#i love ii in blue lighting it makes it feel like he’s underwater | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bangtanbetchfics · 3 years

Text

friction | knj (m)

genre: office au, romance, smut rating: explicit // 18+ pairing: kim namjoon x reader word count: 7.0k suggested listening: 1 billion views - exo-sc | creme brulee - gfriend | underwater - baekhyun | playlist warnings: m/f, m/m, explicit language, explicit/casual sex, masturbation, enemies to lovers, light bondage, light dom/sub, sex toys summary: your pesky and overworked assistants meddle in your relationship with your sexy rival -- kim namjoon -- and find themselves caught in the crosshairs of love and all-out war. notes: enjoy enjoy enjoy! a true labor of love. navigation: ch. i | ch. ii | ch. iii | masterlist | ao3

FRIC·TION | conflict or animosity caused by a clash of wills, temperaments, or opinions.

Taehyung yawns, interlacing his fingers and pulling his arms above his head in a stretch. He moves his neck side-to-side until he hears a satisfying crack, indicating the adequate stretch of the muscle. He waits for his computer to finish powering down before clicking the lamp on his desk off.

Taehyung’s hand reaches for his coat, but he hesitates as he looks over at your office.

The blue glare seems to amplify your stressed expression and the mildly dark crescents under your eyes.

“Ma’am?”

Taehyung quietly raps at the glass door to your office and it startles you from your concentration.

“Hmm...yes, Tae?”

You respond, mildly annoyed, as you pull a neon post-it note from its pad to stick to the desk.

Taehyung looks at you, his eyes forming wide circles as if he's ready to convince you of something. You can immediately sense his question before you exhale through your nose.

“It’s just that it’s getting late and I-” Taehyung starts, wrapping a hand around the glass doorframe.

You shake yourself out of your funk and look at him fondly, your brows coming together in compassion.

Before your mouth can form a response, the phone at Taehyung’s desk rings.

He gives you a small bow to pardon him before he jogs to his desk to pick up the phone.

“Yes, Sir. Yes, yes. Yes, yes, yes. Of course, Mr. Min,” Taehyung looks at you a few times, pointing at the phone. “I’ll send her right up.”

Taehyung's eyes widen at you before hanging up the phone.

You come to the threshold of your office, leaning your head on the frame.

“Was it Min?” You ask, and Taehyung nods in response.

“He wants to see you immediately. Didn’t specify what it was for.”

You chew at your lip and then dig in your pocket, tossing him your corporate card.

“I’m so sorry, Tae. Do you mind staying until I come back? There’s just a lot going on this week with the product launch, and I’m sure he’ll add more to my plate,” Taehyung puts his hand up and shakes it.

“Of course. Anything you need.” He responds, slipping the plastic card in his pocket.

“Thank you.” You whisper, your hands in a prayer. He bows as his eyes watch you walk off.

Taehyung rolls his chair up to his desk, and he hits a few digits on the dialpad.

“Gonna be another long one,” Taehyung sighs out into the receiver.

“Same here Tete,” The singsong voice responds, equally as disappointed.

“I should have your cock in my mouth right now, but I’m here ordering takeout for the third time this week,” The voice whines.

“Jimin!” Taehyung growls into the phone, but the sound quickly dissolves into a laugh.

“What’s so funny? It’s not good for my figure,” Taehyung can tell there’s a pout in Jimin’s voice.

“Especially my ass.” Jimin continues, the pout growing deeper.

“I love your ass. Shutup.” Taehyung chuckles. “You said you’re stuck here late too?”

“Yeah. I know the product launch is coming, but Joon never stops working.” Jimin whines. “He got called upstairs by Min a few seconds ago.” Taehyung gasps and sits up in his chair, rolling it closer to his desk.

“Hmm…” Taehyung hums. He places his elbows on the surface, using his free hand to ruffle his silver locks.

“What? You sound interested.” Jimin inquires, and Taehyung drums the desk with his fingers.

“My boss did too.”

✹✹✹

Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

The slow ticking of the clock snips through your veins. You press the nail of your index finger into the flesh of your thumb, creating a small crescent-shaped indent in your skin.

You feel your heart picking up pace in your chest; steady thumps beating at your ribcage. You turn your hand around to stare at the indentation on your skin, waiting for it to vanish. It does, slowly.

You look at your boss through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of his office, his mouth busy moving in response to someone on the other end of the phone’s receiver. His hair is a textured bowl of platinum blonde, and his long, bony fingers move through a mass of papers on his desk.

You’re unsure of why you’ve been summoned; Yoongi never summoned anyone to his office unless it was serious. Being two days out from a product launch with you at the marketing helm...well, that was never a good sign.

After a moment, heavy, confident footsteps echo through the hall.

You see a man -- all legs in his dark, smartly tailored pants -- and he immediately diverts attention from your buzzing thoughts. His aura fills the entire space, and you sit up straight in your chair.

The man’s long wool trench coat brushes at his ankles, the black fabric stiff at the tips of his shoulders. He shrugs the coat off and carefully folds it in half, placing it on the chair behind him.

He suddenly feels your eyes on him from across the room, and his sharp gaze snaps over to meet yours. His eyes crinkle at the edges, and he extends his hand across the coffee table between the two of you.

“Kim Namjoon. I’m guessing you don’t know why you’re here either?” His voice comes out in a dark, velvety tone, catching you off guard. Your eyes can't help but fix on his as you shake his hand.

“Not a clue,” You respond coolly, and the dimples in his cheeks make themselves known.

You clear your throat as his eyes hang onto yours in return, and you feel your lips subtly part. Snapping yourself from his aura, you quickly release his hand and look around the room to find something else to concentrate on.

“Guess we’ll find out...” Namjoon shrugs, sliding back in his seat. You offer him a nod in response, nervously swallowing the exchange down your throat.

You then cross your legs, pretending to be busy on your phone.

After processing the interaction, Namjoon licks the inside of his cheek -- his head hanging down in a mild defeat for a second. He reaches into his pocket to pull out a tattered copy of The Art of Loving.

As he reads, your eyes peel from your phone and notice the way his turtleneck hugs his form, the dark fabric dipping in at the valley between his firm chest. A few lavender-tinted hairs slide from Namjoon’s slicked back style into his dark brown eyes, and his smokey gaze suddenly rises up to meet yours.

Fuck. He’s caught you.

Your eyes widen in a few seconds of brief panic and dart back down to your phone. You move your thumb around through the pages of apps; it’s all you can manage so suddenly.

Namjoon smiles to himself as he looks back down, quietly dipping a finger to his tongue to stick to a page of his book.

Before he’s able to turn the page, Yoongi pops his head from the office.

“You ready?” Yoongi asks, turning his head in your direction.

You nod and watch Yoongi shuffle back to his desk.

You inhale and smooth your skirt as you stand, noticing Namjoon’s eyes following your fingers as they glide over the red fabric adorning your curves. He calmly looks back down and blushes as you catch him; his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously as he pretends to continue on with his book.

“Wish me luck,” You notice the way his gaze lit something sexual afire in you, but you couldn’t pay any attention to that right now. “Nice meeting you.”

Namjoon looks up at you again, his fingers tense on the pages of the book.

“Likewise.” Namjoon’s smouldering eyes are fixed on you as he responds, and his gaze continues to follow you into Yoongi’s office.

You reach a chair across from Yoongi’s desk, sneaking a glance at Namjoon one last time over your shoulder.

Namjoon exhales the tension from his body as he watches you take a seat.

✹✹✹

You sit in the chair across from Yoongi’s desk, admiring the glittering cityscape behind him.

“I love being in here. It’s so refreshing.” You sigh, your eyes floating back to Yoongi.

“Yeah, kid? Well, it could be yours soon,” He chuckles. “I’m actually sick of looking at it. I’m ready to move onto my next venture.” Yoongi says this as if he’s in his forties, but he’s the youngest CEO in the vicinity. It's indicated by a giant, framed magazine cover of himself on a wall in his office: Top 30 Under 30 in Technology.

“C-Come again?” You murmur as you’re taken by surprise, and you sit up in your seat.

“You heard me. I want either you -- the CMO -- or Kim, the CTO running things," Yoongi says, standing up. He calls you over with his finger, motioning for you to sit in his chair. "Either of you are my best shot.”

You plop down in the cushy leather fabric, and your eyes meet Namjoon’s again. You purse your lips together and swirl the chair around to face the cityscape.

“How’s that feel?” Yoongi asks as he adjusts his cream turtleneck.

“Damn good.” You growl, your nails digging into the armrests.

“Well, there’s no reward without risk,” He says, and you raise your head in interest.

“Try me, Min.” You demand as you cross your legs, leaning back in the chair.

“I want you to launch the product in my place at TechX this week.” He mentions casually, and you shriek in response as you shoot up from your seat.

“You can’t be serious, Min!” You throw your hands on your hips. “Isn’t that in two days? In Vegas? And like, the largest product launch ever for this company? ” You inquire, looking over at Yoongi.

“See! You understand the gravity of this launch. And yeah, and I haven’t even finished the keynote yet,” Yoongi cackles, slapping his thigh. “Partner with Kim on the presentation. It’s in front of twenty-thousand too, so make it good.” He sits down, racking away at the keys on his laptop.

“You and Kim are both equally matched in terms of qualifications, so whoever can secure the biggest investors to ensure the longevity of the company will get a leg up in interviewing for the position.” Yoongi continues nonchalantly.

“Got it?” He taps one last key, stopping only to look up at you.

“Yes, Sir.” You nod, feeling a tightness creep into your chest.

✹✹✹

“Jimin, can you book my accommodations, please?”

Jimin hands Namjoon a bag of takeout before he rolls his chair up to his desk.

“Vegas, leaving tomorrow. Business class. King bed. That hotel that’s hosting the conference. You know the deal.” He rattles out, taking the bag of food.

“Of course, Sir.” Jimin nods, watching Namjoon walk into his office.

Jimin navigates through a few windows on his screen before settling on a corporate travel portal. He’s able to book the flight without a problem, but the hotel is where he’s running into issues. He quickly dials up Taehyung, waiting for the other side of the call to pick up.

“Are you seeing the same thing?” Jimin asks, and Taehyung clicks his tongue.

“No rooms, right-” Jimin starts. “Just one left…” Taehyung cuts in to finish his sentence.

“But shit, there’s your boss and my boss.” Jimin twirls his finger around the coiled cord, pondering what to do next.

Jimin hears a eureka snap on the other end of the line.

“Crazy ass idea here, Jiminie,” Taehyung chuckles.

"What is it Taehyungie?" Jimin purrs out, the curiosity rising in his voice at the end of the question.

“What if...they just stayed in the same room together? There’s only one King room available, and it’s the last room in the hotel. They’re both so...particular.” Taehyung continues, pressing his mouth into the receiver to keep his voice low.

Jimin throws his head back so far in laughter that his chair tips over. Taehyung hears a crash on the other end of the line, and hears shuffling noises as Jimin gets back up.

“Fell off your chair again?”

“Y-Yeah. God you're a genius! An evil one,” Jimin gathers his breaths.

“I mean...she’s fucking hot. And she’s single as fuck because she’s holed up here every night.” Taehyung whispers into the receiver, making sure to glance over to check that you’re immersed in work.

“And Joon’s smoking hot, too. He’d melt her icy panties right off,” Jimin clicks his tongue before he slaps his desk.

“Dammit, we’re doing it. Think about it. Off work by five? What a world.” Jimin chirps, clicking away at his screen. “To add an extra layer of fun, I’m checking the romance option.”

“Jimin! Jimin. They’re gonna kill each other.” Taehyung giggles, gasping to catch his breath.

“Either they share a room and let romance bloom, or its whack-a-roach at the Motel 6.” Jimin’s tone is confident, but it makes Taehyung erupt into another fit of laughter.

“What? What’s the worst that could happen?” Jimin commands a response, but Taehyung continues to laugh.

“Mmm...we lose our fucking jobs?” Taehyung responds darkly.

The two pause for a second, but continue laughing into their phones.

✹✹✹

“What’re the topline details for the trip, Tae?” You ask, sliding on your sunglasses and pulling a handle up on your hardside luggage.

“Your flight...as you know is in three hours, and your car’s outside right now.” Taehyung walks up to you, handing you an iPad with a copy of your itinerary. “You’ll be staying at the Palazzo where the conference is held, and check-in should be getting started as soon as you arrive.”

“Mwah. You’re the fucking best,” You chef’s kiss your fingers. “This is exactly why I hired you.”

You pull your luggage behind you, but Taehyung puts his hand up.

“Try not to get too excited. Please note that the room I was able to secure for you was the last room at the hotel two days before a conference of this size,” Taehyung says, pulling his hands behind his back.

“Okay...your point being?” You ask, pulling your sunglasses down to look into Taehyung’s eyes.

“Uhm, so, how do I put this?” Taehyung asks himself rhetorically, drawing his foot across the floor nervously.

“Tae...” You growl, your gaze slowly turning into a glare.

“Erm, you’ll have to share the room,” He starts.

“With Kim Namjoon.” He winces as he gets the words out.

Your mouth drops open in shock, and your iPad crashes to the floor.

✹✹✹

You peruse through a luxurious spread of food in the airport lounge: crabsticks with melted butter drizzling from them, exotic finger sandwiches, spreads and dips and the like. You grab tongs, dropping a few items onto a small plate. You quickly look through the drinks on display and decide on sparkling water.

Suddenly, you spot Namjoon arriving in the lounge and you quickly tuck the bottle of sparkling water into your armpit. You grab your plates, quickly followed by your luggage and make a mad dash for a secluded cubby in the back area.

You quickly throw on your headphones and prop up your iPad as you swipe through a few documents.

Just as you stuff a crabstick in your mouth, you feel a tap on your shoulder. You look at the fingers, then up the veined arm wrapped with white cotton fabric, and you see Namjoon.

He licks his lips, letting out a shy chuckle just before he speaks.

“Did you really just try to avoid me?”

“Mm-maybh, ‘nd wh-r about it?” You blink at him, your words unintelligible as you slowly chew a mouthful of seafood. You furrow your brows, slightly irked by Namjoon seeing you in this state.

“I’m sure those two jokesters told you,” He continues, and you shrug as you delicately bite a small cucumber and cream cheese sandwich. “That you’ll be my roommate for the next two days.”

“I didn’t hear it, and I won’t acknowledge it,” You retort, dropping the last bite of the sandwich in your mouth. “I’m going to find another room if it’s the last thing I do.” You dust crumbs from your hands but stop as Namjoon lets out another light chuckle.

“There aren’t anymore in the whole of Vegas. I checked myself. The only other hotel left in town is the Trump Tower,” He crosses his arms and then shakes his head. “And no one wants to be caught dead there.”

“Fuck!” You can’t help but scream out, and a few people turn to look in your direction. You bury your head in your hands, and comb your hands through your hair in frustration.

Namjoon taps your shoulder again and you look up.

“Finger sandwich?” He asks, licking a finger as you glare up at him.

✹✹✹

A flight attendant walks by the two of you to do a visual safety check, and you’re in the middle seat -- Namjoon in the aisle.

“Champagne? Champagne? Water?” Another attendant walks by with a tray full of alcoholic beverages. You spot her, reaching over Namjoon to grab a drink off the tray. She lets out a gasp, shock entangling her features.

The beverage quickly makes its way down your throat, and you slam the plastic cup back on the tray.

“Sorry. She’s not having the best of days,” Namjoon whispers to her and finishes his off as well, handing it to the attendant. She scoffs, continuing on down the aisle.

You shuffle your hand in your bag to locate your iPad, slipping it from its sleeve. As you look at the screen you sigh, your eyes roving over the deep cracks.

“Please turn all devices to airplane mode as we prepare for departure…”

The plane starts to rattle over the tarmac, turning to face a new direction every so often.

“What the heck happened to that thing?” Namjoon asks, leaning over to look at the fractured device.

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” You respond without looking at him. You swipe through a screen of apps before clicking into Keynote. “I scanned through the presentation, and Yoongi was nowhere near done. We’ll need to wrap up by tomorrow evening.”

“We’ll also need to submit some requests to the photographer and Design team so that the remaining graphics and specs will be ready by the time we land in six hours…”

Namjoon nods, watching as you swipe through the slides, breezing through improvements for each. Your words seem to fade out, and he finds himself enamored by your gung-ho nature as he watches you speak.

“Got it?” You ask and notice Namjoon is silent, causing you to turn your head in his direction.

You search his eyes for a response, noticing his pupils are blown as he looks at you. He covers his throat so as to not give away the unexpected heat rising up his skin.

“Sure thing. I’ll have the Product team get right on all of that,” Namjoon responds before he looks down to type an email into his phone.

You look back down at your iPad, nibbling at the inside of your lip as you tuck your hair behind your ear.

You take a second to press your head back to the seat as the plane takes off.

Namjoon reaches below the seat in front of him and pulls out his iPad to begin typing information into the slides. He glances over at you furiously typing and swiping before you grimace.

“Ow, fff-” You growl, looking at your index finger.

Blood starts to pool in a small cut, and Namjoon takes notice. You look over at him and watch him reach into his bag to pull out a travel-sized first aid kit. He takes out a small alcohol wipe and grabs your finger, pinching the towelette to it. You wince, sucking air in through your teeth.

“You should really get that fixed.” He says as he takes a small bandaid and covers the cut.

“Uhm, I will. Thank you.” You say quietly as you search his eyes, and then tuck your hair behind your ear again.

You break eye contact with him as your heart starts to patter in your chest...and fuck. You know you're in trouble from here on out.

Namjoon chuckles to himself through his nose as he takes a world newspaper from an attendant.

The newspaper covers his face and you sneak to observe your finger -- trying to not let a smile curl up on the edges of your lips.

✹✹✹

“Checking in?”

A woman asks you in a singsong voice and you nod, motioning for Namjoon to give you his identification card.

You're tired, hungry and irritable from the flight and certainly not willing to engage with this ultra-chipper woman right now.

“Ugh, beautiful! How long have you two been together?” She asks, smiling as she looks at the two of you.

“We’re not a couple and we’ve only just met, why do you ask?” You inquire, swiping through a few things on a digital screen anchored to the desk in front of you.

“Oh...you’re not?” You stop what you’re doing and look up at her. “No. We’re here for the TechX conference.”

The woman releases a nervous breath from her throat and readjusts her blouse.

“Well...oh my, the room I have booked for the two of you is one of our most romantic rooms.” She giggles out nervously, not sure what to do as she hands you a sleeve of keycards.

“I’m gonna fucking kill Taehyung when I get back,” You grumble, taking your credit card and the sleeve before you march off toward the elevator.

The elevator lobby is packed, and both you and Namjoon slip into a crowded elevator.

You find yourself suddenly sandwiched between the back of a woman and the front of Namjoon, and you tighten your muscles so you don’t make bodily contact with either of them.

The elevator jerks as it reaches the floor before yours, and Namjoon collapses over you. He looks down at you as his hands land to press on the wall on either side of your head as he holds himself up.

“God, sorry,” He groans as he waits for other people to exit before he can steadily stand on his own two feet. Your eyes grow wide as you look up at him, a prickly heat creeping up your throat. His face is so close to yours from the fall that you can feel his breaths on your skin.

“Are you okay?” He asks, looking over at you as he’s able to stand up straight.

Namjoon thinks nothing of the brief moment, but you gulp and give him a silent nod.

“This is us.” He says before he clears the way, watching you walk out in front of him.

✹✹✹

As you enter the room, you hear smooth jazz floating from a digital radio.

You drop to your knees: you see rose petals on the bed, a bucket with ice and champagne, a towel swan and a bouquet of additional roses wrapped with packages of chocolate. You drop your head into your hands and laugh out loud, and Namjoon looks down at you. His eyes quickly scan the room and he lets out a screech before he covers his stomach to laugh.

“I-I s-swear we were set up,” You gasp for air through your laughs. “God.”

“The wall between the shower and our room is frosted. Frosted!” Namjoon yells as he waves his hand through it to show you as you approach.

You both can’t help but giggle.

“God. I haven’t laughed that hard in so long,” You mention, swiping a tear hanging on at the edge of your eye. Namjoon smiles, his dimples lighting up his face.

There’s a sudden silence as your eyes meet, and you try to find something to busy yourself with -- deciding on unraveling the towel swan.

“Anyway, I’m gonna shower. We can just relax for now as we wait for everything to come in.” You quickly open your luggage and pull out a swimsuit and a cover up before heading into the bathroom.

“And oh. Please be an adult...no peeking?” You raise your brows as you pop your head from the bathroom.

Namjoon nods in agreement, beginning to unpack his luggage. He grabs his clothes nonchalantly to head to a nearby drawer, but he unintentionally catches your silhouette in the shower.

Namjoon gulps as he feels a tightness growing in his jeans. He clears his throat, continuing on with placing his clothes into the drawer.

✹✹✹

“Okay, okay, yes. I’m so sorry. It was the best we could do under the circumstances, and yes-” Taehyung nods his head as Jimin takes another bite of a sushi roll.

“Oof, was that her?” Jimin asks, swiping his mouth with a napkin.

“God, yeah. She’s pissed. And she yelled. She never yells at me, Jiminie.” Taehyung pouts.

Jimin laughs as he throws his head back, rubbing Taehyung’s back.

“Don’t worry Taehyungie,” He giggles. “I’m sure they’ll thank us soon enough.”

Taheyung smiles at him and opens his mouth to receive one of the rolls on his tongue.

The two giggle as they look at each other, mouths full.

✹✹✹

You swim in the Olympic-sized pool at the hotel before you pop up from underneath.

A hand runs through your hair to smooth it on your head before you start to float on your back. The intense rays of the sun start to heat up your skin, but you nearly moan at how good it feels.

Namjoon settles down in a lounge chair before he sees you with your eyes closed on the water.

You only have on a swimsuit, but in a man’s mind it was the near-equivalent of seeing you in your underwear.

Namjoon attempts to sneak away before you can spot him, but your eyes open just as he does.

“Hey! Kim Namjoon! Is that you?” You shout, paddling up to the edge of the pool. He grimaces and meets you at the edge, looking down at you.

“Did you really just try to avoid me?” You throw his question from earlier back at him, smirking.

“What? No.” Namjoon scoffs and clenches his jaw -- a bit delighted, a bit turned on.

You tilt your head and raise your eyebrows, still awaiting a real answer. His thoughts are still racing for a clever response and you can tell he’s caught off-guard.

You emerge from the water, toweling your hair and body. His eyes widen as he tries to keep them focused on your face, and you smirk at him again.

"Cat got your tongue?" You tease, wringing out your hair.

The devilish look in your eyes shoots straight to his water trunks and he presses his legs together. He quickly wraps the towel in his hand around his waist to cover himself before you detect anything, and your eyes follow his movements.

“Uhm, you know what...I don’t feel too well,” His voice trembles. “I’m gonna go back to the room.”

Namjoon takes off in a hurry, and you scoff as your brows come together in confusion.

✹✹✹

Namjoon lets out a few strained moans as he tugs at cock -- now rock hard and bulging with thick veins. His eyes squeeze shut as you come into memory, and he attempts to regulate his arousal through deep, frantic exhales.

The way the sun was kissing your body, the movement of the water as it drizzled down into the valley between your breasts, the smirk and banter that lit his desire alight. He gasps as he strokes his cock faster, his grip growing firmer by the second. He feels his balls tighten, his cock growing stiffer with lust.

He growls as he nears cumming, taking a moment to spit on in his hand and spread it generously over his shaft. He jerks his cock as fast as he can, his wrist snapping in different directions to switch up the sensation of his movements. He bucks into his hand at the last few moments, wondering what it’d be like to have you atop his cock instead.

Namjoon cries out before his cock hardens, his thick load pulsing in random patterns across his chest.

"Fuck," He suddenly hears footsteps floating down the hall and he swiftly pulls his trunks up.

He grabs a few tissues from the night table to quickly wipe himself off.

“Namjoon? I’m back,” You announce as you open the door. “The pool’s great, you can’t miss it.”

You enter and he tosses the tissues to the ground.

You observe that Namjoon’s form is rigid and that he’s sitting up on the bed as he scrolls through his phone. Something’s weird and quiet about the energy in the room, but you just shrug it off.

“Hey.” His tone is stoic, but you can sense his voice is caught in his throat before he clears it.

“Should we close out the final pieces of the presentation tonight?” Namjoon continues, his eyes now following you as you walk around the room.

“Sure thing, eight sound good?” You ask, smiling in his direction.

All he can do is look at you with his eyes wide and nod.

✹✹✹

“How’d you find this place?” You ask, picking up one of the books stacked on the table for display.

The rest of the bar is almost like a library -- straight from Beauty and the Beast. You look up and around as bookshelves from every angle are filled with books.

"Your drinks." A waiter arrives, carefully placing each drink on the table.

"I like to wander and I stumbled upon it. I frequent here when I come to Vegas," Namjoon smiles at you, satisfied with himself. "It's a nice place to unwind and get work done outside of the hotel." You nod, impressed with his response.

"I love all of the giant KAWS figurines here, too," You mention, and he turns his head to look at you. "The valuation on those in a few years is gonna be insane."

"Oh, you like art, too?" He tries to hide the gush in his voice, but you chuckle to yourself.

"Sure do." You reply, taking a few small sips from your cup as you look at him.

As Namjoon sips at his Jameson whiskey on the rocks, you can't help but absorb his carefully slicked back hair and the leather jacket on his frame.

Namjoon notices from his peripheral and bites his lip as subtly as he can, drawing his iPad from his briefcase.

After a few minutes, he looks up from what he's typing to see you've already downed half of your drink. You drop the cup from your lips and your eyes grow wide with embarrassment.

"God, sorry, please don't judge me," You chuckle as you peel the drink from your mouth and lick your lips. "They only have good French Martinis in two places in the world. Vegas, and Europe."

Namjoon chuckles back at you, and you notice his eyes float down to your lips.

Your breath quickens for a second, but he breaks eye contact by looking down. He purses his lips and his dimples pop out before he looks at you through his lashes.

"You've got a little something..." He motions at the foam on your upper lip, and you attempt to swipe it with your tongue. He shakes his head a few times as you continue licking your lips to no avail.

"May I?" He asks warmly. With a nod from you, he takes a miniature napkin to wipe your top lip. He's so close that you can smell the spice of his cologne, and you look into his eyes.

A slight panic forms in his gaze before he pulls back.

“There.” He says without looking at you, placing the napkin on the table.

Both of you shake the interaction off, and you reach into your bag to pull out your iPad.

"I had Taehyung drop in the graphics. All we have to do is finish up the text," You say as you start to type, and Namjoon brings his focus back to his slides.

"Got it. I had Jimin drop in the brief outline he retrieved from the Product Lead, so we can just work from that as we go along." Namjoon chimes in, and you nod.

"I'll activate the full social strategy and content team back at the office," You continue as you type. "I'll let them know that we're almost locked so they can get ready to fire up the site and social promotions."

Namjoon smiles to himself again, absorbing the incredible synergy between the two of you. It only pushes him harder...and makes him harder. He clenches his jaw as he feels the sensation filling his lower half, but he shakes his leg to stay focused.

"Is there something wrong?" You ask, looking down at his leg.

"Hmm?" He asks, not even noticing his leg still moving.

"Oh!" He says looking down and stretching his foot out, but it bumps yours instead.

"Fuck. Sorry!" He yelps. You chortle, continuing on with writing.

You look at him for a bit through your peripheral, admiring his absolute focus on the task at hand. He picks up a pen to draw it around his plump lips, and you can't help but feel a twinge between your thighs. You inhale and let out a breath to take your focus off the sensation.

Just as you do, a crackle of thunder rips through the air and a few customers gasp and break into a din.

You and Namjoon look at each other, and a few flashes of lightning light up each of your features in the dim bar.

"We should get going before it rains," Namjoon says as he starts to pack his bag. "We can finish this up at the hotel."

You follow suit.

✹✹✹

As the two of you walk outside, the rain begins to trickle. Despite the warm Vegas air from earlier, the temperature significantly dropped in the evening and it made you shiver.

Namjoon notices, and despite him being cold -- he drops his coat on your shoulders.

"Oh. Please don't do that on my behalf." You say as you look up at him, but he keeps walking.

You couldn't worry long, noticing as raindrops begin to soak Namjoon's white tee.

"Just up here," He looks down at you and points at the hotel, but it suddenly starts to pour. He grabs your hand to quickly pull you across the street before the light changes, and you pull his jacket over your head.

Namjoon doesn't stop running until the two of you land in an empty elevator. He sighs, slicking his wet hair back with a hand. You notice that his shirt is soaked, seeping into the grooves of his firm chest and abdomen.

You arrive at the door to your room, nervously shuffling in your bag for your keycard. You can feel Namjoon's warm breath at the back of your neck, and you feel goosebumps form on your skin.

"Here." He says, reaching around you to insert his key. You feel as his body heat radiates around you as you walk through the door.

As you enter the room you shiver at the blast of air conditioning -- pulling Namjoon's coat further over your shoulders.

Namjoon returns from the bathroom with a towel, and removes his jacket from your frame.

“Sorry, it’s totally my fault for suggesting a place so far away,” He wraps the warm fluffy towel over your shoulders, and you close your eyes in comfort.

"No, it was really fun," You open your eyes after a few seconds, shaking your head as you look up at him.

Namjoon almost looks away as you open your eyes, but his gaze fixates on yours -- causing you to lose the breath in your throat as you quickly look down.

"Thank you." Your voice only manages to come out in a whisper. You somehow get the courage to let your eyes scan his body, and then look back up to meet him still looking down at you.

Namjoon’s chest lightly rises and falls as neither of you break eye contact -- his eyes floating to your lips. He tucks your hair behind your ear, and your breath catches in your throat. His thumb moves to trace over your jawline and your bottom lip as he moves in to hover his lips over yours.

The air buzzes with a sparkling heat as your lips brush together -- neither of you wanting to be the first to make a move.

“We shouldn’t do this, right?” He whispers, the tip of his nose grazing over yours.

"No..." You whisper back, a bated desire in your voice.

“Can I tell you a secret?” You give him a slow nod, drawing your bottom lip in-between your teeth.

You lick your lips and he tilts your head to the side, his own lips inside the shell of your ear before he speaks.

“That red dress...from yesterday? It was all I could think about for the rest of the night.” The deep vibrations from his voice causes you to let out a satisfied moan as you tilt your head back.

“Does that turn you on?” He asks, his hands sliding down your body to grip your hips.

A heated lust overcomes you, and you let your lips feverishly embrace his. Your hands roam up his wet body and land over his shoulders before you pull him closer to you by the back of his neck. The momentum dizzies you both and your back slams into the wall.

His hands move to your waist as he covers you, pulling you flush against his hard, wet body. It causes your lips to part, and he slips his searing tongue into your mouth. You easily lose the upper hand as he grips your ass, causing you to let out a whine into his mouth. His plush lips kiss at your neck, and you run your hands through his damp hair as his kisses reach your collarbones.

Namjoon moves to wipe all of the items off a cabinet near you, and the chocolate and roses crash to the floor. He throws you on top of the surface, his lips eagerly gliding over yours.

Namjoon's hands roam up your dress and on the outside of your thighs as his fingers tuck under the top of the fabric of your underwear. He tugs at the fabric as if he's going to remove it, but he jerks it up hard instead -- soothing the growing ache between your thighs. He twists the fabric in a bunch so he can keep pulling at it in intervals to soothe your clit.

Your head falls back in desperation and he takes the opportunity to suck a hickey into the exposed skin. He nibbles at the skin harder and you gasp, gripping the back of his mullet.

Namjoon growls into your ear as you pull his hair, and yanks your underwear down each of your thighs.

Just as he does, he feels his wrist buzz. He pulls from your lips to look at his watch.

[Assistant: Park Jimin.]

