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vendettaparker · 4 years ago

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Where’s My Love: Chapter 2- A Second Chance [T.H]

Summary: Tom learns what it feels like to watch a flower die; though I suppose a heart that is broken is a heart that was loved. Harrison reminds everyone about the finality of death.

Word Count: 4.7k of pure pain

Warnings: Angst (like the most i’ve ever written; which is saying something), mentions of sex, mentions of alcoholism, depression, cursing, character death, unhealthy grieving, grief in general, very very small mention of/hint to suicide (it’s extremely brief and you might even miss it, but it’s there)

a/n: i lowkey am kinda sorry about how sad this is. i’m just now realizing how sad this series is going to be as a whole (today i came up with a new plot idea and it made me cry just thinking about it so...), anyways, technically you could argue that this has a happy ending, so theres that to look forward to :) also you’re my best friend if you catch the WandaVision reference! reblogs, likes, and feedback is extremely appreciated! this series hasn’t been doing great in the notes department :( i’m still gonna write it obvi, but anything helps with the motivation, thanks <3 ps. thanatos is the god of death

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∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Tom,” You smiled up at your husband, eyes shining in the moonlight and heart swelling with love. “We should go home soon. There’s still more to be done tonight.”

Tom smirked and tilted your face up, capturing your soft lips in a heated kiss, tongue slipping in and clashing with yours. He pulled away after a while of savoring your taste, lips pink and swollen, “You’re right, darling. There’s still so much to do tonight.” Tom lips travelled further down to your jawline, where he kissed, nipped, and sucked, leaving a dark pink love bite.

You whimpered and tugged at his unruly curls, bringing his lips closer to your sweet spot. Tom chuckled and littered kisses and marks all up and down your collar bones. You brought his face up to yours and kissed him, practically shoving your mouth onto his in a clash of teeth and tongue.

Tom pulled away and groaned, “You’re gonna be the death of me, love.” His eyes darkened with arousal and you smirked, knowingly.

Your breathing slowed and you giggled, pushing him away gently, “Then we better get to it, lover.”

Tom stood up from where you were both lying, holding a hand out to help you up as well. You placed your hand in his and basked in the warmth of his touch. Something so simple as holding hands was enough to make you feel electric. Bursts of tingles and butterflies filled your body. You felt like you were on fire, burning up with the desire to feel him, touch him, and just love him.

All the while, an evil in the form of Aristaeus watched from the shadows, his disdain growing for Tom by the minute. He watched as Tom held you close, as he seized every opportunity to kiss you. His hatred for the son of Apollo only deepened when he saw how your eyes shone and how your smiled grew in his presence. How perfect you looked and how all the intimacy and love you possessed was now only for Tom. You were only for Tom, and Aristaeus just couldn’t have that.

Watching Tom’s smile and listening to his care-free laugh, he knew that he needed to feel that. He needed the source of that type of happiness.

Aristaeus waited in the shadows for his moment to take what he wanted. Dagger clutched in his hand and blade sharpened, ready for use. The moment he saw you and Tom stand up and begin the journey back to your villa, he knew the time was now.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

With your hand clasped tightly in Tom’s, you began the trek back to the villa you’d purchased for the two of you. You swung your hands up with Tom’s as you both happily made your journey in comfortable silence.

You reveled in the way his hand felt in yours. Warm, encasing your entire being in warmth. It was so simple, just his hand clutching yours, holding your hand and your heart. There are only so many ways to describe love, and his hand in yours said more than any empty words could.

Your peacefulness was interrupted when you heard a shuffling in the wooded area you were walking through. The bush you were passing shook and soon Aristaeus launched out of it, dagger in hand, aimed at Tom. You screamed and Tom pushed you away to keep you away from the evading blow.

Tom dodged the attack, swiftly throwing a punch to the offender's jaw, momentarily stunning him. Tom grabbed your hand, and began running through the woods. You could hear the shouts and curses of Aristaeus behind you, quickly gaining speed on the gravelly road.

In an attempted detour, you ran through the thicket, hoping the thick mixture of branches and thorns would diverge the route of the crazed man chasing you. The thrones pricked at your skin and scratched up your face. Tom was no better, hand slowly loosening up on yours due to the pain of the thrones scrapping up his arms.

“Tom!” You yelped, tripping on a small log. The momentum of the fall ripping your hand from his, leaving his cold. Tom, stressed and frantic, kept running, unaware of the fact that you were no longer behind him.

“Come on (Y/N)! We’re almost home!” Tom yelled back, seeing the light of a clearing just up ahead. Tom jumped through the last few branches, breathing heavily once he reached the other side of the woods. He ended up in a meadow, close to your home. Tom turned around to hug you and make sure you were alright, but you were nowhere to be found.

“Love, we made it! Look, our villa’s right over ther—” Tom cut himself off, realizing he was now alone.

Tom began walking back into the woods, a sharp shot of anxiety ran up his spine. Why wouldn’t she follow me? He thought, is she hurt? Tom continued, his thought quickly being interrupted by a pained scream.

“(Y/N)? (Y/N)!?” Tom ran where he heard the scream and then the whimpers. His heart dropping to his stomach, bile rising. He finally found you, laid out in a pile of daisies, leg purple and bruised, small drops of blood coming from two puncture wounds in your leg.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened, and the snake slithering away from your limp body told Tom all he needed to know.

Aristaeus had fled upon seeing you. He too knew, and he even saw with his own eyes, what had happened. The viper dug in deep and long, the poison immediately taking effect on you.

“(Y/N)? Fuck, darling?” Tom crouched down to your still body. He didn’t want to believe what he was seeing, he didn’t want to believe the pained look in your eyes, or the tears welled up in his. “It’s okay, love. You’re alright. Can you move? Can you get up? Please?”

Tom did his best to help you up, but you were limp, no movement in your entire body, only your eyes showed the fear you were feeling.

“Tom,” you mumbled, tears streaming down your cheeks, “I-I can’t feel anything.” You cried softly, your face almost stoic from the poison coursing through your veins.

“No, no, darling. You can feel me, right?” Tom grabbed your limp hand and squeezed, expecting a squeeze in return. Yet nothing came, your hand remained cold and limp in his.

You choked out a sob, “I can’t feel you.” Tears streamed down the side of your face, soaking the ground beneath your head, leaving small weeds in their wake.

Tom let out a painful whimper at your words. “Darling, it’s okay, we’re okay. Yeah? We’re gonna go home, and then you can lay down and get better, okay? I’ll bring you tea and flowers and Paddy will come over and play chess with you. Doesn’t that sound nice?” Tom’s tears soaked into your now cold skin, momentarily warming it.

“Yeah…” you mumbled softly, tears slowing and breath hitching.

“Yeah, and t-then Sam can come over and bring your favorite meal, o-or maybe a cake? And Harrison can work on your garden, so it won’t be limp when you get better. And I'll serenade you every night, even after you’re well, because I love you. And we’re gonna make it through this, just hold on.”

His words faded in and out, beginning to sound muffled and underwater. Your head tilted to the side, clearly seeing the immeasurable pain etched onto his features. Tom caught your gaze and still, still tried to manage a small, hopeful smile. Deep down Tom knew this was pointless, he knew you wouldn’t ever make it home to see the villa, or the gift he left in the garden. The golden potted plant—an orchid—was now going to be a constant reminder to what he lost. But he could fake it, and fuck, he was going to fake it like it was real.

He would trick himself for the rest of his life until he truly believed you were okay. But he wouldn’t have to wait that long, because sitting there, holding your near lifeless body in his arms, he was ready to believe anything that even remotely implied you were okay.

Just past Tom you could see a figure watching you from the shadows. His suit was black and his white hair was gelled back. He stepped out of the shadows and tapped his foot impatiently, as if waiting for your time to be up. And then it hit you. You knew this man—or rather this god.

“Thanatos…” you whispered, eye’s finally glazing over with lifelessness. The now once bright and vibrant eyes, now dull and empty. A mere shell of what they once were.

“No, no, no!” Tom screamed, his painful wails being heard by the whole town. “No! (Y/N), come back! Please, please, please, please, please…”

You were now standing away, a lonely spectator to the happenings in the woods on this mortal realm.

“Come, child.” Thanatos held his hand out, ready to lead you away.

“But I never got to say goodbye.” Your eyes welled up with tears, seeing Tom frantically shake your body, trying to bring you back to life. “I never got to live my life with him.”

Thanatos gave your shoulder a comforting squeeze, “We must go now. Don’t worry, little one. You will see him again.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊

Tom didn’t move. He didn’t eat, he didn’t sleep. He wished he didn’t even breathe. He sat in the villa and stared at the now dying orchid, limp and sickly, in the golden pot. You never even got to see it, he thought, you would’ve loved it.

All of Tom’s thought’s surrounded you, and how he could no longer hold you. He felt so cold, he found no joy in things he used to. And all he wanted to do was cry. But he couldn’t. He’d cried himself dry over the past three days. Now all he felt was pain, and he couldn’t even ease it with tears.

“Tom,” Harrison snapped him out of his daze, pulling his gaze away from the dying orchid. “It’s time.”

Tom let out a breath, pained and labored. Today was the day. The day your body would be laid to rest. The day that you would truly be lost to him.

“Come on, everyone’s waiting for you.”

Tom groggily pulled himself from the bed. He dressed slowly and carefully, wanting to look his best for the last time he’d see you. Every intake of breath hurt his head, another painful reminder that he was here and you weren’t. He was alive, and you were gone.

The clearing that he once found solace in was cold. The flowers around him were limp and dying, and the world just looked gray. The color was gone from his eyes and all he could think was, it should’ve been me.

Paddy hadn’t spoken a word since he heard of your death. He hardly even looked at Tom, every time he did the young boy would tear up and look away, too embarrassed of his tears to let them be seen. But in the dark, in the comfort of his bed, he cried for you. His first encounter with death, and it had to be you. His heart hurt more than his young mind could comprehend; he could hardly imagine what Tom was feeling.

Harry and Sam were numb. They hardly knew how to feel. They loved you like a sister but only knew you for a few months. Was it appropriate to mourn the loss of someone you only knew for a moment? Was it ignorant to fein a stoic exterior when your sister was gone? In the comfort of each other, the boys mourned. They cried a bit, but mostly tried their best to remember the good times. Harry remembered how you always backed him up in an argument, even against Tom, and how you always expressed how blessed you felt getting to know their family. Sam remembered how you always volunteered to be his test subject for his dishes. How you were always sweet, but honest. You fit so well into their lives, it was almost impossible to imagine you wouldn’t be in them anymore.

Harrison couldn’t believe it, or rather he didn’t want to. He held Tom close, and tried to convince him that everything was okay. He was the rock the group leaned on in any way they could.

He was a rock, and he was cracking. He found himself alone in clearing multiple times, watering the flowers, doing his best to keep them afloat, and yet they still withered away. He tried to feel you there, so he could tell Tom that maybe you weren’t truly gone, but all he felt was the absence of your presence.

Tom looked at the patch of dirt you laid under. He looked at it and all he felt was anger. Anger at Aristaeus for leading you to your death, anger at the viper that sealed your fate, anger at the gods for letting you be taken, and anger at himself for living through it.

The ceremony was short; just him and his brothers, gathered around a patch of dirt, crying.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Everyone was forced to cope. They all had their tricks to make the pain ease. Paddy would play chess by himself, wishing you were there for him to beat, but mostly remembering how many times you praised his amazing chess skills and made him feel special. Harry and Sam took on the duty of attempting to fix your garden in the clearing. They took shifts watering the plants and picking out the weeds.

Harrison smiled whenever he saw wild daisies. They always reminded him of you, partially for your pure innocence, but also because when you first met him, you gave him a flower crown made out of daisies. The crown was now limp and wilted, but he would treasure it until the day it withered away.

Tom suffered the most, though. He lost not only his soulmate, but his best friend. His coping consisted of copious amounts of alcohol to help him sleep, then he would see you in his dreams, and he’d have to drink more to stop from feeling the constant pit in his stomach growing with each baited breath.

“Tom, this isn’t healthy.” Harrison chided each time he walked into the murky depths of his bedroom; which was at least twice a day to check on the poor boy.

Harrison sat on Tom's bed as Tom laid on his stomach, facing away from him. Tom would grumble, then sniffle and completely ignore the presence of someone new in his room. The bed would be musty, his hair would be in knots, and his eyes would have a constant red rimmed appearance accentuated by the dark circles that resided underneath.

“Tom come on, let’s go for a walk. Sam and Harry fixed up the garden a bit; I think you’d like it.” Harrison shook Tom’s shoulder gently, prompting him to face the blonde.

“It won’t be the same.” Tom mumble, voice hoarse and wobbly.

“I know, but they worked hard on it. They’re grieving too, y’know?”

“Of course I fucking know.” Tom snapped, swatting Harrison’s hand away, “You think I don’t know how much of an impact she had on all of us? You think I don’t hear Paddy crying at night when he thinks he’s alone, or the way he refuses to look at me?”

“Tom—”

“You think I don’t know that this is my fault?” Tom sobbed, burning holes with his harsh gaze into Harrison. “I know, Haz. I know all too well how we’re all grieving.”

Tom broke down, heaving and rambling about how it was his fault, about how helpless you looked, and how broken he was. All Harrison could do was listen.

“She died in my arms, Haz. S-she curled up and just… died.” Tom spoke barely above a whisper, his crying ruining his voice. “She looked so scared and I couldn't help her. I couldn’t save her.”

“I know.” Harrison was crying now too, tears falling from his diamond eyes.

“It was supposed to be me. The attacker was after me. I-I should’ve taken the hit, and then she’d be alive.”

“No, Tom. You don’t know that that would’ve saved her from this fate.” Harrison scolded Tom’s reckless words. “She could’ve died a day later, or minutes later. Life is not a guarantee. Tom.”

“At least we would’ve been together.”

Harrison frowned, “In the underworld? And what type of existence would that have been?”

Some turned away from Harrison, “One where we would at least have each other.”

Harrison softened his gaze and held Tom close before he could protest, “You still have us. I know it’s not what we want right now, but it’s what you need. You can’t go through this alone; I won’t let you.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

As the weeks went by, Tom’s grief continued to eat away at him. Try all he might, he could never escape you. You were in all of his favorite things. His lyre now laid dusty and cold next to his bed, it hadn’t been touched since your wedding night.

He held it together as long as he could, but it was too much. The pain ripped away at him and ate him up. One day he reached his breaking point. He needed you to come home. He needed you in his arms. Nothing in this mortal world could ever compare to your sweet kisses and loving praises. Nothing would ever satiate him again.

How could this have happened? How could the gods have cursed him this way. He was a good man, he did all that was expected of him. He went above and beyond for his community, for others. He helped find and procure the fleece that placed Jason rightfully on the throne of Iolcus in Thessaly. His music cured lost souls, helped them find solitude and comfort in his songs. He did everything right. And yet the gods mock and torture him by taking you away. Ripping his other half from him, stealing you. The only comfort in his otherwise lonesome life. There’s no need for old age, sickness, or murder to take him away now; his grief will surely get the job done.

“Tom,” Harrison, spoke softly, taking in the man who’s broken soul was starting to shine through to his exterior appearance. His hair matted, eyes red and puffy, knuckles bruised from letting his anger out on the pillars over his home. What was supposed to be your home. Now the clay brick home was cold, your presence no longer there to bring natural warmth. “Tom, come on. You have to keep going.” Harrison put a hand on his friend's shoulder, giving it a hearty squeeze. “She wouldn’t want this for you. She loved you.”

“Then why was she taken from me?” Tom burst, hands flying to his hair, gripping his unruly curls. “Why would the gods allow this pain? I’ve done it all. I was so good, I-I did all that they asked of me.”

“Tom, please just come—”

“No! Harrison, don’t you see? I can’t move on! I can’t think about anything other than what was lost, what I lost. There must be a way to get her back. I’d do anything, just to hold her one more time. To love her, like it’s all I was put here on this Earth to do.” Tom pushed Harrison’s hand away. “Help me. Please, find a way.”

Harrison sighed sadly, rubbing his face with his hands. Tom, the most deserving person of his happy ending had it ripped from him, and there was nothing that could be done. Almost as if it was fate, there were no loopholes. Expect maybe—no. It was too risky. The god of the underworld was not a merciful man.

“Harrison? You have something?” Tom looked at his friend, a glint of barely visible hope in his eyes, the type that only the thought of you could bring. The look on Harrison’s face clearly showed that the gears in his head were turning. This look always brought about Harrison’s best ideas, or in this case, his only one.

“I— well, it’s not plausible.” Harrison debated. “You’d need your father’s help, and even so,” he whispered the last part “you’d need to go to the Underworld and bargain with Hades.”

Tom looked at his friend in shock? How could this be the only plan he’s come up with? A plan that would surely get Tom killed, or worse, turned into a lost soul. “What? No, no— there has to be another way. There are other gods—more merciful— who would help us.”

Harrison shook his head, “I’m sorry, Tom. But death? That’s final. The only god with the power to bring (Y/N) back is Hades. And he always has a price.”

Tom debated his options, one being the clear winner. He knew he couldn’t go on without you, he wasn’t strong enough. If he were less selfish then maybe he’d find a way to find joy again. But he needed you more than he needed the air in his lungs. He didn’t care if he was being selfish, trying to bring you back to a world that had just gotten used to life without you. He spent his whole life being selfless, helping others. It was time to get what he was due, what he was owed: His happy ending.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Tom paced and pondered, his restless mind a futile assistance in this matter. His thoughts only focused on you and how to bring you home. In the beginning, he took into account all of the risks he’d be taking going to the underworld and bringing you back. He’d need to enlist the help of his father, to persuade Hades to listen to his pleas. He’d need to safely get in and out of the Underworld with you entow, and the hardest part of all; he’d need Hades permission for you to come home.

It was not that Hades was cruel or unjust; he was just simply too fair. Death is final and Hades followed that order to a tee. He scarcely made exceptions and when he did there was always a price that needed to be paid. Usually, that price was worth the life of the soul being returned, a hefty sum.

Tom hardly worked out the intricacies of his plan before Harrison caught him, bag packed and determination scrawled across his face.

“Tom, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Harrison chided, standing in between Tom and the doorway.

“I’m getting her back, Haz. I need her home. You guys may be able to move on and be okay, but I can’t. She meant more to me than any of you will ever know.”

“You’re gonna get yourself killed, Tom.” Harrison spoke in a hushed whisper as to not alert the others to what was going on, “What happens then, huh? How do you think we will feel then? We already lost (Y/N), Tom; we can’t afford to lose you too.”

Tom’s eyes glistened with frustration and unshed tears, “but I’m not complete without her…” he whispered, sniffling. “I have to do what I can.”

“No, Tom. I’ve let this go on long enough.” Harrison spoke sternly, “You have to move on. I’m sorry because I know it’s not fair. I know that this shouldn’t have happened. It broke all of us. But you need to come back to us, okay? You need to move on with your life. Paddy is thirteen, Tom. He has no father-figure, he needs you. Harry and Sam have been by your side since they were babies, they need you. And you're my best friend, I need you. You don’t get to walk out on us because of your pain, because we never walked out on you. We were hurting, yet we stayed by your side. You need to do the same for us.” Harrison gave Tom a tightlipped smile, “Please, Tom. Just try.”

Tom had never seen such anguish in Harrison's eyes. He knew him and his brothers had also been struggling and he knew he was being selfish. He needed to do better.

“Okay,” Tom choked out, tears streaming down his cheeks, “I’ll try.” Tom placed his bag down on the floor and sat on the bed. He placed his face in his hands and sniffled out sobs. It was time for him to let you go.

Harrison left Tom alone in his dark room, shaking with anger. Once again the anger had returned, tenfold. Tom just wished he’d held your hand tighter, maybe then he’d be in your arms right now. Instead he was alone in his room, mind clouded with guilt and exhaustion.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Tom.” Your voice whispered in his ear, taunting him. Reminding him of what he lost. What he couldn’t save. The only one he couldn't save. The only one he needed to save.

“I’m right here, Tommy.” You never ceased. You constantly called to him as he tried his best to put his tortuous thoughts to rest. You stood over him, eyes wide in fear. You watched him, and you whispered.

“Tommy, why couldn’t you save me?”

You broke his heart all over again every night.

He sat up in his bed, body wet with sweat and eyes clouded with tears.

“(Y/N). Please, darling,” he begged, “I tried, please, I’m still trying.” You walked over and stood right above him, face inches apart. It was almost as if he could smell the sweet scent of flowers on you. The orchids and daisies you loved so much wafting over him, calming him. Until your cold, dead grip latched onto his shoulder.

“You failed, my love.”

Tom woke with a start, screaming and crying into the empty abyss of his room. You were nowhere to be found. He couldn’t take it anymore. He needed you back. You needed to come home and never leave his side ever again. If he had to spend one more day without you, he’d lose it. He’d become the monster he felt like on the inside. All the dark, twisty despair holed up in his heart would rush out in acts of unchecked rage and violence. He was never the villain, but he would be.

