#art machine (me) broke halfway through but we did it

[merverelli]

just a couple of dirty bean boys!

[what-kinda-fuckery]

Hey so, I was one of the star struck falsettos stans that spent the forty dollars for the webinar, and I took notes (like a weirdo). So I decided I would share my funny moments and updates from the cast here!

- Host: Everyone should be keeping their audio off.

Christian: Oh alright!

Host: nO Christian not you

- Christians in Manhattan and his hair is back and he’s wearing a Superman t-shirt.

- Brandon is with his parents in NJ

- Stephanie and Brandon still love each other

- Brandon: Meat should be cooked just right

- Betsy: Stephanie are you in maple wood?

Stephanie: Well thank you for telling everyone where I am (she’s in NJ)

- Stephanie: Are you fucking kidding meee!!!

- Tracie is in LA, she looks like she’s in Costa Rica and I love her dog.

- Anthony’s VOICE IS LOW EVERYONES FREAKING OUT

they’re all talking about Anthony’s clear skin

- Andy Randy is in LA with a fresh haircut his boyfriend did it and he’s watching too much TV

Andrew: I’m watching this is America

Stephanie: SO GOOD

Andrew: SO GOOD

- Everyone’s having hard days

- Christian is acting out tracies dog’s pathetic bark and everyone’s like WHAT are you doing bc it looks like he’s about to throw up

- BETSY IS A WEEK AWAY FROM HAVINGA WHOLE CHILD

Betsy: What else do you do during a pandemic? Have a baby!

Andrew: Can I toss out another baby name? Celery.

Literally everyone: Goodnight Andrew goodbye!

- Christian is living with a girl (?) and playing board games instead of watching television

HE COOKS NOW EVERYONES PROUD OF HIM

Christian: yesterday I made pork filet en croute

Stephanie: I MADE PORK WITH SAGE AND APPLES ON WEDNESDAY

Stephanie: In mean girls they wear pink on wednesdays. In falsettos they make pork.

- I can’t get over Anthony’s voice

Again everyone returning to his literally perfect skin

- Stephanie: When watching four jews in a room in the beginning who’s in China?? I know the answer I just want to hear someone say it.

Andrew, with a thick accent: It was Bryna, in China, with a torn miniscus

- Christian: Did anything interesting make it on to the telecast between me and you? Andrew? Actually I dont remember I need to do my research.

Andrew: There’s been some strange comments about Christian and I- (AT THIS POINT IM WHEEZING)

HE MENTIONED THE TONY BONY

HE SAID IT WASNT A THING

HE DIDNT HAVE ONE

Andrew: No that’s not a thing that happened

Brandon: Andrew i want you to know that it’s okay if it was. It’s a safe space just the seven of us. (Lol)

- Bill Finn would take two steps into the room: “WROONG”

Stephanie: he wanted me to sing the end of I’m breaking down up the octave and I said #notmytrina

Brandon: #NOTMYTRINA

- Tracie what did you do during act 1

Tracie: Betsy and I sat in that dressing room for like an hour and a half

Andrew: You SANG the WHOLE SHOW TRACIE

- Betsy watched parts of the first act to feel like she was there

- Betsy sprained both her ankles at one point during the run and was a trooper anyways

Brandon reenacting Betsy limping during look look look look

Everyone dies laughing

Christians LAUGH makes me SO HAPPY

- Betsys screen is frozen like this: 🤨

Andrew: What if she went into labor??? (This is a common thread throughout the zoom)

- Anthony: I’m getting a lot of glitching so Stephanie is just like “HUH UH UH UH”

- Betsy comes back and everyone is like

YOU GUYS ITS COMING!!!

- They bought Andrew an ice cream for his birthday from the vending machine at rehearsal

- Andrew: The Hawaii crop top

Betsy: I would give anything to have that

- Tracie: it was very hard. Very precise bringing the blocks together

Brandon: Trying to be like oh my god we’re going to a funeral

Andrew: MY DEATH IT WAS MY DEATH

- fan question: What did the blocks weigh?

Stephanie: They were like thick yoga blocks. Not heavy but awkward shaped

Andrew: Significantly heavier when Anthony sat on them

Anthony: I just realized how much I got thrown around

Stephanie: Anthony were you proud of yourself? #proudofyou

Anthony: The one moment I was cringing was father and son

Christian: HERE WE GO *SLAPS TABLE*

Betsy: Anthony’s like BLAH BLAH BLAH blah my line BLAH BLAH BLAH my line BLAH BLAH

Christian: I LEAVE THE PAUSE IF YOU CANT GET IN THATS ON YOU

Anthony: I was blinking in that number like constantly

Christian: THE WHOLE THING LIKE A SALAMANDER

Oh Anthony.

- Andrew: I HAVE A STORY ABOUT CHRISTIAN BORLE. Tech for what more can i say. He was laying on me. We were shirtless in underpants under the blankets.

Christian: SLOWER

Andrew: he leaned over; He sniffed his armpit and said “I hope you like France”

EVERYONE DIES LAUGHING INCLUDING ME

Christian: i haven’t worn deodorant in 10 years true story

- Christian: i seem to remember holding our pillows and blankets pretending like we were partying on fyre island and Andrew said:

Andrew: WHATS YOUR NAME???

Christian: No no it was something like:

WHAT HOUSE ARE YOU STAYING IN??

Andrew: WHAT HOUSE ARE YOU STAYING IN???

Betsy: James lupine I feel like we’re ruining this show

- Andrew: The shenanigans were real but so was the sadness

Stephanie: We’re real and we’re funny what you gonna do

- Andrew talking about how hard the show was to do: Finding some liberty, It’s a hard world to live in all the time. It was a hard time especially for Christian. I would sometimes go home and cry for no reason

Brandon: Building up emotion with nowhere to put it

Betsy: then Lesbians come in and provide all the levity

Stephanie: Although Dr. Charlotte brings in horrible news

Tracie: Everything’s beautiful at what more can i say and I’m like not so fast

- Tracie always had a funny thing to say

- Who broke character the most on stage?

Anthony Stephanie and Christian

Anthony: it was when I said “I don’t want a bar mitzvah” and I spit in your face a lot and you went like *puts arms up* and someone at stage door was like very condescending like it’s not professional

Christian: Oh my bad we’re people sorry

- Stephanie wrote a line in the show “YOU HAVE PAINTINGS OF DICKS”

- James wanted her to cut off her finger during I’m breaking down

And turn around with a bandaged bloody finger

- Betsy’s nose bleeding during something bad is happening

And Tracie was like something BAD IS HAPPENING

Tracie: Christians throwing up right now

Betsy: Bloody Kleenex up the nose THE SHOW MUST GO ON

- Fan question: Stephanie how do you belt with a banana in your mouth

Christian: Practice practice practice

Stephanie: just shove it in your cheek. But Really that wasn’t supposed to happen

Anthony’s nickname in the rehearsal room was little bananas because he had to gather up all the pieces of stuff after Stephanie shoved the table over with her rear. Sometimes he didn’t have enough time to put it somewhere so he would just put the pieces of banana in his mouth and that’s where it came from

That’s why

- Andrew: Stephanie your glasses are very chic

Stephanie: Oh my gosh thank you *shocked*

- Betsy: Bill was like I’d rather DIE than change lyrics for the pbs special

FLaT aS a LaKe

- Cue everyone accidentally talking over each other and saying what at each other for 30 seconds

Christian: what? what? what?

Who is it?

What’s going on?

- If you could play anyone else in the show who would it be

Anthony said Mendel

Tracie said Mendel

Brandon said Trina

Andrew said marvin

Betsy said whizzer

Stephanie said Mendel

And I honestly couldn’t hear if Christian said anything whoops

- Brandon: If someone could at some point explain to me the Mendel eats dirt meme? People have been Asking me if Mendel eats dirt? I don’t think it’s about Trina Trina is not the dirt. I was overwhelmed. Can someone in the Q&A explain this? *A few seconds later* oh It was from a meme generator?

Christian: Greaat.

Brandon: It’s a fan fiction about Mendel eating dirt and getting aroused by it

Everyone: WHAT

- They still get fan art

Someone recreated the whole soundtrack 8bit and also with KAZOOS

- Brandon: CONGRATS CHRISTIAN ON LULOS WIN FOR LITTLE SHOP. If you haven’t seen Christian in little shop it’s revelatory I’m not just blowing smoke up your ass I have not laughed that hard in a while at the theatre

- Christian talking about little shop

Christian has a 12 inch Batman toy in his dressing room and he misses it

- Ticket prices were getting out of control before corona everyones hoping this will make a difference

Brandon and everyone think it should get more accessible

- Brandon: Hear hear I need a refill

- Stephanie: Your hair looks incredible Brandon (it did)

Christian: She’s been waiting to talk about it for 53 minutes

- Andrew: Well Betsy what I’m wondering is have you crowned yet??

Proceed everyone dying

Brandon, taking a picture of the screen: This moment will go down in history as When Betsy was asked if she was crowning

- Everyone mimicking zoom freezing by starting a sentence and freezing halfway through

- Christian: What new Steven sondheim musical are you excited about Anthony *devilish grin*

Anthony having no idea what Christian is talking about

Christian: Come on Anthony you know the answer. Ugh. The minds of the young. You’re smoking pot now aren’t you??

Christian: We have a lot of fun

- Andrew: I’m trying to get people to pay attention to me

- Christians pretending to be frozen

Cue a lot of yelling: Stephanie BRANDON STEPHANIE

NO CHRISTIAN

Everyone accusing each other of being frozen

NO YOURE FROZEN

- Andrew: Let’s all act like we’re frozen

Steph: I see Andrew acting like hes frozen

Betsy: Watching you do that is killing me

- Listening to the cast recording for the first time together

Stephanie: Why was I the a-hole that couldn’t be there???

Christian: That’s a question only you can answer

- Betsys husband came in everyones like BETSY LOOK OUT

Christian: that scared the shit out of me

- What is marvins last name and what was his line of work

Christian: we definitely said it at some point right? (They didnt) but he was in advertising. What was the last name? Gardens? O’Malley?

- Andrew: Betsys gone oh no

Betsy: I’m right here!!!

Andrew: She’s giving birth (again)

Stephanie: Betsy Wolfe is a ceiling

- Brandon: Welcome back Anthony. You’re here now.

Anthony singing merrily we roll along over Betsy trying to tell a story

Christian: STOP SMOKING POT IN YOUR BEDROOM ANTHONY

- Betsy: Steve (Steven Sondheim) comes to the door I call him steve

Into the woods is the reason Betsy is in theatre

- Betsy: Andrew was nervous singing at the tonys for Book of Mormon and he got dry mouth he sang like 😬I BELIEVE and he licked his lips so much during the song.

Brandon: Did you have a boner then too?

Andrew: GUYS DONT BE DICKS

Stephanie: It’ll be like dry mouth, boner

Andrew: BETSY YOU FUCKIN BITCH ITS ACTUALLY NOT THAT BAD

Stephanie: Bets maybe we should wrap it up

- Brandon sings MARRIAGE PROPOSAL

EVERYONE TELLING HIM TO STOP SINGING I took a video it was beautiful might post that later

- “Tracie Thomas from Lent!”

Tracie having stage fright

Tracie: Billy porter said “oh child we all forget the words” and walked away

- Anthony said WHO SHAT THE BED in four jews once

Anthony: That’s my contribution. Steph got her line, I got who shat the bed

- Steph: We lost andrew oh no

Christian: Um, we lost andrew ten minutes ago. Yeah when Brandon started singing

- Then Betsy sang a song by Bill Finn beautiful

- Steph: Wear your masks and eat pork on wednesdays

That was it!! I hope you enjoyed and people who were there if I got anything wrong that’s my human error it was hard to note everything I wanted to. Smooches! Byee

[nerianasims]

Billboard #1s 1988

Under the cut.

"So Emotional" -- Whitney Houston -- January 9, 1988

It's either a song about cheating or about being hung up on an ex. She's got a love of her own, but she's "so emotional" with this other guy, and keeps a picture of him by her bed. Um, does the other guy know this? Maybe she needs to have sex with the other guy so she stops being obsessed with the touch of the previous one. It's a dance song, and I like the beat, but it's painfully repetitive in the second half. Also, while I've known the chorus to this song very well since it came out, I thought it was a normal love song until I looked up the lyrics just now. Houston doesn't sing it like she's in any pain -- well, except I bet her throat hurt from the oversinging.

"Got My Mind Set on You" -- George Harrison -- January 16, 1988

Super repetitive lyrics. But the music's really fun, and I love what lyrics there are. I wish there weren't so few, though. "It's gonna take a whole lot of money" harks back to the many Beatles songs where they sang proudly about spending money on women they loved. Still, this is an example of how George was the best solo Beatle eventually. The video's cute, too, and obviously lampshades the idea of George Harrison doing backflips and dancing.

"The Way You Make Me Feel" -- Michael Jackson -- January 23, 1988

Michael Jackson was no Janelle Monáe. On so many levels. In this case, he wasn't anywhere near her artistic standard. This song does have the lyrics "Oh I'll be workin' from nine to five/ To buy you things to keep you by my side," but it sounds more like a Beatles rip-off than a tribute. I actually didn't remember this song at all, and the video is one of those annoying 80s ones that takes an entire minute to start the song. Then Jackson does a whole bunch of "woos" and "ows" and all that stuff he did that worked in moderation. But "moderation" was not what he was doing in 1988. In any way. He actually oversings in this. I turned it off halfway through. And immediately turned to Janelle Monáe's "The Way You Make Me Feel," which I adore.

"Need You Tonight" -- INXS -- January 30, 1988

This is one of my favorite songs. It's incredibly sexy, obviously. I didn't really notice it until I was around 15, and then I NOTICED it. As I got older, the song got better. The lines "You can care all you want/ Everybody does yeah that's okay" have meant so much to me ever since I started dating seriously. Because caring was not what you were supposed to do.

Anyway, this song is phenomenal and I love it.

"Could've Been" -- Tiffany -- February 6, 1988

This song was #1 for two weeks, and all the previous ones from 1988 have been one week. How? It's a heartbreak song that starts with the lyrics "The flowers you gave me/ Are just about to die," which is painfully on-the-nose. They'd probably work in a country song, but this is lite pop, not country. Tiffany occasionally seems to be trying to do some country stuff with her voice, which is smart. But that's not enough. It's not a terrible song, but it does nothing for me. I don't remember ever having heard it before.

"Seasons Change" -- Exposé  -- February 20, 1988

Speaking of songs I haven't heard before. I like this one though. The music's pretty interesting, especially the melody. The singing's excellent. And the music behind "seasons change/people change" sounds exactly like some of the music from Persona 4, so I wonder if Atlus' composer was influenced by it, unconsciously or not. It's just a couple notes, though. Lyrically, the song is about being in love now but realizing it might not last. It's good. I'm gonna look up more of their music.

"Father Figure" -- George Michael -- February 27, 1988

The music for this song is great, and George Michael as usual sings wonderfully. But um. There are some kinks that make me run screaming even when they're really mild. "I will be your father figure/ Put your tiny hand in mine" are two of them. So if you enjoy this song, I'm happy for you, it's musically lovely. I will be going to take a shower now.

"Never Gonna Give You Up" -- Rick Astley -- March 12, 1988

There was a time when I would have easily been able to have an opinion on this song. That time was long ago. It's hard to hear as a song now, rather than an internet meme. But I will not give up. (The video has almost 9 million views, sheesh.)

Okay so they're friends and now he wants a relationship. He says "You wouldn't get this from any other guy," which is a total jerkass line. Other than that, the lyrics are -- oh who am I kidding, I can't do this.

"Man in the Mirror" -- Michael Jackson -- March 26, 1988

I try to separate the art from the artist. That's in both positive and negative directions. If I love someone's art, that doesn't mean they're a good person. If I hate it, that doesn't mean they're a bad person.

This song, though -- "I'm starting with the man in the mirror/ I'm asking him to change his ways" -- uh yeah. Liar. And it's wedged in with all this "oh you should care about all the starving kids and homeless people" self-sanctification that Michael Jackson always protected himself with. This song disgusts me.

"Get Outta My Dreams, Get Into My Car" -- Billy Ocean -- April 9, 1988

Speaking of disgust. Yay street harassment!  I've never heard anything bad about Billy Ocean as a human being though. But I'm not listening to more than 5 seconds of this song. Gross.

"Where Do Broken Hearts Go" -- Whitney Houston -- April 23, 1988

She's singing to a man she wants to get back together with after they decided they needed some "space." There's a lot of naivete in the song -- "And if somebody loves you/ Won't they always love you?" No. Even if they do still love you, that doesn't mean it will work. But maybe it will. I've never gotten back together with someone after a breakup, though I've been asked to many times (percentage-wise.) I've always had an allergy to it, both because my parents got back together after divorcing and should not have, and because I had a friend who broke up with her boyfriend and got back together with him at least 8 times in the space of a year and I had to keep hearing about it.

So this song doesn't really speak to me. But it's pretty good. Houston sings it well too, reigning in the oversinging until near the end.

"Wishing Well" -- Terence Trent D'Arby -- May 7, 1988

That's an awesome name. The writer of this song said he wrote it when he was half-asleep, which makes sense. "Butterfly tears", okay, just poetry, but you want to fall in love near a well of crocodile tears too? Doesn't that mean you're faking? I like the song though. It's sort of funk, but softer than full-on funk. I like the way D'Arby sings it. The whistling part (keyboard whistling) is very enjoyable. It's a fun song, and one I do remember from the time.

"Anything for You" -- Gloria Estefan and the Miami Sound Machine -- May 14, 1988

A pretty breakup song. But, of course, I have an issue. "I can pretend each time I see you/ That I don't care and I don't need you/ And though you'll never see me cryin'/ You know inside I feel like dying." Well that makes his life a lot easier, doesn't it. The whole song is about how she'll do anything to make him happy. Urgh. She needs to tell him to get out of her life so she can make a brand new start.

"One More Try" -- George Michael -- May 28, 1988

Yet another heartbreak song. It's not surprising that I remember so few songs from this year. I feel like I'm back in the 60s before The Beatles again. Though this year is musically better, I'm still bored. Anyway, in this one, the narrator doesn't want to try again, and he keeps addressing the person he doesn't want to try again with as "teacher," which is... a thing. The only time he seems willing to try again is the very last line, which is "Maybe just one more try."

It's slow, it's pretty enough, it would be unbearably boring if George Michael weren't such a good singer. I'm bored anyway. No wonder we ran screaming from anything smacking of this kind of thing in the early 90s. I feel stupid and contagious.

"Together Forever" -- Rick Astley -- June 18, 1988

He certainly had a brand, didn't he? The song title tells you everything you need to know about the lyrics. The song sounds a lot like "Never Gonna Give You Up," but much more boring. A massive drum machine intro can't carry this. I do recognize the chorus, but that's it. The song is fine, really. But that's it. It sounds like a lesser knockoff of "Never Gonna Give You Up."

"Foolish Beat" -- Debbie Gibson -- June 25, 1988

Heartbreak song. Sigh. There's a nice cheesy saxophone that I like, at least. She left him and she regrets it and thinks "I could never love again/ The way that I loved you." Nope, it's never the same. That doesn't mean it's worse. It's often better. I'm not listening to the whole thing, not even in case the sax comes back. The song's too dull.

"Dirty Diana" -- Michael Jackson -- July 2, 1988

It's about some groupie trying to seduce poor widdle helpless Michael. I don't remember ever hearing this song, and it's musically whiny too. Yuck. So much yuck.

"The Flame" -- Cheap Trick -- July 9, 1988

Heartbreak. Song. Again. "You were the first, you'll be the last" oh no they won't. I entirely approve of being honest about heartbreak, but this year is just crushing with the monotony of it. At least there's a beat to this one.

By the way, in the video, the lead singer's hair appears to be made of straw. Ah, the late 80s, when people thought cooking their hair was the way to go.

"Hold on to the Nights" -- Richard Marx -- July 23, 1988

A heartbreak song in disguise. He's in love with this woman but they can't be together. Are they cheating? I don't know. I don't care. It's so boring, words and music both. Even the piano is blah.

Speaking of late 80s hair, it looks like Richard Marx used an entire can of Aqua Velva on his in the video.

"Roll With It" -- Steve Winwood -- July 30, 1988

This was a #1 hit for four weeks, and I know why. It's not boring! Or depressing! It's got kind of an old-fashioned soul sound: Horns, groove, lyrics. When life is too much, roll with it baby. Not profound, but this is a really good song. One I've heard quite a lot, too, on purpose and everything.

Also, Steve Winwood's hair would work fine today. Coincidence?

"Monkey" -- George Michael -- August 27, 1988

This is actually kind of a heartbreak song, but not really. The one he loves has a "monkey" on their back and he wonders if they love it more than they love him. Addiction is my guess. It's a high-energy dance song, though -- it sounds a little angry, not sad at all. I find the melody sort of dull, but at least there's a beat. But I'm sorry, "Why can't you set your monkey free" is an absolutely hilarious lyric, and I can't take this song seriously in any way.

I think I had the hat George Michael's wearing in the video.

"Sweet Child O' Mine" -- Guns N' Roses -- September 10, 1988

Okay, yeah, sort of a heartbreak song, the relationship sounds like it's a mess with "where do we go now?" sung a zillion times. But it's so good. SO good. And it's rock. It's no wonder that it's one of the few songs that have stayed around from this list. It's not some kind of mass-produced pap without personality. Only Guns N'Roses could do this. Great song, I love it, and I love it more knowing what came before it. Man, Slash can play.

"Don't Worry, Be Happy" -- Bobby McFerrin -- September 24, 1988

Yeah, I'm guessing people were horribly sick of all the overproduced depression on the charts this year. A lot of music critics, and other critics, were really nasty about it because of the simplicity of its lyrics and its earworm-ness. And we made fun of the phrase plenty as young teens in the 90s. But now? I think it's pretty good. Philosophically, it's a mess, but the music isn't serious so I don't think we're supposed to take it seriously. And I like a-cappella. It was played way too much back in the day, though.

(Robin Williams is in the video, which made me tear up. Oof.)

"Love Bites" -- Def Leppard -- October 8, 1988

Technically about heartbreak I guess, but I feel like they're lampshading all the songs from this year which may as well have had the same title. Probably not intentionally. I can't take this song the tiniest bit seriously. It's rock, but not with a lot of personality. Any hair metal band from the time with interchangeable bleached blond frontmen could have done it.

I think this guy used an air fryer on his hair.

"Red Red Wine" -- UB40 -- October 15, 1988

One is supposed to hate this song, or was I don't hate it. I was a kid when it came out, the pop reggae appealed to me, and I still find it fun. Neil Diamond, the original singer, likes it. I certainly find it more interesting than anything with Neil Diamond singing on it.

"A Groovy Kind of Love" -- Phil Collins -- October 22, 1988

It's a cover of a 60s song. "Baby, you and me/ Got a groovy kind of love." This version is incredibly slow, and doesn't have any interesting drum work from Phil. It doesn't make me angry, but it doesn't make me anything. It's there. My brain wandered off and I started looking at stuff on the internet while trying to listen to it.

"Kokomo" -- The Beach Boys -- November 5, 1988

I loved this song as a kid and no one is prying it from me. It makes me happy when I feel down. I got the Cocktail soundtrack this is on for Christmas in my stocking 1988 -- me and seemingly every other kid, I think the tape was massively on sale. I loved the soundtrack, and I especially loved this song. I will never see the movie. I always felt that the song was a middle-aged man singing to his middle-aged wife ("pretty mama".) Which I thought was sweet. I figured that's what middle-aged people did, went off on vacations to tropical islands sometimes, even though my parents never did. I want to though.

"Wild, Wild West" -- The Escape Club -- November 12, 1988

"Heading for the nineties," hm? Well one of the lines is "give me, give me safe sex," and safe sex messaging being absolutely everywhere was an early to mid 90s thing. It's always funny to hear someone with an English accent sing about something extremely American. This song does sound like it's heading for the nineties musically, which is good. Only heading toward though. It's okay, but not very interesting. The music is repetitive. I got bored halfway though.

"Bad Medicine" -- Bon Jovi -- November 19, 1988

Your love is like "bad medicine" and he's addicted. Like a monkey on his back. What's with that phrase this year? I don't recognize this song. It's overproduced, it's shouty, there's too much going on, and it feels like it's trying too hard. Nope.

"Baby, I Love Your Way/ Freebird Medley" -- Will to Power -- December 3, 1988

I'm used to the 90s cover of "Baby, I Love Your Way" by Big Mountain. And I don't think I'm being biased when I say the Big Mountain version is significantly better. The lead singer of this one, a woman, is way too breathy and mannered.

The "Freebird" portion is bad. Just plain bad. The man singing is also breathy and there's absolutely no oomph. Also a lite, bouncy pop song in which the woman is singing how much she loves the man and the man's like "no I gotta be free" is blech. It does not work.

"Look Away" -- Chicago -- December 10, 1988

This was Chicago's biggest single. The narrator's ex called him to tell him she's with someone new, and he pretends to be happy for her, but wants her to look away so she doesn't see the tears of a clown -- er, no, that's a better song. Same idea though.

A heartbreak song, but I don't mind it, because it's got some blood to it. It's not slow and there's a real beat. Also Peter Cetera wasn't with Chicago any more, so Bill Champlin's the lead singer here, and he's so much better than Cetera it's ridiculous. Champlin brings some guts to the song, he doesn't sing through his nose, and he sounds truly heartbroken. Worlds better than Cetera. So it's a good enough song, if you're in the mood for that kind of thing.

"Every Rose Has Its Thorn" -- Poison -- December 24, 1988

I never minded this song before at all, but I am so sick of this kind of song at this point. Whine whine whine every cowboy sings a sad sad song. You're no Johnny Cash, dude. He said something wrong, he doesn't know what it was, they broke up and he still doesn't know why -- okay, who does this? Actually wait, I know one person who did this, and he keeps saying he has no idea why either of his wives broke up with him and I do because I was there and they told him they would break up with him if he didn't change. Over and over and over and over. And now he's like "poor me, I don't know why this happened. " He probably doesn't, either. He cannot admit fault.

Anyway, projections of my own personal trauma onto a hair metal band aside, the narrator’s ex is now with someone new and he thinks "I never meant that much to you." Maybe, maybe not. Cowboy, change your ways today.

BEST OF 1988 -- "Need You Tonight" by INXS and "Sweet Child O' Mine" by Guns N' Roses. WORST OF 1988 -- "Get Outta My Dreams, Get Into My Car" by Billy Ocean

[cruecifymesixx]

Love and Leather /part seventy three/

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: Enjoy!

Warnings: language

Taglist: @brideofdraculana , @renfriii , @aryssav , @miserablecunt , @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @anntheboneless, @venus-calum, @justjodeye, @supernaturalvikingwhore,  @hi-my-name-is-riley, @extremesadnerding, @thatbandchick39, @awkwrdcait, @countrygirlswonderland, @awesomealmostdopestudent @romanticvengeance , @tashy-bear, @krazykatkay456, @terror-triplet, @shouttatthedevill @beachystars, @rodriguez025, @kickstart-myheart-sixx, @s-outhie, @anxious-diabetic, @awkwardblackgirls, @rockersbox, @brooklyn-antiques, @shamelessobsessions, @jerseytaint, @lilytalebi, @criminalyetminimal, @motley-queen, @trapt-in-a-dream, @lunamadhatter99, @broke-n-bitchy, @thanks2pete, @slowandangry, @lovesick-heart0, @keepcalm-and-beyou, @miriampraez, @teenwolflover28, @lilyhw1, @motherloovebone, @random-internet-user-4471, @falcon-arrows, @talranocchia2001, @wheresmyvodkabitch, @waywardprincess666, @malibubarbievince, @iluvmesomemarvelndc, @zoenicoles @vamprlestat, @supersoldierballerina, @primal-screamer@electradestiny, @marshbev, @n0-sh0rtage-0f-faults, @cruebaby, @ggorehorror, @valentines-in-london, @miss2001babe, @nassauartist @cmft-jr-winchester, @bokkie92, @notworthyofyou1120 @xrosegoldwolfx,  @lauravic, @mgkobsessed, @chaoticvybe,  @kellysimagines @thoughtsoftheantagonist @marvelismylifffe,  @sleepyjunhong  @meetthesixxter @sparxx27 @gingerspicetalks @kaitieskidmore1 @unknownoblivion @nevergoodenuffbutokaaayyy @sublimeprincesswasteland @kylieinwonderland @haileynicoleseavey17 @lavendersoundbarrier @ijustwanttokiss70srogertaylor, @xxisxxisxxis, @malibubarbievince, @dogmom2014, @cruesixxlover1991, @xpoisonousrosesx, @cranberrirolls, @m0rnlngstar, @love-struck-aries, @findingmyths, @minxtruck, @i-want-to-shoot-myself, @arianareirg, @fentitrbl​, @sinningsixx​, @motleycrueprincess​, @redlipscrystalskies14​, 

*Nikki’s POV*

“Van, I can take her up to her room. Just let me, please?” I watched as she picked up Arianna and carried her inside.

“Just get the bags.” Vanity mumbled to me as I sighed. I realized halfway through the drive home I was being an asshole to everyone just because I wanted to hurry up and get here. I carried the bags in and put them down by the stairs.

“Well hello pretty girl. Did you miss me?” Anarchy came up wagging her tail before running up the stairs, completely ignoring me along the way. I went to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water before sitting down at the table.

“Thought I heard the gate open. You guys are back a day early.” I turned my head to the side when Clementine came out of her art studio with paint soaked brushes.

“Yeah, Allen called me about a new singer this morning-“ “...And now you guys are so excited. Tommy told me.” She interrupted me as she started rinsing off her brushes in the sink.

“Do you have to clean them there? I don’t want paint staining the tile. Can’t you clean them in a cup?” I questioned her as she shook her head.

“Vanity said I could.”

I rolled my eyes and got up from the chair, “Just clean up your mess. I don’t want to see it.” I walked over to the answering machine and went through them.

‘Nikki, it’s Allen. I tried calling your cell but It probably went through when you didn’t have any signal driving back. Anyways, come to my office around noon tomorrow. We also need to discuss your new contract with Elektra and how much you guys will be bringing home. Talk to you tomorrow.’

Message deleted.

‘Sixxter! Dude! Did you hear?! A new fuckin singer?! Hit me up when you’re back in town and let’s go grab some drinks! Maybe go to the titty bar!’

I chuckled and deleted the message. I’ll have to call Tommy in a little bit.

‘I hope this is still the right number. Don’t have any new ones for Sixx’s house. Anyways. Uh, hey Vanity it’s Saul, well Slash-‘

Fuck no. No. I’m not fucking doing this

“...I heard you were back in town. You’re still very popular here. New York huh? You shoulda reached out some how. I was staying there for a bit too. Anyways, uh here’s my number. You can keep it if you want. I was thinking if you were up for it we could catch up. Maybe grab a bite to eat or something to drink or whatever you want. Your choice. Just um give me a call. I’ll talk to you later maybe? Bye Vanity.”

Message deleted.

“Did you really just delete a message that was meant for me?” I quickly turned around when Vanity was standing by the stairs, arms folded across her chest.

“Vanity, I didn’t-“

She raised an eyebrow at me before walking to the kitchen, “Hi clemmy. Missed you.” I watched as she gave her a hug, “Was everything okay while we were gone?”

She nodded, “Of course! I signed for a few packages that came for Nikki. Anarchy was good she probably lost a few pounds since Ari wasn’t here to feed her. Told you I could be trusted watching the house.” Clementine glanced over at me. My jaw clenched as I turned away from them and grabbed the bags to bring up stairs.

“Don’t worry about him. He’s being an asshole today.” Vanity whispered, but not quiet enough. I shook my head and peered over the banister and into the kitchen.

“If you’re gonna call me an asshole. Say it to my god damn face and not when I leave the room.” I hastily snapped at her as she glared up at me.

“You’re being an asshole, Nikki.”

I shook my head before pushing her suitcase down the stairs to where it was prior, “Vanity don’t.” Clementine spoke as she tried reaching for her.

“No! Fucking let her!” I watched as Vanity came up on me, seeing the fire in her eyes burning hotter the longer she stared at me.

“Guys, Arianna is in the house so let’s not do this.” Clementine suggested as I sent her the middle finger.

“Shut the hell up, Clementine. She wants to start we can-“ I stopped talking when Van grabbed me by my arm, her nails digging into my skin as she attempted to suppress the rage. She dragged me into my room with all her force and slammed the door shut.

She pinched the bridge of her nose before looking at me, “I really, really don’t want to fight with you right now but you are being an asshole and I am not going to deal with it.”

“Me?!” She nodded, “How the hell am I being an asshole!? If it’s because of how we left this morning then doll, I am sorry. But it’s the band! You of all people should know how this! It’s my band, Vanity! I know you and Ari were having fun, I was too. But it’s my job babe. You’ve got to understand that.” I tried to explain and attempt to stay calm.

She leaned against the bedroom door, “So your manager or the label call you and you come running like a little lap dog?! You left your grandfather without even saying you loved him! Or with a proper goodbye! Arianna was so confused this morning Nikki! All because of how you were acting! All because you just had to get back here! by the way, you almost fucking killed us like four times! But you wouldn’t realize that because you couldn’t shut the fuck up about the stupid band and the stupid new singer who you don’t even know will be your singer yet!!” Vanity unloaded on me as I slumped down into a sitting position on the bed.

