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lemonjoonah · 3 years

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Wrapped Together (M)

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader Word Count: 18K Rating: M Genre: Christmas AU, Romance, Drama Warnings: Protected sex, oral (m. rec.), referenced illness/death of parent, swearing, classism. Summary: Despite your best efforts to keep your head down, to self-preserve and endure what will no doubt be the worst Christmas of your life, you are still roped into volunteering for the hospital's annual gift wrap fundraiser. The enticing factor that lured you out? The promise of a new shift partner, Kim Namjoon. Though your first day together starts off with a slight miscalculation of his skills for wrapping, he soon becomes your essential ally in the fight to get through this lonely holiday season.

| Secret Santa Collab | My Masterlist |

A/N: A big thank you to @kimtaehyunq for asking me to join her Secret Santa Christmas Collab, this was my first collab ever and I absolutely loved it. And of course to my beta readers @m00nchild-shi and @ladyartemesia thank you for helping me gain the courage to post this. I hope that this fic is able to bring a bit of comfort to those celebrating the holidays a little differently this year, so please enjoy!

...

-5 Weeks Until Christmas-

Amidst the chatter of the office, a dull rumble reaches your ears and vibrates the desk beneath your fingers, waking you from the repetitive haze of your hundredth call report. The moment of confusion switches to frantic action when your brain finally catches on and recognizes it as your own personal phone. Scurrying through your purse, you nab it just in time, but after checking the caller ID you desperately wish you hadn’t.

You knew this call was coming, you’ve dreaded it since you felt the first freezing snowflake on the tip of your nose, when you heard the first carol blaring over the radio, and saw the first tacky inflatable gracing a lawn on your street. It happens every year, like clockwork, though this will be the first time she’ll be enlisting one and not two. Unable to put off the dreaded moment any longer, you answer, accepting that if you rip the band-aid off now and decline her invitation to join the wrapping fundraiser, it’ll be one less uncomfortable moment later.

“Aunt Emma, hey it’s been awhile.” She’s not exactly your aunt, but you’ve known her ever since you and your mother settled down here ten years ago. With little other family nearby she was one of the few you and your mom could always count on. Making your task to turn her down all the more difficult now.

“My dear, how are you holding up? I’m so sorry to do this but I'm calling with some rather unfortunate news.”

“Oh?” You exclaim, careful not to sound too hopeful that you might be free of your heavy burden.

“Yes, well it’s regarding the wrapping fundraiser. I wanted to put you on the same shifts as myself or Maria. I didn’t want to have you alone, since, well, you know... but there are so many rookie volunteers this year. And with you being part of the organization for so long, I was hoping you work with one of them instead for the evening shifts? It’ll just be you and him, do you think you could manage it?”

“I-I uh...” Now this is something you had not expected. You spent the past few weeks worrying about how you might have to work side by side with pitying glances, condolences, and referenced scripture from the usual staff. Any thoughts and prayers for your loss would likely turn you into a pool of tears. Not something you want to happen in public, or private for that matter, but if you are partnered with a newcomer, one who knows nothing of your past, maybe... maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. “I can do that.”

“I knew you could! I’ll put you down for the weekday evenings from the seventh up to Christmas. You’re off work at four, right? I’ll send you more details later, but do you want me to be there to introduce you to the other volunteer?”

“No!” You blurt out, insisting in a volume far louder than necessary, but you can’t risk her acting on the offer. Introductions when done by Emma are dicey at best, with one solid breath she has the capacity to share every bit of your sad history, leaving you exactly where you’d rather not be. “I’m sure we’ll be fine. No need to put yourself out like that, you can just tell me their name now and save yourself the trip.”

“Thank you dear, always so considerate. One second let me just grab that for you...” She pauses on the phone line, as you look around your office in worry, not wanting to get in trouble for taking a personal call on the clock. “Ah here it is. You’ll be working with Kim Namjoon...”

...

-Less than 3 Weeks Until Christmas-

After finishing work you head off to the mall for your first day on wrapping duty. It should be a relatively quiet night, since the majority of the crowd typically disperses at this time, heading home to be with families for dinner. Your own sits in a paper bag on the passenger seat of your car. A solitary meal as you battle the rush hour traffic. Finishing off the last of the salted fries with a lick of your fingers while you secure a parking spot.

Flipping down your visor you scoff when confronted with your appearance, your makeup melted off thanks to the struggles of your earlier shift. You dab and blend a fresh blot of concealer on the dark bags beneath your eyes, determined to erase any evidence of your doleful days and sleepless nights.

The rented store space is already set up, with a long table propped up right at the entrance. Dressed with a variety of paper and ribbon and looking particularly festive. The other volunteers give you a brief greeting and run down before they leave and pass the duties off to you. With them gone you take a seat, looking down at the selection you have to offer this year, trying with all your might not to focus on the empty chair beside you, one that is usually fill by your-

“Hi, sorry I’m late...” Your gaze flicks up from the table, startled to find a giant of a man. Greeting you with a smile warm enough to melt your frozen expression.

“H-hi,” You stutter out, staring at his handsome face framed with light brown locks, feeling as though you’ve seen it before, but can’t quite place where. “You must be Namjoon?” You ask, running through the list of actors and singers in your mind but coming up empty on who he reminds you of.

He nods, before confirming your name too, and launching into the reason behind his tardiness. “The traffic was not in my favour today.” He gestures to the table and the vacant seat behind it. “May I?”

“Of course.” You quickly scoot the folding table over so he can slip by the barrier that separates you from the mall. He takes off his coat to reveal a whole suit beneath, though he soon disposes of the jacket and tie too. You try not to gulp as he rolls up his sleeves in front of you, his arms flexing as they reveal themselves.

“Pretty quiet?” He asks looking around the mall.

“It usually is around now, give it an hour or two.”

“Have you been doing this long?”

“A few years...” You mumble, not wanting to dive too deep in that well, you quickly turn to pin the question on him instead. “What prompted you to volunteer? Did Emma enlist you during her recruiting effort?”

“She did, I found her posting the flyer at my workplace.” Namjoon chuckles. “But I’ve seen you all set up here before, and since my usual Christmas plans with my family have changed, I thought I’d join you all instead.”

“Oh, so you’re not spending Christmas with them?”

“No, they’ve gone to visit my sister and her family in her city this year. I unfortunately have a few work commitments I can’t get out of to make the trip in time, but rather than just mope about at home I thought I might be of some use.” Namjoon smiles again, his fingers folding the corner of the wrapping paper in front of him. “What about you, any plans?”

“No, I usually spend it with my mom, but she won’t be with me this year...” Or any year going forward, you consider while you give him a weak smile. She was the very reason you joined this organization all those years ago, when Aunt Emma was making her rounds and signing up everyone she could at the hospital, you and your mother were there for an appointment, your mom offered up both of your services lending you to a tradition that would extend for years through her treatment, remission, and the final return.

“So we're in the same boat?”

“I guess so.” His grin is so contagious, despite the differences in your situation you can’t help but agree.

Your first client of the evening comes forward and drops a small pile of kids toys in front of you both . “Thank god you're here. If I bring these home unwrapped my kids won’t hesitate to spoil the surprise.” You divide the presents between you and Namjoon while the mother keeps talking and flicking through the different styles of paper offered. “At least if they’re wrapped I can say I saw Santa at the mall and he gave me these early. They are so hard to fool these days.”

“I take it you’ll want the Santa stickers?” You ask pointing to a closed box behind you, hidden away from the wide and prying eyes of young children passing by.

“Yes, thank you so much!”

“No problem.” You assure her while putting the last piece of tape on the stack of video games. Though when you look over to check on Namjoon you find that he has barely even started. He cut off a sheet entirely too big and is attempting to fold it around the boxed animatronic pet. Your eyes stare at the state of the poor paper unable to look away from the crumpled carnage. But the shock soon turns to amusement over his determination to salvage the mangled sheet, and you find yourself biting your lip in an attempt not to laugh. Luckily the woman in front of you hasn’t noticed but once you're finished with yours, you reach over for the assist.

“Here, I can take over that one. Could you do the ribbon for me?”

Namjoon nods opening his mouth in an embarrassed grin. He does manage to secure the strand around the package but loses the spool before he can cut it. The red ribbon rolls all the way to your foot, before you stop it with a tap on the sole of your boot. Namjoon winces, while you let out a chuckle before bending over to hand it back to him, and finish wrapping the other present.

The attempt at a ribbon curl unfortunately goes the same as the package before it, with him completely at a loss and using the wrong edge of the scissor blade. Trying to save him you make another suggestion. “If you want you can always use the premade sticker curls.”

Namjoon nods and places them on the two packages along with the vibrant sticker of a cartoon Claus winking as he delivers the warning, ‘Do not open ‘till Christmas, Santa’s watching.’

As you load up the presents into a bag, Namjoon takes to the cashbox, looking expectantly from the client with his dashingly dimpled grin.

“Oh right.” She comments with an awkward smile. Opening her Gucci bag and matching wallet, the corners of her lips turning down when she rifles through several triple digit bills unable to find any smaller denomination.

The stand is by donation only, but the implication has always been that one should compensate the fundraiser for the service provided. You can usually tell when someone intends to leave no payment at all, and unfortunately you know this act all too well. She’ll apologize and say that she has to run to the bank and get some cash, but you’ll never see her again. Namjoon, unfamiliar with this ploy, continues to give his eager smile, and to your utter shock she submits, handing him a hundred dollar bill.

Namjoon thanks her profusely as she melts too under his gaze muttering, “Not a problem.” Before walking off clutching her now wrapped gifts.

You look to Namjoon in disbelief while he locks the money away in the cash box. Only breaking the silence when the client is fully out of earshot. “How the hell did you do that?!”

“Do what?” He raises an eyebrow completely oblivious to what he just achieved.

“She... she... you got her to donate, and such a large amount. How?”

“What do you mean how? People give that much all the time don’t they?”

“No, they don’t!”

“Oh...” He gives you another of his knee weakening smiles. “Sorry I assumed, I guess I’m just used to it.” He scratches at the back of his neck looking down at the table.

“Used to it? Where on earth do you see, do you get used to, that kind of generosity?”

“Through my job I suppose?” His grin turns to a look of embarrassment. “I work in art procurement, currently under contract with the museum. I seek out collectors and convince them to donate or loan out their assets.”

It would seem that getting people to open up their wallets is practically his profession. “Well... looks like manning the cash will be the perfect job for you.” That smile of his is a dangerous weapon, and one you would be remiss not to use in the fundraiser’s efforts. Though it still leaves one question unanswered. “But I have to ask...” Your previously concealed giggling comes to the surface. “Why on earth would you volunteer for a holiday wrapping station if you don’t know how to wrap?”

A blush reaches his cheeks. “Last year when I was here... I left with far more than I was expecting, and feeling as though I should have given more. So I figured if I couldn’t be with my own family, I wanted to do this instead.” He starts habitually folding a paper scrap. “And maybe I’d learn a useful skill-”

When a streak of red is left on the paper trailing behind his finger you jump to interrupt. “Is that...”

“Fuck.” He mutters pulling his index close to examine it. “Yeah, those scissors are sharp, didn’t realize I drew blood though.”

You immediately start rummaging around in your bag. “I know I have a couple in here, one second.” You pull out a small box of bandages and peel apart the papers to reveal the adhesive.

“You carry band-aids in your purse?” Namjoon asks, with a raised brow.

“You're the one who cut their finger trying to make a ribbon curl.”

“It wasn’t a criticism, sorry I just thought it was... nice.” He holds up the injury and you're careful to wrap the strip around it.

“Yes well,” Your face heats up as you catch yourself lingering. “Try to stay away from the scissors unless absolutely necessary. I’d rather not have to make a trip to the hospital.”

“That would be counter productive wouldn’t it?” Namjoon laughs outright.

...

Despite you being the only one to wrap you both manage the evening surprisingly well, pulling in a record donation amount.

“You must be good at your job,” you mutter with a smirk, as you finish counting the lockbox. “I’ve never seen people so happy to part with their money.”

“I only showed them how good of a job you did,” Namjoon explains. “I’ve never seen someone put so much care into wrapping.”

“First impressions for a gift can be important too.” You justify as you secure the cash in a deposit bag. “They put a lot of care into selecting the gift, why shouldn’t I exemplify that?”

“Even the gift cards?”

“Especially the gift cards. I have to make them memorable somehow don’t I?”

“True.” Namjoon concedes, with a small frown. “Listen I’m sorry if I didn’t make a good first impression on you myself. If you want I can call Emma and we will find someone else to help you.”

“No, I enjoyed working with you. It just caught me off guard that you didn’t actually know how to wrap. If you get bored of handling the cash I could try and teach you if you’d like... you said you wanted to learn right?”

“You’d be willing to show me?”

“Definitely, though let's stick to the premade ribbon curls. I’d rather not have to use anymore band-aids if I can avoid it.”

After pulling down the gate and locking up the station up behind. Namjoon accompanies you to the bank to drop off the deposit before you part ways for the evening, with you going out one exit and him another.

The sudden blast of cold air forces you to huddle in your coat, and crank the heat the very second you step into your car. As the windows to thaw and frost retreats, you spot your tall wrapping partner waiting at the bus stop.

“Now why would he...” You’re left perplexed judging from the description of his job and quality of his attire you assumed him to drive some sort of flashy car, never would you think he would take public transportation.

You drive over and stop right in front of Namjoon, rolling down the window. “Where do you live?”

“The Swan Estates, but if you don’t leave near there that’s fine I don’t mind bussing home.” Namjoon looks down the road. “It should be here soon.”

“It’s no problem, I pass by that area on my way home.” You reach across the car for the handle opening the door. “Come on get in. It’s too cold to wait for a bus.”

Namjoon nods, and eagerly hops into the car holding his hands close to his vents with a sigh. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. I didn’t think to ask, I just assumed-”

“That I could drive?”

You nod giving him a sheepish grin this time.

“As you saw earlier I’m rather accident prone. I think it’s safer for everyone if I leave the driving to others.” He chuckles looking out the window. “What about you? When not rescuing people from cold transit stops or wrapping disasters, what do you daylight as.”

You grimace at the question knowing your answer is nowhere near as impressive as his. “I’m a phone-rep for Interlude Shipping, I work in their tracking department.”

His reaction is not the usual glazed expression you get when you reveal that you work in a call centre, but a look of awe. “You must be so busy this time of year, how do you have energy for volunteering too?”

“I’m used to it.”

“Do you like it there?”

“It’s... a paycheck. I needed a full time position with benefits right out of school and that was what was available. I would have preferred something else but...” You stop yourself, scolding how much you almost revealed. Finding it far too easy to talk to Namjoon. He doesn’t pester you to continue but lets your abrupt end linger in the silence until he points out his house within the estate. “So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Namjoon nods in agreement with his dimples on full display. “Looking forward to it. Thanks again for the ride.”

After he leaves your car another nervous giggle you’ve been holding in finally escapes you. Three weeks working with this kind, considerate and downright gorgeous man. Though there’s no ring on his finger, he has to be attached to someone. Men like him don’t walk around single for long. Your shoulders fall at the thought, despite the fact that you have no intention of forming an attachment at this time... it’s still too soon.

Before you even pull out of Namjoon’s driveway, your phone vibrates from the cup holder you stashed it in. Aunt Emma’s name popping up on the display. You press the green button to accept and put her on speaker while you pull out onto the road.

“Hello my dear, just checking in to see how the first night went?”

“Good, no great actually. I think you’ll be happy with the result.”

“And your partner? Everything working well with him?”

“Yeah,” You confirm looking up in the rearview mirror taking one last look at Namjoon’s house. “He’s really nice, we already have a system in place so I think we’ll work well together.”

“That’s wonderful to hear. I was worried at first, wondered if I had made the right decision-”

“You did!” You encourage her, not wanting her to change her mind, and make another switch.

“Great, so we’ll carry on as is then. I’ll message Maria to let her know, I think she’s still on shift at the hospital though...” Aunt Emma mutters to herself. “Speaking of which I had to stop by there today and guess who was asking about you?”

You freeze in the front seat of your car, unable to say his name, but that doesn’t stop your chatty Aunt from continuing on despite your silence.

“That Jackson, such a nice young man, it’s a pity you-”

“Aunt Emma, I’m so sorry but I should go. ” You cut her off unwilling to listen to her disappointment over your own personal matter. “It’s getting late and I have work in the morning.”

“Oh of course, no problem dear. Call me if you need anything.”

When you arrive at your cold and empty apartment. The silence greets you with the usual punch to your gut, just as it has for the past eight months. She should be there to say hello and ask you about your day, just as she always had. But all that’s there to welcome you is the stack of dusty Christmas decor boxes thrown in the corner of the living room. Unwilling to spend another minute alone you sulk off to bed, ready to put another day behind and start the next. But for the first time in a while, you are actually looking forward to a fraction of the never ending cycle.

...

Whoever said Christmas time is the most wonderful time of year, clearly never worked a customer service job. They’ve never been yelled at for four hours straight, gone to lunch, and then endured another four. With a couple weeks still left until the looming deadline of Christmas you can only imagine what you’ll have to listen to in the coming days. The woes of a parent trying to track down their child's number one gift... it’s enough to send chills down your spine. Just once you’d like to find someone happy on the other end of the line, someone who didn’t need something from you, someone who called just to say hi, and indulge you with a friendly chat.

With the last call of the day done you throw on your coat, and bolt out of the office before anyone else. Elated by the fact that you have somewhere else to be, happy that someone else is expecting you. Namjoon beats you to the station today, chatting with the other volunteers as they leave. One of them pats you on the arm and delivers a sad smile, you seize with fear and the worry that they had discussed you, but when you find Namjoon beaming without a hint of concern the weight lifts and you can once again forget your loss for now.

“Hey, how was work?” He asks.

“Good... good.” You cover with a smile not wanting to drag him down. He doesn’t look convinced his eyes narrow and the corner of his lip twitches, but you reciprocate before he can confirm. “How about your day?”

“Quiet, I’ve spent the past few months alongside the curators putting together an exhibit and with it finally finished all that’s left is to wait until it’s over.”

“So you had to stay here for Christmas only to wait for it to end? That’s too bad.”

“There are a couple other tasks I have to attend, an auction, and an event for the patrons, but the tear down on the 24th is pretty important, some of the lenders will want their pieces back in time for Christmas.”

“That’s such a miserable deadline for so much work. Why would they ask you to give up your Christmas Eve to do that? Surely it can be done after the holiday can't it?”

“Not this one, it’s ‘The Gift of Christmas’ Past’ exhibit,” Namjoon explains. “Many people were good enough to donate their family heirlooms for the majority of the season, but come the actual holiday, it’s time for them to return home.”

You just about fall off your chair in awe. You’ve seen that exhibit advertised everywhere, even been tempted to go yourself, but the thought of going alone has prevented your attendance. “I had no idea, that’s such a popular exhibit, you worked on that?”

“I did, I even helped come up with the idea for it.” Namjoon beams, with a small amount of red rises to the surface of his cheeks. “The curators at the museum have been more than accommodating. I never thought I’d get the chance to step into their roll myself. I was lucky to be given the chance, so you can understand why I had to stay and help them once it’s finished. Of course it’s given me some other opportunities I would never have had in the past too, like the ability to help you here.”

You nod still looking at him in admiration, while in your mind a further divide falls between you. As friendly as he is to you, it’s obvious that he’s way out of your league. Even if you wanted to pursue something more with him, someone of his status... really it’s a wonder he even looks in your direction, let alone chose to volunteer at this tiny holiday wrapping station.

Your conversation is interrupted by a mall goer with a bag of gifts. Namjoon helps as best he can, supplying you with tape as he learns over your shoulder. Loaning you his finger to help you knot the ribbon around the gifts. With a sizeable donation left in Namjoon’s care you are both left alone at the table again.

Between clients you do your best to show him how to wrap the small boxes and ready cut paper at your disposal. Though his folding has improved, his use of tape can be considered... excessive. “You shouldn’t need more than three pieces on a present like this.” You chuckle as you catch his hand before it can apply the seventh piece of tape.

“But your packaging looks so durable compared to mine. How is it supposed to hold together if not for more tape.”

“Years of practice with tighter folds and better adhesive placement.” You analyze his work. “You might be an up and coming art curator but wrapping is my craft.”

Namjoon laughs and grabs a fresh sheet along with the scissors.

“Should I go fetch my band-aids?” You ask, gazing at the sharp implement with trepidation.

“No I’ve got this, I’m ready to earn my redemption.” Namjoon folds the paper several times before cutting a rounded edge. “Wrapping might not be my forte, but this I mastered long ago.” He opens up the paper grinning madly as he reveals a perfect snowflake.

You giggle at the innocence of the piece in question. “That is quite impressive, when did you become such a proficient?”

“I’d say I peaked at eight. One evening when it was just my sister and I, we covered my whole house with them. Every surface, every window, plastered with paper snow. Though my parents were less than enthused I like to think of it as my first full art show.”

“What on earth possessed you to do it?” You ask, trying to imagine the look on his parents as they returned home to the indoor flurry.

Namjoon looks up with a heavy expression, for such a lighthearted story why does he look so wary to tell you “A mutual fri-”

But as chance would have it he is once again interrupted by another coming to your station. When the post dinner rush hits you hardly get another chance to chat.

...

-2 Weeks Until Christmas-

The week passes in much the same way as the past two days, but with each evening session Namjoon is able to improve upon his wrapping skills a little more. To the point where you are comfortable to leave him alone for a few minutes to man the station.

“You’re sure it’s all right if I just run to the washroom for a minute?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I could put up the be back in five minutes sign if you-”

“Go, I can hold down the fort... just leave the band-aids.” You are ready to let out a big sigh when Namjoon holds up his hands in defeat. “Just kidding, I promise, now go.”

You hurry off as fast as you can swearing when you find a line up. By the time that you are finally able to return you find Namjoon finishing up with an attractive woman and her single gift. You smile at her as you join him behind the table, she pauses, caught off guard for a moment but then hands him the donation along with a slip of paper.

Namjoon opens it as she walks off. Blushing profusely before throwing it in the trash along with the wrapping scraps.

“What was that about?”

“Nothing... she just must have gotten the wrong impression.”

“Did she give you her phone number?”

Namjoon nods looking down with guilt.

“And you're not going to keep it? She was gorgeous.”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Right, I assume that wouldn’t go over well with your girlfriend.” You speculate, seeking to figure out his status once and for all.

“No girlfriend.” Namjoon mutters.

“Boyfriend?”

“No boyfriend either.” Namjoon smiles. “I just wasn’t looking to get her number.”

You look at him in disbelief. If she wasn’t good enough, there’s no way in hell you could ever dream of being with him.

...

The drive home in the evening is rather quiet. Namjoon’s fingers drag across his lips as if in deep compilation.

“Any big plans for your couple days of freedom?” With Aunt Emma’s team working the weekend that gives both you and Namjoon some time off, but unfortunately apart.

“What? Oh yes, I suppose.” He answers as though you dragged him from a stupor. “I have an auction to go to tomorrow for work.”

“Buying art for the museum are you?”

“Not exactly in the market to buy. But if you're not busy you should come along, I would love some company.”

“Not because you would love a drive?”

“No, not at all, I was planning on booking a car tonight. I could come pick you up on the way.”

You shake your head. “No, if we’re going together I’ll drive. No need to waste your money on something like that. What time should I pick you up?”

“I’ll have to double check and get back to you but likely late in the morning?” You nod in agreement as he pulls out his phone. “What’s your number?”

You give it to him and your cell vibrates in your pocket as he sends off a text a second later, leaving you with his own.

“So I guess I will see you tomorrow now then.”

“It’s a date.” Namjoon smiles as he gets out and leaves you in the car.

You snort in disbelief, staring after him while he runs off to the front door of his house. No, there’s no way, he can’t be serious, it’s not a date, date. The phone vibrates again, reminding you of the unread message he sent, prompting you to look at it before you drive off home.

This was the only phone number I actually wanted. See you tomorrow, - Namjoon

...

You lie in bed caught between denial and anticipation for what’s to come in the next day. Every moment that excitement bubbles up inside, you are forced to push it down with the weight of scepticism. Namjoon was looking to distract from his lonely Christmas, you are just the band-aid to his superficial wound, but would that be so bad? Haven’t you been using him the past week in the same manner, a mode of distraction? The only difference is the depths of your injuries. While his might be a simple cut repaired by time, yours is a laceration straight to the heart, damage that will soon bleed through a flimsy bandage, but at least you can hide it for now, you can conceal the extent of your misery and enjoy the comfort that is him for the holiday. Ripping that band-aid off won’t hurt, not compared to the damage that has already been done.

You look back at your phone smiling at his message, confirming that this is what you want for now, when to your surprise another comes in.

KNJ: Are you awake?

You double check the time, 12:23 a little late for a friendly chat isn’t it?

YN: Yeah, everything okay?

KNJ: That depends, what are your thoughts on Hallmark Christmas movies?

You pause in confusion, questioning his motives for such an odd query. Coming up dry you can give him the most truthful answer you can.

YN: They’re chestnuts.

KNJ: Chestnuts? 🤔

YN: Palatable only when thoroughly roasted. 🔥🔥🔥

Your phone starts ringing a second later, the caller Namjoon. You pick it up to hear him laughing on the other end. “I’ll have to remember that. You up for burning a film? I could use another open fire, there’s a pretty horrible one on their channel right now.”

“I’m sure I could spark an ember of criticism. How bad are we talking?”

“There’s a made up country, a town that looks like it exists solely for the purpose of celebrating Christmas-”

“And let me guess, a prince?”

“You know it?”

“Nope, just following the trend of tropes.” You grab your earbuds and venture out to the living room wrapped in your blanket, a beverage in hand, and ready to turn on your own TV. With one bud lodge in your ear to listen to Namjoon the other is free to take in the cringeworthy dialogue. “My god why were you watching this?”

