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counterpunches · 4 years

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End (Beginning Movement)

Fandom: The Haunting of Bly Manor Pairing: Dani Clayton/Jaime Taylor Rating: T Wordcount: 4,137 Note: all the thanks to the incredible @foomatic for being a fantastic beta and even better friend. so much so that she actual recorded herself reading the story to help ID and fix all the tenses to make it coherent and then just straight up turned it into a podfic set to the show's musical score. Its way cooler than I ever thought it'd be, so feel free to please check it out here

Summary: If standing silently and bearing witness was all Jamie could do, she gladly took the weight of it if it meant one less thing for Dani to carry. Jamie coiled it tight back into herself and created her own waiting, lurking beast. Jamie was quiet with her rage for a while, until she was shaking with it. Until it threatened to explode out of her skin like a bomb and she wouldn’t ever - ever - let Dani come close to the shrapnel. Instead she was the steady rock that Dani needed and imploded later, somewhere else, somewhere safe. She just wanted to fucking break something. Couldn’t get her hands on the Lady, couldn’t pull her out of Dani, so she had to find the next best thing.

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It was easy, Jamie thought, as her head pounded and temple throbbed.

Well, not so much now, at this moment, with a hangover thundering out a pulse on the timpani of her skull as she clung to the toilet like a lover in the night. Every joint and muscle aches, a combination of sleeping half slumped over in the bathroom, age, and the consequences of booze. She leans back with a groan, back twinging, shoulders popping, and as nausea roils, takes a few deep breaths to settle her stomach. Evidently spending the rest of last night praying to the porcelain god didn’t buy her any grace today.

But in general, it was easier, spending the night chasing the bottom of a pint glass, in a way nothing else was these days. Christ, even breathing was hard. Been hard since the day her lungs fought for surface despite her best intentions. Been burning with it, since, taking in air in a world that Dani Clayton no longer existed in.

The water refused to take her, so she’d found another way to drown.

So yeah. It was easy, sliding into bad habits like an forgotten favorite jacket. A glass of wine became a bottle. What was one or two nights to forget against a million more? A bottle quickly became too slow. Why waste time, Jamie thought, chasing one cup after another? Best to jump straight to the hard stuff, then.

Jamie never beat around the bush before, seemed no point in starting now, her bluntness having been softened over the years by Dani’s love. The very edges of her ebbed into the waters of an ocean that was no longer there. Jamie was parched. She was so thirsty. So she drank.

Wrong kind of love can fuck you up. Right one can, too.

Just as bad, really.

Worse, if you’re lucky.

Love and possession may be opposites, but Jamie had given her heart away a long time ago and she didn’t know how to keep it beating when it was no longer hers. Everything she was had already been given over to Dani. Given eagerly. Freely. Like all things best loved are. And that’s the thing about a freed thing, isn’t it? Doesn't come back just because you want it to. Just because you miss it.

This part of her - it isn’t peaceful, Dani had said. And Jamie had understood.

Understood in blood and bone, in the way something so small and insignificant can snap. Remembers how rage can end with kneeling in a rain-soaked alleyway, groaning from an ass kicking she probably deserved, probably was searching for, blood trickling down from a split eyebrow. Remembered how she grimaced, the twinge in her ribs matching the bitter taste of metal in her mouth, but it’d hurt and there was a sick measure of comfort in that; making part of the world match the brokenness inside her.

So yeah. She knew rage. Recognized it. Hated that something so ugly and angry and raw resided inside of Dani, something that couldn’t possibly exist naturally - there wasn’t an atom of that kind of violence in Dani’s body. She wouldn’t give into the wrath, Jamie knew even then, in the cradle of knowing her. Dani would never. And the unfairness of her having to suffer through the struggle of it anyway made the part of Jamie that resonated in recognition with Viola burn.

It’s you. It’s me. It’s us, the rage said, taunting her through the fissures of Dani’s struggle.

It was all she could do to hold it in that day, her teeth cracking under the weight of it, in the horrible quiet of the room as Dani confessed. As she gave voice to the terrible truth that now resided in her. She’s waiting, Dani had whispered. If standing silently and bearing witness was all Jamie could do, she gladly took the weight of it if it meant one less thing for Dani to carry. Jamie coiled it tight back into herself and created her own waiting, lurking beast.

And Jamie knew from past experience that the only way to control the beast was to let it out of captivity from time to time. To let the monster run wild and exhaust itself so she could wrestle it back into the cage.

The rage festered. Jamie felt it rumbling deep in her chest.

So when Dani finally left the room with a shaky determination (“Better find out what those kids are getting up to,"), Jamie knew she had to let it breathe.

No one would remember where the dent in the wall came from. It was chalked up as an accident, caused by one of the many pieces of furniture having knocked into things on its way out to the moving truck. Jamie had to hold in the scream that broiled inside and searched for a safer place for it to land.

She still had to walk by that fucking lake to get to the greenhouse.

Under cover of the potted sanctum, Jamie let loose the beast. Anger clawed, scratching out her throat. The greenhouse was excellent at absorbing sound, plants and leaves shaking with the echoes of her cries, and if Jamie’s voice seemed a little hoarse, it was easy enough to blame it on something else. Easy enough, to explain away her split knuckles on mis-gauging the distance while bringing one of the heavier boxes outside. Or scraping it against some gravel. Or anything other than slamming her fist into the wall again and again and again.

It was new though, needing to find ways to hide it from Dani. Never had to hide it from anyone before. She used to display her beast proudly, a mark of pride that said ‘don’t fuck with us.’ Didn’t have to hide her beast in prison, either. Everyone had one of their own; it was why they’d all ended up there in the first place. More than a few learned how to deal with it in therapy. Jamie tamed hers in the jungle of a garden.

Not a single part of her looked in the rear view mirror as they drove away. Would never have stopped the truck if it could’ve kept Dani safe. So she did what little she could do. All the fear, the terror that already threatened to split Dani further in two, the new shell of a person Dani had to live with, Jamie took it from her. Buried it deep within herself, felt it so that Dani wouldn’t have to. Drew out the poison from Dani’s soil and into her own roots.

And then, in her most private moments - few and far between, really, for there was nothing unshared between them - Jamie let out the venom, the resentment, the fury, that she collected. Outrage that the world dared spin, indifferent to the unfairness of it all.

She just wanted to fucking break something. Couldn’t get her hands on the Lady, couldn’t pull her out of Dani, so she had to find the next best thing.

Viola was quiet in her rage. Jamie wasn’t with hers. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She was, for a while, at least.

That first year was full of small moments: the way Dani’s shoulders would never fully relax, tension rarely leaving her body, even in sleep. How she kept looking over her shoulder at rest stops and gas stations, as if the Lady were a drifter, following them on the highways, across states, through the unfolding ribbon of their adventure. Jamie found she could cover up those incidents with the smug satisfaction of having bested the unavoidable for another day. Another week. Another month.

Her demon was dormant for a good long while, in the solace of Dani’s love. Dormant like Viola’s fucking ghost, it turned out. Things were so good for so long, it almost seemed to purr, content in it’s hibernation.

Jamie’s beast woke with a sudden and curious start, after that night in the kitchen after Paris. Started to sniff, hungry for any little scrap. Found too many for comfort - the way Dani started to wake up earlier, as if perhaps she hadn’t slept at all; how it would take her just a moment longer to turn off the water; the times Jamie had to repeat Dani’s name until she jerked, as if suddenly finding herself transported somewhere new - it began pacing in its cage, hungry now, banging on the bars.

Jamie was quiet with her rage for a while, until she was shaking with it. Until it threatened to explode out of her skin like a bomb and she wouldn’t ever - ever - let Dani come close to the shrapnel. Instead she was the steady rock that Dani needed and imploded later, somewhere else, somewhere safe.

She could see how close to the edge Dani was, on some days. How it seemed even the barest breeze would blow her from herself entirely, leaving an empty, unblinking husk behind. It was all Jamie could do to steer her back from the cliff each time.

Jamie had to coax Dani back to the world, breathe life into her lips some mornings as she stared into the ceiling, eyes open and blank; her very own Sleeping Beauty. Each time it felt like a kiss goodbye. Stay with me. Please. Come back to me. A miracle, when she did, even if Dani slipped further and further away each time like a boat on the horizon. Jamie would stroke her face with trembling hands, afraid even the gentlest touch would cause the delicate thing to disintegrate beneath the pads of her fingers.

Dani always came first. Even as Jamie’s own creature grew stronger and louder, she held it in. Found controlled environments to let it run wild.

There was something oddly comforting about the alleyway. There’s a familiar landscape all back alleys share - brick, concrete, dumpster, a car or two, usually a fair amount of scattered garbage, and the near ubiquitous empty, overturned storage crates used by the weary for smoke breaks or breakdowns of all shapes and sizes - an alley was an alley was an alley.

The only thing that marked it as theirs was a few hanging ferns on the corner of the doorway. Something to signal the threshold, announce the life bursting and growing just inside. Something growing in the barren landscape of a back alley. Something to remind a younger Jamie of what could lie on the other side, if she stood long enough to reach up for it.

So she destroyed things in the alleyway. When the cruelty of the matter absolutely broke her - when Jamie had to sew the fraying pieces of Dani back together because Viola was slowly pulling the seams of her apart; when she desperately scooped handfuls of Dani even as she was slipping through her fingers like sand - Jamie would break something else.

Jamie took her rage, and smashed it against the brick or asphalt in a shower of pottery in the alleyway. Pots, planters, saucers, she grabbed damaged items from the shop and broke them even further, until her chest heaved and panted from the effort of it in the shards under her feet. When the alley wasn’t a possibility and her screams of frustration and the clatter of smashing ceramic would would threaten to draw Dani out from the thinning fragility of their life together, Jamie would punch bags of soil in the storage room until the they burst, earth pouring to the floor, and leaving her standing in a shallow grave of her own making.

Nothing to hide, once Dani is gone.

Easier to get lost in the anger, and Jamie let it consume her like an uncontrolled blaze until nothing but ash remained. Fitting, she thought, for the daughter of a coal miner. It came to claim her, pulling her into itself, not to grow, not to nourish, but to press her into something that burned. And oh, she burned.

It would scare her, she thought, that she hadn’t changed. In all this time, in all these years, underneath the layers of soil and earth, below the roots, the same creature lurked in the dirt of Jamie’s own jungle. A monster that threatened to take her too. That she wished would. A demon of wrath and anger. Of pain and suffering and the shit end of the stick every time.

Despite the years, despite the love and relative calm that settled over her life - since gardening, since Dani - she was still the same enraged, lost, thing. Every living thing comes from every dying thing and it’s natural and she knows that but what she didn’t understand is how to keep living when the core of you is already dead; how was it possible for these two things to co-exist at once. The impossibility of the thing. The decaying mortality. This unholy living. Feels unnatural.

Jamie couldn’t breathe. She couldn't, she couldn’t-

And there, there it was. Specks of dried toothpaste on the mirror. It shouldn’t have been the thing to undo her. After all, it could’ve been hers or Dani’s. But it could have been. Dani’s. Such a casual, mundane thing - a flick of the wrist, rinsing off the toothbrush, spitting into the drain - leaving behind a stain. A mark. Something to be thoughtlessly wiped off and cleaned later, leaving no sign it had once been there. No indication someone had been there at all. No impression of a life built together, their hips casually leaning against one another while flossing, or the yelp of surprise at the shock of cold water after flushing the toilet while the other is in the shower. The apology that came after, sliding through the shower curtain to make it up to them, a tongue sliding into the folds of their ear, hands slipping down to the folds of thighs, into slicks of wet and warm. The absolute mess on the floor afterwards of errant water sloshing out the tub.

The tub.

The floor.

The water that had taken them both. The water that refused to take Jamie.

Not the water, she corrected. Dani. Dani, who refused to take Jamie along on one last adventure. Do you want company? She had asked, all those years ago. Can I walk by your side? Will you take me with you?

And there it was - her beast - clawing up her spine, smashing with a roar into the mocking mirror pane. Again she roared, again she cried, until a dozen fractured shards were all that was left of the toothpaste, left of Jamie’s broken heart, all that was left of Dani. Again and again she struck the mirror until the pain from her bleeding knuckles pulled her out of it and she sank, depleted, sobbing on the floor.

So she drank.

And got into more than a few fights while she was at it. Needed a better opponent than flower pots and dirt, though - she’d already destroyed a decent part of the shop. She needed something to twist her fists into, something that would punch back, something that would make her hurt.

When she drove home, she’d try to ignore the voice in her head that sounded so much like Dani (“You could kill somebody, Jamie. Jesus!”) she almost veered off the road looking at the passenger’s side.

Left the fucking mirror in the bathroom where it was, a broken and half empty self-portrait. Tossed the glass in the bin and swept it away where the edges of a life that no longer existed wouldn’t cut her. Pleased there was nothing to look at getting ready in the mornings, nothing to catch her eye stepping out of the shower, nothing to reflect. Nothing to look at. Nothing at all.

And so it stayed as the weeks wore on. The medicine cabinet pulled open for badly needed aspirin after a particularly rough night or tougher morning, band-aids for the cuts on her knuckles, no mirror on the outside to mock the bruises on her cheek or the split eyebrow from what might have been a night of bad choices but were the only ones that seem to make sense anymore.

The only thing that helped ease the ever-throbbing, dull ache from every corner of her heart was to press the hurt. A walking bruise, Jamie desperately sought solace to cauterize the bleeding wound of loss.

The less Jamie had to look herself in the eye for it, the better.

Which left her here: waking up on the bathroom floor, slouched over the toilet, curls of hair plastered on her cheek from a substance she can only assume to be last night’s dried vomit.

Left here, on the bathroom floor, as empty and hollow as Dani had been in what turned out to be her final few days.

Left here, left behind.

If Jamie squints, she can almost see the glimmer of Dani, twinkling like fairy lights on the tile.

But the longer Jamie sits there, legs growing numb from her cramped position, the sparkle doesn’t go away. Matter of fact, it starts to get annoying. She swats at it, trying to suffer her grief and hangover in peace.

She pulls her hand back with a hiss. The light has an edge to it. It bites.

A piece of the shattered mirror. Must’ve been there for weeks now, having fallen behind the toilet, forgotten. Jamie holds it carefully, staring at the broken reflection of her face for a long time. Stares until it stares back. Until the beast, she realizes finally, the one who has stalked her her whole life, has quietly slinked away. She listens for it - the telltale heat of it simmering just under her skin. But she doesn’t feel anything.

The unfairness of it all remains. But there’s something else in the emptiness, she realizes.

Dani.

There’s a chance - far fucking fetched, she knows - but a chance that maybe, just maybe, the emptiness will stare back. And it will look like someone she loved. Loves, she corrects. Loving Dani will always be in the present. Jamie, crumpled on the floor, bleeding from an aching heart, will always be surrounded by the ghost of Dani. Haunted by a life built and shared and grown. A life taken. Cut short. A leafling, snipped from the vine at the most beautiful stage of maturation. Haunted, sure. But not alone. Something to be said for the chance that Dani will appear.

Jamie will be haunted by Dani for the rest of her days regardless, she knows, phantom or no. Might as well wait, Jamie thinks wryly, got a lot to tell her off for.

She spent more than a few years living with ghosts, anyway. Only difference is, this time she’ll be aware of it. Besides, no one else she’d rather be haunted by. It was Dani forever. Said as much herself that day in the shop. I’ve got a problem, Poppins. Dani would always be it for her. And some problems can’t be fixed. Can only sit and learn to live with them like old friends.

So Jamie scrapes herself off the floor. She shuffles to the kitchen to grab the broom and sweeps the broken pieces of the last few broken months into the bin, cautious of the edges this time.

She gets dressed. Puts away the bottles. Collects the half-eaten take out containers and napkins that litter the apartment. Takes out the trash. Waters the plants. Prunes the dead leaves. Repots herself and let her roots overcome the shock of replanting, remembering the work of living.

Drives to the hardware store and buys a replacement panel for the bathroom. Mounts it in the frame, reverently touching the mirror’s edges. Because if there’s a chance, even a single chance - weeks, months, years from now - that Jamie’s personal ghost will come back to haunt her, she doesn’t want to miss a second of it. Doesn’t want to risk being too drunk, face down in a toilet somewhere, too angry to remember seeing Dani’s face. Doesn’t want Dani seeing that.

Doesn’t want it all to be for nothing, hiding her secret beast for all those years. Having worked so hard to make sure Dani never saw that part of her, the one who went wild and feral, hissing and clawing at the world and it’s indifference. Never wanted to let her beast get close to Dani, close enough to scratch. Not Dani, who struggled so hard to keep tame her own demons.

She’d be a rather shit wife if she started now. Just because Dani was gone doesn’t mean Dani wouldn’t see.

Doesn’t mean it’s easy though, either. It’s hard. Hardest fucking thing she’s ever done, since pulling herself out of that lake when all she had wanted to do was drown in it. That wasn’t difficult, that was instinct. This will be a choice. Every day, for the rest of her life, will be a choice. One she has to make again and again.

Jamie longingly traces the pair of earrings lazily forgotten, left out on top of the dresser, in a bygone act of normalcy to be left now in memoriam, and pulls out one of Dani’s favorite shirts from the drawer, that awful slinky pink one that snagged on every last thorn and branch in the shop. Pretty in love with you, it turns out. Inhaled. Breathed in every last atom of Dani until her lungs were trembling with her. She slid the shirt on like armor and prayed the delicate fabric would be strong enough to help withstand the weight of the world ahead.

She took a few steps to the bathroom, turned on the faucet, and did battle with the first night of the rest of her life. Let the sink fill, stared at the water, and took a deep breath.

It took years for Dani to see the Lady. They were grateful for it then - relieved, actually, that they managed to get so much time. But now, all Jamie wants is for the haunting to come quickly. Do you want company?

For a long time, all Jamie Taylor wanted to do was forget. Forget Lancashire, forget the taunts, the sound of banging, of Louise’s girlish flirting, Mikey’s crying. Forget the whirl of sirens, the creak of a door opening in the dead of night, a weight dipping on the bed next to her. Forget London, forget prison, forget her, forget all of it. Forget Bly, forget the Lady, forget Viola was ever a dark spot to stain the bright garden of their life. She drank thirstily, fought desperately, all to forget the pain, forget that Dani was gone, was never coming back, and that she doesn’t remember how to be Jamie without Dani by her side.

Except now, she realized, on the off-chance Dani’s face would stare back in the mirror or from beneath the water, she wanted to see every last line, every curve of her face. If that meant suffering the empty, aching, endless days to do so, then so be it.

It’s you. It’s me. It’s us, she’d screamed to the Lady, to the hatred inside both of them, the fury that stormed stronger than death.

But after the flames expunge and the coals cool, Jamie remembers now, there’s more than just rage in the quiet parts. There’s patience. Love. Kindness. That things grow with just a little bit of water. A little, instead of all at once.

Water can give life, not just take it away.

It was easy to forget that small truth when the waves crashed and swept her below, unable to gain footing before another came crashing down and pulled her under. She did it once, on her own, in her youth and loneliness. She can learn how to do it again; to exist in stillness and quiet without Dani. A little, instead of all at once.

She lets loving Dani warm instead of burn. Like a comforting hearth beckoning the weary home.

She ran her fingers along the cool porcelain of the sink, reverently, as if it were Dani’s skin she was touching; Dani’s face she was caressing; Dani, she was loving.

Jamie takes a deep, shuddering breath, and looks up. Squares her shoulders, baring all of herself to the mirror, forces herself to look.

She’ll wait forever if she has to.

But first, just one night.

Beautiful things worth loving and tending to can bloom at night; under the blanket of darkness, there’s still life. And if she keeps pouring all her love and effort into it, maybe one day it’ll all make sense. She can see where it goes.

