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#i'm cranking all of these out to make up for lost time
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Insurance companies are making climate risk worse
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Tomorrow (November 29), I'm at NYC's Strand Books with my novel The Lost Cause, a solarpunk tale of hope and danger that Rebecca Solnit called "completely delightful."
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Conservatives may deride the "reality-based community" as a drag on progress and commercial expansion, but even the most noxious pump-and-dump capitalism is supposed to remain tethered to reality by two unbreakable fetters: auditing and insurance:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reality-based_community
No matter how much you value profit over ethics or human thriving, you still need honest books – even if you never show those books to the taxman or the marks. Even an outright scammer needs to know what's coming in and what's going out so they don't get caught in a liquidity trap (that is, "broke"), or overleveraged ("broke," again) exposed to market changes (you guessed it: "broke").
Unfortunately for capitalism, auditing is on its deathbed. The market is sewn up by the wildly corrupt and conflicted Big Four accounting firms that are the very definition of too big to fail/too big to jail. They keep cooking books on behalf of management to the detriment of investors. These double-entry fabrications conceal rot in giant, structurally important firms until they implode spectacularly and suddenly, leaving workers, suppliers, customers and investors in a state of utter higgeldy-piggeldy:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/29/great-andersens-ghost/#mene-mene-bezzle
In helping corporations defraud institutional investors, auditors are facilitating mass scale millionaire-on-billionaire violence, and while that may seem like the kind of fight where you're happy to see either party lose, there are inevitably a lot of noncombatants in the blast radius. Since the Enron collapse, the entire accounting sector has turned to quicksand, which is a big deal, given that it's what industrial capitalism's foundations are anchored to. There's a reason my last novel was a thriller about forensic accounting and Big Tech:
https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865847/red-team-blues
But accounting isn't the only bedrock that's been reduced to slurry here in capitalism's end-times. The insurance sector is meant to be an unshakably rational enterprise, imposing discipline on the rest of the economy. Sure, your company can do something stupid and reckless, but the insurance bill will be stonking, sufficient to consume the expected additional profits.
But the crash of 2008 made it clear that the largest insurance companies in the world were capable of the same wishful thinking, motivated reasoning, and short-termism that they were supposed to prevent in every other business. Without AIG – one of the largest insurers in the world – there would have been no Great Financial Crisis. The company knowingly underwrote hundreds of billions of dollars in junk bonds dressed up as AAA debt, and required a $180b bailout.
Still, many of us have nursed an ember of hope that the insurance sector would spur Big Finance and its pocket governments into taking the climate emergency seriously. When rising seas and wildfires and zoonotic plagues and famines and rolling refugee crises make cities, businesses, and homes uninsurable risks, then insurers will stop writing policies and the doom will become undeniable. Money talks, bullshit walks.
But while insurers have begun to withdraw from the most climate-endangered places (or crank up premiums), the net effect is to decrease climate resilience and increase risk, creating a "climate risk doom loop" that Advait Arun lays out brilliantly for Phenomenal World:
https://www.phenomenalworld.org/analysis/the-doom-loop/
Part of the problem is political: as people move into high-risk areas (flood-prone coastal cities, fire-threatened urban-wildlife interfaces), politicians are pulling out all the stops to keep insurers from disinvesting in these high-risk zones. They're loosening insurance regs, subsidizing policies, and imposing "disaster risk fees" on everyone in the region.
But the insurance companies themselves are simply not responding aggressively enough to the rising risk. Climate risk is correlated, after all: when everyone in a region is at flood risk, then everyone will be making a claim on the insurance company when the waters come. The insurance trick of spreading risk only works if the risks to everyone in that spread aren't correlated.
Perversely, insurance companies are heavily invested in fossil fuel companies, these being reliable money-spinners where an insurer can park and grow your premiums, on the assumption that most of the people in the risk pool won't file claims at the same time. But those same fossil-fuel assets produce the very correlated risk that could bring down the whole system.
The system is in trouble. US claims from "natural disasters" are topping $100b/year – up from $4.6b in 2000. Home insurance premiums are up (21%!), but it's not enough, especially in drowning Florida and Texas (which is also both roasting and freezing):
https://grist.org/economics/as-climate-risks-mount-the-insurance-safety-net-is-collapsing/
Insurers who put premiums up to cover this new risk run into a paradox: the higher premiums get, the more risk-tolerant customers get. When flood insurance is cheap, lots of homeowners will stump up for it and create a big, uncorrelated risk-pool. When premiums skyrocket, the only people who buy flood policies are homeowners who are dead certain their house is gonna get flooded out and soon. Now you have a risk pool consisting solely of highly correlated, high risk homes. The technical term for this in the insurance trade is: "bad."
But it gets worse: people who decide not to buy policies as prices go up may be doing their own "motivated reasoning" and "mispricing their risk." That is, they may decide, "If I can't afford to move, and I can't afford to sell my house because it's in a flood-zone, and I can't afford insurance, I guess that means I'm going to live here and be uninsured and hope for the best."
This is also bad. The amount of uninsured losses from US climate disaster "dwarfs" insured losses:
https://www.reuters.com/business/environment/hurricanes-floods-bring-120-billion-insurance-losses-2022-2023-01-09/
Here's the doom-loop in a nutshell:
As carbon emissions continue to accumulate, more people are put at risk of climate disaster, while the damages from those disasters intensifies. Vulnerability will drive disinvestment, which in turn exacerbates vulnerability.
Also: the browner and poorer you are, the worse you have it: you are impacted "first and worst":
https://www.climaterealityproject.org/frontline-fenceline-communities
As Arun writes, "Tinkering with insurance markets will not solve their real issues—we must patch the gaping holes in the financial system itself." We have to end the loop that sees the poorest places least insured, and the loss of insurance leading to abandonment by people with money and agency, which zeroes out the budget for climate remediation and resiliency where it is most needed.
The insurance sector is part of the finance industry, and it is disinvesting in climate-endagered places and instead doubling down on its bets on fossil fuels. We can't rely on the insurance sector to discipline other industries by generating "price signals" about the true underlying climate risk. And insurance doesn't just invest in fossil fuels – they're also a major buyer of municipal and state bonds, which means they're part of the "bond vigilante" investors whose decisions constrain the ability of cities to raise and spend money for climate remediation.
When American cities, territories and regions can't float bonds, they historically get taken over and handed to an unelected "control board" who represents distant creditors, not citizens. This is especially true when the people who live in those places are Black or brown – think Puerto Rico or Detroit or Flint. These control board administrators make creditors whole by tearing the people apart.
This is the real doom loop: insurers pull out of poor places threatened by climate disasters. They invest in the fossil fuels that worsen those disasters. They join with bond vigilantes to force disinvestment from infrastructure maintenance and resiliency in those places. Then, the next climate disaster creates more uninsured losses. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Finance and insurance are betting heavily on climate risk modeling – not to avert this crisis, but to ensure that their finances remain intact though it. What's more, it won't work. As climate effects get bigger, they get less predictable – and harder to avoid. The point of insurance is spreading risk, not reducing it. We shouldn't and can't rely on insurance creating price-signals to reduce our climate risk.
But the climate doom-loop can be put in reverse – not by market spending, but by public spending. As Arun writes, we need to create "a global investment architecture that is safe for spending":
https://tanjasail.wordpress.com/2023/10/06/a-world-safe-for-spending/
Public investment in emissions reduction and resiliency can offset climate risk, by reducing future global warming and by making places better prepared to endure the weather and other events that are locked in by past emissions. A just transition will "loosen liquidity constraints on investment in communities made vulnerable by the financial system."
Austerity is a bad investment strategy. Failure to maintain and improve infrastructure doesn't just shift costs into the future, it increases those costs far in excess of any rational discount based on the time value of money. Public institutions should discipline markets, not the other way around. Don't give Wall Street a veto over our climate spending. A National Investment Authority could subordinate markets to human thriving:
https://democracyjournal.org/arguments/industrial-policy-requires-public-not-just-private-equity/
Insurance need not be pitted against human survival. Saving the cities and regions whose bonds are held by insurance companies is good for those companies: "Breaking the climate risk doom loop is the best disaster insurance policy money can buy."
I found Arun's work to be especially bracing because of the book I'm touring now, The Lost Cause, a solarpunk novel set in a world in which vast public investment is being made to address the climate emergency that is everywhere and all at once:
https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865939/the-lost-cause
There is something profoundly hopeful about the belief that we can do something about these foreseeable disasters – rather than remaining frozen in place until the disaster is upon us and it's too late. As Rebecca Solnit says, inhabiting this place in your imagination is "Completely delightful. Neither utopian nor dystopian, it portrays life in SoCal in a future woven from our successes (Green New Deal!), failures (climate chaos anyway), and unresolved conflicts (old MAGA dudes). I loved it."
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If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/28/re-re-reinsurance/#useless-price-signals
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tosuckmyweenis · 10 months
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Just wanted to share a thought but infinite darkness older Leon is 100% the kind of man to buy his girl those vibrating panties as a “romantic” gift and also take full advantage of the fact that he has the remote for it and abuse his power
That is all
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Anytime!! Anywhere!!! Absolutely!!
I tried to write a full fic, but I had a few ideas and couldn't decide; the worms aren't worming yet, so enjoy these bits and bobs for now Anon 💕
It's in a slightly weird formatting, but I hope it doesn't bother too much. I'm kind of on the fence about these because i read them over too much but fuck it we ball.
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In public while doing mundane tasks?!
The only day Leon is home is, of course, the day you chose to get all your errands done; he only tags along once he convinces you that today would be the perfect day to test out that little gift he got you, wagging the remote in one hand and the black lace in the other. After all, he sounded so convincing, and with that smirk plastered on his perfect face, you weren't going to say no.
Starting off with just the lowest setting on the way to the first store with the reassurance that he'd be on his best behaviour.
Staying close behind you, staring shamelessly at your ass while you're pushing the cart in some grocery store, making your way through the isles trying to grab the box of cereal you needed off the top shelf, he refuses to help.
Waiting until you're on your tippy toes before cranking the power up to max. He loves how your body jerks in shock at the sudden intensity and clamping your hand over your mouth and the inside of your cheek to stop a moan from slipping out. Then, he takes the opportunity to press himself against you to grab the item before leaning down and whispering into your ear. 
"Careful, Sweetheart, You wouldn't want to cause a scene, would you?" Finally lowering it once he tosses the box in the cart, continuing to do the same thing for every item you reach for over and over, never letting you cum though
"Why should I risk letting other people see your pretty face? It's meant for my eyes alone. Although, you'd probably like that, wouldn't you?"
Finally, getting everything you need and checking out, loading everything into the back of the jeep. 
He'd just hand you a bag, and when you bend over to put it away, smack your ass, and when you turn to yell at him, he's just leaning on the side, holding the remote and turning it up with a shit-eating grin. 
"Leon, please," shamelessly begging him at this point, your legs finally giving out.
"Sorry, what was that? Please, what?" 
"Please let me cum, s'too much; I need to" 
"Since you asked so nicely, I'll give you what you want." 
Deciding to go early in the morning before rush hour was the smartest decision you made that day.
At home while you do chores?!
Doing chores was at the bottom of your list of things you wanted to do today, but things needed to get done, and you refused to ask Leon for help; the poor man works enough as it is and deserves to relax a little.
You were grumbling about it until he brought up a little positive reinforcement, which is how you ended up with a death grip on the edge of the kitchen sink.
You lost count of just how many times you came so far, panting like you just ran a mile, legs trembling, barely able to hold weight anymore.
Staring at the back of his head while watching a movie, his arm lazily tossed over the back of the couch, his thumb mindlessly moving the controls around in no particular rhythm, periodically stopping to give you a break before resuming.
"I don't hear any dishes being washed."
Rinse and repeat until you're just a crying, overstimulated mess.
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thefiresontheheight · 6 months
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"...while these [corporate re-education] programs have shown evidence of marginal positive effects (Meredithe et al.) and continue to be employed (Kine-Veck), they ultimately run into the same limitations as A.I. on interstellar hauls infallibly loyal to those possessing their security codes. That is, once outside effective communication distance companies cannot rely on any positive reinforcement. For this reason, it has been suggested that re-education instead focus on loyalty to the rest of the crew, rather than loyalty to the company." - A Proposal for Use of Romantic/Sexual Re-education on Interstellar Haul Crews, Delivered to the Board of VeckQwenZemco on New Armstrong, Mars, 2998 CE. *** The divorce come down and turn around was brutal. One moment your brain and biochemistry and hormones, all carefully wired by the re-education modules, make you fully believe that you have long been in a deep, committed, passionate relationship with the six to eight other people on the haul. You look at them and even though you know you'll only spend a few weeks of subjective time with them, maybe a month or two on a longer job, only a brief window out of cryo and not lagged by relativity, even though you know what you gave the company your written consent to do, your brain still loves them. Then you pull into orbit over Eridiani, or Luna, or wherever, you probably bang one last time, say your tearful goodbyes, and spend the next few weeks crying like you just lost the love of your life as the chemicals wash out and the deprogramming modules hit. The moment is over. But time spent on a company station meant time wracking up debt for oxygen, water, food. So, still on the come down, Reade looked for a course, signed the wavers, gave her consent, grabbed the meager belongings that had gotten her through seven of these hauls, now dating from over forty years ago given the time lost to cryo and near-light travel. File down to concourse-E. Begin again. "Here for the haul?" the skinny low-g kid of her in the line said. "Um, VeckGreenQwenZemco 3043-28897?" Reade sized them up. New kid. First haul. She could smell it on them. In a few hours she'd probably love them and have her brain inventing all sorts of bullshit justifications for the neurochemical feelings the company would induce in her in order to improve team cohesion and morale trillions of miles away from anyone else. In a few hours she'd love them for their optimism, their smile, their cheery attitude and all the questions. But not yet. Right now, still awash in the last break up, Reade savored the simple joy of being a miserable bitch. "Kid," she said, with a malicious grin, "you're gonna love me in a bit. But you're still gonna remember this so I want you to get a good earful of it before the re-education. I'm fucking hate you and hate that I have to do this and if I could I'd throw you out a fucking airlock." She pulled her headphones on and cranked the volume. It hurt, in her chest, and the least she could do was make someone else hurt with her. That freedom, at least, she had for a few more minutes.
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bu-blegh-ost · 6 months
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What Chip's current condition may possibly mean for both him and the crew (a theory of sorts)
Spoilers for ep. 109 and 110. Heed the warning.
Okay, so ever since ep. 109 came out I've been frantically reading about undead and what does it mean for your pc to be undead. I stayed silent about it, cause I wasn't sure if Nik could fix this, but now that ep. 110 is out I'd like to share some of the things I found, for folks like me, who do not know much abt DnD yet.
So, in a long list of features the undead have, most prominent problem is how hard it is to heal them. None of Jay's or Gillion's spells can heal Chip now, we'd need a spell that normally damages people, like necromancy spells, since they have a reverse efffect on the undead, and none of them has access to that currently. Not only that, once Chip's health reaches zero at this state, that's it. No death saves, no going unconscious or going down. That's it, which is why the moment he turned undead, Jay started spamming the temporary HP canon. So Chip doesn't lose any of his core health pool. If he did die in this state, from then on, only a spell called Wish (if I'm not mistaken a lvl 9 Sorcerer wish, so Gillion could do that if he cranked up three more levels in sorcery real quick) or True Ressurection could save him. But these two spells would also bring Chip back to life as a regular person, not the undead, so it would be cool to seek out someone who could do that for them at the most convenient time.
To balance it out, Chip is resistant to a shit ton of attack types, including poison, physical, necrotic and many other. To top it off with Chip's evasion skills, I'm giving him good chances to either minimalize or negate most damage in this form. And well, considering everything, he'd be wise to take every opportunity to do so, joke damage taking is no longer an option, I think. Also Gillion needs to be very careful with radiant damage around Chip, cause it's very effective on the undead. Chip getting hit by Gillion's strike may damage him greatly, and the two need to be very careful around each other from now on :(((
And the most interesting thing I found is the Undead Hunger variant. Some undead can just live on for centuries and be fine without a need to feed on something. But some, even the intelligent ones like Chip, may need a bit more than that, and given that very ominous intelligence check Grizzly made him roll at the end of the day, I'm thinking he's implementing the hunger rule on Chip. Lemme tell you a bit about it.
So Undead Hunger is a Variant Rule that DMs use on player characters that are undead sometimes. And that means that once in a while Chip would have to feed on some sort of specific type of morsel to satisfy his craving, or suffer the cosequences. There are two variants of undead that can make roll for this: Inescapable Craving or Diet Dependent. The player in that case rolls for willpower, which DMs usually make a wisdom or intelligence check. In our case Grizzly chose intelligence, and Chip passed with a 19. The DC for Inescapably Craving Undead is 25, but the DC for Diet Dependent Undead is 15. So from that I deduced that Chip would be a Diet Dependent Undead, since he passed the roll.
Hunger for the Undead is like addiction to the living. This means that unless Chip can resist it with a succesful roll, he may become more agressive, anxious, violent or even self-destructive the longer he is denied a preferred meal. If he can't eat, he'll have to roll for keeping himself at bay every three days. He doesn't have to roll if he eats.
So you may ask now: what happens if he fails one to many times? This is the interesting part. So if Chip fails his once per three days intelligence check, the DM will make him take ability damage. That means that one of his stats (wisdom, strength, dexterity etc.) will reduce by a whatever number Grizzly sees fit (Chip can get all the lost points back the moment he eats). In the guide I've read it says that wisdom is the most crucial ability score to lose, tho I'm unsure if the DM takes away only from wisdom or if he can take any of the stats, I may need to read more on that. But the thing is, the more rolls Chip fails, the more wisdom he may loose, and please note, Chip does not have much wisdom to begin with (but he does have high intelligence so thank the gods for that at least).
The less wisdom Chip has, the more desperate he gets when it comes to eating. He may start seeking out more risky ways to get fed or do things he normally wouldn't to get it. Hunger can't kill him though, it may just make him lose himself (hence that comment of Grizzly's about him needing to hold onto his sense of self, at least that's what I think that is). Once Chip reaches wisdom score 0, Bizzly actually loses control over him, and Grizzly takes over Chip and he plays Chip as he was a wild enemy beast. In that state Chip can throw himself on anyone or anything that can provide him food, his mind completely lost. He can hurt others, attack his crew. He can do anything the DM determines a starved mindless beast would do.
He can come back to his senses once more, when he does feed on whatever is decided his preferred meal is, all his wisdom regained and all, but the consequences of his actions, when he was not himself, the dreadful realisation that he is now a monster, who needs to be kept in check so he doesn't hurt the people he loves...This may be a lot for Chip to take. If this were to happen, he'll need a lot of his crewmates' support and reassurance, and a lot of honesty will be demanded from Chip. He'd have to warn people around him and make sure everyone knows how he's feeling, if he needs help in finding food. Casue hiding this hunger may result in tragedy.
