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porkchop-ao3 · 2 months

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A Thrill I've Never Known (Chapter 70)

Losing Oursleves

Hey guys! I don't think you were expecting regular updates from me, but it's been over a year and I can't quite believe it. A lot has changed (I'm a married woman now!) and this year has gone so fast. But I'm determined to finish this story. So here's a new chapter (a naughty one hehe). I'm thinking there's only one or maybe two chapters to go :) it's all planned out, just gotta write it!

(All chapters tagged as #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

A number of weeks had passed since everybody went their separate ways. Arthur and I had made it to the remote and desolate wilderness of New Austin. We moved from place to place each day, always out in the middle of nowhere, sleeping with the armadillos and the iguanas, and even on one occasion coming face to face with a panther. That was a moment during which I'd caught myself beginning to miss the days of living in a camp with a dozen other people, always someone on guard to protect from not only human intruders but also those from nature.

Waking up to a panther sniffing at the wagon and making off with a day's worth of freshly hunted goat meat was exactly the push we needed to find a better arrangement for storing our meat overnight. We were lucky, the animal didn't seem all that interested in us, only casting a glance at us when it realised we were watching it, frozen on our bed rolls, Arthur with his gun trained on the thing and ready to shoot. He would've done so if it hadn't immediately ran away, and we realised it was probably a youngster. Had it been an adult, it might have preferred its dinner warm and still with a pulse. Yes, we were very lucky indeed.

Life in the desert certainly wasn't fun. I think I preferred the muggy, soggy swamp, alligators and all. But maybe I was biased, touched with some kind of nostalgia for my childhood, which made those gloomy conditions seem somewhat comforting. Especially in comparison to the sharp and unwelcome atmosphere I tended to get from the desert, sharp in very much a physical sense as well as metaphorical; everything was sharp. From the unrelenting brightness of the sun which assaulted my eyes, to the scratch of the cacti each time I unknowingly brushed up against one or found a stray needle in my bedroll.

But then there was the evenings, when the sun was setting and the temperature dropped, and the sounds of the place came alive. Insects chirping all around from every direction, birds of all sizes and kinds flying overhead, calling out to one another as they prepared to find a spot to roost for the night, and the quiet whistle of the wind whipping through the dry grass and across the arid land. There was something, dare I say, peaceful about it.

There was definitely a love-hate relationship between the desert and I. I hadn't spent much time there at all in my life; I'd visited a few times as a child – my mother had cousins living nearby, though all since long dead – and of course I had been in Blackwater when my brother passed. I never liked it much as a child, and that didn't change much as I aged. But now? The desert became paired with a new association. One of freedom. Of course, I still couldn't say I enjoyed being there, but I enjoyed being away from everything the East had put us through. It felt like a fresh beginning.

So, Arthur and I spent our days in the wilderness, staying mostly out of the way of other people. Most days we didn't see another soul besides the animals, and those certainly felt more abundant than they had anywhere else. However, I figured it felt so just because there were less places for them to hide.

When I did see other people, it was when I headed into Armadillo to visit the store, where I'd buy supplies for us. I didn't speak more than necessary and always kept my head down, I was alone, with Arthur needing to stay out of sight in case someone recognised him. It was the second time I went there that something caught my eye in the store. A little notice pinned to the wall by the door. It read:

FOR SALE. Seaworthy steamboat. Roomy interior with comfortable living quarters. For information ask for Pete at saloon.

It was a simple poster with a hastily yet nicely drawn sketch of a long steamboat with a raised interior section protruding from the deck. I paused on the way out of the store to inspect it, leaning in and narrowing my eyes. A flicker of interest lit up my chest and I considered things for a moment. A boat. A boat with living quarters? How convenient, I thought. Perhaps it was a ridiculous idea, and I was just influenced by my slowly building desire to get away from the desert.

Or perhaps it was genius?

I left the store with my groceries and headed back out of the settlement of Armadillo to meet with Arthur, who was waiting by our wagon. When I arrived I loaded the things I had bought into the back of the wagon, and floated the idea out there.

"How'd you feel about boats?" I asked.

"Boats?" Arthur scoffed. "I think I recall telling you I'd never set foot on one again, after Blackwater, that poker job in Saint Denis, Guarma…" he laughed, snapping me back to reality. Oh yeah… I remembered his words from what seemed a lifetime ago now. Every time I set foot on a boat, at best I get wet and at worst I almost die.

"Oh, right," I nodded, tutting to myself. I climbed up onto the wagon beside Arthur, and noticed he was looking at me, waiting.

"Why?" He eventually asked.

"It don't matter," I told him, chuckling dismissively.

"Must've mattered a minute ago, was the first thing you said to me when you came back," he said. I shrugged my shoulders.

"No, I just saw there's one for sale nearby. Apparently it has living quarters inside, I wondered if it would be good for us but you're right, you were never that lucky when it comes to boats," I explained.

Arthur kept looking at me, his brow furrowed in thought. "How much?"

"It didn't say, but there's a feller named Pete apparently, frequents the saloon."

"Hm," he grunted, before letting it go. Then we headed off, back into the empty wilderness.

–

Just a few long days later, there was an incident. One that shook us up and reminded us of just how many ears the tales of Arthur and Dutch's Boys' crimes had reached.

We had moved further west, towards the little town of Tumbleweed. I remembered the place from my childhood, during the times I had visited family nearby; it had been a lot more substantial back then, bustling with new business and new inhabitants, it seemed it would become quite the hub of the West. But in the subsequent years, the success of Armadillo was becoming increasingly noticeable in the downfall of Tumbleweed. Businesses and people moved out, passers by rarely looked twice, what remained was a small collection of stragglers who refused to stop beating the dead horse it embodied. It was becoming a mere smudge on the map and so we figured Arthur might not be recognised there.

We both desperately needed to bathe and buy a fresh set of clothes, since the harsh days in the desert – and even less access than usual to clean water to wash them – had taken its toll on the small amount of clothes we had. So we stopped by the general store and chose from their small range of clothing and paid their up-marked prices without complaint, and without incident. The saloon seemed like our most promising hope for a place to take a bath, and so we headed there next to enquire.

There was no bath, unfortunately. There was however a gentleman who recognised Arthur, even less fortunately. He was reasonable enough not to shout it on sight and instead waited until we were outside, heading back to the wagon. He followed us, confronted us, and shortly after was laid to rest somewhere North of Gaptooth Ridge.

Arthur had been quiet for hours after that. He'd shot the man point blank in the chest with very little hesitation, but I could see from his tight, grim expression that lingered well into the evening that he was chewing over the guilt. I let him have his time before I mentioned it over the campfire that night.

"You okay?" I asked him, and he merely grunted. "Arthur."

"I don't know what I'm supposed to say. You shouldn't have seen that, today."

"I've seen worse," I scoffed.

"But all this talk, all this crap about changing and doing the right thing from here on out. Didn't exactly last long, did it?" He rumbled, his voice almost just a vibration that reached my thudding heart before my ears.

"That's different."

"How?"

"You weren't left with much of a choice."

"You sure?"

I sighed and rolled up onto my knees and shuffled towards him on the bedroll we were sitting side by side on, below the stars. "I'm sure. He'd have gone and told somebody and then the law would know we're out here, and we'd be up shit creek without a paddle faster than you could've pulled your pistol if you'd hesitated for a second longer."

"Or I could've paid him off, threatened him, I don't know," he grumbled, shaking his head. I put my hand on his shoulder and turned him to look at me.

"But why take the risk?" I asked.

"So I wouldn't have to kill another innocent person," he met my eyes and they were pained. I leaned down and kissed his forehead.

"Okay," I accepted, "but he knew who you were, what he was getting himself into when he confronted us alone. It weren't too bright of him. He could've kept his mouth shut and ran to the Sheriff. At least now we know he took it to the grave."

Arthur didn't say anything, he dropped his eyes to my chest and kept them fixed there.

"The other day you were telling me to let go of guilt, to not beat myself up. You should take your own advice sweetheart," I told him, cupping his cheek in my hand and stroking the highest plane of his cheekbone with my thumb. He closed his eyes and softened, his lips parting just slightly.

I pressed my lips to his and he jumped, not expecting it, but he responded quickly. His hands reached for my waist and he turned to me more, facing my body completely. He broke the kiss just for a moment, his breath sucking in quickly and sharply in realisation.

"Let's buy that boat," he whispered.

"Seriously?" I questioned, and he pulled me back to kiss me again, his hands insistently gripping my waist like he wanted something he was too afraid to ask for. I climbed onto his lap, straddling his hips

"Seriously," he affirmed. "Might finally feel like we have a home."

"But you hate boats," I huffed a laugh.

"Not as much as I hate all this looking over our shoulders," he said.

"Right," I breathed, nodding as I kissed his forehead. He tilted his head up and connected our lips again, kissing me for a few short moments before I felt the warm press of his tongue against the seal of my lips. I eased, letting him run the wet tip along the underside of my upper lip so lightly it tickled. Then I heard a needy whine escape him, his hands squeezing hard into my hips urging me to put my full weight onto him, and I felt his desire firm between my legs.

It'd been a while since we made love. Our circumstances had hardly been ideal for it, but I'd noticed in Arthur's demeanour that he had wanted to, in the press of his hips into my backside when we laid side by side in our bedrolls. He'd stay there for a few moments until he got hard, and then he'd roll back. I knew he wouldn't ask me for it out in the open, he wouldn't want to take the risk of anyone seeing. Our tent was buried somewhere in the wagon, an oversight during packing, and frankly we'd been too lazy to dig it out.

I regretted that now, as he kissed me, unashamedly showing me his desire in the rough and hungry way his lips worked against mine, and the tight grip of his hands on the soft flesh of my hips.

Suddenly, with the buildup of my own arousal reaching a precipice, I didn't care who saw.

"Let's do it," I whispered harshly against his lips.

"Wha- here?" He balked, hesitancy in his actions as he readied to peel himself away from me. I ground myself against him to stop him.

"Do you wanna?" I asked.

"If someone sees–"

"No one's gonna see," I giggled, lifting my skirt and shifting it out of the way. I took his hand from my hip and guided it down, slipping it through the layers of fabric until it reached me. His fingers cascaded over the slickness, between the folds, sinking inside. He shuddered out a sigh and nipped at my jaw and my neck.

"I wanna," he breathed, rocking his fingers inside me, closing his eyes as he imagined something else disappearing inside the warmth.

He pushed them deeper, finding my favourite spot with practiced ease, rubbing it until my breath became laboured.

"I missed this feeling," he told me, "you feel like heaven, I imagine."

"You imagine," I repeated, puzzled by his choice of words.

"Well I ain't got much chance of seeing the real thing, so I figure I'm getting my taste of heaven here on earth now," he chuckled, his voice a honey smooth buzz clouded with lust.

I reached between his legs too, unbuttoning his jeans and the lower part of his union suit until his stiff length sprang free, the tip already glistening, having left a wet spot on the new clothes we'd bought just that morning. I took him into my hand, coating my palm with the slick and using it to lubricate my strokes.

Every tense muscle in his body seemed to ease at my touch, his shoulders sagging and his ministrations on me temporarily stuttering. I smirked a little, rocking my hips to bring his attention back. His eyes flashed open, cheeks flushing as his fingers restarted their dance inside me; it was short-lived, however, and he withdrew them. I was feeling deprived for less than a second before I realised they were heading for his mouth. He tasted me.

"I'm gonna need a little more of that," he rumbled, wrapping his arms around me and rocking back, then forth; the momentum rolling him onto his knees and me onto my back.

He flipped my skirt up and buried himself underneath, keeping my body hidden from the world so he was in a little one man tent. I laughed, dropping my head back against the bedroll, jumping and gasping when wet heat engulfed my nether regions. His tongue explored, circling my most sensitive spot before moving down, slipping just inside my entrance. I moaned quietly, my fingers clawing into the fabric of my skirt wishing they could tangle in his hair instead.

I squirmed on the bedroll, tilting my hips and pressing against his mouth, and he encouraged my motions with a moan that vibrated through me. But it wasn't long until the emptiness felt unbearable and the desire to have him inside me was more of a need.

And I told him so. "Arthur, I need it."

He reappeared from underneath my skirt, his lips glistening and hair tousled.

"You need it, huh?" He repeated, his smile growing. He glanced around and pushed my skirt up when he was satisfied the coast was clear.

"I need it," I reiterated with a nod, twitching as I felt his thumbs move to my folds, parting them as he looked down to admire the view. I looked down at his cock, twitching and leaking where it jutted out from his clothes. I imagined how the round head of it would feel pressed up against my entrance, pushing forward until my body yielded, letting him in. An involuntary whine left me.

"Now," I'd never sounded so demanding, and it caught us both by surprise.

"Yes ma'am," he chuckled, sitting back on his heels and picking my hips up, dragging me closer to him down the bedroll until my hips were raised onto his thighs.

My hand wrapped around his length and I helped guide him, rubbing the head of it against me, revelling in the hot firmness. I savoured it as he nudged my opening, and let him press forward slowly so I felt every single inch. We sighed in unison as I took him deep, until our pelvises were flush.

"Lord have mercy," he murmured, his face slack, almost comical. He pulled back slowly, and rocked back in quickly. It sent fireworks into my lower belly, and he repeated that slow-fast motion a number of times, the slow part becoming faster and faster until his rhythm settled into a quick one that wasn't gentle. Gentle wouldn't cut it then for either of us.

I let my knees fall apart and he caught my legs, his palms cupping the crooks of my knees as he bounced me back and forth, his cock drilling in and out of me in a way that was so satisfying, it was like drinking a tall glass of cold water on a hot day. My eyes practically rolled back in their sockets and I moaned his name, my head dropping back on the bedroll.

Arthur's eyes darted from between my legs, to my face, to our surroundings. He was never one to let his guard down completely and I allowed myself to let go and put my trust entirely in him. I didn't think about where we were, our vulnerable position out in the open. I just focused on the pleasure, the slick and rhythmic motion as he entered and re-entered, pressing something deep inside me.

My hands found their way to his knees, and I held onto them for support behind my hips, squeezing my fingertips into his thighs. My touch encouraged him, he fucked harder, and the angle of my body changed. Disoriented for just a moment, my calves ended up on his shoulders, his face peeking out between them as he wrapped his arms around my legs and shifted upwards. His cock was tilted forwards, pressing the most sensitive spot inside me. His arms squeezed my thighs tightly together and it changed the nature of the pleasure, it felt even nicer this way, and I knew he'd undo me quickly.

I wondered how it would feel to have him burst inside me, filling me with what he usually painted my stomach with. I wondered if it would feel good; hot and satisfying, adding to the slick, or if I'd notice at all until he pulled out and allowed it to drip from me. I imagined him failing to stop in time, losing himself in a way that Arthur never does, and chasing his orgasm unthinkingly, spilling into me before even realising what he was doing. The mental image did things to me that surprised me and made me gaze into his face, imagining it over and over, almost willing it to happen. Now I was losing myself.

My orgasm built off of that image and I didn't try to stop it, didn't try to make things last any longer, I let it take over. I felt it, really felt it in an all-consuming way, my heart racing as I climbed to that precipice, and crying out involuntarily as I leapt off of it. My goodness, it felt good.

"I'm coming!" I gasped out, a plea for him to keep going, never stop. Arthur obliged, turning his head and pressing kisses into my inner leg, dancing his lips across my scars as I enjoyed him.

Shortly after my come down, Arthur pulled out, rubbing his cock between my thighs with that unchanging rhythm, and released with a grunt. It was powerful, shooting past my shoulder and partially onto my face, which prompted him to pull back harshly and soil my inner thighs with the rest. I giggled in surprise.

"Shit, I'm sorry Princess," he huffed and puffed, shakily releasing my legs down either side of him and leaning forwards, thumbing away the gift he'd bestowed upon my cheek. I caught his hand, and tongued his fingertip to clean it away. He kissed me roughly, lips pinching mine between them and pulling, sucking until they tingled. It was like he wanted to devour me.

"It's okay," I chuckled when he let me speak.

"That was an accident, I didn't expect it to shoot that far," he apologised.

"Me neither," I smirked, cupping his face in my hands.

"Should'a known, it's been a while," he breathed, leaning back and looking down. He tutted at the state of himself, his trousers stained by what he'd left on my thighs. "Jesus," he said, humour clear in his eyes.

"We need a place where we can do this without ruining our clothes," I noted.

"That boat of yours got enough room?"

I laughed, "I think so."

"Perfect," he smirked.

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 fanfic #reader insert #atink

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fleetingfigures · 4 years

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|| 2020: A Retrospective ||

With the year coming to a close soon, thank god, I thought it’d be cool to take a look back and see what’s transpired in FFXIV as well as this blog! Anyone also reading this, I invite to do the same, if you have time of course. It’s always nice to close out the year thinking of the positives. Though, without further ado let’s goooo~

Blog-Related

- Actually, well, started using this thing! Met a lot of cool peeps and had the chance to actually break out into the world RP thanks to it.

- Almost hit 100 followers, just 5 shy!

- Top 10 Posts of the Year!

1). Promise Me You’ll... 116 notes - Aug 19 2020

First and only post I’ve had reach 100 notes! Mighty proud of the posing I pulled off for this, and who knows, I might make a sequel in due time. WoL!AU’s are still very much my weakness. And G’raha. He’s a weakness of mine too, if it wasn’t readily apparent already.

2). LFRP - Saerno Glista (Balmung/Crystal DC) 75 notes - Jan 28 2020.

Ah... My old LFRP. I even updated it, but I feel the need to change it again, especially given the fact I’m Giving my Carrd a complete overhaul. Might do the same to this blog too lmao. New Year new me as they say, but in actuality a lot has occurred for a certain catboy and things must be adjusted.

3). I Was Busy Thinking ‘Bout Boys 70 notes - Dec 5 2020

I was surprised this even got the attention it did lol. Seems NPC-related content is my most popular stuff. Also I am highly disappointed no one could recognize Arnott from the HW anima weapon quests. Y-yea he’s a very minor NPC, but I think he’s a cutie.

4). Black Mage is a Fun Class 51 notes - May 6 2020

The first of my fun class series! Originally wasn’t supposed to be a series at all, but I decided that every class in the game deserved some love! Also can I just say how much I love staves? Oh and the pagos bandana. It fits oddly well Sae imo.

5). Eden’s Promise Eternity 46 notes - Dec 18 2020

One of my more recent posts, and one not all too involved in the posing. Though, like I said in the post, the MOMENT I saw that arena, I fell in love with its lighting. OST is also a banger. Glad that people enjoyed random glamour shots with Gshade improving the already good lighting.

6). A Guide to Arcanima 42 notes - Sep 28 2020

The post I put the most time into... Photoshopping became so tedious at some points, but it was well worth it! I’m proud of the result and the opportunity to share some of my views upon the RP-flexibility of Arcanima.

7). Random Shower Thought 32 notes - Feb 9 2020

...I genuinely do not remember making this post.

8). Astrologian is a Fun Class 31 notes - Nov 30 2020

My old healing main, but still without a doubt the most beautiful class in the game. I wish Tumblr didn’t restrict gif sizes, but I understand the need for people’s devices to not implode when loading resources. So much grain could be reduced and more detail could be added, but alas. The screenshot at the end is still my favorite screenshot of Sae I’ve taken, even if it’s not IC.

9). Crystarium Coat of Scouting 29 notes - Mar 20 2020

And I still stand by my statements today. Since last tier is a patch behind us now, I could spare some augments to finally dye the coat. And, like a basic bitch, I’ve made Saerno’s ninja Rogue glamour jet black as far as the eye can see; all leather, of course. What is a rogue really without their leather?

