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raindownforme · 3 years

Text

He Doesn’t Understand

C!Charlie Slimecicle x reader [they/them used]

Slime ran his hands down the white shirt of his suit, pressing it flatter against his body. Quackity would be downstairs any minute now.

“Hey.” Quackity’s voice rang true as he descended into the room Slime slept in. He bounced up from his bed, running over to Quackity.

“Hi Quackity from Las Nevadas! I’m excited to do gambling!”

“No gambling today buddy.” Quackity chuckled a bit. “I’ve got another thing for you.”

“Oh?” Slime followed Quackity out of the base of the tower towards the entrance to the city Quackity had built. He watched as Quackity extended a hand to gesture off into the distance.

“Do you remember when I had you spy on Purpled?”

“Yes!”

“Good, because I need you to spy on someone else.”

“Okay Quackity from Las Nevadas!” Slime followed Quackity to the outskirts of the SMP. Quackity pointed out to him a lone brick house that sat atop a hill to the west of the community house. Smoke rose from the stone chimney and blew daintily over the landscape.

“That’s y/n. I need you to tell me what they do on day-to-day basis. I need to know where they go. Who they hang out with. Who they trade with.” Quackity turned his back to the SMP. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Yes!” Quackity walked back to Las Nevadas, leaving the green man behind. Slime bounded over towards the hill. He found himself a vantage point, climbing to the top of a spruce tree to watch. He could see into the wide windows of the home, where someone was working over a crafting table.

Slime watched in confusion. y/n did perfectly normal things, shearing their sheep, tending to their farm, and mining in caves. There was nothing unusual about y/n, other than that they were new and made Slime feel… something? It was something he didn’t recognize. Some feeling that itched at his bones — if he had any to begin with — and tore at his heart. He felt warm all over and jittery. He knew he was happy, Quackity told him what happy was. But this was a different happy. It was new. So he kept watching. Slime spent his whole day watching y/n. Spying on them.

When night fell, Slime hurried back to Las Nevadas to meet with his best friend Quackity. He was waiting at the top of the tower that Slime slept under.

“Hey buddy!” Quackity sat at one of the tables. “How was your day?”

“It was good! I think I call it, happy?” Slime sat in the seat next to Quackity, folding his tie so it lay flat against his chest.

“Good good. Here eat this.” Slime took the plate of baked potatoes from Quackity and began to eat sloppily with his hands. He took the whole potato and placed it into his open mouth, letting his slime self absorb it fully. Quackity watched on in horror of Slime’s seemingly normal actions. “Okay. Did they do anything? Anything suspicious?”

“Nope. They didn’t talk to anyone or trade with anyone.” Charlie paused. He looked to his side out the tall windows, gazing out over Las Nevadas. “Why am I spying on them?”

“Because I need to know. They’re new. They’re… unpredictable.” Quackity cut into his dinner with his utensils. “Why don’t you go back tomorrow. Tell me what you see then.”

And he did. Slime went back for the next three days. He went back to the same tree for three days and watched as y/n tended to their crops and went mining and did other meaningless tasks. And every day he went back and told Quackity what had happened and what they had done. Nothing felt eventful about it to the Slime, only the fact that he couldn’t describe how he felt every day he went and watched.

On the fourth day, Slime made a mistake. He had walked up and climbed the tree, as per usual, and had waited and watched. But it had started to rain, and the branch he was sitting on had become slippery, and he fell. He fell all the way from the very top of the tree to the muddy earth below. He opened his eyes wide, hoping that y/n had somehow not seen, but they were standing directly over him.

“Bah!” Slime scrambled to his side, sitting up and leaning against the tree trunk. y/n stood before him, pointing a shovel tip towards his chest.

“Who are you?”

“I-“ He paused. His face felt unexplainable warm. “I’m a human being.”

“Sure.” y/n hesitantly drew back the iron shovel, planting the tip in the dirt. “I’m also human. My name is y/n.”

They knelt down in front of him, extending a hand for him to obviously shake. “DAP ME UP.”

y/n laughed at his outburst, and he felt star struck. Something about the way they laughed was enchanting. He couldn’t look away. “What’s your name buddy?”

He couldn’t think. Quackity had never given him a real name before other than Slime, but he supposed that was more his species. It might be more similar to calling a cat “cat” rather than fluffy or spots. “I don’t have one.”

“Oh. Okay. Why don’t you come inside with me?” y/n stood up, extending their hand again, and this time Slime put his own hand in it. y/n tugged him upright until he was standing, then pulled him inside. “Here. Take this.”

Slime studied the fabric he’d been handed. “A towel!”

“Yeah. Go ahead and dry off and then you can sit anywhere.” y/n turned their back to him as they rummaged through a series of cabinets that hung over their furnace. “Would you like anything to drink? Cocoa? Tea?”

“Cocoa?” Slime sat on a set of oak chairs. He wasn’t sure what cocoa was, but less than a minute later y/n returned with two cups of the piping hot liquid, one for him and one for them. He sipped from it, unsure of if he would enjoy it, but quickly found it to be one of the best things he’d ever drank. Slime chugged the whole mug, nearly slamming it back down on the table.

y/n bit back a grin. They hadn’t drank their cocoa yet, instead using it to warm their palms. “So, a name. I could pick one for you?”

“Yes!” He smiled widely, but he wasn’t sure why he was so eager.

“Okay. Lemme think; Westley, Taylor- no wait!” y/n snapped their fingers, smiling at slime. “Charlie! What about Charlie?”

“I can be Charlie!” Something about seeing y/n happy was euphoric. He wanted to be able to do it every day for ever and ever.

“Good! Well then, Charlie.” y/n released their grip on their mug ever so slightly. “Where are you from?”

“I live in a tower.” He felt as though he should be careful with what he said. Quackity hadn’t told him whether or not y/n was welcomed in Las Nevadas.

“That’s cool.” They sipped from the warm drink. “Do you know anyone else from around? I’ve only lived here a week now and you’re the first person I’ve talked to.”

“I am?” Charlie felt a bubble grow in his chest, but he wasn’t sure what kind of bubble.

“Yeah. I guess that means you’re my first ever friend doesn’t it?”

The term “friend” struck somewhere inside him. It was negative somehow. “Yeah! Friend!”

y/n glanced out towards the windows. “You don’t have anywhere to be do you? It’s almost sunset.”

“Oh. Oh I do!” Charlie stood from his seat. “I have to go home. It was nice meeting you.”

y/n waved as he ran out the door. “It was nice meeting you too. Come back tomorrow.”

And Charlie did. Charlie came back every day for the next week. He liked coming back and seeing y/n. y/n who taught him how to aim a bow. y/n who taught him how to fish. y/n who taught him how to grow carrots. y/n who taught him how to make paintings. y/n who taught him love.

Once when Charlie found himself visiting y/n, early in the morning before he left, Charlie had found himself in front of Foolish. He had walked over to ask the simple question.

“Slime, I think you love them.”

“Love?” He was confused. He hadn’t experienced the word before.

“Did you ever have something or someone you care about? More than you care about yourself?” He didn’t show any signs of recognition and Foolish sighed. “Do you want this person to be happy? So much so that you would do anything?”

“Yes!” He liked seeing y/n happy. He’d help them garden and pick their favorite flowers, and he always cherished the smile on their face.

“Buddy, you love them.” Foolish gave him a halfhearted smile before walking away.

He thought about this conversation on his way to y/n’s house. He paused his walk, one hill away, and looked out. It was earlier in the morning, but it was still the normal time for him to arrive at y/n’s house. He could turn back around. He hadn’t quite told Quackity the honest truth of him and y/n’s relationship. As far as Quackity knew, Slime came home every day and told him how y/n did nothing eventful and had no idea Slime or Quackity existed. Quackity also didn’t know that they called him Charlie, and that he loved the name with everything he had.

Charlie bent down on his knees, picking a flower from the grass, then made his way to y/n’s home.

“Charlie!” They threw open the front door upon seeing him through the window. They launched themselves at him, tackling him in a hug. “What do you want to do today? We could do anything!”

“Yeah!” Charlie wrapped one arm around y/n, the other holding the flower. “I brought you something!”

“You did?” y/n released him, still keeping a hand on his shoulder. “A flower! Aw, Charlie.”

Charlie beamed with pride as y/n gently took the flower from him and went inside to place it in a pot. “I also have something I should tell you.”

y/n returned outside, confusion etched into their face. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Yes!” Charlie felt nervous somehow. He looked down at his fingers. “I am not human. I didn’t want to lie.”

“Oh. I knew that.” He looked up to y/n. They were smiling softly as they leaned against the door frame. Charlie felt his face grow warm and he placed his hands over his cheeks. y/n walked towards him, taking his hands in theirs. “You came here without a name, with slime on your shoulders, and skin that’s sticky to the touch. You don’t have to be embarrassed. I don’t care. Im pretty sure half the people on this planet aren’t human.”

Charlie nodded, looking back up to y/n. “Are you human?”

“Yeah. I mean, as far as I know.” They shrugged, still smiling at him. Charlie felt light, like air. It was love wasn’t it. That’s what had been consuming him this whole time. What he’d been feeling every time he looked at y/n. Every time they spoke. Every time they did anything.

“I love you.”

“What?” y/n took a step back from Charlie, their hand still hovering near him. He felt his heart reach out for them.

“I love you. I talked to Foolish because I didn’t understand what I was feeling, and now I do! Because I love you. I have loved you since I first saw you.” Charlie smiled widely, proud of himself. He waited for y/n to say something, but they stood there in shock. “I thought I should be honest. Did I say something wrong?”

“No! No Charlie you didn’t.” y/n relaxed. They leaned forwards towards Charlie, now taking his hand and lacing their fingers together. Charlie held his breath, smiling as he stared at the hands. “I just want you to be sure that’s what you meant.”

“Yes! Yes it is.” y/n softly smiled, taking one hand and resting it on Charlie’s cheek, using their thumb to gently rub the skin. Charlie felt his face burn at the touch, but he leaned into it. y/n took their other hand out of Charlie’s grasp and placed it on his other cheek. They pulled him close, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. Charlie froze, lightly touching his hand to his lips. “Did you kiss me?”

“Is that alright?” y/n moved back, their hands sliding off his face. Charlie took his arms around y/n’s waist, pulling them into a tight hug. He put his forehead in the crook of their neck. y/n laughed lightly, pulling him closer again. “I love you too, Charlie.”

Charlie bent backwards, lifting y/n upwards. They laughed as Charlie spun them around. “I love you! I love you I love you I love you!”

“I love you to Charlie.”

He stopped, setting them back on their feet. y/n smiled wildly, breathless and love struck. “Can you kiss me again?”

y/n giggled, obliging to do so. They lightly kissed him on cheek, then his nose, his eyebrow, his chin, and anywhere else. They scattered kisses all across his face, avoiding his lips. “Is that what you meant?”

“No!” Charlie didn’t quite understand why they were laughing. He put his hand on their face, similar to what they had done, and firmly kissed them. He felt them relax under his touch, smiling into the contact.

Eventually y/n pulled away, needing to breath. They smiled at him and Charlie felt his face flush. “Was that your plan for today?”

Charlie relaxed his shoulders. “I didn’t have a plan.”

“Then come inside.”

y/n tugged Charlie into the home. The two spent the rest of the day together, baking cookies, reading stories, and doing any other odd tasks. The day soon came to an end, however, and Charlie had to leave.

“Come back tomorrow. Please.” y/n held his hand, keeping him later than he intended. It was nearly dark outside, and he was usually in Las Nevadas right now.

“I will.” Charlie quickly kissed y/n’s forehead and dashed off towards his country. He made it over the hills as quickly as possible, getting past the welcome sign before complete darkness fell, and racing up to the top of the tower.

Quackity stood pacing the railing. The dinner set out for the two had long gone cold by now. Quackity kept mumbling to himself, constantly fiddling with the end of his tie. Charlie walked over to his friend, lightly tapping him on the shoulder.

“Slime? Where the fuck were you? It’s been an hour. Jesus Christ I thought- where were you?”

“I was with y/n.”

“Right the spying. Listen I don’t think you should do that anymore.”

Charlie felt his heart shatter. “Why? I thought you wanted-?”

“I know what I wanted.” Quackity waved a hand at Charlie’s words. He overlooked the growing country, then turned back to Charlie. “They’re not a threat to us, they can’t help us in any way, and I don’t want you disappearing again.”

“But I-“ Charlie stopped himself, unsure of how to speak his mind. “I want to go back.”

“Why? It’s just y/n.”

“It is them. Its y/n.”

Quackity looked at him incredulously. “Did you talk to y/n? Buddy I told you not to- for how long? How long has this been happening?”

“I talked to Foolish-“

“Foolish knew?” Quackity was activated. He rolled up his sleeves. “Buddy you got lucky with Purpled, not everyone’s like that. You’re gonna get hurt.”

“y/n wouldn’t hurt me. They love me.”

“And how are you so sure?”

“Because I love them.”

Quackity scoffed, resting his hands on his hips. “You don’t know what love is. You’re not even a person you’re- you’re a slime. You said it yourself.”

“Was Sapnap a person?”

Charlie watched Quackity freeze. He lowered his hands to his side in clenched fists as a sneer grew on his face. “What did you say?”

“You said I’m not a person. Was Sapnap? Was Karl?”

“You don’t get to fucking talk about them.” Quackity moved towards him. “You don’t get to even fucking think about them.”

“Then why am I different? Why is y/n different?”

“Because-“ Quackity bit back what he wanted to say.

“Quackity. What’s my name.”

“You have a name. I call you Slime. I call you buddy. That’s what everyone calls you.”

“y/n gave me a name. They call me Charlie.”

“Charlie? What and you like it? Some basic-ass name?”

“It’s MY basic-ass name!”

“Jesus christ.” Quackity sighed, rubbing at his temple with his fingers. “You’re not going back.”

Charlie tilted his head. “Why?”

“Because I don’t know them! You don’t know anyone other than the people who live here and you’re just out there in love with a stranger. I feel responsible for you, Slime.”

“It’s Charlie.”

“Okay, Charlie, I’m responsible for you. So you’re not going back. No negotiation. Got that?”

Charlie paused. He looked out over the Las Nevadas skyline, then back to Quackity with a smile. “I think you’d like them.”

“Yeah. Sure I’ll see you in the morning bud.”

Charlie watched Quackity walk towards the center of the tower, dropping downwards towards the ground. Charlie went to follow but stopped. He stared at the plates of cold food left behind. Both untouched.

———

Charlie woke up quickly. Everything around him was quiet and cold, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was morning. Charlie rose from his bed and made his way to the top of his stair case. He looked out to see the sun was still rising over the horizon, painting Las Nevadas in golden light. The fountain bubbled as Charlie walked towards it. The lights inside seemed beautiful.

Charlie didn’t understand. He didn’t understand why Quackity wouldn’t let him see y/n. y/n was nice. y/n made him hot cocoa and told him stories and taught him so many things. And y/n was so pretty. y/n made Charlie feel loved. Like he was important. Like he was floating to the heavens. y/n made Charlie happy! And he wanted Quackity to be happy. Would he be happy if he met y/n?

Charlie shook his head. Quackity seemed upset last night. He wanted Quackity to be happy, but not the way that y/n made him happy. He wasn’t sure what to call it.

Charlie looked back to the tall, white casino. In an hour, Quackity would wake up and leave, coming to wake Charlie, but in less than a minute Charlie made his own decision. He turned away from the casino and proudly walked out of Las Nevadas.

He walked all the way to y/n’s house. When he arrived, the sun had barely moved, and he could see the same golden light illuminating the front windows of y/n’s house. Charlie clumsily knocked on their front door.

“Hello?” y/n slowly opened the door. Their eyes were closed and their hair stuck out different ways. Their pajamas loosely hung off their body as they slumped against the door frame. Charlie’s heart swelled. They were adorable.

Charlie rushed forwards to pick them up, wrapping them in a hug as he swept them back inside. “y/n!”

“G’morning Charlie.” y/n mumbled as they leaned back into his shoulder. “It’s early. You know that right?”

Charlie shrugged, setting them down and stepping back to make sure the door closed. “I wanted to be here.”

“Fine. But I’m going back to sleep.” Charlie watched y/n tread down a hallway, and he followed. They led him to a room with a large plush bed and they flipped into it, rolling to the side. They smiled at Charlie, looking at him standing in the door way. “I’m gonna sleep. Would you also like to lay down?”

Awkwardly, Charlie sat on the edge of the bed. He fell backwards into it, letting the softness consume him. He turned his head upwards, looking at y/n as they giggled. They stretched a hand towards him, enveloping his own hand. “This is nice.”

“Good. Goodnight. Love you.”

Charlie shivered, the unfamiliar words sending ripples over his skin. “I love you too.”

———

Charlie woke up in a weird mood. The bed was empty, and the house was noisy. It sounded like talking, between two different voices he knew really well.

Charlie walked quickly to the main room of y/n’s house. They stood in the door, still wearing pajamas, facing Quackity as he stood in the door. Quackity spotted Charlie almost immediately.

“Slime. Buddy.” Quackity tried to shove y/n aside, but they grabbed him by the shirt collar and slammed his against the wall.

y/n turned around, looking at Charlie. “You know him?” Charlie nodded, and y/n let go, allowing him to approach Charlie.

“It’s time to go man.” Quackity very lightly gripped the hilt of the sword that rested on his hip. “I told you.”

