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beckzorz · 6 years ago

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Spring Break (one-shot)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Words: 5905 Prompt: “Try that again and you’ll wind up dead.” Summary: A collision in JFK International Airport leaves Bucky Barnes with the wrong phone. You can still take photos of your vacation on his, but the nuclear codes are a slightly bigger problem. Warnings: Swearing, lingerie photos A/N: Happy spring break (for me at least)! This was written for @ruckystarnes‘ 2K writing challenge—congrats and thanks so much for hosting!! I had a ton of fun :D Thank you also to my wonderful friend @kentuckybarnes for beta reading <3 Hope you enjoy!!

He raced through the terminal, heart pounding and blood rushing in his ears. The device in his hand felt heavy, heavier than its half-dozen ounces. It wasn’t the black and charcoal case weighing it down, but the knowledge that it held more deadly information than even Bucky Barnes was comfortable holding.

Bucky scooted around a large tour group, taking the opportunity to shed his garish jacket and toss it under a nearby row of chairs. He glanced down at the phone in his hand and swore under his breath; the battery was flashing, its life all but drained away.

Then it died.

Bucky cursed for real this time, his eyes glued to the now-black screen. How long would it take to boot back up? He chanced a look over his shoulder as he ran on, but his pursuers were nowhere in sight. At least he had—

Slam.

Bucky grunted as he pitched forward, his legs tangling with someone else’s as the phone in his hand went flying. He caught himself on his right arm—the left would have made a very noticeable noise—and rolled away from the woman gasping under him, snatching up his phone.

“Sorry,” he blurted. He barely registered her wince, too busy scanning the terminal.

“Fucking hell,” she gasped. She clambered to her knees with the help of her friend and grabbed her own phone, its case also muted dark colors. “Watch where you’re going, will you?”

Bucky’s ears caught the telltale sound of his pursuers—still too far to be seen, but still far too close for comfort. His eyes flitted briefly over the woman’s face. She was more angry than hurt, at least.

“Sorry,” he said again, and then he ran on.

By the time he made it through security—thank god for his fresh SHIELD badge—Natasha was waiting in her corvette. He dove into the passenger seat. A charge cord was already plugged in, waiting.

“Go, go,” he urged.

“Nice to see you too,” Natasha said drily, but she pulled away from the curb, weaving expertly between cars as Bucky fumbled with the charge cord. He waited with bated breath for the lock screen to come up.

When it did, Bucky gaped. Instead of the plan black background he’d expected, there was a background image. A painting? Was that Monet?

A text message notification slid onto the screen.

Disha: Have fun girl!!! Take lots of pictures of the beach for me while I wither away in the library 😂 😂 😂

Bucky’s eyes bugged out.

“What the fuck?”

—

“I can’t believe we made it,” Mira said. She sagged in her seat, kicking off her flats. “First the train gets delayed, then you have to run into a fucking maniac—”

“Hey,” you said, “he ran into me.” You brandished your arm; you could already feel a bruise forming on your elbow.

“It’s not like you were watching your step.” Mira snorted and leaned forward to peer out the window. “How long before we take off, d’you think?”

“As long as it’s soon, I don’t really care.” You lean back and spread your hands, painting a picture in your mind. “All I want is to be lying under an umbrella with the waves lapping at my feet in less than twenty-four hours. Is that too much to ask?”

“After four months of a New York winter? Hell no.”

You giggled along with Mira. The plane finally drove onto the runway, and in minutes, you were in the skies.

—

“I’m sorry, you what?”

Bucky kicked the doorpost, scowling. “My phone got swapped with some—some girl’s.”

“How the hell did that happen, Buck?”

“They were on my tail,” Bucky snapped. “Airports are busy when they haven’t been evacuated, Steve!”

Steve groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, yeah… Well, now what? Where is it? That phone’s got so many hot secrets on it that someone’s bound to realize we’ve lost it sooner than later.”

“That’s the problem.” Bucky screwed up his face, dreading the inevitable reaction. “I did too good a job encrypting my phone. I’ve got no idea where it is.”

Steve’s eyes popped. He grabbed his hair until it all stood on end. “Bucky! What the fuck! There are nuclear codes on your phone right now!”

“Think I forgot, punk?” Bucky scoffed and flung himself into the nearest chair. “Trust me, if I look calm it’s only so I don’t bust any more holes in Stark’s fancy-ass walls.” He clenched his hands together, the knuckles on his right hand white with tension. “I need the footage from the airport. If we can figure out where she’s goin’—”

“Right.” Steve ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it back down. “I’ll get on it. In the meantime, figure out who this girl is. If the wrong people figure out what she’s packing, she’s gonna be in some deep trouble.”

—

“Hey, can I borrow your charger? Mine’s in the overhead bin.”

“Sure.” Mira unplugged her phone. You plugged yours in and drummed your hands on the armrest between you as you looked out over the Atlantic. Cirrus clouds floated below you, casting wispy shadows along the rippling water miles below. Germs, noisy children, and airports aside, you did love flying.

“Did you change your phone background?” Mira asked.

“Huh?” You glanced at your phone, then snatched it up with a frown. The photo you’d taken of Monet’s Water Lilies was nowhere to be seen. Just a boring black background. “No…” You pressed your thumb to the home button, but it vibrated in your hand and stayed locked. “Weird.” You tried again, rotating your thumb a millimeter this way and that until you were prompted to enter your passcode.

But that didn’t work either.

“What the hell?”

“Wait,” Mira said. She shook her finger in midair, lips parted. “That guy you ran into! He dropped his phone too! Maybe you swapped!”

“Oh nooo,” you groaned. “Fuck! What am I going to do?”

Mira snorted. “You can live without your phone for a week, silly.”

“No I can’t! I was going to take photos! I can’t grab your phone every time I want to take a picture.” Even as you spoke, you thought of something. You swiped up on the strange phone and grinned triumphantly. “Ha! I can still take photos. Whoever’s phone this is is just gonna have to deal.”

You looked out the window again. It was a perfect view—some more clouds now, and the sun hitting the waves… You angled the phone and snapped a photo.

“Do you think they have iCloud?” Mira said.

“Who knows. All I know is that I’m going to stop caring about this little misstep and start enjoying myself.” You stuffed the stranger’s phone under your leg, linked your hands behind your head, and grinned.

—

Bucky took a swig of coffee. Breaking into the stranger’s phone had been insanely easy. He wasn’t used to working with civvie tech. After putting in so much effort to cracking through actual security, this felt absurd. Did she have any idea how easy it was?

Were all civilian phones this easy to get into?

Dear lord.

He pushed the thought aside and focused back on the array of screens. He’d hooked the phone up to the computers in his room, and now it was as simple as scrolling through emails and contact lists, text message histories, photos—

Bucky choked on his coffee. It sloshed in his mug, some spilling over his fingers. He swore, but his eyes were glued to the screen.

The third-to-last picture was um. It was.

Lingerie.

The picture wasn’t even blown up; it was just there, the same size as two dozen others, almost innocent in its placement between a photo of a salad and another of some latte art. Apparently this girl—woman, dear god, she was a fucking woman alright—liked taking photos of food.

And of herself, in a mirror, barely clothed.

The fleeting glimpse he’d gotten of her in the airport had done her zero justice. A scowl was never the best introduction, but… Damn. The difference that the soft lighting and soft smile and soft skin made was fucking huge.

Bucky swallowed and closed the window. He did not need to be seeing that. Distracting, that’s what it was. Unsettling. He shifted in his seat, tugging at his pants.

Data. Right.

He started with the emails. Easy enough. Most of them were forwarded from a university—was she a student? He checked some of the opened emails. There it was—grad student union. Suspicion confirmed. He found her flight receipt in short order. Grand Cayman? He leaned back in his chair to check the calendar on the other wall. Mid-March?

Had to be spring break.

A knock came at his door as he was scanning for any information on hotels or Airbnbs.

“What?” he called.

Natasha poked her head in. “Something popped up,” she said. She held out her tablet, eyes wandering over to his screens. “Your phone’s locked, but she’s still using it.”

“Huh?”

“Camera’s still accessible,” Natasha explained. “Looks like she’s en route to—” She peered over his shoulder and passed him the tablet. “Grand Cayman.”

Bucky stared. His iCloud photos were on display. The whole screen, save the newest photo, were photos of documents he’d temporarily filched from a facility in Irkutsk Oblast. Then, at the bottom right, there was the new photo. It wasn’t Russian documents, and it certainly wasn’t from Irkutsk Oblast. Just sun on the water, with soft clouds hanging in the sky.

It looked a lot nicer than New York at the moment, that was for sure.

“Well, I knew she was gettin’ on a plane.”

“What else have you found out?” Natasha asked.

“Grad student, from the area, on vacation with a friend. Nothing about a hotel so far.”

“Maybe the friend booked it.”

Bucky hummed. Made sense. He did some more digging. The woman didn’t have a banking app on her phone.

Finally, some common sense.

“What now?” Natasha asked. She snagged his discarded mug and finished off his coffee. “Ugh, I don’t know how you can handle so much sugar.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t drink other people’s coffee,” he said snidely. She stuck her tongue out at him, eyes twinkling. Bucky rolled his eyes. “What now? I’m gonna figure out how to get in touch with her without being entirely creepy about it. Don’t want her freakin’ out.”

“Good luck with that,” Natasha said with snort. She patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry, James, I’m sure it’ll be juuust fine.”

—

“Mira, this is too swanky!”

You turned in place, mouth agape. Your hotel room looked right out onto the water, the bed plenty large for both of you and the sheer curtains blowing in the breeze. And there was a table with two chairs, a mini fridge, bathrobes even…

“My dad had a lot of points on his travel rewards card,” Mira said. “And given that we’re graduating in May…” She shrugged a shoulder, smiling coyly. “We deserve a little treat.”

“Well, bless your dad!” You squeezed Mira in a tight hug, then ran to the window. The sun was low in the sky, almost skimming the horizon, light glittering off the gentle waves. “This is absolutely heaven.”

You opened up the camera on the stranger’s phone and snapped a photo of the water. You lowered the phone and bit your lip. Did the man who’d bumped into you have iCloud? Could he see the photos you were taking? So far, you’d only taken shots of the ocean. Was it safe to take a photo of yourself? It’s not like you needed one, but more than one person had asked to see pics.

Wait.

This guy had the same phone as you. That meant he had the same charger. That meant—

“Mira, can I use your phone?” you blurted.

“Uh, what for?” Mira looked up from her perch on the bed, where she was sorting through her suitcase. She’d already taken out her two bathing suits, but you ignored the cute frills in favor of sticking your hand in her face.

“I’m going to text my phone! Maybe that guy will have charged my phone by now, and then we can figure out how the hell I’m gonna get my phone back after we get home.”

“Ohhhh.” Mira proffered her phone. “Just don’t go giving him your passwords or anything,” she warned.

“Are you kidding? I’m not stupid.” You flopped down in the chair by the window, the breeze tickling your skin, and got to typing.

—

Mira: Hi, this is the person you ran into at the airport. We switched phones after you knocked us over. We should figure out how to get our phones back. Can you send me an email at [email]?

—

“Oh thank god,” Bucky muttered. He reread the text, grateful beyond words that she’d beaten him to the punch. He’d been about to send this Mira a text of his own, but couldn’t figure out how to do so without exposing himself. Now, he had an out. He opened a new browser window and sent off an email from one of his many covers, hoping his desperation wasn’t too obvious.

—

“This James guy seems pretty desperate to get his phone back,” you said. You were lying next to Mira on the bed, the BBC muted on the tv on the other side of the room. Mira, bless her, was letting you use her phone to check your email.

“Who can blame him?” Mira laughed. “Look at you!”

“Hey, these things are expensive!” You couldn’t help but giggle in return, embarrassed though you were. “Besides, pretty much everyone’s a little addicted. So what’s on the docket for tomorrow? Breakfast downstairs, then beach?”

Mira started to respond, but her jaw dropped. “Look!” she gasped.

You stared at the tv. Mira scrambled for the remote, and with the push of a button a crisp English voice piped out of the speakers.

“—engers are apparently in the midst of a scandal of their own today, as can be seen from this chase in JFK International Airport in New York. Sergeant James Barnes, also known as the Winter Soldier, is seen here fleeing from members of a Russian terror organization known as—”

Mira muted the television.

“What the fuck,” you breathed. You stared down at James’ phone, then back at the tv. A severe headshot of the Winter Soldier stared back at you. You’d seen his face for a second, maybe two, but there was no denying it.

You had the Winter Soldier’s phone.

“What the fuck?!” you yelped.

“Omigod, be quiet,” Mira hissed, clapping a hand over your mouth. You made frantic noises into her uncomfortably strong grip until she dropped her hand.

“Sorry, sorry,” you said quietly. Your shoulders were up around your ears, your bra straps digging into your skin. “I—what? What the fuck? This was almost funny before, but this?” You gestured wordlessly to the black-cased phone at your feet. “This is unreal.”

Mira reached out and picked up the phone gingerly. “I wonder what’s on here,” she mused.

“Well I don’t,” you said. “Dear god, how many state secrets are on that thing?!”

“Yes, well, of the two of us, I’m the polisci major, so…”

Mira’s cheeky grin was enough to break the tension. You chuckled, shoulders dropping a little.

“I suppose this is what I get for running late this morning.” You collapsed back onto the bed and stared up at the smooth ceiling. “Mira, do you think we’ll be okay?”

Mira grabbed your hand and squeezed it fondly. “Of course we’ll be okay, babe.” She got up to turn off the lights and crawled back in beside you. “Now get some beauty sleep. We’ve got a beach day tomorrow!”

—

“Bad news, Barnes,” Tony announced. He tosses a dossier onto the briefing table. “Someone tipped off the news. BBC, CNN, Fox—they’re all over your little jaunt at JFK.”

Bucky groaned. He was tired enough—a midnight briefing was never fun, but this? Today? He’d had it. “Seriously?” He opened the folder and winced. There it was, a blurry screenshot of his little tumble to the ground. He glanced at Steve and Natasha; both of them were wincing, too. “Fuck.”

“Oh, it gets worse,” Tony said. He gestured for Bucky to turn the page.

Same screenshot, but it was blown up even more. And there, easily visible, were the two phones on the floor.

“We intercepted that particular picture on the dark web an hour ago.” Tony sat on the edge of the table right next to Bucky, his foot tapping in the empty air. “There’s a race to see if you ended up with the wrong phone.”

Bucky’s blood ran cold. “What?”

“There’s a fifty-fifty chance you snatched up the wrong phone,” Tony said. “So…” He shrugged. “They’re hedging their bets in favor of you being an absolute idiot.” Tony’s face had lost all traces of humor. “That civilian, not to mention her friend or the rest of Grand Cayman Island, is in serious danger right now. All it’s gonna take is one trigger-happy goon, and—”

“I get it!” Bucky snapped. His brain supplied him with plenty of fodder: her in her lingerie, her in a bikini, her in jeans and ankle boots like she had been at the airport, blood spreading around her in a puddle. “How fast can you get me to Grand Cayman?”

—

You woke with a lazy stretch as morning light filtered in through the curtains.

Mira was already in the shower, humming loud enough that you could hear her from bed. Her phone was charging on the far bedside table; you’d shut James’ phone off before you’d fallen asleep, not particularly interested in dealing with its existence while you were sleeping off the flight.

You padded over to the window and smiled at the view of the sun-kissed ocean. God, this place really was heaven.

A sharp buzzing from the bed disrupted the serene setting. You wandered over to Mira’s phone, curious.

Your heart leapt out of your chest. It was you calling.

You glanced at the bathroom door, blood rushing in your ears, before you snatched up Mira’s phone and answered the call.

“Hello?”

“Is this Mira?”

Your breath caught at the familiar voice on the other end. “No. Is this James?”

A pause.

“Yeah. Yeah it is.” James let out a low breath. “You, uh…”

“I saw the news,” you said quickly. Would he understand? You weren’t sure how much was safe to say.

“Oh. Um, good.”

You sat on the edge of the bed, fiddling with the charge cord. “Are you alright?” you asked.

“What? Yeah, I’m fine.” He sounded bewildered. “Are you okay?”

“Well, my vacation just got a little more complicated, but yeah, I’m fine.” You couldn’t help but smile a little. For all that he was a fearless assassin, he was worried. It was… cute.

“I don’t think ‘a little’ quite covers it,” he said quietly.

You froze. “What do you mean?”

“I fucked up,” James said bluntly. “People are going to try and come after you.”

A shudder ran through you. You clenched your free hand into a fist, the cord cutting into your fingers. You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

“I’m on my way to you,” he continued.

“What?! How?”

His low chuckle cuts straight through your fear. “You said you saw the news.”

“Oh,” you say stupidly. “Right.” James Barnes, Winter Soldier, assassin, Avenger. Of course he’d figured out where you were. Hell, he had your phone. No doubt the security on a normal iPhone was nothing to a guy like that. You ran your tongue along your lips as you thought of how sturdy he’d felt barreling into you.

Mm.

“So,” James said, cutting into your thoughts. “I should be there in a few hours. Can you keep to yourself til then?”

“No way! I’m not holing myself up in my hotel room on my spring break,” you said. “I’ll lay low, sure, but—”

“You do know your life is at risk, right?”

“I’m a woman. My life is always at risk,” you snapped. “I know how to handle myself, okay?”

“You—” James cut himself off. “Listen. I obviously can’t tell you what to do, but I really don’t want your death on my conscience. Please be careful—” He broke off again.

Had he been about to say your name? You suspected so. The worry in his voice softened you. Maybe he wasn’t thinking of you specifically, but… well, it was nice to pretend. Despite the unflattering photo from the BBC, you knew the man was gorgeous. Was it so bad to imagine he cared?

“Alright,” you murmured. “I’ll be careful.”

He let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he said earnestly. “I’ll see you soon.”

—

Bucky had flown across the globe countless times. To Australia, to Irkutsk, to Antarctica. From New York to Grand Cayman in one of Tony’s jets was less than four hours.

But on the other end was a woman with guts, with an inner fire and yet enough reason to listen to his advice, with fucking lingerie photos on her phone. He shifted in his seat and stared down at the water below.

He’d never had a longer flight.

—

Three hours later, you were fuming. You couldn’t believe you’d agreed to stay inside. Mira was out on the beach below, and every so often she’d wave up at the window. She’d made friends with a gaggle of bubbly undergrads that you could hear from the hotel. You were so fucking bored from sitting here watching sitcoms and drumming your fingers on the windowsill.

Mira had understood, of course, but still, you were beyond ready to take yourself and your new bathing suit into the water. You were already dressed for the beach—sultry bathing suit, a sheer white cover-up skating along your thighs, strappy sandals to save your feet from the burning sand. Your sunglasses and floppy hat were waiting on the rumpled bed.

Dammit, when the hell was James going to get here? He’d said a few hours, and it had already been three…

If you had to wait another whole hour, you were going to scream.

You wandered over to the hallway door and peered out of the eyehole. No one. The door was double-locked. Your hand hovered by the deadlock as curiosity teased your brain. Would a little peek hurt?

The elevator dinged in the hall, and your heart leapt into your throat. You pressed your eye back against the peephole and held your breath. Two men, dressed conspicuously in dark, thick clothes, wandered slowly down the hall towards your room. They passed your door, though one of them looked straight at the peephole with narrowed eyes.

You jerked away, heart pounding. They were scoping the place out! They knew where you were!

Mira had left her phone with you in anticipation of James’ next call. You typed in the passcode with shaking fingers and locked yourself in the bathroom, hoping the strange men wouldn’t be able to hear you from the hallway. You dialed your phone number. Every ring went on forever.

Finally, James picked up.

“I’m almost there. What’s wrong?” he said without preamble.

“Oh thank god,” you whispered. You pressed a hand to your thudding heart. The edge had already come off at the sound of his soft baritone. “I think someone knows my room. Well, there’s two of them—white men, heavy clothes. Not vacationers. They were going down my hallway, but they looked right at my room…”

“Well, keep the door locked,” James said. “I assume it’s locked.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yrs. It’s double-locked. Should I stuff a chair under the doorknob too?” you asked sarcastically.

“Might as well,” he said. There was a touch of humor in his voice. “No harm in being thorough.”

A little giggle burst out of you, and you stuffed your knuckles in your mouth to stifle yourself. “Whatever you say, Sergeant Barnes,” you teased, voice low.

His breath hitched, and a sudden flush spread across your face and down your neck. Did you really just say that?

Oops.

“Right,” he said, voice slightly strangled. “Well, I’ll be there in five. Don’t get killed before then.” He paused. When he spoke again, his voice was gentle. “Put the chair under the doorknob. I’ll call when I’m there.”

He hung up. You cradled the phone to your ear, longing to hear his voice again.

Five minutes.

For James Barnes, you could wait that long.

—

Bucky’s disguise was good. He looked like a buff hipster. Round sunglasses, a v-neck white tee, fitted jeans with more stretch than their appearance let on, and his customary black boots rounded it all out. The backpack was all straight lines, and far too small for a reasonable amount of stuff. He’d had to leave most of his favorite guns behind. Still, he had a few knives tucked away, not to mention the pistols in easy reach.

Then there was the holographic cover for his left arm, though Tony, the bastard, had given it a tattoo that Bucky never would have considered. Watercolor flowers and vines crawled up from the pretend wrist right up to his shoulder. Bucky didn’t even know if his real skin would hold a tattoo, what with the advanced healing. Would his body just flush the ink away?

He wasn’t particularly interested in finding out.

Did she like tattoos?

Bucky shook his head as he climbed out of the rental car and squinted up at the swanky hotel. He whistled under his breath. Damn, this was almost as fancy as the sort of places Tony liked. No doubt the rooms all had nice, big beds…

“Enough,” he muttered to himself.

He eased his way through the milling tourists and headed straight past reception. No one questioned him. He looked like he belonged. He made sure of it.