And of course, it doesn't help that they are where they are now. In any case, if Grizz decides that Chip's favourite meal is humanoid flesh (beyond cruel is what that would be), they are fucked, basically. If it is the flesh of any other creature or animal, well they are also fucked, because they are in a motherfucking Black Sea, so good luck finding anything consumable like this either way.
But hey, of course do remeber that in the end these are just my conclusions based on what I read. Grizzly might not be even using any of these rules, cause he's the DM and he can do whatever he wants. I just thought that based on what we saw, this is very likely to happen (consider it a theory of mine for the time being). If you would like to read more about it, I'll leave you the link to this one really good website that I found most of the information on. I can't confirm its relaibility, but it looks very informative, comprehensive and thought out, and thus far was the most thorough source I found, so I'm personally willing to trust it. But please do find out for yourself. That'll be it, see you and I hope you had fun reading!
Link to the website: https://www.realmshelps.net/monsters/aboutundead.shtml#undeadhunger
UPDATE!!!!!!!!!!!
Tags written out by the wonderful @dinzeeyz !!! They explained here what is ACTUALLY happening to Chip, not a theory, facts from the boys themselves! Please make sure to read them!!!
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Well, there it is folks! Of course, I do not mind that I was wrong! The fun part in theorizing is not being right or wrong, but the journey one takes to find out the truth! And the truth is SO much more horrifying than I could ever think! You see, I was kinda thinking abt ways for Chip to still function while undead, but there is NO FUNCTIONING WHATSOEVER APPARENTLY. Grizzly's not playing, and the prospect of losing Chip forever is real oh dear OMG, that's absolutely insane!!! Please feel welcome to discuss this, I'll be definitely making more posts about this once I have a little more time but holy shit guys. We need to fix that boy up F A S T. If we lose Chip, I'm not recovering-
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Anger Translator
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Chapter 3
Thorin Oakenshield x AFAB!Reader
Summary: Thorin's stubborn pride threatens to derail your entire quest before you even reach the Lonely Mountain. Your frustration leads you to question why you were deceived into joining the company in the first place
Warnings: angst, no use of y/n, Thorin being Thorin
author's note: I'm down with a super nasty cold rn so I'm cranking these chapters out pretty fast this weekend. Thank you all so much for your support on the last few chapters.🙏
Word count: 1531
“We have a map we cannot read, Lord Elrond could help us!” Gandalf pleads.
“He’s right,” you agree. “If anyone will know how to read the map it’s Lord Elrond. I know he would be happy to help us.”
Thorin looks between the two of you with disgust.
“Help? A dragon attacks Erebor, what help came from the elves? Orcs plunder Moria, desecrate our sacred halls, the elves looked on and did nothing! And you ask me to seek out the very people who betrayed my grandfather, betrayed my father?” 
“You are neither of them. I did not give you that map and key for you to hold onto the past.” Gandalf reminds him, but it only serves to anger Thorin further.
“I did not know that they were yours to keep.”
You roll your eyes in frustration at his stubbornness as Gandalf storms off in a huff.
“Everything all right?” you hear Bilbo ask, but you’ve already turned your attention back to Thorin, who is still sulking in the remnants of the farmhouse.
“I don’t expect you to be happy about it, but like it or not we are not going to make it very far on this quest without a little outside help.”
“I will not jeopardize this quest by letting these items fall into the hands of elves,” he spits.
“Fine,” you place your hands on your hips, “then what exactly is your plan? To journey all the way to the lonely mountain only to realize we still have no idea how to make it inside Erebor? You’ll have wasted our time and put our lives at risk for nothing, Thorin!”
“And what would you have me do?” he snaps. “Fall on my knees before an elven lord? Disgrace my father’s and grandfather’s legacy?”
You roll your eyes in exasperation, feeling the two of you starting to slip into an oh-so-familiar argument.
“You would not be disgracing anyone Thorin. Yes, it was kind of shitty of them to turn their backs on us like that, but can you blame them? Can you honestly tell me that if the roles were reversed,  you would risk the life of a single dwarf to fight a battle that had nothing to do with our kind? If Smaug had attacked Rivendell instead of Erebor would you have offered help?” He remains silent but keeps his fierce gaze locked on you. “And I can assure you there will be no groveling or begging required. Lord Elrond is a friend of mine, he would be happy to help us for nothing in exchange.”
Thorin takes an abrupt step away from you, and you instantly realize that was probably information best kept to yourself for now.
“A friend?!” He scoffs and moves closer to tower over you. You force yourself to stay rooted in place. “I see now where your allegiances truly lie. Tell me was he a patron of yours? Did you entertain your friend with private performances?” 
Your hand reaches up to make contact with his cheek with a sharp slap.
“How dare you! In case you’ve forgotten I am a dwarf as well Thorin.”
“Half dwarf, you mean.”
He knows how deeply those words wound you, but you refuse to let him see how they’ve hit their mark. You turn sharply on your heel and storm away before hot, angry tears can escape the dam behind your eyes. 
You hear Thorin call your name but you ignore him as you allow your feet to carry you through the thick brush, letting yourself become lost in the woods. 
It makes you so angry how easily his words can get to you like that, and he knows it too. Despite the years spent apart, you did grow up together, you’ve known each other your entire lives, and he knows exactly how to get under your skin. 
After all, when the other lords and ladies of Erebor forbid their children to speak to you, and the other dwarves your age called you names and refused to let you play with them, Thorin was the one who would comfort you and wipe your tears away. Anyone who dared to utter the words ‘half breed’ would find themselves with a bloody nose or a broken limb. After a while, the two of you became inseparable. You were such close friends that not a soul in Erebor would dare to cast you so much as an unkind glance or risk the wrath of their young prince. He never cared about your parentage. As far as he was concerned you had just as much a right to call Erebor your home as anyone else. 
Until Erebor belonged to no one. No one but Smaug. Leaving you with no home, no family, only Thorin. 
But not long after that, Thorin was gone too. 
You push deeper into the woods, determined to find a tree for your sword to take out all the pent-up frustration. 
But rather than a tree you find a wizard. 
Gandalf sits on a stump, pipe between his teeth, clearly needing just as much of a break from Thorin as you do. You should find comfort in the fact that your frustration is shared, but instead seeing him only adds fuel to your fire.
“You are on good terms with plenty of elves yourself,” you snap at him. 
The wizard raises a brow in question and takes another deep inhale from the pipe. 
“You could easily gain access to Elven libraries and seek help from Lord Elrond without me, so why force me to come along?”
He lets out a low laugh followed by a small cloud of smoke.
“Well you are quite right about all that my dear, but no matter how begrudgingly you may have joined the company no one is forcing you to be here. And do you really think that’s the only reason I wanted you here? To be an elven emissary?” he laughs and your brows furrow in confusion. “It’s true you will undoubtedly play a large role in helping us gain assistance from the elves, and I do not believe there to be another soul alive who has studied as much dragon-related literature as you have, but none of those are the true reason you are needed in this company.”
The gray wizard makes room on the large stump and motions for you to join him. You continue to let your confusion and annoyance show as you slump onto the spot next to him.
“Thorin Oakenshield will make an excellent king, that much is certain. He has already done tremendous work for your people and that is all without a crown, a throne, or even a kingdom.” 
Despite your differences, you know he is right. Thorin is a great leader, although you would rather be burned alive than admit it aloud to anyone.
“But,” Gandalf continues, “No king is without flaws. And his stubborn pride will be the downfall of us all if it doesn’t change. He needs someone to keep him grounded, level headed. An equal that will tell him the truth even if no one else will. He needs you.” 
You open your mouth but can’t seem to form any words. You simply blink up at the wizard in confusion. 
“The others respect him as their king, and while a few may attempt to reason with him when he isn’t allowing himself to see clearly, they don’t interact with him in the same directness you do. You are not afraid of his anger, you don’t shy away from challenging him, and above all, he values your opinion. He respects you.”
You let out a laugh of disbelief and push yourself out of your seat to fully turn and face him.
“I don’t know what you have in that pipe, but whatever it is you’ve clearly been smoking far too much of it. Thorin does not respect me, he sees me as a burden. He left me to fend for myself when I needed him the most. I am not here to be his anger translator, I only agreed to come along so I could see my homeland restored once again and finally give my parents a proper burial. The second I have accomplished that I am leaving and never looking back. I intend to put as much distance as possible between Thorin and myself as I can for as long as we both shall live.”
Gandalf picks up his pipe again and fixes you with a stare that seems to say he doesn’t quite believe you. “Well then,” he says, rising to his feet. “It seems your mind has been made up.” 
You cross your arms over your chest in confirmation.
“Have you informed Thorin of these plans, if I may ask?”
“Oh yes,” you scoff sarcastically, “because I run all my important decisions by him.”
The old wizard sighs in defeat.
“The sun will be rising soon,” he says, rising from his seat, “and I do believe our companions are about to be eaten by trolls. Perhaps it is best if we intervene.” 
You follow after him with a nod, before the full statement clicks
“Wait! They’re what?!”
Next Chapter
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oliversrarebooks · 4 months
Text
The Rare Bookseller Part 33: Alexander's Feeding
Masterlist
September 1925
TW: Captivity, mind control, blood drinking
His Master was staring him down with a look of haunted bliss, the way a starving man might regard a luxurious dinner spread, and Oliver realized that he still wasn't quite prepared for it. Even when he was being fawned over by vampires as a piece of merchandise, he hadn't felt quite so much like prey as he did right now.
"Oliver," Alexander said, visibly trying to regain his composure. "There... there you are. In my library."
"Yes, Master," he said simply, the awkwardness permeating though the fog in his mind.
"Very good, very good... I trust you slept well?"
"Yes, very much so, Master."
"Why don't I..." He cleared his throat loudly. "I need to be more awake for this. Would you like some coffee? I'll show you how I make it."
"Yes, sir," Oliver agreed easily, wondering if the "this" that his Master needed to be awake for was what he thought it might be. 
He followed his Master into the kitchen, lighting one of the gas lamps along the way. Alexander opened a cupboard and pulled out a small but delicate French vacuum pot, a hand-cranked grinder, and a cheerful red tin canister. He opened the canister and smelled the contents, inviting Oliver over. The scent nearly knocked him off his feet, much stronger than the milder coffee he favored.
"I prefer my coffee beans rich. My taste has diminished since... Well, I'm better off than many vampires in that regard," he said casually, pouring a generous amount of beans into the grinder. "Here, put this water on the stove to boil."
The domesticity of the coffee making process was an odd contrast to the intensity of the moment in the library, but not so much that Oliver could put it out of mind. It didn't help that Alexander was gazing longingly at his neck whenever he thought Oliver wasn't looking. Perhaps even when he was well aware Oliver was looking.
"I don't intend to impose much in the way of tasks on you," his Master explained. "But I certainly wouldn't mind if you were to prepare a pot of coffee for me around sundown."
"Yes, sir," said Oliver, flooded with obedient contentment at the thought of having such a straightforward way to please his new Master.
Before long, two perfect, steaming hot mugs of strong coffee had been procured, and they retired once more to the library. "Feel free to continue on with what you were doing before," said Alexander, waving Oliver off. "I'll call upon you shortly, if that's acceptable for you."
Of course it was. Oliver was in no position to refuse, and all of his former resistance was no more than the dimmest of sparks. "More than acceptable, Master."
The books held such fascination for him only an hour before, but now he felt as though he couldn't focus on any of them, the titles sliding from his mind as soon as he'd read them. He could barely even taste the rich, delicious coffee. All he could think about was his Master's gaze upon him, what his teeth would feel like grazing his neck, how it would feel to finally succumb. 
He was so lost in his reverie that he barely noticed when Alexander, reclined in a soft leather loveseat, began to sing gently under his breath.
Oliver's breath hitched with the realization that this was it, just before he was awash in a sea of calm relaxation. Alexander's sharp fangs glistened in the flickering gas lamp as he smiled at Oliver and beckoned him closer. Oliver took a few clumsy steps towards him, the intense vampiric aura stealing away what remained of his thoughts.
His Master's hunger weighed heavily upon him, and his hand reached up, slipping his frock off his shoulder and exposing his neck. His Master needed to feed, and Oliver would provide, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so sure of himself. He knew exactly what he needed to do, where he needed to be, sitting down next to his Master as docile as a lamb.
Oliver looked deep into his Master's eyes as he drew closer, realizing that his Master looked almost as spellbound as Oliver felt. He could feel his Master's desire through the vampiric aura, pulling him closer, drowning every thought from his mind but the feeding. In that moment, it seemed as if he had been put on the green Earth solely for this, to provide for this beautiful vampire.
Alexander took Oliver's chin and tilted his head further to the side, cold breath on his ear as he whispered into it. "Fall under my spell," he said. "Feel no pain. Only pleasure when I drink from you, Oliver."
"Only pleasure... yes, Master..."
Sharp teeth grazed his neck just long enough for Oliver's breath to hitch before twin pinpricks pierced his skin, and then...
Bliss.
He gasped as endorphins flooded his system, turning what remained of his mind to mush. His Master's lips were on his neck, drinking from the small wounds, and even after all of his conditioning, he couldn't imagine it would feel so good. 
Why had he ever resisted this? Why had he ever feared? This was everything he'd ever wanted: purpose, pleasure, and serenity all wrapped together. His head slumped against his Master, and he felt unexpectedly safe and cared for, secure in the knowledge that he was providing well, and that his Master would not hurt him.
And then, there was another sensation, one more foreign to him, but no less welcome. It was the feeling of hunger giving way, of finally being sated after an age of starvation, a dying man restored. Through the fog of blood loss and bliss, he understood what it was: his Master's thoughts, shared through a connection bound in blood. Through that connection, Oliver could tell how much he was truly appreciated, deepening his contentment even as he began to feel drowsy from blood loss and the vampiric spell.
Alexander gently kissed the wounds closed, finishing his meal, and ran his fingers through the hair on the back of Oliver's head. "You're all right, Oliver," he said, and it wasn't a command but an observation.
"That was..." Oliver trailed off, not having the words to even begin to describe what that was like.
"Mmm," said his Master, and Oliver could hear the smile in his voice. He could feel strength. He'd made his Master stronger. He'd done well.
"I think... I think I'd like to celebrate a little, after that," said Alexander after a moment. "Would you be willing to accompany me to the music room? It's been so long since I've played."
In his half-asleep daze, Oliver nodded. "Yes, Master."
He was being scooped up in strong arms and held to his Master's chest as they walked out of the library and into the exquisite music room. Oliver was laid out on a velvet couch, a pillow tucked behind his head, as Alexander surveyed the room like a king looking over his adoring subjects. He looked healthier, Oliver realized. His skin was less pallid, his eyes more awake.
After pondering his options, Alexander sat at the piano and began to play. Oliver didn't know much about music, but it sounded like an old classical tune, the kind you might hear at a symphony hall. His Master played expertly, hands flying over the keys, and the song had an air of joy about it.
Through the remnants of the connection, Oliver could sense how the smooth ivories felt under his fingers, follow the rhythm and weave of the music. His eyelids drooped despite himself; he was drowsy enough to desire sleep, but he didn't want this moment to end.
As he skimmed the surface of dreams, floating in and out of awareness, he felt himself getting lost in a memory. Another man lying on this couch, content after a feeding, as Alexander played for him. Fingers strumming a guitar, playing a sprightly tune as Lex looked on in appreciation. 
Nimble feet danced across the wooden floor. Lex was holding a young man with golden hair and smiling eyes. He laughed when Lex clumsily stepped on his foot.
"Really, Lex?" said the man with a smirk. "I thought a vampire might be better at this. How long have you had to practice?"
"I haven't exactly had many people to practice with, you know," said Lex.
"Good thing I'm here. What would you even do without me?"
"Not dance, that's for certain."
A deep kiss. A deep longing. Loss. Fear. Regret.
Lose -- don't want to lose --
Oliver stirred in his sleep, the beautiful dream turning to a nightmare.
"It's okay, Oliver," said his Master's deep voice. "I didn't mean for you to see that. Put it out of your mind."
He felt his contentment returning to him as his Master's arms picked him up once again, carrying him out of the room and up the stairs, placing him in his comfortable bed and pulling up warm blankets.
"Pleasant dreams, Oliver," said his Master.
"You... too..." said Oliver. He felt safe. He felt fulfilled. He curled up in the luxurious bed and began to drift.
Part 32 >> Masterlist >> Part 34
Thank you for reading this story of a delectable treat for vampires.
@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @whumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining-blog @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia @a-formless-entity @gobbo-king
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carters-things · 8 months
Text
Drive
Stiles Stilinski x GN!Reader
Summary: You and Stiles go wherever the Jeep will lead you.
Tags: Just a short fluffy blurb about the love of my life.
Masterlist
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"I'm going to fall!" 
"You're fine! I've got you!" Stiles giggled as he helped shuffle you out the door. His hands covering your eyes but managing to almost knock you backwards with each step. 
"You never were graceful" you poked. As he jostled you down the last step, he positioned you in the driveway before running away. You can hear him trip over himself but stifle your laughter to not take away from his excitement. 
"Ok, now look!" His arms are wide open, presenting you with sight of the old, beat up, baby blue jeep he drove in high-school sitting in your yard, still wearing every dent and scratch from all of its adventures. 
"You're kidding! How did you get it back?!" 
"Pays to know the Sheriff." He smirked. The jeep was just as old and rickety as you remember. Broken seats, the door latch that used to stick still won't open, and the front headlight still has the crack from when Stiles bumped that pole at the gas station. He makes his way over to your side of the car and begins tugging on the door to pop it open for you, nearly knocking himself over when it finally lets go. 
"My hero." You kiss his cheek with a small giggle. You can feel the heat from embarrassment in Stiles’ face on your lips. You climb your way up into the jeep and settle down into the rundown interior. The rough fabric scratches the bottom of your thighs, as the sun from the open topped jeep warms the top of them. Stiles cranks the engine to start it, gears grinding and failing to start. After about the third or fourth try, and a few whispered frustrations, the car finally comes to a start. 
"Smooth as butter!" he exclaims as he pats the wheel. 
You spend the next hour or so driving around town, back country roads, highways, and everywhere the jeep could take you. Your hand intertwines with Stiles’, resting on his lap; every so often a small kiss pressed sweetly to the back. Through the day both of you relive your high-school days and stories. Time is lost to you and before long you realize you don't know where you have even brought yourselves. The sun has almost set fully and the air is starting to get a bit cooler; the slight sunburn on your skin keeps you warm. As you turn down a road that Stiles swears will bring you right home you see a sign for a drive-in movie up ahead. 