“But I-“ Charlie looked at y/n with pleading eyes. “I don’t want to go.”-

“He doesn’t have to go anywhere he doesn’t want to.” y/n side stepped between Quackity and Charlie. “He can make his own decisions.”

“This isn’t about you.”

“You’re in my house you’ll fucking listen to me.” Charlie took note of the small kitchen knife in their hand, concealed away from Quackity’s vision. “Charlie can decide for himself.”

Quackity sneered at them. “Would you shut up? This isn’t any of your fucking business. He’s my fucking friend and we’re going back to my fucking country that you’re not fucking part of. Charlie.” He looked over at the boy. “I mean- Shit. Slime. We’re going.”

“No.” Charlie stepped back. “My name is Charlie. I’m staying here. I want to stay here.”

“God you don’t— that’s not—“ Quackity sighed, running his hands over his head. “Fine. Great that’s awesome. You know what? Just don’t come back when this whole charade is over, because there won’t be a place for you.”

Quackity slammed the door shut on his way out. y/n turned to Charlie, loosing the tight grip on the knife. “You don’t have to stay. He’s your friend.”

“I’ve seen this place. I don’t think he should talk to me like that.” Charlie tapped at his cheek with his fingers. Water was falling from his eyes and setting his skin. He kept wiping at it , desperately trying to be rid of the water, until y/n took his hands away. They wrapped their arms over the tops of his shoulders, pulling him into a hug. “I don’t- I don’t understand it won’t stop. I don’t understand.”

y/n didn’t say anything. They simply threaded their fingers through the hair at the base of his neck, doing their best to comfort him.

The house was quiet.

#charlie slimecicle #c!charlie #c!slimecicle #dsmp x reader #dsmp #mcyt x reader #mcyt x you #dsmp fanfic #slimecicle #slimecicle x reader #charlie slimecicle my beloved #this took me days #lowkey proud of it

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catty-words · 3 years

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on the school dance fallout or, a thorough examination of the boys’ apologies to julie

full disclosure, i used to take serious issue with 1.06 for what it did to julie’s righteous anger in light of the boys letting her down, and my gripes haven’t fully gone away. but i have spent some time thinking on the fallout since my first (several) viewing(s) of the show and i finally noticed some emotionally nuanced storytelling that i needed time to come to appreciate. so, if you’ll indulge me another gif-filled meta post...

everyone knows that a good apology demonstrates an understanding of how you wronged the person you’re apologizing to, otherwise the words i’m sorry end up being fairly empty. and luckily for the boys, julie does a good job of immediately and effectively communicating her hurt feelings:

the first part is directed at luke specifically as her main co-writer, while the rest is about how all three of them let her down. it couldn’t be more clear that the reason she’s so betrayed is that a) they’ve made her feel like julie and the phantoms is less important to them than sunset curve and b) they’ve failed to consider her point of view or empathize with how important the show was to her.

which is why singing sorry a bunch of times, though charming, leaves her unmoved. and it’s why booking another gig actually makes her angrier. a gig the boys have deemed important enough to show up for is not a present or an olive branch to her, it’s a slap in the face. and if the boys had actually been paying attention to what she’d said the night of the dance, they could have anticipated her reaction.

but they clearly haven’t listened, so they haven’t learned how to do better or make things right. which is why this is such an important beat in the scene in the studio:

hounding julie to rejoin the band, even with such nice sentiments as “you’re the best thing that’s happened to us since we became ghosts”, does nothing to address how undervalued julie feels getting stood up because, as she points out above, their ability to do what they love is very limited without her. that makes her a powerful and essential member of the band, but it doesn’t prove that they care about her, julie, the person. and you can see in the reaction shot how the truth of her words lands for all of them.

their remorseful silence gives julie the opportunity to reiterate one of the points she made the night before, and it’s important to note which part of her hurt feelings she chooses to revisit.

the fact that they made the choice to pay more attention to their old music in spite of the music they were creating together is the thing that hurt her feelings the most. and, of course, her open hostility and her imagined reasons for why the boys picked sunset curve over julie and the phantoms (i.e. selfishness) puts luke on the defensive and ends with everyone leaving the scene dissatisfied.

great! okay, so here’s the part that’s bugged in the past (and the present, just. a little less so.) — in their attempt to deescalate the situation, alex and reggie give julie, and the audience, the all-important luke backstory. but like asking julie to rejoin the band with a shinier gig than a school dance flies in the face of actually making amends, so, too, does asking julie to empathize with luke’s emotional journey when the boys failed to take julie’s into account when they hurt her. only this time, it works as an olive branch.

now, i’m not saying that julie’s acting out of character in being sympathetic to luke’s pain, quite the opposite is the case. and i’m also not saying it’s bad that she does find sympathy for his situation — again, i’d argue that the opposite is true. it’s just, at the same time, it’s not a good look to force aside the young woman of color’s hurt in service of the white dude who hurt her feelings in the first place’s tragic backstory. the narrative is asking julie not to be mad at the choices luke made in the past two episodes because he’s really sad, actually.

and sure that’s an ungracious read of the moment, but i stand by the fact that it’s present in the text of the episode all the same, even with a little more nuance than i’m currently giving it credit for.

all that being said, alex and reggie do a bit to win back this highly insensitive maneuver with another stab at an apology.

alex addresses julie’s comment about them knowing “how tough it’s been for her to play” by reiterating that not showing up let her down and they get that that’s a crappy way to feel, while reggie takes a crack at julie’s “our songs were good” by emphasizing that they all love being in a band and making music with her. it’s a slight step up from their sorry in the garage, but not a complete fix because they’re all still sitting with the fact that they need julie to make the most of their music and how that complicates their declarations of loyalty.

the thing that makes this attempt at reconciliation different than those prior, of course, is this line:

the acknowledgement that things haven’t been fixed + the politeness + the implication that they’re willing to put in the time to earn her trust back so long as she lets them makes the apology a good enough one to accept. well, that, and:

one gets the sense that if rose could actually speak to julie in that moment, she’d be reminding her the value of grace. and, of course, we know that this also serves as a reminder to julie that good things are fleeting, loss is around every corner, and holding close what you care about is important. so she does just that by letting go of her (righteous, righteous) anger and reuniting the band.

still, even though alex and reggie have had their chance to make amends, luke doesn’t get the same moment to show he’s actually paid attention to julie’s needs in 1.06. so, naturally, he starts immediately in their first scene together in 1.07.

i mentioned in my exhaustive list for “finally free” that julie picking a sunset curve song for their reunion number is a lovely, understated way for her acknowledge luke’s lost musical legacy, and i have similar feelings about the fact that luke suggests “edge of great” for their follow-up gig. it’s his first step in proving to her that he does care about the music they’ve written together with actions instead of empty apologies and misguided gestures.

by the end of the episode, though, the three of them take a step back (reggie gets points for his being, like, half a step) when they learn that, in addition to letting down julie, one of the consequences of their night chasing revenge is a ticking clock on their existence.

though i understand the urge to protect julie from the alarming news that their power is going out, there’s also a lot of selfishness behind the decision. julie loses them in the end no matter what, but lying to her about it and planning to leave without an explanation shows a disregard for her emotional journey in a similar way standing her up did. in fact, this plan is basically to stand her up for eternity. not cool, guys.

naturally, since it’s luke who’s the one proposing the terrible plan and it’s luke who never officially demonstrated his understanding of how he hurt julie’s feelings by not showing up when it mattered, it’s fitting that he’s suddenly more in tune with his own feelings. and, with that, comes a new awareness of how his and julie’s feelings interact, starting with this moment in 1.08.

you can see his conflict over her declaration. she’s worried without knowing just how much there is to be worried about, and that makes him sad because it’s confirmation of the fact that he’s important to her. that losing him will mean a lot of pain for her. but instead of cluing her in, he makes a conscious choice to continue withholding the information of his imminent departure. and maybe it’s such a weak deflection because he’s already starting to come to terms with how unfair he’s being to her, but even so, he’s not being a good friend when julie is showing up for him in big, unexpected ways he’d never even thought to ask for.

and again, here —

— just after they’ve acknowledged that there’s a something and not a nothing between them, you can see him sober with the thought that she doesn’t know they’re about to lose each other. but it’s still not enough to move him to share. maybe because he prefers that she live with the possibility of that something when he no longer can, maybe because he’s too caught up in his own feelings about how crappy this hand they’ve been dealt by the universe is. but in any case, he keeps tight-lipped.

UNTIL.

it’s seeing her excited about a future their music can’t have that finally pushes him into coming clean. and i love how subtly this demonstrates that he has been paying attention, actually, and he knows that what hurt julie the most was the feeling that their music took a backseat to his past. if he crosses over without telling her the whole, ugly truth about the mistake he made by standing her up, then he crosses over stuck in that mistake. because part of that whole, ugly truth is the beautiful realization that no music is worth making, julie, if we’re not making it with you. and he’s not quite at that particular aspect of his truth yet — he still has to experience the what if of caleb’s club to be able to make the declaration with the conviction he does — but when he finally does tell her that and means it, she’s given the catharsis she’s needed since the dance. because he’s backing up his apology with action (i.e. being willing to literally no longer exist instead of making music with someone else) and providing her with the same consideration she showed him when she rejoined the band because his loss felt more important than her anger. and reaching that level of give and take in their relationship, physically represented in their hug, finally sets them free.

so, yes. even though 1.06 is clunky and a little tasteless at times, i can acknowledge that the story manages to win any missteps back. quite poetically, honestly. all’s forgiven.

#julie and the phantoms #jatpedit #jatp meta #julie molina #luke patterson #reggie peters #alex mercer #gifs by catty #long post #am i disappointed with myself for not being able to include any gifs from 1.09 because i reached the limit already #yes. absolutely.#should i have split this post into two parts to fit it all?#maybe so #will i do anything about it?#obviously not #FATED BANDMATES #melody & words #together my cats can queue anything

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redwinterroses · 3 years

Note

for requests how about: impulse, encountering some or all of the day one crew and getting Very Uneasy because oh shit, the 3rdlife memories are coming back hard

Hey! Sorry this took me SO long to finish. It was a hard one to write because between you asking this (I think?) and now, Impulse had that whole encounter with Bdubs on the path and I was like "Well I don't want to just write that" and then Cleo showed up? And I haven't ever written her before (except for a few lines in another hero, another mindless crime) so I had to go watch a ton of vids and streams and--

