#I wanted to put a couple of people in a clichéd situation

[apparitionism]

Bonus 2

Here’s the second part of a holiday story, begun in part 1, about how Myka and Helena, in a vaguely season 4 world in which nobody’s going to go to Boone but through which they have thus far been separated, are reunited for a day-before-Christmas-eve retrieval in Cleveland. Helena has been summoned by Claudia to serve as Myka’s backup, for Pete is spending some holiday time with his family... but as it turns out, the retrieval is necessary because—plot-semi-twist!—Pete Christmas-gifted his cousin, who is a bigwig at an accounting firm, with an artifact, a pen that apparently has something to do with Santa’s naughty/nice list. Which said cousin used to confer end-of-year bonuses—and penalties. As this part opens, Myka is just beginning to process the fact that the whole situation is Pete’s fault...

(And no, I didn’t manage to bring this thing in for a landing in this part. Nobody faint from the surprise.)

Bonus 2

“Okay,” Myka acknowledges, because what else can she do? The fact is that in any Warehouse-related context, “coincidence” is a non sequitur, and she begins formulating a plan to Christmas-gift Claudia with a T-shirt featuring that sentiment. How fast can she get a custom T-shirt made?

The irony is that Claudia would know.

“Yeah,” says Pete’s cousin—Pete’s cousin! She might be affirming the Claudia-irony in Myka’s head, or the situational irony Myka is now stuck in, or any of the vast array of ironies that make up the Warehousian unfolding of time itself. Myka would not have expected Pete’s cousin’s words to contain multitudes. And yet.

“He told me it was the kind of thing he thought I’d like,” that cousin continues, “and he was right. Effects aside, it’s a gorgeous implement. Perfectly balanced... which I guess works on an existential level too, doesn’t it? Naughty, nice.” She shifts the pen to rest a delicate crosswise on an extended index finger, testing its equilibrium as a chef might a knife.

The pen—or is it merely a different species of knife?—basks in Nancy Sullivan’s regard. “Resonant little instrument,” she says, with clear affection. “Anyway, we were talking about Pete.” A different sort of affection now colors her voice. “He went into this big production-number apology about it being sort of secondhand.”

“Oh?” Myka says, distracted by pens, knives, resonances... but, right, secondhand. Of course it’s secondhand. No new item could be an artifact. Or could it? This seems like a Steve-conversation topic.... and it certainly beats “H.G. is god knows where” for philosophy.

“Not because it’s not new,” Pete’s cousin says, apparently reading Myka’s mind, “but because he initially was thinking he’d give it to somebody else.”

Myka repeats her interrogative “oh?”, but she’s getting a feeling again.

“Yeah,” says Nancy Sullivan, and Myka really has to applaud her talent for broadly applicable affirmation. “He said he wanted to give it to his partner because, and I quote, ‘she likes the old-fashioned stuff,’ but then he realized he shouldn’t because, and I also quote, ‘she’s got this whole family feathery-pen dealy-thingy and I don’t want to upset her.’” She waves the pen again, this time directly at Myka, like a conductor imploring the oboes to pick up the pace. “And he told me his partner’s name,” she concludes.

“I’m sure there are lots of Myka Berings in the world?” Myka tries, weakly, raising her hands as if to offer Nancy Sullivan all those other Myka Berings. The last vestige of defensibility... then her hands drop, because really. She looks at Helena in apology, with only an indistinct, tangled sense of what she’s apologizing for. I’m sorry I occasioned this is part of it, yet there’s a deeper fault she feels but can’t quite ideate, one more consequential than an anodyne “oops.”

“Listen, he’s a really good guy,” Nancy Sullivan says.

“I agree completely,” Myka assures her. But in the interest of full disclosure, she adds, “Mostly completely. I mean, I’m going to kill him for this.”

Helena says, “Are you.” Her tone brings Myka up short: it’s impossibly knowing, suggesting insight into everything Myka has been thinking, about someday and talking and things.

Again with the reading so right.

Myka would love to have the panache to do more than glance furtively at Helena, to pull off a playful, similarly knowing response, like “that depends on my backup” (or something actually clever that will doubtless occur to her during some post-holiday post-mortem). Instead she goes with a not at all interrogative “Oh.”

Nancy Sullivan looks from Myka to Helena. Then she says, “Okay, revision: A really good guy who might be hanging onto some unreasonable hope.”

Myka wishes she could keep from glancing yet again, now, at Helena—now as she grasps the fullness of her underlying error, now as she formulates a hopeful plan regarding someday saying out loud “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize that he had any such hope and that I didn’t make completely clear that any such hope would never have been anything but unreasonable”—but the wish doesn’t work. She glances... thus proving Nancy Sullivan’s point.

“He didn’t mention you,” Pete’s cousin tells Helena. “I think I see why.”

“I’m both offended and pleased,” Helena says, with her customary little thank-you head-bow.

Rather than luxuriating in the familiarity of that head-bow, Myka tries to head off a more detailed discussion of Helena’s role in it all (and what a nondescriptively limp phrase that is) by observing, “The sixth-sense thing is quite the family trait.”

“Ah. Sure. You’ve had experience,” Nancy Sullivan says, a little droop in her voice.

Has she taken Myka’s words as criticism? Myka hurries to reassure, “Sometimes it’s very helpful.”

“But. Other times.” This is heavier, and now she must be referencing her own vibe-related experiences.

“Your family get-togethers must be really... charged?” Myka tries.

Nancy Sullivan offers another all-encompassing “Yeah.” Then she laughs. “But at least we don’t have a feathery-pen dealy-thingy like your family does.”

Helena clears her throat, an attention-garnering ah-ha-hem, as if it’s in the stage directions preceding her next line in some farce. She inclines her head: more stage-direction drama. Finally, “You do now,” she says in benediction.

Nancy Sullivan’s jaw drops. “Wow,” she says, and “wow,” she repeats. Then she laughs again and says, “He really should’ve mentioned you.”

Myka might laugh too, but she is preoccupied by the way in which Helena’s well-chosen articulation has persuaded her body to remind her that it and she have reached no mutually satisfactory agreement about appropriate reactions.

And that in turn sparks Myka to a realization: once the retrieval is accomplished, there may be a nonzero chance that she and Helena could enjoy a bit more of that liminal together-presence...

Myka’s body makes its best effort to crash through the gauzy ideating her brain would prefer to do about what such time could entail, and after no small amount of nethers-vs.-cerebrum struggle, she manages to propose, truce-wise, a simple Let’s just hope it exists.

Surprisingly, body and mind are willing to shake on that, giving Myka leave to slip on a glove and pronounce, “Just give us the pen. Then it’s over. Mostly. The money will probably revert... so you’ll most likely have to redo the bonuses the old-fashioned way.” Hearing herself, she amends, “Well. The regular way.”

“I don’t mind redoing. But reverting...” Pete’s cousin tightens her fingers around the artifact, pulling it near to her body as if she might be considering, for one last “maybe,” the idea of punching her way out.

Myka tenses, and she doesn’t need to cast a glance to know that Helena is doing the same.

She glances anyway... and indeed, Helena alive with wiry readiness is a sight worth the seeing. So worth it, in fact, that Myka is genuinely, if improperly, disappointed that said sight doesn’t cause the truce to collapse.

After a moment, however, color returns to Nancy Sullivan’s knuckles, and Myka removes the pen from her slackened grip.

But then Nancy Sullivan cocks her head. “Is it really over though? I feel like something else might be happening.”

No. No. Absolutely not. “Something else is always happening,” Myka says, affecting nonchalance as she slides the feathery foolishness into a static bag, ignoring its yipping sparks of protest. “Don’t worry about it.”

Nancy Sullivan casts a skeptical look at the barky little bag. “If you say so. Anyway seeing Pete’s face when I tell him you and I –and he and I!—are fellows in family feathery-pen dealy-thingies now? Might end up being the second-best end-of-year bonus of all, given everything.” There’s a little mockery in her voice, echoing the cousin Myka knows so well.

“And the best such bonus?” Helena inquires.

“Docking Bob’s pay,” Nancy Sullivan says instantly.

Myka snorts, and Nancy Sullivan turns back to her and says, “Are you okay with me being glad we met?” Like she’s mostly but not entirely sure of the response she’ll get, and that’s another echo.

“Only if you’re okay with me being glad too,” Myka says, her own voice sounding a familiar note—one she’s pretty sure Pete would recognize.

After a nod, Nancy Sullivan turns to Helena. “I’d say it to you, but I feel like there’s something extra going on with you, like—”

Myka steps in: “Honestly, always,” and then she’s hustling Helena out of the office even as Helena chirps, “I’m both offended and pleased by that as well!”

Back in the elevator, Helena speaks first. “I did not expect that,” she says, sounding entertained by—practically bubbly about—the entire scenario.

“I should have,” Myka grumbles.

“You’re too hard on yourself.”

“Oh god no,” Myka says, involuntarily. “Too easy if anything.”

Helena’s eyebrows rise, and her eyes accuse. “I’ve known you for no small amount of time,” she says.

Myka’s previous review fights that statement, but she doesn’t speak of it.

Her lack of response prompts a heavy I-am-no-longer-entertained sigh. “Must I return to the phrase ‘your truth’?”

“Please don’t,” Myka says. That’s also nearly involuntary, but it sounds too harsh, like she’s dismissing as unimportant that bookstore interaction, as well as the entirety of those in-extremis manifestations of herself and Helena. Rather than apologizing for that, for surely it would prove far too entangling, she tries to draw Helena’s attention back to the entertainment. “I like Nancy Sullivan. She reminds me of Pete and his mom.”

“Pete’s mother? I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

That’s a bit more jousty, backed by curiosity. Good. “She’s a Regent,” Myka says, for it’s the most salient piece of information she has about Jane Lattimer.

Helena stills. Her jaw hardens. “Then perhaps I have indeed had the... pleasure.” Cold. Cold. Cold.

You idiot, Myka scourges herself. Why couldn’t she have done the normal thing and left Pete’s mom as “Pete’s mom”? But now, but now: now she’s seen this wound, down there under the ice, and she wants to test that ice, but she can’t, regardless of her wish and want to know know know, to know everything Helena has been put through, so as to know whom to hate (and she hopes that doesn’t include Pete’s mom) and whom to someday thank (and she double-hopes that does include Pete’s mom). “Anyway I think the cousin had the right idea,” she says, pushing back to the now, to what just happened. “Using an artifact to do what are really decent things, even if they were judgmental.”

“Rather Old Testament,” Helena says. “Strangely inappropriate for this holiday, no?” She asks that like she’s really thinking—wondering—about it.

Myka congratulates herself on having provided a distraction, however minimal, from whatever Regent-pain her unthinking reveal caused to surface. “I hadn’t thought about Santa being more Yahweh than Jesus,” she says, to enhance it, “and I’m not sure what it says about my position on salvation that I genuinely wish we could have let her keep that pen. Or even better, if we could maybe ferry it around to deserving arbiters... wouldn’t that contribute to the greater good, even if it’s in a judgy Old-Testament way?”

Helena’s face moves as if she’s about to answer, but before she can, a rupturing screech of metal-on-metal complication resounds decisively through the space, and their ear-popping descent slows, slows, slows...

...and stops.

After an appropriately irony-bearing pause, Helena says, “This elevator seems to disapprove of your suggestion. Or perhaps it’s your theological indecision that displeases?”

All Myka can manage is an extremely resigned “I am not surprised.”

Efforts to summon help strengthen the “disapproval” interpretation: they’re fruitless. No one answers the emergency line, and this mirrored box is, according to both their phones, the place where cell service goes to die. Or where that service is interfered with by a theologically offended pulley-based mechanism.

“I genuinely cannot believe we’re stuck in an elevator,” Myka says. It may be the most true statement to which she’s ever given voice.

After a beat, however, she concedes, “But of course I can.”

Helena casts her gaze around. Once again, exaggeratedly stage-direction-y. “At least it’s reasonably well-appointed. For an elevator in which to be... stuck.” She seems to relish articulating “stuck,” so she’s back to being entertained. Not quite bubbly, but definitely entertained.

Myka can’t get past her annoyance with the elevator’s disapproval, so she says a peevish, “I don’t like mirrors.” She’s painfully aware now that they cover not only the walls, but also the ceiling. She can’t even look heavenward in supplication, sarcastic or otherwise, without regarding herself. It really is too much.

Given that no other communication technology is working, she resorts to the Farnsworth. She gives thanks for Warehouse mojo, or whatever enables it to elude the elevator’s wrath, when Claudia answers with, “No info on ‘lists, making them’ yet.”

“We dealt with that,” Myka tells her. “New problem.”

“Another artifact?”

“Who knows? Maybe Pete’s in an elevator somewhere else in this town making bad decisions, and they’re redounding to our detriment.” She’s vamping. Stuck in an elevator with Helena, she’s vamping. Instead of simply basking in such fantasy-made-fact, she’s vamping.

She doesn’t bother wondering whether Helena knows she’s doing that; if this little adventure has done nothing else, it’s reminded Myka that Helena always knows. It’s both wonderful and terrible to be so legible, particularly to someone Myka so often finds frustratingly illegible.

“I’m not following,” Claudia says.

Speaking of illegible: Myka, heal thyself. “We’re stuck. In an elevator,” she clarifies.

Claudia makes a noise that, impressively, marries a gasp and a snicker. “Are you really? Or did you push the stop button, like people do?”

“Like people... what?”

“When they want to have a little uninterrupted chat,” Claudia says, pedantic, as if now she’s the one who’s “clarifying.”

“Nobody does that in real life,” Steve says from offscreen. Myka is pleased to know he’s around.

“Myka just did,” Claudia insists in his direction. “Didn’t you,” she insists at Myka.

“If I did,” Myka says, “why would I be calling you to get us out of here?”

“Yeah, why would she?” Steve asks, but from farther away.

Don’t leave! Myka wants to exhort. She would never admit to needing backup in a counter-Claudia sense... but she does appreciate when Steve provides it.

“Oooh, because maybe the chat didn’t go so well,” Claudia says with great, and to Myka’s thinking entirely inappropriate, relish.

Trying for calm pragmatism, she says, “Wouldn’t I just... unpush the stop button then?”

“Myka,” Claudia says. It’s the most chiding, disappointment-laden use of her name Myka has ever heard, even when measured against all the times her father has uttered those two designating syllables. “Believe me when I tell you I’m a fan,” Claudia goes on, turning mollifying, “but you really need to lean in when it comes to tropes.” Myka can’t imagine how to respond to that, so she doesn’t. Claudia sighs—seemingly everyone’s preferred go-to when Myka fails to produce words—and says, “Did you try calling maintenance? Pushing the emergency button? Using your cell?”

“Yes, yes, and no service. Do you genuinely think I don’t understand modern communication technology?”

“I think you pretend you don’t understand newfangledness all the time. Particularly when you’re trying to show off how sympatico you are with H.G., who incidentally doesn’t seem to be piping up like I’d expect. Did you knock her unconscious after your terrible chat? Or maybe during it?”

Helena has indeed been very—very surprisingly—quiet while Myka has explained the situation to Claudia. And she doesn’t step in to help Myka out now. So much for any counter-Claudia backup.

“There was not a chat,” Myka says.

Helena is regarding herself in the mirrored ceiling.

“But there could be one now?” Claudia nudges. “Let me see if I can see what’s up. I’ve got cell service.” She disconnects.

Helena abruptly abandons her ceiling self-contemplation, focusing her gaze upon Myka. It’s disconcerting. “Are you attempting to avoid an uninterrupted chat?” she asks.

Myka can’t suss the question’s sincerity. And notwithstanding all her ideas about talking, she suffers a cringing internal “yes.” Externally, however, she says, in what she hopes offers at least a veneer of sincerity of her own, “No.”

She doesn’t follow up by asking “why would I be doing that,” because Helena would probably have a guess. And because that guess would probably be accurate: “You are a coward,” Helena might say, and Myka would regrettably have to either tell the truth and agree, or lie and disclaim any emotional investment in whatever the outcome of such a chat might be.

Silence. Longer than it should be... or is it as long as Myka deserves?

You wanted time together. Don’t bellyache about the form it takes.

“Your objection to mirrors,” Helena eventually says.

“What about it?” Myka asks. Her very soul flinches.

“What is it?”

Myka has never before stated her dislike of mirrors aloud, and she regrets having done so now. To play it off, she says a dismissive, “An artifact.” And yet the truth is that despite the unnerving nature of her interaction with Alice’s mirror and how it continues to prey on her mind, it isn’t really that—or rather, that only intensified her dislike.

But when Helena proposes, “Yet another ‘dealy-thingy’?”, clearly (and preciously) trying the phrase out in her mouth, Myka misleadingly (intentionally misleadingly) nods and says, “They’re all dealy-thingies.”

To that, Helena says, “Interesting.”

Myka would probe that word, but to do so might destabilize the ground, here in an elevator. Instead, for the moment, she tilts her head in the direction of the Christmas muzak, the literal elevator music, being piped in. “Oh, sure, that still works.” She gestures at the speaker, a thin dark stripe between two mirror-panels, from which the sound is emerging. The elevator is nothing if not insistent.

In truth, she doesn’t mind Christmas carols. She does mind the bowdlerization thereof, and isn’t that an attitude the dogmatic elevator really ought to share? O holy night, the stars are brightly... synthesizing? It’s wrong.

Now even her mind is vamping. Great.

Helena tilts her head toward the speaker, however, and Myka appreciates her willingness to be redirected. At least for a moment.

In fact, for all her vamping, mental and otherwise, Myka finds herself absurdly content to simply stand against a mirrored elevator wall and regard Helena... who in that instant of Myka’s acknowledged contentment seems to accept their predicament as unlikely to be resolved in a timely fashion: she sits down, of course elegantly, resting her back against her side of the box and stretching her legs (her legs, Myka’s body notes, just to let her know it’s still paying close attention) out in front of her.

The looking-down perspective is a bit disorienting—although at least this time it has nothing to do with being stuck to a ceiling—but Myka has no time to process it, for Helena’s next salvo, looking up, is, “You’ve been expecting me to remark further on naughtiness, haven’t you.”

Reading, yet again. “I kind of have,” Myka admits. It seems an overly judgmental statement, particularly given that Myka has to deliver it as if from an elevated bench. And yet... she kind of has.

“I’d rather not fulfill that expectation,” Helena says. “If we could speak of other things.”

Myka is a little thrown, but thankful. “That is entirely fine by me. What do you want to talk about?”

“Honestly?”

“Honestly,” Myka says, meaning it as an answer to either interpretation of Helena’s interrogative: Are you asking what I want to talk honestly about? or Are you asking, with honest intent, what I want to talk about? She hopes Helena will respond similarly.

“Something that interests you,” Helena says.

That’s not in any way what she was expecting. “Really?”

“Really.”

It’s a word similar to, yet very different from, “honestly.” What, in a real sense, interests Myka? In this moment, all she can think to say is “you.” And perhaps because her normal inhibitions are disordered, here in this stopped elevator, that’s what she blurts out.

And that seems, incongruously, to take Helena aback. “What about me?” she asks.

Myka can’t say “everything.” It’s the real answer (really), but it’s far too... big. For an unexpected reunion, an unexpected uninterrupted chat—although Claudia or rescuers could at any point interrupt it, which Myka should hope happens (should)—it’s far too big.

So: smaller. What occurs first to Myka is “where have you been”—but that would most likely seem accusatory. She needs something else. Something something something...

In the aftermath of the Warehouse not being destroyed, she’d felt herself full of hard-earned wisdom and bravery: enough, surely, to stop hesitating. Enough, surely, to act. Or enough, at the very least, to articulate.

“Wisdom” and “bravery” now seem nothing more than labels on empty containers, and so “faintheartedness” is the fullness with which Myka here initially accuses her today self. But as Helena breathes and waits for an answer, Myka revises that, gentling it to “caution.” And she adds “care.” Because she is trying to attend to, to appreciate, that breathing. And that waiting.

These might be nothing more than self-indulgently comforting shifts in vocabulary... but then again they might be akin to the shift from “Christmas” to “end-of-year.” Gentle. Inclusionary.

The something something something that occurs to her—because in attempting to avoid her own reflection, she is confronted instead with multiple Helenas—concerns a topic she probably should censor but doesn’t: “When you were a hologram... or a projection, or whatever we should call it... did you have a reflection?” She then reflexively backtracks, “It shouldn’t matter? But I don’t know.” That last, she means both ways. She doesn’t know: whether the reflection existed, or whether it matters. But maybe it’s a sneak-up on things, because she shouldn’t ignore things, and because a seemingly inconsequential tangent might tiptoe toward importance.

“I don’t know either,” Helena says. “I suppose I would have?” Her face contracts. “Or perhaps not, as I don’t know how that holographic projection of myself was... projected. But I do intend to look into it.” She says this last as if Myka has caught her in some inattention, a recklessly uncompleted assignment.

“I never even started majoring in physics,” Myka laments, which is true but also, she hopes, reassuring in an I didn’t do the homework either sense, “so I don’t know the optics of it. Projections. Light and mirrors. “ She doesn’t mention that in the wake of Pittsburgh, she had indeed tried researching such things... she’d got as far as some advanced volumetric displays, ones using dust particles as screens onto which lasers projected light, but at a certain point, a tipping point, the idea of Helena existing as—being relegated to—nothing more than light and dust screamed a surpassing insult, a degradation conjuring death, and it was more than she could bear.

For now she puts that away. She shakes her head, shakes it free, and changes tack. “Anyway, that’s probably the wrong approach. This is Warehousey, so thinking outside physics, the laws... okay, all I know about reflections, unphysically, is that vampires don’t have them. So if you didn’t have one, then maybe all holograms are vampires?” Ugh. Ugh ugh ugh. She would have done better to speak of dust, that and light and despair. Going with vampires instead? Talk about vamping...

“Presumably not vice versa,” Helena observes, seemingly taking Myka’s words far too seriously. “Certainly fictionally. Also not overly flattering, in the syllogistic sense of ‘Helena was a hologram, therefore.’”

“They’re very popular though,” Myka temporizes.

“Stoker’s novel was all the rage,” Helena allows.

The chat stalls out. Interrupting itself?

Myka nevertheless feels pressure to fill the silence: it’s her fault. Will a simple truth suffice? “I didn’t expect to be spending the day before Christmas eve with you,” she says. “Or any day with you. In Cleveland.”

A small smile from Helena marks this as a more welcome fill than a question about reflection. As do her next words: “Nor I with you. In Cleveland, or any place. Equally, I didn’t expect to be sent on a mission with you.”

“That part of it went well.” Myka gestures at her bag that contains the artifact.

“We did—and now do once again—make a good team.”

“I’m glad we got the chance to do it again. Glad, but also... relieved.”

“Relieved,” Helena echoes.

That wasn’t a question, but Myka answers anyway, “Well, obviously, first,” she says, feeling herself launching into an explanatory babble that she fears she’ll be powerless to stop, “because you didn’t have to talk anybody out of using Joshua’s Trumpet, so that really makes a difference in terms of how we—”

“‘First’,” Helena quotes, interrupting (stopping), conveying her full knowledge that that too is a vamp. “And second?”

“That we still are.” This, Myka says simple and frank.

“A good team?”

That is a question. Myka knows “yes” is the only sensical answer, so she tries to say it. But the depth and weight of the ways in which she and Helena “still are” choke her: they “still are” in the basic sense of existing, which was never a certainty; and even better, higher, these hours they’ve spent together today have made clear, to Myka at least, that they “still are”... well. She’d like to finish that with something like “in love,” but instead she tries to leave it, even in her head, at “still are,” with their time-crossed, maybe-destined predicate undefined.

“A good team” should be good enough—true enough—for now.

So after a stretch of time during which Myka knows she’s been focusing her gaze far too intently on Helena, she manages that “yes.”

Helena waits to speak.... are her eyes glistening more brightly than usual, or is Myka hallucinating? “I’m relieved as well,” she says, and Myka chooses to simply delight in whatever prompted such a saturated sparkle.

It draws her closer.

She crosses the small-yet-large elevator-width that separates them. “I need to either sit down beside you or help you up,” she says. “Do you have a preference?”

“For?” Helena’s eyes continue to glow.

That shine... Myka has hopes. They may not be realized, but she has them, the product of relief, “still are,” and an unknown predicate. “Whatever’s next,” she says.

A bit of time passes, with Helena now being the one focused most intently. “I’ll stand,” is her verdict.

Myka reaches down with both—both—hands, offering, and Helena reaches up, accepting. Their fingers meet and clasp, and too cold, Myka thinks, for both of them have a chill in those extremities... but first impressions of temperature promptly fall away as the new reality of the clasp roars into precedence.

Myka has never been so certain of, so certain of and enchanted by, what must and will happen next in her life. Never in her life so certain, as the clasp tightens, as their torsos lean, as Myka’s body begins an at-last congratulation, one that will become a celebration—

A voice from somewhere overhead barks, “Everybody okay in there?”

TBC

#bering and wells #Warehouse 13 #fanfic #holiday (but not Gift Exchange) #Bonus #part 2 #you never can tell what mechanisms might be up to #sneaky ghosts in machines #(sneaky ghosts ARE machines) #anyway like I said in part 1 #I wanted to put a couple of people in a clichéd situation #and the way this part ends was probably obvious from the get-go #but really #was that space the right venue for... #anything? #Claudia's encouragement aside

[alatismeni-theitsa]

Hello. I'm currently in the process of working on a retelling of the hades and persephone myth (clichéd i know) But in the light of the recent deluge of adaptations which give them a consensual, instantly romantic relationship from the off, I want to do my own version that draws from the original myth and have persephone be taken to the underworld against her will and forcibly married to hades. In the time she is trapped there, she doesn't fall for him and he himself has mixed feelings towards her (to him, she was a replacement for his dead love, the nymph leuce (which persephone looks similar to) Neither of them have anything in common and don't really connect (Hades thinks he loves her, but it's more a sense of ownership over her and that's why in this version he gives her the pomegranate to bind her to the underworld and him. ) The only time persephone feels the slither of care for him gets almost imneduatly violated and betrayed by him binding her to the underworld and him

While that's the setup, the actual rest of the story is very much a slow burn, covering their relationship over the centuries and how they slowly change as people/deities (for ages, thir relationship remains bitter (hades putting no effort into understanding his wife and persephone (understandably) not wanting anything to do with the man who betrayed and trapped her.) Only after hades actually realises just how much hell he's put his wife through and actually puts the effort in. that things start to improve between the two of them. It gets to a point that they are friendly(not romantic, but cordial ) and both support the other having romantic relationships with other people (hades with Minthe and persephone with adonis.)

Still working on the rest, but I want to also incorporate other myths into the tale. I don't want to do the bog standard retelling and actually take advantage of the fact that they are immortal gods.

I don't want to do the bog standard retelling and actually take advantage of the fact that they are immortal gods.