He couldn’t follow through with his promise to Harrison. He couldn't just move on and pretend that life made any sense without you, because it didn’t. Nothing made sense, and everything hurt.

Zeus created humans to have another half, and they would spend the rest of their lives if they had to, searching for it. You were Tom’s, and you were ripped away from him. That just won’t do.

He couldn’t spend another night lying awake, thoughts ripping apart his mind. He couldn’t sleep either, or else he’d see you. See what you’ve become. A ghost of happier times. A reminder of what never was and never will be. A figment of his ill fated mind.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The next morning, Paddy went into Tom’s room to bring him breakfast, as usual. It’s been months since he’s eaten with his brothers, and the new normal was one of them toughing it out and giving him his food in his room, then listening to his cries form outside the door for a moment, just to gauge if he was getting better; he never was.

Paddy was about to knock but paused before, gently pressing his ear up against the door. He didn’t hear crying like he usually did, he didn’t even hear sniffles.

Paddy hesitantly opened the door, afraid of what he might find. The silence was all too scary for the young boy. Once the door was fully opened Paddy got a good look around, not seeing Tom anywhere.

Paddy dropped the bowl of food on the floor and ran for Harrison.

“Harrison! Harrison! Sam! Harry! Anyone!” Paddy yelled out, running around the garden looking for the boys. He slammed into Harrison, who was just on his way to the garden.

The force knocked the wind out of a crying Paddy and slammed him into the ground.

“Woah,” Harrison breathed out, bending down to help Paddy up. Paddy gasped to catch his breath and attempted to stop the tears.

“What happened, kid?” Harrison rubbed his bruised back, “Come on, Paddy, breathe.”

“G-Gone…” Paddy wheezed out, “Tom’s gone.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

tags and moots: @justapurrcat @itsapeterthing @peterbenjiparker @kelieah @portraitoforion @ptersmj @princessofguineapigs @cherrytholland @waitimcomingtoo @rosyparkers @iovebug @hollandcrush @celestialbarnes @blissfulparker @starktonyx @asonofpeter @keithseabrook27 @devildisguiseasangel @felicityparkers @selfcarecap

#tom holland #tom holland au #tom holland series #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland angst #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fluff #greek mythology fic #orpheus and eurydice

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ironmandeficiency · 5 years ago

Text

refreshing

pairing: hardcase / jedi!reader

word count: 4122

summary: you’re able to convince (read: blackmail) anakin into letting the troops take a pit stop on your home planet of naboo for a couple days of morale boost.

request: hi i’d like to order a hardcase combo with a side of smooching (u write him so well i’m a mess!!!)

warnings: unprotected sex, outdoor sex, slight exhibitionist kink?

a/n: my first time writing a full-length fic with smut!! always remember, wrap it before you tap it.

“we are not stopping there, y/n. there’s no time.”

“just like there wasn’t time for you to make a ‘very important call’ to someone that wasn’t even a jedi right before our last battle.”

“how did you-“

“i have more than two brain cells, anakin. now next time you speak to the senator, make sure you tell her i said hi.”

silence. then he tersely orders the pilot to set the coordinates to naboo, silently beginning to contemplate a way to get payback.

you entered the clones’ barracks by anakin’s side, a wild grin still crossing your face at the success of your plan. heads turned to the sudden entrance of two generals and several shinies abruptly stood at attention before being relaxed by older brothers. neither you nor anakin enjoyed the idea of your men dropping everything for something as time-consuming as a salute.

“good news men,” anakin begins while barely stifling a groan. “before we return to coruscant, we’ll be making a brief pit stop.”

that was a poor way to explain it. several groans filled the air, thinking that there was yet another mission to be completed. the men hadn’t been on leave for several long and testing weeks and the idea of such overworking was rather repulsive.

“boys, don’t look so glum! we’re going on vacation!” your giddy shout shocks several of them and confounds many others. why the kriff would they go on vacation? they were soldiers fighting a war, there was no time for something so trivial. even if there were, they were clones. clones weren’t given vacations.

anakin takes a moment to enjoy the bafflement before clarifying your statement. “on paper we’re touching base with the local government to ensure friendly republic relations. once we’re there, however, we will have two days of pre-leave leave. a vacation, if you will.”

rex was dubious. “are you sure this is allowed, sir?”

oh rex, always dependable when it came to the book. his sense of duty was unrivaled, and moments like this made it clear. “anakin and i have both done far worse things without the council’s approval. surely an impromptu morale boost wouldn’t even hit the top ten.” your grin disarmed several troopers, them finally beginning to accept that they were indeed getting a small vacation.

“as long as you’re sure, general,” a small smile graced the captain’s face as he turned to speak to his brothers. “men, we’re going on vacation.”

“but sir,” dogma spoke up. you turned to him and took in the way his eyebrows and tattoo were twisted in concern, finding it very fitting for the trooper. “what planet are we going to?”

“good question, dogma. we’re going to naboo.”

after a few hours spent at the palace, you and anakin were free to join your men. you had to at least make your twist of the truth convincing by actually visiting the naboo palace, even though queen jamillia wasn’t expecting any sort of jedi visit. didn’t need anyone finding loopholes in your future cover story in case they went to looking.

the five-oh-first was currently stationed in a wooded meadow dotted by several tiny ponds and vibrant wildflowers. some were swimming, others were wrestling in the daisy patches, and there were a few napping on moss-covered rocks or logs. everyone was smiling and/or laughing, though, and that was the best part.

the speeder anakin drove you back in skirted to a stop at the edge of the clearing. he offered you a hand to help you off, his driving being the kind that would quite easily disorient someone not used to his methods, and you took it with a smile. there was no way you would be letting him drive again, that was for certain.

it took seconds before your arrival was noticed. “hey everyone, the generals are back!” fives shouted to his brothers that were in one of the small ponds with him. the information spread like wildfire and soon you were both surrounded by men competing for yours and anakin’s company.

“come swim with us, general!”

“no, come join us for sabacc!”

“we’re wrestling in the flowers over there and need an unbiased ref!”

“our pond has a better view!”

“no it doesn’t!”

anakin laughed before bringing about a compromise. “we have two days, guys. we’ll both try to spend as much time with you all as we can, but i’m going to start by judging a few fights. y/n, you know where to find me.”

jesse and spears were excited to have won general skywalker’s attention, neither containing the whoops as they pulled anakin toward the match continuing on without them. from the looks of it appo was winning against jude, which was an interesting turn of events.

now you were left with a choice. you could go play sabacc with kix or go swimming in either hardcase’s pond or tup’s, both of which had spectacular views of the countryside. the decision was a bit biased (which you would tell no one) but you had to put effort into making it look like you spent more than two seconds making a choice.

hardcase was shirtless in front of you, clad only in his soaked briefs that left very little of his body to your vivid imagination. geometric lines decorated his chest, beads of water sliding down or beginning to dry against him in the sun pulling you in. it was hypnotic and quickly becoming a fuel source to your less jedi-like dreams.

you already had plenty of sources to draw from but it never hurt to add more. there was the wild gleam in his eye when taking down clankers with his z-6 and the way he’d comfort his younger brothers when they struggled with anything from night terrors to painting their armor. this wasn’t even mentioning the time you’d gotten a nasty blaster wound to the thigh and he had to carry you to kix and coric, the strong arms a cocoon of safety (kix told you later that you had called hardcase honey in your blood loss delirium and he flushed redder than a tatooine sunset).

he hollered in victory when you slung an arm around his shoulder, letting him guide you to the pond that he was sharing with queen and daze.

hardcase had to be frank with himself when he examined his motives behind wanting you to join him. it did have a lot to do with how he enjoyed you as a person, but he selfishly wanted to bear witness to the way you’d look with the pond water clinging to your skin and underclothes.

but that isn’t to say he only wanted you for your body, maker that couldn’t be farther from the truth. to hardcase, you were more than a general or jedi, and far more than a beautiful body. there was a selflessness he got to see when you interacted with civilians and compassion you showed to him and his brothers that endeared you to him. you were fun and wild and adventurous, and he couldn’t get enough of you, he wanted more.

you spent a few hours playing games in the pond, chicken and marco polo being the favorites. the guys banned you from being it during marco polo, realizing early on that the force was the reason you were finding them so easily and it was most definitely not hardcase splashing you like a child every chance he got. nope, that was not it at all.

the company rotated throughout the time you spent in the pond, the only constant being hardcase. it was pleasant being able to spend so much time with the heavy gunner without having to worry about protocols or codes. you got to just be yourself and spend time with hardcase while doing it, the recipe for a perfect day.

the sun was setting and campfires were built around nearly every pond, both flames and night stars reflecting off the water beautifully. ration bars seemed to taste better on naboo, and dinner was spent singing drinking songs and telling stories of brotherly shenanigans.

you were recounting one of the occasions anakin reprogrammed temple mouse droids to hit people in the ankles on purpose when you noticed it. hardcase’s eyes hadn’t left you for a while, and right now they felt as if they were dissecting you on a laboratory table with their intensity. you wanted to know why but that wasn’t your information to know right then. if he felt comfortable telling you then he would do so in his own time.

nearly everyone was tuckered out by the excessive fun of the day, quickly falling into a peaceful slumber in their bedrolls the likes of which they hadn’t had in a long time. but hardcase, he was far from tired. he was far more awake now than he had been when you were on his shoulders during games of chicken played with fives and tup.

you were enjoying the crackling of the fire paired with the occasional snoring from troopers on all sides when hardcase stood and moved next to you. he had set his roll down on the opposite side of the fire, a decision he now was regretting as he had to maneuver himself carefully around the bodies of sleeping vode.

he eventually made it to your side without waking anyone and let out a sigh of relief as he plopped down next to you. his shoulder lightly bumped yours as he scooted closer and you couldn’t help but be glad he hadn’t put a shirt back on after getting out of the pond for ration dinner.

peaceful silence was achieved (outside of snoring) as you enjoyed each other’s company. you weren’t expecting him to break the silence so soon, but you especially couldn’t predict the way he broke it. “i had a good time today,” he spoke quietly (a true feat for the man) and moved a hand to rest on your knee. “thank you for convincing general skywalker to let us stay here for a couple days.”

the crackling fire illuminated his face just enough for you to see the patches of red on his cheeks and tips of his ears as he continued. his eyes held your captive with their sincerity, emotions swirling wildly just below the surface. “i really enjoyed spending time with you, gen-“

“call me y/n, hardcase. please, it makes everything so much easier.” you had come to a decision a couple hours earlier about how you felt about the man next to you and what you would do about it. there was nothing in you that could maintain the semi-distance you had with him prior to today, not with the way his laughter quickened your pulse and sent waves of joy over you. even his force signature was intoxicating under the nubian sky, you couldn’t get enough.

perplexion overtook his features. he had no idea what you were talking about, silently hoping that you hadn’t lost your mind to fun. “makes what easier-mmm-“

you cut him off with your lips, silencing his question before he could finish. he responded in kind, hands pulling you into his lap without breaking the kiss. it started all tongue and teeth, the adrenaline and arousal beginning to flow through your veins as steady as your blood.

“gen- y/n,” he broke the kiss to catch his breath, quick to correct himself to using your first name instead of rank. his chocolate eyes were blown out with desire, his hands had ventured toward your ass, cradling it with the utmost care. “i-is this what you want? do you really want me?”

your answer was first given with legs wrapped around his waist, mouth meeting his for another breath-stealing kiss. but then you sensed hesitation as his hands gripped your waist and slowly began to detach you from him. he was worried and you had to reassure him, make sure he knew how you cared about him. “more than anything in the galaxy, my dear.”

your eyes conveyed this truth to him the very same way your words did, and the answer given satisfied him. he returned his hands to your backside and gripped the flesh hard before continuing the kiss. you opened your mouth to invite him in and he obliged, his tongue swirling around yours and maker did he taste good.

kissing hardcase was euphoria unlike anything you’ve ever encountered. there wasn’t a single part of you that wasn’t aflame where your body met with his, the burn being one you’d relish in for as long as you lived.

one hand left you for a moment before coming back with a loud smack! that produced a whine from your throat. hardcase would do anything to hear that sound again, so he brought his hand down harder and groaned when his ears caught the mewl he ripped from you.

you slid a hand between your bodies and palmed his cock, giving it sweet resistance when his hips thrust into your hand. he felt thick and hot even through his blacks and you could only imagine how he’d feel inside you.

then a grumble from nearby harshly reminded you both that if you weren’t quiet, there would be an audience. hardcase grinned like a loth-cat before rising to his knees, arms holding you up and against him. “let’s take this somewhere a lil’ quieter, sweetheart.”

with the change in position you could feel his member press deliciously against where you wanted him, grinning in triumph when you wiggled your hips against him and wrestled a groan from the back of his throat. he was standing in seconds and barely bothering to avoid stepping on sleeping vode in his haste to get you as alone as he could.

he walked you both to the edge of the meadow, one of the tiniest ponds being only mere feet away from where he set you down on the ground. you pulled him down to you by his hips, not wanting any space between you as he nipped at your neck and jaw. he sucked hard at a sweet spot just above your collarbone and he nearly ascended to the stars at how beautiful his name sounded from your parted lips.

you tugged at your tunics desperately, wanting hardcase to take the hint and rip them off you. he was smarter than some gave him credit for because it took seconds for him to work them off you, tossing the fabric to the side with abandon. callused hands ran across your chest like the flowing rivers this planet was known for, learning the terrain of your breasts and stomach like battle plans.

his mouth descends lower and latches onto your nipple, tongue swirling around the bud before biting it gently. you’d never felt anything like it before and it drove you wild, his name stumbling through your lips.

“you say my name so pretty, y/n,” he smiles against your breast, lustful chocolate eyes looking at yours under long lashes. you reached your arms around his back and let your hands wander the waistband of his blacks, trying to tell him he was wearing too much but most of the words left you. the resulting sentence was fragmented and flooded with desperation that you didn’t bother trying to hide.

“‘case,” you breathed, “g’t ‘em off, please,” the offending fabric was hiding him from you and you weren’t going to put up with it any longer. he chuckled against your skin before moving back to remove his blacks. his boxers had long since dried from swimming and through the light grey fabric you could see spots of precome.

the boxers were peeled off seconds later and once they were low enough on his legs, he kicked them off to leave him completely exposed to you. his naked body rivaled those of marble sculptures kept in the elite coruscanti museums of art, and exceeded the expectations of the artists that had never been blessed to see such beauty in a man before. the tip of his cock was littered with pearlescent droplets you wanted to both taste and have inside you at that very second; you weren’t picky, either one would have you reaching nirvana in record time.

you sat up and brought him into a bruising kiss. he slithered a hand into your underwear and slid it between your folds, eyebrows raised when he felt how wet you were for him. his hand left soon after and, after breaking the kiss, let your lips wrap around the slick-soaked digit. you swirl your tongue around it and sucked lightly, hardcase loving the way you eagerly tasted yourself around him.

pushing him backward into his back, you straddle his lap and slide yourself across his length. hardcase growls at the contact and his fingers move to grip your hips and move you faster. but you wanted more, you wanted him to split you open and fill you up the way only he could. so you raised your hips up slightly and took his cock in one hand, steadily lowering yourself onto it with a moan.

once he was fully sheathed inside of you, your walls clenched around him and for a millisecond you thought you’d killed the heavy gunner with the way his eyes rolled back at the sensation. it was almost painful for hardcase to keep his hips from fucking up into you but he wanted you comfortable; not to brag but he was thicker and longer than average, and he didn’t want to hurt you by going too fast.

the stillness was sending you up a creek. you wanted him to move, to take what you were offering to him, yet he was resting while buried inside you. you were impatient and decided to take initiative, rising halfway off him before sinking back down. it was divine, the way he stretched you out as you went back down on him, and you could tell he was thinking the same when your name was emitted from hardcase with a primal grunt.

it took only a couple more movements on your part before he had you in a bruising grip, holding you up and pistoning his hips into yours recklessly. it was rough and wild and feral, the only goals being release and staking a claim into the other.

your head was thrown back, neck bared to him as he pounded you. in a moment you didn’t expect, he had you on your back and his head buried in the juncture between your neck and shoulder, continuing to bite and suck at the skin in a way you were positive would leave delicious evidence of the night’s activities.

the new angle aided him in finding your g spot, which you were both immensely grateful for. you were seeing stars that weren’t the ones above you when he found it, a choked whine indicating to hardcase the specific way to thrust to continue hitting it with precision only a soldier could have. his forehead pressed against yours as he fucked you, maintaining eye contact no matter how fast he went.

“fuck, hardcase!” his balls were slapping your ass as he went harder and faster, the man holding nothing back. he pressed a finger against your mouth before panting, “gotta be quiet for me, sugar,” he paused to give you a particularly hard thrust that threw you closer to the brink. “don’t want anyone findin’ us, do we?” the rasp and growl of his voice was unreal but he kept talking, and you buried your head into his neck to ground you.

he smelled of a smoky battlefield and fertile earth and honey sweeter than you’d ever tasted. a delicate lick at the sweaty sheen coating his skin had your tastebuds in paralysis and hardcase grunting mando’a curses as his pace grew erratic. he was close.

your walls began to flutter around him, you telling him that you were close with a moan.

“that’s it mesh’la, i want ya to come for me, you can do it beautiful,” he gripped your thigh and pulled it up his waist, spreading you further open for him and oh force it was unbelievable.

“come with me, please!”

“i’m about to, i’m gonna- where do you want it?” images ran through your head of him unloading onto your tongue or your chest and it nearly made you one with the force, but there was plenty of time in the future to experiment with that. you wanted him in you, to fill you up in every sense of the word.

“cum inside me, hardcase!” suffice to say, hardcase was not expecting that reply, shuddering in ecstasy at the thought of his seed leaking out of you.

“sugar, you’re killin’ me, i- holy kriff!” he thrusted a few more times before slamming into you balls deep, making sure that not a drop of him spilled out of you in that moment. you flexed around his cock and milked him for everything he had as the sensation brought you over the edge with him, his name repeated like a prayer.

he braced himself as much as he could before collapsing partly on top of you, sweaty skin mingling against sweaty skin. he was still inside you and the slightest movement ran the risk of overstimulation, but you didn’t want him to leave you empty yet. so you wrapped your arms around him and rolled you both on your sides, facing each other while still keeping him inside you.

you brought your hand to cup his cheek, running your fingers feather light across the lines and dots that decorated his face. he hummed in pleasure, eyes shutting in bliss. his hand not supporting his side was gently stroking the crook of your hip. neither of you spoke for several minutes, just letting yourselves bask in the afterglow.

then hardcase has an idea.

“hey sweetheart,” he begins softly, still hesitant to speak but just as badly wanting you to hear what he has to say. your hum of acknowledgement spurs him on. “wanna go for a swim?”

this man was sent by the gods.

that’s what you told yourself as he slowly slid out of you and helped guide you to the edge of the closest pond. you slid in and he was right behind you, immediately pulling you as close as he could. he didn’t try to continue the prior activities, just simply leaned against the edge of the pond and held you close.

you couldn’t remember the last time you were held for a reason outside of warmth and self-preservation. it was bliss, so comforting and peaceful and safe. you floated and let hardcase anchor you to him, fully trusting him to keep you above the surface as he held you and talked about anything and everything.

the conversation was easy and the touches soft as you talked away the night. you eventually wrapped your arms around his neck and used his chest as a pillow, taking comfort from the way his hands smoothed over the bruises he made in your skin a few hours earlier. his heartbeat was steady against your, the thumping strong and true.

“hey sugar,” he whispered into your hair before slowly unwrapping your arms from his neck. you let him and the water move your body, your back pressed against his chest and his arms holding you in place once again. “look over here.” he pointed to the sky where the sun was beginning to rise, the sky painted in pastel pink and lavender and marigold.

it’s been too long since you’ve gotten to watch the sun rise on your home planet. sharing the moment with hardcase made it all the more a beautiful. “hardcase, it’s gorgeous.”

he smiled and kissed your crown. “it doesn’t compare to a certain jedi i know, don’t even come close.”

“i didn’t know you had a thing for anakin, dear. i’ll be sure to let him know.”

he sputtered in indignation, laughing at the insinuation but taking it as a challenge as well. “you know that’s not who i’m talking about, beautiful.” one hand slides down through the water and comes to rest between your thighs, his index and middle fingers teasing your clit. you push your ass against his dick in retaliation and reeling as you feel him stiffen against you.

you spent the sunrise w in ith hardcase slowly thrusting into you, lips locked together and hands caressing your bodies gently. your legs were wrapped around his waist as he pressed you against the pond’s edge, taking his time with you as the stars faded from view.

#hardcase #clone trooper hardcase #hardcase is precious #hardcase x reader #clone trooper hardcase x reader #star wars reader insert #star wars fanfic #star wars imagines #star wars the clone wars #star wars #jj writes things

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annhellsing · 5 years ago

Text

Your Shape.

notes: never in my life thought i’d write an original thing again, but i had a lot of fun!!! i was feeling super overwhelmed and decided to put my maladaptive daydream about a meet-cute with a mysterious entity in a forest into words. rating: teen, we stay tame in these woods pairing: mysterious entity boyfriend idk / reader word count: 3,286

The shape in the forest wants to know if you are warm enough. Moonlight falls over the crown of your head, so yellow and full as to be a parody of sunshine. This late in September, with the harvest coming soon, it is easy to confuse the two.

