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bangtan-madi · 3 years

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546 Days Without You — Eleven: Day 412

Pairing — Seokjin x Reader

Tags — boyfriend!Seokjin, older brother!Yoongi, producer/songwriter!MC, military au (ish), idol au (ish)

Genre — fluff, angst

Word Count — 3.1k

Summary — Kim Seokjin is your entire world, and that world falls apart the moment he and your older brother Yoongi are conscripted into the South Korean military.

Part — 11 / 15

Warnings — minor language

Previous — Next

Days turn into weeks, and weeks turn into months. Time flies by as you travel from Korea to Europe, then to the Americas, then to Australia. In the four months that have passed, the amount of concerts has crossed over two-dozen. You've crossed into at least half as many countries across six continents, and this is only the half-way point.

Shortly after the new year, the group finds itself emptying out of the plane. Having landed in Nagoya minutes before, at an ungodly hour of the morning, you struggle to keep yourself awake. Gravity pulls your body towards the earth. The soft rain falls, creating a lullaby for the weary souls trekking towards the ride to the hotel. You'd like nothing more than to let the ground swallow you whole.

Tour has left most of the members worse for the wear, despite the joy and fulfillment that it brings on an almost daily basis. You considered it a gift from the gods that you had a whole 36 hours before the show. Everyone needed a good shower, a proper meal, and a long night's sleep after leaving Melbourne after the last show. If the next concert was going to be a success, the boys and you needed it desperately.

Along with some cheering up. It isn't lost on you that this is the last show for the next month. After Nagoya, you'll all be heading back to Seoul, where Hoseok and Namjoon will begin final preparations for enlistment. Their date is just under a month away; once mid-February arrives, you'll be saying goodbye to two more members.

It's the thought that's consumed your mind as of late. A lot has happened since Seokjin and Yoongi were conscripted; over a year has passed. Both the time and space have allowed you to reevaluate your stance on conscription.

A soft hand shakes your shoulder, bringing you out of your quasi-dream state and back to the moment. Jimin offers you a hand, assisting you in stepping from the car. The hotel is dimly lit against the Nagoya sky, and the famous castle stands high against the horizon. Any other night you might stay and admire for longer, as this city was one of Seokjin's favorites, but you willfully allow your closest friend to tug you into the building.

As Sejin checks the group in for the next few nights, you throw your arms around Hoseok's neck, mumbling, "Up, up."

The brunet bends down, scooping you up and cradling you against his back. Hands under your thighs, arms around his shoulders, head lulling against the crook of his neck, you welcome his comfort — quite literally with open arms. The youngest member kindly grabs your suitcase. Breathing deeply, your eyes flutter shut once again.

"Jungkookie's right," you slur on the short elevator ride to the upper floor. "You do smell nice."

Hoseok's laugh reverberates through his body, one of the greatest sounds turned to one of the greatest feelings. It's joy taken physical form.

"You're so cute when you're delirious," he chuckles.

"Don't make me out-rap you next time we perform. I have no problem taking my brother's place in 'UGH.'"

Hoseok slides the key to one of the rooms. "Oooh? Threatening me now, are we?"

Nodding against his shoulder, you tighten your arms when he tries to put you down. "M'comfy."

"[Y/n]-ahhh."

"Fiiine."

You drop your clingy arms from around his neck, and Hoseok settles you onto the queen bed in the center of the room. Jungkook drops off your suitcase, giving a small wave before departing for his suite across the hall.

A sudden vibration originating from your jacket pocket causes you to stir. A soft, quiet chorus from Seokjin's last song plays. Your exhaustion suddenly fading, you tug the phone from your pocket. Your boyfriend's face glows on the screen, giving you the option to accept or decline a face-to-face.

A grin spreads across your face, and you accept without hesitation. The call connects, and suddenly you're able to see him. He's already dressed in uniform, the patches on his collar revealing yet another promotion that happened over the new year. This status gives him even more freedom than before, and he can pretty much call you whenever he wants. Yoongi has reached the same status, although he tends to send you more voice memos than actual calls. Just like the two of you used to do.

Seokjin laughs, eyes crinkling up at the corners, at the sight of you on your side. Cheeks mushed up against the pillow, eyes barely open, curled up into a fetal position, you must be a sight for sore eyes.

"Just landed, I see?"

"Shut up," you murmur.

"You look exhausted, Jagi."

"That's because she is, hyung," Hoseok interrupts from across the room. He's finished dragging his suitcase into the room, then opens the door that leads to the other bedroom in the other suite. "Can't you call some other time? We're about to crash."

You roll your eyes and snicker. "Someone's getting cranky."

"He's right,"

Seokjin chuckles, bringing your attention back to his face.

"I just got up, and I wanted to check in, make sure you got to Nagoya safely. That's all. Don't want to keep you up."

Giving a thumbs-up, you force a smile and pull yourself into a sitting position. "Never better! Slept the whole way. How the hell are you up so early?"

"You know me: I'm always the early bird!"

"Yeah, except the earlier you get up, the more chaotic you are. Remember the punching bag and yoga mat incident?"

"Well—"

"—Or the time you about choked on mangos, after calling yourself elegant?"

"Aish! I get it! At least I don't snore when we stay at any—no, every hotel."

Hoseok returns to the doorway, toothbrush shoved into his mouth and an unamused expression on his face. He gestures with a flourish of his hand. "Wrap it up with loudmouth. I'm dead. We can admire your bickering tomorrow when we're human again."

Giving the older member a nod of assurance, you watch in mild amusement as he leaves for the washroom once again. Turning your eyes back to the phone, you find Seokjin mirroring your playful, mischievous expression.

"We're the worst, aren't we?"

"Oh, definitely."

Seokjin sighs, then straightens his posture.

"Do me a quick favor before I hand up?"

"For you, anything."

"Wooow, cheesy, [Y/n.]"

"Be quiet or I might change my mind!"

"Can you show me the Castle? In the center of Nagoya? I'm sure your hotel can see it. You can see it from anywhere, pretty much."

Your smile softens at his request. Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you step towards the balcony door. Even through the window, Nagoya Castle is stunning. Once the door is opened and you step out into the crisp air, you flip the view around so Seokjin can see what you do. The lights around the castle case brilliant golden light across the white and green structure.

"Wooow,"

he breathes, causing you to smile at the screen.

"That's just like how I remember."

"Wish you were here to see it in person."

"You know I would be if I could."

Flipping the screen around so that he can see you once again, you ask, "When can you use the time off you've built up? I didn't think there was anything you had to wait for after your first year."

"Not on paper there isn't," he nods, running a hand over his shortened black hair. "But you haven't been back in Korea since before then—way before then—and I can't leave the country while on leave, so..."

"You can take a day off without us being there, you know."

Seokjin shakes his head stubbornly.

"Not vacation time. Nope, I'm saving all that for when you come back."

"We'll be back for a few days when Joon and Hobi enlist, their ceremony and such," you mention.

"I know..."

His sentence trails off, awkward and hanging in the air. Your boyfriend's eyes avert yours, and something in his voice cues you to pry further.

Tilting your head slightly, you lean against the railing of the balcony. "Why the hesitation?"

"I'm not hesitating, it's nothing."

You cock an eyebrow and smirk. "You're a liar, Kim Seokjin. Fess up."

His lips pull into a smile, and his eyes flutter shut. Not out of exhaustion, as your own so desperately crave, but out of near-annoyance.

"I was going to surprise you, fool! I was going to take off those days and show up at the dorms without telling you...but I guess you read right through me."

To say your jaw dropped in surprise would be a huge understatement. Eyes gaping and breath caught in your throat, you gawk at your boyfriend as he bursts into laughter.

"Surprised, Jagi?"

"Um...yes! You—wait, how? What?"

"Korean, [Y/n]. You can rap for god's sake."

You shake your stun away, forcing watery eyes to remain held together. "You're serious? I'm really gonna see you in less than a month?"

Seokjin's laughter fades, but his eyes are still sparkling.

"Very serious. I've already gotten the time approved."

Tears prick your eyes, and you lower your head into your sweater sleeve to hide from his gaze. This only amuses Seokjin.

"Getting all soft on me again? Your cool exterior is crumbling."

"I hope you know that this is all your fault, you ass. I never used to be this close to crying all the damn time."

"It's cause you've been without me for so long, isn't it? I'm your cure."

The balcony door slides open, revealing a sleepy, disheveled, and unhappy Hoseok. He doesn't say a word, only glowers at you—whites of his eyes hardly visible as he squints—until you sigh, "Fine, I know, I know. Time's up." After which he nods once and disappears back into the hotel.

"I'll go,"

Seokjin agrees, voice lighter than when he first called.

"Gotta do some work sometime today."

You blow a kiss to the camera, one that he pretends to catch and hold against his chest, over his heart. "Love you, miss you, but you know all that."

"I do,"

he teases.

"Love you, miss you, even more."

The next morning, you're awake after most of the other members. The sound of Hoseok drying his hair brings you out of peaceful slumber, much to your grumpy chagrin.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty!" he cheers, already fully awake even before coffee.

You give him the universal sign of love and affection, otherwise known as the bird, and stumble towards the other bathroom. Hoseok giggles at your less-than-pleasant attitude and goes about his business as you struggle to get ready.

After stepping from the hotel room, refreshed and ready for the unplanned day, Jimin appears with a cup of coffee extended towards you. "Fuel for m'lady," he greets.

Grateful for the favor, you give him a swift hug and walk at his side towards the recreational area on your floor. Suited with a pool table, miniature bar, breakfast nook, dining and sitting area, it's a perfect place for the whole group to spread out and hang in the free time. Since the members and staff take up most of the rooms on this floor, you basically have it all to yourselves.

"So, what's the plan for the day?" you announce as you enter.

Taehyung looks up from his platter of local tamagoyaki; beside him, Namjoon continues to read the book in hand. "I don't think we've decided," the former states.

"The show isn't until tomorrow night, so we have time to kill," Jungkook states from the breakfast bar. He's piling every kind of Japanese breakfast cuisine he can find onto his plate. "Sejin says we can kill time here if we want."

"Or we can go out and explore with the managers," Hoseok adds as he enters the room. "I don't know about you, but I'm starting to feel claustrophobic."

"Agreed," you mutter. Taking a long sip from your coffee cup, you walk towards the breakfast bar and snag onigiri. Looking around, you make sure that the members are the only ones present. No managers, no staff, no cameras. "I have an idea."

At your lowered voice, you catch the youngest's attention first. Jimin grins in your direction, and you flash them both a mischievous wink. "Aigoo," Namjoon breathes.

"I think we all need to get out of here, and I don't know about the rest of you, but I kinda wanna explore Nagoya like a local. No security, no managers, no babysitters. Think about it--when's the last time we did that?"

"Went out without Sejin or security, and outside of Korea?" Taehyung asks, and you nod. He takes a moment to contemplate, eyes flitting upwards as he thinks. "Honestly, I can't remember."

Hoseok pipes up. "Since before Wings, probably. We're never really alone anymore."

Sensing trepidation from the members, you hop up onto the back of the sofa, perched with legs crossed. You press the tips of your fingers against the opposite hand's, creating a mirror image of mischief in front of your wicked grin.

"Here's my proposal. I've been to Nagoya a couple of times with Seokjin. It's one of his favorite cities, so I know all the best spots for fun. I also know how to avoid staff for the same reason."

"Yeah, you're an expert," Namjoon scoffs.

You hold up a hand in his direction. "Be quiet, Bonsai Boy. The Queen is speaking."

"She's spent too much time with Jin-hyung," Jungkook murmurs under his breath, and you choose to ignore him for now.

"So...who's going to take a leap of faith and trust me?"

Jimin mirrors your folded-hands, then slowly moves to rub them together with a slightly evil chuckle. "I'm in."

"Of course you are."

Jimin grabs the Taehyung and Jungkook by the arm, dragging them closer to you. "They are, too."

Seeing neither Maknae put up an argument to the contrary, you turn your hooded gaze to the eldest members present. "What say ye, Jung Hoseok and Kim Namjoon?"

Hoseok begins bouncing on his toes, clapping his hands together as he turns towards the leader. His smile is bright and wide, earning a sigh and shake of the head from Namjoon.

He gestures towards you with a defeated smile, dimples showing at the corners of his mouth. "Lead the way, Ms. Queen."

Having the agreement from each member, you clap your hands once and announce, "All right! Everyone go grab what they want for an afternoon and evening out. Make sure to grab a cap or beanie and glasses so we can blend in. I'll text the managers and tell them we're going to be hanging out in my room and that we want some alone time. Done it before, and they've never bothered me so I think it'll work. Meet back here in two minutes."

"How do you expect to get out of the hotel without being seen?" Jungkook inquires as he removes his arm from Jimin's grasp.

You reach up and pat the younger boy on the head. "Don't worry. I'm magic."

As everyone scurries back to their rooms, you text Sejin along the way; you give the listed excuse, and then grab a jacket and shoulder bag. Hoseok tosses you one of his beanies, and you pair it with your sunglasses.

Once reconvened, you nod for the boys to follow you. Pressing a finger to your lips, you tip-toe down the hall. The members follow suit, equally as quiet and sneaky, like a series of ducklings behind the mother goose. Instead of going towards the elevator, you lead them to the opposite end of the hallway. The staircase is unmarked and unguarded, but you've stayed at this hotel before on a previous trip and remembered it from then.

Opening the door, you usher each of the boys inside. "Go to the second floor. There's a fire escape we can take from there that will put us outside the building without having to run into everyone waiting in the lobby or the fans outside."

"You're eerily good at sneaking around," Taehyung repeats the sentiment from earlier, though he's smiling instead of shaking his head.

Your grin widens. "Did I ever tell you that my first date with Seokjin involved us sneaking into a theater to hear the live orchestra perform?"

"That makes a lot of sense," Namjoon chides in his usual passive-aggressive tone.

Once outside the hotel, around the corner from the entrance where most of the fanatic fans and insistent reporters pool together, you turn to the boys with two thumbs-ups. "Free at last! So, where do we wanna go? I know the best miso katsu place you'll ever visit. Or maybe we do something outside...or maybe a bit of both! What are we feeling?"

"We just ate," Jimin states, patting his stomach to show he doesn't have any room for more food at the moment.

Tapping your chin, you think back across all of the times Seokjin had taken you on various tours of Nagoya over the years. It's at least half-a-dozen times at this point, and on those days, you'd had a variety of adventures. Food, art, thrills, history: he'd shown you them all. You've explored the Castle and various other historical shrines and temples, and you've been to just about every food market and restaurant in the Showa-ku and Kita-ku wards. Museums and galleries have been ventured, as have tours of local wildlife and expansive parks. There have been many a shopping excursion, and you're an idiot if you think that Seokjin hadn't taken you to an amusement park or arcade at least a couple times. Holiday festivals, cosplay summits, local music--you've done it all.

But there's one adventure you had two years ago that's stuck in your mind ever since, the one day you both had more fun acting like children than any other date prior. A massive grin spreads across your face, and you grab the two oldest members' hands, dragging them towards the nearest subway station.

"Woah! Where are we going?"

"The Meijo Line!"

Taglist — @joyful-jimin, @gracehiii, @live-2-fangirl, @rjsmochii, @btsnatalena

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aerielz · 4 years

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Here's a lb of the When We All Vote special because I just needed to talk about it I guess?

I mean, it really is just me geeking out about the filmmaking and quoting my favorite lines but be my guest

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

It's always amazing to me how Brad's voice haven't changed at all but he looks like a qtip, it's great.

OH WAIT THIS IS A READ THROUGH. THEY'RE ACTUALLY GOING TO READ THE SCRIPT THIS IS A DREAM COME TRUE. and smart too.

And it's great because Aaron's earlier scripts read exactly like a play, like, it's really is three lines of stage direction and then just... dialogue all the way down.

Oh God the staging and the direction is so solid damn you Tommy Schlamme. As far as a staging goes this is solid. I mean, the blocking is SO nice??!! And very theater-y! Going minimal was one hell of a good idea, specially considering the time frame. Ugh damn this is a smart production.

"I was thinking how much things change in sixty seconds"

Tell me about it.

The titles! Crying? No I'm not crying you're crying. THIS IS SO PRETTY! I love how they decided to put in moments of the making of, this is a THREAT

I’m gonna screencap the shit out of this episode and cycle the shots as desktop background, it’s decided.

The lines between the act breaks are actually pretty funny and I love the fact that both Eli and Aaron wrote these inserts, because Sorkin is hilarious but then Eli comes with the I Know What I’m Doing with the politics and the speeches are solid.

THE CUTS ARE SMOOTH IN WAYS THAT DON'T MAKE SENSE HOW THE FUCK MAN

OKAY I AM SORRY BUT I'M GONNA GO FULL GEEK OVER THE FILMMAKING HERE OKAY just skip to the next bolded line after this one if you don't wanna read about it.

LET'S TALK ABOUT HOW THIS SHOW WORKS (as far as craft is concerned):

You have a classic Hollywood filmmaking style for most of the time: smooth and invisible tracking shots in dollys (little carts that push and pull the camera over a track for smooth movement), beautiful close ups and focus racks (when you pull focus on something on the foreground then change it to the background, or vice versa, without cutting) to make use of your entire depth of field. That by itself ties nicely to Aaron's 40's-ish scripts: heavy plot and lots of fast talking require you to keep moving so things don't get boring, but it can’t be overwhelming because the writing is already like ok wow too much; the jokes need that precision in timing, too, it all needs to be like clockwork. And the atmosphere all of that creates is just right too: the precision and the damn fine acting you need to pull this kinda shit off are a testament to the very themes and setting of the show so *chefs kiss*

AND THEN ON TOP OF THIS YOU HAVE THE SMOOTH STEADY-CAM AND THOMAS SCHLAMME PROVES HE KNOWS WHAT HE’S DOING. because it's so good. The camera floats through the west wing as if it was a character itself, you’re dropped right in the middle of the action. the way the camera circles the characters puts you in their mindset: things are HAPPENING decisions needs to me made. it’s what’s next in visual form. and it pulls the show right into the 21st century, because it’s such a modern thing, such a technical achievement, to be able to stage and

THE THING IS, THIS IS A STAGE. THIS IS NOT A FULL SET, like they had back in the day. so the staging needs to make sense and the movements have to be thought out to match the next cut. they blocked the staged to allow for continuous long shots of the more complex sequences but some cuts here are still kinda tricky. this is by no means impressive by Hollywood standards but it’s still not really trivial? might be after you’ve spent 8 years filming like this, but all in all it’s not nothing.

I talked once about how it’s kinda funny that almost half of the shot/reverse shots (dialogues are usually shot like that: you have once person talking, then the other, and you usually shoot the entire convo one side then the other, and then cut them in together so it makes sense. it’s p much the first thing you learn if you go to film school) are out of focus, and about how it’s prob because the schedule must’ve been insane. but I say this out of sheer respect. you naturally spend more time and effort on set pieces and difficult shots but half of this fucking show is a set piece.

I mean IT’S SO SIMPLE. BUT IT’S SO GOOD. There’s nothing extraordinary going on but it’s so beautiful and so well done and I'm constantly blown away by how much this show does with what ends up being just basic filmmaking.

it really all just comes down to great scripts, great acting, and a handful of techniques to bring it all together. and in this day and age when everything became a desperate and artificial attempt to make the audience respond, that is impressive.

ok I’M SO SO SORRY. end of me geeking out about filmmaking

"DONNA!"

My first reaction to this one single line was omg- I missed this so much. and I’m actually rewatching the whole thing it’s been 0 days since I've heard josh screaming at donna. I can only imagine what it was like for them.

I just don't have words anymore to talk about how much I love this show.

God fucking damnit THE ACTING.

JANEL'S ACTING. THE TINY REACTIONS.

On stage you don't have the realism, you don't have anything to help you believe it so it's SO MUCH CLEARER how GOOD these guys are.

Okay I understand if everyone ends up pissed because this is not at all new material, etc etc, but I GOTTA SAY I AM THROUGHLY ENJOYNG THIS THING. Sorkin writing is made for stage and having the chance to see these guys actually doing it on stage is a blessing if you ask me.

You just know this exchange is gonna become gifs that people will subtitle with whatever else line of dialogue they want and I can't wait for it.

I really want to to back to the episode later and compare the acting (which is kind of a dick move but I'm inconsequential to them they'll never know), because Janel is fucking NAILING young Donna after all this time and this is just insane.

"Give it up, tiny"

that's a bold line when it comes to Allison Janney

"I moved my pawn..."

"Well, it's as popular today as it was back then."

Please please please please tell me the bit about the stuffed animal is true. Please. it’s probably not but I don’t care it’s in my head and it’s not gonna go away

"I think if my dog could pull that off his vote should count."

Oh my God.

"Did Aaron write this?"

Oh my God.

I'm-

"You're a sap?"

"It's called poetry, me bucko."

Can you tell that at some point I stopped thinking and just got really into the show?

"He's not gonna-- that's the other guys! He's not gonna gonna privatize social security. he'll privatize New Hampshire before he privatizes social security."

I remember that this line made me actually stop the episode to laugh back when I first watched it and guess what yep I did it again

UGH.

I really love how this episode ends. I really love the feeling of how Bartlett is pretty much teaching Sam how play the game on a higher level, I love the feeling of ‘oh okay this guys is GOOD we get’. I think a month ago in one of those interviews they were doing to promo the thing Sorkin said people respond to the sigh and sound of competence and he’s absolutely right.

oh, and that ending right there was an definitely an "I have no idea what to do about that" solution, but it wasn't a bad one? it clashes, but it’s not bad at all.

I LIKED IT. I really really really liked it. This was really fun and the only bad part is that we're gonna gonna get to see them just doing everything else too. Like, it ended and i was half expecting to see he next episode but it wasn't there and that was the one disappointment tbh

#when we all vote #the west wing #az talks tww #az talks filmmaking

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maandags · 4 years

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the watchmaker (Finn Shelby x reader) {part one}

yknow the thing is. the thing is that if you’re writing about something u know jack shit about (in this case: mechanics and clock-making). and ur too lazy to do proper research bc fuck that. all u gotta do. is be confident as hell in the absolute horseshit you’re about to spout

-- -- --

Summary: After your uncle died, you decided to rid yourself of your troubling past and move to Small Heath, into the flat and workshop he left you. Soon after, though, Tommy and Finn Shelby crash into your life and bring back unwanted memories.

Genre: light (?) angst, fluff (ish)

Word count: 9.5K

Notes: CW: death mention - {part two} - masterlist - this first part is pretty tame but don’t be fooled!! the pain will come!!! (again. blame @panda-noosh)

-- -- --

Small Heath was always so dark, even when the sun sat high and proud in the sky.

You hated it. You hated it because you couldn't work properly without nice light, so you constantly had to have lamps on in your workshop and you had bills to pay, damn it, and the cost of light meant you had to cut on other expenses, like food that didn't taste like it had sat rotting in a barrel for six weeks straight, or a decent fucking drink.

You were never one for gloomy weather and rain, even though it was all you'd ever known. Your dad had once taken you on a small trip to the south of England, and you'd been lucky to catch some sunlight. You'd been giddy and happy and had spent all day playing on the beach. The next day it had rained, and you remembered how you'd looked out of the window, wistful and missing the sun.

Birmingham wasn't like that. It was always unforgivingly chilly and on the few days you did get sun there was a fierce wind sweeping the streets. In an attempt to make your workshop a little more welcoming–to make it feel a little more like home–you'd strung up a couple of wood windchimes, and they made a hollow ringing noise when the wind found it necessary to show up again.

Today was one more grey day. Though you hadn't expected anything different, it was still somewhat of a disappointment to wake up in a dark room illuminated only by the small oil lamp you kept on your nightstand. You turned the keys to your workshop with a jingle, lifting the rickety door slightly up so you could turn the handle and open it. Your workshop was only a few streets down from your flat. You were lucky to have inherited this place, small and cramped as it was: it was a roof over your head, and you didn't have to pay rent.

In your workshop, your tools sat in their boxes, and the ones too big to sit in boxes sat on their respective tables. Some even had a place on the floor. Grinders, hammers, the tiniest of screwdrivers and even welding equipment–you had it all, and as always when you entered your shop, you released a little sigh of contentment.

Because maybe you disliked Birmingham. Maybe you were counting the days until you had enough money to get the hell out of there. Maybe you spent as much time as possible working, working, working until you could barely stand on your feet because it was the one thing that didn't leave you completely hopeless–but when you walked into your workshop, all your troubles faded to the back of your mind and nothing existed but the grind of metal on metal and the satisfying click when the pieces finally fell into place.

