#but the fact that he needs ZERO reminders/lead up---he immediately clocks that she's about to do something drastic and undoable | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pcychedelic · 5 years ago

Text

Where There’s Smoke, There’s Fire

Written for baeconandeggs’ #BAE2019.

Relationship(s): Park Chanyeol/Byun Baekhyun

Tags: Spies & Secret Agents AU, Espionage, Action, Politics; Angst, Smut

Rating: Mature (mature themes, strong language, violence, and sex)

Content Warning(s): Gunshots, blood

Words: 23.7k

Summary: Chanyeol has always tried his best to keep his job and his personal life miles away from each other. But when a mission goes awfully wrong and Baekhyun is put in harm's way, Chanyeol does everything he can to protect him.

Chanyeol’s bowtie is suffocating him. It’s been a while since he wore a tux. More specifically, it’s been a while since he wore a tux for a mission, the last time being two years ago when he had work in Vienna that had something to do with an opera.

He’s never taken a liking to fancy things. Luxuries are for people that have money to spend, and Chanyeol wasn’t fortunate enough to grow up like that. Chanyeol’s living a comfortable life now, thanks to his well-paying job, but it’s his choice not to indulge in opulence. Perhaps it’s because old habits die hard, even if those habits were forced upon him. From his pay, he deposits only what he needs into his local account, and the rest he entrusts to the Swiss—he thinks of it as somewhat like a contingency plan.

“Nice tux, Agent Lux,” his partner says through the earpiece. “Oh, shit. Wait. That rhymed.”

Chanyeol tries his best not to roll his eyes, as he isn’t sure if anyone’s watching him right now. “Congratulations,” he replies sarcastically. “Maybe you should change your codename from Ventus to Shakespeare. Why don’t you take it up with the boss? Maybe he’ll listen.”

“Ha ha,” Sehun says, and Chanyeol doesn’t need to see him to know that he’s scowling. He’s been with Sehun for far too long for him not to memorize his partner’s grumpy tendencies.

Chanyeol has scanned the entire party on the first floor but failed to locate his target, so he climbs up the grand staircase to try his luck on the second floor. The whole villa is flooded with a sea of guests donned in gowns and suits and servers flying around while carrying trays of champagne and finger food and whatnot. It baffles Chanyeol how a woman’s twenty-first birthday party is comparable to a state dinner.

“Do you have access to the mansion’s security cameras?” he asks Sehun when he has made it up the stairs.

“Of course.”

“Can you locate her?”

“What do you think I’ve been doing for the last fifteen minutes?” Sehun questions, and that’s that. His partner still seems pretty offended about the Shakespeare jab, so Chanyeol doesn’t say anything else.

Chanyeol weaves himself into the crowd to obscure his search from possible watchful eyes. If a party is this formal, he can only assume that the guestlist is filled with affluent names, which means security must be crawling everywhere.

“I see her,” Sehun says abruptly.

Chanyeol stops in his tracks and looks around. “Where?”

“At the bar opposite the staircase,” his partner replies. “She’s wearing a white halter gown with a gold belt. She has her hair down.”

“Are you sure it’s her?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I’m looking at her photo in the file given to us. Park Jihyo. Twenty years old… well, twenty-one now. Daughter of Park Eunhye, who’s being investigated by the NIS and us. Do you want me to go on or do you need a refresher on the assignment?” Sehun asks mockingly.

Chanyeol’s eyes immediately fly to the bar that Sehun mentioned, and they land on a certain birthday girl. Bingo. He has finally zeroed in on his target.

“I have eyes on the package,” Chanyeol reports. “I’m going in.”

Chanyeol fixes his suit as he prowls toward his prey for the night. She’s beautiful, he must admit. It’s a shame that she’s the target of this mission. But then again, Chanyeol has never been fond of women.

“She has company,” Sehun says, pertaining to the other woman seated beside Jihyo. “They’re laughing, so I’m assuming she’s a non-hostile. A friend, perhaps.”

Chanyeol already knows that, but says nothing. Of course she’s a non-hostile. The daughter of a billionaire wouldn’t chat with any of her security detail over margaritas at her own party.

“Wanna go through the plan one more time?” his partner asks.

“Locate target, catch her attention, get myself alone with her, locate her phone, install the software,” Chanyeol recites without a sweat. “Easy.”

Luckily, the other seat beside Jihyo is empty. Chanyeol claims that spot and clears his throat, making sure that his entrance is announced and hoping that his target takes the bait.

For good measure, Chanyeol asks the bartender, “A glass of brandy. Neat, please.”

“Would Beauté du Siècle suffice, sir?” the bartender asks with a smile, pronouncing the French perfectly.

“That’s exactly what I’m looking for, actually,” Chanyeol answers. From his peripheral vision, he sees that Jihyo has turned to look at him, seemingly impressed by his taste in spirits. Chanyeol’s lips slightly curl into a smirk, just enough so that his target wouldn’t know that the smug smile is directed at her.

I’ve got her now, Chanyeol says to himself.

The bartender smiles even wider. “Excellent choice, sir. I’ll be right back.” And then he’s off to fetch Chanyeol’s drink at the far end of the bar.

Chanyeol drums his fingers on the polished wooden table and pretends to look around the party while waiting for his brandy—he knows Jihyo is looking at him right now, which is why he’s turning his head around so that she can see his face in full. Chanyeol’s humble in most aspects, but he knows for a fact that his looks can be valued at a million bucks. He has his parents’ genes to thank for that.

“You have expensive taste,” Jihyo remarks. Chanyeol finally lets his eyes fall unto her and notices that she has made her friend leave.

“Target has engaged,” Chanyeol hears his partner say into his earpiece. Indeed, he wants to reply, but he’s a bit preoccupied at the moment.

Chanyeol smirks further. “Well, I want nothing but the best,” he says to his target. He hates how snobbish he sounds right now, but he doesn’t really have a choice. If he gets assigned to a mission, he has to do it, no matter what. Being selective isn’t an option in his line of work.

Jihyo cocks an eyebrow at him and smiles back, finishing the last of her margarita.

The bartender returns with Chanyeol’s drink. “Here you go, sir. A glass of Hennessy Beauté du Siècle, neat, just like you asked,” he says. Chanyeol thanks him and the bartender smiles one last time before he sets off to attend to the other people at the bar, leaving him and his target alone once again.

Chanyeol downs the shot in one swift, clean swig. The alcohol burns in his throat, but he welcomes the fire. College teaches you a thing or two about taking your liquor.

“Impressive,” Sehun compliments him through their line. “And I think I’m not the only one who found that impressive.”

True enough, Jihyo’s eyes are glued to him as he sets down the glass on the table, traveling from his lips down to his throat. Her big round eyes are gleaming with something Chanyeol has yet to figure out—lust, he hopes. He throws her another smile.

“You know how to drink,” she says.

“My family has an interest in fine spirits. Connoisseurs, you might say. I guess it runs in the blood.”

Jihyo flips her hair over her shoulder and sits a bit more straight. She’s devoured the bait now. “I’m sorry, I haven’t properly introduced myself,” she giggles, extending her hand for Chanyeol to shake. “I’m Park—”

“Jihyo,” Chanyeol finishes her sentence for her as he accepts her handshake. “Oh, I know all about you, Ms. Park. You’re the star of the night, after all. Happy birthday.”

“Please. Ms. Park’s my mother. Let’s just stick to first-name basis. Unless, of course, you’re younger than I am.”

“I’m older, actually. Just by a year, don’t worry.”

“In that case… should I roll out the honorifics?” she asks, tilting her head curiously. Suggestively. Chanyeol knows an enticed prey when he sees one.

“Your flirting skills are commendable, Agent Lux, but we’re in a bit of a time crunch here. We don’t have all night,” his partner reminds him through his earpiece, and Chanyeol thinks so too. “Wrap it up.”

Chanyeol sits up straight and clears his throat. “Choi Changmin,” he introduces his cover. “Seunghoon’s my uncle.”

A spark of recognition ignites in Jihyo’s eyes. She just keeps eating all the shit I’m feeding her, Chanyeol thinks. “Ah, the Choi whiskey distillers. I was wondering why I haven’t seen Mr. Choi all night.”

But Chanyeol knows that it’s because Choi Seunghoon never got his invitation. The agency intercepted it so that they could use it as a ticket for one of their agents, in this case, him. It was way too easy, really. The wealthy aren’t as slick as they think they are.

“The clock is ticking, Agent Lux,” Sehun reminds him again.

Chanyeol smiles at his target—it’s his most powerful weapon for the night. “Jihyo, is there some place where we can be alone?” he asks, his tone dripping with undertones.

“As a matter of fact, we do,” she says. Her eyes grow even bigger, and Chanyeol confirms that it was lust swirling in them, after all. Jihyo stands up from her seat, and the second she does, men dressed like normal guests immediately make their way toward her.

Huh. So that’s where her babysitters are, Chanyeol says to himself.

She waves them off, “It’s fine. We’re just going up to my room.”

The bodyguards look at each other. The oldest-looking one, probably the head of her security detail, Chanyeol presumes, says, “We have to check if he’s clean, Ms. Park.” When Jihyo sends him a glare, he adds, “Your mother’s orders. I’m sorry, but we have to insist.”

“Fine,” she concedes, rolling her eyes. “But do it at my door. I don’t want the other guests seeing my guards groping another guest to search for hidden weapons.”

The guard who spoke up nods and then leads the way to Jihyo’s room. Chanyeol is flanked by the other guards, maybe five or six of them, maybe more from behind where he can’t see. He can easily take them on, but he knows that won’t be necessary. There won’t be a fight tonight—not a physical one, at least.

Through his earpiece, Chanyeol can hear his partner clapping and rejoicing. “Good work,” Sehun commends him. “Don’t worry about the earpiece being seen. It’s way too small to be noticed. They’re probably going to search your torso and limbs, anyway.”

Again, Chanyeol’s already aware of that. His partner’s been treating him like a novice all night, he’s noticed. Sehun’s going to get an earful from him when they get back to HQ.

When the check’s over and done with and Chanyeol is finally truly alone with his target, he assesses the room the second he steps inside. The room is as big as a hotel suite, maybe even bigger, but that’s something that Chanyeol already expected.

Just as his eyes begin to take every inch of the bedroom to search for what he’s after, a ringtone cuts through the silence.

Jihyo walks over to the table at the far side of the bed littered with various picture frames, other trinkets, and, more importantly, her phone. Chanyeol doesn’t know who’s on the other line right now, but that’s a trivial matter. What concerns him is how he’s going to snatch the device away from his target.

When the call ends and she finally puts the phone down, Chanyeol immediately makes his way toward her. He then slowly snakes his arms around her waist.

Jihyo gives in. Chanyeol notices this and gradually spins both of them around so that now his back is facing the table. He lifts his right hand off Jihyo’s waist, quickly reaches out behind him to grab the device, and slides it into his back pocket all the while his left hand draws lazy circles on her hip.

Jihyo keens into Chanyeol’s touch and just as she tilts her neck to the side to invite him in, Chanyeol retreats.

“I have to use the bathroom for a second,” he smiles sweetly, mostly for his small accomplishment in redirecting Jihyo’s attention to grab what he came for. But of course, his oblivious target doesn’t know that.

“Okay. It’s just behind the divider,” Jihyo says. She walks toward the bed and sits slowly, crossing her legs. “I’ll be here waiting.”

Chanyeol takes his time, walking as he normally does so that Jihyo doesn’t notice anything amiss. He locks the bathroom door shut once he’s inside. He takes a deep breath and then begins tinkering on his target’s phone.

He opens the browser, switches it to private mode, and then enters an unlisted website whose address is more of a code than a link. Once he’s in, he downloads the software designed to rummage through everything on the phone: text messages, phone calls, e-mails, the works, even those that are encrypted. In this case, specifically any kind of communication between Jihyo and her mother, who’s hot on NIS’ list—hot enough for the operation to be handed over to Chanyeol’s agency. The software is military grade and cannot be detected or removed by anyone other than the person at the other end of Chanyeol’s earpiece.

Sehun may be a handful, but he’s valuable. That, Chanyeol acknowledges.

“Nice work there, Agent Lux. Where’d you learn that from? David Blaine?”

“How did you see that?” Chanyeol asks. The download is at twenty-eight percent. “There aren’t any security cameras in the room. I checked the ceilings first.”

Sehun laughs, the annoying kind that he does when he feels like he has outsmarted Chanyeol. “It’s not on the ceiling. Ah, don’t worry ‘bout it. Let’s just say I managed to sneak in something in that room and that I have eyes on Jihyo right now. And that I’m the best agent ever.”

Chanyeol ignores that last part. The download is at fifty-two percent. Sixty-four. Seventy-one.

“Um, Lux…” Sehun begins to say.

“What?”

“The talking strawberry’s calling.”

“Talking strawberry?” Chanyeol asks, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Who—”

Oh.

That talking strawberry.

Chanyeol sighs and internally scolds himself for not understanding what his partner meant. Ever since Baekhyun dyed his hair pink, Sehun’s been comparing him to the only pink fruit he can think of. And strawberries aren’t even really pink.

Chanyeol pinches the bridge of his nose. He feels like he’s going to have a migraine in the middle of an operation.

He looks at the phone. The download is at eighty-seven percent.

“Don’t answer it,” he orders his partner. “We’re working.”

“You sure about that? ‘Cause the last time we ignored his call, he almost followed you to HQ and I don’t think…”

Fuck. Sehun has a point.

“Okay,” Chanyeol cuts him off. The download is at ninety-five percent. “Put him through the line.”

Suddenly, it’s not Sehun at the other end of the line, but his roommate, who always has impeccable timing.

“Are you forgetting something?” is the first thing that Baekhyun says. No hello, no greetings, no anything. Typical Byun Baekhyun.

“Uh…” Chanyeol replies intelligently.

Baekhyun’s sigh can be heard through the line, and Chanyeol knows that it’s not a good sign if his roommate is sighing that loudly. “It’s Friday,” Baekhyun says.

Fucking Friday. “Ah, movie night,” Chanyeol finally remembers. “Sorry, I… I, uh, got caught in some work. I’ll finish up real quick and head home.”

“Where are you?”

“Um, Itaewon-dong,” he replies. That’s the truth.

“What are you doing there?” Baekhyun demands. Damn, this talking strawberry has a lot of questions.

Chanyeol lets out a soundless curse before replying. “Just some work for the internship,” he says. “You know, for the MOFA.” That’s partly true. “You know, I’ll finish up work faster if we hang up right now.”

The download is complete. Chanyeol knows he’s been in the bathroom for too long and that any moment now, Jihyo’s going to think that something’s wrong and knock on him. Or worse, she might call her guards in.

“You’re right,” Baekhyun finally retreats. “Okay, I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah, bye, see you later,” Chanyeol says as cheerfully as he can. The line beeps once and his partner is back on board.

Sehun clears his throat. “So… movie night, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up. I’m not in the mood.”

“Are you really sure the two of you are just friends because—”

“If you don’t shut up right now I’m going to personally rearrange your limbs after this mission is over,” Chanyeol says. Silence resonates on the other line as Sehun finally drops the topic. Chanyeol slides Jihyo’s phone under his sleeve, ready to place it back on the table like nothing happened. “Give me a visual on the target.”

“Right, right,” his partner scrambles. “Uh, she’s… Oh. Holy shit. She’s, um, ready.”

“Radio silence in fifteen seconds,” Chanyeol orders.

“Roger that.”

“Turn off the camera in the room.”

“Miles ahead of you, Agent Lux,” Sehun replies. “I hope we get off work early tonight.”

Chanyeol takes off his earpiece and his bowtie, and then leaves the bathroom.

—

Chanyeol returns home just before midnight. He runs into Mrs. Kwon on the ground floor, who reminds him kindly about the rent. Chanyeol promises to take care of it tomorrow and Mrs. Kwon says okay with a good-natured smile as she always does.

Baekhyun was supposed to pay rent today after he got home from class, but Baekhyun forgets a lot of things that he’s supposed to do.

Chanyeol sighs as he inserts the key to their apartment. “Byun Baekhyun,” he mutters under his breath, shaking his head.

He opens the door with much difficulty because of the rust eating the hinges, and he makes a mental note to call maintenance to have it fixed as it seems like his roommate has no plans of doing so even after Chanyeol has reminded him of it dozens of times.

The TV is on when Chanyeol enters, blaring Dead Poets Society in its “O Captain! My Captain!” scene. Baekhyun is sleeping on the couch with a blanket draped over him, his hands tucked under his cheek like a kid. He has his annoying moments, but he sure looks cute when he’s asleep, Chanyeol must admit.

Chanyeol walks silently into the kitchen so as not to wake his roommate up. He sees that the dish rack is empty and the rice dispenser is untouched, which means Baekhyun hasn’t eaten. Was he waiting for Chanyeol to get home so they could eat together?

Something pokes at Chanyeol’s heart. Guilt, most likely.

And so Chanyeol orders chicken delivery and begins measuring rice to make up for the dinner and movie night he missed. As he’s washing the grains, his roommate stirs from his sleep.

Baekhyun yawns rather loudly as he stretches, blinking away the remnants of sleep in his eyes. He zones out for a few more minutes, as he always does when he has just woken up, before walking into the kitchen to see what Chanyeol is doing.

“When did you get home?” Baekhyun asks in his rough, just-woke-up voice. His eyes still look clouded with sleep, heavy and jaded, and his pink hair is flying in all directions. It’s Chanyeol’s favorite look on him.

“Just a few minutes ago. I was gonna wake you up when the delivery arrives.”

Baekhyun drags his feet out of the kitchen and slumps into their small dining table. He yawns again and closes his eyes. Half-asleep, he asks, “What did you order?”

When the water finally clears, Chanyeol puts the bowl into the cooker and turns it on. “Honey chicken,” he replies, drying his hands on the towel hanging from the fridge door handle.

“I don’t like that. Why’d you order that?”

“It’s your favorite,” Chanyeol deadpans. He takes a seat across Baekhyun while waiting for the rice to cook and the delivery to arrive.

“Yeah, but I’m trying to lose weight and I can’t control myself around those things,” his roommate argues sleepily, pouting as he speaks. Chanyeol can see why Sehun calls him a talking strawberry. “Why did you order delivery, anyway? It’s twelve o’clock.”

“You didn’t eat dinner. Sorry for missing the movie, by the way. How was it?”

Baekhyun sprawls his right arm on the dining table and rests his head on it. “Dunno,” he mumbles. “I don’t remembering anything after the first ten minutes.”

Chanyeol couldn’t help but smile. Baekhyun looks cute when he’s asleep, but he’s even cuter he’s just woken up, trying to fight off the drowsiness that’s trying to pull him under once again.

Baekhyun has been Chanyeol’s roommate since freshman year, and Chanyeol isn’t sure when he started paying attention to even the smallest details about his roommate, like how childlike he gets when he’s roused from sleep.

It just happened, even though it shouldn’t have because Chanyeol has no time to look at someone like that. His line of work demands too much from him—time, energy, secrecy, among other things—so he knows for a fact that a relationship couldn’t possibly fit in there somewhere.

Still, the heart wants what it wants. Now that they’re just one semester away from graduating, Chanyeol is seriously considering doing something stupid, like confessing his feelings. But he has long accepted that he can never have normal relationships, at least while he’s still an agent. The dangers are very real in his job, and he doesn’t want to put Baekhyun through all of that.

