#he's gods weakest wet cat ever | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

btsinwonderland · 3 years

Text

A Drop of Poison - Ch. 11: Confused

A Loki fanfiction!

Previous Chapter --- Next Chapter

Full Chapter List

------------------------------------

He stared at you and put a hand to your chin. “You are so beautiful,” he said.

You blushed and moved your face close to his, much braver than you really were, since you knew it was a dream. His gaze bore through yours and he leaned down, gently pressing his lips to yours. Unbidden, you grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him deeper into the kiss. It was a feeling of complete ecstasy. Though, you felt strangely weighted on one side of your body than the other and you did not know why. You brushed that thought aside and continued to kiss Loki. His lips were so smooth it drove you mad.

“Oh, Loki,” you said, licking across his lips.

“Had I known you would be this...zealous in the morning, I might have had you here sooner,” his voice was a low purr.

Your eyes fluttered open, and you looked into his wide blues. Oh no. Oh god. Your stomach dropped as you rubbed your lips together and felt wetness...his saliva. Your professor’s saliva.

You launched yourself away from him so hard that you fell off the bed in a pile of sheets and a pillow you tried grabbing onto.

Professor Laufeyson’s dark head peeked over the side of the bed, eyebrows raised. “Are you alright Miss Eves?”

You felt for your clothes, relieved to feel them there and that you had not stripped them off in the middle of the night like a lust driven maniac. The desire to disappear into the ground occurred, but you forced yourself to raise your eyes and look up at him. “Professor, I am so sorry, I-I thought it was a dream.”

He rolled over onto his stomach and rested his head in his hands with a smirk. “And what, pray tell, would you be dreaming about, Miss Eves?” He said with an eyebrow raised as he looked down at your body. You felt yourself grow self-conscious and lifted the sheet closer to you even though you were clothed. He had never looked at you like that before. There was a mischievous gleam in his gaze that made you feel like you were the only interesting thing in the room. And that was a dangerous notion.

You glanced at his side where the wound was. The bandages. “How are you feeling?”

He looked down at himself and lightly grazed the spot. “Well, it seems you picked the right potion, since I have not grown any vestigial organs,” he looked back at you and smiled. “You saved my life, Miss Eves.”

You looked away from his intense gaze. “T-thank you for coming to get me back there. You saved my life too.” Then a thought popped into your mind. You cocked your head to the side. “If you could apparate us out of there, why did you wait until Fenris recovered? Why didn’t you get us out of there right away?” You looked at him and he smiled wider, like a cat caught with a canary in its mouth.

Your butterflies withered away in anger. “You didn’t come for me. You went to look for Fenris to find the Tesseract!”

He got off the bed and circled his hands in the air. The sheets levitated off of you and neatly reassembled themselves atop the bed. “I saw students go where they ought not to be, so I did my duty as a professor. Then, there was an opportunity so -”

“An opportunity?” You said, indignant. “Before or after I get eaten by the beast?”

He stopped arranging his bed and walked around it, towards you. “Come off the floor, love.”

You refused to take his hand, but you sat on the bed beside him, crossing your arms.

He smiled at your movements in the sort of way that could disarm you completely, but you held strong against his charms. He reached out to your face and moved a stray lock of hair away. His fingers lingered there, and he caressed your cheek. “I would not let anything happen to you. In all honesty, I had not planned to face the creature this early, but I went into the forest because of you.”

The butterflies came back slowly, one at a time, filling your stomach with a steady mixture of happiness and fear. “So, you will go after Fenris again? Even though you nearly died this time?”

Professor Laufeyson lowered his hand and took a breath. He looked away from you for a moment, and you thought you saw a look of forlorn on his face. “Yes I will, but,” he said, turning back to you, “it will be on the coldest night of winter, for that is apparent when he is at his weakest.”

Your eyes lit up. “So that’s at least two months from now!” I can still save him.

Professor Laufeyson chuckled at your excitement. Then his gaze darkened as he looked at you with that look in his eyes that made your heart leap into your throat. He leaned towards you and spoke in your ear. “Now, what shall I do to bide my time?” His voice was low and husky.

You felt your nipples harden underneath your shirt and reflexively leaned into his body as he placed one gentle kiss on your neck. Then, as soon as you felt him, he was gone, and you nearly fell back onto the bed. You looked up, confused to see him standing at the end of the bed, with a wide grin.

“As your professor, Miss Eves, it is my duty to reprimand you for breaking the rules. I will speak with the head of your house, Professor Bjorn, regarding your...punishment. For now, minus thirty points for Hufflepuff.”

You scoffed. “What?”

His eyes glinted dangerously. “Did you really think I would let you run free when you nearly killed yourself and endangered two other students? There are no favourites to be played here, Miss Eves, if that’s what you were thinking.” His gaze lowered and though his words were completely proper, the low tone of his voice and the intensity of his gaze seemed to say something else entirely. Just wait and see, he seemed to say. “I’ll put in a good word with the Headmistress not to expel you and your friends, since you did manage to save the boy.” He actually winked at you and gestured to the door for you to leave. “You may want to visit your friends in the infirmary. I’m sure they’ll be worried sick.”

Still in shock about the drastic change of tone, you got up and walked to the door. You looked back, wondering what happened, or if you had done something to elicit the change. When you looked back at him, he was occupied with arranging his wardrobe for the day, not even looking at you.

Your heart sank a little, but you left without another word.

***

After a long warm shower, and a change of clothes, you felt a bit like yourself again. Your black pleated skirt hung crisply over your thighs and you adored the feeling of putting on fresh black knee-high socks. You sighed with a comforted relief. Your hair was damp, clean and smelled subtly of roses.

You tried to avoid thinking about Professor Laufeyson and failed miserably. It was the thought of being suspended that lingered in your brain. What if he could not convince Headmistress Frigga not to expel you? It was not as if he curried much favour with anyone at the school.

Then there was his strange behaviour. Was it because you accidentally kissed him? Oh, what a fool! How incredibly inappropriate. You berated yourself, though a small part of you, the evil hedonistic part, cheered you on grandly. For a brief moment, you thought he had enjoyed himself...just a little? Though, he was the type of person who always seemed to enjoy themselves, whether or not they really did. Professor Laufeyson could put on whatever emotion he wanted like a second skin, regardless of what he felt underneath.

An annoyed huff escaped your lips as you passed the halls and walked to the infirmary.

“You lying, cheating scum!”

Turning around, you saw a livid Valkyrie stalk towards you as if she might attack. Oh dear, she looked terribly angry.

You raised your hands up in defense. “Listen-”

“Oh, don’t you ‘listen’ me! I can’t believe you went off to the Forbidden Forest and nearly got yourself killed without me!” She looked genuinely hurt, though you burst into laughter.

“I-I’m sorry, you were injured, and I didn’t want to put you in danger!” you said, and she punched you in the arm. “Ow! I’m quite bruised I’ll have you know,” you said, frowning.

“Oh sod off, you seem well enough...but I am proud of you,” she said, linking her arm through yours with a grumble.

You glanced at her with a grateful smile. The best thing about Valkyrie was that she never stayed mad for long, though it happened frequently.

“You saved the kid, and I’m bloody jealous! You’re gonna ruin Gryffindor’s reputation with that attitude,” she said, elbowing you gently.

Both of you laughed and headed towards the infirmary. You were cut off when you saw Headmistress Frigga along with several other teachers waiting for you.

“I see you’re well,” Headmistress Frigga said, looking down at you. A twinkle remained in her eyes and you could not tell whether she was angry or impressed.

Beside her stood Professor Sif, Bjorn, Heimdall, Fandral, and Hogun. Professor Sif looked angry as ever and threw you and Valkyrie a poisonous gaze. Professor Bjorn stood off to the side, holding his hand stiffly in his pocket as if were trying to concentrate on staying absolutely still. Professor Heimdall looked through you with disappointment, and that was what initially soured your laughter right away. Fandral and Hogun looked stern, though they regarded you with a sympathetic smile.

You hung your head and let go of Valkyrie, who whispered “good luck”.

“Can I see them?” you said.

“Absolutely not!” Professor Sif spat.

Headmistress Frigga chuckled. “Now, now, Professor Sif, I think that she deserves to check in on her friends. Pom has been asking about you all morning.”

She led you to the main room where several of those students who suffered injuries from the bird attack during the Quidditch game laid in bed. Though the room felt smaller than the last time you were there visiting Valkyrie.

There was Pom, sitting in a chair beside her brother, who laid in bed with a large bandage on the side of his body. There was a space where his arm should have been and your heart twinged for him. You had not heard of any spell or potion that could regenerate an entire limb.

“Freya!” Pom said, her eyes lighting up when she saw you. She jumped off her chair and ran to embrace you.

You smiled and hugged her back tightly. “I’m so glad he’s alright,” you said.

Pom stepped towards her brother, who was sleeping, and brushed his hand. “He’s alive because of you, and I don't know how we could ever repay you.” She looked back at you with tears in her eyes.

“He’s alive, and that’s all that matters,” you said, smiling at Pom.

Headmistress Frigga stood to the side, waiting for you. You turned to her and pleaded, “please don’t punish them. I made Mo and Pom come with me. It was all my fault.”

Pom was beginning to protest, but you cut her off with a look.

The Headmistress smiled at you with a knowing expression. “Come, Freya.” She led you away from the bed and towards the infirmary exit where the others were. “What you did some might consider foolish,” she said, hands clasped behind her back.

You looked at the floor as you walked.

“But others may call it brave.”

You glanced at her and she looked at you with a twinkle in her eyes. “I cannot condone your behavior, Freya, but you did manage to rescue Ken Clemmens. I don’t think he would have survived another day alone had you not found him. Fifty points shall be awarded to Hufflepuff for your bravery.”

As you entered the hallway where the professors stood, a small smile reached your lips at Headmistress Frigga’s generosity. A glare from Professor Sif wiped the smile off your face as you awaited your punishment. But you felt a little lighter knowing you would not be expelled.