You hung up your coat and stretched, popping the joints in your neck and shoulders. The thing with being one's own boss is that one could decide themselves when to come in and when to leave, and when to be satisfied with the work done. It was nice to not have someone watch over your shoulder constantly, as had been the case in a few of your internships before you'd started working for your uncle.

Your uncle had been a strange man. Strange, but sweet. Quiet. He was more of a clock-maker than a mechanic, but he was a certain jack-of-all-trades when it came to that particular field of expertise. He was the one who'd taught you almost everything you knew about mechanics and clock-making, and he was the one who bought the workshop and flat in Small Heath years prior. He'd left them both to you when he died six months ago, and you'd moved in a few weeks after his death.

On your walls still hung some of your uncle's pieces. There was a big clock with a shiny ivory face, with a frame made out of beautiful purple wood and decorated with swirls, along with some other clocks all ticking in unison; there were also three copper wire sculptures, part of a series he hadn't been able to finish. They were animals; a bird of paradise from a picture he'd once showed you, a wolf mid-leap, and a cat sitting passively on your desk. You called it Henry–after your uncle–and you liked to think he watched over the shop whenever you were gone.

Henry (your uncle, not the copper cat) had loved the smaller mechanics. The intricate workings of watches an music boxes and typewriters. The smaller machinery. You had taken after him in that aspect, much preferring to tinker with smaller, more delicate components than fix cars or big engines or something like that, which usually required little actual engineering and a whole lot of whacking with a wrench and cursing.

But Birmingham wasn't one for appreciating the finer art of small mechanics. In fact, the majority of your customers in the few months you'd lived here had brought you either cars or guns. Sometimes, if you were really lucky, it was a locomotive that had stopped working like it should, and you'd had to become proficient in steam engineering in two days because no one had listened to you when you'd said you didn't think you were the right person for the job. That had been three weeks since your arrival, and you'd since learned to say no.

You sat down behind your desk, dropped your chin in your hands and stared at Henry, who sat placidly on his wood stand and stared back with shiny copper eyes. "What should I do today, eh?" you muttered, toying listlessly with a spring the width of your finger, making it dance on your desk. Business had been slow these past few days and you were running out of things to do.

Of course, that sort of thoughts are curses, and soon after you would regret thinking them, even though you didn't know that just yet.

The door opened, and you turned to greet the customer, plastering a fake smile on your face and repeating your rather extravagant greeting in your head, but once you recognised the man you froze, the smile falling as fast as it had appeared.

"Morning," said Tommy Shelby, casually casting a glance over the surface of your workshop. You followed him with your gaze as he slowly picked his way over to you, your fingers slipping into one of the pouches on your tool belt and gripping a screwdriver on reflex. You merely nodded a greeting in return.

Behind him entered another figure. Younger than him; tall, thin, a mop of brown hair cut in the ridiculous Peaky Blinder fashion. You were pretty sure it was Finn, the youngest of the four Shelby brothers, but you couldn't be exactly sure. You'd only seen him a few times, and from afar, at that. He didn't seem to be all that content to be here, like he wanted to do nothing more than leave, and you had to agree with him. Please go, you begged silently. Please let this be a mistake.

You couldn't afford to get yourself involved with the Peaky Blinders. Not now, not when you were this close to finally leaving their cursed den.

"What can I do for you, Mr Shelby?" You tried for a smile. Be respectful. Be polite. Try to get them out of your shop as fast as possible.

"This is a nice place," he started, ignoring your question, doing a full turn and raising an eyebrow at you. "Very nice indeed."

"Thank you, sir."

He picked up a fragile piece, bars and springs and pistons and gears hanging on by a thread and you visibly flinched at how roughly he handled it, but dared not open your mouth. He brought it up to his face, inspecting it, and you felt the need to mutter, "It's not finished," because it wasn't and you'd spent days on that single small piece and he could break it at any time if he wasn't careful.

"I don't doubt it," he said before throwing it down again. You cussed under your breath and gingerly picked it up after him, carefully turning it over to inspect any damage. Some gears had shifted from their places and you clenched your teeth as you set it down again and went to search for a pair of pliers and a small screwdriver.

If it had been anyone else, you would have thrown them out immediately. Hell, if it had been anyone else you would have screamed at them to stop touching your fucking stuff and to get the fuck out.

But it wasn't just anyone else.

It was Thomas fucking Shelby, and if Thomas Shelby shows up in your workshop unannounced something is about to go very wrong.

So you kept your head down and snatched up the needed tools, pulling a stool with you so you could fix the damage on the half-finished piece. You squinted, picked at the gears and bars and pursed your lips, waiting for Tommy to say why he was really here. Because there was something else. Tommy Shelby doesn't just stop by for a chat.

And you were right. He swiftly pulled out a cigarette and lit it, and you ground your teeth together. He's just doing it to get a rise out of you, you told yourself. That, and because he's so addicted to the damn things he can't go half an hour without lighting a new one. He'll be gone soon enough.

But he took the cigarette from his lips and said, tapping the ash of the smouldering end onto your floor, "I have a proposition."

That hardly surprised you. He was, after all, nothing more than a businessman.

And then he reached into the inner pocket of his coat and took out a gold-coloured pocket watch, dangling it in front of you and ever so slightly pulling a corner of his mouth up into a knowing smile.

You thought you managed pretty well to keep a straight face. With the barest of looks at it, you said, "Does it need fixing?"

It didn't need fixing, and you knew that perfectly well.

Tommy sighed and dropped the watch onto your desk, and you startled slightly, cursing under your breath as the sudden movement again misplaced some of the parts you were trying so hard to piece back together. "Don't play dumb, Y/N."

Oh, so he knew your name. You kept quiet, picking at the last few parts before you were satisfied with the result and picked it up again to tuck it away somewhere it wouldn't get broken again. As you made your way through the various working desks you had stalled out a little haphazardly around your shop, you replied, "Sorry, Mr Shelby, but no."

A cautious silence. "And why not?"

You grabbed a rag and cleaned the dark grease off your hands. "I don't do that kind of work anymore. You'll have to find someone else."

"But you know as well as I do that there is no one else who provides the kind of services you do. It's quite unique."

You clenched your teeth. "In case you misunderstood the first time I said it–I don't do it anymore. Now, unless you have actual work for me, get the fuck out of my shop."

It was probably not a good idea to talk to Tommy Shelby in such a way, but at the moment you were shaken up and didn't give the slightest of shits. Just to give your fingers something to do, you plucked a piece of thin copper wire from your tool belt and started working it in the palm of your hand.

Tommy didn't move. Instead, he took a last puff from his cigarette and flicked the butt onto the ground, which irritated you beyond belief. "Tell me, Y/N. Why did you come here?"

The question took you aback and you blinked. "What?"

"To Birmingham. You must have known it's not quite the place for a kid like yourself to settle down and build a life." He threw a look outside, through the drab window, where a small, dirty boy ran across the street, alone, clenching what looked like a sheet of some kind in his little fist. "I've never seen you around before. So what are you doing here?"

You looked away with a frown. "My uncle left me this place. And–and a flat down the street. But don't worry," you added in a mutter, "I'll be gone from your precious Birmingham as soon as I can."

That got his attention. You could tell. And you also knew then you'd made a mistake, because he'd found something he could use as leverage: your ability to leave. Because to leave, you needed money. And money was something Thomas Shelby had plenty of.

"I'll make my offer again." Out of his pocket came a thick brown envelope and he chucked it onto the desk in front of you. You slowly reached out, keeping your gaze steady on his face, then flicking down to peek inside the envelope. In your head you counted as you flicked through the notes, and your heart started hammering inside your chest.

"Consider that a little extra. Take the job and I'll triple it."

That would bring the total to... "Six thousand pounds?"

Tommy inclined his head. "If you would be so generous as to do what I've asked."

That would mean you only had to do this one job, this one single job, before you could leave. Once this was done, you could just... go. Anywhere. Six thousand pounds. Your fingers mindlessly played with the lip of the envelope, and you noticed the gleam of satisfaction in Tommy's eye. He knew he had you. You took a breath, hollowing out your cheeks and breathing a long exhale.

"Fine," you finally said. "Fine. I'll do it."

Tommy smiled that calculating smile of his. "Ah, fantastic. Good." He pointed at the watch that still lay in a heap on your desk. "I'll just leave that here, then. Get it done in a week."

That was a reasonable deadline. A day or so to get everything you needed from the places you knew in London, then another five to actually assemble it... You should be able to get it done just fine. You'd had worse deadlines.

He nodded, then turned and started out of the shop.

You blinked, then said, "Hey. Wait a minute."

Irritated, he faced you again. "What?"

You folded your arms, the money envelope warm and tingly against the sensitive skin of your fingertips. "I have a few conditions."

Conditions. It hadn't even been half a year and you were already slipping back into the ruthless, dangerous business-like attitude that was the reason you moved out of your former town in the first place. You bit your tongue. It'll only be once. This is the last time. The words felt rather hollow in your mind.

Something flashed in Tommy's eyes. He wasn't used to someone as lowly as you daring to make demands. "Conditions?"

"Just a few."

After a brief second of internal debate he rolled his hand in a Go on gesture.

You took a breath. "You will finance the trips and the supplies that I'll need to get started."

"Of course."

"My name will stay out of this. Completely and absolutely. I am not involved in this project whatsoever."

His eyes shone. "Yes."

"And, lastly," you took another shaky breath, "when I'm done, and I leave this place, none of you will ever contact me in any way, shape, or form again. Ever. And I want that on a contract, in black and white. Signed by you and then by myself."

A beat of silence before he nodded and said, "Alright."

His complacency took you by surprise. You'd expected him to argue, or even plain deny some of your demands. The fact that he went along with them without any remarks had you on edge, because that was not like Tommy Shelby at all.

He popped another cigarette between his lips and lit it. "I'll send someone with the contract when it's ready. You'll get started right after."

Still somewhat suspicious by the ease with which he accepted your conditions, you nodded stiffly, then cast a rather significant look towards the door. Tommy laughed. "Well, Finn, I think it's time for us to go. I don't feel like we're very welcome here."

Finn. You startled. You'd forgotten he was here. He pushed himself off the doorframe he'd been leaning against, then, shooting you a look laced with suspicion and hostility, walked out before his brother. Tommy gave you a last nod, then followed.

You stood behind your desk for a while, mind only just beginning to process what you'd agreed to. Heaving a sigh, you dropped onto a stool, throwing your head back and rubbing your eyes. You glanced at Henry the Copper Cat who, thankfully, still sat on his wooden stand. You had asked for something to do–well, Henry sure had delivered, you thought wryly.

You fingered the envelope that you hadn't let go of since it had found its way into your hands. Two thousand pounds were inside it, and should you complete the job that sum would transform into six thousand.

For a moment, you toyed with the idea to just take the two thousand and leave. Two thousand was already enough to buy a small flat from, and you could just pack up and take the next train to London or something. Change your name and never look back.

But they'd find you. Tommy Shelby would find you, and he'd kill you, and it wouldn't matter how well you'd tried to hide, for he would find you, because he could find anyone. Anywhere. It just wasn't worth the risk.

The contract was to be delivered to you shortly. Until then, all you could really do was wait.

Only a second after Finn Shelby stepped through your door, you raised the visor of your helmet and set down the welding tools you were wielding.

He looked at you for a second, and you looked at him, returning the fierce stare he was giving you. Over his shoulder was slung the strap of a messengers bag. Your eyes narrowed and you took off your helmet with a flourish, plopping it onto your desk. "Out with it."

His face instantly went flat, and his voice came out strangely monotone. "Here is the contract you asked for." He reached in his bag as he walked towards you, and you folded your arms in front of you because you felt like you needed to look at least a little bit confident. At the moment, you felt like you were oozing about as much confidence as a mouse caught between two cats.

"Signed by Mr Thomas Shelby–" He tapped the little box on the paper that bore a small, pointy signature– "and to be signed by Y/N L/N right here." His finger moved to a second box and in the same breath he produced a pen with his other hand that he set down on the file. You pursed your lips, didn't question how he knew both your real first and last name. Last time you checked, you'd been using a fake last name every time someone asked you for it.

You only hesitated for a split second before scribbling down your signature. "All right. You can go now."

But he didn't. Instead he calmly collected the contract, slipping it into an envelope and tucking it in his bag, taking his sweet time. Then he looked at you and kept looking at you until you had to look away out of pure discomfort.

"I don't trust you, you know," he finally said.

"The feeling's mutual, I assure you," you replied breezily. "Now kindly get out of my workshop, I have some errands to run."

Still he didn't move. "Thomas told me about what you do."

You froze and clenched your jaw, hands stilling where they fiddled at the buttons on your welding apron. "What I used to do. It's not–I don't do it anymore."

At his raised eyebrows, you hissed, "I don't usually get paid six thousand pounds for a simple pocket watch bomb, Finn Shelby. If you think I'm going to let that opportunity slide, you're wrong."

He hummed, nodding, toying with his lower lip. "A pocket watch bomb. You don't hear that one often."

You shrugged stiffly. "Well, you know–it's not something everyone uses on the daily."

"Indeed it isn't." A beat of silence passed as you collected your gear and put everything in their respective storage boxes.

Then a question popped up in your mind and it fell past your lips before you could stop yourself. "How did you find me, anyway? I thought I'd been pretty thorough in my identity erasing business."

"Oh, you had, that's why it took us this long to be sure about who you were. You know, this place has been stood empty for almost two decades, and suddenly you show up, with all the paid contracts, and no one remembers even seeing you around... I mean, that's bound to arise some suspicion."

He was talking so carefully, selecting every word as if from a catalogue and piecing them together like beads on a necklace. It reminded you of the way Tommy talked. Their tones were so similar it was almost creepy.

But something about it was... off, somehow. He was thinking too much about it. Trying too hard to make it sound natural, and you guessed it could have sounded natural to anyone who wasn't listening as closely as you were. Why someone would try this hard to be like Tommy Shelby in any way, shape, or form was beyond you, but you guessed it was something like brotherly admiration or something. You didn't know. You didn't have siblings.

"Nothing happens in this wretched place without Tommy knowing about it, eh?" You were only half-joking, but the serious nod Finn gave you wiped the smile off your face as quickly as it had appeared.

"I guess so."

You breathed an exasperated sigh. "Well, like I said, I have some errands to run. And I don't think Tommy would be very happy if he knew you'd been keeping me from my work."

He perked up. "Ah, yes. About that–I'm coming with you."

You cocked your head and narrowed your eyes. "Like Hell you are. I can do this just fine on my own."

"Tommy's orders."

"Of course they're Tommy's fucking orders," you mumbled under your breath, snatching your coat and your hat from their hangers. "Fine. But I'm stopping by my flat to get cleaned up and changed and you're not coming in."

You stretched out your cleaning-up as long as you physically could, even considering running an entire bath, but you felt like that would be taking it just a tad too far. Finn was only staying outside to humour you. He was a Shelby for God's sake; he could come and go wherever he pleased, whenever he pleased. Besides, you did have a train to catch.

You tugged on some gloves and a scarf and finally stepped out of your flat, a good forty-five minutes later. Finn looked rather unhappy at being left in the cold for so long. Tough luck. Bet he's never had to wait for anything in his life, you thought bitterly.

"Let's go," he grumbled. "Train leaves in twenty minutes."

You'd half expected him to keep peppering you with questions the entire ride, but he kept silent most of it, ignoring you and looking out the window, which was fine by you. The first question only came when the both of you had stepped out into the busy streets of London.

"When did you start doing this?"

"What, making bombs?" You scoffed at the slightly panicked look he cast around, like he expected to be jumped any moment. "Calm down. Nobody's heard us. Besides, even if they had, you could shout out that you're on your way to shoot the fucking King and no heads would turn."

"Ah. You didn't answer my question, though."

"Fine. If you're so keen on knowing, I started... five, six years ago? I can't really remember."

He looked at you, surprised. "But weren't you just a kid back then?"

You shrugged, kicking a pebble out of your way. "I mean, yeah."

That was all you were going to tell him.

The truth was that you did start making bombs when you were a kid. In fact, you made your first one when you were just thirteen; and back then you hadn't even known exactly what you were putting your effort into. Your uncle Henry had been seeing people, strange people you hadn't seen about the shop before, and you were curious as to what they were talking about. It would have been business, little twelve-year-old you supposed; they went into the back room to discuss, and you weren't allowed in the back room, so naturally you eavesdropped on them every at chance you got.

But as far as you knew, they talked about watches and clocks, and times and other such cryptic details whose meanings you couldn't figure out. When you curiously asked your uncle about it–because you were twelve and had little to no verbal filter–he'd patted you on the head and told you not to worry about it. You hadn't, because you were twelve and Henry had just started teaching you how to build clocks, and he said he'd let you run wild and design your own proper clock when you had the basics down and that was the most exciting thing to happen in ages.

And then, around a month after your thirteenth birthday, Henry had sat you down and explained that sometimes, when money was tight and one has people to look after, one made certain choices that one otherwise wouldn't make.

He'd explained who the men were–the ones you'd overheard him talking to–and what they wanted, and he'd told you that he was giving you a choice: to either go and live at Mrs Bunting's–whom he had talked to and who had agreed to take you in–and find a job at another mechanic's, start over; or to stay with him and lead a life filled with danger and uncertainties. I won't be able to protect you from this forever, he'd said.

You had not hesitated a single second.

You were to stay.

And people always had something to say about you. Always they had that look in their eye when you were out to run errands for Henry, for they had their own suspicions about what he did; when they once had been so kind and welcoming towards you they turned away and whispered behind their hands.

You had known the dangers when you accepted to stay. You had known exactly what you were getting yourself into. More than once, when a job was completed and the bomb was on its merry way, you questioned whether the choice you'd made was the right one. Always you came to the conclusion that it didn't matter. Because the choice had already been made, and there was no backing out now. And while you sometimes wondered about it, you found that you didn't really have any regrets. You just did what people wanted from you, no question asked.

Did that make you a bad person?

You shook your head, forcing your mind to refocus on the present. Your feet had carried you to the street you needed to be, and you briefly scanned the signs hanging out front of the shops before ducking into the one you were looking for.

The shop was lit by oil lamps casting a yellowish glow over the various items; spices and wood and candles and powders, exactly like you remembered. It seemed innocent enough, but you knew first-hand that you shouldn't always trust appearances.

The man behind the counter raised an eyebrow and puffed out a cloud of smoke, plucking a pipe from his lips. "Well I'll be damned. It's you. Didn't expect seein' you round 'ere again."

You nodded. "Jimmy."

"Yer usual, eh?"

"Please."

Jimmy grinned wide at you, barely paying any mind to Finn bar a subtle once-over, then shouted over his shoulder, "OI, HARRY! Y/N's order!"

From the back came a grunt. "Y/N? What's them doing here?"

"None of yer business, lad. Just do what's fuckin' asked of ye."

You threw Finn a look, fingering your sleeve cuff. A loose thread was hanging off it and you plucked at it, just to give your hands something to do. "Jim was my uncle's friend," you muttered out of the corner of your mouth, because you felt like you should justify his jovial behaviour. Then you caught yourself. You didn't have to justify shit. Especially not to Finn fucking Shelby.

After a few minutes of rummaging round the back, Harry appeared in the doorway and tossed you a burlap bag the size of a chicken. You caught it with a grin and winked at him, causing him to flush a bright pink. Poor old Harry had always had a soft spot for you, even though he was a couple of years younger. You tossed the owed money onto the counter and Jimmy sank lower in his chair, puckering at his pipe.

"So how've you been holdin' up, kid?"

You knew he was talking about uncle Henry, and you shrugged. "You know." As far as vague answers went, this was one of your better ones.

Jimmy nodded gravely, like he knew exactly what you were talking about. "Aye. Well, on you go. See you around, kiddo."

You threw him a wave over your shoulder as you exited the store.

"That was so weird," huffed Finn as soon as you were outside again. You gave him a side-eyed look. He scoffed. "Are all your friends like that?"

"I mean–Jim and Harry are pretty much my only friends, and I see them maybe once every two months. So yeah. All my friends are like that."

It was quiet for a moment and you kept a brisk pace towards your next destination, huddling your hands in your coat for warmth. Then Finn said, "But you had friends before, right. Back where you're from."

"Actually, not really. I was kind of... weird, as a kid. I mean, I built bombs in my free time, what'd you expect?" You forced out a laugh. You didn't like talking about this. It was a phase of your life you'd put behind you, and recounting it to Finn now was doing nothing but resurface bad memories. "My uncle was my best friend, but he died. In Small Heath nobody'll even look at me, but I think that's just how people interact with each other there, so I don't take it too personally." You thought that would be the end of it.

He kept quiet for a while, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets. But then he said, "Didn't you ever get lonely?" and it was so unexpected that you almost stopped short in the middle of the street.

You only just managed to catch yourself. "Sometimes." And you left it at that.

The rest of the trip passed in relative silence, and at each of the two stops you made the store clerks recognised you, and a bit of slightly awkward conversation followed. Finn always stood behind you, looking only the slightest bit out of place, and though he attracted some questioning stares you always ignored them, or any inquiry pertaining to him. When someone asked who he was, you cut them off with the curt answer of "A friend." It couldn't be further from the truth, of course–Finn was anything but your friend–but it was easier than having to explain the whole ordeal.

When you had everything you needed, you stood out in the streets for a moment, just watching passersby and keeping a casual but firm hand on your burlap supplies bag. "Let's have tea," you said suddenly.

Finn cast you a look. "What?"

"Tea. You know, the drink with the leaves and the warm water and biscuits and shit."

"I fucking know what tea is."

"Fantastic. Let's have some, then."

"Now?"

"Why not? Our train doesn't leave for another hour and a half and I know a place not too far from here."

He only hesitated for a second before he said, "Alright."

You stirred your tea–needlessly, because you take your tea plain without neither sugar nor milk–and watched Finn spoon heapfuls of sugar into his cup. There was a moment of silence before you finally asked the question that had been eating at you since you had received this assignment. "Say, Finn."

"Hm?"

"Who's the bomb for, anyway?"

It was a reasonable question. Tommy Shelby wouldn't have had a bomb made just because he felt like it. He could have anyone killed by anyone–he'd hired assassins before, you'd heard–so why did he want a bomb to do the job now?

Finn shrugged way too casually for someone who's about to share the name of the man his brother wants dead. "Someone who pissed off the wrong people. He's got this fucking amazing security system around him, though, because apparently that's something he does often–piss important people off, I mean–and like you said before, a pocket-watch-bomb isn't something most people expect to get killed by."

You found it a solid answer, and left it at that.

But he was getting jittery, his knee bouncing restlessly under the table. He wasn't able to keep his hands still, fingers tapping the ear of his cup one second then running along the side of the table the next. His incessant fidgeting was making you nervous as well and you plunked down your cup.

"What's your problem?" you hissed, lightly kicking him under the table.

He looked up suddenly, eyes wide like he'd forgotten you were there. "Nothing."

"You're a shit liar, Finn Shelby."

"Fuck off." But there was a small grin tugging at the ends of his lips, and you felt oddly happy that you were the cause of it, which was stupid, because you'd only just met the guy.

"I'm serious. What's wrong?"

He shrugged again, curling his fingers around his cup, bringing it to his lips to take a tentative sip, then wincing against the heat of the drink. "I was just thinking."

"About what?"

"None of your fucking business."

You raised your brows. "Alright, mate. Calm down."

He looked away, still managing to look serious as everything with his stupid haircut that was now exposed for everyone to see since he took off his hat when he entered the tearoom, which was a gesture of politeness you hadn't expected from a Shelby boy.

You eyed the cap with equal apprehension and grudging admiration. It was symbolic of the Blinders, who got their name thanks to the razor-blades sewn into the fold of the caps. Not very obvious from a distance, but it only took one well-placed ray of light to hit the shiny metal to spot the blades, and paired with the natural Don't Fuck With Me-looks that most of the Shelby boys seemed to be born with (except for Finn–you were still finding it hard to be intimidated by his baby-faced, lanky figure) it made for quite threatening appearances.

But Finn was growing moody and quiet very quickly, and that was no fun to be around, so you kicked his shin one more time for good measure, knocked back your tea (unpleasant company isn't an excuse to let a perfectly good cup of tea go to waste) and stood. "Let's go. Train leaves in thirty minutes."