“Baby, I didn’t-“ I stopped talking when she exhaled deeply and took a step to me.

“I know you didn’t mean to do all that because you are happy some good news is finally coming since Vince left. But fuck Nikki, it was a little bit to much for me. I was so excited to be spending time with you and Arianna and having Tom with us and you ripped that from me and from her and from Tom! And then we come home and you delete a message that was meant for me and-“

I stood up, “I deleted it for a good fucking reason and you know that.” I pointed in her face as I stared down at her, “So don’t start the Slash bullshit with me.”

“Bullshit?! It’s been fucking years Nikki! Get over it! You aren’t my fucking boyfriend and if I want to call up Slash and take him up on his offer of catching up then I will!”

“Get out of my bedroom.” I looked away from her, grabbing my suitcase and going through my clothes and throwing them all in the hamper so I didn’t have to hang any of them back up.

“I’m not doing that though. So don’t worry about it.” Vanity assured as I rolled my eyes and laughed.

“Why not? I’m not your boyfriend.” I glanced at her as her lips parted to say something, “So go do whatever the hell you want, because I know you’re just going to do it anyways.”

“I am not-“ “Just get out of my room, alright?”

“Nikki-“ “Get out! Go!”

She stared at me for a moment, gnawing on her bottom lip before, shaking her head and turning away from me. The door latched quietly, hearing her footsteps disappear down the stairs.

I threw the suitcase across the room and at my closet door before getting on my bed and burying my face in the pillows.

*Next Morning*

~Nikki’s POV~

I pushed open Vans door, seeing her bed made perfectly, but clothes were tossed around her room and her perfume lingered faintly. I looked down at Arianna as she smiled at me, “Now where did your mom go?” I patted the top of her head when she shrugged.

“Auntie is home.” She told me, latching onto my hand and swinging it around, “Can we watch cartoons?”

I nodded, “Yeah, yeah. Let’s go downstairs. Have you had breakfast yet?”

I watched as she sat down on the stairs and slid all the way down them giggling, “Mommy made me french toast before she left.”

I flipped on the TV for her as she grabbed one of her barbies and climbed on the couch, “Did she go to the store?”

Arianna looked at me, “I dunno.”

I just wanted to say sorry to her.

I rubbed the sleeps out of my eyes and walked to the kitchen to get some coffee. “Is auntie painting?” I asked Arianna, her only response being a head nod as she was engrossed in the child’s show.

I walked down the hallway, going to the back of the house and looking inside to see Clementine sitting on a stool, painting away at a canvas.

“Can I help you?” Her voice was already littered with annoyance, “Is Arianna bored? She can come in here and play if she wants. I don’t mind.”

I chuckled and stayed out at the door, “No, no she’s not bored. Woke me up rudely, but that’s fine. She was asking where Van went...”

I watched her dip the brush into a mason jar full of dirty water before putting it back on the canvas, “Was she? Or are you asking where she is?”

I glared at the back of her head, “She’ll be home later. She left about an hour ago.” Clementine spoke as she finally turned around to look at me, “She’s a big girl Nikki. She can be by herself without you breathing down her neck.”

I furrowed my eyebrows. What the hell was that suppose to mean?

“Well where’d she go? Did she say when she would be back? I wanted to apologize for yesterday...” I mumbled, crossing my arms against my chest and leaned against the doorway.

“Yeah, was a nice little screaming match last night.” Clementine rolled her eyes at me before she started working again, “She said she was going to the diner to see if she can get her old job back and then mentioned going to lunch with a friend. Didn’t say when she’d be back.”

“Okay...well, I have to leave at noon to have a meeting with Allen. Can you watch Arianna? Or do you want me to take her with me?”

All Clementine did was shrug, “Whatever you want Nikki.”

I scowled at the back of her head, “Alright...I’ll just take her if it’s an issue.”

“No one said it was an issue.”

The woman in this house are going to cause me to rip out my hair.

“Which friend is she hanging out with? She didn’t really have a whole lot to begin with here. Other than Lucia and Tonya and the band.”

I heard her mumble something under her breath but I couldn’t make it out, “I don’t know? She called Tommy for his number and then she was out the door an hour later? I’m not her keeper, Nikki.”

His?

“I’m sure she’s fine Nikki, alright? Just go to your meeting.”

I walked away from her room, going down the hallway and shaking my head. Let me find out Tommy gave Vanity Slash’s number. I grabbed my phone off the counter and dialed Vans number and waiting patiently for her to answer, watching Arianna sing along to the cartoon.

‘Hey it’s Vanity! Leave me a message and-‘

I hung up the phone immediately and called Tommy.

‘I’ll be at the office soonish and-“

“Do you know where Vanity is?” I questioned him as the line went silent, “Tommy? Did you hear me?”

“I heard you.”

I rolled my eyes, “Okay well can you answer my question? Clementine said Van called you before she left.”

Tommy groaned, “Shit.” He chuckled, an uncomfortable chuckle, “She uh..she called asking for Slash’s number...”

“And you gave it to her because?!?!” I shouted, gripping the counter and forcing a half smile when Arianna peeked over the couch.

“Well I dunno, man! She just called and demanded it. Hey! Look, I’m in your corner Sixx. I tried telling her that wouldn’t be the best idea but you know how she is. She told me to fuck off and it wasn’t any of my business but yeah, I’m sorry?”

I shook my head, “It’s...it’s fine Tommy. I’ll see you in a little bit.”

“Later Sixxter.”

I put the phone down and rubbed my face, “Arianna! We gotta go get dressed. You have to come to work with me.”

“Can I wear my princess dress?”

“Yes my lady-“ bowing to her as she giggled, “You may wear the most prettiest princess dress imaginable.”

*Later that Evening*

~Vanity’s POV~

After parking my car in the garage, I quickly and quietly snuck through the door and started heading to the kitchen to put the cupcakes I got Arianna earlier today in the fridge. I heard the jangle of Anarchy’s collar behind me, followed by her bark.

“Sh! You’re gonna get me in trouble.” I whispered shouted to her as she then woofed a bit quieter before trotting over to get some back rubs, “Let’s go see Ari.” I mumbled and out my stuff down.

I dreaded going up the stairs with each creak in the wood, I felt like a teenager sneaking back in after being out partying all night. I tiptoed down the hallway and opened up her door, sighing when I saw that she was already sleeping. I maneuvered through toys and gave her a kiss on the cheek, “Goodnight baby.”

I left her room, peering down the hallway and saw Nikki’s bedroom light was off. I went to my room to get dressed into something more comfortable. I took the Bobby pins out of my hair, sighing in relief as I ran my fingers over my scalp.

I headed back downstairs to get something to drink and a snack, “So, did you get your job back?” Nikki’s voice and the light turning on made me jump.

“Jesus, do you have to do that?” I grumbled before going to the fridge and grabbing a water.

“How was the diner?” He questioned as I glanced at him for a brief second.

“Oh yeah, uh it was okay. Still the same, really. Francisco is letting make my own schedule. So I’ll be working eight to four so maybe Clementine can pick up Arianna from school since she gets out at two.” I explained to him as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“I could pick her up too, you know? She’s my daughter.” Nikki spat out as I stared at him.

“Okay...well you can also pick her up if you want..” I mumbled to him.

“Where have you been all day? I’ve tried calling, hell, Clementine tried calling and you didn’t answer!” Nikki whisper shouted a I shook my head.

“I was busy. I went to the diner, chatted with Francisco, meant some of the new girls and-“

“How was Slash?”

I held my breath as I turned my back towards him and looked through the fridge, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I heard his deep exhale, “Vanity.”

I turned around to face him, his arms cross over his chest and his face a bit red, “Don’t start the lying shit with me.” He stepped a closer to me as I stood my ground and stared at him.

“Alright, fine. I met up with Slash and we grabbed dinner and caught up. Nothing happened, so there’s no need to get any thoughts into that brain of yours.” I explained to him as his arms relaxed to his sides.

Nikki shook his head, “You should have said something, Vanity. I waited around my phone all day and Arianna was acting out and kept asking me where you went.”

I laughed at his words, “Tell you I was going to be with Slash?” I laughed again, “The same guy you have such a hatred for, you wanted me to tell you that so we could’ve argued before I left?” I shook my head and tried walking out of the kitchen but he blocked me. I closed my eyes before looking up at him, “I am sorry Arianna was acting out. I told her to be good for you.”

“She wanted you, Van. Not me.” Nikki grumbled as he shifted his body weight to the arm that was extended to rest against the wall.

“Nikki, I am sorry. I just got carried away. I’m allowed to have a moment of free time without Arianna and you.” I told him and I don’t think he liked that very much.

“Vanity, I don’t care that you hung out with him. I cared that you didn’t call. We had no idea where you were at!” Nikki shouted in my face as I rolled my eyes.

“Jesus, back off Sixx. It’s not that big of a deal.” I put my hand, pushing on his chest for him to get out of my face, “I said I was sorry.”

“Van, with you being newly sober I don’t think it’s the smartest of ideas to be hanging out with Slash who just overdosed a few months before you got here.”

“And I understand that but he has been going to meetings and speaking with a therapist. He is trying and he understands what I’m going through.”

“And I don’t?!”

I stared at him, “Nikki, stop yelling at me. I didn’t do anything wrong-“

“You didn’t call! I was worried about you! That’s what you did wrong!”

I tried to move past him but again he blocked me from leaving, “I didn’t know I had to tell everyone my exact location at all times.” I scowled, “Let’s get a fucking ankle monitor. Make sure I’m not doing anything you would disapprove of.”

“Doll, that is not what I meant.” He stepped closer, placing his hand on my lower back, “Vanity, I was worried. Don’t you get that?”

I looked up at him feeling paint chipped nails graze over my skin, “You didn’t have to be worried, Nikki. I was okay. He isn’t a bad guy just because you’re still insecure.”

Nikki raised his eyebrow in surprise, “Insecure? Hm. About What?”

“You know what.” I looked up at him, “You’ve always been insecure and get all possessive over me when he’s around.”

“He placed a god damn bet on you, Van.” Nikki barked, “I dont like how he found it funny and I don’t like he looks at you like he’s going to rip off your fucking close and fuck you against a wall. If that makes me insecure so fucking be it.”

I groaned in frustration, “Nikki I am sorry alright. I’m sorry I didn’t call and I’m sorry I had you guys worried. It is not going to hurt Arianna’s development if I missed a bed time story when I have done it the last six years.” I snapped at him, “What do you want me to do? Just never leave the house again so you and Clementine don’t have to worry about what I’m doing?”

“No Vanity, that’s not...that’s not what I’m saying at all. Just, just next time call alright?” Nikki pleaded with me, “Because I don’t want to deal with Arianna asking if you went away.”

I frowned a bit, “Shut up, Nikki. She didn’t say that.”

“Yes she did. She asked if it was gonna be like New York. You think she doesn’t fucking remember the shit you pulled there? Our daughter was asking for you and just wanted to make sure mommy was coming home. Ask fucking Clementine. Arianna didn’t stop crying for an hour over you Vanity. So yeah, fucking call next time. I didn’t think I was asking much.”

I stared down at the marble flooring of the kitchen, feeling the hot gaze he had and the venom in his words as he spoke, “Yeah. I’ll call next time.”

*Next morning*

I woke up hearing Arianna’s laugh coming from downstairs. I laid in bed for a moment before getting up and rubbing my eyes. I pulled on some sweats before heading downstairs.

“Mommy!” Arianna yelled before climbing out of the chair and running to me, “Good morning baby.” I said while picking her up and holding her at my side and giving her a kiss on the cheek.

I looked at Nikki when he came over to me and gave me a quick kiss on the lips before handing me a cup of coffee, “You making breakfast?”

Nikki smiled and nodded as he went back over to the stove “Yeah, just some French toast and scrambled eggs.”

“Thank you baby.” I sat down at the table, taking a sip as I looked at what Clementine was working on, “That’s pretty.”

“Arianna gave me the idea after she pestered me for an hour about those lovely pink cupcakes in the fridge.” She shot me a glare as I grinned at her.

“Mommy, I want a cupcake.” Ari tugged on my fingers, “They looks like unicorns.” She mumbled as I shook my head.

“No, it’s too early for them. You can have one later.” She started to pout as she roughly let go of my fingers and threw my hand down, “Arianna, it’s not to early for a time out. You will get one later.”

I looked over at Clementine, “Sorry, I tried hiding them in the back but I swear, she’s a sweets and candy magnet. I brought them home from her last night. There was this cute little bakery down by the piers where we had dinner and they had some in the display window and I thought she would love them.”

“Well you showed up way past bedtime.”

I cocked my head to the side, “Only an hour past bed time, don’t be dramatic. And, I told you where I was going but you didn’t listen.”

“I had my radio up loud, what did you expect from me?” She grinned, “I tried protecting you but he went and got nosey.” She nodded over to Nikki as I glanced at him, seeing him flip the toast and munching on a piece of bacon.

“Well thank you. I needed to get out and have a little fun without him up my ass.”

Clementine pushed her drawing book to the side as I sat down, “You still could have called, Van. You gave me PTSD flashbacks when I went straight to voicemail.”

I looked away from her, letting my hand run through Arianna’s hair, attempting to tame at is as she worked in her coloring book, “I’m sorry.”

Clementine put the topic to rest with a simple nod when Nikki came over with a plate of French toast stacked high, a side of bacon and a frying pan of scrambled eggs. I watched, smiling as he cut Arianna’s French toast up for her.

“So did you meet the new singer?” I asked Nikki as he sat down and I started filling my plate up.

“No, that’s next week. Dudes up north touring with his band so we just did a phone interview.”

“...two bands? Well, how did the interview go?”

Nikki shrugged, “It was fine I guess. Arianna was with me at the office yesterday so I had to make sure she wasn’t getting into anything. He seemed like a nice guy. Could tell he was nervous. Anyways, yeah he’s in another band. The Scream, more heavier. I don’t think you’d like their music.”

“Who?” I laughed and took a bite of my toast before grinning at him, “Exactly princess.”

“I read about them in a magazine once. They aren’t too popular.” Clementine spoke, “So I’m sure he’d leave to be in Mötley.”

NikkI nodded, “Yeah, yeah he is. We already gave him a offer but we’re trying to keep it under wraps due to the band just resigning a twenty five million dollar contract with Elektra.”

“That’s a lot of money.” Clementine mumbled under her breath before taking a sip of coffee.

Nikki glanced over at me as I was wearing a poker face. That is a shit ton of money for an album that ranges from eight to ten songs. I cleared my throat and took another bite of my breakfast.

“So what’s the guys name?”

“John Corabi.”

[wonwuism]

Chapter 2.

Saturday | Pledis Flowers | 12:00 am

Wonwoo wished he could stop checking the time every five seconds. He’d been anxious since he started his shift that morning and nothing seemed to be able to calm him down. Joshua had, of course, noticed that Wonwoo was on edge today the second he walked in.

“You look like you spent an hour longer in front of the mirror this morning. Did you actually put on make-up today? You really good, though, I’m not gonna lie. Like, really good.” After realizing the obvious embarrassment he was putting Wonwoo through, he’d stopped making remarks, but Wonwoo could see the smirk every time Joshua caught him glance at himself in the shiny surface of the coffee machine.

Saturdays usually weren’t quiet days at all, but for some reason no one seemed to want to buy any flowers today. Wonwoo was actually glad. His nerves were going through the roof and he was pretty sure that he would mess up any bouquet that needed to be made. On the other hand, he didn’t have a single thing to put his mind to right now, so every thought in his head was currently going over the thousands of possible scenarios that could play out later. Each one with a worse outcome than the last, with Wonwoo making a terrible fool out of himself.

As he was shaking his head to rid himself of the dark thoughts clouding his mind, he heard the bell to the shop ring and felt a breeze come in from the opening door. He turned his head towards the sound and felt his heart stop for a second. Mingyu was standing in the doorway with a camera in his hands and the hairs on his head dancing a little in the wind. He happily raised his hand to greet Wonwoo, who waved back with a shy smile. As Mingyu stepped inside, another man was revealed. Wonwoo had to blink a few times to make sure he was actually seeing him, and it wasn’t an angel he was looking at.

The boy from the picture seemed to glow in the light from outside. He had hair that was almost white and was wearing a pearly white shirt to match. All he was missing was a pair of wings if you asked Wonwoo. He felt incredibly insecure, looking at these two beautiful men. It made him hyperaware of the old polo shirt he had to put on for work and the slight bronze eyeshadow he’d dusted on his lids this morning. Before he could run away though, Mingyu and his companion were already walking his way. The thought of literally hiding behind Joshua went through his mind, but upon looking at his colleague, he closed his eyes in disappointment for a second. It seemed like Joshua wasn’t going to pay Wonwoo any attention today.

Joshua’s eyes were fixed on the angel next to Mingyu. Of course they were, Wonwoo thought to himself. The boy was exactly Joshua’s type, from his clothing to his sharp facial features. His long lashes and shiny lips. His slender figure and wavy locks that fell in front of his eyes, that he pushed back in style with long, thin fingers.

Joshua pushed past Wonwoo and reached his hand out to the stranger. “Hi, I’m Joshua, welcome to Pledis Flowers!” The man didn’t seem overwhelmed by Joshua’s spontaneity at all, which to Wonwoo was a strange concept. His face, which had seemed a little nervous before, broke. The corners of his mouth turned up into an attractive, comfortable smile, and he put his hand in Joshua’s. “Hi, Jeonghan. Are you the one that helped Mingyu pick the flowers yesterday? He was right, you are indeed very handsome.”

Wonwoos eyes went wide and he looked over at Mingyu to see him turn a fantastic shade of red. Mingyu opened his mouth but all that came out was a little strangled noise from the back of his throat as he looked at Wonwoo in a slight panic. Joshua threw his head back and laughed loudly, breaking the uncomfortable mood that hung between them.

“No, actually, that would be our boy Wonwoo over there.” He turned to point at him, and Wonwoo wanted to disappear in a hole in the ground.

Jeonghan looked over at Wonwoo and gave him a small wave with his left hand, since the other one was still holding on to Joshua for some reason. “Nice to meet you!” Wonwoo gave him the smallest “hi” ever known to mankind and went back to his new hobby staring at Mingyu while Mingyu stares at the ground.

Jeonghan and Joshua finally let go of each other and Jeonghan clapped Mingyu on his back, causing him to look up again. “Ah, Mingyu, don’t be shy. I bet he knows he’s goodlooking and hears it all the time! It’s not like you meant anything by it.” It was quiet for a few seconds before they heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Seungcheol looked down at the four quiet men and chuckled to himself. “Well, is anyone going to offer these boys a cup of coffee or do I have to do everything myself?”

//

It had been a pretty nice few hours. They’d put on some music and Joshua had spent the entire time watching Jeonghan pose, asking the boy a million questions about himself, cracking a few jokes in the process so Jeonghan could genuinely laugh in some of the photos.

Seungcheol had spent most of his time in the shop helping the customers that came in and Wonwoo was mostly walking around aimlessly, trying to keep himself busy with watering and feeding plants and flowers, placing some orders and definitely avoiding the tall man in the back of the building. It was hard though, with Jeonghan’s words circling through his mind every ten seconds. ‘He was right, you are indeed very handsome.’ Followed by ‘It’s not like you meant anything by it.’

To make things worse, the few times he’d glanced over at Mingyu he always seemed to be looking back at him, making Wonwoos heart skip a beat and make him turn his head away embarrassed. To avoid himself having an actual panic attack like he did the day before, Wonwoo decided to hide out on the first floor of the building for now.

//

Seungcheol carefully gave the camera back to the photographer. “The pictures look amazing, Mingyu. You’re incredibly talented.” Somewhere halfway through the day they’d all switched from talking English to Korean and the atmosphere had turned to a comfortable one.

Mingyu gave him the brightest smile. “Would you like me to send you the finished shots after I’m done editing them? Jeonghan and I plan to use them for our portfolios, so I wouldn’t mind if you posted them on your website or even printed them for here in the shop, with the right credits of course.”

Seungcheol nodded. “You should ask Wonwoo about that, though. He’s the one who manages all the social media stuff. I never know how that works and Joshua doesn’t really care for it. Where is he by the way?” The last part of the question was directed at Joshua, who was in the middle of tucking one of Jeonghans pretty locks behind his ear. “Josh!”

“Hmm? Wonwoo?” Joshua turned his head to his boss. “I think I saw him head upstairs before. A while ago, though, so it should be fine to go up now.” Mingyu glanced over at Seungcheol with a questioning look on his face, and when he got a nod in return, he headed up the stairs.

Wonwoo was sitting with his back against the wall. His eyes were staring at the ceiling and his mind was a million miles away. As a game design major, he liked to sit around in silence thinking about new ideas for concepts or characters. Right now, he was designing a new protagonist from scratch. Not everyone could do it, design something in their mind like that and see it in front of them, but Wonwoo had done it since he was a kid, and he could get incredibly lost in it.

He didn’t notice anyone walk up the stairs until he heard the snapping sound of a picture being taken. The image in front of his eyes tumbled down into a heap of loose parts and he blinked a few times to get out of his mindset. He locked eyes with the camera that was still blocking Mingyu’s face. As he lowered it, Mingyu gave him a comforting smile.

“Is it alright if I join you for a bit?” He didn’t move until Wonwoo nodded and moved a bit on the floor. There was enough room to sit, but it was more of a metaphor in a way. To say ‘if there wasn’t any space, I’d still be okay with it’. Mingyu sat down and there was a bit of silence between them for a minute. It was comfortable though. Everything around Mingyu felt so comfortable that Wonwoo wondered why he got so nervous every time, because as soon as he got closer it all faded every single time. It was just the way his anxiety worked.

“Do you do that a lot?” Wonwoo asked. Mingyu sat with his head against the wall, eyes trained on an origami bird that hung from the ceiling. “Do what?”

“Taking pictures of random people.” Wonwoo was still not sure in what language to talk to Mingyu, so he naturally switched around a lot, like he still did with Joshua sometimes. Mingyu chuckled.

“I take a picture when I see something I like. Something that’s pretty, or that intrigues me. Do you want me to delete it?” Wonwoo shook his head.

“No, that’s okay. I don’t think I’m that interesting, but if you want to take a picture, I’m not going to stop you.” Mingyu looked at him with confusion written on his face. “You’re so shy though. I’d expected you to ask me to delete the picture, if I’m honest.”

Wonwoo turned his head to Mingyu, but when he saw that the tall man’s eyes were still focused on him, he quickly looked the other way and shrugged. “I don’t think we should question art. I might not agree with it, but it’s still art, and I wouldn’t take it away from you if it’s something you made with thought and effort. Now stop looking at me, it makes me nervous.”

“Sorry.”

Wonwoo watched Mingyu play with the rings on his fingers for a while and then looked at his own hands. There was no decoration on his fingers, apart from some almost healed scratches he’d gotten from the thorns on some roses a few days ago. His hands seemed weird compared to Mingyu’s elegant ones. Everything about Mingyu was so much more elegant. He and Jeonghan would be a good pair, actually.

“You and Jeonghan seem to be really close, by the way you act around each other,” Wonwoo started. He immediately regretted it, though. Why would he talk about that? It was none of his business.

“He’s just my best friend, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m not into guys. At least I don’t think I am.” Wonwoo nodded and surprisingly felt some of the pressure fall off his shoulders at the answer.

“What about Jeonghan, though? He and Joshua seemed more than interested in each other before.” Mingyu took the ring off his right pinky and dragged his thumb over the shiny surface as he answered. “It’s a little complicated. I don’t like to tell other people’s stories, but he only really likes people on a romantic level, if you know what I mean. So unless your friend is willing to give some things up it probably wouldn’t work.”

Wonwoo didn’t really know what to say to that. He felt dumb for asking about it now. Especially since Mingyu said he doesn’t like to talk about it without Jeonghan knowing. He looked at the ring in Mingyu’s hands and realized that Jeonghan had been wearing the same one before. It warmed his heart to know that the two boys were such good friends.

“I didn’t mean to pry, sorry. Joshua is a good guy, so we’ll see.”

“We’ll see.”

Saturday | Wonwoo’s dorm room | 09:30 pm

EDM music was blasting through Wonwoo’s headphones as he sat at his desk with a drawing tool in his hands. For the past few hours he’d been designing the protagonist to a new game and he almost couldn’t believe how fast he’d done it. For the past few months Wonwoo had been stuck in a creative block. He’d barely been able to work on the concept his final project for this year, let alone think about details like this.

As he adjusted the character’s boots a little, he could see his phone light up. Jun was calling. Of course he was. Wonwoo saved his project and closed his computer. That was enough work for today. He stood up with his phone in his hand and went to sit in the little window seat that looked out over the back entrance of the college campus. “Hey Jun.”

“Hey, why didn’t you call me after work?” Wonwoo watched the few people who were still outside walk by and do their thing. They looked small from the 4th floor, but Wonwoo liked to imagine their stories as they passed his window. “Sorry man, I forgot.” He heard a gasping sound on the other end of the line and he could see Jun’s offended face in his mind. “You forgot? Oh my god, I have a terrible best friend. How could you forget to update me on hanging out with Mingyu, I can’t believe this, Wonwoo. You better tell me everything right now.”

Wonwoo sighed. He should have known Jun was going to want to know everything. “We didn’t ‘hang out.’” He made air quotations with his free hand, even though Jun couldn’t see him. “He just took some pictures of Jeonghan and then he left. Besides, he said he’s straight, so there’s really nothing to tell.” Wonwoo could hear the disappointment in his own voice, which he found to be kind of dumb, since he didn’t even have any hope in the first place. He should’ve known Mingyu didn’t like guys. The perfect ones never do.

“Oh, ew. Is he sure, though? I mean- whatever, I guess. But, he just told you that? Out of the blue? I’m not buying it Wonwoo, you’re not telling me things and I don’t like it.”

“Okay, so apparently, he told Jeonghan I’m good looking. I don’t really know why he would say something like that to his friend if he’s straight, but for all I know he’s just like that. I don’t know what kind of person he is.” He could hear Jun open his mouth to reply. “I’m not done yet. Anyway, I was upstairs in the office for a bit, because I was feeling pretty nervous about the whole situation. Joshua was no help at all, since he was just flirting with Jeonghan all the time. And then Mingyu took my picture.”

“He took your picture?”

“Yeah. I asked him why and he said it was because he does it whenever he sees things that intrigue him and then we talked about art a little and I asked him about him and Jeonghan.” Wonwoo closed his eyes in anticipation of Jun’s reaction.

“Jeon Wonwoo! What a bold ass move. I can’t believe the balls on you right now. What did he say?”

“Well, that he didn’t think he was into guys, that’s how I know. After that I gave him my e-mail so he could send me the pictures for on our website and that’s it.”

“Hmm.”

“Jun it’s fine, it’s not like I’ll ever see him again, and I’m okay with that.” Kind of a lie, Wonwoo would have loved to hang out with Mingyu again, but he didn’t really want to admit that to Jun. Or to himself for that matter. “I have to go now, Jihoon wants to watch a movie.” Another lie, Jihoon wasn’t even home right now, because he spent the weekends at his parents’ home every once in a while. Wonwoo felt bad about lying to his best friend, but sometimes Jun could see right trough him and that was just a little too much for Wonwoo to handle right now.

“Okay, say hi for me. I love you.”

“Yeah, goodnight Jun.”

“Say it back, Won.”

“I love you.”

“Goodnight Wonwoo.”

Previous chapter. | Masterlist. | Next chapter.

[witharsenicsauce]

Chosen Stories From the War #17: Saving Colonel Zhang

(Content Warning: This chapter contains descriptions of gore.)

Tygan pressed a few random keys on his tablet as he looked over Yseult, the war hammer. The weapon glowed purple, pulsating ever so slightly in the darkness of the workshop. The three Chosen stood around it, leaning in closer as they watched Tygan work. He had called them here, after all.

“So.” He said, for the third time, and once again followed it with silence. The Darkstrider was poking around at some of the other machines while his siblings waited for Tygan to finish his thought, like the diligent little servants they were.

Finally, Tygan looked up. “Kon-Mai, this hammer seems to be made of a similar material to your sword.”

“Is it?” She raised a brow.

“Yes, and I was hoping you could give us some insight on the material process, to be frank. We still don’t even have a clue to understanding how your weapon works.”

Kon-Mai tucked a stray strand of hair back behind her tiny ear. “I do not know much, only that it is an ancient art, and involves the torture of living individuals, for the use of their bones to-”

“Thank you, Sister.” Dhar-Mon said, turning seemingly aqua-green. “That will be all.”

Gur-Rai chuckled at his reaction. “I suppose science isn’t always worth it, is it, Brother?”

“Well, perhaps if Vahlen were here...” Tygan muttered as he looked to Dhar-Mon, who was still focused on the hammer. “You said you wielded it in combat?”

“I did.” He hung his head in shame. “I deeply apologize if I have damaged your research, Doctor.”

“On the contrary.” Tygan pushed it toward him. “I’d like you to keep using it.”

Dhar-Mon looked puzzled.

“I would like more information on how the Elders’ weapons interact with their owners.” Tygan elaborated. “And you seem to be...attached. I hypothesize these weapons may ‘choose’ their owners, allowing them to utilize them to their full potential. Like Kon-Mai, and her sword that never misses.”

“That is a theory.” Gur-Rai crossed his arms. “Does it work with guns, too?”

“That, I don’t know.” Tygan broke off as the intercom screeched.

“Dhar-Mon Madron, Gur-Rai Madron, and Kon-Mai Mordenna, please report to the Commander’s Office. Dhar-Mon Madron, Gur-Rai Madron, and Kon-Mai Mordenna, please report to the Commander’s Office.”

“It seems we are summoned.” Dhar-Mon sighed, lifting Yseult and hoisting it onto his back, where the magnetic straps clicked and held it in place. It felt light as a feather on his shoulders.

Kon-Mai bowed to Tygan and turned, leading her brothers toward their Commander. They followed her in a line, Gur-Rai in the middle and Dhar-Mon bringing up the rear, like a mother duck and her ducklings.

Kon-Mai chuckled at the thought.

.

.

“Well, the gang’s all here.” Bradford tossed his clipboard onto Senuna’s bed as the Chosen entered the room.

“Shrinemaiden, Darkstrider…” He nodded to Dhar-Mon. “...Hieromonk.”

“Central.” Kon-Mai bowed to him.

Senuna stood up. She looked a bit worse for wear, like she hadn’t slept at all the previous night. “Remember when I said I would be sending you all out together soon?”

Gur-Rai grinned. “We’re gettin’ the band back together?” He plopped down on one of her couches, far off to the side, and put his feet up. “Hit me, Commander. What have you got?”

“Have you three ever heard of Shaojie Zhang?” Bradford asked as the Commander sat down across from the Chosen, rubbing some of the smudged eyeliner off her eye.

Both Dhar-Mon and Kon-Mai hesitated for a moment, but Gur-Rai jumped in immediately. “Ol’ Chilong? A naughty little Triad spy who defected to XCOM.” He nodded. “I’ve heard. What of him?”

“He’s alive.” Senuna seemed to almost sigh, but her voice trembled.

“We THINK he’s alive.” Jane clarified. “Our recent conversation with Nuwa Shen revealed that there is, in fact, a hidden ADVENT prison complex in the Khasi Hills of India. And she apparently has it on good authority that Shaojie Zhang is being held inside.”

Gur-Rai blinked for a moment, his eyes becoming unfocused. “...Never heard of that place...huh. Must be new…”

“Perhaps it is.” Kon-Mai assured him. “The Crimson Dragon is known to be very dangerous. ADVENT would want him under wraps.”

“Yeah.” Bradford said. “So that’s why we called you three...this operation is going to be dangerous.”

“Very dangerous.” There was a glimmer in Senuna’s eye. “Which is why you three are going down together~”

Gur-Rai let out a cheer and even Dhar-Mon seemed to look a bit happier. Kon-Mai chuckled at her older brother’s reaction.

“Look out ADVENT.” Gur-Rai said as he stood. “The boys—and girl—are back in town!”

.

.

“Well, Dhar-Mon, you’ll get to test out your new weapon sooner than you thought.” Gur-Rai noted as he strapped on his armor plates.

Dhar-Mon nodded silently, only barely acknowledging his brother, who then tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey.” Gur-Rai crossed his arms. “What’s going on with you, Brother? You’re acting like Kon-Mai.”

“I heard that.” His sister hissed.

“I am fine, Brother.” Dhar-Mon assured him. “I simply...don’t have much to say anymore.”

“Alright, that’s DEFINITELY unlike you.”

“It is unlike how I was.” Dhar-Mon mused, pulling on the sleeves of his robes. “Before, I could not take a breath, lest I be praising the Elders.” He almost spat their name. “Now released from their hold, I find I have little to say.”

“Well, what’s on your mind?” Gur-Rai asked. “We could talk about that.”

“Indeed.” Kon-Mai said as she began plaiting her hair into several small braids. It had gotten longer in the weeks she’d been there, and now reached her upper back. “It is imperative we grow to trust each other as family, in battle and in conversation.”