“Well, it seems we have some punishments to dole out, don’t we?” Headmistress Frigga said. “Miss Clemmens will be assisting Professor Fandral for detention for the rest of the term, while Mister Darwish will assist Professor Hogun in the gardens. As for you, Miss Eves, you will be assisting Professor Sif this week with events preparation. The Halloween Ball was set to be cancelled. However, I believe it is a time to celebrate, now that we have our missing student alive and well.”

You lightened a little more at your punishment, though you were not excited to spend any more time with Sif. The Halloween Ball was something you and Valkyrie looked forward to every year.

“And, for the rest of the term, Miss Eves will assist Professor Laufeyson for detention,” the Headmistress announced.

You felt your stomach drop. “Excuse me, madame?”

Professor Fandral saw the terror on your face and said to the Headmistress, “Are you sure? She can assist me with Miss Clemmens if she would like.”

Professor Bjorn coughed and said in his raspy voice, “or she can assist me, out in the fields. I got flobberworms eatin’ all the cabbages.”

Your stomach twisted at the thought of detention with Professor Laufeyson, though not all of it was dread.

Professor Sif grumbled. “Nobody switches detention. What, Miss Eves, are you scared of our new Potions master?” She said with a vicious smile and a raised brow.

A sudden flash of jealousy hit you when you realized Professor Sif must have been thinking of the night she and Professor Laufeyson had...relations. You raised your eyes to face her. “No, I am not.”

“Lovely!” Headmistress Frigga said with a clap of her hands. “Then let us embark on the month of October with raised spirits, and a better inclination to follow the rules, hm?” Headmistress Frigga said, adding the last bit in a lower tone for you.

You nodded as your stomach was once again home to thousands of butterflies just wondering what in all hell Professor Laufeyson would do with you in detention.

29 notes · View notes

juhakn · 3 years

Text

Spring Had Just Ended

Words count: 7.5k

Theme: Slowburn, angst, fluff, established friendship

Pairing: Ten Lee and reader

summary: this summer is not what you expected when your childhood friend is back in town for a month break from college. the same person, the same feelings

You lost your cat.

Well, rather, she was the one who got lost but for some invalid reasons, your family blames you for the incident. May I remind you, an incident you clearly do not have anything to do with.

So here you are, with your friend Ten; whom you consider is very useless in your journey of finding the cat. I am a cat person, he states. You cock my eyebrow at him, completely disagreeing with his statement. He hops on the rocks, the wet rock that lives in the shallow river. It used to be your hiding spot-your cat, Thian loved to follow you here.

But college got you two caved in.

The both of you forgot to keep each other updated as he studies in Thailand, his home city while you're stuck here, in a town you're getting tired with. He would always nag every chance he gets about how you're wasting my intelligence over a small town that doesn't offer great majors.

"It holds a special place in my heart," is what you'd say.

Right now, you feel like dropping.

Holding your phone, you continue to follow wherever he goes-except Thailand. Maybe you shouldn't have brought him with you, maybe both of you shouldn't have decided to come back here in summer. He stops, "hey remember this?" he grins, his hand grasping a rock, carved with his initial and yours. Your lips couldn't help but lift themselves into a gentle smile, "yes I do, idiot."

"I remember you telling me a cat person should be able to attract cats within 50 miles away- which is complete bullshit by the way-and I somehow wore a fucking cat ears just to prove you I am one, in Halloween." He looks at you with an idiotic smile on his face. The same old smile that always makes your heart do laps.

"for the record, we were 13 and yes, a cat person should be able to attract cats within 50 miles away. You were just in denial like you are right now," you scoff.

You're the one who's in denial.

[23:17]

The quest in searching for your family (and yours) beloved Thian was a fail.

But somehow, Ten did end up in your house, eating dinner with your mother who keeps complaining about how he doesn't remember her anymore (because it's his first time visiting her in three years). You're fiddling with the spaghetti you're trying to find interesting.

Ten was a friend you met during high school, he moved from Thailand to your small town- something you're intrigued by. Why would someone ever fly all the way from a beautiful country that has little bits to everything to a small, secluded, town that absolutely doesn't have everything?

My parents wanted somewhere closed off, he would say, with a shrug followed by.

He wasn't your neighbour, or at least in your point of view (you think neighbours are the ones who lives beside, not in front of two houses by) he was a classmate.

You couldn't speak Thai, but Ten still would talk in his native language with you. Slowly, you would pick up some words but that was after he rushed to college. You never had a chance to show off your skill. Not that he's here...you feel off.

Ten was just like anyone else, he showed no interest in learning but is forced to. He once confessed about dropping school so he could become a performer.

In which he left you, for a dance major.

For his dream.

You once watched him dance. It was the month before he left for Thailand, chasing his dream. He let his warm hand slid into yours, gently grasping your fingers and stroking your hand with his thumb.

"I wanna show you something." And he did, he tugged you to your secret little space by the stream.

You watched him take off his shoes, switching them with his ballet ones. He had a big grin plastered on his face, "okay, I'm not that good so...please tell me how I did." As his toes pointed to the ground, he took a deep breath and twirl with passion.

He was a ballerino and you were falling.

[10:44]

"Do you think she'll come back?"

It was a question you loved to ask yourself. It was winter and you were lost. You still are, but you think you're getting back on track now that he's here.

Both of you decided to catch up with life, drove to the city and hang out in a newly opened cafe. There's no talking, but it's not awkward. Rather, it's comforting. You stop picking with your vanilla cake.

You look at your friend's eyes, oh-you could stare into those beautiful brown eyes of his for god who knows-you sigh, "I don't know Ten, I don't know." And it isn't a question, it's a dilemma.

Should you tell him how you feel or should you not?

You clench your teeth, the bitter taste on your tongue stayed. You just want to dance with him, you want to tell him, take your hand and wish he'd take it like his life depends on it. But that's okay, you think. But that's fine, you think. But that's nice, you think

But that hurts, you smile.

"Does Mrs Millers still sell her cherry ade? Man, I miss those days when we got them for free. I never understood why she didn't want to market it. She could be a millionaire for all we know." Ten huffs, his palm resting on his chin. He had always had pretty features, a button nose, big doe eyes, beautiful tanned skin and long eyelashes.

You couldn't bring yourself to think about his lips, you're scared you might jump onto his pink ones.

He looks at you and you reply with a shriek, "she doesn't sell them but she does still give us them," you pause, "free of charge."

Ten hums, eyes darting away from yours.

He looks at the pedestrians crossing the street, the woman walking her raging chihuahua and a man beside her with his golden retriever. The old grumpy man wearing a checkered patterned flat cap, thrusting his hands into his old, thorned brown leather jacket. Those girls chatting while eating ice cream in the hot summer wearing a matching strawberry dress.

You chuckle softly, the old man must love his grandchildren to death. You wonder if he even does have one.

In your small town, they don't have a cute modern cafe but an old vintage one. It's a cute, small building that has gone old, probably more than two decades. Its owner is an old lady named Michelle Suh whose husband is far below 6 feet in the ground. She's a sweet lady who'd give the two of you free sandwiches after school ended.

She has gotten old, the cafe would probably be closed by a few months.

Ten's eyes wander off to the old couple swinging their hands sweetly as they cross the street, adoring each other lovely.

"I wish that could be us..."

The cream tastes awful.

[11:15]

"Have you two lads date already?" Is the first greeting Mrs Millers asked. She doesn't hesitate to express her feelings (which you do admire), it just slips off her lips.

You choke on the carbonated cherry flavoured drink, your cheeks heating up with the same colour as the deep red cherries. Ten laughs freely, brushing off the old woman with his hands jokingly, stating, "I don't think we don't suit each other."

You look down at your shoes, they're sandals with a huge sunflower on each to add more aesthetical pleasing. Or maybe you're looking at the shattered pieces of your heart.

The old woman with a cherry apron sighs, "I was wishing you two could get married after my son." She smiles bitterly, disappointed that her favourite ship is sinking.

"Oh? Jungwoo's getting married?" Her son perks your interest, you haven't seen him for years after he went to boarding school. He's a couple of years younger but he's handsome.

You noticed how Ten's face dropped after you changed the subject to Kim Jungwoo; the high school student you had a crush on. It was a phase, you say. Mrs Millers is Jungwoo's foster mom, after his parents couldn't afford to raise him so Mrs Millers took him into her family's warm embrace.

Kim Jungwoo still keeps in contact with his biological parents. You knew because he accidentally overshares about his family issues when you found him crying by the river after school. You knew because the two of you would hang out by the river before Ten came. You knew because Jungwoo was your friend.

"Jungwoo's engagement was off last minute. He's here but he's a guy with a broken heart. The love of his life left him and he's a human." You pity both Mrs Millers who's forcing her lips to smile and Jungwoo...who's overwhelmed with sadness.

"Can I talk to him, Mrs Millers?" You raise your hand, asking for her consent. She nods weakly, "you can, but I'm not sure if he'd answer." And you understand, because he hates it when someone sees him at his weakest.

Once again, you knew because he told you when he cried on your shoulder when his dog died. Tuu, a white Samoyed, was his emotional support (besides you).

You sigh, thinking of all possibilities Jungwoo might make them happen. "It's okay if he doesn't, I just miss him...I want him to know that I'm here, always."

Ten flinches, but no one noticed.

Mrs Millers walk to her fridge and take the cold ham sandwich before giving it to you. She softly whispers, "can you please bring this to him, (Y/n)? He rarely goes out these days."

You nod.

You left Ten and Mrs Millers talking to each other, completely in their world. You take a deep breath, "I hope he's okay..." And walk upstairs, carefully, without making too many noises.

You knock on Jungwoo's door, softly asking his permission for you to enter. There's no response. Twice, nothing. Thrice, still quiet. You knock aga-

Jungwoo opens his door. He has eyebags under his red, dull eyes. His skin looks lifeless, he looks lifeless. Like a zombie who has nothing to do with life. No passion, no motivation...no Kim Jungwoo.