Namjoon lets out a long exhale through his nose. He rests his forehead on yours, both of your lips still swollen and vibrating from the session.

"I have to take this," He lets out in a deep exhale before touching a green icon on his watch to receive the call.

"Are you alright, Sir?" Jimin asks, hearing Namjoon’s intense breaths cooling on his end.

"Just came from the gym, don't worry about me. What’s on fire?" He breathes out, and the edges of your lips curl upward at the lie.

"Nothing at all, Sir. I've just called to give your daily rundown as requested." Namjoon sighs, forgetting it’s something he did in fact ask for.

“Can I call you back in five?” Namjoon asks, and you shake your head.

After Jimin hangs up, Namjoon immediately dives back into your lips. You savor it for a few seconds, but you tease him a few times as you pull away.

"I think we should finish up in the morning and get to bed," You whisper, your hand floating down his cheek. "Long day tomorrow." You bite your lip as you look into his eyes.

Namjoon lightly growls in disappointment as he pulls you down from the top of the cabinet.

You lift your hair up into a ponytail, and you turn around and look over your shoulder.

“Mind helping me with the zip?” You ask, and you feel the heat from his breath at the back of your neck drawing goosebumps from your skin. His breaths shallow out with every inch of the zip, and he lets out a light groan as it ends at the curve of your back -- just before your ass.

“Thanks.” You whisper as you head toward the bathroom, looking over your shoulder once more with a grin before you disappear around the corner.

Namjoon waits to make sure you’re gone before he screams into his fist out of frustration.

✹✹✹

“Seeya, I’m gonna head over to the conference hall to start getting prepped,” Namjoon mentions, stuffing a croissant in his mouth as he picks up his briefcase. “You said you’ll be a few minutes behind me, right?” He asks, using his free hand to push his glasses up his nose.

“Uhm, sure! Yes! Yesyesyesyes. Have a nice day!” You nod eagerly, your eyes wide as you watch him head toward the door. He furrows his brows, finding you a bit too enthusiastic.

As the door shuts, you hear his footfalls disappear down the hall and you toss your robe to the ground.

You take in a deep inhale. You knew you needed to be focused for this presentation, and you definitely couldn't have what happened last night top of mind.

Where to start? Him eyeing you in the office? The wet t-shirt? Oh, yes. There.

You sink down in the bed and slowly spread your legs, your fingers gliding over your already wet lips. You gasp in pleasure as you recall his plump lips dragging on your neck -- his teeth embedded in the sensitive flesh. It’s enough for you to dip a finger inside of yourself -- make it two -- before you let out a moan.

The thing that really made you wet, though, was his mind. The fucking book bar? Kudos. His knowledge of the product? Points. A tattered copy of a book about love? You were practically dripping down your thighs at the thought. Those nerdy glasses he wore before he left this morning? Fuck me.

It’s all enough to make you cum until-

Bzz. Beep.

You quickly draw the covers up on your frame and you can feel your cheeks burning as Namjoon enters the room.

“I...left my coffee...” He says cautiously, seeing your robe on the floor before his eyes meet yours. “Uhm, sorry?” His voice comes out in a high, questioning pitch -- and he grabs his coffee before he hurries himself out the door.

As the door shuts, you kick your feet around in the bed and then slap your forehead.

Fuck. He caught you.

#bts imagine #btssmutclub #btsbookclub #bangtanidx #bts smut #namjoon fanfiction #namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #bts fanfiction

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princediavolos · 3 years

Text

every clue in endless summer, explained

technically the title is kinda misleading because some clues simply have no explanation, they just are. still, there’s a lot of pieces to be put together over the three books, and there are clues found in the first book that aren’t explained till the last one. (if you’re confused about the clues, here’s the fandom wiki for book 1, book 2 & book 3.)

before i dive in, here’s some clarifications:

i’ve used mc’s default name, taylor, and neutral pronouns wherever i’ve referred to them. the endless is also referred to by neutral pronouns.

acts 1, 2 & 3 fall under book 1

acts 4, 5 & 6 fall under book 2

acts 7 & 8 fall under book 3

each act has one bonus scene, so if i’m referring to bonus scene 5, it implies to the scene shown after act 5.

ok so unnecessarily long exposition under the cut!

ACT 1

i. tranquilizer dart: found by taylor and diego upon landing on the airstrip. presumably used on the sabretooth, t'kal, to keep it docile. likely done by rourke or his henchmen, but it is also highly possible the endless tranquilized t'kal in order to keep it from killing everyone.

ii. strange creature: a colourful flying seahorse, found by quinn and taylor along the beach in a premium scene. as shown in bonus scene 1, rourke knows of the creature, as he examines it with interest through his binoculars.

iii. weird lights: lights resembling the auroras displayed at the control tower, found by taylor and jake. it is later explained in book 2 chapter 10 by grace, that the lights are caused by the doppler effect, due to the dilation and contraction of time around la huerta. the vaanti call it the lights of vaanu, said to bring them good luck.

iv. vintage wine: if taylor goes to the ballroom with zahra, quinn notes that every bottle in the room predates 1924. as revealed in book 3 chapter 7, the wedding in the ballroom was that of flora and arthur, and group arrived there due to the time anomalies of the island.

v. sharp tooth: found by grace by the pool, near the fence. according to her, the bars were all twisted. presumably belongs to t'kal the sabretooth.

vi. old note: a note found by taylor and diego in one of the upgraded honeymoon/rainforest suites. it was written by flora sullivan to eugene rosencraft, before her wedding to arthur barnaby. it also references neptune cove, where the second half of the island's heart is found in book 3.

vii. pirate coin/wolf symbol: can be obtained either by going to the waterfall with quinn, or by hiking the cliff with jake. the doubloon is probably a remnant of malatesta and yvonne's loot, while the wolf symbol could have been left behind by the endless. the symbol also matches the stamp on jake's dossier.

viii. shoe prints: a set of muddy shoeprints were found by the celestial's shelter. no solid explanation or implication towards who these belong to.

ix. gas mask: found by taylor underwater in the cavern. it looks very old, and as noted by diego, probably from the world war times. it would have probably belonged to kele, a world war ii soldier who paddled his way into la huerta while escaping from the germans.

x. padlock: the unbroken padlock to the burning hangar, which implies that the hangar was unlocked and jake's plane sabotaged. in one of the memories taylor receives from the endless, lila is shown to deliberately sabotage the plane in order to keep everyone on the island, implying she may have done it in this timeline, too.

ACT 2

i. cufflink: lila is discovered pocketing the cufflink in rourke's office, which she probably did to discover his whereabouts later on. in bonus scene 2, rourke is shown to remove all his clothing, including his cufflinks, before he steps into the containment pod. the cufflink can also be used in book 1 chapter 10, where rourke's dna on it reveals a footage video of him complaining about strange occurrences on the island.

ii. dossiers: files containing data on sean, grace, raj and estela are found in the paper shredder, intact. each of them is stamped with symbols of the constellations aquila, cygnus, centaurus and draco respectively. the symbols are left behind by the endless.

iii. whiskey notes: a note discarded by rourke in the vip lounge, referencing the satellite uplink at the la huerta observatory. this is also shown in bonus scene 2.

iv. frying pan: a frying pan embossed with the centaurus symbol on it, which raj says he feels very drawn to. this was also left behind by the endless. he also uses this pan to deflect a sedative dart aimed at taylor in book 1 chapter 16.

v. arrowhead: an amber arrowhead is found lodged inside the king crab's shell, as found by taylor and estela. as the vaanti have been shown to use amber weaponry (as well as in other ways, such as the catalyst idols), it is implied that one of them may have attacked the guardian with an arrow.

vi. dossiers: files containing data on jake, zahra and diego found in the room inside the observatory. they are stamped with the symbols of the constellations lupus, corvus and canis. symbols left behind by the endless.

vii. strange gun: a futuristic gun found by either estela or jake. in book 1 chapter 16, it is revealed to be a tachyon accelerator, used to move objects forward in time. in bonus scene 5, lila refers to the gun as a temporal perforator.

viii. star map: a holographic display of constellations, as seen by taylor and sean as they go up the pod. sean points out that the stars in the sky over la huerta don't have the usual constellations, and that the stars have not looked like this for a million years. this is confirmed in the book 1 epilogue, when aleister notes that atropo's eruption has caused la huerta to go back to the hadean eon.

ACT 3

i. dossiers: files containing data on quinn, michelle and craig found by taylor and diego by the marina. they are stamped with the symbols of the constellations delphinus, pavo and ursa. symbols left behind by the endless.

ii. rourke's ship: if taylor and lila venture into a familiar-looking boat, they will discover it is rourke's ship, the daedalus. he was seen on the ship in bonus scene 1, and he presumably destroyed it along with the other boats on the marina immediately afterwards.

iii. plastic explosive: the semtex explosive is found by taylor in the back of the boat. it's what was used to blow up the other ships in the marina, but this one malfunctioned.

iv. strange shell: a blue-purple coloured shell that repeats the speaker's words over and over. in one of the memories taylor receives from the endless, varyyn is seen tearfully listening to the shell echoing diego's voice, saying 'i'll always love you, varyyn' over and over again as it gradually fades away.

v. telepathic vision: varyyn telepathically communicates with taylor, showing them what would happen if the catalysts didn't go with the vaanti. it is later revealed to be a depiction of atropo erupting, setting the whole world on fire and destroying it.

vi. numbers: in the wine cellar, 1908 refers to a lever to the underground tunnel, disguised as a vintage wine bottle, as well as the cheat code to rourke's arcade game, most wanted 2. rourke also uses an override program on iris called the directive 1908, explained in book 3 chapter 9, which makes iris prioritise the goal she was created for -- to utilise imogen rourke's knowledge on cloning to provide an heir to rourke. another program, directive 8091, forces estela into the omega mech cockpit in book 3 chapter 10, as she is rourke's 'true' heir.

vii. dossiers: files on taylor and aleister are found inside the security centre, both stamped by the endless with symbols of constellations andromeda and serpens. aleister's dossier is newer, printed recently by iris upon discovering that he was aboard the plane to la huerta.

viii. healing plant: leaves of the plant, when wrapped around aleister's bleeding palm, heal it with unnatural speed without a trace. grace and aleister theorize this may be due to some cellular reconstructive properties the leaves may contain.

ix. necklace: worn by varyyn in book 1, the necklace is seen to have time travelling properties, as it brings back jake/estela/sean/quinn/diego back from the dead. it is unknown if the endless facilitated its use or it is associated with rourke.

x. pirate cutlass: the cutlass was forged by malatesta and was stolen from him by admiral higgenbotham, who was presumably killed alongside malatesta's crew in the flashback taylor experiences, by the vaanti. yvonne then stole the cutlass from higgenbotham's corpse, naming it chouchou. it is unclear as to how the cutlass ended up on a display case at the celestial.

ACT 4

i. hydra caduceus: a staff found in rourke's library, which when placed in the statue's hand in the atrium, turns it into a sundial. iris says that the caduceus is the only item in the library she cannot find the origin of.

ii. crimson glove: a futuristic, yet battered metal glove put on display in rourke's underground museum; taylor realises that the person's arm was probably cut off. the glove belongs to the endless, who tells taylor that they learnt very soon that 'the laws of time can be very unforgiving' with reference to their loss of limb.

iii. shotgun shell: michelle and taylor find the 12-gauge armor-piercing shell casing, as identified by jake, during the time loop. he notes that whoever shot this meant business. the shell probably came from one of the arachnids who were on the island searching for jake.

iv. snowy hills: taylor, with either jake or estela, finds snow on the hills and by the lake on a hot and sunny day, indicating time is in disarray throughout different parts of the island, much like the northern and southern parts of the island.

v. wedding ring: a wedding ring is found on the hand of a statue of a masked bride, in the valley of tombs by jake and taylor. the statue is of flora sullivan, and the ring was given to her by eugene rosencraft which she had turned down. it was after this she wrote him the note found in act 1.

vi. tattoo: uqzhaal has a back tattoo of the legend of the threshold. it is the place where yvonne finds the endless in bonus scene 5, and where yvonne, taylor and uqzhaal meet the endless after collecting all the catalyst idols and solving the puzzle.

vii. words on the wind: the voices at the singing cliffs tell taylor that something is coming across the sea, destroying everything in its path. this could either be an immediate reference to yvonne's arrival the next morning, or a vague prediction about the omega mech used by rourke in book 3.

viii. musket ball: yvonne concedes the gold musket ball at sharktooth isle in exchange for their services to find her 'treasure.'

ix. antique compass: yvonne's said treasure turns out to be an antique compass which she tries to conceal; malatesta made her walk the plank for stealing this compass, which she did in order to find the fountain of youth. the compass also leads her to the threshold in bonus scene 5.

x: oath blade: seraxa's gift to taylor for saving taari, saying that debts must be repaid in accordance with vaanti culture. she is shown to threaten the catalysts with this blade in book 2 chapter 4.

ACT 5

i. silver sap: the sap that drips from elyy'stel's tree aids the catalysts to walk in between dimensions. it is the consumption of this sap by eugene and flora that gradually turned them feral and eventually into the vaanti.

ii. deep fissure: if taylor keeps rewinding until they can't go any further, right up to the ancient sea, the catalysts witness the forming of a fissure in the ocean bed. this fissure was caused by vaanu crash-landing on the earth, and it eventually becomes mount atropo, and forms the bubble surrounding la huerta.

iii. the island's heart: one half of the island's heart, which was formed right in the crux of the volcano, found by the catalysts in the base of elyy'stel's tree.

iv. the mask maker: the masks worn by the vaanti bear the name of their maker, rosencraft & sons, 1921. this explains the masks worn by guests at flora and arthur's wedding, which also took place in the rosencraft manor. the rosencrafts were said to be bankrupt, and that the estate belonged to the banks.

v. burning shard: a burning crystal shard that glows green and reacts the same way that quinn did while possessed by the island's heart. it is one of many crystal shards scattered across the island, originating from the crux of the volcano.

vi. mansingh crater: a crater found near the chasm bears the name of mansingh transglobal tech, the company run by grace's mother, blaire hall. it is suspicious to both taylor and grace, as it implies blaire hall was somehow involved with rourke. no further explanation has been made about the crater.

vii. newspaper clipping: a scrap of an article is found by taylor in the elysian lodge, detailing the deaths of arjun and subhanu sethi due to a car accident, also killing their son and putting their daughter in a critical condition. this daughter is lila, and this article implies that rourke (or someone else) was doing a background research on lila.

viii. rourke's note: an old note written by rourke to look into the new junior researcher, as they look familiar. this is most likely a reference to olivia montoya, although it is not known where he recognises her from.

ACT 6

i. rourke's plan: out of agitation, lila blurts out rourke's plan to save the world through a machine at the masada facility. this machine turns out to be the omega mech, and rourke's plan happens to be controlling the world and its people's existence on his whims.

ii. tracking device: a tracking device is found by taylor, attached to the yeti's fur. this was placed there by the arachnid. this tracking device relays location details back to them, as seen in the military humvee by michelle, jake and taylor, where the code name for the yeti is arktos.

iii. garbled message: a distorted voice reveals the date and coordinates of jake's location, received by the arachnid through an anonymous transmission, which is how they came upon la huerta in the first place. this voice belongs to jake himself, who did so using a 'time-phone' in order to merge realities and help them escape through a helicopter from the masada facility.

iv. crashed satellite: varyyn, while talking about shooting stars, says a satellite once crashed to the ground from the skies. it is probably a stray satellite that got caught in the la huerta time bubble, or it belonged to rourke.

v. omega mech: olivia montoya demonstrates rourke's plans for the omega specimen, aka the endless, through a vr headset. she urges the viewer to understand the destruction the specimen, and rourke, are capable of.

vi. missing guests: rourke claimed that the guests at the celestial were evacuated in time at the beginning of the book, but it is shown that he had them put in containment pods. as seen in bonus scene 4, lundgren and the other arachnids were a part of these guests, but were released by rourke upon striking a deal with him to capture jake.

vii. charred skeletons: skeletons of people are found in the flames and ashes at hartfeld, proving that people did not escape the eruption.

viii. havana cigar: lundgren's cigar at the masada facility implies that he was snooping around where he shouldn't, and that he didn't trust rourke. this distrust is confirmed in bonus scene 6.

ACT 7

i. temple/ancient map: if taylor, yvonne and uqzhaal find the endless, they will give the whereabouts of no'ox naj temple to yvonne, where the fountain of youth exists. if they don't find the endless, taylor and yvonne find a carving of the la huerta map on the walls at the threshold, also hinting towards the temple. the whole group meets the endless for the first time in this temple in book 3 chapter 4.

ii. scout: a mechanical spider with a spy camera is found by taylor while they go windsurfing to win malatesta's bet. like the tracker on the yeti, this was also placed by the arachnid to track down their locations.

iii. padlock: a weathered padlock bearing the inscription, 'no land, no sea, no one will keep us apart. flora & eugene, 1920,' found by taylor in a coral reef. after turning down eugene's proposal (the ring clue, book 2), she tried to make it up to him with this padlock and by asking him to show up at neptune cove (the note clue, book 1). when he failed to show up, flora gave up on him and somehow ended up in a forced marriage to arthur barnaby a year later.

iv. pen: a tarnished silver pen bearing grace's name is found in the shrine at no'ox naj temple. it is implausible that she was at the temple, as she was under rourke's custody the whole time. it is also the same pen seen in grace's catalyst idol, returned to her by aleister and ultimately found near professor diaz's car which she had smashed up.

v. silver sap: one of the drinks served at the anachronists' party at quarr'tel is the silver sap from elyys'tel's tree. the creation of the vaanti myth, which is said to have started at a masquerade theme wedding, is that of flora and arthur's, where the former gets shot after confessing her love for eugene at the wedding. in an attempt to save her, eugene gives her some of this sap. this consumption eventually turns them into the feral vaanti.

vi. spirit's identity: the anachronist, clockmaker, refers to the faceless spirit as vaanu. in reality, vaanu is simply an alien being from another planet (the prism dimension) who crash landed on earth when its planet was destroyed. upon communing with vaanu, taylor discovers they are vaanu's creation, made for the purpose of returning la huerta to its normal state, allowing vaanu's departure.

vii. aleister's note: aleister writes a note to grace, apologising to her, and how he feels genuine remorse over his betrayal. he mentions that he hopes to redeem himself in her eyes.

ACT 8:

i. painting: at the rosencraft manor, there's a painting titled 'depiction of the divine' portraying rourke writing the ten commandments dressed in roman attire. the attire probably matches the statue of himself in the atrium, which opens up the sundial to his museum.

ii. communicator: the anachronists provide sean, raj and michelle with antique communicators which lets them coordinate the attack on cetus.

iii. path to the core: vaanu shows quinn the way to the core of the volcano, where the island's heart belongs. this core is the place where vaanu landed on earth.

iv. molten crystals: a crystal orb with claw markings in it, made by the oryctoraptor that dwells inside the volcano. referred to by varyyn as the deep guardian, it is the most reclusive of the four. it is also responsible for the orb found in the cavern in book 1 chapter 5, and possibly the orb that causes the time loop in book 2 chapter 2.

v. the endless' musings: zahra finds a diary belonging to the endless at the base of the volcano, in which they speak of how the sentience of the crystals probably drew the four guardians (cetus, king crab, yeti, oryctoraptor) to establish order on the island, but they were driven mad. the endless also believes it is possible the crystal created the creatures. this is possible, as it would explain the existence of the colourful seahorse, t'kal and furball (although they have not been affected like the guardians have.)

vi. closing words: the closing words spoken by seraxa during the handfasting ceremony, which is customary as 'it was for the first bride and her beloved.' they are the same words that were engraved in the padlock that flora made for eugene.

#if any of you have ANY doubts or you think i'm wrong anywhere please hmu!!#anw i know a lot of this is paywalled content but there are worse paywalls ://#at least we having fun here paying diamonds and watching our friends die 😁#endless summer #playchoices #*

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takadasaiko · 4 years

Text

Love Me Twice: Chapter One

FFN II AO3

Story Summary: After saving Tom’s life, Red has a memory specialist attempt to alter the memory of what he found in the DNA test linked to the bones. Something goes wrong in the process that costs Tom 10 years worth of memories. With no recollection of Liz, Agnes, or anything that they’ve all been through, Tom - Jacob Phelps - escapes back to St Regis to recover and resume the career he doesn’t realize that he left.Two and a half years later he is hired by a mystery woman to watch and protect Special Agent Elizabeth Keen from the threats that surround her. It doesn’t take long for him to realize there’s a connection there, and Tom finds himself starting down the path to try to recover his missing memories and rediscover who he had become before he lost them.

-----

Chapter One

November 2017

He could hear them, the voices fading in and out like the lights overhead. They were quiet muffled and hurried, but he couldn't focus in enough to make out what they were saying.

His mind grappled to hold onto what was happening amidst the pain and the fog that settled around him. At some point everything must have faded away, but he didn't realize it until new voices broke slowly through the haze.

"It's too much of a risk." Quiet. Male. He couldn't be sure if it had been a part of the myriad of voices from earlier. All he knew was that it wasn't a voice that he recognized.

"Perhaps. We're in uncharted territory," another voice chimed in. Also male, but this one accented. Slavic, maybe. He was having a hard enough time focusing on the words. He needed to open his eyes. To see their faces. Maybe he could start piecing together what happened.

"From what I understand, your entire practice is uncharted territory," the first voice snapped quietly. There was a beat of pause and when he spoke again, his tone turned pleading. "We nearly lost him once on the way here and again during surgery. You asked us to save this man."

Tom Keen finally pried his eyes open to try to get a look at the owners of the two voices. He struggled through the telltale signs of heavy pain medication to see three blurred figures instead of two. One turned towards him and Tom blinked hard to try to bring him into focus. He was missing his contacts, but by squinting a little he was able to make out an all too familiar face and the owner of the third voice he was yet to hear until now. "Thank you, Andrei. We'll hold off for now," Raymond Reddington told a man with dark hair, the dismissal clear, and he waited until he was on his way out before he turned back to Tom. "Hello."

"Where…?" he tried, but his voice was rough, his throat so raw that the single word sent him into a coughing fit. His left side felt like it was on fire, the pain cutting through the medication, and suddenly there was a cup with a straw in front of his face.

"Easy," the first voice - the quieter one. East Coast, but not DC. Maybe Connecticut? - said and Tom finally managed to focus on the man offering the water. Mid forties and in a white coat, he looked like he might be a doctor. "We just removed the tube this morning. You're likely to have quite a sore throat. Drink this."

Tom took a careful sip, wincing as he did, but it helped ease the scratchiness in his throat. "Where am I?" he pressed, the pain helping to focus him now that it was starting to recede.

"Thank you, Dr Chen," Reddington said. "I'll handle his questions."

The doctor - Chen - turned a wary look on Reddington. "He needs rest."

Reddington flashed that irritatingly charming smile. "This won't take long."

Chen lingered for just a moment before moving past Reddington, leaving Tom alone with the man he'd spent the last couple months investigating. Once the doctor was gone, a pair of clear blue eyes turned back to him. "Good morning, Tom."

"Where am I? How long have I been out?"

Reddington pushed a short breath out through his nose. "A private facility. It's been a week. I wouldn't do that."

Tom was in the process of shifting, hoping to prop himself up a little more, but he didn't make it that far. Instead he grit his teeth and had to let the new wave of pain pass.

"You were injured," Reddington's voice cut through. "Do you remember how?"

He was pushing that for some reason. There were no long, drawn out stories. No lecture or monologue. He was direct, which meant there was something important there. Tom could piece together that much, but he was having trouble catching hold of his fractured memories to find something that made sense.

"Tom, I need you to focus," Reddington prodded, his voice surprisingly patient.

"The lights," Tom managed, squeezing his eyes shut. Lights and voices, but there was something before that. Right. What he'd been investigating. The bones that Mr Kaplan had sent. The bones, the train station, the men that had broken into their home... Then it hit him. Between the attack and the lights. That's what he was missing. "Liz couldn't keep her eyes open." He opened his own again, his focus a little sharper. "Where is she? Where's my wife?"

Reddington didn't answer that question, and Tom didn't like the tenseness that settled over him. The slight twitch of his lips, the way his brow creased, and as Tom studied him he couldn't help but see how tired the older man looked. It wasn't like Reddington was losing sleep over him, so that left one person.

Tom cleared his throat painfully. "I'm not an idiot, Reddington. She's alive. If she weren't, you and I both know I wouldn't be here. I'm not worth anything to you alive unless she made it."

There was another long pause and the machine to Tom's right beeped, drawing Reddington's gaze. "She's alive," he said noncommittally. "And safe."

"Where is my wife?" Reddington continued to watch the machine, the steady sounds all that was filling the otherwise silent room. He was stalling. "Hey." Tom waited until he turned to look at him again. "I want to see her."

"In time," Reddington answered, his lips turning down again. "What do you remember about the men that attacked you and Elizabeth?"

"That they were after your secret," Tom said pointedly. "The one I told you would get us hurt."

Reddington snorted, shaking his head. "Your inability to let something that had nothing to do with you go is why you're hurt, Tom. I'm the reason you're both still alive."

The younger man winced, the foggy feeling he'd woken to creeping back up on him. "You want gratitude for saving our lives, fine, but I'm not lying to her for you. I'm not keeping your secret from her. She deserves to… deserves to know."

"We'll see about that," Reddington answered tightly and turned.

Tom tried to call after him, but he couldn't seem to force the words. Instead he felt like he was being pulled underwater. Somewhere in the back of his mind it clicked that the machine by the bedside that Reddington had been so fascinated with had pushed a new dose of painkillers through. He'd known Tom wouldn't be awake long, or even be able to argue back. But he couldn't keep him under forever, and he had no way to turn the clock back to rebury that secret that Tom had discovered. It was a matter of time until he was on his feet again. Once he was he would find Liz. Reddington couldn't keep them separated forever.

----------

Chen was speaking quietly to Dembe as he left the room, but split off to go check on his patient as Reddington brushed past him. He could feel Dembe's dark gaze lingering on him as he moved past. Dembe fell into step behind him, both men making their way down the short hall. "He is not going to let this go."

Red made a small sound of acknowledgement. "He's stubborn. He comes by it naturally enough."

"So is she," the younger man responded as they rounded into the private room just down from Tom and Reddington's gaze fell on the woman lying in the bed.

He had started to put precautions into place as soon as he realized things were spiraling out of control. A call to a well-connected business associate that was both discrete and had owed him a favour or five had landed him with the option of faking both Elizabeth and her husband's deaths to take them into hiding and away from the threat until he could regain control of it. He hadn't been able to move Elizabeth though. Not immediately. Not without risking her life. She hadn't been the one that Reddington's enemies had been after. They thought the connection was Tom, which gave Red some room to breathe when it came to Elizabeth's safety. He had had to make a judgement call when it came to her husband though, and Tom hadn't been in any condition to weigh in. Not that his judgement had been particularly sound lately. If he'd just left that damn suitcase alone, they wouldn't be in this mess.

But they were in this mess and the body double in the morgue would buy Reddington time. Time he needed for damage control. He needed to focus on getting the bones back and making sure Elizabeth came back to them. He didn't have time to babysit Tom Keen and his misguided, shortsighted desire to put everything out on the table.

"She is," Reddington answered Dembe, his gaze locked on Elizabeth. She was so still. The doctors couldn't tell him when - if- she would wake up. The surgery had been counted a success, but she hadn't come out of it yet. He needed to make sure that Tom remained quiet about what he knew when she did. Part of Reddington knew he had caused himself more trouble by saving him, but as he looked down at Elizabeth he remembered the way she had fought for her husband. The way she loved him, if Tom deserved it or not. It would shatter her to lose him now, and she had suffered enough.

"Had he told her?"

That finally pulled his attention around. "He was on his way to tell her what he found," Reddington murmured thoughtfully, "but I don't believe he had a chance to, no."

A long since stretched and Reddington turned back to Elizabeth, reaching down to tuck a strand of dark hair back, not quite able to put it behind her ear with the way the breathing tube was secured.

"It would be better coming from you," Dembe said after a long moment.

"So you've said."

"It is better than either of the alternative options."

"Hardly," Reddington huffed and shook his head. "I could negotiate peace between some of the most ruthless that our world has seen, but he truly thinks he's protecting her. If he refuses to budge, Andrei will be ready. He studied under Krilov. Let's hope he's as talented as his mentor with less of an inclination to betray me."

"Even if Andrei is able to remove the memories, it won't stop him. A blank space will only send him searching again."

"Oh no. He'll replace them with something… less damning." He stepped forward, reaching out for Elizabeth's hand that laid still against the sheets. He ran his thumb along her knuckles, brows drawn together and a grimace pulling at his lips. "We'll give Tom a week or two to regain some of his strength before the procedure. If Elizabeth wakes up first, we'll handle it, but if not, she'll have her husband back without either of them the wiser. It's best for everyone."

He could almost hear Dembe's disagreement in his silence, but the younger man didn't vocalize it again. It was a waste of time and energy for a subject that Reddington considered closed. There was little point in trying to convince Tom to choose the right course of action. This was the only play he could see that would work out for everyone involved.

----------

It was like starting over at the beginning, grappling for memories he was certain he had gotten ahold of the last time he had resurfaced. He thought they came back a little quicker each time though. It was tough to say with the heavy curtains pulled closed over the single window and no clock visible from the bed he was confined to.

Tom shifted, gritting his teeth as he forced himself up on his elbows, feeling the pull of the wound in his left shoulder and the knife wounds along his left side just before it collapsed under him, sending him falling hard against the pillows. He laid there a moment, fighting against the pain and the dark spots that threatened his vision. It took a moment before they cleared and he blinked hard.

No one came into the room. Tom was relatively sure that the last time he had tried to sit up that one of the doctors or nurses had appeared out of nowhere to force him back down against the pillows and dosed him with enough painkillers that he couldn't even think about trying again for…. well, however long it had been since they'd done it. Not this time though, and he knew he needed to take advantage of the lax security while he could.

Everything screamed in protest as he tried again, this time focusing more of his weight against his right arm rather than his injured left. He could still feel the pull of the stitches, but he breathed through it, finally managing to prop himself up in the bed.

He sat there for a long moment, listening and catching his breath. He was already exhausted, but that didn't matter. It couldn't matter when this could be the one chance he had to find Liz. Reddington was keeping them apart, likely to try to keep his secret just a little longer, but Tom wasn't willing to wait.

He sucked in as deep of a breath as he dared and pushed the covers back, freeing up his legs so he could swing them over the side of the bed. There was an instant pull that stopped him, and it took him a moment to piece together that he was still tethered to the equipment. The IV in his arm, the heart monitor attached to his finger, the tube resting against his nose to push oxygen through….he started with that. It was what was holding him halfway to the bed.

Tom balanced as best he could, one leg over the side of the bed and trying not to turn at an angle that would aggravate his injuries any more than necessary. It took a couple of clumsy tries, but eventually he pulled the clear tube free and tossed it against the pillow. He reached over as carefully as he could, one long finger finally pressing against the power button on the monitor, shutting it off to buy him some time at least as he unhooked the IV and shed unclipped the monitor.

Fully free, he tried his luck at standing. He balanced for half a second before he felt his knees threaten to give way and Tom braced himself against the bed. Okay. That seemed to do the trick.

It wasn't until he made it to the door of the room - taking much longer than he would have liked - that he realized why he hadn't already been shuffled into bed. Not only did it appear to be sometime in the middle of the night, but Reddington hadn't taken him to a hospital. Or, if he had, he certainly wasn't there now.

Tom's room was at the end of a short hall and he moved slowly down it, bracing himself as he did. There was a room across the way, not nearly as far as it felt, and he stopped at the door to catch his breath as the floor felt like it might tip out from under him. One breath in, out, and then repeat. After several long moments he felt himself steady a little more and he reached a trembling hand for the door handle and pushed against it.

