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bts-hyperfixation · 4 years ago

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Why Not Then? 18+

Here it is in all it s 4327 words.... This one kind of got away from me.

angst/fluff/smut

I hope you like it!

Warnings: unprotected sex

pic found here

Tonight’s the night. At least that’s what you were telling yourself. Senior prom. It’s now or never. Tonight is the night you are going to tell Jungkook how you really feel about him. He has to feel the same way, you are inseparable. There is no doubt in your mind that the only obstacle in the way is fear, not wanting to ruin the friendship you had worked so hard to build. The doorbell sounds through your house and you take a deep breath. For the hundredth time that day you look in the mirror. Curls frame your face, makeup done to perfection, and the seafoam A-line dress you had chosen made you feel like a queen. Your mother calls you downstairs, you can hear your father making polite conversation with your date as they wait for you. Another reason you are so sure Jungkook feels the same, he is your date. He could’ve had any other girl in school, but he asked you.

The moment you descend from the top of the stairs is like a movie. His goofy little bunny smile lights up his face when he sees you. You try as elegantly as possible to parade down the stairs, using one hand to lift the hemline of your dress, as the other glides along the bannister. You take your time. Eyeing him up as you go, the tuxedo was such a stark difference to his usual gym shorts. He was stunning. His short dark hair quaffed and gelled. Everything was going to go as planned tonight. You could just feel it.

“You look beautiful as ever” he laughs taking your hand and spinning you. You can’t help giggling.

“Not too bad yourself.” You pull on the lapels of his jacket. He bats you away a straightens himself back up just as the flash goes off on your mother’s camera. She arranges the two of you in to ten different poses before letting you leave. Jungkook had driven his beat-up convertible to pick you up. To anyone else that car would be an eyesore, but he loved it, and so did you. So many nights spent just talking and looking up at the stars, cuddled up under an old picnic blanket. To you it was a pumpkin carriage.

He opens your door for you and helps to fold your skirt so it wouldn’t rip in the limited space. He runs to the other side and jumps over the door and into his seat. Your parents wave you off as you pull away. It’s a short drive to the school. 10 minutes at most. He parks like a pro, doing that thing that guys do when they reverse into a space. The twisting just so you can see more of their neck and watch how their arms flex around the back of your headrest. You start to climb out of the seat when suddenly he is in front of you, hand extended to help you. It’s hard not to laugh at how hard he is trying to be a proper gentleman tonight.

“Come on Y/N-ah, the night of our dreams awaits.” He quotes the prom theme. The unbelievably cringy and cliched ‘night of our dreams’. Walking through the doors, it was still blatantly obvious you were in the school gym, but the prom committee at least tried their best. Tacky streamers in blues and silvers, star themed props, a solar system themed photo booth. Its clear they had to use some of the previous year’s decorations, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The butterflies were building in your stomach. Anxious and excited about where your confession could take you.

All of your other friends are already here, dancing to the catchy pop music blaring over the sound system. The path to them is crowded with other sweating high-schoolers, so Jungkook decides just the two of you should go and take photos. He pulls you towards the photo booths, lining up with the other groups and couples waiting their turns. It hasn’t escaped your notice that he is still holding on to your hand. Tight.

“Don’t you want to go dance with the others?” you gesture towards those in the middle of the floor, laughing as one of the boys loses his balance mimicking a slut drop.

“No, I want to take some stupid pictures with my best friend and date for the evening.” He winks at you, a move that should come off as light -hearted and cringy. Instead it feels like he has shot you in the heart. The response you come back with shocks you.

“Just because you’re in love with me.” You accompany the remark by sticking your tongue out at him. He grabs your chin and makes you look him directly in the eyes. Your heart beats double time. It looks like he is going to kiss you. Before his face gets close enough to yours, he ruins it.

“You wish Y/N.” he laughs it off, but you see it as your chance. Now or never, tonight’s the night…

“Actually…” and then it’s your turn for pictures. You don’t get a chance to get the rest of the sentence out. Whether he heard or not you don’t know but now he is excitedly rummaging around a box of props. He pulls out a silver feather boa and oversized-blue sunglasses for you, finding a matching set for himself. It’s a strip of four photos. One smile, one where he jabs you in the ribs, one with silly faces, and one where you kiss him… only on the cheek. Not enough to throw yourself in the deep end, just enough to gauge his reaction.

His ears turn bright red and he stammers about going to find the others as you exit the booth. It has to be a good sign if you make him flustered, right? The next hour is spent ruining all the work that had gone into this evening. Hair stuck to sweaty foreheads, makeup creasing around the eyes, lipstick wiped on the backs of hands. When the live band comes onto play, you and your friends head outside for air. It’s nice feeling the wind, a slight chill in the late hour. Most of your friends can’t hack it for too long, choosing to return to the dance floor in time for the party tracks to come on. Eventually it leaves just you and him. You hear the opening chords of the cha cha slide start up inside and decide now is a good a time as ever, more than eager to avoid the choreographed dance portion of the evening.

“Can I talk to you?” you reach for his hand. He turns to look at you properly and sees the serious look on your face, his brows furrowing to match.

“What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing’s wrong, just come with me.” He lets you drag him away from the gym. You head toward the school greenhouse, no one is going to come looking for you there.

“This is weirdly private Y/N, are you sure everything is okay?” he feels your forehead as if he is worried you have suddenly fallen ill.

“I’ve been trying to tell you this for the longest time and I can’t not anymore, it’s time.” He opens his mouth to speak again, the confusion evident in his eyes. You raise a finger to his lip to stop him. “I’m in love with you.” The words escape more like vomit than a statement. It feels so freeing to get the words out. You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face. Finally admitting how you feel is an amazing feeling. Until you take in the way he is looking at you. You might as well have grown a second head. Your about to speak again when he turns on his heel and makes a run for it.

He walks briskly away from the concealed shed and back inside of the school. You don’t know if you should laugh or cry. Of all the responses you thought you’d get; abandonment was not one of them. It takes you a moment to snap out of the shock he had left you in. you follow the trail he took back into the main hall. Spotting him even through the crowd, people parted as he passed them. He beelines straight through the gym and though the doors into the main corridors. When you make it into the hallway, he is at the other end about to disappear around a corner.

“Stop running away from me!” you yell a little too loud, other lingering students stop and stare at you on their ways back from the bathroom. Unfortunately, you can’t bring yourself to care. Jungkook faulters for a moment before continuing. “Jeon Jungkook! I said stop.” You kick off your heels and run in the direction he disappeared. You nearly run full force into his chest as you turn the corner not expecting him to be there.

“Why?” his voice is small and harsh, not the usual bubbly tone he always has for you.

“Why what?” your more than a little annoyed that you had to chase him only for him to ask you a question.

“Why do you love me?” it’s not the question you thought he’d ask. Why now? How long? What’s your ring size? Those were the questions you had been prepared for. Not why do you love him. you thought that was obvious. “Seriously, why do you think your in love with me?” that stung ‘think’ he doesn’t believe you. Thinks its some silly girly crush you have.

“I love you because you’re you. You’re my best friend, you make me happy when no one else does, my heart hurts when I don’t see you for more than a day.” You reach for his hands, trying your best to convey your sincerity. He flinches in response. Pulls way back out of your reach.

“I don’t feel the same way.” Now it really does feel like someone has stabbed you. Run you straight through with a sword. Your stomach twists so hard you might throw up. This wasn’t an option. In all the ways you had imagine your prom night going, this hadn’t crossed your mind. You taste the tears at the corners of your lips before you realise your crying. “You can’t just spring something like this on someone Y/N! we were having such a great night, why did you have to do this.” He is not only rejecting you, he is blaming you for having feelings. It’s all too much.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. The lump in your throat makes it hard for you to speak at all. “I just thought…”

“You thought wrong.” His response is so fast, cutting off every chance you might’ve had to put a band aid over the situation. Maybe held it together until the night was over. Now there is no chance of that.

“I’m sorry.” You try again but he just rolls his eyes. Instead of making you sadder, this reaction makes you angry. How dare he. How dare he just dismiss you like you never meant anything to him. Like you weren’t even a friend.

“I should take you home.” He gestures towards a nearby exit. He doesn’t reach for your hand to guide you like he would’ve any other point in the night. You shake you head and walk back in the direction you came, picking up your shoes as you passed them. You walked straight out of the front gates and all the way home. That was the last conversation you’d have with Jungkook for a long time.

Graduation came and went. He tried to talk to you a few times in person, but you just walked away. Still seething at the way he reacted. He texted you constantly, left voicemails until you blocked his number. Your other friends never found out exactly what happened. They pieced bits together from what the two of you were able to talk about but never the full picture. When he started coming to your house to apologise you decided it was time to move on and headed to college early.

You were in town for a wedding. One of your high school friends had managed to meet the love of their life while away at college and asked you to come. It was a nice excuse to visit your parents. You didn’t come home as often as you would’ve liked. The town felt a little haunted after you finished school, so you tried hard to avoid it. Especially at times like this.

You were standing in your childhood bedroom, dressed to the nines once more. This time knowing that Jungkook was not going to be waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs. But he might be at the wedding. Getting over the boy you had never really been with was more of a challenge than you could’ve ever imagined. It took you almost the entire first year away to truly get some peace on the situation. You even started to understand his point of view. He was just an 18-year-old boy trying to enjoy one of the last nights he’d get with his friends. The you had gone and dumped a whole load of new information on him. It wasn’t fair of you, just as much as it wasn’t fair of him. Truthfully, a little part of you would always wonder what if. What if he had felt the same way, would people be coming home for your wedding instead? Or would it have fizzled out long distance?

You are pulled out of your thoughts by your phone signalling the arrival of your uber. Taking a deep breath, you grabbed you clutch and headed out, eerily reminiscent of that night.

Five years later.

The wedding is at a fancy hotel on the other side of town. You are escorted by the ushers into the main room. you quickly scan the area for him. You don’t even know if he is coming but you don’t want to be caught off guard. Coming up empty you thank the groom’s men and find a seat in the back of the bride’s section where you can survey the room.

It feels ridiculous being so on guard around the person that used to mean the world to you. Your eyes meet as soon as he walks through the door. He seems genuinely surprised to see you there. He tries a weak smile and lifts his hand to wave in your direction, but you put your head down, choosing to focus on the intricacies of the program instead. 4 hymns and a sermon. For a nonchurch wedding it sure seemed religious. You roll your eyes and settle in for a long one. You watch out of the corner of your eye as he skulks away. Sitting a few rows in front of you. You allow yourself the luxury of looking at him now that he can’t look back. His hair is a lot longer now. The suit he has chosen definitely fits a lot better than his prom tux. His shoulders are nicely outlined, strong and broad. It’s a nice visual.

The wedding seems to happen around you. Old friends come over to catch up. Vows are exchanged everyone is shuffled into a banquet hall. All the while you are watching Jungkook out of the corner of your eye. Seeing him go through the motions just as you are. Three tables away. Clearly your friend has been smart enough to think that through when creating two singles tables in her seating plan.

The night wore on. Speeches were made, drinks were spilt. More than one groom’s man ripped his trousers on the dance floor. You were getting some air in the gardens when he found you.

“You look beautiful as ever.” His voice is soft, but it still makes you jump, not expecting him to approach you at all.

“Thanks.” You move to brush passed him, eager to put some space between you. Very Much not wanting to exchange awkward pleasantries with the man that, after today, you were sure still owned your heart. He steps back into your path, and makes you meet his eyes. It hurts all over again. Every feeling you had that night rushes back, every bit of progress you’d made since then erased in a matter of seconds.

“Can we talk? Please?” he sounds almost as desperate to talk to you as you are to leave.

“Talk about what Jungkook? It’s been years, just let it lie.”

“Exactly it’s been years and I know how I feel about you now, know how I felt about you then… please just let me explain myself.” He pleads with you. You stand firm, half of you longing to hear him out, the other half wanting to run the way he had.

“Why should I let you talk now? You didn’t let me talk then.” You can hear the venom dripping in your tone but can’t bring yourself to adjust your voice.

“I was a kid back then Y/N, and I was scared I was going to lose you” he chuckles darkly “I guess I did that anyway.” He grabs for your hand, this time you get to pull away from him. None of this is fair, where was this person when you needed him five years ago? He sighs at your reaction. “Look I was terrified okay? I didn’t know how I felt about you. I just knew everything was changing and I didn’t want us to change. But I know who I am and what I want now, and that’s you.” He closes the distance you had put between you in one stride. His mouth heavy on yours trying to prove a point.

You can’t bring yourself to pull away this time. Instead melting into his embrace. Letting yourself indulge in the boy that was all you ever wanted.

“Why now? Why not then?” you ask when he finally pulls away.

“Because you wouldn’t speak to me until now. I wanted to tell you the day after, but you wouldn’t talk to me. And you were right to do so. I was such an asshole to you about it. Let me make it up to you.” He peppers your face with kisses.

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have cut you off like that. I was scared too.” He holds you tight cradling you into his chest. You stand there for a while. Taking in everything about him that you’d missed. The smell of fresh cotton, the warmth he always radiated. All of it.

“I have a room upstairs if you want to go. Maybe we could watch a movie?” you pull away to look straight up at him. he must have realised what it sounded like then because his mouth formed an o and his eyes widened. “Wait no, I really did mean a movie.” He tries to backtrack.

“What if you didn’t mean a movie?” as soon as your meaning sinks in, he is sprinting away. This time with you in tow, struggling to keep up. Eventually he decides you are slowing him down. He lifts you bridal style into the nearest elevator. He refuses to put you down, even though you are forced into a standstill. As soon as the door dings, he is through them. Balancing you and opening the door isn’t even a challenge as he bursts through into the luxurious hotel room. He throws you unceremoniously on to the bed before discarding his jacket on the floor. You watch, propped up on your elbows, as he loosens his tie and kicks off his shoes before helping you with yours. He runs his hand up the back of your calf, rolling down the stockings you’d worn in an effort to avoid tights.

His hair falls into his eyes as he meets your gaze, and you can’t take the teasing anymore. Grabbing him by the collar, you pull him on top of you. Your lips finding his, unwilling to let go until your lungs hurt. He has one arm by your head, supporting some of his weight while the other trails down your waist. He drags his fingertips along your thigh as he moves your hemline. With your skirt out of the way his hand moves in between you bodies finding its way to your clothed pussy.

“I’ve wanted to taste you for so long… can I?” he kisses down your neck as he asks, leaving you barely able to respond. You just about manage to squeak out your approval. He wastes no time, biting into the soft flesh of your thighs as he wraps his hands around your panties. They are disposed of quickly, likely ruined by the slick you can feel pooling between your legs. He licks along your slit, barely delving between your folds. The tip of his tongue flicking at your clit briefly before he goes back and starts the motion again. Each time he gets close to your clit he brushes it slightly, so you shiver with anticipation, but he waits until you are practically panting to go any further. His right hand joins his talented tongue. Two fingers slipping inside of you. The slight stretch burns so good. His mouth moves up, biting gingerly at the sensitive nub he had been teasing for so long. Your thighs clamp involuntarily around his head. He wraps his free arm around your leg, driving you apart to give him better access. His tongue comes back into play drawing little shapes on your clit as he sucks down. He curls his fingers in just the right way to have you coming undone underneath him. Biting your lips to keep yourself quiet. He swats at your thigh until your teeth let go, forcing your moans out into the open. When you stop writhing, he lets your leg go and wipes his face with the back of his hand.

Sitting back on his feet he won’t stop looking at you weird. Its an expression you can’t ever remember him making before, and that worries you.

“What? Why are you looking at me? Were the noises too weird? I tried to keep them in…” he pulls you up to him by the wrists and kisses you before answering.

“I love you… please shut up. Your moans are the sexiest thing I think I have ever heard. Now I just really want to get you out of the rest of your clothes. He reaches around to unzip your dress, fumbling for a moment until you take pity and take it off yourself. His shirt is already unbuttoned by the time the fabric is over your head. You help him to push the sleeves off his arms, taking great pleasure in rubbing your hands across his toned arms. You marvel at the amount of muscle he has gained for a moment before he drags you back to him, falling onto his back so you straddle him.

You make quick work of the clothing on his lower half. Perhaps a little too keen to see what you were working with. He does not disappoint. His cock is above average in length, immediately evident as it slaps against his stomach when released from it’s confines. You shuffle back for a moment to admire the full image. His hair falls haphazardly around his head, lips swollen from the kisses. Perfectly chiselled abs leading into an arrow to what you can only describe as the motherlode. Everything about this moment was worth the wait. But you refused to wait any longer. You stroke your hand softly along his shaft, pumping a few times before moving to sit yourself on top. You sink down slowly at first, having to take extra precaution to not hurt yourself. His eyes pinch shut and his nose crinkles as a little whimper escapes his mouth. You slap his chest.

“If I’m not allowed to stay quiet, neither are you.” He nods enthusiastically and opens one eye just as you reach the base of his dick.

“Fuck.” His voice low and breathy. Sounds more like he just ran a marathon than had a girl sit on him. As you feel more comfortable, you start to wriggle your hips, not thrusting away, just enough friction to tease him like he did you. You don’t get away with it for quite as long though. His hands are on your hips and you are powerless to stop him as he makes you bounce, meeting each thrust with one of his own. Soon it’s not enough for him. Too worked up to relinquish any control. He flips you quickly, now on your knees. He barely gives you time to orientate yourself before driving into you from behind. Fast, sloppy thrusts used to reach his own end. He snakes one arm underneath you. Skilled fingers finding your clit, playing with you until you tighten around him. making it difficult for him to keep going.

Soon he spills over, cumming deep inside of you. Holding onto you with all he has. Instead of pulling out, he falls over with you in his arms. Cuddling into the back of you as he comes down. You wiggle experimentally on his softening cock, earning you a growl. You giggle at his oversensitivity and try to get free as painlessly as possible.

“Don’t go” he is whiny when he is tired, it’s so endearing. He makes a grabby hand at you as you clamber of the side of the bed

“I’m only going to the bathroom; I’ll be right back.” You kiss him on the cheek as you round the bed.

“Good because I never want to be without you, ever again.” he admits as you walk into the bathroom.

February request - open

Masterlist

#purplearmynet #bts fic #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #jjk smut #jungkook smut #jeongkook smut #jeongguk smut #feb 21 #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #kpop smut #kpop fic #jeon jungkook x y/n #100

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twdmusicboxmystery · 3 years ago

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TWD 11x02: The Talking Dead

Okay, I DO have a details post, which will go up tomorrow. Because Emily was a guest on TTD this week, I thought it would be more important to post this first this week.

P.S. Apologies for the low quality of the pictures. I wasn’t able to get my usual screenshots this week, so I had to take pics of my TV. ;D

Right off the bat, let me say there weren’t any huge, smoking guns about Beth’s return in the episode. In other words, not much that the general audience (GA) would pick up on.

But we’re not the GA, are we? LOTS of suspicious dialogue and symbolism came out of this. Way more than we usually get from TTD. So, let’s dive right in.

The first thing was in the introduction. When Chris Hardwick was introducing his guests, as he always does, he used the phrase, “Beth is back!” That sort of thing always catches our attention and makes us side-eye.

@wdway observed that Emily’s outfit was a mixture of black and white/cream colors, Xs, and diamond patterns. In the past, I might not have been entirely swayed by that. (We’re assuming she chooses her own clothes, right?) But there have been too many times in the past when similar things have happened. Like for the S8 premiere when she wore that bright pink top that looked exactly like the pink bra ashtray in Still? Yeah, I’m no longer convinced Emily ISN’T dropping hints through her clothing.

It was also observed that her hair was very long. Whether extensions or not, it was very long (Beth length) and very blond. Might have been another hint.

One of the first questions Chris asked he was what she thought of Maggie’s SURVIVAL. That’s important both because it’s a question about someone who was left for dead surviving and also because Maggie crawling under the train was a direct parallel to Glenn, who was a direct parallel to Beth. So I was definitely side-eyeing that.

At one point, Chris referenced the Commonwealth interrogating people before letting them in, and he asked if Hershel had done that at the farm, would Rick’s group have made it past the screening process. Emily, overall, said yes. But Josh (McDermott who was on with her) said Shane wouldn’t have. They then started talking and making typical fandom jokes about Shane’s craziness.

The reason this made me smile is because Emily often deflects questions by saying she doesn’t remember, or doesn’t know, or that she no longer keeps up with the show. But here, she talked about specific characters and events in specific parts of a season 9 years ago as though she’s VERY familiar with it. It was like, “oh, but that character didn’t do that until minute 32 of episode 8 of season 2. But I don’t know. I don’t really keep up with things anymore.”

Okay, I’m totally exaggerating there. She wasn’t that specific. But that’s what it felt like. The little fibs she tells to keep people from suspecting Beth’s return are showing.

In talking about the significance of Maggie giving Negan a gun, Lauren said something kind of interesting and Beth-ish. She said, and I paraphrase, that Maggie is struggling to hold onto the person she was, rather than giving into who she might become. Just very reminiscent of Beth’s line to Daryl from still. “You gotta stay who you are, not who you were.”

Chris then asked what Beth would have thought of the current Maggie. And he asked specifically, “Would she even recognize her?” Now, of course he meant that in terms of recognizing who she’s become, because Maggie has changed so much as a person since Beth’s death.

But given the memory loss theories and all the surrounding evidence, we really think there’s a good chance Beth won’t recognize Maggie right away. So that was a huge hint to drop.

See what I mean? It’s not that they talked about Beth’s return in a huge, smoking gun sort of way. Rather, they just dropped a lot of hints through dialogue and the way they phrased questions.

The other thing I noticed is that Emily, in answer to the question, said that without Maggie, everyone seemed adrift and as if they didn’t know what to do because they no longer had a leader (until Maggie showed up again) to tell them what to do. Especially since it didn’t directly answer Chris’s question, I felt like maybe Emily was hinting at Beth’s leadership. New sheriff in town, and such.

Then Josh brought the shiv to everyone’s attention. I don’t think I mentioned this yesterday. If not, it will be in tomorrow’s Details post. But we saw Eugene wheedle a piece of wood into a sharp shive/spike and stick it into his sleeve. It was very reminiscent of Beth hiding the scissors in her cast in Coda. And Josh specifically called attention to that scene. He actually compared it to Terminus, rather than Coda, because we saw them trying to create makeshift weapons in the train car in 5x01. But still, it’s all season 5 and revolves around Beth’s arc.

Actually, as they went along through the episode, they did callbacks to various things in S5 a BUNCH of times. Kind of convenient given that Emily is sitting on the couch next to him, no? Both Lauren and Josh mentioned Terminus multiple times in various ways. Which works because Eugene’s group has been around a lot of train cars these past few episodes. But the thing is, they didn’t really equate Eugene’s storyline directly with Terminus. They were simply finding ways/reasons to randomly mention it.

They also brought up Noah’s death multiple times, comparing Gauge’s death to it, since in both cases, people watched them die horribly from behind a glass partition. Totally makes sense, but yet another tie to Beth by really talking about Noah a lot.

Lauren, talking about good vs evil and what people are capable of, a la Maggie’s disturbing cannibal story, said it wasn’t just about what outward choices people make. She pointed to her chest and said, “it’s what’s in here.” That just gave me huge Beth feels from Still, when she said, “…or it kills you. Here.” And pointed to her chest in the same way.

It just felt like they were invoking Beth a lot during this episode.

This next one was kind of the big kahuna. Chris, just out of left field, looked at Emily and asked, “Will Daryl prove Beth right? Will he be the last man standing?”

And that’s important because it has nothing to do with this discussion or this specific episode. Daryl wasn’t even in this episode.

And I have to acknowledge that there’s a good chance Emily was supposed to be on last week, and her appearance was pushed. We just don’t entirely know what happened there. So possibly, they would have asked this last week during a more Daryl-centric discussion. But still, Chris didn’t say that. It wasn’t like, “Oh you were supposed to be on last week and we wanted to ask this…” No. He just launched into it.

Furthermore, Emily knew exactly what he was talking about. Yes, it’s a well-known line of Beth dialogue from Still that she probably would have been familiar with either way, but even so. The “will Daryl prove her right” came directly from Daryl’s origins episode. So again, despite “not keeping up with the show,” she clearly watched the Origins episode and knew what Chris was talking about.

A couple of suspicious things in her answer:

She essential said yes, that she believes Daryl will be the last man standing. But she also said she didn’t think he would be the ONLY last man standing. Then Chris made a joke saying (and I paraphrase), “Yeah, it’s not like Beth could have said, ‘Daryl, you’re going to get a spinoff.’” And they all laughed and joked about it.

Let’s consider her statement first. She said he wouldn’t be the only one who was standing last, but how would she know that? If she doesn’t follow it anymore and is only associated with it as a previous, deceased character, how would she know that.

And yes, you could argue that this was conjecture on her part, but she said with such…I don’t know, authority? As though she knows something we don’t.

I think you can interpret this one of two ways. The first is what I’ve hinted at above: that she knows others besides Daryl will survive to the end of the show. And I totally agree with her on that. While most of us believe, I think, that Daryl will live until the end, I think plenty of others will, too. Rick and Michonne. Probably Carol and Zeke. Hopefully Maggie, though I’m a little more worried about her. You get the idea. But once again, why would Emily know anything about that?

The other way you could interpret it is that this is a statement about Daryl not being alone. He’ll be the last man standing, but he won’t be the ONLY one. He won’t be alone in that, because Beth will be by his side.

And here’s your friendly neighborhood reminder that in an interview with Larry King prior to S5 airing, Gimple confirmed that Daryl will find love in the apocalypse at some point.

Then there’s Chris’s statement about the spinoff. Now, that came from Chris rather than her, but it was still a really random reference. For me, what Chris does or doesn’t know is kind of irrelevant at this point. I personally believe he knows everything and is fully in on Beth’s storyline. But even if I’m wrong about that, these questions come from tptb. If Chris recognizes their significance, he’s being instructed to ask them and direct the conversation in a particular way.

And they way he threw in this mention made it seem like he was equating Beth with the spinoff in some way. Even the way he said, “there’s no way Beth could have known to say…” the thing about the spinoff struck me as interesting. Because back then, I truly don’t believe the writers knew anything about the spinoff. As I like to say, everything changed when Kirkman abruptly ended the comics and the writers decided to pick up all the characters and story lines and move them to a different vehicle: the spinoff. Probably for legal reasons. But they couldn’t have know that would happen back in S4.

There’s also the unspoken implication that, while Beth couldn’t have “known” about the spinoff, she didn’t know about other things. Like her return and Daryl’s fate.

Emily even told a story about how when they were getting ready to film the porch scene for Still, both she and Norman were hounding Angela Kang (not the show runner back then, but the writer of that episode) about the last man standing line. They both wondered if it was some kind of foreshadow. She implied they were both worried that Daryl would die soon because of it.

A few things about that. 1) I don’t think either of them actually believed Daryl was soon to die. I seriously doubt that. This is just one of those stories they tell to illustrate a point. Which leads me to my next point. 2) Clearly they are implying that this IS some sort of foreshadowing. They’re just not being specific about what it foreshadows. 3) Keep this in mind--that they were both asking about what a certain line of dialogue might foreshadow--the next the time actors try to claim they have no idea what anything means or what’s going to happen next. They’re VERY aware of how the writers put these symbols in and are constantly wanting to know where the show is going, just like we are.

So yeah. I was definitely a fan of that whole discussion.

The Inside the Dead portion referenced some interesting Easter eggs, including Gorbelli foods (seen in Tara’s backstory in S4, which had lots of Beth parallels) and Duane Jones Whiskey (alcohol, Morgan, etc; we’ve compared that with Beth before). Kinda small potatoes, but still important.

I missed part of this next question, but they asked Emily something about whether she thought the Commonwealth is going to turn out to be a good thing and helpful to Alexandria. She said no. Again, maybe not a smoking gun but given that we think she’s most likely coming through Eugene’s story line, it might have been a hint.

They asked her about the Eugene/Stephanie story line, and she said she was excited for any love story in this world. *coughs Bethyl hint*. She also said she’s suspicious of ‘Stephanie’ (emphasis mine) *coughs plot hint*.

For the quiz, they talked about how many walkers Dog killed in the episode (1). Where Mercer said he went to school (Westpoint). What was interesting, is that they kinda gave something away there. After giving the answer, it said, “Mercer didn’t go to school there, but the actor that played him did.” So, they kind of hinted that Mercer SAID he went to Westpoint, but was lying. Just more evidence that Eugene’s group is being lied to and manipulated. Finally, they had a fill-in-the-blank of Eugene’s dialogue. It was when he asked how he was being processed. And one of the options was “as in bologna and other meant stuffs…” (again, I’m paraphrasing; forgive me if my wording is a little off). Anyway, it said at that moment, Eugene was thinking about Terminus. So, just another callback to that story line in S5.

Near the end, Chris asked Lauren and Emily what they miss most about working together. Lauren’s replay was, again, suspicious. She said Emily was “such a bright light,” which we equated to Norman’s famous description of Beth as Daryl’s light that “went out.” She also talked about how it was a testament to Emily’s goodness that she’s “being so missed.” Which made me think of, “you’re gonna miss me so bad when I’m gone, Daryl Dixon.”

Finally, even before the episode aired, @wdway had a theory about Emily being in the studio for the episode, rather than via satellite. Well, I guess it was more of a hope than an actual theory. Now that the episode has aired, it’s an actual theory.

See, she had a hunch that maybe the Commonwealth story lines (what Josh should be filming right now) might be filmed in studio, rather than on location in Georgia. And there IS an AMC studio in L.A. What we saw--Josh in person on the show while Lauren was there via satellite because she’s in Georgia--does seem to back up this idea. Or at least the possibility.

The fact that Emily was also there in person could be a coincidence. But it could also possibly mean that she’s filming in studio for the Commonwealth story line as well. @wdway thought of this because we think she’ll first come through Eugene’s arc, and none of the Commonwealth stuff is being filmed on the main Alexandria lots where people generally look for spoilers.

Not something that can be proven either way, of course. But a great theory that I’m 100% behind!

Okay, that’s it for TTD (but that was a LOT) and it makes me super happy. Together with the screeners not being able to talk about episodes moving forward, I think we’ll see Beth very soon. Any references in TTD that I missed?