His lips quiver seeing you and you mind yourself to not squish the cold sandwich when hugging him as you slowly take him into your arms. He sobs into your chest and you coo, "there, there, my pretty boy...I'm here, jungwoo. I'm home." You pat his back with a steady rhythm.

You gentle sway your bodies into his room and closes the door by kicking it with your toe. You caress his soft brown locks, still cooing his sweet words.

For a solid 10 minutes, his sobs have stopped. You look down at him, your thumb lifts his chin for him to connect your eyes. He looks miserable, heartbroken.

You stroke his cheek gently with your thumb, "whoever did this to you, they don't know you deserve more. You deserve better, my love." You give him a sweet longing kiss on his forehead. One that screams "I miss you!".

"Now don't cry anymore, you look like a lost sad puppy." You playfully squish his cheeks with your hands, drawing circles on his soft cheeks. His lips inch for a smile as he looks at you.

Plopping down onto his bed, he follows by resting his head on your lap as you brush his hair. It used to be a hobby of yours when you two were still in high school. You think the habit might come back.

"They said they love me," Jungwoo starts. "And I believed them..." His voice shakes, his heart couldn't bear the past. "They left me, saying we were just never meant to be...it hurts knowing that I still love them. For 4 fucking years, (Y/n)," he halts.

"For 4 fucking years, we were in love and they ended it. I left after that. I left Paris and got lost. But I'm here." He cries.

His sobs get louder when hides himself in his palms. You sigh deeply, your shaking hands' pats his head. "I know that feeling," you whisper.

You do? Jungwoo asks. For 6 years of friendship, you never talk about your love life to him. He thought you were just aroromantic, so he never really cares.

"Yeah, I do." You answered his question.

"That feeling when you're just not meant to be and now you're regretting taking their hands into yours, regretting being there for them when they're sad, regretting loving them because-"

"-they left." Jungwoo continues bitterly. You nod out a yeah, you don't mind if he interrupts, it's Jungwoo and you're willing to drop the whole world for him. You stop playing with his hair and take a moment before continuing, "or maybe you don't regret loving them. You think they're the right person, but as soon as you do...they just left."

"You wanna think it's a mistake, a mistake that they leave. But it's just regret." You playfully Boop his cute nose and he scrunch it. It's cute, you think.

"I guess we're the mistresses who fell in love with married guys." Jungwoo pouts, and you nearly squish him to death. He's adorable and you're this close to snuggle him to death.

"Except that they're not." You emphasis. "And I was going to." He says as he rolls his eyes.

You interlock your hands with him, rubbing them against your cheek. "We make mistakes but I don't know if it was ever a mistake," Jungwoo confesses rather timidly. And you know he's lost, just like you.

Two friends lost in love.

Jungwoo laughs with a thin line of sadness lined in between his sweet voice. "I think they were the ones who made a mistake for leaving us, don't you think so?" He looks up at you, eyes wide open as he asks curiously.

You hum, "in your case, yes. How could a little pretty boy who deserves the whole world got left?" You say as you bring your hands to cradle his cheeks and squish them together. You earn a lively laugh from him and honestly, that's all you ever wanted. For a moment, the two of you stare at the sunset. Into different worlds, the two of you are still able to communicate with each other. He's on his own and vice versa. It's a quiet time where you both enjoy the silence in each other's warmth. The cold sandwich has already gotten into Jungwoo's stomach and he quote, "cold ham sandwiches are superior."

Jungwoo realises about what you said so he asked, "how about yours?"

"It was my choice."

[14:54]

Ten is intimidated by Jungwoo's height but he could never bring that up or you'll tease him till death. By the time you wave at the mother and her precious son, he drags you to his bike. Ten never liked cars, he fancies bikes more than them, you recall.

"What did you guys talk about?" He asks carefully with a straight face while helping you with the helmet. You shrug, "We just talk and cuddle. That's it."

Ten halts, but quickly hops onto his bike. You watch him throwing a small tantrum-by pressing the bike's gear, creating a very loud noise. As he drives you to your house, he whines quietly.

"Cuddles? Seriously? What is he? A toddler who needs cuddles to cheer up?"

As he drops you off, he runs off-without saying goodbyes. You throw your head back, stressed over your bottled up feelings for your hot friend. Ten is hot, you admit.

For anything, he's so hot you remember thinking about him in a suit during prom in the exam that you forgot to answer the exam paper. It was embarrassing and nice. He's unbearably hot that your coffee was overflowing all because you're too busy staring at his new haircut. He's too hot that you nearly missed a traffic light while driving because you were thinking about how good he could be with you.

And Ten still doesn't know about your feelings.

And you're getting pretty tired with all those butterflies that appear every time he texts you good mornings and goodnights. You're tired of those flips your stomach does whenever he smiles at you. You're tired of your heart running miles every damn time he laughs at your corny jokes.

You throw yourself onto your soft bed, head in the pillow, socks still on your feet, your sling bag somewhere on the carpeted floor and your necklace are still on.

Tomorrow's Monday.

And you have applied to work at the small cat book cafe with Sicheng. Sicheng is a friend of Jungwoo's you met during the middle school reunion. Sicheng never liked reading but he said that's the only job the town ever has. And you agree with the Chinese man.

Ten haven't met Sicheng yet, you think.

Why does every time you try to think about anything that doesn't remind you of his gorgeous self, you always find a way back to thinking about him? It feels like he connects your universe (which he does), and you will never get lost.

But you feel as if you're disappearing in the forest of love. It's hazy, you feel dizzy. The fuzziness inside you never left and biology can't even explain the feeling scientifically. You're mad, mad in love with Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul.

You shout into the poor pillow, letting your feelings go around messing your room instead of your brain. You are tired and you have work tomorrow.

So you sleep.

Wearing earphones, sad playlist shuffles to help you lull to a deep peaceful slumber without Ten.

[19:13]

"(Y/n), (Y/n)!"

Sicheng snaps you from your daydream. You blink, twice. You still can't get him out of your head. He's just there, running through your mind, living rent-free. He should at least pay one dollar for every time he crossed your mind and you'd still get only one dollar because he never leaves.

Sicheng doesn't know who Ten is, at least visually/physically, but he knows you like the man. Sicheng could tell from the way your eyes are reflecting love or whatever that shit is. He thinks love isn't real and you do agree...halfway.

"I'm sorry-what were you saying, Sicheng?" You ask with a sheepish smile, your hand awkward scratches the nape of your neck. Sicheng pinches in between his eyebrow, forehead creasing. "I'm suggesting, (Y/n). Stop thinking about Ten!" He glares, and you absentmindedly take note of Sicheng's cuteness when angry.

"I wasn't thinking about him!" Your voice is an octave high, so it's a lie. You can't lie anyways, Sicheng's sun in the Scorpio allows him to read your mind. You don't believe in astrology-it's all just a big coincidence. Sicheng however does study astrology along with astronomy. He hates physics for that, but he believes in magical stuff and rituals.

Sicheng is a spiritual man.

He rolls his eyes, "whatever. I'm saying if we can put up posters about your missing cat around the town." You bit your lips. Ten had already done that the second he found out Thian went missing. "Ten already spread the news around. If anything happens, they'd call him before me." You sigh, Ten is a smart guy.

"He's a nice guy."

That's the problem. He's a nice guy and you're pushing him away. You're the stupid one for not getting him, not confessing to him. He could be the one, he also could be a passerby.

You want him to be in your life, not just a passerby who watches your life from afar. Not just the star who appears only when you need him. You want him to be your love, always there even if you don't need him.

Maybe just maybe, he can be your Juliet-without the tragic death event(s).

Sicheng goes back to pet the fat orange cat on the counter whilst looking out for customers. He tends to keep away from rumours about him slacking off. He leans in against the marble counter, smirking, "you know, if you keep thinking about him, I'm afraid he might show up." Sicheng snarky comment make you feel less nervous.

"You attract what you fear," you warm him. You walk back to cleaning the windows, way too occupied with talking to your handsome co-worker. Sometimes you wonder what could you have done to be blessed with attractive people in your life. You're lucky to live in the same realm, era, area, with them. And the fact that you know them...personally, is, really wholesome.

"No wonder he's here." Sicheng comments and you nearly slip. A what feels like an electric shock makes your body slightly imbalanced from the slippery tiled floor.

"Oh, shit-" you brush off the stain on your shirt. You look around, there's no Ten.

Sicheng laughs as you feel your cheeks warming up. You grasp the dirty towel and throw it onto Sicheng. You don't aim for his face because he's so pretty it hurts...yet it ended up flying directly to his forehead.

You burst out bubbly laughs, holding your stomach while Sicheng picks up the dirty towel with disgust. Sicheng looks at you and looks back at the towel. "Now, would it harm someone if I throw this to someone?" His lips curl up into a vicious smile.

You notice and quickly run between the books. You know Sicheng wouldn't dare to throw it- he might ruin the vintage. And he loves them. Summer is when we read books with cats, he states.

As the two of you continue playing around and bickers about the towel, the bell door rings. A customer has entered. Your eyes dart to the door and your knees wobble. A very, attractive young man whom you assumed is probably a graduate is greeting a calico cat named Hana. "God...why do such men always surround themselves in our lives?" Sicheng bites his lips.

"I don't know, but he is damn hot." You whisper, eyes still glancing at the stranger. "Hey, you have Ten! Enough collecting!" Sicheng flicks your forehead and you swear you heard a loud smack. You heard a soft chuckle behind you. "You know Ten?"

You turn around, dizzy. The man has a sharp nose, a defined jaw and big eyes. His cheekbones are visible and that makes him more...hot. however, hot is not the right word to describe his attractiveness. Perhaps, gorgeous does. You stutter over your words, "Yes- yes I do know Ten!" You cringed at yourself.

The man's eyes gleam under the light of the cafe upon hearing your answer. "Do you want coffee?" Sicheng interrupts, finding excuses to get away from the eye-gouging scene. It's exaggerated, he knows. The mystery man simply nods and asks for a cup of iced Americano. Sicheng's breath hitch, "basic bitch."

