#a surprise in like two hours whenever my queue spits it out :)

[warmfuzzyanimal]

my wrist is so aggravated today that i can barely do anything, so i'm going to scan one (1) sketch that i'd normally only post to patreon to share bc the devil in my brain makes fun of me when i don't post art

[nevertheless-moving]

Star Wars AU #20: MacenJar AU

Inspired by this meme and with permission from @simpskywalker

This au is dedicated to everyone who told me that this concept ‘gave them a headache’ or ‘psychic damage’. Especially that special someone who begged me to ‘please stop’ because ‘i hate this, i hate this so much’ and told me ‘please don’t say more words about this.’

Crack Lies Ahead, enough to consume a man. I have spoken.

“Ani. Ani. Anakin Skywalker.”

“Hmm?” The dulcet sounds of Padme calling his name dragged Anakin from sleep against his will. 

“Anakin, you have to get up.”

He groaned, rolling over. “...here’s my face...I’ll...be awake in a second...just sit down...I’m awake...”

“No, Anakin you have to leave, remember. You have a 5 AM take-off scheduled, and you made me promise I would get you up early this time, come on.”

She cruelly yanked the covers away. He gasped in betrayal. 

“My own wife...how could you.”

“Anakin if you’re not out of bed in the next 30 seconds the next time you beg to stay the night because ‘you can get up early, you swear’ I am kicking you out before anyone sits anywhere near anyone’s face, do you understand.”

He sat bolt upright and stumbled out of bed. “Ok, Ok, I’m up I- Padme!”

“Yes?” She asked sweetly, brushing her hair at the vanity. 

“It’s 3 AM!”

“Yes I know, you were going to stop at that bakery I recommended, remember?”

“You woke me up an hour and half early so I could stop at a bakery,” he asked, disbelieving.

“Yes, Anakin, it was your idea. It was going to be your cover, in case anyone wondered what you were doing in the building.”

“That is-” before he could call it the stupidest idea he had ever heard, the memory of promising Padme that staying the night was a good idea because it would facilitate his cunning ruse (he was distracted, ok? Padme was wearing a lot of layers) came rushing back.

“-right,” he finished lamely.

Padme just hummed and began braiding in her cosmetic forcefields. 

Anakin managed to stretch, complete his morning refresher run, and arrange his robes in a suitably decorous fashion by the time Padme had established the base layer of her hairstyle for the day.

A quick kiss- no goodbye, it hurt too much to say goodbyes in war - and Anakin was out the door. 

He idly scratched his chin, vacantly looking out the lift and vaguely considering growing a beard. The pre-dawn view was quickly replaced by metal walls as the ride dropped below the skyline.

The transparisteel pod began to slow scarcely one third of the way down. Anakin suppressed a groan and tried to arrange his expression in Jedi-stoic manner, hoping that whoever got in the lift with him would be too intimidated by seeing a Jedi close-up to think about what they were doing in a Senatorial Apartment building at 3:15 in the morning. If they ask, I’m visiting the famous Bebbisun Bakery. Bennison? BELLASAN. I’m visiting the Bellasan Bakery.

Actually, anyone getting into the elevator this early was probably also doing the walk of shame so it’s probably fi-KRIFFING SITH SPIT THAT��S

“Master Windu!” Anakin cleared his throat, trying to lower his voice an octave. “Good- Good Morning!”

Windu’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. “Ah. Knight Skywalker. Good morning to you as well,” he replied, stepping in the elevator, doors closing behind.

The lift descended as Anakin’s heart rate skyrocketed. This was it. Windu had to be here for Anakin. What other possible explanation could there be? WHY WASN’T HE SAYING ANYTHING?

Wait.

What other possible explanation...could...why wasn’t he saying ANYTHING?

Anakin scrutinized Master Windu out of the corner of his eye. Were those...the same robes he was wearing yesterday? They looked like the same robes but then again...pretty much all robes looked the same so this was probably a stupid way to figure things out. Fuck, it was too early for this.

Unsurprisingly, he couldn’t get a sense of the Master’s surface emotions. But his underlying aura seemed...happy? Typically Windu's serene presence had a tinge of righteous fury (something that had frightened him back when he was a child). But now that ever present vaapad edge was... softened? Anakin wracked his tired brain for a more reasonable explanation than- than the obvious but obviously impossible. He had to projecting. Right? Then again...couplings weren’t forbidden (even if Anakin couldn’t quite understand how people enjoyed just- having sex without any attachment).

The corners of Anakin’s lips twitched. The Master of the Order. Getting laid. Master Windu. In the Senatorial apartments. Mace Windu. What level had he gotten on? Above aides...diplomats probably. Should he ask? Force, this was too good- he couldn’t not ask.

Windu stared at him cooly and the knight instantly sobered. What was he thinking? Windu was obviously trying to trick him! If he said anything, Windu would turn it against him! Well, he wouldn’t be fooled so easily. Anakin spent the next several levels of descent staring forward, determined not to be the one to break the silence. 

He was so focused that he didn’t notice the lift slowing prematurely again until the doors opened; an elderly Rodian hobbled in. The two Jedi moved even further apart to allow the man some space.  The lift closed and newcomer glanced at the humans curiously. 

“Aren’t you Jedi? What are two Jedi doing here so early?”

“Bakery,” Mace and Anakin responded in unison, heads snapping to stare at the other in surprise.

The Rodian chuckled. “Oh, that Bellasan place, right?”

“Yes,” Windu replied smoothly. “They have a famously unique caf blend.”

“And you can’t get Sweesonberry rolls anywhere else,” Anakin added quickly, not letting the opportunity to firm up his cover go to waste.

“You mammals and your carbohydrates,” The elderly reptilian clucked, bemused.

Knight Skywalker and Master Windu exchanged wary looks. The door pinged open on level 4848. 

“Enjoy!” the overly entertained Rodian called out as they stepped out from the closing doors.

Anakin cleared his throat. “After you, Master Windu,” he said politely. CHECKMATE FUCKER.

But Windu just nodded serenely, striding confidently ahead, past the checkpoints and into the attached upper-crust market. After a very short walk, Anakin found himself in line behind Mace Windu at a pastry shop in the basement of his wife’s apartment building.

Anakin blearily thought that sentence through again, then subtly pinched the inside of his arm.

Nope, he was awake.

Every second that passed Anakin had to fight the steadily increasing urge to blurt out something stupid, and possibly incriminating, if not both. Just say something bland! Nothing about why they’re both here so early. Nothing about coming here before. Something casual.

“Smells good,” Anakin said.

Nailed it!

“Indeed,” Mace replied.

I’m a genius! He actually thinks I’m here for the bakery! He’s never going to suspect a thing! He was probably here for some boring pre-dawn meeting, and now I’ve got the perfect excuse to come visit Padme whenever! I can probably start sneaking off more often, I’ve just got to remember to bring back a pasty or something. And he can’t even say shit about un-Jedi like consumption!

“Skywalker-”

Oh no. Please be about the bakery. Pleasebeaboutthe

“Believe me when I tell you that I’d rather not ask-”

Oh NO. THIS ISN’T GOING TO BE ABOUT THE BAKERY. I’M AN IDIOT.

“-But did you fly here in a temple speeder?”

Cold sweat started to trickle down Anakin’s back as they shuffled forward automatically in the surprisingly long queue. Guess that’s why Padme woke me up so early.

“Knight Skywalker? Did you hear me?”

“Yes, Master Windu, sorry- I was, uh, distracted by the specials board. I, um, have my own hoverbike. Built it myself. No temple resources involved.”

“Sounds...distinctive.” Windu’s tone seemed neutral, but the way he pinched the bridge of his nose was obviously irritated. They stepped forward again. Why are so many people at this bakery so early? Guess we’re far enough down that day/night cycles don’t matter so much. Oh kriff, he’s massaging his temples now. Why is he mad about the bike? Is he going to ask where I landed it? Fuck.

Anakin swallowed the lump in his throat. “I- I thought it would be better to take personal property. Since this isn’t exactly order business.”

“That’s very responsible of you. Such...separation of personal from professional is an important skill for a Jedi.” 

The trickle of sweat down his spine increased. The Chosen One discretely wiped his sweaty palms on the inside of his sleeves and prayed that his outer robe was hiding any growing pit stains. 

Are we...actually talking about this? Is he going to admit to having an affair? Is he going to tell me to keep this quiet? I CAN BARELY KEEP MY OWN RELATIONSHIP SECRET! Does he know about Padme? Does he know we’re married? Is this conversation still about the bakery visit? Is HE married?

“However...such a vehicle might not be the most discrete. And discretion is also an important skill.”

Is he giving me permission to use the temple landspeeders to visit padme? Is he telling me to take the bus? WAIT! IS THIS A METAPHOR? Is he telling me to come here less? Is this still about the bakery? Did I actually check that I wasn’t still asleep or did I just dream that I checked?

“Do you understand, Knight Skywalker”

“I- uhh. I mean- well, ummm- OH look, it’s your turn to order!”

Master Windu stepped up to the counter. 

“Hello, again! Same as last time?”

OH FORCE GODS HE’S A REGULAR. THIS IS IT. I’M NEVER GOING TO GET TO SEE OBI-WAN OR ASHOKA AGAIN AND PADME’S CAREER IS GOING TO BE RUINED AND

“The same blend please, but please add on one of your Sweesonberry rolls- a friend recommended them.”

...Did Mace Windu just call me his friend?

“Excellent choice! Your friend has good taste!”

Mace Windu stepped to the side and Anakin Skywalker stepped up. “...I’ll have what he had.” 

A minute or two later, they were walking back to the lift, matching disposamugs and flimsibags in hand. 

To try and delay the inevitable, the pale and now very sweaty young Jedi took a sip of caf. He raised both brows involuntary. “This is...really good. Holy kriff. I don’t usually drink caf for the flavor but...wow.”

“Worth the trip?” Windu asked. Anakin choked a little but successfully managed to swallow. He took another sip to avoid answering. 

Windu took a bite of his roll, making a small noise of appreciation, “The pastry is also excellent. I don’t have much of a sweet tooth but this is remarkably smooth...I can’t say I’ve ever had anything quite like it.”

“Floral, right?” Anakin said, grinning into his cup. 

“Yes, that’s a good description.” Ha! I told Padme I was paying attention.

They drank companionably as the lift indicator dinged closer. 

“Skywalker...you’re parked on 4970, right?”

The knight nodded, too afraid to speak. The force seemed to swirl at the precipice of something. 

The Master sighed. “Look- I’ve got an unregistered van- this one time only, stow the speeder, and I’ll give you a ride back. If you’re visiting the bakery in the future- please take something with a closed cab. Last thing we need is the tabloids wondering where you’re going...”

Anakin nodded again, more eagerly again. He was practically being given permission to visit Padme! That was totally worth an excruciatingly awkward flight back to the temple! He just had to chew slowly so he couldn’t blurt out anything marriage related! He was a genius!

The lift opened.

“Jar-Jar!” Anakin said, surprised and pleased. “Wow, are you also here for the bakery? This place really is popular!”

“Ani! Little Ani! Wassa you doin here?” Jar-Jar looked around wildly, then stumbled out, foot catching at the gap. Windu darted forward and effortlessly saved the Gungan before he hit the floor, while Anakin stuck his arm forward to catch the closing door.

“Bakery, Jar Jar!” he said as he stepped inside. “I’d love to talk, but we’ve actually got to get back to the temple!”

Windu struggled to untangle himself from Jar-Jar, who was being particularly unhelpful about it, even for him. Wow he’s even clingier than usual this early in the morning. It’s nice how patient Master Windu is being; I feel like even Obi-Wan can be too hard on Jar-Jar sometimes.

“Actually Skywalker, why don’t you go on ahead and stow the bike- I just remembered I meant to pick something up for Council; I won’t take long.”

“Uh. Alright,” Anakin said, catching the keys. I guess I can’t really be late if I arrive with Master Windu.

“Ossa no!” Jar-Jar exclaimed sadly. “I was justa saying to Macey lassa night thatsa I missed talkin wit little Ani!”

Anakin smiled reassuringly as the lift began to close. “Don’t worry Jar-Jar! We’ll- catch uh-HOLD ON did you say LAST NIGHT?!”

Mace’s eyes closed in resignation as the door shut on the pair, Jar-Jar still tangled around the Jedi.

AND MACE WASN’T EVEN TRYING TO PUT HIM BACK UPRIGHT ANYMORE HOLY KRIFF JUST PUT THAT TOGETHER.

Anakin stared blankly at the metal walls as they rushed past. The lone Jedi Knight took a long sip of caff, then carefully placed the pastry bag and drink on the floor. He systematically wadded up the sleeve of his robe and shoved in his mouth. He then spent the next few minutes squealing with unholy glee while literally bouncing off the walls in a manner only accessible to a force sensitive in an elevator. He was still panting slightly when the lift opened on the primary parking level.

We can double date! Padme and I can host! I can help Mace and Jar-Jar plan their wedding! We can reform the order to allow for romantic love! I can be Jar-Jar’s best man! Padme and I can have another ceremony and Obi-Wan can give me away while Mace officiates and  and then we’ll all have sweesonbury cake and Jar-Jar can help teach our kids how to swim! 

With those dreamy thoughts running through his mind, it was child’s work to follow the the force to the unremarkable hovervan. He was humming to himself when Master Windu opened the door. 

He beamed at the older Jedi. Windu scowled in reply. Anakin smiled wider, unintimidated. He genuinely liked the Gungan, but anyone who could spend hours with Jar-Jar had to have a soft side.

“You know, Jar-Jar is a long time friend of Senator-”

“No.” Windu cut the eager words brusquely. 

Anakin shrank back, a little hurt.

(Maybe a lot hurt.)

Mace glanced over at the obviously crestfallen young General and sighed before amending his words.

“Not- Not right now, alright? Maybe if you’re miraculously more discrete about this than you are about your affection for Senator Amidala, then we can talk, understood?”