#beth greene #beth greene lives #beth is alive #beth is coming #td theory #td theories #team delusional #team defiance #beth is almost here #bethyl

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bluefirewrites · 4 years ago

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I'm sorry about your presentation, idk if your still doing hcs but can you do one where Reggie is julies older brother by 1 or 2 years and Julie in love with Luke and Luke likes her as well but neither will do anything because of Reggie. If not its ok. ☺

I brought up an idea similar to this a while back! But let’s rework it.

In this scenario, let’s say that the Molinas and the Peters' have known each other for a long while, ever since Julie and Reggie were kids. They’ve pretty much grown up together.

And then they get older and a lot of shit happens. Julie’s mom dies. And Reggie’s parents finally get a divorce.

As the two families are healing and trying to move on, eventually Ray and Reggie’s mom sorta just clicked.

And years later, they ended up getting married- officially making Reggie Julie’s brother.

They move into the Molina’s house and they transition to one big family so seamlessly that Julie often forgets that Reggie isn’t her brother in the biological sense. He’s always been an older figure to her, always looking out for her and Carlos.

She’s so used to having him around. And even used to having Reggie’s friends around growing up.

They all met when they were in middle school, but Julie hasn’t seen them much over the years, only seeing them during special occasions or whenever she would go to the Peters’ from time to time.

She remembers Alex, the shy blonde one who does his best to keep the peace when everyone got too rowdy.

And then Bobby, who is just hitting his stride in his sullen, moody teenager phase. Still nice though.

And Luke, the wild one. The guy was all long haired, energetic, and sporting some gnarly braces the last time she saw him.

She hears a knock at the door the night Reggie and his mom had moved in. Julie opens it and it’s the boys: Alex, Bobby, and- woah.

“Julie?” Luke smiles, his long hair cut to a still shaggy ‘do, braces gone, and now ripped, telling by how he’s proudly wearing his Nirvana cutoffs, “No way! Long time no see,”

“Y-yeah,” Julie instantly wishes that she wasn’t wearing her dinosaur slippers at the moment. She leads them all inside, telling them to make themselves at home while they wait for Reggie to come down.

Julie hurries off to her room, red in the face, internally freaking out about the idea of a cute guy coming over to her house on a regular basis.

A cute guy she cannot get involved with... imagine how Reggie would react...

The guys note the dreamlike expression on Luke’s face as he watched Julie go up the stairs. Once she’s gone, Luke whirls around, “Has she always been like that?”

“Squirrely?”

“No...” Luke drops his voice down to a whisper, “I mean, has she always been that cute?”

Alex and Bobby shoots this idea down real quick, “Woah! No no no! Off-limits! She's off-limits, Luke!”

“How come?”

“She’s Reggie’s sister,”

“Step-sister,”

“Still,” Bobby cuts in, “You know Reggie. He takes the brother role very seriously. He won’t let you stand a foot away from her if he heard what you just said.”

“If who heard what?” Reggie says, coming down the stairs.

“Nothing!” They all exclaim, and Luke silently thanks the boys for not ratting him out and invoking Reggie’s wrath.

He does know how Reggie can get when it comes to Julie. He’s already so protective of her. So he’s not going to try and do anything to piss him off.

And besides, he just finds her cute. It’s not like anything’s gonna come from it.

Wrong.

Luke and Julie are hardcore pining for each other the more time the boys spend over at the house.

And they’re over a lot.

Julie would come into the garage, now a studio space for the boys’ band, and watches them practice.

Somehow Luke finds a way to gravitate towards her. Always standing beside her, ready to show a song he’s been working on or just ask how she’s doing.

And Julie would find an excuse to hang around the boys, whether offering to help with songwriting or help clean up the equipment. One time, she hands Luke his guitar and their hands met. They both blush but quickly part before Reggie could see what transpired.

They sneak little casual touches here and there, both to gauge if the other person reciprocates their feelings and to hide whatever was going on between them from Reggie.

This all coming from the fear of Reggie flipping out on them.

Apparently when the boys bring up Nick from Julie’s class, joking about the way he was starry-eyed when dancing with Julie (secretly trying to get a rise out of Luke), Reggie immediately asks Julie about a thousand questions:

“Who is he? What does he do?”

“Do? He’s a student. In my grade...”

“Oh. No job? So he’s a deadbeat, huh? Doesn’t sound like a suitable match,”

“What are you going on about?”

“Does he like the Star Wars Prequels? Yes or No? There is a right answer”

“What does this have to do with anything, Reggie?”

“I need to know if he’s good enough for you!”

Reggie starts watching Nick like a hawk at school, going out of his way to intimidate the junior (well as much as he could. he’s still pretty much a puppy and super non-threatening).

It’s getting ridiculous.

So Julie goes to talk to Luke, to try and nip this in the bud before Reggie notices their weird behavior. She manages to play off needing help to get something in the laundry room to get him alone without suspicion.

“Look, we can’t do this anymore... whatever this is,”

Luke nods, “Agreed. Reggie’s my best friend.”

“And he’s my brother,”

“I don’t want to do something that would upset him,”

“Me neither. Glad we’re on the same page,”

“Right. Same page. So just friends. Deal?” she sticks her hand out.

He shakes it, “Deal,”

They lock eyes, appreciating how the other one looks under the warm dimmed light.

It takes only about .5 seconds for them to crash their lips onto each other’s, igniting a full on make out session. And by the time they finished, they realize their mistake.

Uh oh.

They can’t go back after this.

Now they really have something to hide from Reggie.

They sneak around the house, whenever they could.

Luke would make up an excuse to grab water or go to the bathroom in the middle of rehearsal, just to sneak up to Julie’s room to grab a quick kiss and maybe a small tickle fight just so he could hear that laugh he loves so much.

And Julie would join the boys at the dinner table, sitting next to him and discreetly slipping cue love notes into his pocket that she knows would make him blush and smile all goofily later (and if they turn into potential song lyrics? Well that's for them to know).

Alex warns Luke the next day, “I think he’s catching on. Be more careful,”

They spend more time together now that Julie starts writing songs for the band. Her and Luke would huddle over the piano, scribbling the night away, always sitting dangerously close to each other.

Once, Reggie observes them quietly from the couch with an unreadable expression on bis face.

“We are careful,”

Bobby raises an eyebrow at him, “Really? You tried to pass off the hickeys on Julie’s neck as rashes.”

“And Reggie bought it, remember? He went out and got ointment for her and everything,”

“He’s not stupid, Luke. You better do something about this. Fast,”

Luke sighs, “You’re right.”

Later that night, Luke pulls Julie into the upstairs bathroom, the one between her room and Reggie’s, to talk.

“Jules, as much I want to keep doing this... I can’t stand lying to Reggie,”

“Me too,” she says, “So, let’s just tell him. I don’t like hiding you.”

“But we need to plan it out. We can’t just spring it on him,”

“Catch him in a good mood hopefully, and we’ll tell him together,”

“Sounds like a plan, boss,”

“Love it when you call me boss,” Julie smiles, angling her head up to kiss him.

Just then, the door connecting to Reggie’s room bursts open and the said bassist enters in his bathrobe. His eyes grow wide at the sight of them tangled up in each other.

“What is going on here?”

The couple breaks apart. Julie and Luke jump to opposite sides of the bathroom, hands up in surrender.

“You didn’t lock the doors?” Julie hisses at Luke

“Was not my main priority!” Then Luke steps forward in an attempt to calm Reggie down, “Hey, Reg, pal, um, what you just saw-”

“You guys were kissing in here?” he yells.

Julie and Luke lower their heads, “...yeah,”

Reggie sighs, throwing his hands up in the air, “Unbelievable!”

“Reggie, we’re sorry-”

“In the bathroom, really? Can’t you guys do this in the laundry room like you usually do? My toothbrush is here, come on!”

Wait. What?

Did they hear him correctly?

“You knew?!” Julie all but screamed at her brother.

“Duh. You’re not really subtle,”

Luke splutters, “B-But Nick-”

“Found out real quick that he’s not the one I should be worried about,”

“And the... the, well..?” Julie gestures lamely at her neck, “Why did you get me ointment?”

Reggie smirks, “Just to mess with you.”

“So... you’re not mad?”

“Nah. Like I said. I need to make sure whatever guy you end up with, Jules, is good enough for you. And, well, I’ve known Luke almost all my life. And I trust him. Honestly, there’s no other guy I could think of that could be a better match for you.”

Luke’s hand rests on his shoulder, “You mean that, Reg?”

“Of course. I’m happy for you guys. But uh...” he sticks his thumb towards the door, “Could you like skip on out of here. I did come to the bathroom for a reason.”

“Oh, right,”

“Your Tia’s chicken went right through me-”

“Ok, Reggie! We’re leaving!”

“But one more thing,”

Luke and Julie stop in the doorway leading to the hallway.

“If you think I’m bad,” Reggie shakes his head, “Try breaking the news to Carlos,”

Luke pales, “Oh no,”

“’Oh no’ is right,”

The couple spins around to find Carlos in the hallway, arms crossed, staring them down, “Care to explain why you two were in the bathroom?”

“Well, uh, um, we were-” Luke turns to Julie, but the girl is nowhere to be found, having already yeeted to her room to escape an overprotective Carlos.

Luke throws a pleading look at Reggie, “A little help here, buddy?”

Meanwhile, Carlos is unamused, carrying so much tension in his small body that it has Luke gulping nervously.

“Nope you’re on your own,” he winks, “Make sure to tell him about the ‘rash’ while you’re at it.”

And with a laugh, the bathroom door closes.

“I can explain...”

#julie and luke sneaking around #is so much fun to write #and reggie being like bruhh #you think i'm stupid?#nah #julie x luke #luke x julie #juke #julie molina #luke patterson #reggie peters #reggie peters-molina #jatp hc #asks #blue answers asks

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squidneysidney · 4 years ago

Text

William Nylander - Friendzez

Word Count: 2,409

Requested

Thank you,

You hit the yellow level 5 button in the elevator, trying to balance the two grocery bags filled with food for the hungry hockey players. William called last night while studying for an exam to tell you few of the guys would be coming over the next day and for you to join. You put up a protest, knowing you’d be pulling an all-nighter to pass this test on Monday. To your dismay, he couldn’t take no for an answer. So here you are with salsa, chips, and drinks requested by Willy earlier this morning.

Walking up to Willy’s door, you knock and wait for someone to open it. No one comes, so you knock again. You are greeted back with yelling from the other side. Rather than knocking again, you put the bags down and search for the key Willy had given you to look after his apartment during long road trips. You open the door to see Auston, Mitch, Travis, and William sitting in the front room watching the latest basketball game.

“Anyone care to get the door once in a while?” You chuckle at the guys. Lugging the bags into the apartment.

“Hey you’re here,” William greets you with a hug and a kiss on the check, “and with the snacks.”

“You did call me earlier to ask me to bring them”, following Willy into the kitchen. “Hey boys, good to see you.”

“Hey!” a chorus of yells returned to greet you. Their eyes never leaving the game.

“Thank you for coming, you know it is never complete without you here,” Willy says pouring the chips into a bag.

“You know I can never say no to you William. Although, I am very sleepy. I was wondering if I could take a nap in your room until the game is over.”

Willy looks up at the tv before answering me, “You weren’t kidding when you said that it was going to be an all-nighter were you? Yeah, that’s fine, the last quarter just started so you’ll have sometime to get a nap in. I’ll wake you up when it’s over. Thank you for the snacks again.”

“No problem. I’ll probably have to study a little bit more tonight too. I’ll be good after I get some shut eye, thank you.” You hug Will from behind as you walk out of the kitchen into the hall way where his bedroom is located.

You fall asleep rather quickly, getting three hours of sleep will do that to a person. Though, you always end up falling asleep quick when it comes to Willy’s bed. There have been many times that you decided to sleep in his bed rather than your own when he is gone on long road trips.

You feel much better after a cat nap, though, you could have definitely have gotten more sleep had the boys not been yelling. It was a regular thing to hear the boys yell when watching a game, no matter the sport. You get up out of the bed and straighten out the blankets before walking out to meet them.

“Dude, come on. Just admit that you like her already. It’s so obvious, you aren’t fooling anyone.” You can here matts talking to one of the boys. Being curious who he was talking to, you slowly walk out of the room.

“Guys, how many times do I have to say this? I don’t like her. We are just friends. I don’t get why you guys think I like her.” William says, running hand through his hair. It was obvious that he was getting frustrated.

“I don’t get why you just won’t admit that you like her. She’s a cool person and you guys get along. She basically lives here with you,” Mitch says, trying to calm the swede down. You still don’t know who they are talking about. Surely Will mustn’t like who they are talking about. He would have told you before the boys would even know.

You are being slightly biased though, secretly harboring a crush on Willy yourself. Ever since meeting him a few years ago, you have been stuck. The blue-eyed blonde has always been at the forefront of your relationship life, hoping one day that he would notice you the way you noticed him. You have always been there for him, after bad games, sickness and nursing him through injury.

“It’s just not like that with Y/N,” Willy responds with a shrug.

Your heart falls into your stomach, confirming what you have always known to be true. It hurts a lot more hearing it come from his mouth instead of you telling yourself. There was always hope when it came to Will but now you know the solid truth. William doesn’t like you. Not like that.

“Give us one reason why you don’t like her like that then,” This time it is Travis coming in to interrogate the blonde. Your ears perk up at the question.

“I don’t know? For one she’s not my type. She’s, she’s boring. I keep her around to help with my parents constantly asking when I’m going to get into a relationship. I just lie and say that I’m for when she is ready. In reality, I will never see her like that. The only thing she does outside of my friends is go to school. Don’t even get me started on how much she complains about a test or something. She doesn’t have a life. I always feel suffocated with her.” Willy lets everything out on the table, not letting anything hold him back about how he truly feels about you.

“So, you wouldn’t mind me going out with her then?” Matts asks, trying to get a rise out of the blonde.

Will chuckles, “Please do, at least it will get her off my back for once.”

He looks at the boys shaking his head when you come out from behind the wall with tears streaming down your face. The boys seeing you before William can, their eyes going wide.

“How,” You ask trying not to choke on the sob that you are holding in, “How could you talk about me like that? After everything that I have done for you? After all of the phone calls that I get from you! Asking me! No, not even asking, begging me to come over after games! I do have a life William! You are just so smothering that I can’t even live it without you wanting me to be here with you. You are a coward Nylander.” You run out the door before anyone can respond to you. As you run down the hallway to the elevator, you hear your name being called. Clicking the yellow button repeatedly, you look back to see Will closing in on you before the doors slide open. Jumping in, you continually push buttons to get the door to shut.

As the doors shut you realize that all you have is your phone in your pocket, having left your keys and purse in Wills room. Not having a way home, you call the only person that you could think of.

“Hello?” their voice comes through the phone; curiosity being laced through their voice.

“Hey, I’m sorry for calling but I really need a ride and I don’t have anyone else to call.” You say, trying your best to not sound like you have been crying.

“Send me your location and I’ll be right there.” Keys are heard through the line before they hang up.

William wasn’t wrong when he said that you didn’t have a life that didn’t involve him. Most of your time was spent with Will, at Wills game, or studying. You never thought of yourself as boring though, you thought that he wanted you around. At least that’s what it seemed like to you.

Before you know it, Morgan’s car is pulling up in front of the apartment building. As you get in the car it is evident that you have been crying. Mo notices upon first glance.

“Home?” Morgan asks as he pulls away from the building. A nod is all you manage to give in response. “Are you going to tell me what is going on?” he asks after a moment of silence.

“It’s nothing, I am probably over reacting. Nothing for you to worry about Mo,” you look at him with a small smile.

“Cut the crap, that was the weakest smile that I have ever been given.”

“I just over heard Willy talking to the boys about me,” you said with a sigh as you continue, “They were talking about how William doesn’t like me. Not to mention that I am boring and suffocating.”

Morgan’s head snaps in your direction, eyebrows furrowed. “He didn’t say that did he?”

You give Morgan a ‘Would I be making this up look?’.

“You know he doesn’t mean any of that right? The boy must have been pushing his buttons. Will thinks the world of you. He always asks if you can tag along with everything we do.”

“Well apparently not Mo.” You say as he pulls up to your house, “Thank you Mo, I really appreciate it.”

Mo gives you a nod with a sad smile on his face before driving off. You slowly climb up the stairs of your apartment. Reaching your door, you lift the welcome mat revealing the spare key you keep just for emergency.

It has been a few days since you have seen or spoken to any of the boys let alone William. He has been texting and calling non stop since that day. Every so often, you will get a text from one of the boys asking you to hear Will out.

You aced the test that you have been studying for and all you want to do is tell Willy. His voice saying how suffocating you are plays in your head. Knowing that you probably will never be able to have a relationship like that with him again.

A knock at your door pulls you off your couch, opening the door without thinking who it could be. You are met with the blue eyes that you have come to love.

“Um, you forgot this the other night. Thought you might need it,” he says, lifting your bag and keys in hand.

“Thanks” You grab the bag, starting to close the door before a he sticks his arm out preventing you to shut it completely.

“You know that I didn’t mean what I said,” His eyes full of sincerity, “The boys were just annoying me when they kept asking if I had feelings for you. I just said anything that would get them off my back. Nothing that I said was true to how I feel.”

“That doesn’t make it-“

“No, no that doesn’t make it okay but that is the truth. I never would have said that had I known that you were standing right there. The boys just know how to get under my skin sometimes.” Will looks down at his feet, not looking at you.

“At least Auston is honest to everyone about his feelings. We are going out next week after his schedule calms down.”

Williams head snaps up to look you in the eyes, gauging whether or not you were telling the truth.

“You can’t go out with him.”

“And why can’t I? You don’t think that someone as boring as I am can work out with someone like Auston?” You cross your arms, waiting for his response.

William shakes his head, “No, that’s not why you can’t go out with him.”

“So why can’t I?” you counter.

“Because,” You wait for a response. “Because, you are meant to be with me. There is no one that you belong with other then me. Especially not matts, he will never treat you how I would. He will never love you the way that I do. He will never notice how you tap your nose when you are close to finding the answer to a question. He won’t know to buy you coffee at that coffee shop down the street to get you out of bed after you studied all night. Because no one in this damn world will see you how I see you. I’m sorry for what I said, there is not enough words in English or Swedish to explain how sorry I am for what I said. But please for the love of god, do not go out with matts.”

“How do you know that I wouldn’t know how to treat her?” Auston says, coming into view behind you.

Willy is shocked looking between the two of you with his mouth open. “What? Matts, what are you doing here?”

“Asking y/n out obviously. You said that I could so I came over to see how she felt.” Auston throws an arm around my shoulder.

“Stop it,” you push his arm off your shoulder laughing, “you are going to break him.”

“Alright, sorry. I couldn’t pass up on the opportunity.” Auston shrugs walking out of your apartment, chuckling to himself. “Willy, I’ll see you at practice.”

“No, you don’t” William grabs the back of Auston’s shirt pulling him back in front of him.

“Willy! Let him go, he was just joking. We aren’t going out. Auston came by to explain what happened. Now calm down.”

“So, you two aren’t?” Will looks as confused as ever.

“No man, but it was one way to get you to admit your feelings,” Auston shakes his head, walking away from the two of you.

“Were you really going to fight your own teammate just because you thought we were dating?” You ask in disbelief.

“Yes, yes I was. I was already close to losing you once and it was the worst few days I have ever had. I wasn’t going to risk losing you again. Give me a chance, not as friends, give me a chance to take you out. To prove to you that I can treat you better than any man could.”

“Trust me Willy, I know that you can.” You say with a smile on your face.

“So, you forgive me? You’ll let me take you out?” Wills famous smile evident on his face.

“Yes, I forgive you Willy. I will always forgive you William.”

Willy runs to you, lifting you up. You both giggle, happiest either of you have ever been.

#nhl #NHL Hockey #nhl imagines #hockey #hockey imagines #Toronto Maple Leafs #william nylander #go leafs go

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muertawrites · 4 years ago

Text

Two Halves - Chapter Five (Zuko x Reader)

Part Four

Word Count: 3,300

Author’s Note: I was up until 4am finishing this on Thursday night, and honestly, the way my single brain cell was barely functioning at that point, I’m surprised this even got done, let alone that it got done relatively well. We’re also getting super close to 1,000 followers, so if you like this series or any of my other works, PLEASE subscribe! I’ve got some fun stuff planned once we get there that I’m really excited to start planning!

~ Muerta

Despite their rocky beginning, your first few weeks as Lady of the Fire Nation go surprisingly well. After your conflict with Advisor Lin, everyone begins to treat you with newfound respect - even Zuko. Your first breakfast together was the last time he advised any of your aids to be moderate or keep their distance from you, instead encouraging them to speak to you as directly as they would him, openly reproving them when they treat you as if you aren't capable of grasping everything they face you with; of course, you very much feel like you aren't, remaining stoic during morning briefings in the dining room while inwardly panicking, hearing everything but only able to decipher about half of it. You’re lucky you’re still shadowing the Firelord, learning your place and duties; once you’re sent out on your own, you have a feeling you’ll drown before you even get the chance to tread water.

Protective as he is, Sokka arranges to stay in the palace until you’re completely settled, stating that it’s his duty as the chief ambassador for the Southern Water Tribe; you know that the real reason is because he’s worried to death about you, trying his hardest to keep up the tough, unflappable big brother act for nobody's sake but his own. Toph also decides to extend her trip, quite concerned herself but mostly using the political tension as an excuse to catch up with you, Zuko, and Iroh - you don't mind, since having her around is an endless comfort to you, and you often invite her to sleep in your room so you can pretend that you’re just two friends enjoying normal young adult lives.

Each day spent in Firelady prep school is a new lesson in what exactly the role means, and you’re quickly finding that it’s much more than observing any of the first ladies of the Water Tribe could have ever prepared you for. They were considered accessories to their chiefs, appearing beside their husbands mostly for aesthetics and only truly serving the purpose of giving birth to sons to take his place; as the Firelord’s wife, you’re seen as an extension of him, and he an extension of you. Your people view you as the monarch and matriarch of a massive, powerful clan, and expect you to live and act in sync with one another for the betterment of your children, both literal and metaphorical. Nation comes before everything, any action that could suggest intentions otherwise criticized with the utmost scrutiny; disgrace is all too easy, while honor seems near impossible.

You have tea with Zuko every night before bed; the more you learn about the culture of his upbringing, the more you empathize with his younger self.

“I understand now why you were so angry,” you admit to him one night. “They make you feel as if just being human were a mistake. I'm already frustrated - I can't imagine what seventeen years of it was like.”

Zuko hums, his face taking on a wistful, somber expression.

“That's what my father did to me,” he explains. “Everything was wrong, even if it was what felt natural.”

He takes your hand in his, his thumb grazing over your knuckles as he gazes off in thought.

“We can change that, though,” he tells you. “Things already feel better with you here.”

For a country that just ended a century long war in which they were the main aggressor, you would think that your advisors would put more energy into matters of diplomatic affairs than your image.

“I'm just uncertain what a choice like this could make the nation feel,” Advisor Yong says. “We’re already walking a very delicate line.”

You stand in one of the palace’s many meeting parlors with Zuko, Advisors Yong and Sung, Sokka, Iroh, and the royal seamstress, pouring over multiple yards of fabric she's brought for the robes that will immortalize you in your wedding portrait. For the past forty-five minutes, you've been debating whether you should be pictured wearing Fire Nation or Water Tribe clothes - the proceedings have been dismal at best.

“The representation of our tribe is important to our people,” Sokka replies to Advisor Yong. “We’ve been small for decades, and mostly because of the Fire Nation - she should wear a traditional dress.”

“But certain people in our nation are still very put off by the idea of a foreign queen,” Advisor Yong argues. “A man was already killed over the matter; embracing it so fully could spark anger and endanger her and the Firelord even more.”

In the time you've spent with Advisor Yong, she's grown to be your favorite of anyone within the royal council. Her small stature and plump, motherly features make her seem gentle and subdued, but her kindness only runs so deep; when faced with confrontation, she's like an angry bull - fierce, but in a way that's so swift and graceful, you barely notice her goring into you until she's shredded you to pieces. She's been one of your most supportive council members as well, guiding you in matters of proper Fire Nation etiquette and culture and sticking her neck out farther than could possibly be expected to keep you safe. You can see Sokka getting irritable, but you know she speaks with a voice that only has your best interests in mind.

“Perhaps we should consider the external perception,” Advisor Sung suggests. His soft spoken manner is a welcome reprieve from the increasing bitterness in Yong and Sokka’s tones. “Yes, it's quite important that the Southern Tribe is recognized, and doing so will present a compassionate image of our nation. On the other hand, however, having our lord and lady in different traditional dress could suggest division; picturing them as the same would imply a more unified pair.”

“Maybe we should put Zuko in a Water Tribe outfit,” you suggest flatly. “Make it look like we’re pushing you guys around for a change.”

Zuko snickers beside you, raising a hand to his mouth to (ineffectively) stifle the sound under the guise of a cough. The rest of the room is deathly silent, its occupants either oblivious to your sarcasm or deeply unamused by it.

“I believe what our lady is trying to convey,” Iroh chimes in, “is that we have hardly taken her own thoughts into consideration. After all, it is her marriage and her people she must represent.”

“Okay, so what do you think?” Sokka prods, turning to you. “Do you want to wear Fire Nation clothes or Water Tribe ones?”

You sigh, dropping your eyes to the mixture of red and blue fabric sprawled out before you.

“Honestly? I don't know,” you confess. “There are too many issues with either choice. I think we need more time to gauge how people react to me just being here before we decide.”

“My lady, I understand,” Advisor Yong says, “but as cautious as we have to be, we can't be too hesitant; you can’t possibly hope to bear children in a few months’ time if we can't come to a decision on something like this in a timely manner.”

You and Zuko both jolt, instinctively backing away from one another.

“Children will come much later,” Zuko sputters, his cheeks turning the same shade as his robes. “Right now we have to focus on getting the people of our nations to agree with each other.”

“And children are an important part of doing so,” Advisor Yong explains. “They’ll serve to physically embody the union of the two nations; the sooner you become pregnant, my lady, the quicker we may resolve the issue.”

“I’m not going to bring a baby into this world just to be a political pawn,” you snap, a bit more harshly than you intend to. “That wouldn’t be fair and I couldn’t do that to my kid.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Zuko glance at you with an expression you can’t quite place. You want to reach for him but restrain yourself, feeling strange about showing him any sort of intimacy with an audience.

“We need to decide what will be done about this portrait before we decide what will be done about heirs,” Iroh agrees. “We should give our lady more time to think on the matter. Could we spare another day?”

Advisors Yong and Sung look to one another, Advisor Sung nodding his compliance. Advisor Yong also concedes, her tone almost apologetic when she speaks.

“Another day will be just fine,” she says. “We’ll leave the final decision to you and your husband, my lady. Have Rina bring your instructions to the seamstress when you’re ready.”

Your stomach flutters manically when you hear the words “your husband”. Advisor Yong has never referred to him as such, only ever calling him “the Firelord”; somehow, coming from her, the title feels much more significant than just the result of an arranged marriage.

You flop down in the grass beside Zuko, burying your face in the sleeves of your robe. He chuckles, tossing another apple peel to the turtle ducks in the courtyard pond.

“At least they’re being nice,” he consoles you. “Advisor Yong called me a coward in front of the whole council when I told her I wasn’t sure about getting married. She was right, but it’s hard getting your ass handed to you by someone who looks like a sweet little grandmother.”

You sigh, rolling over onto your back and tilting your head to look up at him. He gives you a faint, assuring smile, which you can’t help but return.

“I totally understand why you snapped when we were kids,” you tell him. “I’ve been here less than a month and I already want to go apeshit. Did you know that one of our advisors told me to take my betrothal necklace off the other day? The slimy little bastard waited until you left the room to do it, too! He told me it made me look less like a ‘naturalized Fire Nation woman’, and I told him that anyone who expected me to look like one was either stupid or delusional. And what, we need to have kids right way for the sake of political leverage? That’s horrible! What kind of monster brings a child into the world just to use them their whole life??”

You draw back when you notice Zuko’s fallen expression. You’ve sat up by this point, and your near-screaming has scared the turtle ducks to the other side of the pond. You feel your heart drop into your gut, wishing you could take the words back.

“Oh, Zuko,” you breathe. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…”

Zuko shakes his head, closing his eyes and taking a deep, measured breath. You watch his chest rise and fall, his shoulders loosening as he exhales. When he opens his eyes again, he meets yours, the knot between his brows unraveling.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “I know. My father was a monster. And my mother… she just did what she was told. I never realized how much she sacrificed for me until she was gone.”

You inch closer to him, warily reaching for his hand. He takes it, lacing his fingers with yours and gently tugging you to sit beside him, reclining against the trunk of an ancient maple tree. He leans into you, clutching your hand tightly.

“Sometimes I wish the worst thing he did to me was use me,” he laments. “Then maybe I wouldn’t have done such awful things to the people who loved me.”

“Zuko,” you whisper, tightly squeezing his hand, “you’re not your father. Just the fact that you asked me to marry you proves that. You didn’t choose your family based on who would make you powerful. You chose me because you love my siblings, and they love you, and that’s exactly why I agreed to be with you. I never met your father, but I know for a fact that he never knew love like you do; he wouldn’t allow himself to because he thought it was weakness. But you’re so much stronger than he is, and could ever be, because Katara and Sokka, Aang and Toph, and Iroh - all of us are here with you. You allow yourself to show weakness in loving us, which is the bravest thing you could ever do. You are nothing like Ozai.”

To your surprise, Zuko smirks at you; the corners of his eyes glimmer with the buds of tears, however, and the rest of his features don’t rise to match the expression on his lips.

“No wonder Uncle likes you so much,” he says. “You sound just like him.”

You scoff, punching him in the shoulder. He laughs, playfully tossing you over his lap and pinching the soft sides of your stomach, an area he discovered was sensitive by accident one day whilst he was walking you through the palace; you giggle hysterically, trying in vain to fend off the attack. He retreats after a little while, sighing as he cradles you in his arms - your head presses to his chest while his chin rests atop your head, hugging you tightly in a way he hasn’t done before. You wrap yourself around him, arms latching about his waist to hold him just as closely.

