#this one has rather stalled because all three sections are one-on-one conversations and while I knew I wanted a hagman and childermass one

[chiropteracupola]

tagged by @herbs-and-poultices to post my last sentence written / tag as many people as there are words in the sentence / &c!

I've been a bit out of it when it comes to writing for the last While, and so I think this is the last bit I wrote, off the sharpe/jsamn crossover:

The man stared down at him. Harris stared back, suddenly desperate to know if a moth-eaten rabbit’s-foot luck charm would have any effect at all on a magician.

that, as usual, is too many words, so I shall merely tag @sanguinarysanguinity, @dxppercxdxver, @tgarnsl, @cedarboots, @lacomandante, @dotsayers, and @baronetcoins, if you'd like to share?

#em writes stuff #em is posting about sharpe #this one has rather stalled because all three sections are one-on-one conversations and while I knew I wanted a hagman and childermass one #I'm still debating whether I want sharpe and harris to talk to strange or to norrell #sharpe + strange may lead to physical violence; sharpe + norrell is them standing on opposite sides of the same potted plant #harris + strange is some manner of Two-Sided Infodumping; harris + norrell is harris shaking that old man down for books #and so Legitimately I can't remember who harris is supposed to be interacting with in this situation :\ #while I sat here trying to remember that information I horked down 1/3 of a box of cheesy crackers like a horse. Next Activity: Real Food.

[beelsnack]

Obey Me! Boys and the Cute Date They Would Take MC On

Lucifer: “I feel like I don’t belong here.”

When Lucifer had mentioned that an orchestra was going to be performing, they had been so excited to go that they nearly vibrated out of existence. But now that they were here, that excitement had morphed into a heavy lump of anxiety hanging out somewhere between their heart and stomach.

Lucifer glanced down at the human with a raised eyebrow. “And what in the Three Realms would make you think that?”

For a moment, they were quiet, looking around at the crowd of demons dressed to the nines. Elegant silk evening gowns and smart tuxedos abound. Their black slacks and dress shirt made them feel so under-dressed that they might as well have shown up naked.

Lucifer, sharp as ever, pulled them closer and leaned down the speak in their ear. “You needn’t feel intimidated, my dear.”

“I don’t feel intimidated, I feel stupid.”

“That isn’t any better.”

They sighed, casting another look around the hall. Golden mantle pieces, an elegantly-winding staircase, chandeliers absolutely dripping with crystals...everything made them feel incredibly insignificant.

“Should I have gotten more dressed up?”

Lucifer chuckled. “So that’s what has you worried?” 

He lead them away from the entrance into the hall proper. “All of these demons are dressed the way they are because they must work at being beautiful. You, my dear,” he stopped in front of them, reaching down to carefully hold the peacock pendent hanging from their neck - the only piece of jewelry they wore. “Are the only one who is naturally radiant enough to wear my symbol. These peasants could turn themselves into pure gold and they would only shine half as bright as you do.”

They could feel their face grow hot enough to catch fire. They opened and closed their mouth like a fish, intent on refuting Lucifer’s compliment, but he gave them no option. With a deep laugh that they felt travel up their spine, he offered his arm to them in a move straight out of a Victorian romance novel.

“Now then, shall we go? You’ll love this orchestra, I promise.”

Mammon: “I can’t believe there’s street fairs in the Devildom!”

It was surprisingly similar to something you would see up in the Human Realm. Strings of fairy lights lit up the cobblestone street that was lined with all kinds of stalls. Food stalls selling a variety of things that probably shouldn’t be deep fried but are anyway, games of chance, craftsman selling their wares - “Don’t buy anything from that one, all of their crap is cursed and they charge a fee for removal.” 

“Come on,” Mammon clicked his tongue as the two of them wandered throughout the fair. “Did’ja think the Devildom was all doomed souls and torture chambers?”

“...Yes?”

The demon paused before shrugging. “Ya know, that’s fair. But we have an image to keep, don’t we? Can’t have the little humans knowin’ about our bitchin’ carnivals.”

“I’ll take the secret to my grave.” 

Somewhere a little down the street, they could hear the spinning of a roulette wheel, and Mammon immediately perked up. 

“Aw yeah, now we’re talking! Come on, human, you get to see the Great Mammon in all of his glory!”

A thin spike of fear ran through their body as Mammon grabbed their wrist and tugged them through the crowd. “Didn’t Lucifer ban you from gambling? Like, forever?”

“Whatever, what he don’t know won’t hurt ‘im,” they finally reached the roulette booth. “As long as I don’t lose and you don’t squeal, we don’t have anything to worry about!”

“Mammon, there’s a big, gaping hole in your logic there - “

“Have a little faith, human!” Mammon grinned and he slapped some Grimm down on the counter. The glint in his eyes was damn near predatory, and it sent a different kind of shiver down their spine.

The demon behind the counter chuckled gleefully as they spun the wheel. The crowd surrounding them hooted and hollered and shoved each other to be able to watch the wheel, but Mammon looked surprisingly calm. He stood with his arms crossed, eyes trained on the pointer at the top of the wheel.

If they hadn’t been standing right next to him, they wouldn’t have noticed him rhythmically tapping against the sleeve of his jacket.

It was almost imperceptible, but the clicking of the wheel appeared to be following the beat that Mammon was tapping, slowing as the pauses between beats got longer. Eventually, both Mammon and the wheel stopped...

Right on the number he had bet on.

The crowd groaned as Mammon collected his winnings, some hissing at him as they dispersed. The Avatar of Greed looked truly in his element as he flipped a Grimm in the air. “Told ya.”

“You were...using magic?” the human looked back and forth between the wheel and Mammon. “You manipulated the wheel.”

“Aw, man, I was hoping you wouldn’t catch that.” he sighed, pocketing his earnings. “Can’t ya just pretend I have incredible luck?”

“I will if you buy me food.”

“Deal.”

Leviathan: Going to the arcade on a Wednesday at noon was definitely one of Levi’s best ideas.

“Why does your aim suck so bad?”

“Oh, you are SO lucky this game doesn’t have friendly fire, Levi.”

“You couldn’t hit me even if it did.”

They were standing close enough that it wasn’t difficult for them to learn over and bump him with their shoulder. His grip on the orange plastic gun slipped and the virtual bullet went flying off into cyberspace. By the time he managed to correct himself, the zombie he had been aiming for was in the process of devouring the character on screen.

“Hey, what gives?!”

“Oops, sorry. My aim really sucks, you know.”

“That doesn’t even make sense!”

Despite their dirty tactics, Levi still wiped the floor with them, cackling gleefully as their scores tallied up on the screen. "Beat that, normie!"

They pouted and blew a raspberry at him. "Jerk. I want a rematch!"

"You're on!"

Satan: If they hadn’t been in the Devildom for so long, they probably would have been scared out of their mind.

That being said, they had been in the Devildom for a while, and seeing an intricately detailed panorama of a demon cat devouring a person alive was only a little unsettling at this point.

“Wow, that must have taken a while,” they got up closer to the exhibit. “It’s like I can hear the screams of agony.”

“Apparently the artist spent a century just on the expression,” Satan came up behind them, slipping his hand into theirs. “It shows, doesn’t it?”

The Devildom Art Museum was having a special exhibition on Demonic cats, and of course Satan had managed to snag tickets for the two of them. They didn’t particularly want to know how he had managed that.

“So, where to next?” they asked.

“The next room has a collection of cursed cat collars.” Satan nodded his head towards the door. “Apparently there’s one that causes whoever puts the collar on their cat to choke to death.”

“Okay, but if there are any there that harm the cats we’re firebombing the place.”

Asmodeus: “See, I told you this place was cute!”

He hadn’t been lying. The little cafe was tucked into a little side street, and the outside seating provided one of the best views of the lake that they had seen aside from being inside the castle grounds. The moons were just beginning to appear as they sky transitioned from the dark lavender color that served as the Devildom’s “day time” into full darkness, and the reflection from the lake made everything sparkle like diamonds.

“How did you even find this place, Asmo?” they asked as they were seated by the host. “This is pretty hidden.”

“Didn’t you know, darling?” Asmo laughed, reaching across the table to weave their hands together. “Some of the most beautiful things can be found in the strangest of places.”

“That’s pretty, but it doesn’t answer my question.”

“I slept with the owner’s son.”

They couldn’t hold back the definitely-not-cute snort. “Yeah, that tracks.”

“I never pass up an opportunity to fuck someone who can cook.” he said sagely. “I want to be fed before I have to do my walk of shame.”

“Don’t you have to have shame for that?”

“Hush,” Asmo giggled. “Here, they have a human-safe section.”

Beelzebub: “I don’t know, Beel, this place, seems awful expensive.”

The conversion rate between human currency and Grimm sometimes threw them off a little bit, but anytime you say three zeroes it was never a good sign.

“Does it?” Beel glanced up from the menu to look at them quizzically before peeking down at the prices again. “Ah, I guess it would. You don’t have to worry, I’ll pay for it.”

“That’s not - “

The server arrived, cutting off their protest. From the sheen of sweat on their brow, the human took it that the staff knew Beelzebub and his famous appetite. Even just the appetizer was enough to feed a whole family. When the waiter finally turned to them, he had to flip over to a new page in his pad. He looked rather relieved when they simply ordered water and fried bat wings (which they had discovered early on tasted a lot like chicken wings and it was therefore their go to.)

When the server dashed off to place their massive order, Beel turned back to the human. “What were you saying?”

“I don’t...” they sighed. “I won’t be able to pay you back.”

“Why would you have to?”

They blinked, tilting their head. “Huh?”

“I don’t mind paying. Plus, I get a discount here.”

The human glanced around the fancy dining area. “This doesn’t look like the place to give out discounts.”

“A lot of places give me and my brothers discounts. Well, Mammon lost a few of his, I think.”  Beel shrugged. “I think it’s because we’re considered nobility? I usually leave the discount as a tip though.”

That explained the grin the host had on their face when they sat them.

They smiled up at him. “You’re so sweet, Beel.”

Belphegor: Nights in the Devildom were surprisingly peaceful.

Once you got past the ideas of torture chambers and crypts, the nights were just like ones up in the Human Realm. Quiet, lazy, and on clear nights, you could see the stars.

“Do you know what that one is?”

The human followed where Belphegor was pointing. “Hm...Orion?”

“Ding.” Belphie laughed. “I knew you would be good at this.”

In typical Belphie fashion, he had texted them out of the blue and told them to meet him in the courtyard at midnight. They thought about just ignoring him and going to sleep, but now they were curious. Which was probably the demon’s plan.

When they arrived, Belphie was laying down on a blanket he had spread out on the grass.

“Took you long enough,” he yawned. “I almost fell asleep waiting for you.”

“It’s only 12:02!”

“Bold of you to assume I can’t fall asleep in two minutes. Are you going to sit down or what?”

And that was how the two of them ended up cuddled next to each other and stargazing.

Belphie knew a surprising amount about constellations.He was able to point out which star was named what, and knew most of the myths that the constellations were named after. Unsurprisingly, listening to him talk was very soothing, and they could feel their eyelids drooping.

“If you want to sleep, you can.” he finally murmured, sounding close to drifting off himself. “We can keep each other warm.”

“...I don’t think Lucifer would appreciate finding us passed out on the lawn.”

“All the more reason to do it.”

#i just needed some fluff okay #this is self indulgent #obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie

[crimsonrae]

The Wiles of Men and Women

Chapter Four

Summary: Georgiana Stafford has just become betrothed to a man older than her father. Her last chance to enjoy society on her terms comes the night that court celebrates the birth of Princess Mary. She was prepared for just about anything, but she hadn't been prepared for him. Charles Brandon.

CharlesxOC,

Rated: Mature

A/N:  Here is Chapter Four. I’ve been re-watching the first season and Charles really is a little shit: Between thinking of what he had done to Buckingham’s daughter to make her beg, teasing Margret (though really she deserved and enjoyed it) and hearing him tell a paramour to ‘Get her husband to lick it off’ ... I’m like ‘I kind of want to smack you.’ So to clarify this is very early Charles right now - he’s about twenty-three/ twenty-fourish and Katerina: I would place about five years older than Georgiana. Thank you to everyone who liked and showed support. I always love hearing from you guys. 💕 I really appreciate it 😊. Let me know if you would like to be tagged.

If you would like to be tagged in my stories please add yourself to the taglist linked in my bio!!

@wolvesandhoundshowltogether​ @cavillhavoc​ @omgkatinka​ @promptandpros​ @multixwolf​ @oddsnendsfanfics​ @vikingsbifrost​ @marswritings​ @imneonpanda​ @tumblnewby @henryfanfics101​ @lebguardians​ @agniavateira

Big Bad Wolf

Katerina chewed on the inside of her cheek as she helped Georgiana ready herself. In truth, the younger girl hardly needed her assistance, but the finishing of laces and plaiting of hair was a good distraction from the conversation that the maid needed to eventually begin. It wasn't until Georgiana had tied a simple ribbon around her crown and picked up a cloak that Katerina didn't remember seeing in the Lady's trunk that she knew she couldn't put it off any longer.

"Lady Georgiana..." Katerina began hesitantly, not feeling embolden as Georgiana merely turned a sweet acknowledging glance her way. It was too trusting and made her gut twist with mild guilt. She silently cursed Charles Bandon's name, "When we go to the markets you need to be on your guard."

Georgiana frowned bemused, while she was an Earl's daughter, she had been to the markets before... not London's, but Wiltshire had its own section of stalls and shops. She lifted an incurious brow at her lesser, "Were you planning on stopping in a tavern or a brothel?"

It was Katerina's turn to blink in confusion, "...N-no, milady."

"Are we still getting herbs and a few bits and bobbles?" Georgiana pressed unconcerned as Katerina nodded, "Then what nefarious activity should I be on guard for?"

"Not a what really... more a who." Katerina edged uncomfortably as she refrained from fidgeting.

By this point, Georgiana had turned her full attention to her servant with an expression torn between amused and expectant. The last time she had seen someone look this uncomfortable it had been her mother as her father announced whom she was to marry. As that particular memory, her amusement became somewhat tempered, "A who?"

Katerina nodded, "It seems that Mr. Charles Brandon has taken an interest in you, milady. I believe he will seek you out at the markets today."

Georgiana felt a strange mix of emotions at the servant's words. She was suddenly terrified that Charles had discovered where his lost lamb had gotten to, but also excited? Nervous? Her heart was doing funny things in her chest while her stomach seemed to flutter in dread. She had no liking for any of it.

Feeling flushed and suddenly trembling, she attempted to keep her expression as placid as possible. She had told Katerina much about the man who had taken her maidenhead, but not his name and she was reluctant to give that particular detail away now, "Mr. Brandon? For what purpose? He knows that I'm engaged to Lord Somerset."

An almost pitying grimace crossed Katerina's expression, "Mr. Brandon cares not for such details... He has something of a reputation when it comes to the ladies of court."

Some part of Georgiana was wholly unsurprised by this pronouncement. She had heard a few whispers during tea and promenades with a few of the courtly matrons, but it was the way he had pursued and ravaged her that had already clued Georgiana onto that fact. Charles had been entirely too confident in everything he did that night not to have a few lovers. She had only been relieved to find that he wasn't married. She couldn't bear the thought of humiliating another woman in such a way... though she had hoped, perhaps naively, that Charles would feel the same.

Heart sinking in her chest, she stubbornly pushed her swelling emotions away, "Well, Mr. Brandon will simply have to learn that just because he chases doesn't mean he'll capture his quarry."

"Of course, milady." There was a pause as Katerina watched her young mistress flare almost defiantly at her unintendingly patronizing tone.

Then a thought seemed to occur to Georgiana as her gaze narrowed faintly, "Katerina, how does Mr. Brandon know I'll be at the markets? I haven't told a soul."

Katerina felt an embarrassed flush climb to her cheeks as she weakly uttered, "My apologies, milady..."

A strange stab of betrayal welled in Georgiana as she quickly connected the dots. She felt angry that her information had been given away so easily and wondered at what else her servant had imparted.

Shakily, she demanded, "What else did you tell him? Should I be waiting for more lecherous men to hound my heels now that I'm... I'm damaged goods. Should I expect Lord Somerset to break off our engagement? Will my father be storming through that door to vent his humiliation and anger at me?"

Katerina's emerald eyes widen in surprise as she softly shook her head.

"No, no, milady. It wasn't like that at all..." She sighed and tried to find the right words, "I don't gossip, milady. It leads to too much trouble, especially around here. Mr. Brandon knows this about me... he knows me too well." She said a little bitterly, "The only information I conveyed, was your whereabouts. Anything else he would have to get elsewhere."

Georgiana studied her a moment in an almost surly manner. Katerina's frustrated anger hadn't escaped her notice. She knew resentment like that and it brought a thin strain of concern to the surface as tentatively she asked, "You're angry with him...did he force you, Katerina? Did he hurt you?"

A rueful chuckle left the servant as she shook her head, "I'm angry with me, milady. Mr. Brandon can be quite persuasive when he wants to be and almost single-handedly determined. It's why I warn you to beware of him, be on your guard. You have yet to be exposed to his particular set of charms, but that should only give you armor against him."

Georgia nearly choked on an incredulous laugh that bubbled in her throat. Oh, she knew Mr. Brandon's charms alright... And so too, it seemed did Katerina. A different feeling of betrayal wound tight around her heart, but she knew it was silly to even feel it. Brandon wasn't hers, after all.

Pouting vaguely, she sent an uncertain glance to the fearful maid, "Only my whereabouts?"

"Yes, milady." Katerina stated soundly a feeling of quiet relief settled in her stomach as it slowly became clear that Georgiana wouldn't have her dismissed.

To her credit, Georgiana managed to force out a grudgingly sympathetic smile and retort, "He is rather handsome, isn't he?"

Katerina giggled, "If only he didn't know it, milady."

Georgiana hummed in agreement before her smile turned sly and she teased, "Well, we should go get you some of your tea then."

Katerina blinked in shock at the lighthearted dig but found another chuckle escaping as she nodded in agreement. Suddenly, she was rather looking forward to Brandon's encounter with Georgiana. It would be a show, of that the servant was certain.

       ༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺   ༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Charles was beginning to hate the markets.

Admittedly, the last time he had spent any time here was when he had been a boy. It had been a treat then, now his business tended more towards the smiths and cobblers than any of the food stores. He was finding it all very tedious and boring. He had waved off more than one vendor seeking his coin and quickly learned to steer clear of the stalls selling fish and hens – the stench would wake a dead man. Though a particularly good noonday meal was had, when he had discovered where the baker resided. Since then, he had been content to linger near its walls as he carefully scanned the milling crowds.

A little over an hour had passed and he had yet to see either Katerina or the Lady Georgiana. He was beginning to think he had been misled. On the verge of giving up his hunt, Charles wandered from the food stalls toward the blacksmiths. This trip was not to be wasted; he had been meaning to order a new sword for the tournaments and this was as good a time as any.

Of course, it was when he set his sights on new endeavors that his original one came into view. He found Kitty amongst the stalls catering to spices and liniments. Her fiery red hair made her a beacon in the crowd. Quickly, he stepped back amongst the shadows of the booths as he observed her bartering with a merchant for some herbs. He did another scan of the area but saw no courtly lady hovering nearby.

He frowned.

It was possible that Lady Georgiana had changed her mind and had simply sent Katerina in her stead. If that were the case then his time spent milling about had been wasted indeed.

Quietly, he sidled up to Kitty as a small jar of dried leaves was passed to her. She peered up at him in curiosity before a disgruntled frown befell her lips. He tried not to grin at her dour look. Kitty was always fun to tease – her unwillingly willing participation in his games never ceased to amuse him.

"Kitty."

"Mr. Brandon." His name sounded like an epithet from her lips.

He smiled beguilingly, "Where is your mistress?"

Katerina hummed dispassionately under her breath, though a subtle mocking gleam entered her gaze at his question, "She is here, sir."

Charles found himself narrowing his gaze at the servant, "Where, Kitty?"

"Use your eyes, sir." Katerina instructed almost loftily as she placed her jar into the basket she carried, "Surely, your sight is not so bad."

Charles felt his brow furrow as he continued to stare at her, but when she merely blinked at him, he knew he would gain no further help. Stifling an aggravated sigh, he once again looked over the crowds. The finery of court would have caught his attention, but he saw only fellow courtiers that fell into that role. Instead, he began to study every female with a predator-like intensity, all the while he could feel Kitty growing steadily more amused.

He was torn between storming off and demanding her assistance again when a voice chimed at Katerina's side, "Looking for your lost lamb still, Mr. Brandon?"

Katerina bit her lip as Charles's gaze swung around. Georgiana stood next to her with a perfectly innocent expression painting her mien, but that was momentarily lost to Charles as he took in her outfit. She was dressed not too dissimilarly from Katerina and bore no jewelry at all. Her skin was bare and her hair plaited neatly, her only accessory was a silk ribbon. Though a blossomed young woman, she looked every inch of her seventeen years at that moment.

Startled, he inclined his head as he barely remembered his manners, "Lady Georgiana... I almost didn't recognize you."

"I dare say you didn't." Georgiana replied lightly as she passed a parcel of fabric to Katerina, "Nor have you answered my question."

"No..., I supposed I haven't, milady." Charles agreed almost belatedly. He felt off-put and she... she was unsurprised by his presence, "I'm afraid that my lost lamb will remain lost."

Georgiana raised a brow, "How sad for you. Did you need Katerina for something Mr. Brandon? If not, we have more items to gather before the day grows too late."

Charles wasn't sure if Georgiana realized it, but a vague note of haughty disapproval tempered her tone. His lips twitched with a desire to smirk, but he held it at bay. It appeared that Kitty had divulged something of their tryst to the Lady – well that made things more difficult, "Actually, I was seeking your company, milady, but I'm sure you already knew that."

Georgiana tilted her head in acknowledgment, "Something may have been mentioned, though I fail to understand your interest."

Her sea-blue eyes glittered warily and a sense of familiarity washed over him as it had the previous two encounters that he had with the Lady. He swore he knew her and for a fleeting moment he wondered if she was his Charlotte, but her indifference to him had him reconsidering. His little virginal treat had been full of blushes and smothered giggles – he would be hard-pressed to pull those from the tauntingly affable woman before him. Still... it would be interesting to try.

"A beautiful young lady? New to court? I would be remiss not to take an interest." Charles answered genially and wasn't surprised when both women looked unimpressed. It brought a wicked smile to his lips.

"And that lady is engaged, as you well know, sir. Your interest is undue." Georgiana retorted primly and felt her mother beam with pride somewhere. She nearly gagged on her words, but she refused to let Brandon have anything that looked like the upper hand in this conversation. She wasn't sure if it was the fact that she knew he had already found others to warm his bed that pricked her nerve or the fact that the mischievous spark in his eye still sparked her interest. It now seemed intolerable that where he had once seemed dangerous and seductive, he now seemed cocksure and smarmy.

She was overcome with the desire to hit him.

Just once. If only to wipe the knowing smirk from his all too delectable lips.

"And where is your intended? Should he not be attending to you as a dutiful fiancé should?" Charles prodded lightly as he saw an opening in their little tête-à-tête. It was obvious to all that the engagement was arranged, this was no love match, and he sorely doubted that she wished to bed a man thrice her age.

A biting smirk answered him as Georgiana stepped away from Katerina's side and into his space, "As you know, Mr. Brandon, my fiancé holds an important station and has much to do. Though I'm sure his load would be lightened if his lessers performed their courtly duties with the same dedication that you seem to have in finding bedfellows."

A shocked bark of laughter tore from Charles's throat at her boldness, "Who said anything about bedfellows, Lady Georgiana? Surely, you don't think a man's - my interest is purely carnal? I wouldn't think a lady of your standing would have such indecent thoughts. I'm of a mind to demand an apology."

"An apology?" Georgiana proclaimed incredulously.

"For your indecorous assumptions to my character." Charles stated evenly as he turned a pointed stare to her companion, "No doubt influenced by other sources."

"Hardly, and do leave other sources out of this, sir." Georgiana retorted without missing a beat, "But please do tell, what were your saintly intentions?"

Despite her annoyed inflection, Charles could see that she was enjoying this strange battle of wills, and even more strange he was too. She was quick with her sharp words, but she hadn't strayed yet into recklessness. He wanted to push her there.

He allowed a patronizing smile as he answered, "Merely to offer my friendship and guidance, milady. Court can be quite daunting to those who have no experience."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously at him and Charles wondered how much further he could provoke her before she gave in to her irritation.

Yet, she showed a measure of control that he hadn't expected.

"How kind of you." Georgiana drawled before gesturing to Katerina to continue to the other stalls and stepping back herself. He frowned as she began to make her parting courtesies, "If you'll excuse me, Mr. Brandon. The day grows long and I still have shopping to complete before supper."

"Truly? It looks more like you're running away, milady." Charles taunted and hid a pleased smirk when her back stiffened and she turned to him again.

Her eyes blazed at him as she imitated his mock politeness, "Running away? Oh no, sir, I'm merely letting a little lamb that I unwittingly snared free."

Amusement warred with outrage at her words. He had wanted her reckless, but now he was suddenly so very tempted to throw her over his knee or at the very least teach her to curb her tongue.

His smile turned sharp as he leered over her, "I am no lamb, lady."

"No." She agreed quietly as she registered how close they now stood to each other, "More a wolf in sheep's wool."

As if in agreement with her assessment, a low rumbling growl answered her words as he leant closer still, "I wouldn't bite...much."

His predatory gaze noted that she had begun to faintly tremble as he reached a gentle finger to brush along her cheek. Goosebumps painted her arms at his touch and the shuddering breath she took lighted a fire that traveled straight to his cock. But it was her greenish-blue eyes – eyes that shone with wariness and curiosity, also shone with heady desire. She wanted this. Good...the little minx wasn't nearly as unaffected as she would like to seem.

"I think." Georgiana started somewhat shakily as her soft hand wrapped over his, "I think you would devour me if given half the chance."

He let her pull his hand down from her face and studied her intently. He could see that she was on the edge, but if he pushed too hard then she would fall away from him rather than into him.

Quietly, he asked, "Would that be so bad, milady?"

Georgiana stared at him wide-eyed, "Maybe... it would be trouble. You certainly seem like trouble, Mr. Brandon."

"Careful, Lady, I may extract an apology from you yet."

"I-"

"Lady Georgiana!" Katerina called in the distance like a burst cork from a champagne bottle.

It yanked the couple back to the present and Charles could only watch as she slipped from his grasp.

She pulled her hand from his and he found that he missed its warmth, but he didn't follow after her as she slid back into the crowds like a lovely wraith. His dark blue eyes followed her as she scurried to Katerina's side and dared a timid glance over her shoulder to find him. Her curiosity, wariness, and desire still there, but now muted. His lust burrowed into his veins under that look and was not to be moved.

Yes... yes, he would devour her. The Lady really should know better than to run from a wolf.

       ༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺   ༻✧༺　༻✦༺

"Lord Somerset."

Charles looked up from his paperwork and abruptly moved to stand for a bow at the sight of the Queen. He hadn't heard her approach and was mildly surprised to see none of her ladies attending her, "Your Majesty."

She smiled politely and gestured for him to stand properly, "I did not mean to intrude, my Lord."

Somerset frowned with a passing glance at the plans for a tournament that the King wanted to hold. Another costly waste of frivolity in the Chamberlain's opinion, but he was not one to oppose the whims of his monarch. Especially not one as temperamental as Henry. He shook his head gently and offered the Queen a rueful grimace, "Your presence is never an intrusion. Is there something I can help you with, ma'am?"

"Yes, I am holding afternoon tea tomorrow with a few of the ladies of court. I would like it if Lady Georgiana were to attend." Katherine said simply with an expectant look, "It would benefit her to know her peers better, no?"

Somerset smiled at the Queen's graciousness. It would behoove Georgiana to become more familiar with the players at court. She would spend much of her time here in residence with him and having a few allies in place by the time of their wedding would allow for a smoother transition, "That sounds like a splendid idea, Your Majesty. I am to sup with the Stafford family this evening. I will pass along your invitation."

Katherine's smile turned a little more genuine, "I would be most grateful, Lord Somerset. I would have passed on the invitation myself, but it seems that Lady Georgiana is visiting the markets today. Preparing for the wedding, no doubt."

That surprised the Lord Chamberlain, Georgiana had shown only the minimal amount of interest on their impending marriage. Not that he blamed the poor girl, but he had been under the assumption that her mother would make the majority of the arrangements. His heart lightened slightly at the thought of her becoming more involved. It showed at least a cursory acceptance of her fate... He truly did need to spend more time with her.

Realizing that he hadn't answered the Queen, he smiled pleasantly, "I'm sure, ma'am. There is much to do before the month is out."

Katherine almost seemed to hesitate as she studied the Earl. She was not one to meddle in the affairs of court, unless those affairs somehow affected her and her family, but she would also be remiss not to speak plainly, "Yes, I can imagine. Lady Georgiana showed her grace and obedience well before my husband...but tell me, Lord Somerset, do you know if she is truly happy with this match?"

Charles was hardly surprised by her question, much like Henry he had seen her glimmer of disapproval at the marriage announcement, "In truth, your majesty, I do not know. I have only been presented with her grace and obedience, as well. She doesn't seem to have any objections."

"That is not the same as being content, my Lord." Katherine stated sagely, "She is young and still has much to learn of this world. I would like you to remember that."

A strange mix of chastened and vague amusement welled up in Somerset at the Queen's subtle lecture. A complacent expression crossed his features as he sought the words to placate her, "I shall, ma'am. My Elizabeth, God rest her, was a boon to me in many ways that I didn't expect of a wife. She was my friend. I hope for much the same from Georgiana."

Something softened in the Queen at his quiet confession. She nodded her head understanding, while she had barely known the late Lady Somerset, she had known of her integral role in her husband's work. Katherine could only hope that Henry would one day feel the same of her. Lately, the hopeful shine in the King's icy gaze had been replaced by resigned disappointment. She hated that look.

Drawing a breath, she decided her meddling in this particular affair was at an end, "I shall let you return to your work. Have a good night, my Lord."

"You as well, Your Majesty." Somerset intoned as he watched her sweep from the room.

He pondered for a brief moment over whether Georgiana could count the Queen as one of her courtly allies...

Previous Chapter         Next Chapter

#Charles Brandon #charles brandon fic #charles brandon fanfiction #duke of suffolk #the tudors #tudors fanfiction #tudors fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #Katherine of Aragon #The Wiles of Men and Women

[diary-of-deadweight]

Friendship anniversary.

Pairing: Tenya Iida x reader

Summary: what started out as a idea pitched at 3am turned tradition, Iida is planning something big with the help of Deku and Uraraka.