That's a great idea! I don't know if you witnessed any arranged marriages in your culture but I happened to witness a few and they are quite complex situations, and both parties need to work for harmony to be achieved. There are positives and negatives in such a situation (humanity has been doing marriages like this for millennia) so I believe it deserves to be explored. The centuries factor will make it better in my opinion! The couple of Hades and Persephone is depicted as harmonious and in sync by ancient Greeks, so it would be interesting to see not only the initial dynamic but how it evolved with the centuries

#answered #writing

[rcksmith]

Dream a little of me — Kaz Brekker

Resume: One bed and two hearts.

Requests :”Hello, darling! Could I request sleeping with kaz? Imagine or general headcanons, as you like. No nsfw (no need of touching tho, do what you like with it!), just sleeping in the same bed - maybe for the first time. Also bonus points if one of them will have a nightmare👀Have a good night/day, hun!🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️✨✨✨💗💗💗”

“My heart asks for all the angst of touch starved reader falling for Kaz Brekker... 😭😭😭 - 🐕‍🦺”

Couple: Kaz Brekker/ Grisha Fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing, mention of post-traumatic stress, angst, fluff.

Word count: 3k.

A/N: Thank you💖 I hope you guys like.

Normal Rules.

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake. Requests are open. Love you❤️

— — — — —

The rain was pouring down in torrents, in a fierce storm that roared into the shadowy forest like a hideous, unearthly animal. Platinum lightning’s streaked the midnight sky and thunder rumbled like as giants footsteps crashing into the ground and shaking the earth. Everything had been orchestrated to work. But nothing could have gone more wrong.

Unfortunately, not even Kaz Brekker's millions of tricks and plans could defeat the force of nature. And even you, an Infernal Entherealki, hadn't mastered the art of controlling fire or keeping warm while under a torrent of icy, biting cold water.

Your teeth started chattering, your lips turned purple, and you wondered if you could run another inch. Your muscles felt like stones and for someone who had lived with the heat of the flames his whole life, being under freezing water was extremely painful. But Kaz wouldn't let you stop. And you, as excruciating as the pain was, didn't want to stop either. The pain was strong but the desire not to let him down was more.

The two of you part of the plan that night was to go through the forest with the diamonds in pockets and find the rest of the Crows on the other side. You two would have to spend the night in that place. But all of Brekker's machinations were washed away by the treacherous and atrocious rain.

The only alternative was to run. Run to the direction where there was a small civilization and pray to find an inn or not die of hypothermia.

The angry drops of icy water were enough to steal Kaz's breath. Not because the cold was unbearable, but because his own demons, his past, were ghosts that gripped his ankles like monsters from horror stories. He didn't feel the rain, didn't feel the biting wind, Kaz just felt the sensation of the freezing, oppressive ocean drowning him. And for a second, when he looked at the small strip of fur on he wrist that wasn't hidden by his glove and coat, he swore he saw Jordie's dead skin in place of his.

He had to get out of there. But when the storm started, and Kaz run his eyes at you, your face wet from the rain, your skin constantly whipped by the cold droplets, and your cheeks extremely red from the cold, it made him gasp in a very different way. Blood pooled in your cheeks. Pulsing. Alive. He had to get you out of there.

Finding hiding places was one of his specialties, and he focused his mind entirely on it. When an inn came into view, a small relief rumbled in both of you. And Kaz looked in your direction to make sure you were okay. Alive.

As the receptionist gave the key from the last spare room to the two of you, Kaz couldn't help but feel that there was no longer any heat pulsing in your body. That made him feel miserable.

The night was cold. Unusually cool for the time of year.

"I don't think it's a good idea to carry out a robbery like that in these climatic temperatures." Inej said, walking down the stairs after Kaz "One of the Dregs caught a serious cold too while you were away."

Kaz had to be away for two days to sort out some matters of his own. Check some ship ports and finding out the weaknesses of some new merchants. And as much as he ordered his thoughts to focus solely on that purpose, he found himself daydreaming at certain times about…

"It got very serious after a few hours." Inej completed.

Kaz felt a trickle of worry trace his veins, tighten his throat But it wasn't for some bruteman of his Dregs. His source of concern was more serious, deeper, and for someone he didn't want to think about too much. Even though he told himself to keep every nerve in his body under control, in the end he was Kaz Brekker, he couldn't help but notice he picked up his pace to get faster to the live room that was strictly reserved for the Crows.

And when he walked in, following by Inej, the tree branches hit the windows, blown by the wind, tinkling. The cold was oppressive and biting, but not enough to stop Jesper from playing cards with Wylan, nor enough for Nina not to eat her candy and listen to Matthias tell of his people's legends. But the eyes of Kaz, that treacherous and treacherous organ, ran to you first. Magnetically, inevitably.

And he felt like he could breathe again.

The sight of you sitting on the black velvet sofa, with a book in your hands and your legs stretched out on the padded stool in front of you, calmed Kaz's heartbeat as nothing had ever done.

As much as he denies, in those two days his mind has swarmed over you more often than he thought wise. Brekker liked to justify that action with the fact that you were part of the gang. As close and important as Jesper or Inej. It was normal for him to be worried about the Dregs.

But why did he only see you? Why did the questions about your well-being and comfort stood out so much from any other concerns with others?

It was you. Always late at night, when Brekker was a sigh away from sleep. You were what someone he was thinking.

"Who is alive always appears." Nina announced he arrival and Kaz was pulled out of his reverie.

"Did you kill anyone these two days?" Jesper placed a letter on the table and Inej sat beside Nina.

Kaz left his hat on one of the dark marble tables. “Does it matter?"

There were other seats available in the room. A leather armchair next to the burning fireplace - Brekker were sure that you was controlling the temperature - an extra chair around the table where Jesper and Wylan were play, and a small divan beside Matthias. But Kaz sat beside you on the couch.

You marked the page with your finger, lowering the book gently. He didn't need to see the cover to know what it was. It was a romance clichéd eighteenth-century. He had given it to you before he left.

"Everything worked?" You smiled and Kaz had the feeling that he wanted to memorize that smile in a painting to always appreciate it.

"And doesn't always do?"

Even with the biting cold that wasn't stopped by the fireplace, Brekker could feel the heat from your body emanating, like a delicious temptation. You were always so hot. Bathed in the sun's rays. He didn't know if infernal grisha like you gave off so much heat too, because it was impossible for that to be human. Were so intense...delicious. Even with multiple layers of clothing, if Kaz approached you he could feel the warmth of a tropical pirate island.

Was that why he always unconsciously sat beside you? Why did you radiate so much causticity that it made Kaz forget about the ocean's cold? Why were you like a piece of life and Kaz felt dead for a long time?

Or was it because, heat or not, you were the only thing worth being around?

All the questions were too disturbing. And Kaz Brekker didn't want to know the answer.

Now, even climbing the stairs to the room beside you, Kaz couldn't feel anything radiating from you body. Just the cold. And he hated it with every force of his being.

You're not made to take the rain, felling deadly cold, or turn your lips a bluish hue.You were not made to be cold as a corpse, with muscles stiff and sore like a dead. You were not made to look like Jordie. You were meant to be alive. To look alive. Exhale the heat of the most ardent fire and heat a room just with your presence. You were meant to scare off Kaz's winter with your summer.

For a second, Kaz wanted to hug you to give you the warmth of his own body.

You felt exhausted. The remnants of what you once day were. Every inch of your body protested, aching and tearing at muscles. The cold, sharp water did you no good. You didn't know if it was were something of your species or a trait unique to you. But it didn't do any good to you. You hated looking so miserable in that appearance, especially in front of the one man you always wanted to look beautiful to. But at that moment you were in too much pain to worry so much about it.

As soon as Kaz had put the key in the doorknob, his gloved fingers stiff from the cold, what you expected to find was a cozy room, promising a heat shower and a good, well-deserved night's sleep. But that wasn't it. You stared at the wide double bed with white sheets, perplexed. Shock competed with your pain and put your brain to work, and all your breath lurked in throat as your realized the situation.

Oh my fucking God.

You didn't have to look at Kaz to feel his entire body be rigid, in a way far more potent than the effects the rain had caused. As if the prospect of sleeping next to you was more whorse than dying of hypothermia.

You closed your expression. Half because your mood was already bad and half because the rejection was brutal. You didn't expect your passionate feelings for Kaz to be returned, nor did you expect him to feel the same longing to be close to you as you felt for him. But no woman wanted to see that a man would rather die of hypothermia than share a bed with her. Even more if he was a man she was in love with.

You entered in room first, the pain in your body clouding your thoughts.

"Do you mind if I shower first?"

Your voice was weak, and you didn't have the heart to look at Kaz. He hissed a “no” that hung in the air, and that was the last thing you heard before closing yourself in the bathroom.

His heart was beating eerily fast in his chest. As loud as the thunder outside and as unsettling as the chill of rain. His breath began to burn heavily in his throat, and suddenly his entire body was fully aware of the situation.

One bed.

Even when he took the diamonds out of his pocket and placed them on a small table, even when you came out of the bathroom and he walked in, even as he basked in the hot water, his heart still pounded wildly. Like a generator.

Kaz Brekker liked puzzles, challenges. Of things he could unravel and understand. Piece by piece. He played to win and to cheat, and the world knelt at his feet before the insight of his mind. Still, he didn't know what to do. You were like a fascinating and maddening riddle. The one thing that, no matter how hard Kaz tried, could never unravel yours mysteries. Or maybe, just, what he would never be able to do was unravel what he felling whenever he was by your side.

His heartbeat grew stronger.

Brekker remembered every deck of cards, every card played. He could keep up with the distribution of up to five decks, unlock any lock, and devise the most insane plans. But he couldn't stop the way his soul trembled whenever he laid eyes on you.

In those moments, when you looked at Kaz like he was someone much better than he actually was, Kaz wanted to be good. He wanted to be born again to become a damn decent man. For you. He wished he didn't have his demons and erase his past. Because that way, when the sun's rays hit your face and you were close enough for your scent of happiness to flood his senses, Kaz wouldn't back down. He would lean down and seal his lips in yours with the promise of a glorious future.

His heart beat faster.

Why did he feel that his whole life was always suspended whenever he were away from you? And why did he have the feeling his life could change forever if he walked out that door?

Kaz turned off the shower. The heart running like a horse. He fished out the towel and wrapped it around his waist, finding a small hamper that held neat, folded pajamas for guests. He was surprised he didn't notice you in those pajamas. You made him lose focus.

As soon as he dressed and walked out of the bathroom, his eyes immediately went to your figure. Sitting on the bed, your legs under the covers, your hands clasped together in a cupped shape with a small, flare of fire burning in the center.

You looked up at Kaz. “I managed to do something to warm you up.”

The phrase was: No for warm me up. No for warm us up. For warm you up.

Kaz lost his breath and his soul trembled. The air felt different since he stepped out of the shower, not just from the recent gust of heat. But there was something else, something lyrical, pink and lush. Something...beautiful. He did not say anything. First because he didn't trust his own words and second because he didn't know what to say. He sat beside you, a considerable distance away, but this time his fear was that you would hear the loud, racing beat of his heart.

You turned gently towards him, reaching out your hands towards him, not noticing how his hands trembled as they stretched under the hot flame. Kaz swallowed hard.

He knew how weak and drained you were, but he also knew you were aware that he loathed cold. Hated icy water. You didn't know the depth of his traumas, but the fact that you cared to the point that you were willing to use your last shred of strength to end his torment was something that reverberated in his soul.

You two didn't say anything else after that. After Kaz removed his hands from the flame, you understood that as the end of your two interactions. You two shared a mutual answer that neither would sleep on the floor. You two were adults and in no condition to be lashed by any colder.

The night moon bathed the dark room with lights in distilled silver, almost flickering through the windswept tree branches. You were back-to-back, blankets pulled up to your shoulders, breathing gently quickened. As exhausted as you two were, neither of you could sleep.

Suddenly, the whole atmosphere in room seemed to change. Like a private, enchanted piece of the world. The wind howled softly, on a calm note. The rain was still falling in torrents, but now it seemed to be adopted in a passionate tone. As if it had fulfilled its purpose and now hovered in the world with a romantic veil of water. Stars shining bright above the bedroom window, glittering like hundreds of tiny diamonds, accompanied by moonlight. Although the light was dim, it seemed to capture the lyrical essence, seem to whisper “Dream a little dream of me.”

Everything felt different, like the two of you had entered a rift in the world. A part inhabited romance, pure magic, love.

Your soul shivered, and as much as you could never prove it, you felt that Kaz's soul shivered too. Your breath hitched, burning in lungs, your body seized by a caustic tingle that snaked through every inch.

You didn't know why, but your body shifted gently on the bed, turning slightly towards the ceiling. The racing pulse in your veins. A second felt like an eternity. Kaz's body moved too, and you knew, just knew, that he was looking at the ceiling too.

Two hearts beating in the same time. Synchronized. And, by some magic or deity, you two knew that your heartbeat would never again beat another way. Always connected.

Your body moved a little more, now on belly up. And Kaz's seemed to do the same move, even without seeing you or your movements. His chest rising and falling with intensity. The rain calmed outside, turning the symphony of droplets hitting the roof into mysterious, passionate music. As if the world were plotting a whispering favor for you two.

Kaz could feel your body heat radiating once more, grazing his skin with rays of sunlight. Everything in that bedroom became poignant and intense and lyrical, inflicting sensations on him that Kaz never thought existed before. Later, it would be a shock for him to see that he was at the mercy of his own passions. Overcome by sensations that robbed him of control of his body. Later he would think about it. Later.

His soul tingled, sending gusts of heat from the inside out. The feeling was that, after 28 years of deep sleep, he had awakened. Awake. Alive.

His body moved once more, now completely on belly up. Kaz didn't have to look at you to know that you too had placed yourself in the same position. It was as if he felt the movements of your soul. His pulse was racing now, hot and boiling in his blood. And Kaz wondered if all the money in the world would bring half the sensations he was feeling right now.

What was he so afraid all this time? That question echoed through all the corridors of his soul. And Brekker feared for the answer. What kept him from having everything he craved?

Money? Pekka? Jordie's ghost and the cold ocean? Kaz feared never touching you any more than he feared his demons? Was that why he always walked away from you? Why was wanting to slide his fingers into your hot skin and not being able to fell you, be worse than any sensation he'd ever felt? Because, maybe, admitting it can change everything?

His breath hitched.

Would it be worse to be alone for the rest of his life? Doomed and cursing to a fate of revenge, death and red hate? Or, even worse for his heart, finding a girl with lovely eyes, sunny smiles and the smell of happiness? A girl that made him laugh, come out of his hiding. You. What do he will do with that? What if you open up the door that he can't close it? And If when you hold he and his heart is set in motion?

Would that be so bad? No.

His body became very aware of the approximation it was on to your. Your heat radiating into his. For some reason, Kaz was sure you was in the same condition as he was. Sharing the same feelings. The same passion hidden for so long.

Kaz should have thought of his brother, of revenge against Pekka Rollins, of the cold of the ocean. He should have weighed of his own traumas. Instead, he thought: What if I get a little closer?

The result of this was his fingertips brushing yours. And he knew the exact moment your heart sped up even more. Because his followed the same beat. Maybe following yours for the rest of his life.

You brought your eyes to him, calmly, as if that moment might disintegrate. and the world seemed suspended in that moment. Kaz slid his eyes to you as well, sharing sensations and emotions that didn't need to be put into words. It was all there, in the gaze.

His fingers crept higher, going to your hand, and plunging his touch - and his soul - into that contact. All your heat was too strong. Too intense. Doing Kaz wouldn't be able to think or feel, for the first few minutes, about anything but light, heat, summer and…happiness.

That's when you gave him a shaky, emotional smile. I would do anything for you. That's what that smile said. And Kaz answered, his hand tight with yours before letting go. Me too.

- -

As the sun's rays, shy and buttery, flooded the bedroom in soft color, Kaz's eyelids fluttered. The sound of birds reached his ears, and the scent of flowers and happiness invaded his nose.

It was nothing like waking up in Ketterdam.

That thought back him to reality. A reality in which he had stolen many diamonds, taken the rain and had to share the calm. A reality where Kaz Brekker touched you.

You.

Kaz opened his eyes immediately, his heart racing again. He looked frantically around the room, past the simple furniture, the closed bathroom door, the window where the light came in, and then looked to his side on the bed. That's when he realized what position he was in.

His soul heated up.

You had your back to him, your hair spread out on the white pillow, your back showing by your pajama top, your shoulder rising and falling softly with your resonant breathing. You were close. Very close. And Kaz finds, perplexed, that he is facing you. One arm rests around your waist, over the thick blankets, in an intimate and…romantic gesture.

He lost his breath. His warm, hope-shining soul whispered to him: what if it was like this every day? What if he woke up with you by his side forever? What if in time he learned to be a decent man? Trying to be normal?

Would Kaz do this for you?

You shifted in bed, turning onto his side, front for him, snuggling deeper under his touch and moving closer, as if Kaz were your oasis in the desert. No skin was actually touching, your breath hit his warm chest, and if Kaz lowered his lips even further, he could feel your lips on his.

Yes. He would.

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[rouiyan]

𝘐𝘛'𝘚 (𝘜𝘕)𝘊𝘖𝘕𝘋𝘐𝘛𝘐𝘖𝘕𝘈𝘓. [ 𝘭.𝘥𝘩 ]

⧏ hyuck’s installment of the undone at twenty-one collective ⧐

synopsis: where you and donghyuck realize that falling in love is not just a matter of time but of circumstances, impulsive decisions, and reckless emotions. well, mostly just reckless emotions. or in short, the two times you dumped him and the one time you didn't.

✧ lee donghyuck x (fem.) reader + bestfriend!lee jeno ✧ college au, slight enemies to loverz, fake dating au

✧ genres : angst, fluff, pining ✧ word count : 18.3k ✧ disclaimers : swearing

✧ author’s note — months in the making and it's finally here. please make yourself a cup of tea and get toasty in the sheets because this bitch is huge.

it was a valentine's dance, a stupid valentine's day dance, where lovers would go if they truly had nothing else to do. it was where elderly couples would boast of how long they'd been together, clichéd stories and all. you'd only gone because your best friend, jeno, had been in charge of the whole event to begin with. it made no sense to you, jeno was always a sucker for parties but not the sappy, cookies and streamers, no-alcoholic-beverages ones. he had said it was because he needed community service hours, something about how it would look like he genuinely cared for the community on paper, but sometime during the night while watching him excitedly put up the red and pink balloons, you realized that he actually enjoyed this. he enjoyed watching over the dance once it was in full swing and you saw how he'd let the smallest of smiles adorn his face as he refilled an empty pitcher of fruit punch.

but you knew the exact reason he held the dance in such high regards when he slipped from your presence as some slow song started to hum from the speakers and the fluorescent pink lights dimmed. you’ve been friends with jeno’s girlfriend for long enough to know that she was such a sweetheart. jaein was the type of girl that sent her grade reports back home to her parents and always had her location on. she was the type of girl that slept at eleven and declined frat party invites. she was just the girl that'd come to these types of parties and just the girl jeno deserved and loved. to nobody’s shock including your own, the two had started dating a few months back after being so obviously head over heels in love with each other for years. 

while jeno had spent most of his time with you, he now spent an equal half with jaein and you weren’t all too sure what to do with the allotted free time. sure, busying yourself with studies was a good idea, not a very fun one though, so you resorted to attending the valentine’s dance jeno had set up, to support him as well as not to miss out on free food. jeno had tried, really, to get any one of his single (as in, ready to mingle) friends to come and try to woo you, but none had shown up, opting to go to more bustling parties than to babysit his lone best friend. none had shown up, except a specific brown-haired boy, with a shy smile and a lame excuse as to why he would choose to spend such a day here, of all places.

donghyuck. lee donghyuck. your polar opposite. to be fair though, you wouldn’t actually know all too well because you’d never particularly ventured to get to know him. every bit about him struck you as obnoxious and entirely unnecessary. he was this loud, boisterous enigma at your college, always sunshine and smiles and making people laugh at jokes that bordered between funny and offensive. you felt, no, you knew that he was no good. he was never committed in serious relationships, gaining labels such as being a ‘playboy,' and you doubted he ever had a serious conversation with anyone, much less himself. lee donghyuck was the moodmaker of your friend group and while that may rest peachy with others, you found it exhausting to have to always be in the mood to laugh at his jokes or else be deemed undeserving of his attention. truth be told, you thought he felt the exact same way towards you, seeing as how he never attempted to make conversation with you and how he simply acted like you didn't exist when in big groups. how wrong you were.

lee donghyuck was the last person on your mind when jeno had said to you absentmindedly that one of his friends could accompany you that night. jeno was clearly proud of this, with the knowledge of donghyuck's blatant crush on you, the matter being a secret to no one but yourself. donghyuck had really debated coming, not wanting to enforce one-on-one confrontations with you since he knew you disliked him a certain amount. but he also thought of all the things he could say to you, all the questions he'd been dying to ask since day one (all the questions that jeno hadn't begrudgingly answered already). for him, the whole day had been spent staring at jeno's simple text (hey, u should come keep y/n company at the dance) and tossing himself through his sheets, wondering if he should dare be bold and actually show up. 

turns out, even after deciding to go, showing up had been an astonishing feat in itself for donghyuck, having spent the last hour and a half brushing and re-brushing his teeth, styling and restyling his hair, and choosing and rechoosing his outfit. he'd settled for simple black jeans, torn at the knees, a white tee topped with a black denim jacket and white sneakers, his hair split in the middle and almost stabbing at his eyes. he felt his heart speed up while reversing out of the driveway of his house, he felt his heart speed up as he thought of you while driving, and he felt his heart almost stop when he entered the venue, his eyes narrowing in on you and almost doubling over at how gorgeous you looked. leaning on the drinks table, you were donned in a simple satin blue slipdress with chunky sneakers to dress it down, one side of your hair was clipped back with some pearly accessories and your equally pearly bag sat atop the table behind you. 

he took careful, calculated steps, stopping at the candy table to grab a lollipop, so as to seem like he wasn't beelining right towards you. stopping a few feet away from you and gaining your attention, he held out the heart-shaped lollipop, a shy "hi," slipping from his lips. you took the candy with a small thanks before fixating your gaze back on him and questioning his presence, "what brings you here?" though you knew the answer, you really doubted that jeno could convince donghyuck here without any willpower of his own. he bit down on his lower lip before giving out a shrug and untruthfully admitting that he, "had nothing else to do," and, "thought it would be a nice change, considering i really only attend frat parties."

taking the excuse as his word, you nodded slowly before telling him you didn't know if this was a good idea and that maybe you should just go because you didn't see much of a point in staying, completely missing the way his eyes rounded ever so slightly and how his lips twitched into a frown before he quickly fixed his expression. you were just about to turn away from him when his hands found themselves barely grazing your forearm, stopping you in your tracks so that he could voice out his inner worries, "i'm sorry if i'm making you uncomfortable but…i really would like to spend the night with you." 

in his mind, he felt as if time slowed as he watched your hair rustle as you turned back around to face him, as your eyes flashed for a brief moment of consideration, and as you brought your hand up to his, effectively removing it from your arm before looking him straight in the eye to say, "okay."

donghyuck went through all the possible scenarios he'd thought up to come to a conclusion on what to say. he noted the way most people at the event were on the dance floor, slow dancing with a loved one, and thought it was a good place to start. meanwhile, you had traced his line of vision and interpreted his ideas, quickly saying, "no, we're not dancing," and effectively trashing his one and only plan rather abruptly. donghyuck's eyes nearly bulged out of his head and he made a mental note to not be so damn obvious in front of you. he took a quick glance at your lips and decisively tossed out the first thing that came to mind, "then, have you eaten yet?"

you shook your head lightly and he took from this to offer, "then how 'bout we go grab something to eat? my treat." you barely considered the situation upon hearing the last two syllables, replying with a "sounds good," quickly grabbing your bag. exiting the venue, you looked for jeno and saw that he was still busying around his girlfriend. you took it upon yourself to text him whilst on the way to dinner. 

donghyuck felt light on his feet as he walked through the parking lot with you by his side. the cold air felt liberating on his skin but he noticed how you'd caged yourself within your arms, in attempts to ward off the wind. without thinking, he'd already shrugged off his jacket and propped it lightly over your shoulders. his confidence skyrocketed as you clutched the article of clothing tighter to your frame and muttered a small thanks. surprising even himself, he even replied with a, "no problem, you look good in it," his cheeks now flushing a bright red, the same color spreading to his ears. 

not much else was said as he opened up the car door for you, gently pushing it shut after you were seated. you mentally cursed yourself for being so easily persuaded but moreover, the thoughts that filled your head were akin with 'since when was he such a gentleman?' and 'what's with him all of a sudden?' the air in the car smelled like fast food takeout and the cupholders held everything but a cup, miscellaneous items ranging from candy wrappers to spare change occupying the space instead. donghyuck entered beside you and noted your gazes, feeling slightly embarrassed. he put the car in reverse and placed an arm behind the head of your seat, his own head tilting as he backed out of the spot. without meaning to, you glanced over, only to be met with his side profile, jawline and all. it was no question that he was handsome, and though you never thought you would be actively thinking about it, you found yourself at the foot of his beauty, with many other girls by your side.

the whole ride there, you were texting jeno (even though he wasn’t texting back), making small jokes about how you've been kidnapped by the man he hired to accompany you and how he didn't even bother to tell you where the two of you were headed. it's odd because to this day, you still don't know what it was that compelled you to come along with him. perhaps it was really just the food, or maybe his sudden boyish charm, or mayhaps it was even the lollipop he held out to you, a shy smile lighting his face.

fifteen minutes later, the eerily quiet drive came to an end when he pulled into a spot on the side of an empty road, expertly parallel parking in the small space between two moderately sized trucks. before you could process his movements, his hand was on your arm again and he let out a small, "wait here," before he slid out the car and briskly walked to your side, opening up the door for you once again. stepping out, you took a look at the building before you that hosted a fancy restaurant, seemingly halfway empty. you found that odd, especially since it was valentine’s day, but you put into consideration that it was located on the side of town that no one really frequents. 

