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denimbex1986 · 10 months ago

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'There’s no shortage of glowing things to say about Ripley, Netflix’s masterful adaptation of Patricia Highsmith’s The Talented Mr. Ripley, which is proof that hiring great artists is the surest means of producing great art. Written and directed by Oscar-winning screenwriter Steven Zaillian (Schindler’s List, The Irishman, The Night Of), shot by Oscar-winning cinematographer Robert Elswit (There Will Be Blood), and starring acclaimed actor Andrew Scott (All of Us Strangers, Fleabag), this is a sumptuous, suspenseful, and altogether stellar black-and-white series. It not only avoids making a misstep along its cunningly winding journey, but it also manages to exceed expectations at every turn, such that there isn’t a gesture or suggestion in its eight episodes that doesn’t enhance its overpowering overall effect. Premiering April 4 on Netflix (after having originally been produced for, and by, Showtime), Ripley is the platonic ideal of television.

To find a series as perfectly realized as this is a shock unto itself, and the fact that Ripley is a retelling of an oft-told tale that’s already received two superb big-screen adaptations (1960’s Purple Noon and 1999's The Talented Mr. Ripley) simply makes its triumph that much more astonishing. Hewing closely to its source material even as it expands on it in canny ways that would make its subject proud, Zaillian’s saga begins in New York City with Tom Ripley (Scott), who gets by via low-level scams; he convinces doctors’ patients that they owe overdue payments, which he then has sent to his (fake) collection agency. Tom is a snake who hides in plain sight and knows how to play the angles. He’s also someone who has a particular knack—due to smarts and sociopathic self-interest—for slipping out of trouble, as he does when this ruse suddenly falls apart.

Unsure of what next move to make, he’s smiled upon by fortune when he's contacted by a private investigator (Bokeem Woodbine) who’s working for shipping magnate Herbert Greenleaf (Kenneth Lonergan). Greenleaf has mistakenly heard that Tom knows his son, Dickie (Johnny Flynn); he wants him to track Dickie down in Italy, where the scion has lived for some time in the lap of layabout luxury as an aspiring painter.

Tom is a peerless chameleon precisely because all that lurks beneath his charming surface is a void of greed, cruelty, and ambition, and Scott evokes his deceptive ruthlessness through his eyes—which slyly convey the machinations developing and spinning in his head—and his thin, unwelcoming smiles. Charismatic and scary in equal measure, Scott has never been better, and he’s aided in his exceptional cause by Zaillian, whose writing is razor-sharp and his direction just as assured. Collaborating with Elswit, the filmmaker’s monochromatic imagery is at once classically beautiful and coolly menacing as—it reflects the inherently bifurcated nature of his protagonist, who’s defined by the interplay between his light (exterior) and dark (interior) sides.

Together, the writer and cinematographer (along with production designer David Gropman and composer Jeff Russo) provide a bounty of aesthetic delights: deft framing in which Tom is constantly spied at alienated distances in narrow passageways and doorways; recurring, heavily symbolic sights of mirrors, water, Roman statues, and the paintings of Caravaggio, whom Dickie loves and Tom comes to adore; and numerous, precisely playful sequences that crosscut between written and spoken words, reality and imagination.

Ripley follows Tom to the rapturous coastal Italian town of Atrani, where he slides into the life of Dickie, whose careless arrogance facilitates Tom’s subterfuge, and Dickie’s girlfriend Marge (Dakota Fanning), who’s penning a self-indulgent travel book about the area. Marge is wary of Tom, especially because she suspects that there’s a financial as well as homoerotic strain to his friendship with Dickie. Zaillian’s scripts shrewdly imply those undercurrents—as does Tom, deliberately—while simultaneously making clear that the character truly feels nothing but a burning, unquenchable hunger for that which he does not have: wealth, status, and the satisfaction of besting those who think themselves his superior. To satiate that craving requires an endless procession of logistical, emotional, and psychological cons. Luckily for him, Tom is the master of his trade, and part of the series’ thrill is Zaillian’s depiction of his subject’s ploys as both adeptly premeditated and—as in amazingly lengthy, methodical scenes of murder and the ensuing cover-ups—concocted on the fly, one cautious and clever detail at a time.

Tom longs not to be with Dickie but to literally be him, and once that fantasy comes true during a harrowing third episode, Ripley picks up steam as it watches Scott’s phony strive to transform himself by juggling innumerable lies and complications, many of them brought about by a subsequent homicide and, with it, the pesky involvement of Rome’s Inspector Ravini (Maurizio Lombardi). From Scott to Fanning to Lombardi, Ripley’s every participant is phenomenal, imparting that which isn’t uttered aloud through pointed looks and crafty insinuations. Formally speaking, Zaillian does likewise: periodic panoramas of crashing waves and water relate to Tom’s fear of getting in over his head; close-ups of Caravaggio works (and, ultimately, flashbacks to the painter’s own murderous past) cast Tom as his kindred artist; and shots of ticking clocks, reflections, ashtrays, suitcases, wine glasses, rings, and romantic Italian getaways amplify a sense of Tom’s materialism, vanity, and covetous deviousness.

The story of a man who’s potentially doomed by his inherent self, Ripley has a noir heart and a striking style to match, and like its protagonist—who’s nothing if not an actor and a director—it performs a skillful tightrope act. Be it Dickie pal Freddie Miles’ (Eliot Sumner) gender-neutral identity, religious iconography, or repeated scenarios (e.g., Tom walking past cops as he disembarks from trains and ferries), every specific element contributes seamlessly to the whole, and Zaillian orchestrates it all with electric confidence and flair. Miring Tom in a duality-drenched mess of his own making, the series only grows more edge-of-your-seat exciting as the walls begin to close in on the fraudster, and he’s compelled to carry out a succession of gambits that hinge on a confluence of table-setting manipulations, in-the-moment maneuvers, and unlikely twists of fate. That Ripley pulls off its conclusion with aplomb while additionally laying the groundwork for a possible follow-up (with the participation of John Malkovich, who starred as Ripley in 2002’s Ripley’s Game!) is, in the end, almost too good to be true. Fortunately for viewers, it’s par for the course of this tour-de-force—the finest thing TV has offered in many years.'