Bucky bypassed the elevators for the sweeping staircase and climbed up two steps at a time. Her room was on the second floor, down the western corridor. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the two men she’d described loitering halfway down the hall. He ducked down a side hallway before they noticed him, heart hammering in his chest.

It was one thing to give her advice over the phone. Seeing two men at her door, men he recognized from his Irkutsk Oblast mission?

This was something else entirely.

He knew almost nothing about her, but what he did know—and what he’d seen—painted a picture he wasn’t likely to soon forget. If something happened to her, with him so damn close…

No.

Bucky whipped off the sunglasses and hooked them in his collar. He slid a semi-automatic pistol out of his belt and let out a slow breath as he turned off the safety. He let the memory of her face flicker in his mind one last time before he pushed it aside, saving it for later.

A bang echoed down the hallway.

Bucky ran silently down the hall. Neither man had noticed him yet. They were clambering inside the room, forty feet away, now twenty, and then the taller one glanced over.

His eyes widened comically.

Bucky fired at the man’s kneecaps in rapid succession. He collapsed with a howl, curling up into a fetal position. The other leapt inside the room with a grunt. Bucky covered the last few meters and skidded to a stop by the bust-open door, eyes wide and gun at the ready.

—

The lamp shattered against the shorter goon’s head just as he jumped to his feet.

He wavered in place. You scampered back breathlessly, snatching up James’ phone and scanning the room for another weapon.

Then the goon collapsed face-down at your feet. You sagged in relief, and then you realized someone else was there.

In the open doorway, behind the knocked-over chair and through the open door, stood James. His eyes were wide as he took you in. You stared back at him, lips parted in surprise. He looked totally different than the last time you’d seen him. He looked… suspiciously like a hipster.

Your lips twitched. You slapped your free hand over your mouth before you burst out laughing. This—this was James Barnes, Winter Soldier?

No way.

James’s lips twitched.

“Well, nice to see you too,” he said, smiling. He turned to grab the man from the hallway, giving you a perfect view of his ass in those tight pants. You swallowed as he dragged the whimpering man in.

“You’re getting blood on the carpets,” you told him.

“Eh, we’ll leave a big tip.”

The whimpering man wriggled against James’ hold. James tossed him against the wall and shut the splintered door, double-locking it and setting the chair back under the doorknob.

As his back was turned, the still-conscious goon started reaching in his belt. You rolled your eyes.

“Ahem,” you said.

James turned and placed a well-aimed kick to the man’s busted knee. “Try that again and you’ll wind up dead,” he warned. His low growl sent an involuntary shudder through you that—thank god—he didn’t seem to notice. He dragged the unconscious man, the one you’d so excellently knocked out, beside him.

“Want something to tie them up with?” you asked.

James lit on you with such a bright grin your heart skipped a beat. Hipster disguise or not, the man was gorgeous.

“So thoughtful, too,” he murmured. “Thanks, doll.”

A blush rose to your cheeks as you grabbed Mira’s charge cord and tossed it to him. He caught it deftly and tied the goons’ hands together between their backs.

James stood back and crossed his arms as he looked down at the two men on the carpet. “Nice to see you two again,” he said, conversationally. “What brings you here, Yudin?”

The tall one, Yudin, spat at James, who tutted and shook his head. In a flash, his left hand was at Yudin’s throat, stretching his neck uncomfortably high.

You blink, confusion racketing through you as you stare at the pale skin and the watercolor tattoo of James’ left arm. Doesn’t the Winter Soldier have a metal arm? Is the whole thing fake? Did he get a new arm?

“Talk,” James growled.

“Your—phone,” Yudin croaked. “They thought—”

“Who?”

“Общество змей,” Yudin gasped. He wriggled in James’ grip. James threw him back to the floor.

“Спасибо.” He kicked Yudin on the side of the head; the Russian collapsed in a silent heap.

At last, James turned back to you. His sculpted face was lined with concern, and you realized belatedly that your hands were shaking slightly. You laughed nervously and clutched James’ phone tighter.

“You okay?” he asked, his eyes on your face.

“Well, they’re the ones tied up and unconscious, so yes, I think I am.” You let out a slow breath and sat heavily on the bed, James’ phone tucked between your legs. “Thank you, James. You came just in time.”

“Almost too late,” he muttered. He ran a hand through his hair, gave the goons a last look-over, and came to stand in front of you. You gazed up at him, heart racing, as he studied you. He reached a hand out, but it fell back before it touched your face. “They didn’t get to you?”

“No,” you said. You swallowed. He was so close you could practically feel his body heat. Your eyes darted along his body, from the possibly fake tattoo to his thick chest and the pulse point at his neck. Warmth tickled at you, from your face to your neck and down your body. “They didn’t get to me.”

You did, though.

James bit his lip, his eyes as hungry as you felt. Only now did you realize how exposed you really were. There he was, pistol tucked into his belt, fully dressed, while you were in a flimsy cover-up and a bathing suit that showed all too much.

From the look in his eyes, you wondered if to him, it showed all too little.

A fresh wave of heat flooded your face, and you finally looked away. Meekly, you held out his phone.

“Huh? Oh.”

James took his phone from your hands, the brief brush of your fingers electric. Did he feel it? You couldn’t tell. You were afraid to look, afraid that all the feelings swirling inside you were affecting you alone.

But James put a finger under your chin and tilted your face up. His eyes were bright, a flush high in his cheeks. His tongue darted out to wet his lips.

“It was worth it,” he murmured.

Your eyes widened, but before you could speak he ducked to press his lips to yours.

Roaring filled your ears as you gasped into James’ kiss. His hand slid around the back of your neck, hot and heavy against your skin. His lips were like fire. You grabbed hold of his shirt, desperate for purchase. You fell back, legs still dangling off the bed, and tugged James down with you. He grunted, caught himself on his other hand, but he didn’t let go of you and he definitely didn’t stop kissing you. He ran his tongue along your lips, prompting a moan. Only then did he pull away.

If his eyes had been bright before, they were smoldering now. You swallowed and pressed your hands against the broad planes of his chest.

“Totally worth it,” you agreed breathlessly.

James’ answering grin was brighter than the sun. You traced the shape of his mouth with your eyes, committing it to memory, but then he was kissing you again, and you realized there was no way you could ever forget the feel of his mouth on yours.

When you broke the kiss, desperate for air, he hovered with his mouth a hair’s breadth from yours. You lay dizzy beneath him, one hand trailing along his torso while the other tucked his hair behind his ear.

“I thought you seemed a little desperate for your phone back,” you murmured.

He dropped his head against your shoulder and chuckled. “Yeah…” He rolled to lie on his side next to you, one hand propping his head up as the other reached into his back pocket. “Here. I’ve got yours, fully charged.”

You squealed happily and grabbed your phone. Lots of unread texts, but it still had the Monet lockscreen, and it opened under your thumbprint without question.

“Oh, thank you so much, James!” You kissed him again, brief but happy.

“Call me Bucky?” he asked.

You glanced at him, still smiling. “Alright. Bucky.” Then you remembered what you’d said not even fifteen minutes before. A coy smirk grew on your face. You blinked innocently up at him, one finger tapping your chin. “Are you sure you don’t prefer Sergeant Barnes?”

Bucky positively growled. He grabbed you by the waist and dragged you up the bed, eyes burning as he settled on his hands and knees over you. Every last ounce of air left your lungs as he dipped his head to suck a mark against your collarbone. By the time he pulled away, you were putty in his hands.

“Doll,” he said, voice thick and his eyes carrying a world of meaning, “you are about to find out.”

A/N: I don’t speak Russian, so it might be wrong! It translates to “Serpent Society” (which is a canon Marvel evil organization) and “Thanks.”

Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think :D

#rs2kmcuchallenge #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #mcu imagine #bucky barnes x you #becca writes

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twilightofthe · 5 years ago

Note

In celebration of Mutual Acquaintances.. Satine: 5, 6, 7, 8, 28, 31, 42, 47, 48; Obi-Wan: 7, 8, 12, 14, 27, 31, 33, 47, 48; Padmé: 4, 6, 7, 8, 12, 18, 19, 28, 33, 34, 39, 42; The Disaster Boi: 10, 12, 14, 18, 20, 22, 28, 29, 31, 33 and bc we all need more sexuality headcanons, 13 for ALL of them

Whooo-WEE here we go, thank you! Get ready for VERY VERY LONG Rambling!

SATINE

(5) Cleanliness habits: Oh, she’s a total neat freak. Everything in her office is minimalist style and organized to a T. If someone moved something even an inch, she’ll be hounding everyone about who was messing with her stuff. Constantly washing hands, very clean, doesn’t like dust on stuff at all (has a bit of a dust allergy, actually. Lily pollen getting everywhere is a Problem for her). She’s practical, however, and if she HAS to get down and dirty, she will-- of course not without a suitable amount of icky faces made plus a side of complaints xD

(6) Eating habits and sample daily menu: Ok so we’ve got canon showing her eating meat, but don’t tell me Super Pacifism Lady wouldn’t IRL be that one ubervegan friend of yours on Facebook who’s constantly posting weird things about it and you gotta be like “aight Katie chill”. ANYWAY, so I’d say Satine in canon eats healthy-ish? She’s not the biggest fan of breakfast foods and is always up in the morning doing stuff, so she sometimes forgets to have anything besides black coffee. She’s not a particularly picky eater so she’ll eat whatever the cook is serving that day, but she prefers simpler meals, and can cook for herself (which came in handy during the Year On The Run because neither Obi Wan nor Qui Gon can cook for shit (my canon is no one in that line besides Anakin can cook and I’ll die with it) and eventually Satine was like “guys, I’m sorry, but no, u can’t try and protect me and then poison me at dinnertime. I’ll cook”). She does like to pair her evening meals with whatever drink she’s having that night. I also h/c her as a functioning alcoholic, so she’s always got SOMETHING to drink, but she is trying to work on restraint and control because when she was younger it got... Not Good at one point. She also has a sweet tooth though, and she really likes chocolate!

(7) Fave way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time: Satine is a... twitchy.... individual with a stressful job, so she is kinda conditioned into stressing the heck out if she’s got too much free time. Therefore, a lot of her free time is spent trying to relax. Cleaning is theraputic for her, so she does clean (yes, there is a cleaning droid but it is nOT GOOD ENOUGH) when she can. She likes that Mando sword box game we saw Sabine and Fenn Rau playing in Rebels, it clears her head and lets her practice problem solving. She likes going for walks too. She’ll sneak down to the kitchens and just make a bunch of sandwiches. She does enjoy beautiful things, so I’d say shopping for dresses or browsing art galleries is good too. I also think she’d be the type to read and write poetry, then save bits she likes.

(8) Indulgences: Look, Satine likes Nice Things, ok? She does consider fancy wardrobe and buying nice paintings a bit of an indulgence, but she adores color so she excuses that as promoting happiness for the people. As so she does a fancy ship and other fancy trinkets around the house. She’s not a huge fan of most people touching her, but she allowed a massage once... she would be amendable to perhaps another in the future......... Scented candles are nice too, clears the head. She refuses to consider chocolate an indulgence because it is obviously the gods’ gift to humanity, excuse you. Are we calling lusting over her secret forbidden boyfriend an indulgence????

(28) Who is their best friend? Their worst enemy? The sad thing about Satine Kryze is that canon wise, she is extremely lonely. Literally everyone she trusts betrays her at some point-- which also makes worst enemy pretty hard too. In my verse, this has led to her kind of shutting away from friends because people always leave her-- though I’d say she’s always been close with Padmé; she sent aid to Naboo after the Federation Blockade and got to know and became extremely impressed with the young Queen, and they kept in touch afterwards. Whether they could be together or not, I’d always say Obi Wan was her best friend too because that’s ALWAYS necessary in a relationship, and they clearly stayed in contact and knew each other like the back of their hands. I’d honestly say her worst enemy is herself, cliché as it is, because girlie makes a LOT of mistakes-- and then never learns from them or even acknowledges they exist besides an “oh whoops, that happened, we fixed it, everyone as you were”. I get it wasn’t meant that way, but she legit committed ethnic cleansing against her political opponents. I hate to say it, but there are very valid reasons for a lot of people to Not Like Her (none of the guys who attack her on the show count because they’re literally all douchecanoes fuck them), and she kind of shoots herself in the foot trying to fix the problem but making it worse. I h/c her as having a lot of self-loathing problems because she is trying to fix things but nothing ever works and that must be her problem so she must try harder without ever confronting what exactly her problem is.

(31) Most prized possession: Woah, never really thought of that. As much as I want to say “pressed flower from Obi Wan”, that’s a little too sappy. I’m going to go with this. There is a famous Mandalore version of The Art of War, and Satine has an uber-extremely-rare first edition copy given to her from her father, who was a master strategist and had the wealth and power to collect nice things like that. Satine may be a pacifist, but she has her family’s warrior’s spirit, and she enjoys adapting the book’s battle strategies to her own political fights and how she shapes her own life. It’s an actual old paper book, so she keeps it in a locked box under her bed and only ever reads it by candlelight with special gloves on to protect the pages.

(42) Hobbies: Like I said before, cleaning, writing poetry, the occasional cooking. Oh! Whenever she has Korkie over, she lets them pick the activity they do. This may or may not lead to Duchess Satine Kryze of Mandalore getting very invested in Space Mario Kart. She’s good at it too! So yes, gamer girl, and she also likes looking at art and she’s also also pretty good at dancing and yoga, which she does a bit of both for exercise. She also enjoys watching shows at the theater, but she’s weird in the way where she refuses to watch TV or movies because they’re “not as good”.

(47) If they were to fall in love, who or what is their ideal: I’d say trust is the most important thing for her, given how many things go wrong in her life. Someone she can trust to be herself around instead of The Duchess and can both support her when she’s falling but also call her on her bullshit (or try to, anyway) when needed. Again, she likes nice things, so she tends to fall for super attractive people lol. Another thing is, she likes to feel safe. She goes for the protectors, those who fight for everyone and can come back and hold her tight in a hug if she feels like she’ll fall apart because she sometimes needs someone to protect her too. They also have to be as smart as she is (only smarter if they’re not a dick about it) so she can have intellectual conversations (indignant yelling matches), and she needs someone who can match the firecracker she can tend to be, someone who can jump right in after her. Not a weakling, basically xD

(48) How do they express love: She just says it (”I love you”), if they’ll let her. If they don’t let her or she can’t for some reason (*coughOBIcoughcough*), she becomes frustrated because she isn’t always the best, emotion-wise, and she worries she’ll make the wrong gesture or do something to mess up, so frustration can build towards the other person so she can also be very snappy at them. In general though, familial or romantic or platonic, it’s just lots of soft smiles that no one else sees, letting them see her in casual clothing, teasing them or telling jokes, trusting them enough to tell them about the confusion and stress inside her head.

OBI WAN

(7) Fave way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time: Obi Wan is of the opinion that time enjoyed is never wasted, so he only views wasted time as exactly that: time that could be spent doing something but is instead being wasted not doing anything or doing something he doesn’t like. His favorite things to do when he has time to himself are read (he’s not picky, he’ll read most things with an interesting plot, though he does enjoy a good mystery or historical nonfiction), watch trashy tv shows (he’s only watching them to judge how bad they are, it’s Anakin’s fault, really, he watched them first, and Obi Wan just needs to know what happens next--), sketch random objects (he’s a pretty good artist, and it’s relaxing), do research on stuff because he is a NERD, go bug Anakin and/or Ahsoka because he honestly delights just sitting in their company and hear them talk about their day, drink with friends, spar (with Anakin, preferably, he’s the most of a challenge because he knows him so well, and he’s the only one who doesn’t hold back at all), sit in the Temple gardens and check on Qui Gon’s favorite flowers he planted there and bask in the serenity of it all.

(8) Indulgences: Ooooohhhh this is hard because Obi Wan is so Obi Wan about that sort of stuff, it can be difficult to read what he would do xD I’ll say he indulges in food? That while Jedi probs have a pretty strict health food diet, on the weekends or once a weekday he indulges in getting nice stuff for breakfast, ice cream for dessert, fried food at Dex’s because why not, it tastes good and Anakin did a good job today or he did a good job today and that deserves something, so oh well, he’ll just work out harder tomorrow. He’s also has some very nice old teas he saved from Qui Gon The Absolute Tea Snob he’ll have when he feels he needs it, and he’s got a cabinet with like four bottles of different really good, expensive alcohols that he’ll drink when he REALLY feels he needs it. I’ll also say this, boi is vain about his hair. Will never admit it in a million years, but he is, so he’s probs got at least some sort of haircare products that aren’t exactly necessary, ya know xD. He also does like his creature comforts when available, so I’d say he’s got a couple super fluffy blankets and maybe the thread count in his sheets are a bit higher than average cuz hey, soft things are nice. He also indulges in being lovey and mushy to the people he cares about

(12) Favorite book genre: Hey, I kinda talked about that! So yeah, I’d say he’ll probs try anything, but he likes mysteries and thrillers since with a book the Force can’t give you any Bad Feelings about anyone, so the surprises are genuine surprises. He also likes historical nonfiction because he is a NERD, but he’ll absolutely pick up whatever’s at the top of the Galactic Times Bestseller’s List if it’s there and give it a chance

(14) Physical abnormalities (including injuries/disabilities, illnesses, allergies): His right hip acts up in the cold from an old slug wound there (Anakin does indeed tease him about being an old man), over half of his teeth are fake or replaced because come on, have y’all seen how often he’s been hit in the face? Scars literally everywhere because everyone and everything has tried to murder him at some point or another. I h/c him with ADD, depression, anxiety, and dyscalcula (he had to really work to be good with numbers) as well as PTSD because basically all of the Jedi do at some point (someone HELP THEM). He also has TMJ, which I also have and I project my issues. It gets worse when you’re stressed and grind teeth, so it’s valid. Idk whether it’s canon or fanon that he has some food allergies, but I am ALL FOR IT with him just... forgetting about them??? And then eating some food and be like “hwoops I’m dying lol” while Anakin is like seriously Master again? and legit ends up the Mom friend with a list of foods like “is there gonna be this food in it? Cuz he can’t eat it” and then he’ll eat it anyway cuz it looks good and Anakin is all “what do you have in your MOUTH” and he’ll be like “uh” and yeah, that sounds funny

(27) Biggest regret: WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS. ok so we all know how literally everything about Obi Wan’s life is a mcfreaking nightmare. We ALSO know he blames himself for literally everything. So yea, he’s got a looooot of regrets. I’d say his biggest though is not being a good enough Jedi (in his opinion) to save those he cared about (Qui, Satine, Anakin, Pads, the entire dang Jedi Order, etc.). Maybe just not a good enough person, in his eyes. If he hadn’t screwed up somehow, everyone would still be here and fine and omg someone help him

(31) Most prized possession: Luke Skywalker. Ok, not actually, but y’all can’t deny Luke was Obi Wan’s greatest treasure. I’d say actually tho it’s holos, of people he loves and cares about, in a kind of album he keeps to himself. He hates having his own picture taken, but he loves seeing the smiling, laughing faces of everyone he knows (and is reminded of them when they’re no longer here).

(33) Concept of home and family: He always feels like other people overcomplicate this. Home is where you feel safe to always return, where you belong, and family is those you love and wish to spend your life with. Now, the fact that he only really allows himself to acknowledge the Jedi as a whole as his family and doesn’t exactly allow himself to dwell on specifics like what Anakin means exactly to him, what Ahsoka means, what Qui Gon meant, because he does love everyone as a family, why does he have to define it? That’s a whole ‘nother basket of his issues lol

(47) If they were to fall in love, who or what is their ideal: Obi Wan Kenobi has always been attracted to chaos and danger like a moth to a flame, so anyone he loves is gonna be a whirlwind of an individual. He likes someone who can challenge him, who can test him. He likes someone who’s loud and bright, the stars at the center of solar systems that everyone else can’t resist orbiting around and Obi Wan is no different. He likes snappy humor and the amusement he can get from playfully bugging them into hissing at him. They have to match him as a team, they have to be able to work with him (and he knows he’s not always the easiest to work with) and have his back. He likes passion, he likes dramatics, he likes the kind of strange ones that other people find a bit hard to get along with, but he couldn’t love them any different from themselves.

(48) How do they express love:

PADMÉ

(4) What would they do if they needed to make dinner but the kitchen was busy: Assuming the people in the kitchen were not making food, Padmé would fix them with a firm Senatorial Scolding Face and ask them politely if they could move it somewhere else. She can easily outargue any protests; the kitchen is for cooking and she needs to make dinner! If ppl were making food in the kitchen, Pads would roll up her sleeves and ask what she could do to help so it would be done faster and she could get started. She grew up with her mother insisting her and Sola help out with all the household chores, kitchen duty included, so she’s a fine cook. Anakin learned to cook from his mother too, so sometimes their husband/wife bonding time will include just making dinner together and enjoying each others’ company. In an OT4 situation with Obes and Satine, Obi Wan is the only one out of the four of them who Cannot Cook and is legit banished from the kitchen except for making drinks/certain desserts, so it ends up with Anakin, Padmé, and Satine all talking and laughing while preparing food while Obi Wan pouts sits in the doorway and talks from there

(6) Eating habits and sample daily menu: Ok, so you know how I said Satine can sometimes get distracted by work and skip breakfast? Well Padmé is like that but worse. She gets so busy with duties, she just forgets to eat for very long periods of time, and then she’ll be doing something and be like “woah, I’m hungry, I don’t think I’ve eaten today,” and Sabé/Anakin/Bail/whoever she’s with will just be like padmé nO. When she does eat, however, she is one of those crazy people who Does Not Like Sweets. Like, at all, they just don’t agree with her. Anakin is scandalized. Satine is scandalized. Everyone is. She just doesn’t like them. She’ll eat fruit, but that’s as sweet as it gets. So when she does remember to eat, or if she’s going out for a dinner, it’s usually something pretty healthy-- though Pads will confess to a weakness for nice cheeses. There’s also this one really greasy bad fried chip thing that she’s got a secret weakness for. Padmé’s also not a huge alcohol person; like, she’ll drink when others do, she’s not a lightweight or anything, but she won’t seek it out herself, just, something about the taste, and she doesn’t like not being in control of her head.