Anakin nodded with absolute determination, glimmering images of fairytale weddings visible once more. Distant, perhaps- but the chance was worth any amount of tongue biting. Now that there was a real, possible future where he could have it all, now that he knew Windu had a heart somewhere under his robes- he could be patient. 

He could be very patient.

Anakin calmed his grin down to a smaller, more Jedi-like smile, taking a sip of the cool but still really good caf. He channeled Obi-Wan’s most neutral diplomatic grace.

“Thank you for the ride, Master Windu. I appreciate it.”

Windu gave him an approving glance. “You’re more than welcome, Knight Skywalker.”

Feeling bold, he continued on with his best non-mocking impression of Obi-Wan.

"Have you had a chance to read the latest report on helmet redesigns? I think they might really improve peripheral vision without compromising concussive resistance.”

Mace hummed thoughtfully. “I have. I’m somewhat concerned about deploying such a radical change mid-campaign. Even better gear requires an adjustment period, and I’d rather minimize needless deaths while the troops readjust to hud flow.”

“Yes, that’s a reasonable concern, I was talking to Captain Rex-”

They spent the remainder of the flight chatting comfortably about troop safety and absentmindedly eating (or possibly stress eating in response to the prolonged absence of interpersonal conflict) the box of pastries Mace had picked up. When they arrived at the temple, they divvied up the remainder between them, quietly agreeing that there weren’t enough to share anyway. 

They continued their conversation, Master Windu accompanying him to the orbital loading bay. 

Obi-Wan rushed over in alarm at the sight of them approaching. “Anakin, there you are- I was starting to wonder if you’d make it. Terribly sorry Master Windu- I hope he wasn’t too much of a bother-”

“He’s not your padawan anymore, you don’t have to apologize for him. Though I do appreciate the reflex.”

“I suppose the concern isn’t completely baseless.” Anakin said, tone deliberately mildly. Mace chuckled slightly and Obi-Wan took a step back, slightly frightened by the sudden camaraderie. Anakin pretended to take a sip from his now empty disposamug to avoid fist pumping the air or cheering.

“I- Yes well- the important thing is you’re here in time for departure. What- what is that in the bag.”

Moment of Truth. Don’t freak out. Focus. Prove you can be discrete, THEN double dates, THEN Jedi Wedding Ceremony.

“Sweesonbury Roll,” Anakin answered placidly. He pretended to take another sip of caf. “Master Windu was kind enough to give me a ride from the bakery.”

“That’s- I’m sorry, what?” Anakin bit the inside of cheek to keep himself from reacting to Obi-Wan’s palpable bewilderment.

“I had to double back and get more, but we came straight here after,” Mace added helpfully, with zero hint of intentional mischief. “Oh and Skywalker- you can call me Mace if we’re not discussing temple business.”

Anakin SCREAMED (internally, of course). Outwardly, he simply bowed politely. “And you’re welcome to call me Anakin, of course.”

He deliberately avoided looking directly at Obi-Wan, his former Master’s bug-eyed reaction already pushing him to the edge, even just visible as it was out of the corner of his eye.

Windu nodded in return. “Safe travels you two. May the force with you.”

“And with you.” Anakin replied.

“May the force be with you,” Obi-Wan rushed to say, after a short delay.

Master Windu turned and exited the cargo bay doors. Anakin threw out the mug in a nearby bin, pulling out a roll and biting into it before turning to face Obi-Wan. They made eye-contact, each waiting for the other to break first. Usually that would be Anakin, but he had goals now. The Knight chewed. His Master’s eyes narrowed. The older man (who may have aged significantly in the last 5 minutes) finally broke.

“Who are you?”

Anakin just sighed, maintaining the Kenobi impression. “Come on Master, we don’t want to keep the troops waiting.” With that, he walked forward, hiding his smile as Obi-Wan followed closely at his heels. 

“Since when does my apprentice visit bakeries with Mace Windu?” Obi-Wan asked, almost desperately.

“You’re making it sound like a bigger deal than it is.” 

Master Kenobi sputtered as the pair opened the airlock for the short-range shuttle. 

Anakin mustered up an earnest smile. “Master? Would you mind flying- I’m still eating and-”

Obi-Wan made an incoherent noise of horrified outrage before fumbling for his communicator. 

“What are you doing?”

“NOTHING IS MAKING SENSE RIGHT NOW. EITHER YOU AND MACE NEED TO GO TO THE HEALING HALLS OR I DO!”

Anakin burst out laughing. “Relax Obi-Wan, I’m messing with you, holy shit. Obviously I’m flying.”

Obi-Wan slumped into the co-pilot seat, rubbing at his eyes. “Don’t do that Anakin! My nerves are stretched thin enough by the war as it is-”

“Sorry, Sorry!”

They strapped in and took off, Anakin still chuckling occasionally, Obi-Wan scowling in irritation each time. 

They ascended above the towering skyline alongside the first rays of sunlight.

“So you didn’t go to a bakery with Master Windu this morning?”

“Uhh-”

[yuzukult]

effortlessly pt. 2 || jungkook & reader

title: effortlessly pairing: jungkook x reader genre: fluff, romance, school!au, smut (not in this chapter) words: ~3.0k notes: this fic might be longer or shorter than planned, i have no idea what i’m planning for this so...... yeah, figured i should drop something before i drown myself bc i have finals for my online summer semester ;u;

o young love, how i wish i could go back in time // also it’s not edited yet, i usually proofread about 5x because i have the worse eyesight and i read too fast :D series: part one || part two || part three || part four || part five || part six || part seven || part eight || part nine || part ten || epilogue 

The chlorine from the school’s pool overwhelms your senses, triggering you to sneeze a couple times into the crook of your arm. “Bless you!”

Lifting your head to meet your gaze with the owner of the words, you see Jungkook standing before you, swimming cap in one hand and a towel in the other, tousling his hair dry. He doesn’t have a shirt on, just his bathing trunks that hang loosely on his hips, and you swear that if he wasn’t preoccupied, he would’ve seen the drool coming from the corner of your mouth.

“Uh, thanks.”

“You came.” He grins, plopping his wet body onto the bench beside you as you grimace at the water from his trunks splattering at you. “I kind of thought I scared you away earlier.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” You say, feigning ignorance. “You told me the other day you wanted me to come by after practice and here I am.”

“You know what I’m talking about. That ‘crush’ conversation.” 

You roll your eyes at him, pushing him away playfully. “I thought I told you it was Yura with the crush.” Jungkook shakes his head in dismissal, clicking his tongue in unison. “I’ve known you your entire life. You’re telling me that I can’t tell when you’re lying?”

“No, but—” He’s leaning close, his soaked fringe dripping onto your skin, goosebumps forming on your arms. “What?”

“Just trying to get a better read on you.” The proximity between you and Jungkook is small, so small that you don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath the entire time until he backs away and you let out a deep exhale. “W-What for?” You manage to respond.

“What do you think about us... doing it again?” 

He’s not looking at you this time, hands running through his drenched locks, eyes never leaving the concrete ground. The question startles you. For one, Jungkook was being shy. He never seemed to hide things from you before but that assumption was proven wrong when you saw the girl he brought him the other day. Jungkook didn’t even hesitate to call you up when he just took the biggest shit or even when he picked the longest booger. Why was he suddenly acting bashful?

“... again?” You reiterate, hands clutching onto the bench. “You want to do what again?”

“Uh... sleep together.”

“Jeon, we always sleep together. I don’t understand why you’re being weird—“

“No,” he sighs frustratedly at himself, knowing his question was unclear while slouching over in his seat. “When I say sleep together, I meant have sex again. I feel like I fucked up our first time together and I want to make up for it.”

Oh. Was that all? After the incident, you’d been as emotionally intelligent as you could, pushing to the back of your mind the fact that you’re so in love with Jeon Jungkook and you’ve both had his first kiss and virginity— for him, likewise. How yes, these things were far from perfect but to you, it was perfect because it was with him. That’s all that mattered.

“You don’t need to make up for anything. It was good! You took care of me and made sure I was okay. Apparently, it hurts like hell but you made it bearable.”

“I... really want to try again. What if we try teaching each other so that when the time comes and we meet someone, we’re ready?”

By the time we meet someone. The words burned in your heart, hissing as the pain clenched your chest. You knew that you didn’t want to meet ‘someone,’ you just wanted Jungkook. Just then, the girl comes to mind.

“Is it about that girl?” Jungkook’s head shoots in your direction, brows crinkled in confusion. “What girl?”

You’re chewing your bottom lip anxiously, waving your hanging legs above the ground. “I saw you bring a girl home the other day. Is it about her?”

Jungkook’s expression doesn’t change for a moment before an ‘ah’ escapes his mouth with the memory. “You mean Dahyun? I’m tutoring her in my free time. I needed some money. What? Are you jealous?” His lips tug in a mischievous smile; he’s genuinely enjoying the way your face contorts into realization, his heart warm at the idea of you wary of someone else capturing his attention. 

“No.” You quickly mutter under your breath, a bit annoyed with yourself for letting your emotions get to you so quickly. This was Jungkook you were talking about here— the one guy who could pretty much land a date with any girl at your school, yet he’s over here playing games with you instead. It’s no surprise that he’s teasing you again but you’re wishing he was serious.

“How many times do I have to tell you that you’re the only girl in my life?” 

You shove him off the bench, rolling your eyes. “Why did you want me here again?” He’s on the floor, a hearty laugh roaring from his chest. He’s effortlessly handsome like this and it’s no wonder that you’ve fallen for him. 

“I think you should reconsider my question and let me know when you’re ready. But besides that,” Jungkook is getting off of the solid ground, rubbing his bottom in the process. “I want you to come to my swim meet this Friday. You’re my good luck charm and I can’t win without you.”

“Why do I feel like those one of girls who are hopelessly in love with him?” You grumble into your arms, rubbing your hands into your face dishearteningly. “I feel so stupid, falling for his charms and everything. You know what he said to me again today?”

Yura’s in the process of shoving the cheesy goodness of tteokbokki into her mouth, sauce spilling out on the sides of her lips. She always had the biggest appetite and ate messily but it never stopped the queue of men standing outside her locker trying to shove in love letters on Valentine’s Day. Yura was a pure beauty— you always found yourself curious how the two of you became friends because you thought you weren’t as special, just average. But nonetheless, Yura had never failed to be there for you, through thick and thin, and your love for her in this friendship was almost the equivalent to what you felt for Jungkook. Except you were in love with Jungkook.

“Wha de he say?” She doesn’t even wait to finish swallowing her food, she just speaks through it, spitting some of the hot sauce onto your side of the table as you scowl in disgust. 

“Jesus, Yura, chew and swallow first.”

“Sorry,” She smiles cheekily after emptying her mouth. “What did he say?”

“How many times do I have to tell you that you’re the only girl for me? I want you to come to my swim meet this Friday. You’re my good luck charm and I can’t win without you.”

Both of Yura’s brows raise up. “Oh wow, he’s definitely smitten with you. So, when are you gonna tell him that you’re ‘hopelessly in love’ with him?”

You sigh. “I can’t. I’ll ruin our friendship.”

“You’re doing this ass backwards,” She says, shaking her head as she picks out a fish cake from the bowl. “You guys fucked and yet you think that confessing your feelings will ruin your friendship?”

Shrugging your shoulders, you exhale another deep breath of sadness. “I’m just happy with where we are. I like being the special one in his life. What if I tell him and he doesn’t reciprocate feelings?”

“Worry about it then.” She responds casually, stuffing another spoonful into her mouth. “I don’t understand why people get so scared of telling someone how they feel. You never know your opportunity until you try it. Plus, it’s Jungkook. You really think he’s going to just drop you after all these years?”

Maybe Yura was right. Well— there was no way in hell you’d let her know that because her ego would swell up and get the best of her, but she made a valid point. Jungkook doesn’t know that you like him, right? So what if he did feel something for you?

“Think about it. Has he ever had a girlfriend?”

Silent, you’re almost skimming your mental memory of any recollection of Jungkook having a relationship. “Honestly, no.”

“And he tells you everything.”

“Correct.” You answer again. 

“Don’t you feel like he’s waiting for something? Or someone in particular? You even mentioned it before, he happens to have the entire women population of this school crawling at his feet and all he does is act dumb.”

A floral square neck short sleeve crop top and blue jeans were what you decided to leave the house with for Jungkook’s swim competition but you don’t feel like yourself underneath this fabric. In actuality, you would never find yourself walking out the house in something so... fitted, opting for something more comfortable and breathable, but you knew today wasn’t a day for that. You’d gather enough courage to finally tell Jungkook that you didn’t want to be just friends anymore, you were ready to take it to the next level.

Sitting down on the bleachers of the humid arena, the stench of chlorine attacks your sense of smell again. You could never understand what it felt like to be Jungkook— he lived for the aroma of the water entering in his nostrils, the feeling of water touching his skin for hours, having so much control whenever he was in the pool. Whenever he was stressed, angry or sad, the first place you’d look for him would be here. Mediations were for some people, but swimming was for Jungkook.

He’s walking toward you, a beautiful grin spreading from ear to ear, wearing what seems to be insufferable competitive swim trunks that hug the lower half his body so tightly it could be a second layer of skin. He hasn’t worn his cap yet, but he’s holding it in his hand with his goggles, arms opened wide for you to come into his embrace.

“I’m seriously so happy you’re here. And look at you! All dressed up. Is this for me?” You scoff yet you’re already in his arms, face snuggled into his bare chest. He smelled like the water but when it’s coming from him, the scent is intoxicating.  “Why would you even expect me not to come? I’m always rooting for you and your dreams, you idiot.” 

For a brief moment, you’re standing on the sidelines with his arms wrapped around your frame and his chin resting on your head. Being with Jungkook was different, he made you feel a way that none of the guys that came into your life have made you feel. 