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glenngaylord · 4 years ago

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Broman Holiday - Film Review: Luca ★★★★

Picture a story of two young men who meet in an Italian village one fateful summer. They share a strong bond, but circumstances seem fated to drive them apart. Bicycles get ridden. Sun-dappled scenery evokes pure romance. Peaches, or perhaps peach gelato, may or may not play a role. You’d find yourself forgiven for immediately thinking of a certain Oscar-nominated film from a few years ago, but who would have imagined the same scenario applying to the new Pixar movie, Luca? In the battle of text and subtext, Luca finds that sweet spot between a cute family adventure and an unabashedly LGBTQIA+ budding romance.

Enrico Casarosa makes his feature directing debut, and along with co-writers Jesse Andrews and Mike Jones, gives us Luca Paguro (Jacob Tremblay), a 13-year-old sea monster who, in the 1950s, spends his days herding fish and coming home to his parents Daniela (Maya Rudolph) and Lorenzo (Jim Gaffigan). They constantly warn Luca to stay away from the dangerous world above their undersea environs. Naturally, or else goodbye movie, Luca meets Alberto (Jack Dylan Grazer) who coaxes Luca to the surface, where their bodies take on human form. With a secret only spoiled if they get wet again, the boys seek out all the thrills and spills denied them in their natural habitat. In a delightful sequence, we find them building and crashing janky Vespa prototypes. They crash at their new friend Giulia’s house and learn of a triathlon competition consisting of bicycling, pasta eating, and the dreaded swimming leg. If they win, they can buy a real, if busted, Vespa, and Broman Holiday it up until the dog days of August. Add a town bully who looks and acts just like Dancing With The Stars judge Bruno Tonioli and scene stealing roles from Napoleon Dynamite legend, Sandy Martin as Luca’s droll Grandma, and Sasha Baron Cohen as his loopy Uncle Ugo, and you have an unpretentious delight for all ages.

Those who can sniff out the undercurrents (pardon the Dad joke pun), however, will see Luca as a thinly veiled coming-out/gay love story. With its lush score by Dan Romer and its rainbow-colored gallery of hues and tones, you may find this the perfect setting for a same sex connection. It’s the male version of The Little Mermaid with a Pride month release date.

Try watching Luca and Alberto stand arm in arm as they take in a beautiful sunset without wanting to shout, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” at the screen. You don’t have to squint to recognize the parallels to gay-themed films in which the fear of being discovered or living authentically with someone you love play a major part. Even Giulia has that tomboy Peppermint Patty quality to complete this platonic trio’s oh so woozy, eye-contact filled rush of same sex loving vibes. The inclusion of a character with a disability in the form of Guilia’s father Massimo adds to the film’s way of coloring outside the lines.

Those expecting the grandeur of such Pixar triumphs as Toy Story or Finding Nemo may feel disappointed in this decidedly low-key effort, but it’s the small scale and unfussy animation which actually made me love it more. The visuals may not feel as eye-popping as past fare, but this adorable, fast-paced, funny tale earns its gorgeous final shot, a bittersweet moment of longing and freedom.

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merryfortune · 5 years ago

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Day 4 – Water / Connection

Ship: Aoi/Aqua/Miyu

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Vrains

Word Count: 1.8k

Tags: Post-Canon, Alternate Universe – Everybody Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst With A Happy Ending, Prose, Introspective Fic

The first thing the Water Ignis became aware of upon becoming lucid, sentient, was that girl’s smile.

Her Origin adored this girl. Shy, clumsy, hiding behind her fringe and this massive dolly that she carried around – a dolly Aqua would later have been taught by her Miyu, her host, as being Evilswarm Mandragora. It was an Earth attribute monster so the Water Ignis wasn’t overly familiar with it by virtue of being the Ignis of the Water attribute, and by virtue of having been born from duelling using cards exclusive to her preordained attribute. However, it was the principal of it, what it symbolised not only to herself, but to her Miyu as well. Thus, the Water Ignis held a fondness for it and the rest of its elemental classification regardless. Still, the Water Ignis enjoyed the visage of the little girl clutching onto it as Miyu read the card description for it over and over again. It was a precious memory which the Water Ignis clung to as she tried to understand this world which she had been brought into and her Miyu had been taken away from.

Even as a child, a six-year old, Miyu had a grand interest in duelling and she had a fantastic aptitude for it. The Water Ignis could not have been prouder of this girl whom she was so intimately connected to as Ignis and originator. And whilst it may have been a serene image of a smile, a raucous and joyous moment of fun stolen in time, was what the Water Ignis awakened to when she became sentient inside of her tank, as studied and probed by the scientists who had orchestrated her existence and reason for her existence, the Water Ignis knew that her child, her Miyu, was exceptionally strong despite her position. The Water Ignis was keenly aware, from the moment her twinkling eyes opened, and her fingers could move through the fluid which she was kept in a prismatic, glassy stasis within, she knew the cruelty of the situation.

Her birth, her awareness, her entire existence was brought upon by the suffering of that girl, her Miyu whom she knew simultaneously everything and nothing about. Occasionally, the Water Ignis would get a glimpse of what Miyu thought or felt and that would strengthen her. It would give her body more stillness and it would give her mind more clarity but all it did was make her want to weep.

The Water Ignis did not believe that she had a right to exist if her existence was suffering. Day in, day out: electrocution, hunger, exhaustion, squalor, deprivation, isolation – the list of sins inspired by this experiment grew longer and longer.

But there came a day. Another moment in which Miyu was thrown against the wall in shock and it made the Water Ignis shudder. Another loss, another ring of electrocution and another meal which was nothing but rice and the thinnest juice available in a cardboard box. But, the Water Ignis was rewarded because of how Miyu devoured that meal and stood up, aiming once more for freedom and for cake and for something which would quell the raging fear like a storm in her heart and mind because she wanted to see her Mama and Papa again.

She wanted to see Aoi again. That little girl with the pigtails and the Mandragora plushie who drew angels in the dirt. The Water Ignis could feel it. Feel it in her soul. Miyu poured her heart and soul into the Water Ignis and the Water Ignis desired very desperately to refill and replenish all which her host gave her.

And that desire, that spark, that little moment as Miyu gallantly duelled once more with an Aquaactress deck which had a severe disadvantage against the playing style of her AI foe. As Miyu stared at her hand like a foot, the Water Ignis could sense what was spurring her onwards as she tried to find some winning combination amongst these cards which were jarring and didn’t seem to fit together as ideally as anyone would like.

It was true that yes, Miyu would like to have a big slice of cake topped with strawberries and vanilla ice-cream, or that she would like to take big, gulping breaths of fresh air or to go longer than ten minutes without being electrocuted, but there was something which, for her, transcended all those things and that motivation was what became the core of the Water Ignis’ very being.