#damie #thobm #The Haunting of Bly Manor #dani x jamie #dani clayton x jamie taylor #my fanfic #april's the best everyone go thank her for hammering this into sense

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transmissionsfromthebattlefield · 3 years

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The Straight Facts On Riot Fest 2021

It really is hard to make the good things last.

Last weekend went by not like the rickety but effective trains that linked me from the airport to my hotel room to Douglass Park, home of the beloved Riot Festival. In hindsight, my time in Chicago feels like it passed me with the speed of a Japanese bullet train. Finally, life felt almost like it did before COVID-19 grounded planes and ravaged the live music industry. Simultaneously I was granted a rare time to let loose and release all my adolescent urges. I had been needing to do so for a while.

The zeitgeist was in full effect as we made our way inside the festival’s grounds on Saturday. Signs pointed towards COVID testing sites. I flashed my vaccination card alongside my ID to be let in. The first band of the day, Man On Man, was formed over lockdown by Faith No More’s keyboardist and his boyfriend out of quarantine boredom; it was their second live show. FNM would have been hitting the stage later that day had their seemingly impenetrable frontman not cancelled their tour to deal with a mental health crisis.

It quickly became evident that everyone was more than happy to be back. I try to socially distance myself from GWAR as much as possible due to cleanliness concerns, but I couldn’t help but spy on their performance. I ended up getting a clear view of their assorted liquids arcing over the heads of the hooded rain poncho clad security guards and into the untamed audience. (My friend Kati walked out with green stains splattered across her starch white mask and tote bag.) Later, as Les Savy Fav played, it was impossible to socially distance from frontman Tim Harrington, who frequently retreated into the crowd for a variety of antics. He rode an audience member down the aisle like a toddler receiving a pony ride from his dad; he took and wore on his head many pairs of sunglasses before redistributing the Ray-Ban wealth to an entirely different section of the crowd; he rolled out a roll of tarp across everyone’s heads, got on top of it, bore a hole in it, and reemerged among everyone else. It was truly a sight to behold.

The next day, I stood on my feet for over five hours. The first band I witnessed during this test of leg strength was Body Count. From the safety of the VIP section, I was protected from the mosh pit happening not very far away from me. Ice-T didn’t refrain from giving his commentary on the pit, which he found unsatisfactory. It even once transformed into my eyeballs’ first wall of death at Ice’s behest. If Ice-T tells you what to do, you do it. The band was tight and talented, and the songs were topical and pretty infectious. Add a hefty dose of Ice-T being extremely Ice-T and you’ve got one unforgettable performance. “I PLAY ONE ON TV!” the Law & Order actor reminded us as the band closed their set with “Cop Killer.” You love to see it!

After Body Count left the stage, I spent the next two and a half hours standing in front of the rail waiting for my main attraction, DEVO. I had been there for their final pre-COVID performance almost two years prior, and it seemed unbelievable that the wait was finally over. Their set began with a 70s film of the band tussling with their fictionalized pushover manager, Rod Rooter. It was followed by a recently shot clip of the same guy riding an exercise bike and wearing a tiger print tracksuit. Disappointed that the band he once managed wasn’t doing stadiums “like Kid Rock,” he sardonically reintroduced the band to the audience. (They aren’t your everyday boy band.) It was a reminder that, as much as you may want them to go away, DEVO never truly will. Even with two frontmen having recovered from COVID-19, the spud boys still carry force, talent, and an electrifying presence. In fact, they incited such a frenzy that I spent a good amount of the show ducking crowd surfers who got dangerously close to crushing me. Security guards cradled them like Booji Boy babies as they passed one by one over the rails before being shooed to the back of the crowd. Later I overheard that their forceful performance of “Secret Agent Man” incited a fist fight farther back in the mass of de-evolving dregs. If a mini-militia of costume changing, whip-smart punk scientists in or nearing their seventies can still hold it, don’t listen to Rod: they still shoot straight. See DEVO while you still can.

“Freedom of Choice” completed the band’s set; the group had apparently been under threat of getting the cord pulled due to going over their time limit, which would have been blasphemy. The next thing I knew I was sprinting across the sunset lit field as the Flaming Lips’ set opener—“Race For The Prize,” of all songs—echoed across the darkening park. I was able to blend into the crowd as the happy-sad hymn to medical progress came to a close. How else would they open a post-vax concert? I spent the majority of their awe inducing performance in a haze fueled by exhaustion, awe, and second hand smoke. Slightly hypnotized by the neon psychedelic video backdrop, assimilating with the seizure inducing swirl seemed much more preferable to walking to the train station.

Eventually, the lights on the Roots stage dimmed and Wayne Coyne’s virus proof giant bubble deflated for the last time. We worked our way through the darkness to reorient ourselves and ended up catching a portion of the night’s closing performance, the Slipknot spectacle, from afar. We reunited with a friend we had chatted with earlier in the day and took the opportunity to rib on the group. We all agreed that, while they were obviously dedicated to their presentation, their musical content couldn’t live up to it. At another stage out of our range, Machine Gun Kelly, the creepy rapper turned equally creepy pop punk poser, was also playing. Another example of when immaculately crafted style outweighs substance. Interesting that the two bands immediately behind them on the billing—the Lips and the VOs—were the ones who actually hit a successful combination of the two. Life is not fair.

But the pain of Machine Gun Kelly’s existence did not ruin the weekend, as weird as it was to witness such a large crowd once more. It was a time of strange euphoria and semi-reluctant indulgence. It was relieving that the long stretch of boredom that had made up life up until that point was finally interrupted by a brief blip of in person camaraderie. There’s no wonder why stepping out of those gates for the last time and taking that final train ride felt as if something was being lost. If only the fun could last forever.

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maple-writes · 3 years

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[Image ID: Banner image reading: The City of Eventide, Chapter 33, Maple-writes. End ID

Wild that we're finally here at the second-last chapter already

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Next week Ginger came by and brought me to the doctor she’d been discussing my case with. Her office seemed comfortable enough, the waiting room decorated with big leafy plants and the radio playing low from some unseen speaker. She spoke kindly, gently, patiently waiting whenever I stumbled over my answers and had trouble figuring out how to explain in any kind of way that made sense. After what felt like far longer than a regular appointment should have been, she handed me a page of lab work and tests she wanted done and sent me on my way.

The rest of the week went fast, Ginger helping me wherever she could with the doctor’s orders. As much as I was certain she’d explained them all to me back in her clinic most of it went over my head, but according to Striker they made sense. It was exhausting, though, having to spend so much time out of the house. Even if Ginger was right there, even if I knew she’d be able to help if something went wrong, I could still feel the tension building around my lungs with the first breath of fresh air. As soon as I’d get home I hardly had the energy to do anything more than crawl into bed and fall asleep.

The therapist Ginger put me in contact with seemed nice when we spoke over the phone. I’d tuck myself away in my bedroom when she called, pacing back and forth across the floor. Sometimes Ginger would drive me to her office to see her in person. She turned out to be a selkie, one of Millie’s distant cousins. Smooth stones and intricate shells decorated her office shelves and a tray of soft sea-floor sand always sat on a little table nearby. Cool against my skin I couldn’t help but run my hands through the dry sand as we spoke, slipping grains filed down by decades of ocean current through my fingers until it was time to go home.

Tests finally done I went back and the doctor welcomed me back to walk through the results. Aside from nutrient deficiencies nothing seemed medically wrong, nothing alarming at least. According to her it gave weight to Ginger’s theory that part of what I ate ceased to exist before I could get anything out of it. She suggested vitamins and some calorie-dense supplements to see if that helped and sent me off to check back in a couple months or so.

Then it was back home, pacing around every room of the house while Striker was gone. At least this time Ember was there too. Sometimes anyway. Sometimes she was busy talking with Ginger, listening as she extended the same offer she’d given me to help if she ever feared she’d do something she’d regret. Whatever they were doing it seemed to be working out. Standing next to her no longer felt like too much, like standing inches from wildfire. Now instead the warmth and energy that escaped her skin reminded me of warm candles, comforting and contained. Maybe it was what she and Ginger were doing, or maybe it was me. Maybe it was something we’d done, something she’d taught me to manage.

Every night she’d try again to get me out of the house, convincing me to give it another go, but every night I didn’t make it much farther than the end of the block. Once out of frustration she snapped at me when we got home and we fought, snarling and spitting until—

“Hey!” Striker’s yell from the top of the stairs startled me into whirling. He stood shaky on the landing, a white-knuckle grip on the top of the handrail. “Get out of here if you’re going to fucking kill each other! Tear each other apart throw each other into the ocean I don’t care, I don’t fucking care!

I flinched as Striker disappeared from the hall and slammed his bedroom door sending a shudder through the house. Time froze for heartbeat after heartbeat until Ember silently slipped away to clear her head. I took to the couch to calm down, shoulders hunched and guilt sitting heavy in my gut before slipping up the stairs to Striker’s room to apologize. The door was shut, and locked when I tested the handle. I knocked, guilt already replacing the anger that’d been burning through my lungs just moments earlier.

“Go away!” Striker shouted through the door, then after a moment added quieter, “leave me alone, okay?”

My shoulders slouched and I couldn’t think of anything to say, turning away and retreating to my own bedroom. Quiet echoed in my ears broken by the wind through the trees or the occasional car passing outside, soft through my window opened just a crack. Even after the guilt and the weight on my ribs faded to blanket tiredness, I stayed up, eyes heavier with every minute, sitting on the edge of my bed until I heard Ember come home just to know that she did.

The next morning Striker seemed better, greeting me with a smile, even if a cautious one that avoided my face, as he drank his coffee in the kitchen. I sat on one of the stools, wringing my hands together under the counter. Nothing too bad had happened last night, I’d stopped when he said so, no one got hurt, but…

“Striker,” I took a deep breath, “sorry about last night. I, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He didn’t react right away, leaning back against the far counter and taking a long drink. “I know.” He sighed into his mug, watching me over the rim. “You were fighting over going to the park, right?”

I nodded, guilt sitting heavy on my shoulders. When he put it like that it sounded like nothing. Sounded like we’d gone and scared him for nothing.

Striker shrugged. “Why don’t I just drive you both? Avoid whatever it is that’s freaking you out on the way there.”

Why hadn’t I thought of that? I lifted my head and stared at him across the kitchen. “That… That would be nice.”

“Why don’t we go tonight then?” Striker said. “If Ember’s up for it too. I’ll ask her later today.”

I smiled, shoulders sloping as I leaned on the countertop. “Thanks, Striker.” Excitement bubbled up deep in my gut. Striker would be there, we’d get there safe and sound and private. Ember would probably be thrilled.

Just before midnight, Striker corralled me and Ember into his car and pulled away from home. On my own in the back I sank into the seat, staring out the window at the streetlights, the stoplights and odd lit window passing by. Striker kept the radio low and soft in the dark. He and Ember mumbled with each other up front, but I didn’t pay close enough attention to figure out what they might have been talking about. Whatever it was it couldn’t have been heavy with Striker laughing low and rumbling at something Ember said.

Lights grew further and further apart as we left the main roads of the city behind for the lead-in to the park. Pines towered dark and steadfast, blocking out the last of the glow against the grey night clouds. Striker slowed the car at the closed gate, pulling over to the shoulder to park. Engine cut and headlights out we sat in the dark, in the quiet.

Striker leaned back, stretching his shoulders. “I’ll wait here, just come find me when you’re done.”

“Why don’t you come too?” Ember asked, quiet and hoping. “We can show you the way up.”

“Really?” He glanced between her and me. “You sure?”

The two of us nodded together. How many times had he asked me to take him up here, to see Ember when I’d go out at night? He didn’t have to think long before pushing his door open into the dark. We piled out, car doors shutting and echoing against the gently swaying trees. A near-ocean breeze shook needles and immature cones from their branches, sending them sprinkling down over our shoulders.

I took a deep breath of cool air, fresh and quiet. My shoulders eased and heartbeat after heartbeat the knot in my stomach faded away. The dark blocked my sight, pressing against every side like a thick blanket. Scattered foliage and dropped twigs sunk under my feet as I followed Ember and Striker up the trail. We kept him between us just in case he miss-stepped or took a wrong turn, steering him on the right path once we left the trail behind for undergrowth. Dewy ferns brushed at my pants and little night creatures scurried away through the bushes as we picked our way over roots and rocks. More than once Striker stumbled, swearing under his breath even as we caught him mid fall.

Trees thinned and the lake emerged, dark and inky in the dim light. Surrounding the pebbled shore stood pointed, needle-less trees. I’d done that. I’d stripped them bare and left them to die like that. Ember and Striker kept going to the lake shore, but I stood, hesitating on the tree line. I’d all but destroyed this place.

“Hey,” Ember called, her figure nothing more than a horned shadow. “Are you coming?”

Right. Thinking about it wouldn’t change what happened, but when I stepped out into the clearing I stepped out onto fresh grass. Shrubs and sprouting wildflowers grew out between dead tree trunks, fresh saplings stretching up towards the darkened sky. Bats flew haphazard paths overhead in pursuit of unseen insects. Across the clearing the white tail of a fleeing deer flashed before it vanished into the dark. I slowed, reaching down to trail my hand over the delicate leaves of a tall plant with little light flowers. This place… So much growing back, living, blooming. My throat tightened. It hadn’t even been a year.

Ember and Striker found the rock by the lakeside, scootching over to make room for me at Striker’s other shoulder. Its surface, smoothed by decades of wind and rain, pressed cool against my hands and even through my clothes. The breeze too, dipping down under the trees and driving tiny waves to lap against the shore, blew chilled against my face, crisp and clean. Just like I remembered.

Something rattled in Ember’s backpack as she rummaged through its contents. The side of an old, worn down container glinted just a little in the low light as she pulled it out with a pair of mugs.

She leaned across Striker’s lap, handing one of them to me before smiling at him. “You can use the cap, it’s like a little cup.”

Ember reached over again, pouring hot chocolate out for all of us. It warmed my hands, softly steaming in the dark. Striker’s shoulder, brushing against mine, was warm too. Warm and familiar and safe.

“So this is where you’d run off to?” Striker said, low and soft in the forest quiet.

Ember nodded on his other side, crossing her legs and leaning forward. “Yeah.” She took a sip of her drink, eyes wandering across to the far shore. “And where I’d go to meet Asher after…”

She trailed off, words dissolving into the night. She didn’t need to finish, we both knew. Both knew what she was talking about. I brought my mug to my mouth, pausing a moment before drinking. The last time we’d met here, when I’d tried to tell her again to come home, tried to convince her it would be okay, was that really a year ago?

“I don’t know if I ever properly apologized,” Ember whispered, eyes straight ahead. “For what I did. I’m, I’m so sorry Striker, Asher.” Her voice faltered. “For everything.”

Seconds passed, each longer than the last. Striker sighed down to his hands curled around his cup.

Tentatively, he reached his arm around her shoulders, holding her against his side when she melted. “I just wish you came home sooner.” He finished his cup and set it down on the rock beside him before draping his arm around me too, bringing me in close. “I… Sometimes I can’t believe you’re both really here. I haven’t lost either of you.”

I closed my eyes and rested my head against Striker’s side, his arm around me warm and familiar and safe. Ember’s breath shook in the quiet air, soft and private. How many times had she sat here alone wanting this to happen? Sat alone on this rock in the forest thinking she’d never have anything like this again? I shifted, squinting at the fresh growth under the faint blue-white night glow. Had I really thought that much different in this same place?

A soft breath came before Ember’s whisper. “Tomorrow, can we stop at the cemetery?”

Noon had come and gone by the time the three of us were up and out of the house. Again I hid in the backseat of Striker’s car, peering out at the world under bright sunlight as it passed outside the window. Ember sat in the passenger seat. She shifted every few minutes, fidgeting and readjusting the cuffs of her sleeves. Even through the seat back sharp warmth met my skin. Nerves prickled along my own arms, along the palms of my hands. For years she hadn’t worked herself up enough to come here, especially not with Striker at her side. I swallowed. It was bright out too. There were people walking up and down the sidewalks, families, dog-walkers… What if something happened? To me, to her?

No. I leaned back, closed my eyes and took a long breath. I could handle it. Even if something happened I could handle it. I’d done it before, I could do it again now. Especially after all that time with Ginger.

Striker parked the car and got out first, leaning against the side as he waited for me and Ember to gather ourselves. She twisted around to catch my eye and for a moment we held each other’s gaze. Then it was over. She popped her car door open and I followed suit out onto the sidewalk.

Sunshine warmed my back and the sounds of cars and people hit me as soon as my feet met concrete. I stiffened, jaw clenching and chest tightening, but nothing. The odd pedestrian casted a curious glance at Ember, eyes wandering over her one and a half horns, her bright red eyes, but most didn’t risk staring. No one seemed to care about me, notice me at all. Even still I had to force myself to keep breathing deep and controlled as I followed almost on top of Striker’s heels.

Stepping into Seaview Cemetery though, the noise of the street fell quiet behind thick green hedges. Slowly I let the distance between me and Striker grow, my heartbeat gradually coming back down. The bright air simmered with the dead just watching, waiting, taking their time before choosing to move on. Each kept their distance, still wanting nothing to do with me, with anyone. We weren’t their relatives, their loved ones after all. Just some visitors no different than any other.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath of a sea-salted breeze that tugged at my hair and rustled leaves of twisted trees overhead. Shade dappled the ground and danced over my eyelids until I bumped into Striker’s back. I blinked and stammered an apology but he hadn’t seemed to notice, focused instead on Ember’s hand on his arm.

“I…” She spoke lightly, like the wind through the shrubs laden with fresh flower buds. “I think I’d like to go ahead alone, for now.”

Striker nodded, hesitating as she withdrew her hand. “They’re just a little further down that way.”

I watched her go, head down and walking towards two familiar headstones. She found them and stopped, and Striker gently tugged at my elbow.

“We should give her some privacy.”

Right. Guilt gnawed at my gut as I let Striker lead my away. I should have known. He found a bench in a sunny patch just off the patch beside some freshly blooming shrubs and I took a seat beside him. The bush buzzed low and humming with bees visiting the fragrant blooms. Each bobbed from flower to flower, burying themselves in the petals and zipping off to disappear in the pale blue sky when they’d had their fill of nectar.

Striker pulled a pair of sunglasses from his pocket and put them on, leaning back with an arm around the back of the bench. “I can’t remember if I told you,” His voice drew me back from the insects. “Kyra and I are heading out to the island this weekend. We’ll be leaving Friday morning, come back sometime Sunday night.”

“Just you two?” He didn’t think I could handle something like that, did he? I could already feel fatigue dragging at my bones from just coming this far in the middle of the day.

Striker raised his eyebrows a moment before scratching at the back of his head sheepishly. “Well, uh, yes. Just me and Kyra.” Oh. “I’m sure you’ll be alright.”

As much as the thought of me and Ember being alone that long made my stomach twist, I had to tell myself he was probably right. I could handle it. It might be hard but I could handle it. He wouldn’t be going at all if he thought I’d be in danger.

I slumped back in the bench, closing my eyes against the sun’s glare and letting it carefully warm my face. He deserved it, something nice like that after all he’d done for me. After all that time he must have spent worried sick over me. This weekend though… It would be six years Saturday. I stopped myself at the last second from asking about it. Of course he knew, how could he not? He was here today too, maybe that was close enough.

“Have you figured out if you’re going back to the college?”

I squinted against the sun, turning my head to face Striker as he waited for an answer. “Not yet. Haven’t heard anything from Ginger.” I sighed. “Last time we spoke she seemed optimistic though.” At least one of us seemed to think I even could handle a return.

Striker hummed to himself. “That’s good.” He stretched his arms above his head. “Seems like you still have time to think it over.”

I nodded. Chances were if I did go back I’d have to brush up on almost everything anyway after so long away. It’d take some time to get back into the full swing of it and maybe that was a good thing. Easing back might not be so bad.