The door swung open and he could hear the sound of a respirator pushing air into someone's lungs before he could muster the energy and the will to look inside. He blinked hard, eyes struggling to focus on Liz sleeping in the bed. No, not sleeping. That made it sound too peaceful. And you didn't have a tube shoved down your throat to help you breathe when you were sleeping. Unconscious. She was unconscious.

He swallowed hard, steeling himself for the steps between the door frame that he was latched onto and her bed. Finally, he pushed himself off of it, limping his way over, and barely made it to her bedside before one knee gave out underneath him. He leaned heavily against the bed, his fingers searching out hers.

It wasn't that he'd expected her to squeeze back, but the fact that her fingers remained limp as his curled around sapped what little strength he'd held onto and he sank down on the edge of the bed. He pulled her hand up to his chapped lips, pressing a kiss to it. "I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely. "This wasn't what… I'm so sorry, Lizzie."

She didn't answer him and he squeezed his eyes closed, exhaustion finally winning out as he curled up next to her on the narrow bed, never letting go of the hand in his.

----------

He had gotten a call in the middle of the night to tell him that Tom had somehow slipped the alarms that should have sounded the moment he detached them and made it to Elizabeth's room. Reddington had expected the doctor or perhaps even Dembe to have moved him back to his own room, but when he did arrive at the facility he found Tom Keen still curled next to Elizabeth.

"Dr Lomay believed he would be more comfortable there until morning."

Reddington turned back to fix a frustrated look on Dembe. "Dr Lomay doesn't know what's at stake," he countered, his voice quiet. After a moment he loosed a long breath. "He won't give up."

"Raymond-"

"It has to be done." His gaze remained fixed on the sleeping, injured couple. "Lomay and Chen are at the top of their fields. They'll get him through."

"And if they don't? How much is this worth?"

"Everything," Reddington breathed and shook his head. "She can't know what he found. There'd be no stopping her. This guarantees that it won't matter. Get Andrei here. This can't wait."

----------

He woke up in his own bed. Well, his own hospital bed. It would have been a relief to have woken up in his own bed in his own home with his wife next to him and their daughter in the next room over. He would have rolled over, wrapping an arm around Liz as she grumbled in her sleep about it being too early. Tom would have agreed as he pressed a kiss between her shoulder blades and let himself drift back to sleep for a little while longer. A late start to a Saturday morning that would turn into bacon and eggs for Liz and cinnamon pancakes for him and Agnes with this nightmare put behind them. No bones, no attack. Just them and their family and their life.

"Mr Keen, I need you to keep your eyes open for me."

Tom groaned loudly as the accented voice pulled him out of the half-dream and back to the nightmare of a reality. Definitely a hospital bed.

The owner of the voice leaned into his line of sight. "There you are, Mr Keen."

"Where's Liz?" His words felt heavy against his tongue and it took a considerable amount of effort to look up. He could feel the pressure of something against his forehead as he did, and he caught a glimpse of wires out of the corner of his eye. What the hell was going on?

"Do you know where you are?" the doctor - Tom could only assume he was a doctor - asked.

"He didn't tell me that."

"Who didn't?"

"Your boss. Reddington."

The doctor jotted something down on a pad of paper. "Do you remember what happened?"

A wave of pain hit, pulling a grunt from him as Tom tried to think through it. "We were attacked."

"Why?"

"They were after something."

"What were they after?"

"I don't know."

"Think hard, Mr Keen."

"Where's Liz? Where's my wife?"

"She's safe."

"She wouldn't wake up."

"Sir," a woman's voice sounded from Tom's left and the doctor leaned in to look past him towards a beeping noise that seemed to be speeding up with every breath he took.

Tom reached up, catching the man by the wrist with his right hand. "Please. My wife."

The doctor's lips quirked up at the corners, but it wasn't quite reassuring. More placating. "You'll be able to see her as soon as we're done here, that I promise you. But first, why were you attacked?"

Dark blue eyes slipped closed as he forced himself to think through the fog that always accompanied painkillers. The men in the house. The one that had killed Lena and Pete. He'd stabbed him before taking…

"Bones," Tom coughed out and he met the doctor's eyes, holding that gaze defiantly. "Tell Reddington it doesn't matter how many times he drags me out of her room, I'm not keeping his secret."

The doctor sighed. "Let's take it to the next level."

"Sir, his vitals -"

"We have our instructions."

Tom pulled his gaze around to see a nurse pushing dark liquid into his IV. His question was cut short as it flowed through and burnedas it hit his vein. He dragged a sharp, painful breath into his lungs, eyes wide, and the world pulsed before he was plunged back into darkness.

----------

Reddington had lost track of how many times that he had read the same line on the same page of the book in his hands. He wasn't worried, of course. Not that he'd even admit to himself. Just… distracted. By everything. Elizabeth slept on with no change in her bed as Andrei worked to dig into Tom Keen's memories and find the right thread to pull in order to replace it. It could be done. That much had been proven by Krilov if nothing else.

A loud, shrill sound startled him from his thoughts and Reddington popped to his feet, the book more forgotten than it had been even a moment before. Dr Lomay nearly took him off his feet at the door leading to the hallway as she bolted past, circling into Tom's room and shouting at Andrei. What the hell did he give him?

Red's footsteps were heavy, echoing in his own ears with the voices fading to the background as he moved to get a better view of what was happening.

The room was in motion as Lomay shoved Andrei out of the way, checking Tom's IV. Lizzie's husband convulsed in the bed, the seizure causing his back to arch and his limbs to twitch violently. The doctor pushed a vial of liquid that Reddington didn't recognize into the IV and stepped back. She looked like she was barely breathing for one beat, then another. Finally Tom stilled, collapsing back against the bed limply, his head lulled away so that Reddington couldn't see if he had somehow managed to retain consciousness through the whole episode.

"Get rid of this," Lomay growled, motioning to the equipment already half pulled from Tom's head.

Andrei shot her an offended look. "We were within parameters."

"Don't bullshit me. You were desperate to make it work." She turned an accusing look on Red, the words clear if she never uttered them: So were you. Instead she pulled in a steading breath. "Call Dr Chen and get them out of here if you want to give him even a chance to live."

Reddington motioned and Andrei and his nurse scurried out. "Anything you need, Melissa."

"For you to let me do my job," she snapped and Red nodded as he watched her move around Tom in precise but hurried motions.

He couldn't admit it - he didn't dare - but in that moment he wondered if he'd just cost Elizabeth her husband's life.

----------

TBC

Next Time: Dr Lomay assesses the damage done by the failed memory manipulation and Tom Jacob Phelps is not thrilled that no one will give him a straight answer about what happened to him.

Notes: This story has been a long time in the making. I came up with the idea in in April 2019, wrote about a chapter's worth, and then shelved it. And, honestly, I'm glad I did, because S7 cracked open a lot of the twists and turns I needed to really make this story work. So here we are.

Buckle up, friends. It's going to be a wild ride.

#the blacklist #blacklist fanfiction #Tom Keen #Elizabeth Keen #raymond reddington #Dembe Zuma #Love Me Twice

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slothgiirl · 4 years

Text

live. die. repeat. (a noah marshall x mc fic)

i. visions are seldom what they seem.

“But this is how it has to be,” Noah says as fear clamps down into your spine, all the horrors of the last few weeks crashing down on you at once and you can’t process it, can’t deal with it anymore. You break down there, trying to wrap your head around Noah and Jane and Redfield and Noah holding Eva’s knife.

You lay there, gaping like a fish out of water, your mouth still in a perfect O of surprise as the knife enters your stomach. Maybe it’s a mix of shock and adrenaline that hasn’t let out since, since Dan, god that feels like years, but it doesn’t hurt, not as much as seeing Noah’s unflinching face.

He’s made up his mind, not the scared boy who’d realized what Jane had in store for his friends when he’d led you down here.

After everything.

“Noah,” you whimper, wanting a sign that this was still the same Noah who’d gone into the woods with you to save Dan. The same Noah who’d. . .

Your hands feel cold around the knife, blood oozing out slowly. There’s an ache building up as you realize that you’re going to die there. As your body responds to getting stabbed by this boy who you thought you could trust. The boy who held your gaze without even trying.

He has the decency to look ashamed then, a green tint to his face and then you’re really slumped against the floor, energy leaking out of you as the blood continues to seep out, coating your hands entirely.

Jane draws near, the shadows that now make up her. . .essence, like a childhood nightmare of what darkness is, swallowing you whole, nothing like the darkness of turning off the lights. No, this time it’s crushing, like some kind of underwater pressure bearing down on your chest as everything disappears from view.

At least the rest of your friends are okay. At least they’re alive. It’s cold comfort when the boy who had been causing all these feelings, warm and there and you couldn’t help but smile when he was there had killed you.

You’re sob is choked by a scream as the darkness consumes you.

The birds scatter when they hear the shadows scream.

ii. If I know you, I’ll know what you do.

You wake up with a choked sob, scream, you don't know the difference anymore, an ache in your gut. You can still see his face, Noah's, as he stabbed you, as dead as you'd been a few minutes later. You wake up in your room, alone, your parents god knows where.

It had been a nightmare.

You take a deep breathe trying to steady yourself, hugging your knees to your chest. It doesn't make the feeling go away, as you take shallow breaths, on the verge of breaking down crying. It had felt so real. All of it.

But if you start crying now you don't know if you'll be able to stop and you have school in the morning. Noah. Dan. Ava. You haven't talked to any of them in years. It's just you and Lily together in loneliness.

Fuck.

Your phone buzzes, shining blue in the dark of your room.

You cover your face with your hands, and let out a frustrated scream, “get ahold of yourself!” That's as much as you let your grip slip before, grabbing for your phone, nested in your tangled bedsheets, damp with sweat. You must have fallen asleep watching youtube.

Dans name flashes on your phone, just like…

It can't be.

You drop it, a cold chill running down your spine. No. No. It was just a dream. “It was just a dream,” you whisper to yourself and force yourself to open the text, replying before you can think.

It wasn't real. Your alive.

You haven't talked to Noah Marshall since before Jane died. Hadn't seen him since the funeral.

Lead builds up in your stomach as you text Dan, too eerily similar to your dreams. You can't remember what he'd said exactly in the dream or what you had, but the situation is much the same. If you couldn't remember maybe it was because you can't read in dreams. So it's fine. You're fine.

Dan knocks on your window and you've been here before, but you still ask “how’d you get up here,” you ask, already fearing the worst.

“It’s nothing, I’m fine,” Dan says. The same words he’d said before. The same way as in your dream.

Your phone buzzes again, Dan’s name lighting up. You glance up at the Dan in your room, who isn't really Dan but you already knew that, a scream tearing itself from your lungs as you watch him climb into your room, the illusion shattered. The thing that wears Dan’s face grabs you and you kick and tear at its flesh, dirt making its way under your nails, and it can't be. It was just a dream, a nightmare.

You'd died.

You spend the rest of the night laying on the floor, where you'd fallen, where Redfield had left you, staring up at the ceiling, unable to think beyond the monster in the woods. It was all real. And it was all going to happen again.

You don't sleep.

You find Conner on your way to school, looking every bit as handsome as you’d pictured him in your dream. Maybe this was Redfield messing with you. If he was back. Sending you that dream to throw you off from the get go. You take a deep breath and try to calm down.

Lily coming up to you oblivious. “It’s been a while,” you tell her, happy to see that the real Lily isn’t a mess after Jocelyn had ditched her at prom. You remind yourself that it hasn’t happened. Probably won’t even happen. “How was your summer?”

You try to smile as she tells you about Portland and okay there’s been too many coincidences. Maybe it was real. You swallow thickly and try to keep a smile on your lips when all you want to do is curl up into a ball and not deal with this.

Ava glances your way, looking down at you puzzled, but says nothing. Then there’s nothing to say as Cody and Britney get into it, rage turning your vision red and for once you can think about something other than dying.

You spent the rest of the day trying to catch a glimpse of Noah, your gaze wandering about the halls. Somehow you know you won’t, that it won’t be until the pep rally that you’ll get to see him again.

No that wasn’t right. You’d see him for the first time this school year.

It had felt so real.

That was a fucking mess. He'd killed you to save Jane, the monster that had been Jane. And just when you'd started, when the thought of going to prom without him seemed like the worst thing in the world because it wouldn't be right. You didn't really want to go if he didn't. And well shit you thought he'd been, that he'd cared at least half as much as you did.

Even now there's no one you want to see more than him, but your not sure you want to either. That dead eyed look he'd had in the end, it's burned into the backs of your eyelids. You don't know how you'll react seeing him again, oblivious, or maybe even as he'd helped you save Dan he'd already been planning on betraying you to the monster.

When had you lost him? Had you ever really had him? Or were the years he’d been alone damaged him irreparably?

You’re a coward. As soon as Lily and you try to find seats, as soon as you meet Noah’s gaze and feel bile rise up your throat, you decide to squeeze in besides Lily, butt hanging off the side of the bench.

You can’t do it.

There’s an ache where he’d stabbed you and you can’t.

You spend the next few weeks in a constant state of paranoia. Just like, you’re willing to admit, as you and Noah drag Dan out of the woods, the first time around. Somehow you were reliving the events all over again. Except this time it’s worse because you know what’s going to happen and you still can’t stop any of it.

You’re jumpy and tired from not sleeping and a sick part of you wants to skip to the end where Noah stabs you. The deja vu feeling never goes away even if you’d forgotten exact words over the course of the days, you know you’ve been here before.

You’ve gone to the game and watched spiders invade. You get the pleasure of coming home and finding Cody’s body left to you like a gift a cat might bring home a dead rat, Jane’s doing. Redfield. Jane. You still didn’t know what to think. Noah had seemed so sure but you couldn’t picture Jane, your best friend, wanting you or any of your friends dead.

It doesn’t keep you from talking with Noah, from him winding his way into your empty heart all over again as he sits alone by the pool, looking unsure about having come. You’ve oscillated between avoiding him and clinging to him, reaching for him. It gets harder as the days go on and it’s Noah with you in the woods. And Noah who’s ready to go fight Redfield himself if he has to and surely he didn’t know then, now.

It’s easy to forget, to separate the Noah who you loved and the Noah who betrayed you. He hasn’t yet and you cling to that hope.

You cling to that hope as you walk down the stairs into the house, knowing full well that Noah’s led you down there. You see the doubt in his eyes and panic consume him as Jane forces you all to play are you scared, trapping you in your seats. Maybe he wasn’t as lost as you thought.

It’s that alone that keeps you from yelling and screaming at him the way everyone else is. Silent on your way to the grave. You know how this ends. You swallow hard.

“I didn’t,” Noah tries, his pleas falling on deaf ears, “Jane-,” he catches your gaze. You can’t help it even now. Even here all over again. You look to him, the panic in his wide brown eyes, lips pressed together like he’s five seconds from falling apart. It makes your chest hurt to see him like this. To be back here.

Why couldn’t your second chance go differently?

“I had to help her,” he tells you, ignoring everyone else, willing you to understand, “I had to help my sister. I know you would have done the same.”

It’s then that you realize that he still doesn’t know that she’s going to kill one of you, most likely you, because that’s how it happened last time and apart from a few words here and there, it had happened exactly like it had last time. It’s with a heavy heart that you respond, looking away like the coward you are, “Noah, she’s needs one of us to die.”

He shakes his head, finally cracking.

Stacy looks on in contempt, looking too much like her mother as she frowns, less scared than over it. Even Lily looks away, unable to hold Noah’s gaze. And then Jane’s asking if your scared and it’s too late.

Again.

One by one your friends fly back, disappearing from sight.

Then it’s just you and Noah.

This time, his hand shakes as he stabs Ava’s knife into your stomach, trying to fight Jane’s influence off. Her own shadowy hand wrapped around his. It makes the cut jagged.

It hurts more than the first time. “I’m sorry,” he tries as tears fall down his cheeks and there’s too many emotions tied to him to know if you’re sorry for him or if you hate him for making this happen all over again but it makes your heart ache as he holds you gently so as not to aggravate the wound he gave you.

God this is so fucked up you think, as he sits down with you. And there’s the small part of you that forgives him for being tricked by Jane. He hadn’t known. Blinded by his love for his sister. It’d be touching if you weren’t lying here dying because of it.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles like a broken record, looking down at you.

You try to speak, but blood wells up in your mouth. You choke on it, noise a strangled rasp and Noah shuts up, his hands putting pressure on the wound in your stomach as he tries to stem to blood flowing from it, a steady drip that leaves you cold and tired beyond words. He won’t stop looking at you as you bleed to death in his arms like he’s trying to memorize every detail of your face, tears matching the flow of blood.

It’s too much. In the end you look away, swallowing down the blood in your throat as Jane approaches, her darkness engulfing you once more.

It’s a relief this time.

iii. i know you i walked with you once upon a [nightmare]

The buzz of your phone wakes you up. Dan. Again. This time you know it’s real. Just as real as the last two times have been.

You still reply. To the real Dan out in the woods somewhere. This time you’re going to change things. You’re going to make this as easy as you can for your friends. You’re going to keep Noah from betraying you all.

You know how things play out so maybe that’s why this keeps happening. Maybe you’re going to live through this again and again until you get this right.

“Jane I know it’s you,” you call out as Dan raps at your window, “Go away.”

Jane, this time as she is, not disguised as Dan appears inside, your room to small to contain a creature of shadow and darkness and somewhere inside is the little girl you used to play with so much you practically lived in each others houses.

Her eyes glow like the dying embers of a bonfire, elongating the shadows already there.

She stares at you, tilting her head.

For a second you think there's recognition and a brief hope flares up in your chest. You might be able to stop it before it even begins. Then the embers of her eyes spring to life as the darkness grows thick in your room right before she comes at you like a howling wind that tears down trees.

Your back hits the wall, a blinding pain surging from your spine, from your bones. You cover your head with your arms but she’s-it’s gone. Dissipating into the night.

If it wasn’t for the fact that you’d been through this twice already, you wouldn’t have believed she’d been here at all.

You try to get up, wincing from the pain in your back, spreading further with each movement you make. Definitely real.

Third time’s the charm. So this time you’re determined to do everything in your power to keep your friends as safe and sane as could be.

You go into the woods with Noah once more, hand clutching a baseball bat, Noah lighting your way.

The cops ask the same questions as the flashing red and blue lights break the cloak of darkness that surrounds you. Little old Westchester, surrounded by woods, only one highway leading to the nearest city. If you answer mechanically, a beat to soon, they write it off as panic.

Your eyes stay glued to Noah, even as the ambulance drives off with Dan. His hands shaking even as his voice stays steady as he answers as best as he's able without going all supernatural creatures took Dan on them.

The cops finally leave you alone, while they look around and write reports. Useless stuff.

You sit on the curb, hugging your knees as Noah paces in front of you, jaw tight. Tomorrow he'll tell everyone he couldn't sleep. Too many nightmares.

But it doesn't have to be that way.

“Noah,” you offer as the commotion starts to die down and you already know they're about to drive you both home. Back to your empty house.

He stops pacing in front of you. Hands stuffed into his pockets, as his wide doe eyes meet yours.

What if he says no?

You've barely exchange a word in years as far as he knows. He hasn't been through this before.

Swallowing thickly, you utter the words you think have the best chance of him going along with your plan, “Can-I don't want to go home to an empty house right now.” Hilda the kindest fluff ball had scarred the shit out of you twice already.

“Your parents aren't home,” he asks, shaking his head and being purposely obtuse, “guess some things never change.”

“Can you stay with me? I mean,” you run a hand through your hair and blushing is so not the right feeling you should be having right now, “just so I'm not alone? Doubt I'll be getting much sleep,” you trail off, gazing hard into the tree line rather than having to meet Noah's heavy gaze.

“Uh,” he clears his throat caught off guard for a second and it hurts to think that somehow he ended up killing you because you just can't understand how that happens, before continuing in normal Noah fashion. “Like a sleepover,” he grins through the haunted look in his eyes, the same as yours, no matter how many times you've been here, is still there.

It'll only get worse.

“Yeah,” you snort, rolling your eyes, “like a sleepover. The part right after you've watched a horror movie and have to go to sleep.”

“Okay.”

The cops drop the both of you off on the curb. Don't even check if there's anyone home. Fuck this town. No one turns a blind eye like them.

He's been here before. But he still lets you lead and fumble with the key and god is this house empty. Two whole floors to yourself. It's somehow even more empty than usual.

“Have you let your mom know,” you ask because now that he's here you don't really know what to do with him. You place Candy on your nightstand and sit down as he looks over your things. Gone are the toys and dolls from when you were close.

There's some posters from National geography and bands from when you were in middle school and hadn't yet realized how far the nearest concert venues were.

“She won't care.”

And boy can you relate.

You kick your shoes off, biting back the rush of heat threatening to bloom brightly on you cheeks, as you find an old shirt and yoga shorts, “I'll take the floor.”

“What! No,” Noah says frowning so deeply his forehead wrinkles up, “I'm not making you sleep on the floor. Didn't you used to have a guest room?”

“I've been sleeping in the guest room,” you admit, realizing belatedly that for him, this all only started yesterday. For you it's been months of avoiding your room. “I can't-not when it was here.”

“Ohhh,” Noah jokes, “so your trying to leave it to me.”

“Fuck you,” you snipe back. “I can fit into the couch in the guest room. That way you can take the bed.”

“Such a good host you turned out to be.”

“Shut up Noah. Now get out I have to change.”

Noah laughs, but leaves and you prefer this to the silence. To tossing and turning all night without a wink of sleep.

He clearly still remembers it all as well as you because you find him in the guest room, flipping through the tv channels. You can't help but stand in the doorway for a second and wonder what your life would have been like if Jane had lived.

It's easy to go from there. To sit down next to him on the bed and laugh at bobs burgers like your life isn't a literal horror show.

The clock reads two in the morning before you turn off the lights and neither of you moves, or brings up the couch. And you fall asleep planning how your going to save everyone this time.

This time Noah won't kill you.

This time you watch in horror as Noah slices his own wrists open and he dies in your arms as you desperately try to caulk the flow of blood. It's worse. It's a hundred times worse than dying which is just cold and lonely because you can't save the boy that you love.

Because that's what this is. Why else would watching Noah die feel like your heart’s been ripped out as well.

It's with bitterness filling your mouth like the metallic taste of blood, that you think that it's only for a little while.

iv.

You avoid Noah like the plague next time around.

Letting him go by himself into the woods. Letting him save Dan by himself.

It's too much for you and you know it's hurting him. You know how it'll end if you drive him away but every time you see him you can't help but want to burst into tears.

Sometimes you do.

Turning before he can see the tears in your eyes.

Lily catches on fast. As you walk home together. “I'm sorry,” she tells you, taking her hand in yours. “I know you and Jane were always the closest.”

You swallow thickly. Anger and hurt welling up like blood in your mouth. “Do you ever think how Jane's been dead longer than we were ever friends?” And she's been alone all this time. Stunted.

“Not really. I try not to think of it. Or I tried. Guess we can't ignore it now.”

“We don't have to talk about this,” you tell her. Lily clearly doesn't want to deal with any of this. Jane's death so many years ago was bad enough.

“No. It's okay. You’re always here for me. It's the least I could do. But. . .Noahs hurting to.”

And then Cody and Jocelyn show up.

For once you’re glad to see them.

You don't let Noah go find Dan alone this time. Though you are so tired of waking up to Jane. To Dan and Redfield and the bruises that ring your neck.

There's a sullenness in you that will take the others another few weeks to build. But then you've been here before. You've died four times. You’re sick of this purgatory.

Noah picks up on it right away. Noah who used to let you and Jane wrangle him into playing barbie and tea party where you'd play out the latest soap opera storylines that your housekeeper watched.

You browse the shelves silently and brush off Connor after a stilted conversation. You don't even feel bad about it.

“You blame me too don't you,” Noah states sounding as hollowed out as you feel, as he looks at the flashlight you already know you’ll buy him. “Just like my parents.”

“Noah I don't-,”

“Don't lie to me,” he utters harshly. “I can see it in your face. Well guess what. It's your fault. Not mine. If you had just made Jane leave the first time, we would've never met Redfield.”

He shoves roughly by you, sending you bumping into the shelf. And okay you deserve that. For this time. And the last.

It's time to confront the real issue.

You died. Noah had died. And yet the cycle went on. Nothing had changed. You'd been convinced that it was about Noah but you were wrong. Your feelings clouding your judgement and this was all so messed up. But who else.

None of them ever remembered.

You had to talk to Jane.

Jane listens for a second and then there's only darkness.

You call out to Jane as soon as Dan knocks on your window. Dying has gotten old. And you refuse to get to close to Noah again, no matter how it hurts, you won't watch him die again.

“I know it's you Jane. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm such a bad friend but I didn't know! I couldn't have know or I'd have gone back for you.”

The darkness coalesces in your room and glowing red eyes peer back at you.

There's no way for you to gage the intelligence. No way to tell if there's enough of the girl you knew left in there.

Silence reigns for a minute. The longest minute of your life.

And then she sends you flying back, hitting the wall at just the right angle. There's a sickening crack ringing in your ears as you wake up again.

Starting from scratch again.

So that didn't work. Maybe you have to go to her. So you let her scare you and choke you and then wake up to skip school.

Not like your parents will care out in Yemen. Or was it Iraq now?

Either way the school will call and you'll make up some lame excuse like you had a fever.

You'll grab Dan on the way out. If it works.

“Jane,” you call out as the ruins come into sight. “Jane I'm sorry. I'm sorry it took me so long to come. Jane Marshall. That's you!”

A shadow looms in the doorway.

“Jane. Do you remember?” You halt, waiting for a sign of recognition.

“Fr i e nds.”

“Yeah Jane,” you say, “It's me. Your best friend. Though I'm not very good at it.” You reach the doorway.

The idea of a hand reaches out towards you, looking a lot like what a child might draw for arms, and you let out a breathe.

Maybe this will work.

Her grip is cold, like walking through the fog of halloween haunted houses, and firm as it closes around your wrist and your courage gives out. You can still feel the throne of the bruises lining your neck.

It's too late to back out.

She leads you to the top of the stairs. “Everyone plays together.”

“No Jane. That's not the kind of help you need.”

Her eyes flare, the red coals burning brighter than stars, light extinguished by her presence. Her presence at your back and you manage half a scream before she shoves you down the stairs.

Your limbs ache as you reach the bottom. Sharp pain running up your spine before sudden numbness sets in.

At least it's a change from Noah killing you.

“Redfield hasn't been here. He hasn't been here for ten years,” Noah states, a deadness to his voice that you hate.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean Noah,” Stacy yells, sick of all this shit. At least she doesn't have to remember.

He opens his mouth to speak.

“It's Jane,” you sigh. They all turn towards you, their gaze burning holes and you won't look at Noah. Not till later, when it's just the both of you.

Prom feels like a million years ago but you know that tomorrow you'll do it all again. “Jane's been stuck here since she died.”

“No,” Lily shakes her head, tears falling from her eyes, “No! You're lying.”

“You knew,” Noah says, the hurt clear in his voice, as he looks at you and you can't help but look back. How many times have you been here? How many times have you looked into his eyes as you died?

“I-”

“How long have you known,” he growls, hurt solidifying into anger.

“No-,” Lucas shakes his head, deep in denial even as you watch the shadows clumsily take human form. “That's not true. Jane died!”

This time, Noah looks on passively as you gasp, blood flowing from your side as you die. The darkness is a welcome respite from his cold dead eyes.

Noah flips through the channels as you pull the covers over yourself. It's cold but shorts are the way to go.

You wait for him to leave the tv on bob's burgers. You've lost count of the times, the variations that all lead up to all of your friends in the ruins, to your death. You study his profile, the aristocratic angle of his nose, the swell of his well formed mouth.

In every cycle, you do your best to save everyone and yet you have nothing to show for it. Dan’s always hurt. Andy gets hurt. Not to mention you dying.

It's time to be a little selfish.

God only knows how many more times you'll live through this. At least Noah’ll make breakfast in the morning.

That does change.

Pancakes. Omelettes. Toast with tomato and the leftover chicken you'd forgotten about.

“What,” Noah asks, a slight smile on his lips, so different from the fear from your earlier trek through the woods.

“Nothing.” You look down at the blanket, navy blue stripes, boring and therefore perfect for the guest room.

“Than why are you looking at me like that.”

With months of pent up emotions, you tell him “I'm just glad you’re here.”

Noah smiles, ducking his head down, “I know what it's like to live in an empty house.”

“I'm sorry I wasn't there for you,” you reply. You hadn't been there for anyone. But at least most of them were doing okay given everything. Dan needed help, but he at least had Stacy. Who did Noah have? Who did Lily have?

“Me too.”

You lean in, closing the distance between you, pressing your lips against the edge of his softly, before pulling away.

The surprise is written into his features. Noah swallows and you wait for him.

“I-I'm sorry I just can't right now.” Which isn't surprising. Not when you've heard him say these words before. Right as dance approaches.

“Sh. It's okay,” you respond, shifting away, “I understand. Just-just know we're going to get through this Noah. I'm not abandoning you again.”

Noah takes Jane's place in the most peaceful way. “It's time for me to take over.” He utters as the darkness embraces him.

Finally, you can't help but think. Finally it's over.

You wake up to your phone buzzing. “UGH!” You fling it against the wall. “Don't even try it Jane,” you tell like a crazy person.

This time you get out of bed and march right into the woods. No Noah. No Ava. No Andy. Not that it ever matters if Ava and Andy come. You just end up chickening out from inviting Noah to stay at your house.

No Candy.

It's dark but you've walked this path so often it's ingrained into your bones. The beasts aren't out.

You still grab the first large stick you can find.

Sure enough Dan’s in the clearing. Still conscious for once.

You rush to his side, “I'm going to get you out of here,” you tell him, wrapping an arm around his waist, letting him lean his weight onto you.

He shakes his head sadly, “you shouldn't have come. I shouldn't have come.”

“It'll be okay,” you lie.

“Listen to me,” he urges, “now he can leave!”

She, you mentally correct, frowning. Everyone plays together. But then why could Jane leave as soon as Dan came. As soon as you can rushing to save Dan. “Shouldn't we all have to come? But then when only Noah and I,” you tail off. It still always happens. And Pritch’s spell had held for a little while.

There's still something you don't understand. Some variable you've overlooked. Jane's a dead end. She always attacks first and then you're dead.

“What are you talking about?”

You look at Dan, having forgotten you were dragging him through the woods. His leg is still broken but he doesn't look like he's about to be comatose. “Let's just get you out of here.”

You leave Dan at the hospital more than a little aware that it's nearly three in the morning but you can't put it off. If you die walking alone in the middle of the night it won't be for long anyway.

Pritch’s house is always foreboding. Exactly like a witch's house should look. Plants growing wildly in the corner. Wind chimes dangling even in the still night.

You don't flinch when here none creature barks at you. “I'm here to talk about Redfield.”

For the first time, you say everything that's happened to you. How you keep reliving the same thing over and over and over again with no end in sight. You word vomit in Pritch’s living room until the tea grows cold and the sun rises.

Her lips purse. “So it's not Redfield.”

“No. And this,” you say waving your hands around, “can't be a coincidence right!”

“No.” She confirms.

“So what do I do? The rules changed. It's Jane. And we've set her free!”

“She's not free yet,” Pritch corrects arching a brow and daring you to contradict her.”

“But. . . I rescued Dan?” And you had. That was real. It hadn't happened last time.

“I've checked. And nothing.”

You take a deep breathe. “Every time me and Noah rescue Dan she's set free. But then why is the emphasis on everyone!”

“You just said it yourself,” Pritch replies. “You and that boy of yours. The rules changed. But Jane's memories of you and her brother are the only ones that survive. I think Jane believes she must play the game, but it might just be the three of you that are connected.”

“otherwise I wouldn't be here,” you slump back in your chair, setting the teacup down. “Not that I'm complaining. Dying is not it.”