Before you could even say anything Stiles was turning into the parking lot. The jeep bouncing you both almost out of the roof with each stone on the gravel driveway. You didn't even know what movie was playing but that didn't stop you both from getting tickets and parking in the most prime location. The field was only occupied by five or six other cars, the rest of the space flooding with fireflies. Stiles jumped out of the jeep, forgetting he was still holding your hand and almost pulling you out with him. He opened the back hatch and pulled out two blankets he must have stashed in there earlier today; or at least you sure hope he did and they weren’t the ones from school. You climbed your way through the seats into the bench in the back, Stiles scaling up the wheel and over the roll cage, settling himself right beside you. He draped one blanket around your shoulders and the other over both of your laps before he wiggled hand back into yours.
"Remember when we all came to the drive in after prom?" You rested your chin on his shoulder, looking up at his freckled face. The butterflies swarming your stomach when his gentle brown eyes locked into yours.
"Yeah, and Scott spent the whole movie trying to impress Allison with his Owen Wilson impression." The both of you laughed at the memories of you as young, dumb, lovestruck kids and the nostalgia of being back at the drive in. Being in the back seat of the jeep topping everything off. 
The movie started to play but between the comfort of Stiles' arms wrapped around you mixed with the steadiness of his breathing you didn't make it further than the opening credits. Your soft snores made Stiles chuckle gently, not enough to wake you. He kissed the top of your head and adjusted the blanket to keep you warm; resting his head on the back of the seat he just smiled. Smiled just as big tonight as he did when he held you in that seat back in high-school, and will only smile larger every day he holds you in the future.  
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petrichor-idyllic · 1 year
Note
Hi hello! Can I request a Minho x Reader oneshot where the reader is working for WICKED but is like an undercover agent and actually tries to give out info for the Right Arm or whatever and she helps Minho when he gets taken back to the facility(like trying to find ways to free him or at least bring him food or smth when he's not being... yk tortured to death and all- it can be whatever) and she helps in his escape and they all go tho the safe haven where they live happily forever after- ok I'll stop now, thank you. Also I'm in love with your Minho oneshots!
Omg yesss this is such a good request and I can actually do so much with this.
I got really into this one so I'm sorry for the variation in my writing quality lmao. This might be my longest piece yet, so sorry it took so long to get out.
Due to the pronouns used in this text I am assuming it is Fem!Reader. I am also assuming this is based on the films because those events do not take place in the books.
WARMTH IN COLD PLACES PT. 1
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MASTERLIST | MINHO MASTERLIST
PART 1 | PART 2
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SUMMARY: See above. Minho x Fem!Reader. Movie based fic. Instead of Jorge knowing about the Last City and where Minho will be, you provide that information.
WARNINGS: Inappropriate language, violence, guns. WICKED being WCKD because movie. I'm assuming you know the rules of the card game Black Jack. This is also time inaccurate because TDC takes place over a couple of days but here you're getting weeks worth of events. VERY long.
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You joined the Right Arm as a child, maybe ten or eleven- you can't really remember. You'd lost your parents to the Flare on separate occasions, escaping to a refuge camp after your father started showing symptoms and forced you to flee without him.
You can't even remember losing your mother. You were too young.
After moving from camp to camp, each one being safe until some Crank snuck in, or someone joined unknowingly suffering from the disease.
After the forth move, you met Vince. You tried stealing some extra bread for a girl who was sick (she had pneumonia, not the Flare). You got caught but put up a hell of a fight. Vince introduced himself, and you kind of became his adoptive daughter.
So, when he gave you an alias and a fake ID, sending you on a private mission to interfere and spy on WCKD, you were shocked to say the least.
But it made sense. Vince had been protective and secretive about you, making sure that he kept you away from WCKD's watchful eye. Sure, you're pretty well-known; but only by name. There's several rebellious attempts attached to your name, mainly spread around groups of activists.
But not your face. You were the perfect candidate for an undercover gig.
It took months to go through WCKD'S training, pretending to be older than you were with a name that wasn't yours, but it worked.
And then, even your fake name and life didn't matter- you simply became Guard 175.
It's been two years since you took the job.
Your time in the Last City was unlike any other- mainly stealing information and providing intel.
Until strict message from Vince on your smart watch tells you to keep an eye out for an Asian boy called Minho.
You knew of Minho- of course, you did. Vince and his new allies had been looking for him for the past six months. After the events in which Teresa betrayed you all, you were in the Last City. The Guard job you had required you to stay at WCKD's Headquarters at all times, since you were guarding the building. Even in events where WCKD needed more bodies.
All you could do was try and warn Vince, but by the time you found out what was happening yourself and managed to find a private place to send the message, it was too late.
So, now everyone's focus is on trying to find this random boy you've literally never met for ex-WCKD workers/prisoners. It's been a weird six months.
Much to your dismay, the only information you could provide were the routes the trains would be taking and that Minho might be on them.
Which got messed up, but not thanks to you. You told them the location, but which carriage Minho was on would be random based on where the Guards forced him to sit.
You were still unable to leave your post.
Vince had suspicions that they were bringing Minho to the main WCKD base, especially after you told them the documents stating the destination. It was really the only other option since they didn't save him. So, you're now under strict orders to keep an eye out for him.
You know what he looks like. You have an earpiece and a high-tech smart watch, both of which you keep hiden under your Guard's uniform. These were used to tell you what you had to look for. So, when you broke into WCKD's system, searching for Subject A7- information that was provided by some keen-eared boy called Newt -you knew who you were looking for.
"Miss Agnes," you jog, catching up to Teresa as she struts down the scary clean white walls of WCKD HQ. You hate it here. It's worlds away from the chaotic but cosy environment you spent your life in- from the small town that got plagued by the Flare to the Right Arm bases you helped run. It's too bright; too clean.
Part of your mission is to befriend Teresa. She's Ava Paige's personal lapdog, and if she likes you, you've got an in- and someone with power that will defend you. She seems to be fond of you, probably because if a lowlife peasant can like her, then maybe she isn't so bad.
You, obviously, despise her.
Your job wouldn't have become so complicated if it weren't for her, and you'd probably have a lot of people safe and sound in the Safe Haven. Your job was long, but it was originally to get as much information as physically possible and then flee, providing the knowledge to free more people and completely disrupt WCKD's plans. Now it's "tell Vince if you find this random kid."
"Ah, 175," she doesn't even know your fake name, "I was wondering where you'd got to."
"Yeah, well, you know how it is- busy guarding and all that." She scoffs. She's always found you funny; that might be why she likes you.
"Yes, well, as much as I'd love to chat, I've got to get to the labs." You're glad the mesh masks of your uniform shields your face because that means you can hide your panic.
"Sorry, uh, before you go- I heard one of the cargo trains was intercepted," her face visibly hardens, "I was wondering if that had anything to do with your old friends; the ones you told me about?"
She clears her throat, "I'm afraid so. I just-" she sighs, "Thomas thinks he's doing the right thing. He thinks that this is what's best for him- but I'm trying to do what's best for humanity. It hurts that they don't understand that. But it's fine, because we prevented the Right Arm from getting our most reliable cargo."
"Oh?"
"I can't tell you much, I'm not allowed," she throws a sad smile your way. "I wish I could, though. You've been a great friend. So, let's just say one of the most impressive and consistent subjects is still in our possession."
She walks away, leaving you to huff and puff in the corridor. It made you sick how they spoke about people like they're objects. It's hard to believe the boys you're helping used to hold her so highly.
You return to your room. It's basically a box room that's big enough for a bed, but it's the only place that offers you any privacy. You yank your mask off, tossing it to the bed and pressing your fingers to your earpiece.
"Yo, Vince, you there?"
There's silence, followed by a sharp static. "(Y/N)? Did Teresa tell you anything?" You flop onto your bed, letting yourself move your hand away from your ear now the connection is stable.
"Not really, but she did mention about precious cargo being still intact- and an important test subject. The records I told you about before our raid said the train was coming here- we can only assume that this subject-"
"-Has to be Minho," Vince sounds stressed, groaning slightly.
"V? Everything alright over there?"
"Not really," he sighs, followed by the sound of a squeaking chair, "WCKD's jets have been snooping around base and Thomas, Newt and Frypan have gone AWOL- Brenda and Jorge left earlier to go and find them. But I doubt they're going to bring them back."
Honestly, you'd never spoken to any of these people, but you knew the names well enough to tell who they are.
"What are they going to do then?"
"What do you think?" You sit up on your elbows, processing what he's implying. "You might be having some company real soon."
"Does that mean I'll be able to leave?" Vince snorts a laugh. You've asked him that every single call since you started this gig.
"It might, actually," though, this is the first time you haven't gotten a no. "Keep an eye out for Minho. He should be arriving there within the next twelve hours. If not, he's somewhere else and you're going to have to do more snooping whilst I try to contact Thomas."
"Okay. Speak soon." The connection dies with a hiss.
This was going to be shit.
Not even two hours later, you hear the call off of your walky-talky that Guards are needed at the cargo entrance to transport Subjects. You flew at the opportunity, rushing into the crowds of your colleagues.
Joining the other members at the doors to the carpark, you watch as buses full of innocent people in handcuffs pull up- all in the depressing WCKD garb they're forced to wear. Some faces are familiar from browsing files, some new- all looked terrified.
You stay away from the front, dipping between masked personnel and observing from a distance. You knew exactly what you were looking for- Asian, dark-hair, well built, about eighteen-ish, good-looking, and probably angry. That was offered by some dude called Frypan. You doubt that's his real name, but you really hope it is.
You watch, processing faces and people as fast as you can as Guards grab the Subjects, holding one of their arms, which are handcuffed together in front of them, and leading them into the building. This could be the perfect opportunity to do something, but by the time you spot Minho, someone has beat you to it.
It's definitely him. His image and description match him perfectly, even if his hair is a little bit flatter. You silently curse as you try to make your way over to him, only for another Guard to force him to walk forward.
Okay, new plan- grab someone close and stay nearby.
You don't get to use that plan either when Minho suddenly lashes out. He slams his foot onto the Guard's, making the masked man yelp and let go. Minho takes the opportunity to spin around, kicking the guy in the chest and sending him flying.
Another Guard comes to help, but Minho has got a hold of a pair of keys from the previous guy, just about unlocking one of his wrists before dodging.
Shit.
This is bad. There's no way Minho is going to be able to escape the building under these circumstances. It's brutal and dangerous and he's going to get himself shot.
You act fast, breaking away from the colleagues waiting for their turn and being affected by the bystander effect. You watch as a Launcher is pointed at the boy, as another Guard tries to wrestle him. The guy gets kneed in the groin and you dive in from behind.
Minho seems to sense you're there, spinning around to punch you, but you grab his fist, catching him by surprise and giving you a second to react. You'd done a lot more than basic WCKD training. Vince has been teaching you to fight since you first met him.
You launch your heavy boot into the bottom of Minho's shin at the front of his ankle, causing his foot to bend awkwardly. Taking the opportunity to spin him around, pulling him in front of you. You're quick to switch your grip to his wrist, forcing his arm behind his back. Kicking the weak spot on the back of his knee, he hits the floor with a thump as you hold him in place.
Minho is physically stronger than you, easily. But, you have years of practical and strategical training over his head.
"Not bad, 175," you freeze as Janson's grating voice hits your ears, "do us all a favour and take care of that delinquent- he's unfortunately important."
"Yes, Sir." He stands at the front of the room, watching as the Subjects filter past him. "Come on."
You yank Minho up, forcing him back onto his feet, he groans, anger visibly seething from him.
You hold him close to you so you can lean into his ear and whisper. "Listen man, I don't wanna hurt you but there's no way you're gonna survive here if you keep pulling shit like that."
"Why should I listen to you?" He spits. His voice is scratchy and hollow, full of hatred and aggression.
"You'd rather listen to these assholes? Trust me, I do that pretty much daily, and it's not exactly an ideal lifestyle."
He scoffs. It's dry and very clearly forced. "You think I'm gonna be your friend just 'cause you don't like your coworkers?"
Unfortunately, you have to be vague. If someone overhears and you tell him you're an ally to the Right Arm, then you're a dead man. If they think it's just dumb workplace drama, then they probably won't bat an eye.
"Quite frankly, I don't give a fuck what you think about me- I'm here to do my job. Unfortunately, my boss wants you kept kickin'." That's subtle enough to not bring concern, but intruiging enough that Minho looks over his shoulder at you.
"175," you're moving through the corridors now, having left the parking area and moving to Subject dorms. Your attention diverts to behind you as Janson touches your shoulder, having left his observation of the transfer. "Come with me. Subject A7 has a private cell per the request of Miss Paige."
"Yes, Sir."
This could be good. Minho has his own room away from the other victims, which means you'll have easier access to him.
You follow your "Boss", making no attempt to communicate with Minho in such tense circumstances now.
"That was quite the stunt you pulled," Janson speaks, making you cringe under your mask. "I don't remember many Guards being taught much hand to hand combat- we mostly focus on arms training. It's impressive."
"I excelled in the brief lessons we had, Sir. I knew some beforehand since I had to look after myself in the Scorch- fighting Cranks is no easy task." You keep your voice calm. A lot of people have similar life experiences, and if you haven't lost absolutely everything, you're classed as lucky. So, it's no shock when you casually mention hardships, giving a plausible explanation to your skills.
"I suppose so. You've come a long way, you should be proud of yourself- from street rat to WCKD agent. That's quite the accomplishment."
"Thank you, Sir, but I'm just trying to survive- just like everyone else."
"Humble, too," you can hear the smirk in his voice, "no wonder Teresa likes you."
Shit. Minho physically tenses at the mention of her name. If Janson knows that you're friendly with Teresa, then it's not really a jump in logic for him to think you're up to something.
"I'm honoured to be held in such high regard, Sir." Janson seems satisfied with this response, humming slightly.
Minho is quick to notice how different you spoke to him vs. Janson. It's very clearly a front, but he can't afford to question it.
He leads you to a small room away from the group Dorms, opening the door with a key card and revealing it. It's pretty much the same as your room, which probably says a lot about the people you're pretending to work for.
"Okay, Minho," Janson addresses the boy, condescending and irritating, "no more little stunts, okay? Your friends and the Right Arm can't reach you here. It's better you just give up and help us save humanity." He looks at you, jolting his head towards the room.
You grit your teeth, but follow the insinuation, throwing in the boy as guilt washes over you.
○ ○ ○
"I've found the boy," you pace your room once you returned, immediately contacting Vince.
"So he's there? Do you have access to him?"
"Not really- I know where he is but only higher level personnel have access to it- like Janson." You did a brief sweep of the key card requirements before you left- you're not Hugh enough ranked.
"What about Teresa?"
"Yeah, she'll probably have access."
"Okay, you can work with that, surely."
You sigh, running your fingers though your hair, "Sure, yeah, I guess. But what do you even want me to do now? Break him out? Release his file to you? Both of us escape?"
"I want you to keep an eye on him."
"Seriously?" Your face twists into a frown. "Is that it?"
"We can't risk anything. You're a one man show and one of our best resources- Thomas and his group are probably already making their way to you. God knows what their plan is, but they have more chance with you inside."
"How are they even gonna get into the City? It's on lockdown."
"I have a feeling they'll find a way," Vince huffs, clearly tired of your pressing. "Just a little longer, kid, make sure Minho is alive and okay- I don't know what they're gonna do to him, but I need you to make sure he's still breathing. Am I clear?"
"Yep," you pop the P.
"I also need you to keep quiet about your position, even to Minho."
"What, why?"
"We don't know what WCKD are going to do to him. If he says anything about our operation or you, we've done all this for nothing."
"I guess- alright. I'll sort it," disconnecting and sighing, you lay on your bed. You need to rest. These next couple of days are going to suck.
○ ○ ○
You wake the next day, and immediately start your hunt for Teresa. You have a hunch she'll be dealing with the Minho situation, or at least observing it.
The problem is that the WCKD HQ is huge. And you don't know where the experiments will be taking place. Since your job mainly just consists of walking around and keeping an eye on things, it's not like you're raising any suspicions. Especially since you helped out yesterday.
You turn a corner, spotting Teresa and Ava Paige talking, looking into a lab room with a glass window- one of the several open testing rooms found in this part of the building. You slow your pace, watching from a distance.
Teresa seems to be distressed; her fists are balled and she swallows uncomfortably, almost like she's hypnotised by what she's watching but wants to look away. Ava is unfazed, but she brushes her prodigy's shoulder as she walks away, offering some kind of sympathy.
The sound of clicking heels fade, and you make your approach. Going to speak, your breath catches in your throat as you witness the gruesome scene.
Behind the glass, Minho is strung up to some kind of contraption. Screens surround him and wires come from all over his body. He's stood upright, a foot above the floor and held in place as they start the machine again. One of the screens shows brain wave patterns that indicate high levels of stress.
"He's dreaming." Teresa speaks without pulling her eyes away.
"Dreaming?" You question. This looks anything but peaceful to you.
"Induced dreaming- they're forcing him to experience high stress situations to see how it affects the Kill-Zone," her words are shakey, and you latch onto that.
"You don't sound like you approve." She looks at you, even though she's never seen you without your mask, your voice and the numbers sewn on your sleeve tell her enough- she could tell its you from a mile away.
"During my time in the Maze- and the Scorch -Minho was brave. He's one of the most courageous people I've ever met. I can't tell you how many times he threw himself on grenades to protect us." She smiles, almost fondly as she looks back at the glass. "One time, when we were escaping the WCKD lab after being saved from the Maze, he ran full force and kneed an armed Guard. Completely knocked him out in one go; still probably one of the coolest things I've heard someone do."
"He sounds like he meant a lot to you," she lets out a sad chuckle.
"They all meant a lot to me but... I don't know. I made choices they don't agree with. They refuse to see the bigger picture, and I don't think they ever will."
"Why don't you try talking to him? Maybe visit him in his cell? Even if it's just to make sure he's okay." Come on, if you can get her on this line of thinking, you're more likely to get into Minho's cell.
"I'm too busy- besides, I doubt he'd want to see me. He hates me."
"Ah, yeah, that's a problem," she laughs dryly.
"Would you do it for me?" You tilt your head at her, exaggerating your confusion.
"Do what for you?"
"Look after Minho? Janson says you handled him easily yesterday, so there's no worries about him escaping or causing problems."
"I can't- I don't have high enough card access to enter the cells." She looks at you, thinking for a second.
"I'll get your card access upgraded. I trust you to take care of him- he deserves as much."
And just like that, she'd played into your hands. You're mainly relieved your hours of talking to her had actually paid off in some sense, that much was proven when she found you later that day- presenting you with a new key card.
Heading towards Minho's cell, no one even batted an eye when they saw you slide the key down the lock and the light flashed green.