okay. Excuses over. Please enjoy this little "Impulse has a bad time but Friends Are Good" drabble. <3

~~~

Sweet Dreams

The Crastle was bigger than he remembered. Had this hallway always been here? This doorway? This arch that led to another hall…which branched and spiraled and led up stairs and down Escherian ramps in a labyrinth of stone walls and a floor dotted with pressure plates?

Impulse found himself running, breath coming in short, panicked gasps as he dashed down the halls, throwing open doors and darting around corners, leaping over the pressure plates—someone was chasing him.

They were coming for him, glowing red eyes and white teeth—fangs—glinting in the shadows. And over all, the ever-louder beat:

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

It pounded in his ears, deafening, and he stumbled to cower against a wall, hunching with his arms over his head, trying in vain to drown it out. But no—no, it was even louder now, thumping so close it rattled his teeth, and he looked down to see blood spreading across his shirt and at the center where his heart should be: a golden clock embedded in his chest.

“They gave me a clock, Impulse.”

His head snapped up. Bdubs, eyes blank and red like two burning embers, stared down at him, no expression on his grey face.

“Ride or die?” Cleo’s voice came from behind him, and Impulse spun to see her glaring down the length of a crossbow, her eyes as scarlet and expressionless as Bdubs’. “How about… die.”

She fired the crossbow, the bolt exploding into flames that swarmed toward Impulse’s face—

He shot upright in bed, gasping for air. He swallowed hard, rubbing his chest as he gradually caught his breath. His heart pounded so loudly that for one horrible moment he thought it might really have been replaced with a bloody golden clock.

But no. Around him, the night was cool and dark, the silence of the Boatem village broken only by the faint rattling of a distant skeleton and the lowing of cows.

Just a dream. Just a nightmare.

Just another nightmare.

Impulse slumped back against his pillows, flopping one arm over his eyes and letting out a long, shuddering sigh in the darkness. It had been months since they’d moved on from the 3rd Life server, months of good times and laughter and the excitement of new projects and builds… and yet at night, when the voices of his friends faded away and Impulse was left alone with himself—he found himself back. Time and again, his sleeping mind returned to the Crastle, or to Dogwarts, or to the sandy dunes of the Red Desert. And inevitably, he found himself face to face with nightmare versions of his day-one crew: Bdubs and ZombieCleo, red-eyed and vengeful.

“I never betrayed them,” he muttered to the darkness. “Never.”

So why did he feel guilty?

Well. If he was honest with himself… it wasn’t really guilt. Or it was, but not because of anything he’d done in 3rdLife—no, the guilt he felt was because the primary emotion associated with Bdubs and Cleo in his dreams was fear.

These were his friends! Being afraid of them went against every instinct he had, every good memory and inside joke and shared experience. And that was a different world anyway—different rules, different lives. It didn’t change anything here on Hermitcraft.

And yet…

And yet when he saw that clock on Bdubs’ belt the other day, or when he’d come up out of the mines that first morning in Boatem and Cleo had been standing right there, Impulse hadn’t been able to suppress the rising wave of panic that swept over him. Panic over being caught in his web of lies, panic that he might hurt the only people he trusted, panic that they didn’t trust him—

Enough was enough. He needed to get past this; he couldn’t spend the rest of the season (the rest of his life?) having anxiety attacks whenever he encountered any of the other Crastle crew members. Talking with Bdubs on the trail had helped, but… he hadn’t seen Cleo since the first days of the server.

That needed to change.

Impulse threw off the covers and pushed himself out of bed, padding down the stairs to the main level of his house. Grabbing his communicator from where he’d left it atop the crafting bench, he tapped out two quick messages:

<impulseSV> you whisper to ZombieCleo: hey, can we meet up and chat? Spawn egg, around noon?

He set down the communicator and turned to go to bed, but to his surprise, it buzzed with an immediate reply.

<ZombieCleo> ZombieCleo whispered to you: everything alright?

<impulseSV> you whisper to ZombieCleo: yeah sure, I just |

Impulse stared at the blinking cursor for a moment, then backspaced and started again:

<impulseSV> you whisper to ZombieCleo: not really. but it’s nothing major. just want to chat a few things over with you.

<ZombieCleo> ZombieCleo whispered to you: Impulse it’s 3 in the morning. you wouldn’t be messaging if it wasn’t major. want to talk now?

He blinked. That… wasn’t the response he’d expected. He hesitated, finger hovering over the touch screen.

<impulseSV> you whisper to ZombieCleo: sure.

<ZombieCleo> ZombieCleo whispered to you: i'll come to you.

///

Impulse was waiting on the roof when Cleo arrived, swooping in with the dry rustle of elytra wings to land on the cobble-and-slabs rooftop.

He looked up at her with an automatic smile, but she didn’t even wait for a “hey” before plopping down beside him.

“Alright, Impulse,” she said, her brisk tone ordering, rather than inviting him to speak. “What’s going on?”

Pulling his knees into his chest, Impulse wrapped his arms around his legs, the cobblestone beneath him still radiating a bit of warmth from the day’s sun.

“I…” he let his voice trail off, not sure where to begin.

“Out with it.” Cleo held out her hand, palm up, as if waiting for him to drop something into it. “Spit it out. It’s not gonna get any better for stewing on it.”

This was a dumb idea. Impulse closed his eyes and, before he could talk himself out of it, let the words spill out in a rush:

“I keep having dreams. Nightmares. About being back… back there. At the Crastle, mainly. And, ah—” he chuckled nervously and opened his eyes, looking sideways at Cleo. “You and Bdubs are there. And you’re… mad. Yeah, you’re really mad. And you don’t trust me. And—" he took a deep breath. “I keep dreaming that you’re so mad you kill me.”

Cleo tilted her head, raising an eyebrow. “But we didn’t. Well,” she corrected herself. “I didn’t.”

“I know, I know—it’s stupid. It doesn’t make sense, and I know that, but…” he swallowed, and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I need to get it off my chest. Because even thought I know it’s not real, and I know this is an entirely different world, and I know that nothing from that server really changes anything, I can’t just… turn off what my brain does when I’m not paying attention to it. You guys are my friends and I’m getting real tired of feeling like I need to start running every time I see one of you. To be honest, sitting here right now even is making me antsy.”

Overhead, the stars continued on their paths in silence, and somewhere in the village a couple of sheep baa-ed at each other plaintively.

“Well. That’s… something. That’s certainly something, isn’t it.” Cleo was quiet for a moment, examining him. Impulse looked away, suddenly finding his fingernails deeply interesting.

“Impulse.”

She reached out and laid a hand on his arm, and he instinctively flinched away. Cleo raised both eyebrows at him this time, pulling her hand back—then deliberately replacing it, her fingers cool and firm through the thin fabric of his sleeve. “Impulse,” she repeated, her tone gentle but brooking no argument. “You… you know I’m not good at this stuff. But at the risk of getting in way over my pay-grade: we’re good. We’re your friends.” She gave him a shake. “We love you, you idiot. No amount of murdery games on another server gonna change that.”

Impulse gave a little laugh, pretending neither of them could hear the emotion that made his voice catch in his throat. “Wow, Cleo,” he said. “Love. Big word.”

“Bah.” She shoved him away, throwing her hands in the air. “I love everybody, you’re not special.” But there was a grin in her voice. “And anyway—why me? You’ve got a lotta nerve, Impulse, having nightmares about me killin’ you.”

“Hey, you were scary with that crossbow.”

“I was, wasn’t I.” Cleo sounded satisfied about that.

The knot in Impulse’s chest was slowly loosening, and he glanced over to see Cleo leaning back on her hands, staring up at the sky. The faintest tinge of pinkish-grey was starting to appear on the eastern horizon. The Boatem crew would be up and about soon—Grian in particular had a tendency to be up at an ungodly hour of the morning.

“Hey—” Impulse said, lowering his voice again. “Um. Thanks. For swinging by. Sorry for being weird about all this.”

“Impulse if you start apologizing for being weird you’re never going to stop.” She made a face at him. “Because you’re very weird.”

“Thaaaanks.”

Cleo gave him an easy punch on the shoulder. “You know you adore me,” she said. “And if it makes you feel any better, I can promise you this: I will kill you again at some point, I’m sure. And it’ll have nothing at all, whatsoever, to do with Third Life: it’ll be because you deserve it.” She paused. “Or because I just want to.”

Somehow, out of all the things she could have said, a casual threat of violence was the thing that did the trick. Impulse laughed—out loud, for real, a genuine laugh that shook loose the tension in his shoulders and chased away the phantom of Cleo standing over him with a crossbow.

“Thanks, Cleo.”

Cleo stood, and patted him on the head, ruffling up his hair. “There’s the obnoxiously-cheerful Impulse I know and loath,” she teased. “Can’t have you being all maudlin over here—I’m the gloomy one on this server.”

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” Impulse asked, smoothing down his hair and also standing.

She waved a hand dismissively. “Nah. You know me—I don’t do the sleeping thing much. Too much work to do: graves to dig, bodies to—” she grinned darkly “—find. ‘S a lot for an entrepreneuring zombie like myself.”

“Well, I guess I’ll let you get back to it.” Impulse tried to stifle a yawn. He wasn’t entirely successful.

“Go to bed, Impulse,” Cleo laughed, activating her elytra. “And try to only have normal nightmares about me for a while. Ya know—ones where I’m properly zombie-terrifying, not this Crastle nonsense.”

“I’ll do my best.” He watched her fly off, and yawned again, this time wide enough to pop his jaw.

Alright. Let’s try this one more time. Sleep.

He left the roof and reentered his house, which suddenly felt much more cozy and far less empty and cold than it had when he’d first awakened. Sliding back under his blankets, he tugged them up around his ears and closed his eyes with a sigh.

Something exploded outside, and his eyes popped back open.

Maniacal laughter echoed over the hills of Boatem, and Impulse deliberately rolled over, burying his head under the pillow.

Tomorrow’s insanity would come soon enough. For now: sleep.

((sweet dreams, Impulse.))

#here have some impulse hc #as a treat. and because impy deserves it #redwinterwrites #sweet dreams #impulsesv #hermitcraft

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snorlaxlovesme · 3 years

Note

full thoughts on the chaos walking movie? I want to hear more about it lol I haven’t seen it yet

it just...it felt like TKONLG but without EVERY GOOD PART, you know?

scene-wise, the closest individual scene we had to anything in the book was maybe the scene where Viola read Todd’s mother’s book to him? (even that wasn’t the same bc that was also the scene where we find out he’s illiterate, and he lets her read it right away, so there was no deep-rooted embarrassment about not being able to read). also it happened in Farbranch. BUT, like it captured the emotion of the OG scene a little, where Viola is reading to Todd and he’s hearing his ma’s words and getting emotional about it.

but all the stand-out scenes from the book, i.e. saying goodbye to Ben and Cillian, meeting the girl and getting hit in the head with a branch and bandaging her anyway, ALL of the Aaron fights, the bridge, the massacre of Farbranch, the song of Here, the Spackle, Todd’s illness, the waterfall scene, Haven, NONE of that was in the movie. so imagine all the really important and powerful moments gone

also all the overarching themes? those are gone too. todd becoming a man is HUGE deal in the books. even in his horrible awful town he just wants to feel like he BELONGS and he’s the one person in the entire town being ostracized. two of the biggest secrets in Todd’s whole world are kept from him for the majority of the book because he’s “not yet a man”. it’s important to him. and once todd realizes the connection between Prentisstown maturity and murder, he spends the rest of that book WISHING he could be a killer. wishing he could have that kind of strength and seeing himself weak for not being able to kill.

all of that?? gone. movie!Todd often chants the familiar “I am Todd Hewitt” (and sometimes “be a man”) when he’s nervous or trying to cover something in his Noise, and has a little tiff with Ben and Cillian at the beginning of the movie bc the Mayor sees Todd as a man while Ben and Cillian do not. (that’s a weird little bit though bc the movie never really explains why the Mayor had such an interest in Todd). but that’s about it in terms of coming-of-age material in the movie. and about murder. seeing as he doesn’t. kill. the. Spackle. let that sink in.

also like. the Noise is shown as a CONCEPT but not as a theme. the THEME of Noise is that, and I quote

“In this world of information overload, the ability to feel, my boy, is a rare gift indeed.”

or perhaps

“Knowing a man’s thoughts ain’t knowing a man.”

or even

“Knowledge is dangerous and men lie and the world changes, whether I want it to or not.”

in this movie, Noise would be described as like. a nuisance at worst and a superpower at best. you can hear most of every man’s thoughts in the movie, though not a constant, never ending stream. just just bits sporadically at either plot-convenient or comedic times. the Mayor (and at one point Ben, and at one point Todd) uses his Noise to construct illusions around people kind of similar to that Jake Gyllenhaal villain in Spiderman: Far From Home.

but neither of these two main examples really SHOW the themes that Patrick Ness showed us in the books. that Noise is powerfully ANNOYING; that it can quickly break down relationships between groups of people; that it can be manipulated making large lies still possible.

like, remember when in the books, Todd and Viola get to Farbranch and poor Todd is absolutely GOBSMACKED that 1. the women are ALIVE and 2. the men and women are living together?? in harmony?? what the eff?? and you see Hildy in Tam’s Noise and just how much they genuinely love each other and Todd is like “damn we ain’t in Prentisstown anymore Manchee”. and you can just see based on the contrast that Prentisstown people are a whole different breed compared to the kindness of Farbranch?

in the movie Todd has a few moments of inner dialogue where he’s like “oh man that’s a woman. that’s nuts” and then we move on. his world should be turned upside down here and its not. and the difference between the two towns is that they kinda just made it seem like, yeah, Noise is annoying so we have the men sleep separately from the women so we all get a little peace, and it’s fine. that’s how Farbranch deals with it. it all just feels very blasé

(i can’t remember specifically where this happens, probably either in Farbranch or cutting back to the Prentisstown men getting ready to march, but at some point a leader ends up saying something to a crowd of people and you can see how just one sentence spreads through an entire group of men and how they all start amplifying it and getting more and more panicked and i did think the mob mentality was cool. it reminded me of the beginning of The Ask and the Answer were the Mayor is addressing the citizens of Haven and you get that moment where the whole crowd flinches over the words of one man.)

and in all of this I’ve barely mentioned Viola. my wonderful girl. how they’ve massacred her story. god.

all of Viola’s development for the first half of the book is tanked from the start bc you SEE the crash, you see her stealing food from Ben and Cillian’s house (that’s the inciting incident of the movie), she talks to the Mayor in Prentisstown almost immediately after Todd finds her and his Noise helps everyone locate her, she talks to Todd a lot before getting to Farbranch after they escape Prentissown. the book does a LOT of work for Viola by having her mute and scared for the beginning and slowly showing how she comes to trust Todd. and how even after their incessent bickering in Farbranch they still choose to escape together because they know the army is after them specifically and they’re all the other has. that progression is really important in the book, as well as afterwards when we see how snarky Viola can actually be when speaking, how she thinks this entire planet is BACKWARDS and she can’t wait til her ship comes and shows them a thing or two about how to live.

movie Viola, well. she wants to find a way to communicate with her ship. she’s under the impression that since her scout ship crashed they’re gonna assume she’s dead and leave her behind. even though the Mayor brings up the settlers a lot after he learns about them, Viola curiously never really brings them up in any other context besides they need to come and get her. like it really made it sound like she planned on calling them, having them scoop her, and then they’d all just fucking leave, i guess. i don’t know what her end goal was besides CALLING HER PEOPLE which became the main point of the movie. the Mayor trying to find Todd and Viola so he could....use her to contact the ship?? that was also kind of unclear. and Viola trying to get to a communicator possibly so she could get the hell out of dodge. idk if that was her actual plan, but it was certainly what Todd was thinking, enough to where I was wondering if he was going to sabotage her mission in order to force her to stay (yeah. yeah. he had that energy about him and it was grosss)

and quickly, since all the animals couldn’t talk the way they do in the book, Manchee was more of a cute prop than anything. i could have gotten over it if he was useful in any way, but he never even like attacked a dude to save Todd or anything like that. so when he died it was sad on a dog-level but not a character level, since besides sitting next to Viola like twice while she cried he really added nothing to the story. also the shock of animal death was greatly reduced already since Todd’s horse that he used to escape Prentisstown from got a broken leg after he rode him off a cliff, so Todd used the knife (off-screen, thank god) to put him down. so Manchee getting killed was kind of lessened a little since my man Whiskey got nixed like 40 min earlier in the film.

this is getting long so I’ll cut it here since I’m gonna probably post about this a thousand more times. but yeah. if you watched it completely divorced from the books you would probably think “that was a cool concept but also what was the point of any of that” which is basically what most people thought based on the review headlines i’ve read. and if you are an avid book fan you’re gonna think you’re watching something else entirely.

#chaos walking #chaos walking movie #cw movie #chaos walking spoilers #violaeade #long post #ill def be posting about this more bc its all ive thought about for days #@ everyone i am always willing to discuss chaos walking #if you wanna send me an ask or DM me im open for business #kelly got an ask

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kiirokero · 3 years

Text

Emacity (PJM)

Emacity: The desire or fondness of buying

Part of the “Protect the Village!” Oneshot Series!

Masterlist

Pairing: DeliveryBoy!Jimin x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Romance, mutual pining (kinda)

Note: April will be my hibernation month lol

Summary: Whoever invented online shopping? A genius. Whoever hired Park Jimin to be the town’s delivery boy? An even bigger genius.

Word Count: 2.2k

You wouldn’t call yourself a shopaholic. It’s not like you had an addiction to the point of needing an intervention. You knew what was a dumb purchase and what was a personal purchase. You actively searched high and low for coupons and discounts. You never bought something that you knew would end up in the garbage after one use. You were a responsible shopper. But shopping was like a hobby.

You were lucky enough to have the money to spoil yourself. You worked a well-paying job as a translator for businesses that are trying to branch out to new countries while also offering online language classes to international students. Switching between Korean, English, Spanish, AND French usually gave you a headache. And trying to translate a word that didn’t really exist in other languages was exhausting, but it paid well.

And it gave you opportunities to see Jimin.

Park Jimin, Bangtan Village’s delivery boy. Worked at the post office seemingly 24/7 and is always voted employee of the month. Has a smile that’s permanently painted on his face and is as kind as a saint. What’s not to love about him? Besides that fact that his eyes sparkle with the same elegance as polished amber. Or the fact that his skin is perfectly smooth. Or that he emits an aura of confidence and stability.

Not that you know, but you can feel it. You and Jimin exchanged few words on the occasions when you get to see him. Simple, “Hey! How are you?” ’s and “Long time no see!” ‘s. But each word that reaches your ears are pieces of gold to you. You and Jimin didn’t really know each other, but you’d like to say that if you waved to him out in town, he’d wave back.

Your friend, Namjoon, liked to call you a lovesick idiot. Whenever you gushed to him about how Jimin smiled at you, he’d shake his head and say, “You’re a hopeless romantic and it’s tiring to me,” And today was like no other.