“I won’t let them pressure us,” he assures you. “We’re family, and we have to take care of each other. That’s all I ever want to do for you.”

You nestle into him, curling your body closer to his while your arms squeeze at his sides. He kisses the crest of your head, a rare display of affection he’s only done a handful of times - it makes you realize that even when you were teenagers, and Sokka started to make serious suggestions about keeping his promise of marrying you after Hakoda left you in his care, he never once made you feel as safe as Zuko does.

“I hope I wasn't interrupting anything with my invitation,” Iroh greets you when you arrive at his chambers.

Before your nightly pot of tea with Zuko, a messenger came to your quarters telling you that Iroh wished to see you; when you asked why, the messenger told you that the general wanted to teach you to play Pai Sho. You looked to Zuko quizzically, wondering what was so important about knowing how to play a board game that you needed to be summoned so late in the evening, and he sent you off, assuring you that, knowing Iroh, it was worth taking up the offer.

“Just Zuko’s tea,” you tell him, “which, if it weren't for his company, I think I'd bail on every night.”

Iroh chuckles, leading you inside and lowering you onto a cushion on one end of a large Pai Sho table; he takes the other seat, smiling good-naturedly at you.

“Unfortunately, my nephew has never quite taken to the art of tea brewing,” he says, “no matter how many times I've tried to teach him; I take comfort in the fact that he's much better with a sword than I am, instead.”

You grin, watching as the old man spreads a set of tiles across the game board.

“Do you know of the significance of Pai Sho within the royal families of the Fire Nation?” he asks; you shake your head in response.

“It is traditionally learned as a way of teaching our young leaders to rule with strategy,” he explains. “It is meant to teach a balance between inner passions and outward logic, as well as how to observe one’s peers; those who practice Pai Sho diligently know how to pinpoint an opponent’s weaknesses while understanding and controlling their own, keeping others from using their shortcomings against them.

“Each tile has a meaning,” he continues, “and represents a different positive or negative attribute. They may only move in certain ways, but can change their effect on the game based on how the player chooses to use them within each environment. For example…”

Iroh goes on to explain each tile and its movements to you, walking you through each element of the game and practicing different tiles with you until you can actually place them in a somewhat skilled way. When you're comfortable, he plays a simple game with you, aiding you in which possibilities cause which consequences and pointing out ways you can better defend your side of the board. You play five games with him in total, never winning but trying as if you stood a chance against such a skilled player as him.

When you lose the last game, Iroh removes the last tile you played and replaces it with the white lotus - you quirk your brow, wondering why that would be the better move.

“I thought the white lotus was a weak tile,” you question him. “Why put it up against something as strong as the flame tile?”

“There are no weak tiles in Pai Sho,” Iroh instructs you, “only ones that are often overlooked. Sometimes we must look at things from a different perspective, you see; manipulate the odds by doing something unorthodox and unexpected. If your opponent cannot anticipate your actions, they cannot overcome you.”

Iroh removes the white lotus from the board, taking your hand within his and placing it in your open palm. He folds your fingers over it, closing your hand between both of his.

“Keep this with you,” he says. “It may help you someday.”

“But won't your board be incomplete?” you ask.

Iroh chuckles, giving you a mischievous wink that makes you feel almost as if the man is in some way omniscient.

“I have plenty of others,” he assures you. “It will do much more good in your hands.”

The next day, you accompany Rina to the seamstress’s workshop, wanting to give her the instructions for your portrait dress yourself. When you tell her this, Rina is clearly confused - she gently attempts to explain to you that it isn’t necessary, that she’s supposed to handle these sorts of things for you, but once you reveal what you have in mind, she shifts completely.

“The council is going to hate that,” she says. “I think it’s a great idea. I can take you to the seamstress, come with me.”

When you relay your plans to the seamstress, she’s also shocked - her eyes widen, and she physically backs away from you as if even considering following your orders will get her executed for treason.

“Are you sure?” she asks. “It isn’t what the Firelady would typically do…”

“And I’m not a typical Firelady,” you reply, your tone bright and straightforward. “I’ve been asked to do what will create compromise, and this is the best compromise I can think of; I’m simply doing what I’m meant to.”

The seamstress agrees, but only after you give her your vow that she won’t take any of the blame should the idea backfire (you're in charge, after all, so what can anyone do? She’s just following orders.)

In white fabric, she makes a set of robes for Zuko and a dress for you, each including elements crafted in Fire Nation and Water Tribe tradition. She then takes each set to its own vat of hot water, adding blue dye to one and red dye to the other - she places the pieces in, looking nervously up at you as you approach the twin cauldrons.

“I just want to make one last adjustment,” you tell her.

Before she can respond, you take a bucket of blue dye and a bucket of red and tip each one into the opposite vat. The garments swirl as if caught in the midst of a tempestuous storm, the dye bleeding into the pristine fabric until it stains a shade of vivid, furious purple.

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jeogiyall · 4 years ago

Text

To The Beat; P.SH

Word count; 12.1k (i have absolutely no self control)

Genre; Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Angst, Seonghwa x Reader, Marching Band! AU

Additional; Featured Ateez, Entirely Self Indulgent, Flute Player! Reader

Warnings; Mentioned Sex, Swearing, Suggestive

A/N; so this is one of the more embarrassing things i’ve written,,, we’re just not gonna talk about the fact that i’m both a band kid and a kpop stan!! i’d also like to say that it is based entirely off of my experience with band! yes, we are poor, yes the kids are actually this mean, and yes they are this horny! the bus incident actually happened at my school y’all! band kids r a mess bye- also if u want to know more about marching band please ask me! i love to talk about it!

There were few things that you wanted more than this. Maybe a boyfriend in middle school, or first chair, but looking back even those pale in comparison. The want of those is pathetic compared to how badly you wanted to be woodwind captain your senior year. After being section leader for the flutes you were sure that it would end up how it was meant to, but sometimes even things that aren’t supposed to happen do. Like freshman year when the pit captain got his mallets stuck in the bell of a tuba, or when your newly appointed drum major (Kim Hongjoong, best friend since freshman year and previous woodwind captain/saxophone section leader,) cried on the field after stepping on a moth. Some things just end up wrong.

But here you are, sitting in the cafeteria of your school surrounded by the people you decided to spend all of high school with and feeling as full as ever. Your director's voice boomed, “(Y/n) (L/n,) woodwind captain,’ and you thought that no four words had ever sounded so perfect together. You stood quickly, legs carrying you to the front of the crowded space. People were clapping, as they do every year, but this time it was for you. For your hard work, and dedication, and everything that you’ve put into this program for the past three years. You cast a smile to your band director, heart soaring incredibly high that you don’t think it’ll ever come down.

“Congratulations.” She whispers while giving you a firm handshake. You murmur thank you before taking your place beside Hongjoong.

“We made it.” He slings an arm around your shoulder, using his free hand to pinch your bicep. You smile even wider, something that probably shouldn’t be possible, and open your mouth to respond.

“Park Seonghwa, brass captain.” The words coming from your band directors mouth erases any thoughts from your head. He stands from his seat in the back of the cafeteria, face taking on a smug smile. You want to kick him. Instead you stand taller, spine pulled so straight that it could crack.

People clap still, but instead of responding gratefully he smirks (Seonghwa is always smirking or grimacing. You’re not sure which you hate more.) Hongjoong turns to you wearing an expression of annoyance. Normally, you would comfort the boy and tell him that it’s whatever. Tell him ‘Who cares about Seonghwa? We’re going to be so good at our jobs that he won’t even exist.’ But he will exist. He will exist, and you care.

“Looking forward you working with you.” He says lowly while extending a hand to you. If it weren’t for your band director watching you would’ve spit on him.

“Likewise.” You respond coldly, taking his hand into yours. The skin is obnoxiously soft, no doubt from his habit of never doing anything.

After a long winded speech from your director, you and Hongjoong return to the table where your friends are. Everyone wears a grimace.

“Does he have to be brass captain?” San complains before pouting his lower lip. If he weren’t obnoxiously drumming his fingers on the table you’d find it cute.

“Why does it matter to you? You're the drumline captain, you don't have to interact with him!” He pouts even more, shoulders shrugging into his ears.

“I’m just like... Sorry for you and Hongjoong.” You sigh at the words while relaxing against your chair. It’s easier said than done, seeing as the chair is far too small and made of cheap plastic.

“Me too, but I’m trying to not count him out. No one succeeds when everyone thinks that they’ll fail, even self righteous assholes.” San snorts, then returns to exchanging banter with Yeosang. You, however, are not as lucky.

Brass and woodwind captains are the people in band who have to work together the most, everyone knows that. Everyone also knows that you and Seonghwa do not get along, a fact that was solidified when he made you take four props to the field by yourself during a competition. He dropped your flute on the way to the field, and caused you to arrive on the field almost two minutes late by refusing to help. You earned a nice time penalty and got yelled at by the director, ever since you and the boy have fought like it was a war.

But maybe this season would be okay. He said he was looking forward to working with you, and he’s not a liar. He might be rude, arrogant, and full of himself. But he’s not a liar, if Seonghwa says something he means it. And sticks to it.

So maybe this won’t be so terrible.

Being wrong was hands down your least favorite thing. It was something so rare that you didn’t really have to worry about, but this marching band season seemed to be all about being wrong. Well all about being wrong, and Seonghwa.

The first day of band camp he scolded Jongho, your only flute freshman, for not bringing water. The poor boy looked like he was about to pass out and all Seonghwa could do was tell him to bring some tomorrow. You took him out during lunch break and apologized for your fellow leaders tone deaf behavior.

But the second week of band camp was when he really started to get under your skin. It was the groups first time marching while playing, and fifth time running a lap for the night. As everyone settled back into place and brought up their instruments Seonghwa mumbled under his breath ‘Maybe if the woodwinds knew their damn music,’ then cut you a painfully pointed glare. No matter how much your brain tried to write the comment off as tired frustration, there was no denying that you wanted to punch him in the jaw. It would probably break him, you’re not sure that you cared..

And of course, there’s now. Band camp is over, and now you’re two weeks out from the first competition. Around this time last year was when Hongjoong started up woodwinds sectionals, so you figured you’d do the same. Why try to fix something that isn’t broken and all of that. Unfortunately Seonghwa had the same idea, seeing as he’s standing in front of you and clapping his hands harshly while the block messily executes a visual from your opener.

“Reset,” He barks, hands wiping sweat away from his forehead, “that was messy. We don’t do messy. Let’s go again.” It’s almost scary how regimented he is. Like for a minute you forget that he’s Park Seonghwa of your graduating class, and instead he’s the person that decides whether or not you’re allowed to breathe.

“Seonghwa!” You chirp, trying desperately to keep annoyance from seeping into the lines of your voice, “When will you guys be done? Just wondering, it’ our first sectional today so-”

“First? This is our fourth.” His voice is painstakingly polite, but there’s a smirk spreading across his face and you want to hit him until it hurts. Your teeth bite on the inside of your cheek, which is still pushed up into a smile.

“Yea, first. I just wanted to gauge everyone’s skill set-” you don’t owe him an explanation, you don’t owe him an explanation, “When will you be done?” One of his perfectly shaped brows raises, pink tongue darting to the corner of his mouth. His eyes quickly flick to his block, who are standing still as statues, then back to you.

“We’re staying until rehearsal tonight, you guys can have the gym.” The tone of his voice is back to normal, more commonly known as cold and infuriating. Hatred boils in your gut as you uphold a smile.

“But the gym doesn’t have yard lines. We need yard lines to practice marching, and since you guys seem to be just doing visuals you don’t really need them. I’m sure it would make everyone else happy too.” If looks could kill you’d be dead. Or whatever’s worse than dead, because he’s looking at you as though you’ve spent the last ten minutes trying to strangle him.

“Let me get one thing clear, I do not fucking care what would make everyone else happy. I care about doing my job properly, as you should. If you wanted the field then you should’ve started sectionals earlier, so go to the gym or cancel your sectional. I don’t care, just get off.” You’re left fuming and ready to burst at the seams as he returns the block of brass.

Later that day you talk to your band director about implementing a sectionals schedule. Something that would be made at the beginning of every week by captains and section leaders then posted in the instrument room. Something that would prevent today from ever happening again, but of course you don’t tell her that.

“That’s a wonderful idea, (y/n!) No one has ever suggested something like that before, nice job!” She smiles approvingly over her desk, hands typing fervently on her keyboard. You thank her, then duck out of the room. It feels wrong to accept her praise when the only reason for it is to piss off Seonghwa.

He’s here. It’s your scheduled time to have the field, 3:00 pm on Tuesday, and Seonghwa is here. Seonghwa is here, standing on the front sideline and looking at your group as though you interrupted him.

“What are you doing?” You demand while stomping up to where he’s leading stretches, “You know I scheduled my sectional for today, you’re in the group chat.” He pulls his right arm across his chest, definitely flexing on purpose.

“We’ve been having sectionals at this time for three weeks now, I’m not planning on changing it.” If it weren’t for four years of constant arguing you’d think he’s being polite. Everything from the relaxed facial features to his calm voice, but you know that this is always how it starts. A polite tone, quickly turned into sneers and words that taste like poison.

“Well plan on it.” You spit, stepping closer to the boy. He’s surprised by your boldness, so much so that he drops the stretch, “You’re not above the rules, adhere to the schedule and stop being an ass.” His shocked eyes morph into slants, like a tiger about to pounce on its prey.

“I may not be above the rules, but that doesn’t mean that you are the rules.” And there it is, the devilish quirk of his lips. It’s so blood boiling that you think he could be struck down by lightning and you would celebrate

“Oh you piece of-”

“Hey!” He shouts towards the bleachers, where the entire winds section is gathered. The two of you were so caught up in each other that you didn’t even notice them leaving, “Did I say that you could leave block?” A bead of sweat rolls down the hollow of his throat, which is definitely not what you focus on as the brass scramble back into place.

“Seonghwa, I’m using the entire field. I’m the person scheduled, so you either have to stay on the front sideline or you have to leave.” He chuckles lowly, then turns to face you. His tongue smooths over the corner of his mouth again, you want to scream.

“I don’t take orders from you-”

“How about we just do the sectional together?” The low brass section leader, Mingi, offers quietly from his corner spot at the back of the block. He’s leaning one elbow on his contra, which is on the ground bell first, and trying desperately to hide his face behind his own hand. All that he manages to hide is his right eye, but it’s certainly an a for effort.

“No.” Seonghwa answers as soon as you sigh, ‘fine.’ His eyes shoot up to meet yours, finally filled with something other than anger or disgust, “Really?” An eyebrow quirks up so hard that it might as well grow into his hairline.

“Well if you’re not going to leave! I have things to get done and you’ve now cut into my sectionals time twice! So if sharing the field is what I have to do to get shit done then fine.” He stares at you in a way that makes you feel small, then shrugs.

“Fine, get into a block on the back hash.” You’re about to tell the woodwinds to stretch, but when you face the dented bleachers they’re all sitting in a circle with outstretched legs, exchanging laughter and smiles. Whatever Seonghwa took hold of in your stomach releases as your heart swells with pride.

“Woodies!” You call, smile spreading as everyone's eyes shoot up to meet yours, “Join the block!”

They shout back, “Yes mam!” Which makes you feel painfully old, and painfully happy.

The sectional went fine. Well, as fine as it could seeing as two people who nearly killed each other twenty minutes prior lead it.

“You were bad ass, (y/n!)” Resident bari sax, Yeosang laughs, “I really thought that fire was about to shoot out of your eyes.”

“I thought fire was about to shoot out of his eyes!” Yunho, the clarinet section leader, adds, “And you just stood there like ‘yea asshole, set me on fire! I can take it!’ No guys, I’m being serious-” All of the previous laughter from your boys halts as Seonghwa enters the room, steely eyes settling on your cluster of woodwinds. His eyes stay there, though you can’t blame him. If two sweaty teenage boys were staring at you like they’d been caught doing something wrong, you would stare back too.

“What?” He asks, the word so sharp that it could cut. Yeosang shakes his head while Yunho finishes putting his instrument away. The latter mumbles something about waiting for you in his car, to which you nod curtly.

“Okay, well... I’m gonna go.” Yeosang drawls, leaving the instrument room with the bari sax around his neck. You laugh to yourself at the sight of him waddling away, then return to what you’re supposed to be doing.

“You know, whoever holds a sectional is supposed to sweep the instrument room afterwards.” You exhale while moving to retrieve the broom from it’s corner.

“Oh, like you were just now?” He quips, hands moving deftly against his metal padlock. He doesn’t even need a padlock, the band director locks the instrument room door after everyone leaves. It’s just something else that he has to be annoying.

“Maybe it would go faster if you would help me, seeing as you held a sectional too.” They’re normal words, but your throat physically chokes on each syllable. The boy drops his lock, eyes narrowing as they come in contact with you.

“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t take orders from you?” He takes a step closer, until his crossed arms are brushing against your knuckles. His skin is soft, almost like he waxes. It makes your head pound.

“I guess until I stop asking you to do your job, and not just the part of it that gets you praised.” You continue sweeping, trying desperately to get away from the boy. But of course he picks up on it and follows you.

“I do my job perfectly fine, thank you very much.” You scoff loudly, chin tilting up so that you’re eye to eye with the boy. He smirks.

“Clearly, you don’t.” The tip of his nose brushes yours, then his lips are crashing into you. His lips are crashing into you, and you kind of like it.

It’s an aggressive motion, filled with him gripping onto the collar of your workout shirt and you dropping the broom. The part of you with a brain thinks that you shouldn’t kiss him back, seeing as you hate him and what not, but then he bites your bottom lip and there’s no hope. Anyone would melt at that sensation.

And melt you do, body going limp as he pushes you against the closest wall. You bring up a hand to trace the hollow of his throat, copying the trail of his sweat from earlier. His moan vibrates against your palm and it’s all that you can do to not die right then and there. Pressed against the instrument room wall, in the arms of the boy that you hate.

“What were you saying?” He growls into your ear while pulling you in by the waist. If you were anyone else you’d moan something incoherent and let him keep kissing you with lips that feel like pillows. But you are not anyone else, you are (Y/n.) (Y/n) who is stubborn to a fault.

“That you’re an asshole, who sucks at your job.” He smiles down at you, eyes filled with a certain kind of thunder. A hand wraps around the back of your neck, then slams your mouth onto his. Hot breath hits your cheek as kisses you senseless. As you let him kiss you senseless. He tastes like coconut lip balm.

“Wrong answer.” The boy exhales before attaching his lips to your jaw. You’re about to argue with him, because you just don’t know what’s good for you, but then your phone starts ringing. Probably Yunho telling you that he needs to get home. You need to as well, but it’s impossible to think about that when Seonghwa is devouring every part of you as if he’s been paid to do so.

“Seonghwa,” You start, but it sounds far too much like a moan so you have to clear your throat before continuing, “Seonghwa! I have to go.” He doesn’t let up, tongue running against the spot where your jaw pokes out.

“I’ll take you home.” His voice comes out rough, like if your hands ran over it they’d come back scraped. It’s almost enough to make you stay, but then there’s the idea of having to tell Yunho that Park Seonghwa is taking you home. That you were making out with Park Seonghwa, and it was so good that you didn’t want to leave so he offered to take you home. The thought of your friends reaction is enough to turn you off.

“No, Seonghwa, I have to go.” You pull his head off of your neck, running one hand through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. It’s sweaty, but doesn’t smell bad which is just infuriating, “Um... Do this again?” He smiles, but this time is a little different. His lips are still in a wicked curve, but his dark eyes have sparkles now. You almost think that he’s going to say something nice.

“You wish.” You want to tell him that he’s right, you do wish. Instead you sigh, push his body away, collect your bag, and leave with his gaze hot on your trail.

Seonghwa is still the thought that keeps you up at night with boiling blood. Everything from his evil smirk to the way his eyes always look unbelievably disapproving of everything. He’s infuriating in a way that evades words.

But there’s also other things to keep you up. Like the thought of his soft honey skin touching yours, or the way his throat feels vibrating against your palm. There’s him pushing you against the instrument room wall, but there’s also him yelling at you in front of the entire winds section. The line is slowly starting to blur and you’re not sure whether or not you like it. You are sure of two things, though. You’re sure that when you fall asleep all you can dream about is Seonghwas coconut flavored lips on your skin, softly whispering affirmations of hatred.

And that sometimes, things that aren’t supposed to happen do.

Before this season there were few things that you loved more than marching band. Maybe cookie dough ice cream, or speeding through downtown in the passenger seat of Yunhos mom van while Hongjoong and San yelled song lyrics from the backseat. Those were both good things, and the only things that even came close.

But then there’s now. There’s you and Seonghwa getting drunk off of each other while crammed into your school's equipment closet. There’s his soft hands pushing you onto the counter, his sweet lips growling crude words into your ear. There’s him kissing you, and then there’s something else that comes close to marching band.

Ever since freshman year your favorite feeling has been the one that you get after rehearsal. The feeling when your instrument comes off your face and pride swells all the way up to your cheeks. When San breaks from his final set next to you and offers up a childish grin, always accompanied by a high five and the words ‘Nice run, captain.’

Tonight doesn’t feel like that, tonight feels like your stomach is in the throat. Like the world is tilting and there’s nothing you can do about it.

“Nice run captain!” San shouts, yet the words sound so far away. You nod slowly, high-fiving his outstretched hand while your free hand wraps around your own waist, “(Y/n?) Are you okay.” It’s all you can do to flash a thumbs up before falling to the pavement. Everything goes black for three minutes, but when yours eyes slowly open you can hear San curse. That, and also the entire band crowding around you.

You can still hear snippets of what they’re saying, but the thought of responding or comprehending is so exhausting that it could make you pass out all over again. Someone yells to give you space, a small part of you hopes that it’s Seonghwa.

For the record, it is Seonghwa. Seonghwa with furrowed eyebrows and frowning lips. His next words are to San, “Why didn’t you catch her?”

“I have a drum strapped to my body!” The taller boy shakes his head, setting down his freshly polished instrument and crouching next to your limp body. If you were more coherent you would’ve moved away. Or loved it. You would’ve moved away or loved it.

“(Y/n,) can you hear-”

“Hongjoong, (Y/n) died!” Wooyoung shrieks from across the field, causing actually everyone to flock to you.

“She didn’t die idiot, just passed out.” Yeosang responds while rushing to help Hongjoong off of his podium. The boy tries to jump the last three steps, which ends just as well as one could imagine. Everyone’s too busy staring at you to even notice.

“I told her that she should’ve eaten lunch!” Your drum major chides, “(Y/n!) (Y/n,) can you hear me?” He’s kneeling down next to you, sandy blonde hair tickling the tip of Seonghwas nose. You don’t even know why Seonghwa is still here, but a small part of you likes that he is. Almost like you two are more than boiling hatred and stolen kisses.

You hold a thumbs up to your friend, it takes every single ounce of your strength. Of all the reactions that you get, Seonghwa sighing in relief is the most satisfying.

“Told you she’s not dead.” Yeosang mutters from where he’s standing over you. Wooyoung sticks his tongue out to the boy, you almost want to laugh at their antics.

“Okay, Yunho is taking care of your field mics and prop. Do you think that you can walk by yourself?” You frown while turning your thumbs up into a hard thumbs down, eliciting a chuckle from your sweet friend. Seonghwa doesn’t laugh though, eyebrows still harshly furrowed while he stares down at your frail body.

“I’ll help her down to the band room.” He offers, causing Honjoongs eyes to go as wide as quarters. Along with Yeosangs, Wooyoungs, Junghos- pretty much anyone who knows anything about either of you, “I-I just don’t have a field job, and I can get Mingi to take my stuff down for me. She needs to get off the field soon, it’s slowing down the clean up.” Hongjoongs eyebrows clench slightly, but he eventually shrugs. You don't know whether to be grateful or to fight him.

But none of those thoughts are in your head as the tall boy scoops you up in his arms bridal style. His usually soft skin is tacky with sweat, yet he smells like fresh pine and spices. You think that it’s not fair that he smells good after a three hour rehearsal.

The last thing that you hear before dozing off against his chest is “You’re an idiot.” It’s whispered into your ear in a tone that almost makes you think that he’s being sweet.

The next time that your eyes open Seonghwa is propping your body up on the counter in the equipment closet. Something in your chest burns bright red at the memory of what the two of you were doing here after last rehearsal. It consisted of your hair in between his fingers, and bright purple hickeys blossoming on his neck. Now he’s forcing a huge water bottle into your face while trying desperately to hold you up by your shoulder. Considerably less sexy, to say the least.

“Drink.” He says curtly while handing the see through bottle to you. You accept with a shaky nod, then drink the water like you’ve been in the desert for the past fifteen years. It takes a minute before he manages to pry it away, “Hey! Not too fast you’ll get sick, and stop chewing on my straw!” A dry laugh escapes your lips, head tilting back ever so slightly. You don’t see the way that Seonghwas eyes trail on the hollow of your throat with a gaze so intense that it threatens to burn.

“Why’d you offer to bring me up?” You croak while reaching for his water bottle once again. He relents with a sigh, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

“No reason, just didn’t want you blocking up the clean up. Everyone was so focused on you that nothing was getting done.” His voice is flat, holding no traces of emotion, but you know that there’s something more. There was a reason that he was the first person to fall to his knees next to you. A reason that he scolded San for not catching you, “Don’t overthink things, (Y/n.) And stop chewing on my straw!” He snatched the water bottle away from you once again, causing both of you to laugh softly.

“Sorry.” You sigh, body relaxing as his soft hand comes to rest against your jaw. It’s a gentle touch, something so foreign in this relationship that you’ve created with your fellow captain, “About your straw, not the overthinking. Not that I was overthinking.” He exhales a short laugh at your witty remark, a signature smirk tugging gently at his lips, “Come on Hwa, just admit that you like me.” He leans in closely to you, hot breath fanning against the place where your neck and jaw meet.

“Okay,” He exhales, mouth dangerously wet and sweet, “I like you.” The words ricochet against the shell of your ear, teeth tugging against the skin where they’ve imprinted. It feels so good that you could collapse. He pulls away slightly and presses a tender kiss to your temple. You think that while you like when he throws you against a wall and kisses your lips numb, he’s good like this too, “But that doesn’t mean that I don’t still hate you.”

And then he leaves you in the musty equipment closet, with nothing except for his water bottle and your burning hot cheeks for company.

It happens like this; forty minutes after everyone’s finished clearing off the field. You were putting your flute away into your assigned locker when Seonghwa barged in grumbling about something that you couldn’t understand, then pushed you harshly against the lockers.

“Hwa, wait! I still have my flute, I can’t drop it!” He bounced back at your exclamation, head hanging cutely as he let you finish.

“My bad.” He muttered while reaching into his pants pocket to apply coconut chapstick. The part of you that hated him wanted to gag, but the part of you that kind-of-sort-of-maybe liked him was excited to kiss the taste off. You shut the locker door with a loud slam, then turned on your heel once again to face the tall boy, “Okay?” He questioned with a quirked eyebrow. You nodded eagerly, hands screwing into the collar of his cotton t-shirt.

“Okay.” Then his lips were crashing harshly into yours, hands touching your body with a fever that can’t be measured. You all but collapsed beneath the sensations, “Your diagonal at the end is shit.” He whispers against your needy lips. Instead of responding, you tightly pull on his hair. It’s as if to say ‘Fuck you just follow the form.’ His low groan is a simple answer, ‘Absolutely not.’

He’s just starting to do that thing that you really like, the thing where he pulls you as close as humanly possible by your waist and the nape of your neck, when a high pitched scream erupts from the instrument room door. Even though it sounds like one of the freshman girls, you both know that it’s Wooyoung without even having to look.

“Shit!” Seonghwa curses, hands detaching from you so fast that your back collides with the lockers, “Oh gosh, (Y/n) are you-”

“Can’t talk, gotta run see you tomorrow!” You rush in one breath, dashing out of the door and into the band room. Wooyoung is about to walk out of the exit and into the parking lot, the parking lot where Yunho and Yeosang are waiting for you, “Woo, wait up!” You pant, stopping him right at the exit ramp.

“Do you guys do that after every rehearsal?” He questions, eyes blown wide as saucers, “Oh no, is that why we all leave so late? Ew, gosh, gross, gross, gross! That was so gross, like actually the grossest making out I’ve ever seen! It was so weird and hateful, a-and... And weird! I would’ve rather walked in on you guys fucking- nope take that back, I would not have liked to walk in on that. Wait, have you guys-”

“No!” You shout, hands coming to clamp on the frantic boys shoulders. Your eyes check the room while you lower your voice before continuing, “We’ve never done that, it’s just kissing. Weird, hateful, kissing.” He nods, face still twisted up in disgust.

“Why would you do that to yourself? Like, he’s kind of a dick to you.” You sigh heavily and bring up a hand to wipe the lines off of your forehead.

“Yea, but he’s also sweet sometimes. Not to mention like, really good at kissing-” Wooyoung gags dramatically at your answer, you think that if you weren’t so panicked that it would be funny, “Look, just please don’t tell anyone. Especially not my friends, I think that this is supposed to be like... A secret thing? I just want it to stay a thing, and I just know that they’d lose their shit...” You trail off, words turning into nothing but indecipherable noises and flailing hands.

“Why does he want to keep it secret?” Wooyoung asks with an uncharacteristically soft voice. It’s a question that’s been nagging in the back of your mind since last week in the equipment closet, when he softly whispered the affirmation against your sweaty skin, “You’re obviously into each other, so why?” You don’t answer, opting instead to bite the inside of your cheek so hard that you think it might start to bleed, “Maybe ask him about that before you worry about your friends.”

It’s late after your thursday rehearsal. You’re pressed flush against the door to the equipment closet, Seonghwas plush lips hot on your throat, when silent tears start to fall down your cheeks. For a moment they remain silent, mixing in perfectly with the whimpers you were letting out just moments ago. But then it hurts too bad to hold in, and you let out a loud sob.

“Jeez, it can’t feel that good.” The boy teases, face falling harshly when he sees tears mixing with your post-rehearsal sweat, “Oh no, oh gosh, was I too mean? I didn’t mean it, you’re really good at marching! Like-” You wave him away, not wanting to be doted on. While you and Seonghwa have definitely gotten... Closer over the past two weeks, this is certainly overstepping. More than that, it’s like barreling past the line and leaving everything around it crushed.