10). 26 notes - Nov 16 2020

One of my first gifsets next to my Ninja ones! It Showcases the wonderful land of La Noscea, Sae’s only true home, and highlights some of his personal favorite areas! Hence why Limsa is barely pictured. He likes the city, but growing up in the country makes one appreciate the more natural side of La Noscea.

(Created by TumblrTop10)

In-Game

- Levelled all classes to 80! Though it does feel a bit hollow not being able to get xp for doing stuff now...

- Started Raiding... Well, seriously. I used to be a scrub and only do e1,e5 and e6 savage in PF, but a friend’s static needed a healer and they all but convinced me I was good enough to join. It’s been a hell of a ride, I’ll finally be going into e12s soon, but my experiences thus far have been awesome to say the least. I feel like I’m actually getting the most out of this game now that I both savage raid and take the time to RP.

- FINALLY GOT A HOUSE ON BALMUNG.

God was the release of the new wards hella stressful. Stayed up all night, logged on the second I could, booted up next to the ferryman. Didn’t get my ideal plot, but got the neighboring one. I finally got to house something with more than 100 slots, and for that, I am eternally thankful.

- Finished those goddamn Shared Fates. And all so I could get a piece of music and possibly make a few million gil selling other SHB area themes. Crystarium night theme is the GOAT and you cannot tell me otherwise.

Roleplay

- Actually RP’ed outside of my circle of friends! Now I haven’t had the time recently to seriously go back to it like I once did, but the things I’ve learned and the people I’ve met... I wouldn’t trade it for the world. With this upcoming new year, and me taking a small break from Uni, I think I’ll begin in earnest again! First I’ve gotta update all these damn sites first to better reflect where Saerno is now.

- New Plotlines realized, old ones closed up. It’s cathartic and oh so satisfying, in a way, to see your OC go through legitimate change and to have them put a cap upon a phase of their life, slowly moving on to the next. While Saerno is still as brash as ever, he’s begun to realize just how fragile his life is. To slow down, to sit back, rest, to think about the direction his life is headed, that is the essence of his new arc.

- Secrets to uncover. To keep things brief and without many spoiler, Saerno has made the transition from Arcanist to Summoner, but with it comes its own host of problems, ones that Saerno has to grapple lest things take a turn for the worse.

- Potential Alts. Well, now that I have money again... I may actually follow through on one of the many alt ideas I’ve had, some tangentially tied to Saerno’s own story, others completely unrelated. A tailor with an unrequited love that’s inspired him throughout his hardships? Perhaps the prodigal daughter of a family whose cunning nature only fuels her desire of pure freedom? Or maybe the son of Doman liberators, trying desperately to gain the approval and praise of others so that his parents’ name do not die out completely. So many choices...

And, well, that’s all! So far while 2020 has been quite terrible, at least I have these moments to look back upon fondly. Thanks to any and all of your who have been here this year, and here’s to hoping for a wonderful 2021!

#ffxiv #rp #Balmung #Screenshots #Saerno Glista #Thank you all!#And a Happy New Year in advance~#It's been a lovely year for my creativity

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midnight-in-town · 4 years

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Are there any mangas you think they should be contiuned? Or any, which the authors should release more chapters regularly on it?

Hello Anon! And no offense, but I’m not sure I understand your question?

I mean, stories belong to their author(s) so, if they’re finished, that is because their author(s) decided this was time for an end. :)

Same when it comes to authors who sometimes go on hiatus: manga industry is known to be tough and I’m sure they have their reasons, which are unrelated to “they should just hurry up & update" as per readers’ point of view, way too often (in my personal opinion).

Sorry, I don’t know if that makes sense? I kinda took your ask as bait @ TG, Gangsta. & Berserk, because that’s a criticism I see often for these series (that TG ended too soon, that Gangsta. & Berserk take too long to update), so there is a possibility that I misinterpreted your question.

The thing is, personally there is no series which I think “should be continued” or “should be updated more regularly”. I mean, sure, when you love a series, you never want it to end but, for me, series are the way they are: if they’re finished and some questions are left unanswered, then that’s just how we (readers) gotta roll with it. Same when it comes to waiting for a series to update and end. Besides, fandoms are also here to help with that!

I’m not saying we have to agree with or like every author’s decision or the fact that they go on hiatus, but as readers we are powerless when it comes to these situations, so I see no point in getting worked up about it (not that you are, but I’m speaking generally here :)).

TL;DR if I had to quote something to answer your question, I’d quote Chihayafuru:

The whole scene can be found here, if you want context. :)

I truly mean no offense to you Anon, because I get that it’s just curiosity, but as it happens, artists are the ones subjected to the most criticisms in general.

Of course, criticism doesn’t have to be bad, but still, personally I only manage one little blog and I notice how tired & annoyed I get whenever writer’s block hits, so I can’t even start imagining the pressure of being an author with an on-going series (be it books, comics, manga, etc).

Therefore, I’m just here to enjoy the ride. Sure I’m meh when a development happens that I wasn’t in favor of, but then you chill and remember that no one has to be petty over fiction. :))

Sorry if this was maybe too neutral for an answer, but when I was like 17 one of my fave authors ever died in a car accident, leaving his entire multiverse without a proper ending: I learnt to live with that, so I think we can adjust to pretty much every situation that isn’t in our hands. :3

Have a great weekend ahead Anon!

#tokyo ghoul #gangsta.#berserk #pierre bottero #fiction #personal #anon #answers

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worddevdealswithml · 5 years

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Failed Step 1 (And 2 (And 3))

Chapter 38:

“So not only a Ladybug costume, but a Chat Noir one as well.”

“Absolutely not,” said Chloe, as she closed the lid on the Ladybug and Chat Noir costumes. “This is an unrelated extending baton prop that I keep around for completely not superhero reasons.”

Kagami looked back at the box.

“And you’re a guest in my house so you’re legally not allowed to look in that box unless I say you can.”

“Stay inside. That’s the first thing I feel obligated to say. Stay inside and keep the lights on, and the windows shut.

“Alright. Now that I’ve got the urgent stuff out of the way, what’s up everyone, it’s your favorite Ladyblogger back at it again with a live update.”

As the elevator door shut, Chloe and Kagami stared down at the screen, which was playing the recorded livestream that Alya had sent out the better part of an hour ago.

“Where are we going?” said Kagami, finger hovering over the buttons.

“Uh,” said Chloe mind not entirely present, torn simultaneously between the question, the video, and the fact that Kagami wasn’t going home. “fifth floor.”

“Top floor?”

“No, uh… Fifth counting the ground floor. The top floor is the roof”

“…and this one seems like kind of a shady character,” said Alya from the screen, and laughed, “yeah… I’m not funny. Anyway, there’s no word yet on where Ladybug and Chat Noir are, but I’m sure they’re working on it as we speak.

”In the meantime, I’ve got some info sent in by my followers, so I guess we’ll just run through that.” A few seconds of scrolling as she looked away from the camera.

“Okay, first thing’s first, user Benjoulemin tells us that the Akuma is in fact visible. Apparently, if you see a light out there, that’s probably the Akuma, and… Yeah, NotPayingAttention corroborates that, and says that ‘he called himself Grim Lantern.’”

Alya looked into the camera. “That’s gotta be copyright infringement,” she said, as the elevator bell dinged.

They stepped out of the elevator, Kagami still looking over Chloe’s shoulder.

She shook her head. “Anyway. Uh… Let’s see… Apparently this guy likes saying his name a lot because it seems like most people know it already… Okay, here’s some more info; user Squareleven apparently has a sister who got caught in the darkness for a few seconds. Apparently, it’s… Uh… Freaky. Exact words are ‘Like it’s trying to get inside your soul.’ Looks like it’s not a Princess Fragrance situation, though, since apparently she’s doing alright now!”

“Now, one more time! Safety: Stay inside, keep the lights on, keep the windows shut. At least one of those is working for me. Now, if I get more info, I’ll be sure to update you, but for now—”

“How long do you think it’ll take them?” asked Kagami, as Chloe stopped the video.

Chloe shrugged.

“Who knows? What was the longest one?”

“You’d know better than I would.”

She had been in Paris back when the attacks had started.

“The longest one I remember was when Daddy was turned into Malediktator. That took all day. It was almost midnight by the time Ladybug and I defeated him.”

“I see,” said Kagami, and there was a long pause. “And where were we going on the fourth floor?”

Chloe remembered, abruptly, that after getting out of the elevator, there had been a plan.

And the plan had been…

“My room,” she said aloud, feeling, suddenly, as if she’d made a dangerous choice.

Kagami, though, nodded as if it made perfect sense.

They walked down the short hallway to the room, and Chloe pulled the door open.

They say you should never yank doors open when there’s a fire on the other side.

Chloe staggered backwards as a wash of black mist rolled across her, practically pulled from the room by the motion of the air.

For a second, it felt like she was suffocating, sinking into the depths of the ocean, with no hope of ever…

The sensation receded, and Chloe recovered her balance as Kagami shoved up against her back with a shoulder and a forearm, bolstering her.

She stood back up properly, and…

Through the door to her room, everything was pitch black.

Or… Not quite. Across the threshold, there was a small ray of light, cutting into the darkness, and Chloe could see…

In her shadow, like snow in shade on a day just too warm for snow, there was a black mist, grasping wisps of smoke, pressing outwards, and dissipating.

Chloe took a step to the side, and the smoke dissipated as the light hit it, only for new bits to flow into her shadow.

“So… Another room, then?” said Kagami.

That was the smart option, sure enough, but…

“It doesn’t like the light,” she said aloud, “So…”

She pulled out her phone, and, in a few taps, had the light on.

“Chloe…” said Kagami, a bit of concern tinting her voice.

“This is fine,” said Chloe, pressing forward, slightly, noting how more of the floor came into view as she advanced. “I just need to…”

She reached the phone through the door, and angled it as far as she could to the right.

Then, praying that she wasn’t about to reach straight into darkness, she reached over, and…

‘Reaching into her soul’ was right. It was like a leaden weight on her chest, but, as she flailed, a bit wildly, she found what she was looking for, and…

Nothing…

She retracted her hand, shaking it, annoyed.

“Why?”

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “I was trying to turn on the lights. Obviously, it doesn’t like the light, so-

Light cut through from the inside of the room.

“So, you fumigated it,” said Kagami, slowly nodding. “Clever.”

“Mhm,” said Chloe, blushing slightly. Then, nudged by an instinct that normally sat unattended…

“Oh, and… thanks for making sure I didn’t fall.”

Kagami smiled. “Of course.”

Chloe pushed forward, into her room.

Even as she entered, she saw the last few proper remnants of the darkness burning away in the corners, and…

“I suppose that’s the problem,” said Kagami, mildly, looking across the room.

The doors to the balcony were wide open, a chilly spring breeze blowing its way into the room, carrying thick billows of darkness that rapidly dispersed in the lights from above. It was kind of strange, but… The weather seemed normal, if you imagined that the city was covered in a dry fog… Or possibly, that it was full of smoke from a cold fire. Whatever.

“Do you have a pole?”

Chloe pulled a face.

“Do most people have poles just lying around?”

Kagami shrugged.

“I see no point in getting closer than necessary.”

Chloe shrugged.

“Alright, well… Fine. I actually do have…” Chloe processed where her mind had gone.

“Yes?”

Well, screw it, this was her best choice.

“…a pole lying around,” she finished, lamely.

She walked away, into her room, and, to her embarrassment, Kagami followed her. She didn’t say a word, but as Chloe reached under her bed, and pulled out a large box, she could feel her eyes on the back of her head.

She pulled the case open, and…

They were a mess of course, but-

“Is that a Ladybug outfit?”

Chloe grimaced.

“No,” she said, reaching below the Ladybug outfit, “it is…” she pulled out what she’d been looking for, “this.”

Kagami blinked at the black stick, not more than a foot long.

Chloe clicked the button, and the baton extended to full length.

Kagami pulled back for a second, and…

“So not only a Ladybug costume, but a Chat Noir one as well.”

“Absolutely not,” said Chloe, as she closed the lid on the Ladybug and Chat Noir costumes. “This is an unrelated extending baton prop that I keep around for completely not superhero reasons.”

Kagami looked back at the box.

“And you’re a guest in my house so you’re legally not allowed to look in that box unless I say you can.”

Kagami raised her eyebrows as Chloe made her way back to the door.

She had to get off to the side, and kind of guess as to where the door actually was, since it was hidden in the swirling darkness, but…

The pole made contact, and with pressure…

It took a bit of pressing against the breeze, but after a second, the door clicked shut.

She could still see tiny wisps of darkness slipping through the cracks, but… That was nothing in comparison to what it had been.

Okay. That was… That was problem one solved, right?

Now all she had to deal with was…

Kagami…

In her room…

Where she might plausibly remain for quite some time…

This might be a problem.

Tagged for @obliviousasheck by request

Also, this story is finished on Ao3!

#Failed Step 1 #ML #Chlogami #Chloegami #Miraculous Ladybug #ML Fanfic

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

For Your Safety, Chapter Two (Branjie) - Kite

A/N: Thank you so much for the positive comments/ feedback on chapter one! I know the AU is a little unusual so I was really worried about how it would be received. I got a little in my head about this update because of the positive feedback on the characterisation, which is something I put a TON of thought into. I was just so worried about keeping up the standard that it took a little longer to nail the dialogue.

Going forwards, I think my updates will be every 3-4 days since I also write for the GoT fandom and am a full time law student so there’s a lot to balance!

Anyways… Welcome to the ‘my cats hate people but for some reason they love you’ trope disguised as a chapter.

—

By the time Brooke pulls up at her apartment, the snow is falling heavily, covering the road in a thick, white blanket. Before she switches off the engine, she sighs softly and unclips her radio from the dashboard. “Dispatch, this is Officer Hytes. The snow is getting pretty bad out here, so I’m going to have to call it a night and head home.”

“Understood, Officer. Stay safe on the roads.” The reply comes back shortly afterwards. Brooke feels a pang of guilt for lying. In her mind, she rationalises it. If she leaves Vanessa at her apartment and heads to work, then can’t get back because of the snow, there may be adverse consequences. Of course, the real reason is that she wants to bunk off work and hang out with the fierce, sexy Latina currently sitting in the backseat of her car.

As Brooke refastens the radio handset to its place on the dash, she looks into the rear view mirror and Vanessa is flashing her a shit eating grin. “You breaking all the fuckin rules tonight, Mami.” She smirks, then runs her tongue seductively across her teeth.

Brooke chokes out a cough in response and her eyes flare wide. Then, Vanessa starts laughing in her loud, harsh unrelenting style. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell nobody.” She practically shouts through her laughter.

Brooke usually prides herself on her ability to always have a comeback. She can keep a level head and separate her heart from her brain. She always knows the right thing to say. But she’s quickly beginning to realise that when it comes to Vanessa, all of that goes out of the window. She can’t even begin to keep up with her. She can go from seductive, to brash and loud, straight back to soft and emotional all within minutes. Its exhausting.

And enthralling.

As Vanessa’s laughter dies down, Brooke notices her wrapping her arms tightly around herself. Her slender legs that poor out from beneath her pale denim mini skirt are covered in goose flesh. One of these days, Brooke would have to teach her the art of dressing for the Toronto weather. For now however, all she can do is fumble with the zipper on her own coat and take it off, then thrust it towards the back seat.

“Take this. I’m not cold anyways.” She says casually, but then her body betrays her with a shiver. Vanessa quirks her eyebrow and Brooke feels the burn of embarrassment on her cheeks. “Really, I don’t need it.” She stammers, but she has a feeling she’s only making her awkwardness worse.

“You cute.” Vanessa smirks, which is probably the worst thing she could’ve said, because Brooke blushes uncontrollably. She’s grateful when Vanessa doesn’t push the matter any farther and shrugs the coat around her shoulders.

Brooke feels a shudder of fear and excitement when Vanessa looks up at her expectantly, waiting for her to lead her inside.

-x-

“Well, this is me.” Brooke shrugs awkwardly as Vanessa stands in the middle of her living room, looking at the surroundings. Her apartment is average sized and decorated very plainly, since she spends most of her time at work anyways. The kitchen is adjoined to the living room, with a small breakfast bar separating the two, and a short corridor leads to two bedrooms and the bathroom.

“Fancy.” Vanessa grins, and Brooke genuinely can’t tell if she’s joking.

Brooke is then hyper aware of the fact that Vanessa is standing in her living room. She’s in her house and she’s going to be here overnight. Her anxiety is about to kick into overdrive so she tried to break the non existent tension in the room. “Are you hungry? I don’t really have any food. Unless I can interest you in cat food? Or coffee? I could order takeout? I think I might have some eggs in the fridge. Do you-” Brooke rambles without taking a breath.

“Wait, you’ve got a kitty?” Vanessa said excitedly, cutting her off and whipping her head around to look on the floor.

Brooke smiles affectionately at her childlike enthusiasm. “Two, actually. They’re probably hiding, they aren’t too fond of new people.” She tells her apologetically.

Vanessa then pouts her lip in a way that’s so god damn enticing, Brooke has to physically fight the urge to grip the younger woman’s waist and take that lip between her teeth. “Damn.” She mutters. “Takeout sounds great, though.” She adds, then slips off Brooke’s coat and drapes it over the high backed armchair.

“Um. What kind of food do you like?” Brooke says awkwardly, desperately trying to avoid staring whilst Vanessa toes off her tall heels. When she’s finished, she leaves the shoes where they fall beside her bags and flops down onto the sofa like she owns the place.

Brooke has always been a very private person. She tries not to get over familiar with people she isn’t one hundred percent sure on and has always viewed her home as her own little sanctuary. And yet here she is, watching this woman that’s only known for a few months curl her legs up beneath her and nestle into the sofa cushions.

“I’ll eat anything, baby. You know me.” Vanessa says as she reaches out to flick through the magazines on Brooke’s coffee table. At that moment, she is struck with another thought. You know me, Vanessa told her, but the reality is, she doesn’t. She knows the basics about her life. She knows that she has the temperament of a small terrier pup and that she will laugh at just about anything, but she doesn’t know the little things.

She doesn’t know her favourite food, or what kind of music she listens to when she’s sad. She doesn’t know her birthday, or how she manages to smile so much despite everything, or how she’d ended up in Toronto of all places. But they’re all things that she wants to get to know. When she’d first met Vanessa, her sexually repressed thirst took over and had her flustered like a schoolgirl, but now it was so much more than that. She wanted to forge a genuine connection with this tiny, goddess of a woman.

“I’ll um, order pizza.” Brooke stammers, snapping herself out of her thoughts. She pulls out her phone and perches on the end of the couch, trying to keep a respectable distance between her and Vanessa, then opens up Uber Eats. After selecting a large pizza, sides and drinks from a local place, she hands the phone to Vanessa so that she can check the order.

Vanessa glances down at the phone briefly then barks out a loud laugh. “Damn mi hija, you earn your money arresting me then fuckin waste it all on buying me food.”

Brooke shifts uncomfortably in her seat. She wants to point out that, technically, she’s never actually arrested her, but the words won’t come. She opens and closes her mouth a couple of times, probably looking like a complete fool. “Vanessa…” She says softly, but trails off when she starts laughing once again.

“I’m kidding! You’ve gotta relax, baby.” She teases, nudging her in the side gently.

Brooke wishes so badly that she could relax. That she could be like a normal person for once and actually enjoy Vanessa’s company, that she’s so desperately wanted, rather than being so on edge all the time. She can’t stop worrying that at any given moment, it could all go wrong. A fellow cop could burst in on them and catch her breaking all the rules, or Vanessa could realise that Brooke is too boring and uptight for her to spend time with.

One of the worst things that anyone has ever said to her was when a superior at work accused her of having no personality. Brooke has always been smart. She’s always been pretty. But she’s also always been cautious. She is careful with her words and how she uses them. Careful not to get herself into situations that might end badly. And she’s very, very careful with her feelings. Maybe that is the reason she is almost in her mid thirties and has never had a girlfriend? All of her self doubt is now rendering her incapable of relaxing in her own home. It is torture.