Summers ago, you met this handsome boy, Taehyung. He was a few years older than both you and Jungkook and a member of the same swim team as Jungkook. Taehyung was the love that you knew realistically would never like you back. He was close to graduation, prepping for the recruiters who would attend their swim competitions to see potential candidates for colleges. Girls were flaunting themselves on him just as much as Jungkook and just as similar to him, his aspirations were a priority. Those girls were put in the back burner. He’d make your heart swell in your chest, constantly bringing you snacks and checking in on you occasionally as you study on the sidelines by the pool, waiting for your best friend to finish practice. You recall telling Jungkook about your childish crush on the guy you barely knew and him responding with, “You just think he’s cute. I don’t think you really like him,” or “He’s just being nice! He’s nice to everyone. Don’t fall for his charms so quickly.”

All of your feelings for Taehyung disappeared the day he graduated, saying his goodbyes to both you and Jungkook while in his blue gown, newly dyed platinum locks disheveled underneath his cap. He ruffles Jungkook’s hair, eyes gleaming toward the younger male before saying, “Take care of yourself, will ya? And take care of the little one too. Don’t let her fall between the cracks.” With that, he left with a scholarship to swim for the college team abroad in the United States, and you haven’t heard from him since.

The whistle blows, signaling the swimmers to get in their positions, and Jungkook lets go of you and you’re suddenly feeling empty. But the look he gifts you is loving, the reflection of the sunlight hitting the pool touches his face before he’s putting on his swim cap and goggles. 

Jungkook is standing on the platform, side by side with other competitors from local high schools. Although you’ve come to almost all his practices and attended every single swim meet, you couldn’t exactly grasp onto any of the rules or the jargon but Jungkook never held that against you. He just wanted you there as his personal cheerleader, standing in the bleachers, watching him perform the greatest act as each time he does this is better than the last.

The referee blows a short series of whistles, initiating the start of the race and Jungkook dives into the water in mere milliseconds amongst the rest of the swimmers. He’s fast—incredibly fast that you’re afraid to blink because you might miss something important. 

Jungkook was placed in the freestyle 100m event; his coach evidently complimented him constantly for his ability to adapt to the time and switch the types of strokes he needed to use in order to beat anyone neck and neck with him. 

Today was no exception. Jungkook hit his first lap in third place; a technique he learned was to never overexert your strengths in the beginning because in the last portion of the race was where you want to push yourself to the fullest. The amount of videos he made you sit through the entirety of throughout your life was countless. He would plop himself in front of the television or computer for hours, observing the olympic and professional swimmers tactics because his parents couldn’t afford a private teacher for him. It wasn’t until high school that he had a real coach, someone who could dedicate their time in training and shaping Jungkook into the athlete he wanted to be. Before that, he would come to school’s indoor pool almost daily to just swim laps and test out what he watched on the internet.

His second lap was closing to its end and like every other swim meet, your stomach was doing flips. There was so much faith in Jungkook, from you, his parents, his team, but you weren’t sure how he felt about himself. He never failed to impress everyone, swooning the hearts of both males and females during these events however never once has he expressed his anxiety before a competition. He just did it because he loved it. Swimming was Jungkook’s passion.

The male next to him is close, they’re strokes away from each other to the point you can’t even tell who’s in the lead. It ends so quickly that the referee blows into his whistle before you realize as Jungkook ascends from the water, snapping off his cap and goggles as he eyes the man in the white and black striped shirt before glancing over at his opponent.

The referee grabs Jungkook’s wrist with another scream of the whistle, and excitedly, Jungkook smacks the water. He won.

Towel hanging around his neck, his eyes sparkle at the sight of you approaching after his team congratulates him eagerly on his win. If you knew better, the sight of you was his own personal win.

“Congrats, Jeon.” You say, playfully pulling on his drenched locks. “I knew you’d win. You always win.”

“I always win because you’re here.” There he goes again, tugging on your heartstrings so carelessly. “Come join us for dinner after this.”

“Only if you dedicate some alone time with me for dessert.” You have no idea what being possess you because you’re abruptly so bold. “I want to talk to you about something.”

“Oh?” He tilts his head questioningly. “Now you’re just tempting me to cancel dinner and go right to dessert. What do you want to talk about?”

“Just... stuff,” You say, pursing your lips. Before Jungkook can even say anything, another teammate comes up to him, slapping him on his buttock with a bright smile. “Look at little Kook, I’m not even surprised he even won.”

“I told you, I got myself a personal cheerleader. You should get one too.” Jungkook says, grasping onto your arm. “It’s a real energy booster when they’re cute too.”

“Oooo, maybe I can borrow your cheerleader!” His teammate teases but Jungkook clicks his tongue threateningly. “Get your own, this one is mine.” His teammate laughs before shaking his head and walking away to the rest of the group.

“I’m still curious what you’re going to say to me.” He says, turning back to direct his attention onto you. “You think you can skip waiting ‘til dessert and tell me now?”

“No.” 

“Oh, come on!” He whines and despite his height, he still can throw a tantrum like a child. “I really want to—“

“Oppa?”

The two of you divert your fixation onto the owner of the soft voice; blinking blankly, your eyes browse over the girl. You assume it’s Dahyun because her hair is down like the other day and her petite body seems familiar and you’re proven right when Jungkook calls out her name.

“What are you doing here? Don’t you have a math test tomorrow that you need to study for?”

She has a pink gift bag in her hand, butterfly and heart stickers decorated all over. The bag looks heavy with how the handles stretch to the fullest extent. You’re chewing your bottom lip now; Dahyun was going to confess and you’re unsure if Jungkook can tell.

“Can we talk in private for a moment, Oppa? I have to tell you something.”

“You can tell me here.” He gestures your presence with a grin on his face. “I don’t have anything to hide from her, she doesn’t judge so tell me what you have to say freely. And if she does judge...” Jungkook’s gaze shifts to you as he squints his eyes. “I’ll just beat her up.”

“Oppa, I think I like you. Will you go out with me?” 

[midnxghtsunwrites]

SMOKESTACKS | 16, NO MORE SURPRISES

previous post

warning: ⚠ domestic abuse ahead ⚠

FOR THE SIXTH TIME IN TWO hours, Nadine's phone blares its annoying ringtone. She could only assume that those calls are coming from the same people she's been avoiding for the past week. Nadine has managed to take the week off of work to avoid seeing Gemma and/or Jax.

Now, she's sat in a bar on a Friday night, sipping on a gin and tonic and bobbing her head to the music playing over the speakers.

She glances at her screen to see the familiar name pop up.

Jackson Teller.

She was in her feelings when she changed his name in her phone and she doesn't see herself changing it back in the near future. Honestly, she doesn't know what to do. It seems impossible to avoid these people considering everywhere she turns, someone associated with the club is in her face.

Of course, her friendship with Lyla was the only constant and based on the fact that the porn star brings up Jax in every one of their conversations, he knows it too. Does she want to just wait it out until they're tired of trying to reach out to her or does she try to make another getaway?

She just got here and she loves her job and her kids and she already can't imagine leaving them.

Guess she'll have to suck it up.

"I really can't tell if you're drunk or just vibing," The voice belongs to a black woman who'd been sitting beside Nadine for the better part of thirty minutes. She has an eyebrow raised and a glass of scotch raised to her lips, "Or both."

Nadine shakes her head in amusement, "Definitely both." Sticking a hand out, she introduces herself, "Nadine."

"Amelia." The woman shakes the teacher's hand, "Why haven't I seen you around before?"

"That is a great question," Nadine jokes as she sips her drink. She's barely tipsy, which is far from where she wants to be. The conversation continues to flow as the woman is drowned out by Nadine's phone blaring obnoxiously for the third time in ten minutes, the teacher ignoring every call.

Noting this, Amelia tilts her head in interest, "Boyfriend?"

The teacher scrunches her face at the thought, "Nope."

"Girlfriend?"

"I wish."

"Almost boyfriend?"

At Amelia's teasing tone, Nadine rolls her eyes in amusement, "Definitely not."

NADINE WAS DOWN THREE GLASSES of whiskey before she felt the effects of the alcohol on her senses. She giggles, fruitlessly as she tries to drink from her glass only to miss completely and basically pour it down her shirt.

Amelia bursts out into laughter, drunk to her ass. The women had been drowning themselves in tequila shots — for reasons they choose not to admit. Apparently, Amelia has lived in Charming her whole life — she's an OR nurse at St. Thomas's Hospital and extremely talented when it comes to her job.

Nadine didn't get much more than that.

"Oh, crap," Nadine snorts as the woody aroma from the alcohol wafts to her nostrils.

Amelia points in amusement, her eyes squinted as a loud laugh escapes her, "You smell like a bar!"

The teacher nods and leans back on her stool, almost falling on her back, "That's 'cause we're in a bar, silly!"

Staggering forward, Nadine peers through the mirrored wall behind the shelves of alcohol — the clear space allows her to look at the rest of the bar patrons behind her. She takes note of the large spot on her grey shirt and groans, exaggeratedly as she throws her head back.

Luckily, drunk Nadine still has some sort of logical reasoning, "I'll be right back — I gotta clean this up before it stains."

Amelia just tilts the rim of her glass of scotch towards the teacher and sends her a dopey smile, "Have fuuun." She sings, joyfully.

"I willll," Nadine mimics as she throws cash for the drinks on the bar counter.

Fortunately, the dark spot hadn't dried in the time it took Nadine to go through the line of women standing outside of the bathroom. A lack of stalls seemed to be the verdict for the long queue. Standing there in the bathroom, she hovers over the sink, wiping a damp paper towel over her tank top.

The stain is almost out — the woody smell being replaced by stale tap water. She should've just kept the stain there if that's the case.

Suddenly, it's like time stops. Chills run down her back and the hairs on the back of her necks rise. Goosebumps line her arms as she furrows her eyebrows. There's a sinking feeling in her gut — so deep that Nadine is knocked out of her drunken stupor and forced to grab on to the ceramic sink.

Almost as if she could predict it, there's a knock on the door. Nadine blinks profusely and calls to the person, "Someone's in here." That doesn't make the person on the other side back off — no, instead, the doorknob that was once locked is twisted and pushed open.

So much for locking the door. She ponders.

The figure that enters is tall — and so familiar. It's too dark for her to see a face but for a moment, Nadine assumes that Jax found her. She didn't put it past him considering he has so many connections that probably tipped him off and she doesn't put it past him to break down any barriers between them.

This leads her to her beginning sentence, "You don't have to check up on me, Jax. I just need time to myself."

As the figure steps closer, Nadine's breath hitches in her throat. Fuck. Tears fill her eyes as she looks upon the man that's caused her so much turmoil for two years. The man she fucking ran away from. Ezra Moore in all his mysterious obscurity stands just feet away from her.

She tries not to let her gaze shift to the pepper spray in her bag.

The man smirks, sadistically as he steps further into the room, almost steps away from his target, "This place should really get some better locks."

As his patronizing tone, Nadine jumps towards her bag on the sink, only to be shoved backward by her assailant. Her back lands against the filthy tiled wall and he holds her there, a grimey hand wrapped around her neck.

There were times when she loved to peer into those chocolate brown eyes — they used to give her a certain comfort. Now, they're the epitome of terrifying.

"What? You thought you could get away from me, you little bitch?" He growls, leaning so close into Nadine that the palm of his hand pushes into her larynx and the stench of cigarettes and nasty beer invades her senses. "No matter how far you go, what name you use, or if you change your phone — I will always fucking find you."

"Please —"

"Shut the fuck up!" He yells into her face, spit flying to land on her cheek (the way my COVID brain just threw up). "You know you can't run from me, Nadine." His voice lowers as he jerks her head to the side and leans towards her ear. His lips wrap around her lobe, bringing tears to her eyes. His grip tightens, taking her breath from her — "You've been a little slut since you left me, haven't you? Fucking Jax Teller? That little biker I've been seeing around here?"

She can't speak. She can't breathe.

Ezra doesn't care.

"Answer me!"

Whipping her head around swiftly, she shakes her head and gapes her mouth, wanting to speak but no words can make it past Ezra's tight grip. Seeing this, he loosens it for a split second so Nadine can muster a small, "No."

That wasn't the answer he was looking for, "Don't fucking lie to me! That's all you've been doing since I met you." He forces her to look at him, frowning for a moment at the sight of tears running down her cheeks, "You're a fucking liar, you know that? And such an actress. Even right now — all these crocodile tears that you've been saving for me. For two years. All that fake love. Did you even love me?"

Nadine watches in pure horror as Ezra's voice breaks and tears begin to fly down his face. This man is insane, she sobs. Thoughts flurry through her mind as his grip loosens significantly. She's so taken aback that even her mind seems to be lagging. She wants to go home where the locks work.

"I did." She whispers, cringing as her voice cracks, "I-I do. I do love you, Ezra." It pains her to speak these lies, but she has to go and the only way to do that is to feed into his crazed actions, "I love you, baby. So much." She lifts a shaky hand to cup his cheeks, willing her tears away at the thought of touching her oppressor. "I'm sorry I left you. I don't know what I was thinking."

Her back stiffens when he falls into her, dropping his head into the crook of her neck. He sobs, savoring the feeling as she runs a hand through his scalp. It was something she did years ago to help him out whenever he had a stressful day — she used to love doing it.

Now, she feels like she needs to take a shower in acid to scrub the feeling of him off.

Her neck is sore when he releases her — surely, she has bruises.

Now is her time to get away — with that thought, she swiftly thrusts her knee up in between his legs and pushes him off of her body. He falls to the floor with a pained groan, cupping his groin.

"You bitch!" He screams at her as she shuffles along quickly to make her getaway. She snatches her bag from the sink, grabs her pepper spray and unleashes hell on the man writhing on the floor. He screams bloody murder before Nadine exits the room, closing the door behind her.

Nadine tries to wipe away the messy mascara under her eyes before heading for the exit of the bar, ignoring as Amelia calls after her.