Minho's sat on the floor, back resting against the bed frame, his legs bent and head in his hands. He doesn't even react to the sound of the door opening or closing.
"I brought you some decent food."
Still nothing.
Cautiously, you walk over to him, crouching and placing the dish on the floor. He looks at it out of the corner of his eye, which is kind of an improvement.
You cross your legs, sitting next to him but facing him. Silence fills the room and you let it. Minho is going to have to talk to you on his own terms if he's going to talk to you at all.
A good five minutes passes.
"You're not gonna leave, are you?" His voice sounds dry and is barely a whisper compared to the aggressive boy you'd tackled not even forty-eight hours prior.
"Nope."
"Did you at least get me a shuckin' drink?"
"...I'll be back. What would you like?"
"Do I even have a choice?"
"I'm asking, aren't I?"
"...Anything alcoholic?"
"No."
"Juice then."
You return ten minutes later with a glass full of orange juice, taking the sitting position that you had previously.
To your surprise, he's now sat with his legs crossed, holding the tray of beef, mash, gravy, and veg that you stole from the dining area on his lap.
You gently place the glass next to him, and he anxiously looks at it. "Not poisoned, right?"
You sigh, lifting the bottom on your mask and taking a sip, returning it to it's spot. He still hesitates, glancing down at his plate. So, you reach over, picking up a small piece of meat, struggling slightly to put it in your mouth under the mask.
He seems to accept this. It takes him a second, but he slowly starts eating- mainly picking at the food and taking slight sips of his drink, but progress is progress.
"You should count yourself lucky- the others aren't getting this quality food."
"Is that meant to make me feel better?" You guess that comment was a bit insensitive.
"Sorry, but you need to eat. You need the energy."
"What? So I'm strong enough to be tortured?"
You hesitate, feeling genuinely bad. "I'm sorry that-"
"No, you're not!" He snaps to face you, eyes full of fury and for a second you think he's going to attack you. "175, right?" He glances at your sleeve, "You stopped me from escaping."
"I stopped you from getting killed."
"I had it under control."
"Didn't look like it." His jaw tenses, staring down at his meal. "WCKD's Guards are trained with guns and weaponry- you're important but not nearly enough for them to risk you ruining their whole operation."
"You mean your whole operation."
"Whatever," you spit, determined to follow Vince's request, "I saved your ass, whether you appreciate it or not. I didn't know what they were going to do to you, I'm only here because-"
"Because Teresa wants you to look after me?" You blink at him, even if he can't see it. "Yeah, I saw you, even if I wasn't conscious. I knew it was you- same height and everythin'. You're helping that shuck-faced shank 'cause she feels bad that she's a shuckin' traitor that sentenced all her friends to death. Betraying little-"
"Okay," you cut him off, "I get it. I don't agree with it- do you seriously think I'd be here if I was just doing this because some bitch who doesn't even respect me asked?"
He looks at you. He really looks at you, like he can see straight through your uniform and into your soul.
"What other reason do you have?"
You shake your head, sighing through your mask. "Finish your food. I need to get rid of the dish- I'll get in deep shit if they find out I'm giving handouts to prisoners."
"The traitor didn't tell you to feed me?"
"Nah, did that all on my own." He snorts, kind of like a forced laugh, but he seems to relax a bit.
The remainder of your interaction is in silence. Minho finishes his food quickly, picking up pace once he gets taste for it. He finishes his drink, passing the glass to you instead of just putting it on the ground.
You stand and leave without saying another word. Minho doesn't attempt to change that.
This is going to be harder than you first thought.
Thomas better work fast.
○ ○ ○
You desperately try to avoid Teresa the next day, and you missed Minho for breakfast since they already took him for another round of glorified torture.
Your avoidance did not work.
"175." You've been guarding the entrance of the building for the last seven hours and you think you're starting to hallucinate. So, when Teresa actually approaches you, probably to leave for the day, you kind of wish she wasn't real.
"Hey," you greet her, for some reason smiling even though there is literally no point. "You okay?"
"I was wondering how Minho's doing?"
"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" You attempt to joke, but when her face drops, you realise you've miss-stepped. "He's fine. As fine as you can be in this situation." You lie, mainly just wanting her to leave.
"Okay," she nods her head, accepting this, "thank you for this."
"It's no problem, Miss Agnes."
"Please, call me Teresa," she offers you a genuine smile and for a second you understand why Minho's so hurt.
"Okay then, Teresa." She flashes another smile before walking through the doors. Of course, WCKD scientists get high-end apartments away from the building.
The second day of your new routine starts. You bring Minho food- and you remember the juice, though it does make it harder to open the door.
This time, he's lay on the floor. Not the bed, the floor.
"Uh, you good?" The question even sounds dumb leaving your lips.
"Are you seriously asking me that?" He grumbles, eyes fixed on an invisible spot on the ceiling.
"Yeah, fair point." You sit on the edge of his bed, putting the food next to you but still holding the glass so it doesn't spill. Having a sticky orange juice covered bed would not improve his day. "I've brought you chicken wings and some fries, they were out of the healthy option."
He reluctantly sits up, shuffling across the floor and using the bed as a table as he sits in front of you. You pass his the drink and he sets it on the floor.
"If you're not doing this for Teresa, why are you doing this?" He asks between struggled mouthfuls of food.
You shrug, playing off your intentions. "Wanna pretend I'm a good person."
He scoffs, "No one who works here is a good person."
"That's why I said pretend."
You like to think you're doing a good job at keeping up the act. And maybe if Minho wasn't so exhausted and in pain, he might pick up on something not being quite right.
Though, you have to at least provide Vince with some kind of intel. Teresa said he's dreaming to stress the Kill-Zone part of the brain, but what's the point?
"What exactly are they doing to you?" He pauses for moment, clearly not wanting to think about it.
"Torture."
"I mean, I gathered that." Unfortunately, you have to stay stoic. Fortunately, you've basically been trained your whole life for this.
"I don't know- they put me in some weird trance and I see all the horrible things that's happened mixed with, like, a remix of traumatic things I've gone through- like they're using my shuckin' memories against me to make new ones or some klunk."
Well, that offered nothing, "What do you mean?"
"I don't know. It's weird. It feels so real and I can't tell it's fake when it's happening. But I'll be getting chased by Grievers down concrete corridors, or be back in that mall being hunted down by Cranks, except it's warped and keeps changing and I can't find the way we escaped. It's like being back in the shuckin' Maze, except they can control my entire body and make me do whatever they want. It's the Maze without being safe in the Glade at night, and I don't actually know how to survive."
"Huh," now, this is interesting.
"What? What is it?"
"They're trying to gain similar- or better -results as they did for the Maze trails. Except the Right Arm knows the location of all the Mazes, and pretty much all WCKD facilities so they're being forced to use psychological torture and hallucinations to mimic it instead. Since the City is on lockdown and no one can access it."
He pauses completely, blinking at you.
"What? I don't get it- why would torturing a bunch of immune teenagers help anyone."
"Because they want to cure the Flare."
"So?"
"So, Munnies and normal folk have the same structure brain, except the Kill-Zone area, the part of the brain that's damaged by the Flare, is left unaffected in those who are immune. The Kill-Zone reacts under extreme stress and produces new results and hormones that could, in theory, be used to create a cure."
Minho stops completely, the fork he's holding clattering onto the plate as he just stares at you.
"What?"
"How the shuck do you know all this? You're just a Guard but you know the biology behind all the science?"
"It's kind of common knowledge," you bluff, "the Flare's been plaguing humanity for a while- everyone knows the basic science behind it. I don't know what they expected, really."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you know the Flare is man-made, right?"
A beat passes, horror crossing Minho's face. "What?"
"When the Solar Flares hit, millions of people died, but half the world was pretty much left kinda intact. But, it meant we lost half the globe's worth of supplies and important necessities, so the growing population issue grew tenfold. So, for some fuckin' reason, the big bosses of the World thought it would be a smart idea to make a deadly virus to use as population control. The virus was too strong, spread too fast- those geniuses didn't think to make a cure just in case things went wrong. And, well, the rest is history."
You're actually shocked that Vince, or even WCKD didn't tell them this, because Minho seems genuinely dumbfounded.
"Shuck it," he rests his elbows on the bed, head in his hands. "Why am I not even surprised? Trust some random WCKD shank to be giving me a buggin' history lesson."
"Kinda figured someone woulda said something."
"Yeah, well, they didn't. Some shuck-face shucked up and now I'm being literally tortued to fix it. Brilliant."
"Bummer," he snorts at this.
"Yeah, you can shuckin' say that again."
"Why do you talk like that?" You decide to ask him more questions, mainly because you are genuinely confused.
"Like what?"
"Like that? Yanno, shuck, shank, buggin', klunk- you talk fuckin' weird."
"It's just how we spoke in the Glade. Don't really know how it started, but it's engrained in my vocab now."
"That's kinda cool," he raises his eyebrow, starting to eat again, "leave a bunch of teenagers to fend for themselves and they start makin' up words. It's just interesting."
"Yeah," he hums, "guess it kinda is."
○ ○ ○
You fell surprisingly easily into a routine. You talk to Minho, inform Vince of the current WCKD methods and then go about your job.
It's a lot of effort, but Minho is starting to be less reluctant to talk to you. He fondly retells stories of the Glade, like how he and Thomas survived a night, how bad Frypan's stew was, and that one time Zart accidentally burnt down a hut and Gally didn't talk to him for a month. It sounds like they were genuinely happy there, and it breaks your heart that Minho seems to wish he was back in that trap. Especially when he tells some of the darker stories.
But now there's a problem. Vince had always been touchy and strict about relationships. He didn't want you distracted or upset over some boy, so relationships were forbidden. And considering he's the closest you have to a father figure, you obeyed. Though, that means you've never been romantically involved with a boy through your entire teenage years.
And the first time you've ended up spending long amounts of time with a boy is with the torture victim you're trying to comfort whilst simultaneously convincing him you're the reason for his capture. A very good-looking boy who seems to be warming up to you.
A very good-looking, strong boy who listens to what you tell him and seems to be taking an interest in you and is very passionate about his opinions. Opinions that, unbeknownst to him, align perfectly with yours.
Oh no.
"I don't even know your name." You and Minho sit on the floor, playing Black Jack with a pack of cards you managed to sneak into his room. He's slowly being worn down. His features are more sucken, his skin pale and his hair dishevelled and messy. None of which you can really help. "Or what you look like."
"You don't need to know my name, or what I look like, to get your ass handed to you at Twenty-One last time I checked." He rolls his eyes. He acts like a completely different person around you than to the other Guards. It's hard to watch the empty shell of the person he normally is in this room be pushed around.
"That's not what I mean, and you know it."
"No can do, sweetheart," admittedly, you want to take your mask off because it makes seeing the cards harder. But it does mean you don't have to worry about your pokerface.
Pet names had become an interesting topic. You used to endearingly call members of the Right Arm things like sweetheart, or doll, or hun- something you picked up from your father. Something that has bled into your relationship with Minho.
Not that he complains.
"C'mon," he groans, "how am I meant to be friends with a faceless freak?"
"You think we're friends?" You ask, genuinely as you take another card off of the deck, cringing as it's the ten of clubs which takes you to twenty-five.
"Well," he shrugs, "what else am I meant to call it? Stockholme Syndrome?"
"Wouldn't be that wrong of a diagnosis. You taking another card?"
"Are you?" You shake your head. Minho reveals his hand, showing twenty on his cards, and you dramatically throw yours down, showing your loss.
"God dammit!" He barks a laugh at your reaction. "Why am I so bad at this?"
"You're just playing against a master," you galre at him, "I had plenty of practice in the Glade."
"It's a game based on luck- you can't master it."
"That's what you think."
○ ○ ○
Maybe you got too used to your routine- too comfortable with Minho and the situation you're in, but when Teresa told you she'd finally gained enough courage to speak to Minho, you knew it would end badly.
Teresa enlisted you to guard the room, but with the door closed and your colleagues discussing lunch next to you, it's kinda hard to hear what's going on.
That's until Minho screams the word "Traitor" followed by a loud slamming noise.
Shit.
The other Guards scramble into the room, knocking into you and halting your progress. You burst in, panic swelling in your chest as one of them holds up a buzzing taser. Darting forward, you grab the Guard's arm, placing one arm on Minho's back to at least play it off as the shocked masked man lets go slightly.
"Stop!" You snap. "He's subdued! We don't need to inflict unnecessary pain!"
"It's protocol to-"
"175 is right," Teresa comes to your defense, controlling the atmosphere of the room. "Subject A7 has been through enough- he's in no position to cause any further harm. Return him to his cell and only act if necessary."
Without words, you yank Minho up by the back of his shirt, cringing at the 'PROPERTY OF WCKD' printed on the back. You undo the cuffs from the table and reattach them to his wrists. He makes no effort to resist. He knows he's safer with you than he is with any of his other options.
You walk him down the halls. The rage seeps off of him, his skin under his shirt is warm and his cuffed hands are balled. Unlocking the door to his cell, you push him in, probably a little bit too aggressive. But you tell yourself it's for show.
"What the fuck was that?" You hiss, stepping into the cell. Minho immediately turns to face you, his nostrils flaring, jaw tense and for the first time, you realise how scary he really can be.
"You're shucking kidding, right?" He shouts, causing you to immediately panic and try to shush him. "I'm here because of her! Everything we did- everything we went through- is because of her! And you expect me to be calm about this klunk? Just because you can act like an apathetic shuck-face, doesn't mean I can!"
He slowly walks towards you, throwing his words at you. You back away, not realising how close the door is until you hit your back against it. Minho towers over you, still in cuffs, leaving very little space between you as his chest rises and falls.
"I'm sorry-"
"Sorry? You're helping them! You are keeping me here! Why? You clearly don't like them and have some morals deep down- but you're still bringing me to this shuckin' cell!"
"I have no choice!" You finally shout back, making him flinch. "I don't want to watch this shit- or hurt you or anyone! But I can't help you if I'm fucking dead, Minho! You can get away with this shit because they need you! They don't need me! If I step too far out of line- then I'm dead!"
His features soften as he steps back, giving you more room to breathe.
"What exactly do you want me to do? Trust me, if I could, we'd be long gone from this hell-hole but I have no way of doing that without at least me ending up in a body bag." You huff, crossing your arms across your chest. "And what use would I be to you then?"
The bed squeaks under Minho's weight as he sits down. His legs are spread, elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands. Neither of you say anything for a couple of minutes; you take the opportunity to compose yourself.
Until Minho sniffs.
"Minho?" You push away from the door, cautiously making slow steps towards him. "Minho? Are you okay?"
"I can't do this anymore," his voice breaks as he speaks, shattering your heart in the process. "I can't- I don't- how am I meant to keep doing this?" He groans, frustration mixed with a sob shakes his whole body.
You make the bold move to sit next to him, being closer to him than you've ever dared before at the bed sinks under your weight, you shoulders bumping slightly.
"This is so much worse than the shuckin' Maze- at least I had some control in there. But here? My body- my mind- I- fuck! I have nothing. I-I feel like I'm dying. I can't live like this. Teresa said that I'm saving some kid by being tortured. But what about me? What about all the other shanks they're putting through this klunk? How is this fair? For a shuckin' maybe? They don't even know it's gonna work- how can you justify this?"
You choose to ignore the final comment, even if it stings. Gingerly, you put your arm around his shoulders, rubbing small circles into the top of his arm. He doesn't pull away, his arms dropping to between his legs.
"It's gonna be okay," you sooth him, "we're gonna get out of here, okay?" He scoffs, shaking his head.
"How am I meant to believe you? I can't even trust you."
You know he's right, but it doesn't hurt any less. You wish you could tell himself everything. About the Right Arm and why you're here- everything that Vince told you to keep to yourself.
"I know," you sigh, "I'm sorry." He looks at you, his tear stained face and puffy eyes sending a new drive of determination through you.
To your shock, he rests his head on your shoulder, allowing you to hug him further, resting your head on top of his.
"I hate you," he whispers, more like he's trying to convince himself than he is telling you.
In all honesty, Minho probably had started to develop some liking towards you. And that's what he hates. He thinks you're the enemy, that you're the reason he's here- but he doesn't have anyone else. He's completely on his own until you come into his room. He doesn't even know who you are, but he's already getting attached to you.
"Yeah, I know. Want me to take your cuffs off?"
"Please."
○ ○ ○
You slam the door to your room, immediately throwing your mask across the small space, hearing it thump against the wall. You connect to Vince, fury coursing through tour veins.
"(Y/N)?" The line connects in your ear, "You're not meant to be calling at this-
"Vince," your voice is sharp and concerned, "I need to do something- Minho is on the verge of a complete mental breakdown and I'm starting to regress in progress." You refer to his words instead of his actions- things are already complicated enough.
"Look, I'm in contact with Jorge. Things should start moving soon; Thomas and Newt have made a deal to get into the City. Stick to the plan and be prepared. I need to go."
"What? Vince-" the line falls dead, leaving you alone in your room.
The tests increase over the next couple of days. You've barely seen Minho, and Teresa completely vanishes for nearly an entire day, which raises alarm bells all over the tower- but she returns seemingly unharmed.
Until the alarms start blaring not even hours later.
Fuck.
"175!" A masked Guard bursts into your dorm, scaring the shit out if you not even seconds after the blaring starts. "There are intruders in the building! The Subjects have been released!Come on!"
He runs off, giving you absolutely no time to process what's happening. Diving under your bed, you pull out guns and weaponry you snuck into the building, straping them around your black turtle neck you wear under your uniform before hiding them with your jacket.
You burst out of the room, pulling your mask on and joining the hoards of Guards flooding through the building.
You break away. You know that Minho will be in the testing area since he won't have been with the other Subjects. So, that's where you go.
The tower has fallen into complete chaos. People are shooting at each other and Guards are running around like headless chickens.
You can't get distracted though.
You break into a sprint, staying away from everyone else as you rush to make your way up to the lab where Minho can normally be found. The lab area is surprisingly quiet, probably because you decided to take the stairs for the most part. Using your endless training for Vince to run up the multiple flights of stairs.
You do give up and take an elevator for the last few floors though. You're not superman.
Bursting onto the floor, several scientists seem thrilled that help is here, and are met with disappointment when you completely ignore them. Sprinting down the halls, you skid to a halt.
One of the lab rooms has the door thrown open. A man in a white lab coat is lay on the floor, blood pouring from his side as others seem to be knocked out and scattered across the room.
"Fuck!" You exclaim. If you had any doubts that Minho could handle himself, you definitely don't now.
"175!" Two Guards stand at the end of the hallway. "Subject A7 has escaped! We need to find him. Come on!"
You're left with little choice but to follow them. You all jog down the corridors, the opposite way to which you were originally planing on tracking Minho's footsteps.