“It’s not that,” You respond, hands releasing from the fabric of his shirt (a black tank top that perfectly highlights his toned arms.) He wants to tell you that they could stay there, that they could stay wherever you want. So long as it makes you stop crying, “It’s... I don’t know what it is.” The words are flat, clearly a lie. You don’t want to tell him why you’re actually crying, that you think some part of you has actually started to like him. But not just like him as a friend, as someone that you wouldn’t mind spending a day with. More like, someone that you fall asleep to. Someone that could kiss you for days and it would never bore you.

“I, uh, I don’t know-” He doesn’t know what to do, which is painfully clear. You don’t particularly mind that he doesn’t know, just that he’s here. Here for you to hold if you need to. Until he also starts crying, that is, “why are you-”

“Shut up. I just, I cry whenever other people cry!” You cast him a questioning gaze, mind jumping to all the cases where he did not do that.

“That’s so not true, Mingi literally cried two days ago and you laughed at him!” You wipe at your cheeks fervently, hoping that he wouldn’t say anything about the red that was definitely painting your face.

“He cried over DCI! That doesn’t count, I cry for things that matter...” You want to ask what he’s about to say, to tell him that there’s no real reason for you to be crying either. But you don’t, because he’s crying. Sad, crystal tears that paint his sun kissed cheeks, and his arms are open for you, “Can I hug you? I feel weird not doing anything.”

You don’t say anything, just fall into the open space and inhale sharply. He smells sweet, and feels warm. Not the gross kind of warm that touches every part of you, but the comforting kind. The kind that feels like wearing fuzzy socks and sipping on hot chocolate.

“Don’t feel weird.” You mumble, lips moving softly against the fabric of his tank top, “I-I have to go soon.” He shushes you, hands softly rubbing the line of your shoulder blade.

“Just five more minutes.” It’s almost like a plea, like he needs it too, “You can’t go out crying, they’re gonna think that I did something.” He didn’t... But in a way he did. In a way, he made you fall for him by having lips that taste painfully like coconut. He made you fall for him by kissing like he’s made of fire. He made you fall for him by always smelling like a fall candle.

“You didn’t do anything.” You whisper, but it’s a lie. Because he did do something, something that he doesn’t even know about.

He made you fall for him, which is something that definitely wasn’t supposed to happen.

In your freshman year there was an... Incident on the bus (one that consisted of a girl, her boyfriend, and very loud sex) which unfortunately resulted in separate boy-girl buses. Which meant no more sitting with Yunho, no more sharing snacks back and forth with Yeosang, no more geeking out over music with Hongjoong and San, and no more ignoring Seonghwa for hours at a time (a task that you found very satisfying as a meek little freshman. It was clearly before you learned how to argue.)

But then Junior year rolled around, and there were too many girls and not enough boys. Your director said that it would be fine for some girls to switch over, which equated to being back with your friends. The first time that you climbed onto the bus all of your friends cheered, to which you responded with bowing down jokingly.

Seonghwa rolled his eyes harshly, then muttered something that you couldn’t hear. What you could hear, however, was Wooyoung laughing and telling his friend to lighten up. He’d always been so sweet, up until two weeks ago you didn’t understand why he’d be friends with someone like Park Seonghwa. You’re starting to get it now.

“(Y/n!)” San cheers from the back, eyes crinkling into an excited smile. Someone starts clapping, the same way that they always do, and you laugh. Seonghwa claps as well, to which Yeosang shoots him a look that reads ‘what the fuck.’

“I’m sorry, the only seat left is next to-” Seonghwa. The only seat left is the aisle chair next to Seonghwa. Yunho’s eyes look apologetic as he tells you, but then there’s Mingi curled up next to him with hot cheetos and a gallon jug of water and you can’t even be mad at him. Even if you still despised Seonghwa, you wouldn’t be mad.

“It’s fine.” You respond quickly, one hand coming up to pinch the boys cheek. He smiles brightly, “Since when have you been friends with Mingi?”

“I guess as long as you’ve been friends with Seonghwa.” The comment is quick, painless. Almost like you could tell him everything and he wouldn’t mind.

“Fair.” You slide down comfortably into the seat with Seonghwa, pulling a pack of dried apple slices and sour gummy worms from the stuffed book bag around your shoulders, “Hey.” The word is tiny, almost a whisper.

“Hi, love the snack selection...” He opens up the bag of apple slices, popping one into his mouth before offering them back to you, “Good to see you.” It feels like there’s more that he wants to say, but instead of pushing you giggle and accept an apple.

“You saw me two days ago, dummy!” He smiles softly, heart going limp at the (now friendly) teasing. You turn away before he can keep talking, jumping immediately into banter with your friends, “Hey, Wooyoung! Can you call Jongho back?” The boy in question glances at the empty seat beside him then moves things for a second before cupping his mouth to shout to the front.

“Jongho!” Your freshman looks up with wide eyes, “Sit with me!” He grins widely, throwing back a thumbs up before gathering all of his things. You mouth ‘thank you’ to Wooyoung before turning back to Seonghwa.

“Do you know who has the speaker?” Seonghwas eyebrows furrow, making it painfully clear that he was not paying attention when the boys decided this.

“Yeosang, I think. Him or Hongjoong, somewhere in that seat.” You know immediately that it’s Joong, Yeosang never takes his speaker out of the house, “You better not play that shitty playlist-”

“My playlist is fire, thank you very much!” You slap his bicep with one hand while the other clutches your chest.

“No it is not, half of it is Hannah Montana!” His laugh is sweet, with a slight edge seeping through. Like there’s a dash of liquor in your coffee, “Joong, I have the playlist!” Your friend smiles affectionately and cheers, accepting your phone with a radiant smile.

“Everyone say thank you, (Y/n)” He teases, which unfortunately results in the entire back half of the bus chorusing back ‘Thank you, (Y/n.)’ You giggle softly, a sound that ricochets through Seonghwas head.

“Thank you, (Y/n.)” He whispers into your ear. If you two were alone in the instrument room he would’ve nipped at the skin there, the loss of that touch makes your body shudder. Seonghwa smiles at the way you roll your neck back, knowing exactly what he’s doing.

“You’re welcome!” You respond to everyone else. Right as you turn back to Seonghwa, Britney Spears floods the entire bus, “You’re welcome, Seonghwa.” He smiles, you almost think that he’s going to kiss you.

But then the bus starts moving, and everyone is cheering ‘First comp! First comp!’ You join in with a smile, Seonghwa rolling his eyes at everyones antics. Like he’s much too cool to have fun. Two weeks ago it would’ve been obnoxious, but now you think that it’s painfully endearing.

That seems to be the nature of things with Seonghwa. Everything that used to be the worst part of your day now brightens up any situation. You think that you hate it. Yet it’s also painfully okay.

Right as the band is done warming up for the competition your band director tells everyone to find a buddy to zip their jackets. You’ve always been able to do it by yourself, but before you can maneuver your hands to the space in between your shoulders Seonghwa is there.

“You’re gonna rip the jacket,” He grumbles, fingers making quick work of the zipper (there are definitely not sparks flying down your spine as his fingertips brush against your show shirt.) He pats it once after finishing, “good luck out there.” You turn around, hands dusting off the orange and black jacket. It hasn’t been worn in months, yet it’s like putting on your favorite dress. Comforting, empowering... Almost normal, yet if you were to wear this to a school or a grocery store you’d feel entirely insane.

“Let me get your-” He waves the question away right as you notice that Wooyoung is already taking care of it while chattering excitedly, “Oh... Good luck to you too!” Something about the lights of the warm up lot on his tan skin mixed with his uniform that elongates his legs and broadens his shoulders makes your stomach fill with butterflies, “You look good.” He grins in a way that’s shy.

“Thanks, you too.” In that moment you know that he must like you, because there’s sweat on your brow and a light slump to your shoulders. Every ounce of hair is plopped to the top of your head so it’ll fit in the shako, but Seonghwa said that you look good. He said that you look good, and he never lies. Not even to you.

“Mingi!” Wooyoung screeches, barreling towards the taller boy (who’s conversing excitedly with the drumline captain,) “Can I have an Oreo pleaseeee-” Mingi’s face twists a little bit, but eventually shifts with a wide smile.

“I don’t know, they’re Yunho’s so-” The boy in question shifts ever so slightly in his spot next to you. He flashes an apologetic smile to you before running up to take his boat of fried Oreos. He pinches one between his fingers and drops it into Wooyoungs mouth, who catches of the air like an excited puppy, and then offers one to Mingi, “Okay I guess it’s fine.” The contra player answers through a full smile.

“They’re so cute.” Yeosang coos while slinging his arm around your shoulders, taking Yunho’s spot. You smile and grab onto the boy's hand where it hangs down, “Before you ask, Joong is getting food with Jongho. Now, how was your run?”

“Fine, good. Always room to improve, y’know?” You both nod, knowing the exact feeling that you’re talking about, “But it was good.”

“And Seonghwa?” The question comes out so calmly that you almost miss it, but when the words finally settle in you’re left sputtering and confused.

“W-what?!” He looks confused, but you feel panicked. Down to the core of your body, you are panicked.

“Well you guys are friends, right? Like you seem to be friends now and... It’s okay to be friends with him. You don’t have to pretend like he’s not your friend, and it seems good too. For him, he’s nicer lately.” Warmth blossoms in your chest, rising all the way up into your ears as your eyes involuntarily move over to where the boy sits on the bleachers. Where he sits alone, “Go ask him to join us.”

“Really?” Yeosang nods, hand releasing from yours as hope rises along with your blush. A small giggle slips past your lips, “Okay. Yea, okay! I-I’ll be back, um... Yea.”

When you settle down next to Seonghwa he greets you with nothing more than a curt nod. It’s strange, to say the least, but you brush it off. He’s probably just pissed about something, because he’s Seonghwa and always pissed.

“Hey,” You exhale, “h-how was your run?” He shrugs, shoulders tensing violently.

“It was good.” He’s supposed to ask how you did, and you’re supposed to say what you always do. But he doesn’t ask, so you don’t answer.

“U-um... So I was just wondering if... L-like if you wanted to have- not have, if you wanted to-” He looks you square in the face with a glare that could cut, “I was wondering if you wanted to come sit with us.” One of his perfectly sculpted eyebrows quirks, tongue darting to the inside of his cheek.

“If you want to make out you can just say so.” Something clenches around your vocal chords, throat closing up so hard that you think you could choke, “You don’t have to make up some bullshit excuse about wanting to be friends.” It’s not quite clear what tips you over the edge, maybe the biting tone of what he says. The hatred in his eyes that you were so sure you had moved past. The flicker of excitement that dies in your chest, but prickly tears start to gather in your eyes.

“What?” You squeak, swallowing hard, “I-I just wanted to-”

“To make out like we always do.” Those are certainly the words that come out, but they can’t be right. He can’t be actually saying that, because it’s not what you always do. Just two days ago this boy held you so tenderly that you could’ve broken, and now he’s looking at you like he doesn’t even know your name.

“Oh, um...” There’s a part of you that could cry. But then there’s also the part that could bite back, the same way that you would at the start of this season, “Just, fuck off.”

You barrel out of the stadium like a train that’s on fire, mind focused on nothing other than sinking down into your seat and crying. Or screaming. Or doing anything to get something out of your body. You’re halfway there too, weaving in and out of the rival schools buses with ease, until somebody's hand grips your wrist tightly.

“(Y/n) stop!” Seonghwa. His pink lips are parted and panting. You pull your hand away and cradle it into your chest, fire forming on the tip of your tongue.

“Do not touch me.” The words are spat out like venom, causing him to physically recoil. It’s strange honestly, how less than a month ago this was your normal form of communication and now it’s something that hurts, “Don’t touch me, or talk to me, or even fucking look at me.” His eyebrows crinkle, the soft skin there folding ever so softly.

“I-I just thought that-”

“Thought what? That you could make out with me, and comfort me while I’m crying, and fucking carry me to the band room, and that I wouldn’t care about you? That’s what you thought?!” Earlier this season, back at the second woodwind sectional, Yeosang said that he thought fire was going to shoot out of your eyes. You didn’t get at the time, but now you do. Now, with anger pulsing through every last vein in your body, you understand. Because you want to slap that stupid confused expression off of his face, you want to make him cry the way that you’re going to cry, “Fucking answer me, Seonghwa!”

“I... I definitely didn’t think that you would care about me?” He knows it’s the absolute wrong thing to say as soon as your jaw solidifies into a harsh line. It’s one of your tell tale signs, along with steely eyes that pierce straight through his chest. It seems that pissing you off for three years had some benefits, “Nope, no. Definitely not that, I-”

“Fuck off.” You bite harshly before turning on your heels and storming off towards the bus. He’s about to follow you, but something about your clenched fists and shoulders that are raised so high that they could mold into your ears tells him to stay behind. You’re not sure whether to be grateful or pissed. Maybe both.

When your back finally slides against the cheap leather of your seat, it’s clear. Definitely both. Grateful because there are fat, snotty tears falling down your cheeks with reckless abandon. Because your sobs are so loud that the people on the next bus can probably hear you. Because you’re crying in a way that you never have before.

But pissed, because no one has ever held you as tightly Seonghwa did just two days ago. Pissed, because the person who you were supposed to hate more than anything just broke your heart. Pissed because something that wasn’t supposed to happen did.

After hours (or minutes. Maybe seconds, you don’t really know) of crying you sit up and assume the natural post competitions pose. Knees hugged to your chest, fingers touching knuckle to knuckle, and head resting softly on the sweating window pane. When your eyes close Seonghwa is the first thing that you see, followed by dark sleep.

An hour later all of the boys crowd onto the bus, filling the space immediately with loud dialogue and banter. Hongjoong leads the group, holding a trophy nearly as tall as his torso and wearing a smile brighter than the sun. You quickly scan down the line for Seonghwa but he’s nowhere to be seen.

“Hey! Where were you, we got fir-” Hongjoong halts at the sight of your tear stained cheeks, jaw falling slack at the sight of your wrecked appearance, “What happened?” Seonghwa ducks onto the crowded bus just as your mouth opens. You don’t know whether you should let it all out or pretend like everything is fine and go back to sleep.

“It’s nothing, just tired.” You don’t believe yourself, and the drum major's tight lipped smile let’s you know that he doesn’t either. With an exhale and a soft ruffle of your hair, he moves back to his shared seat with Yeosang. Making just enough room for Seonghwa to slide in next to you.

“(Y/n,) I-” You twist to the seat behind you and drop the half eaten bag of gummy worms into the drumline captains lap. San looks up with a thank you already on his lips.

“Wake me up when we’re twenty minutes from the school?” He nods with a smile, hands already ripping into the bag of candy as if he’s starving. You poke the tip of his nose softly before falling back into the seat, where Seonghwas legs are touching nearly every part of you (really only your thighs, but it feels like he could sit farther away. Like he should sit farther away,) “I’m going to sleep, San’s going to wake me up so don’t bother with it.” His eyes look sad in a way that makes you want to scream.

“(Y/n-)”

“Goodnight, Seonghwa.” You manage through the fresh lump forming in your throat.

Though your head hits the glass immediately, you can’t fall asleep for almost twenty minutes. Chattering boys and Mingis terrible playlist isn’t exactly the best backdrop for sweet dreams. But they settle down, cheers turning into yawns and a bluetooth speaker into Mingi and Yunho sharing earbuds. You do fall asleep eventually, but it’s not the booming bass of Mingis meme rap.

When you fall asleep, it’s to the beat of a rattling windowpane that won’t fully close and Park Seonghwa breathing deeply next to you.

There’s always a trend of depleting motivation after the first win of marching band season. Like freshman year after the regional competition, the following rehearsal was absolute torture. Color guard flags colliding with brow bones, entire passages of music forgotten, and too many dropped drumsticks to count. Then there was junior year (which painfully mirrored the season prior,) in which everyone was sentenced to laps until the sun went down. Each year you’d huff dramatically while complaining about the lazy members, to which Hongjoong would listen with a heaving chest.

Needless to say, that’s changed for the worst (just like everything else this season.) You spent the first lunchtime rehearsal moping drastically while refusing to make eye contact with Seonghwa. All of your friends asked you what was wrong, to which you made up a lie about having an empty stomach. Yeosang saw right through the lie, seeing as he watched you wolf down a chicken biscuit, but he didn’t say anything. In all honesty he probably knew what was wrong but was too conscious to bring it up, an act of kindness that you couldn’t thank him enough for.

Then there’s now, Tuesday after school. Four hours before rehearsal, more commonly known as sectional time. Even more commonly known as designated argue with Seonghwa time, which you don’t want to do today. A small part of you wants to make Yeosang fight him, but the other part knows that it has to be you. It’s not as though you have any other way to get out your anger with Seonghwa (there’s messy makeouts in the instrument room, of course, but you’d rather cut off your own lips than kiss him. Or you’d give the world to kiss him again. Somewhere in between the two.)

You take the final step onto your practice field, fully prepared to see a block of brass being run ragged by Park Seonghwa. But he’s not there. No one is except for your group and Wooyoung, who’s at the front of the field busying himself with tangled field mic cables. You glance around wildly before bringing up a hand to pinch the bridge of your nose. It’s genuinely infuriating how upset you are that Seonghwa isn't here, but there’s no time to think about that now.

“Um... Yunho and Yeosang, can you guys lead stretches over by the trailer?” The trailer which is parked on the exact opposite side of the field from where Wooyoung is, “Jongho too, just... Go through the basics, please.” They nod dutifully before leading the group away, Jongho doing so with an earth shattering smile. You wait until they’re all seated and chattering before moving over to Wooyoung, who’s adorning sad eyes and hair that’s too long tied back into a ponytail.

“Hey, (y/n.)” He greets quietly while placing the mic cable into its case. Your stomach churns tightly at the conversation that’s about to happen.

“Hey... Where’s Seonghwa?” The words feel like slow acting poison, the kind that’s threatening to eat you from the inside out and leave you for dead.

“He’s having sectional in the gym, said that you’d probably need the field.” That’s when it kicks in, burning a gaping hole into the center of your chest. You want to scream, or cry, or for Seonghwa to hold you so tightly that it hurts. Instead you stare blankly at the space next to Wooyoungs head, eyes glazing over and body going numb.

“... Oh, h-he was right.” Wooyoung nods before moving on to the next mic cable. It’s so silent and awkward that you almost think that you should leave, even with poison burning in your chest. Even with sadness eating at your skin.

“He told me what happened, and like... The stuff that he said. He doesn’t want to miss you.” Your band director always says that silence is the most impactful thing in music. You never got it until now, because there’s Wooyoung saying these things. Saying all of the right things that you want to hear, a call that waits for your response. Then there’s your response, that leaves a gaping hole in the score of this conversation, “He seems sorry.” You mull it over, words ringing sweet in your skull like an isolated harmony.

With a soft nod you respond, “Me too” before rushing away to where the woodwinds are assembled already in a block. The poison leaves you as sectional bleeds into rehearsal, but for a brief moment your eyes meet Seonghwas and you’re made painfully aware of the hole that it’s left where your heart should be.

The last moments in the warm up lot are spent with you trying to zip up your own jacket, and then Seonghwa swooping in to do it for you. His fingers brush the space between your shoulder blades, sending a shock through the core of your being. Goosebumps raise on your neck as his warm breath hits the skin there.

“You’re gonna rip it.” The words come out so much softer than the last time he said them, completely void of any teasing. If anything there’s tenderness, akin to the night that he had to carry you into the equipment room. Caring, gentle, loving. Everything that you’ve learned about Seonghwa in the past two weeks shining through in four words.

“Yea.” You swallow harshly, gloved hands moving to adjust the front of your jacket. It’s already pristine, but you need to do something with your hands or else your body will explode, “Good luck.”

The director calls everyone into show lines before he gets a chance to say “You too.”

It’s always a struggle to get dressed on the bus after a performance. For starters, your band has to get the cheapest buses possible so there are a grand total of three lights which flicker in and out of commission. You’re also one of the only girls, which just makes things weird, but your seatmates are usually pretty good at helping you hide..

Like now, with San holding up your oversized cardigan while you rumble through your book bag in search for clothes. The space is filled with rambunctious chatter, including Mingi, Yunho, and Wooyoung arguing over who’s going to buy the fried oreos (Yunho suggests three way rock paper scissors, which ends just as poorly as anticipated.) For a brief moment Seonghwa is speaking too, laughing with Jongho about a field judge that they accidentally knocked over, which is the only thing that your brain hears for the next five minutes.

“(Y/n,) are you almost done? My arms are getting tired.” Even without seeing the drumline captain you just know that he’s pouting. It’s basically laced into his voice, causing guilt to pang in your chest.

“Yea,” You exhale while pulling out the more comfortable clothing (a dark green crew neck sweatshirt with fuzzy black sweatpants. You’ve been dreaming of the moment that you get to change since waking up,) “I just can’t see!” The boy chuckles with a nod that shakes the cardigan barrier.

“Hongjoong and Yeosang want me to tell you that they’re leaving and they hate you-”

“San that’s not what I said!”

“Hongjoong is saying to never speak to him or his family ever again.” The drum major sighs dramatically before slapping the side of Sans head, causing the boy to cry out like a child. A laugh bubbles out of your throat as the sweatpants come to a halt on the curve of your waist.

“I’ll text you where we’re sitting!” Yeosang calls from the front of the bus, which is now entirely void of people, “Joong I’m leaving you!”

“They’re a mess.” You grumble while pulling the sweatshirt over your head, “You can go San, I have to repack my bag and stuff.” He drapes the sweater over your head and tosses a packet of fruit snacks into your bag.

“Alright, I’ll probably be with the three amigos.” He’s already halfway out of the bus before you fully process the words, resulting in a giggle.

“Is that what we’re calling Mingi, Yunho, and Wooyoung?” He smiles the smile that makes his eyes crinkle and flashes a thumbs up before ducking out of the bus, leaving you to hum quietly to yourself. There’s something special about seeing an empty space when it was bursting with energy less than two minutes ago. Clothes are thrown around everywhere, uniforms hanging from cracked windows that let in an autumn breeze, bags thrown haphazardly into seats. Like a mist of peace has been pumped into this broken down bus, and you’re the only person lucky enough to see.

The only person until Seonghwa walks onto the bus, that is. You scramble to hide underneath your seat, praying to every being above that you managed to remain unseen. That you wouldn’t have to endure the painfully awkward conversation that’s about to come.

“(Y/n?)” He calls. While it sounds sweet, he’s biting back a laugh from the loud ‘thud’ that you made by rolling out of your seat, “Can you get off of the floor?” There’s a small bite in his tone. Where it should make you angry, it just makes you want to cry.

“No.” You answer, body curling in on itself. A small part of you is genuinely considering staying on the floor, but there’s something sticky about two feet from your hand Seonghwa moving back to where you sit. While the thought of facing him is embarrassing, the thought of him seeing you sitting on this disgusting floor is much worse, “You don’t get to talk to me like that anymore.” His nose is almost touching yours when you stand up, sparking a flame in your stomach (you so badly want it to be anger. Red, hot anger. But he’s looking down at you with furrowed eyebrows, warm light flickering against the plane of his face, and you want to kiss him more than you want to breathe.)

“I’m sorry.” He swallows heavily, pink tongue smoothing over puffy lips. You try to shove past him, but you’re halted by a hand on your shoulder, “Can we just talk? Please?” Sparkles form in his eyes, twinkling at you like stars. It hurts your stomach.

“No.” The word is hoarse, definite as you harshly push past the boy and storm towards the front of the bus. He’s trailing behind, hands still trying to grab at your own.

“(Y/n!)” The boy pleads, which does nothing to help your growing frustration. If anything it makes the tight coil of anger in your stomach snap, covering your body in nothing but fire.

“Seonghwa!” You bite harshly, turning around so quickly that your foreheads nearly bump together, “Leave. Me. Alone! It’s insanely rude to make someone like you, to kiss someone like the world is ending, to convince them that you care all for some weird sense of validations and then demand that they hear you out. I don’t owe that to you, so stop acting like I do!” Despite the firm words, your feet stay planted in place. As if leaving means that this is over forever.

“I know you don’t owe me that, I just... I want to explain myself, please just let me do that.” The light starts to flicker again, allowing you to see the sharp lines that compose his face. You’re supposed to say no, to leave and sit down in between your favorite people and make fun of other bands horn angles. Every part of you is screaming to go do that.

“You have ten minutes.” Clearly, you aren’t doing what you’re supposed to.

“Okay, well um... I’m a dick? Like, just a huge dick and it’s just now setting in that I can change. S-some part of you showed me that.” When the light flashes across your bodies you can see that his eyes are brimming with tears. They’re different tears from last time; more timid and less silly. You want to dab at the one that spills down his soft cheek, “And I’m sorry. For tripping you in rehearsal freshman year, when your elbow got scraped?” You nod, knowing exactly what he’s talking about. There’s still scar tissue travelling up your shoulder from that night, “And for telling you that your solo at regional auditions sounded bad. It actually sounded really really good, which you probably already knew... Oh, a-and um for blaming the woodwinds for not knowing their parts, because honestly we didn’t either I was just being... A dick.” You inhale deeply, trying to push down the hope bubbling in your chest. While the words are promising, you know all too well that apologies are meaningless without action.

“Why?” The hope is quickly replaced with tension that’s definitely trying to make you cry.

“Why am I sorry, or why am I a dick?” In any other context it would sound funny, but now it’s just a question. A genuine, innocent question that Seonghwa is asking you with a face twisted into sweet confusion. You shrug with a deep exhale, trying desperately to stall your erratic breathing.

“Either... Both. I just want to know why.” Seonghwa sucks in a breath, then runs his hands through his ink black hair before releasing the air. It’s embarrassing how you follow his movements as if they’re the tip of a conductor's baton.

“Um... Well, I think I was a dick because I thought that having people didn’t matter if you were good. That if I worked hard enough that it wouldn’t even matter that I was lonely, but you have both. Good and loved, not to mention kind. Always so kind.” The light has stopped flickering, leaving the two of you in complete darkness. It doesn’t matter, because his voice wavers slightly at unspoken memories and you know that he’s smiling, “Which is why I’m sorry too, I guess. Because you never did anything to me other than show me that I didn’t have to be like... This.” The next words are so quiet that you barely hear them, “And for making you think that I don’t care about you.”

“Don’t say things if you don’t mean them.” Your eyes find his through the darkness, locking together like it’s the only thing happening in all of the world.

“I mean it.” It’s a deceleration scribbled into the space between his body and yours, signed by the weight of his hands cupping your jaw, “I care about you.” Goosebumps rise on your forearms as they wrap around the boys slim waist.

“Seonghwa-” There’s probably a right way to do this. A right way to fall for the bane of your existence turned friend. It’s out there somewhere, written up in perfect cookie cutter steps that are easier to follow than words on a page. They definitely don’t include him whispering the affirmation, ‘I care about you,’ against the skin beneath your ear while covering the space in wet kisses.

The boy wraps a hand around the back of your neck before pulling back. You can see him clearer now, all pleading eyes and taunting lips, “Can I kiss you?” It sounds like the climax point of a piece, the part where a chord rings out as the tempo slows just enough to make it itch. You nod while snaking a hand around his jaw.

Seonghwa moves in as if you’ve never kissed before, noses bumping softly. There’s a soft giggle, the rattling of uniform hangers against window panes, and then Seonghwas lips touching yours as if you’re going to break. So much is the same, like how his lips taste like coconut or the spicy scent that floods your nostrils, but it’s different too. Different in the way that he moves against you, in the way that his teeth don’t bite at your lower lip, in the way that his hands cradle every part of you that they touch. He feels like a caricature and more like a person, like a person who’s kissing you softer than you’ve ever been kissed.

“I like you a lot.” He whispers while moving to kiss the corner of your mouth. Old Seonghwa would tease you for the whine growing in the base of your throat while trying desperately to hide the way that you’re affecting him, “Cute.” He exhales, becoming putty in your hands.

“Please stop talking and kiss me.” It’s clear that he tries to smirk, but the moment is too soft for it. Too gentle for the fire that his quirked lips elicits in you; instead he gives off a perfectly soft smile. Gentle and caring, more beautiful than anything you’ve ever seen.

“Okay,” His thumb runs across your cheekbone, then to the crease of your nose, and finally all the way down to the set of your jaw. It feels like he’s setting you on fire, “Okay.” His lips brush yours softly with the movement, followed by him leaning in so terribly slowly. You think to yourself that you’re going to love him.

In the moment before his lips touch yours there are two things; two hearts beating faster than is safe, and his phone ringing loudly. Your eyes shoot open right as the boy mouths ‘fuck!’ with a dramatic eye roll. You offer him a quiet laugh along with a quick kiss to the tip of his nose, “It’s okay, answer it.”

“No, I don’t need to. Just Wooyoung telling me to bring him his wallet.” You nod silently, nearly crying at the way that his hands untangle from you, “I’m really sorry, I wish i could stay but-” You silence him with a quick peck to the lips, he thinks that he’s going to love you back.

“It’s okay.” You whisper, “We can pick this up later.” He really does smirk now, the familiar look tempting you to stay and kiss him until your lips fall off, “Go get his stuff, I want to see the bands!”

After ten minutes of Seonghwa fumbling through Wooyoung's bag in the dark, the two of you finally leave hand in hand. It feels strange, yet at the same time like what’s meant to be.

“Seonghwa, wait!” you call as your boyfriend pulls you into the shared bus seat by your book bag straps. He was only trying to be sweet, but unfortunately failed to think about how pulling you would probably result in falling. There’s a yelp, and you tumbling into him, then of course a loud groan as your palm collides with his collarbone.

“Oh my, oh gosh, I’m an idiot. Ow.” Mingi is laughing at you two, and it’s only a matter of seconds before your so called friends start throwing things, “Let me help you up, also did I mention ow?!” You laugh brightly and press a kiss to his temple before pushing yourself up into a sitting position.

“I think so.” You swat his hand away from your arms and pull out a box of tissues (packed in preparation for the last competition tears that were almost a guarantee,) “I need to check on Joong, okay?” He smiles gently with a nod.