“I’m telling you, Namjoon! He has the cutest smile,” You sighed, watching your best friend work on his current project, Yoongi’s car. “I know, you’ve told me several times before,” He groaned, lifting his head from the machinery under the hood and looking at you with an unimpressed look. Absentmindedly wiping off his oily hands on his black stained hand towel.

“Why don’t you just talk to the dude? You know several languages yet you can’t communicate to a boy who speaks your native language?” He pointed out, leaning his hip up against the black car. “I may be able to chew you out in French, but I don’t speak ‘extrovert’” You argued back, a sly smirk on your face.

Namjoon rolled his eyes with a small smile, “You’re impossible,” He chuckled, “But you really should talk to him. You never know~ He may think you’re cute too~” He teased, dodging the spare hand towel you threw at him. “Stop teasing!” You whined, “You know I can’t, I’ll make a fool of myself and end up confessing to him in Spanish or something,” You groaned, slumping in your seat.

Namjoon tilted his head in confusion, “How do you accidentally switch to a whole other language,” He asked. “Trust me... It’s happened before...” You cringed, shivering at the less-than flattering memory. “Well... Maybe you should express it non-verbally?” He suggested, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly as he went back to tampering with Yoongi’s car.

“I appreciate your advice, Joon, but I don’t think I can even work up the courage to confess, verbally or not.” You sighed, giving Namjoon a somber look to which he responded with a comforting smile. Namjoon went back to work and you checked the time on your phone. 2:22pm.

“Shoot, I gotta go,” You said, standing up and grabbing your bag. “Why? I thought you didn’t teach on Wednesdays?” Namjoon asked, still working on the car. “I don’t but, I’m expecting a package,” You smiled to yourself. “You memorized when Jimin comes to deliver your packages? That’s kinda creepy Y/n,” Namjoon insinuated, squinting his eyes at you.

You gasped, “Is not! I’ve just noticed that he always comes around 3pm... and I want to be there when my new keyboard comes.” You crossed your arms in defence. “Mhmm, go on then,” Namjoon chuckled, and you stomped your way out of his workshop back to your house.

You wait anxiously for a knock on your door. You sit on the couch, fiddling with the blanket that was draped over your lap. If you were being honest with yourself, you were more excited about seeing Jimin than getting your new peach-pink keyboard to complete your soft pastel desk setup.

You knew Namjoon was right about you being a lovesick idiot; you were in deep, and you haven’t even hung out with the man! You scoffed to yourself, shaking your head at the way his smile made your heart rate pick up and palms clammy. Maybe you could take Namjoon’s advice and invite him on a date. Not necessarily come completely clean and admit you were head over heels, but ease your way in instead.

Only problem is, you didn’t quite know how to do that...

The long awaited knock finally sounded through your tiny house, and you stood up quicker than you should as blood rushed to your head, making you feel dizzy. Shaking it off, you go over to your door, opening it to reveal the very man you’ve been wanting to see all day. “Hey! What’s up Y/n?” Jimin greeted you with a smile, a small brown package under his arm.

“Hi Jimin, I’m doing good... What about you?” You asked, leaning up against the doorway. “I’m good, it’s a nice day out today,” He sighed, handing the package out for you, “Here you go! Your weekly package,” He joked, making you give him a lovesick smile that made you look like the woozy emoji. “T-Thanks,” You chuckled nervously.

“No problem,” Jimin said. “Hey um Jimin...” You called before he could walk away. “Yes?” Jimin inquired, raising an eyebrow. Shoot, what do you say? You didn’t think this through you.. You can’t just invite him out like a normal human, what if he says no? “I um- What’s your... favorite food...?” You asked, cringing at how pathetically shy you sounded. Jimin’s eyebrows knit together in confusion and he chuckled. “I like strawberry Pocky’s a lot,” He stressed, licking his lips at the thought.

You nodded, writing that down in your head for later. Maybe you could do something with this. “Cool, cool. Well, um, have a nice day!” You said, walking back into your house, package in hand, leaving Jimin confused and amused. “What a girl...” He whispers to himself, smile, like always, never leaving his face.

You continue to buy little things online just as an excuse to talk to Jimin. Who needs a mini cactus? You, apparently. And that chick plush you saw on Instagram? Boom, it now lives on your bed. Whenever he comes around, you take the opportunity to ask him questions like what his favorite color was or if he was allergic to anything.

You were planning something for him, and he was catching on. Sure, your questions were usually unprompted, but he’d humor you any day of the week. He may not know exactly what you were planning, but all he hoped was that it would change his life forever. And it would.

You were almost done with Jimin’s mini basket of favorites. A blue basket that held his favorite snack foods, stickers from his favorite shows, and some of those chunky rings he likes. Sure, maybe it was a bit excessive. Maybe this was teetering the line of weird and sweet, and you knew that bribing your way into a relationship was definitely not the way to go. But you just wanted to be nice.

Maybe buying things for others was your love language, or maybe Jimin was just worth spoiling. It was probably both. Whatever the real answer was, it didn’t matter to you. You just wanted Jimin to be happy.

Even if meticulously fiddling with the basket made you want to pull your hair out as the bow never looked quite right. Realistically you know it wouldn’t matter in the end and that Jimin would likely take the bow off after he received it, but you still adjusted it until it was perfect.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want, Joon,” You sighed as you heard Namjoon hysterically laughing on the other side of the phone. “You’re going to bribe him into going on a date with you?” He asked, out of breath. “No! I just want to be nice,” You bit back, rolling your eyes even if Namjoon couldn’t see you. “Wow, the irony of Jimin delivering the gifts that your going to end up giving back,” Namjoon chuckled, finally calming down.

“Look, I’m just trying to follow your advice,” You whined, finally giving up on the navy blue bow and leaving it be. “True, I was thinking about a banner or something though. Like a cheesy promposal,” Namjoon said, and you could hear the undertones in his words. What he really wanted to say was, “How dramatic could you be? This is too much honey,”

Groaning, you flopped down on your couch, mumbling into the cushions. “I think I’m going to give it to him today, I have another mini cactus coming today,” You said, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness swirl in your stomach at the thought of finally asking the man you’ve been pining over out on a date. “That’s great! He’ll definitely say yes,” Namjoon said excitedly, trying to keep your fragile spirits intact. Knowing that if anything goes wrong, you’ll chicken out immediately.

“Yeah, I can do this,” You smiled, looking at the clock on your oven. “It’s 2:30, I have to go prepare. I’ll call you after!” You said, exchanging your goodbyes with Namjoon and hanging up the phone to go clean yourself up a little bit.

You weren’t terribly worried about your appearance. Jimin had seen you in coffee stained sweats and hoodies. There wasn’t anything worse than that. So you opted for a simple t-shirt and legging combo, washing your face and touching up your hair a bit. “Now to wait,” You whispered to yourself as you sat on the couch with the basket in your lap.

While you waited on the couch for Jimin to arrive, you looked at the mini cactus that sat on your coffee table and chuckled. Usually you bought things that may seem random to an outside person. A mouse that looks like a cat's paw, a throw pillow that doubles as a blanket, random earrings. But never a mini cactus.

After you asked all the questions you could think of and bought everything that you thought Jimin would like, you didn’t have an excuse to keep seeing Jimin. So, like a normal person, you bought little knickknacks. Hence the mini cactus and it’s new friend that’s on the way today.

Knock knock knock

“Well, your new buddy’s here lil’ cactus dude,”

Taking a deep breath, you stood up and walked over to the door, hiding the basket behind your back. “Hello, Y/n,” Jimin smiled as you opened the door for him. “Hey,” You smiled back, tightening your grip on the basket behind you. “Here you go, another odd stationary?” Jimin guessed as he held out the package for you and you took it with one hand, placing it down behind the door.

“I guess you could say that,” You chuckled, nervously shifting on your feet. “Speaking of... I have something for you,” You mumbled, but loud enough for Jimin to hear. “Is it another impromptu question? You haven’t asked one in awhile,” He chuckled, his cute eyes upturning into crescents.

“Close your eyes to find out,” You said.

“Close my eyes? Is this the part where you murder me?” Jimin teased, causing you to playfully roll your eyes.

“No... just close them,” You whined.

“Alright, I’ll close them,” Jimin relented, closing his eyes at your request. Taking another shaky deep breath, you took the basket out from behind your back and held it in front of you. “Open...” You whispered.

Once Jimin opened his eyes, he let out a cute gasp, eyes lighting up at the sign of the gift. “W-What’s this?” He asked, looking up at you with a huge smile on his face. “It’s um, all your favorites. Jimin’s basket of favorites,” You declared, holding the basket out for Jimin to take, which he happily did. “Y/n, this is amazing. What’s the special occasion?” He asked, looking down at the assorted gifts and snacks.

“You’re always making me smile, so I wanted to return the favor,” You shrugged in an attempt to look casual about it. “Really? I make you smile?” Jimin smirked, making your cheeks heat up. “Y-Yeah you do...” You admitted, kicking at the rocks on your porch. “You’re such a sweet girl, Y/n, cute too,” Jimin whispered to you, causing your breath to hitch.

“C-Cute?”

“Yep, you’re a cutie,” Jimin said, booping your nose.

“Would you um... Let this cutie ask you out to lunch?” You asked.

“Most definitely,”

“Park Jimin, do you want to grab lunch sometime?”

“It’s a date, cutie,”

#jimin #park jimin #jimin x reader #bts jimin #bts oneshot #bts #jimin fic

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distinctlywhumpthing · 3 years

Text

Chapter 1

WC: 5233

Post-apocalyptic drama: A woman wakes up with no memory after an apocalyptic storm devastates the country. With everyone starting over and finding a new way of life, she is assigned to lead one of the rebuilding programs. The agriculture-based neighborhood is running smoothly until a stranger shows up, the first outsider in over a year.

CW: stranger, unconscious, blood, amnesia, referencing past head injury

I cradle my warm mug closer and survey the room, still feeling far from sleep. I went to bed early, too early, when the sky darkened prematurely because of the rainstorm. The weather pulled my focus away from work to watch the wind wrestle with the trees at the edge of the yard, testing the strength of their branches, threatening to splinter them to pieces. When the rain started, steadily pouring down in constant streams of water without any distinction between drops, the view was obstructed. Now the rain will fall for days and with the wind, we’re all confined to our houses, so I had gone up to bed since I’d have no shortage of time to finish work tomorrow. Everyone says the rain changed after the Storm, but this is all I can remember, anyway.

The rain is still thundering down onto the roof. I don’t even know what woke me—it’s impossible to hear any of the normal creaks and aches of the house breathing on its own over the weather. I came downstairs to make tea, more for the ritual than the tea itself, something I do almost nightly. The methodical steps are enough of a reset that I fall asleep before my tea is cool enough for a full sip. Tonight, it’s less comforting. Adrenaline still courses through my veins from startling awake. There is no reason to feel shaken. I must have had an unsettling dream that I can’t remember. The thought of lying down in the dark and facing emptiness makes my pulse speed up again. I focus on inhaling and exhaling smoothly, commanding my heart to slow down to a regular rhythm, filling my lungs with the aroma of the chamomile blossoms bobbing to the surface in the strainer. I make my way across the open living space toward the stairs, allowing myself to stall by inspecting the way everything looks different from last night when there were visible stars and a moon.

The house—my house—looks almost exactly like it did the day I arrived. I run my hand along the back of the creased, brown leather sofa in the middle of the room. It’s worn more on the right side, across from the ring on the coffee table and beside the lamp. It faces a bookcase of hardcovers standing in dignified lines despite the scuffs on the spines and the dogeared pages hidden from view. The warm wood of the built-in shelves meets the slated fireplace, the focal point of the whole floor. There’s no television, so whoever lived here must have read instead. I’ve tried thumbing through the pages of the books to fill my free time but can never seem to get through more than a few lines. There’s the solid oak dining table anchoring the back of the room in front of the picture windows with chairs for eight, another mark of the previous owners.

I’ve never once had a personal guest but the house hasn’t felt empty, despite its size and living alone. Even now, on a stormy night, despite every line and angle extended, making it seem endless, it doesn’t feel jarringly vacant. Darkness swallows the corners of the room and deepens the shadows under the furniture but instead of making me rush for the light switch, I want to let my eyes dance over the impossible-to-see details. I have them all memorized anyway, so it doesn’t matter if it’s too dark to see. I let my eyes trace the silhouettes of the space once more time before forcing myself to climb back up to bed.

My foot is on the first step when I see it. Almost obscured by the staircase, a shadow passes in front of the window at the back of the house. I freeze. I can barely see anything through the rain but I know something is out there. My heart is sprinting in my chest as I move back into the room. I don’t want to imagine the emergency that would have a neighbor coming to me through this weather. The figure passes by the last window in the room on the way to the back door of the garage but pauses. I hold my breath, wondering if they can see me through the rain into the dark house. My eyes trace over the shape of their shoulders, inclined head, and clenched fists. They stagger a few steps forward before collapsing onto the grass. Before I have time to think, I react.

I drop the scalding tea, which pours down my leg as it falls, mug saved by the thick, wool area rug. I don’t even register the heat against my skin as I sprint across the house to run out the back door of the garage. The rain and wind rush to beat against me as I step outside. I blink furiously to see through the sheets of water. It’s immediately like I’ve been submerged. Everyone is right that it rains harder now, which is why the Program advises against going outside during any bad weather. This is more like a hurricane hitting away from the coast. We’ll spend the few days after picking up debris, branches and clearing fallen trees. Luckily, it’s not freezing rain like we had all winter. Pools swell around my bare feet with each running step I take through the sodden lawn, splattering mud up from the ground. I reach my destination after a few strides and mentally thank my frequent runs for my speed.

Whoever it is, lies facedown in the grass so I grab a shoulder to roll the person over. He’s out cold, with mud from the wet ground covering half his face. I fight the urge to pause and identify him because somehow it is raining even harder. I’m almost certain he isn’t one of my neighbors. I crouch down, grab both of his arms and do my best to roll him onto my back so that I can half-drag him across the lawn. It's easier than I expected. Maybe the wet grass is helping his limp legs slide behind me. We make it to the back door and I pause for a moment as reality hits me. I’m about to bring an unconscious stranger into my house. There’s no telling where he came from or why he is here. I try to remember the instructions Inspectors have told me about handling trespassers.

Something moves on my back and I realize the stranger has turned his head. I’ve been standing here, half-carrying him. It would be irresponsible to try to walk to anyone else’s house in this weather, especially dragging someone. I clench my teeth and pull him up the two steps into the garage and through the hallway. I manage to almost gracefully deposit him on the sofa, leaving streaks of mud across the wood floors. My feet nearly slide out from under me as I run back to lock the doors. For good measure, I close all the curtains before turning on the floor lamp beside the couch.

I start to look him over for injuries, checking his head first. I don’t see or feel anything under his dark hair. I use my sleeve to wipe away some of the mud on his face. He has symmetrical features, rough, dark stubble, and light-brown skin. I am noticing the long, dark lashes on his closed eyelids when he exhales a sigh. I jump, feeling my face grow hot. I direct my attention away from his face and wind up cursing myself for not noticing his torn pant leg earlier. I pull back the shredded fabric and suck in a breath. He has a long, deep gash, caked with mud that is still bleeding. I fly upstairs to find the medical bag and some towels.

My mind is spinning but somehow, my hands are steady. I clean the wound and apply pressure to stop the bleeding. The minutes pass quickly. The counting gives me something to focus on aside from wondering what happened to cause this. I match my breaths to the rhythm and feel more centered. My fingers have no problem managing the needle holder and I lose myself in the steady progress of suturing. I’m nearly finished when the stranger sighs again. I pause to look at his face and notice a subtle upturn at the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t wake up but my pulse quickens anyway. I look back down and try to focus. I could lose my job for not following protocol by bringing him into my house, but it only seems responsible to give him first-aid so he doesn’t bleed out. I can turn him in when he wakes up.

After I finish the stitches, I disinfect it again, apply antibiotic ointment, and tape a sterile gauze bandage over the wound. I clean up all the rain, mud, and blood that we tracked into the house as best as I can, constantly checking to see if the stranger has moved. He sleeps quietly, breathing steadily and looking peaceful. I pick up the mug I dropped earlier and soak up the tea from the carpet. My clothes are still wet so I rush upstairs to change but skip taking a shower, more afraid of the stranger disappearing without an explanation than of any other possibility. Back downstairs, I make myself a replacement cup of tea and settle into the armchair to wait.

I distract myself by thinking about the fields, hoping as usual that the trenches we dug around them for this kind of weather, will be deep enough. We’ve never had a problem before but I can’t help but worry, after all, it is our food source. We are fairly self-sufficient at this point, almost one year in and I don’t want that to change. The Programs started six months after the Storm. They still don’t know how much of the population was lost during the Storm or in the aftermath. Sometimes I hear my neighbors debating it while they work, with guesses ranging from seventy to ninety percent lost, but no one knows for sure. I was in the hospital but others were in shelters, waiting, while plans were made to organize people into homes and communities. Anyone highly skilled was employed as a Programmer. Geologists, engineers, and other specialists identified areas with enough undamaged houses and clear land to use productively. They wrote a Program for each location based on what they would be able to do to survive. Then it was a simple matter of assigning survivors to the empty houses to fill all of the jobs required to make the Program viable.

Programmers said the fact that I was unattached would help me be a more objective leader. It’s a ridiculous assessment of my situation and there were plenty of others who were also solo, but I didn’t argue. I was pretty objective until tonight’s lapse in judgment. The rest of the residents keep their distance, maybe because I’m here to enforce the rules, or maybe because I’m not fun. I follow all of the checklists and read through the Program details, keeping myself busy. I woke up after the Storm half-wrapped in plaster with no memory of anything. The first few days are a blur of pain from the head injury. Soon enough, it became less dramatic, the amnesia was a fact then and a fact now. I faced it alone and learned quickly not to fight it. I can’t remember anything, no reason to get emotional or philosophical about it. Everyone said I was lucky to have made it to the hospital, most people who were outside in the Storm were never seen again. They guessed I had been injured during the earthquakes, but it was all conjecture.

I tried not to listen to the hospital staff’s speculations about what my life was like, or what I was like. They thought they were being helpful and might spark some memory. I would tune them out and spend hours memorizing the hospital room. It’s so clear in my memories, even more so than the house, which I’ve been living in twice as long. The way the corners of the room met to support the flat, smooth ceiling. The exact number of tiles in the ceiling, thirty, and the number of small lights blinking down, six. The texture of the hospital bedding against my skin, scratchy and worn into a strange kind of soft. Comforting but unyielding, built to last. Everything was cream or beige, blending like coffee with too much milk. I can remember the way the colors progressively deepened as the daylight faded through the single window.