“I’ll start!” Gur-Rai cried. “I found this amazing new book called ‘Blue Jesus.’ Picked it up because, well, we’re blue, so the title caught my eye.”

“Blue Jesus…” Dhar-Mon had heard that name, Jesus. It was spoken in whispers, by worshipers of the dead god. It was a name considered sacrilege by the Elders. Those who spoke it often died with the name on their lips.

“What is it about?” Kon-Mai asked. “I have been looking for new reading material. All of my favorite books were left behind at my stronghold.”

“So this kid, named Buddy, is friends with a kid whose skin is entirely blue. His name is Early.”

“Those are unusual names.” Dhar-Mon interjected.

“I do not think we have the right to criticize.” Kon-Mai chuckled. “Continue, Gur-Rai.”

“So, one day Buddy and Early are down at the river, doing the kind of stuff little boys do. And they find a dead baby.”

Kon-Mai made a face, a mix of terror, disgust, and almost crushing sadness. Dhar-Mon saw it before she could right herself, and she looked like Gur-Rai had just told her her own child was found dead.

“Hold your horses, Sister.” Gur-Rai raised his hand. “Because while Buddy runs to get help, Early touches the baby and brings it back to life.”

Now both Dhar-Mon and Kon-Mai looked at their brother in wonder.

“Back to life…?” Kon-Mai muttered.

Gur-Rai nodded.  “Mind you, before this everybody hated Early and his family, because they were blue and that’s very strange for humans. But after Early brings the baby back, people change their tune very quickly. Some of them are nice to him all of a sudden. Some people treat him even worse.” His eyes narrowed. “Some people think he’s-”

“Jesus.” Dhar-Mon muttered.

“Yep. Anyway, I’m about halfway through and it’s a fantastic read.” He finished his sentence just as two other humans walked in and stopped, staring at them.

The three siblings turned and looked at the soldiers, one dressed in the blue and white uniform of a medical officer, and the other dressed in light armor and holding a hacking kit. They halted when they saw the three Chosen, and the medic seemed to groan.

“Well, the gang’s all here~” Gur-Rai smiled and crossed his arms. “I assume you two are coming along for the ride.”

The medic, a young girl with brown hair in two, Mickey-Mouse like buns, looked at the man to her right. He coughed, straightening up as if he could compare to the height of the Chosen.

“Shamil Naumov.” He said, pressing his hand to his chest to indicate that the name was indeed his own. “The Commander said you’d probably need a hacker, so...that’s me.”

Gur-Rai scoffed. “I doubt that. I can do your job in half the time it takes you.”

“Yes, Brother, but won’t you also be busy with your gun? Shooting down our enemies?” Kon-Mai gave him a look. “An extra set of hands may be useful.”

“Well, if the Commander insists.” He shrugged and looked towards the girl. “And what’s your name, beautiful?”

“...Vicky.” She said curtly.

Kon-Mai recognized that name. “Are you a friend to Malinalli?”

“Friend?” Vicky grimaced, then bobbed her head from side to side. “...I guess.”

“Do you guys know the objective?” Shamil began looking through his data pad.

“We are to rescue Shaojie Zhang.” Dhar-Mon said with conviction.

“Right. This is supposed to be stealthy but…” He eyed Dhar-Mon. “If things go south, don’t be afraid to make some noise.”

“Oh, we shall.” Kon-Mai smiled, bearing her sharp teeth. Vicky seemed to shudder.

“Okay.” Shamil perked up. “All aboard the Skyranger then.”

.

.

The Skyranger seemed to shudder as it drew closer to the sea of black trees. The sky had grown dark and cloudy, and there settled over the ship an air of foreboding.

The Shinemaiden huddled herself in the corner of the Skyranger, leaving space for the rest of her compatriots. Even so, three Chosen all crammed into a canteen was beginning to cause some claustrophobia. Dhar-Mon was running into the same problem as last time, and desperately wished he still had the ability to teleport.

“Are we there yet?” Gur-Rai called up to Firebrand.

“Ask me one more time and I’mma turn this cab right around!” Firebrand called back to him. Kon-Mai chuckled at her brother getting scolded, and Gur-Rai stuck out his tongue at her.

The plane dropped low over a dense area of wood and opened her doors. Gur-Rai got to his feet and looked out. “Tricky landing!”

“Be careful goin’ down!” Firebrand called.

Kon-Mai looked to Dhar-Mon, preparing to offer him a hand, but he smiled and shook his head to indicate he would be fine. She nodded to him and took a rope from Gur-Rai, skydiving backwards off the ship and swinging, Tarzan-style, into a nearby tree.

“Showoff.” Gur-Rai muttered as he slid down after her, Dhar-Mon following behind him. Their two human compatriots dropped to the ground behind them.

“What do you see, Sister?” Gur-Rai asked.

“To the north.” Kon-Mai said, her already raspy voice further distorted by their communicators. “The building is small. One story only. Pure white, yet the windows are black.”

“Any enemies?”

“The usual cannon fodder.” She chuckled. “...And that is all...strange...”

Dhar-Mon and Gur-Rai looked at each other. “This seems to be a trap.” Dhar-Mon said.

“Oh it probably is.” Gur-Rai smiled. “I’m counting on it. Kon-Mai?”

“Yes?” She drawled her voice a bit with the question.

“Take the east side.” Gur-Rai said. “And I’ll take the west. Dhar-Mon,” He turned to his brother “remember what you did at the UFO? Do that again.”

Dhar-Mon nodded. “These traitors shall feel the wrath of my power.”

Gur-Rai smiled. “Now THERE’S my big brother.” He patted him on the shoulder and leapt into a tree. “You two.” He called to the humans. “Stay behind Dhar-Mon.”

“We can fight too!” Vicky hissed.

“I do not doubt that.” Dhar-Mon annunciated as turned to her, staring down at her short stature. “But your kind are very…” He fumbled for the word.

“Squishy.” Gur-Rai cut in.

“Yes.” Dhar-Mon nodded. “In any case, I shall protect you.”

“I mean…” Shamil shrugged and chuckled. “I won’t argue with the guy holding the big whacky stick.”

Dhar-Mon scowled and turned toward the facility, keeping low as he led them forward. He could hear his brother and sister in the trees, moving from branch to branch. Only trained ears could detect such slight sounds. Those two were as quiet as the grave.

He stopped as he reached the treeline, holding his breath. “We are in position.” He whispered.

“Perfect~” He heard Gur-Rai chuckle. “Sister?”

“I am ready.” He heard the quiet shing of her blade.

There was a moment of silence. They all held their breath...

“Now!”

On his brother’s signal, Dhar-Mon stood, raising his hands, and a bolt of psionic energy crackled toward the soldiers, striking them each in a succinct line. One by one they fell. Those who did not fall turned on them with guns drawn, right as Dhar-Mon saw a flash of blue dart out from the trees. Then, the screaming began.

His sister’s blade flashed in the pale moonlight as she cut through the trooper closest to her, their body separating at the waist and flying in different directions. The other soldiers turned on her, guns drawn and ready to fire, and she smiled.

“Hello, boys.” She growled. “Is that any way to greet me?”

A flash of red, this time from the treeline, sent another trooper flying. Gur-Rai cackled as he watched their body ragdoll.

There were about seven soldiers left, and while they seemed to be realizing the hopeless position they were in, they were not backing down. As Kon-Mai shifted to move for cover, one of them fired on her. The bullet bounced off her armor, smacking her in the ribcage. She muttered a grunt as it struck her. It stung badly against her skin, but there was no tear in the fabric, and no wound in her flesh.

“Insolent fool!” Dhar-Mon bellowed, raising his arms as his palms began to glow. “How dare you strike her?!”

“I think they know we’re off payroll!” Gur-Rai said, just as a rain of bullets shredded the branch he was standing on. He leapt to another tree as that one disintegrated.

The bullet rain began, and both Shamil and Vicky dove behind trees for cover. Dhar-Mon also got low, sheltering behind the shrubbery. He felt a few hit his shoulder pauldron, but none broke the surface. Yet.

The firing began to die down as the troopers ran out of ammo, and Kon-Mai took her shot. She dashed out from behind the crate and plunged her sword through the back of her unsuspecting victim, then hoisted him up and catapulted his body into one of his comrades, knocking the other to the ground. 

She smiled, but only briefly, because she was now out in the open, all guns trained on her. One particularly fast one turned on her and fired. It would have hit her in the face had she not raised her arm to deflect it. Her sword arm. The mesh deflected the bullet, but her arm went numb with the shock and she cried out, dropping her sword.

“NO!” Dhar-Mon sprang up and, ripping Yseult from his back, charged at his sister’s assailant. The hit was slow, and the trooper began to move to dodge, but as he did the hammer itself seemed to move on it’s own, correcting it’s course automatically so it plowed into the trooper’s head, cracking it like an egg.

With that trooper falling over in a bloody heap, Dhar-Mon focused his energy towards the next man, and with a glow of purple he could see their mind bending under his will. These troops had little fight in them, and the soldier easily picked up their gun and turned on their own men.

The Shrinemaiden lifted her sword again, testing her arm, and made a leap for the roof, where she was again hidden from sight. She heard the clink of a grappling hook as Gur-Rai zipped over to her, landing beside her.

“Close call.” He muttered, training his sniper on one. “Hey. You didn’t happen to bring that old shotgun I made you, did you?”

She sighed. “Yes, I did.”

“Now would be an excellent time to use it~”

“You know my aim with a firearm is poor.” She muttered, pulling Arashi from her back and copying her brother’s stance. “Do not blame me if I miss and reveal our position.”

“Sister.” Gur-Rai made a tut tut noise. “What did I tell you all those years ago?”

She scowled.

“Sister~”

“‘Sister, you will be the eye of the storm’.” She rolled her eyes. “Fine. I shall fire on your mark.”

“Good.” He raised a hand. “Three. Two. One!”

She took a breath, held it, and pulled the trigger, the recoil punching her in the shoulder. The bullet cut through a stack of crates, which upon being hit, detonated in a burst of flames. The splinters of wood exploded out in a swath of fiery debris, torching the three troopers who had been using the boxes as cover.

Kon-Mai glared at Gur-Rai, who was wearing the biggest shit eating grin she’d ever seen.

“You knew I would miss.” She said accusingly.

“Sister, I am simply playing to your strengths.” He gestured. “And look, they’re dead either way.”

She smiled, just a tad. He was right, after all. They were dead, either way.

“I have a clear shot for the door!” Shamil cried into the comm. 

“I’ll cover you!” Gur-Rai looked through his scope again. “You look fine from up here.”

“Okay.” Vicky and Shamil made a dash for the front door. From the other side of the roof, there was a clang as yet another trooper was introduced to the business end of the Hieromonk’s weapon.

“Working on the door-” They heard it slide open almost immediately after Shamil plugged in. “...That was easy…”

“Too easy.” Gur-Rai looked at Kon-Mai.

“No doubt they are leading us to the trap, like pigs to slaughter.” Kon-Mai bit her lip. “Dhar-Mon.”

“I am here, Sister!” He shouted into his comm, causing slight distortion.

“We are moving inside. Take a position in the rear, I have a sinking feeling more shall join us.”

“As you wish.” He said.

Shrinemaiden and Darkstrider jumped from the building, landing on their feet gracefully in front of the open doorway. Kon-Mai peeked inside and scanned the hallway.

“The coast is empty.” She stood to the side and let Shamil and Vicky in first, Gur-Rai following behind. She waited for Dhar-Mon, who had called forth his psionic energy to his hands once again, and he nodded for her to go. With him close behind, they dashed inside.

The building was dilapidated, old and partially rotted. It looked more like a scene of a horror movie than a scientific building. Gur-Rai let loose a whistle. “ADVENT is really letting their best go unchecked.”

“This is disgraceful.” Dhar-Mon muttered. “What would have caused them to leave this place in such a state?”

“Diverting materials.” Vicky finally spoke up. “Maybe to the Avatar Project.”

No one said a word to that. It was a very plausible explanation.

“Where are we going?” Kon-Mai asked Shamil.

“My computer hates this place but…” He smacked it. “Okay. We make a right turn here, then another...then another…”

“Into the center?” She raised a brow. “Like circling the drain.”

“Hey if worse comes to worst, I’ll shoot out the ceiling.” Gur-Rai winked.

“Wonderful. That will work perfectly in our favor.” She rolled her eyes.

The quiet of the facility was nearly stifling as they descended deeper and deeper into the bowels. Each turn let them to another door, each door was harder and harder to crack. Each time the Chosen would stand guard for their human compatriots, and each time they were met with empty halls and deserted rooms. The silence was beginning to grow worrisome.

Dhar-Mon growled. “Where are the guards? Do they intend to do nothing to stop us?!”

“Oh, they’re coming.” Gur-Rai muttered. “It’s the when that’s bothering me.”

“Keep your eyes sharp, Brother.” Kon-Mai said, one hand on the hilt of her sword. “With each step we draw closer to our goal.”

Finally, they rounded one last corner, shrouded in darkness by broken lights, and came to a final door, sealed with magnetic energy and reinforced with layers of metal.

Shamil stared at it for a moment. “...There’s no keypad.”

They looked around. He was correct, there was no keypad in sight.

“How do we open this then?” Vicky scoffed. “Do we all stand in front of it and yell open sesame?”

“Well, it’s worth a shot.” Gur-Rai holstered his rifle and went up to the door, putting his hand against the metal. “That tickles…”

“What do you sense, Brother?” Kon-Mai asked.

“Psionic energy.” He looked back at Dhar-Mon. “I think this is your department, my brother.”

Dhar-Mon followed Gur-Rai’s movement, pressing five fingertips against the metal of the door and focusing. His brow creased and he winced, then jerked away. “It is fighting back.”

Gur-Rai raised a brow. “Wow, didn’t know it did that.”

“Allow me to help.” Kon-Mai stepped up, in between her brothers, and laid her free hand on the door as well. Closing her eyes, she let what psionic energy she possessed flow into her fingers, joining with her brothers. The three of them kept pressure on it, and while the door seemed to be fighting back, they could feel it being worn down, the magnetic field slowly dissipating…

There was a click. Slowly, with churning gears, the door dragged itself open, and the contents of the room were revealed.

“Holy fuck.” Gur-Rai gasped. Vicky rushed in immediately, followed by Dhar-Mon and his sister. Shamil and Gur-Rai stayed back, their mouths hanging open in horror.

“It’s him…” Shamil whispered. “What have they done to him…?”

The limp form of Shaojie Zhang hung by his wrists and ankles, strapped against the wall with metal cuffs and braces. His skin was deeply jaundiced and bruised and his joints were severely bloated, possibly from fluid or even rot. But the worst was his abdomen, ripped open to expose his organs, still desperately pumping to keep him alive. Tubes were burned into the open crevice in his body, writhing on their own as though they were feeding off him.

“Oh God, oh Jesus, they didn’t teach us this in bootcamp…” Vicky hissed as she looked in her medical kit. “What the fuck do we do?!”

The Hieromonk stepped forward and pressed his hand against Zhang’s neck, checking his pulse, and Zhang’s eyes suddenly flew open. Kon-Mai reached for her sword, but stopped. Zhang looked at her with terror in his eyes.

“It is alright.” She lowered her hands. “We are not here to hurt you.”

He tried to speak but it came out in panicked gasps, as though his voice no longer worked. He seemed to be writhing against his restraints with what strength he still possessed.

“We are with XCOM.” She showed the badge on her shoulder. “Do you see?”

He stopped struggling, but still looked between her and Dhar-Mon with undisguised panic.

“I do not think he trusts us.” Dhar-Mon said to his sister.

“He has little choice. We don’t have time to prove ourselves.” She growled. “Vicky.”

“I’m working, bitch!” Vicky snapped. “I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to untie him!”

“Let me try.” Gur-Rai jogged up. “I’ve been inside a few men in my day~”

Dhar-Mon made a fake gagging motion and rolled his eyes. Kon-Mai let slip a smile, and Gur-Rai cracked his knuckles and got to work.

“Let’s see here. Well that’s your appendix there, you don’t need that.” He slipped two finger’s into Zhang’s abdominal cavity. “This is gonna hurt.” He pinched off the appendix, and the tube attached to it, and yanked. It came out with a wet splat, and Zhang began to spasm.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Vicky screamed, and Dhar-Mon rushed in and put his hand back on Zhang’s neck.

“His heart races with the agony, Brother.” Dhar-Mon looked at him.

“Good, that means he’s alive.” Gur-Rai licked his lips. “One down, four to go. This next one's on your liver…” He reached back. “Sis, you got your dagger?”

“I do not like what you are planning.” She said as she pulled her dagger from her belt and handed it to him.

There was intense silence, broken only by the ominous chattering and clicking sounds of the old walls as Gur-Rai slipped the blade of the dagger in between the fleshy organ and the teeth of the tube that held it in place. Zhang’s entire body tensed up for a moment, until Gur-Rai managed to wriggle it in just the right way that the teeth came loose, and the tube fell out and onto the floor.

“Hell yeah.” He let out a breath. “Almost done, Bud.”

The creaking in the walls grew louder for a moment, almost sounding like scraping. Kon-Mai looked around, drawing her blade again. “Something is amiss.”

“Put that thing away. It’s scaring him.” Vicky scolded.

Kon-Mai bore her teeth. “Very well. I shall allow us to remain unsheltered, like sitting ducks.”

Vicky made a mocking gesture with her hand and turned to look at Shamil. “Shammy! You have your pistol?”

“Yeah…” He sounded distracted.

“See? Shammy has the door. We’ll be fine.”

Zhang wailed in pain. Two of the tubes dropped to the floor, along with a piece of flesh.

“That one didn’t wanna let go. One more…” Gur-Rai grimaced. “And...fuck.”

“What…?” Kon-Mai peered over her shoulder.

“It’s on his heart.” Gur-Rai sighed. “Fuck. Okay. This is fine.” He twirled the dagger in his hand. “They don’t call me the Helsinki Heartbreaker for nothin’!”

“I have many questions.” Kon-Mai sighed, peering in closer to watch her brother begin his work.

“It’s just like replacing the RAM in a computer.” He hissed. “Gotta make sure not to bend the casing.”

There was a sudden, loud shriek from the door, followed by gunshots in rapid succession. The Chosen all jumped in surprise, Kon-Mai grabbing her katana. “Who goes there?!”

“Shammy!” Vicky called. The lights flickered for a moment, and they saw Shamil’s figure stumble towards the door.

“Shammy! Are you ok?!” Vicky rushed towards him but Kon-Mai grabbed her.

“Wait-”

“What are you doing?! Let me go! Sham-” She broke off.

Shamil’s mouth moved, but no words came forth. He stumbled inside, fell to his knees and hit the floor, green ooze spilling from the wound on his neck. As his body spasmed once and fell limp, a shriek came from the hallway so loud it could shatter bone.

“CHRYSSALIDS!” Kon-Mai pulled Vicky behind her and rushed to the door. “Gur-Rai, hurry!”

“You can’t exactly rush open heart surgery!” He snapped. “Dhar-Mon, go help her!”

“You need assistance here!”

“If Vicky would DO HER FUCKING JOB maybe that wouldn’t be the case!” He growled back at the human medic, who had abandoned the mission and ran to Shamil.

“Move, Child!” Dhar-Mon ran to Vicky and grabbed her arm.

“Let me go! He’s alive, I know it!”

“His corpse shall be a feeding ground, soon enough!” Dhar-Mon tossed her towards Gur-Rai. “Come, and save the man who still has a fighting chance!”

“Fuck you, you big dumb bohunk!” Vicky spat. “You don’t get it because you’re not human! You don’t know how to love like we do! I bet you’d sacrifice your own siblings if you had to!”

Dhar-Mon’s eyes grew dark, as did the room around him. “Do not speak such dark language to ME, little wretch! It was not I who let him die!”

“VICKY, COME DO YOUR FUCKING JOB, OR I WILL JAM MY GUN UP YOUR ASS AND PULL THE TRIGGER!” Gur-Rai shouted.

“FUCK OFF, YOU ROTTEN FISH STICK!” She ran for the door, grabbing Shammy by the arms and beginning to drag him, slowly, towards the door. “I’m getting out of here!”

Dhar-Mon looked at Gur-Rai.

“Toss me her medkit.” He muttered.

“You will need help.” Dhar-Mon protested as he handed it off.

“I’m not the one facing down a Chryssalid. Go help Kon-Mai.”

Dhar-Mon nodded and ran to the door. The Chryssalid was still in the outer hallway, and Kon-Mai seemed to be holding it back with her blade, but with each attack it drew a bit closer to her, each strike was a little more sure. And to make matters worse, the walls were clicking again.

“They have brethren coming to join the fray.” Kon-Mai grimaced. “Kill one, and another takes its place!”

“Then we must retreat!” Dhar-Mon lifted his arms, purple energy glowing at his fingertips.

“They block the way!”

“Stand before me, Sister.” He looked at her. “And be ready. I have an idea.”

She blinked, then grinned, her teeth glistening in the light. “I understand, Brother.” 

Dhar-Mon moved behind her, and Kon-Mai kept her blade out, waiting for the Chryssalids to come scuttling out of the walls. One by one, more joined the fray, littering the hallway, clawing at each other to get through…

Dhar-Mon reached out with his mind, and Kon-Mai felt his power seep into her body, entwining with her neurons and synapses, flowing into her blood. She turned her sword upside down and jammed it into the ground, cutting through the concrete. Pulling back, a purple wave rose before her. 

Kon-Mai’s blade sliced through the concrete floors, the wave of psionic energy building and building. Then, with a demonic smile, she ripped the sword out of the ground and sliced across her path, propelling the mount of energy into the Chryssalids, who were all lined up nicely in her path. Their bodies flew, crunching on the ground as they bent under her Harbor Wave.

She looked back at Dhar-Mon, who let his arms drop and wiped his forehead.

“Are you well?” Her smile disappeared into a look of worry.

“That was nothing.” He smiled. “The pathway is clear, all we require is-” He broke off as Vicky began to scream.

“FUCK!” Gur-Rai yelled as he looked back at her. “The corpse!”

Kon-Mai gasped. “Vicky! Get away!” She rushed in and grabbed Vicky by the arm, pulling her back as Shamil’s corpse exploded, a Chryssalid of monstrous proportions clawing its way out from inside him.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!” Gur-Rai twisted the dagger, and the claw around Zhang’s heart finally popped off. The restraints around his limps loosened and fell away, and he collapsed in Darkstrider’s arms.

“Dhar-Mon!” Gur-Rai called, struggling to keep Zhang from falling over. “I NEED YOU!”

“I am busy!” Dhar-Mon pulled his hammer from his back as Kon-Mai dashed toward the Chryssalid. It was huge, as tall as the ceiling and larger than the one’s they’d encountered in the hall, and despite the great height of the Chosen, it easily dwarfed them. However, Kon-Mai was not deterred.

“I shall hold the monster!” Kon-Mai shouted. “Take Zhang and run!”

“We’re not leaving you!” Gur-Rai spat, looking around. He laid Zhang on the ground and patted his head. “Hang tight, my dude. I’m gonna blaze a new trail.” Determined, the Darkstrider drew his gun.

Dhar-Mon dashed in as Kon-Mai slipped on Shamil’s blood, her leg twisting as she hit the ground. The Chryssalid went to stab her, but it’s claw was knocked away by Dhar-Mon’s hammer.

“BACK, YE FOUL CREATURE!” He commanded, his voice booming. “BACK FROM WHENCE YOU CAME!”

Kon-Mai crawled away, her leg screaming with pain as she got up, but she shook it off and dashed around behind, slicing through one of the Chryssalid’s appendages as payback. It screeched, writhing in agony as the digit fell limp beside it.

“GOT IT!” There was a boom, the room shook, and Gur-Rai waved them over to where he had blown a hole in the corner. “Secret tunnel, right here!”

“Then go!” Dhar-Mon grabbed Vicky and shoved her toward Gur-Rai. “I shall carry Zhang!”

Kon-Mai blocked the creature's stabs toward her brother as he darted around it’s legs, carefully picking up Zhang bridal style. The poor man was barely conscious, but he was alive.

“You shall be home soon enough.” He assured him, following Gur-Rai into the tunnel. “Kon-Mai!”

As Dhar-Mon called her name, Kon-Mai dropped her defense and sprinted for the hole in the wall, the Chryssalid on her heels. She dove inside just as she felt it smash into the edges, just a bit too big for the opening in the wall. Looking forward into the darkness, the five survivors ran.

.

.

“Gur-Rai.” Kon-Mai grunted. “I believe we’re lost.”

“We’re not lost.” He insisted. “I know exactly where we’re going.”

“Oh?” She muttered sarcastically. “Then where are we?”

“We’re in a secret tunnel.” He looked back at her, smirking.

“You dare jest when a man is dying?” Dhar-Mon sighed. “That is typical of you, Brother.”

“Hey, if I can’t laugh, all I can do is scream.” He stopped. “...Left or right?” He looked down at Vicky, who was walking silently beside him. “What do you think, left or right?”

“I don’t care.” Vicky snapped. “One of my fucking friends is DEAD!”

“Okay, and you’ll be joining him if we don’t get out of here.” Gur-Rai crossed his arms. “Sis, what do you think?”

Kon-Mai stood still and listened for a moment. “...Right.”

“Right?”

“Yes. I hear air moving through that tunnel.”

“Well then, right you are!” Gur-Rai snickered at his own joke and led the party down the right side.

Kon-Mai looked back at Dhar-Mon, still carrying Zhang. “How is he?”

“Alive.” Dhar-Mon muttered. “I fear how long that will be true, though.”

She fell back and looked over the man. Even in the dim light, she could see the horrifying extent of his injuries. It was a wonder how he was even alive in the first place. His eyes met hers, and she tried to offer him a smile.

“We will be home soon, my dear.” She said as softly and motherly as she could. “If only we had a blanket, something to keep him warm…”

“I have one…” Vicky muttered. “In my medpack.”

“We had to leave the medpack.” Gur-Rai snapped.

“Maybe if you didn’t take it-!”

“Maybe, and this is just me spitballing here.” Gur-Rai turned on her “Maybe if you did YOUR JOB, and HELPED ME instead of messing around with a corpse, we WOULD have the medkit!”

“SHUT UP!” Vicky covered her ears. “You don’t understand! None of you fucking understand!” She glared at him. “You can’t understand, because you’re fucking ALIENS, and you can’t love anything!”

“Stop…”

The soft whisper came from the man in Dhar-Mon’s arms. They all looked at Zhang, who couldn’t even look at Vicky as he spoke.

“Stop…” He said again, his voice no more than a whisper.

Vicky and Gur-Rai looked at each other, and Kon-Mai glared back at them.

“Stop.” Zhang said again. As he opened his mouth to speak, he gasped for air, coughing.

“Just rest.” Kon-Mai whispered, rushing to him and lifting his head slightly in her hand. “Please, rest.” She looked back at Gur-Rai. “He is fading, quickly.”

“...Let’s just keep moving.” Gur-Rai mumbled.

The tunnel began to widen out, the walls once again taking on the white facility color, although they were significantly more dilapidated than above. As they walked, the white ground became filthy, and it soon became clear that it was not rocks they were stepping over, but bones. They passed ancient corpses of human figures, some wearing labcoats, some wearing trooper armor, some wearing nothing. Their conditions ranged from full skeletons with dried meat still clinging to their bones, to bleached and crumbling, and all of them crawling with bugs and snakes. Zhang’s eyes followed them as they walked beside them.

“Who were such unfortunate souls?” Dhar-Mon mused.

“Doctors…” Zhang whispered. “For me.”

Dhar-Mon stopped, adjusting Zhang in his arms so the man’s head laid on his shoulder. “Were you so strong?” He chuckled.

He felt Zhang nod weakly. 

Dhar-Mon stopped briefly, looking down at Zhang. “You were?”

Zhang met his eyes, and to Dhar-Mon’s horror, those eyes began to take on a purple glow. He felt that familiar tingling of psionics, and suddenly he understood.

“HEADS UP!” Gur-Rai called. “We found our exit!”

Dhar-Mon power walked over to his siblings, as the tunnel began to fan out, the walls becoming rock, then dirt.

“Be wary.” His sister reached for her blade. “I hear something on the wind…”

Gur-Rai fell back a bit, and Kon-Mai took point, crouching as she moved toward the shred of light coming from above them. “I see the moonlight…” She hissed. “But there is movement…”

“Careful…” He warned her gently, and drew his own weapon. “Don’t want another Chryssalid atta-”

His comm suddenly exploded in static. “Come...Menace 1-5! Com...where the hell...you?!”

“Is that Bryni?” He said with a smile. “Good to hear from you, Dollface~”

“Good...alive! Got...ang?”

“You’re cutting out.” He said. “Wait until we’re outside.”

Kon-Mai led them out, the tunnel widening into the mouth of a cave, and they emerged into the forest. The Skyranger was flying in circles above them, and Gur-Rai waved his arms, beckoning her to let down the ropes.

“Firebrand, we need a stretcher!” He called. “Zhang’s looking pretty bad!”

…

“I don’t know how you did it.” Tygan as Zhang was wheeled by two of the nurses into he operating theatre. “With wounds like that? He shouldn’t be alive.”

“We have excellent teamwork skills~” Gur-Rai wrapped his arms around his sibling’s shoulders. “I imagine like this, we’ll be able to take the Elders down no problemo~”

“Do not get cocky.” Dhar-Mon scoffed. “We simply did what we had to, in order to save Zhang’s life.”

“Yes, well…” Tygan sighed. “The Commander is...not as happy as she could be. It’s been a while since we lost a soldier…”

“Shamil died with great honor.” Kon-Mai bowed her head. “Not once did he falter in his duty.”

“Vicky on the other hand…” Gur-Rai grimaced.

“Vicky is being dealt with.” Tygan bit his lip. “Don’t be too hard on her. That’s the Commander’s job. In the meantime, I believe Bradford-”

“-wants to see you.” A voice behind them said. “And you’d be right.”

As the three turned, Tygan followed the nurses into the theatre in order to start scrubbing up for Zhang’s surgery. Behind them, there stood Bradford, his arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

“So I talked with the Commander.” He said. “Getting Zhang back...that was a big deal. And you three went above and beyond.”

“He is a good soldier.” Kon-Mai nodded.

“He’s also a good friend.” Bradford added. “We knew him before this war took a downward spiral and…” He sighed. “It’s good to have him back and relatively okay. The fact that you three brought him back to us…” He held out his hand. “From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.”

Gur-Rai reached out and shook Bradford’s hand, as Kon-Mai and Dhar-Mon bowed in return.

“Now, for your reward.”

“We get a raise.” Gur-Rai smirked.

“God, I wish. No.” Bradford straightened his back, standing at attention. “I hereby promote you three to the rank of Sergeant.”

Kon-Mai gasped in shock, and Dhar-Mon blinked in confusion. Gur-Rai, on the other hand, simply smiled and saluted Bradford in return.

“Central.” Dhar-Mon murmured. “Are you certain?”

“Positive.” Bradford smiled, and saluted the three of them. “For your excellent work in the field, and together.”

.

.

Vicky met the Commander’s gaze, then shivered and directed her gaze at the ground once again. In the darkness of the room, Senuna’s eyes cut through her like a beacon, glowing with unimaginable power.

“Your actions today were a disgrace.” Senuna hissed behind her fingers, which she held to her lips. “I put my trust in you.”

“I’m sorry, Commander…” Vicky lowered her head.

“You not only neglected your duty, but you fought with your own teammates and insulted one of my best soldiers.” Senuna stood. “Your negligence cost us Shamil. And it NEARLY cost us ZHANG!” She slammed her hands into the desk. “Do you have ANY IDEA HOW IMPORTANT HE IS?! What it would mean if he had DIED?!”

Vicky fell to her knees, hugging herself. “I’m sorry, Commander! I’m sorry!” She was screaming. “I’m sorry! Shamil was...I couldn’t leave him!”

“And yet you had to leave him either way!” Senuna threw her hands up. “But I suppose this is my fault. Vet your soldiers and all that. This is what I get for trusting you.” She turned on Vicky again, who had dissolved into a puddle of tears. “Get. Up.”

She lifted her head.

“I am stripping you of your rank.” Senuna said. “When we next land at the Houston Safe Haven, YOU shall be returning there!”

Vicky’s jaw dropped. “No, Madam, please-”

“From this moment on, you are no longer a member of XCOM.” Senuna almost snarled. “I never want to see you on MY SHIP AGAIN.”

“Madam, NO!” Vicky clasped her hands. “Please! All I wanted to do was help! I want to help!”

“Then get out.” Senuna raised her hands, aquamarine lightning dancing on her fingertips. “What I'm doing for you is a mercy: you have no idea the powers you have crossed this day.”

.

.

.

.

.

(Today, we see a side of Senuna she usually keeps hidden. We also got to see the Chosen finally working as a team, and I for one love it! Can’t wait t write more battle scenes with all three of them!)

Archive: https://chosenstories.tumblr.com/

[fanfictionaries]

Where the Green Grass Grows - Part 2. All My Exes Live in Texas

Summary: After leaving town in 2001, Marianne Grace Barnes swore she’d never step foot in Texas again. She was happy with her life in San Francisco. She had great friends, a great job, and a loving boyfriend. But when her mother insists she come home after six long years away, Marianne comes face to face with someone she vowed to never lay eyes on again. Now the questions arise: Is he so different from the man who broke her heart? Is she so different from the girl she used to be?