Hongjoong is in the very back seat laughing his ass off while crying violently. It would be weird if he hadn’t done it three times before, each time at the last competition of the season. Sophomore year you asked why he was crying, to which he responded that it makes the crying less awkward. And that it makes everyone else laugh.

“Has anyone told him a joke yet?” You ask while ducking into the huddle of your friends. San is sitting next to the drum major and passing him candy, Yeosang dabbing at his cheeks with tissues that are quickly depleting. He accepts your fresh box with a silent nod.

“Not yet.” Yunho answers while throwing a sealed water bottle to Mingi, who also has tears rolling down his face.

“Okay um... What do you call a cow with no legs?” The boy looks at you with wide puppy dog eyes and a gummy worm hanging from his mouth, “Pork chop! Oh no, that’s not right wait-” The boy starts to laugh even harder as you shout ‘Ground beef! Stop laughing I meant ground beef please-’

“Did she just say pork chop?” Wooyoung asks through a screeching laugh while breaking his way into the circle. You nod as your sides clench, stinging tears burning in the corners of your eyes. Seonghwa eventually comes back too with Jongho, taking purchase in the seat across from the slowly dispersing huddle. Somehow you fall to the floor of the aisle and settle between your boyfriends legs. He plays with your hair in a manner so relaxing that Mingi’s meme rap is barely audible (still audible though, sadly.)

Similarly to the first competition, you fall asleep. Only this time it’s to the drum of your friends shouting excitedly and Seonghwas heart beating in perfect time with yours.

#ateez seonghwa #seonghwa x reader #ateez #seonghwa ff #writekpop #admin reid #if u enjoy pls like or leave something nice!#sorry if it's hard to understand

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fallintitan · 4 years ago

Text

introducing....................moot!! who is now cooper and bt’s dog. love her or else.

[ao3 link]

Supposedly, it’s recon. ‘Supposedly.’ He knows the truth: BT thinks he needs something to do to entertain himself. Part of him knows it’s true. He gets antsy when there’s nothing to accomplish. He also knows BT hasn’t truly sent him off to fend for himself. The Titan is likely keeping his focus on Cooper as he treads through the abandoned facility. The last known place of their target, but as it appears, the target and the IMC are long gone. All he’s doing is wandering aimlessly through empty rooms filled with discarded gear and weaponry, nothing notable.

“Pilot,” BT interjects his thinking. “Straight and to your right. There’s a heat signature registering inside.”

“Is it human?”

“It does not appear to be.” A pause. “I advise caution. It could be a stray Prowler searching for food. Be on guard.”

He unholsters his rifle, knowing damn well how imposing those beasts could be if they figured you were easy prey. He finds the designated room, the door shut and locked firmly.

“The door’s locked?” He peers at the crumbling lockpiece from the outside. “Prowlers are way too smart to be kept in a room by just a lock. If there’s a window, they’re for sure going out it.”

“There does appear to be a window inside the room,” BT comments.

“This isn’t a Prowler, then.”

“Still, be careful.”

“Of course, bud.” He unsheathes his dataknife from his torso and gets to work prying the faulty lock apart. Within minutes, the thing falls off and clatters to the ground. He kicks it aside, pulling his rifle back into position as he kicks the door in.

He’s expecting...something else. Something snarling and furious, already on the attack even before he enters.

What he finds is quite the opposite.

The dog huddles in the corner, curled in on herself. Her ears are as low and as far back as they can go; her tail tucked firmly between her legs in submission. A thick, worn out collar wraps around her neck, connected to a length of durable chain that clinks across the floor as she shivers. Her piercing blue eyes don’t leave him as he steps in slowly.

“Oh, you poor thing,” he coos, kneeling down. The rifle is holstered once more on his back and one gloved hand reaches out towards her.

“Pilot?” BT speaks. “What did you find?”

She recoils away from him as he reaches out to her. Her eyes squeeze shut as her whole body trembles. Immediately, he retracts his hand in a flash, allowing her to relax, albeit slightly.

“It’s just a dog,” he utters. “They must’ve been in a hurry to get outta here.”

“Does it appear to be hostile?”

“Quite the opposite.” He sits on his haunches with his hands dangling from his knees. “She looks scared. Worse for wear, too.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” BT starts hesitantly. “But we cannot--”

“C’mon, BT, you’re usually all for my ‘bad ideas’.” Cooper whines.

“While your ‘bad ideas’ are typically dangerous--including this one--,” BT starts, “I simply cannot allow this one to go through.”

“Why not?” he pouts.

“Look at where she came from,” BT reasons. “She was raised by the IMC, likely to attack soldiers like you.”

“She’s obviously failed her job, then, if she’s cowering in the corner to get away from me.”

“Pilot,” the Titan sighs. “I am sorry. We simply cannot take the risk.”

“What happens if we leave her, then?” Cooper retorts. “She’s already hurt. If a Prowler or something finds her, she’s done for. Can we at least take her back to find her a new home?”

BT’s optic narrows in thought.

“Look, she obviously ain’t gonna go after us. She’s smart, yeah? She knows we wanna help.” Cooper looks sideways at her. “At least, one of us does,” he grumbles. “Even if she feels like doing something, she’s in no state to.”

The Titan is silent, thinking over Cooper’s words. Finally, he speaks. “Alright. Answer me this: how are we going to transport her?”

“By God, I’ll carry her myself if it’s necessary,” he swears solemnly. “I am not leaving her behind if I can do anything about it.”

BT relents with a sigh. “I see your mind is set.”

Cooper smirks to himself. “You’re damn right.”

“Alright,” BT relents. “I will await your arrival outside. If she is indeed injured as harshly as you say, do be careful handling her. She may lash out.”

“I sincerely doubt she will,” Cooper promises as he sticks his hand out once more. She still flinches away, but moves out of her hiding spot to tentatively sniff his fingers after a moment. Slowly, he turns his hand over, palm down, reaching gently for her head. Her eyes shut once more, ears back, seeming to brace for some sort of harsh strike.

Cooper hums sympathetically. “She wasn’t treated right,” he states. His hand connects with her head softly, where he rubs soothing circles into her fur with his thumb.

“The IMC is not exactly known for their humanity and kindness,” BT quips.

“You’re not wrong,” he says. Timidly, her eyes open back up to look over at his face. She does not move, does not wiggle out of his reach, but seems to be gauging whether he truly meant no harm or not.

“You’re okay, sweetie,” he murmurs. He shifts to sit down on his rear, scooting closer to her. “You’re in good hands now. We’ll fix you up, get you situated. How’s that sound?”

He swears he sees her tail twitch between her legs, some sort of aborted wagging attempt.

“I gotta pick you up, though. You don’t seem to be in any shape for walking on your own.” He appraises her state thoroughly, now that he’s close enough. One hind leg seems to be broken, if the way it’s sitting improperly is any guess. She is covered in raw patches, especially around her throat. “They treated you like shit,” he sighs. “That ain’t gonna fly with me. I’ll kick their asses, just for you.”

Hesitantly, her tail starts to feebly wag once more, her ears slightly perking up at his voice.

He moves to stand, the dog watching him as he does so. He gets to working on the thick collar around her neck, careful of the raw skin underneath. Soon, it’s unclipped, falling to the ground with an exaggerated noise as the chain rattles with it. Next, he stoops over to slip his arms under her, attentive so as to not jostle her unnecessarily. One arm goes beneath her hindquarters, one under her front legs. He lifts her up with surprising ease for a dog of her size. Another thing to add to the tally--they didn’t feed her properly. Figures.

She wriggles for a moment in his arms before settling. He holds her like he would a child, propped against his torso with steadying hands keeping her safe.

“We’ll getcha outta here, how ‘bout that?” He continues to speak to her as he begins retracing his steps out of the facility. “Back at base I’ll pester the Whitecoats until they fix you up. Shouldn’t be that hard for them, eh? Commander Briggs will surely fall for you. She’s a dog person. If you and I both give her puppy eyes she won’t say no to anything I ask.”

Outside, BT is waiting for them, still on guard. He looks down at his Pilot as Jack exits the building with his armful.

“No take-backs,” Jack immediately informs. “You agreed to this. She’s our problem now.”

“I did not intend to go back on my word,” BT assures. He kneels down to be closer to Cooper’s level, peering at the beast in his arms. “Interesting coloring,” he comments.

Cooper looks down, taking in the details on the dog now that they’re outside and in the bright sunlight. Her fur is a steel-blue with white accents spread haphazardly around her body. Her nose is chapped from being dry, one ear is crusted with blood, and she is positively caked in dirt.

“Even if you wanted to go back, your point is moot.”

“‘Moot’?”

“Means you have nothin’ to go on,” he explains. “My mind’s been made and I’m not changing it any time soon.” He pauses. “Come to think of it, ‘Moot’ is a pretty good name.” He looks down into the blue eyes once more as he continues to speak. “You like that for a name? Moot? Are you a Moot?”

Her eyes narrow happily as her tail manages to wiggle as much as it can from where it’s pinned against his forearm.

“You are already babying her,” BT scoffs lightly.

“She deserves it,” he shrugs back. BT lowers his palm for Jack to climb up into, the cockpit hatch hissing open wordlessly. “Gonna go for a ride, Moot. Don’t you worry, you’re safe ‘n’ sound.” The hand moves towards the Pilot’s seat, allowing him to gingerly step off and settle into the seat with Moot laying in his lap.

“Seeing as the base is abandoned and we have no further tasks to perform, I suggest finding a safe spot and waiting for evac,” BT hums. “A good time for some relaxing, if needed.”

“Sure thing,” Cooper agrees. “Lead the way.”

⁂

Later into the night, once they’ve settled in a grassy patch up high, Jack carries Moot out of the cockpit and settles her on the ground tenderly. Rain patters down gently, distant rumbles of thunder echoing across the area. Moot shivers each time it sounds, and his heart twists. He shuffles out of his jacket, instead wrapping it around Moot’s core and tying the arms loosely around her neck to keep it in place. The dog’s fur is sodden and matted, raindrops trickling off her timidly laid-back ears. He hopes that offering his jacket at least keeps her warm.

BT automatically shifts to offer shelter for the two of them, blocking the rain with the bulk of his body. His cyan optic casts a dim glow down onto them, creating stark shadows.

“I must admit something,” he rumbles out after a moment.

“Shoot. What’s up, bud?”

“I am ‘falling’ for her as well.”

A grin splits Cooper’s face at the admission. “I knew you wouldn’t keep up the stoic facade with her,” he laughs. “You’re too much of a softie for that.”

“On the contrary. My chassis is built with solid metal, Pilot.” Jack can hear the snark in his Titan’s response.

“You know damn well what I meant,” he waves a hand dismissively.

BT’s voice rumbles in lieu of a laugh, instead remaining at the level of an amused hum.

“That mean you’re gonna help me beg Briggs to let her stay?” he asks hopefully. “I’m sure the other guys will pitch in, but she certainly can’t say no to the both of us.”

A huff comes from the Titan, bemused. “Yes. I will help you, the mighty Jack Cooper, savior of planets and countless lives, beg your commander to let you keep the canine.”

#titanfall 2 #Jack Cooper #bt 7274 #moot the dog #mav makes

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iiinejghafa · 4 years ago

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bc we’re on the last two episodes of secret forest, here’s a long ass dump all my predictions/thoughts that nobody asked for!

SPOILERS FOR EPISODES 1-14

disclaimer: this is all very likely wrong lol my confidence has plummeted after i was so off the mark about dong-jae’s kidnapper LOL

also, i apologize if any of this is repetitive or if i missed/forgot/misinterpreted something as i 1) have only seen each episode once as they’ve aired and 2) have not ventured into any tags on social media beyond checking a few blogs for gifs, so i have no idea about any of the theories/ideas/commentary/etc that have been floating around.

ANYWAY

I think Choi is the mastermind behind everything, from the Park Gwang-su cover up to the false witness and note. While Woo is undoubtedly also shady and involved in Park’s murder to some degree, he’s unsubtle and emotional whereas Choi is more composed and perceptive, and she has the resources and intellect to pull off the fake note business without being caught.

I think she orchestrated the “prosecution is framing the police” scheme because the more I think about it, the less it makes sense that Kim or Woo would do something like this. It went against their own interests as prosecutors (delaying finding Dong-jae, who we now know was assaulted for reasons completely unrelated to Park Gwang-su) other than some sympathy points and, more importantly, it implies a level of certainty that Dong-jae wouldn’t be found. In other words, the culprit, who likely didn’t (confidently) know who the real kidnapper was or the likelihood of them being caught, knew that everything could get exposed as a scam, and I don’t believe Woo or Kim are dumb enough to risk sabotaging themselves so badly, especially when it was one of their own who was kidnapped. Was Choi planning on throwing one of them - maybe Kim, since she and Woo are in cahoots - under the bus by framing them in the event the culprit was caught?

In episode 14, Yeo-jin expresses to Choi that she is frustrated that she didn’t make the connection between the drowning victim’s shoes and his father’s comments about getting a job to pay for them, which may have led them to the culprit sooner. Choi says nothing but recalls a similar conversation when she spoke with him. What if she did make the connection back then?

I sadly think Detective Jang is involved with Choi/the culprit, specifically the fake note if not more than that. While I noticed his slightly off behavior throughout the season, it didn’t click for me that he could be involved until episode 14 when he has a gash on his cheek out of nowhere and his behavior with Hu-jeong (standing ominously outside his cell, looking frustrated with his replication of the note) and with the false witness (appearing disinterested but looking constantly between the chief and witness as if nervous/expectant, the camera putting him in frame often despite not speaking at all, and lingering on shots of him staring at the witness as Si-mok comes in and as he leaves the room). I think he got roped into Choi’s scheme either through her directly or via the tall aggressive ex-chief (the segok cop’s uncle idr his name lol), initially on the basis of sharing views on investigative rights and so on but then getting pulled in too deep.

While I hope this is red herring or that Jang pushed back against whoever was trying to use him/blackmail him - a sort of redemption for season 1 - the more I’ve thought about the less likely I think this is, though I believe either way he has no malicious intent.

Jang has come off as run-down, disillusioned, and even bitter (especially with respect to Yeo-jin’s new status and power) towards the system this season, which didn’t seem relevant until this most recent episode with his off-putting appearance in front of Hu-jeong’s cell and then his odd behavior in the interrogation room with his chief and the false witness.

I think he may have been blackmailed into writing the note, or at least was convinced it wasn’t a horrible thing to do/was ultimately harmless (a la season 1, with handing over the hotel footage to Kim by breaking into Yeo-jin’s laptop). In my opinion he’s a simple, straightforward guy: he’s not unintelligent by any means, but I don’t think he deeply considers the implications of what he does at times and/or is easily swayed by others if it seems to serve his best interest.

His family has been mentioned a few times this season, which is a lot for Secret Forest, so my guess is that this was abused by Choi if she dug up something compelling like an illness or complication with his new child. Also, early in the investigation he proposed the idea that Dong-jae was being dramatic/would reappear, downplaying his disappearance.

It just occurred to me that this could provide context for the note: “I washed the dishes too late.“ Did Jang identify with Dong-jae’s career-familial conflict and pull from his own experience?

Choi was looking for someone for the council that almost precisely fit Jang’s description, knowing Yeo-jin still had ties to her old department and worked with Jang. I don’t know the reasons or motive for this other than possibly his connection to Yeo-jin/Si-mok and his loyalty to the police.

I don’t think she’s careless enough to directly work with Jang, so I can see her using the tall burly ex-chief (probably also with blackmail about his nephew) and working through him. My reasoning for the ex-chief being involved is that the show made a point to establish that he and Choi know each other, not just verbally but through a flashback (which have been comparatively rare this season compared to the first), and in my opinion implies they have some sort of relationship.

I think Jang sent Mr. Yoon the package. My first thought had been Si-mok but knew it was unlikely (and I couldn’t think of a realistic, in-character reason for it), and now in hindsight Jang is really the only option that makes sense since out of the investigative team only Jang, Si-mok, and Yeo-jin returned this season.

Sticking with Choi being the culprit, I think out of desperation to avoid exposure she will use Si-mok and Yeo-jin’s relationship against them, whether it’s by threatening their careers or well-being or by framing them. She has called out Yeo-jin’s feelings for Si-mok a few times already, and others have noticed their closeness by now (even Woo and Kim, who probably had no concept of their friendship until episode 12) and know they are persistent and will pursue the Park Gwang-su case until the end.

I’m leaning towards Yeo-jin being targeted. Si-mok has been repeatedly pointed out as a problem by Woo, Choi, and Yeon-jae, and I think they will quickly realize that he won’t drop the Gwang-su case even when ordered to. It’s well-known that he has no regard for his career or well-being - e.g., he doesn’t care about getting yelled at by his superiors, isn’t career motivated, etc. - so I can see Yeo-jin being identified as a potential weak spot for him because of their relationship. It could just be her career that’s threatened, as that’s something that matters a lot to Yeo-jin and in turn would upset Si-mok, but given the precedent of Park Gwang-su’s murder/cover-up and the fake note/witness, I’m betting it will escalate to a direct threat against Yeo-jin whether it’s framing her for a crime or harming her.

This also lends itself to my Choi theory as between her, Yeon-jae, Woo, and Kim, she’s the only one who has not only perceived and called out Yeo-jin’s feelings but has repeatedly identified her relationship with Si-mok as a problem (other than Woo acknowledging it during their coffee date, but he was later confused by Yeo-jin running after Si-mok during the council meeting) and would potentially gamble on Yeo-jin being a weakness.

As an aside, the episode 15 preview shows Si-mok interrogating women who Park Gwang-su allegedly sent money to before his death, which might be a step too close to the truth for the culprit’s comfort and compel them to act.

Also, it’s worth noting that a theme with Si-mok this season is the concept of him being “stressed”/“worried” and not understanding what that emotion is to him. After his conversation with Kim where he denied being stressed he had a massive headache, had a headache at the meeting and didn’t agree with Yeo-jin that it was because he was worried about Dong-jae, and asked how someone looked when they were worried so he could look for signs in Woo. He didn’t have a big reaction on-screen to Dong-jae being found despite how stressed he was by the case and if anything the Park Gwang-su case is far more dangerous to investigate, so I think we’re in for at least one more headache and him being in a stressful/worrying situation, likely because of something happening to Yeo-jin.

Si-mok may have unintentionally foreshadowed this in episode 14 during his act with the witness when he asked if any harm would come to him if he indicted him.

I think the third man in the vacation house was someone involved with Hanjo, most likely Mr. Lee or the brother. I forget which one of them is taking the PTSD medication, but it would make sense that they are on it after being traumatized by whatever happened at the vacation house. All I can gauge from the events of the night is that Woo or one of the Lees (likely the brother as we’ve seen his face this season) poisoned Park Gwang-su in Woo’s presence and Choi covered it up to make it look like a heart attack.

Choi does directly ask Yeon-jae if someone from Hanjo was on the property, but with the confirmation of a third man I think this may have been to feel her out on how much she actually knows about that night.

I genuinely don’t know Choi’s motives other than protecting Woo (though I feel like she’ll throw him under the bus when given the chance) so I feel like there’s another reason she’s so invested.

There are other little things I hope get addressed (Dong-jae’s junior’s panicked reaction to being asked about his relationships, Choi’s daughter, Si-mok and his mother) and a lot of other scrambled thoughts leading into this finale but these are my more concrete, evidence-based conclusions lol. Regardless I’m really looking forward to seeing what happens!

#secret forest #secret forest 2 #stranger 2 #spoilers #yes this is long-winded yes this is pointless #but i wanted to articulate all this in writing and see how close i get LOL

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apex-academy · 4 years ago

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Chapter 5: Caring Is a Hazard to Your Health (#30)

The small amount of takedown in the gym gives us a little time to cool off next door. I’m nursing a glass of apple juice at an empty table when Kanagi hops on top of it without warning.

“Why.”

She twists to offer me a hand.

“Yo, come up here, too.”

“No.”

“C’mon, it’s just for a second.”

“I wasn’t particularly worried I’d be stranded up there for ages.”

“C’monnnnn... You, like, really oughta...”

“...”

On the plus side, Kanagi jumping on tables isn’t abnormal enough for her to have gotten everyone’s attention for long. So if I do do this... for some freaking reason...

“........”

I’m trying to be a team player today, I guess. I push my glass well out of the way and step on up. Weird how different the cafeteria feels just looking at it from a few feet higher.

“YO, DUDES!!”

That’s enough to easily cut through the fledgling conversations around the room. All eyes turn to us, and I get the distinct urge to sit back down. I’m guessing that’s not what Kanagi had in mind. If she had anything in mind besides very vaguely embarrassing me. Though, all things considered, I’ve suffered enough secondhand embarrassment in this place to have a decent tolerance built up.

“We ready to get hyped for the next event?”

“Absolutely!”

“I’m sure it will be of at least a little amusement.”

“Oh boy oh yeah, I’m super hyped!!”

“So what are we doing?”

“Tell ‘em, Kakumi!”

I drop my voice. “How am I supposed to know??”

“Like, take a wild flippin’ guess, dude. I didn’t just grab you ‘cuz we’re friends.”

“Uh.”

“...Oh.”

I forgot I’d even suggested it.

“I’m going to assume pool of some sort.”

“Heck yeah!”

“And, like, not the swimming kind.”

That is not something I needed clarification on.

“So! I totally have no idea how that’s supposed to work for, like, a buncha people, so that’ll be up to Kakumi!”

“Thanks.”

There are certainly a few ways I could frame it. Not to mention there are several tables in my study hall, anyway. Hmm...

“We can announce, like, the specific stuff when we get there.”

“Just wanted to let everybody know first!”

“Including me...”

The rest of our little water break is sufficient time to get things planned out.

“Arright! Everything good to go, dude? Got your key and junk?”

“Yeah. Upstairs we go, then?”

“Figuratively speaking, I hope.”

“Yeah. Up-elevators we go?”

The group moves out. It may be for our safety, and there’s plenty of room, but... it’s uncomfortable, loading everyone into the elevator at once. Every other time that happens, it’s because someone else is dead.

“...”

At least Monochap didn’t hop in. We must be a lot easier to keep an eye on this way, huh? For friend and foe alike. Speaking of which, I still wonder...

As the elevator dings to let us out on the third floor, I slink back to where Aidan sits. I seize the wheelchair handles, mostly to have a good excuse to be there. I still drop my voice once the others hang back to let us go out first.

“By the way... What ‘measures’ exactly did you take to keep track of people trying to leave the dorms?”

“I believe I stated I was not going to tell anyone the details.”

“Well, yeah, but... You trust me, right? I know how to keep my mouth shut, too.”

“Unfortunately, that isn’t the issue.”

“Even if I...”

“...”

“Er, even if I trust you not to try anything nefarious or enable someone else to do so, it wouldn’t be safe to share. After all, if someone wants to kill without getting caught, overcoming my mysterious ‘measures’ should be a top priority. Hopefully it’s nothing anyone’s been able to figure out yet, nor will they be able to.”

“In which case the would-be killer’s safest option would be to target anyone who might know the trick to it. Whether it’s only trying to find it out, or specifically targeting the source so he or she doesn’t have to worry about cracking it at all.”

“So if I give anyone reason to believe I’ve told you, or Mister Attenborough, or anyone else, that would only be worsening matters.”

His voice rises a bit, though still not quite back to normal volume.

“So no, Miss Kogamino, I won’t even be telling you.”

“That makes enough sense, but...”

“By that logic, doesn’t that make it extremely dangerous for you specifically? If there are no other sources for that information, you’re the only one left to target.”

“Well, yes, of course.”

“But frankly, in my condition I’m an easy target to start with, and at some point stacking the deck against me gives diminishing enough returns it doesn’t make much difference anymore.”

Well. Can’t argue with that, seeing as I already almost...

Anyway.

“Hey guyyyys!”

I look up to see Ichiriki, near the west wing door, waving aggressively.

“You’re coming, right?”

“Of course we’re coming!! Sports Day would be cancelled otherwise!”

He attempts to crane his neck towards me but eventually gives up.

“Since you’re apparently escorting me at the moment, do you mind?”

“Right. Sorry.”

We catch up with the others, head into the wing, and I get my study hall door open. Strictly speaking, there’s enough room for everyone in here, but it’ll start feeling crowded pretty fast if we’re all circling tables at the same time.

“All right, dude! How’re we doin’ this?”

“Let’s see...”

Eventually I set up more of a trick shot contest than a proper game, but at least it lets everyone take turns. We can transition to something more reminiscent of a real match once we’ve whittled down the competition.

Maybe it’s just because I’m in my wheelhouse, but this is much more entertaining to watch than the gym contests. Kaichi’s not a bad shot, though you can tell his leg injury’s jacked up his balance. Kanagi manages to not actually put a hole through the wall when a jumpshot goes horribly wrong. Mahavir has a special talent for lining up shots beautifully and then spinning them out of line at the last possible second. Aidan... tries. That’s about all I can say for that. Setting up a bridge just doesn’t make up for having one arm in a sling. But I get the feeling he wasn’t great at this to start with, anyway. No big loss.

Tsunyasha can’t seem to get a grip on how we’re playing this game, and even I can’t gauge her skill level that well when she’d rather wield the cue like a weapon than an implement. Yuki is still as bad as the last time she tried, but she seems like she’s having fun. I think. Ichiriki, meanwhile, is surprisingly decent, but at the cost of smacking someone with his backstroke every single time despite our best efforts to avoid it.

All of two people actually pass my little “qualifier,” but in the interest of hosting more than one game, I give Mahavir and Yuki the go-ahead, anyway. They’re at least not threats to public safety.

“Huh, but then wait!”

“Aren’t you gonna try it, Kakumi?”

“I don’t really need to take this shot to know I’d make it, so.”

“Oho. But if that doesn’t sound like an excuse.”

“Are you serious.” I realize too late I’m asking this of Tsunyasha. Never mind, then.

“Hey, spectators are totes important to sports, too!”

“So you should, like, let us spectate, right?”

Is that how that works? “I guess? It just seemed like a waste of time.”

“Isn’t the point of all this to waste time?”

“Touché.”

I rifle through the ball return and set up a few stripes in the same places I did for the others.

Looking at this setup when I’m going to do it makes it feel like way too small a challenge now. Yet it still took out most of the others. Well, whatever. If they want me to show off, I can show off.

This was supposed to take two or three hits to sink everything, but I could do it in one. It’ll take some serious spin, though...

I pick out a cue stick and circle the table before setting up my shot. Pok-pok-pok-pok, a brief clatter as each ball sinks, and then the low rumble as they make their way back to the ball return.

Ichiriki applauds, quickly joined by Yuki, who can’t help but sound a little sarcastic at her pace.

“There, I qualify.”

The applause sporadically catches on with the others in the room and then drops off.

“One! More! Time!″

“Oh yeah, yeah! Can you do it with one more of the number ones?”

“Well, of course, depending on where I put it.”

“Go on, then. Amuse us.”

“......”

It’s not like I mind the request, just the attitude. Good luck getting that to change, though.

Another round of rifling for the stripes, then setup. Another round of clacks to trim the table down to a lonely cue ball once again.

“Did, uh, anyone else want to try this number, or?”

“I’m content to watch at this point, if that’s acceptable.”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh! It’s cool!”

“Yeah, dude, you totally gotta go for one more now!”

“Like, general sports rules, y’know?”

“I don’t, but sure, why not.”

More shots, more choruses of requests. At some point it ends up being more of an experiment as to where I should place everything for the best odds. It’s an interesting combination of strategizing and, of course, actually hitting the cue the way I need to. Neither of which is a problem for me, but still, there are only so many ricochets you can get before friction grinds all motion to a halt. Only so hard you can hit the cue ball, too.

Once we’re up to seven, it starts getting hairy. Still, even when I finally leave an extra ball on the table, it’s close enough to the pocket I just get demands to try it again. It takes a few tries, but finally I manage to sink them all.

Even with so few people around the table, the cheers seem extra raucous in this small space. It’s stupid, but I guess I’m a little caught up in the moment—I thonk the butt of the cue stick on the floor and blow on the other end like it’s a smoking gun. Traces of chalk drifting off enhance the effect.

“How’s that?”

“NICE!!”

“Ahahaha...”

“That... was kind of a weird laugh.”

“Oh, sorry. I just think...”

“...that’s the first time I’ve seen you smile since...”

“...”

“...in a while.”

“Is this, like, not counting the ‘I’m totally surrounded by morons’ smile, or.”

“Does that one count as a smile? It’s not super smiley.”

“..........”

“ ‘f that’s th’ one, seems off t’ me.”

“Thanks for making smiling awkward now I guess???”

“Sorry...!”

“It was... just nice.”

“...Yes.”

I don’t know how I’m supposed to respond at this point. “Sssso, do we want to move on to the semifinals?”

“Sure, dude.”

I get Mahavir and Yuki set up and step aside. It’s quickly made clear that that is going to be a very long game, so I go ahead and put Kaichi and Ichiriki at another table. Hopefully they don’t do too much damage.

Safely out of the way, I take a deep breath and try not to lean too hard against the wall. The rest of the room fades into the familiar blur of other players going about their business. Speech, clacks, rumbles. I could almost doze off.

If I wasn’t still dying of awkward over here.

It’s been that long since anyone’s seen me smile, huh? I’d believe it. There hasn’t been much to smile about.

Though it’s kind of hard to say that right now. With all of us together, cooperating, having fun... despite everything...

I don’t know how to feel about it. Glad that we have this much? Mournful for those who don’t get to share it with us now? Sickened that one of us here is probably going to ruin it all over again?

“...”

At this point, most of us are friends, aren’t we? I can’t say I trust all of these people, but... If the rest of us can stick together, there’s not much the young master can do, right?

Unless they pull another motive like the second...

But they can’t do that. We already have a motive. Right? I'm sure we’ll be hit with another if we can withstand this one, but that gives us more time. Time for someone out there to realize we’ve been taken, or time for us to make our own way out.

If that’s what working together can get us... I’ll just have to be sure not to waste it.

