me company tonight so thank you, too.”

You take more sips of water as you slowly finish half your bowl before replying, “If I thank you again for offering me a table then we’d go on thanking each other the whole night.”

He laughs, nodding wholeheartedly in agreement. “Let’s just say thank you at the same time and be done with it.”

“Right.” You agree. “So, thank you for everything tonight.”

“Same...thank you for tonight.” He then takes a sip of water before suddenly standing up, catching your attention. “There’s more jajangmyeon in the pot, do you want some more?”

“Yes, thank you!”

12:20 AM

You hold your used silverware tightly as you walk over to the sink, making sure Chan doesn’t snatch them from you and accidentally break them or wash them on his own.

“Just let me do this since you cooked.” You argue for the fifth time since your conversation shifted from the most random of topics to determining who washes the plates, successfully placing the silverware on the sink almost at the same time as Chan does so. When he tries to gently move you out of the way, you stay firmly on your spot by holding the kitchen counter. “Besides, it’s just one set of plates.”

“You’re in my dorm so let me wash the plates.” He protests for the second time as well while trying to swat your hands away. After two tries, he successfully moves you to the side, passing you a random packet of biscuits from the overhead cabinet to occupy yourself with. “You don’t have to make things even with us, we’re just hanging out casually.”

You frown, opening the packet and eating a biscuit anyway. “Still, if someone cooked the other should wash the plates, that’s how it goes.”

“That’s how it goes only when it’s a date.” He mumbles under his breath, not really expecting that you would catch it.

“A date?”

Quickly, he waves his hand dismissively at you. "Nothing. Seriously, it’s fine.” He smiles at you reassuringly, eventually feeling relieved when you don’t tease him further. “Anyway, it’s been a long night and you still have to walk back to your dorm after this so just rest over there.”

You look down on your biscuits, a thought suddenly coming into mind. “Have a biscuit, then.”

“No, just eat it.”

“Come on.” You hold up a biscuit to his face as he busies himself with scrubbing the plates and glasses. When he look your way or open his mouth, you poke his lips with the end of the biscuit. “Seriously, eat the biscuit!”

You see him trying to stifle a laugh as you continue poking around his lips with the biscuit, making you laugh as well. Moving away so you don’t take it as an opportunity, he replies, “If I eat this biscuit, will you let me walk you to the West gate? It’s late and dark out.”

You contemplate on this for a moment, your hand stopping in midair. Chan takes this as an opportunity to take a small bite of the biscuit, “Hey, you bit it already!”

He nods, leaning his head to your hand when you try retracting it then taking another bite. “Yeah, so can I walk you home then call it finally even.”

You sigh, letting him eat the whole biscuit in your hand. “Okay.”

“You wouldn’t feel like you need to repay me again after, okay?”

“Only if you don’t.”

“Deal.” He concludes, finally turning to look at you while he rinses the soap off the glasses. “Can I have another one?”

You take out another biscuit, initially extending it over to him before quickly putting it in your mouth before he can even take a bite. “Just kidding, you get the next one.” You mumble while taking out another biscuit, giving it to him this time when he’s done drying his hands, frowning.

“You’re so mean.” He comments, taking the biscuit from your hand.

“That’s what you signed up for when you decided on befriending me tonight.” You point out with a laugh, crumpling the wrapper and throwing it in the proper trash bin.

“Anyway, aren’t you tired? Should we go now?” He changes the topic after a while, walking over to the bench where you left your things.

You follow him, taking your jacket from the chair you previously occupied on the way. “Yeah before the RA kills me.”

He laughs. “Strict?”

“Not used to me staying out at this hour.” You correct, pointing at your bag when he picks it up and slings it over his shoulder. “You don’t have to.”

“This is what you signed up for when you agreed to let me walk you back.” He throws your comeback at you this time as he takes your laptop and sketchbook. “Come on, before your RA kills you.”

With a defeated sigh, you follow Chan out, almost missing the way Jisung and Changbin follow the two of you with curious eyes as you pass by the lounge once again.

“Do you think...” Jisung asks Changbin, not even needing to finish his question to get it across as Changbin fervently nods.

“I think so too.” Changbin replies, taking out his phone. “Should we tell Seungmin?”

12:50 AM

Eventually you reach the West gate. You stop on the side of the overpass, making Chan stop walking as well.

“I can walk on my own from here, it’s okay.” You smile reassuringly up at him. “Thanks for walking me all the way here again.”

He shakes his head, not showing any hint of letting go of your things. “I can walk you to your dorm entrance, though.”

You gesture over to your dorm building with an amused laugh, “It’s literally right next to the other end of the overpass. I don’t want you walking back with an extra distance.” When his skeptical look doesn’t fade away, you sigh but with an appreciative smile. “If you’re worried so much, you can just watch me from here then I’ll wave at you from the other side.”

After a moment, he finally gives in, handing you your belongings then stepping back so you can go up the overpass stairs. “Okay, okay.”

Such a gentleman, you muse internally to yourself as you take a step up the stairs, still facing him. “Goodnight, Chan.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He returns the greeting to you, hesitating on the last minute to give you a hug like he would do with his close friends. That’s too weird you just talked today, he reminds himself.

You pretend not to notice the way he almost extended his arms out for a hug, secretly feeling shy yourself. “I’ll see you when I see you?”

“How about the gig before break?” He asks, another question lingering in his mind but he decides on not asking it as a follow-up.

You nod in agreement, “I’ll be there, of course, you mentioned it a while ago.”

You’re about to turn around and walk up the overpass at noticing that he doesn’t show any sign of wanting to say anything else when you suddenly hear him ask behind you, “How about on a nearer date?” which makes you turn back around to face him. “How about—tomorrow?”

Shrugging as if nonchalantly, you ask back, “What about it?”

He hesitates again for a while before taking a small step forward so he’s looking up at you now from the bottom of the stairs. “Do you want to hang out tomorrow, if you’re free that is.”

You feel your heart flutter ever so slightly at this but you quickly force yourself to ignore it. “That doesn’t sound too fun.”

“What?” He frowns in genuine disappointment, almost making your teasing gaze soften.

“I meant where’s the fun in tonight if we meet again soon?” You clarify. “Just wait until your gig next week!”

He opens his mouth to speak but you’re already walking backwards up the stairs, adding, “And don’t try looking for me in the Fine Arts building, you should know I hide around there well! Goodnight, Chan! Thank you for tonight!”

With a final smile his way, you finally turn around and walk up the overpass, glancing over to him again when you reach the very top and begin crossing the bridge. As the two of you agreed, he remained by the side of the overpass, watching you carefully even when there’s barely any people on the bridge anymore.

In under a minute, you’ve reached the halfway mark of the other stairway where you can still see Chan clearly amidst the never-ending flow of cars. You raise a hand above your head, waving to him until he waves back.

Since you’re so far away, you miss the way Chan sighs before sending a dimpled smile your way. He contemplates on asking Seungmin more about you later.

With that, you then proceed back to your dorms, disappearing from Chan’s sight when you enter your dorm building. He takes that as his cue to head back to his own dorm.

“Next Saturday’s too far.” He huffs in frustration, sparing one last glance in the direction of your dorm building before passing through the West gate once again.

Nevertheless, he can’t help but feel excited at the prospect of talking to you again.

1:00 AM

Chan arrives back in the dorm building, immediately bombarded by Jisung and Changbin who hold his belongings with teasing looks.

“So you were with Y/N, huh?” Jisung starts, hugging Chan’s laptop to his chest tightly. “Why were you two together?”

Chan raises an eyebrow, not really knowing where this ‘interrogation’ is going. “I bumped into them at the library when it was full so I offered we share a table at 325.”

“That’s all?” Changbin asks this time, his arms crossed in front of his chest while Chan’s backpack hangs loosely on his shoulder.

“Yeah, that’s all,” Chan nods slowly, eyebrows furrowing now. “Why? And why do you have my backpack.”

The two younger boys shake their head at the same time.

“Oh, nothing.” Jisung dissmises with a small wave. “Just curious.”

As if on cue, Chan’s phone rings its message alert.

seungmin: SO I HEARD U WENT OUT ON A DATE W Y/N [sent 1:04 AM]

405 notes · View notes

lilyharvord · 4 years

Text

The Chain (Part 6)

Main Concept: Two love struck idiots get sent back to a pretty UGH time period in their lives (that required me to reread all the books again) and have to hide the fact that they know everything.

Find Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5

tag list: @delilahlbard @king-maven-calore @thatoddgirl777 @elliekratzzz @evangelineartemiasamos @evangeline-of-montfort @scxrletguardsdawn @freaky-freiday @redqueenetwork @petergrantkavinsky @kuwei @whatsup-gorls (let me know if you want a tag (((((: )

(<Cal>)

Waiting is the hard part. I’ve always considered myself patient, even if I’m not at times. But this, this is a new level. It takes everything just to keep from pacing the room.

I thought I was going to throw up when Elara’s dress had disappeared down the stairs after the Sentinels carrying Mare. She was so certain that she could handle this, but what if Elara found something? I couldn’t care less if it was about me or what I will do in the futuer. I could take Elara his time. But if she hurts Mare, or forces her to regress to a state where I can’t pull her back from the brink like I did before, I don’t know if I would be able to live with letting Elara take her willingly.

It feels like it’s been hours. Did it take this long the first time? I don’t remember. I should though. Even the first time I have been sweating and panicking, albeit for a much different reason. Elara had figured the truth about out meeting out anyway.

The door opens with whisper, and I freeze near the window of my father’s study. My pulse pounds in my ears, and I force even inhales and exhales as Elara stalks into the room, her heels clicking against the wood until she steps on the carpet.

“She’s Red through and through.” She simply states. I almost can’t hear it over the roar of blood in my ears.

“And the terrorists?”

“She isn’t associated with them.” Elara murmurs and the whispers of silk brushing on wood announces her moving again. I let out the breath I’d been holding, trying to be discrete. When I glance over my shoulder though, it’s to see them so engrossed in dealing with the problem that I am only a decoration at this point. Good, so far everything was progressing the way I remembered. Elara could be keeping things to herself though. She’d kept plenty to herself in the months leading up to what happened in Archeon. If she had seen something about Montfort or the Guard in Mare’s memories she would keep it to herself, and start putting plans together behind the curtains. I had half a mind to warn Dane, not that he would need help scheming against Elara.

I need a test, something to see if she does know more than she is letting on. Stepping away from the window I ask, “How did she get here?” I never asked that question. I know that. I had sat quietly by the window while Elara told my father everything she had discovered. This would throw her. If she did see everything, then she would search my mind for the truth, and possibly reveal that it was my fault Mare was here. If she did either, I would know.

Elara’s icy gaze snaps to me, but I square my shoulders. I imagine my head as a hall of mirrors, reflecting my thoughts back at her. Behind those mirrors is everything I know, and my true thoughts. If she looks into my mind, she’ll only see what I want her to see, and I can lead her down any path I want because of that. She’ll think she’s the one doing the searching the entire time though, and I’ll feel her there. It’s an old trick that Carmadon did his best to teach. Mare wanted to learn it first. I could understand why too. After Samson and Elara both ripped her mind to pieces, it only made sense that she would never want it to happen again. I learned too, more for curiosity’s sake. I couldn’t be more grateful for that decision now.

There isn’t even a shadow of her in my head when she says, “One of the servants retrieved her, but it’s unclear who ordered her here.”

It’s the best answer I can get. I release the tension in my shoulders as she turns back to father at his desk, her face a mask of stone. “She is the last thing we need.”

He’s quiet for a long time, simply watching Elara’s face. I’d been so oblivious to the battle of wills between them my entire life. Knowing what hides behind Elara’s mask though lets me see the battle lines clearly. Elara has pushed a lot the past few years, and she’s winning. He must know that too. He’d be blind and stupid if he didn’t know that.

“She’s one girl, we could just remove her.” He eventually says, before leaning back and lacing his fingers together. Elara huffs at that, only to growl, “and the High Houses? What of them? Will we tell them she mysteriously vanished?” “Perhaps we should.”

“They’ll smell blood.” Elara sneers. For all her malicious plans, she does know the court. The Houses will need something to chew on to keep them quiet. The Mareena story works, it has just enough holes that they’ll be so busy poking they won’t look in the right places. The perfect ruse.

“Then what will you have me do Elara? Parade her in front of the kingdom?” He grunts out a laugh, but Elara’s lips curl up in the tinniest of smiles. She was already putting her plan into motion in this office. I wonder if she’s whispering it to Maven who is sitting just a few feet away, his eyes on the light stretching across the carpet from the open window. I glance at him hesitantly, looking for any sort of reaction. He looks bored though, his chin resting on his fist. That doesn’t mean anything though. He could be listening to every word she says.

“We will hide her in plain sight.” Elara instructs quickly. Her eyes darting to me only momentarily. I drop my eyes to the carpet, trying to count the different colors there as she continues to speak in a hushed whisper to my father. His face hardens with each passing second until he looks to me and says, “Out, take Maven with you.”

I remember this part well. They debate the intricacies without Maven and I present. Intricacies that will put Elara plan into motion permanently.

Pacing across the room, I set my hand on Maven’s shoulder. He tenses under my grip momentarily before rising from the chair and following me out of the double doors. They close with a click behind us.

We wait in the hallway, shoulder to shoulder. I need to speak with Mare, make sure she’s okay and that nothing slipped by. We also need to set up the next stage of our plan. We need to cover what happened after this, and I need her to tell me when exactly she met Farley so I can be on the lookout for Maven and Elara knowing more than they should. Or for anything suspicious. That is the only real test for them getting knowledge about the past from Mare.

Next to me, Maven adjusts the cuff of his suit and says, “Well, she certainly made today entertaining.”

I can’t smile or laugh, even though I should. I always laughed at his little asides. I’m so wrapped up in trying to out think Elara, that I can barely register his presence.

He steps in front of me at my prolonged silence, his eyes searching my face. I used to think it was because he was patiently waiting for me to speak, now I know he was a hunter, analyzing his prey. I crack a smile to hide my discomfort, watching his eyes as I say, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Evangeline come so close to crying.”

He laughs, and the sound makes my chest ache. It sounds so real. Is it? How much was really him? I wish I knew for sure.

The door behind us opens before I can get in a deeper hole and Elara steps out followed by father who carries Mare’s folder in his hand. While I know the truth of their relationship, they are still a striking couple. Her every feature is the opposite of his. I wonder if Maven always wished he looked more like his mother and less like our father.

“Send Lucas Samos for the girl. Bring her to the throne room.” My father orders the Sentinel waiting by the doors with a wave of his hand. Without waiting to see if the order is being followed, he starts down the hallway to the throne room. We must be there early enough to ensure proper placement. Our placement before Mare will be important. She’ll need to see the strength and power of the royal family, and my father will place us so that she sees exactly that.

We don’t wait for an order either, and follow him. The silence is so heavy I can hear Elara’s skirts hissing as she walks. There is not backing out of this now. I wish I had just grabbed Mare and run with her last night. I would have found us an airship, or anything to get us to Montfort. We would have been there by now and all of this might have been dealt with. I should have told her to hell with Jon’s advice. I know better. I’ve known better for years than to believe anything that man says.

The throne room is empty, and the throne has been moved back a few feet by some telkies and probably a magnetron. They want Mare to make the long walk down the hall and see all of it. My father wants her to be afraid. He won’t get that effect this time around though. Mare hates this place, and she’ll let that show on every inch of her face.

Maven takes his place first, giving me enough space on his right side for me to slide between him and our father’s throne. I step up on the dais and into my place. He glances at me for a moment and then asks, “If they order her to be executed, do you think Evangeline will demand the honor?”

My throat closes up at the memory of Evangeline and Ptolemus stalking us in the Bowl of Bones. I throw a glare at Maven that could melt steel, even though panic laces through my bones. Does he know that because Elara told him it will come to pass?

His face pales with blush though, and I immediately regret my reaction. I clasp my hands together behind my back and look toward the doors that Mare will be brought through. “She doesn’t deserve to die. She’s just a girl.” I hope he thinks my fury is there because I’m too soft.

Mare’s much more than just a girl. She’ll become more than that to him quickly too. I close my hands into fists at the thought. I promised Mare that I would never let him hurt her again. I swore that at the Notch and last night. Mare is more than capable of handling herself, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to protect her. Especially from him and the memories he will bring back.

The doors into the room open and Lucas brings her in with guards surrounding her. Behind me, the warmth of the sun slides away as a Haven darkness the room. It’s dramatic and entirely unnecessary. No one can see into this room. But appearances are everything, and I’m slowly being reminded of that. I’d give anything for my slacks and shirts that I kept in my Montfort apartment. I can’t believe that years ago I missed these uniforms. They’re miserable. “You will kneel,” Elara orders, her voice soft as velvet.

Mare stands silently, staring her down before turning her eyes to my father. They flash with remorse for only a moment. “I will not.” She straightens her shoulders, every inch the warrior I remember her being with a different edge. This is Mare Barrow, not Mareena, not the Little Lightning Girl. This is the girl who came to exist between the peaks of Montfort, the one that threw a splatter of dough at me because I said something about her legs in a pair of pants, but turned around the next morning and beat me to a tie in a training ring. The girl whose brothers would wrestle me to the ground and threaten to dump me in the lake on a daily basis. My heart aches for that. As much as a part of me rejoices in seeing my father and brother again, I miss the Barrows.

“Do you enjoy your cell, girl?” My father asks his voice louder than it needs to be. Mare may be hard headed but she’s not deaf. I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

Still Mare purses her lips, refusing to bow. “It’s a little small.” She says as her eyes dance around the room taking everything in. In a few months we’ll be in a room very similar but she and Maven will be on their knees. Her eyes hold on Elara before she raises her chin and asks, “What do you want with me?” She’s surprisingly calm and the question is brutal in its bluntness. I wish I was a whisper so that I can tell her to at least pretend to be afraid.

Elara leans down, her hand closing around my father’s shoulder as she whispers in his ear, “I told you, she’s Red through and through—”

He waves her off with disinterest. Her hand grips his arm for another moment before she released it and draws back. It’s like watching a bird of prey release its catch to give it a bit of hope before it swoops in again. My stomach curls at the image.

“What I want concerning you is impossible.” My father snaps, and he might as well set Mare on fire with those words.

Mare huffs and twitches her head to the side to move her hair off her shoulder. She hasn’t looked this way once. She won’t either. Not as long as Maven stands next to me.

“Well, I’m not sorry you can’t kill me.” She grumbles as she looks to the side, picking a stop on the wall to glare at. She’ll have to look at him eventually. I wish I could be there to support her when she does. Instead I’m standing up here, being about as useful as a rock in a sinking ship.

My father tosses her file onto the floor. Her papers spill out, and Mare’s identification photo stares back at me. The fire I love sparks in her eyes as she looks at that photo. Her lips twist at the sight of the little smear of her blood there. I know what she’s thinking about. She’s thinking about a book of names. I’ve already started the hunt though, cataloguing Ada’s exact location, along with Nix, and Luther. Anyone else I could remember from the Notch I tried to find. I’d been mostly successful. I’d even found Dane’s name buried in the system. Of course, he’d been reported dead years ago.

“Mare Molly Barrow, born November seventeenth, 302 of the New Era, to Daniel and Ruth Barrow,” my father drawls as if he’s reading the paper and not the life story of a woman who will one day bring an end to our family dynasty. “You have no occupation and are scheduled for conscription on your next birthday. You attend school sparingly, your academic test scores are low, and you have a list of offenses that would land you in prison in most cities. Thievery, smuggling, resisting arrest, to name but a few. All together you are poor, rude, immoral, unintelligent, impoverished, bitter, stubborn, and a blight upon your village and my kingdom.”

I could laugh. If only my father knew what she would become. He would have to swallow his tongue. He might even respect her.