She decides that one of the first things she needs to do is get out of her uniform. She needs to break down the image of herself as Officer Hytes so that she can be sure that Vanessa doesn’t see her as a dominant or authoritative figure. Not that Vanessa has much respect for her authority anyways. She’s just so worried that Vanessa is only here because Brooke is a cop and she told her to come. She needs Vanessa to be here because she wants to be.

But before she can excuse herself to go shower and change, she notices for the first time that Vanessa’s skirt and vest are soaked from the snow and practically clinging to her body. She feels awful for not having realised sooner. “I think you should take off those wet clothes.” Brooke says softly.

Vanessa looks at her in confusion for a brief moment then replaces the look with a smile. “Oh- okay.” She stutters, getting up from the sofa to stand across from Brooke. She glances her over with a sultry stare, then bends towards her slightly, showing off her cleavage and Brooke simply sits there, not sure of what is going on.

It’s not until Vanessa reaches behind her back and unzips her skirt that that she realises what she’s doing. She realises what Vanessa had thought she meant. Brooke practically leaps off the sofa and clamps her hands on the younger woman’s hips, preventing her skirt from falling.

“Christ, no.” She stammers, shaking her head and gripping the fabric of Vanessa’s skirt tightly. “Fuck, Vanessa.” She says softly, unable to stop herself from sounding horrified, even when her face falls and her eyes go wide with confusion. “Vanessa, you don’t need to do that, that’s not what I meant.”

“Oh.” She say softly. “Brooke, I’m sorry. I didn’t know-” She starts, but she trails off and looks awkwardly at the ground. She looks somehow confused, embarrassed, hurt and relieved all at the same time. Brooke feels disgusted with herself that she’d managed to make Vanessa believe she’s brought her here as a sex worker. Like she needs to pay with her body for Brooke’s hospitality.

“No, I’m sorry.” She shakes her head. The sick thing is, she does want her. She wants to pull her into her lap so that she can touch her and taste her all over. “I just… that’s not what I meant. You don’t owe me anything, alright?”

When she’s finished speaking, she expects Vanessa to run out of the apartment and never look back, but to her surprise, she’s smirking. Then she realises that her hands are still on the younger woman’s hips.

Brooke smiles back, trying to ease the tension, but her breath comes out shaky. “If I move my hands, is your skirt going to fall?”

Vanessa’s big doe eyes stare up at her through fluttering eyelashes. “Only if you want it to.” She drawls.

Brooke’s mouth hangs agape and she pulls her hands away like she’d been holding a hotplate. How the fuck does she do that? How can it be possible to go from vulnerability right back to flirting and teasing within seconds. The sound of Vanessa’s laughter fills the apartment once more.

“Baby, it’s just too easy to mess with you.” She grins as though she’s proud herself.

Brooke swallows nervously and wraps her arms around her middle. “So um, you can take a shower if you like? Did you bring pyjamas?” She asks, walking away from Vanessa and trying to put some distance between the two.

“Bitch, I don’t wear pyjamas like you fancy folk.” Vanessa laughs as she follows Brooke down the corridor to the bathroom and Brooke chuckles softly in response.

“I’ll find something for you to put put on.” She tells her with an affectionate smirk. “The shower is in there. Use whatever you like.”

Once Vanessa closes the bathroom door behind her, Brooke forces herself to walk away to her bedroom, desperately trying not to think about Vanessa being naked in the shower.

Brooke smells Vanessa leaving the shower before she sees her enter the living room. From the moment she opens the bathroom door, it’s like there’s been an explosion of every sweet, tropical, fresh scent under the sun. Just like Vanessa, it’s overpowering in all the right ways. The smaller woman pads happily into the living room and Brooke’s face breaks into a smile the moment she sees her. She is wearing Brooke’s fluffy white robe, which usually ends at Brooke’s mid thigh but is grazing she shorter woman’s knees, and hair is piled on top of her head in a towel.

What Brooke finds the most striking is the sight of Vanessa’s face free from makeup. It is utterly stunning. Her skin is soft and smooth, free from all blemishes or wrinkles, and her chestnut eyes sparkle in the light. She finds herself unable to speak on account of the awe, so she’s incredibly grateful when Vanessa goes first.

“Girl, I love those fancy ass soaps you got up in there.” She says as she takes the towel from her head and lets her damp hair fall to frame her face delicately.

Brooke laughs loudly. “I can tell, you smell like you used all of them!” She teases, delighting in the blush that creeps up Vanessa’s cheeks.

“I’m going to go take a shower, but I’ve left some pyjamas out on my bed for you.” She tells her, standing up to leave the room.

Whilst in the shower, Brooke can think about nothing but how only moments ago, Vanessa’s naked body occupied this same space. Briefly, she considers grabbing her razor to neaten up her bikini line, then moisturising her entire body, just in case , but she refrains. She is desperate to reinforce the message to Vanessa that she’s here because they are friends and she cares about her, not because of Brooke’s carnal urge to fuck her into next week.

Nothing can prepare Brooke for what she sees when she gets back to the living room after her shower. Vanessa is curled up on the sofa with her legs tucked beneath her and both of the cats nuzzled into her lap. She is stroking Apollo idly with one hand and flicking through movies using the remote with the other. It’s like she somehow just… fits. As though before, there was something missing, Brooke just didn’t know what it was.

God fucking damn it, when did she get so sentimental?

“You a dirty liar.” Vanessa says accusingly and Brooke is shocked momentarily. “These kitties are friendly as hell.”

“I swear, they aren’t usually like this.” Brooke says, laughing and shaking her head in disbelief. Whenever her friends visited, the cats would sometimes sulk for days. It was so unlike them to be so affectionate to a stranger, but that, she supposed, was the effect Vanessa had. Nobody, not even the cats, could resist being drawn to her.

She sat down beside Vanessa, a little closer than she had dared to before and watched whilst she flicked through Netflix. As she did, she noticed that Vanessa had had to roll up the pant legs and the sleeves on the pyjamas she’d lent her,as they were too long, and it melted her fucking heart.

Out of all the films Vanessa could chose from, the very last thing she expected it to be was The Notebook. Maybe Vanessa was just as much of a hopeless romantic as herself?

-x-

“Brooke.” She hears a soft voice say.

“Brooke.” A little louder this time.

“Brooke!” The voice shouts, causing Brooke to realise it was her name being called.

“What? I’m up.” She mumbles sleepily. She opens her eyes slowly and realises that her face is pressed into someone’s neck and her arm is draped across their waist.

Fuck. It’s Vanessa.

She quickly de-tangles herself from the younger woman’s arms and shuffles away. “Sorry.” She stutters, feeling her cheeks burning with embarrassment, and Vanessa smirks at her.

“You should be sorry, bitch! You missed the ending!” Vanessa says enthusiastically. Brooke can’t believe that Vanessa can maintain such a constant energy level. She rubs the sleep from her eyes and yawns softly.

“I think it’s time for bed.” She yawns again.

Brooke clears away the empty pizza box, straightens the sofa cushions and turns off the lights whilst Vanessa gathers her bags and shoes from the floor and then waits by the doorway. The cats follow her the entire time, which is still beyond perplexing to Brooke.

When she’s finished, she shows Vanessa to the guest room and stands awkwardly in the doorway as they look at one another, both seemingly unsure of what to say.

“Brooke.” Vanessa says gently. “I just um, want to say thank you. You didn’t have to do any of that shit for me, but you did. So yeah um, thanks.”

Brooke sighs happily, amused by Vanessa’s eloquence as always.

“Don’t thank me.” She insists. “Try and get some sleep, tomorrow we can try to arrange a more long term solution.” She wishes more than anything that Vanessa could just abandon her old life and move in with her and the cats, but Brooke knows that isn’t how reality goes.

Vanessa shifts uncomfortably on her feet and lets out a nervous laugh. “Is that your smart person way of saying you don’t want a nasty hood rat holed up under your roof?” Her tone says that she’s joking, but her eyes look scared.

“No.” She says softly, taking a small step closer. “No.” She says again, reinforcing the message.

“You ain’t gonna sneak up and arrest me in the night, are you?” She says in her typical, brash tone. The vulnerability is gone and she’s straight back to the jokes. It could almost be predictable at this point, but Brooke is far too exhausted to have seen it coming.

Brooke chuckles and shakes her head. “No.” She sighs with a smile.

Then, as if by magic, Vanessa is back to softness and sincerity once more. “Goodnight, Miss Brooke.” She practically whispers, then drops a kiss onto Brooke’s cheek and disappears into the bedroom.

-x-

The sound of a door softly creaking open in night wakes Brooke up. She panics momentarily, before remembering her guest in the room next door.

At first, she assumes that Vanessa is getting water or using the bathroom, then, she hears the soft clack of her heels on the wooden floors. Curiously, she listens to the sound of her footsteps, then the sound of a muffled string of profanities, followed by the sound of something being dropped to the floor.

“Damn, kitty cat. You scared the shit outta me.” She hears Vanessa say in what she assumes is supposed to be a whisper, but it’s loud enough for Brooke to hear behind a closed door. “Well um, tonight has been fun, but I gotta leave now, kitty. Tell your mama I say goodbye.” Vanessa adds, then sighs deeply.

The sound of her heels clacking on the ground once more follows.

She’s leaving, Brooke realises.

She tries to swallow the lump in her throat, but it won’t budge. Tears prick at the corners of her eyes as she turns away from the door and buries her head in her pillows. She’d thought everything was going so well. They had fun, she seemed relaxed. She’d let Brooke cuddle into her shoulder without being asked. So why the fuck was she leaving?

Don’t cry. She tells herself over and over again. Don’t fucking cry. If she wants to leave, you can’t stop her.

She hears the sound of Vanessa’s footsteps getting further and further away, and momentarily considers chasing her, but then the unexpected happens. “Fuck it.” She hears, followed by what sounds like bags being dropped to the floor, followed by more fumbling.

Then she hears Vanessa’s footsteps getting closer, only this time she isn’t wearing any shoes.

When Brooke hears her own bedroom door squeak open, she’s unable to move. She swallows nervously as Vanessa enters the room and shuts the door. Before she realises what’s happening, Vanessa is pulling back the covers and slipping into bed behind her.

Brooke feels as though she can’t breathe. Every muscle in her body tenses as she waits for Vanessa’s next move, then slowly, she starts to shuffle closer to her. When she stops, Brooke can feel her warm breath on the back of her neck and her fingers ghosting over her hip.

“I know you’re awake, baby.” Vanessa whispers, tracing delicate patterns with her fingers on the sliver of exposed skin.

She considers pretending that she hasn’t heard her and committing to the lie, but her body betrays her with a shiver. She thinks that she has two options here. She can either kick Vanessa out and pretend this never happened, or she can turn round and fuck her into the mattress.

She decides on neither however, when she feels Vanessa’s arm snake further around her waist and Vanessa’s leg slip between hers. They’re both exhausted. Vanessa was kicked out of her apartment tonight. Sure, she’d love to utterly ravish her, but tonight, Vanessa just needs a friend.

“Your feet are freezing.” Brooke hisses, but neither make any move to change positions.

Tentatively, Brooke covers the small hand resting on her stomach with her own, then interlaces their fingers. Neither speak for what feels like an eternity.

“Were you going to leave?” Brooke whispers.

Vanessa’s body goes stiff against Brooke’s back for a moment before she sighs. “Yes.”

Another long silence follows.

“Why did you come back?” Why did you get into my bed? She asks, unsure of whether she wants to know the answer.

But it turns out, whether she wants to know the answer or not is irrelevant as Vanessa simply brushes her lips against the exposed skin on the back of Brooke’s neck, then nuzzles further into her.

Before long, Vanessa is asleep, snoring softly and leaving Brooke alone in the darkness to try and figure out what the fuck is happening.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #fluff #bed sharing #lesbian au #police au #for your safety #kite

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minyoongijjangjjangmanboongboong · 5 years

Text

Sweet Dreams Chapter Six

Lucid dreaming: The process of being aware that one is dreaming. Some researchers believe that in lucid dreaming, the individual may be able to change the outcome of the dream or control their degree of participation in the imaginary (dream) environment.

Description: Lee Eunbyul has been plagued with hellish nightmares since she was a child. Not the sort of nightmares you may be familiar with. There are no monsters to evade, no serial killers to outrun, no auditoriums of classmates in front of whom to stand naked. Instead there is just…darkness. Endless darkness. With professional help, the dreams come less frequently. But after moving away from home to live with her sister, Eunbyul’s nightmare returns, only this time it’s different. This time…she’s not alone.

What would you do if you had the chance to change the outcome of not only your dreams, but your life?

Genre: Romance, Drama, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn

Pairing: Namjoon x (f) OC

Word Count: 7.2k

Tags: Non-Idol!Au, Producer!Namjoon, Bookstore Clerk!Seokjin, Potter!Jimin, Producer!Yoongi, Dancer!Hoseok

Warnings: Frequent mentions of mental illness, infrequent swearing and mentions of alcohol

A/N: Hey guys! Here’s the newest chapter~ I hope you guys are enjoying this series! I’m really enjoying writing it. This chapter in particular was v fun to write. Anyway, I hope everybody is resting enough these days! Please don’t be shy and send feedback, critique, questions, theories, and comments my way. I’ll be sure to respond to all asks I receive within a day of receiving them!

And again, if you want to follow my Twitter, my username is @/plzpunchmebts. I’m super active over there and hopefully in the future I’ll do some livestreams/chats with you all!

- Mercury

Previous Chapter – Next Chapter

Masterlist

Weekly updates: Sunday, 1PM (PST)

Namjoon

“K-i-m-N-a-m-j-o-o-n-.”

I startled a little and rubbed my eyes, squinting at the person who’d roused my attention. Jisoo stood beside my desk, furry brows raised. It had been a few days since he’d bothered to check on me, and seeing the look on his face now I was sure he regretted not coming sooner.

“Been trying to get you to notice for a minute, dude,” he said, patting my shoulder as he raised a mug of hot coffee to his lips. He stared over my shoulder at the monitor before me. “You making good progress with the commercial soundtrack?”

I swallowed hard and stared at the half-finished track on Cubase. Uninspired. The project window was home to several presets from the preloaded packs on the software, nothing like what I’d use at home on my own. It sounded fine so far, or as fine as it could. But there was no heart in it, not really. Instead, it sounded as hollow as it did commercial. I was sure the client would like it. What concerned me, really, was finding the strength to finish it.

“Uh, yeah. Should be done by tomorrow,” I said, and even my voice was lackluster. I pinched my nose bridge and rubbed circles, squeezing my eyes shut.

“You okay?” asked Jisoo, but it was clear from his tone that he was only halfway interested.

“Yeah, fine,” I said, waving a hand. “I’m cool. Just…tired I guess.”

He hummed. “Gotta sleep well if you wanna be a producer.”

I nodded, but couldn’t help but think of Yoongi. He was working as a real producer, and there wasn’t a single night in recent memory when I could remember him going to sleep before the sun rose.

“Thanks, Boss,” I said, offering a smile.

He patted my shoulder. “Take care of yourself, okay? We can’t afford to lose you,” he said with a laugh. It was the uneasy sort of chuckle you give someone when you want them to reassure you.

I nodded. “I don’t have anywhere else to go anyway,” I said as he smiled and walked back out to the floor. I sighed and again pinched my nose bridge.

“Hey,” said Jungkook from his desk, staring at me with knitted brows. “You really don’t look so good.”

I smiled and waved my hand. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Saying that makes me more worried,” he said, resting a round cheek in his hand. “What’s going on with you? For real?”

I inhaled sharply and sighed, shutting my eyes. “Just…I dunno, I feel kinda sick today I guess. Haven’t been sleeping well, and I woke up…forget it, alright? I’m fine.”

“No, keep going,” said Jungkook, and coming from anyone else I might have thought he was teasing me. But this was Jungkook anyway, and he only seemed to know how to be sincere. He kept his eyes on me.

I shrugged. “Woke up kinda sad.”

Jungkook raised his brows. “Huh?”

“Forget it.”

He shook his head. “No reason for it?”

I thought a moment, puzzled. “Well…it’s not like usual, you know? Like when you just feel sad and you can’t really diagnose it,” I said, nodding. “It feels like there’s something really important that I’m missing.”

Jungkook hummed. “Maybe it has to do with work?” he offered, tilting his head with a sigh. “We all know working here isn’t your number one choice.”

I quieted down, staring at the project on my screen with furrowed brow. While I was sure it wasn’t something so simple, that the real cause was still evading me, his words unsettled me. “Maybe…,” I said, shaking my head.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cell phone, typing a message as quickly as I could before returning to the track.

Namjoon: Hey, Hoseok. Haven’t seen you in a few weeks. Wanna go to the beach?

Hoseok: huhuhu…u gonna collect crabs the whole time?

Namjoon: …

Namjoon: Crabs are fascinating…

Hoseok: looooooooooooool

Hoseok: nerd

Hoseok: i’m in either way :-D

I sat crouched on the shore, poking my index finger into the little holes I saw along the sand. Every now and then, something would bulge and shift beneath the sand’s surface, a sign of life. Smiling, I worked my thumb beneath one of the bumps.

“I thought I said no crabs,” grumbled Hoseok as he licked his popsicle. The thing was already staining his tongue and lips violet.

I hummed as I grabbed a small crab from under the wet sand. “You did say that,” I said with a chuckle as I smoothed the pad of my finger along the crab’s back. I flipped it over in my hand and presented it to Hoseok. “See this plate right here?” I asked, pointing to the smooth shell of the crab’s stomach. “That means it’s a female!”

“I don’t care,” said Hoseok with a heavy sigh.

He leaned back on his palms, three separate leashes hooked around his wrists. The dogs themselves were behaving well enough. The golden retriever was resting his blonde head against his paw, eyebrows shifting as he looked around the beach. The collie panted beneath the unrelenting sun, laying on her stomach with her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth. And the pug simply sat on Hoseok’s lap, eyes shut.

I set the crab back down and crawled over to where Hoseok sat with his legs extended in front of him, taking up an entire blanket by himself. I smiled and collapsed beside his thigh. “Feels good to get out.”

Hoseok sighed and, with his free hand, gave my upper arm a firm smack. “Because you never get out to begin with,” he scolded.

I laughed. “Not all of us can be dog walkers.”

He rolled his eyes. “You don’t have what it takes,” he said with a sigh, biting off a chunk from his melting popsicle. “Endurance, perseverance, patience, understanding-,”

“Are you saying you have all of those things?” I teased, glancing at him over my shoulder. I laughed as he reached a hand out to hit me again. “Sorry!”

As my laughter died down, I felt Hoseok’s gaze boring into my skin and, uneasy, I turned to face him properly. His narrow eyes seized on me, scrutinizing. “You seem weird,” he remarked with a cocked brow.

I inhaled quick, ready to refute him, but as soon as I met his inquiring eyes my breath escaped in a sigh end I rubbed my forehead. “I’m…not myself lately.”

He patted my back with an open palm. “Anything I can do?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so,” I said. “It’s been building for a few days. Things just…aren’t settling right for some reason. In my head, I mean.”

“Hm…,” began Hoseok, chomping down on his popsicle as he gazed out at the waves. “I wonder if there’s one cause.”

“Probably not,” I said with a soft smile. “Never is just one thing.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m fine,” I said, nodding once as I swept my eyes out across the glittering ocean horizon. “Honestly.”

“Mhm,” said Hoseok as the pug on his lap stretched, letting out a yawn. He rubbed its back, a fond smile on his face. “You know, dogs are pretty clever.”

“Huh?” I asked, turning to face him.