[BACK] [NEXT]

#apexplot #apex5 #fanganronpa

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bang-to-the-tan · 5 years ago

Text

Stray Cat Strut

Chapter 3

Reader x OT7

► Faerie!AU

Fluff, Comfort

Warnings: Mention of Death, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Faerie Mischevious Bullshit

↳ Summary: When your grandmother passes away, she leaves her countryside house in your name. The longer you stay, the harder and harder it becomes to explain away the odd happenings. What kind of secrets does this sleepy town hold? And why do the local animals act so strangely around you?…

Previous Masterlist Next

You aren’t awakened by the sun, or by the sound of your alarm clock—set to wake you up just in time to get ready, have some breakfast, and then go and help Jin with the pond. Instead, this morning, you’re pulled from your strange dreams to the sound of birdsong. Not just any bird song, you realize groggily as you come to. The melody from the woods, specifically. You sit up in bed, rubbing at your eyes and yawning, casting a glance out your window. Sure enough, there it sits, perched upon a branch just beside the window. A tiny, pink bird. When it sees you arise, it shuffles, and repeats its song. You stare at it. There’s no way the bird followed you all the way here from the forest. There’s no reason for this one particular bird to be following you at all. As you stare, the song trails off and eventually the bird flutters its wings, head cocking. It droops comically, its whole, round body visibly shrinking. You repeat the song hastily, whistling the tune back, struck by the sudden fear you’ll hurt its feelings if you don’t. It almost immediately brightens and continues, chirping louder as you get up from the bed and move towards the kitchen. You hear it throughout the house as you get ready for the day and, not that it’s a bad song or an annoying one, but it’s becoming increasingly obvious how not normal it is to be so thoroughly serenaded by a bird. You aren’t sure you’re fully convinced by the strange librarian yet, with his ‘Keprys’ and such, but maybe he’s right about one thing—there are definitely things going on in this town that are beyond the pale. Clutching your purse, a handful of money shoved into it to try and pay for the book, you make your way outside. Maybe you can hit the library before you go to see Jin.

As you pass by the lavender, you pause, blinking at it. It’s…begun to wilt. Is it maybe not the season for it anymore? You reach out a hand to caress the fading purple flowers, feeling guilty for the dried pieces that come away with your fingers. It still smells lovely, though, and at an afterthought, you reach to the bag around your neck, taking a moment just to inhale the combination of cinnamon, autumn, and now lavender. Heavenly. A gentle smile curves your lips and you allow it, pressing on. When you come back, you’ll do something about it, you decide resolutely. The beauty of Granny’s beloved garden will not fade on your watch.

The second you get close to the fence, there’s an excited snuffle and you spot a tiny snout appearing around the bushes to the front. You can also see the fur waving in the air as the small dog from yesterday wags its tail like a thing possessed. Does it think it’s hiding?.. As you go to open the gate, you can hear it making small noises like it just can’t contain how terribly happy it is to see you again. It almost bowls you over in desperation when you finally unlatch the door and step out. You try to console it and walk past it in turn, but the way it weaves and bounces between your legs is making that very difficult. Eventually it settles for jittering impatiently by your side as you walk, occasionally yipping when your hand finds itself anywhere else but stroking through its warm fur. A strange way to spend your morning, for sure, but you don’t mind the company while you trek to the library.

The dog follows you, of course, tail bouncing congenially with every step. On the steps of the library you stop and turn towards it.

“Listen,” you warn, as it looks adoringly up at you with eyes slightly crossed from focusing too hard on you. “You can’t come in the library.”

Perhaps sensing that you’re going to abandon it again, it snuffles and whines.

“But,” you add quickly, “I’ll be right back out and we can spend time together then. I’m sure Jin won’t mind you at his pond.”

It snorts, and the force of it makes it take a step backwards, small paws dancing, but it’s still looking at you rather doubtfully. It huffs a quiet bark and you chuckle at the way it searches your eyes. Just like an argumentative child.

“I promise. I swear. Please don’t scream.”

It blinks, licks its chops and leaves its tongue hanging out the side of its mouth. When it moves to sit, it’s with a weary sigh and additional whine, throwing all of its 10 pounds to the cobbles like the world is just too heavy on its shoulders. You giggle, turning up the stairs and peeking back at the door to see if its followed. But no, still sitting. Ears down, whimpering under its breath to itself. You’re left wondering once again whether there’s something wrong with the animals in this town as you push open the front doors and step inside.

The library is just as quiet, just as empty as it was the last time you were in it.

“Hello?”

“Hello.” You almost shout, but manage to choke off the end of it, whirling about to glare at the librarian. Once again, he’d somehow managed to move with all the noise of a phantom, appearing behind you out of nowhere. He smirks at your scandalized expression and chuckles when you point at him accusingly.

“You. You have got to stop doing that.”

“No way,” his eyebrows rise, lips curving into a pout. “You need to start paying better attention to your surroundings.”

“I could pay better attention to you if you were wearing a bell or something.” You huff, beginning to dig through your purse to retrieve the handful of money you’d stuffed in there, pulling it out as a handful.

“…And ruin the fun?” He glances down at the cash in your hand, but makes no move to acknowledge it.

“For the book,” you clarify after an awkward second, holding it out to him. “About faeries and stuff.”

“Did I convince you already?”

“No…but I’ve noticed some real weird stuff going on in this town and I want to cover my bases. Just in case you aren’t totally nuts.”

He hums non-committedly. He meets your gaze and doesn’t look back down, even as you wiggle your outstretched arm to try and catch his attention again.

“That’s not going to cut it,” he says finally.

You balk. “What do you mean ‘that’s not going to cut it’—what is it, covered in gold leaf??”

“I mean what I said. I don’t want a bunch of paper.”

“Look, mister—“

“I said something of value.” “Money has value.”

“Only the value you give it.”

You drop your arm with an exasperated groan, rolling your eyes ceiling-ward. “Are you going to tell me the real book is the friends I made along the way? Because I really could be doing something better with my time.”

“I’m going to tell you the real book is very valuable to me,” He says instead. His tone is surprisingly sharp and you’re actually spellbound at the intense look he’s serving you. His eyes are so dark, so deep, you can almost see yourself in them. “If you want it, you have to barter something of equal value.”

After a moment, he speaks again, but softer, his hypnotic hold on you slipping away. “I can’t afford to replace it. I just don’t want anything happening to it.”

You hesitate.

“Okay. Something of equal value. Something that means a lot to me.”

“Yes.”

“Collateral.”

“Exactly.”

Your head lolls so you can peer at him in disbelief. He’s fighting a small smile that’s growing in the corners of his mouth, but there’s still something unreadable in his eyes. “Why didn’t you say that in the first place?”

He shrugs. “I’ve read it several times. If you have any questions about Keprys, you can always ask me.”

“Well…okay, so…So, there’s some weird stuff happening to me lately. Weird animals.”

“Right.” You try to gauge whether or not he believes you, but his mild expression tells you only that he’s listening.

“There’s a bird that followed me from the forest. I woke up to it singing to me, like this one little song. It got…disappointed when I didn’t whistle it back? And-and there’s a dog. It looks like it’s taken care of, but it’s following me around too now and always wants attention. I guess that doesn’t really sound all that odd,” you add hastily, interpreting the stony look on his face as him getting bored with you already. “I’m not phrasing it right, but it, I mean, it just feels odd. Like they shouldn’t be acting like that. Oh! There also was—um,” You pull at the bag around your neck, taking out the fragrant stick from inside and holding it out in the middle of your palm. His gaze flicks down to it, but he doesn’t move otherwise, seemingly frozen in place as he stares. “There was a cat. And I, uh, I fed it and let it stay the night and in the morning it was gone—even though I locked everything up. And it left this stick behind. I don’t know. It sounds crazy, but I swear—“

“It’s a totem.”

“A what.”

He moves like he’s going to take it from you, but his hand retreats with a jerk and he slides both of them into his pockets, taking a step back instead, eyeing your hand as warily as if you were holding a knife. “A totem. It’s the reason you keep having these run-ins. The cat was a Kepry. You did him a favor, so he left you a totem.”

“What’s the point of that…? What does it do?”

The librarian blinks, briefly looking away. “You break it, and they show up to accomplish whatever task you need help with. It’s a summoning. But it’s also why the others keep coming to you. They’re drawn to it.”

You frown. “Oh.”

“You should get rid of it.”

“What, like throw it away?? Seems kind of rude…I like the smell of it.”

“Just summon him for something small. If you keep it for much longer, weird things will keep happening to you.”

“I mean…nothing bad has happened.” You argue for reasons you aren’t sure of.

“Yet.”

“They wouldn’t hurt me, would they?”

He blinks, studying you past his glasses. There’s something in his expression, some old hurt, lurking behind his eyes. “You should get rid of it.” He repeats, slowly.

You think of the small bird. Of the fluffy dog. The stray cat. Not exactly the most threatening creatures you’ve come across. A summoning totem could be really useful, if that’s what is. Besides, all of this hinges on this random guy telling the truth. The only real way to find out if he is or not is to get your hands on that book. If it even really exists. But, you’ll admit, this all feels very intriguing. And you don’t mind having something to do when you aren’t cleaning. A little quest. Mysterious book, mysterious librarian, weird animals. You feel like a YA novel.

“Something of value to me.”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Fine. I’ll be back tomorrow, then. Again. I’ve got a bargain to keep today.” You say resolutely, stuffing the money back into your purse and turning. You miss the faint look of alarm on his face as you do.

“…A bargain to keep?” he echoes quietly, his voice drifting away from you as you make your way to the front door.

“Yeah, I’m helping a guy clean the pond down the road.” You reply, already trying to think of something you could trade. Something of value? It feels skeevy to consider trading something of Granny’s, but maybe you can scrounge up something small and convincing as collateral. You’ll look through your suitcase later.

“Wait—“

You’re already out the door, making your way down the stairs. Halfway down, you look over your shoulder, up at the building, but whatever it was that required your attention must not have been that important because the librarian hasn’t followed you out. You purse your lips and shrug.

The small dog out in the front is still sitting there, but the minute you come back into view, it’s popped up animatedly, tail wagging, tongue lolling, panting and yipping breathlessly. It won’t allow you more than a few paces before you have to pet it to stop it from weaving around your feet.

You’re struck by disappointment when you reach the pond and don’t see the man from yesterday. Immediately followed by frustration when you realize that you’re so disappointed in not seeing him again. He’s probably busy doing something else. Not like he owes you his appearance. Besides, he said ‘tomorrow’—didn’t specify when. Maybe you’re just early. Overeager. As you muse on this, the small dog by your legs falls silent. It keeps walking in front of you, laying its body against your shins as if to herd you back home. It dodges your attempts to pet its head, intent on keeping a strict eye on the smooth surface of the pond. You see why a few seconds later. Underneath the bridge, gliding across the water with a gentle motion like it was floating on air, a swan passes by through the pond. It doesn’t look directly at you, but the way its wings flutter as you watch gives you the impression it’s not any less aware of your presence.

Now, if there was anything in this town that could convince you of magic and otherworldly creatures, this would be it. You feel like you shouldn’t even be looking at it, it’s so beautiful. Even with the disrepair of the pond and the bridge around it, it’s the most incredible thing you’ve ever seen. The light catches its pristine feathers, its delicate neck, the impenetrable coal of its eyes. It looks like a painting. As it drifts past, the fur on the dog’s back rises slowly, and a deep sound echoes within its small body. It’s growling at the swan, stiffly standing between you as firmly as though it were made of stone. It only gets worse when the swan curves towards you and comes closer. You try petting the dog more, coax it into relaxing, but it won’t be moved, and it doesn’t stop the constant, low rumbling in its throat until the swan has begun to float peacefully, if reproachfully, to the other side of the pond instead of approaching you.

“Aw, come on, puppy,” you chastise. “It didn’t mean any harm. If it was angry, it would hiss. Swans hiss when they’re angry,” you add, unsure of why you feel the need to explain swan behavior to a dog. “Or afraid. It didn’t look scared of me, though. Probably been here for a long time. Used to people. Maybe it’s used to being fed.”

You pause, watching the swan glide towards the opposite bank, barely even pulling any ripples from the water.

“Maybe I could bring some food for it. Do you think Jin would mind?”

The dog whines, sneezes, and bounces once, still glaring out over the water at the retreating water fowl. Finally satisfied with the distance between you and the bird, it spins and offers you a snuffle and a quiet yap, tail picking up a proud wag once more. You sigh, but reward it with a few gentle strokes anyways. For whatever reason, it was trying to protect you from something unfamiliar and you can’t really fault it for that.

You stand and cast another look about, but still you don’t see the man from yesterday. He probably isn’t even up yet. What time is it? You’re shocked to realize that you aren’t even sure. Time seems to have less meaning in this town, you’ve noticed.

You decide after a beat to visit back here after you’ve tended the garden. You aren’t one to go back on your word, after all, but you can’t just sit here all morning either. Maybe you’ll bring lunch. Sneak in a slice of bread or two for the swan? The dog will have to stay somewhere else. You aren’t sure how you’re going to manage that.

You cast it a sideways glance as you go to walk back down the path, but it’s just as happy to meet your gaze as ever, panting and jittering in mounting excitement when it realizes you’re looking back. You stifle a laugh at the adoration in its slightly crossed eyes.

As you turn the corner to make your way up to the cottage, you realize that there’s someone standing inside of the fence. You can’t see their face, but catch glimpses of faded pink and purple-ish hair as it bobs about your garden. You blink, confused and a little wary, stepping to the gate. The dog at your feet immediately bristles, growling again, louder. Strangely enough, you feel a little grateful for its’ protective company now as you stare at the stranger yanking at your granny’s flower bushes. It’s a man. Long-limbed and lithe, he reaches thin fingers towards a rose and snaps the head off, discarding the blossom to the ground.

“Hey!” you start, suddenly indignant, throwing the gate open and stepping inside. The dog immediately melts into a cacophony of shrieking barks, and you have to raise your voice to be heard. “Excuse me!”

The stranger pauses, swivels to rise to his full height and casts you a perfunctory glance. “You’re excused?” he offers, brows rising. His features are so finely chiseled, high cheekbones, delicate lips, and soft eyes that glitter in the sun.

“Who do you think you are?”

The dog continues to bark loudly in the background, occasionally stopping to gather its breath.

The man blinks, as though surprised by the question. It takes him a moment to reply. “I’m the gardener. Or, I was.” He looks back to the flowers and sniffs once, shaking his head. “The contract is over, I guess.” He mumbles.

“You didn’t hear? She…she’s dead. My grandmother.” He doesn’t react, so you quickly reiterate, “The owner of the house.”

He hesitates again and looks at you, something stirring in his eyes that you can’t quite understand. “…I’m sorry…for your loss.” He adds after a beat, as if unsure it’s the right thing to say.

“Yeah. Me, too.”

The uncomfortable quiet that attempts to settle between you is broken when the pup begins howling. You have to stifle an exasperated laugh.

“I’m gonna guess he found you, then.” The stranger puts in, inclining his head towards the gate.

“What do you mean?”

“Taehyung.”

“Is that his name?” You throw a glance over your shoulder. ‘Taehyung’ wheezes, trying to yap pointedly at you but seemingly going hoarse. He bounces forward, head nodding towards the ground passionately, and that’s when you notice that the gate isn’t even closed properly. Probably best that he doesn’t seem to realize, or else he might do something to the ‘gardener��. At present, you aren’t sure you’d stop him.

You turn back to the man in question, folding your arms over your chest.

“Um, so. Like I was going to say, she passed away. The house is mine, now, I guess, for as long as I want it.” “Is that right?” He doesn’t seem particularly interested.

“I don’t have a lot of money. To keep your services, I mean. For the garden.”

He only watches you as you attempt to stammer your way through a halfway decent explanation, growing steadily less and less coherent under his gaze.

“Just, please don’t…destroy it? I don’t really understand why you would do that.”

“I don’t appreciate being conned.” Is his terse reply.

“I’m sorry?” You’re a little taken aback by his coldness. “I mean, like I said, she…my grandmother died. If you think got the short end of the stick, I…I’d like to know if I can make it up to you maybe? If that’s how you feel?”

He pulls a thoughtful expression, lips pursing, eyes flicking skyward. By the gate, Taehyung sneezes and hacks once, then resumes his tirade with renewed energy.

“If you can make my time up to me, then I’ll work for you.” The gardener says finally. “If you still want my services. If not, the contract needs to be dissolved and I’m taking the plants with me.”

“Uh, alright.” You blink. It seems a solid enough argument, coming as it is from a man that waltzed into your yard and started ripping the heads off roses. “That…I guess that’s fair. Honestly, I’d prefer if granny’s garden stayed as beautiful as I’ve always remembered it, and well…I don’t exactly know what I’m doing with flowers.”

His face breaks out into a smile at that, eyes glittering. “You liked it?”

“Yeah, of course. It’s always been so gorgeous, even as a kid, I loved playing in it.”

“You don’t remember Taehyung, but you remember my garden?”

“…I’m sorry?” You peer at him curiously.

His grin grows wider, and he breaks into a laugh that squishes his cheeks, shoulders quaking, hand coming to hide his mouth behind his knuckles. “He won’t forgive you, you know. But I’ll take it. I’m glad you remember my garden so fondly. Just for that, I’ll give you a day to decide what you want to do with the contract.”

“That’s…nice of you.” There’s some weird energy going on with this guy. You aren’t sure what it is, or what it means for you. He moves to turn away and you start, straightening.

“W-wait! You didn’t give me your name.”

“I didn’t.” He cocks his head, still grinning absently.

“…What is it?”

He smiles at you, and it’s like he’s trapped the sun behind his teeth, lighting up his entire face. “Hoseok. You can call me Hoseok.”

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to see you again.”

You’re so busy trying to unpack that statement that you don’t even react, really, when he goes to step towards the gate, until you realize that Taehyung is visibly bristling and snarling over by the door. You rush forward quickly, mind spinning with visions of ankle mauling, gathering the small dog in your arms and stepping out of the garden, to the side to allow Hoseok to pass. He’s heavier than he looks; solid, warm, and softer than you could imagine. He smells…oddly sweet. Clean, fresh, warm. Like honey. He struggles, yipping in a high pitch, but suddenly goes completely limp in your grasp. You look away from the gardener to stare at Taehyung, shifting his weight to turn him around. Did you…did you hurt him? He has his eyes closed, paws in a resting position in front of his chest. Part of you panics. Did you pick him up too fast? Are little dogs really that delicate? But no…no, he’s breathing. He’s just…sleeping? Or maybe just content? You can see him blinking underneath his eyelids. Under your incredulous gaze, a tear rolls out from his eye and his entire body shudders with a weary sigh. He’s not hurt. He seems to be basking in the sheer amount of contact you’re affording him. You snort. Typical. You should have guessed.

When you look up, Hoseok is gone. He must have better things to do than hang around and get threatened by small animals.

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#bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts faerie au #stray cat strut #*waggles eyebrows*

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writingawaymylife · 4 years ago

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Dance Around - Jump Forward Part II

So… you know that video with the chick awkwardly going "hey… how y'all doing…?" Yeah… that's absolutely me. I honestly feel terrible for leaving you all with the hook in your mouths, I know how irritating it can be when a fic you’re interested in isn’t updated, or when the writer said there would be more and there NEVER was. But I’ve got it written down!

I hope you guys enjoy this! I know it might have a big of an odd pace to it, but I tried my hardest to make it intriguing and well written. I was going to do the Stephen King thing, where I put the fic away for a week or so, that way I could catch anything with fresh eyes, but I really just wanted to get this thing posted for you guys! Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Part 1

Warnings - Swearing, Higgs

Words - 1831 or 5 1/2 pages

Life was full of twists and turns, (Y/N) had found. It would throw you a curveball whenever it got the chance - it always kept you on your feet. For (Y/N), the most memorable examples of this they ha was either been when they found out about their DOOMs, when they had found and lost their best friend, or when Higgs had literally blipped into their life and proceeded to stay there permanently, no matter how many times they had tried to push him away. Soon after, once they had gotten accepting, and further comfortable, with Higgs’ presence - life had yet again thrown them yet another sudden turn of events and they lost him.

So, if they had been asked, prior to this moment, if they thought life would proceed to flip their life upside down again - they probably should have answered with a logical “yes”, when they would have likely had said; “most definitely the fuck not”.

“You’re Amelie.”

The woman nodded, head bowing just slightly as her hands clasped in front of her. She looked far more normal than (Y/N) had expected. They always assumed that she would look ethereal - like some floating, nearly see-through form. But, the longer they stared at her, the longer they realized how human she looked. Natural and comfortable in her skin, living, and breathing.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, (Y/N).” She sounded so pleasant, voice light and easy - calm. She didn’t look scared or concerned like (Y/N) was at being here, though (Y/N) guessed she wouldn’t. It was well known that Amelie was tied to the Beach.

“Uh… It’s nice to meet you too.” They cleared their throat, looking around at the Beach before giving a soft nod in Amelie’s direction. “Um, quick question, nothing too big. Am I dead?” They finally looked at Amelie, gauging for any reaction that would support the question, as their heart started slowly increasing in tempo.

Were they going to necrotize? Cause a Void Out? Was their home going to be destroyed? Were they going to become a BT?

“No. No, you’re alive. We are on your Beach, but you’re very much alive.” Amelie went to continue to speak but seemed to hesitate. Mouth closing with a soft ‘hm’ as she looked down for a moment. “You’re still in your bed, it’s just your mind that’s here.”

(Y/N) nodded as if they understood.

“Okay. That’s good.” They looked around at the Beach again. Arms crossed over their chest and shoulders slightly hunched up. The question hadn’t calmed them down nearly as much as they had hoped. If anything, it only brought up more questions. Why were they here? Why was Amelie of all people wanting to talk to them? How the fuck did she know their name?

Amelie seemed to understand what was going through (Y/N)’s mind before (Y/N) could even begin to voice their thoughts. “I know this must be a lot to process right now, but I didn’t have any other way of talking to you privately.”

“I-” They blinked, hand threading through their hair and scratching the base of their skull as they shook their head. Their heart was still thumping rapidly in their chest, emotions frazzled as they didn’t know whether to focus on the confusion, fear, or the array of other emotions that seemed to be flooding their system in quick succession. After everything they had been through in the past month, the added turn of events left their brain void of anything other than abstract thoughts and a wordless “??”.

Gods how they needed just one break for one fucking day. “Why-uh…” They huffed out a breath of frustration, lips pursing as they tried to find the ability to talk normally. “Why would you need to talk to me?” They stopped, thinking for a split second before shaking their head. “Scratch that, how the hell do you know my name?”

“Higgs.” Her voice was soft, though it didn’t lessen the power that the word held. It stopped them dead in their blurred and chaotic thoughts. Slowed their brain down as they tried to process why Amelie brought him up. Nothing was coming up when they tried to think about what to say. How to react. Their hand fell from the back of their hand and wrapped itself around the wrist of their other arm.

There was a lot that kept (Y/N) up at night when they thought about Higgs. One of the most prominent was the idea that, even after Higgs’ had ended their… thing, someone could still find out about them and Higgs, and subsequently that they actively befriended him - to some degree, at least. Everything they had would have been gone in a moments notice. Lost in the blink of an eye - life gone forever whether in death or imprisonment.

Fear was trickling in. Potent and aggressive.

“What about him?” Their voice was far more neutral than they thought it would be when compared to their racing mind and heart, and they tried to fight any outward expression of fear at the doubtful and considerate look that Amelie pointed at them.

They shivered, arms crossing tightening around their stomach as the cold sea air slowly got to them. Seeping into their arms and parts of their legs that their pyjamas didn’t cover. They couldn’t stand still, weight moving from on leg to the other in an attempt to calm the increasing energy in their body. Feet digging into the cold and damp sand.

Amelie sighed, a look of understanding washing over her features as she gave a soft nod and a comforting smile.

“I know you were close to him. That you two share a... special bond. I’m not here to punish you, or to get information from you, I just-” She stopped, a look of guilt and disappointment, which (Y/N) could only assume was for herself, washed over her features. “I have to rewrite some of my wrongs, but I can’t without your help. Higgs… He’s in trouble.”

And there, yet again, was another flip on everything that (Y/N) had ever thought or assumed. Their body froze, shoulders stiffening and arms slacking as they tried to grapple at the last bit of logic and understanding they had. Amelie knew that they were once close with him, but rather than punish them, or use them against him, she wanted their help in saving him? Why would she want to save him of all people?

When forced to describe what they assumed Amelie and Higgs were when compared to each other, (Y/N) would say that they were the Yin and the Yang of the growing tensions of the world. Higgs didn’t believe in redemption, in saving what he deemed a doomed world and its doomed people. To him, the world was falling apart already, and sticking around for another few thousand years was futile if the end result was the same. He fought against Amelie, had caused so much destruction and pain to try and stop Amelie’s attempts to rebuilding the country. Amelie should have been relieved that he was in danger and the prospect of him being taken out of the picture. She should been relieved at the thought that he wouldn’t be able hurt anyone else, and that she could continue rebuilding America. She shouldn’t have wanted to save a man who had taken so much away from her.

Their eyes narrowed and scanned her face, trying to find the slightest tell of manipulation and lying, or the slightest indication as to why Amelie was saying this or felt compelled to do such a thing. This must be a setup of some kind. There was no possible reason they could find that would explain why she would want to save him.

“Why do you care?”

The question hung in the air for a moment as Amelie seemed to think it over.

She had begun to pace. Hands moving along with what she said as she looked anywhere but (Y/N). She looked… scared. Her resolve seemed to be slipping away, shoulders tight and jaw grinding just slightly. The calmness and poise was fading away to show something far more raw and real.

“I’m not proud of what I have done in my past. I have hurt and killed out of selfish ambition, I have abused my power… I used a broken man in a miscalculated assumption that I would be able to avoid my part in everything” Her eyes were distant and clouded, a concoction of emotions that blended together into an undefinable mass. She stopped pacing. Head bowing before she turned her back to them and faced the ocean.

“I’ve lied to the person I love the most, and hurt him in far more ways than I want to admit.” She stayed silent for a moment, hands coming together in front of her as the inhaled a shaky breath. Eventually, she turned around, her face back to some form of neutrality. “If I’m to try and save everyone, I want to save everyone. Higgs has done so much damage and I had only encouraged it, given him the ability to believe it was right. He… deserves redemption.

“I saw how he changed as he got to know you. How he became hesitant and unsure in his actions. I assumed it was for the best if you weren’t tied to him.”

(Y/N) searched Amelie’s eyes, trying to find an answer that wasn’t veiled or worded to hide a fact that they were just beginning to see. Amelie had been tied to Higgs, but how? Why? “Why are you telling me all this? Why-” (Y/N)’s voice rose, anger and confusion reaching their peak as (Y/N) tried to get more information out of her.

“I’m sorry.” Amelie stopped them before they could continue, a hand rising up to prevent them from speaking as she shook her head. Her voice had gone up in pitch, veiled panic hidden in her voice as she continued to speak before (Y/N) could get a word in. “We don’t have the time- I don’t have the time, to explain everything. I wish I did. But everything is slowly coming to the end.”

She walked towards them, ambition in each step as she quickly took one (Y/N)’s hand before they could move away. “You must find Higgs. Before it’s too late.”

“How?” (Y/N) felt so lost, adrift in the ocean rather than stuck on the Beach, as they tried to get something - anything more out of Amelie.

Amelie’s smile was watery this time, genuine and sad. It was such a mixture of emotions that left (Y/N) void of words. (Y/N) didn’t know which one to focus on, but they could tell that this meeting was coming to a close, and through the rush of questions and panic they felt, Amelie spoke again.

“Jump.”

#death stranding x reader #higgs x reader #higgs monaghan x reader

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wolveria · 5 years ago

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The Jedi’s Gambit - Ch. 1

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Cad Bane

Summary: The day Cad Bane turned himself in caused quite a stir at the Jedi Temple.

The way Luminara told it, he simply walked up the steps, approached the nearest Temple Guard, and said, “I surrender.” Toothy smirk and all.

Yes, Obi-Wan definitely had a bad feeling about this.

Prompt: Enemies to Lovers (for my writing challenge at @trashmenofmarvel)

Word Count: 2.5k

AO3

The day Cad Bane turned himself in caused quite a stir at the Jedi Temple.

The way Luminara told it, he simply walked up the steps, approached the nearest Temple Guard, and said, “I surrender.” Toothy smirk and all.

Obi-Wan could hardly believe it. Masters Yoda and Windu assured him this was so, but he still couldn’t wrap his head around the idea of the notorious bounty hunter walking into the Jedi’s sanctuary to be willingly captured.

“Why?” he asked, already trying to figure out Bane’s angle. Because there was one. There was always an agenda with the bounty hunter, and Obi-Wan had learned that lesson the hard way.

“We’re not sure,” Mace answered, seemingly just as perplexed as Obi-Wan. He gazed out of the council chambers window, brow creased in thought. A session had just concluded when they had received word of Bane’s surrender. “He said he would only speak to Master Skywalker.”

“Anakin?”

Now Obi-Wan knew for certain something was amiss. What game was Bane playing this time? After he had stolen the Sith artifact smuggled on the Delano, Obi-Wan was sure he wouldn’t see the bounty hunter again for a long time. But it had only been a few weeks since that last fateful encounter. It seemed the Duros couldn’t help himself when it came to trouble, specifically making trouble for the Order and Obi-Wan in particular.

“Why would he wish to speak to Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked with a heavy sigh, his fingers itching to rub the spot on his temple where pressure was growing.

“Know that, we do not,” Master Yoda answered gravely, leaning on his gimer stick as he frowned. “Strange, it is. Darkness I sense, around the bounty hunter.”

“Darkness?” he asked, bemused. Obi-Wan didn’t sense any darkness, but he did sense something else. A pit appeared in his stomach. This was his fault. If he hadn’t allowed himself to be compromised on the Delano, Bane wouldn’t have had the opportunity to become entangled with an undoubtedly dangerous Sith artifact.

“I must speak with him,” he said. There was no point in putting off the inevitable, as tempting as that might be. “Where is he now?”

“The Republic military base,” Mace answered thoughtfully, turning to give Obi-Wan a significant look.

“But… this is an internal Jedi matter,” Obi-Wan objected as Mace expected him to from the look on his face. “If Bane handed himself over to Jedi authority, then why is he imprisoned in the military complex?”

“Questions in need of answering these are, yes,” Yoda answered mysteriously. Obi-Wan felt the throbbing pulse at his temple increase at the ancient Jedi’s vague musings.