He doesn't mean it in a bad way.

Sicheng sets his foot to the coffee maker. The mystery man looks back at you, his charming smile never fades. He slowly leans in and whispers, "please do something about Ten. We're getting a bit annoyed by his rants." Your eyes widen, taken aback by his sudden action. The man simply takes a step back and winks, "the name's Hendery. We'll have lots of meetings from now on."

"I'm...glad?"

"Here's your coffee!" Sicheng suddenly appears and Hendery pays for it. He points his index finger to your lips and puts it on his own before mumbling about what you think is, "secret."

Hendery walks out after he pets all the cats in the cafe (which takes him around 10 minutes because they're 10 cats). Sicheng nudges your elbow, "what was that all about?" You shake your head, "I don't know but I do know he's handsome."

Although, handsome is an understatement. Hendery is...heavenly charming. Yeah, you think he suits heavenly more. However, Ten is still on top of the list. Because ten is hot as hell.

[07:27]

Spending time with cats is never on the summer bucket list but you think it completed the summer itself. You can die happily now. Not to mention now that Ten is here, summer is a bit warm for you now. Warm because you're currently holding his hand tightly-as if you'd let him go any second, on your way to watch a play.

Few hours earlier, he had invited you to watch his friend's play, Hendery, together. At first, you didn't think plays are for you. Heck, that thought never once appear in your mind. But seeing Ten was so desperate for you to be there with him, you thought, why not? It could never harm anyone.

Your heart feels giddy and fuzzy. As soon as he shows the tickets to the security, he pulls your hand excitedly. Perhaps he's just giving his friend his support.

Joy overtook you as he continues holding your hand even during the play which makes your focus on him, not the play. Though the only thing you remember is the title of the play; "Charming Lady." It is not a traditional play, Ten whispers.

It's my original idea, he grins. You scrunch your nose in confusion, plays requires money, you remember. So how in the world-oh...

It's my original idea, he grins. You scrunch your nose in confusion, plays requires money, you remember. So how in the world—oh. Ten's a famous chef's son and yet, he still doesn't know how to cook rice...for some reason (he has his mother why would he cook?). He's rich as hell, for crying out loud. Everyone would sacrifice themselves just to be served by his family. Their speciality in cooking raised everyone's standard on one's tasting buds whether by the texture, presentation or the taste itself. You once tried their signature, pineapple crab curry, cried and you swore to never discriminate food ever again.

"This...is voluntary. You could say I just want to share my world of arts with people for free. The tickets are exclusively given for people with love for art. I did some research of them...and it's intriguing." Ten lay back on his seat, careful not to spill his coffee onto the floor.

Coffee and plays, a combination you never know you need. It goes well together. The bittersweet longing taste of espresso laces within the dramatic plots of acted out scenes. Truly, a masterpiece.

[00:58]

Charming lady is a rather cliche story, you must say.

Charming lady is based off a woman's dream of becoming a wife to a rich man and travelling the world. And sadly, the man she loves moves away without her as he finds more opportunities in other countries. She would cry herself to sleep every night, wishing-maybe God would help.

Poor soul, you think.

Just like you.

Hopelessly in love with a man you know you would never have chance with. And to every each day you wish for him to look at you, may if it's just seconds, may if it's just a short while. You hope those twinkling eyes of his would shine seeing you, but you could only hope.

You hate fate.

As the story progresses, hendery is the protagonist, the villian or whatever Ten said. Now, Hendery's role is the most crucial affect to the whole plot. He thicken the play by simply pursuing the woman-a whole cliche, likewise.

But you know how it feels.

To see someone who's in love, but not you. You're desperate, you're selfish for wanting him. But how could the little heart of yours endure such a burden in the name of love? Whether it'd be yours or his. As you grew up, you understood the villain more this developing a hatred passion towards the selfish hero(es).

You couldn't shed a tear but something break your heart there.

You know Ten will be leaving again.

His love for dancing wouldn't get him anywhere if he stays here.

After the two of you watched the theatre, Ten suggested a cafe that sells good sweets. The evening is quiet beautiful today with the clouds blushing on the horizon, the sun spreading its last shiny crown for today. You look at the menu, chose one portion of banana milk smooth and a red bean flavoured bun while Ten orders Chai Tea for himself.

"Hey! I've been calling your name for 3 minutes now!!" Ten's voice sorts your thoughts back to reality. You whisk your head to look at him and apologize. "I was way in my mind." You rub your arms softly, the cold night of summer is a hassle. You may never feel his warmth again after this.

He makes an annoyed expression, "here's your smoothie. Banana. And that's probably the only thing I hate bout you, hoe." You snicker, "it's just a smoothie, Ten! You're just getting on your own nerves!" You let out a big laugh, one that make your stomach flips.

"Ew, we're definitely not soulmates." Ten says with a disgust, his tongue poking out and his eyebrows furrowed. He takes your hand in his, grasping it lightly as if you're as fragile as a glass. Your lips reach for the cold blended beverage and slowly sips. Ten watches is disbelief, his eyes narrowed-he's not a fond of fruit, his mother said 6 years ago.

"You know, that play was a first. I really appreciate it when you said you could come. I know it's not that great to you...because you've always hated love and stuff...but seeing my best friend showing up to give support is nice." His ears are red as a cherry, you noticed. Your breath got heavier as your chest thumps vigorously against your ribcage, begging to burst out.

Honestly, you don't really mind if he views you as just a friend. You are far more happy to be on his 'my loved ones' list. If you're able to make him happy, that's all that matters.

You sigh deeply, "what can I say to my parasite? I have to give everything of mine or you'd die." You ruffle his hair, smiling from ear to ear. Ten grins, like a cat, and your heart did a back flip.

"Let's go home."

Ten shakes his head upon hearing your suggestion. "Come on, (Y/n). It's been two weeks and we ever did was going to a cafe, work and sleep. Aren't you getting bored?" The man wiggle his eyebrows playfully and you know where is this going. You laugh, "Ten, I have work tomorrow and I can't afford to sleep late today."

Tomorrow's Tuesday and by now, you've just realised how time flew so fast. It feels like it was just yesterday Ten moved to your neighbourhood. It feels like it was just yesterday the first time the two of you met. It wasn't even special or dramatic like anyone's first loves, but...it is special at least to you.

Little things pasts like the waves. So you want to cherish everything before the end of the world. You are afraid of not completing the role of yours before you die but your mother always warn; "never rush into life or death will move forward." You look up, the soft night breeze softly gust onto your cheeks. A little goodnight by them. The stars are laid across the black canvas of the so called night sky.

Ten looks up too, "who said that?" He closes his eyes for a second, enjoying his youth while he still can before adulthood reaches his time. He continues, "anyways, I was going to tell you to let's go rob your cafe."

This caught your attention—he always does nonetheless. Your eyes widen as saucers, breath hitched, cheeks flushed from the cold,"are you crazy?" You stressed. Ten shrugs his shoulders and meet you in the eye. "For the cats, (Y/n). Think of the cats!" He exclaims dramatically—and you like that about him. He always care for little things, he's attentive of others. Ten may deny all of your sweet statements of his but you know better.

"You're still not over by that?" You roll your eyes and if not, you want to show him your eyeballs fall out of the sockets then put it back in. Just to show him how "annoyed" you are.

On his fourth day of vacation—1 summer free of notifications of "new assignment posted"—you had told him about how Mrs. Suh loves the cats but not enough to let them into her house. She said it reminds her of her late husband. "No, how could they let the cats caged overnight? That's like...a devil's son."

You turn to Ten, "Oh Ten, they're fed. They also will go to walk every morning. It's not like they're dying!" Your feet starts walking to its own pace on the concrete path. The city is quiet, peace and calm. Ten follows. Just like he always does and now, to you, it's time you go on your own paths for the sake of yourselves.

"Fine, fine. I admit I'm exaggerating." He thrusts his cold hands into the pocket of his denim jacket. Ten has things for fashion. Occasionally, he designs for small companies for savings or charity. You flash a grin,"do you still want to do it?" And Ten nod enthusiastically, excited.

You think for a minute and, "race you to the cafe!" You grasp onto your banana smoothie cup firmly, it's only half full. He seems to be taken aback, nonetheless, he starts chasing, shouting, "hey, that's like 20 miles on foot!"

Breathless, still on the run, you turn,"then you better get your foot on the damn pedal!"

Does Nakata ever cares about others? The outcome is a big fat no in red. But even for cats, there are some exceptions and Ten is the exception. The Siamese cat doesn't like anyone unless it's Ten Lee. But fuck the world for having only one Lee Yongqin.

[00:13]

Ten decide to only let Nakata out to avoid getting you fired.

He gently stroke the purring cat.

Oh, to be a cat is a blessing. To be pat by a man named Ten Lee is a blessing. You look in awe, "See, Nakata? I told you you're a 'tsundere'."

The cat glares, then proceeds back to enjoy his little massage therapy. He's too tired to argue you (or he just simply loves ignoring people). You chuckle, turning to Ten. "Do you want some coffee?"

Ten shakes his head briefly. "I don't want an adrenaline rush." You shrug your shoulders, his lost. "Oh please, as if college students aren't caffeine addicts. I'm dialling the pizza." You say, phone on your hand, dialling the local pizza. When you were a kid (actually still till this day), you develop a fear of ordering. And you absolutely hate it when your mom left you alone at the cashier because apparently she forgot to grab the sugar.

You had no money and you were nervous seeing the line had shorten up.

You ring up, and order one box of pepperoni. Classic choice. Nothing goes wrong with classics. Ten sighs, sinking into the torn couch. "Seriously, I live off pizza and coffee. Kun probably hates me for that." He smirks, remembering a friend from college. "There are so many reasons to hate you, darling. Hey, isn't Kun a music major?" You smirk.

Ten once told you about Kun, his roommate. Ten is the epitome of party of life and he could never turn down alcohol for God's sake. Because God forbid him being sober. And one time, he knocked out himself and Kun had to dragged his ass back home. Kun was mostly mad that he had to be responsible for Ten (because the lecturer would ask him about Ten's whereabouts). The whole campus knows they're roommates.