You can see Minho, and assumingly Thomas and Newt hugging beyond a room that's walls are all glass. One of the windows from the far room is completely shattered, and you can see a knocked out Guard on the floor.
"Hands up!" The Guard on your left shouts, catching the three boys off-guard. "Drop your weapons!"
Judging by the fact none of the trio move, you're assuming that they've ran out of ammo.
One on your left, the other on your right, you whip your gun out, pointing it at your unsuspecting allies.
It's now or never.
Minho's face drops at the realisation it's you. Was everything you said a lie to make him more compliant? Despite the uniform, he's gotten completely used to you based on height and the brown army boots you wear- different to the black owns adorn by the rest of WCKD employees. It's a subtle difference implemented by Vince just in case. But Minho doesn't know that.
"Seriously?" He snaps, making the other boys exchange glances. "After all this- everything that's happened- you're still with them?"
Newt and Thomas look completely lost, looking back at Minho, who is staring directly at you, hands still at his side.
"Please," you scoff, "I was never with them."
Without warning, you slam your elbow into the stomach of the guard on your left, using the shock to slam to end of your gun into the side of their head. The other one goes to shoot at you, but you rip your Guard's jacket off, throwing it at them.
It engulfs them entirely, making them stumble back. Pointing the pistol at them, a loud bang fills the room as the bullet finds its new home through the fabric and in the Guard's head. Their body hits the floor in a heap and you make no attempt to retrieve your jacket.
Minho steps back, stunned. His hands go to his hair as the other boys lower their arms.
"It's nice to finally meet you, (Y/N)." Thomas sounds surprisingly calm, Newt looks between him and Minho, the cogs setting in place.
"Likewise," you grab the bottom of your mask, pulling it over your head and letting it fall to the floor. Finally revelaing yourself to Minho, you feel slightly insecure about what he'll think of your face, but you don't show it. Not that it matters because he's staring at you in some form of awe.
"What? You guys know- what? What is happening?"
"I'll explain later- we need to move." The boys all mumble in agreement as you join them, hearing footsteps and Janson's irriating voice not that far away.
You all start moving, you taking the lead with more of an understanding of the building.
"What? I don't understand what's happening? How do you know her?" He asks Thomas as your eyes land on Newt. You've seen their files, a long time ago, but you can tell who's who.
Newt's skin is pale, his eyes dark and he glistens with sweat. He's infected. And you're not immune. This could end badly.
"She's with the Right Arm- Vince's secret weapon."
"Sorry I didn't tell you, hun, but I was under strict orders to keep my mouth shut. Let's just get out of here alive and I'll explain everything," you try to hurry them along. "Tommy-boy, fill me in on what's going on."
Just as the words leave your mouth, static connects in your ear. Vince.
"(Y/N), I'm on my way to the City- what's going on on your end?"
"I'm with the boys," you respond, completely confusing the trio even more. Voices behind you and footsteps make you all break into a sprint. "Here! Come on!" You pull them into a room, they barricade the door as you continue talking.
"We're tryna get out but it's not looking good."
"What now?" Newt asks as you all examine the room. "Is there another way out of here?" He asks you and you simply shake your head.
The drilling sound of a mechanical saw fills to room.
"Any ideas?" Minho shouts, backing away from the door.
Thomas turns around, examining the window. "Maybe."
It take the three of them to pick up a metal container, presumably full of anaesthetic gas through the window. It shatters on impact, sending shards and the cannister hundred of feet down into the water.
You all stand on the edge, looking at the boy as he seems to be questioning himself. "Okay, it's doable- just need a little running start."
All three of look at each other like Thomas is losing his mind. But you still all follow him further back into the room, standing by his side. You stand between Minho and Thomas, taking a second to think about how you life has led you to this.
"You sure about this?" Minho asks him, and it's obvious these boys are going to follow him to the ends of the Earth.
"Not really."
Well, that's brilliant.
"Nice pep talk." Minho sarcastically states, his wit still prominent as ever.
"Yeah, we're all blood inspired."
At least the feeling is mutual.
The door bursts open with a bang, all of you turning to face Janson breaking into the room before Minho grabs your hand, dragging you with him as you all break into a sprint. Jumping at the last second, you all plummet out of the window.
"Thomas!" Minho yells.
"Oh shit!" Thomas responds.
You're submerged in the water, just managing to hold your breath last second. It takes all of you a moment to rise again, all panting and all stressed.
Gasping for air, you and Minho look up, catching Janson standing at the edge of the window.
Thomas puts his middle finger up at him.
Kind of iconic.
Swimming to get to the ledge, you make sure they reach them first, taking Thomas' hand as he pulls you out of the water.
"You four, don't move!" You all immediately turn to face to group of WCKD's armed men walking towards you. Thomas takes the front as Minho grabs your arm, pulling you protectively behind him.
He seems to have forgiven you pretty fast, at least.
"Take it easy!" One of the masked men shouts. Hidden by Minho, you pull another gun out of your weapon holder that's strapped around your middle. Thomas also reaches for a gun.
"Ah-ah! Don't even think about it! Get on your knees with your hands in the air!"
One of the Guards suddenly turns around, shooting the other three that are standing with him. Minho immediately steps back, reaching for you and finding contact with your wrist.
"You son of a bitch!" One of them groans, the electricity from the Launcher leaving them useless.
Your savior approaches, taking his mask of and revealing... some dude. Though the others seem shocked.
"Gally?" Minho gasps, and you snap to look at him, returning to his side.
"Minho." The boy simply says. "You guys are nuts." He looks at you. "(Y/N) (L/N), big fan." You blink at him.
"Thanks?"
"I'll explain later," Thomas playful pats his friend on the arm whilst Minho is having some kind of internal meltdown. He's going to be enlightened by the time everyone's told him everything.
The other boys walks ahead and you look at him. "I thought you said you..." You trail off, completely at a loss yourself and remembering what he'd told you about Gally.
"Yeah, me too."
You both connect back to the group, awkwardly ducking and crouching whilst you run through the City.
Trying to hide from helicopters isn't easy.
"Well, they're definitely pissed," Gally states as you hide behind some planters that some trees are in.
"How far are the tunnels?" Thomas asks the new boy.
"Uh, maybe twelve blocks from here." Newt coughs, and you look at Minho, who is very clearly in some serious distress. "We can make it."
"Newt, how you feeling?" Minho crouches in front of his friend.
"Terrible," the boy responds honestly. "It's good to see you though." He pats his friend weakly, and you remind yourself to stay at a safe distance.
Minho joins the other boys whilst you stay with Newt. "He's one lucky shank," Newt tries to laugh.
"What?"
"Havin' you around- some badass chick lookin' after him whilst we couldn't. Pretty, too." You scoff at Newt's attempt at small talk.
"I don't know if he'll agree with that."
"Hey, Newt, we gotta get you up. Gotta get goin'." You help Thomas pull up the sick boy, who nearly falls flat on his face whilst Minho and Gally exchange some words.
Minho takes Newt off of your shoulders, sensing your slight distance from the boy.
They start struggling to carry Newt through the City, when a load explosion and bursts of flames from the walls stops you all dead in your tracks.
"We're supposed to take down WCKD, not the whole damn City," Gally stares into the flames, and you have no idea what's going on. But that's not good.
"Gally, c'mon," Thomas say, yanking them both away whilst you stand with Gally, waiting for him to move. Sirens fill your ears as you start to follow him.
"Tunnels are right up ahead. Shit!" You move round a corner, following Gally's instructions, only to come across a battle field. "Stay low! Stay low!"
"What are they waiting for?" Minho asks as you all hide once again. Unfortunately, he's answered as another round of explosions courses through the streets.
Violence erupts. "We gotta go! We gotta go!" The boys struggle moving Newt again, and you stay behind Gally. Desperately trying to not get hit, you hold your gun in your hands, ready to kill anyone that gets too close. Your job now is to protect these boys.
You retreat to a nearby building, where Thomas contacts Brenda over the radio. You can't make out what they're saying over the static and gunshots. You're too busy trying to shield Newt and Minho.
Though you do make out a clear. "I'm coming to you."
Vince.
You pick up again. "We're almost there," Gally pushes forward, taking the lead as you cover the back.
"Just leave me," Newt grumbles before a truck explodes, sliding across the roads.
A Berg flies overhead, giving you some glimsp of hope. But with Newt is his current condition, you can't keep moving.
"Minho," Thomas looks at his friend, "you run ahead, grab the serum, and get back to us as soon as you can." The boy hesitates, looking at Thomas. "Minho. Go."
"He's right," Gally states, "I can cover."
"Me too," you add.
"No, you're staying here, you could get hurt," Minho tells you, showing you that he actually might not hate you after all.
"I'm coming with you." You're more definite, putting your foot down and leaving with no choice.
Minho caves, going to stand until Newt grabs him. "Thank you." Black drool covers his chin, and his eyes are bloodshot and shifty. He's not gone just yet, but it's not far off. "Thank you, Minho."
"Hey, just hang on, you hear me?"
The three of you make your move. You and Gally cover the faster boy, both of you using your expertise to let him make a run for it.
Teresa's voice rings over the loudspeakers. Her voice trying to pressure Thomas to return to her. But you, Gally and Minho can't afford to stop and listen.
Running at full speed, you reach the Berg, not taking any time to acknowledge your father figure you haven't seen in nearly two years.
"Where's the serum?" Minho yells at a girl with short hair- you're assuming Brenda.
She makes a run for it. Bolting through the City and you're all hot on her heels, a new boy, Frypan, joining the mix.
The four of you get stuck in a tunnel during a shootout, using a car for cover as Brenda keeps going.
"Shit," Minho hisses from next to you. You look at him. "You should've told me."
"I couldn't," the poor Frypan clearly has no idea what either of you are talking about. "You know I couldn't."
"I could've- we could've- shuck it!" He lashes out, kicking a piece of debris that's in front of him. "We need to help Newt. This can wait."
He's mad at you. It's weird- he's protective but furious. He doesn't want you to get hurt but that might be because he wants to hurt you himself.
"Come on!" Gally shouts, "We're clear! Let's move!"
And with that, you're all on your feet again, dodging bullets and flying through the City to try and return to Thomas and his sick friend.
You slow to a jog as the people in front of you slow, spotting Brenda motionlessly standing in an empty pathway. You once again stay back, just about joining them as you watch Minho hit the floor.
His body crumbles in front of Newt's corpse, a knife sticking out of his chest. You stand next to Brenda, observing the distraught washing over the group. You've known Newt for under half an hour, but you can tell he played a huge part in these people's lives.
You suck in a deep breath, approaching Minho from behind. "I'm sorry," you murmur. "I'm so sorry, Minho."
He pulls his eyes away, looking at you instead as you rest your hand on his shoulder.
"You really couldn't have done anything, could you?" He's sincere, all of his anger washing away for a second. You shake your head.
He's on his feet in seconds, throwing his arms around you, knocking you back slightly. His entire world as he knows it is crumbling, but he's seeking comfort in you.
You hug him back, your hand coming to the back of his head, holding him steady as his body trembles. "We can't stay here," you whisper. "We need to move."
"She's right," Gally agrees, overhearing, "it's dangerous. We need to get back to the Berg."
"What about Thomas?" Brenda's voice breaks.
"We'll find him," you pull away from the boy. "But we have more chance of doing that from the Berg."
They all agree, leaving Newt's body and returning to the perilous task of making your way through the City. You take control, being the only person in sound mind to do so.
It takes a lot, but you get there, making sure everyone enters the Berg before you.
"(Y/N)!" You turn as Vince makes his way over to you. "You did it!"
"Vince!" Throwing your arms around him, you allow yourself to relax. You both pull away, emotions of the past two years of your life finally starting to spill out. "We lost Newt."
He sighs. "I'm sorry. But you did everything you could."
"No," you sniff, "I didn't. I could have done more- figured something out. Done literally anything else- I- I could've saved him."
Unbeknownst to you, Minho is watching and listening from a distance. He's known you as stern and in control this entire time, but watching you fall apart in Vince's presence reminds him that you're just another kid that's been put through hell.
He wasn't mad at you anymore. Seeing Newt's corpse and the sympathy you possessed showed him that. But now he pities you. He doesn't know anything of the sacrifices you've made.
"That wasn't your job- it was meant to just be a simple intel gig and it all went wrong. I shouldn't have put that pressure on you." Vince's words do little to make you feel better.
"We have to find Thomas," you compose yourself, returning to your normal stoic form in the blink of an eye.
You make your way onto the Berg, Vince not too far behind you. You make eye contact with Minho, but you don't have time to deal with that right now.
"Miss (L/N)," (you're assuming) Jorge approaches you, a grin on his face, "it's an honour to meet you." He holds his hand out for you to shake. "Ha! You're a living legend, hermano. In the flesh."
"Don't go praising me so soon, dude, this shit ain't over yet." He follows you like a lost dog as you travel further into the ship, "Have you got Thomas' location?"
"The signals weak and the building's burning- but he seems to have returned to the area of WCKD's tower."
"That's where we'll head then."
"Wait," Vince stands behind you as you ignore the stares from the Berg full of people, "the City's being destroyed- I don't know if this is a good idea."
"We can't leave him- we wouldn't be here if it weren't for him he deserves a chance at a happy life and we've already lost too many good people. We're saving Thomas, V. I don't care what you say." Vince looks at Jorge, who has a faint smile creeping across his and returns the stare.
"I'm doin' what the girl says. Kid's got fire; can tell you raised her." Jorge winks at you, making his way to the cockpit.
"You've changed, huh?" You don't even bother looking at Vince.
"It's been a rough couple of years. Let's just get this over with."
The Berg starts up, and you join Brenda, Gally, Frypan and Minho at the open doors, examining the City and the surrounding area of the burning tower.
"So," Gally starts, "everything they say about you? It true?"
"Depends what they're saying." You don't pull your eyes away from the ground as the Berg moves in large, circular motions.
"A lot of klunk about causing WCKD problems- apparently you were the one that convinced Thomas to release WCKD co-ordinates to Dr. Cooper."
Minho looks at you, but don't meet his eyes.
"Yeah, I might've had something to do with that."
You finally raise higher, examining the top of the now fully inflamed tower.
"There!" You shout, "That's them!" Thomas is clearly injured, half being carried by Teresa.
So, he did return.
"What's wrong with him?" Frypan shouts and you shake your head.
"I don't know. Jorge! Get closer!"
There's a struggle as the Berg moves, your hearing turns to static as all you can focus on is reaching them. Qualms with Teresa aside, she's clearly helping Thomas.
Come on! Move closer! Let's go!
The same phrases are repeated as you slide further down the door, clinging onto one of the wire hinges so you don't fall and join them. You grab Thomas, along with the others' hands grabbing towards him, with the help of Teresa throwing him.
You manage to pull him on, and he immediately turns to Teresa. You go to reach out to her, but an explosion knocks her back, forcing the Berg to pull away.
A missile hits the building, and you all watch in horror as it collapses beneath Teresa, swallowing her into the darkness.
○ ○ ○
The next few hours are a complete blur. Thomas had been shot and was seriously bleeding out. With the help of you and Vince, you managed to slow the bleeding.
You didn't even get a chance to admire the Safe Haven when you finally landed because you were too busy trying to save Thomas' life. You got him to the medical professionals, and after several jarring hours, they confirmed he'd be okay. But he'd be asleep for a while.
Since then, you've been spending all your time catching up with Vince and reconnecting with the people you grew up with. It's very bittersweet, and you haven't had the chance, or the bravery, to talk to Minho yet.
You decided to give the Gladers some space. They'd been through hell and they need to process and talk amongst themselves for a while.
After a while, Thomas wakes up, and you watch his reunion with Minho from a distance.
Your feelings for Minho are complicated, and it's beyond clear, so are his for you. It wasn't ever going to be simple, but the events of him turning to you for comfort at least tell you there's more than his initial anger.
"You like him, don't you?" Vince's voice makes you jump as you lean against a wooden beam, observing from your safe space.
"What?"
"Minho? You like him."
You scoff. "I don't think it really matters. I don't know if it ever will."
"You protected him and saved him."
"I also held him captive and did nothing to stop the torture."
"You couldn't have done anything."
"That's not the point, and you know it."
He sighs.
"I thought you were against boys and shit, anyway?" You glance over your shoulder at him.
He shrugs, "You're clearly more than capable of making your own choices. And we're not permanently fighting for our lives anymore, so I don't really have a problem with it. You deserve to have a normal life, kid. You might finally get that here." He rubs your shoulder, slipping past and leaving you to think.
○ ○ ○
Night falls quickly. Vince finally gives a speech, earning rounds of cheers from around the bonfire as you hover behind him, staring off into the crowd with your hands in your pockets.
Vince reveals a large stone pillar in the centre of the sitting area, talking about remembering those we've lost and keeping their memories alive. You watch as Vince is the first, carving Mary's name into the stone.
To your surprise, Vince then immediately hands the chisel to you. You blink at it, before realising and taking it off of you.
People one by one, with their own tools, take the chance to add to the memorial.
You take your time, carving names into the stone, recounting the events of your life. You step back, smiling to yourself, admiring your own work. Even under the depressing conditions.
"Who are they?" You look over your shoulder, your body following you as you stand sideways. Minho's gaze is fixated on the stone. He looks a lot better now, clearly having a couple of days to recover.
"They're uh, they're my parents," you avoid his gaze, but answer honestly.
"You lost your parents?"
"I've lost everyone. My whole family, but I don't think there's enough space for them all," the joke is dark, and Minho doesn't laugh, even when you scoff.
"I had no idea."
"How could you?" You sigh, "You know nothing about me."
"Do you miss them?" The question makes you hesitate.
"I barely knew my mother- the Flare got her when I was young, so..."
"That's not what I asked," his tone is blunt, obviously still harbouring some negativity within the complications.
"...Yes. I miss them. I doubt there will be a day when I don't. My father used to say something that I think is still important- 'mortality doesn't ruin love; it only makes it stronger'."
He looks at you. For the first time, he seems to finally see the real person that's standing in front of you. "Does it ever get better?"
"Yeah, it gets better," you offer him a sympathetic smile, knowing what he's talking about. "The painful memories just become... memories after a while. It feels like it'll never get better, but it does. It becomes precious instead of hard to think about." You step towards him, handing the chisel to him.
He takes it, slowly, seemingly letting your fingers brush against each other on purpose. You go to walk away, but his voice stops you.
"Hey, 175," the number stuns you, making you spin on your heels, rage flooding your features. But it melts away the second you see Minho's dumb grin. "You're right. I don't know anything about you- but I'd like to. If you're willing to tell me."
You nod, smiling at him, "Yeah, I'd like that."
So, when you found Minho sitting on the sand later that night, sitting in front of the ocean, basking in the moonlight, you take the opportunity to approach him.