I spent the first few weeks, once I could get out of the hospital bed, getting sick every time I had physical therapy. I pushed myself too hard and too fast they said. The doctors still congratulated me on healing quickly, despite my memory not returning. There were many discussions about patience and time, that I would be surprised to wake up one day with memories flooding back. Despite weeks in the hospital and eventually recovering enough physically to run five kilometers with no headache, I still hadn’t remembered anything. The doctors assured me it was completely normal. I needed more time, they repeated, moving into a Program would help me recover through purpose and routine.

Our Program area is twenty-five square miles, with the residential street at one corner. The whole area was high enough to escape the floods and surrounded by thick forests that protected it from whatever else the Storm had tried to toss this way. From what we can tell, there were only minor earthquakes here, most of the damage was from wind and water. We made house repairs first, thirty of us total, boarding up the odd broken window or patching a roof leak. Then we started the long process of carving out fields for food and some animals, raised a barn, and built a few sheds. The first small harvests were fairly successful and have continued to improve, despite no one having any farming experience beyond growing kitchen herbs, but it’s all thanks to the Program materials. I handle the delegation and training, but I don’t think I am a necessity here. Anyone can read an instruction manual and everyone works hard for the neighborhood. It could probably run as smoothly without me.

—

I jerk awake, sitting upright. My breath is fast and cold sweat clings to the back of my neck. I try to focus on my surroundings. I must have fallen asleep in the armchair while I was watching—my eyes fall on the empty couch, the wool blanket crumpled at the bottom. I jump to my feet and knock a book off the side table. It lands with a thud on the wood floor and I’m startled all over again. I exhale slowly, trying to settle myself, and massage my temples with my fingertips.

“Headache?” a soft, almost musical voice says behind me.

I whip around to see the stranger standing behind the island, a mug of steaming something in his hand. I don’t answer and instead, take in the changes from last night. His face is clean and shaven. The rough stubble I saw last night is now a smooth shadow over his jaw. His dark brown hair is messy but in an effortlessly perfect way. He’s wearing a clean grey shirt and dark jeans that must be from one of the extra bedrooms upstairs. He looks like a completely different person than the one I dragged out of the mud in the middle of the night.

“Coffee? Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” He tilts his cup toward the French press sitting on the stove but must be referring to whatever process facilitated his clean appearance. I swallow my irritation at myself for falling asleep and not being alert to watch him. He’s staring at me with a strange expression on his face. I avert my gaze, looking down.

“How’s your leg?” I ask, walking around the island to see that he is keeping weight off of it.

“Alright, thanks to you. The stitches are perfect—don’t worry, I didn’t get them wet,” he says quickly, smiling like he thinks he’s placating me.

I furrow my eyebrows.

He bites his lip and turns away to take out a second mug.

“Who are you?” I blurt at his back.

He sets the French press down and I watch the remaining coffee slosh around inside of it. His shoulders round forward as he looks into the cup he’s poured. I’m about to repeat myself when he inhales and turns.

He’s wearing a soft smile on his face. “I’m sorry. I should have introduced myself, I’m Elias,” he says, holding the coffee out.

I stare at it.

“You are…?” He tilts his head, studying me.

I ignore his question, irritated at his calmness. “Where did you come from? Do you realize you’ve trespassed into a Program area?”

Elias seems to give up trying to goad me with caffeine and sets the mug on the island. “Right, well, when the rainstorm started yesterday, I was in the woods and a tree fell. My leg got hurt but I managed to start walking through the rain to find shelter and wound up here. I had no idea I was so close to a neighborhood…” he says a little too innocently. He runs his hand through his hair, not meeting my eyes anymore.

I start to do some math in my head. I know for a fact that the closest town ruins are at least twenty miles away and none of the other neighborhoods between were salvageable. Unless he was living in some half-crushed house in one of the still-flooded neighborhoods, that means almost five hours of walking at a good pace. In the rain, through the forest, on an injured leg, it would take probably twice that. He must be lying. No one would make it here that quickly under those conditions.

I try not to make my skepticism obvious as I ask, “Why were you in the woods?”

“I got lost…” he barely seems convinced himself and it almost sounds like he’s posing it as a question.

I nod, keeping my face neutral. I’ve heard enough. He seems perfectly fine now, so I can turn him in now. I march over to the front door, tug it open, and step onto the front porch. A wall of rain greets me. I can’t even see the front yard. Elias limps up behind me. I can feel his warmth a few inches away as I stare down the rain.

“Look, I know what it sounds like, but I promise I’m not a scavenger.”

After the Storm, not everyone wanted to join a Program. The Program calls the people who roam the deserted towns and destroyed cities, scavengers. Sometimes they work with the Programmers if they find a good haul. More often than not, they operate by their own rules and are dangerous. Luckily, we are so remote that we have never had any find us.

“I’m not here to steal anything. Please—”

I spin around.

Elias is closer than I thought and I’m practically in his arms as he leans in the doorway. I meet his gaze and my breath catches in my throat. His eyes are an intense green-gold color, full of light and smoldering. He must be looking straight into my soul. Something flutters there under his consideration. Despite the intrusion, I relax, forgetting my earlier distrust. He smells like pine and soap. It’s so familiar, it must be the scent of the soap in my bathroom. It takes more than a minute for me to catch my original train of thought.

I mean to be demanding but my voice comes out as a breathy whisper, “You need to tell me why you’re here.”

Elias doesn't answer. He’s searching my eyes one at a time, left to right, and back again, looking for something. Eventually, he breaks away and starts limping back toward the kitchen, leaving me alone in front of the open door.

I shiver as the cold air surrounds me and shake my head to dispel the strange feelings. My hands numbly close and lock the door before I follow him back into the house.

At the island, he picks up his cup of coffee and looks back at me. “As I said, I was lost in the woods and my leg got hurt when a tree fell. I could hardly see in the rain so I was just stumbling around looking for shelter. Then, I woke up here,” he repeats with more confidence this time, his voice smooth and even.

“If you’re not a scavenger, why aren’t you assigned to a Program?”

“I managed to stay sheltered for a while in the city,” he offers, shrugging.

I suppose this could be true. The neighborhood Programs were not compulsory but it seems strange that he would have been on his own for so long. It doesn’t exactly seem safe to be a lone wolf when there are gangs of scavengers roaming around.

I sigh and run my hand through my hair, brushing it off my face, and realize there is still mud in it from last night. “I can’t turn you in until it stops raining, so I guess you’ll just have to stay here.” If he is surprised or upset by this, he doesn’t show it. I leave him in the kitchen and head upstairs.

—

Closed in my bedroom, I keep ruminating on Elias’s story. He doesn’t have the look of the scavengers I’ve seen warnings about in the Program. Maybe he left another Program, which isn’t a big deal unless he got into trouble first. Despite these other possibilities, I’m unable to see him as a threat. Something is nagging me about him or this whole situation. Likely, the fact that until now, I’ve never once broken the rules of the Program. I shake my head. It was stupid to bring him to the house. I should have followed protocol. As I stand under the shower, I find myself continuing to rationalize his presence and even excusing his improbable story. This is ridiculous. I don’t know why I am so obsessively curious and willing to ignore my better judgment because of some feelings.

We are lucky that most of the infrastructure for water and power could be repaired or was undamaged during the Storm. Something about special engineering that preserved the systems. They don’t go into a lot of detail in the Program literature about it, but I’m too grateful to care. Not only is life easier, but it’s also the only reason I am not dead since there wouldn’t have been much of a hospital to save me without running water and electricity. Fuel is the biggest problem now. Most of the underground storage traditionally used was damaged or flooded. In theory, electric cars would still be a possibility, but the roads are in no condition to drive. The Programmers have spent a lot of resources clearing routes. The first few months they had to deliver our supplies in huge off-road military vehicles, which significantly dented their fuel reserves. Even after a year of working to clear roads, journeys take hours with endless detours because of flooding, sinkholes, or other debris.

I walk out of the bathroom and sit on the edge of my bed wrapped in a towel. The blankets are still thrown to the side from when I got up so quickly last night. After I change into leggings and a soft, knit sweater, I make the bed. I take the time to tuck in the corners and smooth the blankets so they lie flat with no wrinkles. I sit back down and work my long, dark hair into two thick French braids. They fall most of the way down my back, definitely too long, but for some reason, I can’t bring myself to cut it. I have to start the second braid over again because I’m so distracted thinking about the man downstairs. I look over at the little chrome alarm clock next to my bed and realize how little sleep I got last night and I still have to refigure the schedules due to the rain. I decide to accept Elias’s offer of coffee in the hopes that I can get some work done before I’m dead on my feet. Maybe I can get also the truth out of him and figure out how he ended up here.

Downstairs, I find Elias bustling in the kitchen. He’s humming to himself softly and beating eggs in a bowl while garlic sizzles in a frying pan on the stove. His movements are graceful and intuitive as he moves through the space. One hand absently pushes around the fragrant garlic while the other scans the spice drawer, fingertip sliding over each jar before finding what he’s looking for. He moves on to chopping after plucking some fresh herbs out of the mason jars next to the sink. The knife almost sounds musical on the wooden cutting board before he slides everything into the bowl and cradles it in the crook of his arm to stir it all together. He transfers the mixture into the frying pan and sprinkles in salt and pepper, every step with so much intention it’s almost choreographed.

It’s been longer than I want to admit before he turns around, to get a sip of his coffee, and notices me watching.

He smiles and then furrows his eyebrows. “Are you okay?”

I blink and rub my eyes which must be watering from staring for so long.

Elias smiles at me again. “How about that coffee now?”

“I—” I look away and clear my throat, decide on nodding instead.

Elias turns to pour from a full pot. He limps to the fridge and adds a splash of milk out of the glass carafe, then holds it out to me. My fingers brush against his when I take the mug and my heart skitters.

“I should get to work,” I say quickly, turning away and taking my coffee to the dining table. I drop into one of the chairs with my back to him and grab my tablet from across the table where I normally sit. I stifle a sigh as I sip the coffee, better than I usually make. I labor to lose myself in reworking schedules and timetables for the entire neighborhood, factoring in the delay due to the rain.

As I am finishing the log updates I will send to the Programmers, Elias starts setting the other end of the table.

“Breakfast is ready, whenever you’re finished,” he says, sitting down.

I nod without looking up. I would like to pretend I have important things to do and won’t drop everything because he cooked for us but I can’t. He’s made omelets with tomatoes, mushrooms, and greens. It smells incredible and looks about a thousand times better than the plain scrambled eggs I’ve been overcooking every day. I swear my stomach audibly growls.

I snap the tablet closed. “I’ve finished anyway,” I say, trying to sound casual as I slide into the next chair over where he’s set a place for me.

“Bon appétit,” he says. He rests his chin in his hand and waits for me to start.

I take a bite, trying to downplay my excitement. I swear under my breath. It tastes even better than it looks with a perfect, soft texture.

“Thank you,” I murmur into my next bite. I can see him grinning as I peek at him through my eyelashes. His expression could be smug but instead, it’s much softer.

He watches me for a few more bites before he picks up his fork. “My pleasure. It’s been a while since I’ve had fresh eggs and herbs to cook with. Are they from this neighborhood?”

It seems like he’s just curious, so I answer. “Yes, we have a few acres of farmland and animals. The chickens are everyone’s favorites. The herbs are actually from my garden behind the garage.”

He nods, taking a sip of coffee.

“Have you seen any other Programs?” I ask.

I hope it doesn’t seem like an obvious effort to reveal his true motives but I’ve always wondered about other Programs. I imagine groups can do anything locally available, so there must be a lot of possibilities. The Programs are independent and self-sustaining. We consume everything we produce. I’ve always thought that the Programmers seem to get very little out of the whole arrangement.

Elias shakes his head and swallows his bite of food. “Nothing up close. This is the first time I’ve been into a neighborhood…” He looks up at me.

I keep my face neutral.

“I’ve seen a lot of mobile teams though,” he adds.

“Mobile teams?”

The Program literature I have is specific only to this neighborhood. There is some general information that must go to all the Programs but there isn’t very much about the overall scheme or how it is managed.

“They set up a camp for a project and move on once they finish. I’ve seen teams working on clearing the roads, sorting through factories, or siphoning gas in parking garages,” he explains.

I nod and wonder if these teams ever wind up having to fight off scavengers. I hesitate to ask about scavengers since a few hours ago I accused him of being one.

Elias changes the subject. “So, what did you do before the Storm?”

I swallow and my palms start to sweat.

It’s an innocent question, one my neighbors have often discussed but this is exactly why I avoid socializing and keep my relationships strictly professional. It seems impossible to lie. I don’t want to but I’m not sure how to explain that there was no “before the Storm” for me. My life is this job, it’s all I have. After sixteen months, I haven’t even remembered my own name. I chew on my lip, trying to gather the courage to tell him something I have never told anyone.

Before I collect myself, he clears his throat. “I’m sorry, that’s a really personal question. I didn’t mean to pry.” I look up and find him smiling gently at me, his eyes full. “I’m grateful that you brought me in last night and are letting me stay.”

I blink at him. “Oh, it’s okay…”

Elias stands and stacks my empty plate on top of his, then takes my mug. “Let me get you a refill.”

“I can clean up, you should stay off your leg,” I say, standing and trying to take the dishes from him.

“No, no,” he insists, stepping out of my reach, “it’s the least I can do.”

I still follow him to the kitchen to get the coffee so he doesn’t have to walk back to the table. He refills my mug and hands it to me, smiling, his eyes still full in a way that makes my pulse feel loud behind my ears. I mumble thanks and retreat to the dining table to pretend to work.

TBC

#writing #post apocalyptic fiction #h/c #angst #whump #wait who's the caretaker?#post-apocalypse #post-apocalyptic #amnesia #memory loss #original writing #creative writing #oc #ocs #wip

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arotechno · 4 years

Text

The Heartless: Chapter 1

Read on Inkitt

(A/N: HOOOO boy here we go, after five years of staring down the barrel of this thing it’s finally done! Important question: does it matter to y’all if I don’t post the text of the chapter directly below the cut in the future and just link to Inkitt? I ask because formatting for tumblr was beyond annoying and I’m not looking forward to doing it for like 20 more chapters. But if it’s necessary for accessibility reasons, I’m willing to do it.)

Chapter I: in which the story begins

When the winter first melted into spring, Basil and I crept to the edge of the woods behind our houses to pick wildflowers in the meadow. It was still too early for raspberries; in the summer, we’d fill our baskets and our stomachs with them until our mouths were stained red with juices. Our mothers would bake pies in the afternoon and we’d eat them in the evening, cleaning every last scrap from our supper plates with the promise of a sweet dessert. Now, the earth was still cool beneath our bare feet, our toes wiggling in the soft dirt. Once we’d filled our fists with flowers, we settled in the tall grass and began weaving together goldenrod, daisies, and violets into flower crowns and daisy chains.

Basil presented his work and beamed at me, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun with the back of his hand. “Take it, I want you to wear it,” he urged, thrusting the flower crown into my lap.

“But you worked so hard on it,” I replied.

He shrugged and brushed the dirt from his tanned knees. “I want you to have it,” he insisted, reaching forward and taking the crown from my lap to place it gently on my head.

I stared down at my own work in my hands; it was not nearly as beautiful as the one Basil had made. Some of the stems had split, and many of the flowers had lost some of their leaves and petals. I didn’t have the same steady hands that he did.

“In that case, I want you to have mine, too,” I decided, pressing the crown onto Basil’s head as a couple more leaves fluttered to the ground.

Basil grinned a mile wide, practically radiating sunshine with every inch of his being. “Now we match,” he beamed.

A peaceful silence fell over the meadow. Behind us, the trees rustled in the woods. Insects hovered in the grass, hopping from flower to flower; Basil jumped when a bee buzzed past his face to land in the flowering raspberry bushes that bordered the tree line.

“We’ll be friends forever, right, Basil?” I asked after a while, sheepishly adjusting my flower crown.

"Of course we will,” he responded. “Even when we’re old!”

“How old? Like, eighteen? That’s super old!”

Basil laughed. “Yeah! Eighteen and then even older!”

I smiled hopefully. “And we can still make flower crowns like this?”

“Ace, when we’re eighteen, I’ll still make you all the flower crowns you want,” Basil decreed with a grin. “That’s a promise.”

* * *

The warmth of the sun and Basil’s innocent smile faded as I woke up to last night’s rain dripping down on me from the cracks in the ceiling above. Bertrand stood over me, jostling me awake with one hand while the other held a vial of another one of his concoctions. I assumed I had fallen asleep after supper, because the dishes remained untouched by the washbasin and twilight was just pouring in through the window.

“Drink up,” Bertrand commanded in that voice of his that just begged to be disobeyed, holding the potion in front of me expectantly as if to remind me of the curse that filled the vacant space within me. He stared at me with piercing eyes over the top of his dull gray beard, swishing the vial back and forth for emphasis.

I grabbed it from his wrinkly hand and sloshed the red liquid around in disgust before shutting my eyes and downing it in one gulp, just to appease him. Even so, I could not resist the urge to lay a hand against my chest, but still I felt nothing. Shaking my head, I rose from my cot and pushed past Bertrand, grabbing my bow and arrow off the hook by the door and slinging it over my shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Bertrand called after me.

“Out,” I answered, already halfway out the rickety wooden door.

“It’s past nightfall, Ace, it’s dangerous out there!”

But I was already gone, walking away from the old house as the door slammed shut behind me with a satisfying thud.

Over the seven years I’d spent under Bertrand’s leaky roof, I had slowly become disillusioned with the idea of ever finding a potion strong enough to light a fire in my ribcage. Bertrand had tested a lot of his spells on me throughout my life, but the love potion had always proven to be the least effective.

But I suppose that is to be expected when you do not have a heart.

The Village of the Heartless was smaller than the town where I grew up. A single dirt road ran from the village gates to the top of the hill, through the neighborhood before coming to a stop at the edge of the woods that surrounded the kingdom of Amistadia. We were a close-knit community, learning to provide and look out for each other through thick and thin, through every harsh winter and plentiful spring.