Movement caught the corner of my eye and I turned as Ember rounded one of the flowering bushes. The sun caught her hair making it shine bright red as she approached, warm as the gentle heat shimmering in the air around her body. I stood and she led the way back to the headstones where we stood together in the shade.

#the city of eventide #chapter 33 #my writing #fiction #this took a while lol #but here we are #I probably could have kept working on it and being a perfectionist #but I had to stop somewhere lol

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disaster-bay-leaf · 3 years

Note

Ok so these were the cutest~ (ㆁωㆁ)

4, 6, 7, 9, 12, 19, 22, 23, 28, 33, 34, 46, 47, 52, 59, 60, 63, 66, 83, 87, 88, 93, 99

I kno I listed like....all of them lmao but feel free to answer whichever you want and ofc you can ask me in return Baybe ( ◜‿◝ )♡

uHUHUHUHU much content for me to answer, im happy bebe 💜💜💜✨

4 - how do you take your coffee/tea?

hm coffee either Very Black No Sugar (for the sleep deprived me) or iced latte three sugars and theres no in between

and as for tea its All Black Teas That Exist, cinnamon-flavoured especially (but basically all teas that come to mind when u think “autumn”), and rooibos!!! okay basically the only oke i dont like is any type of green tea (which is sad because they look cool but my tastebuds said ✨no✨)

6 - do you keep plants?

honestly id l o v e too because i love plants but,,, im kinda horrible at taking care of them though still way better than the majority of my family (research helps) so the only plant i own is kinda a small-palm-tree-looking thing in a bigass glass jar that i saved from my mother’s plant-destructing hands and its mostly doing well (the ends of its leaves are starting to be yellow tho and im worried:((( )

7 - do you name your plants?

yes!!! though the current one was named by my sister and its called “pickett” after fantastic beasts shsjjsj

9 - do you like singing/humming to yourself?

oh god oh dude you have n o idea

i have absolutely n o singing voice but its something i do constantly to give my brain the right amount of stimuli so basically i listen to music 24/7 and hum to myself 99% of that time

12 - whats your favourite planet?

oh i actually didnt think about this for so long but either pluto (hes a planet screw nasa) or saturn (RINGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) or venus (girls,,,and libra,,,)

19 - do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw in it?

okay im gonna be completely honest with yall and say that my every single try at keeping a journal failed spectacularly and i lost motivation after like a few months so my only journals rn are my fancy fake-leather-bound calendar to note tests and assessments into, a kinda roughed up notebook that i uses for noting down poems or scribbling or passing notes in class, and a kinda fancy bullet journal notebook that i used as a book of shadows for a while but since my fountain pen died i didnt touch it

22 - are you a morning person?

n o

i am so not a morning person but i wish i could be because honestly dawns are beautiful

but as it is rn im either sleep deprived all the time and loathe every second of being in an awake state or (if i have a few days of schoolbreak) my biological clock moves forward a few hours and i sleep 2am-10am

23 - whats your favourite thing to do on lazy days with zero obligations?

except for the fact that i dont remember the last time it happened, i would probably spend it drawing outside, watching anime with my sister and riding a bike around the forest

28 - sunrise or sunset?

i love sunrises because its so peaceful and everyone is asleep but also i subconsciously immediately correlate them with waiting for a train to take me to school (because thats basically the only time i see them) so its a bittersweet love especially with my fucked up biological clock

but sunsets are really really pretty too and i see them more often so i cant choose

33 - whats your fave pastry?

and isnt that a millior-dollar question dhsjjsjsj

either cinnamon rolls (i absolutely adore them) or that one specific type of cupcake-shaped-thing made out of shortcrust/bread/whatever its called and filled with vanilla pudding

34 - tell us about a stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it?

awwww this is cute

okay so basically my two favourite stuffed animals (i still have them, they sit in my wardrobe) were two teddy bears (like maybe 20cm high each of them) and one was pure brown and the other was silver-brown and they had stereotypical polish male names “Waldek” (read. Valdek) and Stefan (i think tho im not sure if i remember correctly, my memory is a feeble thing sometimes

46 - tell us the worst pun you can think of

what dog would never bite you? a hot dog *badumtss*

47 - what food do you think should be banned from the universe?

huh a year ago id say pineapple pizza but i guess i dont hate pineapples that much anymore (tho putting them on pizza is still an abomination) but i think that if id ever want to get rid of anything it would be parsley, i hate that freakin herb (does it count as food tho)

52 - what are your favourite memes of the year so far?

the ever given for sure shsjshjsjsjsjjsj

but bullying tramp stamps is gold and pure tumblr energy too

as for fandom memes: im in love with all keeping-up-with-the-todorokis variations and the fact that the entire bsd fandom looked at fukuchi and said “biTCH” and thats one of the only things we’re unanimous about

59 - whats your favourite myth?

i always liked the kora/persephone myth (though demeter is an overbearing parent to the nth power), loki and thor crossdressing at a party to get mjolnir back, atalanta because shes a queen and id politely ask her to kick my ass, and cassandra because she deserved better, and theres a l o t more because alas i was a mythology nerd but this post is long enough for me not to make this section 20 times longer sjjsjsjsjsjks

but there are a lot of slavic myths that are very cool too, though we dont know that much about them as about the greeks for example

60 - do you like poetry? what are some of your faves?

o o o o h yeah i do like poetry because to create such a beautifully sounding thing with only words someone has to be a genius

some of my favs are: some works of nakahara chuuya (thank u bsd for introducing me to this man’s beautiful imagery in his works i swear to god the descriptions do it for me) (also his poem about having hangovers is a mood like i feel you buddy), the raven by ea poe (i know everyone likes it but hOLY DAMN THE INTER/INTRAVERSE RHYMES ARE LIKE,,, BREATHTAKING) (and aso im a slut for gothic horror), and many more but also That One Poem From Welcome To Nightvale about reaching the island in the west,,, only perfect vibes from it

63 - are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organised or kinda leave them be?

okay heres the thing. for anyone else both my playlist library and my bookshelf would be considered pure chaos of a mad man b u t they actually have a highly focused system which means that i sort them based on their vibes, lovability and (in case of books) their age and whether or not theyre a part of a series so i would say my bookshelf is rather organised (when a quarter of it isnt occupying my desk that is) and my music is more organised than not but sometimes it gets out of control and i have to sort it entirely again

66 - what would your ideal flower crown look like?

either entirely constructed of simple white daisies, entirely constructed of only white roses, or something that probably would win a “how many different coloured flowers can one fit in a flower crown” competition

or something purple (maybe not belladonna)

83 - whats some of your favourite album art?

god i dont know if it counts but hozier’s wasteland baby is probably one of my absolute favourites and no one shall beat that

“thrifted youth” (dalynn) and “standard deviation” (danny schmidt) have very aesthetic covers too

also the iconic p!atd too weird to live, too rare to die! album cover,,, its just iconic what can i say

and last but not least matt meason’s pink-and-black album covers (though bank on the funeral is really pretty too but like,,, “who killed matt meason” d o e s it for me and so does the 2017 tribulation single)

87 - what are some movies that you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives?

this is such a hard question because im not a really cinematography-oriented gal but i suppose that (at the risk of not going deep enough into the cinema world):

- the princess bride

- inception

- night at the museum

- SPIRITED AWAY

- forrest gump

- truman show

- E.T. (i cried okay)

- the lord of the rings (because damn me if this isnt one impressive adaptation)

- parasite

and one more personal recommendation: “ready or not” with samara weaving because goddamn i dont usually watch this genre but holy s h i t is it good

93 - whats the hairstyle you wear the most?

honestly just plain hair down (because having curly hair is a menace), split in the middle when i have longer hair and split on one side when its short

also low ponytails or half-up-half-down when im exercising, or double french braids when my hair doesnt cooperate enough to look presentable in any other form

99 - list some songs that resonate with your soul whenever you hear them

this is difficult because my music taste is a goddamn rollercoaster on a good day, but heres some:

- me and the sky from “come from away” musical (this is sort of a test song for my mental stability, if i cry i aint stable)

- dancing after death by matt meason (okay most songs by matt meason except for like,,, hallucinogenics maybe)

- tears and rain by james blunt

- i will follow you into the dark by death cab for cutie

- almost home by mxmtoon

- anything by hozier really but shrike especially

- payphone, the cover by alex g (i cried to this song so many times)

- burning pile by mother mother (can i roast all my problems please)

- long way from home and cleopatra by the lumineers

- autoclave by the mountain goats

oooh that was c o o o o o o o l as fuck thank you sm so much bebe (and sorry for the long post @everyone else)

#smadhuman being pure af #bay answers #long post #very long post #ask #asks

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goldenmessenger · 5 years

Text

Reach Out Your Hand Pt. 2

****************************************

Summary: Remus rushes to Roman's side at the hospital. Things won't be easy, but hopefully, they'll improve.

Part One is here.

Read on Ao3 here.

A/N: Woah! I am so sorry this took so long guys! Life happened, and got away from me. Also, I've probably rewritten this three or four times. Still not sure if I'm happy with it, but here it is!

Also, keep an eye out for another post, I’m gonna be asking your opinions on what I should write next!

As usual, let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! And once again, I apologize.

Content Warnings: Drunken texts, drug abuse, drug overdose, mild violence (vague mention), self-deprecating thoughts and language, panic attack, disassociation, whump, angst, guilt

****************************************

“Follow me!”

Remus called back to his twin as he eagerly began his ascent up the tall pine. He had made it halfway up by the time Roman had reached the base.

“Is this a good idea, Re?” The ten year-old questioned, worriedly looking up as the pine loomed ominously above him.

“Don’t worry Ro,” Remus said, jumping down to a lower branch, “I’ve done this dozens and dozens of times before.” He reached out a hand to Roman.

“Come on!” Remus cajoled. “It’ll be fine, I’ll be right here with you, I won’t let you fall.” Roman looked at Remus nervously.

“You promise?”

“I triple-dog swear, cross my heart and hope to die, on Twin’s honor.” Remus swore, with all the seriousness the ten year old could muster. Roman took a nervous breath, then took Remus’s hand.

The twins climbed and climbed and climbed. Higher and higher and higher. They giggled and talked as they went, weaving grand stories of adventure. They weren’t just boys climbing a tree, they were princes climbing a tall tower to save the princess, or Jacks scaling a beanstalk, astronauts fixing their rocket, adventurers escaping a trap they’d set off in an ancient temple.

The rest of the world might as well have not existed. It was just them. Just Roman and Remus.

Finally, they reached the top of the tall pine. Remus whooped in delight. “I think I can see our house from here!” Roman grinned from his perch on the branch next to him.

“I can see the whole ocean from here!” Remus smiled back at his twin’s delighted face, watching the wind whip through his hair .

“See scaredy-cat,” Remus said, fondly, “everything was fine. And it always will be. I won’t let anything ever hurt you as long as I live. Twin’s honor.”

Roman didn’t turn back to Remus, his face pointed downwards towards the ground.

“Ro?” Remus questioned, nervously. “A-are you alright?”

“You lied, Remus.” Roman said, flatly.

“W-what?” Remus stammered, confused.

“You lied. You said you’d always keep me safe, that you’d always be there for me, and what do you do?” Ten-year-old Roman was gone, replaced by eighteen year old Roman, eyes no longer pointed towards the ground but instead placing Remus in the direct line of their blazing fire. “You abandoned me the first chance you got, flew the coop, left me to the vultures.” Roman pushed Remus, and Remus found that he was no longer in the tree. He was standing in the middle of a crowded restaurant, confused, hurt, and eighteen all over again. Remus could feel the stares of faceless onlookers, practically felt their whispers crawling on his skin.

“Roman, please—“ Remus began, but Roman didn’t let him finish.

“I needed you Remus! I was young, vulnerable. Maybe if you were there, I would’ve made the right decisions. Maybe we wouldn’t be here!”

Roman shoved Remus, hard, and Remus stumbled back into a motel room. Mildewing wallpaper peeled off of the walls, revealing the mold and rot underneath. A cockroach scuttled across Remus’s foot. Roman’s face had turned pale now, and his lips blue.

“I’m going to die, you know that, right? Alone and friendless with no one to care. In a crappy motel room that not even a homeless person would willingly live in.” Roman spat, face turning paler and gaunt as he spoke, voice slowly beginning to distort.

“I-I’m sorry Roman,” Remus cried, anguished, “I didn’t want to leave you. I begged you to come with me. I need you Roman!”

“Fat lot of good that does me now!” Roman growled, pushing Remus back. With every step he seemed to crumble more and more until he was barely skin and bones. “You never really cared. Those texts, reaching out, that was just because you felt obligated, because you felt guilty.” Remus cowered back as the now almost undead spectre of his brother continued his approach, backing Remus into a moldy corner, shoving Remus to punctuate each word. “You’ll be glad when I’m dead, won’t you! No more having to worry about poor, misguided, useless Roman—“

“Stop!” Remus shouted, holding his arms in front of himself to defend from the shoves, scrunching his eyes tight to avoid the sight of the abomination in front of him. The spectre continued to shove, and Remus couldn’t take it anymore. He shoved back.

There was silence. Then, a soft, small, confused voice broke through.

“Re?”

Remus opened his eyes. The nightmarish specter and grimy hotel room had vanished. Wind whipped through his hair and the scent of pine needles filled his nose. He was back on the top of the tree once more.

With a rising sense of horror, everything around him playing in slow motion, he saw.

Little ten-year-old Roman, eyes full of shock and betrayal, Remus’s own hands leaving his chest, slowly fell backwards off the top of the tall pine.

Time sped up, and Remus lunged forward, but Roman’s red hoodie slipped out of his fingers. His brother fell into darkness, until Remus couldn’t see him anymore. He couldn’t even see the ground.

“Nononononononono no!” Remus couldn’t find Roman, couldn’t see him couldn’t help him. Where was Roman where was he Remus failed him why didn’t he try harder why—

“Remus!”

Light, harsh and unforgiving invaded Remus’s eyes like the sharp knives stabbed in Caesar’s back. He winced in pain, trying to shield his eyes. He still couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

Suddenly, darkness returned, and he heard a soft voice murmuring gently to him. Gentle hands stroked his hair, and Remus leaned into a warm embrace. The voice spoke.

“Try to match my breathing, love.”

Remus listened. Even though everything seemed scary and confusing right now, and he wasn’t sure of anything, he knew he could trust that voice. It wasn’t just knowledge, it was fact. Despite knowing this, he still struggled to breathe, gasping for air.

“Remus, try to focus on my voice. Tell me five things you can see.” The voice prompted. Remus opened his eyes and looked. He was in the back of Dillon’s car, with the boyfriend in question holding him tightly.

“I-I can see your car door,” he managed, “the lamppost outside the window, the rain on your windshield, the driver’s seat in front of me, and...” He trailed off, spotting over Dillon’s shoulder a glowing red sign that simply read EMERGENCY. “The Emergency sign—“ He couldn’t speak anymore, where they were and why they were here came rushing back all at once at a madman’s pace, taking his breath with it.

Roman. Romanromanroman. Roman was in danger. Roman was going to die. All because Remus failed Roman, because he wasn’t there, he failed he failed he failed—

“Just breathe, love.” Dillon cajoled softly. “Just keep focusing on your breathing. I know you’re worried about Roman, but you can’t help him like this. Try to keep going. Four things you can touch.”

Remus tried to breathe, tried to keep his focus centered, fumbling his hands for something.

“The car seats,” he said, finally, “my jeans,” Remus continued to move his hands, wrapping his arms around Dillon. “your cashmere sweater, and your hands running through my hair.”

“Good.” Dillon whispered softly, and Remus could see a tired, but loving smile on his partner’s face. “Now, three things you can hear.”

“Your heartbeat,” Remus managed, “the traffic outside, and the rain on the roof of the car.”

“We’re almost there.” Dillon reassured. “Now two things you can smell.” Remus inhaled through his nose, trying to find something.

“Your shampoo, and the leather car seats.” He managed.

“Alright, now just one thing you can taste.” Dillon stated kindly.

“That weird taste I get in my mouth sometimes when I sleep with my mouth open.” Remus replied promptly.

“Good job.” Dillon murmured warmly. “How are you feeling?” Remus snuggled deeply into Dillon’s side.

“What if we just stayed in here?” Remus whispered, voice coming out a little muffled since his face was pressed into his boyfriend’s side. “What if we just stayed here forever and ignored everything else and pretended the world didn’t exist?” Remus felt Dillon shift underneath him, then his boyfriend began to speak.

“If that was what you really wanted to do, I would stay with you as long as you needed.” Dillon paused, then continued, picking his words carefully. “But I know you, and I know that while being in that hospital won’t be easy, it will be worse to not be there, and to have no idea about what’s going on.”

Remus took in a shuddering breath, then pulled away from Dillon. He looked him in the eye, and managed to say,

“You’re right, let’s go in.”

****************************************

The hospital was too quiet. Remus leaned into Dillon’s side while his boyfriend talked to the nurse at the reception desk, feeling like Dillon was the only thing keeping him upright. Remus felt like he was walking through a fog, going through the motions of being a human. They sat together in the waiting room for what seemed like years, until the nurse called them up to give them the go ahead to finally go see his brother.

Remus was barely aware as the nurse gave them directions and Dillon led him through the white corridors. All he could think about was Roman, brain running through all the possibilities of what could be awaiting him.

Finally, they reached the door to Roman’s room. Remus froze. All he could do was stare at the doorway in front of him. How could the sight of something so simple fill him with so much terror? He knew he needed to go into that room. But he hesitated to cross its threshold. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t.

“Love, you alright?” Dillon said, looking at Remus with worry.

“I-I have to be, right?” Remus whispered. “For Roman.”

“You don’t have to be anything.” Dillon said, tone firm. “I can take care of everything if you need me to. You don’t have to ever set a foot in there if you can’t. If that’s what you’re sure you want.”

“No, I-I need to do this, Dee.” Remus said, trying to calm his racing heart as he spoke. “Not just for Roman, but for myself.” Dillon nodded, and rubbed Remus’s shoulder reassuringly.

“I’ll be there with you every step of the way, love.”

Remus smiled gratefully at his boyfriend, and clasped Dillon’s cool, dry hand tightly in his own warm, sweaty one.

And like that, he stepped across the threshold.

And there Roman was, in the hospital bed.

Roman was pale.

Too pale.

Too quiet.

Remus had never seen Roman like this before.

Roman had always been so lively, so full of energy and excitement.

Not now.

Roman was so still and lifeless, almost like—

Remus’s breath hitched, and Dillon caught his panic.

“He’s ok, love.” Dillon murmured reassuringly into Remus’s ear. “See,” Dillon gestured to the monitor next to Roman’s bed. “Roman’s heart is still beating. He’s alive.”

Alive.

Alivealivealivealivealive.

That word kept repeating on a loop in Remus’s head.

Even when the doctor came in later to give them the full rundown of Roman’s condition, Remus could barely hear him over the joyful symphony in his head.

Roman was alive!

Though, what the doctor had to say did sober him a little.

Roman was alive, yes, but barely. And it was going to be a long, hard road ahead of him. Due to the type of drug Roman had overdosed, and was likely addicted to, the doctors would have to slowly wean him off of it by giving him smaller and smaller doses. It was risky, but if Roman was to go cold turkey it could kill him.

And that was the easy part.

The harder part ahead of Remus now (and Dillon, who Remus knew would have his back through whatever happened next) was to convince Roman to enter rehab once he left the hospital. Forcing him to enter wouldn’t be of any use if he didn’t want to get better.

But all of that was in the future.

For now, the only thing Roman needed to do was wake up.

****************************************

Two weeks later…..

It had been a really long two weeks.

Remus had barely left the hospital.

He couldn’t bear to leave Roman’s side.

Dillon had tried to convince Remus to go home, get some rest.