Ten's famous, it's expected.

And you somehow still remember it because 1)if you were to be in love, you will make sure to remember everything. 2)he complains about how kun sounds like his mom a lot—and you could never be anymore happy knowing there is someone taking care of him. 3)kun told you too. He also figured out on how much you're in love with Ten and quoted, "it's as if he's your world—no, your entire universe." And you couldn't agree more. You and kun are secretly friends behind Ten's back.

Preferably because you two gossips about him in the chat...a lot. He said they're for blackmailing if Ten ever threatens him. But you just answer, drop a basket of fruits on the welcoming mat, monotonously.

"Yeah, he always nag how we don't take care of health. Calories and whatever. Sometimes I wonder why he just don't take nutritions."

""Yeah, he always nag how we don't take care of health. Calories and whatever." Ten huffs, watching the cat jumps off his lap and dissapear somewhere between the wooden shelves. "He sounds like Winwin. That guy always nag about people's taste in coffee. He hates it when they order iced Americano because apparently, that's basic." You say with despite, because he did judge you for just ordering iced Americano. It isn't your fault for getting overwhelmed by the sudden tick of anxiety.

That was a year ago, the night you met Sicheng. It was Christmas and he was desperate to close the cafe and barely even got the cats into the cage.

Ten rolls his eyes, "tell me about it." But in the end, he knows you have a soft spot for Sicheng (though he never really know who is this man). That man is cute and has a thing for astrology? Sign (Y/n) the fuck up. Ten is still busy catching up with other people and it's selfish of you to think he'd give up his time just for you. You wish you're his only friend but Ten's an extrovert. He greets everyone and anyone.

You decide to take a bold step forward, "how's dancing?" The topic still hurts you a bit but maybe it's time to move on. What happened already happened. He looks at you dead in the eye. "You know, why can't I just dance and drop the history in dancing? Why do we have to use our brains too? It's exhausting!" He throws his arms into the air, letting out a wail. His focus now on you, he asks, "how about you?"

The question is blurry. The answer is ambiguous. Is he asking about how are you doing? Should you answer with, "oh I'm in love with you and it hurts when you weren't here," or "oh, everything's okay, even if my heart aches like shit and I nearly died from the butterflies you gave me," and you choose neither.

Instead, you reply with, "journalism is still shitty. But Miss Dahlia is shittier. She thinks the whole world revolves around her." You say with despite lacing between your teeth. You hate her with a passion for asking you to write an essay about inspiration. To be decent, you entered journalism to write articles about true crime stories.

"Elaborate."

"Please allow me to jump out of the window and bury myself into the ground."

"Straight to hell." He offers his first bump. And gladly greet him back.

"From, hell."

The doorbell rings. The pizza has arrived. You walk towards the door and grab Ten's wallet from his coat that's hanging at the door. He scowls, loud enough for you to know. You brush it off. Ten has been loving off you so it's time he returns the favour. He signed up the friendship contract, nonverbal, and it clearly states, "always feed your best friend." You smile to the delivery man and wave goodbye.

You take steps to the carpet and put the box of pizza on the coffee table. You pull your knees near your chest, taking a warm slice of pizza to relieve your hunger. "How are things for you?" You start.

"Well, my life is cool." He replies, toneless. Your question make him pursue his lips, recalling everything he has done in life. The question is subjective yet he feels as if you're slipping through the cracks of his fingers—and he is beyond fucking scared to lose you. But he knows that's selfish of him.

"No potential lovers?" You yawn, sleepiness has been taunting you for the night. You can't afford to sleep here or you're getting fired. And Sicheng will kill you for leaving him alone dealing with impatient customers who doesn't know how to appreciate baristas that works hard to serve the best beverage. Being a barista is hard but falling in love with Ten is harder.

Ten stretch his arm, "not really, college is hectic for love. Too hectic." You could see his bruises on the legs as his jeans rolled up a bit. Dancers has them and he always said that it's fine and normal. Since dancers uses their bodies a lot, it's almost a routine for bruises to come along on the way.

"Have you ever been in love, Ten?" That caught him off guard. Not once you have asked him about love. It comes naturally to him. To him, love is something he wants to feel and share. That's the reason he chose dancing. To share people about his love for art performance by simply moving his body with the music. It's like fluid. You go wherever music takes you.

You take a deep breath. Love to you is completely selfish. You have no idea how to pursue love in any ways.

"My friends there...they're in love. They found someone to cherish romantically. They found someone to love and sometimes...I feel left out. They hang out with their partners on holidays and I can't really expect them to be free always." So you let it out. Those hidden feelings everytime you felt around your friends. You don't want to say you're desperate to be loved, rather you want someone to love.

After all, love is the reason of existence. To be a human is to feel emotions, to be hurt and to hurt, to make mistakes and be one sometimes.

Ten is silent. And you don't really mind, at all. So you continue, spilling your emotions and left no crumbs."My family keeps pestering me to find someone. You know how I am. I don't believe in love at first sight. I want a love that starts from a relationship. Trust is earned." He agrees by nodding silently. He doesn't need to say anything unless need to be.

"I wish I could live in a cottage with cats." You let out a breathless laugh, tears threatening to spill like pearl beads falling. He joins in,"oh, to live in a cottage core aesthetic," draping his arm over his forehead and clutch his chest.

"Sometimes, I wish I have someone too." You confess, looking away from him. Gazing at the stars, your cheeks flushed. You have no intention of hinting on him but hey, we live once. So fuck it.

Ten murmurs under his breath, "what if they're close?" He decides for himself. He's a grown man and Sicheng thinks—for some reason—fate holds everything and Ten thinks otherwise. As if the stars had written for him to be in love with you, then so be it. If he loves, he loves hard.

"Wha—" you don't have enough time. Ten says that a lot because he thinks you're going to drift away once again so he crashes his lips onto yours.

The kiss isn't the one you'd call a great one. However, it's the kind of kiss that would still leave butterflies in your stomach. The two of you are still new about this, he doesn't ask you to define and neither do you. The kiss sent sparks all over your body, he doesn't really know how to lead. But it's okay, kisses can wait to be perfected —with practice.

Everything is hazy and love is still unfair. Love is still a question no one could ever answer, playing with every human beings feelings. But that's okay because you can take slow steps with Ten, to define the journey. But you know he's going to be with you till the end of the world. Because he passed his awkward angsty teenage hears with you, he was there when you pulled your wisdom teeth out, he was there when you lost Thian and helped you to move on from it (hopefully the cat is fine wherever he is).

The spring ended and it's time for a new summer full of hope and sparks of potential love.

#nct angst #nct imagines #nct 127 #nct u #nct #nct fluff #nct ten #nct winwin #nct ten imagines #nct jungwoo

33 notes · View notes

whatifbutnot · 2 years

Photo

Undated diary entry, Villa Diodati, Switzerland

36 and again I find myself with Byron. An error of judgement. I had not seen him since Trinity, in the wildness of my youth, where we boxed and whored as young men do. For then I saw as in a glass, darkly. But when I became a man, I put away such things, for a practice in the Law, my conspirator and inspirator Sophia, the modesty and order of a respectable life. Our relationship lapsed, both embarrassed by the other. He was easy to avoid, almost never in London and, when he was, our exchange of offers for social engagement made knowingly disingenuous. We wished each other well, but to be somewhere else. I followed his career absent-mindedly and accidentally through the gossip of the day; Sophia wryly collecting scandals and delivering them to the house with the satisfaction of a cat with the gift of a dead bird. My life settled into the comfortable routine of adult life. My practice grew, and though God never blessed us with child, Sophia and I were happy with each other and our social world. Our life stretched out before us as the prosperous domesticity of our class. But then, Fate intervened, as it delights to do. Sophia caught consumption and our lives became the playthings of physicians. I sold the practice, and our house in London, and we began our weary progress of spas and sanatoria. Richmond, Bognor, Brighton, Bath, ultimately the Alps, desperately seeking an air pure enough to stem the tide of blood. And there he reappeared, walking out of the morning mist to haunt me at my weakest moment. Sophia, ghostly herself, awed that this mythical spirit had been made flesh and intrigued by the chance to open the book on my insober past, agreed with alacrity. He had a cabin by the lake, with air to be had, and the diversions of a small and risqué circle. The infamous Bysshe Shelley and his inamorata Mary Godwin, her sister and Byron's former mistress, Claire Clairmont and, to offer a gloss of respectability, his physician, poor Polidori. Despite my reservations, I could not refuse Sophia this distraction and the chance that she might draw strength from it. We agreed, left the sanatorium and made the trip around the lake to install ourselves in the Villa Diodati. And so, here I am, in Byron's world once more, this time without the protection of the blind enthusiasms of youth. The frisson granted by association with this wild troupe has enlivened Sophia, but I am conscious continually of the danger to our reputations, so carefully built over the several years. He has not changed, if anything he has degenerated further, a Godless aesthete insensitive to the needs of others. Amongst them only Polidori might fully be called respectable and he carries no weight in the public mind. Daily I look for excuses to depart, to take Sophia back to the care of professionals and out of the hands of these corrupting influences. What would it profit if she gain the world but lose her soul? But she is happy and we are trapped, not least at present by the weather, a wet, ungenial summer. To entertain ourselves we have commenced a competition, born from the literary pretensions of these poor writers. Reading Fantasmagoriana one night by a smoking fire of damp wood, Clairmont clapped her hands and suggested in her airy way that we should write something similar. Byron bit immediately, such scheme pandering to his sense of his genius. Godwin, too, believes that she might be an author, the laudable influence of her determined mother whose bravery led her to push boundaries wherever she found them limiting. And Polidori, stolid and bitter, has set himself to write as proof that he, too, might be more than Fate has allowed him to be. I do not know why I consented to involve myself, I have no doubt that my efforts will be mean and meager. I am no writer, nor have ever wished to be. Sophia, though, believes that I could be, and I could find no excuse to dissuade her. For her, I will put aside my doubts and compose a masterpiece.