You silently sit next to him, and he looks at you, following your movements. You pull something out of your pocket, lightly shaking the small box that he immediately recognises as a deck of cards.
"Fancy a game?" He scoffs, turning to face you.
"Only if you actually talk to me."
"Well, what do you want to know?"
"What's worth knowing?"
"Ah, well, that depends on what you deem important."
You fall into a surprisingly natural conversation with him. Both of you actually laughing at some of the things you tell him and the dumb stories from the Right Arm. You also somehow manage to finally win a game of Black Jack, much to Minho's dismay.
"So," you shuffle, brushing some of the sand off of one of your cards, "you still wanna be friends?" Originally, you said this jokingly, but Minho's hesitation makes you nervous.
"Not really," he says after a beat, and your heart sinks. "Shuck it," he laughs, "maybe I really do have, what was it? Stockholme Sydrome? Whatever. It sounds so dumb, but even if we were kinda stuck... I don't think I would've survived back there if it wasn't for you."
He seems almost flustered. "I don't know if my head's shucked or what, but is it really that weird to have a little crush on a kind girl in a mask?"
"No," you let out a content sigh, more satisfied with his strange confession than you expected, "but maybe you should talk to someone about that."
He playfully kicks you, making you feign an injury. "Yanno, I'd be lying if I said I didn't start kinda liking you."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah- which is probably bad because we had a very unbalanced power dynamic." He snorts at this, shaking his head.
"So, what now?"
"Well, what do you wanna do now?"
He shrugs, leaning forward and picking up another card. "I don't think I want to do anything. I think I need to understand you more, and process everything I've been through. Everything I've lost. I mean, there's no rush, right?"
"Yeah. There's no rush," you nod. "For the first time ever, we actually have time to wait."
"You're willing to wait for me?"
"'Course I am. I've got to help run this place and work out my own shit too. I've got enough going on to distract me from pining over you." You exaggerate your tone, making him roll his eyes. "Seriously, take your time. I'm not going anywhere."
○ ○ ○
"You reckon they'll be okay?" Thomas asks Vince as the pair watch the both of you from a distance. Thomas smiles faintly as he watches you flick sand at Minho over losing whatever game you're playing.
"Yeah," Vince replies, finally peacefully watching the closest thing he has to family enjoy herself. "Maybe not now, but that's fine- they have all the time in the world to be okay."
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Oh my God, this took me forever. But, I've got no other requests at the moment so I figured go big or go home. Seriously, this was such a cool idea and I loved writing it. Pieces like these take literal days to write, so don't be expecting them too often, but I do love more complex and indepth stories.
Also, I am so down to do a part 2 to this if you guys want to see more of yours and Minho's relationship in the Safe Haven- maybe some more developing relationship stuff, or even some spice if that is want y'all want.
Anyway, I just know no one is gonna see all of this because it's just so LONG. Literally, this thing is so big my Tumblr is lagging. But still, I hope you enjoyed :))
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suzannahnatters · 3 months
Text
I've cranked through the first half of Love Like the Galaxy in under a week and I REGRET NOTHING: how fast can I put myself outside this gloriously mature and well written Jane Austen style comedy of manners with intermittent murder. Reactions to the first 12 eps under the cut because wow I verbose when I happy
I'm 3 eps into Love Like the Galaxy and while "becoming thoroughly absorbed by Chinese Jane Austen" was not on my bingo list I'll take it.
I have trust issues with cdramas after watching GOODBYE MY PRINCESS which was the drama equivalent of the kind of dude who says 'heh heh I like a girl with spirit' but I do really love what they're doing with Niao Niao and how she's had to survive her awful aunt and grandmother (who are like Mrs Norris and Mrs Bennet, respectively) by becoming calculating, distrustful, selfish and utterly devoted to her own cause
LOVED the moment in ep3 where she tries to show her mother, who's this strict Confucian parent, the sort of nonsense she's had to put up with for years by subjecting her to the evil wiles of Aunt Norris and Grandma Bennet, she just outright pointed out the double standards her mother is operating by
anyway we shall see how things turn out! I'm finding the grounded visuals very nice too - everyone's not caked in makeup and jewels all the time, they look very comfy and believable.
oh my the softly besotted look on Torture General's face when he sees her carriage going by
he hasn't seen her face yet, he just knows she's cold, unfilial, and utterly calculating and he's fallen for her for all the reasons that everyone else reproaches her for
episode 6 of LLTG: a dispute over a writing desk has made me cry. what
This whole scene with the dreadful mother holding court and Niao Niao defending herself - so ably that she beings her brothers and cousin to take her side against her mother - GAH this is AMAAAAAZING
I adore that they don't have anyone fingerwagging at our girl to tell her that actually her mother is doing these toxic things because she deep down cares about her (aHEM, My Journey To You) - they're just being really clear that it's all dreadfully unfair.
I also love that the toxic mother is a sword-wielding warrior woman. She's so heroine-coded??? while also being a terrible person? amazing! I love the unexpectedness of it!
snerk I love this celebrity scholar deciding to Bestow a Mark of His Favour upon our girl and she tosses it right back at him
this Prince Xiao enters twirling moustaches he doesn't even have, wow
laughing my head off at the Big Romantic Rescue complete with cape SWOOOOOOOSH
this is great. I feel like I'm watching a faintly swoony BBC adaptation of a lost Jane Austen novel
also I take it back, Niao Niao isn't selfish at all - she's just realised that if she doesn't fight for herself then no one else will.  But she's not making it an excuse to be unfair or horrible to her perfect cousin, even though it would be the most understandable thing in the world
I love her, she deserves the world
ep7: I've only known Wan QiQi two minutes and I would die for her
is it just me or is this smug scholar precisely the type of man we've all come across??? NN not giving him the time of day is EVERYTHING
Third Aunt giving Third Uncle a shave: what a scene. God bless cdramas. Also, the extent to which there is a whole epic romance cdrama happening somewhere in the backstory here is AMAZING
Also: QiQi is a showy kind of BFF to have - showing up late to the party in a bright red dress and instantly pillaging the birthday gifts she brought the princess to deck you out in earrings? chef's kiss - but I'm also SO appreciative of how they're treating Yang Yang! That moment at the banquet early in the episode where Niao Niao, who can't even read, says, somewhat hurt and pettish, "I don't need to learn ANYTHING! I'm good just as I am!" and Yang Yang says, "Yes, you are!" despite being a bookworm since birth? I LOVE THEM
ahaha NN gives a speech shaming the snobby aristocratic girls for looking down on the daughter of a general, and being extravagant, and don't they know all this bounty is due to the emperor and his generals? feels like the show is buying the right to critique filial piety by kissing up to the state
the statism is the one thing I've disliked about the show so far (also didn't think much of NN snitching on her great-uncle) but that's pretty much a constant in Chinese media except for one wuxia novel I read years ago (BaiFa MoNu Zhuan/Legend of the White Haired Maiden), so onward…
"I'm Eleventh Young Master who has admired you for a long time" sHriEKing
he looks so happy too
GO NIAO NIAO BITE HER
Deeply enamoured of the way General Wan has the features and mannerisms of an animated Disney villain
"why is that unlucky person still here? he seems like a lingering ghost" impeccable "Lizzie Bennet wonders why she keeps bumping into Mr Darcy on her daily walk, after she specifically told him this was where she walked daily" energy
well I did not think the show could make me sympathise with the toxic mum, but it did, by dint of showing that the dad is intentionally playing good cop so he can enjoy his daughter's adoration while he encourages her mum to beat her???
I really hope the cruddy dad experiences the consequences of his actions here but even more than that, I'm amazed that the show has found a way to make us sympathise for the bad mum as a person without trying to make her less bad
I'm just in awe of the writing here - it's SO deft and able.
ah, this must be the bamboo forest where they store action scenes - and I LOVE that the band of lady bodyguards gets to stomp the bandits when a lesser show would use this opportunity to bring on the hero and his army of goth henchmen
aw yess! our girl is strategising their way out! It's so delightful to me - this is precisely the kind of leadership/strategy role asian dramas rarely allow to their female characters
now she's getting to command a siege!?!?! all on her own?
and then castigating herself for not being able to save everybody! BABY
on to ep12, which I have heard people cite as the Point Where The Show Gets Good, and given the fact that I've already been elmo on fire dot gif for eleven episodes I'm not entirely sure what everyone else has been drinking but sure! let's see what lies herein
oh this is the GOOD stuff
yes yes, the big rescue, the arrow pulling, all good…what really gets me is that when our girl wants to see the mass execution and Murder General holds her back, it's not bc he's patronising her, it's bc he knows she needs to hear that AhMiao's death was not her fault
this show is justifying tropes I didn't even know COULD be justified…inCREDible
Third Uncle has two braincells and my whole heart
the only thing better than the look of sheer naked yearning on Murder General's face every time he sees Niao Niao or anything tangentially related to her is his determination never to let on how he feels to his two henchmen, who have known since episode two and are eager to help
Murder General hoarding hankies, bits of string, and pencil-ends that belong to Niao Niao like Harriet Smith hoarding Mr Elton memorabilia in EMMA
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rottenpumpkin13 · 4 months
Note
Wait! Have you done a Road-trip shenanigans bit with the Firsts + Zack and Cloud yet?? If not, please I gotta know the crazy details.
How do they fair with everyone taking turns driving? Who nearly kills them all? Who is bringing what snacks? Do they get lost? Who goes insane first? Boredom songs? Fights in the backseat? Please I need this 💀
The Road Trip From Hell
• Genesis made the dumbass decision to buy a car—a vehicle he will never in his life use because the traffic in Midgar is ASS. It's this nice, red convertible that he now has to drive from Banora all the way back to the city.
• He convinces Sephiroth, Angeal, Zack and Cloud to come along with him on a road trip (they were all nearby on a mission). Angeal doesn't trust Genesis' ability to drive, Sephiroth does NOT see the appeal of spending 14 hours in a car with Genesis, Cloud has raging motion sickness, and Zack saw someone flip Genesis off on the road once and Genesis immediately retaliated with a fire ball, so he's scared.
Genesis: Fine. But if I crash the car and perish you will ALL be unable to live with yourselves.
*Sephiroth silently crosses his fingers*
• After much back to back and and a lot of dramatics from Genesis' end, the boys agree.
• They start off pretty good!! They're having sing-alongs, stopping at the side of the road to take fun pictures, eating unhealthy food at those road-stop diners, and generally having a good time.
• And then hour 3/14 rolls by and they are sick of each other.
Zack: Are we there yet?
*Angeal whips around immediately*
Angeal: Look at me, Fair, LOOK AT ME. This is the first and last time you ask this, got that? If you ask one more time, I'm going to shave your head and make you eat your own hair. Understood?
Zack: 0_0
• Genesis can't drive anymore and asks Angeal to take over. He switches over the the passenger seat and mans the playlist, forcing the entire car to listen to his cringey pop music.
Cloud: Can you change the song? This music sucks.
Sephiroth: I second that.
Genesis: Oh, does this bother you? *cranks the music up louder*
Cloud: On three.
Sephiroth: Got that.
Cloud: One, two—
• Sephiroth and Cloud lunge forward at the same time, using four hands to pin Genesis in place and strangle him. Zack is screaming and trying to pull them back, Genesis is choking and Angeal is dangerously close to driving the car off road—intentionally.
• By hour 5, everyone has fallen asleep except for Zack. Angeal made Genesis sit in the back with Sephiroth and Cloud while Zack sits up front.
Zack: I'm having fun!
Angeal: That's great.
Zack: When are we going to start the trip though?
Angeal: What do you mean?
*Zack pulls out a map on his tablet*
Zack: Well, according to this map, we've just been going in circles for 5 hours.
• Angeal wakes up Genesis to punch him in the face.
• Zack takes over the wheel now and has Cloud sit up front while they play I-Spy.
Zack: I spy something prickly and green.
Cloud: A tree?
Zack: Nice!
Cloud: Okay, uhhh...I spy something tall and silver.
Zack: Sephiroth!
Cloud: No. Sephiroth's not here.
Zack: Oh.
Zack:
Zack: WHAT!?
• Zack stops the car because Sephiroth is indeed missing. It turns out they left him back at their last stop, so they have to turn back around again to go pick him up.
• Sephiroth is indeed back at the restaurant, and he's PISSED. He makes Zack get out of the driver seat and insists they do this the "hard way"
• Sephiroth is driving now and makes everyone sit in complete silence while he finally gets them on the right track. Several hours later, Cloud shyly raises his hand.
Sephiroth: Speak.
Cloud: I have to go to the bathroom.
Sephiroth: Hold it.
Cloud: But what if—
Sephiroth: Hold it.
Cloud: But—
Sephiroth: HOLD IT STRIFE.
• Cloud holds it.
Genesis: This is ridiculous. It's my car. Get out, I'm driving again!
• Sephiroth gives up the wheel without much of a fight, but now Genesis is back in the driver's seat and Zack is antsy again. He sits in the passengers seat and decides to be a backseat driver.
Zack: You're going too fast!
Genesis: Oh, please, I'm going slow. You should see what this car can really do—HEY! THAT GUY JUST CUT ME OFF!
• Zack starts praying (loudly). Genesis is pissed beyond calming down, and decides to floor it and chase after the guy.
• Everyone is screaming, Zack is praying and crying, Angeal is trying to reason with Genesis, Cloud is swearing every curse word in the dictionary, Sephiroth...is asleep.
• When Genesis finally does stop, Angeal makes Genesis pull over. Him, Cloud and Zack get out of the car. Genesis makes a run for it, screaming down the road.
• Sephiroth awakes a few moments later, looks out the window, and sees everyone jumping Genesis. He looks around, then picks up the tablet with the map.
Sephiroth: Wow. I wonder how long it'll take them to realize that we went 120 miles in the wrong direction.
-
@salternateunreality has a ASGZC road trip shenanigans series on her blog if you want more of this :)
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mimisempai · 5 months
Text
You're my favorite serendipity
Summary
Muriel struggles to understand the word "serendipity." As Aziraphale tries to explain it to them in concrete terms, he realizes that his first encounters with Crowley, as angels and then as angel and demon, are perfect examples.
Notes
Serendipity is my favorite word, so here you go
Day 27 : Serendipity
On Ao3
Rating G -  1334 words
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"Aziraphale, may I ask you something?"
Aziraphale, sitting at his desk, turned to Muriel, and replied quietly, "I'm listening."
They were sitting in what had become a bit of their space, the alcove of one of the bookshop's windows, exposed to daylight most of the day. It was not uncommon to find them there, nose buried in a book.
Muriel swung their legs around to face Aziraphale and asked, showing the book they were holding, "I was reading something and the author is talking about serendipity. I can't quite figure out what that means. I don't even remember hearing that word up there."
Aziraphale chuckled slightly, "The Heavens? Talking about serendipity? Talking about the possibility of something good in the unexpected. Oh no, of course not they wouldn't."
The angel got up and walked over, then pulled a chair over, sat down next to Muriel and continued, "Serendipity is the faculty of of making fortunate accidental discoveries; an aptitude for making desirable discoveries by accident."
Muriel nodded and replied, "It's a bit like luck, then?"
Aziraphale thought for a moment before replying, "Almost, but not quite. Luck is the chance happening of fortunate or adverse events. Serendipity is an unexpected pleasant surprise. It's like searching for a book on a shelf and finding a long-lost letter used as a bookmark.”
Aziraphale paused for a moment and shook his head, "You don't have to look far for an example. Me and Crowley. Our encounters were a series of serendipities. It began when I was flying through a starless sky."
"Oi!"
Hearing this cry, Aziraphale changed the curve of his trajectory and headed toward the source of the call. He found himself face to face with another angel, and not quite sure if he was the source of the call, he asked, "Yes? Was that you?"
The other red-haired angel replied in a rather rapid stream, "Oh, hi, yeah. Err, look, if you don't mind, could you hold this, while I crank it all up?" 
"I stopped to help him, as I was just crossing the sky to go about my own business. If I had ignored his call, if I hadn't helped him, we might never have met. It would have been luck if I'd run into him while he was in my way, but here, he called and I chose to answer his call."
Muriel nodded thoughtfully and asked, "Why did you mention several serendipities?"
Aziraphale smiled gently and replied, "Because many of our first encounters were serendipitous. Our two sides sending us to the same places without our knowing it. Pure chance. Like that day in the Garden of Eden."
"Well, that went down like a lead balloon."
Aziraphale nodded mechanically out of politeness, then asked the demon who had just appeared, "I'm sorry, what was that?"
The demon repeated, "I said, that went down like a lead balloon. The angel replied, "Yes, yes, it did, rather."
Aziraphale smiled fondly as he recalled this encounter and Crowley's insistence on talking to him, then continued, "This time, it was Crowley, well, Crawley at the time, who chose to come to the wall to talk to me. We could have perfectly ignored each other, but by crawling up on that wall to talk to me, he made a serendipity of that chance that day."
Muriel replied, "If I understand you correctly, you really do consider your encounters to be happy"
Aziraphale nodded, "Although I would have absolutely denied it at the time. An angel meeting a demon was not a happy event. But each time one of us took a step toward the other, resulting in the happiness we have now. So yes there were serendipitous."
Muriel smiled and said quietly, "Thank you for your explanations, I think I really understand now." 
They scratched their head and continued, a little more hesitantly, "Can I say that finding Gabriel's matchbox was serendipity?"
Aziraphale replied, "What makes you think that?"
"Well, that day I had to do my usual work, alone at my desk, and on the way I found this box, which started the chain of events you know. And I end up here with you and Crowley, living an exciting life, where people know me and recognize me, where I'm learning to be someone."
Aziraphale took their hand and said gently, "You're absolutely right. Finding this matchbox is a perfect example of serendipity. But you know it's the same for us. Finding that box brought you to us, and meeting you as a result is a source of happiness for us as well.
Muriel exclaimed, "That's really great! I think that word is going to be my favorite!"
Aziraphale smiled fondly and replied, "Well, it's a beautiful word that evokes only positive things, so it's a good choice.
Muriel jumped out of the alcove they were in, then wrapped their arms around the angel and hugged him, murmuring, "Thank you."
Aziraphale, surprised, patted them gently on the back and said, "We're grateful to have you in our lives too, Muriel."
They straightened up and said, smiling a little cheekily, "Your serendipity is coming so I'll be off. They grabbed their book and their small backpack and headed for the door of the bookshop. Aziraphale followed them with amused eyes and saw that Crowley entered just as Muriel was leaving. 
The angel can't help but put his hand over his mouth to hide his laughter, for Muriel had thrown their arms around Crowley, hugging him as they had Aziraphale just before, and the demon's bewildered expression was absolutely hilarious.
He didn't have time to say anything because the angel had already left and Crowley entered the shop.