You were at the station early, but you'd already found out that when Finn got grumpy he wasn't great conversationalist, so you settled for looking at the trains rumble past and the passengers they carried. You'd always liked to people-watch. It was a way to pass the time, and it was fun to judge innocent passersby.

As soon as you got out of the train back in Small Heath, though, he seemed to regain some of his good humour, and as he walked you home he even cracked a few smiles. That was largely due to your constant joking around, trying to keep the atmosphere light. Still grinning, you walked up to your front door and stuck in the key.

"Thank you so very much for walking me to my door. Like a true gentleman."

Finn tipped his hat. "Now's when you would invite me in for a drink."

"What, like the cheap whore you take me to be? No, no, dear Shelby boy, you're sleeping alone tonight," you laughed.

With that, you shut the door behind you.

You climbed the stairs to your bedroom, deposited the burlap bag onto the floor and walked up to your window. Down below, Finn was just walking away. You spotted him on the far end of the street, and you tugged the curtain closed right as he rounded the corner.

It was only two days until you saw him again.

In fact, he let himself into your workshop, making more noise than was strictly necessary and causing you to start in your seat. You pushed up the working goggles that perched on the bridge of your nose. "The fuck're you doing here? I got five more days, Tommy said."

Finn scrunched up his nose. "Yeah, yeah. Tommy also said I should be keeping an eye on you."

For a few long, long seconds, you just stared at him. "So your brilliant idea was to do what? Babysit me while I do my job?"

"If that's what you want to call it."

You scoffed and flicked the goggles back onto your face. "Well, I hope you brought a book or something. One of those fancy crossword puzzles, or whatever it is they call them. I'm going to be busy."

"Can't read."

"Then it's going to be a long fucking day for you, mate."

Finn shrugged, approaching a stool, prepared to let himself drop on it.

"No," you said without looking up, prodding at a small part with a tiny screwdriver.

"What?"

"Not there. I need that."

"Then where am I allowed to sit?" He sounded irritated already, and an idea started to form in your head. Maybe if you pissed him off enough he would fuck off and let you work.

"The ground. But not there, there, or there," you said, pointing at a couple of completely random spots on the ground. That left a single small space in the right-hand corner, and you expected Finn to either flat-out refuse or just walk out the door, but he obediently plopped down and folded his legs beneath him. You looked at him through narrowed eyes for a moment. So he was stubborn. Alright. You could be stubborn too.

Without a word you went back to your work.

He managed for exactly an hour and a half before he started to get jittery, getting up and pacing around the room.

"No, no, absolutely not," you said sharply when he reached out to touch Henry the copper cat.

His hand froze in mid-air. "I purposely chose the one thing that doesn't look fragile."

"Leave Henry alone."

"You named a cat statue Henry?"

You bristled, feeling your shoulders bunch around your ears. "He's named after my uncle."

"Oh." A silence. "I'm sorry."

"For what? You didn't do anything wrong," you muttered distractedly, concentration mostly directed to the tiny gear you were preparing to drop into place with a pair of tweezers.

It was silent again for a moment, and you worked, but you were aware of Finn in your surroundings every second of every hour that passed. It made you more nervous, absent-minded, and you caught yourself on multiple occasions skipping a step in the building process or almost dropping a part, which never happened.

It was Finn. Not even him specifically, but his presence, the fact that there was someone looking over your shoulder as you built, was unsettling and made your mind deviate from the task at hand, which is not the best of things when one is constructing a bomb.

Whatever the case, you needed to get him out. Away, at least for a bit. So that you could actually make progress on this damn thing, otherwise you wouldn't even make the deadline Tommy had set for you.

Setting down your tools and popping the joints in your neck, you said, "I'm fucking starving."

Finn looked up, eyebrows raised.

You nodded encouragingly at him, picking up your screwdriver again and waving it around. "What are you waiting for? Get some food."

"I'm not your fucking chambermaid," he spluttered.

"Nah, I wish. But you're all I've got, sadly. Go on, make yourself useful while I build this here bomb." You pointed your screwdriver down at the mess of parts in front of you and grinned.

Finn narrowed his eyes, but apparently you had made a solid argument, because after a brief moment of evaluating he tore open the door and stomped outside. You blew out a breath, sitting back in your chair and taking a moment to stretch your legs and neck and shoulders and work your jaw, which had all been tense and cramped up.

Then you sat back down and continued working, this time with nothing but the blissful tick-tocking of the clock to keep you company.

About an hour later, Finn returned with a pack of sandwiches, and you perked up, only just realising that you really had been starving.

He handed you one, and you tore into it with gusto, letting your head fall back and breathing out a sigh of contentment. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed his look of amusement and a questioning glint in his eyes. You swallowed, then said, "I don't always have time to eat proper lunch when I'm working."

Finn let his head fall to the side. "Y/N."

"... And I might not have eaten this morning, either.'

"Y/N."

"I'm eating now, aren't I? You sound like my fucking mum."

He pouted and took a bite out of his own sandwich, and for a moment you munched in silence.

Then you rolled your eyes. "Thank you for the sandwiches."

"Thank my aunt. She made them."

You felt your eyebrows shoot up again. "Polly fucking Gray made me sandwiches?"

He chuckled. "Yeah."

"No fucking way."

The look on your face must have been one of full-fledged bafflement, for he cast one look at your features and burst out laughing. The sound was contagious; intoxicating, even, and you found yourself joining him not soon after.

The days passed like that for the rest of the week. Finn would come to your workshop about ten minutes after you'd opened up, and he'd spend the morning walking around, even helping out sometimes when he could, sometimes interjecting with a question or a remark. You'd answer him, and somehow the chats would always end up with you taking the piss out of his hair or his clothes and him telling you to fuck off, but neither of you really put any bite into your words and would be able to suppress your grins in the end.

Then you'd order him to get you lunch, and he'd give a mocking bow and show up an hour later with freshly made sandwiches or boiled eggs and you'd sit at your desk, talking about anything and everything.

On the fifth day, when he came in, you pointed at him. "Oi. You're gonna be extra fucking quiet today. I don't have a lot left to do, but I gotta do it right. Wouldn't want to disappoint Tommy, eh?"

Finn saluted, then sank down in his corner and made himself small, curling up into a bal, which just looked comical given his tall frame and non-flexibility.

"I said extra-quiet, you shit. What are you doing?"

Finn looked up at you from under his lashes. "I'm melting into my surroundings."

"Right." You shook your head and tugged on your gloves before getting to work, and before long you were completely absorbed in your craft.

What was left to do was only the outside shell; the golden plaques modelled after the watch Tommy had left you, the clock-face and the tiny hands indicating the passage of time, the shiny button that would simultaneously act as a detonator. This was the more artistic part of the process, the part of the watch that everyone would see; and it was your job to make sure it looked pretty enough that someone would accept it as an impromptu gift but clean enough so that no one would suspect the true nature of the object.

You worked for hours, and at this point you had learned how to block out Finn's rummaging around in the back until it was nothing but white noise. When you looked up, he would meet your eyes briefly; you'd throw fleeting smiles at each other then you would bend over your work again.

The silence in the shop was soft and comforting. It was familiar, nothing but the sound of the wind howling outside and your own muttering to keep you company. Finn had faded to the background, as he always did.

There was a tap on your shoulder and you almost jumped, feeling your shoulders tense up for a moment until you realised that it was just Finn, and you forced your muscles to relax again. Upon closer inspection, you noticed the bag he carried, and a glance at the clock told you that it was far past lunchtime.

Finn cleared his throat. "You didn't tell me to get lunch, but I did it anyway. Because you need to eat."

You took a sandwich from him and sat back, rubbing your eyes. "Thanks. I'm almost done."

"Good."

"What, are you finally cracking under the pressure of loneliness?" you laughed, flicking a piece of ham at him.

He gave you a small smile in return. "I wasn't lonely."

That shut you up, and you ate the rest of your lunch in silence. For the first time, the air between the two of you was thick with tension and unspoken words. He had questions and he had things to say, but he kept his mouth shut and you didn't know why. He was a Shelby, wasn't he? Shelby boys weren't known for sparing people's feelings.

Maybe it was the the fact that this was probably the last lunch you'd share.

Though it stung to admit, you had grown used to his presence in your shop. You'd grown used to seeing him stroll in every morning, and having him walk you to your door when you would decide to call it a day.

You'd never been truly lonely before, but you were finally starting to understand what it could feel like.

"Let's get this thing done, eh?" you mumbled, brushing the last crumbs off your hands.

Finn nodded, flipping his cap back onto his hair.

"Your hair's still ugly. Hiding it with the cap won't do shit," you told him, just because.

Finn sighed, but his smile grew that little bit wider, and it was worth it.

And after another two hours, you were finally done. You blew out a breath and held up the watch by its chain, admiring your handiwork.

Finn looked over, expression growing excited once he realised you were finished. "Is it done?"

"I think it is," you mused.

He scrambled up and joined you. "It doesn't look like a bomb."

"That's the point, Finn dear."

You deposited the watch carefully into a wooden box filled with cotton after making sure that the detonator button was firmly fixated with a wooden separator. "I'll get this to Tommy right away."

For a moment, Finn just looked at you, nibbling on his lower lip. Then he said, "Come celebrate."

"What?"

"Tommy will want to celebrate. He's been going on and on about how badly he wants this guy dead, and he's never been able to slip past his defences. Now you're handing him the solution on a silver platter."

"In a wooden box, actually."

Finn ignored you. "Come celebrate with us. At the Garrison."

You looked away, saying nothing, and Finn nudged your arm with his elbow. "Come on. You deserve it."

"I'll look out of place," you protested, but even you could hear how weak the words sounded.

"Just... For once, don't go straight home, all right? Come have some fun."

Fun. The word sounded distant and far-away. You hadn't had some proper fun in ages. Of course, you loved building, you loved working, but it was different than a night out with friends, or just a moment of quiet and peace for yourself where you didn't have to worry about stuff exploding in your very hands.

Fun. A night out drinking, at a bar.

With Finn.

"I'll think about it," you said, quickly turning away and wrapping your scarf around your neck, just for an excuse not to look at him.

"I'll see you tonight," he called after you as you left the shop.

"Maybe," you replied over your shoulder, even though you'd already made your decision.

– – –

You walked into Shelby Company Limited without knocking, and immediately you were greeted by a sharp voice. "Oi. What's your business?"

You turned and smiled at the tall woman who'd spoken. "I'm here to see Tommy Shelby."

She scowled. "Mr Shelby's busy right now."

You smiled, jutting your chin up, the box in your bag seeming to grow warmer. "I think he'll make an exception for me."

She rolled her eyes, asked for your name. You gave it to her and watched as she strode over to Tommy's office. She appeared a moment later and informed you that Mr Shelby would see you now. You nodded your thanks and slipped past her into the office.

Tommy took his time setting his pen down, adjusting his glasses, taking a moment to shift the papers on his desk exactly half a millimeter, and lighting a cigarette before nodding at you to take a seat. You brushed a strand of hair out of your face and did so, nervously shuffling your feet on the ground. It wasn't that you were scared of Tommy Shelby–you were the one with the bomb, after all–but his perpetual threatening calmness always set you on edge. The very act of being around him had you anticipating an attack on your person, which was stupid.

You fumbled in your bag and took out the box, placing it on the desk in front of Tommy with your tongue between our lips and a look of utmost concentration on your face, as if any sudden movement could detonate the bomb inside. It couldn't–you wouldn't even have made it to the office if it could–but it never hurt to be careful, and you had to admit you were a little nervous.

Tommy blew out a puff of smoke and slid the box across the surface of the desk, slowly lifting the lid. He appeared satisfied with what he saw, and carefully replaced the cover after a minute of observation.

"So, that's it, then?"

You blinked. "Um. Yes?" You didn't quite know what he meant, so the word came ou sounding more like a question.

Tommy pushed out his cigarette in the ashtray, where it sent thin tendrils of smoke curling up into the air, and leant forward, his fingers entwined. "The watch. The bomb. There it is, in its little box. That is it."

"Yes."

He nodded. "Explain to me how it works."

For a second you just stared at him, not quite sure if he was messing with you or not. In a hesitant voice, you started to explain, sometimes stumbling on the words. "Well. The watch is just the cover, really, designed to conceal the explosives inside. The crown is the detonator." You gestured to the crown of your own watch, twisting it with unsure fingers. "It's not activated yet. There's a safety block that has to be removed before you can move the crown in any way."

You paused, and Tommy rolled his hand. You coughed awkwardly. You never had to explain how the damn things worked; you only built them. It had been Henry's job to share the finer details of the bomb, how it worked, what to do and not to do. You weren't very skilled at putting your work into words, because you never really had to think about it as you built; it was almost an automatism by now, and now that an outsider with little to no knowledge of the craft asked you to explain it, your brain blanked.

Yet you continued on, struggling to form concepts into concrete thoughts, and into words. "The seconds hand is set on the twelve, and will remain so as the user sets the time; once the crown is pushed, the seconds will start ticking. A minute will go by before detonation; one full revolution of the hand."

Tommy nodded again, rubbing his lower lip with his thumb. Minutes passed, and he still didn't speak, and you were starting to panic slightly. Then you told yourself to grow the fuck up, and that nothing bad's gonna happen, and that he probably just needed to process the mess of information you'd just spouted at him.

"So we have one minute before detonation once the crown's pushed," he mused finally.

"One minute."

You could almost see the gears in his head turn, the forming of a plan that had been non-existent just a few moments prior. Then he sat back in his chair, and all the tension in the room dissipated at once. He pulled open a drawer on his right, and out came a familiar-looking envelope. He held it out to you. "The agreed upon compensation. The extra charges for the train to London and the supplies are all accounted for."

You took the envelope, peeking inside (because you felt you had to–not because you mistrusted Tommy Shelby. For all his threatening and crime-doing, he was a man of his word if nothing else) before stuffing it in your bag.

There were still questions burning at the back of your throat, begging to be asked. Like whom exactly the bomb was destined for. Whose life was it going to end. Finn hadn't given you a name, after all. And why he had chosen you of all people; this weapon of all weapons. But you didn't think he would answer any of them, and it was none of your business what was going on inside his head anyway.

"Thank you, Y/N. You did well."

You nodded and mumbled your thanks, pushing the rebellious strand of hair away from your face. Then something else popped up in your mind, and you gave a breathy laugh.

"At least you can tell Finn to stop pestering me all day when I should be working," you said half-jokingly.

Tommy gazed at you, face blank as a fresh canvas. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

You laughed again, but it sounded like nervous chitter to your ears. "Well. You know. He told me you'd said to keep an eye on me. Or something. He took the job seriously, I'll give him that."

At that, Tommy shook his head slightly, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He plucked his pen from its stand, and popped the cap on the end. "Tonight's celebratory drinks at the Garrison, as I'm sure Finn has told you. I want you to be there."

That still rubbed you the wrong way. "What are we celebrating?" you found the nerve to ask.

After a small pause, Tommy puckered his lips and said, "The erasure of one more shitstain from the face of this Earth," which you found rather dramatic, but also gave you the feeling that this was an important fellow, if his death warranted celebratory drinks. The thought made you uneasy. What if you knew this man? What if you read about his death–his murder–in the papers tomorrow, and you recognised the name, and you would have to live forever with the burden of knowing you made it possible?

You had been making bombs for six years, but this was the first time that the consequences were so tangible. It had never felt... real before, somehow. Maybe it was because you'd never actually seen the people who you built the bombs for. Maybe it was because you were, for the first time, alone in it, when you had been able to share your feelings with uncle Henry before.

Then Tommy added, "And the crucial part you took in it," and that made you feel even worse.

#finn shelby x reader #finn shelby peaky blinders #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders fanfic #finn shelby fic #finn shelby fanfic #peaky blinders finn shelby #finn shelby one shot #finn shelby imagine #finn shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfiction

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phoebehalliwell · 3 years

Note

I LOVE ✨Bianca✨ too ! What do you think happened to her in the Dark Future after Chris left ?

Wyatt probably went after her and kidnapped her to force her back in his side. I always tought that she was ready to Die rather than betray Chris. But she had to « turned » when Wyatt mentionned sending assasin after Chris. because Bianca would rather have Chris Alive in the dark Futur than dead in the past.

She seems so gentle, sweat and supportive in their scene during the proposal, or when they said goodbye. (Still super deadly when the situation ask for it). The difference when she is in the club in the past, all Leather and Cold Attitude is 💔

Also : Chris proposing hours before going in a suicide mission. What a dramatic emo bitch 🖤

okay their relationship is definitely like 100% emo bitch moments like. like!! okay like it’s both be they’re so like uh you know like intense would die for each other type shit but you know it took them Forever to get there bc again piper and leo were set up as soulmates and chris got to watch that deteriorate so he’s definitely not big on the concept of love and phoenix of course don’t like. have romantic love per se that’s just not a part of their culture you have a family and it’s your fellow phoenix and you can have flings or whatever but no that they will never see you as you truly are know that they will never understand you they will never accept you not like the way you family does so like. you know bianca’s been really conditioned into that but like. like!!! aaaaaaa!!!!! They Fall In Love With Each Other!!!! which quite frankly bc i personally think chris leads the underground resistance against wyatt which actually operates out of the underworld because wyatt did you know go on a killing spree in his first move for power as his Big Statement so yes he earned some demon’s respect but other demon’s are like hey fuck this guy so the resistance is really a mixed bag like there are demon allies with is why chris like. know the underworld in s6. but the point is. he’s a figurehead. bianca was sent to kill him, chose differently (this is what i’ve written in the past) so she also kinda sits high up in the power spectrum. and the two are obviously close. the point i’m making is i think the resistance as a whole gets invested in their relationship bc like hell they’re really out of good things to focus on they don’t even get cable down here so this is really about all the entertainment they’ve got. and bless both chris and bianca as they never really grew up around healthy, stable love (but what about piper and leo? well um :/) so they don’t know what it looks like but other people remember and it’s just like. the two of them definitely always speak in hushed voices bc it’s Top Secret information leaning in close to her each other and they fight together so they tend to cling together for safety just the way they move together is like very balanced like um. like you know those half yoga balls you can balance on for exercise? and like. you gotta kinda counter every motion understand you center of gravity otherwise you’re gonna eat shit in front of the whole pilates/yoga class? the way they move is like that keeping a solid center of balance completely aware of the other and keeping guarded and it’s like the softest brush on the back of the arm and a quick flick of the lashes and they’ve immediately id’d the threat and are ready for a fight and everyone else is like oh : ) u r in love : ) which is true!! but they don’t know it! until they do :’) they r in love

but in regards to like. after chris went back in time i think wyatt had been closing in on the two of them for like a minute now which is why it was kinda a mad dash to the past and they knew only chris was going back and bianca didn’t tell him but she definitely made a potion or spell that wiped her memory of almost everything that had happened bc like. she didn’t want wyatt to have access to that. and it’s like. yeah if chris comes back they’re gonna hafta notebook it but she’s not 100% sure he will make it back and she knows wyatt is hot on their tail so it’s a risk she’s willing to take so i think she is captured immediately after the manor like she kills that demon and takes the potion that damn near knocks her out so when the next demon shows up she can’t really fight him and she goes under but Lucky For Her there’s a no kill order bc again she’s been like a leader in the resistance for like. a couple years? like two ish idk? the point is she has a Lot of useful information if wyatt can access it. but psych, he can’t. not for lack of trying he does try to bring back bits and pieces until he realizes that he can work with this situation bc again. bianca’s entire time w the resistance is erased. she’s basically back to her phoenix assistant self. so wyatt can basically do a take two here, and this time not let her defect. so i think like. they more time passes the more wyatt’s magic has an effect and bianca’s memories slowly resurface but they really just come in waves. she pretends like they don’t. and wyatt makes sure his power is constantly on display like lmao see how you could never betray me? see how much it would fuckin suck if you did? and like. bianca knows she betrayed him before. this is common knowledge. you don’t just wipe out two years of your life bc you were employee of the month. but wyatt keeps going on about how merciful he is to give her a second chance, and how he can also give chris a second chance. because he’s acknowledging their power. he thought chris was just a lil bitch (which, granted, he still does kinda think that) but clearly he’s proved himself. so if he can get chris and bianca at his side, well, like, that’s a power move. not to mention it basically annihilates the resistance to like see your leader defect like you know. -100 morale. and i think when bianca goes back, she’s still not 100% what she’s gonna do. she will take wyatt up on his offer. she also will betray him. it’s too soon to call she doesn’t know yet. but i think was coming into contact again with chris he memories definitely start coming back more and more (all the flashbacks we see poised as chris’s are actually bianca’s) and kinda the more the episode progresses the more she realizes that there’s no way they’re going with wyatt.

#wyatt's villain was way too stick up the ass-y imo #he should have been more theatre kid #like #like i get it you're basically torture throughout your formative youth by a trusted adult #but i think that should yield less of a monologuing pretentious villain and more like a child weaned on poison considers hurt a comfort #like if we still saw his as happy go lucky wyatt the critical difference being he's happy when he's like. inflicting pain on others #type of kid who rips wings off butterflies you know psychologically damaged #but yeah #chris x bianca #i love them so much #there's also definitely gotta be a scene where there's an underground wedding in the resistance #and it's the first part anyone's seen in like. years lmao #before chris and bianca are officially a couple #and like everyone remembers parties omg y'all remember parties those are so fun #except for chris and bianca who given their childhood never had parties like they don't know what that's like #so they're you know stuck together on the outskirts while everyone else is smiling and dancing and they're like 😐✌#bc they just like. idk man they're just so uncomfortable and unable to like express healthy emotions and like #it's kinda sensory overload to see so many people just like feeling happy and safe and loved bc that's what they're fighting for!!#that's the world they're fighting for and it's a world they don't even recognize but looking at it now god they would love to live like that #and obligatory slow dance scene #i got thots man i love them so much #charmed #dark future #chris halliwell #bianca bishop #💌

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yeetdam · 5 years

Text

stars after the rain ☾ yedam

genre – romance, soulmate au

synopsis – set in a universe where everyone is born with two names tattooed on their skin. one name stands for their soulmate, the other for their potential killer. no one knows which person inked on them is their other half and which is their downfall, but that has never been an issue to you. after all, you were born with just one name. and, well, there’s only one way to interpret that.

wc – 8.3k

a/n – this is a completely self-indulgent fic pls forgive me this mess contains everything i dream of: best friend doyoung antics, slow burn-ish vibes and a cheesy rendition of the slow dance scene on the rooftop from high school musical 3 :’) either way, i hope you’ll enjoy this and pls lmk if there are any mistakes or if u have some feedback uwu

It’s bound to end in a tragedy when Doyoung barges into your room without any warning and sees it for the first time.

“That’s a cool place to have a tattoo,” he admits and points at the back of his neck when you turn to him with an irritated expression. The realization crashes onto you like an atomic bomb the moment you subconsciously mimic his movement and slide your hand up the back of your neck.

“Oh.”

In the blink of an eye, you frantically rummage through your drawers for your foundation. Lately, there’s been many things clouding your mind, be it the many exams you can’t afford to fail or the abnormal number of complaints Hyunsuk has sent you in a span of three hours. It’s not the first time for you to drown in all kinds of duties, but it seems like the pressure has got into your head worse than usual. You never fail to cover the ink on the back of your neck with either turtlenecks or foundation, so it just fuels your frustration when Doyoung sheds light on it.

“Hey, relax! We can join the party a little later, so take your time,” he says and puts a firm hand on your shoulder in an attempt to calm you. “Uh, do you want me to help? It must be hard blending that in every day.”

You snort. “First of all, I am relaxed. Second of all, I don’t do this every day, but I manage perfectly on my own.”

“Jesus Christ,” Doyoung sighs and retreats his hand, “I was just trying to be the empathetic best friend. But jokes aside, it really is a cool place to have your tattoo. My thigh can’t relate.”

“As much as I love being your best friend and am willing to listen to your problems anytime–” you successfully find the bottle and squirt a generous amount of foundation on the beauty blender, “–even that is too much information for me. What should I know next? Your other tattoo is on your butt?”

There is nothing wrong with covering up the tattoos you are born with. It’s not socially frowned upon if someone doesn’t make any efforts to hide the ink. In the end, it all boils down to your personal preference. You know a handful of people who waltz around with both of their names on display, and you are relatively sure that Doyoung would be one of them if his tattoos were on an appropriate part of his body.