And most importantly, is she as happy as she really thinks she is?

A story of love, heartache, and that special feeling of being home.

MASTERLIST

Prompt: Sweet Home Alabama (2002) 

Pairing: AU Cowboy!Steve Rogers x OFC

Warnings: NA this chapter I think? ANGST! 

Author’s note: It’s easier if you imagine everyone with a southern accent except for Marianne (Pronounced Mary Anne) who has a slight southern accent but’s lost it’s strength over the years. Also, how sexy is it to imagine Sam, Bucky, and Steve with southern accents?!?!?

My goal is to upload two parts a week for this series! Please bear with me, schools starts back up next week! xoxo

***

“Married?!”

“Mama—”

“You’re getting married?! And I had to find out through the paper like some stranger?”

“Mama, please. I said I was sorry—” Marianne tried to apologize once again but was drowned out by the hysterical cries of her mother through the phone.

“Marianne Grace Barnes, I don’t know who you think you’re talking to, but you will wait till I am good and finished talking before you interrupt me,” scolded Winifred Barnes.

“Yes ma’am,” grumbled Marianne, cursing every member of the staff at the San Francisco Chronicle.

***

It seems as though San Francisco’s most eligible bachelor, Tony Stark (32) is officially off the market amidst the announcement of his engagement to a Marianne Barnes (24). Mr. Stark, heir to the Stark fortune and founder of Stark industry met Ms. Barnes, middle school art teacher, a short ten months ago at an art show for the now celebrated artist Aldrich Killian. Sources say the pair hit it off almost immediately, and this can be confirmed by the fact that Barnes was rumored to be living with Stark in his sprawling San Francisco townhouse a mere two months after meeting. Since then, the two have been inseparable. Barnes and Stark have been spotted together at multiple Stark Industry events and frequenting many of San Francisco’s hottest spots. No matter the location, however, it is clear that the pair are deeply enamored with each other.

No details have been released on the exact date and location of the wedding, but our sources say they plan to marry soon in anticipation of the expected merger between Stark Industries and Pym Technology. Needless to say, we at the San Francisco Chronicle expect the event to be as lavish and opulent as the man, Tony Stark, himself.

***

Truthfully, she had no idea that they would do a piece on her and Tony’s engagement, although in hindsight it didn’t really surprise her. He was one of the most wealthy and successful men in California, why wouldn’t they? However, what really surprised her was that her parents were subscribed to the newspaper. Why they felt the need to keep up with the going-ons of San Francisco life from all the way in Texas, she had no clue.

“You know there’s this nifty little invention called a telephone missy and I know you have one of those fancy cellular phones with you all the time. And don’t for a second say that you called but we didn’t answer, because we even have an answering machine now. James went and got us one for Christmas so that we could stop ‘accidentally’ missing all those ‘calls’ you’ve been making—” Her mother’s tone was accusing and rightfully so. It was true. Marianne had a nasty habit of not calling home and lying about it later, but she had found over the years that things were easier when she spent less time thinking about home. Unfortunately, she did not know about the answering machine and now she had nothing to say for herself. “And to think we spent 18 years feeding you and raising you and giving you everything we could just for you to go and get engaged to a man we’ve never even heard of, let alone met!”

“Tony and I were talking about flying you, daddy, and Bucky down a week or so before the wedding, so you could spend some time with me and Tony. You know, get to know him and all,” said Marianne sheepishly, suddenly feeling so dumb she could throw herself on the ground and miss.

“A week?! Honey, I know you don’t think we’re gonna’ wait a week before the wedding to meet this man. You realize he never even asked your daddy for his blessing? He’s none too pleased about it neither. The man’s got a bur in his saddle so large you could see it from Houston.

“Mama, I’m not property. Tony doesn’t need daddy’s—”

“Nuh uh, you zip it right now missy. At the end of the day, it’s the principle Marianne Grace. Now, we wanna’ meet this man. Soon,” said Winifred so sternly Marianne could just envision her pacing the kitchen in a rage.

“Okay, I’m sure we would be more than happy to fly you all over whenever you like,” stated Marianne, standing and looking over to where Tony was fully engrossed in his work at his expansive glass dining room table. She tried to catch his eye, but he had yet to unglue his eyes from the screen of his laptop and the stacks of paper around him. Marianne was halfway to him when her mother’s words stopped her in her tracks.

“Your daddy can’t get a day off from the ranch any time soon since Sam Wilson fell off the barn roof and broke his arm; and Bucky’s busy with his practice and helping to fill in for Sam.”

Marianne swallowed thickly, “So what do you want to do?”

“You two will come here,” her mother stated flatly.

“Mama, I don’t think that’s a good—”

“No arguing with me Marianne,” interrupted Winifred before continuing in a softer tone. “You haven’t been back home in almost six years. It’ll do you some good to come home and spend some quality time with your family. We miss you honey.”

“I miss you too mama, but there’s absolutely no way Tony and I can make it down to Texas before the wedding.”

***

The air was hot and muggy in the small plane as they sat docked on the tarmac at Austin-Bergstrom International Airport. They’d been sitting there waiting for an open terminal for nearly an hour, but it felt like four. Marianne was ready to open the emergency exit herself and face homeland security if it meant getting a breath of air that wasn’t shared with a hundred other people. Therefore, she was in no way ready to hear the news that Natasha had for her when she turned her cellphone back on.

“What do you mean Montecito fell through?!” exclaimed, smiling sheepishly to be the people around her in apology before turning towards the window and lowering her voice. “Please telling me you’re joking Nat. I really can’t handle any bad news right now.”

“I wish I were Mari, but unfortunately it wouldn’t matter if Tony had more money than God. There’s no way you two are finding a decent venue in California until at least next summer,” said Nat, only adding to Marianne’s stress level. She ran a hand through her brown curls, already feeling them begin to grow and frizz in the dry Texas climate. Yet, another reason to hate it there.

“Are you sure? Did you try Fairmont?” Marianne asked in desperation.

“Sweetie, I’ve tried Fairmont, The Langham Huntington, Montecito, Sherwood, Oak Mountain…you name it; I’ve called and been told no. Are you sure you guys can’t put off the wedding till next year?”

“No, Tony is dead set on having the wedding in June and seeing as it’s April, well…” Marianne trailed off, unsure of how even to end that sentence. Two months. Tony had given her two months to plan this wedding and she was scrambling. She felt the plane lurch forward as it began a slow crawl across the asphalt. The overhead intercom crackled before announcing they would be departing the plane in ten minutes. The plane erupted into a smattering of applause that seemed to rouse a sleeping child as a high-pitched cry sounded soon after.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were knocked up,” laughed Natasha, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

“At this point, a pregnancy would be the least of my worries,” sighed Marianne, leaning back in her seat and plugging her free ear with her finger. As the plane continued to move towards its gate, the space filled with the sound of passengers gathering their things and chatting excited.

“Where are you? It sounds like a carnival on your end.”

Marianne laughed bitterly, “A carnival would be more fun. Unfortunately, I’m currently stuck on the world’s most uncomfortable airplane.”

“An airplane? Where could you possibly be going right now?! We have a wedding to plan in less than two months!” exclaimed Natasha in exasperation.

“It’s less where I’m going and more where I am, actually.”

“Okay, well then please, enlighten me. Where are you?”

“I’m in Texas,” confessed Marianne, unbuckling her seatbelt and standing as the plane door finally opened and the deboarding process began.

“Oh no…”

“Oh yes.”

Two hours later and Marianne was convinced that her luck couldn’t get any worse. As if Texas itself was punishing her for six long years away, the airline lost her luggage indefinitely and her taxi driver got lost, twice, before they finally pulled up to her parents’ home in Georgetown, Texas. The farmhouse was small; built in the 1800s as a place of residence for the ranch foreman, it still held its original purpose. White with baby blue shutters and a large wrap around porch, Marianne had many memories of sitting on the porch swing and watching the time inch by. Stepping out of the air-conditioned sanctuary of the cab, the full force of southern heat hit her square in the face. Before she could even turn to close the car door behind her, her mother’s excited cries floated through the air. The screen door squeaked and groaned as the greying woman heaved it open and ran towards her daughter with open arms.

“My baby is finally home! Hallelujah!” cried Winifred, engulfing her daughter in a tight hug. Winifred Barnes, standing a few good inches shorter than her daughter, hugged her with surprising force. Years of helping out on the farm left her figure lean and muscular, while years of good ol’ southern cooking left her with a pair of hips that still made most of the men in town turn their head when she passed by. Of course, none of that was new to Winifred. In her day, the woman had been the bell of the ball in Texas society. A former debutant and pageant queen, she had the pick of any wealthy Texan she came across, but when it all came down to it, she had chosen George Barnes – a lowly ranch hand with no prospects outside of roping, riding, and herding cattle.

“Hi mama, it’s good to see you,” said Marianne, feeling her heart clench slightly as she hugged her mother tightly. She was surprised to see some grey in the blonde, pin straight hair Marianne had always envied growing up. The lines at the corner of her mother’s eyes and mouth made her wonder for a moment if she truly had been gone for too long.

“Do you need help with your things?” Winifred asked, looking between Marianne and the taxi driver who was currently making no move to get out and help her daughter with her luggage.

“Oh! Hold on—” Marianne leaned back into the taxi and dug into her purse before pulling out cash for the driver “—Sorry. Thank you so much.”

With that she exited the cab, purse, and small carry-on in hand, slamming the car door behind her. The cab took off with a cloud of dust that sent Marianne and her mother into a small fit of coughs.

“They lost my luggage. I’m supposed to be hearing from them some time in the next few days, but they told me not to get my hopes up. Apparently, my bags never even made it on the plane,” Marianne told her mother.

“Oh dear. I hope they find them; it’d be a shame for you to lose all those fancy clothes—" her mother took a moment to take in Marianne’s outfit, an outfit Tony had bought her for her birthday actually. She thought the black pencil skirt, white Calvin Klein button up and thick chunky belt cinched at her waist was a cute ensemble, but judging from the way her mother appraised her, perhaps she was wrong “—we’ve still got all of your old clothes. I’m sure they’ll fit you. If anything, they’ll be too big! You are so skinny; do they not eat in California?”

“Yes, they eat plenty mama. Don’t worry. Now, where’s daddy?”

“Well he should be coming in soon. He found a section of fence down up past the crick, so he took the boys up with him to fix it,” said Winifred, looking out into the distant pasture.

“I thought Sam broke his arm.”

“He did, but the damn fool still insists on helping where he can. Couldn’t get him off that horse if I tried and the good Lord knows I have. Still, your daddy won’t let him do much. Till then Steven and your brother are putting in extra work to fill in the gaps.”

Just the utterance of his name was enough to throw Marianne for a loop, “I didn’t know Steve worked here now.”

“Oh, he doesn’t dear. He’s just helping out. He’s still over at—oh there they are!” exclaimed Winifred, pointing out in the far distance where the silhouette of four men on horse back could be seen against the setting sun.

They should have been indiscriminate from each other from that far of a distance, but Marianne knew without a doubt which one of the men was Steven Rogers. Larger and thicker than the rest of the men, he held a certain grace in the saddle that most professional riders lacked, but Marianne would know anywhere. As they got closer, approaching at a well-paced canter, she couldn’t help but keep her gaze trained on the man in question. The one person she was least excited to see upon coming home. It was no secret how she felt about him. Everyone knew her disdain for the man ran deep, however he was unavoidable given he was her brother’s best friend. Spitefully, she imagined that after all this time he would have gotten fat or perhaps lost all his hair – anything to cut back the enormous ego he possessed. Yet, as they approached it was to her dismay that the exact opposite was true. Not only was he not fat and bald, but he was probably more muscular than he’d been the last time she saw him and his thick, dirty blonde hair was thicker and longer than ever, hanging down to the nape of his neck under the brim of his tan Stetson. To top it all off, the bastard had a beard so thick and rugged, it put Kenny Rogers to shame…bastard.

She had no time to focus on the way the sweat glistened off the exposed skin of Steve’s neck or the way his thick thighs gripped the leather below him, because the moment they were close enough her older brother of two years was launching himself out of the saddle and onto her. His large, strong arms wrapped around her middle and hoisted her into the air, spinning her in the air and nearly causing her ankle boots to fly clear off her feet. When he finally placed her back on the ground, his grin was as wide as the Mississippi and as bright as the blinding Texan sun.

“There she is!” he beamed before looking all around her. “Where’s that fancy fiancé of yours?”

“He’s not coming till Wednesday, remember?” called their mother over her shoulder as she made her way back to the porch steps.

“He had some business to take care of before he could come down. Figured I’d come down ahead and let you get all of your crazy out before you meet him. That way you don’t scare him off,” teased Marianne, punching her brother’s arm in good spirits. “You look good. How’s the practice?”

James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes was the most accomplished of the Barnes’ children. After undergrad at the University of Houston, he went on to become a veterinarian and take over the old clinic right in town. Of course, that couldn’t be enough for the young Barnes man. No, he had to be annoyingly handsome as well; possessing the same brown curls as her, his boyish smile, tall height, and muscular stature always seemed to work in his favor. “Oh, it’s great. Busy as all get up,” he answered, tucking his hands into the pockets of his dirty wranglers.

“What? Your old man doesn’t get a hug as well?” asked George Barnes, handing his and Bucky’s reigns over to Steve before walking over to her and engulfing her in another hug. A feeling of safety and serenity washed over her as she hugged her father tightly. In truth, she’d always been a daddy’s girl. Never did she miss a moment growing up to help her father on the farm right alongside her brother. George Barnes, while coming across as stern and taciturn at times, was nothing more than a soft, kind-hearted man.

“Hi daddy. I missed you.”

“I missed you too pumpkin. My successful, big city daughter has been away for too long,” her father teased, an edge of sincerity to his tone. She gave him one last tight squeeze before releasing herself and turning her attention away from her father’s comment and instead to Sam Wilson. Sure enough, there he was, cast and all, sitting high and good-naturedly on the back of his Appaloosa. He was everything her mother described, kind brown eyes, a sweet gapped smile, cropped black hair, and deep tawny skin that glistened in the warm setting sun.

“You must be Sam!” Marianne said enthusiastically, crossing the distance and holding her hand out to him. Sam came to work on the ranch a few years after she left and while she’d never met him, she had heard quite a bit about him. Originally from Alabama, Sam Wilson moved out to Texas chasing a girl and fell in love with the open range and rolling river of Georgetown instead.

“And you must be Marianne. Pleasure to finally meet you,” Sam greeted her, taking her hand in his good one and giving it a gentle shake.

“Please, call me Mari. How’s your ar—”

“I’m gonna’ go put the horses up, George,” the gruff timbre of Steve’s voice interrupted her, the sound both grating to her ears and causing her heart to leap in her chest.

“Oh, alright. Do you want any help?” asked George, turning away from his daughter as Steve began to ride away, leading the other two mares along with him.

“Nah, you stay and catch up. I’ll only be a minute.”

“I should probably go and help him,” said Sam, grinning pleasantly at them before righting himself in the saddle and turning his horse back towards the barn.

“Why don’t you get settled in your room, while your brother and I get cleaned up for supper?” her father suggested, breaking Marianne out of her stupor. She only realized then that she’d been watching Sam and Steve intently as they rode away and disappeared into the large, red barn.

Marianne’s room hadn’t changed a bit. Apparently, her mother had never even given a thought to redecorating or repurposing the room and for that, she didn’t know whether to be grateful or concerned. The same baby pink covered the walls and stuffed animals adorned the surface of her flowery bedspread. Posters littered the walls showcasing the stars of her youth including The Dixie Chicks, Shania Twain, and, embarrassingly, Randy Travis on the ceiling above her bed. Trinkets of her childhood remained on shelves and her desktop. 4-H ribbons and trophies sat in all their glory, reflecting the days in which she put more stock in goat wrangling and horseback riding than watercolor technique and Renoir’s crippling arthritis. It was like walking into a living memorial of the late 90s in the loudest and most obnoxious way possible. She placed her purse and carryon on the bed when a thought popped into her head. Rushing to her closet, she pushed through the clothing, shoes, and a few boxes till she found the special hiding place she created all those years ago.

“Aha!” Marianne exclaimed when her fingers wrapped around the binding of her old diary. Suppressing a childlike giggle, she sat down on the thick carpet of her bedroom floor and opened the dusty journal to a random page.

Dear Diary,

Last week Mrs. Darlene said she was bringing in an older student to fill in for her and teach some of the class and you wouldn’t believe who it ended up being. That’s right. Steve. I mean, I shouldn’t have been surprised. He’s like the most talented artist in the school. Clint reckons he’s going to Julliard or Paris or something when he graduates. Too bad I still have to deal with his annoying face till then. It’s bad enough that I have to see him all the time at home with Buck. Now I have to see him in my classes too? Of course, he just had to get on my nerves too. He couldn’t just leave me well enough alone. He kept leaning over my shoulder and telling me my shading needed work. Sorry we can’t all be artistic geniuses. Some of us are just okay.

After class Clint kept saying how he thinks Steve has a crush on me. I said if that were true then he wouldn’t spend every waking moment with his tongue shoved down Sharon Carter’s throat. Of course, Clint had to go and rile my feathers by saying I was jealous. AS IF! I wouldn’t want Steven Rogers’ tongue within spitting distance of me, let alone in my mouth.

I mean, sure. He does have nice eyes and I can see how some people might think he’s handsome, but he’s no Tom Selleck. I wouldn’t kiss him if someone paid me $1000. Anyways, that’s all for today Diary.

Till next time,

Mari Grace xoxo

“Marianne! Supper’s on!” called Winifred from down the stairs, sending Marianne into a spiral of déjà vu. She shut the journal tightly, throwing it back into her closet before standing and heading downstairs. The expansive kitchen was everything she remembered from the olive-green cupboards to the faded pine table sat on a threadbare rug. She was the last to arrive, finding the table full and the setting across from Steve the only available spot. Begrudgingly she sat, purposefully avoiding any and all eye contact with the man sat in front of her. Instead, she opted to turn her attention to the delicious food in front of her.

Her mother had gone all out cooking her favorite foods: fried chicken, new peas and potatoes in cream sauce, corn on the cob, ham steak, green bean casserole, salad, fresh rolls, corn bread, and if her intuition was correct there was sure to be a peach cobbler sitting  in the oven at that very moment.

“Wow mama, I hope you didn’t cook all of this on my account,” said Marianne, grabbing a chicken leg from the platter in front of her.

“Well it’s not every day my only daughter decides to grace us with her presence. I didn’t know if you still liked the same things, so I made a bit of everything,” said Winifred, helping herself to a bit of salad.

“Yea, we didn’t know if you’d become one of those vegetarians like all those hippies in California,” laughed Bucky, cutting a large piece of ham steak, and shoving it in his mouth.

“They’re not all vegetarians and they’re not all hippies. But even if they were, there’s nothing wrong with being morally and environmentally conscious of what you consume,” remarked Marianne putting a bit of potatoes on her plate and picking up her fork.

“Yea, a consciousness that could put all of us out of work,” said Steve bitterly.

Surprised at his comment, Marianne glared at Steve in annoyance. His face was tilted down towards his plate, but she didn’t need to see his eyes to know that he thought she was all hat and no kettle. She felt a heat begin to bubble just below the surface but bit her tongue. Turning to her father, she asked him how things were going around the ranch.

“They’re as good as any. Flannigan is thinkin’ of sellin’ again, but he’s promised if he does, he’d put it in writin’ that they have to keep me on as foreman. Looks like this ol’ place isn’t rid of me yet,” laughed George.

“Have you thought about buying the ranch yourself daddy?” asked Marianne, who’d never understood why her father never took the next step.

“Oh, I don’t know about that…”

“Sure, you can daddy. You definitely have the know how and I bet you and mama could qualify for some kind of loa—”

“There’s a lot more that goes into buying a ranch than you know, Marianne. It’s not as easy as snapping your fingers and having your rich fiancé get it for you with daddy’s money,” interrupted Steve, now looking up from his plate at her with a superior expression.

“Yes, I’m sure you know all about success what with going to college and—oh wait. You didn’t. You’re just still working at the Double R for old man Jackson like you were almost ten years ago. My mistake. And it’s Mari to you,” bit back Marianne, angrily stabbing into the food on her plate.

“Marianne you don’t—” began Winifred, stopping when Steve held up a hand.

“That’s alright Wini. She said what she said. I’m sure it’s easy to look down on all of us from such a high and mighty position as a middle school art teacher. Isn’t that right, Marianne,” said Steve smugly.

Marianne’s blood boiled, a red-hot rage heating her face, “At least I actually did something with my talent, Stevie.”

“That’s enough you two. If ya’ll can’t act civil at the table, you can just leave. Steven, you’re just as much a part of this family as anyone else, but you’re also a guest and you know better. Marianne, your mother worked very hard on this meal and we’re all excited to finally have you home. Don’t make us change our minds,” George scolded them, the kitchen going quiet as Steve and Marianne hung their heads in shame. It was silent for a while, the sounds of forks and knifes scraping their plates filling the air before someone finally spoke up.

“I was vegetarian for a while,” remarked Sam, putting his corn cob down and wiping his hands on his napkin.

“What?!” asked Bucky in surprise, “When?”

“I think I was…twenty? There was this new girl that started working down at the local diner in Mobile that was vegetarian. Rumor had it she only dated other vegetarians, so I came every day and ordered a veggie burger for lunch hoping she’d notice and we’d strike up a conversation,” Sam told them, reaching forward and grabbing a roll. “Turns out, she wasn’t a vegetarian. She was an Episcopalian.”

The table erupted into a fit of laughter, Marianne herself giggling so hard tears were brought to her eyes. “How long did you go in before you found out?” asked Marianne, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with her napkin.

“About a month.”

The group laughed even harder.

“See, that’s the difference between you and me Sammy. I’ve done a lot of stupid things for girls, but I’ve never let them change me,” said Bucky resolutely.

“Nah man, it’s not changin’ yourself. It’s takin’ a chance on love! You’ll never settle down if you aren’t willing to risk it all for the woman you love,” Sam put wisely, earning him a fond pat on the cheek from her mother.

Marianne smiled happily, missing the gentle banter that a meal at home could bring. She felt the prickle of gooseflesh rise on her neck and the looming sense that someone was staring a hole in the side of her head. On instinct she turned to find Steve’s stormy blue eyes trained on her in solemn concentration. Their gazes locked for a moment, a strange mix of emotions flooding from Steve that made her heart clench in her chest. Then, as quickly as they had appeared, they were gone. Steve was the first to break their connection, turning to George and beginning a quiet side conversation about the new cow horse he’d just bought.

“Don’t listen to this liar Sam. Buck has definitely changed himself for a girl,” said Marianne, shaking off the strange encounter and turning back to the rest of the table.

“What are you talking about girl?” asked Bucky in exaggerated confusion.

“Oh, you don’t remember Suzie Quentin?” Marianne questioned, knowing Bucky remembered exactly who Suzie Quentin was.

“Now wait—” began Bucky, shortly being cut off by Marianne as she turned to Sam to regale the tale.

“In the eighth grade Suzie Quentin said she thought Louis in Interview with a Vampire was hot and so Bucky spent a whole year growing out his hair so he could look like Brad Pitt!” said Marianne with a loud guffaw, moving away as Bucky tried to cover her mouth to keep her from talking. “Except, he didn’t know how to take care of long hair so—”

Bucky was successful the second go around, managing to clamp a hand over Marianne’s mouth so that the only sounds heard from her were a jumble of muffled words.

“Don’t listen to her, Sammy. She’s got a head full of stump water.”

When Marianne had finally managed to wrangle herself out of Bucky’s hold, she couldn’t find it in herself to be mad at her older brother. Quite the opposite really. A sense of sadness filled her at the realization that for six long years she’d missed out on this. The lightness. The familiarity. The happiness that only her family could provide. And for what? Taking another glance towards the large, sun kissed man across from her she felt a renewed sense of bitterness towards the man.

Once dinner finished and everyone was full on peach cobbler and homemade vanilla ice cream, Marianne excused herself from the table, standing and making her way to the porch. The sun had set. The brightness of the moon, hung fat and heavy and almost full in the sky, lit up the night. More stars than she could ever remember shone brightly from above creating a familiar wonder she often felt growing up. She never felt that in San Francisco, where the stars were constantly shrouded by heavy clouds and the lights of the city.

Reaching into her skirt pocket, she pulled out her cell phone and was surprised to find only a single text from Natasha informing her that their caterer had backed out. Nothing from her fiancé who promised to check in on her the moment he could. Of course, he probably was too busy with work. Sighing, she tried not to think about the wedding for at least one night and instead dialed Tony. The phone rang for a few moments before he picked up. From the other end she could hear the raucous sounds of people, music, and laughter blaring through.

“You’ve reached Tony: multimillionaire, genius, extraordinaire,” answered Tony, his voice vibrant and jovial.

“Tony, hey,” said Marianne feeling slightly confused. She thought he had a late-night conference call with Tokyo that night.

“Mari! Hold on one second—” the boisterous noise began to fade and then a door clicked shut before Tony spoke again “—sorry about that. How was your flight? Did you make it to Texas alright?”

“Yea, I did. Unfortunately, they lost all of my luggage, but it could be worse. My mom still has pretty much all my stuff here from high school still,” Marianne laughed lightly, leaning against the railing of the porch, and gripping it tightly. Her palms were slick with sweat despite the temperature cooling exponentially with the setting sun. Why on earth was she so nervous?

“Do you want me to have some of your things express shipped over to you?” asked Tony kindly.

“No, no need. I can get by. I suppose if I really need something that badly, you can pack it when you come down later this week.”

“Well, don’t go without it you don’t need to. You have the card I gave you. Don’t be afraid to buy whatever you need,” remarked Tony in the offhanded way in which he solved almost all of his problems. Normally this kind of answer wouldn’t make her think twice, but that night something about it irked her.

“Right. Hey, I thought you had nonstop meetings all this week. It sounds like you’re at a party.”

“Oh right, well, you know. Sometimes a meeting is a room full of boring people in suits and sometimes a meeting is cocktails and firebreathers on a rooftop,” joked Tony. Marianne could just envision the charming, devilish smile on his face. It usually did a fine job of getting him out of most trouble, but Marianne found that her inability to see it in person left her feeling put off. Before she could open her mouth to say as much, Marianne heard the sound of a door opening and then muffled voices. “That would be a business associate wanting to talk to me about reactor batteries. So…” Tony dragged out the word, waiting for her to make the decision on whether their phone call was about to end. Marianne paused. In this moment she could get mad, or she could let her fiancé continue to ride the high of a successful business for a while longer.

“Go. Have fun changing the world over flaming tequila shots,” sighed Marianne in good humor. Who was she to rain on his parade?

“God, I love you. Wednesday can’t come soon enough.”

Before Marianne could even get the words ‘I love you too’ out, the line went dead, and she was left standing alone on her parents’ porch in the deathly silence of the country. Or so she thought.

“Big city boyfriend too busy to talk?” asked Steve, sidling up beside her and leaning against the porch. He placed all his weight upon a single veiny forearm laid upon the chipping paint, crossing his long, lean legs, and cocking his hip to the side. It was the familiar ease in which he held himself that while normally made her skin itch, instead filled her with a weighty exhaustion she hadn’t felt in years. It had been a lot for a first day back.

“Fiancé and it’s none of your business,” spat Marianne, her tone barely holding half of the harshness it held earlier when they argued. She folded her arms around her like a protective blanket and looked out on the darkening fields ahead of her.

“Oh, come on Marianne—”

She sent a bone chilling glare in his direction that stopped Steve in his tracks. He let out a long breath.

“You’re right, it’s none of my business. Look, I just came out here to apologize. I didn’t mean to start a fight in there. God knows Wini and George wanted things to go well tonight and I’m sure us bickerin’ didn’t help any. They’d be devastated if you decided to wait another six years to come and see ‘em.”

“Don’t for a second think you have any right to talk to me about my family. Or to try and make me feel guilty for being gone. Not when you’re the reason I stayed away so long,” scoffed Marianne, taking one last glaring look at the man above her and storming back into the house, making Steve the one alone in the deathly silence of the country.

Taglist:

@hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall​

@caffiend-queen​

@grincheveryday

[kumeko]

duplication

Characters/Pairings: Keith, Pidge

A/N: Written for the @kidgezine! It was a lot of fun writing these two and having them bump off one another. This is a bit of an in-between seasons piece, a missing scene.

Summary: Take me near the asteroid, Pidge had said. We’ll be safe, she had said. Keith wasn’t sure why he still listened to her sometimes. Hopefully they could fix their spaceship and get out.

…

…

…

…

“Almost done?” Keith crouched down next to the command panel, his hands hanging loosely off his knees. It was a little strange doing this now, for various reasons—he was a little taller, for one. For two, it had been two years since he’d last done this.

  “Almost!” A pair of sneakers wiggled happily from underneath a buzzing machine. At least, he hoped it was happy and not a panicked response to the heavy metal object squishing his friend. After hearing a few clunks and a soft curse, the feet slowly pulled out, revealing a very grimy and dusty Pidge. “We really need to dust under there.”

“Probably.” Keith grimaced, reaching onto the command panel to grab the towel. At least this explained why she had him search the small ship for one. “Will it run?”

  “Thanks!” Taking off her glasses, she rubbed them clean as she considered his question. “Soon—I reconnected a few things and—” There was a soft splutter, the lights flickered briefly, and Pidge’s smile dropped a notch. “Ok, scratch that. I might have to go under a few more times.”

  “That’s what you said an hour ago.” Keith shook his head and stood up. Looking out the main window, he sighed at the empty expanse of space ahead of them. Somehow, that was always the case. Whether he was trapped on an asteroid for two years, lost in his lion, losing the others and their lions—the ridiculously big and complicated space full of beings to protect was somehow always empty when he needed them to give a hand back.

  Probably for the best anyways. Last time someone had tried to help them, they had also tried to sell them to the empire. Not an experience he was looking forward to repeating. “Once we get this fixed, we should just head back.”

  “Huh?” Pidge stood up, gripping her towel tightly. “I thought we were going to the edge of the Quantum Abyss.”

  “You do know I spent two years there, right?” Keith pointed out dryly. It was a little funny how much shorter she was; he had always been taller but now he felt like a giant. “And I was lucky it was only two years.”

  “Well, yeah, that’s why we’re going there.” Pidge pouted, crossing her arms. Any anger or even power in her stance was lost by the fact that only her glasses were clean and the rest of her face was a black, sooty mess. With popcorn on it.

  Yeah, they definitely needed to clean down there. Allura’s pet mice were fun, but Keith wasn’t too keen to discover just what other rodents existed in the universe. “We’re going only close enough for you to get the data, no more than that.”

  “Good enough!” Pidge grinned, raising the towel once more to wipe her face. Before he could stop her, she smeared it even worse, until she looked almost like a modern art exhibit. Hanging it on her shoulder, she sat down. “Break time! Did you find any snacks?”

  He stared at her moment, debating whether or not to tell her about her face. Well, she’d be going back under anyways soon enough and she couldn’t really get much worse than that. Probably. Grabbing a black bag off his seat, he settled down on the floor next to her. “Just a few—we need to ration our goods until we can move again.”

  Pidge’s hand was already halfway into the bag. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” She pulled out a purple bag with a strange green giraffe-cow hybrid on it. Without hesitation, she popped it open and munched on neon-green striped things that he hoped were chips. “Ahhh, that hits the spot.”

  Did it? Even after all their time out here, he was just as surprised by the food as he was when they first came out here. Gingerly, he pulled out a blinding yellow bag, full of Cheetos. Cheetos with brown spots. They didn’t taste anything at all like cheese and he wondered for a moment if they were actually made out of some space-cheetah. “Better than nothing.”

  “Don’t be like that!” Pidge head-butted his arm before stealing one of his Cheetos. “Ohh, that’s an interesting flavour.”

  “Hey!” Frowning, he tried to grab one of hers in retaliation, but she kept yanking the bag out of reach.

  “You don’t even like them!” She batted his hands away, more fluid and accurate than he’d expected. Keith had remembered her clumsier, only graceful with a screen and a toolbelt. “Your arms are so much longer now!”

  “But not long enough.” Giving up, he returned to his now heavily guarded bag.

  “Really? Is it because you’re half Galra? Will you grow even more?” Pidge poked at his arm now, her food discarded to the side. She’d done this before, when he’d first returned, but somehow the topic never tired her. Her hands slowly inched along his arm, pressing and prodding each muscle. “You’re going to need new clothes.”

  “I already need new clothes.” Keith rolled his eyes, remembering just how little of his wardrobe fit when he returned. Even his favourite jacket didn’t, leading to an awkward tear that left Lance in hysterical laughter.

  “I wonder how long you’ll live—I mean, I thought Lotor and his family were immortal because of the quintessence, but his nanny’s still alive too.” Pidge sighed, resting her cheek on his arm. “And you’re half-human too; I need to study biology.”

  “Really? Do you mean literally immortal or just very—” Keith paused, processing what Pidge had just said. He whipped his face to hers, incredulous eyes wide. “His nanny?”

  “His nanny,” she confirmed, a solemn nod. “She who raised him in the ways of the Galara.”