“Do you still want to watch the movie?” Chanyeol asks.

“Sure, but… aren’t you tired? You just got back from your internship.”

As a matter of fact, Chanyeol is tired. He’s always tired when he comes back from an assignment—or his ‘internship’, as his roommate calls it. But Baekhyun hasn’t eaten dinner and Chanyeol feels bad for missing movie night and watching a movie at home with one of his favorite people in the world doesn’t sound like a bad thing to do after a tiring night.

“I’m okay,” Chanyeol smiles. “Watching a Robin Williams film is always a good idea.”

After the chicken arrived and the rice is cooked, Chanyeol and Baekhyun eat on the couch with their feet propped up on their small coffee table while Dead Poets Society plays again on the TV, and somewhere in the middle of the film, when their bowls are empty and their stomachs full, Baekhyun begins to play footsie with Chanyeol under their shared blanket.

—

The moment his professor asks the class to pass their papers, Chanyeol’s chest feels significantly lighter. Finals are at long last over and done with; finally one more thing off of Chanyeol’s mind.

Chanyeol wants to savor every moment of his shoulders not having to carry any weight—all four hours of it—because by eight this evening, he’ll be burdened with something again, another mission in just a span of a few weeks.

Baekhyun’s last exam doesn’t end until five o’clock. This gives Chanyeol enough time to walk from his department to their favorite spot on campus without rushing himself.

Neutinamu has numerous locations on Seouldae, but Chanyeol’s favorite is the one near the College of Music. For starters, their drinks are decent, but it’s also because it’s where Baekhyun and Chanyeol often hung out after class since freshman year. The café holds many memories, and in six months’ time, there may be no more opportunities to make new ones.

Graduation. That’s another thing that Chanyeol wants to get off of his mind.

On the one hand, graduating means that he’ll have the chance to work without worrying about anything else. Chanyeol isn’t particularly fond of school—who is?—not with the hectic deadlines and critical analysis papers and case studies that come with being a political science major. It’s all just a big distraction to him. On the other hand, graduating also means that he’ll have to move out of Haengun-dong as their lease expires by the end of February. They’ll have to move out of their apartment and Chanyeol doesn’t know what Baekhyun’s plans are after college and he hasn’t asked, mostly because he’s afraid that he’s not going to be a part of it.

Chanyeol’s not worried about finding a new place. Seoul never has a shortage of those, and even in the unlikely event that it does, he can always move to Gyeonggi-do where he can be near his sister.

He’s more worried about Baekhyun. More specifically, not being with Baekhyun. When you’ve lived with someone for four years, it’s inevitable that they will grow on you, and it’s certainly not impossible with a person like Byun Baekhyun.

Sure, he can be an occasional pain in the ass, but Chanyeol couldn’t have wished for a better roommate. Chanyeol takes care of most things at home, and Baekhyun manages to return that care in his own special way—like how Baekhyun immediately knows Chanyeol isn’t in the best of moods just by hearing the way he breathes and immediately makes an effort to make him laugh, or how he remembers that Chanyeol doesn’t like bell peppers in his fried rice when it’s Baekhyun’s turn to cook dinner despite being forgetful of other stuff.

“Chanyeol,” an all too familiar voice says.

Baekhyun’s rectangular smile is the first thing that Chanyeol sees when he looks up and Chanyeol’s heart does this thing that it always does when Baekhyun is in close proximity.

“Hi. How was your exam?” he asks as Baekhyun settles on the seat across from him.

Baekhyun’s features contort into a scowl at Chanyeol's mention of something he’d rather forget. “I hope that old sot dies soon.”

Chanyeol couldn’t help but laugh; he knows that Baekhyun’s pertaining to his Literary Translation professor, Mr. Yoo, and he also knows that Baekhyun doesn’t mean it. He’s used to his roommate’s interesting choice of words when he’s in a bad mood.

Baekhyun casually reaches for Chanyeol’s iced peach tea and takes a generous sip as if he was the one who had bought it. Chanyeol doesn’t mind—he and Baekhyun are way past the stage of asking permission before sharing things.

“Why’d you wait for me here?” Baekhyun asks, nearly finishing the drink that was supposed to be Chanyeol’s.

It takes a while for Chanyeol to say something because he really doesn’t have an answer to that. They weren’t supposed to meet today, but his fingers were texting Baekhyun before he could even stop them.

“I don’t know,” Chanyeol decides to settle on the truth. “I just wanted to see you somewhere that’s not at home, I guess.”

Ever since the semester began to near its end, work just began piling up—both school and espionage related—and the only chance that Chanyeol gets to see Baekhyun is back at their godforsaken apartment.

Baekhyun’s face lights up at what Chanyeol just said, his eyes gleaming mischievously. “In other words, you missed me.”

Well, yeah, that’s another way to put it, Chanyeol wants to say, but of course, he can’t. So instead, he simply rolls his eyes at his roommate, keeping his true feelings to himself—like what he’s been doing for the past four years.

Baekhyun suddenly stands up and extends his arm to Chanyeol, urging him to get up as well.

“Where are we going?” Chanyeol asks as he rises from his seat skeptically.

“Well, you said you missed me, so let’s eat someplace nice.”

“I never said I missed you.”

Baekhyun shakes his head, dismissively waving his hand in front of him. “Same difference,” he insists, and Chanyeol knows he’ll never win when his roommate has made up his mind.

“Fine,” Chanyeol finally agrees. “But I have to clock in at MOFA by eight.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Now it’s Baekhyun’s turn to roll his eyes. “I’m starting to get suspicious of that internship. Well, I’m suspicious of the government in general, anyway.”

Chanyeol just offers a small smile. Oh, you have no idea, he replies in his mind.

—

Chanyeol has roughly thirty minutes to spare before his scheduled briefing with his case officer, so he heads to the agent lounge to spend his last moments of peace and quiet with a steaming cup of coffee.

Unfortunately, Luhan has other plans.

“So when did movie night become a thing?” Luhan asks as soon as he sits beside Chanyeol on the couch. So much for peace and quiet.

“It’s been a thing of mankind for quite some time now,” Chanyeol deadpans, taking another sip of his Americano without paying so much as a glance at the annoying newcomer. “For someone who works in intelligence, you don’t seem to exhibit intelligence.”

Luhan ignores the jab and simply laughs. “I meant with Baekhyun,” he says as he leans closer to Chanyeol, adamant to get an answer. Luhan seems to be in a good mood, and when that happens, things don’t usually end nicely for Chanyeol.

While Chanyeol was debating whether or not he should indulge Luhan’s borderline invasive questioning, Sehun enters the lounge, stopping Chanyeol from arriving at a conclusion to his dilemma and—thankfully—distracting Luhan.

Sehun plops down beside Luhan with a sigh. He’s always this lethargic before briefings, which Chanyeol understands. Being an agent isn’t as glamorous as James Bond and Ethan Hunt make it to be. There are no deus ex machina moments in a real operation; the margin of error is paper-thin and even the smallest of fuck-ups can be catastrophic.

“Ah, don’t be sad,” Luhan says in an attempt—a pathetic one at that, in Chanyeol’s opinion—to comfort Sehun. “Look on the bright side: this is our first mission together since our initiation assignment.”

Chanyeol nearly spits out his coffee.

“Well, you do have a po—”

“Wait,” Chanyeol interrupts Sehun. “You’re on the assignment too?”

Luhan’s lips form into a smile. So that’s why he’s in too good of a mood. “Jongdae called me just yesterday, something about a briefing tonight. So I called Sehun to tell him because I was so excited, but it turns out, it’s the same assignment,” he explains, his smile growing wider and wider. “Just like the old days.”

Great, Chanyeol says to himself. Now I have two divas to deal with.

Sehun’s already hard to deal with, and adding Luhan into the equation spells out nothing but a headache for Chanyeol. Maybe that’s why the two of them go so well together.

Defeated, Chanyeol just sighs and finishes his Americano. “Why don’t good things happen to me?” he mumbles under his breath.

Just then, Jongdae bursts into the room, frantic and out of breath, as if he had climbed a dozen flights of stairs. When his eyes fall on the trio, he immediately walks toward them.

Chanyeol has never seen Jongdae like this: hair disheveled, tie loosened, eyes panicked. Whatever’s wrong, Chanyeol’s sure that it’s going to be his problem too.

“The briefing’s at eight o’clock, right?” Sehun asks, glancing at his wrist watch to check if he had lost track of the time.

Jongdae takes a moment to catch his breath before replying. “Director Kim is here.”

Something is definitely wrong.

“Isn’t he supposed to be in Moscow to meet the director of the FSB?” Luhan asks. His smile has disappeared, his brows knitted.

It’s because the director isn’t usually present in case briefings. As a matter of fact, he’s rarely in the office—he’s always flying off to some country to meet other important people in the intelligence industry. When he’s in the country, it’s almost always because something’s awfully wrong, and Jongdae’s expression confirms just that.

“Minister Choi is also here. They’re waiting for you downstairs,” Jongdae adds. That finally gets the trio on their feet. “The mission is more complicated than we thought.”

—

Chanyeol has never liked the fourth floor of the MOFA Building in Jongno-gu.

For starters, it’s not four stories above ground. Hidden underneath the edifice that the public sees is the headquarters of the Elite Radical Intelligence Service, or ERIS, a buried intelligence agency of the South Korean government in all sense of the word. Chanyeol basically grew up in this place, and if that’s testament to anything, it’s that he’s been in the industry far too long for someone as young as he is.

The fourth level of the basement, or B4, as they fondly call it, is the most important level of their headquarters. It’s the floor where most of the agency’s important offices are in: the briefing rooms, the director’s office, and Ignis’ office.

Every time Chanyeol goes down to B4 for a briefing, he always passes by the elusive spymaster’s office. Ignis. Even his name is bewildering, like some mystery that no one has even come close to solving. Chanyeol has never seen their spymaster in all his years, and he definitely has a lot of those. Rumors say that no one has really seen Ignis too, with the exception of Director Kim.

But Ignis is the least of Chanyeol’s problems as of the moment.

Minster Choi is the first person Chanyeol sees when he enters the briefing room. The minister’s hands are clasped together on the table, his back straight and stiff against the chair. Gone is the usual smile on his face. Worry lines are prominent on his forehead.

As they file into the room, they are offered a small smile from Director Kim. He looks tired, like he just got off a nine-hour flight, which he probably did.

“Let’s begin,” the minister says when the three agents are seated.

Jongdae hands out case files to Chanyeol and his partners. With a few taps on his tablet, the room’s lights go dim and the screen behind Jongdae lights up, the logo of the agency rotating on the center.

Jongdae clears his throat before he speaks. “As you all know, The Blue House will be hosting a banquet tomorrow at 20:00 to welcome the arrival of Ambassador Zhang from Beijing.” A photo of the ambassador appears on screen. “We’ve received intelligence that there is a plan to assassinate him during the banquet.”

Silence fills the room at Jongdae’s words.

Director Kim stands up from his seat. “At first, we were just asked by the NIS to send our best men to be the ambassador’s special security detail. But after the intelligence report we received this morning, I’m afraid that this assignment is much more than that.”

Chanyeol swallows thickly as he tries his best to hide the trembling of his hands. This is the biggest mission that has been assigned to him so far.

“Does the MSS know?” Luhan asks.

Jongdae and Director Kim exchange a quick glance.

“They haven’t reached out to us,” Jongdae finally answers. “Although I’m pretty sure they were the first to receive the report before anyone else.”

Sehun closes his file case and raises his eyebrows at his case officer. “Then why don’t we reach out to them? Their ambassador’s life is in danger. We can’t just sit here and plan the assignment without their knowledge of the assassination plot.”

“It’s not that simple,” Director Kim begins to say, until his words are cut off when Minister Choi wordlessly stands up and walks toward the front of the room.

Sehun straightens up, and Chanyeol sees him fumbling with his nails underneath the table, a habit he does when he’s embarrassed. Chanyeol knows he means well and that he didn’t mean to question their superiors, but still, Chanyeol thinks Sehun should know better than to say something, especially with the minister in the room.

Minister Choi buttons his suit and runs his palms down through the hem, tidying up nonexistent wrinkles in the fabric. “To refresh everyone’s minds, our relations with Beijing are a bit questionable as of the moment,” he starts, making sure to look at Sehun. Sehun sinks further down his seat, which is a feat for someone with his height. “We can’t just simply share intelligence with them, especially one as sensitive as this. I think everyone in this room would agree that the MSS is one of the world’s most powerful intelligence agencies. Besides, if they want us to know, they would’ve already told us the moment they received the report. There’s no reason for them not to tell us, because, as Agent Oh has pointed out, their ambassador’s life is at stake. That being said, there are many things that can go wrong if we don’t thoroughly think of our actions.”

“They’re watching us,” Director Kim puts it simply. “They’re watching us very closely. If anything goes wrong, they will pin the blame on us, which can catapult Chinese and South Korean relations back as it were in the fifties.”

Minister Choi takes a seat once again, nodding at Jongdae to continue the briefing.

“They can also accuse the Americans of the assassination if it ever succeeds—which we will make sure it doesn’t—since they’re already suspicious of Washington anyway because of the THAAD deployment. The assassination will simply justify them burning Washington to the ground if they choose to do so,” Jongdae explains.

Jongdae taps on his tablet again. The screen switches to various photos of people, some of which Chanyeol recognizes from the summer he worked at Langley, with their names and covers indicted underneath.

“American spies,” Luhan points out. “What do they have to do with all of this?”

“We can’t trust anyone but ourselves in this mission,” Jongdae answers. “We don’t know who’s planning the assassination, but we have ample reason to suspect the Americans as well. If the plan succeeds and the Chinese retaliate—and they will—Washington can use that to legitimize their military presence here, and of course, our… friends at the North will react negatively to that.”

Luhan props his arm on the table and rests his chin on his palm. “So these American agents… we have to keep an eye out for them? In case they’re the assassins?”

“Precisely,” Jongdae confirms.

Chanyeol clears his throat. It’s his first word of the meeting. “If we do anything wrong, it will be like the Korean War all over again.” The room goes incredibly still, as if everyone has stopped breathing. “The Americans will back us, the Chinese have the North’s support. That’s it, right?”

Director Kim looks at Minister Choi and the minister grimly nods.

That’s the only answer Chanyeol needs. “Fantastic,” he says sardonically. “What are our designations?”

—

“Looking good, Lux,” Sehun says through the earpiece.

Chanyeol looks at the nearest security camera and gives it the middle finger. “Shut up. I can’t believe I’m on sniper duty tonight.”

“Well, someone has to be.”

The wind whips at Chanyeol’s face. He crosses his arms in front of him in a useless attempt to shield himself from the cold and he couldn’t help but envy his partners who are probably warm indoors.

But it’s not the cold that’s really bothering Chanyeol. Even if he was inside, he’d still be probably shaking from anxiety because of the gravity of this mission. The three of them—him, Luhan, and Sehun—could be the difference between instigating another war.

Chanyeol takes a deep breath. He has already proven himself to the ERIS countless times, and yet he feels like he has to do it again, that this mission is the one that counts the most among all his other assignments.

“The roof is clear,” Chanyeol says to his partners. “For now, at least. How’s the party, M?”

“Clear. I have eyes on Zulu,” Luhan replies.

“And I have eyes on… well, everyone,” Sehun says. Chanyeol throws another crude gesture at the security camera near him. “I saw that!”

Chanyeol laughs. “I know.”

“Can the two of you please be serious?” Luhan scolds them through the line. “This is not the time to be dicking around.”

“Loosen up, ba—” Sehun stops abruptly. Chanyeol pretends that he didn’t hear Sehun almost call Luhan ‘babe’ over the radio during an assignment. “Loosen up, M. We’re not dicking around, we’re just trying to have a little bit of fun. We’re already nervous as it is.”

Chanyeol hears someone heave a deep breath through the line—Luhan, most likely. Chanyeol can’t really blame him for being too uptight. In a way, he’s right that this isn’t the time to be joking and throwing indiscreet middle fingers at security cameras. Should anything fall out of plan, their careers as agents are on the line, or worse, their lives. God knows that it’s certain there’s going to be at least one body count if the mission fails, and it’s going to be the ambassador.

Chanyeol looks up at the full moon hanging low in the night sky. He’s given up on believing in any higher being up there in the heavens a long time ago, but he feels like the occasion calls for a simple prayer.

Please, he begs at the cold air around him. He doesn’t even know what to say after that, and he hopes that whoever was up there would understand what he’s asking for even with just a single word from him.

“What’s the status now inside?” Chanyeol asks his partners.

“Dinner’s starting,” Luhan replies almost instantly. “He’s seated according to the plan sent to us by HQ.”

The sound of keys clacking follows Luhan’s response, and Chanyeol knows that Sehun’s going to town back at the station. “The interior looks clean,” Sehun announces after some time.

That’s when Chanyeol saw it—a shadow lurking in the dark, blending almost seamlessly into the night. Almost. Then Chanyeol saw the unmistakable silhouette of a sniper, easily twenty-four inches long. Chanyeol whips out his own pistol and shoots at the figure, and by the time he hears his bullet pierce through someone’s flesh, he feels something hot and wet dribbling down his left arm. A bullet had grazed his skin.

Chanyeol barely has time to relay information to his partners and he’s sure that Sehun saw it all anyway, so he leaves his post on the roof and jumps down to the ground to track down the shooter. He hasn’t gone far; Chanyeol made sure that he hit something.

Chanyeol’s lungs are burning despite the cold wind thrashing against his body as he speeds through the woods behind The Blue House. He manages to make out the words his partners are frantically transmitting over the radio: Zulu is safe, Lux is in pursuit, he’s hounding naked, we need to deploy backup immediately.

But Chanyeol couldn’t care less if he’s running further and further away without cover. All that’s in his mind right now is that he’s managed to wound the shooter and that he’s slowed him down.

The forest grows thicker and thicker at Chanyeol’s every step. His vision can only register flashes of moonlight as he zips through the trees, stray branches indiscriminately hitting him, but he hardly feels their thwacks against his skin.

Chanyeol finally slows down when his eyes can no longer make out anything but pitch-black darkness in the middle of the forest. Even though he just ran hundreds and hundreds of yards, he controls the sound of his breathing to nonexistence in order to hear the leaves and twigs crunching under the shooter’s feet.

He runs immediately to his right when he hears an indisputable snap coming from that direction, only to be met with a discarded black bulletproof vest lying on the dirt. A pin on the vest catches what little moonlight it could reflect and gets Chanyeol’s attention. The small metal badge stands out on the black garment with its red-hot color, the emblem shaped like a triangle.

Chanyeol slips the pin in one of his pockets.

“I lost the shooter,” Chanyeol says to his earpiece. “He left a trail for me in the woods north of the complex.”

He kneels on the ground as he waits for help to arrive.

—

Chanyeol goes through the same thing after every assignment—receive medical attention if he has acquired wounds, check; get debriefed with his partners by their handler, check; and head to whatever place they call home as if nothing happened, check. The written report was always something for the following day.

When he arrives at their apartment, Baekhyun is boiling ramen in the kitchen. Of course, he immediately notices Chanyeol’s heavily-bandaged left arm and goes through his usual rapid-fire questioning that makes Chanyeol want to drape a pillow over his head.