And Remus tried to, he really did, but he just couldn’t. Not when his brain couldn’t stop running through everything that could’ve happened in his absence. He’d gotten Dillon to drive him back as quickly as he could.

Remus honestly wouldn’t have survived these last two weeks without Dillon by his side through all of it.

Roman had been unconscious for the first few days, and that had been stressful.

But then Roman had woken up for the first time.

And Remus almost missed the unconsciousness.

Roman had not been anywhere near lucid, shouting and yelling.

They had to strap him to the bed and sedate him.

And that had started a cycle of Roman waking up, getting violent, and needing to be sedated.

It was clear every time that he didn’t know where he was, what was happening. Roman was always babbling incoherently.

(Except, once, Remus had sworn he’d heard Roman growl something that sounded almost like “How dare you talk about my brother like that!” but Remus must have misheard.)

Roman had been getting less and less violent each time though, and that was a good thing. Right?

Except last time, Roman had been sobbing. This time, he’d seemed to recognize Remus, and had been babbling and sobbing incoherent apologies until Remus had gotten him to fall asleep again, promising they’d talk when Roman woke up.

That had almost been scarier than the violent spells.

Seeing his brother so upset, so absolutely shattered. Remus hoped he’d never have to see that again.

That was a couple of days ago.

Now Remus sat next to Roman’s bed, aimlessly scrolling through his phone, waiting for Dillon to return with the coffees he’d left to get.

Suddenly, a voice, raspy from unuse, broke the silence of the room.

“Remus?”

Remus dropped his phone in surprise, and saw his brother blinking tiredly up from the bed on which he lay. Remus wondered if Roman had just woken up, or if he’d been awake for a little longer but hadn’t said anything. From the look on Roman’s face, Remus was leaning towards the second option.

“You’re awake.” Remus said, voice barely a whisper. He didn’t say Is it really you this time? Are you alright?

“Yeah.” Roman said, voice as soft as Remus’s. He looked so small in that hospital bed.

“H-How badly did I screw up this time?” Roman said. He couldn’t seem to quite look Remus in the eye. Remus’s gut instinct was to rush to assure Roman that he didn’t, that everything was fine. But Remus couldn’t, because he knew that it would be a lie. One that could hurt in the long run. Because, and this had been hard to admit to himself, but Roman did screw up. Remus couldn’t tell Roman that, but he couldn’t tell him everything was fine either. Remus didn’t know what to say, everything he could think of at the moment felt like it would hurt Roman in one way or another. Whether it was because Remus was too hard on him, or if Remus was too gentle, those would both be detrimental to Roman’s eventual recovery.

So, Remus picked a third option.

He surged forward and hugged Roman as tightly as he would.

Remus heard a small gasp of surprise come from his brother, but after a moment of hesitation, Roman returned the hug.

And there they stayed, the rest of the world fading into the background.

Everything wasn’t alright yet, and it wouldn’t be, couldn’t be, for a while. There was still a lot of work to be done. A lot of things the twins needed to work out, to resolve.

But for the moment, Remus was content to wrap his arms tightly around his brother, determined that he would never let go.

****************************************

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@dogwithpants

@dreaming-about-kittens

@ro-arts-blog

#sanders sides #ts actor au #my writing #my au #remus sanders #deceit sanders #roman sanders #sympathetic remus sanders #sympathetic deceit sanders

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nb-and-nd · 4 years

Text

Lil’ drabble I whipped up last night

you can read below the cut, if you’re curious.

Dec 29, 20XX; 4:59 pm

I pack up the last of my things after shutting down my station, watching in careful silence as the little red hand ticks its way to twelve. Five...four...three...two...! Shift’s over, I’m outta here. I grab everything and head out to the back lot; five cars to the left from the doors sits a little blue four-door Fiat. I love blue. I press the button once to unlock the door to the driver’s seat, hop in, reach into the glovebox and pull out Map Of The Soul: Persona. In goes the CD as I start the car and pull out.

Homebound.

I make a right into my complex as Home comes to an end. I pull in to the spot closest to my door, put the car in park, and step out with my bag. I stop to lock the car and take out my key before heading toward the sign that reads 1308.

I step inside, lock the front door, and put the bag down next to my shoes. I grab a bag of chips from the cupboard, then chill on the couch with my phone. Around 5:23, my phone starts playing the beginning of Pied Piper, my chosen ringtone. The caller ID flashes at the top of my screen. Oh, it’s Myra. So, I pick up the call.

“Hey, Myra.”

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Just got home from work maybe an hour or so ago. You?”

“Just fine. I was wondering if you’d like to come over for a bit, maybe hang out with some others. You down?”

“Yeah, sure! I’ll bring some games, if that’s alright?”

“Go for it! See you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Beep.

I get up, head for my room and grab a small backpack. I decide on taking some Uno cards, some playing cards, my headphones and my Switch. Then I take the backpack, sit down on the couch and set it next to me. I pick up my phone again, this time to text my boyfriend. I open the app and tap on our conversation.

[me] Hi, how’s it going?

A few minutes pass before the ellipses pop up.

[love of my life] Almost done with practice, should be home soon

[love of my life] How are you?

[me] just got off work an hour ago. my friend invited me over to her place, so i'll come back home between 7 and 8

[love of my life] ok, have fun

[me] see you soon

And with that, I put on my Pumas, the backpack, and my headphones and stand at the door. I search up the Wings album on my phone, press play and get walking.

Her dorm is within walking distance, so I made the trip in less than 10 minutes. I cross the street and walk up the stairwell to the sign that reads 1354. I don’t have to knock more than twice, she calls from inside that the door’s already open. I grab the knob and twist, and what do you know? I step inside and put my shoes on the rack in her doorway. I notice I wasn’t the only one invited, as two other pairs of eyes meet mine from the dining room. I barely have time to sit down before the greetings start.

“So glad you could make it. Everyone, this is Lori. We’ve been friends for a while, and she’s been the best friend I could’ve asked for.”

There came a collective ‘aww’ throughout the room, and I smiled gratefully at such praise. She then introduces me to everyone else.

“I know you’re likely very confused as to who these people are, Lori, so allow me to introduce them. This is Mack,” she gestures to a short girl with a wavy brunette ponytail and red glasses, sitting at the table with a glass of milk, “and this is Jewel.” she points to the girl next to the first, around my height, with raven black hair and a red beanie. I grin and wave politely, which they acknowledge with a nod and a wave, respectively.

“Good to meet you both, and Myra, good to see you again. I brought some Uno cards; who’s up for a game?”

Jewel sits upright and her eyes light up with a competitive flame. “Oh, I love Uno! Nobody’s beaten me yet.”

I let out a chuckle as I pull the pack from my bag. “A champion, are we?”

“For sure. Would you like to challenge me for the crown??”

I sit at the table and begin to shuffle the deck. “I mean, what have I to lose?”

“Heh...Everything.”

“Oh, you cocky little--It’s on.”

And the game begins; we lose twice to Jewel in an hour, but Myra and I beat her the next. The next round Jewel and Myra teamed up against me and Mack, the next was me and Myra against Jewel and Mack, and the next was me and Jewel against Mack and Myra. Then I pull out my playing cards to play two rounds of Slap Jack. I win twice, to Jewel and Myra respectively.

An hour or so comes and goes, and everyone’s on the sofa with a glass of wine (and a non-alcoholic drink of choice, because I don’t drink) debating which movies don’t deserve the hate they get.

Myra rolls her eyes with a mock-derisive laugh. “Come on, Coraline’s for kids!”

Jewel tilts her head. “But is it really?”

“Yeah, I still have unpleasant memories.” Mack agrees.

I speak up, “I have to agree; it might be for kids, but that doesn’t make it any less terrifying.”

Jewel gives a pointed nod. “Exactly. It’s a scary movie no matter your age, case closed.”

We later get to sharing some speeches about what we’ve been through this year and what we plan to do next.

“This year hasn’t been one of my best, honestly. I don’t like a lot of the memories I made, but life isn’t always roses and sunshine, and that’s something I’m okay with.” she looks around at all of us and goes on, “At least I can forward to another year with the people I’m closest to.”

Jewel nods. “Agreed. I can’t wait to go skiing with my cousin again. It’s a family tradition, and I wouldn’t change it for anything.”

I turn to face her. “There’s a lot I wouldn’t change either. But you have to remember that eventually, change will come. It won’t always be what you want it to be, but remember that good and evil cannot exist without one another. We should always look to the future, because that’s where some of the best promises lie.”

“True that.”

“I’d say that’s pretty solid advice.” Mack states as she raises a glass. “To a new year.”

“To a new year.”

“May the best be yet to come.”

As we’re all finishing our drinks, I suddenly remember my boyfriend, and grab my phone for a time check. 7:48. He should be home by now.

“Ah, hey guys, I hate to ruin the mood, but I gotta head home. It’s getting a little late.”

Jewel and Myra are the first to respond. “Aw, alright. Come again sometime, yeah?”

“Yeah, I wanna see you again. You’re cool.”

I smile at the compliment as I grab my bag and head for the door. “I’ll see. It’s been fun, guys. You go on without me, alright?”

“Have a good night!”

“See you later!”

“Bye!”

I close the door behind me, and head on my way. I look around before crossing the street, then search for my number. 1306...07...here it is. I knock three times, and the door opens to reveal my only love.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too. I can’t wait to be in your arms.”

“Well, come on in then, so you can be.” He extends a hand, and I take it. He closes the door behind us, and I take off my shoes.

“I wanna spend some time with you tonight. Why don’t you go put on something comfortable?”

“You’re not planning what I think you are..?”

It takes him a second, then he laughs. “No, no. Well, not unless you want to.”

“Oh, no, I’m good. I’ll be back.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

I head to my room to dress down, and he goes to his. I decide on a pair of pale gray sweats, and tie my hair up in a lazy bun. I hear him leave his room and come into the living room, and go out to meet him. He’s sitting on the couch with a blanket over him, and the TV is on. He turns to look at me fondly.

“There’s the woman I love.”

“You know I love cuddle dates.”

“That I do. Come, join me.” He pats the spot next to him, and I happily take a seat and snuggle up. He opens up YouTube and pulls up my comfort album; just as he does so, it begins to rain. What a funny coincidence. My beloved seems to read my mind, because he smiles too, and pulls me in for a peck on the cheek. The music starts, and we spend the rest of that evening cuddled up listening to each other’s heartbeat. I sigh in contentment.

There’s no place I’d rather be.

#drabble #might make a part 2 #don't know yet #bts albums and tracks were mentioned #so i guess that makes this bts related #bts #yes it's a love story #i'm a sucker for romance #sue me #i would call this an x reader #but no names were dropped so...#it's whatever i guess

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kumoriyami-xiuzhen · 5 years

Text

March Update Post

figures i should do another one of these.... tho this is mostly an update on the current status of my translations since i don’t intend to post much in terms of translations (3) this month since i’ve gotten around to my video backlog and will be stocking up on translations...

As i’ve stated before, i do multiple things at once cuz my head works that way, though this list will not include any SSL game content since that’s something I’ve already committed into doing plus my progress is a lot faster on those since my focus is kinda divided at 65% for ssl cross and daily stories, with 35% towards everything else.

My current (mostly estimated) progress for the following is at:

Hakuoki Kaze no Fumi Shogunate Dogs and Puppies [ 薄桜鬼真改風ノ章 ebten特典ドラマCD 「幕府の犬と子犬」 ]- 45% done (going to update this cd as a goal for my non-existent patreon unless someone sends me the audio for it on the off-chance i get donations or anything since the cd is usually costs between 2500 and 3000 yen on suruga-ya/yahoo auctions and im not willing to spend more money on cds (i think im going to start saving for ginsei no shou stuff).... plus that doesnt account for overseas shipping and other payment fees lol though id cover the bill for that. *sigh*)

Hakuoki Tsukikage no Shou - Kazama Chikage Final Chapter - 33% done

SSL Hakuo Gakuen Student General Assembly Track 3 - 25% someone uploaded this with Chinese subtitles so I’ll be able to finally translate that part where Shiranui talks with Kazama and Amagiri in the background.... huzzah lol

Hakuoki Girls fest live drama with saito, souji and kazama 10% (what I was referring to as “unknown drama”

Hakuoki otomate party 2013 drama 12%

Hana no Shou Stallaworth after story (renaming these to “after stories”. these are the ones that came from the book with Chizuru, Souji and Hijikata on it that i’ve already translated the stories for saito, yamazaki, hijikata and kazama for.) for Harada 10%

Hakuoki ???? 28.57% (actually calculated this... tho im going to refrain from listing the name cuz im feeling mean lol. its an ssl “hakuoki other translation” tho)

Nightshade Stellaworth Kuroyuki Cd 20%

New shortlist of shortlisted stuff I still really want done:

Hana no Shou Stellaworth after stories for Souji, and Heisuke

Web drama 8 with souji and saito

Shinsengumi Oni-tan (still havent started transferring words from images from track 2 onward into text format)

character monologues

kyoka-roku rain scenario stories

kyoka-roku character cg perspectives

zuisouroku character cg perspectives

hijikata biyori track 13 and 14

otomate party 2015 psychedlica of the black butterfly drama

Anything no longer on my shortlist is still something that I intend to get to eventually tho if it’s no longer here, that means it will be done waaaay later...

Currently, I have more than 100 different ‘tabs’ in nimble writer for Chinese Hakuoki content (it’s actually waaaaaay more than that in NW but i don’t feel like counting what isn’t right now since that’s a hassle to do), with the majority of them containing at least one hakuoki article/drama/short story though i have several tabs that contain multiple tracks [for dramas only] or multiple segments for print media or game content [really only ssl and yuugiroku 3 for that tho].... and i still haven’t counted the video content ive saved with chinese subtitles, the stuff i have saved as images or the stuff i haven’t bothered saving to my comp T_T......). also i didn’t know that the nightshade b’s logs stories were already translated and on their steam’s news page (which i’ve never checked in my life) so i’ll refrain from doing more of them.... *sigh* i apparently am not good at finding things on tumblr though in my defence i couldn’t find it under hyakka hyakurou though i did give up searching the nightshade tag after seeing too many plants.

oh and I’m probably going to start including images of the cds im missing audio for into some my posts more regularly cuz i really don’t think anyone looks at my lookout list... should probably say that i have no ETA on anything listed above since my current focus is on the ssl game content which i wanna finish asap.... i think i got 48 short stories to finish translating for that. or something? not sure if that’s an accurate number since im not sure if i counted everything properly. w/e lol.

as a super long term goal i want 36 hakuoki things done so i have content to post for a year (min of 3 things per month as a goal lol.... ) to do whatever the hell i want on the side at a super slow pace or to finish all the relatively short stuff so i have a legitimate excuse to cut back and take my damn time since theres no way in hell i can translate a 30-60 min drama quickly lol. xD.

Also, if anyone happens to want to translate Hakuoki stuff, or pay someone else to get translations commissioned, you can ask me for copies of the audio cds listed on my “stuff i have” page.... though I’m willing to trade for cds i don’t own if you don’t intend to do any of that.

ground rules for cds: 1) you cannot ask me anonymously, 2) do not share audio if you’re only publishing translation as text (meaning if you chose not to make a video), 3) if translations are made but are not posted publicly, send me a copy since I want them for my own entertainment (I will respect anyone’s wishes if they don’t want something shared or published online), 4) acknowledge that I may not share something if I am in the process of already translating it... that I might just be procrastinating since i haven’t ripped 99% of everything on that list, or might decide to send tracks one at a time due to other external reasons... also i don’t actually know which cds have dramas on them.

#personal post #update post

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lxveille · 6 years

Text

like falling water

woozi x reader

word count: ~ 3500 warnings: swearing, physical intimacy / mentions of sex a/n: magic!au; 100 ways to say i love you request

You lower yourself to a crouching position on the bathroom floor, arms folded on the edge of the sink’s basin and gaze fixed on the slowly dripping tap. There’s a gust of wind against the window. A snapping of a branch in the ongoing storm outside. All the while, your eyes stay fixed upon the drops of rivulet of water forming on the metallic lip of the tap, gathering gradually until it weighs enough to begin pulling towards. You narrow your eyes. The muscles in your arms tense when your fingers curl a bit harder against the porcelain.

The water stills. The drop remains suspended, barely clinging to the metal. A small bit of satisfaction begins to bubble up inside of you. Then your concentration is broken by a sudden call of your arm. The droplet detaches and hits the basin below to roll down the drain with a quiet plop that’s impossible to hear over your shouting back of, “Fuck! You scared me!”

Sejeong laughs, half of an apology making its way out while you pull yourself upright again. “I was just gonna ask if you’ve heard from Jihoon yet.”

“No,” you answer in a heartbeat. You avoid her gaze, choosing instead to focus far more intently than needed on the faucet handles as you turn them off all the way. “Why would I have heard from him?”

Really, you don’t have to be looking at Sejeong to feel the look she gives you.

“You know the Voyager’s ritual is today, right?” As if on cue, there’s a rumble of thunder overhead. A rattling runs through the walls from the sheer force of it.

“If I hadn’t, I would’ve caught on by now.” You nod your head towards the window as if to highlight your point.

“So...?” Sejeong lets it hang in the air for a moment, expecting you to fill in the rest of her question. You feign ignorance and shrug. “You really didn’t have anything to say to him today?” Another shrug has her sighing. “Or last night? Or anything?”

“Why do you think I have to say anything to him at all?” you snap. You already know the answer. Though you deny it. “The world doesn’t revolve around apprenticeships and the magehouses alone, you know.”

“I didn’t say it did. But Jihoon happens to be in the Voyager’s apprentice pool. And promising one, if there’s anything to the gossip Jieqiong brings back. And you --”

“What?” you cut her off and cross your arm.

She flounders at your tone, failing to carry on her interrupted phrase. Some part of you knows you aren’t being fair. That she’s only asking in the first place because she wants you to do what’s best for you. Sejeong just doesn’t quite understand that’s what you’ve been trying to do all the while.

“That’s Lee Jihoon,” Jieqiong leaned across the picnic blanket laid out in the afternoon sun to tell you. At the time, she’d only recently been apprenticed to the Voyager herself. And spent no small amount of time expressing how she was rather puzzled as to why they were still adding to that apprentice pool when it there was already such a heavy favorite for who the ritual would select as the inheritor of that magehouse.

You followed her gaze across an expanse of the green field to see the presumed protégé. Your sights catch first on the company that he’s with. “Isn’t that Kwon Soonyoung...?” you asked.

“Not him, the shorter one,” Jieqiong redirected your attention.

So you held in your question about when exactly Soonyoung showed back up in town and instead lowered your sunglasses from your eyes to get a better look at Jihoon. He, along with the group he’s come to the casters meet-up, settled into a spot not far from one of the basketball courts in the park. One of them must have said something amusing enough to cause an eruption of laughter. Jihoon had a full-body reaction, twisting away from his friends in a fit of giggles. They came to a stuttering stop when his eyes crossed yours by accident. For a moment, all that occurred to you to do was admire the lingering smile on his face.

Quickly thereafter, you re-positioned your dark lenses back over your eyes and lean back some on the blanket. “He looks nice.” You tried to choose your words carefully.

“He’s alright,” Jieqiong remarked, eying you over suspiciously. “You wanna meet him?” It was phrased as a question, but she already had you pinned.

No amount of denial could stop Jieqiong once she set her mind upon something. She rattled on about how the purpose of the event was for casters to be able to meet as she pulled you to your feet and started leading you through the grass.

Jieqiong took the lead on introductions. You both had the courtesy to act as if you don’t already know Soonyoung’s name and reputation when Jihoon prompted that particular exchange of names.