The teacher drove home in fear that her shaky hands would make her swerve into oncoming traffic. That and her blurry vision, eyes filled to the brim with unshed tears. She's spent too much of her life crying over that man — she'll be damned if he gets anymore from her.

Taking extra precautions, she checks behind her every few seconds to make sure she isn't being tailed — even taking the long way home.

When she arrives at her apartment complex, she double checks the locks on her car before making her way up the stairs, her key already in one hand and her pepper spray in the other. When she sees another figure crouched by her door, the woman jumps. She doesn't want any more surprises tonight.

As she steps closer, arm extended with her pepper spray, her eyes catch sight of the familiar dark hair and the lit end of a cigarette. Nadine holds her breath as she realizes that that cigarette belongs to the woman she's been ignoring for the past week.

With a broken voice, Nadine freezes and whispers, "Gemma?"

smokestacks taglist: @saccreigns @gwenspacy @complacentviawattpad @rosenoirwrites @bettergetusetoit @mcj39623 @palmstreesallday @kmhappybunny @buttershea07

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[liannyeong]

let me open my heart to you

Summary: the only thing she knows about him is the usual drink he orders at the cafe: iced americano.

Word count: 1974

Pairing: Jinyoung X OC

Warning(s): fluff

A/N: finally a jinyoung fic! i attempted a little humor... but this is trash so.... i hope you will still enjoy it? hahahaha

i.

it's stupid, hayoon thinks. she cannot even believe that she has a crush on a guy she has never properly talked to. the only thing she knows about him is the usual drink he orders at the cafe: iced americano. and that his name is jinyoung. he works as a trainer at a gym nearby, afternoons packed with classes. but other than that? not a single clue. so how the heck did hayoon harbor a crush on him? she doesn't even understand either. perhaps it's because of his cute smile, little crinkles forming around his eyes. or his handsome face, skin nearly flawless, as if he was chiseled from marble. or heck, he's got one hell of a body too -- not too muscular, not too skinny, just the right amount of fill... gosh, what the heck is she even thinking... nevertheless, it's stupid that she's crushing on someone without knowing his true personality. just because of his looks, really? gosh, wake up, hayoon. appearance goes nowhere.

but damn, she can't help herself. her heart feels a little lighter whenever the cafe opens. it's because jinyoung always comes to the cafe at 7, when the queues aren't long and the morning is still peaceful. he's always dressed in a plain t-shirt, tucked into ankle-length pants, a cap worn on his head. before he even comes in or says his order, hayoon already has his drink prepared for collection at the counter. jinyoung would always do his trademark eye whiskers smile, deep voice thanking her. then he sits at his usual spot -- the window seat directly in front of the counter. she doesn't get why he likes that place when it's the most exposed seat. but she doesn't complain. in fact, hayoon enjoys the fact that she has an unobstructed view of jinyoung reading a book. she reckons he's a fast reader, for he brings new books each week. she doesn't know what the man is reading, but it seems interesting for he's always focused, oblivious to the surroundings.

oh, just how lovely hayoon's daily life is.

---

ii.

but today... jinyoung's dressed in a white dress shirt, tucked into fitting pants. he has a pair of glasses on, his hair slicked back. he looks so dashing -- exactly like a prince charming described in fairytales. perhaps if she is cinderella, he would be her prince charming. but clearly she's no cinderella.

because jinyoung's got company. a girl as good looking as him, of course. her hair touches her shoulders, one side neatly tucked behind her ear. she's donned in a pretty beige dress, exuding feminine elegance.

gosh, they look as if they walked straight out of a romance novel, so ideally perfect in every way.

wait-- does this mean they're on a date...?

well, damn.

jinyoung ushers the girl to his usual seat, so gentlemanly, hayoon thinks she could have fallen harder for him. then, the man offers to buy the girl a drink. no, hayoon didn't eavesdrop at all. the cafe is just too quiet that even a single whisper is amplified.

hayoon gulps, desperately trying to compose herself when jinyoung comes to place his order. she can't let any emotion show on her face.

"the usual and an iced latte, please," jinyoung orders, slipping his card out of his wallet smoothly.

"name?" hayoon asks after the payment is successful, holding up an empty cup.

"yeeun."

hmph. a pretty name for a pretty face, she thinks to herself.

hayoon makes the order wordlessly, hands working like a muscle memory. jinyoung picks up their drinks from the collection counter and walks back to his usual seat. hayoon pretends to be busy cleaning or whatsoever but out of the corner of her eyes, she's actually watching the two. oh, just how sweet their interactions are...

sometime later, jinyoung holds up a napkin and dabs away some residue on the corner of yeeun's lips. the girl shies away, cheeks turning red, leaning back to wipe her mouth herself. jinyoung just smiles at her, the same crinkles only directed at the girl. the same smile that hayoon adores.

gosh, how much hayoon wishes jinyoung would look at her that way. at this thought, she averts her gaze. this isn't it. she shouldn't wish for such a thing. a crush is usually one-sided and is just as its name suggests -- a crush crushes hearts.

she should just be happy for jinyoung.

"who's that girl with jinyoung?" yien asks as he pops into the counter, having just came to work.

hayoon shrugs. "a girlfriend, i guess," she answers too curtly. it sounds as if she's bitter. which she's clearly not. totally.

"what? i didn't know he had a girlfriend," he says in disbelief. his brows are raised high, mouth agape.

"neither did i..." she mutters.

then hayoon hears yien chuckling at the side. he's tying his apron, but there's a playful smirk on his lips as he asks, "jealous?"

"who is? i know i'm not," hayoon mumbles.

yien laughs. he singsongs, "sure~"

hayoon glares at her colleague before glancing at the couple again. now they're just in their own world, chatting away happily, all giggly like high school teenagers in love.

she's totally not jealous.

---

iii.

now, yeeun tags along to the cafe whenever jinyoung does. as much as hayoon tries to suppress the feeling in her, she just can't. there's always a twinge. gosh, why can't she just be happy for jinyoung? it'll be so much easier if her heart would just give him up. maybe if she doesn't see him often... then maybe... that's it, her mind snaps. she shouldn't see jinyoung so much if she wants to get over him. she shouldn't see the couple if she doesn't want to feel like this. the lesser she sees, the lesser she knows.

so she decides to swap shifts with bambam much to his reluctance. he's afraid of having things thrown at him if he makes a mistake. yien is that scary, he argues. but she doesn't believe it. how can a sweet angel like yien even do violent things like that? so she insists, until bambam gives in.

and now, hayoon takes the afternoon shift. no more jinyoung. no more jinyoung and yeeun. she can finally forget him in peace.

---

iv.

ha ha, of course not. the person who she's trying to forget appears in the cafe in the late afternoon a few weeks later. alone. no yeeun in tow.

"hey," jinyoung greets at the counter, much to hayoon's surprise. she totally didn't expect to see him again. her brain nearly short-circuited.

"jinyoung... hey..." hayoon lets out slowly. "the usual...?"

the said man nods. as hayoon taps away on the cash registers, she feels the weight of his gaze. she tries to ignore it.

"so you're on the afternoon shift now," he says as a matter-of-factly.

hayoon gulps her spit, her mind trying to rack up some good excuse. "i was gonna tell you but i got busy... sorry. it slipped off my mind," she replies lamely.

jinyoung watches her with hawk-like eyes. as if he's assessing her answer. as if he doesn't believe it. it makes hayoon nervous.

but the man nods, and then, flashes his usual smile. "well, i know now."

jinyoung grabs his drink, takes a sip from it, a cheeky smile on his face before walking away.

"um... yeah. now you know..." hayoon mutters to herself. if jinyoung is gonna start coming in during her shift.... she's doomed.

---

v.

as expected, jinyoung starts coming to the cafe during her shift. what does he want, she doesn't even know. but now, jinyoung doesn't settle at his usual table. instead, he keeps trying to engage hayoon in a conversation over the counter. especially when she's in the midst of preparing his drink.

"why are you coming in at this hour? don't you have classes to teach?"

jinyoung shakes his head. "my schedule changed. i'm free on afternoons now."

hayoon hums in response. "i noticed you haven't come in with your girlfriend," she passes it off like a light remark.

at that comment, she doesn't notice jinyoung's stunned expression. if anything, she's too scared to look at his face.

"she... uh..." he stammers. "busy?"

the raised tone at the end has her a little confused. why is jinyoung so unsure of his own girlfriend's schedule? weird, she thinks. but she doesn't delve into it. she hands him his order and then proceeds to serve other customers.

---

vi.

jinyoung doesn't pop by for the next month. not that hayoon is counting. it's just weird that her routine is disrupted again. she doesn't try to mind it much. after all, it's just a pathetic crush. one that she has yet to get over with.

hayoon is busy cleaning up the cafe when there's a knock on the glass door. looking up, she sees jinyoung waving at her, a tight-lipped smile on his lips.

she walks over, pulls open the door and then says, amused, "you do know we're closed, right?"

"of course. but i just thought to pop by."

"whatever for? i'm just closing up the shop--"

"i'll help you out," he cuts, inviting himself in, much to hayoon's reluctance.

but it proves to be a great thing because she closes the shop earlier than usual. which means she can head home earlier and rest longer. as hayoon locks the cafe, she thanks jinyoung, saying, "your next drink will be on me."

"i don't want a drink," he replies.

"jinyoung, please. you helped me a lot today. i owe you a drink."

"i don't want a drink," he repeats, much to her confusion. she frowns.

"okay... a meal then?" hayoon offers.

"no," jinyoung shakes his head, cheeks a little pink. then a little softer, he says, "you owe me a date."

"huh," she lets out, more confused than ever. she scoffs. shaking her head, she disapproves, "ha ha, very funny, jinyoung. what will your girlfriend say?"

"but i don't-- i don't have a girlfriend?"

hayoon looks at him, bewildered. "um, did you forget about yeeun?"

jinyoung stares back at her. then he blurts, "she's not! she was just--" he sighs. "i just wanted to get a reaction out of you, that's all."

"what?"

"look, i-- the person i like is you, okay? not yeeun. it was a fake relationship, just to see how you would react."

it takes hayoon great control not to show any reaction. she maintains a blank expression though she desperately wants to jump for joy. "what makes you think i like you?"

jinyoung freezes, visibly pale. "huh... you... don't...?" he swallows his spit. "oh um-- well-- forget i said anything then!" he panics. then he mumbles softly to himself, "yien must have been playing with me..."

but hayoon's ears are sharp to capture the last sentence. she shrieks, "yien did what?!"

jinyoung has the audacity to look guilty. like a kicked puppy, its tail between its hind legs, he answers truthfully and slowly, "he may have told me that you may have feelings for me... and he may have suggested that i should try to make you jealous..."

hayoon stares at him in horror. damn yien. bambam was right. yien is one scary person. he's totally not an angel. a sly devil, that's what he is!

"i'm gonna kill that little piece of--" she mutters.

"so, um--" jinyoung breaks her monologue, watching her cautiously. "it's fine if you don't feel the same way, you know. i totally understand that. i was just--"

"you don't want to go on a date with me?" she cuts.

"what? no-- i mean, of course, i'd like to!" jinyoung's face is crimson now. how cute.

"okay then," hayoon nods, cheeks matching the color of his face, lips stretched so wide into a smile. "when are you free?"

[bondsmagii]

What’s the scariest paranormal thing that happened to you (that you’re comfortable sharing)? You’re such a great story teller and in this awful month of August spooky vibes are the most bone-deep.

I have a few, but my usual go-to actually has an ask regarding it waiting in my inbox, so when it spits out of my queue you’ll see it anyway! two for the price of one. anyway, for this one I’ll go for another terrifying experience that I haven’t told as often and it still honest to god creeps me out.

in my third year of university, I lived in campus accommodation. the building was pretty creepy-looking as it was: it was quite literally modelled on the buildings of a nearby prison, and said buildings looked like Khrushchev-era Soviet housing. it was split into a bunch of flats, each housing five people in single rooms, a full bathroom, a half-bathroom, and a living room/kitchen area. my room was at the very end of the hall, and the living room door was on the other end, facing the front door. there were no windows in the central hallway, and shortly after I moved in there was a chair just randomly in the middle of the hallway that nobody could account for; it soon vanished just as inexplicably. (this was not too surprising and certainly not as creepy as the place I lived in my fourth year, where I opened my bedroom door after hearing a strange tapping on it, and saw a single red balloon floating down the hallway. I immediately shut the door.)

anyway. this is where we set our scene. at the time of this encounter I had been living there for maybe three months or so; it was the middle of winter and very dark and cold. our flat was on the fourth floor and filled with ill-fitting windows and therefore the wind simply ripped through it, and as a result we spent all of our time in our rooms with the windows duct-taped up. despite the nasty weather, I was and still remain a) a night owl and b) very restless, so I would frequently go out and walk around campus at night in the howling wind, because hey, if I’m going to get murdered by a supernatural entity, I might as well make sure the atmosphere is worthy. my campus was excellent for such things, and my usual walk took me along the foot of a mountain, along the top of a slope looking down onto a loch, and around a castle before heading home. 

up until recently, this walk had been uneventful. that had gradually begun to change, and frequently on my way back, I would feel as though I were being followed. it started as a minorly uncomfortable feeling which didn’t really bother me, because I’m quite used to the paranormal and it takes a lot to unnerve me, but soon it began to grow into something unnerving enough that I would sometimes skip out on my walk, and other times when I braved it I would end up running the rest of the way home. there was a security door at the bottom of the staircase leading to my flat, and usually once I got inside and slammed it shut, I would feel better. one night, this was not the case. the feeling of being watched had been the worst yet, and I had actually felt in danger as I had run home. I got through the security door and slammed it shut, but this time it wouldn’t lock. I tried for several seconds, but the lock just would not twist. I gave up and sprinted up several flights of stairs to my flat, and miraculously the front door still locked. I slammed it closed and locked it before backing up to the living room door; seconds later, something slammed itself against the front door and snarled. I could feel something out there. there were several seconds of nothing, and then the presence abruptly vanished.