Iida paced within the comfort of his own room, arms behind his back as he racked his brain of what to get you for friendship anniversary, which was slowly creeping nearer the longer he spent a majority of the free time pacing with no dice. It was a beyond infuriating task as your someone who values the thought put into a gift rather then the price tag; hell he could give you a notebook and you would love it as if you were gifted a car instead. Iida wanted to give you something you’d love even if the price is above the budget you agreed on way back then.

So he visited the local jewellery store at the weekend and saw something he’d think you would absolutely love as it reminded him of your beauty and how much it has blossomed over your years of friendship, not just physically but personality wise too, he bought it and kept it in his desk since then but for Iida one gift wasn’t enough as you always managed to get him two gifts he absolutely loved which is why he was currently pacing in his room.

He was trying to come up with another gift he’d knew you would like.

sad thing was that he didn’t know what to get you as he already bought you the latest movies and the latest manga of your favourite anime; one punchman which was a true tale about a bald hero and his immense strength, speed and agility along side his dream of meeting a strong enough opponent who can toss him around a bit before knocking them around abut himself with a single punch, for your birthday and previous friendship anniversaries that he was left to his own devices this time round.

A knock upon the door pulled him from out of his brainstorming session, striding over to the door to see who was in need of his assistance during this dire time. “Hey Iida.” The class rep was greeted by his dear friends, Izuku and Uraraka, “do you wanna head to the mall with us?” The Brunette asked. “I’m sorry but I’m currrntly facing a task that requires my full attention right now, so I’m gonna have to decline your offer.” Iida informed them before closing the door on them, ready to get back to his scheduled brainstorming only to find his friends sat upon his bed made him do a double take between the door and them in befuddlement that went unnoticed by the two. “What’s troubling you Iida, we are your friends and friends help each other,” Ochaco nodded her head vigorously at Midoriya’s statement, “so we shall tackle this issue together.”

Iida sighed, shaking his head in disbelief at his friends persistence of wanting to aid him and decided that three heads were ultimately better then one and he was in desperate need of an idea so what could go wrong? “It’s mine and (y/n)’s frienship anniversary coming up and I’m struggling to think of another gift to give them.” He day himself on the other side of Midoriya, leaning his back against the cold wall. “So what is the first gift you got them?” Ochaco tilted her head to the side, her bob haircut followed suit with her moment.

“An Swarovski crystal necklace.”

Izuku and Ochaco gasped in surprise, sharing a look before looking back at Iida, “Doesn’t (y/n) hate expensive gifts because a Swarovski Crystal isn’t cheap.”

“I know, I thought that if I tell them that it reminded me of how beautiful and unique our friendship is that they wanted to preserve it forever.” Iida explained, blushing slightly when Uraraka cooed at how cute it all was that the bluenette must’ve thought she misinterpreted it as something albeit romantic but waved it off as accidental. “Why don’t you show them how much they mean to you.” Izuku suggested with a shrug, Iida thought about it and sure enough took interest in the idea, “what do you mean by that Midoriya?”

“I mean that you should create a slide by slide presentation on all the great moments you’ve had together.” The curly emerald haired male expanded upon his idea, “add some videos if you have any.” Ochaco added for the hell of it, already excited to see the finished product that they both free balled ideas that Iida either shot down due to being unrealistic to pull off or liked as it was something that could be easily accomplished.

This went on well into the afternoon and they decided that the plan was ready to go and went down to celebrate with Katsuki’s cooking as they dragged their limbs that felt like they were 100 pounds heavier with each step they took.

Timeskip

When the day finally arrived Iida was practically sweating bullets and his nervousness kicked into overdrive as he couldn’t seem to hold the USB without his hand violently shaking that he decided to place it within the safety in his pocket along side the necklace so he didn’t loose and or drop it anytime soon. He looked up at the clock upon the wall, sapphire gaze setting upon the illumonesent scarlet numbers which flashed repeatedly:

‘8:30am’

It wouldn’t be long until you would wake up and head down to the common room for breakfast and your morning cup of tea/coffee, you were a grumpy little shit without it as many of the class found out first hand. So the tall male setted off out the door and down to the common room like a bolt of lightning and began setting up everything whilst leaving his friends Uraraka and Midoriya to inform the rest of his classmates why most of the common room will be sectioned off into a blanket fort, they insisted in helping him set up to which he declined but appreciated their offer as this day was primarily for you and him specifically after a 3am conversation.

So he was thankful that no one was down in the common room as a majority of them were heavy sleepers and wouldn’t get up until like 10 am whilst people like Katsuki and Kirishima were early worms and would get up the millisecond the sun rose and do some morning training which gave Iida the chance to litter the floor with wisteria petals, whip out a old theatre screen from the closets (I don’t know the fucking name to them ok.) a little projector that he could connect to the computer and did a little test run beofre giving the room a satifying nod just as a ‘ping’ noise came from his phone.

It was a text from Midoriya.

‘Hey Iida are you ready cuz (y/n) is heading towards the staircase right now, Uraraka tried to stall them a little to give you extra time but it failed badly.’

Iida smiled at how kind his friends are to stall time for him, he responded back with.

‘Thank you Midoriya I’m already set up with relatively ease but I appreciate the help.’

After he pocketed his phone a voice from the stair case he knew almost instantly.

“Oh my god...Iida,” he turns around to you with a softened look, “is this all for our special day?” He wordlessly nods, “it’s beautiful.” He watched your wide eyed expression as they wander around the decorated section as if you were walking through the snow covered streets of Musutafu as you came from a *cough* fictional *cough* country where snow is rare; unable to speak which gave Iida mixed emotions as half of him believed it was out of disgust while the other half believed that it was out of shock and amazement at his efforts of making today the best friend’s anniversary in recent memory, something he hope you both remember years from now.

He wandered over to you, resting a hand upon your shoulder that made you jump slightly, you turned to him with an almost unreadable expression, making IIda’s worry increased by a fraction.

“(Y/n), do you like it?”

“Like it? Like it? Iida I love it!” You exploded with joy as you hugged the male as tightly that he swore he couldn’t feel his lower half beofre finally deciding that it was time to show you the gifts so he tapped you on the shoulder to signify for you to release him, which you did as you watched him as he made his way over to the computer, pressing play as a video began playing from the projector that began with some emotional music whilst pictures of you and Iida flashed before your eyes while every once in a while bold lettering would spread saying the sweetest shit like:

‘Under a cherry blossom tree three years ago stood a person I had no idea would later become my best friend. Someone I couldn’t possibly live without or be away from for an extensive period of time without worrying about their well being but I know that they know I only mean well when I do so.

‘But as of this year, 2020, I had troubles trying to think of what to get them as I would spoil them rotten under the radar which’ll most definitely earn me a scolding later today. If it wasn’t for Izuku and Uraraka for giving me this idea during my time of stress, I don’t know what I would’ve done.’

Before another barrage of photos and videos of you both either inside or outside the academy, being either falsely stern at each other and laughing about it seconds after or just pulling funny faces at the camera.

‘So I decided to take their idea and make a presentation on how much (y/n) (l/n)’s frienship means to me so I’m going to summarise it on a sentence before the next section of pictures cuts in.’

You chuckled at this.

‘(Y/n)’s friendship means everything to me and I would never trade it for anything.’

So as the last load of pictures and or videos came to an end one last paragraph showed itself over an uncomfortably zoomed in picture of your face such drew a hysterical laugh from your lips, a sweet release from all the crying you’ve been doing through out it all as nostalgia swept you off your feet and carried you down memeory lane of each individual picture and or video. You truly didn’t know where you’d be without having this sapphire eyed male beside you...you truly didn’t.

‘(Y/n). Your friendship was and always will be the greatest thing I’ve ever experienced and I hope that even well into adulthood we still uphold this tradition for as long as we can, I never wish to loose the unique relationship we’ve built overtime due to the lack of communication, it’s something I’d be stupid to give up, so I hope you enjoy the next gift that, honestly costed a pretty penny but was most defiantly worth it as it symbols out frienship and how it’s so unique it had to be crystallised. Happy friend anniversary (y/n), here’s to many more’

- Tenya Iida.

Tenya then knelt next to you as he hands you a small box, gesturing you to open it with a nod of his head as he wiped away the tears that had gathered within his eyes over the presentation and the waves of nostalgia that wished over him and how even through the worst of days you both stuck together like gorilla glue.

You opened the beautifully presented box to see this:

“A Swarovski Crystal?!” You exclaimed as you dangled the necklace in front of your blurry eyes as you admired hoe it glistened under the light, “Tenya Iida, you beautiful bastard help me get this on please.” You sniffled as you unclasped the necklace, handing it to Iida who sat himself behind you, shifting hair out of the way as he clasped the necklace as you felt the center price rest upon the middle of your chest as you gazed down at it in awe, wiping away the tears that cascaded down your cheeks like a waterfall as you were riddlers with emotions that you just thought ‘fuck it’ and tackled Tenya into a hug as you cried into him; saying how you didn’t deserve such a friend as loyal as him and thanked him for being born, how blessed you were to have him in your life which made Iida collapse into a heap of tears himself, while unknownst to you, the rest of your class stood on the stair way, smiling at your sweet moment before evacuating the area to give you both some privacy.

Later down the line you and Iida may or may not have gotten married later on in life and would be spending your third anniversary underneath a familiar cherry blossom tree, the same exact one where you first met all those years back.

#anime #bnha #anime x reader #anime imagine #mha x reader #bnha x reader #bnha imagine #bnha imagines #tenya iida imagine #tenya iida imagines #tenya iida x reader #iida imagines #iida x reader #iida imagine #mha imagines #mha imagine

[fuse2dx]

December ‘20

Bugsnax

Bugsnax is an odd little title, landing somewhere between Pokémon Snap and Ape Escape. There’s a bit less of a frantic pace though, instead telling a tale of a remote island where the titular part-animal, part-snack race roam about, with a series of characters each having their own relationship to them that... typically involves eating them. The disappearance of one key villager has been the catalyst to everything heading into a state of confusion though, and as the new person in town, it becomes your job to pull everything back together, all while trying to piece together a better understanding of just what Bugsnax are in the first place.

The game’s main cast are loud, colourful, and full of personality, with some decent queer representation going on too. It’s regularly quite charming, but the story runs parallel to a pretty simple gameplay loop of going out to a new area, meeting an estranged villager, getting a new tool that allows you to catch some new ‘snax in service of a given task for said villager, that inevitably fuels their return to the village. While catching a good chunk of the 100-strong Bugsnax portfolio follows a fairly repeatable mould of trap-setting and capture, some require some slightly more creative thinking, and final smattering lean more on good fortune as you try and juggle a few different elements in a way that sets up the perfect snaring. 

I’ve seen some talk of folks who found the last sections of the game a little out of character, but having gone through all of the side missions before heading for the finish line, nothing came as too much of a surprise for myself. As a PS5 launch game it might lack the flair and experimentation that one might expect, but in better handling one’s expectations and seeing ‘just’ a game with extraordinary timing, it’s a pleasant and sufficiently entertaining romp - just nothing particularly out of the ordinary.   

Demon’s Souls

I was in two minds coming into this. I’ve played the opening few hours of Demon’s Souls about 5 times now, with each attempt before this one stalling at different points for a variety of petty and frustrating reasons. So this, a fresh chance to try again, newly polished and smoothed out, with active servers, and a revitalised community? Excellent! Yet on the other hand, how much of the magic is Bluepoint likely to have been able to recreate? Even as a shot-for-shot remake, what if they had diluted the experience? 

While I can’t speak with any particular authority here, very little seems to have changed outside of the visual overhaul. Some areas might be a bit easier to navigate owing to their new lick of paint, but enemies still pose the same threat, and everything is still where it should be, as are the obtuse, woefully under-discussed karmic swings that underpin its tendency system. Let’s not pull punches; it’s most notably a mean platform to build a game upon that makes suffering players suffer more, and is likely not one that you’ll even be aware of it before near irreversible damage is already done. From have undoubtably done similar concepts much better since, and while I might bemoan it, there’s also something to be said for allowing it to still exist just as it did at the series’ outset. It’s likely a wise choice on Bluepoint’s part to have left it untouched, albeit a slightly cruel one.

While the lack of a single, interconnected world was not yet on the cards for this particular Souls outing, there’s still plenty of great level design, with each of the game’s archstones providing a theme that’s adhered to brilliantly. A few exceptions aside, boss battles are typically less about flexing combat chops too, proving more of a challenge in solving how to approach them in the first place. In doing so, it creates some truly memorable moments alongside those that are purely frantic and rewarding thereafter. The same can be said for the game at large too; while its punishment of new players might be its most infamous quality, it does do a remarkable job in having you learn its every inch, and how best to deal with everything it cares to throw at you. While the chase of 1:1 replication might mean some of its jankiness remains, its visual overhaul and silky smooth frame rate certainly do a good job in helping you overlook it all and in embracing the still best-in-class world building. One of the years’ best, and by far the most compelling reason to date for next-gen ownership. 

Grindstone

Grindstone was front and centre right as the doors opened on Apple Arcade, and it’s a pretty easy to see why it’d be pegged for such honours. It’s bright, colourful, charming, and very easy to pick up. Some of Capy’s other noteworthy titles might fall more into the realm of the arthouse, but this is them at full power, exhibiting that ultimate strength of knowing just how to capture any given audience. Most of the game is spent planning out your turn, and it looks great even in this calm stillness - but as you unleash the mighty Jorj on each of his rampages, there is a satisfying spring into action that gives the same kind of satisfactory twang you might get from an elastic band, or a coiled slinky about to bound down a flight of stairs.

Within a few short stages almost all of the base mechanics are laid bare, with each turn asking you to plot a course through colour-matched enemies, and landing you far enough away from any enraged enemies that’d seek to do you harm. Chain for long enough and you’ll spawn a grindstone that’ll let you switch colours mid-combo, and building up enough hits can then allow you to expend that strength on monsters with higher health pools. The range of enemy types grows as you progress, as does the array of new tools you can build that allow you new ways of dealing with them all, but ultimately the balance that needs addressing is knowing just when to walk away. There’s typically three goals to each level - opening the exit being just the first of these - and while in some cases you might have a handle on things when the exit does open up, it’s often not the case, and hanging around too long carries the risk of losing all of your progress on the stage if you lose a clear path to your escape.

Some of its later mechanics and the level arrangements can be quite taxing, and while never completely unfair, it can definitely... grind... on your patience. For something that could easily be taken as a casual little puzzle game, it’s quite lengthy too - the path unbroken leads you through a whopping 180 stages, but without extensive draining of resources from each of these, you’ll likely need to try some of the side dungeons to help make your way to the end too. Very likely more than your bargained for then, and yet still plenty compelling to boot.

Necrobarista

Some neatly constructed character models and a snappy trailer might attempt to tell you otherwise, but let us be clear with one another that Necrobarista is very much a visual novel. A shock to the system this may be, but anyone reading this likely knows by now this is far from a bad thing around these parts, so let us look a little closer.

It’s quite a melancholic thing, set in a less than conventional, somewhat Purgatorial coffee shop, where the newly departed stop in for a brief spell and a brew before taking the next step into the great unknown. While there’s a setup here for lots of stories to be told, it really draws in on a small cast of characters who look after the shop, and how a few key visitors change the world built up around them. Between each of the game’s chapters there’s the opportunity to unlock new side stories dependent on which of the phrases you chose to identify with from the chapter just gone, and although short, these do some good work fleshing out some characters and breaking up the main tale. As the title would suggest, the particulars of coffee do come up as a point of conversation, but there’s no drink-making side shows here - just a lot of talking, scheming about how to cheat death, and the more chin-scratching topic of a more accepting approach to this great inevitability.

It’s fairly short - comfortably under 10 hours - but crucially gets plenty of character development from each of its cast given the tight focus. Rather than the still portraits that you might come to expect of the genre, characters are given a real depth with 3D models that convey just as much as their words, which also helps this effort. Perhaps most crucially, and whether it’s in spite of all of the death, or instead because of it, there’s plenty of quite thoughtful and heartfelt sentiment hidden inside it. Comes recommended.

Tangle Tower

I picked this up for Switch based on a recommendation, not knowing that I’d unknowingly be closing out an Apple Arcade hat trick for the month. So yes, it’s another more story-driven game, not too heavy on the input requirements, but instead good for getting you thinking.

It’s immediately very easy on the eye, with each and every character drawn in large format and animated with buckets of quirk and charm that runneth over. Every single one is brilliantly voiced too, with varying degrees of charisma, bluster, dry wit, and numerous other characteristics that shine through in brilliant harmony with the art. It’s a murder mystery, see, and while you’re putting together what everyone says has happened, looking out for who’s fancying who and the like, you’re also doing so with the critical expectation that at least one person is likely spinning you some tall tales. Luckily you’ll find clues that help you get closer to the truth and help deconstruct some of these falsehoods, whether they’re in plain sight or hidden behind one of many puzzles. These are exemplary in just how well-pitched they come, each being self-contained and just tricky enough to have you pause to really think about them, but without ever being too irksome or troubling to stop you enjoying yourself. Once you do start to get to the point of unmasking some secrets, there’s also a neat little interface the game rolls out for you to drop in and then verify these revelations; pairing numerous characters, items and statements to help demonstrate to it that you’re keeping up with it all, and things are clear enough to move on. There’s subtle little prods in the right direction just when they seem to be needed, further cementing the game’s solid grasp of when it’s best to say something, and when it can let you just stumble about and get on with it.

It’s a fantastic little game. I lost a day or so to this, and had a wonderful time doing so. I hope that it’s not too far away that I forget all of the details, so that I might do it all over again.

#bugsnax #demons souls #grindstone #necrobarista #tangle tower

[lets-talk-appella]

Roman Holiday

Bechloe Week 2019 -- Soulmates

Summary: Three years after the events of Pitch Perfect 3, Beca and Chloe meet again on a long-haul flight to Rome.

Word Count: 9k

Rating: G

AO3 and FFN

For @acabellas, who read it first.

Beca shoves her bag into the overhead with a muffled curse. She’d told herself to pack light, but apparently, she hadn’t listened. 

“Do you need help with that, ma’am?”

Beca glances over, making quick eye contact with the overly-perky blonde flight attendant (really, just that simple sentence had been coated with enough false sugar to rot Beca’s teeth) before returning her attention to stowing her carry-on. 

“No, I’m good, thanks,” she grumbles, then puffs out a breath when her bag finally slides into place and stays. 

The attendant walks away, and Beca plops down into her first-class seat, barely taking the time to appreciate the enormous, clearly-able-to-turn-into-a-somewhat-comfortable-bed window seat and the large TV screen in front of her as she reaches for her headphones. She settles back into the cushy seat, places the headphones over her ears, starts the first track, and closes her eyes with a sigh. She’s looking forward to listening to some demos and then maybe watching a movie before passing out on the overnight flight to Rome. 

On second thought, Beca thinks as she starts to doze off almost as soon as her eyes are closed, maybe she’ll skip the movie and just sleep. Sleep would be good.

And, who knows, if the seat to her right remains empty, maybe she can stretch out even more on that.

With that hope in mind, Beca lets herself drift off to the sound of her music, which perfectly muffles the commotion of hordes of other people—vacationers, mostly—boarding the flight.

Unfortunately, not ten minutes later, she’s pulled back to consciousness by that same annoying, overly-sweet voice that somehow manages to pierce through her otherwise relatively sound-proof headphones. Rather than opening her eyes to acknowledge the annoyance, she keeps them closed and hopes the flight attendant will leave soon. 

However, that isn’t the case.

“I’m sorry, but as the plane is at capacity, we can’t move your seat,” the attendant apologizes extremely loudly, apparently speaking to another passenger. “The best we could do is move you to business class, but as you paid for first class—”

“No, it’s—it’s fine,” comes a softer, almost contrite voice that Beca finds herself straining her ears to listen to. “Thanks for trying.”

Someone has kicked Beca in the stomach. That’s the only explanation for the horrible pang that rocks her gut at the sound of that voice. 

Before she can stop herself—she realizes too late that she should feign sleep for the entire flight—her eyes open, first finding the irksome flight attendant, then sliding past her and onto the person she’d been speaking to.

And she looks directly into Chloe Beale’s face for the first time in three years.

There’s a moment, a single half-second, where Beca thinks—hopes—that this is some kind of fever dream brought on by exhaustion, years of failed repression, and expired turkey in her airport sandwich. But her hope is almost immediately crushed, demolished, absolutely obliterated by the simple fact that she can see the trace of laugh lines that had formed around Chloe’s eyes and maybe the slightest hint of lighter streaking in her hair, pulled up into a messy bun. Beca knows herself well enough to know that she isn’t dreaming; she doesn’t dream in that much detail.

She can see a similar struggle of some kind going on behind Chloe’s eyes, can tell by the way her brows furrow just slightly and lips part only a hair in surprise; to anyone else, the signs might not have been noticeable, but Beca can tell. Chloe isn’t happy to see her. 

Time resumes in the next beat of Beca’s heart—though for a moment, she’d thought it might have stopped—and Chloe’s face pales. “H—” she starts, then has to pause and clear her throat. “Hi, Bec.”

It’s automatic and so, so easy for Beca to say, “Hey, Chlo,” as if it’s been mere hours since they’ve seen each other.

Then, Beca stares at Chloe and Chloe stares at Beca and no one makes the first move until the sugary flight attendant (Beca had almost forgotten she was even there) clears her throat pointedly. “Yes, well, seeing as you have elected to keep your seat, I suggest you take it,” she says, gesturing to the seat to Beca’s immediate right even as she starts walking away. “We will be taking off shortly.” 

Chloe’s eyes slide closed and her lips tighten, but then she nods and lifts a large pink duffle to hoist up to the overhead. Beca’s ears ring as Chloe gets settled, and she takes off her headphones automatically even though she knows they aren’t the cause. Her mind races, full of panic and guilt and disbelief and anger—because what are the odds of this happening now, today, when she’s had no time to prepare the words she knows she needs to say but were never intended to leave her lips.

She’s startled when Chloe’s knee bumps hers as she sits. She thinks Chloe even apologizes for the minimal contact but Beca doesn’t hear her, too busy shifting away and doing her very best to make herself small while also fighting back the torrent of memories threatening to overtake her.

Chloe looks a little older, a little more strained (which is probably to be expected after three years—Beca knows she’s certainly looked better), but still so familiar, still so Chloe that being this close to her pierces Beca like a knife. 

God, the last time she and Chloe touched—Christ, even the last time she saw Chloe in person… 

It’s unfortunate and a shame and absolutely beyond painful that one of Beca’s freshest, most recent memories of Chloe is how gorgeous she looked while kissing Chicago Walp.

Beca puts her headphones back on.

Leaning against the wall of the plane, she pretends to be staring out the window while in fact seeing nothing and doing her best to think of nothing. A feat in which she is only semi-successful.

Their flight is going to last nearly nine hours; it seems like it takes even longer than that for the plane to finally leave the gate and begin its roll down the tarmac. Even then, it’s almost twenty minutes before the real takeoff begins and the plane, along with its 375 passengers, hurls itself forward with a roar.

The takeoff—and the ten minutes immediately following as the plane builds altitude—isn’t smooth.

It’s pretty much the exact opposite of smooth.

Beca doesn’t mind a little turbulence, but she has to admit this seems excessive for a plane of this size. She can hear her bag and Chloe’s sliding around in the overhead, and a particularly hard jump of the plane almost makes her smack her head against the window. After that, she takes her headphones off so they don’t become damaged.

At the next heavy jostle, Chloe lets out a sharp gasp and Beca reflexively glances over. Chloe’s knuckles are white from her grip on the armrests and she’s tense as a board, ramrod straight in her seat. Her jaw is clenched, chin tilted down, and her eyes are squeezed tightly closed.

Beca grimaces; she remembers holding Chloe’s hand during the rocky sections of their flights as Bellas. Or, more specifically, she remembers Chloe’s grip nearly shattering all the delicate bones in her own hand. Beca hadn’t minded, though. Not really. All that mattered was that it made Chloe feel better.

She knows it isn’t her place anymore.

She wonders if Chloe has ever flown with Chicago, and if he ever let Chloe squeeze his hand to death.

Beca clears her throat. “So. Rome, huh?”

Chloe’s eyes fly open and she glances over sharply but doesn’t reply. If anything, she seems to draw in on herself even more, looking away just as quickly.

It’s a clear signal for Beca to stop talking now, please. And maybe she really should. Maybe she should stick with her original plan of music, movies, sleep, and—most importantly—seclusion, because there’s a reason they haven’t seen each other in three years and, going into the flight, Beca had had no intention of changing that. She had no real reason to.

But she can’t just sit in silence when Chloe is right there and is obviously terrified. She just can’t. So, with a promise to herself to cease any and all conversation once the turbulence has passed, Beca leans in.

“I’m not gonna bite, you know,” she shrugs, hoping she seems more relaxed than she really is. “And it’s a long flight, so…”

Chloe glances over again, but this time, she doesn’t look away. Her posture doesn’t budge—Beca wouldn’t be surprised if there were finger indents left on Chloe’s armrest—but she does seem to at least consider the fact that Beca is talking to her.

“Yeah,” she eventually says, her voice clipped. “Rome.”

“No layover?” Beca prods, for no reason at all other than she’s worried about potential damage to Chloe’s spine from being that wound up.

“Nope, just—just Rome.”

“Oh, nice. Uh, me too. Rome.”

And then Beca’s completely out of ideas for conversation topics. She settles for bobbing her head, a move that, in accordance with a poorly-timed jostle of the plane, actually does cause her to whack her head against the window. Despite the sharp pain, she pretends not to notice in the hopes that Chloe didn’t, either. It doesn’t quite seem to work, though, because a corner of Chloe’s mouth quirks up and—thankfully—her posture seems to relax just slightly.

“You’re not too busy being a superstar?” Chloe asks, only the barest hint of teasing leaking into her tone.

Beca’s brain stalls for an instant as she processes the fact that Chloe’s actually engaging in conversation. “Superstars get vacations, too,” she shrugs once her brain defrosts.

Chloe’s hands relax on the armrests, color flooding her knuckles again. “I suppose. They don’t get private jets?” 

Beca can’t stop herself from smiling just a little, thinking about how incredulous Theo had been when she’d turned down his offer for just that. “I wanted something more low profile.”

As soon as she finishes her sentence, the flight levels, reaching an altitude that doesn’t attempt to knock Beca’s teeth out. The noise level of the engine drops as Beca pops her ears, and she realizes she had basically been shouting at Chloe to be heard. 

The turbulence (hopefully) finished for the moment, Beca settles back into her seat as Chloe moves her hands to her own lap, folding them with a soft sigh. If Beca kept the promise she’d made to herself, she would put on her headphones again and block out Chloe for the rest of the flight. It would maybe be for the best, thinking long-term.

But, as in the case of her overpacking, Beca doesn’t listen to herself.

“So—”

“Um—”

They start speaking in unison, and it’s so awkward and this entire situation is so uncomfortable and unexpected that it makes Beca laugh, and just like that, she can’t quite remember why it was she’d made an internal vow of silence to begin with.

After all, it is going to be a long flight.

“You go first,” Beca suggests.

“Oh, okay,” Chloe says, pushing a strand of hair that had escaped from her bun behind her ear. “H—How have you been?” she asks, her voice light and casual.

“Uh, good. Yeah. Busy.” Beca winces, slightly irritated by her own urge to stop talking. She’s given countless interviews on national television—it should be the easiest thing in the world to talk to Chloe. (She knows why it isn’t.) “The last few years were crazy, uh, tours and albums, and… well, we wrapped up this tour last week, and, you know, I’m taking some rest now before I start on the next album. Theo has been kinda… he’s fine, really, but. A vacation would be good,” she finishes with a huff. 

She thinks that’s a decent amount of information, a coverage of the surface-level details Chloe should be privy to. It answers Chloe’s question, in a way, without detailing how truly exhausted she has been, how much this latest tour drained her of energy and happiness and how uncertain she is about her future with the label because she had never really wanted to sing, only produce, and her answer doesn’t even hint—doesn’t reveal so much as a single trace—of how honest-to-God lonely she is and how she puts out so much music in such a short time simply because she never wants to go home to her huge, magnificent, outstandingly empty house at the end of the day.

Chloe doesn’t need to know about any of that.

Chloe smiles. “That’s your third album?”

“Yep, third,” Beca nods. “It’s kinda crazy actually. Three albums in three years is kinda a lot.”

Oops. She wasn’t supposed to let that slip. She shifts in her seat, but if Chloe picks up on anything strange (Beca’s glaring need for rest, for instance), she doesn’t say. No; instead, she leans forward, all huge eyes and excited smile and practically oozes enthusiasm as she assures Beca, “They’re really good though! You’re doing amazing.”

Thrown by the sincerity shining from Chloe’s eyes, Beca stammers, “Th—thanks, that’s really—you listened to my albums?”

“Of course I did,” Chloe shakes her head, as though shocked that Beca would question that. “We all did.” 

She’s telling the truth. Beca knows because Chloe’s tells—eyes begging Beca to believe her, lips parted and ready to fling another compliment, her upper body leaned toward Beca in earnest—are all in place. Chloe doesn’t lie about music, and certainly not about Beca’s. She never has.

Beca has to look away; her eyes drop to her hands, which fiddle with one another in her lap. “Yeah, I… thanks.”

She doesn’t need to clarify the “we all” part of Chloe’s statement. Beca has been better about keeping in contact with some of the Bellas than she was with Chloe, but still. She hasn’t seen most of them in quite some time. The most recent was Amy, and that had been before her five-month world tour.

Saving Beca from further awkwardness, the drink cart prattles up the aisle ahead of them, stopping first next to a businessman in a full suit. Unfortunately, the same sickly sweet flight attendant from before is one of the women distributing the drinks. 

Beca groans softly in annoyance.

“Problem?” Chloe asks, following her line of sight.

“Just. That flight attendant is so fake-nice. You know?”

Chloe grins back at her playfully. “Maybe you’re too real-grumpy.”

“Whatever,” Beca huffs. “She’s paid to be nice to us. I want to know what she’s really thinking.”

“Well, Bec, she does have to deal with a ton of rude, smelly strangers on a flight.”

“Speak for yourself. I showered this morning.”

Looking surprised by Beca’s teasing, Chloe opens her mouth to fire right back, only for the drink cart to pull up next to her. The sugar-soaked voice asks for her drink order, and Beca’s.

They both come away from the encounter with glasses of white wine, complementary for first-class passengers. Beca sips hers, savoring the flavor as well as the feeling of it starting to roll through her limbs, calming her, and overall doing her best to avoid accidentally spilling it anywhere. 

“So, how are you?” she asks after a moment, glancing over at Chloe. She isn’t sure how much she wants to hear, in all honesty, but it seems rude not to ask, and for whatever reason, she desperately wants the conversation to keep going.

“Oh, good, yeah,” Chloe replies, then stops. 

It’s weird. Beca vaguely wonders if this is an episode of The Twilight Zone and they’d somehow flown into another dimension where Chloe stops speaking after only three relatively useless words.