“Haha. Funny,” Doyoung deadpans before he whips out his phone. “I meant what I said, take your time. Plus, I realized I still gotta call someone.”

“Give me five.” You hum and apply the liquid on your skin. He exits your room and makes sure that the door falls softly in its lock to give you a moment of peace. A frown paves its way onto your face as you build up the coverage until there is no trace of black on your neck.

Showing the inked names on your skin and just talking about the concept of soulmates in general isn’t a social taboo. However, there are quite a few people who rather avoid the topic at hand, including you. Truth be told, every cell in your body knows that Doyoung is dying to discuss this topic with you and there are too many moments you recall where he looks as if he’s about to explode if he doesn’t bring up his soulmate. However, he never did that. Doyoung wears his heart on his sleeve and so do you, but here’s the thing: Doyoung is better at swallowing them down.

So as his best friend, the least you can do is go with him to that one goddamn party even though there are other things you’d rather do at this late hour of the day.

(A prime example of what you’d rather do is giving Hyunsuk a piece of your mind because receiving fifty-seven emails about not understanding biology, whining about the new TA and his harsh grading and inquiries about what to get Seunghun for his birthday in the span of three hours is not okay.)

Whenever you go out in public, you are usually seen with a turtleneck or a scarf. Covering up your tattoo with a foundation is your plan c) when desperate times call for desperate measures. Also, there is a reason why you barely go to parties.

Parties fall under desperate times.

Although there isn’t anything in Yeji’s house that is illegal to consume, the living room is sweltering hot, the music obnoxiously loud, and the entire scenario is equivalent to a frat party minus the alcohol, drugs, and making out.

Instead, a dozen bottles of pretty much every soft drink you can find from the convenience store just three blocks away and a broad selection of chips and chocolate and cake are found on the tables.

“Wanna bet that you could never finish cola with salt in one go?” Jaehyuk suggestively raises a brow at Doyoung and holds up the red cup in his hand.

“If I win, you owe me bubble tea for an entire month. Wherever and whenever I want.” You fight the urge to smack yourself as you see the sneaky grin etched on Doyoung’s lips. For a moment, you debate whether to stand up your comfortable position on the couch and knock some sense into him. But then again, you remind yourself why you’re even here in the first place. Though you know most of the people here, you don’t really talk to them. Doyoung was your only friend present.

You’re only here for Doyoung’s sake. You’re going to let him have fun and let him regret his life decisions in the aftermath.

“Aren’t you feeling lonely here?” you divert your eyes from Doyoung to the guy who drops himself on the couch beside you. He’s a new face, you figure, dressed in an unbuttoned, red flannel shirt, a black graphic tee underneath and ripped skinny jeans. Strands of jet black hair fall into his face, but they fail to hide the genuine twinkle in his eyes as the corners of his lips subtly tug upwards.

“Well, you’re not wrong,” you mumble and are very glad that you’re no longer focused on Doyoung if you consider the gagging sounds he’s emitting, “I’m not a huge fan of these kinds of occasions.”

“Let me guess,” he muses and takes a sip out of his cup, “That guy forced you here?”

A chuckle escapes your lips when he points at Jaehyuk who’s laughing maliciously at a kneeling Doyoung.

“Actually, it’s the guy who looks like he needs life support, but close enough.” you lift a brow at the flannel guy. “Is there a reason why you’re staring at me like that?”

He shrugs in response. “I’m just happy that I managed to lift up your spirits a little bit.”

There it is again, the glimmer in his eyes. You can’t lay a finger on what exactly it is, whether it’s playfulness or an underlying risk. All you know is that it's a gamble. You either take the leap or you keep it safe. It’s not the first time that you end up in such a situation, but this time, it’s a little but different. The only thing that is stopping you is the uncertainty of reading him.

But maybe, maybe it’s not that bad.

“You know,” you start and fiddle with your fingers, “I’m fairly sure that you’re the only one who can enlighten me here.”

Your hunch is proven right. It is not that bad. Not bad at all, actually.

For the next hour, you two stay seated on the couch and talk about all kinds of things. Sometimes, when you bother to care, you laugh at some mishaps that occur right in front of your eyes, like Chaeryeong tripping over her own feet before she crashes into Mashiho and makes him fall flat on his face.

“Wanna grab something to drink?” he asks after a while and swirls the last few ounces of liquid in his cup. “Besides, I think I need a refill.”

“Sure,” you reply and you both enter the kitchen. The room is empty apart from the two of you, and though you can still hear the music blasting through the closed door, your ears don’t ache as much anymore.

While you grab ahold of one of the opened bottles of cherry cola and pour it into an unused red cup, you watch him roll up the sleeves of his flannel from the corner of your eye. He has pretty hands, you figure, and maybe it would’ve been better if you didn’t stare at them for so long. It’s only a subtle flick of his wrist as he fixes his sleeves, but you don’t fail to notice fine black lines on his left wrist.

Before you ponder longer about it, he asks you, “Hey, can you pass me the cherry cola?”

You nod wordlessly and hand him the bottle and don’t leave his hand movements out of your sight. Once in a while, your eyes flit to the fridge behind him, to the few strands of jet black hair that sick out messily or to his eyes. Curiosity has never been a trait that really defines you, but sometimes, you can’t help but try to decode the name on his wrist.

Still oblivious to your underlying intentions, he continues rambling about his favorite music producers. “Cha Cha Malone has this really distinctive tone in his productions…” he places the edge of his cup on his lips with his left hand and suddenly, your blood runs cold.

Though there is the slight possibility that you are suffering from hallucinations, you are pretty damn sure it is not an illusion. The kitchen sheds enough light to see everything clearly, from the slight bags under his eyes to the coffee stains on the table. The lights aren’t blinding, but they’re enough to decipher the fine black lines inked on his left wrist.

Your name.

“... and I feel that– hey, you look like you saw a ghost. Is everything alright?” he furrows his brows in concern, but when he follows the trail where you’re looking at, he gets the gist. You notice him tense up and are pretty sure it’s not a trick of the light when he pales, something akin to guilt paints his face.

“Come to think of it,” you mumble and avert your eyes from his wrist. “I didn't catch your name. Who are you?”

He hesitates, chews on his bottom lips first before he answers. He looks like a deer caught in the headlights and it just fuels your thought that the worst case scenario has become a reality. You hope it isn’t what you think it is.

“I’m Bang Yedam.”

You stare at him in disbelief, unable to force any coherent words past your lips. A shiver runs down your spine, and though there is less to be scared of because your name is inked on his wrist too, you're still wary. Obviously, the one who is destined to end your life won't have your name tattooed on them.

But with your circumstances, you can't help but include that possibility.

Yedam doesn't hide his panic anymore as he tries to justify himself. "Look, I'm sorry I haven't introduced myself earlier, (y/n). Doyoung told me not to–"

"Doyoung? What does Doyoung have to do with this?"

When all you're met with is silence, you ask again with something akin to fury laced in your tone. "I said, what does Doyoung have to do with this?"

He diverts his gaze to the counter behind you with pursed lips. Knowing that he won't spill the truth, you try to find the remaining puzzle pieces to complete the mystery by yourself. Your efforts are in vain though, because there is nothing you remember that could serve as a link to what Yedam said–

("I realized I still gotta call someone.")

"I need to go," you say when it dawns on you and you set the cup on the table. A jumble of emotions rages in you, be it the anger that flows through your veins or the whirlwind of irritation and disappointment and despair flooding your senses. You don't stop when Yedam calls after you and tries to make you stay.

You rush into the living room to grab your belongings, completely ignoring Doyoung who is still oblivious to your discovery. It's when he takes a closer look at your trembling hands and pessimistic face that the joy falls from his face.

"Hey, why are you leaving already?" he asks, concern laced in his voice as he tries to touch you, but you swat his hand away.

You huff. "Mind your own business, I really don't appreciate your stunt."

"What?" he furrows his brows and tries to figure out the meaning of your words. "I don't understand–"

"(y/n), please don't go– oh God." Yedam slows down to a halt at the sight of you and Doyoung. The boy beside you widens his eyes when he sees Yedam and then, the realization strikes him like lightning.

"O-oh, that was what you're talking about. Look, I can explain–"

You don't stay a while longer to hear his reasoning.

There is a reason why Doyoung has been your best friend for so long. It isn't the first time for you to fight and if you're being honest, your ego isn't that big to not forgive him. Doyoung can be awfully nosy and loves to stick his nose into someone else's business. Therefore, it doesn't surprise you that you invite him over on an afternoon after he left fifty voice messages and over a hundred text messages in your inbox.

"Please don't start your explanation with 'I was trying to do you a favor'." you sigh in distress.

"I was trying to do you a favor," he bluntly says and it costs you your willpower to not invite him out of your place. Doyoung sends you a crooked grin before he turns serious. "Okay, real talk now. I was just... surprised when I saw Yedam's name on your neck. And since I already knew that one of Yedam's tattoos is your name, I thought it'd be a good idea to make you two meet. Turns out to be that I was a fool."

"You're always a fool, please," you deadpan and snicker when he shoots you a death glare.

"Hey! I was trying to be an empathetic best friend here! I just breathed and here you are, clowning me. That is disrespectful!"

He attempts to throw you off your chair by aiming a pillow at you. Instead, he almost knocks down the succulent on your desk. The next few minutes, you bicker for a while and start an impromptu tickle fight to lighten up the mood. It's when you both lie on the carpeted floor and your heartbeats have fallen back into a steady rhythm that he addresses the problem at hand.

"Why don't you want to give him a chance?"

"My gut says it won't end well," you reply slowly.

Doyoung shuffles to the side to get a good glimpse of your face. "You know, the chance is high that Yedam's your soulmate. He's got your name too, after all. And he's willing to give it a shot, y'know? One meeting doesn't sound bad and won't be the end of the world."

You hesitate, considering the implied proposal with a frown. "It's complicated."

"So you're willing to let the glorious chance pass by?"

"Yes."

Taken aback by your rapid answer, Doyoung adds in a quieter tone, "Not many people manage to find even one of the two people. Even less find the one who wears their names too. You should definitely consider it, (y/n)."

"I get where you're coming from, but..." your voice trails off.

Doyoung watches you with expectant eyes. "But?" he drawls.

But you don't understand.

"You're not gonna stop bugging me until I say yes, are you?" you say instead. Although you'd trust your life to him, you don't want to burden him with your tattoo dilemma. He may not let it show too much, but you know he has his worries and he doesn't need to break his head about the meaning of your only tattoo too.

"Do you want the truth or a fabrication of lies?" he asks with a suggestively raised brow, making you roll his eyes at his silliness.

"Fine, I'll meet up with him one time. He shouldn't get his hopes up, though."

For some reason, you find yourself walking into the café fifteen minutes earlier. You blame it on the fact that there surprisingly was no traffic jam, although it's rush hour. As it turns out, you're not the only one to arrive earlier than expected, because Yedam enters the coffee shop five minutes after you.

He notices you right away, seated in between red and black cushions at the far back of the room, but doesn't steer towards you instantly. Instead, he stands in line and orders two drinks before he approaches you. An uncertain, shy smile adorns his face and contrary to the first time you met him, he's different. His hands shake so much that he spills one cup a little bit when he sets them down and he can't bring it over himself to look you in the eye. Yedam's treading lightly, abnormally careful about his own actions.

"I got you hot chocolate. I hope you don't mind," he mumbles and slides the cup towards you.

There's the need to tell him not to worry and loosen up. However, you don't manage to do so. What you do manage is a quiet "thanks" before you take a sip of it.

Well, at least Doyoung wasn't lying when he said that the café served delicious beverages.

Awkward, heavy and pressuring don't even come remotely close to describe the silence hovering above you. Even an innocent bystander can tell that neither of you is exactly comfortable in your shoes.

"So." Yedam's ears perk up when you clear your throat. "You wanted to meet me."

"Yeah…" his voice trails off as he taps his fingers on his paper cup. This time, he's wearing a blue wool sweater with sleeves so long they cover up his palms. You fight the urge to ask him if you could see his left wrist.

"Uh, give me a second to mentally prepare myself." he stammers before he starts anew. "I'm going to be honest here. I was happy when Doyoung called me and said he knew someone who wore my name. I had a great time that night and I, um, guess that things wouldn't have ended like that if you figured it out in a different manner."

"I'm going to be honest too," you confess. "I had a lot of fun that night, well, before it started to go downhill. It's just, I don't think I'll be able to cope with this." You gesture on your own wrist.

Something that hits very close to desperation is written on his face. For the first time, he looks at you directly and tries to read you. "Listen, I'm not trying to force anything on you. I know not everyone cares about the marks and that's fine. I just..."

He hesitates, tries to find the right words. Judging by the tone of his voice and the quiet sigh that escapes his lips, you know he doesn't belong to the group of people who don't care, unlike you – and he is very well aware of that too.

"You just?" you probe. Though you are quite sure what words will follow next, you need to hear them come out of his own mouth.

Yedam glances at you unsurely, wariness audible in his voice when he speaks up. "I was just hoping to, uh, get to know you. It doesn't have to be something long lasting, I swear. If you feel uncomfortable, we can break it off at any time. I was hoping that we could at least try."

There are many, many red lights blinking in your mind. This suggestion is nothing more than a very, very bad idea. In your case, the journey doesn't even matter. It doesn't matter if you end up being more than friends. What matters is the result. And, well, the result is inevitable.

Amongst the many, many stop signs that practically scream DON'T DO IT, there is one brain cell that begs to differ. Yedam looks at you expectantly, pleadingly even. His desperation is visible in his eyes as if they held stardust which reflects his every emotion.

You inhale deeply through your nose in an attempt to steady your frantic heartbeat. It's bound to end in a tragedy and you should care more, but you don’t have the heart to reject him.

Hopefully, you don't sound so unconvinced and scared when you respond.

"Trying sounds good."

Yedam is careful. He's so careful it genuinely surprises you. He doesn't push you to anything, works his way to more personal questions (though so far, the most personal question he's asked you was how long you've been friends with Doyoung) and tries his best to cater everything to your needs. It's by the fifth time you meet up in person when he finds the courage to ask for your number. Truth be told, you can practically see him pondering five minutes about each text he writes before sending it to you. The absence of emojis in his messages just confirm how nervous he still is.

It's still awkward when you talk and most of the time, it's Yedam who asks questions. Yet he's quick to pick up certain likes and dislikes, like your favorite ice cream flavor or your least favorite type of music.

It goes without saying that Doyoung practically demands regular updates. He was over the moon when you told him how your first date ended and even paid you bubble tea. That was how happy he was for you.

"He's not as bad as expected," you say as you nonchalantly look for good Netflix movies to watch.

Doyoung snorts in response. "Of course I knew that already. I've known Yedam for a good while now and seriously, all he does is sing the High School Musical soundtrack and swoon about music producers."

"He sings?"

You practically feel Doyoung rolling his eyes as if it was the most obvious thing on earth. "Duh. That guy's a singing god. But you have my word, (y/n), I'll end him and twist out his intestines if he hurts you. You really don't have anything to worry about."

"The only thing I worry about is you becoming a potential murderer," you say in a monotonous voice. (In a way, it’s ironic, given how there is bound to be someone who wears Doyoung’s name with the negative connotation.)

That causes your best friend to laugh in an exaggerated manner. "Very funny. In all seriousness though–" he grabs a handful of chips and stuffs it in his mouth, "–how do you not know that he sings? Even though you know he produces his own songs? I thought you talk lots."

"The thing is–" you shuffle to the side and hope he won't spit any crumbs on you, "–he's the one who talks. I just listen and answer his questions."

Doyoung sends you an unbelievable look that's equivalent to 'Are you serious?' "Then ask some questions back, you fool!"

"I don't know what to ask though!"

"What? You truly are unbelievable." he groans and throws his head back. "I guess I have to step up my game and help out a poor soul, huh?"

You throw him an offended look. "I am not an imbecile!"

"I never said that, dumbass," he tuts. "But back to the point. Yedam likes music, just recommend him some songs and he's gonna love you. Or have a High School Musical marathon with him. For all I know, attend a concert with him or just let him show you his own songs– the possibilities are endless! You always meet up at that café and although it's nice and cozy there, it's getting boring. If you only knew how panicky Yedam gets when I bring you up in our conversations: pitiful! That's what it is!"

"I don't know if that'd be a good idea–"

"Listen, I have no idea why you are so against getting close to him and since we already had this talk, I'm not gonna bring it up again. But for the love of God, if you already agree on trying, then put in some effort yourself!" he exclaims and with every word, his hand gestures become bigger. It even reaches the point where you're certain that he's going to hit you in the face.

Nonetheless, he’s right. You desperately need to step up your game.

Yedam is confused when you send him a link while he’s talking about something you don’t bother listening to. His irritation is visible in his scrunched brows, in the way his gaze switches from you, then back to his phone, and in the little hitch in his voice.

“They say your music taste tells a lot by yourself.” you shrug and try to sound as casual as possible. “And, uh, perhaps I heard that you like listening to new songs.”

The confusion morphs into a small yet genuine smile once he sees that it’s a link to a Spotify playlist. “You’re not wrong about that. While we’re at it, here.”

Your phone vibrates, signifying a new text message. Just like him, you fail to hide your amusement when you see the link to his own Spotify playlist, followed by a SoundCloud profile.

“Let me guess, the SoundCloud one is where you post your own music?” you joke lightly but when you look up and meet Yedam’s bewildered expression, you gulp. “Did I say something insensitive?”

Yedam hastily shakes his head. “No, not at all! I’m just surprised that you remembered that I produce some songs too.”

“I mean, it’s hard not to forget that when Doyoung gushed about that for a good hour and you like to swoon about how much of an idol Cha Cha Malone is to you.”

He looks at you with a stunned expression. “Do I really talk that often about him?”

“No. I just remembered that, that’s all.” you smile lightly. Regardless of whether or not Yedam buys it, the apples of his cheeks are dusted red and he looks down as if he hopes for the floor to swallow him whole.

Quickly realizing that the atmosphere might turn into an embarrassingly long and awkward silence, you scroll through the Spotify playlist and chuckle when you recognize songs you haven’t heard in a while yet.

“Do you have something against my music taste?” Yedam asks, partly wary, partly sounding as if he was ready to brawl.

“No, of course not!” you explain once you calm down. “It’s just, it’s been a while since I heard the Jonas Brothers. Also, uh, I’ve never seen High School Musical and you have a lot of songs in it.”

Yedam looks like he's about to jump out of the window and his eyeballs might have fallen out of its sockets after your confession.

"What did you even do in your childhood?" He acts as if it was an unforgivable crime and then adds with conviction, "First of all, the entire soundtrack is on the playlist. Second of all, what are you waiting for? We need to catch up with things you should've done when you were a child!"

“What are you–” Before you get to finish your thoughts, he grabs ahold of your hand and leads you out of the café. “Where are we going?”

“My place,” he replies without looking back at you as he picks up his pace. “You need to watch all movies. I refuse to leave you uncultured.”

Your attempts of not having to watch any of the films prove themselves futile. That, and the other, unexpectedly childlike side of him make you stay. Even if you planned on running away, you couldn’t anyway. With the way your hands are intertwined, it’s hard to do so. Though by now you’re practically rushing down streets and occasionally bump into a pedestrian or two, the incredulous look on their faces when they see you hand in hand is something you don’t miss.

You don’t know whether the feeling bubbling in your gut should feel warm.

When Doyoung said that Yedam knew every single song from High School Musical, he meant every single song.

You tried, you really tried to pay attention to the storyline. However, it’s not that easy when five minutes into the movie, the first song comes up and Yedam belts out every single note in a theatrical way. You find yourself anticipating the next song so he’ll sing more rather than the actual plot progression.

When Doyoung said that Yedam could sing, he meant he could sing. It would’ve been nice of him if he had warned you beforehand how angelic Yedam’s voice was because your jaw dropped to the floor the moment he started to sing. You didn’t know what you expected, but you certainly did not expect to be swept off the ground in a span of 0.08998 seconds.

“Did I just ruin your fun?” Yedam asks carefully, a bashful smile plastered on his face once the first song came to an end.

The question startles you and you blink at him in awe before you feel the heat creep up your cheeks. “What? No! I mean, no. I was just surprised that your voice is that nice,” you manage to choke out.

His smile widens, and your face flushes a deep red.

“So you don’t mind me singing along?”

“I prefer your voice over that guy right there…” you pause. “Wait, what? Forget what I said.”

“Me? Forgetting that? You wish,” he beams and erupts in laughter when you cover your face with your hands. “But if that’s what you want, I’ll sing along.”

You find yourself listening to Yedam singing anything your heart desires many times after.

While you still have no idea what exactly the plot of High School Musical is up until now, you indulge in the heavenly voice of your human jukebox even more with every passing day.

Depending on his mood, you discover the many facets of his personality. On days where he’s tired and you happen to stop by just because you’re casually in the neighborhood, he shows you his self composed songs. Although the bags under his eyes are impossible to miss, he keeps his head held up high and urges you to comment on all of his songs despite rather wanting to hide under the covers.

On days where you’re tired and happen to be lounging on his couch, he loves to lull you to sleep. His voice is soft and gentle, just like his hands playing with your hair as you hide your face in the crook of his neck. Then there are days where it seems as if stole the sun’s job or had drunk too many energy drinks and jumps around like a lunatic while belting out the melody of My Heart Will Go On.

Today seems like a day where he’s just emitting happiness.

Truth be told, you don’t know when exactly you’ve let down your guard. The current scenario is too sickeningly domestic for your liking – with you leaning your head on his shoulder while his arm is lazily draped around you. The third installment of High School Musical running on screen doesn’t quite suit your taste either, yet you don’t make any amends to put some distance between you.

“Do you know how to dance?” Yedam asks casually, eyes glued on the screen. Currently, Troy and Gabriella are at the school rooftop and it seems as if the next song is going to start soon.

Your eyes narrow at him. “What are you planning?”

“I’ll take it as a no. But that’s fine too.”

“Yedam, seriously, what are you planning?”

There’s a gleeful twinkle in his eyes when he faces you. Before you can ask again, he stands up and pulls you up with him.

“Just trust me on this. It’ll be fun,” he interrupts you in the middle of your doubts. That shuts you up for good, yet it doesn’t hinder you from sending him warning glares.

You stay blissfully unaware of his ulterior motives until he firmly grabs one hand and puts your other on his shoulder, followed by planting his free hand on your waist. He shoots you a fond and reassuring smile to soothe your panicked self. Then slowly and surely, the first guitar strums come out of the speakers before Gabriella starts singing in the background.

A quick glance behind Yedam to the screen, where the lovestruck couple is also in the same position as you, is enough to let you know in which direction this is heading to.

“No. No. No. I can’t dance, much less slow dance–”

“I’ll guide you. Just keep your eyes on me,” he muses and tilts your chin so you lock eyes.

There are so many cells in you that are screaming at you to look away, but you’re unable to do so. There’s something behind the fragments of fondness in his eyes that you can’t quite decipher, but either way, you get lost in his eyes and your breath hitches.

“Let me guide you,” he repeats in a tone that makes you melt in a matter of seconds. You’re pretty sure your legs would’ve given up at this point if it weren’t for him who takes a step back and tugs you with him.

It goes without saying that you feel like a newborn baby deer that’s still clumsy on its legs. In the first few tries, you’re uncoordinated, stiff as a board and step on his toes a few times, and you’re not able to look away from him. He winces when you misplace your foot and you shoot him an apologetic look in return, but after some time, you get the hang out of it. Midway through the song, your legs no longer feel as if they’re going to mutate into jelly as you sway through the expanse of his living room.

“Look, you’re doing just fine,” Yedam reassures warmly before a grin etches across his lips; as if he just came up with a brilliant masterplan. “Wanna try a spin?”

“No,” you shoot out like a bullet and cause him to giggle. “This is enough for today.”

“Fine then, maybe next time.”

The rest of the song is spent in comfortable silence, warm smiles and occasionally knocking over a book or two when you happen to bump against the shelf. When the song comes to a slow end, you find yourself coming to a standstill. It’s just then when you realized how dangerously close Yedam really is. His breath hits your lips and you pick up the slight scent of spearmint.

You’re not the only one who notices. Yedam’s gaze switches from your eyes to your lips. Confliction is prominent in his face. Even though you’ve grown more comfortable around him, a feeling similar to home even, he’s aware he can’t cross all your limits yet. He doesn’t dare to prod further, lean a little bit closer and you know he’s wordlessly giving you the shots.