“And yet,” he continues as if what he’s said wasn’t enough, “You are also something else. Something I cannot fathom. You are Red and Silver both, a peculiarity with deadly consequences you cannot understand. So what am I do to with you?”

Mare only shrugs, as she looks down at her boots. “I suppose you could let me go?”

Elara’s laugh sends a shiver down my spine again. She steps forward just slightly and spits, “And what about the High Houses? Will they keep silent as well? Will they forget the little lightning girl in a red uniform?”

They never will.

“You know my advice Tiberias,” Elara adds, her eyes holding on my father. I wonder if she is whispering into his mind right now, twisting his mind to do her bidding. “And it will solve both our problems.”

I clench my fist, knowing what’s coming next. Mare seems to know too, because her jaw tightens. I wish I could stand beside her for this part. As if something as stupid as that could make a difference in this moment.

“We are going to hide you in plain sight where we can watch you, protect you, and attempt to understand you.” With a bored shrug, father turns his eyes to Elara, who nods. Swallowing tightly, I step forward and urge, “Father—“

Maven’s hand closes around my elbow, making sure I can’t move. Elara’s eyes dance to me for a moment, until Maven pulls me back into line. Father turns away though, already busy telling Mare the story she will play by.

Mare’s eyes finally glance my way as she says, “I don’t want to be a princess.” “It doesn’t matter what you want. You will marry my son Maven, and you’ll do it without putting a toe out of line.” He dismisses her abysmal refute with strong words. Mare’s jaw tightens, and she finally brings her eyes to Maven. I can hear her inhale, sharp as a knife. Next to me, Maven sputters and steps forward. “I don’t understand,” he blurts.

I grab his arm, holding him back as he tries to take quick steps forward. “She’s—why?”

“Quiet,” Elara snaps, making even me tense. “You will obey.”

Maven turns burning eyes on her, reminding me so much of the boy he is to become. Elara hardens though, refusing to back down until Maven slowly bows back. A battle of wills I’d missed before. No doubt she’s whispering her plan into his mind, curling her fist around his intentions.

Below us, Mare watches the entire thing, analyzing just as much as I am. She squeezes her hand into a fist and says, “This won’t help anyone.”

“Oh, but it will. For the first time in your rudimentary little life, you have a purpose.” The jab stings even me, and Mare flinches at it. “Here we are, in the early stages of a badly timed rebellion, with terrorist groups or freedom fighters, or whatever the hell these idiotic Red fools call themselves, blowing things up in the name of equality.”

Mare raises a brow, feigning interest. “The Scarlet Guard.” She corrects, her voice hard.

“You might be able to help us stop there from being any more.” Father completely ignores her, steamrolling over Mare’s words like they are nothing. I wish he’d listen though. If he did, he would have been surprised that Mare even knew the name of the Scarlet Guard. No one really did, and if they did, they were the people we had been looking for.

“And you think me marrying him will fix that?” She asks, her eyes darting to Maven and then away really quickly. She can barely hold his eye. This may have been bigger mistake than we originally thought. If Mare can’t even look at Maven, how is she supposed to pretend to trust him? Keep it together, I want to tell her, you’re almost there.

“My name is Maven,” he says, quietly. “And I still don’t understand.” His cheeks are flushed with what I know is fury. Before, I would have mistaken it for embarrassment at Mare’s lack of decorum, now I know better.

“If the Reds see her, a Silver by blood but Red by nature, raised up with us, they can be placated. It’s like a fairytale.” Mare’s eyes burn and I raise my chin to finish. “She’ll be their champion. And a distraction.” I add the last part hesitantly; the words sour in my mouth.

When I don’t say anything else, Mare’s eyes drop. Father straightens up in his throne filling the silence immediately. “This isn’t a request, Lady Titanos.”

Mare’s eyes snap up to him, her expression pulling tight.

“You will go through with this, and you will do it properly.”

Elara launches into her part, almost eagerly. As soon as she finishes Mare whispers, “My family—“

“What about them? Girl, you have fallen head over heels into a miracle.” Elara crows, furious that Mare would question any of this.

“Mare has a family, and she has a right to be worried about them.” I snap, drawing both Elara and Maven’s eyes. I tense at the slip, and Mare’s eyes widen a fraction of an inch. Swallowing, I bring my chin up and direct my next words to my father, “You would want the same for me or Maven if that were the case.” He huffs, and with shrug says, “Of course.” Drumming his fingers on the arm of the throne, he tilts his head to the side and says, “I suppose we’ll give them an allowance, keep them quiet.”

“I want my brothers brought back from the front.” Mare begins, pouncing on my father’s words, and stepping forward as she says them. Elara tenses but Mare only has eyes for my father as she continues with her demands. “And my friend, Kilorn Warren. Don’t let the legions take him.”

With a wave of his hand, Father agrees. “Done.”

Mare sags in relief, and it’s the first time I’ve seen her relaxed since we got into this mess. The doors open again, and Lucas returns with the guards. They grab Mare’s arms before turning her around and taking her from the room. I know exactly where they are going, but I wait until Father has risen from the throne, chuckling to himself. I watch him until he recognizes my stare. He gives me a smile, pleased that things are at least somewhat going his way. “Write those letters will you?”

“As long as they are sent out tonight before the feast.” I say, even though I know Shade is already gone. It was one of the first things I looked up when I woke up days ago. He’d already been accused of desertion. He was with the Guard and Farley long before I even guessed.

I step off the back of the dais with those words and head straight for the door that will take me to the back hallways that lead to the royal apartments. I try not to run, but i’m terrified that if I don’t pull Bree and Tramy off the lines soon enough that they won’t make it off. I won’t let them die so that I have to tell Mare that I lost two more of her brothers.

I know Maven’s following me long before I get to my rooms. I leave the door open for him to follow me in. He closes it behind him as I rush to my desk, pushing books aside while I search for official paper and a pen. Normally letters like that will be typed, but the faster it goes out, the better. I fly through Kilorn’s letter, barely registering what I’m writing.

Maven watches me in silence as I hunch over the desk. He waits for a second more before saying, “You know her.”

I don’t look up as I sign Kilorn’s letter. His needs to go to the recruitment office immediately. He should have already been drafted. The legionaries in the Stilts had always been slow though. Maven’s shoes click on the wood floor as he approaches my desk. He stops near my elbow and says, “You know her, Cal. How?”

“I met her outside a tavern.” I keep my reply short as I fold the letter and start on Bree’s. He watches my pen move, probably reading the words as I go. He leans his hip against the edge of the desk, and crosses his arms while I write in silence. He wants more. He won’t get any from me though.

I fold Bree’s and start Tramy’s in the silence. He shifts to get my attention but when I don’t reply, he says, “You got her this job.”

I nod, and then read over Tramy’s letter before folding it and searching for another piece of paper for Shade’s. “She was desperate. She needed it.”

“I didn’t realize you ran a charity case.” He mumbles before leaving me at my desk to throw himself on to my bed. I glance at him over my shoulder as he does that. He sinks into the blankets before looking around my room asking, “Are you ready for tonight?”

Shaking my head, I pull a piece of paper from the desk and hastily start Shade’s letter. The bedding shifts as Maven does. He’s purposefully trying to get my attention now. A few years ago, before I knew what was in his head, I would have laughed at his attempts. Now though, I’m on guard, watching every move. I pause from writing Shade’s letter to glance at Maven. He props himself up on his elbows and smiles at me. It’s so disarming, I can’t help but give him a little smile back. “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.”

He nods in understanding before shifting and saying, “I’m not going to lie. I thought… that I would at least get a choice.”

I glance back at Shade’s letter to finish it. Was that a true statement? Probably. Elara forced him into this. Maybe it was his way of letting some of his true self slip out. My hand shakes as I sign the letter though. I tell myself it’s because I’m thinking about how it will do nothing, but I know that a part of me is thinking about Maven’s words and their implication. Had that been a cry for help that I missed? It certainly sounded like one.

“I’m sorry.” I say to Maven, and those two words mean so much more than what I intend. He raises a brow, as if sensing the depth of my words. With a tilt of his head, he says, “You don’t have to be. It’s my duty to do as I’m told.”

I fold Shade’s letter slowly and gather the other three. Turning to him, I approach the bed slowly. His eyes track my movement until I’m standing over him, and I don’t miss his cheek twitch as I set my hand on his leg. I swallow once more and whisper, “I’m truly sorry, Maven.”

The heat underneath my hand rises with the swell of emotions he tries to keep under the surface. Drawing my hand back I look away. “I’m going to turn these in, I’ll see you at the feast.”

I can feel his eyes on my back as I approach the door. Just as I’m turning the knob to leave, he speaks again, making me freeze.

“I know, Cal.” His voice is soft, and for a moment, I get a flash of a simple stone on a sandy bluff overlooking the ocean. He would have loved that. I had been right to bury him someplace quiet. I squeeze my hand into a fist, remembering how that shovel felt in my hands, and how the blisters had burned, torn, and bled while I dug six feet into the ground. Nanabel had been horrified when I’d gotten back with blood all over my pants from wiping my hands on them. She thought I had at least taken someone with me to do the digging. I had refused anyone’s help though. I’d been a coward to let Mare do what I should have done. I wouldn’t be that coward again. And he was my brother. I was going to bury him myself, whether or not anyone thought that was right.

Still, I give him a nod, showing him that I heard. He’s already on his path, and there is little that I think I can do for him. I can just be there for him, get him through this, and then bury him again. I don’t know if I’ll have the strength to do that again though.

(/////) Mare’s rooms are at least on the way back from the offices of reports. It makes my trip back easier. I arrive just as they are putting the final touches on her. She pulls away when they reach for the earrings, and she almost grabs the girl’s wrist as she does so. “Leave those, please.”

I can’t help but smile as I clear my throat. The maids all look my way and drop into quick, identical curtsies. I bob my head to them and whisper, “Excuse us.”

They hurry out, and Mare slowly turns in the dress watching them leave. I approach slowly when the door closes, asking, “Cameras?”

“Off.” She says quickly. I tilt my head before reaching out to run my thumb along her cheek. The paint smears slightly and I whisper, “I forgot how odd you looked with this stuff.”

“How kind,” she teases me with a smile as she pushes my hand away and descends from the little platform she had been standing on. She doesn’t wobble in the shoes like I remember. Continuing to ignoring me, she sinks into the chair in front of the vanity, and picks up the brush to adjust the smudge I made in her makeup. I watch her back, and for a moment, it’s like we never left Montfort. I could picture her sitting at her vanity in our apartment fixing her hair before we go to a state dinner, or before she goes to work.

“You still look beautiful.” I whisper to her. She glances up at me in the mirror, and her lips quirk up just slightly.

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.” I say as I approach her. I reach out to pick up a piece of hair that fell out near the back of her neck. I tuck it in, before holding my hand out for a pin. She gives it to me willingly before saying, “Anything suspicious?”

“Nothing.” I say as I slide the pin in place. I don’t mention Maven’s little comment. It didn’t hurt anything. Those words had been meant for me. She nods to me in the mirror, before rising and brushing out the wrinkles in her dress. Facing me, she makes a face at my uniform and reaches up to adjust my collar. Smoothing out the shoulders of my suit jacket she says softly, “She didn’t get anything I didn’t want her to get.”

“The letters went out.” I change the subject quickly. Still, I watch her hands as she brushes something off the jacket of my suit. This feels like the beginning again. All the sneaking around that came with our dance lessons. I feel like I’m trading code with her, and we’re dancing perfectly around the truth.

Nodding softly at my words, she releases a long exhale before dropping her hands. Her brows knit together before she sinks back onto the vanity school. Reaching up to massage her temple she whispers, “I don’t know if I can—I have to sit next to him tonight.”

Reaching out, I let my fingertips brush her exposed collarbone. She feels warm, and real, even if she’s painted to look like a lie. The tension rolls out of her shoulder as I squeeze it. I wish I could just take the pain away from her, and leave her numb for the hours that are to come. “You know what he is,” I whisper to her. My words draw her eyes which are darker than I ever remember them being. Even after Corros.

“I’ll only be a few seats away.” I brush a stubborn, loose curl away from her face. The imperfection reminds me that I used to push her mangled hair out of her face when she woke up in the morning. Trying to ignore the unease turning my stomach to a rolling mess, I take her hands and pull her to her feet. Even though I say those words with every intention of following through on their implication, when it comes down to it, I know I won’t be able to do anything. If she does need me, what can I do, squeeze her hand and smile? I’d done that the first time we went through this and it did shit all.

Shaking her head at my words, she squeezes my fingers in reply until I squeeze back. Leaning down, I rest my forehead against hers and close my eyes. She smells like jasmine, and cherry. Even here, in this nest of snakes, she still manages to strike me.

“We could still try to run to Montfort. There’s time.”

She chuckles at my idea, but it lacks the usual bright undertone I know. When I open my eyes, she’s watching me intently, a soldier now, more than ever. “We can’t leave everyone. They may not know it, but they’re counting on us not messing up like you did this afternoon.”

I grimace and my ears burn immediately at the chastising comment. Calling her Mare might have alerted Elara to something. It certainly alerted Maven. “Like I said before, it’s a good thing it’s a suitable nickname for Mareena.”

She smacks my cheek playfully, and pulling out of my grip she gives me a smirk before passing me. Looking over her shoulder, her smirk falls as she asks, “Has it been hard… seeing your father?”

To be honest, I hadn’t thought about it until she asked. The ache I’d felt in my chest, I’d just assumed came from my thoughts constantly being occupied by my brother. From the moment I’d seen him for the first time, I’d felt like my lungs were going to collapse and my chest was going to cave in. Being around him was like drowning. I couldn’t breathe, could barely think clearly. Throughout the war against him, all I could think about was what I would give to have these moments back. I’d realized last night that I didn’t want the moments themselves though, I wanted the ignorance that came with them. I wanted to see my brother again, the happy, laughing boy I thought I remembered. Whenever I look at him though, I only see the shell he is to become. I couldn’t save him before, and now, that knowledge only hurts more.

“I haven’t really seen him.” I rub at the back of my neck, uncomfortable with that knowledge. Her face falls even further. There is nothing she can say though. Reaching out, she brushes her fingertips along the back of my hand. “Cameras are back on.”

I let my pinkie brush hers, and listen to her footsteps as she leaves the room.

45 notes · View notes

retvenkos · 4 years

Text

amends pt. 3 // ricky bowen

High School Musical: The Musical: The Series - Slow Burn Ricky Bowen x Stage Manager!Reader Fic. Summary: That’s asking a lot of the theatre gods. Then again, it does include a lot of drama, so maybe it might just work out. pt. 1 // pt. 2 // pt. 3 // pt. 4 // pt. 5 // pt. 6 // pt. 7 // pt. 8 // pt. 8.5-ish // pt. 9 // unfinished

Things to note for later productions: Carlos can do every dance imaginable, he just can’t dribble a basketball. Don’t be present when he is choreographing basketball scenes - you will become his demonstrator, no matter your skill level. EJ, on the other hand, can dribble and sing, he just can’t seem to combine that with convincing acting. Meanwhile, Ricky can, indeed, play basketball (information that you didn’t know you needed), but he doesn’t seem capable of acting the part of a true leader while doing so.

“Okay, that was a good effort, guys. Continue practicing, because tomorrow's rehearsal is the blindfold test! If you double dribble during your pirouette you’ll will be offbeat for the rest of the dance.” Carlos looked meaningfully into each actor's eyes. Intimidation wafted off of them in waves. Ah, how you loved early rehearsals. They were always so good before everyone developed a superiority complex.

“Hey, (Y/n)?” Natalie’s voice came on in your headset. “Miss Jen wants everyone to meet her in the bomb shelter. She says we’re ‘uncovering a relic for success.’ Any thoughts on what that means?”

You tipped your head to the side, thinking... “Nope. But, uh, I’ll get everyone. Thanks, Nat.” You headed over to Carlos, who was trying to make sure everyone put the basketballs away. “Hey, guys? Miss Jenn wants everyone to go to the bomb shelter. It’s important.”

“I’ll go get the people in the choir room,” Carlos said. You raised an eyebrow at him as he practically skipped out of the room.

to: dance boi (2:46 p.m.) are you trying to be helpful? or just see seb?

(2:46 p.m.) who says i can’t do both?

You laughed as Carlos texted you a winky emoji. Oh, if only you could have half the confidence he exudes. Imagine the possibilities!

from: dance boi (2:49 p.m.) nini and ashlyn are missing. miss jen needs me tho,,, can you find them?

(2:49 p.m.) kill me now.

You sighed. Of course, two leads are missing in action, and you have the whole school to look through - the wider Salt Lake Region if one of them has a car. You looked up and found Ricky texting by the props. Can you initiate a conversation with him? Sure, you have officially breached the gap and were a ‘friendly acquaintance’ with Ricky - scientifically, at least. But you had never actually engaged him in conversation outside of ‘do you know how to do question 27?’ (and he always did, of course). Deep breaths, (Y/n), you can do this...

“Hey, uh, Ricky?” He looked up from his phone, a little startled. You inwardly cringed at that. Way to go, (Y/n), scaring the boy will definitely win his favor. “I hate to bother you, but Ashlyn and Nini are out in the school somewhere. Can you help me find them?”

“Oh,” he cleared his throat and nodded, “Yeah. I can look down here if you want to go upstairs.” You flashed a grateful and started to head to the exit. OMG, you did it. Sure, you didn’t say more than a few sentences, but it happened and-- “Hey, (Y/n)?”

You spun around quickly. “Yeah?”

“Can I get your phone number?” You felt your eyes grow twice their size. “Just so that I can text you if I find them,” Ricky quickly corrected. “So you don’t have to keep looking?”

“Right!” You let out a breathy laugh as you went over to him. You exchanged phones and put your number in his. “Text me if you find them.”

“‘Course.”

...

new text from ricky

You stared at the lock screen of your phone, your feet rooted to the spot where you stood. The notification that had popped up no more than fifteen seconds ago taunted you silently. You could feel yourself start to sweat.

Why was Ricky texting you? This was certainly a new development - one that you were not against one bit. Sure, you had exchanged numbers last Friday, but never in your wildest dreams did you think that he would text you after that first text (of which you had analyzed in every way).

from: ricky (12:04 p.m.) hey, (y/n). can you help me go over my lines in the library? (12:04 p.m.) only if you have this lunch. don’t worry about it if you don’t.

Your heart leapt in your chest. Meet him at lunch? That doesn’t meet anything... right?

to: ricky (12:05 p.m.) i’ll meet you there in ten.

You rushed out of your English class and made it to the library in record timing. Then you browsed through the fiction section for a few minutes so that you wouldn’t look like you got there too early when he showed up. You ran your fingers along the spines of different books as you thought of the last few rehearsals.

The tension between Ricky and Nini was lessening every day, which was good for the overall show, but this obviously made EJ paranoid, as he seemed to be constantly sizing up Ricky. It almost made you laugh, thinking about it. EJ, a senior that is generally thought of the be the school’s heartthrob is jealous of boy-next-door Ricky Bowen. They were on opposite ends of the same spectrum. And Nini? She was on a completely different plane. You almost wondered how she ever met Ricky and EJ in the first place.

You snapped back to the present as you saw Ricky pass you, headphones in, his head bobbing up and down to the music. He was mouthing the words to it, and if you were correct in your guess, he was listening to ‘Start of Something New.’ Miss Jen would be proud. You sure were.

After a moment you walked over to where he was sitting down, his script out in front of him, writing all over the margins. He was rooting for something in his backpack, but when you sat down he looked up at you. “Hey. Thanks for meeting with me.”

“Of course. Anytime.” You pulled your script out of your bag as he found a pencil. “What scene do you want to go over?”

“You mean besides all of it?” You both laughed and you cherished every moment of it. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to memorize every single word of this.” He flicked through every page, shaking his head.

“It won’t be too bad - trust me. It’s just a lot of practice.” You smiled at him reassuringly. “And,” you continued, “If you have good castmates, you can kind of know where the conversation is going based off of their emotions.”