“It’s just a minor wound,” Chanyeol insists at Baekhyun’s fifth question of what’s underneath the gauze. “I just hit myself… somewhere.”

Baekhyun glares at him as he angrily slurps his noodles. “You say that every time you get yourself wrapped up. You know, I’m starting to get suspicious.”

On any other day, Baekhyun’s statement might have scared Chanyeol. But Chanyeol couldn’t seem to get his mind off the shooter and the breadcrumb he left behind for Chanyeol to find.

Chanyeol takes the pin out of his pocket and twirls it between his fingers, wondering why the shooter bothered to take off his vest and leave the badge on it. Chanyeol’s not stupid; he knows for a fact that the shooter wanted him to find the vest, but the question that’s been giving Chanyeol a migraine is the question why.

“What’s that?” Baekhyun asks as he passes by Chanyeol on the couch. “A souvenir from the MOFA?”

Chanyeol wishes he could say yes. “Just something a friend left behind for me,” he lies. “I’m not sure why it’s in the shape of a triangle, though.”

Baekhyun throws himself on the couch, nearly hitting Chanyeol’s bullet wound as he bounces off the springs. “Maybe your friend… just really likes triangles?”

The ringing of Chanyeol’s phone beats whatever reaction he was about to give his roommate.

Chanyeol’s heartbeat is drumming in his ears as he slowly reaches out for his phone on the coffee table. No one really calls him after an assignment; it’s an unspoken agreement within them at the agency—let agents have their time to themselves after a mission.

And just as he predicted, it’s an unlisted number.

“Aren’t you going to answer it?” Baekhyun asks him, and Chanyeol realizes that he’s been letting his phone ring for far too long.

He finally presses answer.

At first, nothing can be heard at the other end of the line but heavy breathing from the caller. The stirring in Chanyeol’s gut grows wilder in every drag of air he hears through the receiver, and just as he was about to end the call and dismiss the caller as a prankster, they finally speak.

“Nice work at The Blue House tonight, Agent Lux,” the unidentified voice says. Chanyeol’s entire body freezes in fear. No one outside of the agency knows his codename.

“Who is this?” Chanyeol asks, straining to keep his voice straight.

“That doesn’t matter,” the man replies, and for some reason, Chanyeol’s a hundred percent sure that the person he’s talking to right now is the same person he was trying to hunt down the woods earlier this evening. “My identity is not important. The only thing that matters right now is that I know who you are, I know who you work for, and I know how to hurt you.”

Chanyeol feels like his blood has turned to ice.

“Take a good look at your roommate, Agent Lux. His face will be the last you see before the two of you die.”

The line goes dead, Chanyeol finally hears the ticking, he grabs Baekhyun by the arm, and they both jump out of the window before everything behind them explodes.

Read the rest of the chapters here.

Listen to this fic’s playlist here.

Buy me a coffee? ♡

108 notes · View notes

morethanithoughtofficialblog · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter 15: Things will change, I promise.

In which you decide this is enough.

*Your POV*

I was floating in the middle of a dark place which had no beginning and no end. There's nothing I can see except for myself, which I surprisingly can see clearly, defying the logic of the darkness itself. Does my body emit a certain light that only covers me? I don't know. I only feel like floating, and the only thing I'm sure about is that I'm alone, like every day. I don't let out a scream of fear, because I know perfectly where I am. I've been here one thousand times before and is all the same. It'll always be.

Suddenly, images start to become closer around me, leaving me with no possibility of escaping. I recognize those bright colors immediately because those are images from my memory. From my past. From my soul. My eyes focused on the lively eyes I had when I was a child, and the genuine smile I'll never have again. I don't try to close my eyes, because I've seen all these things before, and there's nothing I don't know about them.

Then some whispers filled the silence, soonly becoming shouts of desperation, pitiful laments, and heartbreaking cries. Some of them scream my name out loud, while others are coming from my own. They were so loud that my ears felt like bleeding and threatened to make turn deaf. I, however, don't try to cover them, because I knew there's no use trying.

It all disappeared before I could become mad. The once unbearable sounds were now replaced by a dangerously deafening silence, and my eyes were not used to the newly found darkness just yet.

Before I could process anything, there was a child in front of me. Not any child, but one I'm familiar with. How not to know who you once were? How not to recognize them? That child was (Y/N) (L/N), the first of all my personalities. Shy, reserved, happy, and sweet. A laid-back girl with an optimistic attitude. I tried to reach her, even if I already knew it was useless. I wanted to tell her that, whatever obstacles the life may bring, she needed to continue strong. That, of course, she never heard it. She disappeared shortly after coming, her enthusiastic smile leaving me behind.

I stood there, alone with my thoughts. I became afraid, like every time this happened. I was scared of not knowing who I was now, or who I'll ever be. I know me because I've spent too much time on my own, and the only thing I have in this world is my body. My past, my future, my present... all of those things have disappeared. They are not real. Only my undecent hair, my sad eyes, my marked arms, and my pained back are real. Only my body is here with me.

But I?

Oh, I've never been here.

And I'll never be.

Because I have lost myself a long ago.

It popped up, then, a fifteen years old girl. It's not difficult to decipher what she's feeling. The nostalgy is present in her eyes, the bruises on her arms are more than evident, and how she hugged herself revealed the fear about how uncertain the future will be to her. I didn't try to reach her, because I already knew it was too late. And, with tears rolling down her cheeks, she disappeared as well. And I was left alone. Again.

I gently landed on a surreal "floor" that was just as dark as the rest of the world. Except for the dark red liquid that my feet were touching, that was as clear as the rest of my body. Then, like a deadly videogame, the blood started to fill the "room". Blood of the neck, of the arms and of the heart. My blood and theirs. Blood expressing suffering. Blood expressing pain.

The liquid was covering now most of my body, only leaving my head out of it. Once it started to cover my face, I closed my eyes and smiled, knowing the nightmare was going to end there...

And it did.

...

"Mmph!" I covered my scream quickly as I changed my position that once was laying on the bed, and now it's all sat up and scared. I relaxed curiously at knowing I was in my apartment and not somewhere else, then tears were starting to make their way into my eyes. Not again.

I got up from my bed and went to the bathroom, not sure of what I was hoping to see in the mirror. My hair was a mess, the bags under my eyes were awfully dark, and my position wasn't straight at all. The same insecure adult I've known for what it felt like ages remained there, and I almost screamed out in desperation. I don't think I'll ever change, but just watching myself go downhill every day makes me feel... like I'll never be who I once was.

I...

I really miss feeling like that.

I was that typical kid that all teachers adored by the mere fact I never brought problems and I always had the highest of grades. They would say I was super talented, with a bright future and endless possibilities. I only wish I knew by then that life wasn't perfect...

I...

No.

I closed my eyes then got out of the bathroom, then checked into my clock alarm. 3:17, not surprising at all. Knowing that going back to bed would be no help, I went to the "living room" and sat on the couch, not before turning the lights on. There was a black notebook on the table, with a pen on its side. I took it and noticed it was all empty. I then realized that this was supposed to be a personal notebook with all the things I wanted to improve.

In that night, I felt like I was good enough to put goals in my life.

And so I did.

I took note that the last time I went to the psychiatrist was five months ago, me too scared to go back after not taking the pills he prescribed me. I literally bought them, put them in one drawer, and never took them again.

Maybe I should go with another one and start all my rehabilitation again. Start from zero, you know? It would be better for me than continue like this.

I went and included more things to the list, making it be really long. And with that, I mean three pages (the two sides of each) long.

I was determined to get better for their and my sake.

Starting... later.

You really can't do anything really progressive when it's three in the morning.

And so I, miraculously, head back to bed and slept peacefully, finally with a smile on my face.

That, until my alarm decided to get up.

"OH MY GOD, SHUT UP!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, while I threw a pillow to that fucking thing. It didn't stop.

I got up with a groan and turned it off, then picked up the pillow and returned it to its original home: my comfy and beloved bed. I sighed and head to change my clothes, which I did as fast as always. Then I went and took my briefcase with all my documents, reminding myself what I was going to do.

You have a job interview to attend to, you fucking idio-

Shut up, don't get distracted.

I got out of my apartment and head to the subway, my daily transport. I could always use the bike, but I didn't want to get all sweaty when I'm about to do something important. And so I did what I always do: put my earbuds on until the ride is over, ignoring whatever is happening outside my little old world.

And before I could realize, I was there, walking with a man towards the place which the interview was about to start. I was about to get nervous, but I quickly loosened up and let all things go the way they are supposed to go. This wasn't the end of the world, neither the end of myself. This was, more than anything, a huge opportunity. And I took it.

Long story short, I was admitted quite easily. I got one of the higher ranks in Department A, the "Department of the Smart People", as they call it. I was surprised when he said he saw huge potential in me, not only because he has seen my job as an "activist" (and, well, ambassador of the monsters, of course). He says that the key to success is now kindness, which is something not currently found in huge businesses. He also states that, if we can show more morality than all of those companies, people will trust us. And our job will be much better.

My job, however, is to orientate and give small ideas to the lead heads of Department A. I'm experienced enough to don't have to follow rules exactly, but I'm not becoming a leader just because I exist. In order to get to the top, I will need time. Well, that's what he told me. He said he's taking young talents to become apprentices and, soon, start working professionally. So this place, "Chemistry for People" co., it's technically a place where beneficial treatments are made in order to help "common" diseases. And with common I mean the usual problems society is having, like how trendy cancer and some other illnesses have become in the past years. Hearing someone saying "my familiar passed out from cancer" is not rare anymore. Overall, it's kind of scary. Most of the old people see their final days dealing with chemotherapies and suffering. And honestly, I'm not rooting to let more people end like that.

I really like how... unique this place is. It has more common sense than the Congress, that's for sure. Besides, I didn't study biochemistry for anything. Since I was a kid, my dream was to become a scientist, or a "good scientist", how I liked to call it. Besides, the owner- name's Henry Robinson- is an innovative man. He gave me his point of view of the people I defend as an ambassador, which was highly positive. He is actually willing to test how magic could contribute to chemistry, and how it could help humans. So yeah, he's open to having monsters in his business: either to tutor them or to have them as direct workers.

In any case that the magic that is going to be tested out, he invited me to supervise how this process is going to work and to notice any hints of work abuse. I like this idea because he seems sincerely accessible to do things right. And isn't this a way to show the world improvement can be made if we all work together? I've been truly enthusiastic about all of this, and now that I'm going to be a worker and also a tutor, things couldn't get better. I'm finally going to work with a lab coat instead of a suit. This is what I always wanted, and I'm really proud of being able to have it!

Sans: hey

Sans: are you free?

Huh?

You: Sure, sure

You: Is there anything you need?

I just hope something bad didn't happen, or else-

Sans: eh, not that much

Sans: is more like a question, actually

You: Bring it on

Sans: ok, so papyrus wants to see u today

Sans: have a cooking lesson with you and such

A cooking lesson? What the fuck?

You: Cooking lesson?

Sans: papy tends to test friendship by having a cooking session with his new friend

Sans: it won't hurt ya, believe me

Sans: he just wants to see how good you are cooking, that's all

You: I can barely cook

You: I just hope I don't disappoint him

Sans: you haven't tasted his cooking, right?

Sans: i don't like offending my bro, but... he's not the best chef in town

Sans: he'll momentarily be tho

You: I bet

You: So when do you want me to go?

Sans: i... don't think it matters

Sans: as long as you come

You: Good, then I'm heading up

You: Just give me five minutes, ok?

Sans: k

Wait a min-

You: Sans, I have a question

Sans: spit it out

You: If Papyrus is the one who wants to see me, why he didn't text me?

You: He does have my number, after all

You: We have chat multiple times

Sans: he's in the store, kid

Sans: buying like, a million of ingredients to do a ton of things

Sans: mostly spaghetti

Oh.

I don't know why I was thinking I could kink-shame this guy. He, after all, did so when he just met me. But I haven't been able to take my revenge, and just now that bothered me.

There has to be a way.

You: I see

Sans: welp

Sans: and how ya been, kiddo?

Hmm...

I should probably have taken this chance to kink-shame him, but... he's probably asking about my mental illnesses, and I don't want to be rude...

I sighed.

You: I'm... improving

You: I actually just got a new job

Sans: really?

Sans: you're leaving the congress?

Oh shit, I know where this is going.

You: Yep, but I'm keeping my post of ambassador

Sans: how so?

Knew it.

You: It has become more like an... out of work project

You: Is more like a personal project, tibia honest

Answer that now, skeleton

Sans: wait, so you're not getting paid from being the ambassador?

You: Nope

Sans: why?

You: I already told you, Sans

You: Is a personal project, not an official project

You: Let's just say that I'm a nonprofit social activist

Sans: wow

Sans: guess you've been working down to the bone

Oh, I knew he was going to do that!

Sans: but in all seriousness now

Sans: that's really brave from your part, y' know

Sans: you deal with all the looks, discrimination and bullcrap without getting anything in exchange

Sans: wait

Sans: should i give you something?

Sans: i'm starting to feel bad with myself

...

I almost lose my parade by being really dumbfounded. I knew he would say something like that, but not that deeply...

He's literally willing to give me something for a work I offered myself to do.

How can someone be so uncommonly nice? I have sacrificed a couple of things, yes, but it's not like I sold my soul to the devil in order to help them.

You: You don't have to give me anything, really

You: You guys being free is enough reward

Sans: i don't think some monsters being happy are enough to pay bills, kid

Sans: or to buy a car

Sans: or even food

Savage.

You: Well, I do have a new job now, and its pay is quite good actually

You: I mean

You: I'm not working in a fucking McDonald's

Sans: what are you going to do then?

You: Have a role of a tutor in chemistry and as a scientist

I received then a call from Sans, which I hesitantly took as I was walking through the streets. Before I could even give him a proper greeting, he started rambling all over the phone, asking things like "since when you are a scientist?" and things like that. Even the dumbest of people could identify that he was freaking out badly, and I tried to calm him down multiple times, but he didn't listen.

"i mean, dude, you like science then? do you like science fiction as well? or any stories involving science stuff? ooh, have you seen this series called- wait, no. forget i said anything, it's just-"

"Sans..."

"don't judge me too harshly, please! i'm just happy i can find a science lover who isn't a freak! or that it actually hates me, hah..."

Wait- does he mean Gaster? Dude, that's sad.

"Hey bud, I don't judge ya. I just want you to calm down and breathe. I'm not even able to process every single thing you are saying to me"

He took a deep breath, then laughed nervously.

"sorry... do you like science fiction?"

Jesus Christ, how desperate is this guy to find a science nerd?

"Yep, one of my all-time favorites"

"nice! how long has it been since you are a scientist?"

"I finished my biochemistry specialty when I was twenty..."

"oh, and that was...?"

I remembered then that I have never told him my age, which made feel pretty stupid. I have told him I have depression, anxiety, PTSD and insomnia... but I'm not able to tell him how old I am? How stupid. But thinking back at it, he has not told me his age either, so...

"Two years ago. I'm twenty-two"

"huh, how curious. i'm twenty-two as well, and i haven't done half of the things you have"

"Don't compare yourself with me, Sans. You can be one thousand times better, I can feel it... in my bones"

I just heard that deep chuckle I'm beginning to like more and more. Actually... I do like his voice. Like, a lot. It's really deep, smooth like butter, and it has a lot of profundity it's hard to imitate his accent. He doesn't speak that much like an American- more like a person coming from another country, but that learned English at a young age. It's understandable but different, and not in a bad way. If I could compare his voice with a singer, it would probably be a combination between Freddy Mercury and Elvis Presley. Which it's just lovely.

I wonder if he can sing.

"heh, i should give it a shot then. do you think i should go to college?"

"You'll have a better job that way. Hell, you can become a science master if you want to. You just need to study, bud. But I don't think that's a difficult task to ask you, Sans. You are really smart, I know it!"

"thanks, kid"

"Sans, aren't we the same age?"

"eh, you're still a kid to me. every young human is a kid to me"

"I should call you like that as well, then?"

"nah"

"Ok then, bucko"

"what the-"

"I'm almost there, Sans. You can tell me whatever you want in the house"

"no but wait-"

"Nope, shut up. You tell me there, bye!"

I laughed way louder than I expected when I saw a ton of messages from Sans being sent, complaining about me being the kid and not him. When he was sending me the twentieth message, though, I was already at the door.

"HUMAN, HELLO!"

"Hi Papy-"

"(y/n) what the fuck?! you don't have the right to call me 'bucko'!"

I laughed while Sans groaned in desperation and Papyrus tilted his head out in confusion, which made laugh harder. After a while though, Sans joined my laughing by smirking at first, then bursting out into a laughing fit.

"SANS! HAVE YOU TURNED THE HUMAN INTO A DORK?!"

"nah bro, she" he took a pause while laughing "was already like that since the beginning. we just noticed"

I gasped in fake shock and indignation, then playfully hit his shoulder. He laughed louder and I being stupid, made me laugh like crazy as well. Papyrus, on the other side, was starting to become mad out in confusion.

"I DIDN'T INVITE THE HUMAN TO COME AND BE STUPID WITH YOU, SANS! WE HAVE A COOKING SESSION PENDING AND FOR PUNISHMENT, YOU'LL HAVE TO HELP!"

"oh hell naw"

"HMPH! WHATEVER! HUMAN, FOLLOW ME INTO THE KITCHEN! WE'LL HAVE OUR SACRED AND ONLY-FOR-HIGH-SOCIETY-PEOPLE SESSION IN THERE!"

I followed him sheepishly while Sans mouthed me "good luck", then winked. I considered returning him the wink, but I noticed that it was a stupid idea. And so I let it be.

"HUMAN! WE SHALL BEGIN OUR SESSION NOW!"

Then I noticed that the whole fucking kitchen was filled with ingredients, books of recipes, and any cooking instrument that a chef would need.

This should be interesting.

And without hesitation, I put an apron he brought me and prepared myself mentally.

Here I go...

#sans x reader #sansxreader #more than i thought fanfiction #more than i thought #chapter 15 #sans #x reader #undertale

3 notes · View notes

heartslogos · 5 years ago

Text

newfragile yellows [622]

“And then Ellana reminded me about this thing she had found when she was working on her prep for the assignment Montilyet sent her on three weeks ago — “

“But you said you didn’t see Ellana at all that day. I’m pretty sure no one’s seen Ellana in two weeks because she’s in a radio free zone. Like, I’m not sure how she hasn’t coming running back screaming about being unable to access social media.”

(For someone who has zero social media presence, Ellana is hooked on the stuff. It’s some hallmark of a great spy, Maxwell thinks. Mahanon, Herah, Leliana, Ellana. All of them are completely plugged into social media and are always up to date on the most current of media trends and flavors. Leliana’s basically running the most anonymous and yet meme-able Chirper account anyone’s ever seen but no one knows that the account is run by someone in the Inquisition.)

Bull looks at Maxwell like he's an idiot. This is pretty uncalled for, Max thinks. He’s been doing a pretty good job at paying attention to this extremely challenging story. It’s full of plot twists, tangents, red herring details, possible Chekov’s gun scenarios, several asides that have little to no relevance other than in the slightest squint and you miss it kind of way, and of course all of Bull’s wonderful color commentary. And of course, the fact that Bull doesn’t explain the things he should explain, and goes into great detail into the things that don’t need any kind of expository address.