“Many have trifled with the power to worse ends,” Pritch concurs.

“So then what do I do! I don't want to die and I don't want Noah to die but also I have to set Jane free!”

Pritch rolls her eyes, “How the fuck should I know? I'm just an old woman. I don't have all the answers. Now go to school or you'll be late.”

If you and Noah can set Jane free from the ruins, you think as you walk to school, maybe you can also free her from living a quasi life as a shadow monster. You'll have to tell Noah. Or go with him alone to the ruins. Somehow?

When you get to school you learn Dan died last night at the hospital and okay you know a sign when you see one. No saving Dam too early.

You go to Jane, impatient to start over.

There's a satisfying feeling to the sound of your spine cracking.

You wake up again. This time you're ready. It's game time. Game mode. The final round. Some other sports metaphor that Andy would know.

You yell at Jane to fuck off and all you have to show for it are bruises around your neck. Whatever. You can deal with that.

You go to school, and go off on Cody.

“My hero,” Ava grins as she walks with you and Lily. “And I thought I was the cool badass one.”

“No,” Lily smiles, “you're the bad boy with a heart of gold.”

“Ahhhh the cheese,” Ava laughs, “my one true weakness aside from rainbows and unicorns.”

“Of course,” you grin and then wait for the assembly to be called.

Waving Lily off to go sit with Ava as you plop down by Noah, almost forgetting to ask, “is this seat taken?”

“Knock yourself out,” Noah replies evenly, unburdened by the hundred different times you've lived through this and shit you've been waiting to hear those words, anticipating the start of you and Noah. Everything has to go right this time. Everyone lives and Jane finally gets to rest.

“Sit your stupid ass down,” Cody yells.

You flip him off and stand for a moment more than you have to.

Noah looks up at you, eyes crinkling as he chuckles. “You're such an asshole.”

“Only on a good day,” you grin.

You watch the pep rally and wait for the black out.

It still sends chills down your spine.

Ava and Andy don't come with you which you're glad for. It's always a coin toss to whether you can convince them to come. You haven't found out the secret to swaying them and it doesn't matter now. Soon it'll all be over. As soon as you figure out how you and Noah can set Jane free without any bloodshed.

Maybe even spare Cody's life which should give you unlimited lifetime good karma.

They're not coming which means you can now shanghai Noah into coming home with you and not dealing with any nightmares. Keep him from betraying you. And the fact that you're in love with him helps too. Any time you can steal with him is a plus.

Noah sighs, rubbing his hands over his eyes, as you come to a stop among the aisles in Gunther's hardware. “This has been haunting me for years. What we did. . .what he did.”

You take Noah's hand in yours, “You can't blame yourself. I know-I want to blame myself to for being a stupid little kid but that's just it Noah, we were kids. We didn't know any better.”

Noah closes his eyes but doesn't pull away. “My parents blamed me.”

“Fuck them. Fuck them for not being there for you when you needed them,” you respond with a burning conviction. Your parents were negligent, but they didn't make you feel like shit either.

“The worst part is that,” Noah continues after taking a deep breath, his caramel eyes meeting yours, “this sounds lame as hell, but the day I lost my sister, I lost my whole family. My mom. You guys. Everyone.”

You rub Noah's hand in yours with your thumb, making small circles, “You didn't lose me.” You steel yourself for what follows.

“But I did.” Noah pulls away, studying the different lamps, scrutinizing them.

“It won't happen again. I'm not leaving you again.”

You find yourself watching bobs burgers with Noah once more. No matter how many times you've been here, you never pay much attention to the episode. Noah's given up any pretense of watching the tv, staring holes into the ceiling.

“Dan’ll be alright. As soon as we fix things.”

“You sound so sure,” he replies, shifting so he's facing you.

“I'm just trying to be positive,” you admit. There's been so many times and they've never worked. You've always messed things up. “The power of positive thinking.”

He cracks a smile as you both lay there.

You wake up to scrambled eggs and bacon. “This is much better than the cereal I usually have,” you tell Noah, grabbing a fork and taking a piece straight from the skillet.

He smacks your arm away with the spatula, “that's just sad,” and plops a strip of bacon in his own mouth. It's easy to fall into a comfortable routine with him. Both of you eating from the skillet before booking it to school.

You wave him off and barely make it to homeroom on time.

You're all sitting down together going over last nights events. You can't hear a word mayor green is saying. And you don't care.

Dan will be okay as soon as Jane's free. Then the power will just be some neutral thing out in the woods. You should really talk to Pritch about setting up a containment system.

“-I can barely believe it and I was there,” Noah adds. “Shit I don't think I would've gotten any sleep by myself.”

You blush brightly and avoid Noah's gaze at all costs but Ava still raises her brows.

“I'm sorry I thought Basketball was more important that this,” Andy admits. “I'm just glad Dan will recover.”

“Basketball isn't dumb Andy,” you respond. “This whole thing sounds crazy.

“Well,” Stacey points out, “we still have to figure out how to stop anymore freaky things from happening. Any ideas?”

Yes, you think but say nothing. You still have time. You'll have to tell Noah and hope he believes you for long enough to go and talk to Pritch. Would just telling Jane she can move on work? Or maybe you just want someone else there to soften the blow?

Ava walks up besides you and Lily, “so do you guys want to walk in the same direction at the same speed after school?”

Lily laughs, “Ava, the bell just rang.”

“So?”

You nod, “ok but I have an errand to run first.” The longer you can keep Cody and Jocelyn under the radar the better it will be for everyone. You might as well be named a saint now.

Ava tells you both about her surgence of power and Lily talks about Britney much to Ava's eye rolls.

You take your keys, switching the swiss army blade your mom had given you years ago out and jam it into Cody's tire. That should keep him out of your hair for a while. And then Connor would get rid of them before the game.

“That's her errand,” Lily squeals.

“What a badass,” Ava grins. “That dick definitely had it coming.”

“Yeah well,” you shrug, “I like to be proactive.”

“I can tell,” Ava smirks, “so you and Noah last night? You can tell me all dearie…”

“Well you don't sound at all like a witch who eats children.”

She cackles and you can only guess how often she's practiced that in her room, “only the naughty ones.”

“Wait Noah spent the night at yours,” Lily asks for clarification.

“Yeah,” you sober up, you weren't even that far in and your mind was already frayed thin. You still had to make it to the ruins. Dan was safe. No one had died. And as long as you beat Jane to Pritch and convinced Noah, you were home free. There were only a thousand things that could go wrong in that time. “I just didn't want to be alone in my house after…”

Ava rounds on you, “wait, Your parents are still awol?”

“Didn’t you have that Nanny,” Lily adds, “Mrs. Garcia?”

“Used to being the key words,” you catch them up to date, “she decided to move in with her eldest daughter down in Arizona. I mean she was old the entire time I knew her. Still sends me birthday cards and christmas cards though.”

“You are the definition of a latchkey child,” Ava notes. “My parents would kill me if I had a boy in my room.”

You roll your eyes. She's not going to let this go anytime soon. At least this calm won't last long. Hopefully a flat tire keeps Cody out of your hair for a while.

“My parents don't know I like girls yet,” Lily admits with a blush, hesitant to share after being bullied at school for daring to walk by Jocelyn.

Ava barks out a laugh, “oh you're bad Lily,” before she turns down her street, closer to town than your house, and then it's just you and Lily walking home together.

She seems happier today, even with everything going on, now that Brittney asked her on a date. It's strange to think of them together. You hadn't even realized they were once friends; can't imagine a nice Brittney or just one that doesn't give everyone shit.

Even after all these cycles you don't know what to make of them. Sometimes Lily and her work things out and she's tolerable but others...and then there's the times when Lily dies and it doesn't really matter.

“I really hope that Stacy's right about Brittney,” you comment, glancing over at the trees. Without Cody and Jocelyn, nothing should happen. But you had learned to be careful.

“I hope so too,” Lily confides, “it's just-she used to be-well not nice. Not like you. But she was my friend and I think she liked seeing my reaction when she did something bad. But harmless stuff like stealing candy or lip gloss.”

“What happened,” you ask, because this is all new for Lily even though you already know about Brittney and camp and how she basically ditched Lily to go be a bitch with Jocelyn. The woods stay quiet.

Lily shrugs and tells you about camp all over again.

You hate that you won't get to tell Lily how brave she is even if she's not like you or Ava, ready to throw fists at Cody and Jocelyn, but you would like to never see a dead body again. And Lily's plenty brave without your help. At her core there's steel or else she'd have given up on Britney years ago. It's the quiet loyalty that matters the most. That will see your friendship through tough times.

You get home and sit in the grass, waiting for Hilda to run over.

Instead of heading straight for the gym, you loiter around the parking lot until you spot Connor. He stands out easily in the crowd with his long blonde hair and the same tall build that he shares with his sister.

“Does Stacy seem a little off to you,” he asks by way of greeting.

“She must be under a lot of stress,” you muse playing the part. You’re in the long stretch of the days now, the lull that sets your teeth on edge. Andy always saves the game. Getting pizza after with him and the team depends on how your mood is; if you want to keep the mask on.

You couldn’t wait for this to be over. It had to end?

What if you did everything right but it turned out this was what being trapped by the power was like? Was this how Jane had gone mad?

Fuck. Fuck.

Your smile drops for a second while Andy makes the winning throw. You can’t let yourself think like that. Gotta snap out of it.

“Your buddy did it,” Connor grins, betraying the fact that he hadn’t completely left Westchester behind. He still had some school spirit in him yet.

“Yeah,” you try, snapping out of it, before cupping your hands around your mouth and yelling, “King Kang,” the way you had the first time.

Andy catches your eyes and smiles even wider.

If this is really the last time, then you want to do it right. You’re going to eat pizza with them all later.

Britney ignores you, focusing her attention on Lily. You let them go off. Once you had followed them and Britney while callus, wasn’t actively trying to be a bitch to Lily so you know she’s in good hands.

One thing you will avoid this night is playing are you scared. It’s fucked up after how many times you’ve had to sit through it and die. Besides, Cody always dies after this. Always. You’ve tried brushing him off but he’s nothing if not persistent.

Waving to Connor you head to the kitchen where Tom’s mixing some type of drink. Mixing juices and alcohol that were not meant to be together.

“Want one,” he offers, as you open the pantry where the chips are. Tonight you’re dragging Noah to Pritch’s. It’s the only time that you’ll get. You won’t let Jane attack the dance. It’s your homecoming and you’re going to make sure it’s one to remember.

“No thanks,” you demure, “Not if you put V8 in there.”

“Hey,” Tom says, narrowing his eyes, “how’d you know I put V8 in here?”

You let him wonder and go find Noah.

He’s just sat down by the pool and you have a little window before Cody and Jocelyn show up. You open the chip bag as you take a seat next to him, “the party’s inside.”

Noah chuckles, “not really my scene.”

“But you still came,” you note, wiggling your eyebrows.

“Shut up,” he mutters.

“No really,” you continue, nudging the conversation along, “why’d you decide to come tonight?”

Noah shrugs and mumbles, “you’re going to think it’s dumb,” he blushes and your dumb heart speeds up even though you know where this conversation is headed. Baby Jane’s. Which is fine. It’s fine.

“I bet it’s not.” You’re sitting close enough to him that your shoulders touch. It’s an intimate bubble you never want to leave. And how messed up is it that after everything you still want him in a way you’ve never come close to having. “What if I tell you something dumb?”

“It won’t be as dumb,” Noah protests, but lets you continue.

“No, really. It’s so dumb. I got points off my Language arts homework because I misspelled ‘orange’.”

“You mean,” Noah smirks, gazing into your eyes with and intensity that has you blushing, “the most phonetically sound work in the english language.”

“See, that was dumb.”

“I came because…,” he trails off, staring at the ground. You reach out, unable to help yourself, covering his hand with yours, with a gentleness he could shake off easily if he wants to. This is a first. “Well, being with your friends in a place you hate is still better than being alone right?”

There’s ten years of pain and loneliness in his voice that it breaks your heart all over again.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “I guess you’re right,” pulling away for once as you pull your knees up to your chest.

His gaze snags on the grill and you let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. You know what happens from here. Somehow you have to get him to Pritch’s and soon. You remember Cody and Jocelyn for the first time since you found him here, just like he always is.

“What,” you ask him.

Noah turns to you, shrugging, “I don’t-I. . .” He leans down and catches your lips with his and kisses you. And wow. Wow. This is a first. Your heart speeds up in your chest. Blood rushing to the tips of your fingers, to your hands that itch at the desire to run your hands through his hair.

You don’t.

With a depthless pool of regret, you pull away. “Noah,” you whisper, voice choked in your throat with raw emotion, “I have to tell you something.”

“What,” he responds, confused.

“Not here. . .just-do you trust me?”

He nods.

“Okay.” You steel yourself, leading him along, his hand intertwined with yours, and waving Andy goodbye as he catches you both leaving.

The road is empty and quiet even at nine on a Friday night. And dark as you reach the edge of main street.

“What’s going on,” he asks, “you don’t live this way.”

“You said you trust me,” you try, taking a deep breath.

“Okay but where are we going?”

“Pritch.”

He stops in the middle of the road. “What! Why?”

You turn to him, “She’ll know how to help.”

His lips thin in understanding. “And this had to be right now? Why didn’t we bring the others.”

Taking a deep breath you start, “Noah. It’s not Redfield. He hasn’t been there for ten years.” Your hands shake and you can’t force the last few words out. Digging your nails into the meat of your palm you continue, voice breaking, “it just has to be us okay! Just trust me enough to go to Pritch.”

He nods, but doesnt take your hand again. The rest of the walk spent in silence and you’re not fucked up enough to restart all over again just to feel his lips against yours because you love him. That’s been your constant through all these lives.

You love him enough to settle for a world in which you’re both alive.

Pritch raises an eyebrow at you once she opens up. “Took you long enough to come by.” You start, thinking for a second that she remembers. “Idiot kids releasing Redfield,” she mutters, shaking her head as you lets you both in.

“It’s not Redfield,” you say for the third time that night.

“It’s Jane isn’t it,” Noah breaks in, sitting down on the matted couch, putting his head in his hands.

You nod, locking gazes with Pritch. “How do release a soul stuck in the power.”

“Can’t be done,” the old witch scoffs.

“Bullshit.” You huff, refusing to take a seat, “you messed around enough with the power. I know you did. Jane’s a little girl. She doesn’t deserve this!”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have gone-”

Noah’s face twists in anger, “we were kids!”

Pritch sips her tea. “Only the idiots who-”

“It’ll work with the both of us,” you retort.

For the first time that night, she studies you, truly paying attention, “you’ve been touched by the power too haven’t you?”

Noah turns to you as well, “how did you know?”

“Jane-she,” you let out a sigh. “She told me.” And then you lie. “That night. I thought it was just Redfield messing with me but she’s been giving us all these fucked up gifts for a reason.”

He turns from you after, frowning as he studies the woven rugs.

“Something must take it’s place,” Pritch finally answers, “The power doesn’t just let things go without reason. It never freely gives. Like all things in nature there is a balance.”

“So one of us has to die,” Noah surmises.

“No you idiot,” she places her teacup down with a clang on the coffee table, “just take my dog. I can make more. It’ll accept that and let the girl’s soul be at peace.”

Noah pauses in front of the runs. Pritch’s vine dog yapping at your heels. Swallowing thickly, he turns to face you. “It has to be all of us or it won’t work.”

“It’ll work,” you urge.

“How can you be so sure,” he asks with a thick layer of suspicion on him. Noah still won’t meet your gaze.

“It was us showing up to save Dan that freed her.” You run a hand through your hair, “I know it all sounds crazy and you probably think I’m wrong but I’m not Noah.”

‘’That thing,” he cries in denial, tears in his eyes as he meets your searching gaze, “it can’t be Jane.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, hugging him close and he lets you. “I hope it’s not, but either way after tonight it’ll be over.” God you hope so. You’ve never been this tired in your life. Not before AP exams. Not after flying in an airplane for twenty hours.

He buries his face in your hair, his arms pulling you in closer to him. “We’ll talk about it after. . .right?”

“After,” you ponder, unable to imagine not waking up in your bed to Dan. To Redfield. To Jane. Heart skipping a beat in your chest as you wonder if there is still hope for you and him, for Noah and you yet. If he meant the kiss the way you hope he did. If he wasn’t taking it back after tonight.

“Just-after.”

“Okay.” you step into the clearing before calling out, “Jane! Jane I’ve come to save you!”

Blue eyes appear in the doorway.

“Jane,” you continue, crouching down to pet the vine dog, “I’ve brought you a friend so you won’t be lonely anymore. Since I’ve been such a shitty friend. Jane I’m sorry it took this long.” You can sense Noah behind you, waiting for any recognition.

“F Rien ds!” The shadow surges forward, stopping mere centimeters from your face, letting out a sound approximating a whistle.

“Holy shit,” Noah mutters.

“b ro Th eRrr!”

You smile, tears flowing freely down your cheeks now, “yeah. Yeah it’s your twin.”

She turns from you to him, back to you.

“You can rest now,” you finally say, not sure how arcane dark magic rituals work.

The vine dog barks.

And the shadow that is Jane snuffs out like birthday cake candles.

The light hurts as it hits your eyes and no amount of tossing and turning will make it go away. You crack an eye open. Noah’s jacket still thrown over your desk chair.

The boy in question missing.

So it had been real.

Holy shit.

You’d actually done it.

Jumping out of bed, still in last night’s clothes, you run down the stairs bursting in on Noah in the kitchen. “You don’t have anymore baking power,” he tells you before flipping a pancake.

You can only stare at him from the doorway, shameless as ever.

He rolls his eyes, “and you need to buy eggs.”

“I can do that. . .in exchange for food of course.”

“Of course,” he laughs, before sighing. “It’s really over isn’t it.”

“Yeah.” You step into the kitchen. “Yeah, it is. What are we going to do now?”

“Go back to not speaking,” he says bitterly.

“Noah, I’m sorry.”

He snorts humorlessly, “We didn’t-you wouldn’t talk to me for years and then Redfield appears back in our lives and suddenly all of us are hanging out again and you’re doing everything I wish you would have after Jane-except that thing was Jane all along and I don’t know what to do! I feel so fucked up about everything. About Jane. About my parents. About you but I also can’t stop wanting to see you around but I can’t-couldn’t think with Redfield let alone the way you look at me sometimes like you have stars in your eyes or some other ridiculous cartoon shit.”

Noah grips the stone countertop, resting his weight against it.

“We all handled what happened badly,” you try to put into words everything but nothing will be enough, “and you didn’t deserve any of it. Neither did Jane. But I’m here for you now, whatever that means for you.” Anything, anyway, as long as he’s in your life.

He straightens up, standing tall in front of you, his eyes meeting yours with a raw understanding about how you felt for him and the ball was now in his court and how long has it been since someone loved him this badly. Badly enough to let him decide.

You both share absentee parents now.

Noah runs a hand through his hair before letting out a sigh. “I was waiting to kiss you until it was all over,” he admits, blushing red all up his cheekbones, “but I couldn’t help myself.”

Blushing back just as fiercely, you reply, “I’m glad you did.”

“I’m glad I did too.”

“Can I kiss you now,” you ask him, already taking a tentative stepforward.

He nods.

You go to him, pressing your lips against his well formed mouth with an urgency, convincing yourself this was real and not some trick and he kisses you back with a gentleness that slows you down and lets you soak in the feel of his lips against yours and now you have time. Now. Now. Now.

When the tightness in your chest becomes unbearable, you pull away, breathless, looking up at him.

“Help me with the plates,” he tells you.

“We should go on a real date,” you respond, already balancing the glasses and plates and jug of milk. “Pizza?”

“Why would we buy pizza,” Noah waves his hand around with a fork in hand as he drenches his pancakes with maple syrup, “when I can just make it.”

“Don’t be an asshole.”

“Hey,” he smiles, sitting nonchalantly at your table, “have I ever told you about Baby Jane’s?”

“No.”

#it lives in the woods #choices #pixelberry #noah marshall #ilitw noah #noah x mc #mine #did i write a 10000 word fic for noah marshall???? yes #did the style also change half way through!!!#yes #it did #unedited bc we die like men #i replayed the whole book for this fic #and will also write anouther fic for noah soon

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gellavonhamster · 4 years

Text

beneath the music from a farther room

gen || R the Duchess of Winnipeg, Beatrice Baudelaire, Lemony Snicket, Beatrice Baudelaire Jr. || R/Beatrice, mentions of R/Sally Sebald || pre-canon, missing scene, post-canon

ao3 link || originally posted in Russian

(title taken from The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot)

It would not be an exaggeration to say that balls were part of her life as long as she could remember.

At first, of course, she didn’t take part in them. At first, she treaded carefully down the corridors barefoot on the shining cold parquet and soft carpet runners, trying not to make a sound, ready to flee at once to some corner as soon as any adult heaved into sight. Moving in quick, quick dashes down the stairs to the mezzanine, where the walls were lined with paintings and antique weapons and the flowerpots were crowding the space by the balustrade. She used to find a hideaway among the plants – a four-year old, she felt like a knight wandering in a fairy-tale forest among those rubber figs and palm-trees – and breathlessly observed the grownups in the hall below. One day, she would think, I won’t be sitting here anymore. I’ll go down to the hall too, in a long dress gleaming with all the colours of the rainbow and in elbow-length gloves. My face will be covered with a mask of feathers and lace but everyone will know it’s me because I’ll be the lady of the house, because they all will have come to present their compliments to me (she didn’t know such expressions back then, naturally, but she was already aware that one day she would become very, very important, and that awareness filled her with happiness and dread at the same time). Everyone will joke and have fun, and the waiters in white suit jackets will serve out champagne, and I will drink champagne too, and no one will forbid me to. And the music will be playing, and everyone will be dancing. For what’s the use dressing up and coming together if nobody’s dancing?

She could have sat like that the whole night, staring at the dancing couples, but every time her disappearance was discovered quickly – far too quickly. The nanny would come – Nelly or Ellie, or perhaps Millie, some simple and sweet name. At one point, when Ramona was already grown-up, it occurred to her that the nanny could have quite possibly had some different name, but she, being a little kid, was allowed to call her by whatever name she could pronounce. Ramona did not remember Nelly’s, or Ellie’s, face, only the way her hands used to smell of jasmine because earlier she bathed Ramona and washed her with jasmine soap. The nanny used to take an already half-asleep Ramona out of her hiding-place, also trying to move as quietly as possible so as not to draw the attention of the people who had gathered below, and carry her back to the nursery, repeating that it was not allowed, miss, you’ve already been told the previous time, your mother won’t be happy.

Ramona would put her head on the nanny’s shoulder, close her eyes, and see men in black tailcoats and women in sparkling veils, and behind her eyelids they would dance and dance and dance.

II.

Ramona was fifteen when she discovered that balls weren’t as much fun as they used to seem from the mezzanine.

She hadn’t been home for about four years and knew that she shouldn’t complain about that: she saw her family much more often than most of the other apprentices anyway. Every time she came home, she felt like the mansion had become smaller, as if after every time she left it was washed and shrunk. First and foremost, that must have been because she was growing (even at the time she was just a little shorter than her mother), but it also might have had something to do with the fact that since one evening in the garden a strange man grabbed her by her ankles and dragged her away from home, she had visited and seen a great many places. And even though hardly anywhere she encountered the same grandeur as at home, Ramona already knew that there were many old mansions in the world, many ballrooms with high ceilings and huge chandeliers, many winter gardens that looked like isles of jungle under a big crystal bowl. The air of magic that once enveloped her home had dissipated. It turned out that the lighting on the first floor was too bright, while on the second floor it was too dim, and that she didn’t even like half of the paintings hanging on the walls.

It also turned out that balls were something completely mundane, and most people did not even really have fun there, just pretended they did. Ramona wove her way between the small groups of guests, nodding cordially to some of them, curtsying a little to the other, and pondered over how all these rich people had arrived here in all their finery not because they wanted to dance or converse, but because they had to discuss one deal or another, find a good match for their children, or suck up to her mother so that she would put in a word for them here and there or agree to finance some project. They made a show of laughing at each other’s jokes but there was no laughter in their eyes. They discussed the opening nights at the theatre, croquet, and politics, but mostly did it to form an opinion of their interlocutors and see if it appeared possible to use them somehow later. The women bore themselves ramrod straight and spoke in unnaturally high-pitched voices. The men uttered each phrase as if they were the only ones in the entire hall who possessed any critical thinking skills, and cast sticky glances at the women. Occasionally Ramona noticed some of them looking at her, which made her feel disgusted and, for some reason, ashamed.

Even champagne was nasty! It was so sour, and made her stomach ache. Truth be told, the beer that she and Lemony and Beatrice sometimes bought using fake documents and drank straight from the bottle passing it around was more to her taste.

Suddenly, someone touched her arm.

“Hey,” a conspiratorial voice whispered right into her ear. “Are you all right?”

Speaking of Beatrice.

Ramona felt herself blush. Beatrice had always had a penchant for invading her friends’ personal space as long as they didn’t object, and the older they got, the more discomfort it posed to Ramona. Fair enough, the word ‘discomfort’ didn’t represent her feelings quite precisely. Part of her revelled in each embrace, each kiss on the cheek, each tangling of fingers. Part of her screamed that it was unbearable because if it kept on happening, Ramona would either fall victim to heart attack or do something that would ruin her friendship with Beatrice once and for all. Or her friendship with Lemony, who was so devotedly, stupidly, and awkwardly in love with Beatrice that it was hardly possible to surpass it.

Just about as stupidly and awkwardly as Ramona was in love with her, too.

“I’m fine,” Ramona assured her. Beatrice frowned. Her long tight dress was sequined, making fabric look like scales, and her loose dark hair was interwoven with green and silver threads. That evening, she was a mermaid. “Not the kind of mermaid to give up her voice for a prince,” she declared to Ramona while Olaf’s parents were taking off their coats and Olaf himself looked over the entrance hall, his face bored and his hands in his pockets. “I’m a proper mermaid that drives the sailors mad with her singing and drags them underwater. Like that!” At this, she leaped at Olaf from the back. He yelled, “You piece of shit!” and tried to shake her off, and his father shouted at the both of them to calm down. Ramona laughed loudly then. Now she looked at how closely the mermaid dress fit Beatrice, her figure already much more feminine than Ramona’s, realized that many of those pompous old pigs must have been ogling her too, and felt an even more helpless kind of rage than when she caught them looking at herself.

“Are you? You’ve got a long face. Are you having a headache?”

“No, it’s just that…” Ramona winced in frustration. She knew that if she tried to explain what was wrong, it would come out as some non-issue rubbish. “It’s so boring! Everyone’s pretending they’re enjoying themselves, but they actually aren’t. As a child, I used to come up there,” she gestured at the mezzanine with a nod, “every time my parents hosted a reception, used to sit there and dream of taking part in all this one day, but in practice…”

“Nothing turned out to be the way you expected it,” Beatrice finished for her.

“Well, yeah.”

The orchestra started playing The Blue Danube. A smile lit up Beatrice’s face.

“You know what,” she spoke slowly. “If they don’t know how to have fun, doesn’t mean we shouldn’t. Do you want to dance?”

“With you?” Ramona asked, confused. She was not sure if it was appropriate for two ladies to dance together when there were potential male partners galore. Not that even a single one of those partners appealed to her.

“With me! I mean…” Beatrice looked a little shy, which was unusual for her, and suddenly Ramona wondered if Beatrice ever noticed the way Ramona blushes and freezes at her touch, if Beatrice assumed that Ramona must have started to feel burdened by her friendship for some reason. “If you want to, of course.”

Ramona looked around. A number of couples went dancing, but there still were more of the guests who continued standing and discussing dull topics. A single look at them was enough to make her want to hang herself.

And here, against all that, was Beatrice. Bright and fearless Beatrice, who watched her questioningly, and the question seemed to be not only and not so much about the dance.

Ramona thought about Lemony, but the first thing to cross her mind was the following: he wasn’t there.

“I do,” she said resolutely, and held out her hand to Beatrice. “Let’s show them how it’s done.”

They began to waltz, and for a short while, the magic that once had filled that hall came back.

III.

It was curious how it went with scandals, both at the balls and in general. Scandals were not tolerated, yet at the same time they were desired. No one wanted to be caught in the middle of a scandal, but everyone enjoyed watching a scandal involving others. At the balls, scandals were a much more entertaining treat than the performances of the specially invited opera singers or the fireworks in the garden, but no one would dare to admit it out loud.

That evening, the highlight of the ball organized by the Duchess of Winnipeg became her nineteen-year-old daughter, who had a quarrel with her mother in front of everybody – not a very heated quarrel, unfortunately, but still something – and who left the ballroom almost running to disappear on the second floor.

Ramona knew her mother wouldn’t go looking for her anytime soon. She wouldn’t leave the guests for fear of losing her face to an even greater extent; at least one lady of the house ought to stay with them. Officially, Ramona was not the lady of that house yet, not at all, and she was not sure she’d be able to feel like one when the time came. Over the last few years, the ducal mansion had more than shrunk for her – it ceased to be her home. When she heard someone say ‘home’, she thought of a studio apartment she was renting in the City; it was small, but it was her own. And she barely ever thought of herself as of Ramona, the future Duchess of Winnipeg – only as of R, volunteer firefighter, part-time employee of the City Meteorological Centre, and journalist of Daily Punctilio.

The quarrel started exactly with her mother reminding R who she was. At least that was the way it could have seemed to onlookers. In truth, the tension between them emerged already two days before, when R came home – or, rather, to her mother’s residence – for back then R was sincerely happy to finally see her, and allowed herself the kind of candour that was proven to be undue.

“Father would have understood,” she thought wistfully, and pressed the handle of a heavy mahogany door. Clearly, she could not be sure about that. Father died of apoplexy when she was sixteen. Ramona had spent most of her life far from home and, frankly speaking, she knew neither of her parents well. Yet her father had always been gentler than her mother, listened more attentively, let her feel like just a girl (as far as any VFD member was able to feel like just someone) more often than her mother did, and less often – like a heiress of an old family. Moreover, Father himself was an outlier of sorts in the high society: his family was new money, which was openly disdained by many aristocrats, and the only reason they concealed their disdain for his skin colour must have been the fact that racism and xenophobia had come to be considered bad form. Ramona was certain that many of them were hoping that would not last.

With Father, it was… cosy. Calm. Ramona always used to miss him more than Mother, and she cried her eyes out when he passed away, hating herself for not being close to him at that moment. It was his study that Ramona came to when she happened to feel heavy-hearted during her rare visits to Winnipeg. Mother, in most respects practical, forbade changing anything in the study after Father’s death. Every day the help cleaned the dust off the books he would never reread, and off the paperweight and notebooks he would never use again. The telephone on the desk was not disconnected either. Ramona sat down in the armchair with her legs tucked under her, and spent some time sitting at the desk motionlessly, her face hidden in her palms. Then she moved the telephone closer to her, and dialled the number from memory.

After the third dial tone, the answer followed.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mr. Snicket,” Ramona said. She didn’t hope it was not clear from her voice that she had been crying. To be honest, she was not planning to hide that. At least there was something she didn’t have to hide, and someone she didn’t have to hide it from. “Got a minute?”

“Even more than one,” Lemony replied. “How are you?”

“Everything sucks. How are you?”

“Better than could have been, I believe. What’s the matter? If you want to talk about it, of course.”

“L, why would I call you if I didn’t want to talk about it?”

“Sometimes having other people share silence with you is enough. Though this is obviously not an option for a phone call.”

“Obviously,” Ramona agreed. At the other end of the line, her best friend was waiting for her to tell what was plaguing her. She closed her eyes. “It’s no big deal, really. I had a row with maman. Too bad it happened right at the ball, though. We surely use our best efforts to entertain our dear guests, but not to such an extent.”