He chuckled and nodded. “Might not look like it right now,” he said with a pointed look at the panting collie. “But they’ve got shit figured out.”

I smiled. “How so?”

“Well…for one thing, they understand the value of a pack. A close circle to watch their backs,” he said, nodding. “They’re loyal, won’t ever intentionally hurt someone they love.”

“I guess.”

“They’re honest.”

I raised my brows, eyeing him. “Hm?”

He was still stroking the sleepy pug’s back, smiling gently. “They don’t know how to be any other way. They don’t know how to pretend.” He lifted only his eyes to meet mine. “When they’re upset, they can’t lie and say they aren’t.”

I stiffened. “Well…they can’t speak.”

He laughed. “That’s not what I mean,” he said, easily leaning back on his palm once more, watching as sugary purple syrup began trailing down his forearm. “They can’t put on a brave face and go about their day like nothing’s wrong. When a dog’s upset, they howl. And they keep howling until they feel better.”

I exhaled slowly. His words weren’t lost on me. I knew well what he was trying to say. And as I took a look at him over my shoulder, I could see from the way his eyes implored me how deeply he wanted me to understand. I gave a smile and nodded.

“Sometimes you gotta just let yourself howl, Joon,” he said, lifting the dripping remains of his popsicle to his mouth and biting it whole. He pocketed the messy stick — much to my dismay — and patted his legs, moving the pug so he could stand. “What do you say I show you someplace cool?”

Me, Hoseok, and three panting dogs enter a pottery store, I thought to myself as Hoseok began calling for the quaint shop’s owner, like bulls in a china shop. The dogs took to sniffing every crevice and corner they could reach, pushing damp noses against delicate pots, pawing at shelf legs, scratching the many ornate rugs on the floor. I watched with a cringe as the golden retriever began jumping beside one of the organized shelves, likely trying to explore the higher levels.

Hoseok corrected the dog with a soft jerk of the leash and continued calling. “Jimin! Park Jimin!”

“Jesus!” called someone from the back of the shop. From the doorway there emerged a young, wide-eyed, flushed guy with a messy apron and knitted brows. He scanned the floor and saw the pups wandering about, immediately wincing. “Jung Hoseok! I told you to stop bringing the dogs!”

Hoseok laughed and shortened the retriever’s leash, wrapping it around his wrist once more. “They’re behaving!”

“Behaving — my ass,” said the young boy, grumbling as he rubbed his forehead. “If any one of them puts their cute little snouts into any of my vases and knocks it over, you’re paying double.”

Hoseok smirked. “Don’t act like you aren’t happy to see them,” he teased.

Jimin opened his eyes with a sigh, brows still furrowed. “I’d be happier if I saw them outside.”

“Heh,” breathed Hoseok, petting the collie on her head. “Anyway, Jimin this is my friend Namjoon.”

Jimin’s eyes slid over to meet mine and he blinked a few times. “That’s a tall friend,” he remarked. He wiped his right hand on his apron a few times and took a half step toward me to shake hands. I took it with a smile. “Nice to meet you,” he said gently.

I nodded. “Likewise.”

“Now you,” said Jimin, pointing a small, accusing finger at Hoseok. “Didn’t I tell you to warn me when you decide to come over?”

Hoseok rolled his eyes. “Do we have to do that among friends?”

“Shut up,” said Jimin, crossing his arms. “I was in the middle of glazing and now my employee’s gotta do it on her own.”

“You got an employee?” asked Hoseok, clearly surprised.

Jimin paused for a moment before smirking. “Mhm,” he said, smug. “And she’s pretty good too. Really interested in pottery.”

Hoseok scoffed. “Don’t tell me…,” he began.

Jimin raised his brows. “Hm?”

“You didn’t hire her because she’s cute, did you?”

Jimin laughed and patted his leg. “Ah, well…it’s not like she’s not cute,” he began, then sighed and shook his head. “Nah. I just…wanted to give her something to do, I guess.”

The words hit me strangely. Was this employee wandering too? Curiosity began to grow in my stomach. “Anyway,” continued Jimin. “How do you two know each other? I’ve been stuck with you since diapers and I’ve never met your tall friend,” he said, eyeing me sidelong with a smirk.

I cleared my throat. “Uh, I had extended family out here, so I visited often as a kid. He lived near my grandma’s house, so we played as kids.”

“He moved here in elementary school. We were in the same year, so we hung out more,” said Hoseok, waving his hands. “Anyway, if you’d gone to our school instead you would’ve known before.”

Jimin laughed. “I also wouldn’t have been bullied,” he joked. I stiffened. Was that something he could be so nonchalant about? “Gotta laugh so you don’t cry, right?” he asked me once he noticed my reaction. He chuckled. “Ah, but what did you want anyway, Hoseok? I can’t really leave my employee by herself too long.”

“Cheeky,” said Hoseok and Jimin only rolled his eyes. “I figured you could show Namjoon how you make pottery.”

“You want a demo?” asked Jimin, dry.

Hoseok nodded. “Mhm.”

“Right now?”

“Yeah.”

“With no warning?”

Hoseok pursed his lips. “I figured a great potter like you could do it on the spot…”

“Ugh,” mumbled Jimin, running a messy hand through his hair. He glanced between me and Hoseok a few times, jaw locked, before sighing. “Alright, let me tell Eunbyul first.”

“Eunbyul?” I asked, and the name fell off my tongue in a way that felt…familiar.

He nodded. “My employee. She can handle it on her own, but I don’t know if she knows that,” he said with a laugh. “Just give me a second.”

Jimin turned on his heel and jogged back through the doorway in the back and, unable to deny my curiosity, I followed behind and peeked my head in. Although the place was big and fairly organized, there were large pieces of machinery blocking my view of Jimin. But nonetheless I could see the back of a girl’s head, slightly shorter than him, waving dark hair restrained with an old newspaper rubber band. She nodded once and glanced down at the tray of freshly glazed cups in her hands. I couldn’t hear her, but Jimin smiled and gave her shoulder a squeeze. She seemed to sigh before turning and walking quickly to the kiln. With her back still facing me, she set the tray down and grabbed cups in both hands, placing them in the kiln. It took her all of thirty seconds to get all two dozen in, and as she turned and strode toward the vat beside the massive kiln, I watched a few stray strands of hair loose themselves from her rubber band.

I glanced down at my wrist, at the hair elastic I’d nearly forgotten about, and briefly considered offering it to her. But she seemed busy as she dipped chalky cups into the glaze, pulling them out shiny. She set them aside one by one, and there was something oddly confident and precise about her motions. Even the way she used the front of her wrist to push the locks of waving hair behind her ear seemed exact, focused.

Strangely, I found myself envying her.

And, as I watched her back, I felt the unmistakable sensation of an under-the-skin kind of itch, the kind you can’t scratch, even if you try your hardest.

Jimin approached and grinned at me. “Checking out my employee?” he teased.

I flushed and turned away quickly. “I didn’t even see her face,” I said, pouting a little.

He laughed and clapped my shoulder. “Let’s do this demo.”

And it hit me as Jimin began setting up the potter’s wheel and clay. Wordlessly, I sat down on the stool beside Hoseok and the dogs and fished around in my pocket for my phone. I yanked it out and pulled up my photos, scanning them. Sure enough, that photo I snapped at Hyejin’s the other day. The girl with the baseball cap. I saw her, sandy skin barely visible beneath the brim of her hat, Somi’s shoulder in the foreground, the girl drowning in clothes several sizes too big.

“That girl…,” I said, thinking aloud as I stared down at the photo.

Jimin turned his eyes to me and smiled. “Hm?”

“I…I’ve been seeing her everywhere lately,” I said, chuckling.

Hoseok sighed and leaned over his lap to get a better look at the shapeless clay Jimin was beginning to mold. “Make it into Justin Trudeau.”

Jimin paused a moment and squared his gaze on Hoseok. “The Canadian prime minister?”

Hoseok nodded. “Yeah. Do it.”

Jimin sighed and shook his head, not even bothering to respond, as I took turns looking at the photo on my phone and at Jimin’s deft hands working the clay carefully. It was impossible to explain, but the way he moved was inexplicably similar to that girl. Perhaps because she was his employee…

But that didn’t seem right.

It was more that they were both endowed with the same nameless quality.

A precision that only comes from—

“Passion,” said Hoseok in a whisper, leaning over to me.

I flushed, my attention now entirely on Jimin as he molded the clay into the vague shape of a flowerpot. “Huh?”

“That’s what makes Jimin so…,” he began, then chuckled. “It’s what makes him so Jimin.”

I was quiet for a moment. “I see,” I said. I might have been nervous that Jimin would overhear us talking about him if it weren’t for the unwavering focus captured in his eye. He probably wouldn’t have even heard an earthquake. “It’s mesmerizing.”

Hoseok chuckled. “Mhm,” he said. “Reminds me of when we were in high school.”

I raised a brow with a smirk. “How so?”

He hummed. “I remember during study hall, you’d always have your laptop out,” he said, laughing. “Mr. Kang hated it.”

I smiled softly. “Yeah. Told him it was for class president duties.”

“But all you did was make beats.”

I was quiet for a moment. Again, I understood what he meant. It was hard not to with a guy like Hoseok. As kind as he was, he was equally clever. He knew how to say something without saying it. I turned to him and we locked eyes. Instead of speaking, I just nodded my head and offered a smile. He returned it, patting my knee.

“Thanks,” I said as Jimin finished up with the main body of the pot. It was gorgeous, an elegant, long shape that tapered toward the bottom. Looked like the kind of pot you’d put a bonsai in.

“For what?” asked Hoseok, feigning ignorance with wide eyes.

I chuckled, squeezing his shoulder. “Just thanks.”

Cubase. God it had been a while since I’d used it on my home computer.

I sat on the floor in front of the coffee table, staring at the project as evening slowly became night. Yoongi still wasn’t back from work, likely putting in long hours finishing up that big collaboration he’d been working on for months. He wouldn’t tell me who it was with, but his excitement told me enough to know it was big.

I rested my cheek in my hand and sighed, tapping my fingertips against the coffee table. The song was nice, kind of slow. It felt a bit…melancholy but still hopeful. I shut my eyes and thought a moment. Could use vocals.

Quietly, I flipped through my lyric book and paused on a single word. Everythingoes. Written sloppily in the margins of a song I’d never finished. I cocked a brow. Back when I was younger, going to therapy, the doctor had told me something to that effect. Everything goes. Every moment, every pain, every trauma. I sat up straighter. Something about it rolled nicely, both in English and Korean. The lyrics beside it were meant to go with it. Perhaps if I recorded myself with Yoongi’s mic…

I changed a few things around, added some lines where I felt the words weren’t enough, and stewed over it for a long moment.

Everything has to hurt.

That line stood out to me. Silently, I padded into Yoongi’s room and grabbed the mic he kept hidden in the second drawer of his work table. I’d take the scolding later. I fell in a heap once more before my laptop and plugged in the mic. After a few tests, I cleared my throat and began recording the rap. If nothing else, I could find someone else to sing the chorus.

“Like morning comes after night, if summer comes after spring,” I began, and didn’t stop, didn’t stumble. “And every day I stay, because people and pain all die eventually.” I kept going, and even though I was rusty, I could feel some power in it. In the words. “Pray that this wind will pass like all winds do.”

I stopped to catch my breath, pausing the song and pulling the headphones off my ears with a sigh. I patted my cheeks a little, shook my head, and opened my eyes slowly.

But when I looked around, I saw something that hadn’t been there before. More specifically, a darkly clad someone standing with crossed arms beside the arm of the couch. I screamed before I could stop myself as Yoongi crossed the living room floor and sat on the couch beside my head, hunching over his knees to inspect my project with squinted eyes.

“Sounded good,” he said with a nod. I swallowed hard. Without looking at me, he continued. “Can I hear the beat?”

“Ah, uh, it’s still really rough and-,”

He turned to face me with one cocked brow. “Can I hear it?”

I hinged and unhinged my jaw a few times, but he was scanning me and I couldn’t stall long. I clamped my mouth shut and cleared my throat. “Um…yeah, sure.”

I unplugged the headphones and played what I had from the start. “I…I wanna add vocals here,” I said as the song began. “Something kind of…like a chant. Repeating, I think. Like a mantra.”

“Mm,” said Yoongi with a nod, brow low as he listened. I’d have liked if he didn’t listen quite so intently.

“Um…and then here I think I want the piano to get a little quieter.”

“Mhm.”

I nodded and decided to stay silent. He wasn’t giving me any feedback anyway, just listening. Instead, I just sat there like a kid, awaiting my parent to tell me if I did well or not. The song closed and I glanced over my shoulder at Yoongi who by then had his chin seized between his two palms, almost like he was praying.

“So…?” I hedged, eyeing him.

He nodded. “Really good.”

My eyes went wide and I stared at him like I was seeing him for the first time in the dark living room. I could just barely see his lips tilting in a bare smile. “R-Really?”

“I wouldn’t lie,” he said, leaning back with a nod. “Why haven’t you shared your work with me before?”

I stiffened. “Um…well, when we met you were already almost graduated with your degree, and I was just this young kid following you around. I…kinda figured someone like you wouldn’t want to listen to my shit.”

He cocked a brow. “It’s not shit though.”

“I just…I mean, you were a pro from the start, you know? Just…super confident from the beginning. And by the time I started to get really serious about it, you were already working for the label and I was getting recruited by a contract company,” I said, shaking my head. “I figured that alone was enough to show the difference in our leagues.”

“League?” asked Yoongi, brow furrowed.

I sighed. “I dunno. You’re…you’ve always been great. And I’m just…a sound engineer, really.”

Yoongi shook his head. “I’m telling you this because I mean it, alright?” he asked, crossing his arms. “If you got in with the right label, you’d do well.”

I sat up straighter, twisting to look at him properly. But instead, he was staring at my project, still smiling just barely. “Huh?”

“I’m not just saying that,” he said, nodding. “You could be a really successful producer.”

I was about to respond, perhaps pick his brain, perhaps thank him, but my phone began buzzing on the table and I jumped at the sound. Quickly I grabbed it, ready to silence the phone and return the call later. But I saw the name on the screen and paused. Hani. And at this hour…

Yoongi patted my shoulder. “Take the call,” he said, chuckling. “I know you don’t have a choice.”

I turned to stop him, but he was already striding towards his room. He didn’t even mention me borrowing his mic…

Sighing, I slid the phone open and took the call. “Hey…,” I said, and even I could hear that my voice was glum.

“Hey, uh…,” she said, her tone fragile.

I rubbed my temples. “What’s up?”

“It’s…it’s just Sooyoung. The divorce is almost final and they’re talking about custody and she’s kinda caught in, like, the crossfire or whatever. I’m worried,” she said, speaking too fast for me to keep up with.

“Have you talked to her?”

She sighed. “No, she’s not taking my calls. My parents texted me to look out for her, but she hasn’t even seen my texts,” she said. “I’m worried.”

“I understand,” I said gently. “Maybe go home for a few days and spend time with her, you know? Maybe she needs you there.”

“I know I’m just…I guess I’m kinda scared, you know? Like to go to my childhood home and see everything changing…it’s weird,” she said. “God, can I just come over tonight? Like movies or something?”

I stiffened. “Ah…jeez, Hani. I’m…I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

“I know, I know. Joon, I’m so sorry. It’s just…I really don’t wanna be alone right now,” she said, voice breaking.

I felt my chest pinch a little. “Hani, why don’t you go home then?”

She sighed. “I told you-,”

“But if you can’t be alone, the best place is home,” I said, staring at my half-finished song. The one that would surely stay half-finished if she came over.

“I think it would be too hard.”

“Then what about your friends? Joohee lives close by anyway,” I said, desperate.

“Joon…,” she began, letting the word die in the air.

I sighed. “It’s not good for me, Hani. I wish you’d respect that.”

“I know. It’s selfish, and I know that. But…I just need to be with you right now, you know?”

“Don’t say that,” I said, pinching my eyes shut. But, to my surprise, my heart didn’t race like it used to. Instead, only annoyance.

“I mean it-,”

“Hani!” I shouted, slamming a hand on the table. I saw there on my wrist that hair elastic. What was it about that thing? “I’ve told you so many times, haven’t I? I’ve told you it’s not healthy!”

“Don’t yell!”

I shook my head, heart pounding now for an entirely different reason. “I’m not yelling,” I said, leveling my tone. “I…Hani, do you have any idea what it’s been like?”

She was quiet. “I…”

“Do you have any idea how hard it was? When you told me on graduation night. The years after. How you knew I knew you were still messing around on me,” I pinched my nose bridge. “I promised myself I wouldn’t make you feel guilty for it. That you yourself felt bad enough. That that would be enough for me too.”

“Joon…”

“But you can’t keep hurting people and expect them to give you the love you need,” I said. “You can’t keep putting me through the pain of reliving everything. It’s not fair.”

She said nothing. For a long time. But I heard the ambient sound of life on the other side of the phone, and I knew she was still there. Still listening, waiting for me to continue. But I didn’t have it in me. I’d said it. I’d finally howled.

“I…I don’t know what to say, Joon,” she said finally.

I nodded. “Me either.”

“I…can’t we meet up and talk this out in person?”

I exhaled, long and slow, and shook my head, eyes falling to the hair elastic on mu wrist. “No, Hani.”

She sighed. “Namjoon…”

“Go home, okay? Do it for Sooyoung,” I said before ending the call and tossing my phone onto the couch behind me.

Quietly, determined, I pulled my headphones back up around my ears, straightened my sweatshirt, and got back to work on the song.

“Namjoon!” someone called as I opened my eyes.

I didn’t even have a chance to react, because the girl who’d called for me had already wrapped her arms around my waist, burying her head in my shirt. It was familiar, this scene. Looking down at the top of a strange girl’s head in the middle of the darkness. Feeling her arms tighten around me. I might have resisted, might have pulled away, if I didn’t feel that same itch beneath my skin as I had watching that employee earlier today.

“Eun…Eunbyul?” I said, testing the name in my mouth.

She stiffened and pulled away, and once our eyes met the memories returned. Everything. Unwillingly, tears welled in my eyes and everything made sense. That wistfulness I’d been feeling all day, the sense of profound melancholia. After leaving the dream the night before, being so close, seeing something so painful, and having not even a spare second to console her…

Instead of saying anything, I swept her up in my arms again and let my head fall into the crook of her neck. She held tight too, like I might slip away if she didn’t keep her grip strong. She smelled like strawberry shampoo and the faint, barely-there scent of clay.

She breathed a shaky exhale and nodded against me. “I’m so fucking happy to see you,” she said softly.

I nodded, unable to summon words for a moment. “I…I saw you again today. At the pottery place.”

She nodded. “I saw you too. Walking away with Jimin.”

“I wish I would have gotten a good look at you,” I said.

“Me too…”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

We stayed that way, embracing, for a moment that felt endless. Eunbyul was the first to break away, adjusting her glasses as she did. She sniffled a little, rubbing beneath her nose, and averted her eyes. Neither of us said anything, but it was clear something had shifted between us. Our relationship…whatever it was…was changing.

“Let’s…let’s do something fun tonight,” I said with a nod.

She smiled softly, pushing her hair from her face. She nodded. “I’d like that.”

Gently, I took her hand and shut my eyes. I tried to remember every detail of the place, every lamppost and vendor’s booth. I tried to conjure the cobbled walkways, the ferris wheel, the lanterns strung up in rows overhead. And when I opened my eyes, it was sunset and we were there.

“An amusement park?” she asked, chuckling. “And…wait, is this in Sangdo-dong?” she asked.

I nodded. “You know it?”

She stared, mystified and wide-eyed, at the park splayed out before her. “Um…yeah, actually. I think I mentioned it before, but…something kind of scary happened to me when I was young. It was pretty nearby here.”