“Couldn’t sleep, and I thought this would also help put me in the Christmas spirit, but I can’t stop laughing at how bad it is.” Namjoon chuckles deeply as the heroine stumbles over a mere pebble and falls into the hero’s arm.

“I don’t think you have any right to laugh at that part.” You join him in laughter. “You two appear to have some similarities.”

“Wait, so does this make me the clumsy lead and you the dashingly perfect love interest?”

“Oh most definitely, I’ll be saving your Christmas.”

“I suppose you are pretty perfect.”

You’re thankful that Namjoon isn’t there to see your response, silently choking on your glass of water, followed by spilling your sip all down your shirt, further emphasising your next point. “I’m not perfect.”

“Well you should let me see that side sometime, or I will continue to feel like this poor woman who is confronted with someone way out of their league.”

Namjoon thinks that you're out of his league? “No, I’m sorry but in order for me to save your Christmas based on this movie I have to play the perfect hero.” Of course the leading lady swoons in her prince's arms. “I just wish the characters had more depth, I’ve read kids books with a wider emotional range.”

“Me too. And the timing,” Namjoon scoffs. “It’s always so perfect. They always meet at the perfect moment and latch on immediately only to have everything work out in their favour, and it all claims to be a Christmas miracle, it doesn’t work like that.”

“That sounds like someone’s been scorned before on Christmas.”

“Not scorned no. More like a missed opportunity, one that I’ve regretted for a long while.”

“Anything I can help with?” You ask. “As the supporting lead that is my mission is it not?”

“Maybe, I’ll have to think about it. Unfortunately my dilemma isn’t so easy to solve.”

“I don’t think anyone's dilemma’s are ever as easy or clear cut as theirs.” You yawn as you lay down on the couch and watch the pitiful drama unfold. “Their world is perfect and always has their back through some sort of mystical power or being.”

“I think people in the real world call that god...” Namjoon chuckles.

“Yeah well, our god is a shitty writer if this is what their creations come to expect.” You murmur, stifling a yawn.

“Is that a crack in your shining armour I spy?”

“No, just commentary.” Though your own internal defences are askew, and the longer you watch the more you understand why. It’s jealousy, jealousy of how quickly they overcome any tragedy, and how they do so with a picture perfect life, as if the creators left all the negative emotions, the realistic impacts of trauma, on the cutting room floor. If only you were that perfect love interest that Namjoon wanted you to be... maybe you can keep the facade until the end of the holidays, at least one of you can have a better Christmas for it.

All you have to do is continue ignoring the most painful parts, a practice you are well versed in considering the boxes still looming in the shadowy corner, still unmoved after all this time. You know nothing good will come from unpacking them, there is no comfort inside, the only thing that could help is long gone, the story which your mother used to read to you every Christmas before you moved here. You’ve hunted through those boxes so many times while she was still here with you, but now that she’s gone you don’t even have the desire to look, nor the strength to store them away.

...

You wake hours later with a loud crumpling sound in your right ear. Your bud still in place, and your call time continues to count past the 7 hour mark. “Namjoon, are you there?” You inquire with a groggy yawn.

“Fuck... yeah, did I wake you?”

“It’s fine, sorry I fell asleep.”

“Don’t worry I did too. But unfortunately I seem to have lost an airpod at some point in the night.” The rustling continues as he chats to you. “I refuse to lose another to this couch, it’s taken so many from me already, you’ think I would have learned by now.”

“Oh, then this is a regular occurrence for you? Chatting up women until you fall asleep,” you scoff.

“No! God no, I just usually fall asleep listening to music and then my cushions eat them when I lower my defences.”

“I leave you to battle it out with your sofa, but what time should I pick you up?”

“Eleven okay with you?”

You double check the clock, ensuring you have enough time for a shower and to look presentable. “Yeah that works. I’ll see you then.”

...

You pull into the packed parking lot of a large warehouse. With Namjoon looking dapper in a blazer and peacoat. You yourself are glad to have chosen to dress a bit classier than your usual garb for a Saturday afternoon. When he said it was for work you couldn’t risk dressing down.

But there is still an air of confusion about your reason for being here. If he’s not attending to buy something for the museum or a client, why is his presence required? The items up for auction are not exactly what you expected, with the majority of it being furniture and woven rugs. You tilt your head in confusion as Namjoon eyes up an old wooden desk.

“Sorry,” He mutters, seeing you as he comes to from his distracted state. “I have a personal weakness for such items.”

“Don’t be, but is that why we're here?”

“No, although it is tempting.” He nods over to a collection of old black and white sketches on the wall across from you, graphite scenes of the city from long ago judging by subject matter and the yellowing of the paper behind the frame. “They’re the real reason we’re here. When I heard of this estate sale I knew that some of those works would likely come to market. I’m here to find out who buys them, and hopefully see if we can secure a possible loan for the museum in the future.”

“So how do you do it? How do you convince them to part with such pieces other than that dangerous smile of yours?”

Namjoon humours you, flashing his most coveted weapon. “Many of the artworks found at estate sales like this, they’ve fallen into disrepair. They often haven’t been cared for, likely kept in some musty room where the humidity damages them. The museum has a team of top rated and highly respected conservators who would be able to properly preserve it and slow any further deterioration, and in exchange for their services we ask for a short term loan of the art.

“A win-win.”

“I like to think so, but some people are rather protective of their investment. It can be a tricky negotiation which I have been on both sides of when I worked for the private sector.”

“Which do you prefer more?”

“Definitely the public. The museum doesn’t pay as much, but the audience and notoriety far greater. I really hope that I can continue my work with them once my initial contract ends.”

“I assume securing this for them will help in that goal?” You nod to the pieces, admiring the sought after collection.

“One can only hope. Who knows, maybe I’ll get my Christmas miracle like the movies promised.” He jokes, putting his hand on your shoulder and leading you on.

While you and Namjoon continue to look around at the lots up for bidding, he proceeds to fawn over the wooden art and furniture, taking pictures and looking up the makers.

You can’t help but enjoy his interest, watching his eyes go wide and his mouth gasp when he’s found something which intrigues him. “Have you ever purchased something for yourself at one of these?”

“A few things, tables, chairs, and books too. It’s a great place to find unique pieces, or things lost to the past.” He gives you a shy smile. “Is there anything you’d like to look for?”

A possible item springs to the forefront of your mind. “Do they have any books here now?”

Namjoon grins at your request and leads you over to several crates filled to the brim with books. All the copies inside look to be older editions of epic novels, nothing like what you hope to find. Your heart sinks as you let out a sigh of disappointment.

“Can I help?”

“Nah, I think I’m out of luck. I was looking for a kid’s picture book. I briefly met someone at the wrapping station who found a copy second hand, must have been at a sale like this. I was hoping I would have the same success, but that seems like a bit of a far reach.” Had it not been their gift to someone else you would have made them an offer for it or even gotten their name at the very least, but you were so distracted at the time... all you can see and remember to this day was the book in front of you.

“I’m sorry-” Namjoon starts with an unnecessary apology, it wasn’t his fault that you lost the favourite book of your youth, that you missed the chance to give your mother one last glimpse of the pages with you before she passed.

“It’s fine,” You cut him off not wanting to dwell on the loss or risk deteriorating that perfect cover right here in front of him, in front of everyone, when he has something important to attend to. “Should we go find seats before they start the auction?”

Namjoon nods, seeming to examine your eyes with careful study, but he will find no tears, no dampness there, those are locked away tight. He escorts you to a seat near the back. “This way we can get a better view of those bidding without looking out of place.”

The auction lots pass by with many remaining silent. Namjoon points out several antique dealers to you that are snapping up many of the pieces. But the rest of the buyers all appear to be waiting for the same prize that Namjoon is.

“Do you have any favourites to win?” You whisper to him as the collection is carried into view.

“I’m hoping for anyone I’ve dealt with in the past.” Namjoon nods in the direction of a middle aged woman dressing in a fur trimmed coat and strands of pearls draped around her neck. “Mrs. Coleman already has a few works in one of the exhibits, and Mr. Roth over there.” He turns to a man wearing a tweed jacket and a sturdy wooden cane in hand. “Is one of the most notable patrons of the museum.”

Silence falls in the room as the auctioneer takes up the gavel again and describes the works. Many around you sit up a little straighter as Namjoon’s eyes dart around at those he thinks might attempt to purchase.

The bids flood in, with very few gaps for breath as the numbers are rattled off. It takes only two minutes before the going price is more than your annual salary. You lower yourself, pooling in your seat as the extravagant wealth is thrown around you.

Once the pace slows, Namjoon's face highlights his concern, his eyes glancing back and forth between two people, the older lady in mink he spoke of before, and an unknown man with a cell pressed to his ear.

As the wooden hammer drops so do the corners of Namjoon’s lips.

“And sold to the gentleman on the phone number three-two-eight, number three-two-eight for sixty-five thousand.” The auctioneer announces.

“Shit.” Namjoon mutters under his breath.

“What, what happens now?”

“Now we have an anonymous buyer who I have no ability to meet or advise.” He sighs, hanging his head, with his fingers dragging across his mouth again.

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper as he nods next to you taking several deep breaths. Your hand reaches out to his arm and he turns to you with a small smile.

“It’ll be fine, I’ll figure something out, but I might as well make the most out of my time here.” With the auction now over he rises from his seat and approaches one of the museum's patrons with an outreached hand. “Mr. Roth, good to see you, you’ll be attending the final night of the exhibit I hope, and who is this with you...”

While Namjoon continues to make pleasantries and exchange business cards you keep your eye on the sketches watching as they are rolled behind the desk and packed away in crates. You approach the area where one of the clerks is recording and distributing the information for the now rightful owners, with a mob of bidders descending on him for their newly purchased items so they might leave as soon as possible.

It would seem that this business too is feeling the crunch of Christmas. A flurry of paperwork is exchanged in haste passing from one hand to the next, until one signed receipt of purchase escapes his notice and falls to the ground in front of you. Picking it up you wait for the crowd to clear, giving the clerk a chance to recover before you approach with the lost sheet, setting it on the desk before him. His confused gaze soon changes to outright shock over his loss when he realizes what you’ve returned.

He thanks you profusely, causing you wonder how much strife he would have encountered had you not been there to return it. “No problem, you look like you have a lot on your plate.” You smile politely, attempting to soothe your fellow casualty of the Christmas rush. “I just have a question for you though, if that’s okay?”

“Not at all how can I help?” He agrees, his stance far more relaxed than it was with the horde a few moments before.

“My friend, he was hoping to get in contact with the purchaser of those sketches there, on behalf of a museum. I don’t suppose there’s any way we could get a hold of them, is there?”

“I’m sorry but not at liberty to divulge that ma’am.” Your rising hope falls, you knew it would be a long shot but you didn’t want to leave without trying. “However... if there’s a phone number or information regarding the museum’s interest I can include that in the paperwork to send off along with the purchase.”

“Really? You would do that?”

When the clerk confirms, you immediately turn on your heel and take a step in Namjoon’s direction before bumping into his solid chest, not realizing that he had already come to find you.

“What are you doing-”

“Getting you that miracle.” You grab one of his business cards from his hand, and turn back around to give it to the clerk who tucks it into the envelope along with the other documentation. “Thank you.” You smile at the clerk who returns the gesture.

“And you said I have a dangerous smile?” Namjoon mutters as he leads you away with a chuckle. “What did he say exactly?”

“That he would include it with the paperwork for the sale. I just hope they will reach out and call you.”

“Me too.” Namjoon smiles, but it doesn't quite appear to reach his eyes. “Shall we head out. I think I’m done here.”

The drive home is rather quiet, the weight of Namjoon’s gloom hanging in the air and he makes no attempt to hide it.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just trying to figure out where to go from here,” he groans. “Those sketches were going to be the start of something new for me. I know the buyer might still come through but I’m not going to hold my breath. I need to keep searching for what comes next, I’m just a little lost, but I’ll find my path again soon.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Sometimes it is, sometimes life will drop it right in front of me and other times I will have to search for it, but that’s a problem for after the holidays.” Namjoon looks out his window at the lights which start to come alive as you drive home. “Are you ready for the big day?”

“Christmas?” You give a nervous laugh, “No, I haven’t even put up any decorations.”

“Why not?!” Namjoon asks in alarm.

“Just haven’t really felt the need this year. There’s no one there to enjoy them but myself.”

“Which makes it all the more important to put them up.” Namjoon sits up in his seat, his whole persona changing. “I could help you if you’d like?”

You wince over the quandary. With your decorations sitting in your living room under an inch of dust it might arouse some confusion, and his heart would likely sink if he knew how long they actually rested there for. “I’m not sure I’m quite ready for it yet. Maybe another time?”

...

-1.5 Weeks Until Christmas-

Work continues to degrade as the countdown progresses. The only thing getting you through the shifts is the thought of Namjoon’s help at the stand. But as soon as Christmas is over, you wonder if your friendship will go the same way as the festive season, cast aside like the wrapping of the gifts you tended to in the weeks prior.

After a few days of busy shifts you’re both thankful to make it to another close. But when you are packing up the station Namjoon’s phone starts to ring. He looks down in confusion at the number without a contact attached. “Do you mind?”

“No, not at all.”

He grins as he answers the phone pacing further back into the vacant shop space and away from the sounds of the echoing mall. You continue to count off the deposit, and roll the wrapping paper. Trying your best not to listen, to give Namjoon his privacy, however you can’t help but notice the happiness in his tone, spotting his dimples from across the room when you sneak a glance. When you grab to move the last box of bows Namjoon ends his call. Tears glisten in the corners of his eyes accompanied by the widest smile you’ve ever seen from him.

“That was- that was the buyer.” He explains as he comes to help you with the final box, taking it from your hands and placing it on the back shelf. “He wants to meet with me this weekend.”

He’s so close, vibrating with an overwhelming delight. His arms move around you as though he is about to pull you in for a gracious hug. You start to congratulate him as he embraces you, “Really?! That’s gre-” only to be cut off when his lips come for yours instead. Once the shock evaporates, you start to appreciate the heat of the moment, the warmth of his skin, the softness of his mouth. Your hands reach up to his toned shoulders and neck pulling him down, diminishing the space between you. Breathing him in like this with your eyes closed, nothing else matters in the moment, nothing other than his firm chest pushing back against yours, his hands on your waist gripping at your shirt.

With a deep sigh and a bite to his own lip he pulls back. “Sorry I just-”

“Don’t, don’t apologize.” You cut him off this time.

“I can’t even begin to thank you.”

“I hardly did anything.” You laugh at the extremeness of his appreciation, though a small part of you dies when you realize his kiss was nothing more than a gesture of gratitude.

“That’s not true...” He responds, giving you his wide eyes and a shy smile.

On the drive home your companion can barely contain his delight, breaking into random smiles and laughter as he informs his coworkers of the success via text.

“There’s this event...” Namjoon starts, as you pull in front of his home. “At the museum on the twenty-third, a week from today, I was wondering if you’d like to go with me.”

“Next Wednesday? But we have a shift at the wrapping station.”

“I spoke to Emma a few days ago and she agreed to cover if we both wanted to go.”

“Emma, making a change so close to Christmas? I don’t buy it. What did you offer her in return?” You ask with a critical gaze. The woman runs such a tight schedule, only something great or important would have prompted her to agree.

“My next year of service.” Namjoon confesses, he looks down at his feet as though he might buckle from the embarrassment.

“Next year? You already promised to work it?”

“If you want me there that is. I’ll practice more in the meantime, I promise I won’t leave you to all of the difficult packages.” Namjoon chuckles. “But what do you say, will you go with me?”

“Ye-yeah I would love it’s just...” You stutter trying to come up with a good excuse but your brain draws a blank leaving only the truth. “I don’t know how well... how well I’ll fit in there.”

“What? No, why would you think that?” Namjoon places his hand on your leg while you drive. A move which causes the both of you to pause in reaction and him to retreat. “Trust me when I say you belong there more than anyone else.”

You nod your head and give him a small smile, wishing more than anything his hand would return. “I’ll come if you want me there. What’s the attire?”

“Semi-formal, and don’t worry about driving I’ll pick you up.”

...

-2 Days Until Christmas-

You stand in front of your mirror, wearing a dress which fits your shape perfectly, but stretches your pocket book significantly. The price tags hanging down from the zipper taunt you, tempting you to rip them away, to commit to the indulgence. Even if it’s only for a night, the payoff in the end might be worth the overpriced lace. You give in with a snip of the scissors and a swallow of guilt, letting the printed cardstock hit your bedroom floor.

You’ve spent the past couple of hours leading up to this moment in a fit of stress cleaning, disposing of the dust bunnies. Now at least if Namjoon comes over after... you won’t be completely off guard.

The phone on your bedside vibrates with a new message.

KNJ: Just pulling in.

YN: Be right down.

Sliding your shoes on and grabbing what you need, you leave your empty apartment with a growing smile on your face. The moment you can see the car from the buildings foyer both Namjoon and the driver exit the vehicle, though Namjoon is quick to wave the driver back to his seat, choosing instead to hold the door for you himself.

The thoughtful gesture is made more appealing as if it gives you a full view of your date in his dark three piece suit, his hair tamed back framing his handsome face, whose gaze appears to be giving you the once over for you too.

“You wrap up nice.” Namjoon jokes.

“Of course, I couldn’t embarrass you now could I? Have to land that first impression.”

“You would never. Besides I’m sure my colleagues will be fascinated to know who has enough courage to teach me how to wrap.”

“And how do you plan on introducing me to those colleagues of yours? As your date or your teacher?” You laugh.

“I was actually hoping I could introduce you as my girlfriend.”

“Your girlfriend for tonight?” You panic, not expecting this development. “Wait, is this one of those fake dating scenarios? Did you tell them you had one and then-”

“I think we’ve been watching too much Hallmark.” Namjoon laughs and shakes his head. “No this is not one of those scenarios, but I’ll take whatever form of companionship you are the most comfortable with.”

He gives you the stare of a man who is looking for more, but you know he won't need you once the holidays pass. His loneliness is temporary, yours is permanent. You’d rather not get your hopes up only to have them lost as he fades away in the cold gloom of January when his family returns. “Let’s see where it goes.”

Upon arrival Namjoon leads you through the massive doors by hand, taking your coat and checking it. The main hall just off the entrance is filled with patrons and staff all mingling and drinking while dining on tiny hors d’oeuvres. You look at the crowd with apprehension.

Namjoon’s fingers interlace with yours again, a grip clearly intended to give you confidence. “I’ll introduce you to some of the staff first.”

Several people congratulate Namjoon on the exhibit as he passes, he responds giving them a brief thank you as he ushers you through the crowd. Stopping at a small group of two, who greet Namjoon with a warm welcome.

“Thank god you’re here, people have kept asking for the brains behind the exhibit.”

“And why didn’t you answer them.” Namjoon smiles before turning to introduce you to them, following up with the man who just spoke. “This is Eric Nam, a curator who I worked on the project with.”

“Don’t pass the torch, we both know it was your idea, I just helped put it into motion.” His coworker smiles gazing at you. “And you must be the one Namjoon has talked so much about.”

The heat rises to your face as you look to Namjoon who confirms the statement with his own embarrassment. “Thank you Eric for sharing that with her...”

“No problem, it’s the least I could do for someone who gave you the insp-”

Namjoon coughs and shakes his head, cutting off his verbose friend.

You're about to question your partner himself when the other colleague of his starts asking you questions. “What do you do for a living Ms....” You remind her of your name while Namjoon spotting refreshments wanders off with a whispered promise to get you both a drink.

“I-I work for Interlude Shipping, in their tracking department.” You explain clasping your hands together in an attempt to settle your nerves.

“Oh, how nice...” The false quaintness in her tone is matched with a smirk as she takes a sip of wine. “Maybe you can help me find out if my sister’s present will arrive in time tomorrow.”

“Valerie...” Eric growls.

“What? I’m merely curious about her employment.” She smirks at him before continuing to her inquisition. “How long have you worked there? Did you have to get a degree for your role?”

“No,” This is exactly what you were afraid of coming here, you just didn’t think the judgement would be coming from someone who works with Namjoon. “I started there right after high school. I didn’t have the luxury to go to an elite school to work in a place like this.”

Eric comes over and claps you on the back. “Neither did Valerie; she just has family on the board.” Giving a coy smile to his coworker who scowls and stalks off without another word to you. “In fact you’ve actually done more work here than her in the past month. I hear you’ve been helping Namjoon secure the collection we’ve been after?”

You nod looking off after the departed curator, worried as to what impact your interaction could have with Namjoon’s position here.

“Don’t worry about her. She’s just bitter that Namjoon didn’t ask her to accompany him here.”

“Oh, does she- do they-”

“Fuck no, but if she’s not everyone’s first choice she’s not happy.” Eric gets in a little closer. “You don’t have to worry about Namjoon looking elsewhere, if he’s at all hesitant it’s just because he’s a little cautious with you.”

“Why would he be cautious?”

“Why would who be cautious?” Namjoon asks, handing you a drink as he appears by your side again.

“Mr. Roth, that man should be careful. I heard he had hip surgery recently.” Eric responds, cutting in with a lie to cover your discussion. “It's good of him to still join us tonight, but enough about that, why don’t you go show her the exhibit before it gets too crowded in there?”

Namjoon offers up his arm in agreement. “I suppose we can get started on the tour, if you’d like.”

“Yes please,” You answer, threading your arm through his. “Thanks again Eric, it was nice meeting you.”

“You too, I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.”

The stand next to the entrance bears all the names of those involved in the creation and a countless list of those who loaned out pieces to make it possible. “There’s so many involved, how large is this exhibit?”

“Not too big, you’ll see why there’s such a long list soon.”

When the door opens you find yourself in a hallway amidst what you can only describe as a snowstorm. The walkway, made to look like an alley set adrift in snow, with flickering lights and paper creations hanging from the ceiling. “Did you make any of those?” You ask, grinning as you squint through the flurrying beams.

“No, I left those to the talents of the students who came by on school field trips. It didn’t take them long before we had enough.”

“Find any new prodigies?”

“Several.” He answers, before pointing to the mounted photos on the wall. “But these works here are some of my favourites.” The pictures are framed to seem as though the viewer is looking in through the pains of a window to happy holiday scenes. From unwrapping presents around the tree to the busy crowds of your very own mall, each image sets out to draw from you a sense of nostalgia.

“I can see why.” You find yourself lingering on the last of the photos by an accredited local photographer, savouring the display as much as you can, worried that it might end too soon.

“Don’t worry,” Namjoon whispers, taking your hand in an eager urge to press on, “There’s plenty more to look at.” He points to the end of the hallway, where you find another door, though this one is dressed with a knocker and wreath looking as if it’s the entrance to someone's home.

You open the door to reveal a series of rooms connected by one long hallway. The first you step into you washes over you with warmth and comfort, the sound of a cracking fire surrounds you while the light of fake embers flows from the side. Set up through the room are tables of items from old to new ranging from Christmas tree ornaments, and household decorations to handwritten cards. “All of these-”

“Were loaned by families from the region, they gave a piece of their history and traditions up for most of the season so everyone could enjoy it. Over here we have...”

You could spend hours sitting and admiring in this room alone, but more than anything you want to push on more to see Namjoon’s excitement in sharing it with you. Each room features a different spot of the home. A chilly shed with vintage toboggans and sleds, a kitchen, stuffed with cookbooks and the smells of baking featuring countless cookie cutters of every shape and size.

The next room is a little unusual and different from the rest, throwing you off for a moment, when the distinct scent of pine hits your nose. In the centre you find what look to be the replication of a massive trunk, and above false branches twinkling with lights. All round in a circle you find toys in glass cases spanning generations, when it hits you. “Are we under the Christmas tree?”

Namjoon gives you his coveted dimpled grin. “Yeah, do you like it?”

“I do. I can’t believe you managed all of this.” You exclaim hurrying between each display like a kid on Christmas morning. From wagons, and Rubik’s cubes, all the way to Furbies and gaming systems he has the whole collection of popular toys throughout the years.

Namjoon beams with pride once you’ve circled the entirety of the fake trunk and the presents beneath it. “Only one room left, but I think you’ll like this one the most.”

You're ushered into the next, a dimly lit space, a bed with a quilted cover stands in the centre, and on the walls you find countless story books, pinned open to so their stunning art is on display, papering the room with climatic holiday scenes and loveable characters. In one you find Scrooge meeting the ghost of Christmas past, in another you witness the Grinch save the sleigh from a perilous fall. Namjoon was right, this is without a doubt your favourite. While people filter in and out, you take your time looking at each set of pages. Your pace slow and steady, until you reach the special story that stops you entirely, the book you lost long ago, and have been trying to find ever since. Drawn on the pages before you is a little blue koala, with a pale purple nose, round ears, and a smile that lights up his face as he cuts out dozens of snowflakes. Namjoon stands behind you with a hand on your shoulder as you gaze at the book you know to be titled ‘Koya’s Christmas.’

You take a deep breath, while trying not to bend to the tears that threaten to break from your eyes. Focusing your attention instead to seek out the owner of the book, but unlike most there is no nameplate attached to this desirable artifact. “Namjoon, who loaned this? Is there any way I could contact them?”

When he gives you a sad smile, your gut clenches over the possibility that this might be a similar issue to what happened at the auction, a lender who wishes to remain anonymous. The only difference here being that you’ll fight Namjoon for the information if you have to. You’ve already let this book escape from you last year, you refuse to let it happen again. “Please, I’ll-” Just when you are about to plead with Namjoon’s integrity, another memory of your past walks into the room, but this one unfortunately has more tragic ties. “Shit,” you whisper, shifting to put your date between you and the newcomer.

Namjoon catching the change in your expression immediately reaches out in concern. “What? What’s wrong?”