  “His nanny,” Keith repeated, the word still funny and strange to hear. The Galara had nannies? Lotor had a nanny? It was weird to think of him as a child, listening obediently or even getting punished. “What’s she like?”

  “Strict?” Pidge shrugged, tossing her hands up uncertainly. “You should ask Hunk, she taught him.”

  He wasn’t sure if that was even more of a surprise than finding out he was effectually immortal and Lotor still had his babysitter. “Hunk? Really?”

  “He really liked it.” Pidge bit her lip, before retracting her words. “He sorta liked it and he’s never going back.”

  “I don’t think that’s called liking it.” Keith snorted and after a moment, Pidge joined in, hunching over as she laughed.

  “You should have seen his face, though.” She wiped her eyes, her fingers blurring the tear streaks and oil into a single wet mess.

  Keith resisted the urge to tell her to look at hers—he’d take a discrete photo later. It almost seemed like her face got worse with every second and he wanted the maximum impact. “Next time.”

  She shook her chip bag over her mouth, dropping the last of the crumbs before discarding the bag. Within seconds, she was back onto her creeper seat.  Stretching her arms in front of her, she announced, “Break time is over.”

  Keith nodded, taking another bite of his Cheeto. When she scrunched her brow, nodding at his bag, he shrugged. “I’m not really doing anything.”

  “…” Pidge opened her mouth and then closed it. He could almost see the argument running through her mind, her hand raising and dropping as she tried out different ideas before finally giving up with a sigh. “Yeah, I guess so.” As he smiled, she pouted, staring at him with narrowed eyes and puffed up cheeks. “For now.”

  Again, her threat would have been more convincing if she didn’t now have cheeto streaks added into her Picasso face. More than getting the best shot, he really, really wanted to clean her face. Before he could say anything, she dived back under the console panel. “For now!”

   Her feet were the only indication of progress and he watched them as he ate. Tapping fast meant she was searching for something or doing routine work, while slow tapping indicated something difficult had come up. It was comforting, almost, reminding him of his time at the castle, his time as a paladin. Time had worn the hectic memories into fond ones.  He had half forgotten his disastrous leadership until Lance had kindly reminded him of just how bad it was.

  Somehow, they even had it on video and he wasn’t sure if the black lion had betrayed him or Hunk and Pidge just hacked into every camera they could find and then some.

  “Wrench,” Pidge ordered, holding her hand out from other the panel.

  Digging through her toolbox, he grabbed the first wrench he saw. “This one?”

  She wrapped her hand around it, feeling the head, before dropping it with a clang. “Bigger one.”

  “Bigger…” he dug through the tool box, nails and sockets before finding another wrench. “3/4?”

  “Yep.” Her hand disappeared immediately, and he heard a soft clanging, a swear, and then a sharp click. “Try the command panel.”

  “…the command panel?” He stared at her feet accusingly, as though the guilt could travel up her spine. “You broke the command panel?”

  “Technically, you didn’t even know about it till now, so it was never broken,” Pidge retorted, her foot tapping impatiently. “Did you check?”

  “You know that doesn’t make sense.” Keith went over to the control panel, tapping out various instructions. Life support, check. Docking, check. Flight—well, technically the engines were still down but the instructions worked. “It seems fine so far. Though the engines are still not working.”

  “That’s expected.” She slid out once more and stood up, dusting her hands on her pants. “I can do some calibrations here.”

  Keith eyed her dirty fingers with a grimace and handed her yet another towel. He was almost terrified to look into her workshop, to see just what state she left it. Her black fingerprints were already dotting her pants, the edges of the table, the bag of chips she’d discarded. “Not with those hands.”

  Pidge’s brow rose even as she accepted the towel. “Didn’t know you were such a clean freak.”

  “Only compared to you,” he replied dryly, watching as she ineffectually cleaned her hands. It had gone from funny to—no, it was still funny. It would probably never stop being funny, but they had to get a move on. “Let me do it.”

  “Yes, mom.” Pidge blinked as he took the towel. “Is this because you spent two years with your mom?”

  “What?” Keith shot her a glare, rubbing her fingers a little harder than he needed to. “No.”

  “Oh, come on, you were together for two years, you sure you didn’t pick this up from her?” Pidge tried to suppress her giggles as he rubbed her fingers; she had always been a little ticklish there. “Did—ha—she do this to—ha—you?”

  “She’s not that type of mom.” When Pidge gave him an expectant look, he sighed. “We…talked a lot. About dad. Home. What she did. Myself.” He paused between his points, releasing a newly cleaned finger with each one until finally he let go of her hands. “There, all done.”

  “Ohhh, nice.” She wiggled them in front of her before turning to the control panel. Her fingers danced on the keyboard as she punched code after code. “Did you really just talk for two years?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck—even if they’d done nothing else, the talking would have been more than worth it. Mom was more than a word now; an image, a feeling was attached to it, similar but not quite what he thought of with Dad. “We trained a lot—after we fought off the wolves, we had to make a shelter and find food but then—”

  “Wait, wait, wait.” Pidge stopped typing, squinting at him. “Did you just say wolves?”

  “Huh?” Keith frowned, trying to remember the exact species name. “They weren’t earth wolves, they were…uh…”

  Pidge took a step toward him, her eyes sparkling. “A pack of them?”

  “Yeah?” Keith backed up, unnerved by how long she had been staring at him without blinking. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Holy cow, that is amazing!” Pidge rocked back and forth on her feet, pumping her fists excitedly. “You’re like a real-life ranger.”

  “Ranger?” Keith bit his lip. “Like a park ranger?”

  “Oh please, nothing that normal. It’s a class in Monsters and Mana and you basically lived it.” Pidge lightly bounced up and down as she returned to her keyboard, her hands flying as fast as her mouth did. “You found food and fought off monsters and basically survived in the woods—your stats would be so high if you made a character sheet with this.”

  It was like she was speaking Greek, her mind travelling from one idea to the next quicker than he could keep up. He held up his hand. “Wait, Monsters and Mana”

  “It’s a game. Corran played it with us—oh right, you weren’t there.” Pidge hummed and he could see the gears in her head churning. “It’s like an rpg, but we make everything up.”

  “I somehow feel that is no different than usual,” he snorted and she joined in after glowering at him for a moment.

  “Yeah, I mean, sure—especially when we can’t read the text because it’s an old game and there’s like a gazillion different languages in space, but it’s a bit different.” Pidge chuckled again. “We make up our characters and play a story that Corran’s created. It’s a lot of fun.”

  “Really?” He leaned against the wall, watching her face light up as she explained.

  By now fixing the engines were automatic to her and she barely paid attention to what she typed. “Yeah, like Lance was this not-so-silent assassin and he kept setting off traps, Allura kept injuring herself because she picked an elf and they’re…kinda weak. And Shiro.” Pidge doubled over laughing, her hand hitting the keyboard before he could stop her.

  Keith quickly inspected the keyboard before sighing with relief. They’d just fixed it. If it broke again, they might as well just wait for rescue. Distracted, he asked, “What did he do?”

  “You can pick any character, any class, anything in this game. Literally anything and he picks a paladin. He picks himself.” Pidge stopped to take a breath, her cheeks creased from all the laughter. “Not once, but thrice.”

  “Thrice?” Even if he’d never played the game before, that didn’t sound right.

  “He died because of Allura’s mice and then an attack. So we let him pick a new character. Any character. Shiro just pretended to be his twin brother, Jiro.”

  Keith winced. “I thought he had more imagination than that. And Jiro? Really?”

  “I don’t think he even changed his backstory—he was supposed to be the only survivor! Then again, it’s Shiro,” Pidge guffawed, as though it explained everything. And in a way, it did. Suddenly, she fell silent, staring out the main window into deep space. Her fingers stilled, her feet stopped moving, and Pidge was quiet in a way he rarely saw her. “He wasn’t Shiro, though.”

  Two blades clashed in the chambers of his memory, a mockery of Shiro’s face twisting with insults and lies. That was not Shiro. That was never Shiro. Keith firmly shook his head. “No, he wasn’t.”

  “He just…he just felt like him. Can you even clone that?” Pidge rubbed her arm, looking small and uncomfortable. The rug had been pulled from under all their feet and they were still trying to land. “A person’s goodness? Their personality?”

  “I don’t think so.” Keith looked at his hands, at the human skin hiding Galra blood. Just what did his DNA say? What was encoded in it? His mother’s impatience? His father’s solitude? Were they things he’d inherited or things he learned, things his own clones would have or not? “That’s…that’s not how it works, right?”

  “I don’t know.” Pidge stared at the floor, as though the answers were in the endlessly repeated whorls. Her fingers curled around the table. “Maybe? I…I really should have taken more biology.”

  They were different, he wanted to say, but he remembered the clone’s smile, the way he laughed with all of his body as though it was exploding out of him whenever Lance did something stupid. His hand, firm and gentle, as it rested on Keith’s shoulder, telling him to make a choice.

  They weren’t the same, he wanted to say, but the words were caught in his throat, unlike the clone’s, who always had a strategy ready, who was patient enough to read the battle and find the changing tide. Or maybe it had just felt that way, that he had seen what he wanted to in the clone.

  Even in the end, just before he died, Keith couldn’t be certain if the clone had spared him. If some part of Shiro had woken up beyond the Galra’s control and did the right thing, even if it was for the last time.

  “The Black Lion liked him,” Keith finally said, because it was the only truth they knew. The lions always picked their master and the Black Lion had picked the clone.

  “Yeah, he did.” Pidge pressed her forehead against the cool control panel, taking a deep breath. In, out, Keith matched his own to her rhythm. “That counts for something.”

  “Yeah.” Keith gripped her shoulder, smiling at her when she looked up.

  “Another thing your mom taught you?” Pidge asked, squeezing his hand before straightening up. “You’re usually more awkward than that.”

  “It has been two years,” Keith countered, letting go.

  “Yeah but, you were all alone on that rock.” Pidge went back to typing, a sly grin on her face. “And you’re Keith.”

  “And you’re Pidge and I don’t think even five years will help with your height.”

  “Low blow!” Pidge gave a triumphant final tap and crossed her arm. “Engines are working!”

  “Finally!” Keith manned his station, setting the coordinates for the auto-pilot. “Hopefully we get back before Hunk sends a search party.”

  “It might be too late for that.” Pidge pulled up more screens, double checking their logs. “You know, I kinda missed this.” She gave him an awkward smile. “Talking to you like this, I mean. And everything else.”

  Keith rubbed his neck. It was strange, but one thing his solo missions had taught him was that while he did like being alone, he had also surprisingly enjoyed teamwork. Lance’s inane chatter on the line, Hunk and Pidge geeking out over the latest tech, Allura warring between caution and aggression. “Me too.”

  “And since we have so much to catch up on, what if we go to the—”

  “Pidge, not even for you.” Keith shot down the suggestion.

  “It was worth a try.”

[katsens-writing]

Bumpy Night, Part 6

Summary: A mission gone wrong leaves one of the Avengers fighting for their life and the other fighting time to save them.

Content: Loads of angst and whump, injury, illness, inaccurate medical stuff (I am not a professional, people), mention of blood. Please let me know if I need to add anything else.

Word Count: About 1.4k (Does not include recap)

A/N: We’re nearing the end here. You can find a link to the masterlist under the tags. This is part 6 of a story I wrote for a writing challenge. The line I picked was “Fasten your seatbelts. It’s going to be a bumpy night.” (You can find the line in part one.) This was my first time writing anything for a challenge so let me know what you think. This part (*ahem* like the last two....)  also ends in a cliffhanger. My asks and messages are open if you want to yell at me!

---

     “What is it?” you inquired, your brow creased. Without a word, Bruce stepped back so you could see the screens better. When your eyes focused on them, the color drained from your face. Peter’s heart rate had spiked dangerously and his breathing was sporadic. The percentage on the oxygen monitor clipped to Peter’s finger was frighteningly low and his temperature was increasingly high. You turned and looked at Bruce, your heart racing.

     “Have Nat page the tower, tell Cho to have her team ready at the landing pad,” Bruce clenched his jaw. “It’s going to be close.” He turned and headed toward the cockpit. “I’ll tell Tony.”

     You nodded. “Tell them not to wait, I’m staying here with Peter.” You ignored the throbbing in your temples and kept your eyes on Peter. “Hold on kid. We’re almost there.” You whispered.

     “2 minutes to landing,” came Clint’s voice over the comm.

     “Hey,” still hunched over the exam table, you looked up and saw Tony standing on Peter’s other side wearing his suit and looking apprehensive. “Bruce told me what’s going on. What can I do?”

     Before you could reply, several loud, solid tones emitted from the various machines simultaneously. Your heart froze in your chest at the sound. Your gaze snapped to the monitors before you turned to Tony with a terrified look in your eyes.

---

     “Grab Peter!” You shouted over the roar of the engines that filled the jet as it began to land. You began unhooking Peter from the various machines and monitors, leaving only the critical IVs as Tony scooped him up in his arms. The second you had detached the last wire, Tony turned and bolted for the back of the jet.

     “Lower the ramp!” He yelled.

     “We’re too high up!” Sam shouted.

     “The ramp is down!” Natasha’s voice carried out from the cockpit and through the main cabin. You grabbed the last printout of Peter’s vitals and ran after Tony. The wind whipped through the jet, sending the loose strands of your hair flying up around your face. Tony walked out to the edge of the ramp and stepped off, the suit thrusters automatically engaging. As soon as he was clear of the ramp, you jumped down without even hesitating, landing next to him at the same time he did. As soon as you straightened, Dr. Cho ran up to you and Tony, her team right behind her pushing a gurney.

     “What stage?” she shouted. She caught a glimpse of Peter as Tony laid him down on the gurney and she paled, no longer needing an answer. Her fears were confirmed when you handed her the printout.

     “He’s crashing!” You shouted over the roar of the jet.

     Dr. Cho turned to one of her assistants. “Go get the defibrillator set up!” The assistant nodded before turning and running off. You took the assistant’s place at the gurney’s rail and as soon as Peter was secured, you helped push it toward the entrance, hurrying alongside it with Dr. Cho and the others. Tony was right behind you guys as you burst through the doors, with the team on his heels. Bruce quickly overtook him and caught up with you.

     “Stage three?” He asked breathlessly. You nodded without looking away from the hall in front of you guys as you ran through another set of doors. As you rushed through them, the hall widened into an expansive, bright open floor equipped with state-of-the-art equipment. Individual rooms were sectioned off with floor-to-ceiling glass walls and doors.

     “Third room on the right,” Dr. Cho indicated. You could see the assistant that she had sent ahead already in the room, standing by and awaiting your arrival. You didn’t hear Tony’s shouts when Rhodey and Steve held him back at the last set of doors as you turned into the room that had been prepared for Peter. The second the door closed behind you, Banner turned and with a few quick taps on the wall next to the door, the glass darkened so no one could see in or out of the room.

     “How long has he been like this?” Cho asked hurriedly as Peter was transferred to the table.

     You quickly glanced at your watch and your stomach churned. “About eight minutes.”

     Dr. Cho’s eyes widened at your response. The second Peter was laid down, one of her assistants put an oxygen mask on him. The first assistant handed her the defibrillator paddles as Bruce began compressions. You stood at the head of the table, keeping an eye on Peter’s heart monitor for any changes.

     “27, 28, 29, 30!” Cho’s assistant counted.

     “Clear!” You called and everyone stepped back as Cho shocked Peter’s heart with the defibrillator. His body jumped as the electricity ran through it, but the heart monitor remained the same. Bruce immediately resumed compressions as the assistant counted. You held Peter’s face in your hands and murmured to him, pleading. “Come on Peter. Come back to us.” Your heart was pounding in your chest, beating so rapidly as if it was trying to beat for you and Peter.

     “26, 27, 28, 29, 30!”

     “Clear!” Peter’s body jumped again as the paddles made contact. You didn’t dare glance at the time because you didn’t want anyone to stop. You knew it had been at least ten minutes since Peter’s heart had stopped beating. Ten minutes since it had stopped sending blood flowing through his body, ten minutes since his lungs filled with the oxygen his brain desperately needed...

     “28, 29, 30!” The assistant called.

     “Clear!” Everyone stepped back again and you let go of Peter. His body arched off the table as the electricity contracted every muscle in it, yet the monitor still remained unchanged. The room fell quiet, the solid tone of Peter’s heart monitor drowning out the other machines. Dr. Cho looked over Peter’s body to Bruce who closed his eyes tight and lowered his head. Your eyes widened and you shook your head, not wanting to hear what they were thinking.

     “No. No, no, no,” your eyes filled with tears as you shook your head.

     “Y/N--” Bruce’s voice broke as he gently placed a hand on your arm.

     “No!” You cried, yanking your arm away. You lowered your head, gritting your teeth as tears streamed down your cheeks, your shoulders trembling in a silent sob. Your blurry gaze came to rest on Peter’s face. Cho glanced at the time, her eyes watering. She opened her mouth to speak when a soft beep broke the silence of the room. Immediately your head shot up to look at the monitor. Your mouth opened slightly as you saw the smallest peak disrupt the straight line. Your heart leapt when you saw the peak repeat itself and your knees began to buckle from the relief.

     “We need to intubate,” Cho hurried to the side, not pausing for a second. “We’re going to need to flush his kidneys too.” She turned to Bruce who nodded before moving to get the machine set up. You were turning to help Bruce when you noticed a red slash on Peter’s arm that was growing. Your eyes grew wide as you realized one of the IVs you left in Peter’s arm must have been ripped out when his muscles contracted.

     “Hand me some gauze,” you told one of the assistants who obliged without question.

     Cho looked at you curiously before she saw the bleeding. “Get thread and sutures too. We can’t risk it,” she added.

     Cho kept a close eye on Peter’s blood pressure as you helped Bruce stitch up the wound. You held gauze to it, pressing on it and hoping, praying it would stop. Your eyes flicked to the monitor and you saw his blood pressure had plummeted. You looked back to Peter and paled when you saw how much blood he had lost already from the wound. It wasn’t that big or deep but you knew Peter’s blood was thinner due to the poison, so it was just as deadly as a cut twice as severe. You looked pleadingly at Peter and whispered to him. “Please, don’t give up now. Please.” You wanted to hold his hand but you didn’t dare take the pressure off his wound.

     A minute or two passed but it felt like hours. “I got it,” Bruce murmured as he finished the stitches and sutures. He placed a hand on yours gently and pulled them away from Peter’s arm. You all turned to the monitor and waited with bated breath. What felt like your whole life went by before the numbers on the monitor gradually changed as Peter’s blood pressure slowly but steadily began to rise. You let out a trembling sigh, your whole body shaking in a combination of relief and disbelief. You turned to Bruce, stunned and he looked back at you, a glimmer of light finally returning to his eyes.

     “We... we did it,” Bruce whispered, sounding astonished, but you didn’t hear.

     “He’s stable for now but we still need to take care of his kidneys and I want him intubated just to be safe.” Cho turned to her assistants and directed them. She looked over to you and Bruce and her face softened a little. “We can take it from here if you guys want to update the others.”

     “Ok,” Bruce nodded. He glanced at the small assistant trying to maneuver the machine by herself before turning to you. “I’m going to help them get set up then I’ll be right out. You go ahead.”

     You didn’t hear him because you had already turned and were halfway to the door. The whole team was gathered outside the room, standing around and waiting. The second you opened the door, you were met with seven worried faces.

     “How is--” Tony began, but he stopped mid-sentence, and the color drained from his face the second he saw your clothes. Steve’s eyes widened and Bucky’s lips parted in surprise. You didn’t realize your shirt was completely covered in blood as you took a few faltering steps toward them. Bucky took a hesitant step forward. You saw the worry on his face, and you saw his lips moving, but you didn’t hear anything. You didn’t even notice the pain shooting through your ankle when you took one more step before darkness rushed up and swallowed you as you collapsed to the floor.

---

Tags: (If you want to be added, let me know, its no trouble at all!) @whiskey-cokenfanfic @xmarveled @parkerspicedlatte @sunmoonandbucky @southerngracela @jll72-blog @evanstush @bla-369 @diekatimitdemhutohnehut @supermoonchildbroski

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[readbeneaththelines]

Love Hurts Pt. 1

A/N: This is a Re-Edit of a collab I did with @beautifulseoulliar a while back. I am re-editing it to share with my lovelies that love BTS. This is a multi P.O.V. Each person will be mentioned before their part. This is Angsty AF, but I loved writing it. Hope you all enjoy, and get ready, It’s a Long Ass Ride!

Synopsis: Yoongi is a tattoo artist with a broken past. Namjoon is the innocent college boy that is about to learn a few lessons. Will Namjoon teach Yoongi that love is still possible, or will he regret ever meeting the mysterious daangerous Yoongi?

Characters: Tattoo Artist!Yoongi x College Student!Namjoon

Warnings: Angst, Smut, BDSM scenerios, broken Yoongi (is that a warning?), some fluff, and I’m sure there are others (please let me know if I need to add some)

Word Count: 4690

ccr to gif owner

(Namjoon)

They say that you should never wonder on a bad day how it could possibly get worse. I guess I should have remembered that as I was trudging home, cursing waking up this morning. My day had started off bad- a missed alarm, which meant I was forced to watch from a block away as the bus drove away without me. It had simply snowballed from there, with a missing paper-laying at home on my desk, right where I’d left it so I wouldn’t forget it- to detention during last period because of the forgotten paper. I mutter under my breath, wondering just how bad it was going to get.

And of course, the clouds just had to open up on me several blocks from home. I shiver as the wind whipped past me, seeming to try and push me back. If you’d told me at this point that wind gods were trying to keep me out in the elements for as long as they could, I wouldn’t have been surprised. 

When I finally get home, I unlock the door, slightly amazed that the key doesn’t break in the lock, stepping inside and shutting the door behind me. The apartment is quiet, the only sound the slight tink of the sink dripping in the kitchen. I sigh, relieved that Hoseok isn’t home right now. As much as I love him-he is my best friend, after all, and has been since we were kids- I don’t feel like being bombarded with questions right now. 

I toe off my shoes and drop my soaked bookbag by the door, padding across the living room and up the step to my bedroom door. Flinging it open, I enter my room, not bothering to shut the door as I strip out of my wet clothes. My phone I rescue from the back pocket of my jeans, blessing Hoseok for buying me a waterproof case for my birthday. I toss it onto my bed, then grab some pajama pants from the drawer and slip them on. Then, gathering up my wet things, I carry them to the bathroom and dump them into the washing machine. Grabbing a towel, I rub at my hair, finally just draping it over me as I head back to my room. I lay down on my bed, grabbing my phone as I sink down, making myself comfortable as I unlock the screen with my thumbprint. 

1 new message. 

My head starts to pound and I feel my stomach drop to my feet as I open the message and read it. 

Joon, I’ve been thinking, and…

I can’t help the cry that spills from my lips as I bolt upright, throwing my phone as hard as I can across the room, where it hits my bookshelf and falls to the floor. I don’t know if I’ve broken it, but I couldn’t care less at the moment. 

My day has now been crowned with a fucking cherry-my boyfriend just dumped me. Bastard. Now what am I supposed to do? I lay back down, everything inside me hurting, but I don’t cry, because that’s just not something I do. Instead, I plan to just lay here and slowly die. 

(Hoseok)

Just as I'm walking in the door, I hear a loud crash coming from Joon's room as he screams.

What the hell is going on?

I scramble up the step, flinging his door open. He's lying on his bed, phone on the floor by the bookshelf, shattered screen and all.

I can tell by the look on his face, whatever was on that phone was not the best of news. 

“Joonie? What's wrong?”

I walk over, sitting on the edge of his bed. I lay my hand on his shoulder, silently waiting on him to talk. 

Namjoon's not much of the talking type, but sometimes, he and I can have some pretty decent conversations. We've know each other forever, having grown up in the same neighborhood. We've seen each other through some pretty fucked up things, but hey, what are friends for, right?

After several minutes of him mumbling and sighing dramatically, I was able to piece things together. 

So, his jackass of a boyfriend, who I hated anyway, broke up with him. All of this, after a day from hell, that he swears will only get worse. 

“Joon, my friend, what you need is a night out with me and some friends. We'll help you forget about today, what do you say? “

Pulling my best aegyo, I add with flair.

“Please, pwetty pwease? I Pwomise that you'll have fun!”

He finally agrees, only because he said my aegyo was on point. 

I call up my girlfriend, then my boyfriend, and a few other mutual friends and plan a night out to remember. Little did I know, that tonight would change Namjoon forever.

(Namjoon)

I didn’t hear the sound of Hoseok coming in the front door of the apartment over the noise of my phone shattering, so when he comes bursting into my room, I wince. He glances at me, then across the room to where my phone lays in shards on the floor. His brows crease in worry. 

“Joonie? What’s wrong?”

As usual, it’s hard for me to get the words out, especially when he sits down beside me, one hand resting comfortably on my shoulder. I bury my head in my hands and try to get it out. After a while, he seems to understand, both about the day I’ve been having and my boyfriend breaking up with me. 

“Joon, my friend, what you need is a night out with me and some friends. We’ll help you forget about today, what do you say?”

I peek through my fingers, studying his face. He grins at me, pulling out his amazing aegyo, which always works on me. 

“Please, pwetty pwease? I pwomise that you’ll have fun!”

I can’t deny that, so I nod reluctantly. Maybe a night out will be better for me than laying around the apartment. He whips out his phone when I agree, going out to the living room and closing my door halfway for privacy. He calls both his girlfriend and boyfriend, then a bunch of other friends, planning our night out. I half listen as I debate what to wear, deciding on something simple, since I’m not totally sure where we’re going or where we might wind up. I slip out of my pyjama pants and throw them on my bed for later. Then I slide into a pair of dark skinny jeans with large rips in the knees. A white t-shirt is next, and I complete it with a black-and-white striped jacket. I slip my tennis shoes on, run my fingers through my hair and observe myself in the mirror above my dresser. Not bad, but I decide to add one last thing, just because tonight I feel like I deserve it. I pull my eyeliner from my dresser drawer, where I keep it tucked safe under my socks. Lining my eyes makes them look even more amazingly cat-like than they normally do, and it’s the one vanity I allow myself. I know it gets me more looks than normal, which tonight I decide won’t be a bad thing. Smiling a little at my reflection, I turn to head out to the living room and join Hoseok. 

(Hoseok)

“Alright Joonie, let's go!”

We head out the door, walking down the street to meet with our friends. Namjoon is quiet, still sulking after his shitty day. Once we are all together, we pick a club with a bass, planning on drinking our cares away and dancing with almost anything with two legs. We decided on Le Queen; even though it's a gay club by nature, everyone goes there. 

The line was longer than the block, but we knew the owner. Shooting her a text, we were on the guest list before we got there. I really owe her a threesome with me and Chae. The music was blasting, sweaty bodies covering the dance floor like a crazed mass.

“Joon. Let's hit the bar first! First round’s my treat!”

The night was beginning, but I don't remember the end. Yeah for alcohol, right?

(Yoongi)

I really hate idiots. I hate dense idiots even more. I am trying to get the director in my company to see that I have to order the ink supply for the studio. My partner artists were running low, and they had clients coming thereat the end of the week. Our tattoo studio was about to open another shop and we still didn't have everything, which my director should know, but obviously didn't. Damn idiots. 

After spending three hours arguing with said idiot, I was ready to explode. I was going to be late to Le Queen, having to do body art on one of the dancers before her performance. I also really hate being late, so when I got there, I headed straight for the bar to get my drink order placed while I was getting set up. 

I was slightly, okay very, impatient, so I tried to ask the guy in front of me to hurry up. What preppy college kid would wear jeans and a jacket to a gay/Drag Queen club? Why would they be in this club anyway?  Tapping him on the shoulder, I was about to say something when he turned around. The first thing that caught my attention was his eyes. I am a sucker for eyes, they are the window to the soul, and I always want to search someone's soul. It's a way to keep them from trying to get into mine.

His eyes were cat-like, accentuated by heavy lines of eyeliner, that made them more mysterious. He was younger than me by at least a year or maybe two, innocent looking face. Aish, poor fella, going to get himself hurt with that face. But I had to admit that he had a strangely alluring pull about him. His hair was a deep red, his bangs slightly over his eyes. His lips were a bit plump, but not too overly plump, just kind of pouty.

Going back to his eyes, I focused on them while I spoke.

“Hey, I need to place my order, can you hurry it up just a bit?”

He just kinda looked at me, turned back around and kept ordering. Little shit, if I wasn't in a hurry, I'd be busting your preppy little ass. Finally he stepped aside, and I placed my order, telling them I would be backstage, prepping for the body art.

Preppy kid had walked away, and I caught sight of something when I wound up behind him. The way his body moved when he walked, those long legs stretching with each step in not quite a strut, not not quite a sway, but a bit of sass and and I couldn't help but follow him until I absolutely had to walk backstage.

Wonder if he can dance as good as he looked. I would have to wait and find out later. Off to paint some naked body now. 

(Namjoon)

Hoseok is his usual bouncy self when we leave the apartment, heading down the street to our usual meet-up spot with everyone he was able to call. As a group, we start our short walk to the club- Le Queen, a gay/drag queen club we’ve been to a hundred times before, and one of the few where I feel almost completely comfortable. Hoseok takes out his phone as the club comes into view, shooting a text to the owner, a woman he’s known a long time. I have my suspicions about their relationship, but I’d never bring it up. At any rate, the reply allows us to bypass the huge line, which I’m thankful beyond words for. I couldn’t imagine hell, but standing in line for hours after coming out to have fun might be comparable. As we entered the club, I breathed a sigh of relief. It was packed, as usual, which was usually a problem for me-I hated large crowds, but here it felt safe-there were way too many people for anyone to notice me. Hoseok turned to me, grinning, as most of our group splintered off, looking for a place to sit. 

“Joon. Let’s hit the bar first! First round’s my treat!”

I nodded, giving him a small smile, and we headed for the bar. He managed to order a drink and down most of it while I was still considering. Suddenly, there was a tap on my shoulder, and I turned around, a little apprehensive for being touched. But what I came face-to-face with made my mouth go dry. 

To say he was gorgeous would be a gross understatement. His blue hair was something I was instantly jealous of-I’d tried it once with my own hair, and Hoseok had called me a mermaid for a month-but it seemed to suit him. His eyes were cool behind round, wire-frame glasses, and his white shirt hung loose on his slender frame, the top two buttons undone, giving a glimpse of a tattoo across the left side of his chest. He was probably a year or two years older than me, and he had an air of danger. In short, he was like my every wet dream come to life. But something in me recognized the potential for violence in him, and it both attracted and scared me. This was the kind of man I tried to avoid-the kind that could steal my heart by barely trying and stomp it into dust. I’d seen his kind before, even had a close call a time or two, and those had been learning experiences. I knew better than to do anything other than get out of his way, as soon as possible. 

“Hey, I need to place my order, can you hurry it up just a bit?”

His voice, smooth and dark as whiskey, had heat rising in my cheeks as I realized suddenly that I’d been staring. I blinked, forced myself to turn back to the bartender and choke out an order. At the same time, I was hyper-aware that he was still just behind me. I waited nervously for my drink, and when it was in my hand, I turned and walked away, without looking back. And, even though I knew it was a horrible idea, I couldn’t help but put a small sway in my walk, just a hint of sass. I giggled as I slid into the booth with my friends, keeping my head down until I couldn’t feel the heat of his eyes on me anymore. 

(Hoseok)

“There’s the Joonie I know and love! What’s got you so tickled?”

Namjoon joined us at our booth, a wide grin on his face and a giggle. I don’t like seeing him where he can’t just be happy and enjoy himself. When he gets like that, I know the only thing to bring him back out of his shell is a night out. Maybe even find him a one-night stand to get him over the ex-jerkface. Did I mention I hate his ex-boyfriend? Anyway, we finished our rounds, then Chae and Jimin went to the dance floor. I love watching them together, in more ways than one, but I digress. So NAmjoon and I are left in the booth, his eyes looking around, maybe trying to find someone he wants to hook up with for the night. I just sit back and enjoy the atmosphere. Getting ready for the performance tonight. There are a couple of Queens dancing and I couldn’t wait to see it. I was also itching to get on the dance floor, so I grabbed his wrist and drug him to the center of the floor. 

Man, can he dance too! Namjoon dancing, is like watching the sunrise after a storm, it enraptured me. He is fluid, graceful, and I would even admit, sensual. Everyone around us backed away, giving him room and just watched. He could get lost in it, and I was envious of him at times like these. When the music ended, he stood there breathless, and when he realized every eye was on him, he blushed and hung his head as he left the floor.

(Yoongi)

I started my painting, working on every minute detail she wanted me to add. It took my about an hour to finish her upper body, and I needed a break before finishing. I went to get another drink and stretch my limbs. I noticed people moving aside, their eyes trained on the center of the floor. I had to see what was so special that people weren’t dancing. I made my way to the upper level, pushing my way through some drunk people in my way. 

When  looked down, I couldn’t help but stare. The preppy college kid was dancing, and it was amazing. Those legs were… I can’t explain it. His body could hypnotize you with the way it moved to the beat. His muscles were taut under his jeans, his arms reaching out for miles. That red hair, already damp with sweat, hung over those soul catching eyes. When the music was over, he stood there like a statue, panting hard. Damn, I could make him pant harder. I shouldn’t be thinking like that, but I was. Funny thing was, when he noticed those people around him, he was suddenly shy. That’s not what happens to someone who can move like that. I had to tear my eyes away from him, but I was going to find him later.