But the shape does not ask, he does not want to scare you. Your shoulders are slouched, cheeks pressed to your palms to hide tears and sobs. He wants to know if you are unhappy, too. He imagines you have already given him a fair answer, despite not having spoken at all.

A dirt-caked hand curls around the trunk of a tree. The shape leans out of the dark, eyes aglow and horns in danger of bumping on a branch overhead. He ducks a bit, takes a careful step forward. If he were anyone else, the twig under his foot might have snapped and made a sound. But there is an understanding between them, an old promise. The only noise in the night is of your crying.

“It’s too much,” you whisper, half-wailing around the air being pushed from your lungs. You press a hand over your mouth and for a moment, all is quiet.

The shape decides he does not like that at all. You are unhappy, he’s sure of it, so why not express it?

“What is?” he asks, compelled to speak when before he had stayed silent. You were not crying before, he rations. You did not need help then as you do now.

You turn at the sound of his voice, it is as cold and as full as the moon in the sky. It belongs there, that voice, between the trees. You peer into the dark, not afraid of what might be speaking, but why. Creatures are not uncommon, it is their motivations you have been taught to fear.

A breeze picks up, pushing cool air at your hot cheeks. The feeling is almost pleasant, it’s accompanied by the sound of rustling leaves. Or perhaps of footsteps from your newfound companion.

He does not walk as a human might, though he is shaped like one. With the grass, too, he has an understanding and his gait is as noiseless and natural as the way that he speaks. You stare up, up, up at him, craning your neck until you find his face.

It is a handsome face, which does not immediately set you at ease. You see the outline of his head and shoulders, framed by two horns extending back against the starlit sky. But the rest of him is a mystery. It disappears into the shadows that knit in a circle around the glade.

“Everything,” you answer with honesty, for it is the best policy.

“I can understand, then, why you are upset,” he replies.

Your sweater scratches your cheeks as you wipe away tears. But you are very careful to keep one eye open and fixed on the shape, the visitor. It is not very smart to do more than blink in their company.

Still, you make noise. Soft sounds of life, of breath as you try to stifle sobs. Crying gets you nowhere, you remember, especially not with an audience.

“How long have you been watching me?” you ask, careful not to sound accusatory. You are not accusing him of anything, you are only curious.

“I did not mean to infringe on your privacy,” he returns.

“This forest is your home,” you reason. The shape gives a slow shake of his horned head.

“It is home to everyone,” he says, “especially to those who need somewhere safe to cry.”

“Thank you,” you nod, “but have not answered me.”

“Longer than you would be comfortable with,” he replies, “I am sorry.”

“That’s a little vague,” you say.

“Not to me,” he says, “I have seen you here before. Not often, but I have.”

“Oh,” you pass your sleeve over your left eye once more, “I meant tonight, but I appreciate the truth.”

It’s becoming easier to control the way your chest moves. The compulsive need to breathe quickly slows with your heart rate. You are not calm, but you are managing.

“You looked happy before,” he says, “the last time you were here.”

“The last time I was here, things were---” you sigh, dropping your hand and your head. Though you remember very suddenly the dangers of doing so. But when your eyes return quickly to the shape’s again, you notice no change in his appearance. “They were different.”

“They were better?” he asks. Defeated, you nod.

“I am so tired,” you let out a slow breath.

“If you slept here,” he begins, “no one else would bother you. That is a promise.”

“And you keep your promises,” you state, knowing better than to insult him by phrasing that as a question.

“I do,” he says, “the grass is comfortable, the trees keep out most of the rain. Every night I have known life, I have spent it on the floor of a forest.”

“That sounds nice,” you admit. But you are not so foolish as to blindly trust visitors. “I don’t want to go home.”

“Is it very difficult to be there?” he cocks his head to the side, the moonlight falling on a sharp cheekbone. A shadow pools there, you stare with more curiosity than perhaps you ought. The shape doesn’t seem to mind.

“It is,” you reply, “it’s quite lonely, too. Even when I’m spoken to, I feel alone.”

The visitor hums, the sound like the wind against tree boughs. Could he understand?

“I am here,” he says, “for what it is worth.”

You pause, considering his eyes that have not left yours once. Not even to blink. They are a strange colour, glassy but focused very intently on the curve of your face. They look, you consider, like the yellow moon that hangs so close to the edge of the forest.

Round and wide and curious, he stares at you. Not as one might stare at an insect, but as an interesting person.

“So am I,” you reply. And a hesitant smile of your own joins his.

“You have family,” he says, “friends who love you?” and the question at the end cuts like a knife.

“I have nobody,” you say, “though a few would likely search for me. It would be out of habit.”

“Habit?” he asks.

“Because I would do the same for them,” you explain, “my friends and I look after each other. But we’re not very close.”

“You need not be afraid of me,” he says. And that otherworldly smile returns, but it does little to dissuade the butterflies in your stomach.

The shape moves a bit closer, until only his horns are silhouetted against the inky sky. You can see him a bit better, though his lower body still remains a mystery.

You find yourself looking closely at his hands, searching the dirt and grass stains for signs of blood or cruelty. You find neither.

“I am not afraid,” you say, following a shiver.

“Yes, you are,” he says, “I am sorry. I frighten people, I know. But you need not reassure me that you shall be looked for.”

“Force of habit,” you say, “I��ve been told stories all my life, advised to be careful about what I say to visitors.”

“I understand. It is wise for you to follow that advice, but I will not hurt you,” he says.

“And you keep your promises,” you repeat, the smile once again curling on the corners of your mouth.

He surprises you with a laugh, the sound fills your chest even by proxy. As full and soft as his voice, the shape’s laugh makes you feel whole. It isn’t cold any more, you realize. A familiarity blooms in the way he speaks to you already. Perhaps he truly does understand the need for companionship.

You shift a little on the log, deciding to believe him. Not trust, not yet, but to believe.

“I am afraid, but I’m not scared of you,” you say, “would you sit?”

“Can you be both at the same time?” he asks, though he starts forward towards where you are. You’ve straightened up, your cheeks have dried. That pleases him.

“I am afraid of what would hurt me, of the stories I’ve been told. But you are not like the stories, are you?” you ask. The shape slowly shakes his head. He sinks down beside you, with not a creak from the wood beneath.

“I try not to be,” he admits.

“The woods are lovely,” you say, “I cannot blame visitors for wishing to protect them. It should be protected.”

“But not from you,” he replies, “remember, this is also your home.”

“I never thought of it like that,” you confess.

“Perhaps not, but you do choose to come here every so often. Why?” he cocks his head to the side again, a strand of dark hair falls over his shoulder, having come loose from where it was gathered into a low plait at the back of his neck.

“No one knows me here,” you say, “except for you. And don’t apologize, I don’t dislike that.”

“You do not?” he straightens his neck again. His eyes widen a fraction, as does your smile.

“I forgive you for watching me. I know you meant no harm,” and the visitor nods. “I come here because I am unknown, I can be myself. I have no obligations here. The sounds and sights are never too much, the moonlight is never too bright.”

“Elsewhere you feel overwhelmed,” the shape summarizes. You nod.

“Precisely. And I sit on that feeling until I have no choice but to cry,” it is harder to admit out loud than you like. But in his bright, yellow eyes you find some form of agreement.

He really is quite handsome, you note the longer you’re allowed to look. And though you are less worried about when to blink around him, you find no evidence to suggest he is changing his shape. You suppose that a visitor with ill intent, looking to ensnare a foolish human would choose a less challenging mask.

The visitor is not quite right, unearthly as his beauty may be. His unbroken stare is a colour no mortal thing could ever have. His hair is braided, yes, but this close you can tell a brush has never touched it. What you can see of his ears is sharply triangular at the ends, rather than rounded. Dirt and dust are caked under his fingernails, you wonder if he might be a gravedigger.

But no blood, nor memory of blood pools at the corners of his thin mouth. His lips are not tinged with pale blue the way corpses are. While he is wan and waxy, he does not carry the chill that wraps around you. He may not be fully separate from the night, but he does not seem to belong to it.

“Who are you?” you ask. You’ve spoken at length about your sadness, but it has never felt so far away as it does now. The shape’s smile falters for just a moment.

“I am not certain,” he replies.

“You and me both,” you try to find his grin again, giving him your own so that he will not worry. “I only ask because---”

“Because there is something sinister about me,” he finishes. And he nods, as if he has heard it before. His head dips a fraction, turning from you. All the better see the horns that sprout from it.

They are long and black as his hair, arching back from his brow. They curve, just once and end in a delicate point. And yet he moves as if they are barely a hindrance, with grace that would accompany experience.

“Quite the opposite,” you reply, “I have never heard of anyone like you.”

“I am not a gravedigger,” he replies, “and I am not a monster.”

“No,” you agree, “you don’t eat people, living or dead?”

He curls his lip in disgust rather than answering, it makes you choke on a small giggle. The shape turns back to you, as confused by the sound as you were when he laughed. There is similar awe in his face.

“Then you could be a forest spirit,” you try, “that would make sense.”

“It is possible,” he concedes, “but I do not know. I have been alone for as long as I can remember.”

“That’s so sad,” you speak without thinking, usually a dangerous game. But the shape is unoffended by the obvious pity in your voice. You’ve given him plenty to pity you for, after all. “Do you speak to other people in the forest very often?”

“I have, but never frequently,” he replies. You still do not trust him, but his slight anxiety appears to match your own. As much as he belongs here, it appears he is not sure if he belongs here with you.

He stays a safe distance from you on the log, you shift a little closer. Though your cheeks still sting and the whites of your eyes are still red, you feel less lost in your misery. Less alone.

“I wish I never had to leave,” you sigh, “I could sit in this glade and watch the sky move forever and ever.”

“I have done so,” he says, “it is a very good way to spend one’s time. I enjoy it.”

You trust that to be right, at least. Still, for all his flawless strangeness and otherworldly beauty, he seems very lonely. He’s unhappy.

“I wish---” you start, but cut yourself off.

“I could steal you,” he says, so suddenly that you wonder how long he’s been holding it back.

“Steal me?” you ask, turing to the shape with an arched brow. But you do not, in fact, sound repulsed.

“You would not have to return home if I did. You could stay here,” he reasons. Taken aback, you smile for the confusion.

“Have you stolen many people?” you ask.

“No,” he says with a firm shake of his head.

“Is it a great honour?” a teasing tone creeps into your voice, your smile turning impish. The visitor smiles too, as if your joy gives him joy by proxy.

“I think it would be my honour, as you would be my guest,” he explains.

“But why take me?” you ask, resisting the urge to dismiss this completely as some sort of joke.

“So that you will not cry,” he says. And the faraway solemness in his voice stuns you to silence for a moment.

“Lots of people cry, lots of people are afraid,” you try. He shakes his head.

“But you are here, I am here. Your home is here,” he says. You make a sound, like a sob but softer and more amused. Bewildered.

“Is it allowed?” you know the rules in part, never to accept food from visitors or stay too long. But he isn’t like the creatures in your grandmother’s stories. And if he is, you might be willing to take the risk. Going home with this exchange behind you feels wrong.

“I do not know, I have never offered before,” he admits. You give a slow sigh.

“Are you afraid? There may be consequences,” you try to rationalize why it could never be, and the way his face falls is heartbreaking.

“I am lonely,” he confirms, “nothing else.”

“I was worried you were,” you say. You look at him, horns and all in the moonlight. You dip your head and try to catch his big, yellow eyes. He looks back with no hesitation, like he was hoping for you.

“So, will you stay with me?” your visitor asks. His face softens, more vulnerable now than you’ve seen before. And you thought you had known it all. If this is a lie, you might like to be lied to.

“Right here?” you say, foolishly. His reedy laugh fills your chest again.

“Perhaps not only here, not all the time,” he replies, still looking happy. “I could take you to the places that I like best.”

“I wouldn’t mind staying in the forest,” you consider, pulling your eyes away. The circle of woods around you feels far bigger than before, more free and ready to explore. There is excitement under your tongue.

Your visitor hears it, he leans in just a bit with your back turned. He couldn’t help it if he wanted to, his mind is already pushing against the confines of his skull. It’s such an old mind, such an old skull. And it has been too long since another voice occupied it the way that yours does.

When you look back to him, you are not afraid. He watches your face very intently, ready to see fear or watery sadness return. He dreads both, he cannot stop himself from saying,

“And I would not mind your staying, say that you will,” your visitor does not know if he has breath the way humans do, but you have taken his. It will be so hard to part with if you decline.

To his immortal joy, you lean in a little closer as well. Your shoulders slouch, you relax.

“Where is your most favourite place?” you ask, distracting him from the clutter of his desperation for a moment.

“Along the bank of the mirror pond, it is not far due east from here,” he replies. It is hard not to smile when thinking of it. The perfect circle of still water, flanked by willow trees and daisy clusters. You might like it there.

“I haven’t been swimming since I was a little girl,” you admit. It’s almost sheepish, embarrassed that such a mundane joy has evaded you.

“You could again,” he suggests, brightening further. Until your visitor’s enthusiasm is dulled by his own hand, worried at reminding you of whatever dreadful situation you’ve come from. “But I would not make you.”

“Do you promise?” you cock your head to the side this time, tilting your head back a fraction to appreciate the full length of his horns.

“I do,” he insists. He would like to have an understanding with you, to understand you. The grass can keep his promises, but it never speaks back.

Your visitor looks so hopeful, you’re shocked by the realization that it may be mirrored on your own face. You are just as desperate, searching for a reason you could say yes. It’s right there, hiding just at the back of your throat. Another word from him and it will come.

He is made of smoke, you’re sure. Of dirt and red clay. Of pine needles and the daisies that you saw when you tried to get thoroughly lost in the woods. And of a kind thought or ten. He is so very sweet, it seems right.

“If you offer and I accept, is that still stealing?” you state your question, the final one before you answer. You’ve decided on that.

You reach into his lap, over thin knees that appear under heavy fabric. You did not see it before for the shadows, but he wears a cloak of green canvas--- so dark as to be almost mistaken for black. His dirt-caked hand, boney and cold from the night air rests against his thigh until you pick it up.

He fits his palm to yours as best he can, it is good enough.

He smiles, showing his small fangs. You give his hand a squeeze, hoping to warm him. But, you remember, you will have a while to do so. Slowly, you stand and he follows.

“I have no idea,” your shape says.

#NO CLUE HOW TO TAG THIS HM #mayhaps i shan't lmao #this is a gift to my followers basically #have some existential rambling #anniewrites

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davidzschwartz · 6 years ago

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"whoomp! (there it is) - self para.

D.C., Jan 2008.

“Why isn’t anyone talking about this?”

“Shut the fuck up, Schwartz.” David is pushed out of the doorway by Linekar, short and stocky with a bark of a Pitbull’s, and he motions for David to follow him with his index finger. “You’re going back to LA.”

“Los Angeles?! Why?”

“Boyle quit. Obama-Clinton debate is yours.”

All anyone cared about were the elections. The Politico, a new and modern venture hoping to revolutionise the way politics is covered by devoting solely to national politics with video cameras, couldn’t afford to waste resources on corruption allegations that came from questionable sources. Even if they could be backed up to form a some-what credible story, David would probably lose his job for spending his time on something other than the elections. Better to catch Obama stepping out of the airport, flashing a smile with a wave of the hand than report a possible charge against a Representative no one cared about.

“You got your passport?”

“Yeah.” The alternative is unheard of, but David checks for it anyway. In this moment, he makes what would become the gravest mistake of his life: he takes the column snippet and folds it into his passport.

In this moment, his obsession begins.

D.C., June 2008.

“Who the fuck is that?”

David ignores his colleague’s question as Wayne takes the liberty of hovering over his shoulder, rummaging through his file.

“Julian Berkeley? I thought Harris told you to kill it.”

“It’s after hours, Wayne. How I choose to spend my free time is not up to Harris.”

“Not just your free time though, is it?” Wayne retorts smug as ever, shooting David a wink. He skims over the articles, barely interested. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were some psychopath after Berkeley.”

Irritated, David rolls his eyes, finally looking up from his laptop. “Can I help you, Wayne?”

Wayne drops a file on David’s desk, flashing a winning smile as he walks towards the door. “You’re on the Senate elections now. Say bye-bye Obama.”

D.C., September 2008.

Getting dropped to cover the Senate elections from the presidential elections may have been a hit to the ego for most, or a stall in the career, and for David it was both but more. There was a silver lining, after all. More time to follow the investigation, closer observation of Berkeley during his Senate campaign.

By now, he’s gathered enough information, sensitive information, to cover one whole wall hidden by a big wall hanging that avoided awkward visits to the bedroom. However, most of it was circumstantial.

On his lunch break, he tried to call the judge assigned to Representative Julian Berkeley’s corruption case, again. They’ve been nice enough to grant him interviews, multiple ones at that, but David wanted more. He wanted to see if they’d be willing to work on an arrangement; one which they’d exchange any kind of information that wasn’t yet public, specifically names.

“What do you mean?” A shiver goes down his spine. “What do you mean, he’s dead?!”

L.A., November 2008.

If David was supposedly obsessed with the case before, then it is all he lived and breathed for now. And he is astounded at how little attention it received. Was he surprised? No. They got rid of a judge, they could get rid of the press. Not everyone, though. Not him.

Once again, David is back in Los Angeles covering the Californian Senate debate – Berkeley vs Cogdill.

Perhaps it is his fault for getting too involved with the case, letting his personal feelings cloud his judgement as he’s arrived at the venue with vengeance. He watches Berkeley debate like a machine. He’s almost impressed. After the last round, David moves with an almost violent motivation to hound Berkeley to get the answers he deserves. What the judge deserves.

Video camera in hand, he carefully manoeuvres around the crowds of voters, security and staff to wait in the hallway outside Berkeley’s waiting room for his return. One question: “please can you comment on Judge Purnell’s death”. It would be straightforward, simple. Over the past week, David has been rehearsing it relentlessly. It would be enough.

However, the roar of passion fills the venue once again and Julian Berkeley enters the scene. Step by step, David sees deeper into Julian’s eyes. There’s nothing. He can’t find the callousness he’s been looking for. Paralyzed, he’s rooted to the spot, standing in front of the door.

“Excuse me,” Julian says with a smile.

A pause. “Apologies, Mr. Berkeley,” David mumbles before stepping backwards.

D.C., April 2019

More then 10 years later, there aren’t enough wall hangings to cover the walls.

He doesn’t need it either. The mappings are so ingrained in his mind David could almost recite every little detail regarding the dismissed charges against Berkeley. Up until this point, he used to be able to describe every statement, every transcript, every record without being able to link it back to Berkeley.

Not anymore.

David can hardly believe his ears as he listens to the voicemail. Phone logs, emails, and now this. All the muscles in his body freezes much in the same way as when he first saw Berkeley’s empty smile. This was everything he ever needed that would tie all the tails he’d found from 2008 until now to Julian Berkeley.

From the statements for the corruption charges in 2008 to the plane crash of the appointed judge that same year to paying off media outlets and getting his charges fully dismissed in 2016. How the fuck could this guy sleep at night?

There’s a twist of the stomach; a horrible, sickly feeling as the realisation creeps into David’s bones at the lengths he’s gone to obtain this information. Lengths that aren’t perhaps ethical, or legal, and could result in him behind bars along with Berkeley. Lengths that cost him months of rent and most of his savings. Was it worth it? Yes.

David spends the next following nights writing up a report, not a story, on everything he’s learned so far regarding the Berkeley case. He realises there are a few details he cannot remember, like the colour of the judges walls or the colour of Berkeley’s shoes. Once completed, he hails a taxi. It drives straight past Politico’s office and straight for the Oval Office.

A few years ago, before the case was fully thrown out, David attempted to publish the story with what he had. To no surprise, it was blocked by the editors once again due to lack of credibility. It was a reach, they said. Apparently, everything David had to back his claims were purely circumstantial, which he didn’t believe at the time. However, now, with the mountain of gold shit on his lap, he understands why they didn’t want to publish the story. This is is what they wanted. But this, with the way things stands, once handed over, Politico and the Oval Office are both going to want David to explain how he got to these conclusions. However, one had already denied him the chance of exposing the truth, he hoped the other would prove more dedication.

Fixing his visitor badge to sit parallel to his shirt pocket, David looks up as a staff member – the secretary? He can’t quite remember – finally approach him.

“Mr. Schwartz,” she greets. “What can I do for you?”

“You need to show this to the Madam President.” David is blunt, a little too much perhaps, which even stuns the staff member. He hands her the file and report, regardless.

“What is it?”

“Highly classified information. She’s going to want to see it.”

“May I ask what it is about?”

“Is she in?”

“She is.”

“Will you give it to her straight away?”

“If I know what it is about.”

David pauses. He wipes the sweat off his forehead and takes a deep breath. “It’s about Mr. Vice President’s corruption charges.”