Maxwell has the whole broad strokes image of the current story going, if not the finer pointillism details. He can see the forest and the trees, as it were.

And yet Bull’s here giving him this look like he’s missed the entire forest by a continent.

“You assume that I need to physically see Ellana in order to hear her voice in my head?” Bull rolls his eye. “I’ve been with that woman for years, Trevelyan. You think I can’t hear her saying shit and telling me off? You think my brain can’t fill in the blanks using her speech patterns? Fuck off with that.”

“That sounds deeply disturbing.”

“Are you telling me that sometimes you don’t have a voice in your head that sounds like your cousin’s, or Pentaghast’s, or maybe even Sera’s warning you off of something stupid?”

“You mean a conscience?”

“No, that’s a moral thing. I’m talking about a factual thing. Also it doesn’t have to be about telling you to do something. Sometimes the voice reminds you of stuff. Or makes jokes at you when you see something. Or provides color commentary when you’re doing whatever it is you do.”

“You have a great deal more imagination than I ever gave you credit for if you’ve got Ellana Lavellan’s voice in your head talking at you at any given moment with little to no prompting,” Maxwell determines. “Maybe you ought to help Varric fix his manuscripts. Sometimes his dialogue is unbelievably flat.”

“He makes up for with with great plot twists.”

“Those plots twists are our lives.”

“I know, I’m surprised that this kind of shit happens even though I lived it. It’s gratifying to know it sounds as fuck-all stupid on paper as it does in real time.”

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this,” Evelyn pinches the bridge of her nose, “I can’t be your life insurance beneficiary. I am your boss. It would look beyond shady. You have an extremely hazardous job. This is the kind of thing people get taken to court over. This is the kind of thing companies get taken to court for. This is exactly the kind of negative press that we have Josephine working around the clock to mitigate and avoid.”

“You are all I have,” Maxwell says, jabbing his finger onto her desk, “Evelyn. You are literally the only person I have. There is no one else I could possibly put as my beneficiary that wouldn’t look more suspicious. Oh, yes, I die and suddenly Sera has a lot of money? The lesbian ten years my junior who likes to make fun of my private school background and my usually-straight-man choices? Malika? The young woman almost twenty years my junior? Edric? The man who’s almost twenty years my senior? Cassandra Pentaghast whom I’ve been carrying a torch for for the past how many years but has confirmed that she would rather us stay friends and that’s perfectly fine with me and I count myself lucky that she even wants to be my friend?”

“Your…” Evelyn grimaces. “Well. We have that one cousin.”

“Ah yes, that one cousin who is so far removed from us that I’m pretty sure that they’re actually Antivan and haven’t seen us at all aside from when we’re on TV? That one cousin who’s name we don’t even remember because they’re Antivan, and are basically our cousin only in the vaguest terms possible? Did you mean that cousin?”

Evelyn puts her head in her hands.

“Who did you put as your beneficiary?”

“Josephine,” Evelyn answers immediately. “I figured she’d be the one able to utilize it the best.”

“Can I set Josephine as mine?”

“No, because Josephine ranks above you and circles us back to the same problem of you putting an employer as your life insurance beneficiary, especially when said employer puts you in compromising positions.”

“You let Ellana put Bull as her beneficiary, and technically he outranks her in the Inquisition flow chart. He’s a team Supervisor and she’s a team Lead,” Maxwell points out.

“One, they’re married. It doesn’t matter at that point,” Evelyn replies. “Two, even if they weren’t married just because they’re both in our clandestine operations branch mean one outranks the other. Technically Bull has a higher job title, but his official departmental assignment is in Information Assessments. Ellana’s department is Reconnaissance. Both fall under the umbrella jurisdiction of Leliana, but neither one reports to the other directly. They’re fine. Three. The idea that you think anyone here can permit Ellana anything shows such fatal hubris I’m astounded that you haven’t been struck by lightning. Maker, Max.”

#heartsfic #gather your party and venture forth

1 note · View note

eleanor-writes-stuff · 6 years ago

Text

a language of its own - Day 7

“And the heart is hard to translate, it has a language of its own.”

All the ways Rey and Ben say “I love you”.

Guess who’s back after a brief flu-induced break? Welcome to Day 7 of my 12-day Valentine’s collection! Today’s prompt was a “just checking in” kind of love, so here’s a tiny little ficlet which... has nothing at all to do with the prompt, oops.

12 Days of Valentine’s Also available on AO3 Psst, you can also find me on Twitter and Ko-fi!

Ben ❤️❤️❤️: Canto Bight reps are insisting on an emergency meeting tonight. Don’t wait up for me.

Rey: ugh not those fuckwads again okay baby don’t forget to eat something please good night <3

Ben ❤️❤️❤️: Probably late by an hour or two tonight. Snoke wants to fine-tune my proposal before we meet with Lando tomorrow. Go ahead and have dinner without me.

Rey: ben you’ve been working on that proposal for two months there’s nothing left to fix are you almost done? i’m gonna go ahead and sleep now let me know when you get home ps left some beef and broccoli in the fridge for you

Ben ❤️❤️❤️: Fucking Hux is asking me to stay back today to help him with the Stormtrooper pitch.

Rey stares at Ben’s message for all of ten seconds before she hits the call button. It rings for a while, and she pictures Ben excusing himself from another endless conversation and going off in search of some privacy while she waits for him to pick up.

“Rey?”

She misses his voice. It’s ridiculous because they've been living together for a month now and his is usually the first voice she hears in the morning, but lately she’s been waking up to an empty bed more often than not, lucky to catch even a glimpse of Ben before he rushes out the door in the mornings.

“You’ve worked late all week,” Rey hears herself saying in lieu of a greeting. It’s not an accusation, but she winces at it nonetheless, wishing she had broached the subject in a more tactful way. “Besides,” she adds, trying to soften the blow, “Hux has been a total arsehole to you since forever. Tell him to go fuck himself.”

Ben laughs, and she’s struck by the fact that she can’t remember the last time she’d heard his quiet chuckle. “I wish I could, sweetheart. But,” he sighs, and on the other end of the line Rey’s tempted to do the same; nothing good ever comes after a but. “You know how he is. He’d probably just tattle on me like the six-year-old he actually is, and then I’d have to deal with an hour-long lecture about the importance of teamwork or whatever the fuck from Snoke.”

It’s getting harder and harder to remind herself that Ben chose this, wants this, when even he sounds like he hates his job ninety percent of the time.

“I’m sorry, Rey,” Ben adds before she can go on yet another tirade against his boss. “I know I’ve been away a lot. I’ll be home on time tomorrow, I promise. We can even go out for dinner, if you want.”

“That’d be nice,” Rey agrees with a sigh, knowing even as she does that there’s a non-zero chance of something coming up last minute and keeping Ben from their dinner date tomorrow. She flips through her clipboard as Ben rattles off a list of possible restaurants they could check out tomorrow, noting that she’s only got one car left before she can clock out and head home to their empty apartment.

“Rey? Rey, are you there?”

“Hmm? Yeah, sorry,” she tells him, pushing the clipboard aside. “Got distracted.”

“I should let you get back to work,” Ben says, and the hint of reluctance in his voice is enough to make her smile. “Wait, you’re the one who called me. Was there something you wanted?”

She can’t fault him for asking, not when they stopped calling just for the sake of calling a long time ago. Their calls these days are rushed and purposeful, more often than not just a quick question or two to get confirmation on their weekend plans or whether they need something from the store. “No, I… I just wanted to hear your voice, that’s all.”

A sharp intake of breath crackles over the line, and Rey can see his wince clear as day in her mind. “God, I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry, this week’s just been… Fuck, when was the last time we even had a meal together?”

“Dinner on Sunday,” Rey says before she can think better of it, and immediately regrets it in the guilty silence that follows. “No, wait, there was breakfast on Tuesday–” except that barely counted, because Ben had finished his last bit of toast just as Rey padded into the kitchen, and by the time she’d retrieved a bowl and spoon he’d already brushed a kiss goodbye across her forehead and rushed out the door.

“Fuck it,” Ben mutters a beat later. “Fuck it all. I’ll tell Hux I’ve already made plans tonight. If he’s so much better than me I’m sure he can handle a basic pitch on his own, anyway.”

“Baby, I miss you and all but I don’t want you to get into trouble–”

Ben cuts off her protests. “I miss you too, Rey. Which is fucking ridiculous, because we live together. I’m coming home for dinner tonight, I promise.”

He’s going to get into trouble for this. He is definitely going to get into trouble for this, but god if the determination in his voice doesn’t make her want to cry. “I lo-”

“Shit, someone’s coming,” Ben hisses just as she finds her voice, drowning her out with his panic. “I’ve gotta go now, sweetheart. I’ll see you at home, okay? Bye.”

Rey stares at her phone for the longest time after Ben hangs up.

She’d almost said it – just like that, over the phone, without a moment’s pause or consideration or planning. In that moment it’d just felt right, natural even.

That would’ve come to a screeching halt had the words spilled past her lips only to be met by silence. Rey knows Ben would never do that to her, knows he probably loves her too, but…

But maybe she should wait a little while longer, just to be safe.

First of all, sorry for the sudden break in updates. The flu hit me pretty hard a few days ago, and juggling that with work and writing just proved to be a little too much. To make up for it, I'm planning (hoping) to update multiple times throughout the next two days in order to wrap this up by the end of the week.

Second of all, this chapter went a little off the rails. Sorry about that too; I thought I knew where it was headed when I sat down to write it, but Rey and Ben had other ideas. But hey, prompts are ultimately just gentle, guiding hands leading us to the final product, right? Even when said product ends up having nothing at all to do with the prompt...

As always, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it. And please don't hesitate to like/reblog/comment, even if it's just going to be a rant about them not saying it yet.

#reylo #rey x ben #kylo ren/rey #rey/kylo ren #rey/ben solo #star wars #rey #ben solo #kylo ren #ficlet: language of its own #my fics

13 notes · View notes

filmfanatic82 · 6 years ago

Photo

AO3 Link (HERE)

Chapter 4: Lexa (I)

48 hours.

Technically 47 hours and 35 minutes. But not that Lexa is counting. No. Of course not. She’s not the type that would actively avoid making the most significant decision of the life by counting down the minutes until the ever-looming deadline.

No. She’s not that type of person.

Lexa’s eyes wander over towards the large clock above the classroom door for the 50th time since the start of the period.

47 hours and 34 minutes.

“Miss Woods,” Dr. Kane calls out from the front of the room.

Lexa snaps out of her thoughts, instantly aware that all eyes -- including the pair of crystal blues ones residing beside her -- are focused in on her.

“Sorry. Can you repeat the question?” Lexa asks as she straightens herself up in her chair and attempts to pull herself together.

“I was asking if anyone had any thoughts in regards to whether or not Edward the VII made the right decision to abdicate the throne to marry Wallis Simpson?”

Lexa swallows thickly. Such an ironically poignant question to be asked… especially given her current conundrum. The choice of love versus one’s preordained destiny. Two critically vital components of one’s life that should never have to be pitted against each other.

Future versus happiness.

How is one supposed to make such a weighted decision without never once wondering if they’ve chosen correctly?

Or maybe there isn’t a correct choice at all?

“Lexa?”

Lexa exhales and starts to open her mouth to respond, when suddenly--

The sound of a bell ringing cuts through the silence of the classroom, signifying the end of the period and is immediately followed by a chorus of chairs scraping against tile and notebooks being shoved into backpacks

“Saved by the bell,” Kane says with a hint of a smile. “Remember. Quiz this Friday so I would highly recommend rereading chapters three and four if you haven’t already… Oh, and Lexa? Can you stay back for a moment?”

Lexa freezes upon these words and slowly looks up, catching Kane’s eyes. And instantly…

She knows what the conversation will be about. It’s the same conversation Lexa has been strategically ducking and dodging for the last three weeks now. Ever since the day that the letter arrived and dropped a Hiroshima level bomb into her well mapped out plans for her future.

“Want me to stay with you?” Clarke asks gently reaching out and touching Lexa’s arm.

“No. It’s alright. I’ll meet you in the cafeteria.” Lexa forces a smile that just falls short of her eyes.

Clarke hesitates for a moment or two, almost as if she knows something’s not right, but then lets it go and plants a small but loving kiss on Lexa’s lips. “Okay, baby. See you in a few.”

Lexa nods in response and watches as Clarke gathers up the rest of her belongings and heads out of the classroom with the rest of the students.

“She doesn’t know, does she?” Kane’s voice once again pulls Lexa out of the depths of her own thoughts.

“No,” Lexa exhales as she turns her attention back towards Kane.

“You know, you’re going to want to tell her soon. Regardless of what you end up deciding.”

“I know.” Lexa pauses for a moment, teeth sinking into the flesh of her bottom lip.

Of course, Lexa knows. It’s the one thought that’s been plaguing her every waking moment for the last few weeks now. Every single time her eyes set upon those icy blue orbs and wild mane of blonde curls.

It’s the first -- and only --- secret Lexa has ever willing kept from the girl she’s come to realize is her soulmate and with each and every minute that passes, it eats away at her soul just a little bit more.

“I don’t want to tell you what to do Lexa, but this is truly a once in a lifetime kind of opportunity. A full scholarship to Cambridge University by itself is highly impressive. Not to mention, the added offer of spending the next six months studying besides the leading world’s expert in Global Economics.”

“You sound just like my father.”

“Let me guess. He wants you to accept the offer?”

“If it were up to him, I would already be on a plane to London.”

Kane lets out a hint of a laugh as his eyes ever so slightly soften. He moves around his desk, cutting the distance between himself and Lexa, and then places a warm fatherly hand down upon her shoulder. “And if it were truly up to you?”

Lexa takes a moment, mulling over the thousands of conflicting thoughts dancing around the confines of her mind. Her hand subconsciously wanders towards the small emerald green tree shaped pendant hidden just beneath the collar of her t-shirt and wraps her fingers around it.

A tiny but constant reminder of why she has yet to make a decision.

“I don’t know,” Lexa answers in nothing more than a whisper. Kane gives her a light, but caring squeeze on her shoulder speaking volumes without ever uttering a word in response. It isn’t much, but at that very moment, it’s all the reassurance Lexa’s needs.

47 hours and 18 minutes.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

10 more minutes.

Just 10 more minutes and then she’ll call it quits.

Lexa’s muscles scream in agony as her feet pounds against the concrete pavement matching the rhythm of the song that blasts through her earbuds beat for beat. It’s her ritual. Every morning at promptly at 6 am, regardless of the weather or how Lexa’s feeling. Run until her legs give away, and her lungs burst into flames.

Run until there’s nowhere left to run.

Lexa rounds the corner and slows down her pace for a brief second, attempting to figure out which way to head next.

Although she’s been back for almost four months now, the majority of her surroundings still feels utterly foreign at best. Not that Lexa hasn’t tried to adjust. She’s more than made it her mission to refamiliarize herself with her new found home, frequently local coffee shops and parks during her precious few hours of downtime in between her long days at the firm. But still…

It doesn’t feel like home.

Then again, nowhere has. Not since Lexa packed her bags and boarded a plane for the other side of the world.

Lexa spots a park in the nearby distance and without another moment's hesitation, picks back up her gruel pace and heads towards it. As she approaches the entrance, though, she can’t help but notice two teenage girls tucked away within the shade of a large palm tree. One blonde and one brunette. Their limbs are seamlessly entwined with one another, like two conjoining puzzle pieces, while they exchange a series of stolen glances as they each busy themselves in their phones.

The moment isn’t anything special and yet…

The all too familiar sense of guilt wraps itself around Lexa’s chest with a vise-like grip, growing tighter and tighter with each and every passing second.

God, she hates this feeling.

It isn’t the first time this has happened. No. During Lexa’s first year at Cambridge, it would happen at least ten times a week. And would be triggered by anything. Anything at all that reminded her of--

Lexa needs to run… And now.

As if compelled by some invisible force, Lexa’s legs go from zero to sixty, beating against the pavement at an almost unbearable pace. She drives her body to move faster… harder… blindly heading forwards with no real destination nor direction.

Just run.

It’s the only trick Lexa’s knows to keep the ever crippling guilt at bay.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

A few hours and an extra long, scalding hot shower later, and Lexa finds herself tucked away in a corner booth of the random brunch spot that according to Anya is “the only place in a thirty-mile radius that knows how to make a decent bacon egg and cheese sandwich”. She flips through a case file, re-reading the same page over and over again, unable to focus in on anything but the ever-growing queasiness sensation in the depths of her stomach.

Meeting Anya for breakfast isn’t the issue. No. Lexa has met up with her sister at least a dozen or so times now since moving back to the states.

It’s who Anya is bringing that’s causing Lexa to be hit with an almost suffocating wave of anxiety.

She should’ve listened to that ever-present pragmatic voice buried deep down in the depths of her brain and gone ahead and canceled. Just made up some excuse-- any excuse-- not to be there.

There’s a lot Lexa should’ve done.

But too late now.

Now, she’s here and given that they are set to walk in at any minute, there’s no turning back.

Lexa takes a brief pause from the paperwork in front of her and exhales while she runs her hands through her wild mane of curls.

It’s not like she hasn’t any communication at all with Raven since she left. No. In fact, despite everything that transpired in those days leading up to leaving for Cambridge, Lexa and Raven remained in touch.

Not on any regular cadence or anything. Just a sporadic text here and there on trivial subjects. Or the occasional drive-by hello whenever Lexa would facetime with Anya.

It really wasn’t anything significant… but still, it was something. A connection a world --a life-- that once was hers.

Seeing Raven, though, in the flesh and blood. Here. Back in the place that once felt like home to Lexa. It’s different.

It makes the undeniable truth just that much harder to ignore.

Seeing Raven means that it’s only a matter of time before she’ll have to come face to face with--

“Hey, Rick. Can I get one egg and cheese on an everything bagel and a sausage, egg, and cheese on a poppy seed? Oh and two iced coffees? One light and sweet and the other black? Thanks.”

Lexa immediately snaps out of her thoughts as the sound of the voice blindsides her like a sucker punch to her soul.

It’s her voice.

Lexa’s heart starts to pound erratically against her ribcage as all the oxygen suddenly seems to sucks out of the room. She’s frozen. Like a deer caught in deer caught in headlights, paralyzed with from head to toe with unsurmountable fear of what’s about to come.

Maybe… Just maybe if she keeps her head down and eyes glued to the paperwork before her, then the moment will pass, and she’ll go unnoticed.

“Lexa?”

The voice cuts through the background chatter of the restaurant and once again pierces through Lexa’s thick walls of emotional armor. She takes a moment to collect herself, praying to whatever god is listening that she can maintain her composure, and then, with every ounce of courage she can muster, she draws her eye upwards and instantly is met with--

Blue.

A set of crystal blue eyes that have been haunting Lexa’s dreams each and every night since she left. A set that belongs a woman that at one point in time she thought was her soulmate.

“Hello, Clarke,” Lexa replies in nothing more than a whisper, fully taking in the sight of the woman before her.

Different.