So, Beca prods. “Vet school is still…?”

“Yeah, I graduate in December. A semester early, actually,” Chloe admits with a shrug and a pleased-looking smile.

“Dude, congrats! That’s a huge deal!”

“Thanks! It was because I did that internship, actually. I had a lot of the hours required, so. Early graduation.”

“Nice, nice, that’s… yeah. Great job.”

“Thanks,” Chloe repeats, then looks down with what might be a little shyness, or simply a desire to end the conversation.

Once again, Beca isn’t sure what to say. She knows she should ask more, like about Chloe’s classes, or maybe even use Chloe’s old internship as some kind of conversational spring-board to jump into reminiscing about the years spent living together in New York, but she doesn’t quite want to take a stroll down memory lane after all this time.

And Beca can’t ask about Chicago. She can’t. 

So, she pretends to look out the window for several minutes, the silence hanging between them becoming steadily more uncomfortable as time passes. Beca has no idea if Chloe has dozed off or has started reading or what because she doesn’t want to look away from all the interesting… shapeless white mist outside, which is growing steadily darker as the plane carries them toward Europe and a different time zone.

It gets to the point where Beca is relieved to hear that increasingly-familiar-and-annoyingly sweet voice of the flight attendant, accompanied by the rattle of a rapidly approaching food cart.

“Sushi, chicken, or pasta?” the woman asks. “We also have a menu if you would prefer something else.”

“Uh, sushi’s fine,” Beca mumbles, accepting the tray of it from the attendant.

Chloe orders pasta, and takes the tray with a “Thank you.” She stares down at the plate for a moment as Beca eats, long enough that Beca starts to become concerned that there’s something wrong with it—maybe it’s grotesquely overcooked or contains an errant used Band-Aid—but then Chloe looks over at her, surprise written across her face.

“So… this is really nice, wow.”

Beca stops chewing. “Hmm?”

“The food. The wine. The… everything,” Chloe says with a grand gesture around the first-class cabin.

“Oh.” Beca swallows the bite of sushi and glances around the cabin. It is certainly nice, though nothing that she hasn’t experienced before. Her (Theo’s) private jet is really much nicer, excessively so. “Yeah, I suppose it is,” she says slowly, wondering for the first time why it’s Chloe sitting next to her rather than some snobby, stiff CEO with money to toss out the window. “Hey, why are you flying—”

“Are these mushrooms any good, you think?” Chloe muses as she peers suspiciously down at her pasta, poking her fork at the limp gray fungus mixed into the sauce. 

Beca looks over her shoulder at the mushrooms. “They look okay,” she says with a shrug. “Gotta be safer than anything I’d make.”

Chloe pauses her prodding to grin at Beca. “You were a decent chef,” she says, the pitch of her voice raising rather obviously. Her eyes flick away and she takes a massive bite of her pasta. She always has been a bad liar. 

Beca raises an eyebrow and tilts her head skeptically. She had tried cooking for Chloe and Amy a few times when they’d lived together in New York, yielding less than ideal results.

Chloe’s nose wrinkles guilty. “Okay, you weren’t great.”

“Chloe.” Beca stares. “I had the fire department come twice!”

“Yeah, okay, but the little sad face you made after was so cute.”

“Mmph.” Beca rolls her eyes, trying to ignore the tingling heat rising in her neck at Chloe calling her “cute.” She highly doubts that anyone at the fire department would have called her “cute” after almost burning down the apartment complex twice. “Still not as bad as the time Amy almost got arrested for assault when she punched the mailman.”

Chloe laughs, a real, full laugh that makes her eyes shine and brightens the air around her. At the sight of it—of Chloe’s sincere happiness—something trickles within Beca’s chest and clicks in her mind and it’s suddenly so wonderfully, unexpectedly, stupidly easy to sit next to Chloe again.

“God, what was it?” Chloe asks, her lips still twitching in amusement even as she continued eating her dinner. “He surprised her or something?”

Beca shakes her head with a smile she knows is bigger than the situation really warrants. “No, remember, she thought he was Bumper in disguise and she was mad at him.”

“Right, yeah. Those two were really… something.”

“May I take your trash?” 

Beca looks up and directly into the eyes of her least favorite flight attendant. She’s steering a cart full of dirty dishes and trash and looking pointedly at their empty dinner plates.

“Uh…”

“Totes!” Chloe says happily, reaching for Beca’s plate to stack it on top of her own and hand them to the flight attendant. “Thanks!”

A moment later, the cart rattles away, and Beca’s eyes flick to the TV screen in front of her seat as she considers what to say now. The interruption had thrown off the progress they’d made—despite the ease with which she and Chloe seem to be able to fall into conversation again, three years is still a long time.

She glances at Chloe from the corner of her eye; she’s examining her nails, something she only does when she doesn’t know what to do or say next. 

It’s probably a bad idea, but… “So, do you want to watch a movie or something?” Beca asks.

Chloe looks up, eyebrows lifted. “Beca Mitchell wants to watch a movie?”

“Shut up,” Beca groans. She thought she’d heard the last of that a long time ago, but apparently not. “You know I like movies. Just not boring ones.”

Chloe bumps her shoulder against Beca’s teasingly. “Okay, well, you pick a non-boring movie and we can watch it together.”

“Uh… right,” Beca mumbles, trying to scoot farther away from Chloe without her noticing. Yeah, the movie thing was her idea, but Chloe touching her brought back too many memories of Hood Nights and choreography and competition celebrations and—Beca swallows. 

Chicago, Chicago, Chicago. She can’t forget that large, camouflage-wearing detail.

She taps the screen in front of her, waking it and wincing at its brightness. She turns it down, noticing that around them, several people have closed their window shades and have reclined, likely preparing to sleep for the majority of the rest of the flight.

Chloe, though, doesn’t look tired. And Beca is far too wound up to do anything other than search for the movie she had in mind. She makes the selection, ignoring Chloe’s look of deep skepticism, and pulls out a pair of earbuds, giving the left to Chloe and keeping the right for herself. Before Chloe has a chance to protest at her movie choice, Beca starts Booksmart, one of her favorites.

Less than two hours later, as the end credits roll, Chloe takes out her earbud with an expression that Beca can only describe as a mix of pity and regret.

“Good, huh?” she asks quietly, mindful of the few people dozing around them.

“Why is that on here?” Chloe replies after a moment.

Beca rolls her eyes. “It’s a cinematic masterpiece, Chloe.”

Chloe wrinkles her nose and lifts her shoulders. “I… it’s kinda lame.” 

“What?” Beca gasps, deadly serious. “You’re kinda lame. You laughed during it!”

“Yeah, I did…” Chloe says carefully. “Some parts were good, and I liked, uh, the crazy girl.”

“Gigi.”

“Her,” Chloe nods. “But... the whole thing with the strawberries and the—the dolls? I dunno, that was kinda unnecessary.”

“Okay, yeah,” Beca admits. “But—”

“And that girl in the bathroom was so rude to Amy, like really, I didn’t like her at all.”

“I mean, fine, but the rest of it—”

“Was lame?”

“Was hilarious.”

Chloe purses her lips. “Mmm…”

Beca slaps her hand down on the wide armrest between herself and Chloe. “That’s it!” she says forcefully, and is rewarded with wide blue eyes and a slackened jaw. “Get off this plane!” She lets the corner of her mouth quirk upward just enough for Chloe’s expression to relax and a soft smile to light her face.

“What, am I supposed to just jump out?” Chloe fires back.

“Yep. See ya!” Beca gives a mock wave. “Don’t forget a parachute.”

“Shush,” Chloe says, and then time slows down. Beca can see it coming as if in slow motion, can track the exact movement of Chloe’s hand as it rises from her lap, arching through the air, then falling, falling to rest perfectly on top of her own. Chloe’s skin is soft and warm, but Beca feels as though she’s just plunged her entire arm into a bucket of ice water. It shocks her enough that she pulls away before her brain catches up, her body’s reflexive protective mechanisms taking over.

Hurt flares across Chloe’s face for an instant before her expression goes blank, but it still hits Beca like a truck when she snatches her own hand back as well. Shame rises in Beca’s neck—which is stupid because she has no reason to feel bad about this, about needing space, about protecting herself from the unexpected and… not entirely unwelcome touch. (She wants more than anything to put her hand back under Chloe’s.) But still.

At this point, she’s sitting next to a stranger, and her body knows that even if her brain refuses to believe it.

Which...

“So, you tried to change seats.” The words that leave Beca’s mouth surprise her just as much as they surprise Chloe, who pales and doesn’t quite meet Beca’s eyes.

“What?”

Beca half wants to take it back, but she knows Chloe heard her the first time. “Earlier,” she forces out. “When you got on. You... tried to change seats.” It comes out as more of a question, made worse by the way she lifts one shoulder.

Chloe’s eyebrows draw together and she looks down at her lap, twirling her thumb ring. Beca notices for the first time that there’s no wedding ring (the thought that she could have been sitting next to Chloe Walp rather than Chloe Beale turns her stomach), but before that information really sinks in, Chloe whispers, “Yeah, I… I did.”

Beca nods, lets that sit in the air before taking a breath. “I don’t blame you, you know. I probably would have done the same thing.”

“Beca…”

“I get it. Three years—”

“Three years...” Chloe cuts her off with a shaky breath. “Three years is a really long time. You just—you vanished. You know?” One of Chloe’s hands runs through her hair roughly. “After we knew you for seven years, Bec, you just—you signed with Khaled, and then you vanished.”

“Not completely,” Beca shrugs uncomfortably.

“No, not completely,” Chloe concedes with a single nod. “We got your cards, and Amy and Aubrey and Stacie always said you’d talked to them, but… you didn’t call me.”

“I did once.”

She did, about two months after she and the Bellas had their huge hug-a-thon on stage in front of hundreds of members of the U.S. Armed Forces. She’d called Chloe from her contemporary, freshly-painted, excessively huge studio office in L.A. She called because Chloe was still in New York but living alone since Amy and her newfound millions had moved out of that cramped apartment three days after Beca had, and Beca had known how lonely Chloe would be. So, shoving aside thoughts of a certain soldier with a stupid name, Beca had called. Only for Chloe to talk all about Chicago, telling her all the dates he’d taken her on when she’d stayed in Europe an extra two weeks to be with him, and how he calls as often as he can and how he writes to her and how it’s just like old time love stories and how he did this and that and on and on and on.

Beca hadn’t really felt the need to call after that.

“Yeah,” Chloe says, likely remembering that call. Her eyebrows draw together, but she doesn’t say anything else.

“I mean… you didn’t call me, either,” Beca mutters, glancing out her window at the now black sky.  

“I… no. I didn’t.”

“It’s both of us, Chlo.”

“What happened?” Chloe asks, looking for all the world as if she has no possible clue as to why they’d let their friendship grow stale.

Beca almost wants to laugh at her. Or maybe scream. Instead, she says, “We got busy. Things just changed. It happens.”

“But we always said—”

“What can I get you ladies to drink?” 

Beca could hug the flight attendant. Neither she nor Chloe orders anything to drink, but the interruption still ends the line of conversation that Beca had been trying so hard to avoid for the past three years. 

Deciding that an uncomfortable silence is the best option at the moment, Beca uses her screen to check how much time remains in their flight: about four hours. Unease rolls through her stomach. She just isn’t sure if it’s because the number is too big or too small. She reaches to close the tab on the screen, wanting to power it off. 

“I missed you, you know.” 

It’s soft, barely a whisper, and clearly said so that Beca could easily ignore it if she wanted to. Beca pauses, her hand hovering in front of the screen. Slowly, her fingers curl, rolling inward to her palm, forming a tight fist that she lets fall to her lap. She really shouldn’t—but then she looks over and Chloe’s watching her, her face open and honest and so unassuming that Beca knows she could never say another word back in response and Chloe wouldn’t blame her.

“I missed you, too,” she says instead, and Chloe swallows. 

“Don’t… let’s not do that again. Promise?”

“I…” Beca doesn’t want to make a promise that she’ll inevitably have to break (she can’t bear seeing Chloe with anyone that isn’t her) and she knows how selfish that makes her, but she also can’t bear finding out whether Chloe’s disappointment looks the same as it had years ago. She clears her throat. “Promise,” she says, and if Chloe knows she’s lying, it doesn’t show.

Instead, Chloe smiles and takes a breath. “So, what are these other people doing in first class? Are they all famous singers, too?”

“Oh, um,” Beca has to take a moment to catch up to the change in topic.

“That guy is a master animal trainer,” Chloe whispers with conviction, pointing subtly to the man seated in front of Beca, wearing a suit. “He’s headed to Rome to meet a caravan of lions being transported to a nearby zoo, where they’ll perform tricks for the kids.”

“Mmm.”

“And the woman in the gray sweater? You see her?” 

Beca follows Chloe’s gaze diagonally across the aisle to a row ahead of them, where an older woman wearing a gray turtleneck leans heavily against her window, mouth hanging wide as she sleeps through the duration of their flight. She looks so peaceful that Beca’s actually mildly concerned until she sees the steady movement of the woman’s shoulders as she breathes.

“She’s an assassin.”

Beca snorts loudly enough to make the man in front of her jolt in his sleep.

“Quiet!” Chloe chastises, though her own twitching lips betray her. “She’s only stopping in Rome for five hours, during which she has to arrange the deaths of three high-profile members of the French government.”

Across the aisle, the woman twitches and begins to snore softly. 

Beca hums and plays along. “Why are three high-profile members of the French government in Rome?”

“Because they thought they’d be safe there. Little did they know that The Black Widow—”

“Is that her?”

“Yes. Little did they know that The Black Widow has been tracking their every movement and is going to take them down.”

“Clearly they were wrong about the safety thing.”

Chloe nods seriously.

Beca makes a show of looking over at the snoring woman. “Well, someone should tell The Black Widow that the guy in front of her was once a knife-thrower in a circus.”

The beaming smile of delighted surprise that Chloe sends her more than makes up for any residual awkwardness from their earlier conversation. 

It’s easy. It’s so easy for Beca to lose herself talking to Chloe like this. In fact, she’s 98.3% positive that even if it had been more than three years since they’d seen one another—if it had been five, ten, twenty, even fifty years—they’d still be able to talk like this. Because it’s Chloe. She’s always been able to be like this with Chloe. She could talk like this with Chloe all night.

But. Maybe it’s not a good idea.

Next to her, Chloe stifles a yawn into the back of her hand, but seems to shake herself out of it, trying to stay awake, presumably to continue talking. And if Chloe wants to stay up, that’s fine with Beca.

In search of their next conversation topic, Beca reaches for one of the magazines in front of her, hoping to find some article in there they can talk about or make fun of. She pulls one out of the slot and is horrified to see her own face—in a somewhat unflattering photo—gracing the cover of one of those trashy tabloids.

“Oh god,” she mutters, trying to shove away the magazine before Chloe can see it, but before she can, it’s snatched out of her hand.

“Did you plant this?” Chloe asks as she scrutinizes the cover and headline, which Beca hadn’t had a chance to read.

“I didn’t, I swear!”

Chloe only grins in that teasing way she has. Her eyes drop to the cover and she reads aloud, “‘Pop star Beca Mitchell seen leaving grocery store in a rage: Her secret war with record label over diet.’”

Beca huffs and rolls her eyes. “That’s the best they could do?”

Chloe gasps sharply and she clutches the tabloid to her chest in mock scandal. “You mean these rags don’t always report the truth? No. Way.”

With another eye roll, Beca plucks the magazine from Chloe’s hands and stuffs it back in the slot it came from. “Honestly, I’m still amazed that they can get away with this. It’s false reporting.”

“Come on, at least some have to be true,” Chloe insists, batting her eyes (rather unnecessarily, in Beca’s opinion).

“Well…”

“I mean, not all of the ones about you dating having to be true, but some, right?”

Beca shrugs, trying to look as unassuming as she can while wondering why, of all the ridiculous things the tabloids had written about her, Chloe would choose to ask about that.

“Oh come on, there’s no way you’re single,” Chloe insists with maybe too much enthusiasm, her voice a tad brighter, somehow, than it is normally. “There’s no way!”

“I—uh… first of all, I am single,” Beca says slowly, her eyes flicking to the back of the seat in front of her even as her neck warms. “But not all of the rumors were false, no.”

“Which ones?”

“Um—did you know these seats, like, recline into beds?” Beca asks quickly. “Here, let me…” she fumbles for the button on the side of her seat, pushing back with enough enthusiasm she’s surprised she doesn’t launch herself to the back of the plane. Her seat smoothly reclines into what is basically a soft, slightly-smaller-than-twin-sized bed, and she lies back, staring at the ceiling of the cabin.

Of course, she should have known better—maybe should have faked a bathroom emergency or something instead—because approximately one-sixteenth of a second later, Chloe is reclining in her own seat-bed right next to her and poking her in the shoulder.

“Which rumors are true, then?” Chloe asks persistently. “I’m not leaving until you tell me, so.”

And that doesn’t help anything at all because Beca’s traitorous mind immediately flings itself to a dorm shower, bright eyes, perfect pitch, and rising steam. She shuts that down as well as she can, turning her neck to meet those same bright eyes, sparkling with amusement and maybe something else that Beca can’t identify.

Beca sighs dramatically and flops her arm over her eyes. “Um… I’m definitely not having an affair with Liam Hemsworth,” she says, sliding her arm to her forehead to peek at Chloe. 

“Oh, I knew that one was fake,” Chloe dismisses with a wave. “You wouldn’t do that to Miley.”

Beca pauses. “Right.”

“But other ones?”

Beca really doesn’t know why Chloe’s so invested in this.

“I… fine,” she mutters, flopping her hands down to her stomach and lacing her fingers together. “I did go on a date with Kristen Stewart.” She looks sideways, trying to gauge Chloe’s reaction. 

Chloe’s eyebrows raise, but she doesn’t look nearly as surprised as Beca had expected. Maybe a slight downturn of the mouth, but that could mean anything; maybe she just doesn’t like supernatural romance movies or something. Before Beca has a chance to decipher the look, Chloe’s plowing on.

“How was that?” she asks, fully rolling to her side facing Beca and sliding a hand under her head to act as a cushion. 

Mirroring her, Beca also rolls to her side. “It was good! She’s really great.”

“And pretty.”

“Yeah, and pretty. But I think we were better as friends, you know?”

“Yeah, I… that’s a trend.”

“Hm?”

“Any other girls?”

“Um, not really.” Beca raises a hand to her nose, rubbing it absentmindedly. “With the albums, you know, my label kinda… Well, Theo thought it might be better for my ‘image’—she uses her hands to make air quotes—“or whatever to not really date until I’m more established. And to date more guys than girls,” she adds.

Chloe frowns. “That’s not… it’s your life.”

Beca can’t stop herself from laughing. “Not really. Not when I’m signed to a label.”

Chloe’s frown deepens, but she doesn’t say anything. Beca could kick herself; she really hadn’t meant to say anything like that. Before she can make up for it, though, Chloe leans forward.

“So, do you… prefer girls?” she asks, her eyes flicking away and back. “You never really said.”

Beca swallows. “Oh, I… is it a problem?”

Chloe’s eyes fly wide and her hand flutters toward Beca as if to rest on her arm. “Bec, of course not! I mean, you know I dabble in the lady pond.” She says this at normal volume and with no trace of shyness. Beca kind of admires her for it. “Come on, it’s totally fine.”

Beca nods, smiling to herself a little. “I tried telling you guys first, you know.”

“Hm?”

Beca lets herself smile properly now as she remembers a European stage filled with all of her best friends. “Come on, Chlo,” she urges gently. “I sang ‘Freedom ‘90.’”

“Oh, right...” Chloe breathes, her eyes again flicking away as she bites her lower lip.

Beca’s stomach drops as she remembers what else happened that night. She thinks Chloe might be remembering, too, now, as her eyes take on some faraway place and time. Beca blinks and behind her eyelids she sees it all again, the way Chloe had strutted to Chicago, pulled him into a kiss that had made the earth crumble from beneath Beca’s feet.

She knows Chloe’s thinking of that, too. She can see it in the way she won’t make eye contact and her teeth toy with her lip.

Reality crashes into Beca, stealing the breath from her lungs and making her feel like the biggest idiot on the face of the planet. She knew this was a bad idea, knew she should never have talked to Chloe like this, because when they leave this plane, it’s going to hurt more than ever.

She might as well kick-start the ending now.

“So,” she starts, not recognizing the sound of her own voice. “How’s, um, Chicago? Are—-are you meeting him in Rome, or…”

A shadow crosses Chloe’s face and she shifts, rolling onto her back again to stare at the ceiling. When she still doesn’t answer, Beca begins to worry that she’d somehow put her foot in her mouth. 

“Chlo, I—”

“Do you believe in soulmates?” Chloe breathes, still watching the ceiling. 

Oh. 

Beca rolls to her back as well, unable to look at Chloe directly. She doesn’t want to hear about how Chicago is Chloe’s “soulmate” or whatever is about to happen. She doesn’t want to hear about the white picket fence house and their eventual two-point-five kids or how they’ll renew their wedding vows every ten years or something ridiculously cheesy like that. She doesn’t want to hear how Chloe is going to dedicate her life to a man who absolutely does not deserve her—though, Beca can’t be sure because she never really even talked to him—and doesn’t want to hear how he’s her “better half” or whatever the hell goes with having a soulmate. 

Beca wants to throw herself out of the plane, sans parachute, for being the one to even ask about Chicago in the first place.

“I… don’t know,” she says eventually, risking a glance over.

Chloe’s lips press together and she takes a deep breath through her nose. Beca looks back at the ceiling, unable to face Chloe’s disappointment. 

“Well, I do,” Chloe says. “I think there can be different kinds of soulmates.” She pushes herself back on her side facing Beca, but Beca doesn’t move. “I think anyone you connect with—boyfriend, girlfriend, family, friends—anyone who just gets you, and you get them, I think that’s a soulmate. And I think you can have more than one soulmate.”

“You think so? More than one?” Beca asks, feeling Chloe’s eyes on the side of her face.

“I hope so. Not sure though. Maybe you only get one soulmate of each kind, you know? But you can have multiple kinds.”

Beca tries her hardest to control her expression. She clears her suddenly dry throat and asks the ceiling, “What... happens if you think someone is your soulmate, like you really, really think so, and then… they’re not?”

Chloe takes another deep breath, one that Beca can hear is jagged around the edges. “Which kind of soulmate are we talking? Because maybe they’re just—maybe they’re just not the kind you thought they were.”

Beca can’t find her voice. She must have lost it somewhere along the line, it having fallen from her throat to bounce around the inside of the plane and slip out a crack in a door seal to disperse among the clouds. 

It’s so quiet in the plane, save for the humming white noise of the engine, that Beca’s sure Chloe could hear how hard her heart was beating if only she listened closely enough. 

“You know?” Chloe prompts, sounding so small and needy that it snatches Beca’s voice right out of the air to shove it back into place in her throat.

“So, Chicago is your… soulmate.”

Even as Beca’s heart clenches around the word, Chloe starts to laugh, a surprised bubbling noise that makes Beca finally turn to her in shock. 

Chloe shakes her head and stops laughing, though a smile still graces her face. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to… no. Chicago isn’t my soulmate. We broke up eight months ago.”

Oh.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Chloe sighs. “To answer your question, I’m going to Rome, alone, on a first-class plane ticket because I’m treating myself, Beca. I… this was a long time coming.”

Beca’s heart is in her throat now, she’s sure. She knows she’s probably supposed to say something like, “I’m sorry,” in response to the news about Chicago, but she can’t quite manage to lie to Chloe yet again.

Chloe’s eyes drop. “I thought Chicago was my soulmate. I told myself he was. I needed him to be.”

Beca wants to ask the question that dangles there on the tip of her tongue, but she’s too afraid. Afraid of the answer, afraid she knows what Chloe is going to say, afraid that it’s too late. Afraid that she’s wrong.

She feels the moment fading, knows that with every passing second the window gets smaller and smaller, until before long, it’s going to close entirely and she’ll spend the rest of her life wishing she’d said something, wishing she’d had the courage to ask the question and hear the answer that will change everything.

She knows she’ll never forgive herself if she doesn’t say something, so she takes a breath that churns her stomach and opens her mouth.

Chloe snores softly, nothing more than a nasally inhale, but her eyes are closed and she looks more relaxed in sleep than Beca can remember her looking in a long time.

Her window of opportunity closes with a bang and Beca settles back and closes her eyes, mentally berating herself, hoping against hope that all of this had just been a horrible nightmare from which she won’t ever recover.

She is so, so stupid for doing this to herself.

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

The next time Beca opens her eyes, the cabin is brightly lit, a result of both the interior lights and unfiltered sunlight streaming through the one or two windows with shades lifted partway. A blueberry muffin, a slice of banana bread, and a Styrofoam cup of black coffee rest on her tray, the airplane’s offered breakfast. 

Frowning at the items, she wonders if the flight attendant had just placed them there or if someone had ordered—Beca whips her face to the side so quickly it makes her neck crack. The seat next to her is upright and empty. 

Beca fumbles for the lever on the side of her own seat, sitting up and pushing the recliner back to seat form. Her eyes roam the cabin, searching, both hoping and dreading that everything had actually been a result of her imagination. Then, at the front of the cabin, a light near the ceiling flickers off, and Chloe steps out of the restroom, looking exhausted.

Relief tinged with pain rolls through Beca; trying to hide her reaction, she rubs her eyes then focuses on unwrapping the muffin.

“Morning,” Chloe says lightly as she sits down. “So those restrooms are still really tiny.”

“They are,” Beca agrees around a yawn. She hates changing time zones like this. A glance at her watch tells her she got about two hours of sleep. “Did you order this stuff for me?” she asks, gesturing to her breakfast.

Chloe nods. “I hope that’s okay? The cart went by and I didn’t want you to miss the breakfast.”

“It’s good. Thanks.”

“Totes. Um, I think they said before I went to the bathroom that we would be landing in, like, twenty minutes or so, so…”

“Right.” The breakfast on her tray doesn’t seem so appealing anymore. Still, she picks at it, even if it’s just something to do with her hands. Chloe reaches for one of the magazines in front of them and starts to read. Thankfully, Beca isn’t on the cover of this one.

Beca takes a sip of her coffee. Chloe turns a page. Beca finishes off the muffin and starts on the bread. Chloe raises a hand to rub at her cheek as she reads. 

Beca’s mind races, but is simultaneously quiet. It’s a weird state, and she blames it on the lack of sleep, time change, and the presence of Chloe. She knows she could—maybe should—say something about Chloe’s whole “soulmate” thing, but now in the relative daylight, it seems too far away to bring up again.

So, they sit in silence, listening to the engine noises grow louder as their altitude drops. Beca pops her ears several times, the plane rocks back and forth unsteadily (Chloe takes several deep breaths and grips the armrests), and, after only a few moments where Beca is positive the plane is going to crash, they touch down on the tarmac with a small bump and the sudden slowing brought on by strong brakes.

Next to her, Chloe relaxes with a sigh. 

Beca pushes her window shade up and looks out at what she can see of the Leonardo da Vinci International Airport, trying to shove down the rising unease in her stomach.

She knew this would happen. She did this to herself, which probably makes her some sort of sick masochist who gets off on things like falling in love for the second time with the same person only to have her walk away without a backward glance. Again, for the second time. 

Beca’s problem isn’t that she never loved Chloe back (she likes to think Chloe was in love with her, too, once). Her problem is that she absolutely, totally, utterly sucks at the timing of these things.

The plane comes to a stop that jerks Beca to the present. The stale air fills with the metallic clink of unbuckling seat belts and melodic chimes as people check their phones and take them off airplane mode.

Beside her, Chloe unbuckles and stands with a stretch, reaching into the overhead bin.

Panic rises inside Beca’s chest, making her fumble with her own seat belt before finally undoing and standing with screaming, sore muscles, having to bend her neck awkwardly to avoid bumping her head on the overhead. 

“Well, uh, have fun in Rome,” she says, rubbing at the back of her neck.

“Thanks, you too.” Chloe gets her bag down and rests it on the seat, sparing Beca a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Stay in touch?”

“For sure.” Liar.

The falsely-sugary flight attendant opens the door, and immediately passengers in first-class begin to walk out. Chloe’s eyes flick to the queue, then back to Beca.

“Bye, then,” she says, too brightly.

“Bye.”

With only a second’s hesitation—one that might even have been a figment of Beca’s hopeful imagination—Chloe picks up her duffle bag and takes her place in line. She takes a step forward, and Beca reaches out to catch her shoulder. 

“Wait, Chlo—” Chloe stops instantly, her eyes wide and maybe a little hopeful. Behind her, the line stalls. “Why were you talking about soulmates?” Beca asks in a rush, desperation driving her voice to a higher pitch than normal. 

Chloe’s eyes flick to the growing line behind her, many heads peering around to see what the hold-up is. Her mouth opens, then closes again.

“Please,” Beca whispers, her grip on Chloe’s arm never loosening. “Please.”

Chloe’s eyes finally meet hers. Beca’s stunned to see they’re swimming. “I was trying to tell you,” Chloe breathes. “Chicago wasn’t my soulmate because I’d already found mine wandering around an Activities Fair.” 

Surely, the plane can’t have landed. It was impossible for the plane to have landed, because Beca’s still 30,000 feet in the air and falling, falling fast, the floor having dropped out from under her feet.

She recoils, reclaiming her arm, shaking her head, because she’d heard wrong, she had to have, or she’d misunderstood, because there’s no possible way Chloe had said those words.

Beca doesn’t get a chance to ask her to repeat it, though, because as soon as she takes her hand from Chloe’s arm, Chloe’s moving, walking down the aisle to exit the plane and leave Beca behind. Immediately, the passengers that had formed a line behind her press forward, filling the aisle and lengthening the distance between her and Beca by the second. 

Beca doesn’t blame her one bit. If their positions were reversed and she had been the one to drop a confession like that, she’d be running away as fast as she could, too. 

She has to catch up. 

“Chloe, wait!” she calls, but either Chloe doesn’t hear her or purposefully ignores her, because Beca is forced to watch the back of her head as she rounds the corner of the aisle ahead to step out of the plane.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit…” Beca chants under her breath. She shoves her way into the aisle, ignoring the sounds of protest emitted by the passengers that had technically been in line—which, they’d totally butted in front of her to begin with, rude—and whirls, snatching her back from the overhead. It takes everything in her not to rush forward and send people stumbling, shoving her way out of the plane, but she knows that would more than likely just get her in trouble with customs or something.

So she’s forced to wait, to inch her way forward with the rest of them, while knowing that with every moment that passes, Chloe is only getting farther and farther away.

“Come on, come on, come on…”

With one last parting wave and a “Thank you for choosing us,” from Beca’s least-favorite flight attendant, Beca’s free, bursting forward from the plane with so much enthusiasm she almost topples over and into the tunnel connecting the plane and their gate. 