(7) Fave way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time: Honey, Padmé is from Naboo. The luxury planet. They know how to lazily waste time in style. She loves long baths and listening to classical music, walking in nature (she loves flowers), practicing new hair styles, facials and manicures. She also reads the gossip columns (no she doesn’t, you never heard that) because she needs the tea. She just do. She likes to read and study new languages (because she is Queen Overachiever) or just add to her bucket list of Ways To Improve The Galaxy. Padmé totally has a Space Pinterest. In reality, she trained herself from a young age how to relax so being a teenager in planetary politics didn’t literally kill her.

(12) Favorite book genre: ROMANCE! It’s canon that Pads is just such an ushy, gushy romantic of a person, so she likes stuff like Space Jane Austen and all the other romantic books. She refuses to associate with Anakin’s trashy dollar romances, she thinks they’re bad writing. He does not agree. He also called one of her faves boring once. They do not discuss books. But also Padmé likes political history and civilization books cuz politician, and she’s pretty into the mysteries like Obi Wan is. She likes religious texts too, learning about different ones, she finds it interesting. Reading can be hard for her because I h/c her as dyslexic, but she loves it too much.

(18) Favorite beverage: Spiced cider. She could get it homemade back on Naboo; cool and refreshing when iced but warm and tangy and perfect when heated.

(19) What do they think about before falling asleep at night: If Anakin’s not with her, she always thinks about him not being there. She can’t help it. If he is with her, she thinks about how much she loves him. She also tends to do a mental to do list every night of what she needed to do before bed and if she’s gonna allow herself to sleep now or not. She also has another mental to do list so she knows what she’s gonna do when she wakes up in the morning. With the damned war dragging on, more and more nights are spent going to bed troubled and worried for the future. She also daydreams, though, of what she can do after. Her happily ever after.

(28) Who is their best friend? Their worst enemy?: This is hard because Pads is so friendly with everyone!!! Queen’s Shadow really made me fall in love with Padmé and Sabé, but I’ll always be a sucker for the canon and fanon where Padmé’s best friend is Bail Organa. I’m sorry, but Bail is just a cinnamon roll of a human being, and he’s such a calm, levelheaded friend for Pads where she can be a bit overeager and chomping at the bit sometimes, but he’s also ALWAYS got her back and she can talk to him about stuff and ahhhhh and he literally raises her daughter as his own and gahhhhhh. Is it messed up if I almost want to say Padmé’s worst enemy is Anakin? I mean to be more general: her worst enemy is the Sith, as they destroyed the Republic and her entire life’s work and corrupted her husband and depending on if you believe the “draining life forces” theory (which I do) they killed her. But Anakin was the one who got past her defences, took her by surprise, and unknowingly ended up playing the most active role in her destruction, which is immensely tragic for both of them because all he ever wanted to do was love her (*crying*).

(33) Concept of home and family: For Padmé, home isn’t so much a place, but an idea of where you can feel closest and most at one with those you’ve decided to share your life with. Yeah, she’ll always love Naboo, but you saw how choked up she got in that TCW episode where Anakin called her Coruscant apartment “home”; for her, home is a state of mind. Family is a bit different; she’ll always have a bit of an idealization towards her own parents’ marriage and how she’s seen Sola’s, and how families developed from that. Canon shows she’s envious because she can’t have that, the 2.5 kids and a dog with a white picket fence outside and a large backyard mentality. She has issues over being separated from family; she had to drop the Naberrie name to go into politics, so I’m guessing there’s some distance felt there, and she can’t even publicly acknowledge her own husband as her husband, so she’ll cling to the idea of a “perfect” family as a someday, as a maybe, and working towards that someday and the long goal she can forget just how complicated and messy her real family-- her parents and sister, her husband, her husband’s new adoptive sister, her husband’s boyfriend, his weird side of the family --is. It’s even more pronounced when everything is falling apart in Revenge of the Sith and it’s obviously falling apart and Anakin is obviously Not Fine, she tries to retreat and take her comfort in “oh but when the baby comes and we can be a Family, things will all work out perfect! It’ll be okay!!!”

(34) Thoughts on privacy (are they a private person, or are they prone to TMI): Padmé is an extremely private person. She’s been in the public spotlight since she was thirteen years old. Everyone’s always staring at her, what she’s wearing, what her opinions are, how she acts, who she’s with. Padmé has nearly nothing she doesn’t have to share with the public eye, so what she does have to herself she tends to hoard and not show anyone except for those she implicitly trusts. Now, whether she’s any good at keeping secrets is a whole other story, but she certainly tries!!! xD

(39) What recharges them when they’re feeling drained: Anakin can make things better or worse for her depending on the mood he’s in and the mood she’s in, but he usually makes her feel better just by showing up and being a dork. She likes her greasy chip snacks and a good book, but she’s a sucker for a good spa day complete with fluffy, comfortable clothing. Also, Padmé loves cat naps, and is the queen of setting an alarm and taking short power naps that actually have her waking up refreshed.

(42) Hobbies: Is creating new outfit designs via Space Pinterest a hobby? Because Padmé does that. Padmé is also the type of person to have a Space Candy Crush problem, and I completely believe that Satine got her into Space Mario Kart (Satine’s actually pretty good at it and Pads isn’t good at it at all, so it’s in no way fair, but they have fun xD). Padmé loves creating flower arrangements too, just creating beautiful things makes her happy. She loves calling one of her handmaidens over and having martial arts practices because she needs to stay ready to defend herself, but also it’s just fun and she’s a good fighter. Padmé’s also into scrapbooking, she makes a bunch of adorable books she puts together, and she gave one to Anakin on their first anniversary and he cried (she hides them, don’t worry).

AHHHNAKIN...

(10) Neuroses: Hooo boy, there’s a lot! Okay, so Anakin is a very handsy person. When he’s nervous or uncomfortable or stressed, he’ll always need something to do with his hands, whether that be fiddling with his clothes, tugging at his hair, messing with the digits on his mechanohand, poking at the wall patterns or other objects. In general, he hates sitting still and has a tendency to fidget if he has to for too long. He will also either stare you directly in the eye or dislike making eye contact at all, depending on his mood. Fiddling with machine parts gives him something to focus his mind and his hands on, so that’s a real big help for him if they’re available, often times he just keeps scraps in his pockets for specifically this purpose. He’s sort of aware he does this, but he doesn’t like to think about it much because that would mean thinking why, and if you try and point any of them out to him he’ll get embarrassed and probs just snap at you.

(12) Favorite book genre: Anakin really isn’t much of a book person. It has to do with his focus issues (I h/c him as ADHD), they just aren’t really able to draw him in enough to keep his attention. It frustrates him because that’s another reason why ppl imply he isn’t smart, which is dumb, he can read just fine, he just doesn’t like to. He does like the trashy penny romances I mentioned before. What can he say? He’s a sucker for the drama and swooning and Epic Proclamations of Love. He’ll read books about the latest ships and speeder models too, because he’s interested in that. He’ll also read tactical strategy books too, because of the war and all. It’s just not his go-to form of entertainment.

(14) Physical abnormalities (including injuries/disabilities, illnesses, allergies): Metal hand. Eye scar. At one point is one big giant asthmatic burn scar who’s like 80% robot. But we’ll focus on Anakin as of now. When he was a child, some brute in the market cracked him hard across the back with something heavy. It damaged his spine, and Shmi was terrified for a while he’d never walk. Thankfully, he recovered, but now his spine is funny as in it is super flexible. Like backbends where it looks like he’s snapped in half, that flexible. It gives him fantastic advantages in acrobatics and combat, but it also means he can do that creepy walk the girl from The Ring can do. He has managed to successfully scare the living piss out of Obi Wan, Padmé, Ahsoka, Rex, and multiple others on different occasions by emerging from the shadows in the middle of the night doing the Ring walk. No one was pleased. Yoda thinks it’s hilarious though. Anakin gets hit in the face just as much Obi Wan does, so he also only has like less than half of his real teeth still in his mouth. Is also covered in various scars from people trying to kill him dead. In total, I project many mental illnesses onto him, so I say he has anxiety, ADHD, BPD, and PTSD. His super strongness in the Force means he is a complete lightweight, so alcohol is an uh oh for him; the only positive is that he never gets hangovers. It also means that Force sensitive objects may suddenly go flying at his head when he’s just trying to casually stroll through a creepy old temple. I also h/c that Anakin is allergic to tookas/lothcats. No other animals, just them. And it’s hilarious when on one occasion some kittens made their way into a briefing room and he just bursts into a sneezing fit, which, why are you all laughing at me? and then Rex points out the little kitten just perched on the top of his head. Poor baby actually does chafe pretty badly from sand too, so his hatred isn’t completely unwarranted.

(18) Favorite beverage: Coffee with a gazillion lumps of sugar in it, protein powder because he’s all about the grind, a hint of space chili pepper, and like a dozen other ingredients that should Not Go In Coffee (one of the ingredients Is Bugs). Obi Wan claims he tasted the concoction once and had hallucinations. Ahsoka says she saw a drop melt the edge of the tabletop. Padmé won’t go anywhere near it. Anakin says they’re all cowards; it’s the only thing that can get him up and focused in the morning.

(20) Childhood illnesses? Any interesting stories behind them?: I h/c that amongst the slaves, Shmi was the local medicine woman. Therefore, Anakin as a child was constantly getting first exposure to all the local sicknesses and building up immunity, so besides one bout of food poisoning, he never got sick as a kid. Once he got to the Temple... well, he was past the age where all the other kids had gotten vaccinations, Obi Wan, bless him, hates dealing with medical and was distracted by everything else and kind of forgot to make sure Anakin was up to date with everything, so he caught EVERYTHING. EVERY LITTLE THING WOULD MAKE HIM SICK. HE HATED IT. OBI WAN HATED IT BECAUSE THE ONLY SICK PATIENT WORSE THAN ANAKIN IS HIMSELF. IT NEVER ENDS. ANAKIN IS TWENTY TWO YEARS OLD AND STILL CATCHING SHIT LIKE THE SPACE CHICKEN POX. THIS ISN’T FAIR.

(22) Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen?: Lots of writings of stuff like “Padmé Skywalker” or “Anakin Kenobi” cuz Ani is at heart a 12 year old girl. Ok ok ok, but actually, there would be lots of different stuff on the page. Mathematical calculations for ships and designs because he is a canon engineering nerd and I h/c he’s a whiz at math. Also little doodles. Anakin’s not a bad artist himself; his style is much more cartoonish than Obi Wan’s, but it means he can do cool little actions scenes of different ships or pods, him being a badass, Yoda getting attacked by space seagulls, etc. Maybe designs for another japoor carving (I h/c he keeps the hobby). Or, the page might be folded up as Anakin turned it into either a boat or a hat or an airplane that actually flies, or just a ball of paper he set on fire because he was bored.

(28) Who is their best friend? Their worst enemy?: OBI WAN KENOBI FOR BOTH OF THEM DAMMIT ANAKIN WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS. Alright, alright, in reality, his worst enemy is probably more of a combination of himself and his own fears, Sidious for being an evil, manipulative asshole, and society for creating his fears and traumatizing him (though mostly it’s himself because he absolutely had the choice to do the right thing, but he didn’t). Obi Wan is absolutely his best friend though. No competition.

(29) Reaction to extrapersonal disaster (eg Oh no, the house is on fire! What do we do?): For Anakin “I burned down the Republic because you left for an afternoon and I panicked” Skywalker? “Ok, no problem, I got this. I’ve got this. No, wait, I don’t got this. I defiNITELY DO NOT GOT THIS, I MADE IT WORSE, HOLY SHIT, NO ONE PANIC, I NEED AN ADULT-- (Ahsoka: You are an adult) --I NEED AN ADULTIER ADULT.”

(31) Most prized possession: His loved ones ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ And we’ve got at least six movies and a tv show telling us exactly how that did Not Go Well For Anyone

(33) Concept of home and family: Hmmm. I’d say where he feels safe and comfortable. Again, it’s stated in the show he feels at home at Padmé’s, but honestly? He refuses to acknowledge Tatooine cuz ya know, the slavery, so he never really had a strong childhood home, and while I want to say he considered the Temple home at one point, , I’m not sure he does because I feel he’s always on red alert for things to get worse so he never really lets himself get comfortable anywhere-- not even Padmé’s. Family is a bit easier for him; a group of people who love each other-- and for Anakin, it doesn’t have to be blood relations but if you ARE related by blood, you’re a family member by default and he will be Very Offended by blood relations who cut away from their families because he feels if you’re connected like that, you should love each other.

#that took a WHILE but i had fun!#hope y’all agree or at least thought ‘hey that makes sense’#feel free to tell me your own!#one (1) hot mess #our only ho #queen of my heart #peace out #team hot mess #star-crossed lovers #when we were young #political wives #the big 4

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9uk · 6 years ago

Text

Where Are You?

⌲ summary : Kim Taehyung. That is the name of a nobody in school constantly carrying a camera around with him. Also, the name belonging to the guy who carried your last words

⌲ pairing : thirdeye!taehyung x reader

⌲ word count : 10k

⌲ genre: pinch of fluff, heavy angst

⌲ warnings : themes of depression, suicide, self-harm and paranormal activities. character death. taehyung can see ghosts that is.

⌲ a/n: this is quite different from what i usually write but i just needed to get the plot that has been bothering my head for months out of me. nonetheless, enjoy & feedback is always welcomed.

The way life works is a true wonder.

Expect the unexpected, predict the unpredictable. It's all bound to happen one day, at a certain point of time in our very lives. You just have to catch that split moment, the millisecond on the dot—where a mini twist in your words or actions can bring about a very drastic change. It can be a tiny alteration that causes the downfall or rise of a situation. The choices we make for ourselves or others, is very much alike to a heavy dew sliding off a leaf and carelessly falling into stagnant water. The mini waves of the impact send the lily pads nearby dancing, a floating hibiscus petal to drift further into the unknown and push a sleeping fish a centimetre away from entering the opening of a heron's beak. It's the butterfly effect, minuscule yet major. Be it a coincidence or some cruel twisted joke god decided to play on you—you solemnly swear you heard a voice of another being in this house. A house you were supposedly alone in. It could be the cannibal. There is more than a fair share of emphasis placed on 'supposedly' because at this very moment, you are certain as heck that you are not the only one in here. Here being the old crooked house that sits alone by the edge of the second highest hill in town, standing obstinate to the ground despite the occasional flooding showers and hurricanes your region suffered. The old folks claim that the house belongs to a war veteran whose entire family starved while waiting for their sole bread-winner to come home. The man never made it back to his doorstep where his three children and spouse awaits, hope draining with every growl of their stomachs and in complete oblivion to the impending fall to the grave. Every so often, the family of five could be sighted behind the murky windows. However, there are also mediums who concluded from ridiculous superstitions and calculations of the house's location that a possible dead body could still be inside, and its vengeful spirit is bent on seeking retribution for the plain injustice of their murder. Depressed souls would see it as the way to the end, Blank minds and torn hearts enter the house with nothing but one wish—death. The number of suicides that occurred in the house is a little over a hundred—one hundred and three spirits to be exact, nothing more, nothing less—loitering within its four walls. There were instances of teenagers stepping foot into the forbidden site with hopeful hearts for a thrill and a video camera in hand, seeking for juicy content to gain views and be the first to break the belief — the bunch of kids were reported missing on the news a few hours after. The statistics are somewhat the building blocks to the infamous reputation it holds today. When the police went inside to search for the families' missing loved ones, it did not work out at all. In fact, the number rebelliously increased, the police force losing yet another one of their colleagues.

That's when they decided that everyone is prohibited to enter, unless they carried a death wish. It is almost like the Suicide Forest in Japan, tarnishing those who visit with a conflicted soul. Even the authorities chose to not touch the house, claiming it was still on a long-term lease. And under whose name?

They would never reveal.

The house became something everyone refuses to lay finger on, or even talk about. The ominousness it contained drove humans miles away, like a sleeping dragon not wanting to be bothered the slightest bit. It's almost like a door to a parallel universe or something. You did your homework regarding the possessed piece of property. The internet's local ghostbuster website shares more about the rumours circulating the house.

You can't escape once you make it through the two front doors. This is as clear as day already, the number of missing bodies serving as solid evidence. Questions however, still bugged at your mind.

Why exactly is that? Were all the window sills locked? Or is the door just created to be one-way? Sometimes people are so caught up with their fantasies that they forget to look at things more logically.

A cannibal was living inside. This is just a mere speculation, but it was not impossible. It seemed like the most rational explanation one could provide to the disappearance of people. Leftover bones can be easily cremated, destroying all traces of the deceased. But you had rather resort to jumping off a cliff or simply overdosing to kill yourself—than to ferociously be feasted on by your own kind.

It was some kind of portal to another world. Although these kind of things were not scientifically proven, it was still a valid suspicion because nothing ever made sense about that creepy house. Maybe people went in and get sucked into another dimension or flung into hell. Maybe the books were right. As well as the shows and movies on television. Everybody was afraid, of what the gaunt and creaky relic held between its paint-flaked walls and dirt-smeared window panes, why people went in and never got out, why citizens were constantly missing—but the discovery couldn't be anything more valuable than a life. But you clearly cared a whole lot about yours, because you are not even batting a lash when you tell your friends that you were going to check the cursed place out. All you receive is the dropping of jaws and the heavy pleas for you to not go, because apparently ten years ago a man as bold as you executed the similar plan you had and- "Guess what Y/N," Woo-gi leaned across the table, the bowl of mashed potatoes shifting forward a little. "He died. Unnatural cause of death. His body was never found and the saddest thing is that the family couldn't even give him a proper burial or send him away in peace." Her attempted blazing eyes fixes on yours, and her fingers creep to the knife resting on the surface of the table cloth.

Woo-gi is making the best efforts to get you to empathise with the family of the deceased man, knowing that trick works perfect on your soft putty heart. Lifting the cutlery up, she brings it down and mercilessly stabs into the piece of char-grilled pork chop for effect. There is a shredding sound of the piece of meat being torn apart by your dear pal. The vegetables at the side jump up in shock. "Gone. Just like that."

Her voice is a cold, menacing one which intended effect worked perfectly on your rather timid self, the bumps on your skin appearing unwillingly.

Her gaze finally drifts to the dish plate and leaves yours, allowing you to ponder over her words. In her final attempt to scare you out of the hasty decision, you only chew on your corn salad nonchalantly. She was right, it was a deadly risk but you wished you treasured your life as much as a normal person would. You didn't have any care in the world, dead or alive. So why not make the reason of your death be 'died exploring a haunted house', how cool and mysterious would that be on the headlines? "Sounds like a dream come true for me," You sweep the coleslaw you have no interest in to one side, isolated from the rest of the dish. Gone forever, just like that? You have been spending the past few years of your life sinking into the mattress and hoping the blankets would swallow you whole and cease your existence—what made her think that you would be afraid of something like that? Then you realise that your friends have no clue about your disorder. In fact, no one did. In their eyes, you were this outgoing girl who cracked plenty of jokes and lived with a happy family. At times, you would go overboard with your imagination but that's something people who felt constrained and suffocated often possess. Their stale life is the cause of their fantasies and aspirations running too wild.

But nobody would understand. She shakes her head and sighs, exasperated. It was like there were no words in the dictionary that can come together to bandage the open wound in your heart, or get rid of the black sticky substance bugging your insides since day one—even as a close friend, the most she can do is to pray for the best for you. No one can really help you out of this sunken pit, the route is yours to take.

"I'm telling you one last time," Woo-gi lunges forward to grab both of your hands, eyes glistening with worry, trying yet again, her utmost best to stop you in your dangerous expedition. For the last time. "Don't go."

Life works in mysterious ways, and you're the kind of person who would stubbornly step on a freshly mopped floor and try walk across it despite having a bright yellow caution sign shoved in your face. Maybe this would be the turning point in your life. A life which encompasses of...well, nothing much. The world's too tiring of a place to live in. And that is also why, you are in said haunted house, face to face with an unexpected human being. "Hey," Every drop of blood in your body freezes. It's the first thing you hear before a piercing scream leaves your chest, rattling the window panes. The sudden call startles the shit out of the shivering mess you were, your body jumping backwards out of reflex. You shun away from the piercing light being aimed straight into your eyes, arms coming up to block the sudden encounter. Cannibal? Cannibal! You shrieked and jumped back further upon realisation, making a beeline for the doors. Both feet took you there as fast as they could, the wooden planks beneath your heavy stomps threatening to snap. Except when you reach for the handle, the first rumour is proven to be true. The doors wouldn't budge. You shake them with all your might, only left with creaks and a stubborn obstruction to your fleeing. Your heart pounds wildly against your chest, with the knowledge that the monster is a few feet away from your panic-stricken form. "Just give up." The low voice appears behind you, the hairs on your back shooting up and your hands frozen. Why were you even so afraid? You wanted to die anyways. Nothing is able to coherently come out of your parched throat, only able to quiver in fear. "Do I really look that ugly?" The tone is derisive, so human-like and you think you may have overreacted. Whipping around, you are only met with bright white as a beam of light is pointed directly to your face. You may have been mistaken. But that doesn't stop you from feeling threatened. "Put that away." You commanded and once the shining path of white is directed to the ground, your hands slowly descend from shielding your face. "Kim Taehyung?" "Y/F/N?" The both of you speak out in unison upon the recognition, despite the low lighting playing as an obstacle. It was dark, but you can almost make out the look of shock on his face as he takes a moment to register your existence right in front of him. As for you, relief overwhelmed the surprise you felt and for once, you were thankful to see Kim Taehyung. A fair bit of questions were going through your mind now, and your heart was close to jumping out of your mouth any time soon. But somehow you managed to stay relatively calm.