At this point, your heart practically hammers against your chest and you wouldn’t put it past him to hear it too. Perhaps, you’re in too deep and for a moment, you slowly move closer until it’s just a matter of a few millimeters separating you.

That is until you’re aware of the fact that you’re clinging onto his hand as if he were your lifeline. The realization causes a knot in your stomach. Suddenly, the doubts flash your mind; the fear that initially overcame you when you first met him at the party, when you found out who Yedam was.

There’s nothing wrong with Yedam. He’s nice and talented and genuinely cares. Yet at the same time, you’re not certain if there’s nothing wrong with him. You can’t be fully certain of him and that realization strikes you like lightning once more.

You try to ignore the sadness that washes over him for a short moment when you pull away.

“I’m sorry. It’s just a little complicated to explain,” you mumble apologetically.

“It’s fine,” he replies in the same manner.

There’s no doubt that you can see the genuineness in his eyes, but you can’t tell whether he was really telling the truth or was trying to manipulate himself into thinking that it truly is fine for him.

Surprisingly, as well as to your luck, he doesn’t bring up the episode again. In fact, he acts as if it never happened and honestly, you wouldn’t want to have it any other way. You’ve become a little more cautious ever since, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t want him performing a little bit of skinship on you. He still sings for you, proudly shows you his latest songs and becomes cozy around you whenever you watch a movie.

Just like any other day you’re at his place, you’re sitting on the couch and currently scrolling mindlessly through your inbox while Yedam is on the other end of the couch.

“I really like you.”

You hope you misheard what he said. Yes, you definitely misheard it, you’re positive of that. The intensity of his gaze when your eyes meet begs to differ though.

Honestly, the day was bound to come sooner or later. After all, you’re not that oblivious. Yedam is similar to you, you like to think – he wears his heart on his sleeve. But whereas you let your bad sides show, he puts all the good in him on display.

“How are you so sure that we’re soulmates? Do you have any other reason besides the fact that I wear your name too?” you ask after a moment of silence. It costs you your entire willpower to not lash out on him and say once more that you’re not interested in something more than what you already have, but he wouldn’t believe that.

And frankly, you’re not sure if you would believe yourself either.

“I do,” he responds, voice full of conviction. “I say it so easily because I found the other person already, and I know that he’s not my soulmate.”

“Again, what makes you so certain about that?”

Yedam purses his lips and hesitates before he sits directly next to you. He opens his mouth several times, but no words come out.

Then suddenly, without any verbal warning whatsoever, he turns to you completely and tugs on the collar of his sweater, pulling it so far down until he exposes a strip of skin underneath his left collarbone.

You gape at the sight, hope you’re hallucinating. You really hope this is just a trick of the light. It must be one.

The pitch black ink contrasts with his skin, and though the letters are fine lines and easy to miss if you don’t pay attention, the name leaves a burning image in your head and a foul taste in your mouth.

Kim Doyoung.

“I wouldn’t put it past him to kill me if he really wants to. And trust me, he’ll definitely have a reason to do so.” Yedam chuckles dryly as he covers the tattoo.

Although you already know the answer, you ask flabbergasted. “Does he know?”

“That I wear his name? Unless he wears mine, which I highly doubt, no. He would’ve confronted me about this by now if he knew.”

It explains a lot. No, it explains everything. It explains why Yedam oozed confidence and was sure that you were bound to last a lifetime. It explains why he looks at you as if you were the center of his world without a doubt. It explains why he’s not afraid of you. He’s only been treading lightly because of you.

You sneak another glance at him and the sight causes something in you to break. Yedam is sitting right beside you, watching you carefully and pleadingly even. The specks of glimmer he holds in his eyes, the ones that reveal his feelings, aren’t even specks anymore. They’ve dissolved and you’re looking right through him. He wears his emotions on full display now, the desperation is prominent more than ever.

He’s treading lightly yet is needy for an answer and slowly reaches out for your hand. Before it can get so far, you turn away from him and croak out a weak “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t trust me?” you wince at the hurt laced in the undertone of his voice.

“It has nothing to do with me trusting you. It’s me, okay? It’s just–”

“–complicated, I get it,” he spits out the words as if they were acid and suddenly, the couch feels much lighter.

“Yedam, I didn’t mean it like that!” you stand up and grab the hem of his sweater in an attempt to bring him to a standstill. “I’m sorry.”

Yedam stands still, but he doesn’t turn around to meet you. He takes in a deep breath and sighs audibly, but you don’t miss the hitch in his breath as if he’s trying to contain something else.

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have–” he pauses, stabilizes his shaky pitch before he reaches back and detaches your grip, “Nevermind.”

He leaves you alone in his living room and it costs you your entire energy to not break down onto the floor.

He doesn’t text you anymore and as much as you itch to contact him, you don’t muster up the courage to actually do it.

Doyoung also noticed the shift in your relationship. Fortunately, he doesn’t pry further and never brings up Yedam in your conversations. You’ve never told him any details but you’re relatively sure that Yedam said some things to him.

Either way, Doyoung remains a great friend. He tries his best to lift up your spirits – even bought you a gallon of your favorite ice cream flavor along with a lifetime supply of candy of all sorts. Once he realized that his wallet was suffering, he resorted to cooking your favorite food, even if that almost resulted in him burning down the kitchen.

However, as much as Doyoung might distract you from your pity party, he’s not a permanent fix. You know it and he knows it. Therefore, it really doesn’t faze you when he brings up the last person you’d want on your mind (to your dismay, he’s the only person on your mind).

“He’s also miserable right now, you know?”

When you don’t respond, he sighs and drops on the seat next to you, seeing it as his cue to continue. “He’s waiting for your call. I don’t know what went down between the two of you, but you better sort it out. Not only am I running out of ideas to get you out of your house, but I’m also pretty sure you two will end up as living corpses if you don’t fix it soon.”

You lift up your head and purse your lips. “It’s not going to end well.”

“You always say that.” he rolls his eyes, sounding more fed up this time. “Yedam didn’t tell me a lot and I know you get turn hyperventilated whenever it comes to your tattoos, so I’m not going ask about that. I never did and never will, get it? All I know is that Yedam dished out his soulmate situation from start to finish. You should trust him too, wholeheartedly.”

“I would’ve done that if I could a long time ago!”

“If I could,” he mimics, two octaves higher than your actual tone, “You can! I don’t want to guilt trip you or anything, but it’s only fair if he knows too. He’s poured his heart out to you, why can’t you do the same? Just think like this: say we live in a world where soulmate tattoos don’t exist, would you like him?”

“I…” your voice trails off.

Seemingly satisfied with your reaction, Doyoung sighs and stands up.

“I think you know the answer too. Talk to him, please.”

Come to think of it, you’ve never invited Yedam over to your place. That’s about to change when you send him your address and find him at your doorstep later in the evening. The sun is long gone and in its place shines the moon along with the stars. Their light is enough to taint your living room in a soft glow and it’s enough to notice every single one of his features.

He’s tired, looks like he hasn’t slept well in days, yet frankly, there’s something oddly comforting about his presence.

“You called?” he asks to break the ice.

Truth be told, you’ve rehearsed what you wanted to say many times a few hours ago. You could’ve also practiced weeks before but you doubt you’d ever get rid of the uncertainty laced in your shaky voice when you start to talk about that topic.

You fiddle with the hem of your sleeves. “I realized something. You never asked to see my tattoo.” It’s not what you rehearsed, but as long as it leads to the point, it’s alright.

“I didn’t want to pressure you,” he responds.

You observe his expression, narrow your eyes in a brief moment of contemplation before you slowly undo the scarf you’re wearing. Yedam is quick to guess where this is heading to and quickly stammers, “Wait, you don’t have to justify yourself in front of me!”

“No, I want to,” you say with conviction and turn around so he can see the black ink at the back of your neck. Although the room is just dimly lit, you know that he can see it clearly. For a moment, you get goosebumps as his fingers ghost over the ink, but you let him bask in his fascination.

“The truth is, this is the only tattoo I was born with,” you confess after a moment of silence.

He gulps. “What?”

“I only wear your name, Yedam. You’re smart, I’m sure you understand the weight of that.” You turn around but don’t find the courage nor the energy to look him in the eye. The silence is heavy, unbearable, and literally nothing about it lifts the pressure off your shoulders. You don’t need to see him to know how the revelation shatters his view on everything in millions of shards.

“Look at me, please,” he pleads instead, and when you shake your head in response, he gently cups your face. You have no other choice but to do as and are startled when all you see is not pure horror, but soft, pure and wholehearted adoration in him.

“God, (y/n), I wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt you. Believe me when I say you mean so much to me. You have no idea how hard I’ve tried to have you voluntarily open up to me. and now that I see the situation from your view, I get why you were so unwilling at first. But trust me when I say I only want the best for you and would never put you in danger.” The raw vulnerability in his voice makes you believe him for a while and keeps you from breaking out in tears.

“You don’t know that.”

“Oh, I do know that. Did you already forget? Doyoung is my potential killer,” he says matter-of-factly and sends you a broken smile, “So before I kill you, I’ll make sure that he ends me first.”

“Great, and then my best friend ends up in jail.”

This time, he genuinely laughs. You, on the other hand, can’t bite down the small smile that paves its way on your lips from that weak joke.

“You’re right, I can’t guarantee your safety from me,” Yedam admits once he’s calmed down and tucks a strand of your hair in place before he goes on, “But I can guarantee that I’ll do anything in my power to make you happy. Have you even looked at my SoundCloud profile? Ever since I met you the majority of my releases are love songs!”

“So you admit that the songs are all about me?” you playfully raise a brow at him.

“Of course they’re all about you.” he breathes out as if the weight on his shoulders was lifted off of him. Yedam still looks like he could need some sleep, but there is no longer a sign of restlessness. He is at ease, and it shows the most when he adds fondly, “It doesn’t have to last forever. We can break it off if you feel unsafe. I hope we can at least try.”

The course of this conversation is oddly reminiscent to your first date in the café, you think. Back then, you were more than convinced that the only way this would end was as a tragedy. Back then, you just said your answer out of pity, one might say. But that was back then, and this time, you’re more than serious and more than convinced when you respond with a smile.

“Trying sounds good.”

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ventingviper-blog · 4 years

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VENT a short essay (only partially chronological)

My grandparents tried throwing me a surprise sweet 16 and it was a surprise I had fun. But I walked in and only two or three of my friends were there. One that’s still my friend to this day, another who is my current boyfriend's best friend, but were on rocky terms now and a basketball teammate. Like I know I should get over it but when you’re told the guest list after the party and realize 10 or so people didn’t show it really sucks. The party ended up being mostly family friends, all of which are my grandparent's age, and family. Like I’m grateful for the people who did show up and I still love them which is why I don’t care if my boyfriend's best friend doesn’t like me anymore he’s always gonna be a person I’ll help no matter what. But damn it really fucked up my self-esteem, I feel like most people around me purely tolerate my existence and don’t actually enjoy my company. I’ve been dealing with abandonment issues since I was a child and I can’t even feel happy trying to create a new family of friends because it stopped being worth the effort. I stopped reaching out to see people and now going out to events is a drag. We hang out with my boyfriend and his friends but honestly trying to feel welcomed in a group of people that been together since 1st grade is a long shot at best. I went with two of them to get drinks at one point and they literally stood in a way where I was the 3rd person on a 2 man sidewalk. He so badly wants me to be a part of his group of friends and I’m trying but there’s literally only 1 it seems I get along with. Then his controlling mother and ass hat of a father, literally my entire, ENTIRE, fucking family loves this man I love this man but his fucking family is a GIANT. BAG. OF. DICKS! Like I get it him and I fucked up in our last month of high school and got pregnant. I WASN’T EVEN THE FIRST PERSON TO KNOW AND I WAS THE PREGNANT ONE! My grandma, she’s amazing but also a cunt at her worst, went into MY kaiser account, she had the password, and checked my test results then called me yelling at 8:30am on a Sunday, after I’d just left the house. So in the 10 minutes it took me to go pick up my boyfriend, he was in the car, I answer the phone and its pure rage, I have no idea what's going on, so she says look at the results and hangs up. Well, we went back and told his mom, who literally says “ what is ‘current boyfriend’ going to think of me?!” great priorities there. Then I went to my grandparent's house to discuss it with them, and my grandma starts off with “ well you have one option”, which I didn’t and then after 2 weeks made my final decision but that two weeks was a living hell. My grandma threatened to revoke my brothers and my graduation trip because of everything that was going on and then said we ( oh yeah grandpa’s been silent this whole ass time) feel you should move in with your mom. I HAD NEVER BEEN MORE PISSED IN MY LIFE! THIS WOMAN HAD MY FATHER AT 17(I can do simple math) AND WAS SUPPORTED BY HER FAMILY YET SHE COULDN’T DO MORE THAN SCREAM WHEN IT HAPPENED TO SOMEONE ELSE. Then my mother comes at me from the other side saying “oh we're going to run away to Washington state and I’ll help you raise the baby” - not going to lie almost agreed to this... so we told my family cause I couldn’t figure out what to do and was honestly thinking about keeping the baby and raising it or, more likely, adoption. WELL HERE COMES THE GOD DAMN CHOIR. My grandma, a look of disgust. His father Not even dogs give away there young. My mom, and the option I was leaning towards the most actually and wanted to do, “ Your aunt had a hysterectomy and hasn’t been able to have children, is willing to take the baby and raise him” She would have raised him as his aunty which wasn’t necessary I wanted him to feel like the people with him were his real parents, and I’d just have to fly/ drive to Washington to give birth, I was ready for this one, happy about the choice. but happiness can’t last too long right, of course not. His father decides to chime in, “insert adoption comment here” oh and the pièce de résistance “If you don’t break up with this girl I will have you castrated or you can dump her.” the two options and the bonus, “If you do anything other than abortion I’ll disown you”. Threatening your son into convincing his pregnant girlfriend to have an abortion. Then his mom joins the fray of people, we go out to lunch she tells me her sob story of how she had an abortion in college and felt it was the right thing to do and feels that her son is the same soul she aborted and all that great stuff, that honestly, I don’t even know if it’s true or not. But damn I haven’t really gotten over the fact that I went through his phone during that time, yes I know It’s wrong I got over doing that after the first year, HE WAS SCREENSHOTTING OUR TEXTS AND SENDING THEM TO HIS MOTHER AND THEN COPYING AND PASTING HER RESPONSE TO ME, I was pissed so I texted him and mentioned us taking a break because obviously tensions were high and I wasn’t feeling the best towards him and he comes back almost instantly with “why? so you can ruin my life?” HE DOESN’T EVEN REMEMBER SAYING THAT TO ME BUT I SURE AS FUCK DO. That one still comes back up to piss me off every so often. So I ended up having an abortion, the medication made me vomit, I can still remember the cold tone the nurses used towards me and the warm tone to the woman next to me, we were in for the same procedure but they’d accidentally punctured her uterine wall, I still get sad and teary when I think about it and its been 5 years, I still get flashbacks to the feeling of the blood between my thighs, It was more than a period ever prepared you for and the clots are just huge, I cried myself to sleep and he held me the entire time and stayed by my. which is probably why we're still together.

But then we were put through a test again. We went out drinking one night, played videogames and whenever you lost you took a half shot, spoiler alert I. LOST. EVERY. GAME. I played maybe 6 games and ended up becoming the designated loser (loser stay till they win) I was the drunkest person there. Well it came time to go cause the host's girlfriend wanted to go to a bar but we wanted to go home when I was sober my boyfriend and I agreed to Uber home his friend parked his car in place where we could leave it overnight and it wouldn’t be towed, his friend said it’s in the lot across the street (important), well we decide to leave and my boyfriend says he’s good to drive, had like 4 beers and a shot is he’s 6′3″ ish and 200lbs. Well, we're heading out and start to go find the car, I realize my jacket is gone, I let him know. NOW ACCORDING TO HIM I RAN BACK TO THE HOUSE TO GET MY JACKET. I don’t remember this however I do remember turning around and my boyfriend was no longer there. So I ran to go find him, still no jacket, I remember checking for headlights and not seeing any so I ran across the street, checked the parking lot and couldn’t find him or his car, so I ran back. As I get back to the other side of the street, everyone's favorite light show starts and I get pulled over by two cops. Well, theY sit me at the bus stop and question me, I HAVE NOTHING ON ME, PHONE, KEYS, WALLET, NOT A SINGLE DAMN THING. So they ask what I’m doing I explain I was at a friend's house drinking a bit and came outside to find my ride, and like clockwork, my boyfriend pulls up and goes to pull up to the curb and see what's going on AND. TAPS. THE. FUCKING. CURB. Immediately the cops say “did you see the way he hit that curb?” He gets out the car to see what's up they yell at him to get back in the car nothing else, so he drives into the parking lot and parks then comes back, they're still talking to me, address, phone number, SSN all that jazz, which I somehow remembered. Then they start focusing on him, they never asked him to come over they allowed him to because he had my wallet. They start giving him the test, pupil, walking, breathalyzer I got kinda cold so they asked him for his jacket to give to me. I’m watching and then I turn around, the cars have multiplied another cop showed up, not even sure when. They start discussing something while we're sitting on the bench, then they say we gotta do one more test and have him come too near the squad car. Well, I’m talking to the other cop then I glance to see how the test is going and he’s cuffed and being put in the car. That was all the info I got they’re taking him in. Of course, drunk me starts crying and I get up and go get his friends and then the cops take his keys and moves his car back to the lot it won't get towed in, well we don’t know what to do so we decide to call his mom, I couldn’t speak because I was crying too hard so his friend spoke. They call me an Uber and it takes me to fucking Aqui’s, so now I’m drunk by myself and crying in the middle of downtown Campbell after everything has been shut down and its a ghost area. I call his best friend and don’t know what to do I just feel guilty his friend asks if I need a ride and I say no, cause you can never inconvenience someone for such a trivial matter, and make it seem like I just called crying like a crazy person ( he hasn’t really talked to me since). I get myself in an uber and to my grandparent's house, I live by myself 5 mins from their place but couldn’t be alone that night, I set up on the couch and get the it’ll be alright comfort speech. They leave I call my mom, history of abusive junky boyfriends and baby daddies with drinking problems, who would know more about someone being arrested than her? She gives me the rundown on what's going to happen and tells me not to feel guilty. So I lay my trashed ass down and watch tv and fall asleep, I had called his mom and so I knew someone was looking out for him I just didn’t know what to do and knew to go to a police station absolutely blasted would be a terrible choice, but apparently, his fucking mother was like She should be here all night worried like I am. I woke up at 3am to 5 missed calls from the police station, queue worst guilt I have ever felt in my entire life! and then the alcohol said the parties over, I vomited and dry heaved the worst tasting vomit in my life. He got picked up I went over around 10:30 11:00 no one was awake but his best friend was outside so I took him to get my boyfriend's car and keys. Literally later that day my boyfriend comes over and he says his mom is pissed and that she literally asked if he was going to dump me and when he said no she said: “then what's it going to take?”, she complained about me not doing anything saying she heard it from his friend, didn’t notice the call came from MY PHONE, “your best friend went to get your car I don't know who took him but he got it”, bitch I took him, and then “you’re not surrounding yourself with the right people” she absolutely “loves” his friends and “loved” me until we started dating, and she greets all his friends with a smile but will barely acknowledge either of us if we come inside. She blames me for this entire thing and I am no longer allowed at his house. She threatened to kick him out and make him come live with me, which would violate the agreement I have with my grandparents upon renting a place from them and is why I told him to not tell his mom I moved out because she’s prone to this line of threat. ( I was threatened once to be kicked out and said fuck your timeline if you want me gone I’m gone and moved in with my mother). His parents literally referred to me as “that stupid little girl he’s dating” and when describing what happened his mom said she was being stupid and running around in the middle of the street then walked up to three cops and started talking to them. I got pulled over, the most I could have done was acted like I hadn’t seen them. The only thing I really feel guilty about is that I got let off without even a warning they just kinda brushed over me and went straight for him. We now have an arrangement that he’s never allowed to approach me when I’m with cops. You wouldn’t think you’d have to have that talk.

Summary: I’m really fucking done with my boyfriend's shitty parents and I’m about to tell them to fuck off. But my boyfriend just wants peace in this world so now I’m here.

I’m also still recovering from trauma throughout my life.

Edit: He blew a .08 on the field test the legal limit exactly and then .06 in the lab thats less than 15 mins away

#family #abortion #dui #drinking #family drama #bitches

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keelywolfe · 5 years

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FIC: Biting Off More Than You Can Chew; part 3

Summary: Rus has his answers, there’s just one more person he needs to talk to and he’s a hell of an asshole. This surprises no one.

Tags: heatfic, dubious consent, NSFW, frenemies to lovers, mates, first time, more if I think of them

PLEASE READ THE TAGS: This is a Heat story, so there are going to be issues of consent. I don’t do partner rape, nope, but hey, I want to be straight with y’all. I like heatfics personally, but I understand how they can be troubling for some people. So there it is.

There is still no explicit sex in this chapter. There will be eventually. There is a little violence.

Also on AO3

Read Chapter 1

Read Chapter 2

~~*~~

Underfell was fucking dangerous but Rus knew his way to Red’s sentry station in Snowdin. It was a mirror-version of his own world, a left turn instead of a right, and while miscalculating a shortcut could have consequences, he wasn’t worried about that right now. At least ending up halfway in a tree would solve a few problems.

That said, he didn’t want to step out into the middle of some kind of territorial dispute or road rage, or whatever the fuck it was that made the denizens of Underfell so damn dust-thirsty. His shortcut left him in a nearby copse of trees, looking out from around one of them warily.

There was nothing in sight but more snow and trees, and the sentry station itself. In other words safe-ish, a relative term in Underfell.

The sentry station was even more haphazard than the one in Underswap, made from moldering boards, snow dripping from every eve. And Red was slouched in a rickety chair, eyes closed, with his feet propped up and a slender cigar smoldering between his fingers.

Snow crunched beneath his sneakers as Rus walked over, his feet sinking into the drifts until he got to the road. It was almost insulting that Red didn’t even open his eye, only took a slow puff from the cigar. “you look like a fucking target in that sweatshirt, honey bun. shoulda taken a cue from paps and doctored it up with a little sharpie ‘cause you may as well write yourself up an advertisement for free xp.”

Rus ignored that, the implied insult. He wasn’t a fighter and he knew it, had never wanted to be a guard or a warrior, had never needed to be. He was who he was, and that wasn’t something this asshole could simply abuse.

“you son of a bitch,” Rus ground out. His magic was running hot, untouched by the chilly air, his vision shading into searing orange.

“what?” Red finally looked at him, his sockets slitting open to reveal lazy crimson eye lights. He couldn’t quite manage innocence, Rus had never expected that of him, but he’d let himself be fooled by appearances once. He’d known who Red was, how the denizens of Underfell were, and yeah, Red resembled his brother, but he wasn’t like Blue he was like…

(me)

…an asshole. He really should have known it was Edge who mirrored Blue, the same as Papyrus. The protector, the guardian with an impeachable code of honor. He was clear of the blinders now and what Rus was getting from Red was that he had fucked both him and his own brother over. Literally.

“do not try that shit with me,” Rus snarled. It still hurt, to think someone with his brother’s face had used him like this. “you knew! there’s no fucking way you didn’t!”

“figured it out did ya.” Red stuck his cigar between his teeth and gestured imperiously for Rus to lean in. Reluctantly, he did and Red tugged down his collar. He winced as Red prodded the bite mark roughly. "got you good, didn’t he.”

Rus shook him away, standing up straight and demanded, “why me?”

It gained him a lazy shrug, Red taking a long draw off his cigar and his words came with a stream of smoke. “there’s no one else, really. can’t trust anyone in underfell, they’d use it against him before the come was even dry. can’t exactly help him myself, even if i wanted to. heats won't mark too close a relative. they smell like dirty fucking socks or spoiled meat, it’s kinda a turn off.”

He tapped ash into the snow, scattering gray, “sans and papyrus, they seem to be too close, they don't work. something about you and the blueberry, though. whatever jumble your universe has going for it, you're different enough to twig to it. noticed it during my last heat.” Red grinned slowly. “bet you remember it.”