I stiffened. “Shit, I can take us somewhere else-,”

She turned to me and smiled, shaking her head. “Don’t,” she said. “I wanna go on some rides.”

I blinked down at her, at the big sleep shirt with shorts just barely peeking out, at the bed hair, at the flush in her cheeks. And I felt myself flush too. I cleared my throat and began strolling toward one of the coasters.

“Do, uh…do you think the rides will work?” I asked.

She hummed. “I dunno. You’ve never tried?”

I shook my head. “I…also had something scary happen when I was a kid. Here at the amusement park. So I haven’t been back.”

“Oh,” she said, pausing in the walkway. “We can go someplace else.”

I smiled and rubbed circles into her hand. “No, it’s fine. It’s just…the only amusement park I could remember. And I remember it pretty vividly.”

She nodded. “Alright.”

“Here, let’s go on this one,” I said, pointing to the swinging pirate ship.

Her eyes glittered in the sunset as she stared at it. “Whoa,” she said, glancing around. “Who’s gonna operate it?”

I paused a moment and pursed my lips. “You sit down first and I’ll push a button or something.”

“Push a button?” she repeated, laughing.

I rolled my eyes and gave her shoulder a shove with mine. “Maybe two buttons,” I said, shrugging. I released her hand she gestured for her to go ahead onto the ride.

She waved at me over her shoulder and took a seat at the farthest row, the one right by the back of the ship. She bounced a little as she waited for me, smiling in my direction as I examined the control panel. Perhaps because I’d never seen it, I couldn’t quite imagine what it would look like and in its place was just a blank metal podium.

I sighed and rubbed my chin. “I mean…,” I began, talking to myself, “if it’s a dream, I can make the rules, right?”

I shut my eyes and imagined a big red button on the podium, one that would give the start a delay so I could take my seat with Eunbyul. As I opened my eyes, there it was and with a smile I pounded it. Told you, I thought, just one button. I heard the machine whirring up and sprinted as fast as I could toward the entrance of the ship. I bumped my shin on the way down the aisle and Eunbyul suppressed a laugh with her hand. Luckily, just as the thing lurched to life, I fell into the spot beside her with a heavy sigh.

“You ready?” I asked, smiling.

She laughed and nodded. “Been ready.”

I rolled my eyes as the ride began to swing like a pendulum, gradually increasing in speed and height. Soon, we were rocking back and forth, sent high into the air and then hovering, weightless, for a fraction of a second before plummeting back down to earth. Beside me, Eunbyul released a joyful scream, throwing her arms in the air as we swung up and down, back and forth. The wind whipped her hair around, and on each descent she had to squeeze her eyes nearly shut. She laughed as we swung and swung. If she’d let me, I’d liked to have kept sitting there forever, watching her smile and laugh as the pirate ship lurched.

But my brain seemed to know approximately how long a ride should be, and before too long, the ride slowed to a steady stop. Eunbyul, with her hair now windswept and waving and her eyes alight, turned to me with the brightest smile.

“That was so fun,” she said, laughing.

It was the first time I’d seen her with such unbridled happiness, an easy joy in her features. And she was beautiful. I wanted her to stay that way, stay smiling, stay messy, stay joyful.

I smiled. “What next?” I asked.

The two of us traveled through what I remembered of the park. It had been a long time since I’d seen the place, but it seemed the memory was nearly imprinted. After all, it was the last place I’d seen with Dad. I ambled easily by Eunbyul’s side as she explored my memories, and we stopped at nearly every ride. The log ride, the coaster that nearly blew out my eardrums, the haunted house sans actors to play the ghosts.

“Let’s go on that,” she said, pointing at the ferris wheel as it sat juxtaposed against the forever sunset.

I raised my brows. “Oh, sure.”

She turned to me and smiled. “Hey, Namjoon?” she asked, almost shy.

“Hm?”

“Thank you for…you know, taking me here,” she said, laughing lightly. “Lately, I’ve been feeling a little better and I think it’s because I’ve been able to spend time with you.”

“Eunbyul-,”

“Ugh, let’s go before I get sentimental,” she said, waving her hands with a pinched expression. I laughed as she led the way to the ferris wheel.

Once I’d pressed the identical red button and scrambled to join Eunbyul in the closed ferris wheel box, the two of us fell into a comfortable, easy silence. She gazed out the window as the blurry horizon that my mind couldn’t conjure, the place where all the colors blended together. And I watched her, silhouetted against the violent yellow sun as it descended into reds and oranges.

“So…,” I began, watching her keenly. “How do you know that pottery guy?”

She paused for a moment before pursing her lips and offering a shrug. “I met him recently. I was spying on him through the window.”

“Spying?”

She nodded. “Because it looks so nice when he throws pottery.”

I smiled softly. “It was really mesmerizing.”

She turned to me with a smile. “He’s a nice guy,” she said. “I think he believes in me too much.”

I shook my head. “I saw you working today, Eunbyul. You were…really competent. It was like watching Jimin make pottery. I couldn’t look away.”

Her skin went a little red in the cheeks and she cleared her throat, smoothing her palms over her kneecaps. “Well…”

“You’re better than you think you are.”

She sighed, letting her gaze fall. “Anyway, how do you know him?” she asked, letting my eyes again.

I smiled. “My friend Hoseok took me by today. He was trying to…embolden me, I guess. Get me back into my groove.”

“Your groove has been off?” she asked, brows raised.

I nodded. “For a while. I’m…stifled. In a lot of ways.”

She nodded. “And did it help? Seeing Jimin?”

I smiled softly, remembering that song. “Yeah. I…I made a song. For myself. Something I believe in.”

She smiled at me and reached out across the small space between our legs to pat my knee. “Namjoon! That’s amazing,” she said, chuckling. “That Jimin. He’s good, I’ll give him that.” She paused and glanced at me. “Let me hear the song sometime, okay? When we finally meet in real life.”

I swallowed hard and rubbed my neck. Nervous as I was for her to hear it, the offer was irresistible. I nodded. “And…just Joon is fine.”

She stared at me, blinking, before she chuckles breathily and nodded. “Ah! O-Okay. Then, uh…call me Byul, okay?”

“Byul…”

She went red and cleared her throat, laughing again. “God, it’s embarrassing to hear you say it,” she said.

I smiled. “Do a lot of people call you that?”

“No,” she said softly, watching her hands as the ferris wheel rolled lazily toward the top.

“Does that bookstore guy call you Byul?” I asked, unable to stop myself.

She stiffened. “Who?” she asked, then snapped her fingers. “Ah, Jin?”

I shrugged, pouting. “I dunno. The guy who was flirting with you at the bookstore.”

She laughed. “He wasn’t flirting, just…bored,” she said with a nod. “God, I guess…I guess I have a crush on him?” she said, but the way she furrowed her brow made it seem like she was unsure. “But these days, it feels a little different. Like…maybe I don’t.”

I smiled, just a little relieved, and nodded. “I feel the same way with my ex.” Eunbyul’s eyes snapped up to meet mine, wide and brown. “Um…she called tonight. Hani.”

She inhaled as if to speak, but only let it go and nodded. “Oh.”

“I told her she can’t come over anymore.”

I watched her expression change, like she was relieved too, and she exhaled slow. “Good job,” she said, meeting my eyes again with a smile. “That must have been hard.”

I shook my head. “It’s like you said. Like…the way I feel about her is different now. Even in real life.”

“Wonder why,” she said idly as she glanced out the window at the empty park below.

I felt my heart thundering in my chest and swallowed hard. Say it, Namjoon, I thought. Say it now or regret not saying it forever. “I can…think of a few reasons,” I said slowly, watching her for any sign to stop.

She stiffened a little and turned to me with wide eyes. “Huh?” she asked. Surprised, but not disgusted.

Slowly, I leaned across the small space between us so that our faces were close. “Byul, I…,” I began, chuckling as the nerves made my words catch in my throat. “Sorry, nervous,” I said, unable to stop myself from telling her the truth.

She nodded and gently took my hand. “It’s okay,” she said.

I took a steadying breath and met her warm, dark eyes. “I think I have feelings for you.”

She was still for a moment, still holding my hand, before slowly she let her eyes drop and her fingers slipped between mine. It was small, but the gesture felt intimate. And the space between us was charged, trapped in this small ferris wheel box. I knew it was stupid, that there was no way it could work. I knew it would be nearly impossible to meet her in real life if I couldn’t remember these dreams, and I knew that even meeting, even seeing her properly, might not be enough to make me remember. I knew it all. I knew it was stupid, and that this moment was finite and that in the morning I’d forget it ever happened.

But right then, I needed to kiss her.

And so I tipped my chin just enough for our lips to touch. It wasn’t the sort of kiss you see in movies. Passionate and frantic and desperate, hands clawing at each other, panting. No, it was…softer. Gentler. She jumped a little at the contact, but I watched with half-open eyes as she shut her own eyes and leaned into me, her fingers still laced in mine. Tenderly, I lifted a hand to rest along the line of her jaw, touching her just barely. I felt her tilt her head to the side and took the initiative to deepen the kiss, just enough. Smooth and slow, like butter melting in a pot. Smooth and slow.

I pulled away first, hand still holding her jaw, her hair fluttering against my knuckles, and stared at her with heavy-lidded eyes. “Sorry,” I said in a whisper. Everything felt hot, so hot I thought I might pass out if it weren’t a dream.

She shook her head and tightened her grip on my hand. “Don’t apologize.”

“I know it’s really impossible, but…,” I began, but stopped as I felt the pull once more in my chest. “Fuck,” I breathed, resting my forehead against hers.

“I know,” she said with a nod, shutting her eyes with a shaky exhale. “We…we’ll meet. We have to meet, okay?” she said.

I nodded against her forehead and shut my own eyes. Even though I knew it might be a lie, nonetheless I responded sincerely. “We will.”

“It’ll be okay.”

“You’re right.”

She nodded and sighed. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, Joon.”

“See you tomorrow, Byul.”

And in an instant, she slipped away.

#namjoon fanfiction #namjoon fanfic #namjoon fluff #namjoon angst #namjoon #kim namjoon #namjoon series #namjoon reaction #bts namjoon #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fluff #bts angst #bts reactions #bts imagines #bts series #bts au fanfic #bts

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moonanagames · 6 years

Text

Good and bad news, CHECK THIS OUT PLZ

(are... are you ready)

Haro my fellow earthlings and interplanetarian folks!

Today I bring good and bad news altogether, so please bear with me for a bit! Firstly, I wanted to talk about how development has been going since the very beginning, so let us go to our nice time capsule :D

This is a timeline of the development up until now, I tried to be the most accurate as I could, but it can be a bit difficult when I don’t remember many things anymore lol

The game is in development since January 2017. The timeline goes like this:

2017

From January to May, 20, I developed on my own my first public demo of Virgo Vs The Zodiac. It took longer as I was all by myself.

Then my Grandma said she wouldn’t be able to support me anymore if I was going to quit college to develop games. From May to August, I prepared the Crowdfunding Campaign to help me fund the project and my EXISTENCE. The Campaign was launched in September 2017, I think.

After the campaign ended, I could finally get Anglerman onboard! Ay! He does animations for enemies and some party members animations too and is also the greatest deity of our lives. A legend. He helped me a lot with the Game Design Document I was working on because new people would join and I needed to make the things in my head to be a bit more concrete.

From the end of the Campaign until October we were working with a another programmer, but that didn’t work too well since they had another big project they were working on at the time. We had to change the programmer. It was when I found Ben here on Tumblr, current lead programmer. Our lord and savior.

After that I was browsing tumblr randomly and I found Veyerals among asks sent to this tumblr and thought his work with menus was pretty cool (and I liked his game as well, played a lot of that back then). Veyerals joined the project too as the UI programmer and would also be working with the SHMUP mini games, which he had experience with. Bless the UI G.O.D.

From that point on we had to basically rebuild the game from scratch from the moment we got the new programmers. Not only develop the game from scratch, but doing everything RPG Maker already had built in for us into the new engine because that was the only thing I knew in terms of “programming”. That and adding everything new I thought for the project. It was a huge amount of work, and we only had a battle system working fine in December, where we started developing a new build.

(concept art of lady nurse)

2018

In this year things got a bit complicated!

At first, when the battle system was mainly “complete”, as we thought back then, we delivered a 15 mins build for ID@XBOX to be shown at the Game Developers Conference, on January 2018.

We had billions of problems from january to august with the development and also unrelated to the development, like dealing with US taxes. A lot of things weren't working as we wanted them to be, this time was mostly spent on making the timed hits to feel nice, rebuilding the base systems and trying to make the game to have the same feeling as the RPG Maker build had of it being challenging. Also, overall asset production. That was demanding as heck. In RPG Maker the enemies didn't move, while in Game Maker they were animated. I had never worked with Game Maker before, so me and Anglerman (the animator and fellow game designer) had to learn the engine from scratch while developing the game, that resulted in a lot of set backs, but lead us to where we are now. We're confident with the overall game's scaling, difficulty, battles and systems. In Game Maker the maps are also bigger and have way more polishing, so that took a lot of time to get used to on the new engine.

(a really weird, but solved, bug)

From that point on we built Capricorn, and started working on Taurus and other realms at the same time. After some time we determined that doing several realms at the same time, even though we knew which level the player would be wouldn't work well, and we decided to finish the realms before heading to other realm.

Billion lines of code later, in october we started development of the first 2 hours and a half of Taurus. All of it took one month and a half. It was a significant improvement from the previous 5 months to develop the same amount of gameplay! We determined that we can finish the game on the first half on 2019 upon seeing the progress of the development in Taurus. Now we have a stable work flow, as our lead programmer only has to work on random tiny things, for example, "I would like for Virgo to throw Alpacas for an event, can you add that?". Those are small details that Ben can do easily. Everything that was promised on the campaign, like SHMUP minigames and the crafting system is also all working nicely and well.

That brings us to the bad news: The release will be delayed, for all the reasons exposed before. At first we thought of keeping with the date announced in the Crowdfunding Campaign of December 4th and release the game in Early Access. However it all seemed unfair to the Beta Backers who donated first to get access to early builds of the game. Other than that, a save system of something like a RPG such as Virgo Vs The Zodiac wouldn’t work well with the early access system of Steam. Just imagine your save messing up every time the game is updated. That would be just bad. xD Unfortunately I didn’t know that back then when I announced the date, and I didn’t know the amount of hassle I would go through to learn the engine while developing the game. I can only blame my naiveness, honestly. Other than that, December isn’t a good time to release games because of the Steam Sale that makes it harder for new games to be noticed with so many games on sale.

With that being clarified, I can say now that the game would most likely be released in the first half of 2019, around Q2. I apologize deeply and am extremely sad, I was even avoiding saying this here and avoiding social medias in general due to anxiety attacks <_< I’m sorry for that as well! For anyone who said their birthday was in the same day as the game’s release, I apologize immensely, and please send me a message and I’ll send you a card of Sagittarius wishing you a happy birthday. It’s the only thing I can do now, to be honest. S O R R Y =(

O U T R A G E O U S

New possible release date: Q2 2019.

As for the good news now:

Taurus Realm Build For Backers

The Taurus build I was talking about will be sent to backers this week! :D You can expect a bossfight with a Zodiac, millions of new characters, around 1800 new lines of dialogues, new equipment to check, new fellows to beat or spare, quests and the SHMUP minigame, now implemented on the game! Also, as seen on the trailer, you can throw enemies off screen now :3

Kinda Funny Games Showcase

We’ll also be participating on Kinda Funny’s Games Showcase that’ll be happening in December 8th! You’ll be able to see a new trailer of Virgo Vs The Zodiac on the stream that’ll be happening on Kinda Funny’s Twitch. That’s a really cool opportunity for us, so eternal thanks to Greg Miller for chosing VvtZ. That got me by surprise! xD

Date: Saturday, December 8th

Time: 10am PT

I think that’s it! Basically we had a lot of setbacks, but we’re in the right path again now and I can say doing anything is faster as is! The game’s quality improved and the development became more demanding of our skills, but it’s also a nice challenge for everyone. I’m glad to have started this project, my life was pretty dull back then, I had lost many important things before and VvtZ brought sparkle back to my life. That’s important, as even in the most difficult times I can remember I’m creating something I have so much fun with. I’m blessed to have all the people who support me on Virgo Vs The Zodiac discord, who supported me in the campaign and everyone around social medias. It’s what makes my days happier, tbh.

Ever since I began development I lost contact with many of my friends from the other city I lived in, but I also made many other precious friends who helped me along the way! All the good and bad memories on my life shaped this place I created for myself in the world. I like this place, it’s comfy :3 Again, I’m sorry for ruining your expectations to have the game up on Steam this year, it’s a first delaying the development like this. As a Taurus I can say it pains the most to not have things done when I need them to be despite the hard work going behind this game. Damned Bugs. I want the bugs to die. Gotta work even harder from now on to extinguish bugs the maximum we can!

#virgovsthezodiac #gamedev #indiedev #pixelart #devlog #big ass devlog #long post is long #S O R R Y AND B I G T H A N K S

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thebarsondaily · 7 years

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To Catch A Dream

for @amagicalshipper

Title: to catch a dream Author: @notesfrome Rating: T Summary: Liv goes for a vacation with Noah, leaving Barba to come to a rather significant realisation and conclusion about what he feels for her. A/N: I haven’t written Barson in yonks, and it really felt good to write something about one of my most favourite OTPs ever again. I tried to make it very festive and Christmassy but unfortunately, the muse wasn’t talking to me that way. Nevertheless, I hope @amagicalshipper (and everyone else) will enjoy this!

It was the week before Christmas, and Olivia was not in New York. It had been a hell of a year, and she had decided to take some time off – a rarity for her - and go on a holiday, just her and Noah. They needed this time together, to be family. It was surprisingly easy for Fin and the squad to convince her to leave her work phone and her badge behind – which indicated how worn out she was by the year.

Barba walked into the squad room on the first day of her absence, his eyes drifting subconsciously to the closed door of her office. It seemed different without her in the room, even with everyone else doing what they usually do – Fin on his computer, Amanda getting a snack by the vending machine, and Carisi being a pest as usual.

“Hey, Barba, what’re you doing here?” Carisi chirped, swivelling around in his chair.

Barba rolled his eyes. “What kind of inane question is that? The last I checked, I am the ADA for SVU.”

“W-ell…Lieu is not here for the week, so I didn’t think you’d…” his voice trailed off at the glare on the lawyer’s face.

“Is that supposed to make sense, Carisi? I’m here because we have an ongoing case that’s currently on trial? And speaking of which, I hope you’re ready to testify?”

“Someone’s in a Grinch mood today,” Carisi muttered to Fin under his breath, and then he cleared his throat. “Of course, Counselor.”

“Good,” Barba said snappily. “Sergeant Tutuola, I need the full verbatim transcripts of the suspect’s statements for me to prepare my closing statement. Have them sent to my office within the hour.” Without waiting for Fin’s reply, he turned and left the office, feeling irritated and inexplicably off, for some reason. He pulled out his phone as he walked, and scrolled to Olivia’s name. He was in the midst of typing out a message when he stopped.

She was supposed to be on leave, and having quiet time with Noah. It didn’t seem appropriate to text her on work matters, and to be honest, he didn’t need to, it was all under control. He deleted the contents of the message, and stared at her name, his thumb hovering over the keypad.

He could send her a message, a personal one…but as close as they were being colleagues, and as much as he would call her his friend (his best friend, even), they had never been the sort to send each other messages just because. It wasn’t something they do.

Decisively, he locked his phone, and slipped it into his pocket. He had a trial to attend to; and there was still work that needed to be done. Texting Olivia Benson was not on the top of his priority list.

Which was why it was strange, that he found himself occasionally scrolling to her name whenever he looked at his phone that day.