Bertrand’s house stood at the edge of the village, where the hill dropped off toward the gates below. At the base of the hill stood a large, sturdy oak tree where I perched some nights with my bow and arrow on the lookout for trouble.

Nights in the Village of the Heartless were always dark, as we could never afford enough oil to keep all of the town’s lamps lit, but they weren’t always quiet. Kids from neighboring towns sometimes wandered the area at night, brandishing knives in their grimy hands, looking to stir up trouble. Tonight was no exception; as I neared the village limits, I caught a glimpse of a pair of boys making their way down the road, and a thrill shot up my spine. I climbed swiftly up the oak tree and perched in the shadow of its lush, leafy branches, fingers itching for my bow.

The pair dragged a child behind them by the arm, yanking her across the dirt with them as they cackled and cheered triumphantly at their prized catch. The girl held tightly to a canvas sack, trying fruitlessly to pull away from her captors.

“Get away, get away!” she shrieked, dodging a blow as she fell to the ground, clutching the bag to her torso desperately.

“What’s the matter, little runt?” one of the assailants sneered. “You’re not afraid of a couple of kids, are you?”

“I just wanted something to eat!” the girl cried out as a likely filthy knife narrowly missed her cheek.

If I had been in my right mind, I would have simply shot the pair of boys in the shoulder, snatched up the child, and run away, but Basil’s face kept flashing in my mind; an anger was boiling in my gut that demanded confrontation.

“Hey, ugly!” I shouted, pulling back an arrow and pointing it in their direction.

The kid with the knife froze, eyes darting up to my place on the tree branch. I was yards away, but I could see the glint of light from the last of the setting sun on the knife as his fist tightened around it. His partner, as well as the child still laying on the ground with the sack clutched to her chest, stared wide-eyed as he

“Who’re you talking to?” he grumbled.

“Doesn’t matter,” I quipped, hopping down from my perch and tightening my grip on the arrow. “Just let the kid go.”

“Why should I?” he retorted, nonetheless taking a step back when he saw the arrow aimed directly at his head. “Y-You’re not really going to shoot that.”

“How do you know?”

The other kid called out, “Hey, let’s just get out of here.” He was ignored.

Pointing to the little girl, Knife Boy puffed out his chest and continued, “There’s no way you’re really worried about her. You Heartless are all the same; you don’t feel a damned thing. No way you’d go out of your way to save her.”

I allowed myself a bitter, self-indulgent smirk, too brief to be seen in the thick darkness. “If that’s what you believe, that I am entirely emotionless, then wouldn’t it also stand to reason that I would feel no remorse about ending your sorry life right here and now?” I drew my bowstring further; the wood audibly creaked. “If that’s the case, then it would seem you had better start running.”

Knife Boy froze, taking a few steps back before he and his friend took off running in the direction they came. “Cursed bastards!” he yelled over his shoulder as he hopped the gate and disappeared. Once they were out of sight, I let my arms drop to my side and slung my bow back over my shoulder. I felt my brow furrow in frustration; life in the village had become so mundane that I was almost hoping for a fight. I quickly stifled that selfish thought, pushing it to the far recesses of my mind; the girl, who had stayed completely still on the ground throughout the whole ordeal, now scrambled to her feet, still clutching the bag in her white-knuckled hands. Now, no longer squinting through the dark, I recognized her immediately.

“That was awesome! How did you know what to say?” she beamed, slinging the canvas sack over her shoulder and wiping the dirt from a pair of ratty pants that fell three inches from her ankles.

"Petra, you’re the one who I keep hearing has been stealing food from the neighboring villages?” I asked her, and her expression soured immediately at having been caught.

“Yeah, that was me,” Petra admitted under her breath. Then, scrambling to justify herself, she added, “But I only do it because there’s not enough food in the village and I gotta eat something!”

I nodded, mulling it over. “Sure, now I suppose I can’t blame you for that, but stealing is wrong. You’re plenty old enough to know that.”

“Of course, I know that, but I needed food!”

“Fine, I get it, I get it,” I sighed. “Just don’t make this a habit, got it? I promised Annie I would keep you out of trouble.”

Petra pouted. “Fine,” she mumbled. I started back up the hill, with Petra trotting silently alongside me.

At thirteen years old, Petra had been living in the Village of the Heartless since she was a baby—which was still longer than I’d been in town—left outside the home of one of the village women, Annie, in the middle of the night. I’d met her several years ago, and she quickly became enthralled with my stories of life outside the village. Annie was dead several months now, leaving Petra to fend mostly for herself, though the community kept a watchful eye over her (Not watchful enough, I thought ruefully).

“You didn’t tell me how you knew what to say to that kid,” she urged, struggling to keep up with my strides.

“I used to spend time around those kinds of people a lot when I was a kid,” I explained, deciding to humor her. “I’ve learned how to turn their own words against them by now.”

I did not tell her that had I learned how to do so sooner, things may have turned out a lot differently.

* * *

I eventually sent Petra home with a warning that I’d be watching to make sure she didn’t get into any more trouble. When I crossed the threshold back into Bertrand’s musty old house, the palm of his hand came down hard across my face, leaving a sharp stinging sensation behind on my skin.

“What on earth was that for?” I yelped. Bertrand grabbed me by the wrist and dropped me into one of the rickety dining chairs in the center of the room, bearded face practically sparking with rage.

“You must not keep doing that!” he scolded.

“Doing what?” I asked innocently.

“Getting into confrontations with… hooligans! What else?”

“I did what I had to—”

“Don’t think I wasn’t watching, Ace! I could see the entire ordeal from the window!”

“Well maybe if you’d actually done something to help instead of just watching—”

“Unlike you, Ace, I value my life and am not going to get myself killed just to feel like the hero!”

I couldn’t help but bristle at his comment. Something in my soul shattered, and I sprung to my feet, the wooden chair tipping backward onto the stone floor behind me with a loud clatter that would have rang through the eaves had I not immediately erupted into theatrics.

“What do you mean you value your life? All you do is sit around making futile potion after potion and you still think it’ll work next time!” I clenched my fists at my sides, willing the confrontational energy in my veins to burn out before it swallowed me whole. “So maybe I need to tell off some asshole every once in a while to finally feel like I’m doing something meaningful. So you can keep pouring bile down my throat all you want, but I can assure you it’ll never make me happy!”

Bertrand’s face fell, and I knew deep down that I had hurt him, but I could not bring myself to feel guilty. He had it coming, I thought, stalking across the room to my cot by the window. I sat down on the thin mattress, kicked off my boots, and pulled my knees up to my chest.

“Ace—” Bertrand, having followed me, reached out a hand as if to lay it on my shoulder, but I flinched away from the touch and he retracted the appendage as if he had been burned.

“Don’t touch me,” I muttered, directing my gaze out the window at the dark, lonely night creeping across the landscape. “Just leave me alone.”

With a sigh, Bertrand retreated from my bedside, retiring to his back potion room to conjure his demons away, and I sat back against the wall, longing for home and the warm voices of my parents.

That night, I dreamt of Knife Boy, and his words reminded me of Carita, the girl who kissed me under an oak tree when we were younger and told me I was weird for flinching

Next chapter releases 7/25!

#The Heartless #aro #aromantic #aro writing #aro writers #writing #writeblr #aspec writing #aspec writers #op

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cecilspeaks · 4 years

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176 - The Autumn Specter

Lips are the toes of the face. Welcome to Night Vale.

[spooky theme song]

It’s Halloween again, Night Vale, my favorite day of the year. As a kid, my mother used to dress my sister Abby and I in homemade costumes and take us door to door, vaguely threatening our neighbors until they gave us candy. When I was a teenager, I got a little old for trick-or-treating, so I started going to haunted houses with my friends. A lot of those haunted houses were kind of predictable with all their chain saw killers and Victorian ghost children singing nursery rhymes, who would follow you home and sing by your bed for months afterwards, but they always got to me. I loved the emotional rush of being scared. I still do. Of course, I don’t go out much to haunted houses, but I still love good old fashioned scary stories. I thought today would be a great day to share some of my favorites with you. I had my new intern, James, put together a few spooky tales that are perfect for putting you into Halloween mood.

But first, let’s have a look at the Community Calendar. This Saturday night at the New Old Night Vale Opera House, is the annual costume gala. This event is the Opera House’s largest fundraiser and one of the most prestigious costume contests in the region. A panel of judges will be on hand to determine the best costume at the ball. Last year’s winners were Joel Eisenberg and his partner Danny Jimenez, who dressed in a tandem outfit of a stegosaurus. I was there, listeners, and it was impressive! The creature was so realistic-looking. The craftsmanship of the costume was top notch, but listen, I have to confess I’m always more into high concept creativity rather than realistic details when it comes to costumes. Like I remember the 2015 gala, when Amal Shamun came dressed up as the concept of ennui. She made herself 12 feet tall, dressed in a taupe long coat, and created a constant drizzling rain inside the ball room. Anyone who looked at her got super sad and wanted a hug. But Joel and Danny’s stegosaurus was fine.

Sunday afternoon is the fall craft sale in Old Town Night Vale. An inscrutable maze of stalls showcasing the finest products from our town’s artisans. There will be cultural events for children, like finger painting classes, puppet shows, and a visit from the Autumn Specter. The Autumn Specter returns. It comes to collect its crops, with its great and sharp sickle. [creepily] It will harvest every ripe soul in Night Vale, the Autumn Specter is hungryyyy! It is Octoberr and it is timme to feeeeeee-duh.

Hey James, this Community Calendar doesn’t seem right, it’s just a bunch of stuff about the Autumn Specter. Also this font size, what-what is this 32 point? That’s just much too large. And it’s printed in red ink and that is a waste of our color toner, James. Eww, eww! This red ink is still really damp. OK, plus there’s nothing about start and end times of the craft fair, or anything about the food trucks, like if the Autumn Specter is hungry, surely it wants some falafel or Korean barbeque or tacos. James, could you just redo this story? James? James? [clears throat] Well, listeners, I don’t know where James went. Um, I can hear him breathing, but I don’t see him anywhere. Yeah, it’s fine, let’s just get onto our first spooky story.

[static, old-fashioned music] One quiet moonless night, not long ago and not so far away, a teenage girl sat in a house that was not her own. It was the home of Tony and Sheila McDowell. The girl was their babysitter, and she had just put the two young McDowell children down to sleep. The girl watched TV alone in the dark living room, only the bluish flicker of a scary movie illuminating her face. The phone rang abrupt and loud, startling her. She raised the receiver to her ear. “Hello?” she said with a slight quiver. “Have you checked on the children?” came a raspy voice. The babysitter ran quickly upstairs, opening the door of the kids’ bedroom. She flicked on the light, and there they were, fast asleep. She went back to her movie, but the phone rang again. “Haave youuu checked on the childrennn?” came the same voice, only more sinister. The babysitter again hurried upstairs, opened the door, turned on the light, and saw the children still asleep. The caller called again and again and again. “Have you checked on the children?” The babysitter, so scared, barely able to move, hung up the phone before the voice could finish its repeated query. When the phone rang once again, she answered and shouted: “Stop calling me!” But this time, it was a different voice. The person on this occasion said: “Ma’am, this is the police. We’ve traced the call. The call is coming from inside the house. Get out, get out!” The babysitter panicked and started to run, but then she remembered: she never called the police! How would they know to even trace the call? So she crept fearfully upstairs to the children’s room, and the phone was ringing again, the clamoring bell igniting her fright. And she cracked open the door and she saw- She saw the young McDowell boy and his little brother hunched over a phone and giggling! They were pranking her, and she felt relieved but embarrassed. And she told them to stop fooling around and go to sleep. And they all shared a good laugh.

Let’s have a look now at traffic. [papers rustling] Um.. OK, well I don’t seem to have a traffic report from intern James. Also James isn’t here right now, because I sent him out to go pick up lunch a few m- Oh, hey James, James, James, James – wait, why are you standing in the control booth? You were supposed to go get lunch and also I’ve asked you a couple of times not to wear that burlap bag over your head. I mean yes it looks great, with the Jack o’ Lantern face drawn onto it, I mean the mouth is a bit lopsided and the eyes are a tad uneven, you know kinda flat and emotionless, but all in all it’s a cool look, but it’s decidedly not allowed in Station Management’s dress code. Oh, you’re holing a knife, too! So did you get- did you already get that lunch then? Well if that- if that’s the case, you don’t need to cut my sandwich in half, I’ll-I’ll take it whole. And also I need that traffic report, thanks. James? What are you waiting for, the Autumn Specter to do it for you? [chuckles] Hop to it! James?

[clears throat] Well, while James is working on that, let’s get back to my favorite spooky Halloween stories. This one isn’t a story so much as a fun Halloween game. The legend of Bloody Mary.

According to the lore, if you turn off all the lights, and stare into a mirror, repeating “Bloody Mary” three times in a row, she will appear and tear your face off! I’ve never tried this because I don’t own any mirrors, but my husband Carlos conducted this very experiment in his science lab. He said he darkened the room and repeated the name and nothing happened for a long time. But then a figure of a woman appeared, silvery gray and shimmering, and she approached Carlos slowly, her hollow white eyes never blinking. She brought her face only inches from Carlos and said: “Are you for real?” And Carlos said yes, he was indeed – real. And Bloody Mary said: “OK because this time of year, I just get a bunch of giggling, screaming teenagers, and I’m really tired of ripping off their faces for no pay whatsoever!” And Carlos gave her some resources for starting a union and she thanked him and she offered to tear his face off in exchange for the consulting, but Carlos said no, he liked his face, and wisher her luck. Night Vale, pay your malevolent spirits! They’re overworked especially around Halloween. And a 20 per cent gratuity for poltergeists, phantasms, revenants, and ghosts is standard.

And now for t- what the, oh you- [papers rustling] Wait, OK. You know, I thought intern James had handed the traffic report to me, but this is just a piece of parchment with a 9-pointed star seemingly drawn by a finger dripped in blood. And then there are a series of ancient runes scrawled around the outer edges. Now I took runic in college. I mean, most of my friends took Spanish as their language, but I thought living here in the American Southwest, it would be more useful to study ancient Scandinavian and Germanic alphabets. And from what I can make out, these are a message about the return of the Autumn Specter. Ugh, alright. OK. I love that intern James loooves Halloween and whatever this the Autumn Specter is. In fact, James is still in the break room right now construction a sacred totem out of ash tree branches and twine. He’s been muttering to himself all day in a language that I don’t recognize, and the only words I can understand are “Autumn Specter”. But I still have neither my traffic report nor my lunch! Wait, do you think James is… Naah, put it out or you mind, Cecil.

Let’s tell another spooky Halloween story. There once was a beautiful young woman who wore a green ribbon around her neck. She won the affection of a handsome young man. They fell in love and one day the boy asked the girl why she always wore a green ribbon around her neck. She would not tell him. One day the man and the woman were to become husband and wife. In her white bridal dress, the woman still wore her green ribbon. The man asked her on their wedding night if he could untie the green ribbon, but even on the most intimate of evenings, she said no, and he respected her answer. But he longed to know what she was hiding behind the ribbon. Through the years, the man asked the wife again about the ribbon, but she never removed it, nor answered his questions about it. She only warned him that he would not like what he saw if she were to remove it. He asked less and less, but his curiosity grew and grew. And they became old, very old, and they knew their time left was short. The man asked one more time: “My dearest wife, love of my life, tell me that I may remove the green ribbon from around your neck.” And the old woman said: “My adoring groom, here in our room after all these many years, yes you may. But I caution you, as I have many times before, that you shall not like what your eyes behold.” The man hesitated, but finally reached his weakened, wrinkled fingers to the green bow along her nape. And he tentatively pulled the ribbon, and suddenly it unfurled, falling from her neck, and the man gasped. Upon her neck was a series of ornate letters spelling out “GOTH LIFE”. The woman said: “I got this tattoo in high school but kind of outgrew it and it’s super embarrassing.” And the man replied: “It is for sure weird, but also pretty cool. I like it.” And she never wore the green ribbon again.

You know, listeners, I’d love to bring you that traffic report, but right now, um, I’m facing something much more urgent and more dire. My studio door has opened on its own, and as I turned around, I could see down the long faintly lit corridor of our offices. And at the end of the hallway stands a figure, and he wears a Jack o’ Lantern mask, his head crooked to one side like a dog asking a question or like a hanged man, or both. And it is intern James, and he holds a long knife and he walks, he walks slowly toward me. And he is speaking at first in a mutter, but now louder, a strange shout in an obscure tongue like a magician casting a wicked spell, and he is moving much faster toward me, like a limping run, and his blade is raised high, and James is not an intern, Night Vale, bu the Autumn Specter itself come to reap my soul!

But before he does that, Let me take you to the weather.

[“Welterweight” by Nels Andrews. https://nelsandrews.bandcamp.com/]

So. During the weather, I went to human resources and requested a file on intern James. Oh I’m fine, by the way, and James is not the Autumn Specter, but I’ll get to that. So I found a copy of James’ résumé and cover letter for the position of radio station intern. His application was originally submitted in 1845. “That’s almost two centuries ago!” I exclaimed, but according to HR, they’re pretty backlogged on the intern apps. “What are you gonna do, we get to them when we get to them,” they said from the bottom of their abandoned well. Paperclipped to James’ application was a wrinkled and yellowed news clipping from the Night Vale °Daily Journal, and the article says that James died on Halloween night in 1849 when he was hit by a train. I then went to the hall of public records and found that our radio station was built in 1950, atop the very train tracks where James met hi send. James’ soul has been wandering the halls and offices of our radio station ever since. For all James ever wanted was to be a radio intern. To serve the listening community, to lift high the voice of journalistic truth. And it was his death that led to the shutdown of those train tracks and the eventual construction of a new station home, and the building we still use now. So I was wrong about James. He was an intern, after all, and not a malevolent Halloween spirit.

But I was right that the Autumn Specter had come for me. For when I turned to see James running down the hill, I did not notice the Autumn Specter behind me, with its bony hands and scarecrow mouth, and I did not notice its soul reaping sickle, which it had raised high above its oversized head and stick thin body. And James had given his life for the building of our radio station, and in death, gave his soul for the very same cause. And James threw himself upon the Autumn Specter, and he tried to stab the Specter’s neck and chest, but it-it- it did nothing. And the Spectre pushed James aside and then turned its black coal eyes upon me. And it raised its curved blade once again and swung! I tried to duck, but was too slow. And just as the sickle’s edge reached my face, James dove in front of it and vanished in a burst of white flame, as he was struck. And the room was empty and the Autumn Specter was gone too.