As long as Taehyung was standing there, looking at you with a face of confusion, you wanted to end your life faster to escape the interaction with this guy. Or to explain what in the world you were doing in a horrid place like here. God wouldn't let you die in peace, he had to let you bump into Taehyung minutes or hours—nobody knows—before your anticipated death. The only thing going through your mind is how you have to explain why you were inside the most forbidden house in town. Then, another thought flickers in your mind. What was he doing here then? It couldn't be... For some reason, he stands there, still astounded by your presence. Wait no, it had nothing to do with your presence. It was you. Just like how having a guest in here came off as no surprise to him, but the fact that it was you... You feel like you rendered him speechless, disbelief widening his eyes and parting his lips. He was acting strange. Just a few moments ago, he was telling you so confidently about the fate of the doors and now there was a 180 degree change in his vibe. He kept staring at you, the moonlight flaunting a light shimmer to his black orbs and you felt queasy under his relentless gaze—like he held some sort of power over your empty soul. You couldn't decipher just what is it in his eyes, your head hurt as you tried to think.

It was never the same case in school though. While you exuded an aura of confidence wherever you walked, leaving a trail of your floral scented shampoo and fruity perfume, Taehyung would keep his head low and try to blend in with the shadows. He didn't smell like anything, nor did he frequently speak.

To his pals, at the very least. The moment you hear the name Kim Taehyung, the first word that comes to mind is eccentric. You weren't exactly someone to judge people in this manner, but you know him barely—only to the extent where you can only think of an adjective like that to describe him. You've seen him more than a couple of times around in school—always carrying a vintage camera around—but have never spoken a word to him. For an obvious reason, he was located in the best class—the one where the top students are—while you are in just another average class.

He was just another schoolmate to you. The both of you have never interacted during your whole journey in high school, except for that one time. However, you have only heard things about him. Unpleasant things that make your blood boil a little, because you feel like everyone should be treated equally no matter the circumstance.

One would say, "Kim Taehyung? You mean the guy who sits in the garden for an hour after school, waiting for a butterfly to land on his pinky finger? I mean, who even does that?"

Another would comment, "He's constantly talking to himself and his polaroid films, if that is even possible. Other than that, he either talks to flowers or trees. Sometimes, he eats by himself and then he raises his spoonful of rice to feed the person sitting opposite him—only that there isn't anyone there. Some girls screamed and ran away, even their boyfriends were scared of such a person. That is mainly why they didn't do anything bad to him.”

You didn’t have much thoughts about the guy, but you admired how he could be himself without the fear of being excluded from the norms of this society. He could find the comfort in being alone, and that was the type of peace you wish you possessed.

That one day, things blew out of proportion. It was a normal Tuesday, nothing extraordinary but school and sleep. You were seated with your usual group of friends during lunch, when suddenly a yell breaks through the canteen, followed by several laughters induced with pure evil. Almost the entire cohort turns to the infamous corner—just a small turn into the back kitchen where the trash is taken out by the vendors—the place where many students are dragged in there and come out with a blue black to the eye and nasty purple patches all over their limbs.

The whole cafeteria slowly fills with hushed whispers and serious gossiping, heads turning to one another unable to drop the topic for now. Yoongi walks out from the corner, followed by a few of his friends of a milksop. Wussies, you silently remark on their terribly feigned outer strength and masks of bravery. Nothing but imbeciles, you curse them in your head. Yoongi and weaklings plop right next to you, the eyes from the surrounding tables discreetly catching up on the interaction between the both of you. "Y/N! You look gorgeous today." He tries to place his hand onto your waist but you quickly shun away from him. The small action itself caused the whole canteen to blanketed with silence, every pair of eyes now focusing on the drama that was about to unfold between the notorious gangster and his proclaimed girl. "Don't fucking touch me you disgusting piece of shit." You have had enough. The menacing words seem to pierce through every wall in the school, every person at the scene being informed of your opinion towards Yoongi all this while. You stand up, pointing a finger of accusation directly at his face—to which he flinches at, caught off-guard by your swift movement. If you had the opportunity to get away with it, you would have dug your nails into his eyeballs and gouge them out of his eye sockets, then feed one each to the weaklings by his side. Instead, you take a deep breath. Small gasps leave everyone's lips and he panics—ego bruised by your harsh rejection. Yoongi was your boyfriend. You've been tolerating him for quite some time now, all for the sake of your parents. Without this relationship, your dad would have never been able to clinch the business deal with his father. All it took was a couple of sweet phrases and fake smiles, you couldn't be bothered with the rest of him other than the profit he could bring to your company. Yoongi on the other hand, seems to interpret the relationship in a very different way. He seems to have grown fond of you and naively believed that love between the two of you is real. You never put a single thought or effort into the relationship with Yoongi, not wanting to mislead him any further but some guys just can't seem to get the message, despite the many obvious hints you've dropped. You never ask him out.

Or when he does, you would only politely decline. In school, most of the time you stick like glue to your friends and try to avoid him and his rambunctious clique at all costs. Your dear friends took empathy in you and helped you out of certain situations concerning Yoongi at times. Somehow your boyfriend's pleasant way of proving his worth was to step on the backs of people who seemed inferior to him to climb his own ladder of pride.

It was like after each time he nailed someone to the ground and kicked their guts out, Yoongi feels like he reached another level of achievement. It's sickening to the thought and you want to have nothing got to do with that narcissistic asshole. This behaviour of his begin not too long ago, a few days prior when he marked his first victim. You were puzzled, but you didn't probe. He bullies physically and mentally, using their screams and pleas to feed his ego and push himself higher up the ladder. He started torturing anyone who ticks him off or come in his way to no end, and you think you may just be next albeit being his supposed girlfriend.

The conduct only made you despise him even more. Come to the thought of it, the things you do for your parents include self-depreciation and the loss of any shame left in your skin. You can feel the anger slowly twisting in his veins, radiating off his now clenched fists. Contrary to his untamed anger building within him, his friends are slowly retreating from his side, trembling in fear at your spit of acid. You chuckled, almost despicably—both at the cowering of his tough underlings and the way he almost peed his pants at the mere fling of your index finger. He realises that you are mocking his fragility and there are a couple of muffled giggles ignited in the crowd—his temper starts to get the better of his mind as the emasculation finally dawns over him. Before he can lay a finger on you, you are already a step ahead of him—grabbing the cup of hot tea off the table and splashing the boiling liquid onto his uniform, scalding his body. You thought you had might as well went all out in punishing a rascal like him. Your friends reach for your arm, trying to hold you back from going any further in dealing with the jerk and you throw the cup onto the ground, causing it to shatter into fragments—the sound of the porcelain splitting and cracking into pieces haphazardly rings through their ears. You'd like to refer it as a clear warning to everybody witnessing the event—to simply not mess with you.

You wished to be left alone.

While he screams in agony at the possible second-degree burn, you waltz away from the commotion nonchalantly. You think that that scumbag ought to have a taste of his own medicine someday, and if no one else dare stuff it down his throat, you would more than gladly do so. You find yourself striding off—to the hidden corner behind the stalls. And there, you discovered the bloodied body of Taehyung. With a broken camera by his side. A boy like him deserved more than this, no human should ever be hurt as badly as this—especially for no reason at all but one's inability to control their emotions, and the poor decision to vent it out on others can make horrible things happen. You kneel down by his side, checking the wounds inflicted on him. Fishing out a packet of tissues you always keep in your pocket for emergencies, you wipe the blood stains off his abused skin. He's in too much pain to express his surprise at your assistance, grunting as you pressed the tissue against the wound. When the bleeding on a certain cut has stopped, you offer him the support of your arm to let him sit up straight. Taehyung holds onto your forearm and pulls himself up from the ground. He groans as he does so, his back clad with bruises and soreness.

You noticed that he was stunned into a daze, probably at the grasp of realisation that someone was actually helping him. But you ignored his feelings, just shifted your attention fully onto the fixing of his injury. You recall having a plaster tucked away in your purse and you quickly take it out as well, secretly laughing at its design—hot pink with Hello Kitty.

Taehyung doesn't miss the sound of light escaping your lips, and he himself bites down on his lip to hold back a chortle at the girlish visual of the bandaid—temporarily pushing the questions behind your intentions away. You actually felt glad you could bring a smile to his face with something like the childish print of a bandaid. Nonetheless, you peel it off and gently place it over the deep cut on his forearm as he tries to control his wincing. "Hey, it's alright. You can cry out for all you want," You smoothed the plaster flat and tight on his skin. When you lightly slap the face of the Hello Kitty to tease him, he lets out a yelp—something that sounds puzzlingly adorable coming from him. "Here, have this." You fish out a piece of candy from the other side of pocket, handing it over you the victim. The amount of surprise he shows never ceases. You let out a short laugh, "I know you're not a kid, but still..." You smile up at him. "Just take it as a form of apology for what I caused you to go through." Taehyung doesn't move a muscle, just sillily blinking at your actions. You take his hand and shove the sweet into his palm, closing his fingers around it.

For a brief moment, both your eyes meet.

There is an unexplainable exchange of thoughts running through each other's minds and it was close to feeling like the two of you shared something in common. Taehyung was ostracised in school and probably the life he had out there judging by his abstruse personality and unfathomable behaviour. He was a prisoner out here in the real world.

Freedom, but yet he can't truly express himself without being placed behind bars in the eyes of others.

You are guilty of doing so in the past, when he was nothing but a lingering, mystifying shadow that held no importance in your life. That's exactly what you did to him—judge and rule him out of the ordinary. All you feel for him is sympathy, and that isn't anywhere better than the culprits themselves if you weren't about to step out and lend him a helping hand. Regret washes over your system as his dark pupils venture into your soul.

You were not as innocent as others perceive you to be. Bystanders were the invisible strokes of support to the metal bars that locked him up. His hand, although held by you, was trying to cling onto your grasp and not wanting you to leave. You would consider yourself a lucky chap indeed, having born into this world with food and shelter, kin and kith. In fact, rather luckier than the rest to be able to own what you like and not solely what you need. Above all of the materials your parents could afford, you were trapped in incongruity of being a prisoner of your own. You didn't know what you were passionate about in life, and to live without passion is akin to being dead. You just did well in your studies because the society deems that degree certificate as a strong foundation in your job. But you truly did not know if you really enjoyed burning the midnight oil to continuously mug or if the elation of attaining a perfect score on your assessment is pure, or just for the sake of your insatiable parents. Education is key. Well definitely, to a certain extent and you have witnessed how far your own set of parents are willing to go as long as you achieved soaring colours of distinction.

Sleepless nights, wandering mind and a stagnant heart. Sometimes the urge to pretend to be ill to escape the torment of school. Sometimes the subconscious act of bringing the kitchen scissors to your wrist and slit... You want to collapse to the ground and never be able to wake up again. You wished a drunk driver would accidentally run you over and end everything for you. Then nobody would know about how tired you were of this pointless life. You were a prisoner of yourself too. With no doubt, you and Taehyung are definitely similar in many ways the world can't see. "See you...soon, I guess." A soft chuckle emits from you like that happening would be a miracle, but the expression does not reach your eyes. Your eyes that were blocked by a wall of defence to your vulnerability of an emptiness. She is broken. A whisper goes by his ear. She needs help. The raspy voice travelled to his other ear, making him shiver slightly but unnoticeably. Taehyung could feel it too but he was in no place to ask about your wellbeing. He could only stare and wonder. The eye contact was broken off, before your hand recedes from his, carefully. He catches the way a faint smile ghost on your features as quickly as it appeared. A bittersweet kind of happiness. But he doesn't say a word, even after your figure grows smaller with every step you take back to class. What you missed, is the shutter of the camera lens, floating in the air. "Hey, don't touch that!" He snatches the device back and winces at the stretch he feels in his back muscle.

"Y/N." The wooden planks beneath him cursed out loud, warning sirens of his voice turning stern. Besides his low voice and creaks of weak wood and nails, there is only a dripping sound from some leaking pipe. "What are you doing here?!" It is the second time he has raised the question to you, but you only keep silent, eyes searching the room for answers.

Why hadn't you disappeared or get eaten by some ferocious beast yet? Taehyung was only complicating your attempt of suicide. You tried to keep your head clear when you first pushed the rusty front door open, disallowing the memories to flow into your mind.

It was a blockage to all forms of happiness in your life, to prevent your pathetic self from backing out. But Taehyung, an actual human being, catching you in the act of wanting to kill yourself just shot a dose of reality into your numbing heart and racing thoughts.

"Uh..." You wet your lips.

"What about you? What are you doing here?" You turn the cameras back to him. It would not be shocking if he came here to take his life as well. Taehyung purses his lips in serious contemplation before candidly answering. "I can see ghosts," He looks down like it was something to be ashamed about.

That wasn't the case for you. You were completely taken aback by his confession but you found it extremely intriguing. "Oh—Wait what?" One thing about the revelation was that it for sure explained a lot about the way Taehyung acts. You trust his words, but you don't know how to link it to the fact that he was standing right in front of you in the living room of this damned house. Raising a brow at him, you wish for him to elaborate further. "I uh, heard r-rumours circulating around in school, that uh," He pinches his brows.

"You were going to come in here. So I kind of decided to see if it was true." You were amazed by his candidness.

"And it is." You mused.

It was heartwarming to see that someone actually bothered to risk their life to come look for you. Then again, Taehyung is a guy filled with secrets. God knows, but maybe he is the owner of this house. When his eyes capture yours for one more time, it drowned you into the whirlpool of emotions he was feeling.

Something like denial, frustration and lastly, regret. The eye contact is never broken. Like Taehyung was staring so hard at you to try and figure the different parts of you out, to evaluate every inch of you and you squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze. "Why are you looking at me like that?" You croaked out, beginning to feel very creeped out despite the tinge of softness laced in his eyes. "You—Urm, you—! Argh!" He only hesitates even more, turning into a stuttering mess. You jump back in surprise at his reaction. Lost and confused as to how to provide you with a suitable reply, he yells and pulls at his locks of hair. It was when he proceeds to fall to the ground on his knees and seemingly begin whimpering into his palms, all surprise turned into worry for the guy. You kneeled down and called out to him. "Shit—Taehyung!"

"What do you seek, young man?" "Your whole point here is to know and advice me." Taehyung bites back. "Very well. An unsolved mystery, something concerning a girl and regarding the old house just down the street." He shuffles his cards and keep them away neatly. It seemed like those tools will not be of any use to Taehyung, and he clearly understood why the man's face have fallen drastically—it isn't a simple case a few cards can crack. You were not only beautiful, you were inculcated with kindness, you held a type of pureness lost by many as they grow up, you spoke in a manner that is highly respectable and the crowfeet that form at the side of your eyes whenever you laughed too hard couldn't get any more adorable. He shifts uncomfortably on the hard wooden seat, and gulps anxiously. "Was her body found?" Taehyung doesn't know.

He doesn't know where the hell you went or what the fuck you were doing, he only knows that when his eyes flew open, he felt the cold of the night stinging on his skin and an empty space next to him. You were no longer in his arms and the next moment he is springing up from the worn out couch and beginning his search for you. He looked every nook and cranny of the house for you but to no avail. The only resort left got him sitting across a renown psychic. But even the expertise in this region seems to find this case uncrackable. "No." He tilts his head, bringing out a rock of some sort. Taehyung sees it as a mere rock but not to him apparently. "This is the Magic Stone." His fingers fidget around with the purple coloured object. He does this continuously, causing Taehyung to perk an eyebrow up at his claim. The psychic burrows into deep concentration, a conclusion forming in his head. Then, all movement ceases. "Her soul has to bring you there herself."

The medium's advice sounded strained, like it was the hardest thing to come to a conclusion like that. It's a clear excuse when he says the reason of those teardrops rolling down his cheeks are caused by the wind.

You want to reach out and pat him on the back in hopes of alleviating his pain but you quickly retract it back as the muffled sobs through his fingers grow even louder. All you could wonder at that point in time was whether something bad was happening to Taehyung. Maybe the demons in this house were taking him away first.

Maybe he is really going to die. Then, with every drop of care drained from your exhausted body, you placed your hand on his clothed back with a strong determination to do your best and ease him (into the underworld most likely) without any pain. "Are you okay?" Only for his cries to stop abruptly when he feels your hand smoothing over his back. Hastily, Taehyung removes his hands from his face and turns around to look at you. His eyes were red and swollen from all the desperate weeping, saliva of sorrow pooled in his mouth as he watches you with a kind of anguish and concern. It mirrored the look you gave him when you saw him lying on the ground, beaten up. This is where the two of you are similar.

Prisoners, but of two entirely different reasons. You drifted your gaze to his elbow and notice the striking dash of pink. The band aid still being there was what solidified the certainty that this was all real. This wasn't some kind of twisted dream. And that would only mean one thing. Because your hand did not manage to rub his back, for the paleness casting over it only sank into his body, deep into his spine—only for his body to be in one piece as you fast to recede it like you had just touched a strong flame—unable to feel anything touching your palm even when you made that physical contact with him. "Taehyung... why..." You inspect your hands carefully. Your skin was never this white. All the hairs on your forearm had disappeared as well, your whole body lacking any hint of life. It felt surreal. Like something that would only occur in dreams.

"Why can't I touch you?" Maybe if you try pinching yourself, you would wake up. Maybe this was just one of your daily nightmares from stress. It was when you started aggressively pinching the pale skin on your arms, thighs, waist—you realised you could still feel yourself. The only difference being that it was so, so cold. It was similar to touching an ice pack, frosty and nothing much else.

Cold. That's how you feel and the perplexity that hit you all at once began transforming into larges beams of anger, sadness and helplessness. You wanted to cry as loud as you could for help. "Why do I feel so cold?!" You refused to believe anything your senses were telling you. Everything your naked eyes were showing you.

Lunging forward, you run your hands all over Taehyung again and hope to actually feel something tangible.

To your dismay, your fist only goes through his heart like he was made of air—no, like you were made of air.

You were the dead one here.

"The police have searched the whole compound of the town and spread the news of the missing school girl country wide. In the past two weeks of finding the teenage girl, Y/F/N is still unable to be located. If you have come across—Zap." Taehyung clicks the button on the remote control and flings it to the other end of the couch in frustration. He ruffles through his hair, hoping for hints of you to magically pop up in his head. The thing is, the both of you had barely spoken to one another. Plus, he had a tough time speaking to the people at his-and your-school. One week. One whole week since the disappearance of your body. The police are proven to be fucking useless and incompetently unreliable, he mentally notes. He figured that the fastest method to locate you, would require him to act out on his own. The list of things that can happen to your body goes down a long scroll that even Taehyung himself is unwilling to imagine. He wants you to at least, still be in one piece when he finds you. He uses the term body, because your soul is for sure loitering somewhere in town. It can't go too far from your body, a rule he remembers by heart. So, it wouldn't be entirely impossible to detect where your corpse would be. Think, think, think! He repeats like a mantra in his bursting head. Where would you go if you were this free, lingering spirit? And then he recalls.

"You're up here again."

He pushes himself up onto his usual spot—a high wall surrounding the perimeter of the rooftop, granting anyone up here a perfect view of the school field and vast blue sky. The job of the wall is to prevent any students from falling over and have their bodies crush to pulp when they plop to the ground floor. But Taehyung doesn't play by the rules. Where is the fun in that? He often questions anything that has to do with system and order. As a person who lives by pure intuition, Taehyung brings himself to the top floor for the second time after just doing so the day before. It could be the voices whispering encouragements for him to pay upstairs a visit, or maybe it had to do with a very strong gut feeling tugging at his chest. Nonetheless, he was here.

The boy from yesterday is situated at the exact place as before. His skin was terrifyingly pale—but not translucent—and the cracking of his bones could still be heard whenever he swinged his legs. He must have just died a few days ago, Taehyung concludes. The boy doesn't acknowledge Taehyung, nor does he reply.

"What are you doing here?" Taehyung cranes his neck a little to face the boy properly—who in turn was staring at his feet with a strange amount of attention. Then upon following his line of sight, Taehyung realises how small and young the boy was—his own legs were almost twice as long as the kid's.

"My brother," He finally speaks, but only softly.

Taehyung digests his answer for a moment, before cautiously popping the second question. He knew better than to ask why the boy had died, it would probably even send the kid into a fury and then to hell, which was the last thing Taehyung wanted to happen to him. "If you don't mind me asking," He nervously grips the edge of wall.

The boy tipped his chin up slightly, intrigued by his words. His big round eyes came into view, leaving a heavy load to weigh at Taehyung's heart. His eyes, still freshly glistening and vibrant with blackness illustrated the bright and long road that awaited him in his life, only to be torn apart by whatever fatally tragic accident he was met with. It's a pity. It's a pity how some promising futures can be so easily robbed of in a blink of the eye. It is not a frequent occasion where tears pricked at Taehyung's eyes. He closes them for a second, before getting the question out. "Who is your brother?" The boy now turns to fully face him, legs still swinging regardless. His eyes looked way bigger and innocent than Taehyung had thought they would be. And it doubled the pain beneath his ribs.

It's suffering to bump into an innocent soul. He had rather someone who acted the way they deserved their death. The boy switches his stare on Taehyung now, silent while his orbs grow shinier. "I'm sorry in advance," The child looks like he was about to burst into tears. Taehyung felt the same. What was a sweet boy like him even apologetic for? "Min Yoongi." Taehyung blinks in surprise. The boy was gone. A series of giggles echoed in the stairway and without another thought, Taehyung hops down to hide himself from whoever was there. He does not recall any platform being built after the wall. He simply knows that if he falls over from such a risky position, he would die. He heaves a deep sigh of relief when the platform does not crumble into pieces under his full weight. He thinks it must be the doing of the boy. His smile is cut off when the footsteps and voices grow louder, noticeably two female students just hanging out. Unlike being rash as himself, they only prop their elbows on the wall, admiring the scene as that. Which he was grateful for, otherwise he would definitely get caught for loitering around carelessly. "Finally. Something great about this shit hole." Taehyung sticks onto the wall like a lizard, trying his best to be away from the edge. "Honestly, the perfect spot to take fresh breather," the other voice makes an appearance. "No one ever comes up here unless you want to be making a serious offence." A flock of birds crosses the sky and Taehyung secretly hopes they don't share the tiny space with him. "For peace and quiet, I'd give anything." The first voice replies. He silently nods in strong agreement. And he recognises it as yours, because of that one time you were called up to present a book review in Literature class. Your voice was distinct yet soft, you spoke with a sense of urgency to bring your point across and yet still manage to maintain your composure in your tone. He must say he’s never been this impressed by a presenter before.