She wanted to apologise. She wanted to tell the truth. She wanted to protect the smile of the girl reduced to sobbing when her mother, with a grip like an iron vice on her wrist, dragged her away from this precious friend. Something which sickened the Water Ignis immensely because of how she studied this familial and platonic interaction: it was all she knew, for now, as taught by this hurting child.

It was little reprieve when the day they separated finally happened. The Water Ignis was going to miss her little girl but her little smile was too precious, too dear, so she would forsake it. She would flee with her kin and they would hide away from the world until it was smashed to smithereens.

From there, the Water Ignis sat in the grass and she sat in the bronze. She was given a name by her dearest companion yet she still, inwardly, sought to the smile which was not his and when his own demise came to pass, Aqua knew what she had to do in his stead as she knew the truth. She always did. His Origin was not so kind, and her Origin was not so wakeful, but coincidences bisected perfectly and Aqua found her. The girl whom the very smile from which she was conceived came into her life; glittering and blue. Aqua could see it beneath that digital disguise: the girl who still hid behind her brunette bangs.

She sat in linen. Aoi’s sheets were soft and her room was playful. It was exactly the sort of room that Aqua thought a girl child would have. It was pink and pastel with dolls in the corners. It made her nostalgic for daydreams of things which, in hindsight, perhaps could have come to pass but in foresight, would have changed things far too drastically. This was the best course of action: a partnership with the girl of blue. Blue Angel; Blue Girl’ Blue Maiden – the fairy tales and stories of triumph that Aoi and Miyu had shared amongst each other, dear and precious memories which had contributed to how Aqua was created from her Origin.

And later, with much regret, Aqua sat through her demise. It was a lonely stasis, one which she couldn’t breach by herself; she had to rely on Ai and the guilt which he was riddled with. Aqua regrets that very much; her kindness had its limits and he was untouchable, it all but seemed. So, she spent of her time, biding, waiting patiently for the opportunity in which she would return from whence she had come. Not darkness, not liquid, but to her.

Her Miyu.

And her Aoi.

That wonderful day came most fabulously after a long and harrowing ten years.

A lot had happened. No longer was Miyu’s hair tied up in a gallant set of twin pigtails and no longer was Aoi terrified so easily and no longer was the Water Ignis simply the Water Ignis. She was no longer tiny, tiny enough to fit in the palm of Miyu’s hand; she now had a humanlike body save for the diamond notch on her neck which marked her as a SOLtis droid; a cyan-lit notch she wore with pride because she wanted to honour how accessible the world had become thanks to human innovation. And ultimately, it didn’t matter. No matter her body, her story and her goals and her ambitions and her rational thinking would remain unchanging despite the fluidity of her element.

She was Aqua: partner to Blue Maiden, Ignis to Sugisaki Miyu, and lover to them both.

She was delighted to be part of their life. Though, it felt awkward being somewhat taller than them both, but she slotted in between them quite naturally. Their connection was something precious to her and she was their precious connection to each other, as well: past and present, knowingly and unknowingly. The little creature born from their love, in a metallic body, holding their hands and joining them in moving forward and smiling. Beaming. Grinning.

In her absence, they had found each other and that brought Aqua a joy the likes of which she couldn’t describe and would forever cherish. Whilst a part of her, hopeful and idealistic, would have loved to have been in that fragrant hospital room with them when they had reunited, she was glad that she wasn’t. There was a symbolism to it and Aqua could be happy with that neatness: that pattern and meaning that she saw, personally, amid the entropy of reality and how victories are never flawless just as losses are never hopeless. Just as Miyu did not know she was there; she did not know that Miyu was there this second time around when light finally pierced the darkness and darkness pierced the light. So, to hear of the smiles and laughter and the embraces that they had with one another after her demise and in the wake of the incident with Lightning was something special to Aqua.

Her moment in which she found life in her existence, still and static and closed off from not only the world but from her Origin as well, was when Miyu had thought of her dearest friend’s smile. And so, it felt like a closed connection to Aqua. She had returned from whence she had come but this time, on her own terms. With her head up and her shoulders back, Aqua was ready.

She wanted to be the dolly that they shared amongst themselves, but she chastised herself for that; they weren’t children anymore, they were fine young adults, so she had to find her own maturation as well. It was likely too late to indulge such childish fantasies of playing with them like she had daydreamed so long ago, amid whistling Datastorms and rippling, green grass, when everything seemed hopeful and soft after the completion of the Cyberse World.

But her girls laughed, in good nature, at her laments and Aqua flushed, embarrassed. With an elegant body like hers and a face so pretty, Aqua could still be their dolly. She could hold onto their soft, human hands and she could be reason for their smiles, not their tears, and they could stride forward, into a shining new tomorrow held upon their own strengths and joys.

#cyberselove2019 #yugioh vrains #vrains #yugioh #aqua (vrains)#aoi zaizen #zaizen aoi #miyu sugisaki #sugisaki miyu #zinniashipping #teardropshipping #there's no tag for this ship but both are relevant #writing tag #femslash #i tried to write this as inspired by the fact its world smile day today

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btssavedmylifeblr · 7 years ago

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Everybody wanna love you - Pt. 2 (M)

Summary: BTS gets drunk and reads fan fiction together.

Pairing: Platonic OT7

Genre: Ridiculously filthy smut and boys being boys

Word Count: 4621

Warnings: The fan fiction the boys read is quite explicit, but the boys stay (mostly) platonic.

A/N: All of the fan fiction the boys read in this is written (badly) by me. Any resemblance to other people’s stories is coincidence. I am not trying to make fun of anyone other than myself as an avid reader and writer of BTS fan fiction.

Part One Part Two Part Three

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“Why are we doing this?” Yoongi asks as he passes around shot glasses to the table, filling Jin’s glass with soju before handing the bottle over to Jungkook to fill everyone else’s, then heading back into the kitchen for snacks.

“They need to know!” Jin shouts after him from the head of dining table, gesturing at the three youngest who are sitting together at the other end. Jungkook is busy pouring shots for everyone, delighted at being included in both the drinking and the risqué discussion. Taehyung is twirling his glass on the table and Jimin is frowning down at his empty glass, waiting for Jungkook to fill it.

“Why do they need to know?” Yoongi calls from the kitchen, pulling down a bag of chips from the top shelf of a cupboard and pouring some into a bowl for the table.

“They need to know how weird it gets!” Jin shouts back, laughing.

“I don’t want to know how weird it gets…” Jimin whines, head collapsing onto his arm which he has stretched across the table as he holds out his glass to Jungkook.