“There's someone I know just over there,” You nod in the direction behind Namjoon. “I’d like to avoid him if I can. Sorry, it-it’s complicated. ”

Namjoon puts his hands on your shoulders, eyeing a path the closest exit without letting go of you. “Do you want to leave?”

“If that’s okay?” And just when you thought you were free, when you were ready to make a break for the door. The man in question, spots you and calls out your name.

You turn to face him, trying your best to keep your tone even and your lips pulled into a smile. “Jackson? Hey, it’s good to see you.”

“It’s been so long, not since...” Thankful he stops, not dragging up the subject you wish to avoid.

Namjoon moves closer, moving his arm from your shoulder around your waist, a comforting and protective gesture. “Dr. Wang... I had no idea the two of you were acquainted.”

“You know him?” You ask Namjoon, your concern rocketing over what else your date might become privy to.

“Dr. Wang was the phone bidder. I invited him here tonight to see the work we do.”

“The exhibit was impressive, I can’t wait to see what you have planned next.” Jackson confirms.

“I should go and let the two of you discuss-” You ready to step away when Namjoon’s hand grabs yours and Jackson calls your name again.

“No reason for you to leave, we should catch up.”

“May-maybe later?” You plead with him fighting back the tears, pushing down the memories his presence drags up. “Sorry I just, I need to go.”

You pull your hand free and race to the exit.

“Wait.” You can hear Namjoon call behind you. Though you continue to proceed out the exhibit and towards the closest exit outside, breaking into the cold evening air, only to find that he still followed. “Let me call for the car and we can go together.”

You stop in realization that your running will not deter him, he’ll pursue you unless you give him a reason otherwise. “No you should stay, this is your big event, I won’t ruin it for you.”

“Not without you.”

“Please Namjoon,” you beg, adamant that he return. “I don’t belong in there, I don’t fit in and I never will. Even when I try...” The ghosts of your past have a way of finding you and destroying your facade.

“I’ve told you before you belong in there more than anyone else-”

“That’s not true. I can barely keep myself together. I can’t, I can’t go back in, I'm sorry.”

“I don’t understand, what does Dr. Wang have to do with it? Did he hurt you? Did he-”

“No! No, he did nothing of the sort. Jackson was always very kind to me. Don’t let me affect your plans or any arrangement, you should go back and talk to him, I just can't be there.”

“You think I’m going to just drop you for him, especially when he makes you so uncomfortable? No, I’m leaving with you.”

“Fuck, just... please listen to me. He is a good man, he’s a good doctor, you would be foolish to give up this chance.”

“A good doctor...” Namjoon pauses as a grimace hits his face. “Does he have something to do with your mother?”

“How-How do you know about that?”

“I didn’t mean to pry, I swear. It's just, when I was first talking to Emma about you, out of concern she opened up about your past... about your mother, about your loss.”

“She told you?” Aunt Emma, you should have known she would do something like that, god forbid at least one person not know your history. “Then all of this, these past few weeks were they all out of pity?” You should have known, there was no way he would like someone like you. It was all out of sorrow for what you’ve been through.

“Not pity no, I like you, I like you a lot. When Emma said you were pushing her and so many others away... I concealed it out of fear of losing you too. I wanted you to open up about it until you were ready. I was just trying to help you get through this.”

You look up at the museum, drawing a distressing connection between Namjoon’s daily life and you. “Why? You think I’m some abandoned project you rescued from a deceased’s estate? One for you to mend, and later show like an achievement? You should have just left me where I was, instead of breaking me further.”

Namjoon’s hands immediately pull back from you. “I never meant to hurt you. Only help you move on, you can’t deny that you are frozen in place. You have so much more potential, but you're living in denial.”

“I live there because it hurts less...” You snap back in fury, as he exposes your painful flaws. “I live there so I can work, so I can help others.”

“But what about you? When will you let someone help you?”

You step away unable to answer his question, turning your back on him you race to the sidewalk to hail a nearby taxi, refusing to let him see a single tear fall.

Once home, you crawl into bed after throwing the dress to the floor. This was so far from the evening you had hoped it to be, with you instead left alone to ruminate on Namjoon’s words. Despising all the evidence he laid bare against you, turning it over again and again in your mind until your morning alarm startles you out of your stupor. Signalling for the last shift before your break for the holidays.

...

-Christmas Eve-

It’s finally here, the worst of all days at the call centre. With your eyes heavy from a lack of rest you take a seat at your desk with an extra large coffee in hand. On your computer you have this morning's team email pulled up, and attached to it a list of de-escalation tactics. You’ll need them today because if people don’t get their package by the end of the routes this evening, there’s no hope for tomorrow morning.

The call board on your phone is already lighting up like a Christmas tree, but you know those little embers to be fuelled by wrath, fury and unkept promises of delivery dates.

You try your best to remain calm during the egregious conversations. Offering up tips and tricks to parents who are worried that this will be the year that their child gives up on Santa because your company failed to deliver.

Your lunch break can’t come soon enough. But when you finally check your own phone it’s littered with texts from Namjoon. Messages of concern, apologies, and the hopes that he will still see you at the wrapping station tonight. He even sent a picture of your abandoned coat and promised to bring it along.

Fuck, you had completely forgotten about you wrapping shift together. Just one more night, then you can put it all behind you again. If you can just keep your cover for a few more hours then it’ll all be over and Aunt Emma will have what she was promised.

You send Namjoon a quick message confirming that you will be there, but not promising any more before you head back to your desk.

The calls get progressively worse with several people using foul language and demanding to speak to your supervisor, you try to talk them down as best you can knowing any call passed on to the higher ups will reflect poorly on your efforts.

Until one woman calling in search of her package finally wears you down, insulting you, your profession, even your family.

“Ma’am I’m sorry but if you continue to speak to be in such a way I am well within my right to disconnect the call.” A desperate bluff, your superiors would rather them end the call than you, you’ve been penalized for it before, and you’ll be damned if it happens again. But unfortunately she calls your hand.

“You will not! I have spent hours on the line trying to reach anyone. The shortsightedness of your company and staff is all too apparent.”

“It’s the holiday sea-”

“I know what time of year it is, but it seems your staff doesn’t realize Christmas is tomorrow!”

“You ordered your package past the guarantee date, we could not insure-”

“Now you listen to me, if there was any form of intelligence in that office you’d be working hard to ensure that all packages make it out before tomorrow morning, but instead you just sit on your ass fielding phone calls and giving excuses so you don’t have to actually go out and do honest labour. You must be the biggest disappointment to your family, not even having a proper job. How can you go home and face them knowing you've left so many without their gifts?”

With the woman's last insult, something inside you finally snaps, giving you the freedom to do what you’ve dreamed of for so long. “I don’t,” you pronounce, building up to take your final shot at both her and your employment. “Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to let you go, as I’d rather not listen to your nonsensical bitching. So merry fucking Christmas to you ma’am, I suggest you go spend it with your own family if they’re willing to put up with your pompous ass.” You hang up the phone and pull off the headset, refusing to answer the next blinking light that comes on to replace it.

You just sit there looking at it denying the next caller their chance at verbal abuse, and your company's lax policy to protect you from it. The chatter of apologies continue to echo around you as your coworkers press on, but after the years of abuse you can no longer hold it in. Your company always said that this position was a stepping stone to greater things, that opportunities would come you just had to wait a little longer, but after being shackled by circumstances, and no forthcoming higher step to take, you refuse to press on any longer.

...

You pull into the mall parking lot, far too early for your slot at the wrapping stand, with the contents of your desk now stationed in the trunk of your car. Taking refuge in the women's bathroom cleaning your face of the tears you shed on the way over as you try not to think too much about what you’ve just done. After refusing to concede and admit to any wrong doing you quit, telling them to shove their shitty policies right back where they came from.

Namjoon was right... and with the mall closing early tonight you’ll only have two hours with him, two hours to smooth the tension over and allow for an amicable goodbye while maintaining your cover.

He’s already waiting for you, with your coat in hand, when you show up. The look of pity that you never wanted to see grace his face directed at you. “Are you okay?”

“Fine... I just would prefer if we didn’t talk about last night. I’m sorry for what I said, and now I just want to let it all go if that’s okay with you?” You smile up at him extending the olive branch.

Namjoon nods looking down at the floor as his hands habitually fold a scrap piece between his fingers. The silence between you is drowned out by the carols echoing down the emptying halls of the mall.

“Didn’t expect it to be so slow.” Namjoon mutters after what seems like an age with no one coming to the stand.

“On Christmas eve? Yeah generally people are home by now, spending time with their-” You force yourself to stop, unable to say a word which will bring sorrow to your heart and loneliness to Namjoon’s.

“I’m sorry I can’t do this,” Namjoon interjects. “I want to talk about last night, I need to talk about it.”

“Now is not the time.”

“There’s no one here but you and me. It’s just us, the mall is closing, it's our last shift, if not now when?”

“Anytime but now. The last twenty-four hours have been the worst in my life since-since...” You take a deep breath burying the wave of sadness and regret back down in your chest refusing to let it out. “Please, just forget it okay?”

“Not until you stop shielding yourself like that.” Namjoon scolds you. “I’m tired of you living in fear that your tears will erode your cover, and that your anger will tear it away entirely. I’m tired of you thinking that people will only appreciate you if you maintain this perfectly wrapped state. You might think it’s pretty, that it’s convenient for everyone else, but you are only keeping others out.”

“Maybe I keep it on so that you won’t be disappointed in what you find when it’s discarded. A sad woman, with no direction, no dreams, unable to cope with loss, and I suppose I can add unemployed to the list now. Is that what you want to see? Is that what you want to find?”

“That’s not all you are... and as for your job, I’m sorry but fuck it. It’s about time you moved on to better things, that place was only holding you back, you deserve so much more.”

“No I don’t, do you want to know why I worked there? Do you? I took that job to make sure she got the care she needed. I promised her when she got better I would quit and find something else, but she never did. But if I leave now I’m accepting the fact that she’s gone... that she doesn’t need me anymore, because I couldn’t do enough to keep her here.” The first tear falls breaking through the long standing divide.

“Staying there wouldn’t have brought her back. Tormenting yourself by remaining frozen in place, won’t bring her back. It’s Christmas for god sake and you are being kind to everyone else but yourself.”

“This isn’t Christmas for me. If it was, she would be here... not you. I’m tired too. I'm so tired of looking at her chair and- and-”

Namjoon wraps his arms around you pulling you forward as your emotions tear through the shroud. He moves you to the back of the vacant store sitting you among the boxes. “I’ll be right back okay?” You nod, while he tugs the table in and drags the gate down to indicate that you are now closed. When he returns his eyes too are starting to redden. His hands brush through your hair, the side of his palm pressing on your cheek and catching your tears. After seeing one of his own fall you crush yourself against his chest, clinging harder to him than before. His lips touch the top of your head, his hands rubbing on your back and arms as he waits, waits for you to be the first to pull away. The lights for every other store shut off around you the music lowers, all that’s left is the retreating chatter of those going to celebrate the eve of Christmas, and still you hold on to him.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been a very good substitute.” He whispers, encouraging you to finally lean back and admit your denial, accepting his efforts to help, when you yourself wanted to do the same for him.

“Don’t say that, it was never going to be a happy holiday for me, just something I needed to get past. But for you, I at least wanted to make yours better, I’m sorry I wasn’t a very good one either.”

“You never were a substitute. You were the one I wanted to spend the holidays with. A different Christmas than usual but no less enjoyable.”

“That’s sweet of you to say.” You smile, but you doubt it’s true. “I suppose we should go...”

“What about all the supplies?”

“Emma will come by in a few days to collect it all.” You grab the small donation from the lock box and seal it in the plastic pouch, while Namjoon rummages through his own bag. “Do you still want a ride home?”

“If you're offering, I would love one.” The flap of his satchel closes as he stops his search and instead goes with you to the bank and finally your car. You hadn’t checked the forecast for tonight so finding your car buried in a few inches of snow comes as an unexpected sight. At least with Namjoon’s help cleaning it off is a quick task.

Once inside you both warm your hands on the sputtering heater, changing them on the wheel as you continue to thaw your fingers while you drive.

“Do you have any plans for the next couple of days?” Namjoon presses, though hesitant in his tone.

“Maybe look for some jobs, and take a good long nap?” You answer with a dark chuckle, still preferring to miss the entire holiday if you could. “You?”

“No, nothing in mind. But if you wake up and want to come over, you're more than welcome to spend it at my place.”

You return both hands to the wheel as the road becomes more difficult to drive on, your tires slipping here and there on the ice beneath the snow. “I’ll think about it, though depending on how much snow we get tonight we might both be stranded at home.”

You pull through the neighbourhood gates and up Namjoon’s driveway. With the car stopped he once again dives into his leather bag and pulls out a thin rectangular gift he looks to have wrapped himself. Dressed as per usual, with far to many pieces of tape, he hands it over to you. “I know this won’t make up for everything, but I want you to have this. Consider it a very belated Christmas gift.”

“Belated? But Christmas isn’t until tomorr-” You take the present and succeed in pulling back the wrapping to reveal the book that you were reunited with just the night before. “Oh...” You look up from the cover to find the return of the sad smile on his face you saw in the museum. “But if this is late then, last Christmas, it-it was you? You were the one at the stand... with this?”

...

-One Year Ago-

You are counting down the hours and minutes until the mall closes, until you can pick your mother up from her doctor's appointment and head home, to your promised tradition of putting up the decorations. The past few weeks have been so busy, with work, volunteer shifts, and her treatments at the hospital, you’ve made it all the way to Christmas eve with the tree and ornaments still packed away in boxes, sitting in the corner of your living room since December first.

Aunt Emma is currently taking your mother’s position at the cashbox, thanks to the scheduling of the last minute check up. You light up your phone again checking the time, only an hour left.

“You can head out if you want my love,” Aunt Emma offers while swaying and humming to the carols. “It’s quiet enough for me to manage myself.”

You grin embarrassed by your desire for a hasty departure. “No it’s fine. I’m still waiting for the phone call to say she’s done, otherwise I’ll just end up waiting at the hospital.”

“Suit yourself.” She stands up to look down the halls of the mall. “Oh, I think we might have someone, he’s heading this way. He’s cute too, you should give him your number and put that mother of yours at ease.”

“Aunt Emma, I don’t need your dating-” You look in the direction she was speaking of losing the rest of your words when you find a tall beaming man coming closer to your station.

“If you need me I’ll just be in the back fetching more ribbon.”

“But we have plenty.”

“Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.” She waves herself off when he makes it to your table.

“Hi,” He greets you with the warmest smile and an even tone. “I was wondering if I could get these wrapped together?” He holds up a bag of gifts which he hands over to you.

“Of course. Any preference on paper?”

“Whatever you think is best, it’s for my mom. Just a bottle of her favourite perfume and something a little more special.”

You open the bag to find a small box containing the fragrance, and the other what looks to be a kids picture book. But what initially seems to be an odd choice for his mother, slams your chest with nostalgia when you see the cover and read the title.

“Koya’s Christmas.” You laugh with delight, you can’t stop yourself from smiling when you examine the artistry. The memories it brings back is enough to make your eyes well with tears.

“You know it?” The man asks, looking pleasantly stunned.

“Know it? I had it memorized as a child. I loved it so much I couldn't bear it when it was packed away at the end of Christmas each year.”

“Me neither, I flat out refused to let it go, I read it year round to the point where our old copy is currently falling apart on the shelf. Even made snowflakes to put in my windows like he did.”

“That’s right, that scene was one of my favourites. May I?” You gesture asking him for permission to look through it. He nods just as excited as you by the concept of something so sentimental. As you flip through the book you recall the beautiful storyline of a koala living in Australia, one who is so upset that they must celebrate Christmas in the summer, never getting to have a while Christmas described in the songs and shown in the movies. But once Koya talks to the leaves in the trees, and the other small animals of the forest, the realization hits that none of them would be able to stay there if it was cold enough for snow.

You are so close to tears when you reach the page where the little koala realizes it’s more important to have friends for the holiday than the frozen flurries. Proceeding to stay up all night cutting out perfect snowflakes to hang in the windows for all to enjoy at the family's Christmas Eve party.

“Where did you find a copy? I’ve looked for so long, I lost my own in the move here.”

“I actually found it by chance, amongst a bunch of rare second-hand books at an auction.” The man itches at the back of his head. “Sorry, I can’t be of more help in locating another.”

“No it’s fine. I’m just glad I got to see it again. I’ll have to tell my own mom that I was lucky enough to see a copy, she loved it as much as I did.”

You quickly wrap the two gifts in the one sheet as requested. Handing it back to him before you can be tempted enough to make an excessive offer of your own on his mothers gift.

“Thanks again.” He hands you two twenties for the donation. “My mom usually helps me with the wrapping but I didn’t want her to see this, you’ve made her Christmas.”

“I’m glad I could help.”

When he walks off you notice that he makes several glances back to you, holding a smile each time.

“So did you get his number?” Aunt Emma pokes her head back out from the stock area. “Maybe his social media, his dick-dock or whatever it is you kids do these days?”

“No, I did not get his tiktok.” You answer, unable to contain your laughter. “I was distracted by-” You’re ready to defend yourself when your phone starts vibrating on the table, the screen lit up with the number of your mother’s doctor’s office. You answer it, excited to share your account of the book. “Hey mom, you all finished? You’ll never believe what I just wrapped-”

“Sorry dear this is Laurie, I’m just calling on behalf of Dr. Wang’s office. We were hoping you could come by as soon as you can, the doctor would like to meet with both you and your mother before she leaves for the day.”

“Y-yeah, I’ll be right down.” You hang up the phone taking a deep swallow of fear, the moment of happiness and nostalgia vanishing with the prospect of the news to come. It’s never been a good sign when they’ve wanted to meet with you both in person.

Aunt Emma catches on in an instant, pushing your coat on your shoulders and your purse in your hand. “Go, I’ve got this. You give your mother a big hug for me, and I’ll stop by soon to see you.”

...

While you try to relive, to pull back and hold on to, that moment from a year ago, Namjoon nods confirming your suspicions.

You mentally kick yourself for not recognizing him, for not remembering a single thing about him except your connection with the book. But after everything you had gone through, in that night alone, the devastating news regarding your mothers health had blacked out everything else. You took her home that night, trying not to cry, trying to be strong for her. Helping her into bed for some much needed rest, leaving your previous plans boxed up in the corner... where they remain to this very day. And the year only got worse leaving your mind engaged elsewhere, far from the man with the kind smile and similar taste in literature. “I’m sorry, I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you sooner.”

“No, it’s fine, it was a while ago, and I’m the one who should be sorry,” He whispers. “The moment I stepped outside that day, I realized you needed it more than my mother needed a second. I went back, but you were already gone. I was selfish though, rather than leaving it with another, I wanted to be the one to give it to you myself, I wanted to see you, to talk to you again, and so I kept it. I even put it in the exhibit on the chance that you might find it. When I met Emma at the museum and found out that you’d be doing the fundraiser again it seems like fate, but then I heard about what had happened since I saw you last. I realized how foolish I had been, how I had stolen your chance to share it with her before she passed.”

You reach up to your face attempting to wipe away the tears before Namjoon can see anymore, but he catches your hands before you can hide your grief.

“When you saw the book that day, you have no idea the impact it had on me. Watching you react, your emotions so close to the surface. You didn’t care where you were, what you were doing, all you could see was the memory in front of you. I wanted to create that for everyone.”

“Then the museum exhibit-”

“Was a result of my meeting you, my breakthrough idea which got me a chance to curate was thanks to your reaction. I was going to tell you when we were there, why you deserved to be there more than anyone else, but everything fell apart so quickly.”

“I’m so sorry, I never intended to ruin your night. I just-” You take a deep breath, finally letting out the words you’ve been holding back. “I was scared. Jackson was one of my mother’s doctors, he was always friendly and kind to the point where my mother would joke that he would make the perfect son-in-law. We even went on a date, but when she passed... it was difficult, painful for me to see him again. Finding him there last night, I was so worried you would learn about what had happened, and that you would look at me with the same pity he did, so I ran.”

“You didn’t ruin it, I deserved what you said for not being more open with you about what I knew. I was scared of losing you. So no more running, no more hiding okay?”

You give him a nod, unable to speak through the tears as you gasp between sobs. He hugs you across the cars divide. “Now will you please come inside? At least for a bit. It’s Christmas Eve and I can’t let you go home like this. I have the snowflakes up and everything but we both know it’s not enough without someone else to see them with.”

You shake your head, now laughing despite the tears, “You really know how to reel me in.”

“I’m just admitting that I don’t want to be alone on Christmas,” He looks at you with a raised brow. “And I don’t think you want to be either.”

...

Namjoon’s house is the very opposite of your apartment, filled with warmth and light, wooden furniture and plants in every corner. The Christmas decorations bring another layer of himself into the fold. As promised, his window pains are full of snowflakes and the sills... you squint at several small blue lumps perched beside the glass. Moving closer you recognize them as clay koalas made by the skill and hands of a much younger age. Namjoon catches you staring at one position in a dozing state. He takes it off the ledge and hands it to you to give a better look.

“Careful with that one though,” He points to another figure stationed in the corner. “It’s ears like to fall off.” He rolls the round bit of clay out of position chuckling as it exhibits the trait.

“Did you make these?”

“When I was a kid. My mom held on to them.” Namjoon muses as he continues to fidget with the figurine. “She dropped off a box of decorations before going off to be with my sister and her family.”

“I’m glad she did.”

“Me too. But even with all the trimmings and decor here this year doesn’t feel quite normal.” He replaces them both in their rightful positions of honour and gestures to the massive couch behind you. “Make yourself comfortable,” he insists, before wandering off to the joint kitchen. “Is there anything I can get you to drink?”

“I’ll have whatever you're having.” You take a seat on the monstrous cushions, which ease you in before swallowing you in comfort. Making it easy to see how this beast of a sofa has eaten several of his several earbuds.

“Beer okay?”

“Perfect.”

He comes round with the drinks and takes a seat beside you. Turning on the television he lets it play with low volume in the background so you might continue your conversation if you wished, but at the same time eases the pressure from you if you’d rather not.

You smile down at your beverage as the overly dramatic film plays out. Your mind still lingering on the damage that you might have caused with your hasty departure the night before.

“Have you talked to Jackson since, is he still going to loan the sketches?”

“He wants to, he sent me an email today saying so...” Namjoon pauses taking a sip of his drink, swirling the contents around in the can. “He asked if you were okay too. I haven’t responded yet, I wanted to talk to you first and get the full story, rather than speak on your behalf. But it’s clear he has feelings for you, if you told him how you felt, I’m sure you could still work things out if you wanted to.”

“No, I don’t think it’s feelings but his concern. He’s just too good of a person not to worry, and I’m sure his own guilt has a place in there too. Jackson and I never would have worked out, we went on that date, we didn’t have much in common, there was nothing there that I wanted to pursue, not like my time with you.”

Namjoon’s eyes perk open as he smiles. His arm reaches around, pulling you in to lean on his side and shoulder. As the strained plot plays out before you.

“Why do you insist on watching these.” You ask as your eyes become heavy after a few minutes. Leaning into Namjoon more he lays back putting his feet up and sliding you down with him to do the same. Your head now resting on his chest the deepness of his voice carrying down to your ear.

“They’re like the snowflakes-”

“A paper thin plot full of holes?”

“Funny and true, but not what I meant. I know they are by no means real, but they have this way of adding to the feeling of the season. I didn’t realize how much of a tradition it has become for me and my family until this year, when watching them alone just felt wrong. The movies were an excuse to sit down with them, to talk and laugh. The other night when I called, it wasn’t that I couldn’t sleep, I just wanted to spend the time with you.”

“But why me? You could have anyone, even Valerie seems to-”

“Why would I want anyone else when you helped me achieve something I’ve long dreamed of? You may think this cheesy but at the end of all these films, when everything comes together wrapped in a perfect bow, that’s how I’ve felt in every moment with you.”

“You’re right, very cheesy, but not unwanted.” You look up at him from his chest finding only sincerity in his face. “Now if we’re to continue in this similar Hallmark course of action, I do believe this would be the part where you kiss me again.”

“But I’m just the clumsy lead,” Namjoon jokes. “I’m pretty sure that’s your-” You lean in doing just that, cutting him off and pushing him against the couch as you kiss him. His chest quaking with silent laughter soon turns to rumbling groans as you fulfil the expectation of your role. “Though this would also be the part where I tell you we should wait before giving into temptation.”

Your nose scrunches up in displeasure over the notion of such abstinence. “Then let's omit that line, and go off script for the rest of the night.”

Namjoon takes his turn, flipping you over to push you down onto the plush cushions, where you sink under his weight. “Gladly,” he growls, his mouth trailing down your neck pulling on the collar of your sweater to seek further in.

Desiring the same you discard your own knit garment, before moving on to unfasten the buttons of his shirt, pushing it back until he is forced to tear his hands from the sleeves himself and whip it down to the ground.

Sliding between your thighs he wraps your legs around his back and picks you up off the couch. With an arm wrapped around your waist, he continues to kiss you while you squeal from being lifted into the air.

“Bedroom?” You ask, excited by the possible prospect.

He nods, looking up at you with a smirk. “If that’s okay? I’d rather not risk losing you to the couch too.”

You giggle at the notion, while Namjoon heaves you up again to get a better grasp, his mouth tucking into your chest. He fumbles for the door now behind you looking as though he might break it open if the knob won’t turn to his grappling grip. You reach back to assist and push it open. The cool air of the room hits you, causing you to cling to Namjoon’s warmth.

With two more steps you’re lowered onto the bed, where he grips the waist of your pants, unbuttoning and tearing them down your legs. Laying on the edge of the mattress, you watch as Namjoon kneels down between your legs. His hands glide up your bare legs and pause at the tops of your thighs massaging them as he asks to go further. “May I?”