“wow, when you said we were going to grab something to eat, i didn’t think it’d be fancy.” donghyuck felt a sense of pride in his chest as he opened yet another set of doors for you, replying back with sincerity. “i didn’t want to half-ass this… sorta date.” it felt weird coming out of his mouth, the word ‘date,’ even more so that the date was with you, but he caught the little quirk of your lips and he wondered if he really had to joke around all that much to get you to smile. on any other day where you’d hang out with the rest of the group, he’d never been able to get your still face to lift, no matter how many idiotic jokes he had to crack. 

meandering in, the waiter sat the two of you at the table against the front window and you felt subconscious of the people walking by, peering in at the pair of you like they were window shopping. donghyuck saw the way you shifted, eyes glancing out the window every few seconds and he raised his hand to catch the waiter’s attention. “can we get another table, please?” after moving to a more secluded spot, you eyed donghyuck suspiciously before he bluntly said, “what? i didn’t wanna sit by the window.” the lie slipped easily past his lips and the almost overt hope that lined your irises diminished to a pointed look and eye roll. 

the restaurant was dimly lit, with the only source of light being the candles lining the wall and atop each table, accompanied by a small rose in a clear vase. you’ve never been on a date somewhere this fancy, the boys you’ve dated in the past being utterly incompetent, for lack of a better word. and it’s not like a fancy dinner was what you’d epitomize as a ‘good’ date, you’ve just never been pampered in a way that made it seem like you were of importance. somehow though, the way donghyuck laid his eyes on you, with care and genuine curiosity, you couldn’t help but feel… important to him, for whatever reason he hadn’t graced you with yet.

you didn’t question him as he ordered a pasta and a steak, getting the feeling that this wasn’t the first time he’s been here. “so this is where you take all the girls, i’m assuming?” donghyuck’s eyebrows shot into this hairline, clearly not expecting such a question from you. he cleared his throat before voicing, “only the ones i like a lil' more.” you scrunched your nose in distaste at his dating habits but you didn’t say anything else. he seemed to catch up on this as he fervently picked up the exchange once again, “not that you’re one of them.” this caught you off guard, pursing your lips slightly before disregarding the thought from your mind. donghyuck thought he’d said too much but it looked as if you were already past the topic, moving your hands to unfurl the provided cloth and laying it upon your lap. he did the same as he searched your expression in attempts to make sure you weren’t uncomfortable within his presence. 

donghyuck didn’t think much of the girls he dated. they were fleeting, he knew that much. and he also knew that they simply paled in comparison to you, mere pastimes while he waited out for his chance with his actual love interest. he’d never thought that you’d express dislike towards the way he chose to date around instead of committing but now that his mind was on the matter, he felt ashamed that he didn’t even seem remotely your type. donghyuck saw this in the way you always stuck to jeno, even in a platonic sense, and how your eyes always seemed to gravitate to guys that were more or less just…better than him. he knew relatively little about your love life, though he knew for a fact that you were currently single, and (from jeno) that you had dumped all the guys you’d dated before. even just liking you, he felt immense pressure and the impotent need to impress you whenever and wherever. with that in mind, he took a second to breathe before trying, at the very least, to show you his potential. 

donghyuck initiated casual conversation while the two of you waited on the food to arrive, doing his best not to seem overly enthusiastic or like he was trying to make you laugh. he kept the usual over-the-top jokes out of the air and focused solely on getting closer to you, asking questions like, “how are your classes?” or “when’s your birthday?” and giving minimum effort to reply when you’d ask the same question back. he spent most of his brain power memorizing your answers, subconsciously scheming when he could put the information to use, before popping the question he’d been wanting to ask all night, “then, what’s your type?” 

“mm, like looks-wise or personality-wise?”

“hmm, how ‘bout...both?”

“then, looks-wise, well first off someone that dresses well. i think things like facial features and body build don’t matter all that much but the way someone dresses or like, presents themselves, shows a lot about them.”

“so like, any particular style?”

“nothing particular, but nothing over the top. i think they just have to look put together and just…feel confident in what they wear. if that makes sense.”

donghyuck’s pleased with your answer, and by the way he was nodding at you, you continued your thoughts.

“personality-wise, just someone who knows what they want and someone that’s willing to put in effort to get what they want, i think that’s important.”

his eyes were just about sparkling when you finished and you wanted to ask him if he felt okay but instead shot back the same question he had asked you, not wanting to come off as fussy. “what about you? what’s your type?”

donghyuck didn’t miss a beat when he blurted out, “you.”

the waiter interrupted the moment by placing two plates (or rather platters) of food onto the table, but donghyuck could see, between the waiter’s arms, the way you bit back a smile. you snuck a glance at him, unsure of how to feel at this revelation. his eyes were unwavering on yours and you’d never felt more enticed by just the way someone was looking at you. oh, how confused you had become in such a short period of time. the boy in front of you was your type, a shy but self-assured boy that was smooth, no doubt, but more importantly he made you feel something.

dinner went as fast as it came and donghyuck paid, true to his word, leading you out the restaurant and back to his car. once in, he didn’t take off immediately. sitting in silence, the two of you exchanged a couple of looks before he said with a smirk, “let’s date.”

you were barely caught off guard, nodding minutely, and looking him in the eye. “yeah, let’s date." it was a blessed day for donghyuck, one that would always replay in his mind from that day onward. he thanked whatever higher entity graced him with just the perfect words, just the perfect actions, and just the perfect scenarios to get you from hating him to looking at him with such adoration in your eyes. all in one night.

it was a miracle day, a shared thought by the two of you.

it had been a wild forty-six hours since donghyuck had dropped you off at your apartment. the sunlit sky was just about to tip into the depths of night and donghyuck had come to pick you up to hang out with the rest of your friends. the only one of the boys who knew of the progression with donghyuck at the moment was jeno, the one boy you could never keep anything from, and he still thought that you were simply playing out a giant prank on him. you felt giddy, with the rush of newfound feelings for a handsome boy you could call your own. 

approaching his and his friend’s house, an unsettling feeling began to gather in the pit of donghyuck’s stomach. around you, he found it rather comfortable to just lay back and speak his thoughts. the last couple days spent with you had shown him that you liked donghyuck the way he was, and even though his fun side was appreciated, it wasn’t needed. but coming up to the front door and bringing out his keys, he thought of how he would act with the boys and you in the same room. 

“wow, who would’ve thought these two would come together?” it was jaemin that spoke, his eyes narrowing at you, coming in tow behind donghyuck. “imagine how awkward the drive must’ve been. y/n hates his guts.” this time, it was renjun that spoke, his lips curling into a smile as he conjured the thought of a silent, glare-filled drive. “actually,” donghyuck began countering, “we’re dating now.” 

the room fell silent as they watched donghyuck wrap his arm around your waist, your head finding a place on his shoulder. suddenly, after seven whole seconds, the room burst into a cacophony of commotion, jeno dragging you to the side to question if you were sane, jaemin and renjun laughing at the absurdity but taking time to spout a few incoherent sentences, and jisung and chenle openly gawking at the unfolding situation.

it was a whole twenty minutes before everyone started to notice how quiet donghyuck was, only talking when he was talked to and even then, replying with straight and not sarcastic answers. all the boys seemed to find it strange and renjun finally voiced, “the hell happened to you, did y/n threaten you or something?”

the world seemed to shrink around him as donghyuck felt his throat constrict, looking between you and the boys as if any of you could give him a clue as to what to say. your eyes were just as curious as the rest but he knew they held some sort of expectation. you’d grown to like the real donghyuck, not the funny, boisterous one. but the boys were all expecting him to burst into giggles and crack jokes like they were all he was made of. his head whirled, not wanting to choose between you or his friends and feeling like the entire situation was unfair. it was unfair that he couldn't rest easy just being himself. that he had to be a certain someone in front of his friends so that he could feel like a friend. but despite the inner rumbling of thoughts, he ended up plastering a wide grin onto his face, quipping back at renjun with a, “‘course she did, she hates my guts.”

the boys all glanced at you expectedly, seeing if you would laugh at what your boyfriend had said. now it was you that felt uncomfortable. squirming under all the stares of your friends, you could only give a small smile, feigning a chuckle, before the boys deemed that enough to move on. it's right then and there that you realized exactly what the fuck you'd gotten yourself into. you felt the teeniest bit disappointed, in him and in yourself. him for having all that damned pride and you, for forgetting that he had all that damned pride. 

it was at the forty-eighth hour of your relationship when you finally had the chance to drag the boy into the silent laundry room off the hall and confront him, dumping him for the first time because what the hell were you thinking? the usual, careful (not carefree) y/n that you'd known all your life had been replaced with this foreign and terribly impulsive persona in the face of a pretty boy. somehow, you’d let feeling of infatuation and desire revert all your cumulative dating experience and deem your rationality useless. all for a boy. a boy who could go on for days about how you weren’t ‘one of them’ when he really meant that he just thought you were prettier than the others. you felt like you were really just another one of his date-and-ditch girls. like he was slapping his dick in your face, and not even in a sexual way.

the last day of your weekend elapsed quickly and you had already found yourself cornered by donghyuck before your first class. you would have blatantly ignored him, had he not been screaming your name at the top of his lungs, alerting everyone within a mile radius. his face was drawn into a playful grin and you felt yourself cringe internally because you couldn’t piece together how you could’ve possibly dated a boy that would yell at you to get your attention with a goddamned smirk on his face the day after you had dumped him. 

dragging him by the elbow to the nearest bench, you forcibly sat him in the seat, looking down at him like a mother giving her child a scalding glare for misbehaving. his face now donned something you hoped was guilt but edged the line of being shameful. “why are you embarrassing me? it’s nine in the morning.”

indeed, his voice was small and he seemed upset that you used such a reprimanding tone on him. “sorry, i just wanted to get your attention.”

“and now you have it,” you huffed, “what do you want?”

once again, without missing a beat, he blurted out, “to get back together.”

your mind longed to reminisce the feeling of his eyes, sincere, on yours but even then, you felt like a joke to him. “no.”

“but y/n-“

“no, hyuck. i don’t want to be another one of your girls that you think are 'pretty enough' to take to that fancy little restaurant you frequent.”

“you’re not.”

“oh, so all of a sudden i mean so much to you.”

“not all of a sudden, i- i’ve-“

donghyuck’s throat closed up before he could let you divulge in his little secret. he knew he would’ve probably been better off telling you the truth, as embarrassing as it would be for him, but it was too early, he told himself. he wanted to be sure about your feelings for him. he wanted to build a relationship with you, not pressure you with words he knew you weren’t ready for.

“you’ve what? lost your ability to speak?”

oh, how he would’ve loved that snappy attitude of yours had it not been directed at his poor self. he gulped visibly before settling for a half truth that wouldn’t make you freak out and avoid him like the plague, “i’ve started to like you, y/n. and not the way i like the others. you’re different, i swear.”

you bit down harshly at your lip, wondering if you were destined a shitty love with a disloyal boy. shaking your head, you pulled your phone from your tote, more than ever wanting class to start as soon as possible. to donghyuck’s dismay, it was. slipping your phone back, you raised your head to be met with wide eyes and you cursed yourself for almost wanting to ruffle his hair or tug at his cheeks or pull him into a hug… anything to get that little pout off his face. but you digressed, giving him a placid smile and a, “i have class, see you later,” before turning on your heel, thankful that you hadn’t succumbed to such silly urges.

class had been uneventful, a flurry of taking notes that you would later go back to and realize didn’t even make sense. your friend and usual seat partner, dayoung, had decided that today was the day to ditch. you supposed she’d either blacked out from drinking or had an incurable hangover, the cost of her monstrous drinking habits. it was a shame, you thought while packing up, that you would have to go to the cafeteria alone and eat alone. 

exiting the lecture hall, you’re met with donghyuck once again, eyes burrowed into his phone. his brows are drawn together in concentration before he hears the shuffling of feet, courtesy of your fellow classmates, and you saw how he immediately searched the crowd for you, or you're assuming. you wanted to screech at him, what in the name of god was he thinking? picking you up after class? but you turned on your heel, almost getting ready to sprint to the back door of the building. before you could even get two steps in, donghyuck’s fingers were gently tugging at your elbow, forcing you into a spin to face the culprit of your classroom daydreams. his grip tightened as if afraid you’ll shrug him off and you saw the way he nervously shoved his phone into his back jean pocket, fumbling around for a bit until it finally slotted in. he let go of you rather abruptly, seemingly suddenly aware that his hand was there in the first place, and cleared his throat a little louder than he had aimed to.

“do you want to go get lunch with me?” his voice was shy, and it caught you off guard in the slightest because of how collected he seemed. nevertheless, you’re persistent if nothing.

“no, i’m eating with dayoung.” the lie fell past your lips like honey and you’re about to give yourself a mental pat on the back when a small, knowing smile eased onto the boy's face.

“dayoung’s at jaemin’s. she’s got a bad hangover from yesterday’s party.” damn, you would’ve been celebrating two victories, one for successfully lying and another for being right about dayoung’s tendencies, if you hadn’t forgotten that the girl was jaemin’s girlfriend and that jaemin was one of donghyuck's best friends. your lips flattened into a thin line as you grasped at nonexistent excuses to toss at him. his smile had widened, the light in his eyes shining, before he, again, took you by the elbow and led you to his car, admittedly not giving a fuck as to whether you were okay with it or not.

“come on, i didn’t wait a whole hour and a half outside to just let you go off on your own.” his little comment had you stopping in your tracks. he looked back at you, confused, the little frown on your face igniting unease in his mind. “you waited?”

“of course i did, baby.”

“don’t call me that.”

“okay fine, y/n.”

“why would you wait?”

“because i like you,” another smirk, “i said what i said and i meant what i said.”

(it’s not everyday that flustered!y/n enters the chat but when she does, god, hyuck swears he’s never been more in love with just the way someone blushes. he loves it, he lives for it.)

you escaped the gaze of his star struck eyes by stalking to the passenger side of the car, standing by the door and waiting for him to unlock the vehicle. willing himself out of his fanboy trance, he thumbs the key in a hurry and gets into the drivers’ seat with even more enthusiasm. with each progressing second he spends with you, he can't help but want more and more to get to know you. his actions were eager, putting the car in reverse, easing out of the parking spot, fingers nimble on the gear stick. as usual, the drive was dead silent off to a place that donghyuck didn’t bother to mention. you figured out soon enough though, as he parked the car in front of a local thai restaurant. as you gathered your belongings, he took the opportunity to quicken his exit to open the door for yours. “you don’t have to do that, you know. i’m perfectly capable.”

donghyuck didn’t let your statements derail him as he also opened the door to the restaurant for you. you gave him a disapproving frown, even considering to just not go in, before begrudgingly entering. the place had a cozy feel to it, somewhat akin to a rainforest cafe except without the fake exotic animals and random trees. donghyuck rushed, as if it were his life’s duty, to pull out a seat for you, and you willingly let him see your eye roll. “i know you’re capable, y/n, i just want to do it for you, really.”

you scrunched your nose in distaste and ignored his late reply, opting to skim through the thickly binded menus the waitress had set upon the table. you take it upon yourself to order this time, despite having never been to the place, but you figured a pad thai and khao pad were the way to go. his eyes were on you the whole time, watching the way you articulated yourself to the waitress. you knew this but pretended, for the sake of your heart, to be oblivious to his antics.

unsurprisingly, donghyuck slipped back into his usual persona that he seemed to portray whenever he was around you. being in his immediate presence seemed to make your heart quake these days, reminding you of his charming smiles and smooth lines. maybe it was because of this that made you think it was a bit too selfish to assume that dating him would mean that he would willingly change his entire reputation, you doubted he liked you that much. 

by the end of the meal the two of you were sporting matching shy smiles, feet fiddling with each other under the table and silent snickers with flirty cocked eyebrows. the air felt different when you were around him, the him that you adored. he made the worries on your shoulders lift and lightened the tight hold that life had on your heart. donghyuck was good to you, in all the ways that mattered and in all the ways that did not. it was a shame that you didn't let yourself fall for him sooner. 

he took the initiative to end the mini date there, briefly informing you that he would be dropping you off at your apartment before the car ride blanched out into an airy silence. it would have been outright ignorant for you to dismiss the way your heart pressed against your chest and how it beat quicker than whatever pop song that was tuning in the background of your worries. thinking, you felt it was something that you should take upon yourself to right the situation. whatever you were feeling, whatever he had told you about how he was feeling, was something you just couldn't ignore. staring listlessly into the abyss of the creamy satin that laid against your lap, you took deep breaths that shuddered the nerves on your spine. donghyuck was an ex, but you also dated and broke up with him in such a flurry of emotions that there was no way to tell if it was justified or not. 

pulling into a spot outside your building you rushed your mind to do anything, say anything. "hyuck," you began, not even in full comprehension of what you were about to say. his ears perked and his heart lurched at your usage of his nickname, the feeling of closeness boosting his confidence and affection for you. "yes?" 

"what if we- no, i-," grappling at your hair you felt the words come short as they neared being voiced aloud. donghyuck could sense the tension that you incited with your stuttering but he felt drawn to the way your eyes flitted to everything except his own. he wanted them on his own. letting his weight shift onto the middle console of the front seat, you allowed his careful fingers to caress your chin and lift your sights to him. donghyuck's eyes were warm and inviting and instead of feeling a chorus of nerves, your voice found strength in the expression that graced his features.

"yesterday... i think i made a mistake," his eyes narrowed and his fingers moved to cup your cheeks in his hand. "what do you mean by that?"

"i mean, i want to get back together. i'm sorry if it seemed like i was expecting something from you."

donghyuck openly stared at you, wanting to memorize the way your face fell shy and conserved. he wanted to be the one to open up your heart and to be the one to treasure it. he wanted it all. so while you busied yourself with rapid blinking, your mouth opening and closing in attempts to cover up what you thought might have been yet another mistake on your part, he closed the distance between your lips and his, in a fateful crash. there was a certain passion with which he kissed you with that told a tale of longing and thoughtfulness. he was as warm as he looked, his lips showing you more than he had said in words. from a small but heartfelt kiss, you saw him in so many ways you hadn't before. his sincerity leaked through the simple but profound way he subtly sucked on your bottom lip and in your state of realization, you tried your best to form words from the emotions that had dawned upon you. with a hand on his neck, light but rubbing deep circles you leaned back into his space so that your breath would tickle with his, "i don't know how much i like you, hyuck. i can't even give you an estimate but i know that i like you. that, i know for sure."

"and that's all i need to know, baby." donghyuck slid the hand on your cheek to take purchase of the crown of your head and brought your figure into his. your arms fell down to his back, encasing him, as your temple hit the skin above his collarbones. he felt like home more than anything else. years of knowing of him and only days of actually getting to know him were all you needed for your heart to calm with his gaze, goosebumps to smooth over with his touch. donghyuck, you believed, was a good man, a beautiful, sunkissed man with a hearty laugh that would ring in your ears even in the moments after.

hyuck's presence, in so many ways, was already mounting to more than you thought it ever would and it was something that nagged in the back of your mind, ever so slightly, between the waves of adoration that swept through you with every interaction you held with him. it was dangerous territory, you thought, to be left alone without his persona by your side because then you would be utterly alone. alone to all your thoughts that kept you up at night because rationally, none of this made sense. rationally, he should not have been able to penetrate through your defenses, to break down your façade, to see the real you. it was a matter of days, not weeks, not even months, much less years. rationally, liking him was a no go. and being with him in any serious context was out of the question.

"woah. dragging me into the laundry room. well that can only mean two things, honeybee." his little remark would normally incite a small eye roll but you're too far in your head to really process the lightness of his joke, the lightness of his tone. two deep breaths, keep your hands away from him.

"hyuck, let's call this off." a serious tone.

"wait what?" it's been like barely a day." his gleaming eyes seemed to take it in anything but seriousness.

"i don't think i really thought this through. i just- it's all a little quick don't you think?."

"but babe look-"

"i'm sorry, again, but i really am not looking for something serious with you. that's what you want and i don't want to be the one who drags this on and makes it harder for me and you. whatever this was. let's just preten-"

"y/n, i'm not going to pretend this never happened, okay?" a pause, "because i know something happened. maybe you can't get serious with me but i know, for a fact, that you felt something at one point or another in this… this relationship." donghyuck's eyes are glossed over now with fresh tears. the very eyes that were filled with glee not two minutes ago. despite how wretched he looks, he continues without a hitch.

"you wanna break up? fine. i respect that but don't fucking say that this never happened. don't deny that what you felt, what i saw, never happened. it happened, baby. we happened."

taken aback in humiliation, you blinked back the oncoming wave of tears that were threatening to fall. he was right, you were impulsive, and indecisive, and though it was nowhere in your intentions to be selfish, that's what you were. two times now, that you've fucked yourself over.

and with your leave, donghyuck found himself at square one. or even negative one. he dated you, he dated you and he still found a way to ward you off, again. not even four days in total had he dated you and he felt the knots in his stomach tighten and curl up against his internal organs. he fucked it up, no matter if it was you that broke it off. he couldn't help but think that he was the one that scared you away. that he was the one that pushed you to fall for him so quickly and carelessly with flirty smiles and stupid chivalrous actions. donghyuck felt the tension build in his insides because he was so enamoured with being yours, for catching your eye, you heart, that he forgot to build a relationship with you, to build trust and reliability with you.

now, if you were to even look back on your relationship with him, or to even look at him in any sort of romantic way, you would only see the boy who could win smiles and little flutters of hearts but never any more than that. he found himself in the pits of regret and utter annoyance at his past self because he couldn't take a step back, for even one second, and show you more of how much of a partner he could be. he drowned in the possibility that he would only ever mark as pretty sex appeal and quick playboy fling in your charts. peak devastation.

but you, you will never admit the twist in your heart as you slipped out of the laundry room that day. not to hyuck, not to jeno, not to yourself. whatever games you believed hyuck to be playing on you, whatever games your own mind was playing on yourself, you were through with it. there was no way around that. 

a headache, in bed. maybe a bedache. uncomfortable no matter how you positioned yourself. the sheets were crisp but cold to the touch and you found yourself drawing your limbs nearer to your torso, your arms encircling them to ensure a warmth. perhaps this bedache had been brought on by how you hadn't left the bed since early last night, how the sun had been up for awhile now, or even by the phone pressed between your left ear and those crisp sheets. radioactive stuff, you figured. jeno was drawling on and on, about what you couldn't put a finger on. if your best friend was any one thing in the world, he was a rambler. never knew when to stop and could never comprehend the general mood of the room. especially when it was just the two of you, you couldn't help but have your mind wander off onto other topics because frankly, you weren't sure if he himself knew what he was saying at this point. maybe if he could pick up on the fact that you were tired, or so so out of it then he would stop. maybe if he was a little more adept in noticing things about you, maybe if he was a little more like… like hyuck. 

hell, you would've totally crushed on jeno if he had just a bit more common sense in social interactions (it's a total wonder how he has such an attentive girlfriend). but no, if anything hyuck was more your type than any of the guys in the group. huh, hyuck. how did he even end up in your train of thought? 

sprawling your back flat upon the mattress, the cold curling up your tendons and rippling a small shiver down your spine, you thought about the events of yesterday morning. breaking up with hyuck--a good choice decidedly--suddenly seemed like a dick move on your part. surely you could've just worked through it right? you liked him, undoubtedly, why was it so hard to stay with him? the possibility of being hurt was relatively low, despite who he was, you figured because of how he acted around you, gentlemanly. the possibility of it ending up more than just a frenzied fling was also very high, with how much you had liked him in consideration. your mind was going on, still to this moment, about how quick it had been, about your secret fears of it being no more than a joke, about how you had seriously fallen for such a joking person. but then again, you couldn't just call him up and tell him, "hi, it's y/n. let's date. again. because i suddenly feel okay with it. again." (though in all honesty, donghyuck would still say yes). 

the best course of action, you decided, was to wait it out. maybe school could keep your mind off of him and before you know it, the sight of him wouldn't make you suddenly self-conscious. and the sound of his voice wouldn't make the hairs stand straight at the nape of your neck. the aftereffects of his boisterous smile would stop, for once, from making your heart disentangle itself from the hold of your ribcage and the butterflies would stop flying all together. to your dismay, monday morning was comparably awful, just godawful.

your eyes are still wide and you're only slightly panicking when you say with a flat voice, “repeat.” donghyuck heaves another exasperated sigh. “i said,” he gives you a look that either means he thinks you’re annoying or he thinks you’re stupid (or both), “renjun thinks we’re still dating so he made a bet with me that if we stay together for a whole month, he owes me a hundred bucks.” his sneakers are tapping in such a rhythmic fashion that your eyes feel like they’ve been tranced but they’re pulled to his face when you finally process his words. “wha-“

you’re attempted response is cut short when he says, eyes rolling back, “i’ll split it if you fake it with me.” gosh, you wanted to smack him. you weren’t tight on money at the moment but an extra fifty dollars for a new dress, or the pair of heels you’ve been eyeing, or maybe even that one overpriced lipstick…your mouth seemed to work faster than your mind. “fine, a month,” his face lit up at your words, “but nothing extra, like no weird stuff when we’re alone.”

he nodded, a smirk slowly forming alongside his retort, “that is, if you can resist my pretty face.” it was your turn to roll your eyes and shove his frame farther away from yours as you were reminded of every reason you hated this kid. he was annoying, no way around that. you checked your phone and it lit up with a 9:57. you were going to be late for class.

you took brisk steps away from the boy towards your class across campus, not even bothering to bid him a farewell. "hey, wait up," he jogged to your left, trying to match your pace, "where you going? i thought we should drop by my place, renjun should be there with the rest of the boys." you quickened your steps, making sure that donghyuck couldn't distract you further before answering curtly, "i have class in like, less than three minutes." instead of backing off like he should've he only sidled up to you more saying, "oh okay, what class?" you huffed, clearly distressed that he couldn't take the hint and just go. "organic chem." 

at that, his face seemed to grow even more excited, for god knows what reason, and he caught up with your fast-moving frame with a few skips, "at the kinley building? 'cause i could drive you." this time, you stopped in your tracks, weighing your options. if you declined and walked the whole way, there was the possibility you'd be late and donghyuck would probably tag along as well. if you went with him, there was no doubt you'd make it in time. you figured you would have to suffer being in his presence either way so might as well make it to class on time. "sure,” you muttered under your breath, upset that you had agreed to all his inquiries today.

his left hand clasped around your wrist, as if to lead you to his car, but you promptly unhooked it, not even chancing a glance at his face as you followed behind him. skinship had been prominent while you and him were dating, despite the time being short, and you didn't hate it but it freaked you out nonetheless how he could be so touchy without knowing you all that well. 

approaching the parking lot, you could already spot his beat up 1998 honda civic, sporting the signature scratched navy blue paint. sliding into his car, you could recall the very first night he'd taken you to dinner. how his cheeks had been pink the entire drive there, anxious that you would notice the remnant smell of the fried chicken he had the night before. you could remember, with striking detail, how clouded your mind had been and how you'd let donghyuck's childish antics keep you from realizing what exactly you'd done.

shaking your head from the memories, you kept your gaze straight and mouth shut for the rest of the ride; donghyuck seemed to notice this and followed suit. you were struggling to think about anything except the boy next to you but you persisted to fight it because the complications were too much for you, donghyuck was too much for you.

class? uneventful. your mind? bustling. with what? donghyuck, donghyuck, donghyuck, and fucking donghyuck. the end of class signals an expectation you were pondering in class and upon exiting, you find it to be true. donghyuck is leaning up against the wall adjacent to the door to the lecture hall you were just in and he's already smiling at you, kind and sweet. the drive to the boys' house is strikingly quiet in the most uncomfortable way possible but it's immediately the least of your worries when you pull up upon the driveway of the cornflower blue painted house. donghyuck pulls the keys from the car and you don't allow him to open the door up for you, stepping out just as he reaches for the handle. his hand, hovering midair, swoops back to the curls at the foot of his neck, twirling them as if he was originally to make a dramatic gesture out of a simple act.

before donghyuck can turn the key into the keyhole, he sets an arm around your shoulders, without looking you in the eye and clears his throat. "we might wanna at least seem, you know…" his comment is received with your head on his shoulder, the same position the two of you were in while walking into this very house less than a week ago. he chances a glance down at you but regrets because his face is quite literally all up in your space. he can see the little ridges of your eyelids and the individual hairs of your eyebrows, all the miniscule details of the light makeup you adorned and the blush on your cheeks that's far too pink to be solely composed of any powder or swash. he briefly wonders if the causation is of his sudden proximity but is interrupted when the door in front of you splits open, the keys departing from donghyuck's clutches and jangling against the wood. 

his face is still mere centimeters from yours and renjun is looking, delighted and sickened at the same time so you take the liberty to peck a quick kiss upon the bridge of donghyuck's nose before shooting a shy smile at renjun and brushing past him into the house, leading hyuck by the hand. the boy himself is halfway zoned out because of the fact that you had initiated pda first. snapping from his momentary daze, he feels a sudden courage surge through his chest, his flirty sweet attitude fully consuming the doubt and insecurities that were once peeking through his composure.