#set up #no dice have been rolled #we find ourselves trapped #as it were #in a cabin of sorts #with Lord Byron #Trapped in a Cabin with Lord Byron #RPG #writing project #Oliver Darkshire

3 notes · View notes

psychopersonified · 4 years

Text

Tale of the second drawer...

Part of the prequel series to "Are we ever going to talk about this?".

I'll post little snippets of their 'not dating' days in this series. Little events that draw them together and the intimacy they share in plain sight.

--------

Q pokes at the plaster with his undamaged hand, tracing the outlines of what must be an impressive blister underneath. “Owww... With luck, I might end up with a wicked scar. Makes for an interesting conversation starter.”

Bond smiles indulgently at his exaggeration then lobs a half-hearted line at him, “Would you like me to kiss it better?” His calloused thumbs running back and forth lightly over the open palm.

Q can’t help but laugh at that,......

----------------------------------------------------

Agent 006

“Yes I know, our appointment was 2 hours ago. Sorry Q, M had me in his office for 2 more hours than expected,” Trevelyan apologises when he reports to Q.

Q looks up from the textbook he is consulting with and peers over his glasses at him. The text is a mass of hexagonal scribbles and lines that 006 recognises as chemistry symbols. There are handwritten notes in the margins and liberal application of highlighter all over the page.

“Ah 006, no worries. Your kit is waiting for you on the table,” Q gestures to the workbench behind 006 where a brushed aluminium case sits. Inside are what looks like a dozen silver pens.

“Deposit them around the areas of interest and it will detect any wireless enabled equipment within its radius. This will allow us to find the weakest link and likeliest backdoor where we can tunnel in with. As you can imagine, it only has a limited battery life, so you’ll need to be strategic about using them and coordinate with us for the timing—...”

Alec tries to listen carefully to the instructions, but his stomach objects to being ignored any longer and makes its displeasure known - loudly. The meeting with M ate (pun intended) into his lunch hour.

Q pauses going over the instructions. Trevelyan gives him a thin lipped smile hiding his embarrassment.

“...Hungry? There are some snacks in the second drawer.” Q motions to his desk with a tilt of his head.

“Ta!..” 006 all but skips to the desk. There is a selection of protein snacks and Alec rummages through the drawer to find a variety he likes. As he shuffles through the drawer, the other contents piques his interest. He peeks at Q who is still preoccupied with repacking his kit.

006 takes the opportunity to investigate:

a pair of solid gold cufflinks - judging by the weight

aviator sunglasses - non prescription, not Q’s

an Aston Martin car key fob with a separate key attached to it - the key does not correspond to the car, its for a door or a lock.

a neatly folded tie, heavy silk, designer label - not Q’s usual style

Curiouser and curiouser. Finally, an employee ID badge - he flips it over, a very familiar face is printed on the ID. James Bond.

Alec smiles -confirmation-. 006 sees it for what it is. But it is odd that the Quartermaster tolerates such territorial behaviour - unless a) the feeling is mutual or b) he’s not aware of it, which is more likely. He wouldn’t have let Alec rummage through his drawer otherwise. Oh James, you poor smitten sod.

“Anything to your liking 006?” Q catches him smiling.

Alec grabs a random protein snack, rips it open and takes a huge bite of the bar. “Oh…mmm….” he chews around his words, “—thank you.” He holds up the bar in thanks.

When Q turns back around, 006 thinks this is the perfect opportunity to screw with 007... but how? How do you piss off a possessive territorial lion? ...By planting blatant evidence of intrusion of course!

Alec checks himself, his tie-pin - gold and crusted with small diamonds. Much too gaudy for 007’s tastes. It’s the perfect juxtaposition. He unclips it and drops it into the drawer.

When he leaves Q-Branch, he’s feeling particularly wicked. Its ingrained in him, to look for and act on opportunities when it presents itself. The others would expect no less of him. He pulls out his phone to text 003 with his discovery.

Agent 003

Two weeks later, 003 returns from her mission seducing the son of a manufacturing tycoon in South East Asia, with links to human traffickers luring workers into modern slavery that span the region from Philippines to India.

She stops by Q’s desk to return her kit consisting mostly of trackers and hidden video cameras. They all served their purpose but one of them had an issue with the sound quality. She recalls the text 006 sent her weeks earlier so before leaving, she contrives feeling hungry.

“Q, you don’t happen to have something to munch on do you? I’m feeling… peckish.”

Q is pre-occupied, checking over the piece of equipment with a macroscope to understand what went wrong. “Oh, second drawer. Help yourself to whatever.”

Perfect. She goes to his desk to retrieve a snack. She only needs to remove the first packet and she has to stifle a laugh.

She spots 006’s panther shaped Cartier tie pin, next to it is 005’s Tiffany tanzanite and platinum drop earrings along with 002’s Bvlgari gold and onyx signet ring. Finally under all of it is 008’s Hermes silk pocket square.

Shoved further into the back of the drawer are the items that Alec told her about, those that belong to 007. The ID badge pushed right to the back facing down - you’d be hard pressed to notice it if you didn’t know it was there.

She had heard that 007 won’t back from Venezuela till Friday, so she’s just in time to add her calling card. She shifts around the snack packets to burry 007’s things and then drops in a stick of Chanel No5 lipstick in its signature flaming red tube - 007 will not be able to miss that.

----—

Quartermaster

Last 36 hours had been exhausting. Q had altogether probably 3 hours of sleep in that period. And he needs a shower. The cats are alright, he just checked the cameras - Q has an automated feeder set up for emergencies like this.

Q had spent the better part of the time hacking into system after system covering tracks, laying traps, planning infiltration and escape routes; all culminating in last night’s tense Ops trying to save 009 from premature death when his cover was blown by a double crossing informant. It was over now, with 009 safely extracted by their allies and on his way back to England with miraculously minor injuries all things considered.

So yes, his hand eye coordination is shot. His fingers slip on his mug handle and liquid sloshes over the top, splashing over his shirt and onto his desk. Q uses his tie to quickly mop up the spilled tea before it spreads onto the paper schematic open on his desk.

He takes the mess to the pantry sink to cleanup. The wet spot on his shirt sticking uncomfortably to his skin. Its a good thing he’d removed his cardigan earlier. He can hide the stain on his shirt under it.

As he’s attempting to remove the stain and dry his shirt as much as possible he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket. He pulls it out - its a text from Eve:

:: Where are you?? Meeting’s started ::

What meeting? Q tries to recall. He checks his calendar app. Shit! 2:00 pm Joint Executive Oversight meeting. He checks the time. 2:15pm!

He abandons the mug and tie next to the sink. No time to wash it now.

Q rushes back to his office to put on his cardigan. The cardigan doesn’t hide the topmost stain - a tie would do the trick. Also god forbid he walks into the meeting dressed so causally. They would think the young Quartermaster was starting a mutiny.

There must be a spare tie in his desk somewhere - Q thinks as he rummages through his drawers. He’s about to ask Nish to borrow his tie when his hand brushes fabric under the stash of snacks and protein bars. He fishes it out - a tie! Yes! He loops it around his neck and starts to tie it - the knot is uneven, but he has no time to worry about it now.

He grabs his laptop and rushes out the door - informing Nish about the meeting and the mess he left next to the pantry sink. He’ll clean it up later.

In the lift on the way up, as he adjusts the hastily knotted tie - he tries to remember when was it that he purchased an accessory this fancy.

——

After meeting. He tries to get back to being productive to make himself feel better. What an ordeal; he had to face-off with Timothy Hayden (IT-Branch HOD) in the meeting - no surprise there. Normally he’d be fine to hold his own. But today, suffering from sleep depravation and a wardrobe mishap meant that he was uncharacteristically flustered, which Hayden took advantage of.

His stained and slightly damp shirt front was passably hidden behind the cardigan and tie, but it still made him self-conscious. What was more, Tanner and Eve kept looking at him oddly. The navy replacement tie looked dark enough in warm light, but when it caught the harsher fluorescent light, it had a slight iridescence to it that clashed with his mustard cardigan - it clearly wasn’t his style nor his tie.

Q fires up the soldering iron. He plans to finish the circuit board for the prototype controller that will be used in a portable drone. Once he confirms it works, he’ll have the schematics sent to a manufacturer to have it miniaturised. He could at least get this bit done today.

Twenty minutes into the ‘zone’ and he has finished a round of soldering. He pauses to check his work against the overall drawing. It doesn’t look quite right.

What? He flips the drawing around. Argh! He grabs a fistful of his hair in frustration. It’s upside down!

He slams his hands down on the work table. The vibration causes the soldering iron resting on its holder to tip over. The weight of its power cord starts to pull it off the table.

Reflex makes him shoot out his hand to grab the iron. But instead of grabbing the handle he misjudges and grabs the tip instead. The 400’C tip burns his palm instantly.

“Ah!!” Q yelps and jolts back in pain. The pain makes him drop the iron - right into his lap.

He stands hastily to avoid the heated tip - and bangs the back of his head against the top baffle of the fume cabinet as well as upending the stool he was sitting on.

“Fuck!!” The escaped curse is something between a hiss and a yell.

His pained curses and bangs draws his minions to investigate. Nish pokes his head around the corner and asks “You alright sir?”

Nish takes in the toppled chair, the disheveled hair, and the way Q is holding on to his hand and makes the correct deduction. Who hasn’t burned themselves soldering?

“Go to medical boss. I’ll tidy this up for you.”

Q hangs his head in utter defeat and sighs heavily. “I’m done for the day I think. Thanks Nish.”

--—-

Agent 007

Bond is back at HQ. Ops had made it clear that he must hand them the USB stick with the time sensitive info he stole as soon as he gets back. They need to link together the web of supply chain involving the cocaine shipment from Venezuela-France-England before the people involved go back into hiding.