alright. a little creepy. not the worst thing I’ve ever experienced but what the fuck, you know? I skip out on my walks for a while, and about a week or so later I’m in the kitchen making coffee at 3am, because that’s how I roll. as mentioned, the living room/kitchen door is opposite the front door. there is a wall separating the living room from the kitchen, but an open archway rather than a door. I cannot see the living room door from the kitchen, and said door has a small window in the top which looks out onto the front door. there is no direct line of sight from the hallway to the kitchen, yet as I make my coffee, I can feel something watching me. something is very much staring at me, and it is coming from the hallway right outside the living room door.

now, momma didn’t raise a coward but she did raise a fool. I decide to go and look. I go to the archway and put my head out. the living room door is about three feet from me. and in the window I can see a head. it is very much at first glance a fully-formed head, but it’s not attached to anything. it’s floating there, kind of rotating on the air slightly. the face is that of an old man and he doesn’t seem to have much hair. his mouth is open and moving slightly as though he’s trying to talk. as it rotates around, I see that the freakiest part of this already very freaky apparition is the fact that his neck and half of his face isn’t actually whole. instead it flakes away from him in tatters, kind of like torn fabric. it is, by far, the creepiest apparition I have seen. I’m not entirely sure what to do, because usually I would see something like this and assume it was a residual haunting and therefore not sentient, or it was sentient but not malicious. such a thing would ordinarily make me think that the spirit wanted help, but there was the small issue of the absolute malice coming off this guy. I mean, for a solid forty seconds or so I was rooted to the spot, unable to move because I was convinced if I did, the thing would come through the door and fuck me up. gradually the disembodied head faded away, and I grabbed my coffee and quickly went out into the hall. no sooner had I done so did something throw itself against the front door again, with serious force.

something about all the doors in our flat: they’re all heavy-duty fire doors (aside from, ironically, the one leading to the living room/kitchen). they are super heavy and slam closed on their own, and it’s impossible to knock on them loudly because it hurts a lot. if my housemates or I wanted to knock on one another’s door, the only way we could make a noise loud enough to get attention from inside the room and not break our knuckles was to kick our shoed feet against the bottom of the door (which made a rattling thud) or slap our open palm against it. the front door was made out of this same serious knuckle-destroying material, and whatever was out there was going absolutely ham. the bang was defeaning. the door was literally jumping in its frame. it happened three times -- bang, bang, BANG -- and then the door went still. somehow I managed not to spill my coffee. I stood there, staring at the door, and I once again I was aware that something was standing on the other side. I had had quite enough by that point, so I hauled ass to my room -- which was, as you recall, at the very end of the long, dark hallway (complete with one ominously flickering light shining out from the bathroom). I get to my room and shut and lock the door.

for a moment everything is fine, and then as I step towards my desk -- bang, bang, BANG. those same bangs, on my bedroom door. once again it’s shaking in its frame, and then stops. there’s silence. said silence stretches on for some time, and then I hear a door open. my housemate in the room directly across from me calls out into the hallway what we’re all thinking: “what the fuck was that?”

we all open our doors and confer. it turned out my housemates all heard it too, and understandably were too scared to check what it was. I don’t tell them about the disembodied head, but I do tell them about the weird presence outside the door -- a presence which two of my four housemates have also felt. we theorise for a bit and crack a few jokes to calm down, and then we all go back to bed or, in my case, fucking around online. the next morning (I’m still awake, of course) my housemate across the hall gets up and slaps on my door, and when I open it he points out several deep gouges in the door that were definitely not there when I came back from the kitchen that night. they’re deep, too, and once again, these doors were made strong enough that I’m sure their only purpose in life was to break bones. we could not for the life of us work out what had caused it.

the presence remained by the front door for several nights, until I put salt down across the threshold and also across the doorways of all the bedrooms in the house. the presence vanished from the front door then, but was still felt outside the security door -- which was never fixed, because whenever the lock was replaced it broke again pretty much immediately. I never got chased home again, nor did I see the old man in the hallway either... but that was because I stopped going out of my bedroom during the hour between 3 and 4am, and kept strictly to that rule for the rest of the time I lived there.

[snmin10]

Sleep No More Shanghai: (Delayed) Highlights

*This was written over a year ago and I just rediscovered it in drafts, so some info (particularly castings) may be outdated*

It has been 2 years and 600 shows since Sleep No More opened in Shanghai. Of those 600 shows, I’ve attended around 14 of them - half in early 2017 and half in late 2018. Travelling half way around the world to watch a theatre performance is a bizarre concept to many people, but I’ve never left disappointed. Spending days full of real-world discovery and evenings full of Punchdrunk-world discovery makes for a very happy trip indeed.

Show-wise, this most recent visit was possibly even better than the first. Some of that may be familiarity, but it’s also down to small changes in the format, logistics and narrative. There’s a concern, especially when travelling so far, that expectations may not be met. But that wasn’t the case. 

SNM Shanghai has developed. Interestingly, according to conversations with some local fans, certain changes - especially those to the narrative - have had mixed responses. But for me as a visitor, every single show I saw had moments of genuine thoughtfulness and inspiration. It felt like care for the show often came from both sides; not just from impassioned audience members projecting their love of the format, but also cast and crew members striving to create a piece of art that is beautiful, and ever-changing.

Some highlights...

- Dull housekeeping highlight: the queuing system has been updated and is great. I’m sure I can’t be the only one who’s interested in queues (what can I say, I’m British) so here’s a quick breakdown. Upon arrival there are now two parallel, roped queues outside the front of building: one for on-the-hour ticket holders and one for the quarter past ticket holders (there are signs in Mandarin and English to show which is which). People are strictly let in according to the time on their tickets, so I imagine that these two queues become the half past and quarter to queues later on. On-the-hour ticket holders were let through to collect their tickets from a small hut about half an hour before the show started. We then entered the building, went through cloakroom (still free, hoorah) and receiving playing cards. It appears that playing cards are still shuffled about a bit, with a chance of either an Ace or a 2 if you’re one of the first in. 

- Quick shout out to the security guard who monitors the queue and lets people through. He does a stellar job, to the extent that every single show he made a point of picking us out in the queue to wave the 7pm sign at us. Despite having been there a few nights on the trot, he remained extremely skeptical that we ever truly understood the system. He was extremely friendly and we never went wrong under his watchful eye.

- Big bonus: on-the-hour ticket holders get a free pre-show drink in the Manderley! We had no idea, but a kind crew member ushered us over to the bar. You can choose from a number of drinks, including a couple of cocktails and mocktails. They were good. 

- Man and Woman in Bar made an appearance a few minutes before the first lift and usually performed a song before calling the Aces. Zhu Sujie’s Daphne was a highlight in this role - effortlessly charming and attentive. I always prefer an accessible Person in Bar, rather than someone intimidating. Daphne had the knack of making audience members feel comfortable and not ‘put on the spot’ when making conversation.  

- On the second show I exited the lift on the ground level, walked into the ballroom and stopped dead in my tracks: James Finnemore Banquo! A favourite Drowned Man performer, I had no idea he had travelled over to Sleep No More. He’s such a delicate, introspective performer and I’ve always enjoyed his dancing - his pre-hoedown, bar-top solo as Andy in TDM in particular. I thought he’d make an excellent Groom, and sure enough, I got to see it on the third show. 

- Speaking of castings, I’m sure there’s a good reason as to why Ed Warner isn’t playing Boy Witch, but I have no idea what that is. 

- Debby is one of the few performers who (as far as I know) has been in place since my first visit in early 2017. Her Bride is captivating and uncomfortable in all the right ways. That loop is such a rich addition to the show. In amongst all the subtleties and mysteries of a Punchdrunk show, hers is such a satisfyingly clear narrative that makes the downfall all the more affecting. I think she rivals Banquo for the best choreography in the show. 

- The surprise of seeing a familiar interaction from New York turn into something altogether greater for the chosen audience member. It ended, around 10 minutes later, on a completely different floor with different characters. The complexity of the interaction reminded me of The Drowned Man; how a certain audience member could feel like they’d, without realising, stepped into a funnel that led them to something, or somewhere, else entirely. Specifically, it reminded me of how sometimes after the Conrad’s Studio 8 1:1, you would get spit out into the basement and straight into an oncoming Stanford, who would grab you and tell you to keep what you’d just seen a secret. 

- In fact, that feeling of ‘riding the wave’ seems such more present in Shanghai than in New York. There are a number of interactions that are chosen by a different character to the one you end up with. That lack of control is marvellous. 

- Wang Mingchao’s Boy Witch was absolutely ace. Fickle, flirtatious and zero fucks given. I like a petite Boy Witch and his was full-on, spreading the Boy Witch love thinly across anyone and everyone in the vicinity. 

- Another powerhouse was Ching-I Chang’s Sexy Witch, who I followed first loop of my first show without even realising who she was. She’s a performer who commands attention and always seemed to have a devoted gaggle of followers whenever I saw her. Perhaps it was just her exceptional posture, but I think she’d be a brilliant Lady Macbeth. 

- Can I just say how much I like Simon Palmer and Laure Bachelot? I never spent much time with them during The Drowned Man (did Simon return as Harry on the final night or am I imagining things?) but they are both such generous and inclusive performers. Even when playing Speakeasy and Lady Macbeth respectively, they have a warmth to them that’s hard to resist. 

- Walking into a Shanghai-exclusive 2:1 on my final show that I never knew existed, and which I only received because the intended recipient backed away in horror at the hand being offered to him. I hope that audience member doesn’t regret denying the invitation, but I am very grateful to them whoever they are (and not too proud to be second choice!).

- New spaces: a connecting corridor on the 5th floor, a spooky nook in the 3rd floor graveyard. I found the latter while following Danvers. It’s interesting that no matter how many times you’ve seen a show, your heart does a total newbie-lurch and you get the jitters as soon as you’re in an unfamiliar space. Is that what it felt like the first time?? 

- New moments: a Boy Witch/Malcolm interaction by the ballroom. I couldn’t really see through the crowds - are they dancing?

- Having spent lots of time with Olly over the years - as Dwayne in TDM, as Macduff and Porter in New York, I spent little time with him here. But it always made me chuckle to see him pass by, 5 minutes into the show, having already accrued about 200 audience members. 

[shadi612]

Happy Valentine's Day, darling pandom! Here's my (very belated) remix of UC and a little bit of a gift for my favourite fandom  

AO3 (x)  (1/?)

(I found love) Where it wasn't supposed to be

I.

“What a scam”

This is not how she wanted to spend Valentine’s Day. Or any other fucking day for that matter.

Because you see in all her twenty-four years on this earth she never had to do this before. Not even as a stupid sixteen-year-old schoolgirl. She’s never been careless (Not with this).

Then again, she never expected she would be:

A) In the middle of bloody Maine. B) In love with one of the town’s most dangerous men. C) Standing in front of a whole aisle of pregnancy tests on bloody Valentine’s Day, of all days. D) All of the above.

And you might ask Why she’s here on valentine’s day if she was in a long-term relationship with a man that never passed an opportunity to show her off to the town? Because said man had texted her that afternoon with a quick apology that their night of “debauchery and other vices” would have to wait and some rambling about an urgent job that she hadn’t paid much attention to as she texted Matthew back to let him know she wasn’t too devastated about it. Her mind was too busy worrying about other things, namely whenever or not she should get a very specific item from the pharmacy.

Which brings her back to the same thought again and again: These things are expensive.

Really expensive.

They were overpriced pee sticks, for crying out loud. And what's the difference between them? Paying an extra five dollars wasn’t going to change the outcome, was it?

She's not dumb or delusional, as the townspeople would often refer to her behind her back. Jill knows the signs that have obnoxiously hung over her head these past few days.

She's late. Three and a half weeks late. It's far too much time for her to blame it on stress (and wouldn't you be stressed if you shared your life with Matthew? Stress had become a default mode for her mind and body during the last two years. And, sadly, this wasn’t one of those times when it would go as easily as it had come.)

Add in a newfound state of fatigue mixed with a persistent soreness on her chest and the ever-suspicious bouts of nausea at unexpected moments and you'll get yourself a big, red flag. If someone came up to Jill and told her that these things had been happening to them, the first words out of her mouth would be “congratulations”. The sincerity of her words would depend on who that poor soul was.

But she also knows she’s not pregnant because being pregnant would unleash hell on her life. She’s buying the test so she can finally get Arabella off her back.

(“Oh, sweetheart” Bella’s voice had rumbled across the bookshop’s bathroom three days ago with a hint of ever-present sarcasm mixed with genuine concern.

“I used to be a nun. I know a girl in trouble when I see one” Jill had only managed to throw her a quick glare before emptying her stomach on the sink for the second time in less than four hours).

She would take the bloody test and get it over with and then maybe she would grab some Gatorade and crackers to soothe the persistent stomach bug that’s been ruining her mood for weeks (because that’s all there is to it. A bloody stomach bug).

"Close your eyes and think of England" she spits between clenched teeth before knocking a few tests into her basket with an impressive amount of determination.

She can do this.

Isn’t this some sort of milestone for your twenties? Going on a drinking binge, getting an apartment, a pregnancy scare and only a scare…

These are normal things. 

For the sake of appearances, she adds in some magazines and nail polish to her basket. She's under no illusion that this little piece of gossip won't be all over town in a near future but Jill's incredibly adept at playing pretend by now. And when she’s proven right (because she’s not pregnant. She commands herself not to be pregnant) the buzz will die down on its own accord if she just decides to not care about it in the first place.

The waiting line's short, even for Storybrooke. Jill easily spots Mister Gold and David Nolan ahead of her in the queue line, one of her hands reaching for the magazine she had taken before and she eyes it without much interest while partially listening to them. Maybe it would help her calm down.

“Two Valentines. Sounds like a complicated life.

“Oh, no, I-I just couldn't decide.”