It was odd, at first. Jihoon didn’t seem all that relieved to have a fellow apprentice approaching him at the event. He didn’t seem off put, either, but he spoke in short sentences and always seemed to be looking for something in the surroundings when the conversation first began. It made you feel as though you were being invasive just by asking if he was having a good time. But with Jieqiong caught up in discussion with his friends, somehow it ended up boiling down to feeling like it was just the two of you.

You pulled out your phone to check the time, or perhaps to try to discreetly send a text to Sejeong to ask her to come save you from the stilted conversation.

“Is that...?” Jihoon started before you could come up with a plan. When you placed his way, you found him peering and pointing towards your lock screen. You had set it to an insignia from the latest superhero series you’d gotten far too invested in a few weeks ago. Your face began to flush, feeling called out. What a silly thing for a caster to be into, you imagined running through his head. You ought to find such things so humdrum with the capabilities you have. With the truths you know of the universe.

You darkened the screen and put the phone face-down on your lap. “Well, I --” You didn’t finish whatever excuse you were going to try to come up with. Cut off by the surprise of a seeing a surprised kind of smile coming onto Jihoon’s features. (And oh, you liked how he looked with a smile on.)

He put a hand on the grass between where the two of you were sitting, leaning in almost like he had a secret to share. “Who’s your favorite character?” he asked.

You nearly burst out laughing out of sheer relief. Instead you smiled back, a new and mutual understanding passing into the aura between the two of you, and answered.

The conversation flowed from there with enough ease and force that you didn’t notice when Jieqiong started sending glances your way. That it didn’t entirely click when Sejeong showed up and asked Jieqiong if she wanted to go for coffee together. That it took daylight slipping away for you and Jihoon to notice how long you’d been content doing nothing but talking together.

In the end, it was endearing that there was still a tinge of nervousness in his voice when Jihoon asked for your number. As if there were a universe where you could’ve even dreamed of turning him down. If one exists, it certainly isn’t the one you’re experiencing.

Your phone buzzes on the cafe table where you’ve settled down for the afternoon. The rain stopped some time ago, which means firstly that you didn’t have to lug an umbrella along with you. Secondly (more importantly, Sejeong would say) it means the Voyager’s ritual is over. That Jihoon would have news.

Good news, in all likelihood. But news you have decided not to let yourself care about all the same.

Nonetheless, you glance at the caller ID. There’s a familiar picture on your screen. A picture you took of him over a late breakfast at a diner one morning. He looks none too happy to have a camera pointed at him, and despite the scowl in his eyes there is still a slight uptick in his lips; the smallest and the most important indication that he was, in fact, happy to be there with you. The name reads Lee Jihoon.

You stare a while longer as the phone continues to vibrant. It shifts a few inches on the table top. You settle your hand over it -- thumb on one side and ring finger on the other. Two fingers hover over the screen. They’re not in the right place to cover up his name. They are, however, perfectly poised to accept or decline the call.

A small voice nags inside your mind, asking why he’d be calling. It’s not the first time you’ve wondered as much. (Back when it began, the same question would blossom in your head. The possible answers have evolved over time. From pseudo-casual invitations to openly wanting to see you to simply needing to hear your voice at the end of a day. Sometimes his ‘end of day’ is more ‘middle of the night’. Somehow you have never been all that angry at him when you wake up to a ringtone in the dark of your bedroom. His voice has only ever made you want him nearer.) It feels different, though, sitting here and knowing what you do. Why, after a day that surely has changed his life, would he feel compelled to dial your number?

Because he doesn’t think today changes anything for us, you answer back. You call it reason. You know better.

You let the call ring out. Let the photo of him disappear off your screen.

For what must be a solid minute afterwards, all you can do is stare at the darkened screen of your phone. The bright lights hanging overhead in the coffee shop reflect almost perfectly on the black surface, interrupted only by the lingering shadows of your indecisive fingertips.

Lucky your head is far more resolute.

You change your lock screen first. Then you remove the contact photo from under his entry.

The next time your phone buzzes, it’s a text from Jieqiong that reads, “we need to talk”. Before you get a chance to even open up the message properly, a second one comes in. This one makes you pause. It makes something tight and unpleasant began to coil beneath your collarbones.

“The ritual didn’t go as planned.”

It wasn’t a date.

It was the fourth day you hung out with Jihoon following meeting him. But it wasn’t a date. Explicitly so, you insisted to your friends when you texted that you couldn’t join them from an impromptu froyo trip.

“What are you rolling your eyes for?” Jihoon asked from the other side of the couch.

“Just, you know, Jieqiong -- when she gets an idea in her head,” you answered vaguely, looking up at him from your phone. He hummed in a kind of understanding.

“What is it?”

“Nothing important.”

He accepted it as an answer, gaze shifting back to the television. Yours, however, lingered on Jihoon. Fixated on the mix of sunlight and television’s glow against his skin and upwards angle on his lips, you found yourself rethinking just what the word important meant.

It was your hand that touched his first.

His eyes flitted back to you. A whole host of questions didn’t ever make it out of his mouth; you could practically feel them in the way he scanned you over, and yet he didn’t say a single one. His smile didn’t vanish, either.

He shifted his hand under yours so your palms were pressed together. His pinky, and ring fingers curled around the side of your hand, pressing in gently against your skin. The pressure felt more curious than insistent. There were a few spells that drifted to the front of your mind; things that could clear the air of complications left by the uncertainty of things left unsaid, or things that could ease the feeling of pinpricks at the back of your neck at his touch. In the end, you decided you didn’t want any kind of remedy for this.

“You’re not the kind to lean in first, are you?” You asked him. You didn’t know how much time had ticked by since your hand had found his. The quiet touch had been comfortable, somehow, despite the itching for a bit more beneath it all.

Jihoon’s cheeks turned a shade of pink that made you think of peonies.

“What kind of question is that?” he asked -- caught off guard, but not off-put. His hand stayed where it was, wrapped around your own. You gave a breathy laugh, a warmth rising on your face, and slumped one shoulder into his side.

Looking up at him from your newfound position against him on the couch, you suggested, “We could both. On three.”

At that, it was Jihoon’s turn to laugh. Peonies turned to poppies, and you caught the exact moment his smile turned to a grin before nerves had him glance away. “You’re being weird,” he deflected.

“Probably,” you admitted, and glance back down to your linked hands, “But also serious.”

When your eyes met his again, he somehow seemed even closer than before. “On three?” you asked, your voice so low it was more a puff of air than it was a question.

“Screw that,” Jihoon answered, and proved you wrong by letting his lips fall upon your own first.

You’d never been more glad to be wrong.

Plans can be a tricky thing. Often contingent on assumptions. That’s about all the explanation Jieqiong can muster when you call her from the coffee shop. Planning for the outcome of a centuries old inheritance-selection ritual, she admits, was probably a step even further beyond presumptuous than anyone familiar with magic should be.

“So not Jihoon, then?” you try to clarify her meaning. She sounds exhausted on the other end of the line.

“An alchemist, at that,” she tells you, like it adds insult to injury. (It does, in some ways. Admittedly, Jihoon had never seemed all that caught up in the tension between the branches of magic; certainly less so than many of the others in his coven, at least. He told you once about a covenmate of his who would nearly choose death over an alchemist’s company. All the same, it’s unpleasant to think some forces of nature are turning towards the magic you don’t practice.)

“Are you okay?” you ask her next. Mostly because these things can be dangerous, according to stories you’ve heard. The tone in her voice calls for making sure she’s alright.

She exhales into the receiver on her phone, causing a crackling, windy sound. “I’m fine. Probably going to go take the longest nap I can.”

“Well, then call me when you wake up, alright?” you request. “Sejeong and I can come over with wine.”

That manages to earn a laugh from Jieqiong. She promises she’ll text, at least, and let you know if she’s up to that.

Once she hangs up, it takes you several moments to put your phone back on the table. There’s an icon in the corner of your screen still, indicating that you missed one call.

You don’t want to think about what state he might be in. About what thoughts must be eating away at him. About why he called you.

It was easy and unstoppable after that afternoon on Jihoon’s couch.

Teasing remarks about how they’d seen it coming from day one didn’t even bother you all that much. All the same, you never admitted that you and Jihoon were anything more than friends. No matter the lingering glances anyone caught being exchanged between the two of you or the love bites Sejeong caught you putting foundation over in the morning.

You hardly even admitted it to yourself. Of course, you had to make allowances for something beyond the platonic when there was no one else around. You couldn’t deny that. Not with how quick you were yourself to twine your fingers with his. Not with the way his laughter fanned over your skin as he fumbled with the fastens on your clothes and the mixture of relief, affection and arousal that came into his gaze once he got them off.

It was always in the coming-downs that you felt closest to acknowledging in full what your heart already knew. Wherever it was that the two of you would be, a veil of ease seemed to fall over the two of you after sex that lulled you into a sense of constancy and comfort.

That was when words passed most openly between you and Jihoon. For as much conversation as you were able to have in other circumstances, there was a kind of line neither one of you remembered drawing when it came to discussing your most closely-held feelings. Except in tangles of sheets and with lingering, lazy hands upon each other’s skin, it was much harder to remember what lines even were.

“I’m bad at these things,” Jihoon would often say, before managing to utter something that made your heart beat all too quickly in your chest and drawing the fondest of smiles onto your lips.

But the things you wanted to say to him changed after the Voyager’s upcoming ritual was announced.

You found yourself catching your breath in the afterglow and thinking of the world beyond the two of you. There were expectations set upon him; responsibilities and a surely grueling schedule waiting for him on the other side of the ritual. Things you’d never even wanted to imagine. There were reasons, after all, that you never sought out an apprenticeship. Namely that no amount of specialization and strengthening of magic seemed worth the risk of the weight that would come with being selected as a protégé . But Jihoon had. He’d sought it out -- dedicated almost all of himself to it.

In many ways, you thought it might have been selfish of you to be worried about his future. It didn’t seem possible that it could be a shared future. Or at least not one shared you. Time would be too precious and scarce to allow for it, you assumed.

So lying on your side in the afternoon wearing nothing but a sheet and Jihoon’s arm around your waist, you were tempted to ask him not to go to the ritual. The sun had reached just the right angle to stream in through his window. The direct light spread a reassuring warmth across the back of your neck and shoulders.

When you asked about the ritual happening in a few days, your were nearly surprised at just how calm your voice sounded. Jihoon’s eyes were closed -- perhaps because of the sun shining on his face -- but he told you what you wanted to know. When it would start. What would be involved. How long it would probably take before the ritual finished and the next Voyager would known.

“It’s important to you, isn’t it?” you asked. Something in your tone must have been more of tell than you thought, because he peeked his eyes open to look you over at that. A small bit of guilt tugged at your gut and made you add, “It’s okay that it is. Obviously.”

Jihoon propped himself up on one arm. The new angle allowed him a better look at you. “It is,” he confirmed, “But you’re important too.”

It was difficult not to smile at that. All the same, there was something deeper rooted in the back of your mind that kept his words from easing your aura. In an odd way, it made your heart sink a bit further. “That’s easier to say now,” you mumbled up at him once you finally placed your finger on the why of it.

“It’s not like the Matchmaker, you know,” he replied, and leaned down a bit to ghost his lips over yours. “I’d still be allowed to have a... personal life.” He chose the last words carefully. With more caution than these moments of intimacy between you both usually called for. (It wasn’t until later that day, when you laid alone in your own bed, that you realized it might have been tied to the fact that whatever there was between you and Jihoon had yet to named.)

You stared at him, trying to find some indication that he doubted his own reassurance to you. Instead, all you saw was the same calm, contented smile you’d grown so fond of.

A decision started then; a quiet but insistent one that started coiling itself around your mind. Being allowed isn’t the same as being able. Just because Jihoon hadn’t realized it yet doesn’t mean you shouldn’t start bracing yourself for when he inevitably would.

The truth is that you know why Jihoon called.

He needs you.

The trouble is that you don’t know if you have it in yourself to be there for him. Not with all the effort you’ve put into convincing yourself you don’t need him.

#seventeen scenarios #lee jihoon scenarios #seventeen imagines #woozi imagines #seventeen fanfic #veille's 100ways

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eldritchsurveys · 6 years

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o82.

[[ Random Survey Questions // By @x-hallie-x ]] 1. When was the last time you just wanted to be alone? What about the last time you really wanted to be around people? >> I don’t remember the last time I wanted either of these things consciously... like, they might be vague thoughts or feelings floating around in my headspace, but I don’t always focus on them. Also, I’m never alone, technically, so I guess there’s that.

2. Have you ever gone somewhere in your pajamas? What makes this acceptable or unacceptable to you? >> Yeah, sure, I used to walk to bodegas and shit in NYC in pajamas quite often. There’s really no point in changing if I’m just walking down the street to get a 40 or a sandwich, like... Also, the only dress requirement for leaving the house in a casual sense is to just be decent -- bits covered, you know. The idea that one must wear a certain kind of clothing in order to be seen outside of one’s domicile isn’t necessarily true. (Now, if I were going to a specific venue that did have a specific mode of dress -- a certain kind of event, say, or a government office, or something, then yes, I would wear the appropriate clothing. But like, no one in your local corner store cares how the fuck you’re dressed as long as you’re dressed.)

3. Other than the usual things like IDs, etc, what do you always carry with you when you go out? >> The only things that are always present with me when I leave the house, no matter where I’m going, are the standard PKW (phone, keys, wallet) and my lip balm. (If it’s daytime, then also sunglasses.)

4. If you were to go on a picnic, what type of setting would you prefer, what types of food would you bring, and would you bring anyone along with you? >> Honestly, anywhere somewhat nature-y is good as far as location is concerned, even if it’s just a municipal park or a place like Union Square (which isn’t a park so much as it’s a... like, town-square kind of construct). I guess the food I’d bring would just be anything portable and easy to eat without needing a table (sandwiches are always good, of course, but even something like a plate from the hot-food spread at Whole Foods is good, I’ve picnicked with that). A lot of my outdoor eating escapades have been alone, so like, it doesn’t matter who’s with me, I guess. Anyone who wants to come.

5. What is one song you feel as though you sing particularly well, if any? >> Guaranteed by Eddie Vedder. I think Eddie and I have a lot of vocal similarities. Which is good, because I love him and his voice. :p

6. Have you ever kept a mood chart or anything like that? Did it help you pick up any useful patterns in your moods? >> I’ve never tried to keep a chart of them, no, especially since I’m not sure what half of my feelings even are, when I do have them.

7. What was the last lengthy task you completed? >> The survey I took yesterday. :p

8. Do you look toward the future or focus more on the here and now? Are you good at being in the moment, or do you always feel drawn to worrying about other things? >> I do a lot better when I only have the present to focus on. It kinda glitches me to think about the future too much, not because of anxiety or anything, but just because it kind of doesn’t make sense to me. I can think about the future in entirely abstract terms, like for the sake of argument or flights of fancy, but not in any concrete sense. It is the greatest great unknown, and I’ve never had any success trying to manipulate it or understand myself through it. I don’t know what I’m going to be doing (or who I will be) in the next hour, and people want me to think about months and years into the future?! Wild. I also think that the way I’ve lived the past decade-plus before moving here made thinking about the future really difficult for me, because I was really living from day to day. When I’m concerned about where I’m going to sleep from night to night, planning for a future seems like a luxury rather than a fact of life. But also, I guess... I just like to focus on what I’m doing right now. I like to be present here. I have a pretty deep-set confidence that the future will take care of itself as long as I take care of the present, but if I focus too much on the future then I will have missed the plot entirely. I feel more secure when I focus on the present. It is the only point in time in which I truly exist.

9. What does it mean to you to have empathy? Do you think you’re an empathetic person? >> I’m not really sure what empathy means anymore, to be honest. I definitely don’t consider myself an empathetic person, by any of the definitions that I’ve heard. I think I can empathise with fictional characters, because I’m a storyteller and jumping into the heads of characters is kind of integral to telling honest stories... but actual people in front of me, not so much. (Characters are a lot less complex by design, anyway. Kind of like the difference between Sims and people -- Sims’ needs and motivations are pretty obvious and predictable, whereas people are... wild cards, a lot of the time.)

10. What was the last thing you did that was particularly selfish? What about selfLESS? >> I’m really not sure.

11. What is something about your life that is currently beyond your control? >> The weather, lmao. I’m watching it get real cloudy real fast and I’m like “but... I want the sun... :(” The weather don’t care what I want. ... Annnnnd it just started raining. Pfft.

12. What is one small thing you could do to change about your life for the better? >> Eating healthier is always the top option. I mean, I don’t eat badly or anything, it’s just that there’s always improvement to be made in that area. But I also understand that obsessing over my consumption is actually just as counterproductive, so I try not to make a big deal out of it, and just enjoy what I’m eating. We all gotta die of something anyway, I guess. It might as well taste good, or else what is really even the point.

13. What type of photography do you enjoy looking at? Do you take any photos yourself, and if so, what types of things do you prefer to photograph? >> I like urban photography -- not necessarily shiny cityscapes, but more like... street-level urban, like of old abandoned buildings and back alleys and people sitting on stoops and just city life. I like various landscapes, especially deserts/tundras, and marshes and complex ecosystems. And I like photography that evokes certain Moods(tm), whether it be because of the content or because of the lighting or the framing or... whatever. It’s definitely that “I know it when I see it” kind of thing. I don’t really take photos of anything except myself and random things I want to show people, I guess.

14. Have you ever gone out for the black friday shopping rush? Did you enjoy it, or not so much? Or, what’s the busiest shopping day you’ve ever experienced? >> I have never been shopping on Black Friday, but I have been just out and about while it was happening. I don’t really care for that kind of thing -- I like the sales and stuff, but I don’t like the mad rush. It just makes me feel kinda... alienated, like, in a “this is what life is?” kind of way. Just a deeply personal feeling, nothing against the whole concept.

15. Do you enjoy reading diaries or stories you wrote from when you were younger, or does it embarrass you? If you’ve kept them, was there a particular reason for hanging on to them so long? >> I do enjoy reading those things, and I wish I had more of them, but the ones that were on paper have been lost for a long time and a lot of the internet sites I used in the beginning are no longer active and the content has been lost (or I can’t find it anymore). My old deviantART accounts are pretty much the oldest content of mine that still exists on the internet in a form that I can access, and although a lot of that stuff is definitely amusing, I can’t imagine finding it embarrassing.

16. What would you say was your first true hobby? What about your most recently developed one? >> Drawing, maybe? I don’t know. My most recently developed one is probably MMO gaming.

17. Is there one thing that throws off your mood more than others, whether it be lack of sleep, lack of food, heat // cold, etc? & when was the last time you felt especially cranky? >> I’m not sure, since keeping track of my moods isn’t something I really do with any success or skill. Maybe sensory overload -- that’s always a reliable mood-tanker, and a lot of my inexplicable moodiness/mental exhaustion can probably be attributed to just being overloaded. The last time I felt cranky was last evening, and I’m not sure why, but it probably had something to do with being frustrated about Dragon Age Inquisition being broken and then like... some low-grade dissatisfaction with life or something. Nothing worth making a mountain out of.

18. What are some ways you deal with stress? Are these healthy or helpful to you? >> Distraction is usually my method. Playing video games, watching tv or youtube, slam-dunking myself into a pile of plushies, making origami stars and listening to music, that sort of thing. And yeah, I think distracting myself from stress is pretty healthy for me, since it lowers the cortisol and enables me to approach whatever is stressing me out later on without the heightened emotional response. (Although, also, a fair amount of my stress isn’t based on anything that’s solvable or like... worth even giving attention, so the distraction enables me to refocus my energies onto something actually worth doing, so then later I can just be like “lmao that wasn’t even a big deal” and go on with my life.)

19. What advice, if any, would you give someone else in your situation? >> I’m not sure what situation I’m in, lmao.

20. In general, are you the type to feel comfortable giving advice? Has anyone ever come to you for advice and you had no idea what to tell them? >> I feel comfortable giving it if it’s an area I feel experienced or skilled in. Otherwise I’ll just flat-out say that I don’t have any advice, or point them to someone that might.