"so how you guys holding up this time around?" renjun questions as he perches himself at the edge of a one person couch, already occupied by jisung. the younger boy pushes him off playfully and is, in turn, shot a death glare and a muttered curse. jisung merely shrugs which makes the aforementioned boy even more riled up, the whole situation giving you and donghyuck a few moments to give each other looks confirming who's to be answering. his little nudge gets you spitting whatever tumbles out first.

"better than ever actually, we're kinda just ignoring the fact that that first breakup happened. you know, it was just a small fight." donghyuck's eyes nearly bulge out at your slip up but he's already wracking his brain for a backup reason in case renjun catches the mistake.

"first? what do you mean first?" you can already see the smirk growing on renjun's face, preparing for his hundred bucks. thankfully donghyuck, quick-witted as ever, is right on his tail, "yeah we got broke up a few hours after we got back together, a sick joke on y/n's part."

silently, praising hyuck for how skillfully he handled the near-debacle, you follow up with a realistic, "you thought it was funny too though, don't act like you didn't enjoy my acting!" at this, renjun's quirked eyebrow returns to its rightful place and he retrieves his phone from his jacket pocket to get everyone's pizza preferences for delivery. jaemin enters at this moment. his eyes are sparkling with mirth and he's walking backwards, both hands interlaced with a noticeably tipsy dayoung. 

"shit, dayoung. already? it's three in the afternoon," you voice while ambling in her direction. you see the way she barely acknowledges you while burying her face into jaemin's chest, mumbling incoherent sentences but jaemin supplies your question by telling you that, "she had a shit day, forgot to write a whole essay and a half." blinking in somewhat understanding, you then cross the room to where donghyuck is now sitting on the couch and while he pats his lap, you take the spot on the floor in front of him so that his knees peer at the sides of your head. immediately, you feel him sit up to accomodate you by softly raking his fingers through your hair.

dayoung, currently sitting smack in front of the tv and successfully obstructing everyone's viewing experience, now speaks with a slightly more sober tone, "ya, y/n, i can't believe you didn't tell me that you and donghyuck are dating. i had to figure out through jaemin. imagine how shocked i was to hear that! i thought you absolutely despised him…" the room is awfully silent and you hear the beginnings of words come from donghyuck behind you when dayoung finishes up her little spiel, "... i always thought you liked him though, or at least thought you two looked good together." 

the rest of the boys beside donghyuck are absolutely loosing their shit because y/n liked hyuck for how long?! donghyuck is equally loosing his shit though he tries his best to suppress the blush that's sure to be washing over his features. his heart is pumping at a haphazard pace and his fingers have slid down from your hair to your neck, then shoulders. he hopes you can't feel the shakiness and lack of confidence that seeps through his demeanor, making his pupils shake and ever so conscious of how you are stilled in this moment. donghyuck wants to see the look on your face.

your face, unbeknownst to the boy behind you, holds no surprise. dayoung had said that same line to you over and over again, claiming that your dislike towards the boy was all part of a covert operation to mask your true feelings for him. in all honesty, the topic of this had replayed in your head for quite some time as well because although in the forefront of your mind you knew that you genuinely did not like donghyuck's character, you couldn't help but ponder the specifics of why exactly you always sought to be upset with him when really you could have minded your own business. and with that thought, you seldom admitted to yourself that donghyuck did draw some sort of your attention to him, attraction or just wonder in general.

you almost want to rush and clap a hand over her mouth as another of her drunken speeches comes into play but she beats you to the chase. "let's go on a double date! or triple, yes, triple! i wanna see this 'relationship' up close, y'all are suspiciously cute." 

donghyuck's heart speeds and yours drops.

turns out, drunk dayoung and sober dayoung are pretty alike when thinking, proven by how sober dayoung had no recollection of her drunken triple date proposal but had also suggested the same exact thing in a sober state. the mirrored version of you that you are so carefully inspecting at the moment looks slightly fucked up, you think. sure, your outfit and makeup are on point as usual but it's the way your stomach churns and eyes shift uneasily that give way to how you're really feeling. nervous. 

walking over to where your small array of handbags are perched upon the windowsill above your fair selection of shoes, you slip on a simple pair of square-toed picnic heels to go with your blue and white 'modern-day belle from beauty in the beast' look. your doorbell sounds throughout the apartment just as you're about to pick out a bag and you scuffle over, still trying to get your toes lined up, to the front door so as to not keep donghyuck waiting. upon opening, you give the boy a quick once-over before deciding that his simple outfit of washed blue loose fit jeans and a semi-fitting white shirt matched perfectly to your own.

"am i approved?"

a small smile graces your features before you nod lightly, turning your back to him but leaving the door open at his leisure. "you most certainly are." stepping within the confines of your space, donghyuck's face breaks into a childlike grin when he notes, "look at us, we're even matching."

you give him an absentminded chuckle in agreement, much too focused on whether a wickered crossbody or the pearled mini tote would do your coordination justice. shaking your head in a frenzy you snatch up the pearled item, astounded that you even thought of introducing a whole new color and texture into an already perfect ensemble. donghyuck watches with an amused grin but paid more attention to your actual apartment than the girl that lived in it. suddenly, you're aware that this is his first time being allowed up into the premises and how awkward this would play out in your mind now that you're aware but you do your best to shake the thought and return to loading your bag with your assigned lipstick, keys, and phone before ushering the boy out altogether.

the two of you are the last to arrive of the three couples, unsurprising to him only. donghyuck will never leave this out for discussion but he purposely drives slowly, so as to give himself as much time with you as possible, even if you end up hissing scornfully at his delayed turn and the way the space between the car you're in and the car in front always seems to increase. 

with the drive in consideration, you are slightly annoyed as you exit the car without the assistance of donghyuck and is slightly relieved to see jeno and jaein walking from the parking lot as well. catching up to them, again without donghyuck, you make small talk with jaein while jeno eyes you will curiosity. before you can jump head first into a heated debate about your shared nutrition professor with jaein, donghyuck's arms slots behind your back and you're startled for a split second. noticing the glare you give hyuck, jeno asks good-naturedly, "something happen on the drive here?"

huffing exasperatedly but relieved you get the opportunity to complain, you reply in the most sincere manner given the topic of discussion. "hyuck here, drives so unbelievably slow, i don't know how we got here even remotely on time." said boy is chuckling with an amused face but removes his arm from the small of your back and instead intertwines your fingers. he adores it when you get riled up with insignificant actions. shaking your head, you let donghyuck lead you to the end of the clearing where jaemin and dayoung are at looking across the landscape.

it certainly is the most picturesque spot for a date, the lavender fields sprawling lazily between the two hills. along the view there are several, maybe five or six, couples that seem to have gotten the same idea in coming here but you're pleased that today would be a fairly undisturbed date. your group of six quickens the pace along the trodden dirt path and you're all too aware that wearing heels, albeit low, with a stick heel was a nightmare on soft terrain. you found yourself sinking into the ground with each step of the way and it's only natural that hyuck picks up on this, being only steps behind you, hands still interlocked and now sweaty. 

he switches the hand in which he holds yours and connects his other with your adjacent. taking a large step, you feel his front press against your back as his voice pulses softly into your ears, "want me to carry you, babe?" a chortle crossed with a scoff passes your lips but before you could quip back a line on just how capable you were, the heel of your left shoe caught particularly deep in the soil and upon trying to retrieve it, your balance was replaced with incoordination. hyuck steadies you by moving his left hand around your waist and rights your stance but then slides his other arm beneath the alcove of your inner knees and swiftly removes your weight off the floor. you're not left breathless or starstruck by his smooth actions but his eyes, now matching your gaze, are enough to stop you from retorting to his kind gestures. surely, he meant nothing more of it than a simple solution to a friend's problem and a token of performative pda.

arriving at a particular grassy clearing about half a quarter mile into the field, you see that jaemin and dayoung who were at the head of the group had already spread wide the picnic blanket they had brought, the large wicker basket that jaemin had looped around his arm on the way here was seated atop. donghyuck only lets you down only when he's right at the foot of the blanket and dayoung gives you a playful grin, which you return with a shit-eating one of your own, followed by a giggle that erupts from jaein as a spectator of the scene. the weather is warm but not hot, the rays of the sun light on the skin and far from blinding, and the grass is dewy but dry enough for it to stop from clamping through the thin fabric of the pink blanket. sure, you admit, a triple date on a day like this, with a view like this, was definitely a good idea.

hyuck makes sure to grab a few napkins as soon as the basket is opened and he trods back over to where he had set you down, crouching and lifting your left shoe off your foot so he could clean the soiled heel. he does the same for the other, all whilst you're looking up at him with such sincere and loving eyes. it is far from intentional but donghyuck knows that the easiest way to your heart is found in simple but profoundly touching actions. 

an hour into the brunch, you seem to have grown accustomed to donghyuck feeding you food, refilling your drink, and just being the most attentive you have ever seen him be. you chalk it up to the fact that he's just closer to the platters of food set in the center of the blanket as well as the fact that he needs to make as much of a show as he can out of this. chatter is pleasant, the other two couples equally as enamoured with one another over the whole group in itself, giving perfect leeway for donghyuck to squeeze in some one-on-one time. 

"y/n," his voice causes your head to snap in his direction, eyes wide. "what?"

hyuck licks his lips, eyes glancing down to your own before realizing that now was definitely not the time. you felt like you could see the gears turning in his head when he answered, "let's go take pictures." nodding, you let him help you up and lead you to the nearest path, his hand guiding you slowly so as to not cause another inbalance. the path he chose ended up circling down further into the valley and he walks you down until the terrain flattened and treads back up the slope to get a picture of the flowers fanning out around you on all sides. his breath catches, keeps catching, with each second he stands there, focusing more on the little you on the screen than the picture he was taking of you. a few shots later and jaemin and dayoung had rounded upon the spot as well, jaemin offering to take some photos of the two of you together.

a light smile forms on donghyuck's features as he nears you, eyes glistening at contact with yours. perhaps it’s the way love simply works but he swears that even mother nature kneels before you, outlining your skin with a glow that could only be achieved with true happiness, the rays of light reflecting in your eyes gleam like pools of honey, and the way the flowers fan around you that made your figure seem even more sublime. hyuck blinks his running thoughts away as he makes haste to set an arm around your waist, tugging you closer to him. he can quite literally feel your head turn to look at his side profile, your nose barely dusting the heights of his cheekbones. he sucks in a breath and turns face-to-face with you as well, momentarily slowing time and the whole 'posing for a picture' scheme escaping his mind. 

"okay, i got it. you guys looks so good together, who knew!" jaemin squeals, effectively drawing your attention away from his stare. you pick up on the small, "i knew," that dayoung lets out in a distaste full tone and exchange a funny glance with her. bringing hyuck's arm from behind you and lacing fingers with him instead, you beam up at the other couple as you offered to take a few shots of them as well. 

the six of you only spend an hour longer at that destination, being full-time college students didn't exactly allow full-fledged dates but with the time considered, you had fun. slipping back into the passenger seat of hyuck's car, with the boy closing the door shut behind you, you rummage through your handbag to find the packet of blotting paper you are sure you put in there. just as you see it, your eyes catch onto a bright red, packaged candy lodged in the far corner. donghyuck returns to his side of the car just as you withdraw the stick from the bag, eyes gleaming as you held it out for him to see. 

"that's-"

"the lollipop you gave me, that day, at the valentine's dance." you give a small childlike chuckle before unwrapping the candy. he looks almost distressed, "and you're eating it now?" 

"yeah, why the heck not."

"i mean, i thought that you'd save it for, you know, sentimental value." your eyebrows raise with his comment.

"huh, i never pegged you as one who cared about that kinda stuff." 

"i- well, i guess there's never a better time to learn."donghyuck took a deep breath.

"how 'bout this then?" you position the lollipop up and slightly to the left of his face as your other hand busies around the bag for your phone. swiping to the camera, you take a few shots of donghyuck's confused, enlightened, and then smiling face before withdrawing, "how's that for sentimental value?"

his eyes are in full acknowledgement of your cheeky attitude but he's thrown off guard just a few seconds later when your phone is thrust in his face, your lockscreen the same picture you'd taken moments ago. "cute, right?"

donghyuck's hands are shaking as he reverses the car from the parked spot with feigned ease. "yeah, real cute," he mutters under his breath but just at the right pitch for you to hear. the small smile that graces your snickering expression just shoves it further into his face that any way he tries to rationally run from you, he'd end up right back in your presence, drawn to you in ways even he cannot yet comprehend. he knows that no matter if he tries to avoid the fact that every moment spent with you further solidifies his daydreams into reality or tries to delude himself into thinking that he's in this solely for the fifty bucks, either way, he's fucked. 

donghyuck's beyond stressed and more than ever wishing that time could work in his favor for once and pick up pace past the worrisome week ahead. he has an inkling that the library is already packed to the brim but he's convinced that if he wishes hard enough for a spot, one will magically clear itself for his studies. with no time to waste, he power walks past the information desk, past several rows of rich literature, and into the open field of desks. his suspicions, as they turned out, were right. each and every seat was occupied by one of many equally stressed out college students, cramming for the first day of finals that marked just under eight hours from now. donghyuck takes a roundabout the whole floor, just to make sure that he wasn't missing out on one of the coveted cushioned seats by the walls if any happened to be free. he's about to exit the premises, regret lining his already deteriorating mindset at the thought of having to  memorize two months of information with chenle's music blasting from above, all three of jeno's cats taking purchase of his lap, and jisung entering every four minutes for entertainment purposes. 

he really is about to exit, that is, until he sees you at the far corner of the establishment, earbuds tucked in securely, a sprawl of two computers, a tablet, three open books, and a whole ass stationary store displayed in front of you. in between two tall shelves and peering through a few books, he knows that if anyone were to comb their eyes about the room, they'd think him to be stalking. weighing his options, he decides to let you study in peace, not wanting to interrupt whatever was going on in that organized mess of yours. 

donghyuck contemplates though, with the consideration that you had to have been at the library for a fairly decent amount of time to have secured such a good spot. the second the idea is brought to mind, he rushes out the building, almost sprinting and earning a few dirty looks thrown in his direction.

he really wishes he had driven his car instead of biking here, something jeno had convinced him was a good idea, but he makes do with what he has and pedals furiously to the convenience store on campus, a good nine minutes away. there, he buys a few bottles of energy drinks, other extremely caffeinated stuff, candy bars, and decides after a good minute, that chips were not the way to go, the loud packaging would give away to the strict eating policies all too easily. a stupid bright smile is plastered across his face, even as he finds himself paying an extra dollar for a bag to hold all the items. again, pedaling back furiously, he manages to make it to the library in only eight minutes this time but it's for naught since he spends the next fifteen with one knee propped on the seat of the bike, using it as a makeshift table to write and rewrite a little note to accompany the goods. 

stuffing the paper bag into his backpack and switching it so that it's strapped on his chest rather than his back, he hurries into the vicinity to find that you're still there. donghyuck waits. he picks up a book on graduate level psychology and attempts to read it with one eye on the text and the other on you, not that that's how it works, both his eyes are really on you. he does this for a total of forty minutes until you finally get up for the restroom and on cue, donghyuck makes sure to be discreet when sliding from between two bookshelves and placing the paper bag upon your seat. he leaves promptly.

donghyuck arrives home with his heart thumping loudly, reminiscent of the feeling after running a whole marathon. his phone dings and his first thought is of you. instead, it's a reminder: religious studies final, 8:00 AM. the time above it reads 1:09 A.M., so much for 'no time to waste,' he thinks.

you're relieved that your quick restroom break was quick enough that your stuff wasn't cleared out by the snappy librarian or any other crazed undergrad. but to your confusion, your spot has now been replaced with a brown paper bag, medium in size and clandestine in contents. with careful hands, you slit open the bag, keeping your distance in the unlikely case that it was a motion-activated bomb (a valid fear, may i add). surprise lights your face as you see a few of your favorite candies, as well as a bundle of energy drinks that you so desperately need. a post-it is tacked to one of them and you pluck it up with two fingers and bring it to sight. 'hope this helps, don't get in trouble for eating tho. -ldh.' 

you pause, your breath halts. a small hand accompanies your gaping mouth that regresses into a soft smile. this boy, he was really something else. your dedicated studies continued, but were futile given the fact that all you could think about was lee donghyuck, a sweet, sweet boy who waited god knows how long for you to take a restroom break so he didn't interfere with your concentration. lee fucking donghyuck. dissolving your emotions so you could dutifully return to your misery, you let your shoulders sag, letting out a sigh, what a mess you were in. 

with finals out of the way, you're now facing the second big event of the month. a heavily anticipated move. the apartment you're currently occupying is quaint, but small, cozy, but inconvenient. unfortunately, jeno had already headed back to his hometown, having one less class and therefore one less final than you. none of your other friends were equipped with the abilities to be hauling heavy furniture to and fro so you were left to either pay someone or find someone. much of your conscious had already decided who that someone would be but you lacked the courage to carry the proposition through. 

you pondered the situation while driving to your new place that was closer to campus, larger in size, and with thicker walls so you wouldn't have to hear your neighbor pounding her boyfriend in 8D audio with only a cardboard wall to separate your eyes from the scene. pulling into a parking space you steeled your resolve and dialed the number.

he picked up in one and a half rings, "y/n? hey, what's up?" donghyuck's voice comes out raspy on your end.

"shoot did i wake you up?"

the boy clears his throat, lying he replies, "no i was just packing, do you need anything?"

"uhh, yeah. a favor. if you could, i just need someone to go to ikea with me to help carry furniture and stuff. and since jeno's out of town, i just thought i'd ask you."

"oh," he sits up straight in his bed, "yeah, yeah i can go with you. when?" 

"maybe like...now? sorry, this is so last minute.”

donghyuck is already on the move, unearthing your favorite sweatshirt of his from his already packed suitcase, "no, not at all. i'm basically done here anyways."

"right, cool. i'll text you the address. when will you be here?"

"ten minutes," he blurts out, "i- is that good?"

"okay, see you." you hang up, heart hammering in your chest. 

you wish the mirror in your new bathroom was full-length because you are currently stood atop the rim of the bathtub adjacent to it, the crown of your head unceremoniously shoved against the rail of the shower curtain, trying to get a good look at whether your ensemble is fit for the occasion. a baby blue mini crop top with a pair of loose sweats drapes your figure and you wonder if furniture shopping with the boy you like requires something a little more cohesive. sighing, you figure that all your worrying was in vain, since the moving van you ordered with all your packed up clothes in it isn’t scheduled to arrive until 6 in the evening. 

just as you finish reapplying your gloss, the doorbell sounds, the unfamiliar ring causing you to yelp in surprise. you answer the door, donghyuck's face lit with humor, "i heard that." your cheeks flame a tad bit before you realize with a pout, "oh, guess the walls aren't as thick as i thought then." donghyuck smirks, an expression that you miss but you go on to list to him the things you were planning to buy that you didn't already have moved in yet. a couch, two lamps, a nightstand, and four very specific potted plants. he watches you with sparkles in his eyes, as if they were reflecting your own.

"right let's go, then," nodding, he snatches his keys.

"your car or mine?"

"mine, the trunk's bigger," he reasons and you nod.

minutes later, you stand dumbfounded as you stare at his 'bigger trunk.'

"so you're saying, that you're gonna shove a whole ass couch in here."

"that's right, sweetie." not even thinking to correct his term of endearment, you slam the trunk door shut, nearly decking him in the head. "if it doesn't fit, i'm having you ride the bus back with the couch."

"sure thing, babe." he answers nonchalantly, seeing as you haven't caught on.

"and alone too, i'm not bouta be seen in public with a man carrying a couch on a bus."

"got it, honey." he’s beginning to enjoy this.

"shit, maybe i'll even have you pay for it if that happens."

"fine by me, love." his smile is on the verge of splitting his ears.

shutting the car door of the passenger seat closed, "gosh, what if i just send you to get the stuff by yoursel- wait, what did you just say?"

donghyuck's face shines golden in the afternoon light, "nothing, dear." 

"hyuck, you gotta be kidding me." 

"kidding about what, babygirl?" he looks as if he is to burst of happiness.

"lee donghyuck, i'm being serious." but the little smile that edges on your face gives it all away so he goes on.

"as am i, lovebug."

shaking your head, you turn to look out the window in embarrassment as donghyuck pulls out of the parking spot with the stupidest grin on his face. it isn't until you guys are halfway there that he returns to a normal calm but fails to guard his mouth from saying anymore. "you good, sweetpea?"

"hyuck…"

"c'mon, say it back, princess, i know you want to." he gives a few quick glances in your direction, eyebrows jutting up playfully.

the smallest of smiles adorn your face as you let out a, "geez, baby," muttered under your breath. the same old stupid smile is back on his face now, his ears are perked, but you can tell he’s nowhere near satisfied yet.

"what'd you say? i couldn't quite hear you."

silence.

"y/n, c’mon, what'd you say?"

"... i said...geez, my lil’ bitch."

he breaks out into ripples of harmonious laughter that ring in your ears like the first few chords of your favorite song. you follow him, peals of laughter emitting at just the sight of his joyous face. this marks the first car ride you share with the boy that isn’t bathed in complete silence but instead, smiles and comfort and bouts of flirty tension hanging in the air despite no one spectating. 

the trip to ikea is straightforward in its purpose, you point and donghyuck carries. he masks the fact that he really isn't the one for heavy lifting jobs pretty well by wiping the sweat off his forehead when you're not looking and taking gargantuous swigs of water when you're too busy measuring dimensions and surveying durability. he also makes sure he has a say in the pieces you decide on, wanting something for you to remember him by whenever you look at the extra flower print pillow cases he convinced you to buy. while you're paying at the checkout, he makes it his job to buy two vanilla ice cream cones for you to commemorate hard work. the smile and shy thank you that you give him makes him feel a good deal important. 

donghyuck ends up exerting a lot more energy than he thought he would on this little venture, shoving the gigantic box of unassembled couch half into the trunk and half into the backseat, the rest of your purchases having little to no space to themselves. you notice his fatigued state and offer to drive home in his place. he's hesitant to agree but feels the weight of his arms and complies. as soon as the car doors are shut and the overhead light goes out, the two of you take a few minutes to collect yourselves. 

"thanks for today, hyuck."

he closes his eyes, head leaning back on the headrest, "my pleasure, sweetheart." you start up the car. 

halfway into the drive you notice that donghyuck has started to nod off. feeling a little more courageous at the thought of him being unaware, you slip a hand into his, one still securely on the wheel. you smile to yourself, nodding along to the upbeat song playing on the radio, the volume turned down to the lowest dial. you pride yourself for being able to get away with the action but you only think you do. donghyuck knows the feeling of your skin on his. he knows the unmistakable sparks that ignite in his little belly of butterflies, and even if he is half asleep, he feels you more than anything. he loves you more than anything.

you convince hyuck to take the guest bedroom for the night, laying newly washed sheets on the bed just seconds before he passes out on top of them. oddly though, you yourself are woken up the following day by a string of curse words that come from the living room. groggy and barely awake, you trudge into the open space to see donghyuck with an instruction manual inches away from his face, his eyebrows drawn in. parts of the couch are sprawled all around him and you wonder when and how he woke up in the first place.

"hyuck, what're you doing?" your voice is still heavily-laden with sleep and you cross the room to the kitchen, reaching for the first water bottle you see. "woke up a bit early and thought i'd do this for you since i have to leave at 10 for my flight and i didn't want you to be doing this alone."

you crouch on the floor beside him and offer him the water which he takes. "that's...very thoughtful of you." he doesn't answer but continues assembling the pieces with a proud smile on his face. meanwhile, you busy yourself by making a small breakfast with what you have in the fridge, a simple egg, cheese, ham english muffin sandwich. he eats it gratefully by shoveling it down hurriedly so he can get back to work, giving you a few feel-good laughs. he's done in about an hour and, not without your help, the couch is up and running (or sitting) and the two of you are reclined upon it, the new-couch smell overwhelming your senses. donghyuck checks the time and mumbles a quiet, "oh shoot," before he stands up abruptly, turning to tell you with sullen eyes that he has a flight to catch. you nod and walk him to the door, standing just across the threshold from him, dolefulness apparent in your expression as well. 

"i guess i'll see you in a few weeks then," he voices as he looks up at you, tying his shoelaces.

"yeah, i guess so," your eyes never leave his, "make sure to tell your little siblings that y/n says hi okay?"

"psh, you've never even met them," donghyuck stands up straight now and you're craning your neck a little at his height.

"oh, so that one time over facetime doesn't count now?"

donghyuck gives a breathy laugh, he goes in for a hug that you reciprocate warmly. reluctance lies in his countenance as he draws back, not wanting to leave you so soon. you notice his lingering stare on you and instead of teasing him, or pointing it out, you urge him on with a hand on either side of him, "just go hyuck, i promise i'll call you later this week."

his stomach does little flips, "oh, okay," he says with a small voice, "i'll get going now then."

"okay, be safe."

"i will, babe." he just stands there looking at you with eyes full of mirth.

"oh my, hyuck, just go!" a small pout begins to form on his lips and you get the sudden urge to kiss it away.

"right, i'll be on my way." he turns away from you to walk to his car, but it's this time that you spin him back around to place a quick kiss to the lips, the smile on your face never leaving. feeling the blush beginning to seep into the skin of your cheeks, you rush back into the confines of your new apartment, leaving donghyuck to his own, flustered, devices. his feels lightheaded the whole flight back and it isn't until he is greeted at the door of his childhood home with the face of his mom, that he is brought back down from the heavens.