“If that’s the case, then I must have missed the part where Gabriella is trying to break up with Troy in every scene.” Ricky’s voice was low as he spoke, His eyes clouded over with emotion as he stared past you. You turned and saw Nini and EJ kissing each other in historical fiction.

Oh, no. How do you approach this one? “Are you okay, Ricky?”

He blinks a few times and swallows. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “That was our spot.”

A beat. Silence. “...I’m sorry.”

“No,” Ricky cleared his throat and looked at you, his eyes glassy, “I am. Can we go over where Troy is confronted by Chad?”

...

Theatre 4 with Miss Jen was always a curveball. No matter what you expected, you were always given something very, very different. You loved it that way, to be honest. It kept everyone on their toes. Last week you had been reciting Shakespeare while stage fighting. Miss Jen said it was easier to understand the ‘linguistic beauty’ that Shakespeare possessed when you were fake punching your partner. She was right, to be honest, but how she knew that was beyond you. So when she told you to get the fake ferns from the prop closet in the auditorium, it didn’t phase you.

What made you stop in your tracks when you got there, however, was Mr. Mazzara, hunched over an old High School Musical Poster, his phone in hand. When he noticed your presence he snapped to attention, quickly slipping his phone into his pocket. “What class do you have right now, miss?”

“Theatre. I’m getting a prop for Miss Jen.”

“Oh. Well, then, hurry.” You grabbed the fern and placed it between the two of you, a buffer from his evil, math powers. “And tell Miss Jen that she has a prep period right after lunch where she should be getting her own props, not having her students do it.”

You nodded and he walked past you. You looked around the prop closet to see if anything was missing, but everything seemed to be in order. How weird. Mr. Mazzara had never taken an interest in theatre before - in fact, you were certain he hated it. But he had been around more recently, hadn’t he? And then his words rang in your ears, ‘she has a prep period right after lunch.’ How would he know that? You were very sure that a teacher’s schedules were somewhat private. And Miss Jen hasn’t been teaching for long, it’s not like they could have bumped into each other enough for him to have noticed... unless...

You cringed.

Were Mr. Mazzara and Miss Jen seeing each other?

----- taglist:

@snowman-spidey, @dinsey-chanel

#high school musical the musical the series #hsmtmts #ricky bowen x reader #ricky bowen #x reader #fic #fic series #stage manager! reader #slow burn

335 notes · View notes

llodblinky · 3 years

Text

Chapter 6:

After touching down on the landing pad. Cirina and Perimu head swiftly to the Rogue’s Guild hideout. Along the way Jacke finds them and tells them to hurry, urgent news awaits them. Once they’re settled in, Jacke begins.

“Well shit is about to hit the fan soon, from what we’ve heard Maelstrom command has received an anonymous letter stating that the ‘true leaders will rise from the remains of Limsa and create a truly free sea.’”

Everyone is quiet, aware of the means to accomplish this. They all look around the room, Jacke breaks the silence.

“Alright, I’m sure Maelstrom and the Yellow Jackets have it covered, but just in case we’re gonna have eyes and ears all around and be ready to help stop. This is our home after all.”

Everyone cheers and claps. Cirina stands up, and begins to speak.

“I can take the sector near the smithys’ guilds. Nearby open area and not a bad place to set up to sink a large portion of Limsa.”

Jacke nods in agreement, Perimu raises his hand to join Cirina on watch there. V’kebbe volunteers to take a 3 man team to watch around the Aetheryte. Jacke says he’ll keep an eye near the aft castle. Once the teams are set and everyone picks a sector they all part and go on lookout for the renegade pirates.

All set, the rogues lie in wait for this group to reveal themselves.

Cirina is chatting with Perimu when they notice a couple of people lugging a large chest in the alleys opposite of their position.

"Perimu, look." Cirina slyly moves her eyes towards the men to signal her compatriot of their movements. He glances and nods in affirmation, the two move gradually, tailing the suspicious group. They are lead to an alley that leads to the plaza, Maelstrom HQ, and the docks. A staging area perhaps?

After a few moments, others appear and share details of the plan. It is revealed that the large chest is indeed the bomb, and they’re planning on leveling Limsa and throwing the city into chaos. The Black Sarcophagus from a month ago is the bomb!? Back when she, X, and Llod fought those men. It's them again, The Reformists. She thinks to herself.

From behind, three men discover them. Outnumbered if the rest are to surround them they deploy smoke bombs and retreat so they can inform Jacke. The duo barely escape their clutches..

After rendezvousing with Jacke, he directs Cirina to go get V'kebbe and the others. Perimu to observe the Aftcastle area and stay hidden.

“We'll need everyone if we're to come out on top. Everyone know their roles?"

They nod and move in the defense of Limsa.

After arriving at V'kebbe's post Cirina realizes she is nowhere in sight. Nor the team she had brought with her. A commotion takes Cirina's notice and she rushes toward it, the markets. She wonders if V'kebbe's team had made a move. Upon arriving, Cirina sees some of The Reformists holding a couple hostage, and making a rather large commotion of it at that.

Could this be a diversion for their boss and the rest?

As she finishes her thought, two rogues drop from above and seperate the hostages from their captors.

"Oi, what're you stupid blokes doin? Git em!"

At the command, the two are surrounded, but the odds are again turned as V'kebbe and the other two of her team attack from behind, neutralizing a few of the goons.

"Thank goodness." Cirina remarks to herself.

The two sides break out into a scuffle, the civilians start to move away from the scene and the Yellow Jackets move in.

"Rogues!? What's goin on ere?"

"Long story short, these guys are with The Reformists, and are planning on blowing Limsa up. So, lend a girl a hand would ye?" V'kebbe responds.

Finally noticing Cirina, V'kebbe shouts toward her.

"Oi fledgling, find Jacke and tell em that they're aiming for the Aftcastle, got it!?" V’kebbe yells.

Cirina nods and goes to run, but is met with a few more of the Reformist goons. They swing at her, but she is able to gracefully avoid them while jumping overhead and landing behind them. With no time to lose she opts to keep running to find Jacke with no time to lose. Luckily she isn't followed as more Yellow Jackets arrive on the scene.

Once she catches up to Jacke, who is now surrounded by three more goons, she takes one out swiftly and relays the news to Jacke.

"Aftcastle eh? Figured as much. Perimu should still be in the area. Be a dear and back him up alright? I can handle these two with both me arms tied." Jacke jests.

"Ok Jacke, best of luck." She says.

“Ah who needs luck when you make your own?” Jacke responds

Cirina disengages and rushes toward the Aftcastle. Both of the goons lunge for Jacke, but he simply sidesteps them and gives them both a swift kick to their asses.

"Really, that's the best you lot got?" He snickers. “Well at least you’ll be a decent challenge.”

After arriving, Cirina takes cover, scanning the area for Perimu. She spots him and V’kebbe attempting to fight The Reformists and their leader Aisibhir who are setting up the Black Sarcophagus. They are unfortunately outmatched in number and pushed back. Aisibhir laughs and snorts as he knows that nothing can stop them from realizing their goal of a ‘free’ Limsa for pirates.

“Pathetic whelps, you can’t stop us from freeing the masses of Limsa, and bringing back the days where pirates could do as they please. No more restriction or damnation from Merlwyb and her Maelstrom nancies!” Aisibhir lectures.

As he gloats, Cirina’s gaze is taken away from the sun in her eyes. A reflection from glass being used by Jacke to get her attention. He gestures to the fellow rogues behind both him and her, ready to take down The Reformists. In one hand motion, they move in to confront this threat to Limsa’s safety.

“You two ok?” Jacke asks V’kebbe and Perimu.

“Aye boss, we ain’t hurtin nothin bad.” V’kebbe assures.

“And look here, your goals and ideals end here. You’re a threat to the stability of life and here and I’m sick of lookin at yer ugly mug on top of things.” Jacke remarks.

Aisibhir’s smile turns into a scowl, and he waves his hand.

“Get them you maggots! Tear them apart!” He roars.

The Rogues engage with The Reformists over the fate of Limsa, both sides give and take, neither willing to give. The clashing of their ideals and ways of life. Jacke is locked in intense combat with Aisibhir, a slight miscalculation would mean the end for either as they ferociously battle. V’kebbe and Perimu are holding their own despite their wounds, whilst the greener rogues are fighting their best but it isn’t going to be enough. Cirina aids the ones she can, suddenly a constant beeping noise is heard coming from the aftcastle.

“Yarharhar, that’s it mateys, The Black Sarcophagus is now armed! Soon, soon we shall open Limsa’s eyes!” He Aisibhir brags while swinging his axe at Jacke.

“Gods dammit, at this rate it’ll go off before the fighting is over. Cirina! Break off and disarm that bomb, we’ll handle the rest.” Jacke commands.

Cirina takes a swift look towards Jacke and the others and heads off, breaking through the Reformist’s line sprinting past them for the detonators.

Three. I can hear three beeps distinctly. So there’s three detonators. Gotta find them all and break them good.

She approaches the first one and scuffles with its two guards, the archer misses gravely and Cirina knocks her out with no issues. The swordsman lunges for her as her back is turned, but she spins around and parries as she does. Driving her daggers into his feet, then swiftly standing up as her head finds his face knocking him out cold as well. Retrieving her weapons she continues on.

The second one is better guarded with two archers, a swordsman and an axeman. The man with the axe charges her first, his first mistake, as he misses. Cirina uses his own weapon as a jumping point towards the wall, pushes off the wall toward him again and swiftly spin kicks him in the back of the head. He’s out cold, now only three left, she throws a smoke bomb at the archers to keep them occupied while she handles the swordsman. He takes two swings, advancing as he does and positions her between him and the wall. Delivering a swift kick to her abdomen, she is sent into the wall and reels from the pain.

Getting back to her feet, Cirina is able to dispatch him with ease afterwards, but a narrow miss from an arrow brings her attention back to the two archers. They proceed to unleash a volley aimed at her but her quick footwork allows her to dance around the barrage. She takes one down, but is knocked by an arrow from the other, proceeding to dispatch him as well. The wound is mild on her left arm and she continues to the last device, time waning.

She reaches the last one with little time to spare, guarded by two swordsmen. Not wanting to waste time she deploys another smoke bomb and runs past them. The two men taking a swing at the shadow wind up bonking each other on their helmets and knocking each other out. She disables the last device with less than a second left on the clock. Cirina races back to the main battle the rogues and yellowjackets are having with Aisibhir’s crew.

Once she reaches the battleground, she is relieved to see it is over. The Yellowjackets taking him and his crew to prison. She strolls over to her mates clutching her wound, one of the captured pirates attempting to mock her. She ignores him, paying him no mind whatsoever which infuriates him. He gets out of his binds to her surprise, blindsiding her, and pulling a hidden dagger slices at her abdomen. It cuts deep, and an unfamiliar surge of energy engulfs her, moving for her. As she draws her own dagger and slices the cur clean through his neck, killing him. Everyone turns to see the commotion. The other rogues are stunned but before they can say anything Cirina collapses from blood loss the purple and red aura dissipating. Jacke and Perimu rush her to any nearby conjurers for fear of her bleeding out.

Cirina...Kharlau…..release me from my chains…..Cirina...Kharlau...release me…

...Who are you…?

I am you…..and you are me…

I...k-killed someone today...was that..because of you!?

We...are one….I am naught...but your own volition….

What!?

You were hurt...weak….I gave you strength…..release me...and it shall be yours...forevermore….

N-no! I don’t want strength like that. It’s twisted....horrendous!!

Tis but arrogance...in time…..you and I...shall truly...become whole...

2 notes · View notes

hedwigstalons · 4 years

Text

The Tracy Prize - part 16

Or possibly more part 15b. Thank you @willow-salix for the ideas.

Here are the earlier parts for those that want to go back to the beginning: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15

xoxoxox

For Claire and Brains the day had started early.

Several weeks earlier Brains had gone to Scott, waving the details of the prestigious science and engineering symposium. He had made the case that some of the technologies being presented could prove useful to International Rescue and asked if he could attend. Scott had readily agreed and once Claire had joined the team the Commander had sourced a second ticket.

Now they were in Tracy Two excitedly circling seminars in the programme while Virgil flew them to the venue. They tried to include the normally cheerful engineer in their chatter but for once Virgil didn’t seem inclined to talk. He dropped them off with a few curt instructions about the arrangements for picking them up and returned to the cockpit.

If Claire and Brains had picked up on the strained atmosphere they were too wrapped up in the exhibition to pass comment. If they had turned around they might have noticed their pilot lingering a little longer than necessary to watch them depart.

Inside the conference centre the pair started wandering around the main exhibition space, waiting for the doors to the auditorium to open. The event proper was to be opened with a keynote speech given by an eminent researcher into fluid dynamics and they were keen to get good seats.

Once the doors to the auditorium had been opened the delegates filed in and the exhibition space emptied. Claire and Brains made their way down the steps flanking the tiered seating right to the bottom and claimed a pair of seats front and centre.

The lights dimmed and the lectern on the dais was picked out in the bright stage lighting.

The keynote speaker took to the stage. Claire and Brains drank in every word.

The speech was rudely interrupted as the auditorium doors burst open. The assembled delegates turned in their seats to see what was the matter.

A motley collection of men bearing assault rifles stood in the twin double doorways, their weapons trained on the crowd. Some were dressed in the uniform of the venue stewards, others in unmarked combat fatigues. The hushed silence of the delegates held for a moment until somebody screamed, then panic and hysteria set in.

“Silence!” one of their captors roared. There was a staccato burst of gunfire as a stream of bullets was aimed towards the ceiling.

“Do as you are told and you will not be harmed. On your feet. Move!”

The delegates started leaving their seats and making their way up to the main auditorium exits and their captors.

Claire nudged Brains who seemed frozen in shock. He tried to stand but before he had got halfway up Claire was pulling him down to the floor so they were shielded from sight by the seats. She hoped that the dim lighting and the moving crowd had hidden their action. She put her finger to her lips then pointed under the seats. Brains correctly interpreted her instruction and the pair shuffled through the small gaps between the seat legs.

They found themselves in a dark, hollow space under the seating. The underside of the rising tiers was boxed in above them. The sound of innumerable footsteps as the other delegates climbed the stairs and exited the auditorium reverberated around them.

They waited in silence until the last footsteps had died away and they could no longer hear the shouts of the captors directing everyone else to some unknown destination. They waited several more minutes until they felt safe from the risk of discovery.

Claire tapped her comms and tried to open a link with Tracy Island.

Nothing.

Brains tried his comms.

Nothing.

The pair looked at each other. They were trapped in a building with armed men and no way of summoning help. They were on their own.

A feeling of dread, mixed with an intense desire to get out, settled over them.

Crawling out of the dusty space underneath the seating Claire peeked up towards the doorways. The lecture hall was deserted. She beckoned Brains out of their hiding place and the two of them dashed across the dais towards an illuminated fire exit sign in the back corner. The followed the green arrows along a service corridor. Unfortunately, instead of leading to a simple push-bar door the exit barring their way had a more complex locking arrangement. It was securely sealed.

“Well we won’t be getting out this way” Claire groaned as she kicked ineffectually at the door.

“N-n-now what?”

“We try something different. Come on.”

She led the way back towards the auditorium and up towards the exits their fellow conference-goes had been herded out of. A quick check assured her that the exhibition hall was also deserted.

Claire and Brains made their way around the perimeter of the room. At each exit to the outside world they tried the doors but all were sealed shut, evidently locked via some central control. At each corridor opening they paused and listened, trying to judge where the armed men had gone.

At the second corridor they struck gold. Voices drifted out of the corridor, spilling from a room about half way along. Fear of discovery urged them to move on but they forced themselves to pause. To listen. It seemed that the terrorists were arguing.

It’s bigger than I thought it would be

It’s not my fault it won’t fit.

We’ll just have to make transport part of our demands

Evidently theft of some new invention had been their plan. They were about continue their search for an escape route when the voices started up again.

Where are the hostages?

Got them locked up in D wing.

Any trouble?

That lot? No way. I left Mike and Artem on guard but there is no way they are getting out.

Come on, we need to measure this thing.

An idea struck Claire. To Brains’ dismay she slipped in to the corridor towards the voices. Not wanting to be left on his own he reluctantly followed her. As they reached the open doorway she gestured for Brains to stay back against the wall. Checking that the terrorists were all absorbed with the item on display in the room she dashed unseen across the open doorway.

The double doors to the room opened outwards into the corridor. She took hold of the door on her side while Brains, having realised her intention, took hold of the other.

On a silent count of three they slammed the doors shut. Brains hit the lock symbol of the nearby keypad. The terrorists were now trapped.

They paused for a moment as they leaned against the wall. Their heavy breathing having more to do with the rising adrenalin levels than the brief moment of exertion.

Thankfully the jailhouse vibe of the building was more than just aesthetic. An angry banging sounded as the terrorists attempted to break down the door but the locks and reinforced steel held firm.

“We still c-c-can’t get out through. And there are at least t-t-two others s-s-somewhere.”

That was a definite problem.

“If only w-w-we had our equipment. W-w-we could s-s-soon break out of here.” Brains sounded deflated after their moment of triumph.

As if a lightbulb had been switched on Claire realised that was the answer. Breaking out. She grabbed Brains by the hand and dragged him back toward the exhibition space.

“So what if we don’t have access to International Rescue kit. Look around. We are at one of the leading science exhibitions in the world. There has got to be something here we can use.”

She grabbed one of the large scale floor plans off a display board settled them down in a secluded corner, well hidden from D corridor where at least two more of the terrorist group were based.

D corridor itself was dominated by a large seminar room. The conference organisers had kept the room free as a refreshments area with space for the delegates to network. She surmised that this room had now been commandeered as a temporary prison.

She and Brains reviewed the floor plan, marking off stands and exhibition rooms they wanted to pilfer for supplies.

The first step was to be able to defend themselves and neutralise the remaining terrorists.

A trip to the medical sciences zone furnished them with some anaesthetic and hypodermic needles. With a bit of improvisation Brains managed to construct some viable tranquilizer guns. They wouldn’t be particularly accurate but Brains and Claire knew they would have the element of surprise on their side. As long as they could shoot from close range the darts should find their mark.

They crept between the display stands, keeping low as they headed to where the other delegates were being held.

Claire and Brains moved as silently as they could. The hearts pounded in anticipation.

D corridor was an L-shaped affair with the doors to the seminar room out of sight around the corner. Voices drifted towards them. It sounded like just two men and they were evidently bored. They moaned to each other about being left on guard duty. A task they clearly felt was pointless with everyone securely locked up.

They didn’t realise their lives were about to get a lot more interesting.

Brains, who at least had some training on a more traditional tranquilizer gun, stepped around the corner and fired his makeshift invention twice in quick succession. The surprised expressions on the guards’ faces went slack as the anaesthetic entered their bloodstream. Their weapons, which they hadn’t even had time to raise, fell to the floor with a clatter. Two unconscious bodies quickly followed.

Claire and Brains ran forwards and bound the men securely. The men were now dead weights. The scientists were glad the floor was so highly polished as the dragged them out of the way and dumped them in a side room.

Brains stood sentry at the corridor corner while Claire ran back to the now unguarded doorway. She punched at the key pad but the doors remained stubbornly locked. Scared voices called out from inside but she was unable to free the prisoners. The thick doors muffled their words but she could tell something was wrong

She called for calm and asked for a single spokesperson to give an update on their condition. Evidently one of the delegates had attempted to tackle their captors on the way in and had received a blow to the head with a rifle butt. The wound was still bleeding and the man clearly needed medical attention sooner rather than later.

Hurrying back to Brains she relayed the situation. As a doctor his main concern was now for the man on the other side of the door. Priorities had changed. Freeing the hostages became more important than overall escape.

“C-c-can you open the d-d-door?”

“No. Electronics aren’t really my thing. You try.”