“If they’re keeping him at the base, then that is where I shall go,” Obi-Wan told them, his tone resolute as he turned away from the window.

“He said he would only talk to Skywalker,” Mace reminded him evenly, causing Obi-Wan to pause.

“Then I’ll accompany Anakin and see what he can get out of Bane.” He certainly wasn’t going to allow his old Padawan to speak to Bane alone. Obi-Wan trusted Anakin explicitly, but Obi-Wan didn’t trust Bane whether he was free or in prison. Perhaps even less so now that he was in a cell.

“That… might be an issue.” Mace sounded tired, which Obi-Wan took as a bad sign.

“Why?” Obi-Wan asked carefully.

“Master Skywalker, gone he is. Summoned he was, but answer he does not,” Yoda offered with a slight tilt of his head.

Obi-Wan puzzled over this statement. That couldn’t be right. Anakin was on meditative retreat, but Obi-Wan knew for a fact he was still planet-side. So why wouldn’t he be answering his comm? He should always have it present in case of an emergency, and Obi-Wan constituted this situation as such.

“If Anakin isn’t available, then I’ll go alone. I have history with Bane,” he added before the Masters could object. Oh, he had history with the bounty hunter, all right, but the two Masters in front of him didn’t need to know the sordid nature of that particular piece of Obi-Wan’s past. “Maybe he won’t speak to me, but perhaps he will. At the very least, I can get a gauge on his intentions and what he hopes to gain from this surrender.”

Yoda slightly bowed his head. “Hope I have, that you will discover the reason behind this event. Act without reason, this bounty hunter does not.”

“Let us know what you find, if anything,” Mace added with a grave look.

“I will,” Obi-Wan responded grimly. He knew he would have to pick and choose which information he relayed to them, carefully sorting out what was relevant and what was incriminating.

After all, because of Obi-Wan’s last encounter with Bane, he had a few secrets of his own now.

***

As Obi-Wan was led down the prison corridors by the Coruscant Guards, he steeled himself for the coming confrontation. Facing the bounty hunter was going to test every facet of his composure, and it did not help that he felt as if he were going in blindfolded and underequipped. Knowing Bane’s intentions would have helped greatly in knowing what he could expect.

But even if he didn’t know Bane’s reasoning, Obi-Wan could anticipate the twisted delight he would take from seeing the Jedi Master again.

He could just see it now: Bane’s face alighting with wry humor, exposing his fangs beyond the curl of his lips as he appraised Obi-Wan with bright red eyes. Already Obi-Wan could feel his stomach twisting in some strange space between anxiety and anticipation. He had tried to meditate beforehand, knowing the conflict ahead of him, but the only thoughts that couldn’t be dispelled were the exact ones he didn’t want to have. Memories of cool touches and long fingers.

Obi-Wan drew in a steadying breath as they came to a stop before the cell door, and he gave a nod to the guard nearest the keypad. The clone trooper tapped the button to open the door, and it slid open to reveal a sight Obi-wan wasn’t expecting.

Cad Bane slouched across the raised ledge against the wall, his long limbs draped casually. He wore binders on his wrists, but his body language could have easily been at home in a cantina.

Except for one thing: the obvious bruises covering his face and hands. The corner of his lip was stained green, and one of his eyes was almost swollen shut. Despite his wounds, Bane looked up at Obi-Wan and smiled. Contrasted with his bruises, the smile seemed wrong. So very, very wrong.

“Bane?” Obi-Wan blurted in confusion before he could stop himself. “What’s happened to you?”

The bounty hunter’s pained grin spread, and he responded, “You know me, Kenobi. I ain’t one to come quietly.”

The double-entendre would have normally caused Obi-Wan to scowl, his cheeks flushing with angered embarrassment, but he could only stare at Bane’s abused visage. Who had done this to him? Not the Jedi, certainly. The troopers? Someone else? He didn’t recall Luminara remarking on Bane’s condition being anything other than typical, and surely she would have mentioned him looking so abused.

Which left only one conclusion: Bane had received his wounds after surrendering.

A new emotion twisted Obi-Wan’s stomach, something bordering between worry and anger. He tried to suppress the emotion, but it clung to him like a mynock on the hull of a ship.

“Bane. Tell me who’s done this,” he demanded in a low voice, moving closer. Obi-Wan heard the whoosh of the cell door shutting behind him, and he was curious to see one of the clone troopers had followed him inside.

Bane’s smile began to fade, replaced by something more along the line of a scowl. “I’m talkin’ to Skywalker or I’m talkin’ to no one,” he informed the Jedi.

“And why do you wish to see Anakin?”

Obi-Wan figured since Bane had changed topics, he wasn’t going to reveal who had harmed him. Obi-Wan would play along for now, but he fully intended to find out the truth sooner or later. Criminal or not, Bane was their prisoner, which meant he was afforded the right to not be tortured or abused while in their custody.

“Maybe I like him better dhan you,” Bane answered coolly, a languid smirk appearing on his face. “Dhat Padawan of yours is a hot piece o’ ass, I ain’t gonna lie.”

“Would you like me to take care of the prisoner’s smart mouth, sir?” the guard asked from behind. Obi-Wan looked over his shoulder, not liking the trooper’s dark tone or darker words.

Before he could respond, Bane sneered and said, “You’d like dhat, wouldn’t you, clone?” He bared his teeth in a feral grin. “Bet I could do tings with my mouth dhat’ll leave you hot and sweaty in your cold bunk tonight—“

The trooper rushed at Bane. Obi-Wan interceded, placing his hands on the trooper’s chestplate, and stopped him right before he could strike Bane with the butt of his raised rifle.

“Stand down, trooper!” Obi-Wan commanded in an authoritative tone that didn’t reveal any of his internal confusion. The guard obeyed, but he didn’t have to see the man’s face to know he was glaring at the bounty hunter over Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

What was going on? He knew Bane could be irritating, even infuriating at times, but it took a lot more than this to rile up a battle-tested soldier.

“My apologies, General,” the clone trooper finally answered, his tone just below hateful and somewhere around loathing.

“I need time with the prisoner. Alone,” Obi-Wan emphasized. He wasn’t going to get any answers out of Bane if the soldier was ready and willing to attack their prisoner at a moment’s notice.

The trooper gave a terse, “Yes, sir,” turned, and left the cell without another word. Obi-Wan didn’t have time to worry what that was about, so he turned back to stare at the bound Duros. Bane’s leering grin was gone, and he now stared at Obi-Wan with an unreadable expression on his face.

The Jedi turned, waved his hand toward the camera, and shut off the recording device. If Obi-Wan couldn’t trust the guards to act appropriately, he wasn’t sure who to trust, and that was not a feeling he had ever had to deal with before.

“Wantin’ to be alone with me, Kenobi?” Bane asked as Obi-Wan turned back to him. The suggestive tone seemed half-hearted at best. No, if anything, Bane looked at him with caution rather than lecherous thoughts.

“Where is the Sith artifact you stole?”

Bane twisted the corner of his lip into something sharp and unpleasant.

“Don’t know whatchu mean, Kenobi,” he remarked, casually observing his smooth, blue fingertips, as if he found something interesting there. “No artifacts here. No Skywalkers, neither. So scurry back to yer masters and leave me be.”

Obi-Wan strode forward, crowding in Bane’s personal space. He felt a small tinge of guilt as the Duros sat up very quickly, his back rigid against the hard wall. All humor evaporated from his face as he glared up at the Jedi Master. Obi-Wan stepped back a foot, watching as the bounty hunter eased up a little.

Now this was definitely unlike him. Bane’s façade of casual composure had dropped in an instant, and now he looked cagey and nervous. It only further proved to Obi-Wan that his initial assessment had been the correct one: Bane had sustained these injuries after his capture. Not before.

“Bane. Anakin isn’t coming.”

The bounty hunter didn’t react. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure if that was due to a well-honed Sabacc face, or if he had known his demands wouldn’t be met to begin with.

“If you want something from the Order,” Obi-Wan continued in an even tone, “then tell me what it is. You know I will listen, at the very least.”

Bane stared up at him for a long moment, his arms crossed over his chest as his large eyes narrowed with an all-too familiar look of suspicion.

Obi-Wan was about to give up, when Bane leaned forward and spoke quickly but with unsettling desperation.

“Protection. And I want to be pardoned for my crimes. All of them.”

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows shot upwards in amazement.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Full immunity. And protection. Dhose are my terms.”

“In exchange for the artifact?” Obi-Wan asked, still reeling from the fact Bane had just asked for the Republic to protect him.

“The artifact… and information. About my past employers. Specifically… deh one who hired me for the Holocron job.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t believe it. Bane wasn’t just willing to hand over what he’d stolen, but he was going to be an informant as well? It sounded too good to be true, which meant it probably was.

“I don’t mean to sound as if I doubt your integrity, Bane, but… why? You’ve never been willing to cooperate before.”

The bounty hunter studied his face, and Obi-Wan knew he was weighing the pros and cons of saying more. In the end, Bane went for a more cautious approach.

“Does it matter? You get what you want, and I get what I want. Dhis is a straightforward negotiation, Kenobi.”

Bane didn’t even smirk at the word negotiation. The lack of any improper teasing was probably one of the most alarming aspects of this whole conversation. If Bane wasn’t doing everything he could to verbally prod at Obi-Wan’s sense of pride and honor, then something was deeply wrong.

Obi-Wan found himself stroking his beard as he contemplated the bounty hunter’s words. Bane watched his every move, but the bounty hunter remained silent and expressionless. The Jedi sighed.

“I’ll need to discuss this with the Council, but I’m confident they will agree to your terms. They are… reasonable.”

Alarmingly so, Obi-Wan thought. The Republic was coming out of this deal the winner, and that just bespoke of how desperate Bane must be. If his offer was sincere, then that probably meant his last employer spooked the bounty hunter enough to send him running into the figurative arms of the Order.

Obi-Wan didn’t know anything that could scare Bane that much. There was only one other time he’d seen the Duros shaken: when he’d refused to give his employer’s name under duress as Anakin, Mace, and Obi-Wan had tried to break into his mind. He had endured the torture for longer than most, because apparently the alternative had been worse.

“Well, what’re you waitin’ for?” Bane asked harshly, interrupting Obi-Wan from his thoughts. “Run along back to your masters. Time’s wastin’.”

He leaned back against his ledge-seat, crossing his arms in front of his lean chest. It was clear that Bane was done talking. Obi-Wan gave him one last lingering look before he left the cell, but Bane stared pointedly at the floor, refusing to meet the Jedi’s eye.

Yes, Obi-Wan definitely had a bad feeling about this.

Next Chapter

#the clone wars #obi wan kenobi #cad bane #kenobane #my writing #my fanfiction #bounty hunter blues #ahhhhshiiiit #i finally did it

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argylemnwrites · 5 years ago

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It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment - Chapter 19

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Romance (Canon Divergent from Book 2, Chapter 15)

Word Count: ~6000

Rating: R (language, as always)

Summary: Drake clears the air with another woman in his family, and Liam comes to some decisions about his future.

Author’s Note: Some computer issues were preventing me from accessing my google doc (my absolute nightmare), so sorry I didn’t quite get this posted on Saturday, but I’m making sure this gets up before the Choices Big Game Blitz fics start dominating my queue. Happy Superbowl Sunday, everyone!

This series diverges from TRR canon, where instead of waiting to discuss his relationship with Riley until their last night in NYC, leaving her a note while Liam is proposing to her, Drake tackles this topic as soon as possible after Tariq makes his statement and Riley’s name is cleared. To catch up on this series, you can find the previous chapters in my masterlist (link is located in my bio).

Drake shuffled through Austin-Bergstrom airport, making his way over to baggage claim. He didn’t know what would be worse - his mother being there and acting like this was in any way normal, or her not being there at all. As he rounded the corner and headed for carousel 4, he saw her there, looking nowhere near as anxious as he felt. When she caught sight of him, she waved frantically and then dashed over to give him a big hug.

“Oh Drake, I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, squeezing him tightly.

Drake returned the hug, but it felt rather awkward, like they were acting out the parts of a mother and son reuniting at the airport. It didn’t feel natural.

“Hey, Mom. Savannah says ‘hi.’”

“Of course she does. Tell her she needs to bring that baby boy of hers out for a visit!”

Drake nodded and followed his mother out to the truck, throwing his luggage in the backseat before climbing into the passenger seat. As his mom backed the truck out of the short term parking spot and headed toward the exit, he tried to figure out whether he should start this conversation now or if it would be better to wait until they were at the ranch. He probably should have tried to come up with some sort of plan for this on his way out here, but it was too late for that now.

“Are you sure you can only stay one night?” Bianca asked once they had gotten onto the freeway, “We haven’t seen you in ages and it would be nice if you could stay for a bit.”

Drake shook his head, “I need to be in New York tomorrow night. Someone’s expecting me.”

“Liam?”

“No,” Drake replied, turning to stare out the window. He did not want to discuss Riley and how up in the air things were in his relationship. He came here for a purpose, and he couldn’t let himself get sidetracked onto another topic. His mother had an uncanny ability to redirect the conversation.

“Well, regardless of how long you’ll be here, this is a lovely surprise,” she said, clearly looking to keep things light and friendly. Drake cringed slightly, knowing he planned to take things in a very different direction. He took a deep breath before he started. It was now or never.

“Mom, I… well I actually came to Texas because I kind of need to talk to you about something.”

“Okay. What is it?”

“Well, it’s kind of a lot of things, actually.”

“Drake, are you in some sort of legal trouble?”

“No! Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know, sweetie. You’re just being very cagey and I don’t understand what else would have you so jumpy and flying in on a whim.”

“This isn’t exactly a whim, Mom. I’ve thought about coming to talk to you about this for a long time now.”

“Okaaaayyy…” she responded, turning her head briefly to look at him as she dragged out the word, then snapping her eyes back to the road ahead.

Drake tilted his head back slightly and closed his eyes, hoping that would make getting the words out a little easier, “I’ve been carrying this around with me for a long time. Trying to figure out how to say it without being an asshole to you. But I think it’s just gotten to the point where I need to tell you. There’s not a good way, really.

“When you left Cordonia, when you left Sav and me in Cordonia, well… you hurt me. And I’ve been carrying around that hurt for almost half my life now. And I can’t keep doing it anymore. It’s not healthy and I just need to get it off my chest.”

“Oh, Drake,” his mother replied, “I’m so sorry. I thought I was doing right by you and Savannah, leaving you with Liam and your friends. You seemed so happy there, I didn’t want to uproot your lives any more than they already had been by your father’s death.”

Drake ran his hand over his face. He had kind of expected this - some superficial justifications and a light apology. But that was like slapping a bandage on a gunshot wound - it wasn’t actually going to help anyone. If they left it at that, he would leave Texas tomorrow the same as if he had not come at all. He had to keep going, even if it meant that he destroyed any semblance of a relationship he had with his mother.

“Okay, but we were just kids. For Christ’s sake, Savannah was only 12 when you moved out. We had just lost our father and then less than a year later we lost our mother too, by her choice. It’s bullshit that you even attempt to justify this, Mom. And you know it.”

She didn’t say anything, but he heard her flip her blinker on, getting off the highway at the next exit and pulling into a gas station parking lot, turning off the truck before she spoke.

“Drake, I’m sorry,” she bit out, her voice cracking, “But I was in no shape to be a mother. I was mourning and I had no support system. I needed my sister.”

Drake shook his head, “Sorry Mom, but that’s just too damn bad. When you’re a parent you can’t just fuck off because things are tough. You were mourning? Well, what about me and Sav? We were mourning, too. You might have needed Aunt Lee, but we needed our mother.”

His mother was crying in earnest now, but Drake felt like he couldn’t stop talking, that all this old pain was just flooding out of him, “Tough shit that you were in pain. Your kids were hurting just as much. What kind of mother just leaves her children behind? How could you do that to us? Didn’t you miss your kids at all?

“I was 15, Mom. Fifteen years old and I suddenly had to figure out how to not only grow up and face the world all on my own, but I had to help Savannah, too. And you know what? It fucked me up. It made me wonder what was so wrong with me that my own mother couldn’t stand to raise me. It made me scared to get close to women, wondering if they were going to leave me too. It broke my trust and made me cynical.

“And I’ve let this shit sit inside of me for too damn long. I let myself grow bitter and cynical and jaded, all before I turned 30. And I just needed to talk to you, to actually talk to you. Not gloss over our family’s messy past because that’s easier, but actually let you know what I thought, because otherwise this resentment is just going to keep growing and growing.”

Drake took a deep breath, trying to gain some semblance of control over this situation. He hadn’t meant to just dump years worth of pain onto his mother on the drive to the ranch, but in some ways, it was probably best that he had just kept talking. He didn’t exactly give himself a chance to back down or close himself off.

His mother wasn’t saying anything, just sitting there with her hands covering her eyes. Drake opened the glove box and found her some tissues, passing the packet to her. She grabbed them, swiping under both of her eyes before she spoke.

“Well, if you’ve said what you needed to say, I can drive you back to the airport. No reason for you to even stay tonight, it sounds like.”

“That isn’t everything I need to say, Mom. I didn’t fly out here just to hurt you. I just… I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about my life. About what I want. About how to let myself be happy. And I think I realized that I need to move forward in a lot of areas. I’ve been stuck in a rut for a very long time, and it’s time to let myself change. So, I need to stop letting my past define my relationships. I need to stop letting my fear of abandonment drive my actions. And that means I need to make some changes to my relationship with you.”

“What kind of changes?” his mother asked, still sniffling slightly.

Drake shrugged, trying to gauge how to phrase it, “I don’t know yet. I mean, I know I just told you how much pain you’ve caused me, but I still love you, Mom. I just… if we decide we want to be a part of each other’s lives, I can’t keep doing it like this, getting one phone call from you a year on my birthday. I can’t have my mom acting like a distant great aunt or something.”

She shook her head, “I didn’t call because I felt so guilty. Talking to you was just a reminder of my failures as a mother. I assumed you saw it the same way and wanted nothing to do with me. I didn’t want to put pressure on you.”

“Well, you’re right. A handful of phone calls aren’t going to erase the past or anything. But I don’t know how things here get any better if we both just keep doing what we’re doing.”

“I want to be a part of your life, Drake,” she insisted, reaching over and grabbing his hand, “I really do want to know you and Savannah as adults.”

“This has to go both ways, then. A two way street, okay?”

His mother nodded emphatically, “You’re right. I’ll book a flight out to Cordonia soon, okay?”

“About that…” Drake said, “I, uh… I kind of moved.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Er, I sort of live in New York City now.”

“Maybe I’m just missing something here, but how do you ‘sort of’ live anywhere?”

Drake sighed. Apparently, he was going to have to get into this, at least a bit. “Well, I kind of met someone, and I moved to New York to be with her, but things are kind of rocky between us at the moment and the move is pretty recent. I’m not exactly sure it’s gonna stick.”

She nodded slowly, staring off to the side as if she was searching for more information to make better sense of Drake’s ramblings. “So might you be heading back to Cordonia soon?”

Drake just shook his head, “Nah, not right away at least. Like I said, I gotta make some changes in my life. I don’t know that I’ll stay in New York if things don’t work out there, but I probably won’t head straight back to Cordonia. Too easy to slide back into my old habits there.”

“New York’s your first choice, though?”

“I mean, she’s my first choice, and she’s in New York, so yeah,” he replied with a shrug.

“Okay.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

His mother gave him a watery smile, “It sounds like you’re working through some things right now. Believe it or not, I very much get that feeling. Given everything you’ve told me today, I think I’m mainly just glad you even shared that much with me.”

He let her words sink in for a little bit. He couldn’t be sure, but it seemed like a peace offering. Like his mother was trying to express interest in whatever part of himself he was willing to share at this point. He wasn’t naive enough to think that suddenly he would have the world’s most loving, attentive mother after today. He knew there was a high probability that they would end up drifting apart going forward. But that was okay. At least he’d put himself out there, shared his fears knowing full well that it might not make anything better. He’d held onto those fears, kept them far too buried for way too long.

“Well… I will let you know where I end up, okay?”

“I’d like that. Now, how about we get heading back to the ranch? I’ve got some chili in the slow cooker for you.”

“That sounds nice, Mom. Are you okay to drive?” he asked, gesturing to her red eyes and tear streaked cheeks. She just smiled and nodded, turning the key in the ignition and pulling the truck back onto the road.

“Oh, Leona’s head is going to explode when she hears you’re moving to one of the biggest cities on the planet,” she said after a few minutes of driving, the thought clearly just popping into her head. Drake laughed, picturing his surly aunt’s reaction. It was the first time he could remember laughing with his mother since before his father died. And while he knew their relationship was still an absolute mess, well at least there was one more good moment between the two of them now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Madeleine rolled her shoulders back and took a steadying breath before knocking on the door to Liam’s office. She just had a terrible feeling about this meeting he’d requested with her. The only topic she could envision him wanting to discuss with her was their wedding, and the tone he’d used did not imply a routine planning discussion.

She wasn’t an idiot. She knew she wasn’t his first choice as a wife. She probably wasn’t even his second choice if the amount of time he was spending with Olivia was any indication of who he actually liked to involve in his life. But she’d tried to be there for him. She’d learned from Leo that forcing things with Constantine’s sons got you nowhere. She’d let him carry on with Riley Liu. She’d been at his side through all the terrorist attacks and his father’s death, through calls for abdication and threats on both of their lives. For God’s sake, she’d taken a bullet for him. She’d hoped she’d be able to prove her worth as a political ally. But if the sinking feeling she’d had in her stomach was any indication, all she had done had not been enough.

“Come in,” Liam called out, his voice muffled by the door. She strode through with poise and purpose. She was not going down as some timid waif of a woman. She would face him with dignity.

Liam was not at his desk, but instead on one of the couches. They had never had a meeting that wasn’t at his desk, and the change in the setting unnerved Madeleine. But she wasn’t going to let him see that, not now. “Good evening, Liam,” she said, careful to keep her voice even and steady.

“Good evening, Madeleine. Please, have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the opposite couch. She walked over and delicately sat down, crossing her ankles as she did so. She knew how to comport herself, not that such behavior was going to get her anywhere.

“Would you like something to drink?” Liam asked, running his index finger along the top of his own glass of whiskey.

“That depends, Liam. Am I going to need something to drink?”

He paused for just a moment, “I would venture to say yes.”

Madeleine nodded tersely, trying to take deep breaths without being too obvious. It was one thing to suspect your engagement was getting called off, it was another to have it confirmed. She had already been through this once before, but it still stung. “Vodka,” she said after a moment, after she was sure her voice wouldn’t crack.

Liam stood and walked over to a sideboard, crouching down and pulling out a bottle of Belvedere. “Any mixers or ice?”

“No, thank you,” she replied, accepting the liquor with a nod as Liam handed it to her before returning to his seat.

“Shall we get this over with?” Madeleine asked.

“Madeleine, please. I at least want to discuss this with you.”

“What’s to discuss, Liam? I don’t see the point in dragging this out. I’ve been through this before, remember?”

“I would like to talk this through at least. I want you to understand where I’m coming from.”

Madeleine let out a little laugh, “I don’t particularly need to understand your reasons, Liam. Quite frankly, you purging your soul and looking for absolution is not going to make me feel better. It’s just selfish.”

He actually smiled slightly at that comment, just for a brief second, before he let his calm, diplomatic expression return to his face. It infuriated her all the more, that her pain and frustration was apparently a source of amusement for him.

“It’s interesting that you would use that phrasing,” he said after a moment, staring at the whiskey in his glass. “Madeleine, I just have to ask, why do you even want to marry me?” He turned his eyes up to meet hers at the end of his question, almost as if he thought he was about to witness some moment of revelation. It was insulting, quite frankly.

“No. You do not get to twist my words to make me sound like a crown chaser. I have been preparing to be queen my entire life. I am qualified in every way for this job. You would never fault a man for going after his professional dreams.”

Liam tilted his head back and forth, looking at her intently, “I might if he pursued them at the expense of all other realms of his life. Madeleine, do you really think being queen would bring you enough happiness to compensate for the extreme misery it would bring you in your personal life?”

Madeleine shook her head, letting out a frustrated snort. Everyone saw the ways that Leo and Liam were different, but right now, they’d never seemed more similar to her. They both had wanted her to be the one to end things. Leo had just ghosted her repeatedly, and when he did come around, there was always a new woman to throw in her face. Liam at least was more subtle, clearly trying to convince her that this was her idea. It was still infuriating in its own right, though.

“Liam, if you aren’t going to marry me, at least have the courage to call off our engagement yourself. You don’t get to dump me and have me do all the work for you.”

“Madeleine, this isn’t a decision I made lightly or on a whim. All I am trying to do is minimize the pain and discomfort here for all parties involved.”

“Well, that’s just too bad, Liam. You don’t get to break up with someone without hurting them.”

He sighed heavily, “Fair enough. I just hoped you might be able to see the positive aspects here. That you might be able to find a silver lining.”

“How could having my dreams ripped from me yet again be a positive, Liam? Explain that one to me, please,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Well, you won’t be trapped in a loveless marriage and forced to raise children with a man you’re indifferent to at best,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders slightly, “That seems like it could be worth something.”

“Liam, be realistic. I will never marry for love. Any marriage for me will be a political one. You at least would have been a tolerable husband.”

“Why can’t you marry for love?”

“Be serious.”

“I am. I don’t see why you act like this is some impossibility.”

She just shook her head, “How are you still such a romantic? The woman you love chose your best friend over you.”

Liam raised his eyebrows at that comment, “Careful, Madeleine. There is little reason for either of us to resort to petty personal attacks here. But suffice it to say, that while Riley’s rejection was painful, it did not change my belief that there is love to be found out there, and I mean love for all of us.”

“Well, that’s not been my experience. And quite frankly, I don’t see how it’s been yours either.”

“Just because I am not currently in a loving relationship doesn’t mean that I don’t see a world full of potential for love and connection.”

She shook her head and let out a short little breath, “For a highly educated king, you are so naive. Nearly foolish.”

“And you have a very stubborn and narrow worldview. If someone hasn’t found love in the world, that’s either because they are blind to it or they reject it anytime it’s offered and push it away before it has a chance to grow. I think we both know in your case it’s the latter.”

“Awful presumptuous of you, assuming that anyone has even been open to loving me.”

Liam stared straight at her, the disbelief evident in his eyes, “Do Penelope and Kiara not count?”

“What? They aren’t attracted to women,” Madeleine retorted, waving her hand dismissively.

His eyes widened and his eyebrows shot up at that, “I can’t speak to their sexual orientation, nor was I trying to, Madeleine. Love can be platonic, you know. You might have found that with Kiara or Penelope if you hadn’t berated them at every opportunity. Instead, they both chose to return to their homes. Or Hana, who has never been anything but kind and compassionate, could have been a true friend to you just as she has to so many others. Gentle Hana, who decided she couldn’t live under the same roof as you, would have been your friend if you hadn’t constantly cut her down and aimed to hurt her.

“I know your parents were never some source of unconditional familial love. Believe me, Madeleine, I can comprehend that. But it is your choice to continue to be harsh and compassionless with all your peers. If you can’t see that, I don’t know what to tell you.

“I am sorry that you have to go through a failed engagement for a second time, Madeleine. I truly am. But that isn’t enough of a reason to marry you. And I honestly believe this is the best chance at happiness for the both of us.”

“No, Liam. It’s the best chance at happiness for you. At least own that fact.”

After a few seconds of silence, Liam finally spoke, “You’re right, this is something I am doing for myself. But I hope that someday you’ll see that this opens up the potential for you to find something better as well.”

“Why now?” Madeleine asked, tapping her fingers against her untouched glass of vodka, “Why lead me on for months?”

“I probably never should have gotten engaged to you in the first place. I did so in a moment of desperation where I saw no other options for either of us. If you want to hold something against me, that is what it should be. But I am not going to let that lapse in judgement determine the course of the rest of my life. I do not want to be a bitter king who only has a family out of obligation. I want children that are born into a home of love and warmth. I may sacrifice many things for Cordonia, but I’ve decided this is one liberty I’m going to take for myself.

“Now, as far as the more practical matters go, if you want to be the one to announce the end of our engagement, I will happily grant you that opportunity. You can prepare a statement; I would just ask you send it to Stefan for review before you go to the press, but I understand if you prefer to release a statement independently. I can also send you to my private island for a while if you’d like to avoid the press or your parents. I want to allow you time to collect yourself away from external pressures if you desire. Just let me know by this weekend, alright?”

“So that’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

“Yes, Madeleine. I honestly think we’re done here. Don’t you?”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” she said as she rose, downing her entire glass of vodka in one, then striding to the door. Once she was on the other side of the door, she pinched her eyes closed, fighting off waves of self-loathing and despair at her repeated failure. It was like Leo all over again, but this time, there was no back up plan. She was left entirely directionless, and now she had to figure out what she was supposed to do with her life now that the only thing she’d been raised to do was no longer possible.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The trials on Friday had run straight through to the end of the business day, and after all his late night case review, preparing for the press, Liam was exhausted. He was planning to head straight from the courthouse to his private quarters for a few hours of needed decompression, but as he answered a few questions from the press, he noticed Olivia standing over by the town car that was waiting for him, talking with his driver.

“Lady Olivia,” he said in greeting, nodding at her politely as he walked over after the press dispersed.

“Your Majesty. I was hoping to run into you. Are you headed back to the palace?”

“That was the plan.”

“May I join you for a bit? I was hoping to discuss if there were any more findings in regards to Anton’s spouse.”

Liam nodded. He did need to talk to Olivia about the investigation that he and Bastien had been privately conducting there. “Of course. Would you like a ride?” he asked, gesturing to his car.

Olivia shook her head, “My car and driver are just around the corner. I’ll meet you there. Do you need me to bring by some cookie dough and wine spritzers?”

Liam shook his head and chuckled. He should have known that Olivia would know that he called off his engagement, even though neither he nor Madeleine had released an official statement yet. “I think I’ll be fine, thanks.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, the glint in her eyes in direct contrast with her overly concerned tone, “Breakups can be tough.”

“Don’t gloat, Olivia,” Liam chided. He wasn’t really upset, but Olivia didn’t need to be so pleased that he and Madeleine were no longer engaged.