Barba stood up, buttoning his suit jacket, drawing in a breath before he launched into his closing statement. His confidence was sky-high – Carisi did really well in his testimony, and he was certain that they were going to win this case. As he delivered his arguments, and although his attention focused on the jury, he found his eyes drifting, on occasion, to the spot behind his chair, where Olivia usually sits.

With a slight jolt, he found himself realising that he didn’t remember a time where she wasn’t sitting there as he presented his closing statements. Because she was always there, her eyes trained on him, fueling his fire, silently pushing him to win.

The realisation didn’t deter him from his focus, however, and he finished his arguments with a resounding bang, the final nail on the coffin of the scum that they were putting away. And he was proven right a mere three hours later, as the jury returned from their deliberations with a guilty verdict.

As he shook hands with the survivor and her family, as Fin clapped him on the back on a job well done, he found himself thinking of her, thinking of the way she would nod at him and touch him on the shoulder, a satisfied smile on her face.

Good job, Barba.

He smiled briefly to himself as he reminisced, and on a whim, he pulled out his phone, and typed two words.

We won.

Her reply came through less than five minutes later.

I know you will come through.

Smirking slightly, he tapped out a reply to her.

Surely you never doubted me, Liv? As if there’s ever going to be any other outcome, but that.

His phone pinged mere moments later, with two words on the screen.

Smart ass.

As his fingers swiped across the keyboard, typing out his reply, he could almost see her face as he read her words, that slight eye-roll, the corner of her mouth quirked into a smile. By the end of the day, his phone was filled with messages from her – messages that were mostly unrelated to work.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe they were the kind of friends to send each other chatty, random messages, after all.

“Sorry I’m late, Mamì,” Barba dropped a kiss on his mother’s cheek, and settled into the chair across from her.

Lucia smiled at her son fondly, touching his hand briefly. “It’s all right, Rafi, I am used to it.”

He frowned at her slightly. “If you’re trying to make me feel guilty, you’re succeeding.”

“I am doing no such thing,” Lucia declared. “I only worry about you, you work too hard.” She eyed him carefully as he signalled the waiter for a scotch, picking up the menu. “Is the lovely Lieutenant Benson driving you crazy again?”

“No, fortunately, she is not,” Barba drawled, picking up the scotch that was just served to him. “She’s on vacation, with her son, so I’ve not seen her in the last three days.”

She nodded, and was about to say something when his phone emitted a soft beep.

“Mamì, is it all right if I…?” He gestured towards his phone, and she shook her head. Frankly, Lucia would prefer it if Barba puts away his phone whenever he’s having dinner with her, but she knew that his job demanded him to be available at all times. She watched as her son read the message on his phone, a smile spreading across his face as he rapidly tapped out a reply, before slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“That’s not a work-related matter,” she observed, as he looked at her, his expression slightly sheepish.

“No, it’s not. Sorry, Mamì, but I’m with you now,” he said, taking another sip of his scotch.

She tilted her head slightly, studying him as she smiled. “Was that Lieutenant Benson?”

Immediately recognising the tone in his mother’s voice, his forehead wrinkled into a slight frown. “Mamì…don’t start. Liv and I, we’re not…”

“I like her, you know. She challenges you,” she interrupted, ignoring him.

Barba huffed slightly. “Honestly…” his phone beeped again, and his eyes drifted towards his pocket, but he restrained himself, making no move to retrieve his phone.

“Oh please. Rafi, do go ahead.” Lucia picked up her wineglass. “I’m sure you’re missing Lieutenant Benson.”

He was taking a drink, while reading Olivia’s message, and he sputtered once he heard his mother’s words. The automatic denial bubbled up in him, but before he could voice it, he stopped, as the realisation hit him.

I miss her.

Across from him, Lucia gave him a knowing smile.

Barba accepted the coffee from the barista, and took a sip gratefully. It was near lunch time, and this was only his second coffee for the day. Saying that he had felt deprived for the entire day thus far was an understatement.

Taking another drink, he was reminded that this was the exact spot he said goodbye to Olivia four days ago; where she had smiled at him and tossed him a wave, telling him she’d see him in a few days’ time. And he remembered that he had felt a little pang that he couldn’t quite explain.

He could explain it now, of course. He had felt thrown by his realisation yesterday, to put it mildly. He hadn’t realised what a constant she had been in his life. He was so used to having her with him, and not seeing her had somehow shifted his world. Not much, he admitted, but enough so that everything felt different, felt off.

His phone vibrated them, snapping him out of his preoccupied thoughts, and he answered it without looking at the screen.

“Barba.”

“Rafael, it’s Liv. Carisi said we ran into a snag with the Jensen case?”

Hearing her voice brought an involuntary small smile to his face, even if she was asking about work. “Liv, you’re supposed to be on vacation,” he chided.

“I’m sitting by the beach, watching Noah building a sandcastle, so I’m most definitely on vacation. Anyhow, what’s wrong with the case?”

“Nothing is wrong, Carisi’s being dramatic,” Barba answered, rolling his eyes. “There was a small inconsistency with the sister’s statement, but we sorted it out. I don’t want know what was Carisi doing, calling you and making a big deal out of it.”

“Hmmm,” she murmured absent-mindedly. “Actually, I called him for an update, and then he said I should call you.”

“Liv,” his tone was reprimanding, and she read his mind immediately. Her laughter sounded over the phone, merry and oh-so-familiar.

“I know, I know. Vacation. Which would be over in two days’ time.”

“So make the best out of it,” he said, finishing his coffee and tossing the empty cup into a nearby trashcan. Casting a glance towards the coffee cart, he contemplated another one.

“I will. I gotta go, Noah’s calling me. Glad everything’s all right with the case.”

“Go,” he shooed, tucking his phone between his ear and shoulder as he searched for the change to get his third coffee.

“I’ll see you soon, Rafael. And go slow on the caffeine.”

He smiled as he heard that, she really did know him so well. And he knew that she also knew that he would ignore her advice, and get that coffee anyway.

“Counselor, you’re looking cheerful.” He turned around to see Carisi and Rollins walking towards him, with the former grinning away. “Talking to Lieu, were you?”

Barba raised an eyebrow as they joined him. “I would tell you that’s none of your business. And why did you tell Liv we ran into trouble with the Jensen case when we actually didn’t?”

Carisi shrugged. “She asked for an update, and I just told her the truth.”

“Embellished truth.”

“Truth nonetheless. And besides, I know you miss Lieu. Aren’t you going to thank me for asking her to call you?”

“Detective, now that is really none of your business,” Barba snapped, feeling a rare flush rising in his cheeks, and praying fervently that they would just think it was the cold air.

“But you do, don’t you?” Rollins chimed in, looking just as annoying as Carisi.

Barba scoffed haughtily, and then he turned and walked away. They could think what they wanted to, but he wasn’t going to admit anything to those two. He certainly wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of being right about him.

Because it was true, of course. He missed her.

Barba was pouring his first coffee of the day, in his office, and as he had been doing for the last few days, he typed a quick message to Olivia. It had become some sort of routine, one that he was quite comfortable with.

They exchanged a few messages, the first ones about work, and then drifting off to a story about Noah seeing a Santa Claus on the beach, and getting confused about “why isn’t Santa in North Pole, preparing all my presents”.

As he was in the midst of typing a response, his phone rang. Smiling, he answered it, knowing it was her on the other end.

“I thought it’ll be easier if I just called you,” she said, and he could hear Noah’s voice in the background. “Is that Baba? I wanna say hi to Baba!” There was a slight scuffling noise, and then Noah’s voice sounded in his ear, bright and cheery. “Hi Baba! It’s me, Noah!”

“Hola, amigo,” he answered, amused.

“I saw Santa Claus! On the beach! Mummy says Santa is having a holiday before he starts working hard on Christmas Eve.”

“Did you say hello to Santa?”

“I did! And…and…”

“You’re getting ice cream all over your hands, Noah,” Olivia’s voice sounded.

“You should go finish your ice-cream, amigo. You’ll tell me the story when I see you, okay?”

“Okay, Baba! Will I see you for Christmas?”

He was about to answer in affirmative when he stopped himself. It seemed to be a bit too presumptuous, even if he did want to say yes. He was saved from answering as Olivia’s voice came back on the line.

“He’s certainly excited about Christmas.”

“Every child is, Liv.”

“Mmm-hmm. So, will he see you for Christmas?” She asked, her voice casual. “He bought you a present, and he wants to give it to you on Christmas day. You could come by during lunch time? We could have it together.”

His heart skipped a beat, but even so, he refused to think of it as more than anything her words portrayed – a casual invitation to a friend. “Sure, I could do that.”

“Oh good. I’ll make something simple. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re well supplied with scotch,” she teased.

“Well, that is very kind of you, Liv,” he drawled. “What time is your flight reaching tomorrow, anyway?”

“Eight o’clock. I just hope the flight will tire Noah enough so he’ll sleep. It’s a chore getting him to sleep on Christmas Eve.”

He laughed. “Good luck to you, then.”

“Why, thank you. Anyway, I’ll see you on Christmas day, I’m looking forward to it.”

“Miss me, do you?” The words were out before he could stop himself. There was a pause, and he felt his heart dropped when she didn’t say anything. It was a mistake; he shouldn’t have said it, but he was seeing her in his mind, her smile, the light in her eyes, and it just came out. Just as he was trying to think of other snarky words to add to that, to diffuse the situation, her voice floated over the line.

“Actually, yes. I really miss squabbling with you.” Her voice was jokey, but there was something in it, a tone that he couldn’t quite place, a tone that told him that it wasn’t just about the squabbling. It stretched between them, the connection, their connection, or perhaps the truth – the truth of the feelings they have for each other.

Seven days apart from her, and he realised that he missed her, really missed her. Seven days was nothing, in the scheme of time and distance, but this was the way he felt.

“Me, too,” he answered finally, and he could almost see her smile. As she rung off, her warm goodbye still reverberating in his ears, Barba came upon another realisation. It came out of nowhere, the thought entering his head, almost unbidden, but it was so clear, so true, and so obvious, that he wondered what took him so long to see it.

He didn’t just miss her; he was in love with her.

It isn’t too grand a gesture, Barba thought, for him to be at the airport, waiting for her and Noah. He didn’t want to wait until Christmas, because he wanted to tell her now and then, all that he had realised, in the eight days that she had been gone.

He saw Olivia as soon as she emerged from the arrival gates, holding Noah in one hand and pulling her suitcase with the other. A rush of emotions swept through him as their eyes met, with her looking exactly like the way she did eight days ago when she said goodbye, looking like she had never left.

“Rafael!” She called, and maneuvered her way through the crowd, reaching him in a matter of moments. Noah immediately ran to him, calling his name, and he placed his hand on the boy’s head, but he kept his attention on her. “What’re you doing here? I certainly didn’t expect to see you here.”

As excellent as he was with words, Barba had never been good at this – enunciating his emotions, feelings, so he settled for the plain and simple truth.

“I missed you,” he said, and just in case it wasn’t clear enough, he repeated himself. “I really missed you.”

She looked at him intently for two seconds, and then she reached out and took his hand, linking his fingers with hers. A beatific smile spread across her face, and he felt his heart lifting. “I missed you, too.”

He took a step forward, still holding onto her hand, and then he leaned closer, and kissed her. He could feel her smile against his lips, as she curved one hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer as she kissed him back.

They were interrupted by an innocent voice, chiming above the hubbub of the airport. “Baba, why are you kissing Mummy?”

They broke apart, and Olivia looked at him, and then at Noah, her cheeks slightly flushed. Barba knelt down, so that he was eye-to-eye to Noah, and then he told him the truth. “Because,” he said, “I love your Mummy.” He looked up at her, and her face told him all that he needed to know.

“Oh,” Noah said. “I guess it’s okay for you to kiss her, then.”

His eyes met Olivia’s, and they both broke out into laughter, as Barba stood up, and took Noah’s hand in his. He stretched out his other hand to her, and she took it without hesitation, fingers curling around his.

He missed her, he loved her, and he never wanted to be apart from her again. And she felt everything he did, because she loved him, too, as much as he loved her.

#barson #olivia benson #rafael barba #& secret santa exchange #secret santa exchange 2017 #gift 1 of 1 #from notesfrome #to amagicalshipper #submission

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sian22redux · 7 years

Text

He followed me home, chap. 3

Title: Hew followed me home, For @theycallmebecca

Chapter 3 Beginnings:

Rating: Has gone up a bit. Oopsie., grin.

Summary Chris and Y/N adopt a puppy to keep Dodger company and can’t settle on a name.

Based on a prompt by @theycallmebecca because her Bosox took a series with my Indians. Ah well they are both out of contention now :( And because of that, to cheer her up, here’s a little of their backstory. And the fulfillment of every Bosox fangirl’s fantasy date.

You can find Chapter 1 He Followed Me Home, and 2 here: here. There will be one more after this. Unbeta’d this time cuz it’s so overdue. Will try to update and correct any glitches as I get the chance.

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You never planned on falling for Chris Evans.

Nope. Nuh-unh. You were not gonna go there.

You had just ended two years of heartbreak. Sworn off of dating another working actor because self-absorption is really not your thing and you have no interest in a man mobbed by eager skirts (the perils of that scene you’ve learned the hard and public way).

But then on a bright, hard blue Atlanta morning, like most things in your life, it just sort of happens accidentally.…..

Anthony Russo stands frowning down at his phone, thumbing his newest text away before sliding his glasses up on his head.

He’s frazzled and unusually irritated: already sweating even though it’s five am. The city is in heatwave and the production team are trying to get filming up and going before the sun makes the actors’ lives too miserable. In half an hour they are due to be on Infinity Wars’ sprawling set.

“Oh christ, not another one,” he mutters, shaking his ahead and pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly. It is too early. You are all wiped after months of location filming—coping with Murphy’s law and Mother Nature’s whim and as per usual every little thing that can go wrong has spiked the wheels.

“What’s up?” you ask, turning your attention from marking up a message board.

“Shiree’s got stomach flu.”

Ugh. Shiree, a bouncy and fresh-faced CalState undergrad, is the sixth person on the crew to go down with a bug. Not an auspicious sign. You’ll have to check in with catering. It might simply be the unrelenting heat or there might be a real problem with cross-contamination.

Either way, you are now unhelpfully another Runner down.

You swipe your ipad, pull up the day’s crew call. It’s a mess of strike-outs and red-lined arrows. Everyone is already replacing someone else.

“I’ll sub,” you offer quickly and Anthony looks up, grateful but hesitant. It’s not your job. Getaway Productions still needs you for continuity but after ten years in you are pretty sure you can multi-task.

Blindfolded and walking backwards.

“You sure?”

“Yup. Totally. I am a master at pouring brown bilge water into too thin paper cups.”

Anthony grins. Both of you have been there, way back in your resumes. It’s part of the biz. “Thanks, Y/N.”

This is how you wind up an hour later with hot coffee dripping off your hand, apologizing to the film’s tall bearded lead.

The actors for the morning’s scenes are gathered in an unusually bleary group. Quiet but intent, listening to Joe’s breakdown of the sequencing. You are just about to tap on “Steve Rogers’ shoulder and offer him a cup of joe when Dave Bautista, that mountain of a man seemingly wide as he is tall, shuffles in a little late.

He crosses too close behind you, bumps his massive bulk against your shoulder and you are knocked straight forward.

Into Chris Evan’s broad and muscled back.

“Fuck, what?” Chris exclaims, turning around, surprised and startled as half a cup of black no sugar (ugh why was the lid too loose?) seeps into the dark Nomad suit.

You stand there, appalled, shaking the liquid off your hand and trying to ignore the sting. The coffee was hot. Too hot. Fresh out of the canteen and hopefully hasn’t burned his skin. Oh god.

“Mr Evans, I am so, so sorry!” Your words are almost tripping over each other in your haste to apologize. “Are you ok?”

“Fine. I’m fine,” he says, craning his neck and rubbing at the dark wet patch that spreads from his lower back to his buttocks. “Just wet. Don’t worry about me. Are you …??” He looks up and his tawny brows tug together. “Sorry, I don’t know your name.”

You’re not surprised. There are literally dozens of people on the set and no reason for you to have met before. You spend your days mostly holed up inside the production trailer.

“Y/N,” you answer as Chris grabs the dripping cardboard tray and reaches for your wrist. It’s red. He’s frowning; holding it incredibly gently in fingers twice the size of yours. “You’re burned.”

“It’s nothing,” you reply automatically, although it really isn’t. The skin is bright red and stings a bitch; the sharp pain getting worse by the minute. You don’t have time for this. Your job is to keep filming rolling, not slow it down.

Gingerly, you wiggle your phone from your jeans back pocket, more worried for the moment that wardrobe needs a call. Chris has Nomad’s tan gloves tucked into his belt. God you hope that they aren’t trashed. It would ruin close-up shots. “I’ll get Lena to come down with a dryer, Mr. Evans. I hope the stain won’t show.”

“Fuck the stain,” Chris counters softly. He steps nearer to get a better look at you. The furrow on his brow gets deeper. This close he is even bigger than you thought, smells like coffee and wet leather and spice, anything but threatening. In the shade, his sapphire eyes look darker, mysteriously match the blue star stitched above his pec.

“You need this checked. It might blister. And get infected.” The litany of possible negative repercussions trails off mercifully but before you can protest he signals to another runner with a microphone. “Call the paramedics.”

Shit. That does it. The alert goes out and you both stand, waiting for the medical people to arrive when both Anthony and Joe muscle through the group. The speech is finished. You realize that around your little world, Falcon and Winter Soldier, Star Lord and Dax have melted away, back to the Milano mock-up.

Joe looks anxiously between you and Chris, at first uncertain who is the patient, but then he notices your hand cradled in Chris’s larger one. “Y/N are you ok? What happened?”

“Accident,” Chris says immediately and you flush, embarrassed to have caused a ruckus and acutely aware of how unprofessionally close you are. You pull back a little farther, but he doesn’t let you go.

“It’s nothing, Mr. Russo. I spilled coffee on Mr. Evans’ suit.”

“It’s not nothing. You’re hurt. And call me Chris, will you please?”

He smiles, lopsided and half-bashful, absently rubbing cool and soothing fingers next to your stinging skin and that’s all it takes. A few awkward, fleeting minutes before the cavalry arrives and your heart will be lost— tumble down between life’s cushions where you don’t think to look—but in the moment you stand mesmerized, vaguely aware that Anthony’s talking quickly into his mike, motioning for the goulishly curious to be kept at bay. Most oblige, except for a thin, fresh-faced and way too earnest guy in a Nasa hoodie and headset. He’s hovering, trying to get Chris’s attention, because Nomad’s needed on set in twenty, but Chris insists on waiting until the call comes to actually take his mark; stands watching patiently while a blue-gloved EMT pronounces it “only low second degree”.

“Second!” Chris looks ready to freak out but the gentle-voiced paramedic explains that there are only a few small, pinprick blisters coming up. Nothing that won’t heal quite quickly if you keep it clean and dry.

“Mr. Evans?”

“Mr. Evans?” Nasa guy looks so pained he might combust.

“Coming Matt.” The Russos, reassured it’s nothing serious, have already headed to the first scene set. Chris sighs and meets your gaze. “Sorry. Gotta go.”

“I’m fine. Thank you,” you nod but he’s gone--a retreating smudge of sable in a sea of purple minions.

It feels like the morning’s sunshine has been covered by bank of high, dark cloud.

Good grief Y/N. Get a grip.

After that you sit in a hastily retrieved folding chair (Ms Saldana it says on back) feeling a little bewildered and a whole lot rattled. The paramedic slathers on a blessedly cool antiseptic cream; covers the burn loosely and orders you to get it checked tomorrow if it swells or oozes overnight. You take some painkillers, rest for an hour or two on Russos’ orders but after lunch carry on again. certain that Chris has forgotten all about the morning’s mess, but then at 3 o’clock Matt finds you in the producer’s huddle.