“Chloe!” she calls out desperately, but there’s no sign of her. 

Beca hates cardio. 

She might make an exception, though, just this once. With more agility than she knew she still had in her exhausted body, Beca surges forward, her bag clutched close to her chest, and ducks and weaves around other passengers, trying desperately to get to the end of the tunnel and to Chloe. She’d chase her through the entire airport and across all of Rome if she had to. 

She stalls behind a slow-moving couple, tottering along as if this connecting tunnel is their favorite place on earth. “Move!” she shouts at the back of their heads, and the man starts and flings himself to the side, creating enough space for Beca to squeeze through and then she’s running again and there’s the end of the tunnel and now she’s at the gate and—and there’s the red hair.

“CHLOE!” she nearly screams it, and by some miracle, Chloe stops and whirls, her eyes flying wide when Beca doesn’t stop, only runs to her and throws her bag to the ground and reaches forward, her hands cupping Chloe’s cheeks and pulling her into a kiss that Beca knows will change everything.

There’s a beat where Chloe doesn’t respond and fear explodes in Beca’s mind.

But then Chloe’s arms wrap around her waist and the lips under Beca’s soften until Chloe’s kissing her back, and the fear is replaced by exaltation so strong that Beca can’t be sure it doesn’t lift her off her feet.

Minutes, hours, days later, they finally separate, and Beca’s eyes flutter open to take in Chloe’s flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and gleaming eyes.

“I…” Beca has to take a deep breath. “Is that what you meant?”

Chloe’s face breaks into a huge smile and she nods frantically. “Yes, I—yes, I meant you.”

“Good,” Beca smiles. She doesn’t think she’ll ever stop smiling now. “Because I—you—the whole thing—you’re my, uh, you know—”

Chloe stops her babbling by pressing a quick kiss to her lips, one that still makes Beca’s knees weaken. “I know,” she says, then laughs. “So, you ran up that tunnel, huh?”

“Yep, and I’d do it again,” Beca says proudly, standing as tall as she can.

Chloe’s eyes sparkle. “You know you would have caught up with me at customs, right? Or baggage claim? You didn’t have to run.”

Beca blinks. “Uh.”

“It’s okay,” Chloe grins, lacing their fingers together. “I’m glad you did.”

#bechloe #bechloe fic #my writing #beca mitchell #chloe beale #bechloe week 2019 #i'd suggest reading on ao3 or ffn cuz formatting

[kimmyiewrites]

Case Closed ~ Chpt 9

Previous Story      Catch Up      Masterlist

AN: This is the final chapter that I have posted. Don’t worry I am most definitely still working on this fic! I’m hoping to get the next chapter up soon and get back to regularly scheduled programming haha. ANYWAYS hope you enjoy and I can’t wait to hear what you think!

The moment Bex saw that Laurel had been brought into questioning, she pulled Marchant to the side. She was pissed that they were going to such drastic and near inhumane measures to get to the bottom of this. “I know what you saw this morning is terrible, but you can’t seriously be okay with this.”

“Agent Morris, I saw a man’s head explode before my very eyes. These are becoming more frequent so drastic measures must be taken especially since the senator on my ass about closing this case witnessed the same thing this morning. Unless Warren has magically gotten any further and has a solid proof that this is an Area 51 case, then we’ve got to move forward.” Marchant ordered much to the dismay to his agent.

“I’ve made contact with her before and she complied with all the questions I asked her. Can I at least speak with her first?”

Marchant sighed, knowing that Bex wouldn’t give up on making sure all of this was right. “You and Agent Blades have been level headed throughout this entire thing. Wherever he goes, you go. That’s the best I can offer.”

Bex took what she could get and nodded. When they rejoined the group she leaned against the desk next to Blades. “Are you okay with this?” She leaned over and whispered.

“Not exactly.” He replied.

“Can I be the one to take her into the room?”

Blades looked over at her with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m not going to do anything to compromise this.”

He nodded and looked back to the screen where they were broadcasting a surveillance video of Laurel. “Just don’t do anything stupid to be taken off this case. It’s nice to work with someone intelligent again.” He said, making a jab at Onofrio.

Bex smirked, nodding her head as she returned her focus back to the group conversation.

“She’s going to say that I assaulted her.” Onofrio said after Marchant got the all clear from the doctor that Laurel was stable enough for the enhanced questioning techniques.

Everyone turned to look at him in shock. “Is that where you actually got the bruising from?” Bex asked once she got her voice back from being stunned.

“No. I just thought I’d warn you because she’s been lying this whole time. I know how you women like to stick together.” He gave her a pointed look.

Onofrio was extremely close to receiving another black eye. He even moved slightly back as Bex pushed herself up so she could head into the waiting room. “Oh, I’ll show you how women stay together.” She said before rushing to the room.

The men scrambled to catch up with her but by the time they got there, she had already reached Laurel’s side. When Laurel saw that Onofrio was in the room, she looked up at Bex, fear written all over her face. “No, he attacked me. Whatever he’s told you, he’s lying.”

Bex helped Laurel to stand, leaning in close so she could whisper. “I am doing everything that I can do to stop this. Keep stalling for as long as you can.”

Laurel didn’t respond but by the time she was placed in the chair she looked directly at Bex and started talking about the change in the committee chairs they would need to approve this. The agent gave a small, curt nod and the next thing she knew, she was headed to the capitol building.

Due to Senator Wheatus knowing her as an art curator, Marchant gave her permission to fill in Mike so she marched right into his office just as he was walking back in. Gustav and Rochelle looked at her in shock. Mike, however, had worry written all over his face. “Why aren’t you in there with them?”

“Red knows me as a Smithsonian art curator. It’s starting to get bad, Mi-Mister Ritter.”

Mike looked to see if Gustav or Rochelle noticed her stuttering over his name but they seemed none the wiser, at least they were acting like it. Bex must be really freaking out if she had slipped up on his name. “Mister Ritter?” He asked, trying to tease her.

“Sorry, Gareth, I’ve been in formal mode practically all day. I need your help and possibly you two.” She turned to look at Rochelle and Gustav before turning back to Mike. “My hands are a bit tied on this one because Marchant is really tied due to our senator friend in the next room. The other agent brought in on this could be helpful, I just gotta talk to him a bit more.”

“What’s going on, Bex?” Mike asked.

“Do you know something about Laurel?” Gustav asked at the same time causing Bex to look over at him.

“What do you know?” Bex asked, wondering if Laurel’s friends had already figured things out.

“Well, we were supposed to meet for lunch and she was late.” Rochelle started to explain.

“And she didn’t answer her phone when I tried to call. Not to mention someone’s been trying to get into her phone.” Gustav finished their explanation.

Bex grimaced and nodded slightly. “You didn’t hear this from me but you need to go see Luke and ask him about Laurel. Maybe even get him to call Blades. I’ll talk to him as we head back to the office.”

“Bex, what is going on?” Mike asked again.

Her phone dinged and she pulled it out to see that Marchant had told her that they had just wrapped up. She quickly responded and began walking backwards towards the door. “They’re planning on using enhanced questioning techniques. You need to get Luke to stop it. Hell, you can tell him to call me.” And with that she hurried out the door to join Blades and Marchant.

Gustav gave Mike his phone back and soon the three of them were rushing towards Luke Healy’s office.

Bex wouldn’t receive a call until she was walking with Blades and Onofrio towards the section of desks they had set up their watch party. “You’ve reached Agent Morris.”

“Agent, do you know who this is?” Luke asked.

“I do, sir. Can I help you with something?”

“Are you working with Agent Blades and Director Marchant on this Appendix Q scenario?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who’s the person of interest in custody?”

“I sadly can’t say that sir.” She said, looking around to make sure no one was paying attention to her or her conversation.

“Do you agree with your fellow agent about not agreeing with these protocols?” He asked, wanting to make sure that the person Red Wheatus’ Chief of Staff told him to call was trustworthy.

“I can’t exactly say that either.”

There was a brief pause like someone was talking directly to Luke before he spoke once more. “Is my sister in your custody?”

She smirked briefly. Now he was finally getting somewhere. She just hated that she still couldn’t say. If it got out that she had told when the information was currently being kept secret, she could be taken off the case, and she didn’t want that. “I sadly can’t say.” She hoped that he caught her implications.

“How about this? I’m going to count to 5 and if you’re still on the other line, I’ll know that Laurel is with you.” He said before starting his count.

Bex stayed silent throughout the whole thing, until he asked if she was still there. With an affirmative answer, they both hung up.

Now that he knew, Luke was pissed. It was time to raise holy hell and the first way to do that was to call a hearing.

“Agent Morris, you’re coming with me.” Marchant said as he left the work station.

“Where are we going, sir?” She asked, falling into step next to him.

“Healy called for a hearing to get the entire committee’s approval.”

Bex looked down at her feet to hide her smile with her hair. “And you want me there, because?”

“She keeps mentioning bug people. She either has a mental illness or she’s telling the truth. I need you to find out what was in that meteor.”

“I’ll track down Warren.” She promised as they climbed into the car to head to the capitol building.

Marchant entered the committee room first. Bex didn’t want Red to potentially see her and question what she was doing at an Intelligence Committee hearing. So to give it some time, she stopped by a vendor stand and got two bottles of water.

Making it into the lobby just as the hearing started, Bex stopped just behind Mike, who was leaning in the doorway. “Hey.” She whispered, offering up the water bottle.

Mike smiled at her and took the bottle. “Hey. I thought Marchant was keeping you on a short leash with this.”

“He wanted me to check with you about any evidence you’ve potentially found in regards to the meteor. Laurel keeps using her theory to try and stall things so they of course worry she’s not stable but Marchant wants actual proof since I told him it is in fact leaning more towards Area 51 than terrorism.”

“I can’t leave but Rochelle is going to be your best bet with evidence. I have everything at my apartment.”

A recess was then called and Bex patted his shoulder before slipping into the crowd to leave. She made her way outside to call Rochelle when she saw both her and Gustav approaching. “Hey guys! Rochelle, do you have access to that evidence you showed me yesterday and well, rather quickly.”

“Not now, Agent Morris, we’re tracking bug people.” Gustav said, continuing to follow the jogger that they had intercepted.

Bex looked to Rochelle who just dragged her along. The doctor then started explaining what the pair had been up to while trying to locate Laurel. “Wait, so you guys have figured out a way to communicate with them?”

“Exactly. Now we just need to figure out what they’re saying.” Gustav said as the trio gathered on the last few steps, watching through the glass that looked into the office.

“Well what if we just broadcast part of it, just the first part. The,” Rochelle mimicked the first part of the sound, “or whatever and let’s see what one of them does.”

“Why?” Gustav questioned.

“To find out what their words mean.” Rochelle said as if it was the most obvious thing.

Gustav looked impressed, nodding her head which made Bex chuckle. Rochelle was quite the intelligent woman. After the doctor informed Gustav that she had graduated pre-med from Princeton, they huddled closer together so that they could all watch what the first part of the sound did.

The jogger walked by and Gustav broadcasted the sound towards him, causing the jogger to walk straight into the wall. The trio snickered and as the jogger began to continue across the landing, Bex whispered, “do it again.” Once more the jogger walked right into the wall.

With the jogger now gone, they turned back just as Scarlett answered the phone. Gustav handed the device over to Rochelle, who played the second part of the sound. Scarlett immediately shot both arms up in the air causing the trio to laugh.

“I know exactly where this could be useful. You guys wanna have some fun?” Bex offered.

Rochelle and Gustav looked like children in a candy store as they nodded their agreement. So off they went back to the Intelligence Committee hearing.

They snuck into the back, Gustav standing a little closer to the audience watching the hearing. When Red asked for the vote against the Appendix Q definition, Gustav played the sound and soon those who had already voted, stuck both of their arms up.

The trio laughed to themselves as Gustav played the sound once more which now got Red to stick his arms up. Bex looked across the room to where Mike was standing and smiled. They called for a vote redo and Gustav played the first part of the sound causing some of the senators to stand and walk right into the wall. He then played the second part and Red stuck his hands up in the air.

“Okay, we better get out of here.” Rochelle said and the trio snuck back out of the room.

They wound up back in the Healy office, waiting for Laurel to return. When Luke got back he noticed Bex sitting with Laurel’s friends and came over to introduce himself, thinking that she was a constituent. “Hi, I’m Senator Healy, I apologize if you’ve been waiting long but is there any possible way you could come back tomorrow? We aren’t taking anymore cases today.”

Bex chuckled as she shook his hand. “I’m not here to make a complaint, senator. I’m Agent Morris. I’m just here to make sure Laurel returns safely.”

He chuckled in return, running a hand through his hair. “Thank you, agent for your help. I don’t know what I would have done without it.”

“My guess is go to the ends of the Earth. I know that’s what I would have done if it had been my sister.” She smiled, knowing that she had just completed that task.

“Well, if there’s anything you may need, let me know. It’s the least I can do.” He said before heading back into his office.

As if Rochelle remembered something important, she turned to Bex just as she was sitting down. “Do you still need that evidence?”

Bex shook her head. “Not right now but I’d love to get a copy of it at some point. I just needed it because I was trying to help get Laurel out of interrogation.”

“Maybe we could meet for lunch one day and I’ll bring it then?”

The agent smiled. “Yeah, that sounds perfect.”

“She’s back.” Gustav announced as he noticed Laurel coming down the stairs.

The trio stood and greeted the shaken yet relieved woman as soon as she walked into the office. “I don’t know how you guys did it but thank you.” Laurel said before hugging the three people in front of her.

Through the glass, Bex noticed Mike coming down the stairs. A soft smile made its way onto his features, happy to see that Laurel had returned, seemingly unharmed. After the hug ended, Bex wished the other two farewell and headed out to follow her partner.

“Hey!” She called out as she rounded the landing to see him about to turn down the hallway.

Mike turned around, stepping off to the side to wait for her. “I didn’t think you saw me.” He chuckled as she met him at the top of the stairs.

“Well, I did.” She flashed him a cheeky grin. “Is Red going to let you go on time today?”

Mike draped an arm around her shoulders as they started walking down the hall towards his office. “I’m not sure, actually. He’s pretty embarrassed by what happened earlier. What did you guys even do?”

“We used their way of communication against them.” She smiled proudly before letting out a sigh. “Which means I should probably head back to the office to give a report.”

“Or we could go get dinner?” He offered, a small smirk on his lips, as they stopped just outside the main door to the Wheatus office.

She turned to face him, playing with his tie as she teased him a bit. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

“And if I am?” He asked, leaning in closer, his smirk turning into a grin.

“I’d say yes.” She smiled up at him, moving her hands up his chest so she could then loop her arms around his neck.

He bent down and kissed her. Neither one of them could remember a time where just being in someone else’s presence made them so genuinely happy, let alone make them forget about the craziness that they were dealing with.

“Then let me go get my things.” He said with a smile after they pulled away.

#mike warren fic #gareth ritter fic #graceland fic #braindead fic #criminal minds fic #crossover fic #case closed #moving on series #mike x bex #kim writes things #this is my queue song

[spaceorphan18]

Finding Kurt Hummel: The Rise and Fall of Sue Sylvester

Masterpost

6x10: The Rise and Fall of Sue Sylvester

And here we are at the infamous Sue episode panned by fans everywhere.  Is it really that bad?  Well I did have it as my least favorite episode of the series, (though after careful inspection, that title truly goes to the hot mess that is I Kissed a Girl).  However, believe it or not, I don’t think this is the /worst/ Glee ever put out. I do, though, think the context is what makes it so frustrating.  

Child Star and Other Missed Opportunities

Here’s the thing - when you write out season 6 on paper, I think the structure of what the writers were going for makes a lot more sense.  The main story that they were telling was getting the Glee club back in order, to be, in a way, an echo of what season 1 was.  And for the most part, I do think that structure works.  You have Rachel in the ‘Will’ spot as teacher, trying to get her life together while trying to inspire these young kids to be awesome, and like the end of the Front 13 - the ending there is Sectionals.  

All the other plot lines are secondary, including Rachel’s triumphant return to New York, which is the b-story of the entire season.  Kurt (and Blaine)’s reunion arc might be, eh, a distant 3rd? Maybe 4th after Will’s.  But that’s what makes these final three episodes (before the final two that make up, essentially, the series finale) so jarring.   We’ve been used to strong focus on Kurt and Blaine as secondary characters, and the kids have been the main focus since season 3.  Shifting everything back so that Will and Sue are the main characters, with Rachel as a secondary lead feels... off.  

The thing is -- I see what they were trying to do here.  After wrapping up the Klaine (and Brittana) arc - the last arcs that the ‘kid’ characters get (besides Rachel) we essentially have three extra episodes left.  One will be the competition episode.  One was the episode about the New Newbies which I don’t think was a bad thing - even if I think introducing a new character five episodes before the end was a dumb move.  But like the original kids, I think these new kids rightfully deserved an episode of their own.  And thus leaves one episode where they needed to do, well, something.  

And hence - we get Sue.  

Yeah - It would have been nice if they had spent an episode exploring Kurt and Blaine’s now married life, or what the hell are Mercedes, Artie, Tina, Brittany, Santana, Mike, etc, etc, etc, etc, doing with their lives.  But - in the minds of the glee writers... they already did that in various capacities over the previous episodes.  

But even more than that - for reasons I’ll never fully understand, unless it’s about how much they love Jane Lynch, they decided to focus an episode on Sue.  And while the episode isn’t the utter worst thing Glee ever did (honestly, go back and watch IKAG again...), trying to make emotional sense of a character you’ve reduced to a cartoon character, who breaks the fourth wall just... doesn’t work.  And on top of that, they don’t resolve anything, nor is it that interesting to watch.  Sue remains, well, Sue and nothing remotely happens.  

So yeah, this ‘filler’ episode was a way to stall time before the obligatory ending Sectionals episode - and they filled it up with a lot of what no one wanted, especially the precious few who were still watching.  And thus, we have the most frustrating and least satisfying episode of the entire series.  Thankfully, Kurt is barely in it. 

Burn the House Down

So, we open with the New New New Directions in typical Glee fashion, doing the hot single of the moment - idk even know the name of the song, though - Rather Be? Idk.  Anyway, Kurt and Blaine come sombering in, cause, plot dictates they be there for exposition. 

And we find out that Dalton has burned to the ground.  

So.  

Here’s the thing - there could have been an interesting story here for Blaine -- matching Rachel’s story about having to grow up and move on.  I mean, it’s kind of subtly and subtextually there. It is (another) reason Blaine is forced to move on and grow up.  

But.  Do you know why they burned Dalton to the ground (other than doing it probably out of spite)? Not for some kind of deeper level of symbolism.  Nope.  They did it so New Directions can meet their quota of having 12 members.  That stupid, fucking rule.  I realize that it’s now become a joke (as mentioned earlier in the Hurt Locker episodes).  But c’mon Glee.  It’s like you’re not even trying now.  

But also, like after most big Klaine events - do Kurt and Blaine get a moment to reflect on their newly marriage life? Nope.  Other than talking about a piano exploding in the next episode, Kurt and Blaine won’t share dialogue again until the series finale.  On top of that -- instead of getting to be happy newlyweds, they have Blaine upset because his surrogate home has burned down.  Thanks writers.  Thanks. 

However - there are two things I do like about this little moment.  A) the fact that Kurt is being a very comforting husband.  B) the fact that they are wearing their proposal colors.  Nice touch costume dept.  You get the gold star.  

In the next scene - we get the indoctrination of the Warblers into the New Directions.  And Kurt just nods his head along in all the appropriate places.  Not a whole lot to talk about -- other than now that we’ve got Will back in charge, Rachel and Kurt have faded into the background.  Is Kurt even teaching anything any more? No, not really - despite all the ‘conversations’ Kurt, Rachel, Will, and Blaine have off screen.  

Anyway - you know another reason Dalton was burned to ground? To service the Sue plot.  Yup.  God.  Luckily, though, I don’t really have to go into it. 

The Way Too Long Geraldo Segment

So, long story short, Sue’s hurt locker was found out and then she’s exposed on Geraldo, which does go on way, way to long.  Look, there are some funny moments and callbacks, like the finding of Sue’s Penthouse magazine and the quick return of Joe.  But it just becomes stale as it continues after the commercial break.  Also, though, Sue’s not going to actually face ramifications. I mean, she should really be in jail just on the hurt locker alone.  But this is Glee, where Will, Sue, and Rachel never have to really deal with the actions they make.  

So - Kurt’s bit is about the elevator.  Which is... fine.  It kind of feels hollow since they’re going to thank her in the finale, and she just sent them on a week long honeymoon.  But yeah - don’t kidnap people, guys.  Bad.  The best part of this is the look on Blaine’s face.  

  Unity

This scene was almost impossible to get a good still.  Oh well.  Anyway, a good twenty minutes of the episode later...

So, I should mention in the previous scene, the gang is all trying to help Rachel through her issues and trying to get her back to New York (or whatever).   It’s a little weird that Kurt is not here since he’s spent so much of his screen time playing emotional prop to Rachel Berry. but I guess I’m not complaining even if I think it’s weird? But we do get Sam calling NYADA a scam school, and info that Blaine was kicked out by Carmen herself - to which I say, why does anyone care about this school??  Whatever.  It is a funny little scene though. 

Anyway, back to this scene -- where the Warblers and the New Directions are arguing over costumes.  And the only real thing I get out of it (Kurt-wise) is that Kurt really hated wearing that uniform when he went there, lol.  (He did, though, it’s in season 2.)  

And I know there was some grumbling of this scene - why is Kurt taking New Directions’s side? Why is he not supporting Blaine and the Warblers - to which I say... the writers didn’t give a shit about that.  Seriously.  This scene is a) about comedy and b) presenting this argument that will be compromised in about ten minutes anyway.  It’s not at all any kind of reflection on Kurt or Blaine or their relationship.  And actually, I’m of half mind that the writers completely forgot that Kurt even went to Dalton himself.  

In the large scheme of Kurt related things - this scene barely registers, tbh.  **shrugs**

Hey, but costumes wins again - Kurt and Blaine are wearing each other’s colors!

Final Countdown

So, Sue and Will duke it out through music - like it’s always done, and we get confirmation -- all those fantasy performances? Were just that -- fantasies.  I kinda do like when the kids come in and are like - wtf??!?  Kurt tells Rachel that he hopes that the’ll never become that.  Oh y’all won’t, promise ;) Anyway - I love that the show comments that Will and Sue have lost it - like we haven’t known that since the end of season 1.  

So, uh, the next day? Will apologizes for being an idiot.  Okay, fine.  And then Rachel says that now -- if the glee club doesn’t win, all fine arts will be cut.  Because that makes a load of sense, c’mon writers, c’mon....  

Anyway - the one redeeming thing for this otherwise ridiculous little scene, is that Kurt’s a ball of optimism -- he inwardly reflects on all the crap that’s happened in his life and he turns it around saying that they’ll never give up on anything (to which Blaine looks at him adoringly).  And, I mean, it’s a subtle thing -- but I kinda love this.  Because here’s a kid who has been through hell and back and a lot of shitty things (even recently) and you know what? He’s fine.  He’s in a good place, he’s happy, he’s loved, he’s got a great support system, and a good attitude about life.  And, he’s got a great motto to go along with it -- It’s Got Bette Midler.  (lol)  

But I mean, let’s take a second and think about the fact that Kurt started his journey being that kid who gets thrown in dumpsters for being weird and gay and now, you know what? He’s fine.  He’s really, really, really fine.  :) 

Rise

So - here at the end, we see Blaine solving the absolute crisis of the episode and somehow he’s managed to make, like, twenty unity blazers overnight, combining the Dalton tradition with the McKinley colors.  And did it without Kurt knowing what he was up to because Kurt was totally surprised.  But it’s in a good way, Kurt’s incredibly proud that Blaine managed to solve this epic dilemma.  (I joke, but really, it’s sweet that Kurt’s, again, proud of his new husband).  

Meanwhile, we get the song Rise, written by Darren Criss -- and I’m kind of impressed with this song -- it manages to reference birds, Dalton burning down, the kids rising to the top, and the fall of Sue Sylvester all in one go.  Color me impressed, too.   (Btw, this is such a Darren-esque song, I can hear this in his voice even if I’ve never heard him actually sing it.) 

I’ll leave you with the some lyrics, which I’m sure you can work out their meaning on your own ;) 

Have you ever felt like you woke up (On the wrong side of your heart) Has it ever felt like it's broken (Like the world tore it apart) Have you felt so weak, You could hardly stand Like if you ever fell You could never tell If you'd ever get back up again I know it's hard to do, But I think you can make it, Cause I know we can take it Baby we will... Rise We are young we are the dreamers we will fly When the world will not believe us, We will rise above the ashes Before this whole life passes us by You and I, we will rise

#finding kh #kurt hummel

[vulpinesaint]

Nyctophobia - Ch. 7

Sebastian trusts one person entirely and completely-and it certainly isn’t the strange boy who washed up on the shore of his island kingdom.

After a disastrous turn of events, however, the pair are forced off on an adventure through a land that neither of them know anything about. With a bard, a spy, and maybe a bit of magic, they’ll have to fight hard to get back home…

Wherever home is.

link to chapter one

link to all chapters (mobile)

link to all chapters (desktop)

Chapter Seven - The Town By The Water

Caelux found this new society strange.

Granted, it’s wasn’t new, but it was new-er, and she kept seeing echoes of her own civilization in their strange little culture. A word here and there. A custom or two. The accents were the strangest—it was the same language, but it was different, somehow.

“Well, yes, but these humans have another language as well,” Aturia said, when Caelux brought it up. “Their northern kingdoms weren’t a part of ours back then.”

“Of course you’d know,” Erinis said, tone stinging. It caught Caelux off-guard. Sure, Erinis never missed an opportunity to mock Aturia, but she was a sweet person, otherwise. Lately, though, it seemed as if her jibes at their companion had been growing more serious. There was a poison to her tone that Caelix had never heard before.

“And what do you suppose you mean by that?” Aturia turned on Erinis with thorns in her voice.

“Stop it, you two.” The high pitch of Caelux’s voice caught her off guard. She was used to it being more—well, authoritative, she supposed, but she was adaptable.

Erinis shot a surprisingly sharp glare at Aturia and went back to studying the map. The paper was unrolled over her crossed legs, somewhat protected from the morning dew on the grass. Her finger traced the path that they were following. Little notes in Aturia’s neat handwriting worked their way across the land that the three travelers were crossing; most prominently, a border marker, and a label on that section of the map—’Dyria’.

“Trail’s there.” Caelux gestured to where Erinis had traced her fingers. “Dunno where they’d go from there, though.”

“The pattern makes no sense,” Aturia agreed. She seemed to have calmed down considerably, though the same couldn’t be said for Erinis. She knelt and placed an almost reverent hand on the grass. “They’ve been here, though. The plants have seen aecanta.”

“First time in years, huh?” With that, the bite faded from Erinis’s words. She sounded almost melancholy.

Aturia cast an almost guilty glance at Erinis and Caelux before nodding. “Many years.”

Erinis laughed. Caelux could hear the effort that she put into making it sound carefree. It was still a bittersweet sound. “They probably missed it, poor bastards.” She let a hand fall back into the grass. “How awful has it been, huh? Here with the humans?”

“The grass is doing fine,” Aturia murmured, standing and moving away.

Caelux cast a worried glance at her retreating back. “You don’t need to be so mean to her, Aturia,” she said.

“Oh, she’s fine,” Erinis said, and it wasn’t until the conversation moved away from Aturia that her usual carefree tone returned. “Y’know, you make a nice blonde.”

Caelux hummed her agreement. “It’s not my favorite, but it’s a good color.”

-

Sebastian had been alright for an hour or two, before the hunger and the melancholy started to set in. Well. The melancholy had kicked in long before the hunger, but it was the combined effect that really started to get to him.

Robin held his hand for a while. Sebastian didn’t really mind the contact, but his mind protested rather valiantly. It twisted his heart a bit to know that Robin was still there, at his side. On the other hand, though, that same internal monologue that reminded him to kill before he was killed reminded him that it was a weakness, to rely on the comfort of others. That guilt gnawed at his conscious. It took up residence next to his despair at the fate of his mother and the stress that had set in without him noticing. The latter was starting to compound rather nastily.

They walked for hours, after their landing in the early afternoon. Sebastian was left with silence and time to think. His thoughts kept circling back to one thing—the fates of the others, and the events of that night.

Raymond was the first to come to mind. He hadn’t shown up to protect Sebastian or the queen, which meant one of two things. Either he was dead, or he was a traitor. Sebastian didn’t know which option hurt worse. He’d never completely trusted Raymond. Ceola had taught him better than that. However, the man had been with him for years, and had helped him through many a close scrape. He was a constant in Sebastian’s life. Was it worse to consider a betrayal or a death?

Either, it was just another piece of Sebastian’s existence ripped away from him.

The same applied to Marianna, except that Sebastian had no desire to see her alive. He closed his eyes against the sun as he considered it. Marianna meant nothing to him. He hoped that she was dead, really and truly, because if she was alive, she had allowed his mother to die. If she was alive, if she was a traitor, he would kill her, bloody and slow. After a few seconds, he decided that the same applied to Raymond. Connections be damned.

The set of his jaw as he made this decision was not purposeful. Neither was the tightening of his hand. He must have had some kind of determined expression on his face, however, because Robin looked startled when he glanced up at him.

And the others? How had they fared? Marin and Anna had made their allegiance to the crown clear, and Sebastian knew how power changed hands in his kingdom. He had heard of the things that new powers did to the friends of the old. Hell, his own family had done it, when they’d taken power. He could only hope that whoever had wrongfully taken charge would know better than to kill the healers.

That sparked an entirely new anger in him. It still felt subdued by his grief, but he could feel it, like glowing embers under a heavy blanket. “Bastards,” he muttered.

Robin looked up inquisitively. Sebastian could see the worry in his expression.

“They’re going to take my crown,” Sebastian spat, hand tightening around Robin’s again. “But they didn’t kill me.”

“But you can take it back when you return. Can’t you?”

“Yeah, well, they’ll still have it in the meantime.” The idea of someone having his power bothered Sebastian more than he would have thought. Not that he was hoping that they would do the job properly, but he wouldn’t be worrying much about it if he was dead.

“Do they have to prove that you’re dead?” Robin asked.

“They should.” Bitterness slipped into his tone. “The right way to do it is to show the bodies around. To prove it. They haven’t sent anyone after us, though, so I can only assume that they’re just going to do what they can with—” he gritted his teeth, tensing his jaw to keep his voice from faltering. “With one body. Maybe they’ll say that you and I drowned. Either way, if they kill anyone who opposes them, I doubt there’s going to be a whole lot of worry over whether they got the whole set.” He hated that. That the system was so irrevocably screwed. Even more than how much he hated his own investment in the proper transfer of power.