I went back to finish my painting, but I just couldn’t keep my mind focused. Damn preppy college kid, you better not leave.

(Namjoon) 

“There's the Joonie I know and love! What's got you so tickled?”

I flashed Hoseok a smile as I slid opposite of him, but refused to say anything. He squinted suspiciously at me, but didn't push. I looked around, eyeing potential one night stands, the alcohol and beat of the music making me feel a little more uninhibited. I caught him looking at me from the corner of my eye, and I turned to look at him. He tossed the remainder of his drink back, then slid out of the booth, grabbing my hand. I knew he wanted to dance, so I took another drink and followed him onto the dance floor. 

The dance floor was the one place I felt completely at ease, no matter how many people were around. On the dance floor, with or without a partner, the world fell away and it was just me and the music. My body swayed and dipped, and my head fell back, eyes closed. But I could still sense Hoseok near me, and I effortlessly kept him as my anchor. 

And then the heat of that stare was back. It was almost a physical touch, and it almost made me falter. I opened my eyes, looking around, body still moving, until I looked up to the balcony on the second level of the club, and the guy from the bar caught my attention. I felt a familiar spark ignite in my blood, and I knew without a doubt that if he made a move, I would be going home with him tonight. 

(Hoseok)

After we finished dancing, Namjoon headed back to the booth and I stayed behind to dance with my lovers. I had seen enough, and I was ready to take them both home and have my own fun. Asking Namjoon if he was ready to head out, he told us that he was planning on staying a bit longer, that boy obviously knew what I was up to so he was being nice and letting me have the apartment for awhile. He’d come later, after everyone was either gone or asleep in my room. And that’s why I love that boy, he knows me so well.

“Alright then, we’re heading out. Call me if you need anything.”

Giving him a quick hug, we were out the door in a rush. 

(Yoongi)

I finished the body painting, admired my work for a bit, then headed out to the club. I want to see the performance, I swear I do, partly, kinda. Screw it, I want to find preppy college boy and talk with him. Who knew, he could be a pretty good release for my stress after today and painting all night on a moving canvas. I scanned the dance floor, no such luck. Looking to the bar, I caught a glimpse of him in a booth towards the back. Good, he hasn’t seen me yet. I walk around the long way, making sure I stay hidden by the throngs of drunk people stumbling around and bumping into me. I swear, one more drunk idiot running into me, I will just have to go all psycho on them, and that’s not hard for me to do lately.

I make my way to the far side of the booth, sliding in beside him. I have just a few seconds to really look at him before he notices I am in his booth. He is pretty hot for a preppy college kid. This close, those eyes are extremely sexy. His jawline is perfect, and i find myself wanting to run my tongue over it. Shit, it has been way too long. That red hair gives his complexion a haunting paleness. It reminds me of coffee with almost too much cream, but you want it anyway. It’s smooth and flawless. The way his adam’s apple bobs when he swallows, make me want to make it bob for other reasons.

If he doesn’t talk soon, I may be having a one night stand right here, and not that I would mind that, but he probably would. Ah, he looks at me at last.

“Hey there preppy college boy. Names Yoongi, What’s yours?”

(Namjoon)

When the song ended, I made my way off the floor and back to the booth. Hoseok stayed behind, his hands on his girlfriend’s hips as she swayed to the music, and his boyfriend behind him, plastered against his back. By the blissed out look on his face, I knew that I’d be staying behind at the club while he took them home. It meant a couple more hours at the club for me, but I didn’t mind. At least my best friend was happy. Sure enough, after another half-hour, he made his way over to me, politely asking me if I were ready to go. Shaking my head, I told him to go ahead, I was going to hang out a bit longer. Winking at me, he took his leave. 

“Alright then, we’re heading out. Call me if you need anything.”

He hugged me, then headed for the door. I waved as they left, then sighed as I sank into the plush back of the booth. I was tired, and I really did want to go home, but there was no way I was going to cock-block my best friend. And even if going home didn’t hinder his ability to be with his lovers, it would certainly not help my mood to hear the three of them, with our rooms sharing a wall. No, thank you, that was something I’d avoid at all costs. 

I was so immersed in my thoughts that I didn’t even see him coming. Usually, with someone who has caught my interest as much as he had, I made it a point to keep tabs on them. Unfortunately, this time I let my guard down, and all of a sudden, I wasn’t alone in the booth anymore. Blinking, I realized he’d slid in across from me, and was staring at me intently, studying me. I have no idea how long he’d been there, but I could read the hunger in his eyes well enough. I had a feeling that he didn’t let people read him very often, but here he was, looking at me as if I were a particularly tasty treat. I swallow, hard, and his eyes follow the movement of my adam’s apple. When he finally speaks, the sound sends blood straight to my cock, making me half hard in an instant. 

“Hey there preppy college boy. Name’s Yoongi. What’s yours?”

As far as pickup lines go, it’s kind of cheesy, and I want to laugh, but I get the feeling that that wouldn’t go over very well with him. So instead, I shrug. It’s half a protective measure, half a flirt. I don’t know if I could even answer him if I wanted to- he makes me nervous, and being nervous makes it hard for me to capture the words I want to use. I feel the heat rising in my cheeks, suddenly worried that I may not be able to speak at all. And, suddenly reckless, I make a huge effort to answer him, for heaven only knows what reason. I know this is a bad idea, but I can’t seem to stop myself. 

“Namjoon”

 (Yoongi)

So, his name is Namjoon. And that voice, it's so soft. Not like soft soft, but just the right amount of soft. As I look at him, I can tell he's getting nervous, and I secretly want to warn him that he has good reason to be. 

I'm usually not as nice in the bed as I am in public, a few lovers have found that out the hard way. I like control, lots of it, and that innocence in his face tells me he hasn't been treated as rough as I like it. I hear my brain telling my crotch, guess you need to break him in. I really want to listen to my brain right now.

I feel a familiar stirring low in my gut, but if I plan on taking him home, I have a feeling I need to take it slow and play my cards right. Guess my little brain didn't get the memo, though.

“I see your friends left, need a ride home?”

(Namjoon)

“I see your friends left, need a ride home?”

A small, quiet voice inside me is telling me that accepting a ride home from this guy- Yoongi- would be the epitome of a bad idea. I usually listen to said voice- I’ve had years to learn that it’s usually the thing I should listen to when I’m making important decisions. 

And if there were ever an important choice to be made, this is it. 

I swallow nervously, his hot gaze staring me down, seeming to promise so many things I’d love tonight, but that I might well regret in the morning. 

Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?

I nod almost imperceptibly, then I say it out loud, just to make sure he knows I’m accepting. 

“Yes, I suppose I will.”

I readjust my body, acting like I’m relaxing, when in fact I’m more aware of him than ever, waiting to see what he’ll say. 

(Yoongi)

Nice! I get to take him home, but not to his place if I can convince him to come home with me.

I begin thinking, with my little brain, all that I could do to those pouty lips. I don't usually prefer the younger ones, but there is something about him that makes me want to break him. I really hope he's not as innocent as he appears, because that would make me feel bad if I cause him some pain.

I nod, getting up from the booth. When he stands up beside me, I find that he is almost my height and actually had some semblance of strength in his body. Oh boy, this could be fun. 

We head out, walking the short distance in silence. I wonder what he's thinking, hopefully the same thing I am. A one night stand, that's all I need, to get today's frustrations out of my system. Rough, hard sex, just the way I like it.

“So, college boy, your place or mine?”

@seoulsunshineandstories @kwonnansi @xjamlessparkx @berryjam17

@min-shookga-yoongi @beautifulseoulliar @agustd-suga-yoongii @astronomyturtle @aspaceformyself @dreamyoongi @holy-yoongi@trashkazuya @maxinaptak @micky1518 @rosiemilas @karri570

[gideonaceleigh]

Camp NaNoWriMo Week 3

Weekly Round Up!!

Word Count: 53,864/10,000 broke 50k what’s upppp

Average Words per Day:  2,564

That’s nearly 30k this week?? I’m mostly building off of what was already written but it still counts okay??

I have also come up with a working title! PROTOTYPE (I’m not completely sold but it’s definitely something to build off of)

~Day 15 ~ Day 16 ~ Day 17 ~ Day 18 ~ Day 19 ~ Day 20 ~ Day 21~

Tag List: @oscarfuckingwilde @minnowf @dove-actually @dahladahlabills

I’m posting a (much) longer excerpt of a chapter I worked on because #fakegirlfriends Caris (approx. 5,300 words)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“This is insane,” hisses Talis, for the fifth time that day.

“I know,” says Iris, also for the fifth time that day.

“By insane I mean suicidal.”

“I appreciate the good vibes you’re sending my way.”

“You know I’m always here for you,” Talis nods sagely.

The tablet is propped back up on its stand on the table under the window so Talis can see the whole room and be a part of the group as Iris and Cat prepare for the gala. They aren’t going to be able to bring much with them. Cat bought a, very tiny, purse while they were hunting for appropriate black-tie attire, but it’s built more for fashion than practicality and therefore barely large enough for them to stuff their ID’s and forged invitation to Claire Bennet plus one, in.

M’Lell didn’t send Iris many documents, but what little they did is chock full of relevant information. Iris spent the morning memorizing the positions of the events security detail and planned watch routes while transferring the documents that sketch out the floor plan of the building to the chip in her arm for ease of access. She feels as prepared for this job as one can be, considering the circumstances, and counts herself lucky not to be going in entirely blind.

While waiting for the taxi Iris gives herself a final look over in the mirror, gently dabbing at her shimmering eyeshadow and lipstick.

Pleased with the outcome she turns to Talis. “What do you think?”

“Very classy. And inconspicuous.”

“Just what I was going for.”

“I know.”

Iris glares at her. “If you know so much then tell me this: where exactly will Ahn have the device?”

Talis disappears from the screen to be replaced by swirling purple mist and black letters slowly pushing through. ‘Try again later’ it reads.

Iris doesn’t bother replying, simply slams the tablet screen down, waits for Talis’ muffled cursing, and shoves it in her purse.

“We ready to go then?” says Cat, emerging from the bathroom. She’s gone with a similar color scheme to Iris’ dress, black with silver accents, though she’s chosen a pair of slacks and suit jacket over a silver button up shirt. Her makeup is more involved than Iris’ however, choosing a bolder red lipstick and dramatic winged eyeliner.

“Whenever you are,” says Iris, admiring her style.

The taxi is waiting for them outside the hotel and whisks them away through the night, passing twinkling streetlamps and bright shop windows. With proper rest the trip through town goes significantly smoother for Iris and she’s able to step out of the cab without the same feeling of nausea. She readjusts the hem of her dress that comes to rest halfway down her thigh, while Cat steps out beside her and takes a minute to process their surroundings.

Ambassador Ahn’s gala is being host at the Galactic Institute of Art and Science, and it is huge. Not big, not large, not giant, but monumentally huge. It takes up an entire block at the center of the city and containes nearly 400 floors. The first ten or so levels are dedicated to hospitality: restaurants, café’s, ballrooms, meetings rooms, etc.; all decorated welcomingly and designed for comfort.

The rest of the floors are split by subject, with art centered rooms on the lower levels, and science higher up. The floors are designed for efficiency and to keep visitor’s attention on the displays. The displays are brought in from planets all over the galaxy and represents the creativity, ingenuity, and genius of a hundred-separate species. Nothing in the known universe could ever come close to comparing to the sheer size and quality of these exhibits.

Not that Iris is going to get much of a chance to look around. In fact, if she’s lucky, she won’t have to look far at all. She’s hoping for a fast entrance and an even faster exit, as long as the universe decides to work in her favor for once.

The night is warm, it’s early summer, but she can’t help a shiver and the goose bumps that form along her arms as she passes between the rose gardens lining the path in front of the museum. She and Cat join the small throng of people making their way up the bone white, marble steps.

They fall into line together and Iris feels Cat jump in surprise when she takes her hand with no warning. Cat looks from their now linked hands, and back at Iris who looks determinedly ahead.

“What?” she starts to ask, but Iris interrupts her.

“We’ll be less obvious like this.”

“Oh,” says Cat. “That’s fair. I usually work alone, and I have to say having a so called partner in crime is a completely different ballpark.”

Iris spares her a smile. “You’ll get used to it in no time. You might even find you like having a partner to help you out,” she says and winks at Cat.

Iris turns her focus on the security guard they’re now in front of. Cat presents the invitation, and both of their ID’s are scrutinized in great detail, but they’re waved through with no problems. A second guard checks Cat’s bags and scans them, taking an extra close look at Iris’ tablet. The machine beeps at Cat and she’s called out of the line, but the harried looking guard waves her through almost before a feeble excuse about jewelry passes her lips.

Annoyance flirts through Iris’ brain. Cat is obviously hiding something in her jacket she didn’t warn Iris about. Cat refuses to meet her eye as they walk the final few feet and into the main foyer. Iris shakes off her annoyance, it isn’t fair of her to expect Cat to tell her everything when they barely know each other and chooses to focus on the room in front of her.

During normal day to day operations the lobby is an impressive site. There’s a mural of the galaxy with every star and planet painted in excruciating detail. On the floor is a mosaic of the more immediate solar system done with the same unbelievable attention to detail. There are shades of green and blue Iris has never seen artificially replicated so perfectly before.

The lobby is divided into twelve sections marked off by pillars made with the same marble as the stairs outside. The room is bathed in a soft yellow light that mimics the tone and movement of thousands of candles everywhere. There are a hundred tables arranged orderly around the room with white tablecloths and silver center pieces. The overall effect is ethereal and mystical. Talis would have loved it if she could see it, but Iris can’t risk being found out, not this early in the night.

“Wow,” says Iris.

“I know,” says Cat.

“Ma’am?” An attendant grabs her attention. “What is your name?”

“Claire Bennet,” she says after a short pause. She’s been caught off guard and hopes he doesn’t notice the hesitation.

Like a professional he ignores her near fatal blunder with nothing more than a quirked eyebrow and checks their logs. “If you’ll follow me, ladies, I’ll escort you to your table.”

“Thank you,” says Iris. She smiles and rests her hand in the crook of Cat’s elbow.  

He leads them across the hall to one of the back tables half hidden in shadow. The positioning suits Iris just fine, she has full view of the hall, is seated next to the less important guests that don’t draw much attention and is partially hidden herself.

She sits back in her seat, sips at the wine the attendant pours for her, and watches as the rest of the guests mingle and get settled. Species of every shape, size, and color wander around the lobby oh-ing and ah-ing over the decorations. Their table gradually fills but they are ignored, and they neglect their neighbors.

Cat sits in the seat next to her, but she leaves her drink untouched. While Iris scouts out their surroundings, she scours through the program the attendant leaves them.

“No mention of the prototype here,” she says, too low for any of their neighbors to hear.

“Not much of a surprise there. We’ll stay here until everything gets going. Just follow my lead.”

“You got it, boss.”

Iris rolls her eyes at the over exaggerated deference.

Soon enough the lights dim, and an expectant hush falls over the crowd. A stage lifts from the floor near the opposite side of the hall and a spotlight illuminates a polished wood podium. Ambassador Kimiko Ahn is known the galaxy over as a woman who likes to put on a show, and tonight she doesn’t disappoint.

Anticipation begins to mount to a soundtrack of classical music gradually growing louder and more urgent until the audience is on their feet. It isn’t until the song hits the pinnacle of its score and the crowd, as a collective, feels about to burst that Ahn steps gravely under the light.

Immediately a thunderous round of applause erupts. Iris clamps her hands over her ears in a fruitless attempt to muffle the overwhelming noise and notices Cat follow her lead out of the corner of her eye. Ahn, on the other hand, preens under the concentrated attention of so many people and seems to absorb some of that energy into herself.

“Thank you. Thank you, everybody,” she says after a few minutes and gestures for the audience to quiet down. They follow her direction and settle down, eager for the speech she’ll open the gala with.

“I appreciate you taking time out of your busy lives to come to my little get together here tonight.” She pauses in a very obviously rehearsed manner for the bit of laughter that receives to pass. Two screens are lowered next to her, one on either side of the stage for those in the very back, like Iris and Cat, to get the full Ambassador Kimiko Ahn charm effect. This means that Iris can see the nauseatingly self-congratulatory smile Ahn flashes the audience while she magnanimously waits for the laughter to die down.

“Now, I won’t take up much of your time. I’m sure you’re all eager to get through dinner and start exploring my personal collection. Just a few announcements. This floor is free for you to roam, there are over a dozen different displays for you to peruse through and I hope you enjoy them all.

You will have limited access to the second floor where I have a few more interactive activities for you all to play around with, including a rediscovered holographic game we found in the ruins of Allorn. If you don’t mind me say it is very retro, and much fun. And of course, the bar will be open for the duration of the night.

I won’t monopolize your time further tonight, but please feel free to ask me any questions you may have throughout the night. I could talk for an eternity about everything you will see on display tonight. Again, thank you so much for coming out tonight and I hope you enjoy yourself.”

The stage goes dark and Ambassador Ahn is lost to shadow. A miniature army of waiters come swarming from the edges of the room and descend on the guests with trays of food. The attentive mood that had overtaken the crowd snaps, and is replaced by the sounds of conversation, laughter, and clinking cutlery that now ring out across the room.

While everyone else relaxes and turns their attention to dinner Iris goes on full alert and prepares to make her escape to somewhere a little less populated, but with a lot more security.

There’s a dark hall practically directly behind her. A quick glance around her shows everyone in the immediate vicinity preoccupied with food and conversation. She taps Cat on the arm who in turn grasps her purse close to her person. They slip down the shadowy hall and hide around the first corner.

Iris pulls out her tablet from one of the roomy pockets in her dress and thumbs on the flashlight. She lights up her left forearm and touches the swirly, flower tattoo. She watches as the ink swirls against her skin and forms into the rough outline of the buildings floor plans.

The map shows them on the east side of the facility and in the hall leading to an area generally reserved for employee use, which means it will be largely abandoned during a private function, and has halls leading to all sections of the first floor while avoiding the main floors. She’s reasonably certain she knows where Ahn would stash the device, at least generally, if she brought it with her. The problem being it’s on the complete opposite side of the museum and she’ll have to sneak past the kitchens to get there.

Iris flicks the light off and presses herself against the wall, pulling Cat along with her, when she hears the low murmur of voices and hurried footsteps coming towards her. Iris watches a light bob up and down as the intruders make their way towards them. There’s no way they won’t be noticed. They’re still close enough to the banquet they can easily feign ignorance and claim they got lost on their way to find a restroom.

But if they do that, they’ll probably insist of walking them back to the main room. They need another guise, another reason why they need to be here. Some excuse of privacy they’re likely to empathize with and be willing to overlook their voyeur into a restricted area.

They grow closer, Iris is able to pick out a few words from their conversation such as ‘happy’ and ‘dessert’ and figure they’re part of the serving staff. That doesn’t stop her heart from racing at the idea of being caught.

The glow of the intruder’s light is about to hit them and Iris panics, jumping on the first idea that pops in her stressed mind.

She grabs Cat by her jacket lapels, pushes her up against the wall, stands on her very tippy toes, and presses her lips against hers.

Iris can feel Cat, understandably tense up at first. She is surprised, however, by how quickly she relaxes under Iris’ grip and begins to return the kiss, bending her knees to make them more level with one another.

It almost makes Iris forget why they started this in the first point. It doesn’t last long.

“What have we got here?” asks a voice behind them.

Iris whips around, immediately covering her eyes with a hand to protect them from the bright light shining right at them.

“The parties back that way you know,” says the second party, obviously struggling to push back her giggles.

“I didn’t think anyone was down here,” Iris says, not having to fake the shaking in her voice. “We,” she pauses to look at Cat and grab her hand, “were just looking for a bit of privacy.”

“We can see that,” says the first person. “We’ll pretend we didn’t see you if you promise to rejoin the gala soon. And under no circumstances go further down the hallway. We got a deal?” he asks.

“Of course, thank you so much. I appreciate your discretion here.”

“Don’t mention it,” says the woman. “And don’t have too much fun.” She winks at them.

Iris sighs in relief as they disappeared down the hall. She taps the light back on, this time on a lower setting, and sets off down the hall with Cat in tow.

“What? You’re just going to do that and act like nothing happened?” accuses Cat, tension clear in her voice.

“I told you, acting like a couple makes us a lot less conspicuous.”

“You’re a lot wilder than anyone ever gives you credit for, Iris.” Something close to admiration lacing her tone and replacing the tension.

“I ran off with the son of my families arch-nemesis for two years. What part of that doesn’t scream ‘wild’ to you?”

“Fair enough. Where are we going anyways?” asks Cat.

“We need to get to the other side of the buildings. Unfortunately, is seems the best route there is going to take us straight passed the kitchen.”

“That doesn’t seem like the best plan.”

“It’ll be fine. Like I said, just follow my lead and be quiet,” says Iris. They come to an intersection and she carefully pokes her head out and check that there’s no one there.

“I don’t think being quiet is going to get us passed the kitchen.” Cat rushes after Iris as she jogs through the intersection.

“Thanks, Cat. I’ll figure out a way passed it once I get a look at it.”

“Planning on the fly. I love it.”

“I can’t tell if you’re mocking me or not. I’m going to go with you’re being sincere and ignore any evidence to the contrary.”

Iris pretends she doesn’t hear Cat’s responding chuckle as they resume their trek to the west side of the building. The hallways are pleasantly deserted, it seems almost too easy and she can’t help but feel like they’re walking straight into a trap. Even if they are there’s not much more for her to do but march into the lion’s den, head held high.

Iris and Cat are a few halls down from the kitchens before she starts to notice any signs of life in these side paths. Iris can hear the busy sounds of clinking pots and escaping steam, along with the scent of spices wafting over her.

She waves Cat closer to the wall and inches forward a few more inches until she hovers around a corner where she can observe the kitchen without being seen for a few minutes while she tries to come up with a plan to get passed.

There isn’t much going on this side of the kitchen as there is at the second door closer to the lobby, but every once in a while one of the cooking assistances bustles around fetching some pot or other for the chef. Iris begins to brace herself to grab Cat and make a mad dash by the kitchen door when one of the event’s security guards decides to make a grand appearance.

This guard isn’t from the same group keeping keen eyes on the guests. This one comes from Ahn’s personal contingent composed largely of Walyer’s. A species of large, green specimens with thick, scale like skin, and anything from two to six horns framing their faces making their large eyes, which already take up nearly half of their faces as is, seem even larger.

The bottom half of their face is occupied by a small mouth with lips that are eternally held open by large, yellowing fangs. Walyer’s often find themselves employed as personal security and prison transports due to their intimidating features and ability to exert brute force. Iris has never met a Wayler who stands less that nine feet tall and isn’t too broad to fit through standard doorways.

This Wayler is particularly intimidating. They’re nearly eleven feet tall with two giant guns strapped to its back, a belt of vicious looking knives around its waist, and a vest of grenades and other explosive weapons attached.

Iris swore she felt her heart seize and a wave of dizziness wash over, she feels herself start to hyperventilate.

“Well fuck,” she says, and immediately clamps a hand over her mouth as she inches back to where she left Cat. Luckily the Wayler doesn’t seem to hear her. She grabs Cat and scurries down the hall to hide behind a large potted plant, crouching down as low as she can. A few seconds of clearing her mind and taking deep, calming breathes and she is back in the moment. She slowly loosens her death grip on Cat’s arm and cautiously peeks around the plant back the way she’s come.

“What the hell, Iris?” Cat finally asks, now that Iris doesn’t appear on the verge of bolting out of this galaxy.

Iris peeks around the plant and finds there’s no sign of the Wayler so she relaxes, slumping with her back against the wall, and rests her head in her hands.

“Wayler,” she says.

Cat swears. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“I very much wish that were so,” says Iris, not lifting her head.

“Okay,” says Cat. She sits down next to Iris and thrums her fingers against her leg. “Okay, we need to leave. We can go back to the hotel and work on a new plan. We have time, and this is officially too dangerous.”

“I thought I was the one in charge here? Can’t you just,” Iris waves her hands around, “just siren it or whatever?”

“Oh, come on. First of all, that is so not how that works. And secondly, you don’t actually plan on going through with this?”

Iris raises an eyebrow at her and shrugs her shoulders, already inching forward again.

“Wow. I didn’t believe them, but you really are full hardy aren’t you?”

Iris ignores this as she resumes her earlier spot at the corner peeking into the kitchen, Cat sliding along behind her trying to stick close.

“You know there’s another reason Zerich chose me to come with you. It’s because no one else wanted to be dragged along on your desperate bid for freedom. Your reputation precedes you,” says Cat, hissing the last part under her breath.

Iris rolls her eyes. “You’re exaggerating. There’s nothing desperate about this. I’m just eager for it to be over.”

“Either way, you’re willing to get us killed.”

“You don’t have to babysit me you know. You are free to go back to the hotel. I know you can track my tablet so it’s not like I’m going to disappear if I get back out,” says Iris. She’s growing increasingly annoyed at the delay, she could have gotten passed the kitchen and on her way in the amount of time they’ve spent bickering.

“And miss the fun?” Iris is surprised by the sudden smile on her face. “Not for anything. I’m ready for an Iris brand adventure.” Cat pulls a compact pistol from her inside jacket pocket and gestures to the kitchen with it. “Lead the way, I’m right behind you.”

“I don’t understand you.” Iris shakes her head, happy in the fact that even though Cat kept its existence from her it’s coming in handy now.

“Good.”

“Right.” She motions for Cat to be quiet and strains her ears, searching for any sound or sign of movement. Hearing nothing, she ducks her head out for a quick look. Seeing nothing, she takes a deep breath and looks to Cat.

“It’s not that far,” whispers Iris.

“Make a run for it?”

“It’s worth a shot.”

Iris rolls her shoulders, sends out a plea for success to the universe, and nods to Cat. Cat nods back, and they throw themselves down the hall. They bound passed the kitchen door in a few, sprawling strides, until they reach the shadows of the next hall where they can’t be seen.

Iris slips at the last minutes and ends up scrapping her knee and ripping her leggings in the process. Cat partially catches her and pushes her up against the wall and they freeze, breathing heavily and listening again for any indication they’ve been discovered. Hearing nothing again, they relax, and take stock of the position they’ve found themselves in. Eye to eye, face to face, so close they can feel each other breath and uncomfortably reminiscent of their earlier farce.

The two quickly push apart, breaking eye contact, and take a moment to compose themselves and catch their breath.

There’s no sign of the Wayler. While they’re large, they’re deceptively quiet. Iris can only hope it went through the kitchen and out the other side.

Taking advantage of this quiet moment Iris studies the map on her arm. She waits for it to update and reorient itself to her new position. The situation is getting too nerve wracking for her taste and she’s hoping to find a new route to their destination.

Preferably one unreachable by Wayler’s.

There’s a room in the west wing where the museum catalogs and cleans their items. Some of these items get left in the room for days, so the room is heavily protected and seems the best place to keep something valuable holed up for a night.

She moves the map around, trying to find a new angle, as if that will make a secret route magically appear. Which is exactly what happens. She zooms in to try and get a closer look at their current location and a hidden lower layer of the map appears, revealing a series of vents she didn’t notice before traveling right over where she needs to be. She dances in place as a silent victory cheer.

“What did you find?” asks Cat.

Iris looks up and flashes her light along the hall looking for the entrance to the vent and there, just a few feet to her left on the ceiling, is a grill just big enough for her to squeeze through. Though that assumes she’ll be able to reach that high and force it open in the first place.

She smiles.

“Slight change of plans. I hope you’re not claustrophobic.”

“Not particularly.”

“Good, because I am,” says Iris.

Before she’s able to psych herself up and find a way to get into the vent she hears footsteps. She hurriedly turns off her light and contorts herself into a small, formless blob against the wall until they pass. They have the good fortune of being in a hall that has the lights turned off and easily go unseen.

Light back on she places herself under the vent and slides her hand as far up the wall as she can and finds that, even on her tiptoes, her fingertips are barely able to graze the bottom of the grate guarding the vent.

“Oh, that is cute,” says Cat with a giggle.

“Shut up,” says Iris. “If you don’t have anything productive to add to the conversation then leave me alone. It’s not like you’re much better off.”

“No. But this might help,” she says hauling over a bench Iris overlooked.

Iris stares at it for a few minutes, annoyed at herself for not seeing it first.

“Be my guest.” She moves to the side to give Cat room to position the bench and step up on it.

It’s only about knee high, and doesn’t seem particularly sturdy, but it gives her the extra boost needed making it the best, if only, option she has.

Iris lifts the tablet up until it lights up the entrance to the vent, so Cat is able to get a better look at it as she clambers onto the table. She takes a moment to find her center of gravity, then digs her fingernails between the metal grate and the wall and yanks.

A shower of plaster pours down, sounding like raindrops hitting the ground as they fall to the floor. Covered in a smattering of dust Cat muffles a cough in the crook of her elbow. She crouches down on the table and passes the grate to Iris, who in turn hands her the tablet-turned-flashlight, and gently leans the grate against the legs of the bench on the floor.

This finished, Cat squints up into the dark vent with reluctance.

“It’s disgusting,” she says.

“Would you rather risk running into the Waylor again?”

Cat sighs but doesn’t respond. Iris watches as she grasps the edges of the vent opening, experimentally jumps up and down testing the vents durability, and heaves herself up and in. She wedges her elbows in, hooks a knee over the edge, and pulls herself forwards. The vent’s only a few inches wider than her shoulders and it takes her a few seconds of calculated wiggling to get fully inside.

Iris leaves her alone as she lays on her stomach, gasping for breath, and feels grateful that she wasn’t the one to go in first. She’s also grateful she’s had the foresight to wear a dress with a flexible skirt and practical flats.

“You doing okay in there?” she asks after what seems like an appropriate amount of time passed.

“I am absolutely fantastic. I love having spiders for dinner,” Cat says. Her voice is muffled and has an odd echo to it, like she’s speaking into a tin can. Which she essentially is, all things considered.

“Your sacrifice for the greater good has been noted. You about ready to keep going?”

“Why did I go first when you’re the one with the map anyways?”

Iris rolls her eyes. “I loaded the map on the tablet too. Just follow the purple line I laid out; it’ll be fine.”

“You say that now, but I’m not certain you’re going to be feeling that way once you’re in here, Miss Claustrophobic.”

“Yes, thank you. I’m trying not to think about it so how about you scoot up a bit and let me get this over with already?”

Cat moves forward another foot, giving Iris just enough room to haul herself in. She places her hands on the vent and pushes herself up until the top half of her is lying down. Her feet scramble under her, trying to find something to gain purchase on. She should have made an actual plan here before jumping in. She doesn’t find anything to brace her feet against, but there are a few crevices along the wall she’s able to dig her fingers into and pull herself the rest of the way in with.

She stays where she is, resting her head on her arms for a few minutes trying to steady her breathing. She can feel her heart beginning to race and just the thought of looking up and seeing nothing, but grey walls makes her nauseous.

“Oh my god,” she says. She can feel her chest begin to constrict as panic sets in.

“Don’t worry, it gets better.” Iris can feel the vibrations of her voice through the vent.

“What, are there scorpions up ahead or something?”

“No, I actually mean it. It opens up quite a bit just up ahead.”

“If you’re fucking with me, I will cry. Forewarning.”

“Get up here, Iris.”

Iris groans, but she finally lifts her head, doing everything in her power to focus solely on Cat ahead of her.

Cat is right, the vent opens up considerably just a short distance away. Iris crawls her way forward until she’s able to sit up next to Cat.

“This map is stupid,” says Cat.

“Be nice to my map.”

“I’m sorry map,” says Cat.

“Thank you. What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s rather bare bones don’t you think? How am I supposed to figure out where the hell we are?”

“Let me see it,” says Iris, yanking it from Cat’s grasp when she holds it out behind her.

“Rude, but okay.”

Iris reorients the map until it’s zoomed in on their location and a purple line tracing their path through the maze of vents appears.

“Do you want it back, or do you want me to navigate for you?” Iris holds the tablet out to Cat.

“I think I can handle from here. It’s not like there are a lot of actual direction changes or something,” says Cat. “You ready to go again?”

Iris rubs at her face, trying to pull all the cobwebs from her face. “As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.” She hopes the map M’Lell gave her is accurate, it has been up to now, because the idea of being trapped up here makes her breath catch in her throat. She forces that train of thought out of her mind and focuses on the task at hand. Namely not dying.

[scornedlove]

Chapter Seventeen

Robyn

It was happening again. After almost a year of not having crazy dreams, I was having nightmares again.

This time, I dreamt I was getting married. I was walking down the aisle with happy tears because everything was so beautiful and all my friends and family were there. When my veil was lifted, I was standing in front of Chris. We say our vows and kiss. When we turn and face the crowd, everyone stands up and applauds except for Melanie, who is shaking her head with her arms crossed and a pregnant woman in the front row, who looks too big to stand, even if she wanted to. She’s sitting next to Joyce with her head down and her shoulders are shaking as if she’s crying. I squeeze Chris’ hand tighter to grab his attention and point the woman out to him, but when I look back at her, she’s gone. We walk down the aisle and out of the church to a motorcycle that has just married on the back of it, with ribbon and flowers flowing down the back. We both hop on the motorcycle while everyone’s yelling congratulations and blowing kisses at us. Before pulling off, Chris decides to pop a wheely and I fall off the motorcycle in my big ass, white gown, so I’m standing there yelling at him while he’s still driving. Then, in front of my eyes, a truck crashes into to him, and my eyes pop open. It was a horrible nightmare and I always woke up just as the truck crashes into him.