You take his fingers and press them down on the dampening fabric. Namjoon groans and dips the tip of his index below the material peeking inside to find the warmth of your cunt. It’s a pity it’s so dark in the room, you would have liked to see his smile.

But it seems you're not alone in this desire, as Namjoon gets up and reaches over flicking on the lamp beside his bed. “No more hiding, I want to see you, all of you.”

“I want that too. I want you.”

He smiles kissing you with both hands before rolling over and pulling you on top of him. You return the favour by taking off his pants and boxer briefs releasing his erection. Running your fingers down the soft skin of his shaft, curling them around the base. Tilting his cock towards your mouth you take the tip, teasing your tongue on the rim of the head. Namjoon groans in delight, thrusting his hips up, you take it again as far as you can manage, enjoying his reactions to your tongue trails downward, tracing the swelling veins of his dick. With another drag of his cock you release him with the pop of your lips and he reaches down to grip your arms, breathing heavily with closed eyes.

“I thought you said you wanted to see me?” You chuckle at his undoing.

“I do, but I also want to last.”

“Condoms?” You ask, continuing to stroke his cock while you adjust to straddle his thighs.

“In there.” He mutters, pointing to his bedside table breathless and helpless to your touch. Only looking up when you have to free him to reach for the box and unwrap its contents. His own hands help you to roll it down his shaft.

You guide yourself down on his cock while Namjoon arches against his pillow and mattress. His fingers tracing up your stomach and ribs. You reach back to unclasp your bra just as he reaches your chest, and lean down into his touch.

With his firm grip you rock your hips clenching on his dick and grinding your clit on his pelvis. The louder he gets the faster you move, trembling as you chase your own high and pivoting down further. When Namjoon’s hands grip your hips pressing you into him the pressure becomes far too great pushing you over the edge, sending waves of pleasure through you until you collapse on his chest. He holds you in place as he thrusts from beneath, gasping as your climax continues, coaxing you to clench down on him, straining his thrusts until he comes.

Dotting the side of your face and neck with his lips at a soft and slow pace, he succeeds in forging another smile in your still gasping lips. He tilts you off and beside him in your blissful haze so he may dispose of the filled barrier. When returning to your grasp you cling to him and he you, dragging the covers up and over the both of you.

“I could get used to this.” You whisper, curling into his warmth. No longer afraid of the emotions that the holiday will bring. Glowing over the prospect of not facing Christmas morning alone, but wrapped together with Namjoon in the sheets of his bed. “Maybe even consider it a new tradition?” You joke with him looking up to witness his smile.

“If that’s a tradition...” Namjoon whispers, coming in for another kiss. “I plan on celebrating Christmas everyday for the foreseeable future.”

#bts smut #namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #kim namjoon #bts x reader #rm #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts christmas au #bts angst #bts fluff #bts wrapped together

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bibliocratic · 4 years

Text

post-160, spoilers ahoy, Martin/Jon - Martin tries to rescue Jon from Elias

(This is an obligatory fix-it sequel to one of my earlier angst fics but you don’t need to read that first)

[CLICK]

JONAH MAGNUS [mid-conversation] …. rather find they show up by themselves. A curious if harmless side effect, I wouldn't pay them much mind. Unless you'd rather this little interruption was kept from him...?

MARTIN [shortly] I don't really care.

JONAH MAGNUS How boorish. Peter didn't do much in the way of teaching you any manners.

MARTIN He didn't teach anything worth listening to.

JONAH MAGNUS Oh, you were already an adept student of the Lonely before Peter decided to make you part of our wager. [as though noticing something] Forgive me. Would you like to sit down? Plenty of room at the table as you can see. I was just finished eating.

MARTIN No.

JONAH MAGNUS Pity. I do relish the opportunity of a good conversationalist. My present company... as you can see, he's not exactly been up for chatting recently.

MARTIN [ignoring him, the steady tread of footsteps closer]

JONAH MAGNUS If you aren't going to be a hospitable guest, I think that's close enough. I'm sure you understand.

MARTIN [stops walking] You're not surprised I take it?

JONAH MAGNUS To see you here? Not especially. I knew you'd end up here eventually. All brash, full of foolish righteous anger masquerading as justice, bolstered up on thoughts of my murder.

MARTIN Read my mind, did you?

JONAH MAGNUS Oh, I didn't think I needed to for that one. You can be very possessive about what you consider yours.

MARTIN Jon's not mine. He's not yours, he's not anybody's.

JONAH MAGNUS Jon hasn't been his own man for such a long time.

MARTIN You're wrong.

[a lull in the conversation, an impasse both are too proud to cross]

JONAH MAGNUS [deliberately, aiming to hurt] …. You can look at him, you know. See him alive, whole. But you won't, will you, or can't. Too many eyes in his head and none of them the ones you hoped you'd see.

[proud] I've moulded him. Shaped his becoming. And I watch my ruined world thanks to the words I pull from his dutiful throat.

MARTIN You stole him.

JONAH MAGNUS It was a fair trade. I took nothing that wasn't offered. And he pleaded ever so movingly for your life.

MARTIN [biting] And you're such the bleeding heart.

JONAH MAGNUS It was a business transaction. A life for a life.

MARTIN This?! T-this is no life!

JONAH MAGNUS Not as you would understand it. Oh, but, look. Look at him, Martin. Isn't he magnificent?

[a roiling rumbling background sound of static]

MARTIN [whispered, almost fearful] Yes.

JONAH MAGNUS My Archives.

MARTIN [rallying, shaken] I – Jon – Is.... is he gone?

JONAH MAGNUS By which you mean, have I killed him?

MARTIN You know what I'm asking.

JONAH MAGNUS And yet I rather think you've not quite considered how much of a question it is.

MARTIN [sarcastic] Why don't you enlighten me if you're in sharing mood?

JONAH MAGNUS The Archivist has been dead before, has he not? You held his hand and said your little prayers over him as machines kept his body breathing, but I'm sure we can both agree that's not really a life. Jon was offered a choice, and he chose to embrace what he was becoming over death.

But the Jon who woke up is not the one who signed the contract to become my head archivist. Nor was that Jon the one who dragged himself and Ms Tonner out of the Buried. Nor, indeed, did any of those bear resemblance to the Jon who tore Peter Lukas apart to retrieve you from the Lonely. So many Jons, and maybe none of them still alive, none of them the man you want to find. Does that bother you?

MARTIN I don't.... I'm not here to discuss the bloody specifics of being a person. I want to know if he's still in there. His... I don't know, his choice, his emotions, his feelings.

JONAH MAGNUS Are you hoping to appeal to his better nature? How quaint. But to set your mind at ease, let me clarify that the role of Archivist would be poorly served by an unfeeling watcher. Jon's always had to, how did he put it, 'sit in his feelings'.

No, Martin, he feels everything. My Archive is a repository of knowledge. A catalogue of horrors I can collect and sample and observe and store, and they are kept perfectly preserved for me.

[a lip-curling smile obvious in his voice] Shall I have him tell you a story?

[the sound rises to audible, as though it's been playing the entire time but the volume has been turned down to a murmur. An inflectionless rote recitation, tinged with someone else's voice overlapping like twisted signals interjecting over a radio broadcast]

THE ARCHIVES … and I was sure I'd told her to leave, and I turned around, ready to shout at her, to say anything if it got her to run, but the doorway grew toothed and grinning before my eyes and there was something broken-backed and crooked in that space where nothing should have been...

MARTIN [interrupting] Don't make him do that.

[there's the harsh horrifying sound of a jaw clacking shut, and it mimics the snap of a pause button]

JONAH MAGNUS You always liked listening to his voice. When it was the two of you in the Archives, all those late nights, you could hear him through his office door, and it would make you feel like you weren't so alone. We'll listen in on another one, shall we?

[a faint choking jerk, like a leash being pulled too tight, another snap of a play button, the dialogue restarting]

THE ARCHIVES [reciting flatly] … I had the oddest thought then and even as I backed away towards the stairs, I started to get my phone out. The daft thing was...

MARTIN [recognising, voice gone sharp] Stop it.

THE ARCHIVES … I wasn't even going to call anyone for help, I just wanted to take a picture of the thing. To prove to you that it happened – you're always so quick to dismiss these statements and I wanted proof for you....

MARTIN You've made your point.

JONAH MAGNUS Hm, I think so. And, remind me, what was my point?

[silence except for Jon's now-muttered static. Careful listening and it's not static at all, but an unceasing recital of horror, statement after statement pouring from his mouth]

JONAH MAGNUS You come into my home clutching that knife with such intentions of bravado. I imagine you wanted to swoop in, rescue him. But I possess him in all the ways that matter. And you know, surely, that you aren't going to be enough to save him.

[Martin's breathing is harder]

I wasn't lying before. I have truly enjoyed your visit, you can be quite distracting company. That's been the whole point of this, hasn't it?

MARTIN Wh – ?

JONAH MAGNUS [interrupting] Who is in the house, Jon?

THE ARCHIVES Martin Blackwood is in the dining room.

JONAH MAGNUS [indulgently, playing for effect] Who else is in the house, Jon?

THE ARCHIVES [a whirring, like the tape's stuck, the first sounds garbled, before a return to normal] Basira Hussain and Melanie King are approaching the east wing. Alice Tonner is patrolling the grounds of the estate.

JONAH MAGNUS You see? All the fear in this world and he can see all of it, every trembling terrified beat of a heart. You think they could approach unseen, hide when he can sense every firing neuron of their fear, the pulse and jump of their nerves? No one is fearless, not in my brave new world, and so he sees them all.

I underestimated you once, Martin. I don't make a habit of repeating my mistakes.

MARTIN I disagree.

JONAH MAGNUS [dismissive] Oh do tell why.

MARTIN Why do you think I came here? Huh? Flimsy knife in hand, having to listen to your gloating.

JONAH MAGNUS Likely a poor attempt at trying to draw my attention.

MARTIN And why do you think Basira, Melanie and Daisy came here?

JONAH MAGNUS To kill me, I should imagine.

MARTIN No.

JONAH MAGNUS No?

MARTIN All those eyes of yours, and they're always too busy focusing on what they shouldn't.

JONAH MAGNUS Tell. Me.

MARTIN No.

JONAH MAGNUS I had thought to spare you further indignities...

MARTIN [almost scoffing] Yeah, this sounds familiar.

JONAH MAGNUS Mart –

MARTIN How about no. H-how about not this time, how about you shut up for a moment?

[huffing sound, almost a disbelieving laugh] It's just so – so easy to distract you.

JONAH MAGNUS Not much of a distraction if I know you're coming.

MARTIN Who said I was the only distraction?

JONAH MAGNUS I –

[a small patter of careful footsteps across marble flooring, and then a grunt, a wet slicing noise that sickeningly sounds like metal through meat]

[Magnus howls in agony. His voice echoing like a wind tunnel, a guttural gusty howling of static, the scrape of a chair shoved back, cutlery and tableware disturbed and smashing]

[another grunt of exertion and someone hitting the table, silverware clattering, before a heavier slump of a body hitting the floor]

MARTIN You have to...!

GEORGIE I know! Just –

[sounds of a tussle for a few seconds, then a deep stabbing puncture, the noise like a punch. Magnus stops screaming]

GEORGIE Now. Now it's done.

MARTIN That is... eurgh, that's so nasty.

GEORGIE Let me have this triumphant moment, huh?

MARTIN Yeah. Sorry. When you said what you were planning, I thought.... it was a bit more like popping a tomato than expected.

[pause, adrenaline fast breathing, the Archives' static]

He's... he's gone. Elias is really gone.

GEORGIE Finally.

Now, where's...? Holy f – Christ, Jon. Jon? Martin, is – that's not....?

MARTIN What Elias left of him.

GEORGIE What's – What's he doing?

MARTIN [darkly] What he was made for. There's so many more statements to archive now. He's being kept busy.

GEORGIE [hand over mouth] God, that's... Christ. [despairingly angry] I thought – I thought that would do it. That was the whole point of this, to get him back.

MARTIN The point was to kill Elias. He's.... Jon's not tied to Elias, he's tied to the Eye.

[creak of a door hinge, footsteps]

BASIRA [getting closer, echoing slightly in the space] He fell for it then?

GEORGIE [pulling herself back to the moment at hand] Yeah. Too busy monologuing at Martin.

BASIRA [creeping closer, sucking air through her teeth] Aim was perfect.

MELANIE She got him? Right across his eyes?

[Georgie makes a 'squish' noise as an affirmative]

Good. Fucker got what was coming.

BASIRA There's still the matter of Jon to deal with.

... Martin, you sure about this?

MARTIN [deep breath] As sure as I can be.

GEORGIE Can he... can Jon hear us?

BASIRA The rest of us, more than likely.

MARTIN [an agreeing 'hm'] He knew you were coming.

BASIRA I'd accounted for that. But being to all intents and purposes 'fearless'? Your invisibility cloak worked on Magnus. As to Jon, no idea.

MELANIE Look, we should hurry. Go, bring him back, Martin.

BASIRA And if you can't...

MARTIN [sharper] That's my call to make, not yours. We agreed.

BASIRA [a heavy pause] Just don't stay in there too long.

MARTIN Right. I'd... I'd stand back.

[there is a creaking static, like muted sound, a whip of rising wind. Martin makes a grunt of effort. Fading in to mix with the static is the rhythmic slosh of tide, the empty drone of wind over empty landscape.]

[a release of held breath]

MARTIN [almost wistful] Back again.

[footsteps digging into sand]

Jon? J-jon, we've... you're ok, Elias, he's.... I know this won't, it won't disconnect you from the Eye or anything, but you told me, you told me it was muted here.

Give you some space, s-so you can come back. I know – I know you're in there

[a crunching chewing sound like a tape spool caught]

[a manic and aggressive fast-forward]

MARTIN Come on, that's it. T-Try and talk to me.

THE ARCHIVES … she had shattered the glass of the horrid thing, its spindling legs made into a constellation of shards on the kitchen floor, but I couldn't move, I couldn't believe that it was over, not until there was a knock at the door. The police, finally. And even then she had to coax me to move, saying that it was finished, it was dead.... [cut off]

MARTIN He – he's gone, Jon. Really gone, he can't... you don't have to fight him any more. [a hopeful gasping exhale] Yeah, that's... that's it... yeah I know it's hard. [ harsh buzz of tape] Look at me, come on, yeah, good, you're doing it. You're out, you're... you're free.

THE ARCHIVES [a crunching whirr, then intoning, tainted with the over-lay of Magnus' intonation, smug and congratulatory] You do not administer and preserve the records of fear, Jon, you are a record of fear... [a sickening buzzing, the sound of a tape recorder being forwarded] ... could be turned into a conduit for the coming of this – nightmare kingdom. Don't you see where I'm going...?

MARTIN I – Jon, I don't understand.

[garbling rewind]

THE ARCHIVES ...A conduit for the coming of this nightmare kingdom.

MARTIN [softer, sounding closer] He did that to you. He forced you to say those words. That wasn't... that wasn't you, that's not your fault.

Look, we – that's why we need you back. We can, Jon, we can stop this – we've... well, Basira's got a plan, and it's a small chance, but we could, with you and Georgie, we could change something. But we need you.

[empty static]

MARTIN [quieter] And I need you. I need you to come back.

THE ARCHIVES [wrenching, cracking, choked] Mar –

[buzz, like a fucked up tape that goes on for several seconds] … I tried to explain, but all I could manage to say to get through the shaking sobs was 'I love you'.

MARTIN [throat tight] Jon, fight this, you can, come on...

THE ARCHIVES [a different recording tugged from his throat, a replication of Martin's own voice, shatter-hearted and Lonely, the faint echo of a hospital monitor] … but we need you, Jon. Please – just. Please.

MARTIN That's – Don't, Jon. Don't use my voice like that.

I'm here. We weren't just going to leave you to him. So how can I... How can I stop this, how can I help you?

THE ARCHIVES [rewind] Please.

MARTIN I don't understand– I'm trying but... no, no, no, come on Jon, eyes on me, yeah, look back up, not....

[ripped and ripe with comprehension] Oh.

THE ARCHIVES Please [rewind]. Please [rewind]. Please.

MARTIN I can't. Jon, I –

THE ARCHIVES [more insistent] Please [rewind]. Please.

MARTIN [forcefully] I won't be your murderer, Jon!

I won't. I'm sorry, but – [makes a deprecating noise] It's not even sharp. It was for show, all part of the act.

[moves in closer, tread of feet in sand] Listen to me, Jon. I know. Sweetheart, I know. I know you're tired. I know everything, everything's wrong, it's been all wrong for so long, and there's only so much hope we can all bear.

[quieter, almost ashamed] And we could stay here. It would be so so easy. Sit down together on the shoreline, let the fog take us.

I've been thinking, you know. [huff] Yeah, dangerous habit. I've had a lot of... I've had a lot of time to think, about Magnus and his 'grand plan' or whatever. He chose you, and let every horrible thing out there have their own pound of flesh from you. And the statements, they feed on you too, don't they? You live this sick repetition of other people's horrors, and that feeds the Eye, but it's too much for you to bear. And Elias, or bloody, Jonah or whoever, even he wasn't sure you'd survive, even before all this mess happened. He wanted you hurt, and scared but he couldn't be sure it wouldn't kill you outright.

[static, unbroken]

I read the statements too. Elias was very keen on giving me [dark laugh] well, professional development while you were away. And if that wasn't... wasn't enough –

[pause]

Jane Prentiss trapped and terrorised me in my home, and after that, Christ, all that time ago, it all just kept happening. The whatever-it-was that called itself Michael, I was in those corridors with Tim for weeks, and I've been, huh – if being pinballed between working for some – some evil eyeball and Peter Lukas doesn't count, I don't know what does.

[a low breath, gearing up. The static continues, an intent and intense sedateness]

I've got all of them now, isn't that right, Jon? Whether it's the statements, or workplace collateral, or even just living in this horrifying hellscape of a world. That's all of them, leaving their mark. And Elias, I think you knew, [wry chuff] or Knew probably, that he would have made me Archivist. If you didn't make it. 's why he agreed to let me stay behind, while you all went to stop the Circus.

S-so my point is. I – I know. I know you're tired, I know you want this to stop. But we could end this, together. It's too much for you to take alone, s-so why don't you share it?

[gentler] You don't – You've never had to do this on your own. An Archivist always had Assistants, remember.

THE ARCHIVES [a break in the static, like signal breaking in and out, a furious dip and rise of disparate statements] – And I told her no – […] He knew he could never ask that of – […] Please, please – [….] Martin – […] – through the shaking sobs was 'I love you' – […...]

MARTIN You're not alone. Not now, not before. If we're to have any chance at all, you have to let me help.

[a staticky buzzing, low breathing, the distant call of gulls]

Look at me, Jon. Yeah, all those eyes of yours.

What do you See?

[the static rises like a wind swell]

[Martin gives an airless grunt]

MARTIN That's it.... [gasp] Come on, Jon, let me in.

[Martin lets out a gasp that chokes into a clenched cry. He gags and swallows the sound, and it is dry and painful and crunching. The static over-washes the sound of the shore, and Martin starts making bitten-off hurt sounds, that soon devolve into screaming. This goes on for a long time.]

[He stops. The static stops]

[The loud sound of something heavy hitting the floor, Jon's breathing suddenly audible, mixed with Martin's panting. The scrape of sand, someone moving]

JONATHAN SIMS, THE ARCHIVIST [slurring and mumbled, his tongue numb and awkward] Martin... Martin... are you...?

MARTIN BLACKWOOD, THE ARCHIVIST [sucking in a harsh breath] Jon. [muffled, like he's embracing someone, or being embraced] Christ, thank god, Jon, you're ok, you're here, you're back.

[even more muffled] God, I thought I was too late.

ARCHIVIST Are you – Martin, tell me please, are you...?

ARCHIVIST I'm fine, I'm just... [wincing groan] It's just a lot.

ARCHIVIST R-right. Breathe through it. Look... look at me, that's it. The rest of it, a-all the noise, it's background. That's all. It doesn't have to drown you.

[For several long moments, they breathe in tandem as Martin calms]

ARCHIVIST I could hear you. B-back with Jonah. It was all so loud but I could hear you.

Thank you. F-for coming to get me.

ARCHIVIST Well, Basira gave me two options so it was that or murder [clearly responding to some visual expression] I'm – I'm kidding. Of course I wasn't going to just leave you.

[a surprised noise] Jon. Your eye.

ARCHIVIST What...?

ARCHIVIST The left one, it's not... It's different, it's not like – it's blue, it's blue, did something go wrong, is it...

ARCHIVIST [ever so softly, clearly a page ahead] Yours has changed too. Brown suits you.

ARCHIVIST I – Oh. Right.

So we've both.... Yours and mine....

ARCHIVIST I think so.

ARCHIVIST That's.... that's crazy.

ARCHIVIST Hmm.

[…]

[thoughtful] I forgot how quiet it was, here.

You really think we can stop this?

ARCHIVIST Basira seems to have a plan. You and Georgie, your abilities. And well, me to some extent now, I guess. It could change everything back to the way it was, now Elias has gone.

ARCHIVIST What do you think?

ARCHIVIST I think we can stop this.

ARCHIVIST Then I believe you.

Martin, what you did –

ARCHIVIST Let's – We'll talk about it later. I promise. Once we're out of here. I'm... Today's been a lot.

ARCHIVIST OK. That's – OK. You should rest, when we get out of here. It's – it'll take a lot out of you, in the beginning.

ARCHIVIST I'm sure Elias wouldn't mind lending us his rooms. Not like he can complain.

ARCHIVIST We're in Jonah's house?

ARCHIVIST Well. More mansion. It's so ostentatiously gaudy, you'd hate it. Bet he has four poster beds and framed paintings of himself all over the place.

ARCHIVIST How charming.

ARCHIVIST Hmm. Melanie's probably started on slashing up the fixtures.

[quieter] Come on, then. Let's get out of here. I know the way back.

ARCHIVIST [ever so softly] I've never doubted it.

[CLICK]

#the magnus archives #tma #fic #martin blackwood #elias bouchard #jonathan sims #cw violence #cw mind-control #tw suicidal intention

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yungidreamer · 3 years

Text

Always

This is a gift I made for someone for Christmas and I thought I would share it here in case anyone might have fun with it here as well

Summary: After the defeat of the reapers, Garrus is left without his soulmate, and wants nothing more than to have her back.

Wordcount: 4.8k

Content warnings: Very angsty, missing your soulmate and being stuck in memories of the times you had together.

Text in bold is a flashback and plain text is present time. The italic section is a ‘dream’ (meaning maybe real, maybe just a dream, you can decide).

Garrus ran his fingers over the texture of the name on the memorial. Shepard. The name was etched more deeply in his heart than it was on the large memorial he stood in front of now. The sounds of London buzzed distantly around him, barely penetrating the fog of melancholy that wrapped around him.

In this place the defenders of all life in the Milky Way galaxy made their last stand. Too many were taken in the battle to preserve life itself, but their sacrifice will never be forgotten.

For all the moments we have, now and into the future, we give them thanks.

***

“Welcome aboard Garrus,” Commander Shepard said, giving the turian a quick nod. “Glad to have you.”

That moment and those words, spoken with such a casual friendly warmth, had been a changing point he could never have anticipated. Stepping foot on the Normandy and getting out of the C-Sec rules that felt more like shackles than useful guidelines, had been his first moment of finding himself. There was never a boring moment and, damn if Shepard didn’t have a way of challenging him, challenging the preconceived notions he carried around without thinking about it.

Shepard just… made him a better person.

***

“Still glad you left C-Sec,” Shepard’s voice echoed behind him in the docking bay. A smile spread across his face and he straightened up from his work on the MAKO.

“No question,” he responded, the trill in his voice carrying his humor. “Being free of all the red tape and regulations has been amazing. I finally feel like I can actually make a difference. Get things done.”

“You do remember that there are still rules here, too, you know?” Amusement suffused her voice.

“Yeah, I understand,” he shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess I feel like your rules make a lot more sense. They aren’t stopping you from saving people or letting bad people go just because of some silly technicality.”

“Rules exist for a reason,” she reminded him firmly, but still a tinge of understanding in her tone. “But I know the frustration of feeling like things are slipping through the cracks because the rules leave no space for judgement.”

“Yes, exactly,” Garrus sighed, relieved to feel like someone understood. “I understand the reason for rules but… it all just feels like red tape at some point. If you aren’t hiring people who you can trust to have good judgement, maybe you aren’t hiring the right people.”

“Even good people can make bad judgements,” she pointed out. “It’s too easy to get caught up in being sure that your judgement is clear when you are neck deep in something yet still only know half the story.”

“I know,” he sighed. “Just having to see the consequences of people getting away and causing more misery all because the rules and the paperwork and the regulations got in the way. I hate it. I hate… being helpless to save the innocent.”

“It’s never possible to save everyone,” Shepard commiserated. “All we can do is our best. Most of the rules are there to keep us from making the same mistakes other people have before. We get to make all new ones. It’s just part of being human… or turian, too, I guess.”

“Right,” Garrus laughed. “I should really get back to this.”

“Of course,” She nodded, taking a step back. “We can talk more later.”

***

“Has your father accepted your choice to leave C-Sec?” Shepard asked as she watched him work on the MAKO.

“As much as he ever will, I think,” a tinge of bitterness flavored Garrus’ voice. “He’s like C-Sec personified. He’ll never understand or respect someone who doesn’t fit into his system.”

“Don’t write him off just yet,” she cautioned good naturedly. “He probably only really got to see the bad sides of people who didn’t follow his rules and his way of doing things. I think you might be surprised at how he comes around… eventually.”

“You have more faith in him than he seems to have in me,” he sighed bitterly.