He did, Rus realized. At movie night a few months back, Sans and Papyrus had both been complaining about a rank smell all night and had finally left early. Rus had figured that the damn dog had hidden something that was rotting merrily away somewhere in the house, but he and Blue had never found it, hadn’t even been able to smell it. They’d been puzzled by Sans and Papyrus’s complaint and by the next movie night, it had been gone.

“yeah, you remember,” Red said softly. “that’s when i figured out your ‘verses don’t get ‘em. and that was just the pre-show, you weren’t even catching the sweet side yet, the stink comes early so family has time to clear out. gotta tell ya, this is his first heat, they’re always the worst. he was gonna tough it out, but i’ve seen how that can end.” He shook his head, “i can’t risk it, not my bro. so it had to be you.”

Rus really wished he could shove away that niggling feeling of calculated understanding. What would he have done if it had been his brother, what wouldn’t he do…still. “you could have asked!”

“coulda,” Red agreed amicably, “but i didn’t have many ideas if you said no, and then you would have had advance warning. nah, my way worked fine,” His grin turned sly, his sockets half-closed as he tipped a look at Rus. “you should be thankin’ me. figured you were experienced enough to handle it. i coulda picked your brother.”

Any faint sympathy in his soul went cold and the sharp heat of his anger turned to icy fury, "you fucking—"

He didn’t even think, reaching out with blue magic and flinging Red out of his chair into the snow. For a moment, Red blinked up at the sky, wheezing, before he rolled over onto his hands and knees. Slowly, he climbed to his feet, dusting snow off his jacket. His grin bordered on feral, sharp and glistening. “you get that one for free.”

“don’t you even talk about my brother!” Rus shouted, past caring if anyone heard and came to investigate. He sent a wave of jagged bones at Red, watching furiously as he lazily sidestepped it, and impending danger didn’t register until he saw the flare of crimson in Red’s eye socket.

By then it was too late, snow was cold beneath him and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe, strangling on blue magic that wasn’t merely pinning him down, it was holding him completely, to the point he couldn’t even suck in air. Panicked, Rus struggled, uselessly, his vision blurring, darkening, until it let up enough for him to gasp, gagging on magic. He was still pinned down, but he could breathe again. Some cold, efficient part of Rus noted that it was a remarkably effective attack; couldn’t summon your own magic if you were focused on suffocating.

That infuriating little bastard strolled over to stand next to Rus, his hands in his pockets. Aside from the sharp glow in his left socket there wasn’t even a hint of strain. His grin was cold, calculating, and Rus swallowed down a touch of real fear.

“said you got one freebie, didn’t I, you don’t get to double dip. i could take you back there right now, you know,” Red said idly, nudging at him with the toe of his shoe. “tie you up pretty as a present. i’m betting my bro doesn’t have a whole lot of ‘no’ left in him.”

The pressure tightened again, until Rus strangled out a cry, then it let up entirely, allowed him to roll gasping to his side. “don’t think i need to though. you and i are a lot alike and—"

“we are nothing alike!” Rus spat, struggling to his feet. His clothes were soaked through from snow that had melted beneath him from the heat of their magic, sagging heavily on his bones and his ribs ached from being compressed.

Red only picked up his cigar, grimacing as it drooped soggily. He tossed it aside, muttered irritably, then snapped at Rus, “yeah, you can spout that party line all you want but we both know better. i know you, a little of me is you, you shit, and i know there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for your bro. and i can’t help but think there’s a few things you might be willing to do for mine.”

“you…you…” The cold was creeping in now, fucking hell, and Rus couldn’t tell if it was the chill or his own fury making him stammer.

“besides, you can quit pretending like you’re some kind of screaming fucking virgin anytime now,” Red grinned, but his eye lights were pitiless. He slouched back into his chair, propping his boots back up. ��i hear things, even in your ‘verse. you’ve flapped your knees for half of underswap, what’s one more?”

It made him wince and Rus glared at Red furiously, “that was my choice, it doesn’t mean you can set me up as a whore for your brother! if you have a problem with me fucking around, you can stuff it up your sanctimonious cockhole, you psychotic piece of shit bastard.”

“’course it was your choice,” Red said agreeably, “and so is this.” He rolled back to his feet, stalking over and poked Rus in the sternum, his sharp fingertip digging through the thick material of his sweatshirt. “you’re right, that what you wanna hear? i set you up and you can go ahead and be pissed at me. you can hate me all you fucking want. i deserve it. the real question is, are you gonna let my bro die because of it?"

Rus looked away.

“you—” he stopped, grinding his teeth. There wasn’t an insult he could think of that would convey the purity of his anger right now. He doubted he needed one, Red knew exactly what he was thinking, all of it was visible in his smirk. He turned on heel and marched away and moments before he shortcutted away, he heard Red call out, his gravelly voice sweetly cheerful.

“have fun, honey!”

He stepped out of the shortcut into the machine room, the worse place to be with the way he felt. He wanted to break something, feel it shatter, he wanted to scream.

“i’m going to kill him,” Rus ground out, knew it for the lie it was before it ever left his mouth. He wasn’t, he couldn’t. Even if he had a chance to beat Red in a fight, he couldn’t hurt anyone who looked so much like his little brother. He laughed, then, sinking down to the floor, muffling it with his hands, and hating the hysterical edge to it, but he couldn’t stop.

“looks like i’m fucked,” he giggled, laughing until he felt tears sliding down his cheek bones. He wiped them away roughly and shook himself.

Enough self-pity bullshit. Red was right about one thing, at least; this wasn’t Edge’s fault, and if Red had bothered to ask, if he’d actually sat down and told Rus what was going on, he probably would’ve said yes, anyway. Oh, he’d have blustered and fussed about it, he knew himself well enough for that. But…yeah. It wasn’t in him to let anyone suffer, not even Edge. Undyne had said he was going to hurt himself or someone else, and Rus was guessing it would be soon.

“it’s your choice,” he muttered to himself, fingering the mark on his collarbone. It itched, dry marrow flaking beneath his fingertips. “your choice, so fucking make it.” He nodded a little and made his way over to the machine.

If they were going to do this, he had a few things to take care of first.

tbc

Read the Next Chapter

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underswap papyrus #underfell papyrus #biting off more than you can chew

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2-3bangtanyouniverse-blog · 5 years

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meeting the family [kim taehyung]

[A/n]: this is for my friend. she specified this had to be set in the UK so she could consider the finished product relatable, so boom, it’s going to be cold af for scientific purposes.

---

It had been a strange couple of days. The thing was, [Y/n] and Taehyung were planning to visit [Y/n]’s family in the afternoon, but they got carried away when they saw a Gucci sale online, and, basically... they ended up just getting ready to leave in the late evening, so r.i.p to those plans.

It wasn’t a pleasant night either. Foggy, with only the orange-ish street lamps around the city to guide them. Not very great, considering the ride to [Y/n]’s grandma’s house was roughly two hours and a half. So the [H/c/n] girl was feeling fairly grumpy. But, fortunately, her boyfriend was quite the charmer, so soon both her and Taehyung were making do with fuzzy blankets and a great playlist.

“I’m so sick of this fake love, fake love, fake love,” [Y/n] and Taehyung practically yelled, amazingly in sync, though their hand gestures were limited because he was driving and she was trying to keep as many parts of her body underneath the blanket as possible, as she was curled up in the passenger seat attempting not to catch pneumonia.

I think it’s safe to say it was pretty damn cold.

Like, really.

The UK wasn’t currently having the most refreshing, fruitful spring, was it?

The weather had been switching from chilly to freezing, to slightly tepid, to frost- bitingly cold again, it was almost intolerable.

So that’s why [Y/n] and Taehyung decided to visit her family, who all live in a village on the coast, right where all the icy, sea wind popped in to say hello and ruin everybody’s day.

Lovely timing, wasn’t it?

Nonetheless, they were doing it anyway, because GucciBoy and Miss.I’m-Not-Taking-Anyone’s-Shit-Especially-Not-My-Boyfriend’s were solid and were certain they could manage it.

no...

But they were doing an averagely-good job, to be fair. They had gotten through most of the night running on basically no mental fuel, a bag the size of [Y/n]’s head full of junk food they had picked up from a petrol station, and a few blankets. Okay, so maybe they were doing quite well off anyway, but... cheers to them for putting up with the fog, anyways.

“We’re...we’re here...no wait...” [Y/n] wasn’t really feeling anything but disoriented, and she broke off when she glanced at the time. Oh, wow. [Y/n] suddenly came to the realization of how dramatic she and Taehyung were. It wasn’t even all that late. Just about 9:30. Heck, her cousins, uncle, and aunt were probably still over at her grandma’s getting dinner ready like they had mentioned. Maybe they did have time to have a meal before they slept.

“Oh, I didn’t realize it wasn’t even all that late either!” Taehyung actually giggled at their over exaggeration, killing [Y/n] a little bit with cuteness. Nonetheless, don’t let looks deceive you. Taehyung was the human embodiment of an angel and a devil pushed into one person.

“Tae, turn... turn right.” At her sleepy word, Taehyung moved the car as gently as he could, knowing how tired she was, and they were on their way up at nostalgic little hill towards the heart of the village.

Now, let’s talk a little bit about [Y/n]’s family’s current envisionment of Taehyung. They hadn’t seen any photos yet [except for the cousins because they were hip but had agreed to keep it all a secret] because [Y/n] was keeping her parents, who had already met him, on strict watch, not letting them show any sort of photo of him yet.

All they knew was he was stunningly gorgeous, amazing at singing, was a generally lovely person, and had worked extremely hard on his English [and done very well] specifically for this, seeing as how meeting the parents had been a bit of a surprise and he hadn’t had any time to practice, though he really didn’t need to anyway. But since there would be significantly more people, he did feel slightly nervous about improving his English skills, though reassure him as [Y/n] might that everything would be fine.

But [Y/n] would translate anything at all to him if it were necessary, since Taehyung had made her promise.

They parked in the driveway, and the car came to a satisfying stop.

“Jagi, I’m nervous.”

[Y/n], who had been holding his hand since the car had halted, blinked in surprise and raised their intertwined hands in the air, only to notice his were trembling.

“Aw, Tae...” She mumbled, leaning her head on his shoulder. He just ruffled her hair. “You’ll be fine, I promise. Come on, meeting my parents was a surprise, and you still handled it amazingly! I’ve talked to everyone before this, and they already seem to love you and are so elated to meet you.”

But he still seemed to have cold feet.

“But what if I’m not what they expected?” [Y/n] snorted. “Bullshit, shut up.”

The classic-[Y/n]-attitude seemed to cheer him up, so they exited the car, got their suitcases and stuff in hand, and walked up the steps to the door. [Y/n] knew the door would be unlocked, so she nudged it open with her shoulder and instantly dropped her luggage, Taehyung doing the same.

They had definitely brought too much.

But you know, GucciBoy gotta dress well, so it’s understandable.

So, soon after the ceremonial sound of the door clicking open was heard, [Y/n]’s family came rushing to the front door to finally meet the magical boyfriend—

wOw.

Flowy ocean-blue hair, dark, dreamy eyes, heavenly smooth skin, pretty plush pink lips, this guy was the whole package.

And [Y/n] was right.

Before either of them knew what was happening, Taehyung was shaking numerous hands and everyone was smiley and happy, whispering [Y/n] congratulations on how lucky she was, and so on and so fourth.

It was now safe to confirm everyone had already fallen head over heels in love with Taehyung, Taehyung with his perfectness and cute boxy smile, Taehyung with his adorable tint of Korean accent, Taehyung with his damn beautiful everything.

Dinner was delicious, though [Y/n] couldn’t help touching Taehyung’s hand from under the table, only to be delighted to discover it wasn’t shaking in the slightest. He had been charismatic, charming, and irresistibly lovely the entire night, and it only got better when he pulled out a bouquet for [Y/n]’s grandma, shocking the both grandma and [Y/n]. “When did you get that?” [Y/n] gasped, wide-fucking-eyed.

He just chuckled and shot her a wink. “I have my ways.”

----

(not the end yet bitches)

----

[Y/n] and Taehyung were originally planning to have a nice video call with [Y/n]’s mother, but [Y/n] ended up falling asleep on his chest, so she was basically out. It did make sense after the longish evening and night they’d had.

But Taehyung got so caught up in conversation with [Y/n]’s mother, they forgot to turn it off and say goodbye. The steady stream of compliments and sweet things spilling out of Taehyung’s mouth about [Y/n] was unstoppable, so it did make sense for him to get carried away, of course with her mother agreeing with everything.

“Hold on,” Taehyung muttered, reaching over to the bedside table to grab an item. Smiling, he showed [Y/n]’s mother the glittering diamond ring. “I bought this last month. Do you think she’ll like it?”

She squealed instantly, her face lighting up with delight. “Oh, she’ll love it, Tae, she already loves you.” She knew they deserved each other.

Taehyung’s eyes twinkled, and his signature boxy smile flashed across his face, as well as a look of pure, unrestrained joy.

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fandammit · 6 years

Text

Loss like the sharp edges of a knife (8/9)

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7

[A/N: Sometimes your OCs take you on a journey, and you just gotta follow along and see where it leads.]

His early morning run does bring him past Karen’s apartment.

It’s a dark, cloudy day with a weird, final cold snap of weather that has him wearing a sweater and his beanie for the first time in weeks.

Amidst the backdrop of the gray sky and gray pavement and sullen gray-toned brick is the pot of yellow daffodils, so bright it might as well act as a beacon to him from the down the street.

Sitting on the ledge of her window is his worn, battered copy of Moby Dick. He picks it up carefully and opens it, flips through the pages hesitatingly. He’s not quite sure what he’s expecting to find, not quite sure what might hurt him the most -- that there’s something within its pages that speaks to her lack of understanding of him, or that there’s nothing within it at all.

He breathes out a long sigh of relief when he sees that she’s written on nearly every page, forces himself to close the book with a sharp thwap because he can’t trust himself to stop once he gets started.

He runs back to the car with the book gripped closely to his chest, keeps it tucked up next to him as he drives back to him apartment. Some practical, logical part of him knows that it’s no more or less from Karen than any of her other gifts to him, but it’s overshadowed by that deeper, more sentimental part of him that believes Karen has in some way looked into his soul and at least not found it wanting.

He opens the book up in the silence of his living room, his breath loud in his ears, his heart thumping painfully in his chest. A quick flip through reveals that she’s left nothing tangible in it; has instead chosen to leave pieces of herself as words on the pages -- answers to his questions, questions to his underlined passages, replies to his notes in the margins.

By now, he knows the story by heart, could simply read through Karen's margin notes and be done in a single afternoon.

But this gift is not a photo or a thing -- it is not a single moment, frozen in time, or a single object, static and unchanging. Instead, what he holds in his hands feels like something closer to a conversation, more intimate and real than the drawn out months of exchanges they've had by way of gifts.

He reads the first few pages of the novel, then reads his notes aloud, muttered softly under his breath. He flicks his eyes over Karen's written reply, his gaze moving slowly over her firm, slanted script, the words so completely her that he can almost hear her voice echoing in the emptiness of his living room.

So he decides to re-read the entire book again, decides that he can’t fully understand the conversation between him and Karen without falling back into the story at the same time.

That first day he has the book back, he has to put it down halfway through the third chapter when he looks up at the clock and realizes that he’s supposed to be on his way to the boxing gym. He grabs his gym bag and, at the last moment, throws the book in there, too. He knows he won’t have any time to read it -- especially not since Paul will likely make him run at least two extra laps for being late -- but it gives him a small sense of comfort just to have it nearby.

Paul makes him run through extra drills for being late, but he doesn’t mind -- it makes the time go by faster, helps him to forget the lingering presence of Karen in his bag by the door.

He barely has time to shower and change before he’s rushing off to Jeremy and Marisol’s house, making good on a promise to Mrs. Abaya that he’ll fix their dryer.

He’s five minutes later than he said he would be, but it works out fine because there’s no car in the driveway when he pulls up. He doesn’t mind. He knows Jeremy is perpetually late -- a point of fact that makes Mrs. Abaya call him an honorary Filipino in a fond tone of voice -- and it gives him time to sit on their front stoop and read through a few chapters of Moby Dick.

Even just as words on the page, she’s spelled out her compassion, her empathy, her reserve of steeliness. Even this far from him, even as just a haunting presence in the book, she pushes against him. Pushes him to think beyond himself, asks him questions that he desperately wants to try to answer, even if he doesn’t know how.

If you’re Ahab, does that make me Ishmael?

He pauses at those words, reads the question over and over again. Tries to imagine how she’d say them if they were two people sitting across from one another in a coffee shop -- if there’d be a teasing spark in her eyes or if she’d lean forward, a serious expression on her face, her blue eyes swallowing him up completely.

He’s shakes himself out of his daydream when he hears Jeremy pull up into the driveway.

“Tito Peter!” Emeline shouts, opening the door and leaping out of the minivan before Jeremy even has a chance to turn off the car. She launches herself into his arms and hugs him like it’s been weeks since she’s last seen him rather than just three days. She’s wearing a soccer uniform, the knees all stained with grass, her bangs stuck to her forehead with sweat.

“Hey honey,” he says, rubbing her on the back before leaning away so he can talk to her. “How’d you do? Did you guys win?”

A wide grin splits her face.

“Yea - yes, Tito! And I scored the winning goal!”

“Course you did, Emeline!” He wraps his fingers around her arms, raises them up above her head in a gesture of victory. “Nice job, sweetie. Wish I could’ve been there to see it.”

She sighs heavily.

“Maybe you can tell Paul to move your training sessions, Tito. Then you can come and watch me.”

He smiles.

“I’ll give it a shot, Emeline. Paul -- he’s pretty strict, but I think I’ll be able to convince him.”

Emeline lights up, bounces up on her toes.

“You can bring him along, Tito. He can cheer for us.”

“Alright, Emeline, you need to go take a shower while Tito Peter helps daddy with dryer,” Jeremy says, coming up behind her. “Hey Pete, good to see you,” he says, nodding to him and reaching out a hand. “Thanks for coming over, I appreciate it.”

“But daddy, how are you going to help Tito?” Emeline asks, a thoroughly confused look on her face. “You don’t know how fix a dryer -- that’s why lola asked Tito peter.”

Jeremy grins, glances over at Frank.

“Out of the mouth of babes, huh, Pete?” He turns to Emeline. “Well, I’m gonna hold his beer, for one. And then I’ll hand him a wrench when he asks for it. And then I’m gonna send him off with some of your lola’s lumpia that she told me to give him once he’s done.” He leans over and unlocks the door, gestures towards the inside of the house. “Now, off to the shower with you.”

She giggles, then rushes through the door.

“I can help better than you can, Daddy!” She shouts as she speeds down the hall. “Just wait for me, Tito Peter!”

Jeremy laughs, then gestures inside and follows Frank.

“So, hey, I really do appreciate this.” He’s glancing down at the stack of mail in his hands as he says it, a nervous of energy to him as he speaks. “It’s a new dryer -- well, new-ish -- so hopefully it’s nothing major and -- oh shit!” Jeremy’s face is a mixture of shock and excitement as he looks down at the opened letter in his hands, which then very quickly shifts into disappointment as he rifles through the packet of papers it’s attached to. “Oh shit. Oh. Shit.”

Frank shuffles from one foot to another, slaps his hands in front of him as he does.

“Everything ok, Jeremy?”

Jeremy looks up, blinks a few times and tries to smile.

“Yeah, God, sorry Pete.” He flips the paper around to show Frank the letter -- just long enough so that he can see the words “congratulations!” written in fancy lettering at the top before he turns it back around. “Emeline -- she got accepted into this really great private prep school. Great STEM program, you know? Our little engineer -- though God knows where she got that from.”

“So, that’s, uh, good, right? I mean, that’s where Emeline belongs.” He squints at the crestfallen look on Jeremy’s face. “What’s the problem then?”

Jeremy sighs heavily.

“There’s just no way, Pete -- no way that we can afford the tuition. School will cover up to a half of it -- needs based, you know. But the rest -- I mean, even paying half is too much for us -- we’d have to get private or outside scholarships and I’m not sure...”

He shakes his head.

“Doesn’t hurt to try though, right?” Frank asks. “See what’s out there?”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right. There’s a general scholarship application that the school sends out to donors, so there’s a chance, right? Just -- damn -- I was hoping they’d cover a little bit more.” He folds the letter back up and sticks it in his back pocket. He smiles at Frank, though it's strained at the edges. “Anyway, we’ll figure it out. Let’s tackle this dryer first.”

They spend the next hour or so fixing the dryer, Jeremy and Emeline taking turns helping him. Jeremy mostly hangs back and lets Emeline run around Frank, asking questions and taking turns with tools. He tries to cover it up, but Frank can tell how defeated the other man looks as he watches his daughter unscrew the various parts of the dryer and put it back together.

He thinks about that look as he drives home, can feel the outline of a plan form in his mind. Once he gets home and takes Gracie for a walk, he’s mostly managed to fit it all together. It mostly depends on David, which basically means it’s as good as done.

He spends the rest of the night laying in bed, Gracie at his feet, Moby Dick resting against his chest as he reads.

He likes that Karen’s notes become more intimate, more direct as the book goes on, her voice so loud and present he can almost hear it in the quiet of this apartment. She challenges him easily, like she has since they first met. She also disagrees with enough to make him nervous, wary that they’ll break on something fundamental. But it never even skirts close to a line of rejection, to a place on incompatibility. Instead, she pushes him to re-think passages, pushes him to want to ask her about a word or phrasing or observation in person.

The whale isn’t Evil incarnate, Frank -- it’s nature, or the universe, or God himself. They don’t care about any of us the way Ahab thinks they do. They don’t care about us at all, really. There’s something sad and comforting about that at the same time, don’t you think?

He closes the book as he thinks about those words, thinks about a life in which a negligent God might be a source of comfort, thinks about what kind of life Karen has led for her to think that and just how little he knows about it.

Promises himself that he’ll ask once he sees her again.

“So, any news on the Karen front?” David asks the next day.

They’re sitting the shade of his house, the half-finished patio deck behind them. It’s a slow going project, made slower by the fact that David tends to forget what exactly it is he’s supposed to be doing at any given time. He’s not incapable, Frank’s found, only unmotivated. And he basically has no motivation to finish up this patio deck project seeing as it’s mostly to give Frank an excuse to come over in the afternoons. He thinks that there must be some part of David that is afraid that he’ll just stop coming over if he has no obvious reason to do so.

He wouldn’t, of course, but he doesn’t mind having something to do with his hands when he wants to drown out David’s rambling.

He shrugs his shoulders. He doesn’t want to lie, but he also isn’t prepared to discuss the truth

“It’s a long book, David.”

David chuckles.

“Yeah, Frank.” He shakes his head, gives Frank a rueful look. “Yeah, it is.”

He looks like he’s about to say something else, so Frank clears his throat to head him off.

“So, uh, listen. Wondered if you could do a favor for me?”

He tries to keep his tone light, his expression easy. It’s been nearly seven months now since it was just the two of them living together in that basement, where favors and plans meant murder and mayhem, but he thinks that those memories must not easily fade. They haven’t for him at least.

David must notice, because he looks more curious than anxious.

“Yeah, sure, Frank. Whatever you need.” He tilts his head. “What’s up?”

“The lady that runs the shelter -- Mrs. Abaya. She’s got this granddaughter, right? Smart kid, name’s Emeline.” David nods. “So, she got into this prep school but the tuition -- her parents are gonna have trouble paying it. I figure since I got all this money and no real reason to spend it, might as well do something good with it.”

David blinks rapidly and the edges of his mouth turn up in a smile, though there’s a twinge of confusion in his gaze.

“Ok, that’s, I mean, that’s great Frank. But I’m not sure where I come in.”

He stuffs his hands into his pockets, licks his lips.

“Well her parents -- they’re not just gonna let me hand over thousands of dollars. So, I’m wondering if you, you know, set up something that makes it look like she got a scholarship, right? You make it look good, make it look legit, so they don’t know it’s me.” He takes out a folded piece of paper from his back pocket. “So, that’s the school and the amount over the next four years and, uh, as much as I know about the process and Emeline’s application. Figure you can find out the rest -- whatever else you need.”

David reads it over quickly then smiles broadly at him and nods.

“Yeah. I can do that.” He pushes off from the side of the house, reaches over and pats Frank on the shoulder. “It’s a good thing you’re doing, Frank. You’re a good man.”

He looks away and shrugs, holds his hands out in front of him in a dismissive gesture.