And here he is, hearing the same voice again. This time, much quieter and lower compared to in class, but it leaves him beyond intrigued of the next content spilling out of your mouth. "Then, where are you going to get your dear peace and quiet after this semester?" The second girl with the higher pitched voice asks. "Hm, great question." The first girl ponders and probably stares into the horizon.

Then she replies, after the earth spins a full round. "Somewhere with sand and salt maybe." She answers seriously, after much consideration. "Can't you just say the beach? You idiot." "Whatever. Just checking if that peanut brain of yours is working." A gasp can be heard. "You better run before I catch you!" Their shoes leave heavy footsteps on the concrete and their voices gradually fade away.

Taehyung feels bad for eavesdropping onto their conversation, but it was something he couldn’t help even if he did not want to.

Speaking of which, Taehyung hasn’t thought about what he’d like to do during spring break. Maybe he’d bring some flowers and offerings for Yoongi’s brother and the others always by his side. Without being seen, that goes without saying.

They’d be over the moon to receive flowers because no one is really there for them. Or have simply forgotten about them. Taehyung wonders if anyone would bring him flowers when he passes on.

Still, Taehyung felt a seed of envy being planted inside of him, wishing that he could go to the beach or park during the season of blossoms with friends and genuinely have a good time. He has never gotten the opportunity to hang out with any normal human ever since birth. He told a friend he trusted about his ability of seeing things normal people couldn’t and the boy went about telling everybody about his confession which led to the beginning of his ostracisation

Weirdo. Freak. Those were the names he eventually got accustomed to being called as.

The seed of envy grows. The both of you are lucky enough to be discussing about where to head to for vacation, something he couldn’t do.

Lucky enough to be going on a vacation. Not everyone has that blessing.

He wish he could be like everyone else. Lead a normal life, have friends, and be wealthier. This way, he wouldn’t have to struggle so much.

For a moment, he wishes that he could replace the position and live the life of anyone else.

Like the girl who can play the violin.

Like the boy always sleeping in class.

Like the school’s janitor.

Like Yoongi.

Like you.

"Hey you! What are you doing up there?!" Someone like a security personnel yells at him from downstairs. Now, how the hell was he supposed to get back up there?

You must not be far. His feet dents the soaked sand beneath, leaving prints that queued in line to be washed up by the incoming waves. With the ends of his pants rolled up, he spins around aimlessly to search for you. It was fortunately a weekday, which allowed the beach to be emptier. And that would make the task of spotting you much easier. He strolls along the coast, patiently kindling his instincts to take him wherever you were to be. It feels almost surreal—the texture of the grainy sand rubbing against the sole of his feet, the gentle whispers of the arriving waves, the wind slicing through his thick hair, ruffling it like feathers—how peculiar it felt to realise that he is alive, being hyper aware of all five (or six) senses.

The tangibility of things would signal that he is actually a living human, but something intangible is missing in him and it makes the whole experience of being alive feel so...detached. Every part of his body felt like it didn't belong to him—it was his toes coming in contact with the sand and not him, it was his hair dancing with the wind and not him, it was his legs moving on their own accord and not Taehyung. This is what happens when you interact with supernatural beings for the whole of your life, he thinks.

"Hey watch your step!" A shout intrudes his thoughts. Taehyung pauses, retracting his feet back. The small kid carries on building her sandcastle with her companion. Watching their busy hands, Taehyung tries to figure out who exactly was the one who warned him. Regardless, he whips out his camera to take a shot of the girl building sandcastles. "Yay! It's done!" The girl pats the top of the castle and runs towards the benches shrieking in contentment, failing to withhold the excitement of breaking the news of the small achievement to her mother. The other girl however, only smiles at Taehyung and vanishes. He runs his eyes across the ground. Just below his toes, there laid a tiny baby turtle. It scurries, towards nowhere, seemingly unable to acquire the skill of waddling on the fine sand like all his other pals. A meter ahead, his friends totter in clusters towards the entrance of the sea. The poor buddy struggles hard to walk properly, let alone find the correct direction home. He suddenly grows conscious of the couple of seagulls chilling by the water. But he was too preoccupied with the aim to find you to bother about the weak creature. As he was just about to dismissively stroll away, something tells him to make a turn and save that baby animal. He should make a difference when he can. He definitely should. He could actually salvage a situation. A life that is. He jogs back faster than the predator birds could, quickly finding the turtle again and gently picked it up. The shell looked too big for its body and its two big ebony eyes popping out of its sockets gazing at Taehyung—are filled with gratitude. Or so he assumes. The creature makes some kind of fuzzy noise—of happiness—when it is put down onto the sea line to join its siblings. The rambunctious clique waddles their way into the ocean, gliding across and surging into the water, one by one, delightfully. The seagulls trots away, lunch stolen. He continues his trail. Slowly, a pier approaches. And similar to Yoongi's brother, a girl sits at the end of the wooden platform all by herself.

She radiates frozen, cold heat and as he gets closer, the temperature dives. He carefully crafts his steps towards the lone spirit, begging the planks to not creak too loudly in fears of scaring her away. With every inch he gets closer to the girl, the clouds present in the sky turns darker, accompanied with the flush of even more greyness which eventually overlays the initial coat of cyan. The familiarity of the uniform boosts the confidence in him to call out your name. "Y/N?" She stands up—indeed the girl reported missing—and Taehyung was glad it was you. The troubles fogging his mind seem to have cleared at the plain sight of you. He was relieved that he had at least found your soul. It was another thing to find your body though, and that is the main objective here. Connecting your body with your soul would be the final resort in sending you off in peace. He had a day left. Twenty four hours before you wouldn't be able to leave in peace. Before your pure soul would dissipate into a fiery pit of wrath, abandoned in the darkest abyss until you transform into a vengeful spirit. All the hatred, pain and misery would be instilled in your afterlife that is deadly inescapable. These overwhelming amount of negative emotions trapped in your soul would then leave you in this state, forever. The sight was inexplicably depressing. Just a few days ago, you were real to the touch. He could feel your fingers smoothing over the plaster on his arm. He could see the satisfaction radiating off the smile you flashed at him before, leaving. He could smell the light cherry blossom from your shampoo flowing in the air. He could hear the base of your sneakers hitting the floor as you paced your way to class. Yet now, the wood underneath wouldn't make a sound as you got up.

Your lips were chapped and your crusting skin was faded. Compare to a few days ago at the house, you looked much worse and haggard.

The corners of your mouth quivered, itching to bring forth expression but unable to do so. You couldn’t even smile. You couldn’t even cry if you wanted to.

Now you were toeing the line that crossed the real world and heaven apart.

Somehow he feels like it is partly his fault. Maybe if he had tugged onto your wrist and asked you to stay back a little longer. Maybe if he was quick enough to catch you after school. Maybe then, you wouldn't have had the chance to end your life. Caged by your fingers, was a head of pink.

"I heard that pink carnations stand for the remembrance of the dead,"

His brows furrows at your words. How is it that you were able to comfort him so easily, while he is here having a difficult time to even form words to express his grief. But he was sure that like him, you didn't crave for sympathy at all.

Maybe if he had clung onto the empty look in your eyes, thinking more than he should, stepping out of his comfort zone to care for you. Then perhaps, this situation would never take place. Then with a heaving chest, he clenches his teeth to embrace the fact that you are no longer existent in this real world. It was pointless to think about all the possibilities that could have dodged this situation.

"I hope someone remembers me."

Uncontrollably, a bead of tear seeps out and rolls down his cheek. His nostrils flare up as the sadness and realisation overtakes every cell in him that was fighting against the tide of sorrow. His heart feels like someone plunged their fist into his bare chest and ripped it out. Thrown onto the ground and stomped into pieces.

Lips quivering, Taehyung fights back the devastation and gathers the last scrapes of sensibility in his mind, using all the energy his rationality could afford—brings the camera looped around his neck up to his eyes, and snaps.

Through the lens, a pink carnation levitates above the pier, the ocean a transverse blue spread across the rectangular panel, accentuating the vibrant colour of the dainty flower.

The camera lowers, along with his head.

He was sobbing by now, all the while you gently hold the flower and stare at him with the same hollow eyes. “Why?!” He grits out between cries.

"Why..." The later one comes out in broken, incoherent snippets.

You are really not here anymore. With him.

"I'm weaker than you think," You breathed out with a faint smile following the confession. His heart clenches and twists into a tight knot, pulling at his conscience.

"And don't you worry, I will return to my body."

The fact that you were still trying your best to maintain cheery for him despite being dead twists his heart viciously. The world is too cruel to you, and to him. An angel like you deserves to seek your happiness in a better place like the skies above. The visage of you is becoming transparent, signalling your departure. Taehyung musters all that is left in him to take a step forward and press his palm softly to your face. He could not feel anything but his hand was just there, for support and consolation.

"I will remember you."

His words of affirmation sets your heart at ease. You finally understand how they would all say, that the true pain does not lie within the process of dying, but in truth lies within the witnessing of those who love and care for you, break down. After climbing out of your state of denial at your own death, you have come to terms with that fact and wish for nothing more than to end the whole suffering. It lurches at your heart seeing a guy like Taehyung who you were not even that close to, crying like he had just lost a precious belonging. Like the world had just lost a precious belonging. You hoped that people remember you. For all your hard work in this world, for all the full marks you attained, for all the certifications you achieved, for all the smiles you have bring and the band aids you have placed on others. You hope that when people think of you, it is nothing but filled with goodness. There were, no regrets to say the least.

Your body may not be in its best condition, but the accident pulled your death off pretty well. It left you with no second thoughts, no last words, just a brutal blow to your side and head. It killed you with perfection, leaving no hesitation and last words—just met with the end in a solid second. You're suddenly worried Taehyung gets into trouble again.

"If anything, I'll protect you alright?"

Taehyung chuckles unbelievably through sniffs.

"We'll meet again.”

Your final words splinters apart, the bottom half of your body already beginning to dissipate. You gradually dissolve into the thin air—the cold mist and you becoming one— and the skies clear up in no rush. The carnation drops to the wooden floor with a thud.

I will remember you.

It was a chilly night, an expected downpour to attack in about an hour. His curtains danced to the rhythm of the wind, flowing about violently. "The body of the missing school girl has been recovered after a hiker going for his morning exercise smells rotten flesh in the woods. The police suspect that the girl may have jumped off a cliff from above as an attempt of suicide." Taehyung shifts his attention back to the mac and cheese turning cold on his lap. At one point, the winds were so rough that the vase sitting on the top of his dresser wobbles in jeopardy before another ferocious blow arrives through his window and topples the glass over, onto the ground. Shattered into fragments. Water spills out and the pink carnation flows along on the liquid like a dead body in a river. He internally groans at the mess he has to clean up afterwards, but it is only for a short moment before his attention is snatched by the voice of news anchor on television once again. "However, the forensics department has confirmed with the backing of further detailed analysis of the crime scene, that there were skid marks indicated on the road at the edge of the cliff accompanied by scraps of car paint evident on the victim's clothes." The carnation on the ground blackens, curls up into a crushed stalk of wither.

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corruptapostasy · 6 years ago

Text

The Only Option

Chapter One

Summary:

“...A sleep-induced sickness? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

No cost too great.

“It...It..It’s in my head..It..It won’t go away...”

No mind to think.

"You may have seen me put a blade through Her heart, but I was foolish to think She was really gone."

No will to break.

“The Void bends to no one. It merely makes room. It asks a price, but never asks in words. You must pay in kind."

No voice to cry suffering.

“...No matter what happens, just know that I will never stop loving you.”

“Oh, my Root... I’ve known that since the beginning of time.”

The Only Option: Chapter One

“M-My King, The Watcher’s Report has come in for you to look at.”

The King blinks out of his musings as the voice rings out through the silence, and he looks over to see the trembling visage of the advisor, holding up a stack of stone tablets, all of them bearing the insignia of his disciple’s mask, before carefully extending a claw to tap the surface of his work desk. “Thank you, Wek. Set them down here.”

“Y-Yes, My King.” The little bug scrambles to do exactly that, placing each tablet down like they’re made of spun glass, giving one last, long, reverent bow before quickly shuffling her way out of the room, visibly flustered to be in the presence of her great God.

He couldn’t help but sigh a little after watching her leave, giving a little shake of his head; sometimes he wished his nobility wouldn’t act so fearfully reverent towards him whenever he walked by. It was almost tiresome to be around those that worshipped the ground he walked on, especially when they acted so very nervous around him and his visage. He lets his gaze stray to the tablets and let out another, heavier sigh, before walking over to his desk and sitting down in his chair, taking a moment to let his tail hang over the arm rest and for all his legs to tuck against his carapace, before he picks up the nearest stone. The tablet was encased in a grey slate, displaying Lurien’s mask, acting as a fail-safe, preventing anyone lacking his divine touch from opening them and reading the contents inside. He idly presses his thumb against the outline of the mask, watching as the slate cracks and crumbles, before dissipating into white fragments of light that dissipate from view. The writing of the tablet glows white against the smooth black surface, and the King begins to read.

“Lively Crossroads: Temperature was around 72 degrees, with a mild breeze coming in from up above. A minor confrontation broke out involving two drunken pill bugs outside of a tavern, one of them being arrested while another was sent to the local hospital for minor wounds and cracks to the shell. A family of newcomers were properly settled down into their homes, and repairs had to be made to several street signs after being dented inwards by a group of rowdy adolescents.”

The King couldn’t help but hum to himself as he read over the transcript, giving it a once over at least two or three more times before finally setting it down, deciding that nothing in the Crossroads needed his attention as of this moment. Nothing needed to be fixed, no crimes needed to be judged, all the subjects seemed relatively happy, going about their daily lives. Perfect. He picks up the second tablet, repeating the unsealing process and beginning to read once again.

“Greenpath Gardens: Temperature around a steady 86°, with a light fog surrounding the Lake Of Unn. Gardeners are hard at work taking care of the various fauna, including the lilies and the tulips. There was a small breach in one of pipes in the north-west side of the Gardens, in which the acid had eaten away at the surface of said pipe, which had rusted due to what seems to be negligence in cleaning duties. No one was greatly injured, however one of the Menderbugs was sent to the City hospital for minor acid burns.”

The King couldn’t help but curl his lip in a soft sneer, not out of anger or disgust, but simply irritation. The damnable acidic liquid was a rather unavoidable aspect of the Kingdom, and one he couldn’t help but need to work his way around. He had his suspicions that the acid originated in the depths of the Fungal Wastes, where the spores of the mushrooms and the chemicals of the soil somehow mix into the water pouring in from underground streams, creating some kind of foul reaction that causes the water to turn acidic, which in turn begins to leak into other areas of the kingdom. He would’ve sent Menderbugs to attempt to plug up the water, perhaps work on making pipes that would funnel the water into other sections of the kingdom, but he had a suspicion that the mushrooms subsisted entirely off of this bubbling broth, and the Mantises wouldn’t exactly take kindly to their home lands being slowly killed off due to starvation. Best to not ruin the treaty, especially one that they worked so hard to forge.

He finally lets out a sigh upon re-reading the last section, before making a mental note to have one of his advisors send a message to the managers of the Gardens; he wanted to make sure that they covered the cost of the injured bug’s medical bill, as well as the broken pipe, if it wasn’t already fixed. The fact that the Report didn’t say was almost unusual. He picks up yet another tablet, but pauses in opening it, looking up from his work to tap a claw against his desk in idle thought before simply nodding to himself in silent agreement. He picks up a hand-held bell off of the surface of his desk, ringing it briskly, at least three times, and there was a small bit of silence before the soft fluttering of wings is heard, and two bright white eyes peek out from beneath a spherical shell. The King merely glances back to his work and undoes the next seal, speaking loud enough so that his creation would hear him. “Go down to the kitchens and bring me my meal.”

The creature doesn’t say a word, and merely disappears out of sight. The King starts to read once more.

“City Of Tears: Temperature around 67° degrees, no winds, and a steady rain throughout the day, week, month, etc. Soldiers had to apprehend a thief that tried to mug one of the citizens in one of the many back alleys of the city, and he is now being held in the capital’s prison. One of the houses over in the Elevated District is in dire need of repairs due to water damage, and several doctors had been seen wandering the City making house calls due to an undetermined sickness, seeming to affect the old and the young.”

That last part immediately grabs the King’s attention, and his claws stiffen. Illnesses were unfortunately common from within the capital’s depths; constant, endless rainfalls tend to soak through even the toughest of metal plating or expensive cloth, so doctors and medical professionals were always busy tackling the common cold and such. Nothing too out of the usual in that regard, but sick subjects wasn’t exactly something he wanted, nor was it something he needed, especially if children were getting ill, as well as the fact that the illness in question had yet to be properly identified. The water damage to that one building was concerning as well, especially since most of them were crafted from stone and glass. Perhaps he would have to have his architects try to figure out a way to more appropriately funnel the rain, to make it so that it wouldn’t lead to such inconvenient problems.

There was also Lurien himself. He had read the Reports for as long as he had bestowed him the title of Watcher, and they were usually much more detailed than this. Much more thorough. It was strange, though it didn’t exactly concern him; he knew Lurien better than anyone, and he knew that the oddity of a bug happened to be somewhat of a workaholic, the type that tended to not rest all that much, and when there is no rest, work tends to get sloppy. Perhaps he ought to pay him a visit, just to see how he’s doing. After all, it’s high time he steps out of the Palace grounds, at least for a little while. Being cooped up for too long was something he could never really tolerate, as vexing as it was, but he couldn’t blame himself for his little quirk; it was nothing more than a primal instinct from his long dead days.

He sees a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye and looks over to see the little creature floating back in again, its beady white eyes narrowing behind its shell, tendrils of black slipping out of the seams, holding up a plate of roasted meat and cooked vegetables, as well as a goblet of sparkling wine. He reaches out to take the platter from the creature, nodding to it before moving to set his dinner on the desk, next to the rest of his unopened Reports. He speaks, barely with any thought in mind, his voice quiet and unassuming. “Thank you.”

The little Wingsmould floats there, no indication that it heard anything at all, before moving to float away, the tendrils of black slipping back into its core, like they were never there to begin with.

••••

A week passes in the kingdom’s depths, slow and steady, before the King finally realizes that something is wrong. He began to see it in the Reports as the days went by, small, almost inconsequential details, ones that slipped by his grasp and grew to become troublesome problems.

“A Doctor from the City came to the Crossroads to visit a sick child, one who had been displaying several odd symptoms, including sleep deprivation.”

“A bug fell asleep on one of the benches in the Western side of the Garden and began to display what seemed to be sleeping fits. When he was woken up, he seemed delirious, as if not knowing where he was.”

“There was a mining accident over in the Crystal Caverns, one that resulted in the hospitalization of at least 2 miners. A third had sleep-walked and activated a dormant machine, one that the previously mentioned workers had been relaxing on taking their lunch break, and as a result, were nearly crushed under the weight of the pistons. The third bug has been taken into custody at the City prison. The injured bugs are in critical condition.”

That last Report was enough to have him finally decide to get himself involved; it was troublesome enough that this odd phenomenon was somehow occurring amongst the local populace, but the sheer fact it was impacting the focus and the minds of his workers had the potential to be dangerous, especially considering they were responsible for the cogs of the kingdom running smoothly. He could not afford to have this unforeseen affliction getting in the way of his work, the work of the people, and he needed to put a stop to it. Of course, in order to learn how to do such a thing, he first had to learn of this sickness, what it was, and how it worked, how it affected the body of those that were infected, and he needed to learn of it quickly, in order to avoid the potential of this sickness spreading to the populace.

It was his duty as King to analyze and eliminate any possible threats to his kingdom, to his people, and it was a duty that he would see through.

“Send a message to Lurien and Lady Monomon at once. Tell them I wish to discuss a matter of great importance.”

•••

He lets out a sigh, soft and subtle, as he walks along the Pathways to the Archives, an ocean of fog flowing around his feet, his gait regal and refined, just as it always has been, his tail idly twitching beneath his robes. The atmosphere was thick, heavy, and though the path was made of stone, there was evidence of nature growing all across it, patches of dew and moss that felt cold, soft beneath his feet. Bubbles grew out from the flora-laden walls, the ceilings, no doubt due to strange abnormalities of the atmospheric conditions that occurred this deep underground, and he couldn’t help but crane his head up ever so slightly to gaze at a particular one, thicker than the other ones he’s seen, less transparent, more plump, almost...spongy looking in texture, as if there some form of flesh contained within. Perhaps the bubbles were some kind of odd fungus that wrapped its prey up in its own mass to absorb the creature’s organic structure into its own? He wouldn’t put it past Monomon to cultivate such strange creatures, not with her and her scientific wiles.

As if even thinking of its gracious and ambitious mistress was enough to rouse it, the entrance to the Archives was revealed to him, a golden archway of light overrun with the moss and lichen of the canyon, looking as if it hadn’t been touched with a gardener’s shear or trowel in ages, and knowing Monomon, that very well could be the case. He casts one more glance behind him, to check if the equipment was secure, and that his guards from the City were still present, before turning to make his way into the glamorous bronze building, the bubbling and frothing of deadly acid so vigorous that he could feel the vibrations beneath his feet. Even as he walked amongst the narrow tunnel of the Archives’s entrance, he could hear distant conversation, the tone loud, one sounding much more irritated than the other, and he couldn’t help but let out a sigh and shake his head. Right from the start of his reign those two always seemed to be at each other’s throats, and it seemed that would never change. In a way, it was amusing, heavily so, (were circumstances different, he gladly would’ve sat back to watch) but it still didn’t change the fact that now was not the time for a petty squabble. He could begin to make out the words now, slowly walking closer, seeing the dark figures of his two closest disciples illuminated from the glow of the acidic pipes.