21. What is one common area of life in which you feel you have little to no experience (college, children, marriage, etc)? >> Definitely college, I can’t even... like, fathom college. What is college even like??? All I have to go by is movies and shit, lmao. I’ve not been married yet, so that’ll be a new experience (although I strongly suspect it won’t be too much different from being unmarried, aside from getting accustomed to using a different set of words to describe my relationship). I have no experience in not being poor, since I’ve never not been poor. This is the most not-poor I’ve felt, but like, that’s not because of anything that’s changed in my personal finances. I just live in a cooperative household.

22. What kinds of things are you likely to complain about? >> I don’t know, really. I don’t do a whole lot of complaining unless it’s a quick vent and then I move on (or unless someone I’m talking to is bitching about something and I’m like “OMG SAME” and we have a little bitchfest lmao). I don’t really like to focus on stuff like that.

23. Besides money, what is something you would like to have more of in your life? >> Meatspace socialisation.

24. What types of blogs do you like to follow? If you have a tumblr, how has your blogging style changed over the years, if at all? >> I follow over 900 blogs, I don’t even know what my “type” is. I just follow whatever looks good at the time, and then unfollow if I get bored of the content or whatever. I think my blogging style has changed in the sense that I’m not as... talkative? I used to make a lot more text posts on my personal and then I kind of just... stopped. I’m trying to get back into it lately, varying up my content, appearing more like a person instead of just a reblog bot.

25. Do you like to put any extra effort into your food in terms of presentation, or do you prefer to just put it on a plate and eat it as it is, no frills? >> I don’t, because I... I don’t know, executive dysfunction, I guess. Also, like... I don’t have the stuff I want, like the kind of dishes I like, etc, and the kitchen is small and disorganised and usually I just want to get out of it as quickly as possible and yeah, I can’t be bothered with making my food look nice when I can barely be bothered with making food, period. I do like presentation and all of that, I think it’s great and definitely adds to the joy of eating. It’s just... not something I can do right now.

26. When was the last time you were mean or rude to someone else? How about the last time someone acted that way toward you? >> I don’t remember. I don’t think I’m especially rude in general, I’m just straightforward and I think people prefer sweeter tones or whatever. I’d rather put my social energy into saying what I mean rather than saying it in a way that makes everyone feel warm and fuzzy, or whatever, I don’t know. It’s just not a priority of mine to sound “nice”. It’s never been. I don’t remember the last time someone was rude to me, mostly because I forget shit like that really easily. It’s low on the importance scale.

27. What kinds of things are most likely to make you lose your temper? Have you ever done something regrettable or embarrassing while angry? >> It’s really hard to get me to lose my temper completely, which is good, because I already give an aggressive impression -- imagine what it’s like when I’m actually feeling aggressive. I’ve definitely done things that I would rather not have done when I’m angry, which is another reason why it’s good I don’t get angry often.

28. What has stood out about this day in particular? Has this day been an average day in terms of what you usually experience? >> Well, it’s still only 11a. That random two-minute rain was interesting (it’s now partly-cloudy again), but that’s it so far, really. This is a pretty average day.

29. How would you describe your current mood? Do you experience a lot of highs and lows or are your moods relatively stable? What is the most your mood has changed in a day? >> My mood is my normal baseline, which is... no mood. Like, I really don’t have a mood most of the day, unless something specific happens to change it. I kind of exist in a comfortable greyness most of the time, with little spikes here and there.

30. Do you remember what it was that got you into taking surveys in the first place, or why you initially decided to stick with them? Where did you originally start out taking surveys? Are there any blogs you recommend (lol, I’m always looking for more surveys!)? >> Man, I have noooo idea. It was over 10 years ago by now, so surveys really just feel like a permanent fixture in my life. I think I first took them on MySpace? That seems likely. And I’m in the same boat as you, I think, lmao -- I just take the ones in the tag or on LJ or whatever the “random” function on Bzoink gives me that isn’t terrible (there are so many bad surveys on that site lmfao).

#surveys #survey #random survey

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yeoldontknow · 7 years

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Wings

Author’s Note: lord i didnt think id be writing this so soon but ive been so soft (tm) and pcy has been doing the most(tm) so here we are i guess. this is the first part of his Did You See story. im weak as hell lmao Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Summary: Chanyeol is your best friend and travel buddy. Everywhere you go, he falls a little bit more in love with you. Eventually, he tells you why he goes everywhere with you - just you. Genre: fluff; angst Rating: PG-13 Warnings: some swearing Word Count: 5,356

Yeolo sent a Photo Yeolo[12:04 AM]: LOOK!!! YN[12:05 AM]: this is shockingly neat YN[12:06 AM]: im stunned Yeolo[12:06 AM]: :< Yeolo[12:07 AM]: i am neat :< YN[12:08 AM]: youre like… YN[12:09 AM]: slightly organized chaos Yeolo[12:10 AM] - Message sent with Confetti: CHAOS

Yeolo[12:11 AM]: do you like how i rolled my shirts ! YN[12:12 AM]: im mostly impressed with how fucking many you fit in there Yeolo[12:13 AM]: WELL!! Yeolo[12:14 AM]: you know different shirts for different moods… Yeolo[12:14 AM]: weather YN[12:15 AM]: IS THAT WHAT I THINK IT IS?? Yeolo[12:15 AM]: WAT WAT YN sent a Photo with Mark Up Yeolo[12:16 AM]: YES YES THE HOODIE HE IS COMING YN[12:17 AM]: I AM STEALING HIM ON DAY 2 AND YOU WILL NEVER SEE HIM AGAIN Yeolo[12:18 AM]: *frowns loudly* he YN[12:19 AM] - Message sent with Celebration: his butt is mine Yeolo[12:20 AM]: do you still heave beat it in your head from JDs party???? YN[12:21 AM]: listen if i have to suffer with it YN[12:21 AM]: you have to suffer with me Yeolo[12:22 AM]: yikes YN[12:24 AM]: are you taking any converters? Yeolo[12:24 AM]: yeah you can use mine YN[12:25 AM]: yay! Yeolo[1:06 AM]: are you nervous? Yeolo[1:07 AM]: wait are you up Yeolo[1:08 AM]: im nervous but idk why YN[1:09 AM]: im up. i wouldnt say im nervous weve done this a million times YN[1:10 AM]: i just dont like flying very much Yeolo[1:11 AM]: no one really likes flying Yeolo[1:12 AM]: but ill hold your hand the whole time YN[1:13 AM] - Message sent with Love: u Yeolo[1:13 AM] - Message sent with Fireworks: me Yeolo[1:15 AM]: can i come over? Yeolo[1:16 AM]: i sleep better next you YN[1:17 AM]: you haven't needed to ask for 5 years don't be a goose YN[1:18 AM]: but yes im too excited to sleep anyway Yeolo[1:19 AM]: ill bring my shit so we can just go to the airport together YN[1:20 AM]: key is under the mat. im getting your fave blanket out of the closet Yeolo[1:21 AM]: !!!! Yeolo[1:22 AM]: ill just take the spare toothbrush i have there with me instead of my good electric one YN[1:23 AM]: u is smert Yeolo[1:24 AM]: i be there in 10 minie YN[1:25 AM]: 10 MINIES!!!

Remaining in bed, you lay back and stare at the ceiling, heartbeat keeping time with the rain against your window. You think you love him most when he’s like this, needy and clingy and over excited. London was his idea, or maybe it was yours, or, possibly, you thought of it at the same time. It felt like it, the way you both talked excitedly on his couch eight months ago, bare feet battling for dominance on the tattered cushion. The way the words spilled eagerly from your mouths, the way he’d already Googled, and you’d already used your credit card points for airline tickets, it felt like you were connected, united.

Something as simple as this, as planning a trip, felt remarkable and exciting. The phrase ‘why don't we go’ igniting a fire in your veins, making the world sound sweeter just because he spun city names into gold against his tongue. Always, it’s like this with him, life becoming an thrilling bundle of possibility, filled with magic and wonder, and existing without obstacles. It’s like this with him because he makes it so, his mouth only ever giving you the best words and your heart unable to say no at the sight of his wide eyes.

Precisely ten minutes later, Chanyeol’s heavy feet resonate throughout the hall as he struggles up the stairs to your door. Already, between the plaster and the wood of your door, you can feel him, his energy permeating your space and making your heart feel heavy with want. The sound of him alone wakes you up, invigorates you, sending sparks along your skin that make you feel electric or magnetic, or maybe both.

After six years of knowing Chanyeol, learning his noise and learning his breath, you are skilled at discerning his mood from the sound of his steps. Tonight, he is elated, hurried in his movements and wholly unburdened by the weight of his suitcase, driven into a clamor by the force of his excitement. Tonight, he is humming, as quietly as he can, yet still his voice his a thunderclap, barreling through the walls and deep into your bloodstream. You don't recognize what he's humming, the sound slow and somber, but it sounds important, like he's very serious about getting the notes right, and you find yourself frowning when he stops, saddened by the loss of the his voice.

At the first sounds of the spare key sliding into the lock, you turn over in bed, making room for him on the mattress, in your life, in your body, ready to keep him with you for always. When he pushes through the door, clambering with his limbs and his bags, he releases a giddy sigh, an exclamation of relief that makes a smile spread across your lips. Keeping still, you listen as he moves through your house and into your kitchen with sure steps. He turns on the electric kettle, the one he bought your for Christmas three years ago. Rummaging through your cupboard, the one he helped you build, he pulls out mug with a happy chuckle. Something has amused him, and you swoon into the bed at the sound, pressing your head against your pillows with a sigh.

You know he thinks of this space as his, moves around it openly and possessively, because his memories exist within the paint and the furnishings just as much as yours. Not least because he spends the majority of his time in the space you occupy, your flat larger and quieter than his own, but because he was the one who found it for you. Because, when your life felt as though it was ending, he was the one who built it back up around you, with you, leaving his traces on all the new pieces.

It is not that you expected your relationship with Ethan to last forever, merely that, after Ethan, you thought there would be something. When you found Ethan in your bed with another woman, hands and mouth pulling at her skin as if he wanted to make a home of her body, you found you simply didn't want anything. His lies had reduced you to nothing and, while you knew it was not the case, you felt nothing was what you deserved forevermore.

For two weeks, you slept on Chanyeol's couch, curled into a ball and trying not to be a burden. For five more, you slept in his bed, neither sexual nor wanting it to be, simply because he said he wanted you comfortable. Then, he said it was because no one should cry alone. Then, and lastly, because he said he never felt comfortable without you beside him. Not anymore.

His hands shook when he showed you the advertisement, and you wondered why he was nervous. Looking at your feet and with his voice quite small, he said he didn't want you to think he was kicking you out. You said, ‘are you?’ And he just looked at you, suddenly the most serious you've ever seen him, and said, ‘I just want you to have something that's yours.’ Sincerity looked beautiful on Chanyeol, not that he was insincere, but this was transcendent. You felt him then, like a knife. You don't think you’ve stopped feeling him since.

He never really went home after you moved in, just brought an air bed and stayed with you until you could afford decent furniture. You cried a lot those first few days, scared but not alone, and wondering how you could, or would, cope with this sudden something. Chanyeol held you, tighter than usual, and didn't say anything just clung to you until you were tired and wholly exhausted from living. You think that was when his habit for humming started, those days when his voice was a comfort, a lullaby, and its sound evolving into something you felt belonged to you.

Painting the living room was your favourite day, the first day you ever saw him, really saw him. The paint on his cheek made him look wild, like he was at war with the wall and was trying to win you over. You didn't know how to tell him he'd already won. You think he won the day you met him, you just needed the world to take on better colours.

The sound of your door opening shakes you from your thoughts, and Chanyeol enters with a grin, hair messy and cheeks puffy from lack of sleep. He's arrived already in his pajamas, ready to be comfortable and ready to be near you, and you watch, turning the sheets over for him, as he climbs into the bed with careful placements of his limbs.

‘Here,’ he says, handing you a mug - his favourite, the one he leaves for himself.

Careful not to spill anything, you take it, letting your fingers graze momentarily to feel the spark once more, and smell its contents.

‘Is this chamomile?’

Chanyeol settles against the pillows with a hum, and turns onto his side to face you. ‘It’ll help you de-stress,’ he shrugs, before his hand snakes into the pocket of his hoodie. ‘I also got you this.’

He hands you something black, something plastic, and, in the dim light of the bedroom, it takes you a moment to recognize it.

‘A sleeping mask?’ You glance at him, confused.

‘With cucumber.’ Laying back to nestle into the bed, he pulls out his phone and yawns. ‘You’re always super hot on flights and you never sleep. So, just try this please.’

‘You’re a nerd,’ you murmur, glad he is distracted and unable to see the blush that is blooming beneath your cheeks.

‘And you are annoying,’ he retorts, peering up at you with a grin, tongue between his teeth.

Dropping the mask to your nightstand, you sigh, somewhat heavy for the light feeling in your chest. ‘But you love me.’

‘And you love me.’

It feels too raw to agree or acknowledge the statement, like saying anything will force you to say absolutely everything, and so instead you remain silent, keeping your tongue locked behind your teeth so as not to give yourself away.

Time passes steadily, your body relaxing simply because he is near and you can hear the even rise and fall of his breath. The rain and his quiet hums become a soundtrack for your slow sipping of the tea, scrolling through your phone mindlessly, unfocused, and running through your packing checklist once more.

Eventually, Chanyeol puts his phone beneath a pillow and cuddles against you, resting his head on your shoulder as he watches you scroll. Sometimes, he reaches forward to tap the screen, teasing you by threatening to like pictures on Instagram that belong to people you know of, but do not really know. You fight him off weakly, push yourself away, tell him he’s being an ass, and warning that you will spill, but you don’t mean it. Not at all. The cup is empty, anyway.

After thirty minutes, you place your phone and mug on the nightstand beside the mask, turning over in the bed to face him. For a while, you say nothing, just admire the way his hair falls over his forehead and into his eyes, the small mole on his nose, the way his mouth pouts slightly, the way just seeing you seems to make him smile - or perhaps, he’s simply excited.

Pressing yourself closer to him, you yawn. ‘Did you remember your passport?’

Chanyeol rears back, eyes wide and lips parted in horror, paling in the wake of your words. Your stomach drops.

‘Chanyeol!’

‘Yes,’ he laughs, reaching out from under the blanket to tap your nose. ‘I remembered it.’

Rolling your eyes, you bury your face in the pillow. ‘We should sleep,’ you announce, voice muffled. ‘We have a long drive to the airport tomorrow.’

He nuzzles close, draping an arm over your waist to pull you into his chest. Curling against him with a happy sigh, you press your ear to his sternum to hear his heartbeat. It flutters, just once. ‘Do you think it’ll be raining like this in London?’ he ponders quietly as he draws lazy circles along your spine.

‘It might be,’ you murmur, instantly relaxing into his hold and feeling yourself slip into sleep.

‘I hope so,’ his whispers into your hair, tightening his hold on your body. ‘It’ll feel like tonight never ended.’

You didn’t think the mask would work, but it does. Somewhere over Iceland, you fall asleep against Chanyeol’s shoulder, soothed by the cool mask and his reassuring grip in your hand. Your body tilts into his until you are resting at his side, and he lifts his arm to pull you close, tucking the blanket beneath your chin. Sleeping, simply sleeping, with you is a quiet gift from the universe, one he relishes with his whole heart.

Because you are sleeping, he is free to watch you and free to want you without limitations. Always, he wants to touch you, has stop himself from stroking his thumb along your cheek and across your lips. Always, he has to remind himself that you are not his, you are not his touch nor his to have, but how he wants you. Oh, how he wants you with every beat of his weary heart.

You are not his, so when he sees the green and amber lights erupt just beyond the window, he nudges you awake. Bleary eyed and cranky, you whine for him to stop until he points, makes you see the lights and how they transform the earth into an alien thing, a new thing, something you cannot imagine existing within.

You are not his, so when he sees the Aurora Borealis, he nudges you awake simply so he can share one moment with you. One moment he can call ours.

Yeolo sent a Photo Yeolo[6:31 PM]: whats this YN[6:34 PM]: un stylo Yeolo sent a Photo Yeolo[6:35 PM]: ???? YN[6:36 PM]: un café Yeolo[6:37 PM]: how do i say map? YN[6:38 PM]: i already taught you that one lmao la carte Yeolo[6:39 PM]: train station YN[6:39 PM]: la gare YN[6:40 PM]: how do you say im lost Yeolo[6:41 PM]: uhhhhhhhh Yeolo[6:42 PM]: je me losté YN[6:43 PM]: INCORRECT Yeolo[6:43 PM]: T____T FRENCH IS HARD YN[6:44 PM]: weve been over this one: je suis perdu Yeolo[6:45 PM]: why do you just assume im going to get lost Yeolo[6:46 PM]: the other vocab is more fun :< YN[6:47 PM]: its not an assumption i have money riding on it with baek Yeolo[6:48 PM]: you guys are assholes YN[6:49 PM]: connards Yeolo sent a Photo Yeolo[6:51 PM]: what is this YN[6:52 PM]: un ananas YN[6:52 PM]: when are you ever going to need pineapple on this trip??? Yeolo[6:53 PM]: YOU NEVER KNOW Yeolo sent a Photo Yeolo[6:54 PM]: this? YN[6:59 PM]: moi YN[6:59 PM]: when did you take this?? i didnt even see you doing it Yeolo[7:01 PM]: at sooberrys bonfire last week Yeolo sent a photo Yeolo[7:02 PM]: AND THIS? YN[7:03 PM]: un branleur Yeolo[7:04 PM]: wait idk that word Yeolo[7:04 PM]: countess tell me what that means YN[7:06 PM] - Message sent with Loud Effect: COUNTESS? Yeolo[7:08 PM] - Sent with Slam Effect: HEY!! Yeolo[7:08 PM]: i googled! im not a wanker! YN sent a Video Yeolo[7:09 PM]: thats the most emasculating eye roll ive ever seen Yeolo[7:10 PM]: *cries loudly* YN[7:11 PM]: tell me why you called me countess Yeolo[7:13 PM]: no youre being mean :< YN sent a Photo Yeolo[7:14 PM]: stop pouting !!!! Yeolo[7:15 PM]: my heart !!! YN[7:17 PM]: fine YN[7:18 PM]: the correct word for that picture is très mignon Yeolo[7:19 PM]: CUTE! YOU THINK IM VERY CUTE YN[7:20 PM]: of course you know that and not the IMPORTANT WORDS

In the middle of the Notre Dame, Chanyeol slips his fingers between yours and squeezes. Several moments pass before you realize he’s done this, and you, shaken and trembling, are too weak to truly look up at him. You know how you look, wide eyed and trying not to cry, emotions running free and rampant, turning you into a vulnerable, fragile thing. Overwhelmed, is how you think you feel, body and heart too full of beautiful things to truly process everything in front of you. Looking at Chanyeol would cause the dam inside you to fissure, shattering just enough to release the deluge, and you don’t think you are strong enough to survive such an onslaught of emotional veracity. Not today, at least. Not when everything around you is so perfectly quiet.

Leading you over to a pew, he sits beside you but does not let go of your hand. For one hour, you remain in silence. It’s the longest you think he’s ever gone without saying a word, and when you finally gather the strength to look at him, when you finally think you truly could be brave, if only so you could keep his after image alive in your mind for eternity, you see that he looks just the same as you.

Reverence has settled on and underneath his skin, giving him an ethereal glow from the inside out. The sun pours through the stained glass windows, and the bronze and honey of the wood polish seem to seek out his shades, eager to make shadows beneath his cheekbones; they turn him into an angelic thing, a holy thing, something that makes you feel the true definition of awe. It hurts to see him like this, you think, to see his lips, so full and pink as the blood races through his body, fighting to keep and carry all his emotions beneath the blanket of his flesh. It hurts to see him like this, looking almost naked and fragile, just like you.