He hands you a note handwritten on a concession napkin.

I don’t have your number. Are you ok? -C

Your eyes bug out. Yes that certainly seems to be a phone number on the back.

Omg.

You pull out your iphone and, weirdly nervous, have to type the number twice.

<I’m ok. And thanks!>

Of course there will be no immediate response. The actors’ phones stay mostly in their trailers when they are on set. You try not to check for a reply, keep mostly occupied with updating the afternoon scene list, when a telltale buzz fires at your hip.

You swipe the screen with your other hand.

D’s is Dene’s, the pub around the corner from the mini city of Getaway’s Atlanta hub. The cast and crew often hang there at the end of a long hot day, for the Sweetwater homebrews and the chicken biscuits. It’s tempting, though honestly you’d thought of nothing more than going home; lying down and just putting the day behind you.

But Chris. Has asked. himself. And it would be good to say thanks again: you weren’t sure he had heard you, having run off so fast. The call sheet might say you start at the usual ungodly hour but Anthony had ordered you to rest.

Come on, Y/N. What would it hurt?

You gather up your satchel, toss the gauze and polysporin the medic gave you into the zippered pocket and sling it over your shoulder, drive the two short blocks to Dene’s to make it easy heading home

Once in the high ceilinged, noisy space you pull up a seat at the bar and get a soda—you are driving and took pain meds--striking up a chat with Will, one of the best steadicam operators you’ve worked with. The two of you shoot the breeze a while before he downs the last of his bourbon, grabs his keys, mumbling something about his baby girl.

A minute later you feel someone looming just behind. It’s Chris. Freshly showered, in wet hair, grey shorts and t. A cascade of butterflies ripple through your stomach. You’ve hardly spoken to him before now, but being focus of that gaze—wow. It’s even better than the hype.

He leans on the polished wooden top, eyes worried and intent. “Hey Y/N,”

“Hey.”

“How’s the hand?” He reaches out and punctuates the question with a caress on your elbow. It gentle, easy, part of the casual way he touches everyone, and no big deal. Chris Evans, real life Captain America, is reputed to do this with everyone. Is handsy. Hugs as easily as breathing.

Shut up stupid butterflies. “Just stings,” you shrug. expecting him to make few minutes chat but somehow you both wind up deep in conversation. The state of the union and all things Trump are covered, work travel and mindfulness. He’s thoughtful. And articulate. Down to earth and inhumanly attractive. There’s something a little wicked behind the almost-bashful smile.

Your internal warning klaxons silently begin to blare.

He’s not for you. Chris is known to be the world’s nicest guy. Golden-hearted (as Jenny famously announced) and worried about everything and everyone.

“It’s fine. Really,” you insist when he offers to walk you to your car, fretting that you haven’t planned for the next day off. It is fine. You will take it a little easier. Show up at 7, instead of 4:45. but nothing puts him off.

Underneath a flickering streetlight, Chris opens your car door, sets a hand on your lower back to lean over and say goodnight and a warmth that has nothing to do with Atlanta’s humid swamp begins to pool low in your belly.

Oh oh.

Of course in the weeks to come Chris’s golden retriever level of enthusiasm wears you down.

First it’s “do you play charades?”; then it’s “we’re having a cast/crew baseball game…” All correctly platonic and entirely above board. No pressure. First a Condessa latte shows up on your desk. Then lunches with Mackie and Joe morph into casual dinner dates with just him. Standing plans to watch MLB at Dene’s pop up because, if anything, you are more obsessed than he with Boston’s fabled Sox. He’s a perfect gentlemen when he escorts you to a Pats game in the Falcon’s Nest.

His fanboying over Brady makes you grin from ear to ear.

As you get to know each other better so many things get shared. You open up about your crazy gypsy life as an air force brat, how hard it was to be constantly on the move; how you love spontaneity because your dad ran your home like a fighter wing. He talks about the pressure of being in the public eye; how hard it is to meet someone who understands that life but how much he craves some stability. How much he misses Dodger when he’s away.

The first hint it could be something different dawns when you find two ALDS passes and tickets for Logan airport clipped onto your white board.

Anthony raises an eyebrow and just grins as you stand in shock.

Oh.

My.

God.

(Boston is having an okay pennant run even with David Price on the DL list.)

You bolt from the set and arrive just in time to take your seat in the private box, smiling up at Chris as he hands you an icy Sleeper Street IPA.

The bottle is covered in condensation. It makes your fingers slide a little bit.

“Watch that beer,” he grins, ocean eyes twinkling as he leans over to cover your hand with his. He whispers “If you spill on me again this time I might have to take off my shirt.”

Oh Lord. He’s isn’t. He’s not…

He’s flirting, yes he is but you dismiss it. Doesn’t mean a thing. Chris Evans flirts with everyone. Constantly. You know this—it’s part of his innate charm. He’s single, playing the field, rumoured to be with everyone from Scarlet to a newly-available Ana Paris. And what would he, a star, want with you, second assistant producer and chief-fixer of whatever Anthony and Joe need done? No way. You’re just one of his many buds. Filling the gap during the long months away.

You both are thrilled to a see game. Chris Sale, Boston Cy Young contender, is not at his best but you don’t care. The food and drinks don’t stop. You have the best view of Fenway you’ve ever had and you laugh, and laugh; the two of you teasing each other from the 1st inning to the 9th.

On the red eye flight back that night you fall asleep with your head upon his shoulder.

The fall winds quickly on. Filming goes on hiatus, you both head west to home, say keep in touch but of course he’s just being nice. Somehow (Anthony?!) Chris gets your private private number. Friendly texts once a week give way to trash chats almost every day during L.A.’s World Series run. Boston’s out but that does not mean you will stoop so low as to root for the National League contender. He invites you over with fifty of his closest friends to watch the seventh game. It’s loud and raucous, and of course in the sea of people you hardly get a chance to talk.

You’re on your fourth whiskey sour, a little woozy and light-headed, stomach tied in knots because the Astros are down a run, when you feel the couch dip down.

It’s Chris. Big and warm, and little flushed, taking a ribbing from his pals. The two of you are quite possibly the only Houston fans in a sea of Dodger blue but neither of you care.

Josh Reddick is at the plate. 3-2, bottom of the ninth. Clayton Kershaw winding up.

You lean forward, eyes on the screen when he grips your hand for reassurance. Your heart is fluttering. It’s the thrill the game, nothing more-- he feels it too, because beside you his leg is vibrating at hundred miles an hour—like a greyhound in the gates.

(Afterward, you convince yourself his slightly fuzzy kiss is only because Reddick hits a walk-off home run.)

In the weeks to come you find yourself simply checking in; texting to ask how his family are; how Dodger’s coping with his schedule. It’s nice. Easy. No biggie because you’re just good friends.

Your schedules stay stubbornly mixed up—you’re in L.A., tied to the editing booth and he’s in Dubai, Milan, or Boston every chance he gets. Like the entire world you’re glued to his twitter feed: laughing at another video of ridiculously drunken enthusiasm when the Pats win again; fangirling every time another picture of Dodger shows up.

You both manage dinner once or twice but there’s no time to seriously hang. You miss it. Intensely. Somehow you’d become used to having him always there but there is nothing you can do.

Ridiculous, Y/N. You’re simply friends. You’ll catch up when there’s time.

The holiday season rolls around and it’s time for the annual Getaway crew party. You splurge on a kickass dress (red because it brings out the highlights in your hair) and Manolo Blahniks that make your legs go on forever, get your hair and makeup done just for no reason (honestly). After a quick hi to Anthony and Joe, you collect a flute of champagne and drift through the crowd, winding up after many hugs on the deck beside the pool.

The lights twinkling in the blooming fuschias cast a hazy blush in the air. It’s gorgeous and the perfect place to hide when you are trying to not too obviously peruse the crowd.

You hear Chris before you see him. His booming laugh echoes up from the lower terrace. He’s there-- tanned; neatly trimmed and striking in a silver shirt and dark black jeans--- with Pratt and Mackie. They’re out on the grass underneath the stars, surrounded by the bevy of blonds from accounting, joking and pounding tumblers of Chivas back.

He looks incredible. More than half-cut. And occupied.

You take a gulp of the exquisitely dry Cava and will your pulse to settle down. He hasn’t yet noticed that you’re there. Of course not. The daily texting dropped off weeks ago but your stubborn, stupid heart can’t help but wish that he’d come looking for you.

Sweep you up in those huge strong arms and say he’d missed you too.

Because that’s what good friends do.

Yeah right.

You’re just telling yourself what an idiot you are when he throws back his head and laughs, wraps an arm around Jeanine (petite, perfect and probably enhanced) and your stomach twists.

Oh god. You hadn’t realized your ‘problem’ had got this bad.

“Go on, Y/N. Go over.”

The words are whispered near your ear and you whirl, just barely keeping the bubbly in your glass.

Jeremy Renner is smiling, mouth quirked to one side, kind eyes glinting in the glow of Christmas lights. He’s not one of the cast you know that well so you stand, a little stunned while he waves his glass in the direction of the noise.

“I mean it. Go get him. Chris is crazy about you. I told the idiot he was wrong but he’s convinced that you aren’t interested.”

Aren’t interested? But that means that he….

You slowly shake your head, nervously tucking a stray strand of hair back behind your ear. Crazy about you? Sure he’s flirted. Kissed you once. Kept in close touch but that had fizzled lately. Jeremy can’t be right. You know they’re close, but he has have misunderstood something that he said.

What you and Chris have is not that kind of thing.

The sound of laughter carries across the water. You stare into your glass, hoping to find a little help but you know it won’t Your normally spontaneous and ebullient self has been body snatched by a timid mouse.

“It’s not my place. I’m not.. ” you mumble when you finally get your tongue to work.

The flush that stains your throat and neck tells otherwise.

“Really?” Jeremy chuckles. “Then why have your eyes been glued on him non-stop?” He frowns down at the group for a moment before looking back up to you. “Y/N, I’ve watched him dance around you now for months. He’s trying to take things slow. Not rush headlong for once into something new and keep it out of the press’s eye. I told him he’s being too discreet; that he’s so careful you can’t tell what’s in his busy head but he won’t listen.”

Your mouth is flapping open like a fish. Jeremy smiles wide and slow, nods when you can’t help yourself and look back down into the yard. What if he’s wrong? What if you make a fool of yourself? What if he’s ready to move on?

“I can’t…”

“Sometimes you just have to take a leap.”

The waiter drifts past again. Jeremy silently pulls your empty flute from your trembling fingers and hands back a fresh round of dutch courage. You raise it to your lips, swig the bubbly like water. The knot of people around Chris has changed again, condensed to the two Chrises, Anthony and Sheletta, his wife and childhood sweetheart. You’ve met her on set. She’s lovely. Not too scary.

Jeannine is nowhere to be seen. .

From beside you a piercing whistle makes you jump. “Evans!” Jeremy calls and oh fuck he’s done it—Jeremy has rolled the dice.

Chris looks up, finds Renner’s wave and then his eyes go wide. His handsome face flushes and he bites his lip. Shakes his head wonderingly and mouths ‘You look beautiful”.

To you. The girl he’s been crazy about all these months.

Oh god. OK. That’s it.

You walk down the terrace steps and into a new life.

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MLB is Major league baseball and ALDS is American League Division Series :)

tags. @sweet-empowerment @miss-cap21 @brooklyn-to-battlefields @inkwellsandmagicspells @maggieskeleton @imagine-cats96 @mewsiex @yourtropegirl @its-forevermore @dirajunara @s0eul @our-sharona @avaalons @lumelgy @mycapt-ohcapt @mypatronusismrpricklepants @3dsaunt @mrchristopherrobert @our-jasmine-universe @rayleyanns @s8sense @tinaferaldo @callamint @emilyevanston @interstateofmind @lilnerdy @666themarkofthebitch @thestarlighthotel @doloreschanel @pegasusdragontiger @zkkn ; @missfirstavenger

#he followed me home #sian22redux #writes #baseball #chris evans #reader

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kinetic-elaboration · 7 years

Text

August 30: Sudden Accomplishment

I was very accomplished today, but at the cost of giving up any pretense of having a life, even a dorky and introverted life, outside of work and miscellaneous adult responsibilities.

I was so fucking tired in the morning...so tired that I’m not entirely sure I actually woke up, ever (my alarm woke me up in the middle of dreams, which is always disorienting and hard to recover from), and what I actually experienced as “being awake” was just a thin layer of caffeine applied to a nominally conscious body. Regardless, a combination of annoyance and, from around 10 on, the aforementioned caffeine sped me on to do a whole bunch of shit that I’d been putting off FORever.

The annoyance came from my desire to pay my rent, due on Friday so a semi-urgent task, which was complicated by the new management’s website. I had to set up an account but it wouldn’t accept my name. birthday, and email as correct. And it just put me over the edge to feel like I wasn’t getting these simple details right, like was I mistyping my own name??? (I was not.) And when I tried to call, no one picked up. Repeatedly. So I somehow translated this into “I’ll show you, landlords, I’ll do all this annoying stuff and I’ll be accomplished, even though you’re thwarting me in this simple task! How do you like THAT?” Which doesn’t make sense but sometimes you just gotta be in that mood in order to tackle certain things in the world, so I acknowledged and took advantage of it.

Unfortunately, ambition did not come with competence because I also made so many dumbass mistakes today that I felt like I would have been better off accomplishing nothing, just hiding under the covers all day so as not to be a burden to the world. For example, I confused the South Eastern Reporter for the Supreme Court Reporter, which is particularly embarrassing given that I actually have a JD and thus know that they are not even remotely the same thing, even though, in my defense, the advances are almost identical in terms of size/shape/appearance. Also I did this in front of my boss. Also when asked I did not have the latest advance, even though it had arrived that day, because I’d forgotten to check the mail on the law school side. To be fair, it wasn’t sorted when I came over initially but really I should have checked again after 15 minutes or so and I just forgot. (Too busy being accomplished!!!) Or, for another example, I asked the woman who puts together Law Review for the last three issues, even though there was only one more issue, and they published the exact same number of issues they’ve been publishing since the beginning of time. And 6 and 8 are not the same number. Still, I would not have needed to ask again had she responded to my first request like 3 weeks ago so there is that.

These mistakes are all embarrassing and make me question everything about myself and my perception of the world but the thing is that stuff DID get done. Awkwardly, but it did.

Work stuff accomplished included:

Helped a Law Review cite checker get the latest Supreme Court Reporter update. As said, this was way more complicated than it needed to be, but hey, he got it at the end of the day and as someone who’s done cite checks and who knows how important those advances can be, I did feel happy that I helped. (Also, I never explained my mistake to him so he thinks I’m super on the ball for getting it to him the next day, when he’d previously thought that was impossible, so there’s that.)

Got the library’s copies of the last Law Review, published at the beginning of the summer and kept all the way one floor below me, finally delivered to my freaking office, after asking twice. The thing is, I should probably just show up and be like “WHERE ARE THEY” periodically but the publication schedule is unpredictable and the journals are SUPPOSED to get brought up to me when they come out, without prompting, AND the specialty journals, of which there are four, always do. So the delay is mostly caused by LR forgetting about me + me being too shy to aggressively create awkward work situations over and over by asking for my fucking stuff. But whatever I got them for now.

Figured out the mystery of a Career Services withdrawal that has been plaguing me for at least a week. Is it one copy? Is it two? Is it two from two different years? The catalogue should tell you but all the data was corrupted when we transferred so who knows! Now it’s sorted out.

Finally sorted out the discards from the Faculty Support Center, which have been sitting on my shelf for so long they had basically blended into the landscape. I mean I’m surprised they hadn’t literally melded into the metal. I was told they were lowest priority so I treated them as such. But it’s so nice to get them away from me: two of them were sent to reference (one to replace a missing book, which I also dealt with) and two were withdrawn and free shelf-ed.

Drafted an email to a professor asking him to give us a third copy of the latest update to his book. I didn’t send it only because I’d been making so many dumbass mistakes I feared I’d left in a glaring typo or some other obvious awkwardness, but I can look at it with fresh eyes tomorrow and send it.

Started the cancellation sheet for a title that is no longer in print, apparently, since I got the email about it today.

Usual mail and UPS stuff, plus got the official OK from my supervisor re: my fall vacation plans and talked a bit about journal with my student helper.

Helped the director unpack an amp.

Organized the bindery stuff so I can work on it tomorrow.

Plus, though this isn’t a work accomplished, I finally--FINALLY--set up a freaking appointment to get new glasses, which I should have done months ago but I’ve just been putting it off for forever for no real discernible reason. It’s for tomorrow, which is somewhat sooner than I expected, but at least then it will be (mostly) over with. Leaving only the process of actually getting my new eyewear and then the unrelated but in-the-same-category process of seeing a dentist, which I’ve been putting off for even longer because I’m only semi-aware of where the office is and also I miss my old dentist and also I’m afraid of the state of my teeth, a problem that only compounds itself exponentially with time. BUT. Dumb adult problems for another day. I’m still proud of myself for the eye thing.

The I’m-a-real-adult-really fun didn’t stop after work. I picked up some milk and then when I got back to the apartments I stopped in at the office to get my account set up. Apparently literally everyone in the whole complex had the same issue I had because when you set up a new account, your information has to match their information, and I thought that info was just pulled from, I dunno, my lease or the air, but actually you have to have it entered manually and apparently in person. SO. Did that. Tomorrow I’ll set it up for real, hopefully painlessly, and pay my rent.

Then at home, instead of collapsing, I was responsible and washed dishes, made tomorrow’s lunch, took a shower. I was done at 6:15, spent some time browsing tumblr because it puts me into a nice lull, and then decided I was too useless to do anything but nap.

I ended up napping until quarter to 10. Over three hours.

So now I’m finishing dinner and then I guess I’ll go back to sleep. I have a very slight headache and I’m...not really tired, but I feel like my whole self has been dulled. Tomorrow is a very long day because my optometrist appointment is at 5. I will probably not get home until around 7. I hope my nap + a decent-ish night’s sleep will provide me with the necessary energy but somehow I’m not optimistic. I will probably have to drag myself through Friday by my fingernails. At least then it’s a three-day weekend, and after that, a month of me taking time off here and there, and hopefully getting more dumb things out of the way, and hopefully fall coming, and other nice things.

#the year 2017 #2017: rl #or a very long post about how you can be almost 30 w a masters level degree and still so crippled #by dumbass anxiety and self doubt and laziness #that even simple tasks are beyond you #if i were 17 and reading this i'd be like well it never gets any better or easier and maturity is an illusion #life is just perpetual flailing around

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t--o--f--u-blog · 5 years

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☼☼☼☼☼ also think tank a white lecturer using the n-word when quoting literature in a lecture? I think she used it once outside of quotation as well certainly not meant in a disrespectful way, just seems unnecessary

☐☐☐☐☐ better have a justification at least but if you just use it out of the blue it always seems like some attempt at provocation 'i can say this because my interests are purely academic'

☼☼☼☼☼ mmmmm we're reading uncle tom's cabin, so it's hard to avoid

☐☐☐☐☐ should only be quoted verbatim if absolutely necessary, if there's no alternative I think

☼☼☼☼☼ yeah seems like she could have avoided it pretty easily

☐☐☐☐☐ if she's making no acknowledgement of the word's relationship to her privilege, that's rly not good

☼☼☼☼☼ yeah she's older so there might just be an outdated perspective there 'I'm just quoting the text, it was anti-slavery so I'm fine' sort of mentality maybe?