“And you’re absolutely certain that your experiments won’t end up causing any unnecessary deaths?”

“Oh don’t be silly! Whatever gave you such an outlandish idea? Like my precious creations could even hurt a lumafly.”

“Are you not aware that I see your so-called progress on these...things, and how they have a tendency to literally explode?”

“Oh, pfft! How cares about a little rattling of the pipes or two?”

“I do! And you should too! I know you have an odd tendency to bathe in this horrid acid, but I’ll have you know that most bugs die when coming into contact with it! And those are just the lucky ones!”

“...Ok, I will admit that there are a few...quirks, to the Ooma’s designs..”

“Quirks is putting it lightly, Monomon. Very lightly.”

“It’s nothing I can’t figure out. It’s probably an instability in their inner cores, some type of chemical reaction or rapid increase in pressure that causes it to react so violently.”

“I certainly hope you’re right. I wouldn’t want to send in a Report to the King about how the entire Canyon is flooding with acid because your Archives got blown up.”

The King finally reaches the end of the tunnel, walking into the main room, one of his hands slipping free from his cloak to lift to his mouth, letting out a soft clearing of the throat, the guards behind him immediately freezing to a stop and moving to position themselves on either side of the doorway. “Ehem. If you don’t mind, I’d like to bring this conversation to a different topic.”

Both Monomon and Lurien blink upon seeing their ruler, the former half-submerged in a vat of acid, the rim of the tank level with that of the floor, her upper tendrils resting against it, while the latter was standing at least a few feet away, his robes sparkling with that of gemstones and glamour, clearly having adopted the look from the nobles of the City. Monomon was the first one of the two to speak, her mask shifting into that of a grin, one of her tendrils lifting up to give the King a soft pat to the forehead, the sensation warm, almost slimy, with the slightest hint of an electric tingle. “Oh, terribly sorry, King. I just got a wee bit distracted is all while we were waiting for you to arrive. My little creations have been coming along nicely, and I suspect that by the end of the year, this Canyon could be a living electrical network!”

“You mean living time bombs.” Lurien shakes his head, his mask remaining as passive as always.

King merely lifts a hand to take Monomon’s tendril in his claws, giving it a soft squeeze before letting go. “That is pleasant to hear, Monomon, though it is best that we end that topic as of right now. Currently, as far as I know, the unexplained sickness has begun to build within the populace of the kingdom, and I need to see to it that I cure it.” His gaze shifts to that of Lurien. “Tell me, are there any new cases in any of the sections of the kingdom?”

His gaze peers into that of the King for a moment before he tilts his head up, and the small hole that’s been cut into the polished white surface of the mask begins to glow, the faint whispers of divinity beginning to fill the air. It was a sight that was both familiar and yet also not, and he felt the slightest of tugs within his being as Lurien’s blessing began to bloom to life once more. He merely watches, the dim memories of bestowing the blessing upon his second disciple, of flooding his body with his own divinity, his piercing bright light, flickering at the back of the King’s mind like a dying ember. Those times were somehow simpler, in all of it’s endless chaos, though they were days the King did not wish to revisit.

Finally, Lurien’s head lowers, and his expression somehow gains a more rigid look despite the mask never once shifting or changing. “...Two more cases as we speak, in the Crossroads. Two kids, one 10 years old, the other one 6.”

The King’s hands clench, his knuckles growing tight, before he turns to face the guards, giving them a stern nod. They silently drag forth a golden box in front of the two advisors, plated on all sides, marked with a large key hole, and place the key in the King’s now outstretched hand, before exiting the building in its entirety, never once looking back. Monomon went still, her mask tilting never so slightly, her tendrils curling in on themselves slowly, her voice slightly more quiet than usual. “..So, we’re starting off with that method, are we?”

The King merely moves to place the key in the lock. “No. This is merely a check-up; the doctors in the City are only experienced with minor illnesses or a cracked shell. They won’t know how to deal with this new sickness, not unless the information on how to do so is sought out and spread. And the only way to do that, is to examine an infected individual.”

He turns the key, swiftly, and the plating falls away with a loud clatter to reveal a beetle, no cloth to be seen on his body, his limbs bound in white chains, securing his arms behind his back, rendering him incapable of struggling. The bug didn’t make a single noise, and merely looked downwards, his expression looking vacant, with just the sheer vestiges of guilt dwelling within his eyes. Monomon slowly raises herself up on her tendrils, the tank she was submerged in rippling and sloshing, waves of acid spilling down the sides of the metal to drop to the floor, though she paid no mind to it. Instead, she merely lowered her mask closer to the face of the bug, and she went silent for a few moments. “..This bug is infected, is he?”

The King watches, his own expression growing steely, almost cold. “Indeed. He worked in the Upper Sector of the Mines, when he had fallen asleep. Apparently, in his sleep, he activated a machine that ended up nearly killing two of his coworkers.”

“...A sleep-induced sickness? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Neither have I. And that’s what troubles me.“

Lurien slowly walks forward as well, bending down to stare the bug in the face, his expression unreadable beneath his mask. “...So, you called the both of us here to examine this fellow?”

“Essentially, yes.”

“Do we have any limits on what exactly we can do?”

The King lets out a sigh, lifting a hand to rub at his forehead, swearing he could feel a headache about to come on. “You cannot kill him, nor can you perform any acts towards his body that requires cutting him open.”

“But taking a look at all of the inner organs would be a viable way to examine how this virus operates.”

“For once, Lurien and I agree.” Monomon leans back to glance between the two of them, and when the King gives her a sharp glance, her mask twists into that of a sheepish look. “..From a scientific standpoint, it would make more sense. The flesh is going to show wear and tear from fending off the sickness, especially if it’s theoretically induced by sleeping.”

The King’s headache grows, and he can’t help but let out a groan, shaking his head in exasperation. “....You understand that cutting open my subjects is the exact opposite of protecting them, yes?”

“Of course, but we also understand that just looking him over from the outside won’t do much good.” Lurien shifts, and his hand lifts free from his robes to put a hand on King’s shoulder. “This might be the only way we can go about things.”

“You haven’t even tried yet.” The King’s hand comes up to rest upon his Watcher’s, but his gaze is unwavering.

“We don’t need to try, King. That’s the thing.”

Before the King can reply, the bug lifts his head to gaze at his mighty ruler, and shakes his head. “...I...I don’t want to hurt someone again.”

All three of them turn their heads to glance at the forlorn man, and Monomon is the first to speak. “..You think it can happen again? Your... sleep walking?”

The bug nods, softly. “I know it will. It…It’s been happening for a while. My... My sleep, I mean. It... It’s been weird..”

“How so?” The King steps forward, eyes narrowing in thought, in suspicion.

The bug visibly flinches away, a faint twitch of involuntary reflex, and his eyes show of both fear and awe all at once, and his voice, already hoarse and soft, starts to crack. “I...W-Well, the thing is...I never dreamt. Never had a dream once in my life. Just...I j-just fall asleep and wake up. But, at least a week ago, m-maybe two, I started dreaming. D-Dreaming of this...I-I don’t even know what it is...All I know is that it’s bright and hot and...and strong and...” He starts to shake, and his eyes start to fog over. “It...It..It’s in my head..It..It won’t go away...”

The King couldn’t help but stare for a moment at this, and a moment was already too long. He feels his knuckles clench under his robes, his tail quiver, and he straightens his spine, taking one deep breath, two, before finally speaking once more. “...Are you sure you want this? This can likely mean your death. Surely dreams aren’t worth that of death.”

The bug’s eyes snap back into focus after at least a moment or two of breathing, and he shakes his head, rapidly. “No, no, I want this. Do it. Kill me, tear me open, do anything you want. If it means ridding me of these dreams, of that horrible..That horrible...” He shudders, a full-body quaking that leaves the chains rattling like an unsteady pebble that’s about to fall from the lip of a cliff, his voice rising in volume, in desperation. “Do it, for the good of the King, for the good of Hallownest, do it! If this is an illness, I...I need you to find it! Find it and kill it! Before it gets the chance to hurt anyone else!”

The King finds himself unable to say a word, turning his head to glance at both of his disciples, to judge their reactions. Monomon was looking the slightest bit disturbed under her mask, her tendrils tensing and clenching in a nervous, almost skittish manner, while Lurien simply watched the whole exchange, his face forever covered within the depths of his mask, his head shifting to stare into his King’s eyes. He slowly nods, as does Monomon, and no words are spoken. None needed to be. The King tried to keep his gait as impeccable as it always was, even as he heard Monomon call for her assistant, even as Lurien began to question the Teacher where she kept her tools. He never looked back.

When he was sure that no eyes were watching him, no eyes were perceiving him, he stumbled, sagging against the wall, as if he had just been struck by a fatal blow, lifting his hands to his face to see that they were shaking, shaking and trembling like a gods-damned child. He had just watched a bug, teetering on the scalpel’s edge of his own sanity, cry and beg for death, to be cut open and have his guts ripped out of his bleeding husk. Something within that sickness had contorted his mind, his thoughts, his very being until death seemed like a blessing, until he found himself staring into the figurative abyss and jumped head first into it.

And all he, the King, could do was sit there and watch. Sit there and let it happen. That bug, insane as he was, in essence, gave his life for him. For him and the glory of his kingdom. And all he did was walk away.

His hands clench.

...No. No, he could not let this cloud him. Cloud his mind. It was just...It was just one simple procedure. One bug. One sacrifice, for the sake of untold lives saved. That infected body had chosen his fate, chosen to die, chosen to sacrifice. He could do nothing to change that, and as his duty as King, he needed to focus his mind to the future. He could not show weakness. This was all it was. A momentary bout of weakness. A momentary cost.

His claws clenched so hard he could feel the soft shell of his palms creak, before he finally took a deep breath, and his emotions fell, cast down by unseen blades. Then he began to walk once more.

Not even a day later, he had received a Report from his Watcher, one that he had left alone for hours before finally opening.

“The Miner was examined with a simple glance over at first, and nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. He looked and seemed completely healthy, aside from a slight fatigued look to the carapace beneath his eyes, and his jittery, skittish nature. Monomon’s assistant first took blood in an effort to see if there was any visible contamination, any oddities, and when, finally, the operation was made. His organs were worn, slightly so, as if put under significant stress, but aside from that, there was nothing. The sickness, as far as we know, is completely invisible to our eyes. My only question to you, My King, is this.

What do we do?”

#hollow knight #pale king #monomon #lurien #The Only Option #Pale King is not a villain #things are complicated #my art #my writing

16 notes · View notes

mellowgirl01 · 6 years ago

Text

🍷 Sweet Wine 🍷

Master List Pt. 1

❌❌Warning: Death/ funerals/ Gore❌❌

Word count: 3143

Characters: 15440

People: Adam x Y/N x Eve

Made for: @ladyfluff

Tag: @ladyfluff @may-bereblog @jaquellejohnson @mousee555 @littlefrogstuff

Request:No

Date:4/8/19

Summary:

This is may be the end but it’s the beginning of forever

A/N: And this ladies and gents is the ending. Since it was so long I made my final part 2 for such an amazing first serious. I really do hope that more people come in and or stay with me in the long run. I loved this and it was the fist FF that I ended so it really does mean a lot to me from your comments and re-blogs and hearts. Thank you. After this I will be taking requests so don’t be shy and feel free to ask. Even if it’s smut.- xoxo Mellow

Y/N P.O.V

As I looked all around Adam’s office I smiled thinking of the many ways that he met all of his so called heros. Well I guess they are rather, heroes of literature, art, and music. Saving lives one at a time with just their talent and a love for it. Down stairs I could hear Adam play his violin and other many instruments. He had been down ever since Eve moved back to Tangier. We were oth sad when she left of course, but understood. Everything was fine now and she still had her home to take care of. I can still see his face when she left. Sad and a little heartbroken. more than he usually was. It was my tun to take care of him and make sure that he wasn’t in his head all the time. I thought that while I was up here I might as well do some snooping. I figured that he wouldn’t mind since it was me..right?

Looking down to his desk I went to go and open his drawer. To my surprise it was open and not locked. He must have unlocked it once Ava left. Adam was forever a secret, even to me and Eve he was always like a book filled with blank pages that needed a special light to see what was written down in it. But that said light was locked away in a volt down in the ocean. So as annoying as it sounds it was just as annoying trying to talk him out of getting more into the real world. I would take him out with me at night just on some midnight snack runs. It was babysits and for that I was proud of him but I needed to know what he might like so that I can show him that the world may be bad but it’s a lot worse when your the only one sulking in the thought of the world being so barren and dark. So looking through his many journals and books to me was a mandatory. If I wanted him to look forward to the future then I might as well give him a little push in the right direction then let him do the rest.

I skimmed through the pages taking down some notes in a blank notebook that sat on top of the desk and was quick to write them all down just incase he decided to come up and see what kept me. Even through the past week I was reading some of the books he had and listening to the music he favored. He had no reason to wonder what I was doing and I guess thought that It was just my way of connecting with him more. In a way it was but it won't my only reason. Icumbled the notes i took down and placed them on the inside of the leather jacket Adam gave me. Heading down the stairs and grabbing my bag for when I would sleepover. Smiling at him and giving him a kiss on the cheek as I stood ready to go home for the night.

With this he didn’t look to pleased as usual but I cocked my eyebrow to let him know that I just wasn't in the mood for his ‘but you can stay with me talk’. I had work in the morning and needed to rest in the house that I PAYED FOR. Thankfully he stayed quiet all except for a loud grunt while getting up and getting his keys and glasses. Was he never too cool?

As we drove down the road I looked to him and smiled. Probably sensing my stair he looked back at me for a moment before looking back to the road.

“What?”

“Your cute face.”

He chuckled

“I’m everything but cute. Now you~ on the other hand you're adorable.”

“Yeah you're a grouch.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhm.”

Another chuckle escaped his lips before silence filled the air again. He rolled down the windows a bit since the car did feel a bit warm with the summer weather approaching. He looked so beautiful with the many streetlights that passed by him. Forever beautiful..forever..

It never occured to me until now that I wouldn’t have that with him, or Eve..What the fuck do I do now? They had technically had just gotten me back and soon another version of me would be taking the spot that I was in. The thought hurt me, of them having to start all over again with someone new that might not even love them back. How long would they have to wait? Would they even work out? Would they be beautiful? More than me? No..I have given a Love to them that I know cannot be replaced. The old me was the same way. She was irreplaceable and won’t ever come back again. Now it’s my turn to feel the love that was stolen from her. To feel the love that I deserve. The thing was as I began to think about this Adam started to hum a tune that he loved. The radio was on was was the only light in the car that worked. This! I never wanted this to end. The small moments like these are ones that are highly monday and for everyone else could be easily forgotten but not for me. These moments are mine. Adam and Eve are mine! How in the hell am I gonna keep them? Maybe-

“Alright dove, like you asked. Home.”

“Wha?”

“We're here. What’s wrong you don’t wanna leave now?”

“Ah no it’s not that it’s just. I wanna..never mind goodnight.”

“Y/N, hey wait!”

I heard him calling out my name but I didn’t pay him any mind. I was quick to walk into my apartment and get upstairs. Face planting down on my bed face first I screamed into my pillow. Few minutes went by of me sobbing into my pillow about things I couldn’t change and my phone went off. I wiped my face to look at the screen and I saw that It was Adam saying ‘I’m sorry that I made a fuss about you staying, didn’t mean to make you feel so channed to me I really didn't.” The message continued but I couldn’t bring myself to read what I had done to my poor lover who didn't know what the fuck was going on in my own head! Great! Just fucking fantastic! Not only did I fuck up on trying to get Adam to open up his mind but I made him think that I was shutting him out! I sobbed a little bit more before going to sleep, crying.

That night I had a dream of a huge church and a few of my friends and long lost relatives sitting down in all black. They sat like stachues as roses both white and red scattered on tip of the black slick casket. The pastor of the church patted my shoulder and lead me up to it. Opening it I saw that there was nothing inside, when I turned to look back at the man all their was that looked back at me were eyes of black. My view shifted as He stood over my body lying in the casket. I wanted to scream but couldn’t for some odd reason. My voice stayed stuck in my lungs as he closed it. I felt as though I was falling with no end. With a loud thud I stopped and silence filled the air once more. A little glimmer of light shown in my carddle of death and i got to look at my hands to see that my skin was rotting like some type of dead animals. My nails turning black as I felt my face starting to just fall off as I tried to reach for the pieces of flesh that kept falling off. Only to no avail. The way I smelled was nothing of kindness either. The smell was like a never opened and festering can of shit and piss.

“But she was so beautiful.”

“She’ll be reborn again my starman.”

“But we loved her.”

“Adam?!! EVE?!! I’M NOT GONE!!! WAIT! PLEASE HELP ME!! PLEASEE! I DON’T WANNA DIE!!! PLEASE!!!”

“I know love. Come on.”

I kept on screaming and banging on the coffin head above me as I bugs come crawling into the cracks of the hell room I had been put in. Feasting on my dead flesh and getting into the crevices of the rotten holes that filled my body. Pounding and pounding hard onto the walls of the room I was buried in I heard the dirt splash upon the top of the coffin and make whatever light there was become dim to down me into the deepest and darkest sea of the unknown and unkind darkness. Still I screamed and begged and called out for help until I was finally woken by my next door neighbor who shook me awake. I had never been so happy to see- Sarrah..

Not really getting all that much of a good look on her I realized that she looked just like Sarah!

“Hey, it’s okay! Everything is alright! My god you must have been having the worst dream possible if you could destroy your wall like that.”

I was horrified when I looked to my left to see that in fact I punched two indents into my wall that would now have to be replaced. This was the straw that broke my back and I just started out of nowhere balling. I really wanted to be able to get my deposit for the apartment and now that was gone! Then the dream and the reality of the dream were just too much. My neighbor whose name was Lily comforted me rubbing her hand against my back.

“Jesus love you really must be going through it. What happened? Did that weirdo from last night hurt you?!!! Tell me Y/N-”

I let it slip out…

“Sarrah just stop you wouldn't understand!..I..I um I mean..”

“..How the fuck did you know? Who told you..No your just messing with me Y/N stop playing around like that! I’m serious now Y/N who in the bloody fuck her you?!”

“Adam and Eve..Sarrah..that night I got shot..you were in the room with me. What the fuck happened to you?”

Her face became the word shocked. Her eyes were As wide as the moon and her lips quivered as though she were about to cry, hell she was after a tear fell smoothly down her face and under her chin. She took her hands into mine and I noticed that they were just as dead cold as Adam and Eve’s. Putting my hand to her cheek she started crying instead of me and hugged me tighter than tight. I squealed so that she would let go of me a bit and she understood. Being so excited she pulled me to my feet and started jumping up and down screaming that I had finally remembered. I covered her mouth and sat down with her on my bed and talked with her for a bit. The clock next to my ed side said 5 AM so I only had a few more hours before I had to get ready for work. I talked with her about what happened and she did the same. Her and Bartholomew got married and are traveling one year at a time. She talked about how and where they planned on settling down forever.

“Man..so you have fragments of her memories but your not her at all?”

“Well I can’t say at all because, then I wouldn’t even know anything So I guess i'm similar just not really. We’re still different people period.”

“I see, well now that you’ve found them. Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Gonna change. Like how I did?”

“...Well. Yes, I think I-”

“No, now see that’s where you’ve already fucked up on. You have got to know whether your willing to give this all up or not. This is no joke Y/N this is serious. Blood is running low nowadays and there's more and more of us dying off as we speak. You have to be ready to take this life..If not then..Well I don’t know.”

“Teach me.”

“What?”

“Tell me what it’s like to become this, a vampire! Just only for a few weeks, then i’ll decide whether or not I wanna go through with this. PLease Sarrah!! I need to know if this is as serious as you say it is. I want Adam and Eve forever this time.Me and only me not pass me not that girl way back, me.”

Sarah nodded her head in agreement and with a smile she stared right into my eyes.

“Okay, but you have to ask them to change you.”

Within those many months I was living a double life with keeping the secret from Adam and Eve about what I was learning and how I found Sarrah and her lover again. I learned about a lot of basic thing that really wasn't that hard to understand. The reason why it took her so long too was the fact that Sarrah and her husband were always out somewhere in the night and or moonlight having the time of their lives being young forever. When she told me that I Had finally learned everything that I needed to know I felt ready too. This was it, my future that I would be going into. A new season and form that a new me then the one I look at in the mirror. Well internal rather. Getting up and waiting for Adam to come and pick me up I got dressed in something that was a bit more special. Putting on ripped stripped sweater and a long skirt with my favorite and only ankle boots I put my hair in a half bun with the rest of my hair hanging down. I tried to make myself look as cute as possible but also casual so Adam wouldn't get susice. He was a man of detail at times so he knew when something was up. I heard the horn of his car and took a deep breath before leaving my final letter to my old friends and whoever cared about my existence..Today was the day in my mind. It would start here..I left my phone, my clothes, and every single picture that I had took with me and my parents. Sarrah Said that she would vouch for me and that she would tell the landlord what fake story we came up with. Only taking my favorite stuffed animal with me and my camera. I left it all. And left the key on top of the mat and my credit card and the rest of the money I had left on the kitchen island inside..It felt so surreal, But invigorating! Exciting! Only few had ever done this and I was actually happy to say that I was one of them.

For reasons of Love..not selfish desire..just love

Walking into the house of the old victorian,I was scooped up out of nowhere by a pair of pale white and thin arms that were surprisingly strong. I didn't fight since I could already know who it was from just the sent of her coat. Hugging her back like as though I was gonna lose her, I relished in the sent of my Eve. Back in my arms, same and in one whole piece.