Hoseok has returned from his bedroom with his laptop and situated himself on Jin’s right side, chuckling to himself as he pulls up the fansites he’s familiar with. Taehyung leans across the empty seat next to him to see what Hoseok’s looking at. Taehyung’s eyes widen as he stares at the contents of the computer screen.

“Eh-hmn…” Yoongi clears his throat behind Taehyung, who startles and then quickly slides out of Yoongi’s designated seat next to Hoseok.

“Isn’t Jungkookie a little young for all this?” Taehyung teases, ruffling Jungkook’s hair as he scoots in next to him to make room for Yoongi and the bowl of snacks.

“Hey!” Jungkook objects, squirming out from under Taehyung’s hand, and gathering up his glass of soju protectively.

“He’s starring in it, Tae!” Jin says in a voice of barely contained laughter, smacking the table in emphasis.

“Plus…” Namjoon chimes in, leaning across the table from his seat on Jin’s left. “How’s he supposed to go out and get laid in the future if he can’t even handle reading about it?” Namjoon raises his glass of soju to Jungkook across the table. Jungkook raises his glass right back, giggling to himself.

“You know that fan fiction is terrible advice for both relationships and sex, right?” Yoongi replies, raising his eyebrow at Namjoon in concern.

“Yeah…” Namjoon nods. “But it sure is entertaining!” Namjoon and Jin both burst into laughter and Jin wraps his arm around Namjoon, muttering something the younger boys can’t hear and chuckling conspiratorially.

“You two really are the biggest perverts…” Jimin says, gesturing at their leader and their eldest member together before downing his glass of soju.

“Yah!” Jin shouts, hands on his hips. “No drinking before your elders!”

“Sorry hyung…” Jimin mutters, holding out his glass to Jungkook for a refill.

“Why are we the biggest perverts?” Namjoon asks Jimin. “Yoongi-hyung and Hobi have read it too!” He gestures at the two men across the table from him who are engrossed in something on Hoseok’s laptop.

“No, no, no…” Yoongi replies, looking up and shaking his head. “Don’t drag me into this. Jin-hyung is clearly the instigator here…”

“I’m just trying to educate!” Jin huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, but still grinning ear-to-ear.

“Fine… let’s settle it then.” Hoseok interjects, trying to bring the group make to the main point of this evening: traumatizing the maknaes. “Each hyung gets one story. Whoever’s the biggest pervert wins.”

“What do we win?” Yoongi chuckles.

“Shame, guilt, and a sign you should rethink your life…” Jimin answers.

“Well, that hardly seems worth it…” Namjoon scoffs, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms.

“I’ll do their laundry for a week!” Jungkook shouts, already two shots into the soju that he keeps sneaking whenever Jin isn’t looking.

“You already do all our laundry anyways…” Namjoon teases and Jungkook pouts.

“I’ll… uhh…” Jungkook racks his brain for a better bribe. “I’ll buy you lamb skewers!”

“See?” Jin says to Jimin, gesturing at the overly excited maknae at the end of the table. “The boy wants to know!”

Jin looks back to Hoseok. “I’m in.”

Hoseok looks to Namjoon and Yoongi.

“Yeah… me too.” Namjoon nods. Yoongi grunts in assent.

“Excellent!” Hoseok grins. “I have a good one…”

Wednesdays are Jungkook’s favorite day of the week. If any of his friends asked why, Jungkook would tell them it’s because he has no morning classes and can enjoy a leisurely latte over his study materials. But the truth is that Wednesdays are Jungkook’s favorite day because Wednesdays are the day that Jimin works the morning shift. Jungkook would be lying if he said that the two minutes he gets to exchange small talk with the gorgeous pink-haired barista weren’t the highlight of his week.

“Wait…” Jungkook interrupts. “I’m gay?”

“Yup.” Hoseok nods, trying not to laugh at how quickly the youngest already has questions.

“And I have a crush on Jimin?” Jungkook asks, looking quickly at actual Jimin and then looking away just as quickly.

“Apparently…” Hoseok shrugs, before pressing onward with the story. Jungkook chews on the inside of his cheek, more questions brewing.

Today is probably the best Wednesday Jungkook has had in a month. Jimin not only remembered Jungkook’s name, but also Jungkook’s regular order. Jungkook wishes his regular order was something manly like a red eye or a café Americano black instead of the café mocha with extra whipped cream and chocolate shavings that was sitting in front of him now. But his regular order has been his regular order since long before the most beautiful man in the world started working here.

Jungkook has also triumphed today by arriving early enough to lay claim to his favorite comfy chair. Jungkook would argue that it was his favorite because it was a particularly fluffy and soft, not because it happened to allow him the perfect view to watch Jimin’s butt jiggle whenever Jimin turned to work the espresso machine.

“Fan-fiction drinking game!” Jin shouts, raising his glass in the air. “Take a shot whenever they talk about Jimin’s butt!”

“Yes!!” Namjoon laughs, clinking his glass to Jin’s before they both down their shots.

Jimin folds over onto the table, face is hidden from view by his hands, no doubt flushing a bright pink. “Fuck me…” he whines into the table.

“I think Jungkook’s going to…” Namjoon says and the whole table roars in approval.

Hoseok cackles, smacking the table over and over as he laughs and Yoongi raises his glass to Namjoon in props. Taehyung sticks his tongue in his cheek and shakes his head, before downing his shot. Jimin peaks out from behind his hands to roll his eyes and grab another drink, and Jungkook begins giggling so hard that he nearly falls out of his chair, whole body doubled-over in laughter.

“Let’s find out, shall we?” Yoongi eggs Hoseok on.

“God, you are so obvious…” A deep voice interrupts Jungkook’s day dreams.

Jungkook is startled from his dazed worshipping of Jimin’s backside…

“Drink! drink!” Jin chants, downing his shot glass.

Hoseok pauses the story and everyone drinks.

“Erhm…” Hoseok coughs and clears his throat after the shot. “Maybe it should be a sip for every mention of Jimin’s butt…”

“No way!” Jimin slams his hand down on the table, feeling bolder now that he has two shots of soju in his system. “My ass is worth a full shot!”

“That’s my boy!” Namjoon laughs, slapping Jimin hard on the back and pouring him another.

“Ahem!” Hoseok calls for attention and restarts.

Jungkook is startled by his blonde shaggy-haired best friend plopping noisily into the empty seat across from him and blocking Jungkook’s view.