“Who do you think it was?” Robin spoke softly. Sebastian thought for a moment.

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted, the hand that didn’t hold Robin’s clenched into a fist. “Could be any number of people. I didn’t recognize any of the bastards.”

If he was being honest with himself, the damn unsurety bothered him most about this whole thing. He had no scapegoat, nobody to blame for what had happened.

That, and it rubbed him wrong that he hadn’t recognized anyone that night. Usually he could place one or two faces, when he saw lackeys of the noble families, but none of the faces had looked even vaguely familiar.

Sebastian had lived his entire life near the beach. The sound of the gulls and the waves and the smell of the sea were integral parts of his memories. He had always been able to look out over the horizon and see that endless, familiar blue. As he and Robin walked up the coast, they followed the shoreline, but he couldn’t help looking to the left. Opposite the ocean stood hills and then mountains, and Sebastian could imagine the miles and miles of land beyond that. Miles and miles of rocky land, filled with dry brush, away from the soft sand and the sparse grass of the beach. He had always known, theoretically, that the mainland was far bigger than his own kingdom. It seemed far more… fathomable, now, however, as he faced a land so large that one could walk to the center and forget the ocean altogether.

He felt exposed, out here, with only the hills and half-dead bushes to accompany him and Robin.

The sky had just started to turn a dusky shade of blue when they came across a small town. Sebastian did his best to hide his relieved exhale. Robin didn’t bother.

The town had no wall or any other defense of the sort, so they walked in easily. People still bustled around the paved streets in the twilight, and Sebastian and Robin received several strange looks. The fashion here was different, Sebastian realized, if slightly. His boots, nearly up to his knees, certainly weren’t in style.

He found the speech of the townspeople here to be similar to his own—more similar than it was to Robin’s faintly accented speech, anyway—but there were still subtle differences. It was strange. He couldn’t put a name to that feeling.

The main export of the town appeared to be fishing. There weren’t any stalls, or a marketplace, but they passed several enclosed stores that sold fish and related products. The whole city smelt of seawater.

Not many people crowded the streets, which left Sebastian and Robin just enough space to feel as if they could be watched.

“So. What do we need?” Sebastian asked, as they walked down the paved road. He kept his tone casual. The part of his mind that kept him alive, the analytical side, had taken control for the time being—calculating every movement, studying the uncanny world around him. He didn’t like this town. There were too many people that he didn’t know, too much terrain that he was unfamiliar with. Too many variables. It would be best to get what they needed and then leave.

“Food,” Robin offered. Both young men carried a keen awareness of their dwindling food supply. “And horses, probably. A map? We still don’t know where we’re going.”

It hadn’t been particularly difficult to identify the small coins that the people there used for currency. “So we’ll either need some of those, or we’ll have to steal what we need.”

“It’ll be stealing either way, though, won’t it?” Sebastian could hear the hesitance in Robin’s voice.

“Yeah, well, we don’t have much choice,” Sebastian told him, keeping his gaze straight up ahead. “It’s either steal, beg, or die. And I’m not going to beg.”

Robin turned toward him. “Would it really be so bad?”

Already unsettled by the new area, Sebastian leveled him with a disapproving look. Robin sighed unhappily, but looked away in resignation.

Out of nowhere, a man collided with Robin, sending him scrambling. Sebastian already had his hands to his knives and a shout on his tongue by the time he realized that it hadn’t been a hostile action.

“Watch it,” the man growled at Robin, who looked startled. Sebastian narrowed his eyes. Robin quickly apologized and ducked away, taking Sebasian’s hand and pulling him farther down the street.

“Are you alright?” Sebastian asked, turning to look Robin over. He wasn’t sure why he had done that—he couldn’t really have sustained any real injuries just by bumping into someone. He surprised himself with his own concern.

That was wrong, the little voice reminded him. He shouldn’t be so worried about others, Robin had only been bumped—

“Here,” Robin said, pushing a bag into Sebastian’s hands. The shakenness in his expression had been replaced by guilt. “Let’s get a horse, and then let’s leave.” With that, he turned his gaze straight ahead and kept walking.

The bag had coins in it. It obviously hadn’t belonged to Robin. Sebastian knew better than to look back at the man who Robin had ‘bumped into’, so he casually stowed the bag in his pack and walked after his companion. Robin looked a little sick. Sebastian kept quiet about it for the moment, mostly to avoid attracting the attention of any passerby.

They managed to find a stable, small as the town was. There was some spark of recognition in Robin’s eyes when he looked at the coins they’d acquired, but he couldn’t say their value for sure. Either way, when the man in the stable told them the price of a steed, they had enough to buy a horse, though it severely depleted their funds.

Sebastian wasn’t happy with the purchase. Sure, it was over, and he was gratified to be able to leave the town, but still. “It was a waste of money,” he whisper-argued as they led the animal out of the stable. “We could’ve just stolen it.”

“With him right there? We would have been caught, Sebastian.” Robin’s tone was more plaintive than argumentative.

“And?” Sebastian’s tone carried no such gentleness. “He couldn’t have stopped us. One good wound, and we could’ve walked away with two horses and all of our money. Could’ve walked away with all of his money, for that matter.”

“Sebastian!” Robin turned to face him, concern and something like shock flooding his expression. “You can’t just—”

“Why not?”

Robin let out an exasperated breath, brow knitted as he searched for the words. “I—basic concern for others, for one.”

“Why should I be concerned about him?” Sebastian asked, quickly growing irritable. The stress of the situation, of being in the unknown was getting to him, even if he’d never admit it. “All he’s doing is stopping me from getting what I need.”

“He’s trying to make a living, Sebastian. He’s just doing what he has to to survive. Like you.”

Sebastian turned away, silently fuming.

He didn’t speak again until they had reached the city gates. They’d managed to acquire an apple each before leaving the town, and he was somewhat relieved to see that at least some of the food was familiar. It was dark by then, but neither of them liked the idea of sleeping in town. Between their limited funds and the fact that they’d stolen from someone who presumably lived there, it was an unnecessary risk.

There was a road leading out of the town, dusty and worn in by wagon wheels and hooves. Sebastian supposed that it would be best to find bigger centers of civilization, where they would find more materials and information. He glanced over his shoulder. The faint blue of the ocean on the horizon got smaller with every step that he took. He felt as if he were leaving another thing behind.

“You can ride a horse, correct?” Robin broke the silence with a tentative question. He held the reins of the horse, and walked between Sebastian and the animal.

Sebastian frowned. “No.”

Robin didn’t bother trying to hide the surprise on his face. “Really? But you’re royalty.”

“‘Course I am,” Sebastian said, tone suddenly defensive. “And what’s the point of learning to ride a horse, out in the open? The only people who use horses are the ones who have to go between towns.” And, apparently, people on the continent, which was so big that walking seemed inefficient. “Can you?” He’d assumed, since Robin had been the one to suggest horses in the first place.

“Yes,” Robin said, running a hand along the horse’s nose. “I’m pretty sure, anyway, but—” he frowned for a moment, concentrating. “Yes, I think so.” He offered Sebastian a half-hearted smile. “There’s some fuzzy recollection, at least.”

“Maybe you were a thief,” Sebastian mused. “Before you washed up on the isle. Riding horses and picking pockets.” He arched a questioning eyebrow at his companion. Robin looked down, guiltily, and the sunburn on his cheeks looked almost like a blush.

“I hope not.” His tone was soft and sincere, almost fearful. “I’m not really sure why I know how to do that, you know. I must’ve done it before, but…” he went quiet, and Sebastian felt a sudden pang of guilt of his own for bringing the topic up.

That’s not your problem, the little voice of his conscience reminded him. His memory’s not your fault. If he doesn’t know how to deal with it, why should it be your concern?

Sebastian shook it off, though not without the feeling of self-reproach for being soft that was becoming so familiar.

He still wasn’t sure how to offer support, or comfort, or whatever was required in these situations. He’d ended up crying last time, he bitterly reminded himself. That was an especially undesirable outcome. With a quick exhale, he gingerly reached over to take Robin’s hand. The young man looked up at the contact, and the surprise in his expression soon melted into a smile that melted something in Sebastian.

Out in the dark, under the stars, they found a tree to tie their horse to, and settled down for the night. Sebastian ate his apple and felt somewhat better with food in his stomach, even if it had only been an apple.

“So. What’s next?” Robin asked, carefully.

“We figure out this continent,” Sebastian answered, sounding more confident than he felt. He’d had plenty of time as they walked to think over their plan, and though he’d gotten it down to a few basic points, he was still unsure of how to go about executing it. “I gather support. We get back to Mendacium and take back my kingdom.” He glanced over at Robin. The young man had that earnest expression that he always had when he was listening; intent, ready to help. A sudden addendum occurred to him. “And in the meantime, we find wherever you came from, and figure out your past.”

Robin obviously hadn’t expected that. His breath caught in his throat, and he looked so damn touched that Sebastian didn’t really know what to do with himself. “Thank you, Sebastian,” he said, open and honest and unashamedly emotional, and Sebastian could see the stars reflected in the blue of his eyes.

He turned away, doing his best to ignore the flurry of internal voices that the moment brought on. “Yeah, well,” he said, voice gruffer than it probably needed to be, “Can’t have you just follow me everywhere if you’re not going to get anything out of it.”

A different little voice reminded him that if it were anyone else, he wouldn’t care. That Robin meant something different to him. He told the voice to shut up.

When they woke in the morning, Sebastian wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. Once they’d prepared to travel, Robin swung himself up onto the brown mare that they’d purchased the previous day. It wasn’t quite with practiced ease, but he obviously knew what he was doing.

He looked a little proud of himself when he held out a hand, grinning down at Sebastian. “Well, your highness? Shall we be off?”

-

The ornate decorations on the walls of the palace reminded Finn of home. The royalty of Oblitus seemed to have an affinity for reds and golds, between the carpets and the curtains and the detailing on the walls. Acies had a lot of similar color schemes; in the city, at least. Finn had never been inside the palace of his home kingdom.

The art on the walls was very similar, as well, but Finn knew that most of the art was actually from Acies. Art was the pride of their kingdom.

Traveling with a royal messenger had a lot of perks. The visits to royal palaces were Finn’s favorite. Not every family would allow their whole group inside, but the ones that did offered Finn a glimpse into decadence that he thoroughly enjoyed. He wondered, sometimes, if he’d be let into places like that once he struck out on his own as a real musician.

He and Kay weren’t let into the throne room. Mostly because they were technically civilians and had no business being in the same room as royalty, but Finn knew that Kay made people uncomfortable. Hired swords didn’t have a great reputation in any of the kingdoms. As so, they waited out in the hallway, watched by guards. Finn didn’t really mind it. He and Kay spent a lot of time like that, waiting for Larkin in opulent hallways and on castle steps.

When Larking finally emerged from the throne room, she looked a little pale. Finn resolved to ask her about it later. She always kept quiet about the messages that she delivered—she was a good messenger, after all—but he kept hope that he might be able to get something out of her. He was naturally curious.

The guards escorted them out of the palace, and then the group got on their horses and set off again. Finn knew that Larkin found it frustratingly pointless, to get somewhere just to turn around again, but he didn’t really mind it. He figured he’d be doing a lot of that once he went off on his own, anyway.

The ride from the city center to the city gate didn’t take long, and then they were back on the road. “So, Larkin,” he started, pulling his horse up next to hers. “What was the message this time?”

Larkin looked at him disapprovingly. “Finn. You know that I can’t tell you.” Her accent was a familiar sound, smooth and lilting.

Finn laughed, smiling his very sweetest smile. “Come on, who would I tell?”

“Forgive me, but execution for treason does not sound very appetizing right now.”

“Appetizing?” Finn scrunched his nose up. “I don’t think that’s the right word.” Larkin didn’t respond; she just smiled affectionately at him and turned back to the road.

Finn sighed in disappointment, but didn’t push any further. Instead, he slowed his horse until he was in line with Kay. “And you?” He flashed his friend a brilliant grin. “Any intriguing secrets for a friend?”

Kay raised an eyebrow, but moved to speak. Finn brightened immediately. “I’ll tell you a secret later, if you’ll stop bothering Larkin.”

Finn pulled a face at him, but grinned nevertheless. “Thanks, Kay.” It was a little victory that Kay had spoken in the first place, to be honest. He couldn’t have been all that old—maybe mid-twenties—but he carried a lot of weight with him. Finn liked to think that he was rather good at reading people, and he could tell, at least, that Kay had something bad in his past. It was another victory to have Kay volunteer a secret. Finn sincerely hoped that he would learn something about where his friend came from. All he really knew about his past was that he came from Socius, which wasn’t all that surprising. Most mercenaries were from Socius.

A figure on the side of the road caught his eye. The scenery had changed from the light stone of the city to the greenery of the forest. A young woman stared up at him from the edge of the road, silent. Her eyes were a blank, lifeless shade of gray. Finn offered her a quick smile, hiding the motion from his traveling companions by pretending to look at the trees.

He pulled out his instrument a few moments later, humming some senseless tune as he strummed to pass the time. He glanced back at the young woman, once they’d gone a ways away. She stood in the same place, still watching them. Finn smiled again, deciding that a wave would be too strange as she faded into the distance.

-

alrighty, hos! we're back at it again!

it took me a heck of a long time to get this up, and i sincerely apologize. the problem is that i'm, like, really really lazy, and it makes me awful at updating.

in other news, this chapter is about 3900 words long, so that's a lot more than expected. hopefully the extra 900 words than usual make up for the wait somewhat? again, my apologies. you can thank @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars for the update, since she was the one to motivate me to actually finish the chapter. she's also the one who made this gorgeous cover, so yeet! thanks again, leah!

anyway! your question for this chapter: what do you think about finn? you know, like, next to nothing right now, but i'd like your current impressions so that i know if i'm writing him correctly.

thank you for your patience! i'll see you in the next update! (which will hopefully be soon)

as always, resources like my writing playlist and the world map have links in my tables of contents! and right here, since convenience is everything.

Nyctophobia Playlist (Spotify)

world map

~ love from rai ~

TAGS: @virgils-jacket , @nemothesurvivor , @deathshadowrules , @yayroos , @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars , @rainykingdoms

#nyctophobia #chapter seven #chapter 7 #original writing #novel #work in progress

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine one-shot - “Contraband” (Rated PG)

Kurt is supposed to be working, but instead he's spying on a handsome guy sitting in his section - a guy that he knows from school, who he's been dying to ask out for coffee ... and who happens to be exhibiting some rather odd behavior. (2024 words)

Notes: This is a re-write. Alternate first meeting.

Read on AO3.

“Hey, Hummel! You polish those glasses much more, you’ll wear holes through them!”

“Laugh all you want, Bret, but I’m pretty sure the people sitting in my section appreciate it when their cups are actually clean.”

“That, or you need something to do with your hands!” Bret fires back, subtly making a lewd gesture before heading off to a booth with three bundles of silverware.

“Ha-ha,” Kurt mumbles, but Bret has a point. He has been standing behind the diner counter for the past hour, wiping down glasses and silverware in an elaborate ruse to spy on a man in a blue hoodie seated at a booth in his section. It’s not because Kurt has no other work to do. The diner has been hopping since the start of his shift. There have already been two birthday parties and three random sing-a-longs. They’re expecting a group of twelve in a little less than half-an-hour, but Kurt is scheduled to leave in about ten minutes, so he should really be focusing on getting his section cleared of the loiterers, nursing watered-down sodas, who have yet to pay their checks.

But this handsome man, with his sunny smile that extends to his eyes, so rare in their weekday afternoon diners; his funky, retro manner of dress; and his charming haphazard curls; has Kurt absolutely captivated. To top it off, Kurt knows him. His name is Blaine. He goes to NYADA, same as him. It has been quoted by most of their professors and a huge portion of the student body that he’s one of the most uniquely talented and charismatic students NYADA has ever known.

And Kurt knows for a fact that the man is gay.

From the first day Kurt walked into school and saw him strumming his guitar, performing one of his original songs in the student commons, Kurt has been trying to work up the courage to ask him out. This might be the perfect time. He can stroll over to his booth, ask him if he needs a refill on his Coke, strike up a conversation, slide him a complimentary slice of cheesecake, and stealthily write his phone number on the customer copy of the receipt. In his head, it sounds like a rom-com in the making.

However, Kurt has hit a snag. This man, who for all intents and purposes Kurt could describe as perfect (or, at the very least, perfect for him), has started feeding bits of his tuna fish sandwich to the pocket of his hoodie.

Kurt sighs. Only in New York.

Why? Why is it always the handsome ones that turn out to be so bizarre?

Kurt figures he should consider cutting his losses, hand the man his check, and let him go on his way. They’ve only had a handful of conversations at school as it is. Blaine probably doesn’t even know Kurt exists apart from the fact that Blaine was the T.A. in the Intro to Mime workshop Kurt attended over Spring Break. Kurt tripped outside of his invisible box and bumped Blaine with his hip. They shared an awkward smile before Blaine went off to help another student tug on an invisible rope.

Not really the basis for a long-standing relationship.

But there’s something about the way Blaine looks down at the pocket he’s feeding, the soft smile on his lips, the crinkle at the corner of his eyes. Plus, he appears to be talking to it, or more to the point, cooing. Kurt is too curious, and before he makes the decision to stop pursuing his daydream of inviting this man out for coffee, he needs to know what’s so interesting about that pocket.

Blaine is a Musical Theater Major. That might explain a thing or two. They do tend to be an odd breed.

Kurt walks around the counter and heads for Blaine’s booth, hoping to catch him off guard. As he approaches, he cranes his neck to look over the seat, but his view of the pocket remains blocked by Blaine’s elbow.

“Hey there!” Kurt says, coming up behind him with still no luck for a decent view.

Blaine jumps. “Hey!” he says, clamping his hand carefully over his pocket, shielding it from Kurt’s view.

“So, are you just about done here?” Kurt gestures at the picked-apart food on the man’s plate and his empty soda glass.

“Uh … yeah. Yeah, I’d say so,” Blaine replies after a cursory glance at his table.

“Were you thinking about ordering any dessert today?” Kurt asks, stalling for the time he needs to come up with a way to unravel the mystery. “We have ten milkshake flavors, our Boston Cream pie is pretty popular, and we have an excellent New York-style cheesecake. Though, technically, I guess it would just be cheesecake since we’re in New York.” Kurt raises his eyebrows, hoping something he named sounds appetizing enough to make Blaine stick around a bit longer.

“No, not today, I think … uh …” Blaine gets distracted by his pocket when, to Kurt’s surprise, it squirms. “If I can just get the check … please?”

“Certainly,” Kurt says, politely ignoring the fact that Blaine’s pocket mewled. He takes a step away from the booth, but he can’t leave. He has to find out what’s in that pocket; he just has to. Of course, prying could kill his chances with Blaine, if he ever had any, but he can’t help himself. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but Kurt has to know.

“Hey,” he says, standing closer to the booth than usual, blocking other waiters’ view of Blaine and his pocket, “before I go, can I ask you a question?”

“Hmm?” Blaine says, a little tight, a little anxious

Kurt bends slightly to keep their conversation hush-hush. “What’s in your pocket?”

Blaine stares back at Kurt with an expression of severe discomfort. “Uh … in my … in my pocket? There’s nothing …”

“I promise, I won’t tell anyone,” Kurt whispers. He looks at Blaine with pleading eyes and an honest smile. “Please?”

Blaine sighs, a bit defeated, but he smiles back.

“Alright,” he says. “But I’m trusting you. Not a word?”

Kurt puts two fingers to his lips and makes a locking motion. “Mum’s the word. I swear.”

“Okay. It’s this little guy.” Blaine pulls down the lip of his pocket, and a puff of orange fur with bright green eyes peeks out. The kitten looks at Blaine, then straight up at Kurt, and lets out a soft but poignant, “Meow.”

“Oh my God!” Kurt gasps. “That is the cutest kitten I’ve ever seen!”

“Yes, he is,” Blaine agrees, baby talking to the tiny creature and giving it a scratch underneath its chin, which it lifts to accommodate him. “I found him a few days ago, cold and hungry, limping on the sidewalk outside my building. So I took him in and fed him. I was going to take him to a shelter, but I … I couldn’t do it.” Blaine gives Kurt a sheepish shrug. “I just picked him up from the vet this afternoon. He has a broken paw, so I couldn’t leave him at home to fend for himself.”

“Of course you couldn’t,” Kurt says, shaking his head emphatically.

“Unfortunately, I can’t keep him, either.”

Kurt’s head snaps from the precious ball of floof to Blaine’s gloomy face.

“Wha---why not?”

“My roommate,” Blaine explains. “She’s extremely allergic to cats.”

“Oh.” Kurt watches the kitten close its heavy eyelids, its head drooping as it drifts off to sleep, surrounded by the warmth and comfort of Blaine’s hoodie. “That’s … that’s too bad.”

“Yeah, it is,” Blaine says. “I don’t have anywhere else to take him. Most of my friends live in dorms, and they don’t allow animals. It looks like I might actually have to take him to a shelter after all.”

“No!” Kurt thinks fast when he imagines this poor kitten, stuck in a cage, shivering in the cold, alone with no one in the world to love and care for it. Kurt hasn’t been to a shelter before, so that’s actually probably the furthest thing from the truth, but it’s the first image that pops into his mind, and it sticks. “No, don’t do that! You know, my roommate and I have been discussing getting a cat ...”

“Really?” Blaine asks, his eyes lighting up.

“Sure.” Kurt bites his lower lip – something he does when he fibs, he’d recently discovered. But it’s not entirely a lie. He and Rachel had discussed it. She wanted to get a cat for the loft, name it Macavity, and make it their mascot. On holidays, she envisioned the three of them wearing coordinating outfits and performing festive musical numbers from the fire escape for their neighbors, whom she was certain would appreciate the whimsy. Kurt, on the other hand, said that any animal that pooped in an open box of sand had no business being in their home. But he’s not completely repulsed by the thought of a feline companion, to curl up beside him on the sofa during rainy days, or on his bedspread while he watched his late night Judy Garland marathons. This adorable munchkin, with his freckled nose and his melodious meow, might be just the cat to change his mind.

Besides, it came with the added bonus of a smitten former owner, who might be persuaded to stop by every once in a while.

“Plus, if you let me take this little guy home with me, then, you know, you could come by and visit him whenever you want.”

Blaine looks blankly at Kurt, and Kurt wonders if Blaine thought that last comment was too forward. Or maybe he has no clue who Kurt is, the way Kurt originally suspected.  

“You might not remember me,” Kurt says, swallowing his pride. It takes a rather large gulp to get it all down. “I go to NYADA, too. My name’s …”

“Kurt,” Blaine fills in.

“You---you know my name?” Kurt chuckles, shocked at hearing this man call him, unprompted, by name. Suddenly, Kurt remembers he’s in uniform. He puts a hand over the name sewn on his shirt.

“Oh,” he says. “I almost forgot. It’s on my …”

“Your name is Kurt Hummel,” Blaine interrupts. “You got into NYADA with an audition Carmen Tibideaux sprang on you during the Winter Showcase, probably because she knew you would blow everyone away. But that was your second audition, if I’m not mistaken.” Kurt feels himself blush at Blaine spouting off this information, as if he’s been composing the history of Kurt’s time at NYADA. “You also recently won Midnight Madness against your roommate, Rachel Berry - not that she stood half a chance, if I do say so myself. Yes, Kurt, I know exactly who you are.”

“Well, I …” Kurt stutters, then settles for dumbstruck silence. And to think he wasn’t sure that Blaine even knew he existed. “Alrighty then. So … what do you think?”

“I’ll need to take a look at your home environment before I make my decision. You know, to make sure it’s feline friendly,” Blaine replies, a teasing smile on his face. He takes his wallet out of his pocket one-handed and slips his credit card from the top slot. Kurt can’t stop staring, blown away by the enviable dexterity of his fingers. Blaine hands the card over to Kurt and winks.

He’s a guitarist, Kurt reminds himself. And a pianist … and a violinist.

There may be no limits to what those talented fingers can do ...

“Of---of course.” Kurt takes the card, forgetting that he hasn’t even given Blaine his check yet. “I get off in a few minutes. We can ride the subway together.”

“Sounds great! Thank you so much for offering to take the little guy in. It’s a tremendous relief.”

“You’re welcome,” Kurt says, heading for the register.

“And Kurt?” Blaine’s voice stops Kurt mid-step. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Funny you should say that, Kurt thinks to himself, fiddling with the card in his hand, because you may just be a life ruiner.

#klaine fanfiction #klaine fic #klaine #Frankie writes

[pianosamurai]

Asia Trip Part 3: Tu Lan + The Trip to Hanoi

Truth be told, we were on the fence about doing this second tour, even though it was just a 1-day trip. We were a little fuzzy on the specifics - would it be similar to Hang En? Too similar? Did we want to potentially tarnish the fun we had on the first tour, with a potentially mediocre experience the next day?

We overcame the over-thinking and went ahead with the tour, which ended up being (of course) the absolutely right thing to do. It was an even earlier pickup than the first tour, and we had the same breakfast we did the first morning at Ho Khanh’s Homestay - fried noodle with eggs, tea and some fresh mango. I realize now that I forgot to highlight our host Duc, who was the nephew of Ho Khanh and managed the entire homestay. He was a great and had an awesome energy (regardless of whatever time we saw him). I especially appreciated the conversation after we found the massive spider the first morning.

Amanda: “Good morning Duc! So we found a huge spider in our room.”

Duc (smiling): “Ooooooh...really? You okay?”

Amanda: “Oh yeah we’re fine, but I figured you should know.”

Duc (laughing nervously): “Hahahah...yeah....it’s okay! He friendly!”

And then 5 minutes later:

Duc: “Was the spider inside the room? Or outside the room?”

Amanda: “Inside the room, on the window.”

Duc: “Oooooh.....hahaha okay!”

We were picked up by another Oxalis tour guide that morning named Vu, in what I believe I was a nice Toyota RAV4. Expecting another small bus to show up with a bunch of other tourists, we were pleasantly surprised to find out that we were actually the only people on the tour that day. We were driving about an hour away, to a different cave system in a completely different area. Tu Lan is not a national park, but it was equally inspiring as the park in Phong Nha.

Along the drive, we took a highway that Vu told us was running along the Ho Chi Minh Trail, and then he proceeded to dive into some Vietnam War trivia. That was one thing I was curious about, to hear their perspective and see how they react to foreigners, and Americans in particular. Granted, as tourists they were only going to give us so much information, but the way that Tha put it the day before, “For a while, the older Vietnamese generation was angry at Americans. But after a while, we decided to change our minds. And we said, okay, we should be friendly with Americans now.” In these smaller towns, tourism has actually been well-received, as it has provided lots of jobs and opportunities for the local people. I only hope that the goodwill that we experienced during our time there will remain, and grow into the future.

Just before we arrived at the headquarters in Tu Lan, we encountered a very muddy stretch of the road that had actually handicapped an Oxalis van, carrying a few tour guides (including Tha) who were going to the headquarters for a training session. Apparently a bridge had been in place previously, but over the years it had started to deteriorate until it was finally taken down to make way for a new bridge to be constructed. But at that moment, we were between bridges - bring on the mud. The van eventually managed to squirm its way up the little slope leading back to the main road. More on this mud zone later.

There was some light drizzle on and off throughout the day (hence the mud), but obviously not enough to deter the tour from happening. We made it to the headquarters, where we got situated and received an abbreviated safety briefing from Vu (”you guys know all this stuff already, so we’re good”). And then the three of us started trekking towards the caves.

For any cinephiles who are reading this, much of the recent King Kong movie “Skull Island” was filmed in this region. While that was generally used as a selling point on the Oxalis website, Vu seemed only mildly amused by the connection (”I haven’t even seen the movie!”). I actually did see the movie, and while I wasn’t nearly geeking out over being on location where they shot the film, it was pretty fun to imagine a huge gorilla and a huge dinosaur battling amongst the hills and rivers around us.

But humongous creatures aside, it was clear why the filmmakers were attracted to this area. It had a sense of mystery and wonder that kept me intrigued the whole day. I’m sure the vibe would have been completely different in the summer, with blue skies and sun, but I’m happy that we experienced this place in the exact state that we found it.

A long, flat walk amongst rice and peanut fields (and a whole lot of water buffalo) led us to our first river and then eventually our first cave. The caves we explored on this day were nowhere near the magnitude or scope of Hang En, but they still had plenty to offer. If anything, it made me want to go watch the Planet Earth “Caves” episode again, which I’m sure I had not nearly appreciated enough the first time.

As the day went on, I grew more and more thankful that we hadn’t decided to pull the plug on the tour. This experience was so different than Hang En - not just the setting, or the caves. The fact that it was just me, Amanda and Vu (and an occasional porter or chef) gave us the chance to really appreciate the solitude and the majesty of the Tu Lan area. Rather than a handful of tour guides shepherding a group of random assorted tourists, it just felt like a few buddies taking a walk through the jungle, stopping at times to admire crazy stalactite formations, local cows that crept up to within a couple feet of our trail, or super dark cave ladders like this one:

(dub step analogy ahead): This small section of the trip could have been considered the Build, if our lunch campsite was the Drop (sorry). We had to climb down that (clearly) not well-lit ladder, which led to a dark cave within the river that we canoed down for a few minutes before being spit out at this beautiful little nook:

The campsite was at the far end of this little lake, and we relaxed for a bit while the sky tried to figure out if it wanted to rain, or just seem threatening. Again, lunch was a delicious combo of spring roll/bánh mì fixings (assembly required). Another highlight of this day was having an uninterrupted opportunity to talk with and learn about Vu, our guide. He was from the city of Hue, where his parents had owned a coffee shop. After school, he decided to move to Phong Nha to escape the hustle of the big city. Naturally, he said the instant coffee that was more easily found in these rural areas didn’t really get the job done for him (”I drink 6 cups a day, and feel nothing”). He told us about his first experiences with Oxalis, when he was the only applicant who didn’t speak English, but he was a good enough swimmer that they brought him on for training. The caving experts that train the guides are all based in the UK, which explained Vu’s fairly consistent British accent. When asked what country he would most like to visit (he had never left Vietnam), he replied “America” without too much hesitation. Why? “Because you can make money there.”

After lunch, we took a slightly more perilous route back down to the main trail, up and over a steep hill complete with spiky, slippery rocks. Thankfully nobody got themselves hurt - just very muddy. As we found flat ground again and reached our final river crossing (heading back to the headquarters), I paused for a few seconds, mid-river, letting the water wash the mud out of my shoes and feet. I tried to breathe slowly and let the moment sink in, and not just take this last wet river crossing for granted. People may wonder (especially the locals) why city dwellers from halfway around the world would pay money to walk around in the jungle, through the mud, over hills with sharp rocks, getting sweatier and dirtier by the minute. An easy answer would be “to feel alive”. But I think more than that, it was “to remember what life is, and what it can be”. In a place such as New York City, it’s very easy to get wrapped up in your day-to-day life, and oftentimes global happenings outside of the five boroughs only register as a blip on your News App. The day that I started to travel more frequently for music, my relationship to New York City - and the world as a whole - changed dramatically. To put oneself in a situation such as this river, this jungle trek - I looked at it as a self-inflicted reminder, to stay humble, and to always appreciate the lifestyles and customs of other people around the world. Just because they do things differently than us, doesn't mean that they aren’t as passionate about life and invested in what they do. And that’s something I can always respect.