So that was still going on, surprising absolutely no one.

Her ears filter out most of the men’s conversation once her eyes landed on the rather … colourful items the pawnbroker held on his own basket. She does not need that particular mental image. But there’s nothing else to do so she entertains her frayed nerves with some colourful and hilarious what ifs during the queue line in another attempt to calm down until the two men are out of her sight.

Mister Clark smiles at Jill when her turn comes and he’s a sweet man, she knows that much about him but the feeling gnawing at the pit of her stomach keeps getting worse and worse by the minute. She’s on the verge of running and just sending this entire thing to hell so she can go back to denial land when he offers her the bag with a smile. Idly she asks herself if pharmacists have their own version of a Hippocratic oath when he doesn’t comment anything about her peculiar purchase.

“Miss? Are you-”

“I’m fine” Her voice comes out rushed and squeaky as she hands him the money and politely tells him to keep the change. If the man has anything to say about her behaviour she doesn’t hear him while she sprints for the exit door like a red-handed thief.

The buzzing sounds of the streets make her peacefully numb to the outside world, just her and her spiralling thoughts walking into the night.

  II.

 Jill stumbles into the empty apartment with a heavy heart, a queasy stomach and feeling incredibly grateful that nobody can see the mess she’s now with her shaky hands and laboured breaths.

She’s not afraid, she’s panicking.

God, she can’t be pregnant.

What is she supposed to do with a child? She had been the only child born to two parents that cared more about the status their little bundle of joy would bring them than they did for the girl herself. What kind of mother could she ever become if she had grown up starved for love and attention from the two people that were supposed to give it to her unconditionally?

And what about the father? Maybe she could learn to love the child and avoid the mistakes her own parents had made with her but what about him?

He loves her, she knows that much.

He loves her in a possessive, passionate way that easily veers into obsession. An obsession she returns fully. But it’s the kind of love that could easily drown them both if they weren’t careful.

Nobody around them thinks they’re going to make it. They’re each other’s ruin they said. And god, she knows they’re doomed in so many ways, how bad they’re for each other in other ways but she also knows she’s happy. She’s so fucking happy.

He makes me happy is all that comes to her mind when she looks down to her white-knuckled hands gripping the bag on her lap.

There's a ring on her finger. 

It's simple but elegant and she found it a few weeks ago in one of her drawers, tucked inside a black velvet box resting peacefully between her earrings and one of his watches.

Jill had grown used to these tidbits of random affection, little presents and colourful boxes popping up around her as tokens of affection, so with a sigh of exasperated fondness she grabbed the box and opened the lid with giddy fingers. It could be a new necklace to replace the one she had lost a few days ago. Or maybe a nice bracelet to go with her pearl earrings…

This was different.

The ring’s cut was not the one you would find in a casual gift. It was far too elegant and well thought of. This type of cut worked for a very specific situation. 

He wouldn’t, would he?

Jill had sat on the bed for a good five minutes inspecting every inch of the ring before marching over to the living room where Matthew was sitting in the kitchen island with a cup of steaming coffee on one hand and the paper in the other. He wasn’t going to propose, of course he wasn’t. He wasn’t the “marrying kind” like Mrs. Redford used to say with an unhappy scrunch of her nose but for the sake of Jill’s mental peace she needed him to say it himself.

“Morning, darling” his eyes looked up before she had fully sat down in front of him, a smirk planted firmly on his face when he noticed how Jill held the ring at arms length as if its mere proximity burned her.

His face gave nothing away, just pure smugness. 

Typical, she huffed and slid the box across the table to him. She would be as stubborn as him if she needed to.

"Well?"

"It's yours"

Yours. 

It was her ring because he was proposing to her.

The frown on her face deepened as she stared distastefully at the ring on the table. He was doing it to drive her mad, she was sure of it. Only Matthew would be capable of turning a proposal into a headache. Couldn’t he be a grown-up about this? Couldn’t he have the guts to at least decently ask her Would you marry me?

No big romantic gestures needed, just a simple question.

"You're proposing to me?" Matthew raised an eyebrow at her, obviously amused at her reaction "You can't" she replied quickly as she realized she didn’t want to know his answer after all.

The frown on his face told her he wasn’t pleased with the situation either.

"Why not?" And now he was pulling the surprised card, acting like this kind of behaviour was acceptable. That she was being irrational by not understanding and playing along with it.

"Because!"

“Use your words, love” Matthew was even willing to throw her own words against her, leaving her to scold at him in disapproval. She hadn’t brought up the idea of marriage once, not even as a joke. This was all on him. 

Well, he could take his precious ring and shove it. 

“You’re impossible” 

“So I’ve been told” God, he was never going to take a single thing seriously in his life and she was stupid to think he would. Jill huffed out her anger and disappointment when she stood up, fully intending to lock herself in their room for the rest of the day or find something appropriate to throw against a wall to let out her frustration before strong arms wrapped around her waist and pressed her against his chest, effectively keeping her in the spot.

“I don’t feel like playing anymore, Matthew” She squirmed against him, slapping his hands away in a useless attempt to free herself.

“I know that being with me it’s not easy. That I’m not an easy person” his breath was hot and soft against the shell of her ear, making her squirming worse when he wouldn’t budge.

Damn him, damn him to hell and back for doing this to her

“But you must know that nobody ever had me the way you do” she had stopped fidgeting at the last part of his speech.

Jill knew. She knew perfectly well that he would kill anyone that ever wronged her and would burn the world if she asked for it. And she knew that for her (and her only) he was trying not to. He was trying to at least control himself for her like she was willing to let herself be free for him.

And she wasn’t about to say that she regretted it.

This man would be her downfall in the same way she would be his. He would make her crumble to ashes and rise again time after time with only the idea of them as an anchor.

He must have taken her silence as an invitation to slip the ring into her left hand and kiss the nape of her neck to put an end to their argument.

Jill couldn’t find the words quick enough as she turned on her heels to face him so she nodded slowly with a watery smile as her own promise of a forever finally slipped past her lips quietly “And nobody will have me the way you do, Matthew”.

(She did not cry, there just was a twinkle in her eyes as his lips kissed her like she was the air and he was suffocating)

This was her life now. With every messy decision and uncertain step she had taken in the last two years she –and only she- had sealed her fate with the golden band on her finger.

They said pick your poison so I chose you.

And maybe Jill is plenty of things but she’s always been someone capable of taking responsibility for her actions and her screw-ups, so she forces herself to walk into the bathroom to bite the bullet and face the music.

She lasts all of ten seconds before she throws the bag in the cabinet under the sink as far as it’ll go and fifteen before she calls Bella in the middle of what’s probably a panic attack.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up” The one time she needs Bella is the one time she decides to put her phone away.

It goes straight to voicemail the three times she rings her up and all it manages to do is frustrate her to the point she’s about to pull her hair off when she throws the phone on the couch.

Wonderful, just bloody wonderful.

Bella was going to owe her one and Jill was going to cash in that check big time once she was done panicking.

The dramatic schoolgirl she once was possesses her the moment she reaches over for a cushion to scream her frustration into a good five times before her responsible adult self kicks off the girl into the back of her mind and marches her self-pitying self into the bathroom.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Repeat. Breathe in. Breathe out. Repeat.

The words on her head are a pattern. It’s something methodical she can relay into and distract herself as she goes through the motions the test requires.

She doesn’t think she could have done it if she didn’t distract her mind. Any other time she would chastise herself for using such a cliché but those two minutes until her phone alarm buzzes are the longest wait on her life. The entire experience feels surreal to her, as if she was watching someone else sitting at the edge of the bathtub and stare at the test on the counter with everything else happening at both slow motion and fast-forwarding before her eyes when she stares at the test on her shaky hands.

It’s positive.

  III.

 The pink line stares back, mocking her.

 “Fuck”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

She wants to laugh. That was exactly what had gotten her here.

How could she be so stupid? They didn't use condoms every single time anymore and she had been off the pill for almost a year. This sort of thing was bound to happen.

So here she is, sitting on the edge of the bathtub at 2:00 am staring at a positive pregnancy test. Same test she’s been staring at sporadically for at least two hours now in between puking her guts out and cursing everything she can think of, said test among them.

The positive test. It's positive because she's pregnant. She's pregnant. Jill Redford is pregnant. She's carrying Matthew Kensington’s child and-

Matthew.

Matthew's going to be a father and that's a new load of information she needs to process.

Blimey.

Matthew is...

Well, he’s her Matthew. He's fire and impulsiveness and wildness packed in with a mop of brown curls and green eyes.

He's also ten years her senior, for crying out loud. This isn't the first time she's reminded of that fact but right now it perches itself on her shoulders like a heavy burden as she stares down at the stupid little stick on her hands.  Matthew is thirty-three to her twenty-four. He must have thought about this sort of things, right?

Oh, who is she kidding?.

Matthew is not the first person that comes to mind when she thinks of father material. He's not on her top five. Not even on her top fifty.

She loves him. She loves him against every reasonable impulse she has. And because she loves him she knows that parents are a delicate subject.

("They were gone one day. Vanished on thin air and never came back" Those were the only things that came up about the subject during one of their late night talks. Lucky, Arabella and his boys had become the family he needed after a rather peculiar childhood at the orphanage. A patchwork family she now was part of. She had no interest in knowing about people that had hurt him and he had no interest in sharing it.)

And oh god, Matthew and a child that will rely on him for guidance and love and to teach them the difference between right and wrong? Don’t make her laugh.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. She can’t think about this now. She can’t think about how deeply fucked they are at this moment.

She needs to find a way out of this. The first thing that comes to mind in her desperate state is that if she’s not pregnant then she doesn’t have to worry. Tests gave out false positives all the time, so if she took another one and it came out negative then she wouldn’t have anything to worry about.

Problem solved!

Half a gallon of water and three positive pregnancy tests later she’s back to square one. Also known as “completely fucked” and “up the duff”.

An upset sob comes out from the back of her throat once she slides down to the bathroom floor. It was useless. She can’t avoid it any longer and she’s so upset at everything that all she can do is let the frustrated tears run down her face freely with her arms wrapped around her knees.

[something-fanfiction-ie]

A Pair of Fans

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings: Creepy guy follows you for like 2 paragraphs but you get a happy ending. Pinky promise.

A/N: I am so sorry this took so long to write, you guys! I’ve been hitting a writing wall like crazy and my life has just been a little hectic. This was a little rushed because I’ve been trying to get it out to you guys but I also have to leave for work in about an hour. Thank you so much for your patience and your love, I appreciate you guys. You’re the best. Remember to let me know what you think. Like, comment, reblog, message me, inbox me, I’m really friendly. I promise. @petah-parkah-and-potahtas and @i-am-lame-leave-me-alone

| part one: Fangirl | part two: Fanboy |

___

In the end, you met Tom by accident.

It was your last night in London and you decided to pull your lazy ass off the fancy hotel couch to wander the potentially dangerous London streets. The faults of your plan didn’t fully hit you until the street lights turned on and your phone died. Here you were, all alone, lost in the most unfamiliar of settings.

Which way was the way back to the hotel? The GPS had said to head south on this certain stretch of road before your phone had died, and that information would have been helpful if you knew which way was south. Why had Jason agreed to let you go out alone? In London.

Your current mission was to find a phone booth. You knew your mom’s phone number by heart and she could get in touch with Jason to come get you. She would be mad and you would never live down the time you got lost in London, but at least you wouldn’t be dead in some back alley.

Thankfully, the road you were on wasn’t very populated so you decided to walk with your hood down. If you bumped into a fan or two you wouldn’t mind. It was still a surreal feeling whenever someone came up to you and recognized you.

As you walked, the night grew darker and you couldn’t help but be paranoid about the guy walking several paces behind you. Hunching your shoulders, you glanced behind you and the predatory look on his face was enough to make the hair on the back of your neck raise.

You quickened your pace and took a sharp and sudden left through an alley which, thankfully, led to another street instead of your untimely doom. Still keeping your gaze behind you, you payed no mind to the road in front of you.

Never in all your wildest dreams did you ever think you would run smack dab into Tom Holland. Of course, you didn’t realize it was him until a little later. He was more solid than you would have imagined and he was warm. Almost like running straight into an open toaster oven. Or maybe you were just cold?

You grabbed very muscular biceps to keep yourself from falling on your ass and let out the smallest of surprised ‘Oh!’s known to man-kind. He responded with a grunt, ‘Oof.’ It was deep, not at all how you would think a Tom Holland ‘oof’ would sound.

You should have let go at this point, apologize for not paying attention, and maybe try to explain the situation. That’s what you would usually do, but when you heard footsteps echoing off the brick walls behind you, you abandoned all regards for societal norms.

You let go of the stranger’s biceps and threw your arms around him in a big hug, tilting your head at just the right angle to see the man slow his steps.

Showtime.

“Peter! I can’t believe I found you! I was so lost and my phone died. I’m sorry we fought, I promise to never walk away from you again.” Queue the tears and the sniffles. You buried you head into a chest that, thankfully, smelled amazing. Please just go along, please just go along. Arms circled your back and pulled you close. A strangely familiar American voice spoke back.

“Don’t worry, babe. Just calm down and let’s head back to the hotel. Yeah?” More footsteps except this time, they were receding. Your heart about burst with absolute joy. You stayed like that, encompassed in a stranger’s comforting embrace for what felt like eternity.

Once you both deemed the coast clear, you pulled back and almost chocked on your own spit in shock. Tom Holland stood in front of you, his curls a little disheveled and his cheeks a bit flushed, wearing a black shirt and jeans. His mouth dropped as the realization dawned on him.

He was standing in front of (Y/N) (Y/L/N).

You were standing in front of Tom Holland. Covering your mouth, you stared at him with wide eyes. When you finally spoke, you sounded like the stupidest person to ever exist.

“I thought you were American!” You were pointing your index finger at his chest. His very solid, warm, nice-smelling chest that you had buried your face into just moments ago. You were going to have a full blown anxiety attack from the sheer absurdity of the situation.