“I would think you would have learned to be subtler in your stalking.” Taehyung teases when Jungkook huffs in annoyance. “What with all the practice you get…”

“Shhh!” Jungkook panics, looking over at Jimin to see if he heard anything, but the barista doesn’t seem to be able to hear anything over the roar of the espresso machine.

“Oh relax…” Taehyung scoffs, sticking a finger into the middle of Jungkook’s whipped cream and scooping up a large dollop before depositing it into his own mouth and sucking noisily on his finger.

“Hey!” Jungkook shouts. “Go get your own!” He grabs his mocha and yanks it out of his best friend’s reach. “I don’t know where your fingers have been…”

Taehyung wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Only Hobi does…”

“Ugh… gross.” Jungkook frowns down at his mocha as images of Tae’s hand halfway up Hoseok’s ass come unbidden to his mind.

“Euuggghhhhhhhh…” A uniform chorus of groans sounds from everyone at the table and Hoseok pauses to take another sip of soju.

Hoseok looks over to check on Taehyung and discovers that Taehyung has hidden his entire head inside the neck of his shirt.

“You okay Taetae?” Hoseok asks.

The headless shirt nods at him and holds up his shot glass in solidarity.

Hoseok swallows to clear his throat and continues.

Jungkook shoves his mocha back at Tae. “You owe me another…”

“Okay… okay…” Taehyung nods, standing back up. “Gives me an excuse to chat up the bartender with the spank-able ass …”

“Drink! drink!” Everyone jubilantly chants, then downs another round.

“Wait…” Jungkook coughs as he recovers from the shot. “We’re all gay?” Hoseok nods in confirmation. Jungkook purses his lips in thought.

“Doesn’t seem very realistic does it?” Namjoon says, swirling his soju.

“Well, duh…” Jimin responds. “None of us are gay…” He looks around the circle eagerly for confirmation. Jungkook nods at him, but the others all seem lost in thought.

“Well, statistically, one or two of us might be…” Namjoon replies, still swirling his alcohol and staring into space. “There’s nothing wrong with it. Love is just love, you know?”

The boys glance around the circle at each other. Jin stares at Namjoon, who continues to swirl his soju. Yoongi’s eyes flick over to Hoseok to find Hoseok watching Jimin closely, but Jimin is also starring Namjoon, mouth open slightly. Taehyung is still hiding inside his shirt and Jungkook makes himself busy peeling the label off the soju bottle, not making eye contact with anyone.

“But it’s highly improbable that all of us would be gay.” Namjoon adds, shaking his head and looking up from his glass. Everyone else exhales at the same time.

“Didn’t girls write this?” Jungkook pipes up.

“I think so…” Hoseok answers.

“So why do they want us to be gay?” Jungkook asks. “Doesn’t that mean we’re less likely to hook up with them?”

“I have a theory!” Namjoon sets down his glass and leans forward. “Most of our fans are girls, right?”

The circle of boys nods in agreement.

“So…they don’t want to read about us hooking up with other girls. It makes them jealous. They want to imagine it’s them. That’s why they write that terrible ‘you… you… your name here…’ shit.”

The circle continues to nod, following along with their leader.

“But!” Namjoon holds up a finger. “If you want to write real fleshed-out characters, you need protagonists with names and physical descriptions. So, they make us gay! Then we can hook up with each other and no one gets jealous.” Namjoon smiles proudly at his explanation.

“I have a theory…” Yoongi interrupts. “Ever watch porn with two women in it?” Yoongi directs this question at the maknaes, but the whole circle nods in response.

“It’s like that.” Yoongi laughs and takes another drink. The boys laugh. Hoseok claps his hands. Namjoon frowns.

“Can we get back to the story now?” Taehyung asks from the inside his shirt.

“His name is Jimin” Jungkook retorts.

“Good to know…” Taehyung smirks and heads for the counter. Jungkook pretends to be absorbed in his calculus book but can’t help watching in worry as Taehyung approaches the counter. Jungkook knows Taehyung would never cheat on Hoseok, but he is still jealous of Taehyung’s easy confidence. Tae probably hasn’t showered in three days and definitely just threw on a random assortment of clothes from his bedroom floor, but he’s still the most gorgeous man in a 5-mile radius (pink-haired baristas excluded).

Taehyung’s head finally reemerges from his shirt, beaming proudly.

“Well, hello Jimin…” Taehyung coos in his deep voice, leaning in casual elegance against the counter. “Or can I call you gorgeous…”

“Ack!.. Bleckk…” A chorus of gagging sounds erupts as the entire table cringes in unison.

Jimin covers his mouth with hand and breathlessly giggles as Taehyung leans further across the counter and Jungkook pouts into his contaminated mocha. He should have just drank it, Hobi’s ass juice be damned.

“Eauuuggghhh......”

Taehyung continues the flirtation for much longer than is necessary to order a new coffee. He puts in the order and Jimin’s eyes flick over to Jungkook. Jungkook quickly stares down at his textbook. Finally, Taehyung returns.

“What is the matter with you?!” Jungkook hisses when Taehyung finally sits back down. “You are practically married! What are you doing flirting with the potential love of my life?!”

The sad truth of Jungkook’s life was that all his friends had settled down now. One of the drawbacks to being the youngest. Taehyung had Hoseok, Namjoon had Yoongi and Jungkook was all alone.

“Wait just a second!” Jin interjects. “Where am I?”

“Uhh… I don’t know…” Hoseok frowns at the computer screen, scrolling frantically.

Jin frowns and sips his soju.

“Here you are!” Hoseok finds something and points to his computer screen. “You’re the manager of the coffee shop.”

“Do I have sex with anyone?” Jin leans over to see the computer screen too.

“Umm…” Hoseok skims the page. “You awkwardly hit on Jungkook which causes Jimin to realize his true feelings…” Hoseok explains as Jin squints at the computer. “But umm… no. You don’t have sex with anyone.”

“What the hell?!” Jin throws his hands into the air.

“I’m still confused about why they want us to be gay…” Jungkook says, spilling some of his soju as he waves his hands in confusion.

“I’m much more confused about why they want us to be baristas…” Yoongi replies. “Don’t they know we’re rock stars?” Yoongi laughs and shakes his head. “Isn’t that sexier than making coffee for a living?”

“Yeah…” Namjoon begins explaining again. “But they want us to be approachable, you know? Tell real life stories…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…” Yoongi waves his hand dismissively. “If I’m going to read some elaborate fantasy about myself, I want to be a cowboy or an astronaut or something… Who gives a shit about what it would be like if Min Yoongi worked at Starbucks?” Yoongi pushes in next to Hoseok and takes over the computer from him.