“Sometimes it can be hard for a parent, especially one who also is accustomed to authority outside the family as well,” she replied. “For them to accept when their children don’t just follow their same path. Give it time and you’ll be able to show him that your choice was good too.”

“I’d ask you to talk to him for me,” he chuckled. “But like I said before, he doesn’t like spectres even more than he seems to disapprove of my life choices.”

“I can understand,” she shrugged. “He probably saw the consequences of rogues and rule breakers more than anyone else. It would make anyone wary of seeing the same in others.”

“You’re right,” he admitted, turning to face her. “He saw the worst in people every day and I know there was more than one corrupt member of C-Sec he had to take down from the inside.”

“I’m sure more than one of them started out just bending the rules to make things easier or just to get things done,” she sighed. “I can understand how it would be hard for him to see it as more than just a slippery slope.”

“I know, I get it, I really do,” Garrus shook his head and returned to his work. “I just wish he trusted me.”

“You’ll get it someday,” she assured him, pushing off where she had been leaning against the MAKO. “You’ll earn it and then it will mean even more.”

***

Flaming ash fell around him like snow. The smell of the citadel burning around him was acrid and the cracking of fire filled his ears mixed with the blaring of the alarms. Seeing that piece of the recharge that had once been Sovereign fly towards them in the council chambers had, all at once, moved like slow motion and with unbelievable speed. It was as if he could see it coming, slowly moving closer and closer, yet his body moved like he was fighting through honey. Time pulled at him, kept his movements slow even as he willed himself and the others in the room, including Shepard to run, to move out of the way. He knew they could not make it far enough.

“GO,” Shepards voice had been sharp, decisive, like herself. Then there had been that dull, perfect ringing silence that comes when sound overwhelms your senses. An odd bliss of nothingness. In that moment he had wondered if he had made it. Perhaps this deafness was the last thing he would experience in life.

Then, slowly, as if someone was turning on the volume on a distant world, the sounds of a half destroyed station filled in around him. The crackling of the fire, the scream of the alarms, the creak of the building settling into its new, less stable self.

Shepard, he had thought, trying to turn to look in the direction he had last seen her, but all he could see was wreckage. Where she had stood was the massive pile of former reaper. Could she have survived that? Did she get out of the way in time? He waited, looking that direction, hoping to see some movement, but there was nothing.

“Captain Anderson, we found them,” a voice shouted from nearby as some of the wreckage was moved away. “They’re in here.”

“Take it easy,” Captain Anderson’s calming, authoritative voice carried over to him as the man knelt near Liara. “It’s over. You’re safe now. Where’s the Commander?”

Both sets of eyes turned to look in the direction she had been before the wreckage had come careening into the tower. She couldn’t have dodged that, there is just no way, he thought, his heart in his throat.

He had no way of knowing at the time, but that moment of fear, that split second of acceptance that she was gone was training for those two long years of her absence that was to come. Two years of trying to find a way to make the difference he felt like he had been making at her side.

***

“Archangel?”

That voice… he knew that voice. He could never have forgotten that voice, even when he tried.

“Shepard?” Part of him still didn’t believe it even when he saw her face.

Just my luck, he thought mere moments later as he lay bleeding on the ground in some back corner of Omega. Shepard finally returns from the dead and I’m going to die. I guess if one of us has to go, I’d rather it be me.

“We’re getting you out of here Garrus,” she said, leaning over him. Her voice traveled to his ears as if he had sunk to the bottom of a very deep pool. “Just hold on.” How could she sound so sure, he wondered, pain flaring with each move. “Radio Joker, make sure they’re ready for us.” The tone of her voice told him he looked bad. Maybe this is what I deserve, he resigned himself even as he refused to give up. He wanted to stay… but he wasn’t sure he deserved it.

***

“Look, you’ve done it before,” Garrus huffed, leaning forward on the desk. “Why not this time? Is it really so different?”

“Garrus, it isn’t that simple,” Miranda leaned back in her chair. “Even if I had all the resources I had back then, what we did, the testing the repairs on the cellular level, they were all in response to the injuries and damage her body had taken after the loss of the SR 1. With what they recovered, it would almost be like starting the whole thing over.”

“But you could do it again,” he insisted. “Just get the same team back. With the same talent and well stocked lab, we could get her back again.”

“After all that we’ve been through, after all the suffering,” she shook her head and sighed. “Maybe it’s time we just let her rest. In her two lifetimes, she lived enough for all of us combined. I want her back, too, you know. You aren’t the only one who misses her.”

“It’s not the same,” he was being defensive and he knew it. It was just… how could everyone just give up like this? “You only worked with her for a little while… you… It’s just not the same.”

“I know you loved her,” Miranda let his insistence go, fighting him on the idea that she cared just as much was futile. She didn’t love Shepard, but she had earned her respect, and that probably mattered more to her. The galaxy was a better place because of her, and it would have been an even better place if she had survived that final battle. But she hadn’t. She had done what any on her team would have; she stepped up and made the necessary sacrifice to ensure the survival of sentient life in the galaxy.

“You just,” he sighed, clenching his mandibles in frustration. “You don’t understand. You can’t understand.”

“Just because I’m saying no,” she said with a firm finality. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to do it, too.”

“Not enough,” Garrus said with a resigned defiance. Without another word, he turned and walked away, only the sound of his armored feet clicking metallically against the floor plating filling the silence.

***

“I just thought being finished with him, with what happened to my squad,” Garrus’ mandibles clicked in frustration. “That it would feel different. I thought I would feel…”

“Less guilt?” Shepard prompted. “Like you had finally found peace?”

“Yeah, I guess that’s it,” he admitted. “Thank you for your help and for everything you’ve done for me with this whole thing. There isn’t anyone else I would have trusted for this mission.”

“You did the right thing,” Shepard soothed. “In time the feeling will fade. It’s not the sort of thing you just forget but you’ll find a way to accept the difference you can make given what happened. You can’t change the past but you can do things now to make a difference.”

“If only it was easy to know I had done the right thing,” he groaned.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to be able to have the surety of knowing that,” she chuckled. “I don’t know that we can ever really have the comfort of knowing for certain that we did the absolute right thing, just that we are doing our best given what we know.”

“How do you just accept that?” He questioned, baffled by the ease with which she seemed to be able to do it.

“I don’t,” she gave a scoffing laugh. “But I don’t let it stop me. It’s my motivation. I know I can’t completely avoid having regrets, but the regrets I have help me avoid more; not making the same mistakes.”

“No, no, we just get to make completely new ones,” Garrus gave a self deprecating laugh.

“Exactly,” Shepard agreed with a laugh.

“Every day a new adventure,” he smiled.

“Every day,” she nodded.

***

“Garrus,” Tali’s sweet accented voice trilled over the vidcom. “It’s been a while. How… how are you?”

“As well as can be expected,” he couldn’t help the stiffness in his voice as he replied.

“Of course,” she replied quickly before they both lapsed into a tense silence.

“How is the resettlement of the Rannoch going?” He finally asked, searching for something to say.

“Better than I could have ever expected,” she responded. “The geth have been invaluable in the process. After 300 years… I never would have thought we could be living side by side.”

“Everyone is really getting along? Even after all the history and everything that has happened?” He couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice.

“Well, not everyone,” she quickly admitted. “But the people who have been most skeptical have decided to remain aboard the homeships, keep the lifestyle of the fleet. I’m not sure I like the idea of us splitting up, but I can understand how some wouldn’t be able to trust the geth after so many centuries.”

“I’m impressed the geth could make the transition themselves that easily,” he admitted. “Afterall, it was your people who started all of it.”

“It wasn’t that simple,” she started defensively, then paused, having to admit there was truth to it. “But the geth still operate collectively. I envy them sometimes. It must be so much simpler when everyone just… understands.”

“Where is the fun in that?” He joked. “Is life worth living if there isn’t something you have to fight for?”

“There is enough to fight about without having to fight amongst ourselves,” she pointed out even as a note of humor tinged her voice.

“Listen,” he began, trying to move onto the topic of the call he had intended to have. “With all the knowledge we have now… with the geth and everything else… do you think… can we bring her back again?”

“I know you miss her, but…” Tali sighed. “Even if we know how. I don’t know that it is the right thing to do.”

“What do you mean?” Garrus could feel his stomach drop.

“She spent her life saving the galaxy, saving all our lives,” she shook her head. “She has earned her rest.”

“She earned a lifetime of happiness,” he corrected with passion.

“She made the choice and I have chosen to respect it,” Tali responded with resolute compassion. “I live my life and lead my people in honor of that choice and that sacrifice. I am doing what I can so that none of it, none of the losses or the sacrifices made to bring us here go to waste. And I am letting her rest. It’s all I can do. I’m sorry.”

***

Garrus returned to the apartment Anderson had left Shepard. He didn’t really know why he hadn’t sold it yet. Every corner of the place was filled with ghosts. Joker’s laughter and banter at the bar. Kaiden on the second floor floating James with his bionic field. His eyes fell upon a small pile of datapads. Just looking at them made the echos of Mordin’s voice echo in his mind. So many ghosts.

He padded through the sparse but well appointed room that had stayed the same since that last party they all threw before… before everything went wrong. Of course he had gone in knowing some or all of them might die. They had already lost Mordin and Legion. It would have been a miracle not to lose anyone else from the team. He just wished it hadn’t been her. Not again.

***

“How did you even find her body?” Garrus asked, leaning back in his chair.

“Technically I didn’t,” Liara admitted, pacing in front of the desk that held her camera. “The Blue Suns recovered her remains. The real challenge was getting the body back from the Shadowbroker. Leaving Freon behind for all that time… it was a hard choice, but it was the right one.”

“Easy for you to say as the one who wasn’t captured by the Shadowbroker,” he said sardonically.

“He would have done the same,” she assured him. “The job was too important. We couldn’t let the collectors have her.”

“I wish I knew what they thought they would have found if they had gotten their hands on her,” she shook her head and sighed.

“Who knows,” he shook his head. “Maybe they wanted to know what she knew, what the Prothians had managed to preserve and pass on through the beacons.”

“There had to be an easier way to find that out,” she decided after a pause. “Maybe they needed to know why she could understand it. Shepard always was something special.”

“Do you think there was something that different about her?” He asked. “I mean in some way you could quantify in DNA or something?”

“It’s foolish to think that such things would simply be a result of some small quirk of genetics,” Liara admitted. “But maybe… maybe it could have told them those most likely to be dangerous to them if they were allowed to live and resist them.”

“That makes sense,” he had to agree. “They needed the masses to make the new collectors and maybe… maybe someone like Shepard would have been used to make the new ‘human’ reaper.”

“Perhaps,” she considered. “We have so much information now at our fingertips. I never really thought I would feel like there was such a thing as knowing too much. As a historian, I grew so accustomed to picking through little bits of information here and there. Now it feels like I have just fallen through the ceiling of some great library of a thousand lost civilizations. I don’t even know where to start.”

“Do you think…” Garrus paused, his mandibles clenching and twitching anxiously.

“You want to bring her back again,” Liara finished for him.

“Don’t you?” He pushed. “Don’t you think that she deserves it? Deserves to have a real life beyond being a sacrifice for the greater good?”

“I… yes but… it isn’t that simple,” she began. “The Illusive man is gone. There is no Cerberus this time to bankroll her resurrection. And what we found, what was left by the time her body was recovered, it wasn’t the same.”

“We did it before,” he insisted. “Surely what we learned from before, and with what we know now from all of this… it has to be possible.”

“Right now it feels like anything is possible,” she admitted. “But even if we have the information that would make it possible without 4 billion credits, I don’t know if we would understand it yet. Like I said, there is so much right now we are just working on absorbing at the moment.”

“Can’t someone, the geth for example, sort through it,” his voice held a note of desperation. “They owe Shepard as much as any of us do.”

“You can give a Yagh a physics textbook but they will never understand the material,” her analogy wrangled but got the point across.

“You really think we are too dumb to understand it now?” Garrus asked flatly.

“Stupid or not,” Liara shrugged. “We have to understand the framework and build the fuselage before we can fly the ship.”

“We’ve done it before,” he repeated again for the hundredth time.

“Cerberus did something before,” she corrected. “They spent two years doing bespoke work on a single person with a single circumstance. There isn’t anyone or any organization that is going to want to invest in a project like that again.”

“Every single being in existence owes it to Shepard to do this,” he insisted.

“Shepard never did this expecting something in return,” she reminded him.

“I don’t care.” He snapped. “I do.”

“Shepard has returned to the greater whole we are all destined to return to,” she tried to comfort him, turning to the idea most Asari believed in to some degree. It made sense to her even as a vague, comforting idea more than a strict system of answers of belief. “Maybe that is the best thing we can give her.”

“I can’t just be satisfied with that,” Garrus admitted. “I can’t just accept it.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything different,” a sad humor filled the admission. “If anything changes, I promise to let you know.”

“Thanks,” he nodded and looked away. “I’ll let you go.”

“Be well, Garrus,” Liara said before closing the channel. He sighed and moved away from the desk, heading up to the bedroom to sleep. Rest had eluded him even when he slept. His mind could not stop chasing every possibility, every chance, every last grain of hope. He had to admit that things looked bleak as he changed and stretched out on his side of the bed. His eyes closed and after a few tosses and turns, he slipped into dreams.

The hum of the SR-2 filled his ears and he opened his eyes to see a field of stars through the skylight above the bed in the captain's quarters. It was a view he loved but had seen too few times. Of course really, it had been the company that made the place so special. Even if he had only seen it once, it would have been burned into his mind for the rest of his life. Ripples of blue shimmered over the field that kept space outside even in this dream world.

Beside him he felt someone else shift in the bed and turned to see her laying beside him, a contented look on her face as she looked up at the same view he had opened his eyes to. The room was dim and warmly lit, just like she liked it. The speakers played a low key, chill electronic song; one of her favorites for going to sleep.

“Thanks for the company,” her voice filled the holes in his heart as she turned to face him. “It’s never the same here without you.”

“Always,” he turned on his side, propping himself up on his elbow. “You know it will always be the two of us, Shepard and Vakarian. Side by side. Forever.”

“How is everyone these days?” She asked, giving him a smile as she reached up to touch his face.

“Fine, fine,” he nodded, answering automatically at first. “Good even really. Tali is thriving in the work to settle people back on Rannoch. Miranda is putting all that genetic perfection to good use on both sanctioned and not so sanctioned projects. Joker is test flying the newest and most advanced ships that are being built. He and EDI got a little place together near the R&D facility that he would be living and working at otherwise. She’s learned to cook to make sure he is taking care of himself. Liara has put the organizational and research skills that she developed as the Shadowbroker to monitor and integrate all the information we have as best we can. Wrex and Grunt are back on Tuchanka rebuilding their civilization, ‘only better’ as one of them put it in the last message I got. All of the alliance crew is happily back at work flying from one system to another ferrying researchers and tech to colonies and planets as the innovations come out of all the new things we are learning. Jacob has a family and has happily settled in a new colony on the edge of what used to be alliance space. He’s happy taking orders and making a difference as part of a project he feels matters.”

“What about you?” She asked, eyes searching his. “How is my favorite turian doing?”

“I’m—” he wasn’t sure why, but he was about to say he was fine. At the moment, lying beside her, maybe he was, but that isn’t what she meant. “I miss you. Some days it feels like I am the only one who remembers you. I keep trying to get you back and everyone says it’s impossible. They did it before, why can’t someone just try again?”

“You know I’m always here,” she soothed. “Even if you can’t see me, I’m still here. I’m waiting for you at the bar. I don’t mind the wait. I’ve already got a bottle of the good stuff just waiting for us to share.”

“I don’t want to wait,” he held her cheek as he pressed his forehead against hers. “I hate that I have to wait to meet you here. I want to fall asleep in your arms again. I want to worry when you go on stupid missions. I want to have to worry about securing your apartment again. Zaeed still has some good ideas about securing the place Anderson left you.”

“No one is better at making some place safe than an ex-assassin,” admiring laughter danced in Shepard’s voice.

“Kasumi dropped by to check on me,” he added. “I’m pretty sure she’d been watching me for a few days since she gave a few things a security upgrade before she left. I have no idea what she is up to these days, but she seems happy and well. I guess when you are a cat burglar, not seeing her on the extranet is a good thing.”

“She always did land on her feet,” she smiled and shook her head.

“Samara and her surviving Ardat-Yakshi daughter have been able to spend some quality time together.” Garrus recalled from his last conversation with her. “Her work as a Justicar has diminished since the last stand. Besides, I think once you’ve saved the existence of life itself, anyone would feel like they’ve earned a moment’s pause.”

“I’m sure her daughter is grateful for that,” she responded.

“Samara is too,” he agreed.

“I’m glad everyone is doing well,” Shepard sighed contentedly. “You know it’s okay for you to move on, right? I know it’s not that you’ve forgotten me or that you gave up. You can follow your dreams still, go out and fight injustice.”

“I’m not ready yet,” he sighed. “Just a little longer.”

“You don’t have to stay here,” she assured him. “I’ll be with you wherever you are. Omega, Horizon, earth… wherever.”

“I know, just… not yet,” he curled up along her side and let his eyes close as he held her close.

“Whenever you’re ready,” she agreed, hand resting on his arm that was draped across her stomach.

***

Liara paced around the dim room, lit mostly by the cluster of screens that lined much of one wall. Her mind lipped through a hundred ideas and possibilities as she scrolled through a series of names on the data pad in her hand. Her networks had their fingers in almost anything that was going on in Alliance territory and in most of the places outside its jurisdiction as well.

She had said no to Garrus when he called, but she had never really written off the possibility of working to bring Shepard back. She could cling to it, keep pursuing the possibilities while keeping a cool, dispassionate head. Shepard would always be someone who she owed more to than she could have ever repaid in even an asari lifetime. Still, she wasn’t her soulmate, the other half of her the way she was for Garrus. It would be cruel to string him along as she looked into the slim, distant possibilities that existed.

This looks like something, she decided, pausing on something that had come on to her list in the last few days. Clicking through the information, she flicked it onto the screens on the wall, analyzing all the information and connecting it with threads and bits of research that others were doing in completely different places.

Yes, this could be very promising, she decided. Taking a seat, at her communication station she pulled up a covert channel and opened the line to one of the agents she had as her roll as the Shadowbroker.

“Shadowbroker, what a surprise to hear from you,” the trill of a female turian voice chirped over the coms.

“I‘ve been following the research happening at your facility,” Liara’s voice was transformed over the coms into a mechanical tone that held none of her original tone or voice. “I want to know more…”

#mass effect #mass effect epilogue #shepard x garrus #fem shep #liara #tali #miranda #mass effect fanfiction

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hunnybadgerv · 4 years

Text

Pear-Shaped | Far Cry 5 | Tayen Quick

Summary: Deputy Tayen Quick finds herself thrust into the middle of a cult uprising and at a crossroads of conscience and self-preservation. It turns out to be a defining moment for her and the citizens of this picturesque part of Montana.

a/n: The first in a series of one-shots that piece together Deputy Tayen Quick’s responses and adventures in Hope County and the Holland Valley—before, during, and after the Reaping by the Project of Eden’s Gate and the Seed Family. It is fairly canon-typical, but knowing how I tend to do things, it is not unlikely for there to be canon divergence and rewriting.

AO3 LINK

Pear-Shaped

-1-

Warrant service. Helicopter crash. Shoot outs and a car chase. Driving off a bridge into the river. Deputy Tayen Quick’s head was still spinning even though the adrenaline had stopped pumping and the world seemed not to be gunning specifically for her for a few seconds. A radio broadcast told her she was still on the minds of the group from Eden’s Gate—after all their preacher, Joseph Seed, had started the Reaping, whatever that was, and now he had them looking for her, presumably to add her to his collection of law enforcement prisoners. It made her head pound worse.

Dutch had proved convincing enough to trust, but it was more than that. She couldn’t get it out of her head. That voice, Joseph’s singing. Even as she stripped out of her uniform, the glint of the star she’d worn on her chest gleaming in the low light of the bunker caught her eye. Her thumb ran over the flag on the shoulder. She’d been wearing that for nearly 15 years before she took this job—12 years in the service and 3 on the force back home.

Sinking to the floor, she leaned against the cold lockers. The sensation grounded her. She laid her head back against the metal and closed her eyes. “You came out here because it was supposed to be quiet.”

Dutch’s voice carried down the hall. “This place was never quiet.”

Her head snapped toward the sound, but he wasn’t anywhere near her. She sat and listened.

“That’s just an illusion city folk have about the country. They think all this space, big sky, mountains, and wilderness makes for a quiet, pastoral existence. It’s not really true. On the surface, it might look like that. But most of the time, the only difference is that people are just too far away to see the real shit.”

He sighed. “That’s what happened with those Eden Gate people. No one batted an eye when they built their church. Or their commune. They kept to themselves mostly. Sure, they held their revivals, but there’s not a church in 300 miles that doesn’t do that. No one realized anything was askew until it was too late.”

“Then the marshal came in with his warrant and we kicked the shit out of the hornet’s nest,” she added.

“Yeah,” he said. There was accusation in the tone of his voice, but that wasn’t all. She couldn’t put her finger on what else she thought she heard.

“Yeah, well. I told you I’d help as best I can.”

“And if that’s not enough?” he asked.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She didn’t get an answer. His boot falls moved down the hall, leaving her to imagine all on her own.

His bunker reminded her too much of her own place—bare, sparse furnishings, pictures of old friends all in uniform, a few plaques and commendations. It was almost like looking into her own future, and it gave Tayen the chills. Turning her back on the decor, she stared into the locker. She stripped down and traded her uniform pants for a pair of standard issue camo trousers. Of course, they were not her size, but she used her own belt to cinch them up. She pulled on a black tank top and slid into a red and black flannel shirt which she left unbuttoned and untucked.

Stepping back into her boots, Deputy Quick shuffled down the hall, leaving behind the trappings of her position—for now. Dutch was right, wandering around the county in her uniform was going to paint a bigger bolder target on her back, and she didn’t need that. Not if she was going to get help.

“Hey,” Tayen said, as she stopped in the doorway. Her eyes darted around the room, taking it all in. The bank of ham and CB radios, the map with photos and pins galore, sparsely populated shelves, a gun safe—this guy was prepared for some next level shit to go down. She’d heard of prepper types, but this felt extreme. “Um,” she said when he didn’t answer, “you got anything down here to eat.”

Dutch, staring at the radios that only belched out static, turned his head and sighed. “Next door down. Start with the cans first.”

She gave him a nod, pushing a hand through her chin length inky black hair before she moved. The events of the night before drained her, physically and emotionally. In the kitchen/living area, she found a can of stew easy enough and a can opener. Once the smell hit her, her stomach rumbled and twisted into knots at the same time as a dilemma formed in her addled mind—eat it cold or warm it up.

“You can wait two fricken minutes, Tayen,” she told herself, opting for a bowl and sticking it in the microwave. Dutch checked on her a little later, as she was inhaling the calories needed to refuel her.

He said nothing and just walked over and tapped the button under a blinking light on his answering machine. A woman’s voice, frantic and afraid filled the room. It stopped the deputy’s scarfing and she stared at the device, clearly affected by what she was hearing. She might not know Rae-Rae, but it was clear by that message that something was off.

“People here could use your help here, deputy.”

She let go of her spoon and leaned back against the counter. “Don’t you think the best way I can help them is to let people know what’s going on?”

“Before the radio signals went to shit, I heard dozens of calls saying that the tunnel out of the valley was blocked. And three maydays from local pilots saying they’d been shot at and were going down.”

The bowl rested against the side of her thigh, as she pressed her fingers over her forehead.

“You know what I’m saying, girl.” His eyes flicked from her face to the black ink peeking out from beneath her rolled up sleeve. “You’ve been there before.”

“Yeah, I have, old man.” She straightened, tension rolling her shoulders back. “That part of my life is over.” Her feet carried her to the sink where she deposited the half-eaten bowl of stew. Both her palms pressed against the counter as she leaned there. “And I got no intention of going back into hell,” she muttered.

“Might be too late for that.”

Deep down, she knew he was right. She’d seen that compound, seen Joseph riling his forces and setting them loose. She’d been shot at and nearly killed a dozen times the night before. Somehow, she managed to not wind up captured or dead. Yeah, this was as deep as any other hell she had ever known.

She let out a long exhale and leaned on her elbows. Dutch just patted her on the shoulder and left her with her thoughts. Time seemed to stand still as she stared at the rust gathering at the edge of the sink where it met the countertop. It took her longer than she would ever own up to, but eventually, she came around, but she was determined to do it right.

Whatever that meant. She was an officer of the peace, not a soldier under orders. Her job was to protect these people. Of course, she didn’t know precisely what that meant or how it would have to look. With her decision made, Tayen grabbed her bowl and wandered down the hall back to Dutch’s control room, as she deemed it.

“All right. Fill me in.”

Dutch turned and gave her a grim nod. “This is what I’ve been able to piece together so far,” he began.

The deputy listened intently, occasionally jotting notes on the pad she always carried when she was on shift. Something told her this was going to be the never-ending shift from hell.

-2-

Less than 300 yards from the door of Dutch’s bunker, Tayen got to see traces of the Peggie’s Reaping.

“No, don’t!”

She froze at the scream. It was followed by the telltale sound of flesh on flesh, a punch more likely. The groaning resounded through the trees. She crept forward as quietly as she could manage.

“You will repent,” a wild haired, bearded man told a captive who was kneeling in the mud with his hands behind his back.

“I didn’t do anything to deserve this,” the man replied.

Her hand went to her sidearm, well, Dutch’s pistol really. Her teeth ground together as she considered it. The cult members were both armed. Even if she shot first, one of them could still get lucky and get a shot off. With a slow exhale, she looked around her on the ground. Finding a weighty limb with a good bit of heft to it, she moved through the brush as the man and his prisoner continued to argue.