They swapped over and for the first time in her life Claire found herself holding what could loosely be termed as a weapon. She knew the tranquilizer gun wasn’t designed to kill. That was probably just as well. Her initial fear had turned to anger towards those that had engineered this situation. Theft of intellectual property and inventions was a topic that riled her like no other. The tranquilizer gun was held firm and steady in her hand as she pointed it down the corridor.

Brains was soon back with her. The disappointment of failure clearly etched on his face.

“I-I-I can’t override the system. I n-n-need to get in there though. I’m s-s-seriously worried about the injured m-m-man.”

“Then we just need a Plan B”

Claire led the way back into the exhibition space.

“Can you rig some sort of fuse?” she asked as she gathered up various materials.

“Of c-c-course. Physical or electronic?”

“Physical. If radio signals are down we don’t know how a remote detonator will perform.”

“Hang on. D-d-detonator? What exactly are you p-p-planning.”

Claire waved a block of putty at him. The grin on her face was quite intimidating.

“I’ve found me some plastic explosives. This should get us through the door.”

Brains stepped quickly backwards. “Is that w-w-wise?” The putty was making him highly nervous.

“Look, I trusted you not to kill anyone with the anaesthetic doses. I need you to trust me on this. I spent ages playing with variants of this stuff as an undergrad.”

With all the materials gathered together they made their way back to D corridor. Working quickly and quietly Claire carefully pressed the putty into strategic points around the door frame and lock. Wires were then inserted into the putty blocks. It took several minutes before she was happy with the configuration and amounts of explosives.

Claire instructed everyone inside the room to move to the far end and shield themselves with upturned tables. She and Brains then retreated around the corner of the corridor. With the fuse primed and ready to go she tripped the ignition switch.

The sound of the explosion reverberated down the corridor and smoke billowed towards them.

As soon as the smoke cleared slightly Brains took off towards the seminar room and the man he now viewed as his patient.

Claire realised that it wasn’t just the sound of Brains running that she could hear. More footsteps headed her way.

She raised the tranquilizer gun in anticipation.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #john tracy #alan tracy #kayo #brains

21 notes · View notes

thebibliomancer · 4 years

Text

Dark Crystal Age of Resistance Tactics liveblog pt 16

So with 6/7 clans united, its time to help the Stonewood. They've been kidnapped by spiders for like. Half the game.

But they're at the Castle. This looks like a job for- ... well, Aughra. Yeah.

We get a cutscene called Aughra's Sacrifice which covers the bit in the show where Aughra did a sacrifice to save the Stonewood.

... Wait, Brea how did you get here? I just had you with us in the Spriton lands!

Also, it didn't really establish what happened to the Hunter that he's dying. I know what happened in the show. But in the game, I kicked his ass in a boss fight and that hasn't seemed to do much the multiple times I fought Chamberlain.

But anyway, Aughra explodes.

Scientist: "What will we do now, Emperor?"

Emperor: "Now? Now... Now there is nobody who can stop us."

I'd like to contest that.

So that opens up two missions which presumably lead to their own plot threads. One is from the show. Where we help the escaping Stonewood at the Castle. Another, we help a pair of Stonewood that I guess didn't get spidered like the rest.

I'm going to do that one first because: it makes more sense to me to run into them on the way TO the castle. Narratively.

So that's how I'll do.

Mission: Far from Home - Wooded Clearing

Hey, I loved that movie!

"The heroes must rescue a pair of Stonewood Gelfling under attack by darkened creatures."

I hope we get another pair of odd couple bickering Gelfling!

Pinn: "Help! We're surrounded!"

Rian: "Hold on! We're coming to help you!"

Pinn and Orla are both level 37 Foragers. I have no idea what a Forager is.

Orla moves firstest of all. She has Soothe 2, Firemoss 2, Fleet Feet, Geyser, and Headwind.

I use Headwind to try and knock an armalig into a pit but alas.

Pinn goes after Breg, who is probably my fastest dude.

Pinn has Throw Rock 2, Focus, Maneuver, Mark 2, and Shove.

So this is your standard fight darkened critters level.

Not much to say. I am getting and receiving a lot of glancing blows this mission for some reason? Odd.

AHHH SPAWN INS!

Always with the spawn ins!

Phew. It was only one additional wave. Alas, poor Alyadon got nurlocked.

Pinn: "Thanks for your help. I've never seen creatures in the forest act like that!"

Rian: "What are you doing out here? You're a long way from Stone-in-the-Wood."

Orla: "The Skeksis sent Arathim to the village. Most of the Gelfling were captured. We barely escaped. We've been hiding in these woods ever since. Is it safe to return to Stone-in-the-Wood?"

Rian: "Yes, the Arathim have joined forces with us. We can help you find your way home."

LEVEL UPS!

Breg learned Limber Up! Rian learned Even the Odds! Kylan learned Dream Together! Alyadon learned Landslide!

Even the Odds: Grants target ally adjacent to two or more enemies Attack Up, Barrier, Magic Up, Shell, and Haste for three turns. Neat.

Dream Together: its the conference call of dreamfasting! All adjacent allies gain a percentage of caster's maximum MP

Landslide: inflict stun on adjacent units, can't target higher elevations. Because its a landslide.

Limber Up: Grant haste to an ally for three turns. By helping them stretch?

---

Mission: Holding Ground - Endless Forest Glade

"The heroes must defend the Stonewood refugees from waves of Darkened Creatures."

WAVESSSS! SPAWN-INSSSSS!

Aw dang.

Pinn and Orla are here. So far they haven't been too memorable. They should try bickering more.

Party: Pombo and Hup, Ivo and Wukki, and also Deet!

Pinn: "No more, I am exhausted. I can go no further. Please, go on without me. I will only slow you down."

Rian: "We're not leaving anyone behind. We will stand our ground and fight these creatures!"

I think part of the problem is that Pinn and Orla don't talk to each other. They talk to my party but its pretty generic.

I have to survive three waves.

HMM. Because of narrative reasons, Pinn starts with movement way down and with three turns of wound. She really is exhausted.

Also, hey the gobbles are back. Except HP has ballooned since the early game so its not quite as sure a way of dealing with enemies.

Bah, I kill one windsifter and another one spawns. Boo.

I'm doooooing baaaaad nobody is dead yet but there's so many. But the last wave has spawned.

Boo, I was close to winning but one of the guest party members died. I could have revived him, I had Deet and Deet has the power. But the level ended immediately. Boo.

Trying again with Ivo, Hup, Rek'yr, Brea, and Deet.

Woooo that went better. Reky're makes all the difference. No offense to Pombo but uh he's less effectual.

Rian: "The creatures have dispersed. Are you all right?"

Pinn: "I will be fine, thank you. You could have left me, but you didn't."

Rian: "We're all in this together. If we are to defeat the Skeksis, we need to help each other."

Pinn: "When the time comes we will stand with you. We owe you that much."

Rian: "You have my thanks. Come, Stone-in-the-Wood is not much further. Let's get you home."

Woo! I think that these two randos have earned me the alliance of Stone-in-the-Wood which I should already have as Rian is from the Stonewood clan and also I've beaten up the Skeksis multiple times! But protecting these two from animals is what really pushed me over the edge.

Interesting that there were only two missions in this chain. But I guess a lot of the early game is spent around the Stonewood area.

Hup and Rek'yr leveled up! Rek'yr leveled up twice!

Brea leveled twice and learned Healing Touch 2! Deet learned Soothe 2!

I also got the Forgemaster's Staff. I don't know why the Stonewood have the best magic stick but this is going right on Brea. GOODNESS GRACIOUS THATS FANCY.

And the clans have been united! Or at least an IOU re: the Stonewood uniting. Good enough!

The new objective at the top of the map is Defeat the Skeksis.

All in good time! I would like to free the rest of the Stonewood so that their representation in the united resistance isn't three dinguses. Four dinguses minimum please!

---

Mission: Prison Break - Castle Hallways

"Tavra helps the heroes free the captive Stonewood Gelfling and escape the Crystal Castle."

Looking at this map annnnnnd holy crap. That's a lot of NPC Gelflings. Hi Seladon! I see Threaded Tavra! Heck yeah! A bunch of locked cells. Some enemies in the cells... A couple levers. ...

Holy crap.

The Chamberlain and the General?? That's too many Skeksis!

I guess they didn't want to make the Collector just for this one mission even though it was SkekLach here in addition to Var and Sil.

Okay. So.

Party: Spider-Tavra, Brea and Rek'yr. On the other side of the arena, Gurjin and Naia.

Rian should probably be here but I can only field so many people.

And plotwise, I'm not even sure how Brea got out of the cage to join the rescue attempt but it feels like she should be here with Spider-Tavra and Seladon.

Spider-Tavra is a Soldier and not a Paladin for some reason. Seladon is a Strategist.

Brea: "Tavra, is it really you?"

Threaded Tavra: "It's US. Come, let us release the others. Mother Aughra made a deal with the Skeksis."

Brea: "Then we'd better hurry. The Skeksis aren't likely to hold up their end."

-Chamberlain shuffles into the stage-

Chamberlain: "Where do you think you're going? MmmmmMmmm?"

-General stomps on stage-

General: "Leaving so soon?"

Threaded Tavra: "Don't stop to fight. Just go, free the Gelfling!"

And the win condition is "Free the Gelfling 0/6"

What does that meeeeean? I don't see an exit square. Is it just to get the cells open??

Ok so Naia starts within range of a lever so I hit it and it opens a cell and two Gelfling run off. Buuut it also opens a cell that lets out a Nurloc. Hmm.

Scientist, why would you design it this way?

General cast Command on Seladon which allows an ally to take its next turn immediately. But. Seladon. Surely you can't still be the Skeksis' ally at this time, right??

Chamberlain also has a new ability, Empower. Stop making my enemies beefier, Sil!

I don't think General has any ranged offensive abilities. So if I keep hitting him with entangling bola and edging out of his reach, it will be really funny.

I hit a switch and free Seladon. Apparently she was cellmates with Maudra Fara. But Fara wasn't on the map and I only increase the freed Gelfling count by one.

Also Seladon took off without helping. Very rude.

I would have liked if I got more from her than that. Just in terms of her character arc or the narrative or whatever.

Ok, I had planned to keep running away from the Skeksis without fighting too much but then I kicked Chamberlain unconscious.

Just one of those things that you do when you realize how many crits you're getting.

General also has a new ability called Overpowered Prod which shoves and stuns. Rude.

I just turned to fight the General too and did over 500 with Naia on a crit.

I'm just. Gonna kick this guy's ass.

I surrounded him to kick his ass but his damn Intimidate ability that casts silence and other debuffs on everyone surrounding him. How am I going to kick his ass if its not in a dogpile?

Ok, he killed Naia but I have Awaken on Brea. I wish I could awaken Gurjin but Chamberlain stepped on him and as everyone knows if someone steps on you when you're passed out, you can't be revived this level.

Anyway, the only enemies left in the level are in cells so I just have free reign now.

I move casually through the level and hit the last lever and free the last three Stonewood Gelfling.

... I think I was supposed to hit this lever first because I only just now got a warning about accidentally releasing one of the Scientist's experiments. I did this the silly way around apparently.

Okay but the level isn't over. With all the cells open, the last cell contains another switch we have to hit to cut off pursuit by shutting the prison gates.

Now there's just a Darkened Hollerbat between me and the end of the level.

And I kicked its butt. It was no match for several angry Gelfling.

Then I casually moved across the map to hit the last switch. Cool, cool, cool.

I like that the game is trying something different. But perhaps if you wipe everyone out it kills the tension?

That's my bad though.

VICTORY!

Gurjin and Brea leveled. Naia leveled and learned Reckless Blow 2. Rek'yr leaveled and learned Rending Whirl 2! I earned nearly 6000 pearls! But no cool bits of Skeksis gear? Boo. I like getting stuff after beating them up.

And that's it for that mission chain. It was less of a chain then. A single mission. Like I said, you do a lot of missions in the Stonewood area earlier on.

#dark crystal #the dark crystal #dark crystal age of resistance #dark crystal age of resistance tactics #THE GAME #liveblog #our world's about to break #tormented and attacked #lost from when we wake there's no way to go back #i'm standing on my own but now i'm not alone #GELFLINGS ASSEMBLE #united the clans stand #sure i can still only field like 5 or 6 units a level #but it sure feels rad having all the gelfling clans united against being drunk

1 note · View note

queenmorgawse · 5 years

Text

dead and gone so long (seventeen’s so gone)

for #sangchengweek2019 on twitter, day 6 : jazz/noir, ft. detective jc and speakeasy singer nhs in 20s new york city. some soundtrack if that’s your thing! read on ao3 for end notes.

The Nightless City is as Jiang Cheng remembers it : loud and gaudy, its red silks smelling of expensive alcohol and tobacco and perfume.

Some of the patrons throw him suspicious glances as he elbows his way through the crowd. Even dressed like any of the undercover businessmen who usually frequent this place, he must look too much like a cop for their liking. Jiang Cheng pays them no mind, instead making a beeline for one of the few seats left unoccupied on this Saturday night. It’s tucked into a corner, a bit too close to the stage for the view to be all that great, but he’s in no condition to be picky.

So he does as he’s always done in these kinds of places ⎯ he plops down on the chair, pushes down his hat to cast a shadow over his eyes, and tries to look mean enough that no one will bother to come over and try to start a conversation. ( Sure enough, a few flappers throw interested glances at him through their mascaraed lashes, but a glare or two sends them scurrying off in a flurry of glittering skirts, chirping indignantly among themselves. )

The crowd oohs and aahs when the lights start to dim, bathing the speakeasy in soft hues of red and pink. Jiang Cheng feels like he’s sitting in the heart of a rose, his surroundings turning hazy and faraway.

Heels click on the polished wood of the platform at the same time the orchestra plays its very first chords, now in absolute silence. Limelight flashes bright as the sun, and by the time Jiang Cheng finishes blinking white spots out of his eyes, a silhouette is standing in the middle of the stage, as poised as if they were there all along.

Nie Huaisang is a vision in gold, the dramatic shadow he casts on the wall behind him making him look larger than life. The lustrous fabric flows down his sides like water, outlining his waist and thighs and oh, that is definitely a corset under there, Jiang Cheng notes, his mouth suddenly dry. His amber eyes are lined in kohl, even sharper and deeper than they usually are. When his gaze sweeps across the room, Jiang Cheng could swear something smolders in his clear irises, and it takes his breath away. Everything is too loud, too much, his own heartbeat a war drum in his ears.

Then Nie Huaisang smiles at the patrons, wraps a gloved hand around the stand of his microphone and starts to sing.

His voice rings through the speakeasy, soft and husky, heady as honeyed wine. It folds around the audience like a silk scarf, drawing them close until each spectator feels like he’s singing for them and them alone.

With a jolt, Jiang Cheng realizes how much he’s forgotten in just a handful of years, and how much is coming back in waves, nestling back into place in the hollow spaces between his ribs. He sits still, so mesmerized by the shape of Nie Huaisang’s mouth, red as sin, that he almost misses the moment when their gazes meet.

To his credit, Nie Huaisang doesn’t waver. From an onlooker’s point of view, nothing truly changes, but Jiang Cheng sees the singer’s eyes widen ever so slightly, the smallest flicker of his easy confidence. He holds on, staring back with growing determination. Nie Huaisang is the first to look away, nonchalant as ever, as if nothing happened at all.

As it is, Jiang Cheng quickly confirms that confidence was mostly fake when Nie Huaisang marches up to him a few minutes after stepping off the stage to thunderous applause and countless bouquets of flowers. The other grabs him by the collar with surprising strength, dragging him down to face level. “What the hell are you doing here?” he hisses into Jiang Cheng’s ear. “I thought we agreed to stay out of each other’s lanes.”

To be fair, there was no such agreement, since it would imply they spoke even once after that last fateful argument ⎯ only the implication that things didn’t need to get uglier than they already were, and thus they’d better keep to their own parts of the city. Jiang Cheng would point it out, except he’s not here to pick a fight. Instead, he says : “I’ve got a lead on what happened to your brother.”

In the moment that follows, he knows he’s won. Nie Huaisang’s death grip slackens, his hand dropping from Jiang Cheng’s neck. “...What about my brother?”

Jiang Cheng readjusts his tie, smooths out an non-existent crease on his coat to keep his hands busy, and nods toward the door that leads backstage. “I’m not having this conversation out here. Can we go somewhere more private?”

Nie Huaisang looks him up and down, as if deciding whether it’s worth the trouble to stab through Jiang Cheng’s foot with his high heels and call it a night. He seems to settle on no, though by an unfortunately narrow margin. “Fine. You better make it worth my time, Jiang Cheng.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Jiang Cheng mutters as he follows suit, ignoring the curious glances of party-goers. “It’s a real page-turner.”

Nie Huaisang’s dressing room is very him. As the Nightless City’s star singer, he gets one all to himself, but the illegal status of his workplace means it is still very much cramped, and made even smaller by the sheer number of clothes scattered about on every available surface. Everywhere Jiang Cheng looks, he sees sequins and glitter and gossamer, draped over one another like some crazy fairy godmother’s lair.

Nie Huaisang closes the door behind them with perhaps a little more force than necessary, then all but pushes him towards the brightly lit vanity and the plush little stool sitting in front of it. “Stay put. I need to change out of these.”

As he disappears behind a folding screen adorned with cranes in flight - oddly clashing with the rest of the room’s style -, Jiang Cheng stifles a sigh and decidedly stares into the mirror, ignoring the rustle of fabric a few feet away. The reflection looking back seems older than his thirty-three years, sporting pronounced shadows under his eyes and a general air of exhaustion about him. While time has been kind to Nie Huaisang, letting him seem barely a couple of years older than when they parted, Jiang Cheng feels like each of his own has been etched into his skin.

Payback’s a bitch, after all. Even if saying it aloud would mean swallowing his pride, the fact they parted in the first place was his fault to begin with. Dwelling on past dalliances does nothing but waste time and taunt the Prohibition, but here, surrounded by Nie Huaisang’s things and the life he stormed out of, Jiang Cheng allows himself to feel a pang of regret.

He’s distracted from this downward spiral when the other emerges, wrapped in a bottle-green satin dressing gown. He must have wiped his face behind the screen, because though his lashes are still unnaturally dark, his lips have returned to their usual pale pink. With a pointed look from him, Jiang Cheng wordlessly gets up and returns the stool to him.

Devoid of makeup, the singer’s features do look a little more worn. Worry must have aged him a little more than Jiang Cheng expected. “Start talking, Detective Jiang,” Nie Huaisang demands, unfolding one of his many (familiar) fans. Whether it’s meant to clear the room’s stuffy atmosphere or hide his face is unclear.

“I assume you know it’s a series of cases rather than an isolated one,” Jiang Cheng begins. The space around him doesn’t leave much room for pacing, but he turns on his heels anyway, feeling restless energy creep up his legs again.

Nie Huaisang gives a sharp nod. “I heard. It has been selling headlines like hot cakes, you know.”

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. For an instant, it’s like they’re back to their usual banter-slash-flirting, though he quickly shakes the thought off. “The police hasn’t found any convincing lead. They’re filling up the news with some useless babble so civilians don’t start a riot, but they’re as clueless as the rest of you.”

To be fair, he cannot really blame them. It’s a mystifying case to say the least : normal citizens, who were living their lives without a hitch, inexplicably lost control of themselves and went on a rampage. If some were restrained before they could do much damage, others had gone mad in public spaces, and injured or killed many before they were either subdued or put down.

Nie Huaisang’s brother belongs, fortunately enough, to the former. Jiang Cheng assumes it isn’t much of a reassurance to have him locked in an asylum in the meantime, still out of his mind and frothing at the mouth with rage, but better that than the morgue.

“The problem was,” Nie Huaisang says slowly, “that they didn’t find any common point among the victims, wasn’t it? Old and young, rich and poor, living all over New York City. You’d think there would be a pattern.”