“She talked to you about marriage again, didn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Ramona gave a pull at the phone wire, wrapped it around her finger, and released it again. It was weird talking about all that, as it was always weird talking about her problems. She was rich, young – heck, she was good-looking, too, she had a lot of friends, and her childhood had been a tiniest bit more trouble-free than that of most of her volunteer peers. Complaining about her life meant admitting her weakness, just as running away from the ball nearly in tears did. “I know I am actually lucky. Take that boy, for instance, the one Kit is keeping in touch with, what’s his name…”

“Charles?”

“Right. She loves me, L, I know she does. She loves me as much as she can. She told me: I don’t care who you’re having affairs with, that’s just your business, but be so kind as to marry and to bear an heir because that’s the business of the entire duchy. But I don’t want to, you see?” She felt a lump in her throat again. She swallowed hard. “She never cared if I want this title, if I want to become her successor, if I want to join the VFD… I mean, it’s not that I don’t want to…” She stopped short, having caught herself thinking of a crazy thing yet again: what if the phones were being wiretapped? By their side of the Schism, or by the other one? “Can I do the thing I want to once in a lifetime? And could she not start this conversation in the midst of the ball? This time I wasn’t even bored! This time some of the guests even bothered to prepare full-scale fancy-dresses instead of throwing on the first mask they found and a regular evening dress!”

“When you’re back in the City, we’ll host a ball on our own,” Lemony promised. “Everyone shall be wearing fancy-dresses. There will be live music featuring all instruments we find lying around. Ernest will mix some cocktails. Someone will puke from the balcony…”

Ramona giggled.

“I would prefer to avoid the latter.”

“So would I, yet the experience shows that it is sadly impossible to guarantee the absence of this circumstance. By the way, I am totally serious. When are you coming back?”

“On Friday,” Ramona sighed. Two more days in the company of her mother awaited her.

“Excellent. Then we’ll organize a soiree on Saturday. Beatrice and I shall take care of everything.”

“Poor, poor Mr. Snicket,” Ramona said and smiled. “Forced to socialize, sing, and dance for my sake.”

“I have given no promises related to singing,” Lemony pointed out.

“But you’ll have to,” she grinned. She still wanted to cry, but she also wanted to smile. At that moment, in the study still smelling faintly of her father’s cologne, with her friend’s voice on the phone, she felt invincible. “Now tell me what’s new at the office.”

IV.

They must have really thrown a party upon her arrival then. As the years went by, all parties with other volunteers blended in her memory, making up a single endless one. Not the Groundhog Day – more like the Groundhog Night. It was not often that they could gather everyone they wanted to meet in the same place, so when such an opportunity presented itself, they went wild. They used to drink a lot back then, because every single one of them must have already had something they wanted to forget entirely. Ramona suspected that some of them didn’t stop at drinking – it would have been naïve to expect that, taking into account that some departments of their organization experimented with cultivation and use of hallucinogenic mushrooms – but she was not interested in such amusements. Alcohol was enough for her – that, and Father’s old pipe, the only thing she smoked. Besides, in a good company it seemed that even air itself was intoxicating, making one laugh and speak too loudly and do stupid yet harmless things.

And they did have a good company. God, how she loved all of them – not everyone the same, naturally, but each of them at least a bit. The ducal mansion with its jungles of rubber figs and its bad lighting receded into the past, surrendered the title of her home, and passed it not so much to her apartment in the City as to the people she used to spend time with. The balls in the hall with high ceilings paled in comparison to the parties in rented apartments, occasionally at the headquarters, at times – in some shady abandoned buildings. Oh, they were a damn good company indeed, with their shared memories and shared secrets, their diverse talents and confusing relationships. The Bloomsbury Group with daggers under their coats. The Bright Young Things with tattoos on their ankles.

There was a moment that stuck in her mind clearly: it was a very warm May, the smell of bird cherry was hanging in the air, and it was about half past two in the morning. She and Lemony were smoking on the balcony of Monty and Bertrand’s apartment. More precisely, she was smoking Father’s pipe (no matter how many years passed, she always kept thinking of it as of her father’s pipe not her own) while Lemony was standing by and looking at the few stars that were visible in the City. Back then, he didn’t smoke yet – back then, not enough had already happened to make him start smoking, although at times, when someone would mention a town called Stain’d-by-the-Sea, his face would look like he had already seen everything he could in this life, and much more than he ever wished to. The music was already muffled, replaced by conversations. R was feeling dreadfully tired and at the same time full of energy. She wanted to sleep, but she also wanted to dance some more.

“Do you realize that right now, by the way, we’re living the best years of our lives?” she asked Lemony, and he turned around to glance into the room where their friends were. One of the Denouement brothers, Gustav, and Sally were discussing something on the couch, pouring wine from the last remaining bottle into the glasses. Ike and Josephine, who was basically hanging on his neck, were talking about something with Jacques in the doorway. A group consisting of the second Denouement, Monty, and Widdershins were having some lively discussion in the other corner of the room. Olivia was doing a Tarot reading for a drowsily blinking Hector. Bertrand and Beatrice were the only ones still dancing – at the very centre of the room, very slowly, not so much actually dancing as swaying in each other’s arms. Kit, Olaf, Haruki, and Gregor were not in sight; some of them must have been in the kitchen and some in the bathroom. It has been a long time since they’d gathered in such large numbers, and suddenly R thought “And we won’t anymore”, and felt a shiver running down her spine.

“Yes,” Lemony replied pensively. Then the same thought that scared her must have crossed his mind too, because he added, “What shall we do when they’re over?”

She didn’t know the answer to that question then, and later, when those best years were left behind and their company got scattered across the country and on the opposite sides of the barricades, she didn’t know it all the more.

Some things did not change as time went by. The sun kept shining, water was wet, and there were balls being held regularly at the mansion of the Dukes of Winnipeg – the balls that all the neighbourhood elite assembled at and even guests from abroad arrived to, and if one Duchess was replaced by another, that did not mean a discontinuation of the tradition at all. The balls continued to be organized, remaining, as before, a pretty screen to cover the making of deals, hunting for future spouses, striking up an acquaintance with the right people, and, since the title of the Duchess was passed on to Ramona, some other business that half of the guests had no clue about. The other half, which made use of the cluelessness of that one, was the members of the same secret society as the hostess of the party.

The last ball organized by Ramona was marked by an arrest.

Barons and bankers, philanthropists and politicians were staring indignantly, though also with an ill-concealed curiosity, at a man dressed as a bullfighter and at the two policemen holding him down. Two more policemen were standing by. One of them was wearing large sunglasses, which looked absurd even among the people dressed in the most fanciful costumes possible. That was taken much more seriously now than during the times of the previous Duchess, when it used to be enough just to add a half-mask to a regular suit or dress. The current Duchess appreciated creativity, art, and showmanship.

The current Duchess was standing in front of the policemen, a folded fan clasped in her hands.

“Your Grace,” said the inspector, pulling the mask off the person under arrest. “Do you recognize this man?”

She wanted to say yes I do, how could I not recognize him if we first met when we were four years old and have been best friends ever since? What are you doing, let him go immediately, all the accusations against him are fabricated and we can prove it, does it matter who ‘we’ are, soon you’ll know. The real criminal might still be here in the building, he tried to kill the man you’ve captured, he tried to kill the woman this man came to see, he killed her husband, he tried to marry her underage daughter, you got the wrong guy! Let him go immediately and go catch the real one while he hadn’t disappeared into the night!

Lemony Snicket – tired, pale, with a black eye, and a dark drop of blood dried on his lip – met her gaze and shook his head subtly.

“No,” said Ramona, the Duchess of Winnipeg. She did not wince, it was only that her fingers clutched the fan more tightly – it even seemed to her that it cracked. “It’s the first time I see this man.”

“It follows that he arrived to your party without an invitation.”

“It follows that he did.”

“So you deny that this person is Lemony Snicket?”

“Lemony Snicket is dead. I went to his funeral. With all due respect, Inspector,” she let herself smile – benevolently, yet condescendingly, “I’m afraid you are on the wrong track.”

“A further investigation shall indicate whether the track was wrong or not, Your Grace,” Inspector replied. He also let himself smile – respectfully, yet without bothering to hide that he thought her in the wrong. “James, Prescott, search the building. Madison,” he told the officer in sunglasses, “take the suspect away.”

“Yes, Sir,” the officer replied. He handcuffed Lemony and escorted him to the exit. Having walked a considerable distance, the policeman suddenly turned around. He took off his glasses, and Ramona grew cold: she recognized him as one of the volunteers whose photos she was shown a while ago by poor Gustav. It was one of those who had recently defected to the fire-starting side.

Everything, all and everything was going down the tubes.

She saw Mother in her mind’s eye – impeccably looking, regal, calm and icy as ever. It was not that R had never loved her; she just couldn’t find anything in common with her. R didn’t mourn her the way she had mourned her father; she just could not sleep for many nights in a row after her death. R would have given anything for her mother to be there at that moment.

Compose yourself, Mother said in her head. You are facing a problem, so solve it. And make sure everything is proper, I beg you.

Ramona, the Duchess of Winnipeg, took a deep breath and smiled.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she began. “Due to obvious circumstances I am bound to proclaim this evening’s party to be over…”

VI.

“And who’s that?” the girl asked, tapping with a tip of her finger on a cheery young face in a black-and-white picture. The girl’s name was Beatrice Baudelaire, and Ramona kept telling herself that one day she would get used to it. Used to the name of a dead woman that meant so much to her becoming someone else’s. No, it did not rub her the wrong way at all, there was no feeling that this Beatrice was a pretender. It is only in the days of one’s childhood and youth that the whole world seems to be your story only, yours and that of the people surrounding you. As a forty-something you see that you are just one of the multitude of equally background characters, and that there are hundreds and thousands of people sharing your name, your habits, your wounds, and your pain.

She took a closer look at the face that Beatrice was pointing at.

“Oh, that’s Monty. Dr. Montgomery. He was in some of the previous pictures, remember?”

“That’s him? I didn’t recognize him without the moustache.”

“He must be about seventeen here. He didn’t have a moustache then yet,” Ramona smiled nostalgically, looking at the photograph, and through the years young Monty returned her a smile frozen for eternity. She still missed him. There were a lot of people she still missed. “He stopped shaving it… at nineteen, probably. By the time he was twenty, he already had his legendary snake moustache. We keep meaning to put the photos in the right order but we just can’t get around to it.”

Technically, all photos in the album belonged to Sally. The only surviving pictures from R’s personal photo archive were the ones that Olaf enclosed with the letter he made her write as he was pressing her own grandfather’s hunting knife to her throat. “Snicket escaped from the cop shop,” he told her then. Beatrice – that other Beatrice, Beatrice-in-italics – died that night, really died that time, and there seemed to be tears in his eyes though he would have definitely killed Ramona if she so much as mentioned that. “So we’ll lure him over here.” His plan fell through: he underestimated both her inventiveness in terms of experimenting with VFD codes and her hand-to-hand combat skills. Still, the letter reached Lemony together with the photographs, which he gave to his niece, Beatrice the Second, years later. Ramona had already decided to give her a couple more photos that Beatrice would find the most interesting – for example, those of her mother as a child, or of her uncle Jacques, but first they had to wait for Sally to ask which photos it was all right to give away, and Sally was to be back only the day after.

“I take photographs, too,” Beatrice told her, a little shy. “Would you allow me to make a portrait of you, Your Grace?”

“Sure. And please call me Ramona. Or Aunt Ramona, if you wish,” R winked at her.

Beatrice beamed with joy.

“Okay, Aunt Ramona. I was thinking I could take a picture of you in the yard, among the trees.”

“Do not forget that the landscape in the photo must not be easily recognizable, Beatrice,” Lemony commented. He was sitting in an armchair facing them, with a heap of newspapers in his lap. In each paper, R had underlined the headlines and even individual sentences in some articles that she thought to be possible clues in the search for the Baudelaires. “Otherwise, if the pictures get into the wrong hands…”

“Snicket, I am begging you,” Ramona waved him aside. “This kind of trees grows all over the country.”

“No, Mr. Snicket’s right,” Beatrice joined in. “If we take the photo in the yard, then walls or windows or something might get into the frame. We could find some place nearby with no buildings.”

“We will,” Ramona promised, and gripped the girl’s shoulder briefly and lightly. ‘Listen, you stay here for a while, and your uncle and I shall go fetch something, all right? If you have any questions about any other photos, just bookmark the page, and I’ll explain everything when I’m back.”

“Okay,” the girl nodded.

“Great. Snicket, let’s go.”

“Please don’t hit me,” Lemony asked nonchalantly, putting the papers aside. Beatrice giggled, and Lemony smiled a little – faintly, with the very corner of his lips.

“Does she still call you ‘Mr. Snicket’?” Ramona asked him quietly as soon as they went out into the hallway. Lemony shrugged.

“We met relatively recently,” he remarked. “I am not going to hurry her, especially since it has no crucial significance for me how she calls me.”

Liar, Ramona thought. It was literally yesterday that Beatrice met her, and she had no difficulty switching to calling her ‘Aunt’. On the other hand, there was a difference between simply addressing a person in a less official manner and completely accepting a relative who had been evading contact purposefully and for a long time. Lemony was right not to hurry her. The important thing was that they were together.

“If you say so,” Ramona opened the door leading to her and Sally’s bedroom. Their house had nothing on the mansion of the Dukes of Winnipeg that was destroyed by the fire; it was humble, not too spacious, and they got it in such condition that they were already thinking of doing some renovation even though they had only lived in it for a little more than a month. Ramona adored it. “Come in, I have a gift for you.”

“A gift?” Lemony asked. The gift was in plain view – on a stool by the bed, so Lemony noticed it as soon as he peered into the room, and rolled his eyes as if in disapproval, yet clearly only pretending to be dissatisfied. “R, you shouldn’t have…”

“I should,” she interrupted him. “I do not have that many friends left, you know, and you had just mentioned that your favourite accordion had drowned in a swamp. By the way, how did it happen?”

“It’s a long story. I can tell you over dinner, if you’d like,” Lemony ran his fingers over the keys. When he touched musical instruments, his face always became distant and dreamy, as if he was already hearing the music that could be extracted from them. “Really, R, I am grateful to you, but I won’t be able to carry it with me all the time, and we don’t stay anywhere for long these days…”

“Then let it stay here, and you’ll play it when you visit us,” Ramona shrugged. “I am so used to having a whole room full of your stuff close at hand that I feel a little lonely without it.”

“A room for me and a room for Beatrice,” Lemony said, smiling into nowhere. “How long ago that was.”

“So long ago,” she agreed. “We have become museum pieces, Mr. Snicket.”

“Not you, Your Grace. You are alive.”

“So are you,” she reminded him. “Don’t forget it, would you? At least for me. And for her,” she nodded in the direction of the door, of the hallway leading to the room where a living Beatrice Baudelaire was looking at the photos of the people who were long gone.

He kissed her on the forehead – a chaste, brotherly kiss.

“I’ll try to,” he said softly.

They brought the accordion to the living room, and Beatrice put the album aside and ran her hand over the shining lacquered side of the instrument, enraptured.

“Once I used to have a great big house, almost a castle,” Ramona told her, “and I used to give balls there for my acquaintances and associates like my mother before me, and before her my grandmother, and so all the way down to our ancestors who moved here from France.”

Beatrice nodded.

“Mr. Snicket told me about this.”

“What do you think of giving a ball, Beatrice? A really small one, for our own circle. Tomorrow, my wife will be back,” she smiled, feeling the usual mad happiness at the possibility to say this word, ‘wife’. “It will be a surprise for her.”

The girl’s eyes lit up.

“But how do we prepare?”

“I believe we have everything we might need. There are some bottles of wine and lemonade in the cellar, and an ice cream cake in the fridge. As to the music, we have your uncle with his new accordion, and there’s also Sally’s and my record collection. Do you know how to dance, Beatrice?”

“I am not so good at it, to be honest.”

“I shall teach you,” Ramona promised, and took the girl’s hand. “Mr. Snicket, would you play something for us?”

The stately columns and the crystal chandeliers, the palm-tree pots and the carpet runners – all of that belonged to the past now. The present was hard-won, fragile, but despite that, or maybe for that very reason, it was lovely.

The future was unpredictable – save for one thing, perhaps: there would certainly be dancing.

#asoue #a series of unfortunate events #duchess of winnipeg #beatrice baudelaire #lemony snicket #beatrice snicket #gella talks snicketverse #talk talk talk #my fic #kinda insecure about this one but... anyway

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thewarriorandtheking · 4 years

Text

Lothlorien

The Warrior Queen: The Warrior and The King: Book II

Chapter 6. Lothlorien

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

Kaylea Wolf floated in a warm dream. It was very pleasant, peaceful and quiet, like floating in a tropical sea. When she started to focus she saw hooded figures, long swords in the dark, foul creatures running towards her. It was much more pleasant to just lay in the warm water and float. But she kept hearing a voice. It was deep and resonant and familiar, sometimes it seemed quite close but then faded away. There was something about it that drew her to it, she loved to hear it but could not remember why. She drifted in her dream, but there was that voice again. She realized she was in love with that voice and when it drifted away again she began to seek it out. It felt like it took ages to push past the robed figures with their long knives, past orcs and tall white trees. It was like trying to reach the surface from deep underwater, but she kept pulling herself upward. Then the name of that voice came to her: Thorin. The realization hit her like a kick to the head. The man she loved, with his soft smile and quick temper, beautiful hair and amazing blue eyes, and that voice. She had to get back to him, it was much more important than any cozy dream.

Kaylea came to herself slowly. She could feel a soft bed beneath her, hear the wind in the leaves of the mallorn trees, the scent of athelas from the dressing of her wound, she knew she was in Lorien. The next thing she became aware of was Thorin. He was lying next to her on the bed, head on the pillow next to hers. He was holding her hand, his fingers interlaced with hers and he was talking. Kaylea did not listen to what he was saying at first, just the sound of his voice, taking in his frankincense and vetiver smell, the feel of his hand on hers. Was it really possible to love someone as much as she loved this man? His words slowly started to come into focus, he was telling her about the battle of Azanulbizar. A story she had heard many times. Kaylea let him talk for some time, enjoying the sound of his voice, the warm feel of his body next to her. Finally she gave his hand a squeeze.

“Will you just shut up and kiss me,” she said. Her voice came out as a husky whisper and she wondered how long she had been down.

Thorin gasped. “My love!” He kissed her hand, holding it between his. “You have come back!”

“I told you I had no plans to leave you,” Kaylea attempted a smile, turning her head toward him. “How long have I been asleep?”

“It has been more than two days since the Lady Galadriel removed that blade tip from your wound, you slept five days before that.”

Odin’s beard! Kaylea thought to herself. Seven days? She looked at Thorin, she could see the fatigue around his eyes, and the relief in his wide smile. She wanted to kiss him so badly. “Are you going to kiss me, or not?”

Thorin smiled wider and leaned forward to kiss her. He tasted so good, earthy and warm, the reason she had fought her way out of that dream. He pulled back to smile at her again, still holding her hand. “I thought I was going to lose you,” he said.

“I heard your voice,” Kaylea replied.

“Lady Galadriel said your mind had travelled far. I thought it would help if I talked to you,” Thorin said shyly, he seemed a bit embarrassed.

“You were right. I followed it back to you, my king,” Kaylea said. She willed her hand to move up to touch his face, her thumb running over his beard. Thorin put an arm around her, drawing her close to kiss her again. Longer this time, and more passionate. At length he drew back, knowing she must still be very tired.

“You must rest,” he said. “You still have much healing to do.”

Kaylea rolled her eyes at him. “I have already been out for seven days.” She was fully in her body now, she could feel the tightness along her neck where the wound was still healing, her muscles stiff and sore. She started to push herself up, but Thorin stopped her.

“If you do not lay down and rest, I will tie you to this bed,” Thorin said seriously.

Kaylea looked up at him with a sly smile. “Is that a promise? In that case I am certainly getting up.”

Thorin laughed, he pushed himself up to kneel over her and leaned forward until his forehead met hers, he caught her arms and held them down beside her, then kept leaning in until he pushed her head back into the pillow. “You stay in bed, your king commands it.” While Thorin was still very worried about her, his heart soared to hear her bantering with him so soon after waking up. It was like she was back to her old self, and he was already more aroused than he really wanted to be.

Kaylea met his gaze. “Is there anything else you command of me, your majesty?” She asked playfully. “Alright, I will be good and stay in bed. Is there anything to eat around here, I am starving.”

Thorin straightened up. “You stay there, I will go find you something.” He kept his eyes on her until he shut the door behind him.

As soon as Thorin had gone Kaylea got up, and almost fell. She managed to catch herself on a chair and willed herself upright, her legs barely responded to her. She did not know how long Thorin would be gone but she had seen her saddlebag on the floor and quickly retrieved it. Opening the concealed pocket she removed the slim flat case of her medkit. She selected three syringes: white cell activator, gene-targeted cell repair and boosterspice. She held all three to her arm and pushed the activators, they dispensed with a soft hiss. Kaylea grabbed her handheld before closing up her bag and returning to the bed before Thorin came back. Just that small effort had every muscle in her body screaming, but she should be fully healed in less than eight hours. Kaylea took a quick look at her at her device, days of reports to read, no urgent messages. Nothing from Aramsham yet, which meant she could extend her stay in Middle Earth. She was sitting up in bed when Thorin returned with a plate of fruits and cheese. Kaylea took the plate from him and placed it on her lap, then patted the bed next to her.

“Now, come sit next to me and tell me how you managed to talk your way into Lorien.”

Thorin smiled back at her, he stretched out on the bed to tell the story, holding her hand and telling himself he was going to make sure he never came that close to losing her again.

Late that evening, some hours after Thorin had left her, one of the Elves that had been attending her pronounced Kaylea fully healed. The Elves had set up a pavillion for their guests, some distance from the foot of the great tree where Celeborn and Galadriel lived. Furnished almost like a house, with soft couches, table and chairs and a large bed. It was set across a wide green lawn where a fountain bubbled, flowing into a bright stream. The Elf led Kaylea there, though it was quite late she could see a light still burning in the pavillion. She did not mind the platforms in the trees but she knew Dwarves hated being parted from the earth and having to sleep in a tree would drive Thorin crazy. As Kaylea came through the door she saw Thorin seated at the table with a quill, writing a letter. He gave her a shocked look as she came in.

“What are you doing out of bed?” He asked, putting aside his quill to come and take her hands in his.

Kaylea shrugged. “I am healed, my king.” She looked at the parchment on the table. “You are up late. What are you writing?”

“A letter to Fili, to let him know we are alright, and where we are,” Thorin replied. “The Elves said they will take it to Asgaroth. This is the first chance I have had to write it.”

Thorin moved the neck of Kaylea’s tunic aside to expose the small scar that was all that was left of her wound. He shook his head. “I thought you said you had no medicines to treat that.”

Kaylea chuckled. “There are no medicines that will remove a piece of a Morgul blade. The wound itself is easily healed once that is gone.”

Thorin frowned at the memory. “That was a sight to see,” he said.

Kaylea’s eyebrows shot up. “You were present for that? The Lady Galadriel should have warned you to leave.”

“She did. They would have had to put me in irons to make me leave your side,” Thorin tightened his arms around her, kissing her neck.

Kaylea smiled back at him, enjoying the feel of his beard against her skin. “I have seen it done once and it is not a pleasant thing. I would have spared you that.”

Kaylea felt completely recovered now, the boosterspice had done its work. She told Thorin in the morning she wanted to go for a ride to find Hector.

“The borders of Lorien is a full day’s ride,” Thorin said. “Are you sure you feel well enough, my love? And if we are to ride that far, why not just ride back to Erebor?”

“I cannot leave until I speak with Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel, to thank them for their aid, and they will want to know what we found in Mordor.”

“Can you request an audience?” Thorin asked. While Lorien was a pleasant place he would rather be back at home.

Kaylea shook her head. “I must wait to be summoned, and nothing happens fast with the Fair Folk. We may be here some weeks.” Kaylea looked over at him with a knowing smile. “However, the Elves of Lorien are not overfond of horses. If we ride in and out a few times it may hasten a call from the Lord and Lady.”

Thorin reached up to finger one of the beads on her braids. “I suppose there are worse places to be stuck waiting,” he said. “Are you fully healed?.”

Kaylea smiled at him. She traced the open neck of his shirt with her finger. “I hope that offer to tie me to the bed is still open.”

“Definitely,” Thorin replied, smiling crookedly at her. “But perhaps not tonight, my love.”

For answer Kaylea pulled him closer and kissed him, she put her hands inside his vest, running them over his body.

It was late morning before Kaylea and Thorin walked out the gates of Caras Galadhon to retrieve their horses. There was a wide meadow surrounding the hill on which the city was built where their horses had been let to graze. Kaylea whistled for Hadrian and he came trotting up from around the other side of the hill with Thorin’s little mare. Both were thin from their hard journey but well-rested and happy from grazing the rich grasses of Lothlorien. Soon they were on their way, following the well-worn path. One of the Elves at the city gate had offered to guide them, but Kaylea told him she knew the way well. It was a beautiful early summer day, warm breeze blowing through the tall trees, the smell of pollen and warm grass in the air. The last time travelling this path Thorin had seen nothing of it, he found himself quite enjoying the ride today, impressed by the size and beauty of the great mallorn trees.

The sun was low on the horizon when they reached the edge of the forest. They had not travelled far beside the Celebrant when Hector came loping up. Kaylea dismounted her horse to give the wolf a big hug as he happily licked her face. She hugged him for a long time, burying her face in his long fur. After some time Kaylea drew back and they looked at each other, Thorin could see the love in the wolf’s eyes. He had thought at first it was a bit silly to ride all this distance to see him, but he understood now. He had grown to rather like the animal in their time alone together. Hector gave Thorin a meaningful look before trotting away into the dusk. Kaylea watched him for a long moment before turning to Thorin.

“Do you have anything you want to tell me?”

Thorin shook his head, he could not believe Hector had told her when it had been the wolf’s idea. “I am sure I have no idea what you are talking about,” he replied, trying to remember if Hector had been there when he had disassembled the weapon to better understand how it worked. He had done that twice.

“I knew I was taking a risk bringing it,” Kaylea said, almost to herself. She looked over at Thorin. “Elrohir warned me to keep it away from Dwarves.”

“He would,” Thorin said, the disgust evident in his voice. “Elves want to keep everything for themselves. I understand a little of how it works, that does not mean I can build one.” Thorin looked up to meet her gaze. “I understand now why you are reluctant to speak of your homeland, why you always put me off when I speak of visiting. A people who can make a weapon like that must live in a land of many greater marvels.”

Kaylea started to speak, but Thorin held up a hand. “Let me finish. I almost lost you a few days ago. When I carried you up those stairs not knowing if the Lady Galadriel could help you, it almost destroyed me. I cannot lose you again. I care not where you really come from, if it is fear that the marvels of your land will somehow scare me, cast such thoughts aside. I want you at my side always, of course I would prefer that you come live with me in Erebor, but there must be some way we can be together. If I must spend part of my time in your land, so be it.”

Kaylea sighed. “This exact thing has also been in my mind. I know I do not speak of it as eloquently as you, but believe me when I say I need you in my life as badly as you want me in yours. Leaving you the last time was one of the hardest things I have ever done. But it is not entirely up to me.”

Thorin looked at her, his eyes narrowing. “This lord you serve.” Kaylea nodded. “He has allowed Elrohir to journey to your land, but not a Dwarf?”

“I have not yet found an argument to convince him,” Kaylea replied. She stepped closer to him, putting her hands on his shoulders. “Now, I need to speak to the King. You have seen for yourself what is coming. Will you abandon all that you have worked for, your subjects, your children to that evil? Sauron is not ready yet, but when this war begins all Middle Earth will be needed to fight him. I have seen you among your people, any one of them would fight to their last breath for you, would they fight the same for your nephew?”

Thorin sighed. “The responsibilities of kings.”

“The responsibilities of kings,” Kaylea nodded. “When this war is over and Sauron is defeated, my lord will owe me many favors. Then I may be able to build a future with you, though what form it may take I cannot say.”

“It is cold comfort to be told I can be with you, but only many years from now.”

Kaylea smiled at him. “It may be fifty years, it may be less. But it is fifty years to make your kingdom stronger, to watch your people grow more prosperous and more numerous, to see your son grow old enough to rule in your stead, to settle things with your wife.” Kaylea sighed. “It cannot have escaped your notice that the medicines I used to heal you have made you a young man again.”

“And taller,” Thorin added.

“Neither of which are supposed to happen, but I had never used it on a Dwarf before. I believe you could live for 300 more years, maybe even longer. Though it may be some years before we can be together, we will still have a lifetime ahead of us. And I will be back several times before this war happens, when the final battle approaches, I will return with troops to help defeat the Enemy.”

Thorin drew her to him. “So, I have fifty years to convince you to marry me.”

Kaylea chuckled. “I am not the marrying kind, as I have told you.”

“You just said we have a future together. That is as close as I have yet heard you come to a yes.” Thorin reached up and pulled her mouth down to his.

Read the complete adventures of The Warrior and The King on AO3 & FanFiction, author is akdogdriver. All three books also now on Wattpad.