#self para.

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quietdaysco · 6 years ago

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Primrose Path - Devlog #006

Hey, it’s us again—two indie devs with fresh dirt on our visual novel progress. Ready?

Behind the Scenes

Playtesting Feedback

Last month we closed the pre-alpha Ink build of Primrose Path’s common route outline. It met its purpose of proving the basic concepts of our game were viable and that it interested players in our target demographic. In fact, playtesters gave us overwhelmingly positive feedback in our post-test form about the characters and story. Here are a few quotes from their responses:

“The number of elements of the MC's [main character’s] life added in to the story in increments helped me not only relate to the MC but also stay interested.”

“There's a good variety of calmer moments and more outlandish/exciting/otherwise more high tension moment [sic], no issues for me.”

“[T]he clients are a rainbow of people with a few that [sic] very much stand out [to me]”

“By the end, I was definitely considering who I was going to chose as my client and was sad the pre-alpha ended even though I knew it was going to.”

“I 100% would dance [in a mini-game similar to] DDR [Dance Dance Revolution]”

As you can see, the beginnings of Primrose Path went over well and players definitely had a lot of interesting things to say about our mischievous clients! We can’t spoil them here, but you may be able to see for yourself when alpha testing comes to our server in the future!

Now, for all the good we received, it’s not to say the pre-alpha went without its criticisms:

“This might be silly, but I wish there were an option that weren't a dress for her outfit to the party.”

It’s not silly at all, playtester! It had us thinking about the different ways our protagonist, Lynn Austen, could express herself. This concern lead to one outfit redesign and introduced a number of new ones!

“The beginning was a little slow, but I love Priya, so all of her scenes brought my attention back instantly.”

We love co-worker and bestie, Priya, too, but she can’t be an exception for pacing. We’ve since reevaluated and tweaked Part 1: Work Day. Plenty of visual changes and cutting scenes entirely were discussed in order to tighten up the overall pacing.

“Harper seems harsh but has pressure on her to make her harsh, but then you see her and shes [sic] just straight up scary.”

While all playtesters understood Harper’s role as Lynn’s no-slack boss, a few found her consequentially unapproachable. We have a lot in store for her in later routes, but acknowledge she was sparse during the common route. We’ve since taken this concern and made her more available in new scenes, adjusted her tone in some of the older ones, and had other characters—who have a very different relationship with her than Lynn does—reflect more openly on her. We think this humanizes Harper much more.

“Unfortunately [Bellarmino] feels like a snobbier, more irritating Matt. [...] I personally don't find him very likable but I'm looking forward to being proven wrong.”

In our feedback form, we asked about character impressions. We also polled if players didn’t have to play all routes at least once, which clients they’d pick. While character impression responses expressed a willingness to give our model and fashion designer, Bellarmino LaFauci, a chance, he was our least popular choice in the poll. We figured it may have been that his personality wasn’t differentiated enough against the company with whom Lynn encounters him, so we’ve made adjustments to contrast him more against his judgmental cabal.

So as we went through and addressed feedback, we had some ideas of our own to implement, which leads us to...

Updated Revised Outline

Double the wordcount! Yep, we’re just shy of 32,000 words for the revised common route outline. How could this be? Look: don’t mistake Primrose Path for a linear narrative. Your choices affect the world from day one.

Beyond changes from playtester feedback, other new content includes:

New Characters! We work to make sure our side characters leave an impression. We’ve added a few more with the means to salvage or devastate Lynn’s career. Until you yourself can meet them, look out for future Lore snippets on our Twitter!

New Events! Lynn has more opportunities than before, and under different states of mind, to navigate and impact the world around her. Depending on what Lynn did, where, and when can completely change an encounter within that same space and time.

New Key Items! There are a couple of items Lynn can collect if she meets the right people and takes certain actions. These items can reveal some important information in client routes later on—and some hints for others, too!

New Areas! A few more places have been added to the common route, including whole new scenes. What could possibly lie behind these doors?

So how’s that sound? If you said “Damn, that’s hella rad,” well you just took the words right out of our mouths. But we’re not done yet; we take feedback seriously. When we can’t decide on what our audience may want, we leave no room for speculation. There’s really only one way to settle that.

VN Protagonist Sprite Survey

We run a survey! We wanted to know how visual novel fans preferred to see a customizable MC represented as a sprite, if at all. It’s tough for us because as much as we want to make Lynn as visually present as her sense of self, we also acknowledge that “immersion” for many players also means different levels of “intrusion” from MC’s sprite—down to none at all, for folks wanting to self-insert despite taking on another character’s existing backstory. While we think we’ve come to a happy medium that serves our purposes and would appeal to a good number of players, we’ll be sharing with you all in a separate post our findings.

Two things are for certain:

Visual novel players are an incredibly dedicated base, having turned out over 100 responses to our form! Thank you so much for helping us see your side on the matter!

The communities we frequent overwhelmingly take issue with one specific manner of MC representation—one that seems to plague the industry. If you’re not an avid consumer of visual novels, this begrudged answer may surprise you!

But hey, we haven’t closed it yet: you can contribute your opinion too until August 5th, 11:59 PM EDT. Stay tuned for our detailed write-up on the results, next time. We’ve got another survey in the works too (sounds like we’ve got a few hard decisions, huh?) so keep tabs on our Twitter when we release that form.

Greyson’s Twitter

Greyson’s been taking a break from Twitter for a minute. Working Saturday, Sunday, and Wednesday overheated him, and in that vulnerable time, he caught a virus! So now he’s on sick leave and we’ve promised him an easier schedule of one day a week when he gets better. His posting schedule will be announced soon. You can still send him some love on his Twitter account. He’ll be sure to respond when he’s feeling up to it. He’s always there for you. Will you return the favor?

Main Game Progress

Common Route:

Rough Outline: 100% ✔

Revised Outline: 100% ✔

Draft Script: --%

The Artist: Matthias Barousse

Rough Outline: 100% ✔

Revised Outline: --%

Progress on the main game has primarily been on the common route outline. Some interesting things to note are that last time we reported our revision to be at 90%. After implementing feedback, our clean outline doubled in word count and we’ve reviewed it entirely since then. So now we’re thoroughly at 100%!

The breakdown of that is:

We finished up the common route’s Part 3: The Interviews, in which Lynn meets all her clients whom she may or may not have stumbled upon at a legendary bash.

We elaborated on Part 2: The Party encounters and added more variations which subsequently trickle over into alternate interactions in The Interviews.

We added an interactive, portent dream sequence the night of The Interviews, right when Lynn hits the bed after evaluating all potential clients at work.

... and a few other additions. Also among other things, we’ve actually started work on the draft script already, but we’ve not had time to properly calculate the percentage. It’ll be updated accordingly in our next log.

What’s Next For Us

We’re going to finish up our script draft and start focusing our efforts into creating a playable, visual alpha build of Primrose Path. Yes, we want to play our game as much as you do and that’s motivation enough!

We’re focusing on monthly devlogs for our Tumblr, but we have to ask:

Are there other kinds of content and updates you folks would like to see here? We want to know! Shoot us a message in our Ask the Devs inbox here on Tumblr, or hit us up on Twitter, Discord, and Lemma Soft!

Thanks for reading! Keep up and remember to enjoy your Quiet Days. ♥

Socials

- Micro-updates on Twitter!

♦ Factoids with Greyson!

- Live art development on Twitch!

- Art logging on Instagram!

- Ask us anything here!

- Continue the discussion on Discord!

- Master thread on Lemma Soft!

#devlog #primrosepath #visual novel #otome #english otome #indiedev #gamedev #otomedev

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cooperjones2020 · 6 years ago

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Second City, chp. 12

Summary: Sometimes she worries she’s settling — for a smaller job, a smaller city, a smaller life than she’d promised herself — but that was before she found out Jughead Jones lives in Chicago. That was before she found out the final secret of Jason Blossom’s murder.

A/N: Alright, so. It's been seventeen months since I updated and my life has been turned upside down several times since then. I never intended to abandon this fic, or writing in general, and I still don't intend to but it's probably best to consider it on hiatus until further notice, as I can't promise it won't be another seventeen months before I update again. I actually had this chapter mostly written and was just sitting on it, but all further chapters are in much rougher shape so who knows. Same goes for NNK - nothing is anywhere near publishable for that one, sorry.

I do want to say how much I appreciate all of you who kept reading and commenting and checking in with me here. It does mean so much to me and I think about you a lot, even if I don't show up and do anything about it.

Also, hopefully it goes without saying but, this fic is canon compliant through season 1 only, so Hal is not the Black Hood--none of that happened.

ao3–>https://archiveofourown.org/works/11409360/chapters/40956119

All previous chapters of Second City and Nobodies Nobody Knows under the tag #second+city and on the Who Sings Heartache to Sleep series page on Ao3

12. In which Nancy Drew discovers modern technology

Jughead doesn’t approve of her plan, but he doesn’t have any better ideas to offer her so they go with it. Neither of them really has any experience investigating cold cases, and it’s not like she has the kind of technology available to her that she had at her old job — or that any evidence exists that such technology would catch.

After he’d surprised her last night, they’d gone to Pop’s. Of course. He’d come straight to her mom’s house from the airport, barely stopping at his own to drop off his bag, so by the time he got her out her front door, he was practically foaming at the mouth.

“Jug, why didn’t you eat before your flight?”

The look he gives her is so incredulous she barely restrains her smile.

“Betty, why on earth would I eat the soggy grey hockey pucks that try to pass for burgers elsewhere when I know I’m within, like, five hours of Riverdale.”

She realizes that his detour to her basement likely added an extra hour or so onto that ETA, that Jughead Jones willingly remained hungry longer than necessary to find her, but she pushes that thought firmly out of her mind.

Now, she’s in the Blue and Gold office of both past and present, pulling old editions of the paper they wrote out of an ancient filing cabinet — thankful at the miracle that they’re still there in the time warp that continues to be Riverdale. A freckle-faced kid who insisted he was a junior but looked alarmingly young had logged into the computer for them, so Jughead is behind her, looking for digitized copies. The kid didn’t know where the records from 2017 were, so they are left attempting to cover all bases.

The office hasn’t seen many updates since she’d last been here. They’ve replaced the computers, but even these models are several years out of date. They did get rid of the microfiche reader, though. So that’s something.

Betty Cooper, who spent her freshman year pining after the wrong boy, her sophomore year solving a murder, her junior year in a fog of depression, and her senior year learning how to be a person again, never intended to come back here. But somehow, here she is. Wherever you go, there you are. Like all adages, that one is also annoyingly true.

After an hour or so of fruitless searching, Jughead sighs and comes to stand behind her.

“What are we looking for, Betts?”

“The articles we wrote.”

“I know that, but why? What will they tell us that we don’t already know?”

“Something we don’t remember. I don’t know. It was a decade ago — there could be some detail that seemed insignificant at the time but now might help point us at my father, at what he might have been up to.”

She doesn’t know what kind of records there’d be anyway, but she’s determined to look.

“Betty, we know what we wrote. And even if there’s something that was insignificant then, I’ve read reread these editions until my eyes crossed in the course of book research. I’m pretty sure I have them all memorized at this point. Hell, there’s copies back in Chicago. I could have Mike or Mary overnight them to us if you wanted.”

“I just want to be able to check the facts. I want to make sure we have all the information we possibly can.” She tries to keep the petulance out of her voice. Her success is questionable at best.

Because, truthfully, she knows Jughead’s right. There’s nothing to find here. If anywhere, whatever there is to be found must be in the remains of her father’s office, in the crypt that is her childhood home, the crypt where he mother continues to cling to the memory of the Coopers pre-Jason Blossom, pre-Jughead Jones, and pre-Betty’s “rebellious streak rearing its ugly head.” Alice would never admit to it, fond as she is of her grandchildren, but Betty would bet that that last summer before the first time their lives all turned upside down was the last summer in which her mother was truly happy and her life was something under her control.

It’s becoming increasingly clear to Betty that this can only end in a showdown between her and her mother. That Alice Cooper may be the gatekeeper of the truth — a potentiality she both dreads and wishes for as, if not, she’ll have to confront that thought that maybe there is no truth to be had.

Hal Cooper is dead. All of this might turn out to be in vain. And she can’t — she won’t — accept that.

Jughead sighs again behind her, pulling her back out of her head.

“Okay, then let’s take a break before we go see Keller. Your brilliant mind won’t do us any good if you’re totally burned out when we get there.”

Last night, with the shock beginning to wear off and the pungent grease that seems to float in the air around the diner receding behind them, Betty tried not to watch Jughead walking beside her out of the corner of her eye. At least, she tried not to whenever his head was turned toward her. The sound of cicadas slowly overcame the buzz of neon as the trees lining Elm St. enfolded them in a hazy almost-darkness. Just as she was about to give up scanning his face for signs she’d told herself she’d forgotten how to interpret, as dusk stole the details of the moles on his cheek and threads of his expressions, she heard a rustle of foil down near his hands and he popped a square of gum in his mouth.

She narrowed her eyes at him and extended her hand. “What, you don’t think I should get to escape the fate of onion breath?”

He raised one eyebrow as held the package up for her to see — “Nicorette” just visible in the fading light.

Oh.

Huh.

“I…didn’t realize you’d quit.”

“Yeah, a few weeks ago.” He scraped his hand over the back of his neck and then forward to ruffle the waves of his dark hair. “So you’re welcome to a piece if you want, but you might not like how it makes you feel.”

She shook her head and they kept walking a block or two. Then her mouth opened of its own accord, “Freshman year of college, after some insipid party at which I stayed sober — I don’t remember why. Antibiotics, maybe? — the guy walking me home persuaded me to try one of his cigarettes when I told him I’d never smoked. After nearly hacking a lung out, I got the hang of it well enough to not totally embarrass myself. But when I got home, I puked for an hour. Ugh. It was worse than the 2023 Spring Break tequila incident.”

For a moment it was silent beside her and she felt herself begin to blush — what had motivated her to share that utterly useless memory? — Then Jughead burst out laughing, doubling up and gripping his stomach and guffawing so hard she thought he’d choke on the stupid gum.

But it was catching, because soon she was laughing too, careening into the hiccups that had always signalled the fraying of the tether of her sanity.

“He — he must have thought..” Jughead dissolved into giggles again. Jughead Jones. Giggles.

“Oh Betty.” She managed to swallow a hiccup and looked up to find soft eyes on her and all of her mirth suddenly evaporated. It was a look she just wanted to sink into and wrap herself up in, to push away the reality of what they were doing here.

She shoved his shoulder then, telling herself it was because he’d laughed at her. But the flat of her palm against the soft, gray jersey of his t-shirt ignited another sizzle in her abdomen she resolved to ignore.

They try not to talk about it, this giant thing sitting in between them, preventing them from reaching each other. Or, at least, Betty does. She’s not sure if it’s a conscious effort on Jughead’s part or if they’re just totally out of sync again.

But, still, it slipped in. At dinner, he’d made an offhand about Southside High and she said, “I get it, Jug, I do. You didn’t have any chips to play. And while I wish you would have told me, so we could have figured out something together, even if that something was our breaking up, my dad held all the power. The threat to FP— to your family — was bigger than our high school relationship.” She realized she meant it. Maybe she could forgive him after all. Maybe she already had. Maybe their friendship is still intact.

He kept glancing at her and then away again while they searched, as if he expected her to break down, but by that point in the night, she had no room for anything else but undirected anger. She’d let it carry her back to the basement after dinner, where she resumed digging through boxes and poking through excel files looking for passwords or safe combinations or financial records or something.

Anything.

Many hours later, when Betty went upstairs for a glass of water and was surprised to see the house cloaked in darkness, her eyes drifted to a handful of photos stuck in cork board illuminated by the under cabinet lights. A photo of the twins in the Blossom maple grove last winter shot an arrow straight through Betty’s brain.

Glass of water forgotten, she raced back down the stairs and barely caught herself from having to hurdle over Jughead’s head.

She did it. Jughead heard the click and looked up.

“It was—it was the date that Grandpappy Blossom killed Grandpappy Cooper.” He nodded but didn’t say anything as he pushed himself up and crossed behind the desk, to join her in her corner of the floor.

Beneath passports and birth certificates, manila folders containing the deeds to the house and the Register office and bills of sale for the Whyte Wyrm and other properties her parents had acquired and discarded over the years, Betty found a handful of newspaper issues her parents had saved. She handed them, one by one, to Jughead, who scanned headlines before stacking them neatly in piles beside his left hip.

When she picked up the next issue from the stack she’d pulled into her lap, her breath caught and she felt Jughead’s eyes land on her. The cover story was a copy of her Jubilee speech from that year. She remembered her parents justifying their decision to print it in the Register, not buying her arguments about special treatment because she’s their daughter — her dad had insisted.

Rereading it, she finally felt the anger and her energy begin to ebb away, leaving behind hurt and confusion and love for her father. She couldn’t help wondering what he saved this paper for — it it was a message and if so, for whom?

Eventually, she was forced to admit that the safe, too, seemed like a dead end. She sighed and set the newspaper and manila folder for the Whyte Wyrm transactions aside before locking the safe back up. Jughead returned to his side of the office, across the DMZ of the desk and beyond any arm-span that would have allowed her to reach him.

Sheriff Keller’s secretary had headed her off earlier in the week, but today she and Jughead get in to see him, down the long hallway lined in dark wood and seafoam green tile she’s seen so often, in real life and in the dreams that still sometimes creep in. Jughead remains in the doorway, but Betty hovers while Keller makes himself a cup of coffee. When he finally sits down, sighing as his bones settle, and she takes the rickety folding chair across from him, Jughead comes to sit beside her, folding his own long legs around the legs of his chair.

“I don’t have any new information, Betty. This case has been closed for years. We examined all the footage, from both cameras. Your dad never left the bar. Clifford entered and exited through the back door. There’s no evidence your dad even knew he was there.” It’s not unexpected, but still it sets her teeth on edge.

“But why would he just go into the Whyte Wyrm for fifteen minutes at 2:30 in the morning on a night it was closed. He wasn’t doing business stuff, he never even went into the office. And how could he not have heard the shot?”

“He said he didn’t. We had no reason to doubt him. Betty, your father was a good man.” It’s obfuscation wrapped up in a pretty bow of trying to make her feel better. What Sheriff Keller is saying is that Hal was one of the right kind of people. He owned his own home and his own business, had a picture-perfect family. What Keller is saying is that he didn’t do his job.

Betty feels herself begin to vibrate with anger again and a dozen years of repressed emotions and she can feel Jughead’s eyes on her, wondering if she’s alright. “And you just bought that? That he was in the bar but couldn’t hear the shot? You didn’t ever think to test it?”

The set of his jaw tells her Keller is getting annoyed with her now. That answering questions on done-and-dusted murder investigations was not how he’d planned to spend his Wednesday afternoon. “We have Clifford Blossom on tape, we didn’t need your father for the case against him.”

As usual, Sheriff Keller totally misses her point.

Jughead speaks before she can. “But you never thought that that might be too much of a coincidence? That a man who never frequented the Whyte Wyrm, except to check up on the accounts and always during the daytime, just so happened to be in the bar at the exact moment a kid was shot. A kid he was so upset about dating his teenage daughter that he literally sent her away. You never thought they could have been together before entering the bar and then split up so you couldn’t prove it?”

Keller stares at him, bushy eyebrows drawn down over his eyes. “Then why would he let himself be caught on camera at all?”

“I don’t know, maybe he was drunk and forgot all about the cameras. Hell, maybe, in the best case scenario, he and Clifford were together when Clifford got the call from Mustang and Hal didn’t know Clifford planned to kill his own son. Maybe he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But you truly believe he didn’t know that gun went off? He didn’t spend months trying to hush it up only to swoop in as the white knight for my dad as soon as I found the proof he was there?”

The sheriff’s chair squeaks as he leans to one side and then the other, scans his eyes up to the ceiling and back down to a spot on the table where the decades have left a rusty mug-shaped ring.

“Jones, what’s the point of all this? Your dad’s out and Hal Cooper’s been dead for years — sorry, Betty.”

She doesn’t understand, has never understood, how her sweet and morally uncompromising best friend can have such a troglodyte for a father.

“The point is apparently Riverdale is just as corrupt and morally bankrupt as it always was. My God, how the hell do you keep getting elected? Let’s go, Betty.”

She lets him lead her out of the police station. Her mind still whirring with the sheriff’s incompetence as yet another roadblock, yet another of the same roadblocks as they’d encountered so many years before. So she gives Jughead the keys and lets him drive her back to her house.

It’s almost alarming how quickly they slip back into old habits, old ways of being comfortable with each other she thought they’d long since forgotten. They’re in the basement again, Betty going through more boxes and Jughead trying to crack the encryption on her father’s old external hard drive when it comes to her. “Juggie, we can test it!”

“What?”

“We need to know if my father heard the gunshot. We may not be able to prove whether he knew what Clifford was up to or if they were together beforehand, but we can prove he knew the gun went off and didn’t do anything about it. We can test it.”

“You want to set off a gun in the basement of the Whyte Wyrm?”