"donghyuck oppa has a girlfriend," his youngest sibling drawls out the last syllable as if to prolong the shock the simple statement has already inflicted upon him. his eyes are rounded and searching for any sign of disapproval in his parents’ demeanors but more so because he never intended for his family to know of your existence, seeing as it would be imminently irrelevant in just a few weeks. not only was it to dodge otherwise unimportant questions but his resolution was also linked to the fact that making you known to his immediate family felt like solidifying the ever-so-fake bond that persisted between you and him. surely, even though your relationship with him was anything but real, though was portrayed in the most real fashion, he couldn't admit to himself that the idea of you as his girlfriend in the eyes of his family brought him joy. 

he watches as his mother claps her hands together in glee, exclaiming with full vindication, "how could you not tell me, hyuck!" she asks for a picture of you, your name, last name, major, how he had come to know you, when did this happen, (did you guys do it yet), and most importantly, if he loved you. he answers a quiet yes to his mother's last question but she seems to have moved on to intently stare into his phone screen that's displaying a picture you posted on your instagram a few weeks prior at the flower field. the first being a solo shot, your hair billowing lightly in the winds that seemed to blow solely for you, the gaze of your eyes fell heavy and serious, a stark contrast to the picture a swipe away, of you and donghyuck gleaming with matching smiles that rivaled the brightness of the sun, the caption reading 'my pooh bear <3.' looking back at the picture now even, he really does understand his mothers coos and 'aws.' you did indeed look ethereal.

he blushes at the thought of you and spends the rest of dinner steering conversation away from you and you-related topics, not wanting to delude himself any further from the truths that were itching in the back of his mind, that no matter how much his mother loved you, or even how much he loved you, it'd be hard for him to say that you held the same intense emotions for him as well. donghyuck retires into the confines of his childhood room as the general buzz of his family lowers into the night and he finds himself staring at pictures of him in high school, before he had met you. he wonders, for the first time, if he liked life better back then. chubby cheeks and a terrible smile, he still remembers looking in the mirror and thinking, handsome, but it's only been a few years in college and he can't remember the last time he looked in the mirror with his first thought being something other than will she think i look okay? donghyuck's string of consciousness derails further into the depths of despair, looking back on the lengths he'd gone to get a girl to getting the girl and loosing her, getting her again and loosing her again, and having to sever his true feelings from his façade just so that he could still claim you as his.

but then he's reminded of you, and how you're so dedicated in your studies but somehow still making time for friends and family. how when you care for people you care and especially of how he feels when he is the subject of your attention. donghyuck brings his little emotional escapade into a full circle when he realizes that he would still do anything to claim you as his because he simply cannot have it any other way. that despite the consistent feeling that he might never be enough for you, he would try to prove himself wrong, time and time again. that despite being dumped twice and a soon-to-be third time, he would still stick by your side, persistent if anything. he didn't just have feelings for you, a part of who he is today is built up by the successes you seemingly made him chase to become a better person in the name of you and for that, he could never see you in a different light and his heart will never fail to fail him at the sight of you.

but tonight, it's the contact name, my love, that lights his phone screen that makes his heart stutter. it's the way that your scratchy voice cracks through the speaker that makes his heart whimper. he gets up in fluid motions to shut the door of his bedroom closed, to allow himself to revel in your attention, undisturbed.

"hey there, i told you i'd call so i called," your think your voice sounds dumb, having rehearsed that same line a few times prior to actually following through with it. donghyuck loves it though, doesn't even acknowledge the rehearsed tone as he takes this as a chance to dive into a piled up vent on how his damned little sister, who shouldn't even know what girlfriends and boyfriends are, had outed his relationship with you in front of his whole family. he's nervous, but for only a split second because your hearty laughter fill his ears and suddenly sets the whole world still and at peace. he sighs in comfort as he listens to how your older brother brought his own boyfriend home and had been received just as warmly. he talks of how his mother's roast duck was slightly undercooked and how right in the middle of dinner he snuck it into the kitchen for an extra minute in the microwave. the two of you laugh at how chenle's proposition for a movie night gets widely left on read by everyone else in the group chat, though you end up feeling bad for the boy (and for laughing) and end up replying and setting up a time for when everyone returns to campus. 

you feel a warm squirm in your heart and for once, you know what caused it. the boy on the other end of the line is so very endearing that you have no space for second guessing anymore. perhaps, perhaps.

talk dwindles down as you both get ready to go to bed at a starking 2:17 a.m. but it seems that sleepy you has more than enough to say. your eyes are on the brightly lit moon that's hanging out your window frame adjacent to your bed. you'd like to think that donghyuck is looking at the same moon, thinking the same things. it's a new but welcomed feeling that enters your heart, blooming into your lungs so that at the occurrence of every breath you take, you are reminded of the warmth he brings you. it's a sappy and deeply rooted feeling that you only now realize has been with you for ages on end and with this realization comes the courage to voice it aloud.

"i love you, hyuck. i fucking love you to bits and pieces."

you think he's already fallen asleep, the quiet that he's offering not doing any good to ease your wavering thoughts. not that you regretted saying what you said, it was truly what you felt for him, whether the relationship was real or not. but you weren't sure if he felt even remotely the same so staying under the umbrella of a fake relationship gave you the opportunity, should the times ever call, to recant your words in the name of performative indication.

the seconds were whizzing by quickly and your anxious mind counted to four minutes. four minutes of dead silence on his part. it's fine, you think as you hang up at the fifth minute, he probably just fell asleep. a weird feeling settles in the pits of your stomach that night. lee donghyuck likes you, that's for sure, but maybe you were the one that was rushing into it this time around. maybe hyuck expected you to bring up the fact that the two of you were still unofficially dating. or maybe he just liked to play around with your feelings while he could during this month. it was a mind boggling mess but you refused to let the boy get the best of you as you drifted off into sleep.

only god and lee donghyuck himself know that he heard you loud and clear that night. the three words he'd been yearning to hear finally and in actuality formed from your lips, for him and him only. but fate tells him it was only a figment of his half-asleep imagination, and only god knows that what he heard wasn't a dream. 

huang renjun beckons lee donghyuck into the kitchen before the movie marathon begins. today marks one month. donghyuck pulls his phone out to see the hundred dollars even that renjun had transferred, he then transfers fifty of that to you. "so you guys still going strong?"

hyuck feels guilt and worry trickle between his grasps on confidence, "better than ever."

"she actually likes you back, huh, i can't believe i thought y'all would break up." renjun is pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, his gaze is turned towards the living room where everyone is gathered when donghyuck sees his eyebrows furrow. "shit, i forgot chenle invited mark." donghyuck turns to see his 'girlfriend' being hit on by one of his close upperclassmen. you seem to be oblivious but it's horridly obvious whenever mark attempts to flirt. seeing you smiling at his corny pickup lines, not quite laughing but not quite rejecting him either, donghyuck feels tendrils of unwelcome jealousy and hopeless distress as he traverses on light feet to where you're at, placing a hand on your lower back.

"hi, mark. it's been awhile, how're you these days?" he watches and, in what he knows is sick relief, mark blinks in surprise at the placement of his friend's hand that is plainly indicative of a relationship. "i've been pretty good, you?"

"great actually," donghyuck might've said that a little too enthusiastically, "i saw you were talking to y/n here. i don't think i've introduced you guys yet. mark, this is y/n, my girlfriend, y/n this is mark, a good friend of mine." he sees the pointed look you give him and is suddenly overcome with embarrassment. mark takes a few more minutes of your time before moving on to talk to renjun, the latter noting the tension between you and donghyuck and willing the boy away. 

"donghyuck, what the fuck was that?" you're upset.

"what? he was being weird with you, i couldn't just sit here and pretend he wasn't." hyuck's attitude is snappy right off the bat and you can't help but seethe at how immature he's proving to be.

you retort, with equal force, "yeah, so what if he was flirting with me? what does that have to do with you?"

donghyuck starts to realize that there might be more to the reason you were so defensive in the first place, something having to do with the fact that in the most technical terms, he isn't exactly your boyfriend anymore. "y/n, why are you being like this?"

"like what? i think i'm being pretty rational."

"no. no, y/n, but he was outright flirting with you and you didn't even tell him you had a boyfriend." he knows he's grasping at loose strings but he needs to pry this out of you. to see how you really feel.

"hyuck, we need to talk about it. it's been a month."

as if you had laid it out straight for him, donghyuck feels the desperation crawl beneath his skin, "y/n, please." his tone is all of a sudden soft and you lock your eyes onto his. "let's not talk about it right now, please, not now." he watches as you bite your lower lip in contemplation and then as you nod lightly. "okay."

donghyuck isn't sure if his impulsive decisions have made him feel more relieved or afflicted with current circumstances. as the lights dim and the movie begins to run, he settles into the corner of the sectional that he claimed earlier that evening with his arms open wide. you don't hesitate to curl up on top of him, the warmth of his skin, all too familiar. both of you are ever so aware that this might as well be the last time your bodies are pressed against one another. and both of you are equally tormented by how true that may come to be.

the clock reads 3:37 a.m. when the movie ends and donghyuck is glad to see that the rest of the boys are quiet in exiting the room to their respective bedrooms. he can still feel the rise and fall of your chest on his and he's oh so careful not to move too abruptly, in the case that you might wake up and realize just where you had fallen asleep. he wishes that he could've spent a few more minutes, at least, admiring the curves of your face in the limited color the dim lights allow to reflect but it all passes too soon as someone (chenle) hits something (a doorframe) with some part of his body (his pinky toe) and wails out in pain (loud shrills), alerting you awake and anyone else that had the pleasure of falling straight asleep. he curses under his breath without realizing that you were right there and awake now, only feeling the embarrassment wash over him as your soft chuckle fills his ears. 

"sorry, 'bout that. go back to sleep." his voice is low and you're so close to slipping back into unconsciousness but you will yourself to prop your chin up on his chest, directly above his quaking heart. "i'm hungry, hyuck."

he almost laughs at the absurdity of your statement. he guesses it's not completely unwarranted though since you have been asleep for the past nearly five hours but he still feels a small part of his subconscious mind tug at just how cute you are. so very cute.

"okay, princess. let's get you something to eat," he says as he dips his hands that were loosely looped around your back underneath your thighs and hoists both your combined weight up. your eyes are gleeful as he pulls you even closer to him, your own arms settling upon his shoulders. crossing the length of the room, he sets you down upon the kitchen counter. allowing himself to bask in your unadulterated attention for a few moments, he realizes the eerie silence that envelops the two of you. he slips his phone out from his sweatpants pocket and thumbs around until he lands upon a random playlist of his on spotify. hitting play, he sets the phone on the counter next to you, lowering the volume just a bit so that it wouldn't disturb the others in the house. 

as donghyuck rummages through the fridge for some food, you fiddle with the zipper of the hooded jacket you're wearing. you're hit with the realization that the jacket isn't even yours to begin with and that it's hyuck's, the garment having been such a staple in your closet for the past month that it barely smells of him anymore, that it really is all yours at this point. looking around the dark room, you find yourself identifying everything you see in relation to hyuck. before you knew it, this little fake dating stunt had become so real that it was hard for you to swallow the feelings. 

attempting to push past the oncoming wave of emotions, you focus your attention on other things. donghyuck's now throwing what looks like a years old hotpocket into the microwave without a plate. his back is turned to you but instead of getting lost in his messy bed hair and broad shoulders you notice the new song that replaces the previous one. it's mellow and soft and it takes you four seconds to realize just what song it is. slow dancing in the dark (by joji). maybe it really is about time to come clean with your feelings, no matter if they could be rejected or reciprocated. it isn't fair to be dragging this on, when it was fated to be ending right now, a reason to which you had broken up with him before anyways. for all you know, donghyuck might even be waiting for you to call it all off, in annoyance since the fifty dollars had already been done deal. looking around, you figure it's now or never as you slide off the counter, landing carefully on sock-clad feet. padding over, you wrap donghyuck in a snug back hug, hoping that he catches on to the situation.

he does, eventually, after you spin him about and lace your hands around his neck, swinging him around in exaggerated and silly motions. he responds with a hushed, "oh!" and continues prancing around with you before finally settling against the steady beat. the song does its job so well in calming your heart that you almost forget the reason you were a jittery mess in the first place. you prep your sappy, truth-laden speech with gruesome effort, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. little do you know, donghyuck is planning the same monologue, equally as gruesome.

the beep of the microwave resounds in the background, alerting you of how you came to this situation in the first place. but with this, his head dips into the crook of your neck as the song comes to a slow and you move your hand from his back to cradle his head. "what's wrong?" the kitchen is now silent, save for the occasional chirp of crickets and your feet shuffling around the tiled floor. donghyuck is silent himself, an inner debate ensuing your question. his chest feels heavy, the burden of a thousand lies resting upon it whilst he can only hold back his tears. he has everything he's ever wanted from you. to rest in your arms, to land a smile upon your lips, to hear an 'i love you' escape those very lips. he feels his emotions bubble up within him, threatening to spill before they really do, in the form of a soft, "i love you, y/n. that's what's wrong, i love you."

he raises his head causing your hands drop down to his back and he instantly misses the way they caressed the locks beneath his ears. he meets your eyes, through the thick haze of blackness that shrouded the room. "and i love you too," you say, voice equally soft but treading carefully; you're still unaware of the problem he's presenting, "what so wrong about that?" you tiptoe so that your foreheads meet and he has to suppress the urge to kiss you right then and there, to evade the hurt he knows will come, and so he simply hugs your body flush against his, as a substitute to his desires. your breaths tickles his nose and he closes his eyes, relishing in the moment before inevitably breaking it by saying, "because i mean it… and you- you don't. not in the way i do." your eyes penetrate his and your mouth parts to voice a response but he cuts you to it. "y/n, my love for you is real. it's always been. and i knew what i was getting into asking you do this with me but, i really wanted a second chance. i wanted it so bad and when renjun brought up the bet, even if it was fake, i just knew i had to take it. and i know this is shitty of me to just drop this on you while we're having this- this moment but i can't keep lying and pretending that my love for you is just- that it's conditional."

donghyuck lets out a breathy sigh as your hands fall from his back, his heart falling with them too. he can't see the expression on your face anymore, his eyes are glossed over with tears that are at the cusp of falling, but he isn't sure that he wants to. he's mad at himself for ruining the most perfect moment, for ruining such a calm night. the tension in the air is almost palpable but it's ripped to shreds as your hands return to cup his cheeks. tilting your head a little, you lean in for a sweet kiss, a small smile lifting the corners of your mouth as you withdraw. "who says i don't love you for real?"

it takes more than two minutes for donghyuck to collect himself, still in doubt of whether he's dreamt up the whole situation or if you are, in fact, being real. you're standing in his arms to remind him that you really are, sneaking small kisses on his cheeks every time he thinks he's finally calmed down. it's a lover's dream to be lee donghyuck, and y/l/n y/n can only fall deeper in love with every blossom of a blush rosing the tips of his ears. 

you thank god, or whoever blessed this boy upon your life, that donghyuck was there that night at that stupid, stupid valentine's dance. and above all, you are endlessly indebted to renjun for his stupid, stupid bet. but mostly, you can't contain the utter awe you hold for donghyuck for simply being the perfect man he is. contrary to everyone's belief (and even your own, up until recently), donghyuck isn't an insufferable person. what they see is just a shell of a man who's too afraid to be the center of attention in any way other than 'the funny guy.' and realistically, it's only with the girl who's stolen his heart that he knows it's more than okay to be vulnerable and that maybe, just maybe, it's the only way to steal her heart back. 

y/n and donghyuck share a love story they know they're lucky to be able to tell their kids and maybe even their grandkids. and if they have anything to learn from it, it's that falling in love is not just a matter of time but of circumstances, impulsive decisions, and reckless emotions. well, mostly just reckless emotions.

copyright © 2020 rouiyan all rights reserved.

✧ end note — i got my first few likes on this blog a few days back and while i can say with full confidence that i do not write for follows and likes, it made me happy in the small yet extremely gratifying ways that simply writing and posting cannot. so for those few people who interacted with the teaser for this fic as well as anyone else who read up till here, guys, gals, and non-binary pals, i hope each and every one of you enjoyed reading this as much as i did writing this. with love, rouiyan.

#nct #nct fics #dreamwritersnet #nct-writers #nct haechan #haechanxreader #haechan imagine #haechan scenario #haechan fluff #haechan angst #haechan fic #i fucking did it #a whole 2k over projected amount #pain in the ass to proofread #tempted to write a spinoff for jeno and jaein #neck hurts #rouiyan fics #rouiyan writes

[lady-plantagenet]

What hasn’t already been said: The Spanish Princess 2

Episode 3: GOOD Grief! (we finally have a good episode on our hands)

To all those of you keen enough to have come back for another segment of ‘what hasn’t already been said: TSP’, as opposed to have just been scrolling when you see this - welcome back! (Scrollers you too <3)

Drawing of Thomas More’s Son AKA who Margaret Pole at this point wants to be the step baby momma of ;).

To anyone who’s seeing this for the first time: what this is a list of observations, jokes, reactions and criticism which occur to me upon a rewatch. I wait every week until Saturday to do this so that I have had my fill of scrolling through the tag and aggregating what has already been said. I tried doing a whole spoof (here where I gave up 10% in) but tbh a) I don’t know the history well enough b) it’s more time consuming than I thought and c) this series is just not as funny or as crazy as TWQ, so it’s untenable. Having said that: This is not a hatepost. I’m not hatewatching this series and nitpicking on purpose but expressing my honest views and trying to find the good in it as well as the bad.

Without further ado...

First Scenes: 

LMAO the way Wolsey suggests they break their alliance with Spain is freaking hilarious because the actor delivers the lines as if he were a high school girl making a personal attack by suggesting the prom change its theme to 70s disco to the chagrin of the peppy up-and-coming rival.

Also @ Henry VIII looking like the peppy up-and-comer’s bff and shy stan with that pencil bite and small smirk when Catherine loses her cool against Wolsey.

I’m sorry... who is Henry married to again?

Also what is Margaret Pole doing at the council meeting?? I’m not saying I don’t like it.

Margaret Pole warning against certain repetitive thinking creating madness :(((

Attempted Naked Twister:

Oh Catherine, what is with you and all the other STARZ protagonists and that weird politcky bedroom talk? Who actually finds this sexy?

‘Catherine you are unnatural’ ooof that line delivery was somehow haunting.

Was the whole ‘I can’t be rushed you are off-putting with your overpowering’ a callback to Arthur and Catherine? Apparently there’s another writer for this episode so I won’t put all subtly past them. 

Scotland:

‘Shitey men’ asdkjashd

Look I’m tired of all this ‘my children won’t be safe’ line getting repeated. Look mate, murder of royal infants and children was not exactly a common occurence, even in cases of deposition. The Princes in the Tower are an exception to this but a very infamous case for that reason. Child murder was extremely taboo. In situations like this with an infant kid, no one is going to bother murdering the babies and taking their thrones, the lords will just vie for power and make themselves de facto rulers and oust the queen. It’s not a question of safety but a question of holding power. Stop giving all women characters perma mummy brains.

Maggie being all caring:

‘Barnaby’ *scoffs* ‘Such an English name’ - OH MAN 0_0 is Catherine mocking them for trying to adapt ? Like I know it’s meant to show her envy for Lina, but it’s coming out all messed up.

Our girl Maggie’s smile screams I’m beating your ass in chess.

Anyhow this is the least histrionic we’ve seen Catherine so far.

Chaplain vs Catherine:

I’m interested how Catherine will feel at Stafford’s execution given that I have noticed this show build up to a friendship between them.

Why is everyone laughing at the whole ‘will you delight us with new schemes’ line was not that funny?

LMAO at Thomas Boleyn’s attempted brown-nosing. 

You know what? Ruairi is a decent actor. When he says ‘so you admit it? you lost the child because you tried to be a man?” the actor conveys Henry’s troubled mind, lowkey scare towards Catherine and bewilderment all in one. The way his eyes do not move but just widen emotionlessly also gives this sense that he is being manipulated (which I guess they are going for with Wolsey). Then the whole choir music in the background.. I don’t know.. I’m liking this, it’s creating a vibe of a king of haunted and increasingly paranoid Henry. I’m sure they are going for that, so good.

Ursula Pole and Mama:

Maggie Pole say ‘riches don’t keep you safe’ with tears in her eyes :’(. Please tell me how this is not her thinking on her parents and granddad Warwick and what befell them ;’(.

I find Ursula refreshing actually, don’t get those types of heroines often. But they are making her similar to a gold-digger, an exhalted marriage was first and foremost considered a thing of honour. Noblepeople wouldn’t speak in such mercenary terms regarding their marriages. 

Post Mary Defiance:

I love the ‘horse’ nickname from Brandon n’awwww

Also just realised what made TWQ so atmospheric - that wierd ‘oooo’ sound effect in the background when a character was being paranoid or worrying. They are using it during Henry’s ‘How is it that I have no sons?’ and it is just... so effective.

Catherine calling them ordinary children... she just keeps striking me as more and more classist. Like ok, I know every royal was... but still, I thought she was meant to see Lina as a friend and equal despite her race and status. To add the race element, this kind of rubs me the wrong way.

Also it is so clear by the end when Catherine states how the king is upset with her, she expects Maggie to ask her about it.. but she doesn’t lmao.

Back to Scotland until Sexy boy fencing:

I love me this soft boi. Angus <3 <3

I like how they address that some men don’t really like killing and that violence isn’t inherent in a man’s nature.

Oh man, are we supposed to look at Lina’s house and deplore the impoverished conditions? It would go for at least 3,000,000 pounds in today’s property market?

Is Catherine being particularly classist again with ‘Why u not becoming a butcher Wolsey, ey?’. 

Though I will admit the ‘but giving meat to the poor is also good’ was one of her only smart comebacks.

Just realised, Catherine’s pink dress pretty as it is, looks straight out of the 1570s... why?

Montage and After:

You guys are right, there is this weird longing between Henry and Wolsey lmao. It is actually insane.

So basically Catherine is officially depressed

OOOFF we have Stafford as regent instead of Catherine. (edit: I suppose it’s cause they go to France which they didn’t historically? Also if Stafford is at home then what is his son later doing in France, why would he be there without his father. This show didn’t think this through)

Meg Singing:

An impassionate speech is not too anachronistic. But despite the title of this post (what hasn’t been said) I will reiterate that 16th century and Medieval people’s problem wasn’t that they were ashamed of their grief and didn’t cry. In fact, crying was somewhat more socially acceptable then than it even is now! Even manly men like Arthur were written as crying in literature such as Malory’s Morte d’Arthur. Obviously you couldn’t go overboard, but in truth crying was indeed often too performative rather than hidden too much behind doors.

Pole and More UWUWU in France and after:

I LIKE THIS INTELLECTUAL FLIRTING

It’s nice to see a depiction of romantic feelings between mature and level-headed subjects.

God Mary Tudor is so beautiful in this scene jesus. and the music when she was being presented was also very beautiful.

Maggie Pole getting given ‘a modest income’ yeah... she was one of the wealthiest peers of her day.

Also Maggie’s lady cousin not lady aunt Frost!

‘shaking of the sheets’ lmaoooo

William Compton cracks the hell out of me. I love this guy. He is just so creepy and twisted yet super keen and friendly. ahaha He looks like a riot, I hope we see him more. lmao tiles.

Also this palace feels very anachronistic almost 18th century-ish.

I like the Louis and Mary sequence, it’s nice seeing him trying to make her feel less scared, but OMFG when he lay on that chair.. for one second I thought they were trying to kill him off already.

Scotland: ‘Love is an open doooooorrrrr’ + Last Scene:

I ship Meg and Douglas ahhhh this soft boi x strong woman match is everything Henry and Catherine could have been.

I wonder... why is Lina speaking in Spanish more than Catherine. hmmm Are they trying to foreshadow Lina’s eventual return home and how Catherine become a true englishwoman?

Conclusion:

7.5/10

I cannot in all fairness believe it. This was actually decent. I’ve given up on historical accuracy long ago so by this point I’m focusing more on how it stands as as drama. I mean, TWQ was also a flop when it came to grasping the complex issues of that era but why do I feel compelled to rewatch it every year? Because it had atmosphere when it came to acting, music, certain aesthetics (though the costumes let me down often). It felt adequately gothic and dark, yet bright and jewel-lish when it had to be, sometimes both at the same time. Some one-liners were also memorable etc...

So far TSP 2 did not have any of this. Everything felt way too off and anachronistic. But not even consistently anachronistic. The music was also often very meh (though I just noted the absence of the spanish stringy theme that kept playing in season 1 - I guess I understand why), the dialogue very clichéd (‘alright lads let’s throw in the words: king, crown, power, fight, battle + other buzzwords and we have ourselves Shakespeare’) and so on... but I saw a change in this episode and I couldn’t initially point out what it was.

Upon rewatch, I identified some of the improvements (noted above) but above all: The producer was different! Boy does it show. Unfortunately, I think she is only for this one episode which really sucks. Come back! There is more chemistry between the couples, less predictable interactions, pervy Compton, cinnamonroll Douglas, better music, more scenic shots (e.g Douglas and Margaret in church) e.t.c. I hope it will match the rest of the STARZ productions in getting better towards the end.

Look it’s no masterpiece. But I’ll give credit where it’s due because at least this time it didn’t leave me feeling wanting and unsatisfied (if that makes sense).

#the spanish princess #the spanish princess 2 #lady plantagenet's series reviews #catherine of aragon #henry viii #mary tudor queen of france #margaret tudor #charles brandon #margaret pole

[ijustreallylovezebras]

Avengers: Endgame Blurb Night

Don’t press ‘Read More’ unless you have watched Endgame or you don’t mind reading spoilers for the film!

Okay! So I went to see Endgame a week ago now! And I figure it’s now okay for me to start properly posting about it!!!

So please send in some ideas for Endgame blurbs! I’ll be writing for all of the Marvel characters that I normally write for!! (i.e Peter Parker (plz send in some about him being the cutest brother to Morgan plz), Bucky Barnes, Thor, Loki, Steve Rogers etc)

I’ll put some prompts below as well which you can request with if you want - though of course your own ideas are more than welcome as well!! 

Speech Prompts:

“I love you three thousand”

“I regret a lot of things in life but one thing I’ll never regret is falling in love with you”

“You act all tough in front of other people - but I know the truth, you’re a total softie”

“I’ve never seen you be so affectionate”

“I really wish you would have told me your family were home”

“Good morning sunshine!”

“I’m not sure I could live in a world without you in it”

“You’re my favourite person” “you hate everyone else” “high praise then”

“I’m here for the food - not you”

“When all this is over I want my sanity back”

“This is a nice hoodie, mind if I steal it?”

“How long have we known each other? And you still don’t know my name?”

“Alright, who the fuck drew a dick on my face?”

“I’m starting to think five cups of coffee was a bad idea”

“You’re going to get us into trouble!”

“It’s four in the fucking morning!”

“You’ve got to be quiet!”