#fanfiction #thorin x oc #thorin oakenshield #thorin fanfiction #tolkien fanfic #the hobbit #lord of the rings #fanfic #true love #fantasy adventure #thewarriorandtheking

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mama-m1na · 4 years

Text

The Kiss of Death: Chapter 2

~~~II~~~

Two months had passed since the prince had begun courting the young Lemurian girl, and in those two months they had grown much closer much to the disappointment of the king.

Ten years prior to this, the King of Ukaidia had waged war against the small archipelago country of Lemuria in hopes of not only gaining more land, but also to destroy all of her people.

He viewed the Lemurians as uncultured monkeys who were only wasting the potential of their land, living in the way they did.

Following this train of thought, the almighty King Armedeyus III of Ukaidia waged a war against these island peoples that lasted two years, with heavy casualties to both sides.

The war ended with a peace treaty that stated both sides would end the war and become mutual trade partners, allowing safe immigration through both countries, but evidently one country followed through on the treaty much better than the other.

In present day Ukaidia, pure blood Lemurians are allowed in the kingdom; however, the hate for them from the Ukaidians still existed, especially from their king.

So when he found out that Prince Umi, his second son and own blood, was courting the wretched Lemurian woman who had wormed her way into living in the capital, to say he was angry would be a massive understatement.

“My Father, My King,” Umi addressed as he knelt before the throne upon which his father sat, “I have said this before and I will say this again, I will continue to love Rhamina as long as she allows me to and nothing will sway my decision.”

“Umi, listen to the nonsense you speak, my son,” the older king bellowed from his spot, “She is not worthy of your attention! You are a proud prince of Ukaidia! You should be marrying a princess, or a noblewoman at least! Not some monkey from the jungles of that hell on earth.”

“Father, that war was and has been over for years now,” the prince spoke as he rose to stand with hazel eyes narrowed at his father, “Your people have moved on, I have moved on, my siblings have moved on, I believe it’s time that you do the same.”

With that statement, the teen turned around and walked out of the throne room, passing his mother, Queen Meiko, who was just on her way in.

Upon seeing the expression her son wore added to his aggravated state, the brown-haired woman immediately knew what had just been spoken between the father and son.

“Darling, let’s just calm down a little now,” the queen spoke in a soothing tone as she rest one of her hands on the king’s shoulder.

In response, the king slammed his gauntlet covered hand down on the armrest of his throne, the sound reverberating throughout the almost empty throne room.

“Calm down?! How can I calm down, Meiko, when our own son believes that he’s in love with that wench?!” the male exclaimed, face turning red from anger and frustration as his grey hairs stood up on edge, “Can’t you see that our beloved umi has been bewitched by that damned Lemurian succubus?!”

“Dear, he has not been bewitched by anyone,” Meiko spoke with a small frown as she looked to the old man, “Why can’t you just leave our son to love as he wishes?”

“Plus, you’ve known the girl for,” the queen continued, trying to reason with her husband, “Surely you know she is no threat to our son or this kingdom.”

“Though it is true that I let you bring back a pet to humor you all those years ago, I now see that was a mistake,” the king growled causing his wife to gasp in surprise before her gaze hardened into a glare.

“I don’t know what happened to you all those years ago, Armadeyeus, but this is not the man I fell in love with,” hissed Meiko before she stormed out of the room, much like her son had minutes prior.

Stopping in front of her son’s room, the queen lightly knocked on the door before hearing a faint, “Come in,” from her second son and child.

She opened the door to see the silver-haired male holding a blue velvet box in his hands as he sat on his bed, deep in thought.

“Are you finally going to give that to her?” Meiko asked as she sat down on the bed next to him.

“Yes, but I can only hope she isn’t too upset with me for keeping it from her for this long,” the male sighed as he turned the box over in his right hand, the left running through the hair that he had just taken out of it’s usual ponytail.

“Umi, I have no doubt in my mind that this will change almost nothing between you two. It might even make you two come closer than you already are. The both of you are in love with each other and that’s obvious,” Meiko spoke as she placed her hands over the ones still fiddling with the small box, “Plus, this needs to come from you, my son, she trusts you the most.”

“That’s not true,” the prince retorted as he let out a huff, “she trusts her sisters more than she trusts anyone else.”

“That’s to be expected, Dear, but you carry something that they do not have and you are the only one who can give this to her,” Meio explained with an encouraging smile.

“Alright,” Umi resolved as his gaze never left the small blue box he held, “I’ll give it to her.”

The next day was the fifth of March, otherwise known to the majority of the castle inhabitants as a certain ravenette’s birthday, and a special one at that. It was the day she became an official adult in society.

Rhamina walked up to the castle ready for a normal day full of practice as she did every few days.

As soon as she walked into the large music room, she was met by the wide eyes of those in the Royal Ukaidian Band who did not have their instruments out nor did they have their music or stands, or anything really.

They all just looked up at her with frantic looks as if they had been caught doing some heinous crime punishable by law.

“Mina, what the fuck are you doing here?” a taller male with short, black hair asked as others began looking at each other nervously.

“What do you mean?” the ravenette blinked in pure confusion as the band director walked out of her office, “It’s Thursday, right?” Don’t we have practice today?”

“Mina what’s the date today?” a female named Sierra asked as she waved people down behind her back.

“I don’t know,” Rhamina replied after a moment of thinking, not noticing the multiple teenagers going to hide in the various practice rooms, “But why does that matter?”

“It’s March fifth you dumbass!” Sam exclaimed as she peaked her head out of the locker that held her string bass.

“Oh, it’s my birthday today,” she spoke in realization as her eyes widened, “Oh my god, I turn eighteen today!”

“Aren’t you supposed to be with your boyfriend right now?” Tijarah asked, everyone mentally thanking the teen.

“Oh, shoot, I amn! Bye guys!” rhamina exclaimed as she frantically dashed out of the door.

As soon as the door had slammed behind her, everyone let out an audible sigh of relief as the dark skinned female huffed.

“You’re welcome,” Tijarah spoke before munching on some cookies she definitely was not supposed to be eating into the band room.

Meanwhile, Rhamina ran all the way to where she was supposed to meet up with Umi; which, was by the lake some way behind the castle.

It was sectioned off as a place where only royals and nobility could go, so it was relatively empty, but that only added to its natural beauty as it meant that there were less people to disturb it.

“Umi!” she called upon seeing the familiar form of her prince standing by the edge of the water before slowing to a walk.

“I’m sorry,” she panted, brushing her hair out of her face while trying to slow her breathing, “I completely forgot what day it was!”

“Rhamina, sometimes I worry about you,” the male spoke as he took the ravenette’s hands in his own and rubbed them with his thumbs, “The same thing happened last year. You really should take a break.”

“Nah,” I’m fine as long as I have you and all of my friends, then I’ll live forever!” the ravenette chirped as she engulfed the male in a large hug, almost knocking the taller male off of his feet.

The male only chuckled in response as he wrapped his arms around the female’s smaller form and whispered, “Happy birthday, Rhamina.”

They stayed like that for a few moments, just relishing in each other’s presence as a cool breeze blew ripples across the lake’s surface.

“Did you bring them?” the ravenette asked as she pulled away from the hug.

“Yes, but I don’t know why you would ask for ice skates when there’s no ice,” Umi replied as he gestured to a brown bag lying a few feet away from the pair.

“Oh there will be,” Rhamina chirped excitedly as she knelt at the edge of the water, “Just you wait and see, my dear Umi.”

Placing her hands palm down on the surface of the water, Rhamina took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and let her energy channel in her hands, the familiar feeling of magic running through her entire form.

As the ravenette’s eyes were closed, Umi watched as her hair began floating as if she were submerged underwater and as a light purple aura enveloped her form.

Soon enough, the water underneath her hands turned into ice before it spread across the entire lake.

Opening her eyes, Rhamina allowed the flow of magic to slow back to its normal rate as the aura surrounding her disappeared and her hair gave back in to the force of gravity.

Umi stood speechless as the ravenette just smiled up at him.

The prince had seen her perform feats with magic before, but that was a while ago and it had never been to the extent of what the female had just demonstrated.

“Are you just going to stand there, Umi?” he heard Rhamina ask as she pulled out the pair of skates that fit her and put them on before lacing them securely, “I told you there would be ice, didn’t I?”

“That you did,” the male replied with a proud smirk before following the ravenette’s lead and exchanging his boots for a pair of ice skates in his size.

Rhamina was the first to set foot on the ice and as soon as she was stable, the ravenette took off, zipping around the lake and having fun before stopping in front of Umi who was still getting used to the ice after having not done this in a long time.

The pair spent a majority of the morning just skating on the frozen surface of the lake before they took a break for lunch; which, Umi so graciously brought with him.

“It’s nice to actually have a partner to share this day with,” Rhamina spoke as she sat next to the prince, resting her head on his shoulder, “Don’t get me wrong, I love hanging out with everyone else, but this feels different… a bit more special, you know?”

“I do,” Umi replied with a smile as he looked down at the girls he held to side side, “You have no idea how long I’ve wished to hold you like this.”

“Can you give me an idea?” the female hummed as she closed her eyes, relaxing into the warmth from her partner with the simultaneous chill of the breeze.

“I believe I realized my feelings for you around the time when you were almost taken by slave traders,” the prince replied, thinking back to a time when the pair were much younger and so much different from who they were in the present.

“Are you serious?” Rhamina realized with wide eyes as she looked up to the younger male, “Umi, that was barely a year after I came to Lemuria.”

“Yes, I am perfectly serious,” the male stated as he brought a hand up to cup her cheek, looking her right in the eyes, “When you were missing, I was thrown into a complete state of panic and I couldn't stop thinking of all the worst things that could have happened to you. So, when we found you, the amount of relief I felt, paired with the way my heart sped up upon seeing your smile again, led me to the answer.”

“I’m sorry, Umi,” the ravenette apologized as she wrapped her arms around both of his shoulders, nuzzling her face into the male’s neck, “you’ve been holding those feelings for so long and I just never noticed.”

“Yes and as soon as I realized and came to accept these feelings I held for you, I just kept finding more reasons to fall in love with you,” the prince continued, earning a whine from the female.

“Stop” she whined with a pout as she hid her face in her hands, “you’re just making me feel super guilty!”

“I’m sorry,” the male chuckled into the top of the ravenette’s head before reaching into his nearby bag to pull out a blue, velvet box.

“Rhamina, before I give this to you, I just want to apologize for keeping it from you for so long. I just didn’t know how you’d react,” Umi said, bringing the box into the ravenette’s view, “But I know this needs to fall in your hands, otherwise it would never be returned home.”

The girl raised a brow at the male’s strange behavior before opening the box given to her, finding an embossed, gold ring sitting in the plush, black cushion in the box.

Rhamina sat in wide eyed silence for a few moments before her eyes started watering and her lips began to quiver.

She quickly hugged the item to her chest as tears began to fall freely from her eyes and as whimpers left her mouth.

“Rhamina?” I’m sorry I just-” “No, don’t be,” the ravenette spoke through her tears, “please. I’m just so happy. All this time I thought they destroyed this and that it was my all my fault.

The silver-haired prince was confused before the ravenette brought the ring forward and once again began channeling her magic, this time through the ring.

Almost immediately, the piece began to levitate, just above her open palms, and opened revealing multiple layers of smaller rings within the initial band, all inscribed with astronomical symbols the prince did not understand the meanings of.

While all this was happening, a figure hidden in the shadows gasped as the ringed orb opened itself up.

Soon enough the confusion on the figure’s face morphed into a sadistic smirk as they channeled their own magic in a black aura.

Now sitting in their hand was a coin-sized red spider with large black eyes and even larger black fangs.

Setting the spider on the ground the figure turned around and fled in the opposite direction of the teenagers, not making a sound.

“This relic has no name, but it it my people’s most important treasure,” Rhamina explained as she smiled fondly at the glowing piece, “It’s said to have the power to awaken gods of great power.”

“One family was given the responsibility of protecting the relic,” the continued as she let the glow dissipate, letting it return to its original form before slipping it onto her right ring finger, “but after my parents died in the war to protect our country, I just couldn’t protect it properly on my own.”

“So you were the one who was guarding the stone temple on the last day of the war?” Umi asked with wide eyes as he could only stare at Rhamina in shock.

“Yes, my guardian or true name is ‘Kitsami Verum Princeps Ibadora,’ but it’s been so long since I’ve been able to safely even say it out loud. I barely used it back in the temple too, since it was normally only used for rituals or really formal gatherings,” she spoke with a sad smile as she reminisced about her younger childhood, the golden eyes once again flashing through her head.

“Thank you Umi,” the ravenette said softly, “I can at least get some closure about one of my failures now.”

“I know you must have resented me when I first came off the boat, but I’m so glad things ended up this way,” Rhamina continued as she latched herself to Umi’s waist, voice cracking as more tears streamed down her face, “Even back in Lemuria so many looked down on and criticized me for the way I acted, the way I lived, and who I spent my time with. Even my parents looked down on me and kept pushing me away whenever I was vulnerable in front of them! But, you were one of the first people who even bothered to try to understand me.”

The prince let Rhamina get her tears out as he ran his, for once, non-gloved fingers through her long, black locks before saying, “It’s unfortunate for me to say this, but you were right about me resenting you in the beginning.”

“Ever since I was born, I was raised with the idea that Lemurians were all savages, monsters who ravaged the lands and slayed anyone who came near them,” Umi spoke with a frown on his face, “but when you arrived as a shy, quiet, little girl with massive amounts of physical and magical power, it frustrated me. That paired with the fact my mother constantly doted on you… I guess I was just jealous.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Let me finish speaking please.”

“...”

“Thank you,” the prince sighed running a hand through the bangs that fell over his forehead.

“I kept this hate for you until your birthday that year,” he continued, briefly clenching his free hand as owlish eyes watched his form before he relaxed, “I was taking a walk behind the caste when I heard someone getting beat,. I peaked around a tree to see that it was a group of castle servants kicking and berating a child who was curled up on the ground. Once I realized that it was you, I started to walk away until I heard the most broken voice apologize to them. It wasn’t mocking or cocky in any way, the child was genuinely apologizing just for existing, just for being born into this world.”

“I remember that day!” You pulled out Mjolnir and sent an arrow past us. I remember crying out of both fear and gratitude,” the ravenette chuckled, “But regarding your statements about Lemurians, they aren’t necessarily false, you know? I’ve killed a lot of people during the war.”

“Don’t forget that I too have spilled blood on the battlefield, my love,” Umi spoke as he tilted the female’s head up to look her in the eyes once again, “and you did it to protect yourself and your people, that’s how war or battle in general goes.”

“Neither of us have our hands clean but at least we have each other,” the prince whispered, leaning closer to lay a gentle kiss on the female’s lips that she was quick to return.

After their lunch, Rhamina unfroze the lake and they dropped off their picnic supplies to the castle before walking to the ravenette’s small home.

“Shit, I’m running low,” Rhamina huffed upon pulling out an almost empty bottle of her lip gloss, “I’ll have to make some more soon.”

“You make it?” Umi asked as he sat on the female’s bed as she removed her coat and boots, placing them in their appropriate spots in her closet.

“Yes, but to be honest I have to be really careful when I wear it and when I make it, I have to make sure to make only exact portions for a single tube,” sighed Rhamina as she sat down at the desk across the bed, pulled out her journal and a fountain pen, which had been gifted to her by the silver-haired prince, before letting it glide across the pages once again, “Things could go to literal shit if I’m not actively thinking.”

“Care to elaborate?” the male teen asked as he laid back into Rhamina’s plush mattress.

“Well, have you heard of the ‘Kiss of Death’?” the ravenette asked, not looking back lest she lose her flow of writing, “I’m almost 100 percent sure you have.”

“You mean that tradition that killed hundreds of your own people?” Umi asked in concern, “Are you meaning to tell me you repeatedly make and use a concoction of deadly poisons to wear on your lips?”

“Yes,” she replied automatically, “Pure blooded Lemurian woman are completely immune to the poisons and toxins we create these days and plus only really traditional families still use it, including my own.”

“Don’t worry though,” chirped the ravenette as she turned over her shoulder, “I make sure to take it off completely when we kiss.”

The male’s face immediately turned a bright red in response to the girl’s blunt statement, causing her to burst out laughing at the sight of her flustered, non-functioning, partner.

“What?” she asked through her fit as Umi glared at her, “What’s wrong, Dear? I’m only telling the truth.”

“You are impossible to understand,” Umi glared as he covered his mouth and nose with one of his hands, “One minute you’re acting like a delicate young woman and the next you’re a complete cocky brat.”

“Well doesn’t that say something about you when you’re so attracted to me?” Rhamina teased with a large smirk on her face and mischief in her eyes before that facade shattered completely.

“I’m sorry!” she cried, flinning herself into the male’s form, “I was just teasing! I couldn’t help myself, you looked so adorable all red and flustered!”

“Please don’t be upset with me,” she pleaded silently, looking into Umi’s eyes with her own large, innocent orbs.

“You’re lucky it’s your birthday,” the male scoffed, petting the girl’s head as they just laid there with their legs tangled together and relishing in each other’s presence.

A few hours passed before the pair decided to return to the castle so the ravenette could spend some time with her other friends.

Upon entering the band room, it was empty and completely dark; which was strange since drumline was supposed to have a scheduled practice that afternoon.

Or even if the practice was cancelled, there were always some lingering members of any of the instrumental music groups just hanging out in the room until nightfall.

Rhamina raised a brow and snapped, the magical tools in the ceiling turning on so light could flood the spacious room.

“Surprise!” a chorus of voices cheered as the ravenette looked around to see balloons and streamers covering almost every part of the familiar space.

Written on the moveable whiteboard on wheels was ‘Happy Birthday Mina!’ along with a chibi drawing of the ravenette right under it.

“Is this why y’all looked freaked out when I showed up this morning?” she chuckled as many of the younger teenagers ran up to engulf her in a giant hug.

“Yes,” laughed a girl with blonde hair and glasses, “We all saw you open the door and were like ‘Oh shit!’”

“Yeah, Mina, when you came in I was carrying something in from the backyard when you walked in and I couldn’t come back in until you left!” a half-Lemurian male exclaimed as he stood next to his partner, “It was fucking cold outside!”

Most of the large group of the ravenette’s friends burst out into laughter as another half-Lemurian male exclaimed, “Shut up, Joel!”

“I’m sorry, Joel,” chuckled the ravenette as the shorter male attempted to walk over to fight his much, much taller friend before she walked to the center of the group and said, “Guys, thank you all so much, you really didn’t have to do this.”

“Yes the fuck we did!” exclaimed Kerstin from her spot next to her own partner, “You’re the only one in this band that we haven’t been able to throw a surprise party for until today and that was still difficult even with Umi’s help!”

“Yeah, Mina, we’ve been trying to plan this out for years,” Sam chuckled as she held a cup of… suspicious… liquid, “But you’re literally everywhere!”

“Do you know how hard it is to plan and organize a surprise party for someone who sees and hears everything?” Tijarah asked as she wrapped an arm around the ravenette’s shoulder, “Love you, Mina.”

“Love you too, Tijarah,” the female chuckled as the party kicked itself off with a literal bang as someone thought it would be a good idea to give all of the trumpets and drummers all of the confetti poppers.

About an hour into the celebration, the people from the jazz ensemble got their instruments and music out and set up towards the front of the room.

As soon as her friends began playing, Rhamina turned her head towards the group, earning a wink from the lead saxophone, Sierra.

“When marimba rhythms start to play, dance with me, make me sway,” the ravnette sung as she sauntered her way up to the musicians, “Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore, hold me close, make me sway.”

“Like a flower bending in the breeze, bend with me, sway with ease,” she continued, sitting up on the front counter before dramatically crossing her legs, “When we dance you have a way with me, stay with me, sway with me.”

“Other dancers may be on the floor, Dear, but my eyes will see only you,” Rhamina sung, grabbing people to dance with before pairing them with each other, “Only you have that magic technique, when we sway I go weak.”

“I can hear the sound of violins, long before, it begins,” she sang finally pulling Umi towards her, “Make me thrill as only you know how, sway me smooth, sway me now.”

“When marimba rhythm starts to play, dance with me, make me sway. Like an ocean hugs the shore, hold me close, make me sway.”

It was as if time had slowed down for the two teenagers.

“Like a flower bending in the breeze, bend with me, sway with ease. When we dance you have a way with me, stay with me, sway with me.”

As the two danced together, both of their magic started to flow freely.

“When marimba rhythms start to play, hold me close, make me sway. Like an ocean hugs the shore, hold me close, sway me more.”

When bother aura’s met, they fused together, creating a larger, white aura that was felt by everyone in the castle.

“Like a flower bending in the breeze, bend with me, sway with ease. When we dance you have a way with me, stay with me, sway with me!”

When the song was over, Rhamina and Umi just stood there looking into each other’s eyes as they tried to catch their breaths.

“Kiss already you fools!” Tijarah screamed as she casually stole someone’s food right off of their plate.

Quickly the ravenette wiped off her lips before reaching up to give Umi a quick peck on the cheek only for the male to turn and give her a full kiss on the lips.

Cheers erupted from the crowd and one specific trumpet player exclaimed, “Yeah! Go Ramen!”

Meanwhile, a certain female stood in the shadow of the whiteboard, glaring down the seventeen-year-old male, causing a shiver to run down his spine.

“It seems that my little brother has gotten much bolder since I left,” chuckled a familiar deep voice.

“Older brother!” the prince called as a taller male with short brown hair and silver armor walked up to the couple, “When did you return?”

“This morning,” the first prince of Ukaidia replied before turning to the ravenette, “Happy birthday, Lady Rhamina, it seems you and my brother have finally gotten together, huh?”

“Thank you, Prince Ryoto,” Rhamina chuckled, bowing her head slightly, “and yes. Although it did come as a bit of a surprise when Umi started courting me.”

“Did it?” Ryoto asked, running a hand through his hair, “well, then I guess I owe Haru a new halberd.”

“Yeah, you do!” chirped the said princess as she appeared into the conversation from seemingly nowhere, “Make sure it’s made of light silver!”

“Yes, yes of course,” the older prince sighed as he shook his head.

“Wait just a second,” Umi spoke with narrowed eyes towards his siblings, “Are you meaning to say that you’ve made a wager on this?”

“Yep,” Haru replied, “Ryo-chan bet that Rhamina would confess her feelings to you first and I bet that you would be the one confessing first.”

Umi’s eyebrow twitched in irritation as Rhamina stood next to him, only blinking while feeling slightly offended.

“Relax, Umi, we’re not the only ones who made a bet like this, watch,” Haru said before turning to the crowd, “Anyone who made some kind of bet about Umi and Rhamina’s relationship, raise your hands!”

Simultaneously, everyone’s hand in the room went up causing a fake smile to creep onto the ravenette’s face face as she clasped both of her hands together, eyebrow twitching.

“See?” Haru asked with a shrug, “Told you we weren’t the only ones.”

“Alright, since it’s my birthday, I’ll be merciful and give y’all two days to apologize to either me or Umi,” Rhamina announced through gritted teeth, “if you don’t apologize by then… Well good luck.”

The celebration continued on for a few more hours and towards the end, they all gathered around a large cake with eighteen candles lit around the edge.

“Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Rhamina. Happy birthday to you.”

‘I wish that this happiness of mine will last forever,’ the ravenette thought to herself before she took a deep breath and blew out all eighteen candles in one go.

As cheers once again erupted around the female, she was embraced by everyone and a light feeling fluttered in her chest.

After helping clean to an extent, Umi accompanied Rhamina to the gate in order to walk her home; however, just before they could leave, a familiar voice stopped them.

“Rhamina!” called a woman’s voice, causing both teens to stop in their tracks and turn around to face the owner of the voice.

“Mom,” the ravenette whispered as the form of Queen Meiko approached the two teens with the light of the full moon shining down on them.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to you party, Rhamina,” the brunette apologized, “But I wanted to let you know how proud of you I am.”

“You’ve grown into such a wonderful woman and I’m so glad I was able to see it,” she continued placing a gentle hand on the ravenette’s cheek, “I only wish that your real family were here to see it.”

“Thank you, mother,” Rhamina smiled, tears forming in her eyes once more.

“Now,” Meiko said to both of the teenagers, “Both of you make sure to take care of each other, alright?”

“Yes, mother,” the bother of them replied at the same time, reaching out to hold hands.

When the ravenette got home, she couldn’t stop smiling as she got ready to go to bed and as she fell asleep, her thoughts went back to her wish.

‘I wish that this happiness of mine will last forever.”

The next morning, the sunlight hit the ravenette’s eyes through a gap in her curtains, but that wasn’t what woke her up.

It was the loud pounding that came from her front door.

Upon opening it, she was greeted with several knights, all aiming their halberds at her with glares in their eyes.

“Rhamina Miu, Withc of lemuria, you are hereby under arrest for the murder of our Queen meiko!”

~~~Fin, Chapter 2~~~

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Song Used: “Sway” Micheal Buble

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#The Kiss of Death #Chapter two #Original Story

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fangirlwithasweettooth · 6 years

Text

SO YA GIRL SAW HAMILTON IN CHICAGO 8/17/18

Ok, this is gonna be a long one, sorry! Basically every single thought I had during this performance and afterwards at the stagedoor is under the “Read More”. Enjoy!

@icantthink-ofagoodname @timeandspacelord

Cast:

Hamilton- Miguel Cervantes

Burr- Tommar Wilson

Eliza- Jamila Sabares-Klemm

Angelica- Montego Glover

George Washington- Jonathan Kirkland

Lafayette/Jefferson- Colby Lewis

Hercules Mulligan/James Madison- Ebrin R. Stanley

Laurens/Philip- Jose Ramos

Peggy/Maria Reynolds- Aubin Wise

King George- Andrew Call

Full disclosure- I may or may not have burst into tears when we walked in and I saw the stage for the first time

THIS WAS OUR VIEW OF THE STAGE WE WERE SO CLOSE ALJFDAKFV;KJADFG;AKJ

Act I:

- The theater EXPLODED when Miguel walked onstage for the first time it was incredible

-The ABSOLUTE POWER of “You never learned to take your TIIIIME” in the opening number when the entire company is singing I DIED

-During Aaron Burr Sir, Hamilton seemed so excited to meet Burr??? Like he was trying it play it cool but he was totally freaking out it was adorable

-My Shot was just a m a z i n g. I can’t put it into words I’m sorry

- During Schuyler Sisters, Peggy was t o t a l l y the bored little sister being dragged around by her older siblings it was the cutest thing ever

- Angelica absolutely SLAYED Burr, when she said “I want a revelation” she kinda slapped his cravat thingy around with this piece of paper she was holding (presumably some kind of newsletter)

- In farmer refuted ham and Seabury are always trying to step in front of each other/publicly humiliate each other/shove each other off the block which is really fun to watch

- King George was absolutely HILARIOUS, during the “‘Cause when push, comes to shove, I will kill your friends and family” part he literally said it like “I will KILL YOUR. FRIENDS. AND FAMILY.” I love him

- Beginning of right hand man looks like they’re underwater, the whole “British Admiral Howe’s got troops on the water” part was downright h a u n t i n g

- When Washington says “Hamilton come in, have you met Burr?”, Hamilton and Burr reply like ~college bros~, like “Yes, sir, WE KEEP MEETING!” and did this sort of handshake it was really cute

- Angelica’s first part in satisfied was happening center stage at the end of winters ball, it was so cool

-When Angelica leads Hamilton over to Eliza during Helpless, Hamilton is turned around facing Angelica, then eliza comes up behiind him sort of startling him it was really cute

- And when he says “If it takes fighting a war for us to meet it will have been worth it” and kisses her hand, Eliza looks at Angelica like “LOOK!!! LOOK AT THIS CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS IS HAPPENING I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS HAPPENING” it was adorable

- The lights during the “rewind” part kept zooming into the middle while everyone rewinds to their part

- I have to say, Montego Glover was just a m a z i ng as Angelica, especially during Satisfied

- During the Story Of Tonight Reprise, Laurens, Lafayette, and Hercules are clearly drunk talking to Hamilton, and in the background some guy is just passed out on the stairs

- Tommar was INCREDIBLE during Wait For It, and at the end he sort of smooths out his coat, takes a deep breath, just sort of calming himself and reminding himself that he needs to... wait for it.

- During the beinning of Stay Alive, Eliza is on the (I guess balcony is the best word for it??) above Hamilton as she sings, almost like she’s speaking directly to him which was amazing

- Hamilton literally said “we have resorted to eating our horses” like “WE!! HAVE RESORTED!! TO EATING!!! OUR HORSES!!!” I love Miguel so much

- Also Miguel looks really good in glasses?? Like really good. Just something I noticed...

-Burr’s “okay so we’re doing this” sounded like a resigned parent talking to a bunch of toddlers

- Washington’s “go home” at the end of Meet ME Inside didn’t sound like an order like it did on the soundtrack, it sounded more like a “Son, you need to go home, this is for your own good”

- Jamila’s voice was A N G E L I C during That Would Be Enough I’m-

- Her “look out world” was kind of whispered to Hamilton it was so cute

- GWashs letter to Ham gets passed around the stage via the ensemble during Guns and Ships which looks awesome

- The sheer POWER in Yorktown you just don’t get on the recording it was incredible

- In what comes next george is very pouty and screams as if he’s throwing a tantrum before stomping offstage

- at “feeling so blue” he looks down at stage, stomps foot, spotlight turns blue

- Dear theodosia is so good my gosh Tommar and Miguel were amazing

- During the last bit of DT Eliza is in the background holding a letter for ham waiting for him to finish

- Tomorrow there’ll be more of us made me cry like always, but even more this time because nothing could prepare me for seeing it live onstage

- When Angelica goes to England she and Eliza stand on the circular thing but ham doesn’t so A goes away from him while E goes towards him which is cool

- For Hams “constitutional convention”, Miguel’s voice goes so high he squeaks and is barely audible/his voice gives out which is really funny/cute

- Again with the POWER for nonstop, it’s just insane

Act II:

- JEFFERSON oh my god he’s so dramatic I love it

- At his entrance he kept making the applause louder whenever he noticed it quieting down

- Madison comes in coughing. Every time.

- Cabinet Battles are so funny, Ham mocks whatever tjeff does

- Also there’s a huuuge height difference between Colby and Miguel which makes it even funnier

- Tjeff, Ham, gwash have hand mics and TJeff gently sets his down when he’s done, and Madison goes to pick it up, then drops it and picks it up with his handkerchief because apparently he’s a germaphobe

- When gwash breaks them up ham hides behind him crouching while taunting tjeff it was hilarious

- In take a break ham is working on one side of turnstile while Eliza and Phillip are on other

- Jose’s Philip rap was adorable??? Like he started off sort of shy, but when Ham goes “What??” after his “you can write rhymes but you can’t write mine” he gets really excited and confident it was adorable

-When Angelica and Eliza are trying to convince Ham to go upstate with them, and Angelica sings “If you take your time, you will make your mark” essentially telling him that he’ll make his mark someday, and at the same time Eliza sings “Look around look around at how lucky we are to be alive right now” essentially telling him he doesn’t need to worry about leaving a legacy, and Hamilton looks at Angelica during that part, which I think means that he was listening to her more than Eliza??? Idk, just a theory

- Angelica’s hair is up for the rest of the show now, has a parasol and slightly different dress??

- Say no to this is So cool so amazing Aubin was amazing as Maria

And James Reynolds is up on the balcony area at the beginning watching this affair happen that was an awesome touch

Ham looks really conflicted/reluctant to hand Reynolds the check

- AUBIN WISE IS A LITERAL GODDESS AND I’M GAY* AS HECK thank you that is all

- Reynolds slaps his leg to tell Maria to come to him, she does but stops and stares at ham for a little bit but follows

- ROOM WHERE IT HAPPENS YOU CAN SEE ALL THE WANT AND CONFLICT IN BURRS FACE ITS SO MUCH LIKE THE CLASSIC DISNEY VILLAIN SONG

- Tjeff hands mic to mads to say France, and Madison said it so d e a d p a n it was great

- Washington on your side starts with just burr and jeff and then mads comes in at his “which I wrote” directed to someone off stage

- At the end Jefferson gives his resignation letter to gwash who reads it before going into one last time

- I know him was so funny, gwash passed king George in between the two songs and gwash was like a foot taller and kg just looked at the audience like ‘what’s this guy doing??’

- He was so genuinely confused the whole song and just sat down off to the side to see the rest unfold

- Adams Admin, george is just laughing/cackling the whole time

- At hams address to Adams, he drops a package of paper a few inches thick on the ground because of course he does

- Hurricane was soooo cool, started off underwater, became eye of hurricane and Miguel was just i n c r e d i b l e during the ‘I wrote my way out of hell/I wrote my way to revolution” part. Actually just for the entire song he was incredible. And the entire performance.

- In Reynolds pamphlet, everyone has a pamphlet and is showing it to each other, george comes down and dances off to the side then in hams face

- BURRRN YOOO SO GOOD SO SAD I CRIED JAMILA WAS INCREDIBLE

- Blow us all away, instead of Phillip going up and talking to eacker politely since he is in the middle of a show, he GOES ON STAGE AND CALLS HIM OUT

- AND THE “ACTORS” ONSTAGE JUST STOP TO WATCH THIS WHOLE THING UNFOLD IT WAS HILARIOUS

- The shooting on 7 catches me by surprise every time no matter what

- Stay Alive was just?? Heart breaking?? Eliza’s scream is REAL I forgot all about it and it just WRECKED me

- Same with all of its quiet uptown honestly I was just a mess

- Jefferson looks so shocked when Madison suggests he work with Hamilton, Burr is so confident throughout this whole song but gets upset when Jefferson tells him to thank Ham for the endorsement and just gets angrier

- In your obedient servant, ensemble members are passing the letters back and forth

- at the 30 years of disagreements line, ham just sends like 10 pages of paper over to burr who’s getting more and more exasperated by the second

- Best of wives best of women—ham covers his paper (probably a letter to Eliza/his will) when Eliza comes over so she doesn’t see it

- Best of wives and best of women: Ham and Eliza were so cute??? I’m dying I love them so much

- World was wide enough—the spotlights look like a target but then turn red when he lifts his gun oh my g o o d n e s s

- Miguel’s “I imagine death” monologue was just PERFECT I cried

And at the beginning of WLWDWTYS, when Jefferson talks about “Hamilton’s financial system is a work of genius, I could undo it if I tried... And I tried.”, he makes the “and I tried” part sound like “YEAH AND I TRIED OKAY GOSH” it was kinda funny now that I think about it

- All of wlwdwtys is just so perfect and when she starts talking about the orphanage she started crying which meant I started crying

- She gasps at the very end and the whole stage is dark except for her and I heard it was because she saw us and saw us telling his story and I just. started. bawling.