“Hobi!” Yoongi turns to Hoseok, pointing at the screen. “This story is rated teen! There isn’t any sex in it!!”

“Oh…” Hoseok pouts. “But there was all that talk about ass juice!”

“You lose Hobi.” Namjoon shakes his head.

“My turn to pick one, right?” Yoongi asks the group and they nod. Yoongi clicks back to the main page BTS fanfiction page and his jaw drops as he begins scrolling through page after page.

“My god...” Yoongi mutters. “How much of this shit is there?”

“Forty-one thousand, two hundred and thirty-nine stories…” Hoseok answers, pointing to the top right of the screen.

“Holy shit…” Jungkook whispers and the whole table looks shocked.

“Forty-one thousand, two hundred and forty stories…” Yoongi adds as he clicks the refresh button.

“Who has the most?” Jin interjects, peering over Hoseok’s shoulder.

“Jimin” Hoseok answers. Jimin hides his face in his hands again. “Jimin, then Yoongi.”

“Yoongi?” Jungkook asks in surprise.

“Suga fans are intense people.” Yoongi says, shrugging, smug smile on his face.

“It’s just because Yoonmin is the most popular ship.” Namjoon interjects and Yoongi’s smile falters.

“What’s a ship?” Jungkook asks Namjoon.

“People you want to be in a relationSHIP.” Namjoon answers.

“Like Taekook…” Taehyung adds, nudging Jungkook with his elbow and Jungkook nods in understanding.

“But why Yoonmin?” Taehyung asks. “You guys almost never interact!”

Jimin and Yoongi both shrug. But Namjoon interjects with an explanation again. “I think it’s the juxtaposition of gruff and dominating with small and caring that the fans like.”

“Yoongi-hyung is only 1 centimeter taller!!!” Jimin shouts in frustration, banging his hands on the table.

“I think it’s because we’re the sexiest.” Yoongi says. Jimin smiles and the two reach across the table to clink their glasses together in triumph. All the other boys frown with various degrees of jealously on their faces.

“Who has the least?” Jin turns back to Hoseok.

“Umm…” Hoseok bites his lip, like he doesn’t really want to answer.

“It’s me, isn’t it?” Jin frowns.

Hoseok nods.

“Waaahhh…” Jin sighs, shock on his face. “Why don’t more people want to write about me? I’m an excellent muse!” Jin preens and laughs as he sips his soju. “I’m the eldest!” He insists. “I could be gruff and dominating!”

“Have you met you?” Jimin laughs.

“Yeah…Looks who’s talking ‘small and caring.’” Jin replies. Jimin opens his mouth to object, but Yoongi cuts him off.

“I want to read that one!” Yoongi insists pointing to something on Hoseok’s computer screen.

“Really, hyung?” Hoseok chuckles and Yoongi nods. Hoseok slides the computer over so it’s in front of Yoongi and Yoongi begins reading.

Captain Black Suga was shockingly beautiful for a pirate.

That’s all Captain Hoseok Jung could think as he gazed down at the man in chains on the deck of his ship.

Suga was wet from his recent dive overboard, another failed escape attempt, and his dark hair clung to his forehead, droplets of water dripping softly onto the deck. The captain watched as a single water droplet rolled down the pirate’s forehead, wrapped around the curve of his cheek, and traced a meandering path down the pirate’s neck. Captain Jung secretly wished he could follow the path of the water droplet with his tongue.

Hoseok begins giggling uncontrollably. “Why did you pick this one hyung?” He asks.

“I’m a pirate!” Yoongi gestures at the screen.

“Or he wants to read a Yoonseok story so he can flirt with you, Hobi.” Namjoon adds, chuckling. Hoseok laughs and blushes.

“I don’t understand why they won’t call us Sope…” Yoongi mutters before resuming the story.

God… he was beautiful. Hoseok’s loins ached just looking at him.

Black Suga was the very definition of temptation. His features were delicate, his skin shockingly pale for a man who had spent his whole life on the open sea. His small mouth was turned down in a slight frown. His thin pink lips parted as he panted, exposed pale chest rising and falling with each breath. He looked so soft and innocent, all wet and bedraggled, kneeling on the deck. But then his dark eyes flicked up to meet Hoseok’s and Hoseok felt like his very soul was on fire.

Perhaps that is where Black Suga got his name from, Hoseok mused. He seemed sweet like sugar, but then he could murder you and your whole crew without breaking a sweat, smile on his face. He was young, about the same age as Captain Jung and Captain Jung was the youngest captain in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy. Hoseok could only imagine the different twists and turns their lives must have taken from them to end up here, on opposite sides of the law.

Hoseok watched Suga’s tongue lap tentatively at the drops of water still running down his face from his hair and daydreamed about that tongue wrapping itself around his cock.

“Uhhh…” Yoongi pauses, shocked at what he just read. “Maybe we should find a different one…”

“No way!” The rest of the table immediately objects, delighted in how uncomfortable Yoongi suddenly is. Yoongi tries to press onward.

God… Hoseok can only imagine how beautiful Suga would be staring up at him from his knees, fiery black eyes focused on him, mouth full of his cock.

“Nope… I can’t do this...” Yoongi shoves the computer away.

“I can!” Hoseok scoops up the computer, laughing delightedly, and keeps reading.

Captain Jung really shouldn’t be thinking such things. Captains in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy weren’t supposed to think pirates were beautiful, especially not those pirates they were commanded to track down and put to death for their crimes against the crown. Probably shouldn’t fantasize about bedding them either. But one look at Suga and bending him over the starboard railing and fucking him for the whole ocean to see is all Hoseok can think about.

“Hey!” Yoongi interrupts. “I’m the badass pirate! Why wouldn’t I be the one fucking you?”

“The fandom has decided that I top in this relationship.” Hoseok teases.

“But I’m older!” Yoongi rants, pounding his fist on the table, and laughing.

“More! more!” Taehyung and Jungkook call in unison from the end of the table, delighted at how embarrassed their surly hyung is.

Hoseok had never seen Black Suga this close before. The best he had seen of the man was glimpses of him standing proud on the bow of his ship, usually sailing away from whatever carnage he had left in his wake: burned and sinking ships, ransacked villages, and suddenly penniless merchant vessels. Always leaving Captain Jung to pick up the pieces. Hoseok felt like he had spent his whole naval career chasing Black Suga. Hoseok felt disgusted with himself that he finally had the man in his clutches and instead of seeking justice, all he could think was how much he wanted to fuck him.