So here he is, direct delivery from Heathrow. He had handed the USB stick to R since Q wasn’t around. Then he had gone to the Quartermaster’s desk and the second drawer to retrieve a snack while he waits for Q to return. As jet-lagged as he is, he hasn’t seen the quartermaster for nearly a month and well... he wants more than just the voice to sustain him.

Something on top of the packet grabs his attention. A bright red tube of lipstick. What the...? He shifts the contents around, a gaudy diamond and gold panther tie pin?? And whose bloody pocket square is that???

He checks the lipstick label - Chanel No5… Bloody 003!

He takes stock of the other items again, they -all- look familiar. How do they even know about this drawer? Did Q just let anyone rummage though his desk? Worse, are those snacks not just for him?

And what about his things? A first he can’t find them, then he pulls the drawer all the way out, until the wheels catch on the stoppers. They’re buried under a pile of snacks and shoved all the way to the back. Everything is there, no wait - except the tie.

He slams the drawer shut with enough force to move the desk a few centimetres. Those bastards!

Bond storms out of Q-Branch. None of them better be in the building, especially Trevelyan. This whole thing reeks of his idea.

——

Quartermaster

Medical patched him up and sent him away with a box of hydrogel burn plasters. Dr Chen tells him that they stock it specially for Q-Branch. But that also means she is obligated to report the incident as a work place accident. Great, more paperwork and the irony of having the HOD become a statistic.

Q shuffles morosely back to Q-Branch - will this day end already. He figures he should have a nap before going home. At this rate he is likely to accidentally walk right into the path of a moving bus on the way home.

There is a set of old brown leather Chesterfield sofas, deliberately semi-hidden behind a rack of storage shelves on this floor of Q-Branch. A relic of the 1950s in perfect condition that they found in storage during one of their inventory audits. Q had it brought out to serve as a makeshift lounge, usually used by those working late nights or during pizza parties after CyberWar nights.

He removes his cardigan to use as a blanket and flops onto the sofa.

Hours later, he wakes up and the place is mostly dark except for the safety lighting. Most of his minions have gone home. It’s not uncommon to leave Q here alone when he’s pulling all nighters, but the last person would usually check in on him before they left. Not tonight.

Q indulges in a good stretch and sits up. His head feels better. It doesn’t feel like its swimming or floating anymore. But he is hungry.

He makes way to his desk to collect his things but stops short - startled by the sight of 007 lounging in his chair, feet propped up on the desk, a textbook on Advanced Biofuels open in his hands. He’s not wearing a suit, just a button down shirt and khakis which probably means he just got back from Caracas and hasn’t gone home yet.

“You’re back. What are you doing here?” Q asks softly. Genuine question, what is he doing sitting in a darkened Q-Branch.

“Came to drop off the usb drive. I’ve given it to R since the Quartermaster was temporarily out of commission.”

“Ah. Sorry about that — “ checks his watch and yawns. “That must have been hours ago. What are you still doing here then?”

Bond doesn’t answer. Instead he asks, “Is that my tie?” gestures to the loosened tie around his neck.

“Is it yours? I was wondering about it. I found it in my desk.” Q undos the tie and folds it back neatly before handing it over to Bond. As he does, he notices his own tie now hanging on the shade of his desk worklamp. He reaches for it.

“Leave it. It should dry by Monday.” Bond tells him.

Q opens his mouth to tell him that it needs a wash, but pauses when he catches sight of his Scrabble mug on the table under the light of the worklamp, the white porcelain gleaming pristine - he peeks inside, even the stubborn tea stains are gone. Q blinks in confusion.

Something about the way the two items are arranged prominently on his desk and the feigned nonchalance hiding a pleased look on Bond’s face that makes him wonder.

“Did you.. wash my tie and mug?” Q is having trouble putting together the image of 007 fresh from an infiltration job in Venezuela that involved drug trafficking and a traitorous national guard, then returning to England to do something so mundanely domestic in the pantry sink - by hand no less.

Bond doesn’t answer, then again Q doesn’t expect him to admit it even if he did. He just opens the second desk drawer purposefully and deposits the borrowed tie back in there.

“Are you hungry Q?” Bond asks instead. “Can I tempt you with supper?”

There it is. That odd way that Bond sometimes says ‘Q’ when they are alone. That slight change in tone - softer, less clipped and almost affectionate. He’s beginning to be able to tell Bond’s ‘Qs’ apart.

At the mention of food, Q’s stomach responds with an embarrassing gurgle. “Famished. Something hot with fast service please. I don’t know how much longer I can survive without solid food.”

Bond smiles, pivoting in the chair to put his feet down. He picks up and hands Q his messenger bag - laptop and charger already packed inside, keys and phone in their usual compartments.

Then he switches off the worklamp and picks up an unsealed brown envelope from the desk before ushering Q out of his own office. The package rustles-jingles with the sound of loose items sliding about inside.

“Advanced Biofuels.... How did you like the book?”

“The scribbles in the margins were enlightening,” Bond smiles wryly, “Was it even written in English?”

In the brighter lights of the lift lobby, Q can see his own refection in the lift doors - the washed out tea stains still visible on his shirt and his frightfully mussed hair from the nap. He thinks he should be embarrassed, but can’t bring himself to care. When he looks up, he sees Bond staring him through the reflection.

“Don’t ask—“

“I figured… the mug and tie in the pantry, and the splotch on your desk.”

“Bloody spies.” Q accuses fondly as they step into the lift. He tries to adjust his cardigan so that it hides most of the stains.

“How’s the hand?” Bond asks concerned, his warm fingers reaching out and curling around Q’s that were fussing with his cardigan. He pulls them away from their fussing and spreads them palm up so he can see for himself.

Bond smiles indulgently at his exaggeration then lobs a half-hearted line at him, “Would you like me to kiss it better?” His calloused thumb running back and forth lightly over the open palm.

Q can’t help but laugh at that, the flirting is so ingrained into their banter now that both of them recognise the ridiculousness of it. With the others, it is still a competition, a display of one up-manship - but with 007, it has shifted. Like they’ve called a truce, or simply didn’t care about the outcome anymore. Between them, the rules have changed. The fun was no longer in deciding a winner with a knockout blow, but in the simple joy of engaging in comfortable playfulness for as long as possible.

“I don’t know about the science of that; but I will give you the honour of hand feeding an invalid,” Q counters with a line of his own.

At the mention of hand feeding, Bond’s eyes go darker, pupils dilating. He doesn’t say anything, but doesn’t release Q’s hand until the lift dings on their floor which was (un)fortunately just a moment after.

On their way out to Bond’s car they stop at a security desk. Bond tips out the contents of the envelope onto her desk and leaves the empty envelope next to the items. The night guard’s eyes grow wide at the collection of expensive trinkets.

“Would you mind putting these in the Lost and Found please? Their owners are probably anxious to have them back. Thank you.” He walks back to a waiting Q with a smug smile.

—————-----------------

Note: If you liked this fic, there’s more like it on the blog. Including my take on a kidnapped Q. Enjoy!

#00Q #00q fanfiction #00q fic #q #Quartermaster

84 notes · View notes

boreothegoldfinch · 3 years

Text

chapter 6 paragraph i

Over the next year, I was so preoccupied in trying to block New York and my old life out of my mind that I hardly noticed the time pass. Days ran changelessly in the seasonless glare: hungover mornings on the school bus and our backs raw and pink from falling asleep by the pool, the gasoline reek of vodka and Popper’s constant smell of wet dog and chlorine, Boris teaching me to count, ask directions, offer a drink in Russian, just as patiently as he’d taught me to swear. Yes, please, I’d like that. Thank you, you are very kind. Govorite li vy po angliyskiy? Do you speak English? Ya nemnogo govoryu po-russki. I do speak Russian, a little. Winter or summer, the days were dazzling; the desert air burned our nostrils and scraped our throats dry. Everything was funny; everything made us laugh. Sometimes, just before sundown, just as the blue of the sky began darkening to violet, we had these wild, electric-lined, Maxfield Parrish clouds rolling out gold and white into the desert like Divine Revelation leading the Mormons west. Govorite medlenno, I said, speak slowly, and Povtorite, pozhaluysta. Repeat, please. But we were so attuned to each other that we didn’t need to talk at all if we didn’t want to; we knew how to tip each other over in hysterics with an arch of the eyebrow or quirk of the mouth. Nights, we ate crosslegged on the floor, leaving greasy fingerprints on our schoolbooks. Our diet had made us malnourished, with soft brown bruises on our arms and legs—vitamin deficiency, said the nurse at school, who gave us each a painful shot in the ass and a colorful jar of children’s chewables. (“My bottom hurts,” said Boris, rubbing his rear end and cursing the metal seats on the school bus.) I was freckled head to toe from all the swimming we did; my hair (longer then than it’s ever been again) got light streaks from the pool chemicals and basically I felt good, though I still had a heaviness in my chest that never went away and my teeth were rotting out in the back from all the candy we ate. Apart from that, I was fine. And so the time passed happily enough; but then—shortly after my fifteenth birthday—Boris met a girl named Kotku; and everything changed. The name Kotku (Ukrainian variant: Kotyku) makes her sound more interesting than she was; but it wasn’t her real name, only a pet name (“Kitty cat,” in Polish) that Boris had given her. Her last name was Hutchins; her given name was actually something like Kylie or Keiley or Kaylee; and she’d lived in Clark County, Nevada her whole life. Though she went to our school and was only a grade ahead of us, she was a lot older—older than me by three whole years. Boris, apparently, had had his eye on her for a while, but I hadn’t been aware of her until the afternoon he threw himself on the foot of my bed and said: “I’m in love.” “Oh yeah? With who?” “This chick from Civics. That I bought some weed from. I mean, she’s eighteen, too, can you believe it? God, she’s beautiful.” “You have weed?” Playfully, he lunged and caught me by the shoulder; he knew just where I was weakest, the spot under the blade where he could dig his fingers and make me yelp. But I was in no mood and hit him, hard. “Ow! Fuck!” said Boris, rolling away, rubbing his jaw with his fingertips. “Why’d you do that?” “Hope it hurts,” I said. “Where’s that weed?”