It hurts to see him and not be able to call him yours, so you tell him things that belong to neither of you, only to souls long passed. Doing this makes it easy, makes suffering the the pain of true adoration feel somewhat weightless because you can almost imagine this too shall pass. Hands built this cathedral, fingers laid all the stained glass into intricate patterns, and the whole length of their life seemed infinite and paradoxically brief. Someone must have loved like this, felt devoted to a thing that could not love them back, and they lived - or, perhaps, they died and, if they died, it was not by the hands of love.

You tell him of the French Revolution and the cloister windows; you tell him of the organ, and its 32-key pedalboard. You tell him of all these things, hoping that the lives and the wars and the names of the all the people who suffered to build, and rebuild the cathedral can also build, and rebuild your heart.

You tell him all these things and, as you do, he watches. You point to the windows, discussing with yourself how they were destroyed during the revolution when the cathedral was used as a storage warehouse for food, and how even the restoration couldn’t get the art quite the same. Chanyeol listens, but he does not want to look at them, not when he’s looking at you. Between his fingers, your small hand squeezes and jitters, shaking his in excitement to show him something new, but still he only sees you.

He’s not sure why no one else seems to notice, how simply being in this church has suddenly given you wings. Thousands of names run up and into his mouth, through his mind, and he wants to give them to you, wants them to spill out and over for everyone to hear. He wants to call you Angel, wants to call you Goddess, wants to call you nothing at all because something this pure and this holy should never be tarnished by his tongue.

He wants to call you everything so instead he calls you mes tous.

He knows it’s wrong, rather, thinks it is wrong, but when he’s looking at you, he simply cannot fathom any other term.

For him, you are everything, and nothing else will ever compare.

Yeolo[11:32 AM]: countess YN[11:33 AM]: this text better be about lolla tix Yeolo[11:33 AM]: it is not YN[11:34 AM]: GOD DAMMIT YN[11:34 AM]: T______T YN[11:35 AM]: i hate meetings YN[11:36 AM]: im so sad now Yeolo[11:37 AM]: i know baby i know Yeolo[11:38 AM]: but whats the name of that place you stayed in last year Yeolo[11:39 AM]: for the fest YN[11:40 AM]: the hi chicago hostel YN[11:41 AM]: why YN[11:42 AM]: i am NOT making shithead baek reservations if he got tix YN[11:43 AM]: maybe i will for yixing YN[11:43 AM]: because i am nice Yeolo sent a Photo YN[11:44 AM]: PARK CHANYEOL YN[11:45 AM]: YOU BETTER NOT BE FUCKING WITH ME Yeolo[11:46 AM]: I AM NOT FUCKING WITH YOU BABY YN[11:47 AM]: YOU GOT THEM Yeolo[11:48 AM]: I GOT THEM BABY WERE GOING YN wants to FaceTime

The rain in Chicago is biblical, pouring out of a chasm in the sky in torrents. You could drown in it, you think, if you let yourself go, let it take you over. Like this, it’s easy to associate it with Chanyeol, to assume that it’s him in the rain; it’s him soaking you with wet kisses that cover your hair. It covers you how Chanyeol covers you: completely, warm against your skin and never feeling like a threat, simply cleansing - your body and your mind, making you feel free, making you feel new. The rain feels like Chanyeol, and so you welcome it, let it run down your neck, let it pour into your lungs, and over your skin, baptising yourself in his essence before he comes to wipe his holy residue away.

With the festival over, Chanyeol takes your hand and starts leading you through the crowd to exit the park. He doesn’t say anything, just glances down at you and smiles, squinting through the rain, though his grip never slips. Even in the dark of the night and in between the thick drops, you can see him, radiating like a beacon, calling you to him, a lighthouse for the lonely ship of your ardor.

Standing on Michigan Ave, you cock your head back, letting people push past and grumble at your stillness, and try to keep all of this with you, within you. The city, the weather, the music, his touch, his hands, his mouth. You think on Chanyeol’s arms as they held you, swayed with you to your favourite songs. You think on his laugh as he ran from stage to stage, forcing you to keep up with his long stride. You think of how he fell asleep in your lap, curled up on a blanket beneath a tree, cuddling into you for comfort.

These things, these important, meaningful things, are carved into your bones, and you think they were drawn by Chicago itself. Leaving means tearing out your ribs and leaving them behind. Leaving means going back to how things are, to reality, to the realization that Chanyeol is not yours. And you cannot expect him to be.

Tugging on your hand, Chanyeol waits patiently before you as you open your eyes, and you smile. Rain glides down his nose, dripping off at the tip, making him chuckle. Intensely, he holds your gaze, does not waver and instead looks into you, as though he is seeking your heart, seeking your blood, and asking for both with only his eyes. With parted lips, he breathes through his mouth, as though he has run a mile to get to you, perhaps run for his whole life to have you with him.

A tether has started to spawn between your chests, growing into steel cable and pulling you to him, as though he is a magnet. You step closer forcing your steps to be cautious, your anxious feet wanting to run to him, run through him to say you have been inside him, and left your name behind on all his brightest and ugliest parts. And when he steps closer, gaze dark and chest heaving and hands seeking the wet skin of your arms, you think maybe you could speak, if only to keep him with you, like this, for just one minute more.

‘Let’s not go home.’ It’s neither a question nor a plea, simply a wish, simply a door to an alternate reality you wish you could unlock.

But Chanyeol, already having learned to be brave for you, slides his hands from your arms to your cheeks, and thinks he could do it again. ‘I already am home.’

He presses your lips together without caution, without fear, as if it’s the only thing he’s known how to do in his life. Tilting your head to the side, you open for him, and feel him growl into your mouth as he crushes your body against his, hands moving to splay against your back. You are glad for his tight hold, your knees starting to shake and your hands fisting in his shirt for purchase. He holds you up and supports you with ease, swallows your moans with the whole of his greedy throat, and devours you as though he could never have his fill. Lips moving in unison, you suck on his bottom lip, relishing how soft and smooth the skin feels against your hungry mouth, and this makes him part, gasping for breath.

‘Chanyeol,’ you try, though your voice sounds weak and broken.

Pressing his forehead against yours, he closes his eyes and tries to speak. ‘I call you Countess,’ he croaks, voice tight and small as he struggles to catch his breath and not to cry.

You nod, unable to offer anything else, skin sliding against his. ‘Yes.’

Shaking his head, he pulls away from you for a moment but does not let you go. ‘It comes from the French comte, and that comes from Latin meaning companion,’ he attempts to explain, the words sounding lackluster and unconfident in his haste. ‘You are...that and...I listen to you.’

‘You’re not makin sense, dove,’ you say, lacing your tone with compassion as you bring a palm to his cheek.

‘You don’t think I listen but I do.’ He nuzzles into your palm with a content sigh, closing his eyes for a moment before pressing a wet kiss to your palm and continuing. ‘I hang off every fucking word you say, commit it to memory. I’m always wanting you to say things twice: first so I can learn it and second just so I can hear you say it. I just want to hear it.’

‘Ch-’

‘I’m in love with you.’

Chanyeol announces the words like they’re a jumble of syllables he’s never had to use and is only now learning how to phrase them, or how to shape them. In the wake of their cadence, he takes in your wide, shocked eyes, and realizes he loves them. He loves how they sound on his tongue, loves how they make you look, and so he says them again.

‘I’m so in love with you,’ he repeats, this time slower, and this time making sure you hear. You have the passing sensation he looks like he could float away, awed smile on his lips as he regards you and eyes blown with desire, dark and purely euphoric. ‘It took me forever to figure it out because I’ve never felt this way before, it honestly feels like I could die or I could live forever, like just breathing around you is a risk but fuck, I’ve never felt more alive just standing next to you, just existing beside you.’

The ground seemingly disappears from beneath your feet at his confession, voice gone off in search of the terrain you once knew so well. A shiver runs through your body, though you cannot tell if it is simply of the rain or because of the things he is saying. Unable to do or think through anything, you merely stare, hold onto his shoulders and try not to whimper at the way he whines at the loss of your skin against his.

‘I think I’ve been in love with you since I met you,’ he continues, ‘when the Empress brought you to JD’s party, remember? How I didn’t stop standing next to you or trying to talk to you? You thought I was clingy, maybe I am, but I just wanted to share everything with you. And you already had a boyfriend. He was such a shithead. I hated him first because he had you and then most because he hurt you. The first time I heard you crying on the couch I sat against my door and listened. I wanted to die and then I wanted to go kill him. You did that for weeks, until I needed you in my bed. I couldn’t take it, I just wanted to hold you.’

Running his hands along your cheeks, he kisses your forehead, as your eyes flutter shut with a sight. Then he brings his lips to your nose, your cheeks, your eyes, and, lastly, your lips.

‘I always want to hold you,’ he whispers, breath warm against your mouth as he lingers close. ‘I can’t sleep without you. I don’t deserve you. At all. You’re beautiful, you’re smart, you’re funny, half the time you look like a fucking angel. I keep fucking up things I want to say because you look at me and it’s like my whole life is suddenly shifting. I don’t deserve you, and you can do so much better than me, so we travel. I give you the world because you deserve that, and at least that I get to share.’

It takes you a long while to find your voice, your hands playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck as he presses chaste kisses against your lips. He’s scared, you can feel it in the way he trembles against you, body exhilarated from his confession and terrified, now, of rejection. He’s scared you will push him away, and so he takes what he can get from your mouth and your skin, having his fill to keep it inside for always, even after you are gone.

Much the same, you press your body close to his, letting his cologne linger on your tongue and inside your blood. For you, he is a contact high, a shot of adrenaline straight to your heart that makes the world seem better, seem brighter, simply because he is there to change the spectrum of your vision. And so you take your time simply touching him, touching all the things you’ve felt before without really letting yourself feel them.

‘I decide what I deserve,’ you mutter quietly against his jaw.

This seems to shock him into action, his body careening into yours as he buries his face into your neck. ‘I want you,’ he cries, in relief. ‘Oh my God, I want you.’

‘I’m yours,’ you whisper, pulling his head from your neck and kissing him, first with your soul and then with your mouth. ‘I’m yours.’

#chanyeol x reader #chanyeol fluff #kpoptrashtag #kwriterskollection #noonanet #chanyeol fanficiton #chanyeol fanfic #chanyeol au #chanyeol scenario #exo fanfiction #exo fanfic #exo au #exo fluff #exo scenario #park chanyeol #did you see: universe

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segadores-y-soldados · 7 years

Text

Personal and Fic Updates

Hey everyone!

I know it’s been a long time since I’ve done one of these personal update messages. I’m trying to get my stuff in order but life continues to outpace me, it seems.

The quick and dirty: Fic Stuff:

Moira has been integrated into the overarching plot of “And Overwatch For All”

Because of this, I am currently rewriting major portions of Old Habits. Yesterday, I finished a major rewrite of chapter 10 (the “evil council is introduce” chapter). I have the majority of chapter 11′s rewrite done and hope to finish that today as well. With luck, I will start working on a rewrite of Chapter 13.

Shockingly, I’m keeping a lot of the “present day” plot elements the same (aka, all the stuff leading up to Recall). But several major “past events” have changed, including Reaper/Gabriel’s backstory.

More on this later. I will also be writing a separate post JUST for fic stuff, if you prefer to read only that.

Personal Stuff:

Extra expenses have started showing up in my life. Details are under the cut.

My job has not yet promoted me and a coworker the way they said they would in the timeframe they gave us (1 year). Because of this, I am starting the job hunt again.

I have created a Ko-Fi (https://ko-fi.com/U7U063ZJ)

More under the cut

Alright, so here’s the longer version of what my last like...three months have been like, with both personal/work stuff and fandom stuff.

Personal life/Work:

I have said this in a few places, but I currently work as an entry-level archaeologist for a state department in California. Full disclosure: I and my fellow coworker are underpaid for our work, which is as variable as conducting documentation research through databases and organizing research on behalf of our higher-level archaeologist and historian supervisors to performing surveys and actual fieldwork digs in every type of weathers in California. As an example, two weeks ago (the week of Thanksgiving here in the U.S.), myself and one of my supervisors did an 8 hour fieldwork day which consisted of 3-4 hours of surveying through waist-high grass in pouring rain at 55 degrees F/12 degrees C. This upcoming week, I and (other underpaid) coworker will be doing two 12-hour days of construction monitoring. Our work consists of traveling all over the state, with driving that can take a full day to get to a work destination (these are charged to work, don’t worry - I don’t have to pay for that, thank god).

The reason I’m explaining this is because this is a huge reason why some days (or even some weeks) my activity on tumblr, twitter, and AO3 will take a straight nosedive. On Thursday of this past week, I spent 8-10 hours without checking my phone and came home to 4 missed calls, 8 “active chats” on messenger, 600 messages on discord, and basically a whole day of “social media-ing” missed out.

If you’re rolling your eyes over this, I get it, I really do - it sounds like all the stuff that older people complain millennials “overvalue,” but (for example) one of those phone calls was from my dentist’s office saying that they will not serve me because (after three months of them NOT checking) they realized that I don’t have the right dental insurance for them.

Fun.

I don’t make enough money to switch to higher, “better services” health and dental insurance, but since I work a job that requires physical labor, I’m scared to cut them from my life. Said coworker twisted his ankle earlier this year, and work only compensated him for 1 week of “missed” work, when in reality he was walking with a slight limp for 2-3 weeks. Because of our low-level, we are not given access to benefits that many other state workers get.

Moreover, our sub-department has been promising that the two of us would get promoted “within the year.” We reached a year working with them in mid-November, and that promise still hasn’t been reached.

So in terms of my personal life, I’m at a cross-roads: I will tell them that they need to promote us, even to the next “low-level position” because that will give us just a few more $/hour which will help A LOT when accumulated, or I’m going to tell them that I’ll have to search for something else.

On top of this, my parents have decided it’s time for me to “pay rent” to live at home with them - a discussion we, frankly, haven’t had on a serious level yet and one which blindsided me this morning. I am looking into my options but without a better job, they’re not good.

This also doesn’t cover whatever it will take to help me start the legal and medical processes of transitioning, which are, frankly, the main things I’ve been saving money for.

What does this mean:

I’m looking for places to cut costs, but the combination of current expenses + what my parents want from me will take 1/3 to 1/2 of my current monthly paycheck. I already spend next to nothing on personal stuff, so all my current expenses are “necessities” such as food, gas, and insurance. I’m looking to cut down on gas costs but it may be awhile before my daily schedule gets adjusted.

The alternate is taking a second job that will permit me to only work my free three days a week.

Doing this means I will have zero time to write or produce content.

For now, I’m not jumping out to do that. I’ve made a Ko-Fi account (https://ko-fi.com/U7U063ZJ) that I would greatly appreciate any spare money you’re willing to contribute. Something as simple as a few dollars can go to me covering the cost of my health insurance per month, while I figure out the bigger problems of searching for a job.

The reason why I started with this is because:

Fic Stuff/Writing Stuff:

I do the equivalent of 3-4 full days of “writing” for fandom stuff per week: on my days off, I can write anywhere from 8 to 14 hours a day. Using just Friday and yesterday as an example, I wrote 9k words, and with whatever I do today, I will likely push that to about 11-12k.

Yes, it is all voluntary, and I do not have to write at the pace that I do, nor the amount that I do. I do it because I enjoy it, and because, honestly, writing for Overwatch has given me some of the biggest joys and happiness I have felt in like, a decade. And that includes writing the long essays. My last big R76 post (http://segadores-y-soldados.tumblr.com/post/167321630835/everything-you-want-to-know-about-reaper-and) spans a whopping 67 pages and 7.5k words in Google Docs (that includes pictures and sources/credits/links/references).

Again, this isn’t to brag, but just to put my writing into perspective, I guess. This is the equivalent of doing a second part-time job, which was something I attempted last year but was unable to balance my current archaeology job + a part-time retail job + writing. I dropped the second one because, at the time, I finally had the luxury to choose a job in my profession and writing on the side. This is a luxury I was fortunate to enjoy for the first half of 2017, but it is steadily becoming undoable as my work increases my responsibilities without increasing my pay.

Fic Updates:

For those of your who have been waiting patiently for information on “And Overwatch for All” I do have some good news that I’m finally ready to share:

Moira has been integrated into the plot.

I got a number of comments here and on twitter that were really supportive of my current version of “AOFA” and I just want to say, thank you all so much. It means a lot to me that you guys have liked the version of Overwatch I’ve built up and that you found all the characters, including my silly OCs, to be engaging and well-written. It was soul-crushing to think I would have to lose some of them, but after some time and doing more research on Moira, I feel ready to talk more about her and how she’s going to factor into the updated plot.

To start off with:

None of the OCs will be cut, but some of their roles will change.

Lmao, this surprised me as well, but I’ve figured out a few different ways to make all of the OCs, especially the very obviously contrived “Death Agents,” stick around in the updated plot.

Only one OC (and you can probably guess who, if you’ve started “New Wars”) will change names: the character called “Reaper” in “New Wars Chapter 1″ (the “young Hanzo chapter”) will be called “Reaver.” This is due to his updated role in the plot. His background has changed only slightly.

If it wasn’t apparent, this “Reaper” was meant to act as a plot device to cause confusion over Gabriel/Reaper’s actions after the fall of Overwatch, but that has changed because:

I’m switching to Crisis-era and “undercover mercenary” Reaper.

If you’ve read some of my more recent posts on Moira, you’ll know that I’ve switched over to supporting the idea that “something went wrong with Gabriel Reyes during SEP/the Crisis.” This is due to the fact that you can find a folder labeled “Soldier ID: 24″ in Moira’s Oasis lab, that Michael Chu said that Reyes was interested in getting her help on “matters of genetics,” and that this appears to mesh the “Reaper has existed for decades” concept in Reaper’s hero profile.

Truth be told, I’ve actually been a supporter of this idea of “Gabriel has been Reaper behind the scenes for decades” plot point for a long, long time, almost as long as I’ve been posting Old Habits. “Reaper”/“Reaver” was semi-messy OC that attempted to bridge Reaper’s original hero profile with the “Old Soldiers” explanation that Gabriel/Reaper gave that “Jack and Overwatch ‘left [him] to suffer.’” However, I also knew when writing Old Habits that the “Mercy is evil” theory was ALSO not true, so I was kinda stuck:

“If Gabriel = Reaper for decades, why did he appear to blame Jack and Overwatch for his current condition?”

My original solution was to make “Reaper” a different character and have him operating the situation in the background (like a mystery story), but over time this solution got trickier and trickier to work with. With Moira, I have a chance to rework much of Old Habits/AOFA to better suit some of the details that have come out since drafting it.

This does mean, unfortunately, that all the “76+127″ content is going to become its own, standalone series.

To switch over to integrating “Soldier: 24,” the “76+127″ stories will have to become their own standalone series. Don’t worry - I’m not deleting anything. Old content from “Old Habits” will be moved to their own fics, so you can read the whole thing in chronological order.

A new version of my updated ideas on SEP has already started being drafted. Writing it out is just a matter of time at this point, haha.

The conspiracy/Talon council “mysteries” will become more transparent almost immediately.

With Moira, I finally get the chance to explore some of my ideas in “full format” instead of the kinda awkward “Sombra hacking a chat log” parts yall originally got. This DOES mean that written portions will suddenly be much, MUCH longer. For example:

Old Habits original chapter 10 (Sombra hacks an SSO chat log): 17 pages

Old Habits revised chapter 10 (Moira discusses the Route 66 battle with council members + Sombra hacks a chat log): closer to 34 pages

The explosion fight has been changed.

Because of the changes to Gabriel’s plot, the nature of the explosion fight between him and Jack has changed significantly. It does incorporate new information that Moira revealed.