“I’m not -- it’s just the thing to do. Emeline deserves it, so do her parents.” He’s almost embarrassed by how David’s looking at him, so he ducks down and picks up his toolbox. “Gonna get going but you’ll, uh, let me know when it’s done?”

David nods, gives Frank a distracted wave and a faraway smile that makes him grin. He wouldn't be surprised if everything was set up by the time he goes to bed tonight.

He stops off at a coffee shop that he likes on the way home. Or rather, a coffee shop that Gracie likes since the coffee’s subpar but the baristas all love her enough to keep the specific brand of treats that she likes for when he stops in.

He settles in the corner of the patio, hat pulled low against the midday sun, and opens up Moby Dick. He loses himself in the story, in the push and pull of Karen’s words, in how desperately he wants to believe in them.

Yes, Ahab wants revenge too, but he’s dragged this whole mess of people along with him and doesn’t care about how it affects them. He’s selfish and egomaniacal. You aren’t. You’re a good man, Frank, in a way that Ahab never could be.

He has to resist the urge to trace his finger over those words, has to stop himself from pressing them into the broken cracks of his psyche. He closes the book like it’ll provide some sort of barrier between him and those words -- a good man -- which he doesn’t know can ever really apply to him, doesn’t know if they ever really could.

His phone buzzes in his pocket.

He clicks open the text message from David and purses his lips, impressed.

Everything’s all set up. Jeremy Morgan should get an official letter in his e-mail detailing Emeline’s scholarship award in the next day or so.

His next text is a link, which Frank clicks on and then snorts when he sees the website it pulls up.

The Castle Foundation the header reads, bold white text on a black background. Underneath it, in smaller letters --

Proudly serving the needs of military families from underrepresented and minority communities

He spends the next fifteen minutes scrolling the site, clicking on all the different links, reading the about and history and FAQ. The entire thing is so polished and so thorough that even he almost has trouble believing it isn’t actually a real foundation.

He x’es out of the website and taps into his messages.

Thanks. A little excessive though, don’t you think?

Can never be too careful. Hope it goes well!

Goes well turns out to be a bit of an understatement.

On Wednesday, he shows back up at Jeremy and Marisol’s house, ostensibly to fix a broken dishwasher and is ushered into the kitchen by Jeremy, who cannot stop beaming at him. He walks in the room to find a cake, Emeline in a party hat, about a dozen different Abaya family members that he only vaguely recognizes and both Marisol and Mrs. Abaya crying.

He shoots a questioning look over to Jeremy, who manages to beam even more brightly at him, a feat which had previously seemed impossible.

“Sorry, Peter, I announced it a little early because I was so excited but -- we are celebrating our one and only darling Emeline going to the Horace Mann School starting next fall...on a fully paid scholarship until she graduates!”

He’s never been an exceptionally good liar, so he’s glad when everyone in the room turns towards Emeline and cheers out loud despite apparently already hearing this news. He wades through the crowd and gives Emeline a hug, is enveloped by one from both a teary Marisol and Mrs. Abaya.

He’s standing back from the crowd as half a dozen aunts start setting up catering trays and plates when he feels a tap on his shoulder, looks over to see Jeremy gesturing for him to follow him out into the hallway.

“Hey, I just wanna say, man,” Jeremy claps his on the shoulder. “Thank you so much for what you did.”

“What I -- what exactly did I do?”

Jeremy smiles.

“Hey, no worries, Pete, I didn’t tell anyone since I know you want it kept a secret. So, I get this email yesterday, right? This foundation I never heard of and it just sounded almost too good to be true, plus their name wasn’t listed on the official foundation list that I got in the mail from the school. So I call the number on the website just to verify -- talk to the public relations guy there. Michael...something…” He snaps his fingers a few times. “Michael...Mike Roe!”

Frank barks out a laugh that he very hastily covers up with a cough and hopes that Jeremy doesn’t notice.

“So, uh, what’d Mike say?”

Jeremy grins widely at him.

“Says they’re a new foundation, just starting out -- which is why they hadn’t been on the mailer -- but a lot of money behind them. Anyway, we get to talking and -- well -- he finally says that you’d been the one to put in a nomination for Emeline.”

This time, he doesn’t have to pretend to be surprised.

“And hey, I get it -- why you didn’t tell me. In case it didn’t work out, right?”

Frank purses his lips and nods.

“But, damn man, did it work out. That must’ve been some nomination you submitted because Mike said they don’t normally hand out awards this big.” He shakes his head, breathes out sharply. “And I just -- I really appreciate it, Pete. It was gonna break my heart to tell Emeline we couldn’t afford it.”

He nods, looks away from Jeremy and shrugs.

“No big deal, Jeremy. Didn’t really do much, you know -- just told the truth, clicked a few buttons.”

Jeremy laughs and shakes his head.

“Well, either way, I appreciate it.” He reaches over and gives Frank a quick hug. “Now c’mon, let’s go in there and eat before we get in trouble by one of the aunties.”

Forty-five minutes later, Jeremy is walking him to the door, a plastic bag holding various tupperware filled with leftover food in his hands.

“So, the dishwasher is actually broken,” Jeremy says sheepishly. “That wasn’t, like, a ruse or anything to get you to come over here. I just figured you wouldn’t wanna sit and fix it while everyone was having fun around you.”

Frank shrugs.

“Wouldn’t’ve minded.”

Jeremy laughs.

“I believe it.” He gestures towards the living room. “Sure you don’t wanna stay a little longer? Pretty sure someone’s gonna break out the karaoke machine soon, so that’s always a good time.”

Frank smiles and shakes his head.

“Maybe next time. I -- uh -- have a book I’ve been trying to finish, so --.” He shrugs. “You know.”

Jeremy nods, waves him out the door with an enthusiastic smile.

He sits in his car for a moment and scrolls through the pictures on his phone until he finds the one he wants to send.

It’s Emeline, standing in the kitchen, a crooked party hat on her head, flanked by her parents and Mrs. Abaya, with Frank crouched down next to her. He hadn’t wanted to be included, had only agreed when Mrs. Abaya had shot him a stern look and given a pointed gesture to the space next to Emeline -- which makes him almost 100% certain that the secret of his ‘nomination’ is no longer actually a secret.

Emeline is holding up her acceptance letter to Horace Mann, her parents and Mrs. Abaya beaming. His smile in the picture, too, is wide and genuine -- Emeline’s excitement rubbing off on him, maybe. Or perhaps from the warmth of Mrs. Abaya’s hand resting on his shoulder, Emeline’s arm threaded through his -- that feeling of belonging, of family.

He looks at the photo for a long moment and finds that his throat feels tight as he does. He takes a deep breath in and clears his throat before sending the picture to David.

Went well. Guess you’ve gotten pretty bad at keeping secrets though, Mike Roe.

David sends back a thumbs up emoji, followed by a text a moment later --

Thought you could use a few more people out there knowing that you’re a good man.

#frank castle #kastle ff #david lieberman #kastle #fic: loss like the sharp edges of a knife #my fic

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drunklander · 6 years

Text

Drunj!Der Yells About Outlander

Thoughts on Ep. 313

Ermagherd guys, Droughtlander. It’s here. But it’s here with Hamilton stuck in our heads, cheesetastic secksi times and the knowledge that the beginning of next season is probs the most like the oh-so-high-up-on-that-pedestal-S1A than anything else in the series. (In a strange new place! Trying to build a home! Except this time they’re doing it together! With the kiddos! Plus a doggo! *grabby hands*)

I know I’ve been on the *cough* less than positive *cough* side of things a lot this season. And last season, if we’re being honest. And I was going to apologize for that, but honestly, I’m not sorry. That’s just how I fan. I flail about what I love, I rant about what I don’t. I’m *very* aware that’s not everyone’s cup of tea and that I’m the sort of fan the cast and crew shit on in interviews and on twitter. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

But I enjoyed the finale for what it was. I squee’ed! I yelled things at the teevee! I side-eyed like whoa! So basically the same-ish reaction I’ve had to most of the episodes.

(I never bothered doing a full S2 rewatch, but I might do one for S3 just to see if it flows any better when watched all in one go, but I have a feeling it’ll still feel more like individual units than a cohesive whole.)

Anywho, beer-fueled nonsense that offers nothing of substance under the cut.

Finding more and more that I miss the old-style title cards.

Hard pass on doing this VO twice, tbh. Like we know obvi she’s not going to die. Just have it be where it plays out in the story.

Ok but all I can think about when the carriage stops and the crowd of people walk by is the part in The Mummy when they’re all like zombified and chanting Im-Ho-Tep.

I was just about to snark on Claire apparently having a change of clothes in the damn carriage but alas, we didn’t have to headcanon that she went and changed somewhere. No snarking for me.

Although for fucking serious? She changed back into the same damn outfit?! Ffs. Let the damn woman wear a different dress.

Aw, Fergus lets his wife come with him and doesn’t leave her behind in the woods with Willie. (I heart Marsali.)

“I’ll gut you” is apparently Young Ian’s go-to threat. It’s cute he already has a signature murder-style. Now you just need a rad serial killer name, dude. Take the hiatus to think about it.

This whole thing with Claire and Geillis is like ♬ I know, you know that I’m not telling the truth. ♬

I love that the Army/Navy rivalry spans both time and country.

But for real. Lord John in this scene is my goddamn everything. Sorry, Captain Babyface. I like you, but I need my dude out of those handcuffs and LJG is fucking *bringing it* right now. Can Jamie keep the handcuffs though? They might come in handy once he’s back on the Artemis... ;)

Ok but the final lingering shot of the pining face. Why. It was such a great scene. Lord John helping his buddy. Jamie being like yep, I still get in trouble, thanks for the assist. A nice goodbye. And it could have just ended there and been perfect, but nah, gotta smack everyone over the head with 1000% commitment to my least favorite trope.

#GetJohnABoyfriend2k18

Ah a “why are you here” callback to ep. 111.

For real though, Geillis is fucking nuts. Claire knows Geillis is fucking nuts. Claire knows Geillis has Young Ian. WHY ARE YOU LIKE HAVING CASUAL STORY TIME WITH HER, CLAIRE! DON’T TELL HER THINGS!

CLAIRE WHY ARE YOU TELLING GEILLIS ABOUT GOING BACK TO THE FUTURE! WHY ARE YOU TELLING HER ABOUT BREE! THIS IS A TERRIBLE IDEA! STOP SHARING THINGS WITH PSYCHOPATHS!

Also, we’re just casually talking about time travel in front of Hercules? I mean, I guess since he’s enslaved, no one gives a shit what he hears because it’s not like he can do anything?

“He was one of my favorites.” She’s fucking nuts but I still do love Geillis.

*zones out through discussions about the mechanics of time travel*

Did you really think you *weren’t* going to get locked in, Claire? YOU KNOW WHAT GEILLIS HAS DONE, YOU WERE CLEARLY GOING TO BE LOCKED IN. BREAK THE FUCKING WINDOW OR SOMETHING IF YOU WANT TO GET OUT.

I get that this is a parallel to the pilot when Claire’s watching the dancers at Craigh na Dun with Frank from the grass, but part of me is still wicked uncomfortable that they’re again using Black people as basically set dressing. I know it’s in the book, I wasn’t a fan of it there either.

How I think of Margaret during her Visions R Us office hours, basically.

Man, they really committed to this damn rabbit and bird thing. Maybe it’s some folks’ jam, but it never really struck a chord for me and the more they kept bringing it up, the more it makes me roll my eyes. Maybe because birds and rabbits were never a thing with Jamie and Claire? So it just seemed wicked random and kind of forced? Whatevs.

Hated Margaret channeling Bree in the book, hate it here.

This whole thing is so much weirder in the book, but just because they made it less weird for the show doesn’t make it good.

Like if we’re getting an exposition dump from Archibald about the prophecy, we really don’t need the weird Bree thing about someone coming to get her.

Yi Tien Cho channeling Inigo Montoya is kind of my everything. “I’m Yi Tien Cho. You are not worthy of this woman. Prepare to die.”

Petition for Rihanna’s “We Found Love” to be Yi Tien Cho and Margaret’s wedding song.

Omg so much explaining what we’ve already all figured out. We need to headcanon like 75% of Jamie and Claire’s reconciliation, but let’s spell out 2378235 different ways what Geillis’ plan is. (Maybe it wasn’t that many ways. But we’re doing a fuckton of exposition dumping in this episode.)

Ok seriously. The guy with the alligator head drinking chicken blood. Ugh. We got white savior stuff last week, but at least Temeraire had a part in the plot and got some agency at the end? Still problematic, but (maybe?) as minimally problematic as it could be if it was going to be included? This is literally just a backdrop for a conversation with Margaret. Blergh...

And then they have them carry off Archibald Campbell as Yi Tien Cho and Margaret look on in horror and omfg this is not good.

(ETA -- In which Roxane Gay says it better than I could: “It’s all very colonial fever dream, not so vaguely racist, and I honestly forced myself to let it go so I could continue with the episode.”)

“We lost Faith. We will not lose Brianna.” This line sure would have hit home a little harder had we actually seen Jamie give a crap about Bree at any point during the season. In the moment it works, but looking over the whole season *weakly gestures, tired of wishing things had been done differently*.

The goodbye kiss just in case though hits me in the feels.

Well isn’t Geillis telling Claire “a life for a life” a nice perversion of Claire telling Jamie that he owed her a life in season two.

And then Jamie grabs her hand all gently and I have feelings about the two of them at the stones/pool, guys.

Why does dead!Geillis look super fake? I have questions.

Slash Young Ian is gathering up jewels or something, right? Before he runs out of the cave? He’s like picking shit up off the ground...

Still could have done without the bones in Joe’s office bit, tbh. But whatever.

I know she’s like a bit traumatized, but Claire holding a bloody machete is my aesthetic.

Awwww, lookit that lil family. *heart eyes*

Omg but the stuff on the ship is the eye of the storm. Like the episode is the storm. And the sex is the eye. Because in the eye of the hurricane, there is quiet. For just a moment. GET IT?! GET IT GUYS?! OK FINE I’LL JUST KEEP SINGING HAMILTON OVER HERE BY MYSELF.

I’m way too proud of myself for this tweet though:

“Surprised I dinna have a full head of white hair, after all I’ve suffered these past few months.” ONE LAST WTF, JAMIE *SIDE-EYE* FOR THE ROAD! (I know Jamie has been through some shit. But literally ever since Claire showed back up, he’s managed to make almost everything about him so even though it’s a little joke, this line is just icing on the omfg, you’re killing me Smalls cake.)

#TeamClairesVeryFineSkin

I for real thought this wasn’t going to make it into the show. I didn’t think the quickie in ep. 309 was going to make it either. Glad they both did.

Claire being like yep, I can remedy the I’m still wearing clothes situation, stat, is my everything.

It’s so cheesy, guys. I love cheese.

Jamie’s bangs though, guys. Can we get the man a new wig haircut before next season?

Omg, that ass grab. That ass grab is my everything. Idk why. But omg. RIP me.

They def have made the sex a little less explicit this year. Except for the rape that they decided to shoot like a softcore porn, wtaf. But like, that doesn’t matter? It’s never been about the amount of skin showing? It’s about showing the two characters being wicked into each other, because if they weren’t then going through all the shit they go through wouldn’t be worth it? I’m *rull* glad that the show has finally realized that that’s an important thing to actually have on screen instead of condescendingly telling us that it doesn’t matter or we should headcanon it like they did all last year.

Ok, here for Claire going full mama bear at Young Ian, but girl. How much doctoring do you really thing you’re going to be able to do in this exact moment if you go up on deck.

Slash, what was she waiting for the whole time everyone else, including the two people she was with, was clearing the deck? I know, I need to just go with it, but this is silly.

Ok this is the only time we needed to see this/hear this VO. Beautifully shot. The Faith music is gorgeous, but like I’m not reading anything into it like she’s watching over them or anything. More just like Claire’s in a liminal state between alive and dead like she was when Faith died.

Dude, kiss your wife when you’re both on the surface and it’s been established she’s alive. (I mean, it’s super sweet, but SWIM, JAMMF, SWIM!)

All snark aside, there’s something a little beautiful about Claire spending half the season basically drowning, unable to really save herself and no one else around who cares enough to save her. And now here she is again, literally drowning and unable to save herself, but this time there’s a handy ginger around to lend a hand. Because she’s not alone anymore. And I have feelings. So many feelings. All the feelings. Feelings.

As they’re floating on their scrap of wood, let me take the obligatory detour into the 20 year old grumble that there was definitely enough room on the door for Jack too. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, ROSE.

The thought of crawling around in the sand in wet clothes gives me hives.

“I told you I’d never leave you again.” ilu, claire bear.

Ok but they’re both so sad that the ship went down and everyone’s dead and stuff and it’s moving and yay for hugs, but like. You know nothing about where you are? Why jump to the worst case scenario? The beach is literally littered with stuff from the ship? You made it so other people might have too? Also, clearly all of the important people lived because otherwise this whole half of the season was pointless?

That being said, these two are really good at making their faces show feelings.

It’s really not a strange question to ask where you are, Jamie. You were in a shipwreck. GPS isn’t a thing. I’d say it’s a pretty normal question to have, bro.

OK BUT LOOK AT CLAIRE’S FACE WHEN SHE SAYS AMERICA HERE COMPARED TO HOW SHE WAS FEELING THE LAST TIME SHE ARRIVED THERE. EVERYTHING IS OK NOW, CLAIRE! I HAVE FEELINGS ABOUT THE FRASERS GETTING TO FINALLY START A LIFE TOGETHER, GUYS.

Literaloling over the rando family just walking away like yeah, uh, you guys do you.

fin.

#*#drunj!der yells about outlander #outlander starz #outlander 3x13

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mymind--themess · 6 years

Text

Reyes’ Widow/Reaper’s Wife Pt.2

I decided to continue my little short story onward because honestly it was just so at the forefront of my mind at work. Enjoy!

The years had gone by without fail, no matter if you didn’t age anymore or not, and Marianna and Marisol were now beautiful, bold, and twenty-one. You had to be honest, you genuinely couldn’t have been any prouder of them.

Mariana was now a renowned engineer and inventor in both the medical and technological fields. She worked alongside those left of Overwatch often, feeling the need to learn more about her father and those he had worked with. She had gained much of her looks from you, from her (e/c) orbs, to her (h/c) tresses. But otherwise? She was Gabriel, and there was no denying it. Marianna would smirk or make any of his other damned facial expressions to a tee. She always remained calm in a difficult situation, having been blessed with being a natural born leader. Unfortunately, she was also blessed with her father’s bluntness and intimidation. Her glares were sharp, like iced blades.

Marisol was the opposite of her older sister and a very valued assassin, deciding to follow in the family footsteps that you, and your mother, and her mother before her, had left behind. Marisol was hired for high prices by companies both good and bad, placing herself within the shades of grey. Marisol had Gabe’s wild mess of black curly tendrils atop her head that had been dyed an electric blue at the tips and her chocolate orbs burned with a fire that was intense -- because that’s what she was. She was all you personality wise, and people could tell. Her charming smile that was clearly from you left searing burns in people’s hearts, and when she wanted something or felt something, she pursued and felt passionately.

And it would be Marisol attracting a certain hacker of Talon that sets shit off.

Fuck.

You stared questioningly as you watched Marisol’s phone go off with another alert for the tenth time in about a half an hour, tilting your head to the side as you studied her slumped posture, the way she bit her lip as her elbow rested on the patio table to support her head. Marianna also had briefly glanced up from her work and over to you, then to Marisol, then back to her computer as she typed. While Marianna was confused, Marisol’s inner turmoil was obvious to you, and you knew all too well what the situation was. “Nothing quite like a lovers’ spat.” You spoke up.

Marisol’s head snapped up as she gave you a surprised look, but she soon gave in and crossed her arms with a sigh. Of course you knew -- you always knew. Marisol and Marianna both hated how easily you could read people, especially when it came to you reading them. “They suck...” She mumbled.

You nodded, placing your mug down as you leaned forward a bit to show interest and support. “They do, mija. I went through a few times like this with your father, so I get it. But I gotta ask, what’s so bad that it gave you a sleepless night? Those bags under your eyes are awful.”

Rubbing her face in both hands, Marisol groaned again, “I...I can’t see her anymore, Mom. No matter how much I like her.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s trouble.”

“You love trouble, sis.” Mariana stated with a smirk, eyes not moving from her screen.

“Yeah, well, I don’t love Talon.” Marisol grimaced.

The silence was awkward as Marianna ceased her typing, and you couldn’t help how quickly you had tensed. Talon was off limits to both the twins,and they only had a very vague idea as to why. See, they knew some things now, but they still didn’t know the true identity of Reaper. They did however know of Moira and knew you loathed her after she had slept with Gabe. (I want it noted that there will be a flashback of Pre-fall Gabe x Reader throughout this little series, and things will be explained.) It took you a moment and a deep breath before you looked to your youngest daughter again.

“I’m sorry, did you say, Talon?” Marianna questioned, eyebrows raised as she closed her computer, pulling another Gabriel facial expression.

“I swear I had no idea.” Marisol started slowly, getting up as she began to pace back and forth. “I met her on an “assignment” in Dorado. At first it was just a casual thing but it turned into something more, okay? I didn’t know she has ties to Talon until Moira called her phone last week. I finished up and got the fuck outta there and I’ve been ignoring her texts and calls since.”

“What does she do for Talon?” Marianna interrogated further.

“Fuck if I know, fuck if I care! I just...I miss her. And her texts are literally tearing my heart up.”

You sighed as you extended a hand for her cellular device, wanting to see for yourself. “Can I see?”

Marisol handed over her phone to you after a bit of hesitation. You unlocked her phone with ease and opened the messages.

10:30 a.m. Olivia: Mi sol, please, answer me.

10:35 a.m. Olivia: I can explain!

10:40 a.m. Olivia: I really wanted to tell you. These past six months have been the best of my life, amor.

You blinked. Six months? She had been seeing this girl for six months? Marisol wasn’t ever the type to be romantically inclined to someone for more than a week. You sighed and kept scrolling.

10:42 a.m. Olivia: Marisol, you mean so much to me. I had a feeling you’d react like this!

10:46 a.m. Olivia: Why won’t you answer me? I know you’re receiving these.

10:50 a.m. Olivia: Marisol, I love you. Please, talk to me.

10:52 a.m. Olivia: You can’t just drop me! We have an apartment together!

“You two got an apartment together?” You asked incredulously.

Marisol sighed. “In Dorado... we got it to be our getaway for when shit gets too tough. We spend a week together there every month.”

It was now clear that this “Olivia” was being sincere, and you knew that Marisol was in too deep. You didn’t know what advice to give your daughter at this point. Knowing your daughter was close with a Talon member twisted your gut, but knowing she was brokenhearted because of this twisted it even more. Did you tell Marisol to keep seeing Olivia, or steer her away from love? Were you really still that afraid to see the Reaper? Were you going to keep living in this blissful ignorance that this wouldn’t happen eventually? You weren’t an idiot... you knew you couldn’t keep hiding the twins from the truth forever. But still...

10:58 a.m. Olivia: If you won’t come talk to me, I’m coming to talk to you. I’m not letting you go; This isn’t over.

Damn, yandere much? You mentally snorted.

But then, it clicked, your body going positively numb as you stared blankly at the screen, before cursing under your breath. “Son of a bitch.”

This was gonna happen, whether you liked it or not.

Tossing the phone back to Marisol, you replied as you stood up and slipped on your jacket. If this was how it was gonna go down, you’d make sure you’d be prepared. “She’s a good kid. Text her back and agree to meet in Dorado. We don’t need Talon following her here.”

“What?” Marisol and Marianna asked in soft surprise

“She wasn’t trying to con you, she was trying to protect you. Don’t let Talon scare you away, Sol.”

MEANWHILE @ TALON’S HEADQUARTERS

Olivia, a.k.a Sombra, sat in her quarters in Talon’s base, multiple screens pulled up giving a glow to the otherwise dark room. Phone set aside, the Talon hacker typed viciously against one screen as she pulled up intel after intel on Marisol (L/N)-Reyes that she could find. She had to find her, she just had to! Olivia hadn’t felt this way about someone in a long time, and she wasn’t about to let Marisol slip away. So the now slightly desperate Sombra was doing what she did best; Hack the shit out of every database. Olivia completely ignored the sound of the metal doors to her quarters slide open as Reaper and Widowmaker stood in the entry way.

“How long has she been doing this?” Gabe asked, arms crossed.