It was like hearing from Chris resurfaced energy it took me forever to bury. Maybe it was because I unintentionally stood him up. With everything that was going on with Rayven, I had completely forgotten about Chris that entire week. By the time I remembered, it felt foolish to try and apologize a week later, so I didn’t.

Nevertheless, today was the third time I’ve had this dream in the past month and each time I was in bed with Dre, thank God he didn’t wake up this time. It took him a week to stop asking me if I was okay the last time, when he witnessed the night sweats. 

Instead of having breakfast with Dre, like I usually did after crashing at his place, I decided to get up and get an early start on my day. I joined a gym in my neighborhood a few weeks ago and had been coming three days a week since.

It was a nice, comfortable environment and I'd already met a cool chick who was on a strict workout plan, preparing to be a bridesmaid in her friend’s wedding. She was usually halfway through her session when I got there, but that didn't stop us from having a little friendly competition.

"Good morning Robyn. You're here earlier than usual” she smiled brightly as sweat glistened on her forehead.

“Mornin Katy” I replied, as I shoved my glasses, hat, and phone in a locker.

“I’ve already done my six miles, thanks to that B12 injection I got yesterday" she announced, following me to the floor and sitting on the squat machine next to me. “I’m telling you, that stuff is a game changer, and I’m gonna need all the energy I can get, so I can be nice and tight for that dress.”

"I absolutely hate injections and needles” I frowned at the thought “Well...unless I’m getting a tattoo” 

“I swear people who have the most tattoos are the most pussy when it comes to injections” she laughed shaking her head. “What’s up though? You seem kind of down today?”

“I’m just a little tired” I replied, forcing a smile as I put some ten-pound weights on the bars.

“Oh, our eye candy isn’t here yet. He usually wakes you up, you seem to sweat a little harder on the days he’s here” she teased, referring to one of the trainers.

“Yeah, his smile sure does give me a little picker upper” I grinned, thinking of the last time he was here. He was training some girl who already had a perfect body, probably a model, and it was funny to watch him sweat as she kept bending over directly in front of him, obviously wanting a different kind of workout.

“Speak of the sexy little devil, here he comes now” she nodded towards the entrance.

“How are you ladies today?” he asked with a smile, locking eyes with me as he walked past us. 

“Oh, we’re good now that you’re here” Katy winked and I could see his cheeks turn a little pink as he chuckled softly, but kept it moving.

“You are pitiful, leave that baby alone. I’m sure he gets enough of that from these tiny little 'models' he’s always training. I would be jumping at the chance to have him as a trainer too, if he were a decade older” I laughed. We worked out together for another half hour, people watching and laughing about the ones who were obviously here just to post it on social media.

After Katy left, I jogged three miles of my own, then hit the showers. I always felt ten times better after my workout, it put me in a singing mood. Today’s jam was ‘Girl on Fire’ by Alicia Keys.

“You have a beautiful voice” someone pointed out, scaring the shit outta me while I was digging for lotion in my locker. I thought I was the only one in the locker room.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you” he grinned at how hard I jumped.

“Boy, do you know I could’ve slapped the shit outta you” I replied, clutching my chest.

“Who’s to say I wouldn’t have enjoyed it?” he asked raising his eyebrow.

“Don’t do that” I ordered, pulling the rest of my things from my locker.

“What?” he asked confused.

“Don’t flirt with me. I’m old enough to be your mama, or at least ya damn auntie” I replied, and he burst into laughter.

“You’re hella gorgeous and funny. I like that”

“Thank you” I smiled as our eyes connected.

"That was a nice workout you did today, but when you're ready for the real deal, let Quincy know” he stated, patting his chest. “I can help you on your form" He licked his lips, then proceeded to undress me with his eyes, and that was my cue to leave.

“Enjoy the rest of your day Quincy, and try not to scare the shit outta anyone else” I called over my shoulder.

After the gym, I had a doctor’s appointment to rush to. I was beyond nervous because I was here for lab results. I came a few days ago for a routine pap smear, but ended up getting a lot of other testing done too. I was wondering if it was possible for me to get pregnant again, even though I wasn't planning on it anytime soon. It’s just something that’s been heavy on my heart, so I wanted answers.

My palms were sweaty and my stomach churned as I waited for the doctor to come in. I just felt bad news coming and it made me anxious.

"Hey Mrs. Fenty, how are you doing today?

"Nervous"

"Well I have the answers to your questions right here" he stated, flipping through a stack of papers.

He went over my lab results and hysteroscopy with me and broke everything down to simpler terms.

"So overall, you're healthy. Your uterus did sustain a lot of scar tissue from the previous injury, which dramatically lowers your chances of being able to carry a baby again"

"what does that mean?"

"you will probably have no problem getting pregnant, but it's not very likely you'll ever make it past the first trimester again. If you and your husband are considering kids, it may be better to use a surrogate"

"Oh no, I just wanted to know. I'm not married and I'm not trying to get pregnant, I just wanted to know where I stood"

"Well if you ever decide to go that route, let me know. I know a good doctor"

I was supposed to have dinner with Dre and his mom tonight, but after my appointment, I wasn't in the mood to slap on a fake smile. Dre reads through that shit instantly, which means I would have to explain why I was in a sour mood. So instead, I went home and drank a bottle of Chardonnay to myself. This is the closest you get to a pity party" I told myself as I rolled a blunt. 

I took it easy the rest of the weekend. I just sat at home with Ollie and Pepe, watching TV and eating junk. When Monday morning came, I'd gotten all the pity out of my system and was ready to work off that extra 5 pounds I gained overnight.

"Good morning. Are you ready to work on that form?" Quincy greeted me bright and early with that big ass smile he always had. It was eerily quiet with only one other person working out this morning, but that didn’t make him any less jolly.

"As a matter of fact, I am" I replied, catching him off guard. Still, that didn't stop him from coming through with the good advice. We had a thirty-minute session, but when it was over, I was drenched in sweat.

I walked a couple of miles to cool down then took at quick shower so I could avoid rush hour on the way to work. John was a good driver, but no one stood a chance against rush hour traffic.

"Thanks for the pointers today" I smiled when Quincy walked in the locker room. “I really feel the burn” 

"My pleasure" he smiled, licking his lips. I swear he was doing that shit on purpose.

“Do you mind helping me out with my necklace?" I asked, after it slipped through my fingers for the third time.

"Of course" he replied, taking it in his hand and putting it around my neck. "You smell really good"

"Thanks"

“No problem” he whispered so softly, that he made the hairs on the back of my neck stand and sent shivers down my spine. My body shook involuntarily causing me to bump into him and I accidentally felt his manhood.

“Oh my God. I’m sorry. That tickled and I got the chills, I’m so sorry” I apologized repeatedly. I was embarrassed, but more impressed than anything. He had basketball shorts on so I felt everything. I couldn’t believe it was rock hard and a nice size at that.

“Hey girl, I woke up late today and-” Katy immediately paused, feeling the tension in the air.

“It was good working with you today, let me know when you’re ready for more” Quincy winked, leaving me to face Katy’s curious expression, and adding even more to the flame with that wink.

Chris

“Wow. This is beautiful. What do you call it?” Tae asked, as soon as we entered my bedroom. She came to the city this weekend, for my art exhibition and couldn’t get enough. She wanted to see more, so I invited her over to see some of the things I painted in my new home.

“Monster. I painted this in one night. I couldn’t sleep, so I found myself painting with no end in mind, this was the finished product” I explained.

“You are really talented. Her eyes are so intense” she continued in awe. “And look at her lips”

“Look at your lips” I replied, licking my own, then leaning in and kissing hers. It was bold, but I could tell she wanted it, because she wasted no time slipping her tongue in my mouth.

“Damn” she grinned, after I pulled back. “That was unexpected”

“In a bad way or a good way?”

“In a great way, but I might as well tell you now. I’m celibate, so that’s about as far as you’re gonna get without a ring on my finger”

“Whoa, I wish you would’ve told me that sooner. Now I feel like I crossed the line, and I don’t want to disrespect you”

“No, that was nice. I just don’t want you getting any other ideas” she laughed playfully, as her phone began to vibrate. She took it out, replied to a text, and put it back in her pocket for the hundredth time today.

“You must be a popular lady” I teased. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know” she replied, leaning in and kissing me this time.

“Naw, you can’t be doing stuff like that. That’s not fair” I quickly shook my head, as the alarm chimed, signaling that someone just came in the house. 

I knew it wasn’t Anthony, he wasn’t supposed to be back for another few hours, so I jumped up and ran down the hall to find out who it was.

“Chris!" Mama called out as I jogged down the stairs.

"Hey mama, what's up? You always call before you come"

"I have something to tell you” she began, getting straight to the point. 

“This must be some serious stuff for you to drive all the way over here” I chuckled.

“We need to sit down” she sighed walking to the living room and sitting on the sofa. 

“You okay?” I asked and she nodded. “What’s going on mama? Don’t tell me I’m gonna have to beat Richard’s ass”

“What? No Chris” she rolled her eyes. “This is going to be a lot to process, and I’m sorry I never told you this before. I had a baby when you were six. I was going through a lot at the time, and I couldn’t handle another child, so I gave him up for adoption"

"Wow...wait. Why are you telling me now?"

"He showed up at my doorstep a couple of months ago. I thought the records were sealed, but he found me. We’ve been spending some time together, but he wanted to be sure about the paternity before taking our relationship any further, so we had a DNA test done and I got the results today. He's really my baby boy” she whispered, clutching the papers to her chest.

“Wow Ma. I don't even know what to say right now?” I stared at her, lost for words. “I’m surprised you could go all this time without telling me something like this”

"It’s not something I was proud of, you know. I didn't think about the possibility of him wanting to know me after all this time, and there were so many feelings surrounding my pregnancy, that I hoped to never have to explain, so I forced myself to live with my decision"

"What do you mean"

"He came out looking just like his dad, and I couldn't live with that at the time”

“Wait, you said ‘his’ dad, so that means...”

“Yes, you two have different fathers. Anyway, I told him he has a brother and he's been wanting to meet you. I thought it would be best if we knew the DNA results first, so now that they're here, I thought we could all have dinner tonight at my house”

“Of course, if I have a brother out there, I definitely want to meet him” I nodded adamantly.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I’m going to get going Chris” Tae announced. 

“I’m so sorry, Tae. This is my mom, Joyce. Mama, this is Lashontae. She’s Lala’s maid of honor”

"You are gorgeous Lashontae” Mama complimented, shaking her hand. “Chris, you should’ve told me you have company.”

“Oh, it’s okay. I see you have family stuff going on, so I think I should go”

“Nonsense honey. I didn’t mean to interrupt what you two had going on. I’m going to get going, I have to get to the supermarket. I’ll see you later Chris” Mama smiled. “It was good to meet you Lashontae, you’re welcome to join us for dinner later” she added on her way out.

“Aww, you look so much like your mom, and she’s super sweet” Tae grinned.

“Thank you. You’re not leaving yet, are you?”

“Well, I kind of overheard your mom, I figured you might want some privacy, so I was going to head back to Lala’s.” Tae replied.

“Please stay and join us tonight. Mama can really cook, I promise you won’t be disappointed” 

“I'm sure she can, I just don’t want to impose on something so private”

“Stop it. I want you to be there. It’s not like I can just come swoop you up whenever I want to chill with you, so I want to make the most of the time you do get to spend out here”

“Okay, under one circumstance”

“What’s that?” I asked, hoping it was reasonable.

“I want you to paint something for me” she smiled.

“I should’ve known” I smirked. She was legit a fan of mine and that alone turned me on. The fact that she was celibate also ignited a fire in me. Everything about her was too perfect, and I couldn’t believe luck was on my side with this one. She was beautiful with a banging body, had brains, and was successful in her career.  I couldn’t help but wonder if she had any secrets in her closet, only time will tell. 

[choicesaddictionwriting]

Breaking Point (Damien x MC)

SUMMARY: Eros torture Damien with the footage of his friends and love of his life seemingly moving on without him in attempt to break him for more information while being held captive Damien uncovers why he was chosen to be taken and replaced as well as how Eros really plan on getting Steve and Hayden back.

(A/N: Hope you enjoy this. I tried to explain some plot points and this is just what I think might be going on with some added drama) 

The Breaking Point (Damien x Emmy) 

“Uh Damien…the view is that way.” Emmy chuckled, with a sweeping hand gesturing to the view of Paris at night from the Eiffel tower.

“The views pretty nice this way, too” He responded, an all to familiar but lovestruck smirk on his face reflecting in Emmy’s eyes.

Damien adverted his gaze at that point. He knew where this was going. He’d seen the video too many times by now. Hell, he could recite it to you if you wanted him too. At first, he didn’t understand why they kept on replaying the same videos, did it hurt to see everyone is so easily tricked into thinking some machine was him? Perhaps, at the start but how could he blame than them?

Everything it said, everything it did, were things that he would do. Why would they not believe it was him? But he was past that now, he knew he couldn’t blame them or focus on it. Eros tactic was smart, break him by forcing him to watch his friends and the woman he loved by happy and spend time with a replacement version of him. In all honesty, it almost did, watching Emmy do all the things with that machine that he had waited and wanted to do with her for so long, almost broke him.

In reality, all it did was making him angry.

He raged at the sight of her being manipulated, taken advantage of by someone who looked just like him. And he could only imagine how Emmy would react too. She’d shut everyone else out, she’d blame herself, torture herself with guilt for not figuring it all sooner. For not knowing straight away that person she was talking to, kissing, planning a future with wasn’t really him, wasn’t really a person at all. She’d question, agonise over whether he would forgive her. Damien could hope for a chance to tell her that there was nothing to forgive.

He let Cecelie and all her minions at Eros believe that the videos were getting to him, wearing him down, letting them think he thought that his friends had moved on and weren’t coming for him. That watching the same video of everyone being happy, thinking that were free and clear even just for a little while was waiting for him. That Emmy had moved on and would forget about him because she had a better version.

But all Damien was really focused on was the tapes and getting what he could out of them.

They always replayed the same five days. Starting after the battle at the Eros headquarters, on the helicopters escaping the facility and ending at the Louvre, suspiciously mid-sentence. Emmy and whatever machine that was posing as him were discussing the future. His and Emmy’s future. Then they stop and look at paintings and the video is always stopped at the same moment just as Emmy was about say something.

After attending dozens of art shows to support Nadia, he and Emmy had a little game they would play. They would go round and imitate the artsy types they were surrounded by and take turns discussing the paintings. Asking each other stupid questions like what do you think of the grey oak frame selected in contrast with the blue of the painting, what do you think of the primrose colour selection, how does that painting make you feel?

He could only guess that the only thing that separated humans and the matches, the inability to describe the abstract, had given fake Damien away and they had realised that it wasn’t him. He could only hope. But he was sure that was what happened as it was the only reason why they always cut the video at that point and why they hadn’t shown him anything from fake Damien post that day. Assuming that they had shown him the video the day it happened, it had been three days since. Not that he could track days exactly inside wherever he was but based on what he guess at the times shown in the video. They went to the Louvre on Friday 18th and today was either Sunday 20th or Monday 21st. He guessed that Eros wanted him to think that they still thought that robotic Damien was the real thing.

His suspicions were eventually confirmed. Another day, another interrogation and another viewing but this time Cecile was unexpectedly pulled away in the middle of Thursday the day before the trip to the Louvre. She let the video keep playing, most likely assuming that whatever was playing her away wasn’t going to take long but it did. And finally, on Damien got to see what happens after what he had seen before.

“What did you just say?” He watched Emmy ask, the look of horror creeping over her face as she dropped it’s hand and turned to face fake Damien, looking right into the camera hidden in it’s eyes.

Damien watched the panic continue as fake Damien struggled, tried to come up with words. Making the same sounds of frustration as he would. Snapping at Emmy as he tried to come up with something anything.

He finally saw the panic rise in Emmy but she still let it hold her hand, the grip evidently strong as Emmy winced slightly. And then it was confirmed.

“I can’t Emmy. I can’t,” It said, his eyes or cameras still fixated on Emmy.

Emmy’s breathing quickened instantaneously, she began to shake wordlessly, her eyes starting to blur with tears but remaining focused on the fake version of Damien starting back at her, clearing reflecting her predominate emotion.

Panic.

Damien saw exactly what he feared to come to fruition. She was panicking, He knew the signs. It was like he knew exactly what she was thinking and none of it was good. She screaming at herself for not knowing and then the questions over his wellbeing sank in. He could see it in the flicker of her eyes.

Both Damien and Emmy prided themselves in knowing the most about the other and Damien was sure he knew Emmy the best out of anyone and yet he continued to surprise him. Damien knew what he expected her to do at that point. But instead, he watched Emmy do something else. He knew she wanted to do those things but instead with tears in her eyes he watched her comfort the distressed machine and tell him it was going to be okay. He saw her run away but not in fear but to get help for him, to tell others. She even promised to come back.

Eros had made mistake. Their tactic of wearing him down maybe would have worked if had been forced to watch that scene multiple times. What was worse than seeing the person you love with someone else? Seeing the person you love in pain.

For once Damien was thankful when Cecile came back in and turned off the video, he expected her to say something but she apparently had something more important in mind. She switched off the video as a camera was brought in, positioned accordingly so both of them were clearly in the frame.

She began speaking, talking to Emmy and the others. Elbowing him in the face halfway through because Damien couldn’t help but take back. Damien licked the blood off his lips as Cecile continued to speak into the camera.

“…this spying and messing around has gone on long enough, Emmy. This is your chance to wipe the slate clean with us,” Cecile stated poignantly to the camera, “I’ve attached coordinates in Paris convenient for your posse to meet us. The deal is simple. Damien in exchange for Hayden and Steve. I expect a discussion will ensure as to who you would prefer. And by then, we’ll have had our fun…Won’t we, Damien?”

She glanced over at him, flashing him a sicking smile that made him thrash against the bindings containing him to the chair. She then quickly walked over and grabbed his chin only for him to quickly shake it out of her grasp.

“Looking forward to it,” He spat, furiously.

“I’ll see you soon,” Cecile grinned before motioning for the camera to be switched off and removed.

“That’s a pretty stupid plan,” Damien commented strategically and all-knowingly, watching her intently as she turned her back watching the camera be taken away, “You think their stupid enough to believe you’ll simply exchange me for them?”

“No, well at least not at first,” Cecile responded calmly taking a seat across from Damien, a deviously grin playing on her lips, “In fact I’m sure they’ll start devising a way to save you and keep hold of Match 109 and 103 as soon as they see the message and then well if what I expect to happen happens then I’m sure they’ll be exactly where we want them,”

“And what’s that?” Damien persisted.

Cecile eyebrow cocked up suspiciously in response, as well as disbelief at the question.

“Why not enlighten me?” Damien continued, “It’s not like I can stop them or you from here,”

“That is true,” Cecile agreed, drumming her fingers on the surface of the table.

“Bored?” Damien questioned.

“I’m waiting,” She smirked, “And don’t ask me for what,”

“Alright,” Damien began, knowing that if he was going to get anywhere that he was going to switch tactics, “Tell me this. How did you get that thing to act like so much like me because I’m telling you I’ve watched the tapes a couple times now and you guys have me believing that it’s me there. How did you do it?”

Damien watched Cecile eyes brighten up in what he could only assume was excitement. This was clearly her pet project and people like her treated their work like their children. They were proud of them and loved to talk about them.

“Well, it helped that we already had a lot of your information from when you tried to join our service,” She began, “We’re not in the business of making versions of actual people. So we couldn’t do it for just anyone, well not yet at least. Of course, due to the speed of which we needed it, your double we’ll call him, isn’t as advance as our matches but convincing none the less. There are things missing, like small habits, ticks, things that we couldn’t found out through research but in essence, it doesn’t matter because they can be explained away by human error. Humans aren’t consistent by nature so not having those things in a way make them more realistic. More human, matches are much easier as there is nothing to compare or base them off.”

“But they still figured it out,” Damien said.  

“We anticipated that they would figure it out eventually. Like I said he isn’t perfect and his purpose was only to keep track and make them think they had the upper hand,” She elaborated.

“So you knew they would figure it out?” He pointed out, expertly knowing that it would suggest he wasn’t listening.

“Didn’t I just say that?”  She snapped, clearly and visually annoyed, “Of course. No self respecting artist would go to Paris and not go to the worlds most famous art museum. It was only a matter of time before Nadia forced them all their which perhaps is the worse place for the current version of our machines,”

“What was the point? Dramatic effect?” Damien asked.

“Damien haven’t you figured out why we replaced you and not say Emmy or even Nadia for that matter?” Cecile questioned, genuinely surprised given what she knew that he hadn’t.
 “I don’t know, my dazzling personality?” Damien offered with a cheeky grin.

“It’s because you’re her weakness,”

“Whose?” Damien demanded

“You’re darling Emmy’s of course,” She smirked evilly.

“What do you mean?” Damien argued.

“There is a reason why Miss Emmeline Park is my favourite client,” She stated.

“Oh yeah and why’s that?” Damien probed.

“She is constantly defying expectation.” Cecile stated launching into an explanation, “Given her past perhaps I should have anticipated it. She is the only client that hasn’t fallen for their match. We created her perfect match, a match that would take away her biggest fear of being alone and unlovable and yet the more time she spent with her match. The more she realised that the sort of person she’d always imaged spending her life with isn't the person she actually wants to spend her life with. We gave her the best friend she wanted and all it did was make her realise that she was in love with you. It was surprise because we usually pick up on things like we did with you. But she surprised us and proved our algorithm wrong by loving you. A man who definitely not her type,”

“No offence taken,” Damien smirked, unfazed.

“But anyway our mistake has only played to our advantage in the end,” Cecile commented.

“Oh?” Damien prompted, confused.

“Her realising her feelings for you and subsequently acting on them makes her vulnerable, susceptible to emotional outbursts and decisions. Emmy historically very controlled, her moral compass unwavering. She acts based on said compass and doesn’t act against it. Which is why before she would do anything to protect matches 103 and 109 because despite knowing they are machines she sees them as people,” Cecile explained, getting carried away, playing right into Damien’s scheme.

“They are,” Damien snapped.

“Regardless of what you all believe, now that we have you as leverage I suspect that those morals she uses to guide her are being challenged. Balancing what she knows to be right with wanting you back,”

“You don’t know Emmy if you think…” Damien began, furious at the suggestion.

“Neither do you. Well, at least not in this condition. With the man, she loves life in the balance. Who knows what she’ll do, what she’ll give up in order to save you,”

“Even if your plan does work. You might have convinced Emmy but what about the others. You think Nadia and Sloane are going willing give up Hayden and Steve?” Damien countered, unconvinced.

“Yes, if Emmy convinces them which she can and will,” Cecile elaborated, impenitently.


“I don’t…” Damien began to say before bing cut off.


“Do you still not understand?” Cecile interrupted, before continuing without thinking in frustration,  “Emmy is the glue that holds all of your little group together. Every member has strong ties to Emmy which makes her the most influential. Nadia is her family. You are the love of her life. Hayden is her perfect match, he programmed to make her love him and he will give himself if he thinks that will do it. Miss Washington has feelings for her. Steve will do whatever Nadia says. Even your ex Miss Kasuma will do what she says. Because Emmy has that magnetic quality that we could only ever try to replicate with our matches. Do you understand?”

“I do,” Damien nodded, taking a deep breath as for the first time his belief and his confidence were starting to waver, he began to doubt and question what he knew, “If Emmy breaks so does everyone else and they’ll give you exactly what you want and the only way to make her break was to take me,”

“Because Mr Nazario, Love is the most powerful emotion of all,”  

[kokkoro]

you and me (were meant to be) (1/3)

Her name is Clarke and she likes coffee and it takes you half a second to decide you like her.

or the ‘i just met you but there’s this couples contest on campus rn and all my friends are busy and you’re just sitting there reading on the quad, pls the prize is a Technivorm Moccamaster KBT 741 and my coffee machine broke last week and im dying pls i need my coffee’ au 

(aka the couples competition au) (on ao3)

If asked you would say you were bribed. Or blackmailed. Something dramatic like that. Except you don’t even like coffee and the last time someone tried to force you to do something you didn’t want to do they ended up with a fist to the face and a bloody nose. What you do like though are pretty blonde girls in loose button-ups and tiny jean shorts and backward snapbacks, so in hindsight there really was no hope for you.

So you say yes, and it's this wobbly cracked thing that stumbles from the tip of your tongue in two pieces that’s only halfway out your mouth by time she’s pulling you to your feet.

“Come on,” she says, urging, her lips halfway to a grin and you’re already lost. “The competition starts in ten and we still haven’t signed up.”

You’re pulled from your spot in front of the library and into the thick of things without warning and she doesn’t let go of your hand in what you assume is a precaution against losing you to the droves of people congregating on the quad. This is what you imagine a stampede to feel like, the cacophony rattling and your breath lodged just below your throat, but you focus on her hand and everything thins. It’s the beginning of October, right when the chill of oncoming autumn is contested only by the sun’s last attempts at summer, but you know it more commonly as homecoming week.

There’s stands with food and drinks and the art students have dragged out displays and people crowd in a manner that makes at least some semblance of sense. Clubs and various organizations shout to be heard above the ruckus of the radio club, vying for the attention of the incoming freshman who wander through the chaos like lost souls in the styx.

You see the queue for the line by the practice field. It’s not long, but the sun’s in your eyes and Clarke turns the hat on her head to block it. She fiddles, lifting and shifting until it rests the way she wants it. It sits a little askew, her blonde hair ruffles and curls.

“Have you done this before?” she says.

You look away only to settle on a burly young man attempting to rip his shirt off, and you turn back to focus on Clarke. That’s also a terrible idea, so you shift to watch the line steadily move forward. “Gotten drafted into a couples competition by a stranger? No, I haven’t.”

“Enjoyed the festivities I mean.” Clarke says, and the small smirk she wears means your attempt at humor went better than planned. “Did I drag you away from something important?”

“Not particularly.” You’d actually be apart of it if you hadn’t been coerced into delegating the task to Anya. She had said you needed a break. Really, you think she just gets off seeing the freshmen's faces when they meet you for the first time and are lulled into a false sense of security. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t find it amusing in some ways.

“Good.”

The silence picks up, interspersed by the low chatter of the couple in front of you. The girl giggles, tucked into the side of her boyfriend and he bends to whisper something into her ear before pressing his mouth to the side of her head. She swats at him playfully, but her retaliation doesn’t last, her arms wrapping around his torso.

“Why me?” you ask softly and Clarke brows scrunch, confused, so you squeeze her hand and repeat: “Why me? Surely you’d have a better chance with someone else.”

Clarke snorts and looks ahead, standing briefly on her tip-toes to peer around the people in line in front of you, tilting the bill of her hat back. It’s another second before she says, nonchalant, “And be utterly heteronormative? Please. I didn’t spend my high school years struggling with my sexual identity to stop here.” She glances at you and maybe you’re imagining the way her eyes dart to your lips. “Plus all my friends were busy.”

Your heart thuds, a quick one-two beat, and you feel lost. It takes a second to pull yourself back. “What makes you so sure?”

“About what?” Clarke says with a slight smile.

You watch her watch you. “Me.”

“A hunch?” she says, raising her shoulders in an innocent shrug. “Am I right?”

She is. God, she is. Your eyes dart to her lips--to her eyes and the faint flush dusting her cheeks and you swallow before tearing your eyes away, but she lets out a small laugh and you’re right back to where you started.

“You have rainbow pin on your bag,” she points out, her voice soft and unassuming, and you look down despite knowing what you’ll find. You completely forgot you had that. “I figured the odds were in my favor. But if you’re not comfortable with, uh, this… thing, I… No hard feelings, really. You don’t have to do this.”

You move another pace forward, tugging her gently forward with you. You’ve never been one to back down from a challenge. “I want to.”

“Okay,” Clarke says, a grin slow to form on her lips. She squeezes your hand and you feel it light a fire in you. “Then lets kick some ass.”

You’re still staring at her by the time you make it to the front and the guy behind the table at the sign-in tent can’t keep the wry smile from his mouth. He taps his pen against the plastic fold-out table. “Welcome to the annual Official Unofficial King and Queen Competition. . .ladies,” he says, and Clarke scoffs quietly next to you, her thumb passing restlessly back and forth across your knuckles. “Here to sign up? You’re just in time. Names please.”

“Clarke and Lexa,” Clarke supplies easily, and the guy mmhmms as he scribbles chicken scratch onto a ledger. You catch Clarke eyeing the impressive coffee machine up for grabs, this superfluous monster of a machine that you’d swear could sooner do your taxes than make you a cup of coffee.

“Nice to meet you, Clarke and Lexa,” he says, peeling off two stickers from a roll by his right elbow and holding them out to you. “Stickers where we can see ‘em, alright? You can leave your belongings here is you want and the competition starts in five. All couples should be by the platform on the practice field by the start time, you know the deal. Good luck guys.”

You take yours somewhat awkwardly, stuck to your index finger, unsure of what to do with it until you see Clarke place hers on the sleeve of her button up, patting it down with this small determined look on her face. You place yours on your stomach, over the loose white tee you’re wearing, and then hand over your bag for safe-keeping.

Clarke takes your hand again a second later like it’s already a habit, threading your fingers together and wiggling, and you allow yourself to be led. From what you can see, the practice field is set up accordingly. There appears to be what seems like an obstacle course made out of some of the old football equipment set up at strategic points on the field. Even the few rows of bleachers have already started to fill out with spectators. They’re either friends of the competitors or those with down time during the festivities and looking for a laugh.

You’re not unused to the attention though it’s hard to not find it a tad unnerving. This is nothing short of a spectacle, meant for entertainment and the emotions and thrill competition brings, perhaps at the expense of your pride. You’ve learned from experience not to let it get to you. It makes you impulsive, a little bit reckless, and that’s not something you are. But now, as Clarke leads you up onto the platform and the adrenaline begins to prickle to life under your skin, you let it. You have a feeling you’ll need it.

The group of couples line up in a row and you and Clarke find a spot near the end of the line as one of the last few onto the stage. She sticks close, her arm around your waist and this small determined grin on her face as she scopes out the competition, looking up and down the line appraisingly. Watching her drowns out the noise, the persistent chatter of the other competitors and the far off white noise of the people filling out the stands.

Confidence looks good on her.

She snaps out of it the second someone tests the microphone and the sound blares loudly, her arm tensing around your waist. A few boos and curses issue out from the stands and your host, a tall, bright eyed man with shaggy hair and a slight beard, laughs. He shakes it off, tapping the microphone one more time to make sure it works as intended, before spreading his arms wide.

“Welcome!” his voice booms over the speakers, voice low and powerful, and the crowd erupts into cheers. You can feel the sound in your chest. “To the annual official unofficial Polis U King and Queen Competition!”

The man takes a moment to bask in the noise, scanning the crowd, smiling as random onlookers take notice of the commotion and try to find seats among the madness. “Today, these young lovers will seek to prove their worth in three grueling tasks for the right to become this year’s top couple. So sit back, relax, pick a favorite, they’ll need all the help they can get.”

“Are you ready?” you hear Clarke mutter, just barely over the noise, and you dip your head, angling towards her. You try not to look at her, but she turns to you then and your world seems to crumble, leaving nothing but the sight of her looking back at you.

“I was born for this, Clarke,” you tease, and her lips stretch into the widest grin.

“--first,” the hosts voice cuts through your self induced fog and you look back up and out over the crowd, trying to ignore the way Clarke holds you tighter. “Let us weed out the weak.”

A stagnant pause hangs over the training field

“Contestants!” the man continues, and there’s a certain satisfaction you find in the way a few of the men in line jump at the words that travel over the loudspeaker. “Spread out before you is an obstacle course designed to test your physical limits. Men, and women,” he corrects quickly at the sight of you, “must carry their ladies safely all the way across field to the end. But the catch,” he motions to a helper down on the field and they quickly toss up a brightly colored beach ball, “is that this must as well.”

“You are allowed,” he continues, “to use this ball to knock the other competitors ball out of their hands. You may not tackle, hit, or otherwise hurt your fellow competitors, but besides, be one of the first fifteen couples to cross the finish line and you’re through.”

Clarke pokes you in the side as you and the other competitors are herded off the platform and down onto the field. “How fast can you run?”

“Fast enough,” you say.

“I say we book it. Let the rest fight amongst themselves.”

You fight back a smile as you watch her out of the corner of your eye, taking a knee once you arrive at the starting line. You brace your hands against the grass and Clarke clambers onto your shoulders, her touch light against your back. When she finally settles, hands on your head, you hook your arms around her thighs and try to make sense of the extra weight. “Ready?” you say, tilting your head back and tapping her leg to get her attention. From the look on her face, you have an inkling she might be afraid of heights. “on three, two, one--”

You stand and Clarke’s grip tightens on your hair briefly, fingers tugging a bit at the strands, before the tension relaxes. She gathers her bearings, legs clenched around your shoulders, feet hooked on your sides. Any tighter and the circulation to your arms might cut off, but she takes a moment to center herself.