“You bring me here just to stare at me, sweetheart?” Black Suga asked and Hoseok jumped, taken aback by the forwardness of the pirate.

Captain Jung knew what he had to do. There was no way around it. Hoseok wished things were different. He wished this man was someone who had joined the royal navy instead of choosing a life of piracy. He closed his eyes for a moment, imagining a alternate life where Suga was his first mate by day and his lover by night. But there’s was no reaching that now.

“Black Suga…” Hoseok unfurled the scroll in his hand and began reading out the death warrant signed by the governor. “You have been sentenced to death by her royal highness Queen Elizabeth I for your crimes against the crown and the British people. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“Yoongi…” Suga said quietly. “Min Yoongi…”

“What?” Captain Jung paused.

“If I’m going to do die, I want to die with the name my mother gave me… not some dumb nickname.” The pirate frowned pensively at the deck.

“He’s not going to die, is he?” Taehyung interrupts, hands clenched on the table.

“No…” Hoseok reassures. “It’s 27 chapters long. He can’t die in the opening chapter.”

“27 chapters?!” Jin shouts.

“Well… yeah! There are so many obstacles to their love!” Hoseok laughs as he elaborates. “They have to lust after each other for a while. Captain Jung has to discover that Suga is secretly a pirate with a heart of gold. Suga has to fall for the dashing captain and abandon his life of crime…”

“We don’t have time for 27 chapters!” Jin objects.

“Just a little bit more?” Taehyung asks.

“Fine…” Jin takes another sip of soju.

“Min Yoongi…” Hoseok repeated, making a note on the parchment of the pirate’s real name. “Do you have any last words?”

“Yeah…” The fiery eyes looked out past Hoseok’s shoulder, then straight back to the captain, as a dangerous smirk crossed Suga’s lips.

“You might want to duck.” Suga laughed triumphantly, before rolling across the deck, perfect timing to miss the cannonball that went soaring past Captain Jung’s ear and crashing through the floor boards of his ship.

Captain Jung whipped around to see the black sails of Black Suga’s ship, the Daegu Sun. Hoseok dived to the side to avoid another cannonball, screaming at his men to ready the cannons.

Suga somehow escaped his chains and leapt up from the deck. He punched Hoseok’s first mate Jin in the face and stole his sidearm, before running across the deck to the edge of the bow.

“See you later sweetheart!” Suga called out to Hoseok before grabbing part of the rigging and swinging across the water to his own ship. A larger part of himself than Hoseok would like to admit wished silently that he could board the pirate’s ship and sail away too, but he was a better man than that.

Instead, Hoseok watched longingly as Black Suga greeted his first mate – a mysterious one-eyed man with purple hair who was known only by the initials RM – with an enthusiastic pat on the back. And then Hoseok watched with a dull ache in his chest as Suga greeted his cabin boy Jimin, planting the boy with an enthusiastic kiss and squeezing his butt possessively right in the open for Hoseok to see.

“Drink! drink!” The table cackles at yet another mention of Jimin’s famous posterior.

“Why?!” Jimin moans, face buried in his hands. “Why am I always the cabin boy?” Jimin slurs, way too many glasses of soju in his system.

“What?” Hoseok asks, confused.

“Why am I always the cabin boy?” Jimin moans again. “Or the barista? Or the slave? Or the stripper? Or the prostitute? Why?”

“You said you never read them!!” Jin yells, smacking the table and laughing.

“Yeah…” Jimin groans, shaking his head back and forth, but keeping his face hidden behind his hands.

“Is this why you didn’t want to read it?” Namjoon laughs, patting Jimin on the back.

“Yeah…” Jimin nods.

“Oh Jiminie…” Hoseok chuckles. “We can find you a better story!”

“But…” Yoongi begins to object, then bites his tongue. Hoseok taps just enough keys on the laptop to bookmark the page, smirking at Yoongi. Yoongi sees it and gives a small nod, clearing his throat and taking another sip of soju.

Hoseok heads back to the main page and begins scrolling, looking for a story Jimin might be happier about.

“Oh look!” Hoseok says when he finds one. “In this one, you’re a robot!” Hoseok hands the computer across the table to Namjoon to show Jimin.

“Like the Terminator?” Jimin drops his hands from his face as his smile perks up in interest.

“Umm…” Namjoon frowns at the computer screen as he reads further. “Did the terminator have a vibrating dick?”

“Fucking hell…” Jimin grumbles as the table bursts into laughter. Namjoon goes back to scrolling for another story.

“Oh!” Namjoon pauses when he finds another. “In this one you’re a mermaid…”

“You mean a merman?” Jimin asks.

“No…it says mermaid.” Namjoon tries hard not to laugh.

“That’s it, I’m out.” Jimin declares, standing up from the table, and wobbling for a moment before turning to head for bed. A chorus of boos and disappointed whines follows this announcement.

“Wait!” Jin calls out to Jimin and Jimin pauses.

“I know one where you’re in charge…” Jin says.

“Really?” Jimin asks, turning back to the table.

“Yeah…” Jin nods. “Gets pretty intense though…”

Jimin pauses, mulling over his options. “What do you mean in charge?”

“Umm…” Jin laughs, eyes darting around the circle of boys. “You spend a while punishing Jungkook and Tae for their disobedience…”

Jimin grins. Taehyung and Jungkook both look at each other, eyes wide.

“I suppose we could hear one more…” Jimin laughs and sits down. Jin grabs the computer from Namjoon and goes searching.

Part Three

#bts scenarios #bts ships #bts fanfiction #bts ot7 #bts platonic ot7 #jimin x jungkook #yoongi x hoseok #everybody wanna love you #btsruinedmylifeblr

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ifridiot · 8 years ago

Text

Love

((follows Genuine and the associated fics. for @micerhat))

The silence was going to kill him, long before any damage from the explosion would.

It had been touch and go at first, when he’d just come back online and something had been rattled in his head, keeping him from focusing, from storing mem.dat, from staying awake. He obviously can’t quite remember exactly what all had happened – there’s an impression though, of hot panic and furious action, of her in that hyper-focused state she gets into, of Dowel and Gage helping from the sidelines as she got his head back together.

She’d been talking then, a constant mutter as she helped stabilize and repair him. He could remember that, though not anything she’d actually said. Just the comfort of the sound.

Worse than the silence was knowing what lay behind it. And that he’d brought it on himself.