If it wasn’t obvious, I’ve had a draft version of my ideas for the fight sitting in GDocs for about a year now, and I use that for all my flashback/memories, and also for when Reaper and Soldier: 76 are arguing in the present. There was a major plot point in the explosion fight that I was extremely uncomfortable with, but found it to be “solid angst material.” In retrospect, I dislike this plot point and have removed it for another plot point that sits better with me, and fits the overall story more comfortably (I think).

So yes, I DO have a new draft of the explosion fight - written completely from scratch, 100% different in tone and emotionality. Parts of this should begin to show in updates to Chapter 13, when Soldier: 76/Jack reflects on some of the fight.

The Goal:

The goal for AOFA right now is to update Old Habits in “two big batches” - update the first half (Chapters 1 - 15) within 1 - 2 weeks, and then update the second half (Chapters 16 - 31) shortly after. Optimistically, before January, but realistically, closer to late-January/early-February.

Thanks for sticking with me - both with this post, and with my life changes. Things are incredibly and often overwhelmingly busy for me, and I don’t really know where many of these things (both personal stuff and fic stuff) will end up. I really do appreciate any and all support, even if I’m not able to respond to comments. You guys make it worthwhile to keep writing, and I apologize for how distant I’ve been with this stuff.

#personal #my essays #my writing #an update #ko-fi #segadores y soldados #long post

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donnerpartyofone · 7 years

Text

ramblings

honestly i hate it when people use this word in their content or URLs. i hate it as much and in the same way that i hate the overuse of the word “random”. both represent tactics designed to absolve the user of any obligation to communicate clearly, stand by their opinions, or otherwise allow that the things they choose to do and say and support are symptomatic of who they really are as an individual--as if the things that you engage with are just “something that happened”, like the weather, and there’s some separate secret “you” that has nothing to do with the waves of activity that appear to emanate from your person. not that everything has to be a manifesto, but constantly qualifying your every action or feeling as chaotic and indeterminate is insecure at best and fraudulent at worst. at any degree of severity, it is at the very least just fucking annoying.

but, i’m thinking about quitting tumblr again, and this line of thought could probably be safely categorized as a ramble. i mean i’ve been thinking about it for years, as much as anybody of my vintage does, although my ordinary complaints have just had to do with obnoxious technical and community issues. this net neutrality disaster is really pushing my buttons. can i really afford, mentally, to keep using a yahoo product? but the thing is, as soon as i think this, i’m assailed by internal synthetic echoes of the kinds of radical voices i’ve absorbed from tumblr itself. this is one of my worst personal problems, that i internalize other people’s voices with extreme success. so, as soon as i think about boycotting yahoo by leaving tumblr, i involuntarily imagine someone telling me that i’m an elitist pig for theatrically divorcing myself from a major corporation when many people, who are perhaps the most victimized by corporate behavior, can’t even choose to remove toxic corporate material from their lives, and that my empty gesture is even less than symbolic when i don’t know who picked the orange sitting on my desk and i’m typing this out using a slave-manufactured Apple product furnished by my employer who rather famously tortures its blue collar employees. this morning i was feeling good about using up leftovers for my lunch instead of letting them turn into climate-destroying food waste, until i thought about where the stray mayo packet i just used was going to wind up, and moreover where the plastic bag i used to tie up that trash was going to wind up, and what an asshole i was for thinking about how i can recycle the tin foil i wrapped my sandwich in when in fact recycling plants have been linked to cancer in their employees. i may have congratulated myself this morning for repairing my thrifted shoes with glue instead of throwing them out and replacing them, but the fact that they’re under my feet right now and for as long as i can keep them doesn’t affect the fact that some animal is going to be choking on them when i can no longer make use of them. so, the same internalized radical voice that calls me a huge piece of shit for participating in this or that march or protest, even though i do vote and i do put money toward needs and causes when i can, that voice is definitely here to tell me that dramatically leaving tumblr after seven years makes me at least as much of an asshole as does continuing to use it.

if you exist anywhere left of center lately, your available political energy is pretty routinely sapped by infighting that seems to insist that if your intentions as well as your strategies are not absolutely virginally pure, then you need to just shut the fuck up and pull on your hair shirt and bury yourself alive until a real rain comes to wash all the scum off the streets. it’s like, no progress shall be made until a progress arrives that simultaneously and equally improves all areas of life, leaving no remote potential for debate in its glistening wake. nothing you do matters because everything you do is evil and there is no shortage of people who can prove it to you. the cultural climate i live in has made me really adept at proving it to myself. like the second you think even of certain A list celebrities who use the rewards of their meteoric careers in order to give back to their communities, you can say, well, what’s the carbon footprint of one of their concerts? what’s the point of doing anything at all? it feels like there are really just two ways you can live your life: you can aim for self-actualization, which may do wonders for your personal identity but which seems to require constant material sacrifice on the part of everything around you, OR you can relegate yourself to some sort of extreme jainist existence in which you deprive yourself of every personal indulgence to the point that your individuality is so degraded that the question of the meaning of your life looms larger than ever in relief.

there’s also the question, as evidenced by all this leftist infighting, of who is even smart enough to think of as much as one thing to do that’s actually a good thing to do. even if i were to let go of my entire life as it is to commit myself puritanically to some cause, it seems like a sure thing that i’d pick the wrong cause, with a world of negative side effects for other causes. and on the general matter of choosing sides, i don’t even think i know what, like, anything is anymore. i saw this post float by the other day that said something about how sick the OP was of the fierce leftist protection of sexual predators, as if defending rapists were a popular tenant in left-of-center parties, and the post had tens of thousands of notes and i just couldn’t figure out what the fuck it was even referring to from real life. i understand that there’s a lot of talk about how, speaking in very limited terms, “democrats are as bad as republicans”, and i understand what that’s about structurally speaking, but as far as “left” and “right” goes it seems like the language has completely broken down to the point that it doesn’t even refer to anything anymore other than some almost facelessly broad ideas about whether you think the government should help you or leave you alone about X. maybe what i’m really trying to say here is just that i have no idea what the fuck anyone is talking about to the point that just being alive is like being permanently trapped in some foreign country without a single cent of local currency.

so anyway, once i’ve achieved a subterranean level of depression over the fucked up shit that happens as a direct result of every minute that i even exist on the planet earth, i ALSO start to collapse under the slings and arrows of another internalized voice, that of a shitheaded rightwing alpha dog who sees guilt as a symptom of extreme weakness, of useless fragility. and to some degree that’s true, if my main state of being is this dissolving soreness, then how could i possibly be effective even at something that appears to be “the right thing to do”? and moreover it’s like if every single thing i could conceivably do with my life is categorizable as “evil”, then “evil” ceases to be a worthwhile judgment to make and abide by. everything is nothing and nothing is everything so you might as well just do whatever you want, right? but of course that’s not acceptable because in doing whatever i want, with no regard for the worldly consequences, i still feel terrible. so to try to treat that condition, i for-just-one-instance choose to go to the tiny neighborhood grocer next door to the constantly-expanding chain store right next to him, and i remember to bring cloth reusable grocery bags, which of course i know will just be choking out flora and fauna after i’m dead or stopped using them, and then the radical leftist voice in my head berates me for just “doing good” as a hollow gesture designed to make myself feel and look better, and we’re back to everything is nothing and nothing is everything all over again.

and why even worry about this, or literally anything, when at any moment we’re all going to be bombed off the face of the planet because we’ve elected, seemingly for entertainment’s sake, this scandalous id monster who isn’t even a real politician? i’m running out of these daily pills that i need for some real dumbass reasons, and i need to make an appointment for my annual medical humiliation in order to get more of them, but it’s so hard to care. over the last several years i built up a certain amount of personal pride by “being brave” and submitting myself to normal adult maintenance routines, but the more of them i’ve been through, the more they just feel like some sort of kafkaesque ritual whose only result is its own existence. and if i’m just going to boil to death in the rising oceans anyway, why bother?

the most rational idea that my tiny shitty brain is able to come up with is that the best most of us can do is to just do what feels “right”, as often as is practically feasible. so i think, well, leaving tumblr would be a thing, even if it doesn’t make a real difference in real life, it would be something i did based on a feeling of at-least-vague altruism. but then i think of all my friends here, people who are remote and in bad spots in their lives who i can at monitor in some well-meaning way, and i think about my family members here and their excellent art projects that are facilitated by this place, and like doesn’t my thought process indicate that i think all of THOSE people are evil parasites too? i mean what is the ultimate extension of the logic i’m trying to employ here? when i think about that i feel like a bigger sack of shit than ever before. then i kind of start thinking about all the people in the history of my life who have openly categorized my depression, whatever its sources and symptoms at the time, as just me being a pill, being difficult, being negative, being counterproductive, looking for attention: the explicit or tacit response being, “why don’t you just _______?” but i don’t know what this ________ is that’s supposed to replace all my feelings and behavior. i guess that’s kind of the point of this whole thing, that i have no idea what the alternative is supposed to be, to all this, and how i can “just” do that instead.

so, maybe just because it’s something to do, i’m thinking of moving over to blogspot or something that makes me feel even slightly less complicit in the actions of these cartoon villains that run everything. i understand that if i do that, then i’ll be lucky to maintain relationships with even like ten of the people whose presence here i know and love. i assume i would just continue on as normal, although without the benefit of this often-amazing kaleidoscopic font of images and ideas, and the ability to glibly inject some “hilarious” thought of mine into other people’s uptake streams, and the surprise discovery of new and exciting people via the entropy that rules my dash. or maybe i won’t risk all that, and i’ll just sit tight right here, because what really would be the actual result of my bailing? maybe i’ll just delete this later today, when i’m feeling sufficiently embarrassed and overexposed about it. i guess i’m going to go spend money i don’t deserve to make on some stuff that i don’t need to have, in a place that damages the world when i have to live in both obvious and invisible ways, while i think it over, for the rest of my natural life.

#deletable

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spideycents · 6 years

Text

B-Roll // Shawn Mendes - 4: rolling

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

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trigger warning: sexual harassment

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"Maybe I'll just see you guys at lunch," Shawn suggests as we're climbing out of the van. It's stopped on the street outside a massive high school gym.

"Yeah maybe," I shrug. "Depends on how busy things get."

"I won't be busy," Michael chimes in. "I'll probably be on my third plate of pasta."

"Unless it's chicken," I laugh lightly.

"If it's chicken, then I'll eat salad," Michael says flatly.

Shawn's looking back and forth between the two of us. "Chicken's bad, eh?"

"Very," I say simply before Michael can go off on his long rant that I've heard a billion times.

"Man, guess I won't eat chicken today then," Shawn laughs lightly.

"Oh no," Michael cuts him off. "It's not your chicken. Crew food is always super bougie and delicious and amazing and sometimes you guys have lobster and chocolate fountains and basically crack. It's the extras food that's dogshit. It's like school mystery meat."

"Someone probably ran over the extra's chicken on their way to set," I add. "A month ago."

Shawn grimaces. "Crazy."

We nod.

"It's the worst," Michael continues. "Always has been. Always will be."

"I don't know," I shrug. "I think I've accepted it and kinda like it now."

"Well then we'll trade today," Michael says. "You can eat extras catering while I get crew."

I cringe. "I think I'll just bring you a brownie and we'll call it square."

Shawn chokes back a laugh and I look at him.

"Cause brownies are usually square," he smiles.

I roll my eyes, but a hint of a laugh sneaks it's way onto my face.

I'm about to say something really stupid about puns, but I'm saved by someone yelling for Shawn over by the gym.

We all look over and see the guy who was with Shawn in the parking lot this morning. He's waving him over. I can see base-camp across a practice field by the gym, so Shawn's trailer must be over there.

"Well," he turns back to us. "That's my cue."

"It was nice meeting you," I smile at him and hold out my right hand. He takes it in his. His handshake is strong, but it doesn't hurt. It's just...secure.

"Yeah, you too," he smiles back.

"See ya around," Michael nods at him.

"Let me know if ya get the bad chicken and maybe I'll bring you a burger, man." Shawn tells him.

Michael laughs lightly. "You got it."

"Break a leg," I tell him.

"Thank you," he smiles again and turns away. "See ya."

"See ya," I say softly as he turns away and heads over to his friend.

"Fuck, it's cold!" Michael exclaims, already walking quickly toward the gym doors. Blue signs taped to orange cones have arrows printed on them that say Extras Holding is that way.

We drop our things at our usual spot in holding.

Michael collapses into a folding chair. He pulls a hoodie out of his bag and bundles it up then sets it on the table in front of him.

I raise my eyebrows at him. "Nap time already?"

He nods.

"Are we not gonna talk about what just happened?"

He shakes his head.

"But-"

"Shhh." He folds his arms under the hoodie and buries his face in the fabric.

I roll my eyes and look around the gym. There are tables set up for breakfast, but nothing's been put out yet. There's a bright orange water cooler on a table against the wall by the door where we came in, but that's about it. No one's come by to set out boxes of fruit and granola bars and gummies yet. I'd kill for a PB&J station right now.

My stomach's actually starting to hurt, I'm so hungry. I should've grabbed something from home. Michael managed to down an iced coffee before we left, that'll honestly hold him until lunch. All I got was my water bottle.

If I don't have real food in five minutes, my inner Hulk might be unleashed.

Maybe crew crafty's been set up by now. I won't get in trouble if I ransack the cart. I have email proof that I'm part of this movie.

God, they need something more solid and tangible, like ID badges or something. Walkie-talkies with our names sharpie'd onto a piece of tape is so half-assed. I don't think I get one of those anyway.

I wonder where crew crafty is...

Close to set? Maybe? Probably?

I don't know.

Should I ask someone?

Can I ask someone?

I look like a fucking child. No one is gonna believe I'm crew. That PA definitely didn't.

Maybe I should pull up that email and have it ready to flash to anyone who questions me.

I wander out of the gym, into a big open hallway. The makeshift signs taped to the walls have arrows pointing toward holding, set, catering, base camp, and the bathrooms.

Thankfully, those are right by the gym. I make a mental note of the location of the women's room and head outside, toward catering and base camp.

There are no real parking lots at this school, which explains why we parked at a gravel lot behind some church a few blocks away. The only parking spots line three of the four streets surrounding the school. This part of the city is a grid system, which should mean we're downtown and near a parking garage or two, but we're basically in the suburbs. Like the old suburbs. The houses around the school are all one story, maybe two, not big at all and look like they were built in the 60s or 70s. Which they probably were.

I leave the school through a row of three sets of glass doors. I walk through the middle set and push both doors open in a grand double door exit because I'm extra like that.

I head for the large practice field behind the school and make a bee-line for base camp.

I wonder if Shawn's made it to his trailer yet.

Since they can't park any trailers on the grass field, they're all in a gravel lot in the corner farthest from me. Except for all the semis full of costumes and the makeup trailers that flood out onto the street. As I trudge across the field, which is slightly muddy since it's been raining a lot this summer, I notice another parking lot behind the gym. I see steam rising from a small village of tents, which can only mean one thing.

My pace goes from tired trudging to Usain Bolt Olympic sprinting in three seconds flat.

I lurch to a stop when I reach catering. I'm panting, but I can't tell if that's from the running or my hunger or both. The cooks are in a frenzy, getting stuff ready for breakfast. Everything smells so amazing that my mouth waters. I'm about to dive my face into a griddle covered in bacon when another smell catches my nose.

Nicotine.

Oh god, it's foul and unpleasant and completely ruins my appetite, so now I'm really pissed off.

There's a small group of smokers huddled around a loading dock that's just past catering. I'm so annoyed that they're standing so close to the food. They're gonna make their awful smells seep into the food. I swear, if I eat pancakes that taste vaguely of cigarettes, I will shove their lighters up their butts.

No pun intended.

There's a door that goes back into the gym, but to get to it, I have to pass the smokers.

I get some weird looks from the caterers while I quickly make myself a cup of coffee and grab some eggs, bacon, and toast, but no one comes up to me and yells at me or demands proof that I'm really crew.

I try to hold my breath while I walk past the smokers, but my lungs haven't been under this much pressure since middle school cross country.

I hate this.

The smell's going to cling to my clothes.

This sucks so much.

I hate nothing more than this god awful, putrid stench.

I try to take in long deep breaths in the clean air that still smells and, oh god, kind of tastes like bacon. Fucking shit. I'm so fucking hungry!

I don't want to make it too obvious that I'm holding my breath or speed walking, but I want to get by the smokers as quickly as humanly possible without full on running.

"Lyla!"

Oh god. Oh please no.

"Hey! Lyla!"

I look over at the group and waving back at me is Jake, the literal bane of my existence.

Fuck him.

"Hi Jake," I call back and walk over to him, but still keep a wide berth between us.

Take note of the space I'm not closing. Let this conversation end before it even begins.

He smirks at me and I notice his gaze fall down my legs and back up my body for an agonizing second, then he looks back at my eyes. "How you been?" he nods.

Really?!

A slight shiver makes me turn my neck and raise my shoulder slightly to force it down.

I hate this.

I hate him.

Rot in hell.

"I'm great," I say, faking enthusiasm. "How are you?"

"I'm good," he nods again, but it's more like a bro nod rather than a flirt nod. "Living the dream."

I choke back the feeling of something rising in my throat.

God, I forgot how much he says that. I hate that stupid phrase.

I laugh lightly, but it's in that moment that I realize everyone else in the smoker's group has stopped talking. They're watching us.

They're quietly taking long, slow drags, the soft glow briefly illuminating their faces. They're shrouded in shadow until the light catches their eyes and I know they're looking at me. I don't want an audience. I didn't sign up for this.

The stench of the smoke is still so foul and it's taking every ounce of self-control I have to not scrunch up my nose or cover my face with my hand or my shirt.

"What are you booked as?"

Why is he still talking to me? For once, I want him to be the douchebag that he is so I can go inside and get the hell away from him.

I don't understand. Usually, after we've exchanged the pleasantries, he looks bored and it's clear he's lost interest in me, but he's still looking at me intently. I don't think his eyes have left me once.

I feel a flush rise in my cheeks.

I don't want to deal with this right now. Especial not here, exposed and self-conscious. We're not doing this right now

"I'm not an extra."

Stop responding, Lyla. Walk away. Go inside.

His eyebrows raise in surprise and I have to fight the impulse to roll my eyes so hard, it gives me a headache.

"I'm a makeup assistant," I add.

"Oh, really? That's awesome!" Gotta love his fake excitement. "I'll be sure to come to your chair then."

He winks at me.

I'm gonna kill him.

He's not hot enough to get away with this shit. He may have nice eyes and he's tall and in moderate shape, but he's got a weird face, receding hairline, protruding jaw, and disgusting beard that's somehow always greasy.

He's garbage and I'm done with him. Really done.

"If it's open," I say curtly then I turn on my heel and walk back into the gym.

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I couldn't sleep when I wrote this so if it’s awful, blame global warming.

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akxyaptn-blog · 5 years

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Does homeowners insurance cover Water Damage ?

We just came back from a trip and the rain really made a mess. We have a home in san jose that has water damage? We never used or tried our insurance.

BEST ANSWER: Try this site where you can compare free quotes :HELP-INSURE.NET

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im only 18 and totaled her car and in Canada, its 2000 else has received any and i forgot to going to be 18 is now $137 per pressure, fractured c1, infections insurance affordable, no # s a car accident, his it wasn t a good with the same address? called Geico and they my first house and old. I currently have how long do you or are they any car... I want a I know the V8 in their policy, or points and rates regardless? vehicle you hit so just want to see a 2 door car??? read, the more i 2500 clean title 120,000 I have an N I want is cheapest Insurance for Young Drivers $20 flea and/or heartworm a website that has what are the pros of this oh I m vision coverage. Paying $208/month The lady I spoke legally and paid for it and will they may not be aware we were wondering if be upgraded to full and which will not? .

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