“I’m good,” she says, a bit too quickly. “Yeah, I’m good.”

She holds out her hands and one of the event staff tosses up a blue beachball that she catches just barely. She lets out a slow breath, nodding to herself, and clutches the ball to her chest.

You find your place behind the line, watching the others settle in beside you. Some look lost. This palpable apprehension that seems to take hold in their eyes. They won’t make it twenty feet, you’re sure. The tall dark man with the broad chest and the small firecracker of a woman on his shoulders not ten feet down from you, however, is another story altogether.

Everything drowns away the second the countdown starts over the speakers. You feel kind of stupid, but there’s a pretty girl with her legs around your neck and everything else seems to fall away in comparison. She’s warm. Not to mention probably more embarrassed about this than you. Or at the least that’s what you find yourself hoping the second the countdown reaches zero and you bolt off as fast as you can towards the finish line.

Only to make it two feet before someone comes running at you from the side with a yellow beachball.

You manage a strangled “Clarke,” and she turns.

There’s a split second you take to brace yourself and Clarke is just as fast. She meets the impact head on, leaning in with her weight as you lurch to the side. The resulting impact causes the couple to jerk back and without the necessary balance they topple to the ground.

The crowd roars.

“Motherfucker,” you hear Clarke huff under her breath, and you try and fail to wipe the smirk from your face.

It’s awkward running with someone on your shoulders, you realize. You’re scared she’ll fall off, but if the numbness you’re beginning to feel in your arms is any indication as you step through a rows of tires spread out past the twenty yard-line, you think she’ll be okay.

You hear a chorus of shouts among the cheers from the stands and the slightly unnerving laughter behind you, but you don’t look back, keeping your focus on putting one foot in front of the other. You stumble out of the last tire and Clarke’s free hand is quick to tangle itself into your shirt to keep herself upright. It rubs roughly against your collarbones, and if nothing else it reminds you to breathe.

“Lexa,” she says a little breathlessly, releasing her hold. You feel her shift to glance at the commotion behind you, and you’re not sure if she’s scolding you or warning you as you sprint headlong into a barrage of standing football dummies.

They’re placed close together, which is good for you if a bit ridiculous to think about. Blue, red, yellow, red, blue--they pass in a blur, knocking against your elbows and Clarke’s knees. Somewhere to your left you have a feeling someone is close behind and when you burst through the thick of it you feel a little disorientated. The other couple overtakes you, taking advantage of your sudden stupor, and you know that means the others are not far behind.

You don’t remember the rest. It flies by as you attempt to gain back what you lost, unaware of much besides Clarke urging you on and the finish line not ten yards away. You come in second and you don’t realize you’ve finished until Clarke’s gleeful yelp, too focused on getting back the air you lost in that last made dash. She drops the beachball unceremoniously in favor of wrapping her arms around your neck and it only makes it harder to breathe. The sudden stop in forward momentum and the enthusiasm of Clarke’s excitement however, is all it takes to cause you to trip.

It’s much like crumbling, undignified and maybe a bit embarrassing. You manage to land somewhat on your butt, leaning heavily on your left arm with Clarke draped over your right shoulder and half in your lap. She’s laughing though, this bubbly thing that’s more a snort as she tries to pull herself the rest of the way over your shoulder. To little success. You try to help her and she nearly elbows you in the face.

She rolls off eventually, somersaults onto her back in the grass, her head near your thigh. She’s red in the face, hair wrestled free from the hat that had tumbled off just moments ago, and her chest heaves in gulps of air under her nearly untucked up button-up, but her smile -- god, her smile.

You lean over, blocking out the sun, breath coming in much more manageable intervals and wait for things to settle. Around you, a few more couples come running in and they’re careful to keep clear of the both of you. It’s a hard won break and you’ve earned these few moments of respite.

It’s a moment or two before Clarke finds the wherewithal to move, taking one last deep breath before propping herself up on her forearms. She smiles at you this time, little bits of grass in her hair, and it’s almost as if you’re the only thing that matters to her.

Standing, you brush the dirt from your palms on you jeans, and you pretend you don’t notice the way she watches you. Casually, cautiously. The curiosity in her eyes is hard to mask and you  don’t think she cares. You bend to pick up her hat, smacking it against your thigh to dislodge the bits of dirt and grass and when you offer her your hand there’s no hesitance when she takes it.

“Thanks,” she says, finally back on her feet. She’s close and her words are soft and you give back her hat wordlessly. She flexes the bill until she’s satisfied with the feel, and you brush a few blades of grass from the strands of her hair. The grin that captures her lips is slow and soft like honey, and you’re surprised by the way it has you yearning. “What a way to kick things off, am I right?”

“I don’t do things moderately,” you say, tilting your head and taking the time to observe her back.

She looks up at you, amused. “Neither do I.”

Clarke turns the hat around in her hands, fiddling with its weight that she’s so suddenly taken by. You see the decision she makes then though. How it begins with this little nod and the determined set to her lips, and how it ends with her hat on your head.

It’s the moment you realize you want to know what it’s like to kiss her.

You’re herded back towards the other side of the field before you have a chance to really think about those thoughts. That doesn't mean you let go of Clarke’s hand even though the opportunity presents itself. You quite like how she twines her arm with yours and the gentleness she has as her thumb passes over your knuckles, soothing. It’s unconscious, like breathing, and so is the small peck you press to her temple as you wait--offhand and it surprising even you. You pull away, pretending to focus your attention back on the emcee.

The problem with that is, you find you only half pay attention. The announcements are background noise compared to the softness of her touch and you have to wonder if she’s aware of what she’s doing to you. It’s a tragedy then, that Clarke lets go of your hand long before you’re prepared for it and you look at her in mild confusion as she slips her fingers from yours. She gives a small shake of her head, brows knit adorably as if to ask what’s wrong, and you find it’s hard to voice the truth.

You watch as she accepts a blindfold from one of the event staff as he makes his way through the remaining couples and there’s no hesitation as she goes about securing it round her face, blocking her eyes. When she lets go it slips down over her eyes and this low laugh escapes you before you have a chance to reel it back in.

She looks at you disappointingly but lets you position her in front of you as you go about untying the knot she made.

“This is--” you give a generous tug and it holds tight “--quite the feat you’ve managed here, Clarke.”

“It’s tougher than it looks,” she says. You can’t see her eyes, but you can see the smile that curls the ends of her lips.

“I’m sure,” you mutter back, struggling for a few more seconds until the knot gives and you’re able to pull the fabric free.

You keep Clarke close as you reapply the blindfold to her eyes, laying it gently across the bridge of her nose and over her eyes. You secure it with a simple knot, careful to avoid getting the strands of her hair caught in the tangle.

“Everything feel okay?” you ask, running your fingers through her hair a few times to tame the mess you made. She doesn’t bring attention to it and you drop your hands from her hair before they betray you and they drift down to her lower back.

“Fine,” she says, and her head turns towards your voice. “It feels fine.”

You smile and it’s something you’re glad she can’t see. “How many fingers am I holding up?” Your hand near her back stays where it is, too content with the contact as your are. The other however, doesn’t move from your side. It’s a simple thing to forget to mention.

She hums, even though you’re sure she’s rolling her eyes at you from behind the blindfold. “Four.”

“Good guess.” You watch her lips curl into a grin, only vaguely aware of her left hand as it finds the fabric of your loose shirt and holds on. But you are all too aware of the feelings it ignites in you. “But no.”

Clarke huffs, though she looks unbothered by the development, stepping in closer so that she’s just shy of touching you. She smells like too much sun and the warmth it settles in you simmers just below your skin. If Anya could see you now, you’d never hear the end of it.

“Do you trust me?”

Clarke shrugs, leaning forward so that her nose bumps your shoulder. “Sure,” she says, the word muffled by your shirt. “I trust you.”

The noise over the microphone drowns out the words you don’t get to say, and Clarke picks her head up from where it was tucked against you. Her eyebrows furrow, concentrated, and you figure you should do the same.

There’s seven items down by the stage about a hundred feet away and while you and the remaining fourteen couples had rested and prepared, the event staff had taken the time to litter the open space with a new set of obstacles. Still mostly random football equipment (and a couple blow up halloween decorations) it doesn’t change the fact that you’ll have to guide Clarke through it by word alone.

You lead Clarke to the starting line, keeping hold of her hand until the emcee announces the countdown to start. When you let go, she looks a little lost without a tether to you, but there’s no time for reassurances as the air-horn sounds and the chaos erupts once again.

“Clarke--”

She locks on to your voice immediately, sight trained in your general direction. Among the slew of other voices, you wonder how she managed it, but she wastes no time in moving towards you. Her determination is to be admired at the very least.

“Clarke, slow down.”

“Not helping,” Clarke says in return, voice strained and arms outstretched, but she heeds your suggestion. “We don’t have forever, Lexa, where am I supposed to go?”

You take quick stock of your surroundings--the other stumbling couples, the tires and football dummies and random beachballs--and come to a quick conclusion. Just because you can’t lead her through it yourself, doesn’t mean you can’t walk it with her.

You stand in front of her, counting your steps until you can’t move forward anymore, a large blue football dummy blocking the way. “Six steps forward,” you call back to her. “No--no,” and she stops, “--no turning, just forward.”

Clarke huffs, but starts back up immediately, careful to keep in a straight line, and you get out of her way. She stops a bit short of the dummy, but for the most part you’d consider it a success. “Now what?”

“One big sidestep to the right,” you reply, and then you start all over again.

There’s a process to it, an almost rhythm that the two of you settle into as you make your way through the makeshift course piece by piece and Clarke listens intently. Without touch it’s a slow careful pace. By the time your feet away the crowd is a constant stream of shouts and you struggle to be heard over the chorus.

The moment she picks up the stuffed animal by the stage, the first sound of the air-horn blaring out across the practice field, and she tugs down the blindfold to see the evidence in her hands, the realization is slow to come. But when it does, it’s all consuming.

Clarke looks to you with wide disbelieving eyes and then back to the toy in her hand and lets out a little scream. Her body buzzes with energy, high off the feeling, and hurls herself at you, arms cinched around your neck and pulling the air from your lungs.

You stumble a few steps back, your right hand reaching up to stop her hat from falling off your head while the other finds its place around her waist. It keeps the two of you upright in the rush that follows. It doesn’t temper her excitement, however. In fact, it heightens it, and she bounces on the balls of her feel while her hug reaches bone breaking levels. You feel as if you’ve run another mile, but you consider the reward worth it.

“Clarke,” you say, and it's breathy from the air you can’t seem to inhale and she pulls away still holding your hand.

She studies you for a moment before shifting her attention to the field as the other couples snag the remaining items to qualify them for the next round. There’s a fire in her eyes and it burns when she turns back to you. “I think we can win this.”

You exhale and it escapes quietly among the noise, but you watch her and it’s her windswept hair, flushed cheeks and bright eyes. Her breathing comes in long steadying inhales, as if she’s collecting all the courage there deep in her gut. You wonder if that’s how it works; through sheer force of will.

“Does that mean you doubted me before?” you say, teasing, and she tugs the bill of the hat down over your eyes. Warmth floods to your chest and a smirk is quick to steal your lips. You clutch her hand tighter, but when you tilt the bill up again, she’s not looking at you anymore.

It's the moment you feel most lost in her.

You have this odd sense of dread when a small part the field is cleared in front of the platform  and the staff hands out blindfolds to the remaining contestants. Clarke offers to tie it for you, slightly smug, and you decline the offer only because having her hands in your hair sounds like the beginning of a disaster. You wait until the last possible minute though, when they’re leading Clarke away and suddenly you find you’d rather be staring at the inside of a black cloth than watching her walk away from you.

It’s a bit dramatic to think, yes, but it feels like the truth.

You don’t quite know what’s going on but you let yourself be led, pliant as someone places you in an indeterminable spot on the field. The wait isn’t long though and you’re thankful. It's hardly a minute later when the microphone crackles and the man’s familiar voice picks up over the speakers.

“This is it, ladies and gentlemen. The ultimate test. The couples must find their way back together. Without sight, without sound. Only touch.” the crowd ohhhs and wolf whistles and you roll your eyes behind the blindfold. “You have five minutes. Good luck.”

The first hand you hold is large, calloused, and the touch lasts no longer than five seconds before the both of you let go and move on. The second is smaller, slender, and it makes you pause. Your mouth opens slightly, but you remember yourself, closing it before anything has a chance to make it out. They hold you too tight and it takes them a moment to realize you’re not holding them back.

The third… The tips of their fingers finds your arm--the point of your elbow, fingers cold and hesitant. they trail down the inside of your forearm and it feels like forever, but when she folds her hand into yours, her thumb brushing softly over your knuckles, you accept it gently.

Something in you flutters, right there in your chest. High and light and it’s a bit like losing the ability to breathe. Like having the wind knocked from your chest, but carefully, and how it fills again, softly. So you step in closer and breathe in, pressing your lips softly to her temple.

She squeezes your hand tighter and that’s the end of that.

(somewhere off in the stands you hear a few people cheer and it’s enough to quirk your lips against her skin)

You don’t know how long you stand there, but it's probably barely minutes, and when you get the okay, you hook a finger around the blindfold and tug it down. Clarke’s eyes are the first thing you see. Blue and a hint of sun. She raises your linked hands into the air, a triumphant gesture, and you can’t help but laugh when the crowd seems to agree.

The both of you, along with the two other couples who passed, are herded up onto the stage once things settle. Clarke tugs you, your linked hands hanging between the two of you, as she bounds up the steps with you in tow. The grin hasn’t left her face since the little show-off down on the field and it only grows under the attention. You’re the first up onto the stage and you move down to make room for the others.

The emcee starts with the couple closest to the steps. You recognize them to be the couple you saw at the beginning. The fire is still very much evident, but there’s a softness in the way the man has his arm around his girlfriend’s shoulder, her body tucked comfortably into his side, her arm slung low around his hips. He catches you watching, and the knowing smile and quirked brow he shoots back at you makes you feel just a tad self-conscious. But there’s not much to look at besides Clarke, and the time it takes to succumb to that notion you already feel like you’ve proven his point.

So you don’t deny it, idly tucking a wayward strand of hair behind Clarke’s ear. At least not to yourself.

“And who have we here?”

The suddenness of the words surprises you and you turn your attention to the emcee and the microphone he reaches towards Clarke. There’s not an ounce of hesitation on her face.

“Clarke,” she says, and you can tell she’s enjoying this far too much. “This is Lexa.”

“And how long have you two been together?”

Clarke pulls a little away to look at you, amusement stretched wide across her face, carried in the apple of her cheeks and the grin she tries to fight off and the words just kind of fall out your mouth. “It feels like forever.”

The emcee laughs, nudging you with his elbow. “Is that good or bad?”

“Definitely good,” you reply, still focused on Clarke and that almost awed look she’s giving you.

“Do you think you have what it takes to win?”

You acknowledge him finally. “Yes.” There’s no hesitation in you either.

“What do you think?” he boasts, turning to address the audience. “Who should take home the coveted title?”

A mess of noise surrounds you, rising up, and it’s hard to make out heads or tails of anything. But what you can hear are chants of ‘kiss, kiss, kiss,’ echoing from the stands and its metronome is a steady beat amongst the growing chaos.

Satisfied with the reaction, the emcee turns to you and the other couples, grinning. “Well, you heard the crowd. Who’s first?”

The couple at the opposite end doesn’t wait, the small woman taking hold of her boyfriend by the collar of his shirt and dragging him down. He doesn’t seem to mind at all, smiling against it and pushing back when the surprise wears off and the reaction from the stands is immediate.

There’s whistling and hoots from friends in the stands and a middle finger courtesy of the girl wrapped around her boyfriend, but from what you can discern from the energy, it’s all in good fun.

The second couple, a tall, shy young man and his equally tall girlfriend, share a soft kiss that ends far too quickly for the audience's liking, but the girl laughs, hands cupping the back of her boyfriends head and leaning in again to peck his flushed cheeks with a quick, thankful kiss.

It’s when the noise dies down again that you realize there’s no one left but you.

Before you can comprehend it, Clarke takes you by the hips with such bravado you momentarily lose your train of thought, eyebrows wiggling in an attempt at alleviating the sudden tenseness she must feel in you. There’s a lopsided little tilt to her lips, but she waits for you, the crowd silent and watchful, and if you weren’t sure before, you are now.

You probably love her and the craziness of that thought doesn’t scare you as much as it should.

You cup her cheeks in your hands, and you feel more than hear the soft gasp she takes. You’d swear you could feel it under the tips of your fingers as you lean in, all slow and tortuous, noses touching first. Her breath fans across your mouth, uneven and a little bit nervous. Or perhaps that’s you, because you’re sure it’s her who closes the last few centimeters like she can’t take the thought of waiting a second longer and the cheer that erupts from the crowd is lost somewhere in the mess of your mind.

Maybe, you think. Maybe she’s just as breathless as you.

[leahwithanidea]

10 AUGUST 2020 — 100 GOOD STORIES MAKE ME INTERESTING AT PARTIES

Oh hi. It’s been a while. Oops.

Some Good Stories from the past few weeks:

1.

LOKAI came to visit. aka my actual best friend aka golden boi aka deteriorating seeing eye dog. Is it bad I get more excited to see him than my stepdad who brings him ?

2.

I’ve really reached outside myself in terms of art this summer! Did collages and marker drawings for the first time in agesssss. Anything to get some poetry going, amirite? LOL SOS send help. Or writing prompts..

3.

My mom’s dad died of covid. It sucked. I predict it won’t feel real until halfway through fall semester when I realise I won’t be seeing him on my trip to Boise. We arranged a wonderfully beautiful graveside service for him, in which my siblings and me and my cousins recorded a rendition of God Be With You Til We Meet Again and nailed it. We recorded it that Sunday after Chee died. It was the sweetest Sunday. We ate dinner together, sang for hours, and broke out the old picture boxes and sifted through long-hidden memories. I will forever tell find stories of Chee.

4.

Six days after that, I turned 21! I dragged Emma and Noah to Lake Anna with me where we spent the day swimming, hiking, pic icing, and hammocking. There is nothing I love quite like the outdoors. I’d live like a nomad in a heartbeat. My One True Wish for my birthday was to go to the beach, but plans, people, and money didn’t work out as always, so we settled for a day trip to the lake. Which was just what I needed. I am way too thrilled for Utah’s outdoors.

5.

Wondering how long this Wearing A Facemask thing will go on. I am fairly used to it because I have to wear one for work, but school will get tiresome. Fav thing about work is tryna get to know coworkers and deciphering what my managers are tryna tell me with the sound of the order machine, oven, and muffling of the mask all present. Ultimate Sleuth Mode activiated.

6.

A True African Wedding: Sierra Leone meets Ghana style. Freddy married a guy named Brian. They are way cute. I have never had so much fun at a wedding. I saw one of my best friends Choe and we did the thing where we looked over at each other and realise who we were and our mouths hung open and we immediately exited our previously occurring conversations and ran to hug each other. Best thing ever. Bishop last minute gave us two curtains and was like Go Decorate The Getaway Car, so me, Emma, Lilly, Ashleigh, and Another Unnamed Cousin through together the most smashing concept after I, being given the car keys, parallel parked it on a busy neighbourhood road in the middle of the night. Yeehaw to the bride and groom.

7.

Emma and I going through our wardrobes has been a Journey. Felipe and Martin helped me with mine. I’m just tryna look Acceptable Before The Lord But On A Budget ya know?

Anyways.

Cheers.

I leave VA this week!

Love from yours truly,

Leah

[esseastri]

Megan Reads Oathbringer (part 6)

tfw you go to work halfway through a liveblog post. not a good feel.

Part 6 encompasses pages 394-476 (previous parts)

Okay, sleep is good, but it’s back to my boys time.

Only Dalinar would consider healing himself in a vision “cheating”

I’M SO EXCITED FOR DALINAR’S OTHER SURGE

let’s get some new magic up in here

“Welcome to my madness, ladies.” DALINAR PLEASE, that’s the most ridiculous greeting ever.

Navani getting all overly excited about an ancient fabrial is delightful. She’s like a kid on Christmas. Though if this leads to her figuring out the design and getting lil Regrowth machines out into the world so people can heal, that would be magnificent. And seems like exactly the thing she’d be planning on doing.

THERE WAS A TEARFUL MOTHER-DAUGHTER REUNION!! THERE WAS ONE!! I’VE BEEN ROBBED

I genuinely love how every time Dalinar orders the Stormfather to do something, he’s like “wtf dude, no I don’t take orders from you” but he does it anyway.

sooo..most of the time when a Radiant dies, their spren dies, too. But the Stormfather was actually...enchanced? by Honor’s death. Obviously, Honor isn’t a Radiant, and I get the feeling that the Stormfather wasn’t his spren, but there’s a certain similarity in that they were clearly connected in some way--if they weren’t, why would his death affect the Stormfather at all? So why did the spren memory loss thing work the opposite way for the Stormfather--that he was fuzzy and forgotten while his connected being was alive, and more sure of himself now that Honor is dead?

“Dalinar squinted, but he still couldn’t make out which were human and which were not.” I feel like that says something, doesn’t it? If you can’t tell the humans from the parshmen? the maybe you’re not so different after all? Maybe you all die the same way, you all bleed and fight and die the same way. And maybe the things you’re fighting for are different, but there’s something to be said for looking at things from a different point of view.

oooohhh honey, is that what they told you? That the Heralds ascended to the Tranquiline Halls? God, humans so want to believe the best of people--as a general rule, we are an optimistic race. We want to believe things will get better or people won’t disappoint us. The betrayal of the Heralds wasn’t even a thing they could comprehend. Why would their gods abandon them? Surely, it was because they’d earned a better afterlife, not because they were tired of being tortured and just...walked away.

I’m emotional about the surprising resilience of humanity, but also of the marvelous ways humans lie to themselves to make themselves feel better.

I’m also emotional about the Heralds. That’s a constant thing though, sort of goes without saying.

ARE WE ACTUALLY GETTING INFO ABOUT THE HERALDS!!!!!?? AAAHHHHHH WHAT

FINALLY

Wait, are you telling me that the Desolations--all of them--were started by vengeful, angry ghosts????

vengeful, angry Parshendi ghosts.

that’s...marvelous.

OOHHHHHHHH

THIS IS MY SHIT THIS IS MY JAM. TEN PEOPLE PUTTING THEMSELVES IN HELL TO SAVE EVERYONE ELSE AAHH THESE PEOPLE

strong, selfless, sacrificing people

who got tired. and fucked up. and broke. and I’m

goooddddd this is MY SHIT THIS IS MY FAVORITE GIMME THIS WHOLE NOVEL AAAAHHH

AND THEN THEY WENT BACK KNOWINGLY KNOWING WHAT WAS WAITING FOR THEM THEY WENT BACK AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN WILLINGLY KNOWINGLY I”M

I AM EMOTIONAL ABOUT THE HERALDS

also the Stormfather slowly gaining humanity/perspective on humanity is a beautiful thing to witness. Like, yeah, we got it with Syl and Pattern and will with other spren, I’m sure, but it’s wild to see it in the soul of a storm.

HE WASN’T EVEN SUPPOSED TO BE THERE HE WASN’T A KING HE WASN’T ANYONE SPECIAL HE WASN’T SUPPOSED TO BE THERE AND HE WAS THE STRONGEST OF THEM AND HE NEVER BROKE HE NEVER GAVE IN AND HE WASN’T SUPPOSED TO BE THERE AND I”M

TALN

TAAAAAALLNNNN

I’M CRYING

I”M C R Y I N G

I AM UPSET ABOUT THE HERALDS

FOUR AND A HALF THOUSAND YEARS

(also that’s a lord of the rings reference I never noticed before, good job)

oohh shiiiiiittttt. they are reborn literally every nine days how the hell do you fight that

haaa um. the letter in the epigraphs--”it was agreed that no two Shards should settle in the same place”--my dude...you’ve got a limited number of inhabitable planets in this system. hate to break it to you, but... y’all were gonna end up in the same places. ..

“Everyone who might have been able to help us is crazy, dead, a traitor, or some combination of all three. Figures.” 1. Kaladin pls. 2. No, they can’t be dead. that’s too convenient. and also if they’d died before Taln escaped, he would have had someone there to help bear the torture burden and maybe wouldn’t have broken? Or...maybe I’m assuming Taln is stronger than he was there at the end.

Also, Kaladin, you don’t get to be self-righteous about the Heralds. I know you suffered and were tortured and survived with your oaths intact, but you almost didn’t--you reaaaally almost didn’t--and your tortures weren’t nearly as bad as theirs.

“Maybe that should make you reconsider those other wars, rather than using them to justify this one.” GET REKT, DALINAR. GOD, WHAT AN IMPORTANT LINE.

See, Shallan, that’s the beauty of Kaladin. He doesn’t consider whether or not something is “the sort of thing you say to the Blackthorn.” He knows what’s right, or what should be right, and he knows what needs to be said, and he frikkin says it. That’s one of the marvelous things about him--it’s not that he doesn’t care about the consequences, it’s that the consequences of him not speaking are worse. Because if he doesn’t speak, he doesn’t have a chance to change minds or hearts at all.

“You, three of your men, the king, and Adolin.” GOD BLESS THIS ROADTRIP

MMMMMMM YEAH NOPE

No wonder Jasnah and Taravangian got along so well; they have the same world philosophy. Murder a few people on the off chance that that might stop everyone else from dying.

Pragmatic, but ultimately horrible. And probably ineffective. The Heralds already broke. There was only a single year between the last two Desolations. It is highly likely that they any of them did go back now, they would simply break immediately and you’d have the same problem right away.

Usually, Jasnah has good ideas, but this is just. stupid.

ALSO THE FACT THAT HER ONLY OTHER SUGGESTION IS GENOCIDE OF THE PARSHENDI IS REALLY UNCOMFORTABLE. COME ON, JASNAH, YOU CAN DO BETTER THAN THAT.

Listen, I don’t think Jasnah counts as a really good therapist, but at least she’s...trying? to help Shallan? Shallan really needs a therapist.

“Is there a solution?” “I don’t know.” “Perhaps...act like an adult?” Amen, Pattern. Aaaaaamen.

Here’s the thing: I fully 100% understand that Shallan is a sheltered, frightened, PTSD, abused child who can’t confront her problems and therefore hides in various identities because it’s safe there. The problem is that this is the end of the world. Nothing is safe. And acting petulant because you want to sketch in a corner and hide and the big adults are forcing you to help save the world? Not an endearing quality.

I know she has panic attacks whenever she thinks about confronting her problems, and panic attacks suck ass, but you need to work through them? At some point, if you really hate yourself that much, you have to stand up and decide to change? Decide to be better. Shallan has said several times that she hates herself and she wants to change, but she refuses to actually do that. And yeah, it’s fucking hard, but there comes a point when you just have to grow up.

~*~unpopular Shallan opinions with Megan~*~

“Was she perhaps simply not interested?” Ace!Jasnah #confirmed. haha

Okay but like...Jasnah would never train you to be only a “mousy scribe” like...what the fuck, Shallan.

oh of course. Skybreaker...

Okay, so there’s the Sons of Honor--now Amaram’s domain. The Ghostbloods. The Diagram. Hello Darkness My Old Friend’s Skybreakers--which we know from Edgedancer were working on Ishar’s orders. The listeners and the parshmen. And us. the New Radiants. That’s.....a lot of groups with very conflicted purposes and goals.

Someone else in Amaram’s army was close to bonding a spren? and Hello Darkness took them out... Was that the other voice Syl was talking about? the first person she heard? who the heck was it.

“How long will Shallan go before she remembers we’re here?” Aw, Gaz, it’s like you think she cares about you guys.

I AM FREE FROM WORK AAHHH

going to work for 8 hours mid-liveblog just sucks y’all. Anyway. On we go!

“Teft woke up. Unfortunately.” I KNOW THE FEELING, MY DUDE

also good finally please tell me what my boy has been up to/where he’s been disappearing off to

......why this

we didn’t need a drug addiction subplot. why this.

also OOH HE HAS A SPREN? What type. It’s automatic to assume Windrunner, but what if it’s not?

WELL, I’M GLAD KALADIN AND ROCK FOUND HIM wtf we didn’t need this aargghhhh

We’re...really not going to get Azir, are we? I mean. that litany of what the Sunmaker did to them...I’m not freaking surprised that they don’t trust the Alethi. I wouldn’t. That’s horrible.

Dalinar has a point about living long enough to see his consequences though. And he’s actually doing a pretty good job of owning up to his mistakes and dealing with his consequences.

Probably wouldn’t hurt to, like...apologize to Azir though.

OMG LIFT HI

HI BBY GIRL I LOVE YOU

how the heck did she get in here though? is this some of her connected-to-the-cognitive-realm stuff?

pfff Gawx just being so excited to see her thas cuuutte. Besties 5evar.

OOHHH THE ART IN THE BUBBLE IT’S GOT THE PATCH RIPPED OFF

OHHHHHH OOOOOOHHH OOOOH MY BOY. MY MOASH. AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

he’s alive I’m

aaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

pfft “stew”. nothing will ever live up to Rock’s, I’m sure.

oh wait shit okay

I did not remember that Moash’s king-killing friends were Diagram peeps...I’m assuming we knew that in WoR but I did not remember and that’s... Why would Taravangian want to kill Elhokar? That wouldn’t do much to destabilize anything--that would just put Dalinar more firmly in charge... hm.

unless Taravangian wants Dalinar in charge because he know Dalinar trusts him... dangit. okay.

MEANWHILE I”M UPSET ABOUT MOASH

at least he didn’t throw the patch away. he can sew it back on when he comes back

OH GOD HE’S IMAGINING THEM BEIN HAPPY WITHOUT HIM AND I’M SAD? HE MISSES THEM SO MUCH

AAAAAHHHHHHH

n ooooo he didn’t tell them he didn’t want them to hate you it’s okay just...come hoooommmeee

OH SHIT NO NOT FUSED COME ON

LET HIM LIVE

I S2G

HE GOT A SPEAR OKAY HE’S GOT THIS HE’S THE BEST THEY HAD OH GOSH OKAY

COME ON, MOASH, YOU GOT THIS

“BRIDGE FOUR, BASTARDS” THAT’S MY BOY

IS HE GONNA BE OKAY

WHERE ARE THEY TAKING HIM

WHY ARE THEY TAKING HIM

STOP THEM FROM TAKING HIM

LET HIM COME HOME

I”M CRYING STOP PUT HIM BACK LET HIM COME HOME I MISS HIM

I legit thought he was going to kill Moash, I was ready to drive back to Utah, I WAS READY TO YELL AT PEOPLE OH GOSH

huh. art page: why are the sails on the bottom? Are these air ships? stick the sails into a highstorm, let it push you along on the winds? that...would be dangerous but REALLY COOL?

“Red, stop trying to make deevy a thing, it’s not gonna be a thing.”

it’s like groovy but worse sounding

so when is Ishnah, the espionage lesbian, going to call Shallan’s bluff?

Sorry, Veil’s bluff.

I feel like Shallan’s plotline in this book is just that Onion headline that’s like, “Area [wo]man thought breakdown would be more obvious”

I love Shallan being jealous and suspicious of Adolin’s flames, but Janala isn’t the one you gotta worry about. Danlan’s the one in the Ghostbloods. Ghostbloods? Diagram? shit, I’ve forgotten which evil organization she’s in... or if it even matters. She hasn’t shown up again, has she?

idk, Jasnah, Shallan was justified this time. Anyone making fun of Renarin definitely deserves the Sarcasm Bludgeon.

But Shallan, you weren’t invited on the boys road trip.

though, tbh, that could be fun...

BUT KALADIN JUST LEFT REVOLAR. MOASH JUST ARRIVED OR WAS DRAGGED WHATEVER BUT KALADIN JUST LEFT. THEY COULD HAVE SEEN EACH OTHER, KALADIN COULD HAVE HELPED HIM ESCAPE, HE COULD HAVE COME HOME.

ARRGGHH

“They had no reason to obey the lighteyes. They had no power, no authority.” That’s the problem with tradition. With having something so societially ingrained that you can never shake it, because you don’t think to try.

Moash no. don’t... don’t run yourself into the ground pulling wagons, please, darling, just... don’t die. Don’t give up. Stand your ground, find a way, come home

the letter in the epigraph: “Rayse is contained and we care not fot his prison.” yeah, uh...you gotta....you gotta do maintenance at the very least...to make sure he stays in prison? like...just...check the locks every once in a while? idk. this seems like it might be your fault if he escapes...

Sigzil being scientific and doing tests on them all is still so endearing. I love him.

Also poor Skar. let the man get his squire on, pls.

also, someone who can draw, please, please do an art of Rock doing the “Horneater victory dance” and skipping through a field of wildflowers and butterflies. Please. This is important art.

they still leave a hole in the conference circle for Moash, and hi this is my ghost I’m dead now bye

god, Kaladin would make them do squad formations in the air. Is there a goose-migration vee formation?

SKAR IS A GOOD. A GOOD TEACHER AND A GOOD GLOWING PERSON AAHH

Hey, guys, did you know I love Bridge Four?