“Jesus you’re whipped”

“How the hell are we going to explain this?”

“Seriously? Again?”

“There’s a special place in Hell for people like you”

“Did you ever even stop to think about how this may affect me?”

“She’s my best friend that has never changed.” “Yea the only thing that changed was your feelings for her.”

“Can we be anymore clichéd?”

“I’d give anything to kiss you right now” “How much have you got in your wallet?”

“My friends say that I talk about you too much but I could go on for hours.”

“OKAY FINE! I LIKE HIM, HAPPY NOW?”

“At what point can I admit to being uncomfortable and leave?”

“ We’d make such a cute couple. ”

“Holy shit! I made you blush!”

“It’s fine I promise!” “You’ve been stabbed!”

“This is well above my pay grade”

“Would it be weird to say I like your/his arse?”

“You belong with me, not him”

“I think you owe me an apology”

“I came back”

“Did you seriously come to my room at 3am just to cuddle?”

“I was lonely”

“You make it go away”

“You can’t sing for shit you know”

“You’re so beautiful when you’re happy”

“I thought I told you to be careful!”

“I’m scared of how much I love you”

“Are you in love with her?”

“He never stops talking about you”

“What do you do when you see someone crying?” “You comfort them.” “Oh okay…and uh…how do you do that?”

“I hate seeing you cry”

“You’e the most awkward person I know” “Hey!” “I meant it as a compliment”

“I tried to cook for you... it went as expected.” “Want me to find the take away menu?”

“How can someone so smart be so dense?”

Tropes/Situations:

Babysitting Morgan

Going on a mission together

Best friends to lovers

Roommates

Neighbours

Library/Bookshop AU

Coffeeshop AU

Soulmate AU

Enemies to lovers

Dancing together at three in the morning

Coming home early from a mission

You/They get hurt

Breakfast in bed

Fake dating!AU

First time sharing a bed

Kisses:

Forehead kisses

Hand kisses

Morning kisses

Goodbye kisses

Cheek kisses

Kisses when one is asleep and the other tucks them in

Giggly kisses

First kiss

Playful kisses around their whole face

Drunk kisses

#marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine #endgame #avengers endgame #endgame spoilers #avengers endgame spoilers #endgame blurb night #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker blurbs #Loki Laufeyson #loki x reader #loki blurbs #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes blurbs #Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers blurbs #Thor Odinson #thor x reader #thor blurbs #please request

[atziganespeaks]

Eulogy

Does time heal all wounds? Really?

I’m yet to find that out.

So, we both were school-time sweethearts. He was my confidante, my telepathic-pal, my cornerstone and all fancy words to best describe the person who’d be your first and last resort in every situation. Basically, he was my lobster. (FRIENDS fan can give me a cheer.)We were absolute suckers for chai, street food and that basically explains, our long evening hang outs. PDA was always a part of our timeline, since it was always full of pictures of us, every now and then. And we gave a few people “couple goals” even when this internet jargon was yet to be included into the urban dictionary. Yeah, we were kids. We were naïve. But we were so much into each other.

24th May, morning around 8am, regional news covered a footage of an accident in a dam, wherein 4 students, who just appeared their intermediate exams, drowned. No one survived. Heart-breaking, isn’t it? Barely 18, just breathing in the vacation aura a day back, and now, no more. My lobster was one of the four.

The footages were heart-wrenching, and so was the aftermath. I still remember, how desperately I tried shutting everything out but all of it sledgehammering my not-so-sane-head and already shattered heart. I remember how, re-reading our old texts or listening to call recordings used to put me to ease for a while only to break me down the next moment. I have been through nights where I stared and negative space, and keep staring till I doze off after what feels like forever. It hurts to think that I may go a day without pausing to remember him, because Mom told me that time heals all pain. Time heals? Does it?

Maybe time helped me get acquainted with the harsh reality that I lost someone close. Time taught me how to be strong, and death of a close one taught me that few things are inevitable.

But here I am today, functioning right in the face of tragedy, because somehow I learnt the language of grief. It’s been 4 years now and although, it hurts a little less it won’t evade completely.

I have a defence mechanism here. I resort to writing whenever I felt I was losing my grip. I chose to write about him then. I choose to write about him now. Beyond layers of figment and fictions, I write about him because I know, years down the lane, I would search for a tiny space of belongingness every now and then. The illegible, hammed in scribbles are blank verses of those picture-perfect memories I shared with him. He’s the character born out of remnants, curled up on my tongue but never said loud. And behind every clichéd line or metaphor I wrote about him, I only realize that there’s more than what language can name itself.

Someday when my skin would be too wrinkled, eyesight too weak, I’d run my weak, trembling fingers along the scribbles and summon upon those buried memories.

Truth being told, Yes, people came in after him, they left as well. And I realize that the void still remains. There are times, I remember him a little less. But then at times, I want the whole world to come closing in.

At times, I accept that it’s normal to ponder over memories of a lover, long lost, But then, at times “normal” acts like a blanket too short for me when the night is awfully cold.

Most of the times, I function normally and seldom, remember him. But only to realize, I’m damn good at lying.

I don’t know how many baby steps I would take to be finally whole again, or how much sanity would be required to sink in harsh reality – But one thing I know, is that I won’t let anything go uninked, untold.

I won’t eulogize a person, so kind and charming and of course, who’s my guardian angel now, in any short essay or poem or figment. I have lived my loss and love in reminiscent and half-written diary entries. All of what I have written, and all that I’m yet to write – All of them, combined on my tombstone, would be an eulogy to the star shining brighter than usual, each night.

Love,

D.

[ladyherenya]

Books read in June

Lots of compelling plots and strong colours. I like how these covers look together.

I also listened to a couple of audio stories by Aliette de Bodard: “The Waiting Stars” and “In Everlasting Wisdom”. I wasn’t sure if I’d like them and was surprised to discover that I did.  

Favourite cover: Every Secret Thing (even though it’s not really an accurate depiction of the main character).

Next up: A Thousand Sisters: The Heroic Airwomen of the Soviet Union in World War II by Elizabeth Wein. I said that a couple of months ago so this time I’m determined to actually read it.

(Longer reviews and ratings are on LibraryThing. And also Dreamwidth.)

– (they’ve taken away page breaks) – 

Ninefox Gambit by Yoon Ha Lee: I knew I mightn’t like this, but I thought that would be because it would turn out to be too dark. I wasn’t expecting the worldbuilding to be so inscrutable and confusing. I pushed myself to keep reading, first because some books need more time before they “click” with me, and then because I was curious about what the twists and the answers would be. But there was no click. I was still somewhat confused and the story didn’t encourage me to care enough about the characters… I wouldn’t say I disliked it, I just don’t have any strong feelings.

Moving Pictures by Terry Pratchett (narrated by Nigel Planer): Discworld’s take on Hollywood -- here, called “Holy Wood”. At first, I didn’t care one way or the other for the characters (and at first there weren’t any female characters), but they grew on me. Pratchett is being very clever and very funny, and I really enjoyed it. Also, I was pleased to see Detritus from before he joined the Watch (I like the accent Nigel Planer gives him), and I was surprised that Gaspode the talking dog, who had annoyed me in the Watch books he’d appears in, was not annoying.

House of Shadows by Rachel Neumeier: This follows three characters in the coastal capital of Lirionne as they are swept into a plot against the royal family: orphaned Nemienne is a mage’s unexpected new apprentice; Leilis belongs to a reputable keiso house, and Taudde is a foreign sorcerous bard. The story begins slowly but builds momentum, with intricate worldbuilding and politics. I especially liked Neumeier’s lyrical prose, and the way Taudde’s magic is expressed through music. And I was relieved that selling a sister or two to a keiso house was not at all as dire as it sounds. And then, there’s a dragon...

Door into Light by Rachel Neumeier: The opening chapter convinced me to buy this immediately. It begins with an attempted coup. And, because I was already invested, because of the way this story builds upon House of Shadows and because of the narrative beats of it hits, I found this difficult to put down. It’s a story filled with tension from complicated conflicting loyalties and characters not knowing if family and friends are safe. I loved practically every thing about this, everything except that it ends and I just wanted one more chapter, one more scene. (Not because the story needed it. I just wanted more.)

Queen’s Shadow by E.K. Johnston (narrated by Catherine Taber): Padmé transitions from queen to senator. It’s a bit of an odd jumble of a story, wavering back and forth between Padmé and Sabé, and it didn’t carry through the threads from things like the assassination attempt or the trip to Tatooine as I expected. Is that because Johnston was confident about what the important parts to take from The Phantom Menace were -- Padmé’s handmaidens, wardrobe and fierce determination to fight for justice -- and figured fanfiction doesn’t need a rigorous plot? I liked it, I just wanted it to be something I liked even more.

Every Secret Thing by Susanna Kearsley: Kate is a journalist working in the UK when she’s approached by an old man wanting to tell her about a murder. His sudden death spurns Kate on to investigate, and she soon realises that asking questions is dangerous. I stayed up far too late reading this. I loved the sense of danger, the descriptions of scenery and places, the history, what happened during WWII, the mystery, the romantic moments. I think this story would have been more satisfying if fewer people had been murdered -- but I’d read anything with extra murder if it’s written by Kearsley.

Every Breath by Ellie Marney: Rachel’s family have left their farm and are still adjusting to life in the city, but Rachel is only two doors down from her new friend, James Mycroft, a troubled eccentric genius. When they discover a homeless friend has been murdered, Mycroft worries that the police won’t take the murder seriously. I was expecting something more tightly paced and tense, but there are a lot of Sherlock Holmes-inspired stories out there, and “teenagers catch trams and solve murder in the shadow of Melbourne Zoo” certainly hasn’t been done before. So points for that.

Every Move by Ellie Marney: The Australian setting was part of the appeal of Every Breath, so I was disappointed to see Mycroft and Rachel heading for London, the most clichéd city ever for a murder investigation. (Also, one of the twists was obvious, and I think if you expect readers to cope with kidnappers who engage in torture, even fade-to-black torture, you should also expect some of your readers to be genre-savvy.) But this is still an engaging YA mystery, with relationship drama and dangerous situations and a trip to Oxford. And I’m not going to say no to snuggling for warmth and comfort...

The Unbound Empire by Melissa Caruso: Each book in this trilogy has been stronger than the one before. I enjoyed this one enormously -- it’s tense, with high-stakes and a lot of thoughtful commentary about responsibility and power. It’s so satisfying to see Amalia’s increasing skills with politics, knowing that this is the result of study, determination and experience. I like the way the growth in her relationships, too, is the result of effort, of mistakes made and overcome. I could have done without the love triangle, but it didn’t annoy me (and the second romantic interest was one of my favourite characters).

#Herenya reviews books #Rachel Neumeier #Susanna Kearsley #Melissa Caruso #Ellie Marney #Yoon Ha Lee #Terry Pratchett #Discworld #Star Wars #E.K. Johnston #Aliette de Bodard #Herenya reads YA

[uomo-accattivante]

One of the things you can’t help noticing when you talk to Oscar Isaac is just how incredible he is at playing the part of Oscar Isaac. It’s not that he’s putting on a performance. But when you talk to Oscar Isaac, the public idea of Oscar Isaac begins to make a tremendous amount of sense.

We talk a couple of days before the release of Netflix’s new Triple Frontier, an action-adventure heist/American military allegory flick (it’s a lot) that Isaac stars in, and Isaac manages to, within the span of a few minutes, quote Shakespeare and express guilt about shoplifting in his college days. In other words: He’s sensitive with a risky streak. It’s no wonder the Internet has declared him its boyfriend (and more recently, its husband).

This quality, of course, is part of what makes Isaac so compelling to watch when he’s playing an actual role. He seamlessly shades his characters with duality; by turns he can play dour and charming, cerebral and clueless. Take Triple Frontier. Isaac portrays a character, Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia, who is essentially a stand-in for Donald Rumsfeld. He’s tasked with rallying an all-star gang of ex-Special Forces agents (played by Ben Affleck, Charlie Hunnam, Pedro Pascal, and Garrett Hedlund) to execute a covert heist of a South American drug lord. It’s an ill-fated, and perhaps misguided, operation, but Isaac makes you believe that nothing can go wrong—and, moreover, that what they’re doing is inherently right, all while emitting a sense of manifest failure.

On the heels of turning 40, Isaac hasn’t given much thought to where he wants to take his talents for portraying complex characters next, only that he wants to scale back. “Doing the circus thing can get tiring after a while,” he says. Though, it won’t be long before he talks about what a thrill it was to train for a daunting high elevation chase scene. The change of tune comes off genuinely; he digs a good adventure, but also wants to settle down. It’s both. And it’s Oscar Isaac, so you believe him.

Happy birthday!

Thank you.

Did you do anything exciting?

We had a little bit of a house party. We just moved to a new place. So we thought, “Why not trash it? Have a party.”

It was a pretty big birthday [40]. As you move into middle age, are there new kinds of roles you're interested in playing?

No, not necessarily. But it's just kind of fun to start a new decade.

Do you have a philosophy in terms of how you choose roles generally?

Oh no, if only. Things would be so much easier. Choosing roles is really more like falling in love. I don't have a specific type that I'm looking for. It's just kind of if I read the thing or speak to the director or see some art that's connected with it and it incites something where I can't stop thinking about it, then I keep moving towards it.

Tell me about how you fell in love, then, with the character of Pope in Triple Frontier.

I worked with J.C. [Chandor] on A Most Violent Year. That had gone well. And I knew he was somebody I could trust in the editing room. You could try lots of different things and he won't make you look like an idiot. And then he talked to me about the kind of guy this is, the parables behind the whole movie, it being an allegory to the way the United States has operated throughout the world, and how in some ways my character is the Donald Rumsfeld of the story. [Pope] says, “Look, we can do this. We can take out a really bad guy. We'll be rich. We'll be in and out. No problem.” And so there's a bit of hubris there about their skills—even though these characters are incredibly skilled. But he underestimates the team's greed.

Once I became involved, we started having conversations. We thought an interesting complication—and one thing that would make it not feel so cliché—would be making the character of Pope actually from the area that he's been working in. There's a familial connection to it, so there's something more at stake. He wants to take out this guy not just as a trophy but because he actually thinks it'll make a difference.

In Annihilation you also played someone in the military. And I read that you at one point had considered joining the Marines. Is there something about diving into that military world that attracted you?

Yeah. That's definitely something I had been into when I was younger, and I had imagined that that was an avenue I could've gone down for my life. And I was very near going to boot camp and starting that whole process, and then other things happened that took me away from that. So I think there's always something inside of me that wonders about the What if? of it.

I can be quite a good student when it comes to certain things. So learning the mechanics of working with the weapons, learning about situational awareness and clearing the room, the team-building exercises—all those things, I got very excited by. And also, there was a lot of high altitude training.

What was that like?

What was cool was that all of us had a different physical task. Garrett [Hedlund] was the MMA fighter and there was a whole MMA fight that ended up getting cut down quite a bit. So he ended up spending a lot of time training that way, training with jiu-jitsu. Pedro [Pascal] spent a lot of time with the cockpit and flying. And then Charlie [Hunnam] and Ben [Affleck] both found things that were specific to their characters. And for me, I knew that I was having to do this extended chase sequence in Colombia, which was between 10,000 and 13,000 feet, depending on exactly where we were shooting. So I knew that was something I needed to train for just so I'd be able to do more than one take without throwing up. And I found a place here in New York that's a hyperbaric chamber that's able to replicate what it's like to run in different altitudes. They have a treadmill in there. And an oxygen mask, and even a tent you could sleep in at night to get your blood saturated with oxygen.

When you were preparing, what kinds of things did you learn about the military that surprised you, or that you didn't know when you were considering joining the Marines way back when?

I was a kid back then, so I didn't know much. I was like, “I'll get fit. I'll get money for college. I'll go in there because some of my friends are planning on going in there as well.” There were some people I admired who had been. This was like 1998. But the reality of it is the amount of sacrifice—not just physically, but emotionally. Being separated from your family for long, long periods of time. And especially special forces guys, who are just the elite, top of the top. There's this sense of [it being] these tough guys, these killers, chest-pounding guys. The truth is the people we spoke with [have] humility and soft-spokenness and ethical codes they go by, [there’s] lack of rejoicing in violence, the desire for connection, and the way deadly force is viewed—all those things I found to not be clichéd adolescent ideas of what being a military guy is.

The movie is very much an allegory about the American military and the country's greed. But how did you internalize the individual sense of greed that you're portraying in the film?

There's something that's epic about it. It's a very primal tale. Macbeth is the same thing. Macbeth is a heroic soldier. The entire first part of Macbeth is everyone saying what an incredible soldier Macbeth was, what he did, how he was fearless, courageous, how he saved his men. He is the hero. And then that little thing gets in there like an infection, this thought, What more could I have? "What do I deserve for everything that I've done?" And that’s mixed with the violence the person is seeing. So that for me was very interesting. Noble people who have a tragic flaw that brings them down. For my character, it was less the money. It was more revenge, taking out this one guy he's been hunting since he's been down there. He actually believes that if he cuts down this head, the rest of the thing will fall.

Did you return to moments in your life or career where you caught yourself letting greed get the best of you?

I think when I was in college I definitely did some damage at the Tower Records across the street. And the Barnes & Noble... And a couple liquor stores. There was a sense of, “I am a college student. I can barely make ends meet over here. This is a big company; they're not going to mind if I take this book of poetry.” So I could justify snagging a few items here and there. But of course Tower Records closes down, and I can't help but feel at fault.

It’s not your fault.

It was a flawed system. They had the bargain DVDs right next to the place where you walk out. So you could just put [your bag] right there next to it, go through the metal detectors, and then reach back and grab your bag.

Do you think you could graduate from Barnes & Noble theft and pull off an actual heist?

No. I wouldn't know where to begin or what to do. Anything I know about it is from movies.

Are you a fan of the heist genre?

I like the heist genre thrown on its head. My favorite movie is Dog Day Afternoon. And that is another thing where it's like, Let's do this thing. We're going to rob a bank. In and out of there. And everything that happens after that is, to me, the most exciting part. It's people in extreme situations. I worked in a hospital when I was younger, and that's something I learned a lot from, seeing people in extreme situations. You see the entire spectrum of humanity in those moments.

As a musician and a big music fan, how do you use music to get yourself in the mindset of a role?

I've done that for ages. Often for me, it's less specific about, This makes me think about this thing. It's more about what gets me to a place of readiness, openness. What makes me feel connected to the earth a bit more. Sometimes I'll put together music that I find inspiring thematically, or tonally. But I think if it's something that needs any real depth of emotion, there's this one guy named Ernst Reijseger, an incredible cellist who did the soundtrack to Werner Herzog's Cave of Forgotten Dreams. I listen to that and it puts me in a primal state. It opens me up so I'm able to receive anything that's floating around inside without judging it too much.

Were you listening to that for this role?

For this one, there were a couple moments when I did. But I think I listened to a lot of Sepultura, a Brazilian hardcore metal band. It gave a sense of the chaos and the violence, and it has some Brazilian kind of tribal elements to it. So it felt like a bit of a mix of everything they're getting involved in down there.

What's the best piece of direction you've gotten in your career?

The first one that comes to my mind was just like the sweetest way of saying "Tone it down." A great writer, Hossein Amini, he came over and in the sweetest way said, "The camera is just not able to capture what you're doing right now. We don't have the technology yet to get what you're doing. So you just have to bring it down a bit so we can capture it on the camera."

My editor insisted I find out about the footage you filmed for the Disney Parks upcoming Star Wars-themed lands. Is there anything you can tell me?

I'm afraid I can't, because actually I don't really remember [laughs]. I think some of it happened in the middle of filming the actual movie. So they were like, "Hey, today you're coming in and you'll be in the cockpit." So it's those kinds of situations. I'm sure I'm in the cockpit and I'm screaming about something important.

#oscar isaac #triple frontier #pope #santiago garcia #poe dameron #star wars #episode ix #ben affleck #charlie hunnam #garrett hedlund #pedro pascal #interview #gq magazine

[tziganespeaks]

Eulogy

Does time heal all wounds? Really?

I’m yet to find that out.

We both were school-time sweethearts. He was my confidante, my telepathic-pal, my cornerstone and all fancy words to best describe the person who’d be your first and last resort in every situation. Basically, he was my lobster. (FRIENDS fan can give me a cheer.)

We were absolute suckers for chai, street food and that basically explains, our long evening hang outs. PDA was always a part of our timeline, since it was always full of pictures of us, every now and then. And we gave a few people “couple goals” even when this internet jargon was yet to be included into the urban dictionary. Yeah, we were kids. We were naïve. But we were so much into each other.

24th March, morning around 8am, regional news covered a footage of an accident in a dam, wherein 4 students, who just appeared their intermediate exams, drowned. No one survived. Heart-breaking, isn’t it? Barely 18, just breathing in the vacation aura a day back, and now, no more.

My lobster was one of the four. The footages were heart-wrenching, and so was the aftermath.

I still remember, how desperately I tried shutting everything out but all of it sledgehammering my not-so-sane-head and already shattered heart. I remember how, re-reading our old texts or listening to call recordings used to put me to ease for a while only to break me down the next moment. I have been through nights where I stared and negative space, and keep staring till I doze off after what feels like forever. It hurts to think that I may go a day without pausing to remember him, because Mom told me that time heals all pain. Time heals? Does it? Maybe time helped me get acquainted with the harsh reality that I lost someone close. Time taught me how to be strong, and death of a close one taught me that few things are inevitable.

But here I am today, functioning right in the face of tragedy, because somehow I learnt the language of grief. It’s been 4 years now and although, it hurts a little less it won’t evade completely.

I have a defence mechanism here. I resort to writing whenever I felt I was losing my grip. I chose to write about him then. I choose to write about him now. Beyond layers of figment and fictions, I write about him because I know, years down the lane, I would search for a tiny space of belongingness every now and then. The illegible, hammed in scribbles are blank verses of those picture-perfect memories I shared with him. He’s the character born out of remnants, curled up on my tongue but never said loud. And behind every clichéd line or metaphor I wrote about him, I only realize that there’s more than what language can name itself.

Someday when my skin would be too wrinkled, eyesight too weak, I’d run my weak, trembling fingers along the scribbles and summon upon those buried memories.

Truth being told, Yes, people came in after him, they left as well. And I realize that the void still remains. There are times, I remember him a little less. But then at times, I want the whole world to come closing in.

At times, I accept that it’s normal to ponder over memories of a lover, long lost,

But then, at times “normal” acts like a blanket too short for me when the night is awfully cold.

Most of the times, I function normally and seldom, remember him.

But only to realize, I’m damn good at lying.

I don’t know how many baby steps I would take to be finally whole again, or how much sanity would be required to sink in harsh reality – But one thing I know, is that I won’t let anything go uninked, untold. I won’t eulogize a person, so kind and charming and of course, who’s my guardian angel now, in any short essay or poem or figment. I have lived my loss and love in reminiscent and half-written diary entries. All of what I have written, and all that I’m yet to write – All of them, combined on my tombstone, would be an eulogy to the star shining brighter than usual, each night.

Yours,

D.

[apparitionism]

Bonus

Happy particular Monday! Here’s a story for it, which came about mostly because I wanted to put a couple of people into a clichéd situation, and then I had to do leadup and aftermath... anyway, it’s intended to be a two-parter (yes, I know; aspirations) set in a not-entirely-canonical season 4, in which the Warehouse did get brought back and Helena did leave without explanation, BUT Artie doesn’t go full Father Data and Leena doesn’t suffer the consequences—mostly because Mrs. Frederic has sensed some badness to come and thus sent Artie and Leena away. Because why not? Also I have Claudia jumping into Caretakering, and even a bit of Artieing, with some enthusiasm.

P.S. I know I haven’t yet finished last year’s Christmas story—that’s a pain point—but I genuinely am working to get back on various horses, including that one. Weather (in all senses) permitting.

Bonus

“I genuinely cannot believe we’re stuck in an elevator,” Myka says. It may be the most true statement to which she’s ever given voice.

****

SEVERAL HOURS EARLIER...

Myka’s reasonably pleasant thought, burring along as background to her monotonous tasks, is I don’t mind this. She and Steve are in the Warehouse office early in the morning, doing file inventory, and it’s true: she doesn’t mind it. It’s a little lacking as a holiday activity, but with Artie, Leena, and Pete all away, “lacking” is pretty much the flavor of the moment.

Claudia pokes her head in and says, “Ping.” She’s unenthusiastic, speaking of lacking. Where’s the usual revving about what it might be this time? “At some midwestern accounting firm, because it’s important to have a boring Christmas.”

Ah. “An accounting artifact?” Myka asks. Speaking further of lacking: here, it’s artifacty zing. Then again, artifacty zing got Myka trapped in Alice’s mirror, among other catastrophes, so maybe boring isn’t so bad. “Balance sheets?” she ventures. “Pluses and minuses?”

“Some people at this pingy company just got extremely large Christmas bonuses,” Claudia says, “and some got their pay extremely docked. So yeah, ‘balance sheets, pluses and minuses’ just about covers it. Probably. I mean, I might be trying to manage expectations here.”

Claudia’s certainly right, in that getting one’s hopes up—about anything (or anyone)—is a fool’s game.

But still, there’s something to be said for boring-but-remunerative, even if only for some people... what a nice idea. “I’d like a Christmas bonus someday,” Myka says, “instead of a Christmas penalty. Which I think pretty accurately describes the Pete-plus-artifacts situation.”

“It’s two days before Christmas, and he hasn’t done anything yet,” Claudia says. “That you know of,” she amends.

“Because he’s been with his family in Ohio for the past week,” Myka points out, and she’s gratified when Claudia rolls her eyes. It’s practically a concession.

Steve says, “It’s inappropriate to say ‘Christmas’ bonus these days. It’s ‘end-of-year.’” The contribution suggests he’s listening with only one ear.

“I wish appropriateness mattered here,” Myka says, not really to him but in general. Who knows how a Warehouse HR department would make heads or tails of the application of employment laws—much less employment niceties? “Not that it makes a difference. Christmas, end-of-year... call it Fred, and we still wouldn’t get one.”

“If I ever do get a bonus, I’m absolutely naming it Fred,” Claudia declares.

Myka shakes her head. “Poor Fred. Doomed to be injected right back into the discretionary economy.”

“Inject-o-what are you even talking about?”

“Just a guess, but: you’d spend it on things you don’t need.”

Claudia harrumphs. “Thanks for lumping me in with the avocado-toast-and-Starbucks crowd. My fiscaling is way more responsible.”

“Really? What would you use Fred for?”

“Asus VG278HE gaming monitor. Plus a graphics card, maybe the Nvidia GTX 690, depending on how hefty Fred is.” At Myka’s snort, Claudia challenges, “Fine, where would you inject it?”

“My Roth IRA,” Myka says immediately. She’s not sure what assets her evil, crazy, or dead self will need in retirement, but given the many and varied forms each of those, or combinations thereof, could take, it seems like a good idea to have a financial plan in place. That’s another thing a Warehouse HR department might be useful for...