“Why not? Your dad runs it now, right? We can do it before they open for the night so no one will freak out. I know my mom still has as gun around the house somewhere. It might not be the same caliber though. Do different gun sizes discharge at different volumes?” Betty is absorbed in her own monologue, mind jumping ahead to all the variabilities of ballistics she can remember from a lifetime of watching too many crime procedurals.

“Betty, stop. We can’t just shoot a gun in the middle of a building. What would we even shoot it at? That’s gotta be against the law and after today, I don’t think Keller’s gonna be too willing to give us the benefit of the doubt. And he definitely won’t give FP the benefit of the doubt.”

She’d begun quickly re-boxing all the papers from her parents’ refinancing in 2011 but at Jughead’s words she freezes and feels herself deflate. “I guess you’re right. Never mind. I just — I thought it might be something after all of this nothing.”

“Wait. I have an idea. You’re a genius.” He kisses her forehead and runs out before she can ask him what he means.

#bughead fanfiction #riverdale fanfiction #bughead #betty x jughead #betty cooper #jughead jones #riverdale #mine #second city

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starboyholland · 7 years ago

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Study Buddy

Requested: nope! Rating: PG this all fluff, super mild cursing Summary: You get to feel a bit run down because of school and Tom is right there to help and take care of you in any way he can.

///

You had taken far too many ibuprofen for your headache, your head was still pounding and your eyes were sore, actually now that you thought about it, everything was sore. Your back hurt from hunching at your computer all day, your legs ached from the lack of movement and your heart hurt from how miserable you were trying to get through all of your finals.

You knew you could have it much worse, but for some reason, you found yourself unable to get motivated to finish your classes. You knew you were close to the end, but you were just so done with working so hard for your grades.

You heard a pair of feet pad down the stairs behind you with in a familiar pattern. “How’s it goin’ darling?” Tom asked, he’d been doing his best to help you out but there really wasn’t much he could do to help.

You surely didn’t mind his arms that were now wrapping around your middle, his stomach pressed to the back of the chair you sat at.

“It’s okay, I guess, I just don’t have any good thoughts left to write about these topics,” you said, closing your eyes and leaning your head back onto the shoulder of your supportive partner.

“I’m positive that isn’t true, you’re the absolute smartest person I know, and I’ve met RDJ,” Tom joked lightly. You were too tired to laugh at his joke fully and settled for a smile, your eyes still closed, crinkling slightly as your cheeks raised.

“I’m sorry, love, am I just distracting you?”

You shook your head. “No, I’d have to be doing something for you to interrupt me,” you scoffed. Overly tired and drained mentally from working through the quarter.

“It’ll be alright, these aren’t due for another week, right?” You shook your head again. “No, that was the other essay final, I got that done last night, this is due in,” you paused for a second to think, Tom’s hands wandering up to massage your shoulders. “Maybe two weeks, I think.”

Tom hummed in acknowledgment. “So what I’m hearing is that,” he kissed your neck. “You could take a break for a while, and come upstairs and let me massage out these knots in your back,” he teased, his thumb pressing firmly into a spot you knew held a lot of tension. You hummed as his hands worked tenderly on your back.

“No, I’ve got to get this done, I don’t want this dumb class hanging over my head anymore,” you knew that Tom already knew how you felt in the subject, this wasn’t the first time the two of you had had this chat. “Just an hour?” He pleaded. You shook your head. “Trust me I wish-”

“Forty-five minuets.”

“Tom-”

“Thirty minutes? YN please,”

You sighed, nodding your head in acceptance. “Okay, 30 minuets, and then I’ll-”

You yawned, breaking your sentence in two. “Then I’ll get back to work,” you said, mostly to yourself.

“Good, alright, love, up with you, I’ve got you for a whole thirty minuets and we’ve got to make the most of that, now don’t we?”

You smiled, getting up and following Tom, who’d grabbed your hand in his and intertwined your fingers, to the kitchen.

“Alright, love, you need to eat,” he said, opening up the various cupboards and storage spaces in your kitchen, allowing you to view your options.

“Alright, I’ll just heat this up, it’ll be quick,” Tom watched you remove the extra layers of plastic and cellophane from a carton of microwaveable rice.

“’S'not a proper meal, but alright. Tonight it will have to do,” Tom said with a smile, kissing your cheek and once again wrapping his hands around your waist, following you around, trying not to trip over your feet as he walked so close to you.

“’Ve gotta make the most of the time I have t’ be with ya, you’ve been working all day, smarty pants,” he said quietly as you opened the microwave, deposited the plastic carton and closed it again, pressing the buttons to make it work properly.

“Sorry, I know you just got back not too long ago and we were going to be spending this time doing exciting things, you don’t have t’ stay inside with me all the time while I work, y'know, I don’t want you to have to be cooped up because I am,” you explained, realizing that Tom had probably wanted a more exciting break from touring than what you had offered.

“You know I love doing anything with you, even when it’s school work, and even when it makes you stressed,” he teased, kissing your head.

“I love you,” you said, the two of you still stood in front of the microwave, when it beeped, you removed your rice and grabbed a spoon, Tom still clinging yo you tightly. “Alright, it’s an eating in bed kind of night, so let’s go!” Tom said, his voice crescendoing a bit as he suddenly scoped you up into his arms, you almost dropping your food as you shrieked in surprise.

Tom carried you to bed and gently set you down, the television already on and displaying Netflix.

“Alright, I have to capitalize on our time together, so you, get comfy and pick something brainless to watch- nothing too intellectual, you’ve gotta rest your brain!” Tom said and kissed your head again several times, crawling into bed beside you.

The two of you adjusted so that you were both comfortable, you tried to avoid curling up into Tom, the combination of his rhythmic breathing and the warm food you’d just begun to consume would put you to sleep, you were no stranger to Tom’s strategies.

“No, Tom’s I can’t-” you yawned again. “I can’t go to sleep, ’ve gotta work more, you reasoned, flipping through the options on the screen before settling on an episode of a sitcom you’d already seen a million times before.

"YN, you’re going to work yourself halfway to death, you always make me take breaks, so let me return the favor,”

“That’s different,” you retorted weakly and Tom chuckled. “How is it any different?”

“I love you,” he added. “Please let me take care of you,” you reluctantly agreed, finally allowing yourself to rest, curling happily into the arms of your lover.

Suddenly, your breathing slowed slightly and your eyelids felt heavier than ever.

“My sleepy, smart girl,” Tom mused when he thought you’d fallen asleep. “My thoughtful, caring, wonderful, patient boy,” you replied quietly, your head on his chest.

“Let yourself rest up, okay? I promise we can go back to looking at school tomorrow,” you nodded, finally giving in and falling asleep.

You woke up to the sounds of an automated laughing track from the television mounted in front of the bed you shared with Tom on the wall, and Tom’s light snoring beneath you. You knew Tom had probably fallen asleep shortly after you had, it was still the middle of the night and all you wants to do was make some progress on your assignment, after resting for a bit you felt more ready to work on everything you had left to do.

You rolled over slowly and carefully, trying your hardest not to disturb your boyfriend’s sleep.

You reached over to the floor next to your side of the bed, where you knew your laptop was sitting.

You lifted it up to sit on your lap and opened the lid, logging in and beginning to work again, this time making progress. You looked at the time and realized that it was later than you’d thought, the clock now showed A.M. Rather than P.M.

You were nearly finished when you felt the boy next to you stir, your fingers faltered and ceased to fly across the keyboard, trying to make it easier the boy for go back to sleep.

“Babe, you need sleep, okay? It isn’t good for you to be working yourself this hard,” Tom said quietly, his voice sounding the way it did every morning, raspy and low.

“I know, I know, sorry I’ll go out to the couch so you can go back to sleep,” you began to move to follow through on your words when Tom reached out and grabbed your wrist to stop your movement.

“No, YN, don’t go, okay? I’ll stay up with you.” You began to protest when he cut off any words you might have said with “what are we working on now, darling?”

You could tell how tired he was and as much as you wanted to go back to bed with him you just wanted this work to be over, you knew you’d sleep better after it was over.

You were close to being finished, anyway. Just one more supportive argument for your thesis and a conclusion to your essay and you would be finished.

You hummed in appreciation when Tom sat up in bed next to you and pulled your body close to his so half of your body rested on his chest. “ It’s that essay, ’s'almost done, though, really you can go back to sleep-” Tom wrapped a hand around the side of your head and tilted it to allow himself easier access to kissing the side of your head. You closed your eyes for a second, allowing him to just hold you for the moment.

“No, princess, I’ll rest when you rest, you’ve been workin’ so hard,” he cooed gently and you remembered how much Tom had really helped you through the quarter, as always, he’d been so supportive and helped as much as he could. “It’s been so much work, princess, I’m so damn proud of you and how much you’ve put into these classes, all ‘f my friends are s'sick of hearing about you and your school from me but I don’t even care because I just like to brag about you, my sweet, genius girl.”

He planted another kiss to your head and you didn’t know how to express your thanks at his sentiment fully, especially in the state of tiredness you were in, settling for, “couldn’t ’ve done it without you, seriously,” he shook his head.

“You know I’ll never believe that. So how’s the essay looking? Want me to proof read anything?” You nodded, “I’ve just gotta write a bit more and then it’s all yours,” He nodded, waiting patiently for you to finish, you flipped between your draft and tabs pulled up on the Internet for information, as well as a previous draft of your paper so you could fix any mistakes there were before.

Your fingers flew across the keys. After another few minuets of this, it was finished. You sighed in relief, resting fully back onto Tom’s body.

“You all done, darlin’?”

You nodded, “would you mind reading this over for me? Doesn’t have to be tonight but-”

Tom gently lifted the laptop from your hands before you could finish and scrolled to the top of your paper. “Hey, love, why don’t you at least rest a little while I work my magic,” he joked.

“Really, why don’t I move the laptop here and you can lay down, yeah?”

You didn’t have the will power to fight him, and laid down across his lap. Tom kept one hand on the laptop, scrolling through your paper thoughtfully, and one hand on your head, gently stroking your hair away from your forehead and trying to move as little as possible. At one point, he turned to compliment your paper, you never failed to amaze him with how well your work came out, but instead he just murmured, “my sweet, smart girl,” when he noticed your breathing had slowed. You’d fallen asleep.

Tom didn’t mind sleeping sitting up at this point if it meant you got more rest.

He finished reviewing your paper and clicked save twice, just to be sure. He shut the lid of the laptop and pushed it to the side where it would be less likely to be bothered by any movement.

“Goodnight, my smart girl,” he said and leaned down, kissing your head. This caused you to stir awake. “Is it any good?” You questioned, half joking.

“It was all amazing, I saved it twice,” he replied simply. “Oh, so I’ll just submit it tonight and be done-”

“YN, you need to just go to bed.” He stated firmly, and you shook your head.

“Tom, if I don’t do this here, I’ll just walk out and do it on the other computer and it’ll take longer.”

He sighed, opening the laptop and handing it to you.

The computer light glowed on. Your fingers once again traipsed across the keys.

“Annnd, submitted,” you exclaimed, yawning again.

“’M so proud of you, genius, now do you think we can go to bed?” Tom teased. You nodded, “yeah, I think that might be good,” you laughed. Tom smiled to himself, the room was dark again, besides from the light that filtered in through your window. “Now, I get you all to myself,” Tom said, laughing down and pulling you into his chest. “Thank you,” you said quietly, leaning over to kiss your boyfriend. “For what? You know I love taking care of m'girl and reading your assignments for school, makes me smarter,” he said and squeezed you tighter for a second before letting go.

Finally, at long last, both of you were relaxed and could fall asleep for the rest of the night in each other’s arms.

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traemallari · 4 years ago

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Finding dance

The musical I was in, Rock of Ages Hollywood, was officially open and running. I went to New York City for my first NY Callback and for Moulin Rouge. Almost a week back in LA and they started calling dancers, booking for a few of their companies. I woke up the next morning filled with anticipation....to turn on the news and find out that the world was shutting down. I received an email from my musical saying the show would temporarily close for 6 weeks. That didn’t deter me too much at the time. Jon and I were already headed up to June Lake that weekend, so I took it as time to settle and heal and just be grateful for the peace. Little did any of us know how long this hiatus would last.

In the summer I taught zoom dance classes and outdoor kids’ camp classes for a few months. But they were little beginner babies, so really it was only a little more than standing on beat, haha!

I tried to make the transition to dancing on social media, doing TIKTOK trends, but I just couldn’t organically bring myself to do it. It was forced and I felt so embarrassed.

I hadn’t been dancing for months and my body, mind and spirit were being affected. I was spiraling down at an accelerated rate. At the beginning, I was aware, but it was manageable. But like drowning, the lower you go, the heavier the water pushes on you, the farther the light gets, and hope of breathing again starts to drift away.

I wanted to dance. Even if it was to just dance around my house. But I lived above a crazy sensitive neighbor who complained every time anyone would blink. I felt so trapped.

I knew I needed to dance and I didn’t know how to get back to my art....

Enter my sister and The Corps Dance Crew....again.

She said they were going to put on a virtual Christmas show. She asked if I’d like to be a part of it. I jumped at the opportunity to do ANYTHING!

It was such a saving chapter to a really strange and hard year. We tested every week, we did socially distanced rehearsals and numbers. And it was so bittersweet. We put together a sweet little show that aired live on Youtube. But we were all on zoom, watching separately. It was great to dance with my crew again, but I couldn’t squeeze them when I saw them. And then we had to experience watching it so isolated when we usually watch things all piled on top of each other, drinking and eating and laughing hysterically. What a sign of the times.

That small moment in time lit a small spark. I wasn’t out of the woods yet, but there was something and I was going to run with it.

The beginning of the year we went back to June Lake for Jon’s birthday weekend. I had a small window of motivation and clarity and energy and I RAN WITH IT!

I discovered BTS during the pandemic and I absolutely LOVED their performances and rehearsal videos. Just powerful dancing. And I saw that doing KPOP dance covers were a thing. So I thought, what? I could do that! Even as a 5 year old, I used to stand in front of the television and just emulate the dancing from music videos. It used to be one of my treasured skills, learning just by watching.

Well, doing that first Dynamite Break showed me that my tools had been neglected, totally rusted.....but NOT broken! And that was enough for me! It took me longer than I liked to learn it, but I spoke to myself the way I would to my students. I spoke with sincerity, patience, kindness and realistically encouraging that the more I did it, the better I would become. So I told myself I would dance every day in January. I would learn the routine the day that I filmed.

By the end of January, not only was I learning faster, I was reconnecting with my body, regaining skills I really believed were long gone.

Now I was no longer doing something because I had to or because I set this outside goal for myself. Instead, my little progressions were motivating me forward. My motivation became my self. What an energizing state of being!

Although I had found this precious part of myself again didn’t mean it was all daisies. I still couldn’t help but have moments of painful awareness that my livelihood was still so different. Those moments of mourning still crept in. I was still mourning my old life. Although I was finding light in this new life, the mourning doesn’t just get replaced.

I didn’t know if I would be strong enough to endure.

When I’m creating, I am motivated in that moment. That’s a good thing. When I’m not creating, however, I am a little lost. And thoughts of giving up because everything is fruitless starts to creep in. I’m working on controlling my thoughts. Still very much in progress.

For now, I’m working on not feeling guilty for feeling happy when I dance. For not shaming myself for enjoying something I’m not getting paid for. To not log it in as a selfish hobby.

Everyday I see myself progressing and that is truly self-motivating. Witnessing actual progress. I didn’t really see it until this month. So that was about 6 weeks of retraining myself almost every single day. Now I’m getting my range of motion back, my different styles, my musicality because whoa did that baby suffer when I went off to do Wicked and Rock of Ages.

I honestly don’t know how I started making the climb out of the bottom of the well. I truly can’t tell you. It was so minute. Peripheral, even. But I think I was wanting to make the decision and I was ready even though I wasn’t ready to move. And then it only took one half a breath’s moment of courage to say something aloud, to want something for myself. And it was a hard journey after that moment. This decision I made for myself. What I realized though, was that initial decision was the hardest part. That opening and taking it. Everything afterwards was just me adhering to that commitment. I no longer had to make the emotional decision. I switched into that warrior/soldier/follower mentality. I just had to finish the task at hand. For 4 weeks, I was dancing purely as a checklist. And that was an easier motivator for me because I needed to not be making emotional decisions everyday. My diligence to complete a task, over time, turned into a much more fulfilling drive. But I’m understanding now, that when I am emotionally vulnerable, when my sensitivity is unstable, I actually don’t do well with options to do things that “make me feel good”. Looking back, I was incapable of knowing what actually made me feel good because I didn’t feel good. And I would be disappointed when I would do something that was SUPPOSED to make me feel good and I wasn’t feeling good after wards. Now I know I need to do something that is less emotionally invested. I need a task. I think that’s the Scorpio with a Capricorn Moon showing itself, haha!

Now EVERYONE is different! I’m just sharing what I’m learning about myself for no other purpose than for myself, honestly. I’m still growing and learning, and when I write it and put it out into the ether, it just sticks better in my own mind.

And now that I'm moved into my sweet Nashville home I am actually given a space where I could dance all day and night if I wanted to and I am!

I’m with The Corps Dance Crew virtually for now but prepping for something pretty epic in the summer. I’m learning and dancing everyday and my mental health thanks me.

Also, I know social media can be a toxic place without awareness. But during this time, it’s been giving me a place to perform and share, and for that I am grateful for it. Thank you to all who like and comment. It’s the closest I’ll get to an audience’s applause for now. I’ve received comments about how my willingness to share my dancing has inspired others, seasoned dancers and newbies, to be unafraid in sharing their art. That truly feeds my heart.

#dance #dancer #thecorpsdancecrew #tiktok #Instagram #btsarmy #kpopdancecover #kpop #journal #blog #wordvomit #braindump #socialmedia

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munchix-home-cooking · 4 years ago

Photo

RP Log: Munchix and Rayena begin a long journey through Coerthas, starting from Gridania and ending at the Dravanian Hinterlands! In this, they simply get ready and hike through the North Shroud.

(Munchix Bogbelly) True to his word, though late by several moons, Munchix had sent Rayena a letter. ‘Meet me in Gridania, if you want to join my journey of culinary discovery through Coerthas!’ And such a day had come. Munchix, a large backpack resting by his side, leaned on the fence posting while he waited for any familiar faces by the aetheryte.

(Rayena Corsano) Rayena did indeed get his letter, packing her back and teleporting to the aetheryte crystal in gridania. She looked around before spotting Munchix and giving him a wave before walking over. "Hello, Munchix. I am here for adventure." she grinned.

(Munchix Bogbelly) He was impressed by how Rayena had teleported here with such ease. Due to pitifully small reserves of magical talent, Munchix had never been able to use aetherytes, instead opting to travel by land or sea. “Ah! Gobbed ta’ see ya! Do you have everything you need? It’s going to be quite cold where we’re going...Got a set of warm clothes? Tent? Extra tea cup?”

(Rayena Corsano) She smiled and nodded. "I have warm clothing, some food, a tent, but no extra tea cup as I didn't bring any tea. I don't even know if we could heat water in the snow. Though, I do have magic so, I can heat just about anything." she grinned. "Did 'ye have everything 'ye need is 'yer bag secure?"

(Munchix Bogbelly) With a big grin on his face, he fondly patted his backpack. “It’s alright, you can use my spare. Never know when you’re gonna need a nice, hot cup of leafjuice. And I’m good! Last time there was a hole in my pack, but that’s been patched up! Ready and rearin’ to go, if you are.”

(Munchix Bogbelly) A messily cut piece of burlap has been sewn onto Munchix’s backpack. It’s one of many similar fixes...

(Rayena Corsano) "Hey Munchix, 'ye know. I am a seamstress by trade, if 'ye need anything fixed or made, 'ye can just let me know and I can put something together. I specialize in fancy wear but, I think I can work with survival gear for 'ye." she beamed.

(Munchix Bogbelly) His eyes light up. “Really? I’d be mighty grateful. Should...Should I get this looked at before we leave then? Or do you think it’ll hold...” Munchix pokes one of the patches on his backpack, curious.

(Rayena Corsano) She beamed. "Let me take a look." she said before inspecting his pack, moving around to check all the patches sewn in. "I believe it'll hold but, if by chance it opens again, I've got me kit on me and can fix it for 'ye." she grinned.

(Munchix Bogbelly) He nodded, feeling assured by her expert opinion. “Got it. Now, let’s be off! Times a tickin’, and if there’s anything I know about Gridania...it’s that you don’t want to be caught out in the dark.”

(Munchix Bogbelly) we can start in the north shroud. yellow serpent gate :3 ))

(Munchix Bogbelly) ...and the moment Munchix steps foot out of Gridania, he’s attacked by a small gang of ‘forest friends’. Thankfully, the guard is nearby to help defend the gobcat...against ladybugs.

(Rayena Corsano) "Everything alright? Did 'ye get hurt?" she asked before sitting down next to Munchix, she looked concerned though a ladybug couldn't be that powerful compared to a tiger.