“I missed you sweet dove.”

“I missed you more.”

Letting each other go we saw Adam go past us slightly smiling. Going into the living room/ sound room to plop down on the couch. He was happy. I reached up to kiss Eve’s soft lips as she held onto my waist swaying with me.

“When did you get here?”

“Last night. But Adam told me that you were too tired to come over so he didn’t pick you up.”

“But I would have had the energy of a thousand cheetahs if it was you who I got to see.”

“Hey, what am I? Chopped liver?”

“Best can of that shit that I've ever seen. I don’t even know how in the hell zombies stomached those things.”

“Don’t look at me, I have no clue either.”

We got to catch up while snuggling on the couch and I felt it was the right time for me to ask the big question.No more small talking or backing out now. Once I left the key to my apartment I also left my building’s key with Sarah as her and her hubby were out of town. So their was really no going back now.

“I wanna change..permanently. I want to become like you both.”

The room fell silent with no more laughter, or even barely breathing. Surely not from me either. I looked to both of them and their faces were the same. ‘What the fuck did she just say?’ Their reaction would have made me laugh at any other time but I knew that if I started laughing they would think it’s a joke. Adam for the first time in forever had a smile from ear to ear. As his fangs were out and without an ounce of fear or anything it seemed in his mind. He was completely all for it until Eve slapped his shoulder and raised her eyebrows.

“Eve I know what I’m getting myself into! I met with Sarrah and-”

“Sarrah!!? How in the hell is she still alive?!!”

“Please just let me finish!..My greatest fear for these past few months has been the fact that at some point and at some time I could be taken away again. At least this version of me. And if we really are about change and you both getting to know the new me? I find there no other way then to change me. I love you both and understand the consequences but I just can’t think of anyone else, with you both. Your mine and i’m yours right?..Right?!!”

Eve just looked at Adam and he sighed putting away his fangs.

“Stay here. We need to converse alone about this too.”

“Okay?..”

As they got up I stayed still down stairs. Please, please say yes..Please. I love you…

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lookinghbo · 6 years ago

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'Looking' Made Raúl Castillo A Sex Symbol. Sheer Force Made Him A Star.

In New York, in the middle of July, if the fickle subway system allows it, you’d be wise to arrive at a destination 10 minutes early. You’ll need that time to let the sweat evaporate, to stamp out the damp spots that have betrayed your outfit.

Raúl Castillo forfeited his chance to cool down before shaking my hand at a Manhattan hotel restaurant on a sweltering Thursday morning. I didn’t mind. It was an honest mistake.

The “Looking” star was running slightly late and looking slightly frazzled when he bounded toward our table. He’d confused this hotel for another within walking distance where, the previous night, Castillo had attended a screening of the new Alexander McQueen documentary with his girlfriend, the costume designer Alexis Forte, who has the late fashion maverick’s biography at their Brooklyn apartment.

It’s cute to see celebrities frayed, even ones who are still building their marquee value. Castillo is the type who hasn’t yet abandoned public transportation when navigating the city, even though it’s becoming harder to do so without attracting strangers’ gazes. While trekking home from the “McQueen” event, a Latina teenager tapped him to say she loved “Atypical,” the Netflix series in which Castillo played a charismatic bartender sleeping with Jennifer Jason Leigh’s married character. The teenager’s mother loved “Seven Seconds,” the Netflix series in which Castillo played a narcotics detective tending to a racially charged investigation.

Raúl Castillo: a guy you can bring home to Mom, punctual or otherwise.

It’s his voice that people recognize, the 40-year-old actor said, a modest notion considering his breakthrough role as the sensitive barber Richie on “Looking” made Castillo a veritable heartthrob, despite the HBO show’s modest ratings. But it’s true that his warm baritone gravel is a distinguishing trait. Earlier this year, when I saw “Unsane,” Steven Soderbergh’s scrappy iPhone thriller set inside a mental institution, I recognized Castillo’s intonation before his face appeared onscreen.

That’s a significant feat. Castillo mumbled so much as an adolescent that a teacher recommended he see a speech therapist. He refused, instead reminding himself to enunciate or else using the impediment as a defense mechanism. “I have all these things wrong with my voice,” Castillo said, though few today would agree.

Castillo’s cadence may be growing familiar, but fame hardly seems like his long game. This is, after all, a guy who studied playwriting ― hardly the creative pursuit that commands the brightest spotlight ― at Boston University, after which he paid about $300 a month to live in a garage in Austin and perform local Chicano theater. “We the Animals,” a Sundance indie opening this weekend, marks the first time Castillo is the one generating a project’s star power. He portrays the father of three tight-knit boys storming through a wooded town in upstate New York. The movie, adapted from Justin Torres’ autobiographical novel of the same name, combines elements of “Beasts of the Southern Wild” and “Moonlight” to capture a domestic home life that’s equal parts tender and volatile, where abuse and affection are equally common.

Castillo’s enthusiasm about “We the Animals,” and about the possibly of again working with its director, Jeremiah Zagar (“Captivated: The Trials of Pamela Smart”), speaks to his ambivalence toward the celebrity ecosystem.

“He could be like Tom Cruise without the child slavery,” Zagar said, roasting the “Mission: Impossible” moneymaker’s Scientology association (and its alleged history of forced manual labor). “Raúl’s that kind of a dude. He’s a perfect-looking dude, and yet he’s incredibly real and honest and true. There’s never a false note. He’s also incredibly collaborative. As a director, that’s a wonderful thing. I didn’t know what I was doing, really, because I had never directed a narrative before, and Raúl had a way of making me feel comfortable and confident in my own beliefs and my own material. He’s so seasoned and so clear about what he needs to do to make a scene work and a character work and to elevate other people around him.”

It’s a small movie with grainy aesthetics and an impressionistic lyricism ― in no way the kind of thing that will make a killing at the box office. For someone who first fell in love with theater by discovering the plays of Puerto Rican and Mexican writers like Miguel Piñero and Luis Valdez in his high school library, playing the complicated patriarch of a mixed-race family feels like a destiny fulfilled. (Sheila Vand, star of the Iranian horror gem “A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night,” plays Castillo’s wife.) At this point, opportunities to extend his commercial footprint ― guest spots as a cannibal on “Gotham” and a music teacher on “Riverdale,” for example ― will find Castillo one way or another.

“I’ve always felt that I was never cookie-cutter,” he said. “For as much as I tried to fit my square peg into round holes, constantly, my whole career, I could never do it. Whenever I read ‘We the Animals,’ I didn’t think I would be cast in that film. [...] I felt viewed more as a Richie. People think I tend to find those roles easier than I do a role like this, ’cause it’s harsh. I knew that I could do it. I’m so grateful for both Jeremiah and Justin, who did see that in me.”

Born in McAllen, Texas, a midsize agricultural town that sits on the Mexican border, Castillo’s triumphs were born out of people believing in him at the exact right moments. He belongs to a first-generation immigrant family, even if home was a mere 10 miles down the road. Castillo didn’t feel othered, but his dual identity instilled a sort of anti-establishment fluster.

“I just saw a lot of bullshit in the structures that were established for me,” he said. “I found a lot of hypocrisies. People valued money, and I think when I was very young, I valued money and I didn’t have it. I think I hated myself for it.”

Slowly shedding the Catholic mysticism that once awed him, he took up bass and played in punk bands. When his friend Tanya Saracho, who would go on to write for “Looking” and “How to Get Away with Murder,” likened his GPA to a lifeline out of McAllen, Castillo decided to care about school. But in Boston, he was suddenly the minority. His “bad attitude” kept him out of second-year acting courses, until mentorship from a professor of color let Castillo understand that he shouldn’t punish himself for being subjected to an overwhelmingly white institution. And when he moved to New York in 2002, his pal Mando Alvarado, now a writer for “Greenleaf” and “Vida” (on which Castillo will soon appear), posited presentation as a mark of self-worth; if he didn’t put care into his résumé and headshot, why should anyone put care into hiring him?

Of course, when success takes years to manifest, it’s easy to forget the lessons you’ve learned. Living with four or five roommates at once, Castillo worked his way into the Labyrinth Theater Company, an experimental off-Broadway troupe founded by Philip Seymour Hoffman and John Ortiz. He still wanted to be a writer ― in high school, Castillo only ever acted to impress girls anyway ― but in 2006 he found himself starring in a Labyrinth production of “School of the Americas,” a play by “Motorcycle Diaries” scribe José Rivera. The acting bug stuck. In 2009, his play “Knives and Other Sharp Objects,” a multigenerational drama about class in Texas, opened off-Broadway, earning a mixed review from The New York Times.

Still, nothing quite lasted. The business side of things was grueling, and his coffee-shop gigs were getting old, even if he did count Lili Taylor and RuPaul as customers. An agent sent him on auditions for “huge” Hollywood movies ― which ones, Castillo wouldn’t say ― but dropped him after none proved fruitful. He was ready to give up altogether when “Looking” came around. Castillo had starred in the short film that became a prototype for the series. Its director, Michael Lannan, called him to audition for Richie (the character he’d initially played) and Augustin (a more prominent Latino character who worked as an artist’s assistant). He didn’t land either role, even though he’d originated one of them.

But by the time “Looking” was a week away from shooting, a Richie still hadn’t been cast. The producers called Castillo to read for Andrew Haigh, the gifted English director who shepherded the half-hour dramedy. Haigh had seen Castillo in an indie mystery called “Cold Weather” that gave him “street cred.” Crashing on John Ortiz’s couch in Hell’s Kitchen, wondering what else he could do with his life, Castillo was at a bar one night when he received an email with a contract attached. He had no representation to negotiate his salary, but it didn’t matter: After living check to check, he was on HBO.

“I was like, ‘Yes. Take my soul. I don’t care. Pay me. I need money,’” Castillo recalled. “I needed not just a paycheck but the affirmation. I needed something artistically that I could sink my teeth into that had value to it. Something that was substantial. Something that had a real point of view. I needed a character that gave me a platform to do what I do in a really great scale in the best way possible. And it ended up being that. That show was such a great gift to me.”

All of Castillo’s ensuing fortune can be linked to “Looking.” It made him a sex symbol, a love interest, a fan favorite, a rising star whose claim to fame meant a great deal to anyone hungry for frank depictions of queer intimacy. Richie was the good-natured, self-righteous ideal ― a perfect counterpoint for Patrick (Jonathan Groff), the series’ unsettled protagonist. It became gay viewers’ great disappointment when they learned that Castillo, their anointed hunk, was in fact straight.

“His inability to be fake as a person translates directly into his acting,” Groff said. “There is nothing extraneous or false about Raúl, and he brought a grounded, honest integrity to the character that absolutely no one else could have. He’s also just innately magic on screen and has that ‘it’ factor.”

Perhaps it was Castillo’s dual identity as a Mexican-American that helped him shine as a gay, blue-collar Californian who was sure of himself despite being rejected by his family. It’s certainly what lets him shine as the cash-strapped paterfamilias, caught between unremitting love for his kin and an inescapable pattern of violence, in “We the Animals.” This dyad comes at time when Castillo sees his identity splashed across the evening news.

McAllen houses the U.S. Border Patrol’s busiest hub for detaining immigrants suspected of entering the country illegally. While Castillo was vacationing in Europe and playing make-believe on sets, children were being ripped from their parents’ arms in his hometown.

“I would always have to explain where McAllen was, and now it’s this name you’re seeing constantly in the news for all these reasons that represent, for me, everything that’s wrong with this country,” Castillo said. “It was paralyzing. I was sitting in a beach in Europe, wondering why I deserved to be there. My parents had access to this country in ways that people who are coming from longer distances don’t. We had the great gift of citizenship, which is an incredible privilege. But my parents were immigrants, and they navigated that dynamic our entire lives. I saw my mom and my dad deal with all the insecurities and all the precarious nature of what being an immigrant in this country is. [...] Having grown up going back and forth across the border throughout my whole life, it’s disheartening and upsetting to see what’s happening. And then to think about this particular movie that deals with children, who are especially in that age when their minds are being formed and their view of the world is taking shape, to think about [the ones] locked in cages is enraging.”

Castillo may be miles from that crisis now, but he’s done more to better the world for brown people than he can know. His goal hasn’t been to diversity Hollywood roles written for white ensembles; it’s been to find work that naturally accentuates the grooves of his Latino heritage. He saw almost no Chicano role models in popular culture growing up, and now he is writing and starring in artistic endeavors that paint all shades of the human experience ― gay, poor, brown, cannibalistic, whatever ― with a dynamic brush.

Which isn’t to say everything’s gotten easy. He was slated to play the lead in “Mix Tape” (a musical drama set in Los Angeles) and appear on “One Day at a Time” (the Norman Lear reboot), but has since exited both series and would rather not disclose why. I got the sense, during our two-hour breakfast, that Castillo is still protective of how he is perceived. Maybe he always will be. He’s comfortable reflecting on his upbringing and his relationship with race ― concepts he’s spent his whole life processing ― but being candid about recent setbacks, as routinely asked of celebrities in interviews, does not yet come easy.

It’s the “ego business bullshit” that still eats at him. It’s what eats at most of us. But when someone makes a name for himself, that burden slowly fades to the periphery, replaced by a newfound comfort, even power. The man who once served RuPaul coffee now shares an agent with the drag dignitary.

“For so long, it was all feast or famine,” Castillo said. “I just took work when I could take it. And at this point, I’m in a new place where I want to be more thoughtful about the roles that I take on from here on out. The projects, the roles, the people. I’ve learned so much in the journey that now I want to apply all that and also honor my experience, because at this point I want to work with people who challenge me in all the right ways and push me to become a better actor and a better artist.”

#looking hbo #looking #raul castillo #press #!

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acsversace-news · 7 years ago

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Ryan Murphy hates the word “camp.” He sees it as a lazy catchall that gets thrown at gay artists in order to marginalize their ambitions, to frame their work as niche. “I don’t think that when John Waters made ‘Female Trouble’ that he was, like, ‘I want to make a camp piece,’ ” Murphy told me last May, as we sat in a production tent in South Beach, Florida, where he was directing the pilot of “American Crime Story: The Assassination of Gianni Versace,” a nine-episode series for FX. “I think that he was, like, ‘It’s my tone—and my tone is unique.’ ”

Murphy prefers a different label: “baroque.” Between shots, the showrunner—who has overseen a dozen television series in the past two decades—elaborated, with regal authority, on this idea. To Murphy, “camp” describes not irony but something closer to clumsiness, the accident you can’t look away from. People rarely use the term to describe a melodrama made by a straight man; even when “camp” is meant as a compliment, it contains an insult, suggesting a musty smallness. “Baroque” is big. Murphy, referring to TV critics (including me) who have applied “camp” to his work, said, “I will admit that it really used to bug the shit out of me. But it doesn’t anymore.”

We were outside the Casa Casuarina, the Mediterranean-style mansion that the Italian fashion designer Gianni Versace renovated and considered his masterwork—a building with airy courtyards and a pool inlaid with dizzy ribbons of red, orange, and yellow ceramic tiles. A small bronze statue of a kneeling Aphrodite stood at the top of the mansion’s front steps. In 1997, a young gay serial killer named Andrew Cunanan shot Versace to death there as the designer, who was fifty, was returning from his morning stroll.

The previous day, Murphy had filmed the murder scene. Cunanan was played by Darren Criss, a star of Murphy’s biggest hit, “Glee.” I’d visited the set that day, too, arriving to find ambulances, cops, and paparazzi swarming outside. There was a splash of red on the marble steps. Inside the house, Edgar Ramirez, the Venezuelan actor playing Versace, sat in a shaded courtyard, his hair caked with gun-wound makeup, his face lowered in his hands.

Now Murphy was filming the aftermath of the crime, including a scene in which two lookie-loos dip a copy of Vanity Fair into the puddle of Versace’s blood. (They sell the relic on eBay.) The vibe was an odd blend of sombre and festive; a half-naked rollerblader spun in slow circles on the sidewalk next to the beach. Murphy, who is fifty-three, is a stylish man, but on set he wore the middle-aged male showrunner’s uniform: baggy cargo shorts and a polo shirt. He has a rosebud mouth and close-cropped vanilla hair. He is five feet ten but has a brawny air of command, creating the illusion that he is much taller. His brother is six feet four, he told me, as was his late father; Murphy thinks that his own growth was stunted by chain-smoking when he was a rebellious teen-ager, in Indiana.

Murphy’s mood tends to shift unexpectedly, like a wonky thermostat—now warm, now icy—but on the “Versace” set he made one confident decision after another about the many shows he was overseeing, as if skipping stones. He also answered stray questions—about the casting for a Broadway revival of “The Boys in the Band” that he was producing, about a grand house in Los Angeles that he’d been renovating for two years. “Ooh, yes!” he said, inspecting penis-nosed clown masks that had been designed for his series “American Horror Story.” He approved a bespoke nail-polish design for an actress. A producer handed Murphy an updated script, joking, “If there’s a mistake, you can drown me in Versace’s pool!,” then scheduled a notes meeting for “American Crime Story: Katrina,” whose writers were working elsewhere in the building. Now and then, Murphy FaceTimed with his then four-year-old son, Logan, who, along with his two-year-old brother, Ford, was in L.A. with Murphy’s husband, David Miller.

“I never get overwhelmed or feel underwater, because I feel like all good things come from detail,” Murphy told me. It’s what got him to this point: the compulsion, and the craving, to do more. “Baroque is a sensibility I can get behind,” he said. “Baroque is a maximalist approach to storytelling that I’ve always liked. Baroque is a choice. And everything I do is an absolute choice.”

Murphy’s choices, perhaps more than those of any other showrunner, have upended the pieties of modern television. Like a wild guest at a dinner party, he’d lifted the table and slammed it back down, leaving the dishes broken or arranged in a new order. Several of Murphy’s shows have been critically divisive (and, on occasion, panned in ways that have raised his hackles). But he has produced an unusually long string of commercial and critical hits: audacious, funny-peculiar, joyfully destabilizing series, in nearly every genre. His run started with the satirical melodrama “Nip/Tuck” (2003), then continued with the global phenomenon “Glee” (2009) and with “American Horror Story,” now entering its eighth year, which launched the influential season-long anthology format. His legacy is not one standout show but, rather, the sheer force and variety and chutzpah of his creations, which are linked by a singular storytelling aesthetic: stylized extremity and rude humor, shock conjoined with sincerity, and serious themes wrapped in circus-bright packaging. He is the only television creator who could possibly have presented Lily Rabe as a Satan-possessed nun, gyrating in a red negligee in front of a crucifix while singing “You Don’t Own Me,” and have it come across as an indelible critique of the Catholic Church’s misogyny.

When Murphy entered the industry, he sometimes struck his peers as an aloof, prickly figure; he has deep wounds from those years, although he admits that he contributed to this reputation. Nonetheless, Murphy has moved steadily from the margins to television’s center. He changed; the industry changed; he changed the industry. In February, Murphy rose even higher, signing the largest deal in television history: a three-hundred-million-dollar, five-year contract with Netflix. For Murphy, it was a moment of both triumph and tension. You can’t be the underdog when you’re the most powerful man in TV.

On that sunny afternoon in South Beach, however, Murphy was still comfortably ensconced in a twelve-year deal with Fox Studios. On FX, which is owned by Fox, he had three anthology series: “American Horror Story”; “American Crime Story,” for which he was filming “Versace,” writing “Katrina,” and planning a season based on the Monica Lewinsky scandal; and “Feud,” whose first season starred Susan Sarandon as Bette Davis and Jessica Lange as Joan Crawford.

For Fox, he was developing “9-1-1,” a procedural about first responders. He had announced two shows for Netflix: “Ratched,” a nurse’s-eye view of “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest,” starring Sarah Paulson; and “The Politician,” a satirical drama starring Ben Platt. Glenn Close was trying to talk him into directing her in a movie version of the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical “Sunset Boulevard.” Murphy was writing a book called “Ladies,” about female icons. He had launched Half, a foundation dedicated to diversity in directing, and had committed to hiring half of his directors from underrepresented groups. And, he told me, there was something new: a series for FX called “Pose,” a dance-filled show set in the nineteen-eighties.

It was no mystery which character in his current series Murphy most identified with: Gianni Versace himself. Versace was a commercially minded artist whose brash inventions were dismissed by know-nothings as tacky, and whose openness about his sexuality threatened his ascent in a homophobic era. Versace, too, was a baroque maximalist, Murphy told me, who built his reputation through fervid workaholism—an insistence that his vision be seen and understood. “He was punished and he struggled,” Murphy said, then spoke in Versace’s voice: “Why aren’t I loved for my excess? Why don’t they see something valid in that?”

[...] Murphy has long been a connoisseur of extremes and hyperbole, games and theatricality. He rates everything he sees and revels in institutions that do the same—the Oscars are a kind of religion for him. In Miami, at dinner with the “Katrina” and “Versace” writers, he played a high-stakes game in which he was forced to immediately choose one person in his circle over another; he demurred only when the choice was between Jessica Lange and Sarah Paulson. His go-to question is “Is it a hit or a flop?,” and he asked it about every show that came up in conversation, as I observed him giving shape to “Pose,” from scouting locations to editing dance footage. (He has other stock phrases. “What’s the scoop?” is how he begins writers’ meetings. “Energy begets energy” explains his impulse to add new projects. “That’s interesting” sometimes indicates “That’s worth noticing” but just as often means “That’s infuriating.”)

[...] His multitasking benefits greatly from the freedoms of cable and streaming: he has zero nostalgia for the twenty-two-episode network grind of a show like “Glee,” in which “halfway through Episode 15 you had nothing left to say, the actors were sick, the writers were sick, and it was fucking oatmeal until the end.” He favors eight or ten episodes, often with a small writers’ room, as with “Pose.” He writes scripts for some shows, whereas for others he gives notes; on a few projects, like his HBO adaptation of Larry Kramer’s play “The Normal Heart,” he’s very hands-on. “We left blood on the dance floor,” Murphy said, affectionately, of his three-year collaboration with Kramer. “Versace” had one writer, Tom Rob Smith. But Murphy provided close directorial, design, and casting oversight, and he had a strong commitment to the show’s themes, particularly the contrast between Versace and Cunanan, two gay men craving success, but only one willing to work for it.