He approached Aziraphale and, after following Muriel with his eyes for a few seconds as they entered the cafe, asked the angel, still looking puzzled, "What's wrong with our little bee?"
Aziraphale told him about the conversation he'd just had with the other angel, and Crowley's expression softened as the story progressed.
When the angel had finished, he said softly, "So you think our encounters are serendipitous?"
Aziraphale lost a little of his smile and asked, "Why? You don't?"
Crowley shook his head, raised his hand and placed it on the angel's cheek before replying gently, "You ask me if I consider our encounter on the wall that made me get to know an angel like no other who went so far as to protect me, a demon, from the rain with his wing. An angel who didn't hesitate to lie to thwart God's will because he didn't want to see people suffer. An angel who trusted me enough to let me point a gun at him, even though I'd never held a gun in my life. An angel who is now a partner who loves me like I never expected to be loved. You're asking me if I think the events that brought us together were serendipitous? Of course I do, Angel."
He gently stroked the angel's cheek with his thumb and leaned in for a tender kiss.
When he pulled away, his tender expression became a little more playful as he added, "I have a prime example of serendipity. Imagine, on my way home today, I took a detour because of some work on the street above, a water pipe that had burst, and I passed the tearoom. They hired a new pastry chef who is French and now they have real French crepes on the menu. Isn't that the perfect example?
Aziraphale replied cheekily, "It'll only be a serendipity if you take me there."
Crowley chuckled softly, "I wouldn't have it any other way, Angel."
He held out his hand and added, " So?"
Aziraphale grasped the outstretched hand and replied, "Temptation, oops no, serendipity accomplished!"
Hand in hand, they left the bookshop laughing and made their way to the tearoom, followed by the eyes of a little bee who, as they watched them, thought that finding the matchbox had indeed been a happy accident. 
A serendipity.
_________
Still not beta'd
Still not my native language
Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰
Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝
Ineffable Growing Love series : here (After season 2)
Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here (Before season 2)
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rainsbasspick · 2 months
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If you leave me
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words: 1931 CW: Angst, Angry Dew, pain, no comfort.. idk what else
After a week Aether decides he needs to toughen up and just deal with it. He has to be strong, his pack needs him. His papa needs him. Two months goes by where Aether fakes being okay, where he cries himself to sleep every night from the pain and exhaustion. Where he’s barely able to take care of himself.
A/N: I wrote this to deal with some shit.. didn't read it over so i'm sorry if it's not making any sense. tagging @fruitsandcheese & @sexy-sea-basss because they wanted to read it.
Read under the cut or on Ao3
Aether first felt it halfway through the tour, the pain and exhaustion. It was okay to deal with for a long time.. Yes, it was uncomfortable and sometimes a little hard to deal with but he wanted to keep going. He needed to keep going for the pack and papa, but mostly for Dewdrop. 
He didn’t think it would get worse but when it did he locked himself in his hotel room for an entire day, trying to fix his pains. He tried everything he could think of and when nothing worked it broke him. How can he fix everyone’s pains but his own?
That night he shows up too late for the concert, getting worried glances from the ghouls but he just shrugs it off, telling them he overslept. During the concert he’s out of it, lost in his thoughts. He ends up making a few mistakes, missing a few cues. He doesn’t jump around or comes to ‘irritate’ Dew and he bumps into Papa twice. During this he avoids all eyes because he knew they would be disappointed. 
After the bow Aether disappears to his room and calls Omega “Meg? I- don’t know what’s wrong” Aether says as soon as the phone is answered.  “I-i can’t fix myself.. Can’t make the pain go away.. ” He whimpers and paces the room, limping as he does so from the pain and exhaustion in his body. 
Omega sighs sadly “Yo-” He gets cut off by Aether “I need it to go away Meg. I can’t let down the pack or papa and what about Dew? I need to be here for him” Aether tries to take a deep breath. He needs to try to stay strong but it’s all getting to him.
“Listen, there’s nothing we can do right now.. You have one week left on tour, you have to get through this and once you get back I will have some things ready for you, have Earth get some stuff from the greenhouse.. I’m sorry this is happening to you Aeth” Omega says.
Aether whimpers “Alright.. okay but please don’t tell my pack.. I-I can’t have them worried” He says quietly and soon they end the call.
For the next week he pushes himself through the days, acting like nothing is happening even though the pain has gotten unbearable. Every night he wants to be alone but Dewdrop doesn’t let him.
“I can see something is going on Aeth. You don’t have to talk about it but i also can’t just leave you alone” Dew says as he follows Aether to his room.
The quint doesn’t have the energy to fight him so he just lets out a sigh before he lets Dew in once they’re at his room. 
When they’re in bed that night, Dew holds Aether close and cranks up his heat. Aether waits till he thinks that Dewdrop is asleep before he carefully moves away and tries to find a comfy way to sleep but there’s none. During the night he keeps switching on what position to lie in, barely getting any sleep and by the time it’s 5am he’s out of bed and in front of the TV.
Every night Dew would still be awake when Aether moves away but he stays quiet. He knows there’s no way in getting Aether to talk but he wanted to help his mate so bad. He was worried sick about him.
As soon as they get back to the Abbey Aether heads to the infirmary to see Omega. When he realizes the quint is busy he heads to Omega’s office to wait there. Aether slowly sits down on the couch before he moves to carefully lay down. 
His eyes fly open when he feels a hand on his forehead and he sits up quickly to see a sad looking Omega “Must’ve fallen asleep while waiting, i’m sorry” Aether rubs his face.
Omega shakes his head “I took the time to do some tests while you were asleep.. “ he says softly and sighs “Aeth..I think you need to talk with papa.”
Aether sits up with a groan, his body protesting. 
“What do you mean? Are you saying that… No..” Aether gets up “No i’m not doing that!” he shakes his head quickly, almost falling over from losing balance, his body no longer able to handle such fast movements. 
“You have to.. You can’t keep going like this, you need to make decisions” Omega says as he tries to get closer to Aether.
Aether shakes his head “No! I’m not leaving the band. I-I can’t leave them, i can’t leave Dew! I can’t let him down” He whispers the last part as his hands shake “I won’t.. I’ll be fine” He says and with that he storms out as his tears fall. He keeps walking, ignoring everyone who calls for him and he doesn’t stop until he gets to his room.
He stays there the next few days, only going out for food when he knows nobody is out there. He doesn’t talk to anyone or let anyone in his room. All he does is lay in bed, sleep doesn’t happen from the pain and it angers him. 
Why does it have to be him?Why can’t the pain go away?Why can’t he do what he loves most?Why does he need to let everyone down?Why can’t he be stronger?
On day 5 Omega walks to Aether’s room to check on the ghoul and he could hear him crying. He knocks once before he walks in, closing the door behind him “I got you something..” He says and gently places the cup of tea down “It’s a tea with herbs that will help with the pain, Earth got them for you.”
When Omega doesn’t get an answer back he sighs “I didn’t say that to hurt you Aeth… I’m trying to look after you.. If you leave the band you will be able to work with me and still see the pack when they’re home from touring..” he tells the crying quint “I had to tell Papa about what’s going on.. He’s not upset with you at all, he just wants you to be okay” 
Omega watches Aether for a while longer before he leaves, shaking his head at Dew as he passes him in the living room.
After a week Aether decides he needs to toughen up and just deal with it. He has to be strong, his pack needs him. His papa needs him. 
Two months goes by where Aether fakes being okay, where he cries himself to sleep every night from the pain and exhaustion. Where he’s barely able to take care of himself.
One morning he wakes up and he just.. he can’t do it anymore. He gives in to Omega’s words and heads to Copia’s office. He knocks gently and enters when he hears a quiet “Si?”.
Copia looks up from his paperwork and sighs sadly when he takes in his ghoul “Aether..”
“I’m sorry papa.. “ Aether breaks down crying “I-I tried” He takes a deep breath to try and calm down “You need someone who can keep up..” He whispers.
Copia walks over and gently places his hand on the ghouls shoulder “Please do not worry my ghoul.. What you’re going through is not your fault and all that matters to me is that my ghouls are doing well” He sighs. “I should’ve noticed it sooner.. I’m so sorry i was not there for you my ghoul” 
Aether shakes his head as he keeps his eyes on the floor “I can no longer be a part of the band papa..You need to summon a new ghoul..I understand if i need to be send away f-” “You are NOT gonna be send away Aether. No ghoul of mine or of the old papa’s will ever be send away” Copia says seriously.
“You will stay here, you can focus on feeling better and then you can find something new that will bring you joy” Copia says to which Aether nods.
“We will have to summon a new ghoul. It’s full moon tonight so we can do it then” Copia mumbles and walks to his bookshelves and takes out the book to summon a ghoul.
“I’m sorry papa..” Aether whispers before he heads out and back to the den.
The rest of the day Aether feels calm, he doesn’t worry. He feels at peace with his decision even though it was a hard one to make. 
That evening Aether changes into his ritual outfit and walks to the living room and turns to the others on the couch “Could you do something for me?” He asks softly
Rain nods “Course Aeth.. What is it?” He asks, a bit surprised by the outfit the large ghoul is wearing.
“Can you all put on your ritual outfit and join me?” Aether asks and everyone nods before heading out to change.
“So why is this?” Dew asks once everyone is gathered in the living room. 
“You will find out soon..” Aether mumbles and heads towards the summoning room. He tries to walk normally but every few steps he limps. The closer they get the more Aether could feel the mood change with the others but he stays quiet. It isn’t until Dew grabs Aether’s hand that he stops.
“What the hell is going on Aeth?” Dew asks with a frown “Why are you taking us here?”
Aether shakes his head with tears in his eyes and pushes the door open to show the summoning circle all ready. He looks at Dewdrop “I’m sorry..” He whispers before he pulls his hand free and heads over to Copia.
“Ah.. welcome my ghouls, come join us” Copia smiled sadly 
Dewdrop watches everyone join Copia in the circle but he doesn’t move from the entrance “What’s going on? Can someone fucking tell me?!” Dew says with a raised voice. Everyone could hear the fear in it.
“We are summoning a new quintessence” Aether whispers and for a minute it’s dead silence before Dew lets out a scoff “No we’re not..” he says.
Aether closes his eyes “We are.. I can’t anymore Dew, You need someone that can keep up with everything” he sniffles and takes a seat in the chair Copia had gotten for the quint.
“Fuck no, you’re not lea- How long has this been going on? Whatever this shit is?” Dewdrop asks as he walks over, his fists clenched.
“Halfway through the tour i guess.. but that last week i-” Aether shakes his head “Omega told me it’s either this or get worse” He looks up at Dewdrop with eyes empty and dark to be met with eyes filled with betrayal.
“You lied to all of us” Dewdrop bites back his tears “You knew and you.. fuck you Aeth! I can’t believe you’re that selfish. You know we’re there for you and you just.. “ He shakes his head as his hands shake “Let’s summon that new ghoul.. “ He says and walks to his spot in the circle, wiping his tears that were falling angrily..
Aether closes his eyes and swallows hard as he stands up on shaky legs and Copia starts the Ritual.
As soon as the new ghoul is summoned and everyone’s attention is on them he sneaks out and gets his clothes from his room. Why would he stay there if he’s no longer part of the band? And he was sure Dewdrop no longer wanted to see him so he’d just make it easier for him.
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lemonlyman-dotcom · 19 days
Text
Writing Patterns
Tagged by @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad @vineofroses @sznofthesticks & @apothecarose thank you! 💕
Rules: list the first line of your last 10 posted fics and see if there’s a pattern!
I say a prayer with every heartbeat
3:18 a.m.
Green eyes, keeping him awake
Como Te Quiero Yo (how I love you)
In hindsight the beach oysters were probably a bad idea.
The Greatest Gift I’ve Found, The Sweetest Thing I’ve Known
He’s not sure what wakes him, the rich smell of coffee - brewed strong with piloncillo and cinnamon like Carlos’s abuelito taught him - or the warm feel of lips on his neck.
Why Do You Think I Ran
Two nights later, after the call from Owen. After they’ve celebrated. And after they’ve celebrated. TK is curled into Carlos’s side, Carlos is running his hand up TK’s bare torso when he hears a soft, “I’m sorry.”
All Your Colors Make Me Feel Alive
“Umm,” Carlos says with a side eye towards TK, who’s just cranked the volume from the passenger seat, and is bouncing along to the beat of the abomination coming out of the car’s nine high-performance surround-sound speakers; the ones he splurged on in lieu of the more practical LoJack GPS service. “What are we listening to?”
TK Strand’s Sweet 16 (times 2) (minus 2)
This is how he’ll remember TK Strand. Forever. Years from now, when he’s in his 80s, sitting on a porch swing reminiscing on his prime. He’ll think about his gorgeous husband. In this moment. On this night.
I'm Not A Fortress, But I Will Try To Protect You
“Damn, Marj, you’ve got ESPN or something,” TK says in lieu of a greeting as he picks up the incoming call.
That's The Way We Get By
Carlos lets out a low whistle as he rolls the loft’s front door open.
getting past the wounds of love
“So,” Marjan says as she sidles up next to TK at the crate of records he’s digging through, “What’s the deal with dreamy Officer Reyes?”
Call Me If You Get Lost
“Mmm, hey baby,” TK mumbles through a yawn as he snakes his arms around Carlos from behind. He woke up a few minutes ago, alone in bed, to the sweet sounds and smells of breakfast cooking, and Carlos softly singing along with the bluetooth speaker in the kitchen windowsill. When he rolled open the bedroom door he was blessed with the visual of Carlos at the stove, rolling his hips with the melodic guitars of a Bomba Estéreo song.
Okay, so I think my pattern is that I like to pull people right into the action!
I’m not sure who all has gone, but I will tag @ladytessa74 @chicgeekgirl89 @carlos-in-glasses @fallout-mars @honeybee-taskforce @thebumblecee @liminalmemories21 @never-blooms @bonheur-cafe @basilsunrise @your-catfish-friend @sugdenlovesdingle
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sharuruwrites · 1 year
Text
Pretender
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Goodbye. I am not your soulmate.
It’s heart-breaking, but I can’t deny reality,
Still, leaving your side is so hard.
-Pretender by Official Hige Dandism
Tags: Dazai x Fem!Reader, Dazai cranks up his self-loathing to a 100, hurt, break-up, angst, Dazai longing, before the events of entrance exam and after events of Port Mafia, Unedited
Disclaimer: I don't own BSD.
Masterlist
-------------------------
It was a silent morning in your apartment when Dazai uttered this words to you, his girlfriend of two years.
“Let’s break-up.”
Despite the indifferent tone in his voice, your expression didn't change as you silently drank your tea. Were you too shocked to process this information? Or, perhaps you knew you'll be parting ways with him?
You gently placed the cup down on the tea saucer, before meeting your soon-to-be ex's gaze. "If you truly want me to bawl my eyes out, you shouldn't have warned me in the first place, Osamu."
Before fate pushed you two to meet, Dazai recently passed his entrance exam as the new detective for the agency, and to celebrate his success, he chose to go to Lupin. And at that bar, you were there, drinking by yourself. After few exchange of glasses and, he found himself fascinated with you.
“Wanna go out?”‌ You asked, lazily tracing the lid of your glass. "I'm serious about it."
Dazai looked down at his alcoholic beverage. He didn't know you well enough for him to warrant to have a relationship with you, but neither do you. If he pursued this relationship, maybe you would help him understand more about humanity.
“Sure,”‌ Dazai smirked. “Although I agree to it, I just want to give you a heads up that our relationship will be short lived and one-sided.”
True to his words, he had the front row seats of his love story turning into a one-man show ran by you. What he didn’t expect, you stood by his side for the past two years. He couldn't pinpoint on what made you stay, but he liked to think that it had something to do with his love for dramatic flair. Afterall, you were just there whenever he needed someone to lean on. You never failed him. Because of it, he learned how to fall for you.
Except, him on the other hand, he lost count on the many times he knew you're disappointed on him. At first, he thought of many ways he could make up for it by showering you with gifts and affections. However, the moment you nursed him back to health from the annual flu, it became clear to him that you were never meant to be his.
Dazai Osamu was never gonna be your soulmate, because of how selfless you were. Perhaps, for the first time in his life, he feared the concept of 'us' between you and him, especially with his dark past and his line of work. He rather have you be well and alive, instead of fearing the possibility of you dying for him.
It was a strange idea for him to come into terms with it which it took him another 365 days to accept it. He always yearned to die with a beautiful lady like you next to him, but, his love for you wished that it wasn't you.
“I'm sorry, love.”‌
Like always, his apologies were devoid of life and meaningless. You never flinched away or got mad at him for it. It made him wonder why you're indifferent with his aloofness. Maybe you're aware of his shortcomings, or your too blinded by your love for him.
"What's there to apologize for?" You got up from your seat, before grabbing your used dishware. "It was nice while it lasted."
After what it felt like an eternity, he had to go and get ready for his mission in the afternoon. He left your spare keys to your apartment at the coffee table, and you assured him that you would drop his stuff at his place later in the day. All that's left of him was to open the door in front of him and leave.
But, his feet was cemented on the carpet floor like it was telling him not to leave. He already accepted the reality it wasn't you on his side at the end, but why does his heart kept trying to deny the truth?
“Osamu?" He looked behind, and saw you tilted your head to the side. "What's wrong?"
Dazai gently cupped your cheek with his hand, and his thumb brushed against your skin. He noticed three things immediately that brought a small smile to his lips. Your eyes were getting watery and red. Your temperature was unexpectedly hot. Lastly, the sudden stillness of your breath as if you have forgotten how to breathe after he touched your face.
A question popped in his head. Were you putting that strong facade for the both of you?‌ Or, to convinced yourself not to look pathetic in his goodbye?
Your warmth, your laughter, and the sound of his name from your voice, he wanted all of them ingrained it into his memory. He knew he’s a selfish and cruel man who loathe life itself, but…for once in his life, he wished he could change.
And, If he had the power to choose a life line, he would choose a different version of himself with a different set of personality and morals. Yet, it made him wonder if you still love him despite him being an entirely new person. He wished he could say 'I love you' to you without any repercussions.
But, his wishes and playing around the scenarios of what-if's were all in vain as you were another chapter in his life that he needed to move on from.
“I don’t…want to forget you that’s all…” Dazai took a deep breath before he smiled bittersweetly at you. "You're still beautiful that it made me left breatheless."
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allmoshnobrain · 4 months
Text
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𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫
✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧
part 22 of ? | masterpost
word count: 3319 | ao3 link | fic's playlist
All the hugs, the laughter, the comfort, the advice. The way his blue eyes were always locked onto mine. Maybe I should've caught on sooner. It's not like it was some big secret, especially since Dave got the boot from the band. But somehow, I clung to the hope that I was wrong. That the bond between us was stronger than any attraction he might have. That he wouldn't risk doing something that could change it forever. Something irreversible.  Something like a kiss.