It’s the only word that comes to mind at her first sight of Clarke in almost half a decade. Not in an unrecognizable way. No. Lexa would still be able to spot instantly identify her in a sea of faces, but there are little changes. Like how her once-signature lion’s mane of golden curls has been replaced with a more mature looking short messy bob that hangs just below her jawline. Or how her clothes seem to hang off of her in a way that suggests that remembering to eat isn’t something that comes easily to her. Or even the hints of new tattoos peaking out beneath the edges of her shirt.

But the most jarring difference is the noticeable absence of the spark of life within Clarke’s crystal blue eyes.

“What are you… I thought… Are you just…” Clarke trails off as a definitive look of confusion sets in upon her face.

“What am I doing here?” Lexa asks in an attempt to help finish Clarke’s thought and alleviate the growing awkwardness between the two of them.

Clarke nods, unable to find her words.

“I was offered a job with my uncle Gustus’ firm and decided to move back.”

“How long?”

“About four month now.” Lexa swallows thickly letting her answer fully sink in. She maintains eye contact with Clarke while weighing what to offer up next.

There hasn’t been a single day where Lexa hasn’t thought about this very moment. Where they would be. Who would spot who first. What words would be uttered and how their conversation would play out.

And true to Lexa’s own nature, she meticulously mapped out every possible word-- every reaction-- to be prepared. To maintain the wall no matter how hard her emotions fight to break free.

But now… Now in the reality of the moment, Lexa finds herself completely and utterly lost, without even the tiniest of hint as to where to start.

“Clarke, I--” But Lexa is cut off by the sound of her cell phone buzzing against the wooden table. She glances down at the screen and spots Anya’s name. “Sorry, one second.”

Clarke doesn’t respond but remains standing there only a few feet away, still showing clear signs of shock.

“Hi, Ahn. Where are--” Lexa immediately stops talking as a deep male voice cuts in on the other end of the phone, spewing out a jumble of words at a rapid-fire pace.

And suddenly, the world starts to move in slow motion. Lexa knows that words are being said to her, but she can’t seem to process anything at all. Only the phrases “accident” and “critical condition” resonate, flashing through the haze of her mind in angry red letters. And even those words seem surreal at best.

Finally, the voice stops and Lexa simply places the phone back down on the table, not even checking to see if she hung up.

“Lexa?” Clarke’s voice snaps Lexa back, instantly speeding up the world around her. “Are you okay?”

Lexa looks up at Clarke and is hit with a sudden sharp pang of complete gratitude. There’s just no other person in the entire world she would want with her at this moment in time.

“No,” Lexa replies in a shaky exhale of air. “There’s been an accident.”

#clexa #clarke x lexa #clarke griffin #lexa woods #raven reyes #octavia blake #octaven #the 100 #wlw #ao3 #fanfic

33 notes · View notes

vkookiekween · 6 years ago

Text

Tae-k me to church

I’m new at this, so don’t be too harsh. I was just experimenting with something light and fluffy, and this is what I got. Plz be nice, but I would like constructive criticism if you have it.

Word Count: 3.8k

I’m startled awake when my phone begins to ring, eliciting a groan as I roll over to turn it off. I glance at my watch.

8:00 a.m.

I take a deep breath and contemplate staying in bed. I still have some time to sleep before I’ll be running late, but I decide instead to get up and start getting ready. Once I’m out of bed, I’m on autopilot, grabbing some clean clothes before tiptoeing to the bathroom to take a shower. The air is cold, because my roommate likes it that way, but I don’t usually mind. I make up for it by turning the shower on hot and steam begins to fill the room.

Soon, I’m done putting the finishing touches on my makeup and outfit, and I step out into the cold December air. I hurry down the sidewalk, trying to reach my car quickly before the freezing wind causes me to shiver and my nose to run. That would not be cute.

I open the car door and slide inside, fumbling with my car keys before swiftly turning the car on and backing out of my parking space. Glancing at the clock, I see I am running perfectly on time. I’ve perfected my timing after years of this routine, so I know exactly how long it takes to reach my destination. During the drive, I think about how few opportunities are left to do this. In two short weeks, I’ll graduate from university, move away and my life will change. I’ll become accustomed to a different drive and different drive times. I’ll call a new place home. I hate these thoughts, because they just make me sad, so I choose to turn up the radio and focus on that instead. I’m immediately distracted as a catchy song comes on and I get caught up in the music.

As I expected, I arrive with five minutes until class starts and I hurry in the door to find my friends. They’re on the other side of the room, standing in a circle and talking intently about something. I make my way through the crowd of other college students, walking to the other side of the circle to stand next to my friend Regan.

“Where did he even come from?” she says incredulously, her eyes quickly darting to the space behind you. You wonder what or who she’s looking at, but you know better than to look.

“Who are y’all talking about?” I say, just wanting to be included in the conversation.

My friend Ally is standing in front of me and looks down the floor nervously, letting her eyes look up behind me every so often. “Okay, don’t look now, but there is an extremely attractive guy behind you. He’s wearing a black suit and he has light brown hair. You really can’t miss him.”

I take this as an opportunity to walk over to coffee table, curious about who they’re talking about, but not wanting to be too obvious. As I’m about to grab a cup and fill it with hot coffee, I let my eyes lift to where they said he was standing and I freeze.

He’s standing in the corner by some other guys I know from school, but I’ve never seen him before in my life. He’s laughing at something one of the other guys said and I admire his crinkly smile. I notice he’s tall, but not too tall. The suit he’s wearing seems to fit him perfectly, showing off his slender, yet muscular, frame. His dusty brown hair falls messily over his forehead, reaching just above his eyes—his eyes. They’re an icy blue and even though I know they’re probably just colored contacts, my breath hitches in my throat when they latch onto mine.

Crap.

I’m staring and we both know it. I quickly look back down and try to calm down by distracting myself with my coffee. My heart is beating right out of my chest and I can’t seem to control my breathing. I swear I saw I flicker of a smile when our eyes connected, but I don’t want to fool myself. My friends weren’t lying when they said he was extremely attractive. However, I think to myself, a better word would be beautiful. His skin was perfect, his eyes were entrancing and his lips-

I stop myself. This is ridiculous. I’m at church and I can’t be thinking about a guy like that right now. As if able to hear my thoughts, the campus minister, Jay, begins to speak over the microphone, “Hey, good morning everyone! Everyone start finding a seat and let’s get started.” I make my way back over to my friends and we all sit down in a row on the side toward the back. There are six of us and seven seats in the row, so I’m left on the end with one empty seat to my right. I bend over in my seat to place my Bible under the chair in front of me and notice someone has walked up to the chair beside me. I sit up straight and look up at that, finding myself face-to-face with the man I haven’t been able to get out of my head.

I realize he’s already asked me something when Regan nudges my leg to respond, but I can’t think of anything immediately to say. “No, you can sit there!” Regan saves me from embarrassment, but I can’t even think about being embarrassed as he sits down in the chair next to me. All I do is smile before Jay begins to speak at the front of the room and I am forced to postpone conversation to listen to what he’s saying. However, my mind soon wanders to how close the boy is next to me. The chairs are always too close to each other, but I am painfully aware of this fact when I realize his entire left side is grazing mine.

I’m struggling to catch my breath when Jay invites everyone to stand up and greet one another, and I suddenly feel like I might throw up. I close my eyes and take a deep breath before standing up, turning to face the boy and plastering a likely semi-uncomfortable smile on my face.

“Hey! What’s your name?” he asks before I have to think of something to start a conversation, thankfully. Luckily, I manage to remember my name before looking like a complete and utter idiot.

“Y/N,” I say in a breathy voice. “And yours?” I sound so out of breath and I’m immediately self-conscious, but then I notice the way the corners of his lips turn up when I say my name and I feel myself blush.

“Taehyung,” he says coolly. “But, you can call me ‘Tae’ or ‘V’, either works for me. I know my name is a little weird over here.”

“Taehyung it is,” I say, smiling, and I notice his smile widen. “Uh…over here? What does that mean?” Just by the looks of him and the way he speaks, I know he’s not from America, but I want to keep him talking. His voice is deep, soft and soothing, and I find myself wishing I could hear it every day.

“Oh, well…I’m from South Korea,” he says. “I moved here this semester to go to school at the university. Are you a student there, too?”

Before I can respond, Jay interrupts once again and I turn to face the front. “Everyone grab the hand of the person next to you and let’s pray,” Jay says, and my heart skips a beat. I don’t know much about Korean culture, but I don’t want to grab Taehyung’s hand if it’ll make him uncomfortable. Instead, I wait for him to initiate it and, to my surprise, I feel his hand envelop mine tightly a few moments later.

During the prayer, I think about what Taehyung said about moving here to attend university and my heart sinks a little. If he just got here, then he is probably pretty young and quite a bit of school left. Plus, I’m moving away in two weeks and I can’t even begin to consider anything happening between us in that short amount of time. Still, I find him very interesting and I want to learn more about him while I have a chance.

The prayer ends and someone gets up to lead singing. I’m surprised when I hear Taehyung singing every word, and I’m finding it hard to focus because his voice is breathtaking. Just like when he speaks, his singing voice is deep and smooth, and I’m struggling not to look up at him to remind myself he’s real.

Y/N. Calm down. It’s just a boy and you have zero chance with him, so quit gawking at him and get your head out of the clouds. I think to myself. I can’t keep acting like this or this class will go on forever.

Thankfully, I’m intrigued by the lesson and it keeps me mostly distracted during the hour, except for a few times when Taehyung’s hand accidentally grazes my leg and he mutters a quick “sorry.” It takes me a bit to recover before I’m focused again but before I know it, the class is over and we’re ending in another prayer. By now, I’m comfortable enough that when he grabs my hand, I don’t completely freak out. That is, until he places our hands on his thigh and I realize how close I am to his-

Cut. It. Out.

I shake my head gently, trying to clear the thought from my head, but my mind wanders instead to the warmth of his hand in mine and the smell of his cologne. He smells so good—like a man. I wonder if I’ll ever be this close to him again or if he’ll forget about meeting me once we leave here. I think about how badly I want to just sit somewhere and talk with him all day to just learn about who he is, where he came from and where he’s going. But then, the prayer ends and class is over. We still have worship left to go to, but I can’t fool myself into thinking he’d actually sit with me there, too. This was a rare, fateful occasion and it won’t happen again. But then...

“Are y’all going to worship in the other building?” he asks suddenly, and my eyes shoot up to look at him, surprise surely written all over my face. This time, Regan doesn’t need to save me and I answer back quickly.

“Yeah, want to sit with us?” I ask without even thinking. A little-too-eager smile spreads across my face, but I don’t care. I want him to know I like him being with me. He smiles gratefully at my answer and we begin to walk to the auditorium in the other building. “So, to answer your question from earlier, I do go to school here. I’m actually a senior. What about you? I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

The way he looks at me when I’m talking to him makes me feel weak in the knees and I’m suddenly wishing his hand was still in mine to keep me steady.

“I’m actually a graduate student, but I decided to come to this class, because I met Jay a few days ago and he told me to come,” he says, and I immediately light up, excited at this new information. This means he’s actually older than me and probably only has three semesters of school left. “And I’m glad I did.”

At this, I look up at him and find him smiling at me warmly. What did he mean by that? Is he just glad because he liked the lesson, or was he glad because he met me? I could be reading too much into this, but the way he’s looking at me makes me think I may not be too far off. Still, I have to think otherwise to keep myself sane while talking to him, so I push the thought away and just look down shyly.

Now, we’re walking out into the cold to cross to the other building and I immediately start to jog a bit to get out of the sharp wind. Taehyung isn’t prepared for me to move this quickly and jogs faster to keep up with me until we’ve made it to the other side and out of the cold. For some reason, I find this funny and start to laugh and Taehyung starts to laugh, too. Neither of us have any clue what’s funny anymore, but his laugh is infectious and I just can’t stop. Even though we were only outside for a few moments, we’re both shivering and Taehyung wraps his arm across my shoulders to warm me up, still laughing at our “inside joke.” In the moment, I don’t even think about this action, but I’ll remember it later once I’ve made it back home and think about it for the next few days.

We’re still giggling when we find some seats near the front of the auditorium, this time at some joke Taehyung made about winter, and this continues every time we make eye contact, reminding each other what was funny. Every time he starts to laugh, I laugh with him and if I start laughing first, he’s soon to follow. We just can’t seem to focus and I’m starting to think we should just leave so we don’t disrupt those around us, but then Taehyung clears his throat and his smile disappears, showing me he’s serious about staying focused. I take this as my cue to calm myself down, too, though the way his smile disappeared so quickly makes me wonder if there’s some other reason he decided to stop with the jokes.

For the next few minutes, I’m all in my head. I wonder if I did something wrong or if he realized all the sudden I wasn’t right for him, just like I had thought about him earlier in class. These thoughts leave me when I realize the reason he quieted down was because of the Lord’s Supper. That makes sense. Why else would he change character so quickly? Before I know it, a plate is being passed to me and my mind focuses on the task at hand, why I’m there and what it means. I manage to keep my thoughts off Taehyung for the rest of the service and I’m grateful, because it gives me a chance to catch my breath, which I didn’t realize was so unsteady until now.

Following service, Taehyung walks me out to my car. We’re laughing again—something about the sermon that made Taehyung think of another joke to tell me. He’s really funny, and I can’t help but stare at the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs or his boxy smile that I can’t seem to get enough of. I want very desperately to invite him to lunch, but I have plans with other people that can’t include him.

“Do you want to grab some lunch with me?” He asks, reading my mind. My face falls because I want so badly to tell him yes, but I’ve cancelled these plans two other times and my friends will be so upset if I have to cancel a third time. And this time, my reason isn’t exactly a very good one. At least, they won’t think so.

“Ugh. I would love to, but I already have plans with some of my friends,” I say, disappointment in my voice. “And I would invite you, but it’s kind of an all-girls thing.” His face falls at this and I feel bad immediately, wondering if he has anyone else to eat with—or any other friends at all. I know I saw him talking to some guys when I first saw him, but he hasn’t been here very long and he obviously wasn’t very close with them or he wouldn’t have sat by me. “Maybe next time, though?”

Hearing this, his precious, boxy smile returns to his lips and I know I’ve said something right. “Of course,” he says. “This time next week?” I can’t help but smile at the hope in his voice and my breath hitches in my throat.

“I’d love to,” I say, my eyes not leaving his. I wish I could freeze this moment in time just so I could stare into his eyes forever. I know I literally just met him hours ago, but something about him feels familiar—like home.

“It’s a date,” he says. I think I’ve stopped breathing at this point, barely able to keep myself from jumping up and down with excitement at the possibilities.

“Sure,” I say, still maintaining eye contact. I want to stay here. I want to cancel my plans. But, the eagerness in his voice and the suspenseful feeling in my heart keeps me on track. “A date.”

As if it were even possible, his smile grows bigger and my heart skips a beat. Internally, I begin a countdown until I see him again.

Until I see Taehyung again.

#taehyung #bts #I might write more chapters but idk #takemetochurch #taekmetochurch

2 notes · View notes

tvserieshub · 7 years ago

Text

History Channel’s original show SIX came out swinging last year, delivering fantastic action and emotional content hand in hand. SIX grabbed audiences in the first episode and delivered through the entire first season. With season 2 premiering Monday, May 28th we wanted to take this opportunity to remind you why you should be watching this military-themed show.

10. Olivia Munn

Olivia Munn is joining SIX as a shady CIA Operative…need I say more? Ok, maybe just a bit more. Munn is great in everything she does and from what I’ve seen this is no exception. The addition of Munn throws an already ticking time clock of a team into near meltdown. Going into season 2 look for her to be both help and foil to our team.

photo credit @SIXonHistory

9. Troop Support

Even in real life, the cast of SIX has taken their military connection seriously. The actors participated in a Tough Mudder Run as a team to fundraise for the charity Student Veterans of America in 2016 and 2017. They also recently participated in the Flag and Flower challenge created by Preston Sharp. The challenge asks people to visit the grave’s of veterans, leaving flags and flowers to honor them, in particular NOT on holidays. Even as I write this, some of the cast are preparing to participate in The Murph (a physical challenge meant to honor LT. Michael Murphy, a SEAL who was killed in combat). Whether it’s in interviews, or on social media, you’ll find this cast expressing a constant respect for the warriors they portray.

Flags and Flowers event @SIXonHistory

@BarrySloane

@Jaylen_Moore

8. Locations

SIX uses it’s time wisely. It’s no cookie-cutter action show with all the fights taking place in dingy lighting, creeping through underground tunnels. Instead, you’ll see this team on land, in the air, on the water. You’ll see them at home (some of the hardest hitting scenes), trekking through the forest and busting down doors. I love never knowing where the team is going to end up next, there isn’t any sense of repetitiveness.

7. Complex Villains

Forget blah, zero backstory villains. SIX allows it’s bad guys to be every bit as interesting and dynamic as it’s heroes. Tell me, how many other military shows can say that? Dominic Adams spent last season playing Michael Nasry, the American-born terrorist who’s out for revenge. Although we loved to hate Michael and the tortures he planned for Rip (Walter Goggins), you never impatiently wished him off the screen. In fact, I’m happy to say that Adams is back for season 2, although we’ll find Michael in a very different set of circumstances this time around. SIX is also introducing “The Prince” (Nikolai Nikolaeff) as the big bad of the season. Nikolai spent months preparing himself for the role, diving deep in background so that he could best honor the role. I guarantee you won’t be disappointed.

6. Diversity

When the U.S. military is 40% PoC it’s completely unrealistic to have a military show with no (or a single token) non-white person on the team. Unfortunately, for some networks that continues to be the trend. SIX threw that nonsense out the window, showing a true picture of what a SEAL team would be. We have an African American member, Hispanic member and, my personal favorite, an Afghani American. Yes, that’s right. The first Muslim SEAL portrayed on American television. If that alone isn’t cause for celebration I don’t know what is. And yes, if you’re keeping track – that’s 50% PoC. Thank you SIX.

photo credit @SIXonHistory

5. The Action

The cast of SIX brings it full force physically. Training with former Navy Seals helped the actors hone their physicality and bring realism to their fight scenes. SIX doesn’t have the big budget of network shows and instead relies on the details instead of huge explosions. Although, no fear, you do get your fair share of those as well. The precise shots and killer hand-to-hand combat are impressive in every episode. Whether it’s taking down terrorists or rescuing school girls, you’ll believe every minute. I’d highly recommend checking out the Instagram accounts of the actors, there are lots of BTS videos detailing the grueling preparation they went through to get ready for these roles.

4. Characters

You can tell from episode one that these characters have been fully fleshed out, loved and thought about. Whether you’re watching Bear mourning his daughter, Buddha struggling with a changing family dynamic or Caulder being forced into parental responsibility, each of these men has some serious backstory. One of my favorites from last season was Fishbait, portrayed by Jaylen Moore. Even without the screen time to explore his family life, Fishbait never felt 1 dimensional and Moore was able to grab some of the spotlight. I’m happy to say we’ll be getting more Fishbait this time around! Bill and David Broyles as the writers/creators clearly love their show and it shines through. They’ve lovingly crafted complex 3D people that you will be captivated by.

Jaylen Moore @sixonhistory

Eric Laden @sixonhistory

Juan Pablo Raba @SIXonHistory

3. The Families

This military drama spends a significant amount of time on the effect that this job has on the home life of our SEAL team. These men go through hell and back on a constant basis and that takes a serious toll. SIX addresses this with respect and honesty. Seeing the inner turmoil of the team and the families around them connects you to the show in a way you might not feel if the focus was all on the action side. I’m partial to a good shoot ’em up show, but SIX is an action show I can recommend to everyone. The issues of home life for these warriors are addressed with a frank simplicity that’s stunning.