(*well I’m actually bi but IM SO GAY you get it)

And then we went to the stagedoor, I GOT MY PLAYBILL SIGNED (!!!!!!!!!) BY MIGUEL, MONTEGO, COLBY, EBRIN, ANDREW, KYLE WEILER (George Eaker), A N D MALLORY MICHAELANN WHO WAS THE BULLET AT THIS PERFORMANCE AND I GOT PICTURES WITH MIGUEL, MONTEGO, AND ANDREW OH MY GOSH I WAS COMPLETELY STARSTRUCK

(blurred out my friends’ faces for privacy reasons)

AND MIGUEL SIGNED A. HAM AS WELL AS HIS OWN NAME OH MY GOSH I’M STILL NOT OVER THIS AND I DON’T THINK I EVER WILL BE CAN YOU TELL

#rhena speaks #no one cares Rhena #Hamilton #I'm dead dying deceasing #Y'ALL DONT UNDERSTAND THIS IS THE ONLY THING I'M GOING TO BE TALKING ABOUT FOR LITERAL MONTHS SORRYNOTSORRY #my ugly face #selfie

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enbouton · 6 years

Text

Better Call Saul Rewatch, Part 3/30: Reasonable Doubt Type Stuff

Nacho (Season 1, Episode 3)

Written by Thomas Schnauz / Directed by Terry McDonough

A metal container hinges open; someone tosses in two sets of keys, a pen, and then an enormous brick-type cellphone, signalling that this is the show’s first flashback. There’s a distinctive cool blue tint to this scene that’s consistent through all but a couple of the other flashbacks, and the lighting is even more polarised than usual. (Writing this, I just remembered the one time Breaking Bad used this specific flavour of colour and lighting: the early flashback to young Walt and Gretchen.)

It’s the early nineties. Chuck wears a three-piece suit (of course he does) and Jimmy, ostensibly about 28 or 29 here, sports jailhouse scrubs and an awful shag mullet. Credit to Bob Odenkirk for animating Jimmy in such a way that he does come across as much younger; he fidgets on the edge of his seat like a restless teenager, his emotions spilling everywhere.

Chuck informs us that Jimmy is not only facing property damage and assault charges but a potential place on the sex offender registry. (They did a good job holding back the payoff— what Jimmy actually did— until the end of the season.) Jimmy admits to being in “a bit of a pickle”, but insists that the charges are trumped up. It’s telling that while Jimmy clearly does admire and respect Chuck for his standing as a lawyer, he talks of the law solely in terms of “tricks”, “loopholes”, “technicalities”— as if all he needs to get out of trouble is for Chuck to apply the right cheat code.

As Jimmy squirms, Chuck mentions that it’s been five years since they last saw each other. According to Chuck, their mom called him after Jimmy called her from jail, crying and begging for help (Jimmy strenuously denies that last part). “I know I’m a lousy brother,” Jimmy says. “I’m a lousy brother, I’m a big screw-up... and if I was just a better person, I would not only stop letting you down, you know what? I’d stop letting me down. And it’s about time that I start to make both of us proud. Am I right?”

Looking at Chuck’s face here, you get the sense that it barely matters what Jimmy does from this point on; even if Chuck did once have the capacity to feel proud of him, that ship has sailed.

Back in the present, Jimmy, not actively suffering for a change, helps himself to some cucumber water, which is both pleasing to look at and makes nice underwater sounds.

He wears white in this scene, maybe indicating his attempt to make a fresh start and do the right thing. Credit where it’s due: Jimmy’s desire to warn the Kettlemans is genuinely altruistic, and he doesn’t stand to benefit from it at all.

Jimmy considers calling Nacho, then calls Kim, whose first instinct is to ask him if Chuck’s all right:

Jimmy: Yeah, Chuck... Chuck is Chuck. All right? Everything’s all right. I just wanted to call you. So, uh... hey. Whatcha doing?

Kim: Jimmy... no. I’m not talking dirty to you.

I love them and I love this conversation. This is how you establish intimacy! Jimmy promises nothing but “quality PG phone conversation, PG-13 at worst” and then steers the talk towards the Kettlemans; he gets all “gee, it sure would be bad if something were to happen to them!” with her, laying it on just thick enough to weird her out but not to make her concerned for their immediate safety. Plan A having failed, Jimmy tries Plan B, section I, “Warn The Kettlemans While Disguising My Voice”, then section II, “Just Tell Them They’re In Danger Then Hang Up Very Fast”, and in the end they get the message (it helps that Nacho’s van is indeed lurking outside their house).

(Aside: the Kettlemans’ awful voicemail message is amazing. You just know they dress up in matching outfits for the annual family Christmas card.)

Next morning, Kim calls: the Kettlemans have gone missing, and Jimmy has neither the cash nor the stickers to leave the courthouse parking lot. Mike won’t budge, so Jimmy reaches into the booth, raises the boom himself, and drives off yelling “screw you, geezer!”; ah, the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

At the Kettleman home, Kim implores Jimmy to tell her why he said what he did; he looks torn, but tells her that he doesn’t know what happened. He drives to a payphone and leaves several breathless, desperate messages for Nacho, framed effectively in a mixture of tight close-ups and expansive wide shots (they make good use of that big blank wall behind him). There’s such a good long beat after Jimmy takes the hang-up call: high angle, city noise.

It turns out that the cops were already tracking Nacho, whose license plate was reported by one of the Kettlemans’ neighbours, so the scene culminates in Jimmy getting chased down an alley and arrested. Nacho assumes that Jimmy set him up (this episode is just rife with misunderstandings) and orders him to get him out, “or you’re a dead man”. Kim, Jimmy and the detectives head back to the Kettlemans’ house, where Kim pointedly tells Jimmy the names and ages of Craig and Betsy’s kids. Jimmy infers from the missing doll that Jojo wasn’t kidnapped, but the show doesn’t present the detectives as incompetent— they already noted that the doll was missing, and they’ve verified that the Kettlemans haven’t travelled. “If you run, everyone knows you’re guilty,” Jimmy insists, foreshadowing what will happen to him seven or eight years down the line.

Jimmy finally admits that he gave the Kettlemans an “anonymous” warning call, whereupon Kim delivers the deathless line, “Oh God, you didn’t… you didn’t do the sex robot voice, did you?” There is, as they say, a lot to unpack there, but the Kettlemans are still missing, so the conversation quickly moves on. Jimmy speeds back to the courthouse and gets arrested again after assaulting Mike, who has decided he doesn’t want his parking business any more.

There’s a glint of interest in Mike’s eye as Jimmy insists that the Kettlemans “took themselves”. He may not like Jimmy very much at this point, but he sees something in him worth paying attention to. Declining to press charges, he tells Jimmy a story about a man back home who disappeared and was found hiding two doors down from where he lived. “Nobody wants to leave home,” Mike says. Yet he’s very far from home; so is Jimmy; so is Kim. (So is Gus, more so than any other character.) The multiple meanings of home, and what it means to be alienated from a place you are tied to in the past or the present, are some of the most interesting themes explored in BrBa and BCS.

Jimmy goes back to the Kettleman home, deduces that they’ve gone camping, and plunges into the Sandia foothills to track them down. The shots in this montage do well to establish just how far he’s hiking and how sweaty and miserable he is in his suit and loafers.

Around nightfall, his efforts are rewarded: the family are right where he guessed they’d be, and so is their loot. Jimmy and Betsy tussle over the bag, a seam splits, and hundreds of stacks of cash come tumbling out. For a moment, it looks like Craig and Betsy will be forced to reckon with reality.

Misc.

Jimmy corners DDA Oakley in the men’s room and browbeats him into accepting a deal for a client who “assaulted a cashier with a bottle of Kahlua”.

The “JPi” tag on the payphone also appears in Jesse’s house.

“I refuse to believe [you let me off because] you have something resembling a heart inside your body,” Jimmy tells Mike. “You’re not gonna have a heart inside your body in about five seconds,” Mike counters.

Anyone else get a very strong True Detective season 1 energy from these shots of Jimmy’s hike?

Timeframe: a single day in the first week of June, 2002. The flashback most likely takes place in the spring or summer of 1993 (in season 3, Howard says he’s known Jimmy almost ten years).

Music

“Find Out What’s Happening” by Bobby Bare (1968), as Jimmy tracks down the Kettlemans

References

“I knew I shoulda taken that left turn at Albuquerque” is an old Bugs Bunny catchphrase.

The Donner Party was a group of frontier travellers who set off for California from Wyoming in 1846 and got stranded in the Sierra Nevada after an ill-advised shortcut. Over half of the travellers died en route; some resorted to cannibalism to survive.

Jimmy compares the detectives to Cagney and Lacey, the titular characters in the 1980s police procedural.

Mike talks about a Philadelphia bookie disappearing after the Super Bowl (Dallas Cowboys v. Pittsburgh Steelers). The Steelers won against the Cowboys in 1976 and 1979; the Cowboys won against the Steelers in 1996.

“Here’s Johnny!” is from Jack Nicholson’s character in The Shining (1980).

< PREVIOUS EPISODE: MIJO

> NEXT EPISODE: HERO

#bcs rewatch #better call saul

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yuudetama · 6 years

Text

Riptide [ii] // BTS’ Suga

Angst, Siren AU. Word Count: 1.4k.

i → ii → iii

Yoongi isn’t completely alone, though. Not really.

“Yoongi! Yoongi, hello! Where are you off to today?”

A voice calls out to him, sweet and clear and sounding more appropriate to open air than it does to this baleful ocean backdrop. Yoongi turns to see you swimming towards him, arm outstretched in a wave, fin flashing an iridescent shade of purplish-green in the underwater sunlight. Little bits of debris tangle with your hair, but you pay them no mind as you give him a closed-eye smile.

True sirens- or rather, sirens who had been birthed into existence, unlike him- are creatures of extreme isolation. Amphitrite had warned him that he would likely never come into contact with one during his time in the sea. The burden of this accursed life is so great, the sea goddess had said, voice ringing out into the depths, that those who are born as true sirens cannot bear to share company with others of the same fate.

So it had been purely by chance, then, that he had met you one unassuming morning. A vision of gleaming scales and floating hair peeking out from behind a row of giant kelp, so fleeting that he had thought it was merely a trick of the light, until at last you’d pushed away from the plants with a tinkling laugh. Having never met another siren before, Yoongi had, naturally, been wary at first. His idea of true sirens was one shrouded in misfortune and despair, and, exhausted by his own burden of having to live as a child of the sea, he hadn’t wanted to involve himself further in that mess. He didn’t need to deal with the woes of another siren; he was already miserable enough with his own, thank you very much.

But interestingly enough, despite being a true siren, you proved to be nothing like that. There were no hateful mutterings of the underwater life, no resentful glares at the thought of the gods (both of which, admittedly, he himself was guilty of). Only an amicable smile as you’d introduced yourself and asked for his own name. Yoongi? That’s a lovely name, you’d said, eyes crinkling with a soft sort of laughter. What are you doing here all by yourself, Yoongi?

He had almost given a cynical snort at that. Surely you had to be joking. What was any siren doing by themselves, swimming in the high seas? Looking to settle down with the turtles and jellyfish?

But the smile on your face had been genuine, and without realizing it, he’d allowed himself to lower some of his initial guard. Two sirens spending their days together; it should have been unheard of, especially what with the fact that he was a turned siren, a by-product of human misfortune and stubborn resolve. But nevertheless you seemed to enjoy his company, and gradually, after a number of surprise appearances and persisting questions on your end, he grew to appreciate yours, as well (and it didn’t hurt that the thought of defying the odds was, in its own way, a smug sort of satisfaction).

Being the first- and only- siren in his circle of acquaintances, he hadn’t known what to expect from you. You come to visit him at the most unexpected moments (and it’s always you who manages to find him first, strangely enough), wearing the same serene smile every time, as though undeterred by or even blissfully ignorant to your status as a siren. He sometimes wonders what you could possibly think of it, of this life in the waters, because, really, how could anybody be okay with this situation? But despite everything, you seem to be fine with it, only asking him about his day-to-day activities, never complaining about the burden of the siren life.

"What was it like to be human?"

The question comes out of the blue one day, with no prior context. The two of you are resting on the sandy floor, sitting in silence as the seaweed sways lazily to the rhythm of the tides. Yoongi is taken aback by the sudden nature of your curiosity, but he hides it by pretending to watch a school of silverfish dart over a bed of coral. "I don't remember."

"Please, Yoongi.”

Something in your voice calls out to him, and without meaning to, he glances in your direction. You’re looking at him, eyes brimming with something so sincere and wistful that it makes Yoongi’s heart ache, and not for the first time he has to wonder why you, of all those who were brought into this world, were destined for a fate set in dark waters and overwhelming solitude.

He picks up a broken piece of shell and turns it over on his palm. "It wasn’t easy,” he finally says. The shell has ashen streaks lining its insides, faded after years of lying motionless on the ocean floor. “But I took it without complaint because it was all that I knew. When you’re human, there are a lot of things you have to endure because that’s just how life is. Kind of like being a siren, I suppose, only you do it with two legs instead of a fin.”

“Do you ever miss it?” You reach out to touch his hand, but stop yourself just before your fingers make contact with his. A habit of yours, Yoongi notices, that had been there ever since his very first meeting with you. It’s almost as though you’re trying to give him a wordless sort of comfort, but something- the independent disposition of the siren, your unspoken reservations, he’s not sure which- holds you back.

Clearing his throat, he pretends not to have seen the movement of your hand. “It doesn’t matter. Even if I wanted to go back, I can’t. My life is here now.”

“It can’t all be suffering, your world. I’m sure there must be some good things about it,” you muse, and tilt your head to gaze at the surface above.

Yoongi wants to say that it’s not his world, not anymore, but he doesn’t want to ruin whatever thoughts of yearning are running through your mind. “If you want to think of it that way, then yes. Like I said, it’s not the easiest life to shoulder, but it has its merits, as well.”

“Like what?”

Like not being rooted in these damned waters forever, Yoongi almost says, but he manages to swallow the words before they can slip out. “A lot of things. You can find something precious in almost every part of human life if you look hard enough.”

“And sirens can’t do that?” The question houses no animosity, only a transient sort of inquisitiveness. Yoongi wonders what you could possibly be thinking about, why you feel compelled to seek out such answers out of the blue. But your words reveal nothing more about the nature of your curiosity, and you only wait patiently for him to speak next.

“They can,” he says after a moment, “In theory. But it’s different for us- for the humans. For sirens, meaning is centered solely on the state of existence itself, but humans can find meaning in all sorts of things without having to even think about it. Being human means you get to lie on the couch and sleep all day without a worry in the world. It means you can be with your friends and watch movies together and laugh until your stomach hurts. It means feeling the warmth of the sun touch your skin, and tasting the change in seasons when you breathe in the outside air. It means-" his voice falters "- falling in love and being so happy that sometimes you don’t even notice that you’re drowning.”

And there, he realizes with a sinking heart, was yet another difference between the land and sea dwellers. Humans possess the ability to love- they revel in it, they embrace it, they exploit it, they worship it. But sirens? Sirens are unable to love. Sirens are unable to feel. They can’t afford to, because even one surge of human feeling would lead to a sirenic grief greater than existence itself.

Your voice is soft, but the weight it carries makes it difficult for Yoongi to pretend as though the current had swept it away. “Is that how it was for you? Were you in love as a human?"

This time Yoongi is unable to meet your eyes. Turning away, he stares down at the fragmented shell in his hands, but he hardly sees any of it as he answers you for the second time.

"I don't remember."

#yoongi scenarios #bts scenarios #bts yoongi #I don't even know what this is tbh #I said it was a broken up oneshot but #I feel like it's growing a life of its own #I need to get out more ajsklfjksa

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rebeccadunne · 7 years

Text

Your Chroma

by Sinead Gleeson from the latest edition of essential Irish literary journal Gorse

How does it start? The black of pre-consciousness, the pink

of uterine breaths, the red highways of arteries, splayed.

The beginning is red.

Fly over

This country

Of the body.

A spy photographer

On an aerial loop.

There is

breast and

brain and

bladder and

bowel.

Begin the descent to bone.

Dive into fissures of marrow,

To the source,

The red and white cells

of the blood.

Canada,

Japan,

Poland,

Peru.

Venal Vexillology.

III

To put down words about the body—medical, biological,

anatomical—is to present the body as fact. Its being in the

world—a being ‘being’—is irrefutable.

There is a photo of you. Your child body in a red dress at

a trout farm, the brown glitter of a fish wriggling on the

end of the rod’s line. You smile for the camera, and avoid

looking at the bubble of blood at its mouth. Its red gasps.

‘Colour is consciousness itself, colour is feeling,’ said William

Gass, who prioritised blue above red. Blue, he writes, is ‘most

suitable as the colour of interior life.’ Blue, above corporeal

red? What was he thinking?

How do we decide this interior colour? We are one colour in

life, another in death; one in youth, another in old age; one

in sickness, another in good health. We channel Yves Klein

and create a new shade for the interior. A born again hue.

VII

Because of his synaesthesia, Wassily Kandinsky associated

colours with shapes, and sounds. For him, red was a square,

the ‘sound of a loud drum beat.’

VIII

Repeat red over and over—red red red red red red red red

red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red

red red red red red—and it��s a hum, a drill, a drumroll. It is

also not-blue, not-green, not-black, not-white.

In the Tate, Rothko’s reds are dreamlike, hazy around

the edges. Are they on the canvas or under it, bleeding

through?

In an old cinema, long closed down, we watched Derek

Jarman’s Blue. I’m curious about his choice of colour, but

don’t question his motivation to use blue. In his book Chroma,

he says: ‘I know my colours are not yours. Two colours are

never the same, even if they’re from the same tube.’ I think

of his eyes and his failing sight. To be a person who has

spent their life looking, photographing, regarding—and

now cannot see.

You are both redheads, and tell me you like to mark this

by taking photos of the backs of your heads. You do this

in special places. Howth pier, the Cliffs of Moher, various

lighthouses.

XII

There is a black and white photo in a local newspaper,

dating from the 1930s. It’s creased, and heavily pixelated,

with that old photo blur. But it’s him, Red Con. This is the

only photo we’ve tracked down. I’ve never met him, nor has

my father, but we are related. I descend from red hair.

XIII

If blue, as Gass argues, is the colour of interior life, this

makes red a colour of the exterior. But red is the body. Red

is blood, organs, tendons, the red elements:

Rashes

Hives

Sores

The raised bridge of a new scar

Platelets working on the crust of a cut

The speckle of heat rash, like pebbles on the bed of a

stream.

XIV

Driving over the Golden Gate Bridge in a convertible,

sucking in cool Californian air, they argue about the shade

of the steel. Red. Scarlet. Terracotta. Red again, some

consensus. Circular talk of colour under the shadow of

heavy cables, but he knows the bridge’s shade is officially

called ‘International Orange.’ The company that makes the

paint sells a cheaper version called ‘Fireweed.’ He takes this

as a sign to roll a joint and tells his friends that 98% of

people who jump into the bay don’t survive. Those who do

always have the same injuries: broken vertebrae, smashed

ribs, punctured lungs.

You say tomato

I say blood

You say traffic light

I say muscle

You say fire engine

I say vein

XVI

LITTLE

Across the woods, basket swinging on a girlish arm, she

weaves off the path to pick flowers. Hood as protector—

stay hidden, girl, cover yourself up—in a tocsin shade of red.

Anti-camouflage. Here I am, come and get me! it says. And so

the wolf did.

RED

Get up! Her mother pulls the blanket off her teenage bed.

Take this to your granny, and wear your hood, it’s cold. The girl

is menstrual, cramped, innards torn. Her mother relents,

returning with a hot water bottle, and a box of Feminax.

There is a wolf in her womb, and she placates it with hot,

vulcanised rubber and codeine.

RIDING

The girl remarks on the size of her grandmother’s ears, eyes,

and teeth, failing to notice the lupine mouth, the rich pelt,

the cross-dressing, the anthropomorphic imposter in the

bed.

HOOD

In the belly of the wolf, she is safe. She cannot be eaten again.

Consumption saves her from more (male) consumption.

Stay hidden girl. Belly as cave.

XVII

Fairytales are always about women’s bodies. Rapunzel’s hair

and Sleeping Beauty’s somnolent face and Snow White

choking and Cinderella dancing with glass-slippered feet.

XVIII

Not glass slippers, but her aunt buys her red clogs, the first

shoes she ever loves. The heavy wooden stomp on the

concrete of the street, the scarlet curve of the leather a

possibility. She learns that women are meant to wear heels;

that heels appear to lengthen a woman’s leg, to accentuate

her calf, to make her more attractive. She decides she will

only wear clogs, or no shoes at all.

XVIX

Four women in black body con dresses gyrate to a 1980s

song. Robert Palmer, dressed like someone’s office manager

dad rolls through Addicted to Love. The women are heavily

made up, their eye shadow a palette of storm-cloud colours,

but it’s their lipstick I’m obsessed with: my mother’s matt

pinks and creamy browns having nothing on this. This red is

a declaration of war. The gloss is so high it looks like glass.

I practise on my lips with saliva. The models are arranged

democratically, two either side of Palmer. The only contrast

in uniformity is their faces and length of their dresses. Their

whiteness is a shock, the scraped-back hair severe. These

porcelain-faced, storm-eyed she-tomatons are part homage

to Art Deco painter Patrick Nagel’s women. The shock and

sheen of their scarlet lips is the only thing that interrupts their

monochrome faces. Is it because it’s the ’80s that the scene

is so homogenous, so lacking in multiculturalism? White

bodies the epitome of capitalism, even in pop music.

How should we present our face to the world?

How should we present our (female) face to the world?

Make-upped, pore-blocked in shades of ivory and sand.

Brow-arched, lash-lacquered, glitter-lidded. Branded by

brands.

XXI

We used to paint our lips with whale blubber, but now it’s

mostly wax and oils. I have yet to find the perfect shade of

red lipstick. Too orange, too ephemeral, too knife slash.

XXII

I once worked as editor of a spa magazine. I wrote dull

copy about acrylic nails and Glycolic peels, and was sent

endless products: emery boards and seaweed unguents,

poultices and tanning sprays; exfoliation aids in wood and

sisal. I interviewed a woman who gave facials with coloured

oils selected for a person’s mood and personality. Part spa

treatment, part mystical woo. In her tiny salon, above a pub,

she told me about oneness and inner beauty, self-examination

and higher powers. After a pause in her well-rehearsed pitch,

she pointed to a fleshy bump on my forehead and said:

Would you not get that removed?

XXIII

In 1967, Irish-born writer Lucy Grealy moved to the US

with her family. Life opened up with possibility, but aged

nine she was diagnosed with Ewing’s Sarcoma, a rare facial

cancer. Grealy endured thirty operations, radiation and

chemotherapy. In Autobiography of a Face, her novelistic

memoir, she writes: ‘This singularity of meaning—I was

my face, I was ugliness—though sometimes unbearable, also

offered a possible point of escape. It became the launching

pad from which to lift off, the one immediately recognisable

place to point to when asked what was wrong with my life.

Everything led to it, everything receded from it—my face as

personal vanishing point.’

XXIV

I have never broken a limb, even if my bones are

troublesome.

I have never needed stitches because of a cut.

I have never exposed my insides except for surgical

wounds.

My skin resealed with metal, paper and thread.

XXV

When my teenage hip started to disintegrate, baffled doctors

kept asking increasingly random questions:

Did you fall?

(Who doesn’t?)

Have you ever been knocked down by a car? (Once, but the driver

was going slow and we lived in a cul-de-sac.)

Have you ever had a tropical disease? (Can you get one from

going to Spain?)

Have you ever been bitten by an animal or strange creature? (I tell

him about Lough Derg.)

XXVI

At Dromineer, Lough Derg was like a beach. I swam out

far from the shore to float in the navy current that skirted

the lake like isobars. Swimming back, I stood when the

water was knee high, and felt a sharp pinch on my foot. It

wasn’t glass, and felt more like a bite, but I couldn’t see what

lurked beneath. I thought of monsters and sea demons, the

creature of the lake. There are not enough horror films set

underwater.

XXVII

A hotel exterior, painted walls, a fleeing woman in a scarlet

coat, the vertical lines of blood on a hanging woman’s legs, a

nosebleed, a trickle from a mouth. In Suspiria, Dario Argento

reminds us that we bleed; that the body is vulnerable—not

just to psychologies and fear—but to knives and violence.

The body is the ultimate horror setting.

XXVIII

I look at the mottled skin at your back as a forensic scientist

examines blood splatter.

XXIX

After major surgery:

I wake up to find my skin yellow and assume this is iodine

or antiseptic used to prep the body for being opened to the

elements.

I wake up to find that this yellow is not an ointment, but

bruising, from the pressure of knives, the kneading of

hands.

I wake up to red and yellow patches, pools of colour, the

body’s semaphore.

I wake up during hip replacement surgery and feel strong

hands shoving, the weight of arms, a rearrangement.

Who’s pushing me? I ask, before the anaesthetist tops up

the spinal block, shoving me back under the waves.

XXX

Arthritis and surgery withered my bones. My left leg is

thinner than the right, full of metal and scars. Frida Kahlo’s

right leg was thinner than her left, a result of childhood polio.

Kahlo painted not just her body, not just pain, but body and

pain united. Exposed spinal columns, a womb that triggered

miscarriages, herself pierced by nails in multiple works. In

her diary, she wrote: ‘I am DISINTEGRATION.’

XXXI

Eventually Kahlo’s leg was amputated below the knee and

in 1953, a year before her death, she had a prosthetic limb

made. A laced-platform boot with Chinese embroidery in

red leather. Red as defiance, and for the body and for all the

blood she’d shed.

XXXII

For nearly three months, I wore a cast that covered most

of me. When it was removed, the skin had piled up, and

looked like wax. The sediment of immobility. Removing it

was like rubbing smudges on a windowpane. I felt like a

snake shedding its skin.

XXXIII

Bones are hard as rock but our edges—skin, lids—are not

shores. The body is an island of sorts, containing several

isthmuses, in the throat, fallopian tube, prostate, thyroid,

urethra, aorta, uterus. Body as outpost, as tidal island.

XXXIV

In Northern Ireland we pass bays and inlets, but also red

phone boxes, red postboxes. Imperial, post-Colonial red.

The red stripe of St George’s flag, many Red Hands of

Ulster.

XXXV

I think of you as though you are a map. Of the contours of

your jaw, the hill of your back, the compass of your arms. I

see them now, at 10 and 2, an almost-Jesus on a cross. I try

to imagine your body at 11:11, or 12:34.

XXXVI

We play The Alphabet Body game and you laugh when I get

Z. What about Zinn’s Zonule? I offer, but you think I’m making

it up. The suspensory ligament holding the crystalline lens

of the eye in place. It’s not immediately tangible; there are

no children’s flash cards like there are for eye or mouth.

Zygomatic Bone you say, and ask me its location. It sounds like

zygote, so I guess it is uterine or cervical. I’ll answer by kissing

you there you say, and brush your lips against my cheekbone.

XXXVII

After the birth of my daughter, by C-section, my husband

said he looked up at the wrong time and saw my intestines.

The operating theatre floor looked like a murder had been

committed. And you were red too on the outside, viscous

and slippery as albumen, but your skin was blue, your lungs

working to inflate.

XXXVIII

After the birth of my son, he weighs no more than a couple

of bags of sugar, but I cannot pick him up. A new pain

in my wrist is intense, and feels close to the surface, like

someone tipping a scalding cup over it. I take a glass lift five

floors to see a man who will fix it. De Quervain’s Syndrome,

he says. Can you get it from lifting babies, who are light,

almost not there? Two tendons wrap around each other in a

red embrace. One surgical slit with a scalpel, like a ribbon-

cutting ceremony and it will be free. This injury is also called

Washerwoman’s Sprain (not Washerman’s).

XXXIX

The patron saint of childbirth, St. Margaret of Antioch, was

a committed virgin. Tortured for her faith, her flesh slashed

with nails, she was given the title after an encounter with

a dragon. The creature swallowed her whole, so Margaret

made the sign of the cross and promptly burst out of its

stomach, Alien-style. (Film critic Mark Kermode once said

that Alien is a film about male fear of childbirth).

I know a girl with Rosacea, which makes me think of

‘Rosary,’ not red. The skin is affected with papules and

pustules, reminding me of holy beads. I love these words

for awful things, and the galaxy of red under the moons of

her eyes.

XLI

You do not own your body if you live in this country. Your

womb is not under your control. Legislation owns your

ovaries. Lawyers lay claim to your fallopian tubes. The

government pays stamp duty on your cervix.

XLII

Tick tock, women’s body clocks.

Have a baby even though you’re not ready.

Have a baby when you can’t afford a home.

Have a baby when you’ve been raped.

Have a baby because you can’t afford the airfare to London

or Liverpool.

Have a baby between twenty and thirty-four, it’s the optimum

fertility window, they

keep

reminding

us.

The ticking of ovaries, your body as timepiece, swinging on

a chain.

XLIII

Heads, shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes.

HIPS! TITS! LIPS! POWER! (REPEAT)

XLIV

Once you enter the medical system, there are rooms and

hospital numbers, blue disposable gowns and Styrofoam

cups. There are people speaking—always speaking—asking

questions, taking details. The body you think of as yours

is not private. It is in the system, on charts, in operating

theatres. Your body needs to take the lift to x-ray. Your body

needs to drink more fluids. Your body needs to come back

in three months. Your body is ours.

XLV

Just before her lumpectomy, photographer Jo Spence wrote

on her left breast: Property of Jo Spence? The question mark is

defiant and panic-stricken. The need to hold on to this part

of herself. To assert autonomy, even over the toxic growth

in her chest. To have a say in her own medical life. Later,

post-lumpectomy, Spence is photographed in profile, breast

puckered and scarred. Wearing a crash helmet, the image is

uncompromising. Come at me, it says.

XLVI

In the hospital, you are not supposed to use your hands.

In the bathroom, toilets flush and taps spill and blue

paper towels dispense with the wave of a sensor. Germs,

cleanliness, DO NOT TOUCH. The ward is a bubble,

confined and contained, and I feel like Margaret Atwood’s

‘Girl Without Hands.’

No one can enter that circle

you have made, that clean circle

of dead space you have made

and stay inside,

mourning because it is clean.*

XLVII

He used to give himself stigmata. Burning the hollow of his

hand with cigarettes. Pressing the red sieve tip into his heart

line, head line, life line. This is for you, he said, but I know it

connected him to himself.

XLVIII

The Catholic Church’s list of notable stigmatics is comprised

mostly of women, including St. Catherine of Siena. Born in

the mid-fourteenth century, she believed she was married

to Jesus, and that her (invisible) wedding ring was made of

his foreskin. Her stigmatic wounds were visible only to her,

and she suffered from anaemia. Every day, she fasted and

engaged in self-flagellation until she drew blood. In one of

many letters to her confessor, Raymond of Capua, she spoke

of a vision where she leads her followers into the wound in

Christ’s side, guiding an army into his blood.

XLIX

My birthday is the anniversary of the death of St. Ignatius

Loyola. Once a soldier, he was shot through the hip,

shattering his leg. I’ve never gone to war or been beatified.

There is no redness in death. Maybe this is where William

Gass’ interior blue comes in. But the body turns many

colours at the end: white, grey, blue, purple, a tinge of green.

The body spent and stopped and still is not red.

But when will the red stop?

When will I die?

When will you?