“You’re the actual human manifestation of an accounting artifact,” Claudia accuses. “Speaking of which, here’s the deal. I gotta stay here—some Mrs.-F homeworky stuff—and Steve’s busy reassuring all the misfit toys in the building that Leena hasn’t deserted them forever. And I’d say ignore the ping entirely, but your never know what’ll go viral, and I bet Artie’d say the last thing we need is another financial crisis. Or maybe you’d say it. Anyway, you’re it. And for your backup, when you get to Cleveland—”

Myka groans. “Cleveland? Seriously? Pete’s going to be so mad about you pulling him away from the family.”

“I’m not pulling him away,” Claudia says, blinking like she’s some innocent little lamb.

Myka groans again. “You’re making me do it?”

Claudia shrugs. “Sure. Why not. You’re partners, right? But here’s some advice: wait till you get there to call him. You know, put off the misery, if that’s what it is, as long as possible. Besides—more advice—I really think you should spend your travel time thinking about bonuses. Who gets ’em and why. Because what’s a bonus, really?”

“An economic stimulus whose nametag reads ‘Fred,’ if I’m understanding things correctly.”

“We’ll see what you think about that when you get to Cleveland.”

“On the day before Christmas eve,” Myka grouses. “By the way, that’s a whole lot of ‘advice,’ coming from somebody who’s over a decade younger than I am and not technically my boss.”

“By the way,” Claudia mimics, archly mocking, “we’ll see what you think about that too.”

“When I get to Cleveland?”

“When you get to Cleveland. On the day before Christmas eve.”

“Sounds like the title of a lesser Christmas carol,” Steve says—he’s tuned back in to the conversation. He then says, with his grin that curves so impish, “Think we could get Mariah Carey to sing it? It’s a hit if we get her, right, no matter how lesser?”

“‘When You Get to Cleveland on the Day Before Christmas Eve?’” Claudia skeptics. “Hit-wise, that’s gonna need a lot more power: Mariah dueting with Darlene Love at the very least. Plus we’ll need a Destiny’s Child reunion for at least one chorus.”

“Thanks for reinforcing my sense of how awful this is likely to be,” Myka tells them both, and Steve’s grin turns apologetic.

Claudia, however, shrugs. “Maybe you’ll sing it different.”

Myka is now the one to roll her eyes. “I won’t sing it at all.”

Surprisingly, Claudia doesn’t go with another eyeroll. “We’ll see,” she says, and Myka is struck by the Mrs.-Frederic resonance in her words. Does the homework include practicing the enigmatic tone?

Steve looks up and catches Myka’s eye. He winks. Myka would wink back, but he would probably interpret that as her saying she understands what’s happening. And that would be a lie: serious enough, probably, to make him wince and massage his temples.

So Myka just blinks—not Morse or any other code, just basic eye-moistening blinks. Then she goes upstairs to collect her always-packed travel bag for her trip to Cleveland.

****

Her flight departs late, of course; it’s December in South Dakota. But that’s this-time fine, because it allows Myka a necessary excess of opportunity to prep her Pete-placation. Under her breath, she practices the delivery of such words as “shorthanded” and “necessary,” aiming for maximum sincerity.

When she at last emerges from her Cleveland Hopkins jetway, that extensive prep deserts her entirely, for what awaits her is the manifestation of a Christmas wish she has worked overtime to convince herself would not, could not possibly be granted:

Helena.

Whose arms are crossed, and whose posture betrays that her foot might recently have been tapping out impatience with the plane’s tardy arrival. The attitude is so normal, so entirely of-the-world (rather than of-its-imminent-end), that Myka wants to reverse course, get back on the plane and redisembark, just so she might meet it again, meet it and refeel this wash of absolute relief at seeing Helena impatient in an airport.

Devious, Claudia, Myka thinks. Outstandingly devious. “Hello, Fred,” she murmurs, then tries, in the ten seconds she has before she and Helena are in proximity to speak, to engage in a far more consequential prep.

For Helena has been gone—has been, as Myka put it to Steve not so long ago, “god knows where”—since shortly after the Warehouse did not explode. She was there, in the Warehouse, but then she was gone, and Myka was told only that Helena had “matters to attend to.” God presumably also knew what those matters were, but Myka hadn’t, in the wake of that first moment of absence, and hasn’t since, been able to pry any information about matters or their whereabouts out of anyone, divine or otherwise.

And through the seemingly endless wondering, Myka’s mind and heart have gnawed themselves ragged.

Until this moment, when the wondering and gnawing end: now her blood speeds, coursing with urgency even as everything else seems to slow.... her movements, her reactions, her thinking, all are sluggish, unresponsive; only her blood matters. This blood knowledge. For all her wondering, she’s been avoiding gnawing her way to that answer.

“Claudia said you needed backup” are Helena’s words when they meet.

Myka’s attempt at prep has fallen grievously short—not that she could have risen to such an occasion, not when hearing that voice for the first time in some time, and certainly not when faced with what her blood’s embarrassing insistence has forced her to confront anew. “I... assumed I’d be calling Pete,” she says, to at least go with truth.

“Interesting assumption. Perhaps necessary, if you believe I’ll be insufficient.”

Myka’s impulse is to reassure: “More than sufficient—you’re necessary,” she would shout, or better yet, whisper. Instead, because Helena’s tone is neutral—is she in actuality indifferent?—she falls into a defensive, businesslike crouch, offering only implicit denial of the premise of Helena’s statement. “Let’s head for the accounting firm,” she says, internally cursing herself.

Cursing, but also justifying: Helena is here as backup, thanks to Claudia’s cleverness, and Myka should not assume (speaking of assumptions) that she even wants to be here. All focus should be on retrieving the artifact. Certainly on that and not on Myka’s (honestly) predictably overexcited blood.

She tries to concentrate on Claudia’s advice (while at the same time trying not to resent her success at being cryptic about it): what’s a bonus, really? Helena’s presence, the sight of her, the apprehending of her impatience, the experience of blood: whatever else may happen, these have been—must be—are!—the bonus.

****

The cab ride is quiet. Myka’s resolve to think only of backup and bonus is dissolving by the second, and she lets words reach her tongue that might start a conversation with Helena about things... but those words don’t escape her lips, for a strand of formality seems to be stiffening Helena’s spine. Does she know how Myka cherished her impatience? Is she attempting to discourage such adoration?

Myka, in regret and relief, follows that more-strict lead.

That’s a bonus too, though, for it turns the ride into unpressured, liminal time, perfect for simply basking in presence. It’s best, Myka is now thinking, to treat this reunion as something that was of course going to have happened. For backup or other professional purposes. Despite the fact that it’s the thank-god fulfillment of recurring, desperate dreams.

However: at one point in the traffic-backed silence, Helena, completely unprompted, turns and smiles at Myka.

Myka smiles back.

It’s a previously missing puzzle-piece slotting into place... yet in its aftermath, Myka finds herself having to push with force against a will to worry over other missing pieces; in particular, she must fight the fret-intensive futility of trying to count them.

****

They find the accounting firm’s lobby spacious but quiet—holiday-low staffing, presumably. Myka asks the receptionist, “Is there someone we can talk to about end-of-year bonuses? Also penalties?”

“I’m a temp,” says the young man. His tone suggests it’s his answer to every query... but then he adds, very quietly, “Unofficially, there’s this one guy...”

That has the ring of “artifact,” so Myka nods, encouraging him.

“Super-vocal about his paycheck the other day. How tiny it was. I mean, he’s the kind of guy you might have theories about what else is tiny, but I—”

“Who was that?” Myka interrupts, even as she feels Helena’s readiness to laugh. Mr. Super-vocal is thus probably not a wielder of an artifact; more likely, one of that wielder’s... victims?

“Bob,” the temp says. “I’m sure he’s got a last name, and I’m sure he thinks everybody should call him ‘Mr. Lastname,’ but my care level? Anyway he’s down the hall—one of the only ones in the farm today. Spite-working. Maybe on his anti-everything manifesto.”

“Down the hall” turns out to be a vast expanse of cubicles: definitely a farm.

Myka says to Helena, “Follow my lead?”

“Always,” Helena says.

It’s a tonally sincere utterance—and in that, admirable—but it’s also manifestly untrue; nevertheless, Myka’s blood decides to believe it, to recognize it as another puzzle-piece. I really need to function, Myka tries to explain to her interior. So if we could climb down just a couple rungs. Like to the cab-ride level, maybe?

Her body refuses the agreement.

Of course.

The occupant of the first inhabited cubicle they find is an over-coiffed middle-aged man who clearly spends far too much time in tanning booths. He’s typing aggressively, as if the force of his keystrokes will power his message. His manifesto?

“Are you Bob?” Myka asks him.

“You better be here about my money,” obviously-Bob says, clearly spoiling for a fight.

Myka finds his demand incongruous—his job has to do with other people’s money, and Myka and Helena are manifestly other people. Who could have money. Fred or otherwise.

“In a way,” she says. She follows up with “We’re from the IRS,” and it’s never not funny for that to be useful. Bob winces, as if she's about to strike him. Also never not funny. “We’ve noted some suspicious discrepancies in end-of-year reporting.”

“You have?” Bob asks. Now he’s avid rather than confrontational.

“Looks like some overreporting. Also underreporting. So you see our concern, particularly about effects on withholding.” She is making this up, as she generally does whenever she has to go actual IRS on someone. Read up on tax law, she reminds herself, as she generally does every time. Not that she’ll ever have the leisure to do that... “What we need to find out is whether it was in error, or if it warrants a full investigation.”

“Nancy Sullivan,” he says, with contempt, the name itself a curse. “She’s the one you should investigate, and then send straight to jail. She’s always been a witch about year-end, but now?  On steroids. Talking about making her list, threatening to mark down people she doesn’t like, including yours truly, as naughty... and then we got our paychecks, and somehow she did it! No idea how she managed to push that garbage through, but I swear you better get her up on some kind of charges!”

He rises abruptly, clutching a slip of paper; his chair topples over behind him. He shoves the paper in Myka’s direction, his knuckles nearing her astonished nose—but in the instant before contact, Helena intervenes, her arm blocking his, stopping his forward motion.

Backup.

Helena plucks the paper from his pushy hand. “And what’s this?” she asks.

A pretty minimal manifesto, Myka thinks initially. But then she replays his screed in her head, and his babbling about Nancy Sullivan resolves into meaningful references; struck by the realization, she very nearly misses his next statement: “My pay stub. She can’t just do this.”

Helena says, “Of course not.” She’s soothing him, her voice a faux-caress. It’s enough to tempt Myka to act out, just to hear it directed her way, even as Helena continues, “But we understand some of your colleagues, to the contrary, received large bonuses.”

His “tanned” skin darkens further. “Guess she thought they were nice. To her. Suck-ups.”

Mya looks a Find out anything else that’s relevant at Helena, who nods. Retreating back to the pre-cubicle hallway—relieved that her nose is intact—she Farnsworths Claudia. She skips the pleasantries, starting with, “A very disgruntled employee says the woman who signs off on bonuses was making a list.”

Claudia chortles. “You’re hilarious. Was she checking it twice?”

“This is my point. We don’t know exactly what we’re dealing with, not yet, but I bet that’s the crux.”

“I should’ve known you weren’t aiming for hilarity. So you really think this is some Santa thing?”

“No. I’m saying words about lists because I think it’s a grocery thing.” Myka wants to shake her fist at the heavens and every deity who occupies it. Occupies them. All the heavens. “Of course I think it’s a Santa thing! I also think it’s Pete’s fault somehow.”

“Just because it’s Christmas? C’mon.”

“Christmas and Ohio?” Myka snorts. “You c’mon. I don’t believe in coincidence.”

“Maybe you should though. For peace of mind?”

“That’s another thing I don’t believe in. Just see if you can find anything about a Santa’s-list artifact, would you?”

“Roger. By the way, how do you like your backup?” She chortles again and disconnects.

“I like my backup like I like the sunrise,” Myka tells the blank Farnsworth screen.

“What about the sunrise?” Helena asks from directly behind her.

Myka wishes the sound of her voice were either more or less startling. She wishes also that she knew exactly how much overhearing had occurred.

“It’s inevitable,” she sighs.

In response, Helena blinks.

They take the elevator to Nancy Sullivan’s office.

In that elevator, which is aggressively mirrored, Myka can’t help but glance repeatedly at herself. So many reflections. You called this into being, thinking about Alice’s mirror before, she accuses. She tries not to focus on how her hair could really stand to be more controlled... she’d focus on Helena instead, but who knows how that would be received? Instead she allows herself one glance, then looks down.

She likes being on the elevator with Helena, though; it’s a space of relative privacy, like the cab. Have they ever before been on an elevator together? Alone or otherwise? She runs through their interactions, fast-forwarding from the Wells house to D.C., Tamalpais to Moscow, Yellowstone, Colorado Springs, Ohio (here Myka trips over the fact that Helena’ s now been to Ohio twice, if only once in physical form), Pittsburgh, Hong Kong...

The review—the speed with which she can conduct it—reminds her of how limited that time has been, so: an elevator ride. Yet another bonus.

“That fellow,” Helena remarks, and Myka looks up again; their eyes meet in the mirror of the elevator’s doors. It’s uncanny, as if they’re both holograms, so Myka turns her body toward Helena, who meets Myka’s actual eyes and continues, “He attempted to make a lewd joke about his willingness and ability to be naughty when it’s called for. I pretended not to understand.”

Myka can’t help it: she snorts. “I bet he didn’t buy that for a second.”

“I have the ability to perform ‘prim’ when it’s called for,” Helena says, and Myka has to acknowledge that statement as good evidence of itself. Then Helena’s face reshapes into a devilish grin as she says, “In a slightly different vein, his quailing at those three letters with which you assailed him? Hilarious.”

“Letters?” A little perverse-quirk makes Myka want to hear Helena say them, though she’s probably not pulling off “disingenuous” in making the request.

Helena seems fine with the perversity, for she obliges: “I,” she begins, then draws out “Aaaaare.” Then, after a beat: “Esssss.”

Myka now herself feels assailed—by how right Helena’s reading her. She tries to step it down with, “I wasn’t aiming for hilarity. I never do. Claudia can vouch.” But she does spend a little moment thinking about the context of that previous assailing: we’re from the IRS. We are here, together, from an agency. We, together, represent. It isn’t by any means everything Myka would have wanted... but it’s something: part of this bonus. “Fred,” she says, sotto voce.

The office they’re seeking is on the building’s highest floor, suggestive of Nancy Sullivan’s bonus-approving rank; it features several large windows, one of which affords the office a view of the hallway, and vice versa. Through it, Myka and Helena watch a woman, presumably that powerful Nancy Sullivan, writing with a quill-esque pen.

“It’s the pen,” Myka says, because it has to be. “It’s always the stupid pen.”

“Always?” That’s unusually tentative, like Helena’s trying not to step.

“Okay, once,” Myka concedes. “My dad and Poe and a pen, and as a result I’ve developed a severe aversion to those quill things.”

Helena takes a beat. Then: “I never liked feather pens.”

“Are you just saying that,” Myka says, because she might be, and she might admit it, and that might be good or bad or something else Myka has no way of evaluating. Why does Helena say words like this? And for that matter, why does Myka keep spending her limited time on this planet trying to parse them?

“Yes? In that I’ve... said it?”

That really didn’t help with any of the whys. “I mean, just to make me feel better?”

Helena shrugs. “The fact is, today’s ballpoints et cetera are far more reliable. Does that make you feel better?”

She’s playing at being obtuse—surely that’s for a reason? But Myka has no time to wonder further, for Helena is knocking on the office door and opening it without waiting for an invitation, and the real retrieval is underway.

Myka flashes her badge. “I’m Agent Myka Bering, and this is Helena Wells. We’re from the IRS.” She glances at Helena—all these glances!—and gets a small smirk in response.

Rather than introducing herself, the woman says, “Really? I bet that’s not true.”

“Why?” Myka asks. Have she and Helena, over the course of the elevator ride, lost their ability to perform “official” correctly?

“I have a feeling you’re here for this,” Nancy Sullivan says, and she lofts the pen, waving it like a wand. “Mostly because I also have a feeling that I want to close my fist around it, punch my way past both of you, and make my escape.”

Well. “That’s self-aware,” Myka says. “Unusually so.”

“Thank you? Although it’s less self-awareness than kind of a... sixth sense.”

Helena raises an eyebrow at Myka. “Sixth sense aside, we appreciate your good sense to refrain from attempting to punch your way past us. That would have ended poorly.”

“I wish I’d had the good sense not to use this pen,” Nancy Sullivan says.

“Is there a reason for your wish?” Helena asks. She sounds, to Myka’s ears at least, like a recently summoned, slightly flummoxed genie.

“Because of how much I liked using it—particularly when I realized nobody was going to question anything. I signed off on all these orders, and it was like...” she trails off. Then she concludes, “Magic.”

To keep her talking, Myka prompts, “Was it?”

“Having the power to reward good people has been fantastic,” Nancy Sullivan continues, “but penalizing the awful ones? I mean I’ve sort of resented feeling compelled to use the word ‘naughty’ about them, because that’s way out of character for me. But other than that? Utterly spectacular.”

“Bob,” Helena suggests.

“Oh, god, you met him?”

Helena offers a dry “Alas.”

Nancy Sullivan’s smile is as dry as Helena’s tone, astringently vindictive. “I could not have been more thrilled to hit him and everybody like him where it hurt... I admit I’ve always been kind of judgmental, but wielding this pen? Intensified. Like, the hates are more. In particular, the hates are more. I’m not saying the Bobs of this company didn’t deserve what I did, but I feel it more. Punishment. It’s satisfying, but also weirdly costly. Grinch-in-reverse costly.”

That’s a little on the nose. Myka glances at Helena again, because the satisfactions of punishment, of judgment, even of hate, are among the things they will need to talk about. Maybe. Someday. If they are to have a someday that is theirs... if that is even possible after so much time and tribulation... Myka lets the glance grow into a gaze, a resting regard, and it stays that way until Helena, too, glances, with the result then that their eyes meet and lock... such a clasp, Myka feels, could ground that potential, and potentially necessary, talk of things, if only they were not in the middle of a retrieval...

...which makes Myka think. Why are they in the middle of a retrieval?

“I wish I didn’t feel like I need to articulate this, but where did you get the pen?” she asks. Because she has a niggling sense of something larger happening, something beyond her grasp. Nevertheless, it is not—repeat, not—a vibe.

Fine. It might be a vibe.

“My cousin gave it to me,” says Nancy Sullivan.

“Your cousin,” Myka says. “Whose name is?” Now she’s knows what’s coming, and that has nothing to do with a vibe: no, it is entirely deduction based on experience.

“Pete Lattimer.”

TBC

#bering and wells #warehouse 13 #fanfic #Bonus #holiday (but not Gift Exchange) #proceeding at a vaguely nonzero speed #being left in the dust by snails and tortoises #but I do still love a Myka who fights with herself about who deserves what (and why) #and of course a Helena who can be reasonably inferred to do the same #struggling against the graceful acceptance of gifts #whatever form they take

[jigento-archived]

              i didn’t post it, but @conflovers​ asked for 5 times kissed               and i didn’t hold back-- honestly--- it’s a lot under the cut. 

FIRST. It’s almost picture perfect: the way her hair curls around the curves of her cheeks, the way the flickering candles she’d lit glistens against bare skin, the movement of her chest as it rises and falls with every deep set breath; she’s a work of art. 

He already has an arm lazily draped across her midsection, but he tightens his hold a bit, drawing himself up against her. She’s warm to the touch as she so often was. Was it the fiery power that slept within her or was it just the way she was? For someone so peaceful when they slept, it was amazing to think of the raw power and energy that coursed through her. He’s slow with his movements, but he shifts, lifting himself up onto his forearm. The blankets about the two of them slip to his midsection, revealing more of their collected nudity. When they were together, the idea of shame simply didn’t exist, especially when they were in bed. Their beauty came in the natural. 

There had to be a stronger word to describe just how she looked in his eyes. Beauty didn’t do her justice. There was something more, something artistic, something amazing, something only the gods would be able to sculpt together. She was smooth like porcelain but certainly not without her own perfectly designed physical traits. He marveled at each one like painter would the brush strokes of a masterpiece. 

He brushes a stray hair behind her ear before dipping down, placing a delicate kiss against her lips. It’s only a moment but it feels like an eternity, just the two of them. And, as the eternity is fully realized, he’s back at her breast, head nestling in for the rest of the evening.

SECOND. Picking her up from school on Saturday evenings ended up one of two ways. The first could be considered normal: he’d drive up, hand her a helmet, give her a kiss, and they’d drive away. The second normally involved a bit of staring, maybe a backhanded comment, and a flare of defensiveness on her part, drawing her into a bit of a shouting match to prove that he was the best thing she ever had and they all should be jealous — to sum up the gist of it. 

It wasn’t surprising that it was the latter. They had had an easy streak as of the last couple weeks. This time not only was the opposing party an attractive young lady as well (obviously not as stunning as Ann was in his eyes, but very beautiful in her own respects), her friends, and a few gentlemen. Their words obviously wounded her as her helmet hit the ground within seconds and she was crossing the courtyard to meet them and give them a piece of her mind. 

Disaster warnings were flying left and right, but he was one of, if not the only person that could aid in avoiding anything beyond verbal confrontations. He’s quick to react, hanging his own helmet on his bike seat and taking off after her. 

She was nearly to their collective when he got to her, wrapping an arm around her waist and swinging her to face him. His free hand cups her cheek, all but forcing her lips to crash against his like the force of a typhoon. He was never this forcefully passionate in public, but to prove a point, and perhaps to get a rise out of her, he was prepared to throw nerves to the side. 

As he pulls back, for air more than anything, a side-cast glance meets the eyes of the supposed leader of this ‘pack’. It takes her a moment to grow flustered before she turns and storms off, making a pass at their audacity. Lips curl into a grin before he pulls her in again for another kiss and perhaps even a bit of a squeeze to her rear. 

 “Yeah— fuck those guys.”

THIRD. (For that good Domestic AU shit) Thank god his sister had taught him how to do laundry or else he’d be knee deep in every Internet forum trying to figure out how to perfectly fold a fitted sheet. Those hadn’t taken him that long to take off the line. Next, he’d put up the shirts, get the pants out of the wash, and have those up by the afternoon. Once those were ready, he’d promised to take up cooking for the evening. 

Taking up the role of house-husband every once in a while wasn’t as bad as people made it out to be. It wasn’t embarrassing, it wasn’t a punishment— it was simply taking up the responsibility for your partner. It was also something he knew she found incredibly attractive. Why deny her the image of himself in stupid cargo shorts and a tank top running around the house to tend to the chores and the meal preparation? 

When he returns inside, she’s exactly where she was when he went out, seated comfortably on the sofa, feet propped up and a novel in her hands. It was one that he had gone out of his way to read the reviews for and thought it right up her alleyway: a romantic businessman, a strong-willed co-worker, a requited love, a chance meeting— those kinds of things. The twist to the story itself was the woman was the company boss, undercover in her own office to investigate the work ethics of her employees, only to fall in love with the emotional romantic in the cubicle beside hers. 

It wasn’t something he’d read but she was nearly halfway done, so there were perks to having purchased it for her.(edited)He drops the basket of clean sheets on the floor besides the couch before taking a seat on the floor besides her. A hand nonchalantly reaches to coil and sift through his hair, something he could barely get enough of, “How’s the book?” A short description didn’t really intrigue him, but she spoke highly of whatever chapter she was on. 

“And how do you like it?” He shifts himself, resting his ear against the protruding curve of her stomach. A flutter of little heartbeats echo alongside each of her breaths. “Hang in there a little longer kiddo— I’ve got something special on the menu for dinner—“ He leans in, placing a kiss to where he hopes their little angel can feel. 

“—it’s about a billion times better than a clichéd office romance.”

FOURTH. She was supposed to be staying over for an evening while Shizuru was out for a late night shift at work. At first, she had denied the idea of him inviting his girlfriend over for the night, but once he explained the situation with her parents being out of town for work and the fact that she would be alone, there were a few rules laid out, but the eventual agreement. They agreed that she could come when Shizuru left around suppertime in order to meet her and lay down the ground rules, but Ann never showed. 

It had been a few hours and no texts, no calls, no knocks on the door— nothing. The worry was finally getting to him and he had just picked up his phone to call when a quiet knock rattled the front door. He was up in an instant, darting towards the door, nearly slipping on the front carpet in the process. The door swings open in a dangerous swoop, and there she stands. Her hair remains in her signature pigtails, but they don’t sit comfortably as if they were freshly fixed. There’s a bit of dirt and— blood, smudged on her cheek? A few cuts line her jaw and her knuckles as dark and bruised. 

Still, she stands there with a bag of clothes, toiletries, and whatever else she’d packed to bring. He’s gentle with her, but it takes no time at all to step out onto the landing, wrapping his arms around her with the desperation of a lonesome traveller in the desert, without food and water for days on end. He buries his face against her, as if leaving her would cause her to evaporate into thin air. 

He takes a few moments of silence to fully convince himself she’s safe before withdrawing to place a kiss to her forehead. It was obvious she had regretted to inform him of a trip to the Metaverse, perhaps. They had agreed to be open and keep in touch between her exploits as a Phantom Thief and his cases alongside Yusuke Urameshi in Spirit World. 

 “…thank god you’re okay…”

FIFTH. Why did she have to look at him like that? All it did was make him nervous, like she was going to judge the way he looked when he did it or how he instigated it. They’d kissed before, sure, but nothing to the extent of where he, and hopefully she, hoped it would go. They were seated opposite each other in an empty classroom of his school. 

She had come to pick him up this time, only to find him quickly remembering something he’d forgotten inside. It was the perfect opportunity to show her around his school, as well as get her alone for a few moments. He’d wanted to work up the courage to kiss her, and not just a peck on the lips or anything. He wanted to properly invite her to an expression of love for her. 

 No doubt they were the last ones in the building at the moment, seated in the corner of one of the empty classrooms, just— staring at each other. He had prefaced all of this with an explanation of how much he liked her and how happy he felt around her. It was embarrassing enough to say it aloud like that, but now they had both gone silent. They were so close, almost like they were waiting for someone to go first. He wanted more than anything to be that first movement. 

 With a deep and heavy breath, he leans in, cocking his head ever so slightly to rest his lips to hers as they’d done about a million times only this time, he holds himself in place. He’d never actually felt her lips like this for such a long time. It was strange just how soft they were compared to how soft they constantly looked. They were exactly as advertised. 

He moves again, pulling back a bit only to dip in again and kiss her again. It was a rhythmic motion of rocking lips against hers. It wasn’t perfect or even experienced, but it wasn’t so inexperienced that it was laughable, if that was any credit to him.