“I’m just happy that you aren’t stuck in a miserable political marriage.”

“And…”

“And if Madeleine won’t become queen because of it, all the better.”

Liam couldn’t help but let out a little laugh. It’s not that he reveled in ending things with Madeleine, but it did feel like a significant weight had been lifted from his soul. “Shall we meet in my office?”

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll see you in a few.”

And so Liam went to his office when he returned to the palace. He’d been seated at his desk, reviewing some news sites, when Olivia was let in by Stefan about 10 minutes later.

“Sorry, I would have been here sooner, but I got stuck waiting for the royal motorcade. A real pain in the ass, I tell you.”

Liam chuckled at her statement, gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk. Olivia sank into one, leaning back and looking him in the eye before she spoke.

“Alright, what can you tell me about my supposed marriage to that traitorous vile snake?”

Liam let out a sigh, knowing there was no easy way to break this news. “What kind of wine do you want?”

“That bad, huh?” Olivia asked with a little wince.

He unlocked the middle desk drawer and pulled out the documents he’d set aside for her. “I wish I had better news. Unfortunately, the document your parents signed is legally binding.”

“Motherfuckers,” Olivia breathed out, letting her head drop to the back of her chair. “I was four, Liam. Who the hell marries off a toddler?”

“I’m very sorry, Liv. I have a private lawyer investigating how best to go about getting this annulled given all the clauses and conditions that various House Nevrakis members have put on the books over the centuries.”

“You brought in a private lawyer? Liam, I was kind of hoping-”

“He signed an NDA. However, I think it would be prudent to warn you that Anton might bring it up in trial if he decides to go scorched earth. The prosecutors would never reference it, but I have no idea what he or his lawyer are planning.”

Olivia inhaled deeply before nodding slowly. “I understand. Are you sure we can’t just torture him to keep him quiet?”

“Fairly certain that’s a violation of the UN Human Rights Council guidelines.”

“Even if I make sure it can’t get traced back to you?”

“Yes, even then, Olivia.”

“Damn,” she said with a little laugh, “So, either I release the info myself and undermine my public support in an effort to control the narrative, or I take a gamble that he won’t bring it up?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Those really are your only choices. No matter what you choose, though, you will have the Crown’s full support.”

Olivia tapped her fingernails against the desk’s surface, eyes roving over her marriage certificate. “I’ll release it Monday,” she said after a few moments, raising her head to look Liam in the eye. “It’s the opposite of what our fathers would have done, so that probably makes it the right call.”

Liam tilted his head at that, “Have your staff send Stefan your statement this weekend, and we’ll craft an official royal press release to match.”

“Thanks, Liam.”

“Of course, Olivia.”

“No, I mean it. I’m sure that you’re already being stretched thin between the trials, and I’m guessing you’re getting some pushback for calling off your engagement, so thank you for looking into this for me.”

Liam nodded. She wasn’t wrong. It hadn’t even been 24 hours since he called off his engagement, and he’d already been chided by several council members. Regina had also had some choice words for him after he blocked a meeting with Godfrey.

“How pissed are people that you aren’t getting married?”

“I think they’re more upset that they can’t technically do anything about it. The law clearly states a monarch needs to be either married or engaged to ascend the throne; it makes no reference to his or her marital state once they are the reigning monarch.”

“So, what’s your next move?”

“Nothing,” he said with a little shrug, “Like I said, they can’t really do anything about it. Thanks to you, public opinion of me is quite high at the moment, so it's not like they can apply pressure that way either.”

“Nice,” she replied, nodding and cocking an eyebrow, “What are you going to do about an heir?”

Liam just shook his head, “I’m not even 30 yet. I feel like I have some time.”

“I agree, but others won’t. You’re going to have to have a statement prepared for when they start hounding you about it.”

He paused for a second, organizing his words, “Well, then I’ll just tell them that succession laws are clear, and that I am perfectly comfortable leaving Cordonia in the hands of the woman who is next in line for the throne.”

Olivia’s eyes widened before fluttering closed. She pressed her lips together and took several slow breaths before she opened her eyes, a slight glimmer noticeable in the corners. “Thank you, Liam,” she whispered.

“It’s the truth, Olivia. You care about this country and its people. If something were, god forbid, to happen to me, I would have no qualms about you becoming queen.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything. How about we just have that glass of wine?”

Olivia just shook her head, “I wish I could, but I actually have… well, I have a date.”

Liam smiled gently, “Oh, well then it sounds like you have much better plans than me for the evening. I’ll let you get heading back to Lythikos.”

“The date’s here, actually.”

“Really?” Liam asked, his curiosity mounting by the second, “Who’s the man in question, and does he know what he’s getting himself into?”

“None of your business and of course not,” she replied, giving him a genuine smile as she stood up. “I’ll see you at the courthouse Monday?”

“Of course, Olivia. Have a wonderful evening.”

She smiled and walked out of the office, throwing up her hand in farewell as she closed the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Drake shifted in his seat. He could blame it on the cramped airline rows, but he knew it was more his nerves than anything. He was an absolute mess at this point.

For the second time in as many days, he was on a flight towards a woman he wasn’t even sure wanted to see him. But unlike when he went to see his mother, he was actually terrified of that fact. If his mother had been cold or hadn’t wanted to see him, he knew how to deal with that fact. He’d been through it before, and though he hadn’t come out without some emotional scars, he fucking got through it.

But Riley… well the thought that she might not want to talk to him shook him to his core. He honestly didn’t know what he would do if she told him to fuck off, that she needed a boyfriend who could actually handle her life or one that didn’t have a best friend with very specific emotional demands. It was honestly part of the reason he went to talk to his mother first - he was more scared of his talk with Riley. The stakes were just so much higher. He knew that made him a coward. But when he’d been booking his tickets, he just wanted one more day where he could pretend that Riley and him were going to be alright.

Part of him also knew that if Riley left him, he was likely to spiral a bit. Get drunk, self-destruct, throw himself a goddamn pity party. He knew he needed to talk with both Riley and his mother, but with how long he’d put off his conversation with his mother, he just knew he would never get around to it after a rejection from Riley. He wouldn’t have seen the point. It just had to happen first.

But now it was time to face the music with Riley. No more beating around the apple tree. She knew when his flight was landing at JFK, he’d sent her the flight details before he left Cordonia, and she’d texted back “okay.” Drake didn’t know if that meant she would be there or not.

If she wasn’t there, Drake wasn’t sure what his plan was. He was pretty sure she would be off this weekend, but just barging into her apartment felt presumptuous, even if he did still have a set of keys. Maybe he would just call her? See if she wanted to meet him somewhere?

But when he exited the plane and made his way towards baggage claim, he saw her there, standing off to the side, her arms crossed over her chest. He started walking toward her, his legs suddenly feeling heavy as lead. At some point, she caught sight of him, but she made no move toward him, just offering up a little nod. He raised his hand and waved, feeling like a giant dork in the process, but he didn’t know what else to do. And he made it those last painful meters, he tried to figure out what to say. But then he was in front of her and all he could do was stare at her. She was so beautiful, and nothing he could say felt like it would be enough.

Riley wasn’t saying anything either, and neither one of them made a move to touch each other. The tension was nearly palpable, and all Drake knew was that he had to break it somehow.

“Hey, Liu,” he choked out.

“Hi, Drake.”

Permatag: @speedyoperarascalparty @mfackenthal @lilyofchoices @thequeenofcronuts @jamesashtonisbae

The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir: @kingliam2019 @sirbeepsalot @texaskitten30 @princessleac1 @ladyangel70 @dcbbw @yaushie @octobereighth

Drake x MC only: @jovialyouthmusic @iplaydrake @gibbles82 @drakewalkerisreal @riley--walker @notoriouscs @butindeed @addictedtodrakefanfic

It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment: @wickedgypsymoon @thesumofmychoices @cosigottahavefaith @thequeenchoices @katedrakeohd @feartheendlesssummer @ao719 @ooo-barff-ooo @sunnyxdazed

#drake walker #drake x mc #trr fanfic #trr liam #king liam #olivia nevrakis #trr madeleine #trr #the royal romance #choices fanfiction #choices #playchoices #choices stories you play

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this-is-freeridge · 5 years ago

Text

The Air Between Us

Chapter Fifteen: Mari gets some news that turns her life upside-down.

Warning: this fic deals with dark themes, including but not limited to teen pregnancy, rape, drug abuse, murder, abortion, underage drinking and underage sex. Read at your own risk.

Find all other chapters here.

Read the better version here!

Thinking back on it, Mari realised that she may have overreacted a little by running off on Oscar the other night. There was a certain softness in his eyes when he had looked at her, a genuineness when he had asked her to stay that she had been too ashamed (and maybe a little too scared of rejection) to let herself notice at the time. It hadn’t been for very long, and it hadn’t been anything real, sh had Oscar that night on Halloween; for the time they were together, he had been hers, all of him.

Now she was back where she started, with a head full of what-ifs. What if she had never moved to Freeridge? What if Oscar hadn’t come to her rescue when the Prophet$ rolled up on her? What if Geny hadn’t closed the door and Oscar hadn’t had to rescue her then, too? What if she hadn’t snuck out on her birthday? What if Trey hadn’t interrupted them at the hospital? What if she hadn’t fallen in love with someone who seemed intent on not loving her back?

What if she hadn’t left the other night?

Even though she knew it was no use dwelling on things like that, she couldn’t seem to stop it. The thoughts were crashing in like a tidal wave, flooding her mind with every waking moment and she was powerless to stop it.

It was all quickly becoming too much. She was drowning, but up until now, she had been holding her breath, desperate to fight it and get her head above water. Up until now, she hadn’t questioned whether the struggle was worth it. Now she wondered if maybe it would be easier to just let go and take a breath.

It certainly didn’t help that time seemed to be mocking her. Each second that ticked by added a little more weight to her chest until she felt like she couldn’t breathe like she was inching closer and closer to a bomb that would go off at any second. She had been waiting in the reception room of the medical clinic for almost an hour - she had even arrived early so not to miss her appointment but they had yet to call her name.

The waiting was the worst part. All she wanted was to know what was wrong with her (though she’d bet they needed more than just a blood test to figure that out). She wanted to know why she had passed out and why she was constantly feeling so rundown, even when things were looking up.

She didn’t want to come off as impatient but her nerves were getting the better of her as her fingers tapped against the arm of the small plastic chair. The place wasn’t even busy. Aside from her, there were only three other people in the waiting room; an older man with greying hair who was leaning on his walker, and a young mother with dark curls that resembled Mari’s who was bouncing a fussing baby on her knee.

The baby was crying, screaming like he had it worse than Mari. The young woman offered a bottle that the baby didn’t want and shushed him under her breath but it went unnoticed as the baby continued to cry. She was so young yet she had so much responsibility - Mari wondered how she did it, how she coped with it all. She definitely didn’t envy her.

She almost envied the baby though. A part of her wished she could just open her mouth and scream, but she knew it wouldn’t do any good. She had to be positive and every single day she had to do her best with the life she was given.

“Mariana Martinez?” The doctor finally called.

“Uh, yeah,” Mari responded as she fumbled out of her seat, “that’s me,”

The doctor was a middle-aged white lady - a lady who looked a little too like her mother for comfort. Although they looked eerily alike, the subtle differences were striking; where her mother’s hair was dark blonde and matted, the doctor’s hair was light and neatly styled, her cheekbones were high but her face was less sunken and she had sharp lips that were pulled into a kind smile instead of an unamused pout. This woman was happy, healthy.

The woman smiled and nodded her head in a “follow me” sort of gesture. The clipboard in her hand was setting Mari even further on edge. A clipboard meant bad news, right? If it were good news they would have told her over the phone.

Despite the desperate need for something to ease her tension, they didn’t say anything until they had reached the office.

“Sorry about the wait,” the doctor said as she closed the door behind them. Mari sank into the armchair across from the desk, relishing in the way the cushions felt against her exhausted muscles. She had a feeling that this moment of comfort would be the last one she’d get to have for a while, so she was going to enjoy it while she could. “I’m doctor Judy O’Connor. I’m sorry it took so long to get your labs back, unfortunately, we don’t have a pathologist here in Freeridge,”

“That’s okay,” Mari responded, sinking into the chair as doctor O’Connor sat on the other side of the desk.

“How are you feeling?”

The tightness in Mari’s chest vanished as she let out a quick laugh. How was she feeling? That was a loaded question, so she settled on the simplest answer.

“I mean, I’m a little scared,” she admitted, “there’s obviously something wrong for me to be sitting here right now,”

Doctor O’Connor shook her head, looking down at the clipboard that held Mari’s test results.

“I don’t believe there’s anything to be scared of, however, I did notice something in the results that wasn’t mentioned to me by the nurse, or in any of the hospital reports,” she set the clipboard down on her desk and folded her hands. The way she leaned in ever so slightly set Mari on edge, like she was gauging the younger girl’s reaction, ready to jump in if things went south. “I don’t think there’s an easy way to say this, so I apologise. Mariana, do you know that you’re pregnant?”

No.

No, she wasn’t.

She had taken a test and it was negative, right? She hadn’t had her period for a few months, and she had been feeling a little bloated lately, but those were just side effects of the pill. She wasn’t pregnant, she couldn’t be.

“It’s possible the test was a false negative,” the doctor told her. Mari hadn’t even realised she’d said those things aloud. Clenching her hands into fists until her nails pierced the skin of her palms, Mari tried to focus on the woman before her. “And you’re right, those are side effects of the pill, but judging by these test results I’d say you’re almost six months along,”

It couldn’t be true, she told herself. It couldn’t be true because if it were, that would mean that she was pregnant the whole time she was drinking and getting high. It would mean she was pregnant the whole time she wasn’t sleeping or eating.

If it were true it would mean she was already a bad mother, before she ever got the chance to try and be a good one. Maybe things like this were genetic.

“But I’m not- I don’t even look pregnant!” Mari stammered, grasping at straws for any shred of doubt, any hope that the results could be wrong.

“That’s actually more common than it seems. There are several reasons that you may not show during pregnancy, but it’s most likely the baby is in a posterior position, meaning their spine is against yours. We’ll need an ultrasound to know any more,”

Sure, it was the kind of thing that was common enough to have a reality show about it but sure as hell not so common that you ever plan for it to happen. It had happened though, and she had to move on and live with it, but how? She was sure she couldn’t keep working, god forbid she tell Geny and Ruben, they surely wouldn’t allow her to bring something like this into her home. She had enough money for a motel for a few nights but beyond that would be touch and go.

Not to mention she didn’t even know what she wanted to do. Would she keep it? The alternative was terrifying. Either way, she knew she had to choose, and either way, she knew she would never be the same.

Mari wished she had any delusions about who the father was, but if she really was almost six months along then there was only one person who it could be.

“Now, Mariana,” Doctor O’Connor continued, saving Mari the pain of having to even think his name, “I think we need to discuss your options,”

. : ♱ : .

Two lines.

Two small, pink lines. That’s all it took for the crushing weight of reality to squander what little doubt, what little hope, Mari had left. Doctor O’Connor had given Mari a pregnancy test, along with letting her keep a copy of the official blood test results, hoping that it would help Mari come to accept the truth.

The truth was that none of this was her fault; the whole situation was outside of her control, but she was the one who had to live with the consequences. The truth was that she was pregnant and stuck in Freeridge, the baby’s father completely out of the picture. Mari saw the truth for what it was; she was just like her mother at this age.

Panic tightened around her like an invisible corset, squeezing and squeezing until she couldn’t breathe. Discarding the god-forsaken stick in the trashcan beside her, Mari dropped to her knees and let all her pain and anger leave her body as she retched into the toilet bowl. Bile burned the back of her throat, sweat covered her forehead catching strands of hair like a spider’s web and she held the test results in her clenched fist. She held on so tight her knuckles started to pale. It was as though she just couldn’t let go, as if letting go would mean acceptance and she just wasn’t ready for that quite yet.

Mari didn’t pick herself up off the floor until she heard the others come home. As noiselessly as possible, she washed her face as Olivia, Monse and Jasmine headed to hers and Olivia’s shared room. Desperate not to make a sound, she rinsed the foul taste from her mouth as Ruby pitched his new business idea to Jamal.

As an avid reader of magazines (although she usually skipped right to the horoscopes) it was hard not to see all the pregnancy horror stories; how people never quite lost the weight, their bodies were never quite the same, the way the post-natal depression brought them down despite their months of excitement. No matter what she chose, to keep it or not, she would be irrevocably changed, mind and body.

Maybe it was shallow to even think it, but she was just eighteen and she was only starting to feel confident in her body. She thanked Oscar for that, but now that confidence was being taken from her, too.

She wasn’t ready for this, any of this. Here she was, hiding in a bathroom too afraid to step outside and face her friends and family just in case they figured it out. If other people knew then she had to face it and she couldn’t do that, so she sat and she waited and she didn’t even care if she looked ridiculous later on when everyone was home and wondering where she had been. She just needed more time to be alone.

Well, as alone as she could be right now.

Before she had any time to process, a few things happened in rapid succession. First, only separated by a few walls, Mari heard the front door slam. The sound made her jump, but when she heard police sirens blaring, followed by Jasmine screaming, her heart began to race. Had something happened to someone while she was in here wallowing in self-pity?

And then, lastly, she heard it. The deep, rough voice that she knew too well, the voice that haunted all of her favourite daydreams. The voice that, right now, made her want to disappear. What was Oscar doing here?

Instinctively, her body stilled. If he knew she was here…she wasn’t ready to face him, not like this. Her eyes were red from crying all morning, she still felt nauseous (and she was sure her breath was terrible), and her shoulders were slumped like she just didn’t have the energy to try anymore.

This wasn’t how she wanted to see him. He was sure to see the test results, if not he definitely couldn’t miss the pregnancy test. He would know in an instant. Not to mention she would have to explain why she didn’t wait for him on Halloween. She would have to tell him, again, that she just couldn’t take the rejection, that she wanted more. And then she would have to stand there and take the rejection anyway and she just couldn’t do that.

What she hadn’t realised was that while she was here, hoping to any god that would listen that she wouldn’t have to see him, she had stopped trying to listen to what was going on outside. But by the time she had realised it, it was already too late.

She heard that gruff voice ask “where can I take this?”

“There’s no one in the bathroom,” Ruby responded.

Shit, she thought, wondering if there was any possible way for her to get out of this.

But there wasn’t, and the gods were not on her side as the bathroom door opened and Oscar stepped inside.

Mari’s heart caught in her throat as she pushed back against the anxiety that was flooding her veins and held her breath. Her heard was hammering so hard and fast against her ribcage she wondered if he could hear it, but he didn’t seem to notice her immediately.

“Sí, sí, me ocuparé de eso. Estaré allí,” he said into the phone. Mari used his brief moment of distraction as an opportunity to just…look at him. Thick, tanned arms glistened with sweat, his brow furrowed and his dimples were still visible, even when he wasn’t smiling. This man was beautiful and, like the naive girl she had always been, Mari was falling in love with him.

And then, like he could sense her thoughts, he turned around and he saw her. He kept the phone pressed to his ear but the way his features softened as he saw her said he was no longer listening. All Oscar cared about right now was the state that she was in; her eyes were red from crying, her hair was a mess and she looked far too pale. Still, he was happy to see her.

“Let me call you back,” he said to whoever was on the other line and promptly hung up the phone, not bothering to wait for a response. Turning his body to fully face her, he took a couple of tentative steps toward her; enough to be closer, but not enough to penetrate her personal space, just in case she didn’t want him there.

A beat passed between them, as though the universe was giving them a moment to breathe before the whirlwind started again.

Breaking the silence, Oscar murmured a small “hey,”

Mari looked up at him beneath her thick, tear-dampened lashes and uttered a small “hi,” in response. She cursed the way her voice broke, she hated looking weak in front of Oscar. But she wasn’t ready for him to talk yet - if he talked he was going to ask questions and she would have to answer them, so she asked first. “What are you doing here?”

Oscar gestured to the door and said, as though it was supposed to answer anything, “lockdown,”

“And you just ended up locked in my house?”

“One of the homies were shot. Cesar wasn’t answering his phone, thought he might be here,” he glanced down at the floor and added, “and I hoped I’d run into you,”

Her heart stopped beating for just a moment. Did he just say that? Did Oscar Diaz, feared Santo, just admit that he came here, at least partially, to see her? What on earth was this man trying to do to her?

“You weren’t there” he continued, “the other night, when I got back,”

She sighed, “I…”

She what? She was scared of her feelings, ashamed that she had cheated on Trey, guilty that she didn’t feel guilty about it. There was nothing she could say that would make the situation any better, so she did what she was best at and deflected the question.

“What would you have said if I had stayed?” She asked, her voice growing louder as she feigned defence while desperately hoping he would be honest and just tell her.

He took another step closer.

“I’ll tell you when you answer me,” he countered. It was times like these that Mari wished he didn’t know her so well.

She slumped and ran a hand through her hair, avoiding his gaze. “I was scared, okay? Shocking, I know. But I had just cheated on a really, really good guy with someone who has made it clear he doesn’t want anything more and I…Oscar, I still want more, okay? I was in a bad place and I just couldn’t deal with you telling me no again,”

“What if I wasn’t gonna say no this time?” He said it so soft she thought she was hearing things, but when she looked up into those sparkling brown eyes she knew he was telling the truth. “I was gonna say that I want you. That I hated seeing you cry over some douchebag who doesn’t deserve to touch you and that I liked being the one to make you feel good again. I don’t care what your family or the cholos have to say about it; I want the same thing you do, mami,”

She couldn’t believe her ears. Any other day she would’ve been over the moon to hear this but today…today it felt like one more thing she couldn’t have. It wouldn’t be fair to bring him into this, so she couldn’t accept what he was telling her. For one, she had to be the one to break his heart.

“I can’t,” she didn’t look at him as she stood, “I’m sorry but I can’t be with you,”

Oscar’s fist clenched at his side and he squeezed his eyes shut as though wishing it away would undo the words she had just said. He couldn’t be hearing this, not when he just let her in for the first time.

“Mariana,” he breathed, his voice almost pleading, “if this is because of how I-”

“Trust me, Oscar, this isn’t about you,” she made for the door but a pair of hands on her waist stopped her. He pulled her into him and wrapped his arms around her, holding her there even if it was only for one last time.

Mari couldn’t do it. She couldn’t stand here and let him hold her like everything was the same because it wasn’t. Her life was about to change and she wasn’t the same girl she was yesterday. So, mustering all of her strength and willpower, she placed her fists on his chest and pushed - forgetting all about the test results that were still in her hand.

Oscar frowned at the paper she was holding, noting the name of a medical clinic on the header.

“What’s that?” He asked with a nod. Mari shot away from him and hid the results behind her back, like that would erase them from his mind.

It didn’t, and Oscar wasn’t having it. He lunged forward and reached behind her, snatching the paper from her hands before she could even think to stop him.

“Oscar!” She cried, reaching out for him, but it was no use. The moment his soft features contorted into a look of shock and hurt and anger, Mari knew it was too late.

And then the lights went out.

She was almost grateful that she couldn’t see the look on his face because that look had cut deep into her soul and she felt like she was bleeding out. He was angry. Her life was being flipped upside down, and he was angry.

“Fuck, Mari,” he hissed in the darkness, “were you even going to tell me about this?”

Oh, that's why he was angry. Of course, he thought he got her pregnant and then had the nerve to be pissed about it.

Why did things like this keep happening to her? Why was it that she was always having to bear the consequences of other people’s actions? Anxiety at the hands of her mother’s abuse, starvation due to her mother’s addiction, and now this. She was sick of it.

With a bitter laugh, Mari fought back tears.

“Well you don’t have to worry, Spooky,” she spat, “the baby isn’t yours,”

All of a sudden he was standing barely an inch from her, she felt the warmth of his body, could smell the cigar on his breath. Mari didn’t need to see his face to know how it looked, she could tell from the way his shoulders tensed and his breath came out in short puffs. If she could see him, she’d say that his brow was probably knitted together, his nostrils flared and his lips pressed together in a tight line.

“See that don’t make no sense to me, Mariana, because I know you didn’t fuck Trey,” his voice was deep and thick with refrained anger. Her body shook; not because she was scared of him but because she knew was going to be forced to tell the truth, to face her past and let someone else in on it. “And you said I was the first guy that...”

He looked away, his words trailing off as though the mere thought of someone else touching her rendered him unable to speak.

And then, with as much strength and bravado, as she could muster despite her hammering heart and icy veins, Mari spoke for him.

“My mother’s boyfriend,” she said, her voice much smaller than she had hoped it would be, “He raped me. That’s why I left, why I came here. I’m sorry if I wanted to convince myself that that didn’t count,”

Once again she found herself glad that he couldn’t see her because her chest constricted and tears sprung to her eyes. She said it.

She said it.

It was real.

It happened and she couldn’t repress those memories anymore.

Her lungs burned as she gasped for air. A small light came from somewhere beside her but she barely registered it as her vision blurred. And then she was in Oscar’s arms again, but this time she didn’t fight it. This time, she let her arms wind around his middle and she sobbed into his chest.

Oscar’s hand gently ran through her hair. He wanted to say something, anything to make her hurting stop, but he knew there was nothing he could say. All he could do was hold her, and he was more than happy to do that.

They stood like that for a while, silently wrapped up in each other with only the light of the flashlight from Oscar’s phone. Eventually, Mari stopped crying. When she had calmed down a little more, she sat atop the closed toilet lid, Oscar only leaving the bathroom to get her a glass of water.

“You gonna keep it?” He asked, well aware that it was none of his business, but wanting to be there for her regardless. He knew her better than she thought he did, better than anyone knew her, and she wouldn’t tell anyone if she wasn’t pushed to it. And if she didn’t tell anyone, it would destroy her.

Mari shrugged. “I don’t know. I made an appointment anyway, for two weeks. Doc said that’s as much time as I have to decide,”

“You know,” he said, resting his hands atop hers as he crouched to her level. The last thing he wanted to do was intimidate her, and though she wasn’t usually scared of him, she was vulnerable right now and he didn’t want to trigger any alarms that may be lying dormant in the back of her mind. “I’m still in this, Mari,”

Lifting her chin, Mari looked up to meet his deep brown eyes. Her gaze trained on his, she searched for the lie she had convinced herself he was telling. He couldn’t mean it, could he? And if he did, she couldn’t let him. Just because her own life was ruined didn’t mean she had to drag him down with her.

Releasing a shaky breath and a shake of her head, she said “I never wanted any of this. I never wanted you caught up in my mess,”

The corner of his lips twitched up into a smirk (the kind that was teasing yet genuine and never failed to make her insides melt) and he gave a half-shrug.

“Too bad, I’m caught. I’m gonna be here for you every step of the way, okay? I’m not about to let you deal with this alone,”

No, she refused to burden him with this. “Oscar, as much as I appreciate it, I can take care of myself,”

“No doubt, mami, I know you can,” his smirk grew to a wide, exuberant grin. “But you aren’t just looking out for yourself anymore; now you gotta take care of someone else. I have a little experience with that. And I meant what I said before, I want in, nena. It’s gonna take more than a kid to scare me off, Mariana,”

And he meant every word.

Oscar had spent so long being afraid of the things she made him feel. He wasn’t about to waste any more time that he could be spending with her; Mariana Martinez was the one thing in this damned world that made him feel truly happy, he wasn’t willing to lose that feeling.

Slowly, Mari broke into a smile as his words sunk in - Oscar wanted this, wanted her. Without a second thought, she leaned in and captured his lips. Her hands found the back of his neck while his arms snaked around her waist. He pulled her closer into him and allowed her legs to wind around his torso as he grabbed her by the thighs.

Oscar stood, lips still on hers, Mari still wrapped around him without even an inch of space between them. This. This was that happy feeling he was thinking about earlier - the taste of cherry lipgloss and the weight of being a Santo lifted from his shoulders and her curls falling around his face and just, for once, he wasn’t Spooky. With her, he was just Oscar.

And then the lights came back on.

Breaking the kiss, Mari smiled up at him. Oscar smiled back and ran the tip of his nose softly against the bridge of hers.

And then his phone buzzed and it was back to reality, but the dream wasn’t over - they both knew this was far from the end.

With an almost inaudible sigh, Oscar checked his phone.

“It’s Santos stuff,” he said, “I gotta head out,”

Mari nodded. She understood that she couldn’t always be his priority, but it still felt good to know she was one.

“Go,” she offered a smile as she gestured to the door. Oscar couldn’t seem to control his smile as he pressed another kiss to her cheek. It wasn’t often that Mari had the chance to see this side of him, the side that was pure joy, but she loved it.

As she watched him turn his back to leave, all her old insecurities crept back up to the surface. They had been in this position before - happy and kissing and seemingly on the same page, and then he leaves and all of a sudden they’re in completely different books. She couldn’t let this end the same.

“Wait, Oscar,” she called. Without hesitation, Oscar turned back at the sound of her voice. “We’re together, right? I mean, I…it sounds stupid, I know, I just kinda gotta hear it,”

Oscar smiled once more, that deep, dimpled smile, and he nodded. “Yeah, mami. You my girl,”

Her face lit up in a smile that rivalled his own and she crossed the room to kiss him just one more time.

“Just do me one favor; don’t mention it yet. I want the Martinezes to hear it from me first,”

“You got it, nena,”

With one last kiss to her forehead, he was gone. But Mari didn’t mind, because he was hers, and he would be back.

Mari snickered as she heard Spooky yell “y’all messed up!” There was a certain amusement in his tone, a light to his voice that Mari loved being the cause of.

She waited a few more minutes until all the commotion died down before she finally left the bathroom. As she did, she felt like some of the fog that’d been blurring her mind finally cleared. In all honesty, she didn’t know exactly where she was going from here but she wasn’t feeling as lost as she was before.

Maybe it was the rose-coloured glasses she was seeing the world from at the moment, maybe he was just always on her mind, but for whatever reason, when a knock sounded at the front door Mari was sure that it would be Oscar. After all, who else could it be?

Boy, was she wrong.

Because standing there, on the other side of the door, was her mother and the man that haunted all of her nightmares.

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#on my block #on my block fanfiction #Oscar diaz #Oscar diaz imagine #spooky #spooky diaz

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