(Munchix Bogbelly) He lifts one of his arms and gives it a good shake - a pebble-sized ladybug tumbles out. “Ah no, I’m fine! It’ll take much more than that to send me to the lifestream!” For a second, he wonders why the wildlife in the Black Shroud are so keen on following him around? Perhaps his eating habits are upsetting the Elementals, or whatever they are? Munchix shrugs. A question for another time.

(Munchix Bogbelly) “Alright, so our first destination is a camp in Alder Springs. It’s a bit of a walk, but we just got to head west and follow the sound of water. And hopefully, we find some interesting critters ‘long the way!”

(Rayena Corsano) Rayena nodded. "Good." she said, giving him a smile before raising to her feet, her chakrams hung along her hips. "Well, 'ye lead the way and I will follow, as long as we're not threatening looking we should be fine!" she beamed.

(Munchix Bogbelly) Munchix isn’t a threatening looking guy to begin with, but he does his best to try to look even more meek. With Rayena’s okay, he dashes ahead, finally stopping at a crossroads.

(Munchix Bogbelly) “Er, left, I think. OH look, there!” He excitedly points at the Treant Sapling as it lumbers about in the distance. “Something I’ve always been curious about...is how such saplings reproduce? My first guess would be through fruit and flower, which leads me to my next thought. How would such a fruit taste?”

(Rayena Corsano) Rayena looked over at the sapling once Munchix pointed it out, tilting her head. "I don't really know, maybe when it's time they produce seeds which they shake off and they grow. Though, they could always reproduce like animals do since they are a bit sentient." she giggled.

(Munchix Bogbelly) A gasp escapes from Munchix, and it’s quickly followed by a blush. “This is an aspect of Treants that I have not considered. There is so much we don’t know yet. But...I wonder.”

(Munchix Bogbelly) He inches a little closer to the Treant, eyeing the ground around it in search of seeds. Every so often, he looks up to check the branches of the creature. The Treant, so far, simply regards Munchix as an annoying fly.

(Rayena Corsano) "Or maybe when one dies, it sustains the earth and a new one grows from it, just like how other things grow if we decompose in the ground. Shame they don't talk though..."

(Munchix Bogbelly) “All interesting theories! Oh, waitwait. Let me write this all down.” He pulls out a beaten up tome from his pack, frantically flips to a page, and starts scribbling madly. The Treant saddles up behind him, as if reading what he’s putting down on paper.

(Munchix Bogbelly) Once he’s done writing, he puts the book away. In that motion, his foot slips on a round object. Munchix goes down with a nonchalant “oof,” and when he gets up, he holds the object up in his hand - a seed the size of a golf ball. He raises a brow at Rayena.

(Rayena Corsano) Rayena watches him scribble down before looking towards the Treant that settled behind him. She then gives the sentient tree and wave before looking over at Munchix as he fell. "Oh no! 'Ye alright?" she asked before eyeing the seed. "Maybe that is one of the babies..."

(Munchix Bogbelly) “Could be...” He examines the seed. It looks identical to an avocado pit. It might even just BE an avocado pit. But...what if it wasn’t? Munchix offers the seed to Rayena if she wants to take a look.

(Rayena Corsano) Ray takes the seed, inspecting it. "Kind of looks like an avocado pit but, if it is one of the babies, we should probably leave it here unless 'ye want an overgrown sentient tree following 'ye around. Though, 'ye always have a shady spot once it's full grown." she giggled.

(Munchix Bogbelly) Munchix takes back the seed and without hesitation, tries to take a bite out of it. He fails to leave a mark. “Ooouwshh, thish thing’s hard! Thought it might be shoft, like a peanut...” He complains, rubbing at his jaw.

(Munchix Bogbelly) Rayena: it could be a baby! Munchix: *immediately tries to eat* xD )) (Rayena Corsano) munchix is a baby eater...confirmed)

(Rayena Corsano) She gaps than grimaces once he takes a bite of the seed. "Course it is hard, silly! It's a seed but, why did you bite it if we think it's a baby, you nearly killed a baby, Munchix."

(Munchix Bogbelly) He tucks the seed away in a side pocket. “Would you say that if I was eating a walnut? Hm, though...walnut trees aren’t the type to be walkin’ around like this one...” Munchix looks at the Treant again. He had never considered the moral dilemmas of his monster eating habits. Too much to unpack here. Gobbrain hurt.

(Munchix Bogbelly) “I don’t have the name ‘Bogbelly’ for no reason. But, if I’m about to eat something that you oppose to, just say the word. Sorry ‘bout that.” He tilts his head slightly to the left in apology.

(Rayena Corsano) She watches him place the seed into his pocket. "'Ye keeping it? Does that mean 'ye gunna see ut grow?" she asks, than shrugs. "Most things 'ye can eat. I am just unsure about babies, since they need to grow and experience life, and stuff that'll make 'ye sick or even kill 'ye but, other than that, eat anything 'ye want." she grinned.

(Munchix Bogbelly) “A souvenir!” He grins. “Though our main purpose for journeying is lookin’ for new flora and fauna...I’ll admit, I have a personal motive as well. Our final destination, the Dravanian Hinterlands, is where my family lives. It’d be cool to show them this later.”

(Munchix Bogbelly) “Let’s keep going. We’re still a little ways off from Alder Springs.”

(Rayena Corsano) She nodded. "Oh! I can't wait to meet 'em. Let's go!" she grinned.

(Munchix Bogbelly) He led the way again, following the road to settlement.

(Munchix Bogbelly) The light of the Alder Springs settlement glowed gently against the calm, dark night. It wasn’t too far now, though...Munchix has stopped in his steps, eyes affixed on the humongous insects nearby.

(Rayena Corsano) Rayena stopped a step or so behind Munchix before following his gaze. "Oh. Becareful of those, they look rather big, than stinger looks painful." she shuddered.

(Munchix Bogbelly) “The stingers the size of a horsebird! Why’s it gotta be so big? Hunting...big prey, perhaps? Like us?” Despite what he’s saying, Munchix’s voice remains awfully chipper.

(Rayena Corsano) "Probably. They're predator bugs, big bugs. And the stinger probably has venom in it, either to paralyze them so the kill is easier or it outright kills 'ye. Though, me sister said someone told her the stinger is how they, uh, reproduce but, I could be wrong and it is venomous. Eitherway, I'd be careful." she nodded.

(Munchix Bogbelly) Munchix’s takeaway from Rayena’s words of wisdom...will always be of questionable priority. Be careful? What’s that? “The stinger is how they reproduce?! But ALSO to kill?! That’s brutal! Hah, think of all the bedroom accidents these fellas get in!”

(Munchix Bogbelly) “Anyway, these sorts of creatures tend to be mostly shell and little substance. 3 out of 10 edibility. Of course, I’m still curious...Maybe the guard wouldn’t mind me picking through their kill sometime.” He eyes the sentry, who has presently been defending the bridge against any threats. Banemites, Ixali, whatever gets too close.

(Rayena Corsano) She makes a grimace face. "I can't imagine they'd taste good at all. Bleck." she said, sticking out her tongue, than looked over at the kill. "I don't see why not, it doesn't seem like they are too interested in it."

(Munchix Bogbelly) Munchix steps over to a Banemite corpse and uses a survival knife to slice a bit of pincer off. “Won’t know till’ you try! I’ll cook this up tonight...and don’t worry. I’ll take the first bite.” Thumbs up!

(Munchix Bogbelly) The pincer sticks out from his pack. Munchix follows the road to its end, to Alder Springs.

(Rayena Corsano) She blinked. "'Ye mean I have to eat it? What if I don't like it?" she asked before shrugging. "Good thing I brought extra food." she smiled.

(Munchix Bogbelly) “You don’t hafta eat it. We’re still in civilization, plenty of local chow to enjoy. And! If you don’t like it, then I probably won’t like it, and we can ‘don’t like it’ together!” Munchix is incredibly chipper about this.

(Munchix Bogbelly) “The Babbling Cork is a nice place to spend the night. Let’s head over there and enjoy the sights, shall we?”

(Munchix Bogbelly) munchix would try to eat a rock if not for Rayena xD ))

(Rayena Corsano) She giggled at his comment before nodding. "Ye! Let's!" she beamed and started to head over.

(Munchix Bogbelly) theres more ppl than I thought here! It's a nice place to be sure :D )) (Munchix Bogbelly) woah wait this place is way bigger than I thought ))

(Munchix Bogbelly) The moment Munchix steps in, he lets out a relieved sigh. “Ah! It’s nice to be off the road...Ever been here? It’s pretty swanky. Nice rooms, tastymuch food, and to top it all off...if you go on the deck behind the place, you’ve got front row seats to a huge waterfall!”

(Rayena Corsano) Rayena looked around. "No, I don't think I've been this far out from Gridania and I really don't go to Gridania very much." she nodded than beamed. "I really want to see this deck before we leave here. Would be nice over supper or breakfast." she grinned.

(Munchix Bogbelly) “As I always say, the best time to see the world is now! Happy to show you ‘round.” Munchix puffs up his chest proudly. “Let’s go over and take a look then. I bet others have had the same idea, and we could even order food while lookin’ at the falls.”

(Rayena Corsano) "Yes! Lets!" she beamed, seemingly excited and before he could respond she was off.

(Munchix Bogbelly) OH WAIT HM am i mistaken... )) (Munchix Bogbelly) OH IT's the other side hahah ))

(Munchix Bogbelly) Munchix followed Rayena out, so pumped that he accidentally ran to the wrong side. For a second his heart drops when he’s met with a disappointing view of a cliffside...but he thinks to check the other side. Phew! There’s the view he remembers.

(Rayena Corsano) Rayena seemed to have gone the right way, curious where Munchix had gone, maybe he was getting food. Her thoughts seemed to vanish once she saw the waterfall. "Well, this is just perfect." she beamed and turned to look at Munchix once he arrived. "This looks so beautiful!" she beamed.

(Munchix Bogbelly) Munchix nods in agreement while enjoying the mist that rose out from the falls. “Can’t beat Nophica when it comes to spectacles in nature, huh?”

(Munchix Bogbelly) He settles down on one of the benches with a content sigh. And then, it’s back to work. He pulls out a small cutting board and starts to clean the Banemite stinger he hacked off earlier. It's a weird sight. The calming falls, juxtaposed with...butchering.

(Rayena Corsano) Rayena moved to sit down next to the gobcat watching him butcher the stinger, her head tilted, curious. She'd never seen anyone do this before though, she had never seen anyone eat the singer before either. "'Ye reckon it's safe? If there is venom..." she frowned.

(Munchix Bogbelly) “We’re exploring the great unknown! How wondrous!” With the way Munchix handles the knife, it’s obvious that he’s highly skilled at this sort of handiwork. “I’ve never cleaned a stinger of this size, but that makes it a little easier, actually. Usually, there’ll be parts around it that you can eat. And for everything else, boiling can hamper the effects of venom to an extent...”

(Munchix Bogbelly) “Rule number one. When trying something new, always start with a small bite, and only when you’re sure. And I’m not too sure about this.” Munchix picked away at the stinger, organizing it into neat piles. “Maybe just a little...lick.”

(Rayena Corsano) Ray looked outright concerned the more Munchix talked. "Okay. I think I am going to pass on the stinger cause it's no good if we both get sick, at least if one of us gets sick, the other can get help and cure them. So, if 'ye are truly curious, 'ye can eat it and just...tell me how it tastes." she beamed.

(Munchix Bogbelly) “Smart thinking!” Emboldened by Rayena’s promise of healing, he took a small nibble from a hopefully safe piece of stinger. His smile fell into a frown, and then back to a smile, and then...to a look of confusion. “.....................”

(Munchix Bogbelly) “It’s numbed my tongue, but in a pleasant sort of way? Er, well, enough for now. I don’t feel bad otherwise.”

(Munchix Bogbelly) I gotta head out soonish, so next posts we can wrap things up, and leave stuff for next time :D ))

(Rayena Corsano) Rayena watched his face as it transformed, looking at the stinger, than back at the gob cat. "Well, how does it taste? 'Ye look confused."

(Munchix Bogbelly) “Like an incredibly tough piece of raw scallop, I guess. Could use some salt to bring out its flavor a bit more. Something like this might go well if cut thinly and served with peppers...” Munchix shrugged. “But it’s not the best. Kind of has this weird...sharp taste that lingers after. Ah! This is all good to know...and pass on, in case of any. Unfortunate events.”

(Munchix Bogbelly) He pulls out the tome again and writes everything down in an entry dedicated to the Banemite. Perhaps this was Rayena’s first taste of Munchix’s true eccentricities, but it certainly wouldn’t be her last. The pair continued to chat until the night got too dark to stay out any longer. The journey would continue another day.

#ff14 rp logs #munchix bogbelly #rayena corsano

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texasianotaku · 4 years ago

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My Fall 2020 Otome Backlog

Crossposted on Otome Amino

Back in May, I got this little bit of a wild streak in trying to write up my backlogs, but in a smaller, more digestible way. For example, instead of overwhelming myself with extremely lofty goals of these massive lists of games and routes I want to play, I made a list of games and routes that I could feasibly complete in a matter of four months (through to the beginning of fall). I took into consideration that since it was summer (and also that I’m home with my daughter in the middle of a pandemic), that I should be able to accomplish it.

I didn’t complete the entire backlog that I had set aside, and that’s okay with me. I found that it was nice to have a directive instead of trying to blindly decide on my next route. Additionally, I feel like following the goals that I had written down in my last backlog blog really helped me with my focus and quite possibly allowed me to finish even more routes than I would have had I not written them down. It may or may not be really the case, but I feel it is. I think that this is something that I’ll want to continue to do seasonally to help me with tackling the monster that is my otome backlogs.

This is the list of routes that I successfully completed from my summer 2020 backlogs.

Abraham Van Helsing (Code:Realize ~ Future Blessings) Arsene Lupin (Code:Realize ~ Future Blessings) Azusa Kuze (Wizardess Heart) Comte de Saint-Germain (Code:Realize ~ Future Blessings) Episodes 3 and 4 (A3!) Impey Barbicane (Code:Realize ~ Future Blessings) Jaehee Kang (Mystic Messenger) Joel Crawford (Wizardess Heart) Karma (Cinderella Phenomenon) Kei Okazaki (Collar x Malice) Kent (Amnesia: Memories) Lupin’s Gang (Code:Realize ~ Future Blessings) Matheus (Beastmaster and Princes) Mineo Enomoto (Collar x Malice) Rod (Cinderella Phenomenon) Satoru (Bad Apple Wars) Souji Okita (Hakuoki) Takeru Sasazuka (Collar x Malice) Toichiro (Ayakashi: Romance Reborn) Toma (Amnesia: Memories) Twilight Common Route (Ayakashi: Romance Reborn) Victor Frankenstein (Code:Realize ~ Future Blessings) Vincent Knight (Wizardess Heart) Zen (Mystic Messenger)

Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to get to these routes. I did not take into consideration that Collar x Malice was as long a game as it is. I like to listen fully to the voice acting, so it does take me longer than usual to push through a console route with voice acting than it would take me to play a game with no voice acting. Also, I’ve learned that I have difficulty playing PC games because of the personal setting aspect. I’ve recently set up my office due to starting school again and have found playing games in my office is more conducive to playing PC games in general.

707 (Mystic Messenger) Aiji Yanagi (Collar x Malice) Fashioning Little Miss Lonesome Finis (Code:Realize ~ Future Blessings) Herlock Sholmes (Code:Realize ~ Future Blessings) Jumin Han (Mystic Messenger) Kageyuki Shiraishi (Collar x Malice) Mr. Love: Queen’s Choice Main Route Obey Me Main Route White Mask (Bad Apple Wars) Yoosung (Mystic Messenger)

These are the games and routes that I transferred over to my fall backlogs that I never got around to during the summer. The only ones I omitted were 707, Jumin Han, and the Obey Me Main Route. I’ve found that Mystic Messenger isn’t one of those games that you can play in one go, at least for me personally. Also, I don’t have much motivation to play them because I wasn’t too particularly impressed or touched by Zen or Jaehee’s routes. Additionally, of all of the joseimuke games I play, I’m the least interested in Obey Me’s story line than Mr. Love or A3! So that particular game’s plot is on the backburner for me as well.

Aiji Yanagi (Collar x Malice) Fashioning Little Miss Lonesome Finis (Code:Realize ~ Future Blessings) Herlock Sholmes (Code:Realize ~ Future Blessings) Kageyuki Shiraishi (Collar x Malice) Mr. Love: Queen’s Choice Main Route White Mask (Bad Apple Wars) Yoosung (Mystic Messenger)

For this section, I'll be talking about the new games and routes that I'd like to play and complete by the end of fall (December 20th). Each subsection within this category has a small exposition as to why I'm adding this to my pretty full list of games to play during the autumn season.

I really, really, really love both of these games. I feel like they both need more love, especially Ayakoi. Neither are strongly romantic, if at all, and I think that's a lot of the reason why they don't get as much play as some other games. I base this off of their sales numbers compared to games such as Mr. Love: Queen's Choice and Obey Me, which have made an explosive amount of money.

I have this tendency that if I don't need to read it immediately, I won't. And such is the case with both of these games. I have only played three routes on Ayakoi and am now behind on the new Act 2 episodes for A3!. However, my goal for this season is to simply complete the event stories that I haven't touched yet. That's eleven for Ayakoi and 8 for A3!. At least with A3!, I'm afforded the time to catch up since they are not doing events outside of the gachas (which I'm not counting here) and reading promotion for the Act 2 Episodes. I'm not too far behind, though, because I actually have been acting against character and making the effort to read the event stories as they come out.

I've been playing Ciagram games pretty chill for the past few months. I started Cinderella's Happy End when it first came out with the LOG app ("Love Stories and Otome Games for Girls) back in May. It's a simple game that doesn't require checkpoints or stat-raising. No avatars. Just 5 tickets a day, with the potential to gain an extra 2 tickets by viewing ads. I'm not exactly sure why I gravitated so much to this game. I think that maybe I needed a slice-of-life game in my routine. By now, I've completed the three other routes, and Kyosuke is the very last one I have to complete.

As I've mentioned before, I've been playing Ciagram games really chill. In the past, you would've probably seen me playing 5+ of their games at a time. Now, though, I just don't want to do it. I think it's getting more stressful in my old age. 😝At any rate, with my full completion of Cinderella's Happy End coming up soon, I set my sights on Chocolate Temptation next.

There are a few reasons as to why this particular game as opposed to any. For the past couple of years, if I had some time, I'd play the ads on a lot of the Ciagram apps. I kept accruing story tickets, and back then, the tickets didn't expire. Now that it is on the LOG app, I've transferred those tickets as well as tickets to a couple of other games to the app, and now I'm sitting on 650+ free tickets. I need to use them by March 2021, so both Chocolate Temptation and Nightmare Harem are moved to the top of my list of Ciagram games to play.

I could still also go for more slice-of-life otome. Seriously, I feel like there is a distinct lack of it in the past couple of years. And the art for Chocolate Temptation is among the more pleasing than many other Ciagram games.

I've been steadily playing through the routes that I haven't played on Wizardess Heart. It's not one of my favorite games, but I'm in such dire need for SWD content since they've officially decided to stop updating their still standing games with new content. 😭😭😭 Despite how they have perceptively done us otome players wrong by removing the bulk of their content from mobile game stores, I still have a soft place in my heart for them and will still be a champion for their content.

Guy's route is the last route that I have to play in the Day Class series, excluding all of the sequels that they did. I haven't yet decided whether I want to move forward this fall with the remainder of the Night Class routes I have yet to play. I'll probably take a break until the winter to start back up with the 11 remaining routes I have for Night Class. 😪

I'm already exhausted thinking about it.

My completionist heart wants me to finish playing all of the routes available in SWD's The Niflheim. I played most of the routes on the standalone before it shut down back in March. I have extra diamonds on my alternate Story Jar account, so I wasn't in a rush to finish JJ and Philippe's route. Of all of the routes, I had the least interest in theirs, so I stopped where I did for a break. I have Jean listed because he's the canon, but I already played his route on the standalone; he's just there because it feels like Niflheim Academy follows as if he were to be the canon for that AU story as well.

I'm pretty excited about playing these two indie PC titles, Ebon Light and Seduce Me: the Otome. Seduce Me has long been on my to-play list, and I've seen a lot of hype about Ebon Light. Apparently, on the Otome reddit page, it's their indie game of 2019. Tbh, even given the new circumstances of my PC habits, I probably wouldn't have chosen these games as my first games to play on PC, that other PC games held priority. I'm very thankful to the OA Book Club for giving me the push to prioritize these over other games.

I first heard about Piofiore when it first came out for the PS Vita from a friend of me. She effectively built up some hype, but not too much because at the time, I didn't know that it would get localized. I was super psyched when Aksys made the announcement that they would localize Piofiore. I love the mafia-theme as well as the time setting, regardless of whether is is the Taisho Era or the Roaring Twenties. Would the Roaring Twenties apply outside of the US? Idk, but I still romanticize that time period and really like it.