“Hours.” Was Amelie’s simple response.

“Hn,”

The wraith ghosted his way over to Olivia’s side, disappearing and then soldiifying himself by her. “Sombra, what is this?”

“Have you ever been in love, Gabe?”

The quick snap in the hacker’s voice had caught Gabe a bit off guard, but it didn’t show behind the owl mask he wore nowadays. “What?”

Olivia turned her head sharply, moving her index finger to wave a screen with Marisol’s picture on it. “You see her? I love her. And because she found out I work for Talon, she isn’t responding to me.”

Gabe hadn’t ever seen the hacker like this, at all. “Alright?”

“No! No it’s not alright, pendejo! We have an apartment together! AN APARTMENT! A NORMAL THING!”

Amelie glanced to Gabe briefly as she came to stand beside him. “I think she’s having a breakdown.”

“Me too.”

“Hush... Aha!” Olivia cried as three more screens came up. “I got my hands on her birth certificate and social security!”

“This is stalker-ish, even for you.” Gabe snorted in amusement.

“You have no idea how hard it was to find these,” Olivia retorted.

“You find things like this all the time.” Amelie spoke up. “Why was this girl any harder?”

Olivia typed rapidly, downloading and extracting the documents to load on the screens. “I’m about to find out.”

The three Talon members watched as the screen suddenly showed that the files were from stamped with the Overwatch symbol, and specifically derived from Angela’s files. Both Marisol and Marianna’s birth certificates and social securities were displayed. Olivia scanned Marisol’s birth certificate, noting Angela’s signature at the bottom. “Marisol Lydia (L/N)-Reyes. Born May 31st, 2070 at 11:34 p.m. Youngest in set of twins. Sister: Marianna Lexington (L/N)- Reyes. Mother: (Y/N) (L/N)-Reyes...Father:,” Olivia’s eyes went wide, as did Gabe’s behind his mask as she read the last part.

“... Gabriel Reyes -- Deceased.”

The silence spoke volumes about the shock from all three in the room...well, not Amelie. She couldn’t feel anything -- but wraith that was once a man felt everything. Behind that mask and stiff stance was a very shaken Gabriel Reyes. His voice didn’t betray this though as he let out a monotone response. “This is...impossible.”

Olivia was just as surprised, pulling her hands away from the screens as she stood up from her chair. Was this why Marisol had called it off as soon as she found out? Olivia glanced over to her phone, about to send a text to question Marisol, but was greeted with a text of her own.

11:00 a.m. Marisol: I’ll come to Dorado, to our apartment. We can talk there. Saturday. Noon.

“Sol texted back...she’s willing to meet me in Dorado.” Olivia stated, showing her Talon partners the text before doing the next thing she did best; persuade. She pulled up a picture of Marisol and moved it in front of Gabe before pulling up a picture of Marianna that had popped up from an article as well. “Now...I don’t know about you Gabe, but I’ve got a lot of questions. I’m getting mine answered...are you?”

Gabe stared at the photos, taking in the looks of both twins. The opposite blends of himself and you, and he knew he couldn’t stay away. Not now. He hand’t even known you were alive, or about them. Did you know about him...?

Staying silent, Gabe inclined his head to Olivia as he spoke. “Keep digging until we leave for Dorado.”

“I’m on it.”

#overwatch #overwatch fanfic #overwatch mercy #gabriel reyes #gabriel reyes x reader #reader insert #reaper #reaper x reader #reaper overwatch #fanfiction #fanfic #widowmaker #amelie lacroix #sombra #sombra x oc #olivia colomar

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lulucarrington · 7 years

Text

The Black Out Job

CHAPTER 2: Meet the Crew

Summary: Possessing extra-sensory abilities that make him an outcast, Leo steps into the shady world of magic and crime in order to make ends meet. Wacky hi-jinks, drama, and Ken’s increasingly ridiculous wardrobe ensue.

Pairings: KenVi, Luck, NBin

Rating: T (Ratings will vary by chapter)

Chapter 1: HERE

Ravi woke to the chime of his phone. He rolled, confused, out of dreams of Jaehwan sitting on a rock and singing at him, to grope for his phone. He found Butt, a roll of papers, and eventually- finally- his phone.

“What?” He groaned at the phone. “I was asleep.”

“My friend said yes.” N’s chirp was far too cheerful for, Ravi squinted at his clock, two in the afternoon. He flopped back in bed, groaning again.

“He does? That’s nice.”

“That’s all you’ve got to say? How late were you up last night? Or was it this morning?”

“Late. Now drop it, mother Cha. What does your friend want to do?”

“I suggested we meet at the club.” N sounded unsure, which was new to Ravi.

“The Reef?”

“Yes. He knows it, and he can do work in the back while we continue on… Though, it has to be in the back. He can be sensitive to sounds and stuff.” Ravi couldn’t help the questions that started to creep into his mind. N was probably the most secretive of them all, and this sudden piece of his life had Ravi fascinated. Why a friend of his appearing so suddenly? How did he know N? Were they truly friends, or friends like Ravi and N were friends? How long have they known each other? Would N ever tell Ravi how they knew each other? Was this the start of N telling people things? He’d gotten lost in his thoughts and had missed N’s last comment.

“Sorry, what?”

“Sorry snooze boy, I was saying: Did. Hyuuuuuuuuuuuk. Giiiiiiiiiiiiiiive. Yoooooooou. The. Gemssssssssssssss?” N exaggerated.

“Yes, thank you. Now, what time does your friend want to meet?”

“What time do you think you’ll be ready? Got enough time to buff your tattoos for Ken?”

“Ha, ha, Tinkerbell.” Ravi knew N hated the comparison to cartoon fairies. “Remind me to shake your wings on my tits when I’m done. Body glitter never quite shimmers the same way as fairy dust.”

“Fine, no Ken talk. But Ravi…” N’ pause was long. “Look, I know I don’t talk about my life much, but my friend… He’s important to me, so handle him with kid gloves- he comes off cold, but he’s just shy. We’ve been friends since we were teenagers.”

“Alright,” Ravi’s gut swirled at the omission. “I’ll ease him into things.”

“Show him videos of Butt. He loves animals, so that’ll warm him right up to you.”

“Gotta love a man who warms up to a man showing him videos of his Butt.” Ravi snorted.

“Oh, that too- he’s been on about some tall hot blonde guy he sees around. I’m pretty sure he wants to bang Hyuk.”

“Wait,” Ravi sat up, accidentally rolling Butt over. “Is this friend tall, dark and mysterious? Possibly looks like he was commissioned by Cartier? May or may not buy six cakes in one sitting?”

“Sounds like him.”

“Well Hyuk’s going to try and work his awkward fuck game on him the second he walks in.”

“I hope we remember to film it. And I’ll meet you and my friend at 10, let’s say?” Alarms went off in Ravi’s mind.

“Won’t that cross over with our meeting?”

“Yes.” He could practically hear N’s feral grin. “So, he can help translate any conversation he hears, if you get me. I’ve got to run, later!” He hung up without waiting for a reply. Ravi let the phone drop to his lap as he sat up, knowing he should get up, but going to sleep at 11 am had left him exhausted. He knew he needed to stop pulling these kind of nights, but he was so close to a breakthrough- he had the gems. Writing the spell would be easier now. The gems meant the spell he was attempting to construct just lost 12 possible outcomes, and potentially made it stable enough to forgo several of the charms. It would make it lighter to carry, therefore easier to control.

“Finally up?” Hyuk had let himself in at some point, and was standing in the doorway eating cereal straight from the box.

“Yes. And we have work tonight. N’s friend agreed to meet us.”

“Want me to come?”

“Yes. N thinks we should have him around for the talks. He can eavesdrop on any… Personal conversations he just happens to be near.” Hyuk nodded his agreement as he shovelled another handful of cereal into his mouth. “What’re you doing here anyway?”

“Payments came in. I put them on the counter in the boxes, cash in the drawer.” Hyuk nodded out the door. “Want me to meet you here or the club?”

“The club, let’s say nine-ish?” Hyuk nodded and wandered away, Butt leaving Ravi to chase the possibility of dropped cereal. Ravi was tempted to check the cereal to see if Hyuk was leaving with it (he probably would), but the shower beckoned. He barely opened his eyes until he was under the hot spray. It finally woke him up completely, and allowed him a moment to wake up completely.

It seemed like his plan was progressing smoothly, so he let thoughts of it slip and drift around him.

He pulled up the dream of Ken and blushed despite being alone. He’d had a couple of similar dreams recently; and all of them were about Ken. The first, he had been walking along a beach, when a pile of nets and driftwood caught his eye. It shifted, as he watched it, and a pale hand flopped onto the sand. Ravi rushed to it, and his heart caught in his throat. Tangled in a net among the driftwood, was a mermaid. Unlike real mermaids, which were more like goblin sharks with arms, this mermaid was… A fantasy. Pouty lips, wide terrified eyes, and glorious scales leaped up at him from between the coarse lines of netting. The mermaid was staring at him in equal surprise.

“Will you free me?” It asked, and he realised the mermaid was Ken. The playful tone was unmistakable.

“Um. Sure?” Ravi found a knife at his belt, and began to saw at the ropes. Since when did he carry a knife?

“When I’m free I shall give you a kiss.” Ken declared, his hands clutching at the netting. The statement startled Ravi so much he’d woken up. The dreams were all like that- always Ken, always around water, always that damned pouting! He had half a mind to bite that bottom lip if Ken pouted at him again.

This latest dream was no different, he was on the deck of a ship, sailing past a rocky reef. On the rocks lay Ken and several others that he hadn’t really noticed because Ken was there. He was having trouble noticing KEN because Ken was there. He lay, draped in thin, nearly translucent cloth, staring out at Ravi’s ship with desperate hope. He called out to Ravi, promising to tell Ravi all kinds of things, sweet things, whispered suggestions of passion, and more. If only Ravi would come closer, so Ken could whisper in his ear.

As his ship neared the rocky shores, Ravi felt hands pulling at his clothes, voices begging him not to go, but his mind was filled with Ken. He wanted to hear those secrets, to feel them slip from those pouty lips onto his own. He wanted to rip away the flimsy gauze and expose Ken to him, to get on his knees and-

Hyuk slamming something in another room brought Ravi out of his reverie, and he immediately attacked his hair with some shampoo, as if he could wash the thoughts from his head. He was NOT going to fantasize about that peacocking menace. He wouldn’t give Ken the satisfaction of knowing all that flirting was getting to him, even if he never told Ken about any of it.

* * *

Taekwoon was seated at the bar, sipping a drink as slowly as he could, hoping Hakyeon would finally show up. The club was always too much for him, the lights too bright, the smells too much. He knew it came from spending more time around animals- he had taken on enough qualities that his world was more sensitive than that of the average humanoid. It was starting to get to him.

If Hakyeon was late, that meant Taekwoon would have to endure this club for even longer, and he knew he was going to get a headache. He sighed, and decided he was going to try dancing, if only to tell Hakyeon that he missed seeing it. He turned, intending to get up, when a newcomer caught his eye. Taekwoon recognised the man instantly. It was the Blonde Corner Store Man. Unusually tall, and blonde, possessing a boyish smile he often graced Taekwoon with whenever they passed each other, he’d been a fixture of many shopping trips for the last few months. Taekwoon couldn’t help but feel a little weak at the knees upon seeing the man again- something about him drew Taekwoon in. He was like an asteroid, being pulled into the gravitational field of a planet. He was ready to crash on the planet, to talk to this man without fear.

“Hey!” Hakyeon’s voice behind him nearly sent Taekwoon jumping into the writhing crowd below. “Miss me?” Taekwoon shot his friend a look. “Sorry I was late, everyone decided it was Talk to Hakyeon day. Took me forever just to get out the door.”

“It’s fine, just… You know. The sensory overload.” He scanned the crowd, looking for the blonde. Hakyeon would understand if they waited a minute, so Taekwoon could at least ask the guy for his number. His heart jumped when he realised the blonde was nowhere to be seen, He couldn’t have left! Taekwoon wasn’t ready for him to leave! He felt a little hollow as Hakyeon gripped his arm and steered him away from the bar, down towards the bathrooms and long dark hallways Taekwoon was sure led to something shady and possibly illegal.

“Don’t worry, we’re headed somewhere quieter. Ravi doesn’t like noise much either, aside from Jaehwan, but even then, we’re all putting bets on how long it takes Ravi to hex him.” Hakyeon grinned as the aforementioned man came gliding over. Taekwoon was once again impressed by Jaehwan. He made his skin-tight pants look effortlessly flexible as he slid to Hakyeon’s side.

“N! How is my butterfly prince this evening?” Charm practically oozed off of him as he leaned forward and grinned at Hakyeon, who ignored the greeting.

“This is the guy Ravi wanted to see.” He started.

“Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Broody here?” Jaehwan eyed him up and grinned before recognition sparked. “Woonie! You’re an Omnilingual? Can you talk to snakes?“

“Yes, but he doesn’t want to talk to yours. Just let Ravi know we’re here, please?” Hakyeon sighed. Jaehwan pouted in return.

“Fine, mother Cha. You’re no fun.” Said Jaehwan. “Now, come on, Ravi’s in a mood today.” Taekwoon followed the pair, who continued to chat in a friendly manner, to the back of the club. Walking into the back halls was even more surreal in its underwater quality than the club itself. These halls were filled with the deep, slow darkness at the bottom of ocean trenches, with only the echoes of music crawling in as if from another universe. It even seemed to muffle Jaehwan and Hakyeon’s chattering to damp whispers. Taekwoon enjoyed it immensely. After threading through several tight hallways and going up several flights of stairs they reached a doorway, in which stood the blonde man. “Hyukkie!” Jaehwan greeted him with a wave. “Is everyone else here?”

“Hongbin’s on his way. Apparently he needed to have the last word and got chased a few blocks out of his way.” The blonde’s smirk nearly set Taekwoon’s hair on fire. He looked up, saw Taekwoon, and a look of electrified shock zapped through his features. “Who’s this?”

“My friend. The one Ravi needs to see.” Hakyeon waggled his eyebrows as he pulled Taekwoon’s arm meaningfully. “You can talk to him in a minute.”

Taekwoon dug his heels in, but Hakyeon was on a mission. He waved shyly at the other man as he was dragged into the dim room. It was lit mostly by the same blueish light as the club, but this room felt calmer and more serene than even the hallways had. In the center of it, standing in front of a low-backed leather chair, was a purple-haired man. He had his arms extended, one hand carrying a closed fan, the other was palm-down above a wispy symbol chalked on the floor. As Taekwoon watched, he opened his fan and began to scythe it through the air between the symbol and his other hand. Leo could feel the air pressure of the room change, while the man’s voice, deep and soft, began to weave a song even Taekwoon’s considerable language skills was having trouble following. The man was seeking something- searching for… A person? A book? Looking for their hiding place? He repeated the phrases over and over as he began to glide around the symbol on the floor. It was a foreign dance Taekwoon had never seen before. The grace and swiftness of it astounded him, and belatedly he realised this was a spell. This was magic. Before Taekwoon could sink deeper into amazement the man opened his eyes and noticed them. He stopped, closing his fan and free hand with a snap that left green spots dancing through the air.

“Oh, N, you’re here?” The deep voice said as Taekwoon blinked the spots out of his eyes, amazed. “I’m sorry, I was working on… My search.”

“It’s fine,” Hakyeon seemed unaffected by the display, but Taekwoon was enthralled. He’d never seen a spell cast before! Hakyeon had given him charms and spelled trinkets, but it was nowhere near as interesting as the song and the lights! “Sorry we’re late. I couldn’t get two feet without someone wanting to chat, it was a nightmare.”

The purple-haired man gestured dismissively, before turning an uncomfortably intense stare on Taekwoon. Without the theatrical spell, he looked like someone’s fantasy professor, complete with gold-rimmed glasses. He gestured, and Taekwoon heard several others moving around behind him.

“It’s fine. Once Hongbin said he’d be late I knew the rest of you would drag on too.” His tone turned friendly once he’d chided Hakyeon. “I’m Ravi.”

“I’m… Leo.” Taekwoon had to remember to call himself that. And Hakyeon was N now.

“I’m sorry for the group meeting, but we’re a small organization, so I like everyone to know who’s around.” Leo nodded. “As N explained- the nicknames are more for my sake than anyone else’s. As a wizard, I get into it with others who can cast spells. The last thing I need is someone pulling your full name or more out of me in a duel.” Leo nodded along- N had explained it all to him on the way. “And you know N already. The other members of the crew are Ken, who owns this club, Hongbin, who isn’t here yet, and Hyuk,” Ravi gestured behind Leo. Leo turned, and saw the blonde man again. They exchanged a small smile before Leo returned his attention to Ravi. “It’s nice to finally meet face to face. N has told me… Well he’s told me next to nothing about you, but that’s more than he generally tells me.” The man’s eyes never left Leo’s, but he continued. “And no amount of N making faces will change what I said, N.”

“Get to the point before Ken gets here. It’ll be embarrassing for everyone watching you two.” N replied, sinking into a chair near Ravi.

“Right. Mostly, I want you here for this,” He produced a slim folder from the chair behind him. “N says you can read any language-“

“Read, listen to, and speak it.” Leo felt the need to clarify things. Ravi’s expression brightened.

“Well, I’ll get you set up here. Though, I will have to take a meeting at one point. Would that… Bother you?”

“No,” Leo felt nervousness twist in his stomach, but he ignored it. Ravi grinned, and turned back to the symbols on the floor. Somehow, if he was being honest with himself, Leo had expected something more dramatic or clandestine in nature. So Ravi being so casual and at ease had tilted everything a little, and Leo was unsure of his footing. It would be like any other job, he reminded himself, that’s what N said. So this kind of informality would be expected. The spell was interesting, though. He enjoyed that.

“Oh, and Ken’s got your money, someone remind me to give it to you when he gets in here.” Leo nodded mutely as he watched Ravi carefully erase the symbol on the floor and move a chair over the space.

“No need!” Ken’s trilling excitement poured into the room as the man himself strutted in. “Ravi, don’t you look Ravishing this evening. Looks like you’re still taking your handsome pills.” Leo had seen Ken flirt, but the terrible greeting could have won a prize. Tonight, Ken was dressed in something dark and tight, with a purple streak edging the low neckline. It was almost demure compared to some of the outfits Leo had seen.

“They make them in chewables now.” Ravi returned. “Now give Leo his money.”

“Leo like a lion?” Ken turned a big grin on Leo, who nodded slowly. “Is it because you’re a beast in-“ Hyuk’s hand hit Ken’s shoulder, and Leo heard a faint crackling sound, and Ken was leaping away towards Ravi.

“Ignore Ken. He was born without manners.” Hyuk came to stand near Leo, leaning against the wall.

“I’ve met him before.” Leo mumbled. He’d been so ready to plunge into a conversation earlier, but disorientation and anxiety had clouded him over once again. He was nervous of trying to start a conversation with Hyuk now.

“That’s good. And, since Ravi was a little… Tactful about it. He wants you to listen in on his meeting. Some of the people invited have been shifty lately. If they’re whispering anything weird or not related to the meeting, you tell him about it, right?”

“Um. Sure. I’m… I’m not sure what to listen for?”

“Just anything that doesn’t sound like it’s about that contract.”

“Okay.”

“And… Um… Do you want any food or something?” Even in the blue wash of the lights, Hyuk’s cheeks were pink.

“If it wouldn’t be a problem? Where do I get some?”

“No, sit,” Hyuk put a hand on Leo’s shoulder, pushing him towards the table they’d set up for him. Hyuk’s hand was hot. It was extremely hot- the heat of it radiated several inches across Leo’s skin, and he almost thought his clothes would catch fire from the scalding sensation. “I’ll see what’s being served upstairs tonight.” It took Leo a moment to remember the restaurant Ken owned, which was several floors above this one in the next building.

“Thank you.” He sat, and watched Hyuk leave, which took some time, as Hyuk had paused mid-way through the room. He watched Hyuk carefully remove his shoes and rub his socked feet on the carpet for a moment, before leaning over and giving Ken a static zap that sent the other man leaping out of his conversation with N into the slender form of a newcomer.

“No matter how many times guys have poked Ken, the big ones are still a surprise, huh?” The newcomer laughed at Ken, giving Hyuk a wide smile that had to have at least 56 extra teeth in it as Hyuk grabbed his shoes and escaped Ken’s angry muttering.

“Shut up,” Ken sniped, giving the newcomer a dirty look. It was ignored in favour of Leo. The smiling man made a beeline for him, grinning the whole way.

“Hongbin!” He announced, once he was close. “And you’re…” He paused, appearing to listen to something. “Leo.” Leo nodded. “You…” He paused again, and looked surprised. “You know N and… And someone thinks you might like Ravi’s butt?” Hongbin frowned. “I thought he might like Ravi’s dog Butt. Not Ravi’s butt. We all know that butt is reserved for Ken’s hands.”

Ravi, Leo noted, appeared to have gone suddenly deaf for this conversation. The dynamics of this little group were confusing, to say the least. “And Leo, Hongbin is a psychic. You’ll get used to this kind of thing,” N waved at Hongbin, who was staring at him with a curious smile.

“Hyuk’s touch is warm, isn’t it?” He said softly. “He’s a fire elemental. He can’t help it.” Leo had an image of curling up against Hyuk for warmth, as a cat would, and Hongbin’s eyes widened. Embarrassed, Leo turned back to the document. “I won’t tell.” Hongbin whispered, and turned back to the rest of the group.

Leo worked without interruption after that. Some waiters pushing large carts filed in soon after Hongbin, and Ken directed them on where to put giant dishes on the tables around the room. Leo was dutifully ignored by the staff as he worked, one only coming close to put a glass of water beside him. The contract seemed fairly standard, all jargon and long-winded sentences, and Leo carefully typed it all out exactly as he read it. He’d let Ravi decide on whether he wanted clarification later. He was actually enjoying himself, he found. He listened to the others chat, and as the room began to fill with others- most of whom were humans as far as Leo could see- the chatter became more interesting. Two of the humans had noted Hyuk’s current absence, causing Leo to realize he’d been gone for well over two hours. Neither Hyuk, nor the promised food had joined him, and it hurt a little to realize it. Leo wanted both of them to get back to him now. Two others kept checking the time, and they seemed to be expecting a third person, even after everyone had taken a chair. With no empty chairs, Leo couldn’t help but spare a thought to puzzle over who they might be waiting for.

He continued translating, though, and kept his curious ear on the conversation. Most of it was Ravi and a dark-haired white man whose name Leo hadn’t caught. His two associates were still periodically checking their watches and whispering to each other. Most of the phrases included the very popular “Is it time yet? They said he’d be here?”, and the equally repeated “No you idiot.”, followed by, interestingly, “But we need him for this to be absolute-“ which was quickly muffled or cut off. After the sixth muffled comment Hyuk strolled in. He looked calm, but Leo could see the bags in his hands looked scorched, and his previously styled hair was wild. He moved in and whispered something to Ravi, who nodded but continued a conversation with the white man. Hyuk, on the other hand, was moving towards Leo, but his eyes were fixed on the two whisperers while his expression was an ugly, twisted thing.

“Those two!” He hissed as he sat down beside Leo, carefully setting the bag between them. “Why are they here?”

“I think they came with the white guy Ravi’s talking to. I’m not sure what they’re here for though.” Leo whispered back. “They keep waiting for someone, according to their whispering.” Leo relayed the whispered comments to Hyuk, whose frown soured into a deep scowl. “Why?”

“They’re my brothers. They said they’d gotten out of… Out of their previous line of work, but if they’re thugging for hire now… I need you to tell Ravi what you heard.”

Leo carefully stood, feeling awkward as hell as he approached the crowd of leather chairs. Fortunately, most of the chairs’ occupants ignored him, though one or two spared him a bored glance. When he came up behind Ravi’s chair he leaned down, like he had seen Hyuk do, and whispered:

“The two in the dark suits, to your left. They’re Hyuk’s brothers, according to him, and they’ve been whispering back and forth a few times about someone arriving? And needing them for something.” Leo repeated the phrases again, and Ravi nodded, much like he had with Hyuk.

“Tell Hyuk to-“ Ravi began, then, in a blinding flash, everything went white.

#vixx fanfic #Fantasy AU #Leverage/Heist AU #Organized Crime AU #Pairings:#Ravi - Ken #Leo - Hyuk #Hongbin - N

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