#↪ ᶤ ᵃᶜᵗᵘᵃˡˡʸ ˢᵗᵘᵈᶤᵉᵈ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᶤˢ ᵎᵎ : drabbles

[petepepsi]

Not Exactly

Summary: A group of thugs try to kidnap Peter on his way home from Stark Tower, but their poor planning gets in the way. (Or; having spider powers is sometimes a bit too perfect)

Word Count: 1193

It took Peter about a minute to realize he was being followed.

Of course, he'd understood the inherent danger of his situation, being one of the few people to enter and leave Stark Tower on a regular enough basis for stalkers would catch wind of it. Tony was always reluctant to let him walk home alone, but Peter always insisted. It was hardly a mile – what could possibly go wrong?

Peter glanced behind him, gripped the straps of his backpack, and quickened his pace. Upon seeing his pursuers do the same, he started to form the skeleton of a plan. He'd take a couple right turns and go back to the Tower, tell Stark what happened, and call May to let her know he's fine (because lord knows she doesn't need to have another panic attack over him). It was just two guys, it's not like they'd follow him into Stark Tower, not unless they had some major balls.

He continued forth with confidence, making the first turn.

It was then that he noticed the van.

A large black van, so utterly inconspicuous and so utterly clichéd, trailing behind both him and the two men behind him. It was gaining traction, and Peter actually felt worried. He couldn't outrun a car. Or, rather, he couldn't outrun a car without exposing himself as Spider-Man. This was turning into a situation, and Peter felt tempted to just call Tony.

The streets were practically barren, everyone still on-edge about the latest big disaster. Whatever it was, Peter hadn't been there, an out-of-state trip taking up that weekend. He wished that the Great Evil had taken a holiday, then maybe he wouldn't need to be so stressed.

The next corner was just up ahead, but the van had already pulled up. A large bald man in a dark coat stepped out of the passengers side, a pair of sunglasses obscuring his face as he moved to block Peter's path.

"Good evening," Peter greets as nonchalantly as he can. "What's with the glasses, bud? Just get back from a Terminator lookalike contest?"

The man answered by pulling something out of one of his coat pockets, and Peter felt his face pale. That's definitely a gun. Why does he have a gun?

"Jesus Christ, Richie, could you cool it?" one of the men behind him whisper-yelled. "I thought we were tryin' to be lowkey. You know this is Spider-Man turf, right?"

Peter chuckled involuntarily, if only they knew.

"You laughing at something, you little shit?" the same man complained.

"No," Peter lied, keeping the snark in his voice. "Just wondering why a group of obviously respectable and high-class men like yourselves are interrupting my walk home."

The bald man, Richie, groaned in response, and the other man just got angrier. "Yeah, well I've got something that'll shut you up."

It was light, but Peter did feel his spider-sense go off before the third man grabbed him from behind, putting a cloth over his mouth. The cloth was cold, damp, and smelled vaguely sweet, fruity, almost like wine (not that Peter would know what wine smells like). After a few moments, breathing it in made Peter's head swim slightly, but the look on the other men's faces brought a smile to his.

"What the fuck?" he heard the man in front of him mutter. "You stupid or something, Danny? Is that just a wet cloth?"

Danny opened his mouth to reply, but Peter headbutted him before he got the chance. The man stumbled back, clutching his jaw, and Peter kicked him in the shin, knocking him down.

"Y'know you guys have the least intimidating names," Peter quipped, stepping forward. "I mean, really. Richard? Daniel?" He cast a look at the unnamed thug. "Let me guess, your name's Kevin."

The unnamed thug gritted his teeth in response. "Y'know, I really didn't want to resort to violence this early, but you're really getting on my nerves."

A switchblade emerged from his pocket, and the man charged at him. He slashed at Peter, but the swing was cut short as Peter grabbed the man's arm midway through. The man froze, startled by the ease with which Peter performed the motion, and Peter quickly delivered a punch to his stomach, sending the man hurtling backwards before he slammed against the side of the van, denting it. Peter swallowed, not wanting to hit the man that hard. Then again, he is trying to kidnap me.

Richie was next, immediately pulling his gun on Peter, who froze, unsure how to deal with that. Of course, he'd dealt with armed men as Spider-Man, but it's a lot harder to disarm someone without web shooters. And judging by the size of this guy, he was going to be a bit harder to take down.

"What's wrong, kid? Out of jokes?"

"You underestimate me," Peter responded, hands slowly raising to his head.

"I think I know better than to underestimate you," Richie scoffed. "Stark give you steroids or something?"

"Not exactly." Peter caught sight of something cylindrical and metal on the ground and pushed back a smile. One of his web shooters, must've fallen out of my bag. If he could just get the guy distracted…

"You know, I was wondering," Richie started again, keeping his aim squarely at Peter's forehead. "What'd a kid like you do to get access to Stark?"

Peter smiled. "You wanna know?"

The man nodded.

"You really wanna know?" Peter taunted, his smile turning into a smirk.

The man huffed in response, unamused.

"Fine, fine," Peter said. "I'll tell you." He paused, letting the moment sink in. "I'm actually War Machine."

There was a pause, and when Peter heard Richie laugh, he knew it was showtime.

"Why are you laughing? I'm telling the truth!" Peter replied in mock-defensiveness.

"You really don't run out of jokes, do you?" The man lowers his gun for a moment, putting his guard down, and Peter goes for it, diving for the web shooter.

Just as he gripped the metal, he heard the gun go off and his heart nearly stopped as he felt the bullet graze his shoulder, leaving an angry burning red stripe on his skin and a tear in his new sweatshirt. He managed to hold it together long enough to slip on the device and web his attacker's pistol, pulling it out of his hand before running over and delivering a kick to the man's face. The man fell to the ground, and Peter webbed him to the sidewalk before he could make any other moves. He did the same to the others before backing up, double-checking that they were the only people after him.

Richie yanked at his restraints, muttering a "What the hell?"

"That stuff should dissolve in two hours," Peter points out, adrenaline leaving his veins. "But I'm sure the cops will be here long before that."

Peter watched the man struggle for a moment before the sharp pain in his shoulder urged him to go back to Stark Tower. He needed to cut this short.

"Y'know, you guys really should be more careful when you try to do these sorts of things." Peter sent Richie a smirk before walking off. "Don't you know this is Spider-Man's turf?"

#spiderman #peter parker #fanfiction #tom holland #spiderman homecoming #idk what else to tag this as #ficarusninja #encouraged to reblog

[moderndaybard]

So, I was tagged to do this by @robealafrancaise, and it looks like fun! (And no, these are NOT dumb questions!)

1. If you could live in the world of a TV show or movie, which one would you pick and why?

Hm…Funnily enough, my general answer to this type of question goes out the window once books are excluded, so I already have to think! I mean, I think I’m going to cheat/be predictable and go with Harry Potter because, either a) I end up as the more statistically-probable muggle and have an ordinary life which isn’t so bad, all things considered, or, b) I end up as a wizard and (assuming the ‘world’ of the story also geographically limits us to the country the books/movies acutally take place in, rather than my actual current one) I get to go to Hogwarts in a world that is generally peaceful except when the actual events of the story are taking place.

Second choice is probably Star Trek: Next Generation (the iteration I am most familiar with) if only because a lot of problems seemed to have been ironed out by then, even if I probably don’t have any sort of skill set that would acutally put me in Star Fleet.

2. If you like to cook, do you have a signature dish?

I do, but I don’t. At least, I don’t think so…I have a couple of go-to’s for various situations, but I don’t think I have anything I’d call ‘signature’. Although, I suppose I could consider pecan pie a bit of a specialty for both mom and I—at least, that’s something we are particular about that we have a way we ‘always do it’.

3. What is your favorite pair of shoes?

Well, I wear my red not-converse the most, but that’s because they’re my best for work. I have a pair of black leather boots I like the look of the best though, so they’re probably my faves. (I don’t have pictures).

4. What is your go-to radio station?

Don’t really listen to the radio anymore, not since high school. Not even an online station. I just rely on YouTube or my own music library and my rapidly changing whims.

5. What is your favorite childhood memory?

I’m not sure…I have lots of little moments that come to mind when I reach for happy childhood memories, most of which aren’t clear but are rather a vague image, the memory of what this situation was, and an emotional ‘tag’ of sorts. I feel like the ‘favorite’ should be something big, like meeting dad at the airport after his first deployment, but I don’t acutally remember that clearly (not as clearly as watching him leave, at any rate), but honestly, it’s an everyday one: one family dinner where we were talking together, and being a little silly, and my brother laughed so hard he fell out of his chair, while my dad was laughing (at the same joke, not my brother’s prat fall) until he was crying. Just the four of us together, happy. Not favorite because it’s unique, but because it’s typical. I know I’m lucky, and it’s memories like that one that remind me of that.

6. Tea or Coffee?

Please don’t make me choose! Though, in interest of not having a headache, if I was absolutely FORCED to choose, I’d have to go with coffee. But I would miss my tea, and I would be sad.

7. Which time period’s aesthetic would you steal?

For clothing, architecture, or what? Also, I am a bad student that can’t picture that many aesthetics. In general, for buildings, I love the grand old theatres and such like, but I prefer simpler clothing than the same eras had. I suppose this one, simply because there’s less of a general trend more a ‘you go with what you like’ mix-and-match sort of feel, at least to my perceptions, and I’m really indecisive.

8. What’s your cell phone background?

Don’t have it on my computer, but it’s the Tenth Doctor starting to regenerate, with an Ood behind him and the quote ‘the story is ending, the song never ends’.

9. Favorite holiday?

Christmas! I love a lot of holidays, but the decorations, and the cookies, and the music, and all the many traditions we’ve kept and formed as a family over the years—it has to be Christmas, always Christmas, and I don’t care how clichéd that is!

10. Do you like silent films?

Depends on the film/genre. I’ve seen a couple Buster Keaton silent films I’ve absolutely LOVED, and the clips I’ve seen of Charlie Chapman I’ve enjoyed as well. In general, silent comedy ages well. Silent drama, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to have, though I have had much less exposure to it: just one, the German silent drama ‘Metropolis’ (the uncut version in all its hours-long ‘glory’). Admittedly, I think I managed it a lot better than other in my film class (I was a theatre student, senior year, taking a freshman film class for fun, and I had already taken the theatre history class which helped contextualize the over exaggerated acting style—all it took was looking at the country and year of origin to realize ‘oh, German Expressionism: the outflinging of the self’ to get why they were going so over the top), but I still wouldn’t say I enjoyed it.

11. What fictional character do you relate to?!

Eek. There’s a couple here, and probably more the more I think about it, but the one that comes the most to mind (because I’ve been listening to the soundtrack/rewatching old episodes) is Weiss Schnee from Rooster Teeth’s RWBY. Not because I can relate to an entire life of her family telling her she’s not good enough, but because I struggle with an internal voice that tells me that, a lot. And when I see her in the early seasons, trying so hard to be the best without realizing or even, at first, caring how she is coming across, how she is wounding those around her, I recognize that same tendency to overreach in myself, to focus on a goa and lose sight of people around me. To wear a blunt, brusque, even arrogant mask, all in hopes that nobody sees the lack of confidence behind it. Her arc has really hit home with me as season 3-5 have explored it, though again, I fully acknowledge my own struggles are not identical and are nowhere near as extreme. But it’s the seed I see and relate to.

 I don’t like being the one to break the chain of something like this, but I’m struggling to come up with questions to ask and people to tag, so if anyone seeing this wants to answer these same ones, feel free to! But no pressure at all—only if it looks like fun!

#sort of my post #tagged by a friend #just some fun #loved the questions

[sadhikamalladi-blog]

Adjustment Day by Chuck Palahniuk

Introduction

As a kid, I would devour books. I used to read a book every few days, and I spent so long refreshing the NYT Bestsellers List that I decided to just set it as my home page. This habit continued through high school. Any genre, any length, I wanted to read and learn everything there was to know. I loved how books moved at a pace that the author and I negotiated, instead of the wholly intractable speed of film. Sometimes, I'd spend hours rereading a line, relishing the image and rhythm the words and their pronunciations formed in my head. I wondered if the author intended for me to come back to that line, or if they simply wrote it while reaching blindly for a cup of coffee.

One of the first authors to pull me into their world, depraved and demented as it was, was Chuck Palahniuk. I read Fight Club, and I walked through life for months wondering if there was a fight club out there, literally or metaphorically, and if I would glean joy from joining. Through Palahniuk, I learned how to take an objective lens to everything, instead of arbitrarily assigning value and designating things or people as "good" and "bad." I read and reread all of Palahniuk's books, shaken as Seth turned into Manus and Tyler morphed into the narrator I had come to rely on and maybe even respect. Palahniuk let me be self-righteous only so he could dismantle me.

The truth is, Palahniuk's game has always been the same. He throws uneasy situations at you and lets them blossom into colossal shitstorms that you somehow find yourself at the eye of. His work is known for the employment of an unreliable narrator, one who's often equal parts bored and boring for the majority of the novel. So, I was especially surprised to find out his latest work, Adjustment Day, was a decentralized narrative.

Why I Hate Decentralized Narratives

Another book I read this summer was Into the Water by Paula Hawkins. Much like Palahniuk, Hawkins is known for unreliable narrators. Her previous book, Girl on the Train, captured my attention and twisted my judgments against me in the most Palahniuk-esque way I could've imagined. And she did it all without the gore and sheer shock value that accompanies Palahniuk's language. I had high hopes for Hawkins' novel, which ultimately left me unsatisfied because of its decentralized narrative.

Decentralized narratives are ones in which there are many narrators (at least 11, in Hawkins' case) of varying credibility. It's meant to provide us with the immersive experience of investigating the mystery as though we were living it -- through a series of short vignettes that inevitably reference context we don't have access to. And as readers, we're meant to wade through this mess and attempt to form loyalties and suspicions that are inevitably incorrect.

All of this is fine with me in theory. I love a good puzzle, and putting together conflicting narratives from ulteriorly motivated characters is an exciting prospect. Unfortunately, it's very hard to deliver this kind of novel.

The excitement of the style is also its downfall. The author has to maintain a careful balance across characters, placing red herrings and minor storylines with as much importance as the main plot. We're meant to have no indication from the writing alone who did what. And if we judge a character based on their past, we're bound to be wrong. However, the sad truth is that if we don't judge characters then we have very little incentive to remember who's who in the story. We also require some sense of coherence in order to follow a character's story.

About fifteen pages into Hawkins' Into the Water, I found myself pulling out a piece of paper and a pen, jotting names and bullet points down. Several hundreds of pages later, I was extremely displeased. Sure, there was a cohesive network of small tidbits that added up to a bigger story. But there were also loose ends galore -- to the extend that I found myself wondering if The Room was easier to follow (it wasn't).

I haven't seen a decentralized narrative executed properly. It does feel like the next natural step in literary evolution, from a single unreliable narrator to many.

Novel Overview

So, Palahniuk's Adjustment Day. I have to say, the novel brought up some exciting themes but ultimately fell a little flat for me, mostly due to issues with relating to characters. The ending left me especially dissatisfied, wondering why Palahniuk teed up situations primed for sharp and incisive social commentary and then didn't follow through. It really isn't his style to back off.

Parts of the novel felt clichéd, but I guess that's to be expected. We are consuming such a massive amount of criticism of different social phenomena that nothing really strikes me as surprising anymore. I've read stories about how Trump has planned his coup for decades and stories about how if only a few tiny things were different we would be in a vastly different social climate right now. Regardless, Palahniuk does his usual work of harnessing fiction to raise deeper questions about what's happening around us.

Youth Bulge

Every Palahniuk story is anchored by a simple social circumstance. Women feeling self-conscious about their appearances, men feeling inferior in comparison to their evolutionary ancestors' raw athleticism, etc. In Adjustment Day, it's all about the youth bulge, a phenomenon in developing countries where infant mortality rates plummet but fertility rates continue to skyrocket, resulting in a large number of youth.

Palahniuk focuses on male youth. He paints them with broad strokes, characterizing them as an aggressive, war-mongering group. He describes world governments in collusion with one another to construct aimless wars simply to expend these youth and occupy them. If they're not occupied, Palahniuk seems to claim, they'll run rampant and seek increasingly self-destructive ways to express masculinity.

The messiah-like Talbott character recognizes this trend and decides to harness the power of these young men. He spouts off various platitudes throughout the novel, many of which carry the ring of deep wisdom but lack nuance. The young men, proud to be part of some kind of covert movement, hang on his every word and seek to bring about Adjustment Day.

Adjustment Day

Adjustment Day is a largely circular idea. Basically, the idea is to divide the nation into three subnations: Blacktopia, Caucasia, and Gaysia. Through some increasingly contrived set of requirements, people are delegated mercilessly through these nations. As Talbott puts it, minorities only rebel when there's a majority to subvert. By placing the gays in one nation, the blacks in another, and the whites in a third, the new order will ensure that everyone exists solely in homogeneous communities and thus in eternal harmony.

But the first problem is that people are not willingly going to go into these subnations. What about interracial couples? What about young gay children being separated from their heterosexual parents? Talbott sees these as collateral damage.

To set the gears in motion, he establishes a new currency by which people can wield power in the new order. A humble list starts on the internet -- "America's Least Wanted." People nominate anonymously, and others can up- or down-vote names. As a name gained traction, the bounty on their head increased. Well, it's not literally their head -- the job is actually to slice off the person's left ear.

Preparation and Execution

The first half of the novel focuses on the preparation for this fateful day. Talbott recruits people who seek redemption -- addicts, disgruntled veterans, etc. -- and lets them start a lineage. They can recruit another man who can recruit another one and so on. The pride of the youth bulge ensures that no one recruits someone who will spill the beans too early.

Police officers and politicians are brought in on the deal, effectively making it hard to organize the state in response. The day of, the bloodbath occurs surprisingly quickly. People are slaughtered en masse, their ears sliced off and taken as tokens to establish influence in the new world order.

The Aftermath

We follow a few characters throughout the novel, seeing how they act before, during, and after Adjustment Day. In the aftermath, Palahniuk describes people forcing themselves to fit in just to maintain a semblance of their old life. An interracial couple pretends to be gay so they won't get separated into Blacktopia and Caucasia. A gay teenager enrolls himself in a glorified internment camp as he waits transfer to Gaysia.

Misfits scattered across the nations eventually stumble onto each other in some unspecified location and start anew.

What Worked

Palahniuk's language was as sharp as ever. He describes the justification for a temporary type of cash (the paper loses value in a few weeks).

Hoard food and it rots. Hoard money and you rot. Hoard power and the nation rots.

He so clearly cuts down to the core of our greatest fears about society -- that the effort we put toward a communal welfare may not ever benefit someone we care about.

Imagine there is no God. There is no Heaven or Hell. There is only your son and his son and his son, and the world you leave for them.

Palahniuk wrote about the desires of the youth bulge with passion that felt extremely familiar:

He was tired of learning history. He wanted to be it. Charlie wanted the history of the future to be him.

What Didn't Work

The decentralized narrative again made it hard to care about any of the individual characters. And although I felt some concern for the overall fate of the new order, I never really cared much about its ramifications on particular individuals. Arguably, that was where the punch of this entire story was hidden. If I could see the goodness of the overall arch but the badness on an individual level, we'd have another Fight Club situation. But I couldn't.

The horrifying descent into chaos was unsalvageable. If Palahniuk had just ended the book with Adjustment Day, I might have had a different perspective. But he continues on with this murky Reconstruction-esque tale that is neither interesting nor easy to follow. As NPR describes, Palahniuk tried to build the appeal of Fight Club into a bigger, more global movement but ultimately failed [1].

Conclusion

I still love Palahniuk. And I still let phrases from Adjustment Day roll around in my head. They don't have as much power to me though, because I can't contextualize them in any wonderfully meaningful way.

[1]: NPR article

#chuck palahniuk #adjustment day

[rairun]

Last Saturday @quietroomineedyounow and I watched It's Always Right Now, Until It's Later by Daniel Kitson. It was my third time - I was there when it was filmed in 2012 (you can spot @nymeth and me in the audience!), and then we saw it again a couple of years later when Kitson did a cinema tour. Now he's finally made it available for rental on Vimeo, and YOU SHOULD ALL SEE IT. [Spoilers ahead] It goes like this: Kitson stands alone on stage with light bulbs hanging all around him, as he narrates different moments in the lives of Caroline Carpenter and William Rivington. Each light bulb represents one of those moments. He starts from his death and her birth, and then alternates between them as he moves towards his birth and her death. I remember I had trouble following the story the first time around - the fact that I wasn't very familiar with his Yorkshire accent at the time didn't help, but the structure of the play doesn’t make it easy either. Whereas later shows like Tree and A Show for Christmas give you time to breathe - if you get distracted for a moment, you can easily regain your bearings - It's Always Right Now, Until It's Later can be pretty unforgiving. It's densely packed and fast-paced, and the moments Kitson tells us about are years apart: if you miss a few lines, you might end up having to make sense of a completely different scene, in a completely different place, often with completely different characters, with few visual cues to help you out. The performance is great; it’s just difficult to follow at times. A kinder way to put it is to say it rewards multiple viewings - and I do want to be kind here because the show displays so much generosity, and such an incredible openness of heart, not only towards its characters but all of us who are here in the business of living and breathing and dying and being forgotten. After we watched it, as she was walking me to the bus stop near her flat, Sophie said that Kitson was really good at picking up on and describing experiences we could all relate to, and I think she is right. He knows how to zoom in on those mundane experiences to show exactly why we still want to be here experiencing them. Or why sometimes we don't. Sometimes we are confused, and we fail to see how any of this is worth living at all. When he's nearly 40, Kitson tells us, William goes on a dinner date with a woman. In the middle of the date, William launches into such a misguided tirade about how it is all bullshit - the way they talk, and the way they exchange pleasantries and small talk, hiding all the ways that four decades of living on this planet have left them scarred, and scared, and hungry for connection, while repeating the same safe conversations they've had with countless other people. Kitson is great here because he exposes a sense of loneliness and frustration so many of us experience privately, but his way of telling it is really funny - and the joke is on how self-important it all can be. The joke is on the sense we are different and privy to some truth no one else can see, and he sets it up in a way that shows how men in particular tend to condescend even as they are trying to connect. Caroline too experiences similar feelings in her 30s, even though she has a husband and a little boy. The scene starts when she asks her husband to sit down, and she confesses she's had an affair. Now, I'm as tired of stereotypically straight relationships as anyone else - I'm tired of the repetition of dilemmas that don't have to be dilemmas at all, of all the love triangles, of the refusal to see alternatives to heteronormative modes of living. But even in a relatively traditional context, Kitson has a way of peeling these layers away and showing sentiments that are common to us all. Benjamin feels shattered, but "he takes her hand, he tells her that it's all right." And when she says that it's not all right, he asks her "what she wants him to do, to storm out, to smash things, to hit her, is that what she wants? What does she want him to say? That it's over? That he hates her? That she's ruined it?" And when she says of course not, he just asks her why. Caroline feels so guilty, but over the weeks and months and years, she finds herself telling her husband things about herself she never thought she would tell anyone. This is the type of connection that William wanted so desperately, and here we have Caroline experiencing it exactly when things go off track, when she allows herself to explore the feelings a wife and mother supposedly shouldn't have. And sure, maybe Benjamin could have had an easier time shaking off the feeling that it only happened because he was not loved enough. Maybe he could have seen love as something else entirely. Maybe Caroline never needed to have felt so guilty for so long. But despite all the useless suffering, and all the feelings of inadequacy and unworthiness he might have felt, Benjamin listens to her because he loves her, and deep down he knows that this openness is a rare and precious thing. One of my favorite parts of the show takes place a few years before that, when Caroline has her first baby, and she's tired, and the baby won't stop crying. As she tries to make her way to the hospital in the rain, she starts sobbing herself, and an older woman on the street looks at her and tells her that it's all normal, it's going to be all right, and it's all so simple and kind and profound at the same time. There are a couple of other moments in the show where a person tells another that whatever is happening is normal, and they are so full of compassion for people who can feel just as alone and scared and singled out as us. And these small pieces of kindness, these moments of human connection, are passed on and on in the most unlikely ways, in the most unexpected yet necessary situations. And then there's the scene where William is on the bus, holding a gift for his father (and he's been noticing for a while now that the gifts he gives are better than the ones he receives from him). Kitson does a wonderful bit of observational comedy here - and this is something that is lacking from all my descriptions so far, the sense of how funny he is all the time. He describes how annoyed William feels about a boy who keeps pressing the bell, and how William keeps hoping his mother will tell him off. But once she actually does, William starts rooting for the boy instead; and when she finally loses it and humiliates him in front of everyone, slapping his legs until they're red, it dawns on William that this is how she is teaching the boy to be a person. He realizes the ripples and consequences of this personal trauma, and of all the ones like it, connecting hurt and abuse over the span of years and generations, and suddenly he is aware that the gift sitting on his lap "is barely even adequate." Meanwhile, after Caroline goes to university, she develops a sense of displacement in relation to her home, like it is only a place that she visits now. Kitson talks about how your relationship with your parents changes over the years, how things aren't necessarily worse, but they are different, and at some level there's a sense of loss. The people who shaped so much of your personality, and the place where you learned how to be yourself, no longer occupy the same space as they once did in your life. It made me think of myself at twenty-seven, with my eyes wide open at 4am in a dark flat in Manchester, realizing for the first time that I would never again go down the stairs in the apartment where I grew up, long after my parents had gone to sleep, tiptoeing to my room and into bed, aware of all the city noises outside the window. I would never live somewhere where my parents ate dinner and watched TV and slept every night, while I went online and spoke to people from all of the world, and saw my life stretching out in front of me like a long road to who knows where. That night was when it hit me, and I was thousands of miles away, and I didn't know there was even a road leading anywhere anymore, but I was grateful that my parents had been kind to me and that I had become me. Another thing that I found very well done was how William's stories felt different because we already knew where his life was going. When we get to his late 20s, we find that he's friends with a really lovely couple who had just had a baby. And you feel happy but also sad, because the moment the three of them are sharing together is so sweet, but then it dawns on you that it's also so fleeting - the story of his life is moving backwards, so if his friends had never been mentioned before, that must mean they lost touch. This works really well because it's not heavy-handed: no one is there reminding you that it is going to be over soon, but you know. And finally, there is also a beautiful part towards the end that I found so moving. Caroline dies, but it isn't moving just because she is gone. We get a lovely scene that shows Benjamin doing something that she had wanted to do not too long before her death. And after they both die, that one action of his, so unassuming and so imbued with love, creates a ripple that outlives them. But no one has a freaking clue about it - not even the people who are there, seeing it with their own eyes and having their own significant moments, made possible only because of those two elderly people who no longer exist. This scene could have been really clichéd, but it isn't. It's so well written and delivered. It really makes you feel like you're part of something much bigger, with a deep joy and a deep sadness, with an awareness that our love for things and people is so meaningful and so insignificant at the same time.

#daniel kitson #it's always right now until it's later