He smirked now, “I am not. It was just acting, darling.” Your heart fluttered. He just called you darling. How many times had you YouTubed compilations of him saying that to imagine him saying it to you? Enough to know that it never sounded like this, all breathless and heated and flirty.

He extended his hand and you watched as a little bit of the fanboy from the Jimmy Fallon interview brightened his eyes. “It’s lovely to finally meet you. I am a huge fan.”

You took his hand a little awkwardly, afraid to show just how much you were freaking out. “Likewise.”

“So where are you headed?”

“Brown’s Hotel.” He raised his eyebrows and informed you that you were going in the very wrong direction, Brown’s Hotel was the opposite direction. You laughed a little nervously, scratching the back of your neck as you explained your embarrassing situation. He laughed, shaking his head and squinting his eyes in the most adorable show of amusement you’d ever witnessed.

As you walked back, your shoulders bumping each other’s every once in a while, you talked about everything you could. When was the next time you would be able to walk the sparsely populated streets of a foreign country with your all time celebrity crush?

“What in the world made you choose Peter for a name?” He joked, looking down at you as he steered you around a corner. His hand lightly gripped the back of your lower bicep, sending electricity through your nervous system. If this was a Disney Pixar movie, the alarms in your head would be blaring as your emotions ran wild.

“It was the first name to come to mind. And I’m a huge Spider-Man fan.” You shrugged, self consciously tucking your hands deep into your pockets. Peeking at him through the corner of your eyes, you caught his gaze long enough to spike your heart rate. Which was already dangerously high.

The subject changed a billion different times, sometimes one of you would let a fan moment slip and the two of you would laugh.

Like when Tom said, “Your acting was seamless and beautiful. You weren’t even the lead and still you got the most attention for the movie! Somehow you managed to convey so many things with just facial expressions and body language and it was insane, as a fellow actor, to watch you. If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought you were really your character and-“ he cut himself off, his cheeks a preciously dark pink.

“I’m sorry, I’m geeking a little.” The both of you laughed and he got to witness you geek a little later, gushing about his portrayal of a character you grew up with.

“To actually see this Peter as a teenager, and I mean a real teenager, it was refreshing. Tobey and Andrew did great, don’t get me wrong. They’re both amazing actors, but I just feel like you were the most accurate teenage Peter that has ever been on screen. I love watching you.” It took you a second to realize what exactly you had just said and immediately you tried to correct yourself, but Tom didn’t hear a word of it as his laughter roared through the street.

By the time you got to Brown’s, you didn’t want to leave. You stood awkwardly at the elevator doors, shuffling your feet and trying to make sure that no one recognized Tom. He had his back to the main lobby but it still felt a bit risky.

“Well...” He looked at you with the biggest brown eyed puppy dog look you’d ever seen. It twisted your heart a million different ways inside your chest.

“Well...” You repeated. It was quiet for just a beat and then he said the most precious thing.

“Would you mind if I hugged you goodbye?” Without replying, your threw your arms around him. It felt natural, your body pressed to his like this. His arms pulled you close and he buried his head into your hair.

The moment was so dream-like, that you were completely unaware of the sound of the elevator opening behind you until the people inside started speaking.

“Tom Holland!” He jerked up, catching sight of the three paparazzi behind you. As if it was somehow possible, he pulled you closer in a very intimately protective manner. His body felt rigid against you. You were frozen in place.

“Who is the girl?!” They all started asking, and somehow it felt like you were being swarmed in a mob with their thousand of questions flying at the two of you like daggers. Tom managed to evade both their questions and them by shuffling the two of you into the elevator and evil eyeing them out.

When the doors closed, he let you go and gave you an awakward smile.

“Going up?” After he walked you to your room and you said your goodbyes, a bit reluctantly, you slipped inside. He hadn’t even asked for your number, or if he could see you again. You didn’t try to deny the sadness that thought brought.

Until you shoved your hands into your jacket pocket, ready to march into the bedroom and find your charger so you could cry to your mom. Your hand brushed against something, and when you pulled it out, you realized it was a card. Spider-Man was on the front, the famous picture of him laying on his back in front of the New York skyline.

Flipping it to the back, you burst into giddy laughter.

Tom Holland

Peter Parker aka Spider-Man

Just beneath that was his phone number and social media accounts. At the very bottom, in hurried handwriting was a small sentence.

“I’ve been hoping to run into you.”

[lewiswhatshisname]

Taskmaster Series 15 Reblogs Begin

This post has been queued. In two hours from now, real time, series 15 will begin. Assume this blog contains spoilers going forward. The queue speed may be adjusted between the time when this post has been made (March 30) and whenever you are seeing it, based on the number of posts in the queue (currently, two hours before air, there are about 700 posts in my queue, and it spits out 10 posts per day. This is likely to change to a higher frequency of posts in the very near future).

From this point forward, this is not a spoiler free blog.

Anything specific, such as scores, results, or winners will be tagged with appropriate spoiler warnings, but the usual flood of out of context gif and still reblogs will likely remain untagged.

I have no idea what day this post will be going out. It will be as much of a surprise to me as it will be for you.

[ecofinisher]

The Adventures of Super Nathan 3 - Chap 5

Chapter 5

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23301076/chapters/56440666

fanfiction.net/s/13531960/5/The-Adventures-of-Super-Nathan-3

https://www.wattpad.com/862186509-the-adventures-of-super-nathan-3-chapter-5-in-the

In the evening Nathaniel and Lila sat together in the terminal near other passengers waiting for their boarding call to their plane, which currently was being prepared for the last flight. 

Nathaniel wore a neck cushion and was surfing on the smartphone at the same time Lila was reading a traveling magazine about the Greek country.

“There are so many interesting meals Nathy” Lila mentioned showing the husband the page with the various dishes in the magazine.

“I never knew Baklava was Greek” Nathaniel mentioned. “Oh Tiropita seems interesting. Is that some sort of pastry or…..”

“Yeah, filled with cheese and egg mixture as it says here” The brunette pointed it out to Nathaniel, which nodded.

“Is it lactose-free?” The orange kwami asked, which was inside the pocket of Lila’s jacket.

“It doesn’t say it here anywhere” Lila answered seeing Trixx dropping the ears. “Don’t worry, there are lots of foods you can try out”

“Why are you interested in trying out human food?” Nathaniel asked the fox kwami.

“I can tolerate anything a human does….except milk products”

“So….just like a real fox?” Nathaniel asked earning a nod from the kwami. “What about chocolate and coffee? I heard it’s toxic to foxes”

“Okay we can’t have coffee, because it turns us really, really hyperactive”

“I think this happened to Karaa once” Nathaniel mentioned looking down at his jacket, where Karaa looked out at his owner nodding.

“It tasted awful for me anyway” “I like coffee” Lila mentioned. “But the Lila Rossi style!”

“You mean Lila Kurtzberg style” Nathaniel corrected making Lila shake her head.

“From today on, anything new will be called like that. The coffee was done before I met you. Who knows, maybe I’ll invent something today and who knows, that will then be called the Greek Lila Kurtzberg style…..that doesn’t fit a bit thought. We’ll see about that later”

“You always managed to find something, Lila. You always did”

“You’re the sweetest Nathy” Lila complimented pecking him on his cheek, leaning on his neck cushion. “You’re still going to sleep in the flight, right?”

“Maybe?” Nathaniel answered. “How many hours are there? 4?”

“Yes, well we’re gonna arrive at midnight and we’ve been awake since 5 am”

“You woke up that early?” Nathaniel asked surprised earning a nod from the woman.

“I went to the toilet in the middle of the night and afterward I couldn’t fall asleep and stood awake at that time”

“I’m glad I can wait the whole night without going to the bathroom. I need every second of my sleep” Nathaniel warned making Lila chuckle.

“Don’t worry, we still got plenty of weekends in front of us to be resting together in bed every morning” The wife mentioned nudging her nose on Nathaniel’s.

“Life’s going to be perfect” Nathaniel added afterward he shared a hug with Lila.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, flight AE1563 with destination Santorini is now ready to board. Please hold your ID’s and boarding cards or digital boarding cards ready”

“I think we should start to queue behind the others” Lila mentioned earning a nod from her husband, which got up along with her and joined the group of people that stood in front of the desk in front of the gate.

Adrien stood along with Kagami and his younger sister Hope in front of the mirror in the bathroom brushing their teeth together.

“Bwush a little hawder” Adrien mumbled gazing down at his sister, which moved her toothbrush a little slow, but harsher than she was doing before. “Good”

Adrien and Kagami rinsed their mouth with water and passed one after the other the toothbrush under the open water tap and Adrien looked back at his sister, which spits out the water she took from her plastic pink plastic cup, then she grinned at Adrien showing him her teeth.

“Good job” Adrien complimented the girl, then held the young girl his hand out to help her down the small stool she was standing on, then walked out into Adrien’s bedroom afterward she ran off Adrien’s hands as on the flatscreen TV appeared a movie trailer with colorful characters singing.

“Next month it seems like I have to take Hope to the cinema to watch this movie,” Adrien said glancing at Kagami, which left the bathroom behind him.

“Isn’t that a sequel?” The Japanese woman asked earning a nod from the blonde.

“Yeah, well I could show the first movie a few days before we go to the cinema. I have also no idea what the movie is all about”

“I feel like it’s one of those movies, where the studios waste all their money just to get very famous people voicing the characters”

“Maybe, I know Dustin Timberwolf is in it and I haven’t seen him doing a voice-over ever since” Adrien pointed out noticing the trailer was over, then he grabbed Hope from under her arms and took her on his arms.

“It’s bedtime Hope” Adrien mentioned making the girl sad.

“But I’m not…..tired,” Hope said while yawning making Adrien furrow his eyebrows at his sister knowing she was.

“You’re interested in listening to a bedtime story?” The blonde asked the child, which nodded and Adrien walked out of his bedroom along the corridor to the end of it, entering the next bedroom, which was Hope’s decorated with pink and white furniture and leaned to the wall was Hope’s castle-themed bed with stairs going to the top of the head, where she had different types of plushies sitting on it gazing over the bedroom.

Adrien glanced at the amount of plushies his sister had gotten from her parents over the months and he picked up a tiger plush and handed it out to his sister, who just had lied down on her bed. Adrien covered the girl, then sat in front of her thinking about what story he should tell the girl.

“I’m really stuck with having an idea” Adrien mentioned, then his kwami Plagg appeared to see, where Adrien was and gazed down at the little girl.

“Why don’t you read a book?” Plagg questioned the holder.

“There are lots of books I could read her, picking one is hard” Adrien answered, soon Longg the dragon kwami appeared to see Adrien and Plagg together with the girl.

“Do you need help with anything, Adrien?” Longg asked.

“Maybe coming up with a story idea?”

“What about a superhero story?” Longg suggested.

“What about a less complicated love story between two superheroes?” Plagg asked making Adrien furrow his eyebrows.

“How did you get that idea?” Adrien asked.

“I don’t know. It just came” Responded the black kwami followed by the blonde agreeing with his choice.

“Good, I might have something in mind,” Adrien said looking down at the girl embracing her plush, followed by Adrien placing his hand on her forehead to caress it. “I’m going to tell you about two superheroes, that were in love. Their name is…….Hydra and Onyx. Hydra is a dragon-themed superheroine and Onyx is a cat-themed superhero. Onyx knew Hydra’s secret identity, since he was the one, who gave her the task to help him assist him saving Paris. Onyx began to wonder if it made sense helping her deal with her private life issues and offered her himself to chat with him, whenever she felt the need. He began to visit her alter ego on the rooftop of her house, understanding her and slowly beginning to develop feelings for the girl. Both of her sides. On the other hand, Hydra has no idea, who Onyx is, but she slowly starts to have theories, of who he was. Hydra began to feel attracted to the masked superhero, enjoying every second of his company, whether it was out of the missions or on her rooftop. One night after a mission both stood on the top of a roof and Hydra had destransformed back into her civilian self and she thanked him for his support. Onyx promised her, that no matter what she has his full support. With a lovely smile, Hydra approached slowly her superhero friend and kissed his lips. Even though Onyx’s transformation dropped after he passed his transformation limit he kept his posture, afterward both opened their eyes and the girl noticed, that Onyx had been her neighbor, which she was befriended with since they were young kids. Hydra was happy to know, that the boy she was in love with was her best friend. She couldn’t be happier”

“Sweet” Longg whispered as he noticed Hope had fallen asleep. Adrien smiled and pecked his little sister on the forehead, afterward he walked out of the bedroom closing the door carefully.

“The story needed a little action for my taste” The cat kwami mentioned, making Adrien chuckle.

“Maybe” Adrien answered. “I just told, what I could come up with” “Sure,” Plagg said. “She fell asleep and didn’t get the shock of her life. So it’s good”

“Yes” Adrien agreed. “Come on guys, it’s bedtime”

“Bedtime?” Plagg asked. “I’m staying awake” Plagg complained flying away entering into a dark room, which was vice versa to Hope’s room. Adrien shook his head and walked the corridor back to his bedroom, spotting Kagami sitting on his bed reading a letter.

“Is that an invitation?” Adrien asked sitting down next to his girlfriend, which nodded.

“There’s going to be a fencing tournament next month. Mr. Esgrime gave me the letter, thinking we might be interested as it is going to be in Paris this year” The blue-haired woman explained showing Adrien the letter.

“Cool,” Adrien said. “Should we participate in it?”

“If you want to” Kagami answered. “It’s been like four years, we had the last tournament back in Germany” “Yeah and I could definitely success this time at the tournament” Adrien asserted making Kagami giggle.

“You have practiced a lot since our last tournament. You’re going to win without any problem” Kagami assured the boyfriend caressing him on the cheek. “Just don’t lose your focus”

“I’m winning it this time, I promise,” Adrien said sharing a kiss with the girlfriend, then Kagami got up on Adrien’s lap falling on top of him placing her hands over his chest while smooching with the blonde. Adrien gazed afterward surprised at his girlfriend as she moved her head up smirking at the blonde, which was confused at the situation.