The only reason why Piofiore holds greater precedence on my backlog than Café Enchanté though, is just because of the release dates. Had Café Enchanté released earlier than Piofiore, I would have had that on my to-play list sooner than later. I'm hyped for both games. Realistically, I don't see myself starting Café Enchanté until near the end of the year, and that's me being ambitious. Despite that, I've still preordered both games.

This is another game that would've probably taken me forever to play had it not been for the OA Book Club. We've progressed through two routes, and due to the reading schedule for the remainder of the game, we'll be able to finish right before the long-awaited fan disk, Evermore, releases at the end of November.

While I'm not dying over Cinderella Phenomenon, I'm floored by the amount of work that went into it. And for the developer to offer such a high quality game for free is astounding. The story is very creative and well-paced. I'm not sure if I'll be playing Evermore shortly after; I suppose that depends on how I feel when I completely finish the game.

For the past year and a half, maybe two years? I've been working my way through the routes on SLBP. I'm sitting at seven routes remaining that I have not completed at least one ending (excluding Act 2 and Unification). I was a little conflicted about who I should play in this backlog round, but a dear friend suggested I play Saizo for a trope that I love. And she's been wanting me to play Shingen for a long time because he's her best boy. She may not tell me that she wants me to play him when I make my decisions, but I know that she dies a little inside when I tell her the next route that I'm playing.

...But then, Kojuro's Act 2 Splendor was just announced. 😬 Even though I'm not a huge fan of avatars, there's something about an early completion challenge that brings out the event loving trash that I am.

Did you know that you can still access some of the Shall We Date? premium games that were taken off of the mobile stores back in March? 👀👀👀 As long as you still have the app on your devices, you can still access the content. This applies only towards the premium games that you had to pay for. The free to play games went offline almost immediately. RIP Modern Cinderella, I'll never forget you. 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

I was able to save these games by recording them on a high speed, but since they're still currently available to access for me, I'd like to go back to record and read them with the sound. This applies to Castle Break and Guilty Alice.

For My Sweet Prince and Ninja Love, I still had them on my iPad and hadn't updated the thing in years so that I could retain the stories. It's time that I finally complete these games so that I could bring my iPad to the 2020s.

If you know me, this one is kind of no-brainer. I usually play IkéSen and IkéVamp routes completely within three days of release, dependent on the story boosting times in the concurrent collection events that they do. Theodorus bears mentioning simply because his route is coming out soon, like a week from when I post this blog.

I will say, when IkéVamp first released in Japan, Theo was the very first I had my eye on. His character design is top notch and hits all of my favorite aesthetics when it comes to 2D boyfriends. However, as time passed, I kind of lost interest in him because of his penchant of calling the MC a dog in Dutch and his sadistic ways. I'm generally not a fan of sadists or LI that treat MCs as an animal. I am hoping, though, that he proves me wrong and I go back to thirsting for him like I did when the game first released. Come ask me again in a week.

This year, I played every route on Amnesia except Shin, whom I completed back in 2018. My friend and I played this together, and if it weren't for her, I probably wouldn't have picked it back up again, or at least any time soon. So I have her to thank because it quickly became one of my favorite games that I played this year. We're wrapping up our playthrough of the game with Ukyo, who you can only play once you've completed all other routes. Right now, I'm on Day 6, and I'm still wondering what the hell is going on. I'm looking forward to a wild ride, just like the rest of this game was. Since I played Shin so long ago, I might even replay him.

No outro for this blog. I've got my work cut out for me. ✌️

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itsyourturnblog · 5 years ago

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What I’ve learned: running during quarantine

Three lessons from running and using guided run coaching as a way to think about life in general

Photo by Jenny Hill on Unsplash

There’s a Chinese proverb that asks the question, When’s the best time to plant a tree? And there are two answers — the first one, Twenty years ago. The second one, If not 20 years ago, then today. Today’s the best time to plant a tree.

Thinking about that, I’ve run on and off my whole adult life — and over the past few years, I’ve fallen away from it. A couple of years ago, I won a coveted spot in the New York City Marathon lottery but I didn’t run the qualifying races or volunteer to help because my life felt too busy. My life was happening all around me, happening to me. I didn’t have time. I wanted to but… Always that pesky but. I didn’t make the space and that opportunity went unused.

Then, last year my family moved to San Francisco from NYC in late summer — which seemed like a good time as any to make other life changes. Weather permitting, I would ride a bike (some of the way) to work in SoMa, we took regular family walks, I even meditated here and there. And then, the novel coronavirus comes on the scene earlier this year. COVID-19 and quarantine ensue, causing everything to be thrown into a swirl, including work, school, habits, even the construct of time itself.

And so what to do in a time of great change and uncertainty? You guessed it, plant a tree. I planted a tree two months ago. I started running again. I mean, why not? And I began with the Nike+ Run Club app using the guided runs feature.

I promise this isn’t a commercial for Nike, I only own one pair of Nike shoes, but the guided runs really have been a lifesaver for me. Previously, when I would run, I would have company — friends, family, and people who might have signed up for the same race later in the year, my dog, some other kind of motivation — but nowadays, these things are near impossible. And so this is how coach Chris Bennett, NRC Global Head Coach, and others — including Sally McCrae, Cory Wharton-Malcolm, Shalane Flanagan — inhabited my headphones as I ran 50,000 meters (a bit over 31 miles) this month. And here’s the evidence:

Screenshots from my Strava (left) and Nike+ Run Club (right) apps — Strava’s a bit lower than NRC because some of the segments I initially logged as hikes so they don’t count as run distances

🎉🙌 🎉🙌 🎉🙌 🎉🙌 🎉🙌 🎉🙌 🎉🙌 🎉🙌 🎉🙌 🎉🙌 🎉🙌 🎉🙌 🎉🙌 🎉🙌

So, let’s get into it. Let’s cross that proverbial starting line and get going. What are three things that I’ve learned from my time running that can apply more broadly to my life and my work?

Start slowly, or go slowly

We’re all in a hurry — we’ve all got to-do lists a mile long, someone’s waiting on something, there’s that email, has the kid eaten lunch?, that thing took longer than we thought and now we’re behind, has the dog been fed?, did you reply to that message from your uncle?— but we all have time. It is something that exists for all of us. Though it does have value, it doesn’t cost any money. And whether it feels like it or not, you are in control of the next 30 minutes, the next hour, all of it. You are in control. And whether you’re running on a trail or you’re staring down a deadline or about ready to begin a design sprint with a client team, you control the cadence. You don’t have to drink from a firehose. And in order to not drive yourself into the ground, you need to start slow. It’s easy to get caught up in the excitement, heart-pounding, trip over the hype, the blood rushing in our ears, to say yes, and jump in.

On the flip side, it takes strength, resolve, and focus to start slow. Because it’s tough to sit in that tension, it’s hard to say no, to really consider the whole effort — especially when it’s in-flight, you don’t know exactly what that entails. How can you know how much fuel you’ll use if you don’t know everything about the journey of which you’re in the middle?

True, you can pick up the pace later, that’s always an option but warm up first. Prep as much as you can. Stretch. Shake it out. Keep your arms loose, keep your legs limber. Then, do the icebreaker before you plow straight in. Start smart. And start slow.

Recovery is important, be easy

Be easy on yourself, even in the middle of a run. That goes for after a run, between runs, before a run. The same goes for life. Life can be hard, it will get hectic, it is crazy at times so be easy on yourself. Being easy doesn’t mean lowering your standards, it doesn’t always mean running slow. But set those things for what you need. There’s a guided run on NRC called Tough Day, Easy Run, it’s been one of my favorites because it speaks to that.

During a speed run, you may run fast, but not too fast. Or try to be the fastest. If you’re running with someone, how are they doing? Are they able to answer simple questions, maintain a conversation? Are you trying to run faster than they are? Are they trying to run faster than you? Are you able to talk to them? How are you feeling? You should feel good. If you’re feeling something else, you’re not being easy. Running should feel good.

Coach Bennett talks about how an easy run should feel, how a recovery run should feel. He says something like:

And easy doesn’t mean slow; it means just that — easy. And easy, when it comes to running, easy doesn’t mean slow. And remember we talked about slow — starting slow doesn’t mean that that’s the pace for the whole route. Taking something easy isn’t a slow run. It’s an easy run. It’s your normal, everyday run. Because if it’s not an interval run, a long run, or a speed run, it’s an easy run. It’s a recovery run. Easy is not a pace or a distance; easy is a level of effort. So go easy.

I remember one of the NRC trainers pointed out — don’t recall who it was— that runners typically have slower paces the third and last quarter of a run. And that’s not necessarily a good thing, it probably means that runner has exhausted themselves — it means I’ve been running too hard for the first half. That means I wasn’t running slow, really pacing myself, and I didn’t make it easy for myself. I’m making it harder than it needs to be. That’s me, making it hard.

How many times have we complicated something in our lives? If you’re anything like me, a lot. Whew, it’s easy to lose count. And many times, I make things in my life and my family’s life a lot harder. Why? Any number of reasons — pride, ego, stubbornness, some rigid idea that something has to be a very specific way, not accepting help, not asking for help, all sorts of reasons. If we’re easy about these things, even just a bit more, it won’t be so hard.

It’s okay to fail

The intention at the start of the run isn’t always how it plays out. Like how the best-laid plans for some Tuesday lunch or a family bingo game night or a client retro not turning out the way it was intended. What is the joke — do you want proof that god/God has a sense of humor? Make a plan.

You might start out on a run and think, I’m going to run 10K today and I’m going to crush it, but if you listen to your body and listen to what’s going on with you, that may not be the best way to run. Sure, you can dig deep and pull something out in the last quarter and thug it out but you should still start slow and be easy with yourself. Digging out that low gear, keep that in your back pocket. There’s always time for that.

In 2007, Arianna Huffington woke up in a pool of blood with a broken cheekbone and a cut over her eye. She had been at home on the phone and was checking emails when she passed out and fell. Huffington had been working 18-hour days building the Huffington Post website. She didn’t know what had happened and after weeks of medical tests, doctors came back with a simple answer: she was exhausted.

Arianna Huffington attending the premiere of The Union at the 2011 Tribeca Film Festival, photo by David Shankbone

Huffington took personal steps to stop this from happening again in her own life. And then, she became a champion for getting more sleep, urging others that instead of bragging about our sleep deficits to see how we can do more with more sleep. She did one of the most popular TED talks in 2010 on the subject— it’s been watched over 5 million times — and wrote Sleep Revolution in 2017.

I say all of that as an example of what it means to reset your expectations. Listen to yourself, listen to others, the thing that you had in mind might not be the best thing or the right thing to do just now.

There’s a ton more I could say. There are things I’ve missed, sure— running on narrow trails in this time of COVID-19 precautions puts a whole new spin on politeness, how, and when to yield (bikes, runners, walkers, horses, etc.), a lesson is there to be learned in kindness. For sure. Or staying focused on the path in front of you as a metaphor for remaining present. Because there’s always a crack in the sidewalk or an exposed root that’s visible after the fact. But I’ll stop here and appreciate the fledgling tree.

Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think.

You can find the Strava and the Nike+ Run Club app on the web, in the iOS store, and in the Android store. Maybe other platforms, though I couldn’t find any others. You can find Arianna Huffington’s book, Sleep Revolution, in any major book retailer, but I would suggest getting it from your favorite local bookstore.

What I’ve Learned: Running During Quarantine was originally published in It's Your Turn on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

by Skipper Chong Warson via It's Your Turn - Medium #itsyourturn #altMBA #SethGodin #quotes #inspiration #stories #change #transformation #writers #writing #self #shipping #personaldevelopment #growth #education #marketing #entrepreneurship #leadership #personaldev #wellness #medium #blogging #quoteoftheday #inspirationoftheday

#ItsYourTurn #It's Your Turn #IYT #altMBA #Seth Godin #Inspiration #Stories #Change #Transformation #Blog #Medi

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benbarnesescape · 8 years ago

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Un Moment à Paris - Part 2

A Missed Chance

Permanent Tags: @la-fille-en-aiguilles, @ladyblablabla, @starless-skyox @livelearnandtravel

New to the series? Catch up here: Part 1

Warnings: Language and angst. Nothing naughty yet kids

You sat at the small table, the oblique wood shining against the bright lights of the building. You rubbed your head, the makings of a migraine biting into your brain and you groan as you see the next group of international diplomats walk into the room.

It was a long day and you had only been at work for four hours.

When you had shown up that morning, thirty minutes late as you slipped into your cubicle, you had been rewarded with a large manila folder full of profiles. A lot of ambassadors had been streaming in and out of the French embassy and thus the French UN was the first filter of passing the delicate documents, which meant you were charged with lots of translating. You specialized not only in the romance language, but had been dumb enough to learn Arabic and Mandarin and then move to a country where no one spoke. For the challenge you had told your mom.

You were one of three people who could fluently speak and write the language, causing you to get bombarded with work.

Not that you got a chance to finish typing the documents. It was half way through deciphering through pages of policy that you were called to translate between two important diplomats. You had been in meetings ever since, sustaining yourself on coffee and water. You barely had time to visit the bathroom.

You feel a soft rap on your shoulders to find your colleague, Jean smiling down at you before saying,

“I’m here to save you from more meetings. Boss needs you to finish those policy papers.”

You give him a grateful smile, eagerly picking up your note pad and pen as you throw your thin blazer back over your shoulders.

“Thank goodness. I honestly can't figure out which i hate more right now. Verbally translating or typing and translating.”

He laughs, giving a knowing nod and you walk out of the room, a grateful sigh passing through your lips as the natural light of the modern building bathed over your skin. Finally, a moment of peace where you could allow your brain to wander.

Ben.

Whether you wanted to admit it or not, you knew why you prefered to hide out in your cubicle, typing mindlessly as your eyes skimmed over pages of information. It meant that you could also allow your mind to wander, to think back to how supple Ben’s lips looked as he sipped his coffee, his chocolate brown eyes peering over the porcelain cup, watching you with intent. You could think about the way his long fingers casually laid on the table, occasionally tapping against the worn out wood as he concentrated on you as you babbled about restaurants to visit. The way his muscles moved against the dark grey cotton Tshirt he was wearing, watching as they strained and relaxed underneath the sheer fabric as he shifted in his seat.

Fuck you had it bad. And the kicker of it was you never got his number. Nor he yours.

You were sure that you were to blame for this minor discrepancy. You started moving toward your office, nodding and smiling at random people who passed by. In fact you were positive it was your fault. You had bolted out so fast from him that you never gave him a chance to ask, though you were pretty sure he was into you.

Well...as time had passed your pretty sure was at kinda sure. You wondered where you would be at by dinner.

You walked into the light offices, noticing that most people were out leaving you to work in silence. You found your desk easily, sliding into your chair as you smiled down at the salad placed on your small work space.

“You need to learn how to eat lunch. You’re my best translator - I can’t lose you to starvation.”

The sound of your bosses voices carried over the small space, and you smiled as you swiveled in your chair and watched her walk over to you. Jeanette was a 50 year old woman who was sharp. That was the only way to explain her. She knew what she wanted and she went after it. She knew how to recover from a comeback easily and happily challenged the male higher ups.

Didn’t help she could also speak over 15 different languages. The woman was brilliant.

“Sorry. It's been one of those days.” you laugh at her and she nods, dropping another heavy manila folder on your desk.

“I get that but I texted you an hour ago that you were relieved before your last meeting with Istanbul. You obviously didn’t get it so I sent Jean.”

You groaned. Your phone. You had thrown it in your bag this morning and hadn’t looked at it since. There were probably tons of messages you needed to catch up on. You dug into the brown bag, easily finding your captor and pulled it out for her.

“Haven’t been connected to this little guy all day.”

Your thumb skims over the single circle on your iPhone and your phone vibrates, a message indicating to Try Again. You frown, placing your thumb over it once more and it repeats the message. You close the screen and reopen it, trying to be patient with the technology when you catch the photo on the background. It was of a quote you were unfamiliar with,

Remember that you are a wolf. And you cannot be caged.

“That's an interesting quote.” Jeanette is looking down at you and you frown,

“This isn’t my phone.”

She raises a brow and you groan, placing your head on the desk.

“Its Ben’s.”

“Ben? I thought you were snogging Lorenzo.” your head snaps up at her and she smiles as another voice chimes in,

“So did I.”

You weren’t surprised to see your best friend Natasha walking toward you, her mouth full of some pastry as she neared the two of you. Now if Natasha had bumped into Ben, he would for sure have her number. Her number and her cup size. When Natasha wanted something she went for it, no hesitations or regrets.

As she neared the both of you, Jeanette rose a curious brow at her.

“Speaking of Lorenzo, thought I sent you and him to deal with that disaster happening with the Italian ambassador.”

Natasha snorted, pushing a file into Jeanette’s hand.

“Handled. Now, before my friend drowns herself in documents, can I ask who Ben is?”

Jeanette sighs, shaking her head and walking away. She normally wasn’t this lax with employees but both Natasha and you were her top workers. When you were given an assignment it was done, usually days before the deadline and done well.

She allowed small instances of gossip like this to happen as a result.

“I’m off ladies, Y/N please have those document done by tomorrow morning.”

You nod as Natasha sit on the desk, playing with your ball of rubber bands.

“I hope Ben is some guy who’ll punch Lorenzo in his smug, Italian nose.”

You groan as you lean back in your seat, popping open your salad and taking a bite.

“What did he do?”

Natasha rolls her eyes as she leans against your desk,

“Complained about how you ignored his calls last night - drunk calls I'm assuming. That's the only time the asshole can make time to talk to you lately. ” she looks at you expectantly and you nod, a mouthful of salad in your mouth.

“He then continues to bug me when you start ignoring his texts. Whining about how you never ignore his texts.”

Her eyes flit over to the black iphone sitting on your desk and a sneaky smile starts to spread on her face.

“So I repeat - who is Ben? And why do you have his phone.”

You swallow, trying to debating where you should begin your tale when you hear,

“Well, I can happily answer that question.”

Ben was antsy. He fidgeted as he sat through his meetings all afternoon, his eyes always flicking back to her phone. He was relieved when, after the three hour discussion about project next steps and character development, he was released to temporary freedom for the day.

The focus he had was waning - the events of the morning distracting him. He kept checking his phone - rather her phone - to see if she had called. Of course she hadn’t, probably immersed in her work. He sighs as he walks into his hotel room, flopping onto the poster bed and looking up at the ceiling. The perspective was different. Instead of wanting to immerse himself in a city, to distract the time between shooting getting lost in the life of what made this city breathed, he found that he wanted to discover you. He wanted to know more about your history - what motivated you. He wanted to get lost in your eyes as they shined with excitement as you spoke vividly about new places to visit or Parisian music artists you were into at the moment. He wanted to know what it would feel like to taste you, run his fingers through your hair as he drew your body closer to him.

He had only spent two hours with you and he was absolutely smitten.

He sat up, reaching for his laptop and logging into the apple website for the “find my iPhone” app. It only took the system a minute to hone in on his device and he debated his next move, before grabbing the contents of his wallet and key from his night stand.

Fuck it. If life had taught him anything it was that if he wanted anything to happen, he’d have to make it happen himself.

Through the help of a cab driver, he was able to find the large, modern structure easily. He walked into the sleek steel building, taking in the buzz of life as he walked to the front desk.

“Hi I’m looking to return a phone to Y/N and was wondering if you could direct me to her office? She’s a linguist here.”

The security guard who had been sipping a small cup of espresso looked up at him lazily, before shaking his head and returning his eyes back to the security screen.

“Last name?”

“My last name?” Ben asks confused and the security guard rolls his eyes.

“Of the person you are trying to say. What is her last name?”

Ben frowns. He didn’t know. In fact, he hadn’t thought to ask it when he was chatting her up. The amount of fails he was experiencing on the dating front was piling up.

If he could sum up his day in a meme, it’d be a series of facepalms.

“I'm not sure...we met at a coffee shop and she accidently grabbed my phone. I just would like to return it.”

The security guard takes another sip,

“I’m sorry - if you don’t know your party and you don’t have an appointment I am going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Leave?” Ben asks incredulously and the man nods.

“Or you can leave the phone with me. Your choice.”

The hell with that. And lose the only way to connect with her. He’d be damned.

“I’ll…...just wait for her.” he sighs and the security guard shrugs, returning to his position.

Dick.

He’s barely turning on his heels when he hears a crisp, female voice ask,

“I’m sorry, but are you Ben?”

His eyes snap to the older woman as she walks toward him, her crisp suit complimenting her hard eyes. Her accent is obviously french and he racks his brain as he tries to place her.

Nope, had no clue who she was.

He gives a short nod confused,

“Yes. And you are…?”

The older woman smiles at him, extending her hand out and he takes it, noticing the power behind her grip.

“Jeannette Capeo. You have something one of my employees needs.” she nods to the phone in his hands and his eyes perk up.

“You know Y/N?”

She smiles, though the action doesn’t seem to catch in her eyes as she nods,

“Oui. She was confused when a few minutes earlier she dug into her bag to find that she did not have her device. If you’d like, I could escort you to where she’s at. I need to get to a meeting but if I can get you past security you should be set. To walk to her office.”