“Right.” Such is the biggest problem, in Jiang Cheng’s opinion. Putting aside the wounded and the death, the unpredictability of these attacks means it’s easy to suspect one’s neighbour, even one’s friends and family, when the attacker doesn’t seem to even acknowledge reality after the deed is done. Toss in paranoia, officials’ inability to come up with a decent explanation and the rumor mill turning a hundred miles an hour, and you have a recipe for chaos, Jiang Cheng thinks wryly. Whoever is behind this must have their reasons.

Nie Huaisang’s voice snaps him out of his musings. “So what’s your great breakthrough, then?” Although he delivers the line as sarcastically as ever, Jiang Cheng could swear he heard the faint tremor of hope in his words.

“Of course the coppers ran background checks,” he explains, his steps slowly coming to a standstill. “They found wildly different jobs, no common origin or education. But I don’t think they went as far as to check for hobbies. Wouldn’t have found out either if it wasn’t some theater critic’s wife who hired me. Her husband’s one of the more recent madmen. I was going through his papers, right, as I do, and I found this.”

Nie Huaisang accepts the notebook Jiang Cheng hands him, eyes moving across the pages. Jiang Cheng can deeply relate to the furrow of his brows at the sight of the man’s...say, questionable handwriting. “Play notes? Oh, right, he’s a critic. The Patriarch,” he reads, then pauses and looks up at the private eye. “What does this have to do with anything? It’s his job, he probably attends dozens of plays like this one every year.”

“Here.” He leans over Nie Huaisang’s shoulder, tapping at a margin. “Despite the actors’ stellar performance, I left the theater with a sense of unease, as if I’d just witnessed something out of this world. However, I believe Nettie Cavanaugh… Well, that bit doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t have paid attention to it either if this wasn’t the play the latest case recorded attended just the day before she attacked and gravely injured two of the friends she was out with.”

Nie Huaisang’s eyes narrow, a spark of understanding shining behind his pensive gaze. “So the others…”

“All thirteen of them went to see The Patriarch sometime these past few months. It’s rather popular, I heard, so it’s not like no one ever saw it, but it could mean something.” As he speaks, Jiang Cheng realizes part of it is waiting for Nie Huaisang’s approval, for him to say you’re right, I think something’s off there. He could just as well dismiss him as a lunatic, reaching for straws where there is none. “Even your brother. He and Lan Xichen went to see it almost two months ago.”

“Xichen-ge wouldn’t have anything to do with this,” Nie Huaisang says immediately, reverting back to Chinese. “It’s a coincidence.” Even so, Jiang Cheng can almost see a seedling of doubt take root, insidious.

“I’ll have to talk to him again after I get a clearer idea of what the hell’s going on.” He pushes away the thought of soothing Nie Huaisang, tell him I’m sure he’s not involved. This is an investigation, not an attempt to get back with an old lover.

To his surprise, Nie Huaisang says, “I want in on it.”

Jiang Cheng stares at him, incredulous. “It’s going to be dangerous. If there’s someone behind this, they’ve been planning it for months.”

“And da-ge would do the same for me if I was the one targeted! Besides, if...when he recovers, he’s going to need something to prove his innocence. That he’s not the one responsible for these people he hurt,” Nie Huaisang insists. His amber eyes have turned to gold. “If you don’t take me with you, I’ll investigate on my own.”

“Fine!” Jiang Cheng snaps. He is, to his irritation, less annoyed by this turn of events than he should be. “But you’ve got to promise me you’ll drop out of it if things get too messy. This isn’t your job, it’s mine. Got it?” Silently, he adds, I don’t want to see you hurt. ( One could argue it’s already too late for that. )

“Fine!” Nie Huaisang echoes. He sounds...for lack of a better word, relieved. “So what’s our plan, partner?”

If Jiang Cheng didn’t know better, he’d call his tone teasing, almost flirty. “First of all, we’re not partners, I’m only bringing you along and you can fend for yourself. Second…” He shoves a hand into one of the inner pockets of his coat and fumbles around until his fingers close around two small scraps of yellow paper. He pulls them out and holds them up to the light.

“Wanna go see a play?”

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #sangcheng #jiang cheng #nie huaisang #mdzs fic #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #kim's fics

40 notes · View notes

painfullythickimagines · 7 years

Text

Blind Side - Chapter 4

In a dimly lit restaurant in New York City, you sat in a secluded corner with Thomas, his hand resting on your thigh. It was late – probably close to 11pm – and everyone else had left. You’d mentioned a craving for chocolate cheesecake when Thomas said he knew of a place that had the absolute best in the city, and insisted on taking you immediately. The two of you sat side-by-side, candlelight casting shadows that danced on the walls.

“More champagne, Miss?”

“Please,” you say with a nod, unable to look away from Thomas. His shining smile has you captivated. Sitting together, hand in hand, you can’t quite put your finger on this feeling you have – something you’ve never felt before. But you feel it every time you look at him. Every time you look into those sparkling blue eyes.

It’s been two weeks since your surprise date at the skating rink, and you’ve never been happier. You’ve seen Thomas just about every day since – brunch at the Plaza, carriage rides through Central Park, evenings at the finest restaurants. Of course, you’d accept nothing less from a man, but this time feels different. He isn’t doing it out of obligation, but out of love. And you wanted nothing more than to make him as happy as he makes you.

The waiter walks away as Thomas leans closer to you. Even as he sat next to you, just inches away, it didn’t feel close enough. The fact that you’ve yet to consummate the relationship surely wasn’t helping. Every brush of his skin left you electrified, desperate for more.

“You look enchanting this evening, my love.” He pulls your hand up to his face, kissing it gently.

“I think red must be your favorite color, Mr. Hiddleston,” you said, batting your eyelashes at his flattery. There was never a lack of affection with Thomas, but wearing a sparkly red dress with a plunging neckline never hurt.

“You know, it might be. It looks so striking against that porcelain skin of yours,” he said, softly rubbing your cheek with his thumb. He leans in, holding your face so carefully as his lips press against yours. No matter how many times he kisses you, it never fails to make your heart race.

“Oh!” He pulls back in an instant, your lips still poised for more. “I keep forgetting to tell you, darling. I’ve got us tickets for Broadway tomorrow night. Would you like to go?”

“Of course. Are they very good seats?” you ask, taking another sip of champagne.

“Our own private box. Nothing but the best for my love.” He kissed your cheek as he pulled out his wallet, leaving cash on the table to settle the bill. “Now let’s get you home.”

You spend most of the next day getting ready for your date. Your dress, a flowing lavender halter that cinched at the waist, was one of your favorites – and one Thomas has yet to see. You even bought new strappy heels to wear with it. Your phone buzzed just as you put the finishing touches on your makeup. It was from Thomas.

{Be there in 5. No panties tonight.}

You smirked.

Why do I love when he does that?

With a shrug, you pull up your flowing skirt, sliding your panties down your leg. You toss them into the laundry and head for the elevator. You reached the lobby just as he pulled up outside. The doorman opens the door for you as you slide into the shiny Jag, careful not to give the old man a show. Thomas must have noticed, because he was grinning as you turned to greet him.

“That’s my girl.”

You arrived at the theater just moments before the show started. The two of you were escorted to your box, which was nestled in at the back of the theater, two levels up. You had the perfect view of the stage, and if you got bored, everyone below you.

“Perfect, we can spy on everyone,” you chuckled, tossing your Prada bag onto the lush carpeted floor.

“Ah, yes, but no one can spy on us,” Thomas said with a wink.

“Why do I get the feeling that has something to do with the text message I received this evening?” You straighten his tie before sitting down together on a luxurious padded loveseat. The curtain draws up and the lights go down.

“Shh. The show is starting.”

You settle in next to Thomas, his arm around you and his hand resting on your hip. The show is lovely – the acting is believable; the music is moving. Your attention almost always goes to the costumes first, and they’re fabulous. You haven’t seen one yet that you wouldn’t wear yourself.

It must be getting close to intermission, but glancing down at your watch, you find it’s too dark to read.

“Are you alright?” asked Thomas.

“Oh, yes. Just checking the time.”

He nuzzles up to you, pulling you close as he kisses just under your ear. He maneuvers himself behind you a bit, letting you rest against his chest and shoulder. His hand, still resting on your hip, gives it a firm squeeze. You look back at him, a mischievous smile spreading across his face. He nods toward the stage, not wanting you to miss anything.

Taking full advantage of your private suite, he slides his hand beneath the pleats of your chiffon dress. Your eyes are locked onto his hand as he gently massages your leg, creeping ever slowly north.

Is he really going to do this here?

You look around, checking for the hundredth time that no one can see. He inches ever closer to your crease, moving as slow as honey, leaving you aching for his sweet touch. He finally reaches the very top of your thighs, rubbing your outer lips gently. You gasp softly as he slides a finger between them.

He suddenly stops, turning his head towards you, brushing his lips against your ears.

“Shh… Don’t you make a sound.” He waits for you to nod before continuing.

His finger works slowly; it moves in long lines, exploring you from top to bottom. Just when you think you can contain yourself, he pauses over your pearl, drawing lazy circles around her. You squirm as he picks up the pace, biting your lip to try to regain some control. Your breath is unsteady; you skin is flush all over. You can feel his circles slowing; he presses all four fingers tight against your body. You can feel his hand trembling as your hips press against him, desperate for more.

Unsure of when you closed your eyes, you open them at the sound of footsteps and chatter. The lights are on and the curtain is falling as people make their way out of the theater. Intermission. You both sit up a little straighter, and Thomas casually brings his arm out from under your dress, letting it rest behind you on the loveseat. His other hand is covering a growing tightness in his pants.

You turn to face him, still trying to regain composure. But your heart is still racing, and the lust in his eyes is making you far too weak.

“Can we leave?” It falls out of your mouth before you even consider what you’re saying, but it doesn’t matter. The time for thinking is over.

“Oh, please, my love. Where? Where do you want to go?” He’s already standing as you reach for your purse.

“My apartment is closest.”

Thomas leads you through the crowd, never letting go of your hand as you make your way back to the car. Your thoughts are running wild; the night is finally here, and you can hardly wait. You feel a little queasy in the Jag, but it must just be the car swerving in and out of traffic.

Not the best night to forget dinner.

He glides into a parking space, throwing the car into park as you’re both already opening your doors. Still holding your hand every step of the way, you make it into the elevator at last. The doors close, and you’re up against the wall, his body pressed against yours. His hands are everywhere as he fuses his lips to your own. You’re blindly undoing his tie when the elevator chimed, signaling the arrival of other tenants.

You quickly fix your dress, trying to seem as calm as Thomas, who simply stood in the corner, undone tie be damned. He greeted them as you still try to catch your breath, another wave of nausea coming over you. You break out into a cold sweat as the doors open at your front door.

I can’t do this. I’m not ready.

You take a moment, fidgeting with your keys as you try to think of something to say. You slide the key into the lock, looking at Thomas before you open the door. He reaches down to brush the hair away from your face, kissing you on the forehead.

“I love you, darling.” His gentle smile tears through your heart, your eyes filling with tears as you try to speak.

“You have to go,” you said in a whisper.

His eyes narrowed, lost in confusion. “What did you say?”

“I can’t let you in.” Gathering what little strength you have, you say more loudly, “You need to leave.” You rush through the door, shutting it before Thomas could protest. You stand on the other side of the door, tears streaming down your face. He tries to open the door, but you’ve already locked it. He calls out to you, unsure if you can even hear him.

“What did I do, my love? Whatever it is, we can figure it out together. Please…” he trails off. His pleas are met with silence. Defeated, he turns to walk away. You hear him stop for a moment, speaking so softly you could barely hear him.

“I’m sorry.”

570 notes · View notes

winetae · 7 years

Text

⇾ city of stars | 01

⇁ female reader x yoongi ; female reader x taehyung

⇁ drama, slight angst || hollywood!au, actor!bts, enemies to lovers

⇁ 5.1k

. . .

When your childhood sweetheart packs his bags to pursue his dreams in the big city, the two of you promise to meet again once you’ve both become successful. Years later, you find yourself running to and fro auditions, desperately trying to make ends meet, while his face is plastered on every giant sized billboard in town.

↳ or; no one ever said the road to success was easy

a/n; OR a new short series literally no one asked for

+ inspired by the movie la la land (2016) and the anime skip beat (2002) “mama didn’t raise no weak hoe, you gonna push it” – sassi’s words of wisdom and also the reason i finally finished this;; ily !!!! this is for u

A beginning and an end—these moments bookend all your shelved romances.

Although the denouement may often vary—tears, a broken picture frame, a kiss—the origin story remains, for the most part, the same. But contrary to any of your previous encounters, Min Yoongi disrupts the familiar formula of exchanged hellos and awkward pleasantries.

Maybe it starts like this:

an ugly brown stain on your new white blouse, one iced caramel macchiato wasted.

In the movies, the guy offers his number and a free lunch to make up for his clumsiness, or gives up his hoodie to cover his mistake. The lead finds his efforts to earn forgiveness endearing, and soon enough, one date becomes two, two eventually turns to six. Somewhere along the way—between date number nine and eleven—he musters the courage to profess his love with a kiss, under the sleek blanket of a starry sky.

But this is not the movies, you are reminded, as the cold beverage clings to your skin and shirt unpleasantly.

“Motherfucker!”

It is not the most eloquent start, either.

You hope the sheer force of your glare has the power to pull an apology from his lips, but he stays still—completely indifferent to your plight.

“You should pay attention to your surroundings,” he drawls, unmoved.

Your immediate reaction is to scowl, brow creasing with indignation. If this had been any other day, you would have attempted to laugh it off because you’re no stranger to accidents. But today is D-Day: the start of pilot season and also your chance at finally landing a substantial role, something with more visibility and depth than the cheerleader #3 background character you’ve always been relegated to in the past. Today is supposed to be your ticket to stardom—the prized opportunity for your talent to finally bloom on center stage.

But one glance down at your worn-in wristwatch and panic grips you, dousing you in a sheen of cold sweat, much more unbearable than the spray of caffeine that’s still dripping down your shirt.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out this blunder will affect the rest of your day. You have two casting calls to attend from noon to four and there is absolutely no way you have any time to grab a change of clothes, especially if you factor in the perpetual traffic that clogs up the city streets. Your stress level is already at an all time high, nerves taut; the stain does nothing but add on to the overwhelming queasy feeling that swells in your gut like a balloon ready to burst. How are you supposed to impress the casting directors when you look like a slob? You can already imagine the offended expressions judging you before you even have time to open your mouth and deliver your well prepared monologue. A sense of utter failure stabs you in the chest and the high hopes you had for the day come crashing down in an instant.

You’re well aware at how much your future depends on how well you do today and the thought that one stranger and a cup of coffee could compromise this opportunity is enough to frustrate you to the point of tears. Maybe if your life was a romantic comedy, the scene unfolding in front of you would take a turn for the better. In such a clichéd scenario, you would expect the heroine to experience the Love at First Sight story archetype and throw away her dreams to chase after her soulmate.

But Min Yoongi is not your knight in shining armor. On the contrary, he is the furthest thing from the Humphrey Bogarts and the Cary Grants that grace the silver screens with their imposing presence and charming smiles. Instead of igniting your insides with desire, the mere sight of him and his lazy smirk makes your blood boil in anger. If you weren’t so attached to your daily dose of caffeine, you would have made sure to drench him in your gluten free pumpkin spice latte.

“Aren’t you going to apologize?” you snap, gesturing at the stain bleeding through the thin fabric of your shirt like a physical wound.

“Aren’t you? The coffee around this part of town is more expensive than a pack of cigarettes, y’know.” His derisive tone infuriates you further; it takes a herculean effort to not shove his empty cup of coffee up his ass.

Neither of you budge.

He stares you down and, had you been a lesser woman, you would have caved under the intensity of his glare. Maybe even cried a little. Still, you hold your ground, refusing to let yourself be intimidated by his scowl.

“You realize you owe me a coffee, sweetheart.”

If anyone else had delivered the line, you would have thought it to be a poor attempt at flirting. However, he utters the phrase with so much contempt, you almost reel back, struck down by the look he pairs with it.

“What?!”

In retrospect, you should have been more mindful of your surroundings but your mind had been occupied, too focused on revising lines that you already knew by heart. You’re aware the blame can’t be entirely shifted onto you, not when he had been so brusque in his movements, and distantly it registers that you’re both getting heated over nothing. Be the bigger person and let it go, your conscious urges you.

Pursing your lips into a grimace, you adamantly refuse to compromise. The only way your day can go from bad to worse, is if you let a short man with a mean looking face push you around like his plaything. Your aversion is justified, you argue internally.

“I have an audition,” you insist, tone clipped, waving around your script, penned and colored in pink highlighter, as if to prove your point. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Well aren’t you special.” The man sneers, eyes narrowing into slits. “We all have places to be, princess.”

“An apology would be nice,” you grit out, still refusing to back down. The use of pet-names by this stranger only irritates your further, itching at your skin like a insect bite you’re unable to soothe over. “But you’re so uncouth, I won’t waste my breath asking for one.”

“Ouch.” His lips curl into a mocking smirk, “well, maybe if you ask nicely, I’ll give the princess what she wants…”

You want to deck him. But your already limited time is running short, and another peek at the clock makes your fingers twitch around the cup of your drink, contents sloshing around, threatening to spill.

First impressions easily make or break a career. First impressions can also ruin relationships before they have the chance to begin.

Any other day, at any other time, you might have admired the slight glow of his peachy skin, or taken the time to appreciate how the lilt in his speech reminds you of home.

Instead, you flip him the bird and slide your sunglasses up the bridge of your nose so as to signal the end of the conversation. You feel extremely childish, like the star of a young adult drama series, but that doesn’t stop satisfaction from settling onto your features, only partly hidden by your knock-off Gucci shades. But your pleasure is short-lived; his disgruntled expression stays imprinted in your mind long after your argument ends, to your biggest dismay.

It’s funny how a mere stranger is able to single-handedly ruin your day.

Something heavy and uncomfortable sits in your chest, like a ball of lead, and your script trembles in your hand.

You’ve barely made it to your first audition, copies of your resumé neatly tucked under your arm and script clenched tight in your fist, but the memory of the morning’s incident makes it impossible to concentrate on your forthcoming task. This, of course, only infuriates you further, because the last thing you need is for that asshole to distract you from the opportunity you’ve been waiting for. You inhale slowly, counting eight beats before exhaling, trying your best to clear your mind and focus on your day’s objective.

6… 7… 8

You repeat the process until your clenched muscles slowly relax and your breathing evens out.

The role you’re auditioning for is a secondary character in a new TV series, set to debut in the fall on one of the main public channels. The scriptwriter has won half a dozen Emmys in the span of their short career, and from what you’ve been able to read of the script so far, the ratings will probably do well. There’s a good balance between the drama and the romance and to top it off, the dialogue is witty and gives you enough material to work with. For weeks, you’ve been preparing your role, even going as far as to memorize the other characters’ lines just in case they ask you to read for someone else at the audition.

Up until yesterday you were still buzzing with excitement, confident that this job was the one that would finally jumpstart your career. But now, your thoughts are flooded with incessant “what if’s…” that are slowly poisoning your morale. You can already picture yourself announcing to your parents that once again, you didn’t get the part you were pining for…

You hold in a sigh, not looking forward to that phone call. It’s hard to snuff out the smidgen of shame that grows with a pang in your chest whenever you speak to your parents over the phone. You know they patiently await news of your success, so you can’t help but feel like you’ve let them down when their inquiries are met with silence on your end. “The road to success is paved with sacrifices and failure,” your father reminds you often, as if sensing the heaviness that weighs down on your shoulders.