She knew she would have to move fast. At the edge of the high grass, she darted at the woman, whose back was to her and bashed her with a two-handed swing of the branch she’d found. Then she took two steps and sprang at the man. He dropped his pistol when she got her arm around his neck.

The captive threw himself backward to avoid the pair.

Using her body against his in a way to facilitate leverage on her hold, his clawing soon turned toward patting. Then his hands slid away from her arm as his knees buckled. Tayen Quick didn’t release him until they were both on the ground. Once the man was down, she finally loosened her grip and checked his pulse. The slow thud under her fingertips was a relief.

“Is he—?” the captive asked.

“Breathing,” she replied.

“Christ.”

Her hands frisked over the man’s back, pulling extra clips from a pocket of his cargo pants. She also stripped him of a pocketknife and a pair of flex cuffs, which she tightened around the unconscious man’s wrists before flipping him over. She inspected the knife; it was rusty and dull and probably couldn’t cut through room temperature butter. “Who the hell goes into the woods without a knife?” she muttered at his complete ridiculousness.

She moved to the man in khaki and sawed at the duct tape around his wrists with the shitty pocketknife she’d found on the captor.

“Thank God you were out here,” the captive said. He rubbed at his wrists once she finally got him free. He just stared at her as she moved away from him.

“Yeah.”

“Thanks.”

“Where’d you come from?” she asked.

“Working at the park observatory up on the hill. They just came out of nowhere.”

“How many?” Her questions and her tone were curt as she moved to the other cult member. Her fingers searched for a pulse first. Her shoulders shrank when she didn’t find one. This wasn’t what her job was supposed to look like, she recalled as she crouched over the body. Her gaze flicked back to the unconscious one. She couldn’t leave him anything he could use to hurt anyone.

“Dozen. They were just suddenly there. I never saw them coming.” The man shook his head and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Not that I ever thought to look,” he muttered.

“And why would you?” she asked, glancing up at him with her hands in the dead woman’s pockets.

He huffed, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Look, I have … well, had some supplies up there. You’re welcome to anything you might need. Anything the Peggies didn’t already take.”

“Appreciate it,” Tayen said with a genuine smile.

“Least I could do,” he replied.

She laughed wryly. “Don’t worry about it. It’s my job.”

Grabbing the pistols, the two had been carrying, she offered one to the ranger as they hiked up the hill. “You know how to use one of these?” she asked.

“C’mon, miss. I’m from these parts. Grew up shooting.”

“Well, then here you go, but try to keep your head down.”

He nodded. “For sure.” They continued on in silence. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Why’d you leave that guy tied up back there?”

Tayen’s smooth gait stuttered. And the first answer that came to mind, because I’m not a murderer, was immediately countered by the realization that she had, not seconds before choking that guy out, killed his backup. “I just …” She searched her mind for a reasonable response. “I’m with the Sheriff’s office,” she finally said like it was a perfectly valid explanation.

While he nodded, the knit of his brow told her it didn’t really make sense to him either.

“I’m supposed to protect and serve, not kill with impunity,” she added.

“Don’t think I’m not grateful, because I am. Really. I’d be dead or who knows where if you hadn’t come along. I was just … curious.”

Quick nodded. “Yeah, I get it.” And while she understood the impetus for the question; her answer to it still left her a little stumped, even if it felt right. She wasn’t an executioner, wasn’t a soldier anymore, she was a cop—meant to protect the people not be their executioner. She rubbed at the back of her neck and mounted the stairs once they reached the station.

#Far Cry 5 #Dutch Roosevelt #Tayen Quick #Pear-Shaped #Badger Scribbles

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primal-screamer-blog1 · 5 years

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#motley crue #the dirt #nikki sixx #fan fiction #fanfic #fan fic #motley crue fan fiction #motleycruefanfiction #douglas booth #tommy lee #mick mars #vince neil #colson baker #mgk #machine gun kelly #iwan rheon #daniel webber #80s #80s metal

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mst3kproject · 6 years

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520: Radar Secret Service

So here’s a challenge. My stated goal for this blog is to watch and find something halfway intelligent to say about each and every movie the show ever featured. I’m not sure I can say anything intelligent about Radar Secret Service. I’m not sure I can say anything stupid about Radar Secret Service.

I don’t know if I can even describe the plot. The introduction is pretty straightforward, explaining to us that the men of the Radar Secret Service can find just about anything, from a school of fish to a hidden murder weapon. I wonder if anybody’s asked them about the g-spot. With a tool like that, they could go looking for the Ark of the Covenant or Jimmy Hoffa or something, but instead they’re keeping an eye on a shipment of radioactive material. Some crooks manage to steal the stuff despite the high-tech surveillance… and that’s where the movie starts to lose me. I can pay attention to this for about ten minutes, and then my brain just shuts the fuck down.

I mean, I keep trying to watch, I really do. I don’t know why I can’t. Radar Secret Service is only sixty minutes long, for crying out loud, surely I can pay attention to something dull and stupid for sixty measly minutes! I watched the sandstorm sequence in Hercules Against the Moon Men. I sat through the Rock Climbing in Lost Continent. Hell, last Thanksgiving I listened to my Dad and my brother-in-law talk about their unfinished home improvement projects for what felt like six days. Surely Radar Secret Service cannot be the thing that defeats me. I get myself a snack and my knitting and settle down, but without fail, by that ten minute mark I’ve lost track of who any of the characters are or what they’re supposed to be doing. My knitting’s on the floor and I’m playing Marvel Puzzle Quest. Shit.

I start over and try again. This time I turn off my phone. I close the blinds. I do my best to remove all distractions. I still can’t focus. The walls of my living room are more interesting than this movie. I find myself looking at them and wondering what happened to that National Geographic solar system poster I had when I was a kid, the one that showed all the moons to scale. I mean, it’s horrendously out of date now but it was my favourite poster for ages. Twelve-year-old me named all the characters in half a dozen unfinished fantasy novels after those moons. Out of sheer curiosity I googled, and found out that holy shit, you can still buy it! Well, damn, that’s kind of tempting, just for nostalgia’s sake.

Okay, no. I have to watch the movie. By twenty minutes in, I still don’t know any of the characters’ names but ‘radar’ no longer sounds like a real word. In fact, it’s not a real word. It’s an acronym for RAdio Detection And Ranging. In the UK it’s also the Royal Association for Dis-Ability Rights, and the Feinberg School of Medicine in Chicago has the Research on Adverse Drug events And Reports committee. I bet either of those would make a better movie.

Wait, I’ve gotten distracted again. This isn’t working. Maybe I can watch it in MST3K form. Radar Secret Service is so short that almost all of it got into the episode. I could cheat and do a review based on just that. I do remember snickering at the skit about the Quinn Martin nature preserve. I should look up some of those people on IMDB. Maybe I can find some material for Episodes that Never Were. It says Lee Meriwether was in a mad science movie called The 4-D Man, which looks remarkably bad. I definitely need to see that…

God damn it.

Okay, clearly having a computer at all is too much distraction for me to watch this movie. I’m gonna have to pop the disk into an actual DVD player and watch it that way. Some kind of drastic measures are definitely needed here because I’ve written almost an entire page of this review and I have not yet actually managed to watch the fucking movie right through in one sitting. There’s nothing there to watch. Where are these people? Who are they? They all look and dress and sound alike. They all have identical mustaches and drive indistinguishable cars – I can’t even tell which is the Radarmobile unless we’re in a wide shot that shows the Christmas ornament on top. The only reason I’m sure that Waitress and Leopard Lady are two different characters is because they had a scene together at the beginning. Are they both wearing the same wig? They’re so alike that when one of them shoots the other I’m tempted to say it counts as suicide.

The characters have no character. The script imparts nothing to us besides minimal so-called plot information and the performances are dismally bland. The music is boring. The direction is listless. It’s no wonder they picked Oh!! There’s a dead man there!!! as the stinger because it’s literally the only memorable moment in the whole film. I’m not using literally to mean emphatically, either. I’m using it to mean literally.

Why did they make this movie? I don’t understand. It’s not an action flick because there’s no action. It’s not a drama because there’s no drama. It’s not a comedy because nothing’s funny. It’s not sci-fi because there’s no science. What are we supposed to take away from this experience? What are we supposed to learn? The movie is like a black hole, sucking in our hopes for entertainment and hiding them away behind an event horizon of boredom and confusion, from whence they can never be retrieved. I feel actively stupider for having seen even part of it.

Even if I were to make myself watch it all the way through, from the finding of the gun to the final arrest, in a single sitting, even if I were to force my unwilling brain to recognize every frame of it, what could I possibly say? There’s nothing to analyze here, no meaning, no metaphor. Even on a technical level, there’s not much I could add to what Mike and the Bots already said. Yes, everybody looks the same. No, I have no idea which side most of these identical gray suits with meaty 50’s men in them are on. No, the people who made this movie have no idea what radar is or what it’s used for. The Radar Men from the Moon were more relevant to radar than this movie and I don’t think they ever even used the word.

I could just talk about the short. The short! A shining beacon of something I can actually pay attention to! Sadly, the very fact that I could fill a review with my thoughts on Last Clear Chance is surely a sign it deserves an entry of its own. Where does that leave me?

It leaves me sitting on the sofa, realizing I haven’t paid any attention for the last few minutes because I zoned out dreaming up flowery metaphors for my struggle. I’m starting to think the only way I could actually watch this is to strap myself into a chair with my head locked in place and tape my eyes open, like something out of A Clockwork Orange. Even then, I might still manage to get distracted. My entire body is rejecting this movie. I think I’m making antibodies to it.

I cannot tell you how much I’d rather be watching A Clockwork Orange than Radar Secret Service. Hell, I’d rather be watching Caligula. Caligula had stuff to look at. It had characters with names.

Maybe… wait. What if Radar Secret Service is actually a brilliant work of art and I’m missing it because I can’t pay attention for long enough? Maybe it’s a satire of 50’s futurism and tedious moviemaking! Maybe the ultimate-spy-tool-radar premise is a comment on the erosion of our privacy in an increasingly technological society! Maybe the reason it’s so hard to tell the heroes from the villains is because the modern world has rendered both concepts irrelevant! There is no good or evil anymore, just men in suits either giving or obeying orders, no one individual identifiable as the reason why something happens! Maybe the two women are identical because the filmmakers are trying to point out that patriarchal society turns women against each other and ultimately against themselves! Of course! It all makes sense! How did I not see it before?

I have no memory of typing that last paragraph. What’s going on?

Oh my god. Oh shit. I know what this is. It’s the hypno-helio-static-stasis! I’m already in its clutches! The world is fading. I need to inject something thoughtful and entertaining directly into my eyeballs immediately. There may still be time if I can only reach Netflix…

And suddenly, there it is, looming over me like a glittering spaceship above Devil’s Tower National Monument… like a saving angel… could it really be? It is! It’s Close Encounters of the Third Kind! I reach out for it. I can already hear its dulcet tones ringing in my ears like a siren song… doo-doo-DAH-doo-DAH…

And then the ship wavers and fades away, leaving only a brushed chrome ball. My browser’s not even on Netflix. It’s on DailyMotion, and all that’s playing is a shitty print of Radar Secret Service.

I hope you guys enjoyed my mental disintegration because it’s all the review you’re gonna get. See you next week. Fuck this movie.

#mst3k #reviews #radar secret service #tw: suicide #fuck this movie #50s

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buckyscrystalqueen · 6 years

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Ohana: Part 4

Pairings: Negan x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, fluff

Word Count: 3,483

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After fourteen hours, two slight meltdowns, and learning how to do an amputation on the fly through a text book, you managed to get Chris stable and patched up and get a salve on Mark’s burns. You limped down to your bed room just before dawn, fighting your tears with every step. Your whole body ached as you pushed open your bedroom door as quietly as possible but you hesitated just in the door way.

“Have you been here all night?” You asked Negan as you stepped the rest of the way into your room and closed the door behind you. He looked up from the book he was reading on your bed and nodded as he took off his black rimmed glasses.

“Well I had to learn about Ohana.” He said as he gestured to your TV with his glasses with a chuckle. “And magic carpet rides.” You huffed a laugh as you hobbled over to your dresser and grabbed a clean shirt on your way to the far side of the bed.

“She loves Lilo and Stitch.” You told him as you flopped down on the bed with a giant yawn. “I think she can quote that movie by now. Can you hand me that jar and the tube of lotion from my table?”

“How has she seen it so many times? Here, I got it.” You looked up at him and didn’t even try to fight as he peeled the sleeve off your leg and tossed it on the bed by his knees. You weakly pointed to the areas that needed the Icy Hot and leaned back against your headboard.

“Millions. I was one of those wack job, dooms-day preppers after I came home from Iraq. Built an underground bunker in my back yard, had enough food and water for me and my sister’s family, had solar panels in the back and a rain collection system… would’a lasted the four of us at least a year and a half.” You shook your head as you sat up a bit and pulled off your old shirt. “That’s the reason I got Brenna. I was babysitting when the final announcement went out; that Atlanta was shutting down and the military was stepping in. I knew that meant nothing good. So I packed up everything I could grab from my house, called and left messages with Sarah, and headed to the bunker with Brenna.” Tears welled in your eyes as Negan’s strong fingers worked magic on your sore stump.

“Brenna and I were down there for four years, five months, and 11 days before we ran out of food. And since I was unable to get any sort of radio station to come through and the news still wasn’t back up, I slipped into survival mode. I packed up some clothes and anything else I could carry, grabbed my motorcycle from my garage and stole my neighbors side car and hit the road with a four year old. I had no fucking idea what I was expecting but it damn sure wasn’t what I saw. Figured it would be like an apocalypse where everyone was just gone.” You rolled your head toward him on the headboard and shook your head.

“If I had known how bad it was I would have never left that bunker. I would have left Brenna in there and figured out a way to grow crops or searched my neighbors houses for food or figured out something down there to survive. I was fucking blindsided when we left my neighborhood but I just kept going. I showed no fear so my child would be strong and I just kept moving. I planned on trying to get back to my house but shit just kept happening.

I was finally in a place that heading back seemed like it was finally a possibility. I had found those seeds you got in a gardening store and I knew I had planters in my garage but then my leg broke. My back up was always shitty so I figured I’d get to the prosthetics office to get the one I was supposed to get before the fall but then I found you. And this is the safest I’ve felt since I was in my bunker. And words could never be enough to thank you for that.” Negan smiled as he leaned back beside you with a small smile.

“It was my fucking pleasure, baby girl.” You both looked over at Brenna, who had herself curled into Negan’s other side on your pillow, when she stirred in her sleep. When she didn’t wake up, you yawned and stood up awkwardly to take off your dry blood covered jean shorts. “Does she know?” You looked up at him through your lashes, noticing that he was purposely being respectful and looking away from you at Brenna.

“No. She doesn’t.” You hopped once to get yourself closer to the bed and climbed onto the queen sized bed under your blankets with a big yawn. “She was only a couple months old when we went into the bunker and when Sarah never showed up… well I just took the easy way out on that one. She knows I had a sister but not that she was her birth mom.” He nodded as he pulled up his knees and got under the blankets beside you so you had more blanket as you laid down on Brenna’s pillow. “And now… I don’t know what I’d tell her.”

“If you want help figuring it out, I can help you.” A smile spread across your face as you subconsciously scooted closer to Negan’s warmth.

“Look at you. You said an entire sentence without saying fuck.” He chuckled as he grabbed his glasses.

“Shut the fuck up.” You let out a hummed laugh as you made yourself comfortable.

“Wake me up in an hour so I can check on the dumbass.”

“Sure thing, doc. Sweet dreams.” With a hum in response, you shifted so your forehead was just brushing Negan’s hip and passed out.

——

“Alright Mark. You’re all set for right now.” You said as you taped the last piece of gauze into place. You sat back and looked at him with tired eyes and a weak smile. “Now, consider this your breakfast change. I need you to come down to see me after every meal until I say other wise. Don’t touch your face and do your best to keep the bandage clean so you don’t get an infection. It could go straight to your brain and that’s just… not what we want.” Mark chuckled and nodded at you as you handed him a small cup with one Tylenol with Codeine and a regular Tylenol. “Try not to sleep on it, too. You could pull off the new skin trying to form and we don’t want that either. And if you have questions or need anything, come find me, OK?” He nodded his head as he got up off the exam table.

“Thanks a lot, doc.” You nodded at him once as you grabbed your tablet to update his chart and document the medications you gave him and treatment you used so he could pay for them with his points. You made a side note on a piece of paper to give to Negan before setting both aside to finally check on Chris. He was still asleep when you came back from your nap and you hoped for his sake, he stayed like that as you changed his bandages.

“Jesus, kid. You had one fucking job, man.” You mumbled as you carefully pulled off the tape and gauze. You set them both aside and turned your back for only a moment before all hell broke loose.

“My arm. What happened to my arm!” Chris screamed as you spun on your chair back toward him. Panic filled your soul as the kid started thrashing in pain.

“Hey whoa! Chris, calm down for me!” You screamed as you jumped to your feet… well, your left foot at least. “Hey stop!”

“My arm!” He screamed as he bashed the stump against the bedrail, easily ripping the stitches out like a knife through warm butter. Blood started gushing from his ripped open arteries, spraying you and the room with every beat of his heart. You scrambled to grab something, anything to use as a tourniquet but you couldn’t do that and stop Chris from thrashing at the same time.

“I need help in here!” You screamed as the heart rate monitor you had taken from the cancer hospital went wild above your head. You screamed, wondering why the hell his arteries and veins hadn’t curled into themselves for self preservation when the heart rate monitor flat lined.

“No! Kid, stay with me!” You screamed as you hopped one step over to start CPR but your foot slipped in the pool of blood on the floor. You hit the floor with a loud grunt and you instantly scrambled to try to get back up again. “Chris! Chris! Stay with me!” You screamed as you watched the pale limb sputter to just a drip. You swore loudly and punched the metal side of the hospital bed as all the fight to save the kid left you. You knew that even with a blood bank that you didn’t have, there was no chance for this kid to come back.

“Damn you kid!” You burst into tears and leaned your back against the exam table. You ran your hands through your blood soaked hair and sighed as you looked back up at the kid on your bed. Your eyes started to slip out of focus as you tried to figure out just how you could have gone about this differently and that was exactly how Negan and Brenna found you when they came to get you for breakfast forty-five minutes later.

“Mommy! We have apples…” You slowly glanced up just in time to see Negan yank your daughter backwards and pick her up.

“Hey, I need you to sit out here and wait for me, princess. I gotta talk to mommy.” You couldn’t hear Brenna’s response as you looked back at Chris’ pale body. “What the fuck happened?” You looked back at Negan and shook your head as he closed and locked the door behind him.

“He panicked. Negan, I tried but he wouldn’t stop thrashing and I slipped…” You burst into tears and Negan walked across the room to the bed as he pulled out his knife.

“You gotta get the damn brain.” He said as he plunged the blade into the boy’s skull. “They’ll fucking turn otherwise.” You nodded at him as he came over and pulled you into his arms.

“I’m sorry!” You sobbed as he held your face into his shoulder and ran his fingers through your hair.

“Hey, no. You did exactly what you were fucking supposed to. That’s his mother fucking fault.” You nodded weakly and exhaustion finally started to kick in as the adrenalin wore off. You looked over at the sound of his crackling walkie. “Simon, I need you in the clinic immediately. Bring Frankie or Sherry with you.”

“I must of cut it at an angle.” You said to yourself as you looked at Chris’ lifeless body. “They should have rolled…” You shook your head as you pulled yourself out of Negan’s arms and went to wipe your tears away only to smear blood across your cheek. Negan huffed as he pulled off his ever present red scarf and used it to wipe off your face.

“Don’t you fucking dare blame yourself, baby girl. That kid knew the fucking risks and he fucking knew you were helping him. You did everything you fucking should have.” You nodded as someone knocked on the door. “Let me get Brenna settled then we’ll get you in the fucking shower so Simon’s boys can get this place cleaned the fuck up. You look like you were in a damn horror movie.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Mommy? Why’s it still raining?” Brenna asked as she stood on your desk chair so she could look out the small window in your room a little over two months after you had gotten to the Sanctuary. You glanced up from the general surgery book you were currently studying and shrugged your shoulders.

“Because the clouds have a lot of rain in them, sweetheart. That rain has to go somewhere, doesn’t it?” You smiled at her little huff as she rested her chin on her folded arms on the window sill.

“Why can’t it go somewhere else?” She grumbled as she watched the rain beat against the windows in the grey afternoon sky. You laughed and looked back at your book to do your best to memorize how to do an appendectomy just in case. You were only able to see for a few more seconds before a large flash of lightening illuminated the room and caused the lights in your room to shut off.

“Brenna stay still! Don’t move! Don’t wiggle, I’m coming!” You shouted as you threw your book on the bed next to you. You grabbed your prosthetic and threw it on with no sleeve as Brenna started to cry because of the fear in your voice. You could barely see in the darkened room as you stood up from the bed and took a step toward the door only to get plowed over as someone rushed into the room.

“Fuck! Sorry…” Negan said as you landed hard on your hip on the thankfully carpeted floor.

“Get Brenna. She’s on a chair by the window.” Your daughter whined for him through her tears as he carefully meandered around the obstacles of books and clothes on the floor that Brenna always threw all over the place no matter how many times you picked them up.

“Come here, princess. I gotcha.” You pulled off your prosthetic so you could put the sleeve on first when your room was illuminated by the light of a flashlight.

“What the hell happened?” You asked as Simon came in to help Negan get you up off the floor.

“Lightning hit the fucking solar panels. We were heading to check out the fucking damage and we heard you yell.” You sighed and nodded as the two men helped you jump over to the bed.

“Bad- word- ‘egan.” Brenna sniffled as she climbed out of Negan’s arms and into yours.

“Yea, sorry princess. That’s a bad word.” You saw Simon give Negan a sideways glance as the latter stood up straight. “Stay on the bed. I’ll grab the lantern from the clinic. So far its just this part of the building and there aren’t much of us over here.” You nodded at him and cradled Brenna close as he snatched the flashlight from Simon and the clinic keys from the bedside table. As you ran your fingers through your baby girl’s hair, you could hear Negan’s rushed footsteps mingled in with the storm raging outside. You carefully scooted back on the bed to lean against the headboard as Negan came back in with the bright, battery powered back up lantern from the clinic.

“Let me know what happens with the panels?” You asked as he set the lantern down on the bedside table. He nodded as he leaned down and gently kissed Brenna’s forehead.

“You got it. Just stay still for me.” You nodded at him as he turned on his heel and gestured for Simon to follow him.

——

You were sitting by the window, watching the rain pound against the glass since you couldn’t see much of anything else in the dark, night sky including the stars. You had forgotten how peaceful storms could be and as you sat there, you had to actually think about the last time you had seen a storm like this. It had to have been at least five years. A gentle knocking on your door caused you to turn in your chair.

“It’s open.” You said loud enough for whoever was seeking entrance to hear but not loud enough to wake up Brenna. You smiled as Negan stuck his head in the door and looked for you on the bed with a flashlight. “Window.” He smirked as he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

“Thought I told your ass to stay on the fucking bed.” You nodded at him as you leaned your arm on the window frame.

“I wanted to watch the rain.” He nodded as he turned on the lantern on the table and shut off the flashlight. “It’s so peaceful, don’t you… hey, what are you going?” He smirked again as he pulled out a small pile of sleep clothes from under your bed.

“Brenna and I have fucking slumber parties when you’re at fucking work. Shut up.” You giggled as you turned around to look out the window so he had some privacy to change out of his soaking wet clothes.

“So what happened with the solar panels?” You inquired as you watched a small bolt of lightening light up the sky. You heard your guest sigh as he tossed his wet clothes toward your bathroom.

“We lost fucking two of them. Fried to shit. But two out of fucking thirty ain’t that fucking bad.” You startled a bit as he came over and gently touched your right thigh to get your attention. “Get up.” You nodded as you got up and he took the chair. “We spent the rest of the fucking day covering that shit up with fucking tarps.” You whistled as he put his hands on your hips and pulled you back down onto his thighs. “It’s just another fucking pain in the ass for me to have to move people around to give them power…”

“You know we can get more solar panels, right?” You asked as you situated yourself comfortably on his lap so you were looking out the window. “I have eight of them at my old house in the garage. I doubt they were something that got raided in the past year.”

“Well fuck me, sweetheart. You continue to became the most valuable person in this fucking place.” You smiled and leaned into his chest as he put his hand on your hip. The two of you sat and watched the rain for a few minutes before you huffed a laugh.

“Do you know this is the first time you’re having a real sleep over with me, too.” You felt Negan’s chuckle against your shoulder as he wrapped his other arm around your middle and laced his fingers together on your hip.

“I like your fucking company. So much more enlightening than the time I spend with my fucking wives. Plus, Brenna calls me the fucking King. And my fucking ego loves that shit.” You couldn’t help put giggle as you poked his stomach and laid your head on his shoulder.

“Let the record show I am absolutely not joining you and your sister wives, thank you.” You could almost hear his eyes roll as he tightened his arms around you.

“I honestly wouldn’t fucking want you too. Those bitches are with me because of what I can fucking give them. You spend time with me because you actually fucking want to. Big fucking difference.” You nodded against his shoulder as you both watched a flash of lightening streak across the sky. You both jumped a bit as a loud clap of thunder rattled the windows violently.

“Mommy!” You pulled yourself from Negan’s arms and he instantly lifted you up and carried you over to the bed.

“Hey, it’s OK, sweetheart.” You soothed as you got into bed and pulled Brenna into your arms. “Did the thunder scare you?” She nodded against your chest as Negan got into bed behind her.