Ben smiles, eagerly nodding and Jeanette turns on her heels, walking back in the direction in which she came. Ben followed her eagerly, hoping he wasn't walking into an awkward situation. With his luck the chances were high.

You and Natasha both snap your heads toward Ben who is walking toward you, a smile on his face.

“Holy shit Y/N,” Natasha whispers as he gets closer and you know, you know what she’s thinking. You just pray she doesn’t say it in front of him, in front of you while he’s standing there. “You didn’t tell me that you had accidentally changed phones with a model.”

“Natasha…” you mumble as Ben nears, catching the last part of her comment and giving a small chuckle.

“Not a model necessarily but thank you.”

Natasha flips her hair, flashing her best smile as she extends her hand out. You roll your eyes. You know she can’t help it, to turn on her charm when she’s in a room with an attractive man.

Doesn't make her flirting that less obnoxious.

“I’m Natasha. Y/N best friend and colleague.”

“Pleasure to meet Natasha. I’m Ben.” he shakes her hand but his eyes are flashing toward you, taking you in and you try to contain the blush you know is spreading across your cheeks.

Natasha doesn’t miss this, catching the tension between the both of you but doesn’t say a word. She just retracts her hand and watches. Because if she can’t be a part of the chase then she sure as hell wants to be able to observe it.

Curse her.

“So first you charm me,” Ben says walking closer to you and taking the empty seat across from you, “and then you steal my phone. I know a pickpocket when I see one.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes and grabbing for his phone, placing it by you on your desk.

“And I know a stocker when I see one. How did you find me? And how did you get past security? Leon is a dick and usually doesn’t let anyone pass.”

Ben chuckles, nodding his head before saying,

“May have had some help with the find my iphone app. And your boss.”

You nod, biting your lip and shaking your head. Silence. Natasha rolls her eyes, watching the both of you stare at each other. Of course you’d find someone just as bashful as you.

“Well I have to go and finish up some documents,” she didn’t. You both knew that she didn’t but you were grateful for the break in tension. “But it was a pleasure to meet you Ben. And Y/N, Vas y fance. C’est un joli petit cul.”

You heard her words loud and clear.

‘Go for it. He’s one fine piece of ass.’

Then she was gone, the smell of her perfume lingering leaving you a red cheeked mess.

You could just kill her.

“What did she say?” Ben asks curiously and you turn to him, shrugging.

“That I better convince you to get my number or I’d be an idiot.”

“Really?” Ben asks, chuckling as he leans back in his chair and you nod laughing.

“....in so many words.”

He looks down, playing at his jeans before his eyes find yours again.

“I was actually going to ask you out to dinner tonight. So a couple of steps ahead of you there.”

You roll your eyes, turning to place your salad on your desk before crossing your arms.

“Hardly doubt that. Seems you’re always three steps behind when its comes to….anything.”

You're both smiling at each other as he shrugs, bending close to you and placing his fingers together.

“I'm just not used to gorgeous strangers saving me from my bad french. You caught me off my game.”

He’s close to you, closer than he has been since you met. You can smell his cologne, a fresh and spicy scent that has your knees going weak and you lick your lips, trying to maintain your cool. You could do this.

“If your A game is anything like the sad way you charmed that waitress, think I saved you some embarrassment.”

He laughs at this, standing up and stretching, exposing a bit of his navel as he shirt rises with him. You don’t miss the toned V line that teases down to his jeans.

Double fuck. If this was part of his A game he was doing well.

“Dinner tonight? You can take me to one of those fantastic restaurants you mentioned earlier and I can prove to you that I'm naturally witty and charming.” he bends down and places your phone on your desk before grabbing his and you take in another whiff of his cologne.

God he smells good.

“I can’t tonight. I have to tackle that bad boy.” you point to the stack of papers beside you and he nods.

“Thats fair. I have a company dinner thing I have to go to tomorrow night…..” he frowns as he racks his brain before snapping his fingers, smiling and grabbing the sticky note beside you.

“How about I leave my number and you text me. Maybe we can at least grab a coffee until I can properly take you out.”

You watch as his fingers quickly scrawl out his name and number, leaving it beside the pile you're working on. He's’ still leaning down, inches away from you when he turns to you, his chocolate eyes going soft and you know you both are smiling stupidly at each other.

This could either end in tears or great sex.

You were hoping for the latter.

Ben is looking at your lips now, his eyes betraying what you hope are thoughts about kissing you. He bites his bottom lip, his teeth snagging on the soft tissue as though he’s having an internal debate before he leans in slowly, those dark eyes never leaving yours. Trying to get a read on you.

You know your heart is beating out of your chest as you lean in, eagerly awaiting the feel of his lips against yours.

You’re never given that pleasure.

“Y/N - did you finish that report? Jeanette called and said she needs it...”

The deep voice breaks you and Ben of whatever thoughts were passing in your brain and you jump up, pulling away from him.

You were at work, what the hell were you thinking. Oh you knew. That a sexy, humorous man was into you and you wanted to see where this could go.

Boy was he trouble.

You turn to whoever had intruded your peaceful moment, not missing the slight tinge of pink on Ben’s cheeks. It's only when your eyes lock on Lorenzo’s that you give a loud groan, ignoring theformed scowl resting on his face.

“Now what do we have here?”

#reader x ben barnes #ben barnes #un moment a paris series #benbarnesescape

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themadpuppy85 · 8 years ago

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Summoning Candyman Epilogue ( Jumin X Reader fanfic)

Fandom: Mystic Messenger Rating : M Summary: “Jumin Han, Jumin Han, Jumin Han” you repeated in front of the mirror. When you wished for Jumin to be real on Halloween night, you didn’t expect him to turn out to be a criminal lord with a strange pet fetish… Keywords: Super AU, self-insert, loss of control kink, pet kink, creepy dominant Jumin, criminal setting, yandere, also some Yoosung X Seven and Jaehee X Zen Author’s Notes: Apologies to everyone who expected super filthy sex – after the last scene in chapter 8, my beta and I came to the conclusion that there was nothing left to add, so this epilogue is mainly to tie up the loose ends (though I remain open to the idea of an extra chapter of smut because who doesn’t love more of that, right? XD) That said, it transits nicely for the next project, which I let you discover at the end ~ enjoy!

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8

Chapter 9: Epilogue

“You know, I never understood why he chose to bury you here. It’s just so…not you” Simon stressed, then frowned at his inability to express himself better. He didn’t mean the emplacement of her grave, not really; no one could have argued that the place wasn’t as exceptionally beautiful as the girl it guarded. Delicate flowers constantly bloomed around the headstone, like each of them was a tear from the angel engraved at its top; even the leaves of the willows surrounding it seemed to weep with gentle elegance, which was everything Erika had been. Gentle. Elegant. And weeping, though most of them were too jaded or tactful to remember that fact.

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful to live in a world without suffering, Simon?..” she used to ask. Hopeful, at first, as all idealists are; no amount of problems ever seem too many for serious caritative work to overcome, especially once the cure for the lentivirus was found. Years and repetition, however, slowly moved her focus from those solved to those remaining, until simple math laid the truth bare; it’d never be enough. For one tree of misery down, a whole forest grew in its place; and while a more philosophical person would have argued that it was even more reason to keep trying, Erika’s fire turned inwards instead. Guilt for those she was unable to save burned her soul like a fiery sun, and whereas despair drove her mind to radical cultism in the first loop, here she just escaped her cousin’s fretful watch, picked a bunch of syringes and walked straight into an odopium den.

With predictable results, considering the crazed junkies inside, although he wasn’t sure she had anticipated just how utterly brutal a death it would be. If not for herself, then for her loved ones; he couldn’t believe she was so far gone that she hadn’t considered how traumatizing it would be for Yvan to scrap her remains off the floor. Perhaps she had simply thought they’d choke or bludgeon her to get the drug, and that eternal darkness wouldn’t come first soaked in red.

Or maybe she did know, and chose to do it nonetheless; it’s not like she left a note to explain any of it. V swore it had been suicide by proxy and nothing else, and though it had certainly had been, Simon liked to think there had been more to it; that her recklessness had in fact been defiance, like a giant middle finger to the Fates that governed this world. It comforted him like a mug of hot chocolate, whenever he thought too hard about his own predicament, to imagine there had been meaning to an otherwise pointless end; to entertain that perhaps she had known, too, and sought her own exit. The theory that her own script prescribed that she always brought people down with her could be as good as any, after all; it was possible that she tried a scenario where it didn’t mean for innocents or her fiancé to suffer needlessly.

Not that she could verify it or that it actually worked even a teensy little bit; as such, he supposed Jehan’s choice of scenery made some kind of sense, at least on a symbolic level. Erika slept forever in her little plot of paradise, and the path to it was bordered with hellish gore; people who were crucified, dismembered, hanging by their entrails in a chorus of agonized moans that could be heard all the way up to the bridge like supplicants waiting to cross to the other side, her side, where forgiveness and peace might wait.

They certainly wouldn’t find any on this side. Identifiable as Jumin as Jehan might be, he had none of his Christian faith or capacity for mercy; and while V might have once have the heart to influence his friend, this version actually thanked him for being so gruesome. Simon would have called it a perversion of the established order, but the recent events made him doubt he could even cling to that as a reference to what was supposed to be.

Hence why he was here.

“I don’t know where to begin, to be honest” he said out loud. Thoughts were bouncing in his head like in a ping-pong game, and it was hard to pick what was the most important. “I know you’d say to start with the beginning, but there’s not much on that side. We found the Chinese goods – thankfully, God, we did, otherwise I don’t know how many people Jehan would have shot to motivate us, I mean he was so pissed when his pet had her meltdown—” he rambled, then winced at his choice of words. There was really no hope if even he had internalized her as pet rather than girl, which was both the crux of the problem and not.

“It broke Yvan, in any case” he continued with practiced detachment. He wasn’t sure if he had seen the girl or not, but the crazed look in his eyes when he had raced in his apartment left no doubt that he had pieced enough to understand, and, well — Simon had done his best to distract him with his dick, but hadn’t been able to stay hard very long once Yvan suggested he could be his puppy. It wasn’t just the frail way he said it, like he was trying to make the girl’s plight okay by embracing it too, but his own reaction to the idea; for a brief second, he had been tempted to agree. It’d be trading a scar for another, sure, but Yvan would be happy, and—

He had snarled in disgust, at himself, as a warning, and Yvan hadn’t understood and ran away in tears, and he had been left... not caring, because he really didn’t, but... wondering. For all the worsening of the loop, it was still the first time he thought Yvan could have been happy.

And the girl was happy too, from what he understood. It was a horrible kind of happy, but she was happy nonetheless, blissfully so, apparently. Rumour had it that she rolled at Jehan’s feet every night in an imitation of a cat begging to be played with, with no sound out her lips but mewls of delight. Not that Jehan ever confirmed it, but the walls weren’t totally soundproofed, and she wasn’t exactly discreet in her appreciation of him. And if that was truly the case, then…

“I suppose I should mention her friend too, before going any further” he sighed. It hadn’t been pleasant to go behind his brother’s back and check the logs of his “volunteers” – poor saps who didn’t know better and were roped in with promises of a fat paycheck and an entry point into Jehan’s organization. Once they realized they were to be used as lab rats for his odopium’s experimentations until madness ensued, it was typically much too late.

He wondered if Maria had known the risks and still soldiered on for the sake of her friend, or if her demise at been by design. Another wish gone wrong, phrased wrong, “please, God, give me another opportunity to reach her”, and the next morning in the newspapers, that treacherous ad shining like gold—

Not that it mattered. The only detail of importance was that she hadn’t succeeded, because the previous times her role had; and while he at first had chalked it up to the worsening of the loop, suddenly he wasn’t so sure. Her death, cruel as it was, had after all reinforced the chances of the girl becoming Jehan’s pet, and thus, happy—

And, well, what if the loop wasn’t worsening every time, as he first assumed, but just… reverting?

Which was easily the most horrifying theory he ever had. To think perhaps what he considered the first world was in fact the last, and that the pendulum was just swinging back to its previous status quo, and that everyone would soon become so… twistedly happy again?

He’d rather die than ever having to find out what that meant for everyone, though he suspected dying wouldn’t be quite enough.

“I thought you would understand best” he confessed to the tomb. Since she made the same wish, in her way, it stood to reason she would give him her blessings was she alive.

“I’m going to make another wish to be free of the loop, ‘Rika” he admitted at last, his voice strengthening as his will took shape. “But not for myself, this time. I’m going to wish that every fucked up part of ourselves go their merry way to have their own brand of happy, in their own bibbity bobbity universe, I don’t give a shit as long as it let us return to what is right. Jumin will turn back into that good old robot we all know and love, and his Jehan part will go fuck girls into his obedient pets in another dimension, and it if it means I’m condemning a whole galaxy to misery, then so be it. I mean we’ll never know, right? We’ll be happy. And you’ll be too, this time, damn it.”

There was sudden gust of wind, a gentle breeze like a caress against his cheek, and he smiled one last time before pushing the words out his mouth:

“I wish…”

///THE END (…?)

A/N: “Puppy, why did you end it so quickly? We were just getting to the good part!” I hear you say. Not because I’m tired of writing, fear not, but because as I wrote this story I began to be more and more frustrated by the restraints of it being a fanfic – meaning I had to respect Jumin’s boundaries as a character, no matter how much I twisted him, and that severely limited me in what I could do with him. I dunno for you, but I want more – I want a story with a Jumin-type character where I can go all out on the kink scale without having to hold myself back because shit that’s not Jumin-esque enough. I want him psychopathic. I want him creepy as fuck. I want him out of his yandere mind at power 100000000000.

And so, I thought…why not? Better yet; why limit myself to written words? Why not a drama CD out of it, so we can lie on our beds and hear a sweet maniac romance us into being his pet?

For those still thirsting for MM, fear not, I still have Sharing is Caring to complete! For those who love the idea though, I leave you with this teaser while I prepare further material:

See you all soon! <3

#mystic messenger #mystic messenger fanfiction #fanfiction #jumin #jumin han #jumin x reader #jumin/reader #summoning candyman

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fixthedisconnect · 6 years ago

Text

The Beginning

tl;dr

Trying to improve myself

In haiku form, son!

This is me. Lying on a couch. Down and out. Well maybe not out but definitely not in and very much down. If life were a game, I’m currently AFK. Discouraged. Disheartened. An argument could be made for “broken”. Certainly more than Hercules level of despair

It's difficult to describe. I'm unsure if my problems qualify as legitimate (as opposed to un-legit) Unsure if I'm just perceiving them to be bigger or worse than they actually are? I really don't want to complain. We all know that person who is… “A little ray of sunshine” shall we say. Nothing is EVER good enough. They hate puppies and rainbows. They could be be unhappy at Disneyland. No one likes being around those people. They’re probably also communists.

*Side note, was there a scientific study published in a reputable peer reviewed journal with statistically significant data showing a clear correlation that led the researchers to fail to reject the null hypothesis, or whatever, and ultimately declare Mouse land “The Happiest Place on Earth”?... If not, Disney is MIGHTY sure of themselves. The HAPPIEST? Of ALL other places? I mean, have they even heard of the Great British Baking Show? Do you even bake, bruh? Don't get me wrong, Disneyland is up there but if I had to pick between the two, I'm more than fairly sure I'd have to go with the tasting tent in the middle of an English countryside, eating Puff pastries listening to Paul's thick liverpudlian accent. Okay less his accent, it's more of an excuse to say liverpudlian. Try it. It's fun. I think that gives the Peter pan ride a run for its money at least.

But I digress, back to me ;)

I was saying I don’t wish to be the aforementioned type of person so I try not to complain (some of y’all who know me personally are stifling scoffs I’m sure) and I realize there are many, MANY people who have it MUCH worse than me. I am also BEYOND grateful for the good things I do have in my life.

BUT!

… at the same time, the stuff I’m dealing with really does seem like a bit to me.

I have an injured tailbone that’s been a source of constant pain for about 3 years now. I used to be able to sit in a certain position or on a specific chair without it hurting but now it’s pretty much 24/7. Yet x-rays, MRIs, trigger point and nerve blocking injections and several different meds have not helped at all.

I’m in my 30s now which apparently means your ribs pop out of place while you sleep. I get them cracked back into place at the Chiropractor and they're out again the next morning. Basically it hurts to breathe and I can feel my back muscles scraping over my ribs.

My house is ALSO falling apart and I can’t afford to fix it. My backyard is a dirt pile and I feel SUPER awesome that my kids don’t have grass to run around in. Our plumbing, electrical, and roof all need to be replaced because the house was built before electricity was a thing. Well... 1950. Which is basically the same. And every time I look around at everything that’s broken I feel worse because I’m reminded that I don’t have the means to fix it. Why don’t I have the the funds? Welp...

I’ve been laid off 3 times in the last 4 years and since graduating college 6 years ago have yet to be at one job longer than a year. I pretty much live in fear that every day I go into work will be my last and live in constant stress of how I’m going to provide for my family. It wouldn’t be so bad if I had a marketable skill but I majored in German Literature (long story for another day) and sadly not too many people are looking to hire me to read books to them in German and write sub-par research papers about the motivations of the protagonists...

Why don’t you just learn a new skill, you might ask? That’s a great question. I’ll tell you. In SONG form

No? Monty Python? Anyone? Bueller? NM...

I haven’t had a good night’s sleep for about 2 years (which remarkably coincides with how old our youngest child is) and am effectively a zombie now living off cold pizza & diet mtn dew. That’s what zombies eat, right? Low energy, difficult to focus, seconds away from weeping most days. Which means I have had a beast of a time trying to find the time, motivation and energy to learn to code or be a graphic/ web designer or whatever skill will guarantee that I don’t have a heart attack every time someone says, “Hey, you got a sec?”

So, as a zombie dad, most days I wake up late, trying to get every last second of “sleep” that I can, roll out of bed, shove some “food” in my face and rush off to work (usually without showering, shaving, brushing teeth or any thing resembling self care or hygiene). Gross, I know. And believe me, I’m not boasting here. I live in a state of constant embarrassment of myself. But may I remind you... zombie.

Then I sit in pain for 8 hrs at a job I don’t care for (but am beyond grateful for) and am afraid to lose, hop in my almost broken vehicle & head home to eat a delicious meal made by my beautiful, loving wife. Try not to take the disappointment in my children’s eyes to heart when I tell them I can’t play with them because I’m too tired and in too much pain. Get them down to bed and instead of using the remaining hour or so to do something productive, I fall asleep while watching Parks & Rec through for the 100th time because it’s funny and I need as much levity and release as I can get. Then I’m on the night shift (usually up 2 or 3 times a night getting bottles, changing diapers, rocking back to sleep, etc) and doing it again the next day. Worn out. Run Down. Scraping by, dragging my broken down body through the motions of a “life.”

I feel like this:

Not like a cool zombie

Geez... He makes it look so EASY and fun...

Now, you’re not gonna believe me, but I SWEAR I’m not complaining. Seriously. Just explaining where I’m at these days. Setting the stage, painting the backdrop, giving you some context. I REALLY do try not to complain because as I said, I know it could be way worse and I really am grateful for the good things I DO have and if this is the price for those things and people, I’ll do it again and again.

But do you see what I mean? Some might say, you don’t shower every day? You don’t brush your teeth regularly? But in my mind and body, I’m just too tired and don’t have time. Last year I broke two back molars in half chewing on gum. Yup, gum. And I lived with that for 6 months because I couldn’t get them fixed because I didn’t have insurance because I didn’t have a job. Seems like a legitimate reason versus a lame excuse.

But I know other people who are going to school full time, while working 2 jobs who seldom see their family let alone get time to play with them. Making do with less and seemingly more put-together than I am. So am I just making excuses then? I mean, have you SEEN this kid?!

Now, I know I shouldn’t compare myself to others. I know everyone’s got their own challenges and I should only compare myself to the best version of myself. But that’s just the thing. I AM comparing myself to myself. And I’m not even CLOSE.

It’s not that I’m dissatisfied with life. It’s not that I just want more money (though that couldn’t hurt) or a bigger house or power or fame. I really only want enough to care for my family and some extra to help others out. It’s more of a discontent with who I am as a person. I’m not as nice as I’d like to be. I’m not as skilled as I’d like to be. I’m not as humble as I’d like to be. The list goes on... Literally. I have a list. A back log of ideas I want to try, things I want to learn, skills I want to have and put to use, people I want to help.

Basically, I have bad health, bad financial situation, no career, super awesome self esteem, fragile mental health, and not much of a social life.

Sooooo... So so SO!

I’m changing. This WAS me.

I’m on a journey to finally achieve everything I’ve been putting off and become the best version of me. And I hope you’ll join me on the trip because I hope to learn from all this and I hope that someone somewhere can learn something as well. Even if that’s what NOT to do (Hey man, if it helps SOMEbody, I consider it a success and worth any effort).

So, follow along. I’ll share what I can along the way. And make sure to let me know how I can help you achieve YOUR goals too! Until later!

#25by35 #In The Beginning #Fresh Start #Goals #FixTheDisconnect

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