When asked if you have adjusted to the bustling city life, you will always answer in the affirmative. Although the reply is mostly meant to reassure your concerned parents, separated from you by miles upon miles, you can’t help but believe the words you reiterate every weekend over the phone. After all, you’ve been here long enough for the sun to dust your skin gold, freckles blooming on your exposed shoulders. You’ve long since memorized the street names and adjusted your schedule to take into account the constant traffic jams caused by the heavy congestion.

But it’s during times like these, when you’re sandwiched in an elevator with seven other girls your age, all with highlighted hair, professionally blow-dried to glossy perfection, that you realize how out of place you really are. You hug your handbag to your chest in an poor attempt at concealing the obvious brown splatter down your front. From the corner of your eye, you see someone raising their eyebrows in disdain, their expression visible in the elevator wall’s reflection.

She coughs, the sound catching everyone else’s attention.

“You’re auditioning dressed like that?” her voice drips with faux sympathy and immediately embarrassment colors your cheeks.

Remarks like this are to be expected, you suppose, but that doesn’t mean you’re insensitive to the comment.

But before you have time to formulate a retort, a musical chime alerts you that you’ve arrived at the audition scene. Everyone files out and you shuffle after the rest, handbag still clutched to your chest like a physical shield.

You’re told that the auditions will be one-on-one and that your name will be called up when the casting directors are ready. Sitting down in the waiting room only ramps up the angst that threatens to swallow you whole.

The clock ticks by slowly, every measure of time filled with mounting dread. What if you blank out and forget your lines? You run through every possible worst case scenario, despite trying to distract yourself by playing piano tiles on your phone. It obviously doesn’t work and you’re just about to turn off your phone in a fit of frustration, when it buzzes in your hand, alerting you of an incoming message.

A smile pulls at your lips when you realize your best friend, Tina, had sent you a text to cheer you on. You can almost hear her voice as you read out the text, her accent bleeding through the words that light up your screen.

tina [01:23 pm] Smile like fucking Julia Roberts even if they shit on you. If they see you sweat, it means they win, k?

tina [01:23 pm] You got this, bitch :)

Somehow the aggressive motivation encourages you more than any bouquet of expensive white lilies you could have received. She knows how much today means to you and how much you’re worked up over it. You tell each other everything, so she’s well aware that the desire for this job isn’t solely for monetary reasons.

Your dream of being an actress constantly surprises people when you tell them. The word actress evokes images of glamorous movie stars and fearless individuals who aren’t afraid to push their limits in order to create art. Your far from fearless. In fact, it’s taken years before you finally gathered your courage and left behind your family to pursue your dreams.

It’s not easy to lend your body over to your character, but it’s something you study relentlessly—pen stuck between your teeth to practice your elocution, spending your hard earned money to attend acting workshops on the weekends after your shifts end. You devote yourself to the craft, studying everything from Lee Strasberg’s method acting to the Chekhov acting technique. But all of it never seems like it’s enough. It feels like you’re stuck in a swamp, and no matter how much effort you put in, it’ll never be enough to move forward.

Suddenly, your name is called and you jump to your feet, adrenaline making your spine stand straight. You’re quickly ushered into the small room where the casting director and his assistant sit, hands clasped on the wooden table in front of them. Piles of papers are scattered in front of them, and you can spot headshots and crossed out names on a list.

At once, you can feel their serious gazes settle on the coffee stain that adorns the front of your shirt. You ignore the slight raise of their eyebrows and instead shoot them your best smile, the one you’ve long since perfected in front of the mirror in your room.

You present yourself, words tumbling out through your strained smile.

As you start to relax, muscles in your neck loosening, it’s easier to slip back into the role you had worked hard to perfect. Everything from your posture to the tone of your voice changes, and it’s as if you morph into an entirely new person.

At least, that’s what you let yourself think. You’re so into the part you don’t notice they’ve signaled for you to finish prematurely.

“Very well.” A hand comes up in the air à la Simon Cowell, effectively putting a stop to your dramatic speech. You resist the urge to check if he has protruding nipples to match.

You halt mid-sentence, mouth slightly parted, the rest of your prepared phrase stuck in your throat. Aware that you must look like a poor imitation of a goldfish, your jaw closes shut with an audible snap. You glance at his name place card, squinting at the small embossed lettering, before he commands your attention with a cough.

“So, tell me,” Neil continues, crossing his arms and leaning forward to stare you straight in the eyes. “What do you think love is?”

“What love is?” you parrot back, trying to mask your confusion. Is this a trick question of some kind? You fail to understand what answer he expects of you, so instead of answering verbally, you shift around on your feet. It’s hard to think properly when your entire career is on the line; one wrong answer and you can say goodbye to the role you prepared so much for.

“Yes. What is love to you?” He flips through your meager résumé, nodding in what could be either acknowledgement or dismal.

Sweat beads at your hairline while your entire body freezes up. What does he mean by “you”? You wonder if he expects you to answer in character or not… What would your character answer? According to the script, she’s a little airheaded, with no other purpose than comic relief.

“Love is…” you trail off, suddenly overcome with a memory you believed to be buried in the recesses of your mind. The words trigger something within you, and for a second you falter, the rest of the room becoming but a faint buzz of static in your ears.

“I have loved you.”

His words settle into your lungs like a cloud of smoke, making it difficult to breathe. You’re not sure what hurts the most—his apologetic expression or the way he delivers his confession with the utmost sincerity. The use of the past tense only finalizes the blow; the skin of your lips almost bleed from the force of your bite.

“Do you not anymore?” you croak, voice catching in your throat.

You hate crying in front of him. Years ago, whenever you scraped your knees after falling from your bike, you had always refused to shed any tears in his presence. It all flashes through your mind right then like a film stuck on loop— the packs of band-aids you carefully wrap around his blisters and the way his calloused fingers strum your exposed skin like his guitar in gratitude.

“Of course I do.” For the first time since your argument, he loses his composure, the harsh creases between his furrowed brows giving away how much the goodbye is affecting him.

A warm palm encloses your own and with a nudge at your chin, he forces you to meet his own gaze.

You wish he would release you from his hold—only because it would be easier to conceal the trembling in your jaw. He must feel the minute movements beneath the pads of his fingers; for a split second his mask falls, features stricken with grief.

“I’ll always love you,” he finally admits, the quiet confession ringing loudly in your ears.

The sentence echoes in the silence of the room, seemingly amplified by the memories of all the previous times he had whispered the same words, intertwined with soft kisses and familiar caresses. There’s nothing comforting about the admission now—not when it veils the finality of a goodbye.

“But?” you ask tentatively, readying yourself for another blow.

Your reaction, for some reason, seems to anger him, because his expression stiffens—muscles on his face crisping up, wall falling back into place. It’s always been difficult to read him when he closes himself off from you, but it never stops you from trying. You search his features, hoping to find some kind of sign that would clue you in.

“Please don’t make this harder than it is. I thought you, out of everyone in this godforsaken town, would understand me.” You blink, eyelashes damp with unshed tears.

“There’s nothing for me here,” he continues, softer now, glassy eyes not noticing the way you flinch at his words. “If I stay, I’ll never get anywhere. They say there’s more for me out there in the big city. And I know— I know it’s crazy and the competition is tough, but—”

There’s a pause as he gathers breath, your face still cradled in the warmth of his palm. From where you’re standing you can spot the beauty marks and scars that are sprinkled over his skin like tiny constellations. You think back to the time he was twelve and had nicked the skin right above his eyebrow during one of his baseball games. It all seems like a lifetime ago—before puberty had filled his gangling body with hard muscle—but you can still recall with vivid clarity the front he had tried to put up, his brow furrowed and jaw clenched. Much like now, you think.

“But I’ll never know if I don’t at least give it a try. I’ll regret it if I stay cooped up here, wondering every day why I didn’t swallow down my fear and pack my shit up. I know I’ll be miserable if I give up on my dream. You know that, right? It’s the only thing I have going for me. I’m not like you—I suck ass at math and science. I don’t have a future here so I’m going to where I actually have a chance.”

And maybe now is not the time, but it’s impossible to stop the envy from coursing through your veins. How lucky it must be to know what you’re good at and what you want, to be brave enough to leave everything you’ve known behind because you have something to chase after. Unlike him, you’re stuck at a standstill, with nowhere to run forward to and now the only thing grounding you home—gone.

“I have to leave, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, you’re right.”

The last thing you want to hear from his lips is an apology. It’s a painful reminder that there’s a world outside the bubble you’ve built for yourself, that everything around you is changing and you’re the only one stuck in place, unmoving.

In the end, you opt for honesty.

“Love is a promise. It’s waiting for the right person, no matter how long it takes.” Your voice is resolute, even as you twiddle with a ring on your index finger nervously.

“Ah, I see… I don’t suppose you believe in love at first sight? Or soulmates?”

You run your tongue against the inside of your cheek, still unsure what sort of answer they’re looking for. It feels like a test but Neil’s voice and expression give nothing away. Either way, you must have taken too long to answer because he clears his throat and rearranges the papers on the table in front of him, his assistant writing something in red ink across your résumé.

“That’ll be enough, then. Thank you for your time.”

Maybe today just isn’t your day, you think grimly, gathering your things. The ring that sits on your finger catches the overhead light, shine momentarily blinding you. When will you be able to fulfill your end of the promise? Perhaps childhood promises are meant to stay in the past. You’re not sure why you stubbornly hold onto such words, anyway.

The fight that usually lights up within you deflates. Most days, you’re optimistic, but today for some reason, things just haven’t gone your way. Ever since the damned coffee cup this morning, things have only been going downhill. Of course, it’s not fair to blame everything on what was evidently an accident, but it’s easier that way.

“On a scale from one to ten, how bad did it go?” Tina asks, pouring you a generous shot of vodka. Since you don’t own any shot glasses, you have to pry the bottle out of her hand because any more and you would think she wants you dead. “One being they occasionally zoned out during your monologue…”

She scratches her chin, trying to recall the worst audition story. “Ten being told you’re too ugly to read for the part. Although I have heard some disturbing ass stories that are definitely a fifteen or higher. You know Drew Barrymore? Heard she was asked to give herself the finger during an audition.”

“What?” you splutter, frown marring your features.

“Dunno, it was supposed to be a sexy scene but there was no one to read with her, so she had to act it out herself. Pretty w-weird. So she sucked her own finger while she acted out the blowjob. Or maybe I’m not remembering this correctly?” Her words are slightly slurred together, shoulders raising up into a shrug.

“Um,” you choke out, after knocking back your drink in one gulp. “Okay, well, it didn’t get weird. I thought it was going well but he cut me off before I finished and then asked me questions. I guess I kind of blanked out? I didn’t know what to say, so he must have ended up thinking I’m too daft.”

“Isn’t your character supposed to be a little empty up there?” she points at her head, one manicured finger only slightly missing her eyeball.

You’re not sure she notices the look you shoot her way, but if she does, she promptly ignores it in favor of reaching for the vodka bottle.

“Slow down or you’ll puke all over the carpet. Do you really want to add to our stain collection?”

She huffs, pouting pathetically up at you.

“Spoilsport. Fine, let’s get drunk at a bar instead.” You’re convinced pretty easily because anything seems like a better alternative to spending the night cleaning up your friend’s vomit.

You almost regret your decision because grungy bars aren’t your thing. Empty plastic cups litter the ground and faded graffiti paints the walls in squiggly streaks, and, yeah—grungy bars are definitely not your type of scene.

It’s nearing the one o’clock mark and you repress the urge to (kindly) throttle Tina and her group of friends who have dragged you along with them. Instead of sitting on your couch re-watching one of your favorite movies, you find yourself squirming your way through a crowd of sweaty bodies, balancing four cups in your hands and doing your best to prevent the cheap beer from spilling.

An elbow juts out, bony angle jabbing your side, and some of the froth overflows in splatters, coating your fingers in its stickiness. You mutter out a curse that gets lost, drowned out by an off-key acappella rendition of a Britney anthem, while you’re left to salvage the damage. There is a pause for breath onstage, and someone yells “Take the mic away from him!” in the background. Suddenly, it is chaos. Everyone howls out their own two-cents and the performer onstage redoubles his efforts in his attempts to drown out the noise with his song.

For a reason you can’t quite understand, this place seems to be a hot spot for all the young, neighborhood artists; you spot a pair of guys in matching hoodies from the local film university at the bar, trying to pitch their idea to anyone drunk or interested enough to listen.

The cause of its unexpected success seems to be the open mic night event that is hosted once every week. Apparently, talent scouts are known to scour this area from time to time, and the promise of a success story attracts all the young and struggling artists, desperate to make it big. One of your friends has been raving about it for a little over a month, and even you’ve been curious as to see what it looks like. Your expectations fall short, but you won’t let that deter you from having fun.

Well, fun isn’t easily found.

Tonight happens to be open mic night, which means you’ve already had to sit through half an hour of drunken poetry. You’re all for the creation of art through self-expression, but, well…. The intoxicated ramblings are amusing at best (the highlight so far being a short skit involving a plastic hammer and a beach ball) but the night’s entertainment is as gripping as a B-rate movie.

You let out a plaintive sigh, swirling the ice cubes in your cup with your straw, zoning out yet again when the next participant shuffles onto the small makeshift stage. You ready yourself for another five minutes of nonsensical babble, but instead you do a double-take as your gaze falls upon the man adjusting the mic stand, his shaggy hair partly obscuring his face from view.

Instinctively, your blood runs hot—something ugly rears its head as soon as you recognize the same face you’ve been cursing since your failed audition.

You gnaw your straw, working your jaw until it becomes just another useless piece of plastic.

Although you’re not yet familiar with his name, you can’t forget the ugly lines of his face and the cold, dead look in his eyes. You don’t know why you thought he looked slightly attractive this morning because looking at him now only makes your lip curl in disgust. Why is his skin glowing? You’re convinced he must have dabbled glitter over his body to achieve such an effect. Who does he think he is, anyway? Kesha? Edward the vampire?

A nameless stranger—that is all he is to you at this point. And yet somehow he is also more than that.

Hate is a strong word. But as your attention focuses solely on his face, highlighted by the harsh glare of a spotlight, something within you boils to a tipping point.

A hush falls over the packed room as he clears his throat into the mic. Something about the sound bounces off the walls, makes several heads turn, snapping them out of their drunken stupor. As much as you want to tear your gaze from his figure, something about his presence on stage commands your attention. Unbeknownst to you, your breath is caught in your throat—anticipating his performance.

When he finally speaks, you can’t keep the astonished expression off your face. You’re not sure what you expect from him—maybe a dispassionate monologue on the benefits of caffeine or perhaps intoxicated words slurred together—but not this.

Impassioned dialogue falls from his lips, his face scrunched up. Words become bullets he fires into the crowd, his tongue twisting each of them with precision. You don’t know much about rap—only the try-hard images you see on television—but this is nowhere close to that. He quickly creates a story, raw emotion building with each stride he takes across the stage, and you’re unwillingly sucked into it.

“There!” Tina nudges, voice somehow catching your attention. You fight hard to detach your gaze from the stage. It takes a moment to orient yourself, still reeling from the performance that’s still going on, but your stare finally falls on the man your friend is pointing at, huddled in one of the corners of the room, nursing a half empty cup of amber liquid.

“That’s him! The guy from The Agency. He’s the one who comes here sometimes. I swear he was sleeping earlier but look! Whoa, this guy must be good to have gotten his atten—”

You tune her out, the anger that had simmered down now back in full force. Your day has officially gone to shit if the same guy from this morning is now being recruited by one of the best agencies in the world. Nope, this can’t be happening—you refuse to accept this as your reality. The many shots of alcohol blur your better judgement and you lick your lips in preparation for fucking war.

Slamming your cup down on the table with more fervor than needed, you rise to your feet, a single thought coursing through your mind.

Over my dead body, asshat.

#for my sunshine child #!!#bangtanwriters-net #kkreationsnet #kwriterskollection #bts scenarios #yoongi scenarios #taehyung scenarios #bts angst #kpop scenarios #yoongi #taehyung #also s/o to my sister who yelled at me to finish this :")

383 notes · View notes

cynicalboddhisattva · 5 years

Text

Journey to the Unmanifest

The following is a catalogue of events that transpired between August and December 2009, a time period best described as a journey into the unmanifest dimension. It was like going through a series of inner doors, so I will list them as such.

Door 1: Around August 2009 at the Atlanta Soto Zen Center. My world had just collapsed, with no career and no future as far as I was concerned. Tortured with overwhelming anxiety and unable to focus, l was willing to give meditation a shot. I had nothing else, after all.

I sat. I sat and let my mind reel. I sat and let my grief take me over. I let my fear rattle inside of my head like a screaming animal. Then, after about 3 weeks of this, 30 minutes into a wild, unbridled storm of thoughts and emotions, there it was — empty space, total silence, and complete stillness.

My breathing became deep and heavy. Flashes of red and blue lights danced against the plain white wall in front of me. With every breath the lights flashed like a strobe. It felt incredible. I wanted to feel like this all the time.

Door 2: Late October 2009. Dharma talk at the Atlanta Soto Zen Center, good old Gareth leading the chat. I was calm after a nice meditation, and I was passively taking in what was being said, only half-listening. Then he said something as he looked right at me.

“It’s amazing how people come in here and open up like a flower!” he said with joyful exuberance as he held his palm up and extended his fingers out as if they were petals opening. Then something happened. Something inside me opened. I don’t know what. I can’t explain it, because it goes beyond language. He wasn’t aware he had done anything to me, and it didn’t much matter. It was like a knot in my soul was untied. I swelled with a sense of relief as a lifetime of grief left my body.

Door 3: November 2009; I was determined to deepen whatever was happening to me. Whatever this was, I wanted to know it. I wanted to feel it inside my bones, to merge into it, to disappear into it. It was my new addiction. My time was spent meditating, trying to understand what the hell the “eightfold path” was, reading books, listening to monks on YouTube, learning about string theory —- I couldn’t get enough. Whatever got me one level deeper was what I was going to do.

Nothing else seemed to matter anymore. Looking for a job seemed absurd. Parents, friends, food, sleep, exercise —- all these things became almost irrelevant. I let it go. I let it go because I wanted to die. I wanted the death that nirvana seemed to promise.

A strange thought — it occurred to me that I wasn’t breathing—-I was being breathed by something else. What this thing was I didn’t understand, but I could see it in the mirror, staring right back at me with a mischievous, knowing smile. This is when I started to freak out a little.

What was this thing staring at me? I wanted to know it. I would meditate, body fully exposed, in front of the sliding glass door mirror in the spare bedroom. I would watch as this body inflated and deflated like a 19th century fireplace billow, abdomen distending with each inspiration. Who was the one breathing? Not me. This was something alien.

There it was again —- flashing red and blue lights with each breath, surrounding the reflection in the mirror this time. I started to feel lightheaded, like I was leaving my body. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen, so I kept backing off at this point. There was only so much at a time I could take.

I told Gareth about the mirror thing. He said not to worry — I was starting to glimpse reality and my mind was making all sorts of interpretations. I was advised not to interpret, but I did anyway.

Door 4: December 2009, Week 1. “Stillness Speaks”, by Eckhart Tolle made its way into my hands. There was something mentioned in the introduction claiming that the book was “doing its work” on me simply by holding it in my hands. Airy-fairy bullshit, I thought; but with everything that was happening I didn’t know what was bullshit anymore.

I’ll be damned — it worked. It was doing something. My senses sharpened. My mind was clearer. Everything became brighter. Fuck me, this was real.

Door 5: December 2009, Week 4, Day 1-2. Torrented “The Power of Now” and “A New Earth” on audiobook. Illegally downloading spiritual books is the best, I tell you.

Eckhart’s voice was hypnotic. I was transfixed. I would put on his audiobooks, and later his retreat talks, and lay on the floor motionless. I felt like my body and brain were being rewired by this strange German. I couldn’t tell what it was. I knew it wasn’t just the words. I wasn’t even paying attention to the words most of the time. It was something else. It was his presence. He was here, with me. Or I was there, with the retreat people and Eckhart in this virtual space.