To the family and friends of intern James, he was… an OK intern. Not always on top of his writing deadlines, but he literally sacrificed his soul for our radio station. I can’t bring you a traffic report today, but I will live to bring you one tomorrow. If we find a new intern. And HR tells me that we have hundreds of candidates, although most of them are not yet aware that they are candidates.

Stay tuned next for our new cooking competition show, “Flay Bobby Flay”.

And as always, Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: The road to hell is paved with cobblestone. It’s super bumpy, not at all comfortable, and really bad for your car’s suspension.

#wtnv #Welcome to Night Vale #welcome to night vale transcirpts #episode 176 #the autumn specter #sorry i misspeled it as spectre

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thebibliomancer · 3 years

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Tides of the Dark Crystal liveblog pt 18

Tides of the Dark Crystal by J.M. Lee because HEY PERISS WHATS THE BIG DEAL?

Last times on book: Amri and co are on a quest to unite all the Gelfling clans against the Skeksis. They’ve crossed Maudra Ethri and the Sifa off the list and have headed into the desert to meet the Dousan clan at the Wellspring gathering place. After spending some time at a lake and eating some melon and stressing about a storm that’s not supposed to be hitting the Wellspring at all, the gang is further alarmed when their guide Periss takes Kylan hostage and forces them to come with him.

Chapter 18

Quest Log updated: Save a tree

Periss directs the team to a cave in the cliff wall. There’s a bunch of astrological carvings on the cliff face but Amri doesn’t have time to look at it. What with the storm. And the hostage crisis.

The cave is large enough to hold several dozen Gelfling and yet its just Periss and his captive audience. Which raises some questions from Amri.

“What were they doing back there?” he cried. “I saw them -- the Dousan, all just... just sitting around the lake! While the storm destroyed the Wellspring! Why?”

“Because that’s how they are.”

I’m still seeing why Periss was at odds with Dousan culture.

Periss lights a torch letting all the people without darkvision (everyone who isn’t Amri) to see how nice this cave is.

On the walls, reaching up about as high as a Gelfling stood, were carved and etched illustrations. They showed Gelfling with shaved heads and tattoos, bearing incense, all standing in a line in sets of three. The row of Gelfling ended facing a beautifully articulated tree, with long gnarled roots surrounding by a pool of water. The tree branches and leaves spread wide and tall over the heads of the Gelfling. Above the canopy were the jagged depictions of lightning and storms, and at the tree’s base sat a long-backed creature with a heavy tail. Four big arms and a mane tied in knots and braids.

“A Mystic,” Naia gasped. “The ancient sage?”

Ooookay. The puzzle pieces are starting to come together now.

If an urRu was the sage who taught the Dousan their rituals and traditions, no wonder the clan is passive and stagnant!

Kylan asks about the tree in the picture since there was no such tree at the Wellspring, although there were a lot of roots.

Periss tells him that the songs say that the tree was once so tall that it could be seen from any part of the desert. But the tree - and the lake which once filled the entire valley - started to shrink. And the tree was just a dried up old trunk eventually felled by a summer wind by the time Periss was a child.

Amri assumes that the tree died but Periss firmly denies it. But that’s what the rest of the Dousan think too.

They gathered the dried up branches and burned them.

But Periss knows that the tree is still alive because if it weren’t the lake would have dried up. He’s sure that the tree is the source of the water.

“Maudra Seethi was the first person I went to. She told me I had to let go. That clinging to things that have passed on will only chain me to an effigy of the past. She even gave me a part of it to burn. Can you believe it? A pyre for a tree that lives! That is the ritual taught by the sage, from hundreds of trine ago. But she wouldn’t understand that rituals must change with time, and circumstance.”

This still does sound like the kind of sidequest you’d get when rolling into town in an rpg.

Heck, I think fixing a tree IS a quest you get when rolling into Whiterun in Skyrim.

Can you imagine though going ‘you just need to let things go’ ABOUT THE DEATH OF ONE OF THE GREAT TREES? Because that’s what I’m assuming this is. A tree big enough to be seen through an entire desert? That’s pretty great. And the Dousan just shrugged and went ‘i guess it’ll die.’

(At this point since the group is listening to him and engaging and not having to be threatened, Periss puts away the knife. Good call, Periss.)

So Periss left the Dousan in anger, traveled the world for a solution, found some of those exposition petals, recognized the group in Cera-Na and thought ‘these protagonists will definitely be able to fix the tree.’

I mean, good call there, honestly.

But specifically its because of how Kylan dream-stitched the petals and how Naia healed the Cradle Tree in the first book. An event that was included in the exposition petals.

I love how Kylan’s quest concluding at the end of the second book has driven so much of this book. He shotgunned a bunch of petals out into the world and it keeps paying narrative dividends.

Periss also gives Kylan back the firca. Yay, best boy has his magic instrument again!

Naia agrees that the tree is probably alive based on what she sensed about the lake waters but she’s not sure that this is within their power to solve. The Wellspring tree is in a whole lot worse shape than the Cradle Tree.

“Well, we might as well try.” Onica stood near where the cave opened back into the valley. The storm outside was so dense, it was like the fabric of a Skeksis robe. “If we don’t, this storm will destroy everything. The Dousan, the Crystal Skimmers, the Wellspring. Even if we survive the storm itself, we may be trapped in this cave.”

“Caves aren’t really that bad, but I get what you mean,” Amri said under his breath.

HAH!

With the fate of the entire clan and maybe them on the line, Amri steps into the silence.

“Onica is right. We have no choice but to try. But let’s make one thing clear” -- Amri faced Periss and held out his hand -- “we’re doing this as friends. Not as hostages. Got it?”

The Dousan boy hesitated, but one glance out at the storm sealed his resolution. From the strength of his grip, Amri wondered if he would have preferred it this way from the beginning.

I KNEW IT! WELCOME TO THE TEAM PERISS.

There’s coffee in the waiting room when you’re not in the active party and you can order a team jacket through HR.

Amri is a cave boy so he’s the one who finds a direction in Naia and Kylan’s doubts.

I guess that Amri has rock sense? I mean, there’s been bits where he’s talked about hearing the voice of sand but I didn’t remember whether that was something he had been doing before. But if so, cool, another clan specific ability for anyone wanting to make an trpg or something. Grottan have rock sense.

Amri feels that there’s water under the cave floor and deduces that the water streams to the cave from the Wellspring.

He tells Kylan and Onica to stay in the cave while he, Naia, and Periss head back out to the lake where the tree was.

“The firca definitely won’t be heard by the tree all the way from this cave!” Kylan protested. Amri put a hand on his friend’s shoulder and squeezed.

“Mountain water is full of minerals. You tasted them in the Wellspring. The minerals will have formed crystals around the underground rivers. Minerals like that will carry sound just fine. The clearer the better. That’s how the Grottan speak when we’re spread out among the caves.”

“But I don’t know if I can -- I’m not a Grottan --”

“That doesn’t matter. I believe in you!”

Aw frens.

And another Grottan power maybe?

But Amri tells Kylan to find a spot with good acoustics and play the song of life. Find the life still in the tree and awaken it so maybe Naia can heal it.

When Amri (with special guest Tavra), Naia, and Periss go back out into the storm, its gotten even worse. And it was already pretty bad!

They reach the lake with all the Dousan sitting around it not reacting to the storm or to them really.

Except for Erimon who asks them what the heck they’re doing.

“Could ask you the same thing!” Amri cried. “I thought you said the storm wouldn’t come here!”

Erimon grimaced. “Where are you going?”

“Into the lake. We’re going to revive the tree,” Periss said, pulling Erimon away in defiance. “And you’re not going to stop them.”

“No!” Erimon shouted. He faced his brother. “Periss, listen to me! For once, just listen! The tree is dead. You have to let it go. This is out of our hands. There’s nothing more we can do except surrender to Thra’s will. Why can’t you understand this?”

“You may not be able to hear its song, but I do. I hear it in my dreams and in my nightmares. My own clan won’t believe me, so I brought someone who would!”

Oof. No wonder Periss is so prickly.

Erimon tries to convince Naia and Amri that diving into a lake could kill them.

“You could die down there, and for nothing.”

“If we stay up here, we’ll die anyway,” Amri said.

OH DANG!

Heh.

Anyway, Naia and Amri dive into the lake.

Its a very important two-person operation. Naia can breath underwater. Amri can see. They need both things.

And there’s a third thing that needs doing too.

Amri remembers from the last book that Kylan’s firca had driven off the spiders even before being refined into a firca. And Tavra is a spider. Amri can’t hear the song underwater because there’s water in his ears but Tavra can.

Glad you are with us, he thought to the Silverling.

Perhaps this spider body can be put to use, after all.

Frens.

But also, its pretty cool how Amri thought of a plan that used all of the skills the group has. Except Onica but she’s done her part.

Also, Amri, Naia, and Tavra are dreamfasting to communicate underwater without blubbing bubbles at each other.

Its been a minute so woo another cool application for dreamfasting.

Also also, Naia can swim FAST with her wings which are not nonadjacent to a fish’s fins.

Amri held his breath as Naia pumped her wings and plunged, powerfully driving them into the murky deep. When his lungs screamed for air, Naia breathed life into him, gills open like lace around her neck. Tavra caught a bubble, holding it under her legs like a smooth, clear opal.

The lake seemed endless. It had been dark above, but as they dived, the lightning of the storm dimmed to a dull flicker. The sounds of the storm, the drumming, earthshaking thunder, died away, and as it did, Amri heard the sound of a flute. Through the underground streams and water it sounded like the eerie song of a ghost -- transcendent and unending, calling out to something that might no longer be strong enough to hear. Surrounded by the song, it was as if they were floating through a dream.

This sequence would have been very hard to do for the show but how I would have liked to see it.

They reach the lake bottom where Amri starts digging through the mud with his feet trying to find any sign of life. And he does.

Something “ringing, softly moaning in answer to Kylan’s song” under think layers of mud, there’s a spot of green among the decomposing roots of the once-Great Tree.

A stubborn tree. Still alive even in just one part of the roots. Amazing.

No wonder the Dousan thought it dead. They can’t breath underwater so they couldn’t check this deep. And they don’t have healers like Naia so what could they do even if they had found the sign of life?

Good thing a diverse group of trouble-solving protagonists rolled into town.

Naia gets on that spot of green and tries healing the tree but runs into a complication.

It’s calling for someone else. I can’t do this alone.

You mean me? Can I help?

No, it’s...

Naia closed her eyes, focusing. She had a gift; he’d seen it before. To hear the songs of Thra, to dreamfast with creatures other than Gelfling. He put his hand on her shoulder, lungs aching for his next breath.

It’s asking for the Dousan, she said finally. She looked up at him. Its people. Periss, Erimon. We need them here, now, or this tree will die, and the storm will kill us all.

Aw, dang.

Anyone know where we can rustle up more Drenchen on short notice? Or does someone want to invent scuba gear like yesterday?

#dark crystal #the dark crystal #Tides of the Dark Crystal #liveblog #Amri #Naia #Kylan #best boy #also best hostage #Tavra #Onica #Periss #Sandmaster Erimon

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a-blue-secret · 3 years

Text

CHAPTER III

BACK TO MASTERLIST

Chapter II | Chapter III | Chapter IV

GENRES: royal au; fantasy au; magic au; friends-to-enemies-to-lovers; king!beomgyu, vizier!taehyun

PAIRING: taegyu

WARNINGS: none

WORD COUNT: 2.5k+

AN: Nothing that happens here will have a major impact in the long term, but it's important in helping you to get to know Beomgyu a little better.

SUMMARY: Best friends turned enemies, Kang Taehyun has managed to trick Choi Beomgyu into his service, and to rule for a year and a day, until his youngest brother would be old enough to take the throne. Choi Beomgyu has no intention of being obedient however, and tries to thwart Taehyun’s orders at every turn. With a growing amount of distrust and lies within the court, will Taehyun manage to keep the kingdom of Gojongja from falling apart?

Now. This story has been told from Taehyun's perspective for two whole chapters and a prologue, so let's switch it up a little shall we?

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　

Beomgyu glared daggers at his vizier's black coat tails as they whipped out of sight. He shook his head, sighing. Kang Taehyun was annoying, there was no doubt about that. But Beomgyu had to admit that he had a right to act like that. He knew he was being an absolute pain for the younger. But could he help it? No. Taehyun promised him he wouldn't have to come back to court, and yet here he was, ruling the very same court he vowed to never set foot in ever again. He should have known something was up when Taehyun wanted his service for a year and a day. He should have known. Well, Beomgyu presumed he wasn't thinking straight, because his ex-best friend had turned up at his door after three years of no communication. His common sense was bound to be clouded just a little by the sudden appearance of Taehyun.

Beomgyu glowered, shaking off any more thoughts of the younger. Taehyun had said going out to town was risky. Well Beomgyu was determined to prove him wrong.

"Seojung! You and the other guy- prepare me a carriage. I wanna go into town."

Seojung nodded, before hurrying off to find another footman. Beomgyu watched him go, before setting off back to his chambers. Just in case things did get a little violent, Beomgyu wanted to change into something more practical. He was quite fond of this ivory ruffled shirt, and didn't want it to become ruined.

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　

Beomgyu stared intently out of the carriage door as they rode through the streets. Now he properly thought about it, he hadn't truly been out of the castle in months.

Beomgyu peered at the fields they passed, noticing the diligent farmers working the land. As he poked his head out of the carriage to try and touch the branch of a tree as they passed it by, the carriage went over a pothole in the road, and he was suddenly knocked about, hitting his head on the top of the window frame. He let out a pained grunt, rubbing his head and retreating back into the safety of the carriage, grumbling about annoying coachmen. Though, it was actually his fault since he'd asked them to take the most secluded route, but that was just a small irrelevant detail that didn't need to be discussed.

When he deemed a road quiet enough to step out, he called to the coachman.

“Okay, stop here."

The carriage slowed, and one of the guards stepped off his horse to open the door for him. Beomgyu was slightly annoyed at the entourage of guards that were obligated to follow the carriage. He'd wanted this to be a low-key trip, but as the King, it seemed that he had to have several people follow him at all times.

Beomgyu stepped down into the streets, blinking slightly at the sun. They'd stopped in a quiet alleyway, where there were little people. He looked around him, took a few seconds to get his bearings, before setting off into the streets. Glancing behind him, he gave a slight huff of annoyance when he saw two guards trailing about three metres behind him.

Beomgyu, after Taehyun's words, had been prepared to be mobbed and crowded round as soon as he stepped into the public areas. However, much to his surprise, something else happened. Most people ignored Beomgyu. While it did feel rather strange to not be stared at, this oddly gave him comfort, as it made him feel like he’d returned to his old life again, instead of the extravagant palace life he now led. He looked around, and noticed why he was being ignored. There were lords even more extravagantly dressed than he was. Beomgyu scoffed a little as he saw a lord strut by, covered in shining golden fabric which caught the light as he walked. Beomgyu could immediately tell the fabric was nothing expensive, and smiled to himself.

He wandered around the streets, spotting the odd market stall every few houses or so. He stopped at one, and the lady managing the stall did a double take, before clumsily standing up to bow several times.

“Your Highness!” she stammered. “I- is there anything I can do for you?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Beomgyu said, smiling, gesturing for her to sit down. “But maybe, uh,” -he placed a finger on his lips- “about the Highness stuff? I’m not really meant to be out of the palace right now.”

“Of course,” the lady stuttered. He smiled at her, looking at the rice cakes a little wistfully. The castle had excellent chefs, but nothing beat the taste of homemade tteok. The woman saw him looking, and offered the rice cakes to him. “Would you like some?”

Now, it was Beomgyu’s turn to stammer in surprise. “I- I… would- would that be okay?”

She smiled, picking up one in a napkin. “If you would like, Your Greatness. I have not sold any all day, so they may be a little hard though.”

Beomgyu hesitated, before giving in and accepting the napkin. “Thank you,” he beamed. She bowed.

“It was my pleasure.” When he tried to offer her money, she shook her head. “Oh, I don’t need payment. It is payment enough for you to have come here.”

Beomgyu paused, but seeing the woman was firm, he sighed, putting away his money. “If you insist.” He looked around. “And if anyone asks, no I did not buy tteok from your stall. It’s a secret, okay?” He tapped the side of his nose and winked slightly, before calmly walking away.

He took a bite out of the tteok, and almost melted with happiness. It was a little hard, but it just made it taste even more real. Everything at the palace was too perfect. It all tasted as if it were manufactured to perfection. Beomgyu didn't know how Taehyun coped with it. He finished off the rice cake and dusted off his hands. One guard wordlessly stepped up to Beomgyu to take the napkin from him. Oh. He'd forgotten they were there. Beomgyu mentally shrugged. Oh well. They weren't that intrusive, now he thought about it. Perhaps they were okay.

He waited for the guards to catch up. When they didn’t, Beomgyu looked over his shoulder to find they were still in the same position, a few metres behind him. When he motioned for them to hurry up, they just stared stoically back at him. So this is how it is, huh? he thought, reluctantly turning around. Well.

He walked around the streets, receiving many shocked gasps from citizens who recognised him. For the most part, however, he was ignored, and it was completely fine by him.

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　

"Ooh." Beomgyu stopped at a stall, spotting a cool ruby brooch.

"Ah, you are interested sir?" the man spoke with a thick European accent. He must be a trader, coming over from other lands. "It is very precious, very precious. Lots of money."

Beomgyu picked up the brooch, running his fingers over the indentations and small ridges in the stone. It was beautiful, there was no doubt about it. "How much?" he asked the man.

"Uh…" The trader pointed to Beomgyu. "What money you have?"

"Huh?"

"You. Money. What money?"

"Oh, how much do I have?" When the man nodded, Beomgyu patted his pockets. "More than this is worth, I think."

The man took the brooch from Beomgyu, bringing it up to the light to squint at it. "This brooch, worth lots sir," he said. "Maybe…" He put the brooch down, and counted on his fingers. He frowned, thinking, before showing Beomgyu ten fingers. "Maybe more?"

Beomgyu smiled slightly. He was slightly confused as to what the trader meant, and tried to slowly back away. "It's very nice," he said, "but no thanks."

"Are you sure? Very pretty sir, it is very pretty."

Beomgyu shook his head politely before walking away. The man shrugged, and set the brooch down on his table, adjusting it until it was in just the right position.

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　

"What should I do?" Beomgyu wondered aloud, kicking up the sandy road as he walked. He looked behind him at the guards. "Wait, I just realised I don't know your name," he said to the other guy. He walked up to them, glad that they stayed still and didn't decide to step backwards. "You're Seojung, but I don't know who you are. What's your name?"

"Jisung, Your Greatness."

Beomgyu nodded. "That's cool. My mum was going to name me Jisung, you know. But,” he said, spinning around, looking around at the trees, “I suppose I quite like my name. Choi Jisung doesn’t sound as princely, does it?”

The two guards didn’t say anything, but Beomgyu, tired of being silent for so long, carried on talking.