A return to headquarters was capped off with a most-welcome hot shower at a stall that was set up about 50 yards from the main building. At this point, my trusty New Balance sneakers had, sadly, started to kick the bucket. The tread had started to peel off the bottoms of the shoes, and I could almost hear them yelling, “Come on man, give us a break!” So I donated them to Vietnam, and Vu said he would keep them at the headquarters, just in case somebody with huge feet showed up one day and needed to borrow a pair for their own excursion.

Although had I known what was coming up next, I might have held onto them a little while longer. Remember the muddy stretch of road that we passed in the morning? As we approached it on our return to Phong Nha, we were held up by a couple of people who were helping to guide a vehicle coming up from the opposite way. Turns out, that vehicle was a big tractor with BIG wheels. We all had the same thought instantly, fearing that the BIG wheels had left some DEEP grooves in the mud, and if our RAV4 managed to slip into those grooves, we might get stuck.

Well guess what - that’s exactly what happened. Despite our driver’s best efforts, we were squirming along the muddy decline, trying to drive in between those grooves without falling into them. But everyone knew the moment that the wheels slipped, and we were just stuck. Long story short, the Oxalis van that needed rescuing in the morning came to our aid, and a coalition of myself, Vu, Tha and the van driver managed to push the RAV4 from behind, eventually giving it enough leverage to snarl out of the grooves, nearly drive off the side of the road, and then finally clamber back up the incline on the other side. All the effects of the hot shower were completely erased by the splattering and the (slowly drying) mud cakes covering my feet and sandals. But after the initial discomfort, I thought - why not? I spent the whole day trekking through mud, so it only seemed appropriate (in hindsight) that I would re-muddy myself with a few Vietnamese dudes, shoving a car out of a ditch. It was like an added authentic bonus to the tour that Oxalis had been keeping a surprise. (Although I’m sure they aren’t trying to make a habit out of this.)

We eventually made it back to Phong Nha, where we gathered ourselves at a chic little restaurant on the main strip near our bus stop. In my scheduling madness, I had booked a sleeper bus from Phong Nha to Hanoi, which was an 8-9 hour drive. This way, we could get to our final destination by midday the following day, and also didn’t have to worry about a hotel for that evening. Dinner was surprisingly good (didn’t expect that I would be eating wood-fired pizza in Vietnam), and then when the bus finally showed up, we entered what would be one of the more hilarious nights of our trip - and maybe our lives?

Hilarious could be the wrong word - maybe strange, special, a little nerve-wracking? Some combination of all those things. I have no photos of this bus, but Amanda summed it up the best halfway through the drive, when she half mumbled to me, “If I just pretend like I’m on the Knight Bus from the Harry Potter movie, I’m good.”

Facing the back of the bus from the front, there were three rows of double-decker bunks. Not 180-degree flat bunks, but more like the passenger seat of a car, folded as far back as it can go. Add a little plastic case surrounding the bottom and sides of the chair (imagine the material from a Fisher-Price jungle gym), and that’s what the sleeping situation was like. They were most definitely one-shooters, so Amanda and I found neighboring bunks.

Once we got going, it became quickly apparent that the bus drivers (there were two that alternated during the drive) were not too interested in the notion that people were trying to sleep. Honking, speeding, swerving, revving, spitting out the window - all was fair game. In hindsight it was hilarious - I mean, what more was I expecting at $14 a ticket for an overnight bus ride? - but at the time, there were a few moments where I had to question whether or not I had made the right decision.

Regardless, we made it to Hanoi somewhat alive, and after a brief stop to gather our bearings at a nearby hostel, we embarked on Phase 2 of our journey that day - to Cat Ba Island!

[secret-rendezvous1d]

IMAGINE THE MISSUS BEING THERE WHEN HARRY AUDITIONS FOR THE XFACTOR

WATCH THIS FOR A GOOD CRY.

She stayed the night before his audition because he asked her to. Because Anne gave her the all clear to spend the night and travel with them into Manchester the following day. Because Gemma wanted her to stay for dinner and it worked out. Because he needed her there to get his nerves to settle. Because he needed her there to give him his honest opinion on whether the song he was singing was the right song. Because he couldn’t sleep knowing his fate was in the hands of three people he’d seen on telly before. Tucked up in his bed, wearing one of his old sweatshirts, holding him as he sprawled himself out on the bed beside her and promising him that everything was going to be fine; that he had the best singing voice she’d ever heard, and that wasn’t being biased because he was her boyfriend and she was his girlfriend. That she was still going to love him, regardless, because she’s stuck by him until now and she’ll stick by him until the end.

They speak and stay up until the late hours of the night, when the clock struck midnight, because neither of them could sleep - well, it was more or less Harry that couldn’t sleep with the nerves bubbling around his belly as he tried to find a comfortable position to fall asleep in. Conversations rising about how glad they were to be on the verge of finishing school and how stress-free they were going to be during the summer, making plans to start driving lessons so they could drive anywhere they wanted to go rather than catching the bus or a train to a desired destination, making a plan that, if all things went wrong with his audition, that they would take a trip to the beach with a group of their friends and stay in a hotel room that was on the front to spend time with one another, post-exam season, before college began in the September. But by the time the time ticked past midnight, conversations about his audition and his future struck up; if he was to get big and famous, would he ditch her for another woman or would he have her by his side when he goes off to play songs all over the world? Would he forget all about his home life and up and leave to another city to live and spend the rest of days? But he was adament that she was in his future. Where he gave her the best life he could - “when m’big and famous and I have wads of cash in my wallet, m’going to give yeh the best life I can. It’ll be for you. I’ll do everything for you. And we’ll live in the best house we can find. In the best city we come across. I’m going to marry yeh and we’re going to have the best wedding that everyone wants an invite to, but, we’ll just make it close friends and family members. We’re going to have kids together to fill up our big house. A nice big family with about 4 or 5 kids. And we’re going to by a cat because I’ll be lonely without Dusty around.” - and where they were together to the end of time.

When they arrive at the arena where he’s carrying out his audition, he can feel the butterflies flutter around his belly. Hand slotted into his girlfriend’s where she can feel how sweaty his palm is getting, the closer and closer they got to the desk where he was given his number. His mother and his aunt and Robin following close behind with Gemma and his cousins drifting back a while but still following on course to queuing with the rest of them. He’s humming the song beneath his breath and grinning down at her with the number in his hand; a silent invitation for her to stick it on him, anywhere she fancied, as long as it wasn’t in an area that resided at his behind or his front. Between the waiting time and getting inside to finally do his audition, he’s standing with her and holding her from behind and taking silly photos with her because they need something to remember this day with, chatting with his mum about how nervous he was and how he was gutted his dad couldn’t be there to see him but how excited he was to see where this could take him, blushing shyly when they all complimented him and hiding his face into his missus’ neck when his cheeks became really heated.

When he’s pulled away for a quick televised interview that will air alongside his audition, his girlfriend chooses to bolt off with Gemma to grab a quick coffee and a little something eat before sliding back into the queue and waiting for him as he came back. A tea in her hand that she passed towards him when she saw him scuff his way back across the concrete. 

It’s when Dermot O’Leary comes over that excitement bubbles more. The nerves slightly disappearing when he sees the camera crew following in his path. His palm getting more sweaty as he clenched his fingers around hers in a tighter fashion. Hello’s and greetings being exchanged with hugs and handshakes happening before the formalities begin; questions over experience flooding in, chat about White Eskimo popping up whilst his girlfriend brought up how he’d won Battle Of The Bands at school - which was something he was extremely proud of achieving - and how he wanted to go forward from there. How he wanted to continue the feeling of being thrilled in front of people, by doing what he loved to do. By doing what he was good at, which was something his mother never fell short of telling him. Day in and day out, whenever she heard him humming along to a tune on the radio or when he’d popped in from a White Eskimo rehearsal that took place in the garage and she’d heard the song he was belting out.

“It’s more nerve-wrackin’ now m’inside,” he murmurs, settled in a seat, that had been sat on by many people throughout the day, that was set at a random angle in the space where people were waiting to be called in, “I feel like I’m about to poo my pants.”

“I don’t have a spare change of clothes,” his girlfriend teases, “you can slip on my jeans, if you want?”

“And have you walking ‘round with no trousers on? No way,” he smiles, nudging her arm with his elbow, “I’ll be fine. Just, incredibly nervous. There are so many people out there in that audience who have come to laugh at those who can’t sing and have come to compliment those who can. What if m’neither? What if they never boo and what if they never clap? What if it’s dead air? Silence? No cheers whatsoever? I’ll look like a bloody fool.” 

“Then we’ll all jump on stage and cheer. Get them all started,” Ben grins, punching his knee softly, “they’ll be able to her (YN) and your mum and Gem from behind the scenes anyway. You’ll be the loudest of all of them in there,” he adds, as Anne nods in agreement. 

“Regardless of what happens, we’ll support you no matter what,” Anne smiles, pulling him into her side and kissing his forehead, despite his whines, “you’ll be wanting plenty of kisses one day and I won’t be here to give you any.” 

“You’ll be around for ages, mum,” he smiles, pressing his lips to her cheek, “love you.”

“I love you too,” she coos, pinching his cheek softly, “you’ll be going in soon, I’m sure. Are you getting excited? Nervous? Worried?” 

“All of the above and so much more,” he admits.

When his number and his name is called out, he’s taking slow steps to the scenes behind the stage. Camera crew following his every move until he’s greeted by Dermot at the bottom of the steps, tellies all around that are focused in on different areas of the inside arena; one focused on the judges, one focused on the arena as a whole, one focused in on a specific section and a couple focused on the stage. After more greetings, and more hands being shaken, he’s clapped on the back.

“Listen, good luck out there,” Dermot grins, pointing back to his family, “wish him luck.”

And before Harry can twirl around, his girlfriend plants a good smack on his lips. Pulling away with a cheeky grin and whispering a good luck to him as his cheeks flush pink, his mother coming in for a kiss on his cheek and Ben pulling him back to press a kiss to the crown of his head. Playfully and dramatically trying to pull away before Gemma can get her hands on him to plant a smacker somewhere on his face.

And he struts out on the stage, leaving her view and leaving her behind with worry in her stomach but a smile on her face as she nuzzles into Robin’s arm and lets him cuddle her to his side. A soft “he’ll be great” leaving his lips as his audition begins and the cheers of the audience die down.

With introductions over, and a little talk over his girlfriend being backstage and over his job at the bakery and how popular specific pies were for the customer he has come in regularly for a lunch deal and how he’d just done his GCSEs and worked there as a Saturday job to earn a little money to buy his girlfriend and his family all the presents he could afford, he’s onto singing. With no melody or backing track playing in the background and no instruments assisting him; he goes acapella. How he sings around the house or in the shower or even when he’s at work and the bakery is empty after the lunch rush that came through when everyone took a break from work.

Behind the scenes, his mother is swaying from side to side and his sister is standing there, facing the cameras with a smile on her face. Ella standing beside her as she sings beneath her breath and Ben standing beside his own mother as they clap along to the gentle voice he had playing and echoing around the silent and anticipating crowd in the stalls. Robin standing with (YN) as they watch in awe of just how wonderful he was doing; all of them praying that the judges heard the right thing and agreed to send him through to the next stage, towards Bootcamp.

“You’re 16 years old and you have a beautiful voice,” Nicole smiles, nodding towards him as he blushes rosy red and thanks her softly, a smile on his lips.

But as the negativity came rolling off of Louis Walsh’s tongue, it set (YN)’s heart racing. He wanted a full house of yeses, but, she had a feeling he was coming off of the stage with two yeses and a no that would sit heavy on his heart and push him back a step in feeling confident with himself. Knowing he was feeling bad by the way his face dropped, regardless of the thank you that he gave towards him for the criticism that would help him in the long run. 

And from backstage, his girlfriend can’t help but yell out. 

“Rubbish!”

Which is something that Simon picks up on as something coming from the audience. But, Harry knows… He can tell from the sound of the voice that it’s his girlfriend yelling out in disagreement, how she was dumbfounded by how Louis considered her boyfriend too young and inexperienced. Continuing on with a praise and how, with a bit of vocal coaching, he could sound with some help coming his way with the help of the show. Because he was really good and just needed an extra push in the right direction.

With two yeses and a no, he’s off the stage in a hurry and in the arms of his mother before he could even express how he felt. Her arms winding around his neck as he squeezed her tightly and let her babble excitedly over how proud she was and how good he did up there in front of everyone. How he deserved three yeses from all of them but was even happier with the two he got from those who could tell how much he wanted it and how good he truly was; who saw a future for him, even if he was a bit patchy with his presence. 

“So, how did I do? Did I do good?” He grins, hands cupping his girlfriend’s hips as she rests her arms on his shoulders and runs her fingers through his hair, “think m’gon’a be famous?”

“I know so,” she whispers, leaning up on her toes and pressing a kiss to his lips, “I’m so proud of you. I love you. You did so good.”

“Think we can head off for some early dinner? I’m starving,” he chuckles, cupping her face in his hands, “I fancy a juicy burger. With everything in it. Chips on the side. A nice, big coke to wash it down with. What do you think?” 

“Whatever you fancy, Superstar.” xx

#THIS TURNED OUT LONGER THAN I EXPECTED #THE LONGEST HARRY TALK I'VE EVER DONE???? #harry talk #xfactor!harry #harry styles imagines #harry talk requests are shut right now!

[ooc-but-stylish]

iprinny

 “There’s a lot that gets me about the love story in FFXV and how it…”

Im super curious to know what your thoughts are on that absurdity with prompto’s “dramatic reveal” in chapter 13

Hoo boy. My opinion about the “dramatic reveal” is pretty much my opinion on the whole game, which is 

“Good plot, terrible execution”

Prompto was an MT? Neat. However,

it should have happened earlier

it should’ve been resolved earlier

it should have had a bit more foreshadowing if it was going to be dragged out to Chapter 13 of all things. 

With regards to the actual scene, my first impressions were “Damn, Prompto looks good for a guy that fell off a moving train and got tortured!” then “Oh, oh shit, this is the twist– Prompto’s gonna strangle the shit out of Noct, isn’t he? He’s right there–” and finally “…. Oh.”

The game has Prompto like “Oh, I’ve been tortured for a while in this dungeon, also I wanna tell you guys I’m a Nif/MT”(1) and the bros are like “Ok so? That doesn’t change anything. We still care about you.” which matches more the reaction parents should have when their kid comes out of the closet than anything else. One of their own revealed themselves to be part of the same army that, like, has been attacking them relentlessly on the World Map every 15 minutes ( and interrupting the important dialogue we’ll never hear again ). You know the reaction Wakka had about Rikku being Al Bhed? Yeah. I was expecting that, most likely from Gladio. But they’ve known each other since they were kids, more or less, and those of us who have played the game, regardless of whether we did or didn’t see Brotherhood or the extra media, have likely already seen proof of their unwavering friendship toward each other even in portions of the game where it wouldn’t even make much sense for them all to still be cool.(2) So this… is a waste. It reinforced what we already knew. It served no purpose except to reveal a plot-convenient serial code on his wrist to help them escape, and it raised more questions. 

MTs are made from daemons made from Starscourged humans, and Niflheim would need a lot of humans, so they started making clones and infecting them. Prompto is supposedly one of them, but escaped when he was super young and adopted into the Argentum family. Okay, so who got him out of that lab? Why did he still have “no parents” in Brotherhood? Who were his parents? Were they natives to Insomnia? How did he get a nice place to live in and not end up in the outskirts/slum parts of Lucis on account of his being a foreigner? If he got a serial code imprinted when he was a baby, wouldn’t it have deformed as he grew up? How did it maintain its shape? Was the barcode the same size throughout his life? Why isn’t he wearing light-resistant armor, like the other MTs? This is stuff we’d have to read the Wiki or the strategy guide about, except I’m still asking these questions, so the answers exist nowhere. Even to this day. And people still have theories on whether the Naga in the beginning of the game ( the one that kidnapped Prompto and cried about her baby ) was actually Prompto’s mother. That’s fucked up storytelling, not because they did it on purpose, but because they didn’t.

The reveal happens and is resolved so quickly, no one has the time to process anything. A lot of this game is pretty much “Here’s this earth-shattering detail! Let us never speak of it again”. 

Like, yeah, Noct is broken up he attacked Prompto and knocked him off the train, but did he process the part where he said everything was Prom’s fault and demanding that Prom stop following him around? Right to his face?

Did no one stop to think that Ardyn being able to make himself look like another person means that there’s 0 chance any of them would know for certain that their allies were their allies? Wouldn’t they be in an intensely paranoid state, questioning each other on stuff the “real” them would know about? How do any of them know Ardyn isn’t still right there, hiding in plain sight?

Details that would have worked as foreshadowing for Prompto’s reveal, instead of Ardyn dropping eleventh hour infodumps on Niflheim’s army allowing for post-hoc bullshit:

The constant Magitek encounters come specifically from the Nifs geotracking Prompto’s barcode. The party actually brings up the frequency of these attacks, but Prompto is hesitant to say anything.

None of the Magiteks attack Prompto, focusing on the other three in the party instead of “one of their own”. Possibly dumb luck, and saves every gamer the trouble of Prompto always dying first somehow.

Increased frequency of goofy Ardyn selfies and creepy Prompto pictures on any day Ardyn is with the party.

Instead of Ardyn’s “stitch in time” thing that is never explained again, and Ardyn’s immortality just being the Astrals going “Ew, cooties” and banning him from the Beyond to inflict him on the living, have this: the way 'Ardyn’ appears and disappears is by body-hopping from one Starscourge-afflicted/daemonified person to another. Some individuals are more receptive to him than others based on how far along they are in their daemonification or MT experiments. So why was he on that train, in the place of Prompto? Because something inside Prompto allowed him to be there ( enough to alter his looks but not his speech patterns ). He could drop that particular bomb in Ch 12 before telling Noctis that Prompto is in Gralea.

Ardyn’s immortality comes from the fact that when he ‘dies’, he just manifests in the next likely person to host him or maybe someone of his choosing if he wants. That adds the drama of Ardyn not really ever being dead for good, and the possibility that he could take over Prompto in his next life if he felt like it. That’s a better justification for “You have to kill this dude, then kill yourself, then kill him again” than “Because the gods said so”.

TLDR the Prompto reveal sucked ass.

(1) Let me get this out: Fuck This Game. The localization sucks in its consistency by language. Bahamut is either the Draconian or the Aetherian. Ardyn could have either vaguely “known” Gentiana died, or personally had a hand in killing her. Izunia is either a relative of Ardyn, and Noctis’s ancestor, or is a completely random name Ardyn made up that he forgot the origins of. The Japanese version of the game, rather than hinting that Prompto is an MT, has sections where Ardyn instead taunts Noctis about “Did you know he’s originally from this city?”, and when Prompto reveals it to the group he says “I’m a person of Niflheim”. Even the JP VA confirmed it. So whether or not Prompto is even a Magitek is dependent on language of the game. I can understand that they were trying to go for, but they should have been consistent. Must have been something to do with the constant rewrites of the plot.

(2) Fuck This Game Part Duh: No, seriously. It tried to eat its cake and still have it, and I’ll tell you why. The game doesn’t actually give a shit about your choices. It wants its narrative both ways, telling us that Noctis in particular has certain “fixed” character traits but giving us a choice to make him another way in his dialogue options typical of Western RPGs which have “blank slate” characters. Using both methods and no lasting plot divergences to support those choices beyond the immediate cutscene makes it so that the dialogue options have no impact on the story or make sense, suggesting you play it “Square’s way” or else the game ignores your choices, which is fundamentally not how open world western RPGs work.

A playthrough in which Noctis acts like a total jerk to Prompto and dismissing him every chance he gets will still result in Prom wanting to hear from Noct that he cared about his well being, as well as Prom expressing sadness that Noct will die. 

A playthrough where Noctis puts only platonic or indifferent notes into the book he sends to Luna will still result in the scenes in Chapter 9 where he sheds a tear at her speech, laments that he wanted to save her, and then is quiet rather than impassioned and vengeful, even though he summoned Ramuh and busted a base to rescue the Regalia and to get revenge for Jared of all people.

A playthrough where the Altissian woman interrogates Noctis and Noctis answers by straight-up fucking metagaming and showing more understanding of the lore of the story than he’s ever been told and treating her with respect should count as “gaining her implicit trust”, but we still see a scene where Luna is sitting in the chair across from the Altissian woman and Imperial forces come in and surround Luna anyway, meaning the Altissian lady sold them out.

A playthrough where Noctis only ever responds maturely to Gladio, and his conversations with others have the options for him to act like a leader and the King he’s meant to be, will still result in Gladio chewing him out unnecessarily while the game clunkily tells us Noctis “is a spoiled brat/selfish”, “is being immature” and was “moping for weeks” about Luna even though we just saw her death five minutes ago and Noctis is shown to be quiet but otherwise not stalling the quest in any way. We didn’t even see a funeral, or excessive crying or outbursts, or Noctis demanding that everyone focus on his pain and staying in Altissia locked in a hotel room. He’s just quiet on a train. 

Chapter 13 of the game is especially awful, when both it and Ardyn insist that Noct is supposed to be some scared, frightened puppy without his weapons when he’s wielding the most canonically powerful item in the game, casually ripping gashes in reality and insta-killing a fortress full of daemons with an anti-daemon ring, and the player is able to ignore most (if not all) stealth mechanics and blitz through that chapter with no penalty.

For those that did the side quests throughout the game, the only trait from gameplay that sticks in the narrative is that Noctis is a passive entity. He’s told to do something, he just does it. Otherwise, no matter what, even if you played the game and had Noctis act like a rude shit and played as if none of the Bros were his Bros, they’re still going to be Bros. They’re still going to care about him, including Prompto. Especially Prompto.

#iprinny #ffxv critical #ffxv negative

[therealestatesparkblog]

6 Types of Rental Property Add-Ons (& a Look at Whether They’re Worth It)

Generally speaking, adding additional living space to a property is not advisable unless its in a particularly high-end neighborhood. But as with anything, there are exceptions to this rule. Certain homes naturally lend themselves to easy additions, such as bedrooms or bathrooms, or present opportunities to convert already existing space into living space. Consider the following ways to not only improve your property but also add value to your investment. Bedroom or Bathroom Addition Sometimes you dont even need to add any square footage to a home in order to create an extra bedroom or bathroomeither of which can substantially increase the value of a property. (This is especially true if the house only has two bedrooms or one bathroom.) A third bedroom is advantageous to property owners because most families who are looking to move wont settle for any fewer. Families typically intend to stay in place longer than single tenants; therefore, they can be easily turned off by what they consider inadequate space. In certain situations, its even worthwhile to add a fourth bedroomespecially if the addition is easy to do. But it is rarely beneficial for homeowners to add a fifth. Oftentimes, especially with older homes, floor plans are far less than optimal (think large hallways and other poorly utilized space). Wasted square footage can present an opportunity to throw up a few walls, build a closet and install a door. Boom! Youve got another bedroom. As an alternative, maybe you could cut one large bedroom into twobut be careful with this. Heads of households (like parents) tend to like bigger master bedrooms, so avoid dividing one room into two if its the only large bedroom in the home.

Related: 7 Creative Ways to Add BRs, BAs & Other Value-Adds to Your Rental [With Pics!] Heres a final note on bedrooms: they must be at least 10 feet by 10 feet. They also arent legally deemed a bedroom if: they dont have a window to the exterior;dont have a closet; orare solely accessible by going through another bedroom. Bathroom additions dont require as much space, but they are more expensive to build. Remember, you will have to run plumbing, so the closer your new bathroom is to the main stack, the better. If there is a basement (or at least an easily accessible crawlspace), this can make it a lot easier to install new plumbing. Houses that are built on a slab foundation, however, are pretty much a lost cause. To add an extra bath would require cutting into the concrete to lay the plumbing, which is (needless to say) quite expensive. If a floor plan allows for it, there are several instances when adding a bathroom is a good idea. One key opportunity is when you are dealing with a large housesay, approximately 1,500 square feet or bigger. When possible, the extra bathroom should be connected to the master bedroom. (Again, parents love privacy.) As a space-saving option, a shower stall can be installed instead of a bathtub. And if there isnt enough square footage to add a full bathroom, a half bathroom (just a toilet and vanity without a bathtub) is still a significant improvement. Another instance in which you should try to add a half bath is when youre dealing with a large, multistory home with no bathroom on the first floor. Nobody wants to go all the way upstairs to use the restroom, and most people wouldnt like to send guests up there either. If you can squeeze in a half bath on the main level, its usually worth it to do so. That being said, preferably a house will have a bathroom on every floor. Worst case scenario would be a multistory property with all of the bedrooms upstairs and the only bathroom downstairs. Having to go down a flight of stairs every time nature calls in the middle of the night is not only less than ideal, but also dangerous. Theres no size requirements with regard to bathrooms, but they should be big enough for people to comfortably do anything they might need to get done in one. Unfortunately, bedroom and bathroom additions are not always practical or financially feasible. Whether or not the property is begging for one or the other (or both!) should factor into your decision to purchase the property in the first place. Related: 12 Creative Ways to Add Major Value to Apartment Buildings Garage Conversions More often than not, garage conversions arent worth it. Certain situations, however, make sense. First of all, recognize that by converting the garage into, say, a bedroom, you are quite obviously losing a garage in the process. Secondly, the garage will probably need to be insulated. And thirdly, it can be tough to match a homes siding or paint color if the conversion requires you remove the garage door. (For that reason, garage conversions are easiest when you also intend to update the homes exterior.) Garages are also often built on slabseven when the rest of the house is built on a crawlspace foundation or basement. Sometimes those slabs have settled, creating an uneven surface, which can make remodeling that much more difficult. Regardless, there are times when it does make sense to pull the trigger on a conversion. The most obvious instance is when you have a relatively small house (like a two-bedroom, 800-square-foot home) with a two-car garage. Its unlikely tenants need both garage bays, so using half the garage space to create a master bedroom and bathroom could add a lot of value while also retaining one garage spot. In some lower-end areas, I have seen investors carve out most of the garage to build an additional bedroom, while leaving the very front of the garage as basically a small storage locker. The purpose behind this? Section 8 pays more for additional bedrooms. So, these investors increase their income even if it makes the house feel a bit awkward.

Basement Conversions Whereas garage conversions are usually a bad idea, basement conversions are almost always a bad idea. I encountered countless half-finished basements when exploring properties shortly after the crash of 2008. Apparently, an unfathomable number of people thought it would be a good idea to refinance their house in order to finish their basement. Needless to say, they chose unwisely. Basement conversions can have a variety of problems. For one, many appraisals dont consider any finished space below grade (underground) to be countable square footage. Ive witnessed appraisers not count bathrooms when they were part of a finished basement. This means that the upward adjustment post-conversion will be rather small even though the cost can be substantial. But a bigger problem is water; a lot of basements leak. Most are vulnearble when there is a torrential downpour. And it can be an essentially endless and fruitless battle to prevent this from happening. Mold can form when water gets into a basement. Then, the property owner has to tear out the affected drywall and reinstall it, assuming theyve actually been able to seal the source of the leak. Its another metric of which Ive lost track. I cant count the number of finished basements Ive seen that are missing the bottom foot or two of drywall because of water damage. Rental properties with finished basements can introduce further problems. If a tenant has property in the basement and its destroyed by water issues, well, theyre not going to be particularly happy with you! Yet, there are times when basement conversion do make sense. The first instance occurs when additional bedrooms are at an extreme premium. The most obvious example of this isstudent housing, which rents out by the bedroom in hot markets. My dad is the master of finding ways to carve out bedrooms for his student rentalshe fills every nook and cranny. These extra bedrooms are often built in basements. Another instance when it makes sense to convert a basement is within a house where you can do a cheap finish. Best case scenario are homes with walk-out basements. With this type of property, only one side of the basement is underground (maybe due to the fact the house is on a hill). With these, I recommend simply painting all the walls white and the floor gray with an oil-based paint (so it wont scuff when people walk on it). Perhaps add a few lights, too. Voila! This finishes the basementsort ofand can make the space more appealing to renters, buyers, and appraisers. The best part is its cheap! Attic Conversions Attic conversions are rarely possible, but can make sense in certain circumstances. There are three major conditions that need to be met for an attic addition to work: The stairs to the attic need to be in good shape and not overly steep.The ceilings need to be tall enough.The area must be properly ventilated. Attics can get really hot in the summer and cold in the winter. Without an additional attic on top of your attic conversion, there wont be much insulation. So, you need to make sure the space can be heated and cooled sufficiently. Oftentimes, even if you have central air, you will want to provide an additional window unit. Steep stairs can turnoff buyers and renters, as well. The International Residential Code recommends that for a rise of 7.75 inches (vertical part), there should be a run (horizontal part) of 10 inches. Older homes may be grandfathered in with a steeper rise, but it shouldnt be too much steeper than that. Building codes vary by the region, but most require at least a seven foot ceiling. The 1994 Uniform Building Code requires a ceiling height of at least seven feet, six inches. Check the building requirements in your municipality, but anything less than that most likely cannot technically be considered living space. Regardless, very few people would want to have a bedroom with ceilings lower than that anyways. If your property meets all of these criteria and there is substantial value to gain by adding more living space, then (and only then) should you consider converting your attic. Enclosing a Porch Rarely is it a good idea to enclose a front porch in order to add on to a house. Back patios, however, can be a different story. It sometimes makes sense to enclose, insulate, ventilate, and convert back patios into an additional bedroom or living space. There are a few questions to ask yourself before embarking down this path. First things first: does the house needs extra living space to begin with? Next, keep in mind that people really like having direct access to their backyard. So, if you are planning to turn the porch into a bedroom, make sure theres another door to the backyard. (At the very least, ensure you can add a new one elsewhere.) Finally, just like with garage conversions, acknowledge that youre losing something when you enclose a porch. People like outdoor spaces, especially in cities with pleasant climates. Weigh the pros and cons before making the plunge. Is the cost of converting the porch actually worth the trade-off? Building an Addition Building an addition is somewhat like building a small house that attaches to an existing one. Maybe the foundation is already there, but its rare. Youll likely be starting from scratch. Anything like this requires permits. (Full transparency, much of the above does, as well, depending on the municipality). For this reason, adding an addition is rarely worth it unless property is located in a high-end area. Conclusion Adding additional bedrooms and converting non-livable space into livable space can be a huge value-add to real estate. But its not without costs, both financially and to the property itself. There are times when it makes absolute sense to pull the trigger, and others when it does not. This should provide a helpful guide for making such decisions.