I was in a virtual inter-dimensional space with all these people at the Eckhart Tolle retreats, someplace non-physical but very real. Maybe I was going crazy, but I was ready to go crazy if that’s what it took. Better than this shit life, I thought.

Door 6: December 2009, Week 4, Day 3-4. Time travel is real. Astral projection is real. Telepathy is real. I could feel the presence of people who were not physically there — in a way words can’t encapsulate. I would think of a person and they’d call me on cue. I could predict when my mom would call and when my cousin Daisy would call. But it was only with certain people that it worked — the people who “bought in” to the psychics and fortune tellers; my mom and my cousin Daisy. It’s like they were leaving me voicemails in a virtual space.

Door 7: December 2009, Week 4, Day 5-6. My wife is staying overnight at her sister’s, probably to get a break from my apparent insanity. I’m on the floor listening to the same Eckhart Tolle retreat recordings over and over. It was strange, because although I was listening to the same recordings on a loop, I kept hearing different words each time. It was as if, as my awareness heightened, I was able to access the next layer of the message. Each time I listened to the same recording, I heard a different layer, as if it was recorded along multiple simultaneous soundtracks, each one perceptible by a certain stage of consciousness. Different layers of the recording for different stages of consciousness. It was crazy, I know. It sounds like a conspiracy theory in the mind of a schizophrenic—hidden messages made specially for me.

As each layer was peeled back, it felt like Eckhart was speaking directly to me, along with a handful of other people, who had made it all the way down to the layer I was currently at. I knew I was getting closer to whatever this was. I also knew that only a few people ever made it this far out. Me and a handful of others were suspended in this virtual dimension, with Eckhart coaxing us still further.

Then — there was the Publix trip. It was Christmas Eve, I think. I needed to get out of the damn house. I’d been cooped up for days. But I didn’t want to break the trance I was in. I took Eckhart with me. I played Eckhart CDs on the way to Publix, and kept him playing on my headphones as I entered the store.

Things became weird. You know that Einstein thing about time being relative? It’s true. I was moving so fast that everything around me became a blur. I was in another dimension where I could move so fast that others were not aware of my presence. I got done in 30 seconds what would’ve taken me 30 minutes. I dodged around people undetected and almost teleported from aisle to aisle. Time and space didn’t even seem to apply to me. Within what seemed like 2 minutes I was back home.

I couldn’t sleep. My mind was churning. My desktop computer was also churning. I felt like it was my own brain doing that —- calculating like an overclocked processor.

Door 8: December 2009, Week 5, Day 1. My wife is back home. Early this morning, after being up all night and high on Vyvanse, the sun started to speak to me silently. It told me, in its silent language, that it would be gone soon, and that everyone in existence would soon be frozen in a cold, desolate wasteland.

I was going to die. Everyone was. I knew it. It was so, so cold outside. Everyone seemed so, so sad. I felt like people were disappearing, dying in the cold and dark nothing. The city was silent, frozen, and empty. The sun was dimming. I was so cold.

Then, for apparently no reason at all, I was Krishna. Seriously, I became motherfucking, honest-to-god, flute-playing, serene-as-fuck Krishna. And my wife was Radha, though she was unaware of it, and she just thought I was going crazy, and that she should just call my dad.

Right in the middle of my living room, between the couch and the armchair, there was a tear in the fabric of space. I could perceive it, but my wife couldn’t. It was like someone slashed up a sheet with a sword and it was leaking energy from the cosmos. Divine energy and oceanic waves of bliss were entering the room from Vrindavan or wherever the hell Krishna is from. It was unimaginable. I smiled and laughed in delight, much to my wife’s chagrin.

Then it got dark. It was nightfall, and I wasn’t sure I would ever see the sun again. I panicked, turning on all the lights. This was it — the end of everything. The sun is gone forever and we are all going to freeze in darkness.

We took a drive around the block for some reason. I can’t remember. I put my hand up in a blessing gesture as we were driving in what felt to be a completely involuntary action. I was controlling EVERYTHING. The lights, the car (obviously), the weather, the people. Holy smokes, I’m God.

But wait —- at the same time my actions seemed involuntary. Something was moving ME. I was a puppet on strings! But then I can feel the energy of the environment as my own, so I know it’s all my making. I don’t understand! Am I God, or is God controlling my body? Is it both?? This doesn’t make any fucking sense!

I’m home now. Maybe everything has really started disappearing. I need to look. Quick, to the balcony! I’m standing out in the balcony, and I start laughing like a maniac. Everything starts disappearing. The cars in the distant lot, the buildings, the parking lots, and the balcony floor right below my feet! Holy shit, it’s not real! It’s a dream....and it’s dissolving! Oblivion, here I come!

Bedtime. I’m still so cold. I think I’m dying. I AM dying. I don’t think I want to. Quick, put on your thermals, your ski socks, your ski gloves! My wife is in bed beside me. She’s concerned. My hands are turning purple. I’m shivering. I need to watch something spiritual. I need to be soothed. Netflix has a special on Ram Dass. Let’s watch that.

First camera shot, I see death. I see Shiva himself, staring through Ram Dass’ radiant blue eyes. Shiva is trying is here to finish the job. He is here to kill what’s left of me! Turn it off! I don’t want to die. Please, I don’t want to die. I’m so cold. I shiver uncontrollably. My wife suggests I try to get some sleep. I’ve been up for days. That can’t be good for me.

My wife is asleep beside me. I’m dying. I’m actually dying. I’m laying on my side, eyes open. I see a blue light completely absorb my visual field.

Then it all goes black. Just me and infinite nothingness. Everything becomes clear as I accept my own death. I see a familiar image in the midst of this infinite void. There, reclining in infinite space, mace in one hand, chakra in another, and a lotus in yet another hand, was Vishnu, the origin of all of creation. He’s there, right in front of me, and he’s ME. I’m him. I’m Vishnu.

Next to me is Saraswati, my cosmic dance partner. That’s my wife. We’ve been dancing this eternal dance since eternity was a thing. Duality, that’s what we were. Ying and yang. One becomes two; male and female, black and white, creation and destruction.

Then it all went black again, and I was alone in the nothingness. No creation, nothing to perceive, nothing to love, nothing to hate. I felt sad. I didn’t want to be alone. I asked to be let back in. I asked for my wife to be my dance partner again in this dualistic dance of creation. I didn’t want it to just be me. I needed something to perceive, or else I couldn’t know myself.

Then, gradually, I was back. I was back in my human body to play out the rest of my cosmic drama. So many questions remained. I realized that I had just started.

0 notes

ecoamerica · 1 month

Text

youtube

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

16K notes · View notes

got7andchill · 7 years

Text

Baby Jae

PROMPTS;

59 I could punch you right now

34 "you work for me, you're my slave."

24 i's eight o'clock in the morning you are not having vodka

Youngjae best friend fluff/smut

"No, Youngjae" You sighed roughly into the receiver, "I am not going to karaoke with you and THE BOYS"

"Please y/n, JB and Jinyoung are fighting and it's so awkward, you'll help loosen them up!" he whined back at you. You could imagine him wiggling his shoulders as he asked and it made you smile softly, but then you remembered last time you went drinking with the boys and Youngjae insisted he had to go to the studio at 3:41AM because he had the 'most brilliant idea ever' and you had to chase his drunk ass around. When you finally got to the studio he had forgotten it and started crying and refused to get up off the floor for 15 minutes

"Baby Jae don't you remember last time?" you cooed out sweetly, using the nickname he hated but you and the other member though was hilarious.

"You can call me that all night if you come, I don't care. You just have to come!"

It was almost 8:30 and you were wondering if it was too late to bail on this whole ordeal. It had taken about another 5 minutes of prodding before you agreed. Sitting on your couch not really watching the TV, unsure of the details of the crime show playing. You felt your phone buzz in your bag on your side, retrieving it you found a snapchat from Youngjae. It was a selfie of him, Yugyeom and Bam in the back of Jackson's new car, they looked so cute you fought the urge to take a screenshot of your friends. You resigned yourself for the evening as you gathered a baggy sweater off the back of the sofa, these are my friends i'm going to have fun you told yourself softly.

There was a soft rap at the door, you flicked off the lights and grabbed your keys before opening the door. There was Youngjae, smiling brightly, his strawberry hair fluffy and laying in a crown of soft waves around his head, the golden street light shining on him from above making him look really just like sunshine. He had silver wire rimmed glasses sitting delicately on his nose and a form fitting black shirt tucked into skinny black pants and a leather jacket.

"You ready, chingu?" he smiled, you scanned him up and down once more before looking down at your oversized top and legging combo, looking back up him through your lashes.

"Did you let Bambi style you?" you asked, a grin spreading on your face. His smile dropped and he looked down at his clothes, he looked at you with a soft pout, as he nodded. "No! don't be sad! you look great, very chic and sexy, it just seems like a bit much...Jae, is that eyeliner? Ohhh" you sing songed to him. He scrunched up his face and stretched a wide grin, "Very handsome!" you chuckled, letting him take your hand and lead you off to the car.

Bambam and Yugyeom started hooting at you, you let out a laugh pulling your hand from Youngjae's to your mouth, and returned with an "EASY"

You went to climb in the back with the younger two when Youngjae grabbed you hand, you turned and he was opening the front door, some loud EDM blaring out of the side as he did, "Here Noona, you can sit in the front with Jackson" he pulled and ushered you into the seat before climbing in the back with the boys.

You'd been nestled into the corner of the booth for close to two hours now, and you were watching JB and Jinyoung across the table, they were a few drinks in now, but they were being their normal charming, loving selves. But they'd been holding hands when they walked in so you doubted it was just the alcohol, you made a mental note to ask Youngjae what exactly the were fighting about. Turning to look at your best friend, he was hoping back and forth on his tiptoes, shaking a tambourine and singing backing vocals for Jackson's exciting rendition of G Dragon in Fantastic Baby. Bambam slid into the bench seat next to you.

"It's the great Bambino, what can I do for you?" you asked, leaning on the table to focus your attention on him and not you platonic best friend's butt which you'd caught yourself looking at a few times now. Bambam darted his eyes from you and then to Youngjae a few times, you pulled your face back and turned to follow his eye line fixed on the vocalist. Turning back to him. "Youngjae?" you asked.

"Yes!" He exclaimed loudly, one hand coming up to grab your arm excitedly, "Doesn't he look so manly and sexy in those clothes?" Bambam pressed on, when all you responded with was a questioning groan he continued, "He wanted to look nice tonight.." He let his voice fade in volume when you still looked confused.

You glanced back at Youngjae who had now taken over the lead for the song, he did look like he just stepped of the stage, you turned back to Bam and said "He looks great, you're a good stylist." You tried to smile encouragingly, sure Bambam was just pointing it out for compliments.

Bambam was about to say something until Youngjae and Jackson slid in the booth on the other side, "Let's do SHOTS" Jackson shouted loudly despite it not being that noisy now that the song was over. There was a roar of agreement, and he started taking a headcount, "Where are Jb and Jinyoung?" Jackson said. You glances to where they had been just moments before. They must have left when I was talking to Bam you thought.

"I think they left early so they could have the dorm all to themselves..." Yugyeom spoke quietly. Mark nodded silently at Yugyeom's side.

"Okay! 6 shots coming up!" Jackson stood up quickly, you grabbed his sleeve.

"Only 5 shots, Jacks, someone has to drive you all home." You said, he winked and shot you a heart before rushing away to the bar.

It was 1:31 AM, you knew this because of how much Jackson had yelled about Defsoul and Ars's "ICONIC BALLAD" and he was demanding Youngjae sing it. The boys cheering him on, Youngjae slid off the seat to the floor and sat with his legs crossed motioning for Jackson to give him the mic. You preemptively started rubbing your head, Youngjae, drunk or sober had the voice of an angel. But drunk Youngjae had no concept of volume, and when he had a microphone it always lead to a splitting headache, unless you were drunk like the rest of the boys. Which you unfortunately were not.

"Jae!" you called out softly, just loud enough for him to hear you, he turned his head to you quickly, smiling brightly, his eyes curving into half moons. "Let's go home, you're all drunk."

Mark’s arms were suddenly around your shoulders as he pulled you back against his shoulder in the seat. "Just listen to his song, y/n." You looked back at youngjae who was smiling less now, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

"Okay, Baby Jae, no microphone." You said, a teasing smile turning up your lips, "but then we leave!"

Instead of acknowledging what you said he turned towards his phone on his lap, putting the backing track on and placing it on the floor. You leaned back into Mark's arm, who was always a very cuddly drunk and listened to Youngjae's clear voice cutting through the room as you all fell into silence. When JB's part arrived the group took over to sing it together as a makeshift chorus, by the end of the sad song you were all giving telenovela level dramatic performances. Jackson being the most dramatic, he had one Mariah Carey hand and he was kneeling, and the very end everyone was laughing to hard to continue. Mark was in a ball on the floor laughing at Jackson's early 2000's r'n'b video style dancing.

"Ars- sunbaenim, how was that?" Jackson asked once he was done giggling and bowing..

"I could punch you right now." Youngjae said between fits of laughter, slapping his knee repeatedly.

"Let's not resort to violence now gentleman, why don't we all head home?" You asked nudging Youngjae's shoulder softly, he crawled over and lay his head on your lap gently, looking up at you with his best impression of an ASPCA commercial, "Seriously, Jae they're gonna close soon!"

"Let's go get some ramen!" You heard one of the boys behind you shout, there was more raucous applause, the 5 voices competing to see who could be the loudest it seemed.

"NO!" Youngjae shouted, easily louder "I want meat!" there was a few minutes of argument before it was decided to separate.

"Jackson, leave our keys with y/n we can catch a cab home from the restaurant! It's across the street we can walk" You heard Bambam say as he nudged Jackson. Jacks nodded and tossed you the keys.

You groan but anything was an improvement from the dirty karaoke hall at this point.

It was 2:15 AM by the time Youngjae had scarfed down 2 servings of beef and half a bottle of soju. You sat opposite him on the stool, he was smiling with his cheeks stuffed with rice.

"Ready to go home now champ?" You asked, she shook his head no. "Youngjae! we have to go home!"

He stared at his empty bowl, his hand fiddling with a spoon.

"I wanna sleep over at your house!" He blurted out loudly, your eyes went wide at the sudden statement, and a deep red blush crept across his face.

"What? Why? No, you need to go home, Jae. " He didn't respond, only looked down at his lap, he took off his glasses and put them in his pocket as he rose and went out to the car.

He was silently pouting in the car, his focus completely on his phone in his hand. You felt bad about telling him no. You weren't entirely sure why you had said no, he'd slept over before ut usually he just fell asleep there during movie night, he'd never asked before. He was looking down at his phone, his shoulder physically shifted towards you so you couldn't really look at him. Letting out a sigh you flicked on the turn signal to make a u-turn and head towards your apartment, who cares if you were almost to the dorms, it was Jackson's gas anyway.

You put the car in park a smacked Youngjae's leg, "Come on, pabo" You said getting out of the car and going around to help your inebriated friend. He slung his arm around you.

"Noona, this is a parking tower....the dorm doesn't have that, are we?" He mumbled and you nodded vigorously.

"Yes, Youngjae, we are at my apartment, I figure you can sleep here, but tomorrow you're my personal slave okay?" You tried to sound surly but he swung his other arm around your waist pulling you against his chest. You laughed and pulled back and lead the way upstairs to your tiny apartment. He leaned against the wall across from you as you tried to find your keys at the bottom of your purse. Once you finally got the door unlocked you turned to find that Youngjae had slid down the wall and was singing softly to himself. Sighing for what must have been the 30,00th time that night you set to work getting your best friend settled into bed and vowed to yourself to be the drunk one next time.

Ten minutes later, you let Youngjae fall into the bed. He was laying flat on his stomach in the middle of the bed. You pulled off you shoes and left him there while you washed your face and changed. You came back and there he was, in the exact same spot. You knelt on the bed and rolled him over and he giggled at your hands on his stomach.

"If you're awake then hurry up and get ready for bed, Jae." You tried to speak gently not wanting to wake him up to much. He sat up, leaning on his hands for support, the soft blue light from the window the only light in the room. He smiled softly, and leaned his head to one side. The two of you sat in silence like that for a couple minutes, him just appraising your face, not looking away at all. You avoided his gaze for most of that time, unsure what exactly he was doing, before finally speaking again. "Here take of your jacket-" You leaned forward to help it off his shoulder, he sat up fully, letting you pull the heavy leather off and tossed it towards the desk chair that was already covered in discarded sweaters. You turned back towards him and he suddenly wrapped you up in his arms again, laying back and putting you into his chest. He nuzzled into the top of your head, he let out a soft sigh and you could almost swear you felt him smile against your head.

"Um,.. hey Jae are you awake?" you whispered. He groaned in response, his head nodding against yours. You wiggled further against him, wrapping one arm around his waist, his warmth quickly bringing sleep to you. "What were Big Jae and Jinyoung arguing about? They seemed fine to me?" You continued.

"Don't call him Big Jae, and....They didn't," he mumbled against your scalp. You pulled you head away, jolting him to alertness.

"Did you lie then?" You asked, suddenly pissed he dragged you around over a lie. He started to speak a few times, before pinching his mouth tight and nodding. "Why?!" You asked a little louder, a light slap landing against his chest where your head was moments before, you grimaced at him as you waited for a response. Now he was the one avoiding you eye contact, he let out a deep breath- like he was trying to resign himself to the words.

"I just....I couldn't cancel on the guys and-" he started. Pausing as if he was unsure how to finish his thought, he finally make eye contact, "I missed you." He said softly, just above a whisper. His eyes were black in the low light but they were still glossy and bright, the way the cool moon light fell against his messy hair and his expression made your heart flutter, you'd never seen that face before you realize, you aren't entirely sure what it is, but you think 'I'd give him anything if he'd look at me like that forever.'

Neither of you speak for a minute, neither looks away. "You shouldn't lie." you weakly whisper, still unable to look away from Youngjae. You suddenly felt very aware of his arms around you, his hands spread wide across your waist, your legs were all tangled up but it wasn't uncomfortable. His presence was always so calming, even now when the air suddenly seemed thick.

He looked down, "I'm sorry, I just ....needed to see you tonight." Suddenly you felt incredibly thankful for the low light because you could feel the blood rush to your face. He pulled you back against him and you leaned into his touch, thankful to no longer be in an apparent staring contest.

"I even dressed like one of the hyungs to try and look more mature but did you notice? hmppp barely" he was mumbling above your head barely audible.

"Yah, Choi Youngjae, were you trying to impress me?" you teased, wiggling your torso back and forth, a chuckle rolling off your lips as you finished the thought.

He pulled back as far as he could, moving his hand from your waist to your cheek, and then he was looking at you like that again.

"I just wanted you to see me as a man, y/n. You're my best friend but...I," he went silent again, "I," He tried again, "I just...."

He leaned forward and places a kiss on your forehead, lingering for a moment, before you shifted further into him and smiled. He pulled back and lay his forehead against yours, "I can't seem to find the words."

"It's because you're drunk Youngjae, go to sleep." He was rubbing his thumb across your face, he shook his head.

"I'm not drunk y/n, I've never been this close to you...it's" He paused, licking his lips, eyes leaving yours as he glanced down at our mouth. "Say my name again." He whispered, his voice deeper, his hand sliding down to your shoulder and his grip just slightly tighter.

"Why?" You asked, a little voice inside said you know why y/n but you wanted to be sure.

"Please" was all he said, pulling you a bit closer, pressing his body against yours. Now certain of what he was asking you felt much less guilty about staring at him earlier. You stretched forward, moving your hands up his chest and tugging him by his shirt forward. As you rubbed your cheek against his, letting your mouth hover by his ear, you could feel his breathing still.