“I can’t really talk so freely in court. Well, I still can’t talk freely out here, but in the palace all I do is just bicker with Taehyun.” He walked up to the tree, pulling down a branch slightly to smell the blossom. “It’s sad, really. We used to be best friends, but now we’re just like enemies. I really want us to be friends again, but…” Beomgyu sighed. “He’s betrayed me too much for me to think we can be close again.”

Beomgyu looked back at Seojung and Jisung. “Wait. I shouldn’t have told you that.” Beomgyu cursed in his head. They might be stoic and silent now, but he knew that they’d have no trouble gossiping about all they’d heard to the other guards. He thought for a moment. “Okay, there’s nothing else I can do. You guys are now promoted to my personal guards. From today onwards, you have no more contact with the lesser guards, and must discuss things with my other personal guards. I think I have two more? Yep. Bang Chan and Jung Inhyuk. And, since you’re now one of my personal guards, you have to talk to me.”

The two men looked at each other, before looking back at the King. No one had been promoted on such weird terms before. They both bowed. “Thank you, Your Greatness.”

“So! Where should we go?” Beomgyu mused aloud. “Do you know where we are? Come on, you’re allowed to speak. It’s fine.”

“I believe we are near the Hak-gil market, sire.”

“Hm… from here, I think I’ll actually be able to find the way to my house. Come on, let’s go.”

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　

“Ta da! Welcome to my humble cottage,” Beomgyu proudly announced to the guards who still stood a little ways away from him. His arms, which had been thrown wide, dropped to his sides. “Oh, come here will you?” None of them moved. Beomgyu sniffed. “Fine. But you’re still coming inside whether you like it or not.” He pushed open the gate, walking along the familiar path towards his front door, before smiling nostalgically at the mat.

Suddenly, he shook his head. Why was he getting sentimental over a mat? It hadn’t even been three months, for crying out loud. He sighed a little playfully to himself, before turning around to see the guards still standing on the other side of the gate. “Seriously?” he called to them. “This is literally like a game of ‘Red Light, Green Light’. Are you going to stay still? Or will I have to send you back to the beginning?” When his little joke received no response from the two men, he frowned. “Okay look, does anyone have the key to my home? I wanna go inside.” Neither of them moved. Beomgyu was growing a little frustrated by their lack of response.

“You know what? I command you to answer me,” Beomgyu said. “Do any of you have the key to my cottage?”

Finally, (finally!) Seojung shook his head. “No, sire.”

Beomgyu sighed sadly. He walked around to the side of the house, peering in through the window. He could see into his living room from here, and could make out the small table and his bookshelf packed tight full of books. When he squinted, he could make out the china tea cup resting on the table. On the day of the Crown Handing, he'd left the house in a rather messy state, because he thought he'd be able to come back to the house soon enough.

The plan had been simple. Go to the Crown Handing, crown Kang Junghoon, leave court to never come back. Only, he thought, things hadn't turned out to be that simple, had they? He smiled a little bitterly, staring intently at the teacup. And then, after he'd been (unwillingly) crowned, he'd been too busy alternatively sulking and preparing for his coronation. By the time he was King, asking to go back home to tidy it up seemed foolish.

Beomgyu straightened, before strolling around to the front door again. He walked up to it's duck egg blue front, spotting where the paint was forlornly beginning to peel off. Leaning down, he pressed his eye against the keyhole, like a child would do. There was nothing much in the front of his house, but it was a fun thing to do. He took his eye away from the keyhole and looked wistfully at the front door, before stepping away and walking back down the path. “Okay. Looks like we’re going back home.”

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　

Back at the palace, Beomgyu was walking to his chambers when he spotted Yeonjun. The Lord caught sight of the King, and came up to him and bowed.

"Your Greatness. Do you happen to know where the Grand Vizier Taehyun is?"

"A King, ignored in his own palace in favour of his advisor?" Beomgyu joked. "As of Kang Taehyun's whereabouts, I'm afraid I have no idea where he is. May I ask, why are you looking for him?"

"Oh, just to confirm a few details of the contract," Yeonjun explained. He bowed again. "Good day to you, Your Greatness." He was about to leave, when Beomgyu stopped him.

"Wait. Since one of the rules is for you to get us to trust you, do you want to start with that?"

Yeonjun hesitated. "Um, I suppose it depends what you have in mind?"

"Some archery, friendly fencing match, maybe a horse riding session? You look to me as if you are very athletic." Beomgyu raised his eyebrows, patiently waiting for Yeonjun's answer.

"Wouldn't your vizier disapprove of you not keeping to your schedule?"

"Pfft. My main goal in life is to annoy Taehyun so this works exactly in my favour. No but seriously, it's okay. I have no schedules today so I'm free to do whatever."

"In that case, I will gladly accept your offer, Your Greatness."

Beomgyu and Yeonjun began to walk off in the direction of the sports courtyard.

"Oh yeah, we're gonna have to do something about that if we want to get to know each other better. When there are no servants, you're going to have to just call me Beomgyu, and I'll just call you Yeonjun."

#court of lies #beomgyu #taegyu #taehyun #txt beomgyu #txt fanfic #txt taegyu #txt fluff #txt taehyun #txt angst #tomorrow by together #tomorrow x together

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atopearth · 4 years

Text

Piofiore: Fated Memories Part 1 - Nicola Francesca Route

Okay, I pre-ordered this game because I loved the art and I have a secret fetish (not so secret anymore now) for mafia stuff LOL. There's just something about it that makes me love it even if it's trashy, I guess it's the setting that always amuses me. Anyway, Gilbert looks the hottest to me but it seems like you can only do his route last? It's okay, let's see how this goes~~ The lawlessness and how the different Mafia families control respective territories is what I dig~ I hope this will give me what I wanted from Ozmafia loll. Omg wow, Elena and everyone is so pretty as well. Anyway, it's kinda awkward to hear them call the heroine Lili (her name is Liliana) because my name is Lily! Lol! I'm not a good girl like her though hahaha, she seems to be a nice girl that's grateful to the church for raising her and wants to do the same for all the other children. Is Roberto not an LI? I mean, he looks pretty good too...🥺 Oooh, I was planning on doing the Nicola route first but I didn't even realise this fluffy kinda curly hair guy was him! I'll take him, he's pretty cuteee. I love how he winked at Lili and she got a bit startled and bumped into Roberto making her drop her lemons, it was gentlemanly of Nicola to come and pick it up for her. On the other hand, Roberto is such a stick in the mud lolll, like dude, it's cool to want to change things but you wanna understand the system here? Anyway, Nicola seems like a nice pushy person haha.

Ooh these meanwhile stories/reels are pretty cool! I like them since you get to see what other people are doing~ Anyway, omg I was wondering why Yang sounded familiar, it's Accelerator's (To Aru Majutsu no Index) VA!! I didn't like Yang's appearance but I might have to change my mind now because I love his voice hahaha. Okay, not good, I have a soft spot for Orlok too, not only is he hot and cute at the same time, his voice is so demure but warm, I love it!! I can't choose my favourite🤣 Lmao, I'm using a walkthrough and everyyyy answer I pick is different from what should be picked hahaha, I guess Nicola is not for me hahaha! Anyway, I was wondering why Gilbert's voice sounded familiar and it's the same VA as Okita Souji from Hakuouki! Okita wasn't my favourite though, character and voice wise so hmm, but I do love Gilbert's looks the most haha. Let's see, it's funny but it seems like everyone I was not interested in (Yang and Orlok) when I first picked up the game are now the ones I'm most interested in hahaha. Dante and Gilbert's looks are the best though~ Anyway, back to the story, Gilbert seems like a much more chill mafia boss than I thought haha. Omg when Elena got stabbed, I was like nooo, not the sweet pretty girl!! Thankfully, she didn't die because of Orlok saving them and taking Elena to the hospital. Lmao at Orlok asking Lili if she can run and then deciding that actually it's faster if he just carries her lol.

Well, I'm glad Nicola saved her before those thugs got to her, but dang, he was ruthless. Hmm, assuming that Lili and Elena were targeted for human trafficking just like all the other girls that supposedly "left" the town to go to city, why did those thugs say they'll get in trouble for doing it to nuns?🤔 Because they know that the Falzone family protect the church since they believe that they have what they possess right now because of the blessings of the land, so the Falzone family would take action if they hurt nuns? But then in that meanwhile story, they attacked the Falzone family members so...it can't be that simple? I would assume the most obvious answer is that another family or outsider is killing all these people rather than the Lao-Shu but we shall see~ How sweet of Nicola to stand guard for her to sleep peacefully! I still think there's something about Nicola that I can't trust right now, but having someone warm up some milk and honey for you, lull you to sleep and help you vent out your fears from everything that just happened is something I can't help but be touched by. It felt very comforting to see Nicola do all that for Lili.

Omg, is it just me or does Nicola look better without a hat, and Dante looks better with a hat?? Hahaha. Aww Leo sounds so cute and thoughtful, he'll be a nice bodyguard for Lili. I'm so hungry with all the descriptions of the good food lmao, all the mains and desserts sound so yummm🥺🥺 Aww, Nicola doesn't like lardo/pork lard but he still ate the broiled bream Lili made with it🥺 So, um just because the abductions stopped, the police closed the case on it? Like, don't they need to find a culprit or if there's something like a syndicate? Anyway, Roberto needs to get off his high horse, especially since he seems to think the police has no fault in anything and that the Mafia are bad because they're the Mafia more than actually finding reprehensible actions with them, but I guess the Mafia's actions make themselves seem above the law so I can't blame Roberto, but he really needs to reel in his emotions and thoughts if he wants to properly deal with them lol. Honestly though, Lili said Nicola was surprisingly harsh with how he dealt with the subordinate that let Roberto into the estate, but I don't think he was harsh at all, he didn't even punish him lol, and really, Nicola's right, Roberto had no business coming in and should not have been allowed in for no reason, especially if anything happened. Nicola is such a tease though, making Lili feed him the crostata in appreciation of him loll (btw it was nice of Lili to bake something for Dante to thank him for allowing her to stay here so comfortably).

Awww, although he kinda took her off guard, it was cute how Nicola laid on her lap to rest since he hasn't had much time to sleep lately considering all the family members that have been killed recently. Stylistically, Yang looks pretty dang cool, but omg, not sure what Lao-Shu would be in Chinese or if it's made up but it keeps making me think of mice because that's how you pronounce mice in Mandarin hahahaha; Yang the master of the mice family hahaaha🤣 I'm not sure why exactly the Lao-Shu or whatever in particular want to kill Lili but I can understand why she begged Dante and Nicola to let the guy go even though she nearly died. On the other hand, it's nice to see more of the "less nice" parts of being in the Mafia haha, I do feel sorry for the guy since he seemed to have done it for his family, but I don't at the same time because that means he chose to endanger the whole Falzone family for them, I'm sure that with them, the Mafia family should be just as important as their own little family or even more important, and technically, instead of betraying Dante and them, he should have told them what was happening. Him betraying the Falzone basically means that he was willing to potentially give up on their lives to save his own and his family's and that definitely shouldn't be tolerated. Regardless though, it must have been shocking for Lili to see Nicola so ruthless and cut the guy's fingernail and ear off. Honestly, at this point though, I wouldn't be surprised if the one that's causing all this turmoil and killing Dominico (one of the higher up members in the Falzone) is actually Roberto lol.

I can imagine Nicola betraying the family, but I don't feel like he would ever betray Dante. But that CG of him pointing the gun at Lili was very pretty I have to admit haha. Anyway, it's amusing to think that the Visconti Family are kinda branched off from the Falzone Family after disagreeing with how the Falzone prioritise blood kin for the bosses/positions, I wonder how Gilbert feels about Dante and them. I can't say that I like the Nicola and Lili pairing but I do admire Lili for doing her best to try to communicate properly with Nicola and understand him despite his harshness towards her. LMAO at the corny scenario Gilbert made up to make Nicola protect her and show he really cares for Lili. Kid Dante is so cute, I can see why Nicola would want to protect him like a big brother🥺 Anyway, I really like how Lili is the one initiating talks with Nicola to try and get any opportunity to get to know him better, like in a sense she does feel a bit weirdly desperate and too nice, but he's the only one she really knows here and she's always appreciated how kind he was back at Falzone, so for him and for her current situation, it would be beneficial to try and understand his actions better haha. Hmm, so I guess the reason Nicola wants to destroy the Falzone family is because he wants to free Dante from the Mafia since Dante always hated being forced to do all these things as a child.. Aww, did Dante bring along the traitor Falzone member to the Burlone Mafia meeting to indirectly tell Nicola that he'll forgive him if he comes back?

Honestly, I feel sorry for Marco having to deal with the shit Roberto causes all the time, sometimes I think back to when I first started the game thinking Roberto was hot and needed a route, and now I kinda regret even that thought because he's such a shit LOL. Anyway, although I feel sorry for Marco, I have to admit that it feels weird with Marco's experience and keen eye to neglect how deluded Roberto is getting. It also annoys me to think about those Rome higher ups that threw Roberto here to "learn something", like uh, I don't know what logic you went with, but for someone so hell bent on his own form of justice to go to a lawless area sounds like a crappy idea. Anyway, it was obvious that Roberto was going to shoot Nicola and Lili would shield him, it's just nice that her arm only got grazed, but that's probably already too much for Nicola lol. I have to agree with Yang that in the long term, it's much easier to just kill off Roberto now, and they're really too soft to let this crazy dog run around, I mean I doubt it's difficult for any of them to "kill him" without a trace to them. Okay, I expected the kiss but it was still nice to see, so cute lol🥺 I guess at least now Nicola can kinda understand to treasure himself and his own life more through Lili wanting to protect him with her life. OKAY, I am so sad, I expected it when Roberto appeared, but it was so sad to see him kill Marco because he protected Dante. I know Yang kinda "manipulated" him into delving deeper into his self-serving justice, but really, I'm sure he would have come to this point himself anyway because he obviously doesn't listen to others and definitely needs some counselling more than anything, but geez, poor Marco, he deserved to reach his retirement🥺

It was nice to see Nicola finally properly open up to Lili even though what he said is something we already knew. Her confession was cute~ Honestly, I find it kinda silly how easily the people have been swayed into thinking that Nicola is actually responsible for every killing and bad thing that has happened just through Roberto's lie saying Marco's last words were that Nicola did it (and rumours), since I personally feel like regardless of him being a traitor or not, it's a bit ridiculous to pin it on him other than because of your personal feelings. Anyway, Roberto's arrogance makes me want to punch him in the face every time he talks now and I hope his downfall will be satisfying loll, but yeah, as expected, Roberto was the serial killer too. I love how chill Gilbert is though, just strolling to Dante's place like they're friends haha. I also love how much both Dante and Nicola love and care for each other that they'd rather risk their own lives than the other's. I'm happy that Dante told Nicola to go and protect Lili from Roberto, since at least Dante can take care of himself and he's got the Visconti, but Lili doesn't really have anyone she can trust. Well, Roberto gets more and more insane by the second~ I feel sorry for the poor innocent people he shot... Anyway, lmao at the typo when Nicola shot Roberto, way to kill the supposedly cool scene! Hahaha. Otherwise, I'm not too sure about the publishing saying Nicola's betrayal was all done to lure out the killer and was actually a joint operation between the Falzone and Visconti, like why would the serial killer care if he's a traitor or not? Anyway, considering how the Lao-Shu are gone after this debacle, was it really smart or worth it for Yang to have used Roberto for his schemes knowing how crazy the guy was? It was so cute how Gil kept teasing Nicola about going back to face Dante and being honest with him about why he betrayed the Falzone. I'm glad he could finally tell him, and I'm happy that Dante understood his intentions pretty much immediately. As expected though, even though Dante does feel bound by his bloodline and the family, the Falzone will always be his home and it is a place and gathering of people he'll want to protect no matter what, and that includes Nicola, so rather than feeling like his freedom is being sacrificed now, I'm sure he's happy that he has so many people who believe in him and want to follow him.

Awww I thought the ending was going to give another kiss CG when he asked if he could kiss her! I'm so sad loll! Okay, all good, that best ending CG was hot hahaha. As for the good ending, I'm not sure why Nicola had to kill Roberto like that when he already saved Lili? I felt like there were many other ways to handle that situation and he just took the fastest one that was most disadvantageous to him. Regardless though, Nicola and Lili running away from Burlone and finding happiness going from place to place is pretty cute in its own way, like look at that CG!! Lili has impeccable hair and clothes even on the run, they're obviously having the time of their lives hahaha. Omggg, that tragic ending, I knew Nicola would go a bit nuts after finding out that Dante is dead, but that ungrateful guy!! He literally killed Gil (although Gil should have known better to guard against him imo since he knew how important Dante was to him), like I know it was a mutually beneficial relationship, but c'mon, Gil is like the nicest and most courteous Mafia boss and treated him so well, ugh. I won't forgive you, Nicola. Although, I do have to say, our Mafia bosses all sure died easily! I know it was for the dramatic effect but loll. Hmm, I feel like since Dante died, Nicola is crazy enough to go back to the Falzone family just to kill everyone in it to kinda take revenge on them for being the reason for Dante's death (edit: I kinda wanted this kind of tragic end XD). Honestly, Lili shouldn't enable Nicola especially considering how he's basically raping her but I guess it's not like she can escape anymore anyway since she knows that she doesn't really have a choice, and Nicola told her that too. Okay, the tragic ending was more tame than I thought because I honestly thought he was going to kill everyone hahhaha, he only held Lili in the cage of her room never allowing her to meet anyone so that he can always protect her, which although creepy is understandable since if someone like Dante could die, he's gotta protect someone super frail like her, pretty nice CG too. Bad ending 1 is kinda confusing though, like why did Nicola need to kill her when he was betraying Dante? I'm sure he could have escaped regardless lol, like umm, don't you like her?!

Overall, Nicola and his route was all right but definitely not a favourite. I guess I'm just not into him, although I do love his relationship with Dante and how much they both care for each other, it was probably the best part of the route, because it was so much more touching and heartwarming than any of the other romantic scenes with Lili haha. I guess for Nicola, Lili just had to be really accommodating with him and chase him all the time, but I feel like the story lacked showing why Lili had such conviction to believe in Nicola like that and be with him no matter how he treated her. Like, aside from being flirty, a bit pushy and nice, he really didn't do enough for me to think, yeah, he's worth all this trouble haha. His reason for betraying the Falzone was understandable and of course quite one-sided but you could see why he came to that conclusion so I liked how much he thought about Dante and how much he was willing to sacrifice for him. Oh, and I thought there was going to be some flashback to why he seems to have liked her since the beginning but I guess not LOL. Anyway, the last part was probably the weakest part plot wise imo, but it was okay. Otherwise, I'm sad that Roberto turned out to be a crazy guy hahaha.

#piofiore fated memories #piofiore no banshou

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