Brianne Davis as Lena Graves, and Nadine Velazquez as Jackie Ortiz, bring a warmth and personal touch to the show. As a Navy wife, I couldn’t ever watch dramatized shows like Army Wives. It felt nothing like my own experience since it was essentially Desperate Housewives on a base. SIX, however, shows the good and bad of being a military family in a way that I could immediately connect with.

2. The Cast in General

There are some serious heavy hitters here. Juan Pablo Raba plays Ricky “Buddha” Ortiz. Buddha is one of the most compelling characters to me personally because of the strain he feels between his work and home life. Raba brings his experience and acting chops to show that push/pull of warrior/husband powerfully. Walter Goggins is good in everything he does and SIX is a compelling argument for him as one of the best actors out there. Jaylen Moore has been in a lot – but hasn’t had a lead role in a hit tv series. I predict great things coming out of SIX for him, we didn’t have a chance to see a whole lot of background for Fishbait last year, but that will be changing in season 2.

Brianne Davis adds a level of heart and connection to this show that just blew my mind. She was one of the first cast members I wanted to interview because I felt that honest connection from the start. Kyle Schmidt is charming, funny and still manages to break your heart. Edwin Hodge brings a gravity and intelligence to his role and I look forward to seeing where that takes him in this much darker season 2. There isn’t a miscast actor in the bunch, and to honest, I could have written a paragraph for each one and why we love them. From interviews we’ve done we’ve learned that several of the characters were created AFTER meeting the actors who would play them. Juan Pablo Raba and Jaylen Moore in particular. The writers saw potential and they know exactly how to make their stars shine.

1. Barry Sloane

I’ve been a fan of Sloane’s for years, but in SIX he’s a totally different actor. From the bad boy romantic on Revenge to the deputy on Longmire, Sloane has always been good on screen. But in this? In this he’s great. As Joe “Bear” Graves, Sloane brings a power and complexity that shows what a truly phenomenal actor he’s become. Bear is ripped apart, suffering PTSD and struggling to balance home and work. He’s following the path of his mentor Rip (Walter Goggins) in all the worst ways, something the audience hopes and prays he can pull away from. He’s a leader on and off screen, the rest of the cast referencing him in every interview we did. To be honest, I’m really amazed Sloane hasn’t been nominated for an Emmy for his work in this series. Here’s hoping it happens in the future

Interviews

I’ve been fortunate enough to interview several of the hard-working actors from SIX. Check out what they have to say about the upcoming season:

Barry Sloane Interview

Joshua Gage Interview

Brianne Davis Interview

Eric Ladin Interview

Jaylen Moore Interview

Nikolai Nikolaeff Interview

Juan Pablo Raba Interview

We have more interviews coming, check back soon!!

Get Watching!

All told, SIX is a standout series worth your time. If you haven’t seen Season 1, get binging! Season 2 premieres Monday, May 28th at 10/9c and then moves to its regular time on Wednesday, May 30th at 10/9c. This season promises to be darker, more emotional and explore new sides of our team. It’s going to be great!

I’ll be live tweeting from @tvserieshub all season, check back after the episode for my reviews. Hit me up anytime @nolenag03 to chat about SIX

10 Reasons You Should be Watching #SIXonHistory +Cast Interviews @BarrySloane @EricLadin @TheBrianneDavis @JuanPabloRaba @Jaylen_Moore @EdwinHodge @NNikolaeff @iamKyleSchmid History Channel's original show SIX came out swinging last year, delivering fantastic action and emotional content hand in hand.

#10 Reasons #Barry Sloane #Brianne Davis #edwin hodge #Eric Ladin #History Channel #Interviews #Jaylen Moore #Joshua Gage #Juan Pablo Raba #military #military drama #Must See TV #season 2 #SIX #TV Series #tvseries

5 notes · View notes

gary-robbins · 7 years ago

Text

"Help Is Not Coming" - The 2018 Barkley Marathons

It was 1:30am on Wednesday, March 21st and we were in Knoxville, TN. The temps were just below freezing, with a stiff wind gusting over people. Snow was accumulating on the ground and my family, collectively my parents, wife and son, were walking between the hotels in the immediate vicinity asking if they had any available beds for the night. We had of course booked our own hotel that evening, and we were all in fact sleeping soundly just minutes before, but currently there were a few hundred people braving the winter conditions in their pajamas as firefighters streamed into the building.

When the hotel alarms were triggered my mother thought it was her alarm clock, and she called front desk complaining that she couldn’t turn it off. She was informed that this was the fire alarm and she was to evacuate immediately. My own room, with my wife and son, was half a hallway away from my parents, but my mother and I somehow opened our doors into the main hallway in unison and I waved at her with that look that says “damn fire alarm, I guess we should evacuate just to be on the safe side.”

I walked down the hall with Linda and Reed, towards my parents, whose room was directly across from the second floor stairwell. As I was getting them all set someone barreled through the door onto the second floor, with their full rolling luggage bag in tow. He looked like he was being chased by a bear and he simply yelled, “FIRE!!” then promptly dove back into the stairwell and outta site.

Okay, shit, this is actually happening right now!

I direct my family down the stairs and then walk back the length of the second floor saying in a calm but loud voice, “There is a fire in the building, please evacuate immediately. There is a fire in the building, please evacuate immediately.”

It was amazing to me in that moment how many people were still attempting to wait this out in their rooms. The alarm noise leaves no doubt and certainly no desire to attempt to ignore it. My head hurts now just recreating this and thinking about it. I ducked back into my own room to grab my wallet and keys to our rental SUV, as I was now envisioning that we’d be spending a few hours out in the cold. I had thousands of dollars in electronics with me, between my computer, battery packs, watches, etc, etc, but I stayed calm and rational, all of that was replaceable and I wanted to be in and out of my room in a matter of seconds, so I didn't even attempt to take more than my wallet and keys.

I did one final check of the entire second floor and no one remained, so I headed down the stairwell and out into the frigid night to locate my family.

When Linda and I had checked in exactly 24 hours earlier we were placed in a “non-smoking room” on a smoking floor. I had no idea smoking was even allowed in hotels any longer, but here we were. I retreated to the front desk and asked if in fact there was a non-smoking room available on a “non-smoking floor”, what a concept. The front desk attendant was helpful enough and we were moved one floor lower. I mentioned my folks were checking in the following day and requested the same for them. Linda and I were initially placed in hotel room #313 and I’d later discover that the person in room #312 (the one we would have been sharing a wall with) had fallen asleep while smoking in bed.

My wife, son and I had arrived in Tennessee 26 hours earlier, and it had already been an eventful first day up to this point, what with an ER visit for our two-and-a-half-year-old son’s first ear infection, and our rental car agency messing up our reservation and not having a child seat available for us upon arrival. I had a full Jerry Seinfeld moment;

“You see, you know how to *take* the reservation, you just don't know how to *hold* the reservation. And that's really the most important *part* of the reservation: the holding. Anybody can just take them.”

Hands up in the air and all.

By all accounts our first day had not gone so smoothly, but that’s why we decided to fly in a day earlier this year, to get all of the rental car issues, hospital visits and hotel’s burning down out of the way early.

I eventually located two available rooms at an adjacent hotel, and at 3am we all attempted some fitful shuteye.

I don’t believe in omens. I don’t subscribe to luck, but it was undeniable by this point, I’d been sensing for quite a time that nothing was going to unfold the way I’d hoped it would at this year’s Barkley. Every time I had this fleeting thought of impending doom, which had been ongoing for weeks, I’d repeat a Macklemore lyric in my head (mock me if you will, I really don’t care. That’s not the lyric, that’s me talking to you) “they ain’t givin’ it, I’m takin’ it” and it was just a reminder that I had to get my headspace right and to not allow any expectations, distractions, or excuses to creep in. Nothing about the Barkley is supposed to be easy, you want an excuse, I’ll give you 100 of em in under a minute, “they ain’t givin’ it I’m takin’ it”… “nobody’s gonna make this happen but you Gary, control what you can control and forget about the rest.” The hotel fire would make for a great story and It was but one night of lost sleep. I didn’t even talk about it again until after the race, because as we drove out of Knoxville and towards Wartburg, it was already literally and figuratively, behind us.

Frozen Head

We arrived at Frozen Head late on Wednesday and were greeted by a familiar site in an unfamiliar location, snow, and lots of it. I managed to get out for a sundown run up England Mountain and the snow drifts along the top were shocking, some being knee deep. “This could get interesting” I thought, but the forecast for the following days was promising enough and most people expected the course to be free of snow come race day.

One of the rules of the Barkley, and Frozen Head State Park, is that you’re not allowed to depart the ‘candyass’ maintained trails at any point outside of the race. If you are caught going off-trail outside of the 60 hours of the race you are removed from the race by Laz immediately and escorted out of camp, likely to never be drawn back into the event again. I was hoping for a bit more daylight so I could scout my end of lap five error from 2017 a bit further, but within minutes of cresting the high point I had all the information I needed. Twenty feet. Six meters. That is the actual margin of error that lead to my coming in from the wrong direction one year ago. Twenty feet at the end of 60 hours of effort. I never did write a race report about it. I sat in an internet café for seven hours on a rainy day in April last year and I had managed to recreate all but one paragraph of my experience. I just didn’t have the desire to relieve it blow for blow. A common misconception that’s taken hold is that I hit the trail and simply turned the wrong way, going right instead of left. I knew I was to go left and was expecting to T-junction with the trail. If I had, I would have turned left and run down into camp to close out the race with a few minutes to spare. I would have become the 16th finisher of the Barkley Marathons, and I wouldn’t have been standing there now, staring down thoughts of why and how, and attempting to put a positive spin on things.

In the end I learned that in 2017 I was about twenty feet too far west, and the trail curls away at that point. When I finally found the trail I was parallel to it, while knowing I was supposed to T-junction with it, then I trended into it, more of a merge really, and somehow as the trail was on my left at this point my 60-hour sleep deprived brain went “left side, left turn, all the same, you’re on the trail now run it in!”

Anyways, they say American football is a game of inches, and the Barkley is no different. Small mistakes rapidly become big mistakes, and that was one of my mantras this year, along with "go slower, to go faster.”

Friday arrived in no time and before we knew it the map was out and things were getting real. There were three changes to the course for 2018, two of which favoured the runners in terms of appearing to be slightly faster than the previous book locations, whereas one book location was most certainly much longer than the year prior. In the end I guessed this 2018 course to maybe be in the range of 7-12 minutes longer per loop, or 30-60 minutes harder overall.

The total climbing stats for 2018 would come in at 13,484ft per loop, or a whopping 67,420ft for the full pull. If Laz adds one more 500ft climb to the mix in the coming years, the Barkley will be a 70,000ft race! Read that again and let that sink in.

The Conch Is Blown

Save for our fire alarm evac on Tuesday, I’d slept great all week, and thankfully Friday night proved no different. I passed our just after midnight, after already being in bed for three hours, and likely ended up with about six hours of reasonable sleep. When I awoke just after 7am I eased into the morning and the conch was eventually blown at 8:33am for a 9:33am start. Jamil Courey and I were the first two runners to greet Laz as we awaited our official “Barkley watch”, the $10 Timex piece that is the only watch you are allowed to carry for the race. This watch is set to “race time” or “zero time” so when the 24hr watch goes to zeroes you start running. When the watch hits 12:00 on your third day, time has officially expired (60 hours).

My strategy was simple going into the first loop, go slower to be faster, get through it mistake free, refresh my memory as to the nuances of the course and go from there.

Just prior to the start I’d somehow managed to bump my watch and it reset the seconds back to zero. The seconds must’ve been counting up in the 50’s, about to turn over to a new minute, because my watch showed the race starting about a minute early, and I was scrambling just a bit to get through the pack at the back and up near the front as we all streamed past the yellow gate. We were about ten minutes into the first climb when I questioned someone else as to the start time and then realized my watch was out by over a minute. Runners know that the watches will be out vs the “master watch” that Laz wears but only by a few seconds over the duration of the 60 hours, and by coincidence when I initially compared my watch with Laz’s we realized my total time variance for the 60 hours would be seven seconds, meaning my watch, set to race time, could not go above 11:59:53 on day three. Not that any of this ended up mattering in the end, but it is just another example of the attributes that make the Barkley so unique.

As we worked our way up the first climb, on a few miles of candyass trail, this was the slowest I’d ever started The Barkley, following my race plan perfectly. In the previous two editions a lead pack pushes off the front and crests the first climb in about twenty-five minutes. We were closer to thirty minutes and there were at least 8-10 runners in front of or around me. We snagged our first page and proceeded to drop off the mountain towards book two. The race always seems to splinter here, as runners scramble for position after the first backlog of pages being pulled, and this year was no different. By the time we intersected the river below I’d found myself at the front of the race, earlier than anticipated, and already down to a group of about six.

The more eyes the better, was also something I’d been telling myself. No need to shrink the field until we’ve at least collectively located the new books together. I had mentioned to Guillaume Calmettes a day earlier that I intended to up the pace a bit after book seven, which in the clockwise direction would be the third and final “new book location”, but until then I saw no reason thin out the field.

Our now lead group nailed book two, thanks in no small part to Nova Scotia’s Jodi Isenor (a previous fun run finisher) and as the book gets handed around to pull pages I glance at the cover. The book is titled “Six Seconds” and I temporarily lose my mind. “F@#K YOU LAZ!!” He is an expert at mental warfare. As we started up “hillpocolypse” which in the clockwise direction is the first off trail ascent of the race, our group consisted of myself, Jodi, Guillaume, Jamil, a Scottish bloke named Ally Beaven and another overseas runner whose name was James. Before we topped out on this climb we’d be down to four runners and I’d be down to one trekking pole, somehow managing to snap one of my poles within minutes of pulling them out.

Jamil Courey certainly knows the course well and he was a huge asset as we proceeded along without issue. When we arrived at book five, the biggest change of the year, he zoned in on it like a hawk. It was really impressive and I knew my decision to not forge on was paying dividends.

What was really surprising to me was how well Guillaume know the course. He’d done his homework, having travelled out just a month or so earlier to run all of the trails you’re allowed to scout outside of race weekend, and Guillaume took the lead on some sections as he was in fact the person in our group who’d been over some of the terrain the most recently. All in all, we were moving right along and accomplishing exactly what I’d set out to do, which was to put in an error free first loop.

At book seven, the third and final alteration to the 2018 course, I went right to a set of trees that matched the description, had a poke around, saw nothing, and began moving away from there, then Jamil comes in just behind us, goes to the exact set of trees and pulls out the book. This is one of the things that people fail to recognize about this race, you can literally be standing on top of the book at times and you still won’t see it unless you dig for it. Books are buried in tree stumps, under rocks or just anywhere that makes it as hard to locate as possible. Jamil informs us that “this was the location of this book in 2014.” Cool, good to know. Okay, all new books have now been established and it’s mostly smooth sailing in regards to my own course knowledge.

For the first time in my three attempts, the course goes up the infamous “Testicle Spectacle”. Over the past two years the book near Testicle has been off to one side of it, in 2016 it was in the left hip, if you will, and 2017 was in the right hip, so I’ve never done this route in its entirety, and I’m excited as it feels like a right of passage.

It had rained overnight from Friday into Saturday and we were warned of an incoming “weather event” from late day Saturday into Sunday. As we started up Testicle the hill just continues to slop away from under us. It was a complete pile of mud and not a single inch was gained without slipping backwards to some degree. I was no longer enjoying my right of passage. The thrill of the new climb had lasted all of, well, six seconds really.

We crested the climb, now down to three, myself, Guillaume and Ally, and proceeded towards book eight. My line was off a bit and sure enough captain consistent Jamil catches back up to us. I lead us all up Danger Dave’s Climbing Wall and the onwards towards Rat Jaw.

Rat Jaw is a bitch. There is not a single picture ever taken of Rat Jaw that can accurately display its gradient and inherent challenges. Every year pics are posted from Rat Jaw and inevitably people following along online think “oh that doesn’t look so bad” “oh hill x-y-z that we have here locally is at least that steep.”

We were in for a special treat on Rat Jaw this year as the recent rains, not just overnight but over the last few weeks, had turned its clay like dirt into a vertical skating rink. No matter how fast you are moving up until that point, or how strong you might feel, Rat Jaw is am absolute soul destroying grind from bottom to top. There is an old cable that lays on the ground along some sections, and this cable becomes a life line. You drag yourself up this slope, one agonizing step at a time, and then you hang on for dear life on the downslope, using the cable as you would a climbing rope that’s been strung over a rocky slope to allow for safe passage.

By the time we’d topped out it was but myself, Guillaume and Ally. We might have been a few minutes slower going up than I’ve been in previous years on the first lap, but we’d exerted so much more energy in doing so. It was a fight for every step and for the first time in my three years at the race I actually had the thought, on the first lap, of “I can’t even imagine the effort that’ll be needed to get up this thing on laps three, four and five.”

Bottles filled, page pulled and careening down the mountain. I slam hard at one point but immediately bounce back up and keep running. My tricep is screaming at me and I think it’ll dissipate, but it never does. I attempted to arrest the fall by leaning into a pole and ended up straining my arm. Even as I type this almost a week later the tricep still has a ways to go to get back to 100%. Only at the Barkley are you as likely to experience an upper body injury as you are a lower body injury. The amount of upper body strength needed for the Barkley is often underestimated, and it’s a whole-body workout for two and a half straight days.

We went through the prison, up and over the final two climbs and down into camp after what could readily be described as a perfect first lap.

With about a mile to go, Guillaume says to me, “so how long do you think you’ll spend in camp?”

I’ve had a year to digest last year’s failure. I’ve watched Ethan Newberry’s documentary about it 17 times on the big screen (WhereDreamsGoToDie.com). I do not see six seconds as being the difference, I see the better part of 45 minutes that could have been improved upon. Goal #1 for 2018 was to be more dialed in camp, to be better organized from the start, and to “leave no doubt”. Leave nothing for chance. Be better, from lap one through lap five.

Laz changed the rules around camp for 2018 and each runner was allowed but two crew members. This meant Linda +1. This meant no Ethan, no Kim and no Shaun Martin. In the end my crew ended up being Linda + John Kelly, and we shared John Kelly with another runner, the aforementioned Jodi Isenor. John would have his hands full, crewing for two people, but there was no better person for the job. I was honoured that he’d dedicate his weekend towards my own hopeful success. My parents were staying at a hotel in Oak Ridge and would come to camp for Interloopal, taking Reed off of Linda’s hands so Linda and John could focus on the task at hand. Every – second – counts.

Me to Guillaume, “five minutes best case, seven minutes worst case.”

Guillaume, with a pause…”okay”.

We hit camp in 8h38m.

In 8h45m, after a full gear change from head to toe, socks, shoes, shirts, lube, everything, I was sprinting back out of camp. It was, easily, the best I’ve ever felt after a lap at the Barkley. Things were going perfectly.

I spotted Guillaume and Ally scrambling to get to the gate to claim their second lap bib, as I was exiting the campground. I did not have a desire to move on without them, I had a desire to finish the race. Every – second – counts.