[...] In the meanwhile, Murphy had scored a ratings bonanza with Fox’s “9-1-1,” a wackadoo procedural featuring stories like one about a baby caught in a plumbing pipe. It was his parting gift to Dana Walden. “Versace” had been, by certain standards, a flop: lower ratings, mixed reviews. Artistically, though, it was one of Murphy’s boldest shows, with a backward chronology and a moving performance by Criss as Cunanan, a panicked dandy hollowed out by self-hatred. After the finale aired, a new set of reviews emerged. Matt Brennan, on Paste, argued that “Versace” had been subjected to “the straight glance”—a critical gaze that skims queer art, denying its depths. “Even critics sympathetic to the series seem as uncomfortable with its central subject as the Miami cops were with those South Beach fags,” Brennan wrote. Murphy was reading a new oral history of Tony Kushner’s “Angels in America,” in which, in one scene, Roy Cohn denies being gay because, he barks, homosexuals lack power: they are “men who know nobody and who nobody knows.” The line echoes one in “Versace.” A homeless junkie dying of aids tells the cops, bitterly, why gay men couldn’t stop talking about the designer: “We all imagined what it would be like to be so rich and so powerful that it doesn’t matter that you’re gay.”

#acs versace #ryan murphy #the new yorker #interview #article #may 2018

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kaylabliss · 6 years ago

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Since I'm posting again...

I figure I'll post about why I've disappeared from Tumblr for about a million years. I missed all you people that I don't actually talk to but enjoy seeing posts from.

This year has been total shit. I don't know what my last "update" was, but I doubt anyone else will remember either.

I'm finally on ADHD medication (as of November), which has made a very slight difference in my ability to function. However, I'm thinking of asking for something different. I'm on Adderall XR, and I'm wondering if Vyvanse would be more helpful. It costs twice as much, but if it helps, it would be worth it.

Despite taking daily amphetamines, I've gained even more weight and I'm at my highest weight since pregnancy. (I'm not taking Adderall for weight loss, of course, but it would have been a really nice side effect. I have little to no appetite, but I still eat way too much because depression anxiety and laziness.)

In January, we found out Toys R Us was closing. My partner has been a supervisor there for ten years, so this was a pretty devastating blow for us. His last day was in April. Fortunately, he was only unemployed for about a month. In the week after TRU closed, he helped a local mom and pop toy store owner move some shelves that they'd bought from the TRU liquidation. That got his foot in the door, and now he's actually making more money there than he was at TRU.... To the tune of an extra $250 a week. Better yet, they love him. And his boss? Small world, he was my favorite patient at my old job. So we're going into this with me already knowing and liking his boss! And a fun bonus: when new movies come out, they rent out entire rows at the theater and all the employees and whoever they want to invite can go see it. Eric went to see Solo with them-- I've been trying to convince him to go out and do things with people for literally our entire relationship, so I was THRILLED about this. Also, the store sells mostly older collectibles, so when he saw what his toys were worth, he was psyched. He sold two of his old action figures this week for $400, and he gets 60% of that on consignment.

The salary increase and extra money is great, because in February, my car broke down. The transmission died, and as it was a POS 1996 Lexus, it would have cost four times what the car was worth to fix it. So we've been sharing a car, which has been difficult, but thankfully both our jobs close at 8 and we're right across the street from each other. While he was still at TRU, he was sometimes getting off around 10, which meant keeping my daughter out way too late. But now we can start saving for a down payment on a car, and actually afford car payments without having to live on ramen.

Also in February, his mom was diagnosed with lung cancer. This has been hard. Last week, she had her final surgery to remove the cancerous mass from her lung. She came home on Thursday and she's doing well. Aside from the anxiety over her diagnosis, this has been hard in about a dozen other ways. She had some moments where she was legitimately scared that she wouldn't get to see Shilo grow up, and this was made even harder when she lost her hair. She looked different, and Shilo acted scared of her. I don't know if she was having trouble recognizing her or what. And then to top it off, they've always been pretty well off financially and have always been able to help out their kids when needed-- including us. But there was a lot of things their insurance didn't pay for, and they had a $100 copay for each radiation treatment for six weeks. We haven't needed help with money, thankfully, but under normal circumstances they may have been able to help us get a new car. They also missed their granddaughter's graduation in Texas, which I know was disappointing. Eric's unemployment was actually helpful though, because he was able to stay home with Shilo for the greater part of his mom's chemo and radiation.

All that aside, there have been a lot of daily stressors and disappointments for me. I don't know how much I should really go into here, since someone could stumble into my blog.... Eh, I think I have it locked from public view, so.

One of the biggest things that bugged me was my mom. I didn't get to see her for Christmas because on Christmas eve, it was more important to her to go pass out coffee at a local men's shelter. (I know it sounds noble, but sometimes I wonder. She's wound up dating several of the men there.) I had to work on Christmas day. I didn't see her until the end of January at my niece's birthday party. She didn't bring Shilo's Christmas presents with her, because we had planned to do lunch before the party but neither of us felt well enough for it, so she decided not to bring the presents. I brought her and Lily's presents, because I knew it could be a while before we could get together, and it was already a month late. After that, she said several times she would come over with them. One day, she had told me she was going to be down the street at Walmart and would drop by... She actually called me from Walmart to ask me for diet advice.... And didn't come over when she was done.

In May, she finally just brought the presents to me at work, because she was at a dentist appointment in the same complex I work in. I didn't ACTUALLY see her until last week.

In all that time, she knew about all the crap I've been going through, and she hasn't checked on me one single time. In fact, the week after my car broke down, she called me to brag that she had traded in her perfectly good, brand new car for an even newer car. This was particularly infuriating to me, because I was busting my ass working overtime and working every single holiday and I was barely making rent (forget any chance of getting even a cheap functioning car), but she's on SSDI and is taking on this huge car payment for literally no reason.

Then, when we finally did get together and go to lunch, she spent the first fifteen minutes listing every celebrity who has ever @ her on Twitter (despite me saying repeatedly "I have no idea who that is" and showing zero interest in the discussion because c'mon), talked about herself the whole time, and didn't ask me any questions about how things are going. When I did manage to get a word in, it was about Shilo's behavior at school, and she took over the conversation again to tell me about this place where you can drop autistic kids off for a few hours (but they're not even a licensed childcare facility, which makes me nervous, and they don't list their prices on their website which means I can't afford them). They also have family classes and actives and whatever, but still, I'm sure I can't afford them.

One of the things that really hurt me though? She had been "too busy" to see us for nearly six months, but she had time to make a 400 mile round trip to the other end of the state to spend time with my high school roommate and her children... Two weekends in a row, including on Mother's Day weekend. But yeah, too fucking busy to see her own daughter and granddaughter. When I tried to confront her on it, she was really blasé about it and deflected the conversation.

And? She didn't tell me that she broke up with her boyfriend months ago, and was not living where I thought she was living. In fact, I'm pretty sure she straight up lied to me about it, because she sent me what appeared to be an accidental text about moving, and when I said "wait what, you're moving?" she said "oh yeah from one trailer to the other" (they were living in a trailer park where you can only stay six months due to the sewage system or something, so they bought two trailers so they could move to the second every six months).

It's all made me feel really alone. I miss my grandma, because she never would have treated me this way. My mom is the only "family" I have, and she has zero interest in being part of my life.

Anyway, done with that section.

Shilo has been very violent at school, to a point where we actually got TWO behavior referrals in one day (a slip explaining her behavior and consequences-- usually involves missing recess, having to eat lunch in the principal's office, and/or writing an apology letter). It's been frustrating, and I haven't been sure what to do since I work so much and have my own issues with executive function and lack the ability to keep a stable routine. I'm hoping next year will be better, and I'm going to get a behavior intervention plan added to her IEP so we can figure out WHY she acts this way instead of just trying to correct the behavior after it happens. They do try to circumvent the behavior, mostly using social stories before transitions and things, but I don't think it's working.

Another big thing is that I got my IUD removed, and while I'm pissed about having a real menstrual cycle again, I'm shocked at some of the effects the IUD had on me that I didn't even realize. It turns out it was really dampening my sex drive, and portions of my personality. Suddenly I was interested in sex again and attracted to anything that moves lmao. An increased sex drive is a bad thing for me though, which I won't go into here.... But in short, let's say that it's caused some hurt feelings due to rejection.

So yeah, that's most of it. If you actually read my wall of text and whining, thanks! You're a champ.

#personal #complaining

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aion-rsa · 4 years ago

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The Expanse Season 4 Recap: Ilus, the Ring Gates and the Cliffhanger Ending

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Warning: contains spoilers for The Expanse season 4

At the beginning of The Expanse season four, the show’s characters stood at the crossroads of a brave and expansive new world, as did the cast and crew in their new home at Amazon. It was a marriage made in heaven. The Expanse was bigger, slicker, bolder, and grittier, but just as gloriously deep, rich and complex as ever. As season five gets ready to drop, let’s remind ourselves of the ups, downs, ins, outs, fights, smites and subterfuge of season four. We’ll start with the set-up and then look at each of the main locations/groups in turn, leading up to the season’s denouement and planet-busting cliffhanger. Major spoilers, obviously, ahead.

In the Beginning

Season three ended with the opening of the mysterious ring gates, and the 1300 habitable systems beyond them. Holden feared the beginning of ‘a blood-soaked gold rush’.

It’s a fear shared by UN Secretary General Chrisjen Avarasala (Shohreh Aghdashloo), who wants everyone to stay put. The UN’s stance is backed by the Martian Congressional Republic (MCR) and many of the Belters. The balance of peace and power in the Sol system is precarious, and a mass exodus could destabilise human civilisation. Besides, no one group wants any of the other groups to rush in and gain the upper hand.

A convoy of Belter ships rushes the blockade on the Sol side of the slow zone. The Barbapiccola, containing refugees from Ganymede, makes it through and enters one of the ring gates. The Belters settle on a planet there and begin mining lithium. They name the planet Ilus.

Two ships are dispatched in the settlers’ wake. The first is the Edward Israel, owned by a corporation called Royal Charter Energy (RCE), which already had a UN-and-Mars-backed mandate to conduct scientific studies beyond the ring gates. The second is the Rocinante. Avasarala wants Jim Holden (Steven Strait) and his team to bring their knowledge and experience of the protomolecule to bear on this strange new world, and also act as adjudicators. Officially, at least. It’s not really in Avasarala’s interests for the situation on Ilus to run smoothly.

Life on Mars

Bobbie Draper (Frankie Adams) spent seasons two and three in a whirlwind of defections, double-dealings and divided loyalties thanks to the cold war (and almost total war) between Earth and Mars, and the revelation of Mars’ role in the development of protomolecule bio-soldiers. Season four finds her somewhat adrift, living on Mars with her younger brother, David, and working for a company that dismantles decommissioned warships. She’s generally having a hard time readjusting to civilian life.

David gets embroiled in the criminal underworld, helping a gang to prepare illicit sense-enhancement drugs. Bobbie takes exception to this, so goes looking for the gang. She finds and beats down some of its members, in the process smashing up one of their labs and damaging their inventory. Her brother is kidnapped and forced to work off the debt incurred by the damage. Bobbie pleads for her brother’s release, a request to which the leader of the gang is willing to acquiesce, but only for a price: Bobbie has to leave a door unlocked at work so the gang can steal some military equipment. Reluctantly, she complies. When Bobby’s conscience gets the better of her she tries to report the gang to the police, only to discover that the high-ranking policeman who comes to log her report is the gang leader himself, Esai Martin (Paul Schulze). She later quits her job when her supervisor seems keener on getting in on the lucrative illegal action than in pursuing justice. Eventually she’s arrested for her part in the gang’s crime, and is only saved from prosecution when she agrees to accept Esai’s offer to work for his gang. Esai is motivated in his criminality by the pressing need to make enough money to secure passage off Mars and start a new life elsewhere with his family. He knows that the ring-gates, and the life and fecundity beyond them, have rendered Mars’ terraforming initiatives pointless, thereby dooming the planet to stagnation and, very possibly, extinction.

Esai and his gang are later involved in the theft of another piece of Martian military tech, which is handed over to a team of Belters, who summarily execute the gang before retreating off-world. Bobbie witnesses this happening.

Avasarala, Earth, and The OPA

The Outer Planets Alliance (OPA) faction represented by Camina Drummer (Cara Gee) and Klaes Ashford (David Strathairn) allies with the UN. They re-brand and re-purpose the Behemoth as Medina station, setting themselves up as gate-keepers of the rings, helping to enforce the UN blockade. It’s hoped that this will grant them a place at the table and influence over the new galactic order.

Not all Belters are on board with this new paradigm, perceiving it as selling out; a capitulation to those who would still demean and exploit them. Marco Inaros (Keon Alexander) is the most vocal and militant voice of opposition. Marco is Naomi Nagata’s (Dominique Tipper) ex-beau and father of their child, Filip (Jasai Chase Owens), and while these days he styles himself a freedom fighter, it wasn’t always thus. When he was with Naomi, he tricked her into writing code that he claimed would merely disable other ships, allowing their faction to come to the rescue and extort payment for their time and trouble. However, Marco used the code to overload the reactor of a docked ship, killing hundreds of people. When the distraught and guilt-ridden Naomi left the faction she was prevented from taking their son, Filip.

Marco is apprehended by Drummer and Ashford for his part in capturing the UNN colony ship Soujourner and executing its crew. While aboard the Behemoth, Marco tries to win Ashford over to his world view, reminding him that the Belt will suffer a terminal decline of profit and influence owing to the exodus, and, besides, very few Belters, due to their space-bound physiology, will be able to take advantage of the brave new worlds beyond the ring gates. The heads of the various OPA factions assemble to decide whether or not Marco should be spaced (ejected into space sans suit) for breaking the fragile truce between the inner and outer planets. It’s Drummer who breaks the tie, reasoning that killing Marco would make him a martyr, and propel into action those factions loyal to his cause.

On Earth, Avasarala faces a leadership challenge from Nancy Gao (Lily Gao) who, in contrast to the incumbent, is a fierce advocate for embracing the change, opportunity and adventure that the ring gates represent. Avasarala’s campaign takes its toll on her ethics and her personal life, especially her marriage. She resorts to smears against Gao, and isn’t above attempting to use the problems on Ilus to her advantage.

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OPA bigwig Fred Johnson (Chad L. Coleman) reveals Marco’s location to Avasarala, who wastes no time in dispatching a team of marines to the Pizzouza spacecraft to extract him. Marco, however, isn’t on board, and the resulting firefight between marines and Belters results in grave loss of life. The fallout critically damages Avasarala’s image, reputation and election chances, and moreover plays right into Marco’s hands.

Fred Johnson visits the Behemoth, receiving from Drummer both a punch in the face and news of her resignation. Ashford vows to track down and kill Marco and wants Drummer to accompany him, but she declines on the grounds that she’s sick of politics and its machinations.

Ashford’s pursuit of Marco through the Belt leads him to a Martian naval officer, who reveals under interrogation the existence of a conspiracy involving Martians and Belters. When Ashford finally tracks down Marco, on an abandoned asteroid mine in the belt (from which there are also some asteroids missing) he’s prevented from killing him by the appearance Marco’s and Naomi’s son Filip, who emerges from the shadows to tip the balance of power in his father’s favour. Ashford is spaced, but before he dies he broadcasts a secret recording that incriminates Marco and will alert whomever receives the transmission to the conspiracy – even if Ashford never learned its exact purpose or shape.

On Earth, Avasarala is defeated by Nancy Gao. Avasarala dictates a conciliatory message to Nancy Gao, which ends thusly: “As for policy and the direction you’re taking the earth and all her peoples. Well, we disagree. One of us is wrong. I think it’s you… but I hope it’s me.”

Ilus/New Terra

When the Rocinante arrives on Ilus – or New Terra, as the UN would have it – there is already palpable tension and mistrust between the Belters and the crew of the Edward Israel. The RCE’s shuttle was downed on its way from orbit, resulting in deaths and injuries. Survivors of the crash include the group’s leader, the merciless Adolphus Murtry Burn Gorman); RCE security officer Chandra Wei (Jess Salgueiro); and exo-biologist Dr Elvi Okoye (Lyndie Greenwood). Violence is halted when everyone is swarmed by alien bugs, soon confirmed as protomolecule-based.

The planet is home to large structures that were built by the long-dead beings responsible for the protomolecule. Proto-Miller (Thomas Jane) appears to Holden and makes him go to one of the ruined structures to remove a root that’s blocking a connection. This turns on the structure and, it would appear, the entire planet, shaking loose forks of promethean lightning from the dark, oppressive clouds. Holden fires a torpedo at another of the structures when it too appears to activate.

Amos (Wes Chatham) and Murtry play detective for a time, discovering that the planet’s landing pad was blown up deliberately. In the ensuing stand-off between the Belters and the RCE group, Murtry shoots and kills one of the Belters. This violent act kills the potential bromance between Amos and Murtry. Both men are killers, but Amos, despite his shallow affect, follows a more honourable code of ethics, one that puts him at irreconcilable loggerheads with the ruthless Murtry. Amos is taken into custody while Naomi – still having trouble adjusting to terra firma, despite the help of acclimation drugs – helps a Belter woman named Lucia (Rosa Gilmore) escape the RCE’s clutches. She’s being pursued by the RCE because they know she was involved in blowing up the landing pad. Lucia explains to Naomi that it was only supposed to be an act of sabotage to buy the Belters more time. When it became clear that this act of sabotage would coincide with the arrival of the RCE’s shuttle, Lucia tried to abort the action, but was prevented from doing so by her co-conspirators. Holden and Alex (Cas Anvar) come to Naomi and Lucia’s aid as they’re hunted across the encampment, bringing some of the Rocinante’s firepower to bear. Alex takes Lucia and Naomi into orbit aboard the Rocinante, leaving Holden behind to plead with the two factions to evacuate the unpredictable, proto-molecule-soaked planet, with a little time left over to punch Murtry in the face and demand Amos’s release.

Neither faction wants to abandon the planet, or their claim to the lithium, but soon the planet itself renders Holden’s exhortations irrelevant. An island explodes, precipitating a shockwave and tsunami that threatens their survival. Worse still, the fall-out has somehow rendered the fusion drives on the orbiting spacecraft useless. There’s no prospect of escape or rescue. Everyone has to flee for refuge in one of the alien ruins.

Structures, slugs and synthesised drugs

Once inside, the survivors split into two factions, RCE on one side, Belters on the other, with Holden and Amos somewhere in the middle. They quickly discover that the structure is teeming with countless thousands of neurotoxic alien slugs and hostile micro-organisms. Everyone except Holden starts to go blind after being infected by the micro-organisms. Many others succumb to the fatal touch of the slugs. Murtry, becoming more unstable by the moment, reveals to his group his true objective on Ilus/New Terra. It isn’t the lithium he’s after, but the proto-molecule tech. He also wants to kill Holden and Amos.

Above the planet, Alex and Naomi devise a plan to tether the Rocinante to the Barbapiccola to prevent its decaying orbit from dragging it down onto the planet’s surface. Murtry keeps things interesting by ordering the Edward Israel to fire on the Rocinante.

The exo-biologist Dr Okoye works out – just in the nick of time – that Holden is immune to the micro-organisms because of the anti-cancer medication he’s been taking ever since he and Miller were exposed to radiation on Eros. She synthesises a cure, and the effects are reversed. In time, the waters recede enough for the survivors to leave the structure.

Meanwhile, proto-Miller again appears to Holden. The ‘real’ Miller is now battling with the protomolecule for control of the Miller ‘avatar’. In a moment of lucidity, Miller explains to Holden that the hat-wearing Miller he’s been dealing with is The Investigator, whose mission was to bring Holden and a dose of active protomolecule through the ring gates to activate the structures on Ilus. Miller, however, has identified a place on the planet where the protomolecule can’t go, where in fact all trace of it can be destroyed.

Holden heads off in search of this weak spot. He’s led to a portal which transports him to another structure elsewhere on the planet, swiftly followed by Murtry and Chandra (with whom Amos had a brief ‘romance’), who are intent on killing him. Amos and Okoye follow. Amos fatally shoots Chandra, then Murtry shoots and disables Amos. Meanwhile, Okoye and Holden find a mysterious circular rift that Miller refers to as ‘the bullet’. While Holden rushes to aid Amos and incapacitate Murtry, Okoye stays behind to help Miller with ‘the bullet’. Miller merges with items strewn around the room to give him the corporeal form necessary to enter and plug the rift. His self-sacrifice not only saves Okoye, who is almost swallowed by the phenomenon, but returns everything to normal. All vestiges of the protomolecule are removed, the planet is ‘deactivated’ and fusion engines can function once more. The Belters and some of the RCE scientists decide to stay behind on Ilus. In orbit, Holden ejects the only piece of protomolecule that’s still aboard the Rocinante into Ilus’ sun. Murtry is a prisoner aboard the Rocinante, but the crew decides to let Lucia go.

The Beginning of the End

Bobbie reaches out to Avasarala to tell her about the criminal conspiracy between Martian and Belter criminals/terrorists. Ashford’s message, which lends weight to this intel, is out there in the ether somewhere, but no one has yet detected it. Bobbie and Avasarala are now working together.

It was Filip who was with the team of Belters on Mars that stole the piece of military tech before eliminating Esai’s gang. The hardware taken was stealth tech, which we discover that Marco Inaros has used to cloak eight asteroids that are currently hurtling their way towards Earth.

It’s going to be fascinating and harrowing in equal measure to see what a few million tonnes of space-rock will do to the tentative peace that’s barely holding the Sol system together, and how the various factions will make peace – or war – with the atrocity to come.

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Roll on season five.

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