#sinead gleeson #gorse #literary journal #writing #new irish writing #irish #your chroma #red

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lesmauvaisesfilles · 7 years

Text

Anna,

I'm sending you this new letter. I am writing to you here in the form of a diary. My manners depict according to my readings. Today the Journal II of Susan Sontag. The first letter I sent you was easily written after reading the marvelous De Profundis from O. Wilde. I come to wonder what I would read if I had not met you. To whom I would speak. Who I would try to seduce. But everything escapes me and you know it leaves traces in my nights, under my eyes in the early mornings.

Join me this Friday. I want to seduce you again and again, offer myself to you, leave you a shiver on the skin.

16/01/2017

L’alcool menace. I'm listening to Jeanne Mas. She is distant. Again. Always. But at the rising of the night she gets closer and I am weak. I smoke too many cigarettes on my balcony. If she were there and I’ll took her hand, she would say no. The wind sucked me between two crises and from my car at full blast I would like to pass the windshield. If she was there, Anna would say "ah no, do not idiot". In a long aspiration, I took a drag on my cigarette, a thick cloud of smoke forms in front of my face. It is every day the mists of alcohol. This confusion, this loss of clarity that draws in length. All day. Inside it is the horizon that melts in the sky. My spirits in the embers even on Sundays in times of rain and household chores. I'd like it to stay. This inside feeling. It is so harmful that they could stick our love on all packs of cigarettes. I aspire long. I breathe in between each falling snowflake. In that cold I would like her hand to caress my face. I read Susan Sontag, who says that writers are selfish. She's right. I wonder how much love one can give, how long. If as water, love is exhaustible or only exhausting.

The detestable phrase we say about love "When there are more, there are still" Too bad. It seems less valuable.

The song Bookends by Simon & Garfunkel is so beautiful. It runs in a loop. It is so short and so perfect. It makes me think of her. These melodious phrases contain all these words which recall both so much and so little.

Time it was, and what a time it was, it was A time of innocence, a time of confidences Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph Preserve your memories, they're all that's left you

Two sentences in mind:

1) I wonder what you do. Right there. I like the idea that I will never know it. 2) How less i see you how more i desire you.

17/01/2017

Anna,

The flowers are in tears, they have lost their perfume, in an outpouring of gladness, the blaze was overwhelming, so dazzling, that they drowned in loss. Thousands of tears flooded the vase and then the flowers were waterproofed. Since your clandestine departure, the feeling which lives me is similar to these flowers. I can not blame you. I do not want to write it down. I am annoyed to unpack my emotions, so easy to depict and not considerable, for you, I agree. I do not even want to excuse. It's so egoistic, my words, and if you do not realize it's just because you find them pretty. They are cruel.

Anna, I can not move on, will the time help? I do not believe. In the background I do not want to. I would like to spend twenty days with you, without stopping, to get tired of you but I would probably not want to leave you. I would like to try everything despite the madness which is similar to a swim across the Atlantic. I know you will never want to. You say that your heart is not rational, but fortunately it is much more rational than mine. With time, you will want me more patient, more thoughtful but it is stronger than me, this desire to belong to you, to mold my body on yours, again, often, passionately, for a long time. I would almost come to this verb: To devour. This word so beautiful at writing, which in lack, makes me want to cry.

You know, each second that dies it is my desire that grows. I am both full and empty. This contradiction makes me crazy, this distance too. I would like it to stop. I would like to dissolve in your arms, melt in your eyes. Be satisfied with your laughter. Form words of love on your skin with my mouth, my tongue. You make them guess. Burn with you in the underwater love and become as liquid and vast as the immensity of the sea. Meanwhile it is the mistral that I caught in the veins. It is so strong that sometimes I pain to breathe. It is so cold that sometimes the tears escape without my being able to control myself. It does not prick my face this time, it pricks my heart and it's worse I think. Every day, I reflect, I seek a meaning to all my wishes. But there is only one. You, Anna. I'm not asking for yours. It is low. I know it's Love. With me? I would dream of it every night. What a nightmare. This is madness, isn’t it ? This story. These words, so easily unleashed for the time we spent together ... Thirty-three hours exactly. Is that the name we give to define this situation.

Passion

ˈpaʃ(ə)n/ noun

1 1. strong and barely controllable emotion. "a man of impetuous passion"  a state or outburst of strong emotion. "oratory in which he gradually works himself up into a passion »

synonyms: rage, blind rage, fit of rage/anger/temper, temper, towering rage, outburst of anger, tantrum, fury, frenzy, paroxysm, fever; More

◦ intense sexual love. "their all-consuming passion for each other"

synonyms: love, desire, sexual love, sexual desire, lust, ardour, hunger, yearning, longing, craving, adoration, infatuation, lasciviousness, lustfulness; More

◦ an intense desire or enthusiasm for something. "the English have a passion for gardens"

synonyms: fervour, ardour, intensity, enthusiasm, eagerness, zeal, zealousness, vehemence, vigour, avidity, avidness, feeling, emotion, fire, heat, fieriness, fierceness, excitement, energy, animation, gusto, zest, zestfulness, spirit, spiritedness, commitment, fanaticism, violence; More

antonyms: indifference, apathy

If I always had you for me ... Would I be as confused as I am today or is it that absence which.

To have you close would probably make the writing more real.

Bribes of possible sentences:

Last night, her body dripping in the half-light, breathless, (...) In the early morning, eyes filled of tiredness and happiness I observed her in silence, a slight smile in the corner of her lips, she asked me if (...) One Sunday afternoon, lying in her sheets, I looked at the rays of the sun melting the snow along the windows, Anna worked the Playground Love chords of Air in the living room with her little pink guitar that (...)

(...) I wonder how you would continue them.

Babe, will I fall from my cloud?

I notice that my desires are no longer a great V of freedom - i mean the flight of birds at the end of summer. I feel prisoner of a great V of vagueness to the soul where is flayed in my throat an execrable bitterness. Anna tells me there's a possibility. A "no" would then become the main word of the lexical field: Drama. You give me how many years?

If I had money I would have two options:

a) Joining you b) Sending you parcels of books

I hope you both prefer option A.

If I lived in Iceland I would have two options:

a) Always love you b) Always love you

I hope you both prefer the option A-B.

Anna I wonder if you understand this feeling or if it is me who have become insane. The desire to be with you becomes indescribable. I understand when you explain your frustration. Mine is similar. I feel helpless to have to give it up for what we have to live. You please me terribly. I have so much contempt for all the rest. Today, my happiness is to know you somewhere. One day it's pink, one day it's blue. I am divided and unpleasant. I am unable to feel things for anyone else. Of all these sufferings, you will end up choosing to cut the bridges. Kiss Me. Your questions, your thoughts, the words you used to express these thoughts, your finger inside my mouth, the benevolent gaze, that tender voice, your forehead posed against mine. When you spoke and I said nothing. That laughter that brought the tropics in the middle of winter.

I want you to exhaust me.

18/01/2017

I N S O M N I E N° 1

Dans mes lectures tout s’évapore. Anna prends forme. Et dans la brume est tout son corps. Je dérive.

19/01/2017

I N S O M N I E N° 2

On fait l’amour dans mon sommeil.

20/01/2017

I N S O M N I E N° 3

J’aime le vendredi car j’ai droit à ta voix deux fois une heure. Je hais les weekend car je n’ai pas droit à ta voix pendant septante-deux heures.

20/01/2017

Anna,

It’s already Friday. I am waiting for you. I stopped the time. The sheets are cold. I invent our dialogues. I invent half-lived images. Missing moments as a pretty word where letters have disappeared. AM..R - OU es-tu? I see my fingers cherishing your clavicles, then my hands in the hollow of your kidneys. I’m in anguish , thinking of your glance that made me moist in the evening. You're beautiful, you know that? I'd like us to go together. Far. In the human heat. Where you want. I do not mind. As long as you let me take your hand in secret. To slip it into the pocket of my jacket. Anna, do you trust me? If only you could become my love. In Algeria, Italy, Korea, India, Moskou, Marrakech, New York. I do not want this mad story over or only momentary. Should I re-read Roland Barthe? I want us to live. Strong. Close and far. I'd like you to take off. Why didn't you took the fly? All infuses and diffuses. How do these things happen? I know that you keep your two feet on the ground. Tell me yes, we can. As long as we can melt. To smoke out ourself. When we kissed I did not think it was the last time. Now I wonder how do we kiss for the last time. There are beings to which one attaches and which disappear with the time. That's out of the question with you, Anna. Shut up Loredanna, date with me, please.

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amesbrisees · 7 years

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★

send me a symbol for… | accepting

↳ ★ five times my muse thought yours looked breath-taking, and the one time they voice it

I. He’s a perfect stranger to her as much as she’s a mystery to him. A silhouette of night time’s ubiquitous gloom, a chance encounter, the best friend they’d both ever had for a time lapse bound to come to a close much too soon. Heavenly and divine, even if only on second glance. Messy hair and bare skin, the depth of dark circles can’t be defined and they look like an odd couple on an ordinary Sunday night out. He’s clad in blood, while all she has to bring privacy its minimal limits of comfort are pieces of underwear he initially pays little attention to. He barely musters to strength to focus on looking through an opaque veil of smoke pulled shut in front of crystalline eyes, devoid of everything but the incessant tiredness and unyielding exhaustion, the endless fatigue he endures and the cruelty of an insomniac’s curse. It takes him a while to figure it out, and when he does, oh, he knows it won’t get much better than that. The moment of deep-rooted and mutually exclusive understanding, a tie that binds them for a moment or two, amidst tiles and glass and the irritating flicker of a white neon light. The ceaseless rummaging of laundry machines sets a consequent undercurrent for all noises in their surroundings, warm in the realm they claim their own for a brief encounter. Breathing and beating hearts – you could hear the flap of a butterfly’s wings in moments of blissful silence.

She tells him that her father didn’t want her, nor did her mother. And it’s soul-crushing. So young and bitterly broken, it almost reminds him of himself. The pain behind wide eyes, the taste of heartache and tobacco against chapped lips and he knows he’s closer to a kindred spirit than he’s ever been before. Close enough he could easily reach out to her for a tender caress of her cheek and a murmured: “Some day everything will fall into place.”, but he’s no liar and bites his tongue. Close enough to cord callused fingers around her delicate neck like a tight rope a rasped: “All you have to do is jump. Only then it’ll be okay.”, but he’s not malevolent, nor a murderer. He’s too selfish to willingly crush her world further by brutality hidden inside sloppily hand-picked words. Too selfish to let go of the only thing that has felt real in the longest while.

He asks her if she wants to get out, find a route to escape and her only response is a question. “Do you want to take me somewhere?”, and nothing has ever made more sense. And when they meet for an agreement on the upper middle ground, she tries to hide a smile, breaking through the cracks in a grin’s disguise. It’s the first time he sees how beautiful she actually is, with the apples of her cheeks full and eyes narrowed in the slightest, as if kissed by indirect sunlight. It’s the first time he sees it and he does what he always does. Lets the moment pass, slip through his fingers as his thought remains hidden in the secretive shadow of his mind.

II. Drunk on sleep. He’s barely awoken and unbearable tiredness keeps tugging at heavy eyelids, trying to coerce them to remain tightly shut against the burning kisses peppered through windows by the golden gleams of the afternoon’s sun. The bright rays break through the blanket of clouds concealing the sky’s impossibly blue hue. For a moment he’s lost in a hazy limbo, a trance lead by confusion and sickness and the hapless uncertainty of when it would all clear.

Blinking with one eye shut, he squints through the blinding brightness of a natural source of light, bleeding into the dim room through a crack in the curtain. The countless variations of blots of yellow and the mossy hues in their motel room’s color scheme are so ugly they make him want to vomit. Only for as long as he buried his head in a dreamless sleep, he’s forgotten all about it. It’s a recurrent curse, coming back to haunt him when he gazes around from the sofa he lies upon, close to soft cushions embracing his body with warmth. It’s a low groan that escapes him, a raspy one, which comes flying from lips that stand partially ajar. The room lies in a rosy tinge, the warmth pulling his throat tight. Beads of sweat stand on his forehead and it takes him another handful of seconds until realization dawns and he registers the stark pharyngeal dryness. A tongue like sandpaper coils against his mouth’s hard palate, dying for a taste of sweet water.

He moves with aching limbs, stirs against the stagnant air and in that moment he figures that it must be why he’s got a headache like lightning crashing inside his skull. A great big sigh heaves from strained lungs, while the ongoing process of figuring out in which century he finds himself within remains ongoing, he fails to notice her in the open bathroom door.

Her ‘Hi’ is not quite a whisper, more of a low hum and he feels like an idiot for tweaking the most faint of smiles, giving a murmured greeting in return. Moments of silence –one, two, three up to four– pass by, before either of them speak. He asks her if they want to leave once dusk had wrapped its dark gown over their part of the world’s northern hemisphere and she gives a curt nod. Blonde tendrils drip with water from a shower she must have just taken, stain an oversized shirt, hanging loosely from her shoulders, sheer in the spots where cascading droplets come to meet the thin white cotton fabric. Legs bare and her face bears the expression of someone who’s had too little sleep to make up for the grams they’ve smoked since their journey into nowhere had first started. She looks like someone who needs a good night’s sleep and a friendly hug. Like someone who has to relearn, not happiness, but mere contentment. She looks like someone who could break hearts, like someone who doesn’t quite know how not to. And when she asks him what’s wrong, since he must have been staring, he wants to tell her that she looks pretty, the way the warm light hits half of her face and her hair a soaked mess. But instead, he just deepens the smile and shakes his head. Nothing.

III. The atmosphere is pregnant with cheap liquor and beer, cigarette smoke drawing circular patterns into the warm air. The two of them are seated in a shadowy nook, somewhere hidden away from sight in the far back of the room. They drink up over and over. He needs a break from hours spent on the run from their prisons that chase them, on the race toward the finish line with rewarding freedom, which he fears is nothing but a modern myth. A flawed tale, told to children to stir false hope, raising them up toward the heavenly skies where angels weep for their fate, so their fall will be greater and the damage irreparable. It’s their fate. Survival is claimed by them with each day they keep going on their journey toward something which they will never find, but they tell each other that it’s better than staying still, being in one place for too long.

He’s gotten a taste for wanderlust and he thinks he might finally get it. The reason people love the complex maze of empty highways at night so much, the sound of running engines and nights spent inside a car parked at a gas station in nowhere, so vacant it oozes a sense of dreadful eeriness and explicit danger. Living the life of nocturnal animals, living from one day to the other, to the next. Ceaseless and constant. He can appreciate it for as long as he’s not alone. Only for as long as she’s by his side to serve the function of the best companion to laugh with, at bleak jokes and the emptiness of their glum existence. How pointless life truly is, or if maybe they’re just too drunk to place its true meaning, the sense binding all hardships and light-headed instances, eventually falling short somewhere down the line.

The chatter of others seamlessly ties into guitar music bleeding through old speakers. He only notices how bad the quality truly is when they walk toward the door in their way out, before they paid for their drinks. Silence falls into the cracks tearing open between them as they shuffle across the damp asphalt, following the glow of street lights. It starts slowly – the rain. Drop by drop it comes falling down, and the angels must be weeping again. She steps ahead, gazes upwards while his heart bends to the breaking point and he’s the twenty year old guy again, snapped from peaceful sleep into a nightmarish world, where the heavy rain doesn’t end. But she draws pirouettes on the sidewalk, twirls and sends her blonde hair spiraling as it follows her circling dance with her palms facing the black sky. He’s still. Torn in conflict, his heart conjuring up the unwanted memories. They’re a growing lump in his throat, so he can’t tell her that for once, the rain isn’t as bad as it’s always been. All of a sudden it’s more bearable – by no means easy, by no means peaceful and tranquil and marvelous, still quite the opposite. But for once, he understands what others must see when they claim the world is more beautiful during a downpour.

IV. He’s unsure of how he got her to go with him, but they sit on the floor in an aquarium. Their final destination before they’d have to exit the beautiful underwater world. Eels and sharks, rays and walruses. Now, they sit here, with no one but two foreigners on vacation nearby, looking at the manatees. Idly floating in the water as if their weight is an illusion they refuse to put on golden scales. Bumping into each other without severe damage taken. And he tells her a story of his sixth birthday and it might be the first personal story he shares with her. How his mother took him out to Coney Island, got him ice cream and he could decide what it was they should be doing for the rest of the day. How she’d taken the day off to be with him, since his father wouldn’t give him that pleasure as he’d begun to openly resent his son just mere years prior. How she’d agreed to take him to the aquarium to gaze at the humble giants living in the sea, lazily floating in water and how often he’d returned there whenever he needed an escape. How they’d eaten a funnel cake for lunch and he’d had to make a promise to never tell his father. He tells her that it’s easily the only day of his childhood he has no qualms remembering. Easily one of the luckiest days he can recall, from when his innocence had still been intact.

It might be sadness and jealousy or some kind of happiness that at least one of them had a decent day in their younger years. He isn’t sure, but it smoothes his story with a thick layer of deep regret. Maybe he shouldn’t have told her, made her aware that his mother actually cares about him, even if it was never enough to deter his father from all his violent words.

Nudging her with his shoulder, he gives her a droopy half-smile, a little lopsided and crooked but absolutely genuine. “Tomorrow we’ll do whatever you want.” It’s a promise he makes, because he longs to see that smile on her face again. The one from the night they’d first met between blood stains and cigarette smoke. Wants to try to make forget how unhappy she may be, feel the sacred present of peace contentment brings. He promises her she gets to call the shots and he promises to be in, no matter what it is she wants to do, without complaint.

After an hour, they’re still on their spots on the ground, cross legged and with slacking posture. And while she still looks at the creatures in the tank, which should be swimming somewhere in freedom, a sick reflection of a feeling he knows she can relate to, he only looks at her. How the blue of the water glows on her fair skin, almost in awe. But he swallows down the words, because he knows she would hear them.

V. Chlorine’s distinctive scent hangs in the tepid air like a disease, but the cold of the swimming pool’s water makes it easier to handle the southern heat. They went for the house with no cars parked up front, the driveway as vacant as the star-shy sky above their heads. Rid of most of their clothes, they dove head first into the cold. Water sticks their undergarments to their bodies, the dim light of 6AM keeps them safe and sound. Pallid tinges of orange and blue stretch across the cope of heaven, a gradient disrupted by few painted clouds, sparsely scattered across the gaping view.

Empty bottles, a small quantity of two, lie on the green grass some feet from the border of the pool. He isn’t sure for how long they’ve been in here, splashing water in each other’s faces until they couldn’t breathe anymore, how many sips of whisky they’ve spilled to merge with the water, heavy with chemicals to keep it sterile to the touch. She holds her legs wrapped around his waist she’s weightless, stares up into the transforming sky on her back with her arms extended to either side of her slim frame. The halo of blonde hair floats just below the water’s surface and for a moment they’re absolutely still. He’s only recently learned about her penchant for the taking of photographs to last an eternity and remembers asking if he could look at some of the pictures taken by her to see if they coincide with his imagined concept of the talent of a young woman with tragedy woven into her DNA. He doesn’t remember the answer she’s given him through the neon haze of night, doesn’t remember what’s the reason he hasn’t laid a single eye on her photographs or if there’s a reason to retreat for solace to, at all. And he keeps his own occupation to himself, a secret tucked away in the shadow cast by a heart beating painfully violent inside his chest.

But now there’s just calmness and tranquil motion and he licks his lips to be welcomed by the taste of whisky and chlorine. It’s disgusting but he doesn’t grimace. She says that in a moment like this she feels like they can live forever. That they are eternal like the gods people pray to and the thought alone makes his skin crawl. He replays the sound of her voice inside his head, until it resounds from the bone of his ears like stray bullets. Clear enough to cut glass and yet he can tell the consequences of one too many drinks from the bottles. All glazed eyes and a heavy heart, deadpan and vacant of emotion. It prompts another shiver down his spine.

She presses her legs against his sides, his hands on her lower back following when she pulls herself up to one level with him. And when she asks him if it sounds silly, if he thinks so, too, there’s a spark ignited behind those eyes, which remind him of a life he’d once lived. Missed opportunities and enduring until he’s devoid of purpose. She asks him if they could be like that, he’s missing nothing but the words to phrase an eloquent answer. There’s something so terribly akin to hope in her gaze it makes his stomach twitch and twist into a wound up coil, riddled with anxiety. He wants to tell her that if nothing’s wrong and nothing’s right they can be whatever they want. That she looks heavenly and makes him wish he’d had his camera with him, but his breath isn’t big enough to bring it all tumbling from his mouth. So instead he leans in, plants a short yet tender kiss on her lips, for it’s the only answer he has for someone like her.

VI. The road’s so long, emptiness wrapped up in the landscape, he forgets that they don’t have a clue of where they’re headed. She just follows the trail of asphalt, mended at the cracks neglectfully, as if the constructors had little concern for the wellbeing of those simply driving through. They’re headed toward the darkness unfolding in the sky on the line of a faint horizon, singing along to some Springsteen song and are so off tune he can’t help but cringe occasionally. But it barely does enough to capture his smile and make it disappear, so all that’s left for it to do is growing and widening, deepening until it’s bearing teeth and turns into a full-fledged grin. Night time is just an hour away, but he knows better than to bid the sun goodbye. He knows she’ll return when the morning breaks and the firmament mends itself back together, where night had torn it open at the old seams.

He looks over as they sing along, and it’s refreshing. Nothing matters, and the existential weight of the cosmos and their Milky Way galaxy is lifted from their fragile shoulders and dissolve into star dust glistening in the empty atmosphere. Through the smile she holds he recognizes familiarity, heavy lidded and yawning between the hook and chorus. And when the song’s over and they’re both breathless and smiling and their throats are sore from giving their everything for nothing, she tells him they need to refill once they hit the next gas station. Her voice is hoarse and tired and nothing like it usually is. He nods, notices she hasn’t seen and utters a quiet affirmation, vocal enough just so she can hear. And it won’t be until an hour later that they are greeted by the friendly neon shell of orange and red, and the car gets pulled over until it comes to a halt, the engine dies when she twists the key and wants to get out. It’s he who stops her dead in her tracks. A hand on her shoulder and he tells her that it’s fine, he will take care of it. She should just go to sleep. It’s been a long forty-two hours they’ve spent awake and talking, musing and retreating into bubbles of silence, like they are the only living souls on a dead planet that lies in ashes and rubble in an empty galaxy.

When he gets out he watches her climb onto the backseat and he gives her a last of his faint smile, which he is almost sure she doesn’t see. The gas tank gets as full as it bears to be. He brings some food and two bags of chips with a discount of a dollar for each, for the two of them, some bottles of water, too, since they can’t live off of weed and whisky at all times.

And when he returns and sits down behind the wheel, he heaves a long sigh. Squeezes his eyes shut, wondering what the hell it is that he’s doing with a girl so young and so full of poison. But then he remembers her words: My father didn’t want me. My mom didn’t either… She’s never said it to my face, but I can tell, I know she thinks that he would’ve stuck around if they never had me.

He turns his head around, looks at her in the dim flicker of a street light, the shadows it casts in stark contrast. A shadow play on her features, sound asleep and peaceful for once. Like there’s not a single bad memory she’d ever made, like she’s loved and knows, secure in a family she deserves. He says her name lowly, wants to see if she’s awake. She doesn’t stir a single muscle, unfazed by the intrusion of his raspy whisper. And so he peels his arms from his jacket’s sleeves, takes it off and shifts to put it over her body to serve as a make-shift blanket. He looks at her for a while, breathing into the silence, and his eyes seem like he’s concerned.

“I’m sorry.” He says into the void prevailing in the still vehicle and he means it. Part of him glad she’s asleep to never memorize the foolish confession of a man who finds pieces of himself reflected in things she’s willingly sharing with him so far, part of him reveling in moderate indifference, not worried what would be if her slumber is a mere pretense and she’d become witness to what he’s about to say. He reaches out, wants to stroke back strands of blonde which have slipped and fallen to cover closed eyes, but stops mere inches away. Lets his arm drop and hit against the front seat’s backrest, not too concerned with the noise it might create. “You’re beautiful and you don’t even know.” Ironic, truly. “And if they don’t see that, it’s not your fault.”

#lllittledreamer #( answered. )#this feels like 'welcome to hell. i'm your personal tour guide satan. enjoy the ride.'#i have no words for what the shit i just wrote i just ? ?#long post #drug mention tw #x. | and nothing's wrong when nothing's true; i live in a hologram with you. ( jen & asher )

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mandibierly · 6 years

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The most terrifying sequence of 'Blue Planet II,' the bobbit worm, airs this weekend

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Each episode of BBC America’s Planet Earth: Blue Planet II takes viewers through a myriad of emotions, and this Saturday’s installment, “Coral Reefs,” is no different. There’s joy (adolescent bottlenose dolphins playing a game with broken pieces of coral in the Red Sea), and there��s wonder (an octopus and a grouper buddy up to hunt more effectively in Australia’s Great Barrier Reef). But there’s also stress. Prepare yourselves for the bobbit.

As narrator Sir David Attenborough explains, it’s “a giant carnivorous worm with jaws as sharp as daggers” that burrows in the sand and waits (like the creatures in Tremors) to pop up and snatch unsuspecting fish. You’ll have to tune in Feb. 3 to see the full sequence, which begins with a meter-long bobbit (yes, named after those Bobbits) doing some night stalking that flat-out traumatized U.K. viewers when the episode aired in Britain last November. When our sneak peek picks up, it’s dawn, and the tiny foraging bream fish that were such easy prey in the dark now have the advantage since they can spot the bobbit. In fact, they actually join together to blow away the sand and expose it — at least temporarily. Warning: this clip will make you jump (wait for it).

“Reefs are the cities of the sea. They occupy such a tiny part of the ocean floor, yet house a quarter of all [ocean] species. They really are these vibrant metropolises, and, like in any city, around every corner there could be great opportunity, but there also could be great danger,” episode producer Jonathan Smith tells Yahoo Entertainment. He knew about the bobbit’s hunting technique, but what persuaded him to include it in the episode was a conversation with a scientist, Jose Lachat, who told him he’d also observed bream mobbing a bobbit to reveal its hiding place. “That was the ultimate for me. I’ve heard people explaining this story and they’re giving a spoiler alert,” Smith says. “There are so many twists and turns through it that it’s the perfect story.”

Say hello to the bobbit – a metre-long worm with jaws as sharp as daggers#BluePlanet2 pic.twitter.com/Oj8oYLdQSM

— BBC Earth (@BBCEarth) November 12, 2017

What he loves most about the sequence, really, is that it actually turned out to be (near) impossible to film. “We’d been sent pictures of bobbits at night, hunting, with normal light on them, and they seemed fine. We got there and then [cameraman Hugh Miller] found a good bobbit worm, set up his studio, went down at night — bear in mind he’s like a meter away from this bobbit worm, sitting there and waiting — but the bobbit was too scared to do anything under the white light,” Smith says. “Luckily, he has been the only person in the world to have built an infrared lighting system for underwater. The problem with infrared underwater is that it attenuates incredibly quickly through the water column, so you just lose it, so you can’t really light much of an area. But he’d found a slightly different wavelength that enabled him to film at night in complete darkness, but still be able to capture imagery on this camera. And it just so happened he had taken that out to test it in the field. So suddenly everything changed: we went, ‘This is how we have to do the bobbit,’ and that’s why the bobbit sequence is the color that it is. It actually, I think, really gives that added element of horror to it. Hugh, creative genius, managed to capture and give an incredibly unique insight into this dark world of the reef.”

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Smith loves another of his favorite sequences — clown fish on the more barren outskirts of reef city pushing objects toward their anemone, to give the female something solid to lay her eggs on — because it seemed impossible when he first heard about it. At the beginning of production, he reached out to Roger Munns, a cameraman based in Borneo who’s spent decades filming and learning about the reefs there, to ask for the best stories he’s heard. “He was saying a couple of stories, and then he said, ‘But you know what, I’ve heard about this story over 10 years ago, where there’s a clown fish that will go out and collect things and push them to its anemone.’ And I thought, ‘Wow, this sounds like a brilliant story,’ but he had never seen it. We couldn’t find any pictures of it. There’s certainly no video of it. But it seemed so intriguing, we had to try and find out more,” Smith says.

The series’ researchers dug in and found one mention of the behavior from the late 1970s, but that was it. “So again, we reached out to the world, and there was a scientist in Papua New Guinea — you kind of feel like Sherlock Holmes when you think about the incredible size of this stuff,” Smith says with a laugh. “But he told us this extraordinary story. He’d been studying these clown fish in Papua New Guinea and measuring how many eggs that they make. In order to do this, he would take them this lovely shiny tile, something nice and solid and perfect, exactly what he figured they’d need. He went down to one family of clown fish, and — it’s so strange — they had tucked into their anemone a baby doll arm that had obviously drifted by somehow. And so he goes, ‘Okay, it’s a bit of rubbish,’ and he picked that out and discarded it, and then just put it to the side of the reef because he wanted whatever’s been living on it to still be okay. Then he put his tile under the anemone. When he came back a few days or a week later, expecting to find this tile covered in clown fish eggs, instead the tile was three meters away from the anemone. It had been completely shoved out. And sitting back under the anemone was the baby doll’s arm, covered in clown fish eggs. He sent us these pictures, so that was another part of why we thought, ‘Right, this certainly happened, so now we’ve just got to find the right clown fish and we’ve just got to sit there and wait and watch.'”

And that’s exactly what he and Munns did in Borneo — for probably about 100 hours, Smith estimates, before they finally started getting shots of the clown fish investigating and trying to move various objects that came nearby. Did the men ever think about giving up? “There are so, so many times, obviously, where you’re sitting there and thinking, ‘How are we ever going to manage it?’ And it’s even more so when you go into something slightly blind,” Smith says. “You know that logic tells you it should happen, but having never seen any film of it you’ve still got that slight [feeling of], ‘Are we completely wasting our time?’ But all of that makes the moment when it happens even more amazing.”

Marbled grouper make their move to mate, with grey reef sharks waiting to strike (GIF: BBC America)

Another high-risk sequence, which is featured in the “making of” segment at the end of the episode: marbled groupers waiting en masse for the precise moment they’ll swim upwards, females dropping eggs and males releasing sperm, in the hopes of giving their fertilized eggs a chance to be swept out with the tide. Why is it so dramatic? The hundreds of hungry grey reef sharks waiting above to swarm the groupers, and also because the groupers only spawn once a year, and the event lasts for just an hour — not great odds for a camera crew.

“If I know that in my hour-long film I can give you maybe 10 stories that describe what the coral reefs of our planet are, then I need to really pick and choose those stories carefully,” Smith says. “And there’s a couple of parts of this story that I really felt we needed to know to understand the bigger picture of the reef. And one of them is the fact that almost every animal on the reef has the same basic mating strategy, which is to get their eggs as far away from the reef as they can. And it kind of doesn’t make sense, because actually, out there away from the reef is the big blue world with little nutrients and little to offer, whereas the reef is this vibrant metropolis. But [it’s about] making it to the top of the reef city — we have to rise to the top — and if you’re a little baby, you’re a little egg, you can’t do that yet. You’re not ready. And ultimately, it’s because the reef is so competitive that everything throws its young away — but then they come and they resettle. And in that going and drifting and then resettling, that enables reefs to colonize new worlds, and ultimately gives us some hope in this changing world that reefs [which are being bleached by rising temperatures] can keep continuing into the future, because of this ability to adapt, which is all driven by the competition and the need to get to the top of the reef city. So I wanted to share that element. And then I thought, ‘Right, what’s the most amazing way we can possibly show that?’ And we thought 30,000 grouper, caught in the seabed of a channel in French Polynesia that’s patrolled by 500 grey reef sharks. That to me was a story that we had to try and do.”

Planet Earth: Blue Planet II airs Saturdays at 9 p.m. on BBC America.

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