✦ summary: An unexpected action by James confuses Nore's feelings and changes their friendship beyond repair.
✦ on this chapter: dave mustaine x female!oc, james hetfield x female! oc, oc is cliff's cousin, +18, language, slice of life, angst, love triangle, drinking, smoking, recreational drug use, kissing
✦ a/n: I'm back earlier this time! This part was a lot easier to write because I confess it has been living rent free in my head for a while lol Hope you guys like it, feedbacks are welcome and motivate me a lot!
✧ Don't wanna touch you, but you're under my skin / I wanna taste you but your lips are venomous poison ✧
The trip back to Los Angeles was pretty quiet as I got lost in my own thoughts. Still trying to wrap my head around my mom's offer and all the baggage it brought, my mind was racing, keeping pace with the dark night scenery outside the window.
"You're awfully quiet," Dave remarked, jolting me back to reality. I glanced at him; he was focused on the road, but looked a bit bothered by my silence.
"My bad," I murmured. "It's just... a lot to take in at once."
"No need to apologize," he said, a small smile playing on his lips. He casually took one hand off the wheel, placing it on my thigh, his thumb tracing gentle circles on my skin. I rested my hand on his, leaning back into the seat. He furrowed his brow, the usual sign of concentration, and his hand left mine to shift gears; I smiled faintly, appreciating how good he looked when he was focused. "How are you doing?"
"Me?" I questioned, and he nodded with a grunt. I sighed. "I guess I'm okay. My family is complicated, but it's nothing I'm not used to."
"Your dad seemed nice," he smiled, stealing a quick glance at me. I chuckled softly.
"Yeah, he's... easier to deal with. Now, my mom..."
"She's... interesting," he commented, and I laughed softly, catching on that he was being polite. We were almost home now; Dave stopped the car at a red light and turned to face me, gazing into my eyes.
"She's a pain in the ass, that's what she is," I said, and he burst into laughter. "Always acting like she's better than everyone. She always... always makes me feel like I'm hard to love," I concluded with a sigh.
"Hey," he lifted my chin with his fingers, making me meet his serious and focused gaze. I felt my face warm as he leaned in, planting a gentle kiss on my lips before pulling away. He whispered into my ear, "That's not true... It's very easy to love you."
The rest of September passed by like a hurricane. A few days after visiting my parents, we threw a small birthday party for Dave with our closest LA friends. To spice things up, there was a mini jam session where Dave, David, and a couple of other friends belted out some fresh tunes they'd cooked up. They had no vocalist yet, but I was blown away by the raw power and intensity of Dave's new compositions anyway. When he strummed those chords, it felt like a surge of electricity took over the whole place. Everything about him cranked up a notch; it was downright impossible to peel my eyes away, even for a second.
October rolled in, and with the streets all decked out for Halloween, I received an invite that temporarily shoved aside my worries about my mom's deal. Leanne's birthday was just around the corner, and she was throwing a bash for the upcoming weekend at Joe's place. Word was it would be a wild one. I hit up San Francisco on Saturday morning, thinking I was kinda early, but his place was already buzzing with people, tunes, and drinks.
"Nore! You made it!" Leanne beamed when she spotted me.
"Hey, Lea. Happy birthday." I grinned, handing over the gift I brought—some records from bands I knew she liked.
"Oh, you brought me a present, thank you!" she squealed, hugging me. I chuckled, giving her a squeeze back. She pulled away with a grin. "Hey, Cliff and the others are by the pool. I'm heading there soon, but if you wanna roll in before..."
"Oh, I'll track 'em down. Got a spot to stash this?" I pointed to the backpack on my back and the helmet from my bike.
I cruised to the backyard after Lea helped me stash my gear in Joe's room. Didn't have to play detective to find my friends; Cliff, Lars, James, and Kirk were deep in conversation by the pool, dead set on pouring vodka from a bottle into little plastic shot cups.
"Hey, that's not fair!" Lars yelped as I strolled up. "James, you snagged way more than the rest of us."
"Why don’t you pour it yourself, then?" James shot him a look, lifting an eyebrow. I grinned.
"Can't believe you dudes didn't save a drop for me," I teased, making them all look up at once.
"Nore!" Lars shouted, all pumped. I threw out a quick hi to the guys before zeroing in on Cliff.
"So, did Dave give you the green light to be here?" he quipped with a smirk. I huffed, rolling my eyes.
"He doesn't need to give me the green light for anything, Cliff," I muttered, and he chuckled before yanking me into a hug.
"Good to see you, Nore. Hey, what's that there?" Cliff pointed to the bag hanging from my arm.
"Oh, about that... Can I chat with you for a sec?" I asked in a hushed tone. Cliff raised an eyebrow, looking intrigued, but gave a nod. We strolled away, finding a quieter spot in the backyard. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, expertly fishing out a joint and lighting it, shielding the flame from the gentle morning breeze with his hands.
"So, spill. What's the scoop?" he asked, and I sighed before handing him the bag. He opened it, furrowing his brow at the sight of the Metallica record. "Wow. Is the album this bad?"
"It’s awesome ," I said, then sighed. "But... Cliff, Dave got really bent out of shape when he saw this. I just figured... maybe you could hold onto the record for me for a bit. I don't want him getting worked up about it..."
"Nore. This isn't right," Cliff stated, his voice firm. I lifted my eyes, locking onto his gaze, and could tell he wasn't very happy with what I'd just said. "You can't do this. You're giving up on living because of him. First, you move to be with him, and we hardly see each other anymore. Now this?"
"You don't get it, Cliff. Please," I pleaded. "I don't want to fight. Not with you guys, not with him."
"Is he giving you grief because of us?" Cliff raised an eyebrow. I sighed, dropping my gaze, but didn't say anything. "Nore." Cliff held my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. "I can hang onto this for you if you really want. But you gotta tell me you know he's not your responsibility."
"Cliff..."
"Remember what I said when you two started dating?" he cut me off. "If he messes with you, I got your back. Cool?"
"Okay," I murmured, giving a small smile. "Thanks."
"Anything for my fave cousin," he grinned, and I chuckled softly. "Come on, let's get back to the shindig."
Back in the mix with Kirk, Lars, and James, we found the vodka bottle now half-gone, abandoned at James' feet while they all helped themselves to some beers.
"I'm gonna stash this and track down Lea. Back in a sec," Cliff announced, waving the bag with my record. I gave a nod, turning my focus back to the guys.
"Hey, Nore!" James hollered, a grin spreading across his face the moment he spotted me. "There's no way you're sober. You used to be a champ at this drinking thing."
"James, it's ten in the morning," I laughed, and he scoffed, passing the beer he had to Lars and grabbing the vodka bottle from the ground. He popped it open, strolling over and throwing a hand on my shoulder with a grin.
"Don't tell me you're thinking of laying off the booze."
"Of course not," I shot back, raising an eyebrow challengingly. He, along with Lars and Kirk, burst into laughter.
"You gotta taste this vodka. Lars swiped it straight from his old man's stash," Kirk chimed in.
"Yeah, it's awful," Lars laughed, then hiccupped. I rolled my eyes with a smile. I knew my friends turned into total goofballs when they hit the bottle, but watching it unfold while I was stone-cold sober was a whole different trip.
"Come on, open up," James slurred, his words dragging, gripping my chin in his hand.
"James!" I exclaimed, caught off guard, releasing a nervous laugh as I tried to back away. James grumbled, his hand sliding from my chin to rest at the base of my neck, the rough palm pressing against my collarbone. I could feel my skin heating up, my face suddenly flushing. "What happened to the shot glasses?"
"We polished off the drinks and chucked 'em. Come on, you want this or not? Open up."
I scoffed but played along, letting him pour a bit of vodka straight into my mouth. James grinned, his gaze fixed on my lips as I swallowed. He swiped away a droplet that had slid down to my chin with his finger.
"Good girl," he teased, a mischievous smile on his lips as he locked eyes with me. "See? Wasn't that hard."
"Shut up, Hetfield," I shot back, giving him a playful shove, my face heating up even more. He huffed, made a face at me, then strolled off toward the drink coolers without a backward glance.
"Hey! That's my vodka!" Lars protested angrily, before trailing after James. "Get back here, damn it, I haven't finished drinking!"
I watched them go, an uneasy feeling creeping into the depths of my chest. Why did it suddenly feel like maybe I shouldn't have shown up? These were my friends, right? So why did everything seem more complicated than it should be?
"They get really happy when you’re here," Kirk observed. I blinked, surprised by his words. He shot me a smile, but his eyes seemed intrigued.
"What do you mean?" I asked, and he shrugged.
"Just that you can tell they really like you."
I ended up talking to Kirk for a few minutes, both of us getting a good laugh watching Lars and James from a distance. Lars was on a mission to reclaim his vodka bottle, while James danced around him with ease. Kirk turned out to be a really cool guy; laid-back and easy to chat with. Eventually, Cliff and Leanne joined us, hauling in a crate of beers that we gladly shared among the four of us.
When the beer stash ran dry, I volunteered to restock. I cruised to the kitchen, where I found James slouched at the table, his head buried in his arms, the vodka bottle now empty and cast aside at his feet.
"Ah, there you are," he mumbled, his voice slurred, and his eyes a bit blurry as he caught sight of me.
"Are you okay?" I questioned, a tad concerned by his condition. He shrugged. "Do you want some water?"
He grumbled, and I interpreted it as a "yes." Scouting around the cabinets, I found a glass and filled it with water. James promptly downed it, grimacing, his eyes blinking and honing in on my face.
"And you? Don't you need a bit of water too?"
"I'm fine," I furrowed my brow, even though I felt a bit lightheaded from the amount of beer I'd drank. "I just came to snag more beer for us. You should join. By the way, where's Lars?"
"In the bathroom," James grumbled, then he hoisted himself up, clutching the back of the chair for balance. I placed a hand on his back, trying to assist. He scowled. "You said you came to get more beer?"
"Yeah, any idea where it is?"
He pointed to the corner of the kitchen, where some cases of beer were stacked near the stove. I grabbed one of the packs, tossing it onto the table. James nabbed one of the beers, popping it open.
"James, maybe you should take a breather," I suggested, and he snorted.
"Why?" he asked, staring at me with a furrowed brow, his blue eyes defiant. "I've been waiting for weeks to see you, and now that you're here, you don't even want to be near me. At least drinking makes it a little more fun for me."
I blinked, my mouth opening in surprise as I tried to process what James had just said. It's not like I was angry, annoyed or avoiding James at all, but the worry about Dave and my parents reappearing in my life made it a bit harder to enjoy myself this time. However, for James to think that had anything to do with him? That wasn't right.
"This has nothing to do with you," I uttered in a low voice. He approached, his brow furrowed, placing the open beer on the table. "I don't want you to think..."
"Think what? That you're done being my friend?" he took another step closer, and I backed up, hitting the cold wall. He rested one hand on the wall, leaning down so his face was at the same level as mine. My heart squeezed seeing the anguish in his eyes. "Since you moved to Los Angeles, we hardly see each other anymore. You not into me anymore?"
"Don't say that," I whispered, my voice trembling, my eyes filling with tears hearing the bitterness in his voice. As complicated as things were, the last thing I wanted was for my friends to think I didn't want to be with them. "James, this isn't fair..."
And then he kissed me. 
Maybe I should have seen it coming. Perhaps I should've picked up on the closeness and tension that had been steadily building between us since the day he first laid eyes on me. All the hugs, the laughter, the comfort, the advice. The way his blue eyes were always locked onto mine. Maybe I should've caught on sooner. It's not like it was some big secret, especially since Dave got the boot from the band. But somehow, I clung to the hope that I was wrong. That the bond between us was stronger than any attraction he might have. That he wouldn't risk doing something that could change it forever. Something irreversible. 
Something like a kiss.
Instead, there he was, his body pinning mine against the wall, his hands cradling my face, his lips moving against mine with a desperate hunger I never thought I'd find in his arms. For a moment, all I could feel was him —his scent, his body, his kiss. But my blissful confusion lasted no more than a few seconds before it was replaced by panic: this wasn't right. This shouldn't be happening. We were friends. I had a boyfriend.
I shoved my hands against his chest, giving him a solid push. He pulled back abruptly, his blue eyes showing a hint of sobriety as he took in my state—my face all red, breath coming quick as my heart raced, and my stomach filled with a million butterflies. For a beat, it was just us, his eyes glued to mine in a mix of confusion and ecstasy, before anger started bubbling up in my chest, ready to explode. I shook my head, in disbelief, and stormed out of the kitchen in a burst of rage that seemed to leave him bewildered.
I sprinted past Cliff, Leanne, and Kirk, barely registering the surprised looks they shot my way as I bolted to the front of the house. I plopped down on the curb, my breath coming quick, almost in a state of panic as I desperately searched my pockets for my pack of cigarettes and lighter. When I finally found them, it was useless; my hands were shaking so much, my breath all over the place as I tried to hold back tears, that I just couldn't light my cigarette.
"Nore? Shit, what happened?" I heard Cliff ask. I looked up to see that he had followed me and was standing beside me, staring at me with a confused expression on his face.
"Cliff..." I began, my voice shaking. He settled beside me, taking my hand in his, gripping it firmly while his eyes scanned my face, genuine concern etched on his features. "Cliff, James..."
"Did you guys have a fight?" he asked, furrowing his brow. I sniffled, shaking my head.
"Cliff, he kissed me," I murmured, suddenly feeling like I was 15 again, talking to Cliff on the phone about some boy from school who had broken my heart. His eyes widened at my words, his incredulous expression slowly being replaced by one of anger.
"And why are you crying like this? Did he force you? I'll beat the crap out of him..." he growled, letting go of my hand and starting to stand up.
"Cliff, no!" I exclaimed, tugging him by the hand. He looked at me, confused. "He didn't force me. It just happened out of nowhere. I just... Cliff, I have Dave. I never thought James..."
"You didn't know he liked you? Nore, that was kind of obvious," he interrupted, and I groaned in frustration.
"It's not that! Cliff, I don't know what I'm going to do. I don't want him to think... I just wanted to be friends with him. Why do things have to be so complicated?" I asked, my eyes filling with tears again. Cliff stared at me for a moment before sitting back down beside me with a sigh. He pulled me close into a hug, and I rested my head on his shoulder.
"First, let's go back to the party, and I'll get you some water, okay? We can talk to James later if we need to. But knowing him... If you left like that, I doubt he'll want to talk about it."
Cliff was more right than I thought; when we got back to the party, James was nowhere to be found. I tried to cheer up, especially for Leanne and Cliff, but it was useless. I spent the rest of the day worried about James, wondering where he might be, and if I had hurt him beyond repair.
When the party wrapped up, Cliff, Leanne, and I hopped into a taxi to Leanne's house. I had left my motorcycle in Joe's garage and planned to swing by the next day to grab it before heading back to Los Angeles. I tried to perk up as Leanne and Cliff enthusiastically decided what to order for dinner, but not even a hot shower was enough to lift my spirits; I was more intoxicated than I wanted, concerned about my friend, and trying to ignore how the feeling of his lips on mine kept replaying in my head every five minutes, which basically made me want to die.
"You don't need to worry about him. He'll show up," Cliff assured me later, after we had finished off the pizza Lea had ordered for dinner. The news was playing on the TV, and I could hear the water running in the bathroom as Lea took a shower, but I wasn't really paying attention to any of those things. "I mean, he could already be home... I tried calling, but I think Lars and Kirk must have passed out as soon as they got there."
"What am I gonna do, Cliff?" I asked, softly. I was totally lost. Now that all the lines in my friendship with James had blown up in my face, I didn't know what to do — and I didn’t want to deal with any of it. There was already too much on my mind. But I couldn't just pretend it didn't happen, either.
Cliff didn't say anything; in fact, I don't think he knew what to say. Instead, he grabbed my hand and pulled me in for a tight hug. I sighed, shutting my eyes, trying to soak up that brief moment of calm. Wishing it could magically wipe away the ache in my heart — even though I knew it couldn't.
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sam-loves-seb · 2 months
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wip wednesday
thanks for the tags: @energievie & @mybrainismelted !
Mickey cranks the window open wide, even though it’s November. He stands next to it and lights up a cigarette, his pants hanging loose and undone around his hips, his belt dangling to the side. Ian lounges on the bed, one arm bent beneath his head on the pillow. He’s cleaned up and his boxers are on, but that’s really the very most he’s willing to do. It’s after midnight and he’s exhausted—from the long day and the great sex, though he’s honestly not sure which one wiped him out more—and he has this guy in his hotel room that, for some reason, he really wants to show off his abs to for as long as he can. Mickey takes another drag of his cigarette, smoke curling out his nose and getting lost in the cold air out the window. “You can stay if you want,” Ian offers, scratching at his chest. “I have an early flight, but—” “Nah. It’s cool,” Mickey says, cutting him off. He finally drags his eyes away from the window and they land right on Ian’s stomach—checkmate—lingering on the cut muscles as he takes another drag. “You wanna go again?” Ian asks, even though he’s not sure he could muster up the energy for another round right now if he tried. Mickey shakes his head as he blows more smoke out his nose. “Can’t,” he says, pinching the cigarette between his lips as he buttons his pants. “Got somewhere else to be, remember?” Ian’s brows twitch. “I thought you were kidding about that.” Mickey just kind of shrugs, ditching his cigarette in a half-filled water glass Ian left on the small table in the corner. He shuts the window. Ian rolls his head along the pillow as he watches Mickey make his way across the room, finding his socks and shoes. He snags his shirt off the floor and pulls it over his head. Ian frowns when Mickey’s strong chest disappears under the fabric. “You in Chicago a lot?” Mickey asks almost absentmindedly, checking his hair in the bathroom mirror and running his fingers back through it, smoothing out the strands. Ian shrugs with one shoulder. “Sometimes. Don’t usually stay here though.” Mickey hums, like that somehow makes sense to him. He grabs his coat and scarf from where he dropped them by the door, shrugging them on. He looks around, pats his pockets for his wallet, keys. “Uh, thanks,” Mickey says, his brow pinching after he says it, like he can’t believe he couldn’t come up with anything better than that. “No problem,” Ian says easily, smiling. “It was fun.” Mickey thumbs at his lip. “Yeah.” Ian hesitates for a moment—a beat—but by the time he opens his mouth to say more, Mickey’s already turning the handle on the door. “See ya,” he says, making his quick escape. The door shuts behind him with a loud thud, the way all hotel doors seem to do, and Ian just blinks at it with a tired smile. “Bye,” he says to the empty room, raising his hand in a mockery of a wave. He grabs the blankets from the end of the bed and pulls them up over his shoulders, rolling onto his side. He’s fucking beat. Feels like he could sleep for a week.
excerpt from a new au i'm working on based on this tweet
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