☐☐☐☐☐ still she would know about the contemporary attitude to the word and she should at least mention that! ugh like it doesn't sound malicious or super super racist, but eh

☼☼☼☼☼ Yeah I feel iffffy about it

☐☐☐☐☐ should mention it!

☼☼☼☼☼ Trying to work out if I should send email and if so how to word it

☐☐☐☐☐ mm

☍☍☍☍☍ be interesting to actually properly discuss it

☐☐☐☐☐ yep

☍☍☍☍☍ heck I’d be interested to know more of a history of the word basically teach properly why its offensive

☼☼☼☼☼ Yeah, I might bring it up in the tutorial different teacher, but maybe good discussion

☐☐☐☐☐ mm that seems appropriate i'd love to hear how that goes

☍☍☍☍☍ uhhh there was someone who used it at Bar Oussou the host reallllly should’ve said something and I normally would but just too tired for confrontation

☼☼☼☼☼ Yeah ☐☐☐☐☐ was telling me Sounded very cringe

☐☐☐☐☐ v unfortunate most disappointed in yhe host tbh

☐☐☐☐☐ he maybe had a old-worldy attitude to it and didn't mind or was too cowardly lol which do u think?

☍☍☍☍☍ I think he thought it was in the context of the poem she didn’t use it to degrade someone directly, but the word itself is degrading

☐☐☐☐☐ ugh but the poem is in the context of fuckin oussou yep ppl need to have a think before using words

☍☍☍☍☍ I just think its great to have a stage to do emotional work, but it can cross a line into normalising shitty white behaviour

☐☐☐☐☐ mm

☍☍☍☍☍ I went to a coloured school so I can’t b racist wah wah wah

☐☐☐☐☐ and you have to consider your audience if your rant is dehumanising or brushes aside/causes suffering u gotta reconsider felt pretty ashamed on behalf of bartender/various black audience members not saying that dumb white shit would be acceptable with a different audience, but her obliviousness was kinda astounding

☼☼☼☼☼ wow yeah cringefest

☍☍☍☍☍ lol spoken word scene as a whole can b so lame haha rings true to why I/we left

☐☐☐☐☐ mm so macho! that's what I liked about talkbox some sensitivity there, gentleness

☍☍☍☍☍ still, I just wish people read more lok *lol

☐☐☐☐☐ yep I wish I read more

☍☍☍☍☍ like the stylistic range is generally pretty lame

☐☐☐☐☐ I guess that's why anyone reads mmm

☍☍☍☍☍ I wish I read more too

☐☐☐☐☐ hahahaha

☼☼☼☼☼ :')

☍☍☍☍☍ don’t mean to shit on everyon, I just think the scene as a whole and the conception of poetry is lacklustre - it doesn’t seem like the time for poetry, sometimes

☐☐☐☐☐ mm

☍☍☍☍☍ ppl too distracted by netflix uwu sounds like phones but too much

☐☐☐☐☐ doesn't seem like the time for art, sometimes! hahhh

☍☍☍☍☍ its definitely a time for music

☼☼☼☼☼ I think there's a place for poetry It's just raps and memes

☍☍☍☍☍ yeh but I play dat long game there might not b a place now but I’mma fkn make one whether you like it or not lol

☼☼☼☼☼ Oh yeah fair go 4 it

☐☐☐☐☐ loll

☍☍☍☍☍ I just mean that I think 'poetry' has evolved into other forms, and now the traditional form is struggling to find a place I mean does anyone pay attention to Victorian satirical cartoons? I don’t I think it’s also tho that the low brow is more apparent in the moment, the high brow more apparent from a distance the shit sinks, basically

☼☼☼☼☼ elaborate?

☍☍☍☍☍ time brings forward higher brow material while a lot of lower brow stuff falls back or like there’s an art for getting through your days, and there’s an art for elaborate long form spiritual liberation

☼☼☼☼☼ so u don't mind about a lack of audience now if your work has staying power?

☍☍☍☍☍ different works have different digestion time and yes that is what I’m saying

☼☼☼☼☼ hmmmmmmm

☍☍☍☍☍ hmmmmmmmm?

☐☐☐☐☐ personally I don't know whether I'm prioritising the reception of my work or its value to me right now i feel poetry/art in general are useful tools for thinking about the world useful philosophical tools i guess and idk whether i'm learning for the sake of my own knowledge/making 'better' art or learning so what I put out into the world is better received I suppose the two aren't mutually exclusive but yeah - feeling fairly indifferent to the idea of creating work that will persist right now part of me feels more comfortable with being lost forever lol or at least that I should become comfortable with that, bc that is what will happen inevitably

☍☍☍☍☍ I just think in this atmosphere of complete denial of the arts as an important component of society, as well as the stigmatisation of ritual and other mystical practices that used to house what we now might describe as an artist, its important that we follow our intuition rather than give in to a system that routinely prevents us having access to basic resources like I want to be there for whoever is there when this period comes to end and those peoples are looking for anything to rudder them, whether or not I’m alive

☐☐☐☐☐ you want to add to the cultural record?

☍☍☍☍☍ I want provide a map for future generations is how I would put it

☐☐☐☐☐ mm how do you feel one can ensure the persistence of their own work? or are you just hoping it'll be around for others I suppose whether or not anything lasts is out of ur control past a certain point

☍☍☍☍☍ for one I make an effort to give away a lot of work

☐☐☐☐☐ mm

☍☍☍☍☍ I also store it all and make sure that that stockpile is kept w care but I also think there’s something to be said that I try and operate within many pre-existing canons I also it’s important to use the more meme-y, short stay work to bring attention to the slower works yeah, re: canons, like tanka and before that wakka as poetic forms stem back as far as a thousand years - perhaps more by putting myself in conversation with the ancients... idk it feels a bit like entering a cultural refrigerator haha

☐☐☐☐☐ mm

☍☍☍☍☍ sometimes I find it better to see my individual works as modules that make up a whole more prescient than its parts (Morton lolz) soo... maybe my work won’t carry the same weight until I finish, so to speak who knowsss but this how I think about it lol

☐☐☐☐☐ best to try and contribute something I spose rather than do nothing w ur resources

☍☍☍☍☍ I’m weird with this shit u don’t have to be

☐☐☐☐☐ mm it seems fairly simple to me and not that weird

☍☍☍☍☍ not everyone should spend their life tending their gravestone it’s a job for a particular type of person, and I am it

☐☐☐☐☐ but in a sense everyone does anyway everyone does things with the future in mind or without it in mind I suppose

☐☐☐☐☐ and i guess that influences what you leave when you die eheh, whether you do it consciously or unconsciously

☍☍☍☍☍ I just am particularly stubborn that I have something to offer - I think its partially a result of being denied that a lot in school, I found other ways to have social bonds that were more... non linear bonds with past peoples, and inadvertently bonds with future people

☐☐☐☐☐ mm

☍☍☍☍☍ I find it frustrating that its seen as arrogant to suggest your work should be read after you die - if anything its remarkably humble as I'm acknowledging that I will never properly see the fruits of my labour it's a ridiculously isolating position to find oneself in, where your best friends - books, music, content - have no form of human intimacy with you and completely defy all survivalistic, lizard-brain humanity plus you're just on a total different dimension from most people you meet

☐☐☐☐☐ mm you're in a very specific position here

☍☍☍☍☍ lol goodluck catching up ☼☼☼☼☼

☼☼☼☼☼ unrelated btw

(☼☼☼☼☼ posts a meme in chat)

☍☍☍☍☍ see y'all @ da rally (in reference to the meme)

☐☐☐☐☐ where and when is this? oh oops thought you meant a real one

☼☼☼☼☼ hahaha

☍☍☍☍☍ xD

☼☼☼☼☼ structurally is the meme ok ? took the photo the other day, and just added the text.

☍☍☍☍☍ yes are u going to weigh in on the conversation tho lol

☼☼☼☼☼ nah not really

☍☍☍☍☍ meme fine

☼☼☼☼☼ I have so little to add

☍☍☍☍☍ well hm why make memes? why not write novel? do memes have staying power?

☐☐☐☐☐ it's a question of what timescale is important to you at any given time maybe

☍☍☍☍☍ oh absolutely - not trying to infer a hierarchy here, I just think there are different approaches for different problems

☐☐☐☐☐ sometimes I'll say something to someone so they'll remember it for tomorrow, sometimes I'll say something to someone and hope they'll remember forever lol mm I don't think I care about staying power that much

☐☐☐☐☐ memes have such a short lifetime, they're like cultural mayflies haha

☼☼☼☼☼ Yeah defs

☍☍☍☍☍ why tho lol

☼☼☼☼☼ Because the art itself can date while still inspiring change

☍☍☍☍☍ yeah so using it pragmatically like a single use tissue

☼☼☼☼☼ If you create something short lived, it (with the help of other artists producing similar work) is able to push art and society in a specific direction The butterfly effect I guess

☍☍☍☍☍ it's true that you have more effect in the current conversation

☐☐☐☐☐ mm

☍☍☍☍☍ but that conversation draws intensively on a language formed by the ancients so the two are dependent on each other, a back and forth

☐☐☐☐☐ and that's dependent on their work's longevity?

☍☍☍☍☍ not following ur question

☐☐☐☐☐ not following your point haha hmm

☼☼☼☼☼ so you're suggesting a works longevity is crucial in that it helps reinforce and update the ancient language in which short term work of the future will be influenced by?

☐☐☐☐☐ mm also - what if of all the work you make, it's only a meme that survives the passage of time?

☍☍☍☍☍ basically... like you're just reiterating points that have been made more in depth in 'higher' brow culture - that's definitely how I feel when writing raps

☐☐☐☐☐ like Roman graffiti surviving on the walls or whatever

☍☍☍☍☍ did you a hear copy of the I Ching, the Chinese numerology classic more than a thousand years old, was found in the 70s and had a heap more sections and a different order? effectively completely changing the understanding of the I Ching gotta get those nice lead storage chambers ayyyyy ahahaha it was found buried in a coffin, obvs haha

☐☐☐☐☐ mm

☍☍☍☍☍ a lot of Chinese philosophers only exist in so much as someone else described them

☼☼☼☼☼ But what does that changing of contexts of that piece actually mean for us? Is updated Ching from the coffin helping us in any way?

☍☍☍☍☍ I think for me finding the I Ching and looking over it is like a person in a thousand years finding a functional iPhone it gives great insight into human impulses regardless of time and offers a way of writing the past a new, which in turn presents a new future (thinking of the cowboy article you sent me) reconceptualizing the past IS the future look at 'Make America Great Again' or calls to restore the caliphate both are founded on histories that have more to do with our current state than the actual happenings of the past

☼☼☼☼☼ I do see where you're coming from I like the idea that it's important to preserve our work for understand the past better And I hope that someone in the future will have a clearer understanding of our time through your well preserved works But what fucking future is it

☍☍☍☍☍ haha but like looking back we see people been asking that for a veeery long time I get it seems on a new scale but we're on a new scale too

☼☼☼☼☼ It does seem that yes Also if we do survive and keep on teching on

☍☍☍☍☍ I'm for an integration of the human/natural binary where we properly acknowledge our mutual codependency, the earth and humanity that is

☼☼☼☼☼ Are we even going to be translatable? Is the functioning iPhone found by the future person going to even be able to be translated? Or will it be meaningless because everyone is already part of the grid

☍☍☍☍☍ where artificially effecting the climate for the benefit of 'nature' isn't seen as strange but completely akin to Aboriginal burn back practices

☐☐☐☐☐ i guess it's productive to hope that it will be translatable

☍☍☍☍☍ we've always interfered in the running of nature

☐☐☐☐☐ mm

☍☍☍☍☍ ehhh idk we translated fucking hieroglyphics

☼☼☼☼☼ Or future tech can look into the past and someone is watching our lives as we type this now, constantly being understood through our context in a way we can't comprehend through our recording processes shrugs

☍☍☍☍☍ I mean yeah, imagine if the internet was even vaguely archived

☼☼☼☼☼ You probably have a better understanding of how the future will pan out than I do tho

☍☍☍☍☍ even if 0.1 % was kept, it would be a massive resource

☼☼☼☼☼ No sass intended there, I'm sincere

☍☍☍☍☍ lol idk I just try to see a bigger picture and it keeps me calm remember me old saying? we survived the plague and nukes lol

☼☼☼☼☼ I just don't see the issue with creating short term work, especially if it is preserved

☍☍☍☍☍ oh neither do I

☼☼☼☼☼ Like a meme may have more impact than a novel rn

☐☐☐☐☐ well it could be argued that we're yet to survive nukes but I see your point impact on various timescales

☼☼☼☼☼ I've heard the plague make be thinking of making a comeback too haha

☐☐☐☐☐ mm

☍☍☍☍☍ oh duh peasantry is fully hip rn

☐☐☐☐☐ but like

☍☍☍☍☍ bring back the boils, they look great with my Balenciaga sneakers

☐☐☐☐☐ lol bubonic chic

☼☼☼☼☼ Pretty close to heroin chic tbh haha

☍☍☍☍☍ not jking that was tb

☐☐☐☐☐ but like, I don't find a huge amount of solace in the fact that we survived the plague

☍☍☍☍☍ "The Victorians romanticized the disease and the effects it caused in the gradual build to death. For decades, many beauty standards emulated or highlighted these effects. And as scientists gained greater understanding of the disease and how it was spread, the disease continued to keep its hold on fashion. and the severity of the corsets was known to harm the lungs in such a way that would increase the likelihood of transmission LOOOL

☐☐☐☐☐ mm Balenciaga look out idk it's a question of what capacity we survive in

☼☼☼☼☼ lollllll

☐☐☐☐☐ quite depressing to think about

☍☍☍☍☍ eating disorders have a pretense

☐☐☐☐☐ what if ecocide leaves a few insular eco fascist regimes who gradually diminish over centuries always engaged in pointless wars of attrition with one another lol

☍☍☍☍☍ I mean you could probably say the same thing of colonial regimes now

☐☐☐☐☐ just because we can survive, doesn't mean my outlook should b at all rosy :((

☍☍☍☍☍ point is its a big ol' world that has plenty of room for pain AND love any future pain you think is imminent probably already is happening, and nonetheless breakfast tasted good this morning

☼☼☼☼☼ 'The hipster middle class would dress with raggedy beards and large jackets and refuse to use deodorant, perhaps to reflect the look of people suffering from homelessness at the time. It is suspected that this made them less likely to be hired, and therefore more likely to become homeless themselves.' ☍☍☍☍☍ ahahaha

☐☐☐☐☐ mm that's true hahhh

☼☼☼☼☼ Planning on making this into a full essay. Might not be popular now, but I think it has staying power? Soz for shitposting haha

☍☍☍☍☍ I was talking with ☲☲☲☲☲ a while back, and something struck me - she said, "I never thought this age would have its own fleet of particular medical conditions." (or something like that lol, translated via my nerd brain)

☼☼☼☼☼ Yeah that didn't quite sound like her But that sentiment is great

☍☍☍☍☍ 'fleet'

☼☼☼☼☼ In that ofc there is, but also wow yeah ofc!

☐☐☐☐☐ mmm hahh these conversations should be recorded so we can all think about em without scrolling up endlessly

☼☼☼☼☼ I do like the idea of people reading these works in the future tho

☐☐☐☐☐ and also so that they can be preserved for 10,000+ years of course

☼☼☼☼☼ In the same way we read the letters sent between dead artists now

☐☐☐☐☐ mm very true

☍☍☍☍☍ mmm

☐☐☐☐☐ messenger is not a particularly stable storage medium and also is more vulnerable to third party scrutiny although the fact we're reading artists letters now means that medium is also pretty fucking vulnerable to scrutiny lol

☍☍☍☍☍ I fucking found the word! (sorry was searching for it so hard) Neurasthenia https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Neurasthenia

☼☼☼☼☼ Americanitis lol

☍☍☍☍☍ uhh the page doesn't rly talk about this, but its like a condition of over-working effectively, and people would try and get prescribed the pills to treat it as a way of signalling they were a dedicated worker its total hokey

☐☐☐☐☐ wow yeah you mentioned this a while back

☼☼☼☼☼ oh I've heard a similar thing in Japan were workers will pretend to fall asleep at their desks to show how hard they're working No idea the trust behind it tho

☍☍☍☍☍ to this day, "In Japan, shinkei-suijaku is treated with Morita therapy involving mandatory rest and isolation, followed by progressively more difficult work, and a resumption of a previous social role. The diagnosis is sometimes used as a disguise for serious mental illnesses such as schizophrenia and mood disorders." a dignified mental illness uwu none of that lower class shit I'm a classy fuck with money, I don't get the same mental conditions as the poor lolol reminds me of now: I don't have shitty parents, I just have adhd (not to deligitimise all uses of adhd, just over diagnosed)

☼☼☼☼☼ mmmmm i feel u yes this has been a wild ride

☍☍☍☍☍ yes I’m leaving to get late lunch uwu have a good day in this cosmic spider web lololol

☼☼☼☼☼ :')

☍☍☍☍☍ Like the burning of this charcoal fire, our years too will soon expire Kobayashi Issa listening to Krista Tippet talk with Maria Popova, this particular phrase resonated with our conversation: we live in a world where disruption over-fetishised; we need cultural stewardship to help along new waves of disruption

☼☼☼☼☼ How would u define cultural stewardship in a practical sense?

☍☍☍☍☍ caring for the legacy of those past as a means of refreshing their insight for a new age a very straightforward example would b the importance of new translations, in this regard - as our understanding and depth of connection to Japanese society has deepened, so too have our translations dusting off the books so to speak in some sense I see that in our music too or reappropriating to a new context

☼☼☼☼☼ Well remasters are a time terry literal example Fuck

☍☍☍☍☍ time terry

☼☼☼☼☼ Pretty* not time terry lol

☼☼☼☼☼ lime berry yeah exactly

☼☼☼☼☼ Slime Jerry

☍☍☍☍☍ I mean rereleasing is an obvs example mhm but more abstract examples are how I’ve exported into both your brains Bridle/Steyerl/Haraway via conversation and art lolol I’m helping it move from one place to another same w Zappa lol

☐☐☐☐☐ also - looking after artist friends being generous I feel these are acts of pre-emptive cultural stewardship

☍☍☍☍☍ haha yeah definitely different time scales it could function on

☐☐☐☐☐ looking after and maintain communities

☍☍☍☍☍ hosting open mics lol helping teach ppl poetry lollll

☐☐☐☐☐ not allowing hate speech to creep into open mics lol

☼☼☼☼☼ Truuuuu Or anywhere for that matter

☐☐☐☐☐ not becoming so dusty that you actually have a detrimental impact on cultural progression

☍☍☍☍☍ I think religions only exist in so far as they have active practitioners

☐☐☐☐☐ mm

☼☼☼☼☼ Tru

☍☍☍☍☍ I think my sense is, in religion, this same argument plays out with orthodoxy versus mysticism Maintenance of buildings is in there too for religion People being assigned paid positions as the keepers and givers of religious knowledge oh yeah thinking a lot here of Shanzai, ☐☐☐☐☐, and the idea of an object as a lived practice

☐☐☐☐☐ when home I'm gonna do my best to archive this conversation mmm

☍☍☍☍☍ you’re going to steward our conversation bout stewardship ...

☐☐☐☐☐ this is all going in

☍☍☍☍☍ ...the tv where I am says “The comedian getting behind ‘Know Thy Nuts’” and there are big walnuts on the screen

☐☐☐☐☐ ???????

☍☍☍☍☍ “I didn’t realise chemotherapy would be such great comedic material!”

☐☐☐☐☐ ¿¿¿¿¿¿

☼☼☼☼☼ Huhhhh

☍☍☍☍☍ lol highly recommend https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/on-being-with-krista-tippett/id150892556?mt=2&i=1000429408054https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/on-being-with-krista-tippett/id150892556?mt=2&i=1000429408054

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