“You know what my mom used to tell me?” He asked as he pulled up the blankets over the three of you. Brenna shook her head as she rolled onto her back and looked over at him. He smiled down at her as he propped his head up on his hand. “She told me that the reason we had thunder was because the angels in heaven were bowling. So, when you get really, really scared, just remember that your Aunt Sarah and Uncle Mike are up in heaven bowling, OK?” She nodded as she gripped the blanket tight and held it up to her chin. Negan smirked and reached out to boop her nose as you tucked her Stitch stuffed animal beside her.

“How ‘bout Negan and I stay here all night to protect you?” You asked as you laid down on the pillow next to her.

“Like Ohana?” You glanced up at Negan, who didn’t hesitate with his nod.

“Yea, princess. Like Ohana.”

Part 5

#Negan x Reader #Ohana #Negan's thirst squad #Negan thirst squad

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cecilspeaks · 7 years

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116 - Council Member Flynn, Part 3

Good hidden recording devices make good neighbors. Welcome to Night Vale.

Council member Tamika Flynn announced today that she’s pretty comfortable doing this whole City Council thing, now that Night Vale is completely crime free. She announced this standing atop an onyx pyramid, waving a golden scepter. Mayor Dana Cardinal responded that while crime is clearly down, budgets for the new fiscal year have not been completed, and Night Vale is showing a marked financial loss this quarter, due in large part to strict evening curfews. She announced this silently into her journal, which she plans to publish as a scathing memoir some day.

Sheriff Sam announced that the increased number of Secret Police officers has really had a positive impact on crime, but most of the police force now is volunteer or underpaid, and grossly unqualified. It’s basically a bunch of random citizens with makeshift weapons carved out of tree branches or fashioned from broken blade-based kitchen appliances. The Sheriff noted that management of council member Flynn’s citizen patrols has greatly impeded the capture of both the serial robber and the escaped librarian. Sheriff Sam quietly grumbled this into their bathroom mirror before finally putting on makeup and facing their day.

Council member Flynn later said she received a postcard from the rest of City Council, who has been vacationing in Milstigan the past month. On the front of the postcard was a serene lake nestled among tall pines and speckled with herrings and fishing boats. Above the lake were eight Black Hawk helicopters, dangling each of the letters of the state name: M-I-B-S-T-I-C-A-N. On the back, the City Council had written: “Saw an article that Night Vale has the lowest crime rate. Guess you’re doing fine without us and we don’t need to come back.” The postcard continued: “We learned how to kayak and we bought a professional grade DSLR and learned to tie sailing knots. Michelin is awesome! Maybe we won’t ever come back. Maybe we are not wanted.”

Council member Flynn said she wrote them back a postcard which she taped to a giant scorpion that read: “Yeah, I’ve got this under control. Happy apple picking.”

Night Vale coroner Lorelei Alvarez issued her report today on the autopsy of the two bodies found at the green market co-op, which burned down last month in an apparent robbery-arson. These bodies are believed to be those of green market owner Tristan Cortez and his daughter Camilla, a business student at Night Vale Community College. Alvarez, however, said that without dental records for the Cortezes, she can’t be certain that these bodies are theirs. The bodies had almost no burns on them, despite being found in a building leveled by fire. There were also no gunshot wounds. Alvarez said, “These two bodies were wearing 19th century formal attire and had apparently been pecked to death by birds.” She added she had not ruled out that birds could have committed robberies, nor that the Cortez family had an anachronistic fashion sense. Alvarez added with a grin that she’s also gotten a few bodies that had been mostly devoured by the escaped librarian. She said it’s fascinating that librarians tend to eat only bones and ligaments, and not flesh or skin. So most of these corpses looked like rumpled soft leather sacks, which makes them much easier to store. Alvarez has so much more free space in her office now and has added a tetherball pole.

And now sports. Tonight, the Night Vale High School Scorpions take on division rival Red Mesa Ant Carpenters in varsity wheelchair basketball. This afternoon, there will be a pep rally led by team captain Janice Palmer. Also she’s my niece. The team captain is my niece. Councilwoman Tamika Flynn will also deliver a speech at the pep rally about the importance of teamwork and fighting crime with sports. Also, the importance of books. “Did you know there are books about sports?” is the title of Flynn’s speech. Flynn also requested, for reasons having to do with public safety, that the pep rally be moved away from the high school to the Old Night Vale armory, and that every person there stand exactly two feet apart and bring some type of shield and/or sharp object that could be used to fend off robbers or librarians. The pep rally is at noon. Go get’em, Janice!

Listeners, Mayor Cardinal and her director of emergency press conferences, Pamela Winchell, have called an emergency press conference to denounce the City Council’s poor efforts to sustain the integrity and stability of Night Vale. Mayor Cardinal dismissed the City Council’s – essentially Tamika Flynn’s – curfew as virtually meaningless, now that more than half of the population is on the citizen patrol force. “We basically have a town of municipally approved armed vigilantes walking around at all hours of the night.” Winchell seconded the Mayor’s point by adding: “Why do I video myself sleeping? What am I hoping to discover? What secrets does my body whisper when I am unconscious?”

Also, the president of the Night Vale school board, the giant glowing cloud who drops dead animals, made an impassioned speech in support of the Mayor via mind control. The entire crowd chanted: “All hail the mighty Cloud who wants the lowly City Council to pass a budget that favors increased spending on education! We grovel before the almighty Cloud! How hard can it be to make a human budget? All hail!” they repeated.

The Mayor said she’s received many letters from people claiming they have lost their jobs as waiters, cab drivers, theatre managers and costumed superheroes because of the strict curfews. Night Vale Community host Cecil Palmer also announced today, live on his radio show, right now, that the curfew has been super productive for his TV watching, as he has already burned through every HBO and Showtime series. Plus all of “Difficult People” on Hulu, which features his second favorite actor, James Urbaniak. My favorite is, of course, Lee Marvin – may his name ring forever in eternity.

Palmer added, at this very second, that while he’s caught up on a lot of good television and is very excited for the new season of the documentary series “Stranger Things”, he and his husband are getting a little stir crazy. There are only so many games of strip Uno a couple can play before they just wanna go out for a nice dinner and maybe a romantic stroll in the park. Councilwoman Flynn was not available for comment, although a sign above her locked office door said: “Quiet, reading a book on how to do financial spreadsheets”.

Listeners, I mentioned earlier my niece Janice and how proud I am of her for captaining her school’s basketball team. But I’m also a bit worried about her too. She looks perpetually exhausted. In the preseason tournament, she led all players in assists. She did everything she could to win games, but they just couldn’t quite do it. Her statistics bear this out, but still she’s taken on so much responsibility for the team’s losses. Her Dad and team assistant coach, Steve Carlsberg, says Janice has increased her practice time to increase her fantastic passing skills, hoping to at least double the number of assists she gets. But Steve says that despite her better skills and more focused demeanor during practice, her team mates just aren’t hitting their shots when she passes to them. She throws them the ball shouting: “Shoot it! You’re open, Julie!” But they miss over and over, even the ones named Julie.

Steve is trying to convince her to work more on her defense and shooting, that assists aren’t everything. But Janice got frustrated with this and called Steve selfish. “Assists are the most unselfish thing, Steve Carlsberg!” she shouted before leaving the gym to pout by her locker earlier this morning. “Maybe I should just quit,” Steve heard her mumble. You know, I’m sure it’s just a teenager fighting with her stepdad, and she’ll be all ready to go for today’s pep rally. Which is set to start in a few minutes. I’ll check in with her later tonight to make sure she’s doing OK.

Councilwoman Tamika Flynn has arrived early for today’s pep rally to deliver a brief statement about vigilance, self-preservation, and keeping our town crime free. Even though there’s a librarian on the loose, and our Sheriff has yet to catch the serial robber, our streets are super safe,” Flynn said. “I read a book this morning about how low crime rates are excellent for local economies. The book is ‘Lonesome Dove’ by Larry McMurtry, in case you’re interested.” “Look around you,” she continued, “no one here is being crimed upon, because we are protecting each other. We are watchful and observant.” “As my father once warned,” Tamika Flynn said, “beware the robot uprising! Beware the machines that will bring us down! That’s what he always told me before bed, and we must heed this words, Night Vale. At any moment, a great enemy could be upon us.” Tamika then said: “Hey, it’s after 12. Aren’t we supposed to start this pep rally? I’m in the middle of Greg Harvey’s literary masterpiece and winner of the Man Booker Price, ‘Microsoft Excel for Dummies’, so let’s make this quick. I’m really into that book,” she concluded.

But the crowd murmured, confused and agitated. The captain of the team was not there. And as they looked for the pep rally’s leader, the bearer of the basketball torch, my niece, my only niece – the stage began to shake, the earth began to split, and smoke and dust are currently filling the Night Vale armory in choking plumes. Oh my god, Night Vale, where’s Janice? Where is my niece?

Listen to today’s weather while I find out where she is.

[“Animal Skin” by Bryan Dunn]

The rest of the City Council has returned to Night Vale. They burrowed through the earth and up through the floor of the armory where the pep rally was being held. They apologized for the dramatic and destructive entrance, but their flight out was really turbulent and there was no meal service. So they thought they’d take the slower, but more comfortable route home. The multi-limbed, multi-voiced, single-bodied entity of the City Council was wearing a T-shirt that said: “Mitchigan – America’s sexiest forests”, featuring little cartoon tees with ribbed abs and bubble butts. The City Council then presented two people whose hands were bound with ropes, tied off tight with perfect bowline nuts. It was Tristan Cortez and his daughter, Camilla. The City Council said they found the Cortezes while rock climbing. According to the City Council, Camilla had devised an insurance scam, which Tristan set up by committing a series of small armed robberies around Night Vale, to make the robbery and the subsequent arson of their new store more believable. They stole two bodies from the old cemetery, which flooded last month, and laid those in the burned-out husk of their former market to fake their deaths. Camilla created a fake ID for a sister she didn’t have, named Tamilla, who lived in Mistrigen, where they planned to live out life bird watching and parasailing in the paradise of America’s most hand shaped state. The City Council laid out this entire plot, as they presented Sheriff Sam with the two fraudsters. Then the City Council turned to their newest member, Tamika Flynn and said, “We also completed the new city budget,” as they dropped a six-inch high stack of papers, like it was a mic at a poetry slam.

And even better, listeners: Janice finally arrived. We found her! After the City Council made their speech, the basketball team captain stepped to the mic and said she was running late today because she was practicing so hard to be a better passer, to have more assists, to be empirically the best team mate that the league record books have ever seen. But then, just this morning after a fight with her stepdad, she realized she was wrong. “You can’t measure leadership,” Janice said. “I’ve been so worried about that one number, that one datum that seems so selfless. But the act of pursuing that number is in itself selfish.” Janice said, “I can’t do this all on my own. I can’t expect everyone else to score thinking I’m being helpful. Each one of us has a different skill set, and as your captain, I want you to be great at scoring, defense, rebounding, whistling, and the occasional hex – the five pillars of sound basketball. So let’s get out there and beat Red Mesa!”

The crowd cheered and joined together to sing the Night Vale school song, “You Walk with Me, You Walk Alone under an Indifferent Dust-filled Sky”.

Tamika then spoke. She stood before her fellow citizens, her constituents, and said: “I want the best for all of us, I really do. I’m new at this, and the one thing I know how to do well, really well, is fight, and I want that for everyone. Also read, I’m awesome at reading. I want that for you too. Government jobs are weird because you can’t really fight a lot of crime. You mostly do paperwork and have meetings and scan retinas. Government is evasive and stupid and slow, and it’s because there are so many people it has to account for. And I realize it takes lots of time and lots of people to change. I just want this to change. I want us to feel safe. I also want to finish this amazing novel about Microsoft Excel, it is so compelling.”

At the behest of Tamika Flynn, the City Council voted unanimously to lift the town-wide curfew. And restaurants have already began to reopen, as well as theaters, public parks, clothing stores and bloodstone circle repair shops. Even the library has reopened with plans to renovate the security gates and triple barred cages that keep the librarians safely away from society. And with the return of library activities, escaped librarian Dan McDowell even returned to his former job, promising not to eat anyone else, unless they were trying to check out a book. The City Council also voted to keep all the city buildings painted blood red, because quote, “That’s intimidating AF.” And then they tried to vote to change the town motto to “Night Vale – Intimidating AF”. But it lost by a single deciding vote, which belonged to Tamika, who said we should pace ourselves. She then quoted Jean-Jacques Rousseau: “Patience is bitter, buts its fruit is mad sweet, like a swole grape.”

Sheriff Sam praised the City Council for capturing these criminals. Mayor Cardinal praised the City Council, too, but she added praise specifically for Tamika Flynn. Mayor Cardinal said, “I’m proud of you, Councilwoman Flynn. I did not agree with your tactics, but I think your heart is in the right place. It will take time, but we can do this.” Tamika accepted the Mayor’s kind words and a comforting embrace, and then returned to her office to finish her novel about spreadsheets.

Night Vale, Janice and Tamika are growing up before our eyes, and I couldn’t be prouder of either. But more importantly, I couldn’t be more excited to get out of the house! Carlos and I are headed straight to dinner at the Shallow Grave, and then going dancing at that new club, Numb, which opened up mere minutes after the curfew was lifted.

Stay tuned next to the sound of two men putting on just the most vicious outfits.

Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: We are all (an elite few) in this (a secret underground emergency bunker) together (on our own without public knowledge).

#welcome to night vale #wtnv transcripts #episode 116 #council member flynn #council member flynn part 3

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roguenewsdao · 6 years

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Is Trump Sitting on a Real Life "National Treasure"?

"The powerful potential of the revelation of alien life is something that President Nixon carefully planned for. And this breakthrough may be underway as we speak." -- Daniel Liszt of "Dark Journalist," November 30, 2017

Popular Alt-Media researcher Daniel Liszt has been posting a series of videos that swirl around Nixon-era intel operative, Robert Merritt, and Watergate defense attorney, Douglas Caddy. The revelations weave a fantastic story of a real-life "National Treasure" type of script that emanates directly from the Oval Office. President Richard M. Nixon saw that the CIA had tied a noose around his political career in 1972. Nixon was no idiot and it appears that he may have executed a counter-offensive which would not play out for several decades but, once executed, would, in the end, both exonerate him and destroy the foundation of the Deep State once and for all. It appears that we all might just be living at the time when this exoneration is due to take place.

In a nutshell, Robert Merritt is claiming that President Nixon used Mr. Merritt has a personal courier as part of his own inner circle "Huston Plan" to combat the CIA spies that had infected the White House. In his own handwriting, Nixon wrote a five-page document that explained how scientists at Los Alamos labs were in communication with an extraterrestrial intelligent creature. The creature had provided details of advanced technology to the scientists. In this document, Nixon had a formula of some kind of technology graphed in scientific notation. Nixon gave a copy of this document to Merritt who then delivered the copy to Henry Kissinger. The original file was preserved somewhere on White House property by Nixon himself as a "time capsule" intended for future disclosure.

This past month, former Watergate burglar defense attorney, Douglas Caddy, confirmed that an offer has been made to the people who run the National Archives to retrieve this "time capsule" of explosive reality-changing information. Per Dark Journalist's notes within his Youtube video description:

In a special twist on behalf of Merritt, Former Watergate Lawyer Douglas Caddy has sent a letter to the National Archives with the promise of directions to President Nixon's ET Time Capsule that Merritt is convinced is still where Nixon placed it in 1972.

The conditions laid out in the letter instruct the National Archives they can take possession of the letter when it's found as long as they read it aloud when it's discovered and distribute it openly to the public.

Dark Journalist editor, Daniel Liszt, posted the above interview along with two subsequent interviews, linked in his tweets below. I especially appreciated that he analyzed Merritt's video in the context of other facts of history that tend to corroborate the story. Earlier this week, Liszt also posted a brief message from Mr. Caddy who confirmed that the ball is now in the court of the National Archives. Truly a plot worthy of a Nicolas Cage "National Treasure" sequel!

Closing In On the Rockefeller CIA in 2018

W. The Intelligence Insider and I have been paying attention to the interviews for several reasons. One reason is that W. has quite a colorful background related not just to the Nixon presidency, but to Nixon's brother - all of which will make a great story at a future time.

Another reason is that a small fraction of the internet community has become transfixed by the Cult of #Q, a faceless, shadowy military intel team that operates from within Trump's inner circle and, to that team's credit, has at least raised public awareness of the the role that Secret Societies have been playing in the White House from JFK's residency, forward. Regardless of what you believe about #Q's true motives, it is apparent that a methodical operation is playing out from within the Trump presidency to likewise erode the foundations of Rockefeller's CIA Deep State. It's an operation that would make Nixon proud.

A third reason is that Wernher von Braun's famed warning of the coming "last card" of UFO "disclosure" (or, "illusion," depending on how you look at it) continues to hum in the background, a hum that has recently amped up in volume albeit from CIA stooges like the N.Y. Times. Later this year, respected Vatican and Illuminati insider, Leo Lyon Zagami, is due to publish a book entitled "Invisible Masters" which will likewise map out the web of alliances between dark but politically powerful cults and alien supernatural intelligences.

When most people hear the name "Nixon," with what do they usually associate that name? The Watergate break-in, first and foremost. Possibly also the opening of relations with China. But did you know that Nixon has a strong connection to UFO research as well? Yes, when Nixon served as Vice-President to Eisenhower, Nixon was regularly briefed on Project Blue Book. In fact, Blue Book was officially shut down in 1969 as soon as Nixon began serving his first term as president.

Nixon and the Condon Report

Those of us who have followed the progress of UFO research have likely heard of the Condon Report. Wikipedia describes this as the summary opinion produced after years of probing into the matter by a University of Colorado UFO project that was headed by physicist Edward Condon. The final report unsurprisingly told the world to just move along; nothing to see here.

The Condon Committee was under pressure to get that report published before President-Elect Nixon took office. Nixon had been at odds with Dr. Condon for a long time. This animosity stemmed from the McCarthy era hearings when Nixon sat on the House Committee of Un-American Activities. Dr. Condon was part of the long parade of so-called Communist sympathizers. Incredibly, he was even accused of being "at the forefront of a revolutionary movement in physics called ... quantum mechanics." {Insert Eye Roll emoji here.} Wow, how does one retort to something like that? By channeling the mind of other great rebels like Copernicus, Galileo, and Newton?

Nevertheless, this web page at PresidentialUFO.com [linked here] has this to say about the showdown between the Condon Report's findings and the incoming Nixon presidency in 1969:

The Air Force figured that if Condon’s UFO report was not filed before Nixon took office, Nixon might again challenge Condon. This led to a situation where the new President might oppose the UFO study simply because it was Dr. Condon who was heading it. This might in turn lead to Nixon holding up the report until the project was thoroughly investigated, or worse yet publicly rejecting its conclusions. According to Major Keyhoe, "the AF had put hard pressure on Colorado University (which was hosting the report) to rush the report through, so it could be released before the election. But it was impossible to make the deadline."

When Nixon did win the election, the AF reviewers could only hope that Nixon would be too busy after the inauguration with things like the war in Vietnam to look at the UFO situation. Also, opposition ridicule surrounding the subject would make any early check-up on flying saucers unlikely. They were right. Nixon never did openly challenge Condon’s conclusion, and stayed completely quiet about the UFO situation, as had all the Presidents before him.

Yes, indeed, Nixon "stayed completely quiet about the UFO situation" until the day arrived when he saw that the CIA had prepared a political chopping block for him in the shape of the Watergate Hotel. He called on the services of homosexual Honey-Pot operative Robert Merritt and read aloud the 5-page handwritten expose to him. Then, Nixon sealed up a copy of the file in a brown envelope and literally taped it to Merritt's chest under his clothes so that Merritt could clandestinely exit the White House and drop it on Kissinger. It just may be that Nixon used UFO and E.T. "disclosure" as a posthumous trump (or Trump?) card to be played years later.

Now we wait and watch how the various factions with vested interests in our imposed Matrix cannibalize each other as the anticipated era of Human Hybridization continues to rise like a p phoenix out of the Rockefeller-Rothschild ashes. It just may be that our Babylonian Priesthood overlords have decided that the time has come for the reunion between futuristic Singularity Spawns and the supernatural entities who have been quietly moving that technology along the whole time.

My Twitter contact information is found at my billboard page of SlayTheBankster.com. Listen to my radio show, Bee In Eden, on Youtube via my show blog at SedonaDeb.wordpress.com.

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kane-and-griffin · 7 years

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ahhhhh kabby mom I'm so scared about Abby in these new episodes! I'm rlly happy she's back in the next ep but I'm already seing people hating on her in the tag even before they know what's gonna happen and comparing her to Lorelai Tsing(!?!) as if sacrificing 1 willing person to save the entire world is somehow the same as brutally painfully murdering 50 children just so you can go outside?? if its this bad NOW, is this season is gonna make the fandom hate Abby because this ALWAYS happens!! :(:(

I mean, if there are people who can’t tell the difference between Abby being emotionally devastated at merely ENTERTAINING THE VERY THOUGHT of taking one life deliberately even to save the entire human race, and Dr. Tsing coolly and calmly committing attempted genocide on innocent grounders and 50 children, then that’s not a person whose opinion on this show I feel like I really need to take all that seriously. I’m sure there are people whose hate for Abby is such that they will find a way to make her a villain over this, and that’s exhausting as hell, and I feel like it’s sort of an individual judgment call for each of us whether we dig in and try to explain or just mute and block them all so we don’t have to see that shit. But if you’re worried about this storyline because it’s going to make the fandom hate Abby, first of all, what I’d urge you to remember is that a great deal of that will go away if - as it definitely seems like the show is setting it up - Abby’s solution ends up being the solution that works. If Abby actually does end up being the person who cracks Nightblood and saves the entire human race, if Abby’s the reason your fave is still alive for Season 5, then “but she still shouldn’t have done it” becomes a totally specious argument we can all happily ignore. And it 100% appears at this point that that’s the direction we’re headed; Nightblood will work, but there will be complications (my guess is they’re going to need a ton more blood and that’s when Gaia becoming a Nightblood scout becomes plot-relevant), and then of course they’ll still need somewhere to ride out the storm, which means either Becca’s bunker, the lab if it’s radiation-proof, or wherever this Bill Cadogan story ends up going. But the Nightblood is what’s going to make a Season 5 possible so they can actually, you know, go outside and walk around and repopulate the earth. And they can’t get there without Abby.

So if you’re concerned about people unreasonably demonizing her and the fandom being a shitshow, like I FEEL YOU MY DUDE but also all we can do is block and move on.

If what you’re worried about is whether the show ITSELF is in some way villainizing her, I really and truly don’t think that’s something we need to panic about either. First of all, it’s hugely significant that what we see in the trailer is Abby agonizing over the decision, but we don’t see how that person in the tank comes to be there. We haven’t seen Abby “there has to be another way” Griffin try to find another way. (For example, does somebody volunteer?) We haven’t seen the whole context of what leads up to that conversation over the radio, we haven’t heard all of what she says, we haven’t seen how the other characters - Kane, Clarke, Raven, Luna, Murphy, Roan, Jackson - respond or what their position is on this same issue. But I don’t think they’re making her the bad guy, I think they’re setting her up as a conflicted and flawed hero, just like her daughter is, making the hard ugly choices that have to be made for everyone to survive, but busting her ass to try absolutely everything else first.

This is different from the ridiculous, out-of-character Raven slap, or all the characters at the beginning of S3 loudly announcing what a bad chancellor she was in order to move the chess pieces around to get the chancellor pin to Kane for plot reasons. Those were bonehead writing choices that demonized Abby unnecessarily and they continue to annoy me (physical violence is anathema to Abby, this is a running thread, and obviously she was a pretty damn good chancellor since she’s the one who built Arkadia into a home and gave them three months of peace; so like, THOSE THINGS DIDN’T MAKE SENSE). But this is a classic Abby conundrum. I’d encourage you not to get pulled into listening to people compare her to Dr. Tsing, and to think about this in the context of the The Culling. It was inarguably necessary that they needed to float a certain number of people in order to preserve oxygen. But Abby tried everything else first. She tried to convince the Council to wait for the kids to reestablish contact, for a decisive sign from the wristbands. When that failed, she commandeered a Russian dropship and a Raven Reyes and sent her to Earth to report back. When that failed, she released Jake’s tape to the whole Ark so everyone knew what was happening, to keep Kane and Jaha from killing all of Section 17 with no warning. It worked by getting people to volunteer - that is, it became self-sacrifice and not murder - but all those people still died, because based on all the information they had, they TRULY believed that that was necessary for them to survive. So we know who Abby Griffin is in these circumstances. We know she doesn’t have the capacity to just stand back and watch, or hide behind the rules, and we know she feels every single one of those deaths acutely, and we know how hard she fights to preserve every life that she can. So knowing what we now know - that Nightblood may be, like the Culling, the thing that needs to be done for humanity to survive - the question is how Abby will handle it.

Yes, the Mt. Weather parallels are there - this season has been all about parallels with major events from past seasons. But the important thing to note is that those parallels have all been flipped in some way. For example, the Clarke/Jasper/Monty parallel to the Jaha/Clarke/Jake situation. Clarke (in the Jaha slot) shocklashes and arrests Jasper (Jake) to keep him from telling everyone the truth, then Monty (Abby) runs over and shouts it out through the intercom anyway. So far, so good. Nice clear parallel, right? Except then what happens? Clarke realizes she crossed a line and lets Jasper go. She works hard to make it right with Jasper and Monty. She doesn’t want to be the kind of leader, like Jaha, who could float his friends. And then Arkadia burns a few episodes later, making the list moot. So the parallel is set up the same way, and then switches direction. We’ve seen a lot of these throughout the show so far, and they’ve all been switched up or turned on their head in some way. So if they’re setting up a line between Abby and Dr. Tsing, the way they did between, say, Jasper and Jake, then the thing to watch for is how they pull the rug out from under us and flip that parallel in an unexpected way. And my guess with Abby is that it’s going to be something to do with the idea of sacrifice or consent; can she convince someone to volunteer their life to help her make Nightblood? Can she find another way?