When was a time you had to make a decision on value-adds for your properties? Comment below! https://www.biggerpockets.com/renewsblog/rental-property-add-ons

[blissfulcastiel]

Out of Step - Part 2

As promised, here’s the continuation :) [AO3] Read part one here 

“… Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty! Now the other leg,” Anna calls out. Castiel reaches to grab for his left foot, bending over enough that he could touch his nose to his knee if his eyes weren’t trained on the heavy metal door that led into the band room. It’s the first day of school. The day’s already been a great source of anxiety for Castiel since this is a new school and, besides his bandmates and Gabriel, he knows no one. Being a senior, it’s even more intimidating because most of his peers have been going to school together at least four years, if not since elementary school. But somehow, waiting in each class to see if Dean Winchester is going to walk through the door has been the most nerve wracking today. Castiel hasn’t even seen a glance of Dean in the hallways. So when he went the first three periods Dean-less, he’s been feeling all sorts of restless for fourth and fifth period, which is when he’s guaranteed to see Dean. During marching season, band kids have altered schedules that allow them to have their study hall combined with the regular band period so they can have extra rehearsal time during the day. Meaning, there’s time to head out to the practice field and run sets. It also explains why Castiel is outside in the middle of the school day, stretching out his body in preparation to spin. Every time the band door opens, Castiel’s eyes flicker over to see who will emerge, but each time he’s disappointed. He hasn’t seen Dean since that car ride after the final day of band camp. It was a surprising encounter. They’d both apologized to each other. That was probably the last thing Castiel thought would happen when he woke up that day. Even more shocking? Dean invited him out to spend time with him and his friends. Castiel didn’t go.

He almost went, though. At one point in the evening, when Gabriel returned home with the car, Castiel gathered his keys and was standing with a hand clutching the knob of their front door. All he had to do was walk outside, get in his car, and drive. He was stuck, though. He couldn’t shake the nagging thought that despite Dean’s reassurance, it was a pity invite. Besides, Dean was, well, Dean. To put it simply, a person like Dean doesn’t hang around with someone like Castiel. An awkward, dorky individual who knows how to point his toes and dance with flags but can’t name one character on Game of Thrones. Unfortunately, because Castiel decided against going to The Roadhouse, it means that he hasn’t seen Dean since then and he has no clue what might’ve changed during those couple weeks before the start of school. He’s anxious about whether or not they’ll slip back into their old ways, or if that conversation in Dean’s car will be remembered. Castiel’s hoping for the latter. The band door opens again. The gleam of Benny’s trombone catches the sun first, but sure enough, Dean’s right behind him, the tips of his drumsticks lightly tapping out a rhythm on his snare. Castiel’s barely seen him for a second before their eyes meet. They hold each other’s gazes for about three seconds before Dean looks away, carrying on towards the practice field with Benny. Castiel thought maybe Dean nodded at him too, but it’s bright and sunny outside so he can’t be too sure. It’s interesting though. Dean didn’t glare at him. There wasn’t the typical scowl or hardening of his eyes. Instead, Dean looked at him warily, as if testing the water the same way Castiel was. Perhaps this means things will be different between them after all. Turns out, everything is completely different. Every band period, every practice – they’re the complete opposite of what they were during band camp. They used to send the other biting remarks, passive aggressive jibes, sneering at each other until they were silenced by a drum major or even the assistant director, Crowley. Now? It’s unnervingly silent. They exchange cautious glances, as if waiting to see who’s going to break first. Tiny nods in greeting and farewell are exchanged wordlessly, even from across open spaces. Instead of being told to quit bickering, now Castiel hears Dean’s friends tease him about the two of them not going at each other’s throats. Castiel overhears one such conversation one day when their Wednesday evening practice ends. Everyone’s in the process of collecting their things and walking back to the school to put away equipment and go home. Usually, Castiel spends his time at band rehearsals with Meg, but she’s being scolded by Rachel for her lack of effort and Castiel didn’t want to awkwardly wait while those two got into yet another argument. So he’s walking back to the school alone, not immediately realizing he ended up behind Dean and his group of friends. “So what’s goin’ on with you and Cas?” he hears Benny ask Dean. Castiel guesses they don’t know he’s right behind them. “Yeah, what gives? You two finally kiss and make up?” Charlie’s voice is suggestive and Castiel can only imagine her wiggling her eyebrows, the way he often sees her do when she’s teasing Dean. “You guys complained when we were fighting, and now you’re complaining that we’re not? Make up your damn minds.” “We just want to know what’s up,” Kevin offers as he pushes along his marimba. Castiel catches the slight raise of Dean’s shoulders from under his harness. “I dunno. Just tired of fighting, I guess. There’re better things to use our energy for.” Interesting answer. With Jo and Charlie being the closest to him, it’s no surprise what he hears Jo whisper not so secretively to Charlie, “Told you they were having hate sex.” Castiel feels his entire face burn at the comment while Charlie slaps a hand over her mouth as she snorts out a laugh. “I heard that,” Dean growls, spinning around to glare at them. “I told you guys, I’m not interested in him. Can we please drop it now?” Dean’s eyes flicker in between the two girls and lands on Castiel. He feels like his heart stops in his chest. He immediately looks away from Dean’s paled gaze and slows his walking to put more space between them. Castiel’s not sure why there’s such a pit in his stomach from Dean’s words. Thankfully, he can’t dwell on it too long before Meg’s at his side, not wasting one moment before she’s complaining about Rachel and Anna. Castiel listens, grateful for the distraction. He has no idea if what just happened is good or bad. He’s also not sure which he’d rather it be.

*****

Crowley’s barking for everyone to be in block formation in two minutes so they can be led to warm-ups while Kali’s calling the same to the guard. It’s the first competition of the season and despite getting up early for rehearsal and then driving an hour to the hosting school, everyone’s buzzing with excitement.

“What do you say we kick some ass today, Clarence?”

Castiel glances to Meg, who is smiling triumphantly as if they’d already won. He wishes he could share her confidence.

“Yes, that sounds like the goal,” he replies, forcing a smile.

But Meg’s not stupid. She sighs.

“Are you gonna tell me why you’re acting all weird yet? It’s bad juju, baby.”

Castiel used to be unnerved with the pet names Meg would call him, but he’s come to ignore them, understanding that it’s just a Meg-thing. He realizes that the pet name isn’t meant to be provocative, but with the unstable state of mind he’s currently in, it’s unsettling.

“I told you, I’m fine. Just… I need to grab some water really quick. I’ll catch up with you.”

Meg gives him an incredulous stare but doesn’t argue. Castiel turns and disappears inside the bus, going to his seat and digging in his bag for his water bottle. He gulps down about half of it before stopping himself. There’s no greater uncomfortable feeling than jazz running across the field and feeling water slosh around inside your stomach. He glances out the window, catching sight of Dean a little ways away in section leader mode as he looks over the drumline. Castiel watches him for a moment, the way he tucks a loose tendril of hair into Jo’s shako and readjusts it on her head, then giving a nod of approval.

That’s always surprised Castiel about Dean. On a first impression, he would’ve never guessed Dean would be a good section leader. But Castiel’s come to realize there’s an air of protectiveness and care Dean has for the people around him. Castiel tears his gaze away. Enough stalling.

He exits the bus and goes to where his flag and rifle are propped up against the side of the bus. Everyone that was milling around outside the buses have walked the short distance to start forming the parade block, so it’s quiet save for the distant murmur of voices and the faint echo of whatever band is performing in the nearby stadium. He picks up his rifle, the familiar weapon feeling heavy in his hand. It’s as if it’s weighing him down, and Castiel can’t move. All he can do is stare at the flag, willing himself to grab that next.

Castiel has a featured part in the first movement. Musically, the beginning has a gradual build. The front ensemble plays a melody of haunting sounds, minor chords clashing together and fading away. The flutes join in too, almost giving the impression of wind echoing through an empty house at night. The band’s spread out across the field in seemingly random placements, and while they move from set to set, the guard runs through them, quiet and elusive.

The unique part of their performance is that the guard shares one rifle while the others dance and slip between the band. It allows for a series of brief solos, starting with Rachel. Her solo ends with throwing a toss that Anna catches. Then Anna gets her sixteen counts of work before it’s Castiel’s turn for the temporary spotlight.

The thing about Castiel’s introduction, though, is that as Anna throws her six, Castiel somersaults into a kneeling position behind her, arms slipping around her thighs at the last minute to catch the rifle in front of her before it can hit the ground. They worked on the toss for days. Since Castiel’s low to the ground, there’s only so much he can see of the rifle before he has to reach around her and catch it blind. He’s lost count of how many times the toss went wrong.

Sometimes, it was Castiel’s fault. He’d be too late and miss the catch or reach around Anna too early, and it ruined the suspense of whether the rifle would be dropped or not. And sometimes, it was Anna’s fault. She’d throw too far in front of them for Castiel to even reach. Other times, the rifle collided painfully against Castiel’s wrists because Anna didn’t get enough height in the toss. There are also the times she threw too much above them, so when the rifle came down, she had to duck out of the way to avoid the weapon hitting her, which led to her stumbling and tripping right over Castiel.

It’s safe to say they both have enough bruises from this toss. There’s an innumerable amount of mistakes that could end in disaster for them.

They’re fairly inconsistent with correctly throwing and catching. When they were in their morning rehearsal, they successfully performed the toss three times in a row. But three times doesn’t give Castiel any comfort. He can’t help but have this sinking feeling in his stomach that something will go horribly wrong.

And if it actually goes right, what if Castiel drops on the rest of his short solo? He doesn’t do any fancy tosses since it’s mostly dancing and spinning, but there is a double that he could fumble. Or there’s the quad parallel toss he uses to transition into Jess’ solo. He has all the faith that Jess will catch it just fine. Out of all the freshmen, she has a natural talent with the rifle and it’s also why she’s the only freshmen with one of the rifle solos. But what if Castiel manages it screw it up for her somehow?

He could really let them all down today.

Castiel’s so lost in storm clouds of his thoughts that he doesn’t hear anyone approach, so he startles at the sound of his name being spoken, but doesn’t take his eyes off the white silk of his flag.

“Um, Cas?”

He breathes out.

“Dean.”

“What’re you doing? We’re about to head to warm-ups.” A pause. “You okay?”

Castiel turns around to look at Dean. There’s no one else with him, but he’s holding something.

“I’m going to drop.” The corners of his mouth pull downwards at finally admitting what’s been going through his head in a mantra all day.

“What?”

“My solo. It could be when it starts – that partner toss with Anna. She throws it but I reach around her body to catch it. It’s a blind catch. I could miss it completely.”

“Didn’t you guys nail that ear-“

“Or the double. Or the parallel that Jess catches. What if I mess up her solo by not throwing correctly? Her very first competition and I could just ruin -”

“Cas,” Dean speaks up, making him stop his ramblings that were beginning to build into panic. “You’re going to be fine. Even if you do drop, so what? The season just started. There’s plenty of time to redeem yourself. I’ll tell you one thing - standing here and worrying about it ain’t gonna do you any favors.”

Castiel nods slowly. “I guess you have a point.”

Dean quirks a small smile. “You’re not going to drop, Cas.”

Castiel can’t bring himself to share Dean’s confidence, but he doesn’t want to reject his attempts at making him feel better either. He glances down at the object Dean’s holding. “So why are you over here?”

Dean waves the feathered thing. “Ash and Krissy were messing around and the poor plume paid the price.” Castiel raises his eyebrows. He didn’t even realize it was a plume from the destroyed state it’s in. The plume’s mostly stripped of its feathers and the few ones left are jutting out at unattractive angles. “I swear, they behave like twelve year olds sometimes,” Dean adds with a shake of his head.

The sound of Crowley’s yelling has Dean scrambling towards the equipment trailer, presumably to fetch a new plume from the container they’re stored in, and Castiel shoulders relax slightly. Who knew it’d be Dean to be the one to settle his nerves? He decides not to wait up though because why would he anyway? They’re not exactly pronounced friends. He gathers his flag and rifle and heads over to join the parade block.

Castiel doesn’t see him until after the performance. He’s crouched down outside his bus as he stuffs his flag and rifle into the protective bag they use whenever they travel. Feeling someone’s eyes on him, he looks over his shoulder to find Dean staring at him, though his gaze slightly lowered. His eyes flicker up to meet Castiel’s and he seems to realize he was caught. A blush heats up Castiel’s face, but thankfully it’s still red from the exertion of the performance. He tries to calm his racing heart when he sees Dean walking towards him.

“So?” Dean asks, strolling up to him while running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair.

Castiel tears his gaze away, not wanting to think too much about how well Dean looks in his uniform. He nips at his lip to conceal his smile.

“I didn’t drop.”

“See? What did I tell you?” Castiel can hear the grin in Dean’s voice.

A small laugh shakes his shoulders as he stands and faces Dean. “Yes, you were right for once.”

Dean scoffs, looking like he wants to retort but stops himself when Meg sidles up next to them.

“You did great, Clarence,” she drawls. “Not that I’m surprised.”

Castiel doesn’t miss the way Dean rolls his eyes, but he ducks his head at the compliment. “Thank you, Meg.”

“So yeah – guess I’ll go change now. Um, good job, Cas,” Dean says, slowly backing away and looking like he’s about to vomit. Castiel’s about to speak up, concerned that perhaps Dean is dehydrated, but Meg beats him to it.

“See ya, Dean-o!”

Frowning, Castiel watches Dean go. He’s still not sure where this leaves them, but perhaps this means they really are past their petty feud. Castiel hopes they are.

Meg’s groaning startles him out of his musings.

“Please don’t tell me you have a crush on Pretty Boy, Clarence. He’s nothing but a heartbreak waiting to happen.”

Castiel laughs shallowly, shaking his head. “Of course not, Meg.”

“Good. Now let’s go peel this spandex off our asses, hm?”

Castiel agrees, though he doesn’t understand why there’s such a dissonance within him. He had a good performance. He and Dean are being civil. And now he gets to spend the rest of the evening watching the other bands perform. So why does he feel like something’s off?

*****

It’s a gradual thing.

Ever since that first competition, Castiel finds himself being less and less guarded with talking to Dean. First it starts with simple greetings.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Heya, Cas.”

And at the end of each practice, there’s their little nods and soft, ‘See you later’s. Castiel almost hopes that Gabriel will be an ass and leave him without a ride just to see if Dean would offer to drive him home again. But Kali’s been keeping Gabriel at arm’s length lately, so no such luck.

At the second competition, right before the band is to set up in parade block, Castiel decides to wait back and clear his head like he did for the first competition. And well, he is surprised when Dean finds his way to the equipment trailer to grab an extra pair of sticks, but he definitely wasn’t hoping Dean would come by. They exchange quick well wishes before heading back to the band.

After the performance, when the band sits in the visitor’s bleachers to watch the remaining bands, there are open seats next to Dean and his friends and it just so happens that Castiel claims them with Meg, Gabriel, and Kali right behind him.

There’s a moment where everyone seems shocked that they’re actually sitting next to each other, but after Dean asks Castiel about his performance, they all seem to relax. Dean’s friends are very inviting. They talk directly to Castiel and joke around with him. It’s nice to be with them like this. So many times, he’s been on the receiving end of their curious gazes and he felt like an animal on display. Despite it feeling unusual to interact with Dean so publicly in a positive way, it somehow feels… right.

After the awards ceremony, Castiel finds himself with Dean back towards the buses, the others having gotten separated in the hundreds of other band kids from various schools also trying to find their way to their rightful buses. While they walked, Dean asked how he got into color guard. Castiel got swept up in the story of how his father took him to a college football game when he was young and instead of wanting to be a football player the way Bartholomew hoped for, Castiel fell in love with the beautiful silks and how the guard worked the flags, as if it was an extension of their bodies.

By the time Castiel was done retelling the way his father’s plan backfired on him, he didn’t realize how the crowd had thinned and the background noises are much quieter around them. It really is just them now. It’s the first time they’ve been alone for more than fifteen seconds since that car ride about a month ago.

“So he doesn’t like it, huh?” Dean murmurs, not seeming to notice it was just them.

Castiel shakes his head. “Not at all. Gabriel’s mother doesn’t either. Naomi has an appreciation for music and approves my playing cello for concert season, but she says spinning flags and dancing isn’t for guys. They both think color guard is what ‘turned me gay’. It’s no wonder her and Bartholomew hit it off.”

Castiel’s scared to look at Dean when he says it. He’s not exactly one to open up quickly, and even though he’s not hiding his sexuality from anyone, he always feels vulnerable when he states it point blank to someone he’s not exactly close to. He’s aware Dean’s bisexual, but still… He and Dean don’t know each other. Not really.

“Fucking assholes,” Dean mutters with disgust. “So you’re a cello player, huh? Kevin’s gonna flip when he hears that.”

Castiel relaxes, grateful that Dean isn’t making a big deal about what he just revealed. “Yes, I did hear Kevin’s a cello player. I look forward to chair auditions.” He pauses, wanting to know more about Dean but scared he might cross some unspoken line between them. He decides to take the risk. “So you know what I play in concert. Do you stick with percussion outside of marching band?”

Dean shoves his hands in his pocket as they walk. “Sometimes. I play piano too, so it depends on whatever arrangement Chuck decides on.”

Castiel smiles, a small thing. “Piano is a beautiful instrument. To be honest, I didn’t think to place you as being a piano player.”

Dean snorts. “What did you think I played, then?”

“Brass. It was your cocky arrogance that had me to assume as much. It’s stereotypical, I know.”

That provokes a laugh from Dean. “Damn right it is. Benny’s trombone and he’s like a giant teddy bear. If we’re going off stereotypes, I would’ve put you as flute.”

Castiel glances at him, quirking an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”

“Oh, you know,” Dean shrugs, “Prissy attitude. Stick permanently buried up your ass. Nose so damn high in the air you don’t know what the ground looks like anymore. That kinda thing.”

Now it’s Castiel’s turn to laugh. Wow, he’s not sure the last time he laughed so openly like that before. “I’ll tell Charlie you said as much.”

“Hey, we were talking stereotypes!” Dean accuses but he’s laughing too. Castiel hears Dean laugh often, but somehow this sounds different. It’s an addicting sound, nonetheless.

Castiel hums skeptically and it’s then they become aware of how they’re standing in front of the buses.

“Guess it’s time to go,” Dean says. If Castiel didn’t know better, he’d say his tone sounds disappointed.

“I guess so.”

Dean claps him gently on the shoulder. “Good job out there today.”

Castiel fidgets, feeling the tips of his ears warm for a moment before nodding. “You too.”

They gives each other a small wave before Castiel climbs the steps into the guard bus while Dean walks over to his own bus. When Castiel settles down next to Jess - since Meg is taking up the entire seat while she sleeps - Jess smiles at him.

“You seem happy, Cas.”

It’s difficult to hide his smile. “We had a good performance today,” he offers lamely.

She nods, though her eyes glitter knowingly. “It’s nice to see you and Dean getting along, too.”

Castiel swallows thickly. Yes, he and Dean are getting along. And it’s doing funny things to Castiel’s stomach.

“I suppose we are,” he agrees quietly.

*****

Castiel’s not sure when exactly they officially become friends. All he knows is that ever since that second competition, their usual simple greetings turn into asking how the other is doing, listening to them talk about anything and everything, walking to and from the practice field for rehearsals together and sitting next to each other during the sparse breaks Crowley allows them. They don’t see each other outside of band and school, but it’s safe to say they’re past their little feud.

Football games are part of marching season. Nearly every Friday night, that’s where band kids are guaranteed to be. They’re enjoyable – the band plays pep tags and marches part of their show during halftime. But it seems the fun for most people comes after half time, when the band is no longer obligated to play. Castiel just goes home, but he’s heard of the plans people make afterwards. He’s overheard Dean and his friends heading to The Roadhouse. Some of the guard girls get together for a movie night. Meg always invites Castiel to join him and her non-band friends to hang out, but Castiel’s wary about that crowd so he always declines. Besides, Castiel’s content with shutting himself in his room to play his cello or read the night away.

That’s exactly what he plans to do now that half time for the third football game has just ended. Everyone’s making their way out to go do whatever it is they’ll spend the rest of their Friday night doing. Castiel is studiously rolling up his flag and changing out of his costume while the crowd in the band room is beginning to trickle out. When Castiel’s grabbed all his things, he realizes Gabriel’s nowhere in sight. Being drum major, he’s normally pretty quick about being ready to go, always eager to pick up some dinner on their way home. But now, he’s nowhere.

Castiel sinks into a chair to wait, thinking maybe the four drum majors are talking with Crowley or something. Across the room, Castiel spots Jess talking to Sam. He grins at the way they both smile and giggle, the epitome of young love. They’re not together, but Castiel has no doubt Sam will ask Jess to homecoming and they’ll start dating. Speaking of Winchester, though, Castiel scans the near empty room for any sign of Dean. Nothing. Not even a sighting of Charlie or Benny or Kevin or Jo. Perhaps Sam’s getting a ride from Jess’ parents and Dean left with the others already. Castiel swallows the disappointment. He barely saw Dean today.

Suddenly, the large room is becoming much too constricting for Castiel’s liking. He wants to leave and push Dean from his mind because he shouldn’t be feeling empty the way he is. Castiel’s not interested in Dean romantically – even though he’d be lying if he didn’t find Dean attractive - but on the extremely slight chance he has feelings for Dean, he lost his chance a long time ago. Dean’s not interested in being anything other than friends now. Honestly, it’s a miracle they’ve even accomplished that.

Standing up quickly, the metal legs of the chair scraping against the floor, Castiel sets off to find Gabriel, his patience wearing thin at this point. He checks the locker room, the percussion room, and even the bathrooms. Nothing. There’s only one other place Gabriel could be, even though the rooms are supposed to be locked.

Sure enough, as Castiel’s jiggling the locked handles to the individual, soundproof practice rooms, one of them opens. Peering around the door, he’s met with the vivid sight of Gabriel being pressed up against the wall by Kali, Gabriel’s hands cupped around her ass.

“Are you kidding me?” Castiel groans, quickly turning away from the sight that’ll now be seared into his mind.

“Castiel,” Kali exclaims breathlessly. He can hear her scuffling away from Gabriel, as if that makes a difference.

“Jesus, Cassie, you ever hear of knocking?” Gabriel huffs. “What do you want?”

Castiel glares at him. “To go home, for one.”

The annoyance from Gabriel’s face disappears, replaced by a meek smile. “Uh, about that. I forgot to tell you - I can’t drive you home tonight.”

Castiel stares at him for a long moment, unable to process what he just heard. Kali clears her throat as she slips past Castiel in the doorway.

“I’ll wait by the car.”

There are a few moments of silence after she leaves before Gabriel’s the one to speak up first. “Look, things are going great with Kali, okay? I’m sorry I forgot to tell you.”

Gabriel squeezes his way past him, leaving Castiel standing there fuming. It takes him a few minutes before Castiel commands his feet to follow.

“Are you fucking serious, Gabe?” He calls after him, just before Gabriel can leave the band room.

“Come on Cas, it’s not the end of the world. Mom or Dad can pick you up,” Gabriel shrugs before pushing his way out the door. Castiel’s quick to follow behind him.

“You know very well Bartholomew’s at a business dinner and Naomi couldn’t care less if I’m stuck here.”

“Cassie, I don’t know what to tell you. Kali invited me over and I’m not about to pass up that golden opportunity.”

“So you can’t even drop me off?” Castiel asks incredulously, hiking his guard bag higher on his shoulder.

Gabriel sighs. “I’m sorry, Castiel. She’s waiting for me now and our house is completely out of the way from where hers is. We only have an hour before her parents come back and I really wanna get laid tonight, alright?”

Castiel shakes his head slowly, feeling like he could explode but holds his anger in. There’s no use for it anyway. “Fine. Go have fun.”

“You need a ride, Cas?”

Dean’s voice makes Castiel jump. There he is, standing semi-cloaked in the darkness where the weak light above the door doesn’t reach. Was he there the whole time?

“There ya go, Cassie! Dean-o here can give you a ride. Everyone’s happy.” Gabriel’s grin could light up the entire night sky. It makes Castiel’s blood boil even more. Before anyone could get in another word, Gabriel turns on his heel and practically skips off towards the parking lot.

Castiel catches Dean rolling his eyes.

“He’s a dick.”

“At least you don’t have to live with him,” Castiel grumbles.

Dean chuckles and a second later, Sam’s emerging from the band room with Jess close behind.

“You two done making out?” Dean asks in annoyance. Oh God, they both probably just saw the whole thing too. How embarrassing.

“Dean,” Sam groans while Jess blushes.

“I’m not the one who stayed in there an extra ten minutes,” Dean sniffs before looking to Jess. “You comin’ with us?”

She shakes her head. “Can’t, my mom’s waiting in the parking lot.”

Dean nods and turns to Castiel next. “How about you?”

Castiel starts to shake his head before Sam chimes in. “Yeah, come on, Cas! We’re going to The Roadhouse. It’ll be fun!”

“Thank you, Sam, but I’m not –“

Dean steps forward, throwing an arm around his shoulders and leading him towards the parking lot. “Here’s the thing, Cas. I got the keys, so that means you have to go wherever I go. And you’re coming to The Roadhouse with us.”

Castiel gives him a dirty look but sighs in resignation. He is hungry, anyway. “Alright, if you’re sure no one will mind my being there.”

Dean grins. “Not at all.”

The softness to Dean’s voice makes the corner of Castiel’s mouth quirk upwards. After that awful fight with Gabriel, it’s like fresh air to be with Dean, especially when he’d thought Dean had left already.

Despite the churning anxiety in Castiel’s stomach for hanging out with Dean and his friends outside of a band event, the night actually turns out to be fun. The seven of them slide into a roomy, U-shaped corner booth and order food. Somehow, Castiel ends up next to Dean, but he’s not going to complain about that. Not even when Dean steals some of his fries because Charlie took a good handful from Dean. Kevin jokes that he’s going to beat Castiel in the upcoming chair auditions. He gladly accepts the challenge and they shake on it, solidifying themselves as friendly rivals.

Jo pulls out a deck of cards when they’re all done eating and they go about playing an assortment of card games. Dean helps Castiel along if he’s never played the game before. He’s surprised at how well Sam plays. He may look harmless, but he shows no mercy when it comes to cards. Charlie, who’s on Castiel’s other side, chats endlessly to him in between her and Dean’s trash talking each other. Apparently, they take Rummy 500 very seriously.

Even Benny, who Castiel always had the impression that he didn’t like him, makes him feel welcome. He’s more reserved than the others, but he recounts some entertaining stories of Dean that has Castiel trying to hold his laughter for Dean’s sake. Though, it is strange the way Benny’s eyes keep flickering between him and Dean from across the table.

The end of the night comes too quickly and before Castiel knows it, Dean’s pulling the Impala into his driveway. He pauses before getting out.

“Thank you, Dean.”

Dean glances at him in the rearview mirror. “Hey, it’s no problem. I know what Gabe did was really shitty, but I’m, uh, kinda glad. It was awesome to have you with us tonight.”

Castiel can’t help but smile for about the hundredth time tonight. “I had fun.”

Dean lifts his hips to dig his phone out of his back pocket, clicking around on it before handing it back to Castiel. “Put your number in. So, um, I can call you or something the next time we hang out.”

Castiel’s stomach flutters as he takes the phone. He tries to ignore the shaky way his fingers enter his contact information before handing it back.

“I look forward to it.”

Dean does some more clicking and about a second later, Castiel’s phone vibrates in his pocket.

“Now you got mine,” Dean tells him.

Castiel grins to himself, gathering his stuff before opening the car door. “Let Sam know that I enjoyed his company tonight,” Castiel says, glancing at Sam’s sleeping figure slumped over with his cheek pressed against the window.

Dean snickers. “Sure thing.”

Castiel climbs out of the Impala, closing the door behind him. He pauses outside of Dean’s open window to give him a small wave.

“Goodnight, Dean.”

Dean waves back, giving him a crooked smile.

“Night, Cas.”

Castiel makes his way inside, only hearing the Impala rumble away when the door closes behind him. He barely mumbles an apology to Naomi when she demands why he didn’t call to say he was going out. He’s not going to let her ruin such a good night. When he makes it to the safety of his room, he sets his bag and rifle by the door and quickly pulls out his phone to check Dean’s message.

Heya Cas

Castiel saves the contact. Even alone, he bites his lip to keep from smiling too wide as he replies to the message.

Hello, Dean.

*****

It’s during one of their Wednesday evening practices that Castiel has a realization.

The band has learned all four movements of the drill and guard’s nearly got all of their work written out. The thing with guard, though, is that their choreography is more susceptible to change. With the band, sets can be rewritten, but it’s more of a hassle to do and Crowley avoids it unless it’s absolutely necessary. However, it’s easier to change up the choreography if something isn’t working. Or, say, switch out who performs a certain solo in the third movement.

Drama is what resulted in the switch. Lisa Braden was the one who originally had the solo, but recently gave it up. Apparently, her and Dean used to date their sophomore year and had recently gotten back together. Castiel purposely didn’t think of why it put a bad taste in his mouth. Regardless, the relationship barely lasted a few weeks before it ended a second time. Dean eluded the topic it when Castiel asked what went wrong and Lisa refused to look in Dean’s direction. Rumor has is that when Dean and Lisa were being intimate, Dean said someone else’s name instead of Lisa’s. Castiel’s not sure how accurate that is, but it would make sense why Lisa is so upset, and understandable as to why she gave up the solo that was more like a duet with the lead snare.

Dean.

The third movement of the show is the ballad movement. Slow tempo, hauntingly beautiful chords, a piano feature played by Charlie. No one’s really sure what the story behind the show is. It was written along with the music by their director, Chuck. Something about two brothers saving the world? Dean once told Castiel that before Chuck became a director, he tried his hand at being a writer. The career change seems to speak for itself.

Regardless, Dean was ‘cast’ as being the brother who sells his soul to save the other brother –probably not so coincidentally, Sam – and he’s dragged to Hell at the end of the second movement. It’s in the third movement that he’s raised from perdition by an angel, originally portrayed by Lisa. But since she’s refusing to interact with Dean in any capacity, the solo for the angel role had to be decided.

Kali barely took a minute before giving the role to Castiel.

He still can’t quite understand why Lisa scoffed at the announcement. Castiel could care less about being in the spotlight. He wasn’t going to fight anyone for it if someone wanted it more. Since Kali had asked him to help write the work for it, he already knew the choreography and it was easier to give it to him than take extra time to teach it to someone else, especially with a competition coming up this weekend. So why Lisa was so irritated that Castiel got it, he can’t say. He’s always been polite to her.