“Did a cat eat your tongue?” Kagami asked making Adrien shake his head.

“No. I…..wasn't expecting to see your uhm…...wild side”

“We got plenty of time until your parents are back from Milan. We should take advantage of this. Come on, you don’t need to be afraid of it”

“I’m not afraid, just…..a little insecure…..”

“Don’t worry about it. Everything will go just fine” Kagami assured. “We have enough time to overcome it”

“Yeah, you’re right” Adrien mentioned smiling as Kagami tipped with her index finger on his nose, afterward she planted her lips on his shoving her hands under his head passing her fingers between his hair locks, fondling them causing the boyfriend joy.

[entergamingxp]

fun fighting let down by a bare-bones launch • Eurogamer.net

Bleeding Edge poses a question I hadn’t considered before: what if the combat from Devil May Cry met Overwatch? A modestly-sized development team at Ninja Theory, spearheaded by DmC Devil May Cry combat designer Rahni Tucker, has worked for the past four years to come up with an answer. The result is a mixed bag. Bleeding Edge is, fundamentally, a fun experience, but it is a tad bland. And this launch on Xbox One and PC feels bare-bones, to put it lightly.

Bleeding Edge

Developer: Ninja Theory

Publisher: Xbox Game Studios

Platform: Reviewed on PC

Availability: Out now on Xbox One and PC

Here’s the setup: two teams of four work together to knock lumps out of each other while fighting for control points or, in the second of the two available game modes, energy canisters. There are 11 characters at launch, categorised into one of three roles: damage, support or tank, and already just two days after Bleeding Edge’s release that doesn’t feel like enough. The diverse roster of augmented heroes (augmentation is a theme, here) is made up of a few Overwatch-alikes and a handful of really quite impressive designs, all drenched in a sort of Borderlands meets ’90s sci-fi aesthetic that rekindles memories of hazy summers spent listening to Garbage. One of the characters is called Zero Cool, a nod to Jonny Lee Miller’s character of the same name from that most wonderfully crap mid-90s cyber thriller, Hackers.

I find myself gravitating towards a few of the characters in particular, the ones that work a little differently to the rank and file. Maeve is a granny (you don’t see many older women in video games – nice one Ninja Theory!) from Wicklow, Ireland, who is a cyber witch ranged assassin who rides a hovering bauble. The trick with Maeve is to perfectly time her traps and land killing blows, the latter of which resets her abilities. Struggle with this and Maeve’s a lightweight. But if you can dip in and out of combat, snatching last hit after last hit, she’s a beast.

On the support side, I enjoy playing as Kulev, who is – and stick with me here – a Voodoo-loving dead professor from Cambridge University whose soul was digitised and reborn into an automated snake that is now the arm of the mummified corpse of the aforementioned dead professor from Cambridge University. He was born in South Cheam, according to his bio. I know of no other video game characters who were born in South Cheam.

On the battlefield, Kulev is a ranged support who uses curses and boons to heal and deal damage. He’s not as direct a healer as fellow support character Zero Cool, but I find him more versatile and, well, cooler.

As far as the tanks go, I have a soft spot for half motorbike girl Buttercup (her “get over here” chain ability is fun to land but hardly inspired design). Makutu, a hulking New Zealander who sacrifices an evade for the ability to switch stances between one that constantly regenerates health, or one that increases movement speed, is more interesting to play. And this is the thing about Bleeding Edge: it is only occasionally interesting. Most of the time it feels one-note.

I’m sure many will be put off by how shallow Bleeding Edge appears to feel during its initial couple of hours. This is a third-person combat game with auto-targeting and just one attack button, which you mash for a melee character’s solitary combo, or hold down to auto-attack as a ranged character (you spend a lot of time pressing X in Bleeding Edge). Each character has just three specials, and you pick one super from a choice of two before heading into a match. It’s pretty limited.

As a result, it feels like your success is determined mostly by your team composition. In reality this is a sort of hit or miss situation. Most of the time players will pick a nice spread of roles – a tank, two damage dealers and a healer, perhaps – but without a role queue you inevitably find yourself paired with a team who refuses to deviate from the ultra popular damage dealers – despite the in-game warning that pops up if you fail to pick a support character.

A zombie from South Cheam. I always knew south of the river was dead cool.

Bleeding Edge also warns that communication is key, and it’s true that if you’re playing with people who stick together, you have a much higher chance of winning. Winning is of course fun! But when you’re in a team of players who do not stick together, Bleeding Edge can feel like pulling teeth. Voice comms are on by default, but you rarely hear anyone speak. Usefully, there’s a ping system, but in my experience it’s rarely used. Bleeding Edge does not suffer lone wolves gladly. If you get caught on your lonesome by more than one enemy player, you’re done for. Bleeding Edge has a sort of MOBA feel in that teamfights are super important and chasing down enemies who try to escape can make all the difference. Target the healers first, then burn down the rest.

However, I’ve found the more you play Bleeding Edge, the more you start to notice there’s a little bit more to combat than that. Team composition is incredibly important, yes, but with the power of mods you can tweak how your character works to re-jig their role slightly. Mod Kulev’s area of effect special so that it does bonus damage, and you turn this support character into something of a shadow priest. Buttercup has a mod that adds an ally buff to her Oil Slick ability, which is by default an area of effect slow. I don’t want to overstate the impact of mods – they can only take you so far. But they do increase the playstyle options per character, which is nice.

Spacing and smart movement is key – and it’s here Bleeding Edge feels most like a MOBA. Moving as a group to interrupt, ambush or swarm the enemy is a tricky thing to achieve in Bleeding Edge, but it’s doable. Don’t fancy that fight? Keep at a safe distance while waiting for backup. Reckon you’re in decent shape to get stuck in? Ping your team and go for it. Retreating is a big part of Bleeding Edge, too. There’s a significant cooldown on your respawn, and given your team is made up of just four characters, staying alive can make all the difference. If Bleeding Edge has a skill gap, it’ll be found in the quiet spaces between the action.

Some of the maps have environmental hazards, such as trains that kill you if they hit you. They are sneaky bastards.

Bleeding Edge also has a parry, which is actually pretty tricky to time when the fights spit out virtual pyrotechnics onto your camera. Mechanically, there’s a good reason why you’d want to use the parry: unlike the evade, the parry does not consume stamina. You can only dodge out of harm’s way for so long, but you can parry forever – assuming you’re good enough.

The problem, though, is the parry doesn’t feel worth the risk of going for it. You can only parry while you’re standing still – in a game that feels like it revolves around keeping on the move that feels stifling. And the effect it causes on your opponent is slight – they’re pushed back a bit. The parry is a deflect, really. It’s not a counter, and I wonder if it should have been, given how hard it is to do in a standard match. It would have been cool to let the characters parry while depositing energy into a collection point. Imagine how cool you’d feel deflecting an interrupt from an enemy while calmly scoring points for your team? That would be some sick 90s Neo stuff right there – and help those who are good enough to parry feel like they can do something most players can’t.

Bleeding Edge’s paltry parry sums up the combat, really. It’s fine. It’s inoffensive. It jabs rather than haymakers. Most of the supers lack spectacle, although I have to admit Nidhoggr’s Ride the Lightning super, which stuns all nearby enemies with an epic guitar solo, hits the right note. Ultimately, though, the bludgeoning in Bleeding Edge is mostly monotonous.

Bleeding Edge has a more pressing problem, though. It has released in such a bare bones state that it feels like a soft launch rather than a full release. Bleeding Edge has just two game modes and already they’re starting to feel old. The power cell collecting and depositing mode is quite obviously weaker than the standard control mode, and I wince whenever the game puts me in it. There are a handful of maps but they all look and feel similar. Mekko, the dolphin who pilots a fishbowl crab mech via a Japanese AI, was supposed to be in the game at launch but is now down as coming soon. There is no ranked play and no meaningful progression system. As you play you level up your profile and your character, but only with the purpose of unlocking mods and earning credits for cosmetics. Ninja Theory has promised Bleeding Edge does not and will not have microtransactions, which I find surprising, but what’s in the game to unlock at launch is uninspiring. There are different board types, stickers for your board and board trails to buy with virtual credits, but I’m more interested in the character skins. Ah – there are just two per character and they’re palette swaps! The emotes are fun but, again, there are only a few to unlock per character. Some characters only have one emote to unlock.

Bleeding Edge is about carefree scraps with a few pals you just met against some random chancers, not unlike a night out in Cheam, actually. Hit FIGHT and the game finds you a match with as little fuss as possible. Hopefully you’re playing with people who stick together, rather than waddle off like some maddening toddler speeding towards their inevitable doom. Rinse and repeat, the hidden rating system (hopefully) working behind the scenes to huddle players of similar skill level together. If you lose – oh well, you get a completion bonus, some experience points and a handful of credits. Win and you get a few more. Do I think Game Pass and the Lockdown (both of which sound like characters in the game) will carry Bleeding Edge till the summer? The combat is just about good enough to get away with it for now, but without some meaningful updates I’ll probably lose interest sooner rather than later.

from EnterGamingXP https://entergamingxp.com/2020/03/fun-fighting-let-down-by-a-bare-bones-launch-%e2%80%a2-eurogamer-net/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=fun-fighting-let-down-by-a-bare-bones-launch-%25e2%2580%25a2-eurogamer-net

[roaldseth]

This started as a description exercise—“paint a set image with words”—but it ended up being a dialogue one as well, which then kind of lead to a slight timeline. Dialogue practice seemed like a good idea because most of the Lokapala aren’t named, so I could try and see if there were any distinct patterns among them (and try to set patterning without ever addressing anyone), but... that’s also a problem.

Best Taken in Twenty or Ninety Minute Durations, if Not For the Eight Hour Recommendation.

Digital Devil Saga 2 | Lokapala ( All ) | General | Ficlet | 743 FanFiction | Digital Devil Saga 2 belongs to ATLUS; this work is unaffiliated.

The longer the two stayed there in that way, the more Johnny had become prone to glance over the laptop screen and look their way.

“Do you think they forgot there was a meeting?”

        “It was their idea for all of us to get together.”

        “These chairs aren’t attached, you know. We could just move one around a bit… or pull one out from under them. That’d give them a good jolt.”

        “How old are you?!... Think how you’d feel. I bet it’d be really cranky.”

        “If you did that, Roland would let you live, probably… But, Adil would chew you up and spit you out, no doubt.”

        “Do you think so? I’ve heard Roland stays up for sixty hours straight sometimes, you know.”

        “Huh? Did you heard that from the kids?... Look, that sounds ridiculous.”

        “Try taking Adil’s hat. He probably can sense when it’s gone since he wears it so much.”

        “If everyone keeps this up, we won’t have to try to get their attention. The noise will be enough.”

        Johnny exhausted a hefty sigh, and spoke up for the first time: “Now, instead of hanging around here, we should take a queue from them and call it a day. We’ll all come back tomorrow and get everything done then. Sound good?”

        The rest of the Lokapala answered with brief affirmation, saying it was a fair suggestion, and went their different ways—except Johnny. Someone was going to have to fill the other two in, and since it was his idea, he figured he would wait around for however long that could be by doing what he would have done afterwards if everyone ended up sticking around. The armory inventory was saved on a document in the laptop that had long auto-set itself into sleep mode, which was conveniently placed on the table across from the head chair. Roland usually sat there, but it was vacant. Since Roland did not look as if he would be in imminent need of it, Johnny took the opportunity to enjoy the seat.

        If Adil had used his head, he would have taken that chair and dragged it over to the other two that were already situated next to each other to cluster up another set of three chairs, but with Adil’s current placement Johnny could practically imagine him having gargled out a groggy “move over” to Roland with a heavy head and heavier eyelids. But: Roland had long been unresponsive by the time Adil would have said anything, so the reality was that he never bothered to waste his breath and situated them both wherever needed.

        The set of chairs in the war room where deep enough that one had to sit away from the backboard to bend their knees around the edge, but Johnny would not have thought they were capable of fitting two bodies lying across; children maybe, but not two grown men. Adil had proved him wrong, although a few of his right-sided limbs were dangling off of the side of the furniture. His knuckles grazed atop of the carpeted rug, and his right leg hung down like a sling while his hip and foot remained on the cushion. His left arm arched over his head, catching his forehead; he would have been facedown in the cushion if it had not.

        Then, Roland: backside flush against the backboard of the makeshift couch, placed in a way where his limbs looked like they were positioned on purpose. His head was propped up on a flat throw pillow that he did not put there, and his limbs were bent outward, wedged between himself and Adil. Roland’s backhands and knees grazed against Adil’s sides, not because they were protruding far, but because Adil was the one taking more than his fair share of space, especially with his left leg jutting out.

        Both of them were still fully clothed down to their boots—spare Roland’s glasses that were resting on the tabletop next to a thin blanket that was refolded in a way where the ends and sides did not match up—and both of them bore weighted breaths and shut eyes. At least, the assumption was Adil’s eye were closes, for Johnny could not discern for certain without moving him.

        The longer the two stayed there in that way, the more Johnny had become prone to glance over the laptop screen and look their way. The more he did so, the more time he spent wanting and wishing and waiting to lie down alongside Kathy for the night—abet a little bit more comfortably and in their own bed.

As much as I want these two to SLEEP, whenever I try to write to make it happen... it’s never comfortable sounding. Then again: I’ve only ever did it one other time years ago, and it was a disaster of a fic... I try to forget it. One of these days I’m going to get around to putting them on an actual bed that sleeps two comfortably.

Wouldn’t be surprised if I did practice more with them sleeping though, because my gosh sleeping/napping together is one trope that always gets me, and there is no fucking way those two aren’t tired 110% of the time. Even the creator(s) themselves could not convince me otherwise.