We didn’t talk any more about Boris’s love interest, at least not that day, but then a few days later when I came out of math I saw him looming over this girl by the lockers. While Boris wasn’t especially tall for his age, the girl was tiny, despite how much older than us she seemed: flat-chested, scrawnyhipped, with high cheekbones and a shiny forehead and a sharp, shiny, triangle-shaped face. Pierced nose. Black tank top. Chipped black fingernail polish; streaked orange-and-black hair; flat, bright, chlorine-blue eyes, outlined hard, in black pencil. Definitely she was cute—hot, even; but the glance she slid over me was anxiety-provoking, something about her of a bitchy fast-food clerk or maybe a mean babysitter. “So what do you think?” said Boris eagerly when he caught up with me after school. I shrugged. “She’s cute. I guess.” “You guess?” “Well Boris, I mean, she looks like she’s, like, twenty-five.” “I know! It’s great!” he said, looking dazed. “Eighteen years! Legal adult! She can buy booze no problem! Also she’s lived here her whole life, so she knows what places don’t check age.”

0 notes

fae-fucker · 6 years

Text

Zenith: Chapter 18-19

Chapter 18

We’re in Nor’s POV again, so prepare for edge. Though that can be said about literally every chapter in this book.

Nor is having a dream about how she’s being crushed by a small rock that feels like a bunch of very big rocks. And then she falls into an abyss (relatable), and into a big ol’ fire.

It’s very dramatic, and also? Symbolism.

Extremely symbolism.

She wakes up.

She was so cold. Her body, coated in sweat, was attracting the frigid recycled air that clung to her like a second skin.

How does one “attract” air? I know what they’re trying to say but like, at some point you just gotta stop trying to twist more meaning and drama out of every meaningless detail.

People say show don’t tell, but here, Shinsay follows up their telling with really dubious showing. Why do you do this? Just to pad the word count? More words doesn’t make you a better writer.

We’re introduced to Zahn, who is Nor’s bodyguard and also lover. They cuddle for a bit and Nor thinks about how nobody but Zahn is allowed to see her this vulnerable.

“I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think, Zahn.” She lifted her prosthetic hand to her face to wipe away the tears, then dropped it, disgusted by the sight of the gold metal, of the scars marring her upper wrist. Disgusted with herself for feeling so weak.

Ah. We’re doing this now, are we?

It’s okay though, because Zahn takes her fake, disgusting hand and kisses her tears away!

How sweet.

“You’re safe,” he said with a sigh. “I will always protect you, Nor.”

“I don’t need protecting,” she whispered.

I know this is supposed to be deep and not true, but she’s basically telling him, her bodyguard, that she only pays him to sleep with her.

To many people, Nor was the stone-cold ruler who haunted the nightmares of her foes. But to Zahn, she was just Nor. The love of his life, as he was hers.

Cool cool. The narrative then continues to talk about how they were there for each other when the war took their families and how he’s the only one who’s seen her at her weakest and bla bla bla.

This chapter is literally just a massive infodump about this new rando. You couldn’t have woven his existence into the narrative in a more elegant way, Shinsay?

“Don’t leave me,” Nor said, looking up into his eyes. Seeing the passion mirrored there.

“I would never dream of it,” he said.

Their lips touched, and his hands slid down her bare back, gentle at first. Then hungry for more as she let him lay her back down.

“I love you,” Zahn said. “My Nhatyla.”

The lingering fear from her nightmare trickled away as a very different sort of feeling took its place.

“A very different sort of feeling,” Shinsay?

Are you two grown women or twelve actual years old, combined? Why is this so coy? You can’t have both all these MATURE and EDGY characters who are all about TEH SECKS and VIOLENS while basically giggling like tweens whenever you make a reference to fucking.

If you don’t want to deal with the subject, why include it at all? This is YA, isn’t it? Teens can handle discussions and references to sex. You could probably even get away with sex scenes if you write them carefully and don’t make them too explicit.

If you wanted to be completely PG, why is everyone always making grody sex jokes? If you wanted them all to have amazing sex lives, why don’t you have them (and the narration) speak maturely and openly about the subject?

I do not understand the reasoning behind any of this.

Chapter 19

We’re back with Dex, who, if you recall, kissed Andi without her consent in chapter 17.

DEX HAD FORGOTTEN how fast Andi’s reflexes could be when she was mad.

Furious, actually, he thought, as he watched the shock on her face melt into a mask of pure, boiling rage.

The sentence above, my friends, is a perfect illustration of why I have such problems with purple prose and using a bunch of “pretty descriptions” that don’t mean jack shit just to show off how deep your writing is.

Allow me to be extremely nitpicky and go off on a tangent while I analyze this ... word vomit.

Melting happens when something gets warm enough to change state from solid to liquid, but without necessarily boiling. In writing, the word usually has positive connotations. ”Molten” metals are often used as eye colors for love interests, people “melt” when another person does something sweet or romantic for them, et cetera.

It makes people think of warmth, softness, pliability.

When Andi’s shock melts into “a mask of rage,” it implies that the rage is solidified, but also that it’s fake, because it’s only a mask. Then we’re told that it’s actually boiling still. The fact that her shock is “on” her face doesn’t help.

Now, I know what you’ll say: Eff, this isn’t literal! It’s all just a metaphor!

But metaphors have to make sense, and conflicting, confusing visuals and concepts do nothing but shine a spotlight on the author’s carelessness. They’ve picked these words because they have inherent meaning and they sound good and intense, but without understanding how to use that meaning to their advantage.

If Shinsay wanted to keep the “hot rage” angle, I’d suggest something like this:

Dex watched as the shock on Andi’s face boiled over into white-hot rage.

Jesus Christ, I’m only two sentences in.

Anywhoo, Andi beats Dex with a chair. I would’ve killed him on the spot but I’ll take what I can get.

Andi spat on the ground, then rubbed her lips with the back of her sleeve. For one moment, she looked purely Andi, angry as a wet feline and terrifyingly beautiful.

...

So uh. For future reference: Comparing to your badass, ruthles space pirate to a wet cat

is probably the dumbest fucking thing you can do.

I guess Dex is also impressed that Andi looks like Andi.

And here I thought standards couldn’t go any lower.

Maybe there’s a message of positivity in there? Dex loves you if you look like you, girls! Just be yourself, and also angry as a wet cat.

Then he saw the moment when Andi’s face changed. She transformed into someone else entirely; an actress playing the perfect part.

So you’re gonna describe to me how her shock melts into a mask of rage and how she looks angry like a wet cat, but you won’t tell me how Dex sees her slip into the role of an actress playing the perfect part? Something that would actually be quite interesting to witness?

Figures.

Andi starts acting like Dex cheated on her and Lira and Breck join in as the other women, which for some reason confuses Dex, the ultimate mastermind that he is. He catches on eventually as the other patrons start surrounding them in the hopes of a juicy fight.

Breck kicks him and he flies across the room, which is absolutely delightful and I love it. She kicked him into the table of the Lunamere guards (finally someone does something smart) and a fight with them breaks out.

Dex wasn’t the tallest man by Mirabel standards, but what he lacked in height, he made up in speed and agility—and above all, the desire to win.

And as we all know, people who lose always actually want to lose, and the guards he’s fighting against just don’t want to win enough!

Makes perfect sense.

He was all grace and glory as he spun and whirled, taking out Lunamere guards as they rushed forward in hopes of sinking their knives into his gut.

Don’t make me do a GLORY count. Blease.

We switch POV to Andi. This entire chapter/fight scene is for some reason broken up into chunks, even though it’s all the same one scene and at one point we don’t even switch POVs, but the scene break is still there?

Who edited this?

[The Lunamere guard] howled and dropped, and then she was off again, leaping over his fallen form, her hands itching to raise hell, draw blood and spread the glory of her name.

The Bloody Baroness was here.

She’d make sure every single one of them knew it.

THE GLORY OF HER NAME

Note how Andi seems to just love this. I guess when the narrative needs her to be ruthless and badass, she’s all about being the Bloody Baroness and loves to SPREAD HER GLORY, but when she’s angsting, it’s all about how much she hates murder and remembers every single person she’s killed.

Cheap, Shinsay. You’re cheap and so is your book.

Another POV skip. We’re back with Dex. It’s still the same scene, same fight.

The plan was in place. Everything was glorious, beautiful, blessed disarray.

GLORIOUS

Another scene break. We’re back with Andi. Holy shit, this is such a terrible, disconnected, patchy mess.

Dex was cornered with his back against the bar, fresh green blood oozing from a cut on his brow.

Proof that his blood is actually green, in case y’all didn’t believe me.

Idk what this means or if it will ever be explained, but whatever.

Every part of Andi’s soul told her to get the hell out of there before the Sparks went off. She could abandon the mission. Leave Valen Cortas in prison, with Dex beside him once the warden of Lunamere caught wind of this.

But as she stood back and watched the clock tick down, some tiny part of herself, some animal thing deep down, began to claw its way back up and out into the smoky pub light.

The Bloody Baroness never turned away from a fight.

See? Andi enjoys this, and willingly chooses it when she can do otherwise. So then why does Shinsay insist on making her all angsty and sad about the people she murders?

YOU CAN’T HAVE YOUR CAKE AND FUCK IT TOO, SHINSAY.

With a sigh, she pushed herself forward, swinging her borrowed knives as if they were extensions of her body. Little pieces of heaven clutched in her hellraising fists.

With a sigh? Why is she acting like she doesn’t have a choice and this is a chore, like her mom told her to clean her room? Oh my god.

And yeah, I had to look at “little pieces of heaven clutched in her hellraising fists,” and now so do you.

Anyway, the “Sparks” (if they were explained, I didn’t pay attention) that Andi’s team set up around the bar go off and:

Then the whole world exploded around [Andi and Dex].

God, I wish they could die in the explosion.

#eff reads: zenith #book rants

17 notes · View notes