But that’s what happened to lead to why Castiel’s standing on the fifty yard line with Dean while Crowley’s addressing another section of the band.

“C’mon, just let me wave one around.”

Castiel looks to Dean. “You’re already on thin ice with Kali. If she sees you handling guard equipment, not only will she be displeased with me, but she’ll have your head.”

“You think I’m scared of her? I’ve been testing her patience since I was a freshman.”

“The answer is still no.”

Dean sighs dramatically and goes back to twirling a stick around his fingers. Castiel mindlessly plays with his swing flags, trying out different wrist work to waste time.

“So you like those flags better? The shorter ones?”

The question makes Castiel pause and finds that Dean’s eyes are on him, causing his heart to stutter.

He shrugs lightly, holding both flags out at his side so the black silk catches in the light breeze. “Swing flags are beautiful, but I wouldn’t say I prefer them to a regular, six foot pole. While using two swing flags allow for some intricate wrist work, I find they’re limited compared to what can be done with a regular flag or a rifle. But these give the impression of angel wings so the audience can better understand the story – whatever it’s supposed to be.”

Dean nods slowly but doesn’t say anything more. Castiel can’t help but feel like there’s some sort of unspoken tension between them due to his being here instead of Lisa. He’s taken off guard when, seemingly out of nowhere, Dean chuckles to himself.

“What’s so funny?” Castiel asks with furrowed eyebrows.

“It’s just that,” Dean laughs again, shaking his head, “Who would’ve ever thought you’d be the angel pulling my ass from Hell in Chuck’s weird ass story?”

Castiel grins. “At least we can tolerate each other now.”

That’s an understatement. He and Dean have both actually become quite close as friends. Ever since they exchanged numbers, they text all the time and hang out just about every weekend, even if there are no football games or competitions. Dean’s become the person Castiel looks forward to seeing every day.

“Speak for yourself, Flag Boy,” Dean scoffs with a mischievous glitter to his eyes.

Castiel’s about to roll his eyes but thinks of a better comeback. He steps well into Dean’s space, holding his eye contact steadily, ignoring the way Dean’s eyebrows scrunch together.

“You should show me some respect. I’m the one who’s going to drag you out of Hell. I can very well leave you there,” he murmurs in a low voice only loud enough for Dean to hear. Dean licks his lips and for a moment, Castiel thinks he sees Dean’s eyes flicker downwards. Suddenly, he’s too aware of how close he is to Dean. Why did think this would be a good idea again? He meant to play off of Dean’s angel comment as a joke, but neither one of them are laughing and there’s a low heat beginning to coil in Castiel’s stomach.

When Crowley calls for everyone to get to attention and start the movement from the beginning, Castiel gratefully dashes back to the sideline where he waits until his entrance. His heart is beating faster than usual as he performs the choreography, even though the music has an adagio tempo. Castiel never takes his eyes off Dean’s kneeled figure on the fifty yard line as he slinks his way through the band, who pretend to lash out at him as if they were demons trying to fight him off before he gracefully dances out of their reach. The music is coming to a swell by the time Castiel finds his place in front of Dean, and then their eyes meet. Castiel has to drag his gaze away, nearly missing the next step off into the rest of the choreography.

By the end of the movement, with the final chords of the front ensemble ringing out across the silent field, Dean has risen to his feet with Castiel in front of him. Black silk flows around them as the flags slowly lower from the raised position above his head. Out of the corner of Castiel’s eye, he can see the band encircled around them in their last set of the movement, watching them; waiting for Dean’s taps that cue the start of the fourth movement. But instead of looking over Castiel’s shoulder at the drum majors, Dean’s eyes are on Castiel. They hold each other’s gaze until Crowley’s voice booms over the megaphone.

“Alright, back to set one! We’ll do one run through before taking a ten minute break. Don’t disappoint me.”

Dean’s lips twitch upwards. “Not bad, angel,” he murmurs before starting across the field towards his dot.

Castiel releases a long breath before mumbling out a “Thanks”, even though Dean’s already out of earshot. Dread settles in Castiel’s stomach as he jogs around the field to reset his flags and rifle in their proper places. When he finds his place at the back sideline and kneels, he spares a look at the darkening sunset. The oranges and golden yellows transforming into deep hues that will soon reveal the stars.

That’s when it becomes evident to him. The one he’d been wondering about for a while now. The little tickle in his stomach that’s grown into something he can’t excuse or deny anymore.

He likes Dean. More than the depth of their friendship.

Innumerable thoughts, countless moments, they all wash into Castiel’s mind, filling it with Dean’s smile and their playful banter, the caring goodnight text messages and the ‘Mornin’ sunshine’s. Every single little thing that either leaves Castiel smiling or ache with… something.

Castiel takes a deep breath and sweeps it all away for later. He can’t think about how he felt like Dean was his gravitational pull just now. He can’t think about how the guy he loathed several months ago is the same guy that leaves his heart fluttering now and fills some sort of emptiness in him. He can’t think about how he missed his chance. How he heard Dean say he’s not interested. Twice. How there are countless of other people, like Lisa, who are capable of capturing Dean’s attention. How this is exactly the reason he hasn’t wanted to admit it to himself.

He just can’t think about any of that.

Tearing his gaze away from the looming clouds above, Castiel sets his eyes on Michael, watching for the silent count off enunciated by his baton. For now, numbers are all Castiel will allow himself to think.

Five. Six. Five, six, seven, eight.

One.

#destielfanficnet #destiel fic #adoringjensen #envydean #angvlicmish #galaxystiel #destielonfire #megan writes #my stuff

[incendir]

i will follow you to the end

i.

a second son and a beta shouldn’t have ambitions, but woohyun does.

he is sent to the academy and sectioned off to become a soldier because, as a second son, the only way he can earn a position in court is to rise through the ranks of the military. he is marked off as nothing special at all, and placed into a training squadron with another second son, and a weak first son.

howon is the middle child of his family, but he is an alpha. sungyeol, by the headmaster and teachers, is considered weak, but he is still the firstborn alpha of his family. both of them have the advantages and justifications woohyun doesn’t, but he doesn’t quite seem to see all of this through the same eyes as everyone else does when they shake their heads and sigh at him.

each son who has a father or brother in the court is sent to the headmaster’s office one by one to be spoken to individually. howon leaves the door open for woohyun on his way out, the alpha still running searching eyes up and down woohyun - they’ve only spent a night in their new dormitories together, and neither alpha has spoken much to woohyun yet, both settling for thoroughly judging him every time they see him.

he’s perfectly fine with this for now - no one is sent to the academy to socialize after all.

the headmaster greets woohyun warmly, asking about his older brother’s studies and how his father fares in court. woohyun answers every question cheerily, filling the conversation with jests that don’t encroach on any seniority, and the headmaster is roaring with laughter throughout in minutes.

“i know you are a hard worker,” the headmaster says most probably in what he believes is a reassuring tone, as woohyun stands and bows, preparing to leave. “you will easily finish your training and we will certainly grant you a good, secure post somewhere in one of the nearby towns - perhaps a magistrate position will suit you.”

woohyun smiles peacefully. “of course.”

ii.

each squadron of soldiers-in-training is assigned a lieutenant trainer. all students receive their academic training from the literati the court sends, but the physical training as well as discipline is given out by each respective squadron trainers. the initial way the system is described had had woohyun believing that there would be some level of objectivity to it at all when, in fact, there was absolutely none.

the trainers are, essentially, minders. they are quite literally nursemaids but rather than a gentle reproach every time one of them steps out of line, they either receive lashes, are sent to their dormitories without meals, some combination of both, or are assigned to some form of cleaning duty for the next month. however, just as there are a broad spectrum of nursemaids due simply to how each person does such a subjective job so differently, the range of trainers and their training methods spans anywhere from the strictness of an actual military general to a mild schoolteacher.

every trainer is only a lieutenant but kim sunggyu might as well already be a general of the king’s entire army as far as woohyun, howon, and sungyeol are concerned.

all three of them are sent to their classes forbidden from all meals on the first day for being a minute late to the meeting point. woohyun is sore from head to toe the entire first week, not even from any of the actual physical training but from all the punishments he is given for not wearing his robes correctly, for replying without addressing sunggyu correctly, for not properly memorizing field rules, for misquoting a poet, and everything in between.

sunggyu’s strictness becomes widely known throughout the students in a matter of a month, and if woohyun, howon, and sungyeol were not close before, the growing frustration and unfairness they felt from both sunggyu and the pitying gazes of their classmates for having the misfortune of being assigned the most intolerant trainer brought them together like brothers.

two nights before the first round of examinations, their discontent finally explodes into outrage, set off by sunggyu slapping sungyeol’s head with the side of his trainer’s stick because sungyeol fumbled around the pronunciation of an old proverb. sunggyu has been testing them for practice in the common area of the dormitory late into the night for the past two weeks - they are only allowed to sleep when all three of them can run through the sets sunggyu has chosen for that night, meaning that the candles are always burned out by the time they are finally let into their bedrooms.

howon yanks the stick out of sunggyu’s hand and throws it to the floor at the same time that woohyun says, low and angry, “what right does a merchant’s son have to raise his hand against a war hero’s firstborn?”

there is an infinitesimal moment where shock covers sunggyu’s face, most probably at the fact that they know - rumors, after all, have a way of bearing some semblance to the truth, and woohyun’s ears are open to everything even though none of the other students usually care to share gossip with their squadron. that moment is gone in less than a second, however, and then sunggyu’s expression is simply as controlled and steady as it was before.

woohyun is ready for any coming punishment - for whatever sunggyu has to say. he doesn’t expect for the next movement in the room to be sungyeol slamming past him and howon towards the doors that lead outside into the courtyard. “i don’t need either of you defending me,” is all sungyeol says when he tears his shoulder out of howon’s grasp, and runs out.

woohyun doesn’t know how long he and howon stare after their friend, but the silence is interrupted by sunggyu’s footsteps as he suddenly brushes in between woohyun and howon, walking out as well after sungyeol.

iii.

woohyun places first in the examinations in every subject. howon places second. sungyeol, disbelieving until woohyun and howon steer him to the rankings written on the scroll hanging from the wall itself, places third.

sungyeol tells them then, on the way back to the dormitories as all students are given their first personal day upon the release of the results, sunggyu had followed after him that night - he’d apologized for hitting sungyeol, but he hadn’t apologized for berating him over his habitual mispronunciation. he had sat with sungyeol in the courtyard through the night until sungyeol had finally recited the proverbs without a single twist of his tongue.

the lieutenant isn’t there when they return from the mess hall after lunch. woohyun doesn’t know about howon and sungyeol, but the beta hadn’t expected their trainer to be there today. the students are given a personal day, and thus, so are the trainers, and while a few trainers who are close with their squadrons are taking them out into the town, sunggyu clearly would prefer to have the personal day tending to his own affairs.

woohyun is about to suggest they go into town themselves and find some sweets stalls to put out of business when howon narrows his eyes towards the table in the common area, crossing over to it. woohyun himself hadn’t even noticed, but there is a small scroll and a sizable tied sack sitting there that hadn’t been there when they’d left this morning.

howon opens the scroll, eyes moving back and forth as he reads it quickly. his expression morphs from confusion to something that woohyun would call almost pinched and apologetic. “what is it?” sungyeol asks.

howon hands it over to sungyeol, and woohyun hooks his chin on sungyeol’s shoulder, reading along with him.

the trainers receive the results before they are made public. thus, i discovered last night the fruits of your perseverance. it isn’t much, but these are tokens of my pride for your accomplishments. enjoy today and tonight, and i will see you in the morning.

howon opens the sack and within it are three parcels wrapped in silk and tied with a thick piece of thread. there is a blue one, a violet one, and a green one. howon snatches the violet one immediately and both sungyeol and woohyun roll their eyes as they take the blue and the green respectively each.

woohyun unties the thread and lets the silk fall into his other hand.

they are daggers.

beautifully crafted, sharp and sturdy yet lightweight, woohyun observes as he unsheathes his.

“well,” woohyun says with a smile that feels strange on his face, “who else feels rather terrible?”

“oh, absolutely,” howon says briskly.

“the tutor my father himself hired from the king’s court was not able to teach me so well,” sungyeol says quietly, staring at the weapon in his hands.

they stand there, unsure of what to do - not truly feeling like celebrating anymore - for some time, until woohyun has had enough of wishing he could change some things that had happened and announces that they are going to get fat off of sweets and meat tonight.

they end up spending the entire night eating and playing games out in the town, joining other groups of students enjoying themselves. woohyun knows he isn’t the only one hoping that they would run into sunggyu at some point during the evening, but they never see him regardless of how small the town is. they don’t return until the sky is no longer pitch black, but rather beginning to turn into a dark blue.

naturally - all three of them are late to the usual meeting point at the large tree in front of the dormitory.

when sunggyu points to the ground with his stick, all of them prostrate themselves without a noise of complaint. woohyun actually feels the corners of his mouth tugging upward, and when he meets howon and sungyeol’s gazes, they too, for smile back at him. “no breakfast, lunch, dinner, or supper,” sunggyu says, the surface tone of his voice as flat as always, but underneath, there’s something almost like warmth - almost affection - and woohyun can hear the returning fondness in his, howon, and sungyeol’s own voices when they reply.

“yes, sir.”

iv.

woohyun is the smartest student in the entire class, and he is second only to howon in regards to their physical training. his family is important, but there are many more families of higher status with their sons in woohyun’s class, and he knows that the teachers and those sons are not happy with how well woohyun is doing and how far he is upstaging all of them. moreover, nearly all of these sons are alphas, and some of them are even in the same position as sungyeol - they are firstborns from military families and woohyun is succeeding against them as a beta.

sunggyu asks him to stay behind in the common area one night after the trainer is done revising their material with them for the evening. this is the first time woohyun has been alone with the lieutenant. he watches sunggyu close some of the books on the table, shuffling closer with his knees against the cushion. he’s only struck now, strangely, with the realization that sunggyu can’t be all that much older than woohyun is.

“the headmaster is not quite aware because he is a progressive man, so the teachers know he would not care either way,” sunggyu begins slowly, and woohyun instantly knows what this is about when their gazes meet. “they have spoken to me, however, about how you are scoring much higher than - than the sons of certain families who have large expectations and names.”

“i will make an educated guess then that they have told you, as my trainer, to ask that i lessen my accomplishments for my desperate peers and their parents?” woohyun raises his eyebrows with an almost bitter smile.

“they have,” sunggyu responds simply, expression indecipherable.

woohyun looks back at sunggyu levelly. “you, they, the timing of my birth, what i was born as - i will not restrain my capabilities for anyone or anything.”

sunggyu’s gaze doesn’t change. “did i ask you to?”

woohyun stares, feeling his eyes widen, his mouth open slightly as sunggyu smiles. he wonders if, that night that sunggyu had gone after sungyeol, if sunggyu had smiled then because woohyun surely knows that he has never seen the lieutenant smile in front of all three of them together. he wonders if howon has ever seen sunggyu smile.

the trainer’s eyes disappear completely when his cheeks are pushed up by the pink curls of his mouth, teeth flashing. “what right does a merchant’s son, who bested every literati and aristocrat’s son in his own time at the academy, have to scold a nobleman’s second-born for doing the same?”

the only words that woohyun manages to say to that are, “were you first in your class?”

sunggyu’s smile widens into a grin. “of course.”

“you wouldn’t have been were we in the same year,” woohyun then blurts out before he can stop himself. he blinks, and sunggyu blinks back.

sunggyu is no longer grinning, not quite a smile that his mouth is twisted into now. woohyun doesn’t know exactly how to describe the expression on the lieutenant’s face, but his tone when he next speaks makes woohyun’s heart beat hard and loud in his chest. “they give the scrolls that you wrote your examinations on to your trainers,” sunggyu says, and then there is a smile on his face - a small, almost smug smile. “you placed first in your class, but you missed one question.”

the lieutenant stands up, gathering the books into his arms. “i missed none,” sunggyu’s voice is almost sweet, as he turns to walk to his bedroom. “sleep well, soldier.”

v.

to say the least, woohyun’s ability to scent is nearly nonexistent. he is only able to tell sungyeol and howon are alphas because howon’s scent is incredibly potent and after enough time with sungyeol, his scent also catches onto woohyun. for the most part, however, woohyun is a beta and he doesn’t have much need for scenting so he doesn’t honestly care to try and improve a better sense of it. he had always pushed marriage to the back of his mind because his parents have another, older son anyway.

marriage is still nowhere near the forefront of his mind currently, but scenting - suddenly - is.

howon finds it nothing short of absurd and hilarious. “our dear lieutenant kim is an alpha, first of all,” he says a little too loudly for woohyun’s liking, but since the mess hall is generally loud and chaotic, woohyun supposes no one but the two alphas and himself can hear the conversation anyway.

sungyeol finds woohyun’s sudden intentions mildly amusing and fairly pathetic, and makes no attempt to hide this at all. he does his best, in fact, to project it. “find yourself a nice beta or a pretty omega across the lake and stop endangering your manhood.”

“my manhood?” woohyun snorts.

“you will find yourself a little lighter between the legs if you so much as suggest that you have intent towards him,” howon says, face mockingly solemn.

woohyun raises an eyebrow. “if i have bested you in every examination we have had,” he directs at them, “wouldn’t you have more faith in my abilities to pursue even the most unresponsive of targets?”

sungyeol laughs. “maybe you would be suited for him,” he says, almost rolling his eyes, “speaking of courting as if you are preparing a battle plan.”

“before you begin drafting your strategies, friend,” howon says, around a sip of tea, “you should consider that he could already be promised even if he has yet to be mated.”

woohyun leans back on his cushion, taking his legs out from beneath the table and raising his knee so he can rest his arm upon it leisurely. “i think,” he smiles, “you will all be rather astonished at how fondly our dear lieutenant already thinks of me.”

howon and sungyeol exchange unimpressed glances.

vi.

by the beginning of their second year at the academy, they are all deemed physically honed enough to begin officially learning swordfighting and archery. nearly all of them had at some point had lessons previously in their homes whether by their fathers or brothers or uncles, but learning how to use these weapons with intent to kill and defend rather than simply for sport is vastly different.

woohyun’s father was away for most of his childhood at court, too tired to engage in play-fighting with him whenever he came home late into the night. woohyun’s only brother could only roughhouse and teach him how to use weapons for the few years they had together before he was shipped off to the academy fairly early on to begin studies for his court appointment. not only is howon naturally more inclined than woohyun to excelling in physical fitness, but he also has two brothers to fight with and a father who has always stressed a man’s place is on the battlefield rather than behind books.

while howon has as much prowess in his education as he does on the fields, it doesn’t sit well with woohyun that howon is so much better than him even though woohyun maintains his place over howon in their examination rankings time after time.

he’s had quite enough of literally swallowing bits of dirt and mud whenever he finds himself face down with the tip of howon’s wooden sword poking into the back of his neck every time they are paired together - which is every time they have sparring sessions because no one else is up to snuff with woohyun and howon, so woohyun is always partnered with howon and even though woohyun is second physically in their class, he always loses because his opponent is always howon.

woohyun decides to kill two birds with one stone.

“lieutenant,” he says, one night, after he has made sure that sungyeol and howon are sound asleep and snoring in their beds. woohyun stands in the doorway of sunggyu’s room. the trainer is in white robes, dark hair over his shoulders, kneeling at the desk in the center of his room. his brush moves slowly and steadily over the scroll spread out in front of him, candles burning strongly in the corners of the room.

“i do not recall hearing you knock nor do i remember opening my door,” sunggyu says without looking up. he continues writing. “but do come in.”

woohyun steps in, closing the sliding doors behind him, and kneeling on the cushion opposite sunggyu’s at the table. one glance at the scroll tells woohyun that sunggyu is writing up the weekly report that is due from every trainer for each of his assigned students. sunggyu seems to be noting down howon’s archery results for the week. “i have a request,” woohyun says pleasantly.

sunggyu places the brush back into the ink and raises his eyes almost warily up to woohyun’s gaze. “what?”

woohyun grins. “your tone reflects your rather insulting expectations of me.”

“your expression reflects that my expectations will be correct,” sunggyu snorts. “well?”

“would you teach me how to fight?” woohyun asks, looking straight on into sunggyu’s eyes. he lets the grin fade from his face, expression even and hoping that, as sunggyu’s own gaze searches woohyun’s face, the trainer realizes woohyun’s sincerity.

sunggyu’s eyes narrow. “your teachers exist for that purpose.”

“you know that howon is first in our class in both archery and swordfighting,” woohyun says, “and i am second, but the disparity between my results and his are great. i am always partnered with him, but i haven’t won once.” understanding passes over sunggyu’s face. “i just want to win against him - so that i am not only a beta who can never win against an alpha.”

the lieutenant looks down at the drying ink and smooth paper on the table between them. his eyebrows furrow and relax, eyes focused on some invisible point on the paper. the passage of sunggyu’s thoughts is almost visible as woohyun watches him, the silent coating them somehow not uncomfortable in the least. “i am also not so strong - physically,” sunggyu says slowly. “neither archery nor swordfighting are areas that i excel in. however - i can teach you how to read howon’s - how to read anyone’s - style and technique. i can teach you how to predict so that you needn’t be stronger nor a better fighter than him.”

woohyun doesn’t know how long they truly hold each other’s gazes for - it could have been seconds or hours, but it feels only as if one single moment has passed. “thank you,” woohyun says, inclining his head slightly.

“i hope you are still as grateful once we begin,” sunggyu almost smiles as woohyun stands to leave.

vii.

woohyun can’t quite say he has been to hell or any other punishable form of afterlife, but he thinks that he would be duly prepared to do so after experiencing lieutenant kim sunggyu’s idea of private lessons. they always begin once howon and sungyeol are asleep, mostly because woohyun has told sunggyu that he doesn’t want either of them to know, but also because sunggyu isn’t finished with his own duties until that time of night.

the very first night, woohyun landed sunggyu flat on his ass in the dirt, and then each of the four nights following that, woohyun was the one who found himself pummeled to the ground in the silence of the courtyard behind the dormitory. sunggyu sent woohyun to bed each night with no explanation after the session until the fifth night, after the first two rounds where woohyun, once again, loses absolutely as he usually does to howon.

“did you just let me win that first time?” woohyun asks, dusting off the back of his robes and trying not to show any of the complete pain and soreness ringing through his joints.

“no,” sunggyu says shortly, offering a hand to pull the beta up. “i must lose before i win.”

“i don’t quite recall that proverb,” woohyun smiles at sunggyu’s withering gaze.

“it isn’t a proverb, you literal dimwit,” sunggyu says smoothly with no amount of love lost. “when you can, losing is the best way to analyze your opponent’s style of movement, attack, and defense. naturally, you cannot lose first in a real battle - “

“ - that is called death - “

“- but since you won’t be in any danger of dying on the practice fields, you can lose to howon one more time, and from there, you can practice this strategy of prediction enough that once matters become life or death, you shouldn’t need to lose even once to know your opponent’s style. you wouldn’t have time, anyway.”

sunggyu makes the technique seem easy and ideal enough in theory, but the reality of it is far more difficult and grueling. woohyun has already lost a number of times to sunggyu, but it doesn’t make him any more savvy to anticipating what sunggyu will do next - where he’ll strike next, where he’ll defend. this is probably made more severe by the fact that sunggyu’s style, as far as woohyun can grasp, is unpredictable by its very nature.

when woohyun is properly bruised up and worn down, sunggyu sends him to bed without so much as a glance back. he leaves woohyun with the assignment of losing to howon tomorrow at practice, but observing every time he allows howon to take a hit towards him and every time howon defends against one of woohyun’s own blows. “if you do as i’ve instructed correctly, if you’ve paid my words due attention tonight,” sunggyu says, already walking away from woohyun, “tomorrow will be the last time you lose to him.”

viii.

on a bright, sunny day, woohyun digs his knee into howon’s stomach, the point of the beta’s wooden sword poised above the space between the alpha’s eyes, ready to deal the killing blow had this been a true fight. two days before woohyun had lost to howon - once attempting to use sunggyu’s technique, and the second time finally able to use sunggyu’s technique. woohyun hasn’t slept for the past two nights, practicing on the straw and wooden dummies in the dormitory courtyards to practice what he had observed and analyzed.

woohyun knows, however, that his victory is also due to the fact that howon is fairly straightforward. woohyun has been fending him off fairly well anyway even without having any idea of how to truly analyze someone’s technique, but the finishing blow was only manageable because woohyun now knows not to pay attention to the tip of howon’s sword, but his eyes - his expressions, the way he inhales infinitesimally just before he is about to put strength into a strike, the way his throat constricts and his eyes dart when he is about to block an attack.

each pair of partners has an instructor watching their sparring to prevent injuries, foul play, and to call the fight once the victor is clear. when woohyun pins howon into the dirt, however, their instructor for today rushes forward but his mouth opens in complete silence, almost gaping in the same way that howon gapes up at woohyun.

“sir?” woohyun grins over at the instructor, who seems to jerk back into himself before slicing his hand down through the air and shouting the call to end the match as well as woohyun’s name as the winner. everyone’s heads suddenly turn, all matches freezing as woohyun feels dozens of pairs of eyes glued onto him. he removes himself from howon, grasping his friend’s hand and pulling him up along with him.

“what sort of secret witchcraft has our dear lieutenant been teaching you?” howon says, almost disgruntled as they make their way up to the main building while the other matches finish up.

“if i told you,” woohyun says coolly, “it would no longer be a secret.”

howon punches him in the arm, hard enough to hurt, but not so painful that woohyun doesn’t simply laugh to infuriate howon further.

ix.

when they return that day, howon steps right up to sunggyu and promptly demands, “what sort of trainer conspires with one of his trainees against another? what sort of twisted favoritism - “

“a trainer can hardly refuse when one of his trainees requests additional training from him - it shows determination and a desire for success - traits that should be rewarded,” sunggyu says smoothly, booting howon on through the doors with his shoulder against the alpha’s. when they reach the common room, there are bottles and bottles of liquor laid out on the table, along with food to go with the alcohol.

“did the spirits extract your soul and replace it with one kinder, one more benevolent and human - “ sungyeol begins, whirling around to glance at the lieutenant.

“there are no lessons tomorrow and this week of physical training is always the roughest,” sunggyu’s tone is suddenly almost slightly awkward, even though he’s smiling in that sheepish way, eyes curved and small teeth held together with his lips curling upward hesitantly. woohyun notices he’s edging to the side, dressed in his robes rather than his uniform, and beginning to make what is clearly an exit to his own room.

“you aren’t drinking with us?” woohyun asks.

howon and sungyeol also haven’t made any moves to sit either, blinking at sunggyu instead almost anticipatorily. the lieutenant blinks back, once at the alphas, and then at woohyun. “i’m not particularly partial to alcohol,” he says almost dismissively, hands waving for them to sit and start. “or - rather - my body isn’t,” he adds like an afterthought, and woohyun watches as howon and sungyeol look at the trainer almost quizzically, as if now realizing, the way woohyun had realized during their first few sessions together, that sunggyu wasn’t so much older than them - that in some number of years, he wouldn’t be their trainer anymore, he might one day be alongside them at court.

“you should drink with us,” howon says. sunggyu stares, and sungyeol takes that opportunity to step behind sunggyu and steer him by the shoulders to the table. woohyun helps shove sunggyu down onto one of the cushions, even as the lieutenant bats at them, frowning.

“fifteen laps for manhandling a lieutenant,” sunggyu mutters, as howon settles beside him, and woohyun and sungyeol flop down opposite.

“i can drink to that,” howon grins.

sunggyu raises his eyebrows. “good - i’ll gather more enjoyment out of it then,” he says, holding out his bowl for sungyeol to fill it.

when the lieutenant had claimed that his tolerance for liquor was alarmingly low - for a man of the military and for an alpha - they found that there were no untruths in those statements. not even an entire bottle was finished before sunggyu began speaking a little louder than he already normally did anyway, far more cheerful - followed by some additionally loud singing that no one requested but that sungyeol encouraged eagerly with plenty of cheering and applause - followed by sunggyu flopping onto his back and using one of the extra cushions as a pillow.

“i’ll take him to bed,” woohyun announces once sunggyu’s breathing gains a bit of an edge to it - not quite softly snoring, but nearly there. the beta barely manages to wobble onto his own feet.

“i’ll bet you will,” howon says suggestively, and sungyeol sniggers around the rim of his next bowl.

woohyun gives them an amused look, as he carefully slings sunggyu’s arm around his neck and lifts the lieutenant to his feet. he’s glad that sunggyu isn’t as completely unconscious as he seems - there is still strength in his legs even though he leans nearly the entirety of his weight onto woohyun. as he guides sunggyu out of the common area, where howon and sungyeol are going on attempting to drink each other to death without pause, and into the lieutenant’s bedroom, it’s then that woohyun finally knows what sunggyu’s scent is.

it hits him, fills his nose, when sunggyu’s head lolls close on woohyun’s shoulder, hair brushing woohyun’s cheek. the beta swallows dryly, reaching back with his foot to hook on the sliding door so he can shut it despite his hands being preoccupied. he needs his hands, however, to light any candles in the room, and since that isn’t an option, he settles for whatever moonlight filters through the windows.

woohyun gently lies sunggyu down on the mattress, which has thankfully already been rolled out. he watches sunggyu’s eyes flutter open as his head hits the pillow. their gazes meet, but woohyun doesn’t know if sunggyu is truly awake or simply drifting in the gray area between reality and dreams.

the alpha’s scent is so different from what woohyun normally associates as an alpha’s scent. howon and sungyeol smell typically like alphas - a scent that woohyun knows with his mind should make him want to submit and respect and beware as a beta, but woohyun’s body doesn’t seem to recognize it. he knows he isn’t typical himself in that regard.

sunggyu’s scent doesn’t have that edge that alpha scents have to woohyun - that initial acidic burn when it enters his nose and fills his lungs. sunggyu simply smells steady - he smells strong and light, intense and soft, like the forest after it has just rained, like a garden early in the morning.

sunggyu smells like someone woohyun would want to follow for the rest of his life.

“woohyun,” sunggyu whispers, eyes opening a sliver more. one of the alpha’s hands reaches up slightly, fingertips clinging to the collar of woohyun’s robes.

he thinks he would give anything to be able to lean down and press their lips together - right now, in the darkness, right here on sunggyu’s bed in sunggyu’s room.

he would give anything.

woohyun slowly, as softly as he can, extricates sunggyu’s fingers from his clothes, pressing his lips to those instead of sunggyu’s mouth. “sleep well, sir,” he murmurs. sunggyu’s eyes follow him for a moment longer as he stands before fluttering shut with a sigh.

the beta doesn’t know how long he stands there, watching him sleep. he’s glad that howon and sungyeol are far too intoxicated to realize how long woohyun must have been gone from the room. he’s even gladder that sungyeol already has a bowl filled and ready for him when he retakes his seat.

#fic #unfinished #wg #tsau