Anyway, I’m not freaking out about this and I hope you don’t either. I’m really excited when Abby is relevant to the plot - she got so shafted last year - and when we get to remember she’s not just Clarke’s mom and Kane’s girlfriend, she’s a brilliant scientific and medical genius who has a supercharged ALIE brain. They’re setting her up to be the person who saves the day - as she so often is - and I’m here for it. If people want to deliberately misinterpret her motives, I can’t stop them, but I’m ready for emotionally conflicted doctor hero Abby to save humanity.

#Anonymous #From the Inbox #Abby Griffin #Paige Turco #The 100 #metas and headcanons #the 100 meta #the 100 spoilers #the 100 speculation #the 100

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megaphonemonday · 7 years

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prompt: angsty angst. yelling at each other about anything and everything: ginny's pitching, mike's attitudes, their distractions with rachel and ginny's new boyfriend. them in each other's faces. but then passionate makeout, brushing it off, and 'we shouldn't have done that', and scene.

oh you just like causing me pain. that’s cool i don’t mind passing it on.

(also, I’m aware that Ginny’s probably never been to Peoria before, but let’s just pretend. Cool? Cool.)

forgetting is so long | ao3

It had been a long time since Ginny last set foot in the Peoria Sports Complex. Then, she’d been 18, fresh out of high school, with her father’s legacy to preserve and a world of naysayers to disprove.

Now, she was 24, and had finished her first season in the bigs on the DL. She still had all the naysayers, though.

She was, perhaps, the worst of them all.

She still felt weak. Weak and foolish for refusing to leave that last game.

(Honestly, the 36 hours preceding that game hadn’t been shining moments for her, either, but better to focus on baseball right now.)

Her game didn’t feel up to scratch, not that she could say for sure. The only throwing she’d done was with her physical therapist, the Padres pitching coach on hand to monitor her mechanics.

Ginny still hadn’t decided if it was a good or bad thing that her first outing on an actual mound would be in the first pitchers and catchers workout of spring training. On the plus side, if things went badly, only the other pitchers and catchers would see. On the negative, she wouldn’t have Blip around for moral support. He was the only Padre she’d seen on a regular basis in the off season.

To be fair, most of them didn’t even stay in the city once the season was over. The few who did, she saw at her workouts at Petco, and that was it. Livan, Melky, and Sonny came in to work every so often, but everyone else either trained offsite or headed home for the winter.

Everyone else.

She was still trying to make up her mind as she pushed into the Padres Clubhouse, nerves nearly making her want to hurl.

“Hey, Baker,” came her first greeting and she flashed a grateful smile at Sonny.

After that, as her teammates and a few prospects she hadn’t met greeted her, Ginny’s stomach started to settle and she began to feel less like an interloper.

She was still a Padre. She wasn’t a fraud. She’d earned her place here.

Still, she was uncomfortably aware that she had yet to greet at least one Padre. One Padre who’d gone radio silent the whole off-season.

Not that that meant she didn’t hear about him.

Or his wife.

(No matter how many times she told herself she was happy for him, something in her stomach always roiled at the sight of Mike and Rachel splashed across glossy magazine spreads or taking up time on Entertainment Tonight.

And yet, Ginny always found herself tuning in and picking up tabloids when she knew they’d be featured. Maybe she was a masochist or something.)

One Padre who happened to be sitting at his locker, his back to the room and firmly ignoring the hubbub behind him.

Ginny hadn’t realized she’d been counting on him to set her at ease. To make things feel normal again. How often she’d dismissed the unreturned texts and phone calls as understandable: he wasn’t really her captain in the off-season, after all.

(That she had to keep choking back the question to Blip—Is this normal for him? Does he always just disappear at the end of a season?—was something that only she knew.)

In spite of that, she’d thought that spring training would be some kind of magic reset button. The reporting dates would come, and they’d go back to the way things had been. Maybe not all the way back, considering the awkward tension that had sprung to life the moment his trade fell through, but somewhere close.

That hope died, slow and agonizing and shrieking all the way down, as it became clear that Mike had no such intentions. He wasn’t going to greet her. He wasn’t going to joke. He wasn’t even going to turn around.

He knew she was there and wasn’t going to acknowledge her.

Ginny’s smile went brittle, but she couldn’t afford to shut down the way she wanted. The way the suddenly frozen hunk of flesh inside her chest wanted her to. She turned away from him and forced herself to grin. “So, where are they putting me up around here? Do I get my very own broom closet?”

That prompted a wave of laughter and a clubby to step forward to show her the way.

Before she went, though, there was one thing she had to do. Like ripping off a band aid.

“Lawson,” she greeted as she passed him by, grateful that her voice remained steady in spite of the raging ocean of uncertainty swirling inside her.

He twitched, like he thought about spinning his chair to face her, and ultimately didn’t deem it worth the effort. “Baker,” he replied instead, addressing his half-full locker.

Neither of them said anything else, trying to adjust to the new reality they’d stepped into.

Before stepping into her closet, though, Ginny allowed herself a glance over her shoulder. The sight of Mike Lawson’s back, expected now but jarring all the same, set something aside from her hope for normalcy shriveling inside her. Ginny stared until Mike’s shoulder’s hunched, like he could feel the weight of her gaze. Still, he didn’t turn. Didn’t shift. Didn’t look.

With a sigh, she shut herself in her dressing room and tried to ignore the way she felt completely hollow.

Somehow, Ginny managed to convince herself that things would change once the rest of the team showed up. That Mike just needed time to get used to her again as a teammate.

She endured three days of painfully awkward workouts. Mike hardly looked in her direction once, so Ginny naturally drifted to Livan, mostly happy to leave her captain to figure himself out. Maybe pull his head out of his ass.

She was here to play ball, not make friends.

(Particularly with someone who she’d thought was already her friend.)

Not that Lawson seemed to appreciate that.

Several times, she caught him frowning as she and Duarte went through drills together, teasingly pushing each other to be better, work harder. He didn’t say anything about it, but on the second day, Besner, fresh off the DL himself, snagged her as a workout partner before Duarte even arrived.

Ginny wouldn’t have thought anything of it if Lawson hadn’t acted particularly smug at the sight, gleefully informing his back up, “If you wanted to play footsie with Baker all day, you should have gotten here earlier.”

By the time the rest of the squad reported the following day, Ginny had never been so happy to be even more outnumbered. The extra people would make for excellent buffers between her and Mike. With just the pitchers and catchers around, it had become increasingly obvious that they were avoiding each other.

Since no one had a death wish so early in the season, it remained an unspoken truth, but that almost made it worse. The silent, assessing scrutiny of her teammates piled on top of Mike’s avoidance had Ginny’s frustration building, slow and steady.

She was confused and hated it. It shouldn’t matter that Lawson had pulled a 180 between last season and this. Ginny was used to that; guys that she played with all through her childhood suddenly turning on her for whatever bullshit reason.

Those dismissals never spurred the roiling, insidious indignation and fury that Mike Lawson’s did. Every time he looked pointedly away from her or brushed off her questions, that bubbling stew of frustration boiled up, never quite subsiding. It would almost be better if he were obviously mad at her. Ginny could deal with anger, had been since she was a kid.

It was easier to handle than pain.

But Mike was just—blank. Blank stares and bland responses every time he couldn’t avoid talking to her.

And when she decided to just leave him alone, he’d trip her up with snide, sniping comments like he couldn’t stand not being the goddamn center of attention for once.

Ginny started needling him, just to get a reaction on her terms, not that he often fell for it. When he did, it was nothing like their easy, teasing rapport from just months ago. It fell just short of vicious, but it was better than the yawning, gaping distance.

She didn’t know what the hell to do. Just that something had to change.

Ginny wasn’t sure whether Al didn’t notice the cold war—in that they hadn’t come to physical blows, there’d already been plenty of damage—raging between his captain and number five starter or if he noticed too much and was trying to nip it in the bud. Either way, her first start of spring training was with Mike behind the plate. They hadn’t worked together much in the bullpen and in spite of herself, Ginny would admit to some curiosity about whether or not any of their synergy from last season had survived.

Any hope she’d been harboring was dashed when, before the game, he didn’t even bother going through the line up with her, just asked gruffly, “You check the scouting reports?”

“No,” she replied mulishly, though she’d spent at least two hours the night before watching game tape from last season.

This in spite of the fact that Noah’d asked about a skype date. Several times in fact. Ginny’d complained about it to Evelyn, who’d tried to be sympathetic, but didn’t really see the problem.

He didn’t even crack a grin. “Don’t be smart. You’re not here for your brain.” What would have been a joke last season, capped with a cheeky grin, was just a snide implication now. “You go over the reports?”

Ginny rolled her eyes and watched his jaw clench in annoyance. “Of course I went over the reports.”

“Glad you managed it with your busy social schedule.”

What the hell was he talking about? Before she could demand answers, though, he’d stalked off, probably to go have his spine prodded and pounded into the shape most humans, let alone pro athletes, required. Maybe cavemen were different, though.

She didn’t talk to him again until the top of the fourth, when she didn’t put quite enough curve on her slider and one of the Athletics really got a hold of it, driving in two runs.

“Thought you went over the hitters,” he drawled, practically a taunt, as he finally dragged himself up the mound.

Ginny bit her tongue to keep her mouth in check. She didn’t need a blow up with her captain her first game back. She held her glove out silently, waiting for him to relinquish the ball.

Thankfully, he didn’t have much else to say and went back to the plate in time for the next batter.

She shook off his first three calls, unconvinced that Lawson had gone over batters for all he’d pestered her about it. Ginny knew Rachel was in town, had seen the redhead hanging around the complex. Had seen the soft grin Mike gave her when he caught sight of her, too. If it felt like a punch to the gut, that was only because Ginny’d nearly forgotten what Mike looked like when he smiled.

Anyway, Ginny clearly wasn’t the one with the “busy social schedule.”

Well. Mike Lawson could try and shift the blame onto her all he wanted, but Ginny was having none of it.

After the fourth rejected call, Mike straightened from his crouch and stared her down. Ginny lifted her chin, jaw set.

In defiance of the umpire—who was calling, “Lawson get back here!”—he stalked the sixty feet, six inches straight up to Ginny.

For once, she could understand what made him such an intimidating figure to play against. He practically loomed over her, big forearms crossed over his chest protector. He looked big and fucking mean, ready to tear off someone’s head.

Her head.

Might as well do something to deserve it.

“Can I help you?”

He glowered. “You wanna remind me who’s captain here? Who makes the calls and who follows along like a lost little duckling?”

If he’d looked her in the eye while he said it, Ginny might have let it slide, might have fallen in line. After all, his anger was nothing new. But his eyes were firmly fixed on a point over her shoulder, like she was beneath his notice, and she was spoiling for a fight.

Barely remembering to get her glove in front of her mouth, she answered, “Maybe I’d follow your calls if they weren’t fucking terrible.”

“What’s fucking terrible is that thing you call a slider.”

“Sorry the pitch I’ve only been working on for six weeks isn’t already up to your high standards. Although,” she paused, tapping her glove against her chin like she was thinking, “maybe you’d’ve known that if you took a look at it when I asked last week, captain.”

“Watch the lip, rookie,” he snapped, though Ginny knew it was just because she was right.

“Not a rookie, Lawson,” she spat back.

“No? Well, you’re fucking acting like one. Pitching like one, too. Never thought I’d wish for Miller to come back. Maybe Oscar’ll come to his senses and put an end to the Ginny Baker circus, then we can get a pitcher who won’t leave every other ball hanging over the plate.”

Ginny ground her teeth, but bit her tongue. She told herself that was why her eyes were burning. The umpire looked like he was about to storm the mound himself and put an end to their jawing. Though she had half a mind to let him come out and chew out her captain, Ginny shook her empty glove at him instead. “Gimme the ball.”

Mike stared her down and smacked on his gum. Ginny would swear her blood began to boil, but he finally slapped the ball into her outstretched glove and stalked back to the plate.

He put down the sign and Ginny shook him off again.

Across the sixty-odd feet, it was startling easy to see Mike’s eyes narrow in teeth-gnashing frustration..

Fucking good. The feeling was mutual.

Ginny and Mike’s cold war quickly heated.

Rather than the stilted silence and avoidance that characterized the first weeks of spring training, Mike and Ginny were at each other’s throats. Constantly. About anything and everything.

Ginny’s lackluster batting average: “You do any better back in T-ball or did you always strike out then, too?”

Mike’s three errors out at first: “All those foul tips must’ve scrambled your brain, old man. The goal is to field the ball, not let it roll through your legs.”

The huge bouquet of roses delivered to the clubhouse: “Are we finally putting Baker’s decorating tips to use? The place could use a woman’s touch.”

The four separate autographs Mike signed across women’s barely covered chests in one day: “You don’t have to pretend to be pissy, I’m sure that made your day. Or did you suddenly remember you’re not supposed to be enjoying the groupies anymore?”

It so easily could have been easy, light teasing. The kind of banter traded between two players to keep each others’ egos in check.

It wasn’t.

It was sharp and direct, things said to cut deep into insecurities that only two people who really knew each other could hit. There was no pleasure in it, not for Ginny. Her gut churned with sick guilt every time she launched a barb and watched it burrow under Mike’s skin.

Guilt because she was hurting him and guilt because it felt like she was betraying the friendship they’d built.

(Sometimes, she wondered if she’d made it all up. If last season was just a dream she’d created to deal with the constant, low-level hostility coming from her team captain.

Which was worse though? If their camaraderie and connection last season had been real, and this was what they’d become, or if it had never existed at all?)

There were lines they didn’t cross, but Ginny knew that the day was coming where one of them said something they couldn’t take back.

She didn’t want to know who it would be, just hoped it wasn’t her. Hoped it wasn’t something that would end up being the final straw, the thing that got her sent packing.

What Mike had said on the mound—”Put an end to the Ginny Baker circus.”—had wormed its way into her brain and started spinning a dense, complex web of insecurities. Insecurities she suddenly felt foolish for not having considered before.

After all, Ginny was just a number five starter for a team that finished last season at the bottom of the division. To make matters worse, she was a woman—a black woman—whom many still thought was a disgrace to the game. Hell, some of her teammates probably still thought that, even if most of them wouldn’t say it to her face. She was under no illusions that Mike and Blip had sheltered her from the worst of it last season.

And now, it seemed, she was down an ally.

Ginny’s place on the team—last starter coming in off an injury—was tenuous enough without being labeled a “distraction” again. It wouldn’t take much to get her sent back down, especially with fewer people paying attention. Ginnsanity was finally wearing off, apparently.

It was freeing, in a way, but didn’t do much for her sense of security.

Sentimental as baseball was, it was a game rooted in tradition. Ginny was about as untraditional as it could get.

Still, she’d always assumed that it didn’t bother Mike.

The way he was acting, now, though, maybe she’d been wrong.

The more Ginny thought about it, the less it made sense. And she’d been thinking about it far more than she’d ever admit. It ate at her, churning somewhere in the pit of her stomach. The more she tried to rationalize it, the less she had to focus on that growing pit and the steady, draining ache that lived inside it.

Mike was supposed to be happy. His wife had taken him back and he had a chance at a family again. The team was, well, not great, but it was only spring training; they’d figure it out. It was still his team, at least. He was supposed to be happy.

And yet, he was acting like a miserable fucking bastard.

Case in point:

He’d just gotten through yelling at her for stopping at third rather than trying to score the run that would have tied the game. She ended up being stranded on base when Voorhies grounded out on a 3-0 pitch.

Should she have run? Sure.

Was she the only reason the Padres lost? Hell fucking no.

Ginny did not need to sit there and be scolded like a child. And it was a scolding. Every single one of her teammates had slunk out of the room when Mike started up, which probably said something about how vicious he’d been lately. And how little they wanted to get caught in the blowback of her response.

“Are you done?” she asked, cold and dismissive.

“Am I done?” he sputtered, face turning red. “Oh, I’m just getting started, Baker.”

Ginny rolled her eyes.

Mike did not appear to appreciate that. At all. “What was that? I think you’d wanna show your captain a little respect, there,” he growled.

“Yeah,” she replied, that one word dripping in condescension. “’Cause nothing earns my respect like being yelled at for a simple mistake.”

“I don’t earn your respect, Baker, I should have it automatically! I’m your fucking captain!”

Shoving to her feet, Ginny barely restrained herself from shoving him away. “God, you’re such a— such a—”

“What?” he taunted. “What am I, Baker? Spit it out!”

“You’re a fucking asshole!” she exploded, jabbing a finger against his chest. Ginny was so livid, she wasn’t really paying attention to what came out of her mouth. “I can’t believe that I thought—”

“That I was your hero?” he sneered. “Your goddamn poster boy? I bet you’re really regretting all those years you wasted, huh?”

That wasn’t what she was going to say, but the truth was more embarrassing. Crueler, too.

I can’t believe that I thought you were worth breaking my code.

Ginny wanted to say it, wanted to make him hurt as much as he’d made her over the past few weeks. She was pretty sure it would feel good, too. At least show him that she wasn’t without her defenses.

But she wasn’t going to bring that night from last August into this. If only because she didn’t want the soft glow it could still evoke—the warmth she sometimes wrapped herself up in when this new status quo threatened to break her—tainted by Mike’s ugliness.

That didn’t mean she was just going to roll over and let him think he’d won, though.

“I can’t believe I thought you were anything other than what I see.”

“And what exactly do you see?” he growled, drawing himself up like that would intimidate her into shutting up.

Think again, asshole.

Before she could lay into him, Buck wandered in. He stopped in his tracks, gaze darting between pitcher and catcher in halfhearted confusion.

“What’s going on here?”

“Nothing,” Ginny replied, but she kept steady, unflinching eye contact with Mike, refusing to look away until she was sure he understood her.

I see nothing.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Ginny demanded, whirling on her scowling captain.

It’d become an increasingly common question in Ginny’s internal thoughts, 99% of the time directed at the man in front of her. This was the first time she’d voiced it, though.

He’d been making sneering comments all night, drinking more than she was used to seeing. Every time she spoke with a man for more than 10 minutes or smiled at someone more than twice, his voice would raise, lamenting another poor schmuck who’d fallen for the Baker trap.

After that last fight, they’d gone back to ignoring each other. Things were so civil that the rest of the team stopped holding their breath whenever they were in the same room. There were still moments where Ginny would think of something to say to him, open her mouth, and look up only to realize that he didn’t want to hear it. Since she wasn’t going to be the one who sent them back into DEFCON 1, she kept her mouth shut and got along with doing her job.

If, sometimes, she could taste blood from biting her tongue so hard, she figured it was worth it for a shot to stay in the majors. She wasn’t about to give up her and her father’s dream for something as inconsequential as a guy disliking her.

(If the hollow, sucking ache in her stomach was a lesson, Ginny could learn to live with anything. Even the constant, bitter taste of disappointment that coated her tongue along with the iron tang of blood.)

Apparently, though, Mike had had enough of their self-imposed silent treatments. Things were finally starting to approach a new normal, but who cared about team dynamics when Mike Lawson was missing out on a chance to be a dick?

Finally, she’d had to ask him for a private word outside through clenched teeth. He’d taken a measured pull from his beer before agreeing and following her out a side door into a narrow alley. At least they’d been sheltered from prying eyes before Ginny let loose.

“Don’t you have a boyfriend?” he responded spitefully.

Ginny was at a loss.

On the one hand: no, she didn’t have a boyfriend. Noah still called and he’d come out to Arizona a few times and they fucked a few more times than that, but they never discussed terminology. Ginny almost felt bad using him, but he was a really great distraction from her problems.

Most of which were tied up in the man standing in front of her.

Which was the other hand.

Not that Mike deserved to know any of that.

“How’s that any of your business?”

“If tabloids decide to start running stories about you messing around and it fucks up your concentration, it’ll be my business,” he reasoned. Clearly, he’d put a lot of thought into this.

“That’s a big if, Lawson,” she ground out.

“Besides,” he barreled on, like she hadn’t spoken, “I bet your whiz kid wouldn’t really appreciate finding out his girlfriend’s getting some on the side.”

“Getting some on the side? I talked to two separate guys in there for maybe ten minutes each. One of them said his boyfriend was a fan,” she spat, shaking her head to clear it. It didn’t work. “And anyway, Noah’s not my boyfriend!” Mike blinked, but didn’t respond, so Ginny kept going. “We’re seeing each other, I guess. Casual. I like him, okay? He’s—fine. None of your fucking business, but fine.”

Mike took a prowling step closer and Ginny felt her eyes go wide, annoyance bubbling over into something very different.

“He doesn’t even rate a good?” he breathed, pressing into her space. Ginny backed up, but he kept coming, right up until her shoulders hit cool stucco. Her heart raced, like she was a cornered rabbit.

That was why she wanted to lick a stripe up the tense column of his throat, too, right?

“The idea of you settling for anything less than fucking phenomenal, it kills me, Ginny,” he murmured hoarsely. There was still a current of anger running beneath everything; the set of his jaw, the rasp of his words. It licked against the seeds of frustration that had taken root in her, urging them into bloom.

“What the hell do you care what I settle for, Mike?” she hissed, finally letting go of months of bitterness. “You have a wife at home. You’ve made your choice very clear. That’s why you’re retiring at the end of the season, right?”

That, almost more than feuding and the words they’d never be able to take back, was what finally convinced Ginny to give up on getting Mike back on her side. When Al made the announcement to the team, she’d looked around in shock, but it didn’t seem like many other people were thrown for a loop. The new guys, mostly. Blip just shook his head in disappointment.

“I tried,” he’d mouthed at her apologetically, which was when Ginny realized.

Mike had told them. Maybe individually, maybe as a group, but he’d given most of them a heads up of what was coming. Even Livan didn’t look all that excited at the news. Because it wasn’t news. They all knew.

But not her.

“You’re leaving the game for her. You’re leaving your team for her. You’re leaving m—” here, she stumbled, hating the impassive look on his face but equally unwilling to let him off the hook, “me for her.”

She shook herself, raised her chin. “It’s not fucking fair, Mike. For you to treat me like shit for weeks. Months, even. For you to say these things to me when you have no intention of doing any—”

Apparently, Ginny was wrong. Because Mike did intend to do something about it.

His lips crashed against hers, one hand coming up to cradle the back of her head just before it thudded into the unforgiving stone behind her. The other clutched desperately at her waist, an anchor to drag his body into hers. His mouth moved hungrily against her and Ginny surged into him, weeks of frustration and anger spilling into the desire that she’d never quite managed to talk herself out of.

While she’d had plenty of opportunity to think about the first time she kissed Mike Lawson, none of those fantasies even began to resemble reality. Ginny never thought he’d be kissing her in an alley or that she’d have been yelling at him just seconds before. She didn’t think that she’d hate him more often than she liked him, either, but that wasn’t enough to make her pull away.

No, her hands wandered, stroking up his solid, broad chest, over his shoulders. Her nails bit into the flesh there, hard enough to draw a growl from Mike. In retaliation, his hips rutted up against hers, one thick thigh insinuating itself between hers until he could grind it against her aching core.

Ginny nearly lost herself in the clash of teeth and tongue, his heavy weight crowding her into the wall, her fingers threading through slightly sweaty hair.

Nearly.

What she couldn’t get over was the almost overwhelming taste of alcohol on his tongue. She wasn’t sure what it was, but she couldn’t forget that it was coursing through his bloodstream, hazing his thoughts. There was no way that Mike, sober Mike, would want to do this.

Would want her.

Thankfully, because Ginny wasn’t sure she’d have been able to do it herself, not if this wasn’t going to ever happen again, Mike pulled away. Just far enough to drag air into his protesting lungs.

Her eyes flicked up to his, both their chests heaving as they caught their breath. It was too dark to see anything clearly, but Ginny knew she’d find a bleary, dreamy look. When Mike moved to close the distance again, she planted one hand against his shoulder and stopped him.

He jerked back, clearly surprised, and Ginny burned with shame. Had she been so fucking obvious with this stupid crush? This ridiculous infatuation that refused to die no matter how awful they were to each other.

Why couldn’t it just die?

Why did she have to come so close to exactly what she wanted and have to say no?

“We can’t,” she murmured, aching with the desire to just plaster herself against him and say screw the consequences. Screw the fact that Mike was clearly running from something, not to her.

Screw the heartbreak that would eventually come.

“Can’t we?” Mike grinned wolfishly and leaned in again. Ginny’s hand remained rooted against his shoulder.

“This was a mistake,” she breathed, her lips buzzing with both the residual warmth of him and the words they’d just formed. They were true, but they still shredded open the ache somewhere in her stomach. No more manageable discomfort; this might end her.

Ginny felt, more than saw, Mike tense, his face scant inches from hers. He jerked away.

Had it always been so cold out here?

His laugh, when it broke into the space between them, held no mirth. It shattered like glass and cut just as deep.

“Right,” he sneered. “A huge fucking mistake. Won’t happen again.”

Ginny swallowed and squared her shoulders. She raised her chin and looked him square in the eye. Like hell would she show him her pain. “Good.”

His gaze roamed over her face, inscrutable. Finally, he nodded, one jerk of his head. A death knell. “Good,” he echoed, backing away.

Before she could say something else, anything else, he’d turned and stalked off.

Ginny didn’t watch him go. Why bother when he was already out of reach and had been for a long time?

Instead, she leaned against the cool stucco and tried to convince herself that the hole eating away her insides didn’t mean anything.

#Anonymous #Bawson fic #bawson #pitch #pitchfam #okay so my angst weakness #is people who are vicious when they're hurting #but is this even angsty anymore?#i've stared at this too long #it's just a bunch of words to me now #words that make narrative sense #but don't have a lot of meaning otherwise #i wrote something

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