There was about ninety minutes of daylight remaining when I departed camp on lap two. For 2018 the direction of the loops was set as;

1. clockwise

2. counter

3. counter

4. clockwise

5. choice

The Second Lap - Counterclockwise

I put in a good push to get up and over the first climb, claiming book #13 (or the first book going ccw). As I dropped down the first off trail section of lap two I thought it about the right time to pull out my headlamp. The weather, as had been predicted, was setting in and it was foggy, cold and starting to rain. They were calling for up to 30mm of rain. The “weather event” had begun.

I clicked on my headlamp but nothing happened. I tried again…nothing. Tried one final time, but still zero. I always carry two primary headlamps of 350 lumens, the Princeton Tec Apex rechargeable, and a third emergency light of just 100 lumens, the PT Remix.

I attempted to fire up my second Apex light but it too was dead. This had never happened before. I pulled out my backup, backup light and turned it on. There was no way in hell that this emergency light was sufficient for navigating in the dark, and I didn’t even have spare batteries for it. I was far too far out of camp to head back and fix this. The sun was all but gone, the fog had rolled in, and my race, was about, to end…

“GUILLAUME! ALLY! GUILLAUME!! ALLY!!”

I knew they’d be close, but if I was unable to locate them I’d be hooped as there were no other runners close to us at this point.

Thankfully Guillaume started whistling back to me and we worked towards each other through the dense laurel brush.

“Oh my god, thank you! My headlamps are both dead, do either of you have a backup main light?”

Neither did but both offered what they did have. Nothing added up to a working solution though (extra batteries specific to each lamp) and I was forced to continue with my “AAA” powered Remix. I need to explicitly state at this point that my headlamps were not malfunctioning. It was not a product issue but a user mistake. We as a crew made an error and learned a valuable lesson in real time. The lamps were both dead, but through no fault of the manufacturer.

Myself, Guillaume and Ally were a team again, whether they liked it or not 😊

I lead us to our second book and as we made our move towards the third book a pack of runners headed our way at the end of their first lap. I asked everyone if they had any light source or “AAA” batteries to spare and a TN runner was kind enough to spot me his emergency light which was also “AAA”. This would at least get me closer to being able to cover the 12hrs of darkness we were now confronted with. (if you are reading this please message me so I can get your light back to you)

As we navigated towards our next book the epicenter of the storm started to unleash on us. We had curtains of rain rolling over us and visibility was down to about a foot or two at most. Neither Guillaume nor Ally had ever been on the Barkley course at night before, this was their first counterclockwise loop, we were in a rainstorm, on a pile of mud, in the Tennessee wilderness, with temperatures in the single digits, and their fearless leader had 100 lumens of light to work with.

The death by a thousand briar cuts had begun.

We blew this book in significant fashion and by the time we did locate it we were all soaked through to the bone and on the cusp of hypothermia.

“Guys, put on every layer you have, this is not going to get any better and we won’t regret it if we somehow end up being a smidge too warm on the next climb up Rat Jaw.”

I was now wearing a long sleeve merino wool base, a short sleeve tech shirt, and hooded wind jacket, a waterproof jacket, a buff, a toque, I had a second thicker pair of gloves that I switched into, I had on a short pair of tights under a full pair of tights, and now pulled on my waterproof pants. On the bright side, my pack was now much, much lighter.

Guillaume Calmettes is certainly one of the most positive people you’ll ever meet, and he exclaimed with a smile, in his thick French accent, but with perfect English “ADVENTURE!”

Ally Beaven possessed a great sense of humour, the ability to tell a good story, and most importantly he understood the golden rule of not complaining out loud.

I would have classified us squarely in the middle of being a “Dream Team” and “The Three Stooges”.

We dropped down towards the prison in the most deranged conditions I’d ever witnessed on this slope. It was like the ground was no longer solid but had somehow decayed into a foreign, much more malleable surface. If I could not visually process that I was moving across a supposedly solid slope I would have guessed it to be ice and snow underfoot. Each time we slipped, and we slipped plenty, we’d go for a ride downslope of about five to six feet before coming to a halt, often against a rock or tree, and then we’d be forced to pick ourselves up and attempt a few more feet of actual forward progress. It reminded me all too much of this:

I mostly nailed this descent, placing us just a tiny bit south of our intended target. We claimed our book and proceeded to the prison tunnel.

I have done the prison tunnel and Rat Jaw ten times in my first two years, this was now my 12th pass of the tunnel. Down the center of the tunnel is a cement strip that’s about five inches wide and six inches high. If you are not wearing a headlamp you loose site completely for about 25% of the tunnel in a complete blackout. Jared called this one of his Barkley games, to see if you could navigate this while essentially blind and I’ve adapted this game. On lap one I’d make it through the tunnel without falling off and getting wet, now on lap two, by headlamp, I was presented with something new to me. The tunnel no longer offered a slab of concrete down the middle as an option. There was one steady stream of water flowing through the tunnel, seven plus inches deep throughout. We still tried to stay on the concrete as the water was only an inch above this, but unbeknownst to me there are “inflow” pipes up above and at one point a rather vicious waterfall from above forced us to hug a sidewall. We were essentially fording a river, through a tunnel, at night, under a prison. It was right about then that I started questioning where I’d gone wrong with my life? Up until that point I'd mostly believed that I'd made reasonably good decisions with my life, but in retrospect, my epiphany was that I’d just managed a positive spin on a series of really bad decisions. I do really stupid things, and I do them with stunning regularity.

Anyways, not like I'm making any big life changes at 41 year's old, might as well forge ahead as is...at the exit of the tunnel there was genuine concern for not getting washed over the edge, into a five plus foot drop.

“ADVENTURE!”

We cleared the tunnel and heaved ourselves up Rat Jaw, crawling through the mud and briars every step of the way.

John freaking Kelly was waiting up top yelling encouragement at us through the fog. There’s a fire tower up top and I couldn’t help but picture the captain in the Forest Gump film, sitting on the topsail yelling out into the storm,

“IS THAT ALL YOU’VE GOT!?”

John informed us that we had at least another six hours in this weather, but that it should start to ease through the night and, as forecast, it would blow through and the next 48 hours were in fact promising. He also admitted to me later that he got lost in the fog, on maintained and sign-posted trails, while heading up to the fire tower to cheer us on. I was uncertain in that moment who was more miserable, us, while plodding through this thing, or John, wearing every layer he owned and standing out in this mess awaiting our arrival.

We were effective through the next few books, skiing down a mountain of mud on both Rat Jaw and then Testicle, and fording the New River to start up what’s known as Stallion Mountain and the back-half of the course going CCW. I couldn’t help but think of Blake Wood, a true legend of the sport and Barkley finisher who during one particularly rough year found the New River impassable on lap five due to heavy rains, and he subsequently was unable to finish that year through no other reason than he didn’t have a boat with him. Laz instituted a workaround for any future years should this happen again, with a prescribed reroute, so we couldn’t even claim that this was the worst year on record, though we were later informed that it did rank right up there.

We made good time all the way to the top, snagged our book page and then turned to descend towards our next book, dropping through a feature known as Cougar Rock.

Guillaume was on lead, he was near perfect through this section in daylight on lap one, but this was a different beast entirely at night. In hindsight, I became a passenger, and it cost us dearly. When you’re dealing with conditions like we were it hinders your judgement, there’s no time to stop and reset because stopping for even a moment leads to a deep shiver that originates in your core. To move is to stay warm, to stop is to freeze. If you start shivering you might not be able to recover from it, so you push on. It is not until we are fully cliffed out that the severity of our situation overwhelms us. We’re in a bad spot, we’re lost, we’re bleeding time, and a misstep by any of us could lead to a serious incident. We retreat, we reset, we work together to figure things out, but the damage is done. We right the ship, find Cougar Rock, nail our next two books through what’s known as The Garden Spot, and find ourselves correcting for a small error on the third to last book.

We’re now down to the final two books and our best case scenario for this lap is 13hrs – high.

The lead is back to me and with limited light I struggle. I’ve already gone through two sets of batteries for my own headlamp and am now borrowing Guillaume’s backup light. A major marker I’m searching for is a sign off the side of the trail, it is less than two feet from the trail, I know this, I am looking for it, I completely proceed right past it and start down an unfamiliar trail and am confronted by a sign I’ve never seen before that reads “legacy tree”.

“F#@K.”

I scream back up slope to Guillaume who is third in our line,

“Did I miss the sign!? Can you see it?”

“Yes, it’s here!”

We retreat, reset, and then struggle with this descent. For the second straight lap, I snap my pole in pretty much the exact same location. We are anything but smooth and the clock is ticking. We eventually locate the second to last book and start up the second to last climb of the lap.

In the fog mistakes are made, I miss by a few degrees and we’re once again scrambling. I have a deep pit in my stomach. This feels fatal.

We locate the trail right at daybreak and I ask the guys if they’re okay with me pushing onward, saying every second is vital right now. They’re totally cool and off I went, somehow feeling like I was up against the clock on lap two, instead of lap five.

I got chased off the trail a short time later by four wild hogs but no harm was done. I get up and over “Checkmate Hill” snag my page and absolutely careen down into camp. Lap time was something like 14h30m. My entire body is numb, not from pain, but from fear and frustration.

The weather has passed and the forecast for the day is nice. I did a full gear change and bathroom stop, but there was a lot to address after that loop.

To add insult to injury I was up against the absolute worst chafing I’ve ever experienced in my life. My Squirrel’s Nut Butter had more than done the trick on loop one, but something went wrong on the second lap. I was continually reapplying but things were getting worse. It was not until I stripped down that I could spot the cause. I was caked in mud from head to toe, and we were so cold overnight that removing gloves just wasn’t an option. Every time I relieved myself I was inadvertently introducing mud into my tights and I’d created a sandpaper grit effect. I was officially no longer having any fun, though at least I knew it’d help keep me awake from here on out.

Linda learned to make sushi in the months leading into the race. If you want an idea of how all encompassing this race has become for our family, Linda spent months this year helping me with my food options for race weekend, and Reed has a tattoo across his shoulders that says “My Dad has made it further in the Barkley than your Dad.” Of course this means we can’t hang out with John Kelly, or Jared Campbell, or Blake Wood, or David Horton, but that’s besides the point, this thing never really leaves us alone for too long at a time. Linda stuffed a sushi burrito into my hand and walked me to the gate for my third lap.

I got out of camp before Guillaume and Ally arrived, and it was once again daylight. There was 12h15m left on the clock for the 36hr cutoff to begin my fourth lap. I knew I could manage an 11h30m lap if I pushed hard, and if I was calculated and focused. This wasn’t over yet. I also finally established my favourite direction of travel, clockwise, which would be the direction of the final two laps should I make it that far. In the CCW direction the “handrails” into books are a bit subtler than in the CW direction, and I am therefore faster and far less prone to errors going CW. I just had to lay down an 11h30m lap and to leave 12h45m on the clock for lap four. I believed in my heart that going clockwise was faster and that this was still within reach.

“I can do this, and I will do this.”

Lap 3 - Counterclockwise

I ran out of camp and focused on going fast when things were certain and slowing right down when they were not. I tripled checked everything, and though this lead to a few more minutes being eaten up, it subscribed to the “go slower to go faster” race plan.

I arrived a Rat Jaw a full 40 minutes quicker than lap two and there were a ton of people there to cheer me on. I was getting into some eating issues now, as I approached 27 hours of continual movement. I’d find myself dry heaving a bit here and there, but was thankfully still keeping things under control. It is a fight to keep the calories coming, and if you’re not dedicated to the fight than you’re all but done. At one point I opened an Endurance Tap maple syrup gel, sucked it into my mouth, but realized I was going to dry-heave again, so I promptly spit it right back out, but I spit it back into the resealable pouch, got over my dry-heaving, and then sucked down the vital 100 calories on my second attempt. I actually patted myself on the back for that one. “Nicely done” I thought, “that’s a first”.

I dropped off Rat Jaw and had legs. I was moving well and the rains were behind us. I just had to keep pushing and stay focused.

I made great time through Armes Gap, across the New River, and back up Stallion. A small bump once again near where we messed up one lap earlier, but I was triple checking things so my small mistake stayed as just that, a small mistake.

The next few books were uneventful and I have ten pages in my pocket. I was doing some math and figured I was on pace for 11h45m at worst. I would have 7-10 mins camp time and be out on lap four with maybe 12h20m or so to work with. I was thinking about a lot of things, about if it were possible, about how this had gone wrong, about what it would mean to finish under these circumstances, about how fortunate I am to have such a wonderful family, my parents, my wife, our beautiful son. I was thinking about how much I wanted this, how much me and my wife have invested into this already, how much a finish would mean to us, forget everything else, that’s all white noise, this is for us. I’ve dreamt of becoming a Barkley finisher for ten years now. I was thinking about how good I felt overall, now having eclipsed 32 hours. This is probably the best I’ve ever felt at this point, though I was already on loop four by this point in my two previous attempts.

I was thinking about so much and getting into a nice running rhythm, I was thinking about absolutely everything BUT the one thing I should have been thinking about, book three.

There are varying levels of difficulty between books and some are considered “a gimme” compared to others. Book three is a gimme so you can often treat it as such…

“Whoa, did I miss Bald Knob!?”

I continued around the corner, seemingly confirming in that moment that I had gone too far, then I backtracked and headed up to claim my page.

I was about ten minutes up the slope when things started not adding up so much…

“Did I f@#K this up!?”

I pulled out my map, confirmed direction, moved up slope about another minute, and there it was, the Emory Gap Campground site…

“F@#K! F@#K! F@#K!”

Jared and I ended up here two years ago, at least I knew where I was. I shot a bearing and went to work on correcting my mistake. Maybe ten minutes later I pulled my page from the third book. This error, in and of itself was shitty and detrimental, but not fatal, it’s what happened next that buried me. I somehow dropped down off of Bald Knob too far North, thinking I was West. I thought I’d missed a prominent trail intersection and that I was South of where I needed to be. It’s at this point that I should point out that I’ve never gone more than 31 hours at the Barkley without sleep. I didn’t feel like I was necessarily sleep deprived, but this entire thought process is rather inexplicable to me post-race. I ditched another fifteen minutes piecing this back together, then really wanted to puke when I did a time check.

“GO, for f@#k sakes Gary, GO!”

I ran to my next handrail and then did something I’ve always struggled to do, I got the CCW descent into book two absolutely perfectly. I was still in this thing! About a quarter of the way down I spooked a dozen hogs of varying sizes though, and they continued down the exact line that I was. The last thing I needed was a standoff or a charge from one of them so I made as much noise as possible and after what felt like an eternity they finally dropped off of my line and to the west.

I ripped my page from book two and leaned into the second to last climb in the CCW direction. The sun was setting and my headlamp, which we’d figured out, was back on my head and shining brightly, all 350 lumens of it.

I made good time up Checkmate Hill and ripped my final page. I know my best case time from here to the campground and it didn’t look good. I had to get up and over England in record time and then lean into the descent to camp like my life depended on it.

I got over England, found the trail, hooked a left, and flipped my watch…I double checked the math, then triple checked it…checkmate.

Even if I found another plain to exist on for the next few miles I’d still come in about 90 – 120 seconds over time. I took my time dropping down into camp, not wanting Linda to worry about me once time expired, but also not wanting to rush the inevitable. I wasn’t ready to step aside, I hadn’t even gotten to the hallucination phase of the race yet. I trained for a 60-hour effort, not a 36-hour effort. “I’m not even going to lose all my toenails” I thought. Is there a greater indicator of failure at the Barkley than NOT losing all of your toenails? Probably not.

The Barkley Marathons is a personal goal that I am dedicated to. To finish, is akin to breaking a course record at a lot of other events, things have to go right, and some years it can feel like the odds are stacked against you. I want to go on record right now as saying the race was doable this year, I have no doubt of that. If you look back through the history of the event there is a higher likelihood of a finish when two knowledgeable veterans are able to work together through four full laps. Just one year ago John and I formed a great team in which we were continually correcting each other’s errors to prevent any small mistakes from becoming big ones. Having said that, the course has been completed numerous times by an individual, Jared being just one of them, and I believed that I had the skills to do that myself as well. I have the physical capabilities to outwork many of my mistakes, but until I eliminate those “zone outs” and “passenger periods” for 60 full hours, a finish will elude me, for as John Kelly so eloquently stated,

“The Barkley will find your weaknesses, and it will exploit them.”

I had described the experience going into this year like I was a prize fighter. One year ago, after being decisively ahead on the cards going into the 12th and final round, the Barkley got me with a lucky punch and left me TKO’d. It was the hardest defeat of my life and I’ve had to wait a full year for my rematch. This loss is more shocking, but somehow slightly less devastating, since I never even made it to the championship rounds.

As I sit here typing this I have but one “Barkley toe”, not ten (a completely numb toe). I will likely loose but three toenails, not the full set. I am tired, but not obliterated. I am sore from head to toe, cut up by briars, and flush with the usual unique recovery issues post-Barkley, but I will probably head out for a short run sometime this weekend. I did a 36-hour race, not the 60 hour event I’d set out to, and I am unsettled and rife with emotion.

A Barkley finish likely means more to me than it should at this point and there’s been a crescendo through three years now that would have made for a perfect storybook ending this year, but that’s not how life works sometimes. I simply cannot express my true gratitude to everyone who has followed along and sent well wishes and words of encouragement along the way. This is my purge, please understand that this is my way of telling my story, and it is my preference to not have my life and every single interaction become about the Barkley Marathons. This has evolved into so much more than it should have. There was one goal, it was not accomplished, I’m proud of what I did do, but finishing a Fun Run is not even close to finishing the actual race. I don’t want to be “picked up from this”, that’s the reality and that’s where motivations are forged from. If I was okay with this already I would question how much I really wanted it to begin with. I will stand tall again when I am ready to, but right now I am processing my shortcomings and this is as valuable as any BCMC mountain lap repeat I’d perform in training. This is a period for introspection.

I will return for a fourth go, but honestly we don’t know when that will be. This is not like a year ago where we knew we were going again the following year but we didn’t want to talk about it, we really don’t know when we’ll go back and a decision won’t be made until well into the fall. I’ve missed my skis quite a bit this winter. I’ve missed having more days to teach my son to ski. I’ve missed having more adventures with my wife on a day to day and week to week basis. There are a lot of variables here.

In the grand scheme of things, this is just a race and these are trivial matters. My wife and I have our health, we have our happiness, and we have each other, and in the end, that’s all that I’ve ever wanted or needed. I will say that in three years the Barkley has brought us closer together and for that I’m forever thankful. Linda and I have always been a team, but we’re a tighter more cohesive unit than ever before, and our son Reed will reap those benefits throughout his life. Linda said this to Laz before we departed the park;

“In the end this is just a stupid race, put on by a funny man.”

True dat babe, true dat.

You can’t put yourself out there without expecting to fall flat on your face from time to time, sometimes literally. Life is not easy and pursuing the limitations of who you are will certainly be wrought with unforeseen challenges, but as long as you keep your head up and keep pushing onward towards your truth, towards your belief in who you can be, you will learn to enjoy and cherish the journey, to find positives where others only see negatives…even if you end up reaching your ultimate goal a little later than you may have expected to. Even if you find yourself at that destination a few years further along than your planned arrival time.