"Youngjae" you whispered your breath hot against his ear, a low groan escaping his chest as he slid his hand back to your waist, his fingertips pressing hard into your side as he pressed his hips against yours. A high gasp slipped out of your mouth as you felt his erection press into you, as you pulled your head back his quickly followed, his lips quickly covering yours and his tongue darting out softly exploring your mouth. There was something different about the way he kissed you. It wasn't hard or forceful as if this was a sloppy escapade. Rather, He was passionate and tender, slowly kissing you as if he was trying to memorize the feel of your lips against his. You kissed him back arching your body so that your hips met his waist and your breasts were pressed into his chest, he slid his hand down from your waist to your hips, pulling you as closely as possible before he hooked his hand under your knee hiking it up on his side before moving back to grip your ass roughly. You let out a moan as you let your whole body relax into him, rolling your hips against his, soft whimpering into his kiss. Your small sounds encouraging him, he hooked his hand around your hip. Rolling onto his back, pulling you on top of him, your hands moving to find purchase on either side of his head. You settled against him, softly rolling your hips against his desperate for the friction, Youngjae let out a groan as he pulled back for your kiss, moving to press his lips on your neck, on hand circling your waist the other still pressing into your hip.

He bucked up against you as he nibbled your neck, "Youngjae" you moaned out one hand reaching out to grab the back of his head, he shifted up and forward, one hand spread against your back as he kept you as close as possible.

"Do you like that, yn?" He asked softly, his voice rich and hoarse unlike you'd ever heard it before. Yes fuck don't stop please Youngjae you mind was going a mile a minute but all you managed to get out was a whiny moan as you rolled against him. "I just wanna make sure I'm doing what you like'. he mumbled against your neck, with each word you could feel yourself getting wetter and you suddenly needed much more than what you were getting.

"Please, Youngjae" you moaned, hoping the use of his name you egg him on. You were right, as if on cue, he sank his teeth into your neck and harshly grinded into your still clothed sex. It suddenly felt very urgent that the clothes had to go, apparently Youngjae agreed because he moved his hands to you waist and flipped you over unto your back, tugging down your pajama pants quickly. Leaning up and reconnecting your mouths, your harshly took his bottom lip between your teeth, your hands at his belt and he moaned into your mouth, you released his lip and pulled away focusing on his face as you removed his belt and undid his jeans, he held your gaze until he felt you wrap your hand around his length and then his closed his eyes at the pleasure, lightly bucking against you hand a soft groan of "fuck" before he had his lip between his teeth. Your cheeks flushed with pride at the pleasure on his face, you smiled to yourself leaning forward to take his lips as you continued to stroke him, rolling your finger across the tip. He kissed you a bit more urgently, before removing your hand and pushing you back onto the bed.

You lay back, tugging him along by his shirt as you did, he pulled back to tug the shirt off, before stepping off the bed to remove his pants as quickly as he could. Stumbling in the process, you let out a light giggle, and he looked up a you with a loving smile, "Don't laugh y/n"

"Sorry, Baby Jae." you cooed, wiggling your hips as you watched his gaze fall from your face and down to your breasts rising and falling gently, down to your waist where your t shit was hitched up exposing you hips that were wrapped in thin cotton, "Or maybe," you paused and waited for him to look back up at you. "Maybe I should call you Big Jae now?" you smile at him, pulling your shirt off and tossing it off the edge of the bed, exposing our breasts to the cool air. He swallowed hard, before he started crawling back onto the bed. "Mmm....no" you continued to tease as he finally was within your reach, he grabbed your face in one hand, the other stroking your thighs, you let them fall open, you pulled him towards your face, "I think Youngjae works fine." He pulled your face towards him, but then he started kissing down your neck, he hooked one finger into your panties, gently running it across the edge as he started to suck on your neck hard. You curled your hip upward as your let out a whine, desperate for more. You wanted more, reaching out to grasp him his hand on your hips faltered and his grip on your face became more tense as he let out a low hiss. He continued to kiss your neck as he rolled into your grasp.

He reached out and took your wrist, pulling your hand away and holding it against the bed. He backed away, moving to pull your panties off with his free hand. Swiftly tossing them aside before urgently reattaching your lips. Immediately his hand was back on your thigh, pushing them apart, settling between them. He gently stroked your between your folds, you sucked in a breath, effectively breathing in the groan he let out at feeling how wet you already were.

"Please," you moaned into the kiss, "more."

Slowly he pushed in one digit, you gasped softly and rolled your hips against him, He immediately stroked his thumb up from you entrance and up to circle your throbbing clit as he sank a second digit inside of you. Pulling back slightly to groan at the stretch, soft pleas of "please" and "Youngjae" as his drifted sloppy quick kissed across your cheek and down your neck, fingers still moving quickly in you. Moving his hand down from your wrist to roughly massage your breast. Rolling his thumb over your nipple before moving down to take it into his mouth biting and sucking gently as he let you fuck yourself up onto his fingers. With your now free had you quickly clung to his head. He picked up his speed rolling his thumb and you felt your air leave your lungs as you felt your muscles start to coil.

Pulling back to pressing your forehead against his, trying to catch your breaths between moans, "Fuck, Youngjae" you dragged his name out as you felt yourself getting close to the edge, your toes beginning to curl up.

He suddenly withdrew his hand and you whined at the loss, you looked at him with a pout as you saw him wrap his hand around his length slowly pumping himself as he pulled your hips lower on the bed with his other hand. Leaning to reattach your lips as he pressed into you slowly so you could feel every inch, moaning into your mouth as started to move picking up pace.

Your breathing became more erratic as he rocked into you, feeling your muscles clench around him as he pressed his fingers into your hips, as if trying to slow himself.

He placed his hand along your jaw, he pulled your face to look at him, placing small chaste kisses on your lips, "Okay?" He asked softly, you learned your face into his hand, as you rocked upwards against him. Desperately searching for the friction to rebuild your orgasm.

"Yes, baby, please, fuck me faster" you were whispering against the crook of his neck before he pulled back, hiking your hips up and snapping his hips in a much more urgent pace, moving one hand to lay across your pelvis letting his move his thumb across your clit. The combined stimulation making a loud moan fall from your lips loudly, one of your hands coming up to cover your mouth to stop the vulgar noises.

"I wanna hear it" he groaned out, slamming into you faster his lip tightly between his teeth, a gleam of sweat across his forehead. His sudden commanding tone was intoxicating and you practically felt yourself swoon. Letting out a whimper of Youngjae out as you moved your hand down to grasp your breasts pushing them together and playing with them.

"Good girl" He grunted out, "You're, So fucking... good for me.." he was groaning out between harsh breaths and deep thrusts, each one sending you closer to the edge.

"Youngjae, Fuck" a slew of curse words fell from your lips as you felt your walls start pulsing and your eyes start rolling back, until he kissed you roughly one hand smashing your face against his and you felt yourself come undone, mouth going slack against Youngjae as he moved to place gently kissed down your neck as he maintained his rhythm riding out your high. He followed shortly after, his thrusts becoming harder and erratic until you felt his cock twitch inside of you, a soft groan leaving his lips. As his hips slowed he started peppering soft kisses all across your face. Pulling back to look at you, he smiled softly a hazy glow on his features. You bumped your nose against his, feeling warm under his gaze.

His lips were red and swollen, his hair wild and his cheeks flushed. You were sure you looked the same, maybe worse, but he was giving you that look again and you felt like your heart was going to burst. "Stop looking at me." you giggled out. Smacking his arm as he pulled out of you and rolled to his side facing you. You turned to look at him, you hips a bit sore as you rotated and shifted them. He was still looking at you with googly eyes.

"I don't wanna stop looking at you," He said softly, "I never do."

You felt your heartbeat in your ears and you had to fight very hard to stop from grinning like an idiot. It was too hard you found, you instead you shrugged away from his view placing a quick kiss on his cheek then sneaking off to the bathroom to clean up. On your way back Youngjae appeared to be asleep the covers and pillows had been fixed and he was tucked in neatly on his side. Grabbing his shirt and pulling it over your head before crawling into bed. As soon as you lay down you felt hand quickly pull you back and flush against Youngjae's stomach, resting your head on his arm. He placed a kiss on the top of your head.

In What felt like seconds you could feel his gentle breathing quickly luring you to sleep.

"I love you, y/n" he said softly, "Sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

"I love you too, pabo."

Your phone had gone off at exactly 7:58 AM, it was your boss. Once you snuck out answered her question and gone to crawl back in bed you had found Youngjae was sprawled across the bed diagonally, his head and arm falling off the side. Your sore muscles ached and you were suddenly starving. You crouched next to him and began tugging on his ear, "Wake up, Jaeeeee"

"ughhhhhh oh my god...." the boy began groaning, "be quiet baby please my head"

"Here drink this it'll make you feel better," You said placing the bottle of water from the night stand in his grasp. Youngjae sat up, rubbing his eyes and drinking most of the water before he finally saw the clock on the wall.

"It's only 8 am!" He protested, looking at you as if you had called Coco ugly (again)

"I know that, but i couldn't sleep and I'm hungry."

"Why do i need to be awake for you to eat, noona?" He whined, flopping back into the bed.

"You're my personal servant today remember! Go cook me breakfast! Pancakes please! oh and Eggs!" You began teasing poking his side.

"Can I put vodka in my OJ? i need a drink." He gave in standing up and stretching.

"It's 8 am, Youngjae, you can't have Vodka." You giggled wrapping your arms around him. He hugged you back, his arms heavy around your shoulders. You pulled away and headed towards the kitchen, "Let's go, You work for me, you're my slave so, chop chop get cooking kid.”

-Admin Rae

#choi youngjae #youngjae #got7 youngjae #youngjae smut #youngjae fluff #smut #fluff #got7 smut #got7 fan fic #best friend yougjae #baby jae

108 notes · View notes

acetokens · 5 years

Text

The Curse of the Vampire: My thoughts on MUA3′s first DLC

Today I wanna talk about the first DLC expansion pack for MUA3: The Curse of The Vampire! Because I can’t contain my hype for this any longer, I have to ramble about it and you can’t stop me.

This post will probably be stupid long, so its all under the cut!

The Curse of the Vampire is MUA3’s biggest update so far, and its first paid DLC update. It released just in time for spooky month, so naturally the entire thing is Halloween themed. Every player will be able to sink their teeth into a new story mode difficulty, ‘Nightmare’, where enemies affected by a vampiric curse will appear, as well as accessing the SHIELD Depot, where you can purchase various costumes and items for SHIELD Tokens. The update raised the level cap from 100 to 150 and added extra sections to the Alliance Enhancement Grid, both of which can be used to further strengthen your heroes. For Season Pass holders, you can also unlock four new characters: Blade, Punisher, Moon Knight and Morbius, through the new ‘Gauntlet Mode’, where you take on challenges in a loop of ever increasing difficulty to get rewards.

There was radio silence from the devs leading up to the release of the DLC, so my hopes weren’t high. But I was really happy to wake up on the 30th September to see the massive amount of content we received! Because there’s so much to unpack here, I want to talk about each new feature one at a time, starting with the most hyped up part of the update!

The Characters

I’ve never been a big fan of The Marvel Knights, but I was really pleased to see most of them had something unique to distinguish them from other heroes and I had fun trying them all out!

Punisher is, of course, based around using his huge arsenal of guns. His stats are horrible, like all ranged characters, but he makes up for it with his surprisingly good evasive abilities, as he can shoot his guns or throw grenades whilst strafing left, right or backwards to avoid attacks. Punisher’s sniper rifle is also incredibly deadly, and feels so satisfying to land, especially on those AIM snipers in Wakanda. Punisher feels like the kind of character where you have to play very tactically to win with, which makes him the one I enjoyed playing as the most out of the four.

Morbius gets KO’d fast because of his poor defensive stats, but he absolutely rips apart enemy health bars. Not only does he have high strength and can increase his damage output with Fangs and Claws but he can also lower his foes’ defence with Hypnotic Gaze. The combination is absolutely terrifying. He can also heal himself by biting his enemies, as a vampire should. Playing as him is very fun because you deal so much damage its’ just obnoxious. He’s like Hulk on steroids.

Moon Knight is the most unoriginal character of the four in terms of playstyle, which is a shame. All of his abilities are identical in use to those from other characters, with the only unique feature of Moon Knight is his ability to glide, which is a more situational version of flight. His crescent kick and EX are also visually impressive. I think Moon Knight is the definition of ‘basic but practical’. He has the least impressive moveset of the four new characters but he’s also the only one who didn’t get KO’d when I ran through Nightmare Mode with them all, so he’s a solid unit.

Blade has the unique ability to charge all of his abilities to make them stronger. While charging he can move around (albeit slowly) and you can even switch to a different attack mid-charge. At first I found Blade the least enjoyable to play because of how slow he felt and how often he’d get interrupted by the enemy before he had a chance to do anything. But with the right items equipped, I found Blade significantly more fun, and seeing him stalk around the stage, charging up and waiting for a chance to strike was undeniably awesome.

Something I also noticed is that currently the characters’ traits are incorrect. It doesn’t say Blade can use elements, but he can. It doesn’t say Punisher has the super strength trait, but he does. And it says Morbius has a passive healing factor, but he doesn’t. I hope this gets addressed next patch.

The Story & The Enemies

I don’t think I was the only one who felt disappointed when the ‘new story content’ we were promised turned out to just be another difficulty option. After clearing the campaign four times already I wasn’t too motivated to do it a fifth time, but I did it anyway, and I have mixed feelings on it overall.

Disappointingly, Nightmare Mode has no treasure chests or infinity trials to discover and you get no reward for completing it. Its purpose is ultimately just to be a place for players who haven’t purchased the season pass to fight the new vampire enemies and collect SHIELD tokens. Despite that, I did have fun playing through Nightmare. The enemy’s stats rapidly increase in this difficulty more than the rest, starting at level 40 and rising all the way to level 90 by the last stage! Not only that, the new vampiric enemies (Reborn, Infected and Cursed) add an extra layer of strategy to combat, forcing you to adapt your tactics and your team pretty often.

The Reborn come in many different types, each with unique buffs that make them harder to defeat than standard enemies. They might slow you down or poison you if you get too close, heal nearby enemies, magnetically pull you towards them, inflict the damage they take back onto you, explode after being defeated etc. There are also Infected, which may return as Reborn after being defeated (and can Infect you, which will make you rapidly lose HP until cured), and Cursed, which will cure all Infected of their disease when taken down. Its hard to remember all of this at first, but once you’ve memorized what each of the enemy types do it makes Nightmare Mode much more enjoyable in a uniquely challenging way, especially in boss battles.

I do wish we’d gotten a brand new story mode chapter instead though.

The Gauntlets

I expected Gauntlet Mode to be a never-ending wave of enemies, but I was pleasantly surprised to find it was a lot more innovative and enjoyable. Gauntlet Mode is split into three phases, each with 4-6 Gauntlets. In each Gauntlet, a series of trials must be completed one after another, with the added caveat being that you cannot change your characters or items mid-Gauntlet, and (aside from after completing certain trials) your HP will not recover. After completing a Gauntlet once, you can challenge it again, and this time it will become an Endless Gauntlet where the trials will loop continuously and get harder each time, only ending when you give up or your team is defeated.

Like Nightmare Mode, Gauntlet Mode starts easy and gets progressively more difficult. The first Gauntlet is only level 5 and includes 3 trials, whereas the last Gauntlet is level 120 and includes 10 trials! I must be sounding like a broken record by now but this is the hardest challenge in the game. Gauntlet Mode really puts your endurance to the test, pitting you against continuous waves and bosses, many of which are Reborn, Infected or Cursed, all while under difficult conditions. Many of the optional challenges are also deliberately designed so that they are only achievable on an Endless run, meaning if you want those sweet rewards you have to clear the Gauntlet two, three or even four times in a row without quitting or losing.

I haven’t fully completed Gauntlet Mode just yet. I managed to get 4-stars on all Gauntlets in phase 1 and 2 without much effort due to my over-levelled characters, but on phase 3 the difficulty rose quite considerably. I had to start thinking very carefully about what characters and items I took into the Gauntlet, and I can’t exaggerate enough how incredibly hard Endless can get on these high level Gauntlets after a few loops. There’s a reason they give you 99 revives on Condition: Terminal. They expect you to die. A lot.

Overall, Gauntlet is pretty great! It offers a lot more variety than Infinity Trials, which is perfect if you’re using it to grind or farm items, and phase 3’s Gauntlets are the ideal test of skill and patience for players who enjoy a challenge. That being said, the load times between the trials can be tedious, and the difficulty isn’t for everyone. But I really enjoy Gauntlet Mode, and it’s my favorite part of the expansion!

The Store

The most unexpected part of the update for me was the new SHIELD Depot. Here, you can spend the SHIELD Tokens you collect in Nightmare and Gauntlet Modes for goodies, including new costumes for Black Panther, Captain America, Iron Man and Thor for 400 tokens each. You can also buy voice lines (which I believe may accidentally hint to future DLC characters) and items, some of which are very expensive at 10,000 tokens but look powerful. My favorite part of the Depot is that you can use Credits to buy XP cubes. Up until this point, Credits have been a useless currency. You can spend them to upgrade your items or enhance your alliance, but the sheer rate that you acquire credits means you end up sitting on a pile of 80,000,000 with nothing to spend it on, and that’s not a exaggeration. With this update, my mountain of Credits can finally be put to good use! I bought over 2,000 XP cubes and used them to level up my lesser used characters, so that felt pretty good.

I think the SHIELD Depot is a nice addition to the game, but I am slightly concerned how it will be affected by future updates. Will all future costumes be available for purchase there? If so, does that mean we have to play Gauntlet and Nightmare over and over to get the SHIELD Tokens needed to buy them, since that currency can’t be found anywhere else? I really hope not...

Other Changes

The expansion also made big changes to the level cap and the Alliance Enhancement Grid. Heroes can now reach the lofty heights of level 150, which is absolutely insane. Previously difficult trials like the New Brotherhood and Ultimate Alliance of Evil become a total cakewalk when you’re that overpowered, so anyone willing to put the grinding hours in will be well rewarded. My teams are currently around level 115-125, so I still have a way to go before I hit the new level cap, but I want to reach that stage before I try to 4-star the last phase of Gauntlet Mode because I think I’m gonna need it.

The Alliance Enhancement Grid has also been extended with new upgrades now available. They cost a lot of AEP, but the ones that allow you to heal by attacking stunned enemies are very helpful for Gauntlet Mode. I was close to finishing the original AEG (literally just 7 nodes away from obtaining every upgrade in the game) so my first reaction was: ‘’Damn, I should’ve saved my AEP for this’’. But luckily, the update also added the option to spend void spheres to reset the AEG and refund all AEP spent on it, so you can edit your upgrades. No more buyers remorse! This is one of the features I’ve had on my wishlist for a while so I’m happy they implemented this feature!

Finishing Thoughts

The Curse of the Vampire is a great first expansion for MUA3 overall. It has its let-downs, but it really surpassed my expectations with the amount of new content it contained, and sets the standard for the future expansions pretty high. One thing I am confused by, however, is that they mentioned in a tweet that ‘’players will be able to discover a new Infinity Rift’’. Despite all the new stuff included in the update, an Infinity Rift wasn’t one of them, which gets me thinking: Is this particular expansion really finished? I think we may receive another update on the 31st October, which includes that Rift as well as some spooky costumes. Maybe some free characters as well? Although that might be too optimistic.

Taking my tinfoil hat off for a moment, we know for a fact the next expansion will drop in late 2019 and include characters and features from the X-Men. This is the one I’ve been looking forward to. This is X-23’s (extremely slim) chance to make it in. More than anything else, that’s what I’m wishing for out of the next expansion. Although even if she doesn’t get included, I think if the next update includes as much content as this one, I’ll be more than happy with it.

#MUA3 shitposting #I've been writing this review for like two weeks.#Its 2k words longer than necessary #But I really wanted to talk about this!!#And I really hope the next expansion is as good as this one. Or better!

0 notes