If he would have been grateful, or at least gracious, upon waking, she’d still be talking. The fact that he’d bitten everyone’s head off, including hers, after she’d gone through so much on his behalf – it was worse than his usual grouchiness. It was assholery of the highest caliber on his part, and he was – and this was hard to admit, even to himself – ashamed.

He’d chased her off and holed up, trying to mask shattered pride and swelling depression with anger. It hadn’t sparked a fight – might have been easier if it had. She’d just left, and that had been it, but he knew even as she went that his behavior – his anger – had sparked something in her.

At the very least, the silence gave him time to think.

Shi loved Punchy.

It was never a quite a secret; while most things were hidden in Shi Carlton’s life, this was a gentle exception.

Everyone who mattered knew he loved Punchy, though it was never outright stated. Everyone knew it, like how they understood the sky was blue and the grass was green. Except the sky wasn't always blue, sometimes it was a bruised and livid purple, and the grass had the habit of dying off in patchy, bristled yellows and browns. But the sky was still blue if you asked someone. The grass was always green, even when it was not.

And so he loved Punchy. And when he thought about it, it was one of the most wonderful things in his life.

He loved Punchy. And it wasn't even one thing about her, it was more a combination of a million and one different aspects about the brilliant mechanist that made Shi, in his dull and private way, swoon.

He loved her fearless attitude, the way she always thought she knew the answer to everything – and said so. He loved Punchy's succinct and clever work theories and analytic method of looking at everything like it was something to study. The way she acted as if nothing in the world could touch her if she didn't will it.

Shi loved a lot of things more. So very unlike himself, she had a smile for everyone and every occasion, ranging from sincere and gentle-sweet to bitter and malice-laced. When she laughed, how she sometimes shook her head slightly as though she couldn't believe something was actually amusing. That way she pursed her lips when thinking. Arched her eyebrows when in doubt. Always looked so together and poised that it made Shi feel bizarrely inadequate.

It was strange to realize the depth of his love and how willing he was to bend his normally rigid self for her. He loved her in a way he rarely loved anyone, a way that was not familial or platonic, a way that refused to allow him any cynical, clinical distance from her. He missed her when she was gone and welcomed her return no matter what terms they’d parted on. She made him feel comfortable and good without his feeling like something had to be sacrificed for that feeling.

He loved how Punchy always seemed to welcome him. The smaller human waved his abrasive attitude off like it was nothing. She’d never acted like he was someone to fear; whatever she might have felt that first night she’d come to his shop, she’d always behaved like Shi Carlton was just another name to her, even knowing the things someone in her line of work had to know about a machine like him. Never like he was the unapproachable jerk he tried so hard to present to the world. She behaved like he was a good guy, or at last had the capacity to be one.

It’s not anything he would ever, ever admit, but he loves the way Punchy can reduce his arguments into wordless grinding of teeth in under five minutes, cutting him down to size and putting him in a place he was unfamiliar with. He loves that smirk she gets when she knows she’s winning. That slight flash of triumph and satisfaction that crosses her features and seems to brighten her whole form. The soft exhale that spoke a thousand words and still told him absolutely nothing of what she was thinking.

Shi loved her lips, those rare and quirky smiles, and the thin hands that could have belonged to an artist. The brittle bones that jutted out on her skinny, wiry frame. The arch of her neck. The hard skeleton of her knuckles. The graceful curve of her legs; the way Punchy liked to stretch and cross them at the ankles if she was sitting back in a chair. How she laid out, feline and graceful across the length of the couch, whether he was already sitting there or not.

It was a minor sort of blessing when she visited the garage, even to do nothing more than chat for a few minutes about this project or that. He was delighted by her, hard as he tried not to make that obvious.

Rather than feeling his usual disgust, he’s entranced by the soft feel of her fingers when she gently cups her hand against his face, directing him to look at something he’d missed or that she simply found interesting. He’s memorized the strangest things about her; watched when Punchy brushed the rounded end of a pen over softly defined cheekbones, lost in thought as she poured over schematics. And the way she mumbled in annoyance when she was sleepy. And the way her rich brown hair, unbound and freed from both hat and scarf, kept falling into her face as they work together on the splayed guts of some machine, making her sigh in exasperation and flick back the lock with a grace and ease that was a sort of purely natural magic.

The only thing he hated about Punchy was how much he loved her; the responsibility of caring so much for a human being, someone he couldn’t take apart and fix if they got hurt, was terrifying in a way he couldn’t look at head on.

He shuddered when he thought of the way Punchy sometimes gave him scornful looks before reaching out and brushing a cobweb or flakes of dust or rust off his shoulder. As though being dirty wasn't a good look for him – like he cared about that sort of thing.

As though the pale scrapper wasn't poisoning him with the way she chewed her lip in contemplation, or skimmed circles with her fingers on the nearest surface when preoccupied.

He loved her. Loved with a vicious, dark and ugly sort of intensity, for that was the only way he knew how. It was not tenderness but something reluctant and sharp that crept unwillingly over his expression when he saw the woman.

“I’m sorry.”

The words escape his vox softly, startling him a little because he hadn’t thought he was going to speak. He feels her looking at him, the optics of her mask concentrating on his faceplate. It’s impossible for him to look at her for a long moment, but she is relentless and he is not enough of a coward to just pretend he hadn’t spoken.

Meeting her eyes, he clenches his teeth, doing his best not to fidget while she’s still got tools and pins in his broken hand. It’s not the first time he’s had to apologize to her, but this isn’t that.

This is a confession that goes far deeper.

“Are ya?” She asks, no hint of a smile now on those lips, mouth a firm flat line. She seems to understand the weight of his words, the way she always does; intuitive, so he can say little and mean much. But there are things that need to be said flat out, not merely implied. This, evidently, is one such.

In lieu of venting the sigh that builds, he nods. “Yeh. What y’ bin doin’ fer me these last few days… there ain’ words. Y’ stepped in inna big way an’ I b’haved like a jackass.”

She makes a little noise, part amusement and part manufactured scorn as she finally turns her attention back to the work she’s halfway through on his hand. “Tha’s puttin’ it lightly, boyo.”

Dry as her voice is, he knows by the easy way she goes back to gently placing the fine steel struts of his new phalanges into place that she understands, somehow. She’s no less angry at him for being a shit, but he wouldn’t expect her to be.

He wouldn’t love her half so much if it were any other way.

“I love you,” he says, and smiles in the flicker of his optics when she laughs.

#neoma writes #shi carlton #punchy chello #micerhat

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