To the Kelly family, John, Jessi, kids and John’s parents and cousin: Thank you for extending your home to us and for taking such great care of my wife, son and parents while I was on course. You’ve taken a race that’s already special to us and brought it to another level.

To the Barkley family, Laz, Sandra, Rawdog, Kathy, Dave, Ed, Gail, Keith, Rich, Mike and on and on, and all of the runners from around the globe. You are what make this so special. You are why we keep coming back. You are why we as a family will return again, at some point, because believe it or not, we really like you guys 😊

To my sponsors, thank you for believing in and investing in me. Salomon, Suunto, Princeton Tec, Drymax Socks, Trail Butter, Endurance Tap,

To my parents, I love you so much and I'm so happy you were there and that you got to establish such a wonderful bond with Reed throughout the week. (this is but the second time my father has seen me race and the first time my mother has been to one of my races, given that we live over 7000km apart and I didn't start running till I was long free of the nest.)

To my son. You'll regret that tattoo when you're older.

To my wife. I'm sorry you learned to make sushi for nothing, maybe we should have relied more on the ketchup this year. #backtoketchup20??

The following eight images are thanks to Howie Stern Photography

These final eight images are some of my own from the week

#Barkley #The Barkley Marathons #The Barkley #Gary Rolbbins #frozen head #lazarus lake #salomon #suunto #prin #squirrels nut butter #trail butter #endurance tap #Drymax Socks #Princeton Tec Lights

11 notes · View notes

quarterpint · 7 years ago

Text

[Event!] On coffee cups and cults

“Now. Give me your hand...”

“You don’t need her hand."

Hasa grabbed it anyway. “It’s part of my aesthetic. You can keep your stupid twenty questions, I—” she gave a flourish with her free one “— will be conducting the noble art of palmistry.”

Goten had been halfway to the kitchen to leave them to it, though at that had spun on his heels, scooped up a chair along the aisle and planted himself at the head of the table, clinging to the backrest.

“Ohh I gotta see this.”

She bristled. “Didn’t you have some prep to do?”

“Yep.” He made no move to leave. Pan snorted. The café would open a little late this morning, then.

"Fine." Hasa settled herself, brushing her curls away from her face in a faux attempt at gravitas. "Let me see your life line..." Pan flattened her palm for her. She was older by a good six or seven years, but Hasa's excitement and determination at learning really brought out the child in her. She reminded Pan of her wide-eyed mature students, always the most hard working in the class. Her face soured. Something wasn't quite right. “Boss, shh.”

“I’m barely breathing...”

“No!” She wheeled on him, “your energy! It’s mixed up with Pan’s. Shush it.”

He rolled his eyes in response, yet did as asked.

There was a jagged collapse in the world then, that tapestry of hearth fire and playful sparking stars he carried with him folding into itself until extinguished. The dawn light in the café had dulled along with it, warming spices of mulled wine vacating the air to leave just the freshly baked pastries and coffee beans. His ki had vanished. For the briefest of moments his body was a gaping void then with a slow, calming exhalation he allowed the ambient ki in the room to pass through him. Completely invisible. In ki-sense, anyway. For Pan, her ki-sense with her as long as she could remember, the sudden change was unnerving. It was as if he were a ghost, or headless. She’d never get used to it.

The world of ki would be startlingly new to Hasa, ki-signatures a secret to uncover and concentrate on rather than an important part of someone’s voice or face. For her his ki-suppression would have reduced her confusion. To Pan just the opposite, Goten had made himself positively freaky-looking.

/Disgust, amused/ she shot to him through feeling. He wouldn’t be able to answer her telepathically with his ki at zero but he grinned in response, topping off the effect.

Hasa acknowledged the change in her favour with a nod, turning her attention to Pan and the patter she was developing.

"Now, see the shape of the heart line here? It's telling me you're a fan of bitter flavours--"

As soon at Goten had relented to teach Hasa ki-sense Pan had been her regular guinea pig. Or one of them at least; she suspected the entire household had been enlisted and routinely poisoned by Goten's lead barista. The exercise was wonderfully nostalgic so Pan didn’t mind - bringing back the entire summer her uncle had spent home from college feeding her ever-improving cake and sweets until he’d nailed the pattern; the link between ki-signatures and taste. Everyone thought it a madcap curios, a mere party trick to ultimately impress dates. No one expected him to take a risk and try to make money from it. But he did, and over fifteen years later he was still raking it in, baffling the odd industry expert who stumbled across Paozu Place to boot.

If Pan was going to be gifted drinks and sweets again whilst he finally passed on The Knowledge, she’d weather a few duds. Heck, she could even help in some respects. “If you’re pretending to read my palm, why are you staring at my stomach?”

Hasa started. “Oh! Oh crap. I keep doing that. It’s just easier," she smiled ruefully. "Your ki's louder looking there."

“I guess it would be. How about—” Pan brought her hand up and in a little “—this?" It was now between her centre and Hasa's face, the misdirected gaze less obvious. "At least, until you get used to it."

Hasa's eyes focussed and unfocussed between palm and ki. "Genius! Thank you!" Her fingers idly traced the creases in Pan's palm now. "I was going to talk more about the main lines, they can be the big flavours or bases? Add some twists with the smaller ones. Maybe even make up a line or t--" She dropped all palmistry pretence, knocking Pan's hand out the way to narrow her eyes, following something from Pan's own centre to chest. "Oh! Got it!" She was behind the bar in moments, a whirlwind of activity, grabbing a mug and throwing down a tub of powder.

"What did you pick up? The flow?"

"Yes! You're stressed!" She sounded far more excited at her inference than would be polite, "that's what the humming on the green is. I can play on that!"

Pan laughed at her description. It was nowhere near sensical, but no one could do any better. She knew exactly the kind of restless flitting Hasa was referring to. "Work's been crazy lately. Gramps has been building the barricades this week and I'm having to pick up his slack."

Goten drummed on the table. "Speaking of, have you been reading the cult auditions?"

He meant the Pan Fighting Network forums. With her father's book serialisation it had exploded as the only possible hub for discussion on the net. The martial arts students of course loved it, but were impatient to learn more. So impatient in fact many were teaching each other. She was proud of their progress, though it was tinged with a growing, sickening horror that she had absolutely no control.

"Only the posts that get attention, those are stressful enough to read." Pan's suspicion piqued. "I hope you're not messing with them all again..."

"What? No no! Don't look at me like that, Gotenks has been a good boy, too." He leant forward, affecting a serious tone. "We've being reading some of the blogs--"

"The bowling ball video was scary," Hasa called over, mid-measurement "imagine how strong he'd get?"

Goten waved a dismissal. "Nah, he lifted it what - two inches for a second? You could do that if you blew hard enough." He grabbed a handful of sugar cubes from the pot on the table, dropping a couple back until he was satisfied. "Now, Can Man, that's a blog I've been following." Pan clocked immediately at the nickname. So, she wasn't just being paranoid. Goten glanced over, her rumination obvious. "You know who I'm talking about."

"Mm."

"Can Man?"

"'West City'... something something." Goten explained for Hasa, "Might be Can Cat for all I can work out, they're not planning to prove it with a video."

He tossed the cubes in the air, unhitching the lock on his genki in the process and it snapped back to the room, happy to be free. His aura densened around the sugar, slowing their fall to a stop, pushing and holding them in place with the shrink-wrapped bubbles. All invisible to non-ki-users. Pan warmed a little as the familiar glow in the room returned, the free ripples of his genki mixing and blending with her and Hasa's own. It was the comforting sense of safety she always enjoyed with her uncle. A whisper of change in his ki, and all but one of the cubes began to spin around the other.

"Hasa, how good are you at juggling?"

She double-took at the midair routine. "Can't. Too much to keep track of."

"Well, they say they're juggling cans with their ki."

She turned back to raiding the shelf, shrugging. "I saw a video of someone floating two baseballs."

"Can Man says they're up to too many to count. Repeatedly. Every day." Another silent whisper and the sugar rotated the other way. "Lifting heavy things is cool and all but it's just brute force. Keeping track of ki all over the place? Now if they’re telling the truth that's a neat trick, newbie or not."

He was thinking along the same lines as Pan. "I've had students who never get passed splitting their ki in two. To have this ability without tuition..."

They both attended to the dancing cubes for a moment, Hasa finally at the coffee machine. Pan homed in on his tiny, efficient nudges in intent keep the cubes in formation. He'd arranged them in a pattern to give the exercise a rhythm and Goten was so practiced he could probably leave this running and read a book three timezones away. Even so, it wasn't simple.

"Are you going to speak to them?"

Pan had been wondering that herself. As a default admin she'd be able to see their name and address at the click of a button and her finger had hovered a few times, but... "No. Not yet, anyway. It might be flukey early ability. I wouldn't want to get their hopes up." She caught herself, "or mine, I suppose."

Demonstration over, Goten's hand twitched to push all but one of the sugar cubes towards him. He let them fall into his mouth and crunched without resistance.

"When then," he slurred through the syrup.

That was a good question. "I'm not sure. Maybe next chapter if they're still going."

"Don't leave it too late, Squirt." It was a warning out of concern, she knew. He still saw her as that little girl, deer in headlights before taking her first class. She'd pushed against his coddling back then, worse than her father's, but was almost grateful for it nowadays.

"I know."

"Done!" With a final tink of spoon on china Hasa floated over with her latest masterpiece, passing it gently to Pan with both hands.

The warm contents smelt safe. Pan blew on it and took a tentative sip, slowly letting it roll over her tongue and swallowed when her tastebuds approved. She was pleasantly surprised. "It's great!" A full mouthful let her work out the depth of flavour. A darker roast to not key up her stress with as much caffeine she knew, a bitter chocolate, the mint stronger than the drinks Goten would make her based off her ki signature, but all there. "Thank you."

Hasa beamed. "Missing anything do you think?"

Pan racked her brain. There was something. "Umm--"

The last sugar cube flicked passed her nose into her coffee with a plink. Goten winked.

"Needed a can of something."

#gs

2 notes · View notes

meswiftiesince06-blog · 6 years ago

Text

ME!

Hi guys! (I literally have zero followers..) Still going to come on here and post the easter eggs, theories, and thoughts/feelings I have about Taylor Swift’s new song ME! featuring Brendon Urie. I’m sure everything has been said before but just for my own need to get this out into the world, here we go!

1. The white and pink snake. Obviously a reference to her previous persona from reputation. I love love love that it’s white and a pale pink. Just goes to show this album/era she is stepping into the light.

2. Explodes into butterflies. I love this new symbol she’s embracing this era mostly because of the symbolism behind what it is to be a butterfly. Transformation. Metamorphosis. Change. New beginnings. Blooming. Light. Beauty. Blah blah blah. You get it. So the butterfly goes through 4 stages before it becomes who it's meant to be. Egg stage, larva stage (caterpillar), pupa (cocoon), and full adult hood (butterfly). So during the pupa stage, it appears from the outside that the caterpillar is just resting but in fact this is the stage that it changes the most. So in reference to Taylor...she was off the grid for what seemed like a lifetime. To us and the world, looked like she was resting, nesting, hiding. But in fact, she was in the most beautiful part of her life, METAMORPHOSIS!! She was growing into her true self during that time, falling in love with herself, her music, and the people that surrounded her. Wow. ALSO the butterflies are all in the design of the mural in Nashville, right?? Love that. Detail, Taylor, I seeee you.

3. French fight. UMMMM this totally took me by surprise. Love how she sounds speaking french. Not really sure why she decided to fight in another language. There has to be some significance to that. What could that be?? GAH.

4. The Christmas tree. This could be significant for two reasons. One being she grew up on a Christmas tree farm--could very well be going back to her roots, nostalgic album to come? Orr second, there’s a line in ME! that says “livin in winter, I am your summer” now the way I see this, Christmas is in winter, but her album might be coming in summer of this year?? My bet.....July 13th 2019. I’ll get to that later.

5. The chicks wall. Paintings of chicks with sunglasses. Also sign of a summer album... And a painting of the actual Dixie Chicks. Definitely thinking we are getting a collab track with the Dixie Chicks. I will fucking DIE. Man oh man if that theory is true....whew. That would be awesome.

6. Palm trees in the windows of the hall. Okay, as I’m writing this, I’m playing pausing playing pausing the music video so I can catch whatever clues she's leaving. Don't blame me ;) anyway, so I just noticed there are freaking palm trees in the window!!!! Couldn’t count them..but they’re significant for sure.

7. 13 clouds. Counted the clouds when she walked down the staircase (same staircase from the iconic LWYMMD music video).

8. Pink phone reference. Sooo remember when the old Taylor couldn’t come to the phone? Why? Oh, cause she’s dead. Well this has to be a stab at that. And it’s pink. Maybe this is Taylor’s way of telling us, new phone, who dis?

9. Snake clouds. This makes me think of Out of the Woods, where the monsters turned out to be just trees. The snakes turned out to be just clouds, harmless clouds. Something she could come out of, brush off.

10. Shadows in the window. SOOO this might be a stretch and it might be nothing but as she walking out the front door of this building there are three shadows that appear on the floor--her own and two on either side of her that almost look like they’re dancing outside..again this might be nothing but it caught my attention.

11. Rainbow brick road. I said this in my previous post. I feel a lot of Wizard of Oz vibes in this entire video. Instead she has a rainbow brick road, genius. Just goes to show her love for the LGBTQ community once again. There are rainbows all over this video, and colors galore. Just reminds me of Dorothy and her travels. Also, she referenced herself as a witch in the last album “they’re burning all the witches even if you aren’t one.....so light me up”

12. Colored briefcases. If you count the briefcases around her head right before she gets into the chorus, there are 7....7 briefcases. This is her 7th album. Makes sense. But she is holding up 10 fingers...so July 10th? I’m still sticking with July 13th. 7th album, 7th month, and the obvious 13! Only time will tell!!

13. Pale yellow suit. Taylor mentioned in an interview that this song is about embracing yourself as you are, as an individual and being confident in a relationship to not be insecure. "I’m the only one of me......You’re the only one of you” and notice she is the only person wearing this pale yellow colored suit. Just stands out to me. Also, just this whole scene screams BUSINESSSSS. POWER BABY!!!!

14. Clock set on 8:30. A lot of people are saying this might be her release date for the new album so August 30th. But I’m stuck on July 13th. Idk.

15. Brendon’s Mary Poppins scene. Not sure what the umbrellas signify. But it makes me think of the 1989 world tour with the light up umbrellas and dress (ugh what a look!!) and that was during How You Get The Girl. So maybe this is in reference to Taylor finally finding someone who took those steps (see How You Get The Girl) to make her a part of their life. Just an idea.

16. “A lot of lame guys out there.” I just need to pay homage to this line and how in her part says “There’s a lot of cool chicks out there”...can we say FEMINISM?! Girl power, girls supporting other girls. I am allllll about this.

17. Lover. There is a neon sign behind Taylor in the pink flowy magical dress while sitting on a stone unicorn that says “Lover” people are predicting this is a song title from the new album. Might just be a new word she uses throughout because she sings “babydoll when it comes to a lover...”

18. Gifts presented by Brendon. I love this part so much. On her live instagram situation today, she mentioned this scene and how it kind of breaks down those walls of how dating and loving someone should go, or what we all have come to know dating as. It’s not all flowers and rings, it’s important to get to know someone first. First and foremost. Get to know someone through talking, learning about likes and dislikes, make that the lead into starting a relationship. Fancy dinners, gifts, and what have you, only go so far. Which leads me to Benjamin....

19. Kitten, duh. So when I saw the mural, obviously picked that thing apart because as Taylor said, there are so many clues as far as what this song will feel like, look like. I saw three cats. And what better way to announce to the rest of the world that WE HAVE A NEW CAT PEOPLE. Benjamin Button. I can’t. So freaking awesome. Also, can I just say, how awesome it is that Taylor has broken that stigma of being a cat lady going hand in hand with being alone. YOU CAN HAVE BOTH IF YOU ALLOW IT. Just saying.

20. Heart door. This was not obvious at first to me, but thank god for the incredible detective work this fanbase does because my dumb ass didn’t put it together. This part refers to a line in Welcome to New York, “kaleidoscope of loud, heartbeats under coats” UMMM fucking genius!!! I love this a lot. This also has me wondering why she decided to reference to that lyric, that song. Okay...she spoke french at the beginning, refers to New York here...hm....is she moving to France?! Kidding. Idk. I’m rambling. Moving on!

21. Inside the heart concert. Very 60′s 70′s vibes here. Honestly kind of reminds me of hairspray. The big hair, the bright colors, the audience even. Also, her entire band are angels??? Someone mentioned that this might have something to do with the guest appearance she had on the rep tour, Robbie Williams and they sang Angels together. Maybe another collab?? We will seeee!

22. The bridge. So this isn’t so much a theory or personal thought, but I wanted to share what Taylor and Brendon were talking about on Instagram live today. About when he came to record his part of the song, he was extremely sick 105 fever (okay what a fuckin trooper!! I’d be dead) and he came through helping out with writing this bridge, very catchy. Also I love how they say “Strike the band...1, 2, 3″ I have a feeling that might have to do with the iconic swiftie add on we created during the rep tour, during Delicate “1, 2, 3...LET’S GO BITCH!!!” That’s probably one of my favorite parts of tour and how she caught on and even knew! So freakin cool.

23. Ariel view of this city. So when you pause at like 3:09 in the music video you can get a pretty good view of what’s in this Taylor magical land of hers. This is what I see....I see the capitol building in Washington, Big Ben (famous London clock tower) (which might be just a reference to her new kitty, Benjamin Button) and maybe Notre Dame?? What do you guys think??

24. White cowgirl boots. When her and Brendon are dancing in what seems to be the inside of a light up rainbow thing, she is definitely wearing white cowgirl boots!! Boots being a reference to the old Taylor, but they’re white, so maybe a reference to the NEW Taylor. Or maybe we’ll get some country vibes within the next album.

25. Possible witch on broomstick?? So this might be a stretch, but immediately after the camera comes down from them dancing in the rainbow light thing, I see a black object that kind of takes the shape of a witch on a broomstick. Again with he Wizard of Oz vibes, and her witch reference to herself in IDSB song, this could be something!

26. Last but not least, I want to mention her outfit choices during this ENTIRE video. I saw this on tumblr and just need to get it out because it kind of blew my mind. First outfit, black leo with white tutu skirt, she wore something very similar on the Red Tour while she sand Treacherous, a very beautiful song about love and ugh if that isn’t giving us feels, idk what is. Umbrellas I mentioned earlier. Her light blue marching band looking outfit has some definite You Belong With Me video vibes. Yes and please. And last but not least, her blue paint dress she wears in the last part of the music video has us thinking about her blue dress she wore at the end of OOTW music video and at the beginning of the LWYMMD music video. RIP Zombie Taylor. You were good to us. Anyway, lot of “old” Taylor vibes. Or maybe......a new and improved version of the person that we have all come to know and ADORE.

Alright, I think I got that out of my system. Not sure that a single human being will ever see this post, but it’s here. I’m here. I am so ready for this new Taylor Era of light and beauty and acceptance and self worth and glitter. All the glitter.

I love you T!!

@taylorswift @taylornation

#taylor swift #ts7 #me!#new era #about damn time

0 notes